Breasts and Eggs

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Kitamura, Katie (7 April 2020). "A Japanese Literary Star Joins Her Peers on Western Bookshelves". The New York Times . Retrieved 19 October 2020. Their interior sense of self, with which they must make sense of the fantastical and often sense-less setting around them, is the only constant. Fantasy and magic realism are used to further refine that sense of self, as it processes and assimilates the most fantastical of external stimuli. It helps the reader – as well as the protagonist – to winnow an identity down to its essence. This sense of self-understanding, and whatever personal growth it entails, is the goal consistently sought in these stories; its achievement the denouement and reward for both reader and protagonist alike. She refuses to say a word to her -- which now also goes for aunt Natsuko, when she is in Tokyo (though she continues to speak with her friends and teachers at school).

Writer and then-governor of Tokyo, Shintaro Ishihara, who himself won the Akutagawa Prize in 1955 and was a sitting member of its selection committee, criticized the selection of Kawakami's novel for the prize. In Bungeishunjū he wrote, "The egocentric, self-absorbed rambling of the work is unpleasant and intolerable." [19] English translation [ edit ] Section two, the bulk of the book, is digressive and reflective. Natsuko is working on a second novel. She wants to have a child but her body cannot tolerate sex, which disquiets and grieves her. Artificial insemination is forbidden to single Japanese women: she must either go to a sperm bank outside the country or make illegal arrangements with a donor. This section is made up of conversations as Natsuko passes time with a fellow writer, an editor, a former co-worker, and briefly, Makiko and Midoriko. Natsuko has no desire for a man, has no real sexual desires (this is explored in intimate and curious ways), and yet she has this feeling that a child exists in her timeline; she simply has yet to meet them. Ultimately, however, Natsuko rejects these fears and the novel ends on an optimistic note, with Kawakami’s downbeat heroine finally embracing – in every sense – new life. Mieko Kawakami lobbed a literary grenade into the fusty, male-dominated world of Japanese fiction with Breasts and Eggs.”— The Economist

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Yuriko’s philosophy is similar to that of real-world philosopher David Benetar, an anti-natalist who believes that, since life is so difficult and painful, we should not force our children to have to go through it themselves. Natsuko's isn't a question of gender-confusion -- that isn't the issue -- but she still struggles to figure out her identity as a woman, whereby societal pressure, of lineage, and the roles of sons and daughters within the family, play a significant part. Natsuko is grounded, though quietly sorrowful in her own way. She is a window into this world for us, but by no means a blank slate. Sure, why not,” I said without much thought when she brought it up the first time, expecting that to be the end of it. But saying “Sure, why not” opened the floodgates. It was a greenlight, and from there on out, I could barely get a word in edgewise. Meanwhile, Makiko gave me a first-class education on the state of breast augmentation surgery. Makiko explained the different costs, how and what would hurt, and all about the period of recovery that the clinics euphemized as “downtime.” Now and then, we’d wind up at a kind of chorus, where Makiko became her own motivational speaker. “I can do it. I’m really gonna do it.” Mos What does being a mother mean? Who has the right to bring a life into this world? Is motherhood a selfish act and, if it is, is it wrong to be selfish? What does a child feel about being born? These were the questions Breasts and Eggs forced me to think about.

DB: I can see that, especially in Heaven. Mieko’s sentences have a way of coming together to form something larger, something that can be really hard to define. Even if the effect isn’t most obvious at the sentence level, that’s where a lot of attention and effort goes when translating. Mieko’s sentences often contain “too much” or “too little,” by English standards, and I’m happy to follow the structure of the original wherever possible. I suppose I’m worried, actually, that changing things at the sentence level would negatively impact the exact thing you’re talking about. The issue of womanhood is more universal, and Kawakami's take is particularly intriguing with her de-sexualized protagonist.

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Not every character is so directly philosophical, however; for most characters, it is their actions, and the way in which their words and behaviours affect Natsuko, which drive the plot. Translation as an Exercise in Letting Go - An Interview with Sam Bett and David Boyd on Translating Mieko Kawakami One of Japan’s brightest stars is set to explode across the global skies of literature . . . Kawakami is both a writer’s writer and an entertainer, a thinker and constantly evolving stylist who manages to be highly readable and immensely popular.”— Japan Times