Pillow Book, Part II

I love the things I find when searching for images. For example, 6.5 stitches (a person I "follow" on her blog / Ravelry / Flickr) has an entry regarding integrating pieces from The Pillow Book and fiber in this post, something I think Maria would enjoy. She links to this website, which I have found compelling and makes me want this Friday's plane to take me deep into the pages I've been reading.

I also love associating books with particular periods of time or geographical locations--I'll forever associate reading Daniel Quinn's Ishmael with the redwood forests of California. And now, The Pillow Book will be linked to reading by lamplight in a rainy tent while camping and reading at the kitchen table while watching rain fall on the back patio in New Jersey.

The process of reading The Pillow Book was a bit cumbersome: the main text occupies the center, followed by nearly six hundred footnotes, as well as several appendices, which contain lists and maps and the like. Some footnotes are worth the trip: I especially loved #34 for the story of the Weaver and the Herdsman and the stars in the sky, #131 which told me the mandarin duck is the traditional symbol of conjugal love, #281 which explained that "demons had straw coats that made them invisible," and on. Some of the less useful notes would direct me to moments of obviousness or perhaps would go on about the court gossip (which Meryl liked) and didn't compel me.

I read with a pen, and often I found myself writing in the margins: "vanity" or "false modesty." I imagined Shonagon as the court tease, and indeed, this culture was lenient on promiscuity, with rules about sneaking away in the dawn, with poems and puns and letters and cherry blossom branches and code. The speaker does not often show patience--making lists of hateful things, or using the word "distasteful," or reciting people behaving not according to court rules and rankings.

Sometimes we'd get narrative, realization of her voice and how she must seem: "But I really must stop writing this kind of thing. If I were still young enough, I might risk the consequence of putting down such impieties, but at my present stage of life I should be less flippant" (21. A Preacher Ought to Be Good-Looking, pg. 53). Later, in 86, she ends, "But it is most unattractive to blow my own trumpet like this" (151). I am not certain how much awareness she had of a readership, but I do know the expectation of her role as poet is high, particularly due to her family tree. How often do we wish to bury an early draft, or edit what we write in blogs / writing notebooks, thinking others may actually care, point to gaffs, stumblings? How often are we simply having conversations with ourselves?

I laughed aloud at section 27, which was titled "Trees," in which Shonagon writes, "I realize that it is not a specific tree, but I must mention the name 'parasite tree' since I find it so moving" (65). I write in the margin: "Shonagon herself a kind of parasite." This is how she lives, off the whims of those ranked above her, entertaining herself by coquetry and delight (or distaste) in the world around her.

I especially loved her lists: Elegant things (duck eggs, wisteria blossoms), Herbs and Shrubs (wood-sorrel, shepherd's purse, a lawn of grass), Poetic Subjects (arrowroot, water oats, flat river-boats), Embarrassing Things (a man recites his own poems--not especially good ones--and tells one about the praise they have received--most embarrassing), Things That Lose by Being Painted (pinks), Things That Gain by Being Painted (pines, cranes and deer), Things That Give a Clean Feeling (an earthen cup, a new metal bowl, a rush mat, the play of light), Things That Give an Unclean Feeling (white snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk), Squalid Things (the back of a piece of embroidery), etc.

Some of the values resonate: celebrating gorgeous handwriting, the pleasure of collaboration, the desire to communicate in verse, the value put on poetry memorization, the appreciation of seasons.

I am not sure if Tale of the Genji is high on my reading list, given that I suspect this first novel will reflect more of court life than observation; instead, I would like to read more early Chinese and Japanese poetry. I'd like to see what I can learn about its history; I loved what Colleen C brought to Maria's at our end-of-the-year gathering, so I'd like to read more of this economical, muscular work. I'm also curious to read more of what came before Kimiko Hahn's collection of zhuitsu, in order to more fully appreciate it.

What is everyone reading right now? Anyone care to suggest something to read collectively for July? Something you might be considering for your thesis book list but aren't sure just yet? This has eased a little of my school withdrawal. :)

Occasions for Writing Poems: The Pillow Book

I finished The Pillow Book yesterday before bed, and it was really lovely. This passage especially suited my summertime mood and the humid weather (that has thankfully lifted since):

During the hot months it is a great delight to sit on the veranda, enjoying the cool of the evening and observing how the outlines of objects gradually become blurred (Shōnagon 200).

This is definitely a book of careful observations. It doesn't surprise me that Molly felt most connected with the lists of things from the natural world. That's one of the aspects of Shōnagon as a "character" that interest me... she is the sort of woman who keenly feels the difference between "the moist, gentle wind" of the Third Month and "the cool, rainy wind in the Eighth and Ninth Months" (Shōnagon 193). That's not a distinction I personally can relate to, but I enjoy becoming immersed in a voice that does.

Shōnagon's certainly not always likable... she can be snobby and at times cruel. One of the more hilarious moments for me is in her list of "Unsuitable Things" where she bemoans the elegant effect falling snow can give to simple houses that don't deserve it:

Snow on the houses of common people. This is especially regrettable when the moonlight shines down on it (Shōnagon 71).

I must confess that my primary interest lies more in these aspects of character... and especially relationships. I found the courtroom and bedroom politics fascinating! I wish I could appreciate the plum blossoms and the child eating strawberries half as much as the lover sneaking away with dawn's dew... but it just doesn't hold the same appeal! The observations and images leant the book beauty, the gossip kept me reading :)

I usually do remember books pretty accurately, which is why The Tale of Genji's disappearance from the memory banks is particularly disturbing. But I guess I didn't connect with the book too powerfully in my younger years. Maybe someday I'll return to it... but for now I'm pretty excited about reading Basho alongside Kimiko Hahn's Narrow Road to the Interior: Poems. And since we might be doing Hahn as a group when it's Molly's turn to host, Matsuo Basho's Narrow Road to the Interior: And Other Writings going to occupy my next "Japanese literature slot" when I've sifted through some more Woolf and tattoo research books...

