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This Kind of Woman: Ten Stories by Japanese Women Writers, 1960-1976
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287 pages, Hardcover
First published June 1, 1982
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February 24, 2022
This is a collection of 10 short stories by Japanese women writers, between the years 1960 and 1976 - as the title indicates. One of the translators, Yukiko Tanaka also writes a fairly lengthy introduction explaining the historical development of Japanese society and culture and how it was especially hard on women; as well as going into detail about the developments post second World War, again with particular reference to the changing role of women in society. Tanaka says that originally herself and co-editor Elizabeth Hanson were going to start with a story by Hirabayashi Taiko, written in 1946 but realized that the later period of the 60s and 70s provided a broader range of women writers; in fact "the 1960s were the beginning of a new era of women writers". They kept Hirabayashi's title however "This Kind of Woman."
I felt all the stories but one were easy to read and follow; and all of them deal with the difficulties of women trying to identify for themselves a better place in society, especially in their relationships with men. In the past a woman's place was to obey her husband, and then her sons, and to support their lives first and foremost. The big problem of course, is if you've had the misfortune to fall for a slippery-fish (Family in Hell, by Tomioka Taeko, '74) or a self-indulgent, lazy, user (A Bed of Grass by Tsushima Yūko, '76). Many of the stories demonstrate women taking charge. In Lingering Affection, Setouchi Haroumi '63; the female insists on ending her long-standing relation with a married man. In Luminous Watch, Tsumura Setsuko, '69 the woman starts her own business. In The Three Crabs by Ōba Minako, '68, a woman treats her marriage with the same contempt as her husband has done. They are women who have the courage to break boundaries and all sorts of social taboos: Yamamoto Michiko in The Man Who Cuts the Grass, '75 touches on the possibility of madness as a way for the woman to deal with her lonely marriage. All these writers ask questions about the identity of women and how they should live.
The story I found difficult is number 9 - they are arranged in chronological order so, written in 1976, by Takahashi Takako. She was born in 1932. She studied French literature at Kyoto university. She completed her degree in 1954, and in the same year was married. Takahashi supported them financially with translating and teaching, while her husband established his literary career until his death from cancer in 1971. In 1974 she wrote one novel, 9 stories, and two dozen book reviews and essays.
When I re-read 'Doll Love', I started to see and understand its very erotic and symbolic style. First time through I was perplexed by the strange details of the train journeys and the special white light in a certain area where our narrator decides to choose a hotel, even her choice of the old building as opposed to the new strikes the reader as strange. Then we are given some of the narrator's background; her husband has recently committed suicide, something that she never suspected, but even more disturbing is the information that a boyfriend from many years earlier did the same thing. First-time through I read this as literal - and then I started to grasp the much more ethereal or perhaps metaphoric ideas of this writer. The deaths represent her inability to have meaningful relationships with men - and this is underlined when a fortune teller explains to her that she carries 'a death-circle', any man whom she loves will be drawn into this death-circle. So our narrator decides that she must isolate herself completely from any person.
But she is a young woman, only 38, as she tells us, 20 years older than the young boy of 18, Tamao she encounters in the hotel where they both stay. In the night she dreams of a wax-doll that she brings to life through her caressing and in the day-time she speaks to Tamao, while they drink tea together. Gradually Tamao, who is studying for university exams, starts to respond; he also introduces the subject of love via a piece of music he likes, and our narrator understands that Tamao of her dreams is becoming the real-life boy in the hotel. One night she paints lipstick on to his lips and the next day when she greets him - she can see a faint mark of red on his lips.
At first this all seems very strange - to the reader, but gradually you understand that the narrator renouncing all life, inevitably re-creates a new erotic life for herself in her dreams where she believes she will cause no further destruction. On my second reading I felt how erotic this passage is:
Unless he was awakened by my hand, Tamao always remained cold. Starting form the ears, nose, mouth, I coaxed the organs one by one with my hand, massaging many times so the warmth of my hand would soak in; and as I repeated this the life hidden inside Tamao gradually awoke. I came to understand why I had developed a passion for something like a wax doll. The reason is that is is by nature cold. And yet, through my devoted caressing it was possible to draw up the warmth of life from some deep place. Thus it was possible for me to be the activator in an absolute sense. And though Tamao was a wax doll he was shifting toward something that was not a wax doll.
Denied her own sensual, and sexual life in 'reality' the narrator creates her ideal partner and literally brings him to life. She creates him as she would want him to be.
In the hotel are an elderly couple who have come for a specific reason, which seems also to be a reactivation of their love. The husband says to our narrator: "It's an older man who discovers the beauty of a young girl." And then a little later she remembers: "Words came to me then that matched what the man in the tearoom had said: It is an older woman who discovers the beauty of a young man."
