Butter by Asako Yuzuki, trans. Polly Barton: ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
osprey_archer wrote in glowing terms about this book, and then just recently, a copy jumped out at me from a library shelf - so really, what was I supposed to do? It's about a journalist, Rika Machida, who gets in over her head while covering a sensational story about convicted female serial killer Manako Kajii, who is claimed to have lured in her victims through marriage-oriented dating apps, seduced them with her cooking skills, milked them to fund her luxury lifestyle and then callously disposed of them. The most controversial thing about the case, far more viscerally appalling to the public than the lives lost and ruined, is the fact that Kajii is fat. The idea that a fat woman could convince multiple men to want her so badly that they'd shower her in money and finery has people bemused at the absolute best and frothing with hateful rage at the worst.
Did Kajii really commit the murders? This novel doesn't give a fuck! The true-crime-journalism angle is mere set dressing for what is actually a passionate story about female hunger in a society where misogyny, rampant body shaming and a general pressure to conform make it taboo for women to actually want almost anything at all. It is fluffy and heartwarming in places, horribly dark in others, and slathered all over with vivid, sensuous descriptions of food. Everything revolves around Rika's dangerous growing closeness to Kajii, and the corresponding distance opening up between her and her best friend, Reiko; both relationships are characterised by obsessiveness, insecurity and unexpressed yearning, with strong homoerotic undercurrents. (These are not just wishful thinking on my part; I know Japanese homosocial norms are different from Western, but Yuzuki herself is explicit, if inconclusive, about the fact that lines are being at the very least toed right up to.) I am a fairly fast reader - partly because suspense is not my friend (I need to know what happens, damn it!) and partly because I so enjoy the dopamine hit of successfully crossing a task off my mental to-do list - and this is the first time in ages that a first-time read has had me regretting this about myself, because I really would have liked to luxuriate for longer in the deliciousness and complex psychological honesty of these pages.
( On the other hand... [cut for candid and personal weight/fatphobia talk] )
Above disclaimer (tldr; big trigger warning for ED sufferers) notwithstanding, this might be my favourite thing I've read this year so far.
Deadloch season 2: This was good telly, but compared to the flawless first season, I feel disappointed. Detectives Eddie and Dulcie, along with Dulcie's civilian wife Cath, have gone caravanning up to the Northern Territory to investigate the possible murder of Eddie's previous detective partner. Instead, they get embroiled in a completely different murder case, involving the deceased owner of one of the town's two competing crocodile tour companies whose body has started washing up in pieces along the river. The formula is the same as last season: it's crime/black comedy with a sharp eye for misogyny and a major subplot focusing on queer relationships. The ongoing workings-out of Cath and Dulcie's marital issues were my very favourite thing this season, followed closely by Eddie's exploration of her/their newly discovered queerness, conducted in the most maximally brash, eccentric, Eddie-ish way possible. Fantastic stuff. Unfortunately, the main plot largely did not work for me this time.
Part of my annoyance is with the cultural depiction of Australia. Last season took a very nuanced and diverse view of small-town Tasmanian society, which rang true even (maybe especially) at its most satirical; this season, the supporting cast was dominated by exhaustingly loud Top End bogans whose portrayal imo tipped a bit over the caricature line. The Kates are southeasterners (and to be fair, so am I) so I guess it makes sense that they have less of a wealth of experience to draw on for their portrayal of the NT, but...idk, I'm not even saying those kinds of people don't exist, I'm just saying they're not ALL that exists up there, and I would have really liked a bit less screentime chewed up by making fun of them. Not least because they are exhaustingly loud. Eddie's antics were funny when Eddie was the clown to everyone else's straight man; once the other clowns all trooped in, and it was just a big crowd of clowns trying to out-clown each other, it stopped being enjoyable to watch.
The other annoying part was the murder mystery itself, which lacked all the sharp, twisty urgency of the previous one. I spent so much of last season compulsively trying to guess who the culprit was, feeling tantalisingly close to putting the pieces together, only to have all my conclusions thoroughly (and pleasurably) swept away by the finale. This time it took me the whole first half of the season to even start caring whodunnit, and by the time I did start caring, the rough shape of the answer was obvious; the twists thrown in at the end to try and make it more of a surprise felt cheap and tacked on. And CONVOLUTED. Holy fuck, the finale was convoluted. Too many threads tied in too loose a knot, with most of them completely unnecessary to the actual structure of the rope.
