Anyone who has as much of a passing interest or contact with Japanese culture is familiar with "ganbaru": difficult to translate, the verb means something like, "try one's best", "persevere", with the added implication of, "no matter what, in the face of any and all adversity and you will succeed".
At first blush, this seems like a wonderful notion. An exaltation of the human spirit, not so much via arbitrary ideas like "talent" but through a kind of tenacious dedication to a goal, a persistent effort toward something. And in many ways, "ganbaru" can be good.
Kirino Natsuo, though, is concerned with the dark undertows of the world at large and her country in particular. Grotesque is about many things, including the mechanisms society has for destroying women but for me it is first and foremost about how "ganbaru" has been hijacked to serve capitalism, in a sickening confluence of native misogyny and imported means of exploitation.
It is this interaction, a crucible of sorts, that Kirino dissects with her typical zest for digging deep beneath the glitter into the rot just beyond the surface.
The stage picked to explore these themes is the school, the company and the streets as experienced by prostitutes. The first two are the standard template for Japanese normativity: you go to a good school and then you get a good job as a salaryman. It is no surprise that as this model begins to show the cracks, it was already under severe pressure in the early 2000's when this book was published, so does much of Japanese identity buckle underneath it, giving rise to a sense of loss and confusion. The third one, the streets, seems to be cut from another cloth entirely but as Kirino intelligently leads the reader to see, there is a direct connection between working in a company as a drone to prostitution, in a very real sense since the clients are mostly company workers themselves who are already used to sidelining their female subordinates.
I mention "salarymen" and not "salarywomen" for a reason. The term applies exclusively to men. Women get to be "OL", "Office Ladies", lower salaried members of said companies whose chances of promotion into the higher echelons is zero and who are expected to retire once they marry.
Kazue, the character that I found most interesting in this cast of misfits, becomes a misfit because she has taken "ganbaru" to heart. The game is rigged from the start but Kazue does not think so. She deeply believes that she tries hard enough, her so-called peers in the affluent school she can barely afford to attend, will accept her as one of them. She believes that if she studies very hard, her grades will gain her recognition as "the best". She believes the world can be conquered by sheer gumption, hard effort and work.
But Kazue is a woman in Japan. And not one from the extremely rich elite either. From the very start, there were obstacles she could not possibly overcome no matter how very hard she tried. The POV that introduces Kazue to us is profoundly unsympathetic, it is, in fact, nothing short of vicious as it shines a light on all of her flaws with a kind of avid greed in catching her at fault. Which turns out to be extremely easy, as is to be expected.
That she ends up stranded in no man's land in her profession is also sadly predictable to anyone but herself: she is qualified and even wrote a report that receive an award but she cannot even reach the level of salaryman but is stuck, forever, not being precisely an OL but close enough.
The glorification of work along with the systematic sidelining women within the workplace form a double blind in which Kazue squirms, helplessly, very much like an unfortunate creature caught in the pinchers of a system that is overwhelmingly bent on breaking, making mince meat out of her and spitting out the bones when done. That the only way of balancing her work life should be more work, this time as a prostitute, may seem odd but makes perfect sense in a warped way.
There is only work, only effort, only trying really hard, and ganbaru, ganbaru, ganbaru. Tread water until you can't and then sink as Kazue says, at one point.
Because while "ganbaru" promises results, life, does not. "Ganbaru" can be something of a collective illusions and like so many illusions, there is pain and guilt at the bottom. Because if you are supposed to triumph if you try, and try, and try again then what is left to do if you fail after you tried, and tried, and tried yet again?
The answer is a gaping nothingness. You failed because it was your fault, of course.
You just didn't try hard enough.
Not every character falls prey to the illusion of "ganbaru" in this novel full of unreliable narrators. The nameless narrator, who aggregates every other narrative despite- or maybe because- she is so detached, is one who see through it with great lucidity. Her strategy is one of aggressive non-engagement with the world, punctured by vicious interventions that make the life of those she hates a little- or a hell lot-harder. She takes a particular kind of delight in setting up Kazue for failure, probably because harboring illusions is about the one sin she simply cannot abide. Kazue tries, the nameless narrator by definition does not because it will not make a lick of difference.
Whether the nameless narrator- who is eventually described as being more like Kazue than might seem- with her pathological horror and fascination with beauty, her hang-ups with her "monstrously" beautiful sister whom she blames for virtually all that ever goes wrong- is not frustrated because her own effort, when applied, went nowhere, is not entirely clear. But that is very likely part and parcel of the state of things.
In other words, even if you do not believe in "ganbaru", it still has an impact in your life.
Once an illusion has become infused with the way a nation perceives itself and has become assimilated to structures deemed too deep to possibly be contested, it can only have devastating effects a bit all over.
I wish I had read this book in the original as I cannot help but wonder how many times "ganbaru" appears throughout. So I will finish this review with a bit of amateurish linguistic analysis. [頑張る], "ganbaru": while full of very positive connotations, I find it very interesting that it is written with the kanji [頑], meaning, "stubborn" in plenty of contexts. The ways in which different significants aggregate around the same signifier is particularly telling in a language like Japanese in which meaning is conveying in logograms.
[頑] carries this ambiguous charge, it is an example of the darkness contained in official narratives.