Malcolm, right, a tea ceremony teacher, dressed in kimono for the occasion (photo by Kirsty Kawano)
Malcolm Ledger lives in a remarkable house, a restored ryokan situated by a wooded mountain stream in Kyoto’s north-west. So special is the setting that the prestigious Aman franchise chose it for the location of their Kyoto hotel.
Though billed as a maple-viewing party, the event was more of a socialising and networking occasion. The maples this year are simply not so pretty this year. Far from being spectacular in red, they are a rather dirty brown. The cause is said to lie in the heat of summer and a lack of water, weakening the trees’ capacity to produce the usual effect.
Every cloud has a silver lining, and the lack of maple splendour led to more time for drinking and eating the generous pot-luck selections. As well as a short outing along the stream that runs past the remarkable rocky open basement, the occasion provided an opportunity for Rebecca Otowa to tell the group of her latest publication, a labour of love detailing the many fascinating objects in her venerable old house. Thanks to her, and a big thank you to Malcolm.
The disappointing maple colours
Rebecca Otowa, centre right, discussing her recent self-published book (photo by Malcolm Ledger)
Rebecca holds up some of the illustrations she did for “100 Objects in My Japanese House“. (photo John Dougill)
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To see a review of Rebecca’s book, please click here. Malcolm was the winner of this year’s Japan Local Prize for “Plum Tree by the Eaves”, depicting an ancient tree which embodies the sophistication and elegance of the Heian Period. For pictures of Malcolm’s house and the glorious maples of 2020, please see this report by Felicity Tillack. For Malcolm’s prose and poetry, please run a search on this website.
Recently I reviewed a travel book by Alex Kerr, Hidden Japan (Tuttle, 2023), and in that review I extolled the virtues of “armchair travel” (traveling in one’s imagination instead of physically). At the same time as I was writing that review, I was also reading John Dougill’s Off the Beaten Tracks in Japan (Stonebridge Press, 2023), which I would also recommend as an excellent “armchair travel” book. These two books will be forever coupled in my mind. They are very different in content and in organization, but they are both invitations to read about, rather than run off and visit, out-of the-way spots in Japan.
The title is “Off the Beaten Tracks” rather than the more usual form of the expression, “off the beaten track”. I inferred that the author was calling attention to his journey, which was by train, on train tracks. At the same time, the trains he took, from the northernmost point of Hokkaido to the southernmost point of Kyushu, were on the Japan Sea coast rather than the more populous and better known Pacific side (the left side rather than the right of the Japanese archipelago if one looks at a map). In this sense, the trains he took were indeed “off the beaten tracks” and on less well-known ones.
However, this is not a train buff’s guide. The trains themselves are rather unobtrusive, except for a small historical note at the end of each chapter giving interesting details about the various lines. Actually, Dougill frequently parted company with the train tracks, using branch lines or other forms of transport, in order to visit sites not on them. However, the peculiarly Japanese feel of train travel, clean, quiet and on time, which seems to be enough to induce a meditative state, especially on slower trains, is always present. This interior-looking mood pervades the book, even when the author is not traveling.
The author makes no bones about this not being an ordinary guidebook. In the Preface he writes, “This is not a conventional travel guide… my journey draws rather on over thirty years of cultural immersion to give a personal account of the fascination that Japan holds for foreigners.” Elsewhere he cites the saying that if one wants to write about Japan, one should do so after three weeks or thirty years. Long-term residents of Japan, giving this saying some thought, would probably agree. In between, a lot of forgetting and a lot of learning happens.
This is indeed a deeply personal book. The author tells us about his father’s occupation as a vet leading to a lifelong love of animals, his long-term partnership with a Kyoto woman, and of course his fascination with Japan, based on decades of astute observation, always shines out. This quality of careful observation is enough to make the most jaded and cynical Japan resident fall in love all over again, in a sort of “Hey, I had forgotten about that” way.
John Dougill is following in some illustrious footsteps. He cites many foreign travelers who have covered some of the same ground, including Alan Booth, author of The Roads to Sata (Penguin, 2021), Isabella Bird, the first foreign woman to travel alone in Japan, Ranald MacDonald, who came from Canada to Hokkaido and then to Nagasaki, where he became arguably the first English teacher in Japan, and several others.
His eye rests on many fascinating things on his travels, but he never forgets to include down-to-earth pleasures such as details of memorable meals, hot spring visits, barefoot treks across beach stones, etc. He also gives many interesting historical vignettes, not only remote history but also more recent historical landmarks, such as the racial discrimination case that started in an Otaru bathhouse in the 1990s.
I learned many things by reading this book and was not too tempted to put some of the places as “must-sees” on my personal itinerary. But one place I have never visited, and now thanks to Dougill’s expertise and love of Shinto, I now consider a “must-see”, is the shrine of Izumo in Shimane Prefecture. I knew that October was called “the month of no gods” (kannazuki) but I did not know that this is because the gods of Shinto visit Izumo during this month from all over Japan, resulting in this month being called “the month with the gods” (kamiarizuki) in Izumo. The author was once privileged to see the ceremony welcoming the gods to Izumo at a nearby beach. This description alone made the book worth the read for me.
The book is divided into five sections, and these divisions are easy to see, thanks to the grey pages introducing them. Each section has a map at the beginning showing the places Dougill visited, and there is also a map showing the entire route. There are also photos of places and things touched on in the text.
Off the Beaten Tracks in Japan is another book that argues for a return to “armchair travel” and an avoidance of the well-known (some would say too well known) tourist spots, in favor of a heartwarming personal account of a life spent exploring Japan, with a background of trains clacking serenely through the landscape.
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John Dougill is the founder of Writers in Kyoto, author of numerous books on Japan including Japanʼs World Heritage Sites (Tuttle, 2014), In Search of Japanʼs Hidden Christians (Tuttle, 2012) and Kyoto: A Cultural History (Signal/OUP, 2004). He also runs the Green Shinto blog. A longer introduction can be found here, and a listing of his available books here.
