Book Review: The Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata

I can’t remember why exactly I decided to read this book. It was late last year, and I was reading one of my favourite books The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson, but in between breaks I looked for lighter, shorter books to escape into. I must’ve searched up ‘light-hearted short books’ or something of that sort. The reason I’m starting with saying all this is to outline that this isn’t the usual kind of book I read but I read it anyway. Before I go on, this post contains *spoilers* in the third paragraph, so if you want to read the book please don’t read further than that.

The Convenience Store Woman is a very short book and I finished it within a few hours spread out over two days. It’s about a Japanese woman, Keiko, who has always been…’different’ from everyone else. She works in a convenience store and she’s very happy working there day in and day out – in fact, she’s worked at the same store for 18 years, ever since the store opened. Her family, and her friends worry about her and whether she’ll ever be normal. And she tries her best to try to be normal, hence the job in the convenience store – a normal job with guidelines on how to be a good employee and a simple enough rulebook that she follows to the very last dot. But after 18 years, working the same job – well, society doesn’t find that normal does it?

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*Spoilers*

Okay, so there’s a lot about this book.

I think the reason I kept reading it was because I was intrigued by how weird the main character was and it seemed she was weird for no clear reason. I expected some sort of explanation as to why she was that way, and I hoped for some resolution where she becomes normal or at least is accepted by her peers for who she is. But the book gave me none of that and near the end of the book I realised that it must be satire. I realised that the point of the book was to make Keiko into a caricature of a social pariah, like Sheldon Cooper, except worse. So at first the book made me laugh, when little Keiko thought the solution to how to stop a fight was to knock the people involved over the head with a shovel. Then I was alarmed when I saw adult Keiko still applying this same line of reasoning to the problem of how to stop her sister’s baby from crying. All this, I suppose, was for the author to exaggerate how weird and abnormal Keiko is, and maybe to make us feel like she really did need to be ‘fixed’ or ‘cured’.

Then as the book progresses we meet Shiraha. At first, we hate him because he’s a creep and complains about everything and everyone. Major bad vibes. And maybe we continue to hate him throughout the book all the way until the end. But at some point as I saw similarities between him and Keiko and I couldn’t fault him entirely for how he was. I saw them both as victims of a society that’s not built to accommodate people who are ‘different’, and funny enough although Shiraha is undoubtedly a terrible person, he’s the only one who lent us a better view into Keiko’s mind and how she was unfairly treated by society. (Side-note: I never want to see the phrase ‘Stone Age’ again).

Keiko’s ‘friends’ as well as Shiraha’s sister-in-law are caricatures too, I realised. They’re nosy and incredibly rude, cruel even. I recall the sister-in-law’s parting remarks to Keiko, telling her that the world would be a better place if she and Shiraha didn’t have children and didn’t leave their DNA on the planet. Ouch! I think I even clutched my chest, I was so shocked. Keiko did nothing except be different, and yes Shiraha’s a good-for-nothing but wow, don’t they deserve a chance to be happy if they want it? As I was reeling from those words I understood that maybe I was supposed to feel that way. I was supposed to feel sorry for Keiko. Well, no not for her, a fictional character but instead for those in society that are deemed different and who don’t conform to societal norms. (Although, from my point of view, a lot more people who go against societal norms are celebrated these days and there’s more acceptance in the world now. Or maybe that’s just what I see online?)

So as the book ended and Keiko ditched any chance of being accepted by society – and I felt defeated. Then I felt bad for feeling that way. There’s a quote from the book that I think sums it up. Keiko’s sister who was always so supportive of her, finds out that Keiko isn’t actually getting any more normal after all these years but rather she hasn’t changed a bit. This upsets her sister so much that she starts crying and Keiko thinks this in regard to her sister, “She’s far happier thinking her sister is normal, even if she has a lot of problems, than she is having an abnormal sister for whom everything is fine.” So as I finished the book I realised that I was just the same way, Keiko was wholeheartedly content being a convenience store worker for her entire life but I didn’t want that for her because it wasn’t normal. Yes, this is fiction, but it made me think about the standards we grow up with in our lives which dictate what is ‘normal’ and how much merit we should put in these standards?

A Dream Within a Dream – I

Her eyelids flew open and she gazed in wonder at the world that unravelled before her eyes. Coral pink confetti descended before her from an unseen source in the sky, encasing her in the magical land that she had stumbled upon. An island that seemed to be made up of her wildest dreams.

She stuck out her tongue and shut her eyes tightly like a small child wanting to taste raindrops. She knew what to expect. Bits of confetti wafted down and landed on her tongue and immediately melted into a syrupy sweet concoction that resembled her favourite candy. A huge grin spread across her face and she could feel the excitement welling up in her chest. She opened her eyes again, to the sound of her name being carried on the wind as someone called from somewhere in the distance. Before her, the confetti had stopped falling and she could see cobbled streets lined by green, neatly trimmed lawn. On either side of the street were rivers of rich, smooth, brown. Children stood on the shores, eagerly dipping buckets, hats, cups and anything they could to get a taste of the chocolatey goodness. Apparently her dreams were sponsored by Willy Wonka.

