Publishers of Edo

Starting in January, the NHK Taiga drama "Berabou: Tsutaju Eiga no Yumebanashi" will begin, featuring the Edo-period publisher Tsutaya Juzaburo (1750–1796, hereafter Tsutaju) as the protagonist. I research Santo Kyozan (1769–1858), the younger brother of the ukiyo-e artist and gesaku writer Santo Kyoden (1761–1816) who was active during Tsutaju's time, so I am very much looking forward to a Taiga drama where an Edo publisher is the main character.

I don't know if he will appear in "Berabou," but Kyozan has often been depicted as a villain in past dramas because Kyokutei Bakin (1767–1848) slandered him in "Iwademono-ki."

That's true.

Kyozan became a gesaku writer in the early 19th century, after the death of the first Tsutaju. This was around the time when a new style called "gokan"—which followed the "kibyoshi" picture books we will likely see in the drama—became established. From then until the age of 90, he remained active on the front lines throughout his life, becoming the author with the most and longest-running gokan works. He didn't become a star like his brother Kyoden, but because his style aligned with the times, including regulations, I track Edo publishing in the first half of the 19th century—especially literature and ukiyo-e—through Kyozan's works.

I act like an expert on Tsutaju, but in truth, I stopped my research about 30 years ago. Now, I've been pulled back into the ring. Since finishing my specific research on Tsutaju, I have tried to capture Edo book culture from small perspectives—such as how books were made and distributed, who the readers were, and the significance, regionality, and archival nature of these activities, including Tsutaju's role.

When people think of Tsutaju researchers, they think of Mr. Suzuki. He is a teacher I have truly been indebted to and grateful for a long time. I have been looking forward to today very much.

Edo publishing culture is difficult because you can't see the whole picture. When you focus on the details, the realistic parts become visible, and that's what makes it interesting.

I am involved in drama production at NHK and am working on "Berabou" as one of the chief producers. A Taiga drama is a major project within the station, taking several years to complete until the final episode airs. Mr. Suzuki has been helping us with historical research since the stage immediately after the project was announced.

Actually, the mid-Edo period when Tsutaju lived is likely the first time this era has been featured in a Taiga drama. I hope that even those accustomed to the Sengoku period or the end of the Edo period will be able to watch it with fresh eyes. Since it was the heart of the era when merchant culture flourished, I hope to depict the joys and sorrows of ordinary people in the drama as well.

As someone looking forward to the drama, I'd like to ask: will the story cover the period up until Tsutaju's death?

The script is still in progress, so even we don't know how the end will turn out. Since we are trying to depict the life of Tsutaya Juzaburo, we intend to portray his personal life history.

But what made you decide to turn Tsutaju into a drama?

This is a personal view, but 2025 marks the 100th anniversary of the start of radio broadcasting in Japan. When reconsidering the concept of media, Mr. Tsutaju was a person who not only published books but also mixed in advertising techniques to brighten the world. It might be interesting to look at him from that media-history perspective.

While Sengoku or Bakumatsu stories can include episodes of characters other than the protagonist to add volume to the story, the mid-Edo period has many historical figures who have truly never been featured before. Especially for townspeople, there are few records, so I think viewers will be able to see it from a fresh perspective.

Since the announcement of the Taiga drama, I've had more opportunities to be interviewed, and I've been troubled because I'm often asked, "Why Tsutaju?" I'll use that as a reference (laughs).

The era Tsutaju lived in was also the era when Tanuma Okitsugu was promoting shogunate reforms. I feel there are similarities between Japanese society then and now in terms of how to reform a world that has reached a deadlock.

I agree. I certainly think the period from the Tanuma era to the Kansei Reforms, when Tsutaya Juzaburo was active, is rich with material that resonates with the modern day. For example, the transformation of media. Just as current election reporting is being discussed as a conflict between old media and social media, I feel that our conventional wisdom is changing.

Reading recent publications like "Tsutaya Juzaburo" (Heibonsha Shinsho), one can see how Tsutaju used media in a new way that had never existed before.

However, while the gesaku of the era when Tsutaju was rising—such as kibyoshi and kyoka—all seem like truly fun books, it was also a time of natural disasters like the eruption of Mount Asama around Tenmei 3 (1783) and great famines. It was an era that dared to laugh those things off.

