Category: (Auto)Biography Page 1 of 12

Samurai!

by Saburo Sakai with Martin Caidin and Fred Saito

DETAILS:
Publisher: Bantam Books, Inc.
Publication Date: May 1978
Format: Paperback
Length: 315 pg.
Read Date: July 17-22, 2025

In the Imperial Japanese Navy I learned only one trade—how to man a fighter plane and how to kill enemies of my country. This I did for nearly five years, in China and across the Pacific. I knew no other life; I was a warrior of the air.

What’s Samurai! About?

The inside page of my edition puts it this way, and I can’t do much better (although I might tone down the language a bit, but it’s not bad for the late 70’s)

The Outcast Who Became Emperor of the Skies

He was a school dropout, juvenile delinquent, and family disgrace—until he first stepped into an airplane. From that moment he soared into legend as Japan’s deadliest ace, and the most feared pilot of World War I.

SAMURAI! is the unforgettable saga of Saburo Sakai—a story of explosive action, violent victory, and personal agony that is absolutely true and vividly real . . . from the roaring of winged cannons in aerial combat, to the anguish of a defeated nation.

The Foreword Alone

The foreword to the book gives an abbreviated biography of Sakai and is the only point that Caidan and Saito are mentioned, to emphasize the “autobiographical” nature of the book*. It also describes some of the research that went into the book.

Honestly, you don’t have to read the whole book to get the idea that Sakai is an impressive figure. Just read the foreword. His post-ward activities alone are pretty impressive—possibly more so than the feats during the war, given the context.

If you’re at all curious about the book, read the foreword. If you’re still curious—dive in. If you decide, “I’m good,” at that point, you probably are. (Although you might want to take a glance at chapters 2 and 3 to see what his military training was like. If you’re similar to me, you’ll think that Full Metal Jacket‘s Gny. Sgt. Hartman wasn’t so bad after all.)

* There might be one or two mentions of Saito’s research in footnotes, but I’m pretty sure Caidin isn’t mentioned again. Like a good ghostwriter, he disappears.

Incredibly True

The back cover of my edition claims that this is “an incredibly true, powerfully moving story of glory, defeat, and ultimate victory—told by the man who lived it.”

Maybe it’s just me, but anytime you put a qualifier on “true,” my skepticism kicks in a little. I’d prefer something “credibly true” any day. Yes, this is an incredible story. And yes, I think it’s based on truth. Probably truth that’s grown a little in the telling.

Is this just fallible memory? Is it the story of someone whose accomplishments get embellished by himself/others a little over time to the extent they don’t remember the actual details? Is this the case of a ghostwriter goosing the facts to make for a better, more exciting read in the States? Possibly all of the above—I lean toward a combination of the latter two (my instinct to favor the third option is helped by the fact that this book wasn’t published in Japan).

It should be stated that the foreword claims that in addition to the hours and hours of interviews with Sakai that Fred Saito, an Associated Press correspondent, researched military archives (from multiple nations) and interviewed associates to authenticate this. How much of that ended up in the final product is beyond my ability to state.

The text points out some places where there are discrepancies between official records and witnesses and what the text states happened. So, it’s not like Caidin and Saito are unaware of some discrepancies.

On the Other Hand…

In April of 1944…With the secret reports available to me as an officer, I had been able to maintain a true appraisal of the war. The secret documents were a far cry from the drivel shouted over the radios to the unsuspecting populace. Everywhere in the Pacific our units were being forced back. Incredibly powerful American task forces, fleet units the size of which staggered the imagination, roamed the Pacific almost at will.

… We were still hanging on at Rabaul, but no longer did that once-mighty bastion threaten Moresby and the enemy’s other bases. Rabaul suffered in more ways than one. The Americans were using it for bombing practice, to break in their new replacements.

From the war in China, the reports internal to the Japanese military, what the civilians heard, and what American military/news reported, one thing that Sakai is clear about for almost the entire book—everyone was lying, exaggerating, hiding, and spinning facts.

So it’s no wonder at all that it’s hard to document or “prove” all of what he says. Probably everything we read about the War in the Pacific should have an asterisk following it, not just this book.

Sakai’s Mistakes and Injuries

No longer was I myself inviolate. It had been the enemy’s turn then, and no less than a miracle had brought me here on this train as it swayed along the tracks leading to Sasebo. A man sees the war differently after the doctors have scraped away rotten flesh from his skull, have dug jagged steel splinters from his body, and comforted him with the staggering living-death sentence, “It is not so bad, Sakai, you will be only half blind.” Only half blind!

Sakai is pretty upfront with mistakes, blunders, and times that his ego led him and others into trouble (although he was rarely alone in letting ego get the best of him). His first arial combat was just…ugly, and he got chewed out for it—as he should’ve, from what I can tell.

He sustained his share of injuries throughout the conflicts he was in—obviously, the worst was the injury that cost him most of the sight from his right eye. I’m not going to go into details about that incident—you really want to read about it yourself, even more than the hint you get in the Foreword.

But when you read about the medical care he received, you have to wonder a little bit what 2025 doctors would do differently. It’s not quite as bad as reading about Civil War surgeons dealing with injuries—but it’s not unlike it, either.

Still, that he came back from that at all to take to the air again says a lot about him. It probably also says a lot about how Japan was doing in the War at that time, and how much they needed pilots.

So, what did I think about Samurai!?

But to fly is just like swimming. You do not forget easily. I have been on the ground for more than ten years. If I close my eyes, however, I can again feel the stick in my right hand, the throttle in my left, the rudder bar beneath my feet. I can sense the freedom and the cleanliness and all the things which a pilot knows.

It’s easy to think of this—in part, anyway—as Sakai telling stories that make him look good (with a few exceptions for the sake of true or perceived humility). But he’s quick—and consistent—to praise others. He makes some of these other pilots sound really amazing, and I appreciated Sakai singing their praises and lamenting their deaths (as appropriate).

Like any good narrative about war*, Sakai does wonder about the costs to both sides.

…that night, for the first time, I thought of the enemy pilots I had shot down as other human beings like myself, instead of unknown entities in their planes. It was a strange and depressing feeling, but, as with every other facet of war, it was kill or be killed.

He doesn’t forget that—but in kill or be killed, survival comes to the forefront.

More than once, I realized that when I was pleased to hear about a close escape, or a great victory for him, that I was cheering against the U.S. in the War. And that feels more than a little strange, I have to say. It’s one thing in a work of fiction to get invested enough to cheer for an enemy or opponent. But in non-fiction?

I didn’t even get into the strange but sweet love story about Sakai’s first wife, and wish I knew more about what happened to her after the War, although it’s clear it’s not a happy story for anyone.

From his horrific days in training; through the combat in China; through hearing about how Dec. 7, 1941 could have had more infamy to live in; through his injuries and triumphs; through the end of the war—this was a riveting read. Yes, I have many questions about some of the details—but as a reader, not a professional historian, I can let those go and appreciate what we have.

I recommend this book, with some obvious caveats. But as someone rapidly approaching the time in life when I’m legally obligated to read WWII histories and watch hours of documentaries about it a week, this is a decent place to start. Fellow Gen Xers approaching the same deadlines would do well to give this a glance.

People who just love an exciting first-person account should do that, too.

* Maybe that’s my personal preference shining through.

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