Bin 10/1

 

Talking About People Who Talk to Stuffed Animals Are Nice

Among everything I’ve read recently, People Who Talk to Stuffed Animals Are Nice stands out as the one that made me think the most. At the same time, I’m not totally sure I even understand what it’s really saying—because the angles the author is trying to explore are so wide and tangled.

If I had to break it down simply, I’d say this story touches on three big themes: social interaction, love, and gender.

First, the book really gets into the awkwardness of teenage social life. School is this weird “in-between” space—halfway between family and adult society—where kids first start to care about things like how others see them, or the fear of being left out. That’s why Nanamori is always smiling around his classmates, and why Tarayama is funny and humorous in the café. They’re performing for others. But even if you get rid of this kind of fake, forced friendliness, that doesn’t mean people will suddenly connect in a deeper way. Even in the stuffed animal club, nobody really shares personal stuff, and what you say to your plushie isn’t supposed to be overheard. That made me wonder: how do people ever really understand each other? The loneliness inside a group can feel so heavy.

The second theme is love—or more like, confusion about what love actually is. Nanamori gets into a relationship, but mostly because of peer pressure. He can’t even tell the difference between “liking someone as a friend” and “liking someone as a partner.” At one point the text says he prefers Mugito over Shiraki, which seems to hint at the difference between practical, socially safe relationships versus pure, genuine ones. With Shiraki, he feels protected—it’s a relationship that shields him from sticking out socially. With Mugito, it’s different. They can talk about favorite writers, hang out for long stretches, and share a kind of closeness that feels more authentic.

Then there’s the theme of gender identity and social expectations, which is probably the most important one in the novel. Nanamori really hates dividing people strictly by gender. He’s more interested in looking at individuals for who they are. He notices how patriarchy shows up in something as simple as a poster, and it disgusts him. I’d call his mindset more of a “struggle” than a rebellion—because even though he questions these norms, he’s also still stuck in them. For example, he’s drawn to Shiraki partly because of her “patriarchal” vibe, and while he hates how guys talk about women like objects, he also feels insecure about not being masculine enough himself.

Toward the end of the excerpt, I found myself thinking about the blurry line between what society calls “normal” and “abnormal.” Talking on the phone on a train seems normal, but talking to a stuffed animal feels abnormal. But who decides that? Why is having earbud while you talk fine, but pretending to chat with a toy is “weird”? In a way, Nanamori’s dislike of “normal” social interaction is its own kind of headset—just another performance. So where does society’s idea of “normal” even come from?

Finally, I can’t help but feel the author is criticizing social media in this story, just like in Realizing Fun Things Through Water. In that piece, a younger sister spreads fake news online and ends up drowning in guilt. Here, Omae has Nanamori criticize how social media spreads hate and reduces people to categories—gender, nationality, whatever—without seeing them as individuals. Maybe the point is that social media doesn’t just reflect stereotypes, but actively helps shape them. And in that way, it has a big hand in how patriarchy and gender norms keep messing with our sense of self.

May Inui 10/1/25

I was a little confused by Twelve Twitter Stories. I had some trouble figuring out what the author was trying to convey through those mini paragraphs, but I appreciated the abnormal, irregular tone that carried through the whole reading. I Want to Kick You in the Back portrays the experience of feeling lonely and isolated and not fitting in with the larger group. Although the protagonist and Ninagawa are both left over when the class forms groups, they represent different types of loneliness. The protagonist does not identify with Ninagawa, instead viewing him as strange and even unsettling- “It looked like he was dead.” The line, “I hate being a leftover, but I hate being a part of a group even more,” reflects the protagonist’s inner conflict between loneliness and conformity. I felt that Ninagawa’s old Japanese-style house also symbolizes his position as an outsider, not only within the school but also within society at large. The story also touches on the theme of obsession in Japanese culture, particularly with idol figures (such as models), and the fetishization of Japanese culture and people by Westerners. People Who Talk to Stuffed Animals Are Nice portrays a protagonist who feels left out of love, unsure of what love even is. Having never experienced romance, he feels pressured to date simply for the sake of dating. During his adolescent years, he was confused about where the line lies between friendship and romance. His lack of traditionally masculine traits also added to this confusion. The story touches upon the expectations placed on Japanese youth regarding romantic relationships, as well as the broader Japanese cultural tendency to suppress emotions. The stuffed animal club thus becomes a space where students can express themselves more freely in contrast to a society where things such as therapy is often considered taboo and many people hide their struggles to avoid burdening others. Hunchback touches upon the deep, intricate thoughts of someone living with a physical disability. I found the protagonist’s expression of wanting to get an abortion especially intriguing. She explains that this desire comes from wanting to experience a sense of normalcy- something that many women might view as an inconvenience becomes, for her, a way to feel closer to what “normal” women go through. I enjoyed The Hole’s slow pace and the way it focused on seemingly mundane events. The beginning highlights the toxicity of Japanese work culture- being overworked despite low wages. At the same time, the story also shows that quitting such a job comes with its own struggles, as the protagonist experiences monotonous, repetitive days as a housewife without much sense of purpose, though she she didn’t find much purpose in her job either. I interpreted the hole she falls into as a symbol of her state in life: trapped. 

Sam Kraus - 10/1/2025

Beginning with The Hole, I appreciated the instances of foreshadowing prior to Asa falling into the hole. Starting with the first few pages, there is a line that reads, "Just then, on the TV, the comedian laughed at the wayward animal but fell short, landing face-first in a puddle of mud." Of course, this foreshadows the black animal and her collapsing into the hole. Other examples include the downpour on the day of the move, the backyard being littered with puddles and man-made looking holes, Asa expressing, "For a second, I thought I saw a person standing in the trees," etc. Hiroko Oyamada portrays the transition from the city to the countryside as entering a new world, and the surrealism of the situation reminds me of when the narrator and his girlfriend enter the mountain/forest in A Wild Sheep Chase. Another aspect that reminds me of Murakami is how in his novels, the protagonist experiencing this surrealism is often isolated and incapable of explaining the situation they are in to others - for example, when the protagonist in Killing Commendatore is unable explain to his friend the strange occurrences in the house regarding his father and the painting - he is largely left to figure things out on his own. Similarly, the protagonist in his stories are often subject to fate, as if these occurrences were pre-meditated and out of the control of the protagonist (lack of free will). In this case, Asa did not have much of a say in the move, and when she arrives - events fall upon her that appear to have been orchestrated - for example, she expresses regarding the hole, "exactly my size, a trap made just for me." Lastly, I really appreciated the portrayal of rustic life after living in the city. Post city-life, without a job, nearby attractions, etc, time that was once so desired becomes somewhat of a contention. As she says, "I had to spend money to pass the time."

