Oe Kenzaburo was made a writer by a family crisis

The house where Oe Kenzaburo lived in Tokyo was a modest, tranquil place. Red maples and roses filled the garden, and paintings by his wife Yukari hung on the walls. The living room, crammed with books, was where he worked, sitting in an armchair to write in longhand on a board across his knees. But he was not alone. Also there was a man three decades younger, who sat sorting and re-sorting his collection of cds and listening to music. He had a misshaped skull, a squint and a shy, sweet smile. His father kept an eye on him even as he wrote, ready to help at once, watchful for seizures. This was Hikari, his eldest son.