Love after The Tale of Genji: Rewriting the World of the Shining Prince (review)

In analyzing Sagoromo monogatari, Hamamatsu monogatari, and Yoru no Nezame, Charo D’Etcheverry treats these late Heian texts not as literature lesser than Genji monogatari as many scholars have, but as efforts to elaborate on issues raised in that great work. Her provocative analyses prove that they are indeed worthy of our attention.

In the introduction, D’Etcheverry offers an overview of the history of the reception of Genji monogatari and argues that these three tales, insofar as they creatively rework certain motifs from Genji, should be taken as part of that reception history. We learn that these tales were once quite popular and only in modern times scorned as derivative.

In chapter 1, D’Etcheverry discusses the nature of the “rear court,” where imperial consorts and imperial family members lived and presided over salons in which talent in the literary arts could have political ramifications. As an instructive counterpoint to the dynamics of the salons of the late Heian period, D’Etcheverry gives an account of the eighteenth-century French salon. The salient differences between the two salon cultures are that French writers were guests and could come and go freely, while writers in salons of the rear court were employees and relatively immobile. D’Etcheverry then describes in detail the dynamics of the patronage and politics that supported the salon of Princess Baishi (1039–96), an imperial princess and Kamo Shrine priestess who employed the author of Sagoromo monogatari.

Chapter 2 consists of a discussion of Sagoromo monogatari, in which D’Etcheverry focuses on the issue of “midranks romance,” wherein a man of high status becomes enamored of a woman of only middling aristocratic rank. D’Etcheverry begins by asserting that, in Genji monogatari, Murasaki Shikibu demonstrated that midranks romance was a male fantasy doomed to have unfortunate consequences for both man and woman (p. 59) and seems to imply that Murasaki’s treatment of the theme should have concluded any debate on the issue: “Even writers otherwise influenced by Genji reverted to midranks fantasies” (p. 60). It seems to me that the attitude revealed in Genji is that all romance is fragile, fraught with anxiety, and often destructive, and it is, of course, the conflict between practical considerations and untamable passion that makes romance, midranks or otherwise, an endlessly interesting subject. Also, in championing critiques of midranks romance, D’Etcheverry overlooks the fact that the potential for a child born of a midranks woman and a high-ranking noble to enjoy social and political success was reason enough for some women to endure the difficulties of such a romance, as in the case of the Akashi Lady in Genji.

D’Etcheverry argues at length that the author of Sagoromo monogatari, Senji, who was an attendant in the service of Princess Baishi, used the story to condemn midranks romance on behalf of the women who suffered thereby. In a subplot, Sagoromo, a high-ranking noble, chances upon Asukai, a woman of midrank, and falls in love with her. However, since Sagoromo does not seem to take Asukai seriously, and Asukai’s love blinds her to reason, Asukai’s nurse, who is presented as kind hearted and sensible, tricks her charge into marriage with a man of modest background but good prospects. The nurse does indeed make a persuasive case for status-appropriate marriage, but authorial intent is ultimately beyond our reach. Such speculation is provocative, but assertion without qualification is alienating. Furthermore, D’Etcheverry does not take into account the ironic fact that the nurse’s advocacy is counterproductive. Bound and determined to remain faithful to her high-ranking lover, Asukai throws herself into the sea rather than tolerate the promising marriage arranged by her nurse. Much of the material in this chapter has been previously published as an article, but, strangely enough, it is not listed in the bibliography. ¹

In chapter...