Kenji Miyazawa is one of modern Japan’s most beloved writers, a great poet and a strange and marvelous spinner of tales, whose sly, humorous, enchanting, and enigmatic stories bear a certain resemblance to those of his contemporary Robert Walser. John Bester’s selection and expert translation of Miyazawa’s short fiction reflects its full range from the joyful, innocent “Wildcat and the Acorns,” to the cautionary tale “The Restaurant of Many Orders,” to “The Earthgod and the Fox,” which starts out whimsically before taking a tragic turn. Miyazawa also had a deep connection to Japanese folklore and an intense love of the natural world. In “The Wild Pear,” what seem to be two slight nature sketches succeed in encapsulating some of the cruelty and compensations of life itself.
His name is written as 宮沢賢治 in Japanese, and translated as 宮澤賢治 in Traditional Chinese.
Kenji Miyazawa (1896-1933) was born in Iwate, one of the northernmost prefectures in Japan. In high school, he studied Zen Buddhism and developed a lifelong devotion to the Lotus Sutra, a major influence on his writing. After graduating from an agricultural college, he moved to Tokyo to begin his writing career but had to return home to care for a sick sister. He remained in his home in Iwate for the rest of his life. One of his best-known works is the novel Night on the Galactic Railroad, which was adapted into anime in the late twentieth century, as were many of his short stories. Much of his poetry is still popular in Japan today.
Some of the stories feature creatures who stand for human beings, as often happens in fables. But Miyazawa makes things even more fun with his own special twists, like the fox's new shoes. Even richer and stranger are other stories that travel into the mind of other than human nature, imagining what the crabs are thinking for instance. Even the crab story could be a traditional anthropomorphic fable, with the crabs standing in for human beings faced with the randomness of how death or beauty arrives inexplicably. However, the story creates something other than simple anthropomorphism, rather a blurring of boundaries between human and animal, a sense of shared experience. Most of the stories undo boundaries in unsettling and illuminating ways.
Comfortable little stories, with all the wonder of a sunrise at the end of a long and quiet night. Talking animals, rural scenery, and a deceptively simple but beautiful down-home tone make them seem like real folktales, albeit ones refreshingly uncoupled from moralizing. (If there is an instruction, it might be a simply and unforcefully-put "be polite.") Standouts, in order of preference: "The First Deer Dance," "Night of the Festival" (an honest scene), "Wildcat and the Acorns" (just noticing all of these are from the perspectives of children), "Gorsch the Cellist," "The Nighthawk Star" and "The Wild Pear."
This book is probably better than I’m rating it, but since I don’t read many short stories, let alone children’s fables translated from Japanese, I feel like it just didn’t really click with me. I loved the beautiful descriptions of the natural world, that were almost like poetry. There were some stories I enjoyed unreservedly (March by Moonlight, The Ungrateful Rat, The Restaurant of Many Orders) but many others that just left me vaguely puzzled or unsatisfied. I think this is because I just don’t have the right cultural frame of reference to pick up the allusions to Japanese folklore, Buddhism, and history that we’re peppered throughout. Also, western children’s stories are steeped in morality; these were often “lessonless” or with lessons that westerners would never teach there children (as in The Fire Stone). So, interesting but not really my cup of tea.
The worlds of fairy tales, folk tales, and fables spring from a picturesque and poetic association between imagination and nature as scribbled on a mind tablet of the visionary, the dreamer, the innocent, and the humanitarian in the embodiment of the Writer who manifests a continual fugue of dreamscapes, visions, imagery, and nature in a phantasmagorical display of such fancy worlds. In this peculiar context of regarding the fairy tales or folk legends anchored in reality, Kenji Miyazawa’s tales are full of imagery that bestows a touch of magic on every thing however trifle and insignificant it may seem to the eyes of the melee. The result is a riveting twilight world of legends and folk tales where nature becomes primary world, Reality in a very mystifyingly pretty way.
Notwithstanding the subject of the book, it merits a classic literature aisle in nationwide booksellers because it contains all the characteristics of profound yet catholic themes of nature of humanity that are illustrated in the works of Hans Christian Anderson, The Grimms, and Aesop. In fact, this book is strikingly scarcely a false or childish note but strangely not depressing. If Miyazawa does not provide the reader with a sense of jostling braggadocio or a promise of ever optimistic view on reality of the world that are accustomed to and taken for granted as literary license in the Western minds, he presents a prospect of innocence, so ethereal and quaint that it almost feels physical when reading. This tangible feeling of the visions is delivered by Miyazawa’s wonderful story-telling skills enveloped in poetic expressions devoted to evoking the images of a rural Japan prior to the Meiji Restoration in the mid- 19th century that no longer exists.
