This is the least interesting novel by Tanizaki. Its style is quite different from others -- I double it is solely translation issue. The story is boring to me, and the writing has no elegance and beauty as his other works.
It is said to be one of Taniaki's favorite novels, probably because it is closely related to his personal experience. But I do not appreciate it at all. A dry work with too many author's comments scattered everywhere.
Published by Alfred A. Knopf, 1955. Translated by Edward G. Seidensticker. Either a poor translation or a poor writing, or both.
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