Shogun-ki

Brushed by the Hand of Death-Black Rain

2009-11-09T04:56:00.013-10:00

Black Rain is Director Imamura Shohei’s award winning 1989 film of the August 5th, 1945 atom bombing of Hiroshima and the survivors of the blast. Based on a story by Ibuse Masuji, it stars Tanaka Yoshiko as Yasuko, Kitamura Kazuo as Shizuma Shigematsu, and Ichihara Etsuko as Shizuma Shigeko. Imamura was known for his over the top films, but Black Rain is a subdued masterpiece. Shot in black and white, it resembles both in tone and style many films released during the 1950’s, giving it a real period feel. While Black Rain’s many awards are too many to list here, they range from the Japan Academy Prize to the Cannes Festival and include multiple wins for Best Film, Best Director, Best Actress, and Best Screenplay. It’s an excellent new addition to Animeigo’s growing DVD lineup of non-samurai Japanese films.

The film begins with young Yasuko being sent to the county near Hiroshima to live with her aunt and uncle, Shizuma Shigeko and Shigematsu, to avoid forced conscription into factory labor. Mr. Shizuma boards a train and heads off to work, although the city has been blanketed by leaflets from American planes heralding upcoming destruction for the city. When the American bomber Enola Gay drops the first atomic bomb at 8:15, Shigematsu is on the fringes of the blast and fireball. He survives with some minor burns and returns home to his wife. Being further away from ground zero, their house is damaged but not completely destroyed. They decide to wait and see if Yasuko will attempt to join them, and make plans to escape the battered remnants of the city.

When Yasuko’s face is streaked black (the black rain of the title, being contaminated by the radioactive ash thrown up by the blast) in a rainstorm as she is attempting to join her aunt and uncle by boat, it gives one the eerie feeling that the hand of Death has just brushed her face. The scenes of the devastation in Hiroshima and the attendant chaos as burned survivors try to pick their way through the rubble of the city are appropriately nightmarish. They’re made all the more sobering and chilling by the fact that, unlike most post-apocalyptic films, these events really happened-and the historical reality was much, much worse. The mushroom cloud that puzzles onlookers, the almost surreal devastation of the city, the deadly live wires that seem to hem the characters in at every path, poisoned water, and the blackened corpses of burned victims everywhere rival anything from the worst horror movie. The scenes of devastation, the hospitals full of burn and radiation victims, and the air of stunned hopelessness also bring to mind similar ones seen in the original 1954 Godzilla (particularly the original Japanese ‘Gojira’ without Raymond Burr). Flashbacks of the post-bombing Hiroshima (focusing on the Shizuma’s escape, rescue efforts, and Shigematsu’s hasty recruitment as a makeshift Buddhist priest to hold services for the dead) continue to appear throughout the movie, much like a recurring nightmare-shadowing the omnipresent threat of radiation sickness the survivors face.

Five years later, Mr. and Mrs. Shizuma and Yasuko all appear to be fine, although Mr. Shizuma (as being primary victims of the blast) has been told to not engage in any strenuous activity. Mr. Shizuma spends his days fishing for carp with other hibakusha (‘explosion affected people’) who have received the same instructions, and a favorite topic of conversation is the rarely-seen giant carp that has lived in the lake for years (interestingly enough, drinking the blood of a carp is presented as a homeopathic cure in the film). Besides the flash (the name given by Japanese to the blast) survivors, there are other victims of the war in town. Yuichi, a member of the Nikaku (Japanese soldiers strapped full of explosives who would sacrifice themselves to destroy American tanks), relives a harrowing episode when an Allied tank passed right over the top of him in battle whenever he hears the sound of an engine. This causes trouble for the townspeople in addition to putting Yuichi’s life at risk when he throws himself in front of all manner of vehicles. His neighbors display a high level of compassion when dealing with him, as he’s a harmless sculptor of Jizo statues the majority of the time. The Shizuma’s lot is made more difficult by the increasing senility of their elderly mother, who believes Yasuko is her daughter. They fear for her health, not knowing that soon she’ll be the healthiest member of the household.

The primary focus of the Shizuma is to find Yasuko a husband before their radiation sickness claims them. The status of the family as flash survivors causes them to be social pariahs on one level, Yasuko in particular being treated as damaged goods. The family even takes her to a doctor and has her health certified as perfect in an effort to remove the doubts from potential bridegrooms and their families. While most of Yauko’s omiai (meet and greets, part of the old fashioned style of arranged Japanese marriages) suitors fall by the wayside as soon as they find out she’s a survivor of the flash, she eventually does find a man who’s willing to accept her as she is-but while Yasuko is more than happy with him and the prospect of marriage, he isn’t quite what the Shizuma had in mind for her (class distinctions were still an issue in Japan at this time). However, they are won over both by Yasuko’s feelings for him and the devotion he shows to her.

The secondary victims (soldiers who had entered the city in a rescue effort) in the town die, leaving Mr. Shizuma to wonder why he and his wife are still alive, having been primary victims. Meanwhile, Yasuko has fallen victim as well-she secretly attempts to treat an ulcer on her body so as not to worry her aunt and uncle. Her radiation sickness begins to become more and more obvious, with swatches of her beautiful black hair falling out. More villagers die from sickness. Yasuko struggles out to the lake with her Uncle and witnesses the fabled giant carp leaping out of the water-sending her into a delirious state of excitement and bringing her sickness to a peak. Some will find the eventual resolution of her situation and the resultant ending a bit frustrating, but it encapsulates the film’s message well-that of an uncertain future where humanity has some difficult choices to make. Perhaps this is illustrated best in the scene where Mr. Shizuma is listening to a radio broadcast giving the hourly news as Yasuko is treated for radiation poisoning. It announces that US President Harry Truman isn’t counting out using the atom bomb against the Chinese in the Korean War and that he’s leaving the decision over its deployment to the general in command. Shizuma resignedly turns off the radio and mumbles that ‘Humans are obstinate creatures’.

Any “horrors of war” movie carries with it the risk of lapsing into over the top melodrama, but that’s not the case with Black Rain. The performances are for the most part wonderfully under control and understated, lending them an air of authenticity and realism. Simple actions such as the Shizuma’s daily ritual of setting their clock to the nightly news symbolize the efforts of the survivors to bring a measure of normalcy and control back to their lives. But even then, there are constant reminders as the news is filled with stories of warfare in nearby Korea and the anti-nuclear Stockholm Proclamation of 1950. A subplot concerning a ‘party girl’ returning to the village to escape her yakuza boyfriend illustrates a growing disconnect between the war survivors and a new generation of more self centered and privileged Japanese youth who have never known suffering. The score by Takemitsu Toru fits the mood of the film perfectly, the composer having written it to specifically match each scene. It makes great use of silence and doesn’t feel the need to fill every moment with music. The focus is on the plight of the radiation victims (many of whom were only exposed when entering Hiroshima after the blast in rescue efforts, becoming ‘entry victims’) and how they deal with the fate that they suspect is coming their way. They have the unenviable fate of having to live with its effects every day of their lives-in effect, being biological time bombs who don’t know when or if the radiation will take its toll on their bodies. To its credit, Black Rain doesn’t attempt to take the easy way out and paint the Americans as evil or the Japanese as innocent victims-the closest it comes to this is when one character asks another why the Americans felt the need to use the bomb. It isn’t so much ‘Why did they do this to us?’ as it is ‘Didn’t they realize we were already defeated?’. As Mr. Shizuma aptly sums it up, ‘An unjust peace is better than a just war’.

Adding to the package is the incredible collection of extras Animeigo has put together. There are of course the detailed historical notes that one has come to expect from their discs, along with the requisite still gallery, cast and crew bios, and trailer. The historical notes give an in-depth perspective of the bombing of Hiroshima, the rescue efforts afterwards, strange side effects of the atom bomb (such as the ‘shadow pictures’ left upon objects by the flash), and the efforts by the US military to keep the effects of the bombing under wraps. There’s also a Multimedia Vault that collects several films and newsreels produced during the war and immediately afterward, both for public consumption in the US and for the Armed Forces. If Black Rain didn’t bring the bombing home, these clips surely will. Interestingly enough, while the media produced for public consumption involves large doses of gloating over the defeat of the Japanese and the destruction brought down upon them, the films done for the military are sober, serious, and respectful. In particular, ‘My Japan’ (a War Bond drive film made by the US Treasury, ostensibly narrated by a stereotypical evil Japanese) is brutal to modern eyes. ‘Our Enemies the Japanese’ and the Universal Newsreel ‘Atom Blast at Hiroshima’ are not far behind (however, it should be pointed out Japanese propaganda films were just as racist and jingoistic-as well as every other nation’s during WWII). Rounding the vault out are some photos of the destruction, US President Harry Truman’s radio speech concerning the atom bomb on August 6th, and the US Army-produced ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’. Finally, there are interviews with Assistant Director Miike Takashi and actress Tanaka Yoshiko. An interesting point brought up in Yoshiko’s interview is that director Imamura kept them all sequestered in the small town where filming took place in an effort to keep them from eating well in the city. This maintained Yasuko’s starved and radiation wasted appearance.

Perhaps the most interesting extra is the alternate ending. Most alternate endings on DVD’s are pretty short and basic, but this one runs almost 20 minutes. It’s shot in color to give it a more ‘contemporary’ feel since it takes place 15 years after the main body of the film. Yasuko has survived her bout with radiation poisoning but health problems have continued to dog her, and she seems to have a massive dose of survivor’s guilt as well. She decides to leave the man she loves and embark upon a pilgrimage to honor the souls of the victims of the flash-a pilgrimage that she seemingly does not expect to return from. Accompanied by another presumed survivor of the flash, they set out upon the famous ’88 temple’ circuit on the island of Shikoku. Watching the two’s progress is truly heart-wrenching. On the way they are harassed and ridiculed by their own people and their health deteriorates at a steady pace. Dirty, disheveled, and with bleeding feet they struggle to make it from one stop on the circuit to the next. The last stop on the journey is pulled off in a touching and almost surrealistic way that seems to bring peace to everyone-but the final scene shows that perhaps even the people of Japan have begun to forget and trivialize the bombing. While the alternate ending certainly delivers an impact, we believe the correct choice was made in keeping the one the film uses. Some things are best left unresolved and left for the viewer to work out for themselves.

Black Rain is an important film that everyone should see-just as a reminder of the very real cost to humanity that warfare entails. It puts a face on what all too often are glossed over and depersonalized as cold statistics on a report. 70-80,000 were killed instantly (30% of the city), with that number rising to 90-140,000 by the end of 1945. Perhaps 200,000 had fallen victim by 1950. But the story of these three people somehow brings things into focus more clearly. There are still many hibakusha alive in Japan today, and still suffering. In a day and age where original documentation by American combat photographers of the destruction of Hiroshima was found in a trash heap, Black Rain is a powerful film that will stay with you long after the ending and give the viewer much to reflect upon. Give it a try when you’re in the mood for a serious, thought provoking movie. You can get Black Rain directly from Animeigo or through Amazon.

Shogun Coffee

2009-10-02T23:33:00.004-10:00

While Pepsi Shiso may be a liquid car wreck in a bottle, Tokugawa Shogun Coffee, sold by Saza Coffee, is nothing short of heaven in a mug. Now some of you are probably scratching your heads wondering what the heck “Shogun Coffee” is. Is this some sort of gimmick meant to cash in on the “history” boom that is sweeping across Japan? No, it isn’t and this is all about really good coffee with a pedigreed history!

The story starts in 1867, as the turmoil of the Bakumatsu period was reaching fever pitch. The 15th and last Tokugawa Shogun, Yoshinobu, was desperately trying to modernize the Bakufu’s finances and military capabilities. For this, he turned to the French, who at the time were led by Emperor Napoleon III, who dreamed of expanding France’s sphere of influence in Asia. Nothing against France, but perhaps the Shogunate’s decision to rely on France wasn’t the wisest choice, as things didn’t really work out that well for both parties’ positions in Japan. However, you can’t blame the Tokugawa for looking to France over Britain when it came to the culinary arts. Besides pork, there was another item in France’s culinary arsenal that captivated Yoshinobu, and that was coffee. Although the Saza coffee site says coffee was officially introduced to Japan in 1867, I have a hunch it probably wasn’t something extraordinary new to the Japanese ruling elite, as the Dutch were exporting it by the ton from their holdings in Indonesia and had probably been presented to the court of the Shogun via the Dutch settlement in Nagasaki. Perhaps even Perry served some to visitors to his squadron of Black Ships. Who knows? However, French roast coffee was something new, strong and quite powerful. Yoshinobu apparently liked it, and he soon arranged to have French roast coffee served at all diplomatic functions involving the Western powers.

It also seems that Yoshinobu’s younger brother, Akitake, who traveled to France for the World Expo in Paris with the famed industrialist Shibusawa Eiichi, seemed to also enjoy this coffee on their steamship voyage to Europe. Notes on how the beans were roasted must have been written down, as one of Yoshinobu’s direct descendants, Tokugawa Yoshitomo, is roasting some mighty fine beans and selling it through Saza Coffee’s internet site. (Unfortunately, they don’t ship outside of Japan).

Curious to try “Shogun” Coffee”, I ordered a 200 gram pack at a cost of 1,800 yen. Not cheap by any means, but would you expect small batch roasted premium coffee fit for a shogun to be priced and marketed as a budget brand? I think not! Needless to say, my small stock of Shogun Coffee did not last long at all as I couldn’t get enough of it. Shogun Coffee is an enjoyable, full-bodied robust roast, loaded with high-octane caffeine—just what one needs when starting the day. The boldness of the brew really is what gets you after your first sip, but it is also surprisingly velvety smooth, like some of the estate-grown private label coffees from Kona that you can get at premium restaurants and hotels in Hawaii. I think the closest thing I’ve had to this would be one of the vintage Eddie Sakamoto coffees that are available at Alan Wong’s restaurant on King Street in Honolulu.

Again, this coffee is really good, and I am lamenting the fact that I am all out of it. And perhaps I just inadvertently solved a mystery, right here and now. Just why did Yoshinobu flee from Osaka Castle in the dead of night after the defeat of the Shogunal forces at the Battle of Toba-Fushimi? Could it be that he expended the stock of coffee that he had brought with from Edo and needed to get back to Edo, where a hefty supply was readily available? I’m starting to think so, and I also think it’s time for me to replenish my own supply!

Pepsi Shiso - Liquid Car Crash in a Bottle

2009-09-12T22:55:00.014-10:00

Setting aside Japanese history for a moment, I thought I'd delve into quirky Japanese drinks. Tonight, after a great time at a good Korean restaurant, our group stopped at Don Quijote - the pseudo-Japanese superstore in Honolulu to pick up some things. We made the rounds, from eggplants to overpriced bread to a hot chocolate debate, to a giant grotesque block of uncut luncheon-meat, to the meaning of the date on a package of ground beef (packing date or expiration?), through the fish to the Nabe supplies.

On a whim, we stopped in the Japanese drink aisle with the bend-over-and-take-it prices, and perused the aisle. And there it was. Pepsi Shiso ("Shiso" being known as "Perilla" to the rest of the world). The green hourglass shaped bottle with twisting groves in the plastic evokes images of an ancient Egyptian artifact; subtle curves topped off with an attractive white cap that belies the true nature of the emerald liquid trapped beneath.

Having had Pepsi Shiso misrepresented to me by my compatriots as "good", I spent the money I got selling a kidney on the black market for one bottle, certain it would be worth it. So eager to try this mystical green nectar, I opened it at the register, and tried it.

In every man's life, there is a moment - a moment where everything changes, a moment you never forget. A moment that changes your perception of life and reality. A bookmark tagged in your mind, burned forever which you will compare everything that happened before, and after. This was my moment. So many things ran through my mind at that moment. I lived an entire lifetime in seconds. The smell, and then taste, of Pepsi Shiso sent dormant neurons firing in all directions. I saw entire universes born and die, and stars form, explode, and re-form. I saw eternity in a clear plastic bottle. At that moment, I realized how long eternity is, particularly how long it would be, with Pepsi Shiso.

The Japanese are typically famous for taking something and making it better. Oh, the irony. You just can't take something that is marginal at best, liquify it, and assume it is going to be better. After all, what is the essence of bad? Pepsi Shiso takes everything that is good about Shiso- the wrapped mochi, anko - and throws it away, leaving just the limp, damp shiso leaf. Take an unsweetened bottle of Sprite, add some green food coloring, chew a shiso leaf, spit the juice into the bottle, and voila, you have Pepsi Shiso. It is truly horrendous, but shockingly like a liquid car crash in a bottle - horrifying and disturbing, but at the same time... it's hard to pull your lips away. It consists of mainly three things - the very authentic, overpowering shiso smell that emanates from the bottle, the very light carbonated base, and the brutal shiso slap in the face. Shiso "juice" was not meant to be consumed. I don't really think it was meant to be eaten either, but that's another story altogether. It leaves you feeling slightly disturbed, and with an aftertaste that feels very much like you have chewed a shiso leaf and maybe some sugar. In a sense, it's sort of like natto - it can be eaten, and many people eat it, but most people really don't want to. Just because something can be eaten doesn't mean it should be. You wouldn't drink crabgrass tea, and you probably wouldn't drink cilantro juice, and Pepsi Shiso falls into this category. Just because you can make something, doesn't mean you should. Look at the Segway and the Snuggie.

For such an attractive bottle and intriguing concept, it is shockingly horrid stuff. I will keep the bottle, just like Tupac kept the bullets that almost killed him the first time, as a reminder of what is and what should never be. Even Chinchin Tea seems almost drinkable now. Almost.

Interview With Historian/Professor Karl Friday

2009-08-17T00:01:00.003-10:00

Karl Friday is Professor of Japanese History at the University of Georgia. Receiving his MA in East Asian Languages and Cultures at the University of Kansas, Professor Friday went on to a second MA along with a PHD at Stanford. He's also studied or conducted research at the University of Tsukuba and the University of Tokyo along with Yonsei and Ewha Universities in Korea. He started teaching at the University of San Diego and has been ensconced at the University of Georgia since 1990 (along with a year as a visiting professor at the University of Hawaii). He’s the author of "Hired Swords", "Legacies of the Sword", "Samurai, Warfare, and the State in Early Medieval Japan", and his most recent work, "The First Samurai". He’s also published many excellent articles such as "Bushido or Bull?", "Valorous Butchers", "Pushing Beyond the Pale: the Yamato Conquest of the Emishi and Northern Japan", and the recent essay "Lordship Interdicted" in the book "Heian Japan: Centers and Peripheries". In addition to his work in academia, he’s also accomplished in both Japanese and Korean martial arts. He holds a shihan/menkyo kaiden ranking (making him both a "one generation model instructor" and a "licensed full initiate") from Kashima-Shinryu, as well as being Kaicho (President) and Kokusai Kyokucho (International Bureau Chief) of the the Kashima-Shinryu Federation of Martial Sciences (the Japanese organization the governs instruction in the art). The Samurai Archives recently spoke with Professor Friday on his projects past, present, and future-an interview that exceeded even our high expectations. In the following article, the "SA" is Tatsunoshi (Randy Schadel) and KF is, of course, Karl Friday. Thanks to forum members Owari No Utsuke and Bad Monk for submitting questions.

SA: Greetings, Professor Friday. We at the Samurai Archives are privileged to have such a well-respected and groundbreaking historian join us here at the Shogun-ki. We have a varied membership coming from all nationalities and backgrounds, and just as many different motivations for becoming interested in the study of pre-modern Japanese history. What was it that sparked your interest in the field of Japanese studies, and how did you come to specialize in the Heian period?

KF: I got into Japanese studies more-or-less by accident-two accidents, actually. When I was a sophomore, I was trying to enroll for classes and discovered that two of the courses I had planned to take that term were both full. At that point I decided that I might as well start working on my foreign language requirement. I had already developed an interest in Chinese philosophy, as a result of some combination of my interest in martial art (I’d been practicing Tang Soo Do, a variant form of Tae Kwon Do, for about a year by then) and the philosophy major I had begun working toward. I decided to take Japanese, rather than Chinese, because someone had (incorrectly, as I later learned!) told me that if you learn to read Japanese you can also read Chinese, and because back then, you couldn’t go to mainland China yet, and so I figured that spoken/modern Japanese would be more useful.

By the end of my second semester, I was really getting into Japanese, but I discovered that the second-year Japanese course in the fall would conflict with a couple of courses I needed for my major. To get around that, I decided to take second year Japanese through the intensive program KU offered during the summer. By the end of the summer, I realized that I was already planning to take most of the courses I would need for a Japanese major, so I ended up switching majors from Philosophy to Japanese.

I didn’t really focus on History until my PhD. Before that, I was doing fairly broadly-cast Japanese and East Asian Studies coursework. In fact, I cast my MA thesis project in a way that could lead to PhD work in either literature or history, but by the time I’d finished that project, I’d decided that History was really where my heart was. Samurai culture and institutions had been central to my interests from the getgo, and I also had a strong attraction to the Heian period. In the end, I decided to specialize in premodern history rather than the early modern (Tokugawa) period largely because of my (naïve and stupid, as it turned out!) assumption that the smaller number of people working in pre-1600 studies would translate into better job opportunities.

When I went to Stanford, I had originally thought I might try to do my dissertation on some aspect of Japanese-Korean interaction or comparative history, but later decided instead to work on the beginnings of the samurai-start from the start, as it were. When I formulated the project, I expected that I’d be centering my attention on the Heian period, and probably including a short summary of the ritsuryō military and its “collapse” in the introduction or somewhere. But as I got into my research, I realized that the received wisdom was all wrong on where the samurai came from, and that the evolution of the ritsuryō system and the state’s military/police system was really the central issue.

That was really the only time, other than a brief follow-up project on the emishi “pacification” wars of the late 8th century, that I’ve done much on the Nara period. Most of my work since then has been on Heian and Kamakura.

SA: “Hired Swords: The Rise of Private Warrior Power in Early Japan" was your first book and introduced the theme that runs throughout much of your work: that the Imperial Court of the Nara/Heian periods, far from becoming weak and ineffectual (losing its power to the warrior class in the process), willingly delegated warfare to the ‘professionals’ and was quite effective in retaining control over them. What were the major factors in the decision for the government to move away from the conscription of the Ritsuryo codes of the 8th century?

KF: The idea that the court-centered polity wasn’t hollowing out during the Heian period didn’t start or end with my work, it’s been the general theme pushed by specialists in the period since the 70s. All I’ve really added to the discussion was a closer look at where and how the samurai fit into all this.

Until about a generation ago, the Heian period was traditionally portrayed as an era of tremendous cultural flowering juxtaposed against institutional breakdown, as the institutions of the ritsuryō state were abandoned bit by bit. This picture came from three places. First, scholars were seduced by apparent similarities between medieval Japan and Europe, and by expectations colored by conceptions of the conditions that produced European knights and lords. Second, because the most accessible sources of information on the Heian court were literary classics like Murasaki Shikibu’s Tale of Genji, scholars tended to take depictions of the court and courtier lives in these tales literally. And third, lacking detailed studies on the origins and operations of the three shogunates-the Kamakura, Muromachi and Tokugawa regimes-historians simply assumed that all three were “warrior governments,” playing similar roles in ruling the country, equated the creation of a shogunate with the existence of a “feudal” state governed by warriors, and posited the Gempei War (1180-85) and the founding of the Kamakura shogunate as marking the end of meaningful court rule and the onset of a “feudal” medieval era.

Regime change that fundamental can’t, of course, just happen overnight-picture Microsoft and Google having a corporate war, and the winner suddenly emerging as the real government of the US-and so historians looked backward, to the Heian period, for the changes and developments that presaged the inauguration of a warrior regime. They developed a picture of an effete, idyllic central aristocracy preoccupied by art, fashion and romantic liaisons, and without interest in governing-especially outside the capital-while a hardier class of armed landholders took over the countryside, eventually awoke to the fact that they, not the courtiers in the capital, were actually running most of the country, and brushed the court aside. And they (the historians, not the warriors) assumed that all of these changes stemmed from Japan’s failed attempt (in the 7th century) to turn itself into a miniature China-thoughtlessly adopting Chinese institutions of government that were just too sophisticated for Japan at the time.

But scholarship on traditional Japan has grown spectacularly over the past four decades, in terms of both sophistication and volume. This is particularly true in the West, where an unprecedented number of researchers specializing in the premodern and early modern periods have entered the field. The new research is marked by a shift in methodology from dependence on literary and narrative sources to reliance on documents, a shift in focus from the political and cultural history of elites to a broader examination of social structures, and by a blow-by-blow reexamination-and rejection-of many of the key tenets of what was once the received wisdom.

Beginning with John Hall, in the 60s; and continuing with Jeff Mass, Cappy Hurst, Neil Kiley, Ken Grossberg, Peter Arnesen, Bob Borgen and others, in the 70s and 80s, historians developed a signally different picture of the Nara, Heian and Kamakura periods. The notions that the ritsuryō system was a failure, that courtiers were aloof fops unengaged in governing, and the samurai had achieved virtually independent control over the countryside by late Heian times were overturned. Upon more careful examination using more reliable source materials, it became clear that the court was able to maintain tight constraints on political and economic activities throughout the Heian period and that provincial warriors were just beginning to break out of these constraints during the Kamakura period.

The curious thing was that, until Wayne Farris and I stumbled into the topic (completely independently, but coincidentally at exactly the same time), no one had gone back to reexamine Nara-Heian military evolution and where the samurai came from.

My argument is that the changes to the military system that (eventually) produced the samurai closely paralleled the general evolution of government in Japan between the founding of the ritsuryō state in the late 7th century and the mid-Heian period. That process involved two closely related trends.

The first was a retreat from the court’s initial obsession with direct central control over all functions of government, countrywide, to an emphasis on maintaining centralized authority while delegating responsibility for many of the workaday functions of administration.

The second is usually summarized as the privatization of the workings of government, or more accurately, as the blurring of lines separating the public and private persona of those who carried out the affairs of governance. Basically, government posts-and the tasks assigned them-came to be closely associated with certain houses; and key government functions came to be performed through personal, rather than formal public, channels; rendering it harder and harder to draw clean lines between “public” and “private” rights and responsibilities.

To understand what happened to the ritsuryō military, it’s important to remember where it came from and why. Centralization and restructuring of the military was a major element of the state-reformation process, which was itself the product of the ascendant royal court’s efforts to strengthen its power over the largely-autonomous regional chieftains who ruled most of the country. One of the things that made this sort of centralization and reform palatable to the regional nobles was widespread apprehension over the growing might of Tang China, which had been engaged since the early 600s in one of the greatest military expansions in Chinese history.

So the ritsuryō military system was created with two principal threats in mind: a Chinese invasion and regional insurrections led by the old provincial chieftains. The architects of the new state seized on large-scale, direct mobilization of the peasantry as a key part of the answer to both, creating a system that enabled the court to create loyalist armies of daunting volume, thereby effectively closing the door on provincial challenges to central power or authority, and giving the state as large an army as possible, in order to fend off the foreign invasion everyone was worried about. It was actually a fairly ingenious system, based on a militia structure making it possible for a tiny country like Japan to muster large-scale fighting forces when necessary, without bankrupting its economic and agricultural base-as a large standing army would have. But the system was also the product of all-too-often conflicting priorities, and accordingly, incorporated some unhappy compromises; and the original foibles of the system were exacerbated by changing conditions.

One of the problems the government faced was enforcing its conscription laws. Under the ritsuryō polity, military conscription had simply been one component of the state’s tax requirements; induction rosters were compiled from the same population registers that were used to levy all other forms of tax. Which meant that any peasant efforts to evade taxes also placed them beyond the reach of the conscription authorities.

An even bigger issue, though, was the fundamental tactical limitations of the ritsuryō armies. The ritsuryō architects had opted for size at the expense of the elite technology of the age, constructing a force composed primarily of infantry, while the premier military technology of the day was mounted archery-largely because of the logistical difficulties involved in trying to produce cavalrymen out of short-term conscripts.

By the middle decades of the 8th century, the political climate-domestic and foreign-had changed enough to render the provincial regiments anachronistic and superfluous in most of the country. The danger of violent challenges to the central polity from the regional nobility disappeared almost immediately, as former provincial chieftains came to accept the imperial state structure as the arena in which they would compete for power and influence, and the Chinese invasion the Japanese had feared simply never materialized. That meant that the martial needs of the vast majority of the country now centered on the capture of criminals and similar policing functions. Huge infantry units based on peasant militia units were neither necessary nor well-suited to this type of work. What were needed were small, highly mobile squads that could be assembled with a minimum of delay and sent out to pursue raiding bandits. In the meantime, diminishing military need for the regiments encouraged officers and provincial officials to misuse the conscripts who manned them-borrowing them, for example, for free labor on their personal homes and properties

The court response to these challenges reflects a new realization that it was cheaper and more efficient to rely on privately-trained and equipped elites than to continue to attempt to draft and train the general population. Accordingly, troops mustered from the peasantry played smaller and smaller roles in state military planning, while the role of elites expanded steadily across the eighth century. The provincial regiments were first supplemented by new types of forces, and then, in 792, eliminated entirely in all but a handful of provinces. In their place the court created a series of new military posts and titles that legitimized the use of personal martial resources on behalf of the state. In essence, the court moved from a conscripted, publicly-trained military force to one composed of professional mercenaries.

SA: The chapter on “Peasants and Professionals” in “Hired Swords” is particularly interesting. Why did Emperors and Empresses such as Shomu or Shotoku feel it necessary to add new units to the then-traditional “Five Guards” of the Imperial Court?

KF: Now there’s a question I haven’t thought about in a while! Basically, the impetus here came from two sources.

The first relates to the same bundle of factors I outlined in my answer to the previous question. The original goefu (“Five Guards”) units that defended the palace and policed the capital were staffed from two very different sources. Three (the Right and Left Eijifu and the Emonfu) drew their manpower from peasant conscripts selected from the provincial militias; the other two (the Right and Left Hyōefu) were composed of troops selected from among the “sons and younger brothers” of the provincial and lower central nobility. The problems with the militias in the provinces also applied to the central military institutions. And, of course, after most of the provincial regiments had been abolished (in 792); peasant draftees were no longer readily available for service at court.

The second factor at play here was the nature of the power structure at court, and the direction of its evolution. While the ritsuryō polity was, in theory, an absolute monarchy real power took a much more oligarchic form, in which emperors, powerful courtier houses, and major shrines and temples all competed for control of the court. In this struggle, attempts at intimidation were commonplace and even attempted coups and assassinations weren’t terribly unusual.

This made control of martial resources of one sort or another an important asset. Accordingly, first the court nobility and then the shrines and temples began to assemble private military forces and to press for control of state military resources-recruiting men with martial talents into the ranks of their household service and staffing the command posts in the central guard units with their own relatives and lackies.

Emperors were, in fact, at a disadvantage here. The Five Guards were the military forces of the state as a corporate whole, not the personal military of the sovereign; control of them was a function of the same competition that determined power at court in general. The imperial house recognized this danger almost before the ink was dry on the ritsuryō codes and responded by creating new units, outside the Five Guards, that could function as its own Praetorian Guards.

The problem with that strategy, however, was that reigning emperors were purely public figures-unlike other courtiers, who had both public and private identities-and so the new military units the imperial house created tended very quickly to lose their Praetorian Guard character and become indistinguishable in character from other public military units, dominated by the Fujiwara and other great noble houses. Nevertheless, successive emperors kept trying, creating one new unit after another. By 765, there were eight distinct guard units in the capital, which was obviously more military than was needed, so the court began streamlining the system-combining, reorganizing, and renaming. The end product became known as the Rokuefu, or “Six Guards” (the Left and Right Kon’efu, the Left and Right Emonfu, and the Left and Right Hyōefu), which continued without major formal changes down to the modern era.

SA: An interesting weapon that has been lost to history but seemed to be quite effective was the Oyumi (a large crossbow), which is described in “Hired Swords” as a largely defensive weapon. What made it primarily defensive-was it the large size and difficulties in using it ‘on the fly’? Why didn’t handheld crossbows catch on with Japanese troops as they did in other countries?

