Rika Horiuchi is an interesting character, and I envy her for landing a part-time job at the museum. Magical or not, who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by art that has existed far longer than our anxieties? Every sculpture, every chipped marble, every broken nose and missing limb… all of them carry stories older than our heartbreaks.
And that’s the first thing this book reminded me of: If paintings could speak, what would they tell us? What would Venus de Milo whisper, if she could?
She has survived centuries, yet remains stuck on a pedestal she never asked for. She’s constantly stared at, scrutinized, adored, misunderstood. Of course it’s easy to say she doesn’t feel anything because she’s marble. But if we remember Marina Abramović’s Rhythm 0, maybe statues aren’t the only ones who lose themselves under the weight of the gaze.
The yellow raincoat
The part I kept thinking about was the yellow raincoat only Rika could see. At first, I didn’t understand it, until she said it made her isolate herself. Made her speak less. Made her retreat inward. Then I remembered once again that I am reading magical realism and the raincoat is another symbolism.
And so I wondered if she had social anxiety or if she was just extremely shy. I tried to associate it with her life choices—taking Latin courses, working in a freezer, getting a museum part-time job—all point to someone who prefers the background. Someone who wants a quiet, slow, and manageable world. So maybe, it doesn’t really matter which label I give her. She appears to feel safer when hidden and that’s what matters because, haven’t we all felt that at some point?
The beautifully selfish creator
Hashibami fascinated me the most. I couldn’t decide if I liked him or wanted to throw him into the museum archives and lock the door. I hated him when he said
You want your loved one to be happy. But only if they stay within your reach. That’s normal.
I hate how true that is. Because even the kindest love has a shade of selfishness. Which brings me to the subtle agalmatophilia question. Is Hashibami in love with Venus as an object? And if so, is Rika, by extension, an amalgam of girl-and-statue love since she also fell in love with Venus?
The kid neighbor
Tohma was a statement character too. I am lowkey thinking maybe I am gonna be traumatized again with child abuse, just like The Wizard’s Bakery (will review this soon, too) did to me, but it thankfully, there wasn’t anything like that but who knows what happens inside his home, right?
Anyway, he’s the living proof that children really do see what adults pretend not to. He’s the only one who could see Rika’s invisible raincoat. He could see Seriko’s (their landlady) earmuffs, (the old lady is deaf) and the other next door neighbor being a sea lion.
My emotional aftertaste
When The Museum is Closed has a quiet strangeness to it. Soft loneliness too, the kind I always feel whenever I read cozy Japanese lit. And a pang of longing to escape my own life for a day and hide inside a museum. Emi Yagi writes about isolation the way others write about love. Delicately, intimately, almost tender. And the magical realism isn’t meant to be understood logically. It’s meant to be felt.
And I felt it.
