Reading The Tale of Genji is like floating through a dream. Written by Murasaki Shikibu a thousand years ago during the Heian era, this literary work is widely considered to be the first novel the world has ever known. While there is a lot of grandeur affiliated with being the first, I would argue that this is probably the least interesting detail of Lady Murasaki’s masterpiece. Moreover, The Tale of Genji is worth reading because it eloquently interweaves a tale within a culture in flux.

The Heian period was a truly unique time in Japan’s history and the point when the country began to really take on the hallmarks that define Japanese culture today. This was when the imperial court moved to Kyoto for the first time, when the Fujiwara clan dominated politics, and when Buddhism (and other foreign beliefs/ideas) began to spread throughout the country. In order to understand how The Tale of Genji captures this energetic zeitgeist, I must first break down how Murasaki Shikibu incorporates the religions of Shinto and Buddhism into her prose.

Note: To be clear, Shinto and Buddhism are belief systems that are able to coexist with one another, as well as other beliefs. While one can be more influential than the other (as I will somewhat make the case for here), they are not mutually exclusive in the way Western religions have been, historically speaking.

Shinto

Shinto is the indigenous religion of Japan; an animistic belief in kami (gods or spirits) that are infused within nature and living things. To this day, there are still shrines and tori (large red gates) throughout Japan built in dedication to Shinto. This religious tradition also contains the origin myth of the gods Izanami and Izanagi – the two deities who create the islands of Japan, establish the balance of life and death, and give birth to the kami infused throughout the country’s landscape. Reverence for nature’s primordial divinity is a recurring theme throughout Murasaki’s work.

“Faces and flowers emerged dimly in the morning twilight, and birds were singing in the clear sky” (316)

Most notable of these kami is Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun and heavens. According to the Kojiki (c. 712) and Nihon Shiki (c. 720), the imperial family of Japan are direct descendants of Amaterasu. It is important to understand that in The Tale of Genji when Murasaki Shikibu describes Genji and his descendants’ beauty as “shining,” or that they “radiate light,” or have a distinctly “pleasant fragrance,” she is crafting alliterations to their celestial roots. To be an imperial in the Heian era, is to exude ingrained divinity.

The titular Genji literally shines like no other, but given his tragic maternal backing (or lack thereof) he is never able to ascend to the rank of Emperor, echoing the power dynamics of the time. Throughout the Heian era, the Fujiwara clan were able to control politics by intermarrying their daughters into the imperial line. With their incumbent power and influence they could provide their grandsons with enough support to propel them to the throne. So while Genji has extraordinary privilege, given his social standing he is still an underdog of sorts in this particular tale.

Buddhism

Buddhism, an ideology and religion originating in India, greatly spreads throughout Japan during the Heian period. While beliefs and practice vary depending on different sects, Buddhism typically follows a set of principles surrounding the Four Noble Truths. These truths are that in life humans cling to impermanence and that this desire causes suffering, which suspends people in a cycle of rebirth that can only be broken by following the Eightfold Path to achieve a state of nirvana.

The pain of ephemeral desire is a central theme throughout The Tale of Genji. At the start of the novel, Genji is born to a low ranking courtesan of the Emperor who tragically dies. The emperor, filled with grief, discovers his dead beloved’s likeness in Fujitsubo who then becomes his consort. Genji then falls for Fujitsubo and secretly fathers her son (a boy known to the world as his brother) who becomes the future Reizei Emperor. Scandal! Then, unable to be with Fujitsubo, Genji discovers her likeness in a young Murasaki (the character, not the author) who he takes in and eventually marries. More scandal!

“The days and months passed, and the little prince was becoming the mirror image of Genji. Though Fujitsubo was in constant terror, it appeared that no one had guessed the truth. How, people asked, could someone who was not Genji yet be as handsome as Genji? They were, Genji and the little prince, like the sun and moon side by side in the heavens” (149).

This seemingly endless cycle of replacement to satiate desire catalyzes a great deal of the story’s conflict and meets an almost hilarious crescendo with the (creepy) Kashiwagi. He catches an accidental glimpse of the Third Princess playing with a cat and becomes incessantly infatuated. Propelled by the tumult of desire for this unattainable woman, he goes to great lengths to procure her cat from the crown prince. He then monologues to the cat, “What an insistent little beast you are… You are here to remind me of someone I long for, and what is it you long for yourself? We must have been together in an earlier life, you and I” (589). He never returns the cat, though that is probably the least of his crimes.

All and all, no matter the rank of an individual, anyone can be subject to substitution. This is a rather powerful concept for royals, especially considering several hundred years later people would be beheaded for even thinking such notions in Europe.

Spoiler

Heck, even Genji dies two-thirds of the way through the novel, only to be replaced by his descendants Kaoru and Niou. Not even the main character is safe in his own book! But his radiant light goes out, nonetheless…

Feminine Agency

The interplay of Shintoism and Buddhism were quite consequential to life in Heian court, dictating cultural norms and expectations. Notably, these beliefs would have great baring on how women were able to exert themselves within this turbulent world.

Taking a step back for a moment, I must admit my biases in that I do not personally care for most of the men in this book. Putting it mildly, so many behave so poorly, with at least three assaults occurring by the tale’s end. That said, these are characters meant to have the divinity of someone like Zeus (same story, different continent/era), so while force is frowned upon, these characters are generally still regarded as typical masculine protagonists within the context of their rigid and patriarchal social structure. More interesting, however, are the women who must react to and navigate these celestial forces of nature.

