What are the "forms of parent and child" and "meaning of life" that can only be spun by a mother in a vegetative state and her daughter? A book review of "Plant Girl" by Aki Asahina, written by author Sonoko Machida
Aki Asahina's second work, "Plant Girl". Since its publication in "Shosetsu Tripper," it has become a topic of conversation in various newspapers and magazines. We are publishing a book review written for the February 2023 issue of "Issatsu no Hon" by author Sonoko Machida, who highly praised the work on social media at the time. It is a work that makes you re-examine what it means to live.
Things that connect
While reading this work, "Plant Girl," I was reminded of my late grandmother throughout.
My grandmother had both dementia and Parkinson's disease, and its progression was not like "rolling down a slope" as is commonly said, but rather like "falling straight into a pit." Communication using words became impossible in an instant, and then it became difficult to perceive anything from her expressions or gestures. By the time I was able to accept that my grandmother was ill, I think she was already lying on her bed, staring blankly into the void, her body strangely stiff.
The emotion I felt in front of my grandmother, who would not stir even when I spoke to her and would not even smile, was a resignation akin to despair. We would never be able to connect again. My words would never reach her, and I even thought that perhaps speaking to her was nothing more than an act of self-satisfaction.
"That's not true. She understands you properly, it's getting through to her." People said things like that, but then I became angry, thinking that if that were the case, wouldn't my grandmother be unhappy? Isn't it painful to have a will but be unable to do anything? Aren't my grandmother's days just enduring suffering? That's not just pitiful. It's a nightmare.
I spent my days not knowing how to treat my grandmother, who was in the midst of suffering. In the meantime, the COVID-19 pandemic struck, making it impossible to see her, and the first time I was finally able to see her was after she had passed away.
Was my grandmother's final years truly happy? Wasn't it just full of suffering? I would stand still, thinking such things in fleeting moments, like when I felt the wind or exhaled at the warmth of the sunlight.
Now, let's return to "Plant Girl." The protagonist Mio's mother, Miyuki, is in a vegetative state. She suffered a cerebral hemorrhage when giving birth to Mio and is in the hospital. Therefore, Mio only knows her mother as someone who is bedridden and just barely alive.
As a young child, Mio spends time with her mother and other hospitalized patients. They simply accept Mio, who behaves selfishly with the cruelty of a child. Or perhaps I should say that because they were all in a vegetative state, she was accepted as she was. Mio grows up surrounded by them in the quiet hospital room.
However, Mio's world outside the hospital room was by no means easy to live in. It was overflowing with various emotions that did not exist inside the hospital room. She was troubled by human relationships, and the sight of friends who were close with their mothers looked dazzling. Because her mother was missing, things sometimes didn't go well in her family. These things would push Mio around and hurt her. Each time, Mio would vent her frustration to her mother in the hospital room, but of course, her mother would say nothing. She would just continue to accept Mio's outbursts.
To Mio, her mother was her mother, but she was an empty person who was just breathing. Because she was in a vegetative state, nothing could be conveyed, and she understood nothing. That is why, even while seeking her mother, Mio thought deep down that she was a pitiful and pathetic person.
But Mio realizes. She realizes that her mother is not a pathetic person living in emptiness. Her mother, and the people in the hospital room, are continuing their lives by repeating their breaths. They are truly living out their lives in this world.
Life is a connection. To live is to connect this moment to the next. With this realization of Mio's, I felt as if the knots deep in my own heart were slowly unraveling.
When thinking about what it means to live, aren't we seeking great meaning or significance in it? At the very least, I felt that since I was living, I had to accomplish something. However, the essence of living is not there.
And I remembered. The calm breathing of my grandmother, whose chest rose and fell slowly when I visited her. The warmth of the hand I held, the space that was infinitely quiet. I had pushed my grandmother into the category of "pitiful," but my grandmother was living as straight as could be. There was nothing pitiful or pathetic about her. At least, it is not something I should judge on my own.
"Plant Girl" is truly a work that depicts "living" head-on. When you finish reading it, everyone will surely rethink the word "living" and its meaning once again.
And I would also like to note that this work depicts one way of being a "mother and daughter." The daughter, who touched her mother's body, shared her breathing, and watched by her side as she lived to the very end, grew precisely because she spent time with her mother. By sincerely living and connecting each moment, the mother was able to teach and pass on the most important thing, "living," to her daughter. I am still captivated by the preciousness of this interaction between mother and daughter, which only this mother and daughter could have.