Reading the Kimono in Twentieth-Century Japanese Literature and Film 9780824896935

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Note on Names and Terms
1. Introduction: Kimono as Object, Language, and History
2. Literary Kimonos in The Makioka Sisters: From Prewar to Postwar
3. Visual Kimonos in The Makioka Sisters: The Occupation and the Bubble Economy Eras
4. Voices of Resistance: Kimonos in Tsuboi Sakae’s 1940s–1950s Works
5. Deciphering the Geisha World: Literary and Visual Kimonos in Kōda Aya’s Flowing
6. Kimono Lessons: Kōda Aya’s Kimono and Its Afterlife
7. Lost Kimonos: Writing the Self in Miyao Tomiko’s I-Novels
Conclusion: Into the Twenty-First Century
Notes
Bibliography
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

READING THE KIMONO IN TWENTIETH-­CENTURY JAPA­NESE LIT­ER­A­TURE AND FILM

READING THE KIMONO IN TWENTIETH-­ CENTURY JAPA­NESE LIT­ER­A­TURE AND FILM Michiko Suzuki

University of Hawai‘i Press Honolulu

© 2023 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca First printed, 2023 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Suzuki, Michiko, author. Title: Reading the kimono in twentieth-century Japanese literature and film / Michiko Suzuki. Description: Honolulu : University of Hawai‘i Press, [2023] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2023013317 (print) | LCCN 2023013318 (ebook) | ISBN 9780824892951 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780824892937 (hardback) | ISBN 9780824896935 (pdf) | ISBN 9780824896942 (epub) | ISBN 9780824896959 (kindle edition) Subjects: LCSH: Kimonos in literature. | Kimonos in motion pictures. | Japanese fiction—20th century—History and criticism. | Motion pictures—Japan—20th century. Classification: LCC PL747.67.K445 S89 2023 (print) | LCC PL747.67.K445 (ebook) | DDC 895.63/44—dc23/eng/20230404 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023013317 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023013318 Cover art: Details from the author’s kimono; photo by Ohara Takuyuki. University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-­free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources.

​For my teachers past and pre­sent

Contents

Preface Note on Names and Terms 1. Introduction: Kimono as Object, Language, and History

ix xiii 1

2. Literary Kimonos in The Makioka Sisters: From Prewar to Postwar

35

3. Visual Kimonos in The Makioka Sisters: The Occupation and the Bubble Economy Eras

65

4. Voices of Re­sis­tance: Kimonos in Tsuboi Sakae’s 1940s–1950s Works

100

5. Deciphering the Geisha World: Literary and Visual Kimonos in Kōda Aya’s Flowing

137

6. Kimono Lessons: Kōda Aya’s Kimono and Its Afterlife

172

7. Lost Kimonos: Writing the Self in Miyao Tomiko’s I-­Novels

198



Conclusion: Into the Twenty-­First ­Century

228

Notes

235

Bibliography

279

Index

295

Color insert following page 146

vii

Preface

Looking back, kimonos have long been a part of my life. My childhood was spent mostly in Japan, and during that time, my grand­mothers frequently wore kimonos. And I have a vivid memory of being put in an elaborate outfit for the shichi-­go-­san (seven-­five-­t hree) ceremony as a seven-­year-­old. When I turned twenty, however, I did not attend a coming-­of-­age ceremony or wear long-­sleeved furisode (swinging-­sleeve kimono); this was despite the fact that many young w ­ omen at the time saw t­ hese experiences as an impor­tant way to celebrate entry into adulthood. In fact, I was never particularly interested in kimonos—­that is, u ­ ntil I came to see them as items that held profound personal meaning, connecting me to ­people I cared about. This occurred many years ago when my ­mother inherited items from my maternal grand­mother, including kimonos that had belonged to her and other f­ amily members such as my great-­grandfather. In the pro­cess of sorting through ­these garments, my ­mother met the el­derly ­woman who had made my grand­mother’s kimonos. Her business was known as a somemonoya (dyer), but essentially, she was a kimono producer in the traditional sense, someone who takes on all aspects of a kimono order, including the design, fabric procurement, dyeing, and sewing, as well as subsequent cleaning and maintenance, a kind of master-­coordinator who acts as a link between the consumer and individual artisans and specialists. My ­mother connected with this person, Mrs. I., already in her eighties at the time, and together they brought many items back to life so that they could be worn in some way, e­ ither as kimonos or as other types of clothing. I cannot speak for other middle-­class Japa­nese families, but my general impression is that this kind of experience, of inheriting kimonos from the older generation and not knowing quite what to do with them, was not too unusual during the late twentieth c­ entury or the early twenty-­first c­ entury. ­People who grew up with kimonos and wore them regularly w ­ ere becoming rare as time went on; even ­those who wore such garments lacked specific knowledge about textiles and maintenance, as well as the ability to make them an intrinsic part of everyday life. Also, u ­ ntil relatively recently, t­here was l­ittle demand for used kimonos, although remaking kimonos into Western clothing and other objects was already ix

x  Preface

quite popu­lar. My m ­ other and I w ­ ere quite lucky to find a specialist to guide us in reusing kimonos, as well as to educate us in fabrics, designs, and even aesthetics. Mrs. I. had a tiny storefront on a shopping street in our city, with just enough room for herself and a seat or two for clients. She helped my ­mother decide what should be remade into Western dress and what could still be worn as a kimono or other type of Japa­nese wear by cleaning, altering, redyeing, and so on. She also made one new kimono for me, which I ­w ill always trea­sure; its details are used ­here on the cover of this book. But what resonated for me most profoundly was the pro­cess of refashioning: the re-­creating of objects owned by ­t hose who had passed, and the way we can add new meanings to them. I only met Mrs. I. in person several times, but I felt that her sensibility and knowledge of kimonos ­were extraordinary; even then I keenly lamented the fact that p ­ eople like her, who understood e­ very aspect of this garment and its changes during the twentieth c­ entury, w ­ ere rapidly disappearing. At the time, I never ­imagined I would eventually write a book about kimonos—­ but the experience of meeting this expert and engaging with the past together with my m ­ other became a catalyst for Reading the Kimono. I begin with this brief explanation of my own relationship to kimonos ­because, as I’ve worked on this book, p ­ eople have often asked about my personal experiences. I am neither a kimono collector with a huge wardrobe nor a connoisseur who wears kimonos regularly. But ­t hese garments and their stories are an impor­ tant part of my life. As a scholar, my research is about rediscovering aspects of the past, including ways of reading (or interpreting) that have been obscured in the pre­sent. In this sense, Reading the Kimono is intertwined with all my previous work, although literary and cinematic kimonos diverge from my other areas of expertise. By focusing on kimonos h ­ ere, I show new ways of thinking about characters, plotlines, language, and history, and highlight the importance of paying careful attention to material objects and what they are saying. Many ­people, too many to name ­here, have generously supported me in the long pro­cess of writing Reading the Kimono. I am especially grateful to Richi Sakakibara, who facilitated my affiliation with Waseda University in Tokyo; this enabled access to research opportunities and housing during the summers I worked on the book. Nakagawa Shigemi enabled my affiliation with Ritsumeikan University while I did research in Kyoto. I also thank Kim Kono, who read many parts of the manuscript with unflagging enthusiasm, and gave me invaluable feedback. Edith Sarra, Rowland Ricketts, and Chinami Ricketts kindly shared their expertise with me; their insight helped me profoundly in developing my analy­sis. Other ­people who have helped in vari­ous ways include Jim Reichert, Sharalyn Orbaugh, Janice Brown, Tateoka Yōko, Suzuki Keiko, Mori Rie, Rebecca Copeland, Jan

