My shelves may be delivered and built by the time this post comes out – here’s to hoping anyway. So my current obsession with home libraries may be coming to an end, but not before we admire these images below.



My shelves may be delivered and built by the time this post comes out – here’s to hoping anyway. So my current obsession with home libraries may be coming to an end, but not before we admire these images below.



I think my shelves are going to be delivered soon(ish), and I might even be able to find someone to put them together for me, the clumsiest craftsman ever. So in celebration of that, I’ll start the New Year with more lovely pictures of home libraries.

Takagi Akimitsu: The Informer, transl. Mizuguchi Sadako, Soho Crime, 1999.
Takagi was one of the most popular and prolific crime writers of post-war Japan, starting with The Tattoo Murder Case, which he published in 1948. He was also initially an aeronautical engineer, a fan of tattoo art, a self-taught legal expert, and considered a moderniser of Japanese detective fiction. Despite his occasionally formulaic mysteries and bland writing style, he does imbue his books with rich characterization and a panoramic view of a rapidly changing Japanese society. Four of his mysteries have been translated into English (by Soho and Pushkin Press), while his photographic archive of Japanese tattoos of the 1950and 60s was discovered recently and you can read more about it and see some of his photos here.
All of the above makes me think that Takagi was inquisitive and fascinated by every strata of Japanese society, and this is particularly obvious in The Informer. The novel was published in 1965 and is supposed to be based on the real case of a stock broker who became unemployed for reckless trading, but I haven’t been able to find out any further information about this.
In the book, the hapless trader is Shigeo Segawa, and he feels very sorry for himself at the start of the story. Money is clearly very important to him, but in pursuit of it, he gave up his integrity (committed fraud) and the woman he loved (his pride wouldn’t allow him to marry her until he was wealthy enough, so she married Segawa’s old friend Ogino, the son and heir to the Shichiyo Chemical Company instead). So he is now working in a lowly position for very little pay and cannot resist when his friends and former co-workers introduce him to Sakai, the owner of a tiny and somewhat shady trading company. The high salary offered for not very much work does make him somewhat suspicious initially, but when he finds out what the real work entails, he does not take long to accept the rather illegal mission and cosy up to Ogino once more, with the aim to betray him in the end.
The first half of the book we see the world entirely from Segawa’s point of view, and it’s a POV full of self-pity and self-justification, with only the occasional twinge of a bad conscience as he seduces and uses women to achieve his goals, and also betrays his old friend Ogino by reigniting the relationship with the latter’s wife. But then things go wrong and his world starts to crumble… and he becomes the main suspect in a murder. From then on, we see the story through the eyes of multiple characters, including Kirishima, the main prosecutor, his fiancee Kyoko, Inspector Ishida, as well as Segawa.
I know most readers enjoyed the second part of the novel more, which becomes a more regular police procedural. There are a lot of people who are not quite what they appear to be and may have ulterior motives to kill and frame Segawa for the killing. I too initially suspected someone else but, just before the denouement, I guessed the main perpetrator/informer, although not all of the details.
However, I personally preferred the first part, despite the rather weak, unlikeable Segawa, because I believe the author intended to show the rising generation of Japanese men and women in the 1960s, greedy for money and sex. He does so in less overt and shocking ways than Murakami Ryu would just ten years later, perhaps because he chooses to focus on business people in their late 20s/early 30s rather than disaffected youth. I loved the period detail and the psychological insights, including issues around industrial espionage (something the Japanese were being accused of at the time of doing in the US, although in the 1980s it switched to the other way round).
The translation did feel a little stiff and dated in places, but perhaps that is reflective of the 1960s or else the 1990s when it was published. A compelling, quick and fun read to start my January in Japan. Some much tougher reads will follow.
I haven’t been able to find reliable information about film adaptations of this book (AI completely makes up stuff and links it to two unrelated films). The cover image on the translated book is also from an entirely different film: The Insect Woman by Imamura Shohei.
There are probably far too many Christmas markets all over the world now selling the same silly trinkets or woolly hats and overpriced food and drink, and I may be slightly Glühweined out after going to several here in Berlin (I don’t like the crowds either). But there are a few beautiful, atmospheric ones left – as well as inventive use of lighting.


