The Japan Society Review 37
Book, Stage, Movie, Arts and Events Review

Issue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

People Who Eat Darkness
Michael Sullivan interviews author Richard Lloyd-Parry
Justice in Transit
Susan Meehan talks Masayuki Suo and false accusations

In this issue we focus on crime and the legal system
in Japan. Richard Lloyd Parry, author of the acclaimed
People Who Eat Darkness, gives us an interview about
his new book looking at the life and death of Lucie
Blackman. Lucie went missing in Tokyo on 1st July 2000,
and months later her body was discovered, dismembered
and buried in a coastal cave in Kanagawa. Parry’s bookcomprehensively examines the whole case from various
angles and perspectives. The investigation into Lucie’s
disappearance led several women to come forward about
sexual assaults the Japanese police failed to investigate,
and these and other clues would eventually led to Joji
Obara. The police discovered large amounts of evidence
in Obara’s flat, videos of sexual assaults on countless
unconscious girls in his bedroom as well as the last known
photos of Lucie. Despite the overwhelming mountain ofevidence against him, Obara would never admit any guilt
and without a confession the Japanese system does not
function well. In October 2000 he was arrested, his trial
continued until April 2007, when he was found guilty on
multiple rape charges and a manslaughter charge for thedeath of another women ten years previously. Finally in
December 2008, after a successful appeal, he was foundguilty for the abduction of Lucie, the dismemberment anddisposal of her body, but not for her murder. Richard Lloyd
Parry analyzes the case which exposes shortcomings inboth the police investigation and the legal system. Next
Susan Meehan looks at the powerful movie I Just Didn’t
Do It which is a damning indictment of the Japanese
legal system written and directed by Masayuki Suo. The
narrative revolves around the twenty-six year old Teppei
Kaneko, who while travelling to a job interview, is wrongly
accused of molesting a young girl on a train. Jack Cooke
looks at Seicho Matsumoto’s Pro Bono which centres on
Kiriko, a young woman whose brother is falsely accusedof murder. She fails to persuade a leading lawyer to takeon her brother’s case partly because she cannot afford his
services and the consequences of this are played out inthe novel. In our final book, The Devil’s Whisper by Miyuki
Miyabe, Michael Sullivan explores a complex murder
mystery. Mamoru Kusaka’s life is turned upside downwhen his taxi driver uncle is arrested under suspicion ofrunning a red light and killing a young female pedestrian.
Mamoru decides to investigate this accident himself andin the process finds out that this was no ordinary accident.
Sean Curtin, February 2012

1) People Who Eat Darkness interview2) I Just Didn’t Do It
3) People Who Eat Darkness
4) Pro Bono5) The Devil’s Whisper...........................................

................................................................................................................................................................................................

Contents

EditorSean Curtin
Managing Editor
Jack Cooke
New reviewswww.japansociety.org.uk/resources/the-japan-society-review
We are grateful to our reviewers:
Michael Sullivan Susan Meehan Jack CookePeople Who Eat Darkness
Interview with Richard
Lloyd Parry
Article by Michael Sullivan
On 1 July 2000 Lucie Blackman
went missing in Tokyo, months
later her body would befound, dismembered, buried
under a bath tub in a seasidecave in Miura, Kanagawa. The
period of time leading up tothat discovery would stir up acontroversy as reporters questioned what exactly she wasdoing in Japan while her family desperately wanted tofind out where she was. At the same time strange phone
calls and letters would claim that she had joined a cult anddid not want to be found, while the description of Lucie’s
last phone calls would stir up unpleasant memories for anumber of young women. She had been on a ‘douhan’(paid date), she was being driven to the seaside and she
was going to get a mobile phone and free drinks.
The recollections of these women, of being taken to aseaside apartment and waking up the next day feelingunwell and confused, would eventually lead the police
to Joji Obara. What followed next almost stretches belief.
The police discovered large amounts of evidence in one
of Obara’s flats, videos of girl after girl unconscious in
his bed as well as the last known photos of Lucie, yet hewould never admit any guilt for doing anything wrong.
In October 2000 he was arrested, following a trial that lasted
years. In April 2007, he would be found guilty on multiple
rape charges and a manslaughter charge for the deathof another hostess ten years earlier. Finally in December
2008, he would be found guilty for the abduction of Lucie,
and the dismemberment and disposal of her body, but
not for her murder.
From the beginning to the end he argued continuouslythat he was innocent. Meanwhile Lucie’s family struggled
to get through long years of searching for an answer to
why this had happened to their beloved daughter andsister.
Richard Lloyd Parry followed this case from start to end
and his book presents a mind detailed with knowledge
about every single person who was affected by thistragedy. It is a compelling book and it restores Lucie frombeing someone who was killed to a complex and loving
individual. I, and the Japan Society Review editor Sean
Curtin, were lucky enough to have a chance to sit downwith Mr Parry and discuss his book.
Q: Why do you think in the appeal (2008) that Obara
was found guilty? Was there any change in evidence or
did something come up in the appeal that they hadn’t
considered before?
2

