n  Genji Monogatarin is a Complicated novel. It is, to all intents and purposes, the oldest novel ever written, during the Heian period of Japan (794- 1185), giving a detailed description of life at Japanese high court, at the height of the Fujiwara clan's power.

In a world where conversations would take place through poems, a world where your character was judged by your calligraphy or the colour of the paper you chose for your letter and women would hide behind screens and curtains, with only their long, multi-layered sleeves to show for their greatness; Murasaki Shikibu delivering beautiful prose and poems to paint a perfect picture, with lavish descriptions of courtly and spiritual ceremonies and traditions. Could this be an oldest historical fiction?

There is much to unpack, vengeful spirits possessing the favourite wives, exorcisms, exile to foreboding lands, phantoms, foretelling dreams and premonitions are some few motifs constructing the story, there is such a strong Gothic feel to it, may this well be an oldest Gothic novel?

The story focuses on Genji’s romantic life, yet all characters (all 400 of them!) age and relationships have a strong consistency that is usually difficult to find in such a long book. Could this be an oldest psychological novel?

Unfortunately the story was marred by none other than Radiant Genji. It was difficult to go through the multitude of passages praising Genji’s beauty, simply because, from the very onset, I’ve been reading this book whilst picturing him as Harvey Weinstein. It’s really hard not to, as Genji is nothing but a Disturbed Pervert and from a behavioural standpoint, Weinstein fits the narrative perfectly.

Yes, n  Genji Monogatarin is a Complicated novel. A beautiful novel, with beautiful prose expressing either incredibly beautiful or quite terrible things. Both done by human hands. And Murasaki Shikibu’s glee in telling us these things is the most terrible of all.

“With this he put his arms around her, lay her down, and closed the door. Her outrage and dismay gave her delicious appeal.
"A man - there is a man here!" she cried, trembling.
"I may do as I please, and calling for help will not save you. Just be still!"

Yeah...
When a book is considered a classic, I expect it to have something more than just reflecting the reality of a certain period of history.
Well... If there is any deeper meaning in this book I have no time and patience to dig for it.
We follow the protagonist's sexual escapades, as he feels no remorse having ruined people's opportunities, reputation, their lives. (He claims he is "blameless" because his "heart is pure".)
There are too many triggers for me in this book, abuse of power, pedophilia, rape, and sexism to mention just a few. The depiction of women is appalling, while the main character is revolting.
I give up at 20%, that is 200+ pages of constant swooning and weeping over the looks of a serial rapist. Thanks, but no thanks!

"It is frailty that gives a woman her charm, though. I do not care for a woman who insists on valuing her own wits. I prefer someone compliant, perhaps because I myself am none too quick or self-assured - someone easy for a man to take advantage of if she is not careful, but still circumspect and happy enough to do as her husband wishes."

Well, I guess there's nothing left for me to say but...
"How bitterly I regret
dipping water from the mountain spring,
so shallow that I only wetted my sleeves"

Arguably the first novel ever written (using a modern definition of novel), and at the very least the first novel written by a woman, this essential work traces the life of a prince in medieval (Heian) Japan. The novel is intensely psychological and manages to very consistently portray the lives of hundreds of individuals across half a century or more. Aside from the insight the novel provides into the extremely rarified culture of the Japanese court in the middle ages, a reader comes away from Genji feeling that he has just witnessed a life, a real, visceral life, with all its ups and downs, beauty and ugliness. It is truly a work of genius. The novelist Yasunari Kawabata was right to declare in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech that Genji "is the highest pinnacle of Japanese literature. Even down to our day there has not been a piece of fiction to compare with it."

I have only ever skimmed The Tale of Genji, to get an idea of its contents, theme and style of writing. It never really appealed to me much, but of course it is a classic in world literature one should know about if nothing else.

I recently came back from a conference where I attended a fascinating presentation describing women, sexuality and salvation in Medieval Japan. Obviously the Tale of Genji came up a lot, and the talk just solidified my ambition to actually read this book from beginning to end one day.

