This book tells the story of a convenience store worker in Japan. She is devoted to her work, perhaps more than she should be, and takes the directives from management rather more seriously than her coworkers. It’s easy to assume that her character is autistic, though that’s implied rather than stated explicitly. She finds comfort in routine and she has a lack of ambition that is glorious in its own way. And is there anything wrong with that?

She grapples with this question throughout the book, principally through contrast with other characters - her sister, her friends, her coworkers, and one particularly odious wastrel. Her conclusion: no, she is totally fine, and there is something wonderful about her life, that she has found a calling, however humble, and has met it so fully. That is a rather nice and harmonious resolution. This story centers a neurodivergent voice and gives it dignity, and that’s great.

The writing is a little stiff and at times repetitive. That odious wastrel is a broken record with no redeeming qualities - he’s a rather boring villain, and he becomes predictably less likable as the story progresses. Even the sister and friends are rather predictable.

There’s also a certain cultural gap, which might be down to my own lack of knowledge about life in Japan. First and foremost, the story glorifies devotion to work in a way that seems, to my mind, rather corporatist. There is nothing wrong with finding structure and meaning in work of course, but I think this narrative overdoes it. The attitudes towards neurodivergence also feel a little dated; the idea that neurodivergent people need to be fixed in some way seems like the relic of a long-ago time. I guess there’s no harm in putting it to bed yet again, but the story is less interesting than similar books, like Eleanor Oliphant, which are more nuanced and surprising. Finally, I think the novel takes for granted the reader’s understanding of convenience store culture in modern Japan. I know enough to say I don’t know much about it, only that convenience stores in Japan are a bit more robust than their American equivalents.

This book is short and meaningful, though a little more stiff and uninteresting than I’d like. Not without its charms, though.