Books like Ghosts of the Tsunami — picked by fans

This travelogue brilliantly narrates Alan Booth’s southward trek across Japan, end to end, from Cape Soya in Hokkaido to Cape Sata in Kyushu. The book’s subtitle, A 2,000 Mile Walk Through Japan, speaks volumes. The journey, which some would call masochistic, is practically measured in blisters. We see Booth, fluent in Japanese, trudge through rain and shine along backcountry roads, from greasy spoons to lonesome karaoke bars, collapsing into countless futons along the way. His journey comes to life with colorful characters, boozy local festivals, and pithy realizations about his adopted homeland, at turns entertaining, illuminating, and hilarious. For me, this book captures the joy of discovering the salty, unexpected side of Japan. It also cements Booth’s status as one of the (unsung) travel writing greats.  

Every society has its seamy underside but few foreigners have focused on it with the laser-like intensity of Harriet Sergeant, who spent just enough time in Japan to get closely acquainted, but not so long that she ever felt cozy. Want to know just how miserable is the lot of Japanese women? The bleak saga of Japan’s almost invisible, unmentionable caste of untouchables, the Burakumin? The endemic corruption that underpinned the economic miracle? The torments endured by young children whose parents demand perfection? It’s all here, beautifully written and laced with mischievous humour.

The Nobel-prize winning laureate has written many more famous books dealing with the human condition, most notably The Remains of the Day and Never Let me Go, but this is, to my mind, his best rumination on humanity's familiar ache. Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day is a flawless book and similarly themed, but there is something about the post-war regrets, delusions, and self-justifications of the aging Japanese artist Masuji Ono that just slay me and make me want to weep. Ishiguro is of course the king of unreliable narrators, so I don't want to give away the big reveal here, but how denial of the truth and self-delusion can misdirect us in life, is at the core of this masterful insight into the human condition.

Japan was ejected from centuries of tranquil isolation by the arrival of the American Commodore Perry’s menacing ‘Black Ships’ in 1853, and then began the tumultuous decades from which modern Japan emerged. With deep knowledge born of many years living in Japan, Lesley Downer has wrested four wonderfully romantic yarns from this fascinating era, of which The Shogun’s Queen is the first: the tale, rooted in true events, of how a brave woman from Japan’s deep south risks all to save the old regime.

This is another tear-jerker.

It tells the story of one of Japan’s worst manmade environmental disasters. The author documents the suffering of victims of mercury poisoning caused by consuming seafood tainted by industrial waste. The lyrical descriptions of people and place contrast starkly with the sheer horror of the events being depicted. 

There are other books on Minamata disease, but this one—part oral history and part “new journalism”—hits closest to home. I couldn’t stop reading it.

This is not just one of my favorite books on Japanese history; it is one of my favorite books, period.

Written by a team of Japanese and American historians and geologists, it solves a three-hundred-year-old mystery: What caused the tsunami that struck northeast Japan, sans earthquake, in January 1700? (Spoiler alert: The culprit was an M9 temblor along the Pacific coast of North America, which left clues in the geological record and the historical memory of Native Americans.)

The book is profusely illustrated and extremely easy to understand, even for those without a background in the geology of Cascadia or the history of Japan. I can’t recommend it highly enough; I was completely blown away.

I grew up in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and developed a love of nature at an early age.

I always found it sad that timber wolves had been hunted to extinction in the region. (Thankfully, they have made a comeback in recent years.) Later, as a historian, I was fascinated to learn that wolves had similarly been driven extinct in the Japanese islands. 

This book is the definitive account of how that happened. Yes, it’s an academic work written by a professor, but it is also extremely well written and tells a clear story that anyone interested in human impact on the natural world should take to heart. Unlike wolves in the Pacific Northwest, those in Japan are never coming back (unless they are cloned).

This book was utterly sui generis when it was published in 1989; with it, Totman singlehandedly created the field of Japanese environmental history.

It also had a huge impact on me personally, showing me how I could combine my interest in environmental issues with my research as a historian. The book’s basic argument is that with such a dense population, Japan today should be an environmental wasteland, but it is instead a beautiful, verdant country thanks to sustainable resource use over many centuries.

Totman focuses specifically on silviculture (forest management) during the Edo period (1600–1867). Viewed in retrospect, his argument is a little oversimplified, but the book remains a must-read for anyone interested in Japan’s environmental history.

The masterful Toland weaves a narrative of jaw-dropping detail, drama and complexity that tells the grand and harrowing story of the Pacific War between the United States and Japan from the perspective of the Japanese. The tale takes the reader from Tokyo cabinet meetings to the deck of warships to the frontline of critical battles, to share the experiences of everyone from national leaders to top generals to ordinary soldiers. It’s one of those books that’s so good it leaves you wondering how it was even written.

This book doesn’t have a catchy title and sounds rather pedestrian, but we are told never to judge a book by its cover and in this case it’s true about the title as well! Mark Parillo’s magisterial thesis taught me a great deal about why the Japanese lost the Pacific War. He explains why they stubbornly refused to convoy their merchant fleet even when, by failing to do so, they were aiding the enemy’s cause. Japan needed to import most of its war material, but once the US submarine campaign began to decimate the ships that were bringing in those vital supplies in 1944-45 the game was essentially up. Therefore, a case can be made that the war was effectively lost before the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.