Convenience Store Woman follows a thirty-something convenience store employee who struggles to meet the expectations set for her by society. 

Clocking in at 160 pages and centered around a somewhat mundane premise, this book can come off as a fast and lighthearted read. However, it’s packed with highly insightful commentary about societal expectations, alienation, and gender roles that shed light on behaviors we may not have perceived in ourselves before. Convenience Store Woman is fast-paced and absorbing and far from being a quick, nonsense read. 

In terms of plot, this book is not for those seeking a thrilling ride. We follow the thirty-six-year-old protagonist Keiko in her daily routine working at a convenience store in Tokyo. From page to page, we see her stock drinks and sandwiches, work the till, and chat with her coworkers. While nothing exciting, the calmness and simplicity of Keiko’s story is precisely what’s needed to convey the intended message of the author. It also makes the perfect vessel for the main character’s roller coaster ride of thoughts. 

Keiko’s obsession with normalcy and embodying what her friends and family perceive as “normal” is constantly running through her mind—to the point where Murata walks the line of it being excessive. In the everyday routine of her life, she is constantly evaluating the appearances and behaviors of her coworkers and adopting the characteristics she perceives as being the most likable and appealing to others. When she talks with other people, she exhibits these bits and pieces of their personalities and takes note of others’ reactions to use for future revisions of her persona. Her narration is repeatedly interjected with these little observations or remarks on what it’s like to be “normal,” her desire to be “normal,” and the normalcy of the role of convenience store worker she has adopted and grown so attached to. This is incredible at lending personality to Keiko and establishing her dilemma of being different from those around her. She is strongly contrasted with the voices of the other characters in the book, who—while supposed to be the “normal” ones in the situation—suddenly appear to be a little strange in comparison. 

While I loved the quirkiness and personality of Keiko’s narration, I did become a little tired of seeing the word “normal” on the page, in addition to her constant remarks about the store and the costume of store worker being the only two things that allowed her to feel that way. Perhaps this is meant to emphasize her obsession with the idea, but I thought that it could have been toned down nonetheless. 

Along with Keiko’s dialogue and narration, I thought that the scenes including the other characters were incredibly well done. I enjoyed seeing how Miho, Keiko’s younger sister, went from being arguably the most supportive and accepting of Keiko’s circumstances to breaking down in tears toward the end of the book, begging Keiko to let herself be “fixed.” It was eye-opening and interesting to read the conversations between Keiko and those around her, seeing the way her friends and family—and even those who barely knew her—felt entitled to make assumptions about her life and lecture her about her needs. Murata skillfully creates a believable, yet almost cartoonish circle of people around Keiko, driving home her point about society’s ridiculous expectations and the role we often unknowingly play in it. 

Of course, arguably the most prominent character in Keiko’s life is Shirata, her rude and bigoted ex-coworker. He is responsible for some of the most memorable lines of the book—for one, bringing up the analogy of the Stone Age. While probably the least likable character in the entire book, Shirata’s comparison of modern-day society to the Stone Age is certainly one of the most outright examples of Murata churning out her intended message. He claims that human society has not progressed since those ancient times, in which the most successful and admirable thrived and those who didn’t fit the mold were expelled. Murata does a great job of expressing her message clearly and bluntly with this analogy. At the same time, she uses Shirata to introduce an embodiment of abnormality that we may not think twice about ostracizing from society. Where we might perceive decency in “respectable” outsiders like Keiko, it seems natural to want to distance ourselves from people like Shirata. Murata skillfully prompts us to reevaluate our idea of what is acceptable and unacceptable, what deserves to be kept versus expelled. Because Shirata is so bigoted, creepy, and unlikable, does that mean his poor treatment by those around him is justified? Do his actions—which are just a different shade of “different” and “unacceptable” than Keiko’s—mean that he deserves to be alienated from society more than she does? 

Lastly, I wanted to discuss the themes themselves that Murata presents in this book. Before reading this book, I hadn’t given much thought to the expectations we as a society hold for one another, at least not to the extent that they are truly ingrained in our day-to-day words and actions. It’s definitely true that we have certain molds we subconsciously expect others to fit into, whether in terms of career, belief, or personality, and reading this book gave me a space to consider this more deeply. Personally, I really enjoyed Convenience Store Woman and consider it a highly insightful and relevant read. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for something simple, entertaining, and thought-provoking.