Part One of Term Diary
(This student essay exhibits a fine command of the English usually found in
university level essays. It fulfills all of the requirements to 1)provide a
critical point of view, even if it is only to like or to dislike, and 2)to
back up your critical claims with at least two quotations from appropriate
texts, either those used in the course, or from outside works.  This essay
demonstrates a critical view, uses quotes, and goes beyond the normal
requirements because it includes textual quotations from texts not listed as
required reading for the course.  As such, this paper received a very high
mark.)

Felix Tam, 950927840
Professor K. Richard
EAS 238F
October 29, 1996

A Critique of the Kojiki
 
        As one reads the Kojiki, one begins to notice many of the stories found
within do not really contain morals, but rather illustrates the heroes as
they were, complete with both merits and faults.  The only exceptions are
those passages in the beginning where the basic order of things are set
down, for example, the story of Izanami and Izanagi.  In trying to
procreate, the goddess Izanami precedes Izanagi in greeting each other
before they consumate their marriage, and the results were deformed
offspring.  At this, the Heavenly Deities
Performed the ceremony of divining and said to them:  "It is the woman*s
fault.  In turning round the Pillar, it was not right and proper that the
female Deity should in speaking have taken precedence of the male.  That is
the reason.  (Isobe 5)

This particular sequence teaches the importance of males being the
initiators of a courtship, as it is emphasized by not only "Heavenly
Deities", but also by their "ceremony of divining".
        After the stories of creation, though, one finds that there is an apparent
indifference to morality.  One example, from the tale of Fireshine and
Firefade, is the unfair treatment of the elder brother.  Firefade, after
trading his occupation with that of his elder brother, lost Fireshine*s fish
hook.  This was not a petty thing, because "separation from the hook might
mean a complete loss of luck and economic ruin [for Fireshine]; also, if the
hook came into an enemy*s hands, it gave the enemy an opportunity to curse
him." (Philippi 149)  The younger brother is clearly the one at fault here,
yet, in the end, the sea-deity helped Firefade to curse his elder brother --
with the help of the aforementioned hook -- into submission, until Fireshine
pleaded, "From now on I shall be your guard day and night, and respectfully
serve you." (Keene 155)  Where is the morality in this? Firefade loses his
elder brother*s lucky hook, causing him economic ruin, and then with the
help of the sea-deity, turns around and uses the hook to curse Fireshine
into submission.  It is understandable that Firefade should triumph as he
is, after all, the grandfather of the first emperor, Jimmu, yet does the end
justify the means?
        Further on, we find the story of prince Yamato-Takeru-no-Mikoto, "who is
renowned in Japanese history for his bravery." (Isobe 147)  Certainly his is
a character with unsurpassed bravery and his deeds are many, but some of his
actions may be considered cruel and dishonorable.  In the episode where his
elder brother stole the two daughters of One-no-Mikoto from his father, the
emperor commanded his younger son, "Be thou the one to take the pains to
teach him his duty." (Isobe 148)  When the elder prince did not show up for
the next five days, the emperor asked Yamato-Takeru what he had done, to
which he responded, "In the early morning, * when he was occupied in his
natural functions, I grasped hold of him and crushed him and, wrenching off
his limbs, wrapped them in matting and flung them away." (Isobe 149)  We see
here that the prince was not even asked to dispatched his brother, as the
emperor was wondering where the elder prince went, and on top of that,
Yamato-Takeru had killed his brother with uncommon cruelty. As if that were
not enough, he did so while his brother was "occupied in his natural
functions."  Hence, Masao Yaku, author of The Kojiki in the Life of Japan,
is quite correct in stating that "the Kojiki is far from evading the reality
of the existence of something, however ugly, insofar as such inescapably
exists in life; it looks it in the face when considering politics, *
adopting a posture which surely gives a fine impression of courage and of
beauty." (Yaku 68)
 References
Keene, Donald.  Anthology of Japanese Literature.  New York:  Grove Press, 1955.
Isobe, Yaichiro.  The Story of Ancient Japan.  Tokyo:  San Kaku Sha, 1929.
Philippi, Donald.  Kojiki.  Tokyo:  University of Tokyo Press, 1968.
Yaku, Masao.  The Kojiki in the Life of Japan.  Trans. G. W. Robinson.
Tokyo:  The Centre for East Asian Cultural Studies, 1969.
 A Critique of the Manyoshu
        The Manyoshu, being a collection of poems from the time around the seventh
century, represents a rather diverse collection of poetry; of particular
interest in this period is the arrival of Buddhism to Japan, "as it brought
not only its tenets and creeds but also the music, arts, and learning of the
countries which were situated along its long road to China." (De Bary xxxi)
In reading these poems, one can see the growth of Japanese poetry, in the
changes in the use of literary devices within these works.
        The later poems of the Manyoshu uses literary devices to achieve better
results than do the earlier ones, and they seem to have a tendency to be
more complex as well.  For instance, in the poem about climbing Mount Kagu,
one of the earlier poems, two repetitions can be found.  "Over the broad
earth / Smoke-mist hovers. / Over the broad water / Seagulls hover," (Bownas
8) and, "Beautiful my country / My Yamato." (Bownas 8)  In the former case,
the repeated structure describes two different landscapes, the earth and
water, effectively emphasizing the beauty of each; that is, it makes the
audience more aware of the beauty of the land and sea than if no repetition
had been used.  In the latter one, the repetition of the word "my" puts
emphasis on the words that follow, "country" and "Yamato", making it clear
to the audience that Yamato is "my" (the poet*s) country.  In both these
cases, the poet uses repetition to emphasize a point. Some of the later
poets in the Manyoshu, for example the anonymous poet in his lament for old
age, expands the repetition device to encompass the entire structure of the
poem.  The piece is comprised of two verses, one being parallel to the other:
When winter is gone and spring comes,
New is the year, and new the month;
But man grows old.

