Customer Reviews

The Year Of No Money In Tokyo

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A travelogue that affords unique insight into Japanese society, The Year of No Money in Tokyo is an interesting read. The author bares his soul, outlining the desperate measures he took to survive in a foreign land with no job and few prospects. His is courageous and refreshing in his honesty. While he doesn't paint a particularly positive picture of himself in places, the lessons he learned are relevant for anyone who finds themselves in similar circumstances today--be it in Tokyo or anywhere else. These include the price of wasted kindness, the importance of not taking yourself seriously, the error of defining success by work and possessions, the benefits of reinventing yourself, the advantages of delayed gratification, the merits of tolerance, and the value of monogamous relationships, among other things.

Aponte is a journalist and teacher who has lived in Japan for almost two decades. While his story is by no means unique or extraordinary, his stellar writing makes it memorable and worthwhile nonetheless. An example of his terrific prose: "Youth, money, and a plush apartment, in the center of Tokyo, is a dangerous combination. It was a period of work and wealth, but also one of remarkable waste. Rather than spending my leisure on exercise and hobbies, saving money and learning the language, I squandered energy, money, and my midtwenties on perfumed Japanese fantasies." This is a book that stays with the reader long after you turn the final page. Exceedingly well done!

Lawrence Kane
Author of Blinded by the Night, among other titles

Wayne Aponte contacted me about reviewing his book on my blog, tangocherie. What does this book have to do with tango, Buenos Aires, Argentina or anything that my blog is about? None of the above, but it does show what it's like to be an African-American expatriate in Japan--with no money. Being broke in Tokyo is the same as being broke in Buenos Aires or Paris. Broke is broke. And so his story has universal appeal. (A series would be kind of cool: A Year of No Money in Singapore, A Year of No Money in Istanbul, A Year of No Money in johannesburg, etc. And then could a TV show be far behind?)

When Wayne Lionel Aponte arrived in Tokyo in the early '90s, he had a job, but quit when things got tough economically in Japan. From then on he went into a limbo of living off of four different women at the same time. A very lucky man, who was able to keep them all happy, while the women provided food, shelter, money, good times and gifts. After about a year he realized how demeaning his life was and proceeded then to get a job and to pull himself back up to respectability.

Aponte, a journalist, writes well (written in the present tense) in this brief (165 pgs) memoir, it's just the unpleasant story that bothered me. He seemed to blame everybody/thing but himself for being in that position, yet after scrabbling together enough money to return home to New York, he promptly decided he didn't like it and went back to Japan. He doesn't seem to like Tokyo much either, except for the women (all of his sugar mamas were Japanese.)

Many women travelers to Buenos Aires where I live have written their memoirs about falling in love with tango and the men they dance it with--full of sexual escapades and usually way too much information. And now I see that it's the trend; why write about the history, political issues, geography, culture, art or architecture of a country, if you can go directly to the "good" parts? In Aponte's case he has even a sort of macho pride that he was able to use his body to support himself by keeping four women happy. There's more than a bit of braggadocio in his story--and never a thought of "love."

Memoirs written by "gaijin" who've lived in Japan tend to fall into two categories: the "floating world" odyssey involving varying degrees of success at getting up close and personal with the locals (mostly by male writers, with a recent infusion of bar hostesses joining in the bacchanal); or the tale of a more thoughtful anthropologist-style adventurer who tries to learn a traditional art or make a life in a remote village (mostly female, but some male). To my surprise and pleasure, Wayne Aponte's YEAR OF NO MONEY IN TOKYO was a refreshing, if sobering, departure from the usual Westerner's encounter with Japan. After resigning from a boring job selling English language courses to college students, the narrator discovers work is scarce in post-bubble Japan, and he settles in for a hungry lesson in self-knowledge that is an education to the reader as well.

From the start, Aponte shines the harsh light of reality on our culture's romantic preconceptions of the country. For example, if you thought all Japanese women were sweet and submissive, meet Mamiko, his assigned roommate in a Tokyo guesthouse, whose rude self-absorption reminded me of too many of my own English students in Japan. Or how about the poignant Kumiko, one of the narrator's mainstays during his dark months of unemployment, who is only looking for a man to take care of her, but ends up supporting first her husband who suffers a mental breakdown from overwork and then her American lover who seemed to promise what her husband could not? Kumiko's wail of disillusionment when her "savior" lover confesses he needs a loan is one of the most memorable moments of the memoir. Her subsequent generosity is all the more touching because of it. A definite highlight of the book is Aponte's portraits of his girlfriends, which give a fascinating glimpse into how various Japanese women deal with their frustrations with society's restrictions.

