To Hell With Capitalism: Snapshots from the Crab Cannery ... · Sueur, Victor Serge, Nâzım Hikmet, Pablo Neruda, Mao Dun, Theodore Dreiser, Mulk Raj Anand, Langston Hughes, Marcel

The Asia-Pacific Journal | Japan Focus Volume 13 | Issue 18 | Number 2 | Article ID 4315 | May 04, 2015

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To Hell With Capitalism: Snapshots from the Crab CanneryShip 資本主義の生き地獄より　「蟹工船」のスナップ数枚

Zeljko Cipris

“You lose, you lose, you lose, you lose, and thenyou win.”

Rosa Luxemburg

The worldwide revolutionary movementinspired by the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917encompassed a powerful cultural component:hundreds of thousands of literary, visual, andperforming artists – writers, painters,filmmakers, photographers, composers, andothers – passionately devoted their work to themonumental task of a radical reconstitution ofthe world. As a prominent Yugoslav author,

Miroslav Krleža, was to write in 1924: “Lenin’sname in the year 1917 signified a lighthousebeacon above the shipwreck of internationalcivilization.”

Not only was capitalism widely identified with adevastatingly bellicose form of imperialismepitomized by World War I, but also the notionthat capitalism is genuinely compatible withfreedom struck many contemporary observersas preposterous:

The worker under capitalism is a“free” woman. She is free to gowhere she likes. She does not haveto work for any one boss. If shedoes not like an employer she canquit, but if she does not like theemploying class she cannot quit,unless she is prepared to starve.She is a slave to a class. Herfreedom amounts to having alonger chain than her predecessors– the serf or chattel slave. It is truethat she is not bought and sold andthat she has liberties unknown toformer generations of workers. Itis also true that she takes greaterrisks than former workers and thatwhile she is not sold she is obligedto sell herself.

Yet how could it be otherwise so long as theownership and control of life’s productiveresources remained in the hands of a super-wealthy minority at the expense of everyonee l se? Conv inced tha t the dominant

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socioeconomic system was incorrigiblyexploitative and oppressive – as well as warlikeand destructive – dissident writers and otherradical artists of the early twentieth centurydedicated themselves to portraying the livesand struggles of those who suffered itsdepredations and sought a way out from itsnightmarish cul-de-sac. As the abolitionistartists of the nineteenth century fought againstchattel slavery and serfdom, so their neo-abolitionist successors fought on against wageslavery, confident that in the not too distantfuture a worldwide revolution would open theway to a cooperative commonwealth whereemancipated humanity could at long last beginto live up to its fullest potential.

Though a roster of writers committed toprofound social transformation would bevirtually endless, it might be helpful to list atrandom a handful of representative names,some more familiar than others: Lu Xun, MaximGorky, Bertolt Brecht, Alexandra Kollontai,Jaroslav Hašek, Premchand, Yi Ki-yong, CésarVallejo, Vladimir Mayakovsky, José Mancisidor,Patrícia Galvão, Halldór Laxness, Meridel LeSueur, Victor Serge, Nâzım Hikmet, PabloNeruda, Mao Dun, Theodore Dreiser, Mulk RajAnand, Langston Hughes, Marcel Martinet,Sata Ineko, Hirabayashi Taiko, Moa Martinson,Harry Martinson, Ivar Lo-Johansson…

One of Japan’s most renowned revolutionaryauthors was Kobayashi Takiji (小林 多喜二,1903-1933), a prolific young communist writerbest known for his 1929 short novel The CrabCannery Ship (Kani kosen, 蟹工船). Based on anactual incident that took place in 1926, thenovel follows a motley crew of unorganized,mostly low-skilled laborers who are subjectedto such savage working conditions onboard acrab cannery sh ip tha t they a lmostspontaneously start to organize and unite inorder to fight back and survive. Takiji’s fast-paced and vivid novel succeeds in constructingan extraordinarily potent metaphor forcapitalism itself – a system whose solepreoccupation lies in the accumulation ofprofit, and which is fundamentally indifferent tohuman life, liberty, and happiness. The novelhas been translated into numerous languages,including Russian, Chinese, English, Korean,Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, German, French,Polish, and Norwegian. A classic of Japaneseproletarian literature, The Crab Cannery Shipexperienced an enormous revival of popularity

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in 2008 and early 2009, selling hundreds ofthousands of copies in an economicallydepressed Japan. As Tokyo University professorKomori Yoichi comments in his introduction toits most recent English translation, “KobayashiTakiji’s theory of collective action continues tobe valid in the twenty-first century.”

