Lie transforms lonely woman’s life
Shibata-san, the only woman in her office group, is tired of cleaning up after the men. One day, when her section head asks her why dirty coffee cups are still lying around hours after a meeting, she improvises an astonishing lie. “I’m pregnant. The smell of coffee … triggers my morning sickness.”
So begins Emi Yagi’s debut novel, “Diary of a Void,” a bleak, acerbic, melancholy story of a woman who fakes a pregnancy to fight back against a workplace culture that expects women to tidy up and do all the menial chores around the office.
The novel is structured as a series of diary entries that roughly correspond to the 40 weeks of a pregnancy with occasional flashbacks to Shibata’s childhood and one stunning flash-forward to her return to work after her maternity leave is over.
In a note at the beginning, translators David Boyd and Lucy North explain that the title echoes that of a handbook issued by Japan’s health ministry to expectant mothers to chronicle their pregnancy and child’s subsequent development — but with a twist. The Japanese word for “mother and child” has been replaced by one that means “empty core” or “void.” It is an apt word to describe Shibata’s life. She works for a company that manufactures the hollow tubes used in everything from plastic wrap to sticky tape. It also evokes her intense loneliness and isolation as she struggles to get by as a single woman in Tokyo.
Yagi, an editor at a Japanese women’s magazine, writes with authority about contemporary Japanese society, particularly its deeply ingrained patterns of gender inequality. Her tone alternates between outrage and introspection as Shibata records the intrusive, obnoxious remarks people make about her pregnancy and recalls intimate memories of childhood, when she had family and friends to support her.
Despite the trappings of 21st-century life — the bright lights of Ginza, a flashy pregnancy app and a subscription to Amazon Prime — Shibata’s life isn’t easy. Still, it comes as a surprise when the novel takes a surreal turn at the end, and the big lie assumes a life of its own. This is a debut you won’t want to miss. — Ann Levin, Associated Press
Lucas Page retired from the FBI more than a decade ago after losing an eye, an arm and a leg in an explosion. But Lucas is a man of unique talents, so once again — in “Do No Harm,” the third book in Robert Pobi’s series — the bureau needs his help.
The plot gets rolling when Lucas, a polymath who can identify patterns in vast collections of data, notices that an inexplicably large number of New York City physicians have been dying. The deaths have been attributed to a variety of causes — including accidents, drug overdoses and suicide — but Lucas’ statistical analysis concludes that they have been murdered. After launching his investigation, he discovers that a handful of people have been arrested recently for attempting to kill doctors. However, none of them seem to have a motive.
Murder attempts with no motives? Pobi has
Lucas puzzle over this until the genius finally tumbles to the obvious on page 266. Anyone who has seen Alfred Hitchcock’s “Strangers on a Train” would have spotted it right off. It’s the old you-do-mymurder-and-I’ll-do-yours trope, but on a large scale.
Once Lucas figures this out, he spends the rest of the book solving a mystery better suited to his talents: Who has organized a large number of people to trade murders, and why?
Lucas’ utter lack of social skills is oddly endearing, his ability to cope with his physical limitations make him a compelling character, and Pobi is a quirky and talented writer.
However, the author tries too hard to be clever, cluttering his prose with technical names for everyday things and bombarding readers with historical and popular culture references.