A mix of Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle,” cultural voyeurism, seduction narrative (with modern twists) and epistolary novel absorbing mediums across time and types, Ruth Ozeki’s “My Year of Meats” is indeed thought-provoking in both form and content. My Year of Meats follows the journey of Jane Takagi-Little, a Japanese American documentary filmmaker, in her stint as the director of a fictitious Japanese TV series intended to promote American beef. The story of Akiko Ueno, a Japanese housewife experiencing abuse, develops in tandem, exploring the impact that media can have and how it could be a force of change, for better or worse.
The book tackles topics not limited to the ethics of the meat industry, cultural exoticism, Japanese and American gender roles, fertility and the role of media in the millennial age. While occasional facts about meat manufacturing presented in the book are exaggerated (or at minimum debunked today), the premise it describes, the methods utilized and the overall concern regarding human health are still very much relevant. The 1990s were a turning point for meat manufacturing in America; the E. coli outbreak in 1993 brought national attention to the practices of meat manufacturing, as well as the effects of unchecked industrialization and deregulation accumulated over several decades. Today, legislative efforts have answered some concerns regarding animal comfort and the effects of industrial agriculture on human health, although the overall process of meat manufacturing has seen little change since. Feedlots still dominate as the source of cattle, and cow feed and living conditions are still engineered to prioritize efficiency over quality. The stereotypical American lifestyle, which is advertised and culturally exported, necessitates the consumption of beef, usually at a quantity that is unachievable without industrialization. The book offers creative criticism of this practice and enlightens the audience about the consequences of this lifestyle.
Intertwined is industrial meat’s contribution to the biological fertility crisis, as well as societal pressure placed on women for their role in childbearing. The men in this book are portrayed as fairly simple (with the exception of Sloan, Jane’s love interest). Maybe it’s a reflection of reality: the level of care required for men to navigate the patriarchal world is often laughably absent, at least in contrast to their female counterparts. Japanese men, for example, are of particular interest to this book. They can be almost stoic and robotic on the job, but also unhinged and completely devoid of self-control when drunk. As an archetype, American women are also explored. From white middle-class housewife, to an esoteric mother of 10 adopted Asian children, an African American community leader, a lesbian couple, a disabled teenage girl as well as the new immigrant, Akiko, who escapes from Japan, all of them are reflections of the idea of America. Beauty and manifestation of love outside of the conventional heterosexual gender role are recorded, to the amazement of audiences like Akiko, and to the chagrin of executives like her husband, “John” Ueno. Of all the men portrayed, John is perhaps the most vile and unforgivable. Lacking self-awareness, unable to empathize and willing to feign empathy, John mimics the arrogance of an American, worships the obedience of a salaryman and embodies the narrow-mindedness that characterizes conservatives across the world.
Like a good puzzle, it is often the missing pieces that invite the curious mind. With the benefit of hindsight, the reader may be able to appreciate, in a naive sense, a simpler time. By the beginning of the new century, Japan’s economy was already knee-deep into a lengthy recession known as the Lost Decade. For Americans, the development of the internet would soon revolutionize our relationship to media. Like a snapshot, taken from the strangest angle possible, My Year of Meats captured the event horizon. The hometown library, clunky film editors, faxing, all of this to say, it was a time before ours. Yet it’s still close enough to see where ours begin. The globalized supply chain, the cross-cultural exchange and the guerrilla filmmaking are all hallmarks of our Gen Z modernity. It is an interesting reflection across eras, a time when the mistimed fax could still drive the plot forward, when the world was shrinking, but at a steady, observable pace. Like a truck driver squatting by the roadside motel, musing at the passing headlights, the audience, too, are but witnesses of the times’ passage.
Ozeki set up many goals, and her writing struck bullseyes at each of them. From gut-churning descriptions of the slaughterhouse, to the dusk-like nostalgia basking over middle America. It is good writing, and it is creative writing that is fun to read. Although at times, the literary musing may feel a bit unfocused or the exposition redundant, it all ties together as the year comes to an end. Like the various cuts of beef on a cow, Ozeki samples the best. Some are gourmet, some are rustic. But at the end of the day, a meal is a meal, and a book is a book. As to what lessons you glean from it, that is for you to decide.
Visual Credit: DES Daughter
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