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Diary of a Minion, by "32" (excerpted)




Transcribed by: rosewoodpip
Based on: Miike Snow, "Genghis Khan" video, 2016
Rating: PG
Content warnings: Mild violence; short or oblique references to family disharmony, alcoholism, and masturbation.

***

07 Jun 196x

My squad leader tells me that it is all right to keep a diary if I abbreviate names and don't include details about our Boss's secret project.

32 = me
04, 14, and 30 = my teammates in the squad
G = "Golden Nose," my boss
the Project = what my boss is working on
[Ed: The following line was evidently added later by 32. It is squashed into the space, and written with a different ink, and a slightly leaky pen.]
Agent, the Agent = the Queen's man

(handwritten line)

I was chosen from among over 100 candidates to be a minion for G, and I started today! When G's facility was first built ten years ago, the government decided it would be best if it was out in the mountains, far away from any city or town. The Project we are supporting must be very dangerous.

It's a nice facility. There's a big dining hall with plenty of room for everyone, and a recreation room, too. We have to bunk up for bedrooms, and there are four of us in each, but that is normal for our job. My bunkmates are 04, 30, and 14, and it seems to be expected that we will form a team as time passes. I hope we get along well.

After orientation, the whole new squad had some drills. Our squad leader told us we were "the worst, least disciplined bunch he'd ever seen." He isn't wrong about us not being very disciplined. When he ordered us to stand at attention, we looked more like a patch of weeds going every which way than a squad of elites. But we've just started. We'll show him what we're made of!

19 Jun 196x

G has a big lab where he does the development and testing of the Project, and an office where he deals with paperwork. I've been to this office a number of times, to deliver paperwork coming from HQ. The office has a lot of photos of his two kids at various ages, and a wedding photo with him and his wife.

He looks a lot different in that photo. While I was playing cards with my teammates today, 14 told me that there was a terrible accident in the lab about a year ago, and that's how his face got so badly injured and he lost all his hair. The government offered him a pension, but he decided to keep working on the Project. I am in awe of his dedication.

And he's a great boss! He never makes us work over shift, even though we live here. Lunch is two hours long. He often walks through the recreation area just to talk to us and see how we're doing, and he pretends not to notice that we are also gambling when we're playing contract bridge.

The food is delicious, and my teammates and I get along famously (we're still working on our discipline, though it isn't easy). The facility is showing some wear, especially where the accident caused damage and had to be repaired, but our quarters are clean, warm and comfortable. I feel very lucky being chosen as 32.

04 Aug 196x

Our squad is still lacking in discipline. (I feel like I'm writing this every work day, and looking back on my entries, yes, it's pretty consistent.) I'd say we're trying, but at heart I know we aren't trying very hard. We're out in the middle of nowhere, the brass hasn't shown up since shortly after the accident, and we know we are capable of defending the facility if there is an attack. Over and above that, the little details aren't that important. Or so I keep telling myself when our squad leader shouts at us for the hundredth time!

(handwritten line)

Today something strange happened. I don't know what to make of it.

A van dropped off some paperwork from HQ this morning. That isn't the strange part--it's happened at least twice a week in the short time I've been here. The civil servant who put the envelope into my hands said: "This is information on the new Queen's man. See that it's taken to G immediately."

"As always, ma'am." 04 stepped up to take my place in the foyer, and I hurried with the envelope through the corridors around the lab, to G's office.

G almost always has his office door open, and this time was no different. Per protocol I rapped on the door twice, G motioned me in, and I handed him the envelope. "Information on the Queen's man, sir," I told him.

"Is that so? We'll have to send some of your squad out to get acquainted with him," he said indifferently, as he opened the envelope and pulled the dossier out.

As was his way, he started chatting with me as he set the card stock folder on his desk, asking if I'd heard from my mother recently, and if my teammates and I were doing well. Always so kind. After some time, he indicated he was going to open the folder, and dismissed me, because I'm not "need to know" on this information yet. I saluted and moved toward the door.

G shouted behind me, and I was so startled I turned back around. "What on earth? Is this a spy, or a fashion model?" He held a photograph in his hand. I couldn't see the photo from where I was standing, but this agent must be a striking person. G was staring at the photo with a wide-eyed expression on his face.