A Flash of Lightning On Reading David Joiner’s The Heron Catchers Review by Rebecca Copeland
Herons are lithe, elegant birds. Gliding over water, nesting in fields, or soaring through the air, the heron’s perceived ability to transcend the elements has led to fabulous fairytales, stately dances, and sublime paintings. Haiku poet Matsuo Bashō wrote verses about the heron and artist Ohara Koson immortalized the bird in woodblock prints. Now novelist David Joiner adds to our collection of heron lore and love with his hauntingly beautiful The Heron Catchers, published by Stone Bridge Press.
Set within the quiet green abundance of the Yamanaka Onsen village, some distance from the picturesque castle city of Kanazawa, The Heron Catchers promises a lovely idyll of rural life. As charming as rural life may appear from a distance, however, it too is rife with conflict and pain. Shortly after the novel opens, readers are confronted with treachery. Here, main character Sedge visits the famous Kenrokuen garden, at the heart of Kanazawa, to meet a woman:
He stood on a short wooden bridge over a stream winding away from Kasumagaike pond, admiring a newly blossoming cherry tree, and pines here and there recently freed from their protective winter yukitsuri ropes, when a snapping of branches made him spin around. To his astonishment, a wild boar burst from a bush, colliding with a heron upstream and sending a cloud of feathers in the air (10).
Sedge springs into action, covering the injured heron’s head with his jacket to both calm the bird as he attempts to rescue it while simultaneously protecting himself from its razor-sharp beak.
Treachery comes in other forms, too. Soon we learn that Sedge has been deeply wounded by his wife’s infidelity. Nozomi has run off with the talented but volatile potter, Kōichi,—taking with her all of Sedge’s savings—and leaving Sedge the impossible task of running their Kanazawa craft store with no capital. Nozomi’s brother, mostly in an effort to protect the family name, invites Sedge to spend time at the inn he owns not far away in Yamanaka Onsen. Sedge can teach the employees English for room and board. It turns out that one of the inn’s employees, Mariko, is married to Kōichi, the man who ran off with Sedge’s wife.
When the rules at the inn become too oppressive—particularly those that prevent Sedge from seeing Mariko romantically—Sedge decides to strike out on his own. Or rather, he moves in with Mariko. The comfort their strange alliance offers is threatened by the presence of Kōichi’s teenage son, Riku, who lives with Mariko. He, more so than the adults, has been hurt by life’s cruelties. Like the injured heron, he is frightened and dangerous, lashing out at any who try to approach him.
Will Sedge and Mariko be able to find the solace they need to heal their own damaged hearts? Will they be able to rescue Riku? What has happened to Nozomi, Kōichi, and the money? These and other questions propel the narrative forward. But more than the trace of a plot, readers are captivated by the understated beauty of the prose and its shimmery profundity. There are truths buried here, truths about the fragile persistence of sorrow and love and hope. We brush up against them as we read but hardly notice.
When they reached the shrine, Mariko waved him to a narrower path he hadn’t noticed, which wound behind the shrine and through a copse of sugi trees. In a minute they emerged on the opposite side of the mountain, lower than where they’d been. Here the view opened even more. Despite the highway near the ocean, where cars were small as ants, he sensed that no one in the world could find them here (95).
We follow the characters as they travel deeper in their journey towards healing, a journey that takes them deeper into the mysteries and beauty of nature. There are missteps along the way. We watch as the characters stumble, uncertain in their pain. And, we celebrate with them, too, when they learn to staunch their hurts as surely as they bind a heron’s broken wing.
Given my background in Japanese literature, I could not help but think of the folk-tale of the heron wife while reading the pairing of Mariko and Sedge.
In the Japanese folk-tale, a young man comes across a wounded heron, and he takes it in and nurses it back to health. When the heron has regained the use of its wings, he releases it, and the heron flies away.
Time passes and the young man meets a beautiful woman with whom he falls in love. They marry and live happily together. The young wife weaves cloth, which the man sells, and the two are able to support themselves.
But the wife places a constraint upon the man: He must never observe her while she is weaving. Of course, the young man cannot resist the temptation to look, and when he does he sees a heron at the loom.
Now that her secret has been exposed, the heron wife can no longer remain in the human world. She returns to her flock, leaving the man bereft.
In The Heron Catchers as well there is an importance placed on seeing, control, and the power of knowing. In one scene, Sedge’s desire to see Mariko’s naked body in the moonlight reads with mythic overtones.
She led him into her bedroom. Of the three curtained windows along her walls, only the one behind her futon had been left open for the sky to pour its light inside. It was enough to see her figure when she slid her yukata off, light and darkness moving over her body: her nipples, her navel, the space beneath her armpits, the barely visible bars of shadow between her ribs, the constellation of scars—the sea of skin that surrounded these things like water keeping islands afloat (172).
Unexpectedly, this romantic scene leads to tragic results that threaten to unravel the domestic happiness the two have struggled to achieve. This scene, and the one cited above, suggest the tug at work in the novel to get to the heart of some hidden meaning—to understand, to know, to read “the constellation of scars.” Much of the novel, therefore, carries readers into the characters’ inner worlds where time swirls round and round unanswered questions.
In an online interview between publisher Peter Goodman and author David Joiner, Goodman observes that David’s American characters do not walk through his narratives like the questioning outsider. The story does not draw attention to their otherness or make it the point of conflict but rather integrates them within their landscapes in a very natural way. The comment is astute. Readers know that Sedge is American, but we are never told what he looks like, what race, what religion, or any other identifiers. Rather, we identify with Sedge in a much more universal way, as a human being on a quest. “I want my characters to be on equal footing linguistically and even in some respects culturally,” Joiner noted to Goodman in response, “that allows me to go a lot deeper in their interactions with each other.”
And, deeper we go.
