Nureki Chimuo Archive

You might think that I only write this kind of stuff, things like “The Blue Flame in the Depths of Her Eyes” or “Aiming for Gruesome Beauty,” but that’s not really the case.

Just the other day, I received a splendid new book from a distinguished scholar who specializes in researching the history of Japan’s popular classical performing arts and has achieved solid results.

I was astonished and deeply moved by the depth of its content and the purity of its author’s spirit. Without hesitation, I immediately composed a lengthy letter of thanks and mailed it.

Below is the full text of that letter of thanks.

Sensei! Yoshizawa Sensei!

Thank you so much for sending me your wonderful book!

Holding the weighty, painstakingly crafted, monumental work, the “Encyclopedia of Kodan Works,” Volumes 1, 2 and 3, in both hands, I was moved and thrilled by the meticulous detail of the descriptions. Its sheer brilliance brought tears to my eyes as I read it.

To think that you wrote such a book in a room of your residence in Ageo City, Saitama Prefecture, I am deeply moved by the intensity of your spirit and your single-minded passion for traditional performing arts.

The entries collected in this “Encyclopedia of Kodan Works” extend far beyond the world of kodan alone.

They encompass Japan’s ancient theatrical traditions, from Kabuki, to Noh, kyogen, and even extending to shinpa and shinkokugeki.

It provides thorough, satisfying explanations even for characters appearing in plays and novels.

Open any page of the upper, middle, or lower volumes, and fascinating figures leap off the page, packed with invaluable material! Truly magnificent!

As you likely know, I’ve been a longtime enthusiast of popular theater and still visit such theaters nearly every month.

It’s no exaggeration to say that the prototype of those popular plays, performed by travelling theater troupes using improvised scripts, is almost entirely preserved within this volume.

(This also shows how many elements of rakugo stories are found within their plays.)

Before I turned twenty, I used to stick my nose into those kinds of troupes, and I prided myself on knowing almost all of the storylines and structural patterns of the plays performed in popular theater. But reading your book, I see there are still so many fascinating stories and plays out there. It’s truly eye-opening.

I adore this kind of popular theater, so deeply rooted in the sensibilities of the masses. When popular culture is taken to such an extreme, it seems to me it develops a flavor and character that could almost be called super-popular.

Just a few days ago, I went to see the Okawa Ryunosuke troupe at the Asakusa Kiba-kan theater. The play’s title was “The Story of Shimoda.”

When I heard “Shimoda,” I thought it must be about the Chinese girl Oki, but as soon as the curtain rose, I realized it was actually “Snow Migratory Bird” by Ginpei Koina, aka Shin Hasegawa.

Indeed, Ginpei Koina is also a tale of the world of chivalrous vagabonds set in Shimoda, Izu.

Unlike Ginpei, who seemed like the embodiment of self-sacrifice, this protagonist had low aspirations and was somewhat vulgar. Yet, the packed audience loved it, the fans’ voices echoed throughout the venue, “Ryu-chan, you’re cool Ryu-chan!”

I realize it’s quite rude of me to say such things, but for a writer like myself, this new book by the professor is an encyclopedia of reference material, a treasure trove of resources.

It’s packed full of ideas for historical fiction.

No matter which page I open, after reading just a few lines, a whole image starts bubbling up inside me.

The raw human body odor and the fierce yet captivating way of life in the lower classes come vividly back to me.

I marvel at how the common people lead such eventful lives, filled with such intense joys and sorrows.

Through this book by the master, the images of the storytellers and other entertainers of each era, who vividly depicted and conveyed these fascinating, captivating human personalities to the common folks, come alive before my eyes.

Now, just for a moment, I’ll open the pages of Section A in the first volume.

There is an entry titled “Amagasa Kanji.”

(The name “Amagasa Kanji” itself is interesting. It sparks the imagination.)

Amagasa Kanji

See the later entry * Nadare no Iwamatsu. From “Asakusa Pilgrimage - Gosui-ken” in Geino Gaho No. 33-6 (Showa 14/1939)

Tanaka Keiji, a member of Fuji Yoko’s troupe, was well suited to the role in the white-painted three-shaku-play “Chivalrous May Skies,” which drew inspiration from the rakugo-style Tenpo Suikoden character Nadare no Iwamatsu.

Just reading these few lines, Professor, made me so overcome with nostalgia I nearly cried.

