Sunshine and Rakugo in Asakusa

Skytree and Hozomon Gate, Asakusa

End-of year greetings to my loyal readers - and apologies for skipping a month. For universities, like many workplaces in Japan, end of year (nenmatsu=年末）is a busy time and this year it seemed particularly hectic (catching a cold didn't help but I fear the real reason is that I'm just getting older!). Anyway, with graduation theses done, some of the many entrance-exam interviews finished, and nengajo new year cards written, I've finally got to some to write the next blog. And what a better way to finish 2023 by introducing Japanese rakugo sit-down comedy!

I covered Japanese humour back in 2018 (here), and explained that Japanese comedy or owarai (お笑い) - from the Japanese verb to laugh - consists primarily of rakugo (落語), a sit-down show by a single kimono clad performer based on a long shaggy-dog-style story, and manzai (漫才), a more modern two-person comedy act based on fast-paced dialogue. The former, rakugo, draws from a stock of fixed stories featuring a number of characters that the performer personalises by adding his or her own gestures, timing, expressions, voices, and mannerisms. Rakugo (落語) is called so because rakugo narratives typically end with a punch line known as the ochi - literally "the fall" - which can also be read as raku. In that previous blog post, I introduced a video of an English rakugo performance (here) by a Canadian trained in Japan by the name of Katsura Sunshine (桂 三輝). Recently, I was lucky enough to see Sunshine live in Asakusa. 

The famous Kaminarimon (Thunder Gate) at Senso-ji Temple, Asakusa

Katsura Sunshine - formerly Gregory Robic - is a Toronto native who was accepted as an apprentice (deshi＝弟子) to the rakugo storytelling master Katsura Bunshi VI (then named Katsura Sanshi) in 2008. He became only the second ever Western rakugo-ka in history. The adoption of the master's family name is a rakugo tradition and Sunshine also adopted the first syllable of his master's first name which, accompanied with "shine" created Sunshine (a pun within itself)! Sunshine often talks about how strict the apprenticeship was in his shows and in interviews - he notes, for example that the first thing his master told him was "don't talk"! Indeed, the apprenticeship, three years of going every morning to his master's house and doing mundane household chores as he watched and learned is described on his official homepage as "nearing indentured servitude"! Today, Sunshine performs all over the world in English, including shows in London's West End and on Broadway (he is actually based in New York), though he can also perform in Japanese (the last ten minutes of the show I saw was done in fluent Japanese, with impressive Kansai dialect thrown in for good measure!).

Suehirotei (末廣亭), the famous vaudeville theater in Shinjuku

When most Japanese think of rakugo, they probably think of Suehirotei (末廣亭), a famous vaudeville theater in Shinjuku which hosts various comedy events (pictured above). However, the show I went to see was held at a much smaller venue in Asakusa called Mokubatei (木馬亭), a tiny 300-seat theatre which, since it opened in 1970, has been the only traditional rōkyoku theatre in Tokyo. Rōkyoku (浪曲), also called naniwabushi (浪花節), is a two-person narrative singing/musical storytelling performance characterised by a long, sad, melancholic story very popular during the first half of the 20th century. The singer-narrator of naniwabushi is called the rōkyoku-shi, and the shamisen player is known as the kyoku-shi. From Asakusa Station, I walked by the famous Kaminarimon (Thunder Gate) at Senso-ji Temple with its massive 700kg lantern (pictured earlier) and then headed north through the delightful Okuyama Omairimachi (奥山おまいり町) shopping street with its outdoor restaurants (map here) before arriving at the beautiful Mokubatei theatre (pictured below).

