Finding solace in clear sentences and quiet architecture
Published: 30 May. 2025, 00:05
Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI

The author is a columnist at the JoongAng Ilbo.
“I came to understand the quiet brilliance of Shunsuke Murai’s work only years later, as I visited the buildings he had created over the decades,” writes novelist Masashi Matsuie in “The Summer House.”
Murai, a fictional architect, is based on Junzo Yoshimura, who taught famed Korean architect Kim Swoo Geun. In the novel, Matsuie’s protagonist reflects on his time working under Murai and grows to appreciate the elder architect’s steadfast values.
!["Summer Remained There for a Long Time" by Masashi Matsuie [BICHAE]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2025/05/30/fd1f73f3-8471-46a3-aec6-957190158349.jpg)
"Summer Remained There for a Long Time" by Masashi Matsuie [BICHAE]
Back in the present, Korea’s streets are plastered with chaotic presidential campaign posters. But instead of stirring anticipation, the sight may bring a sigh. In moments like this, some seek refuge not in rhetoric, but in the clarity of a well-written sentence. Turning the pages of this novel, wrapped in a forest-green cover, feels like letting in a fresh, cooling breeze. A rare sense of ease returns.
The novel depicts the days a young architect spends alongside the senior architect he reveres. With sharp, unobstructed language, Matsuie navigates architecture, nature, art and daily life. Japanese writer Hiromi Kawakami described the prose as delivering “a reading experience as gentle as a caress.” Murai’s architectural sensibility — simple, enduring and devoid of ego — seems to echo the author’s literary style.
An early scene captures a quietly awakening morning:
“Even before the sun rises, the sky turns a mysterious shade of blue. In a moment, the outlines of the forest appear from the depths of darkness.
“Morning comes without fanfare. I rise from bed and raise the blinds of the small glass window facing the courtyard. Fog.
“A white mass, emerging from somewhere unseen, slowly brushes against the leaves and branches of the fragrant tree. It is quiet. Even the birds seem to have given up singing.
“I open the window, lean out, and inhale the scent of the fog. If fog had a color, it would not be white — it would be green.”
The novel won the 2013 Yomiuri Prize for Literature. Sometimes, when the world feels too loud, escaping into precise, serene prose may offer the truest form of clarity.
Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.
with the Korea JoongAng Daily
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