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People Who Eat Darkness: The Fate of Lucie Blackman
An incisive and compelling account of the case of Lucie Blackman.
Lucie Blackman - tall, blonde, and 21 years old - stepped out into the vastness of Tokyo in the summer of 2000, and disappeared forever. The following winter, her dismembered remains were found buried in a seaside cave.
The seven months in between had seen a massive search for the missing girl, involving Japanese policemen, British private detectives, Australian dowsers and Lucie's desperate, but bitterly divided, parents. As the case unfolded, it drew the attention of prime ministers and sado-masochists, ambassadors and con-men, and reporters from across the world. Had Lucie been abducted by a religious cult, or snatched by human traffickers? Who was the mysterious man she had gone to meet? And what did her work, as a 'hostess' in the notorious Roppongi district of Tokyo, really involve?
Richard Lloyd Parry, an award-winning foreign correspondent, has followed the case since Lucie's disappearance. Over the course of a decade, he has travelled to four continents to interview those caught up in the story, fought off a legal attack in the Japanese courts, and worked undercover as a barman in a Roppongi strip club. He has talked exhaustively to Lucie's friends and family and won unique access to the Japanese detectives who investigated the case. And he has delved into the mind and background of the man accused of the crime-Joji Obara, described by the judge as 'unprecedented and extremely evil'. With the finesse of a novelist, he reveals the astonishing truth about Lucie and her fate.
People Who Eat Darkness is, by turns, a non-fiction thriller, a courtroom drama and the biography of both a victim and a killer. It is the story of a young woman who fell prey to unspeakable evil, and of a loving family torn apart by grief. And it is a fascinating insight into one of the world's most baffling and mysterious societies, a light shone into dark corners of Japan that the rest of the world has never glimpsed before.
Lucie Blackman - tall, blonde, and 21 years old - stepped out into the vastness of Tokyo in the summer of 2000, and disappeared forever. The following winter, her dismembered remains were found buried in a seaside cave.
The seven months in between had seen a massive search for the missing girl, involving Japanese policemen, British private detectives, Australian dowsers and Lucie's desperate, but bitterly divided, parents. As the case unfolded, it drew the attention of prime ministers and sado-masochists, ambassadors and con-men, and reporters from across the world. Had Lucie been abducted by a religious cult, or snatched by human traffickers? Who was the mysterious man she had gone to meet? And what did her work, as a 'hostess' in the notorious Roppongi district of Tokyo, really involve?
Richard Lloyd Parry, an award-winning foreign correspondent, has followed the case since Lucie's disappearance. Over the course of a decade, he has travelled to four continents to interview those caught up in the story, fought off a legal attack in the Japanese courts, and worked undercover as a barman in a Roppongi strip club. He has talked exhaustively to Lucie's friends and family and won unique access to the Japanese detectives who investigated the case. And he has delved into the mind and background of the man accused of the crime-Joji Obara, described by the judge as 'unprecedented and extremely evil'. With the finesse of a novelist, he reveals the astonishing truth about Lucie and her fate.
People Who Eat Darkness is, by turns, a non-fiction thriller, a courtroom drama and the biography of both a victim and a killer. It is the story of a young woman who fell prey to unspeakable evil, and of a loving family torn apart by grief. And it is a fascinating insight into one of the world's most baffling and mysterious societies, a light shone into dark corners of Japan that the rest of the world has never glimpsed before.
404 pages, Hardcover
First published December 28, 2010
About the author
Richard Lloyd Parry
9 books333 followersRichard Lloyd Parry was born in north-west England, and has lived since 1995 in Tokyo, where he is the Asia Editor of The Times newspaper of London. He has reported from twenty-eight countries, including Afghanistan, Iraq and North Korea. In 2005, he was named the UK's foreign correspondent of the year. He has also written for Granta, the New York Times and the London Review of Books.
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February 27, 2011
This is a page-turner in which very little happens but a whole lot is discovered, about Japan particularly, and also about the grand-canyon-sized gulf of mutual squalor called the sex trade. It’s a sad and, well, banal story – Western girl goes to foreign parts to make some big money and never comes back. One day she walks out into the sunshine and eight months after that she’s dug up from a grave by the sea. Could that really make 400 pages of hypnotic reading?
Lucie Blackman was a tall striking blonde English woman who discovered that being an air stewardess was actually a rubbish job, wasn’t glamorous, wasn’t well paid and was making her ill. Her best mate Louise came up with an idea: Let’s go and be hostesses in a bar in Tokyo! We’ll make a bundle, you can clear all your debts and we’ll have a banging time. Come on! Lucie thought about it for a week and said to Louise – I’m up for it if you are kiddo! And she gave her notice in to BA. And they went. And they knew nothing about Japan or Tokyo or the strange sub-section of the sex trade they were joining, but they intended to learn fast.
They arrived in Tokyo on 3 May 2000 and Lucie was killed on 1st July 2000.
WHAT’S A HOSTESS?
What did you say they were going to be? A hostess? What’s that now, exactly? Parry : “To Western ears the word sounded laughably seedy and euphemistic, scarcely more respectable than ‘escort’.”
Hostess bars are a Japanese thing where the man pays an hourly rate to sit at a table and have a glammed-up female in a sexy dress engage him in conversation and pour his drinks and stroke his… ego. That’s it! No sex! No back rooms! No disrobing! Parry : “The practise of paying for female company has a long and noble history in Japan.” The girls are supposed to keep the guy there buying drinks and chatting for as long as they can. If a guy stays for over three hours it can cost over £500. And all they’re getting is chat, which mostly, Mr Parry informs us, runs to Benny Hill style innuendo-laden remarks about the colour of the lady’s pants and the size of her bosoms. Apparently Japanese male banter with foreign women is a barrel-scraping affair. Some Westerners found themselves unable to grasp the concept of a hostess bar. Parry quotes a Frenchman raving furiously : “Why on earth has she been coming on so strong to me all evening if she doesn’t want to sleep with me?” Japanese men never made that beginners’ error.
Now surely, that can’t be all to hostessing? We’re not naïve! Well, no, it’s not – there was dohan. Which was a word referring to the date outside the hostess club which you went on with any client who became particularly smitten with you. The idea was that you got a free posh meal and then you brought him back to your club where he paid through the nose again. Parry : “At most clubs, any girl who pulled in fewer than five dohan in a month faced the sack. Securing dohan, for many hostesses, became an obsession and a source of deep anguish.” Dohan was not hooking, though. Hostessing was not prostitution.
THE WATER TRADE (Mizu Shobai)
That’s the local name for the sex business in Tokyo. Here you may patronise the following, amongst others :
Lapdancing clubs(naturally)
Strip joints (it goes without saying)
Korean/Chinese/Taiwanese aesthetic salon (various types of happy ending styled massages)
Fassyon Herusu (fashion health) – massage with a bunch of extra stuff
Deri-heru (Delivery Health) – here the lady will visit you for the above in your home or hotel
Sopu Rando (Soap land) – guess
Lingerie pubs (they serve you with their pants on)
Sexypubs (not here they don’t)
No-pants coffee shop (for the teetotaller – we try to think of everything for the tired executive)
No-pants karaoke coffee shop (in which “women without pants perform duets with the customers before, after or during relief”)
Heavy duty S&M joints (let’s not go there)
So, as you may see, hostess bars were the least sexual components of the water trade. There’s a whole psychological thesis to be written on why a guy will spend £500 on a hostess when there’s all the above on offer, but clearly, a lot do.
A client killed Lucie Blackwood during one of these dohan dates. This one took place at his flat. He was a serial dohan-date-rapist and it seems that he just overdosed Lucie. Many hostesses on reading about the case knew immediately not only what had happened to Lucie but exactly who had done it. But they were scared to tell the police because none of them had visas and they were not confident in the police overlooking their illegal status.
THE HIERARCHY OF VICTIMS
I think we all know that the whiter, younger and more female the victim is, the more the Western press is interested. This is very clear. There are other classifications of victims, though – into respectable and unrespectable for instance. Lucie’s family had to clarify the hostess thing for the British press as soon as possible. If hostesses were call girls the press would have got very bored after a week, but the family needed massive publicity to generate leads (Note : in fact they didn’t, the police had figured out what happened fairly quickly, but didn’t tell the family in case someone blurted out too much compromising information, so heartbreakingly, the father and sister and mother ran around raising big money and following many ridiculous leads for 7 months completely uselessly. But in retrospect the father was of the opinion that all the false leads at least kept them busy.)
So the dad wanted to meet Tony Blair to get him to pressure the Japanese PM to get the police to move quicker. Which happened. Parry says, casually, “no prime minister would meet with the father of a missing prostitute”. And later, Parry says
although the superintendent would never have spelled it out, if the missing woman had been, for example, a Chinese or Bangladeshi… his interest in the case would have been drastically reduced.
**
For people like me who like to get their sociology from true crime books, this is a must-read. For those looking for a shred of optimism about the state of male female relations in the early 21st century, it’s a must to avoid. Four stars.
Lucie Blackman was a tall striking blonde English woman who discovered that being an air stewardess was actually a rubbish job, wasn’t glamorous, wasn’t well paid and was making her ill. Her best mate Louise came up with an idea: Let’s go and be hostesses in a bar in Tokyo! We’ll make a bundle, you can clear all your debts and we’ll have a banging time. Come on! Lucie thought about it for a week and said to Louise – I’m up for it if you are kiddo! And she gave her notice in to BA. And they went. And they knew nothing about Japan or Tokyo or the strange sub-section of the sex trade they were joining, but they intended to learn fast.
They arrived in Tokyo on 3 May 2000 and Lucie was killed on 1st July 2000.
WHAT’S A HOSTESS?
What did you say they were going to be? A hostess? What’s that now, exactly? Parry : “To Western ears the word sounded laughably seedy and euphemistic, scarcely more respectable than ‘escort’.”
Hostess bars are a Japanese thing where the man pays an hourly rate to sit at a table and have a glammed-up female in a sexy dress engage him in conversation and pour his drinks and stroke his… ego. That’s it! No sex! No back rooms! No disrobing! Parry : “The practise of paying for female company has a long and noble history in Japan.” The girls are supposed to keep the guy there buying drinks and chatting for as long as they can. If a guy stays for over three hours it can cost over £500. And all they’re getting is chat, which mostly, Mr Parry informs us, runs to Benny Hill style innuendo-laden remarks about the colour of the lady’s pants and the size of her bosoms. Apparently Japanese male banter with foreign women is a barrel-scraping affair. Some Westerners found themselves unable to grasp the concept of a hostess bar. Parry quotes a Frenchman raving furiously : “Why on earth has she been coming on so strong to me all evening if she doesn’t want to sleep with me?” Japanese men never made that beginners’ error.
Now surely, that can’t be all to hostessing? We’re not naïve! Well, no, it’s not – there was dohan. Which was a word referring to the date outside the hostess club which you went on with any client who became particularly smitten with you. The idea was that you got a free posh meal and then you brought him back to your club where he paid through the nose again. Parry : “At most clubs, any girl who pulled in fewer than five dohan in a month faced the sack. Securing dohan, for many hostesses, became an obsession and a source of deep anguish.” Dohan was not hooking, though. Hostessing was not prostitution.
THE WATER TRADE (Mizu Shobai)
That’s the local name for the sex business in Tokyo. Here you may patronise the following, amongst others :
Lapdancing clubs(naturally)
Strip joints (it goes without saying)
Korean/Chinese/Taiwanese aesthetic salon (various types of happy ending styled massages)
Fassyon Herusu (fashion health) – massage with a bunch of extra stuff
Deri-heru (Delivery Health) – here the lady will visit you for the above in your home or hotel
Sopu Rando (Soap land) – guess
Lingerie pubs (they serve you with their pants on)
Sexypubs (not here they don’t)
No-pants coffee shop (for the teetotaller – we try to think of everything for the tired executive)
No-pants karaoke coffee shop (in which “women without pants perform duets with the customers before, after or during relief”)
Heavy duty S&M joints (let’s not go there)
So, as you may see, hostess bars were the least sexual components of the water trade. There’s a whole psychological thesis to be written on why a guy will spend £500 on a hostess when there’s all the above on offer, but clearly, a lot do.
A client killed Lucie Blackwood during one of these dohan dates. This one took place at his flat. He was a serial dohan-date-rapist and it seems that he just overdosed Lucie. Many hostesses on reading about the case knew immediately not only what had happened to Lucie but exactly who had done it. But they were scared to tell the police because none of them had visas and they were not confident in the police overlooking their illegal status.
THE HIERARCHY OF VICTIMS
I think we all know that the whiter, younger and more female the victim is, the more the Western press is interested. This is very clear. There are other classifications of victims, though – into respectable and unrespectable for instance. Lucie’s family had to clarify the hostess thing for the British press as soon as possible. If hostesses were call girls the press would have got very bored after a week, but the family needed massive publicity to generate leads (Note : in fact they didn’t, the police had figured out what happened fairly quickly, but didn’t tell the family in case someone blurted out too much compromising information, so heartbreakingly, the father and sister and mother ran around raising big money and following many ridiculous leads for 7 months completely uselessly. But in retrospect the father was of the opinion that all the false leads at least kept them busy.)
So the dad wanted to meet Tony Blair to get him to pressure the Japanese PM to get the police to move quicker. Which happened. Parry says, casually, “no prime minister would meet with the father of a missing prostitute”. And later, Parry says
although the superintendent would never have spelled it out, if the missing woman had been, for example, a Chinese or Bangladeshi… his interest in the case would have been drastically reduced.
**
For people like me who like to get their sociology from true crime books, this is a must-read. For those looking for a shred of optimism about the state of male female relations in the early 21st century, it’s a must to avoid. Four stars.
March 31, 2023
In 2000, a 21-year-old English girl named Lucie Blackman - unhappy with her job as an airline hostess, deeply in debt, and wanting an adventure - moved to Japan with her friend Louise Phillips.
Lucie Blackman
Lucie and Louise rented a cheap apartment and took jobs as hostesses in the 'Casablanca' nightclub in Roppongi, a district of Tokyo teeming with nightspots and night life.
The Roppongi district in Japan is teeming with nightspots
The job of a hostess was to chat up Japanese businessmen and get them to buy pricey drinks and expensive bottles of champagne.