This is a work I've often seen named as the first novel, as well as a work that the introduction claims greatly influenced and embodies the Japanese culture--and this by a women writer. Not many undeniably great classics, especially this old, can claim female authorship, and this one was written around the turn of the first millennium, when Europe was just emerging from the Dark Ages. The Tale of the Genji, the product of a sophisticated court, is thus close in age to Beowulf, and by and large, in its English translation in some ways more accessible. In other ways not. The translator himself, Waley, noted it's in many ways "alien to modern sensibilities" and at times I wasn't sure of what was happening, whether I was supposed to interpret Genji's character favorably and wondered what I missed in translation despite frequent footnotes. On the other hand, that very alien sensibility is a lot of the attraction. This is very much a very different world than ours.

The story involves Prince Genji and his various amours in the first four parts and his descendants, especially his purported son Kaoru and his grandchild Niou, in the last two parts. (Kaoru's greatest quality, I kid you not, is his strong "entrancing personal fragrance.") Genji reminds me of a Japanese version of Don Juan. At times things are told so obliquely though, I wasn't always sure if he was involved with various women platonically or sexually, or even whether the various relationships are consensual or not. The women are often depicted as ambivalent and Genji's beauty and accomplishments seem not to simply excuse but erase his flaws in the minds of others. But then, no male character in the book acts all that differently--they're all relentlessly sexually aggressive. When Genji kidnaps Murasaki, a ten-year-old girl he's enamored with, I wasn't sure at first of the nature of his regard and the way he grooms her into a future wife, and initiates her into sex, is indeed creepy to my "modern sensibilities." Murasaki is the major female character in the book, and by and large is too passive for me to feel a connection with her.

But then, so is just about every female character in the book. The Buddhist Japan depicted in this novel is every bit as misogynistic as the Christian Europe of this era. According to the book, Buddhist doctrine holds women are inherently evil--or they wouldn't be incarnated as women. Nor are they allowed into "Amida's paradise" in the afterlife. Women, at least of the upper classes, can only converse with men not part of their immediate family through screens or curtains or through notes or intermediaries. So by and large in this book women are not directly active but acted upon and are constantly cringing away from male attentions, weeping about (but excusing) rape, and then often starving themselves to death, willing themselves to fade away, planning to throw themselves into the river or taking vows as a nun.

I don't know that I can recommend this as a great read or one that can really give you insight into modern Japanese culture. A reviewer pointed out that, like a modern English-speaker reading Beowulf, modern Japanese can't sit down and read Tale of Genji and comprehend it without a translation and notes. This doesn't fit Western (or maybe even Japanese) expectations of what is Japanese. No geishas, samurai, haiku, manga, martial arts, kabuki, sushi, tea ceremony--or ritual suicide. In fact, suicide isn't honorable at this time, it's a disgrace. This is such a lengthy tome--over a thousand door-stopper pages, with hundreds of characters; it's hard to keep track of who is who, especially since in the original they're not named, though the translation I read mercifully gives them monikers to make it easier to follow the narrative. It's often a tedious read, and it doesn't so much end as stop. Nevertheless, I was often struck at times by the psychological complexity and the beauty of descriptions, and it gives a detailed look at the court life of the period. This isn't at all a martial culture that is described, but one with a very elaborate aesthetic where courtiers burst into impromptu verse and notes are judged not just by content but color and quality of paper, how it's scented, style and quality of handwriting, how it's folded and what flower the paper is tied up with.

Given its historical importance, I'm glad I tackled it. I took it at a pace averaging less than a hundred pages each day--slow for me. My rating tries to strike a balance between my recognition of its greatness as well as how much a slog I found most of it. It fits between the one star GoodReads "didn't like it" and the five star "it's amazing" because to be honest my reaction is both. I think this is one of those works, like The Bible or Confucius' Analects or The Koran you get more out of if you prepare yourself, and not something I should have tackled as a stand alone. Someone pointed me to an n  essayn by Michael Dirda about his experience reading the book. Before reading it he loaded himself up with works on Japanese literature and history such as Ivan Morris' The World of the Shining Prince and Donald Keene's Japanese Literature. Others recommend Liza Dalby's Tale of Murasaki for an accessible fictional biography of Lady Murasaki and the Heian court. Maybe some day, if I'm masochistic enough, I'll give Genji another try after preparing myself better--but I doubt it.