Walking onto the stage in his kimono and holding the obligatory folding fan and small towels (all used as props during the performance), Sunshine knelt seiza-style on a zabuton (square Japanese cushion) on a raised platform behind a small wooden desk. The performance starts with a warm-up monologue composed of the storyteller's own material, known as the pillow (makura) since it allows the rakugoka to guage the audience and also readies them for entry into the "dream world" - one of the traditional stories that have been passed down from master to apprentice. In other words, unlike Western comedy, where new, original material and surprise is integral to the act, in rakugo most of the audience have already heard the story and punchline before. Thus, the attraction of rakugo is the unique individual way the performer uses gestures, props, tone, and slight head movements to create the scene and dialogue between different characters. The story I heard was one of the most widely known of the many classical rakugo stories called "Time Noodles" (Toki Soba=時そば), apparently based on a story from a 1726 book - read here for a full English translation! The performance was indeed captivating, particularly the use of the folding fan for chopsticks and the realistic slurping noises to imitate eating noodles (apparently the slurping sound for eating soba - buckwheat noodles - and udon - thicker wheat noodles - is different!).

As part of his show, Sunshine talked about the long Bermuda-shorts style underpants known as suteteko which rakugo performers traditionally wear under their kimonos. In fact, these are not just a dying tradition: fast fashion store Uniqlo introduced a modern roomwear version under the "airism" range which has been a best-seller! Plus ça change...

Check out Katsura Sunshine's official homepage at www.rakugo.lol (also on Instagram)

Finally, for those interested in watching more rakugo, the comedy programme Shōten (笑点) is a Sunday evening TV staple (on before Sazae-san!) and also the second longest running variety TV show in Japan. The format is simple - the host poses questions to six storytellers who try to answer in a witty manner: if successful they receive an extra cushion (zabuton) to sit on but if judged unfunny, a cushion is taken away. The sight of a perfomer sitting on a pile - ten is the maximum - is in itself quite funny! For those of you learning Japanese, why not try the phrase, "One zabuton!" (座布団一枚！）to praise someone who has said something particularly amusing? For the rest of you, let me know in the COMMENTS if you have any thoughts on humour - Japanese or otherwise! Which just leaves me to wish you all a very happy new year - or as the Japanese say at this time of year, yoi o toshi o (よいお年を)!

Sunday night "Shoten" © Nippon Television Network Corporation (URL here)

 

P.S. For the sake of comparison, I went to see some Japanese rakugo in my local community hall (poster right). There were five acts, from newcomer (Katsura Nanshi=桂 南海) to veteran Katsura Yonesuke=米助) - with a manzai duo thrown in for good measure. The first act - Nanshi (nice kanji joke there) - is one of few women in the rakugo world. Compared to Sunshine, the audience was small and mostly elderly. But the techniques were the same: the opening makura followed by a traditional long story, with lots of gestures, facial expressions, and clever dialogue. My favourite was probably the story of the thief breaking into a house and hiding while the couple had an argument - incredibly fast-paced dialogue!

The Master of Haiku: Basho, Banana Trees, and Beloved Frogs

An old silent pond  (古池や)　　

A frog jumps into the pond -  (蛙飛び込む)

Splash! Silence again　(水の音)

Matsuo Basho (1686)

Last month's post introduced Shin-Ohashi ("New Big Bridge") on Tokyo's Sumida River, noting how its construction was watched - and written about - by that most famous poet of the Edo period Matsuo Basho (1644-94). As I explained, Basho, who lived on the eastern bank of the river in a cottage, watched and wrote about its construction. Today this whole area is dotted with (not always easy to find) reminders of his presence. 

As the map shows, down the road from the Basho Museum are the remains of the great man's cottage or hermitage (written as anseki or 庵跡 in Japanese), very close to the location of the first Shin-Ohashi Bridge. These remains are marked by a tall stone (pictured) located inside a tiny Shinto Inari shrine. Note the two stone frogs at the base of the stone: Basho is said to have been given a frog like this after writing his famous haiku (top) which became one of his most treasured possesions. Apparently, it disappeared around the mid-19th century but was rediscovered in 1917 after a typhoon prompting the establishment of the present shrine. After going missing again in 1945, a member of the Basho Preservation Society found the frog hidden away in the family safe and donated it to the Basho Museum.

