We've all, no doubt, read our fair share of investigative pieces, the brave journalist submerging himself into the dark and scummy underbelly of society to expose a grievous wrong. They may not be dime a dozen -- not that a dime will buy you much these days --, but they are plentiful. And though each brings an important subject matter into the light, there's a certain fatigue that comes with having your sympathy tugged and your empathy awakened one too many times. Three quarters of Mr. Adelstein's tale falls prey to this sin of unoriginality, pages taken up with the experiences of an American journalist working the crime beat at a Tokyo daily, prying just a bit too deeply into the affairs of the Yakuza. But then something happens.
With about fifty pages left to his tale, Mr. Adelstein experiences a moment of such exquisite brutality that I do not have a name for it. Had what happened to Mr. Adelstein happened to me, I could not have born it. Nor could I have looked in the eye the man who had done it. There are some things in this life that simply cannot be endured. Being even indirectly responsible for pain befalling someone else? That is one of those things.
Tokyo Vice is an interesting piece of journalism utterly transformed, by tragedy, into a work of art. The reader is given a naked glimpse of what real criminals are like. There are no Tony Sopranos here; there are no thieves with hearts of gold. There is just the darkness that consumes those capable of wielding the sharp knife of brutality. Tokyo Vice concludes with a kick to the unmentionables I will never forget. And for that, I am at least mostly grateful. Read this and then forward your psychiatrist's bill onto Mr. Adelstein. It's his fault for putting to paper a shattering story of real life crime with real life consequences. This gets five stars on the last 50 pages alone. (5/5 Stars)
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