Thoughts from Episode 18: Feast your eyes on this!

Last time, Sara was tasked with sorting out the flooding of the Kamogawa. Since then, he’s been getting on with the job, and when he reports back, the Emperor wants to speak to him up close. Tsuwabuki fears that the Emperor knows something about Sara, but really, it’s because he has designs on Suiren – which is just as bad! Sara agrees to have Suiren perform music at an upcoming moon-viewing party. But after Umetsubo makes an embarrassing effort to threaten Suiren (who is in hysterics when her bullying methods are lifted directly from The Tale of Genji), Togu decides it’s too risky to attend the party at all.

On the day of the party, Sara informs the Emperor that Suiren is unwell. When the Emperor then sends a sympathy gift her way, Sara encourages her to reply with a rubbish poem to put him off. Unfortunately, the Emperor decides to show up in person, and when Suiren instinctively flees the scene, Sara is left pretending to be her while the Emperor attempts a conversation from the other side of a blind. As the Emperor leaves, a convenient gust of wind lets him see Sara – who doesn’t know who he thinks he saw.

Recreation of a famous kaimami scene at The Tale of Genji Museum in Uji.

That last scene provides today’s little topic for discussion: the idea of kaimami (垣間見). Literally “looking through a gap in a fence”, this refers to the practice of observing someone indirectly, from behind some form of partition. These acts of voyeurism were all the rage in the Heian period, when architecture didn’t create much real privacy, but inner areas were dim and dark, and members of the opposite sex – especially those of different social positions – weren’t normally supposed to see one another. And because of that, kaimami scenes show up a lot as a kind of “love at first sight” motif in The Tale of Genji and other places.

In Torikae baya, as well, we see that men are not supposed to directly look at women of high status if they aren’t married. In Sara’s early days at court, he gallantly shields the court ladies from sight when the blind hiding them falls down. When he first encounters Umetsubo, she strikes him with her fan for having the insolence to look up as she walks by. And when courting Shi no Hime, he sits outside her sleeping area and simply hopes she’ll respond when he speaks.

On the other hand, Tsuwabuki, who sees himself as a passionate romantic like Genji, is unsurprisingly the manga’s #1 peeping tom. The standout scenes are in Episodes 8-9, when he goes to pay Suiren an unexpected visit – at first he is enchanted by her looks, but her violent reaction leaves him feeling confused – and in Episode 10, when he hears Shi no Hime playing the koto and spots her from afar. In both of these incidents, the thrill of these furtive glimpses isn’t enough for Tsuwabuki; he is immediately too excited to hold himself back.

Tsuwabuki sees Suiren for the first time.

Panel from volume 2, page 114. ©Chiho Saito／Shogakukan

When the Emperor in today’s episode asks Sara to arrange a kaimami, a major worry is of course that it will end the same way as those scenes with Tsuwabuki. Eventually, he speaks with Sara and believes him to be Suiren, thanks to the blind between them, but Sara is still panicking over the possibility that the Emperor will rush in after all. But when he finally gets the glimpse he was looking for, he is satisfied and leaves. Obviously, one thing doesn’t inevitably lead to the other. Sometimes kaimami is just a matter of idle nosiness. It’s not even necessarily a phenomenon of men ogling women – the moment where Sara hides the court ladies from view happens because they were so eager to get an eyeful of handsome young guys like Sara and Tsuwabuki that they knocked the blind down themselves.

Anyway, it’s very interesting to think about! Kaimami scenes appear in Torikae baya because they’re such a well-known aspect of Heian culture and therefore part of the aesthetic Saito wants to portray. But at the same time, the concept is a reminder of how the society operated and particularly how separate men’s and women’s lives were. In a way, the same cultural expectations and architectural practicalities that lead to practices like kaimami are what make it possible for Sara and Suiren to live as they do with very few people noticing anything out of the ordinary.

Thoughts from Episode 11: “Words mean nothing”

Back to a more typical post this week, looking at Episode 11 and then getting into a bit of poetry!

This chapter begins right as the last one left off, with Tsuwabuki approaching Shi no Hime. It’s not long before he has his way with her, learning in the process that her husband Sara hasn’t – much to his surprise and confusion. As he leaves in the morning, eager to visit again, Shi no Hime’s attendant Saemon takes pity on Tsuwabuki and continues to exchange letters with him.

After all that, Shi no Hime stays in bed and is too ashamed to speak to Sara when he gets home. Though he can’t figure out what the problem is, Sara takes time off from work to look after her. When he returns to work, he is told that Tsuwabuki has also been missing, but when he tries to pay him a visit, Tsuwabuki won’t see him. This is because he is also ashamed, but not so ashamed that he’ll give up on Shi no Hime. Soon afterwards, Shi no Hime finds out that Tsuwabuki has been writing letters, and decides to invite him round to break up with him, but… let’s just say that doesn’t work…

If you’re wondering what today’s title is all about, “Words mean nothing” is the smooth line Tsuwabuki says to Shi no Hime at the end of this chapter (originally 言葉なぞ無意味). Of course, it does make sense in context, but there’s something quite ironic about this line considering the prominent use of poetry in Tsuwabuki’s attempts to woo Shi no Hime. And this is an aspect where, in Torikae baya, Saito directly incorporates some of the originally text of Torikaebaya monogatari!

