Japanese Gothic Tales

by Kyōka Izumi, Charles Shiro Inouye (Translator)

Resisting the various forms of realism popular during the Meiji "enlightenment," Izumi Kyoka (1873-1939) was among the most popular writers who continued to work in the old-fashioned genres of fantasy, mystery, and romance. Gothic Tales makes available for the first time a collection of stories by this highly influential writer, whose decadent romanticism led him to envision an idiosyncratic world--a fictive purgatory --precious and bizarre though always genuine despite its melodramatic formality.

The four stories presented here are among Kyoka's best-known works. They are drawn from four stages of the author's development, from the "conceptual novels" of 1895 to the fragmented romanticism of his mature work. In the way of introduction, Inouye presents a clear analysis of Kyoka's problematic stature as a "great gothic writer" and emphasizes the importance of Kyoka's work to the present reevaluation of literary history in general and modern Japanese literature in particular. The extensive notes that follow the translation serve as an intelligent guide for the reader, supplying details about each of the stories and how they fit into the pattern of mythic development that allowed Kyoka to deal with his fears in a way that sustained his life and, as Mishima Yukio put it, pushed the Japanese language to its highest potential.

Genres: Short Stories, Japan, Horror, Japanese Literature, Gothic, Fiction, Classics

212 pages, Paperback

First published June 1, 1996

About the author

Japanese profile: 泉 鏡花

Kyōka was born Kyōtarō Izumi on November 4, 1873 in the Shitashinmachi section of Kanazawa, Ishikawa, to Seiji Izumi, a chaser and inlayer of metallic ornaments, and Suzu Nakata, daughter of a tsuzumi hand-drum player from Edo and younger sister to lead protagonist of the Noh theater, Kintarō Matsumoto. Because of his family's impovershed circumstances, he attended the tuition-free Hokuriku English-Japanese School, run by Christian missionaries.
Even before he entered grade school, young Kintarō's mother introduced him to literature in picture-books interspersed with text called kusazōshi, and his works would later show the influence of this early contact with such visual forms of story-telling. In April 1883, at ten years old, Kyōka lost his mother, who was 29 at the time. It was a great blow to his young mind, and he would attempt to recreate memories of her in works throughout his literary career.
At a friend's boarding house in April 1889, Kyōka was deeply impressed by Ozaki Kōyō's "Amorous Confessions of Two Nuns" and decided to pursue a career in literature. That June he took a trip to Toyama Prefecture. At this time he worked as a teacher in private preparatory schools and spent his free time running through yomihon and kusazōshi. In November of that year, however, Kyōka's aspiration to an artistic career drove him to Tokyo, where he intended to enter the tutelage of Kōyō himself.
On 19 November 1891, he called on Kōyō in Ushigome(part of present-day Shinjuku) without prior introduction and requested that he be allowed into the school immediately. He was accepted, and from that time began life as a live-in apprentice. Other than a brief trip to Kanazawa in December of the following year, Kyōka spent all of his time in the Ozaki household, proving his value to Kōyō through correcting his manuscripts and household tasks. Kyōka greatly adored his teacher, thinking of him as a teacher of more than literature, a benefactor who nourished his early career before he gained a name for himself. He felt deeply a personal indebtedness to Kōyō, and continued to admire the author throughout his life.

Reviews

[Sae-chan · Rating 4 out of 5]

When looking at a piece of bread, I believe Kyoka-san would have thought of the time when he was offered a piece of bread in a faraway temple by a generous monk. The monk only had that bread, but had given it out of compassion of the weary traveller. Beside the temple, there lied a wheat field.

Looking at the bread in his hand he could smell the enticing smell of dry grass carried by the gentle wind.

A young girl came from one of the hut nearby the field. She had the most impeccable white skin. She was wearing a white summer cotton yukata with bright red rose pattern. Suddenly she turned her head, and looked at the direction of the weary traveller. His face blushed, caught red-handed staring at her. Quickly he averted his eyes and shoved the bread to his mouth.

He smiled faintly. The girl was startled because of the rustling sound of the grass. A snake was passing by. He looked at his hand. Somehow the piece of bread had turned to a sugar-dusted donut topped with strawberry jam...

This book was a super difficult read for me. It is definitely not the kind of book you read while winding down after a hard days at work. You read this book, and then you wind down doing some monthly reports and excel graphs.

As for me, when I look at a piece of bread, my stomach starts growling, and in no time the bread was nowhere to be seen.

