Kawakami Mieko's novella 乳と卵 (Breast and Eggs) won the Akutagawa Prize in Japan in 2007.

In 2019 she published an expanded version, 夏物語 (Summer Story), and it is the longer book that has been translated here under the (it has to be said rather better) initial title by Sam Bett and David Boyd. Further in my review I include some thoughts on the translation.

Essentially this book consists of the original novella (147 pages in translation) and a second part, twice the length, that picks up the story of the same lead character 8 years later.

Given the form of the book and the title, I am not, I suspect, the first reviewer to be unable to resist saying this is something of a curate's egg of a novel: the first part in particular rather tighter and impactful than the second.

The 'breast' part of the title also makes the accompanying blurb from Haruki Murakami, clearly a huge fan of the author, somewhat interesting when one considers Kawakami's feminist views and female-centric title matter, Murakami's own treatment of his female characters, and particularly his rather disturbing fixation in Killing Commendatore. Interestingly the author of this book tackled Murakami about this very topic in a revealing interview: https://lithub.com/a-feminist-critique-of-murakami-novels-with-murakami-himself/ which has since been translated into a (as yet untranslated) longer critical discussion of his works.

The novel is narrated from the perspective of an aspiring author and sometime blogger, the somewhat unusually named Natsuko Natsume (she frequently has to assure people it isn't a pen name). As the first part opens in 2008, with the Beijing Olympics in progress, she is living alone in Tokyo, struggling to move forward with her life.

"I seriously doubt at twenty that I saw myself, in my vague dreams for the future, still being in Tokyo at thirty. No one reads my work (my blog, collecting dust in a corner of the internet, gets one or two visitors on a good day), and none of it has made it into print. Forget about readers, I barely have friends. I’m still in the same apartment with the slanted, peeling walls and the same overbearing afternoon sun, surviving off the same minimum wage job, working full time for not a whole lot more than 100,000 yen a month, and still writing and writing, with no idea of whether it’s ever going to get me anywhere. My life was like a dusty shelf in an old bookstore, where every volume was exactly where it had been for ages, the only discernible change being that my body has aged another ten years."

But she is expecting visitors from her hometown: "Makiko, the one visiting me today from Osaka, is my older sister. She’s thirty-nine and has a twelve-year-old daughter named Midoriko. She raised the girl herself."

This novella takes us deftly through the three days they spend in Tokyo and each character's situation: their troubled family history; Natsuko's search for purpose; Makiko who works in a bar, and has decided she wants breast implants; and Midoriko, going through puberty and who only communicates with her mother via written notes, that is until her shell cracks in a memorable scene near the end of this part:

"“Why . . .” she started, “do that to yourself . . .” she spat out, breaking the second egg over her head, same as the last one. Yolk and white oozed down her forehead. Without hesitation, she grabbed another egg. “You’re the one who had me,” she told Makiko. “And it’s too late to do anything about that now, but why do you have to . . .” Midoriko slapped the egg hard against her forehead. “I don’t know what to do, and you don’t tell me anything. I love you, but I never want to be like you. No . . .” She took a breath. “I want to start working, so I can help. I want to help so bad. With money, with everything. Do you have any idea . . . how scared I am? I don’t get it, any of it. My eyes hurt. They hurt. Why does everything change? Why? It hurts. Why was I born? Why did any of us have to be born? If we were never born, none of these things would have happened, none of it would—”"

The second part is a rather more drawn-out (in time and pages) affair. Beginning in late 2016, Natsuko has since has success with her first novel, although she is suffering writer's block with her second. We learn that she only has had one relationship in her life, one that ended due to her mental and physical dislike of sex, but for reasons that aren't entirely clear to the reader, or indeed her, decides she wants to have a child. After investigation of the options (rather like her sister's detailed research in part one into breast augmentation options, but spelled out her in rather more detail) she settles on artificial insemination. But this isn't legally available in Japan as an option for a single person, although it is to others:

"I knew these women were only venting their frustration and their anguish, but so long as they had someone, they were blessed. Technology was on their side. They had options. There was a way. They were accepted. That’s even true for same-sex couples who wanted kids. They were couples, sharing a dream with someone who could share the load. They had community, and people who would lend a helping hand . But what if sex was out of the equation? What if you were alone? All the books and blogs catered to couples. What about the rest of us, who were alone and planned to stay that way? Who has the right to have a child? Does not having a partner or not wanting to have sex nullify this right?"

But then encounters a group of those born by this method who are in search of their biological parents, one in particular who was abused by her legal but non-biological father, who berates her for her choice, albeit not for the reason she expects:

"“Look, I’m not saying it’s not a little different for children of donors,” Yuriko said. “It’s not okay to set them or the entire family up for a future of counseling and therapy. But it’s basically the same for everyone. That’s what it’s like to be born. If you stop and think about it, that’s all life ever is. Like I was saying, the way you do it doesn’t matter. What I’m asking is: Why do you want to bring a child into the world? What would possess you to do that?”"