Hostesses get Japanese businessmen to buy drinks
Hostesses entertaining Japanese businessmen
Businessmen are encouraged to purchase bottles of champagne
The hostesses were also encouraged to go on dinner dates with the clients, which would encourage return visits to the club. The nightspots made handsome profits by employing these female companions - many of whom were tall, English-speaking blondes like Lucie and Louise. The girls, in turn, could make a lot of money in salary and bonuses.
Tall blonded hostesses like Lucie Blackman are popular in Japan
Hostesses can make a lot of money
Long conversations with Japanese businessmen were often boring, uncomfortable, and inappropriate (one man would ask 'do you fart when you pee?') - and Lucie was only a mildly successful hostess. Moreover, the striking blonde didn't get invited for many dinner dates - which put her job in jeopardy. So it's not surprising that Lucie agreed to go to lunch with thirtysomething business mogul Joji Obara, especially when he promised to give her a cell phone. Sadly, Lucie never returned from that luncheon.
Joji Obara
When Lucie didn't get back from her date on time, her friend Louise - sensing that something was wrong - raised the alarm immediately. However, the Tokyo police paid little attention. Even when Lucie was gone for days, and then weeks, the cops - who thought most hostesses were druggies on the fringes of the sex trade - didn't take the matter seriously. This despite the fact that several women had reported Obara previously, for drugging and raping them.....charges the police brushed off.
Police didn't take Lucie's disappearance seriously
Lucie's divorced parents, Jane and Tim, were terribly alarmed when their daughter vanished, especially since it happened in Japan - a foreign country with unfamiliar customs and laws. Tim - and Lucie's sister Sophie - flew to Japan almost immediately, to consult with the authorities.
Lucie Blackman's mother Jane
Lucie Blackman's father Tim
Lucie Blackman's sister Sophie
When Tim was unable to light a fire under the Tokyo police, he used his influence at the British Embassy, and Prime Minister Tony Blair made a public appeal for Lucie. In addition, Blair implored Japanese Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori on behalf of Lucie's family.
Faced with widespread publicity about the missing English citizen - as well as pressure from the government - the Japanese police made a greater effort to find Lucie.
Missing persons poster for Lucie Blackman
Posters of missing Lucie Blackman were viewed by the public
Sadly, Lucie was already dead. Unfortunately, the Tokyo detectives, who had poor leadership and inept investigative practices, didn't unearth Lucie's body for months - even though Obara behaved VERY suspiciously and the corpse was buried near his seaside condo. In retrospect, it seems like the cops REALLY didn't know what they were doing. (They needed more female police officers, IMO.)
Lucie's body was found in a cave near Joji Obara's home
During all this time Lucie's dad, Tim Blackman, behaved something like the ringleader of a circus - calling press conferences; checking out Roppongi nightclubs; entertaining journalists; making speeches; organizing tip lines; and keeping himself (and Lucie) in the public eye.
Lucie's family kept her disappearance in the public eye
Demonstrator's with posters of Lucie
Tim was severely criticized for his over-the-top behavior, and for accepting a VERY large payment from Obara's lawyers - with the expectation he would 'go easy' on the suspect in public. Hard to know what Tim was thinking!
In this book, English journalist Richard Lloyd Parry explores two narratives: Lucie's story, from her childhood to her death; and Obara's tale, from his youth to his trial - where he was charged with a series of sexual assaults and two unlawful deaths.
Journalist and author Richard Lloyd Parry
Parry was able to reconstruct the lives of both the victim and the alleged murderer, using extensive research and interviews with many people who knew them.
As for Lucie's killing, Parry gives a thorough account of everything that happened: the girl's disappearance; the police investigation; the arrest of Obara; the interrogation; the years-long trial; and the subsequent appeals. During all this time Lucie's mother, father, and sister traveled back and forth to Japan, and the ordeal had a profound effect on the entire Blackman family.
Friends and family remembering Lucie Blackman
This is an interesting true crime story that includes fascinating tidbits about Japanese history, customs, and society. For instance, Joji Obara's family were ethnic Koreans and - as such - were subject to serious discrimination. Korean-Japanese citizens were treated with disdain and not permitted to rise high in society or obtain prestigious jobs. Obara's parents - who were very wealthy - made their money from real estate, parking lots, and pachinko gambling parlors.....and Joji followed in their footsteps.
Pachinko gambling parlor
It was also instructive to learn that Japanese cops expect suspects to confess (most do) and that prosecutors get convictions in more than 99% of cases that are tried. Thus, almost no one wants to be a defense lawyer (LOL). Nevertheless, Obara didn't confess to any crimes and went through a plethora of defense attorneys as he prepared for and participated in his trial.
Joji Obara on trial
Furthermore, Obara never allowed his lawyers to be in charge. He coordinated his entire defense, published a book about himself while he was in jail, and made a valiant attempt to dismiss the evidence or explain it away. This was no easy task since Obara made tapes of himself raping unconscious women AND kept a detailed log. I won't say if Obara got convicted or not....but you can Google the verdict(s) if you're curious.
This is an engaging book that I highly recommend to fans of true crime stories.
You can follow my reviews at https://reviewsbybarbsaffer.blogspot....
Lucie Blackman
Lucie and Louise rented a cheap apartment and took jobs as hostesses in the 'Casablanca' nightclub in Roppongi, a district of Tokyo teeming with nightspots and night life.
The Roppongi district in Japan is teeming with nightspots
The job of a hostess was to chat up Japanese businessmen and get them to buy pricey drinks and expensive bottles of champagne.
Hostesses get Japanese businessmen to buy drinks
Hostesses entertaining Japanese businessmen
Businessmen are encouraged to purchase bottles of champagne
The hostesses were also encouraged to go on dinner dates with the clients, which would encourage return visits to the club. The nightspots made handsome profits by employing these female companions - many of whom were tall, English-speaking blondes like Lucie and Louise. The girls, in turn, could make a lot of money in salary and bonuses.
Tall blonded hostesses like Lucie Blackman are popular in Japan
Hostesses can make a lot of money
Long conversations with Japanese businessmen were often boring, uncomfortable, and inappropriate (one man would ask 'do you fart when you pee?') - and Lucie was only a mildly successful hostess. Moreover, the striking blonde didn't get invited for many dinner dates - which put her job in jeopardy. So it's not surprising that Lucie agreed to go to lunch with thirtysomething business mogul Joji Obara, especially when he promised to give her a cell phone. Sadly, Lucie never returned from that luncheon.
Joji Obara
When Lucie didn't get back from her date on time, her friend Louise - sensing that something was wrong - raised the alarm immediately. However, the Tokyo police paid little attention. Even when Lucie was gone for days, and then weeks, the cops - who thought most hostesses were druggies on the fringes of the sex trade - didn't take the matter seriously. This despite the fact that several women had reported Obara previously, for drugging and raping them.....charges the police brushed off.
Police didn't take Lucie's disappearance seriously
Lucie's divorced parents, Jane and Tim, were terribly alarmed when their daughter vanished, especially since it happened in Japan - a foreign country with unfamiliar customs and laws. Tim - and Lucie's sister Sophie - flew to Japan almost immediately, to consult with the authorities.
Lucie Blackman's mother Jane
Lucie Blackman's father Tim
Lucie Blackman's sister Sophie
When Tim was unable to light a fire under the Tokyo police, he used his influence at the British Embassy, and Prime Minister Tony Blair made a public appeal for Lucie. In addition, Blair implored Japanese Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori on behalf of Lucie's family.
Faced with widespread publicity about the missing English citizen - as well as pressure from the government - the Japanese police made a greater effort to find Lucie.
Missing persons poster for Lucie Blackman
Posters of missing Lucie Blackman were viewed by the public
Sadly, Lucie was already dead. Unfortunately, the Tokyo detectives, who had poor leadership and inept investigative practices, didn't unearth Lucie's body for months - even though Obara behaved VERY suspiciously and the corpse was buried near his seaside condo. In retrospect, it seems like the cops REALLY didn't know what they were doing. (They needed more female police officers, IMO.)
Lucie's body was found in a cave near Joji Obara's home
During all this time Lucie's dad, Tim Blackman, behaved something like the ringleader of a circus - calling press conferences; checking out Roppongi nightclubs; entertaining journalists; making speeches; organizing tip lines; and keeping himself (and Lucie) in the public eye.
Lucie's family kept her disappearance in the public eye
Demonstrator's with posters of Lucie
Tim was severely criticized for his over-the-top behavior, and for accepting a VERY large payment from Obara's lawyers - with the expectation he would 'go easy' on the suspect in public. Hard to know what Tim was thinking!
In this book, English journalist Richard Lloyd Parry explores two narratives: Lucie's story, from her childhood to her death; and Obara's tale, from his youth to his trial - where he was charged with a series of sexual assaults and two unlawful deaths.
Journalist and author Richard Lloyd Parry
Parry was able to reconstruct the lives of both the victim and the alleged murderer, using extensive research and interviews with many people who knew them.
As for Lucie's killing, Parry gives a thorough account of everything that happened: the girl's disappearance; the police investigation; the arrest of Obara; the interrogation; the years-long trial; and the subsequent appeals. During all this time Lucie's mother, father, and sister traveled back and forth to Japan, and the ordeal had a profound effect on the entire Blackman family.
Friends and family remembering Lucie Blackman
This is an interesting true crime story that includes fascinating tidbits about Japanese history, customs, and society. For instance, Joji Obara's family were ethnic Koreans and - as such - were subject to serious discrimination. Korean-Japanese citizens were treated with disdain and not permitted to rise high in society or obtain prestigious jobs. Obara's parents - who were very wealthy - made their money from real estate, parking lots, and pachinko gambling parlors.....and Joji followed in their footsteps.
Pachinko gambling parlor
It was also instructive to learn that Japanese cops expect suspects to confess (most do) and that prosecutors get convictions in more than 99% of cases that are tried. Thus, almost no one wants to be a defense lawyer (LOL). Nevertheless, Obara didn't confess to any crimes and went through a plethora of defense attorneys as he prepared for and participated in his trial.
Joji Obara on trial
Furthermore, Obara never allowed his lawyers to be in charge. He coordinated his entire defense, published a book about himself while he was in jail, and made a valiant attempt to dismiss the evidence or explain it away. This was no easy task since Obara made tapes of himself raping unconscious women AND kept a detailed log. I won't say if Obara got convicted or not....but you can Google the verdict(s) if you're curious.
This is an engaging book that I highly recommend to fans of true crime stories.
You can follow my reviews at https://reviewsbybarbsaffer.blogspot....
July 23, 2017
Interesting true crime account of a young British woman who went missing in Tokyo. At times Parry goes on a bit too much with excessive minutia but this is a fascinating look at the Japanese system of justice. Hmmm.
March 8, 2018
I rather seldom read real life stories, however, chose this one as it was on a GR Friend's list. The book, written by a foreign correspondent living in Japan, is an account of a tragedy that took place in 2000 and gives all details of it, but also provides the reader with a good insight into a Japanese society, including court procedures.
October 28, 2018
Even after reading the entirety of this seemingly interminably long book, I'm not exactly clear on who these supposed "people" are who "eat darkness." What I do know is everything (and quite a bit more than) I ever wanted to know about the disappearance/murder of 21-year-old British national,
Lucie Blackman
, in July of 2000.
Why, you ask, did I think I would want the ins and outs of the case? Well, for one, I like to treat myself to a bit of trashy true crime now and then. Two, the single chapter devoted to this bit of law and order in Jake Adelstein's Tokyo Vice (which I highly recommend) had me wanting to know more about the Roppongi nightlife subculture in Japan.
Hostessing in High Touch Town:
Author Richard Lloyd Parry goes into great detail about the background of Lucie Blackman, but a sentence or two will suffice for the purpose of this summary. She was a good student, meticulous groomer, a bit insecure, but pretty typical for anyone in that adultescent phase of life. She went with her BFF to live in Japan and work as a hostess (not as sketchy as it sounds) in order to pay off some debt she had accrued living in London.
While hostessing in a foreign country on a tourist visa might sound like a euphemism for selling yourself into sexual slavery, that's really not what it is. It's certainly not something on my to-do list, but that's because nothing sounds less appealing to me than the idea of pretending to be interested in chit chatting with tired "salarymen." The nuances of the roles and expectations surrounding the "lady services" (for want of a better word) in Japan are not easily communicated (though, as I mentioned, Adelstein does a pretty great job). The Roppongi kink/twist just happens to be that the women are "western" (not in a cowgirl kinda way). It came to be known as "High Touch Town" as a result of an awkwardly phrased description of the American penchant for high-fiving displayed when military men came ashore for nights on the town.
While it's not my scene, I'm pretty sure a "Roppongi" equivalent (in spirit) exists in most international cities- I'm not sure whether the term eurotrash* carries more or less negative connotation than gaijin , the Japanese term for foreigner, but both have affiliated club scenes, and that sums things up.
Lucie Blackman MIA:
No shock here, Lucie goes missing after one of her "dates" with a client from the club. This is followed by what may be the least reassuring phone call ever to her best friend by a man who claims that Lucie:"is studying and practicing a new way of life" after a happenstance meeting with his "guru."
Lucie's youth, looks, and soon-to-be press-savvy family turned this into a veritable frenzy of media coverage (and, eventually, a mention by Tony Blair to the Japanese Prime Minister). Lucie's sister Sophie (pictured with Lucie below) and father tag-teamed back and forth from Japan, running into an array of stumbling blocks (all of which are carefully chronicled).
Joji Obara, the Man-Shaped Hole:
The perp is an enigma unto himself. He was of Korean descent which made him zainichi , a status that precludes a certain level of advancement and respect in Japan. Though abundantly wealthy, he was truly disconnected from society in every respect. There are almost no photographs of him- not even a mug shot, since he would turn away.
This last third of the book was interesting in its examination of the Japanese justice system and the ways in which it is a product of cultural expectations to which Obara simply did not conform. At the same time, Obara's explanations and excuses and the circuitous reasoning of all parties involved is over-illustrated by the author, giving the book a sense of frustrating ambiguity.
Parting Thoughts:
Mission accomplished for an author who wanted to cover the Blackman story exhaustively, but reading it was, well, exhausting.
