Nureki Chimuo Archive

Even someone as insignificant as I am occasionally catches someone’s eye, and they go out of their way to look up my background, or something like a brief biography, and write about it.

That’s sometimes published in magazines and other places in the form of a feature article.

No matter what anyone says, my work is essentially in the service industry, and being featured in any form, and thus coming to the public’s attention, is a form of publicity, so I have to be grateful for it. That’s what being professional is all about.

I am well aware that I am in a position where I cannot simply refute things even if they are written slightly inaccurately.

That said, since this is a line of work that’s easily misunderstood, there are times when I feel annoyed, thinking, “They just don’t get it.”

(Of course, since I’m doing something truly unconventional and hard to understand, it’s only natural that some people don’t get it.)

Conversely, when I come across a piece that clearly understands the nature of my work, it makes me happy.

In Mr. Kyochi Tsuzuki’s book, “The Strange Tales of Super-Elderly Japan” (Chikuma Bunko), I, that is, Nureki Chimuo, appear over the course of 50 pages. The author truly captured my spirit and wrote about me very well. I’m grateful. And I’m happy.

The author masterfully selected and highlighted the very points I most wanted to express and convey, drawing from my several published books to date as well as the 2,700 sheets of 400-character manuscript paper’s worth of text I’ve posted on my website.

It truly brings my way of life into sharp relief.

“So that’s it, this is the kind of life I’ve led,” I thought, feeling deeply moved.

Mr. Kyoichi Tsuzuki is a poet.

He has authored many books on his work as a photographer and interviewer, and his energetic activities span a wide range of fields, but at his core he is a poet.

In all of his work I sense an intellect as sharp and polished as a razor’s edge, along with the soul of a poet who loves humanity with an almost unbearable passion.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, his poetic spirit is packed into every nook and cranny, as fine as singing sand.

If you don’t believe me, just open his book “Yoroshiku: Contemporary Poetry” (Chikuma Bunko) and see for yourself.

Even someone who has despaired of life and was about to hang themselves would, after reading this book, think “All right, I’ll try to live for another three days or so.” If you can survive those three days, you’ll be able to live until your predetermined lifespan runs out.

Oh, I’ve gone off on a tangent again. Now is not the time to be introducing Mr. Tsuzuki’s book.

There’s also another piece that chronicles my career so far, “The Other Face of Nureki Chimuo: A Life of Fierce Writing.”

This is a text written by Nakahara Rutsu as the “Commentary” to my book “Bondage: As Long as I Live” (Kawade Bunko).

Spanning thirteen pages, it carefully analyzes my work and even touches on aspects of my way of life.

The commentary written by Nakahara Rutsu-san, director of the Sex Industry Museum, records the publishing landscape of SM magazines, including their rise and fall, with remarkable accuracy, clarity, and sincerity, though I am slightly concerned about her excessive praise of my work.

Along with the accuracy of the facts, the vivid intensity of the prose and the richness and sharpness of her sensibility left me with a thrill bordering on awe upon my first reading.

It is a text of such power and substance. To put it dramatically, immediately after reading this essay, I thought, “I’m so glad to be alive!”

Up until then, I had lacked confidence in everything I wrote and my work, mired in feelings of inferiority, was filled with nothing but shame.

At first, I thought Nakahara Rutsu-san’s praise for my writing fell into the category of what is commonly known as flattery.

However, as I interacted with Nakahara-san more frequently, I came to realize that she was not the type of person to offer flattery.

Far from flattery, no, she is strict, rigorous, and demanding about absolutely everything!

Her eye for discerning, scrutinizing, and critiquing her subject is razor-sharp. Her tongue cuts straight to the heart with no mercy (especially when the subject is me).

In short, she is a pure and honest person. She is someone who cannot tell a lie.

For someone like me, a naturally frivolous liar, my trust in a person like her only grows deeper and deeper.

Faced with such a principled person, a vulgar person like me…

No, now is not the time to be saying things like this.

I’m currently searching for records of the rise and fall of SM publications, primarily SM magazines. As for why I’m looking into the history of the SM industry now, the reason is exactly as I wrote a few episodes ago in this “Talking Theater” series.

I’ve been graciously offered the opportunity to be featured in a book series titled “Interviews with Publishers,” published by a certain publishing house.

At first, I declined, saying, “I’m no publisher, I’m just a powerless hired editor,” but I accepted thanks to the enthusiastic recommendation of the editor in charge.

In preparation for that, and as a reference, I rashly promised to write something like a chronology of my life.

However, I can’t write it.

As mentioned earlier, I’ve always believed that what I’ve written has no value to the general public. That’s why I haven’t kept any accurate records.

Even when I occasionally jot down the titles or page counts of my novels in a notebook on a whim it’s just a passing fancy, more for fun that anything else (though of course I write with all my might; after all, if I don’t write something interesting, I won’t make any money).

For someone like me to even think of imitating something a full-fledged writer would do, like compiling a chronology, at this late stage was a mistake from the very beginning. I’m truly ashamed.

In addition to the commentary “The Other Face of Nureki Chimuo: A Life of Fierce Writing” in my book “Bondage: As Long as I Live,” published by Kawade Shobo Shinsha in May 2008, there is another compilation of my written works that Director Nakahara Rutsu kindly organized and put together a year earlier, in November 2007.

It is titled “Chronological List of Nureki Chimuo’s Works: 1953-1971.”

“We put that together at the museum, and we actually handed it over to you six years ago,” said Director Nakahara, raising her thin eyebrows and staring at me with her large eyes.

“Huh? Huh? Huh? Did I actually receive something like that?” I was flustered.

“We gave it to you. We definitely gave it to you. Take a good look around your room.”

“Well, I’m not the type to dwell on the past, you know. I tend to forget things from before right away.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a record of your own important work!”

It’s scary when she says, “What are you talking about?” Director Nakahara’s expression gradually becomes more serious and stern. This woman’s mind is structured with a precision far surpassing that of most people. In situations like this, her memory is absolutely flawless. Not a single mistake in a thousand.

“Go look for it thoroughly!” She snapped again. Her eyes were gleaming. It was scary.

“Ah, but you see, my room is a total mess and I have no idea where things I received six years ago have crawled off to!”

It was two years ago that over a dozen photos of my study, bed, bathroom, and other areas were published in the photo section of “Rare Japan: Tales of the Super-Elderly,” but now the books are piled three times as high as they were back then. Everything is scattered and chaotic, leaving no room to even set a foot down.

As I bowed my head in a deep apology for having lost the gift she had so kindly given me, Director Nakahara cast a slightly pitying glance my way and nodded with an expression that said, “Well, well, what can you do?”

Then, when we met the next day, she handed me the newly printed copies, neatly tucked into a clear plastic case.

“I’m so sorry. Thank you. Thank you, always!”

I accepted them gratefully. It’s a bit intimidating, but I’m truly grateful. This is the “Chronological List of Works by Nureki Chimuo, 1953-1971,” printed on eleven sheets of A4 paper, densely packed with tiny text.

It’s laid out clearly, accurately, and thoughtfully. Reading this gives me a clear chronological picture of the publishing houses I’ve been involved with over the years.

It is truly a chronology. It even includes a list of my pen names. When I counted them, I was surprised to find there were over thirty. Since each pen name has its own meaning, I have clear memories of the names I chose myself.

“This list is merely the tip of the iceberg of Nureki’s creative activities.”

It even includes this note. That’s right, I have several works that have nothing to do with the Sex Industry Museum.

One more thing. I heard through the grapevine that there’s a section on the internet called “Nureki Chimuo.” It’s filled with all sorts of things and says “Provided by SM Pedia.” I have absolutely no idea how such a section came to exist, but I had them print that out for me as well. Since I don’t own a computer or a cell phone, I have the staff at the Sex Industry Museum handle all these kinds of tasks for me whenever I visit.

However, this “Nureki Chimuo” entry is riddled with errors and is of no use whatsoever.

To give one example, “Enjoji Tatsu” is listed as my pen name, but this is actually the pseudonym Minomura Ko used when writing historical fiction. Since it’s a pen name he’s been using since his days at “Kitan Club,” all my readers should be familiar with it.

To give another example, it states that I, that is, Nureki Chimuo, appeared in the 1946 film “My Father,” directed by Yutaka Abe, but this came as a complete surprise to me. I have absolutely no memory of it. This is exactly what they mean by “out of the blue.”

I don’t know who conducted this research or how, but in this busy world what’s the point of writing such preposterous nonsense? There are plenty of other errors as well, but I suppose I have no choice but to ignore them.

I write “Talking Theater” with the intention of studying creative writing.

Therefore, it is not a journal. It is not what is commonly called fact (though it is truth for me). Consequently, it has no documentary value (and because it lacks this, it is of no use when compiling a chronology).

In the thirteenth installment of “Talking Theater,” I wrote, “I’m always, everywhere, just putting on plays.” That’s right. Everything I write is a play meant to be performed on stage.

(Come to think of it, my late father always referred to plays as “shibaya.” All the theater-loving adults living in the working-class neighborhoods of the early Showa era used to say “shibaya.” I wonder why plays are called “shibaya.” I wish I’d asked him.)

To put it another way, novelists are natural-born liars. You can’t become a writer unless you’re a liar. Since I’m a third-rate hack, my lies are frivolous. I can only tell shallow, superficial lies.

And so, Akira Kuroda-san, I’ll bring “Rare Japan: Tales of the Super-Elderly,” “The Other Face of Nureki Chimuo,” and “Chronological List of Nureki Chimuo’s Works: 1953-1971.”

If I bring these three books with me as reference materials, I believe I’ll be able to answer most of the questions from whoever is putting the chronology together. What do you think? I believe these three books will serve not just as a substitute for a chronology, but rather as source material.

As for any gaps in the materials, I’ll leave that up to you, Kuroda-san.

I have read the introductory essay you wrote for “Selected Detective Novels by Seishi Yokomizo” (published by Ronosha, list price 3,200 yen plus tax). I have complete confidence in your steadfast and tenacious approach, as well as your sincere writing style.