Richard Lloyd Parry's 'People Who Eat Darkness'

I almost passed up this book, figuring I'd pick it up later when I wouldn't feel guilty about splurging. But, I always encourage people to buy books more, so I took my own advice.

This true crime book by London Times Asia editor Richard Lloyd Parry chronicles the Lucie Blackman  case, popular in British tabloids in the early 2000s. Ms. Blackman was a 21 year old British woman visiting Tokyo for a short time in hopes of making money to pay off credit card debts. Her job as a "hostess" in a bar is dubious, her happiness clearly not present. Soon enough, Lucie's friend get a call from a stranger saying that Lucie has run away with a cult and won't be coming back. 

In fact, it's no mystery that she doesn't come back at all. Like many missing person cases, it's assumed that the missing is actually dead. From there, Lucie's family falls into more pieces than it already was in, the Tokyo police conduct a drawn out and questionably sufficient investigation, and eventually a trial leads to a surprising verdict. Parry does draw out the verdict, but it's very much worth it. 

Much like In Cold Blood isn't just about "who-dunnit," People Who Eat Darkness isn't just about the dangers of young girls going off alone. 

It's about Japanese culture, foreigners in Japan culture, and the cultural history of Koreans in Japan. While Japan is highly populated, its violent crime rate is one of the lowest rates in the world. Yet, crimes do happen, and if they happen for similar psychological reasons than they do in the US, for example, they why do they happen far less in Japan? There's no easy answer, as the book states.

It's also about the public's perception of grieving families. Lucie's father, Tim Blackman, exhibited an unconventional reaction to the news that his daughter was working as paid company to Japanese businessmen and has gone missing, leaving the peanut gallery to create gossip and shoot accusations. It reminded me a lot of the public's popular reaction to the Casey Anthony verdict. People who didn't know her personally at all, and probably never will, knew that she was guilty, knew exactly what happened before, during, and after the murder—at least they said they did with great passion. 

Tim Blackman was often pointed out for not baring as much emotion as onlookers would expect a father of a murder, and was particularly chastised for stating that though he was angry and hurt he also felt sorry for his daughter's accused murderer. His unexpected reactions muddy the public's own expectations. Parry writes: 

If Lucie Blackman's killing was not a straightforward example of good against evil, then what was? To be told by non other than her father that there was complexity here, to see Tim striving to be hair and sympathetic to his own daughter's killer, undermined people's certainty in their own sense of right. They took Tim's lack of orthodoxy as an affront to their own. 

When heinous crimes happen, people say they want justice and that they want good to triumph over evil. In the case of Casey Anthony, they wanted to believe that it was so easy to see a woman partying while her daughter was missing and say this woman is the bad guy. But, because our justice system wants actual evidence, the jury couldn't make a simple good-and-evil, black-and-white decision. And, because they are not in the shoes of Tim Blackman, they can't decide if he looks sad enough or not. 

If you are an admirer of Japan's mystery, and an admirer of mysteries, you must read this!