SCENT OF APPLES

Bienvenido N. Santos

Born-March 22, 1911 / Died-January 07, 1996

Bienvenido N. Santos was born in Tondo, Manila, on March 22, 1911. When Santos started school, the
Philippines was already a colony of the United States and instruction was in English. In his early attempts
at creative writing, Santos developed an ear for three kinds of communication: Pampango in the songs his
mother sang at home; English in the poems and stories his teacher read at school; and Tagalog in the
street life of the Tondo slums. Santos left for America in September 1941 as a pensionado (scholar) of the
Philippine Commonwealth government. Thirty years old and an established short story writer in English at
home, he enrolled at the University of Illinois in the master's program in English. When war broke out in
December, he found himself an exile in America, cut off from his homeland and his wife and three
daughters he left behind. The heartbreak of this separation during his first sojourn in America is crucial to
Santos's development as a writer. Exile defined the central theme of his fiction from then on. In the
summer of 1942, he studied at Columbia University with Whit Burnett, the founder of Story magazine,
who published his first fiction in America. After studying Basic English with I.A. Richards at Harvard in
1946, Santos returned home to a country rebuilding from the ruins of war. He came back to America in
1958 as a Rockefeller Foundation fellow at the University of Iowa Writer's Workshop. His first two novels,
Villa Magdalena and The Volcano, written under a Rockefeller grant and a Guggenheim fellowship, were
published in Manila in 1965, the year Santos won the Philippine Republic Cultural Heritage Award for
Literature. In 1972, Santos and his wife Beatriz were on their way to the Philippines to "stay home for
good," when news of the declaration of martial law reached them in San Francisco. The new regime
banned The Praying Man, his novel about government corruption, and he was once again exiled from his
home. From 1973 to 1982, Santos was Distinguished Writer-In-Residence at Wichita State University. In
1976 he became a U.S. citizen. His short story, "Immigration Blues," won the best fiction award given by
New Letters magazine in 1977.

In 1980, the University of Washington Press published Scent of Apples, his first and only book of short
stories to appear in the United States. The next year it won the American Book Award from the Before
Columbus Foundation. Santos died at his home in Albay on January 7, 1996. Santos's stories can be
grouped into three literary periods. The first period, the prewar years in the Philippines (1930-1940) are
set in the fictive Sulucan slums of his Tondo childhood and the rural towns and villages in the foothills of
Mayon volcano in Albay, where Santos married Beatriz Nidea, started his family, and built his house.
These stories are in the collections Brother, My Brother and Dwell in the Wilderness. Santos's exile in
America during the war years produced stories set in Chicago, Washington, New York, and other cities,
where he lectured extensively for the Philippine Commonwealth government in exile. You, Lovely People,
The Day the Dancers Came, and Scent of Apples belong to this period. In the postwar years Santos set
his stories in different places as he commuted between the Philippines and America. These years mark a
period of maturation and experimentation, and a shifting away from the short story to the novel form. His
use of memory--or, rather, a fictionalized memory--evokes empathy for his characters. A variation of this
technique is Santos's use of other "I" narrators, like the Pinoy old-timer Ambo, he of the trembling hands
("The Door" and "The Faraway Summer"), or Tingting, the tennis player, in the San Francisco novel. But
even with the voices of Ambo and Tingting, the stories are told from within, as if Santos had been inside
them and felt their pain. Santos believed it was important for a writer to feel compassion for his
characters.
CHOM-NYE
Cho Chong-hui’s The Cry of the Harp is a one-author collection in the “Other Korean Short Stories”
series published by Si-sa-yong-o-sa .  Translated by Genell Y. Poitras (what a great name!) it contains the
novel for which the collection is named, as well as Chom-nye, The Ritual at the Well, and Round and
Round the Pagoda. The book is out of print, but can be found second-hand on Amazon, though it is often
shockingly expensive (Currently it inexplicably ranges from $5 to $107.37 on Amazon!). The title story is
is autobiographical, related Cho’s own experiences as she and her family, semi-succesfully, navigate the
stressful era’s of Japanese colonialism and then the utter confusion surrounding the taking and re-taking
of Seoul during the initial stages of the Korean War. Cho seems relentlessly honest, often portraying
herself as a harridan.  She seems a harridan at least partly in contrast to her husband, the poet Pa-in,
who is a sometimes ineffectual intellectual, but always more easy-going than Cho. About two chapters in,
one possible reason for Cho’s tense attitude is revealed, but I leave it to the reader to discover that. Going
broke and nearly starving in Seoul, the family moves to the countryside and begins to fashion themselves
into gentleman farmers. This section has some comic elements, as the countryside does not come
naturally, particularly to Pa-in. They do settle into a nice groove, but as colonialization ends, Pa-in moves
back to Seoul with the intent of re-establishing his literary career. Pa-in’s optimism at this time is nearly
painful to read, for those aware of what Korea, and he, are about to go through.

