CONVENIENCE STORE WOMAN

Author: Sayaka Murata
Year: 2020 (2016)
Publisher: Lind & Co
Language: Swedish (translator Vibeke Emond)

Reading some writers is like spending time in an ancient royal treasury in London or Vienna. laden with riches from floor to ceiling. Fyodor Dostoevsky, Victor Hugo, Thomas Mann, and Henryk Sienkiewicz come to mind as writers who will overwhelm their readers in a wealth of philosophical depth dressed in exquisite language and breath-taking style. Among contemporary writers Doris Lessing, Arundathi Roy, and Salman Rushdie could be mentioned.

Other writers are like that perfectly cut solitary diamond that stands in splendid isolation above all others sending its brilliance through countless facets in all directions and angles, demanding complete attention from the mesmerised onlooker. Nicolai Gogol, Kazuo Ishiguro, and Olga Tokarczuk are some writers that arguably would represent these sharp beacons in literature.

Yet from time to time, a writer settles for being the barely noticeable grain of sand inside the clam. The clam being you, the reader. The grain of sand that once being planted will over time grow into an ideal sphere of mother-of-pearl, expanding layer after layer as time passes, accumulating value by each thought being added, each perspective explored, each reflection pondered upon. In all its unassuming modesty. “Hur mår fröken Furukura” (“Convenience Store Woman”) by the Japanese writer Sayaka Murata appears to be precisely this sort of book and just maybe it is the rarest type of literature.

The plot is simple enough. Keiko Furukura is a thirty-six years old Japanese woman who has worked in a convenience store on an hourly basis for eighteen years. Colleagues have come and gone, bosses replaced each other numerous times, products been launched and cancelled, but Furukura has remained. This has caused some concern in her social life. No one is expected to work in a convenience store in Japan for this long. As a temporary solution to put oneself through college; sure. As an extra income for bored housewives for a year or two; no problem! But as a career? Unacceptable. Incomprehensible! Preposterous! On top of this, Furukura has never been in a romantic relationship which furthermore exacerbates her family’s and friends’ consternation.

From the offset, we learn through flashbacks from her childhood that Furukura has had a unique way to perceive the world around her and that her view has not always been aligned with the mainstream interpretation of social and natural phenomena in her community. Her occasionally radical actions as a young girl, based on literal rather than figurative compliance with instructions or incentives, repeatedly got her in trouble. As a consequence, Furukura began to observe people in her vicinity and mimic their responses to various situations. She even adjusted her choice of attire, her motion patterns, her speech and voice, and her opinions according to her observations. All was done in a dispassionate and objective manner without any show of emotion from Furukura’s side, apart from an occasional expression of disbelief or curiosity. Over the years, she manages to pass for somewhat normal. Had it not been for her career and her lack of interest in men.

It probably lies close at hand to diagnose Furukura somewhere on the neurodivergent spectrum of high-functioning autism but for the purpose of the novel, this is largely irrelevant. Murata never mentions a diagnosis although Furukura’s family entertains the idea of their beloved Keiko being in need of therapy. Much more interesting are the things we can learn about our society through the eyes of someone who observes it from the outside and tries to adapt without really understanding. Contrary to an anthropologist, Furukura never attempts to explain or make sense of society. She is quite content merely finding a way to fit in and feel safe. Taking up the job in the convenience store was part of this quest to begin with, eighteen years prior to the events in the novel. Even so, we can learn a lot about ourselves by witnessing the world through the lens of her eyes. It is by this process, the nudge by the text that inspires the reader to apply his or her own power of observation to the story, that the grain becomes a pearl. Murata does not explain the world to us through Furukura. She does not interpret it or sift through it. She simply shows it to us through a different window.

A few words on the translation of the title. After some research, I seem to understand that the Japanese original title is in fact gender neutral and perhaps best translated as “Convenience Store Person” rather than “Woman”. Furukura’s gender certainly plays no meaningful role in the book. AT least not to her. The Swedish translation (which means “How is Miss Furukura doing?”) somehow misses the mark, too. Furukura is never referred to as Miss Furukura in the book; most of the time people just call her Furukura and only her family calls her by her first name. It seems to me that Murata went through some trouble to make her protagonist’s gender identity purposefully vague. And yet, both the English and Swedish translations blast it onto the respective cover.

SPOILER ALERT

All of Furukura’s carefully crafted persona is put to the test when the obnoxiously arrogant Shiraha is hired to the convenience store team. He is lazy, rude, unseemly, and daft. It soon transpires that his intended purpose of joining the team is to find a suitable wife. Not among his co-workers, mind you. That would be beneath Shiraha. He has his heart set on any random, affluent, and well-educated female customer of suiting age. Truth be told, he isn’t much interested in family life. All he claims to want is to get his own family, particularly his sister-in-law, off his back so that he can focus on starting his business.

