Last Tuesday Marie-Rose Ishiguro was at odds with her handbag. Dressed in a bright red suit, with gold jewelry and matching buttons, she looked every inch the power executive. But her battered brown leather bag -- more a holdall really, handles secured with string and spilling papers, books and clothes -- gave the game away: really she's an author on the run.
"Two p.m. I meet Sankei Shimbun," she began to rattle off at speed, thrusting three red roses into my arms. (The first time I've ever allowed myself to be bribed!) "Tonight, with my sister, I'm due at a reception at the Swedish Embassy. Tomorrow I meet another Japanese newspaper. Thursday, there's a TV interview in Shizuoka. Then back to Kansai. After 10 days of this, I'll be glad to get home."
The jaunt was to publicize her latest book, "Chotto O-sekkai Desu Ga" ("Pardon My Meddling, But . . ."), written in response to the volunteer spirit generated by the Kobe earthquake, and published by Jiji Press on the last day of 1999. "One critic compared me to Takakura Ken, adored because he's reserved and rarely expresses himself. I'm popular for the opposite reason: open, easygoing, expressing myself all the time."