S
oy sauce, especially
shπyu,
or Japanese soy sauce, is truly an all-purpose season-
ing, whether for boiled or broiled foods, for dipping, or for adding flavor to all
conceivable types of dishes. Today, it is a familiar presence in many countries, hav-
ing spread rapidly around the world together with Japanese cuisine.
The Japanese diet would not be what it is were it not for
shπyu.
Typical dishes like sushi, sashimi, tempura, sukiyaki, and so
on could not be eaten without it, and in Japan it is even used
to enhance the flavor of Western-style dishes. Italian food has become very popular
in Japan lately, and pasta prepared with a dash of soy sauce is a favorite of many people.
Before World War II, the Japanese diet was based chiefly on rice, the fermented soy-
bean paste known as
miso
, and
shπyu.
Japan being a rice-growing country, rice is the staple
food. Whole rice is a nearly complete food, containing carbohydrate, oil, and protein;
if it is eaten in su‹ciently large quantities, there is little need for animal protein. Be-
cause of this,
shπyu
has been essential in Japan as a seasoning to stimulate the appetite
for large amounts of rice.
In the early seventeenth century, as many Japanese journeyed to Southeast Asia to
trade, Japanese settlements sprang up here and there in the region. Those Japanese
needed their
shπyu,
which they obtained from Japan. Beginning around the middle of
the nineteenth century, with the ending of Japan’s self-imposed seclusion, numerous
Japanese emigrated to the United States, Canada, Southeast Asian countries, China,
and elsewhere; and they too imported
shπyu
from Japan in large quantities. As the say-
ing goes, “Wherever there are Japanese,
shπyu
is sure to be found,†and Japanese troops
stationed in Manchuria during the Russo-Japanese War (1904–5) even began produc-
ing their own
shπyu,
laying the foundation for production of
shπyu
there later. During
World War II, Japanese troops in Southeast Asia produced
shπyu
and
miso
for the mili-
tary throughout the region with the aid of Japanese
shπyu
manufacturers. And today,
many of the millions of Japanese tourists who travel abroad make sure to take
shπyu,
instant
miso
soup, and
umeboshi
(pickled plums) with them wherever they go.
Let us examine the connection between rice and soy sauce from the perspective of
the history of dietary culture. In the ï¬fteenth century, prior to the Age of Discovery,
the Eurasian land mass was divided into two dietary cultures: one in western Eurasia that
was based on milled grain and involved livestock farming and one in eastern Eurasia
Shπyu,
the Essence of
Japanese Cuisine
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Shπyu:
The Flavor of Japan
Norio Tanaka
Norio Tanaka, an authority on the histories of Southeast Asia, Indonesia, and Japanese-Dutch relations, is a member of the
Noda City History editorial committee and the Noda City Museum Council, in Chiba Prefecture. A graduate of Taihoku
Imperial University (present-day National Taiwan University), he taught world history at high schools in Noda and Tokyo
until 1979. Since then he has participated in a special education program for Indonesian students at Takushoku University, in
Tokyo. He is the coauthor of
Indoneshia no Shakai Kπzπ
[Social Structure of Indonesia] (Tokyo: Institute of Develop-
ing Economies, 1969) and the author of
Shπyu kara Sekai o Miru
[Seeing the World Through
Shπyu
] (Nagareyama, Chiba
Prefecture: Ron Shobπ, 1999).
Design by Becky Davis, EDS Inc., Editorial &
Design Services, Tokyo
V O L . X X V I I / N O . 2
J A N U A R Y 2 0 0 0
(and Southeast Asia) that was based on whole rice and did
not rely on livestock farming (ï¬g. 1).
Since diets based on cereal grains like wheat require
animal-based foods like dairy products and meat to sup-
plement the staple food, a dietary culture dependent on
livestock farming developed in regions where this dietary
pattern is common. However, in rice-growing regions,
where the staple food was rice, livestock farming did not
develop. Even today, except in Japan, the consumption
of meat, animal fats, and milk and other dairy products
in rice-growing countries in Asia is lower than in the rest
of the world, as was true of Japan before World War II.
In rice-growing areas of East and Southeast Asia, where
the diet is primarily rice-based and only small amounts
of animal protein are consumed, people use ï¬sh- or grain-
based condiments as side dishes to help them consume
large quantities of rice, since these condiments keep well
and even in small quantities stimulate the appetite. Fer-
mented ï¬sh- and grain-based condiments also add flavor
and saltiness to otherwise bland vegetables that are served
as side dishes. In Japan, grain-based condiments are fer-
mented seasonings made
from legumes and rice or
cereals like wheat or barley,
which are combined with
salt and
kπji
yeast;
miso
is
the paste form of this prod-
uct, and
shπyu
is the liquid
form.
As can be seen in ï¬gure
2, the ï¬sh- and grain-based
condiment regions largely
overlap the rice-growing
areas. Living in a rice-grow-
ing region and eating rice as their staple food, the Japanese
developed a diet in which the grain-based condiments
miso
and
shπyu
were essential.
Examination of the history of the world’s dietary
cultures in terms of their use of seasonings and spices
just before the impact of New World crops began to be
felt throughout the Old World identiï¬es eight broad
seasoning and spice cultures (ï¬g. 3). Europe can be de-
scribed as a spice region; the Middle East as a
taubal
(pun-
gent spices, such as pepper, cloves, and ginger) region;
India as a
masala
(mixed spices) region; Southeast Asia as
a ï¬sh-based condiment region; East Asia as a grain-based
condiment region; the Paciï¬c as a coconut region; the
New World as a hot pepper region; and Africa as an oil-
plant region.
In the Southeast Asian ï¬sh-based condiment region,
such condiments are used in areas where rice has tradi-
tionally been grown in irrigated paddies. In general, these
condiments are not found in areas like eastern Indonesia,
where swidden agriculture was the traditional farming
method. In areas on the fringe of the ï¬sh-based condi-
ment region shown in ï¬gure 3, such as the Moluccas, spices
were not usually used, even though these areas produced
spices.
Southeast Asia was influenced by the Indian
masala
re-
gion over many centuries, and in more modern times East
Asian grain-based condiments used by ethnic Chinese
residents of East and Southeast Asia have also had a strong
impact. India had a great influence on Indonesia, where
spices in the form of dried seeds, fruits, and barks are
commonly used. In Indochina, ground fresh herbs and
aromatic vegetables are used instead of strong dried spices.
Since these regions never developed livestock farming,
they never produced clariï¬ed butter, or ghee, despite the
impact of Indian culture in ancient times. The oils promi-
nent in the traditional diets of these areas came from co-
conut milk and coconut oil.
As we have seen, fermented
foods constituted the principal
flavor base in the East Asian grain-based condiment re-
gion and the Southeast Asian ï¬sh-based condiment re-
gion. While one condiment is plant based and the other
is animal based, both are rich in the
umami
component
associated with the amino acids found in grain- and ï¬sh-
based condiments. This component deï¬nes the
umami
culture zone of East and Southeast Asia (ï¬g. 2), which
also corresponds to rice-growing areas where rice is the
staple food. It is the
umami
resulting from fermentation
that makes soy sauce one of the world’s most versatile
seasonings. And
shπyu,
Japanese soy sauce, stands out be-
cause it is richest in
umami,
thanks to Japan’s advanced
fermentation technology.
There are four generally recognized basic taste sensa-
tions: sweet, salty, sour, and bitter. (Other known taste
Soy Sauce and
Umami
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
S H ∠Y U :
T H E F L A V O R O F J A PA N
2
Figure 1. The distribution of staple foods and milk consumption in the Old World
of the ï¬fteenth century. Source: Naomichi Ishige,
Gyoshπ to Nare-zushi no
Kenky√
[Research on Fish Condiments and Fermented Sushi] (Tokyo: Iwanami
Shoten, 1990), 343.
Figure 2. The
umami
culture zone.
Source: Ishige, 355.
sensations inc lude tang y , hot, and tar t.) Since the 1960s a
ï¬fth basic taste,
umami,
the J apanese w or d f or “fla v or , †has
also been r ecognized inter nationall y .
Umami,
the ï¬fth basic taste, w as ï¬rst identiï¬ed b y Ki -
kunae Ik eda (186 4–19 36), a J apanese ph ysical c hemist. In
1908 he isolated the
umami
component of the sea w eed
konbu
and deter mined that it w as composed mainl y of
g lutamic acid, one of the amino acids. Fi v e y ears later , in
191 3, one of his students, Shintar π K odama (d. 1923), con -
ï¬r med that inosinic acid w as the main component of the
umami
of
katsuo-bushi
(dried bonito). In 1960 Akira K uni -
naka (b . 192 8) conï¬r med that guanilic acid is r espon -
sib le f or the
umami
of br o wn
shiitake
mushr ooms; other
r esear c h has deter mined that saké and shellï¬sh deri v e
their
umami
fr om succinic acid. Although Eur opean sci -
entists disco v er ed g lutamic acid and succinic acid bef or e
J apanese scientists did, the Eur opeans w er e unf amiliar
with the
umami
taste, ha ving been raised on the f at, salt,
milk, meat br oth, and other tastes of the spice cultur e
zone. T hey f ound
umami
unpleasantl y sour , and it did not
occur to them to use it in seasonings.
Although people raised in the
umami
cultur e zone of
East and Southeast Asia shar e the taste of so y sauce in
common, people raised in the Eur opean spice cultur e
zone f ound this taste completel y alien. T he Eur opeans
w ho tra v eled to J apan in the Edo P eriod (1603–1868) r e-
acted with distaste w hen they ï¬rst encounter ed
shπyu,
b ut
they e v entuall y came to lik e it.
T he
umami
taste of the g rain-based condiments
miso
and
shπyu
r esults fr om the action of fungi—suc h as
kπji
(of the g enus
Aspergillus
),
Rhizopus,
or
Mucor
—on a mix -
tur e of so ybeans and either rice, w heat, or bar ley . T he
so ybean, the main ing r edient of these seasonings, is a
le gume nati v e to Asia that is ric h in high-quality pr otein
and oil; in J apan it has been called the “meat of the ï¬eld. â€
Ho w e v er , ra w le gumes ar e di‹cult to dig est; e v en w hen
boiled, so ybeans ar e onl y about 60 per cent dig estib le.
But f er mentation of so ybeans dramaticall y impr o v es
their dig estibility; fur ther mor e, g lutamic acid is r eleased
w hen so ybean pr otein is br ok en do wn, yielding f oods
with
umami.
F er mented f oods inc lude Indonesian tem -
peh and J apanese
nattπ,
dishes made fr om so ybeans f er -
mented without salt. T he g rain-based condiment
miso
is
a paste pr oduced b y f er menting so ybeans with either
rice, w heat, or bar ley and salt. So y sauces ar e made b y f er -
menting and aging a mixtur e of so ybeans, w heat or bar -
ley , and salt w ater , w hic h is ï¬nall y pr essed to e xtract the
liquid.
T he pr ecursor of
shπyu
is
thought to be the
jiang
of
China. Accor ding to the
c lassic
Zhou Li
[Rites of Zhou] of the Zhou d ynasty (1122–
22 1
b
.c
.
),
jiang
w as made b y mixing the flesh of g ame, f o wl,
or ï¬sh tog ether with
liang qu
(a f er menting ag ent made
fr om f o xtail millet) and salt; pic kling this mixtur e in a
fla v orful liqueur ; and putting the mixtur e in a jar and plac -
ing a v er y thic k sealant on the surf ace of the mixtur e, after
w hic h it w as left to matur e f or one hundr ed da ys. T his
pr ocess yielded the meat-based condiment
rou jiang.
T he
f er menting e‡ ect of fungi pr oduced the
liang qu
that w as
used to mak e
rou jiang.
Continued f er mentation of the sug ar
content of the
liang qu
acted on the meat base of the
rou
jiang,
br eaking do wn the meat pr otein and yielding
umami.
The Origins and
Development ofSoy Sauce
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
S H ∠Y U :
T H E F L A V O R O F J A PA N
3
Figure 3. The world’s seasoning and spice cultures. Source: Ishige, 337.
Sometime after the Qin (221–207
b.c.
) and Han (206
b.c.
–
a.d.
220) dynasties, the meat-based condiment of
the Zhou dynasty was replaced with a grain-based con-
diment made from soybeans. The ï¬rst written reference
to this new condiment is found in the ï¬fth-century
Zhai
Min Yao Shu
[A Study of Important Popular Technology],
the world’s oldest book on agricultural processing tech-
nology, which contains extensive commentary on
jiang
and
chi,
a completely grain-based condiment.
It is said that soy sauce evolved from the grain-based
jiang
that was originated when soybeans were substituted
for the meats in the meat-based
jiang. Jiang you,
or Chinese-
style soy sauce, is made by adding wheat flour to steamed
soybeans to produce a
kπji
fermenting agent. Salt water is
then added and the mixture is fermented and aged.
