Entries in No.6 (4)

Sunday
Mar242013

Rokuban, a Novel

 

   You’re fucked if you get arrested in Japan.

   Japanese judges convict with such vengeance that defendants hauled before a court of law have less than a one in one thousandth of a chance of being let off.

   Listen: once arrested in Japan, the odds are stacked heavily against the suspect. In a typical year such as 2006, when 153,000 unlucky bastards—including the protagonist of this novel—were taken into police custody, only 3% were released within the first seventy-two hours of their arrest. The remaining were detained, often held incommunicado, for the next ten days where most were brow-beaten or even tortured into signing written confessions. In 54% of those cases, prosecutors requested an extension of detention in order to continue with their investigation, while another 28% who had already cracked were prosecuted outright, their confessions becoming the most damning piece of evidence used against them.

   Judges in Japan, far from being impartial adjudicators, rubber-stamp the paperwork of prosecutors, rejecting in 2006 a mere 70 out of their 74,000-plus requests for extensions of detention (less than one-tenth of one percent). The vast majority of those kept behind bars while they have confessions coerced out of them—excuse me, have their cases are “investigated”—end up being charged with crimes. Again, over 99% of these are then found guilty and sentenced.

   Surely, some of them are innocent.

   While the Gospel according to John may say that the truth will set you free, in the courts of Japan, truth can be the very slipknot they hang you with. So, what can you do if you are brought before the juggernaut that is Japan’s Ministry of Justice?

   Lie, lie, lie.

   Rokuban (No.6), a fast-paced novel about how an American expat beats these formidable odds, offers not only a satirical look into Japan’s Kafkaesque system of justice and the bizarre, sometimes humorous life behind bars, but also gives a fresh perspective on drug-use in Japan today.

   In the parlance of Hollywood, it is Midnight Express meets The Usual Suspects meets Lost in Translations.

 

Wednesday
Feb062013

Many Thanks, Amy!

   I have no idea who Amy is, but I do appreciate her taking the time to write the following review of my novel, Rokuban:

  "This was a good read. You won't have to force yourself to get through any of the chapters, the bits of humor throughout the book are always keeping you interested and turning to the next page. Mr. Crowe did a nice job with this one. The characters were realistic enough in terms of personality and the background just right. Most of the surrounding characters were completely likable even if there was not much background on them. I did not find myself actually liking main character, he was typical guy and his opinion on a few subjects didn't exactly make him endearing. Despite that I found myself interested in whether he and his friends would make it through his predicament intact. I'll mention again this story is both funny and serious at the same time. You won't want to stop reading until you've gotten to the end."

   Thanks again!

 

© Aonghas Crowe, 2010. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication of any kind.

注意:この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Rokuban - No. 6 and other works by Aonghas Crowe are available at Amazon.

Wednesday
Mar212012

Nihonbashi

   My last post reminds me of something I wrote in my second novel No.6:

    I can’t believe the two would take time out of their busy schedules just for this, and, yet, we spend the next hour or so prattling away like three buddies in a Starbucks. Mind you, I am not complaining--anything's better than sitting cross-legged on a sponge in that miserable, little cell--I just can't understand what all the urgency in putting me behind bars was when the "interrogations" would end up being so pedestrian.

   With his head against the wall, Ozawa asks if I find Fukuoka a livable place.

   I confess! I did it! I did it!

   "Everyone's always asking me that," I reply with a sigh, "and I never quite know how to answer."

   "It's a simple question," he says.

   "It is, yes, but I often get the impression that people really don't want to know what I feel about the place. Rather, they're just prodding me into telling them what a wonderful city Fukuoka is. Is Fukuoka a good city? Yes, quite. It's clean, and by clean I don't mean beautiful because like most Japanese cities it isn't. Frankly speaking, it's ugly, but it is clean."

   "I never noticed," Ozawa says.

   Sadly, the drug enforcement agent is telling the truth.

   In Tokyo, there's a famous bridge, called the Nihonbashi (lit. Japan Bridge) that crosses a river of the same name.