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Much of the early-twentieth-centuryrevolutionary optimism and some of theproletarian artists themselves were to vanishamid the turmoil of repression and war. Takijihimself was tortured and killed by police inTokyo at age 29. Many other radical artistshave been almost forgotten along with much ormost of their work. This is more than a pity, forthe current global status quo is in some wayseven more pernicious than it was in their days.Nowadays, to note only one example, theinsidious idea of “marketing” and “selling”oneself seems to all too many nothing morethan commonsensical.

Given the possibly catastrophic course ourglobe appears to be following, it might be hightime for a worldwide resurgence – on atremendous scale – of proletarian literature,and of al l the proletarian arts. For inconjunction with internationalist grassrootssolidarity, radical art could just possess thepower to transform the world for the

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incomparably better.

What follows is a baker’s dozen of short scenesand passages that convey the dynamic andflavor of The Crab Cannery Ship:

Off to hell!

“Buddy, we’re off to hell!”

Leaning over the deck railing, two fishermenlooked out on the town of Hakodate stretchedlike a snail embracing the sea. One of them spitout a cigarette he had smoked down to hisfingertips. The stub fell skimming the tall sideof the ship, turning playfully every which way.The man stank of liquor.

Steamships with red bulging bellies rose fromthe water; others being loaded with cargoleaned hard to one side as if tugged down bythe sea. There were thick yellow smokestacks,large bell-like buoys, launches scurrying likebedbugs among ships. Bleak whirls of oil soot,scraps of bread, and rotten fruit floated on thewaves as if forming some special fabric. Blownby the wind, smoke drifted over waves waftinga stifling smell of coal. From time to time aharsh rattle of winches traveling along thewaves reverberated against the flesh.

Directly in front of the crab cannery shipHakkomaru rested a sailing ship with peelingpaint, its anchor chain lowered from a hole inits bow that looked like an ox’s nostril. Two

foreign sailors with pipes in mouth paced thedeck back and forth like automatons. The shipseemed to be Russian. No doubt it was a patrolvessel sent to keep an eye on the Japanesecannery ship.

Poverty

The two fishermen, peering down through thehatch into workers’ quarters in the dim bottomof the ship, saw a noisy commotion inside thestacked bunks, like a nest full of birds’ dartingfaces. The workers were all boys of fourteen orfifteen.

“Where you from?”

“X District.”

They were all children from Hakodate’s slums.Poverty had brought them together.

“What about the guys in the bunks over there?”

“They’re from Nambu.”

“And those?”

“Akita.” Each cluster of bunks belonged to adifferent region.

“Where in Akita?”

“North Akita.” The boy’s nose was running with

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thick, oozing mucus, and the rims of his eyeswere inflamed and drooping.

“You farmers?”

“Yeah.”

The air was stifling, filled with the sour stenchof rotten fruit. Dozens of barrels of pickledvegetables were stored next door, adding theirown shit-like odor.

Them or us

“I’d like to say a word,” declared the manager.He had the powerful build of a constructionworker. Placing one foot on a partition betweenbunks, he maneuvered a toothpick inside hismouth, at times briskly ejecting bits of foodstuck between his teeth.

“Needless to say, as some of you may know,this crab cannery ship’s business is not just tomake lots of money for the corporation but isactually a matter of the greatest internationalimportance. This is a one-on-one fight betweenus, citizens of a great empire, and the Russkies,a battle to find out which one of us is greater –them or us. Now just supposing you lose – thiscould never happen, but if it did – all Japanesemen and boys who’ve got any balls at all wouldslit their bellies and jump into the sea offKamchatka. You may be small in size but thatdoesn’t mean you’ll let those stupid Russkiesbeat you.