Part of the cultural landscape that Joiner’s characters explore is shared with haiku poet Matsuo Bashō, who traveled through Yamanaka Onsen and Kanazawa on his celebrated journey into “the deep north.” For all his barbs and hard edges, the boy Riku is drawn to Bashō and his poetry. When Sedge asks him why Bashō made the trip, Riku replies that he did it to “escape the pain and sorrow of this world” (169). For Riku, haiku is an escape. For The Heron Catchers, Bashō’s journey offers the characters a model for the momentary epiphanies life offers. In the space between these sudden realizations, Sedge, Mariko, and even Riku take their own journeys deep into the interior where they are able to bind their wounds, meditate, and return.
Matsuo Bashō wrote a few poems on the heron. This one seems most appropriate to this novel:
inazuma ya a flash of lightning
yami no kata yuku into the gloom
goi no koe goes the heron’s cry.
Translated by Geoffrey Bownas and
Anthony Thwaite
Author David Joiner, a Writers in Kyoto member, was born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, but now makes his home in Kanazawa. The Heron Catchers is his third novel and will be available from Stone Bridge Press and other online outlets from November 21, 2023.
Joiner’s second novel Kanazawa, also published by Stone Bridge Press (2022), was named as a Foreword Reviews Indie Finalist for multicultural novels. See the review by Rebecca Otowa.
Reviewer, Rebecca Copeland, also a WiK member, is Professor of Japanese at Washington University in St. Louis, a translator, and a novelist. The Kimono Tattoo, set in Kyoto, was reviewed by Rebecca Otowa for WiK on July 6, 2023.
Robert Weis has a passion for Japan, and for Kyoto in particular. ‘It’s my spiritual home,’ he says. He draws inspiration from its famous and not so famous spots, and for WiK’s fifth anthology he wrote of the significance of mountains around Kyoto. His appreciation of trees, especially maples, is evident in his writing. ‘When I think of Japan,’ he writes, ‘the first thing that comes to mind is the symphony of colorful leaves during fall.’
Robert lives in Luxembourg, and at an informal gathering at Ted Taylor’s house he disclosed that he is fluent in five European languages. As well as the Luxembourg language, he knows German, French, English and Italian. Given that, and his prolific writing, it comes as a surprise to learn that he is a scientist by profession. A paleontologist who is also a poet.
Robert’s poetic side has resulted in a self-published collection entitled, A Tiny Nature, and he read out several of his which spoke to “the heart of things’. For his reading, Robert selected poems about the spirit of place in some of Kyoto’s special ‘power spots’, such as Kiyotaki. Robert’s aim in the collection was to make his readers see ‘the beauty within’. He also talked of his liking for bonsai, and what caring for the diminutive creations means to him. Not so much a matter of gardening, but a practical way of appreciating Japanese values.
Though Robert lives in Luxembourg, he actively pursues his life-long fascination with Japan and has made eleven visits so far. This time he was involved with Shugendo contacts. Evidence of his close connection with the country came last year when he organised an exhibition for Luxembourg’s national museum on Japan’s engagement with the environment, which featured several WiK members. His next visit to Japan is scheduled for 2025. We look forward to hearing him again, and whatever project his Japanophilia inspires him to next.
Cody Poulton makes a point to which Robert responds
A convivial and literary gathering
About the author: Robert Weis works as a natural scientist, and nature is also at the core of his non-fiction and poetry writing. In 2022 he published, together with Davide S. Sapienza, the travelogue Rocklines — a Geopoetic Journey Across Minett Unesco Biosphere (Editions Phi, Luxembourg). He is a contributor to Luxembourgish travel magazine Diariesof, the French Japanophile magazine Ryoko and Japan-based Kyoto Journal as well as Writers in Kyoto anthologies. His first poetry volume, Rêves d’un mangeur de kakis (Michikusa Publishing) came out in January 2023. In summer 2023, the travel narrative Retour à Kyoto (Editions Transboréal) was released. Visit him at www.theroutetokyoto.com.
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For his article on bonsai, see here. For an excerpt from the self-published volume A tiny nature – recollections of poems and trees (August 2023), available from Amazon, click here.
On Sunday, October 29, Writers in Kyoto had the honour and pleasure of a lunchtime talk by Japanese garden expert, Marc Keane. After some twenty years in Japan, when he not only studied about Japanese gardens but designed them, he returned to America where he taught at Cornell University before relocating recently back to Kyoto.
Marc’s presentation focused on the nine books he has written, plus the three books he is currently working on. As well as being published by the two leading Japan specialists, Tuttle and Stone Bridge Press, he has also self-published books, being adept at computers and design. His publications on Japanese gardens, such as The Art of Setting Stones, have won worldwide acclaim not only for their insight into the aesthetics involved, but for the quality of the language. Given his work with translations of Japanese garden poetry, it was understandable that he is branching out himself into literary writing.
Remarkably, Marc told us he is currently working on three books at the same time. One has to do with bonsai, one to do with how we name things of the world, and one an ambitious work of fiction on the theme of empathy. All three sounded appealing, but the one about naming was the most intriguing, coming over as a charming folk tale with an Alan Watts message negating the notion of separation and asserting oneness with the environment. Question and answer followed over coffee, when it became clear that Marc wrote neither for money or fame but for the love of writing. It is fair to say that readers of his books get to be the beneficiaries.
A display of Marc’s books showing their year of publication. As well as translation, there are some heavily researched works which take an average of three years to complete.
The event took place in a private room of the Garden Palace Hotel overlooking a Japanese ‘wet garden’, complete with carp.
This year’s Japan Writers Conference was held at Sugiyama Jogakuen University in Nagoya on October 14-15. Presentation topics ranged from English-teaching textbooks to budging writer’s block, using technology, and building fantasy worlds. The conference covered a lot of genres and offered a lot of inspiration and motivation for writers to not only continue their work, but also to expand it. You can see details about the conference here.
