I’m a bad liar, but I’m not against lying. I know, that’s weird. Here’s what I mean: I’m terrible at telling big lies, but I enjoy telling harmless little ones.
Years ago I was asked to write a book review column for a magazine. I’m a writer, not a critic, so I try to avoid reviewing books as much as possible. But I agreed to take on the assignment. However, I wasn’t going to do things the normal, boring way. So I decided to come up with nonexistent books and then critique the hell out of them. Stuff like some fake person’s biography. I gave it a shot and loved every second of it. I got to flex my creative muscles coming up with the books without wasting any time actually reading one. And I never had to resent an author for writing something I hated.
I expected to receive angry letters from readers telling me not to make up lies, or that they couldn’t find these books anywhere. But not a single letter came. Maybe they just weren’t that motivated. I have to conclude that nobody reads book reviews in magazines very carefully.
These days I take interviews seriously, but back when I was a young man I’ve often answer questions with irresponsible irreverence. When they’d ask what I was reading, I’d say: “Great question. These days I’m reading a lot of novels from the Meiji Period. I’m liking little-known writers who were part of the early modernization movement, guys like Shogo Mutakuchi and Gohama Osaka. Their work is so moving.”
Of course, neither of these authors exist. It’s the perfect lie. And nobody’s the wiser. I’m really good at saying it naturally. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any moral issues doing it.
Do you know why outright fabrications are called “red lies” in Japanese? When someone was caught telling a terrible lie back during the Nara Period, they’d cram twelve red rice cakes in the person’s mouth until they suffocated to death. And… I’m lying as per usual. Really, I’ve wondered why they’re called red lies for the longest time, and I swear I want to look into it, but I’ve been too busy for the last few decades (another lie) and I still haven’t gotten around to it.
In English they have the concept of a “white lie.” It’s a harmless lie, something you say to keep life running smoothly (and I’m not making this up, okay?). The lies I tell are closer to white lies than red lies. I think they’re harmless. They better be. There’s no way I’d survive being forced to eat twelve red rice cakes.