Review—Buddhism and Modernity: Sources from Nineteenth-Century Japan

A valuable source book for Buddhist scholars

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Review by Chad Kohalyk

The rapid modernization of Japan after the Meiji Restoration is often expressed in kilometres of railway laid down, or number of telegraph lines strung up. But there was also a spiritual revolution happening: Japanese Buddhism in the Meiji Period (1868-1912) was in crisis. Changing laws revoked state privileges for Buddhist institutions and prioritized a new “national Shintō,” which disrupted the delicate balance between Buddhism and Shinto that had evolved over a millennium and a half. Soon a ban on Christianity—instated in 1637 and which provided the genesis for Japan’s policy to cut itself off from the West—was lifted, and Christian missionaries were once again able to grow their flock in Japan. Elites looking to modernize were filled with their own secular zeal. Crisis for some was opportunity for others.

Buddhism and Modernity: Sources from Nineteenth-Century Japan, (U. of Hawaii Press, Oct. 2021) edited by Orion Klautau and Hans Martin Krämer, gives us insight into how some prominent Buddhist thinkers of the era analyzed, criticized, and sometimes justified the momentous transformation underway. The book contains essays and excerpts from 1856 to 1912, divided into five interlocking sections representing some of the major challenges for Japanese Buddhism during its modernization including: the religion’s role in nation-building, sectarian reform, science and philosophy, social reform, and the relationship between Japan and Asia.

Buddhism and Modernity is a snapshot of influential Buddhist voices during the nineteenth century, but also offers analysis from leading English-language scholars of Japanese religion in the twenty-first century. Each chapter contains an introduction where the translator provides key information for the reader to understand the context of the essay. Chapters range across topics from clerical marriage, women’s education, ardent critiques of Christianity, to proposals on how to organize Buddhists. Although each introduces a new perspective, common themes thread them together. Often we see the Buddhist intellectual elite struggling to adopt some parts of modernity while rejecting others.

This collection provides an excellent counterbalance to the popular English-language writings of the era from famous monks such as Shaku Soyen—who introduced Zen to the United States through translations by his student DT Suzuki. Such texts tended to tailor Buddhism to Protestant Christian sensibilities. This is in contrast to the writings in Buddhism and Modernity which were written for Japanese audiences: politicians, Buddhist scholars and the wider public.

With the threat of Christian proselytism constantly looming, and Japan’s national goal of re-entering the international community, the story of Japanese Buddhist modernism is an international one. However, the book keeps its focus on the domestic story of building the new nation of Japan.

In the final section on Japan and Asia, the international outlook of some Japanese Buddhist priests are highlighted, including Ogurusu Kōchō, the first known Buddhist priest to travel to China in the modern period. In 1873 Ogurusu instigated “a plan to protect the Dharma” involving a team-up between India, China, and Japan to rise up against the imperialist West. However, as translator Erik Schicketanz notes “Anti-colonial solidarities could transform rather easily into ideological support for imperialism,” an attitude particularly palpable in Shaku Sōen’s essay, “The Japanese People’s Spirit.” In this essay, Sōen sites a “questionable rhetoric used by a Zen priest within the context of Japanese expansion into East Asia.”

Kawaguchi Ekai’s legendary trip to Tibet in 1903 can be seen in a clearer light thanks to the final chapter of the book which carefully translates the “Characteristics of the Three Races” section of Kawaguchi’s famous travelogue. Reading his descriptions of the Tibetans, Khampas, and Mongolians in his own words reveals that his commentary was not merely “lowbrow” but racist, an aspect obscured in the English-language edition of 1909 by the particularly euphemism-driven British translators of the time. How these writers and intellectuals of the time conveyed their thoughts in their own language gives us a peek behind the curtain and is what makes this source book so valuable to scholars who may be unable to read older forms of the Japanese language.

It is argued that translated works should be valued much more in academia than they currently are. I certainly agree with that argument, as translations unlock primary sources for the wider scholarly community. I would also extend the argument to include periodically returning to primary sources with a modern, more critical eye—another of this book’s contributions to the field.

