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Hakai The Broken Commandme
New edition of the classic The broken commandment (Hakai), Shimazaki's 1906 classic which portrays a young man born into the outcaste class and his struggle against both social discrimination and his own hypocrisy. In Japanese. Distributed by Tsai Fong Books, Inc.
500 pages, Paperback Bunko
First published January 1, 1906
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About the author
Tōson Shimazaki
127 books33 followersTōson Shimazaki is the pen-name of Shimazaki Haruki, a Japanese author, active in the Meiji, Taishō and early Showa periods of Japan. He began his career as a poet, but went on to establish himself as the major proponent of naturalism in Japanese literature.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 40 reviews
January 11, 2021
Shimazaki Tōson is an impressive, subtle, early Twentieth Century author, who set out to portray rural, ordinary lives in a meaningful way through powerful fiction. His masterpiece Before the Dawn is 800 pages of elegant, Balzacian description depicting the clash between East and West during a crucial turning point in Japanese history. It is a historical novel which suffers from localization, so dense with cultural and historical references as to be quite baffling to an outsider. Nonetheless, in this novel, Tōson writes with the clarity of Kawabata and the assurance of Tanizaki. He is not as radical, perhaps, as Mishima, and his style is not as flowery. Overall, he is a storyteller of the highest regard.
The quiet striving of its characters, entrenched in a family and a society which limits their actions and potential, presents a moving and absorbing subject. Rife with the melancholic atmosphere of traditional Japan, it reminded me in some ways of Botchan, by Soseki, probably because both involve schoolteachers, but it is not a humorous tale. Instead it is about promises, commitment, and civic responsibilities. That may sound boring, but it is a mature and relevant exposure of true conditions which existed at the time, and to a certain extent still exist. It is crucial to realize these petty prejudices played a major part in Japanese society, in the same way other cultures have subjugated and emasculated other classes and ethnicities. Full of corrupt power figures, self-justified sinners, and dignified endurance. An exquisitely crafted novel which should inspire hope alongside reverence and despair.
The quiet striving of its characters, entrenched in a family and a society which limits their actions and potential, presents a moving and absorbing subject. Rife with the melancholic atmosphere of traditional Japan, it reminded me in some ways of Botchan, by Soseki, probably because both involve schoolteachers, but it is not a humorous tale. Instead it is about promises, commitment, and civic responsibilities. That may sound boring, but it is a mature and relevant exposure of true conditions which existed at the time, and to a certain extent still exist. It is crucial to realize these petty prejudices played a major part in Japanese society, in the same way other cultures have subjugated and emasculated other classes and ethnicities. Full of corrupt power figures, self-justified sinners, and dignified endurance. An exquisitely crafted novel which should inspire hope alongside reverence and despair.
February 1, 2018
Espeluznante, a la par que bellísima, imagen de uno de los lados de la sociedad nipona que menos nos gusta considerar: su clasismo y su racismo, representado en esta ocasión en el trato que se da a los "etas", o miembros de castas inferiores.
Toson, en la estela de Zola, nos da una visión de Japón muy próxima a los preceptos naturalistas, sin suavizar, dulcificar, o idealizar nada (en los pocos casos en que tiende a ello, siempre ha de ocurrir algo que nos haga salir de ese estado de ensoñamiento). No obstante, más que un naturalismo científico, al modo de los franceses, Toson desarrolla aquí lo que vendrá a ser conocido como "naturalismo nipón", mucho más centrado en el individuo, en como ve su lugar en el mundo y la sociedad, y que resultará fundamental para el desarrollo de la novela nipona por antonomasia: la "novela del yo".
Como siempre, la edición de Satori es más que correcta, y cuenta con una introducción, realmente interesante para contextualizar autor y obra, de Carlos Rubio.
Toson, en la estela de Zola, nos da una visión de Japón muy próxima a los preceptos naturalistas, sin suavizar, dulcificar, o idealizar nada (en los pocos casos en que tiende a ello, siempre ha de ocurrir algo que nos haga salir de ese estado de ensoñamiento). No obstante, más que un naturalismo científico, al modo de los franceses, Toson desarrolla aquí lo que vendrá a ser conocido como "naturalismo nipón", mucho más centrado en el individuo, en como ve su lugar en el mundo y la sociedad, y que resultará fundamental para el desarrollo de la novela nipona por antonomasia: la "novela del yo".
Como siempre, la edición de Satori es más que correcta, y cuenta con una introducción, realmente interesante para contextualizar autor y obra, de Carlos Rubio.
Want to read
August 3, 2016One book leading to another. And another. I need six more lives.
