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Our Assessment:
B+ : creatively presented tale of the lasting damage that can be done to children See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
Earthlings is narrated by Natsuki Sasamoto, who begins her story as an eleven-year-old.
Her mother dotes on her older sister and is constantly putting Natsuki down, to the extent that Natsuki doesn't even really feel like part of the family, but more like an intruder on this otherwise happy domestic scene.
She does have one companion, bought when she was just six, a plush toy that she found: "on the edge of the soft toy display and looked as though he was about ready to be thrown out" (i.e. something can readily identify with).
She calls it Piyyut and endows it with a fantastical backstory: he's from the Planet Popinpobopia and has magical powers, and he's here to save the planet.
Though in some ways mature and self-sufficient, her devotion to the toy and immersion in a fantasy world which she clearly wants to believe in show just how much of a child she still is.
It's really hard to put into words things that are just a little bit not okay.Her feeling is spot-on, as his increasingly inappropriate behavior towards her soon proves. Natsuki tries to tell her mother that something bad is going on, but given what her mother thinks of her that falls on deaf ears; the scenario Natsuki hints at is unimaginable to the adult: It's not as if a teacher would take any interest in a child with an underdeveloped body like yours. It's only because you've got a filthy mind that you would think that. You're the dirty one, not him.Yes, Natsuki's household is not a supportive one, and even though Natsuki knows her teacher's increasingly creepy advances are wrong, she is unable to escape them. If already damaged by the way she is treated at home, Igasaki's horrific behavior is truly crushing. Just how much Natsuki is alone in this suffering is also made clear when she later mentions the few times she tried to talk, years later, with friends about what happened to her; they are incapable of understanding, with one unhelpfully suggesting: Even if it's true ... After all, he was so cool you must have purposely let down your guard. That's basically consenting, isn't it ? I can't understand why you're playing the tragic heroine, really.Natsuki at least manages a form of escape when shortly after the worst encounter with Igasaki she is able to travel to Akishina and see Yuu again, though it is for a sad occasion, the death of their grandfather. She turns and clings to Yuu even more strongly, as the only support she can find, and his generally deferential attitude, accepting her demands unquestioningly, is helpful. She insists on making their union an even more absolute one -- with catastrophic results, the children's actions beyond the pale in the eyes of the adults, and the two torn apart. The narrative then abruptly moves ahead more than two decades, Natsuki now in her mid-thirties and married. Her tone and her affectless description is unchanged however -- as is, it turns out, almost everything about her: as Yuu notes when they spend some time together again, twenty-three years after they last saw each other: "It's really like you're frozen in time". The events of her tween years stunted her and if she has been able to move on in appearance, inside she remains catastrophically damaged. We learn what happened in the aftermath of her last encounter with Yuu in Akishina -- the last time she was able to visit that idyll -- and the (mercifully brief) reäppearance of Mr. Igasaki in her life. We also learn of one final horrific act from that time, with Natsuki apparently acting (out) decisively -- with Piyyut giving her the necessary courage. While the outcome is clear, how it exactly came to that is purposefully left somewhat vague -- with more uncertainty creeping in later in the story -- but Natsuki is willing or even indeed eager to assume responsibility (even as she keeps it secret from everyone else), finding in it empowering agency. While she puts on a face of normalcy in adulthood, it's clear how damaging those childhood experiences were. Her marriage is a sham, arranged via an internet service that paired her up with a man who similarly wanted to escape family pressure to marry but had no interest in a romantic or sexual relationship. Natsuki and Tomoya sleep in separate rooms and have never had sex; they're basically little more than independent roommates. (Yes, Tomoya is also a damaged soul.) From childhood on Natsuki sees the world around her as a factory: "My town is a factory for the production of human babies", she observes early on. Her way of seeing the world like this expands and hardens as she grows up, her only surprise being that she is not coöpted and subsumed by this omnipresent system, as all around her: Everyone believed in the Factory. Everyone was brainwashed by the Factory and did as they were told. They all used their reproductive organs for the factory and did their jobs for the sake of the Factory. My husband and I were people they'd failed to brainwash, and anyone who remained unbrainwashed had to keep up an act in order to avoid being eliminated by the Factory.Natsuki has gotten very good at this, but Tomoya reaches a breaking point which leads him to act out in a way that also reveals to their families the sham-life