Richard Lloyd Parry: The prosecutors put their arguments
better. The trial had gone on for so long, the Tokyo
prosecutor’s office was like any branch of the Japanese
civil service; people changed jobs over the years. The
prosecutors changed over the course of the trial and thatwas something that Tim (Lucie’s father) was upset about.
He felt there was a lack of co-ordination on the part ofthe prosecutor. For example, among other things theprosecutors drew attention to the fact that flunitrazepam(rohypnol) had been found in Lucie’s remains. The
remains had been in the cave for so long, it was difficult
to establish cause of death and things like chloroform
don’t linger in tissue for long enough. So she may or may
not have been chloroformed, there is no way of telling,
but they did find traces of flunitrazepam and as Tim said
she didn’t date rape drug herself, someone did that. They
found flunitrazepam amongst Obara’s possessions, so I
think that the reason the appeal judges took a different
view was that the prosecutors had presented the casemore persuasively.
Q: From my knowledge the lower courts tend to err on
the side of caution and be conservative, while you have to
go to the higher courts for a bolder decision as they seemto have a little more leeway. Could that have affected thedifferent judgements, or do you think it is just primarily abetter presented appeals case?
RLP: It may be broadly true, in both the district court andthe appeal court, both of the judges made a point of saying
it’s not that we think he (Obara) had nothing to do with it,it’s just that it hasn’t been proved. As I say in some length
in this book we often think of Japanese courts as being
terribly tough, over 99% of defendants who walk in there
don’t leave through the front door. Normally they confessand it’s extremely unusual for prosecutors to go forwardwith a case that doesn’t have a clear cut confession, andjudges feel very uneasy convicting without a confession.
So when there isn’t a confession, defence lawyers havemuch greater scope in doing their jobs successfully.
Q: I was thinking that the problem with Japan is that 99%of the people fall into the matrix of society, but it’s thepeople like Obara who don’t follow the rules, who don’t
confess, where the system breaks down. So, someone
can do, like he did, for several decades and get away withit, because the nature of Obara himself is so removed
from mainstream society. He convincingly pretends tobe a participant while being outside it. Do you think herealised that himself and thought he could get away with
it? Does this explain his own defence that the girls were
drug-taking prostitutes and he wasn’t doing anything
wrong?
RLP: At one point in the book I talk about the police, that
it was quite interesting talking to them about the case.
Because, you could ask them about Obara and they would
shake their heads. He was so unusual, so difficult, it wasalmost as if the police felt sorry for themselves and they feltthat they themselves were the victims of a colossal pieceIssue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

of bad luck; which is a dishonest criminal, a criminal who
doesn’t do the right thing and doesn’t confess, because
most Japanese do. Even the hard cases do.
Q: Regarding the crimes of Obara, besides the fact that
he has argued that he has done nothing wrong, you also
wrote that Obara’s brother said ‘what do you expect tohappen if a girl enters a man’s apartment?’ Despite Japan
being such a safe country, I got the impression from yourbook that there is almost a sense of it being the victim’s
fault for going into the wrong apartment?
RLP: Yes, I mean, the police then and I think still now aredisinclined to take seriously reports of sexual assault from
hostesses, from mizu shobai girls [mizu shobai is the
traditional euphemism for the night-time entertainment
business in Japan], and foreign girls. There seems to
be a sense, and I am
generalizing, that if you
work in that world
basically
using
your
charms to make money
off men, then you aretaking risks and certainly
if you go back to a guy’s
place and he has sex withyou, then the attitude is‘you consented to it when
you walked through thedoor, didn’t you? What
were you thinking?’ It
is a very old fashioned,certainly to us, attitude.
To many Japanese it isan old fashioned attitude,
but that was the attitude.
So when a small numberof these female victims
found the confidence,
could recollect what had
happened to them, andwent to the police to try
to make a complaint, thepolice were uninterested.