July 25, 2013
This beautiful, delicate, melancholy but also notoriously courageous novel is considered to be one of the first of its genre to be written in Japan (The Tale of Genji aside —but that's a completely different animal, let alone century). It was published in 1906, which makes its author an important precursor to the now classic Japanese novelists of the mid 20th century, Mishima, Kawabata, Tanizaki, Dazai, etc, while not making him one of them. This means the novel reads, breathes and exudes European 19th century narrative conventions in the way it represents the anguish and plights of its main characters, as well as their surroundings and the plot turns that keep shifting them around. Those were Shimazaki's influences, after all, and he does good justice to them, even while writing about life in rural, un-bourgeois, you could even say: pre-modern, Japan... It tells the story of a young school teacher who has made an important promise to his father, and he holds it almost sacred, until he realises it will take a lot more than self-control and a mere struggle with one or two antagonists, to be able to keep this promise. The novel relates the downward spiral into which this realisation plunges him, as well as his ever fainter struggle to keep, if anything, his head above water. The novel offers a scathing critique of various sectors of Japanese society at the turn of the century, denouncing their hypocrisy and corruption. For someone who, like me, and in spite of beloved modernism and the avant-gardes, confessedly remains extremely susceptible to 19th century manipulations of narrative, this turns out to be an absolute jewel of a novel to spot and "uninformedly" pick up in a random bookshop.
June 25, 2018
I read this book partly as research for a paper where I lo0ked at modern Japanese literature dealing with the burakumin problem. It was really interesting to read the work while learning about ways in which it was and continues to be problematic. This early work is regarded as the first to deal with this social class with any kind of sensitivity, but one of the main problems with it is the evidence of Toson`s subscription to the narrative of racial difference that surrounds outcaste groups. He takes care throughout the book to emphasize that his protagonist is actually descended from ronin samurai, not the ``dark-skinned`` and ``brutish specimens`` of ``true`` eta. An interesting read for those interested in the burakumin problem.
November 18, 2017
Although beautifully written, there are some truly naive and hard to believe moments in here. In each paragraph, probably just to remind readers, Toson mentions troubles of the Eta class under Meiji emperor, therefore emphasizing and romanticizing unhappiness of the main character.
At the beginning I was reminded of Natsume Soseki's Kokoro, especially because of the strong teacher-student relation, but this novel serves more as a portrait of society at a certain period in history than a fantastic piece of literature. It's certainly good if you like everything connected to Japan and its history and you want to learn more about what it meant to be an Eta in Japan.
Although it's more of a 3 star rating, I really liked the melancholy tone of Toson's writing.
At the beginning I was reminded of Natsume Soseki's Kokoro, especially because of the strong teacher-student relation, but this novel serves more as a portrait of society at a certain period in history than a fantastic piece of literature. It's certainly good if you like everything connected to Japan and its history and you want to learn more about what it meant to be an Eta in Japan.
Although it's more of a 3 star rating, I really liked the melancholy tone of Toson's writing.
February 15, 2019
Una de las primeras novelas de la era Meji, en la que Japón para bien y para mal se abre al mundo. En la historia ya hay trenes y elecciones, un naturalismo social imagino que poco frecuente en la literatura nipona, pero su denuncia sobre los eta, una especie de casta discriminada, en la que es fácil encontrar paralelos en Europa respecto a los judíos, se hace pesada y lenta. A una novela no le bastan las buenas intenciones. De hecho, en muchos casos puede que incluso sobren.
February 5, 2017
Time to rewatch the movie adaptation.
"Sympathy is a curious thing: it has the paradoxical effect sometimes of making it harder to grasp the real thoughts and feelings of its object."
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"No one can sense so clearly as a sick person wether the feelings of others are genuine or feigned."
"Sympathy is a curious thing: it has the paradoxical effect sometimes of making it harder to grasp the real thoughts and feelings of its object."
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"No one can sense so clearly as a sick person wether the feelings of others are genuine or feigned."
September 12, 2025
Was I stressed trying to read this in 1.5 days for my class? Yes! But was it also very well written & a great insight into Japanese historical class system? YES! Solid characters & storyline.
November 3, 2015
El precepto roto de Shimazaki Tosson es sin duda una de las obras mas relevantes de la literatura japonesa del Siglo XX
Tosson en un estilo más bien sobrio, muy diferente al de autores coetáneos como Soseki, nos describe las desventuras de un Eta, suerte de grupo marginado social japonés, así como su lucha interna por aceptarse a si mismo, encontrar el reposo interior y luchar contra la injusticia social de la violencia segracionista de la sociedad de la época.
El precepto roto es una novela valiente y comprometida que por primera vez alza la voz en contra de una sociedad capaz de marginar y despreciar a un grupo de personas tan solo por sus orígenes familiares . Tosson no duda tampoco en criticar a todos los estamentos sociales.
Esta novela nos presenta un Japón carente de valor moral y falto de justicia donde la corrupción y el nepotismo lo invaden todo y donde unos pocos hombres honrados luchan contra la burocracia y el sistema sin demasiado éxito.
Una historia bien construida y unos personajes sólidos acompañados de un estilo seco y sobrio, casi minimalista para lo que los coetáneos del autor nos tienen acostumbrados, tejen un argumento sólido, sin fisuras.
El lector se ve inmerso en un lugar y un tiempo exótico y desconfiado y en una situación que a pesar de nueva y extraña resulta fascinantemente familiar y universal.
Tosson de alguna manera recuerda a Kafka, con un lenguaje que de utilitarista y parco es extremadamente rico y a su vez funcional así como por el compromiso social usando la escritura como arma contra el abuso la mediocridad y el anquilosamiento social.
Finalmente decir que la editorial Sakura ha hecho un trabajo fantástico dandole forma a una colección de autores clásicos japoneses cuidada hasta el ultimo detalle.
Tosson en un estilo más bien sobrio, muy diferente al de autores coetáneos como Soseki, nos describe las desventuras de un Eta, suerte de grupo marginado social japonés, así como su lucha interna por aceptarse a si mismo, encontrar el reposo interior y luchar contra la injusticia social de la violencia segracionista de la sociedad de la época.
El precepto roto es una novela valiente y comprometida que por primera vez alza la voz en contra de una sociedad capaz de marginar y despreciar a un grupo de personas tan solo por sus orígenes familiares . Tosson no duda tampoco en criticar a todos los estamentos sociales.
Esta novela nos presenta un Japón carente de valor moral y falto de justicia donde la corrupción y el nepotismo lo invaden todo y donde unos pocos hombres honrados luchan contra la burocracia y el sistema sin demasiado éxito.
Una historia bien construida y unos personajes sólidos acompañados de un estilo seco y sobrio, casi minimalista para lo que los coetáneos del autor nos tienen acostumbrados, tejen un argumento sólido, sin fisuras.
El lector se ve inmerso en un lugar y un tiempo exótico y desconfiado y en una situación que a pesar de nueva y extraña resulta fascinantemente familiar y universal.
Tosson de alguna manera recuerda a Kafka, con un lenguaje que de utilitarista y parco es extremadamente rico y a su vez funcional así como por el compromiso social usando la escritura como arma contra el abuso la mediocridad y el anquilosamiento social.
Finalmente decir que la editorial Sakura ha hecho un trabajo fantástico dandole forma a una colección de autores clásicos japoneses cuidada hasta el ultimo detalle.
May 13, 2011
This is analogous to some Western "issue" novels ("Uncle Tom's Cabin," perhaps) now interesting more as historical documents than as literature. It's very much a three-hanky affair; I found it too sentimental and not particularly interesting as narrative. But it was a good choice in the context of the Japanese history course I was taking, as most people (myself included) had no idea the eta, essentially an "untouchable"-type caste, existed in Japan.
May 14, 2018
Genuinely moving story that hasn't lost any of its impact with the movement of history. We always find a reason to say someone's not like us, and when they ask for parity, we have trouble seeing it as anything but a loss for us instead of a gain for all. Very interested in checking out Tōson's other works in English now, even if there aren't very many.
Footnote: Apparently all three of Tōson's children died of illness while he was writing the book.
Footnote: Apparently all three of Tōson's children died of illness while he was writing the book.
August 11, 2017
La historia de un secreto, del envenenamiento de la vida de quien lo oculta y de su posterior liberación.
Los convencionalismos sociales y la marginación aparecen, pero por suerte hay un final feliz.
Los convencionalismos sociales y la marginación aparecen, pero por suerte hay un final feliz.
March 21, 2021
(read for school lol) most likely a 3.5, I didnt LOVE reading this but I also didnt not enjoy it if that makes sense.... really beautiful writing on the Japanese landscape tho!
January 28, 2016
Shimazaki Toson escribió El precepto roto como una alegoría del fracaso de la modernidad. Con la Restauración Meji Japón abrió sus puertas a algo mucho más significativo que el comercio con las grandes potencias de la época: con las ideas que venían de un Occidente que, en su euforia, buscaba propagar valores que no solo eran novedosos sino que se les tenía por universales. Esto supuso el derrumbe, cuando menos superficial, del sistema de castas del Japón feudal. Los que antes estaban en los estratos más bajos, la gente que trabajaba con la muerte —sepultureros, verdugos, etcétera—, antes despreciada, adquirió estatus de nuevo ciudadano. Claro que los decretos no bastan para subvertir una cultura completa, por lo que a nadie sorprendió que esos personajes continuaran viviendo al margen. Los barakumin, los eta, los descastados.
