Polly Barton > Quotes

“Oh, my son loves Japan!" she says, her voice soaring. "He's been studying Japanese, all by himself, and he went there recently actually for the first time, and he said he just felt immediately at home there, you know really comfortable. I mean with him it's mostly the, the, the-"
My brain silently fills in the next word: anime.
"The animation and so on, you know he's really into technology. I mean he's only seventeen, you know so who knows what is going to happen. But it does seem like, you know, a real thing for him."
"Right," I say, and I nod. "That's great."
Sometimes at times like these, what fills my head is the things I do not and could not ever say. For example: "You have no idea how many stories I've heard exactly like that one!" Or: "You know, even though I'm generally reluctant to admit the existence of 'types' among people, I'm often shocked by the parallels that exist between the kind of young men who like anime and all things Japanese, to the extent that I sometimes struggle to believe that a group of people with such intensely similar interests are in fact individuals." Certainly I do not say: "And what would you like to bet that he ends up marrying a Japanese woman and becomes an academic teaching the world about Japanese culture while she gives up her job to bring up his children?" But even if these things flicker through my mind, I'm not anywhere near as rageful as any of that makes me sound.
In fact, if anything, what I feel in this particular moment is something like envy, for this son of hers that I've never met, I understand that taking refuge in Japan and being shielded from the demands of full adulthood is a privilege offered to predominantly white, educated, Anglophone men, because they are deemed the most desirable that the world has to offer; that it feeds off power relations that date back to the American occupation and beyond, and which hew closely to the colonial paradigm even if there are important differences (and even if Japan also has a history of colonialism of its own to reckon with); and that even leaving all of this aside, this Peter Pan status is not something I am interested in. And yet I can't help but look at the sort of person who feels "immediately" comfortable in Japan and wish that I had felt like that, only because it might validate the way I've dedicated a lot of my life to the country, but because the security of that sensation in itself feels like something I would love to experience.”
― Polly Barton, Fifty Sounds

“One day, out of the blue, they just became too much. The faces of people who thought nothing of making endless demands, of being constantly given things. The way they sat at the table simply waiting to be served, not lifting a finger. Their certainty that they would be taken care of, without even having to try. I began, in an instant, to hate them. I couldn't be bothered to buy seasonal ingredients, prepare them, cook, choose the plates, serve up the food, then clear away the dishes and wash up for people like that. When I stopped being in touch, when I stopped doing the housework and the cooking, they panicked. Some of them became hyper-suspicious and their behavior took on a stalkerish air. Some of them, after returning to life alone, began neglecting themselves, and suffered physically as a result. Like babies, all of them, whose mother had ceased looking after them. It's odd, isn't it? Once I had found their incompetence, their reliance on me adorable. I believed, up until that point, that I liked pleasing them. Yet I suddenly saw that it was always just me, working away frenziedly, all alone."
Rika didn't fail to notice the slightest change in Kajii's expression, the note of sorrow that went sliding across her peach-hued face.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I like serving men and giving them pleasure. Women who don't don't deserve the name. But being with just one man, a changeable woman like me gets bored."
"And yet you haven't given up looking for a marriage partner?"
"It's just that I haven't met the right person yet."
"I feel like what you're saying isn't---"
"Cooking is enjoyable, but the moment it becomes a duty, it grows boring. The same is true of sex, and fashion, and beauty. When you're forced to do something, it becomes a chore, and the pleasure disappears."
Rick's body felt heavy. She knew this was important, and yet she couldn't bring herself to ask a question.
"The kind of wife that the men on those sites are looking for is, at base, a woman with no sense of life about her. Their ideal partner would be a kind of ghost."
It wasn't at all hot in the room, and yet Rika's armpits were slick with lukewarm sweat. Even the gap between her sleeves and her wrists felt clammy.
"The quickest way for a modern Japanese woman to gain the love of a man is to become corpse-like. The kind of men who want those women dead are dead themselves. Indeed, it's because they're dead that they're so terrified of anyone with a sense of life about them. If those men hadn't met me, if I hadn't rejected them, they'd quite probably have died anyway. They were never really here to begin with.”
― Polly Barton, Butter

“[T]he silence around the topic didn't feel neutral or chosen, but oppressive, forced upon me, something I wanted to rip away”
― Polly Barton, Porn: An Oral History

“[T]he sudden explosion of porn within public discourse seemed to me to highlight the absence of what I thought of as genuine discussion. We could all, now, lip service it without blushing, yet I sill hadn't had a real conversation about it.”
― Polly Barton, Porn: An Oral History

“As her eyes ran over the lines of text, she took a bite of the melon bun, which was nearly as large as her face. The thick cookie dough encrusting its surface broke open with a crunch, and out spilled the aroma of butter and brown sugar, and the unmistakable taste of melon. Yes, it was exactly like she'd described. The combination of saltiness and sweetness wasn't bad, but the overall flavor was hardly sophisticated. Savoring it alongside the words flowing down the screen, though, its deliciousness seemed to percolate through her body.

