The Bookish Elf's Reviews > More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop

A Bittersweet Symphony of Books and Life
There's something magical about returning to a beloved literary world. Like reuniting with old friends, it's comforting and exciting all at once. That's exactly how I felt diving into Satoshi Yagisawa's "More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop," the sequel to his charming debut "Days at the Morisaki Bookshop." This follow-up invites us back to the cozy confines of a secondhand bookstore in Tokyo's Jimbocho district, where well-worn volumes and quirky characters await.
I'll admit, I approached this book with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Could it possibly live up to the quiet charm of its predecessor? Would it fall into the trap of rehashing old plot points? I needn't have worried. Yagisawa has crafted a sequel that feels both familiar and fresh, expanding on themes of love, loss, and the power of literature to heal and connect us.
A Bookshop's Beating Heart
We return to find Takako, our protagonist from the first book, in a much better place. No longer the heartbroken, directionless young woman seeking refuge above her uncle's shop, she's now confidently pursuing a career in design while still lending a hand at the Morisaki Bookshop. Her relationship with books has deepened, and it's a joy to see her enthusiasm for literature blossom.
But the real heart of this story belongs to Takako's aunt and uncle, Momoko and Satoru. Their reunion at the end of the previous book hinted at unresolved tensions, and Yagisawa doesn't shy away from exploring the complexities of their relationship. We learn more about their history, the reasons for their separation, and the delicate process of rebuilding trust. It's a nuanced portrayal of a long-term partnership, with all its joys and struggles.
The bookshop itself remains a character in its own right. Yagisawa's descriptions of its cramped aisles and towering shelves are so vivid you can almost smell the musty paper and feel the creak of old floorboards underfoot. The shop is more than just a setting; it's a refuge, a meeting place, and a repository of stories both on and off the page.
A Cast of Bibliophiles
One of the great pleasures of this book is its colorful cast of supporting characters. There's Sabu, the garrulous regular customer whose mysterious occupation remains a running joke. Tomo, the shy librarian with a painful past, adds depth to the story as she struggles to open her heart. And let's not forget Takano, the awkward but earnest coffee shop employee pining for Tomo's affection.
These characters, along with a host of eccentric book collectors and fellow shopkeepers, create a rich tapestry of Jimbocho life. Their interactions are by turns funny, touching, and thought-provoking. Yagisawa has a knack for revealing profound truths through seemingly mundane conversations about books and life.
I found myself particularly drawn to the "paper bag man," a silent, shabbily-dressed customer who buys expensive books despite his apparent poverty. His story, when finally revealed, is a poignant reminder not to judge others by appearances. It's these little vignettes and character studies that give the novel its heart.
Love Among the Bookshelves
Of course, no bookshop novel would be complete without a dash of romance. Takako's relationship with Wada, a fellow book lover she met in the first novel, develops in fits and starts. Their fumbling attempts at deepening their connection feel achingly real. Anyone who's ever struggled to articulate their feelings or worried about the future of a new relationship will find much to relate to here.
But it's not just young love that Yagisawa explores. The enduring bond between Satoru and Momoko forms the emotional core of the story. Their relationship, tested by time and circumstance, serves as a counterpoint to Takako and Wada's budding romance. It's a reminder that love, like a well-worn book, can become more precious with age.
The Shadow of Loss
For all its warmth and humor, "More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop" doesn't shy away from heavier themes. The specter of illness and mortality looms large in the latter half of the novel. Without giving too much away, Yagisawa handles these difficult subjects with grace and sensitivity. He shows how literature can offer solace in times of grief, and how shared love of books can forge connections that transcend even death.
There's a particularly moving scene where Takako and her uncle, overwhelmed by sorrow, find catharsis in simply crying together in the bookshop late at night. It's a raw, honest moment that felt almost too intimate to witness. Yet it's in these vulnerable moments that the characters, and the reader, find strength and healing.
A Love Letter to Literature
At its core, this novel is a celebration of the transformative power of reading. Yagisawa name-drops an impressive array of authors, from classics like Natsume Soseki to more obscure Japanese writers. Each mention feels organic to the story, often tied to a character's emotional state or a pivotal moment in their life.
I found myself jotting down titles to look up later, intrigued by the tantalizing descriptions. There's a wonderful scene where Takako and her friends search for a mythical book that may not even exist, perfectly capturing the thrill of the hunt that every bibliophile knows well.
But you don't need to be a literary scholar to appreciate this book. Yagisawa's enthusiasm for reading is infectious, and he has a gift for explaining why certain books resonate without ever sounding pretentious. It's the kind of novel that makes you want to immediately pick up another book when you finish it.
A Bittersweet Farewell
As the novel drew to a close, I found myself both satisfied and a little melancholy. Yagisawa wraps up the various plotlines with skill, offering resolution without tying everything up too neatly. There's a sense of life continuing beyond the last page, of stories still unfolding in that little corner of Jimbocho.
I closed the book feeling like I'd just spent a few pleasant hours browsing a beloved bookshop, chatting with the regulars and maybe discovering a new favorite author. It's a testament to Yagisawa's skill that he can create such a vivid, immersive world in relatively few pages.
Final Thoughts
"More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop" is that rare sequel that not only lives up to its predecessor but expands and deepens the original story in meaningful ways. It's a love letter to books, to the people who cherish them, and to the connections we forge through shared stories.
Fans of gentle, character-driven fiction will find much to enjoy here. It pairs well with other bookshop-centric novels like Gabrielle Zevin's "The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry" or Jenny Colgan's "The Bookshop on the Corner," though Yagisawa's style is distinctly Japanese in its attention to small details and moments of quiet reflection.
Is it a perfect novel? No. The pacing can be languid at times, and some readers might find the literary references overwhelming. But for those who love books about books, who believe in the power of stories to heal and connect us, "More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop" is a quiet triumph. It's the literary equivalent of a warm cup of tea on a rainy day – comforting, restorative, and deeply satisfying.
As I reluctantly say goodbye to the Morisaki Bookshop and its denizens, I can't help but hope that Yagisawa might invite us back for a third visit someday. Until then, I'll be cherishing this book and, like Takako, seeking out new literary adventures of my own.