Again - the first time I read that I thought - oh she remembered wrong. Second time round, I understand it's a deliberate inversion of what the man believes - the patriarchal society privileges male over female but in Takahashi's story it is the female who has the privilege of creating; of making the world as she wants it to be - but, she pays a price.
She visits the Botanic Gardens in the mountains near the hotel and in this earthly 'paradise' she believes she has managed to find the perfect flower that could best resemble Tamao. She finds a watering can, and starts to water the beautiful roses:
I moved slowly from the group of red roses to the pink ones. An elegant creamy pink flower caught my eye and I read its name "Confidants."
I felt myself expanding in boundless space. The antique copper watering can was heavy in my hand. Morning and evening I water the roses like this, everyday. In the morning while everyone is asleep and in the evening before I prepare supper, it is my task to water the roses everyday without fail.
Did you spot that strange transition in verb tense - the writer moves from a visit to the Botanical garden to the "present tense" of habit. Our narrator becomes a woman - a different woman with a young son Tamao, watering her roses in her garden.
None of the other stories have this allegorical complexity but in a sense they are all the same in that they illustrate very clearly how all the women feel trapped in their current identities. All are looking for a means of escape or a way to change or re-invent themselves. It seems to me that these stories explore in depth the plight of women everywhere; across the globe, in time and space, women have been relegated to the role of 'The Second Sex'.
Try this book: it provides a fascinating insight into modern Japan - not only the roles of men and women but into the economic developments for which it is so famous, post 2WW. Many of the stories highlight the price paid for this economic superiority. In 'Luminous Watch' - a man loses his job and takes his life. In nearly all the stories, the living conditions of the characters are abysmally poor, small, overcrowded; nearly always toilet and washing facilities are shared with the other tenants from the whole building. It's the inside story - the sort of details that women find important - and include in their writings.
In my inexpert opinion, a brilliant collection of short stories collated by several dedicated women skilled in both languages - Yukiko Tanaka, Elizabeth Hanson and others. They started the project in 1979, and it was accepted for publication in 1982 by Stanford University Press.
I felt all the stories but one were easy to read and follow; and all of them deal with the difficulties of women trying to identify for themselves a better place in society, especially in their relationships with men. In the past a woman's place was to obey her husband, and then her sons, and to support their lives first and foremost. The big problem of course, is if you've had the misfortune to fall for a slippery-fish (Family in Hell, by Tomioka Taeko, '74) or a self-indulgent, lazy, user (A Bed of Grass by Tsushima Yūko, '76). Many of the stories demonstrate women taking charge. In Lingering Affection, Setouchi Haroumi '63; the female insists on ending her long-standing relation with a married man. In Luminous Watch, Tsumura Setsuko, '69 the woman starts her own business. In The Three Crabs by Ōba Minako, '68, a woman treats her marriage with the same contempt as her husband has done. They are women who have the courage to break boundaries and all sorts of social taboos: Yamamoto Michiko in The Man Who Cuts the Grass, '75 touches on the possibility of madness as a way for the woman to deal with her lonely marriage. All these writers ask questions about the identity of women and how they should live.
The story I found difficult is number 9 - they are arranged in chronological order so, written in 1976, by Takahashi Takako. She was born in 1932. She studied French literature at Kyoto university. She completed her degree in 1954, and in the same year was married. Takahashi supported them financially with translating and teaching, while her husband established his literary career until his death from cancer in 1971. In 1974 she wrote one novel, 9 stories, and two dozen book reviews and essays.
When I re-read 'Doll Love', I started to see and understand its very erotic and symbolic style. First time through I was perplexed by the strange details of the train journeys and the special white light in a certain area where our narrator decides to choose a hotel, even her choice of the old building as opposed to the new strikes the reader as strange. Then we are given some of the narrator's background; her husband has recently committed suicide, something that she never suspected, but even more disturbing is the information that a boyfriend from many years earlier did the same thing. First-time through I read this as literal - and then I started to grasp the much more ethereal or perhaps metaphoric ideas of this writer. The deaths represent her inability to have meaningful relationships with men - and this is underlined when a fortune teller explains to her that she carries 'a death-circle', any man whom she loves will be drawn into this death-circle. So our narrator decides that she must isolate herself completely from any person.