Throughout the weekend there were usually three choices of presentations, with one room dedicated to poetry. The more popular presentations tended to have around 40 participants, and considering that presenters were advised to prepare about 15 handouts if they were using them, it seems that this year’s conference was particularly well attended.
All presenters were friendly, open and generous, often sharing their contact details with the audience. This atmosphere was true for all participants and there was a lot of networking and information-sharing. Some of that took place at the Saturday night conference dinner. The sole WiK presenter was Suzanne Kamata whose talk was entitled, “This is the Best Book I’ve Ever Read: Some Thoughts on Endorsements”. She also had a quality-rich section in the book room of presenters’ publications.
Suzanne Kamata’s section in the book room.
One of the topics that was mentioned multiple times during the conference was self-publishing, with some of the presenters choosing to release their books that way. One reason given for that decision was that their book profits go straight to them rather than to a publisher. It was surprising to hear of someone making good money from self-publishing, but author Hildred Billings says that is what she does. She describes writing as her small business and writes to meet the needs of her market, which is lesbian romance fiction—fans of which expect a title each month. She uses Amazon Kindle direct publishing and was one of the writers who noted that Kindle Unlimited pays per word that is read.
Billings’ presentation was on making money in independent publishing, which she says requires meeting the needs of three areas; 1) book packaging, which is the cover, blurb and editing; 2) cultivating one’s readership, through Facebook, other social media and newsletters; 3) networking, such as attending the conference.
Even if you never envisage your own writing as a money-making venture, as an event for writers the JWC acts as a venue where people who see wonder in the world gather—and that’s good for the soul.
Those who are familiar with the JWC will know that John Gribble, who was the head organizer for 15 years, has passed the baton to Kartika Lestari. As of the end of the conference, the venue for next year was still undecided. It is held around the same time each year, usually at a different venue each time.
Book room where presenters are allowed to promote, display and sell their publications.
Report by Lisa Twaronite Sone of a workshop given by Felicity Tillack, Sept. 23, 2023 at Ryukoku University Omiya Campus
Writers in Kyoto member Felicity Tillack, a writer, director and cinematographer, held a screenwriting workshop for WiK members late last month, in which she offered far more than writing tips.
Tillack candidly shared insight based on her own experience, and allowed the audience a look at the nuts and bolts of writing a script and then turning it into an independent film. The event gave attendees a look into another world, which challenged our preconceptions of filmmaking. At least I know it challenged mine.
Her workshop came shortly before the debut of Tillack’s latest project, Dis/Connected, a bilingual series of short episodes – some of them musical – exploring how technology can both bridge and fracture human connections, through the interactions of its four characters. A new episode is released each day on Instagram, starting this month: https://www.instagram.com/dis_connectedseries/.
Tillack began the workshop by asking participants to go around the room and write their answers to various questions, such as how film is different from/similar to other genres, what is needed to make a film, etc. She then passed out copies of actual film scripts – her own, as well as others written by both amateurs and professionals – and we broke into smaller groups to discuss them before everyone reassembled to share our observations and questions with each other.
Here’s a true confession: most of what I knew about the film industry, I learned from living in Los Angeles for about five years in the mid-1990s. Almost everyone I encountered there, from my dentist to the woman who rang up my groceries, seemed to be involved in film in some way – auditioning for roles, trying to get people at studios to read their treatments, pitching ideas to whoever would listen. Our next-door neighbor was a visual effects artist, and we watched the credits at the end of Titanic to see his name among thousands of others. Even so-called “low-budget indie” films seemed to require funding equal to some small countries’ annual GDP, so I came to believe that it was impossible to make any kind of film without first raising a significant chunk of cash.
To my surprise, Tillack told us that her 2019 debut feature film, Impossible to Imagine, was made for around a million yen. (See the review by Jann Williams.) Tillack showed clips from it at her workshop, and summarized it for those of us (including me) who had not seen it.
Ami Shimizu, played by Yukiko Ito, is a Kyoto woman struggling to keep her late mother’s kimono rental shop afloat. She hires Hayato Arai, a biracial Japanese business consultant played by William Yagi Lewis, to give her advice on how to attract some of the foreign tourists thronging to the city. The two develop a romantic connection despite their different backgrounds and experiences. The film takes its title from Ami’s inability to picture any kind of shared life together with Hayato, despite their strong feelings for each other.
A few weeks after Tillack’s event, I watched Impossible to Imagine with my 21-year old biracial son, who grew up mostly in Tokyo. We both enjoyed it, and recognized some of the Kyoto locations. I was happy to hear him say he didn’t share most of the Arai character’s identity problems of being caught between two worlds and not fitting in anywhere. But my son said he recognizes that his life might have been quite different had he grown up in a more conservative part of Japan – such as Kyoto, where he’s made countless trips over the years to visit his paternal grandparents.
A native of Australia, Tillack now lives in Kyoto herself after stints in several other cities since she moved to Japan in 2006. She started creating videos in 2012 for her Youtube channel “Where Next Japan” before she turned to making documentaries, which led her into other kinds of filmmaking.
While her successful projects were surely built on her many years of hard work and persistence, Tillack’s WiK workshop demystified many aspects of filmmaking for me, and made it look…well, perhaps still not easy, but certainly possible.
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Impossible to Imagine can be viewed on Amazon Japan. A version with English subtitles is available on Vimeo (click here) or Tubi (click here).
For a listing of Felcity Tillack’s articles and films from 2015-2020. see her Kansai Scene page.
What an honor to hold the newest book by author Rebecca Otowa in my hands. Inspired at Miidera Temple by a picture showing “100 Views of Miidera” in the style of small cards, 100 Objects in My Japanese House contains intricate, colorful images drawn by the author and divided into three broad categories: Exterior, Deities, and Interior. Those who are familiar with Rebecca’s other published works, in particular At Home in Japan (Tuttle 2010), understand her deep familiarity with Japanese customs, and that much of this connection was founded in a relationship with the centuries-old farmhouse she has resided in continuously since 1986. 100 Objects in My Japanese House provides an even deeper glimpse into the author’s immediate surroundings – a dragon bronze incense holder, a black and white photograph, a heavenly bamboo plant, a traditional sewing box, a futon fabric design, a summer neck pillow, and many others. A particular favorite of mine is the old stone wall in front of the house (pictured below) because it captures so well the gray, brown, and yellowed hues which come with the passing of time.
