Villain

Villain

by Shuichi Yoshida

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780307454942
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date: 08/09/2011
Pages: 304
Sales rank: 1,298,347
Product dimensions: 5.20(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

Shuichi Yoshida was born in Nagasaki, Japan, in 1968. The author of nine books, he has won numerous literary awards in Japan and has also had several of his short stories adapted for Japanese television. Villain won the Osaragi Jiro Prize and the Mainichi Publishing Culture Award, two prestigious Japanese prizes. Yoshida lives in Tokyo.

Read an Excerpt

Yuichi turned on the overhead light in his car and angled the rearview mirror toward him. In the darkness the reflection of his face was indistinct. He moved his head from side to side, combing his fin­gers through his hair. His hair was soft and feline; the fine strands flowed through his rough fingers.
 
In the spring of last year, Yuichi had dyed his hair for the first time in his life. He dyed it a brown that almost appeared black, and when none of the guys on his construction site noticed, he dyed it a lighter brown, then even lighter the next time, until finally now, a year and a half later, his hair was nearly blond.
 
Since the change in hair color was so gradual, no one kidded him about it. Only once did another worker, Nosaka, laugh and say, “Hey, since when are you a blond?” His blond hair went well with his skin, tanned from outdoor work, so perhaps that explained the lack of teasing.
 
Yuichi was not a flashy guy, though when he went to Uniqlo and other inexpensive clothing stores to buy sweatshirts and sweatpants, he always wound up going for bright colors, reds and pinks. He would tell himself he’d get something subdued, black or beige, something that didn’t show dirt easily, but when he got to the store and stood in front of the racks of clothes, for some reason he’d reach for the brighter colors. It’s only going to get dirty anyway, he told himself.
 
His old chest of drawers at home was stuffed full of similar sweat­shirts and T-shirts, all of them with threadbare collars, frayed sleeves, the cloth all worn out. All of this made the colors stand out even more, like colors in a deserted theme park. He liked these old sweat­shirts and T-shirts, though, because they absorbed the sweat and grease well, and the more he wore them the more they felt like part of his skin, a feeling he found liberating.
 
Yuichi leaned forward and looked again in the rearview mirror. His hair was in place. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, but at least the pimple between his eyebrows was gone.
 
Until he graduated from high school, Yuichi was the type of boy who never combed his hair. He wasn’t on any sports team, but every couple of months he’d go to the neighborhood barbershop and get a buzz cut.
 
Around the time he started attending an industrial high school, the barber had sighed and said, “Yuichi, pretty soon I bet you’re going to get all particular about your hair, telling me how to cut it.” The huge mirror in the barbershop reflected a young boy, tall and skinny, who was far from being very masculine.
 
“If you have anything special you want me to do, let me know, okay?” said the barber. The barber liked to sing enka, and he made his own recordings, posters for which were plastered on the wall.
 
But Yuichi had no idea what anything special meant when it came to hair. He had no idea where to begin. Until he graduated from high school, Yuichi always got his hair cut at this shop. After­ward, he worked for a short time at a small health food store, and then, after he quit, just hung out at home. A former classmate invited him to work at a karaoke box place, but within half a year the place closed down and he took a series of short-term jobs, at a gas station for a few months, then at a convenience store. And before he knew it he was twenty-three.
 
It was around that time that he started working in construction. He was considered more of a day laborer than a regular employee, but since the owner of the company was a relative, he earned more than he would have otherwise. He’d been working with this com­pany now for four years. Yuichi liked the irregularity of the work, how they worked in good weather and didn’t when it rained.
 
Fewer and fewer cars passed in front of the park. It had become so quiet that the presence of the young couple two cars ahead of him, who had driven away quite some time ago, still lingered.
 
And right then he spotted Yoshino walking, not so quickly, down the path that ran parallel to the park. Yuichi had been cleaning his nails under the interior light in his car.
 
He gave his horn a light tap. Surprised by the sound, Yoshino stopped for a moment.
 
 
***
 
On Monday morning, December 10, 2001, Sari woke up five minutes ahead of her alarm, a rare occurrence. Sari was not a morning per­son, and when she was living with her parents in Kagoshima City, almost every morning her mother got upset when she wouldn’t get up on time. Even after Sari moved out and started living in Fukuoka, her mother would occasionally call her to remind her to get up.