Once in Seoul the political problems begin. Pa-in is incorrectly associated with a political group, and this
gets him in trouble with the government. Worse, when liberation comes, Pa-in is branded a collaborator,
and has his civil rights removed. Then comes civil war and even those who don’t choose sides are
assigned them, and as the tides of war ebb and flow across Seoul. Cho relates her own, coldly terrifying,
tale of former friends and colleagues turning against each other, leavened only slightly by one or two
friends who remain faithful, even with differing ideologies. Pa-in is called in by the government for
questioning and is never heard from again. This section of the book directly brings home the feelings of
insecurity (as well as hunger and pain) caused by the Korean War. Then, as the tides of war change
again, most of the remaining family is once again forced to leave Seoul, and suffers at least two more
separations along the way. One of the moving scenes is eerily reminiscent of that in Yang Kwi-ja’s  A
Distant and Beautiful Place.
The story ends on a reflective note that is bitterly nostalgic in a way that you might not guess from Cho’s
initial portrayal of her own, younger, self.  The Cry of the Harp is a particularly good novel for those
attempting to learn what the shifts in political and military tide did to ordinary citizens of Korea.  In many
ways this reminded me of Park Wan-suh’s “Who Ate Up all the Shinga,” but a bit shorter, less dense, and
all around easier to read.

Chom-nye is a more overtly political story, comparing the brief and unfortunate life of its title character to
the much more be-starred life of the daughter of the local ex-landlord. It contains some scathing passages
which portray the social schisms between rich and poor – while landlords and yangban may have been
officially replace, nothing much has changed, in fact social superiors have even been elevated to the
statuses of Gods whose mere presence can turn villagers to something like stone:

Although they had done nothing which deserved a scolding they could only hang their heads and remain
silent. The words would not come. No one knew when this had all started. Generation after generation
watched and learned; the grandfather, the father, and the son, each learning from the one before. The
plot turns on a detail as small as a chicken, and pretty much everyone comes off poorly.

The Ritual at the Well is a sad and funny story about a village undergoing change it can barely
understand. The narrator gets progressively crankier while drinking makgeolli and observing thick headed
neighbors, The Ritual at the Well  also contains a message similar to that of  Chom-nye, that while the old
social order has putatively been destroyed it has in fact merely been replaced with a newer, even more
arduous one. One of the centerpiece descriptions (of which there are several during the story) is a
harrowing description of waiting for spring and the opportunity to eat grass. The ritual, of course, stands
for everything about to be lost, and it is no coincidence that the ritual founders because of the introduction
of something western, in this case wheat-based bread.
Round and Round the Pagoda, honestly confused me. It contains a lot of expository text about who met
whom and who is related to whom and it skids over decades at a time.  It is also the least well written of
the pieces in this book, and by the end it, when the narrator was dizzy and about to die, I felt just about
the same way.
The confusion of the last story, however, is no reason not to get this book if you can find it. The other
stories are well told and taut, and heaps of cultural knowledge are painlessly contained in them. The
novella The Cry of the Harp, in particular, is a brilliant description of the tension of an era.

The Winter Hibiscus by Minfong Ho

About the author
Minfong Ho was born January 7, 1951 in Rangoon, Burma. Her parents originated from China
and she was brought up in Bangkok, Thailand. As she did most of her studies in English,
Minfong Ho soon mastered three separate languages: English, Thai and Chinese. She “started to
write only after I (the author) left home, as a way to conjure up Thailand for myself, to combat
homesickness while studying at Cornell University.” Before becoming a writer, she was a
journalist at the Straits Time newspaper in Singapore and has been a lecturer as well as a
teaching assistant. An award-winning author, her main medium has been short story anthologies,
among them being In My Grandmother’s House, Soul Searching, Join In and First Crossings.

