Review: Hidden Flowers by Keiko Honda
Vancouver: Heritage House (2025)
I read Vancouver-based writer and artist Keiko Honda’s memoir this fall, and it struck quite a chord with me, as we share an empty nest, our children leaving home and leaving us in their wake. But this is a time of transition that can be beautiful, too, and this is what Honda explores. It’s a contemplative book, and truly inspired me, as did her lovely art.
I reviewed Hidden Flowers for The British Columbia Review. This article was originally published at The BC Review on December 4, 2025.
🎉 Until December 9, 2025 I'm running a giveaway on my Instagram Page for a chance to win a copy of Hidden Flowers. Head over there to enter!
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When her daughter Maya left home after graduating high school and moved to Toronto for university, Keiko Honda faced a significant change in her own life. Upheavals like these can presage a time of loss and emptiness, but they can also be seen as an opportunity for growth into a new way of existing in the world, one that heralds a different balance in life. In her new book Hidden Flowers, Vancouver-based Honda, a writer and visual artist, offers a hopeful telling of her recent transition.
This memoir follows directly on from her first book Accidental Blooms, which chronicled her transformation as a new mother adapting to an autoimmune spinal cord injury that resulted in paralysis from the chest down, through to helping Maya apply for university. Now, Honda finds an apt metaphor for this new era of transformation from a single mother to an empty-nester. She finds it in fourteenth-century Noh master Zeami Motokiyo’s 15th century book Fushikaden (The Flowering Spirit), in which he advises finding inspiration in moments that are ripe for creation. “If it is hidden, it is the flower,” Zeami advises, and this is a theme that Honda returns to often.
I find myself in somewhat similar circumstances to Honda, even though our life stories and backgrounds are quite different. I am also a person in her mid-fifties with a daughter who has recently left home, and I too am faced with a time of transformation. Thus, I was riveted by the book, connected in a way that was meaningful and relevant. Even if you don’t find yourself in this exact situation, Hidden Flowers will have broad appeal: To the artistic community (or anyone who might itch to delve into their own creativity); to those in any life transition that requires a thoughtful response; to those with an interest in a Japanese cultural perspective on life and change; and to folks who are interested in community connections and interpersonal collaboration.
In the opening sections, Honda presents big events, such as travelling with Maya to Toronto to get her established, and the subsequent small rifts in their evolving relationship when Honda returns to Vancouver. The autumn and winter bring the possibility of a new romantic relationship, posing the question of what it means to share one’s life intimately with a new person in mid-life. “As we pass through life, shedding the labels of our youth–desirable woman, partner, mother–our roles must transform if we are to embrace what’s next. The shadow-self whispers: Who do I want to be now?”
In the middle sections the narrative felt quieter and more introspective, and the book became almost meditative for me. I enjoyed reading a section each morning while I sipped a cup of tea, and taking in the beautiful artwork that accompanies the text. Honda’s watercolours reflect her words and are a touchpoint for contemplation, a place to pause. I loved “All The World’s A Stage,” her painting of patrons in a neighbourhood cafe, and annotated with a relatable sentiment: “I sit alone in the neighbourhood cafe watching a young couple or family, their joy a poignant reminder of my own life that was. Now, I find solace in the pages of a book or the distractions offered by my phone.”
Born and raised in Japan, Honda brings a wealth of Japanese culture to Hidden Flowers, introducing potent concepts for living in the time of transformation. One is “sho-sa (所作),” a quality that her maternal grandmother had in excess: the way one carries oneself in the world. Honda recalls her grandmother’s grace and poise as a quality to aspire to in her own life. Another is “ma,” a Japanese concept that speaks to “that pregnant pause in time, that emptiness within space. It’s the aesthetic concept of the space between that gives form and meaning to the whole.” Honda gives the example of a spontaneous meander into a local, autumn park, the branches bare and the air chilly. She notices the flora and fauna, and as the sun suddenly peaks through the clouds, all is transformed and vibrant. On her return home, things feel different. “Instead of loneliness, I sense that the house is awaiting my arrival…I am already in ma–the silence between notes that gives music its rhythm. I just need to stay open to possibilities and embrace the repetition inherent in life’s natural rhythms.”
Honda devotes considerable space to her established and burgeoning community activities. She is the founder of the Vancouver Arts Colloquium Society (VACS), which hosts activities that promote intergenerational connection and amplifies marginalised voices through art. I was inspired by the idea of collaboration, and “unexpected connections” that come from engaging in shared projects. Some of this content, particularly in the later parts of the book, may be of interest to Vancouver or Lower Mainland readers more than others, but the ideas are universal. Honda’s quiet enthusiasm shines through the pages, giving weight to the idea that collaborative artistic efforts seed the future for the possibility of deeper interpersonal understanding.
As her relationship with Maya evolves, she finds comfort in opportunities for connection and collaboration with her daughter. A Christmas morning conversation with Maya prompts introspection: “It’s a reminder, perhaps, that the purest form of giving is simply being, a lesson easily forgotten amid the pressures of raising a child in a complex world…It’s a gentle nudge back to the wisdom of generations, a reminder to cherish the present and trust in the unfolding of her unique journey. And in that trust, I find my own peace.”
This is a book for contemplation and inspiration, full of quiet hope and encouraging solidarity with others. The “empty nest” of Honda’s Hidden Flowers serves as a proxy for any major life change, and it doesn’t have to mean emptiness. It can be an opportunity for fostering new and exciting interpersonal connections–through art, collaboration, romance and friendship–but it can also be a time of personal growth, the acceptance and embrace of “ma,” the beauty and peace of pausing and noticing the spaces.
I reviewed Hidden Flowers for The British Columbia Review. This article was originally published at The BC Review on December 4, 2025.