Preface  xi

Bardsley, Kim Brandt, Ann Sherif, Mizumura Minae, Sumie Jones, and Claire Cuccio. I am grateful to individuals and institutions for providing images and/or permission to reproduce them, including Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu “Kindai Nihon no Shinsō Bunka” (created by MCD Purojekuto), Yabe Yutaka, Shigeno Yoshimi at Kichijoji Art Museum, Kōchi Kenritsu Bungakukan, Taoka Noriko, and Ohara Takuyuki. I also thank my colleagues at vari­ous institutions who have encouraged me over the years; special thanks go to colleagues at the University of California, Davis who provided assistance, especially Cheri Ross, Xiaomei Chen, Linda Matheson, Javier Arbona, Howard Chiang, and Beverly Bossler. Many friends, including Kumamoto Eliza, Sabine Roth, Steve and Denise Stuempfle, Annette Keogh, Bob Tierney, Matsushita Hiromi, Elizabeth Oyler, and Leslie Winston shared their energy and kept me ­going. My talks with Abe Sachiko always sustained me; she w ­ ill always be my most fash­ion­able friend, looking fabulous in every­t hing including yukata. I miss her dearly, along with ­others close to me who have passed. I am very grateful to the anonymous reviewers of the manuscript who gave me insightful feedback; their input definitely made this a better book. Of course, any errors that I have made h ­ ere are my own. And Stephanie Chun, my editor at University of Hawai‘i Press, has provided amazing support for this proj­ect—­I am truly grateful. I also thank Mary Ribesky for seeing the book through the production pro­cess. I thank the Japan Foundation for a Japan Studies Research (Long-­Term) Fellowship for six months in 2020, which enabled me to complete the writing of the manuscript. I also thank the University of California, Davis Office of Research, Academic Senate Committee on Research, College of Letters and Science Dean’s Office, Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures, and UC Davis Humanities Institute for funding at vari­ous stages of the proj­ect. I was also supported by Indiana University’s Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures, East Asian Studies Center, College Arts and Humanities Institute, Office of the Vice President for International Affairs, and Institute for Advanced Study. Fi­nally, I thank t­ hose who started me on my kimono education, including Mrs. I., and especially my m ­ other, Suzuki Yumi. I am grateful that my f­ amily, including Suzuki Tatsuo and Suzuki Ken’ichirō, continue to encourage and support my endeavors. Much gratitude also goes to Adam Foster and Ann Ayton. Of course, my greatest thanks go to the best partner one could ask for, Michael Dylan Foster, without whom this work would never have been finished. We are readers and writers in life together. I dedicate this book to my many teachers past and pre­sent, who taught me how to read and write in dif­fer­ent ways, and to find joy in learning and in sharing knowledge.

Note on Names and Terms

Throughout this book, I follow Japa­nese order for proper names (­family name first). I generally use f­ amily names to refer to individuals, but when appropriate I follow Japa­nese convention to refer to certain writers by their pen names (e.g., “Rohan” for Kōda Rohan, which also distinguishes him from Kōda Aya). ­Unless they are found in the Merriam-­Webster Dictionary, Japa­nese words are italicized and use macrons or double vowels to indicate long vowel sounds. I follow the Japa­ nese practice of using the same word for both singular and plural (one obi; two obi), except for words such as “kimono/kimonos” and “haori/haoris” that have established plural forms in En­glish. With the understanding that kimono terms and their meanings vary with time and context, I have relied on my own knowledge while also consulting standard dictionaries as well as a range of kimono-­ specific dictionaries and other works listed in the bibliography. ­Unless other­w ise noted, or in cases when terms or set phrases have established translations, all translations from Japa­nese are my own.

xiii

C HA P T E R ON E

Introduction Kimono as Object, Language, and History

In a rundown geisha ­house in 1950s Tokyo, a middle-­aged maid stares at her mistress, struck with won­der at her glorious appearance in a black formal kimono depicting plum blossoms and flowing w ­ ater. Coupled with an obi (sash) showing a bush warbler on a branch, what does this outfit say about the w ­ oman who wears it, her relationships, her prewar past, and her f­ uture in postwar Japan? Or, how do we read a 1940s war­time scene featuring a more common garment, a man’s indigo-­dyed cotton kimono? A ­mother washes this item that belonged to her son, who died of an illness before he was drafted to be sent to the battlefield. In the ­water the fabric bleeds a dark blue color, but a­ fter it dries, it takes on a renewed look with a bright sheen. What does this kimono say about the son, the ­mother, and the Fifteen-­Year War (1931–1945) that had already claimed so many lives? ­These are a few scenes from the wide variety of works that I examine in this book.1 Focusing on both canonical and popu­lar works by authors known for their kimono expertise, I explore what garments are saying in fictional texts, and in some cases their cinematic adaptations. Spanning a broad time frame from the early twentieth ­century to the pre­sent, my book reads kimonos as heterogeneous objects that tell complex stories, formed and informed by specific literary and historical contexts. *

*

*

The kimono is a robe-­like garment often associated with traditional Japa­nese culture (see Figure 1.1). Vari­ous kinds of T-­shaped garments ­were worn during the premodern and early modern eras, but t­ oday’s kimono can be traced back to types of kosode (kimono with small sleeve openings) from the late seventeenth c­ entury.2 Worn with an assortment of accompanying items including undergarments, obi, accessories, and footwear, the kimono played a prominent role in Japa­nese sartorial culture for both men and ­women into the modern period. Since the mid-­ twentieth ­century, however, Western clothes have become everyday wear for the majority of Japa­nese, and as a result, kimonos are now often simply viewed as 1

2  Chapter 1

Figure 1.1. W ­ omen’s kimono. Drawing by Julie Ann Brown.

traditional, somewhat exotic clothing. This is not to say kimonos have disappeared in con­temporary Japan—­t hey are still worn for vari­ous ceremonies and enjoyed in formal as well as casual settings. Yukata (summer kimonos) have become a popu­lar fashion choice for certain outings, and in many cities, tourists can rent kimono outfits while visiting historic sites.3 And with the boom in the second­hand kimono market, online vendors, and digital textile printing technologies, kimonos are more accessible; specialists, aficionados, and collectors are found throughout Japan and around the world. Despite its continuing existence, however, critical aspects of kimono culture have radically shifted. ­Because kimonos are generally no longer worn as everyday clothing, industries and practices involved in their production, retail, and upkeep have changed or dis­appeared completely.4 Con­temporary ­house­work no longer includes tasks such as the sewing and mending of everyday kimonos for the entire f­ amily, the periodic work of taking them apart and washing them (and resewing them back into their original forms), or turning them into other necessary items (such as futons, clothing, or diapers) when they are worn out.5 Kimonos are often still handed down from one generation to the next, but unlike in times past, they are no longer considered stable portable currency or valuable items of economic exchange.

