A stark examination of bodily autonomy and what it means to be a woman, Breasts and Eggs follows Natsuke in her late 20's when her family comes to visit, then resumes later in her life when she questions her need to have children in order to be seen as fulfilling her role of 'woman' in Japan.

Originally published as a short novella and then expanded and combined into a single novel of both stories, Natsuke's tale provokes something within the audience that leaves them questioning societies expectation of the fairer sex.

While in the original short story, Natsuke is living week to week, after the time jump she is an established author dealing with writers block and questioning her place in the world. Endearing and engaging, this novel provokes all the raw emotion I have come to expect from the great authors of Japanese descent. While very slow in places, it provides the reader an opportunity to freefall into the life of another, if only for a few hours.

Breasts and eggs is one of those books that's going to linger in the back of my mind for a while.
It's literally about all the topics that women in our society are confronted with: fertility, pregnancy, periods and menopause, being childless, marriage and financial problems, wanting it all (family and career), gender questions, plastic surgery, body shaming, sperm banks, adoption, postpartum depression, being a single parent and more.
There's so much to discuss and unpack. It was written so that our main character either confronted those issues herself or any other women in her family or vicinity. This book would be perfect for any book club and I can highly recommend this to anybody who's interested in the above topics listed.

Thank you Netgalley for the free copy in exchange for an honest review.

Breasts and Eggs is a strange, moody novel examining womanhood and bodily autonomy. Originally two separate books, it is now published in translation as one novel of two parts.

In Book One, Natsuko is visited by her sister, who has come to Tokyo for a boob job, with her preteen daughter in tow. In Book Two, Natsuko, nearing forty, contemplates having a child on her own via anonymous sperm donation. Sandwiching two books together, the resulting novel seems overlong and disjointed. Stylistically, the journal entries, occasional hallucinatory episodes, and general slipperiness of ‘Book One’ are mostly absent from the more conventional Book Two, which is also longer and more meandering.

Any ‘social-issue-debate’ novel is at risk of appearing contrived: it’s a rigged contest with the author controlling all the players. Kawakami falters here, succeeds there, in preserving the illusion of her characters as real thinking beings rather than mouth pieces. Some of the arguments about sperm donation seem a bit facile (albeit Kawakami notes significant cultural differences in Japanese vs Western attitudes) and too easily dismantled. On the other hand, when one minor character goes on a fabulous, nihilistic, extended rant about the arrogance and presumption of anyone procreating — she describes birth itself as a ‘violence’ enacted on literally everyone without their consent — it comes across as raw and real.

Natsuko vacillates listlessly, weighing pros and cons of her solo parenthood plan, but ultimately dodges the tougher choices — her ethical conundrum is resolved by a convenient plot contrivance. One that is believable enough, but still felt like a cheat to me, as her ‘solution’ isn’t an option most real-world women have. The novel’s serious moral weight is undercut with a plot resolution from a romcom.

So the central premise is fairly unsatisfying in the end, but it’s bolstered by the surrounding matrix of Japanese slice-of-life moments, Natsuko’s outsiderdom as an Osakan in Tokyo, staunch female-centricity, and a few kooky surreal moments — all enjoyable in its own right. An uneven 3 stars.

This book covers a wide expanse of topic material, and it almost feels like two different books put together. It’s very lengthy, but the second half of it feels disjointed and weird, whereas the first is far better. The examination of the family dynamics and the difficult relationship between sisters as well as children and parents worked really well. The constraints of societal expectations on women and the way that these smother their dreams is laid out in full. There’s also the unease gleaned from the crossing of the threshold from childhood to adulthood, and the way that women get dehumanised in that process.

It’s a bleak book in the second half. There’s a real sense that the only focus is reproduction for women, and that existing outside of being egg factories is a pipe dream. Children seem to be the only aim in parts, and that’s a little difficult to swallow. The sperm donors in it are predictably horrible people, and there’s a sense of all-consuming hopelessness about how these people operate and try to tout themselves as the reproductive paragons of existence.

The writing style is meandering and winds its way through, and the translation is quite well done. There’s a bleakness in the style that conveys the utter hopelessness well, and no character seems to get any sense of fulfilment. This is a sad, dismal reality, but it is a reality for a lot of women around the world.