Narrator Rika Horauchi’s new position at the local museum isn’t the kind “you [come] across every day.” For a few hours every Monday when the institution is closed to the public, Rika talks with a beautiful Roman statue of Venus. The job is as dreamy as it is deeply ironic: Latin is easier for Rika to speak than her own language. This unusual juxtaposition of characters is key to understanding Rika, whom Yagi depicts as having long been garbed in an invisible yellow raincoat that protects as it also stifles her: “The coat was always present, regardless of what other clothes I was or wasn’t wearing…like a second skin.” At first Rika searches for reasons to leave a job that puts her in proximity to a naked marble goddess that makes her self-conscious about the “many layers” covering her own body. Over time, the color of her raincoat fades from “blinding yellow” to “the hue of pre-griddle French toast” and Rika realizes that she’s in love with Venus, who tells her of the emptiness she feels at being a perennial—but misunderstood—center of attention. But only when Rika finds herself challenged for Venus’ love by another equally ardent “suitor” does she discover how much she and Venus have transformed each other. Yagi’s characters and the world they inhabit are as inimitably charming as they are whimsical. Through them, the author explores weightier themes like loneliness, love, sexuality, and the meaning of art with flair, zest, and a refreshing touch of the surreal.