(Oh, and as a Star Trek fan I couldn't help but be amused to see that Genji's moniker is "Hikuru." Sulu's first name is supposedly derived from it.)

Reading The Tale of Genji is like floating through a dream. Written by Murasaki Shikibu a thousand years ago during the Heian era, this literary work is widely considered to be the first novel the world has ever known. While there is a lot of grandeur affiliated with being the first, I would argue that this is probably the least interesting detail of Lady Murasaki’s masterpiece. Moreover, The Tale of Genji is worth reading because it eloquently interweaves a tale within a culture in flux.

The Heian period was a truly unique time in Japan’s history and the point when the country began to really take on the hallmarks that define Japanese culture today. This was when the imperial court moved to Kyoto for the first time, when the Fujiwara clan dominated politics, and when Buddhism (and other foreign beliefs/ideas) began to spread throughout the country. In order to understand how The Tale of Genji captures this energetic zeitgeist, I must first break down how Murasaki Shikibu incorporates the religions of Shinto and Buddhism into her prose.

Note: To be clear, Shinto and Buddhism are belief systems that are able to coexist with one another, as well as other beliefs. While one can be more influential than the other (as I will somewhat make the case for here), they are not mutually exclusive in the way Western religions have been, historically speaking.

Shinto

Shinto is the indigenous religion of Japan; an animistic belief in kami (gods or spirits) that are infused within nature and living things. To this day, there are still shrines and tori (large red gates) throughout Japan built in dedication to Shinto. This religious tradition also contains the origin myth of the gods Izanami and Izanagi – the two deities who create the islands of Japan, establish the balance of life and death, and give birth to the kami infused throughout the country’s landscape. Reverence for nature’s primordial divinity is a recurring theme throughout Murasaki’s work.

“Faces and flowers emerged dimly in the morning twilight, and birds were singing in the clear sky” (316)

Most notable of these kami is Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun and heavens. According to the Kojiki (c. 712) and Nihon Shiki (c. 720), the imperial family of Japan are direct descendants of Amaterasu. It is important to understand that in The Tale of Genji when Murasaki Shikibu describes Genji and his descendants’ beauty as “shining,” or that they “radiate light,” or have a distinctly “pleasant fragrance,” she is crafting alliterations to their celestial roots. To be an imperial in the Heian era, is to exude ingrained divinity.

The titular Genji literally shines like no other, but given his tragic maternal backing (or lack thereof) he is never able to ascend to the rank of Emperor, echoing the power dynamics of the time. Throughout the Heian era, the Fujiwara clan were able to control politics by intermarrying their daughters into the imperial line. With their incumbent power and influence they could provide their grandsons with enough support to propel them to the throne. So while Genji has extraordinary privilege, given his social standing he is still an underdog of sorts in this particular tale.

Buddhism

Buddhism, an ideology and religion originating in India, greatly spreads throughout Japan during the Heian period. While beliefs and practice vary depending on different sects, Buddhism typically follows a set of principles surrounding the Four Noble Truths. These truths are that in life humans cling to impermanence and that this desire causes suffering, which suspends people in a cycle of rebirth that can only be broken by following the Eightfold Path to achieve a state of nirvana.

The pain of ephemeral desire is a central theme throughout The Tale of Genji. At the start of the novel, Genji is born to a low ranking courtesan of the Emperor who tragically dies. The emperor, filled with grief, discovers his dead beloved’s likeness in Fujitsubo who then becomes his consort. Genji then falls for Fujitsubo and secretly fathers her son (a boy known to the world as his brother) who becomes the future Reizei Emperor. Scandal! Then, unable to be with Fujitsubo, Genji discovers her likeness in a young Murasaki (the character, not the author) who he takes in and eventually marries. More scandal!

“The days and months passed, and the little prince was becoming the mirror image of Genji. Though Fujitsubo was in constant terror, it appeared that no one had guessed the truth. How, people asked, could someone who was not Genji yet be as handsome as Genji? They were, Genji and the little prince, like the sun and moon side by side in the heavens” (149).

