Worlding Sei Shônagon: The Pillow Book in Translation

Helen Craig McCullough (1990) English

199 Helen Craig McCullough “A Court Lady’s Musings: The Pillow Book of Sei Shônagon” (pp. 156–199) Classical Japanese Prose: An Anthology Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990 A renowned American scholar of Classical Japanese, McCullough (1918–1998) was the author of numerous important books and articles, and translated Kokinshû, as well as selections from The Tale of Genji, Tale of Flowering Fortunes and The Tale of the Heike. She was among the pioneering students of the US Navy’s Japanese Language School during World War II, and served five years as a translator in Tokyo and Washington. Among other honours, she was awarded the Japanese government’s Medal of Honour in 1996. All of the translations in the textbook from which this passage is drawn are her own. In the introduction to the Sei Shônagon chapter of her anthology , McCullough explains that she has rendered twentyone Pillow Book passages, mostly from the diary-like and the miscellaneous sections, with only “a few representative examples ” (157) of the lists. McCullough’s rendition contains some lovely, poetic phrasings such as “the wail of the wind and the plaints of Helen Craig McCullough (1990) 200 insects”, and she is rigorous and consistent throughout with her use of ellipsis. Of note is the fact that she makes use of the first person singular only once, near the beginning of the passage. English 201 In spring, the dawn. As the light gradually increases, the rim of the hills reddens just a bit, and we see slender purplish-red clouds trailing in the sky. In summer, the night. I need not mention the times when the moon is visible, but it is pleasant also to watch fireflies flitting to and fro in the darkness. Even the falling rain has its charm. In autumn, the evening. When the bright setting sun has sunk very close to the mountaintops, it is moving even to see crows flying toward their roosts in groups of three or four or two. Still more delightful is a file of wild geese looking very tiny. Then, too, the wail of the wind and the plaints of insects when the sun has quite disappeared. In winter, the early morning. The morning after a snowfall needs no comment. When the frost is very white, or even when the air is bitter with frost, the sight of servants hastily kindling fires and carrying glowing charcoal here and there seems peculiarly appropriate to the season. Toward midday, when the temperature rises a little and the cold gradually abates, the fires in the braziers turn into disagreeable white ash. (pp. 158–159) ...