Book Review: Tokyo Ueno Station

Yu Miri’s Tokyo Ueno Station is a sobering counterpoint to the idyllic vision of Japan we often see presented in the media. Through the eyes of Kazu, a ghost haunting Ueno Park after a life of hardship and homelessness, the novel presents the stark realities of capitalism’s human cost. It reminds us of the struggles of those pushed to society’s margins, and whose existence is often erased in favor of progress and a perception of societal stability.

At its heart, Tokyo Ueno Station is a meditation on the unfairness of poverty. The novel highlights how capitalism turns poverty into a ‘sin’—a moral failing rather than a systemic issue. Kazu’s reflection:

“I thought what a thing of sin poverty was, that there could be nothing more sinful than forcing a small child to lie”

encapsulates the deep injustice of a world that blames the poor for their suffering rather than the structures that perpetuate it. This sentiment resonated with me deeply living in San Francisco for almost 6 years now, where homelessness and the fentanyl crisis are at the forefront of everyday life. It’s disturbingly easy to avert our gaze, to forget that each homeless person has a story, a tragedy that led them to their current situation. Miri’s novel forces us to confront this forgetting, to recognize the humanity in those whom society has cast aside.

The book also critiques Japan’s ideological constructs, particularly kokutai (国体) — the idea of the nation as a unified body, with the emperor as its head and all citizens tied to a common fate. Kazu’s life stands as a testament to the falsity of this notion. Far from being an interconnected system of mutual prosperity, Japan’s national body is riddled with arbitrary disparity and parasitic inequality. His life eerily parallels that of Emperor Akihito, both being born in the same year, yet their fates could not have been more different. While the emperor lived a life of privilege and protection, Kazu endured relentless hardship and displacement. This stark contrast showcases the failure of kokutai, revealing how the ideology masks deep-seated social inequalities rather than uniting the people under a shared destiny. The reality of life for folks like Kazu is that this supposed unity is merely a fantasy— one that conceals the exploitation and suffering that keeps the system running. Tragically though, Kazu can only make sense of his misfortune through the same ideology that has failed him, grasping at sentiments of connection even as he drifts further into oblivion.

Miri’s novel is both poetic and devastating, a work that lingers long after the final page. It is a call to see—to truly see—those whom society has deemed invisible. Tokyo Ueno Station forces its readers to confront the brutalities of capitalism and the structures that sustain inequality, while reminding us that every person, no matter how lost, carries a story worth remembering.