The museum itself is rather marvellous, one of those hidden Tokyo gems. In front of the museum are a number of banana trees: Basho is in fact a pen-name which was given to him because his cottage was surrounded by banana trees (Basho is the name of a type of Japanese banana!). When I visited they were holding a special exhibiton focusining on his most famous collection of haiku, Oku no Hosomichi (奥の細道）or The Narrow Road to the Deep North. This collection is based on his 2,400km journey through the North-eastern areas of Honshu (1689-1691) which is traced in red on the map below. In fact, probably my first contact with Basho was in the "Deep North" - as an English conversation teacher in Yamagata where I started my love affair with Japan. Climbing the 1000 stone steps to the 9th century Yamadera Temple I learned that Basho stopped here and composed one of most famous haiku about cicadas and the stillness of summer (look out for the Basho statue and rock inscription of the poem  in the lower area of the temple grounds).

So what is haiku? Most people know that haiku consists of 5/7/5 syllables but in reality it is the sound and rhythm that is most important and not all "haiku" (especially English haiku - see here) religiously follow the 5/7/5 mantra. Moreover, pauses and silence can be a key part of reading a haiku well. It is also widely known that haiku contain a seasonal word (kigo=季語) - the frog in the example represents spring - but less well known that a cutting word or letter (kireji=切れ字) is also a requirement in traditional haiku - "Splash!" in our example - marking a break, turn/twist, or even dramatic ending (in English, this is often performed by punctuation). If you're looking for some inspiration, I recommend the garden just past the shrine which contains a statue of Basho gazing thoughtfully over the Sumida River.

Fireworks and Haiku over Shin-Ohashi Bridge: Cultural Magic on Tokyo's Sumida River

Library of Congress

The Sumida River in Tokyo, much like the Thames in London, is the lifeblood of the city, flowing 27 kilometres through 7 wards. There are 26 bridges, spaced around a kilometre apart, and it is possible (for the most part) to walk along the western bank promenade ("terrace" in Japanese) and pass under each bridge. The river and many of its bridges have featured in ukiyo-e prints (subject of last month's blog) and in the stretch between Kuramae and Ryogoku Bridges, a number of pictures by Hiroshige are displayed. Perhaps the most striking of those prints is Hiroshige's 1857 "Sudden Shower over Shin-Ohashi Bridge and Atake" (pictured): a metallic engraving of the same picture can be seen on the bottom of the giant central orange pillars on the current Shin-Ohashi Bridge. The print was famously copied by van Gogh (Bridge in the Rain, 1887) and indeed ukiyo-e in general had a significant influence over many of the Western (post) impressionists.

The name Shin-Ohashi ("new big bridge") is rather appropriate since it moved and been re-built a number of times. The first incarnation was completed in 1693 a little further downstream of the current (Western style) version which was built in 1885 and again in 1976. Interestingly, with a bit of detective work you can find the small stone monument marking the site of the original bridge (near the Mannenbashi-Kita traffic lights). On the side of this monument are two poems about the bridge by the famous Japanese poet Matsuo Basho (1644-94) who lived on the eastern bank of the river in a hut and watched its construction. In fact, this whole area is something of a shrine to the master of haiku poetry with a tiny but lovely museum and a hidden statue of the man gazing serenely over the river (to be the topic of the next post!). The area is not so serene on the 4th Saturday of July though: it is then that the big-daddy of Japanese summer fireworks takes place, the Sumida Fireworks Festival (隅田川花火大会), which, dating back to 1733, was the first public fireworks display in Japan. In recent years, it has attracted upwards of a million spectators, though was sadly cancelled this year (these days fireworks displays in planetariums - known as “hanabirium” - have become popular instead!). Since today is haiku day (8=ハ 1＝イ 9＝ク）and with apologies to Basho, who probably never saw fireworks, here's my attempt at a haiku followed by scenes from the 2016 display:

 

Fire Flowers Bloom (花火咲く）

Memories of Smiles（笑顔の思い出）

A Dark Summer（暗い夏）

Kimi no Na wa (Your Name) : Contrasts and Diversity in Contemporary Japan

DVDs on display in a local Tsutaya video rental store

Your Name (Kimi no Na wa =君の名は), the animated movie (anime) directed by the "New Miyazaki" Makoto Shinkai (who wrote the book of the same name), has been breaking a lot of records. Earlier in the year, it became the highest grossing anime film ever (worldwide), overtaking Spirited Away (Sen to Chihiro no Kami-kakushi =千と千尋の神隠し), and is currently the fourth highest grossing film of all time in Japan (behind Spirited Away, Titanic, and Frozen). The story is centred on a teenage boy from Tokyo and teenage girl from a small village in rural Gifu who come to occupy the other's body. The plot itself is not terribly original and the chronology (and mysticism) is a bit confusing but it is so beautifully illustrated and full of both humour and human feeling that it draws you in. For the Japan lover, the scenes of everyday life are so intricately drawn - from subway train signs to classroom furniture - that you can't but be amazed at the attention to detail. On top of that, the two key themes of (1) urban rural vs urban Japan - the different language and value systems - and (2) male vs female - especially the differences in language, such as pronouns - are skilfully interwoven into the story, highlighting the huge range of diversity in a country which is too often described using simple keywords, bland stereotypes, and sweeping generalisations. The English trailer is available here.

Books written by Kimi no Na wa director Makoto Shinkai, including the 2013 Garden of Words (言の葉の庭)

For older Japanese, Kimi no Na wa may bring back memories of the 1953 black-and-white movie of the same name (left). The film is translated a little differently though as "What's your name?", and indeed in the Showa period this was a common (casual) way to ask someone's name. Today, the phrase sounds both old-fashioned (namae - 名前 - not na is the norm today) and self-important (kimi would only be used by someone in a position of power, say a boss speaking to a subordinate or a senior speaking to a junior member of a club). The only time 名 tends to be used today is on official forms where it refers specifically to your given name and is pronounced mei not na (this makes a pair with family name which is written 姓 and pronounced sei). However, in everyday speech shita no namae (下の名前） is the term used to refer to given name and myōji (名字) for family name. Most Japanese give their name in family name/given name order, so asking for their "first name" would be confusing (indeed, as the term shita no namae implies, the given name is considered "below" or second to the family name).

Must-Read Japanese Books in English (Part 2: Lighter Reading)

There was lot of interest in the previous post on classic Japanese literature - it seems people are seeking good summer reading suggestions for the beach! - so here is part 2, as promised, this time focusing on more recent and much "lighter" books. As in the previous post, you can click on all the images for more information and sometimes a preview on amazon. As always, feedback and other recommendations are more than welcome! Poetry is perhaps a future possibility...

One of the most popular genres in Japan is crime fiction, known as "deductive-reasoning fiction" (suiri shōsetsu =推理小説) in Japanese. Although it has pre-war precedents, it is generally a post-war movement: the Mystery Writers of Japan Club (日本推理作家協会) was established in 1947. An ex-president of MWJ and one of Japan's most popular mystery writers is Keigo Higashino. His 2005 The Devotion of Suspect X is a modern murder-mystery classic and also the first of four novels in his Detective Galilieo series which has had huge success as a spin-off Fuji TV drama (and movie) starring the musician Masaharu Fukuyama (pictured right on the DVD of the 2008 version of the film).

In similar vein, Natsuo Kirino's 1997 Out (left) is a riveting but rather gruesome murder story written somewhat sympathetically, like Suspect X, from the killer's perspective. Hideo Yokoyama's 2013 Six Four - coming in at a massive 640 pages in the 2016 English translation - is also crime fiction but focuses less on the crime investigation and more on the human relations and power struggles within the police department and the workings of the Japanese police force itself - see here for a review.


