Three novellas, three perspectives, and three conclusions that remain equally violent, surprisingly. I think Laura Van Der Berg's foreword can help with digesting these short stories, to a degree, but that it similarly forces the reader away from the greater purpose that Ogawa posits here.

In a sense, yes, these three women all exist on the exterior of their lives, but it's more important to understand from where they choose to perch, and which pieces of the detritus and grunge that they elect to examine and peck at like vultures. Each woman chooses a different perspective— a rather obvious conclusion— but all find themselves focused on the concept of family; a static being that slowly changes shape and form in front of them in ways that they cannot come to terms with. The concept of a family is a monstrous and unknown existence which, in equal parts, taunts and terrorizes these three character. How a girl exists in an orphanage while not being an orphan herself. How a woman must contest with something else controlling and affecting her sister. How a wife must come to grips with uprooting her life and giving up the familiarity of her existence.

The three stories focus a great deal on how these voyeurs can manage to cope when their position, safely seated outside of first-hand experience, begin to deteriorate their desires and interests (without their permission). So, while Van Der Berg's introduction understands a portion of their relationships with life, it neglects the most important connections. It also drones on with passages from the novella's themselves. A pet peeve of mine, to say the least (thanks to the writing habits of my younger self).

Regardless of Van Der Berg's influence on your potential readings of the... read, Ogawa's work still feels effortlessly blunt, hiding the sharpest of tools in-between the characters, lines, and letters of these stories. On the surface, they are undeniably perverse affairs that have their own allure as intriguing and undeniably unique reads, but taking the time to pick apart the smaller moments and meditate on why Ogawa has done what they have will lead you to much more rewarding and connected conclusions.

Of the three, I felt like Dormitory was the easiest to dissect for meaning and value, while Pregnancy Diary didn't deliver a great deal that felt novel(la). The Diving Pool was by far the most intriguing of the trio, pushing the limits of a palatable read, but still conveying the most off-color and damning scenario of the three.

Obviously, a very great (and easy) read.