Alternate Universe 08: A Shining Golden Wave

Reviewing Asako Yuzuki's "Butter"

Hi there. Welcome to Active Faults.

I founded a book club this year, amidst everything else. 

At the glorious age of twenty-something, our university friend group struggled with regular reunions so much that we had to be incentivised by what brought us together in the first place: a genuine love for literature. We take up our near-abandoned mantle of collective reading, lounge around takeaway pizzas and find the words for how words touched something in our hearts. I imagine our professors would be quite proud. 

For September, we’re reading “Butter” by Asako Yuzuki, with a mouth-wateringly golden cover reminiscent of a “crisp fall” where life, finally, can start all over again (The Great Gatsby). 

And is it relevant to fandom? It sure is.

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The first admission I have to make is that I haven’t finished it. No spoilers, please.

I found the pacing, for at least the first 100 pages, just a tad bit clumsy, like someone scuffling their feet on the ground as they sprint. The paragraphs flow with a dense texture, much like the miracle slab of diary that everyone’s obsessed about in this crime novel. None of the fake margarine stuff, but real, creamy butter that coagulates and sits pristinely in the refrigerator light.

I had to google the difference between margarine and butter, because I never buy both and dislike the tastes. That’s my second admission. Not a salt and butter on bread kind of person, nor a buttercream cake or shortbread enthusiast. Almost every miniature book-shaped butter I’ve ever been given in cafes, restaurants and planes have gone back to where it came from untouched. But even I was tempted out of bed and into a fourth meal of the day at 11 PM after reading this:

The cold butter first met the roof of her mouth with a chilly sensation, contrasting with the steaming rice in both texture and temperature. The cool butter clashed against her teeth, and she felt its soft texture right down into their roots. Soon enough, just as Kajii had said, the melted butter began to surge through the individual grains of rice. It was a taste that could only be described as golden. A shining golden wave, with an astounding depth of flavour and a faint yet full and rounded aroma, wrapped itself around the rice and washed Rika’s body far away. It was, indeed, a lot like falling.