All things are best when new,
But perchance with man
He alone is good who is old.  (Keene 52)

Parallelism, like repetition, helps to emphasize certain points, the one
here being the wisdom of the elderly.  However, it also does more than the
repetition; it compares and contrasts ideas, as in this example, and
generally makes the piece more thoughtful.
        In addition to the evolution of the repetitive device, one sees also the
emergence of similes.  In the early poems, one would be hard pressed to find
these descriptive devices; the poet often merely states what he sees before
him.  "With her basket, her basket, / And her trowel, her trowel, / On this
hill a girl picks grasses." (Bownas 7)  Another example, by Prince Arima, on
preparing for a journey; "On the beach of Iwashiro, / I pull and knot
together / The branches of the pine." (Bownas 8)  In the pieces by
Kakinomoto Hitomaro, a seventh century poet, one begins to see the use of
similes.  "Like the swaying sea tangle, / unresisting would she lie beside
me," (Keene 34) and, "Now as the moon * Disappears, * / So vanishes my love
out of sight," (Keene 35) are two examples from Hitomaro*s works
illustrating the use of the similes.  The use of similes in a work, as
opposed to flatly stating facts, certainly helps to improve the imagery that
the poet is trying to convey, hence one can say that the introduction of
similes was an advancement in Japanese poetry, as was the expansion in the
use of repetition.      
 References
Bownas,  Geoffrey, and Anthony Thwaite.  The Penguin Book of Japanese Verse.
New York: Penguin Group, 1964.
De Bary, Theodore, ed.  The Manyoshu.  New York:  Columbia University Press,
1965.
Keene, Donald.  Anthology of Japanese Literature.  New York:  Grove Press, 1955.
 A Critique of the Tosa Nikki
        William N. Porter, in the introduction section in his translation of the
Tosa Nikki, mentions that phonetics, in the Japanese language, is "the
women*s language;" (Porter 7) he then goes on to say that "Tsurayuki (the
author of the Tosa Nikki), * in order to justify his use of phonetics only,
writes the diary in the character of a woman and mentions himself only in
third person." (Porter 7)  Furthermore, Porter claims that the reason why
Tsurayuki uses phonetics is that "possibly it was for the sake of
simplicity, and to enable the less educated to read his work." (Porter 8)
To summarize this, Porter believes that Tsurayuki writes in the guise of a
woman to support his use of phonetics, which in turn he does to increase the
readability of his work.  However, I believe that it makes more sense for
the use of phonetics to be merely a by-product of his main goal, which is to
use the feminine point of view.
        There are two reasons why Tsurayuki would want to use the feminine point of
view to write his diary.  First, writing in the guise of a woman, as opposed
to that of another man, allows Tsurayuki to express more intimately the
feelings he experiences during the voyage, and to use a lighter, less rigid
tone in describing the events in general.  "The Japanese commentators say
that his rather cowardly dread of meeting the pirates and his excessive
grief for his dead child would have been inconsistent with anything but a
female writer." (Porter 8)  There are a multitude of other feelings that he
experiences too, besides the grief.  There is his pride in his daughter,
when she composes a verse in reply to another by a servant that Tsurayuki
found distasteful: "How clever of her to get an idea like that!  I did not
think she could have done it.  How could a mere child do so well?  It is
worthy of a woman or an old man." (Porter 39)  There is also his deep love
for the child, as he compares her with precious jewels: "I*ll gather no
forgetting-shells, but jewels, / Momentos of the jewel-like one I loved."
(Keene 89)  As for evidence of the lighter, less rigid tone, one can find
that throughout the diary; for example, his reaction to the aforementioned
distasteful verse by the servant: "Well, that was his verse.  He must surely
have had a very loud voice, and his poem was hardly as good as what he
brought."  There are others, such as interjections he adds, like "truly, an
age of seventy or eighty years is soon reached on the sea!" (Keene 87), or
his comment, "a loss indeed!" (Keene 90), in response to his having to offer
up his mirror to appease the "God of Sumiyoshi." (Keene 90)
        The second reason why Tsurayuki might want to write as a woman is to
distance himself from his grief, the most prevalent emotion in the diary.
Otherwise, he can very well write the diary as his wife; that however, is
not the case, as his wife is also referred to in the third person.
"[S]omeone on the boat, still unable to think of anything except the child
who is no longer with us, composed this poem: * Another, equally unable to
bear his grief, * replies." (Keene 89)  The former, whose gender is not
revealed, is plainly a parent of the child; the same applies to the latter,
and since the latter is male, hence the father, the former must therefore be
the mother, and the wife of Tsurayuki.
        Keeping these two points in mind -- that Tsurayuki uses the feminine point
of view to express his feelings, and to keep a distance from his deep grief
at the same time -- this view is very likely not used for the sole purpose
of making his work more readable to the less educated.  Rather, it makes
more sense to say that the use of phonetics is a by-product of his need to
write the diary in the guise of a woman.         
 References
Keene, Donald.  Anthology of Japanese Literature.  New York: Grove Press, 1955.
Porter, William N.  The Tosa Diary.  London: Henry Frowde, 1912.
 A Critique of the Ise Monogatari
        The Ise Monogatari, written by the famous tenth-century Japanese poet
Ariwara Narihira, is a unique piece of work.  It is true that it has a
fascinating story in which the poet often describes events rather
outrageously.  In one scenario, Narihira had "spirited [a lady] out of her
apartments and ran off with her." (McCullough 72)  Later, at a ruined
storehouse, he stands guard at the door while "a demon ate the lady up in
one gulp.  A thunderclap muffled her scream of terror." (McCullough 73)  The
amusing part in this episode is that the "demon" is actually two people,
"[h]er brothers, Motosune and Kunitsune," (McCullough 73) who had come to
take her back.  Even so, the most interesting aspect of the Ise Monogatari
lies not in its plot, but in the fact that it is a transitional form between
poetry and prose fiction.  The prose itself does not form the entire story,
but is rather used to string together the pieces of poetry, or as McCullough
puts it, the "prose passages * are designed primarily to provide settings
for the poems -- to serve as black velvet cushions against which the gems
can flash and glow." (McCullough 4)
When one reads the poems, even at first glance, there is very noticeably an
attractive wit to them, making them pleasant to read.  One interesting
example is the dialogue type poems, like this pair, beginning with the
lady*s verse:
Loving you in spite of all,
My trust still undestroyed,
I think your silence cruel indeed -
Yet I should find it most unpleasant
Were you to ask for news of me.  (McCullough 79)

