Butter, Bodies & Backlash - When Indulgence Breaks The Rules

 I have just finished reading a book called “Butter” by Japanese writer Asako Yuzuki.

 The central character is a female Japanese journalist, Rika, who is attempting to interview a woman, Manako, who is currently awaiting a retrial for the murder of several men.  She needs to find an “in” with this woman where all other journalists have failed.  In doing so, she ends up discovering so much more about herself.

Manako is a cook who is accused of murdering several of her previous boyfriends.  The authorities allege that she seduced these men with her food to lure them into being her boyfriend, before killing them in various different manners.   

One of the themes running through this book is that the lady is fat and as such, she is far from the accepted norm to be able to get a boyfriend in Japanese society.  What seems to fascinate the Japanese press and the public in this book is not so much the why/if she killed them, but how she got them to be with her in the first place.

The crimes committed in this book are not the main focus.  Neither is whether Manako is guilty, or not.  Indeed, they are a side note to it.

Food is the language of this book.  The writer talks about simple ingredients, such as butter, as being filled with meaning. Meals are not just to fill you up or for fuel; they are expressions of the way that you enjoy food, indulge in it, give yourself permission to have it.  The way that it makes you feel.  The control, the intimacy, and the rebellion of simply eating.

"When I'm eating good butter, I feel somehow as though I were falling"

As Rika delves further deeper into her interviews with Manako, her relationship with food changes and soon after, the way that she understands herself. When she starts to think about, truly take the time to enjoy the food and the start to cook herself, she feels at first liberated and then strangely, like every mouthful is an act of confrontation.  Yes, I am allowing myself to eat this thing.  And? 

It is a taking back of power that she did not realise she had lost.

It did make me think about the relationship we have with food and drink.  Simple pleasures, or big indulgences.  Taking the time to enjoy them.  Be in the moment.  Whether it is a icy cold glass of water that tastes like it has come from a mountain pass, or a piece of chocolate so divine that you do not want it to end.  Yet, instead of letting it sit on our tongue and luxuriating in it, we swallow and then feel guilty for eating it.  We do not pause to truly enjoy enough.

Butter focuses sharply on the societal expectations placed on women. Beauty, appearance, ambition, motherhood, each one is scrutinized and judged.  Manako is not the norm in Japanese society.  She enjoys herself, enjoys food, enjoys sex and pleasure and makes no apologies for it.  She does not conform and finds the idea repulsive.  This makes her fascinating, not just to Rika, but to Japanese society.  Learning more about Manako forces Rika to look at her own life and how those same expectations have shaped her, unseen and unknowing.

What I found interesting about the book was the accurate description of how much we unconsciously change ourselves to fit with the “norm”.  The accepted.  We are given goals based on societal expectations.  Goals that may not align with who we are and what we want.

The book looks at the female journalists on Rika’s newspaper who go on to have families.  Society expects them to juggle a career and be the perfect mothers.  They are judged heavily for both.  One who was blamed for the death of her son, because he went out to buy a meal at the shop instead of her being there to serve him.  You can have it all, but you will be condemned if you do not do both perfectly.

Then there was the male journalist who gave up his love of a band, because his favourite singer gained weight and therefore became unacceptable in society’s eyes.  It was no longer cool or acceptable to like her.  So he hid it despite his love for the band.

The idea that unless you confirm to societal expectations, you are a failure.  When Rika gained weight herself as a result of her cooking experiments it was shocking to those around her.  Because she had fallen out of her box and they no longer knew where to put her.

By the end of the book, Rika has managed to throw off the restraints of society and for the first time, in years, decades even, she is living for herself.  Rebellion is attractive.  Instead of her world becoming smaller, she bring more people into it, whilst throwing off the chains of expectation.  It is a beautiful thing,

There are many other things in this book that I have not talked about there, otherwise there would be no point in you reading it.  The story of Manako.  The story of Rika's best friend.

I recommend a read.

The Curved Opinion Short Stories Part 7: Deja Vu

Story Prompt - Deja vu

Have you ever experienced deja vu? I think that most people have. A conversation you think that you have had previously or a place that seems known to you, yet you know that you haven't been there before.

For some reason, I feel like my life lately has become one long deja vu. I cannot explain it, but I feel like I am living the same day, over and over again.  

The day is a work day, so is already filled with the familiar and routine. I wake up, have a shower, have my coffee. I look through my wardrobe deciding what to wear, yet the outfit I choose, my hand seems to move towards it without thought. Like I already chose it.

I have the same breakfast every day. That has not changed for years, toast with jam and another coffee. I love the taste of the sweet strawberry jam with the bitterness of the coffee. But this day, I am rushing. I managed to sleep through the shrill beeping of my alarm clock and so today all I can manage is a slurp of coffee before I have to leave.  

I try to move quickly around the flat to gather my things, but my limbs feel heavy. My body will not move the way I want it to. I put it down to the gym workout the previous morning. I realise that I have still not switched off my alarm clock. I hear it still going off in the next room. Yet when I reach it, it is already off. Odd.