This second half of the novel raises some interesting issues (as per some of the quotes above) but does so in a rather exposition-heavy way rather than the more indirect and psychological approach of part 1.

Overall 3 stars - although the original novella on its own would have warranted a strong 4.

On the translation of dialect

Mieko Kawakami is known in Japan for writing in the distinctive Kansai dialect and indeed this topic is discussed by her lead character with another author.

"Then we started talking about dialect in fiction. Rika asked me if I’d ever thought about writing a whole book in Osaka dialect. When I said I’d never even toyed with the idea, Rika told me what she thought about the way that people talked in Kansai, and Osaka in particular. “That was seriously amazing,” she said. “When I went to Osaka, I saw, or really heard , these three women just talking, a million miles an hour, getting everything in there. There was so much going on. Multiple perspectives, mixed tenses, the whole shebang. They were cracking up, but they were having a real conversation. Nothing like on TV. Everything on TV is tailored for TV. The real thing , the real Osaka dialect, isn’t even about communicating. It’s a contest. Somehow, you’re both in the audience and on the stage . . . How can I put it? It’s an art.”
...
“Know what, though? What really gets me is how writing always fails to capture it. Like, the way those three women were talking. I mean, you couldn’t reproduce that performance on the page and get the same dynamic. A lot of people from Osaka have written things in Osaka dialect. I’ve read a bunch of them, just to see how they’d handle it. But it really, truly doesn’t work. Like it’s impossible. I guess what really struck me, though, was how it didn’t make any real difference if the writer was from Osaka."

As discussed above, Breast and Eggs also began life as a novella before being expanded (with a 2nd section) into this novel. And in 2012 translator Louise Heal Kawai translated some excerpts from the novella for the publication Words Without Borders: https://www.wordswithoutborders.org/article/from-breasts-and-eggs

As she explained:

"I’ve long been aware of the many parallels between Mieko Kawakami’s home city of Osaka, Japan, and my own hometown, Manchester in the UK. ... The inhabitants of both cities are said to be friendly, down-to-earth, and very outspoken, just as the characters in Breasts and Eggs. And most importantly, the dialect spoken in Osaka and Western Japan is markedly different from that of Tokyo and the East. Often frowned upon as sounding rather rough or unsophisticated, Mancunian (adjective meaning “of Manchester”) is to my ears a perfect rendering of Osaka dialect."

While the original sources may differ slightly I found it fascinating to compare Heal Kawai's translation into Mancunian, admittedly one where she was having some fun, with the rendition of the novel by Sam Bett and David Boyd.

They explained in an interview https://www.asymptotejournal.com/blog/2020/04/01/translation-as-an-exercise-in-letting-go-an-interview-with-sam-bett-and-david-boyd-on-translating-mieko-kawakami/

"Q: What was the most surprising result of this particular collaboration?

Sam Bett: I’d say how little time we spent talking about Osaka dialect, which is the first thing people tend to ask about whenever the book or the translation comes up. It helps that I lived in Osaka for a while, and also that very little of the book is set in Osaka. In fact, only the main characters use the dialect, and not even exclusively, though some Tokyoite characters do make a comical effort to pass as Osaka natives, which was a fun translation challenge. For me, what links this book to Osaka is its animated spirit. The story actively engages in the spectacle it creates. I think that readers who are expecting something staid or coolly bizarre from Japanese fiction will be pleasantly surprised at the gushing life force they find here."

Some comparisons:

Bett & Boyd:
Makiko, the one visiting me today from Osaka, is my older sister. She’s thirty-nine and has a twelve-year-old daughter named Midoriko. She raised the girl herself. For a few years after I turned eighteen, I lived with them in an apartment back in Osaka, when Midoriko was just a baby. Makiko and her husband had split up while she was pregnant, and as a single mother she was strapped for cash and needed help around the house. Rather than have me constantly running back and forth, we figured it’d be easier if I just lived there. Midoriko never met her dad, at least not that I’ve heard of. I don’t think she knows anything about him.

Heal Kawai:
Makiko’s my older sister and Midoriko’s her kid so that makes Midoriko my niece and me her unmarried auntie, and because it’s been nearly ten years since Makiko broke up with Midoriko’s dad she doesn’t remember living with him, and I haven’t heard anything about her mum having them meet so she knows sod all about the bloke—but that’s by the by—and we all go by the same name now. So Makiko asked and now the two of them are coming up from Osaka in the summer holidays to stop with me in Tokyo for three days.

Bett & Boyd:
I’ve been thinking about getting breast implants.” It had been three months since Makiko had called me up to make this declaration

Heal Kawai:
It was about a month ago Makiko phoned me to say she was coming. “Natsuko, I’m thinking of getting me boobs done.”

Bett & Boyd:
What’s wrong with her? What the hell is wrong with her? She’s being an idiot, the biggest idiot.

Heal Kawai:
She’s off her trolley, my Mum, daft, barmy, bonkers, thick as two short planks.