23 Aug 196x

Being in close quarters with many other people, you get to know every little thing about them, even things you would prefer not to. Who's got an alcohol problem, who is happy to be here because it keeps them away from their family. Things like that. As much as I love my job, knowing all the worst about my squadmates is the one thing I don't care for.

Even G, our boss, gets gossiped about. We were on our fourth bridge game during break today (my partner's and my pot was growing nicely; we'd won one rubber and were well into the second) when 14--the most gossip-prone of our team--said: "I think the Boss has a thing for the Queen's man."

"A 'thing'? What do you mean?" I had no idea what he was talking about, but 14 made it clear right away. He made a horrible, rude gesture.

"This thing. He's taken a fancy to him. Wants to take him to bed. Wants to f--"

"All right! Enough!"

14 persisted. "He takes that dossier everywhere he goes, even to the development lab. And he's keeping his office door closed a lot these days to 'review the documentation,' if you take my meaning."

"But he's the enemy!" I could feel the blood draining from my face. I was completely shocked.

"You've never heard of 'sleeping with the enemy'? How naïve are you?" 14 had a nasty expression on his face.

I was so angry with him, I left the table, even though I and my partner, 04, would forfeit our winnings if I left early. I'll pay him back later.

I sat on my bed in the dormitory with my head in my hands and tried to calm down, but all I could think about was this Agent somehow ruining the Project, ruining my livelihood. What made it worse was not knowing who I was actually angry with after a while. 14? G? The Queen's man?

Not at my boss, this man I admire so much and who treats all of us with such respect, and who forgives all our squad's admittedly many failings. I'll never be angry with him, no matter what happens. Never. The future seems uncertain all of a sudden.

01 Sep 196x

Today was another unusual day. I've come to dread unusual days. Give me the squad leader shouting about my chin strap or my shoelaces, and MY BOSS NOT FALLING FOR I'll be just as happy.

A little after lunch today, our squad leader mustered us from our guard duties to the small parade/training ground behind the facility. We did our best to look professional, but as usual it was a lost cause. 30 sneezed behind me, and I jumped, and the squad leader glared at us. There was a tall, lovely woman standing next to him: brown eyes, slender legs enhanced by dress pumps, her uniform immaculate, and with more poise than our entire squad combined.

He cleared his throat to draw our attention from her to himself. "Squad, this is R. We have been given information that the Queen's man will be attending a ball at the embassy in two weeks. This will be our opportunity to learn his capabilities, and test them if we can. To that end, we will send one team as attendees at the ball. R here will gauge your dancing abilities, and the best of you--and I have my doubts about what 'best' means when it comes to you lot--will be sent to the embassy ball."

I puffed up with pride. I was the best dancer in my class at school, no question. It seems like a long time since I was in school, even though it's only been a few months, and the facility hasn't had a dance of its own (maybe we could have one? it would be something to do that isn't our 500th game of bridge), so I feared I'd be out of practice.

It all turned out well. The other teams were no competition at all. R and I danced like we'd partnered for years, her grace and my strength a perfect match. As the song on the portable phonograph ended, everybody clapped.

Our team was chosen as the reconnaissance group! Along with me are:
04 - everybody's best bridge partner, and a remarkable dancer on top of having a perfect poker face
14 - who knew the squad gossip could dance? he's actually pretty good!
and
30 - I don't want to talk badly about 30, but it's the honest truth that he is coming along only because he's our fourth teammate. "Dancing" and "falling on his face" are one and the same for him.

15 Sep 196x

I have to write all this down before I lose my mind, even though it has to be 2 AM by now. I wrote about unusual days a couple weeks ago, and this was the worst kind of unusual. I'm beside myself, and can't do anything about this, except write it all out and hope I can make some sense of it later on.

Where to begin?

The day started off well. Tonight was the night of the ball at the embassy, and the four of us had been practicing dancing with feminine counterparts in the Women's Squad for an hour or two every day. 30's been getting better, thank goodness, though he was so abashed when he dealt with these women, that I am concerned for his future.

When we four mustered in the facility's courtyard for a last briefing by G before the ball, our squad leader suggested to G that perhaps we could send one or two of the women with our group, since the Queen's men are notoriously prone to seduction. G flatly refused the suggestion and would not compromise. The plan was in place and was not to be changed under any circumstance.