El protagonista de El precepto roto es Ushimatsu Segawa, hijo de un eta, un nuevo ciudadano que se ha vuelto maestro y lucha por mantener el secreto de su origen. El título del libro nos arruina la sorpresa: en el fondo, se trata de cómo Ushimatsu llegará a romper la promesa que le hizo a su padre, lo que, a su vez, en realidad es un pretexto para mostrar que no bastó con la modernidad impuesta por las autoridades imperiales para romper con los vicios del feudalismo.
Una novela importante que habría de inaugurar el naturalismo japonés —no confundir con el europeo— y que, a la vez, se muestra como un libro de pretensiones totales porque en él desfilan políticos, burócratas, funcionarios, agricultores, intelectuales, monjes. Nadie está a salvo de la corrupción, salvo Oshiho, la sufriente Yamato Nadeshiko de la novela. Ushimatsu es gentil y es también un pusilánime que no es capaz de seguir los pasos de su héroe, Rentaro Inoko, un descastado que se volvió un escritor que lucha por la igualdad, a quien admira, con quien tiene una buena relación y a quien, por más que intenta, no puede confesar su secreto, porque el estigma de ser un eta es un fardo tan pesado que incluso es mejor ocultárselo a los hermanos. Cuando los demás le preguntan cuál es su relación con Inoko, Ushimatsu se vuelve un Pedro que niega tres veces a su maestro. El paralelismo cristiano no es casual, porque el mismo Toson se sintió atraído en algún momento por las ideas y la fe de Occidente. El precepto roto fue también la forma en que él intentó entender un mundo que no cumplía a cabalidad con las nuevas promesas de lo moderno.
Los grandes problemas del libro: la propensión a la sensiblería y la reiteración. Toson bien pudo ahorrarse ciento cincuenta páginas en las que se repite la misma escena de Ushimatsu paseando por el pueblo mientras se plantea confesar su secreto, y todo para que no haga absolutamente nada.
El protagonista de El precepto roto es Ushimatsu Segawa, hijo de un eta, un nuevo ciudadano que se ha vuelto maestro y lucha por mantener el secreto de su origen. El título del libro nos arruina la sorpresa: en el fondo, se trata de cómo Ushimatsu llegará a romper la promesa que le hizo a su padre, lo que, a su vez, en realidad es un pretexto para mostrar que no bastó con la modernidad impuesta por las autoridades imperiales para romper con los vicios del feudalismo.
Una novela importante que habría de inaugurar el naturalismo japonés —no confundir con el europeo— y que, a la vez, se muestra como un libro de pretensiones totales porque en él desfilan políticos, burócratas, funcionarios, agricultores, intelectuales, monjes. Nadie está a salvo de la corrupción, salvo Oshiho, la sufriente Yamato Nadeshiko de la novela. Ushimatsu es gentil y es también un pusilánime que no es capaz de seguir los pasos de su héroe, Rentaro Inoko, un descastado que se volvió un escritor que lucha por la igualdad, a quien admira, con quien tiene una buena relación y a quien, por más que intenta, no puede confesar su secreto, porque el estigma de ser un eta es un fardo tan pesado que incluso es mejor ocultárselo a los hermanos. Cuando los demás le preguntan cuál es su relación con Inoko, Ushimatsu se vuelve un Pedro que niega tres veces a su maestro. El paralelismo cristiano no es casual, porque el mismo Toson se sintió atraído en algún momento por las ideas y la fe de Occidente. El precepto roto fue también la forma en que él intentó entender un mundo que no cumplía a cabalidad con las nuevas promesas de lo moderno.
Los grandes problemas del libro: la propensión a la sensiblería y la reiteración. Toson bien pudo ahorrarse ciento cincuenta páginas en las que se repite la misma escena de Ushimatsu paseando por el pueblo mientras se plantea confesar su secreto, y todo para que no haga absolutamente nada.
August 25, 2010
Toson's novel is a good introduction to the Eta social class in Japan. Toson, his novel set under emperor Meiji, embraces his characters' romantic tendencies, emphasizing their treachery, their misery, and often referring to the beauty of struggle in the face of adversity. He grapples with the human rights of all people, a western concept recently introduced into Meiji Japan and championed by several of his younger characters, pitted against the formal traditionalism which cannot acknowledge the humanness of the Eta, a sub-class considered dirty and polluted because of their work with dead and dying things.
Also present in Toson's novel are a former Samurai, stripped of his stipend under the new Meiji government, and a subtle critique of religion, represented by a womanizing Buddhist priest.