When Tanuma Okitsugu fell and Matsudaira Sadanobu's Kansei Reforms began, regulations and self-restraint regarding publishing were implemented. Hideki Yamamoto, who researches early modern literature at Okayama University, previously raised the question of whether the publishing controls of the Kansei Reforms were actually enforced through town ordinances (machibure). While some parts of the reality are still unknown, it appears that various publishers practiced self-restraint for at least two years after the reforms. For the gesaku writer Koikawa Harumachi (1744–89), it may have even been the cause of his death, so I think it must have been a very significant change.

Around the time Kyozan, my research subject, made his debut, the "Russian Raids on Ezo" (known in Russia as the Khvostov Incident) occurred. This was in 1806 and 1807. Following this incident, a storyteller named Nanpo circulated a factual novel titled "Hokkai Idan" in manuscript form, but he was sentenced to death (gokumon) for violating the ban on touching upon political matters and for using confidential documents.

After the Kansei era, Edo publishing was controlled—for instance, depicting warriors from the Tensho era onwards was forbidden, and flashy books were banned. So I feel that the kibyoshi from the time Tsutaya Juzaburo was rising represented a truly glittering era where everyone wrote what they liked and enjoyed themselves.

That's true. I think it's a fact that controls were strong from the Kansei period onwards. However, I also think that if we only chase the aspect of regulation, we might fall into the bias that it was an era of nothing but strict constraints.

Is that so?

I think the Japanese history we learned in high school is ingrained in us. When we hear "an ordinance was issued," we tend to think it was a harsh time, but I believe some were issued after prior coordination between the Shogunate and the townspeople.

Conversely, there were cases where the town requested an ordinance to be issued, so a cooperative relationship was at work. In that sense, I feel that publishing in the Edo period was still free.

Well, kibyoshi were only published about once a year as New Year's products.

Exactly. The publication of picture books (kusazoshi) was, after all, just the business of townspeople. The Shogunate was seriously cracking down on samurai society, so even if they called it an "ordinance," its impact was limited.

Certainly, even if Edo publishing restrained itself due to an ordinance, it would return to normal after a few years.

The fact that so many ordinances were issued is likely proof that they weren't seriously cracking down. The Shogunate didn't have a police-like mechanism, after all. I see the crackdown on picture books as being strictly at the level of "public morals."

I believe the purpose of the town ordinances was to say, "Handle town matters properly within the town," in areas not very relevant to the political system.

When it comes to public morals, I feel there was a lot of self-restraint regarding frugality and luxury. Wasn't that also the case for Kabuki?

The wording of the ordinances is harsh. But that's just a standard phrasing, so it can't be helped. Those were probably town ordinances proposed at the level of town officials. I think the Magistrate's Office used such wording when they wanted to tighten things up in the town by taking advantage of the prevailing mood.

I see.

In the publishing controls of Kansei 3 (1791), both Santo Kyoden and Tsutaju were punished. This was linked to a move the previous year by the Jihon (popular fiction) wholesalers' guild—the equivalent of today's bookstore association—to draft a petition to establish a self-regulatory system to eradicate illegal publications that disturbed public morals. The Magistrate's Office tightened control to test their sincerity. In other words, Kyoden and Tsutaju were made examples of.

Does that mean Tsutaya Juzaburo played such a central role among the Jihon wholesalers?

Yes. The most prominent were the publisher Tsutaju and one of his authors, Kyoden. By suppressing those two, the effect of strengthening regulations was immense.

So publishing control was important for enhancing social discipline at the time.

Books were considered the backbone of the country, so without regulating them, various academic heresies would emerge and cause trouble. That's why they tightened control, but since Jihon belonged to the townspeople's society, they were basically not supposed to be involved in such things.

However, later, when the Tenpo Reforms (1831–43) took place, they started to get fussy about it.

During the Tenpo Reforms, even for picture books, it was decreed that they should make books beneficial for the education of children and women. But then, after about four years, the tide turned back again.

Even if they say erotic books are forbidden, there's no way those things would disappear (laughs).

As you've written in your books related to Tsutaju, "kyoka" (comic verse) became a massive boom around him. This is the so-called Tenmei Kyoka, which is generally said to have incorporated social satire, irony, and humor, but I am struck by the brilliance of the community that Tsutaju and others built up.

This boom grew into an even larger circle in the 19th century, centered around Shikatsube no Magao, who inherited the pen name "Yomo" from Ota Nanpo. In the field of history, Akinori Takahashi of Tohoku University has researched the various aspects of how kyoka circles spread as a nationwide movement in the 19th century, which is very interesting. In the field of literature, it's a period that isn't academically popular because the quality of the poems is said to have declined due to the participation of a vast number of nameless people.

