Originally published on metropolis.co.jp on May 2010

Jorge Luis Borges employed all manner of meta-mindbending devices in his fiction, but one of the most ingenious was the way that he would outline an entire novel’s worth of material in the course of a short story. Stripped of such niceties as contextualization and character development, the implication was that a few pages were all it really took.

Borges never managed to finish a full-length novel; Yasutaka Tsutsui has written dozens. However, it can sometimes feel like he’s no more interested in laboring a point than his Argentine forebear was; the concepts underpinning his longer-form work are generally more compelling than the end product. Enjoying Tsutsui requires an adjustment of expectations. On some levels, he’s underwhelming: he isn’t the most consistent stylist, lacks much feel for dramatic pacing, and his protagonists are often flimsy. But there are some brilliant ideas circulating in his pages, stuff that connects on an intellectual rather than emotional level.

Nanase, the heroine of The Maid, has chosen her vocation in an attempt to duck low on society’s radar. Not because of a troubled past or anything: she’s blessed (or maybe cursed) with the ability to read minds. She doesn’t quite understand this power, likening it to “an animal performing sexually without knowing the purpose of its action.” And however much she tries to conceal it, it constantly proves problematic, ensuring—in one way or another—that she never stays at any job for long.

The novel follows her as she moves between eight different employers, ranging from a philandering middle-aged couple to a sprawling clan who live in abject squalor. In each case, her powers reveal more than even the nosiest of drawer-diving housekeepers could hope to uncover.

Tsutsui uses these episodes to satirical effect, with Nanase’s telepathy acting as a crowbar to lift the lid on different sections of society—polite or otherwise. Given that the novel was originally released in Japanese in 1972, though, its barbs can often seem unsubtle, if not quaint. On a businessman: “Hisakuni thought of his wife as a domestic animal.” On another spouse: “In Kikuko’s logic, the role of ‘good wife’ could only be carried off by turning her husband into a clown.” On a salaryman forced into early retirement who decides to rape Nanase: “It was an action far easier, far less humiliating, than looking for work.” It’s fair to say that this probably had more potency when the book was written than it does now.

Still, not everything here feels dated. If society has moved on, the appetites of the Id haven’t, and The Maid’s best moments typically involve people in thrall to their basest desires. When Nanase eavesdrops on the mutually unfaithful couple’s carnal reconciliation, it’s both toe-curling and mordantly funny: “He couldn’t have done this.” “His tongue?!” “So that’s how it was.” “He’s thinking of her now…” Ditto the family member whose advances she spurns: “Hostesses. Nightclub hostesses. As much as you like. That kind of girl. Much better than her. Lots. Flesh. Flesh…”

Time and again, seemingly likeable people are revealed to be venal or downright wicked, leaving Nanase adrift in the world. In being able to understand everyone’s thoughts, paradoxically, she ends up empathizing with almost nobody.