Shπyu,
on the other hand, is made by mixing roasted crushed
wheat with steamed soybeans to make
kπji
, adding salt wa-
ter, and then fermenting and aging the mixture.
In contrast to the
jiang
-type soy sauce,
chi
was made by
adding mold directly to steamed soybeans to produce
kπji
, and then adding salt water and fermenting and ag-
ing the mixture; no wheat was used. Since
chi
was made
from soybeans alone, the soybean protein was resolved
more thoroughly, giving
chi
a higher glutamic acid con-
tent. It had a sharp taste that made it suitable as a condi-
ment, but one shortcoming was that it was nearly black
in color. The
chi
liquid was used as a seasoning much as
present-day soy sauce is used. Although
chi
-based soy
sauces, which were developed from
chi
liquid, are not the
main varieties used in China today, they are still produced
in various regions of the country. Outside China,
kecap
in
Indonesia,
tamari shπyu
in Japan (often used in the Na-
goya area), and
kanjang
on the Korean Peninsula all derive
from
chi
.
It is not clear when the Japanese ï¬rst learned how to
make
jiang
and
chi,
but the Taihπ Code of laws (701) men-
tions a
hishio
-making facility overseen by the Ministry of
the Imperial Household that produced various types of
jiang
(including
hishio,
which was a food paste rather than
a seasoning) made from soybeans. Other names men-
tioned in old records are
shi
(the Japanese term for
chi
at
that time) and
mishπ
. “
Mishπ
†refers to the partially ma-
tured product, in other words,
miso,
which was probably
transmitted to Japan from the Korean Peninsula.
The term
jiang you
ï¬rst appeared in China in the Song
(960–1279) dynasty, but only entered into common use
during the Ming dynasty (1368–1644). It appears that it
was early in the Ming dynasty that both the name
jiang you
and the method for making the condiment became es-
tablished and the product became widely used.
The Ming dynasty is roughly contemporaneous with
the Muromachi period (1336–1568) in Japan. Because the
name
shπyu
—which is written with the same ideograms as
jiang you
—ï¬rst appeared in Japanese documents toward
the end of this period, it can safely be assumed that the
name and method for making this product were trans-
mitted to Japan in the course of trade with Ming China.
By the beginning of the Muromachi period, however, Ja-
pan already possessed excellent methods of making both
a Japanese version of
jiang
called
hishio
and
miso
. Japanese
technology using
kπji
yeast was so advanced at that time
that there were already merchants who specialized in
making
kπji.
Today Japan is a leader in fermentation technology;
for example, Japanese saké is the only alcoholic beverage
in the world that attains an alcohol content of 20 percent
or more—that is, 40 proof or more—through fermenta-
tion alone, without distillation. This technology origi-
nated in China but was enhanced over many centuries in
Japan. Japan’s fermentation technology using mold micro-
organisms evolved because the country’s warm and humid
climate provides an environment conducive to the growth
of molds; many di‡erent types of mold exist in Japan;
the Japanese method of nurturing microorganisms and
overseeing their growth is e‡ective; and the traditional
Japanese diet of cereals, vegetables, and ï¬sh, shellï¬sh,
and seaweed rather than meat stimulates demand for
kπji
yeast.
Because Muromachi-period Japanese fermentation
technology was more advanced than the comparable Chi-
nese technology, the liquid that accumulated in vats of
hishio
and
miso
was already being collected and used as a
seasoning. Thus, when the Chinese method for making
jiang you
was transmitted from Ming China, Japanese
combined it with their own technology to make a better
seasoning.
The Japanese method di‡ered from the original Chi-
nese method in that it did not use wheat flour. The wheat
was roasted and crushed, mixed with steamed soybeans
and
kπji
yeast, and fermented, yielding
shπyu,
or Japanese-
style
jiang you.
This method, developed toward the end of
the Muromachi period, was well established by the latter
half of the seventeenth century.
The Japanese method is notable because roasting de-
natures the wheat starch, making it receptive to the ac-
tion of the enzymes of the microorganisms, or
kπji
yeast.
Crushing the wheat also multiplies the surfaces on which
the microorganisms can act. Finally, particles of the
crushed wheat adhere to the surface of the steamed soy-
beans, helping to regulate the mixture’s moisture content
and inhibit the growth of undesirable bacteria.
Modern
shπyu
—not the liquid byproduct of
hishio
or
miso
fermentation—was born and its manufacturing
method established during the time of cultural flowering
between the late Muromachi and early Edo periods that
saw the development of the Noh drama, the tea ceremony,
the art of flower arranging,
shoin-zukuri
residential archi-
tecture,
kare sansui
(“dry mountain streamâ€) gardens, and
haiku poetry, which are still representative of Japanese
culture today. Under the influence of Zen Buddhism,
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
S H ∠Y U :
T H E F L A V O R O F J A PA N
4
Muromachi culture embraced nature with Japanese aes-
thetic sensibilities and created beauty imbued with sim-
plicity,
wabi
(tranquility),
sabi
(the patina of age), and
y√gen
(elegant simplicity).
In terms of dietary culture, the Muromachi period
gave birth to
kaiseki ryπri
—simple, chiefly vegetarian meals
with natural flavors inspired by Zen-temple fare—which
di‡ered from the usual banquet dishes; and this cuisine
developed hand in hand with the tea ceremony. By this
time, seasonings were in common use. A clear distinction
was made between the food paste
hishio
and
shπyu,
and the
latter began to be used as a seasoning. This, then, is the
cultural setting that saw the birth of
shπyu,
a sophisticated
seasoning with an appealing color, taste, and aroma.
Shπyu
had been developed in the Kansai region, that is,
mainly in such urban centers as Kyoto, Osaka, and Sakai.
Known as
kudari shπyu
(literally,
shπyu
sent from the capital,
that is, Kyoto), this product also dominated the market
in Edo, as Tokyo was then called. In the early Edo period,
shπyu
was an extremely expensive commodity generally
available only to the moneyed class living in cities. Farm-
ers, for example, used
miso
paste, which could be made in
a relatively short time at home, for seasoning. This is why
in dietary history the Edo period is called the era of
miso
flavoring. It was only in and after the nineteenth century,
when farmers became more a›uent, that they were able
to a‡ord
shπyu.
Japan’s
shπyu
industry, born in the Kansai region, was
transmitted east to the Kantπ region, centered on Edo.
In the nineteenth century,
shπyu
made in Kantπ domi-
nated the market in Edo, which by then had a population
of more than one million, and displaced the
kudari shπyu
sent from Kansai.
Shπyu
making developed as a traditional industry, but
after the Meiji Restoration of 1868, major manufactur-
ers in the towns of Chπshi and Noda, in Chiba Prefec-
ture, began modernizing the industry. Today, ï¬ve major
ï¬rms manufacture 50 percent of Japan’s
shπyu:
Kikkoman
Corporation (Noda), 30 percent; Yamasa Corporation
(Chπshi), 10 percent; and Higeta Shoyu Company,
Ltd. (Chπshi), Higashimaru Shoyu Co., Ltd. (Tatsuno,
Hyπgo Prefecture), and Marukin Shoyu Company, Ltd.
(Shπdoshima, Okayama Prefecture) together produce
10 percent. The remaining 50 percent is manufactured by
approximately two thousand small and medium-sized
enterprises.
As we have seen, soy sauce
originated in China and
spread from there to East and Southeast Asia. This re-
gion, which is simultaneously the
umami
culture zone and
the soy sauce culture zone, enjoys a wide variety of soy
sauces, exempliï¬ed by those of China, Indonesia, Japan,
the Korean Peninsula, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singa-
pore, and Thailand.
As the birthplace of soy sauce, China has countless
regional varieties, but the three principal types are
lao chou,
jiang you,
and
sheng chou. Lao chou,
which could be called the
“king of soy sauces,†is quite similar to Japan’s black
ta-
mari shπyu. Jiang you
corresponds to Japan’s dark
koikuchi
shπyu,
and
sheng chou
is similar to Japan’s light
usukuchi shπyu.
Indonesia has two main varieties: a salty soy sauce
called
kecap asin
and a sweet soy sauce called
kecap manis.
The
chief ingredient of
kecap asin
is soybeans, to which small
amounts of wheat flour and essential oils are added. It
is most often used by ethnic Chinese Indonesians.
Kecap
manis
is made mainly from soybeans, to which wheat or
rice flour, brown sugar, and spices are added. It has a very
sweet taste and is most often used by other Indonesians.
Today, Japan enjoys ï¬ve types of
shπyu—koikuchi, usu-
kuchi, tamari, sai-shikomi,
and
shiro
—which are distinguished
according to their ingredients and production method.
The dark
koikuchi shπyu
is the type usually meant when
shπyu
is mentioned, and 82.5 percent of Japan’s
shπyu
is of
this type. It is made from roughly equal proportions of
soybeans and roasted crushed wheat and has a well-
balanced color, taste, and aroma.
The light
usukuchi shπyu
is used mainly in the Kansai
region; it accounts for 14.5 percent of the
shπyu
consumed
in Japan.
Usukuchi shπyu,
which is paler in color and less
aromatic than
koikuchi shπyu,
is used to avoid overwhelm-
ing the flavors of the ingredients of the dishes it seasons.
It has a 10 percent higher salt content than
koikuchi shπyu.
Black
tamari shπyu
is popular in the Nagoya area, but it
represents only 1.8 percent of the total market for
shπyu.
It is made principally from soybeans, with wheat added
sparingly or not at all.
Tamari shπyu
is very flavorful but is
black in color. It is often used for dipping sushi, sashimi,
and so on.
Sai-shikomi shπyu
is produced in the area from Kyushu
to the San’in region of Honshu, centering on the town of
Yanai, in Yamaguchi Prefecture. Its market share is just
0.7 percent. Unlike the usual method of making
shπyu,
in
which salt water is added to the soybean-and-wheat mix-
ture, unpasteurized
shπyu
is added instead, hence the name
sai-shikomi,
or second fermentation.
Sai-shikomi shπyu
has a
strong flavor and a dark color and is used as a dipping
sauce for sushi, sashimi and so on.
The pale
shiro shπyu,
originally produced mainly in the
Nagoya region, is now produced in the Kantπ region, as
well. Its market share is 0.6 percent. Wheat is the main
ingredient of
shiro shπyu;
soybeans are used only in small
amounts, if at all.
Shiro shπyu
(literally, white
shπyu
) is even
paler than the light
usukuchi shπyu,
has a mild flavor, and is
very sweet. It is used in preparing or processing foods that
should retain their natural colors.
The primary type of soy sauce used on the Korean
Peninsula is
kanjang,
which is the same type as Japan’s
black
tamari shπyu.
But many Korean households still
make their own soy sauce, just as
miso
was formerly made
Soy Sauces of the World
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
S H ∠Y U :
T H E F L A V O R O F J A PA N
5
at home in Japan. Japan’s dark
koikuchi shπyu
is also used
on the Korean Peninsula.
Malaysia’s soy sauce, called
kicap kacang soya,
is made
from soybeans and wheat flour, to which sweeteners like
caramel are added.
In the Philippines we ï¬nd
toyo,
which is made from
soybeans, wheat flour, and brown sugar. As in Thailand,
ï¬sh-based condiments also are commonly used.
Products used in Singapore are
jiang you
and soya sauce,
made from soybeans and wheat flour.
In Thailand soy sauce, known as
sii iu
or
se iew,
is made
from soybeans, corn, and rice flour. It is used mainly by
Thais of Chinese descent. Other Thais used ï¬sh-based
condiments for seasoning foods, as is common in Cam-
bodia and Vietnam.
In general, the soy sauces of Southeast Asia are Chi-
nese style and were sown throughout the region in recent
times by ethnic Chinese who settled there. These soy
sauces are produced in the same way as
jiang you.
Because
of brief fermentation they have little
umami.
In the late nineteenth century, Indonesian
kecap manis
was called
glycina soya
by Dutch settlers in Indonesia, to
di‡erentiate it from Japanese
shπyu
. It was given this name
because it is sweeter and thicker than its Japanese counter-
part.
The Portuguese Jesuit Luis Frois
(1532–97), a missionary who ar-
rived in Japan in 1563, commented:
“We use various seasonings to flavor our food, but the
Japanese use
miso. Miso
is a mixture of rice, rotten grain,
and salt.†And a Japanese-Portuguese dictionary pub-
lished in Nagasaki in 1603 included the following deï¬ni-
tions:
xóyu:
equivalent to vinegar, but a salty liquid. It is
used in cooking and is also called
sutate
.
misó:
a mixture of wheat or barley, rice, and salt, used
to flavor Japanese soups.
