Just To Prove Miss_Ariake Does Do Work...
I don't know what this says about me... but it's an essay and it took three hours. It does the job and it's helluva lot more interesting than the last 8 or 9 weeks worth of work we've done. Japanese Culture and Art...not so fun when the teachers is a moron lost cause.
A final term paper for Japanese Culture and Art
-A fiction as a short novel or a play book
London was always a cold and desolate city, anti-social and unyielding; this particular December evening was no different. Rain crashed down heavily as I ran through the street, soaking my clothes and seeping into my shoes. No matter how much I tried to avoid the puddles, they still managed to drench my feet and send a chill through the rest of my body. Normally I would stay indoors with a good cup of tea and book, but it is for that reason why I’m out in this torrential weather. You see, I’m off to see a friend, a good friend of mine who apparently has an immense idea and he wishes for me to see it.
I finally reached the house where my friend lived with two other people, Priscilla and Elizabeth Leale. In all the times I’ve visited my friend, I’ve yet to meet his other housemates and I imagine this time was going to be no exception. Dashing away from the relentless rain and cold, I ran up the steps to the door and sounded my arrival with two knocks. Moments later, I was greeted by a warm smile and handshake; my friend, Natsume Sōseki.
“Matthew, it’s good to see you! I’ve got some water brewing, you care for some tea?”
Never one to turn down a warm beverage, I nodded eagerly as I stepped into his house. Already, I was tripping over various books that were strewn across the floor; a sign that Sōseki had been hard at work with his new idea. He would walk miles in his own home, back and forth as he mulled over different pieces of literature, all the time completely deep in thought. I have worried for his sanity some times; he was often buried under these books and his growing paranoia was becoming more apparent. I fear London will steal his mind at this rate. No wonder he’s been writing so much.
He’s been fairly miserable his whole time here in London and I don’t blame him. It’s unforgiving to anyone who lives here; Sōseki suffered a nervous breakdown not too long ago and he barred himself away from the rest of the world. Getting in contact with him these days had been a challenge and I was beginning to lose hope until a letter came through my mailbox from his very hand.
‘I have great news for you, my friend. Please come to my house this Friday…don’t tell anyone else about this but, I have an idea. I trust you with these words, Matthew. Hope you are well; Natsume Sōseki.’
As I removed my coat and stretched my rain-soaked arms, I fumbled my way into the house and up the creaky stairs to Sōseki’s laboratory as such. This was where all the true ideas are captured onto endless rolls of paper. Pushing the door open was a great struggle; screwed up rejects of words and writings preventing much movement. Eventually, I managed to crowbar the door open long enough to see Sōseki’s desk where he’d been previously working.
“So…what’s this idea of yours, Sōseki?”
“I’ve been struck by lightning, Matthew! I can’t put my pen down long enough to even scratch my head! Here, your cup; mind, it’s still hot.”
Smelling perfect too, the brew was welcoming in my hands. Sōseki skipped past me and back to his desk, fiddling through the loose pages to grab his writing implement which he held to his chin. I took a seat beside his desk, a soft red armchair that was perfect for snuggling into with a fine book. Already, the chill that had froze me over was melting away as I saw the roasting fire across from me and the warm glow that shone from Sōseki’s face. He truly was ecstatic about his writings.
In fact, this was the first time I’d ever seen him so elated with anything. Sōseki has regularly told me that he despised his government’s decision to transfer him to England a few years ago. Before, he’d been an English professor at the Fifth Higher School, Kumamoto, on the island of Shikoku. He’d told me stories about his time there and about his wife, Nakane Kyōko who he was missing terribly; this was probably contributing to his misery and which is why he immersed himself in the world of English Literature to escape from it all. Shakespeare in particular, Sōseki had a great love of his work and along with the Leale sisters, I shared my appreciation with the literature.
“Matthew, I must say… I am losing heart with your literature.”
“How do you mean?”
“Whenever I read your poetry, Western poetry, I feel nothing! Nothing at all; trying to pretend that I’m enjoying it…would be like a person pretending to have wings and trying to fly. A person with no money, walking around trying to look prosperous.”
It was heartbreaking to see Sōseki feeling this way; I put a hand on his knee and gently squeezed it. I knew he had a great love of words and so to hear such depreciation in his zest for literature was also shocking. He shook his head and placed his hand one mine, a brief smile emerging on his lips.
“Don’t worry; I have a plan… a theory, a project.”
“A project? What do you mean?”
