Convenience store woman, by Japanese author Sayaka Murata, which I just finished reading this morning, is a quiet little novel (brief indeed at 159 pages), and yet one of deceptive depth. Murata's style is carefully understated, even blunt, which fits well with her main character, Keiko Furukura, an oddball in the eyes of society as well as her own family, a misfit, a square peg in a world of square holes, whose only option, as Keiko herself sees it, is to somehow learn to function as if she were actually a part of that world such that she can please her family and be acceptable to the people around her. She lands in a job as a part-time convenience store clerk, and as it turns out this becomes a perfect vehicle for becoming just like a human being, or as close as possible, for the next 18 years. But the world of "normal people" is not easily pleased or satisfied. So much more than simplicity and her own personal comfort is demanded of her. Which leads to a series of well-intentioned mistakes.
I really liked this novel, or novella. There is just something about it that echoes, resonates, a sort of poetry hidden beneath the plain language. The nature of Keiko's oddity is not described, but I can't help being reminded of high-functioning autism, familiar to me through my own experience with my son. There is something not right about Keiko, but there is definitely something not right about the world too. Where is the proper balance to be found?
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