Wasshoi! Magazine #6

Burden

and Expectations of Women in Japan

Obon Festivities and the Aubergine Offering

Marty Borsotti

Japan as a Pioneer in Intangible Heritage Policies

Alice Balle

The Burden of Caregiving and the Historically Rooted Expectations of Women in Japan

Samira Hüsler

Multi-Layered and Hidden Meanings: Hosoda Eishi and the Tales of Ise

Momoka Asano

HISTORY

Kanji: It’s Not That Bad

Dominique Jenkins

FILM

BILINGUAL / REVIEW

Ricchezza riflessa: Nippon Connection 2023

e To the SUPREME!

Mirrored Richness: Nippon Connection 2023

and To the SUPREME!

Christian Esposito in collaboration with Nippon Connection (Transl. Dœlma Goldhorn)

Guten Appetit!：

僑居他 鄉 的日本美味

Fengyu Wang

Guten Appetit!：

The Expatriate Tastes of Japan

POPULAR CULTURE / ECONOMICS

Shinjuku Station: An Historical Guide to the World’s Busiest Railway Terminal

Brian Rogers

Transportation and the Castle Town in the Mōri Clan Domain Under Toyotomi Hideyoshi – Second Part

Hiroki Nakahara

The Things She Owned (2018) and Meshi (2022) by Katherine Tamiko Arguile

Olivia Chollet

Umehara Daigo: The Michael Jordan of Competitive Gaming

Feyyaz Temür

Konnichiwa dear readers! Summer is here. Three years have passed since we founded Wasshoi! and what a ride it has been. Since our last publication, Japan has finally reopened its borders, but before your departure, allow us to present you the sixth issue of the magazine, which may keep you company during your flights!

The issue opens with a keynote article by Alice Balle, scientific director at the Japanese company Tsunagaru. In her piece she introduces to us the evolution of Japanese laws on cultural heritage and its various categories, with particular attention paid to the Japanese concept of Intangible Heritage. Samira Hüsler takes the baton and continues her series of articles on Japan’s aging society. She will present a brief history of women in Japan and the many social expectations that have burdened them. Following this, Momoka Asano guides

us into the world of ukiyo-e woodblock prints with an article dedicated to the visual representation of the legendary Tales of Ise by the artist Hosoda Eishi (1756‒1829). In a different tone, Dominique Jenkins presents some lesser-known facts about kanji, the Chinese characters through which the Japanese language is written.

A well-deserved lunch break is offered to us by Fengyu, with an intimate bilingual opinion piece about the delight of eating authentic bento lunch boxes, sold at the Bergheim Campus of Heidelberg University. It is the first time that Wasshoi! has included an article in Chinese! A packed lunch will come in handy for a journey across time, the first stage of which is conducted by Brian Rogers, who leads us through the intricate history of Shinjuku Station. Nakahara Hiroshi will complete our historic tour with the second part

Aurel Baele, Luigi Zeni, Marty Borsotti

of his article dedicated to the Mōri clan, focusing on the construction of Hiroshima Castle during the late 16 th century. As a conclusion for the issue, Feyyaz Temuer has prepared a piece about the world of competitive fighting games, focusing on the legendary figure of Daigo Umehara; quite a treat for videogame fans. Finally, our reviews have been covered by Olivia Chollet, who delves into the intimate world of author Katherine Tamiko Arguile, and Christian Esposito, who has dedicated a bilingual (Italian-English) review to the Nippon Connection film festival held in Frankfurt in 2023. We have had the honour of collaborating with Nippon Connection since 2021 and we hope you will enjoy reading Christian’s review of To the SUPREME! .

It is quite a line-up for this hot season, which we are celebrating with a new logo dedicated to aubergines, or nasu as they are called in Japanese. At Wasshoi! we are quite fond of this summer fruit, but we did not choose it for its culinary properties (nor for the infamous emoji!). In Japan, August is the month dedicated to the Obon festivities, which involve an important tradition of honouring the deceased. To discover more about the importance of aubergines during Obon please read the essay following this editorial.

Before leaving you to your reading, allow us to tease our next thematic publication, scheduled for Winter 20232024. It will be dedicated to natural disasters in Japan, coinciding with the centenary of the Great Kantō earthquake in 1923. And now, without further ado, let’s start Wasshoi! #6 with the same old drill:

Wasshoi! Wasshoi! Wasshoi!

OBON FESTIVITIES and the Aubergine Offering

Marty Borsotti

It is said that on the first day of the seventh month of the old Japanese lunisolar calendar 1 the lid covering the entrance to the otherworld opens, releasing in the process the souls of the dead.

On this day, kamabuta tsuitachi ( 釜蓋 朔日 , the first day of the iron lid), hell literally breaks loose, and all sort of spirits rush towards the realm of the living, from harmless and benevolent ancestors to recently departed souls ( aramitama 新霊 , new souls) who are still dangerous for people and thus need to be appeased by their families. Within this spirit mob the most threatening are those who do not have any ties left with the living ( muenbotoke 無縁仏 ) and need similar rituals performed, as they could wreak havoc under the form of hungry ghost-demons ( gaki 餓鬼 ). Such is the beginning of Obon お盆 , the Japanese festivity to honour the deceased, in particular a household’s ancestors, but also to ease the pain of angry souls.

The tradition originated in India at the very inception of Buddhism and has been celebrated in Japan since the 8 th century AC. Nowadays, Obon is Japan’s second most important festivity and features all sort of practices, from the well-known Bon dances ( bon odori 盆 踊り) to visits to one’s family temple to pray for the souls of the dead. The first period of this festivity, called ‘welcoming bon’ ( mukaebon 迎盆 ), for the fami -

lies who had a loss during the previous year begins on the 1 st of August and lasts up to the 13 th of August, the last day available to conduct the preparations to welcome the souls ( shōryō mukae 精霊迎え).

One of the most important preparations during this first half of Obon consists in cleaning the cemeteries, especially by cutting the grass that might have overgrown during the previous rainy month, in order to create a path for the souls to follow ( bon michi tsukuri 盆道作り). This practical task is accompanied by a symbolic practice, offering the dead a cucumber representing a horse and an aubergine representing a cow, who are meant to help cut the grass. The vegetables traditionally have four sticks plunged into them to imitate the legs of the animals. In fact, the horse and the cow ‒ represented by the cucumber and the aubergine ‒are also meant to serve as a mount for the souls in their journeys. They are believed to carry the souls of the ancestors to the realm of the living and back to the underworld during their send-off ( okuri bon 送り盆 ) the last days of Obon, typically between the 15th and 16th of August. 2

2 In the past, Obon used to last a whole month, while in the northern regions of Japan Obon can still be celebrated up to the 20 th of August.

JAPAN AS A PIONEER IN INTANGIBLE HERITAGE POLICIES

Alice Balle 1

This article is a presentation on the flaws which have been progressively protecting intangible heritage, specifically through the concept of national human treasure, and how it was developed into UNESCO protection measures.

What are Cultural Heritage Policies, and why Do they Matter?

In the case of cultural heritage, observing and studying policies may seem like a passive way of consuming technical information, but it is very important to know how a country has evolved through its heritage legislation. Such policies reflect the evolution of national and institutional awareness around cultures, and their Authorised Heritage Discourse (AHD). A review of heritage policies retraces the increasing awareness that cultural goods (tangible or intangible) exist, that they have historical, economic, identity, political, and possibly educational value, and that they

must be actively protected. Therefore, the way in which the various laws have been put in place is particularly relevant because they will highlight different protection needs, the institutional approaches, and different sensitivities of the group. While I cannot explore every detail in the case of Japan, I will present a broad and essential outline as to why Japan has been a pioneer of intangible heritage protection.

1 Alice Balle is a cultural heritage historian specialising in the use of new technologies. With a multidisciplinary profile tending towards anti-disciplinarianism, she conducts research combining hybrid approaches, abstract and concrete thinking, theoretical concepts and empirical data.

What are Cultural Heritage Policies and Why Do They Matter?

In its early phase from 1870 to 1898, Japanese heritage protection was mostly focused on inventory and light repairs, as well as increasing awareness of heritage value. It was during the Meiji Era (1868–1912) that Japan took its first steps towards conservation legislation. Traditionally, most of the cultural properties were protected by aristocratic and samurai families, but feudal Japan ended brutally in 1867, when the Meiji Restoration came to pass. The Meiji Era was also marked by a strong anti-Buddhist movement, which resulted in the dismantling and sale of many traditional buildings, art collections, and precious objects, particularly during the series of events known as Haibutsu Kishaku 廃 仏毀釈 (literally ‘abolish Buddhist icons and destroy Shākyamuni’s teachings’). It was apparently Machida Hisanari ( 町 田久成 ; 1838–1897) who, after a stay in Europe during which he observed heritage protection measures, faced the destruction that marked the beginning

of the Meiji Era, and became aware of the danger of losing part of the national culture. Arriving at the position of senior official in charge of higher education ( daigaku taijo 大学大丞 ), he suggested to the Department of State ( daj ō kan 太政官 ) on the 23 rd May 1871, the establishment of a decree ‘For the protection of antiquities’ (literally decree for the conservation of ‘old objects and old things’, koki kyūbutsu hozon kata , 古 器旧物保存方 ), and a National Museum ( shūkokan 集古館 ).

Prefectures, temples, and shrines were required to list their valuable artefacts and remarkable buildings. Funds were then allocated to start various censuses and surveys, leading to repairs and reconstructions (539 shrines and temples in 1894). From 1888 to 1897 a survey was carried out by Okakura Kakuzō ( 岡倉覚三 ; 1863–1913) and Ernest Fenollosa (1853–1908), and around 210,000 objects of artistic or historic merit were evaluated and catalogued.

In a second phase, Japan saw its first strong protection and restoration laws, starting with temples and shrines. On the 5 th June in 1897, it led to the promulgation of the ‘Ancient Temples and Shrines Preservation Law’ ( koshaji hozon-ho 古社寺保存法 ) under the guidance of Itō Chūta ( 伊東忠太 ; 1867–1954), targeting the preservation and restoration of Japanese architecture and historic art through financial support. In this text appeared for the first time the term ‘National Treasure’ ( kokuho 国宝 ). In 1898 the ‘Law on Lost and Found Objects’ ( ishitsubutsu-h ō 遺失物法 ) was also enacted, which required official declarations of buried objects that might be of archaeological, artistic, or scientific interest.

The third phase broadened the heritage definition to include natural assets and extended the list of buildings considered as potential national treasures. After the adoption in 1911 of a ‘Project for the Conservation of Historical Sites and Natural Monuments’ ( Shiseki oyobi tennen kinenbutsu hozon ni kan suru kengian 史蹟及天然 紀念物保存ニ関スル建 議案 ), the ‘Law for the Conservation of Historical Sites, Places of Scenic Beauty, and Natural Monuments’ ( Shiseki meish ō tennen kinenbutsu hozon-ho 史 蹟名勝天然紀念物保存法 ) was enacted in 1919, giving them the same kind of protection as artwork, architecture, etc. The term ‘national treasure’ ( kokuho 国 宝 ) became more central as the latter law was reformed in 1929 to become the ‘National Treasures Preservation Law’ ( kokuh ō hozon-ho 国宝保存法 ).

This new law, replacing the one of 1897, extended the focus to, for example, teahouses, religious buildings, and castles, allowing for numerous restorations financed by the national budget. Then on the 1 st April in 1933, the Law on the Preservation of Important Works of Art was passed ( jūy ō bijutsuhin hozon-ho 重要美術品保存法 ). While Japan was facing a global depression, this law was aimed at preventing the export of non-protected art objects by offering a simple procedure of designation.

Finally, the fourth phase in 1950 greatly expanded the scope of cultural properties to include intangible heritage or popular knowhow and eased the classification procedure. On the 30 th May 1950, after the Second World War, and particularly after the heavy losses caused by a fire in the main hall of the Hōry ū -ji temple in Nara Prefecture, the ‘Law for the Protection of Cultural Property’ ( bunkazai hogo-h ō 文化財 保護法 ), was passed; it is still in operation today. This law combined those of 1919, 1929, and 1933, allowing the selection of cultural properties, setting restrictions on their alteration, and providing measures for the preservation and utilisation of such properties. It has since undergone numerous amendments, particularly in 1954, 1975, and 2004, which gradually broadened the meaning of the term ‘cultural property’ ( bunkazai 文化財 ). For example, new categories such as ‘cultural landscape’ have been added, and folkloric heritage now includes ‘popular know-how’. The practice of ‘inscription’, which is less restrictive than ‘classification’, has also been introduced. Initially, this law of 1950 was targeting tangible heritage protection with three broad categories. But in 1954, they were reorganised into four categories, with the addition of intangible heritage: Tangible Cultural Properties, Intangible Cultural Properties, Folk Materials, and Monuments. In 1975, the law was extended to protect districts and groups of buildings, but also technical skills, for the conservation of Cultural Properties. Finally, in 2004 ‘Important Cultural Landscapes’ as well as ‘Folk Techniques’ (included in ‘Folk Cultural Properties’ description) were added.

For more details, we invite readers to refer to the article by Inada Takashi ( 稲田孝司 ), which presents in detail the different evolutions of this law.

23 rd of May 1871

5 th of June 1897 1919 1929

The Plan for the Preservation of Ancient Artifacts ( koki ky ū butsu hozonkata 古器旧物保存方 )

The Ancient Temples and Shrines Preservation Law ( koshaji hozon-ho 古社寺保存法 )

Law for the Conservation of Historical Sites, Places of Scenic Beauty and Natural Monuments ( shiseki meish ō tennen kinenbutsu hozon-ho 史蹟名勝天然紀念物保 存法 )

National Treasures Preservation Law ( kokuh ō hozon-ho 国宝保存法 )

1 st of April 1933 30 th of May 1950

Law on the Preservation of Important Works of Art ( jūy ō bijutsuhin hozon-h ō 重要美術品保存法 )

Law for the Protection of Cultural Property ( bunkazai hogo-ho 文化財保護法 )

The Current Cultural Heritage Categories in Japan2

There are currently seven different categories of cultural property recognised under Japanese law.

Tangible Cultural Properties ( y ū kei bunkazai 有形文化財 ) are cultural products with a physical form that possess high historic, artistic, and academic value to Japan, such as structures (buildings), crafts, sculptures, calligraphic works, classical books, palaeography, archaeological artefacts, and historic materials. Fine arts and crafts and structures are considered two separate categories. Cultural properties can then be designated as ‘National Treasures’ ( kokuhō 国宝 ) or ‘Important Cultural Properties’ ( j ū yō bunkazai 重要文化財 ).

By 2016, there were 13,057 Important Cultural Properties (including 1,097 National Treasures) of which 19% were structures.

Intangible Cultural Properties ( mukei bunkazai 無形文化財 ) refers to stage arts, music, craft techniques, and other intangible cultural assets that possess high historic or artistic value for the country. It refers to the art itself as well as the holders of techniques, that is to say, the individuals or groups of individuals who represent the highest mastery of the practices concerned. Special recognition can be offered to some individuals under the title of National Living Treasure. By 2016, there were 112 holders (77 designations) and 27 groups named as Important Intangible Cultural Properties.

2 For more information about the types of cultural properties, see the official website of the Agency of Cultural Affairs (in English), or the presentation of the Law for Protection of Cultural Properties, Article 2.

Folk Cultural Properties are divided between tangible ( mukei minzoku bunkazai 無形民俗文化財 ) and intangible properties ( y ū kei minzoku bunkazai 有形 民俗文化財 ) but are legally recognised as one category. They refer to cultural properties that relate to the role and influence of traditions in the daily life of Japanese people, such as manners and customs; folk performing arts and techniques (food, tools, instruments, clothing, housing, occupation, religious faith, annual events, etc.). By 2016, there were 216 Important Tangible Folk Cultural Properties, and 290 Important Intangible Folk Cultural Properties.

Monuments ( kinenbutsu 記念物 ) are separated into three categories: Historic Sites ( shiseki 史跡 ), Places of Scenic Beauty ( meishō 名勝 ), and Natural Monuments ( tennen kinenbutsu 天然記念物 ). In each of these categories, some items can be designated as ‘special’. Here is a list of examples from the Agency of Cultural Affairs of Japan: Shell mounds, ancient tombs, sites of castle towns, sites of forts or castles, old houses, gardens, bridges, gorges, seashores, mountains, animals, plants, minerals, and geological features of a high scientific value to Japan. By 2016, there were 1,021 Natural Monuments (including 75 Special Natural Monuments), 398 Places of Scenic Beauty (including 36 Special Places of Scenic Beauty), and 1,759 Historic Sites (including 61 Special Historic Sites).

Cultural Landscapes ( bunkateki keikan 文化的景観 ) are described as places ‘formed by the climate of a given region and people's lives or work there, and are indispensable for understanding the livelihood and work of the Japanese people’. Some items can be designated as Important Cultural Landscapes. By 2016, 50 areas were identified as such.

Preservation Districts for Groups of Historic Buildings ( dentōteki kenzōbutsu-gun 伝統的建造物群 ) is a category added in 1975 through an amendment of the original law of 1950. It aims to protect groups of traditional buildings which, together with their environment, form beautiful scenery, such as historic cities, towns, and villages in Japan, including castle towns, post-towns, and towns built around shrines and temples. By 2016, there were 110 Important Preservation Districts for Groups of Traditional Buildings across Japan.

The Japanese Sensitivity to Intangible Heritage

In our case, it is more specifically the revisions of 1954 and 1975 to which we wish to draw attention, since these made it possible to integrate the notion and certification of a National Human Treasure ( ningen kokuho 人間国宝 ). This allows the classification and recognition of not simply an object, document or building, but of an individual or group of individuals who are designated by the government as ‘holders of an important intangible cultural heritage’ ( jūy ō mukei bunkazai no hojisha mata wa hoji dantai 重要無形文化財の保持者又は保持団 体 ). Inada Takashi explains 3 : ‘ The aim is not to designate the protection of a cultural property as such, but to ensure the continuation of 'traditional techniques or technical skills' and 'the framework that guarantees their existence' by introducing a designation of 'selected conservation technique'. This characterisation of skills also corresponds to recognition as ‘a person or group holding selected conservation techniques ’ ( sentei hozon gijutsu no hojisha mata wa hozon dantai 選定保存技

術の保持者又は保存団体 ).

Although the term ‘National Treasure’ was not originally intended to be used to value individuals, this practice was quickly adopted, so much so that by 1979 there were already about 75 individuals bearing the title, which was recognised by UNESCO in 2003. It is now limited to crafts and the performing arts and is divided into 16 categories. Today, there are 57 individuals (and 12 groups) with this title in the field of performing arts and 57 individuals (and 13 groups) in the field of crafts.

3 Inada Takashi, ‘The Evolution of Heritage Preservation in Japan since 1950 and its Role in Constructing Regional Identities,’ Ebisu no. 52 (2015): 21–46.

In this sense, Japan has been a pioneer in the field of intangible heritage, since they have been using the term from as early as 1950, while UNESCO only officially recognised it in 2003. However, this notion of ‘living national treasures’ is a compelling illustration of how an individual and the know-how they possess can be, in themselves, the bearers of a sense of heritage beyond the object they produce.

Thus, by emphasising the longevity of traditional wisdom, its transmission and its recurring practice, it will not be surprising to see in Japan an act that is often outlawed in Europe: deliberate destruction. Indeed, Europe is almost exclusively focused on the object produced. Therefore, the main objective is precisely to avoid any destruction of heritage objects and materials.

In Japan, although the object produced or the building has a value itself, it is commonly accepted that intentional deconstruction of material products will activate, stimulate, and revitalise the know-how that gave them form. It will make it possible to actively preserve this knowledge, and with it, the memory it bears. This perspective is also part of the Shinto belief about the impermanence of all things, the death and renewal of nature. This destruction is a way of passing building techniques from one generation to the next.

One of the most famous examples of intentional destruction is the Ise Sanctuary ( ise-jingu 伊勢神宮 ) within Ise-Shima National Park, Mie Prefecture.

Since the 7 th century, it has been regularly demolished and then rebuilt according to a specific chronology called shikinen-seng ū 式年遷宮 , which corresponds to every 20 years. In the article ‘Authenticity and Reconstruction of Memory in Japanese Monumental Architecture’, the authors question how the value of authenticity emerges when it comes to a ‘quasi-oral architectural tradition’. As Alain Schnapp puts it, 4 ‘ the Japanese have thus developed a technique of artisanal memory which, in the eyes of a Hellenist, recalls the competition between words and marble: here the cyclically transmitted know-how is supposed to prevent the material corruption of the shrine. In the long run, the gesture of the craftsmen, which is always transmitted, prevails over the most solid of constructions. ’

4 Alain Schnapp, La conquête du passé: aux origines de l’archéologie (Paris: Éditions Carré, 1993), 98.

Here again, we can see how the Western understanding of heritage value, and the processes involved in its recognition, do not always make sense beyond their original purpose.

Whether it is the acquisition of the finished object, the value of its materials, the method of production, its function, or the context of its use, the justification of heritage value is specific to the group of individuals connected to it. Heritage creation is the result of a process, specific to each situation, each place, each era, each society. More than ever, these elements must be, if not fully understood, then at least respected and prioritised. The Western view – that is to say the occidental approach of heritage in terms of value attribution and decision making – is rooted in many of the practices now exported. Therefore, it is necessary to tend towards greater prudence and humility on this matter.