KF: The basic problem involved in trying to describe the rise and fall of the ōyumi is that no one really knows what this weapon was. We have no surviving examples, no clear descriptions, and no illustrations of the weapon to go by. The term itself translates as “big bow,” and the Chinese character used to write it means “crossbow.” There are also a few references in various sources, to “hand crossbows” (te-ōyumi or shudo). Put together with various cryptic references to using the weapon or training with it, this suggests that the weapon in question was some kind of oversized, frame-mounted crossbow, like the Roman ballista, perhaps capable of launching volleys of arrows or stones in a single shoot (the same character most commonly read as “ōyumi” is also sometimes glossed as ishi-yumi, or “stone bow,” in some late Heian and early Kamakura period sources).

It is, of course, not inconceivable that ōyumi were simply hand-held crossbows of the sort that were the mainstays of Chinese infantries from the Warring States era onward, but this seems very unlikely. One problem here is the specific references to te-ōyumi-what could these be, if regular ōyumi were also hand-held weapons? Another is the fact that to date archeologists have found only one trigger mechanism for a hand-crossbow, despite more than a century of digging, which suggests that these weapons couldn’t have been very common in Japan. A third problem is the name for the weapon: “ōyumi” literally means “great bow,” while hand-held cross bows would actually have been smaller than regular Japanese bows. And a fourth issue is that positing more than an incidental presence for hand-held crossbows in 7th and 8th century military forces necessitates an explanation for their virtual disappearance during the early 10th century.

Given what the privately-armed warriors of later centuries were able to purchase from artisans in the capital, it’s hard to believe that production difficulties could have precluded samurai ownership of hand-crossbows, had they wished to acquire them. European knights were, after all, able to obtain crossbows under conditions far less favorable to the manufacture of sophisticated, high technology machinery than those faced by Heian warriors. And samurai did, in fact, appear to have made sporadic use of ōyumi as late as the 12th century.

It seems likely, then, that ōyumi were ballista-like weapons that served as a kind of artillery- sort of like cannons in early modern warfare. If that’s the case, then similar tactical advantages and limitations apply. Large, platform-mounted weapons of this sort are handy in sieges (for both sides) and useful to armies trying to hold a defensive position. But they aren’t terribly mobile, so they aren’t much use on the offensive against an enemy that runs away.
A rough analogy here would be the water cannons used by modern police. They’re quite useful for breaking up riots and such, but they aren’t of much good when you’re trying to catch a couple of guys robbing a liquor store-by the time you can get them set up, the bad guys have run away.

As to why hand-held crossbows never caught on, again we can only speculate. But the answer seems pretty straightforward. Crossbows have serious tactical limitations. Most designs are difficult or impossible to cock and reload while walking, running or riding on horseback, which makes them better-suited to defense, siegecraft and naval warfare than to offensive tactics on land. They are, moreover, much slower to reload and shoot than ordinary bows, which means a reduced volume of missiles that can be directed at a charging-or fleeing-enemy host, while it is within effective range. And their greater power than ordinary bows doesn’t always translate into longer range, because while a regular bow can be angled upward, and shot to its maximum range with reasonable accuracy, a crossbow can’t be elevated very far without the stock obscuring the archer’s aim (the crossbow is largely a line-of-sight weapon).

The upshot is that crossbows are really only effective when deployed in mass, by troops trained to shoot in some coordinated manner. Maintaining this degree of order would have been difficult for ritsuryō era Japanese armies, which were composed of militia units filled by conscripts who served only thirty or forty days a year on active duty. And it would have been impossible for the privatized warriors of the Heian and Kamakura periods.

SA: While the warrior bands of the Heian era had much in common with the so-called clans of the Sengoku, what allowed them to be controlled so effectively by the Imperial Court whereas the warriors of the Sengoku were not? Was it largely a question of the Court playing off bushi against each other, or were there other factors?

KF: One caveat first: You need to be careful about that term “clan,” even as applied to the Sengoku era. There have never been clans, in the anthropological sense of that term, in Japan-or rather, extended clan-like family units have never been meaningful socio-political units. The daimyō-led organizations that get labeled “clans” in movie subtitles were much more broadly-structured political/economic organizations. Historians usually call them “domains.” Japanese sources do label them by the name of the daimyō house around which they were formed-the Takeda-ke, Uesugi-ke, etc.-but the translation of “ke” here should be “house,” not “clan.”

Samurai did make use of kinship ties-both real and fictive-and terminology suggestive of familial connections-kenin (“houseman”), ie no ko (“child of the house”), and the like-as a device for building and strengthening warrior alliances, but these efforts were more symbolic than efficacious. The bottom line is that, ideology to the contrary, kinship was never much of a guarantee of harmony in premodern Japanese society. Conflict, even out-and-out warfare, between in-laws, cousins, uncles and nephews, and even brothers was a near-constant theme of Japanese history. In practical terms, cohesion worked only within the smallest kinship units, that is, within nuclear families-houses, not clans.

Ok, so back to the heart of the question: The short answer is yes, Heian warriors remained under control because the court was able to play them against one another. But that just begs the larger question of why the court could do this during the Heian period and not later. And the short answer to that is that Heian warriors needed the court, and centralized authority, as much as the court needed them, but that arrangement broke down and shifted during the 13th century and later.

The political, social and economic order of the Heian period needs to be understood in terms of interplay between rural and urban elites, and balance between centrifugal and centripetal forces. By the 10th century, private warriors had a monopoly over the means of armed force, and the court was rapidly fashioning a new working arrangement with warriors leaders and other elite residents of the countryside-one that relied heavily on personal relationships and private resources, offered provincial administrators expanded freedom of action and opportunities for profit, and yet maintained the basic social, political and economic hierarchies of the imperial state. Rather than signaling the imminent collapse of court rule, however, these accommodations preserved, prolonged and, in many ways, enhanced it, by co-opting provincial ambitions to serve the center. Freedom of local action was not the same as independence, or even autonomy, because the warriors themselves simply didn’t think in those terms yet.

Heian Japan remained firmly under civil authority and the idea of a warrior order was still more nascent than real. Far from being incipient provincial warlords chafing under courtier domination, 10th, 11th, and 12th century warrior leaders were men with one foot in the countryside and the other firmly planted in the capital-“bridging figures,” in the words of the late Jeffrey Mass-for whom the profession of arms was primarily a means to an end-a foot in the door toward civil rank and office. Their career goals-their hopes and dreams-pointed toward service to, rather than freedom from, the court. Consequently, whenever warriors stepped too far out of line, the court was always able to find peers and rivals more conservative in their ambitions and assessments of the odds against successful rebellion, to subdue them.

The balance began to shift, however, with the creation of the Kamakura shogunate. One way to understand the first shogunate, its relationships to the imperial court and to samurai in the countryside, and its role in governing Japan is to think of it as a kind of warriors’ union. Before the creation of the shogunate, warriors in the provinces were merely local government administrators or caretakers for estates that belonged to court nobles or temples. The court kept them politically weak by playing them against one another. By insulating an elite subgroup of the country’s provincial warriors from direct court control or employ, the shogunate ensured that samurai could no longer be managed by playing them against one another. In the long run, this created a mechanism for unraveling the fabric of centralized authority.

The existence of the shogunate rested on two competing obligations: On the one hand, it had a mandate from the court to maintain order in the provinces-to keep its own men under control and to use them to defend the court. This is what made the regime legal, and formed the basis of its national authority. On the other, the shogunate’s ability to carry out this mandate depended on the continuing support of its followers, which in turn hinged on its support of their ambitions for greater freedom from court control. Kamakura vassals across the country quickly learned to take advantage of this situation, manipulating their special status to lay stronger and more personal claims to their lands-and the people on them. Real power over the countryside spun off slowly but steadily from the center to the hands of local figures, and a new warrior-dominated system of authority absorbed the older, courtier-dominated one. By the 14th century, this evolution had progressed to the point where the most successful of the shogunate’s provincial vassals had begun to question the value of continued submission to Kamakura at all, and the regime fell in 1333.

For most of the fourteenth century, the existence of rival imperial courts, each claiming identical-and exclusive-authority offered warriors a choice of customers to whom to market their support. Leading warriors shifted sides repeatedly, in response to advantages and opportunities of the moment, playing each court off the other in much the same way that the court had once kept warriors weak by pitting them against one another. As this happened, it took a predictably heavy toll on central authority.

SA: It’s very uncommon to see an academic historian (as opposed to a ‘pop culture’ historian) who has had extensive training in traditional Japanese martial arts. Has your experience in this field led to insights in your published works? How have these arts evolved and changed since the days of extensive warfare in the Sengoku?

KF: I think that having some kind of hands-on experience with traditional weapons is useful in all sorts of subtle and not-so-subtle ways to historians looking at military topics. Having field experience with an army in combat would also be very helpful-although, for better or worse, I don’t have that.

Certainly actual involvement with bugei ryūha (martial training organizations) is crucial to meaningful analysis of the workings-the anatomy and physiology-of traditional martial art. These are very kabalistic organizations and the only way to really understand what they do and what they’re attempting to do is to experience it.

My work on samurai and military history has led me to some interesting realizations about the history of the bugei as well.

The conventional wisdom on Japanese martial art (ryūha bugei) ties its evolution closely to the history of warfare. It starts from the premise that systems and schools of martial art originally developed as tools for passing on workaday battlefield skills, in response to intensified demand for skilled fighting men spawned by the onset of the Sengoku age. Warriors hoping to survive and prosper on late medieval battlefields began to seek instruction from talented veterans, who in turn began to codify their knowledge and methodize its study. Thus bugei ryūha emerged more-or-less directly from the exigencies of medieval warfare. But-so goes the tale-the two-and-a-half-century Pax Tokugawa that began in 1600 brought fundamental changes to the practice of martial art. Instruction became professionalized, and in some cases, commercialized; training periods became longer, curricula were formalized; and elaborate systems of student ranks developed. Most significantly, however, the motives and goals underlying bugei practice were recast. Samurai, who no longer expected to spend time on the battlefield, sought and found a more relevant rationale for studying martial art, approaching it not simply as a means to proficiency in combat, as their ancestors had, but as a means to spiritual cultivation of the self.

This is basically the story I summarized in my Legacies of the Sword book. It begins from the logical assumption that ryūha bugei originated as an instrument for ordinary military training, and evolved from there into budō, a means to broader self-development and self-realization. But there are some problems with this picture that become clear if you juxtapose it against recent research on medieval warfare.

It‘s clear, first of all, that ryūha bugei couldn’t have accounted for more than a tiny portion of sixteenth-century military training. There were at most a few dozen ryūha around during the 16th century, but armies of that era regularly mobilized tens of thousands of men. In order for even a fraction of sengoku warriors to have learned their craft through one or more ryūha, each and every ryūha of the period would need to have trained at least several hundred students a year. Ryūha bugei must, therefore, have been a specialized activity, pursued by only a minute percentage of Sengoku warriors.

An even bigger issue, however, is the applicability of the skills that late medieval bugeisha concentrated on developing to sixteenth-century warfare. For one thing, strategy and tactics were shifting, from the 15th century onward-precisely the period in which bugei ryūha began to appear-from reliance on individual warriors and small group tactics to disciplined group tactical maneuver. Which means that ryūha bugei, focusing on developing prowess in personal combat, emerged and flourished in almost inverse proportion to the value of skilled individual fighters on the battlefield.

All of the recent scholarship on late medieval warfare, moreover, argues that swords never became a key battlefield armament in Japan-that they were, rather, supplementary weapons, analogous to the sidearms worn by modern soldiers. While swords were carried in combat, they were used far more often in street fights, robberies, assassinations and other (off-battlefield) civil disturbances. Missile weapons-arrows, rocks, and later bullets-dominated battles, throughout the medieval period.

On the other hand, almost all of the ryūha that date back to the sengoku period or earlier claim that swordsmanship played a central role in their training, right from the start. Tsukahara Bokuden, Kamiizumi Ise-no-kami, Iizasa Chōisai, Itō Ittōsai, Yagyū Muneyoshi, Miyamoto Musashi and other founders of martial art schools were (are) all best known for their prowess as swordsmen.

Initially, I wondered if the place of swordsmanship in medieval martial art represented a major piece of counter-evidence to the new consensus on late medieval warfare. After all, if bugei ryūha started out as systems to train warriors for the battlefield, and made swordsmanship central to their arts, wouldn’t that suggest that swords were more important to medieval warfare than the new scholarship would have us believe?

After wrestling with that question for quite a while, it finally struck me that the problem might lie in the first premise of this argument. All of the questions that were bothering me (why did bugei ryūha emerge at a time when generalship was rapidly coming to overshadow personal martial skills as the decisive element in battle, and the key to a successful military career? Why were there so few ryūha around during the Sengoku era, and why did they proliferate so rapidly during the early Tokugawa period, after the age of wars had passed? And why was swordsmanship so prominent in even the earliest bugei ryūha?) become much easier to answer if you just set aside the premise that bugei ryūha originated as instruments for teaching the workaday techniques of the battlefield. And the truth of the matter is that there’s little basis for that hoary assumption, beyond the fact that war was endemic in Japan when the first martial art schools appeared. The received wisdom rests, in other words, on what amounts to a post hoc ergo prompter hoc fallacy.

It seems likely, then, that ryūha bugei and the pedagogical devices associated with it aimed from the start at conveying more abstract ideals of self-development and enlightenment. That is, that ryūha bugei was an abstraction of military science, not merely an application of it. It fostered character traits and tactical acumen that made those who practiced it better warriors, but its goals and ideals were more akin to those of liberal education than vocational training. In other words, bugeisha, even during the Sengoku era, had more in common with Olympic marksmanship competitors-training with specialized weapons to develop esoteric levels of skill under particularized conditions-than with Marine riflemen. They also had as much-perhaps more-in common with Tokugawa era and modern martial artists than with the ordinary warriors of their own day.

Basically, I’m arguing that there was no fundamental shift of purpose in martial art education between the late sixteenth and mid-seventeenth centuries. Tokugawa era budō represented not a metamorphosis of late medieval martial art, but the maturation of it. Ryūha bugei itself constituted a new phenomenon-a derivative, not a linear improvement, of earlier, more prosaic military training.

(For the full argument, see my “Off the Warpath” piece, in Alex Bennett’s Budo Perspectives [Auckland, New Zealand: Kendo World Publications, 2005], 249-68.)

SA: In “Legacies of the Sword” (a study of Kashima-Shinryu written with Seki Humitake), you make the point that many traditional Japanese martial arts use the language of Buddhism, Shinto, Confucianism (and Neo-Confucianism), and Taoism to describe their arts because “…shrines and temples were the vehicles through which the Japanese conceptualized their universe, and they provided the only terminology for questions of physical science or philosophy”. In effect, religious terms were used to describe very ordinary and “down-to-earth” pieces of information. Have the trappings of religious language perhaps put too much emphasis on the spiritual and philosophical aspects of sword training, overriding their original primary role of training fighting men and warriors?

KF: Yes and no. As I suggested in my answer to the previous question, I doubt that formalized martial art training ever had a primary function of training fighting men for combat. It was always about something bigger-or more abstract, anyway. This is why swordsmanship could be so central to ryūha bugei: swordsmanship represented a symbolic sine qua non of personal combat: the favored weapon for off-battlefield dueling, and a kind of michi within a michi for bugeisha, then as now. It’s also why martial art training evolved so rapidly during the early decades of the Tokugawa period: Specialization, formalization, and idealization of ryūha bugei weren’t inherently deleterious to military preparedness, because this form of martial training had never been about readying troops for war. Military science writ large continued in other forms (particularly the emerging science of gungaku) while martial art schools continued to focus on personal development.

That said, budō training was never-until the modern era, anyway, part and parcel to Zen or any other religious practice. It was a separate-parallel-path (michi) to self-development, one that had its own internal logic. Martial artists borrowed both vocabulary and concepts from Buddhism, Taoism, and native religious traditions, but very few cast what they were doing as an expression of any of these traditions.

Moreover, the distinction between the physical and the spiritual that this question’s premised on is Western and artificial. Traditional Japanese worldview and pedagogy doesn’t separate mind, body and spirit the way that post-Cartesian Western thought does. In the traditional Japanese context, distinguishing between physical and spiritual factors in training is roughly equivalent to making distinctions between internal factors (muscle control, focus, concentration, strength, timing, etc.) and external ones (gravity, wind, etc.) in, say, learning to shoot an arrow. You can separate them for analytical purposes, but they’re really all part of the same big package. In traditional bugei conceptualization, what we describe as “spiritual development” is an essential component of developing high levels of skill in fighting.

That’s the really cool thing about the underlying premises of traditional Japanese martial art: To really master violence, you have to get yourself to a place where you utterly transcend it. Fighting is a natural phenomenon like any other; the more closely and optimally your movements and tactics harmonize with the principles of natural law, the better your performance in combat. On one level, this is a simple deduction, as obvious as the advantages of shooting arrows with rather than against a strong wind. But the worldview of premodern Japan didn’t distinguish physics from metaphysics. So to the samurai, the difference between corporeal and spiritual considerations in martial training was simply a matter of the level of sophistication and expertise at which the task was to be approached.

SA: In the Western world, Zen is usually viewed as encompassing the whole of Japanese Buddhism. It’s also often presented as being the single biggest philosophical influence on samurai culture. As “Legacies of the Sword” points out, bugei are “compatible with any religious affiliation or lack thereof”. Do you feel the impact of Zen on Japanese martial arts and samurai culture has been exaggerated in the West while the influence of esoteric Buddhism, Jodo Shinshu, Shinto, and the like, have been largely ignored?

KF: Certainly this is true of most of the literature on Japanese martial arts aimed at popular audiences. Most of the recent work, particularly the stuff written by scholars and people directly involved in classical (koryū) arts has pretty much left this fallacy behind, though.

SA: “Samurai, Warfare, and the State in Early Medieval Japan” is probably your best known book and (along with the work done by Thomas Conlan) radically changed the way Western academia viewed the way that samurai went to war. Particularly interesting were the ‘nuts and bolts’ discussions of the tactics used by individual samurai, such as why a mounted bowman would want to keep the enemy on his left side, or how the physical attributes of Japanese horses precluded the types of cavalry charges one would see in an American western. How difficult was it to piece together these practical tactics from the sparse sources at hand? What caused you to be skeptical of the ‘honorable name announcing/arrow exchange’ model as presented in the war tales of the period?

KF: The broad outlines, and even many of the details, of individual and group tactics are pretty clear, if you just read the sources with reasonable care. Some of the details, though, take a lot of reading between the lines and speculating. The patterns of maneuver and options available to warriors trying to approach an enemy I outlined fall into the latter category. They’re really just conclusions derived by reasoning from basic points and principals that are clear in the sources (the weight and construction of armor, the abilities of Japanese ponies, the nature of bows and arrows, the preference for keeping opponents to your right while approaching on their left, and the like).

The “honorable name announcing/arrow exchange model” is really just a silly old canard, invented more-or-less from whole cloth by earlier historians. Not only does it make no sense whatsoever when considered in light of practical matters on the battlefield-how, for example, could dozens (much less hundreds) of warriors milling about on battlefields possibly identify appropriate opponents while everyone is shouting at everyone else?-but it also runs contrary to the anything-goes approach to warfare portrayed in accounts (even literary ones) of Heian warriors.

At the same time, having heroes boast of their pedigrees and accomplishments at the onset of combat, a narrative device known as “naming one’s name,” is a very natural literary embellishment, common in epic literature throughout the world.

Those factors alone ought to make us skeptical about how often warriors actually engaged in reciting their CVs and pedigrees at one another. Add to that the fact that there are no examples of this behavior (beyond simple references to warriors “shouting their names”) in any sources written before the 14th century, and you really have grounds for suspicion.

What’s more, even in later medieval literary accounts, instances of resume reading are a lot less common than customary reconstructions of early medieval warfare would have us to believe. In the Kakuichi-bon Heike monogatari (the most elaborately-embellished version of the text), for example, there are only 19 incidents, 13 of which appear in the same chapter, during the battle at Ichinotani, and three of which are by the same individual, delivered within minutes of one another. And none of these incidents had anything to do with warriors pairing off to fight one another-almost all of them involved warriors either waiting outside or inside fortifications, taunting the enemy.

What’s happened, over the years, is that historians’ have simply accepted the premise that early samurai warfare was ritualistic and governed by gentlemanly rules, and allowed the blinders imposed by preconceptions to restrict their views of their sources, and preclude consideration of alternative interpretations. Historians who have identified and endeavored to explain ritual and formality on early medieval battlefields have done so because they expected to find it there.

SA: Over the years, what has the critical reaction been to your downplaying of the historical veracity of ‘honorable combat and the unbreakable code of bushido’, and the evidence presented that the samurai considered ambushes, treachery, fire attacks, slaughter of civilians, and other underhanded behavior to be perfectly acceptable? Do you have any interesting stories concerning the reactions of those who might have been suffering from ‘Bullshido Denial’?

KF: I suspect that there must be a fair number of people out there who are unhappy with the idea that the early samurai were just as practical, and no more romantic or ritualized in their behavior, than later samurai or warriors in other times and places, but I haven’t really taken any fire on this that I can think of. The reviews and citations I’ve seen have all been positive (on these points, at least!). So have the reactions of audiences when I’ve lectured on the subject.

SA: Why were fortifications of the Heian and Kamakura eras largely ‘purpose built’ structures thrown up quickly and just as quickly abandoned? Why weren’t more permanent structures such as those seen in the Sengoku (whether yamashiro or Azuchi-type) favored?

KF: Permanent castles, of the sort you see in Japan during the Sengoku period, are generally a reaction to a need for on-going defense-an on-going atmosphere of more-or-less constant warfare (or threat thereof)-and/or a symbol of political authority. Neither of those conditions really applied to Heian or Kamakura Japan.

Both periods were really pretty peaceful, over all. Warriors simply didn’t feel the need to heavily fortify their homes. Military power was, moreover, not a source of political power, so there was little or no symbolic value to living in a castle. (In fact, the opposite was probably true: living behind fortifications would have made a warrior look weak and afraid of something, which would suggest a lack of political clout.) Heian and Kamakura warriors lived-for the most part-like other rural elites, because they identified with their non-warrior peers, and wanted to be identified with them.

There were some permanent-or at least potentially permanent-fortifications constructed during the Heian and Kamakura periods-the forts in the northeast during the Former Nine Years’ and Latter Three Years’ Wars, or the Taira fortress at Ichinotani during the Gempei War, for example-but tactically and strategically speaking, late Heian and early Kamakura fortifications were defensive lines, not castles or forts intended to provide long-term safe haven for armies ensconced within. Their purpose was to concentrate campaigns and battles: to slow enemy advances, thwart raiding tactics, control selection of the battleground, restrict cavalry maneuver, and enhance the ability of foot soldiers to compete with horsemen.

In the 14th century, during the Nambokuchō wars, Kusunoki Masashige and other Go-Daigo loyalists followers introduced a new tactical paradigm for fortifications as rallying points, sanctuaries, and symbols of resistance. While most twelfth- and thirteenth-century defense works had been constructed across or adjacent to roads, beachheads and other travel arteries, Masashige and his allies ensconced themselves in remote mountain citadels, whose purpose and presence defied Kamakura authority, and served as a beacon to other recruits. Compact enough to be easily defended on all exposures, and located on terrain sufficiently treacherous to render them difficult to approach quickly or in large numbers, these forts weren’t easy to take by direct assault, which meant that relatively small numbers of warriors could tie up sizeable enemy forces for long periods, buying time and credibility for Go-Daigo’s cause, and whittling away at the morale of Kamakura’s troops.

That wasn’t, of course, an entirely new tactic; Abe Yoritoki and his son, Sadatō, had done something fairly similar during the Former Nine Years’ War of 1055 to 1062. Yoritoki’s principal strategy for this campaign was to strategy throughout the conflict centered on ensconcing himself and his followers behind walls, in hopes of outlasting Minamoto Yoriyoshi’s patience and resolve, playing on the eagerness of Yoriyoshi’s government troops to get back as soon as possible to their own lands and affairs.

But Yoritoki’s and Sadatō’s fate in this conflict illustrate the pitfalls of this sort of strategy: it’s hard to hide this way forever. If the other side doesn’t lose interest, it can probably outlast either your resolve or your supplies. In Sadatō’s case, he eventually got impatient and came out to fight.

Masashige (and his allies) was up to something slightly different, since he was trying to keep a cause, rather than just himself, alive. By establishing large numbers of forts (and sometimes abandoning old ones for new ones, before the old ones fell) he kept a metaphorical flag flying that signaled that Kamakura was not, in fact, invincible. He was really playing off widespread dissatisfaction with the shogunate among both Kamakura vassals and other warriors, hoping that if he could maintain the credibility of Go-Daigo’s crusade against the shogunate for long enough, warriors would start rallying to his side. But this was pretty much a novel situation-the circumstances Masashige was attempting to exploit hadn’t existed in previous conflicts.

SA: “Samurai, Warfare, and the State” also questions the idea that samurai armies were from top to bottom largely a collection of uncoordinated individuals on the field of battle out only for their own glory, showing that at the lower levels they were comprised of units of warriors that trained extensively together and who displayed a high degree of cooperation. What prevented the cohesiveness of these smaller bands from manifesting itself across larger groups?

KF: Mostly political circumstances. Heian and Kamakura era armies were temporary, irregular assemblages, constructed through complex private military networks. Warriors knit together needed forces by calling on the members of small core bands of fighting men, subordinate allies, and (unless the conflict was a purely private affair) military officers of provincial governments. The troops involved were bound to their commanders by short-term contractual promises of rewards, rather than by standing obligations to service.
That meant that commanders had few, if any, opportunities to drill with their troops in large-scale, coordinated group tactics, and made it impossible to field disciplined and well-articulated armies. Samurai lacked the resources to gather larger numbers of troops and maintain them while they train or fight together long enough to develop enough unit cohesion to engage in large-scale group tactics until well into the 15th century.

SA: Your latest book, "The First Samurai: The Life And Legend Of The Warrior Rebel Taira Masakado" was not only an excellent biography but also a well done account of the political and economic conditions and background that the rebellion played itself out upon. From the title, cover, and packaging, it appeared to have been aimed at a more general audience than is the norm for most scholarly books. Was this your intent when writing it? If so, how did your writing style and approach differ from something written with academia in mind?

KF: The First Samurai was written for John Wiley & Sons, which is a semi-academic trade press, so my mandate here was explicitly to produce something that would appeal to a general audience. I was after something that would serve some of the same functions as good historical fiction, informing readers about the period while entertaining them with a good story. I was also trying-I’m not sure how successfully-to straddle the fence, writing with a focus and in a style that would interest and entertain real people while still maintaining academic credibility and value.

SA: The picture you paint of Masakado is that of a 'reluctant rebel'-someone who did not have rebellion in mind when he launched his initial attacks and was somewhat painted into a corner by circumstances. It seemed he was actually rather happy operating within the framework of the Heian Imperial state. Given that, how did he end up being seen as a rebel while fighting what he saw as being personal, locally based conflicts?

KF: I’m not sure that Masakado, and other provincial warrior leaders like him, were actually happy within the framework of the state so much as they were resigned to it. Which is to say that they weren’t necessarily big fans of the System, and they were putting a lot of energy into working the system and working around it, but they weren’t looking for opportunities to overthrow it either.

In modern terms, they were like middle class office workers, business owners and the such. On the one hand, folks in the middle may have a lot of resentment for the wealthy-particularly the hereditary wealthy-and for the way the system is stacked in their favor. They don’t particularly like paying taxes; they’re fed up with lazy, stupid or corrupt politicians; and they’re annoyed at doing all the work that makes it possible for the top 2% of the population to collect 80% of the wealth produced. BUT, they rarely lean toward revolutionary ideas. Their aspirations aim toward rising in the system, not taking it down. They are, after all, in the middle, and have no desire to fall back into the lower economic classes, and they understand (even if only subconsciously) that they’re also beneficiaries of the system, at the expense of the poor. They’re also generally pretty well ideologically indoctrinated into the system, and generally tend to see it as flawed-and often very unfair-but still the best alternative out there. They want the safety and security (personal and economic) that the system provides for them, and don’t want to give that up. And they generally believe that rocking the proverbial boat is more likely to cost them what they already have than to get them more.

Provincial and other warrior leaders were in pretty much the same situation during the Heian period.

Masakado did actually end up rebelling against the court, but the process was almost accidental, and his rebellion seems to have been a gamble at creating a negotiating position for himself, rather than a sincere attempt to break away from court authority. His historical reputation as a rebel probably stems from both the fact that he lost, and the fact that he came so close.

His troubles began as a series of spats with relatives and local rivals, during which he took great pains to stay within the good graces of the law. His undoing came when he got mixed up-through a very complex set of circumstances-in a local quarrel involving one of his allies in Hitachi province that resulted in-again through a complicated sequence of events-his troops occupying and looting the provincial capital. That put Masakado unequivocally on the wrong side of the law.
In traditional accounts, Masakado at this point just went crazy, taking over the provincial headquarters in seven other eastern provinces and declaring himself to be a New Emperor in the east. But the declaration of a new kingdom (and his title of New Emperor) appear only in a literary account of his adventures, and can’t be corroborated by more reliable sources. And there’s another way to read his advance from Hitachi to the rest of the East: He was trying to strengthen his hand in order to negotiate a pardon for the fiasco in Hitachi.

As Bob Dylan pointed out, “Steal a little and they throw you in jail; steal a lot and they make you king.” Having already crossed the line into rebellion against the state by his actions in Hitachi, Masakado was in trouble. But he kept negotiating for a pardon, even as he was gathering up the keys to the provincial capitals over the rest of the east, which strongly suggests that what he really wanted was simply to make himself formidable enough that the court would have to deal with him, rather than simply take him out. Other warrior leaders-including Minamoto Yoritomo, the founder of the first shogunate-followed pretty much the same strategy successfully. The difference between Masakado’s case and Yoritomo’s was mostly one of luck and circumstances, so Masakado lost while Yoritomo pulled it off.

Masakado has gone down in history as a rebel in part because he lost, and in part because of the fact that he scared the bejesus out of the court, which responded with hysterical proclamations of his evil acts and the need to destroy him. Shōmonki, the literary chronicle that shaped his reputation for posterity, was written for a court audience and therefore played to this vision and these sympathies.

Masakado’s insurrection,and that of Taira Tadatsune a century later, also play well into both the old scenario of a rising warrior class in the provinces just waiting for the right chance to take over-which makes Masakado a harbinger of medieval things to come-and the predilection of Marxist historians in Japan to cast things in terms of seething class conflict-on-going battle between the central government and provincial elites. Masakado fits either story better as a rebel than as a middle manager trying to keep the IRS from throwing him in jail.

SA: You use an interesting comparison of Minamoto no Yoritomo and Masakado to illustrate that a vassal could successfully rebel against the state and then once again be welcomed back under its banner-providing that one could put together a string of victories impressive enough to merit being taken as a serious enough threat by the Imperial Court. This helps to reinforce your theory that the Heian court managed to keep itself at the center of things and exert a great measure of control on the warriors-rather than wanting to form their own new state, most rebels were really looking more to improve their individual positions under it. Why did Masakado fail at this while Yoritomo succeeded, despite a long string of impressive victories? Did he perhaps try to overreach himself?

KF: It was mostly a matter of luck and circumstances. One of the things Yoritomo had working in his favor was and additional two centuries of evolution of the system, giving him a larger undercurrent of warrior resentment of the status quo to tap into. The other was the absence of alternatives-there really was no more palatable choice available to send against him as champion of the court, making rapprochement with Yoritomo the lesser of several evils. Initially the court was even less happy with Yoritomo’s enemies, Taira Kiyomori and his sons, than they were with Yoritomo, and welcomed his efforts to get rid of them. Later, the court did try to commission rivals to take Yoritomo down-first his cousin Yoshinaka and then his brother Yoshitsune-but Yoshinaka turned out to be an even bigger pain than Yoritomo (so the court ended up turning back to Yoritomo to get rid of Yoshinaka) and Yoritomo was able to out-maneuver Yoshitsune.

