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489 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1219
So spring fled, summer blazed,There's something about following an intermittent, yet longstanding commitment to reading texts that have managed to survive in one form or another for a minimum of half a millennium or so. Doing such has the tendency to rid other, more modern works of a certain measure of originality when one recognizes certain characters, plot points, or even entire narratives as having been worked in through reference that, in the case of such ancient pieces, must have been done out of a sense of homage (with the avoidance of copyright restrictions, in some cases, likely being a convenient bonus). Of course, having certain examples shoved down one's throat at far too early and/or in far too careless a fashion can put one off the bibliography of certain periods of certain civilizations, if not the entire exercise entirely. As such, had I not had the unusual experience of growing up as a minority, in many sense of the word, in a nation that that is the epitome of the artificiality of my kind's assumed majority in the world as a whole, I more than likely wouldn't have developed the breed of taste that led to my acquiring a copy of this when it first struck my eye, no hesitations in sight. The fact that I'm not one of those with a 50/100/etc page maximum for a work to win me over into a commitment to completing it is harder to trace, but it's a quality I appreciate nonetheless, for it took 687, yes, 687 pages to hit the section that won me over into appreciating this work on a truly honest level, and even that, as you can tell from my rating, comes with some caveats. So, a worthy work? Most assuredly. An absolute favorite on my end? Nah, but that's not really what matters here.
and autumn winds began to blow—
when, our eyes lifted heavenward
toward the meeting of the Stars,
we write down our fondest wish
on a mulberry-paper slip
slender as that lover's oar,
rowing across the celestial stream.
Transience? The flowers of spring,Having finished this, I acknowledge that my means of both comprehension and appreciation of this text are grounded in a variety of disparate and borderline irrelevant mediums, so I'll be the first to say that, if you're looking for the kind of review that should include a list of cited references (especially those that have a habit of flinging Euro/Neo Euro images willy nilly, as if that's any improvement over the kind of review that incorporates gifs) that will convince you to take on a borderline 800 year old 700+ page piece invoking a section of "medieval" history that most so-called "medievalists" will have little to no familiarity with, this isn't it. In contrast, the idiosyncratic toolkit that I used to grapple with this particular piece includes one "Western" oral epic, one "Eastern" monumental text, the oldest novel that's managed to its way down to us today thus far, two video games, and a certain preoccupation with what some would call 'identity politics', and while it's easy to say which aspects certain mainstream types would consider valid and which ones they'd put up their noses at, each and every one's a non-academic mess, and thus why I had to take my pleasure with this piecemeal.
so quickly scattered by the winds.
Life itself? The autumn moon
that slips so soon behind the clouds.
Paraded dead, paraded alive—At times, for the sake of my engagement, I would see through the lens of The Tale of Genji in focusing on not only the partially inherited cultural set up (TToG as written piece precedes the oral recountal of history, itself having occurred a century or so after TToG was composed, by a couple of centuries), but also the technique of breaking up the longer work into set narrative episodes involving heavy pathos, beautiful imagery relating to nature and/or culture, and no more than a few characters. Or, it happened through that of Three Kingdoms in riding out the long run of decades long shifts in territorial claim and powerful intrigue by tracking the evolution of certain major characters (TTotH was unfortunate enough in its choice of history that its most active participants were often the least developed and/or shortest lived). Even The Iliad came into play at times, with two warring sides built up through uncomfortably long lists of names, regular invocations of religious entities of immeasurable (although, in the case of TTotH, also infallible and, over time, became a part of the narrative's insufferably proselytizing tone, alongside aesthetic justifications for the class system) power, and brutal violence that had a tendency to wipe out 50-90% of the names that were just so comprehensively, if not longwindedly, listed out. Video games came in with the mention of Tomoe, "an archer of rare strength" and one of, if not the only, rare woman figure who doesn't serve much purpose other than to kill herself or become a nun for the rest of her days, who appears under the epithet 'Lightning Tomoe' in similar, if supernaturally charged, circumstances in the game Sekiro; as well as with the fact that the bulk of the narrative of Chapter 12 of Book 11 (aka, 11:12 of the Heike), eight-headed serpent defeated with the help of sake and all, serves as the major introductory plotline to the game Okami. Outside of that, there were some small set piece of verse that I liked well enough to excerpt in this review of mine, and some of the events are really quite tragic, even horrifying, although I doubt the latter epithet would have been applied by the original constructors of the tale. Then again, that seemingly tree-lined landscape in white that forms the background of my copy's front cover is composed entirely of skulls and the odd skeleton, so perhaps there was some recognition that this warfare, which by the end devolved entirely into genocidal infanticide, was, even when enacted by the 'rightful' ruler, something inhuman.
which meant the greater or lesser shame?
He whose fame had so resoundedOverall, this was a text that both didn't hold itself together well enough and stuck its nose out in a subjective fashion for stuck up reasons a tad too much for my tastes, and if it weren't for the last, practically stand alone "Initiates' Book" that, in structure as well as pathos, hearkened back so clearly to my beloved TToG, I wouldn't have left the text on as positive, even somewhat awe-inspired, a note as I ended up doing. I may have been more favorably disposed towards this if, previous to my read, I had freshened up my acquaintance with the strengths and foibles of the oral epic in comparison to the written by revisiting certain, far more familiar and culturally engrained texts that I had first encountered in my youth, but my reading schedules haven't yet achieved that kind of professional dedication to a single piece, and so long as there's so many diverse disparities across the sands of time and the bounds of enculturated compositions, I don't see myself doing so anytime soon. So, I parsed the text as best I could with what I remembered of certain texts that, despite the divides in centuries and continents, seemed akin enough for me to apply them here, as well as with a couple of unorthodox choices that, to be fair, are not at fault for having been born at so late a stage, and in such a technologically advanced a medium, as compared to its narrative forbearer. In the end, certain scenes and introductions will stay with me: some of them were glorified many a time by this edition's introduction and footnotes, while others are ones that I developed an appreciation for under my own power. I'm young enough to expect to see one or more iterations of this tale in the form of ever newer translations delivered in an ever more impressively contextualized and beautifully composed packages, and when twenty or so years have passed and I have churned through the numerical equivalent of the entirety of my current TBR, I'll likely be seduced into trying one or more of those newfangled versions in as much a manner as I was by this one. Until then, it's worth relating to you, reader, that you can find certain sections of this tale, orally delivered in the manner it was originally intended to be, recorded in videos on Youtube, as well as the fact that one performer, Hashimoto Toshi, has undertaken the goal of creating a recording of the piece of its entirety, despite the fact that her status as a woman has excluded her from much of the prestige bound up in The Tale of the Heike, from the highest states of enlightenment under Buddhism to the career of the biwa hōshi whose recountal of the tale throughout the centuries formed a vital backbone of both cultural significance and spiritual appeasement. As the overriding theme of this text is the transience of all in the face of the eternal, so to have the times changed into something that the first composers of TTotH would find barely recognizable and borderline incomprehensible. Indeed, the thirteenth and final portion of this text, the "Initiates' Book", ends with a dire admonishment that this text not be spread far and wide, and here it is being done, as it has in many other places on the Internet. It's not my favorite piece that emphasizes the "so it goes" of mortal existence, but it's too worthy a one in its own right to need my approval.
the whole length and breadth of Japan,
who had wielded colossal power,
Kiyomori, in an instant
floated as smoke into the sky
over the city, while the remains
mingled soon with the sands of the shore,
and all he had been returned to earth.
After my death a disciple of mine might forget this phrase or that, giving rise to a dispute on the subject; so, to forestall any disagreement, I have had this reference text written down. under no circumstances may it be given or even shown to anyone outside my line. Let no one but my direct disciples copy it, not even my associate teachers and their disciples. May whoever violates these injunctions suffer divine chastisement.
Todo ser humano posee un corazón. Y cada corazón posee una forma de pensar. El otro acierta y yo me equivoco, o bien yo acierto y el otro se equivoca. Según esta alternancia, nadie puede establecer ninguna regla ni lógica de lo que es bueno y malo. O bien los dos pueden acertar o bien equivocarse. Es como un círculo; no hay un fin. Por eso, cuando el otro se enfada, uno tiene que condenarse a sí mismo.*