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 that Kyozan has often been depicted as a villain in dramas and such because Kyokutei Bakin (1767–1848) slandered him in "Iwade mono ki."

That's true.

Kyozan became a gesaku writer in the early 19th century, after the death of the first Tsutaju. It 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 throughout his life, continuing to release works on the front lines and becoming the author with the most and longest-running gokan. 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. After finishing my specific research on Tsutaju, I have tried to capture the culture of Edo books from small perspectives—such as how books were made and distributed in the Edo period (including Tsutaju's), what kind of readers picked them up, and the meaning, regionality, and archival nature of these activities.

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 the whole picture is hard to see. 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 is broadcast. Mr. Suzuki has been helping us with historical research since right after we announced the project.

Actually, the mid-Edo period in which 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's the core of the era when merchant culture flourished, I hope to depict the joys and sorrows of the common people in the drama as well.

As someone waiting expectantly for the drama, I'd like to ask: will the story cover the period up until around the time Tsutaju dies?

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

But why did you decide to make a drama about Tsutaju?

This is a personal view, but 2025 marks the 100th anniversary of the start of radio broadcasting in Japan. When we rethink what media is, 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 it from that kind of media history perspective.

In Sengoku or Bakumatsu stories, you can include episodes of people other than the protagonist to give the story volume, but in the mid-Edo period, there are many historical figures who have truly never been handled before. Especially for commoners, there are few materials, so I think viewers will be able to see it from a fresh perspective.

After the production announcement for the Taiga drama, I've had more opportunities to be interviewed, and I was 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 reforms in the shogunate administration. I feel there are similarities between Japanese society then and now in terms of how to reform a world that has reached a deadlock.

That's true. Certainly, the period from the Tanuma era to the Kansei Reforms, when Tsutaya Juzaburo was active, has plenty of 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 conventional wisdom is changing.

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

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

When Tanuma Okitsugu fell from power 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 issued as official town proclamations (machibure). There are parts of the reality that are still unknown, but it appears that various publishers exercised 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 attacks on Ezo—known as the "Golovnin Incident" or the "Khvostov Incident" in Russia—took place. This was in 1806 and 1807. In response to this incident, a storyteller named Nanpo circulated a factual novel called "Hokkai Idan" in manuscript form, but he was sentenced to death by exposure (gokumon) for violating the ban on touching upon political matters and for using confidential documents.

After the Kansei era, Edo publishing became regulated—for instance, you couldn't depict warriors from after the Tensho era, and flashy books were forbidden. So I feel that the kibyoshi from the time Tsutaya Juzaburo was rising must have been a truly sparkling era where everyone wrote what they liked and had fun.

Yes. It's true that controls were strong from the Kansei period onward. However, I think if we only chase the regulatory side, we might get biased into thinking it was an era of heavy restrictions.

Is that so?

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

Conversely, there were cases where the townspeople would petition to have a proclamation 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 New Year's products published only once a year.

Exactly. The publishing of picture books (kusazoshi) was, after all, just the work of townspeople. The shogunate was seriously cracking down on samurai society, so even if they called it a "proclamation," I think its impact was limited.

True, even if Edo publishing self-regulated due to a proclamation, it would return to normal after a few years.

The fact that so many proclamations were issued is likely proof that they weren't seriously cracking down. The shogunate didn't have a police-like organization, after all. I think the crackdown on picture books was strictly at the level of "public morals."

I see the purpose of the town proclamations as being: "Handle town matters properly within the town," in areas not very related to the political system.

I feel that "public morals" ultimately often meant self-restraint regarding frugality and luxury. Isn't that the same for Kabuki?

The wording of the proclamations is harsh. But that's just a fixed set of phrases, so it can't be helped. Those were probably town proclamations devised 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 movement the previous year where the Jihon (popular fiction) wholesalers' guild—the equivalent of today's bookstore association—tried to create a petition to establish a self-management system to eradicate illegal publications that disturbed public morals. The magistrate's office tightened controls 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 increasing social discipline at the time.

Books were considered to form the backbone of the country, so if they weren't supervised, various dissenting academic theories would emerge and cause trouble. That's why controls were tightened, but Jihon belonged to the townspeople's society, so basically, they weren't supposed to be involved in such things.

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

During the Tenpo Reforms, even for picture books, orders were issued to make books that would be useful 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 no good, there's no way those things would disappear (laughs).

As you've written in your books related to Tsutaju, "kyoka" (comic verse) became a huge 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 became 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 is researching 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 so many nameless people participated that the quality of the poems declined.