Introduction  3

­Today a ­woman from a ­family of means is not expected to bring into a marriage a tansu (chest of drawers) with an entire wardrobe meant to last a lifetime; even if she owns kimonos, they are likely rarely worn. ­Because kimonos are only complete when combined with vari­ous undergarments, obi, cords, collars, coats, socks, and accessories, “wearing a kimono” r­ eally means “wearing a kimono outfit.” Thus, in order to be able to wear a kimono on a regular basis, one needs to own and maintain all of ­t hese objects, e­ very one of which has its own par­tic­u­lar rules and protocols for wear and upkeep, just like the kimono itself. Such kimono outfits may be rented for special occasions, but most ­people w ­ ill require a specialist to dress them, as the ability to put on a kimono by oneself requires training and practice and is by no means a common skill t­ oday.6 Before the mid-­ twentieth ­century, however, ­t hese clothes ­were not such alien items. They ­were part of everyday life, intimately tied to individual identity as well as to one’s economic, domestic, social, and cultural milieu. To be sure, then, kimonos still exist ­today—­but their relationship to ­people has shifted drastically, and due to this change, aspects of kimono culture are easily overlooked or have become difficult to understand. Throughout my book, I use the term “kimono” to refer to the robe-­like garment itself, but also to similar clothes called by other names (such as yukata), as well as to associated clothing within the broader category of wafuku (Japa­nese clothing) as opposed to yōfuku (Western clothing). While I examine garments using their specific names and terminology in many cases, I also use “kimono” in this general way, as it is often used in con­temporary Japa­nese parlance.7 Such usage is not meant to undermine the complex history and heterogeneity of Japa­ nese clothing; nor does it mean that I am reinforcing the rigid distinction often made between Japa­nese and Western wear, categories that can simplify the diversity of garments, erase items that defy t­ hese labels, and promote the erroneous view that t­ hese types of dress w ­ ere never worn together.8 I would also add that in the Japa­nese language, the term “kimono,” derived from “kirumono (literally ‘­t hing to wear’),”9 was used to signify a variety of items from the late nineteenth to the late twentieth centuries. As Mori Rie has shown, the term “kimono” was employed at dif­fer­ent times during this period to indicate a number of ­t hings: the robe-­like garment as well as “Japa­nese clothing,” and even “clothes in general” (including Western wear).10 My choice to use “kimono” to include the first two meanings is essentially a practical one. It alleviates the need to make extensive lists of clothes ­under discussion, but still enables me to highlight specific garments with names and explanations when relevant. The vari­ous issues that arise in talking about kimonos in En­glish, including ­matters of translation and quirks of terminology, are addressed ­later in this chapter.

4  Chapter 1

I also want to note h ­ ere briefly another issue that is l­ater discussed: I examine kimonos for both men and w ­ omen in this book, but due to the content of the stories, I focus mainly on w ­ omen’s kimonos. In some chapters my discussion also includes fabric to be made into kimonos as well as items repurposed from kimonos. The goal of my book is to read modern kimonos and interpret what they are saying—in this way I engage with the “language of kimono” as expressed in twentieth-­century lit­er­a­ture and film. Although it is common for p ­ eople t­ oday to routinely overlook in-­depth meanings pre­sent in such objects, I argue that kimonos as they appear in texts or on screen tell vital stories, often revealing hidden information about character and plot or expressing critical commentary on sociohistorical and intertextual contexts. By engaging with kimono language in both war­time and postwar texts, I shed new light on canonical and popu­lar novels and their cinematic afterlives, and provide an in-­depth view of the kimono as a vital part of modernity.

The Language of Kimono In the years a­ fter World War II, Western dress superseded kimonos as everyday clothing in Japan.11 Together with this shift, familiarity with the kimono also declined. Before this change, however, most Japa­nese writers understood what certain textiles, designs, or garments could signify for their readers, and many readers ­were able to interpret kimonos through real-­life experiences and knowledge of literary pre­ce­dents. Sartorial objects ­were an integral component of fiction; readers recognized that what a character wore reflected gender, age, class, profession, and economic status, and could even indicate something about their inner qualities. It is impor­tant to note h ­ ere that such kimono language is ultimately heterogeneous and fluid, due to historical, geo­graph­i­cal, and class-­based differences, but I would argue that writers of the late nineteenth to the mid-­twentieth centuries wrote about kimono culture (both dominant and marginal) with the expectation that most readers would be able to gauge the meanings of garments as expressed within specific settings and literary contexts. Through kimonos, readers also had the opportunity to access symbolic meanings critical to the plot, authorial self-­representation, haptic and aural experiences, and literary, historical, and social commentaries. The “language of clothes,”12 the idea that clothes communicate information about wearers’ identities, has long been recognized in disciplines such as anthropology, folkloristics, costume and fashion studies, lit­er­a­ture, and history. Kimonos have also been the subject of academic study from the perspective of what they