This seemingly endless cycle of replacement to satiate desire catalyzes a great deal of the story’s conflict and meets an almost hilarious crescendo with the (creepy) Kashiwagi. He catches an accidental glimpse of the Third Princess playing with a cat and becomes incessantly infatuated. Propelled by the tumult of desire for this unattainable woman, he goes to great lengths to procure her cat from the crown prince. He then monologues to the cat, “What an insistent little beast you are… You are here to remind me of someone I long for, and what is it you long for yourself? We must have been together in an earlier life, you and I” (589). He never returns the cat, though that is probably the least of his crimes.

All and all, no matter the rank of an individual, anyone can be subject to substitution. This is a rather powerful concept for royals, especially considering several hundred years later people would be beheaded for even thinking such notions in Europe. Heck, even Genji dies two-thirds of the way through the novel, only to be replaced by his descendants Kaoru and Niou. Not even the main character is safe in his own book! But his radiant light goes out, nonetheless…

Feminine Agency

The interplay of Shintoism and Buddhism were quite consequential to life in Heian court, dictating cultural norms and expectations. Notably, these beliefs would have great baring on how women were able to exert themselves within this turbulent world.

Taking a step back for a moment, I must admit my biases in that I do not personally care for most of the men in this book. Putting it mildly, so many behave so poorly, with at least three assaults occurring by the tale’s end. That said, these are characters meant to have the divinity of someone like Zeus (same story, different continent/era), so while force is frowned upon, these characters are generally still regarded as typical masculine protagonists within the context of their rigid and patriarchal social structure. More interesting, however, are the women who must react to and navigate these celestial forces of nature.

“You should treat any woman with tact and courtesy, and be sure that you cause her no embarrassment. You should never have a woman angry with you…” (159)

Murasaki Shikibu writes her female characters with a vibrancy that would not be seen for many subsequent years (*caughs* centuries *caughs*). She is also at times quite explicit about why men should be kind to women, whether it be for the adherence of decency, fear of future karmic retribution, or even dread of the women themselves.

Enter the Rokujo Lady -- my favorite “scorned woman” in perhaps all of literature. One of Genji’s many “girlfriends,” she grows increasingly resentful when Genji ignores her, not treating her with the dignity of her station as the widow of a former crown prince. This resentment morphs into her angry spirit attacking her foes in their dreams. What’s so especially fascinating though, is that she is still portrayed as more tragic than villainous. Suffering begat from desire is always the true villain of this tale.

“She had not wished ill to anyone; and might it be that the soul of one so lost in sad thoughts went wandering off by itself? She had, over the years, known the full range of sorrows, but never before had she felt so miserable. There had been no release from the anger since the other lady had so insulted her, indeed behave as if she did not exist…She would be notorious. It was common enough for the spirits of the angry dead to linger on in this world. She had thought them hateful, and it was her own lot to set a hateful example while she still lived. She must think no more about the man who had been so cruel to her. But so to think was, after all, to think.” (167)

Another woman of note is the eponymous Murasaki, who could not be more different from the Rokujo Lady. This is a girl who finds herself forced to marry the man she regarded as a father-figure, and becomes a woman who has to spend years dealing with the consequences of his numerous affairs. Genji’s selfishness ultimately brings marital strife, a brief exile, and a daughter from another woman. Nevertheless, Murasaki raises Genji’s daughter like her own without an ounce of malice, allowing for the girl to go on and become the Akashi Empress.