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

"But wait. I'm losing control of the story."

Gosh, yes. These leapt around and were impossible to pin down. There were times I was reminded of Ronald Firbank. Me: 'sorry, is this a different scene now? And how many women are there? And which one is it that looks like your cousin's wife?' etc.

In a nap at midday
I met my beloved,
Then did I begin to believe
In the things we call dreams.

[Andrew]

The name's almost a misnomer. The tales are Japanese, for sure, but only somewhat Gothic, although certainly haunting. They come from an entirely different place than the Anglo-Saxon Gothic, one with an entirely different set of reference points. “The Holy Man of Mount Koya” jumps out in particular for its absolute weirdness, and while you could compare it to Büchner or Hamsun, it's on a completely different wavelength, one very much worth looking into.

[Gertrude & Victoria · Rating 5 out of 5]

Japanese Gothic Tales by Izumi Kyoka is a fascinating and frightening journey into a world of supernatural and nightmarish occurrences. Some have compared Izumi to E.T.A. Hoffman. This comparison is an apt one. Both writers create eerily serene landscapes and backgrounds. Both sketch bizarre characters and scenes. And both write with hypnotic power.

Comparisons aside, Izumi is a genius story teller and the foremost writer of Gothic literature in Japan. Unfortunately, he has been mostly forgotten and overshadowed by the modernists. His legacy has not gone unnoticed, however, as Mishima Yukio praises him as the greatest writer since Ihara Saikaku.

The most famous tale in this four-story collection is The Holy Man of Mount Koya. It is mainly anecdotal, retold by a monk to a fellow lodger whom he meets along his way. This story is about the monk who, out of good conscience, decides to go by a dangerous road to help a medicine vendor who has taken the road before him, a path over steep and forested mountains, this despite being forewarned. Once on his way he encounters menacing snakes, and later, bloodthirsty leeches that fall from trees. Even the heat of the day conspires against him. Almost without hope, he chances upon a farm house. There he meets a woman of unearthly beauty and her lame husband. He is bewitched by her alluring power. Later he is made aware of his perilous situation by an old man of the mountains. Finally, persuaded, he leaves her behind.

Throughout the entire story one can not help but be enchanted by the scenery of grotesque creatures, cursed woods and strange people. Izumi's tales are both beautifully ethereal and terrifyingly vivid, and this is what makes him compelling to read.

[Jay · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a solid, if short, collection of, well, gothic stories, often obtuse and nonlinear, beautiful but not always satisfying. They're good, but the writing is knotty and challenging. Certainly not for everyone, but genre scholars should not miss out.
They might, however, want to skip the insulting, condescending introduction. The translator's attitude toward genre fiction and writers is uncharitable, esp. regarding Poe (whose work is quite similar to Kyoka's). Of course, this author's work rises above genre because of imagistic language and forward-thinking structures and such. Poe's importance is only due to his influence on the mystery genre. Let us just say that my opinion differs sharply.
The ending story notes are seriously in-depth, often too much so. I appreciate the highlighting of various themes and images, but I don't need to be told every story of his 300 that used these elements. In case you were wondering, the answer is almost always most of them.
Pompous editorial commentary aside, this is a fine set of stories. It's a bit challenging to be a proper intro to either Gothic or Japanese short fiction; you've got to work up to this one. Just skip the Op-Eds at either end.

[Camila · Rating 5 out of 5]

What most surprised me about these tales was what they demanded of me as a reader. I'm pretty experienced with reading Gothic narratives and its bazillion variations, but these stories seemed to have activated a different part of my brain, which probably shows I'm too used to Western horror and strange fiction. This reason alone makes me want to read more of Kyoka, and to expand my geography of the Gothic. Apart from that, I really enjoyed the dream-like and often dramatic plots, while there were such poetic fragments (especially describing nature) that I found myself reading them over and over again, soaking them in. I also appreciate the helpful Afterword, which brings discussions and explanations for each tale. Thanks to the translator for that!

[Kam Sova · Rating 2 out of 5]

The first story was the best part of this book while the second one was a snooze fest.

anyway.

[Patricia · Rating 4 out of 5]

2009:The two stories I read (Holy Man and One Day in Spring) were wonderfully atmospheric. Izumi is wonderful at conveying a concrete but dreamlike landscape.

2021: I'd forgotten that I had read this before. The Holy Man of Kyoka was a favorite again. The holy man's long and scary hike through the wilderness had my rapt attention, and I adored the Circe character, who really did deserve some sympathy too.