The idea of combining karintō and the trusty melon bun is, of course, totally stupid. Honestly, I burst out laughing when I saw it there in the convenience store. But here's the thing: when you bite into that greasy, crunchy coating with its hint of soy sauce not unlike mitarashi dumplings, it's like emerging from a tunnel into the light, with the bright, fresh green flavor of melon fanning out all around you. I have to report that I'm now totally addicted. A stupid taste. A stupid price. But you know what, getting by on 'stupid food' actually makes things very easy. It's kind of soothing to feel like you've found a way to cheat at life.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“Over time, I have come to believe that if language learning is anything, it is the always-bruised but ever-renewing desire to draw close: to a person, a territory, a culture, an idea, an indefinable feeling.”
― Polly Barton, Fifty Sounds

“Very often a desire to write is a desire to live more honestly through language' (Rachel Cusk)…In writing, one can be at a remove not only from the observing eye of society, but also from the somatic memories attached to conversation.”
― Polly Barton, Fifty Sounds

“I gently touch and squeeze myself. My upper arms are particularly cool and soft. When I stick out my tongue and lick them, I can taste their sweetness."... "Stroking her upper arm, groping its flesh through the fabric of her jumper, she rolled her eyes back in her head suggestively. A picture floated into Rika's mind of Kaji stark naked, her huge breasts pressed together and her chin thrust forwards to fit her nipples into her mouth. This woman wanted to eat herself”
― Polly Barton, Butter

“What position do I occupy inside her consciousness, Rika wondered, as the woman she hurt so thoroughly-- the woman she let in, and then succeeded in ruining?
But then, she asked herself, was I ruined? In the end, it was probably correct to say that Kajii hadn't even succeeded in doing that. 'You can't even be properly ruined!' Kajii had once bellowed at her, maliciously. The people who had wished not only for Kajii's ruin but Rika's as well must have been trembling in dissatisfaction and despair. And yet, however much scorn Kajii might pour on her way of life, which consisted in proceeding clumsily forward, stopping and starting, changing course as she went, Rika no longer had any intention of altering it. Now that she was able to produce with her own two hands what she felt to be lacking, she sensed that tomorrow and the day after would, if anything, be better than today.”
― Polly Barton, Butter

“At the end of the day, I lose nothing. I'd go as far as to say that it's you who'll be losing something. You'll be losing the first person who's understood you. Things will just go back to how they were for you. Back to how they were in Agano, when everybody ignored you."
The grapeskins ruptured. Rika could see it happening. Just a little further, Rika thought. Her armpits grew sweaty. She had to appeal to her senses, gradually draw Kajii into her rhythm. It wouldn't do to rush.
"Visiting Agano, I started for the first time to feel genuinely sorry for you. Maybe if you'd had someone like Reiko in your life--- it wouldn't have mattered if they were a man or a woman, just someone you could talk to about what was on your mind--- then things wouldn't have worked out this way. Maybe then you wouldn't have needed to be so impossibly self-contained, to do everything on your own. If I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere, I could have easily ended up like you.”
― Polly Barton, Butter

“All that “I’m only doing this for your benefit” bullshit, when this whole time it’s you who’s acted out of line— you really don’t disappoint, do you? It’s clear as day that you look down on my background and my academic record and whatever, but from where I’m coming from, it’s you that’s the lowest of the low.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“The sensation of making a new friend, which she hadn’t experienced for decades, came flooding back to her. It wasn’t dissimilar to that sense you had when you were falling in love that the world was opening out in front of you, but it was also distinct from that feeling. With a new friend, the world around you seemed subtly different. You discovered a new side to yourself. The change was only a minor one, and yet it set your heart singing. Now I’ve found her, Eriko thought, I’m not going to lose her. Having a female friend clarified her own contours and colors, gave her a feeling confidence in herself.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“Oh, my son loves Japan!" she says, her voice soaring. "He's been studying Japanese, all by himself, and he went there recently actually for the first time, and he said he just felt immediately at home there, you know really comfortable. I mean with him it's mostly the, the, the-"
My brain silently fills in the next word: anime.
"The animation and so on, you know he's really into technology. I mean he's only seventeen, you know so who knows what is going to happen. But it does seem like, you know, a real thing for him."
"Right," I say, and I nod. "That's great."
Sometimes at times like these, what fills my head is the things I do not and could not ever say. For example: "You have no idea how many stories I've heard exactly like that one!" Or: "You know, even though I'm generally reluctant to admit the existence of 'types" among people, I'm often shocked by the parallels that exist between the kind of young men who like anime and all things Japanese, to the extent that I sometimes struggle to believe that a group of people with such intensely similar interests are in fact individuals." Certainly I do not say: "And what would you like to bet that he ends up marrying a Japanese woman and becomes an academic teaching the world about Japanese culture while she gives up her job to bring up his children?" But even if these things flicker through my mind, I'm not anywhere near as rageful as any of that makes me sound.
In fact, if anything, what I feel in this particular moment is something like envy, for this son of hers that I've never met, I understand that taking refuge in Japan and being shielded from the demands of full adulthood is a privilege offered to predominantly white, educated, Anglophone men, because they are deemed the most desirable that the world has to offer; that it feeds off power relations that date back to the American occupation and beyond, and which hew closely to the colonial paradigm even if there are important differences (and even if Japan also has a history of colonialism of its own to reckon with); and that even leaving all of this aside, this Peter Pan status is not something I am interested in. And yet I can't help but look at the sort of person who feels "immediately" comfortable in Japan and wish that I had felt like that, only because it might validate the way I've dedicated a lot of my life to the country, but because the security of that sensation in itself feels like something I would love to experience.”
― Polly Barton

