The sound of a shoji screen scrolling open; the grassy smell of tatami mats, of freshly-made miso, of warm rice and pickles; the patter of rain in a cedar wood, heard from within the silence of a temple...
These were the things that Natsume Soseki, Japan's favourite novelist, missed as he trudged through the dank streets of the city of London over a hundred years ago. For the two years he was in England, he yearned for a refuge, a place where he could give sanctuary to his nostalgia.
'Soseki' is everything he could have wished for.