This is immediately followed by the man*s reply:
If I write, you will be angry;
If not, you will hate me.
Surely it is at such times
That men die
Of broken hearts.  (McCullough 79)

There is a strong irony present here in both poems, a kind of parallelism
between the two verses that gives them a certain charm, and the last line
especially adds a comical touch to the situation, at the same time making
the audience sympathize with the poet.
        Though the poetry is witty, the prose, as McCullough points out, enhances
the poetry as black velvet does to gems.  In the former example, the
preceding prose passage is as follows:
Once a man * wrote to a lady in the capital, *if I write to you frankly I
shall feel embarrassed; if not, I shall be miserable.* * After that there
was no further word from him.  At length the lady sent this from the
capital.  (McCullough 78)

The passage introduces the irony that persists in the verses, and it also
gives meaning to the cruel silence Narihira mentions in the first verse.
        Since there is such dependence of the poetry on the prose, the Ise
Monogatari cannot be classified as an anthology of poems.  However, the
prose, as the black velvet, cannot stand alone either.  Many passages are
merely one or two sentences long, and virtually all begin with the phrases
"Once a man," or "Once there was a man who," never identifying for certain
who "the man" is.  Certainly, it is understood that it refers to the
protagonist, Narihira, but the repetitiveness of it tends to halt the flow
of the text.  This is however good, in this case, because the pauses allow
the reader to stop and reflect on the poems, as one would stop to admire
sparkling gems.  Hence, as a result of this interdependence between prose
and poetry, McCullough*s symbolism of gems on black velvet cushions is very
fitting indeed for the Ise Monogatari.
 References
McCullough, Helen Craig.  Tales of Ise; lyrical episodes from tenth-century
Japan.  Stanford: Calif. University Press 1968.
 A Critique of the Kokinshu
        The Lady Ono no Komachi was "a woman equally famous in legend as a poet and
as a willful beauty who suffered a poverty-stricken old age." (McCullough
219)  These qualities of the woman can be seen in her works, as the poems
act as a kind of window through which we can get a glimpse of her life.
        The majority of Komachi*s poems are sensual, as shown in the following example:
This night of no moon
There is no way to meet him
I rise in longing -
My breast pounds, a leaping flame,
My heart is consumed in fire.  (Keene 78)

This was probably composed during the more active part of her life, when she
was a young woman.  Her use of diction, comparing her insatiable passion to
a "leaping flame", as her "heart is consumed in fire", stirs up very strong
images, and portrays very well her desperate longing for the unnamed lover.
        In her old age, we see in her most famous piece of poetry a despair as deep
as the passion was in the poems she composed in her youth:
The flowers withered,
Their color faded away,
While meaninglessly
I spent my days in the world
And the long rains were falling. (Keene 81)

It is clear that behind the literal meaning of this piece is a metaphor of
her life, how she has withered and faded away, her life having accumulated
to naught.  That, however, is the extent to which one can interpret the
English translation.  In its original Japanese form, one can see the true
genius in Komachi*s work:
Hana no iro wa
Utsurinikeri na
Itazura ni
Wa ga mi yo ni furu
Nagame seshi ma ni  (Keene 81)

When looking at this piece in Japanese, one realizes there is really nothing
metaphorical about it.  Rather, it is packed with engo and kakekotoba; the
former is "a word [with] two meanings: a primary one contributing to the
main statement and a secondary one establishing a relationship with
something else in the poem," (McCullough 222) and the latter is "a word used
in two senses." (McCullough 220)  Here are the main plays on words that are
used in the poem:
hana: flower; feminine beauty
iro: color; circumstances, situation; beauty; sexual passion
utsuru (dictionary form of utsurinikeri): scatter; fade; change
furu: fall (as of rain). The verb can also be construed as the attributive
form of fu, go through life, spend time, or of furu, get old.
nagame su (dictionary form of nagame seshi): rain a long time; stare
pensively into space  (McCullough 223)

