Synopsis:
A move to Japan for love. Or…was it? Alone in a strange country with a broken soul, Marina built a life from scratch—experiencing typhoons, massive earthquakes, and even bicycle vandalism. She traveled widely across the country, learning to appreciate its rituals and oddities, and finding ways to cope with the Halloween crowds in Shibuya. Along the way, she discovered parallels between two cultures—the southern Italian and the Japanese—so far apart, yet surprisingly similar. And she found a home.
When she moved from Sicily to Tokyo, Marina could not have known how rocky her journey would be. But she trudged on, ultimately staying for over a decade in a country that initially confused her but eventually became a place she loved and embraced.
Nihongo Wakarimasen keeps readers engaged with genuine stories of humanity and cultural differences. It offers a unique view on work ethics within the realm of scientific research and provides perceptive, entertaining interpretations of the quirks, behaviors, and habits of the Japanese people. The book is packed with moments of hilarity—Masa’s super jokes, the nosy women of Fukuoka—as well as moments of self-doubt, reckoning, and acceptance.
Favorite Lines:
“What I initially found baffling became clear. The more Japanese words I learned, the easier it was to understand the culture. The more places I visited, the better I connected with people’s habits and traditions. The more I experienced, the fiercer was my defence against those tourists I was one of
in the beginning.”
“…Tokyo for me was a cross between an amusement park and a horror house.”
“Good place for thoughts. Good place to find yourself.”
“In Japan you don’t think about tomorrow, everything has a beginning and an end, and because of this you better live your life today rather than repent tomorrow and die”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Nihongo Wakarimasen is a memoir about moving abroad, but I think what makes it interesting is that Lizio never pretends she moved to Japan because of some lifelong fascination with the country. She followed her boyfriend there in 2006, only for the relationship to fall apart almost immediately, leaving her alone in a country where she barely spoke the language. Instead of returning to Sicily, she stayed, built a career as a bioinformatics researcher, made friends, traveled throughout the country, and ultimately spent thirteen years creating a life in a place she initially couldn’t understand. That beginning gives the book more substance than a straightforward travel memoir because Japan wasn’t initially a dream destination for her. It became home almost by accident.
The book is at its funniest when Lizio is describing the small things that completely baffled her as a newcomer. There are crowded trains, complicated social rules, language mistakes, high-tech toilets alongside fax machines, themed restaurants, vending machines selling seemingly everything, and twelve different ways to express “maybe.” Her voice is very conversational and sometimes deliberately irreverent, so it often feels more like listening to a friend tell stories about the strange things that happened while she lived abroad than reading a polished cultural guide. I appreciated that she doesn’t rewrite her younger self to make her seem more culturally enlightened than she actually was. She openly admits that she initially laughed at things simply because she didn’t understand them, and part of the point of the memoir is watching that attitude change.
I also liked that the book becomes increasingly personal as it goes along. Some of my favorite sections weren’t necessarily about famous Japanese landmarks, but about the communities Lizio built around herself. The friends she made through work, other Italian expats, salsa dancing, snowboarding, and chance encounters become a huge part of why Japan eventually feels like somewhere she belongs. There’s something bittersweet about the constant turnover of expat friendships, with people entering her life and eventually leaving the country, but she also recognizes how unusually strong those relationships became because everyone was trying to create a community far from home.
The travel portions also show how dramatically her relationship with Japan changes. Early in the book, she is overwhelmed by Tokyo’s crowds, noise, rules, and contradictions. Later, she is seeking out quiet gardens hidden inside the city, hiking mountains, snowboarding in Hokkaido, exploring tropical islands, attending traditional festivals, and eventually climbing Mount Fuji. I especially liked the Mount Fuji section because it captures that change without making a big announcement about it. The woman who once arrived in Japan feeling completely out of place is eventually alone on the mountain, listening to her body, pushing herself forward, and describing the experience as rediscovering herself. There are still plenty of things about Japan that frustrate her, and she never romanticizes the country as perfect, but her criticism becomes more informed and affectionate as the book progresses.
By the end, I think the title Nihongo Wakarimasen, or “I don’t understand Japanese,” takes on a slightly different meaning. It starts as a practical phrase Lizio can use when she’s confused or trying to escape an awkward situation, but the memoir itself is really about how much she eventually does understand, not just about the language but about the culture and herself. She leaves Japan having absorbed habits she once found strange, formed relationships that survived the distance, and developed a genuine attachment to a country she never intended to call home. Her final reflection that she “picked up the broken pieces and put them together” felt like a fitting way to frame the whole experience. Japan may have entered her life because of a relationship that failed, but the life she built there ultimately belonged entirely to her.
Summary:
Overall, Nihongo Wakarimasen is a funny, candid, and very personal memoir about Marina Lizio’s thirteen years living in Japan after moving there from Sicily in her twenties. What begins with culture shock, a breakup, language barriers, and loneliness gradually becomes a story about independence, friendship, travel, belonging, and learning to understand a culture that initially seemed completely foreign.
I think this would especially appeal to readers who enjoy travel memoirs, expat stories, books about Japan and Japanese culture, and personal stories about starting over somewhere unfamiliar. It’s also a good fit for readers who prefer memoirs with a casual, outspoken narrator rather than a more literary or introspective style. Anyone who has lived abroad or experienced the strange in-between feeling of no longer being completely at home in either their old or new country will probably find parts of Lizio’s experience particularly relatable. Happy reading!
Check out Nihongo Wakarimasen here!