   The original wooden Nihonbashi, which features prominently in ukiyo-e prints was constructed in 1603. The stone bridge spanning the river today was built in 1911 and is representative of the architecture of the Meiji Era, which was heavily influenced by British design.

   A popular sightseeing spot for Japanese today, many Japanese visiting the capital from the provinces have their picture taken at the bridge, which is considered the center of Tôkyô, and the point of reference used when measuring the distance from the city.

   Until the 1960s, Mt. Fuji was still visible from the bridge. Any view you might want to enjoy today, however, has been blighted by an expressway that passes overhead.

   I brought the eyesore to the attention of a middle-aged woman who was showing me some snapshots from a recent trip to Tokyo.

   "This would have been a beautiful view,” I said, “if the Ministry in charge of roads hadn't ruined it by constructing this ugly highway."

She was surprised to hear that. Focused so intently on the bridge itself, lost in myopic nostalgia, she hadn't even given a thought to the highway and the noisy traffic roaring ahead.

   But that's the way it is with the Japanese. They can find a dandelion in a dunghill and consider its beauty worthy of a haiku. The unthinking acceptance of concrete as progress has allowed the government to pave over the country creating a monster of modernity.

   And Japanese will tell you that they haven’t noticed.

   A city like Fukuoka is only moderately better. Without any semblance of an overall plan, though, it has become an architectural free-for-all, left to the capricious collusion of greedy property developers, landowners, and unthinking bureaucrats.

   But, yes, Fukuoka is clean. I'll hand it that. There's no litter in the streets, hardly any graffiti on the walls. The Japanese tend to respect public property, other people's property, which is something American and European youth might consider emulating before they spray, scratch, or scrawl their name on a wall like a mongrel marking it's territory with piss.

   "The food is good, too," I say. "You can duck under the noren curtain of just about any restaurant in my neighborhood of Daimyô and be fairly certain of getting a reasonably priced meal that will knock your socks off."

   "Got that right," Ozawa says, closing his eyes and imagining, I suspect, a big bowl of Hakata tonkotsu (pork bone) ramen.

   "Now, Ozawa-san, if you're asking me whether it's easy for a foreigner to live in this town, then you're asking the wrong guy."

   "Why's that?"

   "Because I've been out of place my whole life. I don't know what it's like to feel at home."

   "Oh?" he says, straightening up.

   "Ever since I was a kid," I tell him, "I've been going back to my father's hometown of Avignon, near the south of France. I speak the language all right, not perfect of course, but I manage, and have a French name. You'd think I'd be able to kick back and enjoy myself there. The local French, though, they take one look at my face and see an Arab. If I tell them, that I'm not Arab, that I'm half Lebanese, the tension eases up a bit, but not a whole lot. They don't consider me half-French, they see me as being Lebanese. And, well, if you're half French, you're half of nothing and half of nothing is nothing, after all."

   "Remarkable," says Nakata, leaning forward and propping his pudgy mug up in the palm of his left hand. "I had no idea it was like that there."

   "In America it's not much different. Even though I was born there and spent most of my life there. I've never managed to fit in."

   "Why not?" Ozawa asks.

   "Beats me! America's supposed to be a country of immigrants, people coming from every corner on the earth, many only two or three generations earlier. You'd think that with all that rich culture pouring into the U.S., the country would have this sumptuous cultural heritage and celebrate their roots more. Your average American, however, couldn't care less about what is happening outside the country. The ignorance is pervasive and entrenched."

To read the first installment of No.6, please go here.
To read the remainder of No.6, please visit here.

© Aonghas Crowe, 2010. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication of any kind.

注意:この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No. 6 is now available on Kindle.

Monday
Oct172011

Gettin' There

   No.6, my second novel, rose to fourth place last week among best-selling works related to Japan. Does this mean I can retire from my day job and hang out with topless super models in the Côte d'Azur?

   No, unfortunately, it does not.

   But, it was encouraging. Not only is No.6 the only work of fiction in a field dominated by non-fiction to consistently rank so high, sales of the novel have started to gain something resembling momentum. My hope is that the work will go viral--preferrably while I still have teeth in my head.

   An earlier and free version of the novel can be read here.