The first book I ever read in Japanese and still one of my all-time favourites is The Newcomer (Ichigensan) written in Japanese by Swiss-born David Zoppetti who was TV Asahi's first non-Japanese employee and a staple on its News Station programme in the 1990s. It was awarded the Subaru Prize for Literature (すばる文学賞) in 1996. The story is a semi-autobiographical treatise about the experiences of a foreign student of Japanese literature at Kyoto University. The novel centres on the protagonist's relationship with a blind Japanese girl, someone who judges him solely on his Japanese ability and personality, and contrasts this with his (often discriminatory) encounters with other Japanese who cannot see beyond his "foreign" appearance. The 1999 film (right) is also excellent and the message about (non)acceptance of difference still resonates in a Japan which remains rather closed and insular. Incidentally, I have marked Friday as the day for a new "Book of the Week" and The Newcomer becomes the second nomination.

Finally, not wanting to ignore the teenage market, an honourable mention should go to Nahoko Uehashi's 12-volume Moribito (守り人=Guardian) fantasy series if only for the fact that it has been the only non-English book that actually challenged the ascendancy of the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit in my house! Unfortunately, only the first two books have been translated with future translations put on ice apparently due to unsatisfactory sales. Given that it is massive in Japan - the NHK drama stars the enormously popular Haruka Ayase (pictured on the DVD box-set right) - I wonder if there is not some cultural aspect to its (lack of) popularity: is good fiction always universal?

Must-Read Japanese Books in English (Part 1: The Classics)

Back in June, celebrating 50 posts, I mentioned ideas for new things on the blog one of which was reading recommendations. In the ensuing months, I've received quite a few suggestions from friends (thank-you!) so I'm going to put these together with my own favourites and introduce some must-read books by Japanese authors past and present. I'm hoping this will mark the start of a regular "book of the week" feature which (if all has gone to plan!) should be sitting to the right of this page as you read (assuming you're reading the web not the mobile version). You can click on the book image, as with all images on this page, to get more details and (often) see a preview on Amazon Japan. Since there are rather a lot of recommendations, I'm going to focus on the classics in this post and introduce some easy/casual reading in the next! I tried to limit myself to one book per author - not always successfully - but if you have other suggestions - or authors I've missed - please do let me know! Note that publishing dates are for the Japanese original.

Starting off with the classic of classics, I have to mention Shikibu Murasaki, the female author of the world's first (modern) novel The Tale of Genji. Written in the 11th century, even Japanese struggle to read the original (it's studied in schools like Shakespeare is in the UK) but the translation by Royall Tyler is the go-to version (left). Be warned, it can be rather racy, focusing as it does on the protagonist's romantic affairs and entanglements; moreover, characters are not named, since this was considered rude in Heian court society! For a more accessible (and less explicit!) read, the 13-set manga version by Waki Yamato (right) has wonderful illustrations and becomes the very first "book of the week" (though, unfortunately, only partially translated into English at this time).

Moving into the 20th century, Natsume Soseki's (1905) I am a Cat is a gorgeous, light, and satirical read which is in stark contrast to his 1914 deep and dark Kokoro (Heart). Shusaku Endo's 1957 The Sea and the Poison is a heavy but honest and moving account about medical experiments on a captured American airman during the war, a story apparently inspired by true events. Nobel-prize winner Kenzaburo Oe's A Personal Matter (1964) is the first of a series of works based on aspects of his disabled son Hikari's life; the feelings of guilt and responsibility are beautifully described.

