Wednesday, November 23, 2022

Interview with the Translator: Twelve Kingdoms, Romance & Fate

Emperor/king and vassal: old-fashioned romance
Kate: The lack of romance in the series is somewhat unexpected. Is this lack specific to the author? Or does Japanese literature in general stay away from throwing romance into genres as western literature customarily does (mystery-romance, suspense-romance, action-romance, fantasy-romance).

That is, shojo and yaoi have definite mandates, but those mandates seem specific to the genres. Is the lack of romance typical of Japanese fantasy or specific to Ono? (In this case, I’m referring to a specific romantic/intimate relationship—the series is suffuse with “romance” in the older sense of the word and in the sense of ongoing, intense relationships.)

Eugene: I think that Fuyumi Ono decided from the start that the Twelve Kingdoms was going to be a romance only in the classical sense. If anything, the underlying message is that "romance goeth before a fall."

From the first couple of episodes, you might conclude that Fruits Basket is setting up a traditional love triangle with Tohru, Kyo and Yuki. Thankfully, it doesn't go there. Other characters fall in and out of relationships, and Kyo develops strong feelings for Tohru (especially after she saves his soul). But for Tohru, he-love-me-he-loves-me-not is the furthest thing from her mind.

Which is quite refreshing, especially after it becomes clear that Fruits Basket is as much psychological horror as romantic fantasy, sort of as if Stephen King wrote every other chapter in Anne of Green Gables.

The ginormous hit Demon Slayer also mostly eschews romance. Although Inosuke pines after Nezuko to an annoying degree, it's comic relief only. The only important relationship is between Nezuko and her brother Tanjiro, the aforementioned demon slayer. That relationship works so well that any attempt at romance would get in the way.

Nevertheless, romantic fantasy is its own genre in Japanese fiction, along with every other genre combination.

A few of my favorite pairings in contemporary fantasy are Akihito and Mirai in Beyond the Boundary, Yuzuru and Kanade in Angel Beats, Sakuta and Mai in Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai. Along more traditional (medieval European) lines are Shirayuki and Zen in Snow White with the Red Hair.

And then straying from the traditional as far as possible (in a Romeo and Juliet sort of way), Legoshi (the wolf) and Haru (the rabbit) in Beastars make for a compelling pair even if you ignore all the obvious symbolism. Speaking of Beastars, Juno (also a wolf) quickly achieves Cordelia status, and then can't stand that Legoshi cares more about Haru than her.

Although not a romance in the conventional sense, the relationship between Reg and Riko in Made in Abyss is as deep and abiding as any in the genre. Reminiscent of Laura and Howie in The Goats, though Reg and Riko are on a dangerous journey to the middle of the Earth and Reg is an android.

Kate:
In Hills of Silver Ruins, Gyousou reflects, “He felt like someone had delivered orders from on high for him to live, whatever the odds.”

Of course, in Gyousou’s case, this may be literally the case! And it raises the issue of fate.

The cliché is that Asians are utterly logical, in part because there are a large number of Asians in America in the sciences. But science doesn’t automatically exclude a belief in the paranormal, as Conan Doyle proved.

On Mythbusters, Grant was far more likely than the other Mythbusters to credit ideas like hypnosis—or at least, give them a try.

Of course, individual beliefs don’t immediately connect to cultural beliefs or racial background. Yet there is that whole “Blood Type” theory that never fails to slightly weird me out when I’m reading biographies in manga.

How do Japanese feel about fate, horoscopes, and other paranormal ideas?

Eugene: The paranormal is no less pervasive in Japan, as demonstrated by the popularity of The X-Files. The theme music has since become an universal indicator of spooky subject material. As you noted, the "blood type personality theory" is treated as seriously in Japan as your astrological sign, meaning sort of by most, but only to a point.

When I first lived in Japan, one of those "We're not in Kansas anymore" moments came when I noticed all the fortune telling booths that popped up around the train stations after dark. Fortune telling (both the Eastern and Western variations with Tarot cards and crystal balls) is part of popular culture, as is the "daily horoscope."

Many of these are cultural imports from China, such as the unlucky number four (a homophone for "death"), and lucky and unlucky calendar days. Though eight as a lucky number isn't as big in Japan as it is in China.

Perhaps the most Japanese of good luck charms is the o-mamori, small cloth or paper amulets sold at Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples. There is an o-mamori for every cause and occasion (and price point). Parents buy them for their children who are taking entrance exams. They often become prized heirlooms.

Two other popular activities at shrines and temples are ema and o-mikuji. Ema are wishes written on wooden blocks and hung from boards around the shrine until they are ceremoniously burned. During the Tanabata festival (July 7), wishes are written on strips of paper called tanzaku and tied to the branches of bamboo trees. 

O-mikuji are fortunes printed on strips of paper and randomly selected from a box containing numbered sticks (each about the size of a pencil). Shake the box, extract a stick, and match the number to the fortune. Unlike o-mamori (which are treated seriously), o-mikuji are generally done for fun, like your horoscope.

During a groundbreaking ceremony, you can expect to see a Shinto priest purifying the construction site. The Shinto equivalent of the Buddhist butsudan (home altar) is the kamidana (home shrine). It is still common to find small kamidana inside commercial buildings, located on a high shelf or alcove.