But she is a young woman, only 38, as she tells us, 20 years older than the young boy of 18, Tamao she encounters in the hotel where they both stay. In the night she dreams of a wax-doll that she brings to life through her caressing and in the day-time she speaks to Tamao, while they drink tea together. Gradually Tamao, who is studying for university exams, starts to respond; he also introduces the subject of love via a piece of music he likes, and our narrator understands that Tamao of her dreams is becoming the real-life boy in the hotel. One night she paints lipstick on to his lips and the next day when she greets him - she can see a faint mark of red on his lips.
At first this all seems very strange - to the reader, but gradually you understand that the narrator renouncing all life, inevitably re-creates a new erotic life for herself in her dreams where she believes she will cause no further destruction. On my second reading I felt how erotic this passage is:
Unless he was awakened by my hand, Tamao always remained cold. Starting form the ears, nose, mouth, I coaxed the organs one by one with my hand, massaging many times so the warmth of my hand would soak in; and as I repeated this the life hidden inside Tamao gradually awoke. I came to understand why I had developed a passion for something like a wax doll. The reason is that is is by nature cold. And yet, through my devoted caressing it was possible to draw up the warmth of life from some deep place. Thus it was possible for me to be the activator in an absolute sense. And though Tamao was a wax doll he was shifting toward something that was not a wax doll.
Denied her own sensual, and sexual life in 'reality' the narrator creates her ideal partner and literally brings him to life. She creates him as she would want him to be.
In the hotel are an elderly couple who have come for a specific reason, which seems also to be a reactivation of their love. The husband says to our narrator: "It's an older man who discovers the beauty of a young girl." And then a little later she remembers: "Words came to me then that matched what the man in the tearoom had said: It is an older woman who discovers the beauty of a young man."
Again - the first time I read that I thought - oh she remembered wrong. Second time round, I understand it's a deliberate inversion of what the man believes - the patriarchal society privileges male over female but in Takahashi's story it is the female who has the privilege of creating; of making the world as she wants it to be - but, she pays a price.
She visits the Botanic Gardens in the mountains near the hotel and in this earthly 'paradise' she believes she has managed to find the perfect flower that could best resemble Tamao. She finds a watering can, and starts to water the beautiful roses:
I moved slowly from the group of red roses to the pink ones. An elegant creamy pink flower caught my eye and I read its name "Confidants."
I felt myself expanding in boundless space. The antique copper watering can was heavy in my hand. Morning and evening I water the roses like this, everyday. In the morning while everyone is asleep and in the evening before I prepare supper, it is my task to water the roses everyday without fail.
Did you spot that strange transition in verb tense - the writer moves from a visit to the Botanical garden to the "present tense" of habit. Our narrator becomes a woman - a different woman with a young son Tamao, watering her roses in her garden.
None of the other stories have this allegorical complexity but in a sense they are all the same in that they illustrate very clearly how all the women feel trapped in their current identities. All are looking for a means of escape or a way to change or re-invent themselves. It seems to me that these stories explore in depth the plight of women everywhere; across the globe, in time and space, women have been relegated to the role of 'The Second Sex'.
Try this book: it provides a fascinating insight into modern Japan - not only the roles of men and women but into the economic developments for which it is so famous, post 2WW. Many of the stories highlight the price paid for this economic superiority. In 'Luminous Watch' - a man loses his job and takes his life. In nearly all the stories, the living conditions of the characters are abysmally poor, small, overcrowded; nearly always toilet and washing facilities are shared with the other tenants from the whole building. It's the inside story - the sort of details that women find important - and include in their writings.
In my inexpert opinion, a brilliant collection of short stories collated by several dedicated women skilled in both languages - Yukiko Tanaka, Elizabeth Hanson and others. They started the project in 1979, and it was accepted for publication in 1982 by Stanford University Press.
June 25, 2017
3.5/5
Kurahashi Yumiko - Partei - 4.5/5
Setouchi Harumi - Lingering Affection - 4/5
Kono Taeko - The Last Time - 5/5
Enchi Fumiko - Boxcar of Chrysanthemums - 1.5/5
Oba Minako - The Three Crabs - 2.5/5
Tsumura Setsuko - Luminous Watch - 3/5
Tomoika Taeko - Family in Hell - 2.5/5
Yamamoto Michiko - The Man Who Cut the Grass - 3/5
Takahashi Takako - Doll Love - 3/5
Tsushima Yuko - A Bed of Grass - 1.5/5
it started off well and went downhill. This was part my not knowing what was going on, part not finding too many of those pithy encapsulations I know so well, part, in the case of the 1.5's, an obsessive fascination with mentally disabled people that I simply couldn't stomach. As such, I wish others better luck with a number of these stories than I did. I'll still be keeping the book, though, as it's a treasure trove of biographical info for the ten who all deserve proper author profiles made by someone who still has library powers at some future point.
