I love stories about weird people, especially about weird women. From what I’ve heard about Natsuko Imamura and her works, The Woman in the Purple Skirt seemed right up my alley, so I picked up a copy of the Romanian translation by Humanitas Fiction. After reading it, my humble verdict is . . . It’s pretty good!

In this novel, a woman referred to as ‘The Woman in the Purple Skirt’ is being stalked by the narrator, who calls herself ‘The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan’. The Woman in the Purple Skirt is repeatedly described as plain, socially inept, not very smart, not very hygienic, shuffling through random temp jobs and getting pranked by local kids. And yet The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan feels inexplicably drawn to her.

In the Romanian translation:

“Ce n-aș da să ne împrietenim! Dar cum?

Nu-mi stă mintea decât la asta. Și zilele se scurg una după alta.” (page 23)

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In the English version:

“I want to become friends. But how?”

That’s all I can think about. But all that happens is that the days go by.”

The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan is fascinated by The Woman in the Purple Skirt’s numerous little quirks, such as the fact she wears the exact same skirt every day, or how she never bumps into anybody on even the most crowded streets. What starts as a desire to learn more about The Woman in the Purple Skirt’s life and to help her out, secretly nudging her towards things that would be beneficial for her, quickly turns into wanting to control her. She orchestrates her getting hired at her workplace, intervenes in her affair with their married boss, gets her suspected of theft – all while never interacting with her directly.

Imamura writes about obsession in a very interesting way. It is clear from the start that the Woman in the Yellow Cardigan is an unreliable and deeply delusional narrator. She lists all the things she has learned about the Woman in the Purple Skirt after months of following her around (what she eats, when and where she works, how much the gas meter of her apartment goes up, etc) in the most absurdly nonchalant tone imaginable. She is somewhat aware of how creepy this all is and how badly the Woman in the Purple Skirt may react if she finds out, but she does it anyway. Of course, her behaviour steadily worsens as the story goes on.

The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan frequently makes assumptions about the Woman in the Purple Skirt, which are not entirely without basis, but she is very arrogant about how certain she is that they are true and is genuinely shocked whenever she’s proven wrong. She is extremely judgemental and quick to point out other people’s social faux-pas (while brushing off her own). She also assumes that everybody else thinks the same way she does, that everybody in their neighbourhood regards the Woman in the Purple Skirt with the same pseudo-reverence she has. She often daydreams these elaborate movie-like scenes of people fawning over the woman, with herself not too far in the background.

The two women are similar in a multitude of ways and it’s part of the reason why the Woman in the Yellow Cardigan becomes so fixated with the Woman in the Purple Skirt. There is this strange kinship that gets poisoned by envy: the Woman in the Purple Skirt is unattractive, penniless and overlooked, just like her, except she is able to get attention, even if it is negative. She isn’t a wallflower like the Woman in the Yellow Cardigan, who is able to stalk her so well because of how easy it is to ignore her. The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan wants to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be social and have friends, but she makes no moves towards it because she believes it won’t work, anyway. Her profound loneliness is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even in her own fantasies she is a background character. Many chances arise throughout the novel for her to be seen, to actually befriend the Woman in the Purple Skirt like a normal person, but she fumbles all of them.

In the Romanian translation:

“Am văzut-o primind dropsuri, gumă de mestecat, mandarine, biscuiți . . . Și eu luam ceai de la dozator în fiecare zi, exact ca ea, dar nimeni nu catadicsise să-mi cumpere ceva - poate și pentru că îmi beam ceaiul în picioare, nu aşezata pe scaun, ca ea. [. . .] Părea tare stingheră, așa că lumea simțea nevoia s-o ajute.” (page 114)

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In the English version:

“I had also seen her getting candy, bubble gum, mikan oranges, packets of cookies . . . I drank tea every day, just like she did, but nobody ever offered to buy me anything. Maybe it was because I drank my tea standing up, and she drank hers sitting down? [. . .] There was something a bit sad and lonely about the way she looked. That might explain why everyone wanted to go up and help her.”

