Written by Seicho Matsumoto, first published in 1961, and translated into English by Beth Cary, this is a little period gem.

At its core is a good old-fashioned, follow-the-clues murder mystery. I have no idea how plausible the ultimate explanation is, but the story moves at a brisk pace, and keeps you guessing.


Nara, 2015 (one of the places the murdered man visited on his fateful pilgrimage)





What I most liked about it, though, was its unobtrusive but very powerful evocation of Japan at that pivotal point in time.

From the crowded urban transport, after-work bars, and six-tatami rooms, to the green tea with rice, abacuses, and public baths, it's an exquisite little rendition of a society.

You learn how small the inspector's house is (there's no room to install a bathtub); you learn about the limited budget for his work (once he's had a couple of official investigative trips that turn up nothing, he borrows from his wife's savings to fund his inquiries in his own time); you learn about Tokyo's artistic avant-garde (quite significant, apparently).

Many little details reminded me of the movies we saw at the online Japanese Film Festival last year: the ochazuke; the vast number of trains the inspector catches to various parts of the country (this book is a dream for a railway enthusiast); and the quiet, conscientious, doggedly persistent, and politely managed teamwork that ultimately turns up the culprit.

I loved the courteous, almost courtly exchanges as Imanishi Eitaro goes about his work: "I'm sorry to have made such a bothersome request..." Quaintly, he writes his requests on paper, and the reply comes four days later... 

The shadows of leprosy still persist, which reminded me of the movie An, and the trip to the Valley of Hope that it inspired. According to Matsumoto: "No family -- especially one like the [big potato] Tadokoros -- would permit a wedding between their daughter and the son of a leper."

And there are many reminders that not that many years have passed since the war. In some rural areas "there are people who have trouble getting enough to eat". The police are hampered because many records were destroyed, along with whole areas of cities, in the air raids of 1945.





Imanishi is modest, polite, and focused. He is not a tortured soul, as so many fictional detectives appear to have to be. He loves bonsai, and writes haiku. You can't help feeling he tortures his wife a bit, though... Poor Yoshiko has to cope with the utter unpredictability of his comings, goings, and meal requirements, and if left unprompted, he doesn't seem to remember about things like gifts and treats (as soon as he leaves the house, he seems to forget that she exists).

But he is respectful to his superiors, and kind to his junior, Yoshimura Hiroshi. Again diverging from the stereotypes that have emerged in detective fiction, he's neither an authority-rejecting maverick, nor an overbearing know-it-all.



Imanishi's creator, writes Dorothy Dodge Robbins, has a fascinating story. Born in 1909, and largely self-educated, he was in his forties when his first book was published. But he became one of the most prolific and widely read Japanese authors of the 20th century, publishing more than 1,000 stories and other pieces over the course of a career that spanned 40 years (he died in 1992, at the age of 82, still writing).

Matsumoto took Japanese mystery and detective fiction in new directions by jettisoning formulaic plot devices, and incorporating "elements of social significance and postwar nihilism that expanded the scope and further darkened the atmosphere of the genre".

Interestingly, he was an activist, criticizing the Americans, but also shining an unabashed light on the corruption in his own society: "In a Matsumoto novel, more than just the crime is under investigation; postwar Japanese society also undergoes interrogation. All imposters and pretenders -- dishonest officials, pretentious academics, and social climbers -- have their falsities exposed." He visited Cuba, and also North Viet Nam, where he met the president. As well as detective fiction, he wrote historical novels and non-fiction.





One of the editors who worked with Matsumoto towards the end of his life testifies to his relentless dedication: "He used to call at any time of day or night when he had something he needed to talk about or wanted to issue a summons to his editor or other employee. It was an article of personal faith with him that 'there is no vacation from writing.' He used to devote himself to his work, apparently hardly ever stopping to rest or sleep. And if a writer has no holidays, then his editors must expect to work around the clock as well... When I knew him he was already in his mid-seventies, but the stories he wrote for our magazine always dealt with up-to-date and even cutting-edge topics. He was never complacent to sit back and soak up the praise for the work he had already done. He had a strong pride in his craft as a writer, and an insatiable drive to keep on creating. He always kept a close eye on the latest developments in international mystery writing."

All in all, excellent. I have another lined up already...