But this was the land of the greatest economic miracle of the century, and I intended to be part of it. I would study Zen Buddhism, work on my writing, and learn the secrets of this inscrutable country. A year or two would suffice, I thought. Little did I know that Japan would gradually become my home, the base for my family and career.

In getting to know the other gaijin (literally, "outsiders") who had journeyed here in the 70's, I began to think of the Japanese islands, and Tokyo in particular, as the very ends of the earth. The country attracted such an array of artists, vagabonds, Asiaphiles, gold-diggers and drop-outs, whether you were running away from something, or searching for something, it seemed to be about as far away from the rest of the world as you could get. The Japanese themselves tolerated our presence. They needed us to teach them the language of international commerce, and to act as information conduits. There was plenty of work to be had teaching English, translating technical documents, proofreading copy, and narrating tapes. The only limit on how much one could earn was the number of hours one was willing to work.

During my first several years in Japan, I was fascinated by the culture and the people I encountered. To share my discoveries with others, I wrote feature articles about the country for hotel and travel magazines, for business periodicals and international newspapers. I also wanted to network with local poets and novelists, as well as journalists, so I founded a writers group in 1977, loftily known as the Tokyo English Literature Society. We began holding contests for poetry and fiction, issued a bimonthly newsletter, organized public readings, conducted monthly workshops, and published chapbooks of our members' work. The group survived moves from a coffee house to a bookstore to a culture center, and endured several generations of editors, critics, and event coordinators, to emerge twenty years later as the Tokyo Writers Workshop and its literary quarterly, Printed Matter. Starting that group and small press remains one of the finest accomplishments of my life in Japan. I was also wise enough to let others take over the organization just about the same time my own creative energies were going into The Last Book.

Such a large part of my life is tied to Japan, I can scarely begin to recount the many highlights of living here. I climbed to the top of Mt. Fuji for the first and only time in 1976. Two years later, I married a Japanese woman, who helped me learn to speak Japanese well enough to get out of trouble as well as into it. By 1980, I had made writing my primary means of support, allowing me to visit steel mills, whisky distilleries, government ministries, dairy farms, discotheques, rice cracker bakeries... meet such famous celebrities as musician David Byrne, poets Richard Brautigan and Anthony Thwaite, actress Jacqueline Bissett, and billionaire Malcolm Forbes... all in the name of research.

Living in Japan has let me travel beyond the capitol, from Osaka to Hokkaido, from the Pacific Coast to the Japan Sea. I've seen kabuki theater and horseback archery, sumo wrestling and 500cc motorcycle racing. In the 70's, I saw a homerun hit by Yomiuri Giants' slugger Sadaharu Oh on his way to breaking Hank Aaron's career record. I've heard not only lute recitals in concert halls and ancient gagaku court music played in temples, but also Carlos Santana at the Budokan and the Rolling Stones at Tokyo's domed stadium, the Big Egg. I have encountered all manner of exotic food, been buried in healing cedar chips, bathed in sulfurous outdoor hot springs, and managed to overcome one of my greatest personal fears: singing karaoke. I have fished the local waters for mackerel, red snapper, black bass, and rainbow trout. I have shopped the local stores for porcelain dolls, lacquerware, embroidered silk, and woodblock prints. I've been to highly ritualized weddings, tea ceremonies, and funerals. I even participated in a firewalk seminar, crossing fifteen feet of hot coals in my bare feet.