Synopsis
Saeng belongs to a Laotian immigrant family currently residing in the United States. Saeng is to
take her driving test using the Lambert’s car, specifically the car that belongs to David Lambert,
which is also Saeng’s love interest. Throughout the story, Saeng recollects her memories in Laos
and their journey in America, sponsored by a Lutheran minister whose wife is Mrs. Lambert.
Although life should be wonderful for them, Saeng is met with a string of events that dampens
her joy: she first realises that David would have no interest in her, only heeding his mother’s
instructions to lend their car; she then fails the driving test; as she is offering to buy David a
meal, with money provided by her mother out of sudden generosity, David pays no attention to
her and speeds off to talk to a blonde girl across the street. Disappointed and saddened, Saeng
walks home alone and stops by a florist. The florist’s atmosphere reminds Saeng of home and
soon, she spots the winter hibiscus – recognised as “saebba” – growing in a pot. Emotions
overwhelm her and she decides to buy the flower with the money in hand. When she returns
home, Saeng informs her mother that she had failed the driving test. Her mother comforts her,
taking the winter hibiscus and planting in the garden. The winter hibiscus, which grows even in
adversity, becomes a symbol of Saeng’s renewed hope as she promises to retake the driving test
next spring.
Themes
A. Determination and Perseverance

The story revolves around Saeng’s challenges and ends, aptly enough, with renewed
determination to take them head on in the future. Saeng, as an immigrant in a foreign country, is
obviously anxious about her appearances and about fitting in. She worries that she might not
belong as an American despite being there legally: to resolve that – rather, change herself
unnecessarily – she adopts the local language, English and uses it daily; she studies diligently for
each test conducted in English using a worn Laotian-English dictionary; she combs her hair
straight down her back to mimic the cheerleaders, the image of American “perfection”; she takes
the driving test, not just to help her family, but also to increase her standing and maybe, just
maybe, draw David’s attention. As the story shows, life doesn’t always go your way, and fitting
in does not come easily. Saeng fails the driving test and her attempt at gratitude, to get closer to
David is dismissed nonchalantly and casually as David drives away, talking to another girl across
the street.

At this point, Saeng had finally broken. She perceives herself as failing at fitting in, deciding to
give up on retaking the test, lowering herself into despair and sorrow. After her previous
diligence, never once failing a school test despite her difficulty in understanding the language, to
fail here, in front of David was a disgrace too heavy to bear. To kick her when she’s down even
further, she is reminded of how faraway she was from her home by the saebba – the hibiscus.
She is taken aback by how lost she is, hopelessly isolated in a foreign land. She had lost so much
and broke down crying.
Yet after bringing home the hibiscus, Saeng does not spiral into despair. Instead she is reminded
of how far she and her family, immigrants from beyond the ocean, had come in this land of
opportunity. Her mother comforts the crying Saeng and brings the saebba to the garden to be
planted. As she digs up the cold soil and sets the hibiscus into the ground, she hears and smells
the cooking of bitter melon in the pan, another symbol of her individuality. Despite leaving her
hometown, she did not leave herself behind and this new home has become so much more
familiar. Hope is brimming in her heart now as she swears to retake the driving test in spring,
just when the hardy winter hibiscus begins budding.
In a way, the theme represented here is in close relation to the winter hibiscus itself. The
hibiscus, coming from a foreign land just like Saeng was at first alone in this harsh world. But it
does not give up, growing up in the harsh, grey winters and soon becoming familiar with them
after years of living, adapting to its surroundings yet retaining its distinct petals and leaves. No
matter how isolated you are, and how many foreign obstacles hamper and surround you, there is
always hope to survive. This determination to survive and succeed is what sets people apart and
is what pushes them further to strive for a better life. This is reflected in Saeng’s final
declaration; despite her not belonging like David and the cheerleaders, she still loves this new
home and will do her best to survive in it, overcoming whatever challenge may come her way.

