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It’s been fourteen years since the release of Jake Adelstein’s seminal memoir Tokyo Vice: An American Reporter on the Police Beat in Japan. Since then, the book has become the go-to popular non-fiction for those interested in the Japanese underworld. Tokyo Vice was still a mainstay in true crime sections at North American bookstores even before HBO began airing a fictionalized adaptation on their steaming platform, now known as Max; that series, with its premier episode directed by Michael Mann, has become a major hit, with a second season around the corner. So, what better time could there be for Jake to release the long-awaited sequel to Vice, The Last Yakuza?
Well, in some respects, The Last Yakuza is more a spiritual successor than a direct sequel. (To really catch up with Jake’s life post-enraging mob boss Goto Tadamasa, you’ll have to read the upcoming Tokyo Private Eye. Or, for that matter, you could read his series of articles posted on this very website.) Nor is The Last Yakuza an entirely new book; rather, it’s new to English. Originally published in 2017 in France, where he has a devoted fanbase, a wider English release needed to wait until the right moment for publication (given the treacherous nature of the topic).
But for anyone who’s read and enjoyed Tokyo Vice, or indeed its HBO adaptation, the English publication of The Last Yakuza should be a source of excitement. Moreover, this is great reading for anyone interested in the history and fading lifestyle of Japan’s unique brand of mobsters. It’s a sweeping narrative of the yakuza on both a macro and personal level, helping the reader understand the whats, whos, and, most importantly, whys of organized crime in Japan.
Encountering the Tsunami
I’ve known Jake since I was a junior in college studying abroad in Tokyo. In fact, it was back then that I encountered the once-and-future yakuza whose life story is the framing of The Last Yakuza‘s narrative, and who goes by the pseudonym “Saigo” within these pages. He was the first Japanese mobster I ever met, and he struck me as a pretty nice guy. It wasn’t until I noticed his missing pinkie, and the telltale irezumi tattoos just barely visible past the sleeves of his pressed silk shirt, that I properly grasped who I was dealing with. “Yeah, this charming guy used to be a violent criminal.”
The Last Yakuza does a wonderful job of telling the life story of this man, both compelling and upsetting by turns. “Saigo,” also called “Tsunami,” is a fascinating figure; someone who rose from failed-out rock-and-roller to bike gang leader, to full-fledged yakuza underboss. His story becomes emblematic of 20th-century yakuza as a whole.
(We even get the full, visceral details on how he lost that pinkie.)
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Interwoven with Saigo’s life narrative are chapters focusing on the rise of the yakuza from the early post-war, their intimate ties with Japanese political power, and vignettes on important underworld figures. We learn the stories of Inagawa-kai godfather and “economic yakuza” Ishii Susumu, ultra-nationalist gangster and political fixer Kodama Yoshio, and many other colorful, loathsome, or strangely endearing figures.
The Last Yakuza and the Fading of the Old Guard
Saigo’s decades-spanning career in Japan’s 3rd-biggest yakuza group, the Inagawa-kai, helps the reader grasp what drew recruits to Japanese organized crime. It offered the ostracized, those who couldn’t fit into standardized Japanese society, a way to succeed. It also offered a supposed “code” by which they could live. The book also exposes the hypocrisies and half-truths inherent in the old yakuza self-image while still humanizing the tens of thousands who used to participate in its oft-destructive lifestyle.
“The Last Yakuza” is a fitting title. It would have been fitting even back in 2009, when the old rough-and-tumble yakuza who styled themselves as folk heroes and forbade drug dealing and defrauding civilians were already looking outdated. Now, in a post-2011 “Yakuza exclusion ordinances” world, where the law has finally made everyday existence as a Yakuza member next to impossible, the title is even more apropos. Through Saigo and the entire history of the yakuza, we witness their tremendous rise to power and wealth during the post-war and the bubble era, and see the massive crash and burn awaiting organized crime in the 2010s.
This is where The Last Yakuza really shines. Those hoping for a direct continuation of Tokyo Vice‘s personalized storytelling may be a little disappointed; for many, the vicarious excitement of following Jake’s induction into the world of crime reporting in Japan was a major appeal of that book. The Last Yakuza has its primary character, Saigo, but its strengths lie more in allowing the reader to comprehend the yakuza than in making them feel they’re along for the ride.
The Extreme Path of the Chivalrous Organization
One of the more notable achievements of The Last Yakuza is not only explaining why someone would choose a life of (organized) crime; it also explicates why the yakuza were tolerated for so long. Yakuza have long referred to themselves as “chivalrous organizations” (ninkyō dantai, 任侠団体), something which may appear laughable from the outside. But the narrative here not only establishes the codes of conduct that helped yakuza reinforce their own self-conception as a necessary evil, it also shows why those in wider society might sometimes rely upon them as well. (Beyond the compelling power of popular yakuza films.)
Of course, there are noteworthy examples of corporate and political malfeasance that the yakuza so readily assisted with. Hiring a sokaiya to disrupt a board meeting, or getting yakuza to bully and threaten stubborn tenants until they vacated real estate property you wanted to redevelop; these were standard services offered by the yakuza. But yakuza also kept nightlife areas free of petty street crime. They could help “civilians” settle legal disputes, get back payments on poorly performing loans, and handle problems that would otherwise take years to wind through Japan’s glacially flowing legal system. Of course, all this was managed under threat of violence – or worse.
The entire narrative helps the reader place all this within the context of Japan’s turbulent 20th century. Importantly, it also places it within a personal framework – one of blood-brother relationships, of mentorship carried out through punches to the face and threats of bodily harm by samurai sword. We see backstabbings, revenge, and the occasional bout of compassion. And we come out on the other side with a better understanding of one of the major societal forces that shaped Japan over the past century.
Sayonara, Saigo
Like so many great stories, by the end of The Last Yakuza you’ve encountered so much context and narrative heft that you just want to start it all over again. While the early sections on Saigo’s upbringing and involvement in his biker gang lack some of the excitement of later chapters, this is a book that just gets more intriguing as it goes on, and ends up retroactively making its starting place all the more engaging.
(One addition that would make the book even more engaging would be historical photographs. With so many personages, it would be great to be able to place faces to names. Given the desire of many of those involved to maintain a low profile, however, the lack of imagery is understandable.)
As someone who personally, briefly encountered “Saigo” when I was younger, there was an additional level of fascination here. There was so much to this individual and his life story that I could never have imagined. I believe Saigo would be the first to admit that not everything he did in life was for the betterment of those around him; nonetheless, his story is one worth learning from. I’m glad it’s been told.
So, this is recommended reading for those interested in the yakuza as they were and have become. The days of the old world of Japanese organized crime are winding down, but The Last Yakuza proves how much there is to learn from the stories of Japan’s shadowy, fading underworld.
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