The Temple of the Wild Geese, a semi-autobiographical account of Mizukami's childhood, tells the tale of Jinen, a Buddhist monk raised by villagers after his mother, a beggar, abandoned him. Sent to live at a temple at the age of ten, his resentment smolders for years until it explodes in a shocking climax. In Bamboo Dolls of Echizen, no woman is willing to marry the diminutive Kisuke, a bamboo artisan, until Tamae, a prostitute, comes to pay her respects at the grave of Kisuke's father. In Tamae, Kisuke sees shadows of his own mother, who died when he was young, and the two eventually marry. Since Kisuke seeks only motherly affection from Tamae, the two never become lovers. Instead, Tamae devotes herself to caring for Kisuke as a mother would, and he thrives as a renowned maker of bamboo dolls.
Tsutomu Mizukami (水上 勉, みずかみ つとむ, March 8, 1919 – September 8, 2004), also known as Minakami Tsutomu, was a popular and prolific Japanese author of novels, detective stories, biographies, and plays. Many of his stories were made into movies.
Mizukami was born in Wakasa, Fukui Prefecture, to a poor family. Between the ages of 9 and 12, he was a novice in a Zen temple in Kyoto. Disillusioned by the conduct of the temple's chief priest, however, he left the temple in 1936.
Mizukami entered Ritsumeikan University to study Japanese literature, but dropped out for financial reasons and because of bad health. After World War II he learned from author Kōji Uno, and in 1952 wrote the autobiographical Furaipan no uta (Song of the Frying Pan), which became a best-seller. For nearly the next decade, however, he did not publish, but in 1960, his story centering on Minamata disease, Umi no kiba (The Ocean's Fangs), started his career as a writer of detective stories on social themes.
His autobiographic Gan no tera (Temple of the Geese) won the Naoki Prize in 1961, and was adapted for film by Kawashima Yūzō (1962). He followed this in 1962 with Kiga kaikyô (Starvation Straits, 1962) which was made into a film under the same name by Tomu Uchida (A Fugitive from the Past, 1965), and Kiri to kage (Fog and Shadows, 1963), then novels dealing with women's concerns, including Gobanchô Yûgiri-rô (The Pavilion of the Evening Mist at Gobanchô, 1963) and Echizen takeningyô (The Bamboo Dolls of Echizen, 1964).
He won the 1975 Tanizaki Prize for his biography Ikkyū (一休).
Tokios visai neblogos dvi lėtos istorijos apie keistus santykius tarp 60-kelių metų vyro, 30-kelių metų moters ir jaunuolio / berniuko, tik skirtinguose kontekstuose, pozityviam ir negatyviam.
Set in the same region as Kawabata's Snow Country, Bamboo Dolls of Echizen tells the story of a master bamboo craftsman who falls in love with his late father's lover and yearns to make her his wife/mother. On one level, this book is about the craftsman's passion for his art and an older woman. On a deeper level, though, this is the troubled story of two outcasts seeking refuge and home.
When the fair skinned Tamae first appears in the snowy mountains to pay homage at her late lover's grave, the novella becomes hers. The craftsman recognizes the scent of the mother he never knew and finds himself drawn to her. I, too, was drawn to Tamae, but I don't know whether because of the writer's skill in creating this character or because of an inner yearning within me. She's deserving of a novel.
The craftsman works in a bamboo grove way back up in mountains which the translator compares to Appalachia, and the action takes place in the 1920's. The craftsman expresses his love for Tamae by making beautiful bamboo dolls, so remarkable the merchants of the cities soon seek to buy as many as the craftsman and his fellow villagers can make. Contact between the ancient culture of the mountains and the modernizing Japanese city leads to Tamae's shadows and the conflicts that drive the rest of the story.
Tsutomu Mizukami made Bamboo Dolls of Echizen a modern folk tale. What might be shortcomings in a novel are standard in folk tales. Remember that if you choose to read this book.
I found Bamboo Dolls of Echizen haunting. I bet you will, too.
Although already an established author of popular detective fictions, these two novellas cemented Tsutomu Minakami as a major literary force in Japan with Temple winning the prestigious Noaki Literary Award in 1961. Told in simple and sparse, but elegantly cultured, prose these two masterful tales of the devastating effects caused by a lack of maternal influence in upbringing are rich in imagery and emotion, overcoming any argument of predictability in the works. Shocking and tragic--mixing pulp fiction with naturalism and sharp social commentary. Short though they are, they don't read quickly. I definitely want to read more of this author's works, though not many of his works have been translated into English.
These are amazing stories. I'll say they are very Japanese. When looked once, they looked simple. When looked twice, they showed some subtle beauty. When felt through, you could only be enchanted. You could feel the coldness of the Jinen's room. You could breathe the freshness of the bamboo grove. You could hear the faint voice chanting sutra. You could be gripped with the loneliness of the outcasts of the world.
We definitely need more translation of Mizukami-san's works.
A fascinating pair of novellas written in the early 1960s, but set in the late 1920s/early 1930s. The first is a dark, chilly tale which recalls Mishima's 'The Temple of the Golden Pavilion' and tells of a mistreated acolyte at a Buddhist temple, the hedonistic priest he slaves for and the priest's illicit live-in mistress. The main event in the story is never spelled out for us; Mizukami (or Minakami) asks us to read between the lines instead, an approach that proves highly effective.
The second story combines myth and social realism in a very sad tale about a prostitute offered an unexpected chance of salvation when courted by the naive country-bumpkin son of a deceased regular. Mizukami seems to have been a very versatile writer and the research he must have done for both of these compelling works is impressive in itself.
Dennis Washburn's translation reads well and he also contributes an informative postscript. On this evidence, I for one would certainly welcome further translations of Mizukami's work.
