Ogai MoriCritiques

A modern classic, written in 1913 (but set in the 1880s). Very Japanese in that the story is more in what is omitted than in what is told. Indeed, not much ever "happens,” although there is a clear narrative arc and a beginning and a middle. (An end, not so much.) The unnamed middle-aged narrator is reminiscing about a classmate’s “affair” with a local moneylender’s mistress. And precisely because such a bald statement omits so much, this is worth your time. It’s about the mistress, about the classmate, and Japan’s arrival on the world stage, and about nostalgia for a simpler time--among other things.½

But not all wild geese can fly, and in Ogai’s novel there are several that cannot. (8)

Gradually her thoughts settled. Resignation was the mental attitude she had most experienced. And in this direction her mind adjusted itself like a well-oiled machine. (47)

Whatever pain the decision might cost her, she was determined to keep her sadness to herself. And when she had made this decision, the girl, who had always depended on others, had felt for the first time her own independence. (76)

A woman may have her heart set on a particular article, yet she may not go so far as to think of buying it. Each time she passes it, she may stop and look into the window where the article, say a ring or a watch, is on display. She doesn’t go to that shop deliberately, but whenever she happens to be in the neighborhood on some business or other, she always makes it a point to examine it. Though she recognizes that she will never be able to buy the article, the renunciation and the desire to have it often give rise to a not too keen but rather faint and sweetly sad emotion. And she enjoys feeling it. On the other hand, a particular item she can afford and has determined to buy gives her acute pain. (92-3)

Hopeful images entered her mind. Women pitiably waver in their decisions until they have made up their minds, yet once they have decided on their course of action, they rush forward like horses with blinders, looking neither to the right nor left. (105-6)

Okada and I crossed the end of Hanazono-cho and went toward the stone steps leading to the Toshogu Shrine. For some time we walked in silence.
“Poor bird,” said Okada, as if speaking to himself.
Without any logical connection the woman of Muenzaka came into my mind. (112)

I looked back once more, but the woman was no longer in sight. (118)

Such a simple story, of two ships passing in the night, the closeness of whose encounter only we can see with the help of our lighthouse narrator. That the events had to have happened the way they did, felt not contrived but perfectly natural. That both sides would romanticise each other so, added to melancholy of the missed opportunity whilst also portended what a catastrophe it would have been. I think this may have been the perfect short story.

Se narra el improbable encuentro de Toyotaro Ota, un joven estudiante japonés, con una bailarina alemana, pobre y bellísima, que poco a poco lo va seduciendo hasta atraparlo. Toyotaro, que por educación posee un acelerado sentido del honor, debe elegir entre su carrera y sus violentos sentimientos amorosos hacia la muchacha.

Un joven provinciano de familia acomodada acaba de llegar a Tokio para cumplir su sueño de ser escritor. En su maleta trae un montón de ideas aprendidas en los libros y una concepción de lo que ha de ser la vida de un artista digno de tal nombre. Pero todos estos ideales de juventud pronto se irán diluyendo al entrar en contacto con la realidad de los círculos intelectuales del momento y con las tentaciones de la vida bohemia en la gran ciudad. Concebida a modo de novela de aprendizaje, esta obra excepcional construye el retrato fascinante de un joven sensible e idealista enfrentado a su propia incapacidad para ser fiel a sus ideales, desbaratados por la presencia de tres mujeres que lo pondrán a prueba: una viuda millonaria y fatal, una cándida adolescente y una joven geisha. Juventud nos ayuda a comprender la cotidianidad íntima de una juventud desconcertada, que fue protagonista de un cambio de época y de mentalidad, y que nos recuerda a la juventud occidental de hoy en día, de nuevo, puente entre dos mundos.

Della fascinazione che intercorre tra lo studente e la donna alla finestra l'autore dice troppo poco. I protagonisti del romanzo sono l'usuraio, l'insopportabile moglie e il vecchio padre della giovane alla finestra.
Gran parte della narrazione va spesa dietro a loro e non è affatto interessante. Peccato.

If anybody wants to file a class action suit against Ōgai Mori for false advertising, I'll gladly sign any document they put in front of me. "Vita Sexualis" has to be the least sexy account of a young man's journey to sexual maturity in existence. The introduction states that the author was writing against the current, so to speak: he wanted to write a novel about sex that would dispense with its more mechanical aspects and couple the theme of sexuality to a character's personal and spiritual nature.