First Book—The Short Story Collective

A thirteen-part journey through contemporary Japan taking in themes as disparate as mental illness, Buddhism, the human drive for validation, workplace harassment, cults, tourist pollution, and the consequences of the COVID-19 pandemic.

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“First Book” is a column where we ask first-time authors what inspired them to write their debut book, novel or translation.

Books on Asia: What’s your book’s “elevator pitch?”

Andrew Innes: The Short Story Collective is a thirteen-part journey through contemporary Japan with the odd stop along the way to visit both the past and the future. Taking in themes as disparate as mental illness, Buddhism, the human drive for validation, workplace harassment, cults, tourist pollution, and the consequences of the pandemic, amongst others.

BOA: You live in Himeji, right? and what made you decide to write about Himeji?

Innes: Yes, but the book isn’t only about Himeji. There are references to Osaka, Kyoto, Awaji Island, Ikuno and the little known village of Tada. The public bath in the story “When in Rome” is based on my favourite sento (public bath) in Kyoto, and the opening scene in “The Gaijin Parade” was inspired by a real hot spring deep in the heart of Shikoku.

BOA: Can you explain the title The Short Story Collective?

Innes: The book title comes from the lead story of the same name. The `collective` is a group of six writers who get together once a week and take turns to tell each other their latest offering. The group’s youngest member heads into the countryside of Ikuno for some inspiration and encounters a drunken salamander who tells him the most beautiful story he has ever heard. The story is so sublime that it brings grown men to tears and will make the young writer a god of the literary world. The only condition is that the story not pass beyond the boundaries of the river from whence he heard it. When he breaks his promise to the salamander, he befalls a surreal fate that cuts short his newfound fame.

BOA: What makes it stand out from other books of the short-story genre?

Innes: I have come across books and articles that discuss the aspects that my book deals with, such as hikikomori, cancel culture, workplace harassment, cults, discrimination, stereotypes, tourist pollution, Buddhism, and the consequences of the pandemic for young people, amongst others. I have also read books that describe the experiences of foreigners living in Japan. The one thing I think these books and articles have in common, however, is that they are often journalistic or biographical in style. With my book I believe the merging of fiction and fact is what makes it interesting.

BOA: How did you get into writing?

Innes: A friend and colleague recommended a teaching journal called The Font that accepts short stories on teaching in a foreign country. I submitted a story, had it accepted, and a year or two later, I was offered the job of editor of the actual journal and felt inspired to keep writing. I always like to have a project to keep me busy, and decided that I’d compile the stories I’d already written and set a goal of writing a total of ten set around the backdrop of Japan. Ten became thirteen, which seemed like an interesting number to settle on given the dark nature of some of the content.

BOA: Did you have any setbacks when writing the book?

Innes: Character representation was something constantly running through my mind. Identity politics is at the forefront of so many discussions these days, and I was very conscious of trying not to tread on any toes. Should this character be male or female? What nationality should this character be? So some of the minor characters don’t have any gender assigned to them.

About the Author:
Andrew Innes grew up near Manchester, England and moved to the castle city of Himeji, Japan, in 2002, where he now works at three universities teaching speaking and writing skills and editing the online journal, The Font. He holds degrees in psychology, and applied linguistics.

The Short Story Collective is currently only available in e-book form and will be released Nov. 20, 2021. Read an extract from book, “The Rotten Mikan” as it appears in The Font. or pre-order a copy of the book from the “Where to Buy” link at the top of the page.

 

Review—On Haiku, by Hiroaki Sato

Hiroaki Sato reveals how the radical brevity of the haiku genre contains worlds within worlds. This is a book to cherish, and which nurtures in return.

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Review by Robert MacLean

For the last five decades, Hiroaki Sato has been an eminent translator of Japanese poetry, translating over three dozen books into English, including a just-published anthology of haiku written by victims of the 2011 tsunami and earthquake. Born in Taiwan in 1942, his family moved to Kyushu after the war, and he studied at Doshisha University in Kyoto before moving to the US in 1968, basing himself in New York City. His landmark anthology From the Country of Eight Islands (1981), coedited with Burton Watson, has been an inspiration to many. I still vividly remember camping in the Olympic Mountains in Washington State, reading these poems in an alpine meadow amid melting snow, entranced, as if remembering past lives. Looking up, poems drifted in the endless sky.

