Our Literature Is in Great Shape
Translator Motoyuki Shibata Discusses Contemporary Japanese Fiction
by Nobi Oda
What comes to mind when you think of Japanese literature? Fans of older Japanese literary works were often interested in Japan’s unique culture, traditions, and the emotions of Japanese people. Now, however, many of Haruki Murakami’s fans do not particularly read his works with the intention to connect with something “Japanese.” Like Murakami, many contemporary Japanese authors are creating literature that often has little to do with Japan. We talked with Motoyuki Shibata, a professor at the University of Tokyo and researcher of American literature, about what makes these literary works appealing.
Cultures More Diverse Now
There’s so much that is exciting going on in contemporary Japanese literature. Since my research focuses on American literature, I’ll be talking about it with readers in North America in mind, but I hope what I am about to talk about will be relatable for fans of literature from all over the world.
America is often described as a country that has very little interest in cultures in foreign countries. The percentage of translated books that are currently in publication in the US is only 5 percent. However, as was the case with the Latin America literature “Boom” in the 1970s, many non-English works are constantly being translated into English. After 9.11, I feel that more Americans began to pay attention to other countries.
Most courses in literature at British and American universities used to focus on literature in the West, but professors are more willing now to teach works from all over the world. The New Yorker magazine features a short story every issue, and the most published authors in the last few years are the late Roberto Bolaño from Chile, Alice Munro from Canada, and Haruki Murakami from Japan: non-Americans all three.
One may be able to compare this movement with the music industry, where the popularity of indigenous music from around the world created the World Music genre, or in the culinary industry, where world cuisine such as French, Asian, African, and Latin American have influenced each other leading to new fusion restaurants.
Americans and Europeans are more curious these days about other cultures, eager to find interesting things their own culture does not have. I believe Japanese literature benefits from this, though the focus is on literature from all over the world, not just Japan.
Individuality rather than universality
In the past, readers of Yasunari Kawabata or Yukio Mishima may have had exotic views of Japanese culture. However, fans of Haruki Murakami today do not have the same connection. I don’t believe many readers begin reading Murakami’s works because they want to learn more about Japan, although they may indeed grow interested in the country after reading his books.
So what is so exciting about Japanese literature today? What makes modern Japanese literature different from American or European literature?
First, there are a number of Japanese fiction writers today with unique talents who create highly idiosyncratic works. Generally speaking—and let me emphasize this is a very rough generalization—authors in English-speaking countries tend to aim for universality. There is a certain sense of obligation for the authors to universally present their views on the world and life in general to the audience.
Readers also tend to search for a shared truth in literature. I think this is one of the reasons realism is so strong in America. Although things are changing quickly these days and there are many interesting writers who work in literary spaces between realism and fantasy, I would say realistic novels are still the standard form of serious fiction. Of course there are writers like Paul Auster, one of the American writers I translate, who do not stick to realism in the usual sense. In addition, there are well-respected authors like Alice Munro who only write short stories, or William Trevor and Steven Millhauser, two very different writers who seem to work best in short stories. But the general trend of universality and detail is still very strong.
In Japan, however, there are not too many shared ideals so authors have more freedom to create what they want. Also, short stories and novels are viewed in similar ways, as they are both known as “shousetsu” in Japanese. The Akutagawa Prize, Japan’s most prestigious literary achievement, is only awarded to stories and novellas.
Due to the tradition of the “I-novel”—a highly autobiographical fiction, often revealing the less savory aspects of writers’ own personal lives—the climate for literary works in Japan gave artists the freedom to write about their personal feelings and experiences, whether they were universally applicable or not.
Although universality and everlastingness are wonderful things, if they become institutional—something you have to aim for—literature becomes stale and before you know it every work starts to resemble each other. Literature from overseas is one good place to look for something entirely different, and foreign works can shake up your view of how literature is to be written. Hopefully Japanese literature has presented new ways of writing, new ways to see life, to readers and writers in the West.
Musical and physical
The second important aspect is musicality and physicality. For example, Ko Machida, known for the highly lively prose, used to be the vocalist for a punk band, and Mieko Kawakami released a number of albums as a singer before she started writing fiction. Though not a musician himself, Haruki Murakami is also well known for his deep interest in music, especially jazz. Hideo Furukawa used to be involved in the theater.
