Emily Itami’s Debut Novel "Fault Lines" Explores Female Identity with Honesty and Humor
This past year and without forethought, I read three recent books that explore female identity in Asian society—two set in Japan, one in Korea. First came the atrocities and absurdism of Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings, followed by Cho Nam-Joo’s clinical examination of Korean misogyny in her novel Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. The third time’s the charm, as my favorite of the three books is Emily Itami’s debut novel Fault Lines, which explores the topic with honesty, laugh out loud humor, and an ardent love for her hometown Tokyo.
What makes Fault Lines such an engaging read is the voice of the main character, Mizuki. On the surface, Mizuki has the perfect life: successful husband, two darling children, and a fancy high-rise Tokyo apartment. Mizuki is a vibrant, smart woman who studied in New York City and had a career as a nightclub singer before giving it up to marry and start a family. Mizuki struggles to embody the requisite perfection as wife, housekeeper, and mother. She seethes when her husband stares at her blankly for suggesting he hang up his own laundry for once and wishes she could pack a simple meal for her children’s lunch instead of making elaborate bento boxes. The other mothers stare at her as if she is an alien when she delivers her daughter late to school (“Better dead than late, we say here.”) and voices her bento dismay.
This is what makes Mizuki loveable—she isn’t perfect and she expresses herself with witty irreverence and hilarious observations. She is a heroine all women can relate to, as she tries to figure out how she ended up with so much, but is so unhappy. Itami has accomplished something remarkable in the creation of Mizuki, making her so relatable and funny that readers want to be best friends with her, to bitch about the glass ceiling and housework, and to coo over the adorable antics of their progeny.
This is not to say that the novel is pulp. Itami conveys the frustration and depression that accompany the impossible task of sacrificing your own needs to be the ideal helpmate and parent. The novel balances both sides of the fault line, never allowing the narrative to become maudlin or vapid.
Mizuki’s husband, Tatsu (who she describes as “a Care Bear in the body of an underwear model”) used to talk to her, look at her, but he has become trapped in his own societal norm. “Work in Tokyo is inhumane, and after Tatsu was promoted, his mind never left the office, and his body only rarely. . . . He’d lamented that he barely knew his father because he worked so hard . . . It was naïve of me, to think that expressing your distaste for something means you can resist all the forces of family and society that propel you towards it.” Mizuki fluctuates between anger at his nonchalance toward her and missing how things used to be. “I chose him, chose him for life, for living, and he’s frozen me out into an existence that isn’t living at all. I’m in a cage without bars and I’m screaming but nobody can hear.”
Itami’s love for Tokyo radiates in her descriptions of the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. Mizuki waxes nostalgic for her time as a single woman absorbing all the city has to offer. “I can feel something familiar creeping underneath my rib cage, and then fading away. . . . In the twilight the city is expectant, waiting for the night, and its pulse makes mine beat faster.” Mizuki’s one indulgence comes each October as she joins her single friends for opening night of Tokyo Fashion Week. Despite feeling that the international “groups of lively Caucasian girls have the ability to make me feel prim and pale, a watercolour next to their effervescent pop art,” the excursion brings out Mizuki’s long-lost partygoer persona. On one of these outings, the inevitable happens. She meets a man who admires her outspokenness, wit, and beauty. He gives her his meishi (business card) and asks her to call him. She attempts to avoid temptation and burns the card, but the number is burned in her memory.
Mizuki begins spending time with this man, a successful restaurateur who understands her better than anyone else. Mizuki loves being able to say exactly what she is thinking instead of censoring herself or engaging in the “perpetual war communication calculations” she does with her husband. She knows she’s headed for trouble, but Mizuki admits she’s never been one to act logically. “I’d say my true decision-making process mirrors that of an insane dog following his balls. I just happen to be fortunate enough to be sufficiently Japanese that the need to maintain appearances puts a tidy veneer on my animal instincts.” She’s walking on that fault line and must make a choice.
Emily Itami, a journalist and travel writer, is a strong new voice in fiction, insightful and delightful. She successfully captures the myriad feelings of marriage and motherhood with raw honesty and humor, from the occasional desire to punch your spouse in the face, to being so smitten with your small child that you almost crush them in a hug that will never convey the depths of your love. Fault Lines also examines how women cope with societal expectations and depression. I can’t wait for her next novel.
Fault Lines
by Emily Itami
224 pages. 2021
About Diane Englert
Diane is a writer, accessibility consultant, and provider of audio description and open captioning services. Her writing appears in Ruminate Magazine, From the Depths, What Rough Beast, Hash Journal, We’ll Never Have Paris, and Nanoism, among others. She recently finished her first middle grade novel. Diane worked in theater as a director, producer, dramaturg, actor, and wrote libretto for several mini musicals that have all been produced. Diane loves coffee and her family, who say she makes The Best Banana Bread. Her bite is worse than her bark. Find her on Instagram @signeddiane.