* I'm neither promoting nor condoning the use of these terms, I'm just saying that they seemed similar to this ignorant American
Why, you ask, did I think I would want the ins and outs of the case? Well, for one, I like to treat myself to a bit of trashy true crime now and then. Two, the single chapter devoted to this bit of law and order in Jake Adelstein's Tokyo Vice (which I highly recommend) had me wanting to know more about the Roppongi nightlife subculture in Japan.
Hostessing in High Touch Town:
Author Richard Lloyd Parry goes into great detail about the background of Lucie Blackman, but a sentence or two will suffice for the purpose of this summary. She was a good student, meticulous groomer, a bit insecure, but pretty typical for anyone in that adultescent phase of life. She went with her BFF to live in Japan and work as a hostess (not as sketchy as it sounds) in order to pay off some debt she had accrued living in London.
While hostessing in a foreign country on a tourist visa might sound like a euphemism for selling yourself into sexual slavery, that's really not what it is. It's certainly not something on my to-do list, but that's because nothing sounds less appealing to me than the idea of pretending to be interested in chit chatting with tired "salarymen." The nuances of the roles and expectations surrounding the "lady services" (for want of a better word) in Japan are not easily communicated (though, as I mentioned, Adelstein does a pretty great job). The Roppongi kink/twist just happens to be that the women are "western" (not in a cowgirl kinda way). It came to be known as "High Touch Town" as a result of an awkwardly phrased description of the American penchant for high-fiving displayed when military men came ashore for nights on the town.
While it's not my scene, I'm pretty sure a "Roppongi" equivalent (in spirit) exists in most international cities- I'm not sure whether the term eurotrash* carries more or less negative connotation than gaijin , the Japanese term for foreigner, but both have affiliated club scenes, and that sums things up.
Lucie Blackman MIA:
No shock here, Lucie goes missing after one of her "dates" with a client from the club. This is followed by what may be the least reassuring phone call ever to her best friend by a man who claims that Lucie:"is studying and practicing a new way of life" after a happenstance meeting with his "guru."
"Just before she got on the train she met my guru and she made a life-changing decision. Anyway, she decided to join his cult that night."As you might imagine, this left everyone feeling less than comfortable with Lucie's whereabouts.
Lucie's youth, looks, and soon-to-be press-savvy family turned this into a veritable frenzy of media coverage (and, eventually, a mention by Tony Blair to the Japanese Prime Minister). Lucie's sister Sophie (pictured with Lucie below) and father tag-teamed back and forth from Japan, running into an array of stumbling blocks (all of which are carefully chronicled).
Joji Obara, the Man-Shaped Hole:
The perp is an enigma unto himself. He was of Korean descent which made him zainichi , a status that precludes a certain level of advancement and respect in Japan. Though abundantly wealthy, he was truly disconnected from society in every respect. There are almost no photographs of him- not even a mug shot, since he would turn away.
This last third of the book was interesting in its examination of the Japanese justice system and the ways in which it is a product of cultural expectations to which Obara simply did not conform. At the same time, Obara's explanations and excuses and the circuitous reasoning of all parties involved is over-illustrated by the author, giving the book a sense of frustrating ambiguity.
Parting Thoughts:
Mission accomplished for an author who wanted to cover the Blackman story exhaustively, but reading it was, well, exhausting.
* I'm neither promoting nor condoning the use of these terms, I'm just saying that they seemed similar to this ignorant American
May 9, 2018
I read PEOPLE WHO EAT DARKNESS faster than any true crime book I've ever read, though, admittedly, I am not a big true crime reader.
That's going to change.
Richard Lloyd Parry has written an extremely engrossing, fascinating, and well-researched book that examines the darker side of our human nature. Despite being one of the safest countries on Earth, Japan was host to an atrocious crime that turned the lives of one English family, and much of the world, on its head back at the turn of the century. Parry, a reporter, knows very well how to give us the imperative "who, what, where, when, and why," but it's the questions he asks, and subsequently answers, that elevate PEOPLE WHO EAT DARKNESS to something much more than just reportage. In it, we examine how a horrific crime affects not only individuals, but nations as a whole.
As I mentioned, despite being a long book, I simply could not put this one down. Perhaps it is the (un)natural curiosity I feel toward puzzling crimes of a grisly nature, or perhaps it is simply Parry's knack for telling a wildly engaging story, but either way, my interest in true crime has been piqued. If you've ever found yourself glued to a particularly dark episode of "Dateline" or "Unsolved Mysteries," then give this book a read; you won't be disappointed.
That's going to change.
Richard Lloyd Parry has written an extremely engrossing, fascinating, and well-researched book that examines the darker side of our human nature. Despite being one of the safest countries on Earth, Japan was host to an atrocious crime that turned the lives of one English family, and much of the world, on its head back at the turn of the century. Parry, a reporter, knows very well how to give us the imperative "who, what, where, when, and why," but it's the questions he asks, and subsequently answers, that elevate PEOPLE WHO EAT DARKNESS to something much more than just reportage. In it, we examine how a horrific crime affects not only individuals, but nations as a whole.
As I mentioned, despite being a long book, I simply could not put this one down. Perhaps it is the (un)natural curiosity I feel toward puzzling crimes of a grisly nature, or perhaps it is simply Parry's knack for telling a wildly engaging story, but either way, my interest in true crime has been piqued. If you've ever found yourself glued to a particularly dark episode of "Dateline" or "Unsolved Mysteries," then give this book a read; you won't be disappointed.
February 19, 2021
“People are afraid of stories like Lucie’s, stories about meaningless, brutal, premature death; but most of them can not own up to their fear. So they take comfort in the certainty of moral judgements, which they brandish like burning branches waved in the night to keep off the wolves.”
People Who Eat Darkness has easily broken into my top 10 books of 2020. This is exactly the kind of true crime book that I simply love reading - when the victim is given the respect and dignity that they deserve. I loved that so many pages were dedicated to Lucie Blackman - who she was as a person, her relationship with her family, little details like the fact that her nails were always so perfectly painted, that she struggled with her self-esteem even though she was absolutely beautiful, her fears that she would be nothing more than “average”. It makes it even more heartbreaking to then learn of her fate.
In addition to shining a light on the victim – and the other victims that fell prey to this vile predator – People Who Eat Darkness also shines a light on the darker side to Japan, a country that is always presented as being very safe. Learning about Japanese culture was incredibly fascinating to me, particularly the justice system. Did you know that the conviction rate in Japan is 99.85% compared to roughly 73% for Britain and the US? That fact BLEW MY MIND.
A lot of the book is also spent with Lucie’s family. I don’t believe I’ve ever read a true crime book where so much focus is given to the victim’s family – or if I have, it doesn’t come to mind. It truly highlights how one senseless crime can reverberate through so many people – a multitude of lives and relationships are destroyed.
I absolutely loved this book from start to finish. A really well-written and well-researched account of a life cut far too short. I haven’t stopped thinking about Lucie since. 5 stars.
People Who Eat Darkness has easily broken into my top 10 books of 2020. This is exactly the kind of true crime book that I simply love reading - when the victim is given the respect and dignity that they deserve. I loved that so many pages were dedicated to Lucie Blackman - who she was as a person, her relationship with her family, little details like the fact that her nails were always so perfectly painted, that she struggled with her self-esteem even though she was absolutely beautiful, her fears that she would be nothing more than “average”. It makes it even more heartbreaking to then learn of her fate.
In addition to shining a light on the victim – and the other victims that fell prey to this vile predator – People Who Eat Darkness also shines a light on the darker side to Japan, a country that is always presented as being very safe. Learning about Japanese culture was incredibly fascinating to me, particularly the justice system. Did you know that the conviction rate in Japan is 99.85% compared to roughly 73% for Britain and the US? That fact BLEW MY MIND.
A lot of the book is also spent with Lucie’s family. I don’t believe I’ve ever read a true crime book where so much focus is given to the victim’s family – or if I have, it doesn’t come to mind. It truly highlights how one senseless crime can reverberate through so many people – a multitude of lives and relationships are destroyed.
I absolutely loved this book from start to finish. A really well-written and well-researched account of a life cut far too short. I haven’t stopped thinking about Lucie since. 5 stars.
August 23, 2023
***SPOILERS HIDDEN***
Richard Lloyd Parry’s People Who Eat Darkness stands out for an almost otherworldly quality as it exposes the darker side of Tokyo while detailing the disappearance and murder of Lucie Blackman. Parry is an expert writer who's published something that avoids being lurid and pulpy and treats its subjects with respect and sensitivity.
The book shines when describing various things unique to Japan, things many Westerners might find exceedingly strange. Here is an intimate portrait of "Lucie's Tokyo," and it's an unreal, kooky place. Blackman's job there sends red flags flying like crazy--to the Western reader. To the Japanese, her job is merely another job, just on the seedy side.
The book's other major focus is Blackman's vividly depicted family, and these parts are moving as Parry describes exactly how the young woman's murder affected each member. He even focuses generously on how her murder affected some of her closest friends, including an ex-boyfriend. Although Parry recounts Blackman’s murder with journalistic accuracy, he never did so with journalistic stoicism.
At times, though, tangents slow the pace. At about the halfway point, the reader learns about the killer’s family, which is standard for true-crime books. Nevertheless, People Who Eat Darkness will satisfy fans of true-crime with a thorough examination of what happened to Blackman and a provocative peek into a shadow world of Tokyo. Riveting, sad, educational, and shocking all at the same time, this is an unforgettable true-crime.
Richard Lloyd Parry’s People Who Eat Darkness stands out for an almost otherworldly quality as it exposes the darker side of Tokyo while detailing the disappearance and murder of Lucie Blackman. Parry is an expert writer who's published something that avoids being lurid and pulpy and treats its subjects with respect and sensitivity.
The book shines when describing various things unique to Japan, things many Westerners might find exceedingly strange. Here is an intimate portrait of "Lucie's Tokyo," and it's an unreal, kooky place. Blackman's job there sends red flags flying like crazy--to the Western reader. To the Japanese, her job is merely another job, just on the seedy side.
The book's other major focus is Blackman's vividly depicted family, and these parts are moving as Parry describes exactly how the young woman's murder affected each member. He even focuses generously on how her murder affected some of her closest friends, including an ex-boyfriend. Although Parry recounts Blackman’s murder with journalistic accuracy, he never did so with journalistic stoicism.
At times, though, tangents slow the pace. At about the halfway point, the reader learns about the killer’s family, which is standard for true-crime books. Nevertheless, People Who Eat Darkness will satisfy fans of true-crime with a thorough examination of what happened to Blackman and a provocative peek into a shadow world of Tokyo. Riveting, sad, educational, and shocking all at the same time, this is an unforgettable true-crime.
July 15, 2012
This is a gripping, fascinating and thoroughly researched book. It covers the facts surrounding the disappearance of Lucie Blackman a twenty one-year-old British citizen who was briefly employed as a bar hostess in the Rappongi district in Japan. But the author with his meticulous research provides so much more than the details of this very tragic story.
The author was a British foreign correspondent who has lived for many, many years in Japan and has a deep respect for, and knowledge of, the culture. From this book you will learn so many heretofore unknown and fascinating details about Japanese cultural practices and customs, such as the common procedures of the Japanese legal system, police practices, attitudes towards foreigners, history regarding other Asians, attitudes towards “the water trade” or sex business, funeral practices, and so many more minute and fascinating details about everyday Japanese life. The book for this alone is well worth a read.
But like a detective, the author Parry is meticulous. Especially compelling is the personal and family history that led Lucie Blackman to seek employment as a bar hostess in Rappongi serving drinks and conversation to Japanese businessman. The author is very respectful and sensitive to the incredible pain this family has gone through. He highlights the significant strengths of each family member, but also is factual in documenting concerning things. This dialectic brought up an interesting tension in me as a reader, between my profound sympathy for the grieving parents, countered by my frustration with some of their actions. The author’s special genius is this ability to emotionally draw the reader into the story.
Jane Blackman’s relationship with her daughters was troubled. Lucie was the parentified, favorite child, taking care of her mother emotionally, and Sophie was the unfavored, vilified daughter, receiving the brunt of her mother’s anger. And her mother had some anger issues not only at Sophie, but at her ex-husband for cheating on her. She could never seem to let this anger at her ex-husband go, which was sad, and not beneficial for her children. Another concerning behavior was, when Lucie went missing, her 20 year old sister Sophie traveled to Japan with a young male friend to offer herself in trade for her sister, and her mother let her go and didn’t go with her. She fought with Sophie tenaciously years later, over memorial disagreements. These actions unsuprisingly led to an eventual enstrangement between the two. Jane Blackman’s overwhelming grief for her missing daughter was undeniable and heartbreaking, and the reader’s sympathy for her is profound, but her lack of bonding with her other daughter was undeniable also and troubling.
Tim Blackman the father, kept reminding me of the American parents who recently let their sixteen year old daughter sail around the world alone, crossing the Indian Ocean during the stormy season, subsequently nearly sinking, and requiring a massive worldwide rescue. Those parents had a vested financial interest in this adventure, which they consistently denied. Mr. Blackman’s grief, I am sure was very real and horrific, and he certainly didn’t plan any of this like the American parents, but he seemed to share similar financial interests and he seemed addicted to publicity.
He accepted 450,000 pounds from the rapist in return for signing a letter in support of purported weak evidence. No other family members offered this, accepted it. It caused understandable family conflict. He says of publicity, “Dealing with the press was a game, it was a game, and I enjoyed it.” He was constantly meeting with the press. He tells his daughter to “act somber” during interviews. He starts to tear up for the first time in an interview when he notices the press numbers dwindling. The author asks him about this and he says, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but the tears were planned in advance.” This is a dad who ogles young strippers in Rappongi and comments on their relative hotness to reporters while searching for his missing daughter. He is a man who at the very least is out of touch with his emotions and insensitive. None the less, the author skillfully reminds us, he is also a father who has suffered a great loss, so the reader always retains some sympathy for him
The siblings, Rupert and Sophie were heroic and their reactions so tragically normal. Sophie spends months in Japan searching for her sister. She suffered constant nausea, insomnia, and feelings of unreality. She was deeply grieving, depressed, at one time suicidal. She’s sullen with the media and withdrawn. Her pain was palpable, and she comes off as heroically normal. Rupert, since younger, faced heartbreaking feelings of alienation in school, difficulty relating to people about his sister, feelings of unreality, and deep grief at his sister’s loss. He also seemed heroically normal.