Once again, her name was called and she turned around to try find the source. Behind her the scene was completely different. A bookstore in the shape of a large novel rose high above her head, a few metres in front of her. The familiar smell of old paper, ink and leather wafted out from the front door which stood slightly ajar. She breathed it in deeply and the memories of her boarding school days flooded her mind. The days she spent curled up on her bed, joining Nancy Drew and the Famous Five on their mystery adventures. The smell of heavy rain and drenched grass also mixed in, putting her in an almost dreamlike state. But then again, this was a dream after all.

She followed the intoxicating smell into the open bookstore. The shop’s bell let out a magical tinkling sound as she entered and she felt the world around her shift. All eyes in the bookstore zoomed in on her as she walked up to the librarian who was scribbling on a notepad before him. A tingle went up her spine as she felt the combined gaze of the entire shop fixated on her. The librarian looked up at her as she approached and he immediately dropped his pen. A wide grin lit up his face. He had the wild look of a man who was always ready for an adventure. His long, illustrious locs were tied in a messy bun on top of his head and his dark-brown eyes smiled at her from beneath glasses that looked as if they belonged in another era. His clothes looked intentionally shabby as if he had put in a lot of effort to look dishevelled and wild. A bright pink scarf that was at odds with his entire outfit hung around his neck. She liked him immediately.

As she approached his desk he eagerly held out a book at her, “It’s ready, just as you asked. Everything is there.” Before she could ask what on earth he was talking about he winked, held up his hand and lowered himself behind his desk as if to get something. A few seconds passed and he didn’t reappear. Much to her surprise, as she peered over his desk – he was gone. As if he had never been there.

This dream had the makings of all the things she loved in a good fantasy book, she thought. Books, disappearance acts…strange men with books who disappear. A subtle hint of magic hung in the air and she breathed it in deeply. She couldn’t control the smile forming on her face. Hugging her hands to her chest, she sighed dreamily and hoped she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

The book. She remembered the book the man had just handed to her which she still held in her arms. It was a thick, leather-bound book with one huge clasp on the front. The clasp wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tried to yank on it. The book had seen much better days, it was worn and had a few pages sticking out. A book that had seen many different owners over many different generations. What could it possibly be for? And why did he say she had asked for it even though they had never met?

Butterfly Effect

*This fictional post was inspired by the sound of a fly buzzing around in my room late at night.*

October 2019

The fly kept buzzing around my head incessantly. After 3 failed attempts at swatting it away, I let out an exasperated sigh. My friend seated across from me looked up with a concerned look at my dramatic response. We were sprawled across the lush green of her backyard with books, pens and highlighters laid out on a picnic blanket in front of us. We were meant to be studying for our qualifying exams for med school but for the past 30 minutes or she was glued to Instagram, scrolling down the endless explore page.

“That fly is out to get me,” I said in mild frustration as the fly made another attempt to land on my face.

“Maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” She laughed and went back to scrolling. I scrunched up my face and darted away again as the incessant bug made a nose dive for me.

“I don’t even think it’s a fly,” I said distractedly, ignoring my friend’s mocking. I studied the insect closely as it landed on my leg. It had tiny wings that almost looked chrome when the sun hit them directly and it had dull, too-black eyes. It almost looked as if it was meant to look like a fly. I picked up an unopened textbook as slowly as I could and swung at it. I missed again. It was relentless. It circled my arms and as I swatted with the book it deftly evaded the book, landing expertly on the ground before me. I was starting to really get annoyed.

“Dude, let it go,” She looked up from her phone and gave me a weird look as if I was overreacting. I eyed the insect suspiciously one last time and dropped the textbook back onto the floor. I was meant to be studying for my exam on infectious diseases, I picked up the book and the fly landed on it just as I turned the first page. I was about to let out another cry of frustration but I knew my friend would judge me so I opted to stare down the fly. It practically moonwalked across my page and landed on a picture from the 1960’s of a man wearing a mask and holding up a test tube. I tried shutting the book quickly but the fly was quicker. It was gone.

I sat still for 30 seconds and when I didn’t hear anything, I opened the book again and flipped to the section I was meant to be reading. Zoonotic diseases. I had missed the lectures on this topic and kissed my teeth as I saw how long the chapter was. The buzzing came back as soon as I started reading. I felt the anger rising up in me again. This time the fly landed on the word ‘pandemic’, just under the sub-section on the Spanish flu. I swatted it away again but it kept landing back on the same word.

“I see you and your fly are making progress.” I looked up and my friend was holding in a laugh. I realised I had been in an ongoing battle with a fly for the past 5 minutes and she had probably recorded it all on her phone.

“It’s really weird, honestly,” I huffed, “Why isn’t it bothering you?” she shrugged and went back to her Instagram. I narrowed my eyes and stared at the fly, hoping it could sense my bad vibes and decide it was time to leave. Rather, it drew closer and landed on a picture of a bat. It’s buzzing seemed to get louder and as I shut the book again – this time I don’t think it made it out.

I triumphantly opened the book again, sure that I had finally won this battle. I had. The fly was wedged between the two pages. My smile faded as I saw dozens of chrome wires poking out of the fly’s body. A closer look revealed a tiny flickering device on the under belly of the fly.

There was an inscription on it. I used a small stick that was lying nearby to turn it over.

Two numbers were inscribed but I didn’t know what they meant.

03-2020