45 pages • 1-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of illness, ableism, and substance use.
Sweet Bean Paste illustrates how baseless prejudice, fueled by ignorance and fear, systematically isolates individuals. The novel critiques a society that prioritizes conformity over compassion, arguing that such prejudice robs marginalized people of their dignity and their rightful place in the community; it also ignores their potential as artisans, creators, and valuable support systems for those around them. Through the character of Tokue Yoshii, whose life is defined by the stigma of having had leprosy, Sukegawa reveals how irrational fear can dismantle lives and sever human connections.
The corrosive effect of prejudice is first seen in the shop owner’s reaction to Tokue. Unlike Sentaro, whose reaction to learning that Tokue lives in a sanatorium for former leprosy patients is to research the disease, understand that it has been cured, and become informed about its extremely low chance of transmission, the owner immediately succumbs to fear. Her knee-jerk response, rooted in historical misinformation rather than medical facts, immediately overrides any appreciation for Tokue’s skill or character. She insists that Tokue must be fired, warning Sentaro, “If she doesn’t [leave], this place will fold” (71). The owner’s subsequent use of alcohol disinfectant on her hands after visiting the shop further highlights the irrationality of her prejudice, as she treats Tokue not as a person but as a source of contamination.
This stigma is not confined to a single individual but is perpetuated throughout the community, showing how prejudice is learned and passed down. When Wakana’s mother learns of Tokue’s past, she forbids her daughter from visiting Doraharu, stating, “I couldn’t come here any more” (95). She also disseminates the news throughout her acquaintanceship—information that quickly metastasizes into rumors that cause a decline in the shop’s sales, demonstrating the tangible, economic consequences of social stigma. These actions in turn sever a meaningful connection for Wakana, who finds support in Tokue’s warm company, and for Tokue, for whom conversations with Wakana hearken back to a stymied desire to become a teacher. The rumors thus reinforce the cycle of social isolation. The injustice of this is amplified by the stark contrast between the public’s fearful reaction and Tokue’s gentle, life-affirming nature. She is judged not by her kindness or wisdom but by scars of a cured illness. Sukegawa uses Tokue’s story to posit that a just and well-functioning community is not one that is free of illness or difference but one that actively rejects baseless stigmas in favor of empathy and understanding.
In Sweet Bean Paste, craftsmanship is elevated from a mere skill to a spiritual practice that offers those who labor dignity, purpose, and a profound connection to the world. The novel argues that mindful, reverent work provides a path to redemption for those who feel lost, suggesting that meaning can be found in the act of creation and that bringing pleasure to others bestows a sense of meaning. Through Tokue’s tutelage, Sentaro learns to elevate cooking bean paste from a mechanical and unpleasant job to a form of communion that honors the stories of all living things and, in doing so, restores his own sense of self-worth.
Tokue’s approach to making bean paste is rooted in a philosophy of reverence and communication. Drawing on the beliefs of the animist Shinto religion, she treats her ingredients not as inanimate objects but as entities with their own history, telling Sentaro that the beans “came all the way from Canada. For [them]” (25). Her process is an act of “listening,” of paying attention to what the beans need and respecting their journey—a feat of imaginative empathy that allows her extreme concentration on the task of perfecting the bean cooking process. This perspective stands in stark contrast to Sentaro’s initial disengagement, as he relies on soulless, mass-produced paste. Tokue’s method transforms the kitchen into a sacred space where work becomes a way to honor the interconnectedness of nature and human effort.
This philosophy of craftsmanship has a profound, transformative effect on Sentaro. At the outset, he is a cynical ex-convict who views his work at Doraharu as a punishment and a way to pay off a debt. He feels like a “waster” (57), disconnected from his labor and his life, and drinks heavily to get through the day. Under Tokue’s guidance, however, he slowly begins to find purpose by transforming his work into a craft. He moves from performing tasks by rote to understanding the nuances of the process, taking pride in creating something of quality and experimenting with new recipes and ideas. The act of making something beautiful and delicious allows him to connect with his customers and himself, healing the alienation that has long defined him. By embracing his craft, Sentaro finds a quiet dignity that societal judgment of people who have been in prison has denied him.
Sweet Bean Paste challenges the conventional idea that a person’s worth is measured by their utility to society, proposing instead that the purpose of life is simply to be present and bear witness to the world’s beauty and transformation. This philosophy, articulated most clearly by Tokue, suggests that every human life—even the lives of people who do not have the capacity or opportunity for productive labor—has inherent value because it contributes a unique perception to the universe. The novel argues that existence itself is meaningful, regardless of an individual’s abilities, their achievements, or the suffering they endure.
Tokue embodies this philosophy, finding profound joy and meaning despite a life of confinement and marginalization. Stripped of the opportunity to be a “useful member of society” because she was forcibly quarantined in a sanatorium for people with leprosy (197), she instead cultivated a deep connection with the natural world, “Listening” to the wind, the trees, and the moon to imagine their inner lives, histories, and experiences. In her final letter to Sentaro, she crystallizes her worldview, asserting that “we [a]re born in order to see and listen to the world” (199). For Tokue, this is not a consolation for a life of exclusion but a realization that her perception and unique experience of being are what give her life purpose. Her existence is not validated by what she produces for others but by her capacity to observe and appreciate the world around her, thereby affirming its existence.
This perspective offers a path forward for Sentaro, who is initially paralyzed by his sense of failure. He defines himself by his past mistakes and his inability to achieve conventional success, seeing himself as a “waster” trapped in a dead-end job (57). Like Tokue, Sentaro understands being forcibly confined—in his case, through imprisonment for a drug-related crime. His low sense of self-worth is in part the result of feeling marginalized due to his record of incarceration, which is particularly stigmatized in Japanese society. His relationship with Tokue gradually shifts his understanding of a meaningful life. He learns to find value not in grand ambitions or societal approval but in the daily acts of creation and connection that come with making bean paste. His journey is one of moving away from external metrics of worth toward an appreciation for the simple, profound act of being. Through these characters, Sukegawa suggests that the ultimate purpose of life is to participate in the universe by experiencing it, making every consciousness a vital and beautiful contributor to the world.



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