Organizer: Samuel Hideo Yamashita, Pomona College
Chair: Hosea Hirata, Princeton University
Atsuko Sakaki, Harvard University
This paper is focused upon textual analysis of anti-patriarchal presentation of male-female relationships in Gan (1911-1915) [The Wild Goose; trans. 1959], which has been usually considered a story of unfulfilled love between a student at the elite Tokyo Imperial University and the mistress of a moneylender. To underscore innovative views of gender politics which have been mostly overlooked under the seemingly conventional settings, comparisons in terms of authorities of narrative, gaze and desire are made with Natsume Soseki's Kokoro (1914; trans. 1957) and Shiga Naoya's An'ya koro (1921-1937) [A Dark Night Passing; trans. 1976], two shosetsu recently being explored in feminist and post-narratologist perspectives.
A polyphonic narrative with the primary narrator not omniscient or neutral but appearing as a character, Gan seems to suggest that there should be no ultimate truth to be told, but that instead there should be as many narrative versions as narrators. The reader is occasionally reminded that the narrator-"I" tells the story as he chooses to, that he does not know everything and that he will not tell us all that he knows. Thus, the narrative authority is not assumed either by the narrator or Okada, who is designated by "I" as the protagonist. Rather, Otama, the docile and quiet heroine, narrates part of the text in the first person, and so do other characters who are "peripheral" from Okada's standpoint. In short, those who the narrator or the protagonist (the center) would consider the Other are given a voice of their own in Gan.
The text of Gan not only dissolves the narrative authority but also destabilizes relationships between the viewer and the viewed, and between one who desires and the desired. While woman is usually viewed and desired by man in conventional stories, Gan presents Otama's gaze upon, and desire for Okada much more in detail than Okada's. Another example of subversion of gender hierarchy occurs when Otama's insight into herself overpowers her patron Suezo's insight into her psyche, and she begins to successfully manipulate him without being noticed by him.
Thus Gan "objectifies" male gaze, desire and narration, while giving viewpoints and voice to females. This, I would conclude, is an outstanding accomplishment made by a Meiji male literati, and warrants critical attention when we re view the history of Japanese literature in gender conscious perspectives.
Donna George Storey, University of California, Berkeley
Furui Yoshikichi is generally regarded as the most representative writer of the naiko no sedai [introverted generation], a group of Japanese writers making their debut in the early 1970s whose works focused on the drama of everyday life rather than overt social and political commentary. Nonetheless, Furui's works contain an implicit critique of contemporary Japanese society. This is particularly true in his first major novella, Yoko, the story of a young woman who is suffering from an apparently hereditary mental illness which defies precise diagnosis, but is clearly linked to the traumatic transition from carefree child to housewife and mother. By analyzing the way in which this madness is constructed and represented, I will show how the image of Yoko as madwoman both reflects and questions concepts of the self in general, and female social roles in particular, in contemporary Japanese society.
The paper will first focus on Furui's presentation of madness through manipulation of point of view, specific symptoms, and the interplay between internal psychology and the external setting of the work. I will then discuss madness as a means to dramatize the construction of self in Japanese society, exposing both the tensions inherent in an ever changing socially defined self and the existence of a carefully suppressed private self of ego centric desires. Yoko's behavior can also be seen as a mirror of the fragmentation of modern society, in particular, the isolation and depersonalization of the housewife role that awaits most adult women. I show how her madness functions as a means of protest against the requirements of that role, although this assertion of autonomy is ultimately self-destructive. I conclude by examining the madwoman as an embodiment of the tension between artist, creativity, and literary expression.
James Reichert, University of Michigan
Most critical analyses of Natsume Soseki's Nowaki (Autumn Wind, 1907) treat the work as an unabashed apotheosis of Shirai Doya and a detailed representation of his philosophy. Examination of the text, however, problematizes this conventional reading. Much of the narrative focuses on the ideological conflict between Doya and another character, Nakano Kiichi. Nakano preaches a philosophy of western aestheticism and modern romantic love: a credo that turns out to be governed by popular taste. In contrast, Doya vigorously argues that men of superior character should not be restrained by social convention, but guided by their own sense of right and wrong. On a more fundamental level, Nakano's outlook can be described as primarily heterosexual, since male female romance lies at the core of his ideas. Conversely, Doya's ideas are anchored on the tradition of male male homoerotic relations that flourished among the pre modern military elite.