But in that 19th century, the father of Mori Takachika—the famous lord of Choshu at the end of the Edo period, where Kyozan's daughter served as a concubine—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. When I think about the end of the Edo period, I think how peaceful it was. Anyway, the people's passion for kyoka and the community were amazing.

So kyoka was a nationwide culture. When making the drama, I only focus on Tsutaju's era, so I assumed it was a hit only within Edo.

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

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

The background to this movement was largely the increase in 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 includes the improvement of literacy, and perhaps the emergence of leisure in daily life. I think the cultural uplift, especially in rural areas, was significant for the book market.

I see.

Kyozan's picture books were just right for those readers. There's no edgy humor, but they can be read with peace of mind (laughs). I think the Edo period was a time when a 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 clumsy 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 also work hard to solve problems and 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 and became 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 scattered them nationwide to cultivate that newly emerging market.

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

I wish people would give Ikku a little more credit (laughs).

Actually, that's true (laughs).

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

Yes. But he played too much in Yoshiwara and got too into kyoka, so he was kicked out of the family he had married into for economic security. After that, he worked hard writing various books to make a living by his pen alone, and the hit "Tokaidochu Hizakurige" was born.

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

Exactly. Flyers saying, "Famous masters will judge entries on this theme for this amount of money," were distributed nationwide by regional kyoka groups. In response, everyone applied, wanting to be in the book or in the rankings. I think this system was probably originally created in the culture of haikai and senryu.

そうです。こういうお題で、この金額を支払うと著名な師匠たちが判定しますというチラシが、地域の狂歌連によって全国的に配布されました。それに対して皆が、本に載りたい、番付に載りたいと応募していた。このシステムはおそらくもともと俳諧や川柳の文化で作られものだと思いますが。

そして弥次さん喜多さんは、おばか（・・・）（笑）な振る舞いをして歩くわけですが、けれど、宿場で必ず何かくだらないことをやっては狂歌で締める。そういう小咄を狂歌で締める構造は、江戸の初期からある仮名草子の『竹斎』や『東海道道中記』などに使われる文学的伝統です。もっと言えば、『奥の細道』『伊勢物語』にも通じる型です。おばかだけど、文学性が保持されています。

Bakin aptly noted in "Sakusha Burui" (Classification of Authors) that Ikku's "Hizakurige" could be enjoyed for its humor even by "village farmers and country girls." 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 to something broader.

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

He is supposed to 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 securing a nationwide sales network.

Perhaps 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 I think the era when Tsutaya Juzaburo emerged coincided 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 niche appeal.

The didactic Kibyoshi written by Kyoden after the Kansei Reforms, which pioneers of early modern literary research didn't value much, are actually excellent. The illustrations in particular are good. They use what is called the "expression imitation format," parodying existing publications to an extreme degree. Kyoden put a lot of effort into making things visually interesting.

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

That's true. Characters like Enjiro in Kyoden's "Edo Umare Uwaki no Kabayaki" (The Playboy, Grilled Edo-Style) and the Good and Evil spirits in "Shingaku Hayazomegusa" are certainly interesting.

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

It's a very versatile format, too.

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 an uproar on social media today, but it feels like it's always been the case that once something becomes popular and attracts attention, the restrictions become tighter.

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

So they were different in nature from the prestigious "Mononohon" (serious books)?

Yes. They were transient. Kibyoshi only came out during the New Year. It would have been nonsense to complain about someone imitating something like that.

It's interesting because it feels more like everyone was intentionally making the same thing. After all, the creators were often well-acquainted with each other.

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

Works where you just follow the story are easy to write, too. In the past, Daiei and Toei mass-produced feature films called "program pictures," and these followed the same story patterns. The audience feels safe with them. The reason Ikku and Kyozan gained popularity was likely because they could write things that provided that sense of security.

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 the Kibyoshi era into Gokan (combined volumes). 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, Kyozan mentioned that for Bakin, Ryutei, and Kyozan, 5,000 copies were standard, and a hit could reach 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 (reading books).

According to a letter Kyozan sent to Suzuki Bokushi in Echigo, writing Gokan was "like having gold coins sitting on one's lap." He could exchange manuscripts for fees immediately and could procure money from publishers with a single letter. Kyozan was so busy that he couldn't focus on writing fiction as much as his older brother did, though.

But there were so many people reading 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 house. 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 (comic verse)... He probably put the most effort into the few years immediately after the Tenpo Reforms. Stars disappeared from the Kusazoshi market, and as a veteran, he had to support it.