As far as I am concerned, this was my first time reading something by Risa Wataya, and I found her to be quite funny and entertaining. Many of narrator's one liners were quite entertaining, including, "The sight of him was so lame I had to turn my eyes away embarrassed. Wait, why do I have to feel embarrassed for him? He should feel embarrassed for himself!" I also loved the contrast between her and Ninagawa. They are both classified as outcasts, but they are clearly different - she is more disinterested and independent, whereas Ninagawa is portrayed as being quite strange - of course, this includes his parasocial relationship with Oli-chan. Like The Hole, Risa Wataya foreshadows the creepiness of Ninagawa by having the narrator constantly step on the head of his shadow, putting the radical for bug in his name, and lastly, having his house be abnormally cold (also, his room is quite separated from the rest of his family, portraying his isolation and obsession with Oli-chan). I left this story considering the transition into high-school and the pressures placed on young people, especially women. Firstly, this includes the sexualization of the narrator and Oli-chan at such a young age. Example include her being a model (likely with fans quite older than Ninagawa..., and also, the pair expressing to the narrator, "I love your legs"). She contemplates to herself, "This was the first time I'd ever been complimented on them," and to me, this is her transition into realizing that parts of society now view her as an object of sexual gratification rather than a human. Given that Risa Wataya is a fan of Osamu Dazai, and given that the narrator has had this innocence pulled from her, she says to herself, "I could tell that to this foreign man, I wasn't even human." Another theme at play is the strange nature of modern parasocial relationships. Ninagawa is obsessed with this girl that he does not even know, and his life seemingly revolves around her. I recall reading a headline a long time ago in which a Japanese Idle had to apologize to fans for accidentally revealing that she had a boyfriend - she got in quite a lot of trouble with her company. It is certainly a strange time to live in, and it's unsettling to consider how fans of people like Oli-chan and the previously mentioned idle truly believe that they are owed something by this person - not always, but oftentimes lonely men. Of course my first instinct is to judge them for that, but my question is, how does a society get to a place in which this phenomenon exists? 

What most caught my attention in People Who Talk to Stuffed Animals are Nice is Nanamori's relationships with Shiraki, Aokawa, and Mugito. Starting with Mugito, it is clear that he has deep, naturally formed feelings for her. He says himself, "The safe feeling of being with someone similar welled up inside him." They did everything together, and he also mentions, "Next time I see Mugito, I'll tell her about this discovery. I should tell Shiraki too." When something happens, Mugito is the first person he wants to share said thing with. He reluctantly mentions that he should inform Shiraki too, clearly highlighting that the relationship is sort of forced and performative - he is simply dating to date, and unlike with Mugito, he has no natural reserve of deep rooted feelings for her. However, I believe that as his feelings develop for Mugito, he develops a deeper level of empathy for Aokawa. With Mugito being outside the picture, his feelings grow for her, and he deeply misses her and cares about her. Due to this heartache, he develops a deeper understanding of how Aokawa felt for him, and this bothers him. The novel expresses, "As the alcohol took effect, Nanamori wanted to say he was sorry. To Aokawa? For what, he wasn't sure." He may not have consciously been sure, but I do believe that he and Mugito's relationship influenced his understanding of Aokawa. I also appreciate how Ao Omae plays with gender roles and stereotypes - Nanamori is a little more on the feminine side than the average guy, and this is honestly something I can relate to. As we accumulate experiences in life, society categorizes us within made-up boundaries of how we should conduct ourselves, including feminine vs. masculine behaviors. However, these are of course largely thin concepts, and as Nanamori spends time in the box, he learns this and begins to appreciate himself more. The narrator says, "The more time he spent in the box, the fainter his sexual energy became, and the more genderless part of him grew." Regarding the feminist space in Japanese literature, it is quite nice to see similar concepts explored but with a male author and male protagonist - because oftentimes, men see feminism as an attack on their being rather than not seeing how these sorts of issues affect them too.

I do not have too much to say about the last two stories, but as for Twelve Twitter Stories, it was hard for me to appreciate that as much as the others. It is a neat concept to tell 12 distinct stories through the lens of a Twitter post - especially with aspects of surrealism. However, within such a short character count, it is quite hard to develop a meaningful story that I can deeply appreciate. 

As for Hunchback, it was not my favorite story of the bunch, but I certainly enjoyed some of the elements. I like how Saou Ichikawa utilizes controversial topics to show her isolation from the ableist world she inhabits. For example, she mentions wanting to participate in the vivid sex scenes, wanting to have an abortion, etc, simply for the sake of the experience - experiences that are far out of her grasp. These are controversial topics that are often not at the forefront of conversion, and to me, she is expressing how isolated she is. She does not even feel like she has a place in such conversation, as these are topics that cannot relate to her (however, she wishes they did include her). Lastly, I appreciated the subtle anger employed in her writing. For example, "Being able to see; being able to hold a book; being able to turn its pages; being able to go to a bookstore to buy a book - I loathed the exclusionary mechanism of book culture that demanded that its participants meet these 5 criteria of able-bodiedness." The world she lives in is not designed for her, and not only does her disability prevent her from participating in society, but society prevents her from participating as well.

Between Confusion and Connection-Sylvia Chen

This week’s readings actually left me feeling even more confused, making me wonder what the deeper meaning behind the texts really is, and what the authors want to present to the reader. Although these pieces differ in subject matter, they all carry a mysterious atmosphere that constantly pushes me to guess what might happen next. And the stories would seem to “get stuck” at a certain point, leaving me with many unanswered questions.

While reading, I kept asking myself: how exactly are the relationships between the characters defined? Why do they choose certain ways of expressing themselves, sometimes even through social media or other indirect forms? These actions are not straightforward, but instead carry ambiguous or contradictory motives.

Among the readings, Nanamori’s story especially felt familiar to me, with a strong sense of relatability. It reminded me of many people around me who seem to struggle with similar problems—finding a safe space to express themselves, searching for connection outside traditional relationships. That strong sense of recognition made the reading experience even more personal.

Although the stories often baffled me, I believe that's exactly what makes them powerful. Instead of offering definitive solutions, they captivate the reader with a sense of isolation and discomfort. More significantly, they bring up the more significant issue of how individuals in society nowadays cope with loneliness and look for ways to be understood.

For me, it is more like an unfinished conversation. They left me full of questions, but also made me reflect more deeply on how we search for connection within loneliness and how reading itself becomes a method for approaching and interpreting the ambiguities within human experience.