But in that 19th century, the Choshu lord to whom Kyozan's daughter served as a concubine—the father of the famous late-Edo lord Mori Takachika—mingled with ordinary people in the kyoka world, appeared in rankings, was promoted to the judge class, and collaborated with regional kyoka groups. His name appears prominently on a poem monument built in Fukushima Prefecture. Thinking about the end of the Edo period, it seems so peaceful. Anyway, the kyoka fever and the community of those people were amazing.

So kyoka was a nationwide culture. While making the drama, I've been so focused on Tsutaju's era that I assumed it was a hit only within Edo.

When people think of Tsutaju, ukiyo-e by Utamaro and Sharaku, Tenmei Kyoka, and kibyoshi get all the attention, but Tsutaju's activities toward educating the common people and nationwide expansion, described in Chapter 3 of this book "Tsutaya Juzaburo," are truly moving.

Tenmei Kyoka has many excellent poems, but as Ms. Tsuda says, the base expanded nationwide, an era arrived where everyone composed kyoka, and kyoka groups were formed everywhere. I believe this was an achievement of the Edo period.

A major factor behind this movement was the increase in the number of people who could read books from around the end of the Kansei era. In other words, a new market was born in the provinces. Kyoka spread with the feeling of "The people in Edo are doing something cool!"

The foundation for the spread of such literature was the improvement in literacy, and perhaps the emergence of some leisure in daily life. I think the cultural uplift, especially in rural areas, was significant for the book market.

I see.

For such readers, Kyozan's picture books were just right. There's no edgy humor, but you can read them with peace of mind (laughs). I think the Edo period was a time when new culture was born through the increase of such an accepting audience nationwide.

Whether it's Nanpo or Matsuo Basho, I don't think we should tell history only through big names. Rather, the fact that there was an audience that accepted even mediocre works is the key to compiling literary history. That's why we should see it as a sudden uplift of knowledge where anyone could become an author.

The culture of Japanese mathematics (wasan) and sangaku (mathematical tablets) was the same. Young ladies would work hard to solve problems and then dedicate them as tablets to shrines and temples.

Who was responsible for the expansion of the publishing market so that people in rural areas across the country could read?

I see Tsutaju as the one who led the way. Due to the Kansei Reforms, samurai began to study, and people in the provinces followed suit, becoming more serious-minded. An era came when demand for moralistic books increased.

So Tsutaju had Kyoden produce more and more moralistic kibyoshi. Such books, of course, weren't popular in Edo. However, Tsutaju distributed them nationwide to cultivate that newly emerging market.

Both Ikku and Bakin are, after all, boring when measured against the sensibilities of the Tenmei period. Yet the reason Ikku's name remains today is that he was easy to understand. As for Bakin, he was just consistently stiff. Even so, Tsutaju kept them on and had them write kibyoshi.

I wish Ikku would be evaluated a bit more highly (laughs).

Actually, that's true (laughs).

In his defense, even if he was crude, Ikku was very capable. After all, he could write text, do calligraphy for printing blocks, and draw illustrations. Since he was a samurai, he had a decent amount of knowledge and was someone who could take on various offers.

Exactly. However, he played too much in Yoshiwara and got too deep into kyoka, so he was kicked out of the family he had married into for financial security. After that, he worked hard writing various books to make a living solely by his pen, leading to the hit "Tokaidochu Hizakurige."

Is that like people saying, "Please have Yaji and Kita travel through our region too"?

それは、うちの地域にも弥次さん喜多さんを旅させてくれ、みたいなことですか。

That's right. Flyers were distributed nationwide by local Kyoka (satirical verse) circles, stating that if you paid a certain amount for a specific theme, famous masters would judge your work. Everyone applied, hoping to be published in a book or listed in the rankings. This system was likely originally created within the culture of Haikai and Senryu.

And while Yaji and Kita walk around behaving like fools (laughs), they always do something silly at the post stations and then wrap it up with a Kyoka. This structure of concluding a short anecdote with a Kyoka is a literary tradition used in works like "Chikusai" and "Tokaido Dochu-ki" from the early Edo period. More broadly, it's a pattern that connects to "The Narrow Road to the Deep North" and "The Tales of Ise." They are fools, but the literary quality is maintained.

