I just finished Steppenwolf by Hermann Hess. It's a recommendation from a redditor for its unusual relationship (late in the story).

I see a parallel with Wuthering Heights regarding the nested narrative situation of the books: both start with a narrator who meets a stranger, then the stranger takes over the narration, and at some point the latter reads a long passage which gives the mic to the third narrator, from an in-story written document.

The main character's posture assessment was done a bit repetitively. And this same layer is further "refined" in the first half of the book (I'd rather say "hammered down"). Okay, I understand that his contempt for normies runs deep. My question is: is there anything subtle here that I'm missing? I'm not always the smartest and I can miss clues, but I don't need to have it spelled twice or more. And we get this twice from the framing narrator, then right away from the main narrator, the subject himself, and it goes on like this. He is making sure to explain that this is not contempt while painting the different facets of what contempt is.

By today's standards, this deserves a trigger warning here, as the protagonist and his new friend often think or talk of ending their lives. Well, not as often as the previous point, but this idea gets a fair share of passages in which it's presented as a sure "option" in the future.

The "wolf of the steppe" imagery is explained early on, but I'll have to check it again. Our protagonist is a kind of misfit, and I assumed he is like a wolf that has little to hunt and little purpose in the steppe, but the wolf of the steppe is actually a subspecies, so he has his role in this habitat. Maybe it's just a more specific way to refer to a wild animal.

The philosophical parts didn't resonate much with me, I had to force myself through those passages. Unless I missed something, the thesis was clear and I understood its surface points. No need to repeat it. Ah. Again. Never mind.

The protagonist's new friend has a very distinctive voice, lively and well-crafted, but at the same time her mindset, ideas, and interests are surprisingly well aligned for the converstation with the protagonist. I get that this is the encounter of two kindred spirits, in a way, but I couldn't help feeling a gap between the character herself, her voice (convincing), and the way she responds to the protagonist. I guess saying it's "contrived" would be too harsh.

Reaching the middle of the book, I was delighted that the promised asymmetrical relationship started (promised by the redditor, not foreshadowed). It was honestly described, convincing, and I liked the unusual mood.

The late-introduced third protagonist stayed in the background for a while, but once this musician gets a major role, he suddenly starts to speak in a precise and complex way, a style far from what we were prepared for, and similar to the narrator's and his friend's in its depth of reasoning. We, as readers, could go with the flow, but still, I couldn't help noticing and finding it strange and forced.

Despite all this the story succeeds in instilling a distinctive mood during the first two thirds.

Then the last quarter. Whoa! I got caught in a maelstrom, such a page turner. From the last ball to the special theater. Quite the surprise. I couldn't put down the book.

In the end I don't know what to think of the overall experience, which is in itself a very good point. I mean, if it provokes that much reflection, it's already a success. Reading a bit about what the scholars say about the book might help, and then rereading it too.

A worthy read for anyone who'd like to broaden their reading horizon.

I’m interested in how other writers would address this dilemma when explaining what their novel-in-progress is about.

If I talk about the story/plot or share a blurb/synopsis, then people get the wrong idea about what I'm trying to achieve and what experience I want the reader to embark on.

But if I explain my goals and what I'm trying to achieve for readers, then this doesn't say much about what the story is about.

Of course I can say both, and maybe state my goals first so that people don't get the wrong idea, but it's already a long explanation and people need a reasonably short answer when they ask a fellow writer about their novel.

Also, I'm fully aware I have no control over the readers' reception, as it's just them and the text, so my intentions don't matter.

But I'm not there yet. At this early stage, I'm sharing information about a draft directly with other people, hoping to get some help and insights in exchange for my contributions. So, at first, they are not reading the text itself but my comments about it. Then they will form some idea of what I'm trying to do and what kind of person I am (it can't be helped, this is a reflex anyone has, arising automatically in the back of the mind). And I'd like to be understood by fellow writers (this is not about the readers yet), and to have a fruitful exchange, not biased by unfair prejudice. This is the kind of prejudice that sabotages the exchange. Not always, but there's a pattern.

In a way, one could say that people who only see the surface and miss the main point won't be of much help, right? But this is a continuum. There aren't shallow useless scribblers on one side and talented future masters able to infer the project's potential beneath the rough plot-focused pitch on the other side. We are all more or less in the middle, with more or less insight into other people's work.