[Ashley]

Hmmm maybe. I’m not the biggest fan of classics, but than is a book written in 1996 yet considered a “classic”. ? It just has that Japanese lit classic- aesthetic to the cover, no?

& tbh, I don’t think i’ve yet read Japanese classic lit other than original & myths/ folklore ( compare to such stories such as The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Epic of Gilgamesh, etc!)

[DreaNA * · Rating 4 out of 5]

A collection of three/four short stories.
It was mesmerizing to read because each story had an unexpected twist to it.
I had no idea what the meaning of the story is while reading it (which is typical for Japanese books) but it made all sense afterwards.
I really like the melancholy and sadness in these stories.
I'm interested in reading more Gothic Tales in the future.

[LittleMockingbird · Rating 2 out of 5]

Beautifully written, but I am so disappointed by this that it's shocking.
As usual, in a collection of short stories, some of them are interesting others not so much. The first one was the best both in terms of story deliver and atmosphere, a perfect start to bizzare and a bit gothic (but not in west term meaning) short stories collection. the rest were disappointing and I barely finished this book.
Sorry Kyoka, maybe next time

[Nick Tramdack · Rating 3 out of 5]

Hard to get through, but rewarding. For me the strongest story came at the beginning, "The Surgery Room." The rest of the stories didn't hit me emotionally, but I found plenty of spectacular effects and moves to rip off. Here are some you may find interesting:

54: "Turning ever darker, the deep mountains grew more lonely and intense."

77: "To his dazzled eyes, it was as if the two weavers at their looms had been vaguely copied onto a piece of white paper, and that the remaining space around them had been painted yellow."

78: "The wanderer... found himself enclosed in a triangle formed by a line that connected the snake at the corner house, the snake in the rape field, and this herd of horses." --note that these aren't geographical landmarks that form the triangle, but appearances (apparitions?) of animals. Weird and useful. Not all geographies involve landmarks: there are also geographies of impression.

141-142: "Noticing the color, he became the protagonist of this story." Now this is a cool way to get a character in your tale.

144: "Taken together, her crimson undergarment, her unstockinged feet, the suggestive hairdo, and the formal jacket gave an impression of discord."

145: "She was more awesome than beautiful."

146: "...a room overlooking the city, the perfect place for someone's kept mistress."

[Ivan · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is something intangible about those tales, something which makes one, under the condition of having lived in Japan for a sufficiently long period of time, to suddenly remember all those small details the quircks and the kindness of people, as well as the ancient beauty of nature, which in Japan, as in any Old East Asian country morphs into the nature uncannyness and horror if one stays in one desolate place for too long. It makes longing, yearning and recoiling in horror, as you read the book, the part of yourself and projects back the part of one's own experiences and unsaid and unthought terror of the immemorable past, when people were treacherous, vile, honorable and selfless, the forests were deep teeming with life and darkening with death and decay, the lakes were beautiful and disgusting, the temples crumbling and full of spirits...

[Sasha]

Goodreads' recommendation engine nails it, surprisingly: this looks awesome. Kyoka (1873 - 1939) is sometimes called "the ETA Hoffman of Japan," which ha.

[Taotao Ouyang · Rating 5 out of 5]

其实读的是中日对照版本的短篇小说集，发现GoodReads没有记录这本书，就在这里标记一下好了。

[Paperandyarn · Rating 4 out of 5]

I doubt the translation accuracy, he's taken (and admitted to taking) significant artistic liberties and the result doesn't read like Japanse but Kyōka's works themselves are fine

[EuGrace · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Invited by a warm, gentle wind, the soul becomes a dandelion blossom that suddenly turns into cotton and blows away. It’s the feeling of fading into death after seeing paradise with your own eyes. Knowing its pleasure, you also understand that heaven is heartless, vulnerable, unreliable, sad. . . . And when you cry out, is it because of sadness? Or is it just another indulgence?”

This was my first time reading Kyōka Izumi in book format, although the epub that I downloaded was missing "The Holy Man of Mount Koya," so I had to find a PDF online that was translated by Stephen W. Kohl in 1990, not Charles Shirō Inouye. Overall, I quite enjoyed this weird collection, though, as many reviewers have pointed out, the writing is quite challenging. Japanese Gothic Tales and Kyōka's writing in general is not for everyone -- these stories are obtuse, fractured, and nonlinear; mesmerizing, but not always satisfying. They're good, but their twisted, arbitrary plots weave around hypnotic paths and were hard to categorize under the Gothic genre, which I mostly know about through my Western literary education.

