Dreamy Japanese post-apocalyptic SF, more Takeshi Kitano than Akira.

An old writer takes care of his great-grandson. He looks at the world changing, complains about foreign words getting banned and the absence of fruits. Mostly, he worries about the weak child his grandson gave up. Something or many things happened, and now the world is dying. Old people enter easily into their hundred, while the youngest are all sick and androgynous, poisoned by the ruined environment.

It feels like another read on the usual generational conflict story: two whole generations are missing between the ggrand-father and his ggrandson, and the gap is then common. I do wonder if some sort of blame is placed there, or maybe just a question mark.

The missing pieces complicate transmission, and the old writer wonders what he should teach the boy: what would be useful to him? Japan closed its frontiers again, the world gets smaller and smaller, and the state tries and models a society able to withstand this new world with obscure legislation and new holidays. Of course, there are some rebels and some alternatives, but mostly, this (very) short book tells the story of an old man's angst and hope contemplating his ill-equipped offspring.