When one substitutes the alternate meanings into the poem, one finds that
the piece has really two possible interpretations, as opposed to having one
metaphorically alluding to the other.  The play on words is very clever, and
it blends so smoothly into the poem that the two meanings do not exclude
each other, but work together as a unit.  Hence, these poetry by Komachi
offer us not only a glimpse of her life, but also shows us the genius of the
lady that makes her one of the six rokkasen in the Kokinshu.
 References
Keene, Donald.  Anthology of Japanese Literature.  New York:  Grove Press, 1955.
McCullough, Helen Craig.  Brocades by Night: *Kokin Wakashu and the Court
Style in Japanese Classical Poetry.  Stanford, California:  Stanford
University Press, 1985.
 A Critique of the Genji Monogatari
        The character of Yugao in Murasaki Shikibu*s Genji Monogatari is the
perfect example of the ill-fated character who manages to capture not only
the heart of the protagonist, but also the hearts of the audience.  However,
Murasaki does not reveal very much information about the mysterious girl to
the audience.  When Genji first encounters the girl, we know nothing about
her, except for her existence and that she is not a commoner, the proof of
which lies in a letter she writes on a fan.  "[T]he hand showed a breeding
and distinction which agreeably surprised [Genji]." (Keene 109)  At this
point Genji assigns Koremitsu the duty of excavating out information about
her, and over the span of the next few days he makes two reports.  The
first: "I found an excuse for communicating with her, and received in reply
a very well-worded answer in a cultivated hand.  She must be a girl of quite
good position." (Keene 111)  In his second report, Koremitsu says, "I could
not see her clearly, but she seemed to be very pretty." (Keene 113)
Henceforth, nothing more is revealed about her, except that in her
interactions with Genji during their affair we see that she is shy.  "It was
when she was speaking that she looked really beautiful, there was such
pathos, such earnestness in her manner. If only she had a little more
spirit!" (Keene 118)  Murasaki gives the audience the feeling that Yugao is
like a delicate blossom, just about ready to bloom, so that we get a hint of
her beauty, but it remains elusive.  In so doing, she allows the audience to
fill in the gaps with their imagination, so that the image of the girl is
"tailored" to the taste of each individual; and this is more effective than
if she describes exactly what the girl is like, leaving nothing up to the
imagination of the audience.
To further enhance the beauty of Yugao, Murasaki creates a character foil in
the Lady Rokujo.  Twice in this affair with Yugao we find Genji thinking
back to Rokujo, and we see the stark contrast between these two women.
First, we find him thinking to himself, "[t]o begin with, she was far too
sensitive; then there was the disparity of their ages, and the constant
dread of discovery which haunted him during those painful partings at small
hours of the morning.  In fact, there were too many disadvantages." (Keene
111-112)  Again we see Genji comparing the two later, and this is when they
steal away to an inn in the night:
[W]hen looking at the girl beside him who lay beside him so trustfully * he
was suddenly filled with an overwhelming tenderness towards her.  How
tiresome the other was, with her eternal susceptibilities, jealousies, and
suspicions!  (Keene 122)

Through using these two techniques, keeping the girl a mystery and using
character foil, Murasaki has very effectively created a character that can
be loved by all who encounter her.
        Even in her untimely, unnatural death, Yugao is not killed by a random
spirit, but rather, "we assume this spirit to have belonged to the Lady
Rokujo, * [whose] jealousy proves to be one of the most destructive elements
in the whole tale." (Bowring 28)  Further, "immediately preceding the
spirit*s attack on Yugao in Chapter 4, Genji finds himself thinking about
Lady Rokujo*s possible resentment and so triggers her response." (Bowring
29)  We see here that Yugao was virtually murdered for exactly the love that
exists between her and Genji, and since it was Genji who sought her in the
first place, she becomes the innocent victim in the tale, and this further
increases the audience*s sympathy for the girl.  Hence, Murasaki has created
a most memorable character who is very deserving of the audience*s love, and
pity, at the same time.
 References
Bowring, Richard.  Murasaki Shikibu: The Tale of Genji.  Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1988.
Keene, Donald.  Anthology of Japanese Literature.  New York:  Grove Press, 1955.

Part Two of Term Diary



Felix Tam, 950927840
Professor K. Richard
EAS 238F
December 3, 1996
 A Critique of the Makura no Soshi
        The Makura no Soshi, being a compilation of random, personal notes of Sei
Shonagon, reflects very clearly the character of the author in the various
pieces that make up the whole.  We see, for example, how Shonagon has an
appreciation for nature, and a sharp eye for minute details, in a
description of a scene that particularly appeals to her:
        Snow looks wonderful when it has fallen on a roof of cypress bark.
        When snow begins to melt a little, or when only a small amount has fallen,
it enters into the cracks between the bricks, so that the roof is black in 
some places, pure white in others-most attractive. (Morris 205)

However, one of the most striking characteristics of Shonagon that comes
through in her random notes is not her appreciation for nature, but the
disporportionate amount of importance she attaches to people*s physical
appearance and their status.  In one instance, she writes, "I do not
understand how a man can possibly love a girl whom other people, even those
of her own sex, find ugly." (Morris 214)  She further shows her revulsion
for physical ugliness when she says,
There is something really fascinating about beautiful faces.  Though an
object such as a vase or a fan may be ugly in general, there is always one
particular part that one can gaze at with pleasure.  One would expect this
to apply to faces also; but alas, there is nothing to recommend an ugly
face. (Morris 205)