Introduction  5

say. In Kimono: Fashioning Culture, Liza Dalby employs terms such as “kimonese,” “the language of kimono,” and “kimono grammatical rule[s]” to discuss protocols and what is conveyed through ­these garments.13 My own use of “the language of kimono” in this book is broader in that it extends beyond what it indicates about the ­human wearer, but I do also analyze literary and cinematic characters through such “language.” Terry Satsuki Milhaupt’s Kimono: A Modern History explores the changing meanings expressed by the kimono from the seventeenth ­century to the pre­sent.14 Scholars have also researched war­time history through propaganda kimonos and folk history through working-­class garments. Kimonos in colonial K ­ orea and Taiwan, in the early twentieth-­century US, and in relation to Japonisme have also been subjects of academic inquiry.15 The works I mention ­here are certainly not a comprehensive list of publications on the kimono, either in En­glish or Japa­nese. Many discuss the meaning of this garment, e­ ither directly or indirectly. Recently, what kimonos are saying specifically in the twenty-­first ­century has become an especially dynamic area for investigation. Monographs by Sheila Cliffe and Julie Valk include discussions of how con­temporary enthusiasts and specialists engage with kimonos and what they communicate through this clothing.16 Scholars in a variety of academic fields elucidate differences between past and pre­ sent meanings of the kimono.17 The kimono has even been discussed within the context of con­temporary identity politics in the United States, especially the controversy surrounding the “Kimono Wednesdays” event held at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston in 2015, which raised questions regarding cultural appropriation.18 Despite such a diverse range of studies in dif­fer­ent fields, fictional kimonos in modern Japa­nese lit­er­a­ture have been more or less ignored. This is in distinction to studies of premodern and early modern lit­er­a­ture in which canonical texts have been analyzed as being intimately connected to material culture. For example, textiles and sartorial practices are a critical part of Genji monogatari (Tale of Genji, ca. 1008), and in the urban, popu­lar writings of Ihara Saikaku (1642–1693), characters are often fleshed out through complex dress codes.19 When it comes to kimonos in modern fiction, however, very few scholars have discussed the topic in Japa­nese or En­glish.20 When kimonos are remarked upon in modern literary studies, they are often put in footnotes and usually treated only as realistic details that fill out the narrative. Literary kimonos certainly do function in this way to create what Roland Barthes calls “the real­ity effect,” in which objects in fiction provide verisimilitude without referring to anything other than themselves.21 But I would argue that kimonos in modern lit­er­a­ture also speak of numerous ­t hings beyond themselves, communicating specific information not only about the characters who wear them

6  Chapter 1

but also about plot and social context. They can articulate ideas that the writer cannot speak of directly; they can even challenge the overt textual meaning presented in the narrative. Through descriptions of specific kimonos—as well as their production, consumption, maintenance, and reuse—­texts offer layers of meaning and interpretive possibilities. In her discussion of late Victorian fiction by ­women writers, Christine Bayles Kortsch uses the term “dual literacy,” suggesting that authors wrote through literacy in “dress culture” as well as the written word.22 She suggests that in order to fully understand their works, we need to comprehend the material world of clothing, textiles, and sewing, and recognize what it conveyed to then con­temporary readers conversant in this language. This notion of dual literacy is helpful for thinking about kimonos in Japa­nese literary works that ­were written when authors and readers (of all genders) had shared insight into certain aspects of kimono culture. From this perspective, we can say that fluency in kimono language includes the ability to understand kimono types, designs, fabrics, related vocabulary, and what such t­ hings signify; it also entails the ability to interpret this information in terms of h ­ uman–­k imono interactions or literary references. It also includes understanding how this garment functions as a vehicle for social commentary and recognizing its meaning within specific historical moments or social milieus. By focusing on literary works and their cinematic adaptations from 1940 to 2000, I provide access to the stories manifest in kimonos that are not obvious at first glance, offering new interpretations of canonical and popu­lar writing as well as acclaimed films. The way one approaches kimonos in fiction is necessarily dif­fer­ent from how we read them on the screen; in this book, I employ both literary and visual analy­sis grounded in intertextuality and historical specificity, highlighting the fact that kimonos are not monolithic but create complex meanings through dif­fer­ent contexts. As I show in the following several sections, my investigation into ­these works also adds to broader studies of material objects and clothing, as well as to the history of the modern kimono, a history that Milhaupt describes as “relatively under-­researched, occupying an expansive, uncharted territory.”23

Metonymic Objects in Lit­er­a­ture Indeed, although I analyze specific modern Japa­nese texts and a par­tic­u ­lar type of dress, my work addresses broader concerns within studies of materiality, such as interactions between ­humans and objects, and how ­things speak in vari­ous ways at dif­fer­ent moments in time. In discussing objects as commodities, Arjun Appadurai suggests that such “things-­in-­motion” are able to “illuminate their ­human and social context.”24 Although my focus is dif­fer­ent from that of Appadurai, I

Introduction  7

similarly stress the need to pay attention to objects, in this case as invaluable keys to interpretation, enabling us to discover new meanings for both t­ hings and the stories in which they appear. With the so-­called material turn, objects and their relationships to p ­ eople have inspired new theoretical and practical insights in a range of academic fields including literary studies.25 My work has been informed by such object studies perspectives that highlight literary objects and their unique stories, histories, and meanings. In thinking about how to read kimono language in texts, I have benefited especially from literary scholar Elaine Freedgood’s study of “­t hings” in the Victorian novel. Freedgood suggests that objects that appear in realist fiction have been governed by the idea that “such real t­ hings specifically are not interpretable, as real­ity itself must be recognized . . . ​as largely devoid of symbolic meaning.” When an object does seem to convey some significance, it is “promoted” to the status of meta­phor, abstracted from the real, losing “most of its qualities in its symbolic servitude.” To solve this issue, Freedgood suggests the trope of metonymy as a more productive lens through which to view objects and their meanings: while “meta­phor defines and stabilizes; metonymy keeps on ­going, in any and all directions. It threatens: to disrupt categories, to open up too many possibilities, to expose ­t hings hidden.”26 It is difficult to define metonymy, and theorists have grappled with this prob­ lem in vari­ous ways.27 Freedgood, for her part, explains that “metonymy is traditionally defined as a figure of contiguity: one object or characteristic calls to mind another with which it is associated.” Used to its full potential, metonymy opens up a multidirectional way of reading textual objects that allows us to transcend the dichotomy of realism and symbolism. Instead of seeing t­ hings as an “allegorist,” Freedgood suggests, we should read more like a “collector” who employs “the widest pos­si­ble range of meanings” for understanding a given object. She promotes an analy­sis of objects as items possessing their own distinct social and cultural histories, through which they reveal information about themselves as well as the work in which they are embedded.28 The Victorian realist fiction that Freedgood examines is dif­fer­ent from modern Japa­nese lit­er­a­ture. However, her ideas are useful for thinking about literary kimonos b ­ ecause it is often the case that they are indeed read purely as “real” or “realistic” repre­sen­ta­tions or inversely as s­ imple symbols. Through the concept of metonymy, we can avoid this bifurcation and read t­ hese garments as concrete objects at a par­tic­u ­lar moment in history and si­mul­ta­neously engage with their extensive signification and associative ele­ments.29 Even a ­simple kimono in a text does not necessarily speak about just one ­thing. Rather, by drawing in vari­ous extratextual strands and associations it can si­mul­ta­neously express, for example,

8  Chapter 1

ideas about a character, the subtext of a work, the history of a textile, commentary on intertextuality, and questions about gender. This is also the case for kimonos appearing in genres that are strongly associated with “real­ity,” such as watakushi shōsetsu or shishōsetsu (I-­novel), often described as semi-­autobiographical fiction, as well as works that are not necessarily I-­novels but are understood to contain some ele­ments from real life. The kimonos I discuss in the chapters that follow include “real” or “realistic” garments from such texts that also carry a range of metonymic meanings. By drawing on ideas from object studies, I develop the practice of “reading the kimono.”30 The idea of metonymy is not explic­itly discussed in e­ very chapter, but it underlies my conceptualization of the kimono as a highly contextual object, a fluid, expansive item with complex layers of meaning.