It’s sad to watch, but it also doesn’t excuse her manipulations getting more and more sinister as the Woman in the Purple Skirt outgrows their similarities.

The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan insists that she wants to be “friends” with the Woman in the Purple Skirt, but it’s closer to a possession rather than a consensual relationship. She projects so much onto the Woman in the Purple Skirt, to the point that any display of individuality feels like a personal betrayal. Seeing her do well at work and socializing more, and dropping the negative traits they had in common for so long, greatly upsets her. It feels like she is being left behind by this woman who, mind you, has no idea who she is until thirty pages are left of the book. The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan is like an entitled, parasocial fan of a celebrity that throws a tantrum when they do anything that breaks the illusion. She doesn’t actually care about Mayuko Hino or who she is beyond the character of “the woman in the purple skirt”. The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan only cares about herself, but who she is is a nobody. It seems easier to change somebody else’s life rather than to try changing one’s own.

The Woman in the Purple Skirt is very easy to read, with short chapters and a lot of dialogue. You could power through it in one day if you have the time. While looking up the English version for my quotes, I noticed something interesting between the translations. The Romanian translation by Raluca Nicolae has a very informal and emotional tone, using a lot of expressions that have comical connotations. It reminded me so much of the tone people use while gossiping (or, more accurately, shit-talking). The English translation by Lucy Northon uses language that feels much colder, almost robotic in how detached it is.

In the Romanian translation:

“Cum nu puteam să-i dau totul mură-n gură, am lăsat-o să-și mai caute și singură de lucru, însă a reușit să pice cu brio toate interviurile, ceea ce nu mă miră, pentru că alesese niște slujbe de te durea mintea: centralistă, recepționeră la biroul de informații al unei firme comerciale . . . A vrut până și să lucreze într-o cafenea! Auzi tu, vânzătoare la cafenea, când ea bea apă de la tâşnitoarea din parc!” (page 33)

My attempt at translating the tone:

“Since I couldn’t hold her hand through everything, I let her search for a job on her own, but she succeeded in failing every interview, which didn’t surprise me at all, because she selected jobs that boggled the mind: receptionist, guide for the shopping plaza . . . She even tried to work at a cafe! Imagine that, a waitress at a cafe, meanwhile she drinks water from the fountain in the park!”

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In the official English version:

“While I didn’t accompany her to every interview, the Woman in the Purple Skirt applied for a number of other jobs too, after that spate of attempts, and often in tandem. She didn’t get any of them. Hardly surprising, considering the kinds of jobs she chose – all totally unsuitable. Telephone receptionist, shopping plaza floor guide, et cetera. Would you believe that she even applied to be a waitress? Why would anyone hire someone as a waitress in a café who is happy to drink straight from the water fountain in her local park?”

Both of these translations manage to convey the strangeness with which the Woman in the Yellow Cardigan navigates the world, just in different ways. In Romanian, I think it fits better with the inappropriate closeness she develops towards the Woman in the Purple Skirt.

I enjoyed this weird little book for the most part, but it lost me in the final chapters. I wouldn’t call it an anticlimactic ending per se, but no matter how I analyse it in my head, all I can think is: "That’s all? Really?” I admit it’s possible I took after the Woman in the Yellow Cardigan’s tendency to daydream and erroneously prepared myself for a much more dramatic conclusion. How do I explain without spoiling it? What happens makes sense for what has previously transpired and for what both of these women have been established to be, and it’s not a badly-written ending by any means, but it’s so . . . underwhelming. Again, that’s all? That’s what everything leads up to, just that?

I would still recommend The Woman in the Purple Skirt, though. There’s really good stuff in it that made me think a lot about parasociality and what you imagine versus what’s actually happening. I think everything before the last three to four chapters is still worthwhile. Imamura is an excellent author who created a very strange and captivating situation. I’d love to check out more of her writing.