UK, and anyone can turn up for a public trial. You just sit
yourself down, there is nothing to stop people going, butsomehow to most Japanese it is something they would
never think of doing unless they were law students
or ‘court otaku.’ She is an otaku (nerd), for her and her
girlfriends it was just a hobby to go to these trials and write
it up in their blog. Like a lot of otaku their enthusiasm forthe overall subject isn’t a very discriminating one, they are
excited by everything about it. Rather than going in therewith a view to drawing moral conclusions about rightand wrong, they went there for the excitement and thatis reflected in the way I wrote about Yuki. I spent a lot oftime looking around at the other faces in the gallery, andthere was a funny crowd. You get some people who look
as if they are basically there to keep out of the cold, likeborderline homeless, you get some who are clearly law
students that take notes andfamiliarise themselves withthe court. And then, you getsome really quite eccentric
people, including her. There
was also one chap called The
Mighty Aso who wore a green
skirt, he had a blog as well. He
would sometimes turn up ina chequered skirt and green
hair. He was at the extreme
end of the odd factor. A lot of
people looked a bit strange,
were atypical, and didn’t tell
you very much about theattitude or disposition ofJapanese people in general.
Q: In regards to Obara himself,
do you think there is any
chance he will ever admit
some form of guilt for what
he has done?

RLP: I don’t know is the only
honest answer I can give. My
sense of Obara is that he wasdetermined to prove himself
not guilty and to escape legal
Q: I noticed in the bookpenalty. Now that battle hasthat you give the example
Author Richard Lloyd Parry
been lost, his legal avenuesof Yuki Takahashi whohave shrunk; I have wondered whether he might makealways attended the hearings, and she said that she liked
some kind of confession because he hoped that would
Obara. She also liked the prosecutor, observing he washelp him in future parole proceedings. Obviously at somecool and her type. Do you think that for many Japanesepoint, not soon but eventually, he will be eligible to apply
people the whole situation was too unreal? For example,
for early release. I don’t know the Japanese parole systemhere is a man who has done so many bad things andvery clearly. I know in the UK the extent to which you are
won’t admit to it throughout this drawn out trial, so for
penitent and take responsibility for the crimes of whichsome it became surreal and difficult to realise that any
you have been convicted influences whether you are letcrime had happened?
out early or not, so it wouldn’t surprise me if at some point
RLP: I don’t think Yuki Takahashi is typical of many Japanese he said ‘I am sorry, I did the wrong thing,’ and that might
people, but it’s a feature of the public trials in Japan that help him get out.
eccentrics attend. I have been to a lot, more than in theIssue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