SA: Your essay in "Heian Japan: Centers and Peripheries" is somewhat of a sequel to "The First Samurai"-"Lordship Interdicted: Taira no Tadatsune and the Limited Horizons of Warrior Ambition". This details the rebellion of Taira no Tadatsune-a descendant of Taira Masakado who was the ancestor of the Chiba daimyo line. Once again, it shows how a simple personal dispute escalated into a rebellion-but seemingly was far more serious and much more destructive than Masakado's, laying waste to large portions of Shimosa, Awa, and Kazusa. How did this scorched earth policy contribute not only to Tadatsune's early success in staving off the Imperial Court but also his eventual surrender and execution, as well as help ensure that his family line was allowed to continue (and eventually, as the Chiba, control Shimosa for hundreds of years)?

KF: Heian military campaigns focused on the destruction or apprehension of opposing warriors. The objective-the definition of victory-entailed eliminating the enemy, rather than simply occupying his lands or driving him off them. That meant that Tadatsune didn’t need to crush the “government army” sent against him, only to hold it off and to survive. And he was able to achieve this by denying it a base of operations anywhere on the easily quarantined Bōsō peninsula or access to the resources of any of the provincial governments there, forcing the commander, Taira Naokata, to stage his operations from Hitachi and Musashi. Tadatsune appears to have concentrated on keeping Naokata perpetually at bay-denying him both a base of operations on the peninsula and a decisive confrontation-while Naokata presumably spent a good part of his time and energy burning crops and homes belonging to Tadatsune’s supporters, in an effort to force him to stand and fight.

Later reports of the devastation in the peninsula suggest that fighting must have been brutal, and nearly continuous between the closing months of 1028 and the summer of 1030. In spite of this, clearly neither Tadatsune nor Naokata and his allies were able to inflict a decisive defeat on the other. By middle of 1029, the court was becoming impatient with Naokata’s lack of measurable progress-especially in light of the destruction in the provinces and the disruption to the flow of taxes and other revenues to the capital-and was considering replacing him. In 1030 they recalled him and replaced him with Minamoto Yorinobu.

Yorinobu’s appointment represented a fundamental shift in the court’s strategy for the campaign. Naokata was a personal rival to Tadatsune. And while his personal interest in Tadatsune’s downfall probably contributed to his enthusiasm for the fight, it also served to put Tadatsune’s back against the proverbial wall, making the conflict a matter of familial honor and leaving him no graceful way to negotiate with the government’s commander on the scene. His only option, then, other than a galling surrender to a hereditary enemy, was to stand fast, while attempting to maneuver around Naokata-over his head-through his patrons in the capital. When the court proved unreceptive to these overtures, and Naokata proved unable to crush Tadatsune militarily, the conflict settled into a seemingly interminable-and highly destructive-stalemate.

Yorinobu, on the other hand, seems to have established some sort of master-retainer relationship with Tadatsune a couple of decades earlier. By replacing Naokata with Yorinobu, then, the court was offering Tadatsune an honorable out-a means of negotiated surrender. By this time, Tadatsune was also tired of the fight and the stalemate. And so, recognizing this opportunity for what it was, Tadatsune unstrung his bow, and prepared to come to terms with the court. As it worked out, though, Tadatsune died (apparently of illness) en route to meet with Yorinobu to surrender.

In the aftermath, court opinion was deeply divided over whether Tadatsune’s sons Tsunemasa and Tsunechika should be run to ground, because they were technically still in rebellion, or simply left alone, as a matter of expedience. Eventually, the latter view prevailed. The court diplomatically concluded that Tsunemasa and Tsunechika had originally intended to surrender with their father, but that when Tadatsune died in route to the capital, they had become concerned about being put in prison, and thus becoming unable to perform the proper mourning rites for him, and, that the two deserved time to conduct these rituals, and let the matter drop.

Ironically, the exhausted condition of the provinces brought about by Tadatsune’s war-making-the very conditions that forced him to capitulate-served the interests of his descendents in the long run. They were a principal factor in the Council of State’s decision to let not-quite-sleeping dogs lie with respect to Tsunemasa and Tsunechika, which, along with its decision to return Tadatsune’s head to his followers rather than keep it on display, amounted to a kind of pardon for Tadatsune and his heirs. This in turn ensured that, unlike those of Masakado-whose rebellion ended with the virtual extinction of his line-the fortunes of Tadatsune’s family were not ended by his war. His sons remained powerful landholders in the Bōsō area, where their descendents resurfaced in the history books a century later, under the surname Chiba, as key players in the Gempei War (on Yoritomo’s side).

SA: As an educator, what do you feel have been some of your more impressive success stories? What do you find most gratifying about teaching? What sort of disappointments have you encountered? Do you see the movement in academia away from pre-modern Japanese studies towards modern studies reversing itself at some point?

KF: I do a lot of teaching, and a lot of different kinds of teaching-history, martial art, scuba and other things. What’s most rewarding, and what I enjoy most, is the process of helping people open new doors for themselves-exposing them to new worlds, new ideas, new ways of thinking, or helping them develop new skills.

My biggest career disappointment has been that, with the exception of my one year as visiting professor in Hawaii, I’ve never been able to teach as part of a team-to be part of a program. Here at UGA, I’m affiliated with what is for all practical purposes an American History department, and I’m the only faculty member on campus with an actual degree in Japanese studies, in any field. My role in the department boils down to teaching novelty courses that students take to fulfill the distribution requirements for courses in multiple geographic areas or courses on premodern history. I get no opportunities to work with graduate students and no chances to do advanced work even with undergraduates. We do get students seriously interested in Japan studies here, but we don’t have the program to support that interest. Ironically, I often find myself trying to persuade the students I’d most like to have in my classes that they should transfer to some other school, where their interests would be better served.

Sadly, I’m afraid that I’m not terribly optimistic about the future of medieval and classical studies in the US. The student interest-at least at the undergraduate level-is still there, but faculty support is minimal and fading. History departments are increasingly focused on modern history (at UGA 16 of a total of 34 full-time faculty work primarily on the 20th century-nine of them on the post WWII period-and seven more work in largely in the 19th century; a colleague admonished me a few years ago that “you’ll never get anywhere in this department unless you get past your obsession with premodern stuff”), and even area studies departments are losing ground to political and financial constituents who want to see more of themselves in the curriculum. Predicting is always a risky business, but I frankly don’t see any reason to expect any of that to change in near future.

SA: You’ve been featured on several television documentaries, particularly those on History Channel, that deal with the samurai. How does your approach to preparing for these shows differ from writing? Have you ever had a problem with something you’ve said being taken out of context, or cut together in a way that misrepresents your viewpoint?

KF: Dealing with TV people-and the media in general-is always fun, but it can be frustrating too. The problem is, of course, that they’re looking primarily for an entertaining story, and for a simple one, while history is mostly about complexities. When you’re doing interviews for TV and the media, you have to concentrate on being very brief-which, as you can probably tell from my answers to the questions above, I’m not very good at-and on sound bites. That’s always challenging, and can be a lot of fun.

The level of frustration involved depends largely on the producers and writers you’re working with. Most that I’ve dealt with are pretty earnest about wanting accuracy-albeit rarely at the expense of brevity or a good story line-and most really do listen to their experts. Some, however, have trouble understanding why historical interpretation changes over time and are reluctant to let go of outdated sources and ideas. And at least a couple have been addicted to erroneous information and just won’t let anyone change their minds about it. I’ve had one or two incidents where something I’ve said or something one of the other talking heads for a program said has been used to support exactly the opposite of the point I (or they) was (were) actually making. (Better not to go into specifics here . . . ) Quite a few of my colleagues refuse to do TV history programs for just this reason. But I operate on the better-to-light-a-single-candle principle. And besides, I’m a ham.

SA: What projects are you currently working on that we can expect to see in the foreseeable future? Have you considered writing any ‘family histories’ for clans such as the Taira or Hojo, or perhaps the early development of clans that were to achieve their greatest notoriety in the Sengoku (such as the Takeda or Shimazu)?

KF: I’m currently working on editing a textbook on premodern and early modern Japan that will be a collection of 30-some state-of-the art essays by 20-some authors-the best names in the field-so it should be quite something, when it all comes together. It's for Greenview, and will be called, "Japan Emerging: Introductory Essays on Premodern History." We're looking at a release date somewhere during late 2011. I’m also just getting into a new project on Minamoto Yoshitsune, which should be, like the First Samurai book, kind of a biography that showcases the period.

SA: Your books on warfare have been extremely influential on the current crop of historians specializing in military matters. What are some of the recent books and authors (either Western or Japanese) that you have found particularly enjoyable and informative? Whose work has made the greatest impact on you and helped develop your approach to history?

KF: My biggest influences were probably my two principal teachers, Jeff Mass and Cappy (G. Cameron) Hurst. But the field (premodern Japan) is small enough in English that I try to use and keep up with everything. In Japanese, I’ve found work by Amino Yoshihiko, Suzuki Masaya, Kawaii Yasushi, Kondō Yoshikazu, Fukuda Toyohiko, Hayashi Rokurō, Hodate Michuhisa, Yasuda Motohisa Fujimoto Masayuki, Gomi Fumihiko, Ishii Susumu, Sasama Yoshihiko, Seki Yukihiko, Noguchi Minoru, Shimomukai Tatsuhiko, Takahashi Masaaki, Toda Yoshimi, Uwayokote Masataka, and Takahashi Tomio particularly useful. I’ve also drawn a lot of help from work by Bernard Bachrach, Michael Waltzer, John Keegan, Otto Brunner, Kelly Devries, Michael Howard, James Turner Johnson, Stephen Morillo, Nagahara Keiji, Joseph Needham, Matthew Strickland, and others, in European military history.

SA: Thanks, Professor Friday, for your time and expertise. This has been a very illuminating discussion and we look forward to seeing those new books!

All of Professor Friday's books can be purchased on Amazon through the SA Store by clicking on the book titles in the article.

The Sweet Serenade Of The Cicada-Animeigo's "The Samurai I Loved"

2009-08-14T03:00:00.003-10:00

"The Samurai I Loved”, the newest DVD release from Animeigo, sounded at first like it would be a chick flick that featured Brick McBurly in the starring role. Judging from the list of awards (most notably several ‘Best Actor’ awards for ‘older Bunshiro’ actor Ichikawa Somegoro) and nominations (being nominated for 11 categories, including Best Film, by the Japanese Academy in 2006) the film received, however, this indicated that the movie would be far more than that-which turned out to be the case. It’s a first rate film with an engaging story, great performances, outstanding cinematography, and some more-realistic-than-usual swordplay for the chanbara fans out there. Released as “Semishigure” (“Outburst Of Cicadas”) in 2005, the film was based on a story by Fujisawa Shuhei. The name might be familiar-Shuhei was an outstanding writer of historical fiction and three of his films were turned into the so-called ‘Samurai Trilogy’ by director Yamada Yoji-“Twilight Samurai”, “The Hidden Blade”, and “Love and Honor”. The director was different for this film (Kurotsuchi Mitsuo), but the results were similar-a film with heart and feeling that is much more realistic than the average jidai-geki effort, and that does a fine job humanizing the often-glorified image of the samurai.

The film begins with young samurai Maki Bunshiro taking his morning trip to the stream behind his house to wash up. There he meets his new neighbor, Fuku. Fuku is almost immediately afterwards bitten on the finger by a snake. Although the snake is relatively harmless, Bunshiro sucks the venom from her finger just to be safe. Fuku becomes enamored of the older Bunshiro, who of course being a young boy is oblivious to this fact. This is followed up by establishing Bunshiro’s relationships with his two best friends, Ippei and the more scholarly Yonosuke. Much of Bunshiro’s and Ippei’s time is spent helping out Yonosuke when he’s assaulted by bullies, and indeed it’s this very thing that interrupts Fuku’s first hesitant attempts to convey her affection for Bunshiro when the two attend a village festival together.

Bunshiro’s father, Sukezaemon, is a member of the Fushingumi-a group of samurai, farmers, and townspeople that work on civil engineering projects. He’s quite popular among the commoners for his compassion, having at one point saved many of their farms from destruction by refusing to take the easy way out during a flood (by not destroying a dyke to divert the water flow near their homes-he instead does it in a remote but riskier location where he ends up saving Bunshiro from being swept away by the flood). However, this counts for nothing when Sukezaemon finds himself on the losing side during a power struggle in the fictional fief of Unasaka. Sukezaemon is sentenced to commit seppuku, and in an awkward meeting with his son, tells him that he has no regrets-that he has done what he saw as being right. Afterwards, Bunshiro is filled with regret that he was unable to put into words all that he had wanted to say to his father. During the hottest day of the summer (with the cicadas in full shrill), Bunshiro is forced to recover his father’s body in broad daylight and is humiliated by having to transport it in full view of the crowds in the village. Even worse, the exhausted Bunshiro finds himself unable to drag the cart up a steep hill near the end of his journey. Despite being forbidden to see Bunshiro again (as his family is now branded as traitors), Fuku comes across him and wastes no time in lending her aid. Together, the pair manages to make it to the top of the hill-and the bond between them is cemented for good.

Bunshiro and his mother are sent by the han officials to live in a rundown house in the city where he and Fuku are separated-and soon, the girl is sent to Edo to become a maid for the Lord. When Bunshiro is summoned to the home of Chief Retainer Sanai Satomura (the man who headed the winning faction in the power struggle and had Sukezaemon put to death), he fears the worst-seppuku for himself and the abolishment of the Maki family. Instead, he is reinstated and given a position as a village inspector. Now an adult, he settles into his new position. Being skilled with the sword, he takes part in sword competitions. During one of these he is soundly defeated by one Inukai Hyoma and his seemingly supernatural 'sword of madness' technique, which puts Hyoma in every position but where his opponent believes he is. Returning home, Bunshiro is reunited with Yonosuke, who brings disturbing news-Bunshiro’s childhood friend Fuku is now the concubine of the han’s Lord, and has borne his child. However, there’s a problem-a competing faction doesn’t want her son to be considered as a possible heir to the current Lord, and is looking to have her and her son killed. Fuku has been moved to a remote village and is being guarded by several of the Lord’s retainers.

One day Bunshiro is summoned to Satomura's home and is ordered by him to go to Fuku’s retreat and take custody of the child. This puts Bunshiro in the position of having to rebel against the man who had his family reinstated, or to do the wrong thing and kidnap the son of his childhood sweetheart (who he still has strong feelings for). It’s the classic ‘duty’ vs. ‘self’ conflict that drives many samurai films, but rarely realized so elegantly. Bunshiro resolves to take a route that will fulfill his obligations to both and not fall into Satomura's trap. He sets forth with his friends Ippei and Yonosuke to put his plan into action. What follows provides plenty of excitement, suspense, and enough swordplay to satisfy any chanbara head. Bunshiro probably sets a record for most swords used up during a single scene, as he discards one after another as they lose their edge to clotted blood (choosing from a forest of swords he had earlier planted in tatami mats). And the story wouldn't be complete if he didn't face Inukai Hyoma and his 'sword of madness'-this time for real. As in any Japanese film, a happy ending is not a given-will both Fuku and her son survive? How about Bunshiro? Will Satomura pay for his crimes against the Maki? Do the childhood sweethearts pick up where they left off? The answers are surprising and are best experienced for yourself, so we won’t divulge them here.

We found the cinematography to be exceptional in this movie, with many shots that are masterpieces of composition. While the film moves slowly compared to most Western films (a feature it shares with many Japanese movies), this helps to give a sense of the passage of time within the story and convey a unique Japanese ascetic. The shots of the changing seasons with snow, cherry blossoms, and the omnipresent cicadas heralding the heat of summer do much the same thing. There’s a lot of symbolism, as in the close-up of a dead cicada shadowing Sukezaemon’s seppuku. It all provides a beautiful background for the story to play out against. As evidenced by Ichikawa’s “Best Actor” awards, the performances are excellent from top to bottom. The film’s story lends itself to an emotional response from the audience, always creating the danger of lapsing into melodrama. However, the actors do a masterful job of showing emotion in a low key and understated (yet completely sincere and convincing) way. Fuku’s and Bunshiro’s conversation near the end of the film will be felt in the hearts of anyone who has ‘let someone get away’. The film is, in effect, being played by two sets of actors-a younger cast for the childhood versions in the film’s first hour and an older cast for the adult versions in the last half. Both sets are outstanding and the transition is quite seamless (except when not meant to be, as in Fuku’s transition from ‘maid’ to ‘maiden’). As with most Japanese movies, the ending is realistic and bittersweet. About the only thing that didn’t ring true was Bunshiro’s final confrontation with Satomura-while we don’t want to spoil what delivers admittedly substantial dramatic impact, it’s tough to imagine things actually playing out that way. Animeigo again provides an excellent translation and the best subtitling in the business, and both sound and picture transfer are outstanding.

Extras for the DVD comprise the standard Animeigo lineup, headed up by the program notes. Since the story is largely fictional, these tend to explain much of the symbolism in the film (including what the original title of Semishigure would mean to a Japanese audience) and why certain things were put in the film that weren’t in the book. There’s much more culture than history this time around and even a bit of a biology lesson on the snake that bites Fuku early in the film. There are several different trailers for the film, a cast and crew bio section, a very large image gallery that probably includes all of the images on the film’s electronic press kit, and a trailer for Ashura (which also featured the star of “The Samurai I Loved”, Ichikawa Somegoro). There’s also a subtitled interview with director Kurotsuchi. If you’re familiar with the promo interviews Japanese directors (and for that matter, actors) usually give you’ll know what to expect-Kurotsuchi gushes over his great cast, great locations, great crew, great script, but says very little of substance. All in all, the extras do an adequate job of providing background for the film.

It’s a shame that a fine film like “The Samurai I Loved” has such a clichéd and “B-Movie” title. It’s well known in the publishing and video industries that including the word ‘samurai’ in a title for a Western release is something pushed for by marketing bigwigs, but in this case I think Animeigo had little to do with that decision and that it was decreed by the licensor. In any case, the men in the audience shouldn’t let the title scare them away-and at the same time, it’s a great film to watch with your significant other. My wife Ayame was visiting from Japan and we watched it together. She was extremely touched and cried throughout the whole movie. Similarly, it’s a good film to show your skeptical friends who don’t understand your fascination with jidai-geki rather than the crap showing at the local multiplex. It’s your chance to take the artistic high ground! While it’s lighter on action than a standard chanbara film, when the fighting comes, it’s intense, well staged, and brutal-and made all the more dramatic by the feelings most viewers will have invested in the characters by that time. “The Samurai I Loved” gets our highest recommendation-the song of the cicadas has never sounded as good.

"The Samurai I Loved" is available directly from Animeigo or from Amazon through the SA Store.

Book Review: Warring Clans, Flashing Blades

2009-08-08T00:58:00.004-10:00

A number of years ago, while killing time in an airport bookstore, I stumbled across Stray Dogs & Lone Wolves: The Samurai Film Handbook. Or should I say the book sought me out and invited me to go on a fun-filled journey through the realm of samurai cinema. It wasn’t hard to convince me to go along for the ride. After all, I am a huge fan of this genre and after less than a minute of thumbing through the book, I was hooked and let myself be guided through some of the most entertaining Japanese films ever made. This book was truly a fun read, and with each new review that I devoured, I realized that I had found the perfect person to watch samurai films with in the form of the author, Patrick Galloway. I don’t mean that I’ve actually watched a film together with Pat, but I immediately liked what Pat had to say and loved his writing style. It wasn’t stuffy, condescending or academically dull. Pat writes about samurai period piece films in a natural way, just like you would talk to a good friend about a movie. And when deciding on whether or not to see a particular film, we often tend to rely on the advice and opinions of friends, yes? Well, that’s exactly what Pat Galloway’s book became—a surrogate friend that helped open the doors to new aspects of Japanese cinema that I was unaware of as well as introduced me to some very good films that I probably never would have known about if it wasn’t for this book. SD&LW quickly became my samurai film “buddy” and no doubt, for many others, too.

So as I consider SD&LW a “buddy” book, I wasn’t very surprised to see that Pat Galloway’s samurai film follow up, Warring Clans, Flashing Blades is appropriately subtitled as a “Samurai Film Companion”. This is exactly what the author Pat Galloway is—a companion who has once again returned in book form to take his readers through another fun-filled tour of chambara action, suspense and compelling jidai-geki (period piece) drama and intrigue. The beautiful thing about Pat’s two books covering samurai cinema is how easily he guides readers along the path of true chambara enlightenment. Warring Clans, Flashing Blades, like its predecessor, emphasizes the element of fun as well as the entertainment value of these films while managing to teach something about the history, culture, actors and filmmakers in a way that that is witty, to the point, and tastefully done. This is a book aimed at everyone, written by a person who clearly has a love for the genre and wants to share his enthusiasm with his readers. And Pat’s enthusiasm really is contagious. Amazon.com and a couple of other vendors scored some big DVD orders off of me after the release of SD&LW and I’ll willingly admit that I am now over US$150 poorer after ordering more samurai DVDs from Amazon.com since receiving Warring Clans, Flashing Blades. I’m blaming it on Pat Galloway!

And he really does deserve the blame. It’s his fault for writing about 40 or so captivating full-length reviews and another 20 capsule reviews of very interesting movies in a way that made me want to add some of these films to my already hefty collection of jidai-geki. And truthfully (ok, the truth finally comes out), I don’t feel so bad about spending the money on the movies because I know they will be good choices, providing hours of entertainment. Pat’s opinions and mine hardly ever diverge on what we like or dislike when it comes to samurai cinema, so I trust his reviews implicitly.

I really don’t have anything bad to say about the contents of this book. Sure, I can scrutinize historical commentary and how ‘reel’ history is portrayed in many of the films Pat reviews, but what is the point? There really isn’t one except for very important thing to keep in mind. This book is meant to be fun and is the result of Pat’s unabashed enthusiasm for the samurai film genre. Fun and historical realism often don’t mesh, particularly in samurai films, just as they don’t in American Westerns. The emphasis of these films is on entertainment and Warring Clans, Flashing Bladesdoes a mighty fine job of highlighting their entertainment value. Pat simply manages to always keep it in that perspective, which is something that would be hard for me, as I tend to occasionally take real Japanese history a little too seriously and can get very nitpicky when reading history books or when watching a film that is said to be historically accurate. Again, Pat keeps it all fun and fresh, and this, in my opinion, is what makes his books on samurai films stand out from the rest.
So, if you are looking for the perfect companion to guide you through the world of samurai cinema, then you want Pat Galloway. But as Pat can’t be with you in front of your TV and DVD player, go and get the next best thing—his newest book, Warring Clans, Flashing Blades. You won’t be disappointed.

Moe Yo Hirugohan 燃えよ昼ご飯

2009-08-01T22:14:00.010-10:00

(Burn My Lunch)

This is a review of the Ikedaya restaurant in Kyoto, Japan. But before I get on with the review, let me explain a little about the Ikedaya’s background. For those of you who don’t know, the Ikedaya used to be an old inn and was the site of a bloody incident involving the Shogunate’s special security unit, the Shinsengumi and pro-imperial radicals on July 8, 1864. Within the walls of the Ikedaya, radicals, called shishi, who were mainly from the domain of Chōshū, came up with a plan to set fires in Kyoto and cause a lot of mayhem aimed at bruising the credibility of the Shogunate. The Shinsengumi got wind of the plot and proceeded to surround the Ikedaya while the shishi were gathered there and apparently in their cups. All hell broke loose as a group of the Shinsengumi, lead by its senior commander, Kondō Isami, stormed the place. Steel met steel, flesh and bone and without exaggerating, the Shinsengumi kicked some serious shishi butt. The Shinsengumi probably saved the entire city from going under the torch, although as much as 1/3 of the city would burn as a result of the fires set during the fighting between Chōshū and pro-Bakufu forces that started at the Imperial Palace’s Hamaguri Gate.

As time went by and the Ikedaya incident grew stronger in legend, the building eventually fell into disrepair. The site eventually gave rise to an ugly 3-story pachinko parlor that closed early in 2009. It was announced that an izakaya (Japanese style pub and restaurant) chain was going to buy the property and turn it into a historically-themed place to eat and drink. As those who know me can attest to, I am a Bakumatsu period history nut and was really happy to hear this. So, when If found myself in Kyoto for the Gion Matsuri on July 16-17, 2009, I just *had* to go there for lunch, once I had discovered that the new Ikedaya had just opened.

As I strolled up to the building, I was greeted by restaurant staff, trying to hook people in, announcing the lunch specials and that the restaurant was now open. It was hard not to chuckle as all he staff were dressed in Shinsengumi uniform-style hapi (short coats). I saw they had a sushi + cold udon (rice flour noodle) set as a lunch special, and was ushered in. Before I could adjust my eyes to the surroundings, I found myself being ushered up the stairs to the second floor. I wondered what Okita Soji must have felt as he led the assault on the shishi in the second floor. My thoughts about what must have been going through his head quickly changed to a “WTF” moment, as I myself was visually assaulted by a ridiculous looking manga mural of the Shinsengumi. So much for authentic realism. I then arrived at the second floor. As I came off the staircase onto the landing, I saw a raised area on tatami mats containing replica old looking furniture and other items. It seemed like a weird combination of things that made no practical sense. Turning my head back in the direction that my feet were travelling, in pursuit of the staff member who was trying to guide me to my table, I was assaulted yet again by the ridiculous as I came to the entranceway of where the tables are located. “Cheese Meets Wabisabi”, where the words that went through my mind. “What have they done to this place,” I silently bemoaned. The colors, strange manga versions of historical figures, oh, it was hurting my eyes!

After a few second eternity, I finally made it to my table and began to pour over the menu. I have to admit, some of the things on the regular dinner menu looked all right, after all, this place is an izakaya. But never-the-less, I pretty much decided on the sushi and cold udon set, and that is what I ordered. While waiting for the food to arrive, I chugged glass after glass of cold barley tea, called mugi cha, as I was hot and a little dehydrated from standing outside for more than 3.5 hours in the humid steam cooker that Kyoto becomes in summer in order to watch the Gion Matsuri parade. My mind kept also trying to get around the 'cheese factor' that the owners had introduced to this solemn place, however, I reasoned to myself that if the food is good, I could forgive the tackiness of the place and maybe commit myself to coming back for an evening excursion at some point in the future. But before I could get lost in any deep thoughts and future plans, the food arrived.

As I snapped some photos of my meal, I realized that the sushi didn’t look so hot. Now don’t get me wrong. I am a foodie and consider myself a connoisseur of good sushi and know sushi is not supposed to be served hot. What I mean, is that it didn’t look all that great. My first taste confirmed what I suspected. Sure, it was edible, but not very good. Kind of like what one would find at a fast-food, conveyer-belt sushi chain outside of Japan, or what you’d get at a shopping mall’s food court. Worst of all, was the anago (sea eel). It was so soft and mushy, I nearly had to spit it out. Yuck!! I then set upon my udon, which was fine. You can’t really massacre cold noodles. I found myself slurping my noodles faster than usual, though, as I realized that I probably wanted to get out of the Ikedaya worse than a trapped Chōshū shishi the night the Shinsengumi crashed their party. As soon as I put my noodles down, I grabbed my backpack, camera and took a few more photos before I descended the “staircase of destiny” to pay my bill. I was happy to leave the Ikedaya. I really was.

A few minutes after I left the place, I called up the Samurai Archives’ Shogun, Kitsuno, to relay my Ikedaya experience as I aimlessly wandered around the the Pontochō geisha district in a light on and off drizzle. I remember musing on the phone that I probably should have steered away from ordering sushi in an izakaya chain-store restaurant and in Kyoto of all places. I suppose I should mention that while Kyoto is known for exquisite cuisine (and I am not referring to pizza-man from convenience stores), the city isn’t exactly famous for having good sushi. Kitsuno listened to my ramblings and told me that I should blog about my experience, so here I am, doing exactly that!

Now to sum things up, I wasn’t happy with the Ikedaya, from both a historical and epicurean experience. I found the place tacky and my lunch equally disappointing. I do suspect that some of the evening fare is better than the sushi, and besides, they have a large selection of alcohol to numb one’s taste buds. If you are a Bakumatsu history junkie and have to see this place for yourself, go ahead! Just don’t order sushi! As for myself, I don’t have a burning ambition to return to this place. But like the name of the famous fictional book about the Shinsengumi called Moe Yo Ken (Burn My Sword) by Shiba Ryōtarō, I felt an urge to burn my lunch!

A few more pictures from the Ikedaya and a variety of photos from Kyoto and other historical places in Japan can be found on my flickr website at http://www.flickr.com/photos/rekishinotabi

The Reawakening Of "Sleepy Eyes Of Death"

2009-07-19T00:32:00.010-10:00

Years ago, I remember buying my first film on VHS from Animeigo/Samurai Cinema-I believe it was Mifune’s “Samurai Banners”. After the film finished, there were three previews for other samurai-related films released by Animeigo. These were three of the most outrageous and violent films that my burgeoning interest in jidaigeki had seen-the first was a “Lone Wolf And Cub” film and the second featured what’s still one of my favorite action sequences from the “Hanzo The Razor” series (where assassins break into Hanzo’s booby-trapped house while he’s lounging in his bathtub with a Buddhist nun). The third showcased a badass samurai who effortlessly dispatched a dozen ninja or so before polishing off their leader with something he called the “Full Moon Cut”. I have a feeling this set of three previews (which ran with almost all of Animeigo’s releases) achieved a certain status of their own with fans of the genre, and in my case told me that Samurai Cinema was run by my kind of people. I was more than a little disappointed when I found out that only the Lone Wolf films were still available and the other two were nigh on impossible to find and outrageously pricy when you did. Still, I managed to put together the Hanzo trilogy with two VHS’s and a Laser Disc, but the other series-“Sleepy Eyes of Death”-proved to be much harder. It took years to find five of the six releases on original VHS, and I never did run across a copy of the sixth. Thankfully, Animeigo reacquired the license and has re-released the first four films in the “Sleepy Eyes of Death/Nemuri Kyoshiro” series in a well done DVD boxed set.

“Sleepy Eyes” star Ishikawa Raizo packed a lot of films into a relatively short career before his untimely death at the age of 37, and most fans of jidaigeki agree that his signature character was Nemuri Kyoshiro, “Son of the Black Mass”-the bitter half-breed ronin and master of the Full Moon Cut. Based on a series of novels by Shibata Renzaburo, the series was to span 14 films (the last two featuring a new actor who took over after Ishikawa’s death) and became increasingly bizarre, bloody, and violent as it went.

The four discs in the set (originally released in 1963 and 1964) are as follows:

“The Chinese Jade”-the first entry in the series is based on actual history involving an infamous merchant/smuggler in the Maeda domain of Kaga, one Zeniya Gohei. Here, Zeniya has been executed by Lord Maeda in order to cover up the clan's involvement in a profitable smuggling ring-and to confiscate Zeniya’s gold in the process. However, as luck would have it, Zeniya’s not quite dead yet-and both he and Maeda vie to recruit master swordsman Nemuri Kyoshiro. Up for grabs is the Chinese Jade, a statue hidden by Zeniya that contains a document that would spell doom for the Maeda clan were it to find its way into the hands of the Shogunate. Very little of Kyoshiro’s background is examined here, aside from a short segment involving his training. It seems the film is trying to set Kyoshiro up as an avenger of the common man and a noble ronin, complete with a support group of thieves, yakuza, and his sensei (all of whom were dropped after this film). Cast notables include Wakiyama Tomisaburo as Zeniya’s monkish enforcer, Chen Sun, and Date Saburo (who appears in three of the four of the films in the set as different characters) as Zeniya. While the film features excellent swordplay, plenty of dying ninja, gorgeous gals, an involving story, and Raizo’s cool yet intense performance, it has been criticized for humanizing the ‘nihilistic’ Kyoshiro too much, particularly the ending. We disagree-having always seen Kyoshiro as an idealist at heart, and like most idealists he becomes increasingly bitter, skeptical, and resentful as the majority of the people he runs across fall short of his expectations. It’s interesting to follow the progress of this characterization through the series as Kyoshiro becomes more and more hardened, raping innocents, and eventually killing people with no provocation-even unarmed women. Through it all, the spark of idealism still remains-there are moments in most of his films where a good and decent person will bring a moment of joy to him, or give him a reason to fight for them. This inner conflict gives expression to some of the cooler lines uttered in jidaigeki flicks, including my personal favorite from part nine: “The last person he saw in this world was me. What an unlucky man he was”.

