Love Unseen Beneath the Clear Night Sky

Read the novel (and follow up) first! Don’t look at the genre tags, don’t read the synopsis, the less you know the better. You won’t regret it.

I recently read the novel Love Unseen Beneath the Clear Night Sky and its follow up Love Unseen Beneath the Radiant Night Sky, by the author Nanigashi Shima. The novels follow the story of a blind girl and her struggles to live a normal life. I went into this novel completely unaware of anything, not even knowing the genre tags, with a vague idea of ‘it’ll be a standard romance, but with the twist…’ The first novel was completely opposite to my expectations; it’s unequivocally a tragedy, yet simultaneously a story of incredible hope and perseverance, and I’m really happy I went into this blind as the twists–and–turns really took me on an emotional rollercoaster I was wholly unprepared for.

Going into this novel blind, I expected a nice romance novel where two characters meet, grow closer, and eventually fall in love. The first quarter of the novel had me fooled into thinking this was going to be the case, but soon the novel took a much darker turn in the form of recalling the past struggles of the blind girl. Even though this is fiction, the descriptions of things she endured really made my heart ache; I really struggled to imagine myself in her position and how awful it would be. I still didn’t think the novel was going to end in anything but a happy ending though. It wasn’t until three quarters of the way through, when the girl was hospitalised with cancer, that I started to genuinely consider the possibility that this novel will end in a tragedy. And yet, the author really created the impression of her condition improving, and gave hope that everything will work out in the end. In my mind, I was already categorising this novel as one that shows that with enough perseverance people can overcome even the hardest struggles. Yet in the final chapter of the story, after a moving scene where the two re-affirm their love for one another in spite of an uncertain future, the author writes the following two final sentences: Fuyutsuki’s cancer came back over and over again, and she fought it every time. Eventually, though, the wretched illness snatched her life away from me. ¹ And in the blink of an eye, the hope that had been built up over the last hundreds of pages blew away with the wind, and tears began to flow as I realised the story is a tragedy.

In great contrast to the first novel, the follow up was much more inspiring. Maybe because the first novel already unveiled the tragic ending, the second one felt much more like a celebration of what the characters achieved in the short lives they had. It was easy to forget the ending and instead enjoy the interactions between two individuals struggling a great deal to make the best of what they have, yet nonetheless persevering. The final forward–flashbacks presented scenes of pure joy, happiness, and content; the positive nature really aided in lessening the blow of the inevitable tragic ending.

I am really grateful that I could enjoy this work without knowing anything up-front. The fact that I didn’t know it was going to end in a tragedy until the very end of the first novel really messed with my emotions as I read the book. The author did a great job at creating hope, and pulling back on it, creating it again, and making you really feel unsure. I am also really grateful of the emotions the novels invoked in me; it has been a long time since I cried reading a book. And as for the contents of the story itself, the struggles described by the author of someone trying to live a normal life blind are immense. Repeatedly I would read a section detailing some tribulations and think to myself, ‘there is no way I could ever do this, no way I would ever be this strong, no way I could be this happy in the face of something so awful and debilitating.’ Obviously I’m not stupid and I know well that life is unfair, and that some people really suffer so much. It’s a topic that brings out extremely unpleasant emotions. It’s a topic that is really convenient to ignore and easy to forget amongst daily life. That is why I always greatly appreciate when a book forces me to approach these themes head-on. I also appreciate when a book forces me to approach the topic of death. In the case of our character, the fact that she lived to 50 with the conditions she had is a miracle. I think I would be sad to only live to 50. But more so, I think I’m not really scared of death itself that much, rather the thought of its impendance. The idea of being given a death sentence from a doctor and knowing that you will die in 6 months/a year/2 years time seems so incredibly suffocating and debilitating. I really hope, whenever my death will be, it will at least be quick and out–of–nowhere.