What I'm thinking of doing is writing a short introduction, like a warning about this problem, and then let them choose what to read first (about the story or its mechanics).

What about you? How would you address that kind of dilemma?

(Note: I'm keeping this general so that the discussion benefits a wide range of people, and as per the rules I can't share the specifics of my case)

I read Heaven by Mieko Kawakami just after her Breasts and Eggs (which I reviewed here three weeks ago).

This book was harder because of the harsh bullying it depicts. Knowing the theme, I knew it wasn't a pleasant read, especially since I dislike scenes with unfair suffering in general. I read it anyway to continue exploring this author's work. Whenever I reached those scenes, I just had to pause for a few hours to regain some stamina and then resume reading. It was still a worthwhile read, and not as taxing as other novels dealing with worse abuse.

The two main distinctive strong points of Kawakami's craft that I'll discuss are the natural yet surprising unfolding of the story and its immersive scenes.

It's easy to summarize what's happening, plotwise. There's not much to say, but I'll leave that aside as what matters is execution. Nothing comes across as contrived or forced. There are hardly any chance events, save for one that remains fairly plausible. This coincidence sparks a conversation that could have arisen in many different ways, so it only stands out as such (a coincidence) for a critical reader (who notices it as an exception).

Overall, this first strength of her craft makes the events unfold naturally. It's not as if the author is leading the reader by the hand through a preplanned tour like a typical house viewing. Despite this organic flow, the plot still develops in unexpected ways. It often caught me off guard, and I really didn't know where the story was heading. I do not mean that the reader feels lost, or that the writer jumps erratically from one thing to another. It is consistent, but it does not follow a conventional pattern. Combined with a bit of restraint, this creates an effect I appreciate, and I wanted to share this as one of the author's memorable gifts that doesn't call attention to itself but shines quietly.

Her other strength is the ability to immerse us in each scene with the protagonists. In comparison, other stories often make us feel conscious of ourselves as readers, as the story plays out before us. Even setting aside the cases of stories that feel like a written version of a movie, there are still competent stories whose authors know how to take advantage of the written medium, closing the psychological distance between us and the protagonists, etc., but this does not always guarantee deep immersion. With Kawakami, it doesn't feel as if we are merely reading a story, much less in a conventional way. She is not unique in this respect, but it is worth noting as rarer among newer contemporary writers (though my sample may be too small to judge fairly).

One more thing: in this novel too, Kawakami uses the technique I noticed in Kawabata's works, the 'hold' on the payoff. I explained that in my previous post about another novel of hers. A short example will do. The main character (narrator, M) and the other main one (F), both teenagers, make physical contact for the first time. Then, they look into each other's eyes really close, start pressing their hands together, and... cut! The narrative moves on to the next chapter, starting something completely different. We will never know how that moment resolved. Presumably, nothing relevant happened. I'm not bothered by this technique; it's fine, really. I can see only one downside: merely noticing it can become distracting (a criticism that could apply to any uncommon writing technique).

Another example involves the picture the title refers to. I won't spoil it, but I'd like to know if anyone has seen a deeper meaning in it.

Lastly, although I refrained from comparing Heaven with Breasts and Eggs, I can't help mentioning the most striking difference. The latter offers a lot to think about, many secondary themes, many insights, and one may realize and learn a lot while reading it. Heaven, by comparison, doesn't offer much beyond its main theme, and I am not especially interested in the mechanics of bullying.

The novel is worth reading for the experience it creates: immersive, at times uncomfortable and tense, and uncommon.

I just finished Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis: I enjoyed the ride but it was not what I expected. A while before starting, I had read reviews and had no doubt about its quality and merits, so I added the book to my reading list. In the end, I found only the prose well crafted (note that I read a translation). I couldn't match the work with the general impression I had formed after reading the reviews and with what critics and scholars have said about the novel. The plot also unfolded in a way I didn't remember reading about.

What I missed were all the subtle clues, sadly not always so subtle. I mean, I should have noticed them.

The main point is that I was convinced that the son wasn't Bentinho's; I really went along with the narrator telling me how much his son looked like his friend. Actually, I had forgotten that major point mentioned in the comments I read a while ago before starting the book. I feel so naive. The (possibly) unreliable narrator got me, and I wouldn't even know if I hadn't checked the reviews again after finishing the book. (In a way, forgetting what I read about the work before reading it is a good thing, as my reading wasn't spoiled or influenced.)