Aponte definitely takes you on a tour of a Tokyo few tourists see. While I've read plenty of accounts of seedy encounters in hostess bars or hazing as part of the study of Japanese pottery or Zen, this narrator actually spends time in a Japanese jail after punching an acquaintance on a subway platform. Again, the brief encounters with his cellmates provide a glimpse into a hidden world of rebellion that humanizes the supposedly robotic Japanese. Not that Aponte isn't critical of Japan's self-generated myths about its purity and safety and its particular brand of racist treatment of foreigners of color. At times you do wonder why he stayed in the country, in spite of his stated desire to turn his Japan sojourn back into a "professional success story."

Ultimately, after his jail time, he does reinvent himself and decides to return to his Harlem home for a visit. The last chapter of the book is an enlightening record of reverse culture shock. Aponte's insights into the limited views of both his middle class and underclass African-American friends highlights the hard-won benefits of his own struggles with economic disadvantage and efforts at greater tolerance. The final portion of the memoir strikes a different note with a journalist's catalog of Japanese cultural differences and list of lessons learned. However, this stylistic departure is smoothed over by the deeply personal and unflinchingly honest nature of the story as a whole.

While the more romantic depictions of a foreigner's life in Japan have their charms, if you're hankering for a taste of the real Japan, Aponte's lean memoir is just the fare to satisfy your craving.

I liked the author's writing style and appreciated his literary references and wide use of quotations from other writers, particularly African American writers. As a foreigner living in Tokyo, I could also identify with his struggle on many levels. And even when I couldn't identify with it, I could sympathize for the most part.

What the author wrote might offend some people, but I appreciated his brutal honesty in recounting his experience of poverty as an African American man struggling to make ends meet in Bubble Japan, relying on the kindness of Japanese women (mostly) and using whatever he could to survive--in many cases, sex and relationships. But none of this was unwillingly entered into by the women--the women seemed to have made their choices, too.

In my experience and understanding, when the bottom falls out, we confront who we really are and what we are really made of, and it's an opportunity for our deepest virtues and qualities to emerge. Granted, it's more difficult to live an ethical life when you're worried about where your next meal will come from, but that's the ultimate test of our mettle. When I was reading this book I couldn't help think of the ancient Tibetan text by Je Tsong Kapa, from the fourteenth century, called the Lamtso Namsum, or "Steps on the Path."

The first step is renunciation. This doesn't mean, necessarily, giving up all worldy goods and moving to a cave in the Himalayas. It means, basically, to stop thinking that worldly things will bring you happiness. (Including Things, Money and Sex). So we don't stop enjoying worldly things, we just understand that any happiness they will give us is fleeting. It is the wisdom that EVERYTHING in life is Suffering. We just accept that and live in the world with that understanding. Unless we go live on that mountain. The author goes through this process in the book.

The second step is Bodhi Citta. This has often been translated as "Buddha Mind" but that is inaccurate. It really means the "wish for enlightenment." To have the mindset, the wish, that all become enlightened and free of suffering. Not for ourselves but for the good of all living things. The author starts to have the desire to help others through teaching halfway through his year of no money.

The third step is a correct view of Emptiness. This means that everything you see and experience is dependent on the projections in your mind. These projections are based on past deeds, words, thoughts. Karma and emptiness are completely intertwined. Anyone who really understands Emptiness understands the need to be completely moral in life. And I don't mean moral from a self-righteous point of view. Just from a simple stance of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

What is Emptiness? One common example is to think of a pen. To you, it's a pen, because you have the seeds to see it as a pen. To a dog, it's a chew toy. To an ant, it's a mountain to climb. To a monk in the ninth century or an alien in the twenty-fourth century, it might be a mysterious foreign object. So nothing is absolute. Again, I think the author comes to a realization about his own role in his plight, that he has created his own circumstances to a large degree...and must get himself out of them.

Without getting too tautological, this is why I found "The Year of No Money" fascinating from the point of view of the Lamtso Namsum. I think the author's memoir actually reflects this path in his search for meaning and belonging in the modern world--as a man, and as a foreigner in a foreign country. I found it a fascinating book from the perspective of a quest for deeper meaning in one's life and to try to understand why things happen to us the way they do and to learn from it, and then to share our experience with others to help them also learn and grow.

By the end of the book, the author is thinking less of himself and his victimization and struggles, and more of others; of how to contribute to making the world better rather than blaming everyone else or things like race and society for his predicament. The ultimate step on the Path is to think of the happiness of others. It's good to think of our own happiness and being happy, and that's where we start. Then, we can devote ourselves to making others happy, and that's when we can find true Heaven on Earth. For me, this book typified any spiritual quest, and even though I might have disagreed with the author's methods, and agree with many reviewers that it fell short when it could have really had a greater impact as far as the author looking deeply into himself, his father, his family, his own culpability, I appreciated his struggle and insights. It certainly was a unique addition to books by foreigners on living in Japan.

I tend to read any new book on Japan that looks reasonably free of the normal stereotypes and written by someone with real experience living there. So I bought this book, but given the title I didn't really have high expectations of quality. I was wrong. It was strikingly well written with clear access given to his personal feelings on topics that folks normally shy away from. I was hooked and finished in 1 sitting. Furthermore, I actually found myself quite curious as to what happened next (sequel?) in light of the currently downcycle of the foreign community in Tokyo.

