Folktales, gender and transformation in Where the Wild Ladies Are

Content warnings: discussions of sexism and physical abuse

Aoko Matsuda’s award-winning folklore collection, Where the Wild Ladies Are, is a feminist retelling of traditional Japanese ghost stories. Each short story offers a different perspective on a mysterious company which employs both the living and the dead. The stories often veer into the supernatural in unpredictable ways and even if you’re trying to guess how the plot will connect to ghosts, Aoko’s lively imagination will surprise you.

Transformation is key throughout the collection, with characters’ inner journeys embodied by shifts into spirits, ghosts, and animals, and these transformations are integral to Aoko’s commentary on both ancient and modern gender expectations.

Women and Passion

Throughout Where the Wild Ladies Are, Aoko explores how women are socially discouraged from pursuing challenging work. Kuzuha, the protagonist of “A Fox’s Life,” is one of the collection’s most frequently recurring characters. She is exceptional at everything she does, with nothing demanding real effort from her. Yet Kuzuha fears that misogyny will render her talents pointless, and as such decides not to explore her potential. One poignant section of her story reads “She knew that however hard she tried, the road ahead would be blocked to her at some point. History proved it, society proved it, various statistics proved it. […] Could anybody really blame Kuzuha for concluding that it was, in fact, wiser not to dream big and become instead a person who didn’t offend anyone?” When Kuzuha refuses to go to university, her belief that it is unwise for women to “dream big” is validated by the reaction she receives: “Well, I guess she is a girl, after all.” It’s a common refrain that extends to real life.

In her fifties, Kuzuha takes up something that actually challenges her: mountain-climbing. She excels at this too, and soon begins climbing alone, as no one else can keep up with her pace. Kuzuha’s new hobby becomes her first passion; it actually tires her and therefore proves to be genuinely fulfilling. One day, whilst climbing, Kuzuha feels an urge to deviate from the pre-planned path—and, for the first time in her life, she gives in to the temptation. She falls and transforms into a fox.

Kuzuha’s animal transformation reflects that she has embraced a “wild” side of herself—one that takes risks, and prioritises her own urges and desires. Fox spirits—or kitsune—are common figures in Japanese folklore. They are typically depicted as intelligent and thus make for a fitting symbol of Kuzuha’s transformation into a woman willing to invest in her own potential. Being able to exist as an animal helps Kuzuha realize how tedious her life as a human has been; she begins to seek out challenges, which leads her to start working for Mr. Tei, the CEO who ties many of the stories together.

Another short story in the collection, “Silently Burning,” explores the tension between female talent and gendered expectations. The protagonist is a young female shrine calligrapher working at a temple. Shrine calligraphers print shuin—unique woodcut stamps—and then write details of the visit in their calligraphy around the stamped portions. Aoko’s protagonist is frequently underestimated by visiting collectors: “I can see that slightly anxious expression on his face that means: surely it’s not this girl that’s going to do it?” Such visitors are taken aback by the quality of her writing. 

Despite her evident love for calligraphy, this story’s protagonist feels that she lacks passion. Her temple is dedicated to Oshichi, “who allowed the flames of her passion to blaze,” and was put to death for committing arson motivated by love. The calligrapher admires, but feels removed from, the “types” that visit to worship Oshichi—women that are “fixated on something, figure skating, a particular pop star, a hobby, what have you.” It’s worth noting that her examples are traditionally feminine pursuits, unlike shrine calligraphy; Aoko is perhaps highlighting here how women who choose unconventional paths may be misunderstood, even by themselves; or likewise, how one common response to experiencing sexism is to fall into a false dichotomy of contrasting the legitimacy of their passions from those of “other girls”. 

The protagonist’s love for calligraphy is clear; she has studied it every day since she was a small child, devoting herself to “the simplicity of the world that took shape on the page in front of [her], a world made up of ink, and ink alone.” And yet, she is undeterred by people’s judgements of her, saying “the more they doubt my abilities to begin with, the more overjoyed they are when they see the results.” A lifetime of feeling out-of-place has left her unable to see that passion is what drives her talent, and that she could be enriched by embracing that kinship to other women and Oshichi.