In addition to the 100 drawings, which all include explanations in both English and Japanese, Rebecca has chosen yuzen paper for the front and back covers, as well as the use of yotsume toji – the traditional method of stab binding which was introduced to Japan in the Muromachi Period and remained popular until the Meiji Period. Such inspiration came to Rebecca in a dream and was appealing because of her personal aversion towards computers and complications which come with modern-day digital self-publishing.
Creation of this special limited edition included the following steps (in order), as detailed by the author:
1. Draw the pictures (all images drawn by the author over a period of three years)
2. Take photos of the pictures (taken by a friend/professional photographer during four visits over the course of a year, paid for by the author herself)
3. Set up the photos and captions in preparation for printing (done on the author’s personal computer using Microsoft Word, which was then saved in PDF format)
3. Copy the PDFs (While initially washi paper was considered, it was too difficult and expensive, so regular printing paper was purchased from a local stationery store. 900 pages were required.)
4. Fold all pages in half (by the author herself, and required for yotsume-toji binding)
5. Put the folded pages in book order (by the author herself, and for the limited edition of 30 copies)
6. Purchase yuzen paper for the covers (bought by at the author at a paper shop in Nagahama, Shiga Prefecture; One sheet makes three covers. The paper shop staff provided introduction to a factory for traditional binding.)
7. Take books to the binder and provide special explanations, such as the need to bind the book on the left instead of the right (as is the style of most traditional books printed in Japanese)
8. Wait three weeks
9. Make title labels for the cover and glue them on, sign and number books (by the author herself)
Total Cost:Approximately 2000 USD
Kudos to Rebecca on carrying out her envisioned project to the end, which shows us that such special creations are still possible without the use of too much complicated technology and a reliance on an outside publisher. 100 Objects in My Japanese House is a unique work of art and a significant contribution toward keeping alive the knowledge of both countryside and traditional Japanese living.
Left: Completed book with handwritten title label; Right: Example page (with old stone wall)
From the Judges: “Kimonos can’t speak — not beyond their symbols and designs — or can they? Upon reading this beautiful story, which carries the generous feeling of a ritual, the judges noted that the serenity of both Buddhist temples and silk kimono are parallel. An unusual viewpoint brings to life the story of a young girl’s relationship to her beloved garment, which honors her various rites of passage. Well-crafted images evoke detailed visions in the mind’s eye.”
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Butterfly
As my designs were birthed in Aobana dye, patterns spread across seams, Yuzen paint permeated every corner, so she also was born, birthed in flesh, fragile limbs spread wide, loud cries permeated every corner. Never will I forget our first shrine visit on her Omiyamairi to Heian Jingu Shrine. Draped over her doll-like shoulders, my sleeves gently flapped in the soft breeze like butterfly wings. After the priest intoned prayers in his sonorous voice, she and I were carried home beneath the Shidare Zakura trees that waved gently in the wind.
Wrapped in crisp paper, I was placed in a dark drawer until I was sent to the seamstress a few years later, her nimble hands stitched in more length. Back to Heian Jingu Shrine we went, this time the butterfly large enough to wear her wings. The priest intoned his prayers and bestowed a few candies. We walked home beneath amber-hued Momiji maples, the bells in her small zori shoes jingling with every step.
I was wrapped, then placed in the same dark drawer until the ritual repeated a few years later. Then, it was a long wait before I was again sent to the seamstress, her nimble hands a little more wrinkled than before, my seam lengthened for a gangly girl who resembled yet differed from the child I knew. At Horin-ji Temple, she wrote something on paper and received brocaded packets from the priest.
Several years later, my next visit to the seamstress was my last. For the last time, I walked with my child, now a woman, to Heian Jingu Shrine, graceful as the winter peony in her hair. While she smiled, surrounded by friends, I saw she was cherished just as much as I was cherished as I watched over her these many years.
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Anne Roskowski was born and raised near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (USA). She currently works as a teacher while studying to be a Japanese to English translator and interpreter. Her dream is to one day move to Japan to explore the language and regional cultures through work and travel around the country. Anne developed a passion for the beauty and history of kimono last year when she began taking lessons in kimono dressing. She was inspired to write her piece after attending a kimono tailoring seminar, wherein she heard about a grandmother who had a kimono specially made for her granddaughter.
Anne has dedicated “Butterfly” to her kimono instructor, for passing unto her invaluable skills and a love for kimono.
Anne Roskowski with Cherry Blossoms
For the full list of this year’s competition winners, click here. For the original competition notice (with prize details), click here.
Thank you to everyone who participated in the competition this year. Guidelines and prizes for the Ninth Annual Kyoto Writing Competition will be posted on the Writers in Kyoto website in November. We hope to receive your submission for the next round.
Andrew writes: “Anger is an emotion that you seldom see expressed in Japan. I did however once see an old man at a festival repeatedly try to start a fight in front of a large crowd with a rather reluctant participant who simply bowed in response each time. The spectacle became more interesting than whatever was on stage at the time. Ten or so years later, I wondered what it would be like to reunite the two together: the conflict of living with anger management issues in a society where it is very much frowned upon.”
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He’d only gone and done it again. Sitting on a barrel, Satoshi clutched a single bottle and surveyed the damage. Jagged shards of glass like shark’s teeth glinted menacingly under the strip lights of the stock room. Surrounded by a sea of alcohol that permeated the senses and intoxicated the very air he breathed, his head began to swim. He ran his thumb over a small salamander on the label that indicated this was a bottle of the brewery’s flagship product, his pride and joy. He knew that he really had gone too far. Having destroyed most of his stock, it was the last remaining bottle – the only one that met the strict standards passed down from one generation to the next. Slipping it safely under his arm, he walked outside to where the moonlight glinted off a river that ran past the centuries-old sake brewery and headed back into the sanctity of the family house.