🎉 Until December 9, 2025 I'm running a giveaway on my Instagram Page for a chance to win a copy of Hidden Flowers. Head over there to enter!
***
When her daughter Maya left home after graduating high school and moved to Toronto for university, Keiko Honda faced a significant change in her own life. Upheavals like these can presage a time of loss and emptiness, but they can also be seen as an opportunity for growth into a new way of existing in the world, one that heralds a different balance in life. In her new book Hidden Flowers, Vancouver-based Honda, a writer and visual artist, offers a hopeful telling of her recent transition.
This memoir follows directly on from her first book Accidental Blooms, which chronicled her transformation as a new mother adapting to an autoimmune spinal cord injury that resulted in paralysis from the chest down, through to helping Maya apply for university. Now, Honda finds an apt metaphor for this new era of transformation from a single mother to an empty-nester. She finds it in fourteenth-century Noh master Zeami Motokiyo’s 15th century book Fushikaden (The Flowering Spirit), in which he advises finding inspiration in moments that are ripe for creation. “If it is hidden, it is the flower,” Zeami advises, and this is a theme that Honda returns to often.
…I believe he is enticing us to nurture a flower that blooms throughout one’s life. There are seeds and seasons that continue to develop year after year. And so, might we meet that flower again? As a middle-aged woman in her late fifties, whose child-rearing duties are freshly complete, I wonder what kind of flower I want to nurture, and if I can bloom at all.
I find myself in somewhat similar circumstances to Honda, even though our life stories and backgrounds are quite different. I am also a person in her mid-fifties with a daughter who has recently left home, and I too am faced with a time of transformation. Thus, I was riveted by the book, connected in a way that was meaningful and relevant. Even if you don’t find yourself in this exact situation, Hidden Flowers will have broad appeal: To the artistic community (or anyone who might itch to delve into their own creativity); to those in any life transition that requires a thoughtful response; to those with an interest in a Japanese cultural perspective on life and change; and to folks who are interested in community connections and interpersonal collaboration.
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| Vancouver’s Keiko Honda. Photo Anton Fernando |
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| All the world’s a stage, by Keiko Honda. ““I sit alone in the neighbourhood cafe watching a young couple or family, their joy a poignant reminder of my own life that was. Now, I find solace in the pages of a book or the distractions offered by my phone.” |
In the middle sections the narrative felt quieter and more introspective, and the book became almost meditative for me. I enjoyed reading a section each morning while I sipped a cup of tea, and taking in the beautiful artwork that accompanies the text. Honda’s watercolours reflect her words and are a touchpoint for contemplation, a place to pause. I loved “All The World’s A Stage,” her painting of patrons in a neighbourhood cafe, and annotated with a relatable sentiment: “I sit alone in the neighbourhood cafe watching a young couple or family, their joy a poignant reminder of my own life that was. Now, I find solace in the pages of a book or the distractions offered by my phone.”
Born and raised in Japan, Honda brings a wealth of Japanese culture to Hidden Flowers, introducing potent concepts for living in the time of transformation. One is “sho-sa (所作),” a quality that her maternal grandmother had in excess: the way one carries oneself in the world. Honda recalls her grandmother’s grace and poise as a quality to aspire to in her own life. Another is “ma,” a Japanese concept that speaks to “that pregnant pause in time, that emptiness within space. It’s the aesthetic concept of the space between that gives form and meaning to the whole.” Honda gives the example of a spontaneous meander into a local, autumn park, the branches bare and the air chilly. She notices the flora and fauna, and as the sun suddenly peaks through the clouds, all is transformed and vibrant. On her return home, things feel different. “Instead of loneliness, I sense that the house is awaiting my arrival…I am already in ma–the silence between notes that gives music its rhythm. I just need to stay open to possibilities and embrace the repetition inherent in life’s natural rhythms.”
 |
| Accidental Blooms was Keiko Honda’s previous memoir, describing “her transformation as a new mother adapting to an autoimmune spinal cord injury,” writes Trish Bowering |
Honda devotes considerable space to her established and burgeoning community activities. She is the founder of the Vancouver Arts Colloquium Society (VACS), which hosts activities that promote intergenerational connection and amplifies marginalised voices through art. I was inspired by the idea of collaboration, and “unexpected connections” that come from engaging in shared projects. Some of this content, particularly in the later parts of the book, may be of interest to Vancouver or Lower Mainland readers more than others, but the ideas are universal. Honda’s quiet enthusiasm shines through the pages, giving weight to the idea that collaborative artistic efforts seed the future for the possibility of deeper interpersonal understanding.
As her relationship with Maya evolves, she finds comfort in opportunities for connection and collaboration with her daughter. A Christmas morning conversation with Maya prompts introspection: “It’s a reminder, perhaps, that the purest form of giving is simply being, a lesson easily forgotten amid the pressures of raising a child in a complex world…It’s a gentle nudge back to the wisdom of generations, a reminder to cherish the present and trust in the unfolding of her unique journey. And in that trust, I find my own peace.”
This is a book for contemplation and inspiration, full of quiet hope and encouraging solidarity with others. The “empty nest” of Honda’s Hidden Flowers serves as a proxy for any major life change, and it doesn’t have to mean emptiness. It can be an opportunity for fostering new and exciting interpersonal connections–through art, collaboration, romance and friendship–but it can also be a time of personal growth, the acceptance and embrace of “ma,” the beauty and peace of pausing and noticing the spaces.
The magic of that re-perception lies in the moment we recognize the potential in a seemingly empty space. It is much like a blank canvas awaiting its first brushstroke or a weaving loom ready to be threaded. Empty nesting? Let’s call it something else.
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