Q: I was struck how Obara seemed to have no friends, no3one seemed to know him, and you mention in your bookhow he had several businesses. How did he conduct thosebusinesses? Did he keep a distance between himself andhis employees and associates? Or, would just no one talkabout him?
RLP: What I know with certainty is in the book, I haven’t
held back anything I can prove, there is a lot of stuff I
heard which I can’t prove. I spent a lot of time researching
Obara and his background, I could have spent more but
it was really yielding diminishing returns. So I decided tostop and go with what I had. You are right; he did havepeople working for him. For example, at one point he wasrunning a ramen restaurant in Ginza, we found the place
but the restaurant had closed and no one knew what
had happened to the employees. I would have loved tointerview Obara’s ramen chef, but my investigations justcame to a dead end. By the time he was identified andwas charged, he was close to going personally bankrupt.
He declared himself bankrupt within two years of thetrial, some of the companies were transferred to othermembers of his family, and others were just wound up by
a bankruptcy authority. So, there weren’t really companies
to go to. On company documents we found addresses,
but either the company didn’t exist anymore or you got
there and they were just postal addresses.
Q: I noticed that in your book you mention that somepeople were listed as members of the board of a company,
but they didn’t even know they were part of that company
as he had just put their names down.
RLP: Apparently, yes, that was reported. There was one
company which had the name of one of his relatives,
I think a cousin, who we tracked down in Nara and thisman ran a sake shop. We went in there and introduced
ourselves, and well he wouldn’t say anything. So it wasvery difficult to pursue that kind of enquiry.
Q: I was drawn to the fact that Obara’s heritage is Korean.
When we look deeper into his character and why he did it– it is difficult because he is something of a blank – we haveto try to construct a lot ourselves. Presumably his ethnic
heritage is an element in his sense of identity? It seems thatquite a number of Koreans in Japan tend to conceal theirheritage while Obara appears to demonstrate an extreme
form of this trait by wanting to conceal everything about
himself.
RLP: There is a chapter about his Korean background andthe history of Koreans in Japan, their story is fascinating
and very little is known. They are such a huge diaspora, but
their history there is so little known, even in Japan. There
are lots of things about what we know about Obara andhis upbringing which might have disturbed his sense ofidentity. One is being the child of immigrants, also I think,as important as that, is that he went from the child of poor
immigrants to being the child of very rich immigrants.
So they were displaced by the Korean slum in Osaka to
Kitabatake which is one of the poshest places in Japan.
There was that displacement, there was the displacement
4of his education, and he left his family and went to Tokyo
to go to Keio University. As a seventeen year old he hadbasically gone to live on his own in a playboy mansion.
Then there was the death of his father when he was quite
young, whatever that was about – we still don’t knowwhat killed his father. He changed his name, he changed
his nationality, changed his face, so you can look at all of
those and think well no wonder he had issues. On theother hand there are millions of spoilt rich kids, millionsof kids whose fathers went from poor to rich, millions ofpeople who have issues about their appearance, theireyes, and only one Joji Obara. So, it just doesn’t add up towhat he became.
Q: Regarding the book itself, this case went on for years
and years, was there a trigger moment when you decided
to bring together all of your research and make it into abook?
RLP: There probably was, I started reporting the case for
the Independent, which I was working for in 2000 when
Lucie disappeared. This was obviously a story of interest
for a British newspaper; a young British woman who had
disappeared in Japan. It was an intriguing story, very far
from straightforward, which had no early conclusion.
I think it was after the trial began that I came to realisethat it would make a good book, because that was when
we got a good glimpse of Joji Obara. Although it took along time for me to get to grips with him and understandwhat an extraordinary man he was. But it was straightfrom the beginning that it became apparent he was very
unusual and very strange. So, it was probably as the trial
was getting underway that the idea was formed.
Q: By then had you already got most of the material forthe book or was there still a lot of research to do?
RLP: There was a lot to do. I was actually writing anotherbook at that time about Indonesia, Lucie disappeared in2000 and the trial got underway in 2001, and until 2005 I
was writing another book. So I didn’t start working on it asa book until around 2006, but I was gathering material andkeeping everything, and making sure that my assistants
were taking comprehensive notes in the court hearings
as I had it in mind that it would be useful one day.
Q: When the book actually came out, how did the(Blackman) family react to the book? Did they read it
before it was published?
RLP: They got copies before it came out, of course they
were amongst the earliest people to be sent copies.
Sophie Blackman, the sister, was very supportive. She said
she liked the book and thanked me for it, she helped topromote it actually, and we did some radio together ayear ago when the hardback was published. Tim and Jane
(Lucie’s parents), I haven’t had long conversations withthem about it since then, but in different ways they both
felt at least slightly that it was biased to the other person.
Rupert (Lucie’s brother), I don’t know. He was sent a copy,
but I don’t know if he read it or not. That is up to him, but
I can understand why someone in his situation may not
Issue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

want to. I am still in touch with them intermittently, but I
have been trying to leave them alone. I spent quite a lotof time with them intensively, though I hope to remain
friends with them and keep in touch, but I don’t want tooverdo it.

I Just Didn’t Do It[それでもボクはやってない]

Q: I have one final question, having read the book I felt
you have painted a very compassionate and full pictureof Lucie, such as the information you got from her parents
and sister, and obviously you studied the case for a longtime. I think from the way you write that you feel that you
got to know Lucie well. Do you feel in any way that someof your objectivity was lost, as you yourself were drawn
into the narrative? Do you feel that this has impacted onyour life as well?