I've seen some people say the book's title is misleading on the Gothic part, although I think Inouye in his introduction addresses this quite acutely: Kyōka's "world" (apparently a term penned by Akutagawa himself) of "eccentric place[s]" come from an entirely different place than the Anglo-Saxon Gothic aesthetics of dark, stormy nights and haunted castles. Like the collection's title suggests, this is Japanese Gothic -- one with an entirely different set of folklore, supernaturalism, and historical reference points that we as Western readers are used to. The stories' gothicism are notably traditional one as well: Tanizaki said,

"Though Kyōka lived during the high tide of Western influence, his work is purely Japanese. All the values that appear in it -- the beautiful, the ugly, the moral, the immoral, the chivalrous, the elegant -- are native-born, borrowed neither from the West nor from China . . . He is at once the most outstanding and the most local writer that our homeland has produced. Shouldn't we, then, boast of this writer who couldn't possibly have come from any other country?"

Knowing Tanizaki, who wrote about the fading world of Japanese aristocracy and ancient splendor in The Makioka Sisters and Some Prefer Nettles, I'm not surprised he said this about Kyōka's writing, though I don't exactly agree with his homogenous outlook of it. I agree Kyōka is undoubtedly a "Japanese" writer, but I'm always wary of declaring any sort of literature as penultimately coming from the nation it's geographically written from. Tanizaki claims an undiluted Japanese-ness and traditionalism in Kyōka's tales, but even I was able to pick out a lot of Western and Eastern influences. The latter was more prominent in my opinion, yes, but even then, I'm always skeptical of critics who hail certain literatures as a pure concentration of one culture, especially when it comes to Japan. The idea that the country was this sealed-off, impregnable nation under sakoku until the Meiji Restoration opened it up in 1868 is a myth. Intercultural exchange and exposure, though not as globalized and extreme by our standards, were always happening -- even when Japan was "shut off" from the world, so of course social aspects like trade, fashion, language, religion, and literature inevitably mix themselves from "outside" influences. Kyōka's stories, though, again, undoubtedly Japanese, are not exempt from that.

However, that being said, I very much liked Inouye's point that "[Kyōka's] work becomes a controversial site that provides . . . an important link between early-modern and postmodern Japan." He goes on to say,

"His rhythms and themes, his images and structures owe much to oral and performative traditions -- folktales and legends, professional story-tellers, travelling theatrical troupes, and kabuki and nō -- as well as to the written texts of gesaku or 'frivolous scribblings' that prevailed during the latter half of the Edo period (1600-1868) and into the first two decades of the Meiji period. Gesaku's supernatural and melodramatic elements were all the more relevant for Kyōka because of their clash with the positivism of the day." Kyōka resisted "the agenda of those who called for methods that would preclude all but the most rational and realistic approaches to the world about him."

Though Inouye's introduction is definitely in need of an upgrade (it was written in 1996), its essential goal to criticize the "tendency to disregard nonrealistic forms of narrative follows from a still prevalent model of modernity," which "tends to be poorly informed about life under the Tokugawa regime" is still highly relevant. With the Meiji Restoration, there was an extreme push for Westernization in Japan, which very often hinged on the "de-Japanifying" of the country's social fabric. Hence traditional aesthetics and practices from the Edo period were cast out in favor of what the Meiji Era considered "progressive" and "improved," AKA Western. The best example of this "modernization" in relation to this convoluted and rambling review is through late 19th-century and early 20th-century Japan's rejection of naturalism in literature, which was a movement spearheaded by writers like Ōgai Mori and Natsume Sōseki, who, unlike a lot of their literary predecessors, had travelled abroad and were exposed to a lot of Western culture.