Due to the incident with "Nise Murasaki Inaka Genji" (The False Murasaki and a Country Genji), the hatamoto Ryutei Tanehiko was forced to stop writing and died, and Bakin's eyesight had failed, making him unable to write. The period where he worked at full throttle before turning 80, until the next generation of authors was ready, is very interesting when combined with the impact of the Tenpo Reforms.

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

It's said that the era when authors began to be properly paid started with Kyoden.

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 on the work 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. He covered a wide range of genres, too.

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 or Tsuchiyama Sojiro—a vassal of Tanuma Okitsugu who met a tragic end after being denounced by Matsudaira Sadanobu—will be handled. Tosaku went to Ezo, disposed of Hiraga Gennai's body, and helped Lord Tsuchiyama 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 other fiction 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 a drama aired on NHK called "Kurara: The Dazzling Life of Hokusai's Daughter."

Was he cast this time because of that connection?

I wonder. Nishimuraya is in a complete rivalry with Tsutaju, isn't he?

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

In this day and age, viewers might actually prefer seeing everyone getting along rather than such fierce conflict.

Since they were both Edo publishers (jihon-toya), I think they shared the same underlying values even as rivals. For example, they probably shared the same ambition of not wanting to lose to Kyoto/Osaka bookstores and wanting to liven up Edo.

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

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

When we say "Edo publisher," the image closest to the modern one is actually a bookstore. Bookstores would stock from other bookstores to enrich their own inventory. They had that kind of cooperative relationship.

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 coming up with various projects to avoid interfering with the other party, or by taking on what the other was lacking. Tsuruya and Tsutaya might commission the same author, but they would change the theme or approach of the project.

If they stock each other's items, it makes for a better shop overall, doesn't it? In reality, I think it was a symbiotic relationship.

Regarding distribution, I'd also like to mention the "Hon-gae" (book exchange) system. Edo bookstores had a mechanism for exchanging books they produced with those from other shops at 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 complicated payments as the number of publications increased, they traded with actual books, which led to the standardization of the book format itself.

Normally, when stocking books from other shops, the basic rule was to get them at a 70% or 80% wholesale price in cash, earning a 20% or 30% profit. The merit of Hon-gae was that they could exchange at base prices. It might look like a loss at first glance, but the production cost of a book was at most about 30% of the selling price.

If they could exchange at equal value, something that would be stocked at 80% could be acquired at 30%. To enrich their own shop's selection, they would publish books to exchange them and increase their inventory.

I see.

The binding of Kusazoshi had been standardized at 5 sheets (10 pages) since the time of Akahon published from the Kanbun to Kan'en eras. This was bookmaking specifically predicated on Hon-gae, which aimed for equal value exchange. That method was passed down, but as more elaborately printed items increased, equal value exchange became unsustainable. By Kyozan's time, it started leading 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 the whole picture, including where the bookstore was located and how they conducted their trade.

Furthermore, to create a publication, the presence of artists, carvers, and printers is essential, not just the author. Many artists like Kitagawa Utamaro, Isoda Koryusai, and Kitao Shigemasa appear in "Berabou." You can't talk about Tsutaju's works without these people.

We will depict them in the drama, and I hope to show the process of bookmaking as well. Based on the assumption that many viewers probably don't know in detail how books and Nishiki-e of this era were made, I want to depict that part carefully.

Do you create woodblocks for the drama production?

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

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

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

Aren't kibyoshi and aohon particularly troublesome?

They were troublesome.

Previously, I asked for the cooperation of Ms. Asuka Yamato when she was at Tokyo University of the Arts to measure the colors of the aohon and kibyoshi in the Keio University collection using machines, but we couldn't tell at all what kind of materials were being used.

The established theory is that aohon were moegi (light green), but the leading authority on kusazoshi, Yaeko Kimura, writes in her book that the covers of aohon might have been the blue of dayflowers. Since plant-based pigments fade, it remains a mystery even today. I imagine there are similar struggles in the drama production.

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

We are trying to get as close to the original as possible, so please don't send us 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 everything realistically. For example, the use of pillows and hairstyles change, and the width of kimonos and obis 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—those made by production teams from an era when Edo-period culture and lifestyle habits still remained—are, after all, 19th-century style.

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

We probably won't be able to introduce everyone in the drama, so I think it will be a drama where many gesaku writers and painters appear, based on Tsutaju's network. Even with just the cast already announced, nearly 60 performers have been decided. 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 high compared to a typical Taiga drama. We are also actually creating the books during the production process with the help of specialists, so I hope you can look forward to that as one of the highlights.

The scenes where the painters draw are also worth watching. 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.