(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.
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.