The Time Frame The novels and films I focus on are from 1940 to 2000. However, since t­ here w ­ ere notable sartorial shifts during the 1920s and the 1930s, and I also touch on several works from the 2000s and 2010s, the a­ ctual scope of my discussion is a bit broader than this sixty-­year period. As I worked on this proj­ect, I have been asked why I concentrate on the latter half of the twentieth c­ entury when kimonos began to dis­appear and radically change, rather than on the Meiji (1868–1912), Taishō (1912–1926), and early Shōwa (1926–1989) periods, before Japan’s war­t ime and postwar sartorial transformations. Some ­people have even assumed I was writing about historical novels and period films, produced in the twentieth c­ entury but set in the premodern and early modern past, in which garments would be featured in their “au­t hen­tic” glory. But my interest is not only kimono language and the representative potential of the material object. I also investigate what happens when kimono culture undergoes radical changes and its associated language and signifying networks also shift. Indeed, the period I consider was a tumultuous and transformational one for Japan as a nation. In the 1930s, Japan began the Fifteen-­Year War as an aggressive empire, a colonialist exploit that ended in devastation and defeat.31 During the postwar era, from the mid-1950s to the early 1970s, the nation experienced rapid economic growth and reemerged as a world power. This was l­ater followed by the so-­called B ­ ubble economy period of the mid-1980s to 1990 and subsequent stagnation during the “Lost De­cade” of the 1990s, with effects continuing well into the twenty-­first ­century. Such historical experiences are intertwined with sartorial shifts. During the war years, t­ here w ­ ere vari­ous changes in kimono culture, including the condemnation

Introduction  9

of certain types of kimonos due to austerity mea­sures and sumptuary laws, and the rise of monpe (traditional pants usually made of kimono fabric) as the putative war­time uniform for ­women instead of kimonos, which w ­ ere coded as unpatriotic. Everyday kimonos dis­appeared ­after the war, overtaken by the rise in home-­ sewn and, l­ ater, ready-­made, Western clothing, while luxury and specialty kimonos continued to be worn for par­tic­u ­lar occasions and rituals.32 During the ­Bubble era, such kimonos particularly stood out as part of the culture of con­spic­ u­ous consumption. How are kimonos represented during the immediate postwar years when they remain only as memories or fragments, have been sold or lost, burnt in air raids, or cut up and remade into Western dress? How does their signification change during the nation’s high-­growth period, when they are produced in dif­fer­ent forms, reflecting growing affluence and renewed national pride but ultimately disappearing as everyday clothes? What do postwar authors do when they themselves are fluent in kimono language but also very much aware that they are writing at a time when readers’ fa­cil­i­ty with this language is vanis­hing? How do texts live on ­after the death of the author, read by subsequent generations or remade into film, when the clothing depicted comes to signify differently? By examining works from the period of war­time aggression and loss, Japan’s recovery and rise in international stature, the extravagant ­Bubble economy period, and the Lost De­cade, I show how t­ hese narratives are complicated by the presence of the kimono with its own stories, including trauma and death, as well as change and transformation. My study focuses on 1940–2000 precisely b ­ ecause of the unpre­ce­dented changes in sartorial and social practices during this time: the meanings conveyed by textual and visual kimonos are complex, multifaceted, and constantly being reinvented. In this book, I have chosen to examine texts written by authors with substantial expertise in kimonos. They are thus imbued with an awareness that depictions of Japa­nese clothing express broader historical and social concerns and can be a power­f ul means to talk about national transformation. The kimonos in ­t hese works are multivalent, articulating critical messages; the pre­sen­ta­t ion of their language also takes many forms. In some cases, the depiction of a garment assumes certain knowledge on the part of the readership, while in other works, the prescribed meaning of clothes is noted in the text. I do not consider the novels and films produced during t­ hese times as artifacts that simply mirror historical real­ity, but as dynamic works, ­shaped and informed by their historical contexts, and with robust afterlives understood differently over time. Through adaptation on the screen or posthumous publication, t­hese garments also speak eloquently beyond the original moment of production, in ways that complicate, reinvent, and even challenge the stories in which they reside.

10  Chapter 1

To be clear, modern kimonos and their signifying systems did not undergo change only during the mid-­to late twentieth c­ entury. T ­ oday too, kimonos are constantly assuming new forms as part of a “fashion system,” despite being si­mul­ ta­neously considered part of “tradition.”33 Trends, rules, and what this garment says about the wearer have been changing since the beginning of the modern era. Kimonos themselves also reflect technological changes in dyeing and weaving practices from early Meiji to the pre­sent. In this sense, the modern kimono has always been a fluid, changing object. Due to the degree of historical transformation and shifts in repre­sen­ta­tion, however, 1940–2000 is an exceptionally rich period for the study of modern literary and visual kimonos.

A Brief History of the Twentieth-­Century Kimono The history of kimonos in the twentieth c­ entury often emphasizes the shift from Japa­nese wear to Western wear, with Western dress becoming standard everyday clothing a­ fter World War II. But the story is not as ­simple as it first appears. Kimonos and related Japa­nese garments underwent changes before, during, and ­after the war, and also coexisted with Western clothing throughout the twentieth ­century. As Liza Dalby has noted, modern kimonos from the Meiji period became self-­conscious as “wafuku, Japa­nese clothing” ­because they ­were “presented with a categorical alternative,” becoming “the logical counterpart to yōfuku, the word coined for Western dress.”34 In this sense, the emergence of the idea of kimono as “Japa­nese” (as opposed to “Western”) is a modern phenomenon. However, even this distinction between native and foreign is not entirely accurate. It can be argued that the Meiji kimono was never a purely “Japa­nese” or “traditional” item ­because of the ways in which newly imported Western technologies and materials w ­ ere already transforming kimono production methods and designs from the nineteenth ­century onward. Chemical dyes and the Jacquard loom, for example, created new kinds of kimonos and obi. Strictly speaking, then, Meiji and Taishō garments w ­ ere already a result of Westernization and technological adaptation.35 In the sections that follow, I pre­sent a short history of the twentieth-­century kimono while keeping in mind that changes do not always neatly coincide with historical periodization, and distinctions between Japa­nese and Western are not always straightforward. I particularly focus on the dif­fer­ent codes or ideas that become associated with the kimono at vari­ous points in time. The kimono is an object that changes, not just ­because of fashion trends and advancements in technology, but ­because it has been imbued with shifting meanings within modernity. At times, garments in the fictional texts and feature films I examine reflect

Introduction  11

such historically specific ideas; other times, they represent entirely dif­fer­ent concepts. The kimono language I explore in this book engages with broader historical ideas and signification but also resists them. By showing some of the ways in which modern kimonos, particularly w ­ omen’s kimonos (the majority of garments explored in this book), are coded differently over time, I indicate broadly recognized ideas about this garment and offer new perspectives on its history.

