What do you think?
Rate this book
Marshland
Otohiko Kaga's Marshland is an epic novel on a Tolstoyan scale, running from the pre-World War II period to the turbulence of 1960s Japan. At forty-nine, Atsuo Yukimori is a humble auto mechanic living an almost penitentially quiet life in Tokyo, where his coworkers know something of his military record but nothing of his postwar criminal past. Out of curiosity he accompanies his nephew to a demonstration at a nearby university, and is gradually drawn into a friendship, then a romance, with Wakaka Ikéhata, the brilliant but mentally unstable daughter of a university professor. As some of the student radical groups turn to violence and terrorism, Atsuo and Wakaka find themselves framed for the lethal bombing of a Tokyo train.
During their long imprisonment the novel becomes a Kafkaesque procedural, revealing the corrupt intricacies of the police and judicial system of Japan. At the end of their hard pilgrimage to exoneration, Atsuo and Wakaka are finally able to return to his original hometown, Nemuro, on the eastern-most peninsula of Hokkaido island. Here is the marshland of the title, a remote and virtually unspoiled region of Japan where Kaga sets a large number of extraordinarily beautiful pastoral scenes.
Marshland is a revelation of modern Japanese history and culture, a major novel from the hand of a master well-known in his own country, but virtually unheard-of—so far—in the United States and Anglophone world in general.
During their long imprisonment the novel becomes a Kafkaesque procedural, revealing the corrupt intricacies of the police and judicial system of Japan. At the end of their hard pilgrimage to exoneration, Atsuo and Wakaka are finally able to return to his original hometown, Nemuro, on the eastern-most peninsula of Hokkaido island. Here is the marshland of the title, a remote and virtually unspoiled region of Japan where Kaga sets a large number of extraordinarily beautiful pastoral scenes.
Marshland is a revelation of modern Japanese history and culture, a major novel from the hand of a master well-known in his own country, but virtually unheard-of—so far—in the United States and Anglophone world in general.
960 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1985
44 people are currently reading
2079 people want to read
About the author
Otohiko Kaga
22 books23 followersOtohiko Kaga (Japanese name: 加賀乙彦), one of Japan's few Christian writers, is also a medical doctor. After graduating from the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Tokyo, he worked as a hospital and prison psychiatrist before taking up further studies in France. His writing debut came in 1967 with the long novel Furandoru no fuyu (Winter in Flanders). Senkoku (The Verdict) caused a sensation for its depiction of the actual lives of prisoners on death row. Since the late seventies, he has been a full-time writer. He converted to Catholicism under the influence of his friend Shusaku Endo (1923–96), also a writer.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews
July 6, 2024
I’ll try to make this review of Marshland sound smart. This novel rules!
Ok, it’s everything that I love in novels. It’s expansive and immersive. It’s 900 pages (almost) of great writing about a person(s) in a time and place. Atsuo Yukimori is just trying to live life as a mechanic/ex-con until he meets Wakako. There’s travel. Romance. A courtroom drama? There’s backstory to Atsuo and his time in and out of prison. The book moves rather quickly through the almost 900 pages and I promise you, it’s unputdownable. Just terrific. Well worth the wait, well worth the time I spent reading this book. Loved.
Ok, it’s everything that I love in novels. It’s expansive and immersive. It’s 900 pages (almost) of great writing about a person(s) in a time and place. Atsuo Yukimori is just trying to live life as a mechanic/ex-con until he meets Wakako. There’s travel. Romance. A courtroom drama? There’s backstory to Atsuo and his time in and out of prison. The book moves rather quickly through the almost 900 pages and I promise you, it’s unputdownable. Just terrific. Well worth the wait, well worth the time I spent reading this book. Loved.
August 20, 2025
How is this not a more well-recognized novel? It's got everything: characters you can latch onto, prose at which you can marvel, it's a love story, a war novel, a court drama, a memoir, and even a crime thriller. The scope on this thing is insane. And even though it is almost 900 pages, you will be shocked at how quickly you burn through this thing. It's not as dense as you might think for a brick of a book published by Dalkey. It's beachable even. It is compared to Tolstoy on the back of the book, which of course elicits an eye-roll. But damn if that statement isn't fair. Loved every minute of it.
April 15, 2025
I waited with trembling breath for over a year as the publication was delayed. Since I'm always on the lookout for new translations of Japanese literature, I often poke around Dalkey's offerings.
This is a historical novel in which a former convict going straight gives keen observations, exercises patience in his dealings, works as a mechanic, acts as a mentor for his troubled nephew, and generally goes with the flow in the wake of tempestuous events in his nation.
At times he is in prison, on the streets, in prison, in the army, in army prison, in the wilderness, and helping his devastated family after an air raid. You might call him a coward, a laze-about, gadabout, a writer, an uncommitted Christian, lucky in love, damned in life. A model convict and deplorable soldier. The best foreman at his company, and an inept revolutionary. A glorious lover, but an apathetic boyfriend. Atsuo is many things throughout the novel, which covers his adult life in persnickety detail.
With an enjoyable narrative pace, the changeable perspective gives us insight into a limited cast. The translation is unfortunately marred by textual typos every couple pages, which accumulate into several hundred by the end of the book. Ergo, it could've used another proofread.
Resisting the urge to succumb to group think, the main character struggles for a place in society in the context of student riots, when radical sects rampage through the streets, acting out homegrown terrorism at once ill-defined and applicable to some examples from other countries. The push for an idealistic nationalism underscores certain events in the novel. But the protagonist is largely self-motivated, trying to get by amid his peers' temptations to rebel.
What he enjoys is hunting, fishing, smuggling, pick-pocketing, writing his memoirs, and working hard on vehicles.
The author delves into cultural details, pertinent industries, historical tidbits, the vicissitudes of military prison, figure skating, and technical legal details, displaying a wealth of knowledge and the fruit of research. Also discussed are instances of sanity and insanity, conformity, the atrocities of war, and innocence and experience.
Our main perspective characters are haunted by the past, and hobbled by the dearth of prospects in their future.
The very long section of police procedurals, introduce many shifting views on the central case, which was based on actual terrorist activities of the time. The author skillfully toys with the reader's sympathies, but the repetitions border on the tedious. He excels at descriptions of nature, in the parts taking place in the Hokkaido wilderness, along with the depiction of a simple life unromanticized, and the lovely intimacy between Atsuo and Wakako. In long dialogues, unhurried and quaint, the reader is offered a rare indulgence of getting to know complex, multi-layered characters in a novel of questionable focus. These quiet moments lay bare the absurdities of human nature and interaction, the bureaucracy running the justice system in Japan, the cruel manipulations behind the media coverage, which many of us will instantly recognize as a byproduct of human nature. The moral seems to be, there are always at least two sides to every story. Think Rashomon.
