I didn't want to read this book. I picked it up thinking that my mother, who taught in Japan for several years, might enjoy it. But she'd read it and recommended it to me heartily.
Now I wasn't in any great rush to read it for a couple of other reasons. One of which was that I thought I had attended university with Will and that he was an asshole. Well, not necessarily an asshole, he was quite likeable in fact, it's just that he published before me and while it's probably drivel possibly it's not and that makes him an asshole.
So I did a bit of research and, lo and behold, I didn't go to university with Will Ferguson. A few "Will's", a few "Ferguson's", that was probably where I got confused. It doesn't lessen the fact that he's still an asshole.
I began the book, perfectly prepared to hate the guy and write it off. Looking, in fact, for any reason to dislike it. But, oddly enough, there weren't any. Or not too many. It's actually a perfect travel book. By perfect I mean he meets a variety of characters, there's some humour and poetry, he has some small adventures and fills us in with the history, geography and culture of the places he visits. And his assessments aren't far off of my own (if anything they're probably better, having done research and all). But I won't hold that against him.
It was a good book. Actually, it was a great book, but I wouldn't say that 'cause I hate the guy. I'd give it a full bento box, with extra salmon and octupus and several extra pieces of that delicious fried tofu.