Original Volume III Afterword

I wasn’t sure at first whether I should admit this, but my publicist gave me the go-ahead. It looks like the four-volume Yashakiden is going to reach at least five volumes.

I started out as a writer wanting to be known more for novellas than epics (yes, I’ve long since thrown in the towel on that inclination). I felt back then that reading and writing long novels wasn’t my strong suit. The doujinshi series I wrote during my college days, if compiled into a single-volume novel, would barely reach 200 pages—and that was over four years!

Consequently, even now, I have a hard time imagining the crowning achievement of my life’s work as an epic series of a hundred volumes—no, never say die! Make that a hundred fifty! It’s not so much the question of what I’d fill such great expanse of white with, but how I would write it all that I find hard to grasp.

Simply thinking in terms of constructing plots, creating characters, and bringing things to a climax—trying to imagine what must be going on inside the head of a writer commencing on such a project makes me want to throw down my pen in despair.

I find it equally difficult to imagine the sheer tenaciousness required to keep track of how the times and seasons change within the work, with what sort of alacrity the actors would step onto and exit the stage within the work, and how the governing idea would be maintained over a span of ten or twenty thousand pages.

This isn’t the kind of thing any normal human being could pull off.

Generally speaking, I can invest my body and soul in turning one story into three books. To date, I haven’t exceeded four. I have some ideas (the Alien Demon World series has currently reached four volumes), but for now, I’m spinning my wheels.

When my magazine serialization editor told me, “There’s no way this can end after four volumes,” I blanched.

“Don’t kid around like that. I’ll definitely end it.”

“But you’ve written three volumes so far and have only offed one villain. The good guys have lost one main character—the Elder—and Yakou and Nuvenberg are still in one piece. Meanwhile, you’re adding more characters to the cast.”

“Huh. When you put it that way, I guess so. I haven’t made use of Princess for a while. Breathing some life back into her would take at least another volume.”

“And that’d make four, right? What about the rest of the cast? Setsura, Mephisto, Nuvenberg, Yakou, the Mayor, General Bey, Ryuuki, Kikiou, the supposedly dead Shuuran, the doll girl, the big crow, Yoshiko Toya, Takako Kanan—you can’t leave them all hanging. Hey, how about a fact-finding cruise to Hong Kong?”

“What do Demon City and Hong Kong have to do with each other?”

“Well, in fact, I—”

What followed was an interesting confession about his personal life. But since I’ve got to work with these people, I’ll spare you the details. At any rate, what surprised me the most was the fact that I’d kept up a constant enough output (some months, I have to admit, more than others) to write a five-volume story with nary a pause.

I’m not saying it was easy. There were some nights when my editor, Mr. T, camped out in the other room demanding one page an hour (I was probably in a slump at the time). And there were some excruciating months where it was a struggle just getting to double-digits. (I must apologize to Seki-kun at SFA. “Hey, it’s not just you,” goes over like a lead balloon these days.)

And yet the number of characters continues—vexingly—to increase.

However a story may move of its own accord, it’s not because the characters have escaped from the writer’s grasp. The author is their god. Their fates rest in my hands.

So I’m scratching my head bald and covering the table with dandruff. Startling my dozing editor with shouts of “Wake up, you big idiot!” Kicking over kitchen chairs and smashing oranges against the wall. Hey, these battles are all in the cause of breathing life into my Demon Princess.

To be honest, when I get to feeling like that, wrapping things up with a nice big bow really wouldn’t be all that hard.

But with this effort, I don’t want anybody to conform predictably to the stereotypes and end up with the regular mix of good and bad guys and sidekicks.

Each of the players on this stage has lived a life and shows up carrying a good deal of baggage. As the pages accumulate and the story expands, all will be accounted for. I can’t pin down when I started thinking about it this way—perhaps before I began writing, or not long after, or one or two volumes in.

As a result, everybody in the cast of characters I provided earlier—Shuuran excepted—was still alive after three volumes. And even Shuuran—

When it comes to storytelling, I’ve come to believe that an artist claiming that such things are “out of his hands” is more likely making excuses for intellectual laziness.

So it is my intent that Yashakiden become at least a five-volume novel.

At the same time, haven’t I been the kind of writer who gets tired of a series and will call it off at any minute? As long as I’m entertaining the possibility either way, a fifth volume will never happen. So it will happen. There’s no stopping me now.

What exactly is going on here? A friend asks me, “If that’s the case, then you’ll keep on writing until you’re completely satisfied?”

“We don’t much care how much longer it goes on,” answered Mr. T and his boss.

“Three is about as far as most readers will go,” I reply.

But in defiance of all my expectations, Yashakiden is turning into a monster of an epic adventure. I can’t say at this juncture if that’s good or bad. The only thing that is certain is that I shall press on.

I’ll keep on writing, even not knowing if the light up ahead isn’t the end of the tunnel but an oncoming train.

How is this all going to end? This isn’t just about the book. My body and soul haven’t been doing so well of late. I don’t eat. I’m getting forgetful. To make things worse, my cholesterol is through the roof, despite my BMI staying the same. I’m looking into an abyss of sorts as well.

I’m told (politely, of course) that in another year I’ll turn that unlucky age (42). That being the case, I’ve only one option left to me—and I don’t mean something highfalutin’ like: “Create a work of art with which you are completely satisfied.”

I’ll just keep on writing.

As unruffled and unperturbed as Setsura Aki and as coolly determined as Doctor Mephisto. And when Mr. T reads the last page of this year’s serial, he’ll say, “Yep, and onto number five.”

Hideyuki Kikuchi (while watching a color version of The Picture of Dorian Gray)

December 24, 1989 (Christmas Eve)