“Sword of Adventure” introduces a theme that will run throughout much of the series-the spoiled bastard children of Shogun Ienari. The plot involves the efforts of the Shogunate’s elderly finance minister, Asahina Iori, to reform the currency system and put a stop to the elaborate expenditures of the Shogun’s court (this, too, is based on actual history). Naturally, he falls afoul of the corrupt ministers who have been profiting all along-but his biggest enemy turns out to be Princess Taka, whose huge annual stipend has been cut through Asahina’s action. Kyoshiro takes a liking to the old man and becomes his defacto bodyguard. Before the final resolution there are deceitful women, poison, ambushes, a rigged duel with a foe who might be Kyoshiro’s superior, and five master swordsmen he must overcome. We actually found old man Iori to be much more entertaining to watch than Kyoshiro, and the developing friendship between the two engaging.

“Full Circle Killing” introduces another of Ienari’s bastards, Katagiri Takayuki, whose supporters and mother have been killing off the Shogun’s legitimate heirs in order to leave him in position to inherit the Shogunate. Katagiri is a violent psycho who has been installed with a twisted version of Bushido by his mother-he enjoys testing out his collection of rare swords by killing peasants in a slum on the outskirts of Edo. Kyoshiro becomes involved when he wanders by the scene of one of the slayings, and further drawn in when Katagiri covets his exquisite Musou Masamune blade. Between protecting the villagers, keeping them from implementing their own ineffectual plans for revenge, and retaining the Musou Masamune, Kyoshiro has his hands full. An interesting moment here is when Kyoshiro explains the style of the Full Moon Cut, ending with the familiar boast that “…no opponent has ever lived to see the circle completed”.

The last film in the set, "Sword of Seduction", takes the series to new extremes-both storywise and in a visual sense. Kyoshiro is approached by a Christian on the run and beseeched to guard their saint, "The Virgin Shima" (who may or may not have familial ties to Kyoshiro). While Kyoshiro refuses, he goes to the man's aid after he is captured and being prepared for crucifixion. The Christian's sister has won his freedom (by 'converting' a Western missionary to Buddhism by seducing him), but not only has the Shogunate not honored their promise to free him but the depraved and disfigured Princess Kiku (another of Shogun Ienari's bastards) has arranged for her to be gang raped in front of her brother at the execution grounds. While Kyoshiro is unable to save the two, he manages to disrupt Kiku's 'entertainment' and send her scurrying back to Edo castle. Kyoshiro sets out to find the Virgin Shima, and while on the road faces an incredible series of ambushes, seductions, ninja assaults, and betrayals. Some of the most impressive set pieces to be found in the series are on display, and after further humiliating Princess Kiku (destroying her without killing her), Kyoshiro finds the Virgin Shima and confronts the group of opium smugglers that have been working with Kiku-including his monkish nemesis from part one, Chen Sun. After this final battle, Kyoshiro learns the truth behind the circumstances of his birth-a revelation that was to have a major influence on the further films in the series. This film not only has a glorious progression of well thought out action scenes, but also some of the more impressive "WTF?" moments in the Nemuri saga. One of these would be Chen Sun breaking off the ending battle to jump overboard for no reason in particular. Perhaps the most impressive one, however, occurs when the Western missionary has been released from prison after having been 'converted' to Buddhism. Kyoshiro comes galloping into the frame astride a horse and brandishing a sword, screams out "Go to Hell!", and sends the fallen Christian's head rolling (many critics seem to think that this was Kyoshiro's father-however, the evidence within the film points to this not being the case, not to mention the two are played by different actors). Perhaps the most impressive innovation is how the "Full Moon Cut" is now filmed in time lapse photography-adding a new dimension to its alleged hypnotic effect and giving it a supernatural feel. This film is a turning point in the series-it is from here that Kyoshiro's dark side really begins to take hold, and the succeeding films were to become increasingly violent and twisted. While Kyoshiro claims in the final Raizo installment (part 12, Castle Menagerie) that he has never killed someone who has not attacked him first, he seems to conveniently forget his victims such as the aforementioned missionary and an unarmed nun he slaughters at the end of the film.

All four of the films in the set are winners, and get stronger with each installment. They all feature the excellent set design and costuming that one sees in virtually every jidaigeki film of the 60's, along with solid cinematography and soundtracks. The casts are loaded with chambara veterans from Daei studios and packed with starlets to boot. Having all four in the same package makes for interesting viewing as one follows the progression of Kyoshiro's character-from a rather normal 'justice seeking noble ronin' in part one to the heartless killer of part four. It's rare to see a chambara hero that goes from shouting at the heavens over the loss of the one precious thing in life (when Chisa is killed at the end of part one) to proclaiming that women are nothing more than sex objects. Likewise, he has little sense of duty or obligation-rare in a genre where the conflict of duty versus self comprise the engine that runs many plots. Unarmed missionaries and nuns fall to his blade and innocent women are raped by him. Kyoshiro was the forebearer of the even more extreme antiheroes of the 70's in the "Lone Wolf" and "Hanzo the Razor" films.

Animeigo's packaging for the box set is striking with a black and white image of Kyoshiro in the middle of performing the Full Moon Cut set against a blood red background. The four discs are arranged in a gatefold sleeve decorated with images from the series with a booklet taking up one section of the sleeve. As for the DVD’s, the color and picture quality are sharp and the soundtracks have no audible hissing or popping. Subtitling is excellent and the translation is good-although one of my favorite lines, the infamous “I love you, man!” from part III was changed for the current release.

Each disc contains various extras that not only feature production stills, trailers, and cast/crew bios but also help explain the intricacies of Japanese culture and history as portrayed in the films. There’s much less history to be explained in the Sleepy Eyes series than in, say, the Shinobi No Mono films, so the program notes focus on Japanese culture. The presentation is largely accurate with a few typos and minor errors (such as stating that Kawanakajima is located in Echigo province). Each one of the discs has an interactive map spotlighting the locations used or talked about in the film along with more historical notes. Ric Meyers provides a commentary on the first disc that covers the first four films as a whole and is joined by author/martial artist Jeff Rovin. Meyers was responsible for one of the worst film commentary tracks we’ve heard on Animeigo’s Shinobi No Mono 2 disc, but here (and also on the commentary he provided for the “Shogun Assassin” boxed set) he’s actually quite good. Sticking to movie trivia and cinema history, he provides quite a bit of useful information on the stars, the studios, and the film series as a whole. And even though he STILL mangles the Japanese language, he’s at least getting better in this regard too. Hey, he’s trying! There are color and b/w stills for each film in the series and cast/crew bios unique and specific for each (rather than just running Raizo’s bio for every one). Each disc has five trailers-usually for the current and next films in the Nemuri series, one for a Shinobi No Mono entry, and two other Animeigo releases that the director of the current film also helmed. One of the discs even shows a gallery of the packaging Animeigo used for their ‘Sleepy Eyes’ VHS and Laserdisc releases. There’s also a booklet included that gives a general outline of the series, some background on the Edo period, and a history of Christianity in Japan during this time. Finishing it out are a couple of reviews taken from Pat Galloway’s “Stray Dogs and Lone Wolves” along with some other cast and crew information including Raizo.

Whether you’re replacing those worn-out VHS copies or taking your first steps into the Nemuri Kyoshiro saga, this DVD set fits the bill perfectly. Hopefully Animeigo will be releasing the next four films (that have recently been remastered in Japan) at some point. No samurai film collection is complete without the “Sleepy Eyes” films, so get the set now-before it goes the way of those ninja in that long-ago trailer…

You can get the Sleepy Eyes of Death Vol. I Box Set (the first four films) directly from Animeigo here or from Amazon through the SA Store here.

Review: Khubilai Khan's Lost Fleet

2009-07-07T04:03:00.005-10:00

Review of James P. Delgado's Khubilai Khan's Lost Fleet: In Search of a Legendary Armada

In the late 13th century, one of the largest empires the world has ever seen directed its not inconsiderable attention to the island nation of Japan. Twice, Khubilai sent ships from the mainland carrying his soldiers to the shores of Japan, and twice they failed to add Japan to the Khan's empire. These conflicts would be revived when Japan once again faced the possibility of foreign invasion: both in the waning years of the Tokugawa bakufu and in the latter campaigns of World War II.

So where is the evidence of these two massive fleets? Perhaps the most compelling evidence has come, not from the famous Hakata bay, but the island of Takashima. Marine archaeologist James Delgado attempts to shine some light onto the latest research being performed, while also taking readers through the backstory of the assault itself.

Delgado opens with perhaps the most common images of the Mongol Invasions in English: the kamikaze. He then explores the history of the Mongol empire, including the situation on the mainland in the latter half of the 13th century. For both invasions, he provides maps of the routes, indicating the various naval engagements. The tale Delgado weaves around these events is infused with an emotional characteristic not usually evident in a strictly historical monograph. This quality may be due to the book having evolved from his work for National Geographic's series The Sea Hunters.

This, however, is as much about the history as generating interest in the archaeology. Delgado's account of the progress of the underwater dig around Takashima, and his hopefulness for the future, are compelling.

Delgado's forte is maritime archaeology and history, and this shows. His coverage of Japan is perhaps less in depth than serious readers might want, but he makes up for this with a broad look at Asian history in general, connecting events on the mainland with the invasions. He shows how the initial assault, even though it was repulsed, would have disrupted trade between Japan and their allies in the Southern Song dynasty; this may have been one of Khubilai's goals for the invasion in the first place. Following the second invasion, Delgado briefly looks at the Yuan dynasty's other failed maritime ventures against Vietnam and Srivijaya, which truly marked the end of the Mongols' attempts to take over the Southern Song's position as a naval power in East Asia.

If there were any main criticism of the book, it is the lack of actual archaeological finds. While much talk is directed at the research and its importance, the fruits of most of the labor will need to be found elsewhere. He does point out the remains (including armor) of one of the Mongol soldiers, and describes the contents of the "tetsuhau", or Mongol ceramic bombs. A series of photographs in the center provide further teasing glimpses of what appears to be a treasure trove of historical evidence. Fortunately for the serious student, Delgado provides an extensive list of references, including web links to the reports and recent scholarship which may provide enlightening.

Delgado does a terrific job of exposing the organizations and individuals behind the research, such as KOSUWA, ARIUA, Mozai Torao, Hayashida Kenzo, and Randall James "Randy" Sasaki, whose work has helped and continues to help expose these ages old relics to modern scholarship. Delgado's own part in all of this also comes through, adding a personal quality to his descriptions of the site that could not be acquired merely by reading books.

All in all, this book is a wonderful look at the famous Mongolian fleets, providing an intriguing read for both the novice and experienced scholar. I would definitely recommend it to anyone interested in the Mongol invasions.

For this and other interesting titles, check out the Samurai-Archives Bookstore, hosted by Amazon.

State of War: The Violent Order of Fourteenth-Century Japan

2009-06-21T22:33:00.005-10:00

This review should have been up about a month ago! Sorry folks! -JB

For anyone who has been reading the Samurai Archives forums for the past six months has likely seen or heard of Dr. Thomas Conlan. In recent years, this credited academic has brought his not inconsiderable talents to bear in the area of samurai and military history, a subject that is too often dismissed in serious academic circles.

My first introduction to Dr. Conlan's work came in the form of his monograph on the Mongol invasions, In Little Need of Divine Intervention, and taking his studies into the 14th century is a logical extension of that research. It is an area that is all too often overlooked, with most popular books focusing on either the Gempei Wars of the late 12th century or the exciting turbulence of the Sengoku period and the late 16th century; however, this leaves a large field between the two relatively untouched, except in the more scholarly journals.

Dr. Conlan's greatest asset is his ability to bring serious academic research and make it accessible to the armchair enthusiast. The well-organized and clear narrative is accompanied by stats and charts for those interested in a more detailed analysis. Furthermore, Dr. Conlan approaches the subject with a refreshing pragmatism, eschewing the popular mythology and legend that tends to cloud many popular works on the subject of pre-modern Japanese warriors.

The books starts off with a contemporary account of one of the warriors of the early 14th century, Nomoto Tomoyuki. Through records of the deeds performed by this warrior, written up as a petition for rewards by his son and preserved in the family records of the Kumagai down to the present day. This chapter uses Tomoyuki's escapades as a focus for a look at what it was like for warriors on the campaign. He draws particular attention to the bureaucracy involved; the need to have evidence in order to gain rewards for service in battle led the now well-documented instances of warriors who might show up for a battle and leave after taking only a single head, or even right after they were recorded as being in the camp!

This narrative, given at the ground level, as it were, is supplemented in the second chapter by a statistical analysis of 14th century warfare that provides a framework for describing the techniques and tactics employed by the armies of the time. Documentary evidence of wounds, usually recorded in the petitions, are drawn out in excruciating detail. In one appendix to the chapter (which is placed immediately following the chapter, vice at the end of the book), he provides numbers for all the documented deaths and wounds from 1333 to 1394, as well as listing the number of documents known to have been submitted in each year.

Other chapters detail the backbone of war, and how it was waged: supply lines, social and financial ramifications, religious influences, and legitimation. The make-up of the military, as well as how loyalties functioned within the first century of the Ashikaga shogunate, were quite interesting. He discusses the positions of retainers (wakatō) and the bakufu's housemen (gokennin), and their contributions to 14th century warfare. There is a lot of ground covered here, and I was really quite pleased with all of it.

However, buried within my praise, I must also acknowledge several things that let me down, especially in an otherwise enthralling work. First off, Dr. Conlan should have a word with his editor. There were many misspellings and grammatical mistakes that should never have made it to print (e.g. Nanbukucho v. Nanbokucho), especially in a book released by an academic institution focusing on Japanese studies. These are the sorts of things that are easy to miss when writing a book covering so much ground, but should also have been easy for a proofreader to pick up and mark for editing.

There were also some stylistic choices I can't say I agree with. References to figures are written as double references (e.g. "See figures 9 = pl. 7 and 10"), which were rather cryptic; the color plates didn't show up until near the end of the book, but before the final conclusion, their placement not making much sense. Dr. Conlan also appears to be overly enamored of the square bracket, leading to such sentences in his translation as: "[Nobutsune?] cut down one horseman wearing dyed and patterned [kōketsu] armor [hitatare]." This leads to confusion over whether a parenthetical is an assumed oversight in the original or if it is an explanation; e.g. if one does not already have a grasp of Japanese armor and clothing, one might assume that "hitatare" refers to a type of armor, rather than the original refering to a yoroi hitatare.

For someone who is interested in the precise terms, however, this flaw can often be a virtue. Many words that most modern authors would eschew from translating, or else provide only in the original Japanese, are given both in English and with a translation. Though at times tedious, unnecessarily breaking up the flow of the text, there are other times when it will be found a boon by the highly detail oriented amongst us.

It should be noted, that despite my objections, the style and grammar have little to do with the actual content, which is tremendous. The account, in the first chapter, of Nomoto Tomoyuki's service is an excellent exemplar of the type of service rendered by the average warrior during the 14th century. The statistics, gathered mostly in chapter two, contribute to the overall picture of violence in the 14th century. Further chapters elluminate such subjects as the role of violence in the social order. Dr. Conlan provides his audience with a compendium of modern scholarship on the issue. All of this helps to make this an eminently worthwhile book, and one that should be on the shelf of anyone seriously studying the history of warfare in Japan.

And for those looking for more, Dr. Conlan told SA during his interview that he was planning to expand the chapter on religion and war into his next monograph--so keep your eyes peeled.

For this, and other must-read books on Japanese history, check out the Samurai Archives Bookstore, hosted by Amazon.

Interview with Historian and Author Constantine Vaporis

2009-06-04T05:17:00.003-10:00

On behalf of the Samurai Archives, I’m pleased to be interviewing author and historian Professor Constantine Vaporis. Professor Vaporis, who received a PhD from Princeton, currently teaches Japanese and East Asian History at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC). A noted scholar, Professor Vaporis has been the recipient of research grants in the field of Japanese history from the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH), the Fulbright Program and the Japan Foundation. Professor Vaporis has authored two books on Edo period Japan—Breaking Barriers: Travel and the State in Early Modern Japan and Tour of Duty: Samurai, Military Service in Edo and the Culture of Early Modern Japan. Professor Vaporis is known to check out the action on the Samurai Archives Citadel of Japanese History from time to time and is also a valued member.

SA: Professor Vaporis, it’s a pleasure to have you here with us for this interview.

CV: Thank you. The pleasure is mine. As you noted, I have enjoyed being a member. I’ve benefitted personally from the Archives and so have many of my students.

SA: If you don’t mind, let’s start off with some basics. How did you become interested in Japanese history? What was the allure?

CV: I first fell I in love with Japan back in middle school when my father and I, along with my older brother, used to go to Japanese film festivals in Boston. I saw most of the classics of the 1960s this way. And, when an offer to learn Japanese came from one of my father’s students, who had been stationed in the military Japan in the mid-1950s, I jumped at it. So, to answer your question more directly, I first became enthralled with Japan and Japanese history as it appeared in celluloid and followed up that interest by studying the language. “Harakiri,” “Kiru,” “Ikiru,” and of course “Miyamoto Musashi” were some of my favorites—and now I teach a film course that uses a number of these.

SA: Your publications focus on the Edo period. What is it about the Edo period that fascinates you the most? Are there any other periods of Japanese history in which you have a special interest? Why?

CV: Let me answer these two together, as they are closely connected. When I headed to Princeton in 1980 to begin my graduate work, I intended to specialize in the late Warring States period and thought I might write a dissertation on one of the sengoku daimyo, like Takeda Shingen or even Oda Nobunaga. But, in Marius Jansen’s famous Friday morning seminar in Japanese history I read Englebert Kaempfer’s History of Japan and I was hooked on the Edo period. The vitality of the period, and as I later discovered, the richness of the historical record which remains for it, drew me in. Here I am, almost thirty years later still excited by teaching and researching the Edo period.

However, the last quarter of the 16th century in Japan still fascinates me. It was a dramatic, colorful period in Japanese history with personalities that were larger than life. It was also a time when European and Japanese history intersected—collided, really—, which added to the color and drama. By reading the letters the Jesuits sent home, particularly those of Alessandro Valignano, this all becomes clear.

SA: Which persona from Japanese history do you find the most interesting and why?

CV: Nobunaga would be one, again, because he was larger than life; his life was cut short, which makes one think about how the course of Japanese history might have been different had he lived long enough the complete his mission of unifying the realm.

Though not a Japanese, the life of Ganjin (Jianzhen) is fascinating to me. As you can see, I am drawn to travelers! Risking his life six times to make the sea-crossing to Japan in order to spread the dharma there, he finally made it in 753, by which time he had lost his sight. One can’t help but be awed by him and other travelers, both Japanese and Chinese, who braved the seas to travel to the other country on cultural and religious missions.

CV: Plenty of not-so-famous people fascinate me, too—like many of the diarists I encountered in researching Tour of Duty. Mori Masana of Tosa would be the best example. He strikes me as a bit of a maverick, something that was only possible for a younger son in a bushi family. He loved the physical as well as the intellectual and cultural. He was a prolific diarist, and his accounts are entertaining to read—not something one can say about most bushi diaries. He allows his personality to peer through his words. For example, wrestling sumo on the beach while the Tosa lord’s entourage waited for more favorable winds before setting sail, he injures his leg, but jokes in his journal about walking all the way to Edo on three legs. He spent much of his time in Edo studying as part of a number of cultural salons; he loved to shop and collected a large quantity of calligraphy and sword guards. On his first of many trips to Edo he did not have any official duties, but did something to attract the attention of officials close to the lord, and he was later rewarded for meritorious duty in protecting the lord as he was shuffled from place to place as a major fire spread across the city. He strikes me as a charismatic, energetic, intellectually curious man.

SA: Who are your favorite historians in the field of pre-modern Japanese history? Who had the biggest influence on you?

CV: Ron Toby and Martin Collcutt are two historians whose work I’ve always admired. Hal Bolitho has written some of the wittiest book reviews of academic works ever, and had a grand style in prose and speech both. Marius Jansen’s sweeping command of the field of Japanese history was awe-inspiring, as was his ability to synthesize scholarship.

SA: As an academic in the field, how do you feel about the current state of pre-modern Japanese studies?

CV: To be honest, I’m a bit troubled by what seems like an exodus of scholars from Tokugawa to Meiji history. In part I think this is market (read “job”) driven. There aren’t very many scholars left anymore who focus on the Edo period. But, perhaps that will change.

You were recently at a pre-modern Japanese history conference in Europe. Can you tell us a little about that?

CV: Yes, I was fortunate enough to be invited to a conference on Tokugawa history, organized by Professor Richard Bowring at Cambridge University in England this past March. I was asked to chair a panel on Ritual and Ritual Practice and to comment on the three papers the panelists presented. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet scholars of Tokugawa Japan from all over Europe, not to mention a handful each from the U.S. and Japan. This was the first such large conference—over thirty participants—on Tokugawa history in quite some time.

SA: On average, how many of your students per annum express an interest in pursuing a career related to Japanese history academia? What kind of advise do you give these students?

CV: Unfortunately my institution does not have a program in Asian studies, so we don’t develop students with the requisite language skills to do graduate work. I have had a handful of students who have transferred, though, in order to pursue further studies in Japanese history and culture. I tell any student who is interested in pursuing a higher degree in Japanese history to develop the best language skills they can as early as possible. I also urge them at a later date in their careers to learn to read brush-written documents; without that ability you are limited in your research to using materials that some other scholar or publisher thought important enough to make available in print.

SA: As an educator trying to impart your knowledge and passion about Japanese history on your students, what do you find most rewarding? What’s your biggest frustration?

CV: What I find the most rewarding and gratifying is when I discover that students are doing extra work (reading/research) on their own, beyond any class assignments, because they find the material we are studying so fascinating.

I think my job is easier now because of the popularity of anime. A lot of my students come to my classes interested in Japan—or what they think is Japan from anime—and want to learn more. In the early 1980s, the mini-series Shogun was big boost to the field, but now I would say it is anime. The first day of class this past semester I asked my students (in my “Japan in the Shogun Age” course) how many of them had heard about or seen “Samurai Champloo” and about 2/3 raised their hands! That surprised me.

Frustration? Not having a strong language program or area studies program at my university, which would support and complement what I do at the university.

SA: Let’s talk about your research and books. Both Breaking Barriers and Tour of Duty deal with traveling in the Edo period. What drew you to this specific topic?

CV: Kaempfer—reading his accounts of people encountered on the road as well as his lengthy description of a daimyo procession caught my attention my very first semester in graduate school. I wrote a paper on alternate attendance for that class, but ended up writing my first book on commoner travel and the development of a road network by the Tokugawa shogunate. In writing Tour of Duty I returned to what first caught my interest long ago. In a sense, these two works are book-ends: the first about the movement of commoners; the second, largely about the movement of bushi.

SA: I know that Americans have an affinity for road/travel tales as evident in classic pieces of literature written by such greats as Twain, Steinbeck and Kerouac, but so do the Japanese, who left an abundance of journals documenting their Edo period travels and experiences. Tell us what it was like reading these documents. Did it appeal to that “romance with the road” feeling that is hardwired into American DNA? [laughing]

CV: Well, it certainly appealed to the Greek-American DNA that courses through my own body. My grandfather was a big traveler—left his island of Kalymnos, near Turkey, for Argentina and then America. My father made his trans-Atlantic migration to the US at the age of three. We moved around quite a bit growing up, when my father was transferred from parish to parish (he was a Greek Orthodox priest). I’ve lived in a number of foreign countries and traveled to Japan 21 times, at last count. So reading other peoples’ accounts of traveling has always resonated with me.

Having trekked over some of the byways that travelers used during the Edo period—along the old Tōkaidō around Hakone and Hata, along a long stretch of the Kisokaidō, and along the Tosa routes to the north and to the east of Kōchi—it’s been easy trying to transport myself mentally back in time, to imagine what the experience must have been like. It is exciting to read a retainer’s account of his first trip outside his home domain, as he sees new things, experiences new customs and hears local stories.

SA: Documents from Tosa play a large role in Tour of Duty. What was a determining factor that locked you on to the impact the system of alternate attendance had on this han and retainers of the Yamauchi? Did this have anything to do with the influence of the late Professor Marius Jansen, who was an extensive scholar of Edo-era Tosa?

CV: What did it for me was the existence of a wide range of documents in Kōchi that would support the kind of social and cultural study that I wanted to write. Also integral was the openness and kindness of numerous people there who granted me unparalleled access to materials there. I write about this in my acknowledgements, but being allowed access to the family archive of one of the Counselors (karō) of Tosa domain before it opened to the general public and being allowed to work in the basement of the Yamauchi Shrine Archives, surrounded by the Edo-period documents and works of art stored there, are just two examples. The generosity of the people at the Prefectural Library and the friendliness of Kōchi people is something I will never forget.

SA: In your opinion, if you had to choose one overwhelmingly interesting inadvertent “byproduct” of the alternate attendance system, what would it be? How did it impact the development of Edo period society and culture?

CV: Just one?! Pressed to pick one, I would say that an important “byproduct” was the involvement of retainers in various cultural networks in Edo. Given that official duties were not onerous for most middle and lower-ranking retainers, there was plenty of time for them while in Edo to study with famous teachers and to cultivate skills (from the poetic, artistic to the martial) that would be of benefit back in the domain. The enforced period of residence in Edo in effect raised the cultural level of the country.

SA: A lot of your analysis delves into the explaining the symbols of power projection and some of the theatrical aspects that accompanied these displays during daimyo processions. In reality, how important were daimyo processions as a means of power projection once the daimyo left his own borders? Did they really mean something beyond projections of “face and prestige”?

CV: Interesting question. There were at least two audiences for daimyo processions: the first, as you point out, was the local, domestic audience, the people of the lord’s domain; the second was for a more general “public,” the people outside the domain, and helped to solidify a daimyo’s place in the political hierarchy of the realm. Very few people, relatively speaking, were able to witness a daimyo procession themselves, but word of mouth and graphic depictions of the processions played a role in establishing the reputation of a domain—i.e. whether its procession was still resplendent, or whether the lord was facing difficult times and had to cut back on the size of his procession. The reputation of a lord or domain was critical in the political world of the times.

But the processions had another, very different type of meaning, too. They were important to the local economies—the economies of the post stations and surrounding areas—in both a positive and a negative sense. The processions figuratively spread money along the highways, which benefitted local economies, but at the same time the corvee labor demands required of peasant-farmers who lived in surrounding areas to provide horses and labor power (a subject I write about in my first book, Breaking Barriers) had a negative impact on personal, household, and village economies.

SA: When I read Tour of Duty, I was somewhat surprised that there wasn’t much in it about samurai patronage of the pleasure quarters during their assignments in Edo. Are images of samurai from the outer han dallying in Akasaka, Asakusa and Yoshiwara a product of the imagination planted by exaggerated histories, books or movies?

CV: No, I don’t think so, but you do have to remember that diaries were meant to be read by others. The diary as a “private” piece of writing is a concept that would have seemed alien to people in the Tokugawa period. A bushi might keep a work diary so that his son could benefit from the father’s experience. Similarly a pilgrim to Ise or some other religious site might keep a record so that other family member’s might know what they could expect on a similar trip. Bushi were expected to act according to a strict moral code, so it is not surprising that they would not write about trips to the pleasure quarters in an explicit fashion. Some of my diarists write about going to the Yoshiwara to “sightsee” (kenbutsu). The term “flower viewing” (hanami) is sometimes used as a code-word for visiting the pleasure quarters, but I have not yet encountered a diarist who wrote explicitly about doing more than taking in the sights! Other types of evidence reveal that those bushi who could afford it did frequent the pleasure quarters. I do mention in the book one Yamauchi lord who seems to visit the pleasure quarters of Gion, in Kyoto; according to a non-official record, he traveled there “in disguise” for “flower viewing.”

SA: Tour of Duty is really a great book. I enjoyed it immensely. Do you have any other projects that you are working on that you can tell us about?

CV: Thank you very much.
Yes, I am working on a book tentatively entitled Japan as Samurai Nation. As this suggests, it is a study of the samurai as a trope or symbol for Japan, from the Edo period until today. It deals with both the historical reality of the samurai as well as the way that samurai have been perceived, historically, in both Japan and abroad. I’m particularly excited by this project, which will take me into contemporary times and treat issues of national identity.

SA: That certainly sounds like an interesting topic. I’m definitely looking forward to reading it as it sounds like you and I share some common interests! In terms of Japanese history, what have you recently been reading? Anything you can recommend?

CV: I’m currently reading, and enjoying, Richard Rubinger’s Popular Literacy in Early Modern Japan.

SA: How did you find the SA Archives and what drew you to its forum?

CV: I don’t recall how I first encountered it, to be honest. It was probably when I was first putting together a syllabus for a new course, “Constructing the Samurai,” and surfing the web to see what was out there. I’ve been impressed by the professional nature of the site, the wide coverage of subjects, the depth of the interviews with scholars and the considerable knowledge of the forum members. I’ve learned a lot from reading some of the threads. As you know, there are too many sites on samurai out there that have little substance; Samurai Archives is a welcome relief!

SA: Thank you for the positive feedback as it is much appreciated. However, is there anything you would like to see us try to do with the SA, in order to raise the level of our scholarship or improve the quality of historical discussions?

CV: There are probably copyright issues involved, but it would be nice to have full texts of the various daimyo house codes. Another idea might be to have a section devoted to primary source documentation. Again there might be copyright issues involved but in the case of documentation out there already on the web, you could have links to them. One example would be Charles Wigmore’s translations of the Laws for the Military Houses (Buke sho hatto). A bibliography on the samurai would be useful as well, not to mention a convenient list of good web sites related to the samurai.

SA: Thank you for the feedback. The rōjū will discuss your ideas with the Shogun. We do have some select bibliographies or resource lists in some of the individual forums, but they are in need of updating. And you are right about house codes and translation copyrights, but we will look into that.

Professor Vaporis, thank you very much for taking the time to sit down with us. This has been a real treat and a pleasure. We hope to have you back after your next book.

CV: Thank you for the opportunity.

Remember, both Tour of Duty and Breaking Barriers can be purchased from Amazon via the Samurai Archives Bookstore at http://astore.amazon.com/samurai-20?node=4&page=4

Book Review: Tour of Duty

2009-05-19T14:27:00.013-10:00

I see a red door and I want it painted it black
No colors anymore and I want them to turn black…

I admit that this verse from The Rolling Stones’ famous song “Paint it Black”, came to mind when I saw the title of Professor Constantine Nomikos Vaporis’ book, Tour of Duty. I couldn’t help but to make a connection between the book title and the song, as it was the opening theme for an old American television show called “Tour of Duty”, about a group of U.S. soldiers tearing through the jungle on search and destroy missions during the Vietnam War. In Professor Vaporis’ book, you won’t find ‘Charlie’ or stories about jungle firefights, but you will find a fascinating book that delves into a completely different kind of tour of duty— samurai military service to their feudal lords during trips of alternate attendance to the Shogun’s capital of Edo.

A system of alternate attendance called sankin kōtai was the Shogunate’s fundamental means of control over the more than 240 or so feudal lords (daimyo) that ruled the patchwork of individual fiefs that comprised Tokugawa period Japan. In a basic definition, sankin kōtai forced daimyo to alternate attendance between their fief and Edo for periods of about a year on a biennial basis. While in Edo, the daimyo were expected to serve a variety of functions within the shogun’s court. Upon returning to his fief (han), the daimyo’s wife and children remained in Edo as permanent hostages—an insurance policy designed to make a daimyo think twice about participating in an act of rebellion against Tokugawa authority when back in his home domain. Also, the monetary funds needed to support these costly trips as well as maintain luxurious mansions and barracks within Edo, gradually diminished the ability of the daimyo to spend han wealth on military buildups that could threaten neighboring domains or the Shogunate itself.

In his introduction, Vaporis explains that sankin kōtai is perhaps the greatest achievement of the Tokugawa period’s leadership as the system intentionally or unintentionally encouraged the development of political, economic and social institutions and practices that helped keep the unprecedented 250 years of internal peace. Sankin kōtai also played a part in the development of the Edo period’s rich cultural heritage. Vaporis states that it is because of the blatantly obvious significance and impact of sankin kōtai, historians have only discussed it in very general terms that haven’t changed much over time. There is really no single book or volume on the subject that sums it all up. To try to write “that” book would require a massive scale of research that could not be so easily carried out, especially as there aren’t any existing full complements of primary resources in han histories that neatly explain and tie everything together. The sheer weight of the project would sink even the best researcher/historian’s ambitions. It is therefore quite easy to understand why historians discuss sankin kōtai in broad strokes or look at specific aspects of the system and the lives of those it affected. With Tour of Duty, Professor Vaporis doesn’t try to deliver a banal and sweeping treatise on the topic, nor does he zero in on a one dimensional, miniscule aspect of it either. What he has delivered is a rich, 24k creation that I truly admire. This is a very insightful and well-construed book that clearly highlights Professor Vaporis’ skills as a researcher and his ability to convey his findings in a straight-forward, easy to understand fashion.