If you have lived in Tokyo as a non-expat and/or want to know what it is like before you book your plane - this is a great read.

As I read the Year of No Money in Tokyo I was immediately struck by Wayne Lionel Aponte's transparency and willingness to reveal every weakness, shortcoming and indiscretion usually reserved for the darkest most inaccessible dungeons of a man's soul. While some might view this memoir as a sensationalist attempt to shock readers I see it as a clear example of a man who has been stripped of everything except the bare truth and Wayne Lionel Aponte takes that truth and runs with it in TYONMIT.
I am a Christian male and have seen my fair share of seminars and programs designed to encourage men of all faiths to embrace the valuable practice of exposing failure and weakness for the sake of finding true and authentic spiritual, emotional and practical success. TYONMIT, although not a faith based offering, serves as a shining example of raw, unreserved disclosure and sober accounting of every desperate measure imaginable implemented to maintain dignity and basic survival. It could certainly compare with some of the most candid and colorful testimonies I have heard to date.
I have already recommended it to several pastors and inspirational leaders for the purpose of modeling true authenticity and openness. I have known Wayne Lionel Aponte for years and watching this academically and financially driven success story lay his soul bare in TYONMIT has been an inspiration which I will not soon forget. Bravo, Wayne!

As a foreigner living in Tokyo, you can't help but notice that the city- much like the nature of Japanese culture- has both a public face and a private one. Aponte's book dives right into the latter exploring Tokyo's underbelly, and doing so honestly through his own experiences.

His account of his own journey- from a successful journalist to a penniless, unemployed scavenger and then his struggle to find his way again is no-holds barred, and he pulls no punches. Although the things he talks about having done to get by may turn off some, I found it fascinating to read about how his situation affected him morally and psychologically, and through it all, he seemed to keep a certain self awareness of his own degradation.

Overall, an enthrawing read, and one I would highly recommend for anyone planning to move to Tokyo, and/or interesting in seeing it's darker side.

If you ever wanted to know what it's like to be an African American in Japan during a recession then this book is for you.
Wayne Lionel Aponte's memoirs on the year he was flat broke in Tokyo gives insight into the day-to-day challenges foreigners face when relocating to Japan.
Aponte moved to Tokyo with a well paying job, a blossoming social life and a taste for Japanese women, unfortunately he lost it all and his womanizing ways became a necessity to live.
Looking for work with no success, Aponte turns to the four women he frequents for subsidy and scrapes by a sort of existence with their generosity.
Although having women who will subsidize your life may seem like a dream, to Aponte it was a stab at his pride.
The first half of the book is like a wrestling match with Aponte's demons of money and pride.
Aponte can't find a job, of any sort, because he is African American, he constantly feels watched because of his blackness, he doesn't have the upper hand with his women and he feels he can't go home flat broke.
At times it's hard to sympathize with his plight, mainly because through it all there seems to be a bit of arrogance.
There seems to be an expectation that since he is well-versed and educated that he is entitled to the same position as a native Japanese person, even when the natives are struggling.
"I operate from a position of economic weakness and society wants to keep it that way," writes Aponte.
What you can sympathise with is the racism that he experiences in everything he does, he can't even read a book without someone thinking he's a wrong-doer.
After falling further and further down the dark well, Aponte hits the bottom and is arrested for fighting in the chapter entitled "A Fifty-Two Week Low."
After the five day jail experience he rises kind of like a Phoenix out of the ashes and starts to take responsibility for his life and changes his attitude.
From here on the memoirs become less bitter and more inspirational; he gets a job and sees the errors in his ways.
At times the writing is a tad dry, but Aponte makes up for it by embedding really interesting anecdotes and facts about Japan.
I recommend this book to anyone who is interested in Japanese culture, travelling a foreign country or using women for money.

Written so vividly I thought, "This would make an excellent movie." A story of struggle and triumph in a land where people often say, "It's too difficult!" when dealing with issues that require individual depth of thought and 'moxie' though the world looks to them for automotive innovation and electronic gadgetry.

Reminds us all that very little is 'too difficult' if we but have the will to do.

I don't do a lot of reading, but I found this book to be exactly what I needed to get me started. It brought me along on the journey and I felt the highs and lows as the story progresed. The description of the characters were very colorful and really made me want to keep turning the pages without putting the book down. Wayne Lionel Aponte scores a winner with his depiction of the times and struggles we all feel at some point in our lives and the ways we must all decide to survive in society the best way we can. BRAVO!, young man, BRAVO!!!

Thank you, Amazon.com for making this book available as I went to other stores (Barnes & Noble, Postman Books, etc)looking to purchase a copy and they all did not stock this book. THEIR LOSS!