(Akutagawa 2005)
The Japanese know how to write despair. The pathological self-indulgence of the desolate soul, somewhat free of the pop-psy/trauma doxa, can be adorned more easily with images collected along the character wanderings.
There was a toad smushed on the asphalt, lying on its back with both its arms raised as if in a full-body expression of joy. I walked two or three steps farther, and there was a lightly soiled white glove, its limp index finger pointing to the right. I cocked my head and took a right turn down a narrow street. A small dog that was tied up started barking at me like mad, as if it were really going to do me harm. If I could melt away into the darkness, I thought to myself, that might make me happy. I didn't know what happiness was, but I figured I might at least be at ease.
The now adult mistreated orphan doesn't want to die, rather he wishes to be earthed or maybe inearthed. The strange desire drags him from suicide attempt to suicide attempt, in between his rare nocturnal taxi rides (he is the driver).
I don't know how you can read multiple Japanese despair novels in a row without it getting you down
The feeling of kinship compensates for the despair lol As I said, it is a bit self-indulgent.