9/24/25 May Inui

Connection seemed to be a recurring theme in the readings this week- the lack of connection, and the human need for connection in society. Realizing Fun Things Through Water and Convenience Store Woman  both feature women who view marriage as a chore- something they do merely to satisfy those around them. It’s not that these two protagonists lack connections; rather, they have connections that are important to them, such as with sisters or coworkers. They simply don't place immense value on romantic relationships, as society often expects young women to do. In Convenience Store Woman, Keiko does not see her lack of a romantic relationship as a problem. She feels comfortable in her job, even describing it as a "light-filled box." However, she grows tired of others constantly judging her lifestyle. In Tomo-chan’s Happiness, the story touches on a romantic connection Tomo-chan feels toward Misawa-san, as well as how her past human relationships have hurt her. I found the ending particularly beautiful, as it describes Tomo-chan realizing she has always been spiritually protected- a reminder that we are not truly alone, even in our darkest moments. Picnic explores how people strive to maintain connections, particularly romantic ones. In Sea Horse, the protagonist is involved in several unfulfilling relationships, specifically marriages, which starkly contrasts with Convenience Store Woman. These superficial marital relationships do not fulfill the emotional connection that one seeks. Instead, they become binding and take away from who she truly is.

09/24/25 - Thomas Weber

Strangeness, mundanity, and the comfort of simplicity - and misogyny

Throughout these readings what jumped out at me most was their almost formulaic nature. The vast majority, if not all, of these stories start with what we would consider a "normal" scenario and then subtly, or not so subtly, introduce elements of strangeness through narration or dialogue that creates a sense of unease for the reader. My initial interpretation of this type of story is that it is a reflection on what it means to be an individual in a system. In the cases of these stories that means leaning into the mundanity of daily life, the comfort of living simply or at the mercy of another and keeping their strangeness hidden/locked away from contact with the outside world. Interestingly enough I do think that in this case each story is exploring this idea through the lens of women stuck in a misogynistic society, cycle, or relationship. Whether this is through quite literally being handed from husband to husband or the presentation by a man of how to dissect misogyny using a tool suggested by a man and oversimplified to the extent that it is, to me, a mocking of influencers, and society as a whole which present misogyny as something that one can simply cut away and be done with. Finally, and perhaps the most consistent idea throughout all of these texts is the idea of connection/relationships and the, in my opinion, true idea that we cannot ever to a complete extent understand each other. Whilst we may be reflections of each other or live in accordance with a system we will never truly be able to understand another person down to their core simply because we aren't them. And that is ok.

Bin 9/24

 Sea Horse is a novel full of strong metaphors.

Here are my personal ideas: the female protagonist was originally a free creature of the sea, but she came ashore because of the charm displayed by men on land. This symbolizes the unique allure and deceptive power that patriarchy presents to women, causing them to gradually lose their judgment and subjectivity, drifting away from freedom (the sea). On land, the protagonist is continually “transferred” from one husband to another, locked up by them with chains. This suggests that once women become subordinates to patriarchal men, they are immediately imprisoned by this relationship. The protagonist’s eventual return to the sea and her daughter’s return symbolize liberation from patriarchal oppression.

There are a few noteworthy details in the text. The doctor says the daughter “was suffering from orthostatic something or other.” Right at the beginning, the author has already hinted to the reader that the protagonist and her daughter are of the same kind of being—for the seahorse is the only fish that swims in an upright position. However, although both mother and daughter are seahorses, the daughter embodies a stronger power to resist oppression (refusing marriage, rejecting sexual relations, ultimately returning to the sea). Unlike the protagonist, who is objectified in traditional society (treated as a collectible, a model, a reproductive tool—her body gazed at, used, passed along, even stuffed into a wooden crate and transported), the daughter subverts this fate.

I noticed several passages:

• “My first three children are all boys. Some resemble my husband, others don't. Not one of them looks like me. Only my daughter does.”
  
  

• “That fourth child has a name. I told her what it was on the occasion of her first period. It is not to be rashly spoken aloud. It can be used only when absolutely necessary.”
  
  

• “My first child has no name. Neither does the second or the third. They have human names of course, but not real names. Only the fourth child's name was given to me.”
  
  

I have no definitive proof, but perhaps the fact that the three sons have no “real” names means they are merely figures, symbols of the future inheritors of patriarchy. They are destined to be different from their mother’s identity as a woman; they do not resemble her, just as future oppressors will not resemble the oppressed.

When the protagonist says, “I told her what it was on the occasion of her first period,” she is giving her daughter a name at the very moment she faces a uniquely female bodily experience. This marks the awakening of identity, the return of female subjectivity. In this sense, the daughter’s eventual return to the sea is enabled by her mother’s spiritual support—for it was the mother who told her who she was.

The ending of Convenience Store Woman has something I don’t quite understand: Keiko gives up her job interview and chooses to remain a convenience store worker. Is this a kind of rebirth, or just a cycle where nothing changes? On the one hand, we might see her refusal to live under the scrutiny of family and friends, and her firm choice to continue working at the convenience store, as a rebellion against social institutionalization and discipline. But then again, isn’t the convenience store itself also a system of regulation and discipline?

Among these stories, what touched me most was Tomo-chan’s happiness. Her strength in the face of suffering and her defense against the cruelty of fate reminded me of Romain Rolland’s words: “There is only one true heroism in the world: to see the world as it is, and to love it.”

Sam Kraus - 9/24/2025

Starting with Realizing Fun Things Through Water, two things stood out to me. Firstly, true family vs. "forced family." Secondly, water is repeatedly brought up throughout the story - it begins with it, and it also ends with it. As the story progresses, it is clear that Hatsuoka was never super interested in being with Hakozaki. She admits herself that she did not really feel the same way towards him, but she ended up going out with him regardless. This begins a running theme across the stories we read of characters being caught in unfulfilling relationships. It is clear that her sister, Hinata, represents her true family. When Hakozaki comes along, in a way, he becomes her "forced family," if we take into consideration the pressure of marriage, having a family, and having kids. Further supporting that point, we see that Hatsuoka is heartbroken when her sister disappears. Hakozaki becomes increasingly controlling, and he attempts to get her to leave the apartment that she once shared with her sister. She refuses to, showing that Hinata was always her true family - not one that is incentivized. As for water, its function is a little less clear to me, but it seemingly serves as some kind of protective force for Hatsuoka. For example, she shares her private, innermost thoughts with water - thoughts which she is unable to share with any sentient being. Furthermore, to calm herself, at one point in the story, she submerges herself in the tub to clear her head. Lastly, when we finally hear from Hinata at the end, she is in a seemingly foreign land with only a well. On top of that, she is on her way to catch a boat. Now that water is referenced through Hinata, it seems to connect them in some way. After all, earlier in the story, she says, "There are some things you can only say to the sea." 