I will post my best reads of 2025 next week, but will otherwise not be online very much over the next two weeks. Wishing you all a joyous and peaceful festive season.
Last week I showed you the fun palaces in the surrounding area, but one thing I really admire about Berlin is the way many former industrial sites have been repurposed, quite often as places for the general public. So, instead of focusing on the fact that this demonstrates just how much Berlin has declined in terms of industry and jobs, or that many of these sites were converted into cultural spaces only after massive protests from the local population, let’s just admire some of them.





I was inspired by Joanne from Portobello Book Blog to join in this weekly meme created by Sam at Taking On a World of Words. Three quick and easy questions about our reading:
What I’m currently reading…

Far too many books at once, which is probably the reason I’ve not finished one in a while. I’m reading the definitive Kafka biography by Reiner Stauch (greatly enjoying it, but it needs to be read in short chunks, as it’s very dense). As if to compliment that, I’m also reading two books set in 1930s Berlin – one actually written and published in 1931, a love story called (ironically) Happy People by Hermann Kesten, a contemporary of Fallada and Kästner, but who has been largely forgotten and never translated, I believe. The other book, Transatlantik, is set in 1937 but written much more recently, and is of course the next one in the Gereon Rath series, which I’m now addicted to. The remaining three books I’ve barely touched in the last month: I’m trying to do a chapter by chapter reread of The Tale of Genji together with Tony Malone, but have fallen far behind. I started a book about Moldova’s experience of WW2, The End of the World Is a Train, but found it quite upsetting and so put it to one side for the time being. And I bought The Course of the Heart in Cambridge for nostalgia’s sake, but am finding myself rather bored by it.
What I just finished reading…
Ogawa Yōko’s Mina’s Matchbox – which was a bit of a disappointment compared to other works I’ve read by her: a little too pointlessly cutesy, with no real sense of menace, mystery or yearning
A Romanian novel that I’ve been asked to consider translating and pitching to publishers: it’s part historical, part fantasy, very highbrow intellectual, and I’m fascinated by it, but need to find comp titles to try and entice Anglo publishers. It would certainly be a lovely challenge to translate it!
What to read next
I usually like to curl up with a massive tome during the winter season, but my life seems to be much busier here in Berlin in December than it was in Maidenhead, so am not sure I’ll make much progress with Russians or Nordic doorstoppers. Instead, I’m intrigued by a non-fiction book about our emerging relationships with AI: Love Machines by James Muldoon (which might also be useful for a novel I’m currently writing – or rather, NOT writing).
I’m also tempted to start advance reading for my January in Japan, always a highlight of the reading year for me. I bought the German language translation by Katja Busson of Tsumura Kikuko’s There’s No Such Thing as an Easy Job, and it’s calling out to me.
It’s getting a little too cold to explore all of the little (and not so little) palaces in the Brandenburg region around Berlin (and a little further afield), so I’ll start off by doing so virtually. Which of the ones below would you visit first? By appearance or by reputation/association?






