Hagintha Woods

Note: This is the first part of a larger, related piece on community.
Part 1, 2, and 3.

I’ve had the opportunity to go on a Sayaka Murata reading binge recently, and I’ve found myself sucked into a vortex of her works and perfectly happy to stay there. Though I unfortunately don’t have the ability of reading Japanese folded neatly within the pocket of my eclectic skillset, there are some very skilled translators, and I am ever so thankful for their efforts in letting me experience different works.

Murata’s work is beautiful and enchanting, and I love the way she brings you into her characters’ thoughts and perspectives, even when they are less than conventional. Through her work, she catches unto small irregularities, incongruences in society and the personalities of others. Then, she exemplifies them, magnifies them large enough that you can see the minute details, the flawed logic and the pressure exerted on each part of what makes a specific situation inevitable.

She catches the fabric of reality upon the rusty nail of what we as a society have unconsciously, collectively decided to label as normal, and invites the reader to watch as it all unfurls.

Reading her, I am both in awe of her and morbidly fascinated.

I would like to caveat that it isn’t necessarily that she only writes about the horrifying. Her writing is varied, and I would hate to pigeonhole her. What I do mean is that she writes about things with a detailed, minute eye that borders on obsession, and no matter the current tone of her work, there is almost always a backdrop of inevitability, as if whatever she happens was impending and inescapable.

When that is then applied to her works of horror, like a deer in headlights watching a car coming, I know nothing good is about to happen, that things will get hard, complicated, and very, very messy. And yet, there is a macabre whisper, an errant tinge of curiosity, and I cannot seem to tear myself away.

Through her works, there is a strong focus upon societal norms and conventions, the absurdity and ugliness of what is known to be ‘normal’.

She explores the conundrum of the fact that the rules that every person and those around them view as absolute are actually shifting things shaped by culture, the current times, and every single person around.

Going further, she examines a person’s reaction to it, how knowing the above will likely change nothing, that the knowledge of the shifting nature of conventions will not alleviate the pressure of those very same mechanisms and the weight placed upon them to conform. Through her works, she deliberates and walks through different decisions a person can make to cope with this truth.

Her characters deny the facts, frantically make new communities to push back and create their own normal, accept the rules half-heartedly whilst trying to keep themselves, or even accept it fully, choosing to embody the culture and become one of those invisible forces that are both worked on and work on others in the society.

There are myriads of paths, and Murata walks us through each one, the mentality of the characters, the emotions they feel, and the risks that come with the choices, no matter which they choose. For the characters make their choices, but even after the making, they have to navigate their decisions against that ever-present influence of what it is to be ‘normal’ in their specific society.

Though the situations can get outlandish and extreme to the point where I might have closed the book and moved away, what makes it possible to suspend my belief and fully immerse myself is recognition. That the innermost layer of the situation is very much real, and as familiar as the ground under my feet.

For who hasn’t felt the way one’s culture feels impregnable, and yet shifts endlessly like an ocean tide?

Who hasn’t existed in a group of people and not felt one’s personality bending, moulding itself with the company? Not to the point of reinventing oneself anew, perhaps, but tamping down some portions and expressing other parts of one’s personality for the best cohesion of the unique group one finds themselves in-it is expected of people, a part of social convention. Too little, and you can’t read the room. Too much, and you are seen to be two-faced.

Though Murata writes extensively about this situation with a sense of panicked bewilderment and flailing desperation, I believe that this pressure is not all bad, and I think she sees it the same way.

Though society and cultures have their own rules and practices that may not make sense, without them we in society also careen off the end, lose a certain rulebook of how to communicate and relate with each other, and are left feeling alien and alone.

Instead, what I think is being emphasised- or at least what stood out to me- is the importance of having both an awareness of the pressure being exerted and a way either to hold your own values against it or a way to make your peace with it.

[SPOILER WARNING]
In ‘Convenience Store Woman’, the main character derives from her experiences with a better understanding of what would make her more normal and understandable to others, but chooses to eschew it for what she needs to do- it is enough for her that she wants to be a convenience store worker.
[END SPOILER]

Likewise, a few of Murata’s characters plunge into despair and madness, or let themselves get rewritten by tides of change- but some still look upon this absurdity, acknowledge it, and then go about their lives and what they need to best survive within it.

And perhaps, that is the best way to stay one’s own version of sane in a world that seems to be insane.