Scandal by Shusaku Endo

A couple of months ago, on my blog for religious thoughts, I wrote about an Australian friend in Japan, Darren. He and his partner, Atsushi, had visited me when I was in Chicago and their friendship has made what's happening in Japan so much more personal.

Which has little to do with this post. Except that Darren brought me a book from Japan, an unnecessary "house guest" gift. Because I'm a terrible, ungrateful host, I had never read it, but the tsunami made me think of it. Since I could do so little for Japan, I could at least read the gift from Japan.

That gift was Scandal by Shusaku Endo. Endo is a native Japanese writer, known somewhat for not only his novels, but for exploring his Catholic faith in the context of being Japanese. This is a theme that runs throughout the book. Being Christian is treated as somewhat mainstream, but definitely not the norm. It is also big part of the plot.

The storytelling employs that particularly 20th Century device of making certain events surreal, leaving the reader not always completely certain what is really happening, and what is only the imaginings of the main character. And I'll just leave that there.

What's most interesting, and what is staying with me weeks after I turned the last page, are the ideas that Endo puts forth.

Well, let me get the least interesting idea out of the way. Sex and scandal, scandal and sex. Sex and violence, violence and sex. I wished the titular scandal wasn't sexual in nature. I wish that the exploration of humanity's darker impulses didn't get played out in sex and violence. I feel like I've seen this before. That Endo handles these themes deftly is to his credit, but also a bit beside the point. I guess even in Japan, sex is dirty and sinful and you save it for the one you love.

But what is interesting is how Endo explores, in this context, the question of rage. How does one work up the will to burn children alive in a locked house? How does one find a thrill in self-asphyxiation? Where does the impulse for cruelty come from and why do some seek cruelty?

As we were advised on 1980s pop radio: "Some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abused," but Endo connects all this to the charge one gets when s/he loses control, gives into the darkest impulses. He (or at least the translator, Van C. Gessel), calls this rage. The mild-mannered main character, Suguro, is drawn into a circle of people who would help him explore these impulses, this rage.

I think I've experienced rage. Not recently, but I recall times as a teenager, on the farm, when the cow would not stand correctly for milking and how I would beat on the animal, angry, but more than angry. (I realize it's a little surreal to interject the image of a milk cow into this discussion, but it's the memory that comes to mind.) I'm a bit of a mild-mannered character myself, but in those moments, I recall the loss of control that Endo speaks of. The determined intent to inflict pain, and it went past just being angry at the cow. It was a channel for something else---I suppose I might guess about teen angst and frustrations, but as crazy as it appears in print, when a character describes (second hand) the state that allows someone to burn children alive, I connected it to that sort of out of control feeling when I was beating the cow. There is a point when you know you're doing something wrong, but you keep on because you don't know how to stop. The event has become it's own thing and you no longer have any will in the matter.

And then there is a step farther that Endo takes it. Suguro, I imagine, is something of an analog for Endo--both are Japanese Catholic writers with long careers---and at one point, someone tells Suguro (and I may be paraphrasing), "You've written a lot about sin, but you've never written about evil."

Is this the state of rage? Is evil the point where we cross the line from merely choosing to do something wrong and we are caught up in some sort of altered state of rage? Of evil? And does that always look like "raging." Or can it be the cool-headed, just following orders, action of herding people to their death in a gas chamber?

Well, the Holocaust isn't directly addressed in this novel. Neither is the interview of the Lutheran minister who did his best to be a pastor to the BTK serial killer when it was discovered the killer was a congregant. These are, however, where my mind went. That pastor in in Kansas spoke of seeing his parishioner in a state beyond just committing a sins. He saw his parishioner in a state of evil. (As I type that, I'm also reminded that the BTK murderer said he killed out of pursuing sexual fantasy---so maybe rage and evil are somehow easily sexualized. I don't like thinking about that, quite honestly.)

Well, when I sat down to write about this book, I didn't intend to end up in Nazi Germany or Wichita, Kansas. But therein lies the example of what good literature will do. It'll take you down unexpected connections,

I wish I had some profound observations to make about these connections, but maybe the connections will do for now. It's been two months since I finished this book, and I'm still pondering the distinctions Endo makes. And what to do with them.

So, a public thank you to Darren, not only for a good read, but also for giving me something to chew on for weeks after reading. (Even if it took me nearly a decade to get around to it!)