Wakako's story of failed maturation at the feet of a demanding and unreasonable society represents another agenda of the book. Not only is the author concerned with the unfair treatment of the accused, but also the plight of the mentally ill.
A deep criticism of Japanese cultural norms, an indictment of inhuman institutions, and the mechanics of the political machine lie at the novel's core.
At bottom, most people are simply trying to survive. Where do we draw the line between fighting for a nebulous Greater good which impinges upon the rights of those living in the here and now?
Atsuo's conversion to a shoddy manifestation of Christianity in prison could've been explored further - if there had been space in the narrative. Experimenting with creating explosives for the sheer physical thrill parallels the release Atsuo yearns for, from the shackles of societal roles, of the youthful indiscretions and outright crimes that dog him like a ball and chain. The forlorn feeling of watching other people ruin their lives with self-destructive tendencies pervades the novel. It's rarely clear what the student protests are about. They can be taken for a general unrest within a rapidly changing nation.
The author was too reticent about naming sects, universities and other identifiable groups.
Japanese readers would probably instantly recognize the motives behind the attacks.
The journey of Wakako and Atsuo and the development of the their relationship saves the novel from being too impersonal. They ponder big questions, seek after a meditative and life-affirming way through the days. While not shirking the darker sides of humanity, the author is rather polite in his portrayal of human flaws. The plight of the working class is a worn subject, but we get fresh-feeling scenes here. The boundaries of societal norms, the barriers to education and employment are elaborated in scene after scene, often to the detriment of further incident. Idolization of war, the generation gaps between characters, and their efforts to gain peoples' trust and find truer spiritual fulfillment might have filled some of those pages instead.
The reader will sense the caring nature lurking under Atsuo's rough exterior, through his desire for a productive and impressive life.
Profuse notes give greater historical context for the events in the book and take up 45 pages at the back. An afterward or additional Introduction was warranted.
This is a historical novel in which a former convict going straight gives keen observations, exercises patience in his dealings, works as a mechanic, acts as a mentor for his troubled nephew, and generally goes with the flow in the wake of tempestuous events in his nation.
At times he is in prison, on the streets, in prison, in the army, in army prison, in the wilderness, and helping his devastated family after an air raid. You might call him a coward, a laze-about, gadabout, a writer, an uncommitted Christian, lucky in love, damned in life. A model convict and deplorable soldier. The best foreman at his company, and an inept revolutionary. A glorious lover, but an apathetic boyfriend. Atsuo is many things throughout the novel, which covers his adult life in persnickety detail.
With an enjoyable narrative pace, the changeable perspective gives us insight into a limited cast. The translation is unfortunately marred by textual typos every couple pages, which accumulate into several hundred by the end of the book. Ergo, it could've used another proofread.
Resisting the urge to succumb to group think, the main character struggles for a place in society in the context of student riots, when radical sects rampage through the streets, acting out homegrown terrorism at once ill-defined and applicable to some examples from other countries. The push for an idealistic nationalism underscores certain events in the novel. But the protagonist is largely self-motivated, trying to get by amid his peers' temptations to rebel.
What he enjoys is hunting, fishing, smuggling, pick-pocketing, writing his memoirs, and working hard on vehicles.
The author delves into cultural details, pertinent industries, historical tidbits, the vicissitudes of military prison, figure skating, and technical legal details, displaying a wealth of knowledge and the fruit of research. Also discussed are instances of sanity and insanity, conformity, the atrocities of war, and innocence and experience.
Our main perspective characters are haunted by the past, and hobbled by the dearth of prospects in their future.
The very long section of police procedurals, introduce many shifting views on the central case, which was based on actual terrorist activities of the time. The author skillfully toys with the reader's sympathies, but the repetitions border on the tedious. He excels at descriptions of nature, in the parts taking place in the Hokkaido wilderness, along with the depiction of a simple life unromanticized, and the lovely intimacy between Atsuo and Wakako. In long dialogues, unhurried and quaint, the reader is offered a rare indulgence of getting to know complex, multi-layered characters in a novel of questionable focus. These quiet moments lay bare the absurdities of human nature and interaction, the bureaucracy running the justice system in Japan, the cruel manipulations behind the media coverage, which many of us will instantly recognize as a byproduct of human nature. The moral seems to be, there are always at least two sides to every story. Think Rashomon.
Wakako's story of failed maturation at the feet of a demanding and unreasonable society represents another agenda of the book. Not only is the author concerned with the unfair treatment of the accused, but also the plight of the mentally ill.
A deep criticism of Japanese cultural norms, an indictment of inhuman institutions, and the mechanics of the political machine lie at the novel's core.
At bottom, most people are simply trying to survive. Where do we draw the line between fighting for a nebulous Greater good which impinges upon the rights of those living in the here and now?
Atsuo's conversion to a shoddy manifestation of Christianity in prison could've been explored further - if there had been space in the narrative. Experimenting with creating explosives for the sheer physical thrill parallels the release Atsuo yearns for, from the shackles of societal roles, of the youthful indiscretions and outright crimes that dog him like a ball and chain. The forlorn feeling of watching other people ruin their lives with self-destructive tendencies pervades the novel. It's rarely clear what the student protests are about. They can be taken for a general unrest within a rapidly changing nation.
The author was too reticent about naming sects, universities and other identifiable groups.
Japanese readers would probably instantly recognize the motives behind the attacks.
The journey of Wakako and Atsuo and the development of the their relationship saves the novel from being too impersonal. They ponder big questions, seek after a meditative and life-affirming way through the days. While not shirking the darker sides of humanity, the author is rather polite in his portrayal of human flaws. The plight of the working class is a worn subject, but we get fresh-feeling scenes here. The boundaries of societal norms, the barriers to education and employment are elaborated in scene after scene, often to the detriment of further incident. Idolization of war, the generation gaps between characters, and their efforts to gain peoples' trust and find truer spiritual fulfillment might have filled some of those pages instead.
The reader will sense the caring nature lurking under Atsuo's rough exterior, through his desire for a productive and impressive life.
Profuse notes give greater historical context for the events in the book and take up 45 pages at the back. An afterward or additional Introduction was warranted.
November 16, 2024
In what has almost become a running joke amongst close friends, I have finally finished this behemoth of a novel after two agonizingly slow months.
