Trigger warning: Some of the stories discussed contain sensitive content.

Years ago, per a recommendation, I read Earthlings by Sayaka Murata. I have not been able to get it out of my mind since.

I’ve seen reviews that call Earthlings “bizarre” and “off,” but those words do little to represent the novel’s startling content. Murata’s epic story of an unconventional girl-turned-woman who believes that she may be an alien from another planet contains [trigger warnings and mild spoilers] instances of child abuse, incest, and cannibalism, among other things. Any Stephen King novel could be described as a bit “bizarre”; Murata’s book is something else entirely. A Goodreads review by a user named Robin offers an effective explanation:

If I try to explain what happens in the plot, I will sound insane. And it is. The plot is outrageous and over the top – the oppression, the abuse, and then the equally shocking response to it. It’s wild, fearless, and what makes it even stranger is that it’s told in this completely simple, straightforward, conversational tone. It draws you in, with the ease of a YA novel. You almost think, hey, this is about 11 year old kids. I’m not that interested. But don’t be fooled… it’s about to get about as dark and twisted as your worst nightmare.

And Earthlings isn’t the only Murata-written tale to accomplish this: Sayaka Murata’s slightly less extreme novel Convenience Story Woman (which I read immediately after Earthlings) shares many themes. Wired‘s Thu-Huong Ha describes the plot of the story:

[Convenience Store Woman] is told from the perspective of Keiko, a 36-year-old woman who has never had sex or held a real job and has no particular interest in either. The romance between Keiko and her place of employment is oddly moving, as is her quiet bewilderment over purpose and personhood. Keiko is happy and content, but her family worries about her. To get them off her back, she starts a sham relationship with a misogynistic coworker with whom she shares a mutual loathing. Though the reality is horrible, the setup appears conventional. Her family is thrilled.

In both stories, antagonists are everywhere, but the accusatory fingers of the narratives are pointed primarily at society—or, more specifically, at the “machine of society,” as Keiko says. Keiko (the protagonist of Convenience Store Woman) and Natsuki (the protagonist of Earthlings) are both extreme outcasts, either actively resisting societal norms or consciously mimicking them to the point of unintentional parody in attempts to avoid confrontation. And let’s be clear, Keiko and Natsuki are not outcasts in the same way as your awkward friend or your cousin who wears only black: Keiko and Natsuki are fundamentally at odds with the acceptable systems of the world. In many scenes, Keiko and Natsuki can’t even see the Overton window of societal norms—it’s too far away. Keiko and Natsuki make Holden Caulfield look like Harry Potter.

That’s the point, in part. Sayaka Murata has described wanting “to write from the perspective of someone who defied conventional thinking, particularly in a conformist society where people are expected to fulfill preordained roles.” Like a less troublesome version of Flannery O’Connor, Murata forces her readers to look deep into the eyes of individuals who categorically do not have a place in traditionally organized society (or “The Factory,” as Natsuki calls it). She holds the strange and the uncomfortable in front of our face, and she dares us to find something to appreciate.

Sayaka Nurata’s anti-society, anti-othering messages are crucial today. Luckily for us, Nurata is not the only artist who is making this commentary.

Bones and All, a romantic horror film from Luca Guadagnino (director of Suspiria and Challengers), echoes the anti-orthodox themes of Earthlings. Even on the surface, the similarities are apparent: both stories contain child abuse, cannibalism, and more. But deeper into the narrative is where the value lies. The protagonist of the film is Maren Yearly, a cannibalistic teenager who finds herself alone in the world. After Maren’s unnatural proclivities cause her father to leave, she finds herself drawn to a young man and fellow cannibal named Lee.

In Bones and All, cannibals are portrayed as a marginalized group, similar to how vampires are portrayed in popular media like Twilight and Baldur’s Gate 3: some are bad and some are good—but all are misunderstood. The cannibals’ need to feed is not quite like TV’s Dexter and his “dark passenger” that makes him kill criminals: Dexter’s desires are singular, focused, and able to be manipulated for good, unlike the cannibalistic nature of Maren and Lee. The cannibalism of Bones and All cannot be used for good: it can only be managed and understood. It is more of an identity than a temptation. In the film, all cannibals seem to be social outcasts, and most of them are aggressively cynical about society. But their cynicism is nuanced. Director Luca Guadagnino and writer David Kajganich refuse to clearly articulate the cause-and-effect relationship. Is the cynicism a result of their ostracization due to cannibalism? Or do they have other reasons for distrusting society?

And in the face of that muddy, bloody mess exists a remarkably sensitive and compelling romance—a notable M&M of positivity among the raisin-filled trail mix of death and systemic marginalization. Many viewers will find their attention drifting toward the romance and away from the horror. In other words, the film humanizes the teenage cannibals.

Robin, the Goodreads user from before, has more to say about the horrific whimsy of Earthlings‘ Natsuki, and this excerpt explains the positivity that can arise after placing wholly uncomfortable situations in front of the faces of audience members:

It’s freaky because as crazy as the main characters’ actions seem, I supported them. Why? Because living in “The Factory” – society – isn’t easy. Don’t you ever feel like an alien? I sure as hell do. Don’t you ever feel like you’d rather die than conform to what is expected of you? Or if you do, doesn’t it feel like a slow death? “The Factory” is often propagated most by those closest to us. I lived this way, so you need to, too. This is what you do now, and this is what you do next, and there’s no room for you if you don’t. There’s no room in the factory for individuality. For those healing from scars or trauma. For those who have a unique-to-them path. Murata’s characters make room. This story is told vastly outside the box. And I love it because of that.

It’s easy to be kind to outcasts when the “outcasts” you talk to are fairly ordinary. If your “outcast” sounds like Mean Girls‘ Janis, Superbad‘s Fogell, or James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause, are you really even talking to an outcast? All of those characters, while regrettably marginalized or shunned to a degree, still function effectively within the traditional structures of society. Writer Sayaka Murata and director Luca Guadagnino challenge us to look even further into the dark corners of society. Don’t just look for the person who is sitting alone in the room—look for the person who’s not even in the building. And then see if your supposedly welcoming and open-minded mentality still holds up.

Can you look into the eyes of those who reject everything about your societal norms and comforts? And can you do so without blinking?

Can you look at Keiko and Natsuki and Maren and Lee and see a human being worthy of love and acceptance?

There is a line, of course. Not all behaviors are acceptable. (It should go without saying: cannibalism is bad.) As John Oliver said, “The answer to ‘where you draw the line’ is literally always ‘somewhere.’ You draw it somewhere.” And then if you learn new information and need to redraw your line, you redraw your line.

The value of anti-othering art like Earthlings and Bones and All—the type of art that forces you to look at the strangest of society—is that it challenges us to evaluate where we have drawn our lines. Neither Murata nor Guadagnino wants you to appreciate cannibalism. But they do want you to consider why you might be shunning real-life individuals as if they were cannibals.

P.S. There’s so much more to say about these types of anti-othering stories. A (capital “R”) Romantic reading of Earthlings and Convenience Store Woman, for example, would note Murata’s use of mechanical imagery when describing the operations of society. Romantic-era thinkers celebrated individualism, natural beauty, and imagination over the “experience” of the industrialized world. Also, John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men could contribute to some of these ideas. Earthlings, Bones and All, and Of Mice and Men all feature aggressively marginalized characters—and all three stories qualify as tragedies. That is certainly worth dissecting.

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Ben Boruff is a co-founder of Big B and Mo’ Money. Read more at BenBoruff.com.