This broadening of the definition of cultural heritage and its subjectivity has occurred over the last few decades. It has changed from an exhaustive description of its content to a more dynamic approach, describing the process through which an asset becomes a piece of heritage. That has also allowed for us to question the concept of authenticity and give it a more subjective definition beyond Western views. Indeed, as stated, what makes an object a heritage asset will depend on the period, the culture, the group of people, and it will answer to deep human needs, such as the search for continuity, or the transfer of identity. Some groups will value the materials, the fabrication techniques, the usage, the owner, or the history of the object.

Therefore, cultural heritage’s definition has had to be reconsidered in order to include intangible assets such as songs, recipes, rituals, or individuals with precious skills. The observation of Japanese laws greatly testifies to their remarkably early awareness regarding the value of intangible assets.

Suggested Readings

Smith Laurajane. Uses of Heritage , 1 st edition. London: Routledge, 2006.

Fu Yi, Sangkyun Kim, Tiantian Zhou. ‘Staging the ‘Authenticity’ of Intangible Heritage from the Production Perspective: The Case of Craftsmanship Museum Cluster in Hangzhou, China’. Journal of Tourism and Cultural Change 13, no. 4 (2015): 285–300.

Masatsugu Nishida, Cluzel Jean-Sébastien, Bonin Philippe. ‘Authenticity and reconstruction of memory in Japanese monumental architecture’. Espaces et sociétés 131, no. 4 (2007): 153–170.

Edwards Walter. ‘Japanese Archaeology and Cultural Properties Management: Prewar Ideology and Postwar Legacies.’ In A companion to the anthropology of Japan , ed. Jennifer Ellen Robertson (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2005), 36–49.

Inada Takashi. ‘The Evolution of Heritage Preservation in Japan since 1950 and its Role in Constructing Regional Identities’. Ebisu no. 52 (2015): 21–46.

THE BURDEN OF CAREGIVING AND THE HISTORICALLY ROOTED EXPECTATIONS OF WOMEN IN JAPAN

Samira Hüsler

Demographic Challenges of Japan

Japan is facing drastic demographic change due to a simultaneously shrinking and ageing population. The number of adults aged 65 and over is gradually increasing, having already exceeded 25% of the Japanese population by 2016. This phenomenon does not only concern the health care sector or the everyday life of older adults, but also raises socio-economic and gender issues. To provide a good overview of the current situation, this topic is divided into four subchapters. Each chapter will deal with a different social issue or change, starting with the need for caregivers, followed by fundamental changes within care of older adults, the influence on gender roles, and, finally, the rise of alternative approaches in the care sector.

Part 1 – ‘Crisis 2025’: Baby Boomers in need of Caregivers

Part 2 – Between Family and State: Changes in Japan’s Ageing and Elderly Care

Part 3 – The Burden of Caregiving and the Historically Rooted Expectations of Women in Japan

As stated in Parts 1 and 2 of this series, Japan is a super-aged society. The ageing of the population is due to a high life expectancy and rather low migration and birth rates. The development of a declining birth rate is directly connected to the position, role expectations, and opportunities of Japanese women. To provide a deeper explanation, this article will briefly discuss the history of women in Japan and relate it to demographic processes as well as care expectations.

From Amaterasu to Ryōsai Kenbo

A Brief Overview of Women's Social Roles in Japan

To what extent one can define Japan as a patriarchal culture in the Western sense continues to be an intensely discussed topic within social science. However, researchers agree that Japan has evolved from a matrilineal, uxorilocal society to a more patrilineal, virilocal 1 society. Arguably, the inclusion of socalled ie seido (a house society in social anthropological terms) in the civil law (family law) of the dainippon teikoku kenpō (Constitution of the Empire of Greater Japan) in 1889 is directly linked to the spread of patriarchal and hierarchical organisational structures.

However, the family organisations that existed before the constitutional changes are not fully traceable due to a lack of data on the middle and lower classes. Limited data leads to the conclusion that there were regional and socio-economic differences. For example, three-generation households were

common in the Tōhoku region, while two-generation households were more common in Kyūshū and around Chūbu 2 , and nuclear families tended to emerge especially in southern Kyūshū. In terms of social systems, given that in Shintoism the sun goddess Amaterasu (the ancestress of the tennō lineage) is female, that women held significant positions in this religion (e.g., miko , priestesses), are known to have been part of the productive labour force (e.g., own businesses), and were not excluded from political office (e.g., ruling empresses) or succession, it is assumed that there was a tendency toward a matriarchal society. 3

The gradual emergence of patriarchal structures is associated with various social phenomena, including the rise of Buddhism and the establishment of Confucianism (see ritsuryō 4 ).

Notes

1 The terms matrilineality and patrilineality refer to social but also material succession. While matrilineality refers to the passing on/inheritance of social characteristics and property through the female line (mothers to daughters), patrilinerality stands for the passing on through the male line (fathers to sons). The residence rule refers to a couple's residential choice after marriage (based on social norms). Virilocal stands for 'location of the husband' and uxorilocal for 'location of the wife'.

2 Akira Hayami and Satomi Kurosu, ‘Regional Diversity in Demographic and Family Patterns in Preindustrial Japan,’ Journal of Japanese Studies 27, no. 2 (2001): 295-321..

3 Haruko Wakita and Suzanne Gay, ‘Marriage and Property in Premodern Japan from the Perspective of Women's History,’ The Journal of Japanese Studies 10, no. (1984): 73-99.

4 Shanon Sievers, Flower in Salt: The Beginnings of Feminist Consciousness in Modern Japan (Stanford Cal.: Stanford University Press, 1986).

Legally, women were pushed out of the public sphere through the Taika Reforms of 645 AD – however, they are not assumed to have had any actual influence on the everyday lives of ordinary Japanese women. Normatively, the cultivation of Confucian values within the warrior caste – approximately 5-7% of the total population – was more significant. Women of this caste were under the guardianship of men (fathers, husbands, sons) and received gender-specific education from the age of seven. 4 Their primary role consisted of being good wives and devoted daughters-inlaw. It was not until the Meiji Restoration and the official introduction of the ie seido that these and similar norms were imported into the lower social strata.

Therefore, one can refer to this as a top-down phenomenon. The ie seido is a social, legal, and economic as well as hierarchical family unit (house society), consisting of relatives and other members of the household. The house society fell under the authority of a male leader, the koshu (head of the family). It was only with the introduction of this system that women tended to move in with their husbands after marriage and become part of their families (see yometori 5 ). As mentioned, the system was based on the paternalistic family system of the former warrior caste.

5 Haruko Wakita and David P. Phillips, ‘Women and the Creation of the ‘Ie’ in Japan: An Overview from the Medieval Period to the Present,’ U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal , English Supplement, no. 4 (1993): 83-105.

Hence, under dainippon teikoku kenpō , women lost their individual legal capacity, lost property rights, were disadvantaged in divorce law, and excluded from the right to vote. 6 It can be concluded from the records of the koseki (family register), which was already introduced back in 1872, that the topdown re-organisation of families led, at least officially, toward the homogenisation of family structures. 7

Furthermore, the perception of women expanded from the self-sacrificing daughter-in-law to the good wife and wise mother ‒ ryōsai kenbo . The rediscovery of the mother's role and the educational tasks associated with it is linked to Western and nationalistic influences. The new educational task was seen as a service to the nation. As a result, the mother's role became more socially relevant. At first, this conception of the good wife and wise moth -

er was promoted primarily among the socio-economic upper class. However, during industrialisation, nationalism, and modernisation, and through its introduction into elementary schools in 1911, ryōsai kenbo gained widespread recognition. 8 The intended role of women was thus narrowed to domestic tasks such as housework, child rearing, and care of older relatives.

It can be concluded that the role of Japanese women has changed continuously over the past hundred years. Since the end of the 19 th century, an understanding of women's role in terms of reproduction increased, which emphasised the importance of the wife and mother.

Notes

6 Ingrid Getreur-Kargel, ‘Geschlechterverhältnis und Modernisiering,’ In Getrente Welten, gemeinsame Moderne? , ed. Ilse Lenz and Michiko Mae (Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 1997), 19-58.

7 Reiko Yamato, 'Changing Attitudes towards Elderly Dependence in Postwar Japan,' Current Sociology 54, no. 2 (2006): 273-291.

8 Shizuko Koyama, Ryōsai kenbo: The educational Ideal of ‘good wife, wise mother’ in Modern Japan (Leiden: Brill, 2013).

Post-World War II The Sequel to Care Expectations

Japan was democratised after its defeat in World War II. As a result, ie seido was removed from the constitution in 1947 and women's suffrage was fully introduced – this was in part due to the strong U.S. influence and its conception of law (see Ethel Weed and Japanese feminists' leaders). The subsequent economic boom and spread of certain U.S. ideals increased the number of full-time housewives, the so-called sengyō shufu . Expectations regarding caregiving tasks and the family constellation of the pre-war period remained unchanged. One of the first upheavals occurred as a result of changes in the labour market, which were crucial for urbanisation. This led to a shift from the ie seido -related daikazoku (multigenerational family; extended family) to a couple-based family from the 1960s onward. 9

The speed of this societal change varied strongly from region to region. Particularly in rural areas, many families remained organised in the pre-war fashion. Nevertheless, both the distance between relatives and the number of women in paid employment increased gradually across the country. In the context of this development, the shift in employment sectors must be noted; Before the 1960s, most women worked (unpaid) in family or agricultural businesses; between 1960 and 1975, the proportion of women who did not work in agriculture increased by 74%. 10 Nowadays, more than 50% of women older than 15 and 70% of women in their 40s are part of the paid workforce, 11 which indicates a consistent trend.

9 Liping Shi, ‘Continuities and Changes in Parent-child Relationships and Kinship in Postwar Japan:

Examining Bilateral Hypotheses by Analyzing the National Family Survey (NFRJ-S01),’ GEMC Journal 2 (2010): 48-67.

Notes

10 Karen Holden, ‘Changing employment patterns of women.’ Work and lifecourse in Japan , edited by David W. Plath (Albany, N.Y., StateUniversity of New York Press: 1983), 34-46.

11 Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare Japan, ‘Annual Report on the Situation of Working Women 2012,’ Accessed December 10, 2022.

Despite social change, the understanding of women's roles has undergone little to no adjustment. According to surveys, the ideal woman is still described as a wife and mother and not, for example, a career woman. 8 It is unsurprising that care for older adults is still considered as part of the domestic workspace and therefore still seen as a woman's realm. However, since the proportion of people over 65 was only about 5% until the 1950s, the years devoted to care were short and it was easier to combine the caregiving and other workloads. What has made this care model more difficult is increased life expectancy, demographic change, and a subsequent doubled or even tripled workload for many women. 7

Fig. 1 Japan; Statistics Bureau of Japan; Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications (Japan); 1973 to 2021; 15 years and older.

Interrelation between Gender Roles and Fertility Rate

The previously mentioned constitutional changes of 1947 coincided with the beginning of the first baby boom: dankai sedai (1947–49). The 1948-49 ky ū y ū sei hogo-hō (Eugenic Protection Law) passed and facilitated abortions as well as family planning. At the same time the state promoted sexual education and the education of girls; this improved their chances within the work market, 12 increasing the number of financially independent women. Due to these and other reasons, the average age of marriage for Japanese women increased to 29.3 years and the number of marriages generally decreased. Since marriage and childbearing correlate, the average age for first births also increased to 30.7 years.

As mentioned above, the reproductive role expectations did not change for women, despite their participation in the labour market. 8 In other words, women continued to do household chores and care for children and older relatives, joining the paid workforce on top of that.

To date, women are rarely found in career-oriented professions due to the inherent difficulty of balancing work and family life. However, a wife is also expected to support her husband in his career, which means that the child-rearing and household tasks are largely carried out by her, even if she herself is employed. She must support her husband’s career, which would be jeopardised if he himself took on domestic tasks. Such circumstances explain, among other things, why many Japanese men still do not help with household chores or do so only to a limited extent. In addition, there is a shortage of daycare places for children ‒ although it must be noted that significant improvements have been achieved since 2013 and far fewer children now end up on waiting lists. 13

12 Yuka Suzuki and Kaori Honjo, ‘The Association Between Informal Caregiving and Poor Self-rated Health Among Ever-married Women in Japan: A Nationally Representative Survey,’ Journal of Epidemiology 32, no. 4 (2021):174-179.

13 Statista Research Department, ‘Number of Children Waiting to be Accepted to Day Care Centers in Japan from 2013 to 2022,’ Accessed December 11, 2022.

These efforts show that the Japanese government is indeed trying to improve the current situation. Nonetheless, there is still a lack of daycare services, which further hinders women's ability to combine work and family life. According to studies, 14 this favours gender-specific roles even more, and explains the still existing, though declining, M-curve; the M-curve describes the social phenomenon of the sudden exit of women from (paid) labour in their 30s and 40s. This decline is explained by the fact that the average woman in Japan leaves her job either temporarily or in the long-term due to marriage and child rearing. Those women remaining in the workforce at this point are mainly part-time workers. 15

14 Nobuko Nagase and Mary Brinton, ‘The gender division of labor and second births: Labor market institutions and fertility in Japan,’ Demographic Research 36, no. 11 (2017): 339-370.

15 Hiromi Tanaka-Naji, Japanische Frauennetzwerke und Geschlechterpolitik im Zeitalter der Globalisierung (München: Ludicium, 2009).

Therefore, marriage and starting a family continue to be a major obstacle to women's ambitions and career opportunities. These and other factors, such as unstable economic conditions, do not make family formation attractive, resulting in a low fertility rate. The birth rate therefore declined, despite the dankai junia (baby boom junior) around 1970 and stabilised at a rate between 1.3 and 1.4. A rate of 2.1 is required for population maintenance.

Japan rounding up its M-graph (in percent) Female labor force participation rate (ILO 2015)

Japan July 2007

Japan July 2017

Fig. 1 M-Curve; Female labour force participation (ILO 2015)

The Icing on the Cake: Care for Older Relatives

As explained in Parts 1 and 2 of this series, Japan is undergoing rapid population ageing. Back in 1970, only 7.1% of the population was older than 65 years, but by 2018 the figure had risen to 28.1%. 16 Although government support, such as kaigo hoken (LTCI; longterm care insurance) in 2000, are being introduced steadily, care for the older adults is still expected to be provided at least partially by family members. This dependence on one's own relatives is seen as a remnant of multi-generational families. With the introduction and improvement of the pension system, the financial burden on relatives was lifted, while expectations of physical and social care remained. 17 Expectations merely adjusted according to household structures, resulting in a preference for one's spouse or children as primary caregivers. 18 Today, 58.7% of primary caregivers are cohabiting family members and only 13% are long-term care service providers. The caregiving role is often carried out by middle-aged women (wives or daughters-in-law) between 40 and 60, even if they are (full-

time or partially) employed. 19 By law, caregivers who support a child or other family member are granted 93 days of leave from work. 12 Despite support measures and the introduction of kaigo hoken , more and more employees are quitting or changing jobs because of caregiving responsibilities – according to the Japan Cabinet Office report of 2018, resignations due to caregiving increased from 47,800 in 2006 to 85,800 in 2016. 19 According to Saeko et al. (2020), there is an elevated chance of leaving work for caregiving reasons if caregiving duties are performed for five or more hours per week. This tendency can again be observed especially among full-time employed women due to the incompatibility of career and care. Particularly among women in fulltime employment, caring for older relatives is associated with existential fears about one's own career and retirement finances. 19

Notes

16 Japan Cabinet Office. Korei shakai hakusho [Annual Report on the Aging Society] (2019), Accessed December 9, 2022.

17Anne Aronsson, ‘Professional Women and Elder Care in Contemporary Japan: Anxiety and the Move Toward Technocare,” Anthropology & Aging 43, no. 1 (2022): 17-34.

18 Kathryn Elliott and Ruth Campbell, ‘Changing Ideas about Family Care for the Elderly in Japan,’ Journal of Cross-Cultural Gerontology 8, no. 2 (1993): 119–135.

19 Saeko Kikuzawa and Ryotaro Uemura, ‘Parental Caregiving and Employment among Midlife Women in Japan,’ Res Aging 43, no. 2 (2021): 107-118.

Moreover, caring for one’s parents is increasingly overlapping with childcare. In Japan, the number of people providing dual care was estimated around 253,000 caregivers (168,000 women and 85,000 men) in 2016. 17 Since even one informal caregiver arrangement harbours health risks (physical and psychological), this risk rises even more when there is a doubled or tripled workload (work, childcare, and care for older adults). It is interesting to note that, according to Suzuki et al., a higher socio-economic background does not reduce the burden on caregivers.

The Triple Burden on Women Must Ease

For centuries, Japanese families were organised in heterogeneous ways. With the official introduction of the ie seido in 1889, the Meiji constitution tended to standardise family organisation and spread patrilineal, virilocal multigenerational families, or ‘house societies’. Ie seido was a social, legal, and economic hierarchical household entity consisting of an extended family and other non-related members of the household.

The system, which was influenced by Confucianism, was imported by the warrior caste into the other social classes (a top-down phenomenon). Through its dissemination, the concept of the woman as a good wife and devoted daughter-in-law, which was extended through modernisation and nationalism to the role of the wise mother, was also able to spread. Today, the archetype of the good wife and wise mother, ryōsai kenbo , survives, even if the wording has changed. As a result, domestic work such as caring for children and older relatives still falls within the scope of women's responsibilities. Although women are now strongly represented

within the productive labour market, these gender-specific role perceptions have not diminished accordingly. On top of that, Japan faces daycare shortages, and men's willingness to contribute to housework has remained low. Precisely these factors highlight the fact that it is more difficult for women to balance family and career and that starting a family is therefore not necessarily considered attractive ‒ as illustrated by the low birth rate (1.3).

In addition to child-rearing responsibilities and paid employment, women over the age of 40 are also more likely to be in a caregiving role for an older relative. Not even the introduction of government support has been able to marginally mitigate the expectation on women when it comes to older care, resulting in women largely becoming primary caregivers for older relatives. Due to demographic change, caregiving responsibilities for children and older relatives are increasingly colliding. This strain can have far-reaching health consequences.

Despite government efforts and successful improvements (e.g., greater daycare availability and the pension system), the current situation is neither bearable in the long term nor conducive in terms of birth rate. As societies age, industrialised countries will have to rely on non-gender-specific work models. Care responsibilities need to be socially renegotiated without undermining women's opportunities and ambition.

Suggested Readings

Takamae, Eiji. The Allied Occupation of Japan . London: Continuum Intl Pub Group, 2003.

Saeko, Kikuzawa and Ryotaro Uemura. “Parental Caregiving and Employment among Midlife Women in Japan,” Sage Journals 43, no. 2 (2021): 107-118.

Shinozaki, Kaori, Iha, Kazue and Tomoaki Tabata. “Shigoto ikuji kaigo no san-sha-kan no wāku famirī konfurikuto ni [Work-family conflicts between work, childcare, and caregiving],” Transactions of the Academic Association for Organizational Science 4, no. 1 (2015): 194-199.

Fig. 1 Hosoda Eishi, Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Matsubaya Kisegawa (Six Blossoming Masters of Beauty in Yoshiwara: The Courtesan Kisegawa of the Matsuba House; 青楼 美人六花仙 松葉屋喜瀬川 ), Mid 1790s. Woodblock print, ink and color on paper.

MULTI-LAYERED AND HIDDEN MEANINGS

Hosoda Eishi and the Tales of Ise

Momoka Asano

Tales of Ise in the Edo Period

The Ise Monogatari ( 伊勢物語 ), or Tales of Ise , a collection of Japanese waka poems and stories from the Heian period (794–1185), appears in Japanese art history in different mediums and at various times. The Edo period is one of the times that Tales of Ise flourished the most in art history, not only in picture scrolls but in woodblock prints (called ukiyo-e), paintings, folding scrolls, and crafts. Hosoda Eishi ( 細田栄之 ), or Chōbunsai Eishi ( 鳥文斎栄之 ), created artwork with images from Tales of Ise . This paper focuses particularly on two works which depict courtesans in the Edo period reading or engaging with Tales of Ise: Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Matsubaya Kisegawa ( 青楼美人六花仙 松葉屋喜瀬 川 ; Six Blossoming Masters of Beauty in Yoshiwara: The Courtesan Kisegawa of the Matsuba House) and Yume Miru Bijin ( 夢みる美人 ; Young Woman Dreaming of The Ise Stories). This paper also focuses on the woodblock print Seirō Bijin Rokkasen and analyses how visual representations of the Tales of Ise in other works of art function and contribute to different interpretations.

Throughout Japanese art history, Tales of Ise has been depicted and reimagined not only in picture books such as Ise Monogatari Emaki ( 伊勢物語絵巻 ), but also in motifs for works such as ‘Irises at Eight Bridges’ on folding screens by Ogata Kōrin (Fig. 2). The Ise stories became especially popular among

non-aristocratic society during the Edo period, thanks to the emergence of commercial publishers. As Peter Kornicki explains, The Tale of Genji and Tales of Ise came into the public domain in the 17 th century due to ‘the availability of copies and the publication of commentaries facilitating private reading.’

1 In 1608, Tales of Ise was published in letterpress printing books with pictures known as Saga Bon ( 嵯峨本 ), and after the mid-17 th century, many printing books that followed Saga Bon were circulated to broader audiences. These illustrated books helped immensely in expanding the readership, and can be seen in many published parodies such as Nise Monogatari ( 偽物語 ; The Tale of Fake ).

1 Peter F. Kornicki, ‘Unsuitable Books for Women? ’Genji Monogatari’ and‘Ise Monogatari’ in Late Seventeenth-Century Japan,’ Monumenta Nipponica 60, No. 2 (2005): 147-193.

