More than seven decades after they were first released, the dark novels of Osamu Dazai have become a publishing sensation, as a new generation of readers engage with his bleakness, humour and brilliance
Osamu Dazai│Photo by Tadahiko Hayashi
There’s something eerie about reading Osamu Dazai today. Not because of his death, though drowning in a canal with your lover does linger. Not because of his depression, though it claws through every line. But because Dazai, dead since 1948, feels like he’s writing from inside your head. Even now.
From cover design to shelf placement and influencer partnerships … how publishers will persuade you to buy their books this autumn
Think about the last book you bought. How did you choose it? Was it from a recommendation, a review, a TikTok video? Did the cover grab you, were you swayed by the quotes on the front, or did you just happen to spot it on an appealing table as you walked into the shop? Did you think about all the nudges that led you to that decision – by the publisher, the bookseller or that person you follow on Insta?
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| A sense of the ridiculous and the serious … Pirkko Saisio. |
Translated fiction roundup
Review
The Red Book of Farewells by Pirkko Saisio; Short Circuit by Wolf Haas; Cosmos by Lucia Odoom; The Fallen Trees Are Also the Forest by Alejandra Kamiya
John Self
Friday 21 Augusto 2026
The Red Book of Farewells by Pirkko Saisio, translated by Mia Spangenberg, Penguin International Writers (£14.99)
Following Lowest Common Denominator and Backlight, this book completes Finnish author Saisio’s autofictional trilogy. It covers her young adulthood in the 1970s, where she comes out as lesbian (“The electricity doesn’t go out. The Richter scale remains still”) and falls in love. One of her lovers, Havva, is a communist who’s engaged to a man; she relies on his rich parents for funding, but pees in their private pool as a protest. Later, Saisio is voted vice-president of a political drama company, as “she has the skills to bring about the revolution, specifically via theatre” – despite half-baked productions such as the “napalm opera” Vietnam-a-Go-Go. As that suggests, this is a story with a sense of both the ridiculous and the serious. Told in clear prose, it playfully shifts between third and first person as Saisio recounts her memories then analyses them. This enchanting series deserves to become a modern classic.
The “grand old troublemaker of Finnish fiction”, Pirkko Saisio, answers HLA’s questions.
Your most recent book Prevarications is a mix of many various genres: fiction and metafiction, essay, memoirs, theatre, polemic… It is quite personal, too – the word “confessions” is right there in the title for a reason. Doesn’t it feel rather dangerous to play with the boundaries of autofiction, to write so intimately?
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| Mieko Kawakami Photo by REIKO TOYAMA |
Sisters in Yellow by Mieko Kawakami; All Flesh by Ananda Devi; The White Desert by Luis López Carrasco; The Home of the Drowned by Elin Anna Labba
An enduring influence … Yayoi Kusama as a young woman.
The pioneering Japanese artist talked openly about how her mental health and neurodivergence informed her creativity, paving the way for the likes of Turner prize winner Nnena Kalu
Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett
Thrusday 27 August 2026
Yayoi Kusama – who has died at the age of 97 – was 10 when she first started experiencing vivid hallucinations consisting of visual and aural disturbances, which she described as “flashes of light, auras, or dense fields of dots”. A drawing from 1939, of a woman in a kimono assumed to be her mother, shows her obliterated by those dots; they would become Kusama’s artistic obsession. She hallucinated flowers, too. “I was looking at the red flower patterns of the tablecloth on a table, and when I looked up I saw the same pattern covering the ceiling, the windows and the walls, and finally all over the room, my body and the universe”, she once said, when asked about that recurring motif. “I felt as if I had begun to self-obliterate, to revolve in the infinity of endless time and the absoluteness of space, and be reduced to nothingness.”
With dots that dizzied the viewer, the giddy sensory overload of seeing the grandest installations of her octopuses and giant pumpkins was hard to resist
Jonathan JonesIonce had an argument about Yayoi Kusama with Peter Gabriel. Not in person – I’ve never met the prog rock hero. But after I recorded some critical comments on her work for the BBC, I watched the segment only to see Gabriel passionately defending her. My onscreen cynicism seemed harsh indeed compared with his soulful appreciation of all those dots.
My scepticism about Kusama started the first time I saw her work at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The context is significant because after a big dose of Jackson Pollock’s looping, tangled forests of colour and line (colour as line), Piet Mondrian’s pulsing Broadway Boogie Woogie and other great abstract art, Kusama’s dots appeared to me static, planned, predictable. I wasn’t excited or moved.
Artist known for her dazzling polka-dotted paintings and infinity mirror room installations
Christopher MastersThe Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, who has died aged 97, created an exhilarating oeuvre of polka-dotted paintings, stuffed cloth phalloi and provocative happenings, films and installations, as well as a curate’s egg of novels and poetry. Kusama’s autobiography, Infinity Net (2002), relates her work directly to the obsessions and neuroses from which she suffered throughout her life: “From my very earliest memories, I have felt imprisoned by the walls of my eyes and ears and heart, upon which have been emblazoned all manner of things – nature, the universe, people and blood and flowers…. The only way for me to elude these furtive appearances is to recreate them visually with paint, pen or pencil in an attempt to decipher what they are.”
The experience of losing loved ones is a universal aspect of life that we all confront. Whether it's family, friends, or acquaintances, the grief that accompanies death is something we all share. In my culture, the sorrow associated with death is profound, as we often view it as the end of existence, resulting in a cycle of tears and mourning. This perspective can create a heavy atmosphere that lingers long after a loved one has passed.
In this dreamlike and hectic world, so overwhelmed by the incessant rhythm of the internet and the compulsive fascination of social media, we are ubiquitously exposed to an entire collection of bad influences that seep into our existence. However, in the midst of the chaos of this world, I stumbled upon an oasis of positive energy while scrolling randomly through Instagram. There, I discovered a great artist, Tanya Gomelskaya, whose artistic vision transcends all the traditional boundaries with her mesmerizing three-dimensional paintings. Not only is her art perception-stimulating, but it also transports viewers to a realm of a kaleidoscope of creativity and inspiration. I was attracted to her work immediately and have been a fan ever since.
I would like to discuss the renowned Hungarian painter Mihály Munkácsy, whose influence permeates the lives of many Hungarians. Munkácsy, known for his remarkable talent and the profound emotional depth in his artworks, has left an indelible mark on Hungarian culture. His paintings often depicted scenes of everyday life and historical moments, resonating with the experiences of ordinary people and moving them with their emotional depth.
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| Rebecca Perry Photo by Ross Jones |
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The poet and novelist on the power of fairytales, being inspired by Frank O’Hara and the joys of Doris Lessing
Rebecca Perry
Friday 14 August 2026
Ahead of our Poetry Prize, which closes 30th June, we spoke to judge Rebecca Perry about prizes, publication and what she’ll be looking for from this year’s entries.
Rebecca, It’s lovely to have you as a judge, particularly as your 2012 pamphlet little armoured was published by Seren after winning the Poetry Wales Purple Moose Poetry Prize. What was your reaction to winning the Prize and how did it help you in your development as a poet?