“She knew that neither she nor Eriko were young, per se— but when women were together, weren’t they always girls, whatever their age?”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“She’d given him her body— surely the least he could do was to listen to her until morning? They were friends. It was as she thought this that something occurred to Eriko, and she was dangerously close to screeching. You know people you sleep with don’t count as friends— the words she said to Shōko now returned to her, stabbing at her chest.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“Maori had caught her in the middle of the Kyoto Uji Matcha and Chocolate Croissant with Warabimochi that was her breakfast. It was a new product at the convenience store that Hallie B had featured on her blog yesterday, with the review: Crazy chaotic deliciousness. Why has nobody thought of this before? Crispy croissant dough, softly melting chocolate, and the jelly-like squidge of warabimochi, all in a single bite.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“In writing, one can be at a remove not only from the observing eye of society, but also from the somatic memories attached to conversation.”
― Polly Barton, Fifty Sounds

“If she’d only helped out more around the house, as useless as she may have been at domestic tasks— or at the very least, been there for her mother when she needed someone to talk to. Her mother had been the kind to do everything by hand, drying fresh sour plums to make umeboshi and making her own miso. She organized immaculate celebrations for all the family’s birthdays, ran around the whole year attending memorial services for this and that person, and entertaining visitors warmly. She was always smiling, always talkative, and yet Shōko knew that she was constantly monitoring her father’s mood. Her mother had corralled this group of lazy individuals into a family, all on her own.
The ultimate proof of this was how, as soon as her mother left, everyone had disappeared from the house.
Shōko felt grateful for her childhood, where she had never wanted for anything, but she had no wish to become a martyr like her mother. She wanted to be free in all that she did. Letting the family home and the family meals eat away at your soul, your life-force, was putting the cart before the horse. Was there any greater contradiction than making yourself unhappy over the very tasks meant to make life enjoyable?”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“The language learning that fascinates me is not livening your commute and scoring a dopamine hit with another '5 in a row! Way to go!' Rather, it is never getting it right, hating yourself for never getting it right, staking your self-worth on getting it right next time. It is getting it right and feeling as if your entire existence has been validated.”
― Polly Barton, Fifty Sounds

“Oh, my son loves Japan!" she says, her voice soaring. "He's been studying Japanese, all by himself, and he went there recently actually for the first time, and he said he just felt immediately at home there, you know really comfortable. I mean with him it's mostly the, the, the-"
My brain silently fills in the next word: anime.
"The animation and so on, you know he's really into technology. I mean he's only seventeen, you so who knows what is going to happen. But it does seem like, you know, a real thing for him."
"Right," I say, and I nod. "That's great."
Sometimes at times like these, what fills my head is the things I do not and could not ever say. For example: "You have no idea how many stories I've heard exactly like that one!" Or: "You know, even though I'm generally reluctant to admit the existence of 'types" among people, I'm often shocked by the parallels that exist between the kind of young men who like anime and all things Japanese, to the extent that I sometimes struggle to believe that a group of people with such intensely similar interests are in fact individuals." Certainly I do not say: "And what would you like to bet that he ends up marrying a Japanese woman and becomes an academic teaching the world about Japanese culture while she gives up her job to bring up his children?" But even if these things flicker through my mind, I'm not anywhere near as rageful as any of that makes me sound.
In fact, if anything, what I feel in this particular moment is something like envy, for this son of hers that I've never met, I understand that taking refuge in Japan and being shielded from the demands of full adulthood is a privilege offered to predominantly white, educated, Anglophone men, because they are deemed the most desirable that the world has to offer; that it feeds off power relations that date back to the American occupation and beyond, and which hew closely to the colonial paradigm even if there are important differences (and even if Japan also has a history of colonialism of its own to reckon with); and that even leaving all of this aside, this Peter Pan status is not something I am interested in. And yet I can't help but look at the sort of person who feels "immediately" comfortable in Japan and wish that I had felt like that, only because it might validate the way I've dedicated a lot of my life to the country, but because the security of that sensation in itself feels like something I would love to experience.”
― Polly Barton, Fifty Sounds