“You should treat any woman with tact and courtesy, and be sure that you cause her no embarrassment. You should never have a woman angry with you…” (159)

Murasaki Shikibu writes her female characters with a vibrancy that would not be seen for many subsequent years (*caughs* centuries *caughs*). She is also at times quite explicit about why men should be kind to women, whether it be for the adherence of decency, fear of future karmic retribution, or even dread of the women themselves.

Enter the Rokujo Lady -- my favorite “scorned woman” in perhaps all of literature. One of Genji’s many “girlfriends,” she grows increasingly resentful when Genji ignores her, not treating her with the dignity of her station as the widow of a former crown prince. This resentment morphs into her angry spirit attacking her foes in their dreams. What’s so especially fascinating though, is that she is still portrayed as more tragic than villainous. Suffering begat from desire is always the true villain of this tale.

“She had not wished ill to anyone; and might it be that the soul of one so lost in sad thoughts went wandering off by itself? She had, over the years, known the full range of sorrows, but never before had she felt so miserable. There had been no release from the anger since the other lady had so insulted her, indeed behave as if she did not exist…She would be notorious. It was common enough for the spirits of the angry dead to linger on in this world. She had thought them hateful, and it was her own lot to set a hateful example while she still lived. She must think no more about the man who had been so cruel to her. But so to think was, after all, to think.” (167)

Another woman of note is the eponymous Murasaki, who could not be more different from the Rokujo Lady. This is a girl who finds herself forced to marry the man she regarded as a father-figure, and becomes a woman who has to spend years dealing with the consequences of his numerous affairs. Genji’s selfishness ultimately brings marital strife, a brief exile, and a daughter from another woman. Nevertheless, Murasaki raises Genji’s daughter like her own without an ounce of malice, allowing for the girl to go on and become the Akashi Empress.

Murasaki is the epitome of virtue (well played Shikibu), and it is only in the contrasting light of her selflessness that Genji feels true remorse and grief. While only my opinion, I do feel it is implied that by releasing her resentment, Murasaki is able to break her chain of suffering. Meanwhile, Genji, acting on his human impulses and ego, will be doomed to continue on without her in a future life. In perhaps his truest moment of genuine grief, Genji reflects:

“He would remember, now that romantic affairs meant so little to him, how hurt Murasaki had been by involvements of no importance at all. Why had he permitted himself even the trivial sort of dalliance for which he felt no need to apologize? Murasaki had been too astute not to guess his real intentions; and yet, though she had been quick to recover from fits of jealousy which were never violent in any event, the fact was that she suffered. Each little incident came back, until he had no room in his heart for them all… All through the wakeful nights he thought of her courage and strength and longed to have them with him again, even in a dream” (724)

Another recurring way that women escape suffering (*caughs* Genji *caughs*) is by disavowing the world and joining a nunnery. From Fujitsubo to the Third Princess, this choice is presented as a very tangible method by which women are able to utilize Buddhism to grasp a simultaneously peaceful and purposeful life. Even Ukifune, who wants nothing more than to disentangle herself from a toxic and horrific situation, is able to find solace in a Buddhist nunnery.

“The disastrous events had so turned her against men, it seemed, that she meant to end her days as little a part of the world as a decaying stump. The gloom of the last months lifted a little, now that she had had her way. She would joke with the bishop’s sister and they would play Go together. She turned her studies of the Good Law with a new dedication, perusing the Lotus Sutra and numbers of holy texts…” (1074)

It's important to have the final say over your own life. Sadly this is a rarity, but Murasaki Shikibu in a way created a blueprint, how-to guide for women on dealing with numerous unfortunate situations that could potentially arise at Heian court.

The World’s First Soap Opera

Last but not least, now that I’ve gotten all my more substantive opinions out of the way, I must confess that my favorite element of this book is that it is undeniably a soap opera. Am I using modern terminology to describe a thousand-year old text? Yes. But I don’t think I’m wrong -- everyone is related to everyone else, everyone (well, mostly Genji) sleeps with everyone else, and there is oh so much melodrama. In true telenovela fashion you even have people speaking their hidden truth to each other in dreams; serialize it and air it on Telemundo! Most important though, the story can be frivolous and goes on for enjoyment’s sake, and that’s okay. Murasaki Shikibu more or less breaks the fourth wall when she has Genji exclaim to Tamakazura:

“Women seem to have been born to be cheerfully deceived. They know perfectly well that in all these old stories there is scarcely a shred of truth, and yet they are captured and made sport of the whole range of trivialities and go on scribbling them down, quite unaware that in these warm rains their hair is all dank and knotted… But amid all the fabrication I must admit that I do find real emotions and plausible chains of events. We can be quite aware of the frivolity and idleness and still be moved. We have to feel a little sorry for a charming princess in the depths of gloom.” (437)

In this world of Heian era Japan, women, even privileged ones, often found themselves at the mercy of the men in their lives. Nonetheless, Murasaki allows her female protagonists the chance to grow, learn, and even rebel. Through this outrageous grandiosity with her storytelling, she is able to truly humanize them. Subsequently, what began as a tale for women at court, blooms into an unprecedented epic for everyone for generations to come.

All that said, of course I recommend The Tale of Genji, though I do acknowledge that it probably won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. I am also inclined to recommend Edward G. Seidensticker’s English translation. While this is my first full read through, I read major sections for Japanese literature courses back in university where my professors vouched that this was the most accurate edition. I feel like I owe them countless thanks. They instilled in me the foundational knowledge to better understand this work, as well as the ability to talk about it in smoky bars with drunken co-workers when I would later live in Japan (something else I highly recommend).

Kanpai!