Instead, she has chosen to unravel Japan’s dysfunctional naughty bits, the subject of her bestselling novels, in the tassel-cushioned splendour of La Maison Kioi, an ornate French-meets-mock-Tudor mansion built in 1930 as the residence of the last crown prince of Korea. There are plenty of places she could have chosen for lunch where her intense musings about teen awakening, adolescent desire and sexual politics would have floated unnoticed into the ether.
But the awkwardness of the moment is entirely of Murata’s making. My friends are just really surprised that I - someone so dopey-looking - write such extreme stuff.” “My brother says he finds it difficult to recommend to his friends. “My parents say they don’t want to read my books because of all the sexual descriptions in there,” says Murata, acknowledging that her comfort levels on the subject are not universally shared.
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