As Frois’s comment and these dictionary entries indicate,
miso
was still the principal seasoning around the begin-
ning of the seventeenth century. Although the word
xóyu
was in use, the fact that this liquid seasoning was “also
called
sutate
†makes it clear that this was not modern
shπyu
but
miso-damari,
the seasoning obtained by drawing o‡
the liquid that accumulates in a woven bamboo dipper
inserted into a vat of
miso.
In the late seventeenth century, however,
shπyu
as we
know it today appeared in the market place. At that time,
the only foreigners allowed to reside in Japan were Chi-
nese and Dutch traders. The Dutch, living on the artiï¬cial
island of Dejima, in Nagasaki Harbor, discovered how
tasty
shπyu
was and included it among their exports from
Japan. According to the records of the overseers of the
Dutch East India Company’s trading post on Dejima, ten
28.8-liter barrels of
shπyu
were shipped to the company’s
trading post on Taiwan for the ï¬rst time in 1647 and from
there were sent to various places in Southeast Asia. This is
the same year that Japanese Imari ware was ï¬rst exported
from Nagasaki aboard Dutch trading ships.
However,
shπyu
only began to be exported to the Neth-
erlands by the Dutch East India Company as an o‹cial
commodity in 1737, when seventy-ï¬ve large barrels of
shπyu
were sent to Batavia (present-day Jakarta), and thirty-ï¬ve
barrels from that shipment were sent on to the Nether-
lands. This
shπyu
was shipped not in barrels but in Imari-
ware flasks. From then until 1760, twenty to twenty-ï¬ve
barrels’ worth of
shπyu
were exported to the Netherlands
each year in similar Imari-ware flasks.
Until the end of the eighteenth century, several hun-
dred barrels of
shπyu
were exported every year, carried by
Dutch and Chinese ships from Nagasaki to Taiwan and
all parts of Southeast Asia, as well as to India and Ceylon
(present-day Sri Lanka). This
shπyu
was not produced in
Nagasaki; it was called
miyako shπyu
(literally, capital city
shπyu
) because it was made in Kyoto, then Japan’s capital,
as well as in Osaka and other parts of the Kansai region.
The main customers for this
shπyu
were ethnic Chinese in
Southeast Asia.
Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716), a German physician
and scholar who worked on Dejima from September 1690
to November 1692, took note of
shπyu.
In his voluminous
Amoenitates Exoticae,
published in 1712, he mentioned
miso
and
shπyu
in the entry for soybeans in the book’s section
on Japanese plants and even included a brief description
of how
shπyu
is made. In his
History of Japan,
ï¬rst published
in 1727, he noted that
shπyu
was being exported to Europe
by the Dutch.
In a book recording his travels in Japan, the Swedish
physician and botanist Carl Peter Thunberg (1743–1828),
who worked on Dejima from 1775 to 1776, wrote, in es-
sence: “[The Japanese] make a very ï¬ne soy sauce, much
better than Chinese soy sauce. Much soy sauce is carried
to Batavia, India, and Europe. . . . The Dutch have dis-
covered sure ways to keep heat from a‡ecting soy sauce
and to prevent spoilage. They boil the soy sauce in iron
cauldrons, pour it into bottles, and seal the caps with bi-
tumen. The soy sauce is thus well preserved and can be
mixed into all kinds of sauces. . . . Soy sauce is imported
by various European countries, and it is made from soy-
beans for soy sauce (
dolichos soya
), hulled barley or wheat,
and salt.â€
L’Encyclopédie,
published between 1751 and 1780, chiefly
under the editorship of Denis Diderot, in paraphrase
describes
soui óu soi
as “a type of sauce made in Japan that
came to France via Holland, and a small amount of which
imparts a rich flavor to foods. The Japanese product is far
better than the Chinese product, giving a deep, rich taste
to foods.â€
In the nineteenth century,
shπyu
was quite well known
Shπyu
Travels
Around the World
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
S H ∠Y U :
T H E F L A V O R O F J A PA N
6
in Europe, and it seems
that exports had increased
considerably. An 1866 cus-
toms tari‡ list includes an
export tax for
shπyu,
so it is
obvious that
shπyu
was one
of Japan’s principal ex-
ports at that time. It was
exported in so-called
kon-
pura
porcelain
shπyu
bottles,
each containing 0.54 liter
of
shπyu
and labeled “Ja-
pansch Zoya†in Dutch.
Most of these bottles were
produced in the town of
Hazami, in Nagasaki Pre-
fecture, and apparently
400,000 bottles a year were
produced around 1860.
However, the great time
and expense needed to im-
port
shπyu
made it extremely costly; thus it was not some-
thing the ordinary person could a‡ord to buy. Since
Europeans blended soy sauce into their own sauces, it
was not necessary to use costly
shπyu,
and
shπyu
could not
compete with the cheaper Chinese
jiang you.
Thus
shπyu
gradually disappeared from the European market, and
“soy sauce†eventually became synonymous with the
Chinese product.
Even though
shπyu
became very popular in Europe, it
remained very expensive, and as a result, interest in pro-
ducing soy sauce in Europe soon developed. In 1870 Jo-
han J. Ho‡mann, a professor of Chinese and Japanese at
Leiden University, in the Netherlands, contributed an ar-
ticle titled “Bereiding van de Japansche Soya. Naar het
Japansch†[Production of Japanese Soy Sauce, Based on
Japanese Documentary Sources] to volume 17 of
Bijdragen
tot de Taal-Landen Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch Indië
[Report
on the Languages, Geography, and Peoples of the Dutch
East Indies]. The production method he describes is
based on information found in the
Wakan Sansai Zue,
an
illustrated Japanese encyclopedia completed in 1712.
But Europeans of that time who used a malt enzyme to
ferment cereals failed to understand the requisite brew-
ing method, using mold to ferment cereals. Because they
still did not know about
kπji,
they were unable to make
soy sauce.
In 1889 another Dutch scholar, I. L. Terneden, pub-
lished “De Bereiding van Japansche Soja†[Production
Methods for Japanese Soy Sauce] in volume 18, number 1,
of
Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsche Indië
[Journal of the Dutch
East Indies]. In this article, he said, in short: “[
Shπyu
] is
added to all types of dishes as a seasoning, not only to en-
hance flavor but also to add nutritional value and stimu-
late the appetite, and has long been known to us by the
product name of Japanese soy sauce. It is a dark liquid
with a reddish amber tint and has a pleasantly stimulat-
ing saltiness and a nice aroma.†He then described the
method of producing soy sauce, in much greater detail
than Ho‡mann had, and fairly accurately depicted the
method actually used in Japan. Regrettably, however, no
one in Europe was able to produce soy sauce, because they
still did not understand the use of mold enzymes for fer-
mentation, the key to the entire process.
After the mid-nineteenth century,
shπyu
was no longer
able to compete with the Chinese product; it disappeared
from the European market, and exports of
shπyu
declined.
In 1886 Saheiji Mogi, of the Kikkoman Corporation, dis-
patched an employee to Europe to conduct market re-
search. He attempted to revive and expand exports of
shπyu
to that market but was unsuccessful.
But as increasing numbers of Japanese settled over-
seas in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries,
demand for
shπyu
among Japanese living abroad began
to grow. Records show that 5,760 kiloliters of
shπyu
were
exported in 1913, mostly to the United States, Canada,
the Russian Far East, and the Chinese province of Guang-
dong, destined for Japanese settlers and residents there.
The volume exported to Germany, the Netherlands, and
elsewhere in Europe was 63 kiloliters, less than a third of
the volume of
shπyu
exports to Europe at their peak. In
1931 total exports had fallen to 2,322 kiloliters, less than
half the 1913 ï¬gure.
Around this time, members of the Japanese
shπyu
in-
dustry believed that because the aroma of
shπyu
was ill-
suited to European and North American tastes, exports
to those markets would not thrive. As a result, they
turned to China, the home of soy sauce and the largest
market for it. They made studies of
jiang you
and of the
market in China and attempted to export
shπyu
there, but
the Japanese product could not compete on price; thus
it was exported only for the market of Japanese living in
China.
After the 1904–5 Russo-Japanese War, however, Japa-
nese began to produce
shπyu
in Manchuria (entree to which
had been ceded to Japan under the treaty ending the war),
using locally produced soybeans, wheat, and salt. This
time,
shπyu
proved price competitive with the Chinese
product, and the market for it expanded not only among
Japanese living there but among Chinese, too.
Yet in the modern era, despite government and private-
sector e‡orts to boost
shπyu
exports, only a minuscule 2
percent of
shπyu
for commercial use was exported.
After World War II,
shπyu
rapidly became popular with
Americans and Europeans because many of the troops
stationed in Japan during the postwar occupation re-
turned home with an acquired taste for
shπyu.
Its increased
popularity was also due to the entrepreneurial and sales
e‡orts of Japan’s
shπyu
manufacturers who produced it
locally for sale at low prices.
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
S H ∠Y U :
T H E F L A V O R O F J A PA N
7
A late-nineteenth- or early-twentieth-
century
konpura
bottle for exported
shπyu.
Courtesy of Shin’ya Ishido.
AWARDS
Praemium Imperiale
The winners of the 11th Praemium Im-
periale, given by the Japan Art Associa-
tion for creative achievement in the ï¬elds
of arts and culture, were announced on
June 9. They are the German painter
Anselm Kiefer, the American sculptor
Louise Bourgeois, the Japanese architect
Fumihiko Maki, the Canadian jazz pi-
anist Oscar Peterson, and the German
choreographer and director Pina Bausch.
(A, S: Jun. 10)
Fukuoka Asian Culture Prizes
Recipients of the 10th Fukuoka Asian
Culture Prizes 1999, sponsored by the
city of Fukuoka and others to recog-
nize individuals’ contributions to the
advancement of Asian scholarship and
culture, were announced on July 5. The
grand prize was awarded to Hou Hsiao
Hsien, a Taiwanese ï¬lm director and
winner of the Golden Lion at the Ven-
ice Film Festival. The academic prize was
given to University of Tokyo professor
emeritus TaryÏ€ âˆbayashi, an ethnogra-
pher and mythologist, and to the Thai
historian Nidhi Eoseewong. Tang Da
Wu, a contemporary artist and native
of Singapore, was chosen to receive the
arts and culture prize.
(Y: Jul. 6)
Naoki and Akutagawa Prizes
Winners of the 121st Naoki Prize for
popular ï¬ction were Ken’ichi SatÏ€, for
âˆhi no Rikon
[The Queen’s Divorce],
published by Shueisha Inc., and Na-
tsuo Kirino, for
Yawarakana Hoho
[Soft
Cheeks], published by Kodansha Ltd.
There was no winner for the Akutagawa
Prize. Satπ’s
âˆhi no Rikon,
a histori-
cal novel set in late-ï¬fteenth-century
France, recounts the proceedings of the
annulment of Louis XII’s marriage to
Queen Jeanne. Kirino’s
Yawarakana Hoho
is a suspense novel whose housewife
protagonist is searching for her missing
child. In a departure from the usual mys-
tery story genre, this missing-person
tale probes deep into the heart of a
mother whose ï¬ve-year-old child has
disappeared.
(A, N, S, Y: Jul. 16)
HISTORY
Oldest Japanese Garden Discovered
The remains of a large garden pond
dating from the Asuka period (552–
646) were discovered in the village of
Asuka, Nara Prefecture. Archaeologists
say that this ï¬nd is very likely the garden
of Asuka Kiyomihara no Miya, the
imperial residence of Emperor Tenmu
(r. 673–86) in Asukakyπ, Japan’s earliest
capital. The oldest imperial gardens dis-
covered thus far date from the Nara
period (646–794), and the newly dis-
covered garden predates these by several
decades. The bed of this garden’s pond,
which covers an area of several thousand
square meters, was lined with stones. A
stone fountain in the pond (still in work-
ing order) and the remains of a stage or
viewing platform jutting out into the
pond were also discovered.
(A, M: Jun. 15)
Original Score for “Kimigayoâ€
Comes to Light
An original score for “Kimigayo,†dated
1880 and with a melody virtually identi-
cal to that played today, was discovered
on August 9, the day that the law mak-
ing this song Japan’s o‹cial national
anthem was enacted. The discovery was
made at the Defense Agency’s National
Institute for Defense Studies, in Tokyo.
An earlier melody, written in 1870 by
John William Fenton, a bandmaster with
the British Legation in Japan, proved un-
popular and a new work by a Japanese
composer was selected for the Novem-
ber 3, 1880, Tenchπsetsu holiday com-
memorating Emperor Meiji’s birthday.
The newly discovered score was signed
by its arranger, Franz von Eckert, a Ger-
man music teacher hired by the Navy
Ministry, and dated October 25, 1880.
