Book Review: Ms Ice Sandwich, Mieko Kawakami

 Book Review: Ms Ice Sandwich, Mieko Kawakami

Read: 25 - 31/01/2024

My rating: 4 /5 stars

Book of 2024: 2

A young boy returns obsessively to a supermarket sandwich counter, entranced by the beauty of the woman who works there. Her aloof demeanour and electric blue eyelids make him feel the most intense joy he’s ever known. He calls her Ms Ice Sandwich, and he wants nothing more than to spend his days watching her coolly ship sandwiches into bags. 

But life keeps getting in the way - there’s his beloved grandmother’s illness, and a faltering friendship with his classmate Tutti. Wry, intimate and wonderfully skewed, Ms Ice Sandwich is a poignant depiction of the naivety and wisdom of youth, just as it is passing. 

Translated by: Louise Heal Kawai

I found this little gem in the waterstones in town, and I didn’t know it existed, but I need to read all the Kawakami I can. I also wanted to send it to Evie T as soon as I saw it, but wanted to underline it too, so I decided to read it first. It’s tiny, so it didn’t take long to read, and conveniently it fitted perfectly in my coat pocket for a day in London. 

This is a weird but wholesome little story. This is a tiny story of childlike wonder and awkwardness and naivety and friendship and kinship and acts of kindness. I absolutely devoured it on tubes and trains & everywhere I could stop long enough to open its pages.

This story touches on youth, its obsessions, its ignorance, loneliness, busy-ness. Its harshness, its softness. 

Our protagonist is a sweetie, and we never really know what he’s thinking, or feeling - in fact, neither does he, really. It’s a stream of consciousness, brilliantly crafted, heartfelt, bizarre, touching. 

Lines I underlined:

It seems like she’s forgotten all about it by now, or maybe she’s just given up, or maybe the moment’s passed, or that’s what it feels like (9)

Anyway this is how my mum spends most days - inviting people to come over to the house and they talk a lot. (14)

Like when you’re holding a cat and you touch its soft belly. (20)

The blanket is ripped away, the condensed milk dries up, the cat runs off, and finally the rabbit’s ear droops. (21)

And so I’m always thinking how if Tutti dyed her hair blonde, it would be awesome, though I don’t know why I like the idea of it, but that’s how I feel. (27)

Isn’t it boring to just sit and watch a whole movie all the way through? I say, and Tutti says, It’s really fun, and for a moment her eyes get this kind of twinkly light in them, and I see that black pupils can seem kind of white when they sparkle. (28)

She can’t talk at all, but I’m sure she understands what I’m saying when I talk to her (29)

When I look in the mirror and cover my mouth and eyebrows with my hands, so that all I can see are my eyes, I can’t tell what emotion I’m feeling at all. (30)

I can’t help feeling that sometimes maybe it’d be nice to talk about something else besides Mum’s work or Mum’s happiness. (33)

The whole day I don’t really feel like myself (though, to tell the truth, I don’t really know what it means to feel like myself) (41)

Nobody should have to explain what they choose to paint and how they feel about painting it. (44)

Then it feels as if the stuff that I don’t understand, everything that’s too foggy, turns into words and leaves my body. (47)

Grandma who’s asleep and Grandma who’s going to die. Are these the same Grandma? (49)

Those Grandmas and this Grandma. The Grandmas I have in my head and the Grandma lying here with her eyes closed, quietly sleeping. Which is the real Grandma? (50)

After a bit I hear a bird chirping. It feels like it’s coming from so close that I spin around to check, but there are no birds anywhere. (51)

What time does night mean?

Obviously night means all of the time after you’ve eaten dinner. (52)

I want to tell her I’ve just had curry for dinner too, but I can’t find the right moment and I end up not saying anything. (54)

Every time there’s some movement on the screen, a tiny bit of light flickers in the wet part of Tutti’s eyes. (56)

 I wonder how heavy the bags were stuffed with all that money. When they use the money will somebody know that it was stolen? I’m thinking about all these things as I try to keep watching all the action and confusion on the screen. (57)

She never gets lost, she’s acting every sound, every person, everything is there in her movement. It’s perfect, maybe too perfect. In fact, seeing how perfect she is, I begin to feel a little bit scared and I want to shout enough! Or stop!, and the words have climbed up into my throat but I swallow the back down, and I don’t know why, but I can’t take my eyes off Tutti. (61)

There doesn’t feel like there’s all that much to say, and yet I still want to say something about it. (63)

“Al Pacino plays him”

“Oh it’s somebody’s name. I thought it might be how you say goodbye in some other country.! (64)

Start thinking about what happened today. It feels like a lot happened, but also that a lot didn’t happen. (70)

The worst thing is, you never know when somebody’s going to just disappear. (76)

I stopped doing that kind of thing a long time ago [...] you know, - putting off stuff and not doing anything, and not going and seeing somebody when I really wanted to. I stopped that. It’s too risky… you should just go and see someone when you can, right? (76)

“Because I’ve already had to deal with the hardest thing in the world. You know what that was?”

“What?”

“It was to try to meet someone who’s already disappeared.” (77)

I start to feel a pain in my chest and tears suddenly start to roll down my cheeks, and suddenly I’m crying my eyes out. I’m not sure what’s causing it, why I’m so unhappy, but I can’t stop the tears. (82)

Everything inside me feels scrambled (83)

There’s the sound of breathing, that’s what I’m listening to. Goodbye. The stars are setting, and in their last breath somebody tells me goodbye. (90)

Someone is saying goodbye, and now I can’t move at all, and all I can do is hold my breath, and silently listen to the final sound, nothing to do but listen silently to the very last echo of that sound. (90-91)

Grandma looks very small and white when she’s brought back out. She’s only bones and ash, which are gathered up and put into a pretty box. I hug her tightly to my chest. (91)

We haven’t made any plans today, but I think I’ll go over to Tutti’s house. And if Tutti’s there, we can sit on the sofa together and eat egg sandwiches. (92)