Butter

Read Time: 3 Minutes

Butter is one of those novels that presents itself as a mystery, then sidesteps that expectation almost immediately. On the surface, it’s about a journalist and a suspected serial killer. In practice, it’s far more interested in appetite, control, and the way women are taught to feel about their bodies, especially when those bodies take up a little more space.

Rika Machida is a Tokyo journalist who becomes fixated on Manako Kajii, a woman imprisoned for allegedly murdering several older men she seduced not through sex, but through her cooking. Kajii has become a strange kind of media figure, with her case wrapped up in public fascination with food, beauty, and moral judgement.

When Rika tries to interview her, Kajii refuses to engage unless Rika first writes asking for her beef stew recipe. That small, odd demand sets the tone for the relationship that follows.

What develops between the two women is less an investigation and more of a slow exchange of influence. The actual facts of Kajii’s case remain deliberately hazy. Instead, the focus shifts inward, tracking how Rika begins to change as she cooks more, eats more richly, and allows herself pleasures she’s long denied.

As her body slowly changes, so does her sense of self, and the novel spends far more time on that transformation than on uncovering what really happened to Kajii’s victims.

Food is everywhere in this book, described in lush, sometimes excessive detail. There are moments where the prose leans hard into sensory overload, like teeth vibrating with pleasure and flavours bordering on the ecstatic.

Sometimes it’s effective, sometimes it feels like it’s laying things on a bit thick. Either way, it’s clear that food here is never just food. It’s power, rebellion, indulgence, and accusation all rolled together.

A lot of Butter is also a pointed critique of misogyny and fatphobia, particularly in how women’s appetites are policed. Rika’s workplace, her friendships, and even the media framing of Kajii all reflect a society deeply uncomfortable with women who eat freely, want openly, or refuse to be small. That focus is interesting, even when the story itself starts to drift.

What didn’t entirely work for me was the lack of resolution around Kajii herself. The novel seems far less interested in answering questions than in sitting with discomfort, which I can appreciate in theory, but in practice it left me feeling a little stranded by the ending. I wasn’t looking for a neat wrap-up, just a bit more clarity than I got.

The audiobook narration by Hanako Footman is strong and measured, well suited to the reflective tone of the book. She handles the quieter psychological moments particularly well, and keeps the indulgent food passages from tipping into parody.

Overall, Butter is a compelling listen, thoughtful and often provocative, but also a bit frustrating. I don’t regret spending the credit on it, and I’m glad I listened, but it’s not something I’d rush back to. If you can pardon the puns, it’s a book that gives you plenty to chew on, even if it doesn’t quite leave you satisfied.

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