“Another thing, our fishing industry offKamchatka is not just about canning crabs andsalmon and trout, but internationally speakingit’s also about keeping up the superior status ofour nation, which no other country can match.And moreover, we’re accomplishing animportant mission in regard to our domesticproblems like overpopulation and shortage offood. You probably have no idea what I’mtalking about, but anyhow I’ll have you knowthat we’ll be risking our lives cutting throughthose rough northern waves to carry out a

great mission for the Japanese empire. Andthat’s why our imperial warship will accompanyus and protect us all along the way…. Anyonewho acts up trying to ape this recent Russkycraze, anyone who incites others to commitoutrageous acts, is nothing but a traitor to theJapanese empire. And though something likethat could never happen, make damned surethat what I’m saying gets through to yourheads…”

The manager sneezed repeatedly as he begansobering up.

Won’t matter a damn

As the ship reached the Sea of Okhotsk, thecolor of the water became a clearer gray. Thechilling cold penetrated the laborers’ clothingand turned their lips blue as they worked. Thecolder it became, the more furiously a finesnow, dry as salt, blew whistling against them.Like tiny shards of glass, the snow piercedfaces and hands of the laborers and fishermenwho worked on all fours on the deck. After eachwave washed over them the water promptlyfroze, making the deck treacherously slippery.The men had to stretch ropes from deck todeck, and work dangling from them like diapershung out on the clothesline. The manager,armed with a club for killing salmon, wasroaring like mad.

Another crab cannery ship that had sailed outof Hakodate at the same time had gottenseparated from them. Even so, whenever theirship surged to the summit of a mountainouswave, two masts could be seen swaying backand forth in the distance like the waving armsof a drowning person. Wisps of smoke torn bythe wind flew by skimming the waves.Intermittent howls of the other ship’s whistlewere clearly audible amid the waves andshouts. Yet the next instant the one ship rosehigh and the other fell away into the depths ofa watery crevasse.

The crab cannery ship carried eight fishing

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boats. The sailors and fishermen were forced torisk their lives tying down the boats so that thewaves, baring their white teeth like thousandsof sharks, would not tear them off. “Losing oneor two of you won’t matter a damn, but if a boatgets lost it can’t get replaced,” shouted themanager distinctly.

Total impunity

Crab cannery ships were all old and battered. Itdidn’t matter a damn to executives in somebuilding in Tokyo’s financial district thatworkers were dying in the northern Sea ofOkhotsk. Once capitalism’s quest for profits inits usual places comes to a deadlock, theninterest rates drop, excess money piles up, andcapital will literally do anything and goanywhere in a frenzied search for a way out.Given those circumstances it was no wonderthat capital’s profit-seekers fell in love with thecrab cannery ships, each one able to bring incountless hundreds of thousands of yen.

Crab cannery ships were considered factories,not ships. Therefore maritime law did not applyto them. Ships that had been tied up for twentyyears and were good for nothing but scrap iron,vessels as battered as tottering syphilitics,were given a shameless cosmetic makeover andbrought to Hakodate. Hospital ships andmilitary transports that had been “honorably”crippled in the Russo-Japanese War andabandoned like fish guts turned up in portlooking more faded than ghosts. If steam wasturned up a little, pipes whistled and burst.When they put on speed while chased byRussian patrol boats, the ships began to creakall over as though about to come apart at any

moment, and shook like palsied men.

But none of that mattered in the least, for thiswas a time when it was everyone’s duty tostand tall for the Japanese Empire. Moreover,the crab cannery ships were factories pure andsimple. And yet factory laws did not apply tothem either. Consequently, no other siteoffered such an accommodating setting formanagement’s freedom to act with totalimpunity.

House of the Dead

The manager knew even better than they didjust how much abuse a human body couldtolerate. At the end of the workday, workersdropped sideways into their bunks like logs,groaning, “Maybe this is it…”

One of the students recalled being taken to aBuddhist temple by his grandmother as a child,and seeing in its dim hall paintings of hell thatlooked just like this. Their present situationstrongly reminded him of a great snakelikeanimal he had seen slithering through amarshland. It was the spitting image of it. Theoverwork perversely robbed them of theirability to sleep. After midnight, in various partsof the shit-hole there suddenly arose the eeriesounds of teeth grinding as if chewing up glass,of nonsensical words, and wild shouts.

When they could not sleep, they sometimeswhispered to their own bodies: “I can’t believeyou’re still alive…” I can’t believe you’re stillalive – to their bodies!

It was the hardest on the students.

“Looking at it from our current perspective, Iget the feeling those convicts in Dostoyevsky’sHouse of the Dead didn’t have it so tough afterall,” said a student who hadn’t been able to shitfor days and could not sleep unless he tied ahand towel tightly around his head.