This is an excellent book. The author remains admirably fair, impressibly sensitive, and imparts the facts in a meticulously researched and thorough manner. His greatest achievement is pointing out the imperfection in people, while remaining respectful of them. He encourages the reader to do the same by example.
Highly recommend.
The author was a British foreign correspondent who has lived for many, many years in Japan and has a deep respect for, and knowledge of, the culture. From this book you will learn so many heretofore unknown and fascinating details about Japanese cultural practices and customs, such as the common procedures of the Japanese legal system, police practices, attitudes towards foreigners, history regarding other Asians, attitudes towards “the water trade” or sex business, funeral practices, and so many more minute and fascinating details about everyday Japanese life. The book for this alone is well worth a read.
But like a detective, the author Parry is meticulous. Especially compelling is the personal and family history that led Lucie Blackman to seek employment as a bar hostess in Rappongi serving drinks and conversation to Japanese businessman. The author is very respectful and sensitive to the incredible pain this family has gone through. He highlights the significant strengths of each family member, but also is factual in documenting concerning things. This dialectic brought up an interesting tension in me as a reader, between my profound sympathy for the grieving parents, countered by my frustration with some of their actions. The author’s special genius is this ability to emotionally draw the reader into the story.
Jane Blackman’s relationship with her daughters was troubled. Lucie was the parentified, favorite child, taking care of her mother emotionally, and Sophie was the unfavored, vilified daughter, receiving the brunt of her mother’s anger. And her mother had some anger issues not only at Sophie, but at her ex-husband for cheating on her. She could never seem to let this anger at her ex-husband go, which was sad, and not beneficial for her children. Another concerning behavior was, when Lucie went missing, her 20 year old sister Sophie traveled to Japan with a young male friend to offer herself in trade for her sister, and her mother let her go and didn’t go with her. She fought with Sophie tenaciously years later, over memorial disagreements. These actions unsuprisingly led to an eventual enstrangement between the two. Jane Blackman’s overwhelming grief for her missing daughter was undeniable and heartbreaking, and the reader’s sympathy for her is profound, but her lack of bonding with her other daughter was undeniable also and troubling.
Tim Blackman the father, kept reminding me of the American parents who recently let their sixteen year old daughter sail around the world alone, crossing the Indian Ocean during the stormy season, subsequently nearly sinking, and requiring a massive worldwide rescue. Those parents had a vested financial interest in this adventure, which they consistently denied. Mr. Blackman’s grief, I am sure was very real and horrific, and he certainly didn’t plan any of this like the American parents, but he seemed to share similar financial interests and he seemed addicted to publicity.
He accepted 450,000 pounds from the rapist in return for signing a letter in support of purported weak evidence. No other family members offered this, accepted it. It caused understandable family conflict. He says of publicity, “Dealing with the press was a game, it was a game, and I enjoyed it.” He was constantly meeting with the press. He tells his daughter to “act somber” during interviews. He starts to tear up for the first time in an interview when he notices the press numbers dwindling. The author asks him about this and he says, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but the tears were planned in advance.” This is a dad who ogles young strippers in Rappongi and comments on their relative hotness to reporters while searching for his missing daughter. He is a man who at the very least is out of touch with his emotions and insensitive. None the less, the author skillfully reminds us, he is also a father who has suffered a great loss, so the reader always retains some sympathy for him
The siblings, Rupert and Sophie were heroic and their reactions so tragically normal. Sophie spends months in Japan searching for her sister. She suffered constant nausea, insomnia, and feelings of unreality. She was deeply grieving, depressed, at one time suicidal. She’s sullen with the media and withdrawn. Her pain was palpable, and she comes off as heroically normal. Rupert, since younger, faced heartbreaking feelings of alienation in school, difficulty relating to people about his sister, feelings of unreality, and deep grief at his sister’s loss. He also seemed heroically normal.
This is an excellent book. The author remains admirably fair, impressibly sensitive, and imparts the facts in a meticulously researched and thorough manner. His greatest achievement is pointing out the imperfection in people, while remaining respectful of them. He encourages the reader to do the same by example.
Highly recommend.
July 25, 2014
There is something so disgustingly exploitative about a true crime novel. Someone has suffered a gruesome and unfair death, leaving a horde of shellshocked family and friends behind, and then there is an author and his publisher, recounting the story for profit, and finally there is us, the readers, who feel a wispy nebula of sadness for the individual’s terrible fate, but who mostly feel a curiosity, an excitement to know all the criminal details, the bloodier the better.
Somehow Parry, a British journalist working in Tokyo, avoids sensationalism and tactlessness. He simply tells the story of Lucie Blackman, a 21 year old British hostess who goes missing in Japan. If you’ve watched a crime drama or two, you know how this story ends, but Parry manages to make it gripping. He also includes fantastic academic details, such as the anthropology of hostess culture and the police force in Japan (my favorite fact: Japanese police emphasize confession over physical evidence, which leads to a huge kerfuffle in the Blackman case, but seems somewhat successful in terms of convictions; shocking statistics: in the US, 73% of defendants brought to trial are convicted, in Japan, a whopping 99.85%).
But alongside his factual account, Parry delves into the grief of a family living this insane situation. His stellar, sensitive writing never weighs down the story or fogs facts. Rather, it lends much needed humanity to the true crime novel. What most elevates Parry’s account is the fact that he avoids conclusions. There is no gotcha moment where we understand the criminal’s damaged psyche, no epiphany that brings meaning to a meaningless tragedy. Parry tells Lucie’s story and ends by saying: this is one of the worst possible things that could happen to a person and to a family; even after following the case for years, I still do not know—I still cannot understand—why this horrible, horrible thing happened.
A fitting ending.
Somehow Parry, a British journalist working in Tokyo, avoids sensationalism and tactlessness. He simply tells the story of Lucie Blackman, a 21 year old British hostess who goes missing in Japan. If you’ve watched a crime drama or two, you know how this story ends, but Parry manages to make it gripping. He also includes fantastic academic details, such as the anthropology of hostess culture and the police force in Japan (my favorite fact: Japanese police emphasize confession over physical evidence, which leads to a huge kerfuffle in the Blackman case, but seems somewhat successful in terms of convictions; shocking statistics: in the US, 73% of defendants brought to trial are convicted, in Japan, a whopping 99.85%).
But alongside his factual account, Parry delves into the grief of a family living this insane situation. His stellar, sensitive writing never weighs down the story or fogs facts. Rather, it lends much needed humanity to the true crime novel. What most elevates Parry’s account is the fact that he avoids conclusions. There is no gotcha moment where we understand the criminal’s damaged psyche, no epiphany that brings meaning to a meaningless tragedy. Parry tells Lucie’s story and ends by saying: this is one of the worst possible things that could happen to a person and to a family; even after following the case for years, I still do not know—I still cannot understand—why this horrible, horrible thing happened.
A fitting ending.
October 31, 2019
Lucie Blackman was deep in debt and her poorly paid job as a British Airways stewardess wasn’t going to get her out of it. And then the 21 year old heard about making big money in Japan as a hostess to Japanese salarymen: paid bar companions to talk to men, light their cigarettes, pour their drinks, and sing karaoke; there is no sexual component to hostessing as touching is forbidden. Attractive foreign women, like Lucie, are seen as exotic in Japan and even in the seedy Tokyo district of Roppongi you were safe (the Japanese crime rate is remarkably low). It sounded like a good plan, so she joined her friend Louise Phillips and set off from England in May 2000 – she would never return. Lucie went missing in July 2000 and her dismembered body was found in a cave on the coast 30 miles south of Tokyo in February 2001. How did things go so badly?
Reporter Richard Lloyd Parry, who covered the Lucie Blackman case as it unfolded, recounts her abduction and the ensuing investigation and trial in his superb book, People Who Eat Darkness. On the face of it, her murder was fairly banal by true crime standards: a random rape/killing by a loner murderer with a warped view of women. Lucie just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – pure bad luck. But Parry tells the story so expertly – not just in terms of pacing and writing skill but also informatively – that the book becomes, as clichéd as it sounds, an unputdownable page-turner. I had three other books on the go before I picked this one up and all three got put to the side while I blew through it over a weekend!
Told chronologically, the book highlights several fascinating things alongside the murder: the complex underworld of hostessing, the storied racism towards Koreans in Japanese society, the very real and systemic flaws in Japanese policing, and how Lucie’s father Tim (himself quite the character) waged a calculating campaign to raise awareness of his daughter’s disappearance. Parry goes through each subject as they arise, always concisely and clearly explaining them fully, never dwelling too long on them, and effortlessly weaving it into the increasingly compelling narrative. It helped that, while I read the wiki article on this case a while back, I’d forgotten almost all the details, so I was constantly surprised at the many twists and turns events took.
Parry does his best to learn as much as he could about Lucie’s killer, Joji Obara, but Obara was an extremely secretive person who nobody really knew and continued to give up nothing of himself while imprisoned, so there’s scant information to be gleaned and Parry can only speculate on his psychology. Obara doesn’t appear to be insane, just an extremely sick individual. His wealthy family appears to be quite strange though Parry only encounters one of Obara’s brothers, who turns out to be an actual raving lunatic, while Obara’s father was killed in the ‘60s in mysterious circumstances (the implication being it was mob-related).
It was especially interesting to learn about the criminal justice system in Japan, particularly the absurdly slow trial process – I had no idea that it took nearly ten years to convict Obara; most high profile trials, in the UK at least, take a handful of weeks, or a few months at most! I was also stunned to discover the conviction rate in Japan is close to 100% which is just insane. As farcically incompetent as the Tokyo Metropolitan Police come off as, Parry’s observation that they’re simply inexperienced at such serious cases due to the rarity of them in Japanese society is a pertinent one. His summation at the end that includes the point that Japanese society is a safe one in spite of the police, not because of them, is a brilliant one – the culture over there is just so radically different from the west’s.
Still, it doesn’t excuse how poorly the investigation was handled. The police combed the area where Lucie was eventually found before but didn’t find the shallow grave, they gave bad advice in telling Lucie’s friend Louise to not speak to Lucie’s parents (for no reason) which led to severe psychological and addiction problems for Louise later in life, and, perhaps most egregiously, they had received reports of Obara’s drug/rape crimes before from previous victims and had ignored them – they literally could’ve stopped him years before he even met Lucie if they had done their jobs.
People Who Eat Darkness is a morbidly fascinating but undeniably enthralling read – astonishing information wrapped up in an unpredictable and constantly shifting narrative. I hesitate to even call it true crime as its scope is broader and incorporates sociological angles, but whether or not you’re a fan of true crime, I highly recommend this book.
Reporter Richard Lloyd Parry, who covered the Lucie Blackman case as it unfolded, recounts her abduction and the ensuing investigation and trial in his superb book, People Who Eat Darkness. On the face of it, her murder was fairly banal by true crime standards: a random rape/killing by a loner murderer with a warped view of women. Lucie just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – pure bad luck. But Parry tells the story so expertly – not just in terms of pacing and writing skill but also informatively – that the book becomes, as clichéd as it sounds, an unputdownable page-turner. I had three other books on the go before I picked this one up and all three got put to the side while I blew through it over a weekend!
Told chronologically, the book highlights several fascinating things alongside the murder: the complex underworld of hostessing, the storied racism towards Koreans in Japanese society, the very real and systemic flaws in Japanese policing, and how Lucie’s father Tim (himself quite the character) waged a calculating campaign to raise awareness of his daughter’s disappearance. Parry goes through each subject as they arise, always concisely and clearly explaining them fully, never dwelling too long on them, and effortlessly weaving it into the increasingly compelling narrative. It helped that, while I read the wiki article on this case a while back, I’d forgotten almost all the details, so I was constantly surprised at the many twists and turns events took.
Parry does his best to learn as much as he could about Lucie’s killer, Joji Obara, but Obara was an extremely secretive person who nobody really knew and continued to give up nothing of himself while imprisoned, so there’s scant information to be gleaned and Parry can only speculate on his psychology. Obara doesn’t appear to be insane, just an extremely sick individual. His wealthy family appears to be quite strange though Parry only encounters one of Obara’s brothers, who turns out to be an actual raving lunatic, while Obara’s father was killed in the ‘60s in mysterious circumstances (the implication being it was mob-related).
It was especially interesting to learn about the criminal justice system in Japan, particularly the absurdly slow trial process – I had no idea that it took nearly ten years to convict Obara; most high profile trials, in the UK at least, take a handful of weeks, or a few months at most! I was also stunned to discover the conviction rate in Japan is close to 100% which is just insane. As farcically incompetent as the Tokyo Metropolitan Police come off as, Parry’s observation that they’re simply inexperienced at such serious cases due to the rarity of them in Japanese society is a pertinent one. His summation at the end that includes the point that Japanese society is a safe one in spite of the police, not because of them, is a brilliant one – the culture over there is just so radically different from the west’s.
Still, it doesn’t excuse how poorly the investigation was handled. The police combed the area where Lucie was eventually found before but didn’t find the shallow grave, they gave bad advice in telling Lucie’s friend Louise to not speak to Lucie’s parents (for no reason) which led to severe psychological and addiction problems for Louise later in life, and, perhaps most egregiously, they had received reports of Obara’s drug/rape crimes before from previous victims and had ignored them – they literally could’ve stopped him years before he even met Lucie if they had done their jobs.
People Who Eat Darkness is a morbidly fascinating but undeniably enthralling read – astonishing information wrapped up in an unpredictable and constantly shifting narrative. I hesitate to even call it true crime as its scope is broader and incorporates sociological angles, but whether or not you’re a fan of true crime, I highly recommend this book.
August 16, 2024
4.0 Stars
This author is amazing at writing narrative nonfiction. I have previously read his work and now I will read anything they publish.
This is a haunting piece of true crime. I appreciated that the narrative focused on the victim and fleshed out the surrounding environment.
As someone fascinated by Japanese culture, I appreciate the deep dive into the police procedural and justice system of the country. This book was well researched and thoughtfully written.
I would highly recommend to readers of narrative nonfiction, even thar don't read much true crime.
This author is amazing at writing narrative nonfiction. I have previously read his work and now I will read anything they publish.
This is a haunting piece of true crime. I appreciated that the narrative focused on the victim and fleshed out the surrounding environment.
As someone fascinated by Japanese culture, I appreciate the deep dive into the police procedural and justice system of the country. This book was well researched and thoughtfully written.