Why, however, did Tales of Ise become so popular in the Edo period despite the many other classics available at the time? First, being a collection of short stories, rather than one long narrative, Tales of Ise is accessible and easy to read. Each short story gives a different impression and image to readers, such as the faithful wife in Kawachigoe ( 河内越 ) and escaping lovers in Akutagawa ( 芥川 ). Secondly, the Ise stories have a unique storytelling style, in which the main character is only referred to as Otoko ( 男 ; a man), although he is widely assumed to be Ariwara no Narihira ( 在原 業平 ). This method of storytelling, with its easy and accessible patterns of love, enables readers to project their own experiences and desires. Tales of Ise gives many figures of women in different situations relating to love. As these stories came to prevail in literature, plays, crafts, and paintings, the concepts that Tales of Ise carried started alienating themselves from the actual story, becoming secondary and semiotic.

Before analysing the artwork, this section briefly describes the artist, Hosoda Eishi, and his life. Although many ukiyo-e artists had the status of Chōnin ( 町人 ), or townspeople who were usually merchants and artisans in Edo society, Eishi was born into the samurai class. He studied under Kanō Michinobu ( 狩野 典信 ) and served the tenth Shogun Ieharu in his youth, but quit his apprenticeship after three years to study ukiyo-e. Eishi retired from service at the Shogunate, gave the inheritance to his son at the beginning of Kansei era, and started to flourish as both a painter and a ukiyo-e artist. He was distinctive since he had trained in painting before studying ukiyo-e printing, which was rare among ukiyo-e artists. His background and status as a samurai also made his work peculiar. When describing Eishi’s work, especially of women, many scholars use the term ‘elegance’ (in Japanese, jōhin) . The fact that he depicted only highclass courtesans in place of lower-status prostitutes, as well as his delicate and elegant touch, demonstrates that he always pursued his ideal image of women with intelligence and elegance. The women in Eishi’s work are beautiful and idealised, reflecting the standards of the wealthy and the intellectuals of the era. Eishi’s status as a samurai and his views on the ideal woman play an important part in analysing his works.

2 Joshua S. Mostow and Royall Tyler, trans., The Ise Stories , (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2010), 22.

Fig. 2 Ogata Kōrin, Irises at Yatsuhashi (Eight Bridges; Yatsuhashi-zu byōbu 八橋図屏風 ), after 1709. Pair of six-panel folding screens; ink and color on gold leaf on paper, 179.1 x 371.5 cm.

Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Matsubaya Kisegawa

Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Matsubaya Kisegawa is a ukiyo-e print created by Hosoda Eishi in the 1790s. (Fig. 1) This is a part of the series Seirō Bijin Rokkasen where Eishi depicted six courtesans who were famous at that time. This series shows high-ranking courtesans sitting inside and doing intellectual activities, such as reading, writing, or enjoying incense. For instance, Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Ōgiya Hana ōgi ( 青楼美人六花仙 松葉屋喜瀬川 扇屋花扇 ) is another print in the series depicting Hana ōgi in the Ōgiya house. (Fig. 3) Hana ōgi is shown with luxurious writing equipment such as paper, brushes, and an inkstone case. She holds a brush and seems to be writing something. This could indicate that she had talent in calligraphy or poetry, or at least that she was educated, as high-ranking courtesans were expected to be. Hanaōgi wears layers of colourful and unique kimonos, such as uchikake ( 打掛 ), a long outer garment, adorned with rabbits. The writing desk and the brush holder are also decorative and lavish. These elaborate elements signify her high status as a courtesan. Other prints from the series similarly display courtesans as intelligent and elegant with embellishing garments, equipment, and books.

Fig. 3 Hosoda Eishi, Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Ōgiya Hana ōgi (Six Blossoming Masters of Beauty in Yoshiwara: The Courtesan Hana ōgi of the Ōgiya House; 青楼美人六花仙 扇屋花扇 ), 1794. Woodblock print, ink and color on paper, 37 × 25.1 cm.

The courtesan Kisegawa in the Matsuba house is shown in this series to be reading the scrolls of Tales of Ise

Her outfit and the scrolls show her high status. Her hairstyle is called Shimada ( 島田 ) and is styled with more than ten kōgai ( 笄 ) and a comb, which adds to her prestige as a high-class courtesan. She wears an uchikake in a bicolour of beige and white fabric with a white pattern called hanagata matsu mon ( 花形松紋 ), in which pine leaves create the shape of a flower. She wears the uchikake on top of a kosode ( 小袖 ),

a short-sleeved kimono of pink fabric with a flower pattern, and several layers of white nagajuban ( 長襦袢 ), an undergarment of kimono. Her obi is green with a cloud pattern. The many layers of kimono, which was a trend in the late Edo period among high-ranking courtesans, make her look flamboyant.

The scroll which Kisegawa is reading is the fourth episode of Tales of Ise , commonly known as Nishi no tsui ( 西 の対 ; West Wing). The writings on the scroll are as follows:

Tales of Ise. Once upon a time, in the West Wing of the Palace of the Empress Dowager at the East of the fifth street,

It shows the title Ise Monogatari ( Tales of Ise ), and then the opening text from the fourth chapter. One can also identify the chapter by the depiction typically used for Nishi no tsui . It is about a past love which still haunts the main character. Otoko, the man, has had a relationship with a woman of noble birth, who was living in the west wing of the palace of the empress dowager; however, the woman suddenly disappears, moving to a place ‘where one cannot usually go,’ indicating that she married an emperor. A year later, in the spring, when plum trees blossom, the man goes to the west wing and reads a poem:

月やあらぬ　春やむかしの　春 やあらぬ　わが身ひとつは　もと の身にして

Is this not the moon, this spring not as in those days springtime used to be— while I alone linger on, just what I have always been 2

伊勢物語　昔ひんかしの五条におほきさいの宮おはしましける西のたいに

He grieves his past love by looking at a plum tree blooming and the moon. Paintings of this episode usually show a man doing just this from a veranda. (Fig. 4) The picture scroll within the print also has the image with this composition. The scroll of the Ise stories in the print is illustrated lavishly; the picture of the West Wing is decorated with gold clouds; silver paint is used to underlay the painting; the paper for text in the scrolls is decorated with autumn flowers in gold paint; and these de -

tailed depictions bring out the elegant taste, and show the courtesan as if she is the daughter of a samurai family. By examining the qualities of her clothes and scrolls, it is obvious that the print depicts a high-class courtesan who has access to lavish works of literature and has the knowledge to read and enjoy them.

Fig. 4 Sumiyoshi Jokei. Ise Monogatari emaki (The picture scrolls of the Tale of Ise , 伊勢物語絵巻 ), 17 th century. Scroll.

Kisegawa gazes at the scroll in her left hand. Her head is tilted toward it, while the left side of her kimono drapes over her right hand, giving viewers the impression that she is relaxed and engrossed in the story. The viewers’ eyes first go to her face, and then down to the scroll, especially the man, who looks toward the plum tree and the moon. Through the eye of intellectuals at that time, one could identify the composition of the west wing scene immediately, as well as the poem of the moon and the spring by Ariwara no Narihira. It gives the impression of loneliness, longing, and waiting. The art historian Nakamachi suggests that the image of the west wing describes the courtesan’s feelings, namely, ‘thinking about her lover and losing herself in thought’ or ‘soaking in the sadness of her lover’s absence.’ 3 One could also assume that the courtesan is projecting herself onto the woman about whom the man in the scroll is thinking. The woman in the fourth episode is suggested to have become the emperor’s wife and lives in a place where ‘usual people’ cannot go. The courtesan imposes the image of the Imperial Palace onto Yoshiwara

as an inescapable place. This image of a man on the veranda became symbolic in the Edo period, not only as this composition appeared in the scrolls but also as artists in the period recreated the composition. When Eishi produced the woodblock print, intellectuals were able to understand the meaning of the composition immediately. Although Eishi gave more hints to viewers by showing the title and the opening text of the fourth episode, the image was more powerful and immediately perceivable by the eyes. The picture of the man on the veranda with a plum tree becomes the secondary image in this print and works semiotically to create another layer of meaning in the artwork, namely, the loneliness and longing of the courtesan.

3 Nakamachi, ‘Ukiyo-e ga kioku shita ‘Ise Monogatari-e,’’173.

This is one possible reading of this print, for the knowledgeable, intellectual audience. Now I move on to consider the audience of a lower status in the same society, since this is a ukiyo-e print and was accessible to the broader consumer. Analysing the composition of this print, even if one does not know the story of Tales of Ise , the eye goes to the face of Kisagawa, and down to the back of the male figure. The visual structure of the courtesan looking at the back of a man evokes the concept of a woman’s unrequited love for him, although the position is the opposite in the story of the west wing. Kisegawa gazes at a man in the scroll, the man looks beyond the work, and the viewers gaze at the courtesan. I argue that the composition of the gaze from the courtesan to the man still satisfies viewers with less knowledge of Tales of Ise . Whether viewers had the knowledge of the west wing from Tales of Ise or not, this print satisfied the desires of the consumers, as Eishi intended. First, Eishi succeeded in creating his ideal image of the courtesan with intelligence and elegance by both creating a visually exquisite look and by using Tales of Ise . Chino Kaori argues that Tales of Ise was written from the perspective of men in Kyoto during the Heian period; later, in the Edo period, it conveyed these values and presented them to viewers as something that still existed in their own time. 4

By using the Ise stories in the print, Eishi not only created the idealised image of intelligent courtesans but also accorded to them a place within Japan’s cultural and traditional history, from the Heian period on, demonstrating the legitimacy of the courtesan as a cultural and traditional woman. At the same time, Tales of Ise is a collection of love stories that presents different images of love and women in love. The art historian Okuhira Shunroku argues that brothels were the place where people consumed love as a game, and Tales of Ise was promoted broadly as a collection of patterns for love. 5 It was a perfect tool to indicate love associated with the courtesans. Secondly, even if one does not understand the actual story of the west wing, the composition of the work, in which the courtesan longs for a man, would still satisfy the audience. The luxurious scrolls in the print would also inspire admiration from viewers of lower status since they did not have access to such scrolls. The important thing, however, is that this artwork expressed men’s desire for the courtesan to be in love with them, and not the actual desire that courtesans possessed. The archetypes of the courtesan longing for a man like that of the west wing, and the courtesan grieving her loneliness, as is evoked by the secondary image, were both created by the male artist for a male audience.

4 Chino, ‘Ise-Monogatari no Kaiga.’

5 Okuhira, ‘Nokusaki no bijin,’ 681.

The Image of Tales of Ise as Reinforcing Tradition and Culture

Having analysed Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Matsubaya Kitagawa , this study has identified three implications regarding the use of the secondary image of Tales of Ise in artworks by Hosoda Eishi. First, the secondary image of the Ise stories helped create an intellectual, traditional, and cultural image of courtesans. Eishi designed and created his ideal image of high-ranking women in pleasure quarters who were beautiful, refined, and smart. His creation of such an image was done, on one hand, by painting flamboyant kimonos, lavish equipment or books, and by portraying prostitutes’ faces in an elegant way. On the other hand, Eishi effectively used Tales of Ise and other equipment such as incense or calligraphy sets to signify their intelligence, as was required of high-ranking courtesans. Scholarship has pointed out that works of art depicting The Tale of Genji in the Muromachi period were created for men and were especially propagated by samurai to demonstrate their political power, in which the artwork of Genji was a means to show

their refinement and understanding of cultural traditions and to come closer to being a conqueror of traditional Japanese culture. Someya Miho pointed out the adoption of traditional iconography of Genji by Eishi, in which he used the traditional iconography of The Tale of Genji in his work F ū ry ū Yatsushi Genji , thanks to his experience in studying under the Kanō school. 6

Tales of Ise was also utilised as a tool to represent a person as traditional and culturally highbrow. The allusion to established Ise iconography in art was one way to create associations with Heian-period courtly elegance for Edo-period audiences. It is possible that Eishi's status as a samurai influenced his decision to feature Tales of Ise to indicate intelligence in his art. Secondly, images of the Ise stories in the Edo period became secondary and semiotic by numerous re-creations in paintings and prints, and such images were used to add layers of meaning to the work. Eishi placed the image of the west wing in Seirō Bijin Rokkasen: Matsubaya Kisega -

6 Someya Miho 染谷美穂 , “Ukiyo-e shi Chōbunsai Eishi no Bijinga: Kojinteki Yōshiki no Keisei to Dokusō teki Hyogen no Mosaku” 浮世絵師・鳥文斎栄 之の美人画 個人様式の形成と独創的表

現の模索 [The Ukiyo-e Artist Chobunsai Eishi's Bijin-ga (Beauty Prints) : The Establishment of His Individual Style and An Exploration of His Creative Expression], Bijutsushi 美術史 [Art History] 65(1), (October 2015) 112.

wa to imply the courtesan’s longing and desire, as Otoko in the fourth episode of the Ise recalls his lover who supposedly married the emperor. Third, these images were produced to fulfil the desires of men, especially the intellectual customers of Eishi. Much of Eishi’s artwork required a profound knowledge of the classics, and these were most likely created for men of intellect and culture who enjoyed high-ranking pleasure quarters. Placing the image of classics

such as Tales of Ise projects the desire of men for courtesans to lament their fate in the brothels, to dream about their lover and escape, while the men themselves confined real courtesans to the pleasure quarter. Hosoda Eishi employed the secondary image of the Ise to construct his ideal woman and to give layered meaning that transcended the desires of his intellectual customers and audience.

Suggested Readings

Chino, Kaori 千野香織 . ‘Ise-Monogatari no Kaiga—Dentou to Bunka wo Yobiyoseru Sōchi’『伊勢物語』の絵画 —「伝統」と「文化」を呼び寄せる装置 [The Paintings of The Tale of Ise: A Machine to Bring in ‘Tradition’ and ‘Culture’]. In Chino Kaori Chosaku Shu 千野香織著作集 [Collections of Writing by Chino Kaori]. 961-980. Tokyo: Brucke, 2010.

Clark, Timothy. ‘Mitate-e: Some Thoughts, and a Summary of Recent Writings.’ Impressions , no 19. (1997): 6-27

Mostow, Joshua S., and Royall Tyler, trans. The Ise Stories: Ise Monogatari . Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2010.

Okuhira, Shunroku 奥平俊六 . ‘Ensaki no Bijin: Kanbun Bizin-zu no Ichi Sugata Katachi wo Megutte’ 縁先の美人 : 寛文美人図の一姿型をめぐって[The Beauty at Veranda: Concerning a Figure of The Kanbun Master’s Portrait of Beauty]. In Nihon Kaigashi no Kenkyū 日本絵画史の研究 [Research on History of Japanese Paintings], edited by Yamane Yū zo 山根有三 , 647-690. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1989.

Someya Miho 染谷美穂 , ‘Ukiyo-e shi Chōbunsai Eishi no Bijinga: Kojinteki Yōshiki no Keisei to Dokusō teki Hyogen no Mosaku’ 浮世絵師・鳥文斎栄之の美人画 個人様式 の形 成と独創的表現の模索 [The Ukiyo-e Artist Chobunsai Eishi's Bijin-ga (Beauty Prints): The Establishment of His Individual Style and An Exploration of His Creative Expression], Bijutsushi 美術史 [Art History] no. 65(1), (October 2015): 96-116.

It's Not That Bad

Dominique Jenkins

So, you’ve decided to study Japanese and have just discovered that there are three writing systems. Great! You breeze through hiragana and katakana, but then you get to kanji. Kanji has been ‒ and will most likely continue to be ‒ one of the main challenges for Japanese learners. However, if you are reading this article, then you are either struggling to learn kanji and want to get better at it, or you’re a weirdo like me who enjoys torturing yourself and are actively seeking to know more about them. Either way, this article should hopefully answer some of your pressing questions about kanji, why they are so strange at times, and how you can learn them more effectively. By the end, you should realise that learning kanji is actually not that bad.

Brief History

Kanji haven’t always looked the way they do now, nor did they originate from Japan. Their use can be traced way back to ancient China, namely the Shang Dynasty (1600–1046 BCE). When the ancient Chinese wanted to communicate with the gods, they would poke a metal rod on the underside of a turtle's shell, apply a heat source, and then a scribe would record the cracks that appeared, along with the accompanying result. These cracks were said to be the answers to the topic of divination at that time; as well as messages from the gods. The characters that appear in these records are known as ‘oracle bone script’ ( kōkotsu moji , 甲骨文字 ).

In the following Zhou Dynasty (1046–256 BCE), people discovered that the symbol-marked shells used throughout the Shang Dynasty could be used to cre -

ate a writing system through which they could communicate. The Zhou people thereafter took the oracle bone script and developed it further. Through this whole process of kanji development in the Shang and Zhou, we see the creation of many ‘ideograms’ ( hyōi moji 表意 文字 ), which are characters that symbolise an idea, thing, or concept without indicating how it is pronounced. However, since there wasn’t any standard for how the characters should be written, people would write them in a variety of ways, causing quite a bit of confusion.

After the Zhou Dynasty, there was a time of turmoil known as the Warring States period. This was swiftly followed by the Qin Dynasty (221–206 BCE) after the state of Qin conquered all of its rivals, thus unifying China. With this unification came the standardisation of the written scripts created during the Zhou Dynasty. This is where we start to see characters that resemble those currently used, but they had more strokes and were slightly wavier. This script, developed during the Qin Dynasty, is called ‘small seal script’ ( shōten 小篆 ).

From this point on, the characters went through many iterations, where simplified and modified types of script were developed in order to increase writing speed and precision. Around the end of the 4 th century CE and into the 5th century CE, those characters were brought over to Japan via the Korean peninsula. However, they didn’t come to Japan all at once; there was a steady flow of kanji from the 4 th century up until the Edo period (1603–1867).

We will get more into this later, but first, have you noticed that some kanji have more than one Chinese reading ( on’yomi , 音読み )? This is because over the many years that Japan and China interacted with one another, as the Chinese dynasties changed, the readings of certain kanji changed too. For example, if you look up the kanji 明 in the dictionary, you will see that it has three different on’yomi, namely, メイ ( mei ), ミ ョウ ( myou ) and ミン ( min ). Each of these three readings were introduced to the Japanese language at different times in history. The reason for this simply comes down to differences in when they were brought to Japan, and by whom. The history of kanji runs deep, and we have just barely scratched the surface. Nevertheless, I hope that you now have a better understanding of how kanji came to be as we know them today.

However, kanji also have another, more mythical, origin story! As the legend goes, they were created by a single man named Sōketsu (Ch. Cangjie 蒼頡 2667–2596 BCE) who was said to have had four eyes and was purported to be the official historian of the Yellow Emperor. Since he was blessed with four eyes, he had amazing observation skills

and was able to tell the differences between animals solely from their footprints. He realised that he could record the shapes of the footprints in order to share his knowledge with the people, and thus kanji was born. It is said that when he created kanji, grain fell from the heavens and demons wept all night long.

The Absolute State of Kanji Ateji , Jukujikun , and Gikun

Kanji, to put it simply, are immense. There are actually over 50,000 kanji in total, but in reality, you only need to know 2136 kanji to survive in Japan. 1 These 2136 kanji are known as the ‘daily use kanji ( jōyō kanji 常用漢字 )’. Each kanji has its own distinct meaning, with most having a Chinese reading ( on’yomi ) and a Japanese reading ( kun’yomi ), and some even having multiple of each. However, there is no need to know all the readings for every kanji, as some are used less often than others.

Kanji usually make sense. As long as you know the readings of a kanji, you can understand it without any problem; but things are not always so simple. For the most part, if you know the readings of a kanji, nine times out of ten you can guess how it is read when it is paired up with another one that you know. However, if you have been studying kanji for any amount of time, you may have noticed something strange about some of the words you have come across.

For example, 大人

The readings for the two characters 大 and 人 are:

大：ダイ2 ( dai ), タイ ( tai ), おお ( ō ), おおきい ( ōkii ), おおいに ( ōini )

人：ジン ( jin ), ニン ( nin ), ひと ( hito ), り ( ri ), と ( to )

However, 大人 is pronounced おとな (otona), which means adult. Another common example is 今日 , which means today:

今：コン ( kon ), キン ( kin ), いま ( ima )

日：二チ ( nichi ), ジツ ( jitsu ), ひ ( hi ), か ( ka ), び ( bi )

But it is pronounced きょう( kyо̄ ) 3 .

As you can see, knowing the readings of the individual kanji does not guarantee being able to guess the reading of a word. A few more examples would be:

風邪 ( kaze , common cold), 竹刀 ( shinai , bamboo sword), 時雨 ( shigure , rain shower in late autumn), and 相撲 ( sumо̄ , sumo).

1 Although you only need the 2136 kanji to survive/ read a newspaper in Japan, there are times when you will come across kanji outside of that list, so just be aware! Also, Additionally, you don’t necessarily need to know all 2136 kanji. Knowing just half of them those would suffice; you might struggle a bit, but you’ll survive.

You also have words like:

亜米利加 ( amerika , America),

夜露死苦 ( yoroshiku , best regards; please treat me favourably),

滅茶苦茶 ( mechakucha , really; absurd).

These types of words are known as ateji ( 当て字 ) and they are words that do not abide by the original meaning, or reading, of a kanji. You can break down ateji into two categories:

① words that prioritise the kanji’s reading ( ON-yomi ), and

② words that prioritise the kanji’s meaning.

The first are your standard ateji , whilst the second are known as jukujikun ( 熟字訓 ). These are the ones that ignore the original readings of the kanji in favour of the meanings. For the previously mentioned 大人 ( otona ), you have the kanji for ‘big’ and ‘person’ brought together, despite their readings, to represent a word that already existed in Japanese – otona – because it just makes sense. 今日 ( kyо̄ ) is a combination of the kanji for ‘now’ and ’day’, and so you get ‘today’. These are the ones that you will

get wrong without fail if you do not already know the readings beforehand, so they can be quite tricky. However, don’t you find them fascinating? It does make life as a Japanese language learner that much harder when you spend so much time memorising the readings of various kanji only to find out that there are words that completely ignore them, but you can just think of them as slight irregularities. We have plenty of those in English, especially when it comes to pronunciation and spelling.