I’ve been rather lazy and self-indulgent and, instead of following the reading themes suggested by Tony and Caroline for #GermanLitMonth, I’ve led a completely unplanned life. I’ve continued the Gereon Rath series because it was such a pleasure to have them easily available at the library, I made the mistake of spontaneously buying a book because it sounded like something I could easily identify with, and I was inspired by my visit to the Romanisches Cafe exhibition to pick up Fabian by Erich Kästner (which was already on my bookshelves).
It’s funny how in the last few months in the UK, I was less in the mood for reading and instead watched a lot of series on Netflix, while now I’m finding it hard to pay any attention to TV series and am reading instead. However, although I’ve been reading quite voraciously, I’ve been in less of a reviewing mood. Well, maybe because I have workmen coming to the house nearly every day this week… which is not entirely conducive to writing thoughtful reviews.
Doris Knecht: Eine vollständige Liste aller Dinge, die ich vergessen habe (A Comprehensive List of All the Things I’ve Forgotten), 2023
The children move out and the narrator needs to downsize. As she sorts through the various belongings and memorabilia, she looks back on her life as a daughter, sister, mother, wife and friend. She figures out how to deal with a fresh start. I got this book because I thought I’d recognise something of myself, and also because the author is Austrian and it takes place in Vienna, but to be honest it could have taken place anywhere, there was nothing very location specific. And, while there were some moments of rueful grins and nods of recognition, overall it was pretty bland. Not for a moment am I suggesting that she needs to have suddenly started an unhinged exploration of drink, drugs, rock’n’roll or her own sexuality, as seems to be the case in recent American novels dealing with middle-aged women, but I found the narrator simply not interesting enough to sustain a whole book.
Volker Kutscher: Marlow (7) and Olympia (8) in the Gereon Rath series.
The books take place in 1935 and 1936 respectively. In the first, Rath has to fight against the gangland boss with whom he’d previously (somewhat reluctantly) worked in the past, and in the second, it’s all about murder in the Olympic Villagage during the notorious 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin. Although Rath grumbles all the time about the Nazis, he ends up working with them, while his wife Charly is dead set on working against them. You have to wonder why they don’t talk to each other a bit more, or how they can bear to remain married to each other with such opposing points of view. But once again the period details are fascinating, and I’m learning so much about the history of Berlin.
Olympia ends on a bit of cliffhanger, as Gereon is on board of the Hindeburg airship going to the US in May 1937… and we all know what happened to that! I guess I’ll have to read the next in the series soon, where I heard that Charly becomes the main protagonist…
Erich Kästner: Fabian (aka Going to the Dogs. The Story of a Moralist), 1931.
I have the old edition of the text, as it was published (shortened and censored) in the dying years of the Weimar Republic, and then was promptly banned with the rise to power of the National Socialists. I understand there is another edition that was published in the 2010s which shows the original uncensored version, which is far sharper, more extreme. But this one is plenty enough – and the author himself admitted that it’s not the book for the vice police, and that he exaggerated everything because it’s a satire.
Fabian is a copywriter who’s about to lose his job, who wanders around the streets of Berlin, goes to shady clubs and gets involved in some dubious activities and shows quite a bit of double standard even when he supposedly falls in love. It’s the depiction of an individual and a city in decline, and perhaps explains why the promise of ‘law and order and cleanliness and tidiness’ of the Nazis seemed so desirable to many Germans at the time. Berlin seems to be teetering on the brink of collapse, not only moral, but also economic and social. Once Fabian becomes unemployed, he finds it nearly impossible to sign on. Fabian and his friend Labude come across scenes of political violence in a bar room brawl, and it’s all tinged with an ominous note for us readers nowadays, since we know what followed.
Fabian is ultimately kind-hearted, if not always able to find the best way to express his empathy with other people, but he is of a lost generation, who witnessed the First World War. And, although he managed to escape death, there are scars: he’s not quite dead on the inside, but his experiences in the big city very nearly bring that about. And who can resist Kästner’s massive ‘I told you so’ in the foreword of the edition that was reissued after WW2?
There are some excellent reviews of Fabian among our book blogging community, notably Caroline, Lizzy’s Literary Life and Guy. A film version of it directed by Dominik Graf came out in 2021.
Although I’ve now ordered my bookshelves, I’m still bombarded with advertisements and Pinterest pictures for all types of home libraries. Now that it’s too late to make any changes or dream endlessly of the perfect future library, my strategy is to find fault with everything that I unearth. For example…


Everybody assures me that winter in Berlin is dreadful: cold, grey, miserable… but then I do have experience both of cold and snow (in Romania and France) and of grey and miserable (in the UK), so I should be inured to that. However, I’m still enjoying the last remaining days of autumn while I can. The autumn foliage seems to have been particularly beautiful in many places throughout the world this year, according to my friends.