“I know this is like baptising and making a fuss over a child before it is born, but what I intend to do is the following: Beginning with the question of how it is that we perceive the physical world, I’ll move from there to the question of how to interpret human existence, and from there to the question of the significance and objective of human life and its principles of movement. This will lead to dissection of the various elements structuring civilisation, and discourse on its nature, as well as the influence the tendency of these associated developments exerts on literature. Given the vastness of the problem…this is likely to reach into the realm of philosophy, history, politics, psychology, physiology, and the theory of evolution.”
I was stunned; his monologue of his project had such depth and scope…yet I could see in his eyes that he was determined to complete such a mammoth of a task. Whenever he stuck his mind to something, he had to follow it through and if anything, I knew he could do it. Sure, he’d had moments of desolation and of course his breakdown, but there was a spark behind those eyes. Hopefully, these weren’t just fevered imaginings but what Sōseki’s heart truly wanted and was aiming for.
“Would this be…when you return to Japan?”
“Matthew, I’m sorry. This country will be the death of me if I stay here any longer. Were it not for you and my friend from Germany… who knows what would have become of me.”
“From Germany?”
“Yes, Ikeda Kikunae. I must introduce you to him. He’s a chemist and he’s been staying here for a while. You and him would get on perfectly; he’s a quite an impressive philosopher. Thanks to him…I’ve been able to quit the spectral literature and now I’ve resolved to pursue a more systematic and substantial line of research.”
Sōseki stood up and walked across the room towards a large wicker trunk that sat grandly against the wall. Beside it was piles of books that looked like they were ready to be packed away; I raised my eyebrow inquisitively and he patted the chest with a hearty laugh.
“I’m shutting away all books of literature in my wicker trunk! To not read literature when writing about literature; that is the goal.”
Now he was truly losing his mind. If Sōseki was to write this project of his, surely those books were his key materials? I took another sip of my tea, the warm beverage had chilled since the last taste; I’d been so enraptured by my friend’s words that I’d completely forgotten my drink. After I placed the now empty cup on the floor, I stood up and joined Sōseki by the trunk, peering inside at the vast number of volumes that were inside.
“I’ve been writing to my father in law, you remember him?”
“Ahh, yes… you spoke of him so time ago. How is he?”
“Other than you, he is the only other person I’ve truly proposed this project to. The Theory of Literature.”
Sōseki continued to explain his project to me, which he predicted would take two to three years to be accomplished. Apparently, the ultimate goal wasn’t just for establishing a theory of literature, but a step-by-step triangulation of a number of disciplines to situate literature in a comprehensive theory of human experience. Rather than delving into literature, he would read into psychology and sociology.
“Matthew… I propose that you cannot think on the effect of literature on the reader, without access to the sciences. Words of the mind etched down to paper, it requires psychological processes and consciousness. Individual experiences in society cannot be penned without sociology. Don’t you agree?”
Perhaps he was right with that; Sōseki had certainly been immersed in some serious studies beyond my knowledge and it was in his animated speech now that I see his true dream, no… true potential could be in the field as a theorist. I’d always imagined him as a novelist, the rare haikus and haitaishi that he allowed me to read showed promise and a strong future in the literary world. I walked back over to my chair, bending over to pick up my cup and sighing with my displeasure at the situation.
“You won’t turn your back on writing, will you Sōseki?”
“This is another reason why I asked you here… it’s a small burning fire at the back of my mind that continues to burst through in intervals. A constant reminder and something I can only truly ignite when I’m back in Japan.”
“What is it?”
“A story…of sorts. Small, no doubt but it’s there. You see, if I put out the usual sort of book, it’s going to look like table scraps from…the Europeans, so I’m working diligently to produce something I won’t have to be ashamed to show to people.”
I placed both hands on Sōseki’s shoulders, giving him a shake as I smiled widely.
“You should never be ashamed of your work; I have great faith in you.”
“Thank you Matthew; I hold your words and compliments close to my heart. If this story of mine takes flight… I’ll thank you eternally for it.”
“Mind if I ask what you’re going to call it?”
“Haha, it’s early days but… Wagahai wa neko de aru!”
We both laughed loudly, filling the room with a joy it hadn’t seen in a while. Sōseki may be breaking from his depression with these ideas of his. Of course, that would mean he’d be returning to Japan and I most likely won’t see him for a great time. He’s naturally invited me several times to join him and his wife back in Japan, and I would happily oblige once I’ve finished my own studies here. Perhaps we can even write something together in the future; no doubt this project of his was at the forefront of his mind, you can’t extinguish the passionate flames of writing, not even for Sōseki.
References:
Theory of Literature and other critical writings - Natsume Sōseki (2009 - Columbia University Press, Published in America) pp1-31 (Introduction: Natsume Sōseki and the Ten-Year Project)
Quotes taken from the aforementioned book, pages 10 and 11.