First, it’s worth mentioning that poetry was a big deal for the people of the Heian court. For someone to matter in that world, they were expected to be both knowledgeable and skilled when it came to poetry. There were all sorts of situations where people of the court would write and recite poetry, and we get a little sense of that throughout the early chapters of Torikae baya. An early sign of Sara’s affinity for boys’ activities is when he offers to show a visitor, Captain Emon, a poem that he has written. As times goes by, we also get a sense of how important poetry is for romance: Tsuwabuki’s friend Minamoto no Tadasuke shares a sad story about how he sent a poem to a girl he liked, only for her to send it back with corrections; Tsuwabuki pesters Sara to let him send poems to Suiren; and Sara kicks off marriage proceedings with Shi no Hime by writing her a poem.

So far in Torikae baya, five poems have been quoted directly from the original story, accompanied each time by a modern Japanese translation/explanation (remember that Torikaebaya monogatari is from the late Heian period, probably the 1100s). I won’t go into much detail on all of them, but I’ll at least share them all here! The first is in Episode 4, when Sara attempts to convince Tsuwabuki to give up on getting to know his sister. He says (original* first, Saito’s modern Japanese version second):

たぐいなき　憂き身と思い　知るからに　さやは涙の　浮きて流るる

(世に類のない生き辛い我が身と思い知ってるから　そんな私でさえそんなふうに涙を流したりしないのに)

In this scene, Sara tries to reject Tsuwabuki’s friendship entirely. Ruled by passion as always, Tsuwabuki begins to cry, and Sara’s poem laments that though he himself has so much to worry about, he can’t bring himself to cry as easily as Tsuwabuki. This poem highlights the differences in personality between Sara and Tsuwabuki – and indeed, between their counterparts in Torikaebaya monogatari. Including it in the manga makes the moment stand out and really feel like an instance where Sara is unable to contain his melancholy.

The next quoted poem comes from Sara again, when he writes to Shi no Hime in Episode 6:

これやさは　入りて繁きは　道ならむ　山口しるく　惑はるるかな

(これが人のいう恋路の山でしょうか？　早くもほんの入り口で心乱れている私です)

Next, a pair of poems are taken from Torikaebaya monogatari. This is in the Episode 10 scene where Tsuwabuki, being weird about Sara’s coat, overhears Shi no Hime playing the koto and reciting poetry. Shi no Hime says:

春の夜も　見る我からの　月なれば　心づくしの　影となりけり

(明るい春の夜も見る者それぞれの感じる月だから　暗い心の私には月も暗いように感じられる)

What I’ve been doing with these poems so far is taking advantage of there being two of them, by writing a first translation that is shorter and more abstract, and a second one that elaborates a bit more on the poem’s implications. Either way, I’ve been relying quite heavily on the modern Japanese versions (and other modern Japanese versions besides the manga) because of my limited experience with classical Japanese, but that’s all changing as we speak! With funding from the Great Britain Sasakawa Foundation, I’m on a summer course for classical Japanese right now, so I’m hoping to come back to these poems and do a much better job later.

But for now, you probably want to know about Shi no Hime’s poem, so I will give you what I’ve written in the current draft:

On a spring's night, the moon is still that of its viewer. My heart's disquiet is reflected therein.

(Even on a bright night in spring, the moon feels different for each person. So when I feel gloomy inside, the moon is gloomy too.)

Now, as I said, this is the first in a pair of poems, both drawn from the original Torikaebaya monogatari. The second in the pair comes from Tsuwabuki. He has heard Shi no Hime’s forlorn poem and concludes both that she understands his feelings and that she must be unhappy with her marriage. Because he always had a thing for Shi no Hime, he decides that this is his big chance, so he responds:

忘られぬ　心や月に　通ふらむ　心づくしの　影と見けるは

(あなたを忘れられない私の心が月に通じたのでしょうか　あなたが月を暗いように感じたのは)

And here is what I have at the moment:

My unforgetting heart must have touched the moon, if you see a reflection of your heart's disquiet.

(I could never forget you. Perhaps those feelings of mine affected the moon, if you feel that it is gloomy.)

I’ll leave it for you to decide whether these translations are up to scratch, but hopefully you can at least see how they communicate with one another! Not every poem from the original makes its way into the manga, so again, the inclusion of these poems does a lot to help the scene stand out. It feels like a big moment, and one where perhaps it would be a disservice to the story to try and convey it through means other than poetry.