("He wants him for himself," 14 muttered in my ear. I didn't dignify him with a reply, but the pit of my stomach sank.)

G continued with his briefing. If possible, we were to find a way to capture the Agent so he could be spirited away to the facility, but considering our inexperience, assessing him was our main goal. This included recording and photography devices tucked away in our formal dress. "Take as many photographs of him as you can manage without giving yourselves away," G said. I was going to suppress 14's inevitable commentary, but our squad leader beat me to it with a look that made me flinch even though I wasn't its recipient, and 14 looked away first.

"If you should capture him, you're not to harm a hair on his head. Do you understand me?" G said. He was pacing back and forth in front of us, and his gaze made me quail in my messily-tied boots. It must have had the same effect on the rest of us (with the possible exception of 04), because we all replied "Yes, sir!" right away.

After the briefing broke up and G went back to his work, 30 wondered: "We're going to test the Project on the Agent, aren't we? What's the difference if he gets a bruise or two?"

"G's the boss," our squad leader said, "and you won't be happy if you don't follow his orders, because I'll make good and sure you're unhappy. Follow me?"

"Yes, sir," we said again.

(handwritten line)

The time between our briefing and the ball went like a blur. I can scarcely remember it even though it was only a few hours ago. In our team's dormitory room, we got dressed up in tuxedos the command had fitted for us, with a pair of lab technicians there to make sure the tiny recording devices and the communicator, and their switches were placed correctly and functioning well.

The four of us arrived at the embassy in separate cars, and each of us had a separate identity. I am fluent with the Agent's language, since my father also spoke it, and I intended to talk with the Agent at least a little bit as part of our reconnaissance. We'd been shown the photos of him, and he's a very pleasing-looking fellow. (Not pleasing enough to put the Project in jeopardy! I'm still upset about that!)

I was floored by the crowd at this ball. Everyone was beautiful: perfectly put-together, sociable, graceful. They drank their drinks and ate their canapés and chatted like they'd known everyone else in this huge room for their entire lives. I felt like a pure pup in comparison. I knew for a fact my tuxedo fit well, but from my perspective it was like I was wearing a camping tent.

It didn't take me long to figure out where the Agent was in the crowd. As the new diplomat for the Queen, of course he would draw attention that had nothing to do with his looks, and he was consistently in conversation with various people in the room.

Before long, I'd had a drink or two of "liquid courage," and as a result felt very hungry. I found 30, and we pretended to have a reunion, and chatted a while, taking snaps of the Agent all along. I asked 30 to come to the refreshments table with me because I was famished. By chance, the Agent was not far from the table as we approached.

He saw us and gave us a welcoming smile. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of being introduced. I'm Agent, in the Queen's service." He held out his hand, and gripped my suddenly disgracefully clammy hand in his warm, strong one.

"32." My voice came out very oddly, in a kind of gurgle, but I forged ahead. "My uncle, J, is a diplomat for my country. And this is my friend, 30." 30--never one to stand up to an occasion--had a fixed, stunned expression as the Agent shook his hand, too.

30 stammered, "We're only here to get some snacks. We don't want to interrupt your conversation, sir." The Agent pleasantly nodded his acquiescence. Finding that we had nothing else to say for ourselves (our conversation skills need some practice, too), he nodded to us in dismissal this time, and turned back to what I now perceived as the other adults. The two of us unthinkingly loaded up our plates with whatever happened to be close by on the table, then retreated to a corner of the room.

"Is that what we're dealing with?" 30 blabbered once we were alone. "He could murder us with his little finger without even trying. We don't stand a chance." He kept going on like that, so I told him to calm down and eat his appetizers, to forestall his emotional state from devolving any further. He ate, with awful gulps that made me think he was going to choke, barely chewing his food. I hoped he wouldn't throw up and cause a scene.

I regretted that 04 wasn't there with us, because he is always a calming influence on 30. (On all of us, for that matter. Even 14, whose temper is on a short fuse.) 04 is the only person in our team who partners well with 30 in bridge, and can keep his distressed outbursts in check when it doesn't look like he and his partner will make book.