Speaking of water, Sea Horse was probably my favorite story of the lot. Again, our main character is caught in a string of unfulfilling relationships where she is mistreated, ignored, abused, and more - unfulfilling relationships which society coerces. She longs for the sea, and in this case, the sea seems to represent a place of total freedom and autonomy. However, she is stuck on land, suffering a dehumanizing fate - "He placed a metal ring around my neck and linked it to a long chain bolted to a stake." However, things were not always like this - at a younger age, our protagonist appeared to be a much different person, free from the demands of society. She says about her 4th child (the daughter who resembles her) - "There was also something vast and boundless about her. While years and years of training had tamed my spirit, hers was like mine had once been." I really loved this sentence, and it made me think of John Locke's blank slate - you start as a blank slate, or as I like to say, an empty attic. As you progress through time, the attic, or mind, fills up with experiences, and as the attic fills, you are molded into an amalgamation of experiences, experiences which cannot be unlearned. In other words, your once free spirit is tamed, and you are restricted into lines of thinking that are pulled from experiences. In this case, her spirit has been tamed, but since her daughter is so young, she recognizes that freedom that she once had. As for the carried in the crate metaphor, that was quite unsettling for me. It showed a complete lack of autonomy for our protagonist, and it was a poignant representation of how dehumanized some women have been throughout history AND still are - some have tragically existed, as Hiromi Kawakami says, to do men's bidding. 

It has been quite a long time since I have visited Convenience Store Woman, so it was nice to revisit it through the context of the other stories we are reading. I suppose little has changed - Shihara is as insufferable as ever. However, reading it within the context of the other stories, it did make me realize something - this story almost feels like a parody of the previously discussed stories. For example, both of those stories confront the idea of being coerced into marrying someone for the sake of society. In that context, the relationship is very unfulfilling, and the couple often have little to no chemistry. This story comes across as a funny, extreme example of what happens when you are forced into those previously discussed relationships - although both are ostracized by society, and although both experience parallel pressures that men and women face in society, they COULD NOT be more different. Keiko is timely, organized, well-mannered, and clean, whereas Shihara is simply the opposite of all of those things - I mean even she is repulsed by him. However, they get together due to societal benefits, and they both benefit from this unhinged "relationship." Of course, there are much larger themes at play within the story, but this stood out to me in this instance.

I will go ahead and bring Picnic up now as it seems to fall in line with the theme of unfulfilling relationships. The first half of the story progressed quite rationally, and at first, the couple really did seem normal. However, our protagonist eventually reveals that he believes his wife is a witch - a witch who cannot remember his name. Although they did seem well-suited at first, cracks begin to form when we hear the protagonist say, "we are happy!" Because after this, Kyoko responds - "That's good." It almost seems as if she did not get a say in the decision, and it similarly feels like they are "playing" relationship rather than having a true, deep bond. She claims that she cannot see him "well" in the house, and I struggle to interpret what this could mean. My inclination is to think that she finds it strange when they are under the same roof - as in, she finds it strange to be in a relationship with him like this (as if it is not natural love but more artificial). Our narrator expresses, "No doubt the thing she has found most surprising about married life is the fact that my existence is unpleasant and incomprehensible to her. I am a contamination..." Again, an unfulfilling, seemingly forced relationship.

I do not have strong thoughts on Dissecting Misogyny A Live Demo!, but I found one of the quotes to the audience members to be interesting - "You know I really wouldn't be inflicting this on you if it wasn't necessary..." For some reason, dissecting the body violently in front of the audience needs to happen. Once the bones have been removed, our narrator says, "And that concludes my live demonstration! So now you see what misogyny looks like!" After this, she informs the audience that the knives are selling for $99 + tax, encouraging the audience to purchase the knives and perhaps do their own "dissections." I do not have strong thoughts, but it seems to encourage the women in the audience to take control of their lives by purchasing their own knives, which will be used by them to dissect misogyny on their own.

I also really enjoyed Tomo-Chan's Happiness. As well known as Banana Yoshimoto is, I have not read much of her work. Tomo-chan has experienced a lot of trauma in her life - sexually violated at 16, her father's absence in her life and infidelity, the death of her mother, etc. Due to her trauma in Hokkaido, she forms a disdain for it. This was my favorite part of the story - how memory associates with locations, and as humans, we form a liking or disliking for a place based on the memories that stem from said place rather than its physical properties. She hates Hokkaido because of her father, but regarding Misawa-san who she loves, she says, "If I could go to Hokkaido with you, I know I'd fall in love with it." I think that is a really poetic sentiment, and I loved that. The ending was my favorite part, as even after the death of her mother, Tomo-chan does not feel alone. Tomo-chan feels watched over, as the narrator expresses, "Tomo-chan was safely held. By the velvety glow of the night, the touch of the wind as it drifts slowly past, the blinking of the stars, the voices of the insects... Somewhere deep down, Tomo-chan knew this all along. And so she was never really alone." I thought these ending remarks were beautiful. Even if there is no one physically around her, the world/nature all around her is alive, and she is a breathing part of it. As long as there is wind, insects, or stars, she cannot truly be alone

Loneliness, Connection, and Strangeness-Sylvia

 I see a recurring technique in these pieces. 

The writers often begin with everyday scenes like a picnic, the convenience store, household duties, or casual talks, but gradually, strange fissures show themselves. When I read, I sometimes think, "This is just everyday life," yet these unexpected facts surprise or unnerve me. The style occupies a grey area where the familiar and the fantastic interact, rather than being strictly realistic or fantastical.

And this reading experience makes me feel both familiar and uneasy. I wonder if it also reflects our own doubts about everyday life? For example, is our daily life really stable and taken for granted? Why do authors create a sense of strangeness in the most ordinary spaces, such as the convenience store, the family, or a picnic? Perhaps they are reminding us that what we call “everyday order” is itself fragile, and even a kind of constructed illusion? 

I also feel that the characters in these work are always yearning for connection, but their connections often carry a sort of performance. To fit into society, we often have to play certain roles in order to gain ties with others. But are such connections that stable? I’m doubtful and not sure about it. Human beings are social animals and need one another, but connections are never eternal; they are usually temporary, fragile, and even somewhat illusory. 

Could we still rely on the connection for true comfort if it is constantly so erratic? Maybe that's the answer. Connection is all the more genuine and valuable because it is fleeting. It is possible to overcome loneliness with just a little moment of being seen or understood.

Jazirra (09/17/25)

 This week’s readings focus on women’s experiences and how they live under social pressure and expectations. Each story shows how culture and economy shape women’s lives, not as individual people but as roles such as mothers, wives, workers, or objects of attention. The main ideas I found are alienation and identity, gender roles, and the way capitalism treats women as commodities.

One big theme I observed is alienation and broken identity. In Diary of a Void, the main character pretends to be pregnant to escape sexism at work. This false identity helps her survive in the office. In The Woman in the Purple Skirt, the narrator becomes obsessed with another woman instead of focusing on herself, which shows how invisible she feels in society. In The Most Boring Red on Earth, Rika is first disconnected from her own body, but through magical images of menstrual blood changing into streams and fish, she discovers a new and short moment of wonder. These stories show that when women feel alienated, they sometimes take on different identities because their true self is hard to express.

