Grotesque - Natsuo Kirino

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever thought about someone else? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever thought about yourself? What’s the worst that has been thought of you? The odds are that all three share the same rotten roots. Grotesque by Natsuo Kirino is a scathing, relentless and ugly exposure of these darkest places in the human psyche. It is not a book for the weak of heart or stomach. It is not a pretty book. (Its name ought to be a big hint.) But if you are possessed of a macabre interest in those shadowy corners lurking inside you and your fellowmen, and are willing to sink to the deep, despairing depths this tome takes you down to, then allow me to tie the first stone around your ankle and throw you in.

Grotesque tells the tale of three women and one man descending farther and farther into degradation and self destruction.

There’s Yuriko Hirata – the impossibly beautiful daughter of a Swiss man and Japanese woman. Her beauty is described by her sister, the narrator, as “monstrous” and “diabolical” because of its utter perfection. She resembles nobody else in her ordinary-looking family, and they despise her, fear her or treat her like an alien because of it. By outsiders, she is seen as a thing, not a person – an object to puzzle over, desire, admire, hate, possess or throw away. She soon comes to the conclusion that an object is all she can be. The moment she blossoms into gorgeous womanhood at 15, she begins wilting – giving her body away to every man in her life, becoming a prostitute in school, making it her adult profession and ending at the hands of a murderer.

The nameless narrator lives all her life in her beautiful sister Yuriko’s shadow. A shadow so large and so dark, it hides her completely. She cannot be seen – not by others, and not even by herself. Yet, instead of clawing her way out of it, she hugs it tighter around her, willing it to grow and feed the hatred, jealousy and malice inside her. The darkness becomes so much a part of her, not even Yuriko’s death can lift it.

Kazue Sato is a bright girl brought up to believe that if she just works hard enough, she can be anyone, do anything. Yet this very belief which should be her wings, turns out to be the cement-block around her feet – for try as she might, she never seems to get what she wants. In school, she is bullied and mocked for her ambitions. As an adult, when she bags a prestigious job in the big firm that also employed her father, it is not her work ethic that gets the credit, but her family ties. Her self-worth is snatched at and torn to shreds by the world, and the only way she sees to get it back is by starving herself to near-death and moonlighting as a prostitute.

Finally, we have Zhang – the Chinese immigrant and murderer of Yuriko – and possibly Kazue as well. His story as he tells it is one of unbearable poverty and hardship as a farmer in China, a determined and hopeful escape to Japan in search for a better life, and heartbreaking admissions of desperation and guilt. Yet, in Kazue’s story, we see an altogether different and more chilling side to him.

This is what makes Grotesque fascinating – the way in which these intertwining stories are told in Rashomon-like fractions, through the voices of the narrator, and the other protagonists’ letters, diaries and police statements. As each character’s own point of view mixes with another character’s telling of their story, different angles and shades of each personality and tale are revealed to the reader. What is first shown as self-absorption later turns into acute self-awareness; what breeds feelings of compassion on one page, evokes shock and disgust on another; what is once sweet eccentricity is then the beginnings of senility. The moment the story shifts from one character’s hands and voice to another’s, you are left wondering if what you have been told about them before is really true.

This discrepancy seems to also hold true of Kirino as an author, and her works as a whole. She is considered one of Japan’s top “crime novelists”, and is best known for Out – winner of Japan’s top mystery award – the Grand Prix for Crime Fiction – and Edgar Award finalist in its English avatar. All four of her books translated into English (Real World and What Remains complete the quartet), are billed as “Crime Fiction”. While I haven’t read anything else by her, from what I know about Grotesque and what little I have read about the others, they are creatures swimming in an entirely different genre pool. Not so much conventional whodunits, more ‘who-are-they-and-why-did-they-do-it’s.'

And isn’t that the way it is in reality? We are seldom who we think we are, but we are not what the world thinks we are either. The truth lies somewhere in between, and it is in between the pages and lines that the reader must seek out the true natures of Yuriko, her sister, Kazue and Zhang.

This isn’t an easy book to read. For one thing, the translation at times seems clumsy, and certain sections seem to be begging for editing. These flaws, however, are few and minor. For the most part, the language is powerful and provoking, and so is the story. The harder part lies in following the people in the pages down into their ever deepening abysses of hopelessness and despair. As one character puts it: “There were black insects in my heart”. Well, the black insects crawl on every page, spill out of the covers and chew their way into the reader. If, however, you are brave enough to pick this one up, it is likely to be one of the most memorable books you have ever read.