katie_greenwinginmymouth's reviews
564 reviews

This was a really compelling story investigating the reasons why a young woman, Kanna, might have murdered her father, told from the perspective of a clinical psychologist, Yuki, writing a book about the events. However I struggled quite a lot with how some aspects of the story were framed, and I still have very mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand the Yuki’s perspective as a clinical psychologist added an interesting layer to the crime novel angle, as well as her own experiences with misogyny and sexual abuse which were woven into the story and revealed gradually as Kanna’s motives are investigated and unpacked. But her position as author of a book on the events put her in a compromised position and I found some of her actions deeply unethical - such as sharing Kanna’s letters with others without her consent. There was a very blurry line between whether Yuki was treating Kanna or just trying to get information out of her, which is all valid material for a novel of course, except that this didn’t seem to be investigated or unpacked

I came round quite a bit to it by the end of the book, as the way it was wrapped up really drove home the points Shimamoto was making about the deep and pervasive effects of misogyny on Japanese society. The book does a good job of weaving together many different examples and showing how pretty much all the characters are affected by it. Ultimately though I was left with a little uneasiness about how the story was told.

This second book of the Grievers trilogy developed the story beautifully - having gathered and documented the stories of those affected by the H-8 pandemic Dune reckons with her aloneness and starts to look outwards to find other survivors and build community. These books clearly build on adrienne maree brown’s approach to real life community organising and offer a transformative alternative to the usual dystopian narrative of lone survivors pitting themselves against whoever is left struggling to survive. The story is also abundantly, expansively queer and has many nourishing examples of found family, and (unsurprisingly given maree brown’s Pleasure Activism approach) the most healthy and pleasure-focused negotiation of  sex I have ever read in a book. Honestly the sex scenes bang (lol). This is exactly the book we need right now as we negotiate numerous hellscapes of our own. 

Even though the book is short there was quite a slow set up before we finally see Laura/Lolly breaking away from her family and moving to a small rural village, where gradually things start to take on a more supernatural tone.

Laura doesn’t immediately settle into village life, she has staked so much on this move that she stubbornly tries to get the measure of the place walking miles and miles across the landscape each day hoping for something to click. Eventually when she lets go a little more the landscape comes back to meet her and reveals the ways in which it can bend and morph to her in ways she never imagined.

It’s an old book so obviously a lot is alluded at rather than said explicitly, but it doesn’t take a huge leap to identify the queer subtext in the story. I appreciated the fascinating commentary on gender politics of the time, particularly the challenges of achieving true independence as a woman - something that Laura manages because of her class and access to her own funds (although the part where she discovers her brother has invested her money on her behalf and lost half of it is WILD). She at least has some self awareness of her position whereas her nephew Titus never recognises how easy it is for him to move and settle wherever he likes, his immense privilege carrying him through life with ease. I did enjoy the way Laura manifests a solution to his unwanted presence, and in so doing realises her witchy powers.

Short, enigmatic books like this really work for me - this was a one-sitting read that had very short story vibes, particularly in the beautiful ending which is so open to interpretation. The focus on mundane actions tells us so much about the narrator’s mental state without ever stating explicitly her feelings, so demotivated and detached that she would rather fall asleep on a pile of laundry than get up and move to her bed.

I loved the pace of the story, slowly revealing details about her strained relationship with her mother, and the reasons behind her leaving home at a young age to work in the entertainment district as a sex worker. The narrative pivots around two key factors which are impacting deeply on her - her mother’s terminal illness and the recent death by suicide of a friend, particularly (although she never unpacks this explicitly) possible feelings of guilt for not having done more to protect her.

The one thing that seems to ground the narrator is the rhythmic sound of the door to her apartment corridor creaking then the click of the key turning the lock to her door - this signifies safety to her, but only if the space between the two sounds is exactly right. This routine is described numerous times in the short novel, different factors impacting on the particular way the rhythm plays out such as carrying heavy bags or walking in high heels. The ending words of the book, taken from one of her mother’s poems discovered after her death, beautifully echo the doorway/threshold imagery and leave us wondering about the connections between mother and daughter.