Quotation Study: Earthlings, Sayaka Murata
It captures the quiet violences of everyday life—the things people say in passing, the social roles we’re expected to fill, the unspoken hierarchies within families...
This is not necessarily a review—I just love analysing and unpacking quotes, sometimes even individual words within them. However, as a general rule, if I underline lots of quotes, it’s usually a highly rated book!
These are studies of quotes within certain novels—either unpacking larger themes or simply exploring how each quote makes me feel on its own. I like applying quotes to my life, using them to articulate feelings I’ve never known how to describe. So, welcome to Quotation Studies.
There’s no rhyme or reason here. Just thoughts sprawled out onto a page. It’s me enjoying language as a former literature student who misses the act of unpacking words.
This week’s focus: Earthlings by Sayaka Murata
This book left me unsettled in the best way. It’s sharp, unsparing, and filled with moments that linger long after reading. It captures the quiet violences of everyday life—the things people say in passing, the social roles we’re expected to fill, the unspoken hierarchies within families. I was drawn in by its precision, the way it lays things bare without forcing an emotional reaction. The emotion comes naturally, creeping up on you when you least expect it.
It’s a short book so let me keep the quotation study short and sweet this week.
‘My sister always complained about coming to granny’s and always clung to my mom at home. So of course she was my mom’s favourite.’
Mother-daughter relationships are a recurring interest of mine, and this line struck me immediately. The idea that the daughter who dislikes the mother’s mother becomes the favourite—it’s so revealing. It suggests a kind of inherited antagonism, a chain reaction of resentment that passes down generations. Loving your grandmother too much, perhaps, is a threat to the mother’s own authority. There’s something painfully inevitable about it.
‘Firstly I had to study hard to become a work tool. Secondly I had to be a good girl, so that I could become a reproductive organ for the town. I would probably be a failure on both counts, I thought.’
An incisive critique of societal expectations, particularly for women. The reduction of a person to a function—either as a worker or a bearer of children—is so plainly stated here, it almost feels absurd. And yet, it’s the reality many face. The casual inevitability of failure, too, is striking. It’s not framed as a rebellion, just a quiet observation: I probably won’t succeed at either of these things. And what then?
‘My husband had left the window open, and a breeze carrying the smell of autumn blew in and fluttered the tablecloth.’
A simple but beautiful image. There’s something about the movement in this line, the way it captures a moment in transition. The changing season, the open window, the fluttering fabric—it evokes a quiet kind of loneliness.
‘Adults are so violent and overbearing, they really are.’
A line that makes you pause. It’s blunt and true in a way that only children’s observations can be. There’s something both sad and freeing about it—the recognition that adulthood is not necessarily wisdom or kindness, just a different kind of power.
‘Plenty of people look squarely at things they don’t want to see and live with them.’
A perfect summation of wilful ignorance. This isn’t about denial, but endurance. Acknowledging something, seeing it clearly, and choosing to carry on anyway. It’s almost more painful than pretending not to see at all.
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