they've been leading -- and, in the 'Factory'-world, appearances and family-honor matter a great deal. For a while, Natsuki had found peace back in isolated Akishina, with just Tomoya and Yuu -- the trio living happily at a distance from 'the Factory', embracing Natsuki's childhood-fantasy world as an escape. More than two decades after she had last been there, Akishina is now even more of an isolated spot: "what you call a critically depopulated village, with lots of empty houses. It's a bit bleak, really" -- but in fact the ideal retreat for these characters who do not fit in in society at large. With Tomoya's brief attempt to reconnect with his family -- in surely the worst possible way -- the world comes crashing down on them again, Natsuki and Tomoya dragged by their families back down to earth, as it were. Yet they escape one more time, back to Akishina, and again with Yuu -- and this time, thanks to nature, they are even more cut off from the world at large. They go feral, one might say, and even when the outside world intrudes again, they're sufficiently in a world of their own to, essentially, avoid succumbing to it. The results are, however, not pretty, as Murata's novel culminates in scenes of surreal near-absurdity -- but all too plausibly real. Earthlings is a novel of the damage adults do to children and the lasting injury and catastrophic costs. For long periods Natsuki, Tomoya, and Yuu seem to fit in well enough, behaving within the expected parameters, but they can't completely hide the fact that, in their different ways, they are far from whole. As Yuu told Natsuki when they were young: "Children's lives never belong to them. The grown-ups own us" -- and the grown-ups are far too unconcerned about the consequences of how they treat and handle children (except presumably for Mr. Igasaki, who is surely well aware of the devastation his depravity inflicts). Even if the adults aren't conscious of the damage they're doing -- Tomoya's mother forcing him to bathe with her until he was fifteen, leaving him unable to: "handle a real woman's body" -- the scars are devastatingly deep and lasting. One of the strongest scenes in the novel has Natsuki regain the sense of taste she had lost when she was a tween, able to taste again after more than twenty years of feeling nothing: "I'd thought my mouth would never recover as long as I lived, but now it was my own again". The point is what it takes for her to regain that sensation: the act that took it away was beyond what any child should have to deal with, and so also that which brings it back is one beyond the pale. Part of the childhood fantasy of Earthlings is that there is an alien world, a Planet Popinpobopia. At first Natsuki doesn't see herself as an alien -- it's her plush toy that she imagines being from there -- but life experience pushes her to seeing herself always as so different she might as well be from another planet -- all the way to and through adulthood. The world she finds herself on is dominated and controlled by earthlings, all part of the Factory, but she does not belong. For a long time she hoped she'd just become part of this world -- "I just hoped the Earthlings would succeed in brainwashing me" -- but she never can -- the scars are too deep, making for a rift that can't be bridged. The rigid world, imposing its ideas and ideals on her (and Tomoya and Yuu), can't make room for her kind. This is a dark story, but Natsuki's tone remains light and bright (and disturbingly unchanging between child- and adulthood), a very effective contrast between subject and form. Even as a young girl, Natsuki aimed to please and tries to conform, but her world was largely unreceptive to her efforts. Given her experiences, including living with a bratty, spoiled sister, it's no wonder she isn't tempted to have a family of her own -- even as the pressure to do so is overwhelming in this society. She tries her best to fit in as best possible, not to ruffle any feathers, studying, working, and even settling down in the traditional, married way -- but all along she's really just on a parallel track, never really fitting in the Factory-world. Natsuki practically never really rebels, at least not in a confrontational style, which adds to the pervasive feeling of unease: her bratty sister loudly lashes out, but that's still part of playing along the right way. Meanwhile, the attempts that Natsuki makes at reaching out are slapped down; in a sense she simply can't be helped -- this society isn't equipped to do so, preferring to remain blind to what is damaging her -- and so she's left to her own very creative devices. That things ultimately get way out of hand doesn't come as a surprise. It's a well-fashioned tale, a modern horror story not so much concealed as revealed in the narrator's trying-so-hard-to-be-upbeat (yet not forced) attitude and voice. A distinctly Japanese outsider story, it nevertheless resonates universally. Earthlings is a deeply disturbing story, and if elements seem somewhat simplistic -- it's hard to believe so many of these characters are so dense and misguided -- still makes its points very effectively. - M.A.Orthofer, 7 October 2020 - Return to top of the page - Earthlings:
- Return to top of the page - Japanese author Murata Sayaka (村田沙耶香) was born in 1979. - Return to top of the page -
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