Fundamentally, there’s an inherent attraction in reading a piece of work that feels like it should’ve been lost in the ever expanding literary ether; an author whose work didn’t even exist outside of Japan until earlier this year, whose unrelenting commentary on the criminal justice system, authoritarianism, and nationalism will still largely exist perpetually unread.
Intrinsically, there’s an undeniable satisfaction in finishing such a vast work, that I trudged through regardless of rising criticisms of the storytelling, and this journey predominantly culminated into an endearing appreciation that such writings exist, and a desire to continue exploring the landscape of previously lost fiction.
In actuality however, I had a myriad of issues that range from the pacing, prose, and structure that even my more enlightened mindset couldn’t ignore.
Let’s start off with pacing. It’s a storytelling attribute whose importance waxes and wanes depending on the medium. It’s largely perceived as crucial within cinema and TV, fluid in video games, and nonexistent in literature, especially when divorced from certain genres like thrillers and fantasy.
Is there merit in that purposeful ignorance? Is there merit to largely ignoring pacing to pave the way for more cerebral, personal storytelling? Where everyday minutiae can be written to be thought provoking and invigorating, where rambling monologue can create critical pillars for character progressions and larger plot developments?
As is most questions concerning literary storytelling, the answer is perpetually fluid, but in my view, a focus on consolidation and efficiency was immensely needed in "Marshland".
The first half is utterly enthralling; centering on an ex-convict whose life is permanently weighed down by a plethora of sinful regrets that give way to self loathing, set against the backdrop of 60s Japan, where tensions between universities, police, and students were at an all time high.
The way these larger sociopolitical events interweave with Atsuo’s own personal story (and how these connections spawn from Atsuo and Wakako’s relationship) are beautiful to see unravel, especially past the halfway point when the first third of the novel is re-contextualized to minute detail, making the reader question past actions that at first seemed inconsequential.
However, this exponential buildup and expansion of scale ceases to exist when entering the final third of the novel. Wakako’s tireless prattle on "organizations" and her ever evolving mental health issues become so grating to endure. Atsuo’s self loathing and slow reveal of his life story are so painfully drawn out and repetitive that by the time major revelations transpire, I felt completely numb to them.
Repeated diatribes against our protagonists quickly lose potency, time both flows rapidly and freezes in stasis, and it results in a plot that seems stuck in purgatory, where characters are left to mull on the same events over, and over, and over again.
Seamlessly moving on to prose, to put it bluntly, it’s dry. While I won’t claim to be a proper connoisseur of Japanese literature, I’ve read works from contemporaries like Haruki Murakami and Mieko Kawakami, along with an older work from Yukio Mishima. Through these readings, I’ve realized that an inherent nuance that exclusively exists in respective native language gets lost in translation, and in the case of "Marshland", this manifests in largely sanitary and flavorless writing.
With the novel tackling such large themes such as ingrained criminal injustice, simultaneous world revolution, establishment of a world federation, media mob mentality, and so much more, to have these topics expressed in such a matter of fact manner, that’s entirely divorced from style and purposeful ambiguity, it results in an arduous and tedious reading experience.
There’s of course a beauty in matter of fact writing, that an exclusion of flowery language can pave a way for more fierce storytelling (i.e. Ernest Hemingway), but "Marshland" somehow feels both too matter of fact and too meandering to reap the benefits of writing in this fashion.
Last on the docket is an exploration of structure. The novel would initially have you believe that Atsuo is the protagonist you’ll be following for the entire duration of the story. That is only the case on an ostensible level, as it isn’t long before "Marshland” experiments with switching perspectives, evidently developing side characters further and expanding the scale to its proclaimed "Tolstoy" status.
This occasional perspective switch is entertaining at first, especially since these changes are largely contained to major side characters who are pivotal to Atsuo’s journey, but eventually the constant fluidity of focus dilutes the charm and reaches ad nauseam, where I struggle to see the point in showing the intricacies of legal prosecution from the perspective of lawyers and prosecutors alike, especially when they were previously irrelevant to the larger story at hand.
Now this tirade would leave you to believe that I strongly disliked this novel, and while I do believe it’s fundamentally flawed in numerous regards, there still is that innate admiration that such a story exists, and that such work was put in to translate this novel and open it up to the Anglo-Saxon audience.
It’s through this admiration that my gripes feel lessened and become an almost futile exercise of analysis, for this piece of work should be celebrated for its sheer existence. Not to necessarily say it’s immune to criticism, but there’s something so undeniably alluring about its ephemeral quality, where it causes you to wonder how many works of Otohiko Kaga’s contemporaries are forever lost, and that wonderment turning into appreciation that we at least get to delve into one of these works in the modern day.
Fundamentally, there’s an inherent attraction in reading a piece of work that feels like it should’ve been lost in the ever expanding literary ether; an author whose work didn’t even exist outside of Japan until earlier this year, whose unrelenting commentary on the criminal justice system, authoritarianism, and nationalism will still largely exist perpetually unread.
Intrinsically, there’s an undeniable satisfaction in finishing such a vast work, that I trudged through regardless of rising criticisms of the storytelling, and this journey predominantly culminated into an endearing appreciation that such writings exist, and a desire to continue exploring the landscape of previously lost fiction.
In actuality however, I had a myriad of issues that range from the pacing, prose, and structure that even my more enlightened mindset couldn’t ignore.
Let’s start off with pacing. It’s a storytelling attribute whose importance waxes and wanes depending on the medium. It’s largely perceived as crucial within cinema and TV, fluid in video games, and nonexistent in literature, especially when divorced from certain genres like thrillers and fantasy.
Is there merit in that purposeful ignorance? Is there merit to largely ignoring pacing to pave the way for more cerebral, personal storytelling? Where everyday minutiae can be written to be thought provoking and invigorating, where rambling monologue can create critical pillars for character progressions and larger plot developments?
As is most questions concerning literary storytelling, the answer is perpetually fluid, but in my view, a focus on consolidation and efficiency was immensely needed in "Marshland".
The first half is utterly enthralling; centering on an ex-convict whose life is permanently weighed down by a plethora of sinful regrets that give way to self loathing, set against the backdrop of 60s Japan, where tensions between universities, police, and students were at an all time high.
The way these larger sociopolitical events interweave with Atsuo’s own personal story (and how these connections spawn from Atsuo and Wakako’s relationship) are beautiful to see unravel, especially past the halfway point when the first third of the novel is re-contextualized to minute detail, making the reader question past actions that at first seemed inconsequential.