More recently, the first and undoubtedly most famous novel by Banana Yoshimoto - pen name of Mahoko Yoshimoto - is her 1988 Kitchen, which has a distinctly youthful, even Western, slant as it deals with food, love, and gender. Finally, there is Haruki Murakami, the extremely talented and prolific writer who is surrounded by a buzz of "will he/won't he win the Nobel Prize for Literature" gossip each October here in Japan. My recommendation is his (1994) Wind-Up Bird Chronicle which is a surreal story involving a lost cat, the supernatural, and a collection of fantastical, sometimes romantically involved, dead-beats that also broaches controversial subjects such as the emptiness of contemporary politics and Japan's WWII aggression. Happy reading!

Glory Flower: Smell vs Aroma in Japanese

The buds of the Glory Flower with one flower ahead of the pack

Here's a striking shrub that took me a while to find the name of: Clerodendrum bungei or Benibana Kusagi in Japanese (as discussed in an earlier post benibana means safflower while the colour beni itself is scarlet). In English it is variously called Glory Flower, Rose Glory Bower, Mexican Hydrangea, and Cashmere/Kashmir Bouquet. The last name might reflect the fact that it is native to India, and China too - it is not a native Japanese species. The buds (left) are bright purple and attract ants (see video below); in contrast, the light pink flowers have star-like five-pronged pink lobes and lure butterflies. In Japan, the leaves are sometimes boiled to make tea and even eaten like a mountain vegetable (sansai =山菜); they are also used for dyeing.

The Glory Flower in full bloom (click to expand)

At first I thought the name kusa-gi was simply plant or vegetation (草木） but it turned out to be 臭木 meaning smelly/stinky since the shrub is famous for giving off a strong musky smell! It is a variant of the Clerodendrum trichotomum​ (just Kusagi in Japanese) which is sometimes called the Peanut Butter Tree because the leaves smell like peanut butter when crushed. The kanji kusai (臭い） can also be pronounced nioi which is usually translated as smell, but the unwary English speaker will soon realise it has a somewhat narrower range of usage than the English term. My wife will grimace a little when I say ii nioi (いい臭い) to describe perfume or roses  - ii kaori (香り), meaning fragrance, scent, or aroma (and also a popular girl's name), is apparently much better! Important lesson here: dictionaries will give us a rough word-for-word translation but they won't tell you how broad or narrow the actual word usage is. A great example is the Japanese word asobu (遊ぶ) which the dictionary tells us means "play", but is actually far broader than the English "equivalent." Japanese teenagers, for example, will go and "play" with their friends or an adult might pop over to their friend's house "to play", a usage which is pretty much restricted to small children in English!

Entry Prohibited! Remembering Kanji through Everyday Signs

Tachi-iri kinshi (no entry)

Returning from a trip to the UK, I will never forget the moment I reached my one-room apartment in Japan only to find a big red sign stuck to my door and tape criss-crossing the door frame, like something from a crime scene. Had someone died inside while I was away? Panic is definitely not conducive to reading kanji - it was late, I was jet-lagged, and I was worried about where I was going to sleep that night - but after I had recovered from the initial shock I began to decipher the four-character compound, known in Japanese as yoji-jukugo (四字熟語）. I had seen the last two characters quite a bit on signs in the neighbourhood and knew they were read kinshi （禁止） meaning "forbidden/prohibited." The first two were beginner level kanji: 立入 (tachi-iri), literally "stand" and "enter." So basically, standing and entering (=going into) was forbidden. Maybe there was a dead body inside...

Click for amazon preview

Fortunately, the whole thing turned out to be a huge misunderstanding, but it did help to burn that particular compound phrase into my brain. The fact is that Japan is a very rule oriented society and rules are written (and spoken) everywhere (though not always enforced). An earlier post referred to Yoshio Sugimoto's characterisation of Japanese society's framework of control, regulation, and regimentation as "friendly authoritarianism" and he (2014: 326) notes how power is made "highly visible and tangible." This is maybe not great from a democracy/human rights perspective but for the Japanese kanji learner, it can be a boon. For example, a short walk with my dog the other morning found four variations of the XY-kinshi (XY-forbidden) four-character compounds plus a shiyō-chūshi (使用中止=use suspended) compound (all pictured below).