In his work "Sakusha Burui," Bakin aptly praised Ikku's "Hizakurige," saying that even "village farmers and country girls" could easily understand and enjoy its humor. In other words, it became a nationwide hit because village farmers and young women emerged as a new readership. This is a phenomenon that could not have happened 20 years prior. Tsutaju, as the mastermind, captured the shift from a closed culture where edgy humor was enjoyed only in Edo.

In his later years, Tsutaju visited Motoori Norinaga in Matsusaka, but it seems he rarely left Edo. People said of him, "He's a man who never moves from Edo." Was he actually someone who stayed in Edo the whole time?

He must have gone to Nikko before visiting Motoori Norinaga, but those are the only two places we can confirm.

It's mysterious how such a person could come up with the idea of acquiring a nationwide sales network.

I wonder if he felt something while observing the movement and distribution of publications. In the preceding era, publishers in Kyoto had distribution networks. I don't know how far they extended, but the era when Tsutaya Juzaburo emerged likely overlapped with the expansion phase of the publishing industry. The edgy humor of the Tenmei-era Kibyoshi was not the kind of thing that would sell nationwide, and I think it gradually became impossible to maintain that kind of appeal.

The didactic Kibyoshi written by Kyoden after the Kansei Reforms, which predecessors in early modern literary research did not value highly, are also excellent. The illustrations, in particular, are good. They use a style called "expression-imitation form," which is a relentless parody of existing publications. Kyoden put a lot of effort into making things visually interesting.

In modern terms, it might be like NHK E-Tele. For a long time, NHK E-Tele has been making quite experimental and edgy programs.

That's true. Characters like Enjiro in Kyoden's "Edo-umare Uwaki no Kabayaki" and the Good and Evil spirits in "Shingaku Hayazomegusa" are certainly interesting.

I don't think there were many examples of characters becoming hits in Kibyoshi before that. The format of Good and Evil spirits continued to live on into the modern era.

And it's very versatile.

Was the reason Kibyoshi were written so freely largely due to the nature of publishing regulations? I've heard that initially, Kusazoshi and Joruri books performed on stage were overlooked by censors.

This is similar to how things go viral and cause controversy on social media today, but it feels like it's always been the case that as popularity grows and attention gathers, restrictions become tighter.

There were no barriers to trade in Kusazoshi. Even if someone put out the same thing, it wasn't considered serious enough to be condemned as a pirated version.

Does that mean they were fundamentally different in nature from prestigious "Mononohon" (serious books)?

Yes. They were transient. Kibyoshi were only released during the New Year. It would have been nonsense to complain about someone imitating them.

It's interesting because it feels more like everyone was intentionally making the same thing. The creators often knew each other well, too.

In the 19th century, stories in Kusazoshi that were like modern two-hour TV dramas began to gain popularity. These were so-called revenge stories. Such stories were easy for anyone to read and enjoy.

Works where you can understand everything just by following the story are easy to write, aren't they? In the past, Daiei and Toei mass-produced feature films called "program pictures," and the story patterns in those were all the same. It gives the audience a sense of security. The reason Ikku and Kyozan gained popularity was likely because they could write things that felt safe and familiar.

That's true.

You could even say it was like The Drifters (laughs).

No, looking back, The Drifters were actually quite edgy (laughs). Anyway, the volume of Kusazoshi increased as they evolved from Kibyoshi into Gokan. And so did the circulation. It's said that the circulation of Kibyoshi and Kusazoshi during the Tenmei era was around 250 copies.

Yes. It seems they broke even if they sold 200 copies.

By the end of the Bunsei era, entering the 1830s, according to Kyozan, it was common for Bakin, Ryutei, and Kyozan to sell 5,000 copies, and if it was a hit, it reached 7,000. The scale of Kusazoshi circulation changed by an order of magnitude.

Right. Bakin also grumbled that Gokan were far more profitable than Yomihon.

According to a letter Kyozan sent to Suzuki Bokushi in Echigo, writing Gokan was "like having money sitting on your lap." He could exchange manuscripts for fees immediately and could even secure funds from publishers with a single letter. Kyozan was so busy that, unlike his older brother, he couldn't focus solely on writing Gesaku.

But there were so many readers back then, weren't there?