I would highly recommend to readers of narrative nonfiction, even thar don't read much true crime.
March 20, 2018
I seriously could not put this book down once I started it.
If you want to read the longer version I wrote for my blog, just click here. Otherwise, read on.
In the area of true crime, when I come across a journalist whose writing isn't motivated by the sensational, or who has taken years to research his subject before publishing, I'm generally not disappointed. Such is the case with People Who Eat Darkness, a very intelligently-written book that moves far afield of the usual true crime output. The book is about the disappearance of a young woman, Lucie Blackman, a young woman from the UK working as a bar hostess in Japan who left on a drive to the seaside and was never seen again. While this description sounds like it could be fodder for a true-crime writer, there is so much more to this book than any average crime writer would even attempt. As Parry leads the reader through this compelling story, you begin to see that he's forming an intensely cogent account not just of an horrific crime, but an exploration of cultures within a culture, families, Japan's legal and justice system, its history, and the conflicts that arose because of this case. Although its page count nearly reaches the 500 mark, it moves very quickly, and it's another one of those books I stayed up to read because I couldn't stop.
Richard Lloyd Parry, the author of People Who Eat Darkness, was on the scene as this story slowly unfolded over the course of several long years. In writing this book, he notes that he hoped to restore Lucie's "status as a normal person, a woman complex and lovable in her ordinariness, with a life before death," and he does this very aptly. Criticism for the police is also a part of his story, as are the lives of Lucie's family as he looks at how each family member tried to cope with the aftermath of Lucie's disappearance, the investigation, the trial and ultimately the loss of their beloved daughter and sister.
Obviously there's way more to this book than what I can capture in a few paragraphs, but the long and short of it is that it's one of the most compelling, well-written and intelligent true accounts I've read in a very long time. The author has gone above and beyond in terms of balance, and it's obvious how much this case and the people involved have haunted him. The story itself may seem beyond belief, but it's one of the most frightening things I've read in a long while, the more so because it's true.
For readers who were unhappy with the bigger scope of this book, the reality is that this account would not have been nearly as thorough or as compelling without the cultural, historical and sociological facets the author brings into the book. If this isn't your thing, well, you're always free to stick to the mass-market output. If you want something intelligently written, balanced and just plain excellent, then this book is well worth your while.
If you want to read the longer version I wrote for my blog, just click here. Otherwise, read on.
In the area of true crime, when I come across a journalist whose writing isn't motivated by the sensational, or who has taken years to research his subject before publishing, I'm generally not disappointed. Such is the case with People Who Eat Darkness, a very intelligently-written book that moves far afield of the usual true crime output. The book is about the disappearance of a young woman, Lucie Blackman, a young woman from the UK working as a bar hostess in Japan who left on a drive to the seaside and was never seen again. While this description sounds like it could be fodder for a true-crime writer, there is so much more to this book than any average crime writer would even attempt. As Parry leads the reader through this compelling story, you begin to see that he's forming an intensely cogent account not just of an horrific crime, but an exploration of cultures within a culture, families, Japan's legal and justice system, its history, and the conflicts that arose because of this case. Although its page count nearly reaches the 500 mark, it moves very quickly, and it's another one of those books I stayed up to read because I couldn't stop.
Richard Lloyd Parry, the author of People Who Eat Darkness, was on the scene as this story slowly unfolded over the course of several long years. In writing this book, he notes that he hoped to restore Lucie's "status as a normal person, a woman complex and lovable in her ordinariness, with a life before death," and he does this very aptly. Criticism for the police is also a part of his story, as are the lives of Lucie's family as he looks at how each family member tried to cope with the aftermath of Lucie's disappearance, the investigation, the trial and ultimately the loss of their beloved daughter and sister.
Obviously there's way more to this book than what I can capture in a few paragraphs, but the long and short of it is that it's one of the most compelling, well-written and intelligent true accounts I've read in a very long time. The author has gone above and beyond in terms of balance, and it's obvious how much this case and the people involved have haunted him. The story itself may seem beyond belief, but it's one of the most frightening things I've read in a long while, the more so because it's true.
For readers who were unhappy with the bigger scope of this book, the reality is that this account would not have been nearly as thorough or as compelling without the cultural, historical and sociological facets the author brings into the book. If this isn't your thing, well, you're always free to stick to the mass-market output. If you want something intelligently written, balanced and just plain excellent, then this book is well worth your while.
June 1, 2012
This is a weirdly engrossing account of the Lucie Blackman case. Although I was alive and reading a newspaper in 2000, I do not remember reading about the search for her - or the resulting trial of Joji Obara, the man accused of her murder. The details of the case (as they are combined with other cases/crimes/psychological depravity) are fairly grisly, but more absorbing is Lloyd Parry's examination of the sociological and cultural aspects of Japan. And although it became a little tiresome, I also found it interesting (sad, sad, sad) to read about the effect Lucie's disappearance and death had on her British family, who had to grapple with the odd practices of the Japanese police (odd, at least, to Westerners), the media, and two different governments.
September 11, 2016
This was a very interesting book. It told of the murder of Lucie Blackman, some history on Koreans immigrating to Japan and some facts on Japanese culture and their legal system.
In regard to Lucie Blackman, I had no idea young women moved to Tokyo to "hostess" in clubs to earn money. The book tells how her family and friends dealt with and live with what happened to her. And what happened to her is horrific.
The trial section of the book got to be very long and detailed, I suppose because the trial itself was very long (it took many years). I was getting anxious to finish although I needed to find out the fate of the man accused of this horrific crime and the many others he committed.
This was my first audio book. I really liked being read to while driving. Thanks Jennifer! Without all the praise you give audio I never would have tried it. I've already downloaded my 2nd book!
In regard to Lucie Blackman, I had no idea young women moved to Tokyo to "hostess" in clubs to earn money. The book tells how her family and friends dealt with and live with what happened to her. And what happened to her is horrific.
The trial section of the book got to be very long and detailed, I suppose because the trial itself was very long (it took many years). I was getting anxious to finish although I needed to find out the fate of the man accused of this horrific crime and the many others he committed.
This was my first audio book. I really liked being read to while driving. Thanks Jennifer! Without all the praise you give audio I never would have tried it. I've already downloaded my 2nd book!
December 19, 2019
When I finished the last page I sat in silent mourning for Lucie. Richard L. Parry is another journalist with an unprecedented talent for connecting his readers to the people in his books. His caring and respectful treatment of this story will remain in my memory for a long time. Parry avoids passing judgement. Neither does he come across as a writer that needs to be seen as noble for doing this. There’s no self aggrandizing here. Rather, we get a journalist telling a story that in less capable hands might feel voyeuristic, prurient or hunting for blame. He reminds us of the meaning and beauty of life and its darker side where mindless and senseless violence lurk. His conclusions about the myriad ways we respond to tragedy, death and the nature of evil made me want to reach out and shake his hand for writing this masterpiece of modern journalism. Lucie will live in all the memories of those who read this story.
May 6, 2015
So many emotions and things I want to say about this book, but it's 1:30am and I need some sleep (even tho it might be hard to sleep after that). I'll come back and write a review later.
August 14, 2016
Disturbing ... engrossing ... very difficult to put down!
November 6, 2022
21 Jahre ist Lucie Blackman alt, als sie im Jahr 2000 mitten am helllichten Tag in den Straßen Tokios verschwindet. Kurz besteht noch Telefonkontakt zu ihrer Freundin Louise, doch dann – nichts mehr. Ganze 7 Monate ist sie verschwunden, bis man Anfang 2001 ihre zerstückelte Leiche in einer Höhle am Meer entdeckt.
Was ist mit Lucie geschehen? People who eat darkness erzählt uns die wahre Geschichte von Lucie, einem von vielen ausländischen Mädchen, die in den Tokioer Nachtclubs im Roppongi-Viertel als Hostessen arbeiten, einem Job, der für außenstehende oft nicht klar definiert ist. Mädchen, die sich nach der großen Freiheit im Ausland sehnen, ein paar Jahre woanders, bevor sie in England Wurzeln schlagen. Mädchen, die sich irgendwo zwischen Legalität und Illegalität in einem Land bewegen, das sie nicht beschützen kann.
___________
Wow, das war definitiv eines der eindrücklichsten True-Crime-Bücher, die ich je gelesen habe.
Es ist grob in drei Teile gegliedert – dem „Verschwinden“, in dem wir detailreich über Lucies Leben seit ihrer Geburt erfahren, ihre Jugend miterleben, ihren ersten Job als Stewardess. Wir lernen sie kennen, erfahren über die Schulden, die sie in ihren jungen Jahren schon angehäuft hat und die bahnbrechende Idee ihrer Freundin Louise: Nach Japan wollen die beiden gehen, wo man als Hostess in den Nachtclubs einfach Geld verdienen kann.
Nach der Ankunft in Tokio erzählen uns ihre dortigen Kontakte und ihr Tagebuch, wie schwer ihr die Eingewöhnung fiel, wie ihr Selbstbewusstsein bröckelte, als die Boni im Nachtclub ausbleiben, weil sie nicht genug private Dates an Land zieht.
Parry beschreibt uns ihren letzten Tag genau, hat sorgfältig recherchiert, bis zu dem Punkt, an dem sich ihre Spur verliert.
Der zweite Teil ist die „Suche“. Hier steigen wir direkt am Tag nach dem Verschwinden wieder ein und folgen dann vor allem Lucies Familie, ihren zerstrittenen Eltern, die sich mit ihrer Präsenz in Japan abwechseln, ihrer Schwester, die den Vater auf unzähligen Pressekonferenzen begleitet. Immer wieder sehen wir auch Bruchstücke der Polizeiermittlung, dennoch scheint es fast so, als ob die japanische Polizei nur langsam aktiv wird. Erst auf Druck des damaligen Premiers Tony Blair werden übergeordnete Stellen auf den Fall aufmerksam und erst dann kommt der Stein ins Rollen, der träge Polizeiapparat in Bewegung, bis schließlich ein vielversprechender Mann in den Fokus der Ermittler gerät.
Im dritten Teil folgen wir dem Prozess im Fall Lucie Blackman. Wir begleiten weiterhin die Familie, lernen aber auch viel über das japanische Rechtssystem und eine Justiz, die eine Verurteilungsquote von 99% hat – weil sie meist nur reagiert, wenn eine Verurteilung sicher ist.
___________
Ich habe jetzt ziemlich lange an diesem Buch gelesen, aber genau dieses langsame Tempo hat mir geholfen, mich Lucie nahe zu fühlen. Es passiert nicht unfassbar viel, aber das, was passiert, wird sehr eindrücklich dargestellt. Man merkt, das Parry ein guter Journalist mit ausgeprägter Beobachtungsgabe ist.
Besonders interessant fand ich die Schilderungen über das Ausgehviertel von Tokio, den Roppongi. Es ist einfach eine ganz andere Kultur als hier im Westen. Was man unter dem Hostessen-Job verstehen kann, war mir anfangs auch schleierhaft und ich glaube, man muss sich echt etwas einarbeiten, um das zu verstehen. Parry erklärt das alles jedoch sehr nachvollziehbar, auch die Bräuche und Traditionen, die damit einhergehen. Trotzdem ist es auch ein Job, den ich immer noch für sehr gefährlich halte. Kein Wunder, dass da auch anderen Mädchen viel Schlimmes passiert ist.
Schockierend fand ich, wie altmodisch der japanische Polizeiapparat Anfang der 2000er war. Natürlich ist es kritisch, da aus westlicher Sicht drüber zu urteilen, aber dass man da noch ohne PCs gearbeitet hat, dass da alles so ineffektiv ablief… Wahnsinn.
Auch das Justizsystem wird sehr genau durchleuchtet. Mit diesem Schlagwort „Aufklärungsquote 99%“ kann man natürlich groß Eindruck schinden, aber wenn man dann die andere Seite sieht – nämlich, dass man in Japan einfach keinen Prozess beginnt, wenn die Sachlage nicht eindeutig ist oder der Verdächtige gesteht, ist das wiederum sehr ernüchternd. Vor allem in Vergewaltigungsfällen ist das für Frauen ja schrecklich – da hat man oft keine eindeutigen Beweise und dann passiert nach einer Anzeige einfach gar nichts. Könnte ja sonst die tolle Aufklärungsquote beschmutzen.
Wie eingangs schon gesagt – eins der ganz großen True Crime Bücher. Unglaublich trauriger Fall, es hätte so viele andere Mädchen auch treffen können.
Was ist mit Lucie geschehen? People who eat darkness erzählt uns die wahre Geschichte von Lucie, einem von vielen ausländischen Mädchen, die in den Tokioer Nachtclubs im Roppongi-Viertel als Hostessen arbeiten, einem Job, der für außenstehende oft nicht klar definiert ist. Mädchen, die sich nach der großen Freiheit im Ausland sehnen, ein paar Jahre woanders, bevor sie in England Wurzeln schlagen. Mädchen, die sich irgendwo zwischen Legalität und Illegalität in einem Land bewegen, das sie nicht beschützen kann.
___________
Wow, das war definitiv eines der eindrücklichsten True-Crime-Bücher, die ich je gelesen habe.
Es ist grob in drei Teile gegliedert – dem „Verschwinden“, in dem wir detailreich über Lucies Leben seit ihrer Geburt erfahren, ihre Jugend miterleben, ihren ersten Job als Stewardess. Wir lernen sie kennen, erfahren über die Schulden, die sie in ihren jungen Jahren schon angehäuft hat und die bahnbrechende Idee ihrer Freundin Louise: Nach Japan wollen die beiden gehen, wo man als Hostess in den Nachtclubs einfach Geld verdienen kann.
Nach der Ankunft in Tokio erzählen uns ihre dortigen Kontakte und ihr Tagebuch, wie schwer ihr die Eingewöhnung fiel, wie ihr Selbstbewusstsein bröckelte, als die Boni im Nachtclub ausbleiben, weil sie nicht genug private Dates an Land zieht.
Parry beschreibt uns ihren letzten Tag genau, hat sorgfältig recherchiert, bis zu dem Punkt, an dem sich ihre Spur verliert.