From left to right (1) shiyō chūshi (2) fuhō tōki (illegal dumping) kinshi (3) tsūkō (thoroughfare) kinshi (4) shin'nyū (entry) kinshi (5) mudan tachi-iri (admittance without permission) kinshi

Karasu Shin'nyū kinshi

On a lighter note, it was something of a relief to find a humourous kinshi sign (left) - this was placed in the rubbish collection point of my apartment. If you need a hint, karasu were covered in this post and shin'nyū means incursion or invasion! In summary, observing and understanding the signs around you (important in unto itself) has the added benefit of teaching and reinforcing everyday kanji, thereby "killing two birds (or crows?) with one stone" - rendered in Japanese as isseki nichō (一石二鳥), a compound of the characters for one/stone/two/bird! Who says Japanese is difficult...

Onigiri: Environmentally Friendly Rice-balls

Different flavours of onigiri lined up in a 7-Eleven

The word for rice-ball - onigiri (お握り) from the verb nigiru meaning to squeeze, grip, or mould - is not quite as ubiquitous as sushi yet but it is certainly one of the Japanese food words which is fairly well-known outside of Japan. Onigiri are typically triangular or round, wrapped in seaweed (nori), and contain something salty or sour like salmon, cod roe, or pickled plum - anything that can be a natural preservative. The top 20 fillings (with pictures) are listed here: the number one, tuna-mayonnaise, is definitely my favourite too! The rice used is usually simple white plain rice and different from the vinegared rice found in sushi and the mochi-gome described in an earlier post. For a peek inside an onigiri factory see here.

Beni-zake/shake (red salmon) onigiri

What is particularly interesting about the onigiri sold at convenience stores (kombini) across Japan is how technologically advanced - and environmentally sound - the wrapping has become. The seaweed and the rice are ingeniously separated with a thin film of plastic, thereby ensuring the seaweed remains crisp. Moreover, in the case of 7-Eleven onigiri at least, the packaging as a whole, including the film, is made from vegetable products with rice ink writing (see picture top right). When opening the onigiri, one must carefully pull tabs one, two, and three in order to ensure that the film is removed smoothly leaving the seaweed intact. Tab number one at the top of the onigiri (pictured) reads "pull down" (shita ni hiku = 下に引く) and the instructions stress that it is important to pull this tab all the way round to the back before tearing it off (tēpu o ura ni mawashite okiri kudasai =テープを裏に回してお切りください). For those having trouble opening their onigiri neatly, please check out the video below for a demonstration!

The "Japanese is difficult" myth

A selection of Japanese language textbooks

There is a common perception, both inside and outside Japan, that the Japanese language is difficult. Part of the reason is the perceived linguistic/cultural gap with English: the US Foreign Service Institute (FSI) ranks Japanese as "exceptionally difficult for native English speakers" and puts it in the highest category V (with an asterisk pointing out that it is the most difficult in this category!). The FSI estimates it would take 88 weeks (2200 hours) for a native English speaker to attain proficiency in speaking and reading Japanese. This perception is reinforced by the discourse of Japanese identity known as Nihonjinron which stresses that the Japanese are a homogeneous people (tan'itsu minzoku) with a "uniquely unique" language and culture.

But is Japanese really that difficult? A couple of disclaimers before I answer. First, it is important to distinguish spoken and written language. Here, I'm going to focus on spoken Japanese, since learning thousands of characters is undeniably tough (even for Japanese children!). Second, while Japanese does have a complex system of honorifics or respectful language (keigo =敬語), even Japanese struggle with this (companies will generally teach this to new employees). So, putting kanji and keigo aside, how difficult is Japanese? First, pronunciation is simple: there are only 5 vowel sounds and no diphthongs and spelling is entirely regular (English has around 20 vowel sounds, including diphthongs, and spelling often doesn't correspond to pronunciation). See this post for a simple explanation of the sound system. Second, grammar is easy-peasy (and I say this as a struggling Spanish learner): there is no gender, no singular-plural, no subject-verb agreement, and no definite articles; subjects, objects, and grammatical particles (wa/ga/o) are often dropped; and there are only two tenses and two irregular verbs, suru and kuru (English, in comparison has around 200!). On top of that, Japanese is full of fixed-phrases that are easy to learn. For the sake of non-Japanese speakers, let's look at a quick example of everyday casual conversation (note that Japanese word order is object-verb rather than verb-object as in English):

