I am fascinated by history. This hasn’t always been so but has been a growing interest that began when I first went overseas in 1997. I studied abroad in Toledo, Spain a medieval city founded by the Romans. Instead of simply reading about historical events in a history book, I was physically in the same place these historical figures lived, created culture, fought wars, and died. I learned how important it is to understand the past in order to understand the present. Most people simply accept things the way they are as though they have always been with zero understanding as to why.
Thanks to traveling and reading plenty of history books, I have a respectable understanding of what happened in world history. But to really understand the times one must look past history books written by scholars and read books published by those who lived during the time in question. For me, it is not the history books which excite me but hearing directly from the source which makes the past really come alive. It is in this way I’m able to see the shadows and feel the pull of the past. The past resonates through everything like a sound wave that only a few can hear.
Japan is a paradox in regards to time. It is an ancient country full of shrines, temples and the past where these things live side by side with cutting edge technology, endless skyscrapers and a modern culture which often fascinates the rest of the world. The past is there in plain sight but it isn’t well understood which is the same for most people in any country. We go to shrines on certain events but if I ask questions nobody is really sure of the answer unless I ask the priest or monk directly. Ancient monumental stones are everywhere but nobody except scholars and monks can read what is written.
In order to understand Tokyo I’ve read the history books with the most recent one being History of Tokyo 1867 – 1989 From EDO to SHOWA: The Emergence of the World’s Greatest City. In this book the author mentions Nagai Kafū very frequently and so in order to more fully understand Tokyo am enjoying reading his books of which “Something Strange Across the River” is the first for me.
From this first book I can see Nagai Kafū is a traditionalist and is appalled with many of the changes Tokyo is going through. The book was published in 1937 and given his interactions with the police I can feel that pull of the right wing nationalism whose outsized influence lead to militarism and ultimately the disaster of World War II. Unlike the USA, Japan has what is called a “kouban” (交番) or police box. These are small little shelters found just about everywhere with one or two police inside unlike a massive police station which are few in number and very large. Mr. Kafu tries to avoid these as much as possible because the police like to stop and question people and he is often stopped and questioned. Through this we can see the authoritarianism in day-to-day life and get a better feel for how things actually were then and how it resonates even today. Just a few days ago the American embassy put out a very rare criticism letting foreigners know some people are being “profiled” by police.
The comments were interesting to say the least as profiling happens to be a huge problem in the USA and the use of guns is also a big issue.
But getting back to the subject Mr. Kafu is also very fond of the “Flower and Willow” world. This book is about one of those ongoing interactions. To the western mind the only word we have is prostitution and thanks to the Puritan strain that runs through America any female companionship except a wife is considered sinful, dirty and evil. Japan never had the Puritans and also have different traditions such as Geisha which can be difficult to understand for the western mind as westerners reach immediately for “prostitute” which is incorrect. Anyway, the purpose of this post is not to explain things but to pull out my favorite passages of this book.
These pleasures, pursued late in life, are often likened to rain just before twilight.
Reading this I think immediately of the “midlife crisis.” Until recent times this has been associated with only men as women were often tied financially to relationships. Reaching middle age men begin to panic that they’re “missing out” or “stuck” with the routine of family and children then proceed to make terrible life altering decisions. The rain is a big disruption and the twilight the later years in life.
I developed Junbei’s story from a desire to depict Tokyo, and how its old lovely streets lost their individuality and beauty in the post-earthquake reconstruction.
I wish I could walk through the streets of old Edo. Tokyo is like the earth just threw up a bunch of concrete. I read about Edo being dark, about the ubiquitous canals and how people would emerge from their houses into the street to catch an evening breeze and chat with neighbors. It would have been all of wood and very much like a maze with the streets and alleys going here as the city just continued to grow from a fishing village without much central planning. We can still see this today in many areas of Tokyo although there always seems to be a wide, straight boulevard somewhere close by.
It is sad to read how he laments the loss of character knowing that Tokyo will again be destroyed by the firebombing of WWII. It makes me wonder what catastrophes will come in the future that I’m unaware of here in the year 2021. We’re already going through a pandemic and perhaps a future reader will feel for me just as I feel sad for Mr. Kafu and the coming World War II.
Tokyo continues to change as the one I’m most familiar with is Tokyo of 2001 – 2003 when I lived in Mejiro. I return in the summer and every time there are changes, some big some small. The entire building of my favorite bar is missing, using Suica is very different and where did all the Watami izakaya restaurants go? I mentioned that I wish I could walk through old Edo and I could at least pretend by going to Odaiba Onsen Monogatari but due to COVID that is also now closed forever. Due to the pandemic it has been two years since I last went to Tokyo and I’m afraid at how much will have changed, at how many of my favorite places will now be closed.
Just as the earthquake changed everything for Mr. Kafu, COVID is changing the entire world for all of us.
“Sumi-chan, ever since last night, I feel…I feel like I’m suddenly much younger. I feel like I finally have something to live for. Know what I mean?” “People are so emotional. Don’t get down on yourself.” “I know. But no matter how I may feel, I’m not young anymore. You’ll get rid of me before too long.” “There you go again—even though I keep telling you not to think that way. Just look at me, I’ll be 30 soon. Besides, I’ve already done the things I want to. I’d like to settle down and save some money, you know?”
“Suddenly much younger and something to live for.” Yes, I imagine this is what it feels like for those lost souls going through a midlife crisis and taking on a mistress while disregarding their family. Unfortunately for these people I would imagine in most cases it is similar to a wild party: it is very fun while the party is going on but the next day will be filled with a terrible hangover and pain.
Four or five days later, the city had plunged into autumn. The sky seemed somehow changed, and the heavy clouds pushed in by the southerly winds fell low in the sky, dumping their heavy drops across the city before stopping just as quickly. There were times when the rain would continue through the night without pause. The leaves began to fall from the trees in my garden. The bush-clover flowers fell along with them, and the begonias, long bereft of their fruit, painfully lost their color in splotches over their expansive leaves. The garden, thrown into disorder by the wet trees, fallen twigs and leaves, and the remnants of summer crickets and cicadas, left me wishing for breaks in the rain, for the sky to clear just once, and it filled me with grief.
A beautiful description of the season. I always enjoy the focused attention to the seasons in Japanese culture as it brings me back to a state of mindfulness and how time passes by. This passage was written in 1937. How many flowers, leaves and lives have been born, lived and died since then. By a simple description of the season I am reminded that the spring of my life has passed. It is late in the summer and the leaves are starting to change color. I am only here a short while.
Each year, when I’m overcome with the winds and rains of the season, I’m reminded of a particularly poignant passage from Dream of the Red Chamber: The flowers in fall are lonely and fading, the grasses grow yellow. The moon grows brighter, the nights grow longer. Autumn, observed from the window, seems never to end. The winds and rain bring with them a difficult cool dampness. These rains that rush autumn to us, from where do they come? From the window, a shock—autumn’s dreams of green.
