Several years ago at Anime Weekend Atlanta, we had the pleasure to be table neighbors with Sarah G. Rothman, and when she described her book Suicidal Samurai as “a samurai-cowboy solves mysteries in Victorian Japan,” it was a natural insta-buy.
Of course, me being me, I didn’t actually read it until last month. But I digress.
Suicidal Samurai is an interesting combination of many things – a Western-style revenge story, historical adventure, and comedy of errors all rolled into a read that goes by much faster than its length would suggest.
The story centers around Mori Makoto, who has spent fifteen years exiled in the United States and now returns to Japan to exact revenge on the people responsible for the near-complete murder of his family – and his exile. His stealthy intentions are completely thwarted, though, when he’s seen in the wrong place at the wrong time by a dead body he didn’t kill, and suddenly finds himself wanted for murder. This murder, though, turns out to have some threads that might connect to the murders of his family, and so he decides to follow them to their source. On the way, he encounters bumbling policeman Yamada Kotaro, American tourist and actress Helen Arkwright, and mysterious shrine maiden Hayashi Emiko, and together they unravel a mystery that, in the end, threatens the very stability of Meiji Japan.
I say “together” very loosely, though, because Makoto has no real interest or intent to team up with any of them (except maybe Emiko, who in addition to being wildly beautiful, also has ties to his family’s old shrine). Rather, Makoto – in classic lone cowboy/lone samurai style – is determined to solve the case by himself, but he just can’t seem to stop crossing paths with Kotaro and Helen, who themselves have gotten wrapped up in more trouble than they were looking for. Helen, visiting Japan with her businessman husband, is bored in the hotel room and just wants a little adventure in this exciting new land. Kotaro is a low-ranking policeman who wants to ingratiate himself with the higher-ups and ends up tailing Makoto (against orders) once he finds something suspicious about the whole case. None of them ever plan to join forces and don’t actually do so until the very end of the book, and half the fun of reading is seeing how Rothman pulls their paths together. The story occasionally relies on too-convenient coincidences to make this work, but on the flipside, those contribute positively to the quick pacing of the plot, and even become part of the amusement.
See, Suicidal Samurai walks a fine line between revenge drama and light comedy. Makoto’s scenes are all serious, but they are balanced with the near-Shakespearean foils of Kotaro and Helen, who are such a buffoon and a busybody, respectively, that it’s hard to take them seriously even when they’re trying to be so. Their trope-ish repetitions of certain phrases only contribute to their humor (even if they’re sometimes a bit grating) – Kotaro frequently refers to himself as “The Great and Powerful Yamada Kotaro,” and Helen makes a persistent habit of quoting plays in case the reader forgets she’s an actress. Yet, despite these tonal differences, they’re woven together in a way that reads smoothly, much like the structure itself. It can be enormously hard to structure a story that relies on coincidentally-overlapping storylines without it reading like the characters know the plot ahead of time, and that Rothman was able to pull it off with such fluidity shows a truly deft writing hand.
The setting itself also deserves some mention. My knowledge of Meiji-era Japan is admittedly limited to what I’ve seen in historical anime, so I can’t comment on the literal accuracy. However, the level of historical detail present in the book suggests that it’s quiet well-researched. Rothman doesn’t shy away from the cultural biases of the era, especially in the form of the Japanese mistrust of foreigners and the West in particular. In fact, that fear of the coming era’s potential changes becomes key in the overall plot. Japanese law also plays a major role, and the sheer amount of effort Makoto has to make to 1) get his illegal gun into the country, 2) find time to put it together, and 3) get the necessary materials to even fire it could only have come about through intense research. Not to mention that Yokohama’s so well-described that I feel like a time machine could plop me down in its Meiji version and I’d have no trouble finding my way around.
All in all, readers looking for a fast-paced historical adventure would do well to pick up Suicidal Samurai. There’s some blood (’cause, you know, murder), and though an age range is not specified, I’d consider it safe for 7th grade and up, and if you like it, a sequel, Notorious Ninja, is reputed to be on the way!
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Historical Fiction
The Sons of Liberty – Book Review
Two escaped slaves get superpowers, team up with Ben Franklin, and wreak havoc on their corrupt former owner. This tells you all you need to know about The Sons of Liberty.
This graphic novel, penned by Alexander and Joseph Lagos, is more National Treasure than history class, which is probably why it’s one of the most fun comics that I’ve read in a while.* Graham and Brody begin as slaves under the cruel Jacob Sorenson. When Sorenson’s son attacks Brody, Graham’s act of defense puts them both on the run, where they encounter Benjamin Franklin’s crazypants son, who has been electrocuting animals and, increasingly, slaves in effort to see what effect it has on their bodies. In this case, superpowers! (DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.) The boys proceed to befriend Ben Franklin, who gives them work in his print shop, and Quaker abolitionist Benjamin Lay, who teaches them the African martial art of dambe and suggests that they use their newfound powers to right the wrongs slavery has inflicted upon the country.
Normally I’m irked by historical inaccuracy in books, but I make a gleeful exception for this one. After all, via Authors’ Note, the writers are pretty blatant about the historical inaccuracy (see again: superpowers), and most of the relevant inaccuracies are so ridiculous that they’re instantly noticeable. For example, while Benjamin Lay was truly eccentric and loudly anti-slavery (as depicted in the book) he also had a hunched back (as also depicted in the book), which logically seems like something that would interfere with the learning of most martial arts (not depicted in the book). William Franklin, too, is such an exaggeratedly despicable character that it’s hard to see anything that he does as historically-based (other than his strained relationship with his father, which was accurate). Such exaggerations permeate the book, from the fictional slave hunter who outfits his dog collars with foot-long spikes to a terrifyingly huge Hessian character who has no problem scalping a person with his bare hands. These are all the things of over-the-top action movies, which make it easier to suspend disbelief for this particular tale.
Graham and Brody, however, are decidedly non-exaggerated characters, which is what makes the story work so well. Most of the problems that they face in the story are problems that would be faced by any runaway slave—having to evade slave hunters, trying to find food without being conspicuous, worrying about the friends and family they left behind, etc.—and even once they acquire their powers, they react as one would expect teens in their situation to act—terrified at first, and then WHOA THESE POWERS ARE AWESOME. Surprisingly little of the story centers around their powers, too, but this is far from a flaw. Between Lay’s abolition efforts, Franklin’s conflict with William, William’s own several duplicities, and both of Graham and Brody’s conflicts (that is, hiding from Sorenson while learning to use their powers), there’s more than enough to keep the reader interested.
The writing itself zips between each storyline quickly, but never feels rushed. Dialogue is particularly well-handled, with several characters possessing their own unique styles of speaking. The art, too, is energetic, with smart use of color, expression, and character design, even if the lineart beneath the color occasionally looks too quickly-drawn. (It’s far from bad, but every now and then a character will look off-model. It’s not frequent enough to interfere with the reading experience, though.)
Ultimately, The Sons of Liberty is more concerned with entertainment than education. Considering that this was its goal in the first place, it does it with panache—so much so that it might even make readers interested in the true history behind the story! At its heart, it’s an exciting fantasy romp through pre-Revolutionary America, and highly recommended.
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*No offense to history teachers. Mine were magnificent, but I’ve had several teens refuse historical fiction because they say their history teachers ruined it for them.