2007, 143 minutes

RLP: It certainly had an effect on my own life, I got to know
the family well and I spent long hours talking to them
about unbearable things for any parents to experience.
And those interviews were often very emotional andtears were shed. I tried to be a sympathetic listener, andI felt very sad, very sorry for them. It would be ridiculous
to exaggerate my own emotional sufferings; I was
emotionally involved to an extent that I felt very sorry forthese people who I cared for. I felt sad seeing a motherweep for her dead daughter. Jane Blackman lost her
daughter and will always struggle with that a lot. I had a
job to do, and I think an important job, to get the story
down and get it right, to tell the story in all its complexity.
So, objectivity was the absolute goal and I hope I did
preserve that. When I first went to see them, Jane andTim, it was probably in 2006 or around then, I said to them
I want to do this book, I want to know a lot about Lucie,
and about what happened in Japan. I said I also want toknow a bit about you, but I am not really that interested inyour differences, as their marriage had gone bad before
Lucie even went to Japan. I said I’m not so interested inthat, it has to be mentioned of course, but it’s not what
the book is about, however a few years later that was nolonger true. The relationship between Tim and Jane had
become a central part of the story because of the issue ofthe blood money. I was in a situation where I was writing
about a bad marriage, now all of us who know people
who’ve had bad marriages know how hard it is to remain
on good terms with both sides. You can only really dothat if you achieve a certain amount of detachment, andyou make that clear to both parties. If you make that clear
and don’t pretend anything else, then it is possible. I hope
I was honest with them both, which is what I have tried
to be.
Language notes:

Douhan – 同伴
Mizu shobai – 水商売
Kitabatake – 北畠

Issue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

Directed and written by
Masayuki Suo [周防 正行]
Review by Susan Meehan
Along with Confessions of a
Dog [see issue 35], I Just Didn’t
Do It is a damning indictmentof the Japanese legal system.
The audience palpably gasped
at some of the more appalling
scenes of unfathomable injustice and clapped as Masayuki
Suo took to the front of the Institute of Contemporary Arts
film theatre at the end of the screening to answer questions.
This film, Suo’s first in 11 years since his fantastically popular
Shall We Dance? (シャル ウィ ダンス), took four years of
research. It was triggered by a newspaper article Suo readabout a man falsely accused of being a chikan or ‘groper’and who successfully took his case to a high court which
overturned his conviction.
This was a turning point for Suo as he realised that theJapanese system of justice is nowhere near as fair as he had
imagined and that it generally presumes guilt until proveninnocent. This spurred him to make I Just Didn’t Do It, a spellbinding courtroom drama which has as its premise that it isbetter that ten guilty people go free than that one innocent
person suffer.
The film begins by swooping down on Tokyo, and its
labyrinth of trains. Japanese trains are notorious for theirchikan or ‘gropers’ who, amongst the crowds, touch womenwith relative anonymity. Japanese trains are rife with them.
The chikan, if caught, are taken to the police station, madeto confess their crime and to show remorse. Paying a fine,they are let loose to continue on their way, perhaps to work,and then return home as though nothing has happened.
That they may continually repeat this behaviour is notuncommon.
Twenty-six year old Teppei Kaneko, excellently played by Ryo
Kase, is the star of the film. Travelling to a job interview, hemakes his way onto a packed commuter train – he is pushed
on in fact – behind a 15 year-old school-girl whom he hardly
notices as he is more concerned with his jacket which iscaught in the train doors. Alighting at his stop, he is accusedof being a chikan by the girl and is promptly arrested. A fellow
passenger tells the station staff that she doesn’t think Teppei
was the groper, but she is disregarded. She is not asked fora statement or for her contact details, just ignored. Teppei istold to own up to groping so that he can be released quickly
but he remains adamant that he’s innocent and won’t bemade to budge on this.
Teppei is told that he may be kept in prison for three months
and that there is no guarantee that he’ll win his case as theconviction rate in Japanese courts is an unbelievable 99.9%.
5

Teppei is urged by a series of policemen and lawyers to admit
blame and walk out of prison; no one would be the wiser. By
denying his guilt, however, a long drawn-out investigation willensue. The iniquity of this is hard to stomach and Suo sparesno details as he reveals layers of corruption. Eyewitnesses are
ignored, judges are replaced, the plaintiff is not required torelease the entirety of the evidence to the defence team andTeppei’s accuser receives special attention.

Japanese justice system. That Suo’s film is being used by
Japanese universities in their law courses is testament to thepower and authenticity of this film.
The film has deservedly received several prizes, notably
several Japanese Academy Awards and the Best Director andBest Screenplay awards at the Kinema Junpo Awards in 2008.
Don’t miss it.