Don't get me wrong: I love Ōgai and Sōseki's works. Theirs was the time period where most of my favorite Japanese literature came from, but I can't deny Inouye's point that "[s]eeing itself as an improvement over what preceded, modernity tends to erase the past or reconfigure it as a traditional (and inferior) Other." It's only now that that narrative of present reform and progressivism overcoming the backwardness of the past in Japanese literature is being questioned: "[T]he present emergence of Kyōka's work in English translation should coincide so closely with an increased interest in late-Edo gesaku is not an accident. For it is, in part, the dissatisfaction with an unraveling of modern hegemonic systems that has led to an increased appreciation of what has up to now been dismissed as fractured, frivolous, and superficial . . . Indeed, the general effect of the post-structuralist critique has been to reconsider old categories and to usher in an age of Japanese literary criticism that resonates with the wider attempt to understand artifacts of culture on their own terms." Inouye goes on to argue that "the birth of modern consciousness in Japan goes back" farther than the Westernized, "orthodox view," which cites the "progressiveness" of Meiji Japan as the first wave of "bourgeoise culture," yet when that period came, the "dynamism and brilliance of Edo-period writing was already winding down. The Restoration of 1868 occurred at a point when the emergence of the individual had already begun, and the foundations of capitalism had already been laid." This point is extremely crucial when reading Kyōka's "hierarchy of imagination," for, as a writer, he is both a "mystic and symbolist."

Hence, JGT demands a lot from the Western reader, which is exactly why Inouye and I think more people should explore its downright weirdness and complete contrast to Western Gothic. I myself have read a lot of Gothic narratives, but Kyōka's stories completely pulls the rug under from all typical expectations. You're supposed to read it and go WTF, and not just on a literal sense too. The language is really elusive, which Inouye comments on as well: "Kyōka's prose has more recently drawn others to the task of rendering 'Kyōka's world' into the stubborn abstraction and visual poverty of an alphabetic language such as English." That subtle jab made me giggle.

Now, onto the stories themselves. In general, I really enjoyed the simultaneously fascinating and frightening tone encased in all of them. I use the word "encase" deliberately, since there's a quality of almost frozen preservation in all the stories, like the feeling you get when you walk the empty halls of a museum:

“I feel as though I’m being sliced into pieces, as if my chest is being torn to shreds. It’s neither painful nor prickling, more like a peach blossom in the sunlight, scattered to pieces, placid, serene, beautiful, and at the same time sad, as unreliable as a sky with no clouds or a green field turned into a sandy plain, like a previous existence, like what’s before your eyes, like wanting to say what’s in your heart but not being able to, something frustrating, regrettable, disturbing, irritating, more like being pulled into the earth than being lifted into the air.”

The tales are dream-like and wonderfully atmospheric, like Ranpo Edogawa's The Strange Tale of Panorama Island or Edgar Allan Poe's tales of the arabesque. All the quotes in this review were from "One Day in Spring" (My personal favorite one is, "Salvation is difficult for people who've been to college."), but the whole book was riddled with such harrowingly poetic descriptions, especially in regards to the landscape and nature, that you find yourself rereading the dense but eloquent passages; wanting to dip your feet into the words' cool, liquid sharpness, like a frog diving into a cold pond. (That was a Bashō reference). Basically, Kyōka is a genius at conveying vibrant, supple images, which makes the nightmarish occurrences that happen -- whether it's a noblewoman totally breaking down (and dying) while refusing to undergo a life-saving surgery, or black slugs raining down on you when you're out travelling on an unmarked road in the wilderness -- all the more tantalizing and shocking. Kyōka effectively created eerily serene yet sinister landscapes that took your breath away in addition to just being plain freaked out.

The most famous tale in this four-story collection is "The Holy Man of Mount Koya," the one that I had to track down because my damn epub doesn't let me have nice things. The story is mainly anecdotal and charmingly disorganized: everything is retold by a monk to a fellow lodger whom he meets along his way while travelling. The monk, now old, recalls how in his youth he decided to go by a dangerous road to help a medicine vendor who, before his arrival, had taken a dangerous path through perilous, forested mountains where no one's ever returned from before. The monk follows the medicine vendor, and it's portrayed as a Dante-esque meander into Hell. (Think if Akutagawa's "Hell-Screen" was a little more mystic). On his way, he encounters snakes, which he's terrified of, the intense heat, and bloodthirsty leeches that fall from trees and stick to his skin (fucking nope!) Literally on the verge of accepting he's just dead, he chances upon a suspicious yet convenient farmhouse. There, he meets a woman of unearthly beauty, a dude who's lowkey a human trafficker, and a paralyzed, mostly mute man. Misguided horniness ensues.

“The Holy Man of Mount Koya” and "One Day in Spring" jumped out in particular for their absolute weirdness, although I will say that the former is in its own league of bizarre. I actually found an 1986 animated feature of this story on YouTube, which I watched after I finished reading it. Even though it's definitely wack as hell, you really can't help but be enchanted by the story, whether because of it's stunning illustration of the scenery or finding out the true nature of the grotesque creatures, “The Holy Man of Mount Koya” is beautifully ethereal.

Of course, all the four stories in JGT are filled with bizarre, hypnotically odd characters and scenes -- especially the female characters. According to Inoyue, Kyōka's women were "archetypal heroines of beauty, wit, and grace. . . . [His] heroines both seduce and save, tempt and chasten Kyōka's male characters as they wander in mountainous and watery territories of mystery and awe." As a woman myself, however, I say that description is chauvinistically generous and edging on the (male erotic) fantastical. While women played central roles in "Kyōka's world," their portrayals were one-dimensional and always shoved through an eroticized male lens and gaze. True, some of the most beautiful passages were spoken by women:

“Sometimes you cry when someone scolds you. Other times you cry when someone comforts you. But on a spring day like today, your tears are of this latter kind. I suppose they’re sad. Yet there are different types of sadness. If fall is the sorrow of nature, then spring is the anguish of human life.”

In spite of everything, Kyōka touched on a lot of the inherent grief, violence, abandonment, rage, fear, and self-abasement that's often found in feminist narratives, which was intriguing, but at the end of the day, all Kyōka's female characters are treated as romantic/Gothic plot points rather than people. I wouldn't say his sexism, which is mild compared to a lot of other writing in this time period, takes away from the stories as a whole, but it's still worth considering. Ironically, I found one of the most prominent intersections where Western and Japanese Gothic met in these tales is through its misogynistic insistence of portraying femininity as analogous to monstrosity, although that does tend to be a worldwide phenomenon that isn't restricted to either of these cultural spheres. The world just hates women.

Feminist digression aside, JGT is a fine set of stories. It's challenging and shouldn't be considered a reader-friendly introduction to either Japanese Gothic or short fiction, but it goes without saying that Kyōka is an impeccable, mesmeric storyteller who is crucial to understanding the world of Gothic literature in Japan. Unfortunately, as Inouye states, he has been mostly forgotten and overshadowed by the modernists in the literary canon and history, but his legacy has not gone unnoticed nor uninspired. I hope more of his stories get translated soon. Though I struggled getting through this book -- it wasn't something cozy to dive into after a long day like Jane Eyre or a classic Victorian ghost story -- I'm still very glad I read it because I can finally say I'm more familiar with Kyōka's work and look forward to discovering more about him.

[kate · Rating 5 out of 5]

Had to read for English class (a project is due in 2 days, I haven’t started!!!) and really enjoyed it! It’s hard to say if it follows the same vein as English gothic stories, which is why I think I found it so refreshing and enjoyable.

[Gaze Santos · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is truly something rather unique about Izumi Kyoka's literary style, and Gothic is not necessarily the best way to describe it, although I can understand why it was chosen for the title of this anthology. The problem with Gothic as a word is that it is a very European-centric word, referring to a particular period and/or aesthetic from Western culture. Where the aesthetic intersects with Kyoka's work is in their morbid and antiquarian imagery. As with Western Gothic Literature, the inspiration comes from folktales and legends, and both have a pessimistic view of love intertwined with death. Both deal with emotionally overwrought melodrama. But the main difference is the cultural source of the folktales and legends... With Buddhism and Japanese folktales becoming the main source for Kyoka's stories, they might seem a little alien to Western readers. That being said, there is still a lot of beauty to be appreciated from the prose itself. I would argue that the difficulty that a lot of the other reviewers describe is not so much from the source of the writing, but rather the form. The editor and translator of this edition, Charles Shiro Inouye, refers to Kyoka's writing style as Pictographic. He argues that Kyoka borrows a lot of his tropes from Kusazoushi, illustrated novels that were popular in the Meiji era of Japan and consisted of popular folk stories with characteristic illustrations. One must also keep in mind that the written Japanese language uses Kanji, Chinese pictographic characters that can have multiple meanings depending on the context. This results in a writing style that consists of a series of vignettes that are intricately described but loosely connected together. This is not a common Japanese style at all and is one of the idiosyncratic features of Kyoka in particular. That being said, Inouye makes his translations accessible, and anyone can still enjoy these stories without prior knowledge to any of this. Personally, I did not have much difficulty getting into any of the stories and found myself engaged from the get-go. But then again I like listening to stories. And given the fact that a common reoccurring trope in all the stories is stories within stories, I was smitten. Although the introduction compares Kyoka to Edgar Allen Poe, I would argue that Arthur Machen is a better Western counterpart. Arthur Machen was a closer contemporary of Kyoka, and both had a stronger visual and experimental edge in their writing while referring to local myths and legends for their source material. I feel that Kyoka is more of a Weird Fiction prototype than Gothic fiction, if only because Gothic doesn't really fit in the Eastern milieu.

[Rebeca F. · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was a marvelous discovery. Though I've always been really interested in Japanese literature, specially from the Meiji, Taisho and Showa eras, I had never heard of Kyoka. I only got this book because it was from a Japanese author and it said gothic in the title lol and I was absolutely fascinated by it although I understand it's not an easy one and why it remains as a dark and mostly unknown writer for westerners. I had read other Japanese authors I love that explore the gothic, fantasy, darkness, supernatural or horror, such as Sakaguchi, Suzuki or even Miyazawa sometimes, but no one does it in the way Kyoka does, so very clearly in the gothic tradition. These tales are really eerie, moody and evocative, they're disturbing yet powerfully seductive, one feels like wandering between dreams and reality and everything becomes blurry and intoxicating. They're exquisitely written, which is always the most important to me, but they're disjointed, fragmentary and I understand that must be hard for most readers, labyrinthine and full of elipses, however it doesn't bother me one bit, it actually adds to the powerful atmosphere of the tales. I felt also a heavy Chinese influence in them. I mean, In the shade of spring leaves reminded me a lot of The peony pavilion... The portray of femininity is also so complex and it does have something reminiscent to Poe as it says in the introduction. A wonderful collection that left me eager to read more from the author.

[Paul Cornelius · Rating 4 out of 5]

As the title indicates, these tales reveal themselves through the atmosphere of Izumi's writing. It is masterful. The landscapes twist and dissolve and resonate with fear and anticipation. Some of the descriptions are among the most unique I have ever encountered.

But it's not just the atmosphere. The formalistic approach Izumi employs complements the gothic mood. The stories also twist and dissolve into themselves, their resolution never sure at hand. At the end, a cloud of melancholy pervades the book. But that is one with the idea of the gothic.

The stories are set from a period between the turn of the last century to the third decade of the twentieth century. This was a period of intense Japanese modernization, building upon what had already begun during the latter half of the nineteenth century. Izumi's stories reflect those times, but they do so in a timeless manner. Railways and hospital surgeries become places of haunting memories. Seasides and festivals provide a background to enchantments and encounters with death. Utterly fascinating.

[Denise みか Hutchins · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've been thinking of what to say in my review for several hours now but it seems this book has left me dumbstruck. I really enjoyed it, both the stories themselves and the academic material both at the beginning and the end of the book. I think I wouldn't have enjoyed the former without the latter; knowing why the stories were written that way, seeing what the imagery symbolized and noticing it throughout every narrative, learning how the tales all led back to the author's real life, that information made what might otherwise have been frustratingly confusing and disjointed stories into deeply interesting works of art. Yes, I really loved reading this book. If you like dark, watery, mystical, romantic, and blood-stained stories, especially seasoned with old Japanese culture and history, this book is for you.

[Michael Haase · Rating 3 out of 5]

Its lengthy expositions and preoccupation with feminine beauty didn't much appeal to me, though there were still some things I found interesting. I liked the personality of the monk in the story, "The Holy Man of Mount Koya" and enjoyed reading about his journey and his struggle with morality. The story, "The Surgery Room", was shocking and unpredictable. The other two in the collection were less unique and struck me as obtuse or artificial. The character's behavior just didn't seem realistic, given the circumstances.

These stories are thoroughly Japanese with their emphasis on beauty and aesthetics, social standing and ceremony, and the world of the supernatural. I would recommend them if I didn't find the wording to be so verbose, though I can't say if that wasn't just a fault in the translation...

[b · Rating 4 out of 5]

I absolutely adored the ending of the second story. The third story brought me to tears it was so beautiful. I really loved it. I haven’t read any gothic literature before so I’m unsure how it compares. But, I did really love this.

[M.R. Dowsing · Rating 4 out of 5]

Kyoka has apparently been held in high esteem by many famous Japanese writers, including Yukio Mishima, Junichiro Tanizaki and Yasunari Kawabata, while his work has formed the basis of films by directors such as Kenji Mizoguchi, Masahiro Shinoda and Kon Ichikawa. That this 1996 collection was the first of his work to be translated into English with the exception of one earlier short story (I believe) may well be because he's a bugger to translate - his style is wordier than most Japanese literature in translation and he uses some unusual imagery and vocabulary. Having said that, these stories are not particularly difficult to read.