I'd have to take matters in hand myself for now, since I didn't know where 04 was at the time. "30, listen," I said to my quaking comrade, gripping his shoulders and looking him straight in his face, glancing at the Agent now and then as I talked. He wasn't looking our way at all, thankfully. "It isn't much, but we already have some information about this man. That's all the command is looking for. Let's find the others and maybe we can figure out between us what we should do from here."

"Strength in numbers, yes, good idea." We left our plates with one of the servers, and went in search of our two teammates.

When we gathered, it was apparent that 04 and 14 were not as intimidated by the Agent as 30 was--14 seemed quite aggressive toward him, in fact--but they still understood we weren't dealing with an easy and inexperienced foe. The rest delegated me to contact our squad leader, who was in a van a ways from the embassy, and ask him what to do next.

"Get out there and continue to observe him, you nincompoops. The dancing is starting soon, isn't it? I want your asses out there dancing. Are we clear?"

"Clear, sir," I replied.

The dance was invigorating, a wonderful entertainment. There are very few things that I do decently, much less competently--I am sorry to admit it--and dancing is one of those few. My talents drew me into the prime dancing group in the hall, which included some stunning beauties, and, of course, the Agent himself. It hardly seemed fair for him to be good at so many things, but there he was, dancing with effortless masculine grace, no matter his partner.

After the set broke up, the Agent walked toward me and we shook hands again. "That is one of the best dance sets I've been in. You were the star of the show," he said, which was a lie but very flattering, and a few people scattered around clapped for us. "But now I'm parched. Shall we go get some water?" he asked. I was thirsty myself, and readily agreed, and we left the rest of the party behind.

We paused to drink with the cool glasses of ice water in hand. The Agent turned toward me, and offered me another compliment that made me feel shy and embarrassed. "It's nothing..."

But then his face went stern, his grey-blue eyes boring into me. I went still, fixed by his gaze, unable to move or speak. "What are they thinking, sending a pack of green children to an occasion like this? I've a mind to take this outside and see just what you're made of. Who knows, maybe I'm underestimating you."

"You're not underestimating us. We're just as much a house of cards as you think we are," I answered, as an overwhelming flood of misery washed over me.

"Trying to evoke my pity will do nothing for you. Find some way to best me instead, if you can." The Agent gestured with his head to the large French doors leading from the ballroom out to the terrace. "Gather your team, and prepare yourselves. Maybe you'll learn something." He set his glass back down on the beverages table, and, without giving me another glance, made his way out to the terrace.

Our squad leader was not happy when I contacted him about the situation. He used some very bad words and then roared: "Are you fools twelve years old? And the Agent as well? Unbelievable. I forbid it!" He'd have kept on in this vein for quite some time, I suspected, so I replied, "What is that, sir? You're breaking up. I can't hear you." Then, with a pang of guilt, I pushed the disconnect button on my comm unit.

I went to retrieve the rest of my teammates. Each of them responded much as I expected them to, when I told them about the Agent's offer. 14 was all too ready to prove himself on this man. 04 responded calmly. He was so serene he'd been all but invisible the whole time, including during the dancing, which made me think he was the most likely of us to succeed.

30 would have to be all but dragged out there. We couldn't expect much from the poor fellow. 04 put his hand on 30's shoulder, and I swear I could feel 04's soothing presence from where I stood a few feet away. Just a few quiet words, and 30 longer looked like he was going to flee the premises and not stop running until he collapsed.

There were four of us, and only one Agent, and maybe we could do this if we were smart and lucky. The former was highly unlikely, all things considered. As we know from bridge, though, a fall of the cards can be played to your advantage, even if your position seems weak to start with.

The group of us went out onto the terrace. The Agent was calmly looking out over the night-shrouded gardens below. He turned toward the four of us, neutral and alert. He removed his tuxedo jacket, setting it carefully on the stone balustrade of the terrace, and assumed a relaxed fighting stance. "One at a time, in pairs, all at once. Your choice."

14 didn't hesitate. (He hates the Agent more than you ought to hate an enemy, I think. I don't know why.) He rushed the Agent, his body low, seemingly intent on knocking him to the ground by grabbing his midsection. With no effort whatsoever, the Agent twisted his body away from 14's path, and gave his lower back what looked like a gentle push with his hand. 14 near flew through the air and crashed to the paving stones with a grunt, falling on his side.