When Shiraha and Furukura begin to talk, they come to realise that by moving in together, they can solve both their problems. The result of what seems to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and the effect it has on Furukura’s social life is the key takeaway from this book. Although, Furukura becomes miserable and thrown off, and makes no secret of it, her closest friends and family are overjoyed by the change in her life. Even when they see that Shiraha is an exceptionally poor choice of partner, they can still relate to Furukura through her misery which turns out to be her definitive entry ticket to full social acceptance. Better a miserable friend they can relate to than a content friend they cannot understand.

This, in the end, brings the story back to the assumption of Furukura’s diagnosis. Her atypical behaviour would generally be considered a result of her failure to connect emotionally to other people, as is part of the diagnosis for autism. And yet, looking at it from the other angle; isn’t her family’s and friends’ failure to connect with Furukura equally damning? And if so, on what grounds do we call out only one of the angles as a disability?

Sayaka Murata has written an adorable piece of fiction with a refreshing warmth and sense of humour. It is a simple and straightforward book about identity, acceptance, and harmony, all of which are important issues, but in no way do they overwhelm or crush the reader. I closed the book after the final page invigorated and energised with a final thought lingering in my mind: “Make Furukura the manager of the convenience store already!”

 

 

 

THE RED ROOM

Author: August Strindberg
Year: 1981 (1879)
Publisher: Norstedts
Language: Swedish

From Portugal in the Southwest to Russia in the Northeast, from Pessoa to Pushkin, every country in Europe and probably most other countries as well, has its national literary treasure that is a monumental figure in its own country but little-known outside of its borders (I touched upon this in my review of Pushkin on this blog in August 2021).

For Sweden, this literary giant is August Strindberg. Insofar as Strindberg is spoken of at all internationally, a conversation for the most part confined to the walls of academia, he is first and foremost associated with his stage plays; most notably Miss Julie but also Master Olof, The Father, The Ghost Sonata, and A Dream Play. To Swedes, on the other hand, he is just as famous if not more, for his novels The People of Hemsö, The Son of a Servant, and more than any other “Röda rummet” (“The Red Room”). 

“Röda rummet” is generally considered to be the first modern novel in Swedish literature and its arrival in 1879 stirred up a storm in the Swedish cultural establishment at the time. Strindberg’s choice of topic, his relentless criticism of the media, academia, and art world, and his concrete, straightforward, and unapologetic use of the language, were all new to the populus litteratus holmiensis at the time. The book quickly became hotly contested and feverishly debated.  

Strindberg knew exactly what he was doing and how to evoke this effect. He had closely followed the developments of French literature the years before, striking up what could almost be called a friendship with Émile Zola, who in 1868 had earned great fame with his highly provocative novel “Thérése Raquin”, which Strindberg surely must have come across, and had already started to publish his magnum opus; “The Rougon-Macquart” saga. Strindberg was determined to become the foremost naturalist writer in Scandinavia modelled on Zola. “Röda rummet” effectively earned him this title.

The novel is set in mid-19^th century Stockholm where Arvid Falk, a newly examined civil servant, having grown disillusioned by the inefficiency and self-aggrandisement of the bureaucratic caste to which he belongs, decides to sacrifice his education, social standing, and steady income in favour of becoming a journalist in pursuit of truth, beauty, and social equality. He quickly descends into the impecunious circles of Stockholm where he meets a catalogue of odd characters, almost exclusively male, who for a moment in time share their destinies with him. Through his interaction with them, he comes to realise that the people at the bottom of society, among whom he was hoping to find the genuineness he thought lacking in the administrative classes, are just as corrupt, scheming, and malicious as they are on any other step of the social ladder. His boundless disappointment is the pivotal climax of this novel. There is no salvation for him to be found. One of Strindberg’s most famous quotes “Det är synd om människorna” (”How pitiable people are”) could easily summarise this novel, as well.

It is commonly accepted that Arvid Falk is based on August Strindberg himself. Not in the autobiographical sense , but many of Strindberg’s observations, opinions, and values are brought forth by the actions and statements of this character. It is reasonable to assume that most if not all of the remaining characters are similarly modelled on real people whom Strindberg knew.

To me, the sculptor turned philosopher Olle Montanus stands out as the most memorable one. Strindberg makes a point of a man originating from the most modest of backgrounds with the most basic of educations who is, at the same time, the brightest and most perceptive of the characters that Arvid Falk encounters. Olle Montanus’ infamous lecture titled “On Sweden” given to a self-proclaimed but utterly confused workers’ union is a classic in itself and allows Strindberg to unleash a fierce assault on the Swedish self-image and bizarre nationalism. Montanus outright calls Sweden a German colony in front of a frantic audience which leaps to the defence of a system that effectively oppresses it.

Interestingly enough, there are only two female characters of interest in this novel and both are portrayed as deceitful, petty, quarrelsome, and conniving. The young wife of Arvid Falk’s dominant brother, is a vain and materialistic but not terribly bright schemer who is good at picking her husbands pockets for money but bad at spending it in a way that would afford her any substantial improvement to her social position. The other one, Agnes, is a fugacious phenomenon in most men’s lives but despite sacrificing her honour, she gets very little but scorn and misery in return. In the end, from the good-natured Arvid Falk, himself.    

