Izumi suddenly spoke up. This childhood friend of mine always says things quite suddenly.
Winter break had only just begun, and unfortunate as it may be, there were supplementary lessons to be had.
My childhood friend from elementary school, Izumi always spoke to me frankly without minding surroundings eyes. Personally, I did mind them a bit.
“In the first place, narrative tricks are tricks thrown in from outside the stories… is that, speaking to novel etiquette, really fair game?”
Said Izumi.
“Meaning?”
When she leaned herself forward, from the opening in her white shirt, I could see some chest of the same white, making me a little hurried in my words.
“You’re right,” said I. “But what’s the problem with that?”
“Yes, I’m sure there are quite a few novels like that.”
I recognized that.
“But isn’t that fine as it is? I mean, at the very least, for the reader, the narrative trick exists to do its job. It carries a form of surprise, and can become the centerpiece of the story.”
“The narrator can never lie.”
I said with a smile.
Miraculous enough, my first name was Akira. But when Izumi entered middle school, she got around to calling me by my surname, Kouzuki. So it’s been quite a while since she called me something like Akira, and I was a tad flustered.
“My name has nothing to do with it, right?”
Or so I interrupted her.
“So what’s this about gender misconception narrative tricks?”
“Ah right,” said Izumi, her expression stiffening as well. “So the problem I want to pose is the same one as before, ‘the characters in the story have 0 surprise,’ ‘the narrator can never lie,’ is how it is.”
“So there comes another problem… ‘then what happens if the reader sees through the trick?’ is what I’d like to say.”
“Right, right. And the truth that comes from that… the work becomes boring. The stronger the work’s tie is to its narrative tricks, the more boring it will be for readers who’ve seen through it.”
“I see.”
Said Izumi as she put her hand to her chin.
“Then what should you do to trick as many readers as possible?”
That was a strange way to put it. The two of us were on the readers’ side.
“Let’s see.”
But I tried thinking over it.
“I think you probably have to write your novel under the assumption your readers will have their eyes blinded by the trick. The publishers want the books to sell so they put stuff like, ‘The impact of that one final page!!’ on the back. But that just tells the reader there’s a narrative trick already…
“Yes, that’s true.”
“For example?”
“Yes.”
Izumi looked at me blankly.
“What of it?”
“I see.”
Izumi nodded.
“So if we take your name Kouzuki. But we don’t give a reading for it, and spin it as a first name, perhaps we could get the readers to think you’re a woman called Katsuki.”
(TL: 香月 is more commonly read as Katsuki.)
Of course, reality wasn’t so.
“And that is?”
“Oh right. Bias training is thought training to discover the unconscious prejudices and preconceptions inside of you. I heard it’s getting in fashion in the western world these days.”
“Right.”
I gave a strong nod.
“Gender-misconception tricks especially so. Let’s say there was a police officer named Makoto, and she was of the field’s sexual minority, a woman. A narrative trick to make the reader think she’s a man is placed on the reader. Certain readers will notice she’s a woman, while others will keep reading assuming she’s a man. In that case, a sort of effect is born.
“I see. But how is that connected to works where a reader can easily see through the narrative trick?”
Said Izumi with a grin.
“Well that’s my field.”
I returned the smile. And I thought hers was quite a wonderful one. Her pale complexion, her lips slowly tracing an arc, it was fascinating.
“And maybe that’s what narrative tricks are there to teach us.”
She muttered.
“In the world of narrative tricks… of course, deceiving the readers is one thing, but… take the example from before, that individual doesn’t go out of her way to say, ‘even if I live this manly lifestyle, I’m actually a woman,’ and deny it. No matter how they’re reflected on another’s eyes, the officer is just carrying out her life as usual, and that may be a major thing the narrative trick teaches us.”
To shake off that feeling, I looked at the clock.
“I start second period. All the science supplementary lessons are like that.”
“Sure.”
I took the tote bag full of textbooks in hand, and stood. Returning a smile to Izumi’s grin, I turned my back to her.
She is a childhood friend, and a friend I often talk to. But that’s all she was. That’s all I could let her be.
Is it even alright for a teacher who’s about to turn forty to speak of love? In the first place, Izumi has a husband and child of her own.
A little troubled, I left the quiet staff room.