And the book called Wagahai wa neko de aru is known as I Am A Cat....I severely recommend this book <3
A final term paper for Japanese Culture and Art
-A fiction as a short novel or a play book
London was always a cold and desolate city, anti-social and unyielding; this particular December evening was no different. Rain crashed down heavily as I ran through the street, soaking my clothes and seeping into my shoes. No matter how much I tried to avoid the puddles, they still managed to drench my feet and send a chill through the rest of my body. Normally I would stay indoors with a good cup of tea and book, but it is for that reason why I’m out in this torrential weather. You see, I’m off to see a friend, a good friend of mine who apparently has an immense idea and he wishes for me to see it.
I finally reached the house where my friend lived with two other people, Priscilla and Elizabeth Leale. In all the times I’ve visited my friend, I’ve yet to meet his other housemates and I imagine this time was going to be no exception. Dashing away from the relentless rain and cold, I ran up the steps to the door and sounded my arrival with two knocks. Moments later, I was greeted by a warm smile and handshake; my friend, Natsume Sōseki.
“Matthew, it’s good to see you! I’ve got some water brewing, you care for some tea?”
Never one to turn down a warm beverage, I nodded eagerly as I stepped into his house. Already, I was tripping over various books that were strewn across the floor; a sign that Sōseki had been hard at work with his new idea. He would walk miles in his own home, back and forth as he mulled over different pieces of literature, all the time completely deep in thought. I have worried for his sanity some times; he was often buried under these books and his growing paranoia was becoming more apparent. I fear London will steal his mind at this rate. No wonder he’s been writing so much.
He’s been fairly miserable his whole time here in London and I don’t blame him. It’s unforgiving to anyone who lives here; Sōseki suffered a nervous breakdown not too long ago and he barred himself away from the rest of the world. Getting in contact with him these days had been a challenge and I was beginning to lose hope until a letter came through my mailbox from his very hand.
‘I have great news for you, my friend. Please come to my house this Friday…don’t tell anyone else about this but, I have an idea. I trust you with these words, Matthew. Hope you are well; Natsume Sōseki.’
As I removed my coat and stretched my rain-soaked arms, I fumbled my way into the house and up the creaky stairs to Sōseki’s laboratory as such. This was where all the true ideas are captured onto endless rolls of paper. Pushing the door open was a great struggle; screwed up rejects of words and writings preventing much movement. Eventually, I managed to crowbar the door open long enough to see Sōseki’s desk where he’d been previously working.
“So…what’s this idea of yours, Sōseki?”
“I’ve been struck by lightning, Matthew! I can’t put my pen down long enough to even scratch my head! Here, your cup; mind, it’s still hot.”
Smelling perfect too, the brew was welcoming in my hands. Sōseki skipped past me and back to his desk, fiddling through the loose pages to grab his writing implement which he held to his chin. I took a seat beside his desk, a soft red armchair that was perfect for snuggling into with a fine book. Already, the chill that had froze me over was melting away as I saw the roasting fire across from me and the warm glow that shone from Sōseki’s face. He truly was ecstatic about his writings.
In fact, this was the first time I’d ever seen him so elated with anything. Sōseki has regularly told me that he despised his government’s decision to transfer him to England a few years ago. Before, he’d been an English professor at the Fifth Higher School, Kumamoto, on the island of Shikoku. He’d told me stories about his time there and about his wife, Nakane Kyōko who he was missing terribly; this was probably contributing to his misery and which is why he immersed himself in the world of English Literature to escape from it all. Shakespeare in particular, Sōseki had a great love of his work and along with the Leale sisters, I shared my appreciation with the literature.
“Matthew, I must say… I am losing heart with your literature.”
“How do you mean?”
“Whenever I read your poetry, Western poetry, I feel nothing! Nothing at all; trying to pretend that I’m enjoying it…would be like a person pretending to have wings and trying to fly. A person with no money, walking around trying to look prosperous.”
It was heartbreaking to see Sōseki feeling this way; I put a hand on his knee and gently squeezed it. I knew he had a great love of words and so to hear such depreciation in his zest for literature was also shocking. He shook his head and placed his hand one mine, a brief smile emerging on his lips.
“Don’t worry; I have a plan… a theory, a project.”
“A project? What do you mean?”
“I know this is like baptising and making a fuss over a child before it is born, but what I intend to do is the following: Beginning with the question of how it is that we perceive the physical world, I’ll move from there to the question of how to interpret human existence, and from there to the question of the significance and objective of human life and its principles of movement. This will lead to dissection of the various elements structuring civilisation, and discourse on its nature, as well as the influence the tendency of these associated developments exerts on literature. Given the vastness of the problem…this is likely to reach into the realm of philosophy, history, politics, psychology, physiology, and the theory of evolution.”