After skillfully panning and sifting through various primary source material scattered throughout diaries, journals, artistic depictions and archeological sites to find valuable content, Vaporis then forged and polished what I would describe as a golden ingot that brilliantly shines some much needed light on how alternate attendance, as a political institution, touched the lives of the samurai who participated in it. Roughly, the first half of the book deals primarily with the preparations for the round trip journeys to and from Edo and life on the road, as part of a daimyo’s procession. Readers are treated to a wealth of valuable information ranging from summaries of contemporary journal accounts to tables filled with facts and figures that clearly illuminate just how important of a role alternate attendance played in the deployment of a domain’s human and financial resources. Also, the insightful analysis provided on the pomp and circumstance of daimyo processions is fascinating and definitely stands out as one of the highlights of this book. Vaporis describes these processions as “theatres of power” as they combined the intricacies of domain power projection with a certain amount of drama that both awed and entertained those who witnessed them.

The second half of the book covers nearly all aspects of samurai life while on duty in Edo, ranging from financial considerations, issues of place and space within the various types of daimyo compounds, and everyday things like diet and hobbies—including intellectual and cultural pursuits. All of this was really quite interesting and the tables provided of purchases made by individual samurai during their trips to Edo helps to put a human face on those who served in Edo so long ago. These weren’t just stoic samurai, but actual people with real consumer-driven wants and needs.

Often overlooked, is the role samurai played in what Vaporis coins, “carriers of culture”. He points out that many historians will talk about the uni-directional flow of culture into Edo and its refinement there, but he argues that the flow of culture was a two-way street. Samurai, when traveling back to their native domains, acted as carriers of culture that they came into contact with whether it be in Edo or via traveling through other domains. In essence, Vaporis says that the system of alternate attendance gave samurai the chance to “discover” the diversity of Japan and its culture that existed beyond the borders of one’s own domain. It’s hard not to agree with that.

Also, Vaporis does mention that samurai, while stationed in Edo, did not have unrestricted freedom of movement and did not just idle away free time drinking and visiting pleasure quarters. While I do understand the point that Professor Vaporis is trying to make about this, it is undeniable that Edo was a “man’s town”. The popular pursuit of carnal pleasures by both samurai and townsmen alike helped to consummate the marriage of the culture of the “floating world” with that of the wider Edo period that we recognize today. If there is one weak link in this book’s armor, I’d say that the lack of discussion about samurai patronage of Edo’s pleasure quarters is it. However, this is just a minor quibble that does not distract from the overall wealth of knowledge one can gain from this book.

I also think it is worthwhile to note that Tour of Duty is packed with black and white photos and illustrations that help the reader visualize the rich landscape that Vaporis paints, whether it be of daimyo processions, domain compounds, or photos of archeological excavations and artifacts.

In an upcoming interview with Professor Vaporis that will soon be published simultaneously on the Shogun-Ki blog as well as the Samurai Archives Citadel Forum of Japanese History, we will be going into more detail about his research, his book and perhaps his thoughts on samurai patronage of the pleasure quarters as a way of alleviating some of the tedium that accompanied tours of duty in Edo. Please be sure to be on the lookout for the interview.

In conclusion, I believe that Tour of Duty is an essential “must read” for anyone with an interest in the lives of the Japanese warrior class during the Tokugawa period as well as those who are fascinated by what it must have been like to travel on one of the five major roadways of the Edo period, such as the Tōkaidō. I’m finding it hard to find serious fault with this work. The topic is interesting. The writing style is clear and straightforward and engaging. The research is impeccable—one look at the extensive bibliography shows how deeply Professor Vaporis dove into researching this topic and the nearly fifty pages of detailed and informative endnotes are testament to this. I’m giving this book five out of five Smiling Sammies.

Tour of Duty can be purchased through Amazon.com via the Samurai Archives Bookstore. http://astore.amazon.com/samurai-20/detail/0824832051

Ninja Lurk In "Shinobi No Mono 4: Siege"

2009-05-08T03:52:00.005-10:00

Animeigo continues its release of the 8 film Shinobi No Mono series with Shinobi No Mono 4: Siege (Japanese title Shinobi No Mono: Kirigakure Saizo). Released by Daiei in 1964, the movie stars fan favorite Ichikawa Raizo in one of his most popular series. This time around, instead of portraying ninja/thief Ishikawa Goemon (whose character is currently being featured in a big budget Japanese film, Goemon) he’s taking the field as an agent of the Sanada clan, Kirigakure (‘Mist’) Saizo. Different character or not, the ninja action lives on. Also along for the ride is Wakayama Tomisaburo of ‘Lone Wolf and Cub’ fame (here billed as Jo Kenzaburo) as clan leader Sanada Yukimura. This illustrates one of the more interesting features of the Shinobi No Mono series-the characters change, but the stars remain the same. Wakayama played sadistic warlord Oda Nobunaga (Goemon’s arch enemy) in the first two films, but here plays the man Raizo’s new character is protecting. You’ll see this pattern repeated throughout the cast-genre favorite Date Saburo, who played Hattori Hanzo in the Goemon part of the trilogy, appears here as a different character as do several other actors. Isomura Midori plays Saizo’s love interest in the film, Lady Akane-if you watched the first three films in the series, you’ll know This Will Not End Well.

The film begins with the Winter Siege of Osaka in 1614. The forces of the Shogunate under Tokugawa Ieyasu have been unable to penetrate the main compound of the Toyotomi’s Osaka castle thanks to the spirited defense being led by Sanada Yukimura. However, Ieyasu realizes that the direct approach is not always the most effective. He begins an artillery bombardment of the main keep meant to frighten Yodo (the mother of Toyotomi clan leader Hideyori) into pressing her son to sue for peace. In order to do this and to keep the pressure on the castle, Ieyasu sends forces to take the outlying defensive works. Yukimura’s son Daisuke finds his fort under assault in one of these raids, and is forced to abandon his position. Here’s where Saizo enters the fray, swinging into action on a rope and coming off a lot like Batman or Spider-Man. He’s ordered by Daisuke to rescue a group of women hiding in a nearby storehouse, but is unable to save them all from the Tokugawa forces (who seem more interested in taking the women as prizes than fighting). Meanwhile, Ieyasu’s plan has worked and an uneasy peace treaty is negotiated.

Saizo is ordered by Yukimura to travel to Edo and keep an eye on the movements and actions of Ieyasu and the Shogunate. He’s immediately spotted by Shogunate ninja and in the process of escaping them, comes across Lady Akane (one of the women he failed to save back in Osaka). She had been raped by several of Ieyasu’s men and in despair resigned herself to becoming a prostitute. She saves him from discovery by enemy ninja, after which she aids Saizo in his mission of gathering information. After many skirmishes with the Tokugawa ninja, the Sanada shinobi confirm that Ieyasu does indeed plan to launch another attack against the weakened Osaka castle (the moats have all been filled in as part of the peace treaty). Yukimura orders an assassination attempt on Ieyasu and departs for Osaka. The attempt fails and the Sanada ninja commits suicide before he can be captured. Saizo returns to Edo castle to give it another try, and is duped by Ieyasu and kills the wrong man. Saizo is captured and thrown into what amounts to a deep, dry well. Akane (who really gets put through the wringer in this movie) is also captured by the Shogunate and drugged. In her delirious state she gives up the location of Saizo’s confederates, who are also captured and killed. Saizo is kept alive, since Ieyasu hopes to extract Yukimura’s location from him. Saizo, however, ‘dies’ and is buried by the Shogunate. When Akane comes to pay her respects, he emerges from the grave (good thing he wasn't cremated)-it turns out he had fooled Ieyasu’s men by using a ninja technique that slowed his breathing and allowed him to appear deceased. Or were they fooled? It turns out he was allowed to escape, with Ieyasu’s ninja following him-straight to their target. Yukimura is killed by a Shogunate sharpshooter and the Tokugawa ninja return in triumph to Ieyasu.

But all is not as it seems. There’re plenty more twists and turns before the final battle of Toyotomi and Tokugawa in the Osaka Summer Campaign. Will Saizo manage to reverse the course of history and put himself on the winning side? Does he go down with the ship? Or will he listen to Akane, say ‘to hell with it all’, and save both her and himself?

The film is letterboxed and the transfer is great. The black and white photography lends itself well to the somber and depressing tone of the film. At times the viewer might think he’s stumbled into one of Toho’s Godzilla films-the music is by Ifukube Akira (noted for his scores on the Godzilla films), and there are sequences featuring realistic castle miniatures being blown apart by artillery fire. The effects range from excellent (the miniatures and explosions) to rather cheesy (such as several blatant dummies, and the flying ninja used in the title sequence). The genre pros of the cast deliver solid performances, with Raizo in particularly fine form as the alternately invincible and vulnerable Saizo. Unlike many films, the heavy (Ieyasu) is shown to outwit, outthink, and outperform the hero at every turn-even alone and unarmed, he’s able to escape assassination at Saizo’s hand. Saizo himself commits several huge blunders in the course of the film, making him fallible and keeping him from becoming the ‘all-powerful ninja’ stereotype. Not only does this give the film a realistic, unpredictable scenario and make Saizo a sympathetic character but also masterfully sets up the next few installments of the series. The film belies its modest budget, with a large cast, elaborate sets, and well choreographed battlefield scenes. Animeigo’s translation and subtitling is top notch, and further gives the viewer subtitle options ranging from none to notes to the full gamut-you even have a choice of subtitle colors.

Many chanbara films don’t require any historical knowledge to comprehend the goings-on, but Shinobi No Mono 4 will make a lot more sense and be more enjoyable for the viewer if they go in with some familiarity with the situation in Japan during 1615. As is usually the case, Animeigo’s extras for the disc have that aspect covered nicely. An interactive map of Japan shows the locations where all of the action takes place (and sometimes spots that are only mentioned) and gives background information for each. The historical notes for the program go into a huge amount of detail for a DVD, going so far as to reproduce the kanji written on the infamous bell that gave Ieyasu his excuse for attacking the Toyotomi. They’re very well done, and the occasional lapses are quite minor-falling into the ‘hair splitting’ category or simple typos (such as when the date for Aki province becoming part of Hiroshima prefecture is given as 1817 instead of 1871). The only glaring mistake is that the program states Kirigakure Saizo is an historical figure when it’s well established he was an invention of the Meiji era ‘Sanada Juyushi’ novels. Otherwise, the notes give you a good history lesson along with your ninja action. Other DVD extras include a still gallery (including some very interesting posed publicity shots) and the film’s original trailer. Also included is a trailer for the long awaited DVD release of another classic Ichikawa series-Nemuri Kyoshiro (released as ‘Sleepy Eyes of Death’ on US video). The first four Nemuri films will soon be released as a boxed set, and if they’re anything like the trailer, will look gorgeous. Time to replace those old VHS copies…

Whether you’re a Raizo fan, a ninja movie aficionado, a chanbara hound, or a history buff, Shinobi No Mono 4: Siege delivers the goods. The blend of ninja ‘skullduggery’ (as it’s called on the DVD box) with traditional samurai action gives the film an engaging blend of all-out action and stealth. While the DVD has an official street date of June 2nd, you can get it now directly from Animeigo or preorder it from Amazon through the Samurai Archives store here.

Stephen Turnbull's "Strongholds of the Samurai: Japanese Castles 250-1877"

2009-05-05T02:22:00.008-10:00

While as one would expect, books on Japanese castles are legion in Japan, there's been a dearth of works on the subject in English. Other than Schmorleitz's 'Castles In Japan' (which contains much outdated and erroneous information) and Mitchelhill's 'Castles of the Samurai: Power and Beauty' (which focuses on the value of the castles as an architectural and art form), only the odd tourist pamphlet or Japanese book translated into English (usually badly) has brought these uniquely Japanese structures to the attention of Westerners. Stephen Turnbull's latest release from Osprey Publishing, 'Strongholds of the Samurai: Japanese Castles 250-1877', goes a long way towards correcting this situation. 'Strongholds of the Samurai' collects Turnbull's four prior Osprey books dealing with Japanese castles-'Japanese Castles 1540-1640', 'Japanese Fortified Temples and Monasteries AD 710-1062', 'Japanese Castles in Korea 1592-1598', and 'Japanese Castles AD 250-1540'. Each of the four works was valuable in its own way, and as a collected volume becomes a valuable reference work and a great value.

Turnbull has taken the opportunity to correct some of the errors in the original publications, as well as presenting updated information (such as the recent demolition of the Fujimi Castle ferro-concrete reproduction south of Kyoto). A page by page comparison of the new volume with the original books reveals that the text has indeed been revised and modified-some sections of text have been excised (to avoid covering the same ground twice) and new text has been added in spots, such as an account of the Battle Of Ueno during 1868 that is new to the 'Fortified Temple' section and some new information on the operational history of castles in the Bakumatsu/Meiji era. There's also a new eight page introduction and timeline along with a four page conclusion. The biggest difference between the current collected volume and the original books lies in the photos. Many of the photos have been resized or replaced with completely new ones-many of the old black and white photos are now in color as well (with many of the color ones now being black and white). This is most noticeable in the chapter dealing with Japanese castles 1540-1877-the majority of the photos seem to be brand new. All of Peter Dennis's excellent color plates have been left in, albeit at a reduced size. Dennis is one of Osprey's better illustrators and is exceptionally well suited to the topic of castles. One minor criticism of the book has to do with the sequencing of the chapters-it would perhaps have been better to have led off with the two volumes on Japanese castles, followed by the Korean wajo and then the fortified temples and monasteries. As it stands now, the fortified temple volume is located between the two dealing with Japanese castles. Production value on the book is high, with an attractive dust cover featuring Shizugatake Castle taken from a painted screen in the Osaka Castle Museum. Paper stock is thick and most of the book's 270 pages have at least one visual aid, all of which are in sharp focus or reproduction.

Part 1, Japanese Castles 250-1540, is valuable for what it tells us about early Japanese fortifications. Turnbull uses photos of modern reconstructions and models along with illustrations from period war tales to show us how the early yamashiro (mountain castles) differed from the monster castles of the late Sengoku and Edo periods. Very little of this information has appeared in English (most of it in volumes examining the Taihei-ki or Shomon-ki). From the earliest fortified enclosures of the Yamato state, the fortresses in Dewa and Mutsu erected to defend against the Emishi, the Heian strongholds of the Fujiwara in Hiraizumi, the moated earthworks and walls intended to hold back the Mongol invasions, the mountain redoubts of Kusunoki Masashige, to the early Sengoku yamashiro that presaged the age of the monster castle, Turnbull examines each in detail. Construction methods are explained along with case studies involving how the structures performed when put to the test in battle. Day to day life inside the structure is also explored. There are copious, well thought out maps that show the majority of the locations being talked about and further classifies many by faction and date (the maps being a feature common to every chapter). While there's much to cover here (both in terms of timeline and territory), it's an excellent introduction to the neglected area of early Japanese fortifications.

The book's second part, Japanese Fortified Temples and Monasteries 710-1602, does much the same for the Sengoku era fortified 'temple towns' of the Ikko-ikki (best represented by Ishiyama Hongan-ji) as well as the temples of the so called warrior monks or 'akuso' (most famously, the temple complex at Mt. Hiei that was destroyed by Oda Nobunaga). Perhaps the most valuable achievement of this chapter lies in delineating the differences between the two factions and how they were reflected both in their social structure and fortification/architecture of each. Again, photos of modern reconstructions and models bring the text alive for the reader. There's much more emphasis in this chapter on the history and development of individual structures (since many of them were well documented or survive to this day) along with how the differing religious philosophies influenced their construction. For example, the Tendai monks of Mt. Hiei rarely built anything in the way of permanent fortifications, trusting that the fear of the gods and kami they could bring to bear upon the superstitious populace would safeguard their complexes from attack. When taken in conjunction with books such as Tsang's 'War and Faith' (a groundbreaking treatment of the Ikko-ikki) or Adolphson's 'Teeth and Claws of the Buddha' (the authoritative volume on monastic warriors), the reader will get a true picture of how the armed religious factions of Japan lived, fought, and worshipped.

The third part, Japanese Castles 1540-1877, has obviously had its scope expanded to include the Bakumatsu and Meiji eras. This is the era of Japanese castles most readers will be familiar with, as it deals with the majority of the surviving structures in Japan. There's much in the way of construction detail, especially in the engineering involved with erecting the massive stone walls and bases many of these structures featured. While it doesn't have the historical details of Schmorleitz's 'Castles In Japan' , there are operational studies showing some of the more famous sieges and also detailing how castle design was influenced by the advent of the arquebus and artillery. Turnbull also points out a common misconception-that a castle keep never doubled as a palace for its owner. While rare, the larger castles (such as Azuchi and Osaka, along with smaller ones like Inuyama) had keeps that served as a palace for their owners. Diagrams showing how castles were laid out to channel invaders along with cross sections of keeps help to demonstrate why these structures proved to be so difficult to attack. This chapter also features by far the largest amount of new photographs. In Turnbull's extensive 'Visiting the Fortifications Today' section at the rear of the book, there's also quite a bit more information found on many of the original existing structures as well as modern reproductions. As a whole, however, the section still leaves the reader feeling that it's only scratched the surface, and that there's much more to be said on the subject of the Sengoku and Edo period castle. Perhaps this will be territory for Turnbull to explore in the future.

Finally, Part 4, Japanese Castles In Korea 1592-98 is perhaps the crown jewel of the entire book. The limited timeframe and location allows Turnbull to go into an incredible amount of detail. This is Turnbull at his best-when he limits his scope and focuses his subject matter, which seems to be the direction his upcoming Osprey releases are taking. Every wajo (the name given to Japanese style fortifications built in Korea during Hideyoshi's Korean invasions of 1592 and 1598) receives a detailed history giving its construction details, dates, operational history, and layout. Many of them also have topographical maps. Each of the 30 sites receives extensive photo coverage, and although none have been reconstructed (due to the ongoing political acrimony between Korea and Japan), one can get a real feel for why not a single one of the wajo ever fell to a Chinese or Korean assault. The accounts of their efforts to do so are among the high points of the book, with the siege of Ulsan in 1598 being particularly noteworthy. There's also an interesting bit on the wajo as economic center with rudimentary 'castle towns' growing up around them, populated by Koreans eager to resume a somewhat normal life.

Overall, 'Strongholds of the Samurai' is an excellent compilation, giving a detailed overview of the development of Japanese fortifications throughout time, social classes, and different countries. At less than half the price of two of the original works, it's also a great value. An attractive volume, it's loaded with photos, prints, color plates, maps, and artwork. The majority of the information given in three of the four chapters has never been seen in English, and author Turnbull is still among the best when it comes to bringing the old legends and stories of Japan to life for the reader. It's a winner-an absolute no-brainer of a purchase if you're missing any of the original volumes, and even has much to recommend it to those who have all four.

Strongholds of the Samurai can be purchased from Amazon through the SA Store here.

Interview with John Bender, Sengoku Student and Analyst

2009-05-02T07:15:00.009-10:00

John Bender is a recent graduate of the University of Hawaii with a Master of Arts degree in premodern Japanese history. He recently completed his degree under Dr. William Farris, a prolific scholar who has produced nearly ten books. John's thesis was an examination of Warring States Daimyo that addressed the question, “why did some survive while others did not.” Although fairly straightforward, he felt that existing English-language material had not addressed this fundamental question satisfactorily. From his perspective, historians seemed content to accept the outcomes of Warring States battles with little or no analysis. Thus, he set out to integrate various geographical, economic, political, and military factors and analyze how they affected a daimyo’s chances for either victory or defeat. John is currently living in Hiroshima prefecture teaching English and studying Japanese.

Samurai Archives: What first sparked your interest in Japanese history? At what point did you say "I want to focus on Japanese history"?

John Bender: Well, this is a question that I’ve been asked a lot, and for a long time I didn’t really know how to answer it. Both of my Grandfathers fought in the Pacific War, so as a child I had a great interest in World War 2. My Grandfather on my mother’s side was actually on a ship that was struck by a Kamikaze fighter plane. These are the kinds of things that can really captivate the imagination of a young boy.

However, I didn’t really develop a serious interest in Japanese history until college. As a freshman, I switched my major from engineering to history after I discovered that reading was much more interesting than solving differential equations. At that time, I had recently begun training in a Japanese-derived style of martial arts and was becoming more and more interested in samurai. I don’t think it was until my junior year, however, that I decided to specialize in Japanese history.

So, I suppose I took a rather typical route to becoming a Japanist – martial arts, samurai, history. I used to be a bit embarrassed by that, but not anymore.

SA: How did you come to choose the specific topic of daimyo survival during the Sengoku period?

JB: When I started graduate school, I had it in my head that I was going to do strictly military history. I liked the Sengoku period because it was a time that witnessed the largest samurai armies in Japanese history. Furthermore, I had always felt that the English historiography on Sengoku battles was extremely sparse. What did (and still does) exist was very general, offering little or no details of how the battle actually progressed. I thought I could tackle this problem.

My original idea was to do an in-depth analysis of individual battles, breaking down exactly what happened, who won, and why. As I began my research I found that there is a reason detailed accounts of Sengoku battles are scarce – sources. There simply isn’t enough out there to make a good MA thesis on such a narrow topic.

After making this realization, it was a logical step to simply expand the scope beyond battles to the question of “survival.” Again, this was a topic that hadn’t been addressed, in terms of the hows and whys, and allowed me to take a more holistic approach to the period as opposed to being limited to military encounters. The result was, I think, a kind of fusion between economic and social history, and military and political history. Ultimately, this approach proved to be much more interesting than my original concept.

SA: How far down did you drill into the pool of Daimyo for your analysis? Obviously the biggies (Tokugawa, Oda, Takeda, Uesugi) are required, but how far did you get into the lower tiers like the Chosokabe, Amako, Asakura, Kyogoku, etc.? What requirements did you hold available clans to in order for them to warrant coverage in your thesis?

JB: Actually, all of the families you listed, except for the Kyogoku, were included in my study. I tried to compile as large a list as possible, and was really only limited by sources. For each daimyo I included, I needed fairly detailed information about their origins, location, and demise, and this information can be a bit hard to find for many of the lesser daimyo. Basically, I felt my list was adequate once it covered the entire physical map of Japan.

As for selection requirements, although it was my original intent, these were not concrete. I planned to use the Tokugawa definition of daimyo, and include all warlords controlling at least 10,000 koku of rice. However, obtaining such figures for many daimyo in the 16th century is impossible, as they simply do not exist. The closest I came to a comprehensive list of that sort was a survey document from 1638, I believe – obviously well outside my timeframe. As a result, I had to adopt less strict criteria that included several factors. One was that the warlord had have controlled land independently. Even if he was technically a vassal of another warlord, wielding effective power within his domain was one important component of being a daimyo. This means that there had to be some kind of bureaucratic or administrative apparatus that was controlled directly by the warlord, not his superior. This eliminates a lot of mid-level warriors who controlled territory, but were still subject to their lord’s administration (for example, the vassals of the Go-Hojo) from being daimyo. In addition to that, I stuck to families that have been traditionally considered daimyo. If a certain warlord was consistently included in the ranks of daimyo across several historical works, I took that as the best indication to classify him a daimyo.

SA: You examine a variety of variables when analyzing which factors had an impact on the survival and prosperity rates of Daimyo - give us a general overview of the general factors, as well as their overall importance to Daimyo survival based on the results of your research.

JB: Well, this is obviously a major part of my thesis and gets right to the core of my argument. I organized my analysis into five broad categories: geographic, economic, military, political, and random factors. It is impossible to completely isolate each category, as they are all interconnected, but in general, the division was as follows.

Geographic factors involved a daimyo’s location, the topography, productivity of the land, sea, or ports in the area, as well as the proximity of threats. Economic factors consisted of how well a daimyo could take advantage of available resources – very simply how wealthy he was. Military factors were rather straightforward as well, being primarily the size of a daimyo’s army, but also the quality of generals. I considered political factors to be anything a daimyo did both inside and outside of his domain in the realm of government. For my study, two areas were of utmost importance here: a daimyo’s ability to control his vassals, and his political posture towards other daimyo. Finally, the random category was kind of a catch-all that was to be used only in an emergency, when the situation could not be adequately explained in the previous chapters. I think I had to turn to random events only twice: once because of an unexpected death (Takeda Shingen), and once because of the weather (the battle of Okehazama).

As you can see, these divisions are somewhat nebulous. But, you have to make distinctions somewhere, and the real importance of the categories is as an analytical tool, not as a concrete classification of all aspects of Sengoku society.

The importance of each of these categories to daimyo survival is an interesting question. In fact, I had originally conceived of organizing the thesis around that question and progressing from the most important to least important category. Had I done so, the most important would have been geography, followed by politics, economics, and finally military. That came as a bit of a surprise, but there are dozens and dozens of examples of militarily weak daimyo who survived while strong ones were eliminated. And, while political alliances were a close second, the most important contributor to a daimyo’s success or failure was his location. It really depended upon who your neighbors were, how easy it was to get to you, and how badly rivals wanted your territory. That is why it was nearly impossible for anyone to survive in or around Kyoto. After the first draft, it was clear that organizing the thesis this way was not ideal. The experience of different daimyo was too varied to rank each category consistently. For the next draft I decided to organize the thesis starting with the factors daimyo had the least amount of control over to the most amount of control. The resulting order was geography, economics, military, political, and then the random category which cut through all of them. Organizing it this way led me to the argument that there was only so much a daimyo could do to really affect his chances of survival. With this in mind, it is easier to understand why events unfolded as they did, specifically why daimyo in eastern Japan became so powerful. Therefore, Sengoku Japan was not as chaotic as it has been characterized, but actually a pretty logical series of events, from an overall standpoint. This became one of the cornerstones of my argument.

SA: Did you make any distinction between “survival” and “success”? (in other words, many of the surviving daimyo found themselves in pretty unenviable positions by the end of the 16th century, for example, the Chosokabe clan)

JB: No, and I specifically avoided doing so. The reason is that I didn’t want to make my argument and statistics overly complicated by qualifying “survival.” Thus, for my study, the important thing was to simply exist at the end of the 16th century. I think everyone would agree that literal survival, in whatever form, is preferable to elimination.

SA: In the context of your thesis, what measurement did you use to categorize a daimyo as a "success"?

JB: Well, I really wanted to focus only on the Sengoku and unification periods (which is why I always refer to it as the “16th century” in my thesis), so I stopped at Sekigahara. Anyone who made it to 1600, before the battle, was considered a “success.”

SA: Access to foreign weapons technology was obviously a huge benefit for Sengoku Daimyo. Why didn’t it warrant its own category?

JB: Absolutely, access to foreign weapons was a huge part of my thesis. This was one of the main reasons that the ports of Osaka and Sakai were so enormously important – because they provided access to such technology. Nagasaki as well was very important in this regard, and I devote almost ten pages to it.

However, I do not feel that foreign trade should be considered a separate category. Foreign trade was one of the benefits afforded by areas like the capital and northern Kyushu, and thus it fit neatly within my categories. In effect, it is a large part of what made those regions so desirable, so important, and so hotly contested. I think that splitting trade according to where it was coming from would have resulted in unnecessary complexity, a false dichotomy, if you will.

SA: In your opinion, in the overall picture of 16th century Japan, how large a part did random events and luck play?

As I said above, I really tried to minimize this category. I found that I could explain almost all of the fate of almost all of the daimyo I studied. Perhaps this was because my categories were so broad, but I really don’t think luck had much to do with daimyo survival (unless luck includes where you were born). Even things that might seem random can usually be traced back to a larger cause. My geographic and political categories were able to account for most of the cases I originally could not adequately explain.

SA: Which Daimyo benefitted most from random events (i.e. "Luck")?

JB: It’s hard to say, but for the purposes of my study, I would have to say Oda Nobunaga. His spectacular victory at Okehazama catapulted him into the ranks of the most powerful warlords of the day. Most accounts agree that a sudden cloudburst proved quite timely for the Oda forces. The Imagawa response may have been more rapid and effective had the weather been clear.
Having said that, the Oda were of course one of the daimyo who did not survive the 16th century. It’s hard to find an example of someone who “skated through” on luck. Conversely, it’s a bit easier to find daimyo who had “bad luck.” The above-mentioned Imagawa would be the most prominent example, but that category also includes the Takeda, Ouchi, Ryuzoji, and Chosokabe.

SA: Were there any Daimyo who had all factors in their favor but still didn't survive the 16th century? Were there any Daimyo that you had trouble accounting for in your model?

JB: Yes, actually, there were numerous daimyo who had very favorable conditions yet failed to survive. The best example is the Go-Hojo, who were eliminated after a major political blunder in failing to make peace with Hideyoshi. Nobunaga himself is another great example. His demise illustrates how important it was to have loyal vassals – or at least, to keep them happy. In Kyushu, the Otomo and Ryuzoji both had relatively stable, profitable bases, but opted to fight each other to extinction instead of consolidate their gains. This ultimately allowed the Shimazu to become the premier daimyo on Kyushu. The Ouchi are another example. They had a good power base in western Japan, but lost it due to a combination of poor leadership and military blunders. Finally, in the east, both the Imagawa and the Takeda seemed to be well situated in the Warring States period, but of course were both eliminated.

SA: How about Daimyo who had the majority of variables working against them who survived the 16th century? What tipped the scales in their favor?

JB: There were far fewer examples of this, but it did happen. I have a very nice example of this in my politics chapter involving the Omura family. The Omura were very much small fish in a big pond consisting of heavyweights like the Shimazu, Ryuzoji, and Otomo. The Omura’s saving grace turned out to be shrewd political maneuvering, despite extreme material and military disadvantages. They essentially “played their cards right” and were able to survive.

Omura territory happened to include the port of Nagasaki, and the Omura daimyo cleverly used this bargaining chip to their favor. Omura Sumitada, head of the Omura family in the 1550’s made an alliance with the Portuguese shortly after their arrival. This alliance saved them in 1556 from a vassal rebellion, and again in 1579 from a Ryozoji invasion. Sumitada actually ceded Nagasaki to the Jesuits on the eve of the invasion, thus making any attack on the port an act of war against the Portuguese. He then wisely submitted to the Ryuzoji, and stood on the sidelines as they, the Shimazu, and the Otomo battled. When the Shimazu emerged victorious, the Omura stalled for time, then allied themselves with Hideyoshi shortly before his 1587 invasion.

In this way, the virtually powerless Omura survived the 16th century. It is a brilliant example of political savvy.

SA: You mention in your introduction that an examination of variables during the Sengoku period to account for the success or failure of Sengoku Daimyo hasn't been done before - have you come up with any new or surprising revelations about 16th century Japan based on your research?

JB: I think the only real “surprising” revelation would be my main argument itself. I proposed a re-conceptualization of the Warring States period in two important ways. First, I feel that this period was much less random and chaotic than has been argued in the past. Although not without an element of unpredictability, Warring States history followed a fundamentally comprehensible course. If anything, I hope my study showed that there was usually a good reason the “winners” won and the “losers” lost.

Second, I think it is important to acknowledge the centrality of geographic factors, especially location. I contend that this was the single most important factor in determining daimyo survival. Politics emerged as a close second in this regard. I think this runs counter to conventional wisdom about the Warring States period (and maybe unification processes in general) that military and economic factors are the key. At least for Japan, geography and politics were paramount for survival.

SA: Have you considered possibly expanding and publishing your thesis?

JB: I think everyone dreams of publishing, and that may happen in the future, but right now it is not one of my main goals. I am planning to explore other topics for my dissertation, but would like to return to this one someday. For now, though, I have no idea when, or in what form I will pursue publication of this thesis.

SA: What are your current interests in the field of Japanese history? Any future projects currently on your mind?

