Taisho Period (1): The First Serial Detective & Detection in Literary Works
[1905
In I Am a Cat, Natsume Soseki has the protagonist, Kushami Sensei, give vent to his dislike of detectives. What is meant here is not a police detective, however (as in the stories of Kuroiwa Ruiko) but a private detective – showing that this profession existed already when he wrote the satirical novel.]
1911
"Himitsu" (The Secret) by Tanizaki
Many translations of detective novels appear, by such authors as Maurice Leblanc, Austin Freeman, William Le Queux, and Gaston Leroux. Leblanc's stories about gentlemen-thief Arsène Lupin were most popular.
1915
"Rashomon" by Akutagawa Ryunosuke
1917
"Hanshichi Torimonocho" (The Casebook of Hanshichi) by Okamoto Kido – 68 short stories until 1937
“Two Letters” (Futatsu no tegami) by Akutagawa Rynosuke
"Robbery" (Chuto) by Akutagawa Rynosuke
"Hassan Kan no Yojutsu" (The Magic of Hassan Khan) by Tanizaki Junichiro
1918
"Devils in Daylight" (Hakucho Kigo) by Tanizaki Junichiro
"The Incident at the Yanagi Bathhouse" (Yanagiyu no Jiken, 1918) by Tanizaki Junichiro"Gold and Silver" (Kin to Gin) by Tanizaki Junichiro
“Kaika no satsujin” (The Enlightenment Murder) by Akutagawa Rynosuke
"Hokyonin no shi" (The Death of a Disciple) by Akutagawa Rynosuke
"Shimon" (The Fingerprint) by Sato Haruo
1919
"Aru shonen no osore" (The Fear of a Certain Boy) by Tanizaki Junichiro
"Majutsu" (Sorcery) by Akutagawa Rynosuke
1920
"While Walking" (Tojo) by Tanizaki Junichiro
1921
"The Thief" (Watakushi) by Tanizaki Junichiro
1922
"In a Bamboo Grove" (Yabu no Naka) by Akutagawa Ryunosuke
1926
"The Strange case of Tomoda and Matsunaga" (Tomoda to Matsunaga no Hanashi) by
Tanizaki Junichiro
1927
"A Crippen Case in Japan" (Nihon ni okeru Kurippun Jiken) by Tanizaki Junichiro
1928
"In Black and White" (Kokubyaku) by Tanizaki Junichiro
Hanshichi, Japan's First Serial Detective
It is only in the early Taisho period (1912-1927) that we get serious, high-quality translations of Western literature (rather than free adaptations), including Conan Doyle’s Holmes stories. This is soon followed by the first true Japanese detective stories (discounting the one short novel by Kuroiwa Ruiko): Hanshichi Torimonocho ("The Casebook of Hanshichi") by Okamoto Kido.Hanshichi, the detective created by Okamoto Kido in 69 stories written between 1917 and 1937, has the honor of being the first Japanese fictional serial investigator – appearing five years earlier than Edogawa Ranpo's Akechi Kogoro.
The Hanshichi stories are intrinsically Japanese. Perhaps Okamoto was indebted to Conan Doyle (read avidly in the original English by him) for the idea of writing detective stories in itself, but the model for Hanshichi are also Edo-period crime stories as those about the wise judge Ooka Echizen. So, interestingly, the first fictional detective of Japanese origin was not a copy of an imported ratiocinator, a "thinking machine" a la Holmes, but a trusted old Edo-period sleuth called Hanshichi. It seems right that Japan first delved into its own culture before wholeheartedly adapting the foreign detective story to its needs.
[Okamoto Kido]
Posterity has judged differently (as in the case of Conan Doyle, who also looked down on his Holmes stories): Okamoto's fame now rests in the first place on his Hanshichi stories, which have never gone out of print and are still available in various editions, from pocketbooks to ebooks (see here for those available via Aozora Bunko). Okamoto called his stories “torimonocho,” or “casebooks,” and this designation was adopted by several other (later) authors of historical detective fiction.
