Mr Shintaro Ishihara was the Goethe of Japan. I was his pupil, someone in the same profession, and his escort runner. In this chapter, I have woven together more of my private recollections, spanning as long as twenty-plus years, and "my unfulfilled promise" to him. ー Shin Ushijima
Chapter 4.9: People Who Write but Not for Money
Read other chapters in My Mentor, Shintaro Ishihara
Shintaro Ishihara called me on December 18, 2006. We talked for less than 30 minutes, from 12:38 PM to 1:02 PM. There had been a dramatic development in the story.
Eizo's affair with Nishiwaki's wife is discovered, and Nishiwaki pledges to take Eizo down.
Nishiwaki's highly capable general affairs manager promptly speaks up. "There is no need to pay back the golf course debt," he expounds. "The yakuza thinks Nishiwaki has waived the right of indemnification, but there is no board resolution authorizing the debt. Hence, it's invalid." Then, he adds, "Therefore, let's proceed with provisional attachment of the golf courses. That would impede the yakuza's business operations. A provisional attachment would be publicly registered, so other banks wouldn't deal with them, either."
"Then, out to make money, Eizo runs off with the woman."
It's already decided that the woman who runs away with Eizo is named Reiko. Also, Nishiwaki's company is named Nishiwaki Kosan.
At the end of our call, Mr Ishihara mentioned several names, such as Eitaro Itoyama, Honda, Teiken, and so on. But these weren't connected to the novel itself. He didn't take time to demystify his comment, but perhaps they related to something else he was working on.
What Novels Need
Mr Ishihara called me again the following day, December 19. We talked for a little less than 40 minutes, from 10:10 PM to 10:47 PM.
After having reviewed the previous day's discourse, he said, "Your novels lack luxuriance. I want to see the clothes they wear, something as irrelevant as the way they hold their cigarette, the habits of each character. Novels need that kind of color. In a nutshell, you're too concise, Ushijima-san. Novels are about intoxicating passion. They need whimsy and caprice."
"When you visit someone," he added, "you usually start off with small talk, instead of getting straight down to business. If you describe only events, a novel sounds rigid and limiting. Yours are curt and blunt." Saying that, he mumbled as though confiding in me, "Governor of Tokyo…I am tired of it. I need something substantial. Yes, something substantial."
I don't remember who referred to Caesar at that time…was it me? Was it Mr Ishihara?
Certainly, Mr Ishihara expressed it as "something that transcends history." That is, something substantial. He gestured as though trying to grab at something elusive as it slipped through his fingers.
In 2001, Shintaro Ishihara had already stated: "It must be because I am well aware that I feel unsatiated about my realization and success as a writer, which thought seems to be growing in me, while I am busying myself with the business of Tokyo, albeit by choice, knowing that I don't have much time left in my life." Contemporary People of My Life (わが人生の時の人々, Shincho Bunko, 2002, p 427).
Wasn't it 2002 when Mr Ishihara and I started our back-and-forth discussion about Island of Fire (火の島, Gentosha, 2008)?
Island of Fire was his struggle, his search for something substantial beyond his sense of dissatisfaction.
Some Novel Advice
Mr Ishihara mentioned the name of Tadao Sakamoto in our telephone conversation on October 31, 2006.
Soon thereafter, on November 2, I had two copies of my books, Revenge and Outside Directors (2007, Gentosha Inc), delivered to Mr Ishihara at his place in Denenchofu, probably at his request. He said he wanted a sample of my flash fiction, whatever works I thought were my best. So I chose these two books. "I'll read them and give you advice. I'm sure I'll be of some help to you," he told me.
The October 31 telephone conversation mostly revolved around the trading of golf courses that appeared in his novel. I guess it was at this time that I said to him, "It would be easier for me to see the galley proof."
On November 6, someone in the office of Shintaro Ishihara called, informing me that the documents would be delivered to me directly. It was the galley proof of Island of Fire, which is why I believed we had discussed it on October 31. Even though I had made some specific points about the story and explained them, I couldn't help but be concerned with how he viewed my advice through the lens of his own spontaneous vision.