However, this exponential buildup and expansion of scale ceases to exist when entering the final third of the novel. Wakako’s tireless prattle on "organizations" and her ever evolving mental health issues become so grating to endure. Atsuo’s self loathing and slow reveal of his life story are so painfully drawn out and repetitive that by the time major revelations transpire, I felt completely numb to them.
Repeated diatribes against our protagonists quickly lose potency, time both flows rapidly and freezes in stasis, and it results in a plot that seems stuck in purgatory, where characters are left to mull on the same events over, and over, and over again.
Seamlessly moving on to prose, to put it bluntly, it’s dry. While I won’t claim to be a proper connoisseur of Japanese literature, I’ve read works from contemporaries like Haruki Murakami and Mieko Kawakami, along with an older work from Yukio Mishima. Through these readings, I’ve realized that an inherent nuance that exclusively exists in respective native language gets lost in translation, and in the case of "Marshland", this manifests in largely sanitary and flavorless writing.
With the novel tackling such large themes such as ingrained criminal injustice, simultaneous world revolution, establishment of a world federation, media mob mentality, and so much more, to have these topics expressed in such a matter of fact manner, that’s entirely divorced from style and purposeful ambiguity, it results in an arduous and tedious reading experience.
There’s of course a beauty in matter of fact writing, that an exclusion of flowery language can pave a way for more fierce storytelling (i.e. Ernest Hemingway), but "Marshland" somehow feels both too matter of fact and too meandering to reap the benefits of writing in this fashion.
Last on the docket is an exploration of structure. The novel would initially have you believe that Atsuo is the protagonist you’ll be following for the entire duration of the story. That is only the case on an ostensible level, as it isn’t long before "Marshland” experiments with switching perspectives, evidently developing side characters further and expanding the scale to its proclaimed "Tolstoy" status.
This occasional perspective switch is entertaining at first, especially since these changes are largely contained to major side characters who are pivotal to Atsuo’s journey, but eventually the constant fluidity of focus dilutes the charm and reaches ad nauseam, where I struggle to see the point in showing the intricacies of legal prosecution from the perspective of lawyers and prosecutors alike, especially when they were previously irrelevant to the larger story at hand.
Now this tirade would leave you to believe that I strongly disliked this novel, and while I do believe it’s fundamentally flawed in numerous regards, there still is that innate admiration that such a story exists, and that such work was put in to translate this novel and open it up to the Anglo-Saxon audience.
It’s through this admiration that my gripes feel lessened and become an almost futile exercise of analysis, for this piece of work should be celebrated for its sheer existence. Not to necessarily say it’s immune to criticism, but there’s something so undeniably alluring about its ephemeral quality, where it causes you to wonder how many works of Otohiko Kaga’s contemporaries are forever lost, and that wonderment turning into appreciation that we at least get to delve into one of these works in the modern day.
December 12, 2025
Still putting together my thoughts on this forgotten, flawed masterpiece of Japanese literature. 4.5/5. More thoughts to come later...
November 27, 2024
listen: you should already hate prisons. you should already be appalled by the disregard with which we treat our most vulnerable people. your heart should already break for the masses we have thrown into the great meat-grinders of the judicial system at the cost of maintaining the value of commodities and capitalism above human dignity.
however. if you don’t already feel that way, and you’re in the mood for something lengthy, you could not be doing much with your time - literarily, politically, spiritually - than picking up Otohiko Kaga’s Marshland. this is a challenging, heartbreaking book, but its central cast is so beautifully drawn, its legal procedurals so nail-biting, its structure so intentional and intense, that i would defy anyone to put it down due to anything except overwhelming emotion. it is an ideologically cogent, narratively compelling picture of how fascism targets the most disadvantaged people it can reach, uses them for their strength and their sanity, and casts them into its dungeons when those reserves have dried up
i’m probably not making Marshland sound like much fun, or like much of a novel, and i’m very happy to hand the former conjecture to you. the second, however, is different - so much of this book’s political gravity, its effectiveness as a piece of propaganda (here not at all used as a dirty word) comes down to Kaga’s masterful control of novelistic structure. we are brought so slowly into Marshland’s characters, suffering through their workplace annoyances and thrilling at brushes with romance, that the entrance into incredibly protracted interrogation and trial scenes simply makes your heart drop into your stomach. the piecemeal delivery of characterisation, the 80-page chapters that take up a single day and the multi-year prison stints elided in sentences - everything is calculated ruthlessly, like a pianist choosing vibrato and staccato notes. there is an innocuous plainness to the prose that might make Kaga out as more workmanlike at first, but the work as a whole is undeniably one of a master.
there’s so much more to Marshland that i can’t really elucidate in a review written immediately after finishing the thing. it’s intimidating, singular, massive. the best i can do is wrap around to the beginning of my review, and exhort anyone reading this: we need more people that hate prisons, and courts, and criminalisation of the poor! if you don’t already, pick this up and start here
however. if you don’t already feel that way, and you’re in the mood for something lengthy, you could not be doing much with your time - literarily, politically, spiritually - than picking up Otohiko Kaga’s Marshland. this is a challenging, heartbreaking book, but its central cast is so beautifully drawn, its legal procedurals so nail-biting, its structure so intentional and intense, that i would defy anyone to put it down due to anything except overwhelming emotion. it is an ideologically cogent, narratively compelling picture of how fascism targets the most disadvantaged people it can reach, uses them for their strength and their sanity, and casts them into its dungeons when those reserves have dried up
i’m probably not making Marshland sound like much fun, or like much of a novel, and i’m very happy to hand the former conjecture to you. the second, however, is different - so much of this book’s political gravity, its effectiveness as a piece of propaganda (here not at all used as a dirty word) comes down to Kaga’s masterful control of novelistic structure. we are brought so slowly into Marshland’s characters, suffering through their workplace annoyances and thrilling at brushes with romance, that the entrance into incredibly protracted interrogation and trial scenes simply makes your heart drop into your stomach. the piecemeal delivery of characterisation, the 80-page chapters that take up a single day and the multi-year prison stints elided in sentences - everything is calculated ruthlessly, like a pianist choosing vibrato and staccato notes. there is an innocuous plainness to the prose that might make Kaga out as more workmanlike at first, but the work as a whole is undeniably one of a master.
there’s so much more to Marshland that i can’t really elucidate in a review written immediately after finishing the thing. it’s intimidating, singular, massive. the best i can do is wrap around to the beginning of my review, and exhort anyone reading this: we need more people that hate prisons, and courts, and criminalisation of the poor! if you don’t already, pick this up and start here
January 25, 2025
I devoured this book. I will read it again no doubt.