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Mother of success

The foreign movie was American and dealt withthe history of “developing the West.” Thoughrelentlessly attacked by savages and struckdown by merciless nature, settlers bouncedback to their feet and went on extending therailroad yard by yard. Along the way townswere erected overnight, springing up likerailway spikes. And as the railroad advanced,more and more towns kept cropping up. Themovie showed the manifold hardships thatarose from all this, weaving into the narrative a“love story” of a laborer and a corporationdirector’s daughter. As the movie reached itsfinal scene, the benshi ’s [screen-sidenarrator’s] voice rose to a pitch: “And so,thanks to young people’s countless sacrifices,the endlessly snaking railroad succeeded at lastin sprinting across the plains and piercing themountains to transform yesterday’s wildernessinto today’s national wealth.”

The movie climaxed with an embrace betweenthe corporation director’s daughter and thelaborer, who had magically mutated into agentleman.

This was followed by a short foreign film,mindless buffoonery that made everyone laugh.

The Japanese feature told of an impoverishedyouth who sold fermented soybeans andevening papers before going on to shine shoes,enter a factory, become a model worker, bepromoted, and end up a multimillionaire.“Truly, if hard work is not the mother ofsuccess, what is!” exclaimed the benshi,inserting words that did not appear in thesubtitles.

Young workers greeted his comment withearnest applause. But someone among thecrowd of fishermen and sailors shouted loudly,“What a crock of shit! If that were true, I’d be acompany president by now!”

This brought a huge burst of laughter fromeveryone.

Once the laughter subsided, the benshiexplained that the corporation had ordered himto stress the “mother of success” messagestrongly and repeatedly.

As a final segment they saw footage of all thecorporation’s factories and offices. It showedcountless workers, all working industriously.

Looking for trouble

After supper the cabin boy came down into theshit-hole. Men were sitting around the stoveand talking. Some stood under the dim lightpicking lice from their shirts. Each time theirbodies blocked the light, the men cast greatoblique shadows on the painted, sootybulkheads.

“Let me tell you what the officers, captain, andthe manager are up to. It looks like we’re going

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to be sneaking into Russian territory to fishthere. And so the destroyer’s going to stickclose to us all the time and guard us. They’regoing to be making lots and lots of this.” Hemade a circle with his thumb and forefinger inthe shape of a coin.

“They’re saying that Kamchatka and northernKarafuto are rolling with money to be made,and they’re making damned sure to add thiswhole area to Japan. They say this region is justas important to Japan as China and Manchuria.On top of that, it seems that this corporation’sgotten together with Mitsubishi to nudge thegovernment along. If the company presidentgets into the Diet at the next election, they’llreally be stepping things up.

“And so they say the destroyer’s been sent toguard the cannery ship, but it turns out that’snot the main reason. They’re going to carry outa detailed survey of the sea around here,northern Karafuto, and Chishima Islands, andto study the climate. That’s the big objectiveand it has to be carried out thoroughly. I guessit must be a secret, but it seems they’re quietlymov ing ar t i l l e ry and fue l o i l to thenorthernmost of the Chishima Islands.

“It bowled me over when I first heard it, butwhen you come right down to it the truth isthat every single one of Japan’s wars to this daywas fought at the orders of a few rich or super-rich men (I’m talking really rich men), with theexcuses cooked up any which way. Anyhow,these crooks are itching like crazy to get theirhands on every place they smell money. They’relooking for trouble.”

Masters and slaves

In a lower bunk, Shibaura talked waving hisarms. The Stuttering Fisherman rocked backand forth, nodding at his words.

“… See? Let’s suppose the ship exists becausethe rich put up the money and had it built. Ifthere were no sailors and stokers, could the

ship move? There’re hundreds of millions ofcrabs on the bottom of the sea. Let’s supposewe all got our gear and came out here becausethe rich were able to put up the money. But ifwe didn’t work, would even one solitary crabend up in the pockets of the rich? See? Now,think about how much money’s coming our wayafter we work here all summer. Yet from thisship alone the rich will snatch four or fivehundred thousand yen of pure profit. Well, weare the source of that money. Nothing comesout of nothing. You see? Everything’s in ourpower. And so I’m telling you to wipe thatgloomy look off your mug. Show them who youare. In their heart of hearts they’re scaredshitless of us, and that’s no lie. So don’t betimid.

