I went into Sisters in Yellow feeling slightly intimidated by its length, but that hesitation disappeared surprisingly quickly. The story is so absorbing and steadily paced that the pages never feel heavy. This was my first time reading Mieko Kawakami, and I hadn’t really encountered a sprawling, character-driven saga like this in a while. I found it completely engrossing.
The novel is told from the perspective of Hana, whose voice immediately feels grounded and human. We follow her from a childhood marked by poverty and instability into adulthood, where survival often feels like the only goal. When she meets Kimiko — older, charismatic, and full of restless energy — her life begins to shift. Over time, two more women are drawn into their orbit, each carrying their own bruises from family, class, and circumstance. Together, they form a fragile kind of family and eventually open a nightclub called Lemon, a brief oasis of hope in an otherwise hostile world.
What struck me most was how real and unsensational the story feels, even when the events themselves are dramatic. Kawakami doesn’t rely on shocking twists or obvious thriller beats. Instead, the tension comes from watching how limited options, financial pressure, and sheer bad luck slowly narrow these women’s choices. The rise and fall of Lemon is particularly powerful: it feels earned, joyful while it lasts, and devastating when it slips away.
The book is deeply concerned with money and class — not as abstract themes, but as forces that shape every decision. Safety, dignity, and even dreams are tied to who has resources and who doesn’t. Set in Tokyo’s nightlife scene around the turn of the millennium, the city itself feels alive: gritty, neon-lit, and sharply divided between those who can move freely and those constantly on the edge of collapse. Kawakami places women at the centre of this divide and refuses to look away from how exploitative and precarious their labour can be.
I also really appreciated how the relationships between the four women are written. Their bond isn’t idealised or easy. It’s messy, sometimes painful, and often shaped by desperation — but it’s also the thing that keeps them alive. The novel suggests that survival isn’t an individual act but a collective one, even when that togetherness comes at a cost.
Despite how sad this book can be — at times it really is one hardship after another — it never feels hollow or cruel. Kawakami writes with an extraordinary understanding of quiet emotions: shame, longing, hope, and endurance. Hana, in particular, is a narrator who makes every small victory and loss feel significant.
I was also surprised by how compelling it was to read parts of the story set during Covid; it felt timely without being overwhelming, as if I’m finally ready to encounter fiction that touches on that period.
By the time I reached the ending, I felt completely invested. It was emotional, understated, and deeply earned, and it lingered with me long after I finished. Sisters in Yellow is a demanding read in subject matter, but never in pace, and it left me eager to read more of Kawakami’s work.

With thanks to NetGalley and the publisher Pan MacMillan for the arc.