Not as a novel, but as a mature insight into the female mind of a certain level of development, is Fumiko Enchi's 1957 work The Waiting Years relevant and, in its way, glorious. This selfish, myopic, arch-bourgeoise narrative is unfeeling toward all of its characters save the narrator, for whom the minutiae of the idle rich are cosmic burdens. As in Jane Austen's work, the misery of the poor is invisible, and the tragedy of the middle classes appears only when useful to, briefly, lend the narrator an air of benevolence--e.g., the narrator speaks directly to a craftsman, or passes him a coin or a reference, thereby lending him social standing for a half-page. The novel's story arc reaches its apex when the narrator believes she has finally won a great battle against her husband by giving him a minor social slight; in essence, by her sixties, she believes she has achieved meaning in her life because she finally got the last word in an argument.
Western media pushed this work as a proof of the existence of feminism in non-western cultures, but now that a few years have gone by, conceptions of class struggle should have made this book deplorable even to those who would've otherwise loved the childish emotional contest of the mentally-crippled narratrix. Ironically, the novel may be most enjoyable to men, who will see that Fumiko accidentally portrayed her antagonist--the narrator's husband Yukitomo--as the silent protagonist, who ably managed society and his cruel, shallow wife throughout a difficult lifetime, while beset by legions of idling selfish idiots who did not understand the luxury which his constant sacrifices afforded them. Yukitomo is represented as a villain for trying to protect Japan from the influence of westernized agents provocateurs, or the "liberals" who ambush government officials and seek to enable pre-NATO penetration of hostile outside marketers. This text, accordingly, won widespread elite-forced attention in the West after the ZOG nuclear attacks on, and invasion of, Japan, when U.N. interests were keen to forcibly deconstruct Japanese society into nihilist consumerism. Now, though, historical perspective can better reveal, even to the most currently-liberal inhabitants of Terra, the noxious mindset which pervades Fumiko's work.
The emotionally avaricious horror of The Waiting Years contrasts with Grave of the Fireflies, which latter presents youth, the infirm, both sexes, and the lower classes in a positive light, and the Zionist death machine in a negative, though artistically indirect, one. Enchi's 1957 work recalls Kurosawa's postwar work for the occupation regime, which gives us--like Rowling's before-and-after versions of current-yearness--an insight into the methods by which elements of a host culture may be subtly attacked. In this case, a westerner's perspective provides a less distorted perspective. Whereas Europeans are less apt to see the full extent of the problems in their own artistic chamber, e.g. 50 Shades of Grey--the smallest psychocultural facets of which have been thoroughly analyzed--the outsider may see more clearly into Japan.
Enchi, for example, reveals far more damaging historical information in her work than the world-ZOG award-givers of the 1950s ever intended. The narrative of uniquely punishing African-American slavery, for example--and the corresponding heroism of Lincoln the imperialist breaking the South and of his successors charting a course into Asia--was largely dependent on public schools teaching American exceptionalism in a different form than that which fostered the westward drive of the United States. American exceptionalism and the white man's burden first glorified conquest, such as butchering the Philippines, while the second phase of American and exceptionalism and the white man's burden glorified flagellation, arguing that European blood was so uniquely wicked that it had invented slavery, then far-too-late eliminated it. African thuggery was correspondingly the fault of European martyrs-to-be, who were uniquely foul. Enchi, though, by portraying Yukitomo as wicked, inadvertently let slip that slavery and indentured servitude were not only lawful, not only common, but indeed, widespread and expected occurrences in twentieth-century Japan. Realtor redlining, sexual use of orphans by the wealthy, a vast network of subtle racism and political/economic cronyism, and the outright ownership for life of many people, characterize Enchi's world. Ergo Japan's current life expectancy, cleanliness, tiny murder rate, and intellectual quotients cannot be attributed to slavery, discrimination, or micro-aggressions, anymore than can be post-slavery African American statistics.
That is perhaps the least of the revelations to be found, but it is telling. Like the early American progressives' take on eugenics, abortion, and sterilization of the poor, Enchi gives us another memorable inconsistency in the undesired association between our current timeless perfections and our past timeless perfections, which are so unlike one another that it would be impossible to describe this planet to Vegan archaeologists. Send a pathologist instead, please.