Having considered a couple of twentieth-century translations of Murasaki Shikibu’s novel The Tale of Genji, we’re ready to move on and take a closer look at the first offering from this century. We’ve already examined a number of differing approaches, and today’s choice represents yet another change in direction, with a translation that, on occasion, makes the reader work for their enjoyment. It’s an interesting development, but the big question here, of course, is whether it’s worth the effort. Well, there’s only one way to find out – please, come this way…
*****
Royall Tyler is another big-name Japanese-to-English literary translator, and I’ve tried his work on several occasions, enjoying (among other books) The Tale of the Heike and The Miracles of the Kasuga Deity. If there’s anything like a home-town favourite in these Genji Olympics, then the 2001 Tyler Genji must be it, and not just because of Tyler’s residence in Australia. This is the edition I own, and my recent reread proved to be the impetus for this little project, meaning it had a slight advantage heading into the ‘competition’.
This is a new Tale, then, for the new millennium, but in its inspiration, it’s very much looking back to the past. Tyler’s introduction makes his aims very clear:
The original has (with local exceptions) a lovely, smooth flow that cannot be conveyed in English, which resists such unstressed evenness word by word and sentence by sentence. However, one can still preserve the length of some of the tale’s many long sentences and at least follow the original in avoiding blunt sentences that might snag the reader’s attention on a solid mental object.
‘Introduction’, p.xxvii (Penguin Classics, 2003)
This is something he certainly does, which is not the case in other versions (I’m looking at you, Seidensticker…). The Tyler Genji is written in a lovely rolling style, with the sentences flowing on, mostly managing to avoid the obstacles the translator mentioned above.
This adherence to the original also applies to the content of the story. Seidensticker may have claimed to follow the author’s meaning, but Tyler shows that it can be done in a very different way, focusing on the how as opposed to Seidensticker’s insistence on the what. The passages in the Tyler Genji tend to be shorter than those of the previous versions since they stick more closely to the original text, which often left a fair amount to the imagination. Unlike the other translators, Tyler sees no need to fill in the gaps and spoon-feed the reader, and if at times that means a spot of ambiguity, then so be it.
An example of what I’m talking about can be found at the start of one of the Uji chapters, ‘Sawarabi’. We begin with poor Nakanokimi grieving the loss of her sister Ōigimi:
The mere sight of spring sunlight, which shines even in the wilds, convinced her that she must be dreaming, and she would then wonder how she had lived through those months and days. Ever at one before the flowers and birdsong of the passing seasons, they had combined their little half-verses on each and talked over every shock or sorrow their lonely life brought them, which had comforted them both; but now, with no one to understand the things that moved or amused her, her mood was all darkness, torment, and a desolation still more complete than when her father had died. In the confusion of her mind she barely knew dusk from dawn, but we each have our allotted time in the world, and alas, life would not leave her.
‘Bracken Shoots’, p.917
Let’s see what Seidensticker made of this scene:
The spring sunlight did not discriminate against these ‘thickets deep’. But Nakanokimi, still benumbed with grief, could only wonder that so much time had gone by and she had not joined her sister. The two of them had responded as one to the passing seasons, the color of the blossoms and the songs of the birds. Some triviality would bring from one of them a verse, and the other would promptly have a capping verse. There had been sorrows, there had been times of gloom; but there had always been the comfort of having her sister beside her. Something might interest her or amuse her even now, but she had no one to share it with. Her days were bleak, unbroken solitude. The sorrow was if anything more intense than when her father had died. Yearning and loneliness left day scarcely distinguishable from night. Well, she had to live out her time, and it did little good to complain that the end did not come at her summons.
‘Early Ferns’, p.942 (Everyman’s Library, 1992)
Hmm. Quite apart from making an emotional scene quite humdrum, Seidensticker somehow manages to find ten sentences where Tyler has three, as well as using far more words than the later version. In addition, do you recall how we talked above about ‘flow’? There’s a definite air of blockages to the second effort here…
In terms of the poetry, Tyler actually follows Seidensticker’s lead by making the verse stand apart from the main text in an unrhymed two-line construction. However, for the most part his efforts are far more elegant than those of his predecessor, with Waley his only real rival among the versions we’ve looked at so far. Take, for example, the following poems shared by Niou and Kaoru, occurring just after the scene above:
“Are they so attuned to your least shade of feeling, you who picked them,
that, their color all unseen, these blossoms yet scent the air?”
he said, and the Counselor returned the pleasantry:
“Let him beware, before he picks as his own the bough in full bloom
that to its admirer brings taunts and accusations!”
They were the best of friends.
‘Bracken Shoots’, p.918
Now let’s see what Seidensticker has to say:
‘This branch seems much in accord with him who breaks it.
I catch a secret scent beneath the surface.’
‘I should have been more careful with my blossoms.
I offer fragrance, get imputations back.’
You do not make things easy for me.’
They seemed the most lighthearted of companions as they exchanged sallies.
‘Early Ferns’, p.944
You’ll notice the use of italics and an ident in the Tyler version, and that makes the poems stand out even more than they do in Seidensticker’s attempt. Again, there’s a rather stiff feel to the second pair of poems here, and while appreciation of poetry is always a matter of personal taste, I’m far more inclined to give Tyler’s work the nod of approval.
Of course, another major difference in the Tyler Genji is the approach the translator takes to the character names. While the earlier versions (and possibly the modern Japanese versions, too) use labels coined from a chapter the character appears in, the original novel didn’t use them, instead referring to the characters by their titles or relationships to other characters – and this is just what Tyler does, too. The problem here is that the main characters frequently change titles as they rise through the ranks, meaning you’re often left scratching your head wondering just who the Captain-Controller, Her Highness and the Minister of the Left are.
Tyler gets around this by adding a handy page at the start of every chapter. On the front, we have the name of the chapter (in English and Japanese), accompanied by a brief explanation of the name; on the reverse, there’s a list of the main characters appearing in the chapter, along with their titles and ages at the time. It’s all very nicely done, but I suspect that this assistance only goes so far. It’s still difficult to keep everything straight in your head, particularly in the closing Uji chapters, where you have a new set of people to add to the old ones. Still, if it all gets too much, there’s a handy list of characters at the end of the book that will help you out…
…and that’s just one of the lovely add-ons here. Novels requiring a framework of extras to understand them may not be to everyone’s liking, but I did enjoy the supplementary materials here, even if they can be a little academic at times. Tyler provides an excellent introduction, copious footnotes (which are not restricted to identifying the poems), useful maps of the city and the wider region, and a thorough appendix with, in addition to the character list, lists of offices, and even clothing. It helps that the book itself, my Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition, is beautiful as well – I’m sure Lady Murasaki herself would have approved.
The Tyler Genji takes a very different approach to earlier versions, then, and it won’t be to everyone’s taste. Those preferring a nice, easy read may struggle with the translator’s allusive (and elusive) style, but for me, the effort it demands is well rewarded. However, if you’re still not sure about this one, then perhaps it’s time to move on to our final version. Predictably, our fifth contender sees the pendulum swinging back once more, but for better or worse? We’ll find out next time 