I think I rather prefer the character of the Mancunian rendition.

"You could give women something real. Real hope. Precedent. Empowerment." That’s the type of novel Natsuko Natsume, the main character of Breasts and Eggs, considers writing and that Japanese author Mieko Kawakami has delivered.

In Breasts and Eggs, Natsuko takes the reader on a journey. We follow her as she meets with friends and family and share the moment she first realizes that she would like to have a child of her own. It is a journey towards self-discovery and a rather intimate account that reads like a personal diary. I feel like I'm spilling her secrets by writing this review.

Through the eyes of her niece Midoriko we read about a young girl's insecurities, from having your first period to being left out. Natsuko herself is nearing her thirties and showing us the thirties dilemma: what is my purpose in life? She leads her life without a clear goal in mind and doesn't seem happy, looking at her older sister Makiko as an example of what is to come. Makiko is looking into breast implants and will do anything to stay relevant as a hostess in a bar. While the thirty-year-old Natsuko seems rather awkward, along the way she becomes surer of what she wants in life and gradually that makes her a stronger person, even though she's still a far cry from where the reader wants her to be.

The main characters in this novel deal with insecurities having to do with the changing female body and the question of what it means to be a woman. As Midoriko says: "It's like I'm in there, somewhere inside myself, and the body I'm in keeps on changing, more and more and more and more, in ways I don't even know." She draws the parallel with a coin-operated kiddie ride at a supermarket: she's in there but outsiders can't see her because the windows are dark. She sounds like she wants to be seen but people aren't looking hard enough.

For Natsuko her insecurity lies on a different level as she asks herself if she is really a woman because she is so different from other women. She has the body of a woman, but does she also have the mind of one? After the first quarter of the book, you really hope someone will volunteer to help these women and add some positive thoughts to their existence. At some point, Natsuko is intrigued by the voice of someone who found happiness; a scene that really summarized all the feelings that she expressed in the pages before.

More than anything else this book is about the empowerment of women: how to live independently from men. None of the female characters in this book have happy marriages. The married women see their husbands as an income generator and assume their husbands only see them as a baby-making machine.

The whole book is written from a woman's perspective and I wonder if men would enjoy reading this book though if we take Haruki Murakami as an example it seems like that’s possible. Unsurprisingly, Breasts and Eggs talks about breasts, ovaries and periods; basically anything that has to do with fertility. I guess the male equivalent of this book would be about penises (enlargements and comparisons), sperm quality and first erections. Who will write a book about the empowerment of men, discussing the merits of men raising and conceiving kids on their own without needing women while dealing with their own changing bodies?

In Breasts and Eggs, Mieko Kawakami raises many questions about what’s relevant in society today. As a female reader from Western Europe, my take on them is probably very different from that of a Japanese reader as the societies we live in are not comparable. This is mentioned in the book as well. One of the questions the book raises that illustrates this is what makes donor-conceived (or IVF conceived) children different from their natural counterparts? Are they less part of a family? Is this also the case if they live with both biological parents and only the process was artificial? I think it is a very good thing that topics like artificial insemination and women taking care of themselves are discussed in this book. As both the positive and negative sides are explained it can be very informative.

This also brings me to one of the drawbacks of this book: the middle part was very tedious. While Natsuko was gathering information about the use of donor sperm, she spent less quality time with her family and friends. Reading this book sometimes felt like reading a brochure or a campaign folder. Mieko Kawakami shines when she lets her important characters interact. I especially liked the talks between Natsuko and Aizawa, a man she takes into her confidence. The bonding felt real and the scenes were beautifully written.

Kawakami is good at writing dialogues where family or lover-like feelings are involved. What the characters say is not very exciting but the words seem to come from deep within. The mere friendship or business type of gatherings are less interesting, except for that one scene with a potential sperm donor, which was brilliant. I will remember that scene for years to come.

At the end of the chapters, the scenes often became surreal but that didn’t work for me. It didn’t feel natural at all which is a pity because I really enjoy surrealism in books. This book didn’t need surrealism because the thoughts and feelings of the main characters were strong enough on its own.

I especially liked the first and last part of the book and if the middle part would have been shorter (or better) I would have rated this book higher. This book is not for everyone as the topic is very specific. If you don't like to read about breasts, eggs, periods and getting pregnant for 400+ pages, then don't read this book. If you are interested in a Japanese perspective on these issues, then you might find it interesting though not 100% percent entertaining.

Many thanks to Picador and NetGalley for a digital ARC of this novel in exchange for an honest review.

Are women more than their bodies? Seems not, according to much contemporary fiction. Here three women's identities are bound up with a) breast augmentation, b) first periods, and c) pregnancy. What gives this interest is the Tokyo setting and the fact that these women are working class. Oh, and the almost gleeful physical details - bleached nipples for the right aesthetics? No thanks!
I enjoyed this well enough as a light read but it doesn't push the boundaries like, say, The Vegetarian.