“Okaeri nasai,” Satoshi’s wife greeted him as she fussed over a frying pan, the sound of a family game console being played in the background. Satoshi left his shoes in the entrance hall and stepped over the threshold where his two daughters, Haruka and Maho, ran to greet him, each grabbing a leg as he struggled to walk into the living room.
“Daddy, did you bring us any sweets today?”
“Oh. Ah!” he slapped his forehead in fake incredulity as he gave them a disappointed look, “I forgot to go to the stall on the way home, sorry!”
“But you promised,” one of them shot back as she stuck out her bottom lip.
“Ah, but wait just a minute. Maybe I put them…here?” He pulled two slabs of rainbow-striped youkan wrapped in plastic from his jacket pocket and handed them out. The girls cheered and gave their dad a hug before running back to their game of Mario Kart.
“No sweets before dinner, thank you,” came a voice as Michiko emerged from the kitchen with a large plate of watermelon slices, “and you, don’t forget your appointment tomorrow morning.” “What appointment’s that, daddy?” asked Haruka as she struggled to pour a heavy bottle of barley tea into her glass.
“Oh, er. The dentist. Yes. Got to get the old teeth checked up, ah, or the tooth goblin will get me,” he said while pouring the tea for her.
“The tooth goblin?”
“Daddy’s just telling silly stories again. Isn’t he?” said Michiko as her eyes shot daggers at her husband.
“Oh, but I saw that old goblin around here just the other day. He was asking if there were any young girls who hadn’t been brushing their teeth.”
“Enough! There’s no tooth goblin.”
“Daddy’s being silly again,” parroted Maho as she took a bite of watermelon.
“Will the dentist give you some youkan, daddy?” asked Haruka.
“Maybe. Although the tooth goblin said I shouldn’t eat too many sweets. He doesn’t like people who eat sweets, especially youkan.” Michiko watched as her daughter’s eyes widened.
“Yes, anyway. Daddy’s just joking, girls.”
“Yes, there’s no tooth goblin. But don’t forget to brush your teeth before you go to bed, or you might turn into a pair of goblins.”
“Hai,” they both said in unison.
Later that night, with the girls fast asleep in bed, Satoshi slipped on his wooden geta sandals, closed the front door quietly behind him, and headed down a narrow stone path into the balmy summer night. The sound of crickets chirruped, and above, a billion stars sparkled in a bottomless pool of black. After lighting a cigarette and opening a small, glass jar of sake, he exhaled a plume of smoke and watched the river as it patiently gurgled across rocks made smooth over millions of years. The river had all the time in the world. It had no need to rush, no pressing concerns around koji fungus, sake contests, or optimal fermentation conditions.
It had been several weeks since his last outburst had strained the family’s finances and brought things into sharp focus and he had decided to do something about it. Stubbing out his cigarette, he took a final swig of the Ozeki One-cup sake his wife had brought home from the supermarket. “Ah, cheap rubbish,” he winced before tipping it into the river. He couldn’t be late for his one o’clock appointment and needed to have a clear head.
The next day, Satoshi sat hunched over the steering wheel of his car as he waited for the traffic lights to change. The lush fields and fresh air of the countryside had given way to the smog of the city. The traffic and maze of roads added to the fact that he was already running late and made him irritable. He turned the air conditioner up and massaged his head. His shirt clung to his back in the humidity of summer as a rivulet of sweat ran under his arm. This was why he rarely ventured out beyond the peace and tranquillity of Ikuno—that had been the doctor’s recommendation. Outside, a pneumatic drill hammered relentlessly as several men operated machinery, another bowing to the traffic in a carefully executed lesson in how to do road construction.
The sign changed to green. Yes. Satoshi waited for the cars to move. Nothing. Looking through the centre of the windows, he could just make out a car near the front of the queue. The driver pecked a screen with his finger, unaware that the sign had flashed green. Satoshi pipped his horn. Nothing. Seconds went by. He checked his watch. Peck, peck, peck. He pipped his horn again. Tap, tap, swipe. Suddenly, the driver raised his head and jumped into action as though an electric eel had fallen from the sunshade and was now thrashing around in his lap. Stepping on the gas, the engine of his small boxcar screamed past the roadworks just as a man turned the sign to red again. Satoshi tightened his grip on the steering wheel and let out a drawn-out growl of frustration before remembering what he’d learned in his last anger management session: breathe.
“So, Satoshi. In order to move forward, we must ascertain the source of where your anger comes from.” Satoshi wiped the sweat from his brow and drank hurriedly from a bottle of water. His clothes—clinging to his body like wet papier-mache—contrasted sharply with the impersonal interior of the clinic and immaculate suit of the therapist he’d been seeing for the past six weeks.
“I don’t know. It just seems to come out of nowhere. My family business has always had very high standards. My dad would explode in an incandescent rage if he thought that standards had slipped. It was as though a demon had taken him over. If we hadn’t got it just right, he would throw barrel after barrel into the river, where they would split open on the rocks and spill their contents into the water. The next day, he would joke that the river had been thirsty. He was just keeping it happy. Meanwhile, the brewery’s profits had drifted off to who knows where and we would have nothing to eat except rice gruel and daikon radishes for the next month. Like father like son, I guess you could say.” Satoshi stared at the ceiling as he related his tale.
“Interesting. And would you say that you find these episodes to be an impediment to being a member of Japanese society?”
“Of course,” he shifted on the leather chaise lounge, wiping away the sweat that was beginning to seep into the arms. “As you well know, anger is taboo in Japan. This is probably why, for me, it only comes out behind closed doors and away from the public eye. To all outward appearances, I’m a successful business owner with a lovely wife and two beautiful daughters. But when it comes to anything that threatens the business—bad weather, a poor rice harvest, pollution, a dead deer carcass upstream in your water source. Do you know just how nerve-racking the soaking process is?” he sat up, suddenly shifting gears.