Each of the plots that Strindberg chose for Röda rummet, is intended to highlight a specific slice of society that the author wishes to criticise. The press is one of Strindberg’s most obvious targets as he destroys the leading Swedish newspapers of the time accusing them of being dishonest and self-serving.

“- Have you no morals, Ygberg?
- No! Whenever a fool has an idea—it comes to the same thing whether it is original or not—he calls it his conviction, clings to it and boasts of it, not because it is a conviction, but because it is his conviction.”

By referring to the newspapers using clever but decipherable monikers as disguise, Strindberg accuses the press not only of corruption and personal agendas but also of collusion and plot to safeguard their mutual areas of influence and power. The public argument between liberal and conservative news outlets, that ostensibly resembles a struggle between ideologies, in essence turns out to be a joint power vertical where the agents reinforce each other in a relationship akin to symbiosis.

Strindberg also fires off broadsides against the financial and insurance industry. The rise and fall of the insurance company Triton, in which Arvid Falk’s overbearing brother is one of the investors, is a scorching critique of the lawlessness typical for the financial sector at the time. The account of the wide variety of small niche-banks, many of which at the time had the right to print their own banknotes, further underpins the state of chaos that prevailed. In an absolutely hilarious episode, one of Arvid Falk’s acquaintances shows up on his doorstep distributing outrageous loans left, right, and centre.

"- How much do you want? I can let you have it.
- Are you serious? asked Falk, and his face cleared.
- Serious? Hm! How much? The figure! The amount!
- I could do with, say, sixty crowns.
- Good Lord, how modest you are, remarked Borg, and turned to Levin.
- Yes, it is very little, said the latter. Take as much as you can get Falk while the purse is open.
- I'd rather not! Sixty crowns is all I want, and I can't afford to take up a bigger loan. But how is it to be paid back?
- Twelve crowns every sixth month, twenty-four crowns per annum, in two instalments, said Levin promptly and firmly.
- Those are easy terms, replied Falk. Where do you get money on those terms?
- From the Wheelwrights' Bank. Give me paper and a pen, Levin!

Quick as lightning Levin produced a promissory note, a pen, and a pocket inkstand. The note had already been filled up by the others. When Falk saw the figure eight hundred he hesitated for a moment.

- Eight hundred crowns? he asked.
- You can have more if you are not satisfied.
- No, I won't; it's all the same who takes the money as long as it is paid up all right. But can you raise money on a bill of this sort, without security?
- Without security? You are forgetting that we are guaranteeing it, replied Levin, with contemptuous familiarity.  

/…/

- But seriously, said Falk, what happens if one can't pay on the day when the money falls due?
- One takes up a fresh loan at the Tailors' Bank, for instance, replied Borg.
- Why don't you go to the Imperial Bank? questioned Falk.
- Because it's rotten! answered Borg.
- Can you make head or tail out of all this? said Sellén to Olle.
- I don't understand a word of it, answered the latter.”

August Strindberg’s legacy in Swedish literature cannot be overestimated. This is partly due to the eristic and ignescent public figure that he was in his day. While most writers and thinkers gradually develop their philosophy, Strindberg’s thinking and attention fluctuated wildly over his lifetime. He constantly found new battlegrounds and new viewpoints that repeatedly hurled him into ever new conflicts and controversies. His constant clashes with the cultural elite, which made it impossible for him to ever have a seat at the Swedish Academy let alone be considered for the Nobel Prize, and his persistent onslaught on the bourgeoisie, the church, and King Oskar II generated a persona that was vacillatingly considered a threat to civilisation and a hero of the people depending on community.

Yet looking beyond this, on literary merits alone, Strindberg remains a leviathan who influenced many great writers who came in his wake, the same way Emile Zola once influenced him. His analysis of power and ability to put his finger on the key elements of the power struggle in society as well as his courage to voice these opinions were trailblazing at the time. Jorge Luis Borges called him “my god, alongside Nietzsche”, Thomas Mann said that “Strindberg’s influence, moral and artistic, can only be compared with that of Tolstoy”, and Maxim Gorky often cited Strindberg as one of his sources of inspiration. But maybe Franz Kafka put it the best in a diary entry in 1915, three years after Strindberg’s death.

“My condition is better since I read Strindberg. I am reading him not to read him, but to be able to lie on his chest. He holds me like a child on his left arm. I am sitting there as a man on a statue. Ten times, I am in danger of falling down but on the eleventh attempt I sit steadily. I am secure, and I have a great view.”    

 

All translations of "Röda rummet" to English by Ellie Schleussner, Howard Latimer Ltd, Kingsway (1913). Translation of Kafka’s diary from lecture given by professor Björn Meidal in Stockholm 2012. All other translations are my own.