B. Life of An Immigrant Family

We have all heard of immigrants in Western countries, in particular Asian families that end up in
America, the promised land of opportunity. The Winter Hibiscus depicts such a life splendidly,
from the initial aid they receive, to the desperation to earn for themselves, independence and the
desire to fit in. Saeng’s family has shown us what it takes to survive in a foreign country, without
any prior knowledge of the language or the country itself.
From the first summer when they had went smelting and combing the golf course for
nightcrawlers, to sending out for seeds in Chinatown and having their own garden, Saeng’s
family is a representation of the desire to be independent, possessed by many immigrant families
 there. Many strive to work hard for themselves and craft a future in this promised land,
struggling to learn the language just like Saeng and her parents. There are also those who are
desperate to fit in like Saeng, changing their own appearance to be accepted by others and
striving to fit in by partaking in what might give her her American identity and look, such as a
driving license and cheerleader hair.

Yet, these immigrant families do not separate from their original identity. Just as how Saeng
remembers her home and her past, it is part of who they are. No matter how hard they try to fit
in, there will never be an American as seen on TV – white, pure and smiling. It is their origins
that make them special – despite all their discrimination and setbacks, they choose to look
forward and live on. Their strength and determination is something to be admired.

Characters
1. Saeng
 Disciplined/Diligent
 Studies hard for each of her tests, be it school tests or driving tests, despite her
lack of fluency in English as the primary language in America
 Determined
 This can be seen through her diligent studying and her strong will when it came
to taking the driving test, albeit for a very brief moment. However, she regained this
determination from the inspiration of the winter hibiscus – saebba – and decides to retake the test
in spring even though she had suffered humiliation just earlier.
 Low self-esteem
 This is seen through the emphasis by Saeng that she felt that she did not belong
despite living in America for four years. She sees herself as different from the typical teenage
American despite being the same age and the image of perfection was unreachable to her.
 This changes when she accepts America not as a shelter but as her new home,
having familiarised herself with her surroundings and life and America, shown in the last two
paragraphs of the short story.
2. David Lambert
 Indifferent
 Could not care for Saeng’s driving test outcome, only doing what he was told to
lend the car to Saeng
3. Saeng’s mother
 Caring
 Cares about Saeng and her social life. Hands her a twenty dollar note to treat
herself and David to Big Macs
 Cares about her family’s welfare, hence works hard to support them independent
from government aid
 Diligent
 Works hard after arriving in America. Goes smelting, gathering nightcrawlers
and studies English under a government program. Also works as a dishwasher along with her
husband as a janitor.

Quotations
 Saeng glanced down at her own clean clothes. She had dressed carefully for the test – and for
David. She had on a grey wool skirt and a Fair Isles sweater, both courtesy of David’s mother from their
last jumble sale at the church. And she had combed out her long black hair and left it hanging straight
down her back the way she had seen the blond cheerleaders do theirs, instead of bunching it up with a
 rubber band.

This demonstrates Saeng’s attempt at fitting in, a clear sign of her discomfort of being alienated in this
foreign country. She copies the local’s appearances and tries to blend into the background of this nation.

 There were certain words that held a strange resonance for Saeng, as if they were whispered
echoes behind them. Luuke, or child, was one of these words. When her mother called her luuke in that
soft, teasing way, Saeng could hear the voices of her grandmother and her uncle or her primary-school
teachers behind it, as if there were an invisible chorus of smiling adults calling her, chiding her.

This shows that Saeng was quite fond of her former home and that her native language is one of the ways
Saeng recalls Laos. It also gives us insight into Saeng as it tells us that she had left home as early as
primary school, and that not all of her family and friends could make it to America with her,
foreshadowing Saeng’s sadness at this loss later on in the story.

 It had happened so quickly. Saeng felt limp. So she had failed. She felt a burning shame sting her
cheeks. She had never failed a test before. Not even when she had first arrived in school and had not
understood a word the teacher had said, had she ever failed a test.

Saeng’s shock at failing the driving test can be felt here. She was extremely ashamed in herself, as seen in
the phrase “burning shame” and immediately considered herself a failure. Despite working so hard, one
mistake had managed to ruin a significant part of her American life, seen as crucial for her to fit in there.

 Saeng looked at the white bud in her hand now, small and fragile. Gently, she closed her palm
around it and held it tight. That, at least, she could hold on to. But where was the fine-toothed comb? The
hibiscus hedge? The well? Her gentle grandmother?