‘The film is harrowing in its portrayal of theflawed Japanese legal machine; that this isrevealed by an ordinary young man, refusing to People Who Eat Darkness
be browbeaten, rather than an idealist makes it by Richard Lloyd Parryall the more poignant and believable.’
Vintage, February 2011
Ms Sudo, assigned to be his counsel, visits Teppei and asks him
to repeat the story for what must seem like the hundredth
time. She doubts his innocence and ends up bullying him
just like the police. Returning to her office she says that she
hates gropers and that she doesn’t want to defend Teppei asshe has insufficient experience. Ms Sudo’s rather world-weary
superior, ably played by Koji Yakusho, reminds her that Teppei
maintains he is not a groper, that he deserves the benefit ofthe doubt and that denials and acquittals are so rare, it would
be a good challenge for her to defend him.
Teppei is subjected to a series of public hearings with Ms Sudo
as his lawyer. She faces an uphill struggle when the initially
sympathetic judge dealing with the case is replaced halfway
through by a hostile one. As Koji Yakusho’s character explains,
a judge needs tremendous courage and wisdom to acquit inJapan and if he does, he garners a negative reputation. The
film also makes apparent that judges are looking for signs ofremorse in those they are trying regardless of protestations ofinnocence. It is maddening in its sheer Kafkaesqueness.
Teppei’s supporters do all they can to persuade the judge of
his innocence, even filming their own reenactment, faithfully
recreating events on the train and showing how unlikely it isthat Teppei could have groped the girl and pulled his arm outof the way as she alleged; his arm’s position in relation to thedoor would not have permitted her version of events.
The judge’s verdict is announced at the tenth hearing.
The film is harrowing in its portrayal of the flawed Japanese
legal machine; that this is revealed by an ordinary youngman, refusing to be browbeaten, rather than an idealist
makes it all the more poignant and believable. We are left
with the realization that, above truth the system values a highconviction rate.
It was heartening, therefore, to hear Suo say that a new system
was introduced to Japan in 2009, which is modeled on thejury system. Criminal cases are now tried by three judges andsix people. The jury doesn’t have the last say, however, as thisis negotiated by the jury and the judge leading to cries thata complete overhaul of the system is still necessary. Further
positive news is that Suo was invited to join a Ministry ofJustice Advisory Committee with a view to reforming the6

416 pages, £7.99
ISBN: 0099502550
Review by Michael Sullivan
In 1995 Richard Lloyd
Parry became the Tokyo
Correspondent
forThe
Independent newspaper andhe was in Japan when a news
story broke in 2000 that a British
girl was missing. In his book People Who Eat Darkness we
get to see a new perspective of the events surrounding thedisappearance and murder of Lucie Blackman as we follow
his investigation into what had occurred to her. His researchcovers her family, her history, an overview of events from her
disappearance up until the discovery of her body as well as an
in-depth look into the most mysterious of people: Joji Obara.
Born in 1978 Lucie Blackman was 21 and had only been
in Japan a short time when she disappeared. She had
been working in Roppongi as a hostess and at first it
wasn’t clear where she had gone, it appeared that she hadgone on a ‘date’ with a client and subsequent messages
that claimed to be from her stated that she had joined
a cult. It soon became clear that this was just an attempt
to mislead the police investigation. Eventually suspicion
centred on Joji Obara, but despite repeated questioning
he never admitted to any knowledge of what had
happened to her. Even to this day he claims his innocencein regard to her death. The police would be in for an
unwelcome surprise when during a search of his homethey discovered a massive video collection which recorded
the apparent rape of hundreds of unconscious women.
On the 9th February 2001 Lucie’s remains were foundjust a few hundred metres from one of Obara’s properties.
This book attempts to redress the balance that so muchattention has focused on Japan and Obara and bringback into the focus who Lucie was. Beyond Lucie we also
learn about her family and see the pain they experienced
throughout the years and beyond. As can be expected a lotof the book also covers the problems the family experienced
with the Japanese police and officials, the intense interest
Issue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