In keeping with her dislike for unsightly faces, it is perhaps only natural
that she would have an aversion to the elderly as well.  Under the topic
"Things That People Despise" she lists "An old man who has lived to be too
old." (Morris 25)  Further on she even goes as far as to call them "dreary
old creatures." (Morris 25)
        In regards to her attitude towards status, she shows her disregard, even
contempt, for servants and commoners in several places.  She considers it
hateful that masters "in addressing their servants, use such phrases as
*When you were good enough to do such-and-such* or *As you so kindly
remarked.* " (Morris 28)  Certainly, those remarks coming from a master to
his servant may seem to be out of place, but is it hateful for a master to
treat his servants more as humans, with a little courtesy?  In another
section, where Shonagon is going on a pilgrimage, she encounters "a throng
of commoners [who] had settled themselves in front of [her]." (Morris 258)
She describes them as "so many basket-worms as they crowded together in
their hideous clothes," (Morris 258)  and goes on to complain how
"[i]mportant visitors always have attendants to clear such pests from their
enclosures; but it is not so easy for ordinary people like [herself]."
(Morris 258)  From such a vile attitude, it is hardly surprising that under
"Rare Things" she lists "a servant who does not speak badly about his
master," (Morris 65) and "a servant who is pleasant to his master." (Morris
65)  Treating people of lower status than her with such contempt, those
comments were probably based more from her experiences with her own servants
than those of other people.
        As if it is not enough that she despises people for their physical
appearances and status, her lack of respect for the feelings of other people
is appalling.  In one passage she says:
It is absurd of people to get angry because one has gossiped about them. *
        If I am really close to someone, I realize that it would be hurting to
speak badly about him and when the opportunity for gossip arises I hold my
peace.  In all other cases, however, I freely speak my mind and make
everyone laugh.  (Morris 215)

She is aware that she can hurt others by gossiping behind their back, yet
the passage implies that so long as the person is not related to her, she
could not careless how badly the victim of her gossip gets hurt.  In light
of this, and the other characteristics of Shonagon mentioned above, it is
extremely ironic that she should consider that "[s]ympathy is the most
splendid of all qualities.  This is especially true when it is found in men,
but it also applies to women." (Morris 215)  It would seem that not only is
she a despicable person, but also a hypocrite as well!
 References
Morris, Ivan.  The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon.  Vol. 1.  New York:
Columbia University Press, 1967.
 A Critique of the Heike Monogatari
        The Heike Monogatari, though it is based on actual historical events that
occurred, has "undergone substantial textual evolution, * as [a work] to be
memorized and recited by itinerant tale singers called biwa hoshi, blind
Buddhist priests who accompanied themselves with lutes." (Varley 51)   As
such, we see that the whole work is permeated with Buddhist ideas.  The very
first paragraph of the work already summarizes the teachings of Buddha:
The faded flowers of the sala trees by the Buddha*s deathbed bear witness to
the truth that all who flourish are destined to decay.  Yes, pride must have
its fall, for it is as unsubstantial as a dream on a spring night.  (Kitagawa 5)

Throughout the work, we see also that the fate of the Heike is intimately
tied in with mujo, "the Buddhist concept of impermanence," (Varley 89) so
there can be no escape for the doomed clan.  One example is in the contrast
between the outcomes of two parallel situations where "the older warrior who
encounters a younger warrior * is struck with pity because he is reminded of
his son." (Varley 109)  In one case the father is a Genji warrior, and in
the other a Heike warrior.  In the former case, Naozane, the Genji father,
"is virtually overwhelmed with pity because the warrior*s youth and beauty
remind him of his own son."  (Varley 109)  However, Naozane "is forced to
kill Atsumori [the younger Heiki warrior] because he sees some fifty of his
Minamoto allies riding toward them." (Varley 110)  In the latter case,
Nagatsune, the Heike father, captures the younger Genji warrior, Yukishige.
"When Yukishige gives his name and says he is eighteen years old, Nagatsune
says: *How pitiful!  My son who died last year would this year have been
eighteen. * I will spare you.* " (Varley 109-110)  Later, "Yukishige waits
until Nagatsune is offguard and treacherously stabs him." (Varley 110)  This
contrast of the two episodes shows that when the Genji have the advantage,
they go on to win the fight, whereas when the Heike have the advantage, fate
intercedes and the Genji turn around to win anyway.
        In this manner the tragedy of the Heike runs its course to the bitter end,
until in the last battle at Dan no Ura, where we see that once again any
hopes the clan might have at survival are doomed by fate.  At the start of
the naval battle, the Heike ships are outnumbered by the Genji by roughly
three thousand to one thousand.  Tanzo, superintendent of the Kamano Shrine,
with the advise of the oracle and the outcome of a cockfight, decides to
side his fleet of two hundred with the Genji. (Kitagawa 668)  Even so,
despite the fact that the Heike are outnumbered, "[i]t was difficult to say
which side held the advantage. *  [T]he battle seemed to be going against
the Genji." (Kitagawa 673)  Then, in the midst of the battle, a white banner
floating in the breeze "drifted down onto the bow of one of the Genji boats
* [one] that none of the Genji had ever seen." (Kitagawa 673)  At this,
Yoshitsune declares, "This is truly a sign from the great bodhisattva
Hachiman!" (Kitagawa 674)  The Heike receives an omen as well.  "A large
school of dolphins appeared near the fleet of the Genji." (Kitagawa 674)
The diviner Harenoba announces, "If the dolphins turn back with their mouths
open * the Genji will be destroyed.  But if they continue toward us and swim
under our ships * , we will be in danger." (Kitagawa 674)  The dolphins
continue and swim under the ships, causing the diviner to exclaim, "The end
of the world is at end." (Kitagawa 674)  The final blow comes when
Shigeyochi switches loyalties; "[he] suddenly deserted his position and went
over to the Genji." (Kitagawa 674)  In so doing, he reveals to the Genji the
secret strategy of the Heike, allowing the Genji to make use of it to
vanquish their foe.  In this final battle alone, we see that, according to
the text, the downfall of the Heike is largely determined by fate and godly
intercession.  Though it is undoubtable the fall of the Heike did occur, it
is likely that the overtones of mujo were added by the blind Buddhist
priests during the period when the Heike was still in its malleable,
narrative form.
 References
Kitagawa, H., and Bruce T. Tsuchida.  The Tale of the Heike.  Tokyo:
University of Tokyo Press, 1975.
Varley, Paul.  Warriors of Japan as portrayed in the war tales.  Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, 1994.
 A Critique of the Hojiki
        Written in the same period as the Heike Monogatari, the Hojiki is suffused
too in Buddhist ideas.  Kamo no Chomei, author of the Hojiki, has a
typically Buddhist view of the world; that is, he is very pessimistic, if
not overly so at times.
Those who are powerful are filled with greed; and those who have no
protectors are despised.  Possessions bring many worries; in poverty there
is sorrow. * Wherever one may live, whatever work one may do, is it possible
even for a moment to find a haven for the body or peace for the mind?
(Keene 205)

