Breasts and Eggs

Mieko Kawakami, welcoming me back to Japanese literature. Here we go. Story about a poor woman navigating life in modern Japan, together with her sister Makiko, a single mother who is also poor, and who underwent breast augmentation. Now that I've finished reading, the two parts of the book felt like they had different themes. But we are taken on a journey through the character evolution of Natsuko Natsume (pretty cool name).

Part one: how does she survive on just one novel? While her life seems constrained, I kept wondering: how does she put food on the table? She's frequently late on rent, yet feels no compulsion to publish more books for survival.

Part two: Natsuko feels noticeably different. No longer quite as poor, and a lot more likable. Her quiet confidence shows: she can stand her ground, distance herself from pointless company, tune out when her group of friends reduce conversation to comparing their kids amongst peers. She even takes the initiative to reach out to Jun Aizawa about IVF. Midoriko also became more likable despite her quiet start. She sounds like a promising individual, capable of breaking away from the poverty she was born into, thanks to her mother Makiko, a bar hostess obsessed with breast augmentation to 'increase her market value'.

Sengawa, Natsuko's editor, brings in a fresh perspective, albeit indirectly. She comes across as a go-getter, a hustler, an independent woman who thrives on her own. But she was also made of wealth and family riches. Towards the end, her sudden death from cancer shocked everyone. Luckily, her family was rich and she had people to support her. We know of her hard stance: authors who have kids become lame and predictable. But imagine Sengawa with Natsuko's circumstances — would a child not make the going through of life more tolerable? Sharing the suffering and working towards a common goal. I'm conflicted.

Jun Aizawa was a welcomed and much-needed presence in Natsuko's life. The earlier the better — though maybe if it were earlier, he wouldn't possess the characteristics he does now. The story ends on a lighter note. I see hope for Natsuko and Aizawa.

Some memorable quotes:

"If you want to know how poor somebody was growing up, ask them how many windows they had. Don't ask what was in their fridge or in their closet. The number of windows says it all. It says everything. If they had none, or maybe one or two, that's all you need to know."

This probably just applies to Japan and similar countries. But it's a rather astute observation. I will start noticing people's windows — the number of them, the size, the make.

I was as dazed as Natsuko when she found herself locked in place near Sangenjaya, listening to Yuriko's view on children born through IVF:

You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? It's really simple, I promise. Why do people think this is okay? Why do people see no harm in having children? They do it with smiles on their faces, as if it's not an act of violence. You force this other being into the world, this other being that never asked to be born. You do this absurd thing because that's what you want for yourself, and that doesn't make any sense. Once you have children, you can't unhave them. I know how this sounds. You think I sound extreme, or detached from reality. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is real life. That's what I'm talking about — the pain that comes with reality. Not that anyone ever sees it... Parties are different, though. You can go back through the door behind you, but when you're born, there's no leaving. There's no door. There's no way back to how things were before. I hate to say it, but not everyone likes surprise parties. Most people go around believing life is good, one giant blessing, like the world we live in is so beautiful, and despite the pain, it's actually this amazing place.

We can tell the depth of pain she had gone through, even though her exterior is stoic. Her laissez-faire approach to life makes sense in context: a childhood of torment, sexual abuse, and violation by her "father" — kept secret even into adulthood, unknown to her mother. The analogy she brings up is a secluded village house in the forest, where 1 in 9 children you awaken would suffer. Would you take that chance on life? Statistically, 1 in 9 are good odds. But her follow-up lands harder: "Once you have children, you can't unhave them." That 1 in 9 doesn't stay a statistic — you're stuck with it and have to see it through. That one woke me up.

And finally:

"We're all so small, and have such little time, unable to envision the majority of the world."

Jun Aizawa's father, talking about the Voyager program. How minuscule the events of our lives are in the grand scheme of things.