The first, 'The Surgery Room', is a short one which I have to say didn't work for me at all. Next up is 'The Holy Man of Mount Koya', which is infinitely better and tells of a monk who nearly gets sucked to death by leeches before being bewitched by a woman he meets when lost in the mountains. It's extremely well-achieved in all respects. The third story, 'One Day in Spring', is along similar lines but makes a lot less sense - it has great moments but, at nearly 70 pages, I felt it went on too long. The final story in the collection, published here as 'Osen and Sokichi', was turned into a silent film in 1934 by the aforementioned Mizoguchi, who expanded the narrative of the relatively concise original (18 pages here). Despite a rather hackneyed, melodramatic plot, Kyoka brings it to life with his highly unconventional storytelling methods and flair for memorable imagery.

Translator Charles Shiro Inouye has done a superb job, and it does not take an expert to see that his task must have been extremely challenging. He has also provided a detailed introduction and afterword which may well be too academic for some (including me), but as this book is published by the University of Hawaii Press, it's hardly surprising.

A word of caution: the use of the term 'gothic' in the title should not be taken to mean 'gothic horror', and readers expecting something along those lines are likely to be disappointed (although the leeches may offer some compensation!). However, I enjoyed this enough that I will soon be reading volume II, 'In Light of Shadows'.

[Maira M. Moura · Rating 5 out of 5]

Drifting on unknown streets on the island of Honolulu, with the purpose of finding a restaurant where I could eat, more for the benefit of securing a three dollars change (necessary for boarding a bus back to my hostel), than for satisfying any hunger, I stumble on a Book-off branch - another symptom of the Japanese existence in Hawaii. As I consider getting the change not from a meal but from a book purchase, I enter the place only to discover, within a couple of minutes of browsing, a copy of a book I once saw on Goodreads and immediately shelved as "to-read". For that and even for less, I believe I have reason enough to understand that this book was waiting for me, and me only. After a week together, it is already more worn out than when it rested in the shop, but I bet it enjoyed the train rides and late-night sessions when we came to know better each other.

[Johan D'Haenen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ik heb er moeite mee om het werk van Kyoka Izumi "gothic" te noemen. Volgens mij doet dat etiket de verhalen niet de eer aan die hen toekomt. Wat mij betreft hou ik het liever bij magisch-realisme, en dan wel met die typisch Aziatische eigenschap waarbij het magische en het realistische werkelijk dusdanig in elkaar opgaan dat er van een scheidingsgrens omzeggens geen sprake meer is. In de culturen van het Verre Oosten gaan beide werelden in elkaar over en blijven ze met elkaar in verband staan.
Kyoka Izumi puurt hier heel mooie verhalen uit, verhalen die misschien niet altijd vlot leesbaar zijn, maar die toch opfleuren door bloemrijk woord- en taalgebruik... en die de lezer aanzetten tot nadenken, tot bezinning over de wereld, zichzelf en de relatie tot anderen.

[Esther · Rating 4 out of 5]

goodreads deleted my in-depth review (of a spanish edition that isnt on GR btw) fuckfuckfuck
'on the dragon of the depths': 3'5/5, nice depiction of a mysterious hallucinatory reality, feels more like a Yume Nikki sort of jrpg than anything i have read before
'the tale of three who were blind': 1'5/5, occasionally interesting, mostly boring due to its poor execution. no wonder it was one of the first Kyoka ever published
'the ghost who hid her eyebrows': 4'5/5, not as good as 'Labyrinth of Grass,' but still a wonderfully built story that starts as a pretty convincing depiction of life at a rural japanese inn, then slowly unfolds into the kind of folk horror Kyoka excelled at. wonderful, imo!

[Peter · Rating 5 out of 5]

This collection of four stories was very strange. The world is very dreamlike and surreal even though there isn't any particularly supernatural phenomena in these stories. The supernatural is more subdued in these stories. The focus is definitely on the dreamlike reminiscences of the characters. Will need to read again to fully grasp these as they were pretty abstract but I really enjoyed the experience of this book.

[Rachael]

Fabulous collection of four stories written by one of the most famous authors from the prefecture I lived in in Japan. I appreciate what seems to have been a fulsome yet challenging translation by Inouye and the many notes he provided for context. The tales are weird, mystical, and view women as more than just part of the scenery, which was nice. I especially enjoyed the atmosphere created in "The Holy Man of Mount Koya"