For the citizens and scholars of Japan, “3.11” evokes the same kind of reaction that “9/11” does for many Americans. We remember everything about the moment when we first heard the news of the massive earthquake and tsunami that hit the Tohoku region and the resulting nuclear meltdowns at Fukushima Daiichi—where we were, what we were doing, and whom we were with. And we recall how in that moment we felt instinctively that the momentous events unfolding in real time on our TV screens would somehow change Japan forever. After years of grappling with sclerotic economic growth, Japan would finally be incentivized to introduce sweeping reforms. Or would it? Richard Samuels's outstanding new book offers some answers to this question that will strike many readers as surprising.

In assessing the impact of 3.11 on Japanese politics, Samuels brings order and meaning to the cacophony of discourses that erupted in the immediate aftermath of the triple disasters. Following a succinct and informative overview of the disasters themselves, he begins by identifying the sources and significance of Japan's particular “rhetoric of crisis.” In so doing, he strikes an admirable balance between paying homage to the poise and resilience of the stricken Tohoku residents and acknowledging that, like any other country, Japan in the midst of trauma is capable of rhetorical excess.

Samuels then offers theoretical insights into the prospects for change in the aftermath of disaster, drawing from the experiences of calamities both in Japanese history and in the United States (Hurricane Katrina) and China (the 2008 Sichuan earthquake). Here, he foreshadows one of his main findings in the 3.11 case, namely, that crises are unlikely to trigger major change unless relevant actors were already predisposed to pursue it. And yet, he shows us, it is change that has come to dominate the public and political discourse of post-3.11 Japan—a reality that in turn may have generated unrealistic expectations for its ultimate implementation.

Samuels devotes the bulk of his book to the analysis of three grand narratives of change (“put it in gear,” “stay the course,” and “back to the future”) that have played out in each of three policy areas (security, energy, and local governance). It is a highly ambitious approach that in lesser hands could easily degenerate into mere description, but Samuels executes it beautifully. In each policy-specific chapter, he draws on both his past research and a wealth of personal interviews and other primary and secondary sources to place his narratives in historical and political context. And in each case, he convinces us that change was, at best, incremental. In the security realm, the Self-Defense Forces and the American military may have enjoyed a surge in popularity following their commendable performance during the disasters, but Japan failed to produce ether significant increases in defense spending or a reorientation in its military capabilities. In a similar vein, the nuclear accidents at Fukushima brought TEPCO (Tokyo Electric Power Company) to its knees, but they have yet to significantly weaken Japan's dependence on nuclear energy. Local governance has experienced the most change since 3.11, but again, its scope has been quite limited. In each policy arena, in other words, Japan opted to “stay the course,” introducing only small, piecemeal changes to the status quo. The changes that were introduced, moreover, largely conformed to the long-standing preferences of key political actors.

In sum, Samuels tells a story of “path dependence” and of the tenacity of Japan's political-economic institutions. But that is not all. He also provides us with a masterful example of discourse analysis that effectively illustrates how different narratives about change reflect their advocates’ preferences and prescriptions for reform. He offers sensitive insights into Japanese notions of leadership, community, and risk—tropes that, together with the change motif, have permeated Japan's post-disaster narratives. He focuses our attention on the conspicuous gap between the dysfunctionalities of Japan's political class and the remarkable creativity of its policy entrepreneurs. All the while, he highlights the country's growing political diversity—a trend that may very well be at the heart of contemporary Japan's apparent inability to rally en masse behind sweeping reform. Last but not least, Samuels offers new theoretical and empirical insights into the nature and implications of crisis, warning us along the way about the misplaced expectations that frequently arise in its wake.

Needless to say, 3.11 is not the first major academic treatment of the triple disasters and their aftermath; to the contrary, much ink had already been spilled on the subject before this volume was published. Nor, for that matter, will it be the last word on the subject, as Samuels himself recognizes. 3.11 will, however, make its mark as the most comprehensive, contextualized, and insightful snapshot of the first few months of a critical juncture in Japanese history—a juncture that may not be so “critical” after all. I enthusiastically recommend this study to Japan scholars of all disciplinary persuasions, as well as to social scientists interested in the processes of change.