I double-checked their arguments about this main question (I'm sometimes wary of analysis going too far). They pointed to events in the novel, and intertextual references too. I know I read those passages. I should have noticed the clue about the other resemblance (Capitu with another lady, not blood-related) and what the characters say about it (the resemblance is merely coincidental). The other main clue needs more background to get, so it's no wonder I missed it. And I didn't really get the overall picture, despite understanding how jealous Bento was.

Sorry for the rant, but it's a bit depressing to feel impaired like that (being too dense, naive, etc.) And not improving despite reading book after book.

I don't know what to do, or whether there is any technique to overcome that (on top of reading a lot).

Writing a story with a high-schooler as MC, I was hoping that the frequent bully scenes in mangas were an exaggeration, like the breast obsession that isn't really something.

Reading Heaven by Mieko Kawakami, in which high-school bullying is central, permanent, and sickening, I was wondering:

Is school bullying still this much widespread in Japan?

I already took some liberties: I had to set the story in a near future or in a slightly parallel world where a few small things were decided by the administration (a pool of substitute teachers). So in case the bullying is still rampant, I need to make up something to explain it has been solved, at least in this city.

My latest read was Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami (English translation, my remarks on prose apply to this text).

(This is not the same review that I posted in another subreddit: redone, streamlined, and I’ve tried to make it more analytical)

The novel deals with womanhood, motherhood, fertility, sex, and bodily dissatisfaction with a visceral approach, as opposed to a preachy or didactic argument. The book conveys many strong positions, some of them severe, but Kawakami never turns them into a transparent authorial position, and the narrator respects the other characters’ views, stands her ground only when cornered.
Those views almost always have a social, an ethical, or metaphysical facet that is seamlessly brought up by the characters, and none of them feels like a mouthpiece. The characters feel genuine and honest about their beliefs.

While Breasts and Eggs showcases many “women’s issues”, and how unfairly women are treated (inherently feminist themes), the novel is more about the private matters of the body being made public: breasts, eggs, periods, sex itself, and reproductive function are judged by men, managed by family or by medicine, commented on by classmates, burdened by cultural prejudice, and turned into moral questions beyond the person’s control.

Prose

The prose is mostly a retrospective by the main protagonist (first person, past tense), well-crafted and easy to read and follow.

The narration occasionally switches to dreamlike sequences without warning or transition, confusing me as a reader with their blend of potential reality and partial reminiscence. This handful of dreamlike passages lets the reader experience first-hand the protagonist’s unstable relation to the present and reality, her struggles and indecisiveness.

Book 1 benefits from an alternate point of view thanks to the niece’s diary entries, also a handful of them. These bring girlhood into the novel’s treatment of womanhood, at a time before adulthood turns the body into a social, sexual, reproductive and economic problem. The prose of the entries has an immediacy which contrasts with the main character’s retrospective narration.

The niece’s diary disappears in Book 2 (a section starting at 40% of the book), which makes it less formally varied.

Kawakami sometimes withholds conventional payoff in a way that reminds me of Kawabata, who pushes it to an extreme that makes it aestheticized: he carefully builds toward something, setting up a charged scene, getting us all fired up. But he closes the chapter right when the main dish is about to be served, starting a new chapter that picks things up much later, with something else entirely and new events already underway, feeding us only crumbs about what we missed in the previous chapter.
Kawakami doesn’t go this far. Her implementation is closer to a form of restraint, refusing to turn pain into narrative spectacle.

Ideas

Although I’m not the kind to enjoy self-flagellation, I took great pleasure in reading the passage where a character lashes out at men, like a tidal wave of great force built on accumulated resentment. The personal experience of the character doesn’t make her neutral, but her justified anger makes the novel intelligent instead of excessive. The truth slaps us in the face. It hits hard.

Another character shares her antinatalist arguments (a philosophical idea I discovered in the book). It clearly appears as a pressure on the protagonist’s desire for motherhood: will she also impose birth and possibly a life of suffering (an inherent risk) on a new person without consent?

