Strange Weather in Tokyo is a short novel, one that can be read quickly. Yet within its brief length, it holds a relationship dynamic that is often debated, analysed, and judged from a distance.
Age differences in romantic relationships tend to divide opinion. The discomfort sharpens when the older partner is a woman, and the younger one is a man, exposing how unevenly society applies its standards. In Strange Weather in Tokyo, Hiromi Kawakami centres a relationship between a 70-year-old man and a 37-year-old woman. The age gap is ever-present, shaping how the relationship is judged.
In this slow, structured novel set in Tokyo, we follow two main characters: Tsukiko, a 37-year-old woman, and a man who once taught her in high school. She meets him again after many years at a local bar where they are both drinking alone. Having forgotten his name, she settles on calling him “Sensei” throughout the novel.
From their first interaction, Tsukiko realises that they share similar tastes in food and drink. She also notices how at ease she feels in his presence, even in moments of silence, as they eat and drink side by side at the bar.
“Despite the more than thirty years’ difference in our ages, I felt much more familiar with him than with friends my own age.”
But then again, they say age is just a number. Being a certain age does not necessarily mean that you experience yourself as an adult. Tsukiko does not consider herself one. Internally, she moves through life on her own timeline, doing what brings her contentment, even as she remains aware of the pressure to live up to expectations.
At 37, marriage is a question one cannot escape. When you do not move with the programme, there is an assumption that something must be wrong with you, as though choosing your own pace is a failure rather than a decision.
“At this point, it wasn’t about them telling me I ought to get married or quit my job. I had long ago gotten used to that particular kind of uneasiness.”
Tsukiko’s loneliness appears in routine: eating alone, moving through the city alone, drinking alone. What she seems to want is not rescue, but recognition, someone to share the ordinary weight of her days.
Loneliness sits with both Tsukiko and Sensei. Sensei has lost his wife, and his son lives far away. Tsukiko has also been alone for longer than she admits. Slowly, they form a friendship through shared drinks at the same bar and occasional outings elsewhere. Kawakami lets the relationship unfold at its own pace, shaped by difference, yet held together by companionship.
“When I tried to think whom I spent time with before I became friends with Sensei, no one came to mind. I had been alone. I rode the bus alone, I walked around the city alone, I did my shopping alone and drank alone.”
What I appreciate about Strange Weather in Tokyo is Kawakami’s refusal to turn the relationship into a moral lecture. Instead, she lets a young, drunk man at the bar voice the questions society typically asks of such dynamics. She does not ask readers to approve, nor does she insist that we recoil. The result is a more uncomfortable position: observing without instruction, noticing how tenderness and imbalance can coexist.
In doing so, the novel challenges the simplicity of the moral double standard that exists in our societies. It suggests that relationships, much like loneliness, do not always arrive in neat or socially acceptable forms.
This is a love story. But there is no rush toward romance, no grand declaration of feeling. Instead, desire appears in patterns. Meeting again at the same bar, sharing meals, travelling together, and choosing each other’s company at the end of the day. What attracts Tsukiko to Sensei is not passion, but recognition. Being seen, listened to, and considered becomes its own form of intimacy.
This portrayal of desire challenges the expectation that attraction must be visibly romantic to be real. Kawakami presents desire as something that can grow out of familiarity and companionship, shaped by habit as much as by feeling.
“So, with no choice, I found myself sitting there with Sensei, writing poetry. How did this come about? It was already past two o’clock in the morning.”
Strange Weather in Tokyo is a short novel, one that can be read quickly. Yet within its brief length, it holds a relationship dynamic that is often debated, analysed, and judged from a distance. Kawakami does not attempt to resolve that debate. Instead, she returns us to something simpler and more personal.
The novel suggests that love is not always about meeting expectations or fitting into approved narratives. Sometimes, it is about finding a form of companionship that feels right to you. A love that offers ease, recognition, and a sense of belonging. A love that feels like home.
Jane Shussa is a digital communication specialist with a love for books, coffee, nature, and travel. She can be reached at [email protected].
