The depressing sort of morbid.
Although it is not so much a story, but more of the recollection of the death of Akutagawa's mother, infant sister and father. A short forth section covers Akutagawa's visit to a graveyard and the discomfort associated with that otherwise uninteresting place.
Each section is fascinating; his mothers mental decay is described with blunt, honest brushstrokes. The opening line "My mother was a madwoman" hides nothing. It places Akutagawa at a distance from his mother, similar to the distance he would have with each of his departed family members.
The story is filled with brilliant little details to fill the ugly reality it describes. Any author can write that somebody died, but Akutagawa gave details to the world he presented, grounding each death with heavy flakes of reality.
"...gold teeth mixed in with the tiny white shards of bone at the crematorium."
"...I used to get remnants of her clothes to put on my rubber doll."
"I dozed off now and then... I would wake to find the long funeral procession still winding its way through the streets of Tokyo in the autumn sunlight."
(This last detail from his mothers funeral provides a contrasted with with father's funeral where "a great big Spring moon was shining down on the hearse.")
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