A wave of loss so deep and strong that it stung Saeng’s eyes now swept over her. A blink, a channel
switch, a boat ride in the night, and it was all gone. Irretrievably, irrevocably gone. And in the warm
moist shelter of the greenhouse, Saeng broke down and wept.

The climax of Saeng’s suffering. Overwhelmed first by her first failure in the land of opportunity, she is
painfully reminded of how far she was from her original home and the world she had lost, including her
own grandmother. She grieves this loss that was held back for four years and lets her tears pour forth.
She could never feel the same way she had while living there, her childhood robbed and replaced by this
new, strange and foreign life in America.

 When they come back, Saeng vowed silently to herself, in the spring, when the snow melts and
the geese return and this hibiscus is budding, then I will take the test again.

The conclusion to this short story. Shows the renewed hope and determination Saeng has for her driving
test and the rest of her future. The hibiscus – a symbol of her home and determination – serves as another
inspiration for Saeng to keep going, regardless of the prejudice she faces as an immigrant.

Background of Japanese Poetry

https://owlcation.com/humanities/Japanese-Poetry-Forms-Haiku-Senryu-Haiga-and-Tanka

https://www.slideshare.net/CherishAngelicMondilla/japanese-literature-65041768
JAPANESE ESSAY IN YOSHIDA KENKO

http://afe.easia.columbia.edu/at/kenko/eii01.html

Yoshida Kenkō, original name Urabe Kaneyoshi, (born c. 1283,

Kyōto?—died c. 1350/52, near Kyōto?), Japanese poet and essayist,
the outstanding literary figure of his time. His collection of
essays, Tsurezuregusa (c. 1330; Essays in Idleness, 1967), became,
especially after the 17th century, a basic part of Japanese education,
and his views have had a prominent place in subsequent Japanese life.

He early served at court and took Buddhist orders after the death of
the emperor Go-Uda in 1324; but becoming a priest did not cause him
to withdraw from society. On the contrary, he continued to take active
interest in all forms of worldly activities, as his essays indicate.
His poetry is conventional, but the essays of Tsurezuregusa display a
perceptiveness and wit that have delighted readers since the 14th
century. Lamentations over the passing of old customs express
his conviction that life had sadly deteriorated from its former glory.

Tsurezuregusa has also been acclaimed for its sections

treating aesthetic matters. Beauty for Yoshida implied impermanence;
the shorter-lived a moment or object of beauty, the more precious he
considered it.

YELLOW SAND
Kyōko Hayashi (林 京子, Hayashi Kyōko, August 28, 1930 – February 19, 2017) was a Japanese
author.[1]
Hayashi was born in Nagasaki and spent the years from 1931-1945 with her family in Shanghai. She
returned to Nagasaki in March 1945 and enrolled in Nagasaki Girls' High School, where she was
mobilized in the Mitsubishi Munitions Factory. She was working at the factory when the atomic bomb
blast destroyed Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. Hayashi was seriously ill for two months, and suffered
afterwards from fragile health. She later studied nursing in a special course the Welfare Faculty for
Women attached to the Nagasaki Medical School, but left before graduation. She started to write in
1962.
In 1967, her story "Procession on a Cloudy Day" (Kumoribi no kōshin) was published in Bungei
Shuto. She first drew wide attention in 1975 with an autobiographical story about the bombing,
"Ritual of Death" (Matsuri no ba), which received that year's Akutagawa Prize. "Two Grave Markers"
(Futari No Bohyō), also based on her experiences in the bombing, was published that same year.
Her works in the 1970s also include a collection of twelve short stories titled Gyaman bi-doro (Cut
glass, blown glass), containing "The Empty Can" (Aki kan) and "Yellow Sand" (Kousa), both first
published in 1978.[citation needed]
In 1980, Hayashi published her first full-length novel, Naki ga gotoki (As if nothing had happened),
with a semi-autobiographical lead character. The Nagasaki theme continued through the 1980s with
her collections Sangai no ie (Home in the three worlds), which won the Kawabata Prize,
and Michi (The Path). Her work Yasurakani ima wa nemuri tamae won the 1990 Tanizaki Prize.
Hayashi lived near Washington, D.C. from 1985-88.