Part of the reason she had trouble getting up was that she couldn’t fall asleep easily. Back when she was still in school she’d go to bed early, but as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind started replaying conversations she had had with her friends. If only I’d said this to her, she’d think. If only I’d come back to the classroom earlier. She couldn’t help worrying about all the little things that happened. A lot of people do this, of course, but in Sari’s case her regret over trivial events of the day would, before she realized it, balloon into the same imaginary scenario.
 
It was hard to explain what this scene was, exactly. She had just entered junior high and was in bed one night when it popped into her mind, and ever since, no matter how much she’d try not to think of it, it came to her as she struggled to sleep.
 
The time period wasn’t clear, perhaps the late 1920s or early ’30s. In this mental scene Sari was locked up in a cramped room, a pho­tograph of an actress clutched in her hands. Sometimes in the pho­tograph the actress wore Western clothes like a pinup film star; at other times it was a newspaper clipping, an ad for what appeared to be the actress’s new movie. Sari had no idea who the actress was, but she did know that in her fantasy she was ragingly, overwhelmingly jealous of this woman. Through the latticed window, she sometimes saw gallant young soldiers marching down a cherry-tree-lined street; sometimes she heard the shouts of children throwing snowballs at each other.
 
In this fantasy, Sari always felt irritated. If only I could get out of this room, she thought, then she would be able to take the actress’s place in the movie. Her fantasy had no plot, no other characters. Just this one protagonist, Sari’s alter ego, whose feelings became her own when Sari couldn’t sleep.
 
Just before her alarm buzzed, Sari reached out and turned it off. It hadn’t rung, but she felt as if she could hear it. She flipped open her cell phone to see if there were any messages from Yoshino, but there were none.
 
She got out of bed and opened the curtains. From her third-floor window she had a nice view of Higashi Park bathed in the early morning sunshine.
 
Last night, just before twelve, she’d phoned Yoshino, certain she’d be back by then, but there was no answer.
 
Yoshino’s phone had rung but eventually gone to voice mail, so Sari had hung up and gone out on the veranda to peer down at Yoshino’s apartment, which was directly beneath hers. The lights weren’t on. If she really had met up with Keigo and come home afterward, twelve was too early for her to have gone to sleep.
 
Flustered, Sari had then decided to phone Mako, who sounded as if she was brushing her teeth when she answered the phone.
 
“So Yoshino isn’t back yet?” Sari asked her.
 
“Huh?”
 
“Didn’t she say something about coming back right away? But I just called her cell and she didn’t pick up.”
 
“Maybe she’s taking a shower?”
 
“But her light’s off.”
 
“So maybe she’s still with Keigo.”
 
Mako sounded like she couldn’t be bothered, so Sari just let it be.
 
“She’ll be back soon. Did you want something?” Mako asked her.
 
“No, not really . . .” Sari replied and hung up.
 
No, she didn’t have anything else she wanted to ask Mako. Instead, the sound of Yoshino’s footsteps, fading as she walked toward the darkened park, came back to her.
 
Normally Sari wouldn’t have given it another thought, but after she took a shower and went back to bed, she was still concerned. She knew she was being a pest, but she called Yoshino’s cell phone one more time. This time, though, the call went immediately to voice messaging, as if the phone had been turned off. Right as it did, Sari pictured Keigo’s condo in front of Hakata station. Feeling foolish, she tossed the cell phone aside.
 
That morning Sari arrived at her company’s Hakata branch, also in front of Hakata station, just in time for the eight-thirty morning meeting. Normally she rode her bicycle for the one-kilometer com­mute to the office, but today, just as she was straddling the bike, Mako—who usually commuted by subway to the company’s Seinan branch—called out to her. “I’ve got to stop by the Hakata office,” Mako told her, so Sari decided to take the subway, too.
 
As they were walking to the station Sari asked, “So, have you heard from Yoshino?”
 
“Yoshino? She hasn’t come back?” Mako asked, mellow as usual.
 
“She never answered her cell.”
 
“Then I suppose she must have stayed overnight at Keigo’s. She’ll go to work from there.”
 