The women in the book are not very deeply developed, and Toson definitely privileges relations between men, describing often through Segawa, his protagonist, the awe inspired by the integrity of a strong male identity.
Thanks to the novel's setting, snowy Iiyama, part of Shinshu, which is present-day Nagano prefecture, there are descriptions of mountain scenery and snow-covered villages that evoke fantastic imagery without resorting to bucolic nostalgia.
Also present in Toson's novel are a former Samurai, stripped of his stipend under the new Meiji government, and a subtle critique of religion, represented by a womanizing Buddhist priest.
The women in the book are not very deeply developed, and Toson definitely privileges relations between men, describing often through Segawa, his protagonist, the awe inspired by the integrity of a strong male identity.
Thanks to the novel's setting, snowy Iiyama, part of Shinshu, which is present-day Nagano prefecture, there are descriptions of mountain scenery and snow-covered villages that evoke fantastic imagery without resorting to bucolic nostalgia.
July 15, 2008
until i read "hakai",i never had a chance to know what "新平民" was.Yet the caste does exist in Japan.
it might give you a deep impact on readers.
i hardly belive that the discrimination against one social class,"untouchable".
it might give you a deep impact on readers.
i hardly belive that the discrimination against one social class,"untouchable".
October 17, 2025
La novela, de una factura notablemente bella, aborda con delicadeza el sufrimiento que atraviesan los etas, marginados por una sociedad indolente. Desde ese grupo particular la narración alcanza la universalidad. El protagonista, cercano y matizado, está construido con mucha empatia.
December 14, 2024
Japon edebiyatından okuduğum en iyi romanlardan biri. Irkçılığın, sınıf ayrımının bir insanın ruhunda yarattığı fırtınalar, korku, endişe ve bütün bunları iliklerinize kadar hissettiren usta bir kalem. Babasının buyruğuyla kendi karakterinin dikte ettiği ikilem arasında bocalayan bir öğretmenin ibret dolu hikayesi…
October 22, 2012
The famous Japanese novel from 1906 about 'eta' or the lower cast in Japanese society. According to the foreword it was not the first one with this subject but the best of its times. The author genuinly does try to convey inner struggle of the main character while he balances between portrayal of the society and times. But I found the novel boring. Those interested in Japanese literature and Japan in general should definitely read it for its historical value.
July 8, 2015
Für die Literatur in Japan ist das Werk deshalb wertvoll: die Diskriminierung von Burakumin wird in einem zwar fiktiven, aber konkreten sozialen Situation dargestellt. Dabei bringt es auch die subtil emotionale Bewegung des Protagonist stark zum Ausdruck, was damals sicher wichtig gewesen sein müsste. Aus der heutigen Sicht kommt es mir etwas sentimental.
February 18, 2016
I was surprised to find this story so readable. I don't know why I expected it to be boring or something like that, but it actually moved me; the story goes on easily, it makes you connect with Ushimatsu's drama aaaand, best of all, it has a surprisingly- unexpected-kinda-happy ending.
July 31, 2008
Not very quality; i'm not a fan of naturalism in general, and the protagonist is kind of a wavering bitch. only interesting in the context of liminality, in my opinion.
July 22, 2013
Fascinating picture of the little-known-about Japanese outcast group.
November 15, 2015
Although groundbreaking for its time this book tends to be heavy handed in its sentimentality and the characters are two-dimensional.
August 7, 2016
The invisible race.
February 28, 2023
In his Translator’s Note at the beginning of The Broken Commandment Henshall assisted readers in two important ways. First, he provided a succinct history of the Eta (Burakumin) in Japan. This included the reasons for why they were considered ‘filthy’ and thus treated with such cruelty for hundreds of years.
Second, he put Shimazaki in the context of Japanese literature of the late 19th/early 20th century, he discussed how the novel fit into the evolution of the author’s career, and he speculated on what the author might have wanted to accomplish in writing Broken.
Additionally, Henshall provided many footnotes throughout the book to translate Japanese terms or to explain some social/cultural practices which were noted in the narrative.
Shimazaki provided a powerful depiction of the prejudices which the Burakumin had to deal with in those days. Impressive was the insight with which the he portrayed the protagonist Ushimatsu’s increasingly intense struggles to cope the secret he guarded about his heritage. The turmoil he experiences is so palpably and deeply depicted that the story reached some poignant moments towards the end.
Equally important were Shimazaki’s observations about a number of aspects of early 20th century Japanese society. The hypocrisy and self serving nature of the educational establishment, politicians, and Buddhist priests were clearly noted. The disruptive impact which modernization in the late 19th century had on traditional samurai families and the struggles for survival of tenant farmers were depicted quite effectively. Alcoholism in one character was portrayed by the author with great understanding. Readers unfamiliar with traditional Japanese mourning and burial practices will also find this aspect of the novel quite informative.
