Kenzaburo Oe, who died on March 3 at age 88, was a writer who embodied Japan's “postwar spirit”--which even he acknowledged.

I wonder what he would say about the government’s significant shifts in policies on nuclear power plants and security, or the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Though I want to know his views on such issues, it’s impossible now.

When I interviewed Oe in 2013, he said he felt guilty about the 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake and the subsequent disaster at Tokyo Electric Power Co.’s Fukushima No. 1 nuclear power plant.

“I had this delusion that I am a writer who can actively engage in society,” he said. “However, I live as a passive old man. I was unapprehensive and indecisive about nuclear power plants. That should be criticized.”

Immediately after the accident at the Fukushima plant, he threw away the novel he was writing at the time and kept taking notes about what he learned from the radio, newspapers and books.

His last novel, “Bannen Yoshikishu” (In Late Style), was the fruit of those days.

The work ended with a poem about his trust in, and hope for, a mankind that continues creating new lives.

It goes: “An old man wants to give an answer to smaller people/ I can’t start a new life. But/ We can start new lives.”

When I read the poem again, it feels like Oe is telling me that we must maintain hope in any society.

I interviewed him again about the novel “Kokoro” by the famed writer Natsume Soseki (1867-1916) the following year.

During the interview, he said he had reread the novel and changed his mind about the “spirit of Meiji” that Soseki described in the novel.

Oe said he believed it was talking about the spirit of the people who lived in the Meiji Era (1868-1912), namely Soseki, rather than the spirit of the emperor.

EMBODIED THE POSTWAR SPIRIT

Oe stressed that his core is the postwar spirit.

“For me, the postwar era is a bright time,” he said.

His foundation was the democratic education in the postwar era he received as one of the first students of the junior high schools founded under the new educational system after the war.

He debuted as a novelist while he was a student and spearheaded the “fighting intellectuals” who act on their own initiative.

His antiwar and anti-nuclear stance produced books of note, including “Hiroshima Noto” (Hiroshima Note) and “Okinawa Noto” (Okinawa Note).

The year 1963 was a turning point for Oe, whose works had been a personal reflection of social events.

His eldest son, Hikari, was born with brain damage that year.

“To understand the very difficult problem that befell me, I thought I was going to write novels,” Oe once said.

That thought produced “Sora no Kaibutsu Aguii” (Aghwee the Sky Monster) and “Kojinteki na taiken” (A Personal Matter), both published in 1964.

The latter is about a father who tried to escape from the reality that his newborn child has a severe brain condition.

Its ending, describing a father who is now determined to live with his son, showed readers hope for the future. Hikari later became a musician and released CDs.

One of the important themes in his works is myths and lore passed down in a fictional village sandwiched between forests in the Shikoku region, which was modeled on Oe’s hometown in Ehime Prefecture.

Since publishing “Manen Gannen no Futtoboru” (The Silent Cry) in 1967, he created works that looked to the future by describing how the acts of individuals or communities posing questions impact the states or larger organizations.

SELF-REFLECTION IN HIS WORKS

He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1994 and took a break from writing the following year.

In 2000, however, he thought, “I will write novels that are like a critical biography, especially about my loved ones.”

Thus, he wrote a series of works with a main character called “Kogito Choko,” who was like Oe in the fictional world.

In these works, Oe explored themes like coexistence and regeneration that the modern world faces.

Oe could be intense. He sometimes feverishly argued with his fellow writers and sent some of them letters to declare he would sever relations with them.

I once was frightened when Oe sent me a postcard saying he categorically declined my offer of work.

By contrast, he was very kind and almost astonishingly funny when he spoke.

Prior to my interview about Soseki’s “Kokoro” in 2014, he took the trouble to see the books he collected in his junior high and high school days in his hometown.

I will always remember how passionately he spoke for three hours in the interview while showing me the manuscript papers on which he had written his thoughts.

He also talked about T.S. Eliot, the poet he adored and respected, but we ran out of time as he was going to join a protest about the government’s policy to allow the exercise of the right of collective self-defense.

“Democracy and no war are parts of the spirit of my generation, so taking part in a protest is my way of life,” he said.

He consistently supported the protection of Article 9 of the Constitution, which states that Japan will forever renounce war as a sovereign right.

He always keenly listened to what I said and spoke about his views.

I can’t see his mischievous smile nor hear his laughter anymore.

He gave me his manuscripts as a memento of the interview. Now, I’m just staring at his pointed handwriting, not knowing what to do.