This quiet fantasy travelogue follows two gaijin as they traipse around Japan, trying to take pictures of yokai (spirits) with a small plastic child's camera. Arranged in a series of short vignettes each centered around a single photograph, the story takes on a melancholy, existential quality as the characters wonder whether they are in fact photographing ghosts in the Japanese countryside, or just on a goose chase. Between chapters, readers can see that the photos they take really do bear fruit: mysterious shapes snake between trees, and one old gentleman who guides their quest and insists he be photographed in front of a shrine shows up transparent.
The spirits in this book are barely visible and it is unclear what their goal or motives for interacting with mortals might be; if anything, this adds to the appeal. No gnashing teeth or heads bitten off--but a giant foot might come through your roof, or an eyeball appear in your coffee. The artist has reverence for the apparently absurd qualities of the unseen world, and doesn't attempt to explain it--just to contact a little of its magic.
There's a little Western voyeurism at play here, and I have no idea about whether the stories contained in this book reflect real local traditions, but the art would pull me back to this book for a browse a few times more. I like the nods to the creators' real travels and interactions with Japanese elders, who pass on short stories about the spirits they have encountered--including ones created by nuclear fallout. An interesting quirk of the art is that the narrators' faces are drawn very simply, while Japanese locals they encounter have detailed, individual faces with lots of character. Likewise, the food, pretty scenery, dappled sunlight, and cool forest floors that the two characters explore are rendered carefully; they appear almost like travelogue guidebook photos, but with a little cartoony charm.