JB: I am still very interested in warriors and I think that I always will be. I would like to do a more in-depth study of the Takeda, from their beginnings in the 12th century to their demise in the 16th. I am also very interested in a study of war veterans (ronin) as a social group in the early Tokugawa period.

But, my years as an MA student have broadened my interests a bit, and currently I’m most excited about a potential project on Japanese mariners. I’m exploring the possibility of a survey of fishermen and the fishing industry in Japan.

SA: What are some currently “popular” Japanese history topics of research in Western academia? Where do you see the most expansion in the next 5-10 years in Western scholarship on Japanese history?

JB: Well, I don’t want to self-promote too much, but I think that military history is making a bit of a comeback. There are some excellent recent works by scholars such as Karl Friday and Thomas Conlan. I also believe that topics like demography and population, where Wayne Farris leads the way, will attract more and more attention. Finally, women’s history and family history are hot topics right now. Take a look at Janet Goodwin’s 2007 book if you’re interested.

SA: Being a recent graduate yourself, do you have any advice for current or potential students of history, and students of Japanese history in particular?

JB: History is a very difficult field, but it is also extremely rewarding. Historians study the whole range of human experience and thus nothing is off the table. If you’re interested in something, there’s a good bet you can turn that interest into real historical inquiry. I think history is an extremely valuable discipline that produces thoughtful, analytical, and informed individuals. He need more historians in the world!

My advice for anyone considering history is to keep your interests as broad as possible. Specialization is important, but it’s also important to keep your eyes on the big picture. If you get too focused on one thing, you’ll lose the ability to draw really meaningful, insightful conclusions.

As for Japanese history in particular, my advice is to get going on your language study now! Proficiency in Japanese is paramount, and Japanese is not a particularly easy language. It is currently my biggest weakness, and one I’m working very hard to improve. If you want to study Japanese history, hit the Japanese books hard, and hit them early!

Interview With Takeda 3 Creator And Magitech Founder, Ming-Sheng Lee

2009-04-24T03:24:00.008-10:00

Ming-Sheng Lee is the founder of Magitech, producer of what many consider to be the most historically accurate and true-to-life Japanese and Chinese PC strategy games. He graduated from Taiei City College of Business in the late 80's when he and a few college friends were thinking of getting into the computer game industry. Since none of them possessed sufficient programming knowledge, Ming then attended Polytech University in New York to get a C.S. degree and then founded Magitech. Ming continues to be involved in all aspects of Magitech's operation, from research, coding, and troubleshooting to marketing and customer feedback. Ming took some time off from working on Strength And Honor 2 to talk about Magictech's latest release, the Sengoku strategic/tactical simulation Takeda 3 (in the following interview, SA is the Samurai Archives while ML is Ming-Sheng Lee).

SA: You founded Magitech in 1993. What prompted you to form your own company rather than work for an established developer?

ML: I guess I was young and didn't know that earning money can sometimes be more important than the passion. I was naive to think that working for other companies would prevent me from making my own games, so I jumped in, created my own company and started this journey.

SA: How did you develop a love for computers and an interest in Japanese history?

ML: I got in touch with computers in the early 80’s. I was fascinated by the new Apple II (6502) personal computer and started working on simple animations for the ground works of gaming. I remember my first animated character was a Japanese Ashigaru infantry. Speaking of Ashigaru, the Japanese theme of Takeda was seeded even way earlier when I was in elementary school. My father took me to Japan several times to visit my grandfather. The castles and the samurai were my bed time stories.

My addiction to tactics and strategy came from my father also, who always told me fascinating stories of history. Not just battles, but finance, economics, and life experience as well. I use the same tactics and strategies I learned from history in the stock market, which other than strategy games is my other hobby to explore my passion for strategic thinking.

SA: All of Magitech's releases to date have been historical simulations, and they have been far more true to history than similar games from other companies. Was the emphasis on historical accuracy done to differentiate the games from other products, or out of a desire to produce a 'simulation' and not just a 'game'?

ML: OK. You got me. The emphasis on historical data isn't really meant to differentiate from other games, but it is my desire to make a historical simulation rather than just a game. Many times I was struggling to change the design into something more suitable for the game market, but there is a part of me that always pulls me back to focusing on the simulation. The balance between game play and simulation is always a challenge for us.

SA: Can you give us a general outline of the different steps taken in the development of a game? What all does it go through between the initial concept and the final release?

ML: First we have a meeting about the concept of the game. If it is a sequel, we discuss features that we would like to add to the game. Normally we write a two-page outline document. We tried a fifty-two page design document once, but it ended up being too complicated. Then we assign tasks and have the team start working on the project. This part is the easiest, but we always have to go back to the design sheets and make some adjustments. Then we have to integrate the other aspects such as the art from the artists and the music from the musicians, more or less putting every piece of the game together. After that, we can start balancing, testing and fine-tuning the game. Part of the team will continue to work on the interface and fix bugs while the other part of the team will start testing all aspects of the game. After we finish the initial testing, we will start working on demo versions for publishers and do localization when a deal is signed with foreign language publishers. It actually takes a lot to finish a game. Coding is the easiest part.

SA: Even with an emphasis on history, compromises always have to be made for the sake of play value. What in your opinion was the biggest compromise Takeda 3 had to make that sacrificed accuracy for playability?

ML: There are many features we have to give up for the sake of game play or due to a lack of resources to expand a feature such as the number of castles, the number of generals, or the scale of the battles. The biggest one I would say is the death rate of a general. Since Takeda 1, we have tried to create a connection between the generals (the game characters) and the players. To achieve this, we make the characters 'die' at a more realistic probability. The player will need to make a decision between saving his/her favourite general(s) and winning a battle. In Takeda 3, however, we are short of portraits. To lose a general at a realistic, historical probability, the player will run out of characters pretty quickly. Thus we have to tune down the 'death rate' so the players are able to finish the campaign.

SA: Takeda 3 features graphics that are much more detailed and impressive than those seen in Takeda 2. The 'Multiplayer/Online' aspect from the original Takeda also makes its return. What other improvements and new features have been made to the game?

ML: Takeda 3's new improvements are really focused on the castle battles. We've made some breakthroughs in path-finding which allow the units to go through mountain roads in fairly complex terrain and castle layers. This really allows us to make the castles look much more realistic than in our previous games.

We also resized the map to show an army’s path more clearly to the player, and we now allow players to build facilities around a castle. These facilities have a direct impact on the player's military and economic strength.

SA: In games such as 'Shogun: Total War' or 'Nobunaga No Yabou', an unskilled player can win by simply outproducing the computer and crushing them with sheer weight of numbers or by using oddball ahistorical superunits like 'sword saints', 'battlefield ninja', or the infamous 'geisha assassin'. The Takeda series, on the other hand, has proved difficult for many players to beat because it stresses the role of commanders, proper formations and tactics, morale, and especially supply. Careless players who use reckless all-out attacks soon find themselves with all their capable generals dead, losses of horses and guns that far outstrip their production, and huge desertion rates attributable to not keeping an eye on their supply lines. In fact, it's easily possible to win a battle that ruins your chances of winning the game. It makes the game an extremely helpful learning tool for explaining just how difficult it would have been in real life to unify Japan. What sort of tips would you give to someone sitting down to play Takeda 3 for the first time to help them lay down a strong foundation for success early in the game?

ML: Watch out for the riflemen/teppo (sorry, I still don't know what to call them properly)! For most veterans of Takeda, mastering a field battle shouldn't be a problem if they properly manage capable generals. The campaign may run into deep muddy ground if the enemies build up strong defences with a high number of riflemen/teppo guarding the towers, however. As for a beginner, I would say carefully plan out your strategy regarding diplomacy. Winning a battle is one thing; but winning a war is another. Choose your allies carefully and watch out for their relationships with one another. You can't make friends with everybody because your friends will fight against each other later and you will be caught right in the middle. You also need to arrange political marriages to cement alliances.

For beginners on the battlefield, try to select all your good generals and put them into one army. That should give you a good start. Eventually, you will need to split your army as your territory expands, but by then you should have mastered the battle system.

Most RTS players will create a lot of armies to outnumber the enemy. Players might want to keep a few castles to use as supply depots, however, instead of creating armies from every castle.

SA: The portraits of the historical figures in the new game are small works of art-detailed, sharp, and colorful. The artist is particularly talented in his depictions of women. Who was this talented individual and how did you end up using them?

ML: The artist’s name is 練任 (Lian Zan). Though I have not personally spoken with him, he is a good friend of our Taiwanese publisher. Alvin Hwan, who works for our main publisher in Taiwan, believes in the potential of Takeda's engine and sponsored our Sango project's portraits with his own money. After that, we liked the style of the portraits and decided to upgrade all the portraits for our upcoming games.

SA: Speaking of women, Takeda 3 includes dozens of female characters-far more than any other Japanese warfare sim to date. Many of them historically were involved in defending castles during sieges. Game wise, they’re of course useful for 'marriage politics' but also for transferring supplies and troops from one castle to another. What prompted you to include this often overlooked aspect of a woman's role in samurai culture and give them a greater part in the game?

ML: It was a time in which women didn't really have the same rights as men in Japan. After researching a few historical records and legends, I decided to include many of the exceptional stories of women in Takeda 3 to tell their stories which unfortunately often get left out of history books.

SA: Unlike 'Shogun: Total War' or 'Nobunaga No Yabou', Takeda 3 replicates the actual terrain, layouts, and look of castles taken from historical records and blueprints. They showcase to good effect how even a small force inside a well laid out castle can hold off and decimate a huge attacking army. Were there any castles you had problems finding documentation for, or that had to be substantially altered for the game?

ML: We researched many books and sites and included as many details as we could. Almost every castle is based on some sort of historical reference. Sometimes we had only a small piece of a picture or layout from the historical records, but we tried our very best to show what it would look like based on the picture. In many cases, we can only show a corner of the castle. It wouldn’t be possible to present a whole castle like Odawara in the game. Sometimes we have to take out or reposition the gates or rivers to make the castle fit the battlefield. We mostly studied how each castle was taken in historical battles and we tried to present it in such a way that the players can re-visit the history and experience how the battles were actually fought. The biggest problem we have with the castles is the limit of the attacking army's units. Due to the speed of most computers, we couldn't have that many units on the attacking side which sometimes makes attacking a castle very difficult. Although we can reduce the number of defenders, it would create some other game play issues in world mode.

SA: The individual biographies for each of the 600+ historical figures in the game are another nice extra feature. From what sources did you gather the information for these?

ML: We did the research about the characters in the game mainly from our in-house library books. Most books are imported from Japan directly. I have a personal interest in the history of Feudal Japan so we put a lot of effort into discovering information about each character in the game. There have been some translation errors when we finalized the descriptions, however, and we were fixing some of the errors right until the last few days before the release of the game.

SA: Magitech has published games in China and Russia as well as Japan and North America. Which country seems to be most receptive to your games and what do you attribute this to?

ML: From the sales side, the Russian market seems to be the most receptive, and China seems to have many players playing our games as well. We are very pleased that we are able to get into Japan's market with a localized Japanese version for them. It shows a great recognition for the hard work that we put in to make the game historically accurate to Japanese history.

SA: The staff of Magitech not only develops the games but also plays and supports them once they’re released. This takes the form of answering questions from gamers on the Magitech forums, releasing patches to enhance and expand gameplay, incorporating suggestions from players in future releases, and even taking part in tournaments and online battles with the player base. Does being actively involved with the people who actually play the games help with designing future efforts? Do players ever come up with tactics and strategies that surprise you and weren’t factored in while designing a game?

ML: Basically, we love what we do here. It is my passion as well as the team's desire to make these games fun and historical. We feel bad when the game doesn't work as we expected and we try our very best to fix or improve the game in every way that we can. Our friends from the forum do help us a lot in finding bugs that we fix, giving us feedback and suggestions for future developments or improvements, and encourage us to continue the titles even when things don't really work very well. It's because of these friends that have made it this far.

When I designed Takeda 1, I expected to see players lose generals and fall into different ending paths. After the game was released, I found out that some players would play the same battle fifty times just to save a generals' life. In the game Sango 1, I accidentally had a general with no skill but setting up fires in the battle of Chang-Ban Po. There were players using this character with one of the best horses in the game to set fires everywhere and turn an impossible battle into a total victory for the player. It is amazing to see players develop their own strategies and tactics using something even the developer didn't think of.

SA: What are some of the other games Magitech has produced? What are you currently working on for future release?

ML: Other than the Takeda series of games, we also make the Sango series, similar to Takeda but set in China's Romance of The Three Kingdoms' era, and the Strength & Honor series which is set during the Roman era with a map that spans from China to Britain. Different from Takeda and Sango, Strength & Honour is more focused on empire management than battles. An empire's internal conflicts are much more emphasized. Strength & Honor 2 is our latest game in development and shall be released in the summer of 2009. In the future, however, we are thinking of making casual games and iPhone platform applications.

SA: Thanks, Ming. We at the SA wish you and Magitech continued success in the future.

Animeigo's 'The Loyal 47 Ronin' DVD

2009-04-14T01:31:00.008-10:00

Animeigo claims their recent DVD release of Daiei’s ‘The Loyal 47 Ronin’ (1958) represents the best and most representative version of the dozens of 47 Ronin films and TV shows that have been released over the years-and it would be hard to argue with them. Produced during the ‘Golden Age’ of Japanese filmmaking, it features a cast loaded with familiar genre names, excellent color cinematography, and the gorgeous sets and costuming one expects from Japanese films of this era.

The film is solidly in the vein of traditional tellings of the 47 Ronin legend as performed in puppet plays, novels, and kabuki theater rather than attempting to portray the history behind the ‘feudal drive-by of lore’ (where the Ronin outnumbered Kira’s sleeping guards 47 to 3). While it’s beyond the scope of this review to detail the substantial differences between the legend and the reality, it shouldn’t diminish the enjoyment of viewers (even though the real story would probably make for a far more complex, multilayered, and entertaining film). For those who aren’t familiar with the legend, it’s the tale of the loyal retainers of a daimyo (Asano Naganori) sentenced to seppuku after he makes the mistake of attacking a corrupt Shogunal Minister Of Protocol (Kira Yoshinaka) inside Edo Castle. When Kira goes unpunished, many of the retainers band together under the leadership of Asano’s Chamberlain, Oishi Kuranosuke, to correct this imbalance of justice and avenge their lord. Director Watanabe Kunio infuses this version with more energy than most, making its central character Oishi a master swordsman who engages in several battles with Kira’s ‘hit squads’ and ninja agents during the course of the film. Kira is even more obnoxious, nasty, and spiteful than usual, and Asano more virtuous, long-suffering, and upright (quite unlike their historical reputations). Oishi’s feigned descent into womanizing and drinking along with several sidestories (mostly fictional and lifted, again, from kabuki and puppet theater) involving the other Ronin take center stage-many of which involve the Ronin trying to keep their composure when public opinion turns on them for not avenging Asano in a timely manner. It seems the entire population of Edo is aware of the ‘secret’ planned raid and continually egg on and encourage the Ronin to punch Kira’s ticket to the Pure Land! The emphasis is squarely on a samurai’s duty to his lord and bushido-all other duties, including those to wives, parents, siblings, children, in-laws, and friends, are shown as inconsequential when measured next to this. In turn, these slighted parties willingly and sometimes enthusiastically accept their fates. We found this approach an interesting contrast to more recent efforts involving the Ronin, such as the episode of ‘Abarenbo Shogun’ that features the single member of the 47 not sentenced to seppuku-Terasaka Kichiemon. In this episode, Terasaka roundly condemns his fellow Ronin and everyone connected to them for bringing so much tragedy and hardship to their families and those left behind. But this was 1958, and tradition was still a strong draw at the box office-The Loyal 47 Ronin was Japan’s highest grossing film for that year. It’s hard to imagine another film doing the ‘samurai honor’ angle better and more effectively. The film is even left on an upbeat note when the Ronin are shown marching with Kira’s head to Asano’s grave at Sengakuji-completely leaving out the not-so-glorious aftermath when they paid for their crimes with their lives.

For most samurai film fans, the big attraction here will be the cast. Genre favorites Ichikawa Raizo and Katsu Shintaro both make appearances and the rest of the cast features equally famous Japanese actors (who just aren’t as well known in the west). For example, Kurosawa regular Shimada Takashi (the leader of the Seven Samurai) has a role as Otake Jubei, the father in law of one of the ronin. Raizo turns in his usual solid, if abbreviated, performance as Asano Takumi-no-kami (Asano here is referred to by his title rather than name). He conveys well the increasing outrage and panic Asano feels while being insulted and fed misinformation by Kira in the course of learning proper etiquette and procedure for receiving the Emperor’s envoy. For those whose image of Katsu is the jovial Zatoichi, he’s almost unrecognizable as Akagaki Genzoemon (Genzo to his pals), one of the leaders of the Ronin who is disowned by his brother after stating that the former Asano retainers have no intention of pursuing vengeance (which, of course, is just a lie to keep the plot secret, although it seems everyone and their brother in the movie are aware of it). But by far the best performance in the film falls to Hasegawa Kazuo, who portrays Oishi. He brings just the right touch of pathos, steadfastness, tragedy, and even comedy to the role. When he commences his ‘cowardly drunken womanizer’ act in Kyoto in an effort to throw Kira’s spies off track, you’ll find yourself hating him even though you know it’s just a ruse. While he isn’t afforded the wonderful stirring pre-raid speech that Oishi usually gets in the live all-day versions of Chushingura, he still manages to dominate every scene he’s in.

As always, Animeigo has done a great job with the translation, packaging, and extras. Among the extras are trailers for Animeigo’s other 47 Ronin film (Ichikawa Kon’s 1994 effort) and one featuring a group that took their visual cue from the Ronin (the Shinsengumi, in Mifune Toshiro’s ‘Shinsengumi: Assassins of Honor’). There’s also an image gallery of b/w and color stills and publicity shots. An extensive cast and crew section gives biographies for the myriad of well known actors along with the director and composer. The historical notes (always a favorite feature of Animeigo releases among SA members) are the most extensive Animeigo has done to date for any DVD. While it regrettably uses Wikipedia’s largely inaccurate account (based on plays and novels rather than history) of Chushingura as a jumping off point, it redeems itself with a large helping of cultural notes and other historical background that explain plot points that might not be readily apparent to a Western audience (such as the significance of Buddhist funerary tablets, worldly and posthumous names, the personal nature of medicine caddies, etc).

With an all-star cast, first rate production values, the definitive version of a classic story, plenty of action, and Animeigo’s attention to the little things that fill out a well-done DVD release, The Loyal 47 Ronin should be on every samurai film buff’s shelf. At nearly three hours, it’s also a good value, being twice as long as the average film. It’s available through most major DVD retailers and also on the SA Store. Watching it will fill your heart with the samurai spirit, and you won’t even have to commit seppuku afterwards!

An Interview with Brick McBurly

2009-04-01T00:00:00.017-10:00

Love him or hate him, or maybe you’re like one of millions of people outside of Japan whom have never heard of him let alone see one of his films or TV show, Brick McBurly is not only just a real person, but he’s celebrity and a loyal member of the Samurai Archives Citadel Community. We were lucky to have a chance to sit down with the fun-loving star of the Japanese TV Show “Abarenbo Gaijin” and more than a dozen films for an interview over two sittings in bars in Tokyo and Kyoto. As always, hanging out with Brick was a wild and rollicking adventure, and thankfully we were able to get the digital MP3 recorder to work for transcription purposes after Brick accidentally dropped it into a bottle of Mexican beer, thinking it was a lime wedge. So without further ado, let’s get to the interview.

OK: How did you get into show business?

Brick: While attendin' the University of Cincinnati back in the early '90's, the Brickster found hisself in need of some spendin' money. Y'see, when I was young, we were so poor that folks used to call me Patches, so there wasn't a whole lot of money left over for me to live on after tuition, room, and board was paid. One of the coeds I was datin', Trixie, was strippin' at bachelor parties for megabucks and mentioned that some friends of hers were lookin' fer an actor who could perform under pressure. Well, I figured that all the storytellin' I was layin’ on her and my other gal pals qualified, so I went to meet these guys. Turns out it wasn’t the type of performin’ I thought it would be-they was shootin' some soft core adult films, but I couldn't dream of anythin' I was better suited for. Hell, I was still gettin' Trixie's goodies, but now I was gettin' PAID for it! That's how the Pizza Delivery Guy series of films got started (‘Our guarantee-you’ll come in 30 minutes or less’), and eventually I got into the more respectable horror genre by appearin' in low-budget vampire films, poundin' my massive stake into nubile soft girly vampire flesh.

OK: Who were your greatest influences and whose work are you a fan of?

Brick: Well, tops on the Brickster's list is Hollywood's greatest untapped natural resource, Bruce Campbell. The man can play anythin' and pull it off with aplomb-whether it's Ash from the Evil Dead series, Old Fat Elvis from Bubba Ho-tep, or his own bad self in My Name Is Bruce. Sure, he’s givin’ the same performance for every character, but he’s so good at it that it don’t matter. Then there’s Rudy Ray Moore-his Dolemite character was a HUGE role model. Man, what a snappy dresser that guy was! Kurt Russell and Roddy Piper also had a big impact on the development of the Brickster’s on-screen persona, particularly Russell’s performance as the clueless hero of Big Trouble In Little China. Stephen Hayes’ breakthrough role as the Dutch sailor who falls outta the riggin’ into the ocean in the Shogun miniseries is a must see for anyone interested in real ninjitsu. Annette Haven and Kristara Barrington starred in the first AV films I saw, and I must be their biggest fan-even though they’re both prob’ly pushin’ 50 by now, I’d still love to co-star in a film with them. On the Japanese side of things, there’s Katsu-shin, who had the role of a lifetime in the Hanzo the Razor trilogy. I love how Tsugawa Masahiko takes over every film he’s in and really makes his characters larger than life, whether he’s playin’ Tokugawa Ieyasu or Chiyo’s uncle in “Komyo Ga Tsuji”. And everyone already knows what a fan I am of Uchiyama Rina (the only reason to watch the Musashi taiga) and Oshida Reiko of the Delinquent Girl Boss series. Reiko’s in her 60’s now, but the memory of her peddlin’ down the street on a bike in her miniskirt lives on. And she’s STILL smokin’ hot. And of course, I’m a big fan of my wife Koyori’s performances. It must suck for her to always be in the Brickster’s shadow.

OK: And your favorite top five jidai-geki movies are?

Brick: Besides my own? Well, right at the top of the list is Bohachi Bushido. It's the yardstick by which all other jidai-geki films are measured and come up short. I mean, a horde of big-boobed naked kunoichi rollin' on the ground, whippin' out shuriken from god knows where, and jumpin' up on a guy's shoulders for the old head twist-like you’d really mind dyin’ that way? All that AND Tiger Tanaka? Then there’s Samurai Resurrection. You got undead historical characters brought back to life only to get whacked by Yagyu Jubei. Monsters and samurai-it’s a tried and true winnin’ combo, the Reese’s Cup of filmdom. Not to mention Jubei ain’t the only one-eyed actor in this little drama, if you know what I mean. American Ninja-Mike Dudkoff and Steve James are some smooth pimps in the movie bringin’ it to the man as only they can. This movie proved there’s no reason a Westerner couldn’t become the master of Japanese genre films. Kunoichi-Lady Ninja had the single greatest effect in film history-electric nipple magic. I’d like to see ILM try to pull that off. And it also featured a different chick whose sekrit dreaded ninja power could only be activated by havin’ sex. I can’t tell you the number of times that I’ve used the ‘ninja test’ on some sloshed Brickster groupie in a bar to maximum effect. Then there’d be Sukiyaki Western-D’jango. If the Brickster can play Japanese samurai and Chinese actresses can play geisha, then why can’t the Japanese be cowboys? And the critics loved it. You didn’t see bitchin’ about ‘why don’t they cast Americans as cowboys’, and no one complained about the gaijin in the cast (Tarantino) like they did with Tom Cruise or Christopher Lambert.

OK: Why is it that the original print of Samurai Sexecutioner is missing? Do you know what happened to it?

Brick: After its initial release, the Studio didn't know what a hot property they had and used the master print as part of a giveaway at the theme park. To quote the brochure, with your ticket, you got a strip of 'original collectible 35mm film from the master print of one of our many smash hits'. Of course, bein' the Studio's token gaijin most of the films were mine, so's after that the only master copy of the film belonged to Koyori-she had videotaped it with a handheld off the big screen and was sellin' bootleg copies on Japan Yahoo auctions. So’s when the demand to release it on DVD overwhelmed the studio, her dad had to come hat in hand with his wallet out to get her copy. She ain’t only gorgeous, but brilliant too.

OK: Is this the reason that it was never released outside of Japan?

Brick: Nah. It was kinda the same thing that kept Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah from bein' released in the US for years and years-political correctness. The Studio thought it would be politically incorrect to export a film to America that showed an American behavin' like yers truly. They'd obviously never seen an epsiode of Springer. For that matter, none of my films have ever been officially released outside of Japan. I think the Studio views ‘em like Paramount does the Friday The 13th series-they love the money it brings in to produce the A films no one goes to see, but they’re embarrassed to admit that they did ‘em. It’s kinda like havin’ sex with an ugly broad.

OK: In Samurai Sexecutioner II, the prosthesis you wore to enhance the size of your manhood, was it functional? Because it sure seems like you were actually doing it with some of your female co-stars. And if so, how does Ko react to it? Can she brush it off as just acting because you, as Brick, are emotionally devoid of the people you are interacting with while your character maybe isn't?

Brick: Huh? What the hell are you talkin’ about? Well, the prosthesis was of course our tribute to Teh Man, Hanzo The Razor. No regular mortal can measure up to the legacy he set, so we had to go for artificial enhancement. And no, it wasn't functional-unless you count the effect it has on gals when you wear it to a party. Chicks are flat out mesmerized by it, like it was a spittin’ cobra or somethin’, and it’s way better than usin' a rolled up sock. Since I have no clue what the rest of your question means, why don't we ask Ko?

Koyori: Obenjo-san, all of the sexual relations in our films are simulated. It is to the credit of our special effects master, Kondo-san, that they look so real to our viewers. I will pass on your compliment to him. There is also the matter of Brick realizing that were he ever to engage in an unfortunate improper relationship on the set or away from it, my daddy knows many fine men with tattoos who would be pleased to help him find his way back to the righteous path. Yes, it is indeed fortunate that many eyes are constantly on my darling Brick to aid him in behaving correctly.

Brick: Uhhhhh…yeah, what she said. And it ain’t like I’m smart enough to employ a Brickster Kagemusha to throw private detectives off the trail or anythin’ like that, freein’ me up for a night on the town.

OK: We all saw some of the stills from Samurai Sexecutioner III. Wasn’t this supposed to have been released already? I don’t remember seeing any ads for it at the theatres.

Brick: No, yer thinkin’ of SS II. III is still filmin. If you’d been readin’ McBurly Monogatari on www.brickmcburly.com (the Official Website of the Brickster, complete with a filmography, reviews of other samurai films, and purchase links for official Brickster merchandise) you’d know that we had to suspend filmin’ in December to get my New Year’s specials done. Now, as you know, B-movies in Japan usually go straight to video but the Studio wanted to establish SS II as a theatrical release. After the gala premiere, it showed fer a weekend at the Lucky Star Theater so they could market it as a ‘big screen blockbuster’.

OK: Oh, so SS II went to DVD after a one-weekend run at a theater in Kabuki-cho. Well, I haven’t even seen the disc on sale in shops. Who is distributing the DVD? As a matter of fact, I haven’t been able to find any of your SS series of films on DVD. The copy of the first film that I have was burnt on a disc for me by a friend.

Brick: Well, like I said, most of the stuff I film is direct to video or fodder for the Studio’s Samurai Action Channel on cable. And like a lot of B films, big chain stores don’t carry it and many times the specialty stores stick it in the ‘adults only’ section, which I’m sure you never venture into, Benji. Things are complicated further by the fact that unlike in the US, Japanese film companies only print up the amount of DVD’s they think they can sell. And they ALWAYS lowball my films-I think they still find it hard to believe that someone would rather watch Samurai Sexecutioner than a wuss film like Hana, or Ballad Of Narayama which spotlights a guy bonin’ a dog. I know you can get SS II at the Studio Store in the theme park, YesAsia, and other fine online retailers. The SS I boxed DVD set was produced in very limited quantities and was an instant sellout. It sometimes shows up for a King’s ransom on eBay and Yahoo Auctions. The old VHS copies that have a butchered cut show up sometimes, too. Yer lucky you knew someone with a copy of the DVD, even though ya really shouldn’t be acceptin’ stuff from video pirates. Bastards.

OK: You once said that you try to inject a little historical realism into all the jidai geki you make. Assuming you weren’t talking about injecting something into your female co-stars, how so? Would you care to elaborate on this?"

Brick: Well, for example, recently on “Abarenbo Gaijin” I was put in the situation of havin’ to disguise myself as a woman to blend in with Hideyoshi’s version of the Ooku. Now, one of the Taiko’s servin’ girls was shown bringin’ a tray of raincoats to him, but I balked at that when I saw what the prop department had done. They were your typical garden variety Trojan brand-and I refused to film the scene until they substituted Taiko-enz, which history has recorded were the only brand that Hideyoshi would use. Another example took place in Samurai Sexecutioner II, where Orugasuma Eito seduces the wife of the 47 Ronin’s leader, Oishi Kuranosuke. The script called for a straight up session, but since historically Oishi’s wife preferred it magatama style on the kitchen floor, I insisted we do it that way.
That’s not to say I’m an anal-retentive history geek like you guys on the SA. If it’s somethin’ minor that the viewers will like, such as givin’ Wakizaka Yasuharu an early version of a nuclear sub with a ninja strike force led by Stephen Seagull shot out of the torpedo tubes to deal with Korean Admiral Yi, that’s OK. Never let a small detail get in the way of a good story, except when it turns out Seagull is too fat to fit in the torpedo tube.

OK: After you are dead and long gone, what do you think your acting legacy will be? How do you want to be remembered?

Brick: Like most actors, I just want to BE remembered. Hopefully, people in future generations will still be entertained when they boot up the 3-D virtual reality interactive version of Samurai Sexecutioner. If I can provide a few laughs, a few thrills, a few shivers of delight for the ladies-I’ve done my job. If nothin’ else, I hope to still be able to do mall openin’s and memorabilia shows after I’m too old to act. Celebrity in Japan truly is fleetin’-today’s Idol is tomorrow’s Soapland employee. But as long as I’m married to the Producer’s daughter, I have confidence that my career’ll be long and productive.
More important is my legacy as a human being. That’s why I take such pains to use my celebrity to perform good works within the community-like the ‘Brick McBurly Valentine’s Day Hot Tub Party’, or the traffic safety promos I do with Hikonyan. It’s important to be a role model for the kids. I love how their little faces light up when I’m makin’ an appearance at their school and tell them that lyin’ is always wrong, unless it’s necessary to get you out of a tight spot. And that the Brickster was just helpin’ their mommy out when she wasn’t feelin’ well, and nothin’ was really goin’ on there, really. When the little ones hear that violence never solved anythin’ but that a six-iron to the groin provides a nice temporary fix from the neighborhood bully, it really means somethin’ to them comin’ from the Brickster.

OK: You once told me, as you were getting up to use the toilet after draining a six pack of warm Shibata Premium Draft, that in your films, you aim to please. I remember replying, “I hope you aim, too, please.” ‘Aiming’ just doesn’t seem to be one of your strong spots, does it? As a matter of fact, I seem to recall you were recently apprehended by the police for showering Sean Penn from a balcony at Roppongi Hills as he was stepping onto the red carpet for the Japanese premier of his film, Milk. Was this just really a publicity stunt, as you later claimed in the press? After all, is the Japanese designer, Nigo, who was scheduled to unveil a new line of clothing called “A Bathing Brick” And what was it that you poured on Sean Penn?

Brick: That is one damn long question. Well, it was a joke between me and Sean Penn. I poured the contents of a milk carton down on him, while yellin', “Love milk?” Me and Sean Penn became friends while filmin' was rollin' for Fast Times at Ridgemont High. My cousin Stone played one of the guys in the van with Sean’s character, Jeff Spiccoli. I was allowed to visit durin' filmin' and met him on the set one day and accidentally spilled a glass of milk on him. In typical Sean Penn fashion, he slugged me. Since then, it’s become a bit of a tradition between me and him. As I was up on the balcony, I figured he’d have a hard time sluggin' me this time, but I didn’t figure on the cops comin’ up. Actually, no charges were pressed and the cops all had a good laugh about it after they realized what a photo op they stumbled on.