The readings also discuss gender roles and social pressure. In Breasts and Eggs, the narrator keeps thinking about children, sex, and relationships, which shows how society pushes women to follow tradition even when they do not want to. The book suggests that being a woman can also mean resisting those pressures. In The Lonesome Bodybuilder, a woman changes her body, and her husband does not understand it. This shows how marriage can be a place where society forces women to act in expected ways. In many of these stories, women who refuse the normal roles are judged, pitied, or rejected.

Finally, there is a critique of work and capitalism. In Diary of a Void, pregnancy is only respected when it is linked to labor and productivity. In Naked, the insecurity of women’s jobs shows how inequality damages their dignity. Even in The Most Boring Red on Earth, a male writer says “women = periods,” which reduces women’s lives to a shallow stereotype.

Bin 9/17

Of all the stories, The Lonesome Bodybuilder is my favorite.
It is a powerful and thought-provoking work. Through an unusual narrative, it precisely captures the anxiety, loneliness, and longing commonly felt by modern individuals caught between intimate relationships, social norms, and self-realization. It tells us that the path to finding oneself may be lonely and even misunderstood, but only by courageously showing one’s true self is it possible to be truly seen and connected.

The exploration of marital relationships and identity is the core theme of the story. The protagonist gradually feels neglected in her marriage—her individuality and needs drowned out by her husband’s indifference and her own compromises. Bodybuilding, for her, is not merely a physical change but an awakening of resistance and self-discovery. By shaping a strong, visible body, she confronts her “invisibility” in the marriage, attempting to make her husband (and herself) see a different, authentic version of who she is.

The bodybuilder is lonely. Her husband cannot understand her inner world, and the broader society (the shop assistants, customers, children in the neighborhood) also fails to comprehend her choices. Embracing strength is lonely, and bearing the consequences of that strength is equally lonely (as seen in the guilt she feels during the Yorkshire Terrier incident).

The ending of the story moved me deeply—it is full of hope. The husband is forced to step out of his own world and to re-recognize his partner. He finally sees her. This is a love born of awakening, grounded in reality. It contains shock and confusion, but ultimately chooses embrace over rejection. It is the beginning of equality: in the past marital dynamic, the husband was psychologically dominant, while the wife was appeasing and invisible. Now, the wife stands before him in an undeniable, powerful physical and psychological form. The description of them finally walking hand in hand symbolizes the formation of a new, more balanced dynamic. He accepts her beast-like arms; she accepts his artist’s hands.

What resonates with me personally in this story is this: throughout my own growth, I too have faced many choices of “whether to ride the roller coaster or not.” Some of these choices brought me joy, while others brought pain. But this story gives me the strength to “fling any roller coaster with my bare hands.”

 

 

09/17/25 - Thomas Weber

 What struck me the most about all of these readings was their focus on absurdity and beauty in discomfort. 

Absurdity is clearly shown through the ways in which throughout these stories magical or simply impossible events occur and change the course of the story without having profound impacts beyond the main character. This is most readily apparent in a story like void, where a fake pregnancy suddenly turns real. I did not fully understand whether this was actually a reality that she experienced or if this was some sort of hallucination after her speech with regards to Mary? Anyway, the aspect that interested me the most and that I will focus on here is that of the beauty in discomfort. Whether this is shown through the kindness and attention shown to the main character in void after her "pregnancy" is announced or the way in which the main characters period blood turns into a scene of magical beauty in the most boring red on earth. These, to me, show a certain beauty in the conception of the human body but also in the idea of discomfort. This concept is then continued through the dilemma of working women in the way that the character slowly realizes the value in the discomfort of free time. This is also shown in the way in which she accepts the blemishes of her character and the, not so subtle, jabs by her younger coworker after realizing the discomfort was because of her pride being hurt. This is something that I am hoping to be able to explore more fully in class as there are quite obvious connections to feminism within the text but also towards this specific concept!

Sam Kraus Week #3

When reading Diary of a Void, I was immediately reminded of a funny story my friend once shared with me. At her workplace, the women were always tasked with planning mini birthday celebrations for co-workers. For whatever reason (I am unable to recall why), one week, the women were unable to plan the celebration for one of the other workers. No other co-worker stepped up (by this, I mean no man), and hence, no party occurred. This became a trend in which the women stopped throwing the parties, and they watched in amazement at how a celebration never occurred again. I say this because it reminds me of the coffee portion of this reading. When our protagonist stops picking up the coffee cups, the room becomes littered with them as no man is willing to do this job. In this story, it is of course the pregnancy that finally relieves her of these appointed yet menial tasks delegated to solely women. I love the blend of surrealism in which the line between delusion and reality is blurred, as towards the end of the reading, our protagonist and even ourselves are led to believe that this pregnancy truly exists. Lastly, I also enjoyed the humor of the protagonist, especially when she makes a sarcastic remark regarding the young male co-worker amazed at how easy - INSTANT - coffee is to make. Japan is one of the most notable 1st world countries in which gender roles are starkly evident, and the silent rebellion against this with the fake pregnancy made for a humorous yet informative narration. 

The Lonesome Body Builder appears to wrestle with the idea of women being "responsible" for appeasing and building up men. It is evident that the husband is insecure about himself, and it appears to be an exhausting cycle of the wife having to build him up. For example, he claims that she would likely prefer the male boxer over himself. Especially in recent years when it comes to social media and masculine discourse, men appear to always take it upon themselves to dictate what a women wants in a man... Anyways, I loved the reoccurring theme of the roller coaster - if the protagonist had just taken the risk and jumped on it, perhaps she could have met a more powerful, liberated version of herself. Of course, at this moment, she decided to become a body builder. Upon transforming into this new version of herself, the power dynamic in the relationship begins to change - at the end, the husband can no longer ignore her, keep her down, or even take her for granted. She has become powerful and liberated, and she no longer will allow a society dominated by men to hold her back. Interestingly, this and the above story exemplify that it took physical transformation of the body to garner psychological liberation. I would like to think that Yukiko Motoya would agree that all women hold this power within them; it is just a matter of how to awaken it, especially in a society that actively wants to prevent that from occurring. 

I have less readily available thoughts regarding The Woman in the Purple Skirt, but I did notice that color plays a central role in the storytelling. Characters are described by their representative colors, and I found it interesting how at the end, the woman in the purple skirt wears a black uniform for her work, which contrasts with her usual purple style. She appears to be a quite free-spirited woman who marches to the beat of her own drum, but upon finally getting a job, the very characteristics that describe her being are removed from her. Perhaps some of her freedom is stripped from her in this instance. I wonder if there is some critique of work culture and capitalism mixed in, as the woman is consistently not presentable enough to hold down a job. On a different note, the protagonist's obsession and jealousy of the woman in the purple skirt was fun to witness. She so desperately wanted to understand this person, but she was too elusive to ever catch. 

