If I had an extra day in a week. . .

I learned today that it would probably be spent reading, for that is what I did all day. Well, after a late morning run, I spent an entire day reading a novel, Ruth Ozeki's My Year of Meats. I took some time off to cook dinner and talk to my mom and do a little cleaning, but otherwise, I spent the bulk of the day reading this three hundred-sixty-something page novel.

This novel was initially recommended to me several years ago by a Sinologist. I used to see him almost daily at my old job. I was reading Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation at the time, and he was reading this Ozeki novel, so we often started the day comparing our books, exchanging tidbits about other interesting reads, lamenting foreign policy/politics, or discussing classical music (he was a fellow lapsed violinist), and of course talking about his new dog, Goldie.

We agreed to swap books when we were done reading our respective books, but this never happened.
He passed away last summer. Several months ago, I found the book on display at the Stanford Bookstore and bought it, thinking of him. Today, I cracked it open, intending to read for just a few hours before moving on to my Hungarian studies. At this rate I will never learn Hungarian. . . but back to this book.

At first, the stereotypes bothered me-- the sleazy Japanese businessmen always drunk and sketchy, etc., but as I read further on, these stereotypes took on a more ancillary role, giving way to the meat and substance (ok, bad pun intended. . . I couldn't help myself.) of the novel. It was a fascinating story about a documentarian who works for a Japanese T.V. station and looks for stories about quintessentially American families eating meat. I found the first part of the novel a bit hokey--the quotes from Sei Shonagon, the documentarian/narrator's idealism of bridging cultures, etc., but as the novel progressed, there was another story unfolding about the meat industry, its use of hormones, antibiotics, steroids, etc. It was this part that kept me captivated. I have read about the unscrupulous practices of meat slaughterhouses before, but it is always disturbing to read them again.

Essentially, it was a fiction version of Schlosser's Fast Food Nation or Upton Sinclair's The Jungle with a modern twist. It was very cleverly done and compelling. This got me thinking. Given its medium, I wondered if it raked up controversy when it was published in 1998. I remember Schlosser's book stirring much controversy when it came out in 2002. It seemed like everyone was quoting him or reading him or making reference to him. This novel, My Year of Meats actually predated his book by four years. Yet, I don't remember this book being discussed nearly as much. In fact, I have heard about it from many people, including my late Sinologist friend, but only after Schlosser's book came out.

Does its fiction genre abate its controversial nature? I'm not sure what I mean by this, but I sometimes get annoyed at documentaries for being too in your face. This wasn't the case for Fast Food Nation, but I often react this way to Michael Moore's documentaries and reacted this way to Super-size Me. Yet, this in-your-faceness stirs outrage and other emotions in people, drives people to action, and before we know it, we have companies like McDonald's announcing the elimination of their super sizes. So despite my artistic preference for nuance and subtlety, this in your face-ness thing works.

Now comes this work of fiction, essentially covering the same controversial topics, but it's almost as if it gets away with being a bit "preachy", b/c its genre makes the controversy and preachiness secondary--that is, we have this misconception of fiction as primarily meant to entertain. Or maybe not so much "entertain" as people think of fiction as not being factual. It's hard to tell what parts are fiction, and what parts are fact. The author issues a disclaimer at the beginning of her book emphasizing that this book is fiction, yet, lists a bibliography for further reading. Interestingly, and probably intentionally, the bibliography is listed by the narrator of this book, and thus, is still part of the "fictional" novel, rather than the author presenting the bibliography at the end of her book as a reference. But again, had the bibliography been presented in this latter manner, it would've been a clear indication of the author suggesting further readings to the interested reader. However, Ozeki makes the character Jane present the bibliography which blurs her intentions. Perhaps I'm reading too much into this.

I can't make up my mind whether her novel was more effective because of this, or whether this infusion of didacticism caused the story to seem more contrived.