In the 1950s, at the Tokiwa-za in Asakusa, I had seen Fuji Yoko and Tanaka Keijo perform “Chivalrous May Skies.”

It says “Chivalrous May Skies, based on Nadare no Iwamatsu,” but actually it wasn’t “based on” that at all. Calling it plagiarism would be more accurate.

Back in 1945, I was involved with a travelling troupe that commissioned me to churn out these kinds of plagiarized works by the dozen.

(That’s why I immediately recognized that “Shimoda Monogatari” was a “modified plot” from Shin Hasegawa’s “Snow Migratory Bird.”)

It truly is a profound, deeply meaningful, and wonderful book.

No matter which page I open, I cannot help but marvel, sigh, and rejoice. It is splendid and nostalgic.

Even now, as I write this letter of thanks to you, I find myself turning the pages of this substantial volume, each section three or four centimeters thick, and becoming so engrossed by the fascinating topics that I keep stopping to read.

Still, I find it puzzling that with so many lively, relevant, and interesting topics available today, why do today’s performers (especially the younger ones) keep persisting in such dull material with shallow character portrayals on stage?

The new material is especially boring.

It’s infuriating.

Has the ability to recognize interesting material as “interesting” simply vanished from people today?

Reading your passionate, substantial book, I find myself not only unable to complain about young performers, but rather ashamed of my own lazy daily routine.

This book feels like a rebuke for the laxness in my own work ethic.

I realized I must take my given tasks far more seriously, without cutting corners.

Combined, the three volumes measure a full ten centimeters thick. This magnificent labor of love, packed densely and meticulously with content, is a book I intend to open whenever my spirit falters, to draw courage from the professor.

I also wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to Osada-san of Magazine House, who introduced me to someone like you.

If there are any future events like a lecture by you, please do let me know.

I will ask Osada-san to take me along.

We’ve had clear skies lately, and suddenly autumn has arrived.

At nine o’clock this morning, there was a knock on my door. Yamato Transport’s Takkyubin service delivered these three splendid volumes.

What a wonderful day today is.

Thank you very much.

I don’t know how to express this feeling of gratitude.

I can only offer my deepest thanks.

That is all.

Upon reading my letter of thanks, the professor promptly replied by postcard.

It was a shy message, very much like him.

Thank you for your letter.

Please be gentle with me. I’m just doing a little bit here and there. The documents have piled up, and I haven’t been able to organize them. It’s unclear what’s hidden where. I used to go in and out of the fifth-generation Hakuzan residence in Nishigahara, Kita Ward. That was when I was in my twenties. It all feels like a dream. I’m currently writing a sequel and have reached 200 characters times 1600 pages. I will present my own edition in two years. Please continue to guide me in the future. Once again, I deeply thank you for your kind and lengthy letter.

That’s all.

I am currently writing a sequel, which is scheduled to be published in two years.

I hope to stay healthy until then. (Professor Yoshizawa is ten years younger than me.)

Though I couldn’t write this in my letter of thanks to the author, the truth is that, within these volumes of the “Encyclopedia of Kodan Works,” abundant material for what might be called “SM novels” is hidden, something I suspect the author himself has not noticed.

For example, among the famous ones, first is “Asao’s Snake Torture.”

That said, modern enthusiasts probably wouldn’t know what that refers to (though old-school enthusiasts all know it). It’s a story from the “Kaga Disturbance,” introduced in this “Encyclopedia of Kodan Works” with nearly a thousand characters.

Asao was the chief concubine among the Otsuki Denzo faction who plotted to seize control of the million-koku9 domain of Kaga.

This rebellion was eventually exposed. The conspirators were captured.

Asao endured brutal torture. She was stripped naked, forced into a tub-like container, and then had a large number of live snakes thrown in with her. She writhed in agony until she died. This story was almost invariably featured in old “SM magazines,” complete with illustrations.

While this story is extremely well-known, the book also vividly introduces lesser known figures, poisonous women, enchantresses, adulteresses, and wicked women, depicting them with dynamic, lifelike energy.

In each of their ways of life, I feel an irresistible scent of “SM.” And it makes me want to write my own style of “SM historical fiction.”

In other words, this encyclopedia is a treasure trove of material for me.

Koku is a unit of volume, such as measuring rice, approximately 180.4 liters.