Kawakami’s treatment of womanhood is cumulative, depicted through first-hand experiences from the characters or their accounts of relatives: periods, breasts, sexual danger, domestic dependence, fertility, childbirth, wage labor, and family obligation create an atmosphere in which the female body is read, judged, desired, used, medicalized, inherited, and made responsible for other people’s expectations.

The Japanese setting has two facets: the decorative local color is needed to avoid the blank space syndrome, and it feels natural. The more relevant point is how social expectation operates through ordinary behavior: family duty, silence, work, shame, politeness, and gendered obligation. It turns details into an additional source of pressure, further cornering the protagonist.

Conclusion

The novel never feels ‘formulaic’, and the craft itself isn’t exposed. Kawakami keeps the reader engaged with a mildly unorthodox yet accessible technique that remains ‘comfortable’.

I like how the author handles the subject matter. There is a natural and sincere balance between what to say and what to imply. Her prose blends sharp details casually brought to light. She doesn’t shy away from asserting strong positions, but she doesn’t brute-force them on us: they arrive like a well-placed wedge, gently hammered into place with real craftsmanship, without waking the nearby baby.

The novel leaves a lasting impression, as if I had sat among women for a series of deep exchanges that uncovered a reality marked by pain and unfairness, but still one in which the main character’s plan carries hope.

(I am still learning how to write this kind of literary review, so I’d welcome critique of the post itself as well as other readings of the novel.)

I've just finished Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami.

First, a few words about the prose, then the topics that gave me the little push to choose this novel, and lastly, the other themes and conclusion. There are a few TWs but nothing graphic, so I'll skip that, and I won't spoil the plot (it's easy, since there isn't much plot).

(style disclaimer: I'm not trying to look like anything here; it's my ESL)

Prose

I read the English translation, so I can't comment on the original prose. Some of the following may only apply to the translation.

The narration is mostly from the main character's point of view, first person and past tense (the usual), with an average amount of dialogue and imagery, the latter also being quite effective and agreeable. Flashbacks are well handled. Overall, the prose is simple, lively, and easy to read.

There are occasional dreamlike sequences, from the same narrator, with a different prose style that I would describe as stream of consciousness, but I'm no expert in that field (only a victim of it!) These short sections are not signposted, and I got dragged into them without warning. It was a bit confusing for me. Their endings are slightly clearer.

The third and final type of narration I'll mention: diary entries from the journal of another character, the protagonist's teenage niece. This narration gives a different point of view, and the entries are from well before the main timeline.

In Book 2 (just the section title), the diary entries disappear. Granted, the teenage niece is now an adult, but I still read it as the author changing her mind or giving up. Also in Book 2, we get no update on the breast augmentation plan (if I'm not mistaken). Not that I would care this much to know, but for MC's sister it was such a big deal before, and rightfully so, for several reasons.

The few "you"s do not really break the fourth wall, as they are part of rhetorical figures (apophasis, etc.).

It crossed my mind that the author does the same kind of "cut away before the payoff" narrative technique as Yasunari Kawabata uses, but in a much milder form here. His approach is disconcerting: he carefully builds toward something, setting up a charged scene, getting us all fired up. But he closes the chapter right when the main dish is about to be served, starting a new chapter that picks things up much later, with something else entirely and new events already underway, feeding us only crumbs about what we missed in the previous chapter. Man... what a bold move.

The content:

I read this novel because I kept seeing it mentioned here and there, the author is a woman, it's set in Japan, and I noted a man saying that "it felt like intruding into women's matters", which made me really curious.

Since the last point is a topic I care about, I couldn't help being on the lookout for this aspect, and I guess it's more womanhood than femininity (I hope you'll forgive the poor wording here, and the inventory-like report).

Three ideas in depth

Womanhood - Part 1

This never feels preachy; I enjoyed those well-handled passages. The main one is really a truth that slaps you in the face. It hits hard, especially as a man. In a nutshell, this character explains that all men are useless idiots. Even though I'm a man and not exactly like that (I mean, not the worst kind), I clearly see how true it is.

This character lashes out at men with incisive, relevant, and relatable observations based on her experience. This is a great passage, two pages' worth of a quasi-monologue that I can't quote in full. Summarizing it won't do it justice, so you'll have to believe me. If I try to sum up the main takeaways, clumsily, they would be:

• Men being selfish and oblivious to it, prioritizing their own comfort, with such inflated egos that they can't take any kind of criticism.
• Living together: "Without love and trust, resentment is all you've got."
• Men can never understand the pain of being a woman. Even those who claim to have studied the matter (which I have, by the way, so it resonated with me as a reader. I guess knowing about it is different from experiencing it).
• How male privilege starts the second men are born, with sexism that puts them on a pedestal.
• This character concludes: if one day we no longer have to rely on women's bodies for reproduction, we will "look back at this time, when women and men tried to live together and raise families, as some unfortunate episode in human history." Wow. That's quite the take, and she nails it.

Antinatalism

A character asks, "Why do people see no harm in having children?", forcing someone into this world is absurd. And doubles down by asking "Why making a bet on the child becoming a happy person, while the world isn't like that?". I wonder whether the idea of parents inherently making a bet when they conceive a baby is common, because I too am writing a character who has this idea (not taken from here, I had already thought of it before).

The selfish idea of imposing this experience of life on someone for our own enjoyment: this resonates because as a parent, I acknowledged that having children stems from a desire of fatherhood (maybe not exactly the same feeling as the main character's, but still within the range of what a parent might feel), and I feel sorry for bringing my little one into this world with gloomy propects.

This book sparked a little research about antinatalism, which was in one of my blind spots (I had never heard of it, or even of the term, and it's not even labeled as such in the book). Note: this book doesn't advocate such views; it's only one of the character's.

Death and Life

A character observes that people about 85, 90 years old are calm while they are close to death. Everyone knows they will die one day, but for them it's not just 'one day': it's "soon, within in the next few years".

Similarly, a character also feels that despite the small risk of dying in childbirth, she isn't afraid at all, and is no longer worried about anything, as if the brain were secreting a substance that induces peace.

The last scene is the >!main character giving birth (before, during labor, and after)!<, and I must say that it is very immersive and well rendered, with just the right economy of words. The description of pain is phrased in a way that I read as black humor, and it's compatible with the character, or it could be the translation of an idiomatic expression. This intense scene is also touching, almost endearing, but it might just be me (and there's no melodrama). A great way to end the novel.

Womanhood - Part 2

Quick notes on other aspects woven well into the story. More like an inventory that you can skip, the focus on literature is back in the conclusion.

There's a lot to say here, but I'll keep it short while covering all the ideas. It starts with:

• The belief that the duty of a woman is to fulfill a man's sexual desires.
• Eggs and fertility
• Risk of assault
• Actual violence: being beaten or murdered
• One's own breasts: wanting them to be bigger or not being satisfied with the areola's color.
• How a man uses a job pretext to bring a young woman, a coworker, to his home (an obvious, despicable attempt to initiate something intimate)

Asymmetry of the man's and woman's roles:

• The man decides to move (to a new city, for his own convenience or his family's), and the woman has to follow
• The man goes back home with the child, but won't do it alone, the woman needs to come too.
• "Men aren't supposed to ..." "Why?" "Because it doesn't happen." (people not questioning the roles much)

The role of a mother, one character's belief:

• "Having a child is a totally natural part of being a woman. [don't make a big deal out of it] Get over it."

Being female, personal account of a character:

• "[Dad was the] king of the hill" "I was [...] a girl. He never saw me [...] as a real person."
• "My mom was free labor, free labor with a pussy."

Being a mother:

• Women can't keep working once they have a child. "So much pressure."
• Who would want to go through the same years again? School, sick days, awkward teenage years, ... finding a job. And once everything is settled, go through it all over again with children.

Sexual abuse in childhood, with additional grim circumstances. Nothing graphic, it's recounted in a well-balanced way: clear enough to understand what happened, no shock value (I'm glad it wasn't expanded on; I can't stand that). Yet it's still very sad, with descriptions of details outside the main scene that emphasize the disconnection of the victim.

A blend of several facets above: work as a club hostess (making men drink) as a minor, and being beaten.

Periods:

• annoying periods and shitty feelings (why be trapped in such a strange cycle, itself being made invisible)
• when they first start (getting it late, after others have theirs)
• period-pad management

Other themes

The desire to have a child (to become a parent, while not being comfortable with sex as a way to make a baby), loneliness, the feeling of emptiness.

Reflections on the meaning of being a mother (or a parent), on how blood, giving birth, being a family, and education all create connections, and shape relationships between people. Strange cases where a mother prioritizes her husband over her own children (as if they were replaceable and she could bear more for him), or where a mother loves and cherishes her child a lot but still feels disconnected.

Family meaning:

• The desire to be born (or not to). "The family is the root of all suffering," says a character with trauma that shapes her beliefs.
• What's the point of getting married, "being attached to a guy" she has "nothing in common" with?
• A "child of donor": how he suffered from the way he was told, the consequences of the secret, and the unreachable biological dad.
• Being connected to someone through space and time: a striking description. (I've also had this kind of idea before, not taken from here)

There are several donor-conceived children in the story. I wonder if it's just me, but it seems the importance of the bloodline in Japan runs deep. Is this connected to their superstition about blood types? I see it differently. I don't connect with the view that puts DNA first. I think that the bond people build is stronger, more meaningful. Caring for a child as a father (if not from day one) makes a family. My understanding is that the main donor-conceived child changes his view of the matter during the course of the story. From the blood/DNA first (and trauma of being told late) to the importance of the created bonds (and a less traumatic view of it).

Dying of cancer: maybe too many cases, but… well, it still works.

While it wasn't the main focus, I was also interested in how the Japanese setting is rendered:

• Details about the food, drinks, traditional clothing, interiors.
• The seasons and climate.
• Behaviors, gestures (such as bowing), traditions (mainly family-related).
• Moments of nostalgia when the occasion arises (more frequent in Japanese literature, I’ve been told).

Conclusion

This novel was a worthwhile read for multiple reasons, but I'll focus on what made me prioritize it over the other books in my queue.

Did I feel the same as the other reader who said it was like "intruding in women's matters"? I clearly see why he said that, so many points tick the boxes, but since I was aware of most of the issues (thanks to research I had done a year ago), this wasn't really news to me. And again, 'knowing' about these issues is different from really 'understanding', or I should say genuinely internalizing them, honestly reflecting on them, and consistently acting upon them. So, even with that knowledge, I'm not yet there.

What I like is how the author handles the subject matter. There's a natural and sincere balance between what to say and what to imply. I wish I could explain it better. It's a blend of sharp details casually brought to light. She doesn't shy away from asserting strong positions, but she doesn't brute-force them on us: they arrive like a well-placed wedge, gently hammered into place with real craftsmanship, without waking the nearby baby.

Sometimes, it might feel as if you were sitting with women discussing these topics, but this is more than that.

Each character brings her (or his) touch and perspective in a convincing way, without judgment from the author, not even from the narrator, actually. And it's never on-the-nose, never vulgar, never for shock value. There are no clichés (apart from a few little things that make a scene lively and realistic, but it's hard to do without any while keeping it short).

The main character's struggle is real. No room for "oh! but why didn't she do that?" or (worse), "why didn't the author write...?" etc. because we understand her and her circumstances. Japanese culture also adds to our understanding of her situation.

Also, I realize I never spotted the "seams", the devices used by the author that would usually expose the craft. I'm now used to looking for them (reading with purpose). The book isn't "formulaic" like some recent novels I've read by American writers. I already mentioned a similarity with Kawabata's narrative technique, which I find very unorthodox.

I would gladly read another novel by Mieko Kawakami, and right away, if it weren't for the other books waiting on my list.

This is the second novel in a row that I have finished without expecting it to end there; this time because there was a sample chapter at the end of the ebook (from another novel by the same author).

This feeling of unexpectedly reaching the end of the story is unusual and it has nothing to do with the work itself, but it still plays a part in the reader's overall experience of the work, or rather in the lingering impression it leaves behind. Neither good nor bad, like when the same cake tastes different depending on the circumstances.

Positive: the idea that we are nearing the end doesn't get in the way of the reading experience, so it's more like the reader moves through the text as though there were always more to come. Negative: the surprise "Oh! That's it." is a brief but disruptive reaction that overshadows the thoughts and impressions left by the final passage and the end itself.

In such a case I also tend to overthink, wondering whether the writer gave it a proper ending, whereas expecting the end as the pages thin out makes it feel more natural (almost a justification in itself). Of course, as I generally read talented writers, the answer is always "yes, indeed". I clearly see that the ending works, and I'm reassured after this further scrutiny.

That's it.