Impotence

Readerly impotence, that is. This weekend we drove to Arlington Heights to visit Mitsuwa which is essentially a Japanese mini-mall, comprised of a Japanese grocery, bookstore, discount store, food court and other establishments, all under one roof.

It was bewildering and more than a bit frustrating to walk through the bookstore and be unable to read a damned thing--virtually all of the books were in Japanese, with the exception of the predictable Anglo-friendly subjects such as origami and interior design. Other than the obvious cooking and kids sections (sushi and Tigger being generally universal), I couldn't even guess what subject area I was looking at. The experience gave me an inkling (okay, a very slight inkling) of what an immigrant experiences in our English-dominant culture.

Then again, maybe I was simply bringing the frustration upon myself. In the magazine section, where I could easily have flipped through the car titles and gawked at the 2006 Acuras and Infinitis, I instead found myself perversely hunting for the literary journals. Even if I couldn't read the titles, I figured I would recognize them--perfect bound, offbeat cover art, in pristine condition due to an extended lack of physical contact from browsing shoppers. But the hunt was in vain. Clearly, Mitsuwa knows what sells, and what gets remaindered.