In Darkness, Death (Book 3 of the Samurai Detective Series)

In Darkness, Death is the third book in what the Hoobler’s are calling “The Samurai Detective Series.” This post is going to build off my posts about the first two books in the series, The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn and The Demon in the Teahouse, so if you’re interested you can check those out.  And while were at it, there will probably be spoilers ahead, so you’d probably do well to read the book first and come back here.  Seriously, it’s a short book and a good one.

First things first, I need to talk about the physical book.  This edition I have is different from the editions I have of books 2 and 4 in the series.  Those two books are published by Penguin under their Sleuth Puffin imprint.  Those two books have great covers, great dimensions, and great paper, that I never realized made such an impact on the reading experience.  This book, In Darkness, Death, is all different because it is printed by a vanity press.  Presumably the Hoobler’s didn’t like the deal they had with Penguin and decided the popularity of the series could profitably allow for some kind of self-publishing arrangement.  For that desire, I applaud them, but man do I miss the feel of the other books.  Not only is the cover unprofessional and amateurish, but the layout is non-existent.  I had no idea how important the feel of a book in the hands was to me.  Obviously, it’s one of the reasons I haven’t switched over to e-books, but I thought that was just about being able to feel the physical movement through the pages of the story.  But I had a hard time starting this book, and that difficulty had nothing to do with the writing and everything to do with the physical book itself.  How strange is that?

Now on to the story itself.

On the Hooblers’ tour through Edo Period Japan, we were bound to tangle with ninja at some point, and when I realized that’s what this book was doing, I admit I was nervous.  But in the end, I think they did a great job handling the topic, by giving some context for their existence while leaving a lot of mystique around them.  The world of magic and kamis has always been at the surface in these stories, and the Hooblers have adeptly handled their presence for intrigue and psychology while always resolving problems outside of them.  This is the first story to suggest something stronger, with Seikei’s journey on Miwayama, Kitsune’s literal fox footprints, and even with Tatsuno’s ability to make the horse disappear, though that last one can be seen as an expertly executed trick.  I’m a fan of the way the Hooblers walk that line of fantasy and reality in such a way that they elevate both aspects.

 

I have complained in the past about the books’ firm support for the shogun’s authoritative power and the deadly social ordering of the times.  This is the first book to question that order, even if it does so with a gentle hand.  The Hooblers have never flinched from the harsh realities of punishment and power, butting Seikei’s idealism up against the realities of how power is executed, but they go a step further in this book. Seikei gets a lot of people killed because of his idealism and his belief of what a Lord should be like.  Of course the Hoobler’s get to eat their cake and have it too by making Seikei’s idealism the thing that attracts people to him, so that Tatsuno, for example, saves Seikei’s life because of Seikei’s boneheaded determination to do what is “right” even though it is manifestly wrong.  It’s a clever way to solve the problem and lets them have a “young adult” novel without avoiding or sweeping harsh realities under the carpet.  When I think of all the things in this book that a conservative white parent would recoil from if they knew their child was reading it, it gives me heart.

 

There is still a horrible representation of women in the novels.  I was glad for the return of Michiko, but her stay was too brief and her admiration for Seikei too strong.  And that was it.  The only other woman in the story is Sada, and while she is a great character, she is but a blip on the page when all is said in done.  This is firmly a man’s world in the story, and it doesn’t need to be that way.  That and the physical book are the only disappointments with which I walk away from this reading.

The Demon in the Teahouse

I’ll keep this short as it builds off my thoughts on The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn.  As I did before, I’ll assume that you’ve read the book if you’re reading this.  If you don’t want anything spoiled, go read the book for yourself and come back.  It’s a great read.

This is another wonderfully told story, with great, clear writing; excellent world depiction; and compelling characters.  The mystery in this book is more like a classic whodunit than the first book, although it is still enriched by the setting choices.  One thing I love in particular is that Seikei and others readily believe in the existence of demons and will gladly attribute to them all the things that puzzle us.  It makes for an exciting element in the fiction.

My main thoughts now are about the politics of the book, and just as I was in my thinking about the last novel, I’m uncertain about where the book lands ideologically.  This book deals in many ways with the powerlessness of women in Edo period Japan.  That, I think, is a wonderful focus for the novel.  Young girls are sold by their fathers for an extended indentured servitude.  Geisha appear to have “power” over men, but they are clearly entirely dependent upon those same men.  Oba Koko has a place of business, and Tsune wishes to own a business for herself someday, but those options are plainly limited.  So the novel does an excellent job depicting those limitations.