Per Henshall, Shimazaki had published poetry before he wrote Broken. These skills were evident in the lovely, at times lyrical, descriptions of nature and the weather. The latter was utilized by the author in two creatively different ways. Sometimes the weather reflected and underscored Uchimatsu’s state of mind. At other times, it offered a stark contrast to the protagonist’s mood.
I have two modest criticisms of this novel. First, there were times in the middle of the story when Shimazaki’s descriptions of Uchimatsu’s internal life got to be redundant. Ie, the pace of the storyline slowed down substantially. Second, there is a rather graphic slaughterhouse scene which served little purpose to either advance the plot or the development of Uchimatsu’s character.
Overall, however, Broken is impressive and quite engaging. This is especially true when one considers that it was the author’s first novel.
For those wishing to read more Burakumin related fiction I would recommend The Cape and Other Stories from the Japanese Ghetto by Kenji Nakajima. As Nakajima is an Eta himself its depictions of their lives in late 20th century are quite powerful at times. I should also note, however, that I found its prose style to be somewhat of an obstacle.
Peasant, Rebels, and other Misfits by Mikiso Hane is a nonfiction text published in 1982 which contains some information about the Burakumin and others living on the fringes of Japanese society from the late 19th century into the 1930’s.
Finally, this video by an English speaking Japanese offers some more current information about the Burakumin:
https://newsonjapan.com/html/newsdesk...
Second, he put Shimazaki in the context of Japanese literature of the late 19th/early 20th century, he discussed how the novel fit into the evolution of the author’s career, and he speculated on what the author might have wanted to accomplish in writing Broken.
Additionally, Henshall provided many footnotes throughout the book to translate Japanese terms or to explain some social/cultural practices which were noted in the narrative.
Shimazaki provided a powerful depiction of the prejudices which the Burakumin had to deal with in those days. Impressive was the insight with which the he portrayed the protagonist Ushimatsu’s increasingly intense struggles to cope the secret he guarded about his heritage. The turmoil he experiences is so palpably and deeply depicted that the story reached some poignant moments towards the end.
Equally important were Shimazaki’s observations about a number of aspects of early 20th century Japanese society. The hypocrisy and self serving nature of the educational establishment, politicians, and Buddhist priests were clearly noted. The disruptive impact which modernization in the late 19th century had on traditional samurai families and the struggles for survival of tenant farmers were depicted quite effectively. Alcoholism in one character was portrayed by the author with great understanding. Readers unfamiliar with traditional Japanese mourning and burial practices will also find this aspect of the novel quite informative.
Per Henshall, Shimazaki had published poetry before he wrote Broken. These skills were evident in the lovely, at times lyrical, descriptions of nature and the weather. The latter was utilized by the author in two creatively different ways. Sometimes the weather reflected and underscored Uchimatsu’s state of mind. At other times, it offered a stark contrast to the protagonist’s mood.
I have two modest criticisms of this novel. First, there were times in the middle of the story when Shimazaki’s descriptions of Uchimatsu’s internal life got to be redundant. Ie, the pace of the storyline slowed down substantially. Second, there is a rather graphic slaughterhouse scene which served little purpose to either advance the plot or the development of Uchimatsu’s character.
Overall, however, Broken is impressive and quite engaging. This is especially true when one considers that it was the author’s first novel.
For those wishing to read more Burakumin related fiction I would recommend The Cape and Other Stories from the Japanese Ghetto by Kenji Nakajima. As Nakajima is an Eta himself its depictions of their lives in late 20th century are quite powerful at times. I should also note, however, that I found its prose style to be somewhat of an obstacle.
Peasant, Rebels, and other Misfits by Mikiso Hane is a nonfiction text published in 1982 which contains some information about the Burakumin and others living on the fringes of Japanese society from the late 19th century into the 1930’s.
Finally, this video by an English speaking Japanese offers some more current information about the Burakumin:
https://newsonjapan.com/html/newsdesk...
November 4, 2025
Binge reviewing my best-read specimens of Japanese literature of all time.
If Sōseki gave Japan its psychological modernity, Shimazaki Tōson gave it its moral one. The Broken Commandment (1906) is both a social novel and a confession — a work that stares unflinchingly into the inherited wounds of a nation trying to be new.
It follows Ushimatsu Segawa, a young schoolteacher burdened by a secret his father forced him to keep: that he is a burakumin, a member of Japan’s historical outcaste community.