I understand many people’s issue with the pacing, but having read it concurrently with Murasaki’s Tale of Genji I found the pacing quite engaging.
And for those passages that tended to go longer than some may say was necessary, these inured me with a deep feeling of powerlessness and frustration that could only serve to amplify the desperation and hopelessness of the protagonists situation.
Some complain of feeling numb by the conclusion, and I too shared that sensation. But I think it’s the only way that would be right to feel in light of the events.
I understand many people’s issue with the pacing, but having read it concurrently with Murasaki’s Tale of Genji I found the pacing quite engaging.
And for those passages that tended to go longer than some may say was necessary, these inured me with a deep feeling of powerlessness and frustration that could only serve to amplify the desperation and hopelessness of the protagonists situation.
Some complain of feeling numb by the conclusion, and I too shared that sensation. But I think it’s the only way that would be right to feel in light of the events.
March 22, 2025
Worth every page. What an absolute pleasure.
July 12, 2025
Did this novel need to be 831 pages long? Probably not. Was I there for every second of the story? Yes, I was.
The book was able to put into perspective how a person can become trapped in a system and have difficulty moving forward. People suddenly find themselves trapped in a perpetual cycle of what put them in their situation in the first place. Once someone has a past, it will follow them regardless of everything they may have done to change their life to be known by their successes rather than their past mistakes. This is what we see with the main character, Atsuo, who worked for a motor company for 7 years until a series of events leaves him having to defend his character. This captures the idea of what war and destruction can do to people who are involved.
"Within a cavernous space in Atsuo's mind a vision appeared of enemy troops being mowed down. He had killed people, no doubt about it. Maybe a substantial number, but he wasn't sure..." pg. 26
He goes on to explain that war is not fun. It's a constant theme within the story about the ramifications, not just physically, but emotionally, when it comes to the experiences of war. The glamourization of war is prevalent in society, especially by people who don't understand the cost. There is an entire section on war literature, and I think that makes this book show how real these characters are. Is the book full of dynamic and complex characters? Not exactly. It has fleshed out topics and develops ideas that capture readers. It's a story that will stick with you long after you turn the last page and place the book back on your shelf.
As I read this novel, I become more consumed by Atsuo's tale. His experience in the prison structure is chilling, and the way he is treated in both military and regular prisons shows how demeaning and grim it is. I don't think people in the U.S. understand there truly is no such thing as prisoner rights in other countries. Essentially, they are treated as if they are no longer human. Forget due process and innocent until proven guilty.
The novel explores the mental deterioration of an individual while being trapped inside prison. It's the most realistic character work of someone looking into their past and knowing that it has all led to the very moment they are.
Every time I open this book, I find myself rereading passages and more and more of the quotes because it just sucks me in. Astuo fights his way, and at some point, wonders what the point is and doubts his motives in the whole situation.
If I am a person who is looking for a book that explains the other side of things and develops perspective, then this would be an excellent, eye-opening novel. I believe this novel reminded me of the importance of viewpoints.
People will resonate with different parts of the book because of their background, life experiences, and the places they are in while experiencing Atsuo's story.
The book was able to put into perspective how a person can become trapped in a system and have difficulty moving forward. People suddenly find themselves trapped in a perpetual cycle of what put them in their situation in the first place. Once someone has a past, it will follow them regardless of everything they may have done to change their life to be known by their successes rather than their past mistakes. This is what we see with the main character, Atsuo, who worked for a motor company for 7 years until a series of events leaves him having to defend his character. This captures the idea of what war and destruction can do to people who are involved.
"Within a cavernous space in Atsuo's mind a vision appeared of enemy troops being mowed down. He had killed people, no doubt about it. Maybe a substantial number, but he wasn't sure..." pg. 26
He goes on to explain that war is not fun. It's a constant theme within the story about the ramifications, not just physically, but emotionally, when it comes to the experiences of war. The glamourization of war is prevalent in society, especially by people who don't understand the cost. There is an entire section on war literature, and I think that makes this book show how real these characters are. Is the book full of dynamic and complex characters? Not exactly. It has fleshed out topics and develops ideas that capture readers. It's a story that will stick with you long after you turn the last page and place the book back on your shelf.
As I read this novel, I become more consumed by Atsuo's tale. His experience in the prison structure is chilling, and the way he is treated in both military and regular prisons shows how demeaning and grim it is. I don't think people in the U.S. understand there truly is no such thing as prisoner rights in other countries. Essentially, they are treated as if they are no longer human. Forget due process and innocent until proven guilty.
The novel explores the mental deterioration of an individual while being trapped inside prison. It's the most realistic character work of someone looking into their past and knowing that it has all led to the very moment they are.
Every time I open this book, I find myself rereading passages and more and more of the quotes because it just sucks me in. Astuo fights his way, and at some point, wonders what the point is and doubts his motives in the whole situation.
If I am a person who is looking for a book that explains the other side of things and develops perspective, then this would be an excellent, eye-opening novel. I believe this novel reminded me of the importance of viewpoints.
People will resonate with different parts of the book because of their background, life experiences, and the places they are in while experiencing Atsuo's story.
August 26, 2025
Otohiko Kaga's Marshland, only his second novel to ever be translated into English, is a lot of things: a conspiracy thriller, a legal drama, a war story, an encyclopedia, a romance, a Pastoral, a Thief's Journal, a Christian tale of redemption, a satire of revolutionary politics... This is one of the wider-ranging works you'll read, and Kaga's sparse, direct, yet dreamlike prose traps you like a fishing net. Despite its abundant length, the novel proves a genuine page-turner, delicately balancing entire chapters--note there are only 13 of them--dedicated to play-by-play accounts of armed clashes or an inmate sitting in a jail cell alone.
Marshland follows middle-aged mechanic Atsuo Yukimori, a former standout in the Japanese army during World War II turned petty thief. He's been living clean for nearly a decade now though, until he is unwillingly pulled into the late 60s student protests by his ultra-nationalist nephew Yukichi (who is suspected of inheriting his uncle's criminal genes by various acquaintances). Meanwhile, Atsuo befriends a college student who takes ice skating lessons with him named Wakako, developing a passionate romance with her despite their 25-year age-gap. The two visit Atsuo's original home of Nemuro, the very eastern tip of Hokkaido, and frolic in the titular frozen marshland--hinting towards their respective troubles, Wakako revealing outright her struggles with psychosis and suicidal thoughts, while Atsuo slips up and hints towards his violent past. Upon returning to Tokyo, the two are arrested as main suspects in the bombing of a Shinkansen train, and Kaga dedicates the rest of the novel to their navigation of the labyrinthine and undemocratic justice system. While I'm a sucker for tender romance, even (or especially?) tender romance of questionable morals, the novel shines in this dehumanizing middle.
