The Phone Box at the Edge of the World: The most moving, unforgettable book you will read, inspired by true events

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A poignant, atmospheric novel dealing with love, coming to terms with loss and the restoration of one's self' - Daily Mail Yui developed her own theory: that for some people, life started loosening their joints when they were still in the cradle, and they had to work hard to hold the pieces together. She imagined those people juggling a bundle of limbs, ears, feet, and kidneys in their arms, like parts of the game Operation. But then, at some point, something would slot into place: they'd fall in love, start a family, get a well-paid job, a nice career, and they would begin to feel more stable. The truth was, though, they were just giving out parts of themselves to relatives and trusted friends; they were learning that it was normal not to be able to cope on your own, and that asking people for help was the only way forward if there were other things they wanted to do with their lives. They had to depend on others. In the month following the tsunami, she had lived on a six-and-a-half-by-ten-foot sheet of canvas in an elementary-school gymnasium with 120 other people. And yet she would never again feel as lonely as she had in that place. Mesmerising . . . beautiful . . . a joy to read' - Joanna Glen, Costa shortlisted author of The Other Half of Augusta Hope

Spare and poetic, this beautiful book is both a small, quiet love story and a vast expansive meditation on grieving and loss' - HeatWritten in Italian and published as Quel che affidiamo al vento, the English translation was done by Lucy Rand. Rand’s translation is fluent and seamless; she captures the lyricism and meditative quality of the writing with care, a feat made more impressive given that there’s also a distinct Japanese sensibility (the author has been living in Japan for the past 15 years).

Bonnier Books UK has announced a novel inspired by the true story of Japan's2011 tsunami for its new literary imprint, Manilla Press. Depending on what you were told at the information center, you belonged to one of two groups: those who knew and those who were waiting. Sometimes people would go on to another shelter, where they'd find the people they had been waiting for waiting for them.Whenever I read a translation, I am always blown away by the beauty of the words and how they transcend the translation to bring us that beauty in both the language it was written in and the one I am reading it in. This book in particular had so many stunning passages, that despite my overall indifference to its plot, I couldn’t help but fall in love with the writing. When I speak of my indifference, what I mean is that I think it’s a powerful story with many interesting explorations of grief, the meaning of family, and belonging, but I don’t think it was quite grounded enough for me. The beautiful writing coupled with the split narrative (which switched between Yui’s story and various other digressions such as lists relating to her daughter or quotes from the bible) meant that the whole thing was a bit messy for me, and didn’t include enough solid plot to keep me interested.

She scrutinized the water intensely; she hadn't looked at anything else for weeks. She was convinced that in there she would find the answer. Between chapters that follow Yui’s story and the experiences of other grieving people who visit the phone booth, author Laura Imai Messina intersperses bite-size sections that are almost like poems. They have titles such as “Parts of Yui’s Body She Entrusted to Others Over the Years” and “Two Things Yui Discovered After Googling ‘Hug’ the Next Day.” These snippets are lovely breathers, a chance for the reader to marvel at the tiny details that make up a life. Then, one day she hears about a man who has an old disused telephone booth in his garden. There, those who have lost loved ones find the strength to speak to them and begin to come to terms with their grief. As news of the phone booth spreads, people travel to it from miles around.

What we have to say to them is equally as varied. There is love – of course, there is love and there is longing, but there is anger, there is bafflement, there is hope, there is prayer, there are all the ordinary everyday things that we will never get to tell them again. Yui in uno dei suoi tanti viaggi verso il telefono del vento incontra Taseki, che aveva perso la moglie. E così, “il momento in cui si incontravano iniziò ad apparire a entrambi non come il raccogliersi di due sconosciuti in un punto del mondo per poi raggiungerne un altro, bensì come un ritorno. Era lui che tornava a lei. Era lei che tornava a lui.” On her way, she meets Takeshi, who still has a daughter and a mother, but is mourning a wife lost to cancer. His daughter hasn't spoken since her mother was taken from her. Writing about these immediately after the tragedy felt wrong, like taking advantage. I waited, looking for the right story to tell,” she said. “I wanted to write about mourning, but also the relief and joy of survival, the feeling that we have to entrust parts of ourselves to the people we love and the courage we need to let those closest to us go. I wanted the story I told to be full of lightness and love ... I believe this story is for those who want to witness the transformation from before to after, for those who do not want their lives brought to a halt by the terrible things that happen to us, but want to keep opening themselves up to life’s opportunities.”