From that premise unfolds one of the most quietly shattering narratives in Japanese fiction. Tōson uses Ushimatsu’s inner turmoil as a lens to explore a society at war with its own ideals — a nation chanting equality while still chained to its ancient hierarchies. What’s devastating isn’t the overt discrimination, but the invisible architecture of shame and fear that traps Ushimatsu’s soul. Every word he speaks feels haunted by the one truth he can’t utter.
Tōson’s prose, though simple, has a moral gravity. He doesn’t sermonise; he observes — the daily rituals of teaching, the polite cruelty of colleagues, and the soft-spoken hypocrisies of modern life. Beneath it all hums the question: what is freedom if one must lie to live? When Ushimatsu reads the works of a reformer named Inoko Rentarō — a thinly veiled version of the real-life activist Tokoku — he experiences a stirring of conscience that borders on spiritual awakening. His admiration turns to obsession, until the two men’s paths cross in a scene that feels like destiny cracking open.
There is no melodrama in the book’s climax, only the slow, inexorable breaking of silence. When Ushimatsu finally reveals his origin, it’s not triumph or tragedy — it’s truth, raw and unadorned. The moral courage of that act is the novel’s quiet explosion.
What makes The Broken Commandment remarkable even today is how Tōson fuses the personal with the political. He wasn’t just telling a story of social stigma; he was chronicling the birth of Japan’s modern conscience — a nation learning, painfully, that progress without empathy is a hollow thing.
Reading it now, you feel the pulse of realism — those plain, honest sentences that seem to carry a century’s worth of ethical fatigue. There’s no easy redemption, only the ache of having lived truthfully for a moment, whatever the cost.
Why should you read this book today?
Because it forces us to confront the myth of equality we still cling to. Tōson’s world may be Meiji Japan, but its moral texture — the quiet othering, the polite exclusions — is chillingly familiar. We live in times when prejudice has simply evolved into subtler forms, cloaked in politeness or algorithms.
Reading The Broken Commandment is like holding up a mirror to the collective conscience — a reminder that progress is meaningless if compassion doesn’t keep pace. It’s a call to listen to the silences people are forced to inhabit.
What impact did the book have on me?
It humbled me. Ushimatsu’s trembling honesty — his fear, his yearning to belong, his final act of revelation — stayed with me long after I closed the book. It made me question the invisible hierarchies I walk through every day, the casual privileges I never noticed.
Tōson reminded me that truth-telling is rarely glamorous; it’s lonely, and it burns. Yet in that burning, something essential is purified. The book didn’t just make me empathize — it made me accountable.
Classic. Try it by all means.
If Sōseki gave Japan its psychological modernity, Shimazaki Tōson gave it its moral one. The Broken Commandment (1906) is both a social novel and a confession — a work that stares unflinchingly into the inherited wounds of a nation trying to be new.
It follows Ushimatsu Segawa, a young schoolteacher burdened by a secret his father forced him to keep: that he is a burakumin, a member of Japan’s historical outcaste community.
From that premise unfolds one of the most quietly shattering narratives in Japanese fiction. Tōson uses Ushimatsu’s inner turmoil as a lens to explore a society at war with its own ideals — a nation chanting equality while still chained to its ancient hierarchies. What’s devastating isn’t the overt discrimination, but the invisible architecture of shame and fear that traps Ushimatsu’s soul. Every word he speaks feels haunted by the one truth he can’t utter.
Tōson’s prose, though simple, has a moral gravity. He doesn’t sermonise; he observes — the daily rituals of teaching, the polite cruelty of colleagues, and the soft-spoken hypocrisies of modern life. Beneath it all hums the question: what is freedom if one must lie to live? When Ushimatsu reads the works of a reformer named Inoko Rentarō — a thinly veiled version of the real-life activist Tokoku — he experiences a stirring of conscience that borders on spiritual awakening. His admiration turns to obsession, until the two men’s paths cross in a scene that feels like destiny cracking open.
There is no melodrama in the book’s climax, only the slow, inexorable breaking of silence. When Ushimatsu finally reveals his origin, it’s not triumph or tragedy — it’s truth, raw and unadorned. The moral courage of that act is the novel’s quiet explosion.
What makes The Broken Commandment remarkable even today is how Tōson fuses the personal with the political. He wasn’t just telling a story of social stigma; he was chronicling the birth of Japan’s modern conscience — a nation learning, painfully, that progress without empathy is a hollow thing.
Reading it now, you feel the pulse of realism — those plain, honest sentences that seem to carry a century’s worth of ethical fatigue. There’s no easy redemption, only the ache of having lived truthfully for a moment, whatever the cost.
Why should you read this book today?
