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The Kagero Diary (Kagero nikki)

Michitsuna no Haha (ca. 935-95)
Translated by Sonja Arntzen

Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1997; Pp. xv, 415

Review © 2001 Branislav L. Slantchev

Usually translated as THE GOSSAMER YEARS, Michitsuna no Haha's intensely personal account of her unhappy marriage to Fujiwara Kaneie can be regarded as the predecessor of all the diaries produced by the illustrious Heian woman writers. In many ways it has not been surpassed by any of those in subtlety of expression, stark honesty of emotion, and the author's changing attitudes toward her own existence.

As is common to these writings, the author's real name is not known and she has come down in history as simply "Michitsuna's mother." She was an aristocrat but came from a minor Fujiwara branch of provincial governors. She seemed to reach dizzying heights when she married Kaneie, who was to become Regent (and who is also the father of the most powerful Fujiwara Michinaga). Her marriage, however, was unhappy and it is the anti-romantic relationship with her husband that occupies most of the diary. She also failed to realize the political potential of this marriage by producing only one son in an age when multiple progeny was the path to success. In that she was outstripped by Tokihime, who can be loosely regarded as Kaneie's principal wife.

With all this talk about marriage, it is perhaps necessary to mention that the Heian arrangement that is called by that name bears little resemblance to our own conception. It began with a long exchange of poems between the potential suitor and the lady (whom he might never have really seen). If encouraged, he might come for a night tryst but leave discreetly in the morning without revealing his presence (nominally) to the parents. After three visits in a row, the couple was considered married. "Divorce" was even less formal. Since husbands rarely lived with their wives, ceasing the visits constituted a divorce. Although forbidden in name by law, which made strict distinction between wife and concubine, polygamy was widely practiced in Heian Japan, at least among the "good people."

The amorphous nature of marriage, the even less defined divorce, and the acceptability of husbands having multiple liaisons with women combined to induce great uncertainty in the lives of someone like the author. As an accomplished poet, and a romantic and very sensitive soul, she desired an exclusive relationship with Kaneie. When this was not to be had, she found insufficient solace in her literary activity. Yet, her passion found outlets both in her willful behavior toward him and in her violent outbursts of jealousy against some (but not all) of the other women. Still, I think it would be going too far to characterize the diary as a "protest against the marriage system of the time, and [an] exposition of the thesis that men are beasts," as Seidensticker does in the introduction to his translation (pp.7-8). There is no such social sentiment in the diary, which is a work of a rather self-centered woman. On the contrary, the moment she attains a sort of objectivity and detachment usually necessary to identify the source of a problem as something more than the mood of her husband, something that she does in Book Three, the narrative loses much of its vigor and it is also evident that the author has lost much of her interest too. Two observations seem to support this idea. First, the author never voices objection to the institution of marriage and is herself a second wife, which causes her no problems. In fact, she seems to try to establish an amicable contact with Tokihime, expecting her to empathize with the author's suffering when Kaneie shacks up with that Machi Alley woman (she fails for Tokihime plainly regards her as a rival). Second, the last book is mostly devoted to her son's unsuccessful attempts at love affairs, and the long (and somewhat strange) older suitor's pursuit of her young adopted daughter.

The above is not to suggest that the diary is somehow of a lower quality than a social commentary. On the contrary, I would say that Book Two, which depicts the most troubled period of the strained marriage, including the author considering the idea of becoming a nun, is one of my favorite readings of classical Japanese literature. It is forceful, truthful, and very poetic, as the author meanders through utter gloom, desperation, and brief flashes of hope. To say that the author is self-centered does not imply that she is unworthy of attention. Quite the opposite, the single-mindedness of her treatment leaves us with a concentrated dose of her daily worries, which only makes her sadness and disillusionment all the more poignant. Book Two is especially moving precisely because it is the most personal, and it is the one written amidst the turmoil. (While Book One is a recollection she wrote years after the events, the internal evidence suggests that she started writing the diary around the time of the second book, which covers the period 969-71. The third book is more detached and literary.)

Two examples will serve to illustrate. One suspects that much of the tensions revealed in the diary and much of the suffering, is actually hidden from the eyes of the lady's attendants (cf. the frequent references to of the sort: "I passed each day from dawn till dusk constantly repressing tears" p. 227). Perhaps out of a sense of propriety, she keeps her worries to herself, which explains why her actions often startle her husband, her son, and her attendants. On another occasion, she literally runs away in secret, and goes to Ishiyama Temple (pp. 207-15). The poignancy of her description of the nature scene at night, with senses sharpened by her pain, betrays her great skill as a poet even when she resorts to prose.