OK: Controversy seems to follow you as much as shrine maidens! Speaking of controversy, tell us a little bit about the trouble you got in at the end of 2008 with the Church, the Hosokawa Historical Memorial Society and the Kumamoto Chamber of Commerce? This had something to do with your Christmas film Cum All Ye Faithful, which ran only one time on the Rainbow Channel, right?

Brick: Well, yeah, I was ex-communicated for a few days because I played a bad monk, if you know what I mean, who was gettin' it on with Hosokawa Gracia, who was supposed to be all saintly and stuff. Actually, my character was gettin' it on with just about every hottie on the island of Kyushu, and one of them hotties in the film was the real life daughter of the President of the Kumamoto Chamber of Commerce. I’m still persona no grata there. But regardin' the Church, to make a long story short, I was re-communicated and forgiven, even though I’m a Buddhist and not Catholic, when I agreed to attend an autograph sin’n session at the Vatican for a bunch of my nun fans on the Pope’s behalf. Hey, Benji, you know a lot about the trouble nuns can cause for men, don'cha?

OK: Sounds like a lot of ‘nunsense’ to me. I got to ask you this, though. Was it really a coincidence that you happened to be at that McDonald’s in Japan while an AV movie was being filmed there-at least until the police shut it down?

Brick: Well, I was ‘lovin’ it’, at least while it lasted. And I never woulda had Ko's mom (former Olympic judo bronze medalist), 'Right Cross' Chiba, along fer the ride if I knew in advance what was goin' on.

OK: One review, in the Japanese monthly magazine “Bigu Sukureen Stahs” described you as the new king of ‘Poruno Jidai-Geki’. How do you feel about that title?

Brick: I’m proud as hell. After I read that article, I tried gettin’ the guys in costumin’ to make me a crown emblazoned with that on it along with a regal cloak so’s I could wander around Gion like the Burger King, surprisin’ unsuspectin’ ladies with a free helpin’ of my wares. And who among the current crop of Japanese movie stars deserves the title more’n me? It’s like Bruce Campbell says at the end of Army of Darkness’-“Hail to the King, baby”. You’d think they was makin’ every film and TV show for gay men, seein’ as how metro sexual and feminine most of the male leads are.

OK: Do you think that the poruno jidai-geki genre is in the midst of a revival or renaissance of sorts? After all, you’ve been linked to a remake of Ishii Teruo’s classic, Bohachi Bushido that starred Tamba Tetsuro as an inscrutable ronin who sure knew how to swing his katana within the Yoshiwara.

Brick: You bet. Historically, whenever times get tough or society is in a state of flux, that’s when people turn to escapist films like horror or jidai-geki for entertainment. And it don’t get much more escapist than watchin’ a Westerner in a Japanese role rackin’ up the score in an historical settin’. Unless ya throw in a few monsters or aliens, all of which we’re also more’n happy to do. And let’s face it, there’s ALWAYS a market for porn. Heck, Al Gore invented the internet just so there’d be a place to host it all.

OK: When are you going to start filming Bohachi Bushido?

Brick: It can't be soon enough for my tastes-prob'ly after I’m done filmin' my new historical epic, Yasuke.

OK: Oh, I see. Tell us about this project, it sounds interesting.

Brick: As you know, Yasuke was an African brought along by the Portuguese while visitin’ Nobunaga. Oda took an interest in him and requested that the Portuguese hand over Yasuke, which they were only too happy to do since they really didn’t groove on rap. It’s really quite the upliftin’ story. Yasuke-kidnapped and forced into slavery-torn away from his posse and beeyotches-forced to wear the ridiculous lookin’ clothes of the Portuguese. Strugglin’ to keep his head high and uphold his dignity while assaulted by the taunts and abuse of Nobunaga’s redneck country samurai, who even tried to wash off his skin color. Becomin’ the REAL Afro Samurai and followin’ the way of the warrior. Carvin’ out a friendship with the Demon King, even bein’ afforded the privilege of callin’ him ‘dawg’. Standin’ by Nobunaga until the very end, not even givin’ in to the temptin’ words of the Great Emancipator, Akechi Mitsuhide. Now, there are some who said Yasuke ran like a scared rabbit when Mitsuhide attacked at Honno-ji, but he really was just battlin’ through overwhelmin’ odds to reach Nijo Castle and defend Nobunaga’s son. Course, the son got wasted too, but that wasn’t Yasuke’s fault. Heck, some tales have him swingin’ a terrible swift sword as big as a pine tree, showin’ the strength of fifty men, and scatterin’ the Akechi army like so much dust before the wind-even though they somehow managed to kill off everybody else in the Oda army. And he did it all faster than that newfangled steam hammer could, too. Since history doesn’t record what became of Yasuke after that, the script ends on a happy note with him becomin’ the founder of the Yoshiwara district in Edo years later, with his instant catchphrase, “Where my money?” The Studio loves the idea, and since all Westerners look the same and just like Elvis to them, they didn’t have the problems with me playin’ the title role like an American studio would.

OK: So, you are really playing the part of Yasuke? I guess this is conceivable since Robert Downey, Jr., who is white, played the role of an Afro-American in the recent comedy Tropical Thunder and Eddie Murphy and the Wayan brothers have played Caucasians before. Besides the makeup, are there any special challenges to playing Yasuke?

Brick: Not really. We have a lot in common. Me bein' a feared and respected foreigner just like Yasuke-me bein' somewhat of a curiosity for the Japanese to stare at just like Yasuke-me bein' a muscular stud just like Yasuke-me dancin' every bit as good as Yasuke-the list goes on and on. If it wasn't for the skin color difference and the fact that he's been dead for hundreds of years, we could be brothers. I also wear the prosthesis from Samurai Sexecutioner to give the role a little more historical authenticity, jus' like we talked about before. I’ve re-watched the Dolemite series to put me in the proper frame of mind to accurately portray this forgotten hero of Japanese history, and I've also re-watched a buncha “Good Times” episodes with Jimmie Walker. The only real problem is the dread locks--I cringe every time I look in the mirror and don’t see my trademark impeccably groomed ‘do but do see Manny Ramirez/Bobby Marley starin’ back at me.

OK: Why do you suppose that widely acclaimed Japanese samurai film connoisseurs, such as Patrick Galloway, refuse to acknowledge your work?

Brick: Patrick who? Ya mean that fashion plate in black socks and sandals that lurks around the back lot sometimes and has to be chased off by the Studio's Mall Cop? Well, I think it has a lot to do with the fact that movie reviewers dislike anythin’ that supposedly disturbs the ‘purity’ of the films they love. The disdain for the Brickster is no different than that shown for Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai. Add to that the fact that most of these guys can’t speak Japanese and can’t get subtitled copies of my films, and I don’t stand a chance. But who cares? The Japanese love ‘em, and they’re the ones buyin’ tickets and DVD’s. When Japanese women are lookin’ for a spicy film to heat up their day while their husbands are at work, it’s a good bet from schoolgirl to obaa that they’re usin’ their tremblin’ hands to insert the Brickster into their DVD player.

Now, as to Pat personally, while he’s got a serious case of HUA when it comes to my films, I think he’s a great guy. His books have tipped me off to a lot of classics I might have otherwise missed, and unlike some critics he gives B movies the same respect he shows A movies. And he sends me photos of Reiko-chan, so he’s O-tay by me. Benji, don’t he have a new book comin’ out in a coupla weeks? I’d buy it, but I’m sure I’ll be gettin’ a complimentary copy in the mail any day now.

OK: You’ll have to wait for that book from Pat. Publication’s been delayed and I don’t think he’ll be sending you anything after what you just said about his fashion sense. What would your 'dream project' be, if you had an unlimited budget and complete creative control?

Brick: Well, that would be a full length (yuk, yuk) production of the unabridged Tale of Genji with me in the title role. I mean, when smooth-talkin' cultured and educated womanizin' horn dogs are brought up, my name is always first out of the gate with the ladies of Japan. It's a natural!

Even though it wouldn't be an historical epic, I'd also like to get the starrin' role in the film adaptation of Lian Hearn's Tales Of The Otori. I'm talkin' of course, about the role of the naughty warlord Iida Sadamu. Now, of course, there'd have to be a few minor adjustments made to the script to accommodate the Brickster. Fer example, Kaede would have to turn on Takeo and put his head on a spike outside Iida's castle. Nobody would ever believe a hot babe like Kaede would prefer a wuss like Takeo over the roguish charm of Iida as performed by me. One'a those SMAP guys would be perfect for the role of Takeo, and nobody'd miss him when he got offed. We could then end the film with a rousin' pillow fight between Iida and Kaede. I think it'd be the perfect vehicle to introduce the Brickster to Western filmgoers.

Hey Benji, I gots a question for you if you feel up to it. Whatever happened to that Lt. Boomer guy and Mr. Dorka? They were two of my fav’rites on the SA.

OK: You mean Msr. Iaidoka, and Domer, right? Domer supposedly got in trouble with his wife when she walked in on him stripped down to his boxers and wearing 3D glasses while watching some of your movies with a big bowl of popcorn. As for Iaidoka, I don’t know. Well, anyway, Brick, it’s been a real pleasure. Good luck with the films and we’ll see you on the small screen.

Brick: You bet. Thanks. By the way, can you spot me 1,000 yen? I’m feelin' thirsty and need another cold one after talkin' with you.

OK: You’ve got to be kidding, right?

Brick: About bein' thirsty? Never, big guy. Come on, Benji, you ‘kin add it to my tab of bar bills that you’ve been coverin' for me.

Due to the rumors that started to swirl earlier this week about noted historian and author Anthony J. Bryant having a cameo role in the upcoming bio-epic Yasuke, I felt it was necessary to call up Brick and ask a follow-on question about this, as Mr. Bryant is being a little coy.

OK: We've heard recently that historian and SA member Anthony Bryant has been offered a walk-on role in Yasuke. There seems to be some confusion in fandom over what part he's actually going to be playing. Can you shed any light on this matter?

Brick: Well, A.J. was originally slated to play the role of Shogun Ashikaga Yoshiaki-but he was cast sight unseen. When he showed up on the set, the gal who's our castin' director got one look at his legs and decided he'd be perfect for the role of Shiz-he-ka, the evil shirabyōshi dancer. Imagine my surprise! Looks like it was a good career mood for Lord Effin'ham, since the Brickster hears he's slated to be part of the next round of "Dancing With The Stars" on American TV.

Mitsuo....err, Sharpe's? "Samurai Battles"

2009-03-23T02:06:00.004-10:00

Usually I don’t like to post negative reviews-I’d much rather feature a good book that others might enjoy and find useful than waste time dwelling on a failed effort. However, sometimes circumstances dictate that a sub par release be drug into the spotlight. That’s why I’m writing about the recent highly anticipated ‘Samurai Battles’ by Mitsuo Kure. Because, you see, ‘Samurai Battles’ isn’t written by Mitsuo Kure at all (despite what the Amazon listing and the publisher Chartwell’s catalog say). Kure’s name never turns up once-as a picture credit, a footnote source, or an acknowledgement. Instead, it turns out that one Michael Sharpe was substituted for Kure at the last minute as author of the title. Who’s Michael Sharpe, you might ask? He’s described as an English teacher living in Japan (which in and of itself is a red flag) and a writer of several books on World War II (which, of course, makes him an expert on pre-modern Japanese history…uh-huh). Sharpe is also the author of ‘Samurai Leaders’, a book so far under the radar that it only came to the Samurai Archives’ attention when one of the board members found it for a couple of bucks on the closeout table at a bookstore. Interestingly enough, that book is also listed as being written by Mitsuo Kure and he had nothing to do with it either. Samurai Leaders was a poor effort, and as we shall see many of its problems were transferred directly to ‘Samurai Battles’. It’s unknown why publishers Chartwell and Compendium are listing Sharpe’s books under Kure’s name. Perhaps Kure pulled out and Sharpe was brought in at the last minute to do a quick fix, but that’s nothing more than idle speculation. At any rate, allowing this book to continue to be listed under Kure’s name is fraudulent and misleading. It could be forgiven if the work in question ended up being well done-but sadly, that’s not the case here. ‘Samurai Battles’ is a pretty straightforward account of 700 years of samurai warfare-roughly 1180 to 1877, although several earlier conflicts are mentioned. There isn’t much in the way of critical thought or analysis-so little that the accounts reminded me of Wikipedia entries. In fact, a comparison of the chapter on the Genpei war with Wikipedia shows that the two tally point by point-they’re not word for word, but I suspect that the similarities are more than coincidental. The information in the book is several years behind the current state of scholarship. For example, Tedorigawa is described as being a major battle between the Uesugi and Oda involving well over 50,000 men-an account that hatched out of a fanciful desire of the Japanese General Staff’s desire to produce an impressive looking ‘official military history’ in the 1890’s. It’s now largely accepted that the battle was a minor rearguard action involving less than 2000 troops. Likewise, Edo period legends are accepted as fact (such as the story of Akechi Mitsuhide’s mother being put to death as retaliation for Oda Nobunaga’s execution of two envoys). Many accounts leave the reader with mistaken impressions-after reading the description of Mikata-ga-hara, one would be left thinking that the Takeda army was decimated and in tatters after the battle rather than having just steamrolled the Tokugawa. And in many places, ‘Samurai Battles’ is just plain wrong-such as stating that cannon were in widespread use in Japan by 1582, and Kawanakajima is described as a naval battle. The layout of the book is puzzling-although it seemingly is trying to follow a timeline, it places the chapter on Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea (1592-98) after the chapter on Sekigahara (1600). Glaring omissions abound-despite the claims of covering warfare from 1180 to 1877, the Osaka campaigns (1614-15) and the Shimabara Rebellion (1638) are absent. That’s like writing a book on the history of battles in the United States and leaving out World War II.

As far as sources, there is no bibliography, but each chapter has endnotes with sources. Some of the sources are from well regarded scholars such as Thomas Conlan or Karl Friday, but one has to wonder if the author has actually read these works or just ‘borrowed’ their citation from footnotes on Wikipedia (which seems to be the case). Otherwise, only articles available for free on the net or the most general surveys (such as Turnbull’s ‘War in Japan’) are used. Many times, one single work seems to be the basis for an entire chapter. Thus, we are subjected to the poorly formulated and highly biased articles of Kenneth Swope as the foundation for the chapter on the Korean invasions. Not mentioned are easily available popular sources on the invasions such as Turnbull’s two books on the war, Admiral Yi’s memoirs or diaries, ‘The Book of Corrections’, or Samuel Hawley’s excellent ‘Imjin War’, all of which leave Swope’s efforts looking like the work of an embittered teenager not invited to the dance.

Usually, most coffee table books of this type can garner at least a token recommendation on the basis of a plethora of pictures, maps, photos, and woodcut reproductions. But ‘Samurai Battles’ botches this, too. Many of the shots are poor reproductions and badly blurred. Even worse, many of the images have incorrect captions that clearly have nothing to do with what is being depicted. A famous print of (Taira) Noto no Kami Noritsune and Minamota Yoshitsune at the battle of Dan-no-Ura is captioned as being ‘Tajima the Arrow Cutter’ at the battle of Uji. A detail of the Anegawa battle screen is said to be Tokugawa Ieyasu at the battle of Sekigahara. A print of the famous ‘race across the river’ by two horsemen at the second battle of Uji is captioned as Minamoto Yorimasa from the first battle years earlier. And a print of Nasu no Yoichi shooting the Taira fan at the battle of Yashima is said to be Taira Masakado! Even some of the ‘correct’ captions are lagging behind on scholarship, since they go with the old identifications of works that have been reattributed (such as the scroll painting of Ashikaga Takauji on the back cover, which is now thought to be one of his vassals). Some captions just leave one wondering-a print of the 4th battle of Kawanakajima is identified as such, but also contains totally unrelated text about the effect of Korean and Chinese culture on Japan over a thousand years before the battle was fought. What makes all this even more unforgivable is that these are the SAME EXACT BLURRY AND MISCAPTIONED SHOTS USED IN ‘SAMURAI LEADERS’. The strategic and battle maps in the book are well done, but upon closer examination proved to have been copied from Turnbull’s ‘Samurai Sourcebook’, Sansom’s ‘History Of Japan’, and Solum’s ‘Saga Of The Samurai’. They’re more colorful, but there’s no doubt where they were ‘borrowed’ (and I use the word loosely) from. And yes, they have errors too-the most obvious being the forces of the Western and Eastern armies being reversed in the Sekigahara campaign map.

In summary, there’s little here for either neophytes or scholars. Don’t be fooled by the eye-catching cover. Perhaps someday Kure will indeed write a ‘Samurai Battles’ book, and I’ll be looking forward to it-but my advice to all would be to avoid the Sharpe version at all costs.

On Board With Dan Free, Author Of 'Early Japanese Railways'

2009-03-13T02:49:00.013-10:00

Author Dan Free of "Early Japanese Railways 1853-1914: Engineering Triumphs That Transformed Meiji-era Japan" (released by Tuttle Publishing and available through the SA-Amazon Store) received a graduate degree in law from George Washington University in Washington, DC as well as an undergraduate degree in French (with a dual minor in German and Italian) from Ohio State University. He's also studied Japanese and Korean. Dan has traveled extensively in Japan, China, Korea, Indonesia, Singapore, Nepal, Myanmar, and Thailand. Early Japanese Railways represents the culmination of 25 years of research on Dan's part and is a comprehensive work tailored to both scholars and casual readers (see the SA review below this interview). In the following interview, SA is the Samurai-Archives and DF is Dan Free.

SA: Mr. Free, thanks for taking time to speak with the Samurai Archives. What factors led you to develop an interest in railroads, and Asian railroads in particular? Did your curiosity predate your discovery of the documents submitted in 1904 to 'The Locomotive Magazine' by Kashima Shosuke?

DF: I grew up in a time when the prospect of air travel was beyond the means of most people I knew, and a train or ocean liner journey provided the early image of what travel was meant to be - trains that offered staterooms that converted from seats into your bed at night, after you'd returned from the dining car and a full day watching mountains roll by under a glass dome set in the top of a passenger car - or at least that was how it was presented, and the concept seemed good enough to me as a child. So I was intrigued by railways out of wanderlust, I suppose.
My interest in Asian railways came considerably later as an adult. I had been an admirer of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, one of the great engineering geniuses of the first half of the 19th Century, and was in touch with several antiquarian book dealers in the UK specializing in railways and engineering to obtain materials on his Great Western Railway. By off-chance I ran across a packet of materials on turn-of-the-century Japanese railways among the stock of one of them. I'd been interested in East Asian culture generally since my teens and had by that time started a miserably small collection of Japanese ukiyo-e woodblock prints, so that packet was a curiosity that combined two of my interests. The lot turned out to be the Kashima Shosuke submissions, and of course those materials arrived a whole set of questions in tow and started a chain-reaction that two decades later led to the book.

SA: The book features a nice blend of power politics, tech, and cultural impact. Was this a conscious decision on your part to make it more accessible to a general audience?

DF: Yes. I realized that this was a classic example of a "niche market" book and that I had three constituents who might be interested: general readers with an interest in Asian history or culture, railfans, and scholars, and the trick would be to find the appropriate balance to please all three in order to appeal to as broad a market as possible. It was a bit like trying to find where the proper place to hit would be in a bull's-eye target that looked like a circle surrounding a three-point star. I never had any intent to produce something along the lines of the "Romance of the Orient Express" style coffee table books you find in a big-box bookstore, so I had planned to weight the book more heavily on a technical/scholarly bias, but as I got involved in the actual process of writing, realized that while an East Asian studies major would be conversant with the "railway colonialism" of the 19th Century, he or she wouldn't necessarily appreciate railway economics or engineering points and that a railway aficionado might have little if any grounding in Japanese history, and so on. So I found that I had to be sensitive to making sure issues and facts that I sometimes take for granted were put in proper context, at the risk of losing some readers' interest.

SA: The Tokugawa Shogunate granted the United States the first railway concession in Japan in early 1868-a short line from Yokohoma to Edo. However, after the Shogunate was ousted from power, the Meiji government refused to recognize the grant although they had agreed to assume all international agreements made by the Bakufu. Why was this done and how did the Japanese go about nullifying it?

DF: I think the ultimate reason that doomed the American efforts was the Japanese Government's fear of foreign control and the potential exposure to the dangers of colonization that was inherent in the Bakufu's concession, which envisioned that the projected line would be foreign-owned and operated. The new government hinted at this in its insistence that the line be built as an undertaking of the Japanese people - I forget the exact words. What was presented on its face as a matter of national pride and honor actually was masking the fear of colonization that was the chronic bête noire for the new Meiji government's policy makers. They couched matters this way for positive spin, as it was naturally not a subject openly discussed with their Western counterparts. The Japanese at the time had to play a very careful and delicate game of playing one power off against the other, all the while not becoming too dependent on any one of the powers at their doorstep. At bottom line, the Japanese government saw it as too big a step down the slippery slope of endangering the survival of an independent Japan. What I find intriguing and unanswered is why the American Resident Minister Van Valkenburg, his successor DeLong, and the Deputy Secretary of Legation Portman didn't actively push the concept of a compromise where the American government would agree to Japan financing (through American banks or markets or by its own means) and owning the railway, but build it using American equipment and technical advisors, which is, after all, how the project ultimately was structured with the British. We know that in the course of the negotiations the Japanese foreign minister offered to trade the railway concession for some other thing of value to the Americans, but no one at the American Legation seemed to have taken this as an opening to explore restructuring the terms of the grant to calm Japanese fears, while still salvaging a potential for American involvement as the source of equipment and technical advise.

SA: The early decision made by the Meiji government to adopt a smaller rail gauge (3' 6") for their system than was generally used worldwide (4' 8 1/2") was to have far reaching consequences. How might the Japanese rail industry have developed differently had they used the Western standard?

DF: The ramifications of that decision - and who actually made it is still not a settled point of history - are still rippling today, and the "what-if" scenario for the Japanese rail industry is timely. The three factors of the opening of access to the Trans-Siberian Railway to external shippers with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the increased cost of petro-fuels, and the hazards of piracy off the Horn of Africa on the main Asia-Europe sea route have all combined to make the prospect of shipping Japanese goods to the markets of Europe by rail not only within the realm of feasibility, but increasingly attractive. China and Korea's railways are fortuitously both built to the standard gauge of 4' 8 ½“ used in almost all of Europe, and the US for that matter. And the simplest route would be across the narrow strait dividing Japan from Korea, then to China for transit through Manchuria, and on to Europe via the Trans-Siberian. There would be a notable time savings over the ocean route, and there would be a dramatic savings in fuel cost compared to a land route using conventional trucking. The problem of North Korea is an obvious stumbling block in such a scheme, but North Korea could be by-passed by rail-car laden ferries calling at Chinese ports, and Dalian or Lushun come to mind immediately. The Russian gauge of 5' is close enough to Europe's, China's, and Korea's that adjustable wheelsets could be devised for the railcars to handle the 3 ½ inch difference. This has been done for trains changing gauge at the Franco-Spanish border where there’s a break in gauge. But the gauge of Japan’s freight railway system is an obstacle. While the Shinkansen “Bullet Train” system has been built to the worldwide standard of 4’ 8 ½", freight traffic is still confined to the old 3' 6" gauge network, and for safety reasons, it isn't smart to have slow-moving freight trains moving in and out of passing sidings on a high-speed passenger network that is already congested enough. If you add one more "what-if", the equation becomes even more intriguing. What if Japan's colonial administration of Korea had been much more benign and focused on assisting Korea in attaining early independence rather than absorption into the Japanese state such that the two nations were now friendlier and on more trusting terms today? At some 33 miles, Japan's Seikan tunnel linking Hokkaido with the mainland is the world's longest undersea tunnel, beating the Channel Tunnel by a couple of miles, yet few people in the West are even aware of the fact that it exists. The Strait of Tsushima that divides Korea and Japan is only about 100 miles wide, conveniently interrupted roughly mid-way by the island of Tsushima. If Japan and Korea had had a less acrimonious history that now haunts them, and Japan had adopted "Standard Gauge", would we be reading press releases today about construction of an undersea tunnel linking the two nations, the prospect of shipping Japanese goods to Europe via the Trans-Siberian, and the possibility of stepping onto a Bullet Train in Tokyo bound for Seoul?
The other side of the coin is the fact that it was the congestion and inadequacies of the Japanese narrow gauge lines that gave rise to the decision to build an entirely new network fresh from the ground up in the 1950s that came to be the Shinkansen or "Bullet Train" network. It was a very bold step when taken and hand-in-glove with it came the decision to be bold when planning for high speeds. If Japan had an existing Standard Gauge network in place, it is possible that a much more timid and budget-conscious approach might have been taken to traffic congestion problems in the 50s, and rather than a solution resulting in the so-called Bullet Trains, it might have been much easier and less risky to have simply quadruple-tracked the existing lines and use conventional trains.

SA: As you point out in the book, the Japanese armed forces were generally opposed to the early rounds of rail construction (citing foreign influences, clashes over budget allocations, and conflicts over the use of land controlled by the military). What in your opinion was the turning point that brought them 'on board', so to speak, becoming enthusiastic backers of the railroads and increasingly involved with the planning behind them?

DF: I think the point was driven home in a two stage process, and as often seems to be the case, not because the concept carried the day in principle, but because railways were put to the two separate "acid tests", didn't fail, and actually made the job of logistics easier for the military. This latter point seems absurdly obvious today, but there were deeply reactionary skeptics among the military in Japan in the early Meiji era who doubted that privately owned railways would be capable of coordinating transport and supply movements of such magnitude and could be - or ought to be - relied upon in times of national emergency. It was a concern of the era that wasn't unique just to Japan. The mid- to late 19th Century was a time when a spirited polemic was swirling in Europe and the US on just that point, when the state-owned systems of Russia, France, and Prussia/Germany were often cited as examples giving those nations a military edge in time of war over the UK and US with their publicly owned and operated systems. There were only about 65 miles of railway lines in Japan at the time of the Satsuma Rebellion in 1877, in two segments no less that were not even inter-connected. What support they provided was undoubtedly a welcome "nicety", but this probably served enough of a purpose to make more forward-thinking minds take note and enough to end the days of real, active opposition. But there was still a lingering concern among military thinkers that Japanese railways could be captured by invading powers and used against the Japanese. To the extent there was an actual "Eureka Moment" then it would have to be the Sino-Japanese War of 1894-95. Here was Japan, "little Japan" to paraphrase some of the commentators of the day, taking on China, the most powerful nation in Asia for century upon century. The Japanese railway network at that point stretched from Hokkaido in the north, down the entire length of the main island Honshu, with transversal lines accessing both coasts along the way, to Hiroshima, and had also reached into Kyushu. Out of necessity, the military discovered that the Government and publicly owned railways that formed the system could indeed coordinate their movements and sustain heavy transportation of critical resources and troops from almost every corner of the nation to ports of embarkation in southern and western Japan at levels never before attainable in Japan. China on the other hand had only one rail line, from Beijing to just beyond Shanhaigun, where the Great Wall met the sea in Manchuria, and precious few of its resources and troops from its vast interiors could be brought to the theatre of war as quickly and easily as Japan was able to, thanks in large part domestically to Japan's rail system. By the war's conclusion, the military thinkers had been converted almost en masse and they could barely contain their eagerness to be involved more closely in state policy and regulatory matters concerning railways.

SA: One of the more interesting side stories in the book deals with 'Jinsha Tetsudo', or human powered railroads. These non-mining railways literally used manpower to push small railcars to local destinations, although the distances on some lines featured impressive levels of mileage. Were these unique to Japan, or did the Jinsha Tetsudo have parallels in other industrialized countries?

DF: The key to this were two facts: Japan was horse-poor and Japan was capital-poor. There are any number of examples in both Europe and America, when a nation was in the infancy of its industrial development, of railways initially being horse-drawn - in fact in the early 1830s almost every nation that started building railways had tried it. Horses used to draw trains up what is now Park Avenue in New York City before the tracks were built under it, for fear passing steam locomotives would scare the horses in other traffic. But horses were a scarce and expensive commodity in mid-19th century Japan. On the other hand, human labor was cheap and plentiful. Japan simply borrowed a page from the industrial revolution playbook that had gone out of vogue in the West by, say 1839 or so, and with the usual Japanese ingenuity, adapted it to its own purposes. If the horses for hansom cabs or hacks like there were in London, Paris, Berlin or New York are too scarce and expensive, then we'll create the rickshaw. If we can't afford an expensive steam locomotive imported from England, or even horses imported by way of British India or California, then we'll make do with a railway powered by human runners - and that was the solution hit upon by small, rural railways serving villages where the traffic potential would never have justified the outlay for a stable of steam locomotives. So, while the concept was uniquely Japanese in inspiration, it was based on horse-drawn antecedents from the earlier days of the industrial revolution. As far as other Western industrialized countries go, I know of no man-powered railways that ever existed - it was cheaper in the long run in the US and Europe to buy and feed a horse than to pay a crew of men. But by the time Japan had become a colonizing power and raised its standard of living to the point where the Jinsha Tetsudo's days were numbered domestically, it built other examples of the Jinsha Tetsudo in both Korea and Taiwan - again, two countries where horses were scarce and expensive and where there was cheap and plentiful labor.

SA: While the railways were best known for their role in economic development and military matters, they also had a major impact on the common people as the rail net slowly tied together every province of Japan. How was the life of an average Japanese citizen enhanced by this new technology?

DF: In ways no less that it did in America or Europe. This is where certain universal principles of what railways have done globally for the world's standard of living start to become clear, but the most profound change in Japan was in large part unfelt, in the "social safety net" it provided. Many country folk in Japan at the dawn of the Meiji era were living at close to a subsistence level. Imagine trying to feed a population with emergency food supplies in times of famine or natural disaster using porters and the occasional pack horse or ox as transport, and imagine that many of the backcountry roads were so narrow that traffic had to go single file along some stretches. That was the situation before railways. As railway stations opened, medicines not readily attainable in small towns came to be distributed more easily, and canned food as well. Specialized tools or other items not yet manufactured in Japan became more easily available. Ideas spread as the people who brought them were able to travel. Journalism grew as newspaper circulation increased due to railways handling of mail, newspaper, and parcel services, and with that, the seeds of a modern public opinion started to sprout. The possibility of shipment of fresh food in from outlying agricultural areas meant cities were able to sustain larger populations, who arrived from smaller towns by rail to take the jobs being offered by the new industrialization starting to take root. The list goes on...

SA: What type of adaptations did the Japanese make in the locomotives and rolling stock built for them by the British, Americans, and Germans? Were there any unique contributions made to railroad technology by Japanese designers? In your opinion, what was the most successful Japanese-built locomotive design of the pre-WWI era?

DF: There were few notable ones in the Meiji era, other than small modifications. Much rolling stock tended to be ordered from Western manufacturers "straight from the catalogue" and not special-ordered, to keep cost low. The first Meiji adaptation that comes to mind is that seats on domestic-built passenger cars in those times were often made deeper, so that a person could sit cross-legged in traditional Japanese style. Freight train cabooses or brake vans were seen as additional expense items for many railways during the Meiji era, so costs were saved by building a small cabin in box cars for the brakeman to ride in. You'll also notice in many of the photographs in the book that the cylinders that drove the connecting rods and cranks on locomotives were often inclined on an angle, which is much less prevalent in British, German or American steam locomotives of the day. This was done in part to give the front wheels added lateral clearance on the tight curves used on some of the narrow gauge lines and due to the tight loading gauge originally used in Japan. Of course, one of the most lasting adaptations, not to locomotives or rolling stock but to railway passenger operations, was the creation of the ekiben - the pre-packaged box lunch still sold in stations today. The truly revolutionary contributions Japanese designers were to make to railway technology would have to wait for the 1960s when they showed the world what the future of railway passenger transportation could be with the Shinkansen network. As far as the most successful pre-WWI era design, this was undoubtedly the 9600 class locomotive, which was introduced just before your cut-off point. They were initially intended as slow speed heavy freight locomotives or mountain helper units, but proved to be very serviceable Jack-of-All-Trades and lasted to the very end of steam in Japan.