(S, Y: Aug. 11)
Oldest Rosaries Found
The oldest rosaries in Japan have been
excavated from the ruins of Takatsuki
Castle, in Takatsuki, Osaka Prefecture.
This castle was the seat of the Christian
daimyo Takayama Ukon (1552–1615).
Other rosaries found so far have dated
from the Edo period (1603–1868), when
the practice of Christianity was banned,
but the latest ï¬nds are believed to date
from before 1587, when the great war-
lord Toyotomi Hideyoshi banned the
religion.
(N, S, Y: Aug. 12)
MISCELLANEOUS
Von Siebold House to Open
in Leiden
Philipp Franz von Siebold (1796–1866)
was a German physician who worked in
Japan for two periods in the waning
years of the Tokugawa shogunate (1603–
1868). He schooled many Japanese in
“Dutch learning,†as Western knowl-
edge was called at the time. The home
he maintained in Leiden, the Nether-
lands, between his two stays in Japan
has been renovated and will open in
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
C U LT U R A L H I G H L I G H T S
8
From the Japanese Press
(June 1–August 31, 1999)
Abbreviations used here:
A:
Asahi Shimbun
M:
Mainichi Shimbun
N:
Nihon Keizai Shimbun
S:
Sankei Shimbun
Y:
Yomiuri Shimbun
April 2000 as the Von Siebold House,
with many of the artifacts he acquired
in Japan on display. The roughly ï¬ve
thousand items in his collection are
owned by the National Museum of
Ethnology, in Leiden, and will be
placed on rotating display in the Von
Siebold House.
(Y: Jul. 4)
Contemporary Art Exhibition
to Tour the United States
The exhibition “Painting for Joy†fea-
tures the works of nine young Japa-
nese contemporary artists who achieved
prominence in the 1990s. Many of their
works, representative of the times they
live in, incorporate Japanese animation
or
manga
(comics) themes, which inspire
them. The works in the show vary greatly
in style, and—reflecting the fact that
today it is increasingly di‹cult to say
what is or is not a painting—the topics
that hold the artists’ attention cover a
broad range. The exhibition, which will
open in Washington, D.C., in the fall
and tour other parts of the United
States later, is the Japan Foundation’s
ï¬rst attempt at presenting contempo-
rary paintings in an exhibition traveling
abroad.
(Y: Jul. 7)
OBITUARIES
Jun Etπ (born Atsuo Egashira), 66, lit-
erary critic, July 21. EtÏ€ ï¬rst attracted
attention as a promising newcomer
while still a university student with
Na-
tsume SÏ€seki,
a critique of that famous
novelist’s work, and ï¬rmly established
himself as an eminent literary critic in
the postwar years with
Kobayashi Hideo,
a
study of that well-known literary critic.
His numerous works of literary criti-
cism and critical biography include
SÏ€-
seki to Sono Jidai
[Natsume SÏ€seki and His
Times], which won both the Noma Lit-
erary Prize and the Kikuchi Kan Prize,
and
Seijuku to SÏ€shitsu
[Maturity and
Loss]. A note left in his home indicated
that he took his own life, despairing over
the death from cancer of his beloved
wife, Keiko, in November 1998 and his
own ill health. “Tsuma to Watashiâ€
[My Wife and I], an account of the six
months he spent nursing his dying wife,
had just been published in the May issue
of the monthly
Bungei Shunj√,
and this
confession of profound love between
husband and wife generated a flood of
responses.
(A, M, N, S, Y: Jul. 22)
Eien Iwahashi (born Hidetπ Iwahashi),
96, Japanese-style painter, July 12. He
was known for his realistic style, rooted
in deep contemplation of nature, and
romantic touch. His best-known works
include
KÏ€rin
[Rainbow Circle],
Saiun
[Colored Clouds], and
Dosanko Tsuioku
no Maki
[Recollections of a Native Son],
a twenty-nine-meter long scroll paint-
ing depicting the four seasons of his na-
tive Hokkaido. He was named a Person
of Cultural Merit in 1989 and awarded
the Order of Culture in 1994.
(A: Jul. 12)
Kazuo Miyagawa, 91, cinematographer,
August 7. Miyagawa shot numerous
masterpieces of Japanese cinema, in-
cluding Akira Kurosawa’s
Rashπmon
(1950) and Kenji Mizoguchi’s
Ugetsu
Monogatari
(1953, shown abroad as
Ugetsu
).
He began work as an apprentice in
the ï¬lm development lab at Nikkatsu’s
Kyoto studio in 1926 and made his debut
as a cameraman in
O-chiyo-gasa
[Miss
Chiyo’s Umbrella] (1935, directed by
Jun Ozaki). Beginning with
Muhπ Matsu
no Isshπ
(1943, shown abroad as
Rickshaw
Man,
directed by Hiroshi Inagaki), he
developed his distinctive style of tight
compositions and atmospheric color-
ing making skillful use of light and
shadow. His work made major contri-
butions to bringing Japanese cinema to
the attention of ï¬lmmakers throughout
the world.
(A, M, N, S, Y: Aug. 7)
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
C U LT U R A L H I G H L I G H T S
9
Recently Published
Kyπkasho o Tsukurπ: Basic Resources for Secondary-Level
Japanese—Activities and Grammar Notes
The Japan Foundation Japanese-Language Institute has developed a set of
resources, including audiocassette tapes, for use in the preparation of new
Japanese-language teaching materials. Textbooks can be tailored to the in-
dividual teaching situation by freely combining these resources and provid-
ing translations, adding original material, or substituting vocabulary items
as required. The resources are designed to support secondary-level Japanese
language education under conditions that vary in di‡erent countries or re-
gions (such as number of classroom hours, objectives, and environments).
It is hoped that the
Kyπkasho o Tsukurπ
will be used to develop new teaching
materials all over the world.
The materials are available to schools and qualiï¬ed institutions free of
charge upon request. (Requests from individuals cannot be accepted.) Re-
quests for an application form for these materials should be directed to:
Teaching Resources Division
The Japanese-Language Institute
5-6-36 Kita-Urawa
Urawa-shi
Saitama 336-0002, Japan
Tel: +81 (048) 834-1183
Fax: +81 (048) 831-7846
Further information, a comprehensive FAQ , and the application form are
available in Japanese on the Institute’s Web site at:
<http://www.jpf.go.jp/j/urawa/Kyoukasho/menu.html>
I
have always been fascinated by the
living environments that people
construct for themselves. First as an
anthropologist and later as a commu-
nity planner and educator, I have at-
tempted to understand how people make
decisions about constructing built envi-
ronments that allow them to ï¬nd satis-
faction in their lives. For most of the
past twenty years I did research in Can-
ada, looking at issues related to hous-
ing, community participation, land-use
disputes, and sustainable development.
Throughout that time, I always found
intriguing the immense di‡erences be-
tween Canadian cities and those of East
Asia. Canadian cities sprawl into the
countryside at very low densities and
seldom have adequate mass-transit sys-
tems; they consume vast quantities of
energy and natural resources while they
generate voluminous wastes. I hoped for
an opportunity to study East Asian cit-
ies ï¬rsthand to understand their nature.
Fortunately, from February through
May 1999, as a Japan Foundation Re-
search Fellow I was able to realize my
dream and experience the vitality and
energy of Japanese cities.
My research explored some of the
ways in which Japanese cities employ
strategies that planners and designers in
the West often deï¬ne as “sustainable.â€
This includes compact urban planning,
high-density housing, good mass-transit
systems, low energy demand, and mixed
use. I wanted to understand what plan-
ning and design factors may facilitate
compact built form and mixed use in
order to see whether some strategies em-
ployed in medium-sized Japanese cities
could be adapted for use in Canadian
cities. Most of the research was con-
ducted in cities in the Nagoya area of
central Japan. The ï¬ndings in this paper
provide an overview of my results.
Planning and Design Strategies
Japanese cities exhibit diversity and
energy born of centuries of tradition
overlaid with a veneer of contemporary
innovation. Quiet, old neighborhoods
with winding footpaths and dark,
wooden-shuttered houses contrast with
vibrant modern districts of wide av-
enues glistening with concrete and glass
towers and bright neon lights. Even in
suburban pockets and rural areas, high-
density dwelling patterns are normal.
Mixed uses at a ï¬ne-grained scale char-
acterize the older cities, with homes
mingled in among shops and light in-
dustry. While Canadian cities tend to
have separate districts for housing, it is
common in Japan to ï¬nd a variety of
uses in any neighborhood.
The flexibility of pattern and form
reflects the planning environment in Ja-
pan, where the role of government is to
o‡er advice and guidance but property
owners enjoy considerable latitude in
developing their land. The rigid zoning
regulations and demanding standards
that apply in Canadian cities have no
parallel in Japan. While Japanese cities
use zoning in planning, the potential for
mixed use remains strong in most zones.
In many neighborhoods in Japan it is
still possible to walk or cycle to work,
store, or playground, or to take a subway,
train, or bus for those purposes, whereas
in Canada most people rely on the auto-
mobile.
Except in the commercial centers and
along main tra‹c arteries, the streets in
Japanese cities are narrow (often less
than six meters, sometimes less than four
meters), with no shoulders; in some dis-
tricts, open drainage channels line the
edges of the roads. A minimal amount of
land is taken up with providing urban
infrastructure: for instance, the power
poles and street signs are typically em-
bedded in the street surface. Lots are
small (one hundred to two hundred
square meters) with homes only a meter
or two apart. A new suburb in Japan is at
least three times (and perhaps as much
as ten times) as dense as its Canadian
counterpart. A large proportion of the
population lives in apartments, making
the most urbanized areas very e‹cient.
Even in areas of the highest density, how-
ever, the built form is generally diverse
and the environment neat and clean.
Although one ï¬nds large homes in
some of the new suburbs, the character-
istic house in Japan is slightly smaller
than its Canadian counterpart and has
no basement. One-story homes were
traditional, but two-story houses have
become increasingly common, allowing
e‹cient use of the lot and providing
outdoor living space. The Japanese house
beneï¬ts from “flexible†space: the use of
futon and bedding that can be stored
in closets during the day allows many
rooms to fulï¬ll more than one function
(play during the day and sleeping at
night, for instance). Compact building
styles can meet family needs while con-
serving space; for instance, many rooms
in the Japanese home are smaller than
their Canadian counterparts but are well
designed for use.
As many as ï¬ve percent of the houses
in some neighborhoods have solar pan-
els for heating hot water, more than one
normally sees in Canadian suburbs. The
home builder in Japan also tries to ensure
that there are large windows (and balco-
nies) on the south side of the dwelling
for passive solar gain in winter and ven-
tilation in summer, but double glazing
has only recently begun to catch on as
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
10
The Japanese City: Sustaining a Tradition
Jill Grant
Jill Grant is a professor of environmental plan-
ning at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design
in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Her research
on the theme “Planning Sustainable Communi-
ties in Japan†was supported by a 1998 Japan
Foundation Fellowship.
an energy-saving strategy. While Cana-
dians can learn some important design
lessons about solar energy from Japanese
builders, we could also o‡er some tips
on how to insulate homes from the el-
ements, as our climate makes adequate
insulation imperative.
An e‹cient and relatively inexpensive
transportation system provides the ar-
teries of the cities. Subway, rail, and bus
systems cover most of the urbanized
areas, and high-speed rail links connect
major cities. The densest districts are lo-
cated along transit lines where people
can easily make their way between des-
tinations. Growth follows the transit
lines as they extend from the city, becom-
ing corridors of urbanization. “Transit-
oriented development†is the dominant
pattern in the largest cities, with apart-
ment buildings and shopping districts
often located at the subway and rail
stops. Commercial hubs located near
train and subway stations provide dy-
namic employment nodes in the larger
cities; smaller commercial districts sur-
round the stations in small- and me-
dium-sized cities. Extensive expressway
systems (often “double-deckedâ€over key
routes) allow trucks and cars to travel
relatively quickly between key destina-
tions in the larger cities; automobile use
is increasing even though transit use re-
mains very high.
Cultural Practices
The planning and design strategies that
allow Japanese cities to be e‹cient are
supported by an underlying set of values
and practices with deep roots in Japa-
nese culture. Except for the districts of
the nobility and the samurai in tradi-
tional Japan, residential quarters have
always been densely populated. A short-
age of arable land gave highest priority
to farming. The people’s response was to
build homes close together on less desir-
able land. As towns grew, tightly packed
residential districts formed, encouraged
by policies in the Edo period (1603–
1868) that assessed taxes by the amount of
street frontage a property enjoyed. Prac-
tices to accommodate high-density dwell-
ing became embedded in the culture.