Der zweite Teil ist die „Suche“. Hier steigen wir direkt am Tag nach dem Verschwinden wieder ein und folgen dann vor allem Lucies Familie, ihren zerstrittenen Eltern, die sich mit ihrer Präsenz in Japan abwechseln, ihrer Schwester, die den Vater auf unzähligen Pressekonferenzen begleitet. Immer wieder sehen wir auch Bruchstücke der Polizeiermittlung, dennoch scheint es fast so, als ob die japanische Polizei nur langsam aktiv wird. Erst auf Druck des damaligen Premiers Tony Blair werden übergeordnete Stellen auf den Fall aufmerksam und erst dann kommt der Stein ins Rollen, der träge Polizeiapparat in Bewegung, bis schließlich ein vielversprechender Mann in den Fokus der Ermittler gerät.
Im dritten Teil folgen wir dem Prozess im Fall Lucie Blackman. Wir begleiten weiterhin die Familie, lernen aber auch viel über das japanische Rechtssystem und eine Justiz, die eine Verurteilungsquote von 99% hat – weil sie meist nur reagiert, wenn eine Verurteilung sicher ist.
___________
Ich habe jetzt ziemlich lange an diesem Buch gelesen, aber genau dieses langsame Tempo hat mir geholfen, mich Lucie nahe zu fühlen. Es passiert nicht unfassbar viel, aber das, was passiert, wird sehr eindrücklich dargestellt. Man merkt, das Parry ein guter Journalist mit ausgeprägter Beobachtungsgabe ist.
Besonders interessant fand ich die Schilderungen über das Ausgehviertel von Tokio, den Roppongi. Es ist einfach eine ganz andere Kultur als hier im Westen. Was man unter dem Hostessen-Job verstehen kann, war mir anfangs auch schleierhaft und ich glaube, man muss sich echt etwas einarbeiten, um das zu verstehen. Parry erklärt das alles jedoch sehr nachvollziehbar, auch die Bräuche und Traditionen, die damit einhergehen. Trotzdem ist es auch ein Job, den ich immer noch für sehr gefährlich halte. Kein Wunder, dass da auch anderen Mädchen viel Schlimmes passiert ist.
Schockierend fand ich, wie altmodisch der japanische Polizeiapparat Anfang der 2000er war. Natürlich ist es kritisch, da aus westlicher Sicht drüber zu urteilen, aber dass man da noch ohne PCs gearbeitet hat, dass da alles so ineffektiv ablief… Wahnsinn.
Auch das Justizsystem wird sehr genau durchleuchtet. Mit diesem Schlagwort „Aufklärungsquote 99%“ kann man natürlich groß Eindruck schinden, aber wenn man dann die andere Seite sieht – nämlich, dass man in Japan einfach keinen Prozess beginnt, wenn die Sachlage nicht eindeutig ist oder der Verdächtige gesteht, ist das wiederum sehr ernüchternd. Vor allem in Vergewaltigungsfällen ist das für Frauen ja schrecklich – da hat man oft keine eindeutigen Beweise und dann passiert nach einer Anzeige einfach gar nichts. Könnte ja sonst die tolle Aufklärungsquote beschmutzen.
Wie eingangs schon gesagt – eins der ganz großen True Crime Bücher. Unglaublich trauriger Fall, es hätte so viele andere Mädchen auch treffen können.
June 24, 2012
People Who Eat Darkness tells the story of the death of a young British woman, Lucie Blackman, who was raped and killed in Tokyo in 2000. The early reviews that I read promised a grisly, detailed account of a horrific crime. I almost hate to admit it, but I was quite intrigued by these details: I did not recall hearing about this crime when it happened, and the title of the book as well as the reviews just seemed all too titillating to resist. I should have resisted.
****SPOILER ALERT****
While Lucie's death was certainly horrible, the crime itself was rather hum-drum: the murderer, Joji Obara, was in the habit of taking young women to his home, drugging them, raping them, and then, when they awoke, taking them back home. Now, granted, raping unconscious women is depraved and horrific, but there is nothing all that strange or weird about this type of criminal activity: it is, alas, all too common.
In his history of serial rapes, in one case prior to Lucie's, Obara had accidentally killed one of his rape victims by chloroform poisoning. It appears likely that Lucie died under similar circumstances, though an exact cause of death for Lucie was never ascertained. So, Obara was not guilty of premeditated, malicious murder. He was a rapist who unintentionally killed two young women. Again, I am not trying to downplay the despicableness of his crimes, but they are not unusual or particularly gruesome.
Moreover, the title of the book suggests something very ominous and evil: the phrase "people who eat darkness" paints a picture of some macabre, cult-like group who practices strange, evil killings. Instead, we have Joji Obara, a loser who drugs and rapes women. In point of fact, the author never even tells us why he picked the title itself.
Most of the book focuses not on the crime itself but on Lucie and her family and friends and on Obara and his family background. Lucie's family is completely dysfunctional, and the story of her parents' divorce and their continuing ill will towards each other even in the face of Lucie's death plays out like a bad soap opera.
Obara himself is not even an interesting character: as the author repeatedly tells us, there is just not a lot about Obara that we know because Obara had, it seems, no friends at all and intentionally tried to keep a low profile for his entire life, nor was Obara open and forthcoming in providing any information on himself and his background to the author or any other journalists.
People Who Eat Darkness is the story of a serial rapist who accidentally killed two women when he drugged them. It's a sad, pathetic story of the tragic death of young woman at the hands of a serial rapist, but it's not some epic crime drama. Actually, in the annals of crime, it's really a rather boring case.
****SPOILER ALERT****
While Lucie's death was certainly horrible, the crime itself was rather hum-drum: the murderer, Joji Obara, was in the habit of taking young women to his home, drugging them, raping them, and then, when they awoke, taking them back home. Now, granted, raping unconscious women is depraved and horrific, but there is nothing all that strange or weird about this type of criminal activity: it is, alas, all too common.
In his history of serial rapes, in one case prior to Lucie's, Obara had accidentally killed one of his rape victims by chloroform poisoning. It appears likely that Lucie died under similar circumstances, though an exact cause of death for Lucie was never ascertained. So, Obara was not guilty of premeditated, malicious murder. He was a rapist who unintentionally killed two young women. Again, I am not trying to downplay the despicableness of his crimes, but they are not unusual or particularly gruesome.
Moreover, the title of the book suggests something very ominous and evil: the phrase "people who eat darkness" paints a picture of some macabre, cult-like group who practices strange, evil killings. Instead, we have Joji Obara, a loser who drugs and rapes women. In point of fact, the author never even tells us why he picked the title itself.
Most of the book focuses not on the crime itself but on Lucie and her family and friends and on Obara and his family background. Lucie's family is completely dysfunctional, and the story of her parents' divorce and their continuing ill will towards each other even in the face of Lucie's death plays out like a bad soap opera.
Obara himself is not even an interesting character: as the author repeatedly tells us, there is just not a lot about Obara that we know because Obara had, it seems, no friends at all and intentionally tried to keep a low profile for his entire life, nor was Obara open and forthcoming in providing any information on himself and his background to the author or any other journalists.
People Who Eat Darkness is the story of a serial rapist who accidentally killed two women when he drugged them. It's a sad, pathetic story of the tragic death of young woman at the hands of a serial rapist, but it's not some epic crime drama. Actually, in the annals of crime, it's really a rather boring case.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 27, 2022
This true crime book covers, to the extent possible, the life of Lucie Blackman, a young woman from England who moved to Japan to become a bar hostess to try and work off some of the debts she'd worked up early in her working life. It's also the portrait of "Joji Obara" (one of many pseudonyms), a serial rapist who lured Lucie into his home with the promise of a cell phone--a much bigger deal in 2001 than it is now--and who was instrumental in her disappearance and post-mortem dismemberment.
Along with these two portraits, Richard Lloyd Parry fills in the reader with several aspects of Japanese culture that the reader might not be familiar with. An early example is a broad description of its "female entertainer" culture, including the role of a bar hostess. Despite hostess clubs largely being situated in similar neighborhoods to strip clubs and houses of prostitution, the role of the women in a hostess club is only to serve their customers expensive alcohol and flatteringly chat them up.
Where hostess clubs get iffy and risky is in their practice of "dohan." The club basically strong-arms its hostesses to go out on dinner dates with its customers. These dates are subsidized by the customer, and during the meal the hostess acts as a traveling salesperson to encourage the customer to come back to the club and spend more money there. It was on one of these dohan with Obara that Lucie disappeared: a time that she was away from the oversight--and protection--of the club's managers.
Aside from Lucie and Obara, there are a number of portraits of those who were connected with the two: Lucie's immediate family, and Obara's. Obara's family are/were of Korean descent. In Japan they're called "zainichi" and, like many cultural minorities, are subject to poor treatment in Japanese society, a side effect of the colonization of the Korean peninsula and Japan's perception of its own ethnic homogeneity. Lucie's mother Jane and father Tim divorced when Lucie was in her teens.
It was largely due to Tim's thirst for publicity (as I perceived it) that Lucie's disappearance came to light for the Japanese public. On the whole, I can't say I liked either of the parents. Tim came across as a self-serving blowhard. Jane is a fairly passive person who never met a psychic she didn't like and believe.
But that's much of the point of this book. The death of a family member gouged a huge hole in the lives of these flawed people, just as it would anyone else. Lucie's siblings both had crushing mental problems as a direct result. Jane had PTSD. An ordinary death by illness could do as much, and despite what fiction tells us, often there's no closure to be had when a life is cut short. On top of that, the circumstances behind Lucie's death were extraordinary terrible and were accompanied by ten years of trial and appeal before Obara was convicted at the level of the Japanese Supreme Court.
The Japanese justice and trial system are gone into in some detail in the book, too. The police system is also very different from our own, and subject to its own bureaucratic foibles, inadequacies, and corruption.
One major flaw of this book for me was that Obara's portrait was longer and more detailed than Lucie's. There are reasons for that: Lucie died at age 21, and Parry only came to know her at second hand from her family members and documents like her diary; Obara was in his 40s or 50s when he was arrested, and still living as of the writing of this book. Although Obara had no friends or spouse, there were many people who came in contact with him as a property owner, neighbor, or customer. His trial, too, revealed other aspects of his character.
The end result is that I got a much more concrete idea of Obara than I did of Lucie. Lucie never had the opportunity to grow beyond young adulthood, to move past her reckless decision to work in Tokyo as an undocumented worker... to develop a full life, whatever that might have been for her. In true crime, it seems like it's hard to not make the victim's death overshadow their life. While Parry's efforts to portray Lucie were admirably diligent, it wasn't quite enough.
Along with these two portraits, Richard Lloyd Parry fills in the reader with several aspects of Japanese culture that the reader might not be familiar with. An early example is a broad description of its "female entertainer" culture, including the role of a bar hostess. Despite hostess clubs largely being situated in similar neighborhoods to strip clubs and houses of prostitution, the role of the women in a hostess club is only to serve their customers expensive alcohol and flatteringly chat them up.
Where hostess clubs get iffy and risky is in their practice of "dohan." The club basically strong-arms its hostesses to go out on dinner dates with its customers. These dates are subsidized by the customer, and during the meal the hostess acts as a traveling salesperson to encourage the customer to come back to the club and spend more money there. It was on one of these dohan with Obara that Lucie disappeared: a time that she was away from the oversight--and protection--of the club's managers.
Aside from Lucie and Obara, there are a number of portraits of those who were connected with the two: Lucie's immediate family, and Obara's. Obara's family are/were of Korean descent. In Japan they're called "zainichi" and, like many cultural minorities, are subject to poor treatment in Japanese society, a side effect of the colonization of the Korean peninsula and Japan's perception of its own ethnic homogeneity. Lucie's mother Jane and father Tim divorced when Lucie was in her teens.
It was largely due to Tim's thirst for publicity (as I perceived it) that Lucie's disappearance came to light for the Japanese public. On the whole, I can't say I liked either of the parents. Tim came across as a self-serving blowhard. Jane is a fairly passive person who never met a psychic she didn't like and believe.
But that's much of the point of this book. The death of a family member gouged a huge hole in the lives of these flawed people, just as it would anyone else. Lucie's siblings both had crushing mental problems as a direct result. Jane had PTSD. An ordinary death by illness could do as much, and despite what fiction tells us, often there's no closure to be had when a life is cut short. On top of that, the circumstances behind Lucie's death were extraordinary terrible and were accompanied by ten years of trial and appeal before Obara was convicted at the level of the Japanese Supreme Court.
The Japanese justice and trial system are gone into in some detail in the book, too. The police system is also very different from our own, and subject to its own bureaucratic foibles, inadequacies, and corruption.
One major flaw of this book for me was that Obara's portrait was longer and more detailed than Lucie's. There are reasons for that: Lucie died at age 21, and Parry only came to know her at second hand from her family members and documents like her diary; Obara was in his 40s or 50s when he was arrested, and still living as of the writing of this book. Although Obara had no friends or spouse, there were many people who came in contact with him as a property owner, neighbor, or customer. His trial, too, revealed other aspects of his character.
The end result is that I got a much more concrete idea of Obara than I did of Lucie. Lucie never had the opportunity to grow beyond young adulthood, to move past her reckless decision to work in Tokyo as an undocumented worker... to develop a full life, whatever that might have been for her. In true crime, it seems like it's hard to not make the victim's death overshadow their life. While Parry's efforts to portray Lucie were admirably diligent, it wasn't quite enough.
July 24, 2012
You kn0w going in that this isn't going to pretty and probably won't have a happy ending. That seems to be the nature of True Crime.
People Who Eat Darkness begins in the year 2000 with the disappearance of Lucie Blackman, once a British Airways flight attendant, who comes to Tokyo to be a hostess in the seamy Roppongi district. How did Lucie end up in here? The author, Richard Lloyd Parry does a thorough investigation and reporting of the case. Like the best of the true crime writers he does his research and leaves no stone unturned.
There is a lot to think about here. You are privy to interviews with Lucie's old boyfriends, her women friends, her co-workers, and the men she entertained as a hostess but the most poignant are those with her family. Her mother, Jane and father, Tim, had divorced bitterly early on in Lucie's life. Jane and Tim are central components to the story, and what they do or don't do comes under heavy scrutiny. As I read, her parents often frustrate me and don't always act as I think they would. This could be the fault of the author's portrayal of them. Of course my heart goes out to each as they search for their missing daughter and wonder at her fate. My main sympathies however, are saved for Lucie's sister, Sophie, who is left to deal with the horror of her missing sister without the strength of parents standing together in this evolving tragedy. Though there is a younger brother too; Rupert, he is away at school, and seems somewhat removed from all that is unfolding.
quoted from the book:
"People are afraid of stories like Lucie's, stories about meaningless, brutal, premature death, but most of them cannot own up to their fear. So they take comfort in moral judgments, which they brandish like burning branches waved in the night to keep off the wolves>" Perhaps I am guilty of this.