SA: As they are wont to do, the Japanese rapidly conquered the basics of railroad construction, phased out the foreign experts they had employed to help get them started, and began to set themselves up as exporters of rail technology to other locations in Asia. Did the Japanese model of exported rail construction differ significantly from, say, Britain's? Was it perhaps more suited to the tighter budgets and economic conditions found in China and Korea?

DF: On lines like the former "Swatow - Chaochowfu Railway" in southern China, where Chinese administrators and investors hired the Japanese to serve as engineers, supply the equipment and rolling stock, and staff operations, they could be very cost-conscious, yes. On lines like the South Manchurian Railway, where national prestige was an issue because the line was one of the prizes of the Russo-Japanese War, and where there was a hidden political agenda in play, the Japanese built boldly, solidly, and to top quality, but seldom squandered resources on unnecessary extravagances.

SA: Early Japanese Railways features an impressive display of period woodblock prints, photographs, postcards, advertising materials, timetables, and other visual aids-all of which are owned by you. Please tell us about the various sources you've procured these items from. Many of the captions are quite detailed, far exceeding the level of detail seen in other books. Was it difficult to ‘place’ many of the photos both as to location and on a timeline?

DF: Any flea market, second hand bookstore, antique dealer, print gallery, post card collectors' convention, or antique fair became fair game. If I saw an old photo album at yard sale, I'd glance through it. It was something I came to be always on the look-out for. And yes there were quite a number of photos that presented challenges. One example is the photo of the first line of railway to be abandoned, which gave rise to a good bit of research to determine its route, in order to confirm that it ran alongside a river, as seen in the photo. A large number of the station photographs had to be checked to see whether the image was that of the first station building to be built, or a later replacement. The names of towns or stations could have changed, so I started to collect and buy any good Meiji or Taisho era atlas I could find to check route and right-of-way questions. The photo of the troops and horses at Muroran station gave me concern, as I suspected the uniforms might have been later in the WW I era. I had launched into researching Japanese military uniforms of the Russo-Japanese War and WW I before one of my correspondents in Japan was able to write that he had found an old newspaper article pin-pointing the troop movement in question to the Russo-Japanese War. Two of the photos ultimately not included in the book showed the aftermath of a railway yard and station after severe flooding, and while I felt fairly certain of the identity of the railway line, and could roughly guess an approximate date, there were no clues as to the name of the station. Again, several of my correspondents in Japan joined in the fun, and I can remember at one point we were attempting to guess the location based on which towns had a known pickle-producing industry in Meiji times, as there were numerous pickle barrels to be seen on the loading platforms or scattered about as débris in the photos. We never did succeed in pinpointing the station. Other times, information fell into my lap like ripe fruit. While I was researching a totally different issue, I unexpectedly ran across a reference to the date Otaru harbor improvements were made, which permitted me to give an approximate date to the photo of the hoisting gantry and construction locomotive on the breakwater being built in the harbor there.

SA: During your extensive research done for the book, did you run across any information that surprised you or challenged any pre-conceptions you might have had?

DF: I was surprised when I found the official US diplomatic correspondence that surrounded the original Tokugawa railway grant. Most of the other histories I had read rarely mentioned Anton Portman, and most failed to mention that he was the deputy chief of the US legation. I suspected that if there were anything of worth to be found in the official diplomatic records, some historian before me had already been there, and the fact that there was nothing of note mentioned in the histories I had read was an indicator that there would be nothing to be found in the diplomatic dispatches. So I was amazed when I found the materials emanating from the US Legation in Tokyo. I had started the book with the notion, obtained from British commentators and Japanese writers in English of the late 19th / early 20th Century period, that the breakdown of the Horatio Nelson Lay financial arrangements was something of an "unfortunate but innocent amicable misunderstanding." After I had obtained the US diplomatic materials, saw who was involved on the Japanese side, worked them into the existing timeline, and realized their import, I started to look more closely at the career of Mr. Lay, and came away convinced that there was a darker side to things - and that perhaps the British and Japanese writers of that era were being more circumspect in what they wrote out of a desire to gloss over past difficulties and put recent unpleasant dealings behind them. I was well along in later chapters of the book when I found those materials and I knew immediately that the first chapters would have to be substantially re-written. I think mine is the first book in English to bring this information to light.

SA: You submitted your manuscript to Japanese rail historian Dr. Aoki Eiichi for review. Did any major changes arise from this or it was it more of a 'fine tuning' process?

DF: Dr. Aoki's review didn't result in major changes, no. What it did result in was the usual number of "fine tuning" corrections, as you said, but more importantly the addition of a very generous amount of additional details and encouraging suggestions as to where I might add more exposition that would be worthwhile. Dr. Aoki was unbelievably kind in adding some notes that fleshed out additional names and dates and added elements of interest.

SA: What other books might you recommend to readers looking for more on the subject of the Japanese railroad industry? Are you currently working on any other projects?

DF: For English-language books, two come immediately to mind. The first is "A History of Japanese Railways 1872 - 1999", a collaborative effort in English by Prof. Aoki, Mitsuhide Imashiro, Shinichi Kato, and Yasuo Wakuda, East Japan Railway Cultural Foundation, 2000, ISBN 4-87513-089-9 and well worth having. The second is the Harvard monograph of Prof. Steven Ericson, "The Sound of the Whistle", Harvard Council on East Asian Studies, 1996, ISBN 0-674-82167-X which details the history of finance and state policy decision making concerning railways in the Meiji era far better that I could ever have done. For those who read Japanese, the ultimate is Japan National Railways' ten-volume official history which was produced in 1972 on the hundredth anniversary of railways in Japan, now unfortunately out of print and increasingly hard to come by even in Japan. For modern railways, Prof. Christopher Hood has produced a timely volume titled "Shinkansen: From Bullet Train to Symbol of Modern Japan", Routledge, 2007, ISBN 0415444098. To answer your second question, yes, I've turned my attention to China and have started work on a companion volume on railways there before 1914.

SA: Thanks, Mr. Free-it's been a real pleasure speaking with you.

Early Japanese Railways 1853-1914: Engineering Triumphs That Transformed Meiji-era Japan

2009-02-28T02:22:00.007-10:00

When we received Early Japanese Railways by Dan Free, we weren't quite sure what to expect. Would this oversized 288 page book be a tech-heavy examination of the nuts, bolts, and hardware involved in railroad building, heavy on the industrial jargon and light on history? Perhaps an examination of the cultural, economic, and political implications that the railways had on Japan? A collection of anecdotes and travel diaries? A coffee table book backloaded with photos and prints? Well, after an in-depth examination, it seems that Free has managed to pull off something special-a book that combines all of the above features and manages to do them justice. It's an impressively well written and even more meticulously researched work that Free has spent 25 years working towards, and a welcome new addition from Tuttle Publishing.

The book begins by dividing the timeline up into themed chapters: The Introduction Of Railway Technology (including the initial rail concession by the Tokugawa Shogunate to the United States), Intrigue, Influence, and Incompetence (the early days of British dominance of the Japanese rail industry and the planning phase of the Meiji rails), Building the First Railway (Yokohama to Shimbashi in Tokyo), Kobe To Kyoto (the first rails in central Japan), Otsu, Tsuruga, Nagahama and East to the Nobi Plain (as the network becomes more connected), Expanding and Integrating the System (more of the same), The Second Railway Mania and the Russo-Japanese War, Nationalization and Self-sufficiency, and Tokyo Station (the final link in a rail system stretching from the north of Hokkaido to the south of Kyushu). Particularly interesting to Samurai-Archives readers will be the early chapters where the political double-dealings and diplomatic blunders committed by both the Japanese and Western powers are laid out in impressive detail.

For instance, the Shogunate's rail concession to the United States (although legally binding to the Meiji government) was seen as something to be negated by the former enemies of the Tokugawa who now found themselves in power. Using the time honored Japanese techniques of stalling, failing to reply to diplomatic requests, and not addressing any of the real issues when a reply was given, the Japanese diplomat Sawa Nobuyoshi ran rings around American diplomat Charles DeLong, taking full advantage of his inexperience in the world of international relations. Instead, seasoned politico Harry Parkes of Great Britain managed to maneuver his country into overseeing and supplying (at great benefit to the coffers of English businessmen) the embryonic Japanese rail industry. Closely tied to this are the examinations of the effect of railways on the Japanese economy, and how it in turn aided the rapid development of other industries. Initially relying on foreign suppliers and engineers (not to mention cash strapped by the extravagance of British construction methods), the development of Japanese engineering and the eventual replacement of foreign experts and suppliers by 'home-grown' ones shows that the long term goal of 'sonno-joi' activists years before actually did see the light of day. In fact, Japan turned the tables, being a major exporter of rail expertise and supplies to its Asian neighbors. It's also shown how the former samurai class managed to stay among the ranks of the elite by using their government buyouts to become one of the biggest investors in railroads. The hand in hand relationship of Japanese industry with the government is shown in the switch from a national railway system to private industry and back again. The increasing dominance of the military in the political sphere can be seen by the growing influence of the army in rail planning decisions.

The effects on the culture of Japan are well documented as well. A national network of rail lines that connected every province had wide reaching repercussions, encouraging travel, trade, and nationalism. Electric lines, tram cars, and the fascinating Jinsha Tetsudo (commercially viable railways operated by manpower) are also examined in detail. Many of Japan's hot springs became famous during this era as these low cost options made them accessible to everyone. With railways and industrialization came more disposable income and a higher standard of living for the Japanese people. The special 'Imperial Trains' of the Meiji Emperor are also given a detailed examination. When the text threatens to become bogged down with facts and details, Free is always ready with an amusing story to break things up. Whether it's a fussy English traveler's complaints about trainboard amenities, early field surveys being thrown off by the refusal of samurai to remove their swords (the metal threw off the calibrations of the instruments being used), or former American President U. S. Grant being chased down a corridor of Shimbashi station in 1878 by a crowd of girls (seems Grant was the Brick McBurly of his day), Free never forgets the human side of railway development.

That's not to say there isn't plenty of technical information. Free has done his homework and if you want to know what company built what line, where it ran to, what the rail gauge was, what their company shamon looked like (along with the visual puns on kanji they incorporated), the arrangement of the running lights, the technical specifications for the locomotives and rolling stock, numbering schemes, and virtually anything else, it's a good bet you'll find it within these pages. Free has taken care not to let the hard information dominate the book, as much of this is related in picture captions and in the amazing compendium of information in the book's appendix (which also includes a helpful list of 'Dramatis Personae' with short biographies of the major players, a Japanese railway/geography lexicon with kanji, and notable documents pertaining to the rails in the political arena). That being said, one area that the book falls short in was not including a simple line drawing of a representative locomotive with rolling stock labelling the different parts of the machinery with an explanation of each part's function. As the book is aimed at a general as well as a scholarly audience, many readers will be in the dark about what many of the things being talked about mean. While most readers will eventually come to know what a '4-4-0' locomotive is, they'll be left scratching their head the first time they see it. Overall, though, Free does a good job of explaining the evolution of locomotive design and also the differences in the British, American, German, and (later) Japanese designs that were used.

The book would be perfectly capable of standing on its own as a picture book. It is loaded with quality photos and prints, both in color and sepia. Free gives these the same care he shows the rest of the book, with detailed captions pointing out things going on in the photographs that are easily missed. Any train enthusiast would be thrilled to have this book on the basis of the images and the appendix alone.

Finally, the quality of the writing and the research behind it is superb. The bibliography, although containing only a handful of Japanese works, is extensive. Free submitted his manuscript to Aoki Eiichi (famous Japanese rail historian) for review and comments, and solicited help in securing information from many museums and individuals within Japan. Unlike many books aimed at a general readership, you'll find few, if any, factual errors within its pages. How meticulous is Free? So meticulous that his book listing on Tuttle's website includes an errata page detailing the few grammatical errors made within (not that there are that many-you'll probably find more just within this review). If every author took the care that Free shows, there would be a lot less eye rolling on the Samurai Archives.

Whether one has a scholarly interest in the impact of railways on development of the Meiji era or enjoys being a dedicated 'train spotter', they'll find a lot within these covers to keep them busy. As we read through the book, it struck us that the history of the rail industry in the Meiji era was a metaphor for the country as a whole-a sentiment Free shares in his concluding remarks. "Few would be able to find a better-suited microcosm more emblematic of the development of the Japanese nation as a whole during the Meiji reign". Early Japanese Railways is a rare example of a work that combines technical excellence and a plethora of information with a lively writing style that always gives the human element its due. Combined with an excellent graphical presentation of hundreds of rare photographs, advertising material, timetables, maps, woodblock prints, and postcards, the book provides a fascinating glimpse of Japan as it moved from self-imposed seclusion to being the 'most Western of Eastern nations'.

Early Japanese Railways: 1853-1914 is available through Amazon at the Samurai Archives store HERE. We'll also be running an interview with the book's author, Dan Free, within the next month or so.

Review: Imperial Politics and Symbolics in Ancient Japan: The Tenmu Dynasty, 650-800

2009-02-25T01:42:00.002-10:00

If you are looking for a title that will scare the bejeezus out of any but the most academically minded folks, look no further than Herman Ooms' cover. Now add to that a little understood Chinese style ceremonial garment which spans a hardback cover including over 353 pages (87 of which make up the notes, bibliography, and indices), and you have little fear of the novice historian sullying your hallowed tome with his ungrateful lack of comprehension. Those willing to brave such daunting warning signs of academic minutiae, however, will find themselves in a quite interesting and engaging discussion of the turbulent Asuka and Nara periods, when much of the groundwork for later Japanese society was laid down.

Don't get me wrong, this is not a book for one who balks at technical language. Ooms's use of such terms as "autochthons" and "allochthons" to describe "native" and "foreign" Japanese may strike some as unnecessarily cumbersome, but Ooms makes a case for the use of more technically precise and neutral terms to describe a history that is already overlaid with so much political bias. He breaks up an otherwise monotonous technical discussion with a subdued humor that keeps you consistently interested.

Herman Ooms begins with a description of what he terms the Temmu dynasty--the lineage of rulers starting with Temmu, who came to power in a bloody coup and civil war, and ending with Kōnin and Kammu, the lineal descendants of Temmu's brother and predecessor, Tenji. He goes on to show how Temmu--the first ruler of Japan to use the term "Tennō"--combined traditional and foreign religio-political symbolism to legitimize his reign and that of his successors. He emphasizes the role of the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki as further legitimizing documents; the compilation of the former overseen by Temmu's own son, Prince Toneri.

In explaining the complex inter-familial ties and squabbles that mark the Asuka and Nara periods, Ooms provides a helpful chart on cardboard in the back of the book, perforated to allow you to remove it and use it as a guide as you read. This proves an invaluable asset as you read through the convoluted history of royal scheming and succession. Inextricably intertwined with the origins of the symbols of imperial power were the political struggles of the royal and noble families. Over a span of only a century, we see a total of ten official rulers--one of them ruling twice--with the last being only two generations removed from the first. On the back of the handy genealogical chart is a second diagram, this one an attempt to untangle the complex political plots that crisscross the period.

An example of the religio-political maneuverings that Ooms covers is the strange case of Empress Kōken/Shōtoku and her Buddhist concomitant consort, Dōkyō. Not only is Kōken the first recorded woman to be appointed crown prince, but she also takes the throne later as Empress Shōtoku without renouncing the Buddhist vows she had earlier taken. In addition, she appoints the priest Dōkyō, her consort in all but name, as Dajō-Daijin who, in turn, saturates the government with his Buddhist cohorts. Things are looking up for Dōkyō, who is poised to become the next heir-apparent, despite his lack of a royal pedigree.

The climax of his explosive rise to power comes in a message from the god of the syncretic and opportunistic Usa Hachiman shrine, who appears to endorse the Buddhist clergyman as the future ruler of Yamato. After an uproar from the nobility, however, it is quickly found that the deity was misinterpreted and Dōkyō was not in fact the kami-approved future sovereign. This is only one instance of the complex interplay of politics and religion in this dynamic period.

This book is a must-read for those interested in this exciting and tumultuous, if brief, period. Ooms explores the foundations of the Japanese state and the interplay between politics and religion. It is a deep and weighty subject, made digestible through gentle sips of a dry and erudite wit.

For more information, see the review posted in the S-A Bookstore, hosted by Amazon.

Review: Samurai of Ayutthaya

2009-02-13T18:44:00.005-10:00

Title: Samurai of Ayutthaya: Yamada Nagamasa, Japanese Warrior and Merchant in Early Seventeenth-Century Siam
Author: Cesare Polenghi
Publisher: White Lotus Press
ISBN 978-974-480-147-0

When I began browsing the Siam Society bookstore in downtown Bangkok the other day, I did not intend on making any new purchases. However, how could I pass up this small, white treatise on what has become a personal quest in this sweltering tropical country? And in reading it, I see I'm not alone.

In Samurai of Ayutthaya lies the current culmination of Polenghi's work on sorting through the fact and fiction of one of Japan's most famous merchant-adventurers of the early 17th century, while expanding upon the early Japanese international entrepreneurs who flourished in the late Sengoku and early Edo periods, prior to the implementation of harsh restrictions and closing of the country. Some may remember an earlier paper of his, written in 2004, entitled "The Japanese in Ayudhaya in the First Half of the 17th Century" (hosted on the S-A Citadel Japanese History Site). He has clearly delved further with his research, and he presents it here in a concise and readable manner. Perhaps my biggest issue is the question: what has he left for the rest of us?

As it stands, Polenghi certainly appears to have made use of all available scholarship on the issue of Yamada Nagamasa, and he puts forth a strong case that he was a real and important individual in Ayutthaya and Japanese-Thai relations. He also delineates fact from fiction, putting much of Nagamasa's later praise in the proper context of pre-war Japanese nationalism, countering with information from the Siamese and Europeans who were there during, or just after, Nagamasa's term as head of the Nihonmachi (or Baan Yippun as it is known in Thai). He also goes into the question of the general presence of the Japanese in the waters of Southeast Asia, describing the inroads they made and challenges they faced as they briefly connected with the larger international community.

If I were to admit any fault in the book, it would only be its first chapter, and that for personal reasons. Polenghi starts out with an admittedly fictional account of Nagamasa's life; this felt out of place in a book that is otherwise about drawing the facts out of a tangled narrative overlaid with anachronistic and unverifiable accounts. I would prefer it stand alone, perhaps as an expanded work, or something akin to Shiba Ryotaro's treatment of Tokugawa Yoshinobu.

Regarding the rest of the book, however, Polenghi does a terrific job of laying out the story of Nagamasa as he appears in the historical record. He begins with a background of the times in which Nagamasa lived, and the relationship between Japan and Siam, and continues to lay out what evidence remains of the records. Regrettably, most of the best sources were lost when the Burmese sacked and burned Ayutthaya in the 18th century, but enough foreign correspondence remains to plausibly reconstruct what happened. We trace Nagamasa's life, from birth to death, as closely as one could hope. We also catch a detailed glimpse of the lives of the merchants of the red seal ships, which plied the seas in the early 17th century.

I also found the work well annotated, but not in a way that could be considered confusing. Polenghi is also honest about the reliability of his sources, and shows an admirable preference for the more trustworthy texts. That doesn't mean he won't drop in a few legendary tidbits every now and then, but he is clear regarding their origins.

Towards the end, we also gt a taste of how Nagamasa has been handled by his fellow Japanese, particularly in regards to the PR campaign that thrust him center-stage as a symbol of Japanese warrior-explorers in the politically charged pre-war era.

This is definitely a must-have book for anyone interested in Yamada Nagamasa, but it is also recommended for anyone interested in Japan's foreign relations in the early 17th century--a dynamic age when intrepid merchants and soldiers-of-fortune were spreading abroad just as their home government was retreating from the rest of the world.

If you are interested in buying this book, you can help out the S-A website by purchasing it and other books through the Samurai Archives Amazon Store.

Jōi and Pain: Trying to Make Sense of Tokugawa Nariaki

2009-02-07T03:34:00.006-10:00

Tokugawa Nariaki: Devil or Saint? Who knows?!?

If anybody was the living embodiment of Mitogaku and all of its inherent contradictions, it had to be the retired lord of Mito himself, Tokugawa Nariaki. Outspoken, brash, lecherous and just plain clever, Nariaki was certainly one of the more colorful personalities that strutted across the early Bakumatsu stage. In the theater-in-the-round that Japanese politics devolved into as a result of the Perry expedition, all eyes were on Nariaki, who certainly dominated a large part of the action on center-stage. Wherever he went, whatever he said or wrote, controversy and riotous debate followed. He had a powerful voice that projected his message to all corners of the empire, no doubt rankling the ears of the Bakufu and certain powerful fudai daimyo. However, Nariaki’s soliloquies on how to remedy Japan’s ills and successfully deal with the ‘foreign issue’ found an adoring audience among reform-minded daimyo, courtiers within the halls of the imperial palace, and among all strata of samurai and commoners alike. Yet just what was Tokugawa Nariaki’s message?

To a lot of us living in the here and now, at first glance, the message looks garbled if not just downright confusing. Trying to decipher the message has led to many of those now famous ‘Bakumatsu headaches’ that some of us have been complaining to each other about recently. How can it not? Nariaki was a walking bag of contradictions. It’s a lot like some of the contradictions we all studied in high school world history classes about Europe in the age of ‘enlightened despotism’. I think it is safe to say that Nariaki was an enlightened feudal lord cut from a mold very similar those of the ‘enlightened despots’ of the European variety, and in some ways, he’s even more difficult to analyze than Frederick the Great, Louis XIV, or Catherine the Great. When it comes to Tokugawa Nariaki, “pro-reform/reactionary conservative; xenophobic/eager to import foreign ideas and technology; pro-Tokugawa/pro-Imperialist” are all words and phrases that are commonly used to describe him. To unravel his message, let’s take a look at his policies and what he stood for and in the process clarify some of these contradictions.

Pro-Reform/Reactionary Conservative Nariaki’s reforms were focused on the preservation of han unity and harmony on a local level and national unity and harmony on a macro level. As written by Aizawa and others, Nariaki firmly believed that harmony could only be maintained if all classes of society respected the existing social hierarchy and political institutions. And the political institutions and social orders were dependent on being sanctioned by the imperial throne—the source of all legitimacy in Japan. Therefore, full-hearted and proper respect must be shown to the emperor in order for Japan to enjoy the benefits of peace and prosperity. Without the proper level of respect being shown for the throne or the political and social orders, Japan would sink into chaos and misery. To Nariaki, the famines and the resulting turmoil of the Tempō period validated his Mitogaku inspired political theory. This is evident in a memorial Nariaki wrote to the Bakufu in 1839 that William Beasley quoted in The Meiji Restoration: “When superiors ignore the hunger and death of farmers in bad years, when they are remiss in making military preparations, when the samurai are weak and idle, then inferiors hate their superiors and do not fear them.” This is in reference to the peasant revolts that were rocking the nation at the time. Taking this a step further, a letter written to Mizuno Tadakuni in 1842, that also appears in Beasley’s book aptly sums up the essence of Nariaki’s beliefs about political and social order: “If the shogun takes the lead in showing respect for the throne, the whole country will inevitably unite in so doing; but it is vital that in this each should observe his proper place. The samurai shows respect for his lord, the lord shows respect for the shogun, the shogun shows respect for the emperor. To forget one’s place and take matters into one’s own hands is an evil act, worthy of the name of rebel.”

Thus, as we can see, Nariaki’s views quite neatly fit inside the Mitogaku interpretation of the Confucian social hierarchy triangle. And to help ensure that merchants remembered their proper place in the pyramid’s lowest rung, Nariaki enacted strict anti-commerce policies that were designed to discourage the growth of the merchant class’ power as well as to help keep farmers on the land, rather than try their luck as shop keepers or traders in urban centers. As for samurai, Nariaki felt that their decline in fighting ability and moral righteousness were due in part to commercial-related activities, giving him another reason to crack down on the merchant class. He, like Shimazu Nariakira, was also against the giving of two swords and a surname to merchants who sought to buy samurai status. It was an outrage to allow bushi status to be bought. And by allowing this sort of thing to happen, samurai morale, morals as well as ethics would erode.

So, what is the substance of Nariaki’s domestic political reforms? He seems like a classic Confucian conservative, does he not? If you agree with that statement, than it shouldn’t surprise you that in essence, Nariaki strove to bring his han back into a traditional Confucian framework that was envisioned by Ieyasu, but of course, with the emperor at the very top of the pyramid. Strong and just leadership combined with the enforcement and study of strict moral and ethical guidelines that constantly reminded all classes of their place, duties and obligation to respect society’s structure, would serve as a bulwark against the erosion of domain strength. Nariaki believed, as did many of his fellow daimyo, that if enactment of this ideal ‘reactionary’ neo-Confucian social structure could be replicated in every han, all would be well and Japan’s domestic troubles, as experienced in the Tempō period, would not and could not occur again.

In nearly all that he did, Nariaki strove to instill his ‘reactionary’ domestic reforms in a way that would preserve his ability as an individual daimyo and that of his beloved han to operate as independently as possible from Bakufu control. This makes perfectly good sense if you agree with Beasley that a feudal daimyo like Nariaki only had three things to be afraid of: Bakufu intrusion from above, peasant rebellion from below and foreign attack from outside. Makes you think Nariaki is really in it for himself, doesn’t it?

Xenophobic/Eager to Import Foreign Ideas and Technology It was Mitogaku that first coined the catchphrase sonnō jōi, and as spokesman for the movement, it is clear that Nariaki didn’t want Japan’s ports opened to the West nor did he want foreigners on Japanese soil in any large numbers. However, Nariaki wasn’t opposed to the importation of foreign ideas, education and technology--if it could be used to strengthen Mito and the various han throughout Japan. Again, Shimazu Nariakira, daimyo of Satsuma, held similar views to Nariaki—after all, he too, was a follower of Mitogaku, Nariakira built Japan’s first steam powered ship, established a telegraph line, started making modern weapons and other products—all aimed at strengthening Satsuma’s military and economic strength. Mito, not having the financial means as Satsuma, followed similar lines, but Nariaki’s economic view of the world was more agrarian-centric, as rice, not industrial products, served as the backbone of the Japanese economy and society. Nevertheless, from the 1840s, Nariaki argued to have the Bakufu’s prohibition on building large-ocean going ships overturned as he felt that there was a need for a strong navy. And once the Bakufu reversed course on the building of large blue water ships after Perry’s first expedition, almost immediately, Mito ordered one of Japan’s first western warships from the Dutch. Nariaki also tirelessly called for an overhaul of the baku-han military system in order to ensure Japan could enact jōi when the time came. In other words, it was acceptable to hold foreigners in contempt, but their goods, services and ideas, if they could be used to defeat or hold at bay those same foreigners, were perfectly okay! I just can’t help to wonder how if Nariaki really felt that in order to import all of these concepts and build up Japan’s defensive capabilities, was the open port of Nagasaki, along with its heavy restrictions placed on the Chinese and Dutch traders, enough to guarantee a big enough trickle of practical ‘barbarian’ ideas and goods?

Pro-Tokugawa/Pro-Imperialist This is the last contradiction that I’d like to take a look at. We know that Nariaki was probably the loudest daimyo when it came to preaching loyalty to the emperor, as espoused in Mitogaku. As a Tokugawa, and a descendent of Ieyasu and a blood relative of the shogun, it may strike people as odd that Nariaki sought to put the emperor above the shogun in the social and political order. But that’s exactly what he did. He even would go out of his way to point out, as he did in a letter to Abe Masahiro in 1846, that although Japan had been a ‘Tokugawa’ country since Sekigahara, there was no law or guideline saying that it should always remain this way. If the Bakufu failed to act to secure the safety of Japan in a time of crisis, others, such as some tozama daimyo, may accuse the Bakufu of failing to live up to its obligations, and an overthrow of the Tokugawa could then become a reality. To avoid this from happening, Nariaki argued that remaining passive and awaiting the outcome of events before making decisions was not an option. He continuously pushed for more proactive policy-making and planning on the part of the Bakufu.

Looking at the above paraphrased letter, it makes Nariaki look like soothsayer, as what he said could happen, eventually did in 1868. And it is clear, that although Nariaki noisily advocated that everything and everyone was subservient to the imperial throne, he did not want to see the Tokugawa fall from power. After all, Nariaki was a Tokugawa and he owed his own life of privilege to the very system that was in place. He clearly did not want the system to fail!

Whether regarded as an devil a saint or a walking bag of contradictions, Tokugawa Nariaki is truly one of the more interesting, yet puzzling figures of the Bakumatsu era.

Karl Friday's The First Samurai: The life and legend of the warrior rebel Taira Masakado

2009-01-04T13:35:00.003-10:00

You know, I've always heard the phrase 'never judge a book by its cover', but until recently I've paid it little heed. Thus, when I saw the cover of Karl Friday's book on Amazon I kept putting it off. After all, what meat could there be in a book with bright, flashing colors on the front and a confusing, anachronistic woodblock print shown in relief? In short, it looked like just another of the myriad populist books on Japanese history, designed to get readers to plunk down money just so the author can rehash old material and convey the same vague generalities about samurai warfare. It seemed to be playing off of the success in the English speaking world of the Tom Cruise "you, too, can live out your doomed romantic warrior fantasies" movie, and pandering to the sammyrai fanatics.

On the other hand, it is Karl Friday, who brought us Legacies of the Sword, Hired Swords: The Rise of Private Warrior Power in Early Japan, and other notable works, so it was on my list.

Now I'm kicking myself that I didn't get this book sooner. The information on not only Taira Masakado, but on the life in Japan during the 10th century and other famous figures of the time, is absolutely wonderful. Not only that, but it presents the facts in a way that is easy and enjoyable to read. I would easily compare it to other recent biographies, such as David McCullough's "John Adams", which open to the reader not just a dry tome of the dust from a person's passing, but the rich texture of life in their day and age.

Taira Masakado is a figure that is famous in Japan, but his name has hardly made a splash in the English speaking world until this book, which will likely, as Thomas D. Conlan lauds, "remain the definitive study of the legendary warrior and his age for years to come." Friday begins by introducing his audience to the Masakado story as it is known in Japan--his rebellion, beheading, and the subsequent legends of that same vital appendage flying about Japan and causing havoc even as late as the mid 20th century. He illuminates for the reader the common conception of Masakado as the first warrior of the early medieval period to rise up in rebellion and challenge the imperial authority.

However, just has he has laid out the groundwork for you, Friday turns the whole thing on its head. He lays out a cogent argument for Masakado as a victim of circumstances and poor judgment, rather than a committed rebel. Masakado comes off as a an able warrior and administrator who was invested in the imperial system and likely had no real intention of setting up anything else, but he was driven into a position where he felt he had no other choice. In fact, the reader comes away with the feeling that Masakado's entire reputation is quite overblown by later historians, and yet the story of his life is no less enlightening about the times he lived in. In fact, it is because he was an exemplar of his times and not an outlier that a study of his life is of such import.

While examining the actions and motives of Masakado, Friday also examines the lifestyles of the provincial warriors during the Heian period and the combination of centripetal and centrifugal forces that kept court and countryside in balance. He reveals for the reader the economic politics of the often hastily assembled warbands, whose ties to their nominal general were often tenuous at best.

He also dispels the later veneer of romance that later authors were prone to place on samurai warfare, putting pragmatism in its proper historical place. For example, he describes not only the lauds given for men skilled at ambush tactics, but the reasons why they were so necessary in this age of the horse and bow.

His research is neatly referenced, with both in-page footnotes and 26 pages of footnotes at the end of the book. His bibliography is divided into Primary and Secondary sources, and the work contains a helpful index for looking up specific topics.

Admittedly, the swirl of "Taira", "Fujiwara", and "Minamoto" surnames can often make following the complex familial relationships of the time difficult for the uninitiated, but Friday uses that confusion to highlight the all too real social complexity of Heian period Japan.

In conclusion, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. Anyone interested in the history of the samurai and the rise of the warrior class should have a grounding in the provincial warriors of the Heian period, who were adapting the previous ritsuryo military guidelines to the new era of private bands of horsed archers, and this book, by highlighting one such individual, brings that transition sharply into focus.

If you liked this review, and want to have a look for yourself, then why not buy The First Samurai at the SA Amazon Bookstore!