Vanishing World by Sayaka Murata

Sayaka Murata’s Vanishing World is a challenging and disorienting plunge into a reimagined Japan where the norms of intimacy, reproduction, and identity have undergone a radical cultural inversion. Building on the eccentric and deeply philosophical foundations laid in Convenience Store Woman and Earthlings, Murata once again crafts a surreal, off-kilter world that unflinchingly interrogates the structures of modern life. But this time, the lens zooms in not only on the individual psyche but on the architecture of society itself.

The novel centres on Amane Sakaguchi, a woman living in a society where sexual intercourse is no longer socially acceptable — especially between married couples, where it is considered as taboo as incest. In this world, reproduction is governed by sterile processes: artificial insemination is the norm, and children — known only as Kodomo-chan — are raised communally. Romantic desires are diverted into consumable fantasies, often through anime characters designed for masturbatory purposes, while conventional relationships are replaced by platonic partnerships and public displays of emotional restraint. Murata’s world is eerily plausible, drawing disturbing parallels to current trends of declining birth rates, delayed marriage, and emotional alienation.

Amane, conceived through the now-shameful act of sex, is both a product of and a rebel against this society. Her inner conflict — torn between her visceral desires and the expectation to conform — is both deeply human and philosophically rich. Murata portrays her protagonist as a mirror to the reader: someone attempting to find meaning in a world where normality is manufactured and enforced. While her attraction to both fictional characters and real people places her on the margins of acceptability, it also highlights the constructed absurdity of the new social order.

In the final act, the narrative shifts to Experiment City (or Paradise-Eden), a social laboratory in which men can now become pregnant via external artificial wombs and all adults serve as universal caregivers to children. This collective reimagining of motherhood is one of Murata’s boldest satirical strokes, simultaneously critiquing the inefficiencies of traditional family structures while exposing the potential hollowness of total communal detachment. It is in these sections that the novel’s world-building is most vivid and conceptually daring, though it occasionally stumbles into philosophical overreach.

Murata’s speculative vision is not without its contradictions. While she ostensibly dismantles heteronormative and patriarchal systems, the world she depicts remains oddly rigid, with little space for alternative identities or sexualities outside sanctioned structures. The text flirts with deeper critiques — from capitalist atomisation to incel culture to the commodification of desire — but often sidesteps deeper analysis in favour of evoking psychological states. For some readers, this may feel like a missed opportunity; for me, it was part of the novel’s unsettling charm.

Ultimately, Vanishing World is not merely dystopian or utopian — it is a speculative hallucination. Murata revels in the cognitive dissonance between what we think is natural and what we are taught is normal. In doing so, she reminds us that society’s rules are malleable fictions — sometimes comic, sometimes horrific, always worthy of scrutiny. Disturbing, absurd, and often unexpectedly moving, Vanishing World cements Murata as one of the most original literary voices this year.

Reviewer: Chris Reed

Allen & Unwin