[9/10]
This one key, meant for the use of the wardens, can open every one of the hundred and fifty rooms in the building, and is still missing. For the last six months, everyone in the building has more or less lived in dread and uneasiness. After all, the women who have lived alone for so long in these apartments have their secrets, little aspects of their lives known only to themselves, and now someone unknown is free to pry into them, to intrude.
This novel merits its place among the classics of Japanese crime fiction. I wish I had discovered it earlier, and paid more attention to this particular subgenre, because, frankly, the book is quite impressive in its elegant construction and subtle, understated depiction of intense loneliness and despair.
The setting is an apartment building constructed in Tokyo towards the end of the world war two, destined as accommodation for single women working in the capital. As the years pass, and as many men have died in the war, most of these once young women are still single and living in the building as pensioners, alone and poor with few prospects of a change in their fortunes.
They merely stay alive; they have no activity except to dream about the past. At such times as this, I have a sort of hallucination: I imagine how, in rooms on the third floor, the fifth floor, old women pass their days in silence still gazing at the broken fragments of the dreams of youth, every now and then letting fall a sigh that echoes down the corridor, until they combine on the stairway and roll down to the cavernous hallway, raising one long moan around where I sit.
Since this is framed as a crime story, the prologue describes the kidnapping of a child seven years previously, a hit and run accident that appears to be connected to the case, and the suspect behaviour of one of the women living in the building. The catalyst for change is the scheduled moving of the whole building (with the inhabitants still inside) on special heavy duty equipment, in order to enlarge a main thoroughfare.
But the real story here is about privacy and secrets. It’s about the fragile edifice of lies and misdirections we employ to protect our public image and our self-respect. It’s about the perverse appeal of prying into these secrets, once you have the means to access them. Since this novel was written before we put every private shred of our existence online, the way to do it is to gain access to a master key that can open every door in the building. This key is supposed to be kept always in the room of the custodians, and only be used in emergencies with at least two people present. Yet, six months before the moving of the building, the key had disappeared.
These apartments were founded with the intention of preserving the modesty and so enhancing the status of working women. That one little key was the guarantor of these aims, but in the wrong hands it becomes a threat. In such circumstances, locked doors lose their meaning!
The following chapters may or may not have a connection to the crime from the prologue. They do have though this common thread between a secret life and a prying eye. Between privacy and temptation. For me, the glimpse at the lonely, tragic lives of these single old ladies was of more interest that the clever twists and turns of the main plot.
Kaneko Tamura is one of the caretakers, who likes knitting and to take naps on the job. She’s likable and even a bit funny, but inside there is insecurity and envy. In the same building Tamura guards lives Toyoko Munekata, one of her former schoolmates, who had a successful career in university, and now does research papers in her room. The temptation to use the master key and to pry into the papers of Munekata is too strong to resist.
The next one to be tempted is Noriko Ishiyama, a former art teacher, now a shy, dirty mouse hiding in a cupboard and stealing fish bones from garbage pails. She’s a hoarder and a crazy old bat to the other residents, but several clues and the missing master key she finds in her own room (thrown there by Tamura), send Noriko into her own search for secrets.
Suwa Yatabe was once a child prodigy with a promising career ahead of her as a concert violinist. Now she barely makes a living giving private lessons in her room. Yet she also may have hidden there a stolen Guarnerius violin worth a fortune. With the master key missing, someone may be out to expose Suwa.
Yoneko Kimura is another retired teacher from a girls highschool. She’s having some troubles managing her meager pension, but mostly she is bored out of her mind with nothing to do. So she starts to write to her former pupils, one of whom is Keiko, the mother of the kidnapped child seven years previously. When another series of small clues and an answering letter from Keiko point towards somebody in the building, Yoneko turns into an amateur sleuth and tries to get her hands on the master key, so she can investigate the room of the main suspect.
Chikako Ueda is a recluse, a mentally disturbed woman who acts like she has something to hide. But is that enough to accuse her of premeditated murder?
During the next few days, Yoneko could not take her mind off the vision of Chikako Ueda, plying her embroidery needle in her room as she waited for a man who did not come. People lived in a world of fantasy, she reasoned. Yoneko felt isolated and empty at the thought that she herself had no such fantasy to give hope and point to her life. This was why her life since retirement had been so blank and meaningless as she felt it was.
These slice of life portraits reminded me strongly of some of the best contemporary movies by Kurosawa. It’s a sort of poetic realism that includes both kindness and misery and resignation. I would have loved the book for these chapters alone, but the author has not forgotten that he is writing a crime novel, even as I got sidetracked by the human interest angle. The last chapter, before the epilogue which I am not going to spoil for you, is told from the point of view of the puppet master, of the secret agent who manipulated these women into using the master key and exposing the secret lives of their neighbors. While the revelations are satisfactory from a detective point of view, what I took away from this last chapter is the reflection on the role of accident and randomness in the development of the story. An attitude that strongly encourages me to include the novel among the noir canon:
My feelings were not directed at anything or anyone in particular, but at the caprices of fate which can bring about changes in the best laid plans of mice and men, as the saying goes. Fate! It can stab you in the back any time, upsetting the most carefully thought out activities. Fate doesn’t care what the upshot is.
This was my first novel I tried from Masako Togawa. I hope I will find the time to read more from her and from other similar Japanese writers. I love the diversity of the genre outside the main American market for pulp and noir.
We were like children building magnificent sandcastles only to see them washed away by the tides of fate. [...] Life is just a passing dream, and we are the toys of mocking fate.