Selected works in English translation

 "The Empty Can", trans. Margaret Mitsutani, in Atomic Aftermath: Short Stories about
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, ed. Kenzaburo Oe. Tokyo: Shueisha, 1984; Fire from the Ashes:
Japanese Stories about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, London: Readers International, 1985; The
Crazy Iris and Other Stories of the Atomic Aftermath, New York: Grove Press, 1985. pp. 127–
143.
 "Ritual of Death", trans. Kyoko Selden, Japan Interpreter 12 Winter（1978）, pp. 54–93.
Anthologized in Nuke Rebuke: Writers and Artists against Nuclear Energy and Weapons, ed.
Marty Sklar, Iowa City: The Spirit That Moves Us Press, 1984. pp. 21–57.
 "Two Grave Markers", trans. Kyoko Selden, The Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 18.1
January–March (1986): pp. 23–35. Anthologized in The Atomic Bomb Voices from Hiroshima
and Nagasaki, eds. Kyoko and Mark Selden, An East Gate Book, New York: M.E. Sharpe, 1989.
pp. 24–54.
 "Yellow Sand", trans. Kyoko Selden, in Japanese Women Writers: Twentieth Century Short
Fiction, 1991. pp. 207–216.
 "From Trinity to Trinity", trans. Eiko Otake. Station Hill, NY: Station Hill Press, 2010

READ! VERY IMPORTANT

Implicating colonial memory and the atomic
bombing: Hayashi Kyoko's three short stories
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%3A+Hayashi+Kyoko%27s...-a0165781146

The Tale of Genji

The Tale of Genji (源氏物語, Genji monogatari, pronounced [ɡeɲdʑi monoɡaꜜtaɾi]) is a classic work
of Japanese literature written in the early 11th century by the noblewoman and lady-in-
waiting Murasaki Shikibu. The original manuscript, created around the peak of the Heian period, no
longer exists. It was made in "concertina" or orihon style:[1] several sheets of paper pasted together
and folded alternately in one direction then the other. The work is a unique depiction of the lifestyles
of high courtiers during the Heian period. It is written in archaic language and a poetic yet confusing
style that make it unreadable to the average Japanese speaker without specialized study. [2] It was
not until the early 20th century that Genji was translated into modern Japanese by the poet Akiko
Yosano. The first English translation was attempted in 1882 but was of poor quality and incomplete.
The work recounts the life of Hikaru Genji, or "Shining Genji", the son of an ancient Japanese
emperor, known to readers as Emperor Kiritsubo, and a low-ranking concubine called Kiritsubo
Consort. For political reasons, the emperor removes Genji from the line of succession, demoting him
to a commoner by giving him the surname Minamoto, and he pursues a career as an imperial officer.
The tale concentrates on Genji's romantic life and describes the customs of the aristocratic society of
the time. It may be the world's first novel,[3] the first modern novel, the first psychological novel, and
the first novel still to be considered a classic.

Historical context
Murasaki was writing at the height of the Fujiwara clan's power—Fujiwara no Michinaga was the
Regent in all but name, and the most significant political figure of his day. Consequently, Murasaki is
believed to have partially informed the character of Genji through her experience of Michinaga.
The Tale of Genji may have been written chapter by chapter in installments, as Murasaki delivered
the tale to aristocratic women (ladies-in-waiting). It has many elements found in a modern novel: a
central character and a very large number of major and minor characters, well-developed
characterization of all the major players, a sequence of events covering the central character's
lifetime and beyond. There is no specified plot, but events happen and characters simply grow older.
Despite a dramatis personæ of some four hundred characters, it maintains internal consistency; for
instance, all characters age in step and the family and feudal relationships stay intact throughout.
One complication for readers and translators of the Genji is that almost none of the characters in the
original text is given an explicit name. The characters are instead referred to by their function or role
(e.g. Minister of the Left), an honorific (e.g. His Excellency), or their relation to other characters (e.g.
Heir Apparent), which changes as the novel progresses. This lack of names stems from Heian-era
court manners that would have made it unacceptably familiar and blunt to freely mention a person's
given name. Modern readers and translators have used various nicknames to keep track of
the many characters.