Kaga's prose is minimal, repetitive, and slightly stilted--proving remarkably effective as the novel transmogrifies into an unreal Kafkaesque struggle against some maleficent force who torments innocent civilians for reasons beyond their grasp. The pair, along with their alleged co-conspirators, waste away for nine years in their cells, time slipping away like the rural streams of Atsuo's village. And you feel the weight of this. Atsuo keeps a diary during this time, dating every entry, and your heart sinks as you see months repeat, routines stonily constant, court date after court date delayed... Eventually, he pens his autobiography, which he entitles Confessions. And so begins the true heart of the novel. Across 150 pages, Atsuo writes his lacerating life story, a chronicle of weakness, centered on a young man who squandered every bit of fortune he ever received, who shed blood for a cause he never truly believed in, who filled his parents with such grief and worry they died of it, who only found solace in the harsh routine of prison and the soft skin of teenage cellmates, who abandoned everyone who ever cared for him--implicitly telling his Wakako, "I will destroy you too." No self-pity, no sniffling, no cry for sympathy, no intention of salvation (he becomes interested in Christianity but doubts if his sins can be absolved after all). And after hundreds of pages of brutal detention, you understand hopelessly why he's lost all his fight.
While there are few, if any, novels that can compare to the detail Kaga provides about post-war Japan, and I can't think of many more that provided me with more genuine fun, there are noticeable flaws (though, the good is incomparable). The dialogue can be awkward and stilted. Characters will point something out and receive a reply along the lines of, "Ah! How perceptive of you, yes, I can confirm that you are correct in your saying of that thing you just said, you have done your homework." On one hand, this might just be the best way to translate this kind of overly-polite speech, but on the other, it comes across as self-congratulatory and uncanny. Kaga also writes about sex in a mildly-creepy-old-man kinda way, but he is writing about a middle-aged man who, by modern standards, is a bit of a creep, so it made narrative sense in my head.
I've seen people complain about Kaga's treatment of the revolutionaries, but I think the satire is fairly recognizable: left-wing radicals with good intentions who nonetheless accomplish nothing because they'd rather move the world than their feet, who lack a cohesive message or plan, chanting slogans and disseminating theory that average working people couldn't care less about. Atsuo is a middle-school dropout who has been living in solitary for a decade because he's afraid of falling back into his old ways, of course he isn't going to be receptive to the student protests! Despite the importance of the university protests for both the advancement of women's rights in Japan and their influence on the nation's art scene, most Japanese saw the protestors as privileged troublemakers who stood for nothing. Kaga isn't exempt from this attitude, but considering the character of Atsuo and his history, the treatment of the protestors at least makes narrative sense, and provides fuel for some potent punchlines later in the novel. Despite some anti-establishment themes, Marshland mostly argues in favor of advancing peace through the reformation of existing power structures rather than dismantling them, which could rub someone the wrong way after seeing the status quo destroy six innocent lives for hundreds of pages.
While the novel isn't without flaw (especially typographically--but that isn't the author's fault), its rigorous detail and immense empathy more than make up for it. There are few novels with such rich imaginings of rural and urban Japan available outside of the country. In the marsh, you're whisked away by Kaga's scientific catalogues, detailing the types of wildlife one may find in the water and the foliage one sees on the banks. He fishes out breath-stalling image after breath-stalling image to illustrate the other-worldliness of the natural setting, yet he never neglects the post-war marvels of the nation's bustling cities. Though one thing does remain constant: no matter how dense the brush in the north or the bustle in the south, you can't escape yourself. Kaga's novel is one of immense beauty, despair, but ultimately, reckoning. After immortalizing his misdeeds on a pen and paper in his jail cell, Atsuo can finally find joy in another person. The world, after 60 arduous years, feels open for the very first time. The novel often feels as oppressive as its narrative, and sure, I can breathe easier now knowing I'm finished, but I would give up a lot for a couple hundred more pages.
Marshland follows middle-aged mechanic Atsuo Yukimori, a former standout in the Japanese army during World War II turned petty thief. He's been living clean for nearly a decade now though, until he is unwillingly pulled into the late 60s student protests by his ultra-nationalist nephew Yukichi (who is suspected of inheriting his uncle's criminal genes by various acquaintances). Meanwhile, Atsuo befriends a college student who takes ice skating lessons with him named Wakako, developing a passionate romance with her despite their 25-year age-gap. The two visit Atsuo's original home of Nemuro, the very eastern tip of Hokkaido, and frolic in the titular frozen marshland--hinting towards their respective troubles, Wakako revealing outright her struggles with psychosis and suicidal thoughts, while Atsuo slips up and hints towards his violent past. Upon returning to Tokyo, the two are arrested as main suspects in the bombing of a Shinkansen train, and Kaga dedicates the rest of the novel to their navigation of the labyrinthine and undemocratic justice system. While I'm a sucker for tender romance, even (or especially?) tender romance of questionable morals, the novel shines in this dehumanizing middle.
Kaga's prose is minimal, repetitive, and slightly stilted--proving remarkably effective as the novel transmogrifies into an unreal Kafkaesque struggle against some maleficent force who torments innocent civilians for reasons beyond their grasp. The pair, along with their alleged co-conspirators, waste away for nine years in their cells, time slipping away like the rural streams of Atsuo's village. And you feel the weight of this. Atsuo keeps a diary during this time, dating every entry, and your heart sinks as you see months repeat, routines stonily constant, court date after court date delayed... Eventually, he pens his autobiography, which he entitles Confessions. And so begins the true heart of the novel. Across 150 pages, Atsuo writes his lacerating life story, a chronicle of weakness, centered on a young man who squandered every bit of fortune he ever received, who shed blood for a cause he never truly believed in, who filled his parents with such grief and worry they died of it, who only found solace in the harsh routine of prison and the soft skin of teenage cellmates, who abandoned everyone who ever cared for him--implicitly telling his Wakako, "I will destroy you too." No self-pity, no sniffling, no cry for sympathy, no intention of salvation (he becomes interested in Christianity but doubts if his sins can be absolved after all). And after hundreds of pages of brutal detention, you understand hopelessly why he's lost all his fight.
