Land encircles water in various ways, and each essay in this collection spotlights a different shape of that sort: (1) an elongated body of water that's parallel to the coast and set off by islands or reefs, (2) a narrow place where the sea comes a long way into the land, (3) a circular atoll that is the rim of an extinct underwater volcano, and (4) a portion of ocean partly enclosed by land. These essays focus on famous places (e.g., Niigata, Edo, and Taiwan), explaining how those names connect to certain bodies of water.

Japan boasts a complex coastline, and as these essays show, that's for better and for worse. The numerous capes jutting out into the sea have caused disastrous shipwrecks, one of which exposed inequity that sparked outrage in Japan. But this island nation also abounds in winding beaches, and those gentle curves have influenced the designs of everything from pottery and furniture to family crests. The endpoints of the main islands beckon to tourists who want to visit the southernmost point, for instance. The outline of one cape as seen from space even gave rise to a popular song.

These four essays enable you to grouse about having too little. Perhaps you receive a pittance of a salary; both 蚊 and 涙 will help you express disappointment and anger about that, but you'll be talking about an animal's tears, not your own. Or maybe you live in a dime-sized space; if so, 狭 will let you complain that your abode feels crowded and cramped. Alternatively, you might gripe that your garden is tiny; calling it as small as a cat's (猫) forehead will get that point across.

Donald Richie said the Japanese perceive their nation as small (though it's not) because they feel it's gross to be large. Indeed, an affection for itty-bitty things runs through these essays. The prefix 豆- characterizes tiny books, small dolls, and trivia as "miniature." With 掌 the Japanese describe books as "palm-sized" and stories as "very short." The prefix 姫- indicates that a Chinese crabapple is adorably petite or that an animal is diminutive. And with 零 as "small" one can lament the loss of mom-and-pop bakeries and offer advice to small business owners engaged in David-versus-Goliath battles.

You may picture kimonos as formal outfits worn on special occasions. With tight sashes and many layers, they take considerable effort to put on and look uncomfortable. But there are also much more casual kimonos for daily wear by working people, such as farmers. These are often made with blurred "kasuri" fabrics featuring a repeating grid or lattice shape. Whereas three essays in this bundle showcase such fabrics in gorgeous blues, the 丈 essay introduces a distinctive yellow silk cloth with striped or checkered patterns. These woven and dyed fabrics became so famous that Hachijo Island was named after them!

These essays illuminate how people produce fabulous fabrics using Japanese methods and materials. Two essays delve into techniques such as shibori (Japanese tie-dye), including the unexpected reason commoners came to wear cotton clothes dyed with indigo. Another essay touches on fabric types, such as hemp cloth, as well as the hemp leaf pattern that often adorns clothes for babies. (People associate hemp with healthy and quick growth.) Rich illustrations in all four essays show what people make with these fab fabrics, including tenugui (fancy towels), traditional pouches, and stunning wall pieces. Crafts aficionados are in for a visual treat!

Though the Japanese live longer than anyone, they pray for even more longevity—for humans and deities alike. These four auspicious kanji are associated with longevity, which is a natural fit for 亀 and 鶴; as one proverb has it, turtles and cranes live thousands of years. Meanwhile, 寿 means "lifespan" and "longevity" in words for those concepts and appears in many terms for milestone birthdays. Finally, because the pine represents long life, thanks to its evergreen needles, images of that tree abound at weddings and on New Year's cards. Similarly, twin pines symbolize a long, happy marriage.

Metalworking may not seem relevant to daily life, but these kanji are. Two combine in 鍛錬, enabling people to express desires for toned bodies, sharper minds, and self-discipline. After all, the Japanese relentlessly push to improve themselves and others—hence the exactitude of sushi chefs who rigorously train employees. The bundled characters also shed light on history, from the ancient need for metal (including in mirrors for sacred Shinto rites) to the 1941 mandate to melt down metals, even temple bells. These kanji have even inspired figurative language, as with a term for "forcing into a mold."