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I greatly enjoyed the descriptions of the kimonos.

Also, this is a light, entertaining FICTION. By this, I mean it is Arthur Golden’s fictional take on a historical period in Geisha history. I definitely would not consider it a classic by any means. The turns in the plot were actually fairly predictable.

As a person trained in writing, I was taught that one should always take the route people can’t bear the characters to take. This creates tension and drama. In Memoirs of a Geisha, the events take the popular route that would make most readers happy, and therein lies the lack of drama.

I think the argument that Golden is not a Japanese female in the early 1900s is not entirely valid, since by definition, fiction involves a large degree of imagination. Salman Rushdie wasn’t around in 6th century CE, but that didn’t prevent Satanic Verses from being a fantastic work of art.

I definitely noted a lack of transparency in several passages throughout the book. When certain Japanese things and Japanese people were described by the Japanese narrator as smelly or disgusting, and American soldiers (during post-WWII occupation in Japan) were described - without the slightest hint of bitterness, even after her cities have been bombed and loved ones killed - as wonderful happy people whom the Geishas greatly enjoyed laughing & dancing with, abandoning all their formal training and tradition, then it becomes apparent that it is an American white male holding the puppet strings to these characters all along.

I do believe this book will do more good than bad. For those who care to explore further, Memoirs of A Geisha will easily fulfill its duty in introducing readers to both Japanese and Geisha culture. All they have to do is to dig a little further into the works of Liza Dalby, Iwasaki Mineko (whose interviews with Golden formed the basis of Memoirs of A Geisha), Sayo Masuda, and also of interest: The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon.

For those who are content to read this FICTIONAL account and complacently treat it as truth, well, there’s no rescue for them.

Here is a good accompanying short piece to Golden’s book: http://www.thekeep.org/~kunoichi/kunoichi/themestream/exgeisha.html

The garter belt was a logical development of the girdle that many women wore in the early 20th century.  Worn often with the petticoat, it held up stockings while being more comfortable that the tubular girdle.

Even though I continue to have a great disdain for The Rocky Horror Movie to this day (after finally seeing half of it last year), I suppose that’s the image many would associate a garter belt with.  Happily risking being called cliche and trite in my circles, I have to confess that the garter belt ranks as my #1 favorite piece of apparel.  I started wearing a garter belt at the tender age of eleven years old.  Since I desperately wanted to wear one, but couldn’t find one small enough (even though I was fairly tall for an 11 yr old), I had to fashion my own out of an inverted bra.

I took a bra and gingerly cut out the center panels.  Then I snipped the shoulder straps in half before sewing hooks to each end.  When I was finally old enough at fifteen, I went and purchased my first white one at the Sears.

I always wore one when I was with my first boyfriend at the age of 22.  He was an older fellow in his mid forties.

It’s difficult to find the right ones these days.  Many have too much frills going on.  The Fredericks of Hollywood and even the Victoria Secret ones are quite gaudy.  Even the La Perla suspender belts don’t quite do it for me.  I look for form, sensible design, and most importantly, monotone color.  One of my favorite brands, Felina, used to make them with a feature that I look for in all garter belts: Silver buckles.  Silver buckles and bows are the only flair I allow myself. When the decorative flourishes become too busy, and there’s multicolored roses, ornate fabrics and prints, I feel it  becomes tacky and boudoir, making fun of vintage times as if it were a fetish.

Wearing a garter belt is not a fetish for me.  Sure, it was worn in the 50’s, an era my heart belongs to.  But more importantly, I adore the high maintenance, the constant monitoring and adjustment of the straps throughout the day. Its lack of practicality combined with its sheer appearance-for-appearance sake is its biggest attraction.  Not only does it provide a pretty decorative frame to the most precious part of this girl’s body, its straps complete a lingerie set that almost appear to bound the body.  The vertical straps down the thighs look like prison bars, trapping everything within it.  And all that discomfort, work, and uselessness for what?  Pleasing men.  Appearing enticing and existing solely for the sake of pleasing a man and keeping him happy.

That’s why ever since I was eleven, I’ve considered wearing a garter belt symbolical of a duty I cherish.

It’s something I can’t say no to.