1920s–1930s Kimonos themselves are inherently heterogeneous garments, contingent on such ­factors as type of textile, weaving or dyeing method, color, design, and so on. Once they become grouped together as a type of clothing (distinct from Western wear), however, they begin to be associated with broader values and ideas, in addition to reflecting specific information about the wearer. In the early twentieth ­century, the ­Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923 is often noted as the catalyst for the popu­lar dissemination of Western clothing. This disaster that occurred in the Kantō region, which includes greater Tokyo and a number of surrounding prefectures, left over 100,000 missing or dead, destroyed 450,000 homes, and caused about 2.5 million ­people to become homeless, especially due to the fires that spread widely.36 With such massive loss of property, including clothes, both men and ­women of vari­ous classes began to incorporate Western dress into their wardrobes.37 Unable to immediately replace kimonos and their accoutrements, they a­ dopted types of Western clothes that w ­ ere cheaper and easier to maintain. Other considerations also spurred this change. Even before the earthquake, ­t here had been an increase in the numbers of working ­women wearing Western clothes or uniforms, as well as c­ hildren in Western-­style school uniforms and clothing.38 Such garments ­were perceived as more suitable for physical activity, especially for the young.39 Kimonos for ­women, in contrast, became associated with physical restriction, especially due to the use of heavy and wide obi, and the care required to walk in a garment that enveloped the legs but could easily flap open. ­After the ­Great Kantō Earthquake, kimonos ­were further coded as physically limiting and even dangerous, constricting the wearer from moving quickly during emergencies.40 Although kimonos remained the primary form of dress for most w ­ omen, such negative associations became widely established even in areas beyond greater Tokyo, contributing to the idea that kimonos ­were less suitable than Western wear in certain circumstances.41 While the moga, or the modern girl, with her cropped hair and latest Western fashions, still remained an exotic, mainly urban phenomenon, w ­ omen throughout the country began to wear inexpensive Western wear, easily sewn or knitted at home. Appappa, a type of ­house­d ress that became popu­lar from the

12  Chapter 1

1920s, particularly a­ fter the ­Great Kantō Earthquake, is a good example. In its simplest form, the appappa is like a muumuu, cut and sewn with straight lines. It was easy to sew, even by hand, and could be made with inexpensive cotton fabric; it was also easily washed at home and was physically unrestricting. Since it was suited to the hot and humid summers in many regions of Japan, it became a cooler alternative to yukata or other types of summer kimonos. The appappa was particularly favored by lower-­class, older ­women, who often wore it with a traditional Japa­nese hairstyle, Japa­nese footwear such as geta (wooden sandals), and even with koshimaki (wrap-­around slip), ­women’s underwear worn ­under kimonos.42 With its straight construction and its nature as a hybrid outfit, the appappa can be considered a transitional form of dress that introduced “Western wear” to the masses. Often derided and associated with a lack of female decorum, it became popu­lar as a common ­house garment. Not all such kantanfuku (easily sewn clothes) may have been considered examples of true yōsō (Western dress), but they ­were certainly a part of the shift ­toward Western clothing and associated dress culture.43 ­Because of its nature as casual h ­ ouse wear, the appappa was technically suitable only for wearing indoors or around the neighborhood. Th ­ ere w ­ ere ­women, for example, who rushed to change into the more appropriate hitoe (unlined kimono) when guests came to call at home.44 At the same time, vari­ous manifestations of appappa, from s­ imple shifts to fancier styles, w ­ ere worn in public spaces, at least during hot summers. As we can see in Figure 1.2, photo­graphs from 1932 Asahi gurafu (Asahi graph) show that appappa, some dressier than ­others, w ­ ere worn by w ­ omen of all ages and walks of life, from geisha to suburban h ­ ouse­wives, in vari­ous settings. Most appear to be wearing t­hese dresses with Japa­nese footwear. The title of ­t hese photo­graphs reads “Fi­nally, an army of appappa occupies Osaka”; the descriptions and images emphasize the prevalence of the garment, now worn in movie theaters and department stores as well as to beaches and public baths. The affordability and physical comfort of items such as appappa assisted in changing e­ arlier views of Western dress as being expensive, needing to be made and managed professionally, and requiring extensive accoutrements such as Western shoes and underwear.45 The promotion of Western wear over the kimono was also a part of the greater drive for the simplification and rationalization of everyday life, exemplified by groups such as the Daily Life Improvement League (Seikatsu kaizen dōmeikai), established in 1920.46 The league advanced state policies promoting better efficiency and economy in a number of areas related to domestic management. W ­ omen’s magazines such as Fujin no tomo (Ladies’ friend) also played an impor­tant role in advocating lifestyle changes for h ­ ouse­w ives.47 Such drives included emphasis on

Introduction  13

Figure 1.2. W ­ omen wearing appappa, from Asahi gurafu (August 24, 1932): 18–19. Reproduced by permission from Asahi shinbunsha.

the adoption of Western clothing for ­children and for ­women, based on the idea that kimonos ­were not “rational” enough for modern life, particularly with regard to cost and time.48 A detailed essay titled “Why Western Clothes Are Preferable for a House­wife’s Going-­Out Wardrobe” was published in Fujin no tomo in 1932 as part of a featured series of readers’ contributions titled “Our Kimono Prob­lems.” It exemplifies how kimonos ­were coded as inferior to Western dress: One returns home. The first ­thing to be done is to lay out a mat on the floor, take off the coat and fold it temporarily and leave it t­ here. The same t­ hing with the haori [kimono jacket]. Removing the obi cord [obidome],49 obi scarf [obiage], and obi, they are laid down in order, folded loosely. If one has perspired, the kimono and underkimono [nagajuban] are hung on separate kimono hangers [emonzao]. One also deals with the undersashes [datemaki] and cords [koshihimo] that held the clothes in place. Next, one changes into an everyday underkimono, putting it on with cords, and over that, a kimono for daily wear, tying it with cords. Then the obi is wrapped and tied around the body, finished with an obi scarf and obi cord, and a haori is worn over the entire outfit. Fi­nally, one has finished changing.