Here's one last quote to leave us all with:

When I woke up late at night, the moonlight was pouring in through the window and shining on the bed-clothes of all the other people in the room. Its clear white brillance moved me greatly. It is on such occasions that people write poems (Shōnagon 213).

cited: Shōnagon, Sei. The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon. Trans. Ivan Morris. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991.

Pillow Book, Part 1

I haven't had the chance to keep up with our schedule, but I'm determined to complete the book this weekend. After my second round of the flu, a rained out camping experience, and, now, daytime baby-sitting of my two nephews halfway across the country, I've mainly kept my reading restricted to escape.

Nonetheless, I have gotten through a large portion of The Pillow Book to have some concept of what is in store. Patterns have begun to emerge, and I have a few thoughts / questions for you, Meryl, and anyone else who happens upon this book and this blog at the same time:

- First, I must say, I love the idea of reading along with someone else. It forces me to look quite a bit closer, to read with a pen in hand (which I always want to do, but simultaneously feel shy about doing so--I encourage my students to write tons in their own books, to have conversations with the text, but then I don't do so myself, often because I know I'm going to end up giving the book away, but if it's to my friends, perhaps they'd be entertained at my outraged marginalia), to wonder what someone else might consider in a particular instance or moment within the narrative.

- That said, I know I need to read The Tale of the Genji. (Do I hear Genji read along...?)

- Meryl, you mentioned not being able to recall much about the above mentioned novel... I am the same with books too, even my favorites. I've begun to write a little bit after each book I read on Good Reads, partly to assert ownership over my reading experience, but also because a certain number of stars doesn't tell me the why of the experience. I love that I can't remember, in some ways, because re-reading a book that was once a favorite can be like reading it for the first time, but I must also add that I've recently begun to take fish oil to help with my memory issues. :) It goes beyond reading... (And I'm the same with movies as you, M: for instance, with the Harry Potter books, I'd forget the plot details, but as soon as a film adaptation was made, I'd recall the basic structure, which kind of ruined the tradition of re-reading the string just before the next book came out.)

- You wrote in your email about translation, how the Genet was gorgeous as a result (I agree; I don't think I would have ordinarily loved that book as much if it weren't for the talent of the translator--unless, of course, I could successfully read it in the original), and I think it's interesting to read Ivan Morris' introductory essay where he mentions adjusting the language as the repetition doesn't work as well in translation, but I kept thinking, "Oh, another delightful thing, or oh, another unpleasant thing." The language isn't singing, and with the translator introduction and notes, I get the impression that he has approached this more as a compelling historical document than a piece of poetry in prose.

- My favorites are the lists.

- I loved reading this while camping. Saturday was awful, as far as camping goes--it rained just before the sun came up and continued on through the entire day and into the night. (A little storm is one thing, but constant rain is pretty impressive!) There was a moment when Ryan was napping with the dogs in the tent, Angie had gone to seek drier ground in her shelter tent, and the two boys had gone into town in search of hot cocoa mix and mint Schnapps. I was left alone in our muddier shelter tent with the ice fishing heater (it was in the 50s, and we were all wearing these bizarre layers of clothing cobbled together from knapsacks and trunk storage), the pages of The Pillow Book damp and curling, my hands in fingerless gloves, my feet bouncing on the damp ground, and it was a perfect escape. I felt fully lost in the world of proper layered dress (plum and white), of monthly festivals, of speaking behind a screen, of lovers leaving by the moonlight, of poetry recitation.

I suppose for questions:

- Do you find the "character" of Sei Shonagon appealing? It seems strangely to judge her as if she were fictional, but thus far, she doesn't feel terribly dynamic, and part of that comes with translation, part of that comes with the function of the diary format, part of that comes with the reader-writer relationship. It seems the concerns are so overly focused on proper behavior, though I don't live in a world where proper behavior matters so much--at home, it's just me and my husband and two dogs and two cats. I just have to make sure those five are fed and walked, and we're in pretty good shape. I probably wear white after Labor Day, though, depending on laundry day status, I'm pretty careful about that whole brown-black-navy thing. But my concerns are not her concerns, and I suppose, truly, that's more of a cultural / time gap than anything else.

- As I said before, I enjoy the lists the most, particularly the ones in which Shonagon explores the natural world. This partly comes from my location while reading (camping with the rain pattering on the roof), but it's mostly because I am most interested in specificity, and to be more specific (ha.), it's the language and symbolism of the natural world that interest me the most. My question would then be: what about you? Which parts draw you in the most? (The least?)

And to all: this, of course, isn't all addressed to Meryl and if you are reading this post in the future, feel free to respond as well. I love the idea of community reading, of the conversations that follow.

Pillow Book Read-Along

Meryl and I are reading Ivan Morris' translation of The Pillow Book this month, and I thought I'd send a little note out to see if anyone else would like to join us. I know the first date is tomorrow, but I'm camping this weekend, and Meryl and her husband are headed to the Apostle Islands until Thursday, so we won't be able to start the conversation until nearly a week from now anyway. I like the idea of reading a book collectively, slowly, discussing it. Like school without all the complications.

Part One: Sections 1-55... read by Saturday June 6
Part Two: Sections 55-116... read by Saturday June 13th
Part Three: Sections 116-185... read by Saturday June 20th