by Nicole Yurcaba
Lanternfish Press is one of those publishers with whom I’m always glad to have made an acquaintance. My literary love affair with their publications began quite a few years ago when I first read Vikram Paralkar’s The Afflictions, and since then I have read and reviewed quite a few of their titles. Therefore, when I picked up Mina Ikemoto Ghosh’s Numamushi from the TBR stack on New Year’s Day evening, I was not surprised that, upon finishing the book, it was past my bedtime. Numamushi is a short, gripping read, a fairy tale with a few horrific delights, and most importantly, a heedful exploration of humanity and what it means to find that within one’s self.
Numamushi, burned by napalm as an infant, was adopted by the guardian spirit (whom Numamushi refers to as Father) of the river. He spends his formative years catching frogs to eat and shedding his skin like his snake-of-a-father (in this case, that’s a compliment). Numamushi and his father’s world changes when a lonely man moves into an abandoned house, which Numamushi’s father refers to as “the dark house,” and Numamushi cannot stifle his curiosity about the new occupant. What strikes Numamushi as quite odd, yet comforting, is that the new occupant shares Numamushi’s love for eating frogs. As their relationship develops, Numamushi also discovers that Mizukiyo not only understands the river’s ways; he also carries with him the river’s, and part of Numamushi’s, secrets.
Numamushi, first and foremost, challenges stereotypical Western perceptions of the snake. While traditional Anglo-Saxon and Christian traditions espouse that the snake is an evil creature and one which must be exterminated, Japanese tradition reveres the snake as a god, a messenger of a god, or a creature that delivers a curse if a snake is harmed. In Numamushi, readers see all three of the Japanese associations at play. The guardian serpent who adopts Numamushi is a protector and an educator, as well as a philosopher. The guardian serpent is also a messenger, who delivers wisdoms by which Numamushi can live. His presence balances the human world’s intrusion on nature, which Mizukiyo’s presence at the abandoned house brings to the river. Thus, the tale transforms into a gentle warning about how humanity must coexist peacefully with nature in order for both to thrive.
What readers might also notice about Numamushi is that it is a story about the power of being able to freely make a choice. One of the most notable philosophies which the guardian snake gives Numamushi embodies the concept of carefully balancing humanity with nature. Father states, “‘To be able to choose at all is precious and rare, little marshworm. For most, the land doesn’t allow any choice but to die for having no choices at all […] I wish those dear to me life–and, for life, to have choices, always.’” Mizukiyo’s character certainly represents what happens when individuals are denied the right to choose. Numamushi observes how Mizukyo denies his “snakehood,” so to speak, pretending “his skin wasn’t shedding.” Numamushi reflects, “Why? What good would that do? It would only make Mizukiyo sick and miserable. Why would he wish to go around bundled in dead skin like a dray and prickly robe?” As the story progresses, readers see, too, how nature once more becomes a metaphor for philosophical elements pertaining to free will. Tora, Mizukyo’s friend, observes, “‘From what little I know of rivers, rivers are meant to flow. Not curl up in a spot and curdle.’” Thus, a moral observation develops–when an individual denies their identity, that denial can result in more than one death.
Numamushi also delivers another lesson–how words and actions can either be medicine or poison. References to poison and venom frequent the novel, and at one point, readers witness Numamushi’s physical poisoning after he eats a mouse which had been poisoned with warfarin. However, words–at the metaphorical level–are also portrayed as poison in the book. Mizukiyo, a lover of words, frequently reflects how humans “have their poison too” and “put it in the water of their words without knowing.” Humans possess the power to “turn those words into medicines and poisons as they need and see fit.” What Mizukiyo possesses is not only a distinctive awareness about the consequences of choices, but, as he describes, “a snake’s knowledge that it is there, in my mouth, for me to use, and a snake’s instincts to bite with it.” This philosophy carries through the book, ultimately concluding it, and this conclusion leaves readers with the knowledge about how taking the time to pause and consider one’s words can truly transform a single moment.
And, in today’s polarized world in which words matter more than anything, Numamushi might just be the fairy tale each and every one of us needs.
Nicole Yurcaba (Ukrainian: Нікола Юрцаба–Nikola Yurtsaba) is a Ukrainian (Hutsul/Lemko) American poet and essayist. Her poems and essays have appeared in The Atlanta Review, The Lindenwood Review, Whiskey Island, Raven Chronicles, West Trade Review, Appalachian Heritage, North of Oxford, and many other online and print journals. Nicole teaches poetry workshops for Southern New Hampshire University and is a guest book reviewer for Sage Cigarettes, Tupelo Quarterly, Colorado Review, and The Southern Review of Books.