The tragic and hopeful nature of the novels really turned me into an emotional wreck, which was unsurprising, but what I was surprised by, upon finishing the first novel and taking a breather and starting to reflect over what I just had read, was that the novel really began to resonate with me on a very personal level. I’m not blind, and I cannot stress how grateful I am for that, but I am chronically ill since birth with eczema. In comparison though, I might as well be 100% perfectly healthy, and not even just against blindness; there are so so many illnesses and conditions I could have that would be immeasurably worse than what I do have. And I don’t have to look far; many people I personally know have conditions I would absolutely never in a million years want to trade eczema for. Eczema imposes on me some minor things I have to remember to do, and makes a few things slightly less comfortable, and is a little bit annoying, and hurts a little bit, but ultimately it doesn’t limit my life in the slightest; I can even submerge my skin in water and go swimming for extended periods of time with zero issue. So from a rational standpoint I have absolutely nothing to complain about, and truthfully, I not only think this but feel this too. I really am genuinely grateful to the random dice rolls of life that *this* is the worst I have to deal with.

But, nonetheless, the following excerpt from the novel really got to me: Why was I the only one who had to endure so much suffering? ² And it’s stupid I know, I have basically no suffering and nothing to complain about. But even still, managing a chronic illness is so fucking tiring. Even if it barely hurts, not a single fucking day goes by in my life where I don’t have to think about it; where I don’t have to moisturise the skin on my hands 20 times a day because my stupid body can’t fucking do it itself; where I don’t have to monitor medicine levels so that I don’t run out; where I don’t have to inspect my skin and worry whether I’m going to get a flareup tomorrow; not a single day. And even though it doesn’t limit my ability to do things, it sure makes me think and plan so much that I otherwise wouldn’t need to. I can’t just wash my hands willy-nilly since washing them dries out my skin, and that makes it more likely for wounds to open, and I have to moisturise them after each time. So I have to combine water–related activities; for instance, first I get my hands wet washing a plate, then immediately go to the toilet, wash my hands thoroughly after, and apply the moisturiser once at the end. I have to make these little plans all day, every day, to avoid drying out my skin too much. Or how I sometimes get a flareup on a patch of skin on the bottom of my thigh, which is incredibly annoying; since when I sit down that area of skin makes contact with the seat and takes the weight of my upper body, which makes it take forever to heal, yet even a slight scratch sets back the healing process by a week. Whenever this flares up, all I can think of is: ‘Why now? Why now? Why do I have to fucking deal with this right now?’ But maybe the worst part of all is the lack of control I have over my own body. I know scratching is bad, yet my body moves my hand on its own anyway, even when I am conscious. I’ve recently started to have to tie my hand with a rope to the monitor stand, to limit where I can reach. Because otherwise I’ll be engrossed doing something on the computer, and the next moment my hand is scratching my thigh and re-opening a wound, and all I can think of is ‘What the fuck am I doing, when did I even reach down there???’ There are times throughout the year when I have to wear dementia gloves going to bed, to limit the mobility of my hands and reduce how much damage scratching can cause, because my unconscious brain could solve the most complex physics problems known to man if it meant it could scratch an itch away, the fucking stupid bastard. It feels like I’m fighting myself and loosing, and it’s just so incredibly demoralising, knowing that even if I think something and am consciously aware of it, my own body will betray me. It’s really so fucking tiring.

Writing the above out really helped to get the frustration out of my system, and ultimately, again, I am grateful that this is the worst my genetics have ‘blessed’ me with. I’m not sure what conclusion I can really make, but here are some parting thoughts — Life really is an unfair bitch, it can colossally suck, it can get worse out of nowhere, and there is no rhyme nor reason why some suffer greatly and some do not. The human body is a pile of shit and sucks donkey balls, its strong on the outside and can take a beating yet internally it’s a little princess that will throw a hissy fit at the slightest issue it makes up, and it won’t even tell you what the problem is. And any day you wake up and are generally healthy and can do the things you want to do, and even on those days where you can’t, is a day to be grateful. Being grateful when it feels like life is conspiring against you is far from easy, and I make no illusion that I struggle with it too. But I genuinely believe that trying to do so, and internalising this mindset, makes it much easier to deal with the bullshit that comes our way. And when trying to feel genuine gratuity fails, you can always fall back on the tried–and–tested method of ‘well, it could be worse, I could also have x/y/z right now…’, which maybe feels like a cop-out but it still does help, even if only a little bit.