In any situation Chomei can look at both extremes and see only the bad.  It
is hard to say if this pessimism stems more from the terrible experiences
that he has witnessed in other people, or from self-pity.  Of the former, we
see the pity he takes in the samurai family that lost their child of five or
six:  "His body was crushed flat, with only his two eyes protruding.  His
parents took him in their arms and wailed uncontrollably, * I realized that
even the bravest warrior forget shame-a pitiable but understandable fact."
(Keene 204)  However, according to Sadler, "it was disappointment at not
being allowed to succeed to the ancestral position of Lord Warden of the
Shrine of Kamo in Kyoto that caused [Chomei] to forsake the world and go to
live in the hills," (Sadler i) and Aston shares the same view, stating,
"[Chomei] * petitioned to be allowed to succeed his father as superior
guardian of Kamo, but his prayer was not granted.  This he resented deeply,
and shaving his head, retired to a hermitage on Oharayama, a few miles from
Kioto." (Aston 145)  Therefore, it is possible to conclude that it was more
due to his self-pity than sadness for the world that has caused him to
renounce it, though certainly it is not entirely due to self-pity, as he
says himself that "[m]any things led me to live in seclusion." (Keene 205)
        This being such a pessimistic work, the Buddhist concept of mappo-an
apocalyptic idea of the world entering its final era-is prevalent in the
Hojiki as a recurrent theme.  He starts the work off describing the five
great disasters as witnessed by himself, writing afterwards "All is as I
have described it-the things in the world which make life difficult to
endure." (Keene 204)  Even in the disasters there are comparisons to the
past, laments of the degradation of things.  At the end of the whirlwind
passage, "People said in wonder, *We have whirlwinds all the time, but never
one like this.  It is no common case-it must be a presage of terrible things
to come.* " (Keene 199)  In the moving of the capital, the capital was
eventually move back to its original site, but "[the dismantled houses]
could not all have been re-erected to their former grandeur," (Keene 201)
and he then compares the current government with that of the past, saying
"in the wise reigns of former days the country was ruled with clemency. *
That was because [the emperor] loved his people and sought to help them.  If
we compare present conditions with those of ancient times, we may see how
great is the difference." (Keene 201)  In the famine passage Chomei conveys
a sense of hopelessness:  "Thus the first year of the famine at last drew to
a close.  It was thought that the new year would see an improvement, but it
brought instead the additional affliction of epidemics, and there was no
sign of any amelioration." (Keene 202)  Here, in the comparison of the
successive years of famine he seems to be saying that there is no hope left
in the world, that the end is coming and everything will only get
progressively worse.  Further on, when he had reached the age of sixty and
his "life seems to evaporate like dew," (Keene 206) he says "Before I was
aware, I had become heavy with years, and with each remove my dwelling grew
smaller.  The present hut * is a bare ten feet square and less than seven
feet high," (Keene 206) "not even a hundredth the size of the cottage where
I spent my middle years," (Keene 206), which in turn was "a bare tenth the
size of the house in which [he] had lived." (Keene 205)  The regression of
the size of his lodging is connected to his aging as he himself states, and
this is once again alluding to the idea of mappo, that as the world
continues to age, the achievements of man will erode and fade into nothing.
 References
Aston, W.G.  Japanese Literature.  Londin:  William Heinemann, 1899.
Keene, Donald.  Anthology of Japanese Literature.  New York:  Grove Press, 1955.
Sadler, A.L.  The Ten Foot Square Hut and Tales of the Heike.  Westport,
Connecticut:  Greenwood Press, 1970.
 A Critique of the Tsurezure-Gusa
        Though the Tsurezure-Gusa is a work written in the same style as the Makura
no Soshi, the similarity between the two stops there.  The former is far
more philosophical, with many passages containing words of great wisdom from
the author Kenko Yoshida.  In the passage on the waste of time, he relates
to the following example:
A certain man who was learning archery faced the target with two arrows in
his hand.  But his instructor said, *A beginner ought never to have a second
arrow; for as long as he relies upon the other, he will be careless with the
first one.* (Porter 74)