Yes. Kyozan was originally a personal attendant to the retired lord of the Tanba-Sasayama Domain, so he was active as an expert in tea ceremony, calligraphy, and seal carving based on his studies during his time in the daimyo household. He was also busy reviving his brother's talent shop, "Kyoden-mise." When his daughter went into service, he was summoned by a lord who loved Kyoka... He probably put the most effort into the few years immediately following the Tenpo Reforms. The Kusazoshi market lost its stars, and as a veteran, he had to support it.

Due to the incident involving "Nise Murasaki Inaka Genji," the hatamoto Ryutei Tanehiko was forced to stop writing and died, and Bakin's eyesight had worsened, making him unable to write. The period where he worked tirelessly before turning 80 until the next generation of authors arrived, combined with the effects of the Tenpo Reforms, is very interesting.

That was around the time authors began receiving writing fees, right?

It's generally considered that authors began to be properly paid starting from Kyoden's time.

That's right. Before that, even if writing books was a business, it wasn't something you could call a profession.

Does that mean they took it on while holding other jobs?

Except for Ikku, yes.

Ikku had no choice because he could only make a living with his brush.

Because of those circumstances, Ikku's output was at an extraordinary level, wasn't it? He covered a wide range of genres.

There are books where Ikku's name doesn't appear and he only did the transcription. He probably took them on as side jobs (laughs). You can tell Ikku's handwriting as soon as you see it. I'm looking forward to seeing who will play Ikku in "Berabou."

Indeed. I can't tell you yet, though (laughs).

In the Taiga drama, I'm personally curious about how Hezutsu Tosaku and Tsuchiyama Sojiro—a retainer of Tanuma Okitsugu who was denounced by Matsudaira Sadanobu and met a tragic end—will be portrayed. Tosaku went to Ezo, disposed of Hiraga Gennai's body, and aided in Lord Tsuchiyama's escape...

He's quite a character.

The casting for Hezutsu Tosaku has already been announced; he will be played by Ryo Kimura. We will continue to announce the casting for Gesaku writers and artists.

It's also interesting that Masahiko Nishimura is playing Nishimuraya Yohachi, who shares the same surname.

Yes. He also played Nishimuraya in the drama "Kurara: Hokusai no Musume" that aired on NHK previously.

Was he cast this time because of that connection?

I wonder. Nishimuraya is a complete rival to Tsutaju, isn't he?

In reality, it wasn't such a fierce, clashing relationship that would make for a drama. It might be exaggerated in the Taiga drama, though.

In this day and age, viewers might actually prefer everyone getting along rather than such intense rivalry.

Since they were both Edo Jihon wholesalers, I think their underlying motivations were the same even if they were rivals. For example, they likely shared the same ambition of not wanting to lose to Kyoto bookstores or wanting to liven up Edo.

That was probably true not just for Nishimuraya, but also for Tsuruya Kiemon and Urokogataya Magobei.

In modern times, publishing is a division of labor where publishers make books and distributors transport them to retailers. In the Edo period, however, bookstores handled publishing, wholesaling, and retailing all by themselves. Of these, the most important were wholesaling and retailing—in other words, distribution. It was as if they produced publications for that purpose.

When we say "Edo publisher," the modern image it most closely resembles is a bookstore. Bookstores would stock up from other bookstores to enrich their own inventory. They had that kind of cooperative relationship with each other.

When shipping publications to the provinces, they would cooperate by bundling items together, or one company would represent the others to have a money changer set up a bill of exchange. So, the basic premise was that they had to get along to survive.

Was there never a case where someone said, "Since I'm publishing this at my shop, I don't want it placed in other shops"?

No. Rather, I think they complemented each other by planning various projects to avoid interfering with one another and taking on what the other lacked. Tsuruya and Tsutaya might commission the same author but change the theme or approach of the project.

If they stock each other's books, it makes for a better shop overall, doesn't it? In reality, I think it was a give-and-take relationship.

Regarding distribution, I also want to mention the "Hon-gae" (book exchange) system. Edo bookstores had a system for exchanging books they produced themselves for books from other shops of equal value. Kusazoshi is a good example, where books with similar structures were released all at once.

In the 19th century, many publishers began to publish books in similar formats, and bookstores began to stock items by genre. To avoid the complexity of payments as the number of publications increased, they traded with actual books, which led to the standardization of the book formats themselves.

Normally, when stocking books from other shops, the basic practice was to get them at a 70% or 80% wholesale price in cash and make a 20% or 30% profit. The advantage of Hon-gae was that they could exchange at base prices. At first glance, it might seem like a loss, but even if production costs were high, they were only about 30% of the selling price.