It is the priest’s wife who expresses to the calligrapher that there is, in fact, “something a little fierce” about her writing—and that it is this that makes it “a perfect match for Oshichi.” The protagonist, however, cannot make the connection between Oshichi’s burning love and her blazing commitment to her art. Realisation would be her transformation—and yet, it doesn’t happen. Instead, “[s]he keeps on moving her brush in silence.”

Men and Expectations

Although most of the characters in Where the Wild Ladies Are are women, Aoko also considers how cultural gender expectations affect men. In particular, she explores the role of men in the workplace, and the idea that they should be “providers.” Her portrayal of the CEO, Mr. Tei—“a pleasantly unmanly sort of man”—challenges stereotypical depictions of the domineering, aggressive businessman. Most of the men portrayed in her collection are outcasts in some way—vulnerable, or misunderstood.

One example would be Mr. Abe, another character from “A Fox’s Life.” Prior to working for Mr. Tei, Kuzuha worked a “simple” job, “making photocopies and tea.” Here, she finds herself fascinated by Mr. Abe: “the company’s least competent worker, who was always getting in trouble.” Kuzuha recognises that both she and Mr. Abe have been placed in positions unsuited to them, thinking, “Why does this man have to struggle when he’s so clearly incapable? I could do this in five minutes.” Touched by how difficult he finds his tasks, she brings him a warm drink to boost his spirits; in turn, he is astonished by the kind gesture, and the two of them end up getting married. (It is worth noting that marriage was, perhaps, less fulfilling for Kuzuha than it was for him, as she continues taking on the majority of the labor.)

Another of Aoko’s male protagonists, Shizanburo, also struggles with work. His short story, “The Peony Lanterns,” is the first of the collection and a retelling of one of Japan’s most famous ghost stories. Aoko’s retelling highlights the ways in which gender roles have shifted in modern-day romances. Shizanburo has lost his job, and relies on his wife’s income. Although she’s been dropping hints that he needs to get a new job, his mind and body feel “leaden” and unable to progress. He shares these traits with Shigeru, the main character of the anthology’s titular story “Where the Wild Ladies Are.” Both men show signs of depression that affect their ability to work. In fact, Shigeru is described as feeling “barely capable of surviving” as he struggles to cope with his mother’s suicide and his father’s absence. Rather than reinforcing sexist notions that men should “man up” and repress their problems, or even be the sole providers for their families, Aoko’s portrayal of these characters is compassionate and introspective. 

Although he is now staying at home, Shizanburo isn’t really performing domestic tasks. He admits to undertaking “a token offering of housework, but that was as far as it went […] Shizanburo had morphed into a (metaphorical) big, grey sloth. In the afternoon, he would lounge about on the sofa, watching reruns of period dramas and mulling over questions of no particular significance.” In other words, his wife is both taking on the majority of the domestic labor, and providing financially–-contextually, we feel sympathy for Shizanburo, but their dynamic is presumably straining her, too. His metaphorical “sloth” transformation reflects both the shift in his mental state and his relationship.

When Shizanburo is visited by two ghosts, modern expectations of romance are directly contrasted with those of the past. In the version of the story that Aoko took inspiration from, Otsuyu dies of lovesickness. Her grief allows her to visit him every night as a ghost, bearing a peony lantern. Aoko’s ghost has a similar tale, and—now working as a salesperson for Mr. Tei alongside her colleague, Yoneko—is trying to sell such lanterns to an unimpressed Shizanburo.  

Perhaps because he is used to relying on his wife, and not the other way round, Shizanburo is not moved by the ghost’s particular brand of feminine frailty. Both women are horrified by the apathy of the modern man: “what a horrendous age we are living in! In days of yore, anyone who beheld Tsuyuko’s great beauty and heard even a snippet of her tragic tale would be overwhelmed by sympathy.” When Shizanburo responds that they should be sympathetic to his circumstances, as well, their response hammers home their mismatched gender expectations: “Well, men are the stronger sex,” Yoneko says. “Everything will turn out alright for you in the end, I’m sure. I’m not the least concerned about you. What worries me is Miss Tsuyuko. Women are so utterly powerless.” This callous response—which both dismisses Shizanburo’s struggle with his mental health, and belittles Otsuyu— emphasises the damaging nature of their era’s gender roles and how they’ve shifted over time.

