Breasts and Eggs | Book Review | 2012 | Mieko Kawakami

About the Author

Mieko Kawakami was born in Osaka in 1976. She’s a Japanese novelist, poet, and former singer-songwriter known for her fearless storytelling and sharp insights into gender, class, and the female experience. Kawakami began her creative journey as a poet and blogger before making waves in the literary world.

She gained widespread recognition with Breasts and Eggs, a novella that won the Akutagawa Prize and was later expanded into a full-length novel in 2019. Her other acclaimed works include Heaven and All the Lovers in the Night, where she explores loneliness, trauma, and emotional survival with deep empathy.

Kawakami’s writing is often lyrical and bold, blending intimate first-person narratives with themes that question societal expectations—especially those placed on women in modern Japan.

Synopsis (Contains Spoilers)

If you’re looking for one of the best books to read about womanhood in contemporary Japan, Breasts and Eggs is a standout. First published in 2008 as a novella and expanded more than a decade later, the novel centers on Natsuko, a Tokyo-based writer navigating questions of identity, family, and bodily autonomy.

The book unfolds in two parts. In the first, Natsuko’s sister Makiko and her tween niece Midoriko arrive from Osaka. Makiko, a single mother and bar hostess, wants breast augmentation surgery—she believes it will help her reclaim control over her body. Meanwhile, Midoriko, silently battling the onset of puberty, refuses to speak and shares her thoughts only in her journal. Their visit is fraught with awkward silences, miscommunication, and a sense of emotional distance. Kawakami uses these moments to show how poverty, beauty standards, and generational trauma intersect in women’s lives.

The second part fast-forwards ten years. Natsuko has become a published author, but a sense of aimlessness lingers. She yearns to have a child, but the idea of physical intimacy fills her with dread. This pushes her to consider sperm donation, only to discover that Japanese law prohibits single women from pursuing this option. As she wrestles with this, she encounters a range of perspectives from other women—some see motherhood as life’s highest purpose, while others describe it as an act of cruelty in a broken world. One character, a survivor of childhood abuse, even claims that not being born would have been a blessing.

Kawakami doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, she asks us to linger with the discomfort and contradictions that define so much of the female experience. That’s what makes Breasts and Eggs so compelling.

What We Loved About Breasts and Eggs

This novel doesn’t hold back. Kawakami writes with a raw honesty that’s hard to find. She brings the female body into focus—its discomforts, limitations, and silent rebellions. From menstruation to mental health, from breastfeeding to surgical enhancement, she explores themes most novels barely touch.

The emotional heart of the book lies in the relationships between the three women—Natsuko, Makiko, and Midoriko. Each woman responds to society’s expectations differently. Makiko tries to reshape herself to feel valuable. Midoriko withdraws into silence, refusing to become the kind of woman her mother is. Natsuko floats somewhere in the middle, unsure of what she believes or wants. Their personal tensions reveal the generational evolution of what it means to be a woman in Japan.

The dialogue is another strength. Kawakami allows conversations to meander, just like they do in real life. The characters speak about things most people avoid—abortion, depression, motherhood, sexuality. These conversations feel authentic and often leave you squirming in the best way.

Even in translation, Kawakami’s prose maintains its quiet intensity. The first part of the novel moves briskly, but the second is more meditative. It mirrors the rhythm of real life, with its pauses, doubts, and emotional undercurrents. At times, it reads almost like a short story collection—linked by one woman’s evolving inner world.

If you enjoy thoughtful literary reviews and fiction that challenges societal norms, this novel will stay with you long after you turn the final page.

What Could Have Been Better

Natsuko’s passivity might frustrate some readers. She spends much of the novel listening rather than acting, absorbing the ideas of others without clearly stating her own. While this feels realistic—many people struggle with indecision—it sometimes leaves the narrative feeling stagnant.

The portrayal of male characters could’ve been more nuanced. Most of them remain on the fringes or exist primarily to highlight women’s struggles. While this focus makes sense thematically, adding a few well-rounded male perspectives might have added balance.

There’s also a noticeable shift in pacing between the book’s two halves. The first section is tight and emotionally charged. The second half slows down considerably. It feels more like a philosophical meditation than a plot-driven story. Some readers may appreciate this reflective tone, while others might find it too drawn out.

Quotes That Hit Hard

People like pretty things. When you’re pretty, everybody wants to look at you, they want to touch you… Prettiness means value. But some people never experience that personally.

It feels like I’m trapped inside my body. It decides when I get hungry, and when I’ll get my period. From birth to death, you have to keep eating and making money just to stay alive.

These lines capture Kawakami’s brilliance. They speak to the uncomfortable truths we often avoid—and remind us how much our bodies dictate our lives.

Final Thoughts