It’s a shame Goodreads doesn’t have this cover available, as it’s bubble gum pink background and teal-haired protagonist in a shark’s mouth is quite alluring. I picked this up at my local bookstore purely based off its cover and title, which I don’t do often, and I’m happy to report it’s an amusing, quick read. Translated from Japanese, this collection of flash fiction is challenging to categorize. The variety of subjects, characters, themes, and lengths keep readers on their toes, never quite sure exactly what they’re reading. What is apparent, though, is the fresh voice Matsuda brings to the literary fiction market.
I have a deep love for short story collections, especially those interested in exploring feminine issues. Interestingly, though, I struggle to get behind flash fiction, its brevity often leaving little for me to contemplate. This collection of 52 total pieces is a mix of short stories, the longest reaching 12 pages, and flash fiction, the shortest just one sentence. I found myself gravitating towards the pieces on the longer end that are more plot focused. It’s safe to say, though, that all of Matsuda’s pieces have a unique voice and are born from the author’s quite random imagination. In one, Nicholas Cage is kept in a cage by an adoring fan, in another a woman doodles braids while arguing with her boyfriend. It's clear Matsuda’s fiction is inspired by her everyday impulsive thoughts. She somewhat confirms this in her one-line commentaries at the end of the collection. For "Cage in a Cage" she writes, "Once the idea for this occurred to me I had to go ahead and write it, but I slightly regret it now." Normally, I don't enjoy when an author tries to control how their work is read by including their own thoughts on a piece, but I think the additional context in this case is needed for what otherwise reads as a random collection. Hearing Matsuda's inspiration and thoughts on her work aids in the digestion of her bizarre stories and adds to the collection's overall cohesion.
Matsuda's stories vary in their subjects and themes, as well as in POV, location, and literary style. The collection is like a buffet in this way, with something sure to pique each reader's appetite. For me, I am most interested in the stories exploring feminine issues of sexism and misogyny in Japan. As an American reader, its fascinating to see how gender is perceived in Japan, which is notoriously behind in this aspect. In one story, "CV," Matsuda portrays the sexism normalized in Japanese workplaces through one woman's CV. Of the many jobs the narrator holds, she is consistently forced to resign for "personal reasons," when in reality she resigns after facing sexual harassment. "The Masculine Touch" also explores workplace discrimination through reverting gender roles. In this story, a male writer makes a suggestion that skyrockets him into virality, with everyone claiming he has "the masculine touch." This is a parody of the phrase "feminine touch," which, as the male writer declares, is arbitrary and demeaning.
Beyond the workplace, sexism is persistent in Japanese society as whole, which comes through in the titular story, "The Woman Dies." The beginning of this piece reads more like an essay, detailing the arbitrary reasons women are killed off in fictional media. As Matsuda argues, these unnecessary deaths further normalize violence towards women. What would happen, Matsuda wonders through the fictional turn in the story, if the woman didn't die? What would her story become? "Dissecting Misogyny" continues on this thread, imagining a world where women could be taught how to physically dissect misogyny as if it were a piece of meat. If only deconstructing misogyny was so simple.
Other stories that I found myself enjoying from the collection were those with absurd plots, like "Bird Strike!" In this story, birds fed up with being hit by planes organize their own airline. In "Hawai'i," articles of clothing get to choose their eternal heaven after being discarded by their owners. These premises are so bizarre, yet imaginative, prompting the reader to question their understanding of reality. Many more stories I found just plain amusing. The narrator's embarrassment in "This Precious Opportunity" over a yogurt cup is seemingly random as a plot, but I quite enjoyed it for that exact reason. "The Start of the Weekend," only a paragraph long, briefly critiques capitalism by naming objects by their price values. These stories with their less than normal plots still manage to say a lot about society while seemingly saying little.
With so many stories in one collection, there’s bound to be some that aren’t of interest for every reader. For me this included the short, seemingly meaningless pieces like all of the “English Composition” pieces and the “Gaban” pieces. Listing and repetition are common literary devices used throughout the collection that I would argue reach a point of overuse in these pieces. I found “The Year of No Wild Flowers” so annoying for this reason, the format switching between a painfully scientific description of wildflowers and a listing of how people are wildflowers. Beyond just being incredibly clique, the lists about wildflowers are meaningless in terms of the story and are virtually indecipherable. Not to say that listing and repetition aren’t affective, “When the Girl Broke Up with Her Boyfriend” and “The Android Whose Name Was Boy” utilize both in ways that feel interesting and meaningful. Honestly, with so many pieces I think it’s just natural for a few to be mediocre. But with 52 stories, I would argue the collection would benefit from a refining edit, removing a few of these pieces to let the stronger stories shine.
I don’t think every reader will like this odd, little collection. As typical with international literature, it doesn’t fit into the standards set by American literature. The notion of plot takes a backseat to impulsive imagination, and as a result we get stories that dare to say nothing. Interestingly, though, the collection is well aware of the outside world, in this case, the United States. Many of the stories seemingly take place here, and even though Matsuda doesn’t have a full grasp of the cultural nuances, there’s a clear reflection of America’s cultural influence on Japan in her work. Personally, I enjoy seeing how cultural exchange is possible through literature as demonstrated in works like this. I would argue we need to challenge ourselves to read more international literature like this collection to better understand of the world as a whole.