At the same time, the women characters are set up rather unsympathetically.  Even as you understand that Umae is genuinely powerless in spite of her allure, we get Seikei observing that he “had never met anyone like Umae, so heartless, so calculating.  She was as much a demon as the person who set the files” (pgs 155-156).  That line slapped me in the face as a horrendous and unfounded line of judgment.  And since we as readers are aligned with Seikei, the authors don’t appear to question or undermine Seikei’s statement.  Nui begins as an interesting character, exploring her powers over Seikei, but by the end of the novel, she is a caricature, worried about Seikei getting blood on her robe even as she’s about to be burned alive in a fire.  Oba Koko is another character of comic relief in a lot of ways.  She has reasons to be a hard-nosed woman, and I like that she doesn’t take shit from anyone, but there is no real understanding thrown her way.

If anything, the presence of all the women in this novel draws attention to the fact that the first book was practically bereft of female characters.  Except for Machiko, all the women were played by Tomomi.  And what good are a series of educational books for an American audience about Edo period Japan if it is trapped in the perspective of masculinity and wealth.

I really like the series, and I wish I could really like its politics as well.  I will keep reading what has been published to see if my feelings topple in one direction or the other.

The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn

As usual, I spoil with abandon, so don’t read on if you haven’t read the book already and want to be able to just enjoy the ride.

I first read this book to my son sometime between 2008 and 2010, just a random selection from the local library.  He had been enthusiastically reading my Usagi Yojimbo comic books, so I looked for something that might dovetail with that interest, and this was a lucky find!  Now, some dozen years later, I am reading through the different Usagi Yojimbo RPGs and they put me in mind of this wonderful book, so I added it to my pandemic re-reading list.

This is a wonderful book.  The writing is solid and the Hooblers bring the world to life with color, energy, and ease.  But what makes the book so captivating, to my mind, are the characters.  From Seikei to Judge Ooka to Tomomi, all the characters are worth rooting for, perfect depictions of the archetypes they are drawn from.  Combining samurai ideals, kabuki theater, grand schemes of vengeance, and the social divisions of Edo period japan gives the book a set of interacting textures that make what is a pretty straightforward plot into a richly developed story.  And the mystery that compels the action is delicious, even when, as an adult reader, it becomes clearer and clearer what has happened.

Because I love the characters and the world, I have mostly avoided thinking of the unspoken politics of the book.  My hackles were raised slightly when we learn that Tomomi is a Kirishitan because I was afraid the Hooblers were going to centralize this European religion in the Japanese setting.  But I believe the religion was used merely as a plot device, an engine for action more than anything else.  I also feared that Seikei’s wholehearted embrace of the samurai tenets might serve to cover over the atrocities of the system.  To some extent, I think it does. Seikei does not end the novel questioning the social order or the ranked value of human life it imposes.  Tomomi may seem to question that order at first, but in the end he only reinforces it.  Lord Hakuseki is a villain primarily because he fails to live up to the samurai ideals more than anything else, even though the system grants him the power regardless of his worthlessness.  Instead of learning that what he loves about samurai has nothing to do with the social class and everything to do with personal ideas, ethics, and beliefs, Seikei has his beginning notions reinforced and rewarded by becoming the adopted son of Judge Ooka.

I think there is something to be said about the way the Hooblers themselves don’t over-romanticize the social ills even as they let Seikei (and potentially their readers) have most of their delusions.  The casual mention of seppuku every time Seikei makes a misstep feels tongue-in-cheek to me, an acknowledgment of the ridiculous standards.  Similarly, the shogun readily embraces torture and the wholesale killing of a religious minority, and the Hooblers don’t shy away from that, even as they clearly side with Judge Ooka’s positions on these matters. Nevertheless, the one scene with the shogun presents him on equal footing with Seikei and humanizes him even as he is a brutal military dictator.  That is certainly a questionable step.

In the end, the book tries to walk a fine line of romanticizing the history and questioning it, and I can’t say it was fully successful in that respect.  It does call into question the representation of samurai by presenting us with many opposing representations—Seikei’s imaginations, Judge Ooka, Tomomi, Lord Hakuseki, and the shogun—but when all is said and down, Seikei’s imagination remains untarnished.  We as readers can sit above Seikei and see his failings, but when all is said and done, the book counts on our embracing of his naivete and cheering for it.

All of that is to say that my reaction to the politics of the book is complicated.  I could see someone rejecting the politics wholesale and, in turn, rejecting the book, and I wouldn’t argue with that person for their position.  It would be a reasonable position.  Even knowing that, I think the art of the storytelling and writing are enough to win me over.