Takayanagi Shusaku is the pivotal character who forms a link between these two disparate men. Unlike Doya and Nakano, Takayanagi does not promote any particular ideology; he is far more preoccupied with trying to alleviate the sense of loneliness that oppresses him. Consequently, he spends most of his time attempting to establish a connection with the other characters in the novel. The kind of relationship that Takayanagi pines for is distinguished by its closeness and all-encompassing nature. It also displays erotic and romantic overtones that far exceed the typical limits of friendship. But for all the intensity of his feelings for Doya and Nakano, Takayanagi still fails to achieve any real intimacy with either man. Rejection by Nakano is to be expected, since the dilettante privileges the male female romantic bond above all other human relations. Doya's rejection of Takayanagi is more complicated. Doya cherishes the samurai ethos and its concomitant male male relations. Yet despite his contempt for the arbitrary standards of society, he himself ends up bowing to the conventions of late Meiji Japan. Specifically, Doya abandons the most radical component of his ideology (homosexuality) and choses to isolate himself from human contact and to sublimate his sexual desire into his writing. The novel thus concludes with Takayanagi being spurned by the two people most important to him.
As the above discussion suggests, my reading of Nowaki challenges traditional treatments of the text. In short, my paper does not position Doya as the protagonist of the novel. In order to support this approach, my argument naturally takes into account the narrator's point of view, for it is undeniable that the narrator formulates the narrative in such a way that on the surface it seems to be a story about Doya and his mission. A close analysis, however, reveals that the narrator's position vis-à-vis the characters in the novel and the language he uses to describe their thoughts and actions undermine the overall credibility of this reading. My paper, in other words, explores the ways that the narrative compels the reader to read against the grain and to question the ostensible focus of the plot. It then becomes possible to interpret Nowaki not as a chronicle of Doya's struggle to disseminate his philosophy, but rather as a description of the interplay of various conflicting patterns of desire.
Reiko Tachibana Nemoto, Pennsylvania State University
Oba Minako (b. 1930) describes her memory, at the age of fourteen, of the "human-made" hell in Hiroshima; this memory leads her to write her fiction. The disaster that is really beyond description is the image that Oba unconsciously and repeatedly reports in her works. Her novel Urashimaso (1977) is a typical example. It presents characters who are hibakusha (survivors of the A bomb) and inserts graphic descriptions of the disaster in Hiroshima. This novel has nevertheless been virtually forgotten in critical discussions of the recognized works of Japan's Genbaku Bungaku genre (atomic bomb literature) and appears only on a list in Nihon no Genbaku Bungaku (1983), the first corpus of Japanese A bomb literature.
The lack of recognition of the centrality of the war in Urashimaso may be due in part to Oba's multilayered plot and expansion of time and place. In typical works of the Genbaku Bungaku type, the setting is either Hiroshima or Nagasaki and the focus is on the hibakusha protagonists' struggle to survive. In contrast, Urashimaso takes place in a mysterious household in Tokyo, in a strange quasi family context, and the novel has a non hibakusha protagonist. Urashimaso does not focus consistently upon the wartime experiences of Japanese individuals perceived as victims. It does not, in any simple way, blame those who dropped the bomb. Furthermore, Oba's descriptive portrayal of the devastation caused by the war is mingled with fantastic images from a popular Japanese legend, Urashima Taro. In other words, by presenting not only memories of Hiroshima and the war, but also a separate plot about a postwar protagonist's homecoming journey to Japan, along with a legendary layer, Oba's story creates a realistic, yet metaphorical, world. As Yonaha Keiko puts it, this is a world of "kannenteki sekai" or "ideological reality," in which traces of the war intermingle with elements of the distant legendary past and the postwar present.
Oba was brought to the ruined town of Hiroshima a few weeks after the bombing. This unique "quasi" hibakusha experience enables her to present the hellish picture graphically and directly, and, at the same time, to transcend the limitations of time and space and produce a mystical, fairy tale atmosphere. The effect is to make the reader aware that Hiroshima is not a one time event, that the A bomb is not merely a problem of the hibakusha and the scientists who invented it, but of a very human being. It is the final result of human desire, and we all have responsibility for creating the danger of annihilation.
An analysis of Urashimaso will offer new insights into Genbaku Bungaku, and introduce the "feminist" writer Oba Minako, whose works have not been translated into English except for a few short stories such as "Three Crabs." She thus is relatively unknown to the U.S. audiences.
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