14  Chapter 1

Another instance of coming back from an outing would go like this. One takes off shoes and puts them away in the footwear cabinet [geta­ bako] ­after cleaning them lightly with a cloth. The hat is also cleaned with a brush and put away into a hatbox. ­After brushing off dust from the coat, it is hung up in a closet. Next, the jacket is removed and hung up; stockings are hung up in the cabinet and one changes into everyday socks. ­After this, one only has to put on an everyday overshirt and a sweater. I have never timed how much shorter this pro­cess is, but this is only the beginning of the difference between Japa­nese clothes and Western clothes. Let us continue. Let’s say that one came home in Japa­nese clothes around lunchtime or just before dinner. Many ­things w ­ ill need to be done, one a­ fter another, and ­a fter lunch has been cleaned up or the eve­ning’s work completed, all the clothes one took off a­ fter coming home w ­ ill still be waiting, fluttering on the hangers and their reds, purples, and other colors bright on the mat. First, the garments on the hangers must be removed, and one has to fold the coat, haori, kimono, and underkimono, individually and neatly while sitting properly. If the kimono has a crest [mon], the crest paper [mongami] has to be inserted when folding the fabric, and if the clothes are of good quality, each garment has to be folded away in their separate paper wrappers. Th ­ ese are shut by ties that close in two or three places, and the obi and other items require floss silk or paper to be neatly inserted when putting them away. The undersashes and obi have to be rolled up, and the obi cord has to be tied up or folded into its own bag. Next, all ­these items have to be placed into the kimono chest. The drawers are opened and each garment must be put in one by one. Other­w ise, a sleeve might fall out, or a seam may no longer be straight. Each cord or scarf item is placed in its own spot. ­After that, the mat has to be rolled up and put away on a shelf. This is when ­t hings go smoothly. If during this pro­ cess, a guest visits or a child calls, one has to leave the room several times. ­Because one is not actually changing, but only folding one’s clothes, ­t here is no excuse for not appearing. However, this prolongs the pro­cess, as half-­folded items must be redone again. In a small h ­ ouse, even the opening and closing of drawers may make too much noise at night, and the putting away of clothes may even have to be delayed u ­ ntil the next day. The greatest benefit I have gotten from choosing Western dress for both my everyday wardrobe and formal wear is the fact that I can save time when I return home and change my clothes. I am so grateful I can completely avoid the numerous and repetitive pro­cesses of sitting and folding the garments, sitting and standing to put them away.50

Introduction  15

This argument for abandoning the kimono for the rationalization of h ­ ouse­hold management does not even include the time and expenses required for acquiring, making, and maintaining (cleaning and mending) kimonos. Based only on the idea that kimonos take a long time to put on and put away, this reader of Fujin no tomo challenges the view of kimonos as desirable clothing. In another essay in this series, kimonos are also described by a ­house­wife as being hard to keep clean. This w ­ oman was always busy taking apart her kimonos to launder and resew them, her sleeve openings w ­ ere always soiled, and it also took time to sew on kimono collars, which need to be changed regularly. She explains that she ­stopped wearing kimonos as part of her everyday wardrobe three years ­earlier, and has been able to easily manage by hand-­sewing blouses and skirts herself. Once made, Western clothes do not have to be resewn, and they are easy to wash and keep clean. She even claims that due to this new lifestyle, she was able to make time to study French and read novels.51 Although kimonos continued to be standard wear for most Japa­nese w ­ omen, by the 1930s they w ­ ere coded as physically restricting, expensive, time consuming, and thus, irrational. In addition to the G ­ reat Kantō Earthquake, another event often cited as having helped promote Western dress is the 1932 fire that destroyed the Shirokiya department store building in Tokyo. This major fire in a modern high-­rise building led to the death of thirteen ­people, with forty-­six ­people seriously injured. ­Women in kimonos had a difficult time evacuating quickly; the media made much of the fact that young female employees died, presumably b ­ ecause they w ­ ere wearing kimonos only with wrap-­around slips in the traditional style and not with underpants. Their modesty and concern about the onlookers below supposedly led to their deaths as they tried to evacuate by rope and other means.52 As Naka­ gawa and Rosovsky note, many of t­ hese stories w ­ ere no doubt a kind of “legend,” but they nevertheless illustrate “the popu­lar frame of mind.”53 The idea that kimonos ­were dangerous in certain circumstances may have contributed to the increase in Western clothing and the hybridization of kimono outfits, such as the wearing of Western-­style underwear with kimonos.54 The Shirokiya fire incident was one of many ­factors that contributed to the way kimonos ­were understood within modernity as a traditional object out of sync with social changes. ­Whether as an impediment to the rationalization of h ­ ouse­hold economy and time management, or as a garment too risky to be worn in an urban disaster, kimonos carried negative connotations even as they remained an intrinsic part of everyday life. The 1930s saw an upswing in ­women wearing Western-­style clothes, ­whether they w ­ ere drawers, undershirts, appappa, proper outfits, or uniforms for workers and students.55

16  Chapter 1

War and Monpe The Second Sino-­Japanese War from 1937 and the Pacific War from 1941 further changed the way kimonos w ­ ere viewed. If kimonos had been coded purely as “traditional” and “Japa­nese,” they might have been promoted by the government as preferable to Western dress during the war years. But instead they ­were frowned upon, considered unpatriotic and unsuitable for a nation at war. Expensive, decorative, or colorful silk kimonos ­were particularly shunned. As Dalby notes, “wasteful of material, unconducive to ­labor, costly, and fragile, the kimono was effectively banned during t­ hose years, ironically enough, as an expression of unpatriotic indulgence in luxury.”56 Even though the Japa­nese government asserted Japan’s national identity as being superior to and separate from that of the West, Western clothes that had already become integrated into modern Japa­nese life ­were not rejected categorically. More simply, any clothing considered extravagant or luxurious, ­whether Japa­nese or Western, was subject to censure. With the beginning of the Second Sino-­Japanese War, the National Spiritual Mobilization (Kokumin seishin sōdōin) campaign required Japa­nese citizens to give up luxuries and other items. “Luxury is the ­enemy” is a well-­k nown slogan from this time, and “Let’s stop getting permanent waves” encapsulates the admonition against beauty regimens considered wasteful and vain, not only ­because of the production of Western-­style hairstyles, but also the unnecessary use of electricity.57 Regulations Regarding the Limitation of the Production and Sales of Luxury Items (Shashihin tō seizō hanbai seigen kisoku), better known as the “7.7 Prohibition Law” (Shichi shichi kinrei), enacted on July 7, 1940, further emphasized that luxuries detract from the effort to produce t­ hings vital for the war effort. This law prohibited the production and sale of luxury products, including high-­end kimonos and obi.58 Due to limits on vari­ous materials, such as cotton, and the introduction of sufu (staple fiber), a poor-­quality synthetic textile, p ­ eople increasingly made do with clothing they already had. They put their expensive kimonos into storage, or made them look acceptable by redyeing them or removing gold and silver threads from the fabric.59 Concepts of patriotism and anti-­luxury also took unexpected turns, as ­women ­were encouraged to cut their kimono sleeves and remake them into smaller sleeves, ­because regular kimono sleeves w ­ ere deemed inappropriate for war­time.60 This may have been based on the idea of curtailing wasteful use of fabric or ­because practical sleeves ­were associated with domestic work wear, but it did not make much sense in terms of expressing commitment to the nation. In addition, the wearing of any garment that stood out or was seen as excessive was chastised. Examples can be seen in the 1940 October issue of Sutairu (Style),