It is also common for one work to combine various writing styles. In works from Ko Machida, you can often find passages with profound philosophical discussions immediately followed by lines written in the comic Osaka-dialect. In some cases, Machida even mixes these styles in the same single sentence. It’s quite acrobatic how he brings in numerous different voices into his writing. Honestly, this makes a lot of his works difficult to translate.
So in the last 20 to 30 years numerous unique works have come out of our country’s literary scene. Japanese fiction continues to be extremely vibrant. It’s a shame that many of these literary works are enjoyed only by Japanese readers. Japanese literature today is not only Haruki Murakami. Although there may not be a huge selection, a number of new Japanese novels and stories have been translated into English, and I hope you have the opportunity to read them.
The adventures of Monkey Business
From 2008 to 2011, I edited a literary quarterly Monkey Business, and in 2013 I started a new one Monkey. These publications feature both Japanese and foreign literature. Since 2011, I have edited an annual anthology called Monkey Business: New Writing from Japan, which primarily features works from those Japanese monkeys, and is published by the Brooklyn-based literary journal A Public Space.
The idea to create this anthology came after talking with Ted Goossen, who teaches Japanese literature and film at York University in Toronto. Back in 1997, Ted edited a collection of stories called The Oxford Book of Japanese Short Stories, published by Oxford University Press. This book is highly popular, used in so many courses on Japanese literature at British and American universities. The collection features 35 famous short stories from Japanese authors such as Ogai Mori, Soseki Natsume, Haruki Murakami, and Banana Yoshimoto.
Ted was interested in creating a similar collection focused on contemporary pieces, but since contemporary works still had not passed the test of time, he was hesitant in proceeding. However, after finding out about the Japanese Monkey Business, he came up with the idea of creating a yearly anthology of selected works from the magazine to be translated into English. At the time, I also felt there was a need to create a new collection of contemporary Japanese fiction, so I immediately agreed to help him with this project.
This led to the very difficult but exciting process of translating these works into English, with not a little help from our translator friends such as Jay Rubin and Michael Emmerich. I am very proud to guarantee that Monkey Business features translations of the absolute highest quality.
And so the first issue of Monkey Business: New Writing from Japan was published in the spring of 2011. The fourth issue has just come out. Now we don’t limit ourselves to the works originally published in the Japanese Monkey Business andMonkey, and the issues are now available as an e-book. The best way to learn about what makes literature interesting is to actually read some of the works. I recommend anyone interested to pick up a copy!
As a way to introduce readers to what we are doing, let’s feature excerpts from works included in Monkey Business—
MASATSUGU ONO
In the past, memories and dreams were not private things but shared in the community. Matsugu Ono evokes this sense of shared memory, often writing about a small fishing village in the Kyushu island. He is also a translator and scholar of French Creole literature.
THE MAN WHO TURNED INTO A BUOY
MASATSUGU ONO
translated by Michael Emmerich
I’ve been told my grandfather was a buoy—or rather, that he became a buoy. One of those things that bob lightly about on the ocean. Those signposts on the vast and ever-shifting sea, markers that trace—across an expanse of water that otherwise, with minor variations, looks the same the world over—invisible, imaginary lines (if you see two buoys, you can picture a line connecting them) that help you gauge the distance separating one point from another, whose very presence signals that human hands have been there, affording the illusion that, although we may not be able to inhabit the sea as we do the land, even so we are its masters. That’s the kind of buoy my grandfather became. I heard the story from my grandmother.
(From Monkey Business, Issue 4)
HIDEO FURUKAWA
Hideo Furukawa began writing plays at high school and was involved in the theater before he turned to fiction. He shares highly apocalyptic imagination with writers like Gabriel García Márquez and Steve Erickson, and creates highly ambitious books which cover large chunks of history.