2 In the Japanese language, the way to recognise the difference between an on'yomi and kun'yomi is that on'yomi readings are written in katakana, whereas kun'yomi readings are written in hiragana.

3 今日 ( kyо̄ ) can also be read as こ んにち ( konnichi ), which is what you would expect if you were going by normal kanji reading rules. However the meaning changes. Konnichi has the meaning of ‘recently’ or ‘these days.’

Some examples of jukujikun ( 熟字訓 ) include:

神楽 ( kagura , ancient Shinto music and dancing),

田舎 ( inaka , countryside),

可愛い ( kawaii , cute),

案山子 ( kakashi , scarecrow),

雑魚 ( zako , small fry, a nobody).

The last thing I would like to mention are gikun ( 義訓 ). They are very similar to jukujikun ( 熟字訓 ) but are used in a much wider context. Sometimes considered to be errors when used, they are typically seen in manga, poetry, songs, and various other mediums. Usually, the author or songwriter will add their own reading –typically in the form of furigana (phonetic aids) – to a word (kanji) that isn’t far away from its original meaning and also makes sense in the context of the sentence. For example,

Kanji Original Reading

せいめい (seimei)

ふうん (fuun)

運命 , which is pronounced unmei and quite often read as sadame. Both unmei and sadame mean the same thing (fate; destiny) but sadame is usually written with this kanji 定め . Thus, they took the reading of another word/kanji that has a similar meaning and stuck it on 運命 If you like going to karaoke, you will notice as you sing Japanese songs that above 運命 they have the reading さだ め ( sadame ). It would look a little something like this:

Gikun Reading Original Meaning Gikun Meaning Usage

いのち (inochi)

ハードラック (hādorakku)

Misfortune, bad luck

ジョジョーその血の運 命 (さだめ ) 〜

One of the openings from the anime JoJo’s Bizzare Adventure

事故る奴は不運(ハー ドラック)と踊(ダンス) っちゃまったんだよ

This is a line from the manga ‘疾風伝 説 特攻の拓’

ぎゅうにゅう (gyūnyū)

ミルク (miruku)

でんのうくう

かん (dennо̄ kūkan)

サイバースペ ース

(saibā supeisu)

牛乳食パン専門店 み るく Milk

Shops that specialise in milk and bread

Networking terminology

Kanji Original Reading

Gikun Reading Original Meaning

There are a lot of kanji and you can learn to read all of them without any issue with a bit of hard work and dedication. However, you have these ateji (当 て字 ), jukujikun ( 熟字訓 ), and gikun ( 義訓 ) that you will just have to memorise as you come across them. There are quite a few, but definitely not enough to warrant panicking over. You just have to take it one kanji at a time.

A song by an artist named Anri

What you Didn’t Know about Kanji Rikusho

When we start learning kanji, we are often told that they are like pictures and they are drawn in the shape of the thing that they represent. However, this is only true for a very small percentage of the daily use kanji. There are plenty of kanji that look absolutely nothing like the thing they represent, no matter how you look at them, and that is more the rule than the exception.

Kanji can be broken up into six categories, namely:

象形文字

( shōkei-moji , pictographs),

指示文字

( shiji-moji , logograms),

会意文字

( kaii-moji , compound ideographs),

形声文字

( keisei-moji , phonetic-ideographs),

転注 ( tench ū ), and

仮借 ( kashaku ).

These six categories are called rikusho ( 六書 ) whose name comes from the title of a book originally written in ancient China. The last two categories are less ‘types of kanji’ and more ‘ways that kanji are used’. Because of this, I won’t be mentioning them too much here.

Next are the 指示文字 ( shiji-moji )! These kanji are logograms and have more of an abstract meaning that cannot take the shape of the thing it represents. Some good examples of these are:

Then we have the 会意文字 ( kaii-moji )! These are the compound ideographs where we smash together two or more kanji and the newly formed kanji takes on the meaning of the former. For example, 明 has the kanji for ‘sun’ and ’moon’ pushed together and it means ‘bright.’ Some more examples would be:

岩 (mountain + stone = rock),

林 (tree x2 = woods),

森 (tree x3 = forest),

炎 (fire x2 = flames), and

What

does

‘up’ look like?

Well, in Japanese it looks like this: 上 .

峠 (mountain + up + down = mountain pass).

Finally, the most important type of kanji, the 形声文字 ( keisei-moji )! These are the big players that make up 80% of all kanji. They are comprised of two parts, a meaning component (radical) and a phonetic component ( onpu , 音符 ). The important part here is the onpu , because it can help you figure out the reading of a kanji you have never seen before. For example, take the kanji 験 ( ken , effect/omen). This kanji has the radical ‘ 馬 ’, meaning horse, and the phonetic component is ‘ 㑒 .’ In terms of the phonetic component, take a look at these other kanji: 険 , 検 , 倹 , 剣 . Do you notice anything similar? That’s right, it is the ‘ 㑒 ’ and they are all pronounced ‘ken’. 4

We don’t usually learn about these categories in Japanese classes, unfortunately, and I can understand why.

It may be somewhat overwhelming trying to learn kanji and how they are categorised. However, I believe knowing that there are not only 象形文 字 ( shōkei-moji ) but also 形声文字 ( keisei-moji ) would benefit Japanese learners everywhere. Studying these could be one of the best ways to go about learning and memorising kanji!

4 You can even see these similarities across other kanji using languages. For example, while 検 , 倹 , 剣 are all read jian in Chinese and kŏm in Korean, 験 and 険 are read as yan and xian respectively in Chinese, and both as hŏm in Korean. With this, you can see that while the readings aren’t always 100% the same, they are very similar in sound.

Keisei-moji

A New Way to Learn Kanji

So, 形声文字 ( keisei-moji ). As previously explained, these are the kanji you need to know. These are the ones that will give you a fair chance at guessing the reading of a kanji that you have never seen before, nine times out of ten. For example, take the kanji 寺 ( tera, temple). This is a pretty simple kanji and you see it in the names of most temples in Japan. It has the on'yomi ジ ( ji ) and appears in a few different kanji such as 時 , 持 , and 侍 . All three have the on'yomi ジ ( ji ), just like 寺 , but there are some that are close but don’t follow the rule exactly, like 詩 ( shi , poem), and others that are completely different, like 待 ( tai , to wait). This is where you have to remember that studying the onpu isn’t a foolproof way to learn how to read all kanji. Since about 80% of kanji fall into the 形声文字 ( keisei-moij ) category, it means that if you see a kanji for the first time and it has a similar component to a kanji you already know, then there is an 80% chance that you can have a fair guess at its reading.

Armed with this knowledge, you will be unstoppable. You will start to recognise patterns amongst the kanji you are learning and be able to learn them in chunks. ‘Chunking’ is a very common memorisation technique that allows one to learn many things at once. You put many pieces of information into a category and memorise them as one piece of information. In the case of 形 声文字 ( keisei-moji ), you will group the kanji together by their onpu , thus only requiring you to remember the radicals of each kanji. This is why 形声文字 ( keisei-moji ) are the way to go when studying kanji. Let’s look at a few more examples:

Phonetic component (reading)

形声文字 Examples

Kanji (with same reading) Kanji (with different reading)

These are only a few examples of the power of the 形声文字 ( keisei-moji ) and what an effective tool it can be, if used properly. Rather than memorising one kanji at a time by brute force, let’s slow down, recognise the patterns, group similar kanji up by their onpu and learn them all at once through chunking! In addition, learning your radicals is an integral part of this process as you will be able to differentiate many kanji from their radicals. After you get started and learn the first 100-200 kanji, you will start to notice patterns and realise that learning kanji isn’t all that bad!

RICCHEZZA RIFLESSA

NIPPON CONNECTION 2023

E TO THE SUPREME

Se c'è una consapevolezza in grado di sconfortare chiunque sia appassionato di cinema, è quella inerente all'impossibilità di accedere facilmente a produzioni che si discostano dal mainstream. Si tratta di un problema diffuso, che influenza anche il cinema orientale. In Giappone, difatti, è altrettanto complicato vedere in sala pellicole dai contenuti più ricercati e intimisti, perché gli esercenti preferiscono puntare su cavalli più sicuri, che siano il blockbuster americano di turno o l'anime del regista commerciale del momento.

Essendo già difficile penetrare nel mercato interno, dunque, non stupisce quanto la situazione peggiori quando si arriva alla distribuzione occidentale: si tratterebbe di investimenti ingenti che quasi certamente non porterebbero grosse entrate ‒ essendo prodotti di nicchia ‒ per cui, da un punto di vista prettamente monetario, semplicemente non ne varrebbe la pena.

Centinaia di film che, anno dopo anno, si perdono in un mare insondabile nella quale esiste, per fortuna, una luce rincuorante: la realtà dei festival. Durante questi eventi si ha la rara occasione di vedere pellicole di cui altrimenti manco si conoscerebbe l'esistenza.

La seguente recensione avrà come oggetto To the SUPREME! , una delle creature mistiche che si palesano solo ai festival. Ho avuto la fortuna di vederlo perché ho partecipato alla 23esima edizione del Nippon Connection , evento che si tiene ogni anno a Francoforte e che per una settimana consente a pub -

MIRRORED RICHNESS

NIPPON CONNECTION 2023 AND TO THE SUPREME

Directed by

Yamagishi Santa

Duration

119 minutes

Starring

Maeda Atsuko, Kikuchi Fuma, Ito

Marika, Okamoto Reiji, Kurokawa

Mei, Miura Takahiro, Shuri, Chiba Yudai

Genre

Romance

Released date

October 14, 2022

Christian Esposito Transl. Dœlma Goldhorn

If anything can discourage someone passionate about cinema, it is realising the difficulty of accessing productions that deviate from the mainstream. This is a widespread issue also affecting Eastern cinema. In Japan, in fact, it is equally challenging to find screenings of more sophisticated and intimate films in theatres, as executives tend to focus on safer bets, such as the latest American blockbuster or an anime from the current popular director.

Infiltrating the domestic market is difficult enough, so it is unsurprising that the situation is worse when it comes to Western distribution. Promoting such niche products requires significant investment that would most

likely not yield substantial returns and, therefore, from a purely financial standpoint, would not be worthwhile. Countless films are thus lost year after year in an unfathomable sea, but, fortunately, there is a light at the end of the tunnel: the film festivals. It is precisely at these events where viewers have the rare opportunity to watch films that otherwise would remain unknown to most.

< Fig. 1 Movie poster.

Fig. 2 Kamei Takeshi 亀井岳 , regista di VATA (VATA bako aruiwa karada, 2022) durante il Q&A dopo la proiezione del suo film – NC2023.

Fig. 2 Kamei Takeshi 亀井岳 , director of VATA (VATA bako aruiwa karada, 2022) during the Q&A after the screening of his movie –NC2023.

blico, addetti stampa e professionisti del settore di immergersi nella cultura giapponese. Nell'edizione 2023 è stato possibile partecipare a conferenze come quella sull'architettura negli anime – tenuta da Stefan Riekeles, autore del libro Anime Architecture: Imagined Worlds and Endless Megacities – o quella a tema economia e business, corsi di cucina, laboratori per i bambini, concerti, esibizioni teatrali, stand con piatti tipici giapponesi o rivisitazioni fusion. Ultimo ma non per importanza, il festival di cinema, il cui programma era fitto e vario, con la dolorosa conseguenza di dover scegliere a cosa dare la priorità. Tra film di finzione, documentari, prodotti d'animazione per diversi target d'età, classici restaurati, sono incappato in To the SUPREME! per pura coincidenza, e non poteva andarmi meglio.

Durante la mia permanenza al NC23 ho visto sette film: Sayonara, Girls . (Shōjo wa sotsugyō shinai 少女は卒業 しない , 2022), Poupelle of Chimney Town ( Entotsu-machi no Poupelle えんとつ町の プペル , 2020), To the SUPREME! (Motto chōetsu shita tokoroe もっと超越した所 へ。 , 2022), Spring in Between (Hazama

ni ikiru, haru はざまに生きる、春 , 2023), Tocka (Yoshitaka Kamada, 2022), Thorns of Beauty (Koi no ibara 恋のいばら, 2023) e VATA (VATA bako aruiwa karada ヴァ タ 〜箱あるいは体〜 , 2022). Opere molto diverse e sui temi più disparati: la malinconia degli ultimi giorni di scuola superiore, la testardaggine nel voler guardare oltre ciò di cui tutti si accontentano, il complicato mondo delle relazioni amorose, il rapporto tra arte e disabilità, una riflessione sul suicidio, la solidarietà femminile che sboccia nelle situazioni più impreviste, l'importanza spirituale di onorare i propri defunti.

Alcuni lungometraggi riusciti, altri meno. A prescindere da questo, è indubbio che la ricchezza del programma sia il più grande pro del festival di cinema dell'edizione 2023 del Nippon Connection . Questa stessa ricchezza si riflette in To the SUPREME! , film uscito nell'autunno del 2022 in Giappone, regia di Yamagishi Santa ( 山岸聖太 ; 1968–) su una sceneggiatura di Nemoto Shukō ( 根本宗子 ; 1989–), già dietro al testo della pièce teatrale omonima da cui è tratta la pellicola.

Fig. 3 Kurokawa Mei e Miura Takahiro in una scena di To the SUPREME!

The following review will focus on To the SUPREME! – one of those mystical creatures that appear only at festivals. I had the opportunity to watch it when I participated in the 23 rd edition of the Nippon Connection , an event that takes place in Frankfurt and allows the public, the press, and professionals to immerse themselves in Japanese culture for an entire week. In this year’s 2023 edition, it was possible to attend talks such as one on architecture in anime, held by Stefan Riekeles, author of Anime Architecture: Imagined Worlds and Endless Megacities , or on economy and business, as well as cooking courses, workshops for children, concerts, theatrical performances, and booths with typical Japanese delicacies or fusion kitchens. Last but not least, there was the film festival itself. The program was dense yet diverse; so it was a challenging task to choose and set priorities. Among the various options ranging from fiction, documentaries, animated films for all ages, and restored classics, I stumbled upon To the SUPREME! – a delightful accident that I could not have dreamed of.

During my stay at NC23 I watched seven movies: Sayonara, Girls . (Shōjo wa sotsugyō shinai 少女は卒業しない , 2022), Poupelle of Chimney Town ( Entotsu-machi no Poupelle えんとつ町のプペル , 2020), To the SUPREME! (Motto chōetsu shita tokoro e もっと超越した所へ , 2022), Spring in Between (Hazama ni ikiru, haru はざ まに生きる、春 , 2023), Tocka (Yoshitaka Kamada, 2022), Thorns of Beauty (Koi no ibara 恋のいばら, 2023) and VATA (VATA bako aruiwa karada ヴァタ 〜箱あるいは 体〜 , 2022). These works of art were interestingly diverse and offered a variety of themes: the melancholy of those last days of high school; the belief that the grass is always greener on the other side; the complicated world of romantic relationships; the connection between art and disability; a reflection on suicide; the female solidarity that blooms in the most unforeseen situations; and the spiritual importance of honouring those who have passed away. Some films were successful, others less so. Regardless, it is undeniable that the programme's abundance was the beating heart of the 2023 film festival Nippon Connection . This richness is reflected in To the SUPREME! , a film released in the autumn of 2022 in Japan, directed by Yamagishi Santa ( 山岸 聖太 ; 1968–) and with a screenplay by Nemoto Shūko ( 根本宗子 ; 1989–), who was already behind the script of a homonymous theatrical play from which the film is adapted.

Fig. 3 Kurokawa Mei and Miura Takahiro in a scene of To the SUPREME!

La storia racconta delle vite di quattro coppie, non necessariamente in senso romantico, che vivono a Tokyo. Da un punto di vista generale, il film esplora le parti tossiche di relazioni nelle quali manca il rispetto reciproco, vigono egoismo, opportunismo e prevaricazione verbale e regna una mefitica immaturità emotiva che conduce inevitabilmente a grandi sofferenze. Ciascuna coppia ha le proprie dinamiche e trovo opportuno dedicare il giusto spazio ad ognuna, per rendere chiaro come mai, tra tutti i film visti al NC23, questo abbia conquistato la mia personalissima corona di miglior pellicola.

Okazaki Machiko (Maeda Atsuko)

è una giovane donna che vive da sola, è economicamente indipendente e di indole piuttosto introversa e remis -

siva. Asai Reito (Kikuchi Fuma) è uno scalcinato belloccio che fa l'influencer e che, per una serie di vicissitudini, si stabilisce nell'appartamento di lei. All'interno della convivenza c'è un evidente opportunismo, perché Reito si fa servire e riverire – dato che l’attività che svolge non è affatto remunerativa e lui, quindi, non riesce a mantenersi –, forte del potere che gli dà avere un carattere arrogante ed egoriferito, a differenza di Machiko che non riesce a far sentire la sua voce. Lui, inoltre, pensa di potersi arrogare il diritto di decidere cosa lei debba indossare o meno, sulla base di un maschilismo e mania di controllo che sono tristemente attuali.

Machiko, tuttavia, si accontenta.

Fig. 4 Okamoto Reiji e Itō Marika in una scena di To the SUPREME!

The story portrays the lives of four couples, not necessarily romantic ones, who live in Tokyo. From a general viewpoint, the film explores the toxic aspects of relationships which lack mutual respect, abound with selfishness, opportunism and verbal prevarication, and are ruled by a mephitic, emotional immaturity that inevitably leads to great suffering. Each couple has its own dynamics and I intend to dedicate a fair amount of space to each one to explain why this movie was my personal favourite among all the films that I watched at NC23.

Okazaki Machiko (Maeda Atsuko) is a young, financially-independent woman who lives on her own and is of a rather introverted and accommodating nature. Asai Reito (Kikuchi Fuma) is a

good-for-nothing yet handsome influencer who through a series of events ends up living in Machiko's apartment. The cohabitation is evidently opportunistic, as Reito expects to be served and revered, given that his career is not at all lucrative and, consequently, he cannot sustain himself. He relies on the power of his arrogant and egoistical character, unlike Machiko who cannot voice her own opinions. He even believes he has the right to determine what she is allowed to wear, based on a controlling, sexist mentality, one that remains a sadly widespread reality. However, Machiko makes do.

Fig. 4 Okamoto Reiji and Itō Marika in a scene of To the SUPREME!

La relazione di Anzai Miwa (Itō Marika) e Manjome Taizō (Okamoto Reiji), poco più che ventenni e che vivono in maniera spartana in un appartamentino perennemente nel caos, affonda anch'essa le sue radici in uno squilibrio economico. Non per quanto concerne le spese primarie come l'affitto e le bollette, ma Taizō comunque non perde occasione di ostentare il prezzo di qualsiasi cosa compri per la sua ragazza, criticandone la mancanza di entusiasmo quando riceve questo o quel regalo. Di nuovo, una figura assorbita dal proprio egoismo, che pure mentre si prende cura della persona che ha accanto quando sta male, in realtà sta pensando a sé. Miwa, tuttavia, si accontenta.

Tra Kitagawa Nanase (Kurokawa Mei) e Iijima Shintarō (Miura Takahiro) vi è invece un rapporto di tipo cliente-pro -

fessionista. Nanase è una sex worker, Shintarō un cliente fisso nel suo Love Hotel. Lei, un po' per lavoro un po' perché si è invaghita, è sempre gentile ed accomodante, si interessa della sua carriera d'attore e non lesina mai parole di conforto. Shintarō però rifiuta queste premure perché è accecato dal proprio orgoglio e non riesce a venire a patti col fatto che non ci sia nulla di male nel fare solo parti da comparsa. Questa frustrazione costante, l'uomo la sfoga su Nanase, continuamente aggredita verbalmente per la professione che svolge o per ciò che pensa. Lo squilibrio di potere tra i due è lapalissiano, così come lo sono le insicurezze di Shintarō. Nanase, tuttavia, si accontenta.

Fig. 5 Chiba Yūdai e Shūri in una scena di To the SUPREME!

The relationship between Anzai Miwa (Itō Marika) and Manjome Taizō (Okamoto Reiji), both in their early twenties and living a spartan lifestyle in a tiny apartment perpetually lost in chaos, is also rooted in an economic imbalance. Not in terms of primary expenses such as rent and bills, but in that Taizō never misses the opportunity to flaunt the price of anything he purchases for his girlfriend and criticise her lack of enthusiasm whenever she is presented with a gift. Once again, a figure absorbed by his own selfishness, who, even while taking care of the person beside him when she is unwell, is thinking about himself.

However, Miwa makes do.

Kitagawa Nanase (Kurokawa Mei) and Iijima Shintarō (Miura Takahiro), on the other hand, share more of a cli -

ent-professional relationship. Nanase is a sex worker, and Shintarō a regular at her Love Hotel. Partly due to work and partly because she has developed a crush, she is always kind and accommodating, showing interest in his acting career and offering words of comfort. However, blinded by his own pride and inability to accept that there is nothing wrong with playing a minor acting role, Shintarō rejects her tender loving care. He takes this constant frustration out on Nanase, verbally attacking her with regard to her profession or way of thinking. The power imbalance is undeniable, but so are Shintarō’s insecurities.

However, Nanase makes do.

Fig. 5 Chiba Yūdai and Shūri in a scene of To the SUPREME!