Of course, detectives in the modern sense did not yet exist in the Edo-period. Hanshichi is an "okappiki," a helper of the "machibugyo" (the magistrate, who also served as judge in trials), and someone who was hired in an unofficial capacity. It was the task of the okappiki to make arrests, but also do a certain amount of investigation to solve cases. In that sense the job was indeed somewhat comparable to that of a detective on the police force. Okamoto has wisely left out another aspect of the okappiki's job, that of torturing criminals to obtain a confession. On the contrary, Hanshichi is not violent at all, but rather a wise man like Okamoto's historical model, Ooka Echizen.
Hanshichi is also very Japanese. Culturally, Japan was not a country of logical reasoning, but rather of intuition, and that difference is clear when you compare Hanshichi to Auguste Dupin or Sherlock Holmes. Hanshichi does not use ratiocination, but rather his intuition plus his detailed knowledge of Edo, the city in which he lived. Hanshichi is also not a law-enforcer in the Anglo-Saxon sense, where the law is abstractly upheld without regard for persons or circumstances. Hanshichi is humane and above all out to preserve the fabric of society. He may spare a criminal in order to save the reputation of a certain family, and he avoids creating waves that will upset society. By the way, this reminds me of Simenon's police commissioner Maigret, who also relied more on intuition and psychology, and under special circumstances spared the criminal as well (as in Chez les Flamands from 1932).
The Hanshichi stories belong to the sub-category of the historical mystery, which only took off in the West after the boost by Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose in 1980, while in Japan it stood at the head of detective fiction. One could say that besides Hanshichi, the city of Edo itself is also an important "character" in these stories, with its samurai mansions and its brothels, its teahouses and its bathhouses, and its colorful superstitions. The stories are full of interesting characters and events and the pace is fast. The mystery elements are limited and there is no menace or danger. Instead, there is a lot of good humored fun.
The stories have been written according to a fixed template but Okamoto's inspiration never flags. He also deftly uses a double time frame: the stories themselves take place somewhere in the middle of the 19th century (50s and 60s), but they always start with a "frame" placed in the Meiji-period (80s and 90s) in which the retired Hanshichi tells one of his experiences to the young Okamoto. The feeling of nostalgia for a past irrevocably ended is strong, but Okamoto does not idealize. Moreover, Edo nostalgia was popular at the time when he started writing his Hanshichi stories – think for example of Nagai Kafu's The River Sumida (1911).
But as Edogawa Rampo also noted, Okamoto Kido did not use the form of the detective story to celebrate the values of Western modernity and rationality (as embodied in the original Holmes stories) but subverted the form into a nostalgic and nativistic celebration of Japanese traditionalism, turning inward to the insular world of Japan's premodern past (Mark Silver).
Fourteen early Hanshichi stories have been expertly translated by Ian Macdonald in The Curious Casebook of Inspector Hanshichi: Detective Stories of Old Edo (University of Hawaii Press, 2006). This is a wonderful book. In contrast, in The Snake That Bowed (Printed Matter Press, 2006) famous translator Edward Seidensticker has retold three Hanshichi stories, but the result is unfortunately very dull, flat and inauthentic, and Seidensticker's book cannot be recommended.
Stories featuring detection by Tanizaki Junichiro and other literary authors
In the Taisho period, several literary authors showed interest in detective fiction (or in incorporating elements from such fiction in their novels). The foremost of these authors was Tanizaki Junichiro who wrote about a dozen stories dealing with crime and mystery, and incorporated such elements in many more works. This is all the more interesting as Tanizaki exerted a great influence on Edogawa Ranpo, the greatest mystery author in the interwar period, and even acted as his unofficial mentor. On top of that, Tanizaki not only introduced detective elements in literature, but was also the literary originator of the "erotic and grotesque" mode (already in his first story from 1910, "The Tattoer") which was further developed by Ranpo.
[Tanizaki Junichiro]
It can not be emphasized enough how much of this Edogawa Ranpo borrowed for his own first detective story called The Two-Sen Copper Coin of 1922 (see the next installment of this series): not only the idea of the secret code a la Poe, but also the fact that the detection is based on a hoax so that nothing is detected at all. And of course the peeping through holes in knotted wood will remind Ranpo fans of "The Stalker in the Attic"... Despite these similarities, Ranpo's stories are authentic enough. I don't want to accuse him of copying, but I just want to make clear how large the influence of Tanizaki initially was.
