Butter by Asako Yuzuki review – a tasty exposé of fatphobia and trauma | Fiction in translation

“Men putting on weight is different from women putting on weight.” So says the boyfriend of Rika Machida, a Tokyo-based journalist on the verge of “becoming the first woman to make the editorial desk” at her newspaper, the Shūmei Weekly, and the protagonist of this delicious offering – a bestseller in Japan – from Asako Yuzuki. In taking a cleaver to such comments, Yuzuki exposes the misogynist gristle, resulting in an incisive, at times thrilling novel about fatphobia, the pleasures of consumption and the often murky relationship between food and trauma.

Based on the real-life case of the “Konkatsu Killer”, in which a con woman and talented home cook called Kanae Kijima was convicted of poisoning three of her male lovers, Butter uses its sordid source material to interrogate the impossible beauty standards to which Japanese women are held.

Kijima is renamed Manako Kajii (otherwise known as Kajimana): a femme fatale who is also, like Kijima, the target of relentless body shaming during her trial and while in prison. “I bet Kajimana eats an absolute ton! That’s why she’s that huge!” scoffs the husband of Rika’s best friend, Reiko, parroting the sexism directed towards Kajii by the media. Hungry for an exclusive interview, Rika takes Reiko’s advice to write to Kajii asking for the recipe for her beef stew ­– the last meal eaten by one of her victims. The plan proves successful, leading to a number of meetings at the detention centre where Kajii is being held.

The relationship that ensues is as intimate as it is unconventional, with Rika finding herself increasingly fascinated by Kajii’s gourmet tastes. “There are two things that I simply cannot tolerate,” Kajii tells Rika during their first encounter, “feminists and margarine.” The mixture of insolence and indulgence underlying this worldview triggers something in Rika, prompting her to reflect on the contradictions of the female grind: “Japanese women are required to be self-denying, hard-working and ascetic, and in the same breath to be feminine, soft and caring towards men.”

But as Rika’s appetite for rich food (especially “rice with butter and soy sauce”) increases, so does her weight, leaving her open to the same kind of sexist abuse experienced by her interlocutor. Rika even begins to see something of herself in Kajii, clouding her judgment about the case to the point of victim-blaming. “Are you telling me all three men died of natural causes,” asks Reiko at one point, “their demise brought on because they couldn’t keep up with her lifestyle?” The connection between Rika and Kajii, which at moments spills over into outright longing on Rika’s part, culminates in the novel’s unforgettable central set piece.

Part of the brilliance of Butter is its framing of individual eating habits as a mystery to be solved, which in the case of both Rika and Kajii leads back to their upbringings – particularly their relationships with their respective fathers. This is not to say that the novel always hits the spot. In places, the plot development leaves an artificial taste, and for all the catharsis of the finale, the buildup is a little slow. It’s at its best when it fully commits to its foodie pretensions, as Yuzuki injects her social critique with the kind of descriptive flavour bombs that will have readers licking their lips. “This was a different kind of deliciousness […] a more blatant, forceful deliciousness, that took hold of her from the tip of her tongue, pinned her down, and carried her off to some unknown place.” At such moments, it isn’t entirely clear whether to read the novel or devour it.

“Men putting on weight is different from women putting on weight.” So says the boyfriend of Rika Machida, a Tokyo-based journalist on the verge of “becoming the first woman to make the editorial desk” at her newspaper, the Shūmei Weekly, and the protagonist of this delicious offering – a bestseller in Japan – from Asako Yuzuki. In taking a cleaver to such comments, Yuzuki exposes the misogynist gristle, resulting in an incisive, at times thrilling novel about fatphobia, the pleasures of consumption and the often murky relationship between food and trauma.

Based on the real-life case of the “Konkatsu Killer”, in which a con woman and talented home cook called Kanae Kijima was convicted of poisoning three of her male lovers, Butter uses its sordid source material to interrogate the impossible beauty standards to which Japanese women are held.

Kijima is renamed Manako Kajii (otherwise known as Kajimana): a femme fatale who is also, like Kijima, the target of relentless body shaming during her trial and while in prison. “I bet Kajimana eats an absolute ton! That’s why she’s that huge!” scoffs the husband of Rika’s best friend, Reiko, parroting the sexism directed towards Kajii by the media. Hungry for an exclusive interview, Rika takes Reiko’s advice to write to Kajii asking for the recipe for her beef stew ­– the last meal eaten by one of her victims. The plan proves successful, leading to a number of meetings at the detention centre where Kajii is being held.

The relationship that ensues is as intimate as it is unconventional, with Rika finding herself increasingly fascinated by Kajii’s gourmet tastes. “There are two things that I simply cannot tolerate,” Kajii tells Rika during their first encounter, “feminists and margarine.” The mixture of insolence and indulgence underlying this worldview triggers something in Rika, prompting her to reflect on the contradictions of the female grind: “Japanese women are required to be self-denying, hard-working and ascetic, and in the same breath to be feminine, soft and caring towards men.”

But as Rika’s appetite for rich food (especially “rice with butter and soy sauce”) increases, so does her weight, leaving her open to the same kind of sexist abuse experienced by her interlocutor. Rika even begins to see something of herself in Kajii, clouding her judgment about the case to the point of victim-blaming. “Are you telling me all three men died of natural causes,” asks Reiko at one point, “their demise brought on because they couldn’t keep up with her lifestyle?” The connection between Rika and Kajii, which at moments spills over into outright longing on Rika’s part, culminates in the novel’s unforgettable central set piece.

Part of the brilliance of Butter is its framing of individual eating habits as a mystery to be solved, which in the case of both Rika and Kajii leads back to their upbringings – particularly their relationships with their respective fathers. This is not to say that the novel always hits the spot. In places, the plot development leaves an artificial taste, and for all the catharsis of the finale, the buildup is a little slow. It’s at its best when it fully commits to its foodie pretensions, as Yuzuki injects her social critique with the kind of descriptive flavour bombs that will have readers licking their lips. “This was a different kind of deliciousness […] a more blatant, forceful deliciousness, that took hold of her from the tip of her tongue, pinned her down, and carried her off to some unknown place.” At such moments, it isn’t entirely clear whether to read the novel or devour it.