Sakurai Suzu (Shuri) e Hoshikawa Tomu (Chiba Yūdai), infine, sono solo amici. Condividono un appartamento e sembrano stare bene, perché tra i due non vi è conflitto di interessi: lei è etero e lui omosessuale, per cui problemi di natura amorosa non dovrebbero presentarsi... è davvero così? Oppure è l’ennesima relazione uomo-donna nella quale manca maturità emotiva e qualcuno finisce col restarci male? Viste le tre coppie precedenti, la risposta è scontata. Per quanto possa non sembrare, anche in questo rapporto ci sono criticità nel modo in cui Tomu tratta Suzu, che per lui è solo un ricettacolo in cui riversare ogni delusione amorosa e nient’altro. Suzu, tuttavia, si accontenta.

Il regista Yamagishi, tuttavia, non si accontenta di confezionare un’opera realistica, attuale, graffiante, dove le idiosincrasie umane emergono con prepotenza e le scene si fanno liquide da quanto facilmente scorrono; vi è un pizzico di fantascienza che serve a rafforzare un concetto che raggela il sangue nelle vene e che, per com’è inserito, riesce nella paradossale impresa di acuire il senso di realismo generale della pellicola. Lo spauracchio rappresentato dalla solitudine può far vacillare qualsiasi certezza e qualcuno, sfortunatamente, potrebbe propendere per un rapporto malsano, dove la parola “amore” viene solo sbandierata senza significare nulla, pur di avere una persona accanto.

Ho scelto di disporre sulla scacchiera i diversi pezzi di temi e personaggi, descrivendoli con prolissità, per una ragione specifica. Come accade nel film, ho intenzione di ribaltare il tavolo e sparpagliare dappertutto pezzi neri e bianchi, perché quella che sembra una riflessione a senso unico sull’inettitudine emotiva di quattro uomini e la sofferenza di quattro donne, altro non è che una critica molto più inquadrata e imparziale sulla complessità dei rapporti e di come il testimone della colpa sia, in verità, portato tanto dalle donne quanto dagli uomini.

To the SUPREME! è un manifesto della fallibilità umana, che attraverso quattro esempi di relazioni racconta allo spettatore, con ironia grottesca e piegando talvolta le regole del linguaggio cinematografico per enfatizzare l'immaturità dei personaggi, quanto difficile possa essere creare qualcosa che abbia senso ricondurre all’amore... non che questo importi. Il vero messaggio del film, imbevuto di amaro cinismo, è che al mondo esistono tante persone felici di accontentarsi, e che poco si può fare per prevenire questa desolante consapevolezza.

Sakurai Suzu (Shuri) and Hoshikawa Tomu (Chiba Yūdai), lastly, are just friends. They share an apartment and seem to be doing well, as there is no indication of a conflict of interest between the two: she is straight and he is homosexual. Therefore, complications of romantic nature should not arise…but is that truly the case? Or is this another instance of a woman-man relationship in which emotional maturity is missing and someone ends up getting hurt? Looking at the previous three couples the answer is given. As much as it may not seem so, even in this relationship critical issues surface when it comes to the way Tomu treats Suzu. She is but an empty vessel he can pour his romantic disappointments into.

However, Suzu makes do.

I have chosen to place the various thematic elements and characters on a chessboard and describe them at length for a specific reason. As happens in the film, I fully intend to flip the table and scatter the black and white pieces everywhere, because what appears to be a simple reflection on the emotional ineptitude of four men and the suffering of four women is but a framed and

Director Yamagishi does not settle on creating a realistic, topical, and cutting-edge piece of work, where human idiosyncrasies emerge strongly and scenes flow seamlessly from one to another. There is a touch of science fiction that reinforces a concept which sends shivers down the spine and, paradoxically, enhances the film's overall sense of realism. The threat represented by loneliness has the potential to shake any certainty. Some, unfortunately, may lean toward an unhealthy relationship, where the word 'love' is thrown around without any real meaning, other than to make sure they have someone beside them.

To the SUPREME! is a manifesto on human fallibility. With four examples, using grotesque irony and sometimes bending the rules of cinematic language to emphasise the immaturity of the characters, it manages to tell the story of how difficult it can be to create something resembling love…not that it matters. The true message of the film, soaked in bitter cynicism, is that many people in this world are happy to settle, and that little can be done to prevent

GUTEN APPETIT!

僑居他 鄉 的日本美味

王風雩 在一個原本平淡無奇的星期四，臨近正午，一 輛小貨車駛入德國海德堡大學新修建的貝格

海姆校區，停靠在了一片空地上。一位日本人 店員打開後備箱，在車前簡單地擺放了一張 疊滿便當的桌子。想當年 2019 年，每個便當 售價在 7.5 到 9 歐元不等，外加 50 歐分的塑料 飯盒的押金。所販售的都是些日本家庭料理

中常見的經典菜餚。Bento INAHO 弁當いな ほ——校園里大家就叫它“日本便當” (或更 親切地用日語“弁當屋さん”)——立即成為了 每週四最受午餐食客歡迎的店家。 1

GUTEN APPETIT!

The Expatriate Tastes of Japan

Fengyu Wang

Shortly before noon on an otherwise uneventful Thursday, a minivan pulled over into a small opening on the newly renovated Bergheim Campus of Heidelberg University. A Japanese vendor opened the trunk and set up a table full of bento boxes simply in front of her vehicle. The prices ranged from €7.50 to €9 back in 2019, plus 50-cent deposits for the plastic trays. What was offered was nothing more than common domestic dishes one could find in the recipe books of most Japanese families. Bento INAHO 弁当いなほ , simply known on the campus as ‘the Japanese bento’ (or more endearingly in Japanese, bentōya-san 弁当屋さん ), immediately became the most popular source of delight among the Thursday lunch goers. 1

1 The Chinese version of this opinion piece is translated from English by the author himself, with minor adjustments for a better flow in Chinese.

1 本文的中文版由作者從英文版翻譯而來， 為使行文更加流暢，做了些許修改。

滿是豌豆鮮香的蔬菜可樂餅 (野菜コロッ ケ)，炸得金黃酥脆，土豆泥夹心依旧軟糯香 甜；兩面煎得外焦裡嫩的照燒三文魚，醬香與 糖精的滋味都漫溢其中；油亮、多汁、Q彈的炸 雞塊，配一牙檸檬片，任君調味；还 有用豆腐、 胡蘿蔔、松脆的蓮藕制成的漢堡素肉餅，澆上 香醇的蘑菇醬——所有主菜都精心 摆 放在一 片片新鮮的生菜葉上，並佐以額外的蔬菜。白

米飯上撒有梅幹和紫菜等 调 味料 (ふりかけ) 。便當盒的小隔間中，還配有顏色各異、精巧 別緻的小菜：沢庵腌蘿卜、金平牛蒡根、軟煮 西蘭花。幸運的話，有時還有一塊清酒燉煮的 南瓜。

Fig. 2 Nowadays Bento INAHO comes to the CATS Campus of Heidelberg University with its own signature food cart and banner every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Photography: Fengyu Wang.

Vegetable korokke コロッケ , fried to a golden crisp, with mashed potato patty inside, still soft and glutinous, suffusing the air with leguminous aromas; teriyaki salmon, grilled on both sides, only slightly over medium well so that the soy-saucy, saccharine flavours can fully infuse into its tender core; kara’age 唐揚げ fried chicken, greasy, juicy, soft and chewy, a lemon quarter at your disposal; a burger patty, made of tofu, carrots, and crunchy lotus roots, covered in mushroom sauce. All the main dishes are carefully laid upon fresh lettuce leaves, adorned with extra greens. White rice is sprinkled with the furikake ふりかけ seasonings of dried plums and seaweed. One more small compartment in the box contains an assortment of side dishes, nestled in an artful and colourful bundle: takuan 沢庵 pickled radish, braised burdock roots, soft boiled broccolis, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, sake-simmered pumpkins.

INAHO 便當光是憑藉其菜品味道的濃郁 與多樣，就能在德國這片美食貧瘠的土地上 脫穎而出 2 ，但它真正令人著迷的獨到之處， 或許是其一整套的用餐體驗。便當小攤的位 置便利，人們可在附近的長椅或草地上落座， 狼吞虎咽每周一次的日本風味，也可在教室 或辦公室里悠閒地品嘗享用。在店員離開前 吃完，可將塑料飯盒歸還換取押金，不然就要 把它自行清理幹凈，保留到下一個星期四，也 可省去一次額外的交易。

Besides the pure intensity and diversity of flavours that stand out in the culinary backwater of Germany, 2 what has really enchanted people about INAHO is something uniquely imbued in this whole bento experience. With the bento stand’s convenient location, one can easily satisfy their weekly craving for Japanese cuisine on a nearby bench or in a meadow, or leisurely savour the taste in a classroom or office. If one cannot finish it before the vendors leave to return the tray, they need only to clean it up and keep it until the next Thursday to get back their deposit.

註釋 / notes

2 公允一點講，德國料理中還是有幾道毋 庸置疑的美味佳餚的。但問題是，它們實在 太少了，少到我都可以在這個簡短的旁註中 將它們輕易窮舉：白蘆筍 ( Spargel ) 配濃香 的荷蘭醬；被譽為歌德最愛，由七種早春香 草製作而成的法蘭克福綠醬；雞蛋配芥末 醬；德國腌白菜 ( Sauerkraut ) 與酸黃瓜，以 及那麥香滿溢、種類繁多、直令全日本麵包 店中鬆軟的小麵包們 ( パン ) 通通黯然失色 的德國小麥麵包和黑麥麵包。但就是這些 了，親愛的讀者們，就是這些了。剩下的就只 有各種各樣的香腸和豬肉料理。當然還有用 土豆和麵粉製成的水煮 糰 子 ( Knöde l) 和意 大利麵形狀的冰激淩 ( Spaghettieis ) 它們看著就像一場“身份認同危機”突然得 道成了的精。

2 To be fair, there are a few items from the German cuisine that are, in my opinion, undeniably palatable, but the problem is that they are so few that I can easily exhaust them in this short side note: the white asparagus ( Spargel) served with aromatic hollandaise; the Frankfurt green sauce made of seven vernal herbs and famed to be Goethe’s favourite; eggs with mustard sauce; pickled cabbage ( Sauerkraut ) and cucumbers; and the full variety of fragrant wheat and rye breads that render any soft pan パン from Japanese bakeries as purely amateurish. But that’s it, dear readers, that’s it. The rest is just sausages and pork variations, plus the solid, potato-bread-dough dumpling ( Knödel ) and spaghetti ice cream that both look like the very reifications of an identity crisis.

INAHO 後來增加了他們每週的售賣日， 並將飯盒升級成了貨真價實的高級便當盒（ 每個押金 值 整整5歐）。在那之前有很長一段 時間，每週的美味佳餚都裝擺在一個個蓋有 透明盒蓋的簡樸塑料飯盒之中。飯盒漆黑與 朱紅的配色，加之塑料的光澤，彷彿有種假以 漆器的奢侈感。與公事公辦一般囫圇吞棗地 吃完一頓商務午餐不同，每週一邊凝視著這 深邃的飯盒一邊將其仔細清洗，就好像是某 種為了取代飯後的咖啡因攝取而進行的冥想 練習一般。另一方面，要將飯盒保存一整個星 期也是一種獨特的體驗。過不多久，便當盒便 開始在研究所的咖啡室里堆積。同事們很快 心照不宣地達成了共識，即每人每週四從堆 積成山的飯盒中拿取一個歸還給店員，吃完 飯後再添一個回來，做到收支平衡。不過這種 做法在便當盒押金升至5歐元後就很快停止 了。既要保持飯盒的清潔，還要讓它們像運作 優良的貨幣一樣在研究室的小團體中流通， 其中傾注的努力彷彿是在遵守一個同便當店 店員每週續期一次的承諾，自然會生出許多 情感上的牽掛。

貝格海姆校區正是近年新成立並搬遷至 此的亞洲與跨文化研究中心（簡稱 CATS ）各 院系的所在地，它因此穩定地對外供應著一 批又一批課業之餘遊蕩在校園內外的飢腸轆 轆的學生學者。尤其被便當吸引的是那些專 修日本研究的學生們，他們或者已經在懷念 著在列島上生活的日日夜夜，或者還在憧憬 著那個他們仍未到訪之地。隨著人們對便當 的熱情愈發高漲，才到 12:30 左右便當攤就只 剩下一些飯團和稻荷壽司（甜豆腐皮壽司）的 情況也變得愈發尋常。不難見到某位教師手 持空飯盒、小跳著越出教學樓，趁好物售罄以 前，以當仁不讓之勢衝向便當攤的光景。

INAHO 某年暑假因人員短缺而暫停營業，在 校園里觸發了大規模的困擾與哀嘆，以至於 日本研究的系主任都挺身而出充當聯絡人， 終於確保了大家的午間營養供應。

Fig. 3 Bento INAHO now has an expanded monthly menu, dispatched in advance to a mailing list of interested customers, that now even features simple ramen. Their offers can be easily sold out shortly after noon nonetheless. Photography: Fengyu Wang.

Before INAHO expanded their vending schedule and upgraded to the high-quality, actual lunch boxes , each worth a deposit of €5, the weekly delights were for a long time packed in simple plastic trays with see-through lids. The black and vermillion colours of the glossy plastic added a sense of finesse to it by evoking traditional lacquerware. Unlike the practical urge to finish a business lunch in rushed gulps and be done with it, an intent gaze at the dark-coloured bento tray while soaping and rinsing it with care felt almost like an after-meal meditation in lieu of coffee. Keeping the tray for a whole week was the other side of the experience. Before long, bento trays started to accumulate in the institute coffee room, and people soon reached an unspoken consensus where every Thursday someone would take a tray from the collective pile and add it back after finishing the meal. This practice ceased after the €5 upgrade of the box deposit. Keeping the trays clean and circulating like a functioning currency within the community was to keep a promise to the bento vendors that renewed itself once a week, a process that generated emotional attachments.

Home to the faculties that had just recently relocated to form the new Centre of Asian and Transcultural Studies (CATS), the Bergheim Campus offered a steady supply of weary students and academics roaming around between classes. Especially attracted by the bento boxes were those from Japanese Studies, who were either reminiscing over time spent living on the archipelago, or longing for a place they hadn’t yet managed to visit. The enthusiasm for bento was growing so high that, more often than not, one arrived at the stand shortly after 12:30 to find only a few onigiri おにぎり rice balls and inari-zushi 稲荷寿司 (sweet tofu skin sushi) left. It was not rare to spot a faculty member skipping out of a building with an empty tray in hand, heading towards the bento stand in remarkable momentum to snatch up the best offers before they sold out. When INAHO stopped coming during a summer break due to staff shortages, it caused such confusion and lamentation on campus that the head of Japanese Studies Department went out of his way as a liaison to re-secure the supply of everyone’s midday nourishment.

我必須要坦白，我並沒有從一開始就對 INAHO 的便當抱有如此的熱枕，並在很長一 段時間里，都竭盡全力想抵制它的誘惑，並不 是因為我質疑便當的質量，而是因為我曾一 度偏執地認為，這些個便當價格過高，不過是 一種對日本美食文化退而求其次的體驗。我 在京都大學交換的時候，一跨出吉田校園北 門，遍地都是價格便宜一半、種類卻翻上一倍 的各種便當。那還只是我嘴饞，想要吃吃這些 令人身心愉悅、廉價溫熱的現成食物，因為只 要再走幾步到百萬遍路口，用不到 1,000 日元

（ 2016 年相當於大約 7 、8 歐元），我就可以在 各樣的美食專營店裡吃到一份熱騰騰的蘸汁 麵（つけ麺）、咖 喱 飯或是日式意麵（和風パス タ），每種菜品又都可選大小、配料、辣度或面 條類型，有著無數種組合。更不用提被譽為學 生第二食堂的牛肉飯御三家了 3 。

當然，作為一個僑居歐洲土地的日本學學 者，我的選擇非常有限，只有渴望不斷地增 加。口味是件如此個人化的事，我旅居他 鄉 ， 它們也跟著我遷徙。沒過多久，我就放棄了對 高價便當假惺惺的不屑態度，屈服於了每週 四可樂餅與炸雞的召喚。畢竟，作為一個心中 有掛念之地卻生活在他處的人，在日耳曼秋 季無情的寒風中，每每途徑便當小攤，又怎能 拒絕那些在醬油、味醂與出汁湯底 4 的粗暴都 混合物中翻滾爛煮過的蔬菜呢？

I must confess, I didn’t share such enthusiasm for the INAHO bento from the very beginning. I tried as hard as I could for a long time to resist their enticement, not because I ever questioned their quality, but for my own obstinate insistence that they were but overpriced, second-rate experiences of Japanese cuisine. Back when I was an exchange student at Kyoto University, I could get bento for half the price and double the variety if I just ventured out from a northern gate of the Yoshida Campus. That was only when I actively craved the gratifying, unpretentious taste of lukewarm ready-meals, because with less than 1,000 yen (around €7–8 back in 2016), I could just as well take a few more steps to the Hyakumanben crossing and treat myself to a generous, warm portion of tsukemen つけ麺 dipping noodles, curry rice, or Japanese style pasta ( waf ū pasuta 和風パスタ) in one of those specialised restaurants, each with myriad combinations of customisable sizes, toppings, spice levels, or types of noodles. Not to mention the ‘Noble Three Houses’, so to speak, of beef rice ( gyudon gosanke 牛丼御三家 ), 3 lauded as students’ second cafeterias.

3 三家最大的牛肉飯連鎖店，名字都以 屋/家（日語都讀作ya）結尾，即吉野家、壽 喜屋（すき屋）和松屋。

4 味醂 (みりん) 是一種含有一些酒精和 很高糖份的調味米酒，出汁是用鰹魚片或昆 布海帶熬制的高湯湯底，富含鮮味。醬油、味 醂和出汁湯底被認為是日本料理中最常見、 基本的三種調味料。

3 The biggest three restaurant chains of beef rice whose names all end in ya 屋 / 家 (house, clan), namely, Yoshinoya 吉野家 , Sukiya すき家 , and Matsuya 松屋 .

But of course, as an expatriate Japanologist living on European soil, my options are limited and my cravings keep growing. Tastes are such a personal matter that when I travel, they also travel along. It didn’t take me long to quit my snobbish stance towards overpriced bento and succumb to the weekly summons of korokke and kara’age . After all, as someone living outside a place that they always miss, who could say no to those bites of tenderly boiled vegetables, soaked in a crude mixture of soy sauce, mirin , and dashi , 4 whenever they pass the bento stand in the unforgiving chill of a Teutonic autumn?

4 Mirin みりん is a kind of rice wine that contains some alcohol and high sugar. Dashi 出汁 is stock made by boiling bonito flakes or kombu kelps and is rich in umami . Soy sauce, mirin , and dashi are considered the three most common and basic seasoning ingredients in Japanese cuisine.

Fig. 4 INAHO’s bento sets of gyoza dumplings and teriyaki chicken. Photography: Fengyu Wang.

顯然，海德堡並不像大都市法蘭克福那樣 擁有眾多 值 得稱讚的日式糕點房、餐廳和一 年一度的 Nippon Connection 電影節，更

不用說杜塞爾多夫和巴黎那些被冠以“小東 京”之稱的整片日本城，不僅有各式小食餐館 與甜品咖啡廳，更有許多專營日本的商店和 書店。海德堡最好的日本美食之一是一家名

為 SameSame (意為“鯊魚鯊魚”) 的壽司 店。它魚肉意外地新鮮，壽司米的味道與口感 也無可挑剔。唯一能超越它的是另一家專營 壽司的高級餐廳，它在週末提供令人官能放 縱的拉麵，搭配自家當地酒莊釀造的葡萄酒， 只不過它後來永久閉店了 5 。唯一一家曾提供 全套晚餐與午間特別套餐的日本餐廳也在幾 年前關閉，改頭換面，化作一家很潮的咖啡館 式喫茶店重新開張，改名 Konomi (意為“喜 好”)，除各種茶點甜品以外，只提供烏龍面等 佐以簡單輔料的清淡菜肴。

Obviously, Heidelberg does not boast the numerous Japanese bakeries and restaurants, nor the annual Nippon Connection Film Festival, as does the metropole Frankfurt am Main, not to mention the districts of Düsseldorf and Paris that are laureled with the nickname ‘Little Tokyo’ for hosting not only diners and dessert cafés, but also Japanese shops and bookstores. Nonetheless, one of the best gastronomic possibilities in Heidelberg is a sushi restaurant named SameSame (meaning ‘shark shark’). It has a surprisingly fresh supply of fish, as well as rice of impeccable flavour and texture. It used to be outshined by another sushi specialist that offered very indulgent ramen during weekends, paired with wines produced from its own local winery, only before the latter closed for good. 5 The only restaurant that used to offer full meals in dinner sets and lunch specials also closed years ago and reopened as a fancy café-style tea house, Konomi (meaning ‘fond of’), which offers light dishes such as udon noodles with simple toppings alongside its various teas and sweets.

5 這家餐廳曾被我和朋友們親切地稱作“ 那家拉麵館”，但它的名字我卻再也想不起， 因為我在谷歌地圖上保存它的心形圖標早 就沒了名字，只剩下一行空蕩蕩的地址。

5 The name of the restaurant, or ‘that ramen place’ as my friends and I used to so fondly call it, has long eluded me since the heart-shaped label I saved on Google Maps ceased to carry anything but an empty address.