ENGLISH  :    Q. Did you eat the apple?           A. Yeah, I ate the apple/it
JAPANESE :  Q. Ringo tabeta(ka)?                   A. Hai, tabeta
                             (Apple ate?)                                 (Yes, ate)

Compared to the English, the Japanese is super-simple: subjects (and the question marker ka) are unnecessary, one doesn't need to worry about articles or singular/plural, and the verb form doesn't change at all from question to answer. So there you have it - the biggest barrier to learning Japanese is often psychological: the stereotype that it is difficult. For those interested in learning, there are loads of good beginner textbooks. For intermediate, I highly recommend this one. Good luck!

Actually, even after years in Japan, there is still one thing I find particularly difficult (apart from colours): when to switch from "good morning" (ohayō) to hello/good afternoon (konnichiwa). My textbook gave 11:00am as the switch over time, but in practice it seems a bit earlier, perhaps depending on when the speaker woke up too! Nobody really seems to know. Interestingly, university students (as well as those in the entertainment industry apparently) will use ohayō when they meet their classmates for the first time that day - even if it is in the afternoon! Maybe the FSI was right after all...

Rain, Snails, and Japanese Animal Names

On Wednesday, the rainy season was officially announced to have begun in Tokyo. The start of the rainy season is known as tsuyu-iri (梅雨入り）using the verb hairu (to enter), while the end of the season - usually 5 or 6 weeks later - is called tsuyu-ake (梅雨明け) . This latter phrase uses the verb akeru which means the end of a season or period and, by implication, the beginning of another. For example, the phrase yo(ru) ga akeru means the end of the night (and by implication day-break) while the end of one year (and therefore the start of a new one) is toshi ga akeru: the common greeting on New Year's Day is akemashite omedetō. The word tsuyu itself is made up of the characters for ume (plum=梅）and rain, the former because this is the season when Japanese plums ripen.

A snail enjoying the start of the rainy season which began in Tokyo on Wednesday

Apart from umbrella manufacturers, the only creatures happy with the coming of the rainy season are probably snails, pictured above, which are out on force at this time of year. The name for snail in Japanese, katatsumuri (カタツムリ), is usually written in katakana but does have kanji (蝸牛, sometimes pronounced kagyū), the second character of which is cow/bull (ushi), reflecting the fact that snails, like bulls, have "horns" (tsuno =角). Children though have different names for snails based on their movement and actions, namely maimai and denden-mushi, the latter featuring in a well-known children's song:

でんでん虫々 (mushi-mushi)カタツムリ
お前(mae)の頭(atama)はどこにある (Where is your head?)
角だせ槍（やり）だせ 頭だせ (Stick out your horns, stick out your spear/s, stick out your head!)

The second verse is the same except atama (head) is replaced with medama (eyes). Actually, snails are not the only animals with special onomatopoeic names - dogs, cats, pigs, and a few other animals are commonly referred to by children (and adults talking to children) using the sound those animals are perceived to make. This is rather different to English in which animal names are made cuter for children (doggie, kitty cat, piggly wiggly) but rarely changed altogether to mirror the sound. For example, while it would be perfectly normal to say "wan-wan da" when pointing to dog in Japan, it would be very strange to say, "Look at that woof-woof over there" in English! The table below lists some common animal sounds in Japanese and compares them with their English equivalents, illustrating just how culturally specific such sounds are: