Akutagawa's voice is one of the most remarkable in modern Japanese fiction: an acutely intelligent mind, a humiliated soul, engaging as readily with Baudelaire as with Confucius. These narratives and vignettes -- some having received little attention until now -- delicately dovetail ancient myth with modern reflection. Akutagawa combines Eastern sentiment with Western thought to astonishing effect, offering a uniquely moving insight into mental and social fragmentation.
This edition contains the following short stories:
Rashomon The Nose Kesa and Morito The Spider's Thread Hell Screen The Ball Tu Tze-chun Autumn Mountain In a Grove The Faint Smiles of the Gods San Sebastian Cogwheels A Fool's Life A Note to a Certain Old Friend
Akutagawa Ryūnosuke (芥川 龍之介) was one of the first prewar Japanese writers to achieve a wide foreign readership, partly because of his technical virtuosity, partly because his work seemed to represent imaginative fiction as opposed to the mundane accounts of the I-novelists of the time, partly because of his brilliant joining of traditional material to a modern sensibility, and partly because of film director Kurosawa Akira's masterful adaptation of two of his short stories for the screen.
Akutagawa was born in the Kyōbashi district Tokyo as the eldest son of a dairy operator named Shinbara Toshizō and his wife Fuku. He was named "Ryūnosuke" ("Dragon Offshoot") because he was born in the Year of the Dragon, in the Month of the Dragon, on the Day of the Dragon, and at the Hour of the Dragon (8 a.m.). Seven months after Akutagawa's birth, his mother went insane and he was adopted by her older brother, taking the Akutagawa family name. Despite the shadow this experience cast over Akutagawa's life, he benefited from the traditional literary atmosphere of his uncle's home, located in what had been the "downtown" section of Edo.
At school Akutagawa was an outstanding student, excelling in the Chinese classics. He entered the First High School in 1910, striking up relationships with such classmates as Kikuchi Kan, Kume Masao, Yamamoto Yūzō, and Tsuchiya Bunmei. Immersing himself in Western literature, he increasingly came to look for meaning in art rather than in life. In 1913, he entered Tokyo Imperial University, majoring in English literature. The next year, Akutagawa and his former high school friends revived the journal Shinshichō (New Currents of Thought), publishing translations of William Butler Yeats and Anatole France along with original works of their own. Akutagawa published the story Rashōmon in the magazine Teikoku bungaku (Imperial Literature) in 1915. The story, which went largely unnoticed, grew out of the egoism Akutagawa confronted after experiencing disappointment in love. The same year, Akutagawa started going to the meetings held every Thursday at the house of Natsume Sōseki, and thereafter considered himself Sōseki's disciple.
The lapsed Shinshichō was revived yet again in 1916, and Sōseki lavished praise on Akutagawa's story Hana (The Nose) when it appeared in the first issue of that magazine. After graduating from Tokyo University, Akutagawa earned a reputation as a highly skilled stylist whose stories reinterpreted classical works and historical incidents from a distinctly modern standpoint. His overriding themes became the ugliness of human egoism and the value of art, themes that received expression in a number of brilliant, tightly organized short stories conventionally categorized as Edo-mono (stories set in the Edo period), ōchō-mono (stories set in the Heian period), Kirishitan-mono (stories dealing with premodern Christians in Japan), and kaika-mono (stories of the early Meiji period). The Edo-mono include Gesaku zanmai (A Life Devoted to Gesaku, 1917) and Kareno-shō (Gleanings from a Withered Field, 1918); the ōchō-mono are perhaps best represented by Jigoku hen (Hell Screen, 1918); the Kirishitan-mono include Hokōnin no shi (The Death of a Christian, 1918), and kaika-mono include Butōkai(The Ball, 1920).
Akutagawa married Tsukamoto Fumiko in 1918 and the following year left his post as English instructor at the naval academy in Yokosuka, becoming an employee of the Mainichi Shinbun. This period was a productive one, as has already been noted, and the success of stories like Mikan (Mandarin Oranges, 1919) and Aki (Autumn, 1920) prompted him to turn his attention increasingly to modern materials. This, along with the introspection occasioned by growing health and nervous problems, resulted in a series of autobiographically-based stories known as Yasukichi-mono, after the name of the main character. Works such as Daidōji Shinsuke no hansei(The Early Life of
I feel ambivalent toward books labeling themselves the ‘essential’ anything (or anyone). I typically avoid them, but in this case it was a decision made for reasons of practicality and convenience. This was my first encounter with Akutagawa Ryūnosuke. Will it be my last? I’m not sure. Akutagawa wrote many types of fiction in his relatively short career, but in this book the pieces that spoke to me the most were the autobiographical ones, ‘Cogwheels’ and ‘A Fool’s Life’, both manuscripts of which were found among his papers following his suicide in 1927 at age 35. Quite a few of the other stories in this book are very good in a conventional way, but it is in these last two that I think Akutagawa grows closest to communicating his own truth. They are fragmentary, like life, and intriguing in their poetic intricacies. Apparently in the last year of his life, as Seiji Lippit tells it in the introduction, Akutagawa held a public argument with the writer Jun'ichirō Tanizaki over the concept of the ‘plotless novel’, in which Akutagawa’s position was that the ‘purest form of fiction is that which dispenses with story’. In fact, Akutagawa later sought the complete ‘destruction of the novel’ [his words], in a deliberate rejection of his earlier conventional fiction. And this gets to the heart of the problem in reading the ‘essential’ works of writers whose writing transforms itself so radically across their careers. There will always be those pieces that stand taller and overshadow the others—the ones that most closely approach the writer’s own personal truth. And these are the ones that interest me. With so many writers still to explore, I’d rather focus on reading these works, no matter how ‘essential’ a certain editor or publisher deems any others.
Akutagawa Ryunosŭké—a Japanese modernist writer—uses his subject matter to reflect the social turmoil, loss of identity, and changing environment of his times. Akutagawa lived in a rapidly changing world due to modernization. Some of the most drastic changes that contributed to or were a result of modernism include: the changes in transportation which enabled people to travel in a totally new way and changed people’s conception of time, the introduction and assimilation of foreign culture (Western dress and furniture, influence of Western artists, directors, and writers, etc., adaptation of capitalism), and a rise in consumerism which led to the commodification of art forms. His stories in this collection reflect the repercussions of modernization, illustrating the egotistical nature of humanity, the subjectivity of truth and morality, and the struggle with identity due to a changing world.
Not only did Akutagawa live and write in an interesting time but he is one of those rare artists whose life is equally engrossing as his work. His family had a history of madness and Akutagawa lived with the constant fear of going insane, his latter works give us a glimpse of his slippage into insanity. These stories are brilliant, painful, sad, and artistically executed. I highly recommend this collection of short stories for it shows Akutagawa’s diversity with his craft and its genres include: horror, parables, satires, and autobiographical works. Perhaps more importantly these stories show the nature of man and the flaws of the human spirit.
This short story is one of the last ones that Akutagawa wrote before his tragic death, and it certainly feels very personal and autobiographical (especially with its hints on depression and anxiety). In this story, our narrator, a famous writer, is invited to Tokyo to attend a wedding of his acquaintance. What follows is his running around Tokyo in a slowly increasing feverish delirium, as his mind starts drawing all sorts of unlikely parallels. Interestingly, I found many thematic similarities between this short story and the one by Daphne du Maurier titled Don't Look Now, which I also reviewed this month. Both stories concern themselves with narrators that think they are close to madness, eerie premonitions, nightmarish visions and unsettling coincidences.
i thought this was absolutely astounding and would read as such an enjoyment to anyone. I found myself utterly astonished by much of the actual storylines, rather than the author's writing style. I became a bit depressed near the end of the book, however, when a couple of Akutagawa's last nonfiction accounts of his impending suicide were unleashed. That was horrific. And sick.
On the subject of beauty, one of the my favorite lines from literature is the curse of the witches in the Shakespearean tragedy masterpiece, Macbeth. When the three weird sisters utter, “Fair is foul and foul is fair” in the first scene of the play, they are not just cursing the the entire play, but they also twist the sense of aesthetics and morality of the viewers by saying that whatever seems fair or beautiful would actually be foul or ugly. Hence with the tragic hero Macbeth, though not easily perceived and understood by theater-goers and readers who analyze him on surface, his most sublime moments are actually hidden in the facade of his moral decay as the tyrant king who manned up by killing the previous king, his best friend, and eventually everything he loved. Before he is killed, in his last few moments, Shakespeare, in his subtlest manner, defends Macbeth by showing that in the end, he gave everything that his humanity could after his realization of being betrayed by the curse of the witches, his tragic flaw (ambition), and his hunger for the security of his kingship. In the end, Macbeth is beheaded and his head ends up on a stick as a reminder of how traitors should be treated. And yet his death is beautiful because his kingdom is freed from his tyranny, and ultimately, he soldiered on with all of his sense of humanity before he breathes his last.
In Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s “The Hell Screen”, we also witness a logic-defying story which explores the same askew sense of aesthetics of the witches in Macbeth. The ugly becomes a work of art and nobility transforms into monstrosity. What bewitched me in the story is not really the deaths of Yoshihide and his beautiful daughter Yuzuki; what raised my eyebrows were the horrific actions of “the Grand Lord of Horikawa, the greatest lord that Japan ever had” as advertized by the first line of the story. His trickery of using Yuzuki as the human sacrifice on the pyre was very unexpected to me; before reading this detail, I knew already that Yuzuki would most likely be the human barbecue when Yoshihide requests for an actual burning of a grand chariot---what I was actually expecting was that Yoshihide would trick his daughter and the Lord by switching the fire victim HIMSELF, thus, if he were the one who willingly chose his daughter to be burnt, he himself would be freeing her from the service of the Lord as he initially requested. Akutagawa’s decision to make the Grand Lord deceptive and cunning and the person responsible for Yuzuki’s fiery death did not make sense to me initially. But then, thinking about it after a few hours from shock and bewilderment, I realized that the story could not be effective if Yoshihide is the one who sacrificed the daughter to be burnt---his only tragic flaw of his deep and obsessive love for his daughter causes his downfall. And the totally surprising turn of events when the Grand Lord comes on top, powerful and horrifying, revered in history as stated in the first part of the story as Yoshihide is totally forgotten as expressed by the last sentence of the tale---this is pure genius and artistry in the craft of storytelling, and this is not just the ‘Japanese’ weird or odd kind of aesthetics, but I dare say, it is beautiful by any standards.
There is universal beauty and truth in what Akutagawa showed in “The Hell Screen”: humanity is obsessed with monstrosity and it is shown in our history books and even in daily newspapers. Records of wars, corruption, calamities are what we see as significant and important; the good deeds and events, however, are always put aside and eventually forgotten. What makes Akutagawa’s story thought-provoking is that he juxtaposes the long-lasting historical presence evil of our world with another obsession of humanity: art and beauty. Yoshihide, before his death, is seen as an awful human being because of his strange personality and behavior, the only time that he becomes untouched is when he is seen unparalled with his artworks. His last painting of the hell screen, with the process that it underwent, as commissioned by the Grand Lord can be symbolically read as the proof that art and beauty can also be the products of mostrosity. While artworks are preserved in history books as well, the world usually undermines their creators. And this is probably one of the ironies of Akutagawa’s story as well. While the title emphasizes the importance of the artwork, the hell screen, the story is also making the reader question his feelings for the abhorrent artist Yoshihide. While the Grand Lord is described as almost infallible and perfect, Yoshihide is the complete antithesis; it might seem that the story is unfair to him because he is described in the most unfavorable way and erased him in oblivion, but the fact that the story is narrated by an unnamed witness in Horikawa, who courageously reveals the monstrosity of the Grand Lord, the story then can be read as a hymn of remembrance and salute for the misunderstood and despised Yoshihide, who, in his abhorrent and forgotten life, becomes beautiful and enlightened in the end as the Grand Lord transformed into a “pale and livid” changed being. The foul has become fair, and the fair has become foul.