Murasaki is the epitome of virtue (well played Shikibu), and it is only in the contrasting light of her selflessness that Genji feels true remorse and grief. While only my opinion, I do feel it is implied that by releasing her resentment, Murasaki is able to break her chain of suffering. Meanwhile, Genji, acting on his human impulses and ego, will be doomed to continue on without her in a future life. In perhaps his truest moment of genuine grief, Genji reflects:

“He would remember, now that romantic affairs meant so little to him, how hurt Murasaki had been by involvements of no importance at all. Why had he permitted himself even the trivial sort of dalliance for which he felt no need to apologize? Murasaki had been too astute not to guess his real intentions; and yet, though she had been quick to recover from fits of jealousy which were never violent in any event, the fact was that she suffered. Each little incident came back, until he had no room in his heart for them all… All through the wakeful nights he thought of her courage and strength and longed to have them with him again, even in a dream” (724)

Another recurring way that women escape suffering (*caughs* Genji *caughs*) is by disavowing the world and joining a nunnery. From Fujitsubo to the Third Princess, this choice is presented as a very tangible method by which women are able to utilize Buddhism to grasp a simultaneously peaceful and purposeful life. Even Ukifune, who wants nothing more than to disentangle herself from a toxic and horrific situation, is able to find solace in a Buddhist nunnery.

“The disastrous events had so turned her against men, it seemed, that she meant to end her days as little a part of the world as a decaying stump. The gloom of the last months lifted a little, now that she had had her way. She would joke with the bishop’s sister and they would play Go together. She turned her studies of the Good Law with a new dedication, perusing the Lotus Sutra and numbers of holy texts…” (1074)

It's important to have the final say over your own life. Sadly this is a rarity, but Murasaki Shikibu in a way created a blueprint, how-to guide for women on dealing with numerous unfortunate situations that could potentially arise at Heian court.

The World’s First Soap Opera

Last but not least, now that I’ve gotten all my more substantive opinions out of the way, I must confess that my favorite element of this book is that it is undeniably a soap opera. Am I using modern terminology to describe a thousand-year old text? Yes. But I don’t think I’m wrong -- everyone is related to everyone else, everyone (well, mostly Genji) sleeps with everyone else, and there is oh so much melodrama. In true telenovela fashion you even have people speaking their hidden truth to each other in dreams; serialize it and air it on Telemundo! Most important though, the story can be frivolous and goes on for enjoyment’s sake, and that’s okay. Murasaki Shikibu more or less breaks the fourth wall when she has Genji exclaim to Tamakazura:

“Women seem to have been born to be cheerfully deceived. They know perfectly well that in all these old stories there is scarcely a shred of truth, and yet they are captured and made sport of the whole range of trivialities and go on scribbling them down, quite unaware that in these warm rains their hair is all dank and knotted… But amid all the fabrication I must admit that I do find real emotions and plausible chains of events. We can be quite aware of the frivolity and idleness and still be moved. We have to feel a little sorry for a charming princess in the depths of gloom.” (437)

In this world of Heian era Japan, women, even privileged ones, often found themselves at the mercy of the men in their lives. Nonetheless, Murasaki allows her female protagonists the chance to grow, learn, and even rebel. Through this outrageous grandiosity with her storytelling, she is able to truly humanize them. Subsequently, what began as a tale for women at court, blooms into an unprecedented epic for everyone for generations to come.

All that said, of course I recommend The Tale of Genji, though I do acknowledge that it probably won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. I am also inclined to recommend Edward G. Seidensticker’s English translation. While this is my first full read through, I read major sections for Japanese literature courses back in university where my professors vouched that this was the most accurate edition. I feel like I owe them countless thanks. They instilled in me the foundational knowledge to better understand this work, as well as the ability to talk about it in smoky bars with drunken co-workers when I would later live in Japan (something else I highly recommend).

Kanpai!

I read the Royall Tyler translation and the Folio Society edition. One of the bonuses of the edition I read is the marvellous art work. Well over a thousand pages long and over a thousand years old (written between 1000 and 1012). I can well understand how people can spend their whole lives studying this and around this. Sadly I didn’t discover this in my youth but nevertheless it was a wonderful reading experience. Not easy to follow all the time as there is a myriad of characters and it is most important to remember that they are identified by rank or role rather than by name as a rule. It has a claim to be the first novel and was written by a woman.
The tale is primarily about Genji and his doings (and misdoings), although he does die about two thirds of the way through, but there are also strong female characters. Woolf was a fan and she noted that it was originally meant to be read aloud:
“listeners . . . were grown-up people . . . absorbed . . . in the contemplation of man’s nature; how passionately he desires things that are denied; how his longing for a life of tender intimacy is always thwarted; . . . how beautiful the falling snow is, and how, as he watches it, he longs more than ever for someone to share his solitary joy.”
I will avoid the controversies (and there are many) and just say it is well worth taking out time to read this. Read a version with explanations and footnotes, these are very necessary.