I was stunned; his monologue of his project had such depth and scope…yet I could see in his eyes that he was determined to complete such a mammoth of a task. Whenever he stuck his mind to something, he had to follow it through and if anything, I knew he could do it. Sure, he’d had moments of desolation and of course his breakdown, but there was a spark behind those eyes. Hopefully, these weren’t just fevered imaginings but what Sōseki’s heart truly wanted and was aiming for.
“Would this be…when you return to Japan?”
“Matthew, I’m sorry. This country will be the death of me if I stay here any longer. Were it not for you and my friend from Germany… who knows what would have become of me.”
“From Germany?”
“Yes, Ikeda Kikunae. I must introduce you to him. He’s a chemist and he’s been staying here for a while. You and him would get on perfectly; he’s a quite an impressive philosopher. Thanks to him…I’ve been able to quit the spectral literature and now I’ve resolved to pursue a more systematic and substantial line of research.”
Sōseki stood up and walked across the room towards a large wicker trunk that sat grandly against the wall. Beside it was piles of books that looked like they were ready to be packed away; I raised my eyebrow inquisitively and he patted the chest with a hearty laugh.
“I’m shutting away all books of literature in my wicker trunk! To not read literature when writing about literature; that is the goal.”
Now he was truly losing his mind. If Sōseki was to write this project of his, surely those books were his key materials? I took another sip of my tea, the warm beverage had chilled since the last taste; I’d been so enraptured by my friend’s words that I’d completely forgotten my drink. After I placed the now empty cup on the floor, I stood up and joined Sōseki by the trunk, peering inside at the vast number of volumes that were inside.
“I’ve been writing to my father in law, you remember him?”
“Ahh, yes… you spoke of him so time ago. How is he?”
“Other than you, he is the only other person I’ve truly proposed this project to. The Theory of Literature.”
Sōseki continued to explain his project to me, which he predicted would take two to three years to be accomplished. Apparently, the ultimate goal wasn’t just for establishing a theory of literature, but a step-by-step triangulation of a number of disciplines to situate literature in a comprehensive theory of human experience. Rather than delving into literature, he would read into psychology and sociology.
“Matthew… I propose that you cannot think on the effect of literature on the reader, without access to the sciences. Words of the mind etched down to paper, it requires psychological processes and consciousness. Individual experiences in society cannot be penned without sociology. Don’t you agree?”
Perhaps he was right with that; Sōseki had certainly been immersed in some serious studies beyond my knowledge and it was in his animated speech now that I see his true dream, no… true potential could be in the field as a theorist. I’d always imagined him as a novelist, the rare haikus and haitaishi that he allowed me to read showed promise and a strong future in the literary world. I walked back over to my chair, bending over to pick up my cup and sighing with my displeasure at the situation.
“You won’t turn your back on writing, will you Sōseki?”
“This is another reason why I asked you here… it’s a small burning fire at the back of my mind that continues to burst through in intervals. A constant reminder and something I can only truly ignite when I’m back in Japan.”
“What is it?”
“A story…of sorts. Small, no doubt but it’s there. You see, if I put out the usual sort of book, it’s going to look like table scraps from…the Europeans, so I’m working diligently to produce something I won’t have to be ashamed to show to people.”
I placed both hands on Sōseki’s shoulders, giving him a shake as I smiled widely.
“You should never be ashamed of your work; I have great faith in you.”
“Thank you Matthew; I hold your words and compliments close to my heart. If this story of mine takes flight… I’ll thank you eternally for it.”
“Mind if I ask what you’re going to call it?”
“Haha, it’s early days but… Wagahai wa neko de aru!”
We both laughed loudly, filling the room with a joy it hadn’t seen in a while. Sōseki may be breaking from his depression with these ideas of his. Of course, that would mean he’d be returning to Japan and I most likely won’t see him for a great time. He’s naturally invited me several times to join him and his wife back in Japan, and I would happily oblige once I’ve finished my own studies here. Perhaps we can even write something together in the future; no doubt this project of his was at the forefront of his mind, you can’t extinguish the passionate flames of writing, not even for Sōseki.
References:
Theory of Literature and other critical writings - Natsume Sōseki (2009 - Columbia University Press, Published in America) pp1-31 (Introduction: Natsume Sōseki and the Ten-Year Project)
Quotes taken from the aforementioned book, pages 10 and 11.
And the book called Wagahai wa neko de aru is known as I Am A Cat....I severely recommend this book <3