While there are few, if any, novels that can compare to the detail Kaga provides about post-war Japan, and I can't think of many more that provided me with more genuine fun, there are noticeable flaws (though, the good is incomparable). The dialogue can be awkward and stilted. Characters will point something out and receive a reply along the lines of, "Ah! How perceptive of you, yes, I can confirm that you are correct in your saying of that thing you just said, you have done your homework." On one hand, this might just be the best way to translate this kind of overly-polite speech, but on the other, it comes across as self-congratulatory and uncanny. Kaga also writes about sex in a mildly-creepy-old-man kinda way, but he is writing about a middle-aged man who, by modern standards, is a bit of a creep, so it made narrative sense in my head.
I've seen people complain about Kaga's treatment of the revolutionaries, but I think the satire is fairly recognizable: left-wing radicals with good intentions who nonetheless accomplish nothing because they'd rather move the world than their feet, who lack a cohesive message or plan, chanting slogans and disseminating theory that average working people couldn't care less about. Atsuo is a middle-school dropout who has been living in solitary for a decade because he's afraid of falling back into his old ways, of course he isn't going to be receptive to the student protests! Despite the importance of the university protests for both the advancement of women's rights in Japan and their influence on the nation's art scene, most Japanese saw the protestors as privileged troublemakers who stood for nothing. Kaga isn't exempt from this attitude, but considering the character of Atsuo and his history, the treatment of the protestors at least makes narrative sense, and provides fuel for some potent punchlines later in the novel. Despite some anti-establishment themes, Marshland mostly argues in favor of advancing peace through the reformation of existing power structures rather than dismantling them, which could rub someone the wrong way after seeing the status quo destroy six innocent lives for hundreds of pages.
While the novel isn't without flaw (especially typographically--but that isn't the author's fault), its rigorous detail and immense empathy more than make up for it. There are few novels with such rich imaginings of rural and urban Japan available outside of the country. In the marsh, you're whisked away by Kaga's scientific catalogues, detailing the types of wildlife one may find in the water and the foliage one sees on the banks. He fishes out breath-stalling image after breath-stalling image to illustrate the other-worldliness of the natural setting, yet he never neglects the post-war marvels of the nation's bustling cities. Though one thing does remain constant: no matter how dense the brush in the north or the bustle in the south, you can't escape yourself. Kaga's novel is one of immense beauty, despair, but ultimately, reckoning. After immortalizing his misdeeds on a pen and paper in his jail cell, Atsuo can finally find joy in another person. The world, after 60 arduous years, feels open for the very first time. The novel often feels as oppressive as its narrative, and sure, I can breathe easier now knowing I'm finished, but I would give up a lot for a couple hundred more pages.
February 12, 2025
There was no reason for this to be 900 pages.
September 1, 2025
This book is incredibly long, and the physical size of the book is also enormous. I spent such a long time reading it (bought it in January 2024, did not finish it until August 2025 due to multiple breaks) that I feel the need to write a thorough review.
There are not many books that have achieved what Kaga was able to do here, and the length is precisely why. The book manages to chronicle, in depth, the Japanese prison system. Kaga worked as a prison psychiatrist, so these observations were not a figment of his imagination either. It covers everything from the way that some prisoners will develop prison psychosis and schizophrenia, to how corrupt the Japanese police force is with their conviction rate. Even though this book was written in the 80s, Japan still has many of the problems noted by Kaga.
It also has the entire life story of the main character, Yukimori. It covers in about three hundred pages his life and multiple arrests. It honestly depicts the horrors of the imperial army in WWII in great detail, which is extremely rare for Japanese literature. Kaga depicts taboo subjects such as the massacres of Chinese civilians and prison labor camps. It also interrogates how a young man might be conditioned into the militarism of the time, and the regrets that would follow once the war was over.
If there is any flaw in the writing, it's that the women characters are less believable and slightly sexist. The love interest of Yukimori, Wakako, is over twenty years younger than him and oddly written. She has schizophrenic qualities, but also is depicted as a type of genius who can compose orchestral music in her head with no instruments. There were also some strange segments of her finding the humiliation of prison (being tied up by guards and having no personal privacy) "sexy because she's a woman," which was dodgy to me. I'd say the weakest portions of the book have to do with this issue, as compared to Yukimori she's just not a very believable character. It gave very "men writing women" vibes.
The only other issue I'd note is that the copyediting in this book is a mess. Like a total mess. There's an abundance of errors in spelling, grammar, etc. I really don't know how it made it to print in its current state. I have no doubt this was a very hard book to translate due to the depth and length, but it doesn't excuse the sloppy editing. If the book is reprinted, these errors need to be fixed. It's not so bad that the book is unreadable, but it's bad enough that about every 30 pages, I'd find another error. To me, that's not acceptable.
I'd highly recommend reading this book if you have the stamina. It's a modern masterpiece.
There are not many books that have achieved what Kaga was able to do here, and the length is precisely why. The book manages to chronicle, in depth, the Japanese prison system. Kaga worked as a prison psychiatrist, so these observations were not a figment of his imagination either. It covers everything from the way that some prisoners will develop prison psychosis and schizophrenia, to how corrupt the Japanese police force is with their conviction rate. Even though this book was written in the 80s, Japan still has many of the problems noted by Kaga.
It also has the entire life story of the main character, Yukimori. It covers in about three hundred pages his life and multiple arrests. It honestly depicts the horrors of the imperial army in WWII in great detail, which is extremely rare for Japanese literature. Kaga depicts taboo subjects such as the massacres of Chinese civilians and prison labor camps. It also interrogates how a young man might be conditioned into the militarism of the time, and the regrets that would follow once the war was over.
If there is any flaw in the writing, it's that the women characters are less believable and slightly sexist. The love interest of Yukimori, Wakako, is over twenty years younger than him and oddly written. She has schizophrenic qualities, but also is depicted as a type of genius who can compose orchestral music in her head with no instruments. There were also some strange segments of her finding the humiliation of prison (being tied up by guards and having no personal privacy) "sexy because she's a woman," which was dodgy to me. I'd say the weakest portions of the book have to do with this issue, as compared to Yukimori she's just not a very believable character. It gave very "men writing women" vibes.
The only other issue I'd note is that the copyediting in this book is a mess. Like a total mess. There's an abundance of errors in spelling, grammar, etc. I really don't know how it made it to print in its current state. I have no doubt this was a very hard book to translate due to the depth and length, but it doesn't excuse the sloppy editing. If the book is reprinted, these errors need to be fixed. It's not so bad that the book is unreadable, but it's bad enough that about every 30 pages, I'd find another error. To me, that's not acceptable.