在 SameSame 之下，海德堡日本料理店 的下一梯隊就是散落在城市外圍的一些昂貴 的店家，並且通通提供壽司和日式鐵板 燒——一種怎麼看都很可疑的組合。在這之 後，我們的預期就要急轉直下，落在那些中國 人經營的壽司店上了。我祖國的同胞們有著 能精通任何烹飪技巧並烹製美食的絕活，在 這一點上我總是堅信不移的，可他們確實也 有著願意在任何菜品裡添加過量照燒汁，並 放縱自己進行跨文化創新的熱忱，這在追求 原汁原味日本料理的美食家們看來，怕是要 瞠目結舌了 6 。至於海德堡的夜生活嘛，由於 餐館很少營業至午夜以後，德國酒吧和俱樂 部能提供的最好的小吃就只有迷你椒鹽卷餅 ( mini Pretzel ) 了。

据我所知，只有一家名為 Vater Rhein 的小酒館提供夜宵，並被譽為“海德堡最棒的 淩晨兩點的意面”，還以對學生們非常公道的 價格提供搭配烈酒一杯的套餐 7 。當年一家又 一家地逛居酒屋，直到吃飽喝足，然後通宵達 旦地唱卡拉OK，在淩晨時分吃上一碗熱騰騰 的拉面，都是在日本留學的家常便飯。如今在 這沈著冷靜的德國，夜間的玩樂怕也只有入 鄉 隨俗了——可 嚐嚐 這片 Abendbrot 吧 ( 配以奶酪和抹醬的晚間麵包)！

After SameSame, the next best Heidelberger options for Japanese cuisine are some pricy establishments in the urban periphery, all producing sushi and grills – a dubious combination no matter how you look at it. The bar then goes all the way down to the sushi places run by Chinese people. While I trust my compatriots to master any kind of cookery and produce delectable food, they do have a tendency towards overdosing their dishes with teriyaki sauce and coming up with indulgently transcultural innovations that would surprise any gourmet after Japanese tastes. 6

As for nocturnal options in Heidelberg, with restaurants rarely open beyond midnight, the best that German bars and clubs can offer as snacks is salted mini pretzels. Personally, I know of only one pub, Vater Rhein, that sells what is lauded as ‘the best 2am pastas’ along with schnapps at a very student-friendly price. 7 The college routine back in Japan of drinking and snacking in a couple of izakaya 居酒屋 , followed by all-night karaoke and a bowl of ramen in the small hours, now has to find its rational German alternatives – here, take this Abendbrot (evening bread with cheese and spreads)!

6 地道的餐廳都是相似的，東拼西湊的料 理各有各的奇怪。

7 你當然也可以選擇跑到麥當勞或深夜 營業的土耳其烤肉店裡自暴自棄。

6 All authentic restaurants are alike; each fusion restaurant is confusing in its own way.

7 Or you could always give up on yourself in McDonald’s or a latenight kebab shop.

我仍然記得我第一次到日本旅行時一次 次驚奇的體驗。就是那種對精小細節的一絲 不荷。即使是在微不足道的地方，也總有詼 諧、詩意的小小設計。我不僅驚嘆於在一套豪 華的懷石料理中 8 ，看到有一片鹽漬、油炸過 的蝴蝶大小的楓葉停在我的豆腐前菜上，更 讚歎當我從 400 日元的便利店便當裡夾起一

片胡蘿蔔時，發現它也被製作成了櫻花的形 狀。正如我在旅行中不斷發現的那樣，後者的 精巧設計很多時候可能只是一種廉價、俗套， 有時還是強求而來的小把戲。但正是這種堅 持不懈，甚至有如強迫症一般對細節中小小 趣味的追求，這種幾乎被奉 为 圭臬 (亦不乏有 所商業化的) 文化行為，塑造了我們在日本產 品與體驗中所指認出的那種獨到而傑出的品 質。也正是這種在我們所居住的中歐城市中 鮮有所見的品質，在我和我的校園同胞們一 次次光顧 Bento INAHO 的日子裡，牢牢地 抓住了我們的心。

歸根結底，在我們的記憶中留下不可磨滅 的印記，並促使著我們即使旅居異國他 鄉 也 要去尋尋覓覓的，不僅是食物本身，還有其中 與人交往的友善與快樂，或是在每日清洗維 護便當盒的重複之中心生的掛念。有那剛踏 入餐廳就滿心充溢著的期待，在等待菜肴時 對一天冒險的回想，以及酒足飯飽後呆坐在 座位上，在飯氣攻心之餘對下一個目的地的 思索。我們對 INAHO 的記憶，以及對其有朝 一日的緬懷，並不是那一塊又一塊裝在黑紅 相間便當盒裡的可樂餅，而是我們在這片校 園里度過的日日月月。那里有家便當小攤會定 期出現，遵循著抵押便當盒與我們的約定，為 我們帶來那旅居他 鄉 的美味佳餚。

8 作為現代用語，懷石一般指的是日本的 高級料理，通常整套菜品有所精心設計，由 多道菜餚組成，並有著對藝術性的格外關 切。懷石一詞，既“懷抱（加熱過的）石頭”，源 於日本茶道 (茶の湯)，並曾用以指代儀式中 所提供的粗茶淡飯。然而後世這種更為奢侈 的懷石料理，則始於江戶時代，當時受武士 階層尤為青睞的盛大宴會，被稱為“會席”， 日語中與“懷石”同音 (同讀作 kaiseki )。

I can still recall the amazement I experienced when I first travelled to Japan. Namely, at the meticulous care given to small details. Witty, poetic designs at even trivial spots. I marvelled not only at a salted and fried, butterfly-sized maple leaf sitting on top of my tofu appetiser in a luxurious kaiseki 懐石 course, 8 but much more so at the moment when I picked up a carrot slice from a 400-yen convenient-store lunch box and recognised it also had a cherry-blossom shape. The latter, as I discovered throughout my travels, may well have been just a cheap, basic marketing trick. But it is this insistent, if not compulsive, pursuit of small delights as an almost canonised (as well as commercialised) cultural practice that has constituted a distinguished quality we recognise in many of the products and experiences of Japan. The same quality probably captured me and my campus fellows in our frequenting of Bento INAHO, which we rarely found anywhere else in this Central European town we live in.

8 In the modern parlance, kaiseki refers generally to the haut cuisine in Japan that usually features elaborate designs, multiple courses, and special attention towards aesthetics. The word kaiseki 懐石 or ‘embracing a (heated) stone (on one’s belly)’ comes from the practice of tea ceremonies ( chanoyu 茶の湯 ) and used to refer to the humble dishes offered at such occasions. The deluxe practice, however, goes back to the grandiose feasts, homophonically also called kaiseki 会 席 , favoured by the warrior class in the Edo period.

In the end, it’s not just the food itself, the sauces and spices, the tastes and smells, that leave an indelible mark on our memories and propel us to seek them out even in a foreign land; it’s the food experiences , the polite and pleasant human interactions, or the routine of cleaning and maintaining one’s own bento box. It’s also the anticipation when one steps into a restaurant, the recollection of a day’s ventures while waiting for the dishes to arrive, and rumination about where one might head to next while sitting there satisfied, sliding into a food coma. How we will remember and one day reminisce about INAHO will not be through thoughts of one after another korokke we consumed in those black-and-red bento boxes, but of the days and weeks of our own lives spent on this campus, where a bento stand would regularly show up, keeping a promise we made with the deposited boxes, to deliver us all the expatriate delicacies.

SHINJUKU STATION

An Historical Guide to the World’s Busiest Railway Terminal

Brian Rogers

If you ask Tokyo residents today about Shinjuku Station, their eyes will light up with a mix of fear and excitement. They might recount for you a personal story about getting lost in the station’s many underground passageways, or describe a harrowing ordeal navigating its crowded rush hour.

Japanese game designer Uehara Daisuke tapped into the station’s aura when he designed a mobile RPG game called Shinjuku Dungeon in 2014. Uehara personally experienced losing his way in Shinjuku Station when visiting the city from his home in Okinawa and used this incident as the basis of the game. Shinjuku Dungeon resonated with other players and quickly shot up the charts on Google Play and Apple’s App Store. 1

As disorienting as moving through Shinjuku Station is for those unaccustomed to its interior, the station is equally hard to comprehend when look -

ing from the outside. With four main exits (East, West, South and New South Exits) and hundreds of smaller exits, it is near impossible to determine where the station begins and ends.

To understand the dimensions of this space we must understand how it came to be. Social changes are intimately tied to changes in urban form. Shinjuku Station is no exception. Its history bears the imprints of the architects who designed the station, as well as the passengers who navigate its corridors and share stories about their experience.

This essay will introduce the history of Shinjuku Station from its origins as a sleepy post station ( shukuba , 宿 場 ) during the Edo period, to its transformation into a bustling train station anchoring Tokyo’s administrative and financial centre. As a case study for the terminal station, Shinjuku reveals the integral role these spaces have come to play in Japanese urban life.

Fig. 1 Shinjuku Station in the early 1960s. Commuters attempt to board the Chūō Line during rush hour.

1 Tamura Keisuke, and Uehara Daisuke, Shinjukueki naze ichinichi 364 mannin wo sabakerunoka (Tokyo: SB Shinsho, 2016).

A Station in the Fields: Pastoral Shinjuku from Edo to Late Meiji

Since its founding in 1698, Shinjuku has been defined by the movement of people and goods. Asakusa merchants established the town as a ‘new post station’ ( shinjuku , 新宿 ) at the fork of the Kōshū and Ōme highways (Fig. 2). Similar post stations outside other major entrances to Edo, like Senju-juku, Shinagawa-juku, and Itabashi-juku, had already proven to be lucrative enterprises. Processions of daimyo travelling to and from Edo, under the Shogun’s system of alternate attendance, formed a steady supply of customers. However, workers transporting goods along these roads were at the core of the post station economy. Settlements like Shinjuku gradually developed a market of inns, restaurants, and brothels to serve porters and labourers whose lives revolved around the road. Overland travel and trade depended upon this spine of post stations.

Shinjuku was on the outskirts of Edo, just two kilometres from one of the main entrances at Yotsuya, but it retained strong connections to the capital. Outside the city limits, it was beyond the Shogun’s strict regulation of prostitution and entertainment. Samurai looking to escape Edo could easily visit Shinjuku for an evening. Shinjuku also boasted one of Edo’s nine ‘bells of time’ ( toki no kane , 時の鐘 ). The bell, housed at Tenryūji temple ( 天龍寺 ), was known to ring a little ahead of the other eight. Upon hearing the early bell, samurai in Shinjuku’s pleasure quarter had just enough time to rush back to Edo. On their way into the city, they likely passed porters moving shipments of limestone for the construction and maintenance of Edo Castle. The Ōme Highway was the principal artery for bringing this raw material into Edo, and Shinjuku was its terminus. While Shinjuku was on the outskirts of Edo, its fortunes were tied to those of the city centre.

Fig. 2 Map of Shinjuku at the end of the Tokugawa period. Shinjuku sits just to the right of the fork and stretches along the road leading to Edo.

The founding of the Meiji state (1868–1912) signalled the start of a new era, but traffic in and out of Shinjuku still relied on infrastructure built during the Tokugawa Shogunate (1603–1868). Farmers from the Musashi plain continued to bring their goods through Shinjuku to the markets in Tokyo, and the transport network still depended mostly on horse and manpower.

However, the construction of two rail stations at Shinjuku drastically expanded the area’s function as a freight hub. The private company Nippon Railways built the first station in 1885 where Shinjuku Station East Exit sits today. It functioned as part of a line connecting Akabane in the North with Shinagawa in the South (later known as the Yamanote Line). This connection made Shinjuku the terminus for crops and raw materials on their way into the city from Tōhoku. The private company Kōbū Railways

built a second station in 1889 near what is today Shinjuku Station West Exit. This station connected Shinjuku with Hachiōji and created a new supply line for goods produced in areas west of Tokyo, such as silk from Yamanashi prefecture. Eventually, the Hachiōji-Shinjuku line enabled Kōbū Railways to expand into Tokyo and formed the basis of the Chūō Line. With these railway connections, Shinjuku Station became one of the most important freight depots in Tokyo.

Shinjuku’s function in the freight network attracted many wholesalers and merchants. Vegetables, rice, lumber, and charcoal from Tōhoku and Musashino flowed through Shinjuku’s rail yard. Shipping companies, lumber dealers, and charcoal wholesalers all clustered around the station’s East side. Shinjuku soon became known as a town of charcoal wholesalers. Twenty-two charcoal stores and ten coal stores clustered around the station market area. 2 Tanabe Shigehachi owned one of the largest charcoal wholesales in Shinjuku. His son, Moichi, inherited the lot and in 1927 used it to establish Kinokuniya Bookstore which today is the largest bookseller in Japan.

2 Madarame Fumio, Edo Tokyo, Machi no rirekisho 3: Shinjuku nishi guchi, Higashi guchi, yotsuya atari (Tokyo: Harashobō, 1991) 16-19.

Despite its booming freight industry, Shinjuku in the late Meiji period maintained a rural character. Apart from the freight yard and high street, Shinjuku Station was surrounded by fields. Farmers cultivated tea and mulberry crops behind single rows of street-facing shops. The station itself was built from wood and was small in scale. Since it served only fifty passengers a day at its peak, staffing requirements were low. Railway employees assigned to Shinjuku lived in company housing

facing the station on the East side. Children growing up nearby would use the rail yard almost as a playground, getting to know the workers there through their mischief. Company housing for these workers was neighboured by a stretch of tea shops. Here, passengers could relax and sip tea while awaiting the infrequent trains. The rhythms of life were perhaps not far removed from those dictated by the bell tower’s call a century before.

Station and Interwar Popular Culture

Development of Tokyo’s western suburbs during the Taishō period (1912–1926) transformed Shinjuku into a station geared toward passenger traffic. Passenger numbers increased slowly at first. A new electric streetcar line in 1903 linked Shinjuku and the city centre. Kōbū Railways introduced its first electric commuter trains between Nakano and Iidamachi in 1904 and extended the line to Ochanomizu in December of the same year. Railway nationalisation in 1906 brought the Kōbū and Nippon railways under the control of the state, transforming them into the Chūō and Yamanote lines, respectively.

Finally, Keiō Railways opened its own suburban streetcar line with a terminal department store in Shinjuku in 1915. However, in the late Meiji and early Taishō eras, more central areas like Ushigome, Yotsuya, and Kagurazaka were the most prosperous parts of Tokyo’s Yamanote region. Shinjuku remained a town on the outskirts of the city.

Fig. 3 Wooden structure of Meiji Era Shinjuku Station facing the Kōshū Highway

‘Vortex of Modern Life’ Shinjuku

The Great Kantō Earthquake in 1923 was the catalyst for Shinjuku’s change in fortune. Tremors from the earthquake set off an enormous fire that consumed Tokyo’s densely populated working class neighbourhoods in the low lying shitamachi 下町 , as well as traditional centres of merchant capital in Nihonbashi, Kanda, and Kyōbashi. Thousands of refugees fled the destruction, eventually resettling in the city’s western suburbs. As if somehow predicting the population shift, private railways had been steadily extending their lines into the Musashino plain in the years prior to 1923. The government-operated Chūō Line had added Ogikubo, Kōenji, and Asagaya stations to its line just the year before. In the wake of the earthquake, these suburban railways offered housing and easy access to the city for those who could afford to move.

Nakano Station on the Chūō Line was one of the earliest suburbs west of Shinjuku and exemplifies this population shift. Nakano had already seen some development throughout the 1910s due to its easy access to Tokyo’s business districts, by way of the Chūō Line, and access to electric streetcars at Shinjuku Station. In 1911, 2000 people used the station to board the Chūō Line every day. By 1925, daily passengers had increased to 16,000. 3 After the earthquake, Shinjuku Station’s status was cemented as a gateway into the city from the rapidly growing western suburbs.

3 Okada Naoshi and Kurihara Kageri, Chizu de yomitoku JR Ch ū ōsen ensen (Tokyo: Sansai Books, 2020)74-79.

Fig. 4 The rural character of Shinjuku Station as it looked in the late Meiji Era.

However, like much of the city, Shinjuku suffered damage in fires caused by the earthquake. This included the wooden station facilities originally built by Kōbū and Nippon railways. In their place, the Government railways built a new station in 1925 (Fig. 5). This third Shinjuku Station was made from concrete and boasted a stylish Art Deco design. Its multi-storey layout included a cafeteria on the second floor and was significantly larger than previous buildings. The tea shops and homes that had occupied the space in front of the previous station were demolished after residents were forced off the land. In their place emerged a large hiroba 広場 , or

plaza, to handle the increasing volume of passengers and vehicles coming to the station. Along with this new station, the addition of private railway facilities, such as Seibu Railway’s electric streetcar line to Ogikubo in 1926 and Odakyū’s Odawara line in 1927, strengthened connections between Shinjuku and the Western suburbs. Shinjuku’s new station facilities and connections to the city centre via streetcar and the Chūō Line made it a much more attractive location for suburban railway terminals than either Ikebukuro or Shibuya at the time.

Fig. 5 The third Shinjuku Station Building constructed in 1925 featuring art deco design and a concrete structure.

The vanguards of interwar urban consumer culture and entertainment soon followed the railways into Shinjuku. By 1930, the main road which passed in front of Shinjuku Station boasted four department stores in Mitsukoshi, Niko, Hoteiya, and Matsuya (Fig. 6). Isetan joined the fray in 1933 after extensive market research into where the city’s commercial future lay. The original store, a kimono shop in Kanda founded in 1886, had burned down in the earthquake. Isetan’s owners wanted to relocate and considered both Ginza and Kyōbashi as possible destinations. However, they were drawn by the connectivity of Shinjuku’s new station building and decided to relocate there instead. Department stores were joined by hundreds of cafes, jazz clubs, and numerous movie theatres. People seeking the diversion of popular culture flocked to Shinjuku after other established entertainment areas, like Asakusa’s theatre

district, burned down in the post-earthquake fires. The formerly sleepy freight town was now awash with suburban commuters and youthful consumers. With so many people now drawn to the area, Shinjuku Station attracted media attention as the beating heart of Tokyo’s new urban development. Passengers were pumped through the station onboard trains from the Chūō and Yamanote Lines which came every four and six minutes, respectively. According to a Tokyo Nichi Nichi Shimbun article from 2 nd June 1930, these two government lines accounted for 184,700 passengers flowing into Shinjuku per day. 4 Shinjuku Station not only handled the crowds, it handled them with unprecedented speed.

4 Cited in Takyu, Tokuji eds., Shinjukueki hachij ū nen no ayumi (Tokyo: 1964) 22.

Fig. 6 Flourishing Shinjuku Street during the early Showa Era. Isetan Department Store is visible towering over the other structures on the left.

Influenced by these developments, the writer Ryūtanji Yū (1901–1991) described Shinjuku station as a ‘vortex of modern life’. 5 In a short piece published in 1931 titled ‘Shinjuku Sketches’, Ryūtanji depicted the station as a place where newness and normality, mediocrity and excitement converged. The station vibrated with a human flow that he called a ‘bewildering modern development’. While young Japanese danced to the unbridled rhythms of jazz in Shinju -

Mammoth Shinjuku

ku’s clubs, inside the station the crowd moved to their own choreography following the pulses of the railway cars as they came and went. Speed and the fast pace of life represented by Shinjuku Station offered its visitors a thrilling spectacle. But as Ryūtanji and other commentators at the time suggested, within this accelerated experience of the everyday lingered a sense of unease at the future to come.

The Post-War Reconstruction of Shinjuku as Consumer Paradise

The destruction, and consequent reconstruction, caused by American aerial bombardment during World War II ushered in the next phase of Shinjuku Station’s development. Shinjuku Station itself managed to sustain operation through the worst of the bombing, as well as through the dire years of material shortages immediately after defeat in 1945. Soon the United States turned its attention to a new conflict and began organising for the Korean War

(1950–1953). Japan’s industry quickly mobilised to provide munitions for American soldiers in Korea. The resulting economic boom marked the start of a two-decade long period of high economic growth now called ‘The Economic Miracle’ (1955–1972). The subsequent growth in manufacturing triggered a mass migration of citizens back to cities they had fled during air raids just a few years earlier.

5 Freedman Alisa, Tokyo in Transit: Japanese Culture on the Rails and Road (Stanford: University of Stanford Press, 2011) 117.

6 Tokyo hyakunenshi Henshū

Iinkai, Tokyo hyakunenshi: Dai 6-kan, Tokyo no shinsei to hatten (Tokyo: Tokyo-to, 1972).

Housing was difficult to find in the city centre due to rising land and commodity prices caused by economic growth. Population growth in Tokyo’s central wards (Chiyoda, Chūō, Minato wards, etc.) peaked in 1955. New residents were pushed farther and farther into the suburbs. Due to this exodus from the central wards, Tokyo’s outer wards grew at a rate of 4% per year from 1955 onward, peaking in 1961 at 11.8% growth. 6

Shinjuku Station’s facilities struggled to cope with increased passenger demand brought about by rapid suburban growth. Daily passenger totals returned to their pre-war peak of 250,000 by the early 1950s. But by 1955, this number had more than doubled to 600,000. And by 1960 daily passenger figures ballooned to over 1,000,000. 7 The stylish, Art Deco building that played host to a ‘vortex of modernity’, as described by Ryūtanji in 1930, was not designed for this scale of traffic.

