
#140
Title:
My Year of MeatsAuthor: Ruth L. Ozeki
Publisher: Penguin
Year: 1998
Genre: fiction
384 pages
It's
a little hard to know whether this is an excellent novel with horrific
content, or an excellent novel that becomes somewhat disappointing over
the course of the story. I tend toward the former interpretation, but
some reviewers seem to agree with the latter. Specifically, the novel
veers toward pedantic nonfiction documentary toward the end; since the
protagonist is making a documentary, this does not trouble me. I'm a
little more concerned by the sometimes heavy-handed parallelism between
documentarian Jane and important secondary character Akiko. They begin
more as foils, but end in some ways as reflections. I'd have liked to
see more divergence between them by the end. It's stated, but not
adequately conveyed.
Both the novel and negative reviews of the novel evoke comparisons to Kingsolver's
Prodigal Summer and Smiley's
Moo
(indeed, the included reader's guide quotes Smiley's comments about the
book). The novel itself involves women finding their place and power,
and learning to articulate their beliefs and values, and act on them,
with reasonable confidence. Like
Moo,
the story begins innocently and somewhat farcically, then moves
gradually toward more serious revelations with bigger consequences and
higher stakes. As in
Prodigal Summer,
the characters must wrestle with their growing awareness that, hopeless
as it may seem, they must act in accord with the dictates of conscience
in order not to stand by passively when damage is being done.
All
three novels have a reasonably strong anti-chemical agricultural
message. All have evoked angry reviews that state that the author (and
protagonist) is some sort of unreasonable smug feminist who thinks women
(and in this case, also lesbians) and nature are great and that men and
American culture are bad--the twist in reviews of
My Year of Meats is
the charge that Ozeki valorizes white Americans and denigrates Japan.
Sorry, I don't see it the way these readers see it. Positive depictions
of lesbians and negative depictions of American agricultural practices
do not trouble me overmuch. In fact, I see positive and negative
depictions of both males and females in all of these novels, and I'm not
sure what has some reviewers so up in arms. If I were to count up all
the books I've read in which women are shrill and useless and American
men save the day, I'd have to say they far outnumber the novels that
depict the opposite. Each of these stories doesn't quite trust that the
reader will put the pieces together, and so is unnecessarily emphatic
and unsubtle. I can live with that.