And finally, for the sake of completion, here is the poem that comes up in this week’s chapter. Tsuwabuki, who now feels like Shi no Hime was always the one for him, recites this poem right before he leaves her in the morning:

我がために　えに深ければ　三瀬川　のちの逢瀬も　誰かたづねむ

(女は初めての男に背負われて渡ると言われる三途の川　あなたを背負うのは私ですよ　それほどあなたと私の縁は深いのです　だからどうやって逢瀬を重ねたらよいか教えてください)

You’ll likely notice that the modern Japanese version is significantly longer this time, mainly because it requires an explanation of stories about the Sanzu River. But at this point, I’ve already gone on more than long enough, so I’ll leave it there – but you can expect to hear more about poetry very soon!

*There is a bit of variation in the orthography, so some of these might have been made slightly easier for today’s readers, but the words themselves are as they were in the original text.

Thoughts from Episode 2: Beauties and Cuties

This week’s post looks at the second chapter of Torikae baya, and some thoughts about aesthetics and vocabulary choices.

Episode 2 opens with Sara and Suiren at the age of 14, going through their genpuku and mogi ceremonies respectively – in the afterword of volume 3, Saito points out that these specifically gendered rites are the predecessors of the modern-day Seijin no Hi. These are attended by Marumitsu’s slightly more angular brother Kakumitsu, and the brothers’ father, who doesn’t have a catchy individual name, so I’ve been calling him Fujiwara Senior in the translation so far (and Jijimitsu in my head!). Kakumitsu and Fujiwara are both clueless about Sara and Suiren’s secret, with Kakumitsu musing that Sara would make a great son-in-law and Fujiwara believing that Suiren’s beauty will catch the eye of even the Emperor. We also learn around this point that Sara and Suiren have even more names, with Marumitsu saying that Sara will “borrow” the name of Fujiwara no Tsukimitsu from Suiren and “lend” Suiren the name Suzushiko.

Next, Sara goes for his first day at work. The Emperor is so impressed that he immediately gives Sara a new job as his chamberlain (侍従). Sara begins to worry once he learns that nobody else at court is like him, but otherwise, everything is going well for him at work. On the day of the komahiki ceremony, we’re introduced to Colonel Tsuwabuki, another popular young man at court. When Sara manages to be even more impressive and dashing than him, Tsuwabuki chases him down to announce that the two are now to be best buddies, and that he hears Sara has an identical sister (😉) he’d like to meet.

How to make friends as a young gentleman in the Heian period.

Panels from volume 1, page 76. ©Chiho Saito／Shogakukan

Something that might strike you here is that everyone is beautiful! This is partly down to the art style, but it’s also something that comes up constantly in the dialogue. Old Man Fujiwara compares Suiren’s beauty to the mythical Princess Kaguya; meanwhile, young men like Sara and Tsuwabuki are also regarded as beautiful. I try not to translate 美しい (utsukushii) as “beautiful” every single time, but even if I don’t, the word still comes up a lot.

This reflects the Heian court’s preoccupation with beauty in various forms: aesthetic appeal, but also good taste and manners. We’ll see more examples of what Ivan Morris called the Heian court’s cult of beauty throughout the series, with Sara and the men being accomplished musicians and poets, and Suiren and Nanten no Togu being avid readers. This is what we know mattered to the ruling class, and it’s also what a lot of people today will be expecting from art related to the Heian period. Basically, it’s obvious that everyone should be beautiful in a Heian court romance!

But while I’ve mostly been thinking about 美しい so far, that isn’t the only way that people are described. We see all kinds of different terms, and although most of them seem reasonable enough in a piece of historical fiction, there’s one that seems to stick out: かわいい (kawaii). It’s not as if this is actually too modern, but it feels like it is – especially when it’s repeatedly followed with a little heart symbol. There’s some sense of deliberate anachronism that overrides my instinct to avoid translating it as “cute” in a historical setting. For example:

We see a closeup of SARA, then the reaction of the COURT LADIES.

SARA                                    [thinking] Tsuwabuki no Kimi?

LADY 1                                Oh, look! Sarasoju no Kimi is here!

LADY 2                                What a cutie! ❤

TSUWABUKI glances at SARA, who is taken by surprise. In the background, the LADIES are still excited.

A LADY                               [aside] ❤

Obviously, the manga isn’t actually written in classical Japanese, but it’s interesting to see these points that seem to draw attention to the fact that it’s in modern Japanese. Another example that stands out is in the next chapter, when one of Tsuwabuki’s friends uses the obviously post-1990s word 萌える (moeru). I’ll have to write a whole other blog post about “moe” at some point, but what I want to say for now is that this, like the other little anachronistic dialogue moments, serves to make the characters more relatable. A lot of the time, they use archaic expressions or structures that situate them in the past, but when they describe the beauty around them in the same way that a reader might describe the beauty of the manga art, it feels like they aren’t so far away.