Hiromi Kawakami’s 'Under the Eye of the Big Bird' redefines sci-fi

Hiromi Kawakami’s novel blends hard science fiction with deep reflections on motherhood, survival, and the end of humanity.

Illustration by Marie Bertrand

By Hayu Andini and Adila Ghina

Under the Eye of the Big Bird: A Novel, by Hiromi Kawakami; translated by Asa Yoneda

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Hiromi Kawakami’s Under the Eye of the Big Bird is a mesmerizing work of speculative fiction that defies traditional genre boundaries. Best known for her literary fiction, Kawakami has long been a distinctive voice in contemporary Japanese literature. However, this novel, recently translated into English by Asa Yoneda, represents her most ambitious foray into science fiction. With a narrative spanning thousands—perhaps even millions—of years, the novel explores the gradual extinction of humanity, the evolution of survival, and the ambiguous role of motherhood in a world where the very concept of family is reshaped by necessity.

The novel’s opening scene paints a deceptively serene picture. A group of women walk with children toward a hot spring, their presence suggesting a close-knit, nurturing community. The children splash in the warm water while the women relax. The protagonist, married to a factory worker for five years, follows the expected rhythm of life: her husband works while she raises children. Yet, in an instant, Kawakami disrupts this sense of normalcy.

"Sometimes I try to remember all the children I’ve raised so far," the narrator muses. "If I include the ones I’ve forgotten, the number must easily be over fifty."

This unsettling revelation hints at the strange reality of the world Kawakami has constructed. The novel is filled with such moments—seemingly ordinary reflections that peel back to reveal a deeply altered society, where the basic structure of human life has been rewritten by necessity.

Unlike the speculative fiction often associated with dystopian futures or technological revolutions, Under the Eye of the Big Bird presents a world where humanity has dwindled into scattered, disconnected pockets of survivors. Each community has developed its own mechanisms for endurance. In one, children are engineered in a factory using genetic material from whales and rabbits. Another strictly censors knowledge, eliminating individuals who show "transformative potential" in fear of disrupting the fragile balance of their society. In yet another, where men are scarce, a single male is sent across the community to father children with multiple women.

At the heart of these fragmented societies is the question of what it means to create and sustain life. Kawakami’s background in science—she studied biology and wrote a thesis on sea urchin reproduction—grounds the novel in a framework of genetic survival and biological determinism. Yet, the novel’s real strength lies in how it uses these scientific concepts to explore deeply human questions of identity, purpose, and legacy.

Themes of motherhood and reproduction are central to the novel. The protagonist’s statement about raising fifty children is not an exaggeration but a literal reflection of her life. In a world where human survival is a fragile thread, the role of the mother is both revered and dehumanized.

In one of the novel’s most startling passages, a mother allows her children to "eat" her in a grotesque yet strangely intimate reimagining of breastfeeding. This moment, rendered with precision in Asa Yoneda’s translation, captures the extremes to which survival has distorted maternal relationships. Kawakami also challenges traditional gender roles by referring to those who can bear children as "F"s and those who cannot as "M"s, stripping reproduction of its social and emotional layers and reducing it to a biological function.

At the same time, the novel questions whether motherhood is an essential part of being human. In one conversation, a character expresses ambivalence about having children:

"Even the thought of children [doesn’t] appeal to me," she says. "All they make is mess and trouble."

"Don’t be silly!" a friend responds. "We have to make the children and raise them, because that’s how we maintain the biological diversity of the genetic information we need to preserve. That’s the only way the world keeps going."

This circular logic echoes the themes explored by other contemporary Japanese women writers, such as Sayaka Murata, who have pushed back against societal pressures to prioritize childbirth in response to Japan’s declining birth rates. In Under the Eye of the Big Bird, Kawakami extends this critique into a future where reproduction is no longer a choice but an obligation imposed by the dictates of survival.

Structurally, Under the Eye of the Big Bird is as ambitious as its themes. Each chapter presents a new perspective, often introducing an unfamiliar narrator with little context. Characters reappear across different chapters, sometimes under new names, sometimes as myths or legends. Time does not move linearly; instead, it skips and loops unpredictably, mirroring the fragmented nature of human survival.

The titular "big bird" is an enigmatic presence, its significance unfolding gradually throughout the novel. Is it a guardian? A symbol of the planet’s judgment? Or simply an observer, watching as humanity spirals toward extinction? Kawakami provides no easy answers. Instead, she invites readers to piece together meaning from the scattered stories, much like the surviving humans in the novel attempt to reconstruct their history.

Despite its speculative setting, Under the Eye of the Big Bird is deeply rooted in the philosophical concerns of contemporary life. The novel wrestles with fundamental questions: What does it mean to be human? Is survival enough, or does life require something more—community, memory, meaning? In a world where the continuation of the species has become an existential burden, what happens to love, desire, and identity?

At one point, a mother tells a character, "You’re a very human human. You create things, and you destroy more than you create." This stark observation encapsulates one of the novel’s central ideas: humanity’s impulse to build is matched only by its tendency to self-destruct. The novel does not offer easy solutions but instead forces readers to confront the possibility that, in the end, the survival of the species may not be the same as the survival of what makes us human.

Hiromi Kawakami has long been celebrated for her ability to blend the surreal with the deeply personal. Under the Eye of the Big Bird represents her boldest experiment yet, fusing rigorous scientific speculation with a literary sensibility that examines the most intimate aspects of life.

Asa Yoneda’s translation captures both the precision of Kawakami’s prose and the fluidity of her narrative style, making this one of the most compelling works of contemporary Japanese speculative fiction available in English.

More than just a novel about the future, Under the Eye of the Big Bird is a meditation on the fragility of human existence and the choices we make in the face of inevitable decline. It challenges us to reconsider what it means to be alive, not just in a biological sense, but in the way we connect, create, and remember.

For readers who appreciate speculative fiction that pushes the boundaries of the genre while remaining deeply introspective, Kawakami’s novel is a must-read—an intricate, haunting, and thought-provoking work that lingers long after the final page.

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