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.”