Convenience Store Woman
I don’t often pick up media immediately after it was recommended. I’m rarely the first, second, or even fiftieth person on line to buying a Hot New Book or try a new video game or even start a new show. It wasn’t until both seasons of Euphoria were done and over that I deigned to sit down and watch it. (And that wasn’t because anyone recommended it to me—I just got sick of not understanding the memes that took over my Twitter feed every Monday morning.)
Regardless, I am quite honestly, perpetually, late to the party. And it doesn’t matter who recommends something either. My mother could recommend I watch a show, and I may not get to it for another 3 months. My friends could all gush about their favorite characters in a book, and I will not even remember the title of it by the end of the conversation.
However, a while back, a friend of mine recommended an old book (published in 2016) in such a way that I had it in my cart and paid for by the end of the day.
Again, something like this doesn’t happen often. But as I was complaining about my inability to write a retail horror story, they brought up “Convenience Store Woman” by Sayaka Murata.
They told me nothing about the genre, or even the synopsis—but they way they described it was so unique and concise that I remember the exact phrase they used.
“It’s very…My Gender is Convenience Store Woman.”
To any cis people, the above sentence may read as nonsense. To me (and probably other trans people), I can unravel exactly the meaning behind this phrase and understand why my friend described it in some way.
After all, what is gender? Is it innate? Is it biological? Obviously, I would argue it is not biological and I'm also not entirely sure it is innate either. I would say (perhaps cautiously as I am not an anthropologist), is that gender feels like a role you play in society. It starts off early, not just assigning specific colors to boys and girls but assuming that each gender will have definitive desires. Boys are supposed to play with monster trucks and cars, girls are supposed to play dolls. At an early age, gender seems like a thing that you do rather than what you are.
And then as you get older, gender gets more complex. You're told that girls can do anything boys can do-but they shouldn't try because then they'll get hurt and won't that be sad? Boys shouldn't express emotions, unless its anger, then by all means, throw everything at the wall, and who cares if it scares people?
Etcetera, etcetera. I don't have to rewrite the Barbie America Ferrera monologue.
At this point, gender comes across as not just a thing you do but a thing you can or shouldn't do. It opens up to a few more possibilities, sure, but even that has limits.
My friend said that the book feels like "my gender is convenience store woman". If gender is a thing you do, can/should or otherwise, then what does it mean to be a Convenience Store Woman? What does that even mean?
After buying and reading the book in one sitting, I can tell you, it was a very apt description.
Convenience Store Woman follows the story of Tokyo resident Keiko Furukawa. All throughout her life, Keiko often had trouble with fitting in, both in her family and at school. The rules of social interaction are nebulous to her. What seems like common sense to others, doesn't even cross her mind. What interests others, does not particularly interest her.
Luckily, Keiko finds her place (or "role") in society soon enough—when she starts working at a “Smile Mart.” At work, the rules of social interaction are much clearer, since most of it is outlined in the store’s manual. She uses it as a guiding light, becoming the pinnacle of a perfect employee. She is very helpful to customers, can handle the worst ones just fine, and will still come in on her days off just to have a sense of purpose. Beyond that, she also copies her mannerisms and style of dress from her colleagues, in order to play the part of a “normal” person.
Keiko is happy like this, but as she’s getting older in years, she’s met with increasing pressure to get married and start a “proper” career. To get everyone off her back, she makes a calculated decision to start a fake relationship with another socially maladapted person.
Reading this book, I felt an immediate connection to Keiko. Though I didn’t struggle with social conventions to the extent that she does in this novel, I could empathize with the way that a lot of social norms feel very arbitrary and the pressure to uphold those norms seem inescapable. Why is there a constant push for women to “settle down” with a man and eventually have kids? What’s this invisible hierarchy of jobs where working at a convenience store is at the very bottom rung, not worthy of respect?
And that’s just two issues that are often highlighted in the novel. Two issues that are specific to Japan, but not at all unique. Because how many times have any of us gone on LinkedIn and seen another self-congratulatory humblebrag posts from a CEO of a startup you’ve never heard of? How many podcasts are there by (extremely single) men who have lofty ideals about what makes a woman “wifey material”?
At some point in the book, Keiko acknowledges that her time at Smile Mart will come to end by one likely means—aging. Eventually, being made to stand for so long will take its toll, her ability to bend and pick up heavy boxes will weaken, and who’s to say her mental acuity will stay sharp? There will come a time where no matter how many years she has spent dedicated to her job, she may very well be deemed unnecessary due to forces outside of her control.
If there’s anything that terrifies me about aging, it’s not that I’ll be physically incapable of doing my favorite things (running, lifting weights, etc.) It’s the fact I won’t be able to take care of myself. I won’t be able to hold a job. And with the economy going the way it has been, I can’t imagine I’ll be able to afford retirement anyway. So what do I do then? What will my "role" in society be?
Maybe it’s a little bit bleak to think of that when just making my way through a short novel about a quirky Japanese woman in her mid-thirties. But as far away as Japan is, a lot of the issues still hit close to home, and it had me thinking about the future, the way society is currently structured, and how our roles are determined.
All in all, I can say that my friend was right.
Keiko’s gender really was Convenience Store Woman.