Authorship
The debate over how much of Genji was actually written by Murasaki Shikibu has gone on for
centuries and is unlikely to ever be settled unless some major archival discovery is made. It is
generally accepted that the tale was finished in its present form by 1021, when the author of
the Sarashina Nikki wrote a diary entry about her joy at acquiring a complete copy of the tale. She
writes that there are over 50 chapters and mentions a character introduced at the end of the work,
so if other authors besides Murasaki Shikibu did work on the tale, the work was finished very near to
the time of her writing. Murasaki Shikibu's own diary includes a reference to the tale, and indeed the
application to herself of the name 'Murasaki' in an allusion to the main female character. That entry
confirms that some if not all of the diary was available in 1008 when internal evidence suggests
convincingly that the entry was written.[4]
Lady Murasaki is said to have written the character of Genji based on the Minister on the Left at the
time she was at court. Other translators, such as Tyler, believe the character Murasaki no Ue, whom
Genji marries, is based on Murasaki Shikibu herself.
Yosano Akiko, the first author to make a modern Japanese translation of Genji, believed that
Murasaki Shikibu had only written chapters 1 to 33, and that chapters 35 to 54 were written by her
daughter Daini no Sanmi.[5] Other scholars have also doubted the authorship of chapters 42 to 54
(particularly 44, which contains rare examples of continuity mistakes).[5] According to Royall Tyler's
introduction to his English translation of the work, recent computer analysis has turned up
"statistically significant" discrepancies of style between chapters 45–54 and the rest, and also
among the early chapters.

Literary context
Because it was written to entertain the Japanese court of the eleventh century, the work presents
many difficulties to modern readers. First and foremost, Murasaki's language, Heian period court
Japanese, was highly inflected and had very complex grammar. Another problem is that naming
people was considered rude in Heian court society, so none of the characters are named within the
work; instead, the narrator refers to men often by their rank or their station in life, and to women
often by the color of their clothing, or by the words used at a meeting, or by the rank of a prominent
male relative. This results in different appellations for the same character depending on the chapter.
Another aspect of the language is the importance of using poetry in conversations. Modifying or
rephrasing a classic poem according to the current situation was expected behavior in Heian court
life, and often served to communicate thinly veiled allusions. The poems in the Genji are often in the
classic Japanese tanka form. Many of the poems were well known to the intended audience, so
usually only the first few lines are given and the reader is supposed to complete the thought
themselves, much like today we could say "when in Rome ..." and leave the rest of the saying ("... do
as the Romans do") unspoken. [7]
As with most Heian literature, Genji was probably written mostly (or perhaps entirely)
in kana (Japanese phonetic script) and not in kanji, because it was written by a woman for a female
audience. Writing in kanji was at the time a masculine pursuit; women were generally discreet when
using kanji, confining themselves mostly to native Japanese words (yamato kotoba).
Outside of vocabulary related to politics and Buddhism, Genji contains remarkably few Chinese loan
words (kango). This has the effect of giving the story a very even, smooth flow. However, it also
introduces confusion: there are a number of homophones (words with the same pronunciation but
different meanings), and for modern readers, context is not always sufficient to determine which
meaning was intended.

Outline
The novel is traditionally divided into three parts, the first two dealing with the life of Genji and the
last with the early years of two of Genji's prominent descendants, Niou and Kaoru. There are also
several short transitional chapters which are usually grouped separately and whose authorships are
sometimes questioned.

1. Genji's rise and fall

1. Youth, chapters 1–33: Love, romance, and exile
2. Success and setbacks, chapters 34–41: A taste of power and the death of his
beloved wife
2. The transition (chapters 42–44): Very short episodes following Genji's death
3. Uji, chapters 45–54: Genji's official and secret descendants, Niou and Kaoru
The 54th and last chapter, "The Floating Bridge of Dreams", is sometimes argued by modern
scholars to be a separate part from the Uji part. It seems to continue the story from the previous
chapters but has an unusually abstract chapter title. It is the only chapter whose title has no clear
reference within the text, although this may be due to the chapter being unfinished. This question is
made more difficult by the fact that we do not know exactly when the chapters acquired their titles.
Modern readership
Japanese