Because it forces us to confront the myth of equality we still cling to. Tōson’s world may be Meiji Japan, but its moral texture — the quiet othering, the polite exclusions — is chillingly familiar. We live in times when prejudice has simply evolved into subtler forms, cloaked in politeness or algorithms.
Reading The Broken Commandment is like holding up a mirror to the collective conscience — a reminder that progress is meaningless if compassion doesn’t keep pace. It’s a call to listen to the silences people are forced to inhabit.
What impact did the book have on me?
It humbled me. Ushimatsu’s trembling honesty — his fear, his yearning to belong, his final act of revelation — stayed with me long after I closed the book. It made me question the invisible hierarchies I walk through every day, the casual privileges I never noticed.
Tōson reminded me that truth-telling is rarely glamorous; it’s lonely, and it burns. Yet in that burning, something essential is purified. The book didn’t just make me empathize — it made me accountable.
Classic. Try it by all means.
June 16, 2024
(4.5 ⭐)
El título (fiel al original) nos está contando lo que va a pasar y, sin embargo, no quita un ápice de interés al libro, pues lo importante es el recorrido que lleva al protagonista a romper ese mandato paterno.
El libro sucede en 1892 (año 24 de la era Meiji) y Ushimatsu es un maestro de escuela rural de 24 años que es un eta , un "apestado". Lo sabemos desde el principio. En 1871 se eliminó el sistema de castas, pero la marginación de facto continuó.
Me ha parecido un libro profundamente japonés. Por un lado, los valores propios del confucianismo, la piedad filial y, por tanto, la obediencia al padre, “esconder su origen, mantener el precepto”. Por otro lado, los nuevos valores que estaban entrando en la era Meiji, el ser fiel a uno mismo, contar quién es. Tradición y modernidad en ese Japón de tantos cambios. Y de fondo, ese paisaje con nieve, aumentando la sensación de opresión y aislamiento, me encantó.
La marginación que sufre nuestro protagonista no tiene origen étnico ni es cultural, y esto es interesante porque no tiene por qué notarse. ¿Se puede o se debe ocultar la necesidad de revelar quiénes somos al mundo, de no escondernos? Este tipo de marginación quizá siga hoy en día hacia otros colectivos.
Muy interesante el distinto uso político que dos candidatos hacen de los eta, de manera casi opuesta; los diálogos con el escritor eta que sirve de “maestro” y de modelo a nuestro protagonista; el retrato del monje del templo en el que se hospeda; el ambiente laboral en la escuela o de relación con los alumnos.
También me pareció muy japonesa la manera en la que Ushimatsu decide finalmente confesar su origen, tremenda. La sensibilidad con la que el autor describe los sentimientos del protagonista hace imposible que no sintamos la necesidad casi compulsiva de que este rompa el precepto, sin importarnos las consecuencias que pueda tener. Nos urge que se muestre.
El título (fiel al original) nos está contando lo que va a pasar y, sin embargo, no quita un ápice de interés al libro, pues lo importante es el recorrido que lleva al protagonista a romper ese mandato paterno.
El libro sucede en 1892 (año 24 de la era Meiji) y Ushimatsu es un maestro de escuela rural de 24 años que es un eta , un "apestado". Lo sabemos desde el principio. En 1871 se eliminó el sistema de castas, pero la marginación de facto continuó.
Me ha parecido un libro profundamente japonés. Por un lado, los valores propios del confucianismo, la piedad filial y, por tanto, la obediencia al padre, “esconder su origen, mantener el precepto”. Por otro lado, los nuevos valores que estaban entrando en la era Meiji, el ser fiel a uno mismo, contar quién es. Tradición y modernidad en ese Japón de tantos cambios. Y de fondo, ese paisaje con nieve, aumentando la sensación de opresión y aislamiento, me encantó.
La marginación que sufre nuestro protagonista no tiene origen étnico ni es cultural, y esto es interesante porque no tiene por qué notarse. ¿Se puede o se debe ocultar la necesidad de revelar quiénes somos al mundo, de no escondernos? Este tipo de marginación quizá siga hoy en día hacia otros colectivos.
Muy interesante el distinto uso político que dos candidatos hacen de los eta, de manera casi opuesta; los diálogos con el escritor eta que sirve de “maestro” y de modelo a nuestro protagonista; el retrato del monje del templo en el que se hospeda; el ambiente laboral en la escuela o de relación con los alumnos.
También me pareció muy japonesa la manera en la que Ushimatsu decide finalmente confesar su origen, tremenda. La sensibilidad con la que el autor describe los sentimientos del protagonista hace imposible que no sintamos la necesidad casi compulsiva de que este rompa el precepto, sin importarnos las consecuencias que pueda tener. Nos urge que se muestre.
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