I am less eager to jump out and speak on Aoko Matsuda's The Most Boring Red on Earth, as there is a section within this very reading teasing men who write women, or more specifically, write about their periods - analyzing something like this likely should fall to someone else. However, I wonder if something like this is a shot at men in general, or something like a shot at a writer like Haruki Murakami, who for his entire career, has had to contend with these type of criticisms (even from people like Mieko Kawakami who asked him about this in an interview). This reminded me of when I was at a talk given by Murakami at Wellesley College (I believe Professor Elliot was there too). At the end of the talk, the Wellesley students lined up to ask him questions, and most of them were about how he portrays women in his writings (it was sort of amusing to be honest). Anyways, I love the quote, "She had finally imbibed society's maxim that it was more important to not cause those around you any bother than it was to take care of your own body." Discussions of these sorts are ignored, leaving women to have to cope with it on their own (they are expected to silently endure it without burdening others). Towards the end, she says, "It's sort of beautiful, my period," and I see this as liberating. I see it as a representation of the beauty of womanhood, especially in regards to something that is often seen as gross or inappropriate to discuss (referring to Japan here). It seems to be liberating, empowering, and most of all, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, this is easier said than done in a world that sweeps bodily functions like this under the rug in favor of perfectionism. Again, this may appear to be "duh," in western cultures, but I would imagine this new wave of feminism in the last few decades is liberating for the voiceless in eastern Asia.

So Breast and Eggs is actually my favorite novel out of modern Japan (although I love Wind Up Bird-Chronicle), and Mieko Kawakami is currently my favorite author who I am writing my thesis on. I have been yapping a lot, and I could talk about this novel for many cycles of the moon, so I will try to keep this brief. There is a lot going on, whether that is critiquing the patriarchy, exploring bodily autonomy in women, exploring sexuality, young love, critiquing capitalism, etc. I believe that Kawakami masterfully implements all of these themes into her novel without it becoming a convoluted mess, and in the midst of it, her writing is beautiful - "I imagined Midoriko and Haruyama walking down some quiet road, spending an hour together, speaking a language only they could understand..." That is an incredible line. One of my favorite parts of this section is the divide between Natsuko's wisdom as an adult and Midoriko's innocence. For example, Natsuko lost precious time with Naruse due to her having to work all the time to support her family at a young age. However, thanks to Natsuko and Makiko, Midoriko has some wiggle room for being able to roam around and be autonomous (I mean she has actual time to be a child before capitalism grabs her by the ankles). It is a bittersweet moment as Natsuko is so happy that Midoriko is exploring the world young and in love, but at the same time, she is reminded of what was taken from her at that time - due to poverty, she was unable to have that relationship with Naruse. It is always great when a parent is able to give their children the things they could not have, but to me, it is sort of one of those ostensibly sweet stories - it is a shame that Natsuko was stripped of her innocence so young.

As for The Dilemmas of Working Woman, my first impression is yet another critique of work culture in Japan and this obsession with capitalism. With Izumi, before her life of being unemployed, there was no clear distinction between what she wanted and what she thought she wanted. She thought that she wanted designer clothes, a better body, aging-treatments, etc, but in reality, these were more-so things that society wanted out of her. In a grind-set bubble, that distinction is hard to discern. Upon exiting the vicious work culture of Japan, she came to realize that she cares less about these things than previous thought. Across the world, as a random dude from rural Tennessee, she makes me think - out of all of the things I do daily, what do I REALLY enjoy, and what would I truly enjoy/live for outside of this cut-throat grind to exhibit individual excellence? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the Ordinary Turns Absurd-Sylvia

When I reached the last piece, I suddenly realised that all the stories seemed to have female protagonists, and all left me with a sense of absurdity. 

The Lonesome Bodybuilder, for instance—everything felt so bizarre. The story begins ordinarily: the daily life of a married couple. Yet just when I thought the author was merely exploring marital dynamics, the wife abruptly becomes obsessed with fitness. This twist arrives without warning, her motivation appearing preposterous, but it's portrayed as perfectly natural, rendering the abnormal into the ordinary. Her body becomes both the fruit of her self-discovery and a socially “abnormal” anomaly. At the end, she finds no liberation or reconciliation, remaining instead in a state of solitary and contradictory existence.

Diary of a Void continues this tone: the protagonist’s false pregnancy gains her respect and relief, but only deepens her isolation. No one genuinely cares about her as a person; the “respect” she receives stems solely from her status as a “pregnant woman.” And in The Woman in the Purple Skirt, strangeness comes not from the woman herself but from the narrator’s obsessive gaze, which transforms her ordinary routines into something “abnormal.”

Does the fact that these outlandish situations show a typical occurrence show that society pays attention to women's subjective experiences only when they "deviate from the norm"?  If this is the case, how should we interpret “strangeness”? Does that reflect how powerless women feel when they have to do something completely out of the ordinary just to be noticed?

May Inui 9/17/25

All of this week’s readings explored the overarching theme of women feeling like outliers in society as they struggle to align their identities with societal expectations. In “Diary of a Void”, the protagonist experiences workplace gender inequality, where she often feels subjected to tasks just because she is a woman, such as serving tea and cleaning up after meetings. She therefore uses pregnancy almost as a tool to escape the expectations she feels are placed on her as one of the very few women in her workplace. Although this temporarily relieves some of those pressures, it also takes an emotional toll on her, as we see glimpses throughout the reading where the reality of her actually being pregnant becomes a blur. As she starts to learn more about maternity, she grows attached to this identity she has created for herself. I found “The Most Boring Red on Earth” to be similar to this piece in that the protagonist initially puts her job before her own body, viewing her period as a mere burden that interferes with her work. However, she gradually develops an interest in her period and becomes more in tune with her body. Similarly, in line with the theme of female autonomy, in "Breasts and Eggs", Natsuko feels out of place in society and in her relationships because of her lack of sexual desire, which gets in the way of her connections with people important to her. She feels isolated and incomplete as a woman because she isn’t able to have children in the “traditional” way, and she battles the reality of her situation alongside her desire to experience motherhood. 

In “The Lonesome Bodybuilder”, the protagonist experiences a loss of identity in her role as a wife, feeling unseen and unvalidated by her husband. To fill this void, she turns to bodybuilding (a sport stereotypically seen as male) to physically grow bigger, using it as a form of empowerment and a way to regain control over her identity and prove it to herself.

The stories “The Woman in the Purple Skirt” and “Naked” both cover the struggles women face with employment. The woman in the purple skirt is viewed as an outsider in society because she can’t get a traditional, steady job. I especially liked the stylistic choices in how the narrator interacts with the protagonist in this story. “Naked” explores the experiences of a recently divorced, middle-aged woman navigating unemployment. She allows herself to be free from the social construct that demands constant productivity and participation in the rat race by embracing free time, but also faces the struggles that come with this freedom.