Two days later, on November 8, I returned the galley proof, having incorporated an organizational chart of the holding company named Seven Oceans Chain in the blank space, along with a chart clarifying ownership of the shares.
Comparing Notes
In a phone call on November 15, we compared notes concerning those parts. We also worked on the details of the heated and intense argument between Eizo and Nishiwaki. Every time I explained each trading mechanism, I remember Mr Ishihara replying "yes, yes" as though he were a young man.
It sticks out in my memory that he asked, "May I call you again?" making me think he was not fully convinced. But there was no call after that.
Then, on April 25, 2007, I received a greeting card from Mr Ishihara to the effect that he was going to serve a third term as the Governor of Tokyo.
I received another phone call from him on September 29 of the same year. He advised me, not for the first time, "Why don't you try using the writing style of a witness confession?" He was probably impatient with me for not writing the novel. Yet, he never indicated frustration in his tone. Instead, he used words that he thought would inspire me.
Immediately thereafter, on October 4, we dined at Kikukawa. He had surprised me with a call on October 2 at 1:05 PM to inform me of the time and place. Unfortunately, I was not able to take that phone call. If I had, it would have provided an opportunity to chat.
His Terrible Teens
On September 26, 2008, an invitation arrived. It was to a reception for the exhibition, "The Painful Teenage Years ー Ishihara Shintaro ー Artistic Works from His Teens." The event was held at the Armani/Ginza Tower.
In a short passage titled "Tragic Sun…The Painful Teens," Ishihara had written: "That's why I still remember the lingering sense of unspoken vexation when I entered university and reached my 20th birthday. Ultimately, I had failed to achieve anything of note in my teens…"
To Mr Ishihara, painting held such great significance.
The September 26 invitation requested a response by September 30. In my reply, I noted that I would visit the exhibition on September 30, our mutual birthday. In that light, I must have visited the exhibition, but unfortunately, I do not remember it at all. Possibly, Mr Ishihara was not there, or if he was there, it was too crowded for me to find a chance to talk to him. I may have looked at the exhibit\. Nevertheless, I cannot recall seeing him at that time. Fleetingly, I thought perhaps I had failed to make it to the exhibition.
But that was not correct. I received a thank-you note on October 27, 2008, so I must have visited the exhibition and looked at his works. It said, "I am really happy that this exhibition has revived my adolescent days."
This brought to mind the atelier at his farewell service. More than a few paintings from his youth were also displayed at that time.
People Who Write
As I look back, Mr Ishihara must have been baffled as to why I hadn't made an effort to write the novel he thought I should produce.
Was it just my struggle as a lawyer to meet all my deadlines? Could such an inexpedient reason be an excuse?
But my betrayal of Mr Ishihara's expectations had gone on for 11 years. What on earth was I doing?
Was it asking for the moon to expect me, an advocate of organizations and individuals, to write a romance between a man and a woman as Mr Ishihara had proposed?
I don't know, but this may explain it to a certain extent:
Mostly, writers write for money. People who are only capable of writing write because it brings in money. They may want fame, too. But they badly need money. They write to indulge in luxury. To be exact, they indulged in luxury, so they must write to pay off their debt. It is their only way to make money, so they write. They write, and the money begins to pour in. In a sense, because they can earn money by writing, they are blessed with happiness. If they were not talented, they would likely make no money, even though they write. Still, life is full of karma.
Not for Money
Actually, Ishihara lamented that when he gave his men the money he had made by pouring his heart and soul into filling the pages of manuscript paper with words, it instantly disappeared. They simply used it to pay the accrued charges for their drinking sprees at nightclubs in Ginza.
How about me? I was earning more than average as a lawyer, so I was not in the least inspired to write for money. So, time rolled on without me writing.
No, it's not like that.
I am still making money as a lawyer. Nevertheless, I write. I write regardless of whether or not I receive manuscript fees. For me, the act of writing isn't linked to earning money.
Then, why?
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(To read the book in Japanese, please visit the publisher's website.)
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Author: Shin Ushijima