“No,” the therapist replied, taken aback as Satoshi turned to face her.
“Well. It’s absolutely imperative!” he said, as though reprimanding a junior staff member. “It sounds simple, but I can assure you it’s not! The quality of the koji is entirely dependent on the level of water absorption, and just a fraction of a second too long can ruin it. Most breweries use a stopwatch, we use an atomic clock. You just can’t leave these things to chance, you know!” the therapist noted the rise in pitch, and the tension in his voice. “Of course, you’re going to need to make your koji by hand, but above all else, you’re going to need to have the purest water available—from Nada if you can get it,” he took another hurried drink from his bottle. ”Charcoal filtered, strictly no chemicals, you hear? And don’t get me started on saccharification, microorganisms, and multiple parallel fermentation. It’s a complicated process, you know. You can’t just come swanning into it as though you’re taking up a Zumba class or a cooking course,” Satoshi was now gesticulating wildly, his eyes darting around the room. He took a shallow breath and gulped down the last of his water. “Ah, listen to me go on. I’m sure you’ve got no interest in sake production. I’m sorry,” he offered a small bow before his body crumpled into the plush leather.
“No, it’s interesting. But I’d like to know, what do you think would happen if, one year, you produced a sake that was, let’s say, extremely good, but not quite perfect? How do you think your customers would react? Surely, they wouldn’t notice,” the therapist offered in a calming voice.
“Unthinkable! In this business, reputation is everything! I would sooner cut off my right arm than compromise a single ounce of quality!” The therapist noted Satoshi’s shallow breathing, the rigidity of his posture, and the slight flaring of his nostrils. As though seeing himself reflected in her startled expression, his body deflated back into the chaise lounge once more.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“No, no. It’s quite alright. It’s important to explore hypotheticals in a safe space like this. Roleplaying and running thought experiments are how we can begin to develop long term coping strategies.”
“Yes, yes. Anyway, I’d like you to have a token of my appreciation.” Satoshi reached into his briefcase and pulled out a single bottle of sake which he handed to the therapist—the label embossed with a golden salamander.
“No, no. I couldn’t possibly…”
“It’s the least I can do. My wife seems to think I’m making progress thanks to your sessions. She feels that I should sell the business rather than pass it on to my daughters. Her biggest fear is that history will continue to repeat itself if I decide to train them up as apprentices, and the art of sake brewing won’t be the only thing passed down.”
“You’re worried about the effect your temper will have on your daughters?”
“If there’s one thing more important to me than the sake business, it’s my family.” Satoshi said as he relaxed and stared at the ceiling. “I’d burn the whole place down in a second if I thought I’d raise my voice even an octave in front of them. But I do worry about the consequences my own actions may indirectly have on the girls.”
“Well, just remember what we talked about. You know what to do when you feel the primitive part of your brain hijacking the controls away from the more sophisticated area.”
“Yes. ABC: Assess the situation calmly; Breathe deeply; Consider the consequences of your actions,” replied Satoshi.
“Exactly. And just remember, the more primitive area will fight for control of your actions. And, more often than not, it’s going to win unless you do so.”
“The hairy caveman beating up the wise old professor with his club. That’s not a fair fight, is it?” added Satoshi.
“No, it’s not. Above all else, just remember to breathe.”
Later that day, Satoshi arrived at the fancy hotel and headed up to the members’ club on the top floor. The smell of sake and the chatter of jovial conversation hit him as he opened the oak-panelled door and stepped into the crowded room. Around the perimeter, booths had been set up to showcase samples from ten different breweries who had been invited to the event. Satoshi headed over to the Tatsuriki sake table where he was instantly recognized with a bow of respect from the staff. He sipped a cloudy sake and surveyed the room.
“Ah, Satoshi san. Long time no see. You’re looking well.” Satoshi opened his mouth in an exaggerated show of surprise as he turned to find a grey-haired man in a pinstriped suit—his old friend and rival, Masayoshi.
“Oh, Masayoshi san. Osewa ni narimasu. How are you?”
“Ah, can’t complain. A little too much business and not enough play, perhaps.”
“Ah, ha, ha. Nothing ever changes, does it? Are you here for the sake tasting today or are you showcasing?”
“A little of both, actually. It would be a foolish fellow who would come between a sake party and me, let me tell you.” Masayoshi raised his eyebrows and gave a conspiratorial nod. “This is our new sake. Would you care for a sample?” He gestured towards a corner of the members’ club with a flick of his hand where several men in finely tailored suits were chatting over various barrels. The air was drunk with the intoxicating smell of rice wine and occasional laughter as staff ladled the beverage into small ceramic cups.
“This cloudy one here with the turtle on the label is Kameyama. We named it after the birthplace of our company’s secretary. Please…” Masayoshi passed Satoshi a small ceramic cup while surreptitiously taking in the one feature that was said to have made Satoshi the best in the business: his large nose. Inhaling the fumes, he gazed towards the ceiling as Masayoshi looked on in anticipation.
“Apples, melon, strawberries, pears,” he took a sip and held it in his mouth before inhaling to allow the flavours and aromas to explode on his palate. “I’m guessing that the water is sourced from Kyoto—possibly Fushimi. Its low iron and manganese content means that the necessity to chemically filter out any impurities would have been bypassed,” Masayoshi nodded in silence as Satoshi let the liquid play on his tongue. “Balanced astringency, body, and taste, and an attractive umami finish. I’m guessing that of the 46 rice varieties available for sake production, you opted for somewhere in Hyogo. Let me guess, Nada?” he added as he exhaled to allow the ‘fukumi-ka’ through his nose. “Highly commendable.”
“Ah, spoken like a true master of the craft. I’m truly humbled,” Masayoshi laughed as he took the glass and set it down on the table. “Now, this next bottle is inspired by the birthplace of my mother-in-law, Gifu.”