"Both of us, 04," I murmured to our team's best partner, and he nodded silently. "You go left, I'll go right." We were a great pair at cards, and at drills we were good fighting partners, too. We didn't rush him like 14 did, and approached him cautiously.

"Choose your moment carefully," the Agent told us. "Waste it, and you'll fall just as this boy has." His words were proven true right away, because I don't even know what happened then. One moment I was reaching toward his left arm, anticipating that 40 would grab his other arm so we could form a pincer attack to restrain him. The next, I was lying on the ground not far from 14, who had had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to bring himself upright.

I was able to get myself up to a sitting position, but was having trouble standing up. I saw 04 facing off against the Agent. Even this initial face-off was a thing of beauty. 04's natural composure gave very little away; the Agent must have recognized this, because he grew more cautious.

"I've been ordered not to hurt you," 04 said.

"That's a shame. I've not been given any orders of the kind," the Agent replied, and immediately made an initial strike at 04's ribs that he narrowly deflected with his left hand.

The two of them feinted and dodged as 30 helped 14 and myself stand back up. We were wobbly, but otherwise unharmed, but 04 seemed to have sustained an injury from the Agent's first attack. He favored the side that the Agent had struck, turning it slightly away from him. But he was by no means defeated yet, and his expression was just as placid as always. He swung his right leg toward the Agent's left knee. The Agent moved easily out of the way.

30 cried out as the Agent prepared a terrible blow that could well break 04's collarbone. 04 was ready for it, though, and the Agent's fist glanced harmlessly along his raised forearm.

"Stand down! All of you!"

Our squad leader and a pair of minions from one of the other teams burst out of the garden and vaulted over the balustrade. The squad leader aimed a pistol at the Agent; the two troops readied their rifles, their trigger fingers in the safe position.

I knew the brandished guns were a bluff, but the Agent didn't. He didn't hesitate to raise his arms in surrender. For all he knew, they'd shoot him to death if he tried to run away--he had had to relinquish his weapons to attend the ball, just as we had. Just as well, really, since I don't think our team would be alive if all five of us had been bearing guns.

Our squad leader tossed me a set of handcuffs with his off hand. 04 and 30 were now on either side of the Agent, and they urged him to lower his arms so I could put the cuffs around his wrists. He accepted his bondage with no resistance.

"Get my jacket, will you, lads?" the Agent said. "It's rented." I did so, and he nodded in thanks.

There was no need to head back to the facility separately, like we'd arrived, so we all bundled into the van that our squad leader and the other troops had come in. 14 and I were on either side of the Agent in the second set of seats, in the back. He didn't seem perturbed at all, though he kept his gaze straight ahead.

He has beautiful cheekbones. and he smells nice

"Our boss has been looking forward to meeting you," said our squad leader.

"He's been looking forward to it a little too much," said 14. The Agent's eyebrows rose quizzically.

"Shut your flapping trap, 14."

I've written so much already tonight, and I haven't even gotten to the strange and confusing part yet. My hand is getting a cramp and my eyes are very tired from using a flashlight to write.

No one said much all the rest of the trip back. When we reached the courtyard of the facility, 14 and myself kept the Agent between us, and we exited the van together. 14 gave him a spiteful push as he got to the door, an action that both I and our squad leader strongly objected to. But the Agent was immune to childish tricks like that, and alighted to the pavement like nothing had happened.

Our group got into some kind of formation--not a very neat one--and headed across the courtyard to the front entrance of the facility, with our captive in tow. The courtyard was lit by floodlights. Several of the Alpha squad were lined up in front of the staircase, all of them at an attention stance that made me envious. And in front of them was our boss, G.

I had never seen him at the facility at this hour. Our squad leader must have called him at home before we captured the Agent, and the boss came to work in the middle of the night. G was clean-shaven, and was dressed as always in his boss' uniform (I'd never seen him wearing anything else), standing as straight and proud as the men behind him.

"We've secured the Queen's man, sir," said our squad leader.

"Good work, men. Bring him forward." 14 and I did so, and my boss said, "So we meet, Agent."