He goes on after this to describe how the arrows are like time, that when a
person has lots of time to complete a job, "less likely * is he to recognize
the waste of a single moment.  How hard indeed is it to do a thing at
once-now, the instant that you think of it!" (Porter 75)  There is so much
truth to these words, there is a certain timelessness about them that I
think transcends time and culture, applying to anyone anywhere, because it
is such an inherent part of human nature. 
In comparison with Sei Shonagon, there is also much less okashi in Yoshida*s
view of the world than her*s, he being a Buddhist priest.  Even so he
nonetheless does not exhibit the excessive amount of pessimism that Kamo no
Chomei did in the Hojiki.  In the work there are sections that describe
things that he takes delight in:  "A graceful kagura dance is very
delightful.  Among musical instruments generally I love best the pipe and
flageolette, but ever listen with pleasure to the lute and harp also."
(Porter 75)  Even in the dead of winter Yoshida can find sights to give him
pleasure, quite unlike Chomei.  
Well, the bleak wintry landscape has a charm scarcely inferior to that of
autumn.  The crimson maple leaves lying scattered upon the grass at the
lake-side, covered in the morning by the whitest of hoar-frost, and the
vapour rising from the water pipes are very lovely. (Porter 22-23)

Furthermore, there are witty anecdotes, short entertaining tales with
something similar to the punch line of a joke at the end.  The following is
an example, which Porter titles "An Absurd Deduction":
        A man once had a dispute (with another) about a field.  He lost his case at
the Courts and out of pure malice sent his servants to reap it and gather in
the crop.  But on their way thither they first cut another field as they
passed.  (Its owner) asked them, *Why have you done this?  There was never
any question about this field!*  And the reapers made answer, *There is
indeed no justification for cutting this land; but as we have been sent to
commit an offence what matters it where we reap?*
        Surely a very queer argument!  (Porter 157)

There is even to be found a passage in which Yoshida describes a woman in a
manner which, in those days, might be considered inappropriate for a
Buddhist priest:  "the bare unpainted skin of those arms and legs
beautifully glossy and plump!" (Porter 14)  
        In the Tsurezure-Gusa we see that, when compared with the Makura no Soshi,
the former is more philosophical and also contains less of the okashi that
Sei Shonagon seems to see in anything she looks at.  However, when compared
with the Hojiki, another Buddhist work, the former is certainly more
up-lifting than the latter, which wallows in pessimism so much so that the
whole work is just immersed in grief.  Though perhaps these differences can
be thought of as reflections of the authors themselves - Sei Shonagon being
a court lady, Chomei a hermit forced into the Buddhist ways by personal
disasters, and Yoshida a person who willingly chooses to become a Buddhist
priest - the difference in the tone of these three works can also be seen as
a reflection of the times that the three authors lived in.  Shonagon lived
in the middle of the Heian period, a time of peace and tranquility that
allowed culture to flourish, while Yoshida lived at the end of that period,
and was one of the many victims of the many disasters and Gempei war.
Yoshida, being born after the war and living at a time when things have
relatively settled down, strikes a balance between the two authors, being
neither the optimist Shonagon nor the pessimist Chomei.
 References
Porter, William N.  The Miscellany of a Japanese Priest.  Tokyo:  Charles E.
Tuttle Company, 1974.
 A Critique of the Shinkokinshu
        The Shinkokinshu, the eighth imperial anthology, shows a level
sophistication far superior to that of the Kokinshu, the first of the
imperial anthologies compiled about four centuries before.  Perhaps the most
important concept to have emerged from this period is kotoba furuku, kokoro
atarashi, meaning roughly old words with new meanings, or heart.  The
following poem illustrates the idea:
        The bridge of dreams
Floating on the brief spring night
        Soon breaks off:
Now from the mountaintop a cloud
Takes leave into the open sky.  (Brower 262)

Nothing is literal, as most of the lines are either symbolic or allusory.
The " *dream on a spring night,* impl[ies] that the speaker has been
dreaming of love" and " *the floating bridge of dreams.* is an allusion to
the title of the final chapter in the Tale of Genji, the last in a series of
chapters that deal with the passionately romantic but ill-starred affair
between the beautiful Ukifune and the dashing Prince Niou." (Brower 262)
The last two lines indicates the "speaker wakes reluctantly as the *floating
bridge* breaks off before the dream is ended. * As he glances up he sees the
conclusion of his dream: a cloud trailing away into the open sky *takes
leave* of the mountaintop just as the lover must take leave of his beloved."
(Brower 262)  The use of allusion is actually very powerful, as it allows
the poet to conjure up images and feelings that otherwise cannot be
expressed in so few words.  In this poem we see also the concept of yoen,
"ethereal charm" (Brower 513) being applied, with the beautiful but
intangible lover in the dream floating away in the end, taking leave as a
cloud in the sky.
        The idea of kotoba furuku, kokoro atarashi is more clearly illustrated by a
comparison of two verses, one from the Manyoshu and the other a revision of
the former that appears in the Shinkokinshu:
        Emerging from behind
The barrier shadow cast by Tago*s shore,
        I am startled by
The lofty cone of Fuji whitely dazzling
Underneath its newly fallen snow.

