Nureki Chimuo Archive

Most of the novels, plays, screenplays, essays, and illustrated stories I have written over the years under various pen names are currently housed at the Sex Industry Museum in Iidabashi, though not all of them.

It amounts to about sixty or seventy percent of my total body of work.

I have no idea where the remaining thirty or forty percent are now.

They are not in my possession either.

life.

Of course, none of them are particularly valuable, but they are, after all, a record of my

I sincerely believe that what I have written is utter rubbish.

That is why I never took the trouble to carefully preserve the magazines in which they were published.

I thought that if they disappeared, so be it.

No, I thought it would be better if they vanished like weeds.

In fact, an editor from a magazine that had commissioned me once said to my face, “The weed-like manuscripts you write…”

right.

At the time, I was naturally angry, but I also found myself thinking that maybe he was

Even while calling them weeds, that publisher paid me a substantial monthly fee for what I wrote.

Companies will use any weed as long as it turns a profit.

I was also hired by a video production company and worked on the set of so-called SM videos.

During a break after lunch, I gave this reply to a question from B-kun, the assistant director:

“...You see, the heroine of this piece actually loves her husband’s father more than she loves her husband. Her father-in-law realizes this and, stealing glances from his son, makes a move on the heroine… That’s where the aim of this work lies.”

I was the one who wrote the script for that drama.

Director I, who had been listening to the conversation between B and myself from the side, said to another assistant director with a mocking tone:

“Hey, a work of art, huh? You call this SM video a work? Isn’t a work of art supposed to be something with a little more class?”

When I heard that, I was furious inside.

There was clearly prejudice and contempt toward SM.

But I kept quiet and endured it.

The footage shot by that director had good sales results at the production company, and he was someone the president held in high regard.

Ever since then, I’ve avoided calling my own writing “a work of art.”

Although I was angry at Director I’s words at first, “...I see. Maybe it really isn’t something I should call a “work of art.”

I even found myself agreeing with him at times.

After experiencing similar situations several times, I had lost all attachment to what I wrote.

Of course, since it was responsible work for which I received a fee, I still gripped my pen with the determination to give it my all whenever I wrote.

I had to write with all my might. If I didn’t get the next commission, I wouldn’t be able to make a living.

However, being called “weeds” by the editor of an SM magazine and being scoffed at and despised by Director I with the words, “Can you really call this a work of art?” became a kind of trauma that remained constantly in my heart and would not leave me.

It was Nakahara Rutsu, the Director of the Sex Industry Museum, who saved my heart.

I have written about this several times before, so some of you may be thinking, “not this again,” but for my sixth book in the Kawade Bunko series, “Bondage, As Long as I Live,” Nakahara Rutsu-san kindly provided a detailed and thoughtful commentary.

She recognized what I had written as art and gave it her full endorsement.

I was deeply grateful. It was Nakahara-san’s words that saved me.

Even if it was just a weed, it was still a work of art, and at that time and in that place, it played a role that was appropriate in its own way.

I finally came to accept that there is value in that, in my own work.

Even though I could accept it, I still couldn’t muster any confidence and my inferiority complex remained as strong as ever. But in any case, I was revived by Nakahara Rutsu-san’s commentary.

Ever since I began receiving new encouragement from Nakahara-san, my writing has changed. At the very least, I stopped compromising with society and started writing what I wanted to write.

If I wrote something that pandered to the world or was sloppy due to compromise, she would immediately call me out on it, and sometimes even scold me.

At this point, I must bring Mr. Akiyoshi Otaguro into the picture.

As I mentioned earlier, about sixty to seventy percent of what I have written is housed in the Museum of Popular Culture.

Of course, I could not be more grateful.

And Mr. Akiyoshi Otaguro, a devoted reader of “Talking Theater,” is now diligently tracking down my writings that are not currently held in the Sex Industry Museum.

As I have mentioned before, I am deeply grateful to Mr. Otaguro and he has once again managed to track down new materials for me.

I am truly grateful and deeply moved.

Mr. Otaguro does not merely unearth these works. He also reads the novels I wrote with great enthusiasm and sends them to me along with his thoughts on the story.

