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Mark Schreiber has made a career out of translating, researching and writing about the "other" sides of Japanese culture. He has translated the irreverent columns found in popular magazines, and has previously written about the often lurid history of post-war Japanese crime. In his latest work, "The Dark Side," he explores 400 years of Japanese crime, from the Tokugawa policing system to the sarin gas attack by Aum Shinrikyo. And guess what? The Japanese are just like every other culture in the world -- they rob, rape, murder, cheat and lie like the rest of humanity.
Schreiber doesn't push this point, though. By focusing on the under-reported and unknown (in English anyway), he helps develop a broader picture of the Japanese psyche. Many of the crimes detailed here are shocking, not so much because of the grisly details, but because they present such a different picture of the "other," -- culturally, temporally, socially and psychologically. The crimes seem at once very Japanese (whatever that means) and at others very predictable (like all crime everywhere). Part of the point of the book is that Japanese society has its rule-breakers, who deserve examination.
"The Dark Side" moves from informational to narrative to reportage to expose the pathological and criminal side of Japanese culture as a process of revelation rather than as crude voyeurism. Schreiber describes in clear vignettes the criminals and the penal system without looking for too all-encompassing conclusions or shockingly revelatory insights. His tone is straightforward and clear. He occasionally indulges in the sensational tabloid-like nature of his material, but distinguishes himself from the pack of "Nihon jinron" writers by his approach. He gets to the core of hot-button issues without being too academic, too judgmental or too prurient.
"The Dark Side" amazes on every page, but in small doses. Crime is one of those fear-inducing topics, that bring up a range of reactions. Perhaps surprisingly, the crimes detailed in this slim volume are not especially shocking. What amazes, though, are the small details. In the Edo period, the casual descriptions of tortures seem matter-of-fact. Heads were often sawed off, a slower, more repetitive process than the swift sword cut. Heads were then posted alongside the saws for public viewing. Crucifixion was also common, as was torture. All of this is delivered matter-of-factly, as if explaining how to make tofu or repair tatami.
If that seems too pedestrian or inhumane, well, it is. But on the other hand, we learn that the prisons were also unusually permissive. They often let prisoners out on their own recognizance to do day labor, or visit relatives during festivals. Escapes were routine. Of course, the extensive nature of the Tokugawa's police and military meant that few Edoites went unrecognized. But that just makes the fact that many criminals were able to escape discovery for so long all that more surprising. A strange sense of humanness pervades the crimes and punishments both.
One of the most fascinating chapters concerns beheading, the common method of execution in Japan until the end of the 19th century. One family had the "rights" of execution. They made extra money from testing swords, and even offered a seal of approval for blades that tested well. Eventually, under influence from the West, and after several misplaced whacks that caused less-than-immediate results, hanging became the preferred method. One of the first to be hanged, a proud thief, hearing that when hanged the body usually released its final defecation, starved himself for two days prior to his execution to avoid that final, fecal humiliation.
The history of politics is also reflected in many of the crimes. A Robin Hood-like character was protected for months by starving farmers, who had been unfairly taxed, as a cause celebre. He was eventually captured, but there's a shrine to him just the same. Anarchists, communists and organized outlaws were regularly tracked down and executed in every era. Even the famed murderess Sada Abe who cut a souvenir off her lover (yes, that souvenir) after strangling him is given a political spin (as she has been in poetry, biography and film). The murders of several foreigners are perhaps the crimes whose treatment feels the most Japanese. Embarrassment, more than justice, seemed to guide the prosecution of those crimes.
Technology makes its entrance as well. When electric lights were introduced, making the sneak thief's job more difficult, one thief decided to cover his escape route by re-wiring the newly strung electric wires. He electrocuted a policeman who chased him and ran into his web of wires. He was lucky not to have zapped himself, as he later confessed he didn't really understand how electricity worked exactly.
Other conclusions seem inevitable. By today's standards, the lack of truly grisly crimes is notable. On the other hand, copycat crimes, a common newspaper staple in this day and age, were also common in Japan's past. Japan is still one of the most crime-free countries in the world, on average. Yet, while this book gives pause to those statistics, it doesn't entirely explain the importance of examining criminal psychology, either. Schreiber might have added more explanations, or positioned key facts to make conclusions more easily accomplished.
Moving all the way from the punishments meted out to wayward Yoshiwara prostitutes to the student beheadings in Kobe is a long historical sweep. But, the flow of the book feels right. It's a quick, though eventful, read. While the narratives of each criminal make the reading flow quickly, more statistics and at least some analysis might have made for more abstract speculation. The reader is left to ponder why. Of course, with crime that question never gets fully answered, but some partial explanations of the pathological side of Japanese society could have been more revealing.
That said, the book is a great read, whether you cringe at the mention of crime, have a weak stomach or not. This book is indispensable for anyone interested in Japanese society, and one need not have a sensationalistic side to find the content important and relevant. It's too much to say a culture is defined, in reverse frame, by its crime. But Schreiber's book presents a distinctly more realistic point of view. And that's all too rare a thing.
-- Michael Pronko
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