Sounds Too Dystopian? It's the Reality in Japan!

A few weeks ago, I read a nonfiction book titled People Who Can No Longer Read (本を読めなくなった人たち), authored by Toyoshi Inada. It documents how reading has become much less common among Japanese people in recent years and discusses the reasons behind its decline, as well as the effects it’s had on people’s vocabulary and how they acquire knowledge and information necessary to survive in this era. I read it with great interest and found it extremely thought-provoking.

According to the latest statistics, more than 60 percent of the Japanese population aged 16 and above read fewer than one book per month. Moreover, a vast majority do not read magazines or newspapers and rely solely on free Internet sources such as YouTube and X for news and information.

Inada argues that the advent of the smartphone in the late aughts and the attendant ascendance of social media has led to a gradual change in the way people acquire knowledge and information. Nowadays, it’s no longer common for young people to visit websites affiliated with traditional news media such as newspapers or television stations to get the latest news; instead, they find out what’s going on in the world through Line News and X’s Trending section—two of Japan’s most popular social media outlets. 

Young people rarely have newspaper subscriptions and, rather than proactively searching for specific news topics, they passively consume whatever headlines appear on their phones as determined by the algorithm of their preferred social media. Although many of these pop-up headlines come with a web link to the relevant article, most of them can’t even be bothered to click to read it, leaving them only superficially aware of what’s happening around the world—and they repeat the same process day after day.

As a result of consuming only bite-sized pieces of text on their smartphones, most young and middle-aged people have lost their ability or patience to understand lengthy articles in Japanese, causing them to stay away from books in favor of videos and podcasts. These days, if they want to get a good understanding of a certain subject, they won’t pick up a book to read; instead, they will find relevant YouTube videos and watch them at double speed.

Moreover, not reading books has led to a substantial diminution of their vocabulary, leaving them incapable of understanding words that are only slightly advanced or profound. When you come across in a book too many words you don’t know, you will no doubt be frustrated and eventually give up reading it altogether, creating a vicious circle in which people will gradually lose their only effective means to access knowledge and wisdom.

Inada also argues that one of the reasons Japanese people read less than before is that Japan has become considerably poorer compared to its economic heyday in the mid 1990s, when its GDP per capita was roughly on a par with that of the U.S. Fast-forward to 2026, the Americans are two and a half times as rich as the Japanese. People used to be able to buy books without worrying about their price tags, but it’s no longer the case now—books have become luxury items that can only be afforded by rich people.

The phenomena described in this book might sound too dystopian to some people, but I am convinced that they are indeed taking place in Japan. During my recent visit to my hometown, I was dismayed to find that one of my favorite neighborhood bookstores had substantially shrunk in size due to poor business. I also noticed that whenever I got on a commuter train or sat down at a Starbucks for coffee, more often than not I was the only person reading a book—most of the others were either looking at their smartphones or tapping away on their laptops.

All this makes me sad, but at the same time I feel fortunate to be still fond of reading in this age of smartphones and artificial intelligence, and be able to afford most books. This is a privilege I should never take for granted. There is nothing much I can do to reverse this deplorable trend in Japan, but the least I can do is help Japan’s struggling publishing industry and bookstores by purchasing books and enjoying them to my heart’s content whenever I travel there.

Should I Go for Original or Translation?

Yesterday evening, I went to the Lido Theatre in the Orchard area to watch the latest Hong Kong movie Night King (夜王) starring Dayo Wong and Sammi Cheng. I was expecting to watch the original Cantonese version but it turned out to be the dubbed version in Mandarin. At first, I was a bit disappointed, but as I watched on I found myself enjoying the film, so it was worth my while after all. 

It is often said that movies are best enjoyed in the original sound rather than dubbed. I myself subscribed to that idea for a long time, not only for films, but also for books. For this reason, I was reluctant to buy translated books if the original was written in a language I understood—either Japanese, English, Chinese, or French. 

However, my view gradually began to change around 2008, when I encountered in a Singaporean bookstore a comic book titled Le Journal de mon père, the French translated version of the late Japanese manga artist Jiro Taniguchi’s masterpiece Chichi no Koyomi (父の暦). I bought it to study French, but as I progressed through the pages I became so engrossed in the story that I no longer cared what language it was in. 

As I found out later, Japanese manga is quite popular in France, and numerous comic books have been translated into French. Jiro Taniguchi—whose drawing style was heavily influenced by French bande dessinée—is particularly well known among Francophone readers. There is a robust demand for Japanese-French translation, and the market mechanism based on competition all but assures the quality of the final product.

When I first read Le Journal de mon père, I was impressed by the smoothness and fluidity of its French translation. Inevitably, some of the original nuances in Japanese might have been lost, but the result was not necessarily inferior to the original version.

I believe that, as long as the translator is skillful enough, the content will not be watered down, although it will take on a slightly different flavor when presented in another language. Whether this new flavor is likable or not is all subjective—it’s up to each reader’s taste and preference. In some instances, translated versions might even be clearer and easier to digest, having gone through an extra layer of processing and refinement in the head of the translator.

Since I’m no longer obsessed with enjoying books, movies, or shows in their original versions, sometimes I opt for translated versions as the fancy takes me.

For example, over the years I’ve read the English and French translations of a few novels by Haruki Murakami, and the French and Chinese translations of Jiro Taniguchi’s comic books, savoring the distinct flavor of each of these languages. As for nonfiction books—including those originally written in English—I prefer to read most of them in Japanese for a better level of comprehension and a faster reading speed.

In addition, I occasionally watch Japanese movies and shows dubbed into English, for learning new words and expressions and enjoying the sound of this language, while still managing to catch up on the subtleties of the dialogue and understand the societal and cultural background behind the story line. Netflix has numerous Japanese productions that are dubbed into English, and I find their dubbing quality to be quite decent.

Returning to the topic of Hong Kong movies like the one I watched yesterday, it used to be that they were all dubbed into Mandarin when shown here in Singapore, due to the government’s linguistic policy promoting the use of Mandarin over dialects, such as Cantonese and Hokkien. 

However, in recent years, the government has loosened this policy, resulting in some films being shown in Cantonese. I wouldn’t mind watching them in either language, since I like both Mandarin and Cantonese. That said, I’d prefer it if there were more options going forward, rather than having just one version forced onto the general public.

I’m looking forward to catching another Hong Kong movie soon—I’ll check the movie listings more carefully next time to make sure it’s shown in the language of my choice.