In Meiji Restoration Losers, Michael Wert offers a highly readable study of the complex politics of regional memory in modern Japan, providing insight into the role of what Carol Gluck has termed “memory activists.” Wert does this primarily through the tragic figure of Oguri Tadamasa (1827–68), a high official in the Tokugawa shogunate who received additional notice for being executed by imperial forces in the turmoil of the Meiji Restoration. Wert's study is broadly chronological, tracing the contested commemoration and construction of Oguri's memory through to the early twenty-first century. In this context, the book examines several parallel strands, including the remembrance of Oguri's contemporaries Ii Naosuke (1815–60) and Saigō Takamori (1828–77). Wert also weaves into his narrative the fascinating story of the legendary Tokugawa treasure hoard that Oguri supposedly buried near his home in modern-day Gunma Prefecture, and which has occupied adventurers and treasure hunters from the early Meiji period to the present day.

The first chapter provides an overview of Oguri's life and career, focusing on two key episodes: his efforts to construct the great naval complex at Yokosuka with French aid, and the events surrounding his execution in Gonda Village, where Oguri had moved after Tokugawa Yoshinobu ignored his plan to continue armed resistance and decided to surrender to the imperial forces. Oguri's advocacy of war placed him at odds with the shogunal commander Katsu Kaishū (1823–99), who was later venerated for having avoided excessive bloodshed by surrendering the capital to the imperial loyalist forces. As Wert explains, this episode has served to cast Oguri as both a loser and a villain in much later historiography and popular lore.

Chapter 2 looks at the construction of memory of Oguri in the Meiji period up to the 1890s, when he was rehabilitated by former Tokugawa loyalists as a martyr against what they saw as the unjust domination of the Meiji state by Satsuma and Chōshū figures. Wert argues that interest in Oguri, both positive and negative, was sustained by the personal interest of those who knew him, including Fukuzawa Yukichi (1835–1901) and Katsu Kaishū, and that when this group began to die around the turn of the twentieth century, Oguri's legacy was neglected on the national stage. Instead, national unity after the victory over China in 1895 lessened interest in the factional allegiance that was used to define Oguri, while the public became increasingly enamored with younger, ostensibly more exciting figures such as Sakamoto Ryōma (1836–67) and Yoshida Shōin (1830–59).

In chapter 3, Wert examines the concerted attempts of memory activists to promote and commemorate the legacy of Oguri and other “losers” throughout the rest of the imperial period, a struggle that challenged both the dominant official commemorative practice centered around the Restoration “winners” and the popular fascination with “redeemed” figures such as Saigō and Ii. The key event discussed here is the fiftieth anniversary of the Yokosuka Naval Yard in 1915, which also commemorated the naval victory over Russia ten years earlier. This initiated a movement by memory activists to erect busts of Oguri and the French naval adviser François Léonce Verny (1837–1908) at Yokosuka. Although these efforts were successful in 1922, sustained attempts to completely “rehabilitate” Oguri by awarding him posthumous court rank proved fruitless. Wert discusses in considerable detail the great variety of commemorative activities that Gunma activists undertook on Oguri's behalf, and how they were able to construct a regional identity that was different from, yet very much in harmony with, the national whole.

The fourth chapter places Oguri into historiography and popular culture in the early postwar period, when the reevaluation of his legacy was complicated by a variety of factors. One of these was a rejection of elements of the autocratic Meiji imperial state that were believed to have led directly to the disaster of the 1930s and 1940s. This resulted in a renewed focus on bakumatsu figures such as Sakamoto, Yoshida, and Saigō, but Oguri, who featured in a number of films and works of literature, was portrayed less positively as a conservative and even cruel figure. At the same time, Wert argues, government moves to stimulate Japan's regions provided an opportunity for local memory activists such as those in Gunma to rehabilitate their own heroes. Attempts to insert them into the national narrative, however, had more mixed results, and the extensive efforts to promote Oguri's legacy beyond Gunma were largely unsuccessful before the last decade of the twentieth century.

The local promotion of Oguri finally had a national impact in the Heisei period, and chapter 5 examines the various strands of popular and political culture in which Oguri was revived as a positive figure. These include the persistent legend of buried treasure, which was given a boost by features covering it on national television, as well as increased interest due to the difficult economic situation. Wert places the “Oguri boom” of Heisei into a larger “bakumatsu boom” in which people looked to the late Tokugawa for guidance on contemporary problems (p. 139). As the seeming epitome of a sensible bureaucrat and patriot who acted for the good of the nation, Oguri came to be highly regarded as a model for contemporary politicians, who were widely viewed as ineffectual and motivated primarily by self-interest. In Heisei, Oguri has been cast as the hero of manga, novels, and major NHK television productions, representing a considerable shift from the ambivalence that met him before.

Meiji Restoration Losers provides a window on the ways in which marginalized figures became objects of struggle for regional memory activists attempting to influence national discourses with their own view of history. Wert traces Oguri's legacy through a wide range of discoursal spheres, from politicians to treasure hunters to popular writers, demonstrating the wide range of arenas in which memory was negotiated. Unfortunately—and this is more of an issue for the researcher than the casual reader—given the range of materials that Wert analyzes, and the intriguing narratives that are woven through the text, the short index is not up to the task of directing the reader. France, for example, does not appear in the index although it features prominently throughout the book. On the whole, however, Wert's study is a valuable addition to the study of the politics of memory in modern Japan, providing scholars and students of modern Japanese history with an engaging case study and framework for exploring the complex interplay between regional and national identity from the end of Tokugawa rule to the twenty-first century.