New Directions released Sato’s On Haiku (2018), a collection of nineteen essays, some previously published in obscure journals or given in presentations. It has many strengths. Simply as a cornucopia of haiku, often from writers unknown in the West, it is a treasure. Each Japanese haiku is given in kanji, a transliteration into romaji, and Sato’s rendition, using monolinear form. Rather than tailor the original text to an English-speaking audience, his instinct is to trust the literal image with its myriad connotations, then provide illuminating commentary on the linguistic and cultural nuances. An accomplished poet himself, Sato speaks from the inside, giving a hand’s-on perspective. His explication of individual haiku is never dryly academic, but delightfully discursive, opening the poems in a way that touches our daily lives.

The essays cover a wide range of topics, from the roots of haiku in the Edo period as a hokku, “opening verse” in sequential renga, “linked verse” composed collaboratively in a guest-host relationship, to contemporary gendai, experimental forms which subvert the rules. Along the way, separate sections consider haiku and Zen; a close analysis of a single renga with thirty-six segments, ‘The Sea Darkens’, led by Matsuo Basho in a 1684 session with local participants; parallels between Issa and Hokusai in their use of perspective; military haiku; ‘From Wooden Clogs to the Swimsuit: Women in Haikai and Haiku’, spanning two centuries; and introductions to the work of many 20th-century Japanese haijin (haiku writers), particularly women.

‘Haiku and Zen: Association and Dissociation’ examines the contentious issue concerning the extent to which haiku is infused with Zen. Drawing on ancient Chinese Chan koans, it is a comprehensive survey that includes Basho’s famous frog, Jack Kerouac, Gary Snyder, American Zen and Japanese practitioners such as Kōi Nagata who, Sato points out, modelled some of his haiku upon the life and work of the medieval monk, Master Ikkyū:

Gaikotsu ga namaeau aki mo nagori kana
Skeletons licking each other as autumn lingers

Two essays packed with historical detail track haiku during Japan’s war with China, followed by the Asia-Pacific conflicts. Shinzunojo Takeshita, a teacher and librarian, writes in 1937 about her son:

Yuku ako ni getsumei no nasu mugi kashigu
For my child going to war I pick and cook moonlit eggplants

Hiroshi Shimomura, a doctor, in the aftermath of the Nagasaki blast:

Enten no mukuro o hakobu jinkaisha
Carrying cadavers under burning sky a garbage cart

One of the strongest dimensions of Sato’s book is its introduction to the work of many twentieth century women haijin. ‘From Wooden Clogs to the Swimsuit: Women in Haikai and Haiku’ spans four centuries. Chiyojo Kaga, a contemporary of Bashō, writes about the loss of her child:

Tombo-tsuri kyō wa koko mada itta yara
Dragon-catcher, how far has he gone today?

Takao Hashimoto in 1937, nursing her husband who died that autumn:

Shi ni chikaki mo ni yori tsuki no teru o iinu
Up close to his face near death I said the moon’s shining

A decade later, she still misses him deeply:

Yuki hageshi dakarete iki no tsumarishi koto
Snow fierce how hugged I was breathless

The essay ‘Haiku Poet Called a Hooker’ focuses on Shizuko Suzuki, who lived with an African American soldier after WWII and abruptly disappeared, probably of suicide, leaving over 7,000 unabashedly sensual haiku dealing with taboo topics including prostitution, drug addiction and abortion:

Suki no mono wa ruri bara ame eki yubi shunrai
What I like crystal roses rains stations fingers spring thunder

‘In the Cancer Ward’ introduces Chimako Tada, a respected translator. She took up haiku only when diagnosed with cervical cancer, as a form of therapy encouraged by her daughter. After her death in 2003, one hundred and sixty of her haiku were published. Some two dozen are included in the book.