May Inui 9/10/25

 “The Ice Man,” to me, symbolizes emotional disconnect and loneliness. The narrator is initially drawn to the Ice Man’s mysteriousness and romanticizes his unreachable presence. However, the very traits that attract her are ultimately the ones that cause her pain. Their relationship serves as a powerful representation of one lacking emotional intimacy, closeness, and space for genuine connection, despite their initial attraction to each other. A similar theme appears in “The Straw Husband,” where the instruments symbolize the emotional baggage the husband has been carrying throughout the marriage. A line I found striking was when the narrator asks herself, “Why was I so happy to be married to a bunch of straw?” This line captures a very real conflict in relationships, particularly in marriage, where partners are forced to confront who their significant other truly is, flaws and all.

“Smartening Up” conveyed strong feminist themes to me, the most prominent being how hair removal symbolizes the message that women should not let their self-worth be defined by the male gaze. The story emphasizes the importance of rejecting societal and/or male validation and instead accepting oneself. A line that particularly struck me was, “Your hair is the only wild thing you have left,” which suggests that in a world where beauty is often curated through things such as plastic surgery and hair removal, allowing body hair to grow naturally becomes a form of resistance. This theme connects to “Silently Burning,” where the narrator has an almost burning, passionate relationship with calligraphy. Despite being underestimated because of her age and gender, her skills becomes a form of rebellion. Her intense dedication to calligraphy challenges the roles and limitations often placed on young women in society. Similar themes appear in “Dojoji” and “The Greengrocer’s Daughter,” where the women are portrayed as following their passionate feelings, particularly romantic desire, even when it leads to destructive or obsessive behavior. In these stories, the women’s emotional intensity serves as a counterpoint to the expectations placed on them. 

 

09/10/25 - Thomas Weber

     The stories assigned for this week all share a throughline of exploring women's' lives through the lens of love. Whether this be in relation to their own personal understanding of love or the broader social ideals of love we are constantly bombarded with understanding the intricacies and complications of love from a woman's perspective. 

    In this exploration there are some stories that seem to consistently draw on each other or on past events giving us diverse perspectives on the ideals themselves. I would group these together would be: Dojoji (1), Dojoji (2), and The Greengrocer's Daughter with a Bundle of Love, all based on the historical story and mythologization of Oshichi's love affair; The Straw Husband, and The Ice Man, most likely drawing from each other as well as the mythical tale in Japanese mythology of an ice woman; Smartening Up and Silently Burning, in its portrayal of love of the self.

    Love in all of these three different categories means different things to each. In the Dojoji and Greengrocer stories love is primarily shown to be about passion. The rapidly evolving and intimate relationship between a man and woman very quickly leading to an unstoppable need to find connection with each other constantly. This passion is then quickly turned into insanity through the portrayal of Oshichis turning into a snake in Dojoji and trying to set her house on fire in Greengrocer. Irrationality and moral incorrectness are strong themes found throughout these stories in particular.

    In contrast to this The Straw Husband and Ice Man portray a type of love which is much less directly about passion and more so about love as an inclusive and restrictive phenomenon. Whilst a slow burn of the creation of love emerges between the main character and Ice Man in Murakami's story it is their ensuing love that seems to both let her accept him as being different form her as well as what ends up trapping her into a cycle of, quite literally, being frozen in place. The Straw Husband deals with these same ideas but presents them in a slightly more volatile manner. This is expressly shown through the idea that both the Ice Man and the Straw Husband are creating toxic relationships for the woman. The use of their bodies as being entirely different can be seen as a representation of a certain lack of emotional availability and maturity from them, very quickly leading to a suffocating relationship. In Ice Man this is shown through the use of cold as a reductive force and the loss of the individual faced by the woman, and in Straw Husband the inability for her husband to understand her feelings eventually leads her to feeling trapped and vulnerable before him even eventually pushing her to feel like "burning him up."

    Finally, Smartening Up and Silently Burning seem to stand a step apart from the others in the sense that they most clearly portray themes of self-love as well as the value of being present for oneself. Whether this is shown in the apparition of the grandmother's ghost and the woman trying to use her hair as a way to reinvent herself after her breakup, or in the way that the young woman in Smartening Up finds her self-worth and social image existing almost entirely through her calligraphy, these stories seem to contend with the idea that love is intransigent. Meaning, love exists in all things, physical or not, and that our value exists in both our craft and, subsequently, the way that we think of ourselves.

    All of these stories share a common thread of exploring the idea of love through the lens of a woman and how love can be a tool of passion and folly, a tool of acceptance and or trapping, and a method of self-expression.

Comments from Jazirra (September 10, 2025)

All the readings we did are centered around women, focusing on their relationship with men and their own struggles. Across these stories, there are two main themes that dominate: obsession and toxic relationships, both of which show how women's desires and attachments can lead to their loss of self, or to discovering themselves. 

The Ice Man and The Straw Husband, the women marry non-humans who represent men who are emotionally detached and isolated. These stories suggest that staying in such relationships destroys the women's sense of self. Even though the people around them warn them, the women continue anyway, which reflects the dynamic of many toxic relationships. Part of this comes from loneliness and the desire for connection -- even when that connection is harmful.  For example, Tomoko in The Straw Husband realizes her husband can't truly understand her feelings, yet he still insists on telling her what to do, like how to run properly. Similarly, in The Ice Man, the narrator admits to feeling "so alone," but she has already surrendered to life with her cold, distant husband, as shown by how she moved to Antarctica with him. These show how women cling to unhealthy partners even when they recognize the damage, reflecting the cycle of many toxic relationships. 

The other stories, The Greengrocer's Daughter, Smartening Up, Silently Burning, and Dojoji, shift the focus to obsession itself. In The Greengrocer's Daughter, Oshici becomes so consumed with her love for the young samurai that she sets fire to her house just to see him again. Her obsession leads indirectly to her own execution. Silently Burning retells Oshichi's legend in a more modern lens, showing how women today still relate to her passion and come to her temple to pray. However, different people perceive her obsession in different ways, and in our main character, she found her passion for calligraphy without even realizing it. In Smartening Up and Dojoji, both obsessions are created by heartbreak, and they end up physically transforming into monsters. 

Comments from Bin

 

When reading Haruki Murakami’s Ice Man, I felt an overwhelming sense of despair: a despair destined to move toward coldness and obliteration. The heroine’s embrace of the Ice Man might be read as a kind of surrender—submission to death, to nothingness. What is striking, however, is that she chooses this icy path of destruction out of love (the text makes it clear that she truly loves the Ice Man). Perhaps this suggests that, deep down, human beings harbor a longing for their own annihilation. The individual’s helplessness in the face of fate, attraction, and loneliness lends a kind of grand narrative to the human condition.