“Ah, famous for its castle, and if I remember correctly, the dying art of cormorant fishing?” added Satoshi.
“Oh, amazing,” Masayoshi took a sharp intake of breath as though momentarily lost for words. “You know Japan much better than I do,” he added with a show of deference. “Cormorant fishing is certainly a dying art, and I was lucky enough to see a demonstration when I was last there on business. The cormorants do all the hard work catching the fish. And then, just before they can gobble one down, their keeper snatches it away and keeps it for himself. The cormorants only get about one in ten, I think.”
“Yes, it’s a wonder they keep doing it, isn’t it? You’d think they’d get wise. Although, it reminds me a little of the way my wife takes all my salary each month before giving me a few thousand yen back for pocket money!” Satoshi shot back.
“Ha, ha, ha!” Masayoshi’s laughter boomed out as he narrowly avoided spilling his sake onto the floor. “No, this bottle is actually inspired by the salamanders that reside in the rivers of Gifu.” He took out a bottle embossed with a silver salamander on the label, chuckling at the joke as he filled a fresh cup.
Satoshi winced as Masayoshi passed him the small cup, his mind suddenly working overtime. His eyes stared at the label as though looking away constituted a tacit acceptance that the balance of their relationship had just shifted beyond repair. Thoughts raced through his head. How on earth did he have the gall to steal the family branding? The sheer audacity! What a flagrant act of copyright infringement! He tried to stay calm, but he knew—as well as every other person gathered in the bar—that in this business, branding was vital. At this level, the difference between the different sakes, as everyone in the business knew, was paper thin, and after a few cups they pretty much all started to taste the same.
No, it was all about the backstory. How old was your brewery? How pure your water source? How deep within the mountains was it? Clever marketing created a veneer of sophistication that demarcated a clear boundary between the high-class product sipped over business deals and talk of kabuki, and the hundred-yen sake that old men slurped outside the convenience store. Masayoshi’s smile turned to an expression of confusion as he registered the red flags in Satoshi’s body language: the hardened jaw, the furrowed brow.
“Satoshi san, is everything okay? Do you need to sit down?” Masayoshi pulled a chair over and gestured for Satoshi to sit down, confusion giving way to concern.
Satoshi felt his hands begin to shake as his body flooded with adrenaline. It was as though he’d downed four double espressos. Fight, flight, or freeze? He couldn’t not mention it, could he? Fight, flight, or freeze? Make a choice. He couldn’t lose his temper in a setting such as this, but then again, he couldn’t just let it pass, either. While all this was happening, and below the level of conscious thought, the wise professor of his brain had long been taken out by the primitive cavemen. Satoshi’s mouth opened and closed as though any rational thought had been short-circuited.
Masayoshi looked on bemusedly as jazz music continued to play at odds with the scene about to unfold in the exclusive members’ club. How could he not know? My life’s work, my father’s legacy, and my reputation are all contained within that one logo. Fight, flight, or freeze? Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Masayoshi gave a quizzical look which turned into one of concern as his eyes surveyed the tell-tale signs of Satoshi’s state of mind. He noticed the pursed lips, the pallid complexion, and the veins raised around the temples. Fight, flight, or freeze. Assess, Breathe, Consider the consequences. Consider the consequences. Consider the consequences. Consider the consequences.
Suddenly, it was as though he was no longer in control of his own actions. His arm, as though acting of its own accord, picked up a heavy glass bottle, raised it above his head and brought it down onto the corner of Masayoshi’s head in one swift motion. Blood sprayed across the sake barrels as people began to scream. There was a curious juxtaposition of terror and light jazz as the skin split open to expose what Satoshi took to be the area of the brain responsible for higher-order functioning. There it was; he could just see it between the rhythmic spurts of blood as Masayoshi writhed on the floor in pain. That was the area his therapist had been talking about—the part of the brain that had once again lost the battle in his own head and would have consequences far exceeding anything he could imagine.
The traffic lights had already changed to green some time ago. Drivers pipped their horns as Satoshi sat staring into space, oblivious even to the sound of the pneumatic drill and the blur of workers in orange jackets as they toiled under the midday sun. His mind had been elsewhere since leaving the clinic. He had been considering the consequences of his actions. The bottle, the blood, the screams. He saw the blue light from a police car light up the river as an officer waded in to take him away. He watched the tears and confusion in his daughters’ eyes as daddy was handcuffed and put into the back of a police van. He felt the shame and humiliation he had brought on his family as his neighbours watched on. He contemplated the end of the business.
Shaking his head, he released the handbrake and cringed at the wildness of his own imagination, shocked at the consequences of what might have been. His wife had been right; he was making progress. Giving a small nod of apology to the traffic behind him, he drove past the roadworks and out of the city limits a free man.
The night had been a success. He had been more than a little taken aback that Masayoshi had used his company’s branding, but, recalling the words of his therapist, had taken a deep breath, and recalibrated. Upon returning to the room after a quick cigarette break, he had calmly suggested that the cormorant would be a far superior image to represent a sake from Gifu. Masayoshi agreed that it was indeed a good idea. There was no need for a lawsuit, no need to make an enemy, and no need to go to prison for the rest of his life over a simple act of violence. He had followed the doctor’s orders: Assess the situation; Breathe; Consider the consequences.
Rolling down the window of his car, he took a deep breath as the sweet smell of rice plants swaying in the warm breeze carried him home to Ikuno. Before long, the city was forgotten; his spirits lifted as the car climbed higher and deeper into the mountains. Now and then, he caught sight of the old, familiar river through the forest as it ran alongside the road and thought of the gallons of stock that he’d thrown into it over the years. He chuckled to himself at the legend of it being thirsty. Perhaps something in there really did have a taste for sake after all.
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This story first appeared in a 2021 book by Andrew Innes (The Short Story Collective: 13 Tales from Japan).
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