Natsuyase ya sukoshi fuetaru shi no omomi
Summer-thin: a little gaining the weight of death

and,

Kusa no se o noritsugu kaze no yukue kana
Riding from one blade of grass to another the wind goes where

On Haiku is filled with such jagged beauty. Throughout, what Sato calls his “meandering discourse” is wonderfully erudite, playful and profound. It ends with two poignant personal essays, ‘Receiving a Falconer’s Haibun’ and ‘Through the Looking Glass’, admitting the problematic relationship of translator to text, which invariably results in a variant of failure–each failure precious, a facet or shard of the original which itself engages in the same process. Again and again, Sato reveals how the radical brevity of the haiku genre contains worlds within worlds. This is a book to cherish, which nurtures in return.

First Book—Can Machines Bring Peace?: Hope in a Post-Apocalyptic Age

A young diplomat builds a Thinking Machine to bring peace, but instead, it discovers a plot for war.

Support BOA by ordering Can Machines Bring Peace? through these links:

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Thanks for helping support Books on Asia!

“First Book” is a column where we ask first-time authors what inspired them to write their debut book/novel/translation.

Books on Asia: What’s your book’s elevator pitch?
Floor Kist: The novel is about a young diplomat who builds a Thinking Machine to bring peace, but instead, it discovers a plot for war.

BOA: Can you explain the genre of your book and what makes it stand out among its genre?

Kist: The genre of the book is hard science fiction. I’ve tried my best to base the technologies in the novel on existing ones. I also conceptualized serious reasons why the setting has a 1930s retro vibe. So, after a Final War that apparently destroyed civilization, survivors hid inside underground vaults. Only, after more than two hundred years, most of the technology ceased working. And the survivors had to revert to older more mechanical technology to keep the vaults working.

There is a lot of science fiction where (excuse the stereotyping) a former marine saves the universe from creepy aliens. And I wanted something very different. The book is about hope and how different people work together to achieve it, despite their differences. They solve their problems with their wits, not their fists.

Politician and AI researcher Floor Kist

BOA: You live in the Netherlands, right? What is your connection to Japan?

Kist: My father met Emperor Akihito and Empress Michiko many years ago and Japan an ideal setting for the story I wanted to tell. The mythical origin of the Imperial family dates back more than two thousand years and I wanted to connect this deep past with four hundred years in the future.

There is something special in the look and feel of Japan in the 1930s that I saw in some old movies. I wanted a traditionalistic world with old fashioned politeness with a strong undercurrent of stiffness and resistance to change, issues that Japan is still dealing with these days.

BOA: Why are you the person to write this book?
I’m a local politician in my town (Deputy-Mayor for the Green Party), and every day I am convinced that we need to work together to deal with the big issues we’re facing. I am also an AI researcher and interested in how AI can be used to resolve society’s big issues. The idea of bringing peace and trying to bring people together is basically my daily job. The idea of designing a thinking machine to help solve big issues in society is what I’m writing my doctoral thesis on. For six years I’ve been interested in how AI will help deal with complexity.

Author Floor Kist with Ambassador to the Netherlands Hidehisa Horinouchi

BOA: How has COVID-19 helped (or hindered) the writing process?

Kist: Making time to write can be challenging. There are just so many distractions. So, I really make time in my schedule to write, even if it’s just half an hour. This was an incredible lesson: plan to write. That’s the only way you will finish your novel. I know people have dealt with the COVID-19 lockdowns in different ways. I’ve seen how it affected my kids. But somehow it gave me the time and the calmness to write the novel I had been carrying around for many years.

Visit Floor Kist’s website or follow him on Goodreads

Review—Structures of Kyoto: Writers in Kyoto Anthology 4

book cover
book cover

Judith Clancy and Alex Kerr book-end this remarkable publication offering insight into the physical, spiritual and artistic elements of Kyoto.

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Review by Renae Lucas-Hall

Judith Clancy and Alex Kerr book-end this remarkable anthology (edited by Rebecca Otowa and Karen Lee Tawarayama), a publication offering incredible insight into the physical, spiritual and artistic elements of Kyoto. In the Foreword, Clancy reminisces on the past fifty years she has spent in Japan’s ancient capital, commenting on how much the city has changed, while Kerr’s essay questions one’s reasons for touring top tourist destinations. He stresses the fragility of Kyoto’s culture and implores visitors to consider whether their presence in Japan’s former capital would be beneficial for the town itself and the people who live there.

In this 172-page book, the reader can expect a contribution by Rebecca Otowa on the aspects of tea and Kyoto as the home of chanoyu (Japanese tea ceremony) and Rona Conti shares her passion for calligraphy. During Conti’s lessons with her teacher Kobayashi-sensei, she faced a plethora of intercultural frustrations but took them all in her stride, as a result succeeding more than most.

Mark Hovane discloses a wealth of knowledge on Japanese Zen gardens in just seven pages in his essay “Rocks, Gravel, and a Bit of Moss.” Hovane gives the reader hints on how to fully appreciate Japanese dry landscapes or karesansui, like Ryoanji Temple. He says that when “Slowing down and considering what is ‘seen’ from the full gamut of sensory, philosophical and spiritual perspectives, a richer experience will emerge.”

“Sparrow Steps” by Amanda Huggins is a delightful short story on page 40. In this piece, romantic vows between a girl and a boy are exchanged at Kinkaku-ji Temple under the cherry blossom trees in autumn. Memories of sakura petals in springtime prompt the girl to suggest they meet there again ten years to the day if they ever drift apart. But will it be reciprocated? Felicity Tillack’s contribution “The River” is a brief reflection on her life as a teacher during the COVID-19 pandemic, and the day she connected with her students at Horikawa River for a memorable boat race.

John Dougill introduces three literary cafés in Kyoto and Jann Williams discusses her spiritual connection with gorinto grave markers. There’s also a charming kappa (water imp) story by Karen Lee Tawarayama set in 2050, to enjoy. The Kamogawa River is a centrepiece for several chapters including “Converging Waters” by Robert Weis, “Sunrise over the Kamogawa” by Ina Sanjana and a poem called “December” by Lauren E. Walker. Daimonji, the bonfire that is lit in the shape of a kanji character on a mountain northeast of Kyoto during the Obon Festival in August, is the subject of a poignant poem by Lisa Wilcut. There’s also an amusing short story featuring the Daimonji by Simon Rowe.

Catherine Pawasarat’s segment elaborates on the Kyoto’s Gion Festival. She touches on its history, explaining how it is deeply rooted in the suffering of the midsummer heat. It all began when the superstitious Emperor Seiwa insisted on a ritual in 869 to rid Kyoto of its angry onryo. The people of Kyoto believed these evil spirits caused all the bacteria, viruses and plagues that killed so many people that July. There’s much more on the Gion Festival as well as Buddhist theories to contemplate in Pawasarat’s offering.

There are many other pieces of fiction and non-fiction, poems and pictures within the pages of this short anthology by a variety of member authors and artists including Mike Freiling, Reggie Pawle, Edward J. Taylor, John Einarsen, Robert Yellin, Ken Rogers, Marianne Kimura, and WiK Writing Competition winners from 2019 and 2020. The beauty and sincerity of each contribution refines the heart, mind and soul.

(Note: This book is only available via Amazon)

Podcasts

BOA Podcast 16: Meredith McKinney on Saigyō and “Gazing at the Moon”


In this episode of the Books on Asia Podcast, sponsored by Stone Bridge Press, we have guest interviewer Lisa Wilcut speaking with award-winning writer and translator Meredith McKinney. McKinney is translator of many Japanese classics such as Sei Shonagon’s 11th century classic The Pillow Book, and the 14th century Essays in Idleness, published together with Hōjōki. She has also translated Kusamakura and Kokoro (see our review) by Natsume Sōseki, one of Japan’s most celebrated modern writers. Today, she is going to talk about her long career and also about her just released book on the wandering poet Saigyō called Gazing at the Moon (Shambhala, September, 2021)

Books on Asia Podcast 16: Show Notes

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