The contemporary city reflects atti-
tudes toward privacy. While in Canada
people achieve privacy through distance,
in Japan screening with vegetation, walls,
fences, shutters, blinds, curtains, and
frosted glass provides the visual privacy
that people seek. The streetscape created
in cities and suburban areas is visually
enclosed and very private. In a context
where paper walls separated rooms, the
Japanese people developed a tradition
of being able to close themselves o‡ to
exterior noise and activities, a skill that
proves important in dense living envi-
ronments.
With relatively short and mild win-
ters, people ï¬nd it easier to accommodate
the cold than the heat. Japanese sum-
mers are long, hot, and humid. Homes
are built for ventilation, with large win-
dows and sliding doors. Residents like
to dry their laundry in the sun and wind,
taking advantage of natural energy; even
on rainy days, clothing is hung to dry
under eaves or carports. By pumping the
family’s bathing water into the washing
machine, many households conserve wa-
ter. Such family practices have the e‡ect
of saving energy and materials.
Traditional social practices are under
pressure, and many are changing as the
twenty-ï¬rst century approaches. How-
ever, for the most part the family unit
remains strong and people recognize a
responsibility to care for their aged par-
ents. Some homes and apartments are
designed to provide semiprivate accom-
modations for three-generation house-
holds. A commitment to literacy and
to social equality underlies many social
programs and economic policies, and re-
sults in less economic disparity than char-
acterizes many other industrial nations.
Although planning in Japan has
traditionally been highly centralized,
top-down, and pro-development, gov-
ernments increasingly see a need for
citizen participation and environmen-
tal protection. Planners in several of the
communities I visited were developing
participation programs to encourage
public involvement in shaping the urban
environment. Programs to reduce pol-
lution and protect natural habitats are
beginning to have an e‡ect. The public
in Japan, as in many other nations, is
increasingly concerned about environ-
mental quality and its relationship to
health.
Issues in the Contemporary City
While the Japanese city has much to
o‡er as a model of sustainability, we
must also acknowledge some of its limi-
tations. Cities have less green open space
per capita than is common in the West.
Concrete walls have replaced natural
river edges in urban waterways, and the
water itself is contaminated with wastes.
Air quality is poor in many areas, con-
tributing to respiratory problems for
many people. Car ownership rates are
increasing with suburban growth. Some
contemporary trends are clearly less sus-
tainable than were traditional practices.
As residents in an a›uent industrial
society, the people of Japan are avid con-
sumers. They generate a great volume of
wastes that require disposal. Food pack-
aging, for instance, seems excessive by
Western standards, with individual por-
tions wrapped in cellophane within lay-
ers of plastic wrap. A large percentage
of sewage remains untreated. Industrial
wastes pollute air and water. Recycling
and composting programs are poorly de-
veloped. Finding ways to reduce the vol-
ume of waste and to dispose of wastes
safely presents a signiï¬cant problem for
government.
Tra‹c congestion and commuting
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
11
© Jill Grant
Japanese cities show a mix of building types, heights,
and uses that makes them diverse and interesting. As
this Nagoya street indicates, space is used to its full po-
tential, with no waste.
times are increasing in major urban areas
and becoming signiï¬cant problems in
medium-sized cities where mass transit
may depend on one or two stations.
Despite policies to encourage growth
outside the major cities, small- and me-
dium-sized cities continue to lose popu-
lation to the largest cities. The urban
megalopolis that stretches from Tokyo
to Osaka and beyond shows no sign of
diminishing in importance; instead, the
influence of the great cities extends ever
farther into the hinterland along trans-
portation arteries. Tra‹c jams at rail sta-
tions dozens of kilometers away from
the big cities reflect the search of com-
muters for a‡ordable housing.
The biggest problem for the average
household, and thus for the society as a
whole, is the high cost of housing. Gov-
ernment policy and cultural tradition
work to keep the value of land high and
to reduce the supply coming on the
market. The expense of owning a home
forces many householders into lifetimes
of indebtedness to achieve their aspira-
tions. It encourages people to choose
modest-sized units where ï¬nding stor-
age space and meeting growing family
needs can become a problem. To realize
aspirations for a home with su‹cient
room, many households choose to move
to distant suburbs, where they buy space
along with greater reliance on the auto-
mobile. Business follows commuters to
the suburbs. Supermarkets and stores
are growing in popularity and putting
pressure on small shops in old neigh-
borhoods. Expensive urban housing
contributes to suburban sprawl, which
undermines the economic vitality of
older commercial districts. The pattern
that appeared in Western cities in the
postwar period (driven by the search for
more land and new homes rather than
by high cost) is now beginning to be seen
in Japan: older shopping areas are losing
customers to the new malls.
Urban patterns that developed in a
time when people walked or cycled be-
tween destinations cannot be sustained
in a society where the car dominates. In-
creasing use of private automobiles
contributes to tra‹c congestion, energy
use, and air pollution, and goes hand in
hand with sprawl. Tra‹c accident rates
in Japan are very high, and the risk to
pedestrians and cyclists on narrow roads
with no sidewalks is signiï¬cant. The
problems of “car-oriented†urban form
are beginning to appear in many parts
of Japan, just as they have in Canada.
Fortunately, however, for the most part
Japanese cities are still good for walking,
cycling, and taking the bus or subway.
In the twentieth century, the hous-
ing stock has had a relatively short life
expectancy. The
Asahi Shimbun
recently
ran an advertisement that claimed that
the average house in rural Japan lasted
twenty-six years, while the average house
in Britain lasted seventy-ï¬ve years. Poor-
quality building materials, changing
building types, and cultural practices
may all play a part in this problem. Given
the high cost of building and the invest-
ment in materials, however, it would be
wasteful to treat the housing stock as
consumable.
Planning controls in Japanese cities
are weak and unable to change the pat-
tern of scattered growth that increasingly
characterizes urban development. Prop-
erty owners have considerable political
power in Japan and operate with rela-
tively few constraints on their options,
given the mixed-use zoning commonly
in use. Because they can develop parcels
of land smaller than 0.1 hectare without
services and with few permissions re-
quired, small areas of urban development
regularly crop up in rural areas near
centers of urban growth. Over time sub-
urban areas gradually build up on the
fringes, but a fragmented landscape has
few municipal services. Adequate waste
treatment, open space, and social services
may be lacking in scattered suburban
areas. After a period of economic decline
and many years of high spending, local
governments are facing ï¬nancial woes
that make it impossible for them to rem-
edy problems of insu‹cient infrastruc-
ture. Power in the political system is
concentrated on the one hand in the
central government, which sets planning
policy, and on the other hand in local
landowners, whose interests in the land
are almost inviolable. Local and regional
planning authorities have limited au-
thority to raise the resources or imple-
ment the regulations that would allow
them to make improvements.
As a function of local and regional
government, planning is treated as essen-
tially an administrative enterprise rather
than a professional activity. Community
planners in small- and medium-sized
cities in Japan typically have no special-
ized education in planning, although
technologists may be employed to pre-
pare maps and documents. Usually hired
as liberal-arts graduates to be general
administrators, local-government em-
ployees are assigned to planning depart-
ments for periods that may be quite
brief. While specialists may be hired by
governments for some professional func-
tions (e.g., engineers and lawyers), Japa-
nese administrations characteristically
look for employees who are good mem-
bers of the “corporate team†and who
through the course of their careers will
gain knowledge about many government
functions. This system has the beneï¬t of
limiting the regulatory zeal of planning
sta‡ and thus allowing a more diverse
and mixed urban landscape, but it may
leave local governments without the ex-
pertise to avoid land-use and tra‹c prob-
lems that professionals might have been
able to anticipate.
Conclusion
Although the Japanese city is not with-
out its problems, it o‡ers a number of
important lessons to Canadian planners
eager to promote sustainable develop-
ment. Countless examples of small and
large cities prove that it is possible to
have attractive and well-designed cities
at high densities, with rapid transit con-
necting work and home. Strategies of
lot and neighborhood layout and build-
ing patterns provide innovative high-
density options for Canadian designers
to consider. Fine-grained mixing of uses
in hospitable circumstances shows that
zoning is not always the only or the best
urban strategy. While the average Japa-
nese city still needs to address its signiï¬-
cant environmental problems, it has a
level of economic and social vitality that
Canadians would envy. It is a valuable
model to study and to emulate.
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
12
J
apan appears to be at a crossroads
in its ï¬ght against HIV/AIDS.
Although it continues to report a
relatively low incidence of HIV/AIDS
when compared with the United States,
Europe, and many other Asian countries,
there are several indications that this
could change in the near future. First,
many sexually transmitted illnesses, such
as
Chlamydia trachomatis,
are on the rise in
Japan, an indication that although con-
doms are widely used for contraception,
they may not be properly used by people
engaged in more casual sexual activity.
Second, casual sexual activity with mul-
tiple partners appears to be increasing
in Japan, and the age of initiation of sex-
ual activity is declining. Both of these
trends are worrisome for the future HIV
risk of Japanese youth (half of the forty
thousand new HIV infections per year in
the United States are in people less than
twenty-ï¬ve years old). Finally, oral con-
traceptives have recently been approved
in Japan. Some experts worry that the
widespread use of the birth-control pill
in Japan could lead to an even greater rate
of change in sexual behavior, especially
among young people, putting them at
increasing risk of acquiring HIV infec-
tion. As a result of these and many other
changes taking place in Japan, there has
never been more urgency for e‡ective
HIV prevention e‡orts.
It is against this backdrop of change
that my research examined HIV/AIDS
prevention in general in Japan and HIV/
AIDS reporting in particular. As a phy-
sician, I was also interested in the role of
Japanese physicians in HIV prevention
and in their understanding of and adher-
ence to the AIDS Prevention Law. My
work was implicitly comparative, since in
both Japan and the United States issues
of stigma, individual autonomy versus
public health, and doctor-patient conï¬-
dentiality are central to the debate sur-
rounding reporting. In both countries,
an examination of the issues surrounding
reporting laws informs the broader ques-
tion of how physicians ï¬t into the over-
all AIDS-prevention policy framework.
I had originally proposed to examine
the AIDS Prevention Law of 1989 that
for the past ten years had stipulated who
was to be reported and how the report
was to be ï¬led. There was speculation
that there was underreporting of HIV
and AIDS under this law, partly a result
of stigma, lack of knowledge among
physicians, and other barriers. However,
on April 1, 1999, shortly after my arrival
in Japan, the Diet passed into law a com-
pletely new system for the reporting of
HIV/AIDS and all other infectious dis-
eases. The Infectious Disease Reporting
Law overturned the previous AIDS Pre-
vention Law and set up a new framework
for the reporting of HIV and AIDS in
Japan. As a result, I set as a new objective
of my research to investigate this new
law; how it came about; how it is being
disseminated to Japanese physicians;
and, perhaps most important, whether
it will help to accomplish the compelling
goal of containing the HIV epidemic in
Japan. These and many other questions
were incorporated into my original re-
search questions. Some of the ï¬ndings
of my research are presented below.
HIV/AIDS Increasing in Japan
Over the past few years, Japan has ex-
perienced a slow but steady increase in
people infected with HIV. As of the end
of March 1998 (the most recent ï¬scal-
year ï¬gures released by the Ministry
of Health and Welfare), Japan reported
5,856 HIV-positive people and 2,587
people diagnosed with AIDS. Although
people with hemophilia were not o‹-
cially reported under the old AIDS-
prevention act, it is known that these
totals included 1,434 people with hemo-
philia diagnosed as HIV positive and 631
people with hemophilia diagnosed with
AIDS. Although these ï¬gures are still
quite small when compared to those
of a high epidemic nation, such as the
United States, many experts both in and
outside the Ministry of Health and Wel-
fare fear that the true numbers of HIV-
infected people in Japan may be several
times greater.
Shifting Epidemiology and Biology
The epidemiology of the HIV epidemic
in Japan is shifting from what was pre-
viously primarily an epidemic of people
with hemophilia to one that increasingly
consists of people infected through sex-
ual contact. Japanese men appear to be
particularly vulnerable through both
heterosexual and homosexual exposure.
A major risk factor for Japanese men
infected through heterosexual exposure
appears to be the commercial sex indus-
try. The commercial sex industry is a
much more signiï¬cant risk for HIV in
Japan than it is in the United States, for
example, for two main reasons. First,
the prevalence of HIV infection among
non-Japanese commercial sex workers,
many of whom come from high preva-
lence countries in Asia and increasingly
from Eastern Europe, is signiï¬cantly
higher than it is among Japanese com-
mercial sex workers. Second, Japanese
men patronize commercial sex workers
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
13
AIDS-Prevention Policy and Practice:
Reporting of HIV/AIDS in Japan and the United States
Mitchell D. Feldman, M.D.