Even with the dread of knowing the eventual outcome of Luci's fate, I could not help but be fascinated by Japan's justice system, and how it differs from ours. Parry does an excellent job of explaining this. He also writes with sensitivity on a subject that is too horrible to imagine.
This is not a book for the weak stomached. It is graphic telling, a very sad story of a smart, attractive, young woman, whose life is cut short by a cunning, serial rapist and murderer. I won't give him the attention of even typing his name. I'd prefer to remember Lucie Blackman.
People Who Eat Darkness begins in the year 2000 with the disappearance of Lucie Blackman, once a British Airways flight attendant, who comes to Tokyo to be a hostess in the seamy Roppongi district. How did Lucie end up in here? The author, Richard Lloyd Parry does a thorough investigation and reporting of the case. Like the best of the true crime writers he does his research and leaves no stone unturned.
There is a lot to think about here. You are privy to interviews with Lucie's old boyfriends, her women friends, her co-workers, and the men she entertained as a hostess but the most poignant are those with her family. Her mother, Jane and father, Tim, had divorced bitterly early on in Lucie's life. Jane and Tim are central components to the story, and what they do or don't do comes under heavy scrutiny. As I read, her parents often frustrate me and don't always act as I think they would. This could be the fault of the author's portrayal of them. Of course my heart goes out to each as they search for their missing daughter and wonder at her fate. My main sympathies however, are saved for Lucie's sister, Sophie, who is left to deal with the horror of her missing sister without the strength of parents standing together in this evolving tragedy. Though there is a younger brother too; Rupert, he is away at school, and seems somewhat removed from all that is unfolding.
quoted from the book:
"People are afraid of stories like Lucie's, stories about meaningless, brutal, premature death, but most of them cannot own up to their fear. So they take comfort in moral judgments, which they brandish like burning branches waved in the night to keep off the wolves>" Perhaps I am guilty of this.
Even with the dread of knowing the eventual outcome of Luci's fate, I could not help but be fascinated by Japan's justice system, and how it differs from ours. Parry does an excellent job of explaining this. He also writes with sensitivity on a subject that is too horrible to imagine.
This is not a book for the weak stomached. It is graphic telling, a very sad story of a smart, attractive, young woman, whose life is cut short by a cunning, serial rapist and murderer. I won't give him the attention of even typing his name. I'd prefer to remember Lucie Blackman.
December 29, 2018
For fans of the book In Cold Blood this true crime tale should be a riveting read.
March 4, 2017
I have mixed feelings about this book which tells the true story of the disappearance and murder of a young English woman in Tokyo and the ensuing trial of the murderer. It is almost a case study of the difficulties encountered when two very different cultures attempt to work together to find the victim and bring the murderer to account. The book is about 150 pages too long and is filled with minutiae that doesn't necessarily move the story forward. This caused me to give it a little lower rating than maybe it deserved.
The positive aspects of the story are the introduction of the complexities of the Japanese "guilty till proven innocent" legal system; the ambiguous role of the "hostess" clubs which employ Western young women to entertain Japanese businessmen; the rather strange investigative methods of the Tokyo police; and the overall cultural environment of modern day Tokyo. These elements were more interesting than the actual mystery of the missing young woman and her family's efforts to find her.
By the way, I have no idea what the title means!!!
The positive aspects of the story are the introduction of the complexities of the Japanese "guilty till proven innocent" legal system; the ambiguous role of the "hostess" clubs which employ Western young women to entertain Japanese businessmen; the rather strange investigative methods of the Tokyo police; and the overall cultural environment of modern day Tokyo. These elements were more interesting than the actual mystery of the missing young woman and her family's efforts to find her.
By the way, I have no idea what the title means!!!
March 5, 2013
Well crafted true crime story. Learned alot about the Japanese semi-underground "hostess" culture as well as their criminal justice system. Quite chilling at times, but what Parry did best (IMO) was in his written observations of grief in all its manifestations. Writing about how the family/friends of Lucie Blackman dealt with losing her is brilliantly penned and framed within the context of the long search for Lucie, through the investigation, the subsequent trial and the aftermath.
As an aside, this would make a good companion book with: Midnight in Peking: How the Murder of a Young Englishwoman Haunted the Last Days of Old China. Both are excellent true crime books spotlighting the cultural differences/biases that can occur with a murder of a foreigner in a foreign land.
As an aside, this would make a good companion book with: Midnight in Peking: How the Murder of a Young Englishwoman Haunted the Last Days of Old China. Both are excellent true crime books spotlighting the cultural differences/biases that can occur with a murder of a foreigner in a foreign land.
May 2, 2022
I don’t read true crime, or I didn’t, or at least it’s not something that attracts me. The title didn’t sell me and after reading the book I don’t even know why this is the title, and the sub-title is really fucking stupid. I was drawn to it simply because it takes place in Japan. I despise the voyeuristic appeal to these stories of attractive women as victims, as if fat, ugly girls aren’t worth talking about. I am currently fascinated with Japan and all things Japanese. I should just go live there and get it out of my system.
What we learn about from this book is the not-so-underground world of the Japanese sex for hire industry which isn’t always even about sex.
The book also gives the reader a good look at the Japanese justice system that seems totally bizarre to this Westerner. Trials that take months with perhaps a month between court days, instead of a jury a team of judges decide the verdict, and the conviction rate of almost one hundred percent with the down side of that being that many cases never go to trial. The police rely on confessions for almost every case.
The killer in this story is just about the biggest piece of shit, evil human I've come across in my crime reading. I think he's still alive somewhere, hopefully behind bars. How I wish that I could visit his cell for thirty minutes. I don't often have these fantasies of revenge, but if ever a man needed to be stomped into dust, it's this murderous creep.
What we learn about from this book is the not-so-underground world of the Japanese sex for hire industry which isn’t always even about sex.
The book also gives the reader a good look at the Japanese justice system that seems totally bizarre to this Westerner. Trials that take months with perhaps a month between court days, instead of a jury a team of judges decide the verdict, and the conviction rate of almost one hundred percent with the down side of that being that many cases never go to trial. The police rely on confessions for almost every case.
The killer in this story is just about the biggest piece of shit, evil human I've come across in my crime reading. I think he's still alive somewhere, hopefully behind bars. How I wish that I could visit his cell for thirty minutes. I don't often have these fantasies of revenge, but if ever a man needed to be stomped into dust, it's this murderous creep.
January 9, 2016
Fascinating true crime story of Lucie Blackman's disappearance in Japan. From Parry's reporting readers learn about not only Lucie and her attacker, but also much about Japan itself.
April 4, 2020
I have really been enjoying true crime lately, and have had this on my Audible wishlist for a long time - nearly 2 years. With a title like that, it had to be interesting, right? Kinda. The story of missing Lucie Blackman was interesting and quite layered and varied, and ultimately tragic, but... not what I thought it would be from the title. More on that in a bit.
There WILL be spoilers below, so proceed at your own risk.
OK. So, as I mentioned, the title for this book is... misleading. This is a written account of the investigation into Lucie's disappearance from Tokyo, what led up to it, and what had happened to her. It talks about how her disappearance and loss affected her family and friends. It talks about the differences between Japanese and Western (in this case, mostly British) cultures, including how very different the investigation and judicial processes are.
But what it is not, is a book about "people" who "eat darkness" - which to me implies that there's a secret society or subculture of many people who conspire to commit nefarious and heinous acts against women. I honestly expected this to be about the sex slave trade. I expected this to be an investigation into a crime ring that was only uncovered because of this one case, and the multiple people involved who could be described as evil darkness eaters.
That it is not. Lucie Blackman was unlucky, in that she met ONE man who had a habit of drugging and raping women while videotaping and meticulously keeping journal records about them. Sometimes these women died, because he was, let us say, excessively liberal in his application of the chemicals (GHB, rohypnol, & chloroform) he used to keep them unconscious while he raped them. But he did not set out or nefariously plot to murder them or otherwise take them out of the world. Many of the women he raped lived to tell the tale - a little worse for wear, sick, and hurt... they had a bad night that they weren't even aware of... but they were not murdered. He even drove many of them home the next day. He was not part of a ring of criminals who exploited foreign, naive women. He was literally a loner and socially isolated himself from people as much as possible his entire life. He considered what he did "conquest play" - a sort of fetish, and thought that the women "consented" by entering his home of their own accord.
I guess if one wants to be VERY generous in their interpretation, one could look at the fact that this man, referred throughout the book as Joji Obara, had reinvented himself many times through his life, using different names and identities, one could potentially view his actions as the work of "people". But I'm not that generous. One man was the cause of Lucie's disappearance and death. One.
The eating darkness aspect is also a mystery to me. This makes it seem like the worst kind of seedy underworld depravity was going on... but in reality, it was one socially inept, fetish driven man who needed to sexually control women, and did so chemically, and unfortunately fatally.
So, in conclusion: This title is essentially clickbait garbage.
One more thing before I move on. I don't want it to be misconstrued based on my comments above that what Obara did to these women was not all that bad. It was that bad. It was horrific and sickening. Listening to the descriptions of the videos detailing the rapes, I literally had a visceral reaction and felt nauseous. I don't want my comments, like "they had a bad night that they weren't even aware of" to be seen as minimizing what they experienced. I absolutely am not saying that. They encountered a monster, and thankfully survived him, but what they experienced is NOT minimal or unimportant or trivial at all. My point above is entirely about this book's title being misleading about the nature and scope of the "evil" perpetrated by the "people who eat darkness" - which again was ONE man.
That being said... the actual contents are better. I have issues there as well, but I'm not nearly as annoyed as I am with the title.
Things that I liked about the contents:
1) The humanization of Lucie Blackman. Parry didn't shy away from or try to retroactively perfect her into some angelic victim. She was portrayed here as a real person, who was loved and missed, but who was also flawed and insecure and made questionable choices and bad decisions. But she was also young and had, by most standards, time to figure all of that out. Except that time was cut short.
2) The destigmatization of escort and sex work. This is different, and based on this book (because I am no expert and just going on what was written here), much more nuanced in Japanese culture than in western culture. Lucie was what is called a "Hostess" in an area of Tokyo (Roppongi) where there is a large international population and very active nightlife and club scene. Her job was basically a sort of specialized waitress, in that she would wait on and flirt and engage with men who came into the club(s) in order to get them to spend time and money there. Part of the job is to go on offsite dohan dates with clients, in order to appear more interested in them so that they will return to the club again and again because they enjoy the hostess' company.
There are many different types of jobs like this, with many different levels of... engagement. Some it's purely conversation and flirting and pretending to find some mid-level manager type to be the most fascinating man ever met so that he will keep buying drinks and keep coming back... and others are more physical. There are well understood unwritten rules and boundaries within these establishments. The men understand that the interaction is a fantasy meant to stroke their ego, and the women understand that they must act the part to make the money and keep the job.
This is not prostitution. Though, even if it was, it doesn't make the women less worthy. Sex work is just work. And I liked that Parry managed to walk the line between portraying the assumptions and biases and stereotypes about the people who do this kind of "selling of one's self" work - whether that's physical intercourse or flirtation fantasy - and managing to convey that he himself does not see these woman as throwaway trash because of the way that they made their living. I appreciated that he was able to show that these were real people worthy of love and respect and justice for crimes committed against them, and didn't just play into the "only worthless girls sell themselves so who cares about them?" stigma.
Parry wrote about these women, and particularly Lucie, in a way that shows that they clearly mattered. To their families, to their friends, to society, and to him - even though he would only come to know them after the worst events of their lives - and I appreciated that.
3) I liked the detailed information provided about the workings of the Japanese police and judicial system. This was utterly fascinating, and probably the most "foreign" aspect of the book to me. I, thankfully, have never encountered any serious legal trouble at all, but despite that, it's hard to not be at least somewhat familiar with the American judicial system. But my goodness, the Japanese process is SO different! The philosophy of getting the suspect to confess as being the first and most important part of the process is baffling to me. Confessions are great, but maybe, I don't know... investigate too? Leaving the investigation until after the suspect has told you everything just seems bizarre and SO problematic - as it was in this case, where Obara absolutely refused to confess. Which means that much of the evidence in the case was allowed to degrade/be lost by the time that the police had no other choice but to go out looking for it because he wouldn't make it easy for them. Which is just... bizarre to me. I understand it's cultural, but it's so strange to sit on an investigation while continuing to bombard the suspect with the same questions for weeks on end in the hope of wearing them down. Usually, I guess, that works. But when it doesn't, it seriously hampers a case. Like this one.
And having the case decided by 3 judges, no jury, is strange to me. I mean, I guess we have tribunals as well, but those are for specific types of cases. The way that the case was presented and adjudicated was strange too, in that Obara was officially acquitted initially of Lucie's murder, but convicted on several rapes and given life in prison (typically about 30 years). And then, because ANY party can appeal a decision, not just the defense (who did) the prosecutors appealed to try to get the conviction. Which they eventually did for Lucie's abduction, rape, and dismemberment... but NOT her death. I guess because he didn't INTENTIONALLY set out to murder her, and she likely died "accidentally" due to the chemicals... leaving Obara having to dispose of her body somehow. JUST. BIZARRE.
4) I liked the fair way that Parry wrote about Lucie's father, Tim. Tim... did not react or act like anyone expected him to. He grieved differently, he behaved differently, he thought differently... and for that, his motives and intentions and his feelings were called into question over and over and over again. Parry mentions, toward the end of the book, that we who have never lost a family member to abduction and murder and dismemberment like he had, cannot say how we would think or act or behave - and I agree. I don't know how I would react. I can't say for certain that I wouldn't do some of the same things he did. None of us can until we are in that position, which we all hope to never find ourselves in.
So, let's move on to some things that I disliked.
