Fuzoku Soshi

The cover shows a woman behind barred windows, viewed from both the front and rear. Her red garment is torn or falling away, and one wrist appears raised or secured above her head. The image transforms the window into both prison architecture and display frame. She is confined, but also deliberately presented to the reader from complementary viewpoints. Captivity becomes an act of spectatorship.

The inside front matter immediately broadens this theme. A historical illustration labeled “Banquet of Madness” appears beside a spotlighted performance image titled approximately “The Bizarre Show.” One represents collective frenzy and spectacle; the other isolates a nearly nude performer beneath theatrical light. The juxtaposition announces the issue’s movement between historical cruelty, popular entertainment, and erotic display.

The color plate on PDF page 3, titled “Torment Picture,” shows a kimono-clad woman bent forward with her arms pulled behind her. Her disturbed clothing, bare feet, and lowered face create an image of controlled movement rather than static repose. Rope extends behind her and appears to determine both her posture and her path through the scene.

The opening “Latest American Uproar Photo Special” presents imported photographs of women restrained beneath automobiles, tied to chairs, folded on floors, inverted, whipped, and bound together. These images treat bondage as an international visual language. They also reveal the fascination with household furniture, garages, apparatus, and improvised supports that increasingly shaped postwar bondage photography.

The portfolio “Women Who Abuse Men” reverses the issue’s most common gender structure. Western illustrations show women whipping, trampling, and disciplining men. Female dominance is presented as exotic and theatrical, but it also gives readers a compact visual taxonomy of reversed authority.

The principal text section begins with Matsui Raiko’s serialized pulp novel “The Rain Does Not Cease.” It follows a woman caught within a network of urban sexual danger, coercive relationships, medical intervention, and criminal intrigue. The illustrations emphasize hands, restraints, bedrooms, and the unstable boundary between assistance and exploitation. Its serialized form allows vulnerability to persist across many scenes rather than appearing as a single moment of capture.

“The Taishō-Era Villain: Kin-kei no Kame” presents a notorious criminal case from the Taishō period. The narrative follows robbery, murder, pursuit, arrest, and the reconstruction of evidence. Illustrated violence and documentary framing work together, turning criminal history into a cautionary tale and a visual spectacle.

Shimamoto Haruo’s “Crucifixion Ship” moves into historical adventure. Women are seized, stripped, threatened, and controlled aboard a vessel where authority is concentrated in male crews, merchants, and captors. The ship functions as an enclosed institution, isolating its passengers from ordinary protection. Maritime space becomes a floating punishment chamber.

The story is especially revealing because its coercion depends on environment as much as on individual villains. Cabins, decks, masts, ropes, and the impossibility of escape make the ship itself an instrument of seme. The narrative demonstrates how architecture and transportation could generate eroticized helplessness without requiring a conventional dungeon.

“The Rainbow of the Enchantress,” the third installment of an abnormal-psychology serial, places sexual manipulation inside medical and domestic settings. The story uses suggestion, illness, drugs, seduction, and psychological disturbance to explain apparently irrational behavior. Desire is treated as something that may be induced, diagnosed, concealed, or misread.

The special crime report “The Tsukishima Driver Murder” reconstructs the killing of a taxi or hired-car driver. The investigation proceeds through witness statements, timelines, a vehicle, money, clothing, and contradictory stories. The article belongs to the issue’s strong documentary strand, in which ordinary objects become clues and private relationships become matters of public scrutiny.

“Sodomia Correspondence” gives male same-sex desire a first-person and relational form. The letters discuss loneliness, preferred partners, social concealment, physical attraction, and the difficulty of meeting others. Though published under the period’s pathologizing terminology, the section is not merely an external diagnosis. It allows correspondents to address potential readers who may recognize similar desires.

The crime feature “A Crime Scene with Bodily Fluids” centers on a killing in which semen or another bodily trace becomes crucial evidence. Police and medical investigators interpret stains, physical condition, sexual history, and testimony. The body becomes a text whose fluids supposedly reveal hidden acts and identities.

The article’s title is bluntly forensic, but its placement in Fūzoku Sōshi makes the evidentiary body inseparable from erotic curiosity. Sexual evidence is both investigative fact and sensational attraction. The reader is invited to participate in the expert gaze without possessing expert responsibility.

