You’ve probably seen the cover. It’s striking. A haunting, neon-tinged illustration of a woman who isn't quite human—or maybe she’s more human than she’s allowed to be. When people first pick up Aoko Matsuda’s Where the Wild Ladies Are, they usually expect a standard collection of ghost stories. Maybe something spooky for a rainy Tuesday. What they get instead is a sharp, witty, and deeply unsettling dismantling of Japanese folklore that feels more like a manifesto than a campfire tale.
It’s weird. Honestly, it’s one of the weirdest books to go mainstream in the last few years.
Matsuda takes these ancient, dusty "Yōkai" spirits and traditional Rakugo stories—the kind where women are usually tragic victims or vengeful hags—and she just flips the script. She drags them into the 21st century. She gives them office jobs. She lets them go to the spa. In this world, being a "wild lady" isn't about being a monster; it's about refusing to be small. It's about the radical act of existing outside the lines drawn by a patriarchal society that really, really wishes you'd just stay in your lane.
The Reality of Where the Wild Ladies Are
The book isn't just fiction. It’s a response. To understand why Where the Wild Ladies Are resonates so much right now, you have to look at the source material. Matsuda is riffing on centuries of Japanese ghost stories (kaidan). Historically, these stories are... well, they’re pretty bleak for women. You have the Oiwa, the betrayed wife whose face is disfigured by poison. You have the Okiku, the servant girl thrown down a well. These women only get power after they die.
They have to become ghosts to be heard.
Matsuda looks at that and basically says, "What if they weren't sad? What if they were just busy?"
Take the story "The Peony Lanterns." In the original folk tale, a beautiful ghost woman visits her lover every night, slowly draining his life force until he dies. It’s a cautionary tale about the "danger" of female desire. In Matsuda’s version? The ghosts are just entrepreneurs. They’re running a business. They have agency. They have lives—well, after-lives—that don't revolve around a man’s downfall.
This shift is crucial. It’s why the book became such a sleeper hit. It tapped into a global frustration. Whether you’re in Tokyo or New York, the idea of women being "too much"—too loud, too ambitious, too hairy, too independent—is a universal pressure point.
👉 See also: Kate Moss Family Guy: What Most People Get Wrong About That Cutaway
Why the Folklore Refusal Matters
People get confused by the structure. It’s a loosely linked collection of short stories, but they all inhabit a shared universe. This universe is overseen by a mysterious figure named Mr. Tei. He’s a recruiter of sorts. Think of him as the CEO of the supernatural.
But he isn't the hero.
The heroes are the women navigating a world that expects them to be "good." In the story "Smartening Up," we meet a woman who starts growing thick hair all over her body. In traditional lore, this would be a sign of her turning into a beast—a literal "wild lady." But here, it’s a choice. It’s about body autonomy. It’s about rejecting the constant, exhausting demand to be hairless, polished, and palatable for the male gaze.
It’s funny. It’s also kinda heartbreaking.
Because when you strip away the ghosts and the magic, the book is talking about the very real ways women are silenced in the workplace and at home. It’s about the "mental load." It’s about the fact that even in 2026, a woman standing up for herself is still often viewed as "frightening" or "difficult."
The Translation Factor: Polly Barton’s Invisible Hand
We can’t talk about Where the Wild Ladies Are without mentioning Polly Barton. Translation is an art of ghosts anyway, isn't it? Barton managed to capture Matsuda’s specific tone—that mix of deadpan humor and eerie beauty—without losing the cultural nuance.
If the translation had been too stiff, the magic would have evaporated. Instead, it feels conversational. It feels like a friend telling you a secret.
✨ Don't miss: Blink-182 Mark Hoppus: What Most People Get Wrong About His 2026 Comeback
The book won the World Fantasy Award for Best Collection, and for good reason. It bridged a gap. It proved that these hyper-specific Japanese ghost stories could speak to a global audience because the core emotion—the desire for freedom—is the same everywhere.
The Misconception of the "Vengeful Ghost"
The biggest mistake people make when reading about "wild ladies" is assuming they want revenge.
Pop culture has taught us that ghosts want to settle a score. Think The Ring or The Grudge. Sadako wants you to see her pain. But Matsuda’s wild ladies aren't interested in your validation. They don't care if you're sorry. They aren't haunting you because they're stuck; they're haunting you because they're free.
They’ve left the system entirely.
There is a quiet power in that. It suggests that the "wildness" isn't something to be cured. It’s something to be cultivated. When we look at the character of the aunt in "A Little Night Venting," she’s a ghost who spends her nights literally venting her frustrations to the living. It’s not a curse. It’s therapy.
It reminds me of a quote from the scholar Motoko Akiba, who has written extensively on the evolution of the female image in Japanese media. She notes that the transition from "victim ghost" to "autonomous spirit" reflects a shifting consciousness in the real-world feminist movements in East Asia. Women are no longer content to be the tragic ending of someone else's story.
How to Embrace Your Own "Wild Lady"
So, what do we actually do with this? If you’ve read the book or you’re just fascinated by the concept, the takeaway isn't that you should go live in a graveyard.
🔗 Read more: Why Grand Funk’s Bad Time is Secretly the Best Pop Song of the 1970s
It’s about the "un-becoming."
- Identify the "haunting" in your own life. What are the expectations you're meeting out of habit rather than desire? Are you performing a version of yourself that feels more like a costume?
- Read the originals. To appreciate the subversion, you have to know the rules. Look up the story of Banchō Sarayashiki. Read about the Yuki-onna. When you see how these women were depicted for a thousand years, Matsuda's work becomes ten times more powerful.
- Reject the "Vengeance" Trap. Society often tells women that their anger must be productive. It must lead to a "lesson." But Where the Wild Ladies Are teaches us that your feelings don't have to serve a purpose. You are allowed to be angry, or weird, or "wild" simply because that's who you are.
- Support Contemporary Feminist Horror. This book didn't happen in a vacuum. Writers like Sayaka Murata (Convenience Store Woman) and Cho Nam-joo (Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982) are doing similar work, stripping back the layers of societal expectations to show the raw, sometimes frightening reality underneath.
The world is still scared of wild ladies. It probably always will be. But as Matsuda shows us, being the thing people are afraid of is actually a pretty great way to ensure they stay out of your way while you’re trying to live your life.
Actionable Steps for Further Exploration
If you want to go deeper into this world, start by diversifying your bookshelf. Don't just stick to the bestsellers list. Look for the independent presses like Tilted Axis or Fitzcarraldo Editions that prioritize these voices.
Next time you feel "too much," don't apologize.
Think of the ghosts. Think of the women who grew hair and stopped caring. Think of the ones who turned their trauma into a thriving business. The wildness isn't the problem. The cage is.
Go find a copy of the book. Read it at night. Then, leave it on a bus or give it to a friend who looks a little too tired of being "good." That’s how the haunting continues. And honestly? We need more of it.
Start by looking at the traditional Ukiyoe prints of ghosts. Compare them to the modern interpretations in the book. You’ll see the shift. It’s not just art; it’s an evolution of the soul.
Stop trying to fit the mold. Break it. Become the ghost that refuses to leave the party. That’s where the real magic happens.