1) The intricate and extremely detailed, and ultimately unnecessary, plethora of background information. On Obara's relatives and their histories and personalities and such... of Louise, of Lucie's friends and family, of other victims and their family and relationships... It was all SO MUCH. I get wanting to paint the full picture and give these people fair representation, but some of it was just so unnecessary to this investigation, and was just... mind-numbing amounts of detail that I admit I zoned out quite frequently to.
2) The amount of words given to the "supernatural" element that two of Obara's victims' mothers believed in. It's nice to think that our loved ones are still with us, sending us signs, etc... but relating their consulting of mediums and portraying that as though it's real, even if only to them? Come on. This is just opportunistic cons profiting off of their grief, and I didn't like it being given screentime here. Also in this category is the conman that claimed to know what had happened to Lucie, who took hundreds of thousands of pounds from Tim to bring her home... despite not being involved at all, knowing literally NOTHING about her other than that she was missing and they were desperate to find her.
3) The massively unfair way that Jane Blackman portrayed her ex-husband Tim. I get that she was hurt by him divorcing her and leaving, but... that was years before and he was Lucie's father and was entitled to her as well. Jane continually acted as though because Tim left and wasn't as active a father, that he wasn't allowed to care or grieve or claim Lucie in any way. Ignoring the fact that if it wasn't for him keeping her story alive in the public eye through press-conferences and such, that the investigation would have quietly died and nobody would ever know what happened to her, AND Obara would be free to rape and potentially take more lives. Instead, Jane demonizes him for every action and decision, and behaves as though he's the scum of the earth.
To be fair, he did take money from Obara, which DID NOT influence in any way the decision in the trial, but to Jane, this proves how terrible a person he is. I don't agree. I can understand taking the money after so many years and so much expense to find the truth... it's a small compensation for everything they've lost - but it does not mean that he didn't love his daughter, or that she was only worth a finite amount of Yen to him.
4) The confusing writing style. Obara's "defense" was confusing and muddled, and illogical and erratic... and the telling of it, both during the investigation phase and the trial phase, was just confusing and hard to follow. It was really... jumpy. It felt like it was all over the place and just really confusing.
5) Parry's involvement at the end - he included letters threatening him and a lawsuit brought against him by Obara for libel, etc. I get why he included this (full disclosure and transparency and all) but honestly, I couldn't have cared less and it felt a little self-serving.
So... that's a lot. Overall... I thought that this was OK. I am glad that they eventually found her and got justice for her, but getting there was very tedious and overly long and cumbersome. Still, it could have been worse. Simon Vance read this audio, so even when the narrative was less than engaging or confusing, the narration kept me going. 3 stars overall. I think that it could have definitely been edited down a bit and clarified more to make it easier to follow and more focused.
There WILL be spoilers below, so proceed at your own risk.
OK. So, as I mentioned, the title for this book is... misleading. This is a written account of the investigation into Lucie's disappearance from Tokyo, what led up to it, and what had happened to her. It talks about how her disappearance and loss affected her family and friends. It talks about the differences between Japanese and Western (in this case, mostly British) cultures, including how very different the investigation and judicial processes are.
But what it is not, is a book about "people" who "eat darkness" - which to me implies that there's a secret society or subculture of many people who conspire to commit nefarious and heinous acts against women. I honestly expected this to be about the sex slave trade. I expected this to be an investigation into a crime ring that was only uncovered because of this one case, and the multiple people involved who could be described as evil darkness eaters.
That it is not. Lucie Blackman was unlucky, in that she met ONE man who had a habit of drugging and raping women while videotaping and meticulously keeping journal records about them. Sometimes these women died, because he was, let us say, excessively liberal in his application of the chemicals (GHB, rohypnol, & chloroform) he used to keep them unconscious while he raped them. But he did not set out or nefariously plot to murder them or otherwise take them out of the world. Many of the women he raped lived to tell the tale - a little worse for wear, sick, and hurt... they had a bad night that they weren't even aware of... but they were not murdered. He even drove many of them home the next day. He was not part of a ring of criminals who exploited foreign, naive women. He was literally a loner and socially isolated himself from people as much as possible his entire life. He considered what he did "conquest play" - a sort of fetish, and thought that the women "consented" by entering his home of their own accord.
I guess if one wants to be VERY generous in their interpretation, one could look at the fact that this man, referred throughout the book as Joji Obara, had reinvented himself many times through his life, using different names and identities, one could potentially view his actions as the work of "people". But I'm not that generous. One man was the cause of Lucie's disappearance and death. One.
The eating darkness aspect is also a mystery to me. This makes it seem like the worst kind of seedy underworld depravity was going on... but in reality, it was one socially inept, fetish driven man who needed to sexually control women, and did so chemically, and unfortunately fatally.
So, in conclusion: This title is essentially clickbait garbage.
One more thing before I move on. I don't want it to be misconstrued based on my comments above that what Obara did to these women was not all that bad. It was that bad. It was horrific and sickening. Listening to the descriptions of the videos detailing the rapes, I literally had a visceral reaction and felt nauseous. I don't want my comments, like "they had a bad night that they weren't even aware of" to be seen as minimizing what they experienced. I absolutely am not saying that. They encountered a monster, and thankfully survived him, but what they experienced is NOT minimal or unimportant or trivial at all. My point above is entirely about this book's title being misleading about the nature and scope of the "evil" perpetrated by the "people who eat darkness" - which again was ONE man.
That being said... the actual contents are better. I have issues there as well, but I'm not nearly as annoyed as I am with the title.
Things that I liked about the contents:
1) The humanization of Lucie Blackman. Parry didn't shy away from or try to retroactively perfect her into some angelic victim. She was portrayed here as a real person, who was loved and missed, but who was also flawed and insecure and made questionable choices and bad decisions. But she was also young and had, by most standards, time to figure all of that out. Except that time was cut short.
2) The destigmatization of escort and sex work. This is different, and based on this book (because I am no expert and just going on what was written here), much more nuanced in Japanese culture than in western culture. Lucie was what is called a "Hostess" in an area of Tokyo (Roppongi) where there is a large international population and very active nightlife and club scene. Her job was basically a sort of specialized waitress, in that she would wait on and flirt and engage with men who came into the club(s) in order to get them to spend time and money there. Part of the job is to go on offsite dohan dates with clients, in order to appear more interested in them so that they will return to the club again and again because they enjoy the hostess' company.
There are many different types of jobs like this, with many different levels of... engagement. Some it's purely conversation and flirting and pretending to find some mid-level manager type to be the most fascinating man ever met so that he will keep buying drinks and keep coming back... and others are more physical. There are well understood unwritten rules and boundaries within these establishments. The men understand that the interaction is a fantasy meant to stroke their ego, and the women understand that they must act the part to make the money and keep the job.
This is not prostitution. Though, even if it was, it doesn't make the women less worthy. Sex work is just work. And I liked that Parry managed to walk the line between portraying the assumptions and biases and stereotypes about the people who do this kind of "selling of one's self" work - whether that's physical intercourse or flirtation fantasy - and managing to convey that he himself does not see these woman as throwaway trash because of the way that they made their living. I appreciated that he was able to show that these were real people worthy of love and respect and justice for crimes committed against them, and didn't just play into the "only worthless girls sell themselves so who cares about them?" stigma.
Parry wrote about these women, and particularly Lucie, in a way that shows that they clearly mattered. To their families, to their friends, to society, and to him - even though he would only come to know them after the worst events of their lives - and I appreciated that.
3) I liked the detailed information provided about the workings of the Japanese police and judicial system. This was utterly fascinating, and probably the most "foreign" aspect of the book to me. I, thankfully, have never encountered any serious legal trouble at all, but despite that, it's hard to not be at least somewhat familiar with the American judicial system. But my goodness, the Japanese process is SO different! The philosophy of getting the suspect to confess as being the first and most important part of the process is baffling to me. Confessions are great, but maybe, I don't know... investigate too? Leaving the investigation until after the suspect has told you everything just seems bizarre and SO problematic - as it was in this case, where Obara absolutely refused to confess. Which means that much of the evidence in the case was allowed to degrade/be lost by the time that the police had no other choice but to go out looking for it because he wouldn't make it easy for them. Which is just... bizarre to me. I understand it's cultural, but it's so strange to sit on an investigation while continuing to bombard the suspect with the same questions for weeks on end in the hope of wearing them down. Usually, I guess, that works. But when it doesn't, it seriously hampers a case. Like this one.
And having the case decided by 3 judges, no jury, is strange to me. I mean, I guess we have tribunals as well, but those are for specific types of cases. The way that the case was presented and adjudicated was strange too, in that Obara was officially acquitted initially of Lucie's murder, but convicted on several rapes and given life in prison (typically about 30 years). And then, because ANY party can appeal a decision, not just the defense (who did) the prosecutors appealed to try to get the conviction. Which they eventually did for Lucie's abduction, rape, and dismemberment... but NOT her death. I guess because he didn't INTENTIONALLY set out to murder her, and she likely died "accidentally" due to the chemicals... leaving Obara having to dispose of her body somehow. JUST. BIZARRE.
4) I liked the fair way that Parry wrote about Lucie's father, Tim. Tim... did not react or act like anyone expected him to. He grieved differently, he behaved differently, he thought differently... and for that, his motives and intentions and his feelings were called into question over and over and over again. Parry mentions, toward the end of the book, that we who have never lost a family member to abduction and murder and dismemberment like he had, cannot say how we would think or act or behave - and I agree. I don't know how I would react. I can't say for certain that I wouldn't do some of the same things he did. None of us can until we are in that position, which we all hope to never find ourselves in.
So, let's move on to some things that I disliked.
1) The intricate and extremely detailed, and ultimately unnecessary, plethora of background information. On Obara's relatives and their histories and personalities and such... of Louise, of Lucie's friends and family, of other victims and their family and relationships... It was all SO MUCH. I get wanting to paint the full picture and give these people fair representation, but some of it was just so unnecessary to this investigation, and was just... mind-numbing amounts of detail that I admit I zoned out quite frequently to.
2) The amount of words given to the "supernatural" element that two of Obara's victims' mothers believed in. It's nice to think that our loved ones are still with us, sending us signs, etc... but relating their consulting of mediums and portraying that as though it's real, even if only to them? Come on. This is just opportunistic cons profiting off of their grief, and I didn't like it being given screentime here. Also in this category is the conman that claimed to know what had happened to Lucie, who took hundreds of thousands of pounds from Tim to bring her home... despite not being involved at all, knowing literally NOTHING about her other than that she was missing and they were desperate to find her.
3) The massively unfair way that Jane Blackman portrayed her ex-husband Tim. I get that she was hurt by him divorcing her and leaving, but... that was years before and he was Lucie's father and was entitled to her as well. Jane continually acted as though because Tim left and wasn't as active a father, that he wasn't allowed to care or grieve or claim Lucie in any way. Ignoring the fact that if it wasn't for him keeping her story alive in the public eye through press-conferences and such, that the investigation would have quietly died and nobody would ever know what happened to her, AND Obara would be free to rape and potentially take more lives. Instead, Jane demonizes him for every action and decision, and behaves as though he's the scum of the earth.
To be fair, he did take money from Obara, which DID NOT influence in any way the decision in the trial, but to Jane, this proves how terrible a person he is. I don't agree. I can understand taking the money after so many years and so much expense to find the truth... it's a small compensation for everything they've lost - but it does not mean that he didn't love his daughter, or that she was only worth a finite amount of Yen to him.
4) The confusing writing style. Obara's "defense" was confusing and muddled, and illogical and erratic... and the telling of it, both during the investigation phase and the trial phase, was just confusing and hard to follow. It was really... jumpy. It felt like it was all over the place and just really confusing.
5) Parry's involvement at the end - he included letters threatening him and a lawsuit brought against him by Obara for libel, etc. I get why he included this (full disclosure and transparency and all) but honestly, I couldn't have cared less and it felt a little self-serving.
So... that's a lot. Overall... I thought that this was OK. I am glad that they eventually found her and got justice for her, but getting there was very tedious and overly long and cumbersome. Still, it could have been worse. Simon Vance read this audio, so even when the narrative was less than engaging or confusing, the narration kept me going. 3 stars overall. I think that it could have definitely been edited down a bit and clarified more to make it easier to follow and more focused.
January 28, 2019
One of the first true crime books I ever read and I’d still class it as one of the scariest. Lucie Blackman worked as a hostess in the Roppongi district of Tokyo. Although this sounds sordid it’s actually more of a meet up, chat and light my cigarette scenario and I guess a chance for the men of East Asia to enjoy the company of a beautiful blonde Western Girl. At the age of 21 Blackman had gone to Tokyo in an attempt to earn enough to pay off her debts and on the 1st July 2000 she went on a douhan, which is a paid date. This was the last anyone saw of her.
People Who Eat Darkness is definitely a slow burner. The prologue is a brief overview of Lucie and after there is a lengthy introduction to Tokyo and it’s culture. This is important because it gives you an idea of the environment Lucie was living in before she disappeared; this in itself is frightening because it seems such an overwhelming and frantic place. There is also a creeping feeling of isolation and helplessness, which increases with each chapter. Her family goes to Tokyo to aid the authorities and drum up a media campaign but everything seemed so slow and difficult and the frustration of the relatives oozes from the pages.
Parry writes this like a hopeless horror story with Lucie seemingly vanishing without a trace into the seedy Tokyo underworld and as I had no prior knowledge of the case I wasn’t sure if anyone had been charged but when the perpetrator is finally revealed you come to expect the Devil.
Definitely still a book I think about, conjuring feelings of cold and dark. A brilliantly written account of a tragic death.
People Who Eat Darkness is definitely a slow burner. The prologue is a brief overview of Lucie and after there is a lengthy introduction to Tokyo and it’s culture. This is important because it gives you an idea of the environment Lucie was living in before she disappeared; this in itself is frightening because it seems such an overwhelming and frantic place. There is also a creeping feeling of isolation and helplessness, which increases with each chapter. Her family goes to Tokyo to aid the authorities and drum up a media campaign but everything seemed so slow and difficult and the frustration of the relatives oozes from the pages.
Parry writes this like a hopeless horror story with Lucie seemingly vanishing without a trace into the seedy Tokyo underworld and as I had no prior knowledge of the case I wasn’t sure if anyone had been charged but when the perpetrator is finally revealed you come to expect the Devil.
Definitely still a book I think about, conjuring feelings of cold and dark. A brilliantly written account of a tragic death.
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