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.