I think to myself "not again" as I run out of the door, yet I am never late. So why do I think that this is a habit? I feel like I am accustomed to the panic running through my body as I note the clock on the wall at the reception of my building. 8.19am. The train is at 8.25 and it takes ten minutes to get there.

I step out into the street. This is where I truly feel like my day is repeating itself. A car is beeping its horn, a man waving at a woman he has just dropped off. Rain, appearing as if from nowhere, starts to pour. A woman, walks past me shouting "Will you wake up, dammit!" into her phone as she rummages through her handbag for an umbrella I seem to already know that she will not find. Her voice sounds familiar, but I cannot see her face.

I check the time on my watch. 8.20. I am going to miss the train. I decide to get a taxi. My boss detests tardiness, even more than he seems to detest me. I cannot be late. Late at my firm means you are not at your desk fifteen minutes before nine.  

I book the taxi and the registration number of the taxi, RU01 NAT comes up on my screen. I stare at the screen. RU NAT. My name is Natalie. Nat to my family. What does the RU mean? Are you Nat? I shake my head. I wonder if I am going mad.

The taxi approaches and I wave it down. The driver looks, odd. He is all dressed in light blue. Whatever.

From then, the day gets fuzzy. Working at a insurance firm, days do tend to merge into one. The work is the same thing, day in day out. I get home at 6.00pm, eat a microwave meal, watch some Netflix and go to sleep. Yet the last thing I remember doing is walking out into the street as the taxi approached. This is what I remember when I wake in the morning. I have no recollection of what happened in the rest of my day. This is strange.

Another day. I wake to the alarm's incessant beeping. I swear, I can hear that beeping in my head all the time now. Beep, beep, beep. It is constant.

I turn over and look at the clock, already knowing that the time will be 7.35am. Late. Again. I feel like I have repeated this day for months. But no more. I cannot repeat this day again. Something needs to change.

I run my fingers through the rail in my wardrobe, my hand automatically going to the black pinstripe suit and cream shirt. I move along the rail, choosing a dress instead. More feminine. Something I rarely wear. Different shoes follow. A calm seems to settle in me.

I look at the time. 8.16. I could make the train if I ran. Yet the shoes I have chosen today aren't the kind you can run in. I think about booking a taxi, but I turn off the app as soon as it opens. There is another train at 8.35. I would get to the office actually on time. 9.00am. Do the expected fifteen minutes early actually even matter? Unpaid too, I think to myself. Why do I do that? To impress a boss who detests me anyway? I need a new job.

I walk downstairs and leave the building. It is now 8.23. This time, three minutes later than my repeated day has been, there is no beeping horn of a car. The rain is there, but has already started. I turn to the right towards the subway and see the woman, but not fumbling in her handbag. She is already soaked. I am not. Because I knew that the rain was coming and my umbrella is already in my hand.

I start to walk towards the station and then suddenly, there is nothing. Fog swirls in my mind and then a blackness that is all encompassing. I am conscious, yet I see nothing. I cannot feel my body. I feel as though I am in limbo. Terror spreads through my body like ice. Yet I can still hear the beep, beep, beep in my head; like my alarm is still trying to wake me up.

I wonder if I am actually still asleep. If this is just a nightmare. I try to open my eyes but it is difficult to do. Like my eyes have been closed for a very long time. What greets me when I open them is not what I expected. I am in a bed, but not my own. I am not waking from a nightmare. At least not one I envisioned. I am in a hospital bed. Machines beep around me. I try to sit up, but the movement is slow. My limbs stiff as though they have not moved in a long time.

A male nurse light blue scrubs passes by and spots my movement. He runs into the room. "You're awake! I can't believe it! Let me get the doctor".

So reader, here is my story.  

That day, that very first day in what would become a repeating cycle in my head, I was late for work. When I ran out into the street to get my taxi, I did not notice the motorcycle heading straight for me. It was a head on collision. I have been in hospital in a coma for four months.  

My injuries healed after a couple of months and there was no medical reason after that for me not to wake up. Yet I didn't. I stayed in limbo. That day replayed on repeat in the depths of my brain. Until I chose to be different. Chose a different path. Now I think that I was waiting there, in limbo; to save myself.

The doctors think that I am a medical mystery. My nurse thinks it was my sister, who visited me every day. She talked to me all the time apparently. Asking me to wake up. The nurse said that she got quite angry the day before and shouted at me.

What I think is that I was not happy before. I had not really been living. I had a job I hated, friends I never saw and life was simply passing me by. I needed to make a change. I see that now. A chance to make a change. Be different. A new life.  

I write this to you now during my lunch hour at work. Not the insurance firm. I quit. I am now a junior editor at a publishing firm, actually using the degree that I studied so hard for. My wounds are healed and the scar on my head is barely noticeable under my new hair cut. I am meeting my sister later for drinks in the city. I have a date on Friday. I am living. Not existing.

All that it took, was being late that day. A change in my routine. A chance, to change everything. All I needed to do was take it.