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They belong to a generation whose future is unknowable: only 24% of this year's 140,000 college seniors have jobs in sight. The U.S. occupation taught the Sun Tribers to scorn the way of their ancestors but did not replace it with a direction they could respect. From the Americans they took only the easy externals. Their uniform is as standard as that of a geisha: the "Shintaro" crew cut and aloha sports shirts for the men, with loose-flowing Byronic shirts, zoot coats and pointed suede shoes for city wear; toreador pants for the girls with hair cut like a mop and often dyed red; and over all, an attitude of abandonment and deep to-hell-with-it cynicism.
"Ishihara writes truly what we, the younger generation, are looking for," said a 21-year-old farm boy in Japan last week, but for Ishihara himself the truth was not so simple. A conscientious professional who lives quietly with a pretty kimono-clad young wife in the ancient tradition of his ancestors, the idol of the Sun Tribers tempers his cynicism with hard work: "As an author, I've got to sleep with my generation like a prostitute, but I've also got to climb out of bed occasionally and try to get one step ahead of it."