Another pure detective story by Tanizaki is "Tojo" ("While Walking," 1920, not yet translated). This story consists almost entirely of a dialogue between a detective and a company executive, whose first wife has died. Through the questions the detective asks during a walk together about the circumstances surrounding the death of that wife, it becomes gradually clear that the executive has murdered her. Tanizaki's narration is very clever, with not a word too much and with excellent pacing. Ranpo commented later that this story was unique in detective fiction.
"The Thief" (Watakushi, 1921, tr. Howard Hibbett in Seven Japanese Tales) is a short story told in the first person by the criminal himself, a student suspected of theft in a dormitory. Playing the innocent, he speaks in the first person but at the end unconsciously reveals that he himself is guilty. This was a clever story in which Tanizaki himself expressed pride.
In contrast, "The Secret" (Himitsu) (1911, tr. Anthony H. Chambers, Kodansha International, 2001) is not a straight detective story, but the protagonist, a hedonistic man who has hidden himself away from the world in a temple, while not actually desiring to commit a crime, has an urge to inhale the "fine and romantic perfume" of crime. Crossdressing as a woman he goes out and walks in public, seeking mysterious experiences. And indeed an adventure is waiting for him, for a woman takes him blindfolded in a carriage to her house. But once the mystery is solved, the spell is broken, and the hero must move on to some stronger stimulation, no longer satisfied with anything so insignificant as "secrets." Perhaps crime is waiting for him...
The Strange case of Tomoda and Matsunaga ("Tomoda to Matsunaga no hanashi," 1926, tr. Paul McCarthy, University of Michigan Press, 2016) is a novella in which a woman asks the author to help solve the mystery surrounding her husband, Matsunaga Gisuke, who vanishes every three years and then remains incommunicado, only to return to his family later without providing an explanation. As comes out, the husband is a sort of Jekyll-and-Hyde character who has an alternate identity as Tomoda Ginzo - while Matsunaga is a thin, sickly traditionalist, Tomoda is a sensualist with large and exotic appetites, also as regards women - he is truly a man of the world who criticizes the smallness of Japan. Are Matsunaga and Tomoda really the same man? The story symbolizes an interesting intercultural split, which even goes so far as changing the appearance of the person suffering from this East-West dichotomy. By the way, Ranpo mentions Tanizaki's story and its detective elements in his essay "A Desire for Transformation" (tr. Seth Jacobowitz in The Edogawa Rampo Reader (Kurodahan Press, 2008).
There are many other Tanizaki stories featuring detection, such as "The Incident at the Yanagi Bathhouse" (Yanagiyu no Jiken, 1918), "A Crippen Case in Japan" (Nihon ni okeru Kurippun Jiken, 1927) and "Gold and Silver" (Kin to Gin, 1918), but I finally only want to say something about the "forgotten" novel In Black and White (Kokubyaku) (1928, tr. Phyllis I. Lyons, Columbia University Press, 2017), which was translated a few years ago. This is a psychological murder mystery, in which an author who has penned a story about the perfect murder, and has used an acquaintance, a fellow writer, as the model for the victim, becomes terrified that an actual murder will take place and that he will become the main suspect. So he goes to great lengths to establish an alibi but finds himself more and more entangled in his paranoid fantasies. It is also a meta-fiction in which a novel incriminates its own creator. In its central pages it contains an interesting ero-guro section (the highlight of the book) in which the alibi-seeking author becomes the prey of a femme fatale. The psychological element, the ero-guro part, and the metafictional aspect were all elements used by Japan's most important crime writer of the prewar years, Edogawa Ranpo, whom we will discuss in the next article.
Other writers
Tanizaki was the most important, but not the only writer to use detection elements in his fiction. Another one is Tanizaki's friend Sato Haruo, who wrote a few detective stories (plus in 1924 an interesting essay about detective fiction and its "romantic and erotic origins," which had a huge influence on later Japanese writers), the most famous one being “Shimon” (The Fingerprint) from 1918. Sato Haruo (1892-1964) was an important literary author whose career spanned fifty years and who wrote poetry, fiction, essays and drama. Known for his exploration of melancholy, his most famous novella is Melancholy in the Country (1919).