The National Railways (JNR) recognised the need to renovate Shinjuku Station soon after the war but lacked the necessary capital. JNR’s reorganisation into a public corporation by American occupation forces in 1949 restricted its ability to increase freight and passenger fares, making it difficult to raise investment funds. Facing the need to modernise and rebuild facilities all around Tokyo and Japan writ-large, JNR turned to private investors to redevelop

stations. This new model of station development, called minsh ū eki 民衆駅 , was announced with much fanfare throughout the mass media in 1953. 8

8 For example: ‘Ima toki no kotoba: minshū eki’, Yomiuri Shimbun , August 5, 1953; Kataoka, Yūro, ‘Waga kuni shihonshugi seijukuki no testsudō’, Un’yu to Keizai 13 no. 4 (1953): 1-11; Minsh ū eki ( 民衆駅 ) is a difficult word to translate, and no clear explanation of its origin exists.

7 Takyu, Shinjukueki hachij ū nen no ayumi , 38.

Fig. 7 Destruction along Shinjuku Street after American Air Raids.

Minsh ū eki represented a shift from existing station design. They were designed as multi-use, multi-storey structures composed of glass and steel and resembling a modern office building more than a railway station. With most of the capital coming from private railways and department store magnates, stations transitioned from buildings managed by the national railways to joint public-private operations managed and owned by a holding company. Private railways had of course established this model of development already in the interwar years, combining terminal stations and department stores in cities around Japan. Hankyū Railway’s eight storey Osaka Station built in 1929 is recognised as the progenitor of this strategy by private railways. But minsh ū eki represented an entirely new scale of development. The competition between private railways and department store companies moved from the city streets to inside the public railway station itself.

Shinjuku Station was earmarked as the top prize for developers soon after JNR announced the application process for minsh ū eki developments. Just one year after the announcement, Tokyo

Metropolitan Government identified Shinjuku as a future sub-centre of the city. News then broke in 1955 that the real estate developer and national department store chain Takashimaya had already made multiple petitions to JNR’s minsh ū eki steering committee, requesting a license to redevelop Shinjuku Station. Isetan Department Store’s owners resented the intrusion of Kyoto-based Takashimaya into Shinjuku and quickly rallied the Shinjuku Ward Trade Association to submit their own application. By 1956 there were three separate applications to develop Shinjuku Station sent to JNR’s minsh ū eki steering committee. Finally, in 1958, the committee managed to broker an agreement compelling all three groups to work together on the project. 9

9 Ishigure Masakazu, Sengo Tokyo to yamiichi: Shinjuku, Ikebukuro, Shibuya no keisei katei to toshi soshiki (Tokyo: Kajima Shuppankai, 2016) 141-142.

10 Yasuo Hariki, ‘Kaidan: Shinjuku minshūeki’, Zaikai 7, no. 17 (1959): 39-41; ‘Shinjukueki he Takashimaya shinshutsu’, Asahi Shimbun , September 12th, 1955.

Details of this negotiated settlement came to light in a 1959 article published in the financial news periodical, Zaikai . In coordination with local Shinjuku landlord Hamano Shigeru, who had been chosen to lead the holding company, Isetan managed to secretly negotiate a path to marginalising Takashimaya’s share in the project. Hamano had close ties with Isetan, and helped the company agree to terms with the private railway company Seibu to buy their share in the station. Seibu would relinquish its stake, and in return Isetan would refrain from developing a plot of land in Seibu’s main market around Ikebukuro Station. Ultimately, Isetan managed to come away with a majority share in the project, limiting Takashimaya’s influence over the new Shinjuku Station. 10 Today, Seibu maintains its own separate station adjacent to the main Shinjuku Station.

When the station’s doors finally opened on May 18 th , 1964, it caused an uproar in the press. Journalists celebrated it as the nation’s ‘greatest terminal station’, calling it a ‘mammoth’ station, and the biggest minsh ū eki in Japan. The new Shinjuku Station offered 432,000 square feet (39,950 square meters) of space spread across eleven floors. The bottom three (two underground and one ground floor) were dedicated to traffic. The rest of the building was retail space utilised by the principal investors. 250 name-brand stores filled the remaining eight floors. With connections to seven

private and public railway lines, each with their own designated colour on the railway map, boosters nicknamed it the ‘Rainbow Station’ (Fig. 8). No longer just a gateway for freight into the city, Shinjuku had become a veritable paradise for suburban consumers. As described by Shinjuku’s Station Chief in 1964, ‘the suburban resident’s pleasure train now stops in Shinjuku’. 11

11 Takyu, Shinjukueki hachij ū nen no ayumi , 37.

Fig. 8 An illustration created to celebrate the opening of the new Shinjuku Station in 1964. The rainbow motif was meant to symbolize the seven different lines tied together by the new station.

Despite great fanfare, the project was not without critics. One op-ed in the Yomiuri Shimbun published two weeks after the station’s opening pointed to what the author called a lack of ‘flowability’ ( ry ū dōsei , 流動性 ). Even with traffic functions separated by floor, the author argued that the inclusion of hundreds of shops made the station more cramped and took away from its function primarily as a traffic terminal. Additionally, the building’s many pillars, stairs, and escalators reduced sight lines and made the building feel disorienting. 12 They were perhaps a decade or two too late in their critique, however. In the Tokyo area alone, Ikebukuro, Akihabara, Tokyo, Kōenji, Yokohama, and Chiba stations were all developed along this model by 1964. Nationally, 66 minsh ū eki were constructed between 1948 and 1972. 13

Shinjuku Station and its environs only continued to grow throughout the post-war era. By 1966 both Keiō and Odakyū Railways constructed their own department store terminal stations on the west side of the tracks, forming Shinjuku West Exit. In 1968, land prices near Shinjuku Station surpassed previous records set by Ginza, becoming the most expensive land in Tokyo. The Shinjuku fukutoshin 副都心 , or sub-centre, development eventually got underway in the 1970s with a flurry of skyscraper construction just west of Keiō and Odakyū terminals. Finally in 1991, the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building moved to Shinjuku, completing the area’s transformation into the administrative centre of Tokyo.

12 Kurita Isamu, ‘Ryūdōsei no nai minshūeki kanseishita Shinjuku taminaru biru’, Yomiuri Shimbun , June 6th, 1964.

13 Minami Ryoichi, ‘Minshūeki to eki biru kata shopping senta no tanjō’, Hōsei daigaku inobeshon manejimento kenky ū senta , no. 235 (December 4 th , 2020) 12.

Lost in the Dungeon

Today, Shinjuku Station is a sprawling complex. The excitement of Ryūtanji’s vortex has been replaced by the uneasiness of traversing Shinjuku’s labyrinthine network of passages and exits. Rather than dynamism, the station is associated with getting lost, equated to a dungeon by some commentators. Despite this, the centrality of Shinjuku to Tokyo’s transport network and its popularity as an entertainment centre make it unavoidable. The station’s magnetism attracts a diverse group of users: com -

muters, shoppers, youth in search of entertainment, and those seeking escape on their way home from work. As it has been at every historical juncture, the station rumbles with the activity of its visitors. Its floors vibrate with the steps of a million passengers. Its walls bear the marks of a long history seemingly lost in the sedimented layers of redevelopment. However, Shinjuku Station’s history exists, if only we know where to look.

Suggested Readings

Freedman, Alisa. Tokyo in Transit: Japanese Culture on the Rails and Road .

Stanford: University of Stanford Press, 2011.

Smith II, Henry D. ‘Shinjuku 1931: A New Type of Urban Space.’ In Karen Wigan, Fumiko Sugimoto, and Cary Caracas eds. Cartographic Japan: A History in Maps .

Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016. 158-162.

Shunya, Yoshimi. ‘Urbanization and Cultural Change in Modern Japan: The Case of Tokyo.’ In Steffi Richter and Annette Schad-Seifert eds. Cultural Studies and Japan . Leipzig: Leipzig University Press, 2001. 89-901.

TRANSPORTATION AND THE CASTLE TOWN IN THE MŌRI CLAN DOMAIN UNDER TOYOTOMI HIDEYOSHI

Hiroki Nakahara

In the previous instalment of this essay published in the fifth issue of Wasshoi! magazine, I explained how the Mōri clan built the kampaku abodes 1 in Akamagaseki in Tenshō 14 (1586) and conducted road maintenance in the San'yōdō area in Tenshō 15 (1587) as a response to Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s military request. In this part I will analyse how the Mōri clan conducted the construction of Hiroshima Castle.

Building Hiroshima Castle Construction Work

In September of Tenshō 16 (1588), Terumoto Mōri began the construction of a new castle on the shore of Hiroshima Bay. In December, the magistrate responsible for the construction of Hiroshima Castle, Naritoki Ninomiya, eager for work to begin at the start of the new year, requested that the Ibara clan hand over their land between Kōriyama Castle , the Mōri clan’s stronghold, and Hiroshima Bay.

In July of Tenshō 17 (1589), historical documents mention the toponym ‘Hiroshima’. From the same source we find out that Terumoto Mōri’s uncle, Motokiyo, was appointed the construction magistrate. For a long time, it was considered impossible to discern what he did during his term of office. Howev -

er, in Tenna Kajō , a document dated May of Tenshō 17, (preserved at Shimonoseki City History Museum), Motokiyo orders the retainer Onō clan to carry out the construction of Hiroshima Castle’s stone walls, which means that he contributed to the layout of the castle. The construction work began gaining momentum in July of Tenshō 17. As early as the end of August, Motokiyo Mōri ordered the Taga clan of Izumo Province to dig the moat ditch and carry out stones. Moreover, in Tenshō 19 (1591), the Masuda clan of Iwami Province, followed by the Ogasawara and Sawa clans, were militarily stationed in Hiroshima from February and April respectively.

1 Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s lodging facilities.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi planned to visit Hiroshima Castle as well as Itsukushima while moving from the capital to his military dispatch base in Hizen-Nagoya (current day Karatsu city in Saga prefecture), in preparation for war with Korea (the Imjin War, 1592–1598). For this reason, from October to December of Tenshō 19, the Kikkawa clan, who were related to the Mōri clan, were ordered to maintain the Hirataya River and work on the stone walls of Itsukushima Shrine. However, stone craftsmen 2 and construction workers voiced their dissatisfaction, so the erection of walls was postponed until the spring of Tenshō 20 (1592).

This is how the Mōri clan (under Motokiyo) contributed to the construction of Hiroshima Castle from July of Tenshō 17 until the end of Tenshō 19, mobilising their countrymen, including the Kashindan 3 and groups of craftsmen. We can conclude that, as a result, they strengthened their rule in the region.

2 Called ishitsuki no domo 石つき之もの共 .

3 An institution of the retainers.

Completing Construction

In Tenshō 20 (Bunroku 1, 1592), it was necessary for the Mōri clan to maintain transportation routes for Hideyoshi and his soldiers, who were moving from Kyoto and Osaka to Kyushu, and then to the Korean Peninsula for the first Imjin War.

In April, Hideyoshi arrived in Hiroshima and said that he was satisfied with the construction of the abodes, the teahouses, and the castle. He arrived from the bridge on the east, saw the town and its surroundings, and praised it as being adequate for Terumoto. Then, he entered from the moat side through the main gate. We know that he went across the courtyard and inspected the whole of Hiroshima Castle, inside and out. Moreover, in Taikōsama gunki no uchi (held at the Keio University Library) by Gyūichi Ōta, who accompanied Hideyoshi to Kyushu, we find that they stopped in each of the San'yōdō stations, and there was a teahouse once every ri (about 4 km – translator’s note) along the road.

So, how did the Mōri clan prepare the routes along the San'yōdō circuit? They were ordered to build roads, lodgings, teahouses and other facilities from the start of Tenshō 20 until March; we can confirm this by observing the real world examples of Yakake, Bitchū Province , or Hanaoka and Fuchū in the Suō Province . In other words, the Mōri clan built upon the success of the transport policy in preparation for the Imjin War’s Kyushu dispatch, strengthening traffic routes by setting up accommodation facilities and adding the new post station.

After arriving in Hizen-Nagoya in May of Tenshō 20, Takitoshi Hiratsuka, a retainer of Satake from Hitachi Province, sent a letter to his hometown (copy held by the Historiographical Institute at the University of Tokyo) saying that Hiroshima Castle was new, with splendid stone walls and a castle tower, but that the castle town was still under construction, so he was yet to see its final form. It is now worth remembering that when Hideyoshi arrived in Hiroshima he praised the completed castle as being appropriate for Terumoto. In other words, for the Mōri clan and Terumoto in particular, adding to the fact that they prepared the whole route to Kyushu, it was their official assignment to build the new castle while organising kampaku abodes, so Hiroshima Castle was completed for the purpose of Hideyoshi’s movement to Kyushu for the Imjin War.

In summary, to support Hideyoshi’s move to Kyushu during the first Imjin War, the Mōri clan furthered the success of the transport policy in preparation for the Kyushu dispatch and strengthened traffic routes along the San'yōdō circuit. By the time Hideyoshi reached Hiroshima in April, the Castle was already finished. It can be said that the headquarters were moved there from Yoshida-Kōriyama Castle in this period.

Appointment of Local Governors to Territory Under Direct Control of the Mōri Clan

From Bunroku 2 (1593) until Bunroku 5 (1596), the fighting on the Korean Peninsula temporarily stopped, giving way to an armistice period of peace negotiations between Japan and the Ming dynasty. Although many soldiers returned to their country at that time, in the so called wajō – Japanese castles built along the southern coast of the Korean peninsula – the Japanese established military rule and maintained strained relations. On the other hand, in Japan the national market’s reorganisation was advancing as local markets were centralised, with two nuclei forming in Osaka and Kyoto (later Fushimi).

During this period, the Mōri clan established fiefs ( direct control territory ) and appointed a local governor 4 to the area around Hiroshima Castle in September of Bunroku 4 (1595), and then to Onomichi and Tomo of Bingo Province in November. When we take a closer look at the positioning of fiefs in Hiroshima, we see that the enlargement of the castle territory also produced a need for road maintenance on the route connecting Hiroshima Castle with Kōriyama Castle. Moreover, in September of Bunroku 4, Hiroshima as well as Kume and Tonda in Suō Province became fiefs, and Terumoto’s retainer, Motoyoshi Chō, was appointed the local governor. In Keichō 1 (1596), when a Ming dynasty senior envoy Yan Fan Han, and Lý dynasty envoy Fan Jin arrived in Japan to conduct peace negotiations, not only did they cross the Mōri clan territory, but the rice served to them in Kaminoseki, Suō Province, came from Kume and Tonda. Therefore, the establish -

ment of fiefs and the appointment of a local governor in September of Bunroku 4 could, in a way, be considered a part of the Mōri clan’s transport policy. Although these actions had a different aim, the events of September Bunroku 4 bear characteristics of a transportation policy.

Thus, during the armistice in September of Bunroku 4, the Mōri clan established fiefs in the Hiroshima area and appointed a local governor, facilitating the enlargement of the territory. This prompted road maintenance between Yoshida and Hiroshima, as well as a move from Kōriyama Castle to Hiroshima Castle for the Kashindan , which altogether could be interpreted as the Mōri clan strengthening their rule over the territory.

4 Supervisor of the direct control territories in the Mōri clan’s areas.

Did the Mōri Clan Construct Hiroshima Castle?

To reiterate, in April of Tenshō 14 the Toyotomi administration (under Hideyoshi) called for the maintenance of roads to Kyushu as specified in the Memorandum of 14 articles, and then commanded the construction of kampaku abodes and the building of a new castle. The Mōri clan received the request and in Tenshō 14 set up abodes in Akamagaseki and, in Tenshō 15, prepared the San'yōdō circuit. From July of Tenshō 17 until the end of Tenshō 19, they put considerable effort into building Hiroshima Castle, mobilising the Kashindan and craftsmen. As a result, the Mōri clan strengthened their rule. Moreover, from January to March of Tenshō 20, as Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s move to Kyushu for the Imjin War was drawing closer, the Mōri clan built upon the success of road maintenance for the Kyushu dispatch and strengthened traffic routes along the San'yōdō circuit by building the new lodging facility. When Hideyoshi reached Hiroshima in April of the same year, the castle had been completed. By that time the stronghold had been moved from Kōriyama Castle in Yoshida to Hiroshima. Afterwards, in September of Bunroku 4, fiefs were established in the area surrounding Hiroshima Castle and a local governor appointed; along with the securing of roads between Yoshida and Hiroshima, the Mori clan’s territory was enlarged. Unlike other undertakings up until this point, the territory enlargement meant movement from Kōriyama Castle to Hiroshima Castle for the Kashindan .

Until now, it was common consensus that the Mōri clan’s head, Terumoto, planned the construction of Hiroshima Castle and moved the headquarters there from Kōriyama Castle. It is, indeed, possible. However, this view, underlining Terumoto’s autonomy and initiative, shares the framework of the argument that Hiroshima Castle was built to strengthen the Mōri clan’s retainer group (their inhabitation of the castle town). However, this phenomenon was only born during the castle’s construction. In other words, it was important for the Mōri clan to fulfil the task they were given by the Toyotomi administration, which was accomplished with Hideyoshi’s second move to Kyushu. In this way the Mōri clan constructed the castle, but the Kashindan ’s relocation closer to it was planned after the Imjin War peace negotiations, at which point the head of the Mōri clan, Terumoto, advanced to the centralisation of power.

THE THINGS SHE OWNED (2018) AND MESHI (2022)

by KATHERINE TAMIKO ARGUILE

Olivia Chollet

Katherine Tamiko Arguile spent her early childhood in 1960s Tokyo as a haafu (half, meaning mixed race) kid, born to a Japanese mother and an English father. She went on to spend many years in London and currently lives in Adelaide, where she co-owns a café and works on her writing.

Meshi, a Personal History of Japanese Food (2022) is a powerful autobiographical book, and reading it before turning to her debut fiction novel, The Things She Owned (2018), allowed me to realise how much of herself Arguile had poured into the latter. While the two can absolutely be read separately, they echo each other in many aspects, dealing with similar topics in different ways: mother-daughter relationships, the beauty and complexity of growing up with a dual culture, grappling with one’s heritage, and, evidently, food.

The first thing that appealed to me about Meshi was that it is a lovely book, in a very concrete sense. Its cover is beautiful, and it can easily be leafed through at any time, whether you’re in search of a quick glimpse into Japanese culture or browsing for cooking inspiration. The book is divided into twenty-four chapters, according to the twenty-four Japanese sekki (seasons), which are at the core of Japanese culture and, especially, of washoku (traditional Japanese cuisine). Each sekki works as a prompt for Katherine to delve into her memories and is concluded by a few recipes for dishes mentioned in the chapter.

It is a book about Japan and about food, but it is unique in that it is also deeply personal and intimate. It is an immersive experience of what it’s like to grow up between two cultures, as well as the universal themes of grief and loss. The title, ‘Meshi’ (cooked/ steamed rice), is carefully chosen, as its multiple meanings reflect the complexity of Katherine’s relationship with Japanese culture. Indeed, not only is rice the cornerstone of Japanese food, but, as I was surprised to learn, the ‘rough, rustic flavour of the word’ evokes ‘those living on the margins of Japanese society’, those who are seen as outsiders, like Katherine.

The author’s unmistakable love of food radiates through her words, from the day she was born near the Tsukiji fish market, to her family shop selling tsukudani (pickles), to the osanji (afternoon snack) her mother prepared for her after school – and which she still eats now. She is able to convey bittersweet memories of food shared with loved ones throughout her childhood,

whether it be in her Japanese or English family. The mikan mandarins and hōji tea, shared while sitting under her Obā-chan ’s kotatsu, mirror the elaborate afternoon tea by the fire in her English grandmother’s sitting room. The sophisticated simplicity of high-end sushi contrasts with the guilty pleasure of steaming hot yakiimo (roasted sweet potato). By the end of the book, Katherine’s passion for food has been made so palpable that her having ‘no recollection’ 1 of the fine washoku feast served at her mother’s funeral is heartbreaking testimony to her grief.

Although food is at the core of Meshi , readers with different interests are also catered for, as the book discusses festivals, decorative motifs, poetry, ikebana, calligraphy, and clothing, thus offering a fascinating dive into Japanese culture as a whole.

1 Katherine Tamiko Arguile, Meshi, a Personal History of Japanese Food (Melbourne: AffirmPress, 2020), 365.

The Things She Owned is set between Japan and the United Kingdom. It intertwines the stories of Michiko, growing up in war-time and then occupied Japan, with that of her daughter Erika, a chef at a high-end restaurant in contemporary London. Mother and daughter had a complex relationship, and Michiko’s death leaves Erika ignoring her grief and the demands of her Japanese relatives. For her to come to terms with her familial and cultural heritage involves a trip to Okinawa and, unsurprisingly, food. Furthermore, just like Meshi is

sprinkled with recipes, each chapter in The Things She Owned begins with the careful description of an object that belonged to Michiko: a ring, a rice bowl, a tea set, a knife… Not only does this process highlight the emotional value of these belongings in the plot, but it also reminds us of those objects which maintain Katherine’s connection to her late mother in Meshi . As the author herself admits, fiction indeed helped her write those treasured belongings ‘into a kind of permanence’. 2

2 Katherine Tamiko Arguile, Meshi, a Personal History of Japanese Food (Melbourne: AffirmPress, 2020), 11.

Both Meshi and The Things She Owned are instructive and touching reads, which left me with a lasting feeling of nostalgia for Japan and for my own childhood.

If you’re anything like me, you might try to cure it by ceremoniously attempting to follow one of the recipes Katherine shares in Meshi . My personal favourites include simmered kabocha (Japanese pumpkin), a classic autumn dish, and variations around aubergine (unsurprisingly, best made with the firm, slender Japanese variety). And, of course, the essential yet meticulous method for achieving perfect steamed Japanese rice – just as Katherine’s mother used to do it, without losing a single grain, and accompanied by a rice-cooking rhyme.

While Meshi is already very rich in content, it makes only little reference to Katherine’s life in Australia, where she has now been living for more than a decade. I eagerly await a new book that dives deeper into what she makes of her adoptive home’s culture.