The stories were competently written, but they shared one odd detail: the main characters possessed abnormally large heads. I couldn't stop thinking about this as I was reading. Is this a detail he fixated on, or decided he liked it so much he decided to go back to that well? Very unusual. I wondered if he had some personal experience of it in his own life. There's a brief bio as part of this book, and apparently the author also wrote some detective fiction, and his style shows this. The two stories here focus largely on the more lurid aspects of the stories. I was hoping for some deeper explorations of the characters and their lives.
I give the first short story, The Temple of Wild Geese, 3 stars and the second, Bamboo Dolls of Echizen, 4.5 stars.
The first story had a tone that I’ve never experienced with American or European authors, so that was really interesting! Otherwise kind of disturbing.
The second had traumatic events similar to those in the first, but the way the author addressed them felt much more fleshed out and appropriate. Again, a very unique tone that I haven’t read a lot of but really enjoyable.
The Temple of Wild Geese is deeply disturbing, but so good. I read it three years ago and I'm not entirely sure I want to remember it. Highly recommended for those who like literature that disturbs you. Those who may be prone to romanticize life in Japanese monasteries should read it, perhaps. Tigger warning for SA, violence, etc.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
- Gan no Tera ("The Temple of the Wild Geese," 1961) Mizukami used thriller techniques in this semi-autobiographical novel, set in a Kyoto temple called "the Temple of the Wild Geese" (a subtemple of Shokokuji) because a famous painter has decorated the sliding doors with these birds. The story centers on Jinen, a thirteen-year old novice with a mysterious background. The orphaned son of a beggar, he has a grotesquely formed head and is generally unhappy and ashamed of his past. The priest of the temple, Jikai, has taken an ex-geisha from Gion, Satoko, into the temple. In modern Japan, priests are allowed to marry, but playing around with geisha is of course a sign of lewdness in a priest. On top of that, Jikai is a notorious tippler. The lonely Jinen develops a crush on Satoko, and she does not completely discourage his youthful fancy. The unlikely love triangle leads to a brutal climax - Jikai disappears. Has he really departed on a walking tour of penance, as Jinen says? A story with great psychological depth and written in a beautiful style.
The Temple of the Wild Geese was filmed in 1962 by Kawashima Yuzo in vibrant black-and-white with Wakao Ayako as Satoko.
- Echizen take ningyo ("Bamboo Dolls of Echizen," 1963) A young bamboo craftsman, Kisuke, takes his father's prostitute Tamae as a wife and insists on treating her as a mother - the two never become lovers. The story has weird Freudian overtones. Cared for by Tamae, Kisuke becomes a renowned craftsman, a maker of the bamboo dolls the region is famous for. Part folk tale and part social realism, set in the isolated rural scenery of Fukui Prefecture. Lots of local color, often of a primitive and ghostly nature.
Bamboo Dolls of Echizen was filmed in 1963 by Yoshimura Kozaburo as a stylish melodrama.
The two novellas that make up this book, while somewhat different in story, are remarkably similar in form and style. Mr. Mizukami has wonderful technique when setting a scene. He seems to know exactly when to dwell on smaller intricacies and when to paint in broader strokes. Similarly, he makes it seems uncannily easy to convey the passage of large swaths of time: both novellas take place over stretches of several years yet, short as they are, nothing important about the character's developments seem to be left out.
Mr. Mizukami's style is reminiscent of Mr. Garcia-Marquez and Mr. Mirukami: a kind of realism that nonetheless seems romantic in the simplicity of its sentences and its descriptions. However, unlike with the other two authors, the only magic here is that magic which exists in the world around us: nothing supernatural ever takes place.
Though the sentences and vocabulary are easy, neither novella seems to move along especially rapidly, nor to be overly compelling. Reading them was rather like looking at a couple of well-done still-lifes on a museum wall on a rainy afternoon. I respect the achievement of the artist, and I can see clear strokes of meaning in the arrangement of the characters and the development of the storylines. At the same time, the pleasure I derived from this book was purely a sort of intellectual one. I never found myself putting aside other tasks to come back to it; I never found myself irresistibly drawn to it; I never really even found myself wondering what was going to happen next.
I'm not sure how much I liked these novellas. Half the time I was turning pages frantically, eager to know what comes next, and the other half the time I was just waiting for it to be over. The stories serve as pretty clear critiques of a given system of the time (corrupt temples, ineffective and harmful laws and regulations, views on abortion, etc.), which is interesting to explore and read about, but like much of 20th century Japanese writing, the whole of the book has this terribly tragic undertone that is completely unavoidable. You know it isn't going to end well for the characters; it can't end well for them--otherwise, it just wouldn't be 20th century Japanese literature.
Both novellas shine a fairly (er, extremely) negative light on sex as well. Pretty much, sex results in seriously negative consequences. All the time. This is not so much a criticism of mine as much as a musing. Was this just Minakami's personal view of sex, or is it merely the opinion of the time?
I don't normally read Japanese authors, but since this was available at the library and looked vaguely interesting, I thought I'd give it a shot. Thing is, I found it hard to identify with the settings or the characters in the two novellas in the book. Some of the scenarios seemed a little far-fetched, and required quite big leaps of logic. Maybe it was just the usual problem with novellas being short and having to cut to the chase, but this book just didn't do it for me. Ah well.
Two Novellas tell defferent stories about Japanese village life in the early 1900's. Interesting parallels in both about the physical and psychological makeup of the main characters. More sexual overtones that you'd expect from Japanese writing.
Uhh . . . Minakami is available in English? I remember reading Bamboo Dolls (Temple of Wild Geese, I'm not sure) in the original Japanese. What to say . . . Bleak? Haunting? A slice of Japanese rural life in the old days.