The Woman in the Dunes

This is one of those books that has a misleading premise and misleading Goodreads tags. I am not into philosophy, existentialism, or asshole protagonists(? Did this book even have a protagonist?), and yet that's essentially all there is here. If any of my friends added this book to their TBR list based on Goodreads' writeup specifically, remove it. You won't like it.

So the main character is an unlikable entomologist whose trip to the seaside to find some sort of sand beetle goes terribly awry when he gets himself captured by a sand press gang. This village, beset by mountains of sand dunes on all sides, has to resort to coercion to keep enough people to shovel the sand away on a daily basis. Weirdly enough, villagers leave and don't come back, so anyone unlucky enough to wander remotely close gets stuck here. The main character's companion during this is a woman who clearly has been there for some time, drunk the sand kool-aid, and is basically this passive presence in the story who doesn't seem to ever want to leave. And, scene.

Really, not a lot, magical realism or otherwise, happens. The man attempts escape a few times, has increasingly violent outbursts against the woman, and even seems to force himself on her a few times. This was not a fun book to read, by any means.

Clearly there's something intellectual going on under the hood based on other people's experiences here, but I can only rate based on my own enjoyment and I did not enjoy this book. Short as it is, I still had to basically force myself to finish it.

Exceptionally bleak capital realism. It makes a lot of sense reading about Kobo Abé's love of Kafka, as both are similarly preoccupied with the hopelessness of living under capitalism, how it alienates us from people who ought to be allies, and the seeming inexscapability of it's control. They also both utterly fail to perceive women as human beings, describing them as anywhere between silly, beautiful nothings to stupid animals.

I don't know enough about Japanese literature to fully lump this in with the dry, thematically interesting but socially upsetting western canon, but if you dislike that mode of writing this isn't going to change that. It might just be my translation, but this is written (somewhat appropriately) with the flare of an exhausted biologist recording the movement of moss.

I imagine I'd have a lot more fun discussing this in a class than actually reading it. If anyone wants to commiserate about it's highs and lows (lol, cause he's in a hole) let me know.