“You are here to remind me of someone I long for, and what is it you long for yourself? We must have been together in an earlier life, you and I.”



Murasaki Shikibu's The Tale of Genji is an immersive leap into medieval Japanese court life. Absolutely fantastic! I doubt this read is for everyone, but it all worked for me! The details of imperial court life, including the ceremonies, how people are judged or ranked, attitudes, values and the importance of proper dress and etiquette are all covered in the unfolding stories related to Genji (most centered on amorous adventures). These details are intriguing without being overwhelming. The use of poetry in courting rituals and how to interpret another person's poem (whether an overture or response) is fascinating. One's refinement was judged by this poetry as well as the brushwork used in composing it and the choice of paper.

This is a long read, but I stayed interested in the story and fascinated with all the accompanying trappings of courtly life. In the beginning, I sort of glossed over some of the poems that were sent back and forth between Genji and others; however, as I continued reading, I became more interested in the poems themselves. In what way, did this or that poem show that a specific woman was interested in Genji's advances, but wanted to make sure their relationship wasn't discovered? Or how did another poem show that she wanted to end the relationship? All while being refined! This world counted refinement above nearly anything else. What they saw as refined was quite interesting.

Fabulous and incredibly immersive read!!

THE TALE OF GENJI is a canonical work of Japanese literature that is often credited with being the first "novel" ever written (despite the obvious anachronism of that term when applied to this text). It was written as a serialized work by a noblewoman called Murasaki Shikibu, who lived and wrote in the XIth century. Actually, very little is known about the author: Murasaki is the name of one of the characters and there is no certainty the author was called that way or even if she wrote the whole text herself.

It was produced in the context of an aristocratic society, in a very gender segregated world. The story centers around a character called Genji, an incredibly handsome, brilliant, charming, irresistible young man.

His mother was one of the Emperor’s "wives" (actually, something called an "Intimate"). The other wives were jealous because she was the Emperor’s favorite, however, her lower social status didn't allow the Emperor to make this gifted son his heir. Genji's mother died when he was only 3 years old and the Emperor decided he should become a commoner, for his own safety. However, "Shining Genji" would always live in the Heian court, he would always be a very influential person and his dazzling, aristocratic presence would captivate everyone, especially the ladies. Oh yes, Genji likes the ladies and his stories of seduction and courtships are what most of this huge book is about.

This is a work written to entertain. It was never meant to be considered high literature. In a way, it reads like juicy court gossip so it's not hard to imagine that Genji's story could have captured its readers’ imaginations with its political intrigue and court drama. However, it can also be read as a subtle critique of Japanese elite society and the notion of court hierarchy during the Heian period.

THE TALE OF GENJI has been hugely influential: movies, TV adaptations, manga versions, woodblock prints and many other things have been inspired by this piece of literature.

I'm not sure if this is the translation I have (would have to root through the shelves) but the book itself is a wonder. It's a whole planet, so far away and yet full of breath and blood perceivable even at this palpable distance. What a passionate intelligence Murasaki had, and what discipline to go with it--as a writer she knew when to hold tight and when to cut and run, and she doesn't seem to waste a lot of time. As this is the very first thing anywhere in the world in its genre, she made each of these choices based on her own mind, experience, heart, guts . . . she must have been amazing in person. The one person, maybe, that I would most love to meet.

Finally finished - yippee! Feel like I have just finished running a marathon :-)

For now, Im gonna consider chapter 42 the end of the book. It feels like a different book past this point and I dont want to ruin what was a great reading experience.

I think what surprised me the most about this 1000 years old book is how accesible it is in translation. I have tried 2 versions and both were very easy to follow. So, dont be afraid by it, especially if u like japanese culture. If you are intimidated by its lenght, the last third is basically a sequel.

Be aware that the characters dont reflect the values of our time. Having said that, I believe that the characters would have been very good on Twitter. :))