Kenji Miyazawa (1897-1933) was a Japanese writer who was first and foremost poet at heart concerned with particular beauties and universal truths transcending time and culture. This book, translated by the late renowned English professor John Bester, is collection of short folk tales of the bygone eras that Miyazawa seems to fantastically incorporate with his contemporary world of reality in which whims, inconsistencies, and follies of humans are everyday occurrence. The tale of “The Earth God and the Fox” shows how love and friendship are destroyed by betrayal and misunderstanding in a blight of jealousy and fury, which then eventually leads to destruction. In the case of “Wildcat and the Acorns,” Miyazawa pokes fun at parvenus and upstarts who suddenly found themselves in the wealth of western-influenced cultural artifacts in denigration of the traditional Japanese customs and values regarded as outdated and culturally backward. However, even such acerbic, poignant criticism of the Nouveau Japan is enticingly swiveled in poetic prose with musicality and choice of the language - simple but visionary- he employs.
The tales seem to speak to our world of confused syllogism bloated with inordinate wantonness and inflated egotism, decorated with selfies in Facebook and Instagram, and vehement subjectivities, all fragmented and adrift, full of sound and fury. The tales bring the reader to another time out of this evolutionary scale and 24-hour clock and they can take the reader to a different place of innocence that seems to be out of touch in this existential world of reality. In this regard, this book is a quaint pretty - or twee even - marionette play, fusing Miyazawa’s poetic words with his cast of interesting characters ranging from a beautiful birch tree to wise foxes, to graceful fawns, to talking acorns, and to deities living in streams and mountains and everywhere, all in the beautiful rural landscapes as picturesque stage backgrounds. It is a fascinating read that matches its fanciful title.
In order to judge short stories one really needs to take a step back and spend some time getting on with life after reading them, because more often than not, their power lies in the aftertaste that they produce—the atmosphere that lingers.
And Kenji Miyazawa’s tales really do stay.
It's all about the odd moments when, out of nowhere, a line from one of these stories emerges in your mind. Perhaps it’s the expression of a sad little smile that appears before you, or the feeling of a night spent in a strange place that takes you by surprise, or the image of a diabolical fox entrancing you in its many forms. The more one thinks about his tales, the more out-of-this-world they feel.
One quality that stands out is Miyazawa's briskness. He never overstays. The words he uses are mundane yet precise. His stories evoke in a sentence, and end before letting the flower rot. It really is a talent to capture such a tapestry of moods in such short tales. And there is real beauty in them. If there is one thing that seems to permeate throughout all his tales is a sense of innocence. The world might be dark, even cruel at times, but the characters we follow seem oblivious to this fact. And whenever cruelty is exerted it is forgotten and forgiven so quickly. Feelings burn hot when they spark —anger really is felt— but they doesn’t last; they get cold and soon we ask ourselves how could it have burned in the first place. One can really sense a childlike perspective of the world.
Lastly, man as part of nature has never been more present than in Miyazawa's tales. Whether animal or vegetal (or neither) we are all part of a larger, incomprensible ecosystem, and we all deserve to be heard. When the human being loses importance what we’re left with is an animist view wherein frogs work together, flowers talk to one another, and foxes know astronomy—it’s fantastical, absurd, absolutely comic, yet somehow, it is also utterly familiar. One way or another, these tales bear multitude of emotion, and they can’t wait to revel in the beauty and mystery of our natural world.
As westerners we sort of expect there's a point at the end, especially in a fairy tale; we are waiting for the moral of the story, and although some of these have it, [like in Ozbel and the Elephant which i'd say it's a tale pro-unions and anti capitalism] some others don't have that clear ending point you may be hoping for if you are used to western writing structures.
Miyazawa's style is whimsical and pastoral, his stories have a warmth I haven't encountered in say Souseki, Akutagawa (or much less Dazai) and the translator mentions he's picked some of the stories with not as many non-sequiturs, which I'm sure makes them more accessible than other Miyazawa stories.
(but cat office is still my favourite and I'm sad it's not included here!)
Tales magically teeming with innocence, thick with the wondrous motion of nature, and charmingly, slyly playful. Delightful, wistful, and entertaining.
The idea of focusing on a breadth and diversity in reading via the author’s birthplace has been an idea that I’ve had at the core of my book selection since I got back into reading just 3 years ago. An even stronger assertion of that idea is if the book is some form of folk tales, which incidentally are triumphed as great representatives of the culture and aren’t infrequently stamped with the label “classic” or get roped into a list of canonic works. Decameron or Canterbury Tales or Arabian Nights, I’ve even heard Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude or Tutuola’s Palm Wine Drinkard described as loose conglomerations of folk stories and old wive’s tales. It’s hard to avoid the folk tale rabbit hole – Calvino, Tolstoy, Goethe, the list is seemingly endless. I had initially thought that Kenji Miyazawa’s stories, beloved in Japan, were going to be adaptions of classic folktales but as I began to read more about him I found that while Japanese mythology and folklore was integrated heavily in his lit they were actually all original stories.
Now I’m sure that if I read a larger collection of those Japanese folktales I’d find unmistakable parallels with Once and Forever but as it stands now these are written up tonally as original works, and how striking they are. Regardless of if they’re “children’s stories”, they occupy an airy space and certainly hold mature themes. I would say that the best part of these stories is their simplicity, and while that feature, in my opinion, really highlights the brilliant storytelling here - I actually think the best part of the stories is their integration of mythos or magical ideas. It’s not even precisely in all the stories, but at points the mundane becomes magical in the hands of Miyazawa. One of the last stories, Kenju’s Wood, presents a simple story of a “slow” man planting trees in a peculiar way and his passing, but the trees continuing on as part of a nearby school yard. The trees serve some magical purpose in a way, especially with this story nestled in between talking crabs and marching telephone poles.
Kenju’s Wood actually is a bit of a special read. Kenju leaves behind something special for the local school children before his untimely death to Typhus. In a similar way, Kenji Miyazawa leaves behind his legacy and beautiful children’s stories behind, dying at the young age of 37 to tuberculosis. His health was weakened by a strict diet he observed in solidarity with the local peasantry.
This was my first NYRB read, the publisher for my specific edition. In fact I think that I found this book through that publisher, who focus on republishing fiction or non-fiction books that they find important which otherwise could be difficult to find, maybe even out of print. The translation was from John Bester. I was surprised to find out that I’ve actually read this translator before; John Bester translated Sun & Steel — and it certainly won’t be the last time I read his translations either, I think I see he has an Oe translation. Both Bester and NYRB will be good to keep in mind.
Miyazawa stretches into the role of a classic multifaceted man. He was a writer of poetry, a teacher, a cellist, and a painter. He studied agriculture and worked to better the lives of those impoverished farmers around him in Iwate. Some of his stories even are adapted to the big screen which I had unknowingly seen over the years, both Night on the Galactic Railroad and Gauche the Cellist.
OAF all over is a well rounding and good read. I think that my favorite stories were General Son Ba-yu, The First Deer Dance, The Bears of Nametoko, The Wildcat and The Acorns, Gorsch the Cellist, and Kenju’s Wood. This was a read I have been picking up and down for a long time because of the separation of the stories. I’m really pleased to have finished it and am looking forward to reading some more Miyazawa.
so refreshing. Miyazawa's fable-like stories discourage any easy ethical conclusion. Perhaps this is because of the openness of his endings, or perhaps this has to do with his beliefs in Buddhism and how that tracks into narrative development. Really incredible, can imagine reading these as a child and as an old old man
A very good book for teaching lessons on nature in literature including the aspects of Japanese literature which is also very important because it gives us a literary lens of the fables inside Miyazawa's stories.
Creative writing. Fantasies that rival Aesop's fables. Talking plants, talking animals. and even some (a few) humans make this a wonderful collection of short stories-with a few morals.
definitely reading these to my children in the future!
these fables have immense range. some are intensely moral, others are dramatic and human, and still others are sparse and enigmatic, but they’re all tied together by a whimsical anthropomorphization of nature that transforms tree frogs into little factory workers and dahlias into preening divas. color figures prominently in these stories too, splashed about vividly in broad strokes so that the book nearly illustrates itself.
i’m still trying to find interpretations for some of the more mysterious stories, but the ones that i do feel like i understand are brilliant!
favorite stories, in order of appearance: the first deer dance the red blanket (this is a must read) kenju’s wood (also this) the wild pear
More like 3.5 stars, a friendly little collection of tales from an apparent Japanese literary hero or stalwart. The stories here center largely on mildly-meddling supernatural creatures or peculiar folk. Most are cute in a stylized way, but also a little forgettable. None are more than a few pages in length and almost always take the shape of a koan-like witty warning or cautionary tale. Miyazawa is highly adored in Japan, you could compare this somewhat to Sandburg's Rootabaga Stories, though they're usually lighter in tone than those.
This is a collection of children’s tales and as such I expected to DNF it somewhere before the middle. However, I found myself excitedly reading each tale.
Miyazawa’s writing is beautiful. Although I think a lot is lost in translation, it is still dreamy and lyrical and in which nature plays a big part. Although animism is predominant, there is a strong sense of human nature, vulnerability, innocence and cruelty. And all in a way befitting a child’s mind without being childish.
Some of these stories left me a little baffled, while others ended with a small moment of puzzled satisfaction. I don't think these will stick with me for very long, but it was fun to read something with the tone of fairy tales or folk stories. Some of the ideas and imagery were quite enchanting, and I think it would have been fun if these were illustrated.
بعد از اینکه هفتمین داستان هم ذرهای توجهمو به خودش جلب نکرد و انگار فقط داشتم روخوانی میکردم دیگه ادامه ندادم. داستانها از فرط تخیلی بودن به چرت و پرتی -با عرض پوزش- میزدن و هی با خودم میگفتم چرا دارم میخونم. واقعا فضای داستانها با محتویات ذهنیم نمیخوند.