investigative journalists took in the underworld of hostessbars and the difficulties of understanding Japan, such as thetrial system. For example, normally in Japan a case only goesto trial once the criminal has confessed to their crime – in thecase of Obara he has never admitted any guilt to anything.
Richard Lloyd Parry also attempts to shed some light into
Obara and why he did what he did to so many women,
unfortunately this mainly led into dead ends. Beyond a
general background into his family history, originally from
Korea, and his business activities there is tantalisingly little
information about him. Seemingly without any close friends
or associates, and with his family refusing to say anything,
there are very few details that can be obtained about him.
The one thing that is clear was that he believed he could
do what he liked without suffering any consequences.
This meticulously researched book provides an interesting
insight into Japan, but mainly it brings to the reader’sattention the story of a young girl who thought she wasgoing to a safe country and disappeared. It charts the sheer
heartbreak and pain her family had to go through, as well as
the author’s involvement and torturous attempts to remain
objective while having so much intimate contact with Lucie’s
parents. Ultimately, we get no closer to understanding
how someone like Obara could get away with what hedid for so long, but we do gain a new understanding ofLucie Blackman and what her family sadly went through.

Pro Bonoby Seicho Matsumoto(translated by Andrew Clare)
Vertical Inc. 2012
240 pages, £7.69
ISBN-10: 1934287024
Review by Jack Cooke
Fans of detective fiction
are often obsessive, eagerly
awaiting the next fictional crime
scene to hit the market. When it
comes to the cult surrounding one of Japan’s most idolised
crime writers, Seicho Matsumoto, his followers are as ardent
as any. Even so, few can claim to have digested his complete
bibliography.
Matsumoto only began writing full-time at the age of forty
but over the next four decades he penned an astonishing
450 works, from his acclaimed detective novels to popular
publications on history, ancient and modern. Even for themost committed fan, this is a pretty intimidating body ofwork. Matsumoto is the Bob Dylan of crime fiction; there area thousand B-sides to choose from and almost all are worth
a look.
Issue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)

Sadly, only a fraction of this prolific output is available intranslation. At the time of writing, a paltry three novels
remain in English print, with a selection of Matsumoto’s shortstories scattered around various compendiums of Japanese
detective fiction. The list of titles yet to be translated includes
many works that have become classics in Japan; his 1952
Akutagawa prize-winning Story of the Kokura Journal is one
stand-out example.
News of the first English-translation of a Matsumoto novelin twenty-five years was consequently welcomed by fansand critics alike. The offspring of a transatlantic partnership,
between American publisher, Vertical, and British translator,
Andrew Clare, Pro Bono was published in July this year.

‘Matsumoto only began writing full-time at theage of forty but over the next four decades hepenned an astonishing 450 works.’First printed as Kiri no hata in the early 1960s, the novel
has aged well, with characters and scene-setting that feel
remarkably contemporary. The plot centres on Kiriko, ayoung woman whose brother is falsely accused of murderin her native Kyushu. Making the long and costly rail journey
to Tokyo, Kiriko solicits the help of Japan’s poster-boy lawyer,
criminal defense genius Kinzo Otsuka. Consumed by his own
personal life and aware that Kiriko cannot afford his services,
Otsuka turns her away. The consequences of his failure to takeher case on merit, ignoring her appeals to his sense of justiceand ‘a righteous cause,’ are played out across the remainderof the novel. The lethargy of the opening chapter, mirroredin the lawyer’s own inaction, is replaced by a whirlwind of
events that move the story toward its climax.
Regional politics are integral to the novel. The majority of theprotagonists, including murderer and murderee, hail fromthe anonymous ‘K-City’ in Kyushu and yet the main action
unfolds in Tokyo’s Ginza district. The ties formed by these‘provincial’ men and women in the face of Tokyo’s unsettling
metropolis provide much of the novel’s intrigue; evolvingfrom solidarity amongst newcomers to complicity and, finally,
bitter rivalries.
Another ploy used to engage the reader is the insertion of
court reports and statement witnesses, italicised throughout
the novel. At first, this may seem like a simple plot-filler device
but the aggregate effect is to convince the reader that they
themselves are conducting research essential to solving thecrime. When Matsumoto describes a journalist, Keiichi Abe,lost in the archives of a regional newspaper, the combinationof a perfectly imagined setting (weak sunlight, frenetic
activity beyond the blinds of the archive room) with a seriesof obscure newspaper cuttings, makes us palpably feel thecharacter’s own excitement. It is as if we, the reader, wereleafing through the dusty records ourselves.
Matsumoto is an undeniable master of atmosphere. Whether
the scene is dawn or dusk, a crowded Ginza street or an
empty back alley, the author instils distinct moods into every
location in the novel. Interiors and exteriors alike are rendered7