Mitchell D. Feldman, M.D., is an associate professor
of medicine at the University of California, San Fran-
cisco. His research on the theme “AIDS-Prevention
Policy and Practice: Reporting of HIV/AIDS in
Japan and the U.S.†is supported by a 1999 Japan
Foundation fellowship.
at rates much higher than those of their
North American or European counter-
parts. In addition, some research sug-
gests that some men do not consistently
use condoms with commercial sex work-
ers. More research is needed in this
important aspect of HIV/AIDS pre-
vention.
The risk of HIV in Japan also appears
to be increasing among men who have
sex with men (MSM). This is also due
to a number of factors. First, the MSM
“community†in Japan has remained
largely hidden, with only a few groups,
such as OCCUR (Japan Association for
the Lesbian and Gay Movement), that
have attempted to reach out to MSM
and promote HIV prevention. These ef-
forts have been mainly restricted to To-
kyo and Osaka, leaving MSM in other
cities largely without HIV-prevention
education. The stigma associated with
homosexuality in Japan and elsewhere is
such that many gay groups and individ-
ual gay men would prefer not to be as-
sociated with HIV, which carries with it
its own stigma. In addition, it seems that
there are some MSM in Japan whose
sexual preferences remain hidden from
their colleagues and often from their
families. These men do not identify with
the MSM community and would not
be reached by prevention messages tar-
geted at gay men. Unsafe sexual activity
seems to be taking place at gay saunas
throughout Japan, and isolated cases of
new HIV infection are being reported,
but there has been insu‹cient recogni-
tion of this problem thus far.
Japanese women will likely be at in-
creasing risk for HIV as the epidemic
becomes more ï¬rmly established among
at-risk Japanese men. HIV-prevention
messages aimed at women, especially
younger women, should focus on their
right to refuse unwanted sexual advances
and to insist on the use of condoms.
With this change in the epidemiol-
ogy of HIV in Japan there has also been
a change in the biology of the virus in
Japan. The viral type now found com-
monly among MSM in Japan (type E)
is the same as that found among MSM
in North America, and the type found
among Japanese men infected through
contact with commercial sex workers in
Japan (type B) is the type found among
commercial sex workers in Asia. This
ï¬nding may indicate a “maturingâ€of the
epidemic in Japan into established pat-
terns found elsewhere in the world.
Voluntary Testing Declining
Many of the experts I interviewed ex-
pressed concern about the decline in
testing for HIV in Japan over the past
two years. This decline of about twenty
percent may be a reflection of the gen-
eral decline in interest in HIV in Japan.
Public and media interest in HIV/AIDS
has largely been reactive in Japan, driven
by a series of “AIDS panics†that inter-
mittently put HIV in the public eye. In
the absence of such panics, it would
seem that for most Japanese HIV is a
distant enough threat so as to seem al-
most completely irrelevant to their daily
lives. While this is in fact true for most,
those at risk in Japan have not been ad-
equately targeted by HIV-prevention ef-
forts and are not coming forward for
testing and counseling.
This point is illustrated by unpub-
lished data shared with me by a promi-
nent HIV/AIDS expert. He reports
that in data collected from ï¬ve hospi-
tals in the Tokyo metropolitan area in
the past year, of seventy-eight newly di-
agnosed people with HIV, sixty-eight
percent of them had advanced HIV dis-
ease as revealed by a CD4 count of 200
or less upon their initial diagnosis with
HIV infection. In other words, people
at risk are not getting tested for HIV
until very late in the course of their dis-
ease. This is a major failing of HIV pre-
vention, since for many of these patients
the progression of their disease could
have been avoided or slowed with the
use of highly active anti-retroviral ther-
apy (HAART). Many experts pointed
to the lack of accessible HIV testing fa-
cilities as one reason for the decline. For
example, in the Tokyo metropolitan area,
there is only one facility (the testing cen-
ter in Shinjuku) that o‡ers anonymous
testing after 5:00
p.m.
More accessible
HIV testing facilities must be provided
so that at-risk people do not put o‡
testing.
New System for Reporting
The urgency to establish e‡ective report-
ing systems for HIV/AIDS has never
been greater in Japan and the United
States. With widespread access to e‡ec-
tive medications, such as HAART, in both
countries, people with HIV and AIDS
are living longer and being diagnosed
with fewer opportunistic infections and
other HIV-related illnessess. As a re-
sult, policymakers and others interested
in HIV prevention can no longer rely as
they have in the past on disease progres-
sion, opportunistic infections, and death
rates as ways of tracking the spread of
HIV. Instead, there is increasing need to
follow new HIV infections as the only
and best way to monitor the epidemic.
This can be accomplished in two ways:
by conducting surveillance among at-risk
groups and/or establishing a reporting
system for all new HIV infections.
In the United States, the controversy
over HIV reporting continues to inten-
sify. Although approximately two-thirds
of the states in the United States have
established some sort of mandatory re-
porting system for HIV, several states
with the highest prevalence of HIV
(notably California and New York) still
have no mandatory reporting of HIV.
In spite of the strong recommendation
from the United States government’s
Centers for Disease Control that these
states put a reporting system into place,
legislation has been stalled over the is-
sue of whether reporting should be by
name (strongly opposed by many ac-
tivists and experts concerned about the
potential abuse of human rights and loss
of conï¬dentiality) or by “unique iden-
tiï¬er.†A unique identiï¬er is a number
that is unique to an individual but is
completely conï¬dential and cannot be
traced back to that individual.
In Japan, as of April 1, 1999, a new
system of reporting of all infectious dis-
eases was put into place, replacing the
old Infectious Disease Reporting Act
and the AIDS Prevention Law of 1989.
The new Infectious Disease Reporting
Law groups all potentially reportable
infectious diseases in Japan (except TB,
which still has its own system) into one
of four categories based on the extent
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
14
that the patient’s freedom of movement
will be restricted.
For diseases in categories one (e.g.,
Ebola virus) and two (e.g., cholera), the
person can be forcibly admitted to the
hospital and/or restricted to the hospi-
tal for a set period of time, subject to re-
view every ten days. For category-three
diseases (e.g.,
Escherichia coli
O-157, a food-
borne bacterial infection), there may be
restriction of occupation (e.g., not be-
ing permitted to handle food). Cat-
egory-four diseases make up the bulk of
infectious diseases in the new reporting
law and include HIV and AIDS. For
these diseases, there is no restriction at all
of the person’s activity, but the presence
of the disease is reported to the local
health center, which then electronically
transfers the information to the prefec-
tural or municipal health department
and the Infectious Disease Surveillance
Center. There is no reporting by name
of HIV nor is there a unique identiï¬er,
so there is no method to ensure that pa-
tients are not reported more than once
or not at all. Even date of birth is not
permitted under the new law (only a
patient’s age may be reported). In addi-
tion, although it is recommended that
physicians report disease progression,
there is no requirement that they do so.
It is questionable whether this new
reporting system for HIV and AIDS will
accurately and e‡ectively monitor the
evolution of the HIV epidemic in Japan.
Many of the experts I interviewed also
expressed concern about this new sys-
tem. The new law must be reviewed after
ï¬ve years and may be modiï¬ed at that
time. There are a number of reasons
why the new reporting law may be in-
adequate: (1) It forbids reporting of in-
formation that is necessary to ensure
accurate data (i.e., name or unique iden-
tiï¬er). While the concerns about human
rights and conï¬dentiality are certainly
appropriate, unfortunately in this in-
stance these concerns overrode the col-
lecting of basic epidemiological data
necessary to formulate HIV-prevention
policy. The validity and reliability of the
information collected under this new
law are questionable and cannot be used
as the basis of AIDS-prevention policy.
(2) Reporting is dependent on the co-
operation of physicians, and there is no
mechanism for enforcement of compli-
ance with the reporting provisions of
the law. (3) There is no clear mechanism
with this system to track progression of
disease from HIV to AIDS.
Physicians Underutilized
In the United States there has been an
e‡ort to educate physicians about HIV
prevention so that they in turn can form
an essential part of HIV-prevention ac-
tivities. Japanese physicians, too, should
be better integrated into HIV-preven-
tion activities. Basic facts about HIV/
AIDS and HIV-prevention should be a
required part of medical school curric-
ula, which should also include increased
emphasis on o‹ce-based counseling,
such as how to conduct HIV-risk assess-
ment and how to counsel patients about
risk reduction. Although most o‹ce
visits are quite brief, doctors see patients
frequently and so can spread out these
assessments over several visits. Physi-
cians also can take leadership in imple-
menting new ways of integrating HIV
and other prevention and health-promo-
tion activities into the outpatient clinic
setting. Physicians are an underutilized
resource in Japan’s HIV/AIDS-preven-
tion e‡orts.
In sum, although Japan is fortunately
still a low epidemic nation, HIV/AIDS
appears to be slowly establishing itself
among several at-risk groups. Now is
the time for policy makers, medical
groups, nongovernmental organizations,
and others to double their e‡orts so that
Japan does not emulate the tragic his-
tory of the United States, where almost
one million people are now infected with
the virus that causes AIDS.
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
15
Versions of Self in the Writings of TÏ€son Shimazaki
Marvin Marcus
T
πson Shimazaki (1872–1943) is
not much read these days. Then,
again, few of those who rank
among the “founding fathers†of mod-
ern Japanese literature have maintained
their market share among the nation’s
readers. But together with SÏ€seki Na-
tsume (1867–1916), Jun’ichirπ Tanizaki
(1886–1965), âˆgai Mori (1862–1922), and
Shimei Futabatei (1864–1909), Tπson
remains a ï¬xture of the
kindai
(modern)
literary canon and of
kokubungaku
(Japa-
nese literature) scholarship. And the na-
tion’s exam takers are still expected to
know something about his acknowledged
masterpieces—such works as
Wakanash√
[Collection of Young Shoots; 1897],
Ha-
kai
[The Broken Commandment; 1906],
and
Yoake Mae
[Before the Dawn; 1929–35].
What is more, numerous tourists con-
tinue to make their way to the Shima-
zaki ancestral village of Magome, nestled
in the hills of Nagano Prefecture, which
has become something of a designated
national
furusato
(hometown). Be that as
it may, there is little indication that his
writing attracts much more than token
interest beyond a handful of specialists.
I include myself in that handful. Hav-
ing read most of what this author wrote
over a period of some ï¬fty years, I can
Marvin Marcus is an associate professor of Japanese
literature at Washington University, St. Louis, Mis-
souri. His research on the theme “The Autobiographi-
cal Literature of TÏ€son Shimazakiâ€was supported by
a 1999 Japan Foundation fellowship.
appreciate the resistance that contem-
porary readers might feel with respect to
TÏ€son. Simply put, this is an author who,
with several important exceptions, dem-
onstrated precious little gift for creative
storytelling, nor did he display in his
critical writings the intellectual sparkle
of some of his
bundan
(literary world)
compatriots. Rather, he became canon-
ized as a literary patriarch, an icon of
kin-
dai
culture. As for the writing itself—it
has been praised by some for its engag-
ing style of personal disclosure and con-
demned by others as unremittingly dull
and lackluster. Why, then, would one
choose a “nameâ€writer of middling stat-
ure when there are other more promising
horizons to explore?
A fair question, to be sure. My pur-
pose here is not to argue for Tπson’s mis-
understood greatness nor to lay to rest
the criticism that has hovered over his life
and work. But while I am by no means a
Tπson “disciple,†I do remain intrigued
by both the man and his writing—flaws
and warts notwithstanding. Here, then,
I will expand upon my recent research
on an interesting body of work, revealing
my own ambivalence toward the author
and his place within the
kindai bundan.
Autobiographical Fiction
It is widely known that Tπson’s writing
is heavily autobiographical. Indeed, his
collected works bear consideration as a
vast tapestry of autobiographical narra-
tive. What concerns me here, though, is
a segment of the tapestry that has been
obscured from view. Aside from his early
romantic poetry, upon which a good deal
of his reputation rests, and important
prose works, such as
Hakai
and
Yoake Mae,
the bulk of Tπson’s writing consists of
what can collectively be called “personal
narrativesâ€: the recounting of memo-
rable incidents and experiences, accounts
of those he knew, and thoughts and
reflections on the passing scene. These
are presented in di‡erent formats and
styles for his diverse readerships.
Scholarly interest in TÏ€son has long
centered on the novelizations of his
youthful experiences, works that helped
establish autobiographical ï¬ction (
jiden
shπsetsu
) as a major genre. The earliest
such work,
Haru
[Spring; 1908], is based
on Tπson’s relationship with the group
of literary youth (
bungaku seinen
) who to-
gether founded the
Bungakukai
coterie and
literary journal in the 1890s. The thinly
veiled portrayal of the group’s domi-
nant ï¬gure, TÏ€koku Kitamura (1868–94),
has assumed particular signiï¬cance as a
source document.