        When I emerge
Upon the shore of Tago I observe
        That white as hemp
The lofty cone of Fuji rises
Half-hidden by gently falling snow.  (Brower 273)

Though the words are similar between the two, the former - from the Manyoshu
- is more blunt in describing the feelings of the observer.  "The sudden
revelation of Fuji is retained, but the grandeur and the clarity of the
surprise are changed to beauty and mystery." (Brower 273)  Also, the change
from "newly fallen snow" to "half-hidden by gently falling snow" further
adds to the mystery surrounding the mountain, a device called yugen, meaning
"mystery and depth" (Brower 514), and the ethereal beauty, yoen, is present
as well.
        Another striking difference between the Shinkokinshu and the Kokinshu
besides the kokoro atarashi, or perhaps because of it, is the difference in
the proportion of nouns and verbs.  In a comparison between similar love
poems by Komachi in the Kokinshu and Shunzei*s daughter in the Shinkokinshu,
"Komachi uses only two nouns, whereas Shunzai*s daughter uses six; moreover,
Komachi uses six verbs, including five highly inflected ones, whereas the
three verbs in Shunzei*s daughter*s poem have little inflection." (Brower
274)  Even in general, "[o]nly 52 poems in the Kokinshu terminate in nouns
whereas in the Shinkokinshu the number is 456." (Brower 275)  The reason for
this is simply that nouns are more useful as imagery devices, and when
placed at the end of a sentence tends to create some degree of mystery;
"[Shunzei*s daughter*s] poem is made inconclusive by its final noun."
(Brower 274)  As a result, there is in the poems of Shinkokinshu a level of
sophistication unmatched by those found in the Kokinshu.
 References
Brower, R.H., and Earl Miner.  Japanese Court Poetry.  Stanford, California:
Stanford University Press, 1961.
 A Critique of the Noh Drama
The noh drama, which is performed on a stage with scarcely any props,
entertains its audience not by fancy visual effects that modern
drama-television and movies-incorporates, but calls on the audience to use
their imagination in viewing this genre.  Mostly it accomplishes this
through the movements of the actors, their masks, and the music to which the
play progresses.  "In performance, (noh) plays may be, and often are,
enjoyed simply as a sequence of sights and sounds - of dance and musical
forms." (Tyler 4)  However, in studying the literary value of the text
itself, these vital components of the noh drama are missing, and in many
cases it is hard to visualize the atmosphere that the author originally
intends to accompany the story with.  
The text of the play Aya no Tsuzumi though is very evocative in creating an
appropriate atmosphere.  One literary device that the playwright, who
probably is the famous Zeami (Tyler 49), uses is symbolism.  The damask drum
is hung on a laurel tree, known as the "tree that grows in the moon.  The
drum itself stands for the moon, as motifs in poetry and other plays
attest." (Tyler 50)  The moon in turn is a symbolism of love, as "[i]n
poetry, separated lovers take comfort in the thought that both may be
watching the same moon." (Tyler 50)  Therefore, the beating of the drum by
the old gardener becomes the climax of the first part of the play; the
outcome will determine success of this romance.  The anticipation is
heightened by the impatient urgings of the official, who on two occasions
say, "Quickly now, go and beat the drum," (Tyler 51), and "This is the drum,
you see.  Beat it now.  Quickly!" (Tyler 51)
Into this charged atmosphere of high anticipation Zeami casts doubt into the
possibility of the drum sounding, by having the old man state, "all I care
is that a beaten drum must surely sound." (Tyler 52)  By stating the
obvious, the playwright actually plants the seeds of doubt into the minds of
the audience; they are now aware that the drum sounding is now not a
certainty.  He then follows this with foreshadowing the outcome of this
part, having the old gardener say "the afterworld approaches." (Tyler 52)
Much pathos is evoked in audience for the old gardener in the phrases "To
think a poor old man, an aged crane already lost in night, must suffer yet
the agonies of passion!" (Tyler 52) and calling him a "[h]elpless victim of
love*s tangled coil." (Tyler 52)  The sympathy of the audience is brought a
climax at the moment just before he strikes the drum, by revealing the
deception of the consort unknown still to the gardener, who says "I leap to
look abroad, to glimpse, perhaps, the one for whom I burn, not knowing hers
to be a damask drum," (Tyler 52) and the sympathy continues as he
disbelievingly exclaims "My blows make no sound!  Can it be old age has
turned me deaf? * Is it this drum?  But why does it not sound?" (Tyler
52-53)  Thus the feeling of sadness is most dominant in the first part, and
it is effectively achieved through the use of many literary devices in the text.
In the second part, the mood is dramatically changed, with the phantom of
the gardener returning to seek revenge on the consort.  This part starts off
with the official foreshadowing the terror to come, saying "The old man *
cast himself into Laurel Pond and died.  Such a being*s clinging passion is
very much to be feared.  Do go discreetly to the pond to see for yourself."
(Tyler 54)  For the remainder of this part, the terror is created mainly
with the diction in the text, beginning with an uneasiness as the official
exclaims "O strange, strange!  Her Highness seems not herself.  What can
have possessed her?" (Tyler 55)  Upon the entrance of the phantom, words
like "hate" and "grief" occurs regularly, and in his vengence, he "threatens
her, hellish whip raised high," (Tyler 56) and "her own voice bursts forth,
wailing: Horror, horror!" (Tyler 56)  Hence, we see that the text of is very
powerful in stirring up emotions in its audience; if seen with the
accompanying actors and music, this would surely be a play worth watching.
 References
Tyler, Royall.  Japanese No Dramas.  Toronto:  Penguin Books Canada Ltd., 1992.

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