“I guess the conclusion is: there really are things in the world that you can’t achieve through will alone. Like friendship.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“In Japan, fish like Nile perch and tilapia used to be sold a lot under false labels: Nile perch was passed off as Japanese sea bass and tilapia as red snapper. Even though they’d clearly taste better when cooked in recipes designed specifically to bring out their unique qualities, rather than those modeled on the qualities of a different fish! The Japanese have a resistance to freshwater fish, in general. Maybe it’s because people automatically associate them with koi carp and goldfish? But it just goes to show that in Japan, the name is more important than the taste.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“The images on the poster showed girls laughing together alongside a selection of red and green fruits, and a pile of pancakes drizzled with honey and butter. Were there really women who’d come to a love hotel to spend time together? She imagined this desolate space filled with the sound of women’s laughter, brimming with all sorts of delicious fruit and cake. Just because you were in a love hotel didn’t mean you had to have sex. True friends would be able to alter the significance of that space.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“It wasn't the Nile perch's fault: it had merely been frantically defending its own territory. The tragedy had taken place because the fish had been introduced into a lake that wasn't its natural habitat.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“I know that guys your age think you’re kind of hot. Do you know what the temps say about you, though?’
Eriko didn’t want to know. She covered her ears in a bid to shut out the taunting voice.
‘That the goody-two-shoes act is tedious as hell. That you’re way too old to be acting like you’re still the class prefect. That nobody’s envious of you, and it’s sickening to watch you simper and play nice as if they were. You don’t have any friends, do you? “The only thing missing from my flawless life is female friends! Aahhh, I’m just dying for some! It’s the last piece of the perfection jigsaw for me! Pretty please will somebody talk to me?”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“As she was here doing this, the Nile perches were busy evolving. They would devour their friends, if that was what it took to keep themselves alive. A clear mental image now took hold of Eriko and wouldn't let go: a huge Nile perch, dozens of meters in length, swimming leisurely around a Lake Victoria that now contained no other creatures, its silver scales glistening. Just one mammoth fish. And yet, the Nile perch wasn't lonely. It wasn't lonely because it contained inside that enormous body the souls of the hundreds of thousands of creatures it had eaten.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“It was less that she was incompetent, and more that constantly seeking to improve oneself seemed to her like a right pain. She would try hard to get a grip, reprimanding herself that she couldn’t go on this way, but at the very point that she had forced herself to more or less keep up, her health crumbled.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“Sure, it did feel a bit odd to be referred to as a ‘girl’ at her age, but given that people in their sixties still referred to all-female meet-ups as ‘girls’ get-togethers’, maybe it was okay.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“Here you go! Vietnamese-style brothless Sapporo Ichiban ramen!'
Shōko peered down at the bowl that Kensuke set on the table with a clunk. The thin white noodles were adorned with plentiful sprigs of coriander, one of her most beloved ingredients. She picked up her chopsticks regularly.
'We've got a Vietnam fair going on in-store right now,' Kensuke said, 'and the staff are all obsessed with making this.'
'Ken-chan, you're a genius!'
The evenly seasoned noodles slid down smoothly into her stomach. The quantities of the ingredients-- the lime, the Nam Pla, the minced garlic, the white and black sesame seeds, the tom yum powder, the sakura shrimp-- were all perfectly judged. The balance between the sourness and the spice was so delicious, Shōko could feel it radiating through her whole body.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked

“When viewed on a global scale, the high standards that Japan demanded of its women were off the charts. How much was required from women as default! Attractiveness, chastity, youth, a calm disposition, a prestigious job, a range of hobbies, a winning smile, stylishness, a likeable aura, consideration of others… and then, of course, popularity with other women. Eriko sometimes felt as if the perception that a woman was nothing if other women didn’t love her grew stronger each year.
These days, TV series and films about female friendship outperformed those centering love stories. Everyone flaunted their female friendships on social media. Open up any women’s magazine and there would be articles about the power of women supporting other women. Even at companies like hers, they were constantly doing market research oriented towards girls’ get-togethers, girls’ nights in and so on.”
― Polly Barton, Hooked