Pages from the illustrated handscroll from the 12th century

The Tale of Genji was written in an archaic court language, and a century after its completion it was
unreadable without specialized study. Annotated and illustrated versions existed as early as the 12th
century.[17] It was not until the early 20th century that Genji was translated into modern Japanese, by
the poet Akiko Yosano.[18] Therefore, translations into modern Japanese and other languages solve
these problems by modernizing the language, unfortunately losing some of the meaning, and by
giving names to the characters, usually the traditional names used by academics. This gives rise
to anachronisms; for instance Genji's first wife is named Aoi because she is known as the lady of the
Aoi chapter, in which she dies.
Both scholars and writers have tried translating it. The first translation into modern Japanese was
made by the poet Yosano Akiko. Other known translations were done by the novelists Jun'ichirō
Tanizaki and Fumiko Enchi.
Because of the cultural differences, reading an annotated version of the Genji is quite common, even
among Japanese. There are several annotated versions by novelists, including Seiko
Tanabe, Jakucho Setouchi and Osamu Hashimoto. Many works, including a manga series and
different television dramas, are derived from The Tale of Genji. There have been at least five manga
adaptations of the Genji.[20] A manga version by Waki Yamato, Asakiyumemishi (The Tale of Genji in
English), and another version, by Miyako Maki, won the Shogakukan Manga Award in
1989. Currently, manga by Sugimura Yoshimitsu(tisen) is in progress

Reception and Legacy

The Tale of Genji is an important work of Japanese literature, and modern authors have cited it as
inspiration, such as Jorge Luis Borges who said of it, "The Tale of Genji, as translated by Arthur
Waley, is written with an almost miraculous naturalness, and what interests us is not the exoticism—
the horrible word—but rather the human passions of the novel. Such interest is just: Murasaki's work
is what one would quite precisely call a psychological novel ... I dare to recommend this book to
those who read me. The English translation that has inspired this brief insufficient note is called The
Tale of Genji."[33] It is noted for its internal consistency, psychological depiction, and characterization.
The novelist Yasunari Kawabata said in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech: "The Tale of Genji in
particular is the highest pinnacle of Japanese literature. Even down to our day there has not been a
piece of fiction to compare with it."

2000 yen note with The Tale of Genji and Murasaki Shikibu on the right corner
The Genji is also often referred to as "the first novel", [34] though there is considerable debate over this
—some of the debate involving whether Genji can even be considered a "novel". Some consider the
psychological insight, complexity and unity of the work to qualify it for "novel" status while
simultaneously disqualifying earlier works of prose fiction. [35] Others see these arguments as
subjective and unconvincing.
Related claims, perhaps in an attempt to sidestep these debates, are that Genji is the "first
psychological novel" or "historical novel",[36] "the first novel still considered to be a classic" or other
more qualified terms. However, critics have almost consistently described The Tale of Genji as the
oldest, first, and/or greatest novel in Japanese literature, [37][38] though enthusiastic proponents may
have later neglected the qualifying category of in Japanese literature, leading to the debates over the
book's place in world literature. Even in Japan, the Tale of Genji is not universally embraced; the
lesser known Ochikubo Monogatari has been proposed as the "world's first full-length novel", even
though its author is unknown.[39] Despite these debates, The Tale of Genji enjoys solid respect
among the works of literature, and its influence on Japanese literature has been compared to that
of Philip Sidney's Arcadia on English literature.[37]
The novel and other works by Lady Murasaki are staple reading material in the curricula of Japanese
schools. The Bank of Japan issued the 2000 Yen banknote in her honor, featuring a scene from the
novel based on the 12th-century illustrated handscroll. Since a 1 November 1008 entry in The Diary
of Lady Murasaki is the oldest date on which a reference to The Tale of Genji has appeared,
November 1 was designated as the official day to celebrate Japanese classics. According to Act
on Classics Day, the “classics” that are honored not only include literature, but encompass a wide
range of arts such as music, art, traditional performing arts, entertainment, lifestyle art including tea
ceremony and flower arrangement and other cultural products. [40]
The names of the chapters became a central element a sort of incense based game called Genjikō,
part of the larger practice of Monkō popular among the nobility. In Genjikō, players must match the
scents of a series of five incense samples without being told the names of said samples. Each
possible combination was matched to a symbol, called a genji-mon, that represented a chapter from
the story.