Selected and introduced by Higashi Masao

Tales of the Metropolis is the third and final volume in a series presenting a selection of Japanese supernatural fiction old and new, and follows on from Tales of Old Edo (stories set in the Tokyo region during the era of the Shogunate) and Country Delights (tales set in rural areas away from the great cities). This third volume returns to a specific urban locale, the Tokyo of the twentieth century, and contains eleven stories and one manga published between 1915 and 1996.

Toyoshima Yoshio's 'Ghosts of the Metropolis' (1924) and 'The Talisman' (1960) by Yamakawa Masao feature themes and entities strongly reminiscent of the work of Fritz Leiber—and presumably springing from much the same sort of twentieth-century blues that the American so memorably integrated into his supernatural horror fiction. In these stories Tokyo always seems fog-bound and shrouded in mist; it's always raining, and the threat of urban catastrophe (something the inhabitants of Japan's cities have never been stranger to) is always—and often literally—somewhere under the surface.

Other stories are more traditional in theme and execution, for example 'Spider' (1959) by Endō Shūsaku. This does involve spiders (another recurring Leiber motif) but more besides. Hisao Jūran's 'In Thy Shadow' (1939) explores the nature of sadism and death, and how they could be related to love and service. It is in such a singular story as this that the sheer otherness (at least to this European reader) of much of the culture and qualities of Japan, its people and a period in its history are powerfully brought to life. This volume's manga, 'A Sinister Spectre' (1973) by Morohoshi Daijirō, is presented in the Japanese way, so the reader has to turn the book upside down and read from right to left. Its depiction of a modern haunting also evokes Fritz Leiber's fiction, especially such an unnerving and doom-laden story as 'Smoke Ghost'.

As in the previous volumes, the stories are translated by different hands and so manage to keep the sense of the different styles of the various authors. Editor Higashi Masao contributes another detailed and informative introduction. (Note: in his foreword Robert Weinberg wisely advises the reader to read the introduction after the stories: it does sometimes reveal too much!)
The three volumes of Kaiki: Uncanny Tales from Old Japan are a fascinating introduction to the uncanny literature of a nation and culture very different to our own and still comparatively unknown. I heartily recommend these books and look forward—with expectancy mixed with trepidation—to further encounters with more Kaiki.

John Howard, writing in Wormwood No. 20, Spring 2013
Published by Tartarus Press

One very important English-language book that does just that—illuminate the Japanese psyche and help others understand the Japanese a little better—is The Nobility of Failure by Ivan Morris. Originally published in 1975, it was a core text in countless Japanese history and JLIT courses for decades.
Unfortunately, it is now out of print.

For more information on The Nobility of Failure and the fundraiser, please see the catalog page:
http://www.kurodahan.com/mt/e/catalog/jp0035cate.html

We hope you'll join us in making it possible.

Darrell Schweitzer

It's not for me to say if these stories are "typically Japanese." As an outsider, I can only point out what non-Japanese think are "typical" Japanese characteristics, and whether or not they are present. You will find some of those expectations fulfilled here. Certainly Asamatsu Ken's "A White Camellia in a Vase," in which a samurai is preoccupied with aesthetics and the placement of a single flower in an otherwise bare room, seems very Japanese to me. This is the sort of minimalism we see in Japanese art, where the subtlest details matter. But what seems more "typically Japanese" is that the elderly samurai can care about such things without any suggestion that he has lost any of his masculine, heroic character. You would not see a medieval European knight or a Homeric warrior behaving that way. So the foreign reader can indeed see that these stories are—unsurprisingly—written from a different set of cultural assumptions, which is part of their charm and their fascination. At the same time I think I see a Western influence here. The winking flowers at the end call to mind nothing more than Arthur Machen's observation (from "The White People") that true evil is a perversion of natural law: ". . . if the roses in your garden sang a weird song, you would go mad."

The range is impressive. Mori Natsuko's "It's All Thanks to Saijō Hideki" is very subversively strange indeed. Whether it is intended to be a kind of black comedy is hard for me to tell, because of cultural distance, and because it is a translation, but consider this: the human race has been wiped out by a virus. The last female in the world is a typical 15-year-old Japanese schoolgirl in pigtails and sailor uniform, a figure familiar enough from manga, except she is also a giantess and desires only intimate female companionship. When she finally meets the last man, he's a drag queen. Now what?

We see in Ayatsuji Yukito's "Heart of Darkness" something akin to surrealism and also a moral fable about human perversity. Onda Riku's "The Warning" is a neat little horror story, largely narrated by a dog given the ability to read and write by aliens. Marc Schultz's "Green Tea Ice Cream" is a science fictional medical horror story of sorts, written from a different perspective, that of a foreigner resident in Japan. The style is a little more Western, American I would guess without knowing anything about Mr. Schultz. It is a very moving story about Japanese people and Japanese beliefs. Is it, or are any of the stories in this excellent collection, "typically Japanese"?

That may be the wrong question to ask. Japan has, of course, its own literary tradition going back many centuries to at least The Tale of Genji, and it has in modern times its own distinct speculative tradition. But these stories are universal. They are human. We can relate to them emotionally, regardless of who we are. Some, like "To the Blue Star," consider all of humanity (or post-humanity) at once, without reference to specific nationality or culture. What the Western reader looks for initially in a book like this is strangeness—difference—but what he finds ultimately is commonality. That is the message of these stories, that, despite any differences, when it comes to the most important things in life, we are all the same. We are one.

...ambitious and audacious ideas ... [I] have to admire the ambition here, and as far as action-adventure — on physical as well as virtual levels — Crystal Silence offers solid entertainment.

"Tales of the Metropolis" collects tales from some of Japan's greatest writers, with stories ranging from 1915-1996. Names like Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Tanizaki Junichiro, Edogawa Rampo, and Kawabata Yasunari should be familiar to anyone with an interest in Japan. Some of the other authors may not be as well known, but they are carefully curated to deliver a slice of the best of Japanese weird fiction."

Mars: Colonies, Cyborgs and Chaos

Throw in a few virtual interactions, cyberpunk, weapons and beasties, and you get a heady mix indeed.

All of Rampo's works are made available under non-exclusive agreements, which means that as long as a publisher contacts the rights holder (Rampo's grandson is managing all rights at this time), basically all his works are available in all languages. We knew this when we signed to translate and publish Panorama Island, and figured that once our version was out, it was unlikely anyone else would bother to make a new translation. It was a reasonable risk.

Just recently, the University of Hawaii announced that it would publish its own translation of Panorama Island in late 2012. Well, that is certainly their right, and they clearly had no obligation to tell us about it, but it would have been the courteous thing to do. We are a bit amazed, not at the fact that another publisher is as fascinated by Rampo as we are, but by the fact that a publisher as prestigious as the University of Hawaii would simply ignore us entirely. They didn't need our permission or blessing, but it is so unreasonable to expect a little professional courtesy?

Our publishing schedule puts publication in early 2013, and as the University of Hawaii will publish this year, there is really no point in continuing with our project. We have decided to cancel this title.

Our fascination with Rampo remains unchanged, however, and we will continue to translate and publish other works by him in the future.