Otsuka’s plural voice does something I rarely see: it turns grammar into evidence. In the opening chapters the collective “we” exposes how a society flattens thousands of women into one blurred silhouette—easy to ignore, easy to exploit. Then, in the final section, the exact same pronoun becomes a shield for the bystanders who claim they “never noticed a thing.” Same word, opposite moral weight. That pivot shows how erasure works: first you deny individuals, then you deny responsibility. It’s a structural indictment delivered in under 130 pages—and a reminder that the way we choose our pronouns can either honor a reality or erase it.
A powerful and sensitive review of a dark history that isn’t over. The behaviors perniciously continue in other forms. I’ll be thinking about “horizontal depth.” Great phrase.
Eloquent review of a narrative so painful.
Otsuka’s plural voice does something I rarely see: it turns grammar into evidence. In the opening chapters the collective “we” exposes how a society flattens thousands of women into one blurred silhouette—easy to ignore, easy to exploit. Then, in the final section, the exact same pronoun becomes a shield for the bystanders who claim they “never noticed a thing.” Same word, opposite moral weight. That pivot shows how erasure works: first you deny individuals, then you deny responsibility. It’s a structural indictment delivered in under 130 pages—and a reminder that the way we choose our pronouns can either honor a reality or erase it.
And perhaps also that there is a comfort and solidarity in “we” that can become something dangerous …
A powerful and sensitive review of a dark history that isn’t over. The behaviors perniciously continue in other forms. I’ll be thinking about “horizontal depth.” Great phrase.