These reflections always leave me feeling wonderful.

In short, he offers me frank praise. For a writer like me who lacks confidence, it is deeply appreciated that his praise is not mere flattery but expressed in appropriate terms.

For example, I once received a letter like this: “...The other day, you shared some valuable stories from your time at Kubo Shoten, and you gave me copies of your own books as well as a collection by Kyosuke Nango. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I started reading ‘The Ghost of the Old Castle’ the very same day, and it was so fascinating that I finished it in less than a day. The pacing, plot, and ending were all flawless, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. In particular, ‘The White Wax Mansion Incident’ had a different outcome from the ‘Uramado’ version, and I could clearly see Nureki Sensei’s professional dedication in his meticulous attention to detail…”

I would do anything for readers who offer such kind words of praise.

What Mr. Otaguro sent me this time was a copy of a mystery short story titled “The Naked Woman Who Hunts Men,” which I had written under the pen name Toyokichi Iida for the monthly magazine “Detective Club.”

To my surprise, it was the November 1958 issue.

1958! That’s a magazine from over fifty years ago!

He also copied the table of contents for this issue, and flanking my pen name are Kotaro Kiki and Kazuo Shimada, both of whom are no longer with us.

Similarly, in the December 1958 issue of “Detective Club,” I wrote a novel titled “The Princess of Revenge at Snake King Castle” under the pen name Toyokichi Iida. In this same issue, I also wrote a short story titled “The Defeat of the White Snake Lady” under the pen name Ichiro Toyoda.

In other words, two of my stories were published simultaneously in a single magazine issue under different pen names.

Additionally, in the New Year’s issue of “Detective Club” from 1959, I wrote a novel titled “The Ginza Female Slave Market” under the pen name Toyokichi Iida.

It seems I was writing a novel for every issue of “Detective Club” at that time, but I have completely forgotten about it.

For some reason, I don’t have a single copy of this magazine in my possession.

This is precisely why, while about sixty to seventy percent of my works are housed at the Sex Industry Museum, the whereabouts of the remaining thirty to forty percent remain unknown.

For some reason, the novel I published in “Detective Club” isn’t even listed in my work notes.

Mr. Otaguro also tracked this down for me. In the October 1968 (Showa 44) issue of the magazine “Suiri-kai” (The World of Inference), I wrote a detective short story titled “Don’t Cry, Hitman” under the name Toyokichi Iida.

The table of contents for that issue features a long list of Edogawa Rampo Prize-winning authors, including Kyotaro Nishimura, Sen Saga, Noboru Seito, and Fumiko Shinjo.

In addition, the names of Kikuo Tsunoda, Haruhiko Oyabu, Michio Tsuzuki, and Shigeaki Tanaka also appear.

I feel honored that my name appears alongside these first-rate authors, but I can’t help but wonder why it’s there.

Was the editor-in-chief of “Suiri-kai” trying to pull me away from the SM world and draw me toward the world of mystery?

However, at that time, my heart was strongly drawn to the magazine edited by Minomura Ko, that is, Toshiyuki Suma.

No matter how often I was invited to “Tantei Club” or “Suiri-kai,” I simply couldn’t resist the allure of Uramado.

Uramado allowed me to write as many as five or six stories in the same issue, across a variety of genres, as long as I changed my pen name.

It was in 1957 (Showa 32), when I was twenty-seven, that I began writing my first serialized novel, “Breasts of Hell,” for Uramado.

The illustrations for this serial were provided by Mr. Akiyoshi Ro.

With every issue, I would gaze in rapture at his meticulous character sketches and innovative compositions that brought the characters to life. I felt that the illustrations were even more captivating than the novel itself.

Mr. Otaguro always expends extraordinary energy tracking down my old works that I no longer have in my possession.

In other words, he unearths my memories associated with those old works and brings them back to me.

Thank you very much. I would like to express my gratitude once again.

As a small token of my appreciation, I deposited several worn-out, dirty old copies of Uramado, which I used for editorial work during my time at the magazine, at the Sex Industry Museum. Have you received them?

I believe I still have a few things I’d like to give you. They're mostly old, grubby books and materials, but please do accept them.