“Without sailors and stokers, ships wouldn’tbudge. Without the workers’ labor, not onelousy penny would roll into the pockets of therich. Even the money to buy the ship, to outfitand equip it, comes out of profits wrung fromthe blood of other workers. It’s money that’sbeen squeezed out of us. The rich and we aremasters and slaves…”

A rolling snowball

Triangular waves came rushing at the ship.Fishermen accustomed to the Kamchatka Seainstantly knew what that meant.

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“No fishing today, way too dangerous.”

An hour went by.

Men stood around in groups of seven or eightunder the fishing boat winches. The boatsswung in the air, each lowered only halfway.Men shrugged and argued gazing at the sea. Afew minutes went by.

“I quit! I quit!”

“They can go fuck themselves!”

It was as if they had been waiting for somebodyto say it.

As they jostled and milled about, someone elsesaid, “Hey, let’s pull the boats back up.”

“Yes!”

“Yes, a damn good idea!”

“But…” A man looked up at the winch andhesitated, frowning.

“If you want to drown, go out there byyourself!” said another scornfully, turning awaywith a jerk of his shoulder.

The whole group began to leave. “I wonder ifthis is really OK,” whispered someone. Twomen uncertainly lagged behind.

At the next pair of winches too fishermen stoodmotionless. Seeing the crew of Boat Number 2walking toward them they understood what itmeant. Four or five of them waved and raisedtheir voices:

“We’re quitting! We’re quitting!”

“That’s right, time to quit!”

As the two groups met, their spirits rose. Twoor three men who were not sure what to dolooked on, baffled. The newly formed groupmoved on to join the crew of Boat Number 5.

Seeing this, the men who had been hangingback started to walk forward, grumbling.

The Stuttering Fisherman turned around andshouted loudly, “Be tough!”

Like a rolling snowball becoming larger andlarger, the group of fishermen kept on growing.The Stuttering Fisherman and the students ranconstantly back and forth between the group’sfront and its rear. “All right, all right, don’t letyourselves get separated! That’s the mostimportant thing. Stay together and we’re safe.That’s it, now we’re good!”

Fishermen who sat in a circle mending ropesnear the smokestack straightened their backsand called out, “Hey what happened?”

The advancing group lifted their arms towardthem, and raised a great shout. Sailorswatching from above saw a forest of wavingarms.

“Good, that does it! We’re stopping work.”

They briskly began to put away the ropes.“We’ve been waiting for this!”

The fishermen understood. Once more theyraised a great cry.

“First of all, let’s get everyone out of the shit-hole. Yes, let’s do it. That motherfucker knowsdamn well that a storm’s coming up, and hestill has the nerve to order the boats out! Whata fucking murderer!”

“Damned if we’re going to let him kill us!”

“Now he’ll see who he’s been messing with!”

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On the side of the people?

It was starting to grow dark when a fishermanwho had been keeping watch from thehatchway spotted the approaching destroyer.Agitated, he rushed to the shit-hole.

“Damn it to hell!” The student leapt up like aspring. His face turned deathly pale.

“Don’t jump to any wrong conclusions,” saidthe Stuttering Fisherman with a laugh. “Oncewe win over the officers with a full explanationof our situation, viewpoint, and demands, thisstrike will turn out even better. That’s as plainas day.”

“That’s true,” said others in agreement.

“That’s our own imperial warship out there. It’sgot to be on our side, on the side of the

people.”

“No, no…” The student waved his hand. Heseemed shaken by a powerful shock. His lipswere trembling, and he was stammering. “Onthe side of the people? … No, no…”

“Look, you idiot! How the hell can a warshipthat belongs to the empire not be on the side ofthe people who belong to that same empire?!”

“The destroyer’s here! The destroyer hasarrived!” Excited voices drowned out thestudent’s reply.

Everyone bounded out of the shit-hole and ontothe deck. Voices suddenly joined in a greatshout: “Imperial navy, hurrah!”

The manager, his face and hand bandaged,stood at the top of the gangway together withthe captain and a few others. Directly oppositethem stood the Stuttering Fisherman,Shibaura, Don’t-act-big, students, stokers,seamen, and the rest of the men. Dimly visiblein the gathering darkness, three steamlaunches left the destroyer. They drew upalongside the cannery ship. Each launch waspacked with about sixteen uniformed sailors.All at once the sailors rushed up the gangway.