The Agent's whole body went very still. I thought for a moment he would try to spring away from us in a last act of desperation, but he didn't try to struggle from our grasp. As much as I've tried to imagine what might have been going on in his head at that moment, I can't figure it out, and I've been puzzling over it for hours. He said, in a quiet, almost gentle way: "If only we had met under different circumstances."

My boss's face suddenly looked sad and weary. His upright posture sagged. He spoke even more quietly than the Agent, so quiet I could barely hear him. Maybe it was "yes," or maybe it was just a small sound in his throat. Then he turned away, and made an abrupt gesture toward us. "Take him to a holding cell. We'll deal with him in the morning."

The Agent's head was turned toward my boss the entire time we urged him across the courtyard, although G's back was to us and he couldn't see. The Agent's expression wasn't full of hate, or anger. There was some fear, for sure, especially when nasty 14 insisted on taunting him about his being our test subject for the Project. But there was something else there, too.

There was a pull toward our boss on the Agent's part, a kind of longing. As often as 14 chides me for overlooking obvious things, I could at least see that. But what is that longing for? Maybe he is looking for a brother, or a peer. A rival is a kind of brother or peer, I think. Perhaps Agents are lonely, although that is hard to believe, with the seduction and all.

Mother says if something is troubling me, that I should sleep on it. I'll finish for now and put this diary under my pillow, and literally sleep on it. But things are so confusing, I don't know if I'll be able to.

Same day, 12:30 PM

The Agent escaped!

For all anyone knows, the Agent was locked up in his holding cell one moment, and was gone the next. No klaxons sounded, no dogs were sent to scour the hills outside the facility. When our shift started, his cell was unlocked and open, and he was gone. Perhaps a silent helicopter or other vehicle from the Queen's agency came to pick him up after he escaped, but no one, not even 14, knows for sure.

One would think that we would be in complete chaos and disarray, all our squads and teams called forth to search for the man. But it isn't that way at all. There was a debriefing with our team and the other three men, where we gave G and our squad leader the little information we'd been able to discover at the dance, but other than that, it's been an ordinary day. We've had our drills this morning and got shouted at, just as usual; we played bridge during our break, just as usual; and now I'm taking some time at lunch to write.

04's ribs had a few bruises, but otherwise he is fine, and 14 and I weren't harmed in our falls at all. The Agent is a gentler person than he let on. (30 was useless and did next to nothing, and never was in a position to be hurt.)

Leave it to 14 to spread rumors that G himself let the Agent go because he wanted to keep seeing his new rival, instead of killing him by testing the Project on him. (He didn't say "seeing" or "rival," but I won't write down those words here.) There was definitely an unaccountable mistiming in the shift schedule, that led to there being no guards in the holding cell area at the time the Agent left his cell, whether he escaped or was released.

This afternoon when I came to G's office, I tried to apologize for our poor performance on our mission. He told me our team did a good job (I know better, but he is very kind to say so), and smiled to himself, and glanced at the Agent's tuxedo jacket, which is folded neatly on a shelf near his desk. (Wasn't it rented?) And the handcuffs we used on him are right next to it. You want to keep trophies of your rivals, to inspire you in your work. I will remember that as I move forward as a minion.

Who knows what the future will hold for me and my team? Whatever may come, we will support our boss, and cheer him on as he continues to develop the Project. I'll keep working hard, to the limited extent of my ambition, and maybe I'll have an enemy like the Agent someday. Our boss is very lucky to have found a good-looking rival. I'm looking forward to battling him again.

[Ed: the diary continues in this way for another year and a half--a year and a half!--with multiple instances of "the Agent" being captured, and escaping under suspicious circumstances. Would the government countenance this very strange courtship dance between G and the Agent for this long, and without the Project coming to fruition? The whole thing beggars belief. The security footage that was discovered on the demolition of the facility after G retired lets us know how G and the Agent's "rivalry" ended, although it does not tell us the fate of the Project. This recording has been declassified and is available for viewing at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_SlAzsXa7E.]

Katanagatari v. 1
Nisioisin
Vertical, 2018, 320 pp.

In this novel, the simple entertainment of an adventure story is occasionally undercut by overpowering self-consciousness in its narration, and it's so shy about making a real point that emotional or thematic effect is flattened. That seems to be NisiOisiN's thing, though, so you kind of have to roll with it.