UMEHARA DAIGO

The Michael Jordan of Competitive Gaming

Feyyaz Temür

This article will be divided into two parts: the personal story of Daigo ‘The Beast’ Umehara, followed by a closer look at the EVO Moment #37, a break-through event in the fighting game esports world.

Daigo ‘The Beast’ Umehara

The Story of the Passion-Driven Beast

Umehara Daigo (Fig. 1), born on 19th May 1981 in Aomori, moved with his family to Tokyo at the age of eight and came into contact with fighting games 1 at 11 years old. Right from the start it was clear that Umehara was an outstanding competitor. When he realised that members of his local arcade were not enough of a challenge anymore, he decided to seek out better opponents, with frequent train rides to the Sega Game Center, located at the epicentre of modern Japanese popular culture, Akihabara. If you have never been to an arcade, you should know that there is one law above all others: winner stays on. 13-year-old Umehara chained together an incredible streak of 286 wins in another Capcom fighting game, Vampire Hunter: Darkstalkers . That amounts to about seven to eight hours of gaming, during which Umehara was unable to press pause, eat or drink, or even go to the bathroom, thus showing the inhuman level of persistence that he had even at a very young age. Umehara’s

winning streak was so unprecedented that even the arcade machine he was playing on could only count up to 255 wins, at which point it rolled over back to 0 before tacking on a few more. Umehara’s streak did not end at 286 wins because someone was able to beat him fair and square; no, the arcade centre closed down for that day and they literally pulled the plug on him. In 1997, at the age of 16, Umehara Daigo won his first national tournament in Japan. Despite being such a talented and successful competitor, Umehara Daigo had decided to quit fighting games after attending Evolution Championship Series (EVO) 2004, only travelling to the United States as a memento for his biggest passion, and to experience one fi -

1 The fighting game is a video game genre that involves combat between two or more players. Fighting game combat mostly features mechanics such as blocking, grappling, counter-attacking, and chaining attacks together into combos (short for combinations).

Fig. 1 Umehara Daigo wearing a T-Shirt of his first sponsor ‘MadCatz’.

nal showdown before walking away for good. EVO is the biggest annual international esports event that focuses exclusively on fighting games. Umehara stuck to his decision even after pulling off the single greatest moment in fighting game history, the biggest reason simply being financial constraints and the negative perception of video games from the general public. Video games, specifically fighting games, were Umehara’s biggest passion, and as the

years went on he maintained his love for fighting games, putting in the work every single day, in the hope that some day something would arise from it, that he would be rewarded for his determination and the sacrifices made in walking down the path he had chosen. ‘The Beast’ quit fighting games and dived into the world of competitive Mahjong, while also working in nursing to make a living. One day Umehara realised that he would definitely regret not living out his biggest passion and following his heart. With the release of Street Fighter IV in 2009 and stubborn pressure from his closest friends, ‘The Beast’ had returned to his natural habitat (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2 Capcom Cup 2015 the tournament winner ‘Kazunoko’ from Japan versus the Singaporean competitor ‘Xian’.

Umehara not only dominated the Japanese fighting game scene, but he was personally invited to EVO 2009 to make his long–awaited return. He made it to the Grand Finals of the Street Fighter IV tournament, where his opponent was none other than the American hero Justin Wong, his counterpart in the legendary EVO Moment #37. Umehara not only secured this tournament win, but also returned the next year to be victorious once again at EVO 2010, making him the only back-to-back Street Fighter IV EVO champion to this day. His accomplishments were even recog -

nised by the Guinness World Records commission, after when he had won an astonishing 15 consecutive national and international Street Fighter tournaments. In 2010 the gaming peripherals brand Mad Catz would offer him a contract to become a full–time professional gamer as they saw the value that Umehara was bringing to the table within this competitive environment. After first refusing the offer, Umehara was eventually persuaded and went on to become the first Japanese professional gamer (Fig. 3).

Fig. 3 Umehara Daigo competing in a Street Fighter IV tournament at EVO 2014.

As Umehara’s dream finally came true, he felt so privileged that he took his diligence as far as practicing 14 to 18 hours a day. However, Umehara quickly understood that this was certainly not a reasonable and healthy way to live. On 2nd April 2012, Umehara Daigo published his first book titled ‘The Will to Keep Winning’ ( Kachitsuzukeru ishiryoku: Sekaiichi pro gamer no shigotojutsu ; 2 April 2012), which not only reached the #1 best–selling spot on Amazon Japan, but was also translated to English four years later. Umehara published four more books during the time period from 2013 to 2015, and even had his own dramatised six-volume manga, Umehara FIGHTING GAMERS! , depicting his life as a young participant in the Street Fighter arcade scene, and featuring several noted players from the Japanese fighting game community. In 2016 the global streaming platform Twitch named Umehara its first Global Brand Ambassador and also secured a crucial sponsorship with Red Bull. The next year, Umehara announced that he had entered another sponsorship with Japanese game developer Cygames, enabling him to form his own esports team called Cygames Beast. At times, Umehara would have so many sponsorships that there would not even be enough space to list them all during his matches on live stream.

But Umehara is much more than just a splendid and successful competitor; he went from being despised by the community for his passion to giving a two–hour speech at the ‘NHK Culture Center’ in Tokyo in 2018, and also a two–hour lecture titled ‘Getting Stronger Everyday’ (Ichinichi hitotsu dake, tsuyoku naru 1 日ひとつだけ、強くな る; 19 January 2017) at Keiō University, one of the most prestigious universities in Japan. In December 2015, Umehara placed second at Capcom’s own Street Fighter tournament Capcom Cup and received $60,000 in prize money. However, out of concern that his passion would become no more than a means to accumulate wealth, and in order to also support future gamers, he decided to donate the entirety of his winnings to the New York University Department of Game Design, which offers financial assistance to prospective students (Fig. 4).

Today at 41 years old, Umehara is undoubtedly still the most eminent figure in the fighting game community, and is jokingly referenced as ‘Our Lord and Savior’ by many. After an illustrious twenty–five-year competitive Street Fighter career, Umehara still competes at the highest level and keeps inspiring people from all over the globe. He also uses his platform that he has build up over the years to do philanthropic work such as charity live streams. One of the recent ones being on 6th January 2021, raising about $19,000 to support Japanese organisations combating a variety of social issues, including poverty, hunger, and domestic abuse, and on top of that matching that donation by himself to make it a total of $38,000.

Fig. 4 Umehara Daigo reaching 2nd place at Capcom Cup 2015 and winning $60’000 in price.

Umehara was just a kid who liked playing video games and searched for his own path, walking decisively on it regardless of what his school mates were thinking (not to mention being repeatedly punched in the face by his salty opponents at the arcade). Umehara then not only became a fiercely ambitious competitor, but also an inspiration to all gamers around the world, a figure that would enable fellow players to have a certain self–confidence and take pride in what they love to do, that is virtually beating up each other. Despite all of this this being an amazing achievement already, Umehara did not stop there, going on to inspire and become the hero for many generations of gamers around the globe within the virtual realm, as well as reaching even

greater heights by engaging himself in charity work, tackling social problems, spreading awareness, and donating out of his own pocket. Umehara is the epitome of a passionate human being, and proof that one should never give up on their dreams, simply because such things cannot be bought and are hard to come by. When a passionate human being manages to touch other people’s hearts, it influences them in a positive way, maybe even as far as giving them a reason to stay alive in this world, which can be a distressing place at times. To underpin my personal thoughts with a quote from Daigo ‘The Beast’ Umehara himself: ‘Everything in my life has been a failure. But if you keep choosing the path that looks safe, ultimately that becomes a dead end’ (Fig. 5).

I want to conclude this part of the article with the following remark:

I think it is safe to say that Daigo ‘The Beast’ Umehara today is not only deserving of his title within the video game realm, but he proved time and time again that he is also deserving of that title inside what we call ‘reality’. By inspiring millions around the world to maximise their potential by focusing on their goals with a step-by-step approach, by always sticking to their dreams regardless of the hardships society or life throws at them, and finally that by simply believing and fighting for their burning passion; to be able to transform the impossible dream into the possible as ‘The Beast’ has proven many times in the past, and will continue to do so for years to come.

Daigo ‘The Beast’ Umehara, a true Beast of a Man

Fig. 5 Umehara Daigo focusing at a competition.

Evo Moment #37 When the Beast Was Unleashed

The fighting game genre, inclusive of titles like Street Fighter, Tekken and Mortal Kombat, is relatively niche today in comparison to genres like the shooter or multiplayer online battle arena, but it used to be much more mainstream in the arcade era of the 1990s. Although fighting games have a smaller audience, arguably the most iconic and influential moment in the history of competitive gaming 2 actually happened in a fighting game tournament called Evolution Championship Series (EVO) at California State Polytechnic University on August 1st 2004. This notorious moment has been called the ‘EVO Moment #37’ or the ‘Daigo parry’ by genre enthusiasts and casual gamers alike, and it even has an entry in the Guinness World Records book for most views for a competitive fighting game match on Youtube.

EVO, the World Cup of fighting game competitions, has been the most prestigious tournament of its kind for almost two decades now, one of the reasons being that it has an international status. EVO 2004 featured approximately 700 competitors from over 30 countries, each competing in one or more of the nine tournaments held at the event, which included the newest fighting game Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike released on 12th May 1999 by the internationally acclaimed Japanese video game company Capcom.

Umehara Daigo ( 梅原 大吾 ; 1981) hailing from Japan and Justin Wong (1985) representing the United States of America were two outstanding competitors who participated in the Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike tournament at EVO 2004, and met each other in the loser’s bracket 3 (Fig. 6).

2 Competitive gaming consists of video games in which players play against each other, be it as individual players or as teams with multiple team members. Competitive gaming can take the form of what I would like to call direct or indirect competition. Direct competition can be in a multiplayer game of football or a fight in any combat sport, where two sides go at each other directly, which also means anticipating your opponent's moves and adapting your own play style according to their play style in order to come out victorious. Indirect competition can be in a singleplayer game like Tetris or Super Mario, where both sides try to reach a higher score than the opponent, but never get involved directly with the opponent. Both types of competitive gaming

result in one winner and one loser.

3 The standard format of the final of a fighting game tournament is usually called ‘Top 8’. The final eight competitors are divided into two groups, one being called the ‘winner’s bracket’, and the other the ‘loser’s bracket’. The four competitors in the winner’s bracket are the one’s who have not yet lost a single set of matches (further explanation at note 4), while the other four competitors in the loser’s bracket have lost exactly one set. Losing two sets of matches at a fighting game tournament means elimination. After the first set of matches are played, the winners of the winner’s bracket continue their journeys to the ‘Grand Finals’ on the winner’s side, which is of course the shortest-thus, the least stressful route. The

losers of the winners’s bracket drop down to the loser’s bracket to face the winners of the loser’s bracket, while the losers of the loser’s bracket are eliminated. Eventually one competitor reaches the ‘Grand Finals’ from the winner’s side and has to face the last man standing of the loser’s bracket. The advantage of the competitor who has managed to reach the ‘Grand Finals’ from the winner’s side is the fact that this competitor has not lost any set of matches yet, whereas his opponent has already one loss in the bag. If we recall that losing two sets of matches means elimination, the competitor from the winner’s side has to win one set of matches in order to become the tournament winner, where his opponent from the loser’s side has to win two sets of

Notes

matches against his opponent to become victorious. If the competitor from the loser’s side wins one set of matches, meaning both competitors have lost exactly one set of matches throughout the entirety of the tournament, this situation is called a ‘reset’, because the disadvantage has been eliminated and both competitors are now equal at one loss each.

Fig. 6 Justin Wong on the left and Umehara Daigo on the right at EVO 2016

EVO 2004 was actually the third time that Umehara had travelled to the United States to face the American competition. The first time Umehara competed in the United States was in 1998 in San Francisco to challenge the Street Fighter Alpha 3 American champion. This was made possible as Umehara won Japan’s official Street Fighter Alpha 3 national tournament, held at the Tokyo Game Show, becoming Japan’s representative champion. Umehara’s victory over the American champion instated him as the first international fighting game ‘Grand Champion’, becoming an instant legend throughout the American fighting game scene and earned him the nickname ‘The Beast’. Going back to 2004, his opponent, Justin Wong, was a young rising talent who had made a name for himself within the local community, and was the new hope of the American home crowd to take on the Japanese legend Umehara Daigo. Despite being the first ever encounter of these two competitors, it was the most anticipated match of the tournament, especially for the American fighting game community.

To give a brief overview how a Street Fighter game is played, both competitors have a stick for the movement of their character and six buttons consisting of three types of punches, as well as three types of kicks which vary in speed, reach, and damage. There are special moves like the iconic moving fire ball ‘Hadōken’ of Ryu (Fig. 7), and each character has their own specific Super Art, a sort of finishing move, which isthe most damaging attack in the game and can only be unleashed by having accumulated a full bar of Super Gauge, the ‘energy’ needed, by attacking, defending, or suffering damage. For their confrontation, Umehara, known for his rather risky and aggressive play style, opted for the character Ken, while Wong, famous for his more defensive ‘turtling play style’, picked Chun-Li. Our protagonists were thus ready to fight each other in a best-of-three match.

Fig. 7 Umehara Daigo at Capcom Cup 2015 winning a round with his character's finishing move.

In the final round 4 of Umehara’s and Wong’s first match, after each player had won a round. Umehara got off to a weak start as Wong was playing defensively, slowly chipping away at Umehara’s life bar and keeping him at bay. Even to this day it is one of the rare moments where the otherwise stoic and focused Umehara could be seen getting angry. So, not only was Wong’s defensive ‘turtle–style’ effective in terms of gaining the lead, but he also challenged his counterpart mentally and got under his skin. Umehara’s Ken was down to his last pixel of vitality. Simply running out the clock was a possible choice for Wong as he had a pretty comfortable lead, but he was eager to end the match on his own terms. With 26 seconds remaining on the clock, Justin Wong released Chun-Li’s Super Art as he had accumulated enough Super Gauge throughout the match.

A brief explanation of game mechanics is due before continuing our narration. Chun-Li’s super art is a barrage of incredibly fast attacks consisting of 15 consecutive hits. There are a few important factors to note. First, if Umehara simply holds his stick in the opposite direction of his opponent in order to block the incoming storm of Chun-Li’s kicks, Ken will suffer a certain amount of chip damage 5 as Super Arts in this game deal a guaranteed amount of damage even if the attacks are blocked. Since Ken’s remaining health was at such a low level, any of the 15 incoming kicks would have been enough to knock out Umehara’s Ken, even if blocked. Second, the only way for Umehara to survive this situation is a game mechanic called ‘parrying’ which is unique to this instalment of the Street Fighter franchise. When an attack is parried, no damage will occur whatsoever.

Notes

4 The usual format of a duel in a Street Fighter tournament is as follows: Each duel is settled by the rule of ‘best–of–three’ rule. The whole duel is called a ‘set’, which consists of multiple ‘matches’. A match consists of two ‘rounds’, and each round has a time limit of 99 seconds. If one competitor manages to reduce the other's life bar or health points to zero within the 99 second time frame, this competitor wins the round. Running out the clock is also an option to win a round, but the condition is that you have to have more health points than your opponent. If one competitor wins two rounds without losing two rounds in a row, the competitor wins a match. If the competitor wins two matches before his opponent manages to do so, he advances to the next

stage of the tournament.

5 Chip damage refers to the small amount of damage delivered to a player’s character who is blocking an opponent’s special move. In contrast to normal moves, which are considered rather safe to throw out, implemented by only pressing one button, special moves are rather risky and one has to input a specific motion with the stick combined with a button press within a narrow time frame. Special moves can be thought of as a kind of high-risk-highreward move which, is why they deal chip damage in the first place.

In addition, the person who parried will recover more quickly than the attacker, and will have the opportunity to launch their own attack. But to successfully parry Chun-Li’s super art was deemed to be beyond impossible as it takes an inhumane level of precision. Third, all fighting games are usually run at 60 frames per second. Chun-Li’s super art has two start-up frames; in other words, it takes two frames for the move to become active and thus it hits from the third frame onwards. So, if we recall that 60 frames equal one second, Umehara had a time window of 2/60 of a second (0.033) to react to this Super Art (the median human reaction time is 0.273 seconds), and the parry window in this game is about six frames. Therefore, he had to react and correctly move the stick towards his opponent in a time window of 6/60 of a second. What makes parrying this move even more difficult is that the 15 hits come in three different chunks, the first one being seven consecutive hits, the second one being the same as the first, and then one last hit. However, in between these three blocks there is a time gap; Umehara could not just parry all 15 hits in one specific pattern, the difficult part being that the pattern changes during the transition from one chunk of attacks to the next.

Let’s dive right back into the action. As Wong throws out Chun-Li’s Super Art, confident about his victory, planning to chip out the remaining health of his opponent, a voice rises from the crowd in support of Wong’s decision: ‘Let’s go Justin!’. Although knowing that Umehara could technically parry ChunLi’s Super Art, nobody considers the un -

imaginable as possible, and every one of the attendees is certain of the hometown hero’s victory. Or are they? This is the moment when ‘The Beast’ was finally unleashed. As Umehara starts parrying the first seven kicks, the crowd starts to get louder in amazement that Umehara is truly trying to pull off this ridiculous sequence, and create an unforgettable Michael–Jordan–like clutch–moment for the books. While Umehara is parrying the second sequence of seven kicks, the crowd gets even louder and there are people standing up and clapping in awe. Between the 14 th and 15 th hit, during the transition from the second to the last chunk of attacks, Umehara jumps up into the air with Ken, and parries the last hit in mid–air. As he is coming down, Wong’s Chun-Li in a punishable state 6 , Umehara lands two consecutive kicks and cancels 7 them into a special move, then cancels this move into his own Super Art, which results in immense damage, ultimately knocking out Wong’s Chun-Li, thus sealing Umehara’s victory of the first match. The place erupts as all of the attendees try to process what they have just witnessed. History is made (Fig. 8).

6 A punish refers to attacking an opponent who is recovering from performing a move. While recovering from a move, one cannot block and thus is vulnerable. The opponent can use this time window to throw out a quick move before his opponent can fully recover and is able to block any incoming damage.

7 A cancel is defined as breaking out of a move mid-animation by inputting another command, cancelling the previous one and instead progressing to latter. Attacks defined as ‘cancellable’ often mean they have

Notes

the ability to be cancelled and effectively combo into another attack, such as a special move or Super Art. There are three tiers of attacks:

1) Normal attacks like punches and kicks

2) Special moves like moving fire balls

3) Super Arts, which are mostly a barrage of attacks. The longer combinations start with multiple normal attacks combined together, the last one being cancelled into a special move, and this special move again cancelled into a Super Art.

Fig. 8 Main stage at EVO 2014.

Umehara may not have won the tournament (placing second, right behind a fellow Japanese player), but that is not why people remember EVO 2004. EVO Moment 37 was a singular moment showcasing that gaming can have the same intensity as any sport out there. Furthermore, it showed that EVO was here to stay and that esports 8 were just getting started. To be in front of a packed room of roaring Street Fighter enthusiasts, battling for your tournament life in the loser’s bracket, and having the composure to pull off one of the most daring sequences ever captured on video, is simply sensational.

EVO Moment #37 is often cited as the most important esports moment of all time. Over the years this moment has been celebrated and referenced time and time again; even the Street Fighter developer Capcom acknowledged this legendary moment by putting it as a trial 9 into a re–release of Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike for the newer generation of consoles. Justin Wong went as far as saying that he believed EVO Moment #37 might have helped save the fighting game community and revitalise the fighting game genre, as the scene was experiencing a decline at that time. With the release of Street Fighter IV , the competitive scene also experienced growth as participant numbers at EVO 2009 went through the roof. When the Street Fighter IV tournament featured over a thousand players, that was more than EVO 2004’s total participants (Fig. 9).

8 Esports, short for electronic sports, is a form of competition using video games. Esports often take the form of organised multiplayer video game competitions, particularly between professional players, individually or as teams.

9 Trials are challenges in certain fighting games given to players in order to improve their understanding of the game mechanics or of their character’s capabilities. The purpose of challenges is to improve the players’ skill.

Fig. 9 The main stage at EVO 2017.

Fig. 10 A statue of Umehara Daigo, with the actual Umehara playing Street Fighter in the background

Suggested Videos

Akshon Esports, The Greatest Moment in Fighting Game History , February 22, 2022, video, 12:06, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36m-teYaQmE.

B/R Gaming, Daigo Umehara | Player Profile | SFV Invitational , April 11, 2017, video, 3:19, https://youtu.be/4YxlIpyZoBM.

IGN, Daigo’s Legendary 25 Year Journey — Evo Moment 37, Guinness Book of World Records and More , May 15, 2022, video, 10:13, https://youtu.be/YFpSnll81mM.

IGN Games, The esports Moment that Changed Fighting Games Forever , March 8, 2021, video, 6:00, https://youtu.be/4cNCa8PylLA.

Kotaku, The Real Story Behind Moment 37 , September 17, 2015, video, 5:51, https:// https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEjBKknPnhc.

Red Bull Gaming, Mind of a Beast | Daigo Umehara , December 2, 2016, video, 11:10, https://youtu.be/GZ67aJQts7o.

theScore esports, ICONIC Esports Moments: EVO Moment – ‟The Daigo Parry“ (Street Fighter), May 23, 2017, video, 5:17, https://youtu.be/klaWV-szmnY.

theScore esports, The Story of Daigo Umehara: The Beast (FGC), September 16, 2017, video, 13:35, https://youtu.be/frlNK_rr7VI.

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