Mako’s laid-back attitude convinced Sari that she must be right. They stopped discussing it and rushed into the subway.
 
When their morning meeting at work was over, the branch man­ager switched on the TV set on top of a shelf in the small reception area. He’d never turned it on before, so all the employees collec­tively turned toward the screen.
 
“Something has happened at Mitsuse Pass,” the branch manager said, turning toward the others. Several employees had already heard something and, from the corner of the room, they began to talk loudly. Several others moved closer to the TV.
 
The morning light shone through a large window, over which hung a decoration left over from the Tanabata midsummer festival. It was the only spot in the office where the summer heat still seemed to linger.
 
Sari turned to Mako, who was busy counting promotional gifts packed into a cardboard box. “Mako,” she asked, “don’t tell me you’re planning to buy those? Aren’t they kind of expensive?”
 
“New ones are coming out, they said. Plus we can buy these at sev­enty percent off.”
 
The box was crammed with not very appealing stuffed bunnies.
 
“Who’s going to sign a contract with us just because we hand out this kind of junk?” Sari asked.
 
“Yeah, but there are some people who ask specifically for the stuffed toy animals,” Mako said seriously.
 
Then several staff members in front of the TV exclaimed loudly: “No way.” “How awful.” Their voices weren’t so much tense as indif­ferent, so Sari merely glanced around at the TV.
 
Normally this local morning show reported on bargain sales in town, but today on the TV a young reporter, frowning very seriously, was standing in front of the road that ran through the mountains.
 
“They found a dead body up at Mitsuse Pass,” one of the staff members said, turning around.
 
Everyone began to move toward the TV.
 
“The young woman’s body was discovered this morning at the base of the cliff that’s visible over there. The police have roped off the area, but even from here it’s clear that the cliff is quite steep.”
 
The reporter, out of breath, was almost shouting, as if he’d just arrived at the site.
 
Sari was struck by an awful premonition and glanced over at Mako, who was obliviously pawing through the stuffed animals.
 
“Mako,” Sari said, and Mako—thinking Sari wanted some of the stuffed animals—held out the one in her hand, the smallest of the bunnies in the box.
 
“Not that. Look,” Sari said, irritated, motioning with her chin. Mako slowly turned to the screen.
 
“. . . The victim has not yet been indentified. According to author­ities the body was abandoned there today, before dawn. Most likely the victim has been dead for eight to ten hours. . . .”
 
Mako returned to her box. Sari, half afraid, waited for what Mako might say. Mako’s face stiffened and she said, “Mitsuse Pass is where there’re all those ghosts, right?”
 
“That’s not the point!” Sari shouted. If she explained it, she was sure Mako could catch her drift, but she was reluctant to put her thoughts into words.
 
“What?” Mako said, reaching again for the box.
 
“Yoshino did go to work today, didn’t she?”
 
Sari finally got this much out, but Mako still didn’t follow. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said.
 
“Should we call her?”
 
Sari looked helplessly at the TV again and Mako finally got it. “No way!” she said in disbelief. “I’m sure she went to work from Keigo’s place.
 
“If you’re so worried, why don’t you call her?” she added.
 
“I don’t know. . . .”
 
“Want me to call her?” Mako wearily pulled her cell phone out of her bag. “I’m only getting voice mail,” she said. “Hi, Yoshino? When you get this give me a call.”
 
“Why don’t you call the other branch directly?” Sari suggested.
 
“She’s gotta be there,” Mako said, but at Sari’s urging she dialed the number in Tenjin.
 
“Hello? This is Miss Adachi from the Seinan branch. I was won­dering if Yoshino Ishibashi is there?”
 
Cell phone pressed against her ear, Mako knelt down and stuck her hand among the plush toy animals.
 
After a moment she stood up. “Yes? Is that right?” she said. “I see. Yes, I understand.” Her voice was cheery enough, but after she hung up she turned to Sari with a dazed look.
 
“She didn’t come to work?” Sari asked.
 
“On the schedule board it said she was going directly to meet a client. It’s probably the owner of that coffee shop. You know, the guy Yoshino did a cold call to the other day.”
 
People were starting to drift back to work, but Sari wasn’t finished.
 