I was first introduced to the Katanagatari (a.k.a. "Sword Tale") series when I saw the first volume on display at a Japanese bookstore. The beautiful cover art with its old-style calligraphy and anime-like characters drew my attention, but I didn't buy it since I don't know the language. A couple of years later, the anime based on the novel series was released in English, and I eagerly sought out a copy. The animators used the novels' illustrations as a visual basis for a colorfully stylish and surreal show. (I believe the illustration above is a promotional picture from the animation studio.)

And now the first three novels--at 100 pages or so apiece, more like novellas--have been published in English in a single volume.

I've read another translated novel of Nisioisin's, DECAPITATION: Kubikiri Cycle, and the narrative stance is all but identical between the two. It's way too invested in being disaffected, but would never go so far as to admit it was invested in anything... including its disaffectedness. It pulls the rug out from under you anytime there's even the vaguest hint that sentiment or meaning might come into play.

Enough of these janky turnarounds, enough incidences of the author smirking at me from behind the curtain, and I start feeling like the whole thing's just an elaborate troll. I'm reading a book, so I know it has an author. Just tell the darn story, already!

With that, it seems appropriate to say something about the story. Togame, a schemer nominally in service of the bakufu (Shogunate), is gathering twelve masterwork swords forged over 100 years ago from all over Japan. Since she has no martial skills, she takes on a "swordless swordsman"--a man whose body is his weapon--named Shichika to do the dirty work of killing the current holders of the swords so Togame can send them back to the Shogun. There are schemes beneath this rather straightforward and brutal quest, of course, and a connection between our two leads that goes beyond employer and employee, or strategist and assassin...

The translation feels very much like a translation, for lack of a better way to say it. At times it was hard to tell if the original text itself was hard to follow, or if the translator hadn't conveyed the author's meaning very well. The footnotes demonstrate a good understanding of Nisioisin's Japanese wordplay, but are probably too esoteric for most readers (including myself).

*

There's a whole rank of Japanese creators after the "lost generation" whose works have a nihilistic gloss to them. (The ones for a male YA audience that have been translated, more specifically.) On a certain level they can feel like a call for help, or assertion of individuality, from people who've thrown themselves into the jaws of capitalism and can only hope something of themselves remains after they've been digested.

After 300 pages of try-hard indifference, I kind of feel like I've been ground up, too. Nisiosin's writing is something that I can handle in small doses now and then, and although the next three-in-one volume of this comes out in a couple of months, it's going to take longer than that before I'm ready for it.

Katanagatari's illustrations get three or four stars easily, the text grudgingly. This is one of the rare occasions where I enjoy the anime adaptation better than the original.

My rating: three stars.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Philip K. Dick
2008 (original pub. 1968), Ballantine Books, 258 pp.

Like many people, I first came across this story in the form of the film Blade Runner. The bare-bones plot is kinda-sorta more or less the same: Rick Deckard, here directly employed by the San Francisco police department, is called upon to "retire" (a.k.a. kill, neutralize) a handful of androids who have killed humans while escaping their servitude.

The empathy test is another common feature, but in the novel empathy is a huge, ongoing concern. There's a religion or cult-like empathic belief system centered around a man named Mercer, whom various characters connect with via a machine where they experience a Sisyphean climb up a mountain along with him.

Another similarity is the question of what is "real" or not. Androids/humans, animals (about which more very shortly), police stations (?), Mercer himself. Toward the middle of the novel Deckard has a confrontation with an android and another bounty hunter that takes an "android or human?" cat-and-mouse dialog from suspense across the line to absurdity. This isn't a humorous novel, particularly, but it does sometimes go loopy and take some time to come back to its eccentric "normal."

Animals are a difference between the two. You can't forget the animals while reading Androids, because it won't ever let you. Are they real, or are they mechanical? In this post-apocalyptic U.S., a real one is a collector's commodity or status symbol, even small creatures like rabbits or toads. The notion of empathy surrounding them is undercut somewhat by the pet-store displays where they're treated like luxury goods, and the general assumption that one's animal will be kept in a little pen on top of an apartment building, ignored unless it can be shown off to neighbors or if it has to have its basic needs dealt with.

