title: The Factory by: Oyamada, Hiroko published: 2023-11-02 read: 2024-03-12 preview

Magic realism at its best. Three workers, starting in ‘the factory’. One focusses on shredding documents; one is looking into green roofs; and one is a proofreader. The factory is more a small town, and indeed one of the three – the green roof specialist – gets to live on the premises.

Hiroko Oyamada’s debut novel, “The Factory,” translated by David Boyd evolves around these three characters, whose only connection those premises are. And the uselessness of the work they do.

And don’t we all, in our factories? It seems like the author’s goal is to tell us, factories are living organisms of which we are cells. Single cells are unimportant, but together they make a working whole. Like the one who investigates moss:

In the middle of what I thought was going to be my interview with Goto, I got up to go to the restroom. There was a window right in front of the toilet. It was the sort of window you open by releasing the latch and pushing outward while turning the handle. I wanted a little fresh air. As I went to open it, a sign posted over the faded wallpaper caught my attention: KEEP WINDOW CLOSED: BIRDS IN AREA. “Okay, what am I supposed to do first?” The first thing they asked me to do was run a moss hunt. “A what?” “A moss hunt. You know — a hunt, for moss.”

Or the one who shreds:

“What kind of work are you doing there?” my brother’s girlfriend asked. Goto warned me about saying too much to outsiders, but I hadn’t come across any document that was worth leaking, that I could possibly be paid for. Any secret worth protecting wasn’t going to end up at the shredder station. Departments would handle anything that sensitive internally. It’s obvious if you think about it. So why not tell her? When I said I work in print support, shredding documents, she jerked back and said, “Seriously? You mean you’re on your feet all day?” Well, I have a chair. I’m sitting most of the time. Of course our chairs are old hand-me-downs from who knows what department. The cloth of my seat is in tatters, with a disintegrating layer of jaundiced foam underneath. It’s on rickety casters, and there’s a knob under the seat so you can adjust the height, but as soon as you put any weight on it, the seat slips back down to the lowest setting. When I’m sitting, I can’t feed the machine comfortably. My hands get tired, but standing all day is out of the question.

Or the proofreader:

_I woke up again. I was drenched in sweat. What was I reading? I couldn’t find any typos or mistakes. And without additional instructions I couldn’t do anything about the style. What was this supposed to be anyway? It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would need proofreading. It was almost like some kid’s school project — except it was completely made up. True, there’s a big river that cuts through the factory, and I’m sure we have some cleaning facilities, too, but the rest of it has nothing to do with reality. Shags and lizards? Lizards can’t survive on lint. They eat bugs. In warmer places, there are larger lizards that feed on animals, but tiny ones that eat soap? The same goes for shags that can only be found in the factory. And why the hell would workers want to capture birds like that? It was nonsense, of course, but here it was on my desk. I had to do something with it, but what? Pull out my red pen and make edits? How? After a little thought, I returned the folder to its packet and threw it back where it came from. It’s not like we have to handle these documents in any order anyway. Someone else can deal with it. I almost read the whole stupid thing, though. At least I think I did. They always make me read things that put me to sleep.

The Factory itself becomes a character – almost sentient and exerting an eerie influence over those who are inside. The mundane is frequently interrupted by fantastic occurrences: strange animals, weird writings, or the mysterious perpetuity of certain tasks. Are we in a dream, or is this real?

And it can well be seen as criticising modern society. The rigid structures of Japanese corporate culture and the societal expectations that keep trapping us in our daily treadmills. The pressures and absurdities that many workers face, giving us a mirror on the human condition.

An amazing book.