Don’t Laugh at Other People’s Sex Lives
Today I started and finished reading Don’t Laugh at Other People’s Sex Lives by Nao-Cola Yamazaki. I picked it up a few days ago during my lunch break, perusing the local bookstore in search for something exciting to read. I bought a bunch of books, including three non-fiction titles; today I felt like I needed something light and laid back, and this short novel seemed like the perfect fit for me.
I like short, electric books. Stories I can read in an afternoon, perfectly fulfilling my desire for reading. I find that the trick for reading more is to be excited about reading, and by picking up books I can finish easily and quickly, I get more and more hyped for my next read. The problem with this is that, most times, these short books are as ephemeral as they are punchy. Actually, I don’t think that’s quite true. It’s just that I’m so used to fast moving content that, by the time I’m done with one of these short reads, I’m already thinking of something else, moving onto the next book. So that even reading books feels like scrolling an endless feed of short form videos.
This post is my attempt at crystallising this reading experience. I want to write about this book because I want to be able to remember what I felt like when I read it, and be able to access my opinions easily in the future. So, without further ado, here’s what I thought of Don’t Laugh at Other People’s Sex Lives.
The book follows Isogai, a young art student who starts modelling for his teacher. What begins as a quirky, off-kilter series of encounters turns into a full fledged relationship, and modelling sessions transform into hookups. Yuri, Isogai’s teacher, is not only 20 years his senior, but also married to a man she coldly refers to as Mr. Inokuma. What follows is a series of meet-ups, either at her art studio or, later on, at her and Mr. Inokuma’s house, while the young Isogai tries to grapple with what it means to be in a relationship, however illicit. Is what he feels for Yuri love, or is it something else? Is it meant to last, or is it just a jumping board for something different?
There is a lot that I enjoyed about this book. For starters, it was exactly the kind of light read I needed, so it delivered on that front. I also enjoyed stepping in the shoes of its young protagonist, who reminded me a bit of myself at his age: naive, maybe. Optimistic, confused. A guy trying to do his best while navigating adult relationships for the first time in his life. His relationship with his teacher is, of course, something that would be appalling were this book read with a different mindset. The story was originally published in 2004—no doubt people had different opinions about such wide age gaps. If this were a real story, I would be appalled, and I would urge the teacher to stop treating this youngster like her personal toy. But I feel like this is not at all the point of the novel. These are still, after all, two consenting adults, both making dumb choices, however tenderly; the writing style doesn’t really focus on the age gap. I have the feeling that the author simply wanted to write about a late teen, adding a sprinkle of confusion and greyness. In a way, his relationship with a much older woman feels almost like a rite of passage. I have the feeling that, were the book written in 2026 instead, I would have a different opinion on this specific plot point.
Don’t Laugh at Other People’s Sex Lives is just 77 pages, but I quickly grew attached to Isogai. As I said, I saw a bit of myself in him. His internal monologue perfectly captures what it feels to be young, and it was nice to be reminded. For example, this beautiful paragraph is a surgical look into someone discovering the intricacies of romantic attraction for the first time:
In falling for someone, I came to understand that all my tastes and preference were kind of irrelevant. Your feelings took on the shape of the person in front of you - that was how it worked. I was never going to be into someone who just so happened to precisely cohere with my fantasies. Rather, my heart had moulded itself to the form of this particular person. The fact that it wasn’t perfect was what made it amazing, was what made it unforgettable. […]
The character of Isogai is sparse, to the point. We don’t get much backstory, and his parents are rarely (if ever) mentioned. In a longer book, I would probably find this problematic. But with such a short incisive novel, I feel like this is a perfect reflection of how young people can be so immersed in their ‘now’. Isogai reminded me of some Murakami protagonists I’ve read in the past. A lot of the Japanese books I’ve read featured protagonists with little to no backstory, a sort of blank slate as their main defining trait. This one is a book where this kind of approach works seamlessly.
Telephone calls were about temperature, I thought. The words themselves told you nothing. The only thing you really registered was the heat of the other person’s feeling towards you. […]
So, yeah, I quite liked this one! :)