Like Eugene Volokh and (I’m guessing) Ed Driscoll, I appreciate this scene (Yamamoto’s death*) from Neal Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon. In fact, I do not actually think that it is possible to enjoy Cryptonomicon without also appreciating this scene.
At least, it’d be hard, and possibly perverse.
*A taste (really, the whole passage is excellent, including the stuff that Eugene cut for space):
Isoroku Yamamoto has given up on trying to make them understand that the Americans are grudge-holders on a level that is inconceivable to the Nipponese, who learn to swallow their pride before they learn to swallow solid food. Even if he could get Tojo and his mob of shabby, ignorant thugs to comprehend how pissed off the Americans are, they’d laugh it off. What’re they going to do about it? Throw a pie in your face, like the Three Stooges? Ha, ha, ha! Pass the sake and bring me another comfort girl!
Isoroku Yamamoto spent a lot of time playing poker with Yanks during his years in the States, smoking like a chimney to deaden the scent of their appalling aftershave. The Yanks are laughably rude and uncultured, of course; this hardly constitutes a sharp observation. Yamamoto, by contrast, attained some genuine insight as a side-effect of being robbed blind by Yanks at the poker table, realizing that the big freckled louts could be dreadfully cunning. Crude and stupid would be okay — perfectly understandable, in fact.
But crude and clever is intolerable; this is what makes those red headed ape men extra double super loathsome.
Mind you, I bear up remarkably well under the disapproval of people from slave-owning societies. Particularly the ones that we’ve just set on fire.