Deckard's not the most enjoyable character to run around in the head of. He seems rather self-involved to me, his burgeoning empathy for androids expressing itself as sex with a female-presenting one. He rarely shows any for his wife, and in fact when he finally has an insight there--holy crap, maybe her depressions are real and not just plays for attention!--not a chapter or two later he's banging Rachael, so... yeah. Isidore, the "chickenhead," is more genuinely empathetic, falling into an agonized fugue state when one of the androids tortures a spider in front of him.

As usual with older SF, the extrapolations, and what stays in the novel's own time period, are interesting to look at. You have collective empathy via machine, near-human-seeming androids, a colony on Mars; and you also have secretaries who adjust the heat and make coffee for you, childless wives who stay at home, and phone switchboards.

It might not be the tightest-constructed thing in the world--for example, Phil Desch, another bounty hunter, wanders off mid-book and is never mentioned again, and there are a couple other threads that are similarly dropped and not picked back up--but that in no way diminishes it as a weird, intriguing read that got the "thinky thoughts" going now and then. It was a good introduction to Dick's work, and I'm up for more once I've recovered from this one. ;)

My rating: four stars.

Sorcerer to the Crown
Zen Cho
Series: Sorcerer Royal, book 1
2015, Ace, 371 pp.

“Your amoral ingenuity in the pursuit of your interest is perfectly shocking,” said Zacharias severely. “Yes, isn’t it?” said Prunella, pleased.

Sorcerer to the Crown's two leads come into the picture promisingly:

Zacharias Wythe, a black man, has attained the titular role by the mysterious death of its previous holder, who was his adoptive father. He's a reserved young man who takes his task incredibly seriously. Perhaps, as the first black man to hold the title, he feels he must be a paragon, show no flaw. But he knows, as well as the reader does, that being a paragon isn't enough.

Prunella Gentleman is a young woman of half-Indian descent who, until recently, was the ward of the headmistress of a magical academy for girls. This "academy" mainly concerns itself with training them to suppress their magical powers. After Zacharias visits the academy to give a guest lecture to the girls, Prunella runs away to accompany him to London, with a magical legacy in a valise under her arm.

Once they're in London, all kinds of things happen, and these two young people are thrown into chaos both worldly and magical.

The setup of this magical Regency-era world is really interesting. One of the most interesting things about it, I thought, was the fae realm (known as "Fairy" in this novel) and its alien, rather brutal culture. Familiars from Fairy make agreements with humans, and their terms are both strict and relentless. Fairy creatures eat other creatures, or even their young.

Prunella herself, who ends up being ( Read more... ), is more than a little relentless herself, or at least unscrupulous. She decides to do a thing, whether on impulse or planned, and then she does it, thinking nothing of consequences or side effects. Mak Genggang, a Malaysian witch whose country England is trying to colonize, displays some of the same qualities as she works with Fairy to attempt to get their would-be conquerors off their backs.

Both of the main characters being people of color was a take on Regency England that I hadn't seen before, and its strong anti-colonialist vibe was cool, too. The almost entirely white and male Alchemical Society shows its true stripes as a murderous ( Read more... ) before too much time passes, although there are a few neutral parties, or allies, to even things out, such as Zacharias' loyal friends Dammerell and Rollo, or Lady Wythe, who takes Prunella under her wing because Zacharias asks her to.

All of this had huge potential.

But yet.

This novel has a great setup, both in its characters and its world. But once all the scaffolding is set up, it doesn't seem to do anything interesting. The characters don't really go anywhere; Zacharias, and especially Prunella, are exactly the same at the end as they were when the story started, although their circumstances are completely changed. Characters state their intentions in long conversations, then do exactly as they intend, dissipating any sense of suspense. There's a "marriage plot" sequence toward the middle of the book that is completely useless. Scenes that could have, or even should have, been exciting or momentous fizzle out without any climactic or emotional drive. Action sequences feel kind of docile and indolently chatty. And more, but I'll leave it there.

All this together made this book very easy to put down, and I'm sorry to say that without a buddy reader along to weather the storm with (and exchange frustrated PMs), this would have been a DNF for the second time. I finished it, appreciated a lot of it, but with sincere regret confess that I didn't enjoy it all that much. There are bunches of four- and five-star reviews among my friends and follows, so I'd say give it a shot if it sounds interesting to you.

My rating: 2 1/2 stars.