It’s safe to say that if Haruki Murakami endorses a book, I basically have no choice but to read it. That, and my book club chose it, so that is how I came to read Mieko Kawakami’s [b:Breasts and Eggs|50736031|Breasts and Eggs|Mieko Kawakami|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1573825173l/50736031._SX50_SY75_.jpg|74401064]. If you want to read a surreal tale interlaced with social commentary on gender issues, then this is a pretty solid pick.

This book occurs in two parts. The first is a novella (published a decade earlier) that introduces the main character (and author) Natusko and details some time she spends with her sister Makiko and niece Midoriko. Makiko is dead set on getting breast implants, and Midoriko has mysteriously stopped speaking only writing her thoughts down in her journal. Each interaction/conversation is punctuated by Midoriko’s journal entries. Overall, I think I liked this portion more, in terms of quality.

The second part was written after Trump was elected to office, and likely had a different translator. While Kawakami’s style does change, I suspect the difference in translation also added to the sharp tonal shift. The first part of this section reads in the classic early-1900s I-novel format, with Natusko wondering if she would ever write anything as great, or worth publishing, as her last novel (I see you Kawakami).

Natsuko then goes on to write about artificial insemination, as this is what is preoccupying her at the time and she is encouraged to write about it in the absence of other ideas. She then reaches out to different individuals who were born via this method, including Aizawa and Yuriko. One thing that surprised me was learning about present-day Japan’s current stance on artificial insemination, and apparently only women in relationships can really get access to them; single women have an insanely hard time finding assistance.

I think everyone should have bodily autonomy, and that includes the right to reproduce on their own terms, and I did not expect how much push back there was against single mothers who want to reproduce this way. On her journey, one of the people she meets is Yuriko, who after birth was then raised and abused by a pedophile father. While not so much a denunciation of artificial insemination, Yuriko goes on an unexpected rant detailing her grievances with what she deems to be the parental ego.

People give birth thinking they are doing something positive, but for every happy person born, there is an unhappy person, or someone born into unfathomable pain. Yuriko points out the choice to be born is never given to a person and that reproduction, as a result, is not inherently benevolent. At the core of perpetuating our species, “People are willing to accept the pain and suffering of others, limitless amounts of it, as long as it helps them to keep on believing in whatever it is that they want to believe. Love, meaning, doesn’t matter.”

I do not think that this moral dilemma has ever really crossed my mind before, but it did make me really happy to have chosen not to give birth myself. This book will likely make parents feel some level of discomfort, but without spoiling, I do not believe it actually denounces the practice of parenthood on the whole, if anything quite the opposite. So I recommend it to anyone who is interested in this strange and great amalgamation of ideas.