“Mitsuse Pass is a creepy place. I drove through there once,” Suzuka Nakamachi said, her eyes still glued to the TV. She shud­dered dramatically.
 
Later Sari realized that if Suzuka hadn’t spoken to her right then, it might have been the end of it. They worked in the same sales dis­trict but weren’t close. Still, Suzuka always spoke to Sari in an overly familiar way. Mako didn’t mind her, but Yoshino disliked Suzuka intensely. Once she’d said, trembling with emotion, “I hate the way she acts.”
 
“Suzuka,” Sari said, shooting a quick glance at the TV. “You know Keigo Masuo, right, who goes to Seinan University? Do you know how to get in touch with him?”
 
“Keigo?” Suzuka said, guardedly. “Why do you ask?”
 
“Yoshino went to stay over at his place, but isn’t answering her cell. Do you know his number?”
 
Suzuka listened, expressionless. “I don’t really know him, but my friend sort of does.”
 
“Would he know how to get in touch with Keigo?”
 
“Gee, I don’t know. . . .”
 
Sari was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get any help from her.
 
Mako was listening to their conversation. “Well, it’s time for me to get going,” she said and closed the lid of the cardboard box. Just then the TV showed an interview with the old man who had first discov­ered the body. Several people in the office were watching and burst out laughing. The old man had exceedingly long nose hairs. The laughter broke the tension in the room and the office’s normal, peaceful atmosphere returned.
 
“I noticed that the rope tying down the load on the back of my truck had broken,” the old man was explaining, “so I stopped right at that curve over there. I got out and happened to glance over the edge of the cliff and saw something stuck in a tree. When I looked more closely . . . I couldn’t believe my eyes.”




From the Hardcover edition.