In “The Fingerprint” a paranoid protagonist takes on the role of detective as he struggles to solve a murder mystery. This narrator has an old friend, only indicated as “R. N,” who returns to Japan following his travels to the West. During his travels, he has become addicted to opium and on his way to Tokyo, stops by in the exotic port of Nagasaki where he visits a secret opium den. He then visits the narrator and confesses that he woke up one day in the opium den to find a corpse lying by his side. He however managed to bribe the owner of the opium den to conceal it. But R. N. believes that he is the murderer and continues to be haunted by nightmares. Then, one day, while watching a Western movie in a Tokyo cinema, he thinks that one of the characters in the film looks familiar. The film, a crime story, zooms in on a fingerprint (an essential plot device in the film) that this actor has left behind, and R. N. realizes that this fingerprint is identical to the one imprinted on a gold watch he accidentally picked up in the opium den on the night of the crime. Is the actor, who is called “William Wilson,” the real murderer (the actor's name is an obvious reference to Edgar Alan Poe’s eponymous story about doppelgangers)? Does this mean that he himself is innocent? The narrator first thinks this is just another opium-influenced hallucination, but gradually he also becomes fascinated by the world of fingerprints, reading many German books on the subject. Then three months later, the narrator reads in the newspaper that a dead body has been found in the cellar of the Nagasaki opium den in question. R. N. has by that time left and it is not clear to the narrator whether the body is William Wilson’s or perhaps R. N.’s... This is not just a straight detective story, but Sato expertly depicts the ambiguity in the minds of R. N. (as an opium addict), and also the narrator, who is confused by illusion and reality.
A second literary author who used detection elements in his fiction was Akutagawa Ryunosuke (1892-1927), one of the most interesting and skillful writers of short stories in Japan. Many of his stories reinterpreted classical works or historical incidents. Strong detection elements can be found in the following stories:
- In the first place "In a Bamboo Grove" ("Yabu no Naka," 1922). A perfect demonstration of how humans all interpret events in different ways, and not coincidentally always to their own advantage in their pride and vanity . This also makes trials difficult as witnesses are basically unreliable (even if not on purpose). A samurai and his wife travel through a dense forest, they meet a robber, the samurai eventually dies, a passing-by woodcutter reports the crime. The woodcutter, a priest, the robber, the gentleman and his lady all have their own, self-serving versions of the same murder (or was it suicide?) - even the dead man speaking via a medium is still telling lies from over the grave...
- "Rashomon" (1915). A manservant who has lost his job must choose between honesty and crime. We see how he gradually decides to become a thief, when observing that an old hag on the attic of the Rashomon gate is tearing out the hair of dead bodies dumped there to make wigs. The old woman becomes his first victim, in good Dostoyevsky-style...
- "The Death of a Disciple" (Hokyonin no shi, 1918). Story set in Christian Nagasaki. A young monk, Lorenzo, is accused of being the father of her baby by a girl of the town who is also a believer. He is ordered to leave the Church. When a fire breaks out in the house of the girl, he dashes inside the burning house to save the baby. Severely burned, Lorenzo then dies, and it is revealed when his tattered garment falls apart, that "he" was in fact a "she," and therefore unjustly accused.
This article incorporates parts of my previous post, Hanshichi, Japan's First Fictional Detective.
Studies used as reference in writing this article:
Purloined Letters: Cultural Borrowing and Japanese Crime Literature, 1868-1937, by Mark Silver (Univ of Hawaii Pr, 2008)
Murder Most Modern: Detective Fiction and Japanese Culture, by Sari Kawana (Univ of Minnesota Pr, 2008)
Mord in Japan, by Robert F. Wittkamp (Iudicium, 2002)Monogatari Nihon Suiri Shosetsu Shi by Gohara Hiroshi (Kodansha, 2010)
The Evolution of Tanizaki Junichiro as a Narrative Artist, PH.D. Thesis by Kathleen Chisato Merken (University of British Columbia, 1979)
Culture and authenticity: the discursive space of Japanese detective fiction and the formation of the national imaginary, Ph.D. Thesis by Satomi Saito
(University of Iowa, 2007)