NEITHER PURITY NOR DEFILEMENT NOW
HIDEO FURUKAWA
translated by Ryan Shaldjian MorrisonI shall not burn memories. Let me state this resolution somewhat differently. I shall not dispose of memories via incineration. Yes, that’s not a bad way to put it. A moment ago I awoke from a dream. Just a simple, ordinary dream. As I came to, I felt no rush of excitement as if I were about to be born. Nor did I feel any compulsion to cry out like a newborn baby. I simply had a dream, the contents of which I will soon divulge. The matter was elsewhere. Something was the matter, you see. Certainly, I would never burn my memories. But something certainly was burned. A sentient being. Disposed of by incineration. In fact, the incineration was carried out by the will of the incinerated. Let me rephrase. Leaping into the fire, a living being burned itself to death. Had it been human, this would have been a case of self-immolation. But that wasn’t the case. Consigning himself to the roaring flames, the rooster let out a majestic cry. Yet this cry was neither a “cock-a-doodle-doo” nor a “cocorico,” but was rather a most extraordinary melody. And it is also a fact that I ate him… to stave off starvation. I swallowed the lightly roasted flesh of this self-martyring chicken. Consumed his charred bones. Gnawed on the soft parts, sucked on the marrow. I bit into his coxcomb, and seeing that it was edible, proceeded to devour it as well. A strange gelatin. I even put the heart of this rooster into my mouth and swallowed. Why? Because I revered that which he believed in. His flesh tasted of rock and roll, his bones throbbed in rhythm, his coxcomb emitted the pure thumping of a bass guitar, and his heart let out a shout. In my head this came together as a single voice: Awopbopaloobop, alopbamboom. The voice echoing for eternity. The shouts of rock and roll.
(From Monkey Business, Issue 3)
HIROMI KAWAKAMI
Kawakami is a type of author that is hard to find among Western authors. Personally I especially enjoy her fantastical works, and the way she creates humorous, dream-like worlds with ambiguous boundaries between self and other, human and animal, may be considered something very Japanese. Her novels Manazuru and The Briefcase have been translated into English.
THE DRAGON PALACE
HIROMI KAWAKAMI
translated by Ted GoossenGreat-grandmother Ito paid me a visit.
Ito had seen the Buddha in a dream at the age of fourteen, after which she began uttering words that came to her from the spirit realm. Weasels and white clouds by night. Badgers and black clouds by day. Ito wailed enigmatic phrases like these several times a day. Her body shook, her eyes stared into space. Word got around, and people began to worship her. Two especially fervent followers, a man and a woman, moved into her home. They confined her to a storeroom, which they shared with her, on the east side of the house, away from her parents, brothers, and sisters. Then, without consulting anyone, they knocked a hole in the wall so that they could pay reverence to the rising sun each morning. With the approach of winter the storeroom grew very cold. Frost covered Ito’s quilt and that of the couple as well. To stay warm, the couple made love again and again. Ito had no idea what all the panting and moaning was about. One night, a hand reached up and caressed Ito’s bottom as she was squatting over the chamber pot, peeing. She had been strictly forbidden to step outside the storeroom at night. Doing so, the woman warned her, would reduce her sacred power. The divine words were coming to her less frequently because she ventured outdoors after sundown. The night air was sapping her spiritual strength—so the woman said.
(From Monkey Business, Issue 3)
YOKO OGAWA
Many people may already know of Ogawa as her novel The Housekeeper and the Professor is widely read in English-speaking countries. The way she develops tightly-constructed stories switching back and forth between reality and fantasy is highly appealing.
THE TALE OF THE HOUSE OF PHYSICS
YOKO OGAWA
translated by Ted GoossenOn my last day at the publishing house, I jotted down the authors’ names and titles of the many volumes I had edited during my thirty-two years as a book editor. This was no exercise in self-congratulation—a “Gosh, look how much I got done!” kind of thing. Rather, quite on the spur of the moment, I listed the names and titles as they came back to me on the back of the thick brown manila envelope I’d just received (filled with complicated documents concerning my pension and health insurance plans as well as membership information from the retirees’ association, the Auditory Hallucination Club). Yet I must confess that as I sat alone in my study that evening reflecting on the career I had just safely concluded, surrounded by piles of books that had overflowed their shelves, I did grow rather sentimental.
(From Monkey Business, Issue 1)
(photo: Daisuke Hayata translation: Nelson Babin-Coy)
Originally published at ignition.co.