The first story, Kurahashi's 'Partei', was first person narrated in a self-satarizingly objective tone that, unfortunately, was unlike any of the stories that followed. I can well imagine it wouldn't be to many's tastes, but I personally enjoyed the tale of a sardonic woman moving through the scene of grass work communism parties whose male members have grand aspirations and far more practical dicks. Sounds depressing, but unlike the women in the other stories who didn't know what to do in their lives, this story had some bite. Setouchi's 'Lingering Affection' teetered closely into the abyss of former love/adulterer sentimentality, but it rescued itself by moving on from the lovelorn's turmoil. The best would have to be Kono's 'The Last Time', which was overtly strange (a woman knows for a fact that this is her last day on earth) and yet both hilarious and tragic in an unforced manner. After that came the first of the stories whose main lynch pin was pity porn (I expected better of Enchi), and then a sequence of the overly witty/blasé, the domestically saddening (not in a standout fashion), the painfully self-conscious (I don't mind if an author hates their characters, but if I haven't found anything worth remembering by the end, it doesn't work), the creepy (again, not standout), the really fucking creepy (switching the genders around doesn't make imagined underage molestation any better to read about), and a repetition of a morbid fascination with neuroatypicals. In short, not the strongest ending.
I realize how little I know about 1960-1976 Japan and the Japanese women who wrote during that period, as well as that short stories are my weak suit, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, I'd be more than happy to read more of Kurahashi or Taeko or even Enchi, which is entirely the point of such randomized grab bags. While I didn't latch on to Tsushima much, I do have a book by her father (the apparently sensational Osamu Dazai) that I'll get to eventually. There's also an earlier selection of stories, also translated and edited by this collection's Yukiko Tanaka, that I haven't gotten a hold of yet, but hope I'll have a better grasp on the context of such by the time I do.
Until that time, I can say that I had been almost perfectly in love with you. Although I wasn't sure what "perfect" meant, you had continually reassured me of the existence of that "perfection." From the first time we met, you had shown an interest in me, and I felt the same way about you. After a short time I had said that I loved you and you had confessed the same. Then you had cried copiously. You said the fact that you, a member of the Party, had cried such human tears was because of me and my love. This more or less flattered me at the time. When I thought about it, however, it made very little sense.I should really stop doing this sort of thing to myself, but considering my track record with Maru and Corregidora, I've had too many successes to do anything but throw myself at things with a maxed out amount of unfamiliarity and minimal amount of familiarity. Translated short stories by nine authors I've never encountered and one I've only read in novel form certainly hits the mark of unfamiliarity and so off I went. As you can see by the processing of ratings below:
Kurahashi Yumiko - Partei - 4.5/5
Setouchi Harumi - Lingering Affection - 4/5
Kono Taeko - The Last Time - 5/5
Enchi Fumiko - Boxcar of Chrysanthemums - 1.5/5
Oba Minako - The Three Crabs - 2.5/5
Tsumura Setsuko - Luminous Watch - 3/5
Tomoika Taeko - Family in Hell - 2.5/5
Yamamoto Michiko - The Man Who Cut the Grass - 3/5
Takahashi Takako - Doll Love - 3/5
Tsushima Yuko - A Bed of Grass - 1.5/5
it started off well and went downhill. This was part my not knowing what was going on, part not finding too many of those pithy encapsulations I know so well, part, in the case of the 1.5's, an obsessive fascination with mentally disabled people that I simply couldn't stomach. As such, I wish others better luck with a number of these stories than I did. I'll still be keeping the book, though, as it's a treasure trove of biographical info for the ten who all deserve proper author profiles made by someone who still has library powers at some future point.
The first story, Kurahashi's 'Partei', was first person narrated in a self-satarizingly objective tone that, unfortunately, was unlike any of the stories that followed. I can well imagine it wouldn't be to many's tastes, but I personally enjoyed the tale of a sardonic woman moving through the scene of grass work communism parties whose male members have grand aspirations and far more practical dicks. Sounds depressing, but unlike the women in the other stories who didn't know what to do in their lives, this story had some bite. Setouchi's 'Lingering Affection' teetered closely into the abyss of former love/adulterer sentimentality, but it rescued itself by moving on from the lovelorn's turmoil. The best would have to be Kono's 'The Last Time', which was overtly strange (a woman knows for a fact that this is her last day on earth) and yet both hilarious and tragic in an unforced manner. After that came the first of the stories whose main lynch pin was pity porn (I expected better of Enchi), and then a sequence of the overly witty/blasé, the domestically saddening (not in a standout fashion), the painfully self-conscious (I don't mind if an author hates their characters, but if I haven't found anything worth remembering by the end, it doesn't work), the creepy (again, not standout), the really fucking creepy (switching the genders around doesn't make imagined underage molestation any better to read about), and a repetition of a morbid fascination with neuroatypicals. In short, not the strongest ending.