But still ironic, how even if the author tries to make Yoshihide become the main character in the story, what made the most impact on me, an unknown reader, is the Grand Lord’s very quick and abrupt moment of evil. And this is just mind-blowing. The story itself becomes the artwork and immortal like the hell screen painting, and it’s unfortunately sad that creator of this artwork or story, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, is relatively unknown to many modern day readers in the entire world. And here we are, still overshadowed and obsessed by the historical records of the monstrosities of Hitler, Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Mussolini, etc. Can Akutagawa ever reach the possibly unreachable popularity of Shakespeare? Maybe not in our lifetime.
I am in deep awe of this short story. I never thought a story about an artwork depicting hell can be the most beautiful short story I have ever read.
If you like Akutagawa, this book will make you LOVE him. Favorites in this edition include "Cogwheels" and "A Fool's Life" which capture the mental state of of the artist during his last days. Gorgeous writing.
This story collection displays Akutagawa's split consciousness, caught between the modern and the traditional, in terms of subject matter and narrative style. I'm not a huge reading fan of fables and mythology, so I preferred the more personal, modern stories. But christ were they depresseing. Reminded me of the Nick Drake bio I read a couple weeks ago.
Also, is there something in the contract, or the water, about killing yourself if you're a Japanese novelist?
Akutagawa's stories are like rays of sun, intense and always true, always underlining an essential inside a human soul. Deeply compassionate writer who knew in his life a struggle toward relating and ordinary human existence. All these stories are simply brilliant, but some of my favorites: Mandarines, Hell Screen, A Fool's Life, Nankin Christ, In the Grove. Perfect quarantine read as it reminds us how we all are humans.
"To think that tonight, for the sake of a woman I don't love, I'm going to murder a man I don't hate!"
The translations in this book fall short of Jay Rubin's in the Penguin Classics ed. Still, a good way to fill in the gaps in your Akutagawa collection.
"The world I am now in is one of diseased nerves, lucid as ice." - from this groundbreaking modernist writer's suicide note.
Fascinating stories uniquely blending Japanese and Western mentalities and often featuring the same situation recounted very differently by multiple narrators, leaving the reader not so much to determine the truth but to embrace the subjective.
akutagawa was my introduction to japanese literature, though the life of a fool also recommended international book. the prose really resonates with me
I can’t say I have much experience with early 20th Cent. Japanese writers, and therefore minimal reference points while reading this group of short stories. Many were introspective, and morally centered tales, but without judgment. Akutagawa clearly had his demons.
A couple surprises like San Sebastián reading almost like an early movie script for the likes of Bunuel. I can see the foundations of a great writer, though not entirely sure he ever truly got there before taking his own life at age 35.
I was really engaged at the beginning with Akutagawa's fiction work, but by the end it was difficult to keep reading with his more conceptual and autobiographical pieces. Certainly I'm glad to have read this collection for cultural reasons, but I don't personally think I'll be going back to it very soon-- it was a different time, and it definitely shows in Akutagawa's portrayals of women.
Rashomon --3 The nose --2 Kesa and Morito -- The spider's thread --2 *Hell screen -- The ball --2 Tu Tze-chun -- Autumn mountain --2 In a grove --3 The faint smiles of the gods --1 San Sebastian --1 *Cogwheels (aka Spinning gears)-- *A fool's life (aka Life of a stupid man)-- A note to a certain old friend--1