romance fiction – Contemporary Japanese Literature

Nao-Cola Yamazaki’s prizewinning debut novella Don’t Laugh at Other People’s Sex Lives is a bittersweet love story that, to be fair, is mostly sweet. There’s not much depth here, and that’s okay.

An art school student named Isogai has a crush on his painting instructor, a woman on the verge of middle age named Yuri. Partially on her invitation, he initiates a love affair. Their relationship is destined to end, but it’s nice while it lasts.

In real life, this sort of relationship isn’t a great idea for any number of reasons. In the romantic fantasy spun by Yamazaki, there are zero consequences, and Isogai and Yuri gently help each other realize fundamental truths about themselves so they can grow as people.

Yuri is something of a space cadet who moves according to her own mysterious whims, and her husband is a kind and loving man who gives Yuri the space she needs and supports her endeavors – even her affair. Meanwhile, Isogai is a sensitive young man straight out of a shōjo manga. He cries, he journals to process his feelings, and he notices whether women moisturize their elbows. He never gets angry or makes demands, and he accepts all of Yuri’s decisions with compassion.

Don’t Laugh at Other People’s Sex Lives reminds me of the worldview often expressed in Banana Yoshimoto’s novels: while the world at large is difficult and imperfect, it’s possible for two people to create a small refuge in the space between them. This novella was first published in 2004 during the cultural fallout of the severe economic recession of the 1990s, and I imagine that Yamazaki’s playful pen name and gentle writing style would have felt very refreshing and wholesome at the time.

As someone closer to the character Yuri’s age, this story was a bit too starry-eyed for me personally, but I imagine that its light humor, appealing characters, and (mostly) happy ending will be a source of comfort to readers looking for a short but sweet escape from the pressures of the real world in the form of cozy fiction.

Nan-Core
Japanese Title: ユリゴコロ (Yurigokoro)
Author: Mahokaru Numata (沼田まほかる)
Translator: Jonathan Lloyd-Davies
Publication Year: 2011 (Japan); 2015 (United States)
Publisher: Vertical
Pages: 253

As his father is dying of pancreatic cancer, a young(ish) man named Ryosuke discovers a set of notebooks hidden in a box in his father’s study. The handwritten confession contained in the notebooks is shocking, and Ryosuke begins to suspect that the woman who raised him may not be his biological mother. Then again, a part of him has always known that something was strange ever since he was four years old, when his family moved from Tokyo to Nara while he was in the hospital. It may well be that Misako, the person he was told to call mother when he was brought home, replaced his real mother, especially if the woman who gave birth to him is the same person who has written something resembling a “murder diary” in the notebooks he’s found.

The woman who admits her darkest secrets in these notebooks knows that something is wrong with her. She has trouble empathizing with other people, and nothing in life brings her joy. When she discovers that witnessing a death makes her feel human, she can’t stop thinking about it, and she takes indirect action that results in the death of a young boy and one of her female classmates. Killing, she realizes, is her “Nan-Core,” something a doctor once told her parents that she was lacking and whose pronunciation she misremembered as a child. Her “Nan-Core” is what makes her feel alive, and she continues to search for opportunities to trigger it as she grows up, goes to college, and starts working at an office.

It’s not much of a spoiler to say that Misako, the woman who wrote the confessions in the notebooks, is indeed Ryosuke’s biological mother, and that the woman who called herself Misako as she raised him and his brother is a surrogate. Ryosuke wants to find out how and why this happened, and most readers will quickly come to the obvious conclusions, which are later confirmed by Ryosuke’s father. The most intriguing element of this family drama is what happened to the original Misako, whose fate remains a mystery until the very end of the novel.

As Ryosuke steals time during his father’s hospital visits to read Misako’s notebooks, a disturbing series of events plays out in his own life. Ryosuke runs a mountainside dog café called Shaggy Head, and he’s fallen in love with one of his employees, Chie. Chie was once a bar hostess, and she’s on the run from her abusive husband, who is in turn hounded by the yakuza. When Chie disappears into thin air, another of Ryosuke’s employees, Ms. Hosoya, takes it upon herself to find the missing woman, a decision that results in dangerous complications for everyone involved.

Despite all the murder and spousal abuse, Nan-Core tells a surprisingly gentle story. The novel’s focuses is mystery or violence, but rather the evolution of the relationships between the members of Ryosuke’s family as he and his brother learn more about their parents and begin to see them as people. Ryosuke also starts to develop a new sense of family as he develops stronger bonds with Chie and Ms. Hosoya. The secrets hidden within these relationships stem not from malice and neglect, but from attempts to do the right thing under difficult circumstances.

Even Misako is able to grow and change because of the kindness of the people who adopted her into their family. Her homicidal tendencies can be read as an attempt to form connections with other people despite extreme alienation, and some of her murders are even a bit gratifying. For example, why continue to deal with sexual harassment at work when you can just murder the creep who keeps bothering all the female employees? In the end, the gentle Ryosuke is able to borrow strength from his mother’s confessions; and, when his story finally intersects with hers, the result is extremely satisfying.

Nan-Core may at first seem to be a paper-thin mystery propelled by a cast of one-dimensional stereotypes, but the plot slowly thickens as layers are added to each character. The story can be melodramatic at times, and the lack of any real consequences resulting from the characters’ actions is a bit fanciful, but none of this detracts from the charm of the novel.

My only real complaint is that, given that Ryosuke manages a dog café, Nan-Core has an unfortunate lack of canine characters. Judging from its trailer (link), the 2017 cinematic adaptation of the book (link) doesn’t have any dogs either. This is a shame, because I think the story’s odd but intriguing blend of horror and romance could have been enhanced by more puppies. Honestly, probably everything could be enhanced by more puppies, but at least Nan-Core offers its readers a batch of warm and cuddly murderers.

My rating: 13/10, it would be an honor to be murdered be this family of cutie pies.