However, “The Peony Lanterns” also conveys that we still have more work to do on a sociocultural level. Aside from the issue of Shizanburo’s wife carrying the majority of the household load, there is an interesting moment where he decides, based on her red lipstick, that Tsuyuko “was probably utterly incompetent” when it came to her job. This assumption—that a conventionally attractive woman is unlikely to be intelligent or business-minded—is a reminder of the issues that 21st century women still face in the workplace.

Gender and Romance

“The Jealous Type” is perhaps the most disturbing story of the collection, focusing on a wife that is abusive towards her husband. Overcome with jealousy, she hits him, destroys household objects, and tracks his whereabouts with a GPS device. She describes the kitchen as “the best place for jealousy to strike,” due to the availability of throwable kitchenware; during this scene, she notes the “fear in his eyes” and at one point that he has “curled himself into a ball under the table, shielding his head.” The protagonist points out that media depictions of relationships help normalize such abusive behaviour: “TV programmes are always spilling over with crazily jealous girlfriends and wives, so you never your morality.”

When her husband asks for a divorce, the jealous wife decides she has to turn over a new leaf to save her marriage. At this point, it is revealed that the narrator is a recruiter for Mr. Tei’s company in one notable section. “In today’s world, there is a tendency for jealousy and obsession to be portrayed in a negative light. Those with talents in these areas are often criticised […] we find ourselves chronically understaffed,” the company explains. In other words, her violent jealousy may enable her transformation into a spirit. In asking the reader to consider what an “obsessive” love really looks like, Aoko again puts into question the romantic norms of traditional stories—without erasing the negative impact of modern-day narratives as well.

Similarly, although Aoko comments on the power of releasing one’s adherence to and concern about beauty standards for women in stories such as “Having a Blast,” the story “Smartening Up” highlights the pernicious impact they can have in the 21^st century. Her protagonist is tortured by consumerism, and desperate to live up to a Western beauty ideal. She believes that her unattractiveness caused her boyfriend to cheat on and dump her, leading to an obsession with hair removal. Eventually, she is visited by her aunt’s ghost, who instructs her: “You can’t let the power of your hair slip away from you […] Your hair is the only wild thing you have left—the one precious crop of wildness remaining to you.” While women’s hair is often a lynchpin of beauty norms, here the metaphor highlights the sense of fruitfulness and a possibility of escape.

Encouraged by her aunt, she decides to stop punishing herself for the breakup and instead begins to acknowledge her emotions and memories: “sadness and rage and frustration and emptiness and idiocy.” Exploring these feelings enables her to transform into a “mystery creature […] neither bear nor ape, covered head to toe in glossy, slightly damp hair.” Aoko’s uncategorizable yet animalistic monster reflects her protagonist’s insistence on defying social norms. Like Kuzuha, her transformation is reliant on her willingness to embrace her “wild” side—to live freely as her true self instead of conforming to social expectations of women. In the context of the story, this is explicitly portrayed as a form of power.

Instead of the hollow “self-care” in service of attaining external approval we see at the beginning of the story, the protagonist starts on a program of “hair fortification,” strengthening and treating her hair instead of removing it. This runs parallel to the character’s inner journey, in which she nourishes, rather than represses, her emotions. Eventually, instead of preoccupying herself with her failed romance, she decides that she wants to nurture her relationship with her aunt and develop “a skill, a special power into which I can throw my whole self.” This once again echoes “A Fox’s Life” and “Silently Burning,” where the female characters defy expectations to fulfil their potential. Aoko’s questioning of gender norms is not limited to the ancient world; she also addresses ways in which we are limited by them in the 21^st century. 

In the end, while the stories are rooted in a Japanese cultural context, their themes may resonate beyond their initial intended audience. The inner journey of characters such as Kuzuha and the protagonist of Smartening Up are reflected by their external transformations, which embody a refusal to conform to gendered expectations. Whilst Aoko draws on the mythology around the kitsune to emphasise Kuzuha’s intelligence, she also uses traditional folklore to highlight ways in which we have moved on – from the division in labour in The Peony Lanterns to our understanding of love in The Jealous Type. Transformation is crucial to Matsuda Aoko’s exploration of sexism within and outside of the traditional folklore her collection spotlights, because it highlights that things can change–-and that change, most often, begins with a woman who honestly embraces herself and her passions.