Fragments of Self: Identity and Womanhood in ‘Mongrel’

(Jessica’s lovely image of ‘Mongrel’ by Hanako Footman, taken in one of London’s sunny parks!)

Hanako Footman's debut novel, Mongrel, is a poignant exploration of identity, belonging, and the multifaceted experiences of womanhood.

Through the interwoven narratives of three Japanese women —Mei, Yuki, and Haruka — Footman delves into the complexities of cultural duality, grief, and the search for self in a world that often marginalises and misunderstands.

Mei lives in suburban Surrey with her father and stepmother, her Japanese mother having died when she was just six. As the years pass, her connection to her heritage slowly fades. Surrounded by subtle racism and well-meaning microaggressions, Mei learns to downplay the parts of herself that are Japanese — gradually chipping away at her identity in order to belong. What remains is a young woman left with a hollow sense of self and a quiet ache for a cultural home she has never truly known.

Yuki, a gifted violinist, leaves Japan to study at a prestigious music school in London. Her dreams of freedom quickly curdle as she finds herself entangled with her older, manipulative music teacher. Isolated by language, culture, and a predatory dynamic she can’t easily escape, Yuki’s story is a haunting portrait of coercion and displacement.

 Then there’s Hanako, who runs away from a harsh and stifling upbringing in rural Japan to become a hostess in Tokyo’s sex district. She drowns her grief in the neon-lit nightlife of the city, but when long-buried family secrets resurface, Hanako must face the very past she’s tried so hard to forget.

 At first, the connections between these women are unclear, but as the novel unfolds, we see how their stories echo and intertwine. All three navigate questions of identity, belonging, and the crushing weight of other people’s expectations—especially men’s. The novel deftly critiques the fetishisation of Japanese women and the internalised racism that often results. One powerful motif is the characters’ discomfort with their own appearance—stretching their eyes, envying lighter features, longing to be someone else. Mei’s own struggles as a 'Hāfu'—a term for someone half-Japanese—are particularly poignant; she is both envied and alienated, celebrated and erased.

 Footman’s prose is lush with detail and alive with specificity—her descriptions of the Japanese countryside, the London underground, even Mei’s best friend Fran, are vivid and textured. The narrative structure, characterised by short chapters and shifting perspectives, allows for a deep dive into each character's psyche, revealing the nuanced ways in which their lives intersect. The inclusion of Japanese fairy tales adds another layer of cultural richness, serving as both a narrative device and a reflection of the characters' inner worlds.

Ultimately, Mongrel is a story of longing—for wholeness, for home, for a version of oneself that feels intact. It’s a stunning, nuanced, and deeply feminist novel, and one I’ll be thinking about for a long time.

*This book review has been written by our book club reviewer, Jessica Pagel, (@fiftytwobooks on Instagram). If you would like to become a review for The Feminist Book Club please email us.