So I'm not sorry for the time I spent watching it, and I'm very happy with how things worked out for the main characters, but I'm also not sorry it ended in a way that seems to preclude any further sequels. I would like to keep my memories of the absolute pristine perfection that was season one as untainted by later missteps as possible, so here is definitely the place to stop.
osprey_archer wrote in glowing terms about this book, and then just recently, a copy jumped out at me from a library shelf - so really, what was I supposed to do? It's about a journalist, Rika Machida, who gets in over her head while covering a sensational story about convicted female serial killer Manako Kajii, who is claimed to have lured in her victims through marriage-oriented dating apps, seduced them with her cooking skills, milked them to fund her luxury lifestyle and then callously disposed of them. The most controversial thing about the case, far more viscerally appalling to the public than the lives lost and ruined, is the fact that Kajii is fat. The idea that a fat woman could convince multiple men to want her so badly that they'd shower her in money and finery has people bemused at the absolute best and frothing with hateful rage at the worst.Did Kajii really commit the murders? This novel doesn't give a fuck! The true-crime-journalism angle is mere set dressing for what is actually a passionate story about female hunger in a society where misogyny, rampant body shaming and a general pressure to conform make it taboo for women to actually want almost anything at all. It is fluffy and heartwarming in places, horribly dark in others, and slathered all over with vivid, sensuous descriptions of food. Everything revolves around Rika's dangerous growing closeness to Kajii, and the corresponding distance opening up between her and her best friend, Reiko; both relationships are characterised by obsessiveness, insecurity and unexpressed yearning, with strong homoerotic undercurrents. (These are not just wishful thinking on my part; I know Japanese homosocial norms are different from Western, but Yuzuki herself is explicit, if inconclusive, about the fact that lines are being at the very least toed right up to.) I am a fairly fast reader - partly because suspense is not my friend (I need to know what happens, damn it!) and partly because I so enjoy the dopamine hit of successfully crossing a task off my mental to-do list - and this is the first time in ages that a first-time read has had me regretting this about myself, because I really would have liked to luxuriate for longer in the deliciousness and complex psychological honesty of these pages.
( On the other hand... [cut for candid and personal weight/fatphobia talk] )
Above disclaimer (tldr; big trigger warning for ED sufferers) notwithstanding, this might be my favourite thing I've read this year so far.
Deadloch season 2: This was good telly, but compared to the flawless first season, I feel disappointed. Detectives Eddie and Dulcie, along with Dulcie's civilian wife Cath, have gone caravanning up to the Northern Territory to investigate the possible murder of Eddie's previous detective partner. Instead, they get embroiled in a completely different murder case, involving the deceased owner of one of the town's two competing crocodile tour companies whose body has started washing up in pieces along the river. The formula is the same as last season: it's crime/black comedy with a sharp eye for misogyny and a major subplot focusing on queer relationships. The ongoing workings-out of Cath and Dulcie's marital issues were my very favourite thing this season, followed closely by Eddie's exploration of her/their newly discovered queerness, conducted in the most maximally brash, eccentric, Eddie-ish way possible. Fantastic stuff. Unfortunately, the main plot largely did not work for me this time.
Part of my annoyance is with the cultural depiction of Australia. Last season took a very nuanced and diverse view of small-town Tasmanian society, which rang true even (maybe especially) at its most satirical; this season, the supporting cast was dominated by exhaustingly loud Top End bogans whose portrayal imo tipped a bit over the caricature line. The Kates are southeasterners (and to be fair, so am I) so I guess it makes sense that they have less of a wealth of experience to draw on for their portrayal of the NT, but...idk, I'm not even saying those kinds of people don't exist, I'm just saying they're not ALL that exists up there, and I would have really liked a bit less screentime chewed up by making fun of them. Not least because they are exhaustingly loud. Eddie's antics were funny when Eddie was the clown to everyone else's straight man; once the other clowns all trooped in, and it was just a big crowd of clowns trying to out-clown each other, it stopped being enjoyable to watch.
The other annoying part was the murder mystery itself, which lacked all the sharp, twisty urgency of the previous one. I spent so much of last season compulsively trying to guess who the culprit was, feeling tantalisingly close to putting the pieces together, only to have all my conclusions thoroughly (and pleasurably) swept away by the finale. This time it took me the whole first half of the season to even start caring whodunnit, and by the time I did start caring, the rough shape of the answer was obvious; the twists thrown in at the end to try and make it more of a surprise felt cheap and tacked on. And CONVOLUTED. Holy fuck, the finale was convoluted. Too many threads tied in too loose a knot, with most of them completely unnecessary to the actual structure of the rope.
So I'm not sorry for the time I spent watching it, and I'm very happy with how things worked out for the main characters, but I'm also not sorry it ended in a way that seems to preclude any further sequels. I would like to keep my memories of the absolute pristine perfection that was season one as untainted by later missteps as possible, so here is definitely the place to stop.