On that score, I suppose that "Vita Sexualis" succeeds, but its main character, Kanei, still makes for an odd subject for an erotic novel of any sort. To put it bluntly: he's got a low sex drive and is much more interested in books than women. This isn't to say he's a prude, exactly, or a wet blanked like David Scherl of "Call It Sleep" or -- though it pains me to include him in this category -- Joyce's Stephen Dedalus. He's self-contained, studious, dutiful, and a bit of an introvert. "Vita Sexualis" doesn't contain any youthful sexual misadventures because it seems that the author doesn't really feel the need for them.

While Kanai is aware enough to recognize sexuality when he sees it, he remains largely innocent throughout much of the book. This works best in the book's first section, when our protagonist is a child: at this point, his confusion about matters sexual seems like a realistic depiction of childhood innocence when confronted with matters beyond its ken. As the book progressed, I rather wished that Kenai would get on with discovering his libido. He never quite does: the narrator, by his own admission, is not too interested in sex.

"Vita Sexualis" offers other pleasures, though. It provides interesting descriptions of nineteenth-century Japan and the ways that it dealt with the passing of the Samurai class and the arrival of Western and Chinese influence in Japanese society. Also of interest is the sometimes peculiar ways that sex was dealt with during this period: you hear about geishas, but also about the surreptitious sale of erotic drawings, marriage contracts, and seemingly normal businesses that doubled as brothels and operated using complex, esoteric secret codes. It's not titillating, but it's interesting. Readers seeking something to get them all het up should probably look elsewhere, though.

Ōgai is often mentioned as one of the pre-eminent Meiji authors alongside Natsume Sōseki. If that's truly the case then The Wild Geese doesn't do him justice as it's not a patch on Sōseki's best.

Perhaps a lot of this is down to the translation, which isn't the best. For instance, at one point we're told that Otama's father felt that losing his daughter to a scary looking policeman was, "like having her carried off by a monster with a long nose and a red face." That's a very awkward sentence and to anyone in the know (admittedly far from everybody) that quote obviously describes a Tengu. Why the translators didn't just romanise the Japanese word or pick an appropriate substitute like "demon" instead of giving a literal description of a Tengu, I don't know. It seems awfully clumsy and I can't believe that's how it was written originally in the Japanese. There are other minor issues with the translation - such as the way honorifics are denoted - that do grate; but perhaps this is only noticeable to someone more familiar with Japanese culture. Regardless, it would be nice to see a decent translation one day (I know the translation Tuttle use for Botchan is another awful disservice).

The story itself is fine but feels rather lightweight. Little takes place in the novel, which is fine, but it all feels so inconsequential in a way that the minor events of, say, Sōseki's Sanshirō don't. The characters and story take a while to get going and then it ends quite suddenly. The lack of neat resolution may be part of the point but it all feels rather abrupt.

It all left me wondering why Ōgai is thought of in such high regard. Given that few of his works are easily available in translation one would expect what is available to be among his best work; either this translation is very poor or that's simply not the case.½

Previous review: "to refute this idea- sexuality is portrayed as neither the motivating force in life nor something that one slips into organically. "

It's always worked thus for me. Well, most of the time. Once I was drunk - another time I was tired....

Bring on them flags, Furies!

An interesting fictional record of the sexual (or non-sexual) life of a young Japanese philosopher in the Meiji era. Ogai was opposed to the Japanese naturalist movement, which he believed put sex and sexuality at the root of all actions. He uses this account to refute this idea- sexuality is portrayed as neither the motivating force in life nor something that one slips into organically.
Although the basic premise of the novel seemed to me both truthful and innovative for its time (1909), I thought that it went a little too far in its rejection of eros and sexuality. Still, I enjoyed it much more than his more famous Wild Geese.

This semi-autobiographical novel analyzes the philosophical conflicts of sexual confusion and maturation for not only the work's protagonist, but for the entire Meiji era and its sexual attitudes. The reader glides through a gray pool of subtle glimpses, like seeing the fleeting image of some alien body part previously unknown to the eye. This book is not explicitly sexual nor erotic, but is a philosophical examination of the confusing sexual attitudes in Meiji era Japan. It's strength lies in its subtle language and narrative style. An important precursor to later works by Mishima and Tanizaki, where sexuality is the abstract painting on a canvas of nihilistic obsession.

I wanted to like these stories more than I actually did, because I admire Ogai as a person who led a serious, useful life unlike many of the more irresponsible writers of the time. But I must admit my reaction to the stories themselves was only middling.