Tπson’s next venture into autobio-
graphical ï¬ction,
Ie
[The Family; 1910–11],
has long been regarded as a masterpiece
of the naturalist movement. It details the
decline of two extended families, the Ko-
izumis (based on the Shimazaki family)
and the Hashimotos (based on the Ta-
kase family, into which Tπson’s eldest
sister, Sono, married). In so doing, the
work a‡ords a dramatized view of forces
impinging upon traditional family struc-
tures, while revealing much about TÏ€-
son’s quite complex relationship with his
extended family.
Sakura no Mi no Jukusuru Toki
[When
the Cherries Ripen; 1914–18] provides a
ï¬ctionalized account of episodes that
chronologically precede those related in
Haru:
the protagonist’s experiences as a
student at the Christian college Meiji
Gakuin and as an instructor at the girls’
high school Meiji Jogakkπ, and his ac-
quaintanceship with the fellow
bungaku
seinen
who would establish the
Bungakukai
coterie. The work culminates in an abor-
tive romance that leads to an extended
period of wandering through Kansai, the
Kyoto-Osaka region.
Yet another category of Tπson’s au-
tobiographical ï¬ction concerns events
subsequent to his illicit a‡air with his
niece, following the death of his ï¬rst
wife. The major work here is
Shinsei
[New
Life; 1918–19], a long and often tedious
novel that constitute’s Tπson’s public con-
fession of the a‡air. It features consider-
able expressions of angst on the part of
its tormented protagonist, a sporadic
account of his three-year self-imposed
“exileâ€in France (1913–16), and details of
the family entanglements and trauma
that followed his return to Japan.
1
It is commonly understood that
the
TÏ€son masterwork, and the ultimate ba-
sis of his subsequent reputation, is
Yoake
Mae.
This monumental work, which de-
ï¬es easy categorization, traces events in
the life of Tπson’s father (renamed Ao-
yama Hanzπ) from 1853 until his descent
into madness and death in 1886. Tπson’s
meticulously researched record of the
period of the Meiji Restoration (1868)
as experienced in a small village in the
mountains of Shinsh√ (present-day Na-
gano Prefecture) also stands as a mov-
ing account of a son’s quest for his father
and his
furusato
transformed by the ad-
vent of the modern age.
2
Autobiographical Nonï¬ction
The above works have come to deï¬ne
both the character and the reputation of
their author, and they stand as literary
monuments of
kindai
culture. Despite
these facts (or perhaps on account of
them), I have found myself more drawn
to Tπson’s “lesser†works. My earlier
research centered on a large body of lit-
erary essays and impressions (
kansπ
)
—journalistic writing that was collected
together and issued in book form at
roughly ï¬ve-year intervals.
3
The six vol-
umes that resulted, spanning the years
between 1909 and 1936, contain many
hundreds of personal anecdotes, writer
critiques, reminiscences, and musings of
every sort—collectively, a literary miscel-
lany par excellence. Of particular inter-
est to me were Tπson’s accounts—more
widely known in ï¬ctional form—of his
early years as a student in Tokyo and as
a fledgling writer.
It bears noting that TÏ€son was by no
means alone in writing such reminis-
cences. Indeed, the journalistic milieu
that characterized the
kindai bundan
wit-
nessed an active solicitation of personal
narratives from writers of note—a mar-
keting scheme, one might say, fostered
by major publishing houses in an at-
tempt to sell their lines of magazines and
books. In response to the strong demand
thus created,
kindai
periodicals increas-
ingly featured memoirs, interviews, and
personalia of every description.
4
In one sense, then, TÏ€son was merely
more receptive to such solicitation than
bundan
confreres who resented intrusive
journalists and the gossip mongering
that was their stock in trade. He was an
eager contributor to the
kindai
literary
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
16
periodicals, and his “trademark†style of
artless disclosure, which detractors have
pointed to as evidence of creative paraly-
sis, has equally drawn praise for its com-
pelling sincerity and authenticity.
It was my “discoveryâ€of numerous lit-
erary reminiscences interspersed among
Tπson’s
kansπ
collections that provoked
me to explore an equally extensive body
of personal narratives written for a youth-
ful readership. It is to this other ne-
glected phase of the author’s career that
I wish now to turn.
Writings for Children
As with his essays, TÏ€son did not open
any new territory in embarking upon his
writing for young people. Beginning in
the late Meiji era (1868–1912), there was
a growing interest among publishers in
the youth readership and in promoting
lively and interesting works for children
that would replace the ponderous, di-
dactic literature that had characterized
earlier writing.
5
The Taishπ era (1912–26)
witnessed a movement to create a bona
ï¬de genre of children’s literature (
dπwa
bungaku
) that would rival the best litera-
ture being written for the adult audience.
Such individuals as Miekichi Suzuki
(1882–1936) and Mimei Ogawa (1882–
1961) dedicated themselves to the estab-
lishment of such a literature, and before
long a spate of
dπwa
journals and series
appeared on the scene. In the 1920s, a
number of
bundan
notables were busily
creating new material for the youth read-
ership.
6
And here, once again, TÏ€son was
quick to occupy this new niche in the
literary marketplace. He published his
ï¬rst
dπwa
in 1913, just prior to departing
for France. And he continued to write
for children until his death, in 1943.
How, then, did TÏ€son Shimazaki go
about recreating himself as a
dπwa
writer?
In the ï¬rst place, he pursued much the
same autobiographical agenda as he had
for his adult readers. The 1913 story
Me-
gane
[Eyeglasses] was a ï¬ctionalization
of his yearlong Kansai vagabondage of
1893. TÏ€son sought to win over his young
readers by having the protagonist’s
eye-
glasses
serve as narrator—a clever twist
in what was otherwise a decidedly pe-
destrian (in both senses of the term)
travel account. The tale, with its touristy
descriptions and adolescent exuberance,
drew upon some of his earlier writing
—for instance, reportage that the young
TÏ€son had published in
Bungakukai
dur-
ing the course of his journey and ma-
terial taken from
Haru.
TÏ€son proved
himself quite adept at literary recycling,
and much of his subsequent
dπwa
writing
would entail a recasting of earlier work
for his younger readership.
7
With
Osanaki Mono ni
[For Young
People; 1917], written shortly after his
return from overseas, TÏ€son sought to
improve upon his flawed early experi-
ment in
dπwa
. The ï¬rst of four
dπwash√
—
collections of short pieces for children
—this small volume consists of nearly
eighty episodes that recount his sojourn
in France, including the ocean voyages
there and back. Here TÏ€son establishes
the model that he would use for three
more
dπwash√:
a mix of personal remi-
niscence and didactic storytelling nar-
rated by a gentle and a‡ectionate
“
TÏ€san
†(Dad) to his children, whom he
addresses personally in a tone of pater-
nal intimacy.
Evidently indi‡erent to the goal of
writing
from the child’s point of view,
which
had become an article of faith among
those who pioneered the
dπwa bungaku
movement, TÏ€son opted for a fatherly
narrator who gathers the children around
to tell of his past and of the valuable
lessons he has learned. Here was an apt
vehicle for purveying one’s accumulated
wisdom and moral vision to the nation’s
young people.
Tπson’s autobiographical project is
quite evident in his next two
dπwa
col-
lections,
Furusato
[Hometown; 1920] and
Osana Monogatari
[Youthful Tales; 1924].
The ï¬rst is an episodic reminiscence of
childhood in Magome; the second, of
his early years as a student in Tokyo,
where he was sent in 1881 as a nine-year-
old. The
Furusato
narrator provides a
rich tapestry of hometown life—family
and friends, sights and sounds, and the
natural landscape. But the paternal nar-
rator appears preoccupied with extolling
the virtues of
furusato
life. Intent upon
conjuring up an idealized realm where
goodness and beauty prevailed, he has
surprisingly little to say about
himself
as
a boy in Magome in the 1870s.
The
Osana Monogatari
collection pur-
sues the chronological account of the
narrator’s departure from Magome and
move to Tokyo. It traces six years in the
life of the young man as he pursues his
schooling and learns crucial lessons in
life with the help of his foster family,
the Yoshimuras. Concluding with an ac-
count of matriculation into Meiji Ga-
kuin in 1887, the work employs the same
narrative strategy and didactic agenda
that had been established in the prior
dπwash√.
TÏ€son would devote nearly a decade
to the
Yoake Mae
project, which entailed
long periods of research in Magome and
a six-year serialization schedule (1929–35).
But he returned to his children’s writing
late in life, with the publication of his
ï¬nal
dπwa
collection,
Chikaramochi
[Rice-
cakes for Stamina; 1940], in his sixty-
ninth year. This collection of eighty-ï¬ve
autobiographical episodes is subdivided
into eight chronologically ordered chap-
ters, which proceed from his Magome
childhood to the period spent as a
teacher in rural Komoro, Nagano Pre-
fecture (1899–1905).
8
The work incor-
porates moralizing fables of
furusato,
accounts of mentors and exemplars who
have provided inspiration and guidance,
representative travel episodes, anecdotes
concerning various
bundan
colleagues,
and even a section devoted to his sister
Sono and her husband’s family.
Chikaramochi
is Tπson’s most ambitious
attempt at enriching the reading diet of
Japanese youth with tales of homespun
virtue, exemplary character, and the wis-
dom accumulated by one who has trav-
eled life’s long road. And it stands as a
recapitulation of nearly ï¬fty years of
autobiographical writing—the ï¬nal re-
telling of what one is tempted to call the
TÏ€son Monogatari.
Yet, once again the benevolent, wise
“
TÏ€san
†narrator discloses little about
himself and even less regarding his par-
ents. In fact, the second chapter of
Chika-
ramochi,
“
Haha o Omou
†[Thinking of My
Mother], contains twelve minimalist
narratives that have virtually nothing to
Continued on page 20
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
17
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
B O O K R E V I E W S
18
Books in Other Languages
Subsidized Under the Japan Foundation Publication Assistance Program
Silk and Insight.
Yukio Mi-
shima. Trans. Hiroaki Sato.
Armonk, New York: M. E.
Sharpe, 1998. xviii + 219
pp. ISBN 0-7656-0299-7.
Silk and Insight
W
hen Yukio Mishima (1925–70) serialized
in the journal
Gunzπ
his new 1964 novel
Kinu to Meisatsu,
reviewed here as
Silk and Insight,
no one was particularly surprised that the suc-
cessful author of
Kinkakuji
[The Temple of the
Golden Pavilion; 1956] and
Utage no Ato
[After the
Banquet; 1960] was again inspired by a real inci-
dent. On the other hand, that the large-scale 1954
labor strike by young textile workers at âˆmi Ken-
shi, a Kansai-based silk-product manufacturer,
should have turned into Mishima’s new literary
muse came as a natural cause for bemused curios-
ity. After all, there was no compelling evidence
from his more immediate literary past—from
Gogo no Eikπ
[The Sailor Who Fell from Grace
with the Sea; 1963] and his short story “
Ken
â€[The
Sword; 1963]—that would anticipate Mishima’s
engagement with the complexities of labor issues
or suggest his curiosity with the conditions of
the working classes. No one, of course, expected
Mishima’s metamorphosis into some sort of
postwar Kagai Kodama (1874–1943) or Wakizπ
Hosoi (1897–1925), who both had earlier in the
century left memorable portraits of the female
textile worker laboring under unforgiving work-
ing conditions. What prompted Mishima’s re-
construction of the tumultuous labor showdown
was, superï¬cially, the confrontation between an
authoritarian style of labor management and the
“human rights†demands from a new generation
of postwar factory workers. But surely a more
compelling impetus came from an impulse to re-
imagine the rich human drama emanating from
the eccentricities, ambitions, and intrigues of the
players in and behind the maelstrom of these labor
agitations. Indeed, Mishima’s novel can best be
characterized as a stylized study of personalities.
The central ï¬gure in this spectacle is ZenjirÏ€
Komazawa, Komazawa Textiles’s president and
emperor, an old-styled patriarch whose oppressive
paternalism and self-fulï¬lling hypocrisy have
driven him single-mindedly to run his factory like
a sort of monastic boot camp disguised as one
big happy family. President Murakawa of Sakura
Textiles, Komazawa’s business rival and an ad-
herent of “American-style†management tech-
niques, makes up for his lack of fatherly senti-
mentality toward his employees with a blend of
urbane cynicism and a detached, calculated savoir-
faire. From the shadow of their intrigues enters
Okano, a shrewd political operative and skilled
rabble-rouser who displays equal facility in exploit-
ing Komazawa’s weaknesses and in ruminating
on Heidegger’s (1889–1976) ideas of
Existenz
and
Ekstase
and citing Hölderlin’s (1770–1843) poetry.