“Lesbos Correspondence” offers a parallel forum for women interested in women. The letters describe emotional attachments, sexual curiosity, fear of discovery, dissatisfaction with men, and hopes for contact. As with the male correspondence section, pseudonyms and editorial mediation complicate any claim to unfiltered testimony. Nevertheless, the section helps make same-sex desire into a social question rather than an isolated clinical specimen.

Miki Takeshi’s prizewinning “Abnormal Escape” follows a fugitive or socially displaced man through travel, concealment, sexual encounters, and increasingly unstable behavior. Its title suggests both literal flight and psychological deviation. The narrative repeatedly contrasts public normality with the hidden impulses attributed to its protagonist.

Takenō Tōsuke’s “The Distorted Affair” is a compact study of sexual and emotional manipulation. Intimacy is represented through secrecy, alcohol, compromised judgment, and unequal knowledge. The story’s episodic structure resembles a case history, but its dialogue and illustrations place it within erotic melodrama.

“The Devil’s Gale” returns to the magazine’s familiar terrain of rape, murder, pursuit, and violent male desire. A woman’s body becomes the center of criminal investigation after an assault. The story repeatedly moves between the victim’s experience, male testimony, police questioning, and forensic reconstruction.

The long investigative feature “The Shiga Highlands Murder Case” examines a corpse discovered in a mountain or resort setting. Photographs or documentary-style illustrations frame the location, body, suspected sequence of events, and witness statements. The remote landscape serves much the same function as the ship in “Crucifixion Ship”: isolation creates vulnerability while also complicating the investigation.

“The Dancer’s Strange Death” examines a woman employed in entertainment whose death raises questions about poisoning, drugs, money, and sexual relationships. The dancer is represented as both socially visible and privately unknowable. Her profession gives investigators and readers a ready-made explanation for intrigue, but the article also exposes the period’s tendency to treat working women’s sexuality as evidence against them.

“Tokyo’s Bluebeard” concerns a man associated with repeated relationships, deception, and the deaths or victimization of women. The Bluebeard reference imports a familiar European archetype into modern Tokyo. Serial seduction becomes a form of predation, and domestic intimacy becomes a potential crime scene.

“Midsummer Tragedy” follows a rainy-season or summer murder case in which a young woman is killed and suspicion falls across family, neighbors, and acquaintances. The illustrations emphasize interior rooms, sudden attack, questioning, and disrupted domestic life. Summer is not presented as liberation but as humid enclosure and rising tension.

The medical-crime feature “Autopsy of a Rape-Murder Corpse” is one of the issue’s most explicit examples of forensic spectatorship. A doctor or investigator describes the condition of the body, injuries, sexual evidence, decomposition, and the probable sequence of assault and death. The language claims scientific objectivity, but the article’s sensational title and illustrations ensure that examination itself becomes spectacle.

“The Captured Wife” begins on PDF page 150, exactly where a truncated preview might mistakenly appear to end. The story continues for six pages and follows the discovery of a married woman’s corpse, the investigation of her relationships, and the interpretation of wounds and evidence. Its presence demonstrates why the full scan must be checked rather than trusting a 150-page rendering limit.

The final and longest late feature, “Practice” or “Training,” begins on PDF page 156 and continues through the true final page. Awarded a prize and written by Sunagawa Sakae, it follows a traveler or itinerant figure who becomes involved with a household and a younger woman. The story moves through observation, instruction, desire, secrecy, and coercive emotional dynamics.

The title “Practice” is deliberately ambiguous. It may refer to rehearsal, instruction, discipline, or the acquisition of experience. The narrative treats desire as something learned through repetition and asymmetrical guidance. That makes it an appropriate conclusion to an issue preoccupied with how abnormality becomes legible through stories, cases, letters, and repeated patterns.

Across its full 170 pages, the issue reveals several overlapping editorial systems:

fiction converts coercion into sustained plot;

crime reportage converts sexuality into evidence;

correspondence converts secrecy into possible recognition;

medical authority converts bodies into readable signs;

imported imagery expands the available visual grammar of domination;

pseudonymous testimony allows marginalized desires to enter print while preserving uncertainty about authorship.

For readers of Kinbaku Today, the issue is especially valuable for showing that early Japanese SM culture did not develop only through explicit bondage art. It also emerged from crime writing, forensic medicine, queer correspondence, psychological fiction, historical adventure, and images of female authority. Rope is one part of a larger print apparatus that repeatedly asks who may control, expose, diagnose, or interpret another body.