Some have charged that the narrative is too whiny and that the lady complains too much but never takes action. Of course, such is the disposition of our modern Western minds, which cannot seem to relate well to the ideals and the cognitive frame of Heian aristocrats. At least this is what translators usually tell us. They are right, but even without reference to Japanese sensitivity it is not hard to see how the damaging insecurity of Heian marriages required the perpetual affirmation of love and commitment by the husband. Thus, the lady's complaints are actually quite understandable, if regrettable. In addition, it is not as if she is some helpless starry-eyed romantic victim. The author can be quite strong willed at times, even willful. She often frustrates her "constantly upsetting person" of a husband (p. 229) by denying him customary services (e.g. sewing his clothes) or rejecting his amorous advances. Because she conceals many of her emotions (despite writing poems on them), her husband is often perplexed, something she attributes to feigning ignorance, and irritated. A good example is her sudden retreat to Hannya Temple (pp. 231-55), where is in effect threatens to become a nun, causing endless worry for her family. She resists a full-scale family mobilization until she is forced to return by her husband. The point here is that she was not really thinking about "getting religion" until she found out the ire it provoked in Kaneie. From then on, her resolve only seems to get stronger. How typical for a woman!

This brings me to a very interesting point: the translation. There are two full translations of Kagero nikki and several partial ones. This one is by Sonja Arntzen, and is more recent, the other being the semi-revised version Edward Seidensticker. Comparing these two translations, the advantages of having a female interpreter for the female voice become obvious. Consider the famous opening paragraph in Arntzen's rendering:

"Thus the time has passed and there is one in the world who has lived such a vain existence, catching on to neither this nor that. As for her appearance, she can hardly be compared to others, and her intelligence --- to say she has some is as good as saying she has none at all --- so it is only natural that she has come to such a useless state she thinks again and again; it is just that in the course of living, lying down, getting up, dawn to dusk, when she looks at the odds and ends of the old tales --- of which there are so many, they are just so much fantasy --- that she thinks perhaps if she were to make a record of a life like her own, being really nobody, it might actually be novel, and could even serve to answer, should anyone ask, what is it like, the life of a woman married to a highly placed man, yet the events of the months and years gone by are vague; places where I have just left it at that are indeed many."
and compare it to Seidensticker's version:
"These times have passed, and there was one who drifted uncertainly through them, scarcely knowing where she was. It was perhaps natural that such should be her fate. She was less handsome than most, and not remarkably gifted. Yet, as the days went by in monotonous succession, she had occasion to look at the old romances, and found them masses of the rankest fabrication. Perhaps, she said to herself, even the story of her own dreary life, set down in a journal, might be of interest; and it might also answer a question: had that life been one befitting a well-born lady? But they must all be recounted, events of long ago, events of but yesterday. She was by no means certain that she could bring them to order."
While elegant and admirable, the second translation imposes structure where none exists, no doubt because of the male interpreter struggled with the same issues I would. One can easily see the difference. Yet, it is not clear which approach should be deemed more successful. Seidensticker's version is readily digestible and smooth to follow. At the same time, I suspect that this preference has to do with how I (a male) process information and construct meaning. Arntzen's version is long, undulating, with topics freely mixed in a stream of consciousness. To me (a male), this makes the narrative hard to follow. I found myself reading and re-reading it several times, each time processing a different bit, trying to arrange them in a complicated mosaic that I might then take in by stepping back and pondering the result. It is a frustrating experience.

However, this experience matches exactly the way I communicate with my wife, among other women. These non-linear creatures apparently have the ability to weave simultaneous threads of impressions, digressions, remarks, and memories, in a coherent narrative that precisely conveys their state of mind. Yet, to me (a male), this results in a laundry list of irrelevant and distracting utterances. To a mind that looks for a subject-verb, cause-effect logical structure, the impressionistic description can be mind-numbing. Yet, I fear that inability to relate to this elliptical and subjective way of constructing the world renders inter-gender communication somewhat barren, or in any case distorted.

Thus, the female translation of a female's diary is to be preferred for it would seem to preserve the genuine voice of the author. It is another matter that the male readers might need to work with a handy copy of Sidensticker's interpretation "for comprehensibility purposes." (There is still another problem with his version. There are insufficient notes, and so much of the nuance is completely lost on contemporary readers. Even worse, the poems are translated but not separated from the text. Frequently, most of their quality is also lost. There are no explanations for the puns, allusions, and references that make these waka convey more than the actual words. This, I am afraid, is inexcusable and makes THE GOSSAMER YEARS the least preferred translation.)

Still, for all this endorsement, the female view sometimes misses the man's thoughts. For example, consider the scene described on p. 313, when Kaneie repeatedly tries to get some response from his motionless and silent wife. In this passage, Kaneie is obviously trying to get her to speak up for her reticence is most infuriating. Because of her expectation that he must somehow divine her feelings, she never says a word, which leaves him frustrated. This sort of thing is not unusual and is exasperating. Yet, Arntzen's footnote makes him appear childish trying to incite her old jealousy. He's just tired of guessing what might be on her mind.

In any case, this is a superb translation of a great book. There are copious notes, obviously benefitting from recent Japanese scholarship and research on the work. There is also an informative introduction, which gives some historical background, and reasons for the new translation (justified). There is also a handy index.

September 22, 2001.

@BOOK{michistuna:kagero,
    title     = {The Kagero Diary},
    author    = {{Michitsuna no Haha}},
    year      = {1997},
    publisher = {Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan},
    address   = {Ann Arbor},
    isbn      = {0-939512-81-5},
    note      = {Translated by Sonja Arntzen, notes, index; Pp. xv, 415}
}