Seicho Matsumoto (1909-92) is no stranger to The Velvet Cushion. Inspector Imanishi Investigates, Tokyo Express, and The Girl From Kyushu have all featured already. And, as the focus of a couple of expeditions during our recent Japan trip, their author also made it into Purple Tern.

This one was published in 1975. I read the Spanish version (translated by Marina Bornas and published in 2021). The title of that translation (Un lugar desconocido) is the one I've used above (whereas the title of the English translation is A Quiet Place).

This is a psychological story, rather than a detective story. The bulk of the investigating is done by the dead woman's husband. And we know who the murderer is because we see the murder being committed.

I won't give away the ending, which in any case is not spelled out. But we close with the feeling that the noose is tightening around the culprit. It's only a matter of time...


Not so many trains in this one, but we do get a reference to the bullet train, and a bit of the timetable from Tokyo to Nagano...

The interest of the book -- and again I found it a very good read -- lies in the central character, Tsuneo Asai, and in the way 1970s Japan is depicted.

Asai is a senior manager in the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry's Food Department. He is work-obsessed, because he knows he can't compete on equal terms with the career civil servants. The latter are exemplified by Shiraishi, Asai's boss. He is from a wealthy family, studied law at the University of Tokyo, had plenty of time to hone his skills at golf, go, and mahjong, is married to a woman with influential connections, and is the darling of the vice minister (the leader of one of the ministry's political factions). These people flit into their positions, know little, learn little, and flit out again, on an ever-ascending trajectory.

Asai seems to have a bit of a fixation with Shiraishi. When his boss is standing alone, Asai reflects, he looks like a nobody. But when he's surrounded by subordinates and flatterers, he comes into his own. "It seemed anyone would be suitable for his position: All you had to do was study at university, and enter the ministry surrounded by your peers, all destined for high-ranking positions. Then it was a case of knowing how to move between the political party of the government and that of the opposition."

Asai is from much humbler origins, went to a private university that his family had to scrimp and save for, and finds himself outraged by the goings-on of elite civil servants: "But, after all, this was typical of the Japanese bureaucracy, and there was no point in fighting it." Instead, he sets out to climb the ladder by working hard, making himself indispensable, and taking care to always appear humble and respectful.

Before the pivotal moment in the book, the one that sends Asai off on an entirely different life-path, we are told: "Officials who had earned their current positions in the civil service, such as Tsuneo Asai, were usually modest fellows who felt very honoured to work for the ministry, and were very strongly attached to the positions they had fought so hard for. Consequently, they were prepared to defend these positions tooth and nail..." Thus it turns out to be.

But we're jumping ahead. So dedicated to work is Asai that when he hears of the sudden death in Tokyo of his wife, Eiko, while he is away on a business trip in Kobe, his first instinct is to solve the logistical problems his return home will cause his boss. "I can't allow personal affairs to distract me from work," he tells the businessman who has helped to organize the dinner that the fatal phone call breaks into. This, Harry Martin tells us, is an example of "giri" ("the layers of duty and social obligation found in many aspects of Japanese society").



In truth, Asai is fairly neutral about this deceased wife. He married her at the age of 35, one year after the death of his first wife. Eiko is eight years younger than Asai, and it is her first marriage. Put together by a match-maker, the relationship definitely lacks anything in the way of passion, or even warmth. Eiko seems sociable enough in company, but she is withdrawn at home. She is interested in the arts, and although Asai feels she never sticks at anything for very long, haiku has proved a bit of an exception. She's been pursuing that for two years -- which is also the length of time that she has suffered from angina. The requirement for her to take things easy has put another dampener on the couple's partnership.

Just as Asai takes little interest in Eiko's art, she takes little notice of his work or professional advancement. She doesn't want to know where he goes, or why. She just wants to know when he'll be back, so the house can be in order.

The history of angina means that Eiko's death is not wholly unexpected. But the place she died -- an exclusive cosmetics shop in Yoyogi -- is a puzzle. Asai cannot imagine why she would have been in this area, which she has never mentioned.

When he visits Chiyoko Takahashi, the proprietor of the shop, to apologize for the inconvenience his wife's death has caused her (yes, really...), he becomes aware that this is an area where "discreet" hotels flourish. Suddenly struck by suspicions, he starts to make enquiries at these establishments. He draws a blank, but continues to think that Chiyoko knows more than she's letting on. After all, she does have an excessively made-up face and fleshy lips... (Later, we also read about her seductive mannerisms, her distinguished manner of speaking, and the charm she uses to beguile her clients -- underneath all of which "was the audacity, greed, and cunning of any person of her age". OUCH...)

Bit by bit, Asai's investigations yield clues. The time of Eiko's death was recorded according to Chiyoko's testimony, but could have been up to an hour earlier; there was an earthquake on the afternoon of her death; Eiko's haiku (which have been published in a magazine, and are apparently very good) contain references to objects that Asai never recalls her mentioning.

Throughout his enquiries, we continue to get glimpses of the social stratification surrounding Asai. He wonders, for example, about moving out of what had been his parents' house. The building itself, 40 years old, is not worth much. But the land would be. With the proceeds he could buy a luxury flat: "However, he didn't have the social status to live in a luxury apartment. Even the section chiefs who were married with two children lived in modest housing for civil servants."

Time moves on, and one day, returning home through that same area of Yoyogi, Asai realizes that a new establishment, the Hotel Chiyo, has risen on the site of the former cosmetics shop and the villa behind, which used to sport the name-plate Kubo. At this point, Asai brings in a firm of private detectives. He is convinced that something connects Eiko, Chiyoko, and Kubo. He eventually ferrets out the truth, but this epiphany brings neither closure nor comfort...



So, the text yields many insights into Japanese governmental bureaucracy. And you do wonder how much corruption is involved. We're told that competition in the food industry is intense. And favours regularly change hands between the officials and the entrepreneurs. Asai, for example, lends sausage-maker Yagishita a hand with permits. In exchange, he puts in a good word for Asai with Shiraishi, sharing the credit with him for procuring the geisha that Asai's boss so appreciates...

In the background is the government's "agricultural conversion policy", which is meeting with scepticism in many rural communities: "The Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry knew that reducing arable land was an ineffective policy, and farmers were also aware that it had long-term limitations. In the recession that the national economy was experiencing, the food control system was not working, and prospects were not very rosy. Farmers knew that leaving the fields during the low season in order to survive -- lately even women had been forced to find work in the city -- was not appropriate to their way of life. This was where diversified management came into the picture. This consisted of abandoning side businesses such as raising pigs -- traditionally practised by grandparents and the wives of farming families -- and moving to co-management of modern integrated agriculture, which had real long-term potential."

(There's more context on this here.)

Also ticking along in the background is the theme of "love hotels". These are a lucrative business. Yagishita has already told Asai that many of the lodging houses at the hot springs are being converted into this kind of establishment. The ones in Yoyogi are doing a roaring trade. We also learn that there are often objections from local residents, but there is little legal support for dissenting voices if the proposed location is outside a school zone.

In sum, then, another entertaining and informative read from this prolific Japanese author. My challenge now is finding some more...