I realize how little I know about 1960-1976 Japan and the Japanese women who wrote during that period, as well as that short stories are my weak suit, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, I'd be more than happy to read more of Kurahashi or Taeko or even Enchi, which is entirely the point of such randomized grab bags. While I didn't latch on to Tsushima much, I do have a book by her father (the apparently sensational Osamu Dazai) that I'll get to eventually. There's also an earlier selection of stories, also translated and edited by this collection's Yukiko Tanaka, that I haven't gotten a hold of yet, but hope I'll have a better grasp on the context of such by the time I do.
If you talk in sophisticated obscenities, the party will last until morning[.]
February 26, 2022
The 1960s in Japan were an new era of women writers and since then there ranks have only grown. At this time, woman writers make up the pinnacle of Japanese fiction. The trend was caught by the publication in 1982 of "This Kind of Woman," an anthology of 10 short stories written by women authors between 1960 and 1976. Important writers from that period who have been included in this book are Kurahashi Yumiko, Kono Taeko, Oba Minako, Tomioka Taeko, Takahashi Takako and Tsushima Yuko. What makes this volume all the more valuable is that all translations are new.
September 28, 2012
I would have enjoyed reading this anthology more if I had read it within 5-10 years after 1976 since it's essentially a matter of literary intimacy and social context that familiarized its readers for more understanding and appreciating some or all of its ten short stories written from 1960 (Partei by Karahashi Yumiko) to 1976 (A Bed of Grass by Tsushima Yuko). I'm sorry I rarely read this kind of Japanese genre translated into English of course, one the reasons is that I didn't have any motive that urged me to try reading such the stories written by some notable, prestigious female writers, in other words, those new emerging comers as writers were rarely read or heard of, especially in Thailand.
Generally speaking, I've been familiar with some famous Japanese male writers like Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Yasunari Kawabata, Yukio Mishima, etc. since some years ago. Therefore, I think it would take time for their female counterparts to achieve more fame, readership and popularity. As for the question on 'how?', that remains a formidable task for those who know to take action so that we readers can find some newly-published short stories from any country in which we're interested to read more.
From the list of the ten stories' writers, I was not able to recognize any name. However, I simply kept reading from Story 1- Story 10. However, I enjoyed reading some good stories, for instance, in “Boxcar of Chrysanthemums” by Enchi Fumiko because of its tragic sentimentality. It is also unimaginable as regards the plot and story narrated by an outsider (I), that is, at least three queries would arise:
1) What does Masatoshi’s father think as regards Rie’s dignity and status?
2) Why has Rie decided to accept Masatoshi as her husband?
3) How does she cope with her family life?
In short, I think this readable short story (15 pages + 16 lines) is the best of all.
Generally speaking, I've been familiar with some famous Japanese male writers like Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Yasunari Kawabata, Yukio Mishima, etc. since some years ago. Therefore, I think it would take time for their female counterparts to achieve more fame, readership and popularity. As for the question on 'how?', that remains a formidable task for those who know to take action so that we readers can find some newly-published short stories from any country in which we're interested to read more.
From the list of the ten stories' writers, I was not able to recognize any name. However, I simply kept reading from Story 1- Story 10. However, I enjoyed reading some good stories, for instance, in “Boxcar of Chrysanthemums” by Enchi Fumiko because of its tragic sentimentality. It is also unimaginable as regards the plot and story narrated by an outsider (I), that is, at least three queries would arise:
1) What does Masatoshi’s father think as regards Rie’s dignity and status?
2) Why has Rie decided to accept Masatoshi as her husband?
3) How does she cope with her family life?
In short, I think this readable short story (15 pages + 16 lines) is the best of all.
March 26, 2014
I only read the Fumiko Enchi story, "Boxcar of Chrysanthemums," but am marking the entire book as read b/c that is the kind of person I am. It was very good, but short. The narrator is repulsed, fascinated, and finally deeply moved by the sacrifice of another women. The story occurs over the course of a protracted train ride as the narrator's memory is stirred by two incidental encounters. More of Fumiko Enchi's work needs to be translated. I may get around to reading the rest of the collection, but probably not: my library book is falling apart.
July 2, 2009
Just a great overall short story collection.
January 16, 2025
highly recommend--the stories are insightful and artfully written
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews