Nureki Chimuo Archive

Mr. Akira Kuroda.

Thank you very much for sending me “Miscellaneous Essays on Perverted Theater (Complete Edition)” by Koichi Hata from the “Perverted Literature Series, Volume 8,” as well as “Nana,” translated by Mitsuo Oda and published by your company.

“Miscellaneous Essays on Perverted Theater,” published in September Showa 3, is a rare book and I imagine it must have been quite expensive. I will be sure to return it after I have finished reading it. Please let me borrow it for a while.

Published shortly after the transition from the Taisho to the Showa era, this old-fashioned, 100-page, sewn-bound book, bound in the traditional Japanese style with hemp string, lists the “Literary Materials Research Society” at 34 Nishi-Gokencho, Ushigome Ward, Tokyo City, as the publisher. The publisher and printer is listed as Fukutaro Fukuyama, with the same address, and the printing house is listed as Fukuyama Printing, also located at the same address.

In my personal opinion, this extremely small-scale publishing model appears to have been emulated later by establishments such as “Suikodo” (13 Maruyama Fukuyama-cho, Bunkyo Ward), which was organized and managed by Keijiro Itoh (Chikusu).

In other words, I get the impression that the operations of “Suikodo,” a small publishing house that continued until the early Showa 30s, were directly modeled after the methods of this “Literary Materials Research Society.”

In short, this was one approach to publishing content with strong sexual overtones while keeping a watchful eye on the repressive measures of those in power.

After the war, following “Kitan Club” and “Uramado,” the magazine “Fuzoku Kitan,” which focused primarily on the abnormal, was launched and the name of the publisher for this monthly magazine was “Fuzoku Shiryo Kankokai.”

At the time, the president of “Amatoria-sha,” who had picked up a copy of this new magazine “Fuzoku Kitan,” said in a tone of exasperation, “Publishers who put out magazines like this all give themselves similar names, don’t they? There used to be something called the Literary Materials Research Society, too.”

I remember this clearly because I was standing right in front of him at the time.

As you probably know, the president of “Amatoria-sha” was none other than Mr. Tokichi Kubo, who was also the president of “Kubo Shoten.” And “Kubo Shoten” was the publisher of “Uramado.”

“Amatoria-sha” and “Kubo Shoten” were located in the same building. In fact, the desks of the editorial departments of both companies were lined up side by side in the same room.

Mr. Hajime Takakura, who launched “Fuzoku Kitan,” was slightly younger than Mr. Tokichi Kubo, but I believe he was born during the Taisho era. I imagine the name “Literary Materials Research Society,” which could be considered a pioneer in this genre of publishing, held a particularly strong and enduring place in Mr. Takakura’s mind.

As I belong to a generation even younger than Mr. Tokichi Kubo and Mr. Hajime Takakura, I did not feel particularly close to the name “Literary Materials Research Society,” which exuded a subtle luster in this genre of publishing.

There was another publishing house that appeared to have taken over Suikodo’s operations, and I had some brief contact with its owner when I was young. I recall his name was something like Atsushi Sakamoto.

I have written about my relationship with the owner of Suikodo in the section titled “Takusui of Asukayama" in the Kawade Bunko publication “‘Kitan Club’ and Its Surroundings.”

Just the other day, while running an errand, I climbed Asukayama in Oji, Kita Ward, with Director Nakahara of the Sex Industry Museum. On the way down from Asukayama, I found myself reminiscing about the times I had visited the home of Mr. Chikusu Itoh, the owner of Suikodo, together with the late Minomura Ko. It feels as if it were only yesterday that I met Mr. Chikusu, dressed in his traditional cotton-padded coat, but when I count the years, it turns out to have been more than fifty years ago.

Several of the punishment photographs I received from Mr. Chikusu at that time are still preserved at the Sex Industry Museum. They are not printed copies, but original photographs.

The “Miscellaneous Essays on Perverted Theater” that Mr. Kuroda sent me this time is “Volume 8 of the Perverted Literature Series,” published by the LIterary Materials Research Society. The very fact that they managed to publish such a daring work, at least by the

standards of the time, up to Volume 8 seems to me to be evidence of a remarkable achievement.

This volume, bound in the traditional Japanese style with hemp thread and looking decidedly suspicious even from its cover alone, is indeed a valuable item. I will read it with great care, savoring its texture in both hands.

The other book is Emile Zola’s “Nana,” a substantial, luxurious volume of 600 pages, painstakingly and beautifully crafted, with a list price of 4,800 yen. It contains over fifty captivating illustrations from the original work, and it is a rare and immense privilege to receive such a substantial and magnificent volume from the translator himself, Mr. Mitsuo Oda. I am deeply honored and would like to express my sincere gratitude.

It reminded me of the memorable narration from the final scene of the film “Izakaya,” which I saw in Shinjuku long ago while writing a serialized novel for “Uramado.”

“This girl will eventually grow up to become that actress, Nana.”

Perhaps I saw this French film with Minomura Ko. Back then, at Minomura Ko’s invitation, I would go to movie theaters in Shibuya and Shinjuku about once a week.

Immediately after seeing that film, “Izakaya,” I read a sort of abridged version of this literary giant’s novel and thought I understood the story, but taking this opportunity to receive the book, I have now taken the time to sit down and study it thoroughly.

I realized once again that this is a magnificent novel, extremely detailed, bold, and possessing a stimulating sense of reality.

Right from the beginning, I was overwhelmed by the description of Nana’s chemise slipping off as she lay slumped on the bed, the sensual scent of her bare arms seemed to seep right out from between the lines.

Yukio Mishima read this “Nana” in Showa 16, when he was sixteen years old, and said, “That tenacity, that strength, that speed… Where in Japanese fiction can one find such a microcosm?”

Indeed, I found that such relentless and effective eroticism, along with the other meticulous portrayals of human nature, are rarely seen in Japanese fiction.

Even if one could imitate certain elements, I feel that viscous, foul odor emanating from flesh, fat, and sweat, with its intense, palpable heat, simply cannot arise from the Japanese constitution.

I’ve finally made it past the first half of this book after reading it carefully, and from here on out I imagine a diverse array of depictions, including sadism, masochism, fetishes, lesbianism, and lolicon, will unfold in a lavish and dazzling display of thoroughly decadent beauty, imbued with a profound realism that lies beyond the expressive capabilities of the Japanese. The very thought of it sends shivers down my spine.

The stench and eerie hues emanating from the blood, fat, and flesh, corrupted by the desires of men and women teeming through the various strata of French high society in the 1850s, come vividly to life, reaching even we who dwell in this distant island nation.

Indeed, the land of “Nana” is a leading nation in every respect. By comparison, Japan’s so-called “decadent beauty” is nothing more than a superficial trick performed in a seedy sideshow. We simply cannot hold a candle to it.

Japan’s erotic decadence scene is far too small and meager. Everything they do is nothing but petty, empty posturing.

Unless those foolish people in power collapse and the sleazy wealthy, who’ve made their fortunes through unjust means, become utterly sexually corrupt, Japan will never become a free country where people can truly savor pleasure, will it?

I feel this novel possesses such a powerful force that it makes one leap to that conclusion.

I haven’t yet had the chance to read every page, but I’ve already received a superb, wonderful stimulus. Thank you very much.

I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to Mr. Mitsuo Oda.