If they could exchange at equal value, something they would have stocked at 80% could be acquired at 30%. To enrich their own shop's selection, they would publish books and then use Hon-gae to increase their inventory.

I see.

The binding of Kusazoshi had been standardized at 5 cho (10 pages) since the time of Akahon published from the Kanbun to Kan'en eras. This was precisely a way of making books based on the premise of Hon-gae, which aimed for equal value exchange. That method was passed down, but as more elaborately printed items increased, equal value exchange became difficult to maintain. By Kyozan's time, it even led to disputes.

Since the bookstore business involved many different things, you can't evaluate a "publisher" based on their publications alone. You have to judge them comprehensively by looking at the whole picture, including where the bookstore was located and how they conducted their trade.

Furthermore, to create a publication, the presence of not only the author but also the illustrators, carvers, and printers is essential. In "Berabou," many illustrators such as Kitagawa Utamaro, Isoda Koryusai, and Kitao Shigemasa appear. You cannot talk about Tsutaju's work without these people.

We will depict them in the drama, and I also hope to show the process of bookmaking. We are proceeding on the assumption that many viewers probably do not know in detail how books and nishiki-e (multi-colored woodblock prints) of this era were made, so we want to depict that part carefully.

Will you be making woodblocks for the drama production?

That's right. Of course, it is difficult to reproduce the entire bookmaking process in every episode of the drama, but Utamaro and Sharaku will also appear (laughs). We are actually trying to reproduce things like the nishiki-e that Tsutaju worked on in his early days.

Surimono (privately published prints) are difficult, but books are even harder. Since I am helping with the historical research, the assistant directors often ask me things like, "Is this the correct color for the cover?" but I can't bring myself to say, "This is fine" (laughs).

It's because we haven't actually seen the colors from that time (laughs).

Don't you have particular trouble with kibyoshi (yellow-cover books) and aohon (blue books)?

We certainly did.

Previously, I asked for the cooperation of Ms. Asuka Yamato, who was at Tokyo University of the Arts at the time, to measure the colors of the aohon and kibyoshi held by Keio University using a machine, but we had no idea what kind of materials were being used.

The established theory is that aohon were moegi (light green), but the leading authority on kusazoshi (illustrated popular fiction), Yaeko Kimura, writes in her book that the covers of aohon might have been the blue of dayflowers. Since vegetable-based pigments fade, it remains a mystery even today. I imagine you face such hardships in the drama as well.

It is difficult. In the drama, we are creating things while receiving advice from the historical research experts.

We are trying to get as close to the original as possible, so please don't send in any complaints, Mr. Tsuda (laughs).

If I were to complain, it might be about whether the Honda-mage hairstyle that was popular in the late 18th century is faithfully reproduced (laughs). That unique topknot that looks like a rat's tail. There are people who research those kinds of Edo customs for drama production, right?

Yes. We have experts in each field conduct the historical research.

Even in period dramas set in the Edo period, the customs are quite different between the early and late periods, so from a budget perspective, you probably can't use them realistically. For example, the use of pillows and hairstyles change, and the width of the kimono and the obi (sash) are completely different.

Even if we faithfully reproduced the customs of the Genroku era, it probably wouldn't resonate with the viewers.

The period dramas that Daiei and Shochiku used to make—the ones created by production teams from an era when Edo-period culture and lifestyle habits still remained—are, after all, 19th-century style.

By the way, what is the scale of "Berabou" in terms of the number of characters? There will be not only publishers but also authors, illustrators, carvers, printers, Yoshiwara oiran (courtesans), bo-hachi (brothel owners), and people from the Shogunate side. Just listing the famous kyoka (satirical poem) poets alone would be a considerable number of people.

We probably won't be able to introduce everyone in the drama, so it will likely be a drama where many gesaku (popular fiction) writers and illustrators appear, based on Tsutaju's network. Nearly 60 cast members have already been decided for the roles announced so far. As the story progresses from the middle to the end, new characters will appear.

"Berabou" develops its story along two axes: the politics of the Tokugawa Shogunate and the culture of the townspeople, so I think the number of actors is relatively large compared to a typical Taiga drama. Since we are actually creating the process of making books with the help of experts, I hope you can look forward to that as one of the highlights.

The scenes where the illustrators draw are also noteworthy. Above all, please pay attention to the story of Tsutaju, who changes the world through the power of entertainment.

I'm looking forward to it more and more. I can't wait for the broadcast to start.