in minute detail. One of the most memorable settings in thebook is the site of the first murder. Matsumoto’s evocation of asimple domestic scene, a sliding door, an iron kettle, cushions
and tatami mats, is unsettled by the subtle agitation of every
object; door ajar, kettle lopsided, cushions skewed and a floor
dusted in spilt ash. This is Matsumoto’s art; we are always left
chasing the action, a few footsteps behind the violence.
Like many other Japanese novels of its era, Pro Bono was
originally serialised (Fujin Koron, July 1959 – March 1960) andwas most likely condensed when first published in Japan. In
spite of this, translator Andrew Clare has done an admirable
job of reworking the original Japanese. A literary translator
with a background in law, Clare has the perfect credentials fordissecting a novel that focuses on criminal defence. The taskof combining fidelity and transparency in Japanese-English
translation is always a challenging one. Clare preserves
Matsumoto’s subtleties but manages to make the novel anengaging and fluid read. Let us hope there will be more tocome from the many Matsumoto mysteries that remain
hidden from an English-reading audience.

The Devil’s Whisper[魔術はささやく]by Miyuki Miyabe,translated by Deborah
Stuhr Iwabuchi
Kodansha International, 2007
(originally published in 1989,
Tokyo),
264 pages, £8.99
ISBN: 4770031173
Review by Michael Sullivan
MiyukiMiyabewasbornin1960
in Tokyo, she has been writing since the 1980s and a number ofher books have been adapted into dramas and films in Japan.
For example, just last year her 1992 novel Kasha [火車] wasreleased as a TV movie starring Takaya Kamikawa. Although
her work touches upon a number of genres, it is often quite
firmly classed as mystery, and The Devil’s Whisper has a very
puzzling plot. In particular there is a strong element focusing
on guilt and secrets, whether the feeling is acknowledged ornot, all of the characters strive to repress it. However, as thisbook develops the discovery is made that guilt will eventuallycatch up. Only since 1999 have Miyabe’s novels started to betranslated into English, though only a handful so far and assuch represents the burgeoning interest in Japanese literaturethat was sparked by other novelists such as Haruki Murakami.

and so, ostracised by the local people, they lived on in
the same town until his mother died. Now living with hisaunt, uncle and cousin in Tokyo, Mamoru attends a local
school and works part time at a book shop. His new family
clearly dote upon him, but Mamoru’s life is again turned
upside down when his taxi driver uncle is arrested undersuspicion of running a red light and killing a young female
pedestrian. With no witnesses, time running out for his
uncle, bullies at school who seize upon this opportunity tomake his life difficult, and strange phone calls to his house,
Mamoru decides to investigate this accident himself andin the process finds out that this was no ordinary accident.
As his investigation progresses, strange things begin tohappen at his book shop, a man goes berserk and a young
girl becomes suicidal, and he discovers about some otherapparent suicides that seem to have a connection with thegirl who ran in front of his uncle’s car. A lucky break appears
when a mysterious, and rich, middle aged businessman
claims to have witnessed the car accident and exonerates
Mamoru’s uncle from blame. However, this businessman
seems to have an agenda of his own that he is following, andclearly knows secrets pertaining to Mamoru’s troubled past.
This novel maintains a fast pace and it is easy to become
totally engrossed in the plot and lose track of time. Miyabe
weaves a very intricate story where it is easy to makesuppositions about the truth, and be surprised when shepulls apart those suppositions. As mentioned before, there isa strong element of guilt pervading all of the characters, but
the guilt is clouded by justifications that they have nothing to
be guilty about. Ultimately, they are all shown that no matter
what they are guilty of, guilt has a way to pursue them.

‘Only since 1999 have Miyabe’s novels started to
be translated into English, though only a handful
so far. They represent the burgeoning interest inJapanese literature sparked by other novelists
such as Haruki Murakami.’

Mamoru Kusaka is a sixteen year old boy, and yet despite aturbulent childhood he is very cool headed and practical.
When he was a small child his father was embroiled in anembezzlement scandal, one day he left home and neverreturned. His mother refused to believe he wouldn’t return8

Issue 37 Volume 7 Number 1 (February 2012)