“Hey! They’ve got fixed bayonets! And they’rewearing helmets!”

“Oh hell!” cried the Stuttering Fishermanvoicelessly.

Blood and flesh

Every year as the fishing season drew to anend, it was customary to manufacture somecans of crab meat to be offered to the Emperor.Yet not the slightest effort was ever made toprecede their preparation with the traditionalritual purification. The fishermen had alwaysthought this terrible of the manager. But thistime they felt differently.

“We’re squeezing our very blood and flesh into

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these cans. Huh, I’m sure they’ll tastewonderful. Hope they give him a stomachache.”

Such were their feelings as they packed thecans for the Imperial table.

“Mix in some rocks! I don't give a fuck!”

One more time!

“Nobody’s on our side except our own selves.”

This was the feeling that now penetrated deepinto everyone’s heart. “We’ll show you soonenough!”

But repeating the phrase “we’ll show you soonenough” hundreds of times brought them nosatisfaction. The strike had been miserablydefeated, and the work – “Have you learnedyour lesson, you scum?” – had grown evenharsher. The added brutality was themanager’s way of revenge. It exceeded eventhe most extreme limits. The work had becomeunendurable.

“We were wrong. We shouldn’t have put ninepeople out in front of us like that. We might aswell have been saying to them, here’s whereour vital organs are. We should’ve all actedtogether, every one of us. That way it would’vebeen useless for the manager to radio thedestroyer. They sure as hell couldn’t drag all ofus away. There’d be nobody left to do the

work.”

“That’s right.”

“No doubt about it. If we keep on working likewe are now, we’ll really get ourselves killedthis time. To make sure nobody has to besacrificed, we all have to strike together. Let’stake the same approach as before. Like thestuttering guy used to say, the most importantthing of all is to join forces. By now we sureknow how much we could’ve accomplished thattime if we’d stayed united.”

“And if they still call in the destroyer, let’s stayunited and get handed over together withoutleaving anyone behind! That’ll help us evenmore.”

“You may be right. Though come to think of it,if that happens the manager will be in very hotwater with the company. It’ll be too late to sendto Hakodate for replacements, and the outputwill be way down… If we do this right, if mightturn out even better than we expect.

“It will work out just fine. Besides, it’s fantastichow nobody’s scared any more. Everybody’sready to take on the fuckers!”

“Frankly, there’s no sense hoping for somefuture victory. It’s a matter of life or deathright now.”

“Well, let’s do it again, one more time!”

And so they rose. One more time!

Recommended citation: Zeljko Cipris, "To HellWith Capitalism: Snapshots from the CrabCannery Ship", The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol.13, Issue 18, No. 2, May 4, 2015.

Zeljko Cipris is Professor of Asian Studies andJapanese at the University of the Pacific inCalifornia, and a Japan Focus contributingeditor. He is translator of Inoue Hisashi’s playLiving with Father (The Columbia Anthology ofM o d e r n J a p a n e s e D r a m a

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(http://www.amazon.com/Columbia-Anthology-M o d e r n - J a p a n e s e -Drama/dp/0231128304/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1430730384&sr=8-1&keywords=columbia+anthology+of+modern+japanese+drama));Ishikawa Tatsuzo’s novel Soldiers Alive(http://www.amazon.com/Soldiers-Alive-Tatsuzo-Ishikawa/dp/0824827546/?tag=theasipacjo0b-20); and A Flock of Swirling Crows and OtherP r o l e t a r i a n W r i t i n g s(http://amzn.com/0824829263/?tag=theasipacjo0b-20), a collection of works by KuroshimaDenji. His translation of The Crab Cannery Shipa n d O t h e r N o v e l s o f S t r u g g l e(http://amzn.com/0824837428/?tag=theasipacjo0b-20) by Kobayashi Takiji was listed amongthe best translations of 2013 by WorldLiterature Today. The present article isdedicated to Ljubomir Ryu and Shane Satori,and to Masha.

Komori Yoichi's introduction to the CrabC a n n e r y S h i p i s a v a i l a b l e h e r e(http://www.uhpress.hawaii.edu/books/kobayashiCrabIntro.pdf).

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