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Villain 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 17 reviews.
smik on LibraryThing 8 months ago
One of the interesting things about this novel is its structure. The murder of a young woman, or rather her relationships with a variety of people, is seen from a number of points of view. She has been lying to her friends about her "boyfriend" and consequently the police investigation begins in what appears to the reader to be entirely the wrong direction. The police begin using resources to track down the wrong person, or, wait, is he..?Many of the victim's friends have secrets from their other friends, even from their families. The lies they tell stem from the desire to be seen by others has better than they actually are, or from shame about the activities they participate in. The problem comes when they begin to believe their own lies, or when others believe or act on them.I found the chapter headings fascinating, and while they indicate the structure of the novel, the focus of each chapter is not just one person. Who did she want to see? Who did he want to see? Who did she happen to meet? Who did he happen to meet? The villain I met.This murder mystery gives Western readers a chance to penetrate modern Japanese culture. As many other reviews point out, in many ways it is a tale about dysfunctionality and alienation, at the same time as indicating the ripple effect in society of what was in many ways an unpremeditated crime. The author also explores the impact of chance events and spur-of-the-moment decisions.The cultural overtones that permeate a translated novel, particularly one like VILLAIN, can be very strong, meaning that the reader is constantly aware that setting is "different" to the one that they normally "inhabit". This is the second translated Japanese novel that I have read this year. The other was THE DEVOTION OF SUSPECT X by Keigo Higashino. In that one too I was acutely aware of cultural differences. That's what makes translated crime fiction so valuable to Western readers.
ndeyton on LibraryThing 8 months ago
This slow paced crime novel from award winning Japanese author Shuichi Yoshida, is told in a series of flashbacks from a variety of characters. It begins with the arrest of Yuichi Shimizu, a construction worker, for the murder of Yoshino Ishibashi, a woman he had been dating. Initially, we may wonder about Yuichi's guilt, but as we delve deeper we begin to understand that this novel is less about who killed Yoshino Ishibashi and more about why. Yoshida sharply surveys the psychological profile of Japanese culture (although, honestly, it's not limited to Japan), revealing the variety of masks each person wears in order to cope in a society that is constantly changing, growing, and losing touch. As Yoshida introduces the characters, each affected by Yoshino's murder, we get a glimpse of a culture that is at once, completely foreign and wholly recognizable. We are given access to the lives of people who make up a cross section of this culture from Yoshino's heart broken father, to the girl who falls in love with Yuichi even after she realizes what he may have done, to the spoiled, abusive college student who wanted nothing to do with Yoshino's advances but brags about knowing the murder victim. Along the way, we become witness to the unfolding story, as seen from each character's limited point of view. In the end, I found myself rooting for the very earnest Yuichi, hoping that the entitled college student would get slapped down a few pegs. Just as I hoped Yuichi's grandmother would somehow deflate the Japanese mobsters. In truth, by the end of the novel we're left wondering who the true villain is, the honest man manipulated by culture or the culture that manipulated him.While the Japan News called this book "Thrilling . . . The sort of book that is difficult to put down," I found it slow moving and methodical. It's a worthy and intriguing read, but not the Japanese answer to Stieg Larsson as some may have suggested.
arubabookwoman on LibraryThing 8 months ago
This is the story of the murder of Yoshino, a young Japanese woman in a dead end job at a large insurance company. She fantasizes herself to be the girlfriend of a wealthy playboy-student, and causes her friends to believe that she is dating him. In actuality, her relationship is with Yuichi, a consruction worker who lives with his grandparents. They meet in "love hotels", and Yoshino wheedles money from Yuichi in return for her sexual favors. When Yoshino turns up dead at a remote mountain overpass, suspicion initially focuses on Keigo.This is not a police procedural, however, nor in many ways is it even a murder mystery. Rather, Yoshida presents us with a broad cross-section of contemporary Japanese society in a provincial city. Razor sharp portraits are drawn of a wide variety of characters as we gradualyy learn who murdered Yoshino. Even when we know the murderer, the book is a meditation on guilt. Who is the real villain-one who killed, but is filled with remorse, or one who does not care and is indifferent to the death?Through multiple perspectives, Yoshida contemplates the isolation of modern life. I highly recommend this book.
2_Many_Movies More than 1 year ago
Boring and trite. I recently read two books by Keigo Higashino and they were great, understated, highly suspenseful with elegant  and surprising conclusions. So I tried Villain and am very disappointed. It is so boring, the characters are uninteresting and shallow. Pages and pages of the guy looking at himself in the mirror thinking about his hair style and dye jobs. The women in this book are foolish and immature. Pages of boring descriptions of street names and map coordinates. Too factual in many places, one must set the scene but there are limits. I had to give up, I'm not going to waste time with this one. I'm sorry I couldn't read real reviews about the book. I hope Barnes and Noble deletes all the childish and unnecessary reviews on this page.
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harstan More than 1 year ago
In 2002 in southern Japan, the corpse of Fukuoka insurance saleswoman Yoshino Ishibashi is found. Soon after the discovery of the dead woman's body, Nagasaki police charge twenty-seven year old construction worker Yuichi Shimizu with first degree murder. The pair had dated a few times but the motive remains as elusive as the ghosts that allegedly haunt this region of Japan. The cops learn that the victim had numerous online boyfriends and went on mundane and cyber dates; as Ishibashi hated her boring job. Meanwhile Shimizu also detested his cramped lifestyle as he cared for his ailing grandparents; his escapism from ennui was with his extravagant car. Meanwhile as he and his girlfriend evade the police, the impact of the murder reverberates on three families and the communities where they reside. Using a horrific homicide, Shuichi Yoshida provides a powerful look at modern day Japan through multiple perspectives. The discerning story line rotates effortlessly between the past of lead pair (killer and victim) and the aftermath of the killing on the couple on the run and the families. Readers will relish this tense thriller as murder is the mechanism used to enable the audience to feel they are on the islands observing contemporary Japanese culture. Harriet Klausner
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hello.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Can I join?
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
See post at new base. Can i join as bellatrix lastrange? -claudia
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm back! Sorry i left so suddenly, went on vacation for a few weeks. How've all of you been since i left?? I'm excited to get back to taking over the tri state area.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Is here to become a villain.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The badest guy in the naruto seiries
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A tall skeloten wearing blue tights(i hate old carttons. They always make people wear tights.•( ) breastplate and hood walked up. "My name is Skelator. Im from an old cartoom called he-man and i apear some in another cartoom called she-ra. Im a villain of the worst sort and can do magic." A long purple staff with a rams skull on its tip apeared in his hand. "Now let me join or you wont live to regret it."
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hello!