Japanese books make up quite a hefty proportion of my literary diet, but while I occasionally dabble in non-fiction and poetry, the vast majority of my J-Lit reading is prose fiction. Today’s choice, however, sees me going in a slightly different direction, as we head back to the fifteenth century for a bit of drama. An unexpected decision, you might say, but there’s a reason for this sudden shift in genre. You see, there are some people whose judgement you just have to trust, and today’s selection comes courtesy of a man whose J-Lit credentials are, it’s fair to say, impeccable…
*****
Royall Tyler is best known for his translations of The Tale of Genji and The Tale of the Heike, but one of his other fascinations involves the Nō (or Noh) theatre. More than thirty years back, a collection of his translations came out (from Penguin Classics) under the title Japanese Nō Dramas, and as he comes towards the end of his career, he’s complemented that collection with another. Joy, Despair, Illusion, Dreams: Twenty Plays from the Nō Tradition (review copy courtesy of Columbia University Press) brings together another twenty pieces from the Nō canon, with some extras (essays on a few of the plays) thrown in for good measure.
I initially thought this was a rerelease of the earlier book, but that’s definitely not the case, and Tyler makes the difference between the two works clear in his introduction:
However, the two books differ. The earlier one emphasises celebrated works. This one does not. […] Curiosity about Zeami’s bangai (“outside the repertoire”) plays, and surprise that they should exist at all, then drew me on.
‘Introduction’, p.3 (Columbia University Press, 2024)
In effect, then, Tyler is taking the road less travelled and introducing us to plays that are lesser known and lesser performed, even if many are by Zeami, the father of Nō.
Perhaps at this point, for those of us unfamiliar with Nō (which I suspect will be virtually everyone…), it might be an idea to provide an oversight of the genre, and Tyler is more than happy to oblige. In addition to explaining the physical set-up of the Nō theatre, he carefully goes through the usual structure of the plays. Most are historical pieces in which a traveller encounters a local, who is later revealed to be someone very different, taking us even further back into the past. On the page, these are simple two-act pieces, which can be read in ten to fifteen minutes. On the stage, it’s a different story, and with the slow movement of the actors and the various dances, you’re generally looking at over an hour per play.
The first piece, Akoya no Matsu (The Akoya Pine), is a nice introduction to what Nō is all about. We meet tenth-century poet Fujiwara no Sanekata on a quest in the far north for a famous pine tree, and in the course of his search, he questions an old man, who volunteers some incredible information:
OLD MAN: Now I remember. In an earlier day the Akoya Pine was in this province, but now it is in the province of Dewa.
SANEKATA: What? You mean that that the Akoya Pine was once in Mutsu but is now in Dewa?
OLD MAN: Yes, your worship.
SANEKATA: What an extraordinary thing to say! How can such a sight, so famous for so long, have once been in this province and now be in another? You are in all ways a most peculiar old fellow!
Akoya no Matsu, p.32
He’s yet to realise how right he is – he’s actually making small talk with the god of Shiogama…
This is just one of many pieces that harks back through the centuries to recall leading lights of the past. Another example is Kiyotsune, a warrior play featuring one of the heroes of The Tale of the Heike, who carries on an argument with his wife about his suicide from beyond the grave. Then there’s Genjo, featuring Fujiwara no Moronaga, whose journey to China to learn the secrets of the biwa (a musical instrument) is interrupted by a chance meeting. You see, on arriving in Suma, he encounters an old man who (as you’ll undoubtedly have guessed by now) is not who he seems.
Suma features in several of the plays, both for the real-life exiles and for a certain fictional hero, and speaking of Genji, one of the most interesting plays here (for me, at least) is Genji Kuyō. As Tyler, in the preface to the piece, drily says:
According to Genji ippon kyō, Murasaki Shikibu’s tale is seductive, lascivious, and frivolous and destines both author and reader (and presumably any eventual translator) to hell. Therefore Murasaki Shikibu’s spirit once appeared in a dream and begged the dreamer to copy the Lotus Sutra for her, so as to transform the passions into enlightenment and save her readers and herself.
Genji Kuyō, pp.66/7
That forms the background to this entertaining piece, in which a monk visiting Ishiyama temple on the shores of Lake Biwa (where Lady Murasaki is said to have started writing her famous work) is visited by the shade of the woman herself, while the author (along with the translator) cleverly inserts the titles of many of the chapters from The Tale of Genji into the play.
However, Murasaki Shikibu is just one of many ghosts to grace the pages of the book. Each play introduces us to phantoms with stories to tell, wanting to share their tales with the passers-by who wander into their realm:
WIND, RAIN: Why not now, though, tell you all?
At twilight, not long ago,
you prayed for those who lie
beneath the moss, under that pine.
We are they: Wind-in-the-Pine
and Shower-of-Rain.
Their phantoms are before you.
Matsukaze, pp.145/6
With spirits around every corner, it often seems almost impossible for an innocent traveller to hit the road without being accosted by a garrulous ghost!
In his excellent introduction, and the short preface to each play, Tyler fills us in with all we need to know about the structure and the different techniques used, including chanting, singing and the ubiquitous chorus. As you’d expect, Tyler does his utmost to bring the feel of the original across into English, with one example being the repetition of lines for emphasis:
ATTENDANT, ALL: Bravely I urge my steed
past the forest of Koma
and soon find that I have come
to Suma shore
and soon find that I have come
to Suma shore
Genjo, p.84
It’s all elegantly done, but if I’m honest, it can be a little repetitive at times, and there’s certainly a need to take this book a play at a time. I suspect that cramming too many into one session would probably lead to eyes glazing over, or even closing for a while…
I can’t honestly say that I’m a Nō convert now, but I was happy to have the opportunity to take a look at plays I’d heard about in passing. Joy, Despair, Illusion, Dreams is a book to peruse over a few weeks rather than one to plough through dutifully, providing glimpses into Japan’s literary past and a look at influences on the culture. Thanks, as always, must go to Tyler for bringing this into English. Now, all of you out there have the opportunity of strolling upon Suma’s shore, and bumping into a ghost or two along the way 