A rich array of supporting roles are thrown
into the midst of these characters and their em-
broiling schemes. The most notable is the middle-
aged former Shinbashi geisha Kikuno, who, as a
new “dorm mother†to young female workers at
Komazawa’s Hikone factory, dutifully allows her-
self to function as a double spy and reports the
workers’ private activities to both Komazawa and
Okano. Komazawa’s wife, Fusaé, a tough-minded
woman conï¬ned to a sanitorium for tuberculo-
sis patients, calmly proclaims her predicament
to be a self-sacriï¬cial punishment for the same
disease her husband’s company has caused in
countless female workers. Yet this digniï¬ed res-
ignation to her “karma,†reinforced by secret re-
ports she receives on Komazawa’s extramarital
digressions, camouflages a self-reassuring moral
superiority and guarantees her in her sickbed an
ironic sense of control and satisfaction in the
midst of her existential despair.
There are various other memorable carica-
tures, such as the shadowy ï¬gure Masaki, a former
member of the wartime “Holy War Philosophy
Instituteâ€who has reinvented himself as a Shinto
fortuneteller and spiritual healer; Satomi, another
“dorm mother,†whose idea of releasing her sex-
ual passions for a young female worker is to swal-
low the ashes of the latter’s love letter to her male
lover before all curious eyes. And Akiyama, a pre-
war aspirant to a Takiji Kobayashi-style (1903–33)
proletarian martyrdom—thenceforth a right-
wing radical, now reborn as a crude postwar
trade-union strategist—is a clever, albeit thinly
drawn, parody of the type of political chameleon
that deftly traverses the more slippery slopes of
the Shπwa era’s (1926–89) social landscape.
Silk and Insight
is re-
viewed by Chia-ning Chang,
Associate Professor of Japanese
Literature, University of Cali-
fornia, Davis.
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
B O O K R E V I E W S
19
The story has sequences and images reminis-
cent of a more familiar Mishima aesthetics. In
one scene, Okano and Masaki nostalgically recall
their wartime debates over how they could apply
“holy war†philosophy to Japan-occupied terri-
tory in the United States if they were allowed to
massacre scores of white women chosen for their
beauty. In another, Mishima evokes the poign-
ant beauty of the perishing river of youth from
Hölderlin’s poem “Heidelberg,†juxtaposing it
with the image of the young male worker âˆtsuki
bathed in the evening sun on the riverbank.
Elegantly written in imaginative, well-crafted,
albeit capricious prose—and eloquently inter-
preted in English by Hiroaki Sato—Mishima’s
novel appeals with eccentric flair combined with
flashes of witty insight and keen observations.
The image of the worldly-wise hippopotamus
deftly enjoying its secret pleasures—now splash-
ing its water of malice and now “submerging
itself in the mud of self-sacriï¬ce†(p. 78)—viv-
idly puts the ï¬nishing touches on the impres-
sively sketched portrait of Fusaé. And where
else can one ï¬nd such rhetorical gems as “What-
ever is eaten turns into snot and semen. . . . Farts
of falsity and burps of deception are let out
[everywhere]†(p. 161)?
On the other hand, Mishima’s stylized repre-
sentations are at times achieved at the expense of
verisimilitude. Even allowing for his industrial-
strength self-righteousness, Komazawa’s numbing
insensitivity to the harsh e‡ects of his arrogant
paternalism on his workers strikes me as implau-
sibly inflated for a not unintelligent or unfeeling
man. Building the fundamental drama of the
story on this premise appears to have been a pre-
carious position. It also takes a considerable leap
of faith to be convinced of Kikuno’s extraordi-
nary transformation from a largely emotionally
unattached informant into a selflessly devoted
mistress/caretaker of the patriarch toward the
novel’s end. And the critic Hideo Odagiri (b. 1916)
properly points to Mishima’s failure to further
explore the internal dynamics between Okano’s
musings on Heidegger and Hölderlin and his
more worldly exploits, suggesting that Hölderlin
would have turned in his grave to learn that he
had a man like Okano as his devoted reader (“Sπ-
saku GappyÏ€,â€
Gunzπ
[November 1964]:227; see
also his critical commentary on the novel in his
Bungakuteki Tachiba to Seijiteki Tachiba
[Tokyo: Chi-
kuma Shobπ, 1969], 238–49).
The reference to
meisatsu
in the novel’s title
also remains something of a mystery. Sh√go
Honda (b. 1908), Tπru Terada (1915–95), and Hi-
deo Odagiri, not surprisingly no big fans of this
Mishima novel, were all scratching their heads
trying to ï¬gure out the meaning and implica-
tions of this enigmatic “perceptivenessâ€(see their
“Sπsaku Gappyπ,†ibid). More generous in their
assessment of the novel were Fusao Hayashi
(1903–75) and Tetsutarπ Kawakami (1902–80);
and Kπichi Isoda (1931–87) enthusiastically en-
dorsed it as one of the superior works in contem-
porary Japanese ï¬ction (
Gunzπ
[December 1964,
cited from an unpaginated advertisement]). Yet
when compared with other novels that came out
in the same year alone—Kπbπ Abe’s (1924–93)
Tanin no Kao
[The Face of Another], Shπ Shibata’s
(b. 1935)
Saredo Warera ga Hibi . . .
[But Those Were
Our Days . . .], and KenzaburÏ€ âˆe’s (b. 1935)
Ko-
jinteki na Taiken
[A Personal Matter]—one is not
entirely convinced that
Silk and Insight
is an excep-
tionally stellar performance. One still expects
more from the formidable talents of Mishima
than what has been delivered here.
C. C.
Each year the Japan Foundation confers the Japan Foun-
dation Awards and the Japan Foundation Special Prizes
on individuals and organizations in recognition of their
academic, artistic, or cultural activities that have made
outstanding contributions to international cultural ex-
change by deepening understanding between Japan and
other nations.
The Japan Foundation Awards were given to Frank B.
Gibney, president of the Paciï¬c Basin Institute at Pomona
College, Claremont, California, and Wolfgang Sawallisch,
music director of the Philadelphia Orchestra.
The Japan Foundation Special Prizes were awarded to
Ahmet Mete Tuncoku, a professor at the Middle East
Technical University, Ankara, Turkey; Tadashi Yama-
moto, president of the Japan Center for International Ex-
change, Tokyo; and the Japanese American National
Museum, Los Angeles, California.
These recipients were selected from among 156 nomi-
nees worldwide. The presentation ceremony for the
awards, held on October 7, 1999, at the ANA Hotel
Tokyo, was attended by many prominent guests and well-
wishers.
The Japan Foundation Awards and Special Prizes for 1999
Continued from page 17
say about the mother. In fact, the only
sustained account concerns the moth-
er’s visit to Tokyo and the awkwardness
of “reconnecting†with her two sons
following long years of separation. The
mother has become a stranger, vaguely
remembered with an abstracted and
somewhat forced a‡ection.
What, then, are we to make of TÏ€son
Shimazaki’s puzzling project of didactic
autobiography for Japan’s youth? What
of his vision of childhood? Of parent-
hood? Clearly, one’s biases regarding
autobiographical writing and the proper
portrayal of “selvesâ€further complicate
things. To the extent that the notions
of “depth†and “dimensionality†come
into play, one is not tempted to give TÏ€-
son high marks, especially in the case of
his childhood reminiscences. He is more
convincingly “personal†when writing
about his family from an adult perspec-
tive and for an adult readership. Of par-
ticular signiï¬cance here is
Arashi
[The
Storm; 1926], a collection of autobio-
graphical ï¬ction that touches upon the
trials and tribulations of single parent-
hood, for instance, and the experience
of dealing with a disturbed elder sister.
9
Be that as it may, TÏ€son often spoke
of his dedication to writing for young
people, expressing the wish that of all his
many accomplishments, his
dπwa
works
would survive as his literary legacy.
10
Nevertheless, we must keep in mind that
evoking an “actual†childhood was not
his chief aim. Rather, his Magome ex-
periences were mined for their tradition-
alist “contentâ€â€”images and episodes
that were fashioned into an idealized
fu-
rusato,
a ï¬ctive realm of timeless beauty,
harmony, and moral value. For the
bun-
dan
patriarch whose stature had earned
him a national audience, this would be
an honorable undertaking—a contribu-
tion, perhaps, to the cultural and moral
ediï¬cation of a citizenry now engaged in
war. On the other hand, one may choose
to regard this writing as atonement for
the scandalous conduct and sordid con-
fessionalism that had launched and sus-
tained his career. The contrast between
the
hanmon seinen
(anguished youth) per-
sona of his early years and the moral-
izing father ï¬gure of his later years is
striking, to say the least.
In conclusion, my own fascination
with Tπson—whom some have essen-
tially written o‡ as a shameless hypo-
crite, or a genius of mediocrity—may
bespeak a certain naiveté on my part, or
perhaps a displaced quest for a father
whom I myself never really knew. For
reasons ultimately more emotional than
intellectual, I’ve come to assign value and
meaning to Tπson Shimazaki’s quintes-
sential
kindai
quests—for home, for peace
of mind, for a secure place in an inse-
cure world.
Notes
1. Tπson’s France-related writings are of
genuine interest. He published two vol-
umes of reportage—
Heiwa no Pari
[Paris
in Peacetime; 1915] and
Sensπ to Pari
[War-
time Paris; 1915]—which contain “on-the-
scene†accounts originally serialized in the
Asahi Shimbun. Umi e
[O‡ to Sea; 1917] re-
counts the ocean voyages that took him to
and from France. And
Etoranz¡
[The For-
eigner; 1922] tells of the three years spent
in France. Incidentally, the latter two draw
heavily upon the earlier reportage.
2. In view of Tπson’s deeply personal
connection with this work,
Yoake Mae
clearly
merits consideration as veiled autobiog-
raphy. One is reminded in this regard of
âˆgai Mori’s great trilogy of historical bi-
ography written toward the end of his life.
3. The following remarks are based
upon my essay “The Writer Speaks: Late-
Meiji Reflections on Literature and Life,â€
in
The Distant Isle: Studies and Translations of
Japanese Literature in Honor of Robert H. Brower,
ed. Thomas Hare, Robert Borgen, and
Sharalyn Orbaugh (Ann Arbor, Michigan:
Center for Japanese Studies, The University
of Michigan, 1996), 249–52.
4. For further information on Japanese
literary journalism see “The Writer Speaksâ€
and my
Paragons of the Ordinary: The Biographi-
cal Literature of Mori âˆgai
(Honolulu: Uni-
versity of Hawai‘i Press, 1993), 30–58.
5. The pioneering ï¬gure in modern
Japanese children’s literature is Sazanami
Iwaya (1870–1933), whose
Koganemaru
(1891) is routinely cited as the maiden
work of
dπwa bungaku.
As children’s litera-
ture editor and advisor for Hakubunkan,
one of the dominant
kindai
publishing
houses, Sazanami gained considerable in-
fluence and prestige. In a sense, Tπson
could be said to have styled himself upon
Sazanami’s model of avuncular wisdom
and moral probity.
6. The list of notable writers who
turned to
dπwa bungaku
includes Ry√nosuke
Akutagawa (1892–1927), Takeo Arishima
(1878–1923), Yaeko Nogami (1885–1985),
Kπji Uno (1891–1961), and Akiko Yosano
(1878–1942).
7. One of the most noteworthy of TÏ€-
son’s “seed narratives†concerns his chance
encounter with one Raisuke Horii, a rusti-
cated swordsmith he met near Lake Biwa
during his Kansai journey. The account of
this old man, originally published as part
of the
Bungakukai
reportage of 1893, went
through a number of subsequent retellings
(for instance
,
in
Megane
and later in
Chikara-
mochi
[Ricecakes for Stamina; 1940]), each
of which embroidered upon the original
account to produce a tale of exemplary
character and the evanescence of tradition-
alism in the modern age.
8. TÏ€son wrote movingly of his six
years spent teaching in Komoro in an im-
portant essay collection,
Chikuma-gawa no
Suketchi
[Chikuma River Sketches; 1911–12],
originally serialized in the youth-oriented
journal
Ch√gaku Sekai
[Middle-School
World].
9. The title story of the
Arashi
collec-
tion centers on the strained family situa-
tion that arose following the death of
TÏ€son’s ï¬rst wife, Fuyu. It has been called a
masterpiece of
shinkyπ shπsetsu
—a category
of introspective ï¬ction.
10. Of signiï¬cance in this regard is the
veritable deluge of
dπwa
publications to-
ward the end of Tπson’s life. In fact,
Chikara-
mochi
came out as the ï¬rst of a four-volume
series, the
TÏ€son DÏ€wa SÏ€sho.
The remaining
three volumes were reissues of the earlier
dπwa
collections.
The Japan Foundation Newsletter XXVII/No. 2
R E S E A R C H R E P O R T S
20
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