I'd highly recommend reading this book if you have the stamina. It's a modern masterpiece.
September 1, 2025
It does have some flaws -- there a surprisingly high number of typos and slips caused by the translation, the prose is oddly affectless at times, and the dialogue isn't always rendered well -- but these tend to slip away as you get completely bound up in the protagonist's world. It starts out as a minutely, almost forensically detailed picture of the daily life of Atsuo Yukimori, war vet and ex-convict. Before long, a succession of chance encounters draw him into the world of the late '60s student radicals, and a false allegation has him again facing the Japanese criminal justice system, this time on a capital charge. From here, gradually and haltingly, the whole sweep of Atsuo's life begins to be teased out to the reader. The book is in many ways unsubtle - it's an-often didactic picture of the injustices of the trial process, the indignities of incarceration, and more broadly a condemnation of postwar Japanese society, which Kaga thinks has far more commonalities with its recent past than most care to admit. This could so easily feel preachy and overplayed, but the book largely escapes this through the realness and earnestness of its central characters, none more so than Atsuo, who continually struggles guilt about his wartime past, interrogates his weakness of will, and his difficulties in forming a well-developed ideology that can explain how he found himself living within a system that time and time again stripped him of his humanity.
September 10, 2025
Despite being massively depressing, difficult to read in terms of subject matter and plot structure, and my copy unfortunately containing multiple publication errors and typos, this behemoth of a novel kept me gripped throughout its 900-something pages.
Marshland is a frustrating novel, both because you are infuriated by the injustice and cruelty you witness through the eyes of the protagonists, but also because these characters themselves are difficult people who are both simple, in that they have a tendency to be a bit one-dimensional in their personalities and emotions, but also complex in their backstories and reasons for being the way they are.
The pure isolation that every incarcerated character feels in this novel is stifling. Otohiko Kaga's portrayal of a cruel and evil incarceration system, of a cruel and evil Japanese State, absolutely suffocates the reader with deep feelings of despair.
Overall I am very glad to have had read this novel. I consider it not only an achievement to have finished this mammoth of a book, but also an honor to be one of the few who have discovered this hidden gem.
Marshland is a frustrating novel, both because you are infuriated by the injustice and cruelty you witness through the eyes of the protagonists, but also because these characters themselves are difficult people who are both simple, in that they have a tendency to be a bit one-dimensional in their personalities and emotions, but also complex in their backstories and reasons for being the way they are.
The pure isolation that every incarcerated character feels in this novel is stifling. Otohiko Kaga's portrayal of a cruel and evil incarceration system, of a cruel and evil Japanese State, absolutely suffocates the reader with deep feelings of despair.
Overall I am very glad to have had read this novel. I consider it not only an achievement to have finished this mammoth of a book, but also an honor to be one of the few who have discovered this hidden gem.
July 30, 2025
An eye opening and touching book, very funny at times, very sad at times, very weird at times-- well worth the length to experience; but I do wish it were half the length or so. Took me quite a while to get through, and while I feel like the extra text helped plunk me firmly in the world, helped to establish the experience of the world, I feel like I'd have a hard time recommending this book to almost anyone because of the length and dryness of stretches of the book. But all in all, I loved it, and it got me thinking very differently, not only about the justice system, but also reactionary political movements, the criminal world, how landscape shapes us, how different people can come away with different outlooks because of unconscious or conscious bias, etc. Very very good.
3.5 stars leaning towards 4.
3.5 stars leaning towards 4.
April 27, 2025
This is a very long book but a story so beautifully told that I found myself not wanting to put it down. I don't know how to describe it other than both fascinating and deeply moving, giving a richly detailed (but honestly not over detailed) story of the lives of a handful of people in a time of immense change and challenge and potential in Japan. The narrative feels. honest and real with compelling, complex characters who are presented for who they are, with all their regrets and hopes and dreams and mistakes. Highly worth the investment of time.
May 28, 2025
The first half of this monolithic book was really engaging and a slice of Japanese history I haven't really read about - so I spent a bit searching up historical items and reading the glossary at the end. The best scenes are in the marshes, hands down, the court procedurals just drug on for so long - and all of the investigators, and lawyers, I kept peeking to see when I would get get back to the Atsuo and Wakaso storyline. However, it was akin to Tolstoy in its scope, just massive slab about a lot of Japanese history that build up yet centered on this unlikely couple.
September 23, 2024
a complicated novel that weaves a grand narrative around an equally complicated man. a powerful indictment of the entire criminal justice system, this novel has much to say. Atsuo Yukimori is sympathetic but far from perfect, i emphasized with much of his crimes while was at times repulsed by his actions as well. Wakiko Ikehata was an equally compelling character, although at times I felt she was a bit too much of a manic pixie dream girl
May 5, 2025
Fire read ‼️🔥, the first half is a bit slow, esp around like pg 400, and it get very difficult to read but imo it's in a good way. Kaga is really good at invoking the feeling of helplessness and confinement, which is a strong theme throughout the book, but the interrogation chapter made me a bit sick to the stomach with dread (I suppose that is a good thing). Strong characters-- I was especially invested through the final half, to the point where it was difficult to put down.
May 30, 2025
This is one of the very best contemporary epics I have read. What is most shocking is the structure of this tome—the 800 plus pages never lag or drag because Kaga has a splendid way of weaving in the veritable Russian Ark of characters/history/circumstances without ever being a slog.
August 30, 2025
It’s nuts to me that this isn’t a more widely acknowledged classic
October 17, 2025
One of the most mesmerizing books I’ve ever read. The twist halfway through totally blind sided me. Beat for beat, this was fulfilling, engaging, suspenseful, romantic, heartrending. Love, love, love.
October 13, 2025
After a 1968 train bombing, Tokyo’s police wrongfully pin the rap on citizens that stereotypically fit the mold of Wrongdoers, the lives of all involved are upended/documented, and only the reader gets the full scoop: a love story, history lesson and all-out good-people-done-wrong saga that stole my heart, accused my brain, and incarcerated my inner-atheist’s soul-hole. Though a lot of layered lore’s at play here, the time spent with all involved feels so lived-in that even the bad eggs make relatable omelets (the frying pan that temporarily casts one character out might look a bit like the cast iron home in which you nightly put your own feet up to fry). Once read, with affinity meter at full, you’ll likely feel, as I did, a deep post-sleepaway-camp longing for these characters long after the book is done.
Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews