This post has absolutely nothing to do with Fukushima at all. It’s related to writing, and it’s funny so I wanted to share it with you.

Last night I was asleep in bed. Husband stays up later usually and watches TV. So last night he came in and lay down and said, “Kazuo Ishiguro won the Nobel Prize. He’s that writer you like? You’ve read his books?”

I started thinking of all the Japanese writers that I had read. Haruki Murakami? Kenzaburo Oe? No. No.

I have not really read all that many Japanese books in translation, so I was completely confused as to whom my husband was referring.  (With a name like Kazuo, of course he writes in Japanese???!!!!???)

But then my husband said, “He moved to England when he was young.”

Oh! Then I remembered!

Kazuo Ishiguro writes books in English, having grown up in the United Kingdom. So I think of him as an English author. My favorite book of his is “Remains of the Day” about a British butler.

But hearing his name while I was half-asleep really threw me off.  Ishiguro??? Gotta be Japanese!