Chicago; London: The University of Chicago Press, 2018. xi, 302 pp. (Figures, maps, B&W photos, illustrations.) US$27.50, cloth. ISBN 978-0-226-55855-4.
Greater Tokyo boasts the world’s most extensive and efficient rail network, serving a region of over 13,000 square kilometres with a population greater than Canada’s. But what daily sacrifices do users and operators of this system need to make in order to keep it functioning at such a high level? This is the focus of Michael Fisch’s new work An Anthropology of the Machine: Tokyo’s Commuter Rail Network.
In this book, Fisch argues for a more ethical relationship with technology, one that recognizes the value of both humans and technology equally rather than being strictly focused on maintaining a profit-based transportation system. He hopes for a system that provides space for human judgement and interactions along with other ways of thinking about our future together.
The book introduces the focus of the work, which is “the processes of human and machine interaction within conditions of immersive technological mediation that constitute the collective life of Tokyo’s commuter rail network” (9). It also looks at how the margin of indeterminacy—
the openness which a system has to incorporating environmental changes into its operation—benefits both humans and machines.
The first chapter provides a fascinating account of how additional capacity was added to Tokyo’s train system during the twentieth century by increasing train speeds, decreasing headways, and reducing dwell times at stations. The technique of “recovery driving” in order to make up time lost to delays was also utilized. Automatic ticket gates, introduced beginning in 1969, were another innovation that further increased capacity.
The second chapter introduces the term “operation beyond capacity,” which Fisch defines as a system with commuter trains running at over 100 percent capacity. By the metric of the Japan Association of Rolling Stock Industries, this means that not all riders can sit down or have a hanging strap to hold onto. The book shows how humans are able to adapt to the commuter environment, for example, by sleeping on packed trains only to wake up at their designated stop, through the silence of the commuter train car, and the use of the smart phone. Fisch notes that while it is impressive that humans can adapt to conditions like these, it is problematic that we can “learn to inhabit quite comfortably forms of collective life that are not conducive for our own flourishing nor the flourishing of other life on this planet” (76).
The book then reviews the “Autonomous Decentralized Transport Operation Control System,” or ATOS, which was developed by JR East in the mid-1990s. The system allowed the Tokyo rail operator’s network to decentralize and become more self-governing and adaptive, allowing it to be more resilient in the face of service delays. It also shows how railway operators have expanded beyond their core services to create retail opportunities behind their gates, all facilitated by the SUICA contactless smart card, which can be used for both train fare and consumer purchases. The relationship of mass transportation and mass media in films such as Man-in Densha (The Full-up Train) from 1957 and Densha Otoko (Train Man) from 2005 is also explored.
The book’s final two chapters take us on a tour of Tokyo’s commuter trains through first person accounts. The first is through an interview with the train mechanic responsible for cleaning up the undercarriage of trains after commuter suicides. This is likely the strongest chapter in the book, where the author delves into commuter train suicides by skillfully weaving history, theory, narrative, and analysis of the film Suicide Circle by Sono Sion. The last chapter provides a detailed accounting of the 2005 Amagasaki derailment that is enlivened by the account of a paralegal who survived it. While the direct cause was the driver running a packed rush hour commuter train faster than the track’s design capacity, the spur was the physical and psychological abuse meted out as punishment to drivers for any error. It also makes clear the strain that drivers were under to make up time caused by delays in a system always operating at peak capacity during rush hour.
The book’s conclusion is titled “Reflections on the Gap,” which points out the potential danger of operation beyond capacity, as it is not a condition imposed by technology, but rather “a reality constituted in the cooperative and invested interaction of humans and machines” (264). It ends with a plea to change how we view technology so that we lead lives of fulfillment rather than simply endurance.
While the author calls for a more ethical relationship with technology, the book provides few answers in this regard. It would have been instructive for themes such as the “unforgiving system” to be explored more deeply to determine how it was that a commuter rail system that lacks empathy and allowance for mistakes came to be developed and how it might be changed.
The book’s use of the term “operation beyond capacity” for any mildly busy commuter train and the narrow focus on the short window of the peak hour morning weekday commute give the impression that anyone riding the Tokyo rail system is engaged in a constant endurance test rather than simply a trip to work. While it serves the narrative, the constant focus on the most negative aspects of the commuter rail experience does distract from the strong themes raised in the book.
An Anthropology of the Machine is a fascinating in-depth account of the innovations, inventions, sacrifices, and creativity required to ensure Tokyo’s millions of commuters keep rolling. It also provides much food for thought as our transportation systems become increasingly reliant on automated technology.
John Calimente
Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada