I bought this book used last summer and filed it away on a bookshelf, and finally picked it up two days ago. Even though these days, I read through most books slowly, I was sucked into Iyer's Kyoto world, and plowed through the book in two very enjoyable sessions.
I was baffled to read some of the criticisms readers at Amazon gave this book. I found the accusations that Iyer is condescending to be the most perplexing. I've read lots of travel writing, and have found that many travel writers spend most of their time analyzing their chosen destination with a God-like impersonal analysis of the place's foibles that certainly does often come across as arrogant or ignorant.
What struck me about this book was how much Iyer does *not* do this. He certainly spends a lot of time analyzing and trying to figure out both Japan and the people he encounters there, but he is no more critical of others than he is of himself, no more critical of Japan than of his own culture(s). He does not watch from a distance, but participates in what he writes about, from interacting with 'The Lady' to dipping his foot into the waters of a monk's life, and exposes his own floundering. He criticizes not only that which he participates in, but also his own foibles and inability to realize the rigor and discipline of Zen, his own inability to understand Sachiko and give her what she needs and wants.
I came away from the book seeing Sachiko *not* as someone who is helpless or hapless, but rather, as someone who, like all of us, struggles between dreams and duties. Yet unlike most of us, Sachiko taps into a well of deep inner strength and vision and breaks through the restrictions of her cultural conditioning to realize her dreams. I thought Sachiko came across as much stronger, with more grace and understanding, than Iyer, who often is reduced to clumsy assurances as he tries to fathom her rich inner world. Yet this is not to say that Iyer comes across poorly, but rather that he comes across as an honest and likable narrator unafraid to expose the personal hues and struggles of his journey.
The analysis of Japan and the people he meets in which Pico engages is a usual feature of travel writing, and as always, his analysis may or may not be accurate. But unlike many travel writers, he exposes his own biases and inaccurate perceptions often by comparing his idealized visions of Japan to the idealized visions of others about other cultures. He clearly shows how his preferences shape his experience, instead of presenting snippets of literature or cultural observation as if they were gleaned from an impersonal textbook about Japan. This is a very personal experience, and I find Pico to be a very warm, likable, and human narrator, whose personal sense of magic and wonder fills this book and transports the reader.