At the same time, it is worth asking: is the individual really without any power to resist destruction? Might there be a burning flame capable of melting the endless despair of the Antarctic? I believe such a flame does exist. It appears when “my straw husband” and “I” are on the verge of collapse in a quarrel. It appears in the public bath when a woman who broke up from a relationship manages to cleanse herself of the karmic burden of self-contempt. It takes the form of a radiant spring that leads Kiyoko out of the closet.

I suspect that the pervasive nihilism in Japanese literature is related to the spread of Buddhism in Japan: the selective absorption of ideas such as “all is suffering” and “all joy and beauty are fleeting.” This has made Japanese literature especially adept at probing themes of death and nothingness. Yet, as Buddhism also teaches, “the end of death is life.” The light of hope and self-redemption may flicker—perhaps faintly—at the end of the road of destruction. And when spring arrives, “I” will leave Antarctica behind.

Suffocating Tales - Sylvia

    When I was reading these works, I realized that my mind automatically grouped similar types of stories together for comparison, like the first two (Ice Man vs Straw Husband) and the last two(The Greengrocer’s Daughter vs Silently Burning). These pieces all seem to carry a flavor of traditional Japanese ghost tales, with a strange, otherworldly feeling and a suffocating atmosphere that, for me, feels unique to Japanese literature. Something interesting is, when I read literature from other countries, such as American authors or Taiwanese authors, I don’t experience this same suffocating intensity; only Japanese works give me that sensation. Another factor is that, after translation, most of the stories I read rely heavily on a third-person perspective, which makes me feel as if I’m standing by, watching the events unfold.

    Meanwhile, Ice Man and Straw Husband seem to draw from folklore, one borrowing from the legend of the Yuki-onna (Snow Woman), the other adapted from a Japanese folktale. I especially liked the sense of helplessness in the female protagonist at the end of Straw Husband. It strongly reflects both the broader social environment and a common condition in Japan. Meanwhile, in Ice Man, the theme of powerless assimilation stood out. And when I reflect on both stories, I realized that if you replaced the non-human protagonists with real people, interestingly, you could still find corresponding counterparts in reality. This lead to an intriguing analysis suggesting that Matsuda Aoko employs a feminist perspective to transform Edo-period cautionary tales into stories of liberation.

Comments from Ruth

 I've read all the stories at this point. In addition i looked up something about each author, i.e. age and their usual motif. Quite surprising. There is a common thread concerning women, their expectations and ultimate disappointments, and the society in which they live. It's very difficult to take this on as a whole but i'd be happy to give my thoughts on each indivdually. Overall, however, the deep understanding and sympathy, was realistic.

Sam Kraus - 9/10/2025, Week #2

 

Although all of the stories carry their own nuances, all of them are loosely 

connected thematically through aspects of fire and ice, the suppression of 

women’s autonomy, desire, love (the budding and destruction of it), 

transformation, etc. Furthermore, the focal point of each story is on the 

woman as the protagonist (or the antagonist, as in Dōjōji). 

Ice Man and Straw Husband are clearly interlinked, as in both stories, 

the main character falls in love with surreal, caricatures of detached 

men. In both stories, the families and friends disapprove of the Ice Man 

and the Straw Husband, yet out of intense desire, the characters are 

too drawn to these mysterious beings to take heed of any advice. Both 

relationships begin passionately yet unravel as the story proceeds, and 

it is clear that the woman in both feel detached from not only their 

partners, but the rest of the world. Along with the Ice Man, the 

protagonist becomes frozen in time, stuck in a relationship that has 

sailed its course in a land far from home. On the other hand, the

partner of the Straw Husband is overly compliant and is unable 

to please her partner after making a trivial mistake. Similarly to 

the line of thinking of our other protagonist, she says, “Why did 

I get married to a thing like this? Why was I so happy to be married 

to a bunch of straw?” In a society that coerces marriage and 

relationships, she is left entirely unfulfilled. Furthermore, she 

literally has to put her partner back together piece by 

piece, echoing a historically patriarchal deed forced upon women - 

building up and sustaining men. She demonstrates her pent up emotion, 

as her only release is when she is able to burn pieces of his straw 

towards the end.

In Dōjōji, we have thematic displays of transformation, yet in different 

ways. Dōjōji seems to focus more on 14th century sentiments, in this

case Buddhism. Kiyohime represents the dangers of unchecked desires 

and attachments, as her envy leads to her own destruction. Perhaps this 

can come across as a little degrading and stereotypical of a woman in 

love. However, Aoko Matsuda flips this and presents a woman’s 

transformation in a much more positive and feminist light. I found it 

interesting that the protagonist was unable to decipher the language 

being used at the Noh play as a young child, but upon growing up and 

being visited by her grandma in the midst of her heartbreak, the words 

become clear to her - the grandma says to her, “Let’s become monsters 

together,” and she goes through a powerful transformation in which she 

rejects harmful beauty standards placed on women in highly developed 

first world capitalist countries. In transforming, I found it to be quite 

Jungian too, as she transforms into a version of herself 

in which society (and she herself) has tried extensively to repress. I also 

found it quite interesting how everything that the protagonist desires 

and consumes is western - blond hair, being able to speak in English, 

Fabio Rusconi heels, etc. This slight rejection towards the end of these 

western-imposed standards almost feels quite Natsume Sōseki like to 

me (in terms of Sensei in Kokoro). Similarly to the protagonists in Ice 

Man and Straw Husband, she is stuck within the bounds of societal 

conformity, except in this case, she is able to set herself free. 

Like Dōjōji, The Greengrocer’s Daughter touches on Buddhist thought 

(desire and attachment), and I enjoyed this story as it very clearly 

carries influence from The Tale of Genji. Many aspects of the story 

demonstrate this, but most notably, just like Genji when Murasaki dies, 

Kichisaburo retires to monk-hood and “suffers a fate worse 

than Oshichi’s.” Furthermore, lines such as, “wet their sleeves with 

weeping,” and, “How sad a world it is when I must fall today like the 

last blossoms of the cherry and leave my ill fame to blow about in the 

winds of spring,” sound incredibly Genji-esque. Of course, a central 

component of the story is fire, which connects back with  Dōjōji, Straw 

Husband, and with the elements in mind, Ice Man too. To end, we have 

Aoko Matsuda’s Silently Burning, our analogue to The Greengrocer’s 

Daughter. Like others discussed before, this story carries feminist 

sentiments such as our protagonist being stereotyped for being a woman 

(such as customers being utterly shocked when she produces magnificent 

calligraphy). Although unlike Oshichi, she does not outwardly display a 

fiery passion, it clearly lurks within her, given her talents, disposition, 

independence, and quiet confidence. She is fulfilled without a romantic 

passion, a more positive and optimistic ending to all of the stories that fall 

before this one.