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“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.”
― Fifty Sounds
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.”
― 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.”
― Butter
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.”
― Butter
“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.”
― Fifty Sounds
― Fifty Sounds
“[T]he silence around the topic didn't feel neutral or chosen, but oppressive, forced upon me, something I wanted to rip away”
― Porn: An Oral History
― 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.”
― Porn: An Oral History
― Porn: An Oral History
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―
“Lying curled up on the pavement, Rika understood; this was how Kajii's victims had died. The thing they had treasured had been cruelly shattered. She had to face it this time: Kajii was a killer. It didn't matter whether or not she'd murdered her victims with her own hands. Clearly, there resided within her a violent loathing of other people. Rika hadn't been able to see it until she herself had been struck off. The situation had come about through her own lack of care, but without the damage Kajii had inflicted on her, she would never have sunk this low. There was no doubt that those three men had experienced the same flow of emotions, the same shock.”
― Butter
― Butter
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― So We Look to the Sky
― So We Look to the Sky
“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.”
―
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.”
―
“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.”
― Fifty Sounds
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.”
― 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”
― Butter
― 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.”
― Butter
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.”
― 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.”
― Butter
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.”
― Butter
“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.”
― Fifty Sounds
― Fifty Sounds
“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.”
― Fifty Sounds
― Fifty Sounds
“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.”
― Fifty Sounds
― Fifty Sounds