Introduction  17

a well-­known fashion magazine published by writer Uno Chiyo (1897–1996). In an article with photo­graphs, Kaneko (Yamataka) Shigeri (1899–1977) documents an event on August 1, 1940: vari­ous ­women’s association groups took to the streets of Tokyo to admonish improperly dressed ­women and hand out “warning cards.” As Kaneko, who participated in the mass warning, explains it, items against the “spirit” of “war­time life” that warranted such cards included “kimonos that use primary colors and look flashy, or ­t hose that have large showy designs or patterns.” Western clothes ­were judged based on their style, and “flamboyant hats, excessively high heels, prominently permed hair,” as well as “rings, gold watches, and jewels” and “garments that are obviously luxury products” ­were also targeted for correction.61 Not all kimonos ­were subjected to censure at this time, but with the escalation of the war, it was not long before w ­ omen had to give up kimonos in general and wear trouser-­t ype clothes called monpe. In 1940, the government established kokuminfuku (national subjects’ wear) to create standard examples of recommended clothes for men that resembled uniforms. In the beginning, men generally continued to wear clothes such as suits and ties, but from 1944 to 1945, most men ­adopted national subjects’ wear.62 For ­women, the government established fujin hyōjunfuku (­women’s standard wear) in 1942. This constituted a range of clothes, such as dresses, kimono-­style garments, and “active wear” that included monpe (see Figure 1.3).63 Unlike national subjects’ wear, ­women’s standard wear failed to catch on, but monpe became the putative female national uniform.64 ­There ­were dif­fer­ent types of monpe, and they could be worn with vari­ous kinds of upper garments (see Figures 1.4 and 1.5). Indeed, monpe transformed the way ­women dressed in Japan. It signified the ac­cep­tance of hijōji (time of national emergency) and the concept of national unity, while the kimono was put aside as an unsuitable luxury reflecting a lack of patriotism. Other negative notions about the kimono, as being physically restricting, dangerous during emergencies, and not rational for modern life, also contributed to its abandonment during the war. Monpe, originally worn as work wear, particularly in northern farmlands, took vari­ous forms; the garment had been endorsed by some in the daily life improvement movement as early as the 1920s, and with the start of the Second Sino-­Japanese War in 1937, it was increasingly promoted as suitable for neighborhood-­based emergency drills and other physical activities, even before bombings and evacuations actually began on the home front. The garment was not uncontroversial; some ­people resisted the idea of ­women in pants-­like clothes, and many ­women thought monpe ­were unfashionable, partly due to its rural associations. In the end, however, monpe “won the day as Japan’s war­time garb for w ­ omen. Monpe fit the bill as a properly indigenous

18  Chapter 1

Figure  1.3. Examples of ­women’s standard wear. Photo­graph taken December  1941. Left to right: kimono-­style outfit; skirt with top; dress; “active wear,” which includes monpe. Reproduced by permission from Asahi shinbunsha.

mode for mobile activity.” 65 They ­were easy to sew, con­ve­niently made from old or everyday kimonos or other casual fabrics, and kept ­women covered while allowing for easy movement of the legs.66 Starting in 1942, cloth products came u ­ nder a rationing system, with items requiring a specific number of coupon points.67 Clothing became difficult to obtain, and ­women’s magazines featured articles on how to remake kimonos into monpe.68 Monpe ­were often made of cotton, but as the shortage of textiles became

Introduction  19

Figure 1.4. Monpe outfits made from kimonos and worn with Western footwear. The young w ­ oman on the right wears a haori-­style jacket. Photo­graph taken February 1944. Reproduced by permission from Asahi shinbunsha.

severe, p ­ eople also fashioned them from kimonos made of silk fabrics such as meisen and omeshi.69 Clothes ­were highly valuable items by this time, and in order to prevent losses due to bombs and fire, urbanites ­were encouraged to store them with relatives in the countryside or in homemade air-­raid shelters.70 In this context, kimonos ­were stashed away, traded for necessities, or remade into acceptable clothing such as monpe. The proliferation of monpe, therefore, was not purely a result of a top-­down command, but also due to social pressure, economic necessity, and choices based on rationality.71

20  Chapter 1

Figure 1.5. Monpe worn with a sweater. Photo­graph taken April 1943. Reproduced by permission from Asahi shinbunsha.

Many monpe during this time ­were essentially trousers with differing degrees of bagginess in the legs. They w ­ ere worn with both Western clothes, such as blouses, as well as hip-­length kimono-­style upper garments with “Genroku sode” (small, rounded sleeves modeled on ­t hose from the Genroku period) or “tsutsusode” (cylindrical sleeves).72 Most discussions of monpe ­today tend to focus on ­t hese kinds of trousers. However, t­ here ­were also other kinds of monpe more closely related to “karusan” and “tattsuke,” types of hakama (kimono overpants) that ­were gathered or narrowly ­shaped at the ankles.73 ­These monpe resembled traditional-­style overpants, b ­ ecause they w ­ ere worn over kimonos. That is, w ­ omen

Introduction  21

would wear their kimonos, then put on ­t hese monpe, tucking away the bottom part of the kimono into the monpe. Some w ­ omen found this style of monpe useful for their needs ­because they could wear them in public to avoid censure but easily take them off and wear kimonos in private.74 In 1939, Saitō Keizō, who was deeply involved in the establishment of national subjects’ wear, wrote against monpe, which he described as this latter type: “The monpe is worn over a kimono, which gets bundled up, and is thus unbecoming and imperfect for the purpose of practical activity. Calling such an outfit worn with a kappōgi [white smock worn over kimonos as domestic work wear] and an obi tied in an otaiko [drum] knot showing in the back, national defense wear, would be a disgrace to the nation.”75 It is generally understood that during the last two years or so of the war (1943– 1945), monpe came to be established ultimately as a praiseworthy, patriotic form of clothing.76 In 1943, for example, the Ministry of Commerce and Industries determined that schoolgirls’ uniforms should no longer be skirts but monpe.77 As a poem published at this time, “Monpe no uta” (Song of monpe), suggests, the monpe was chosen over the kimono in order for the ­people of Japan to be prepared for air raids and to be “victorious”: “­Women’s kimonos / men’s kimonos / They have all changed to monpe.”78 ­Toward the end of the war, the type of monpe worn with a separate top appears to have become common.79 While we cannot know the exact types of monpe worn in all parts of Japan from the late 1930s to 1945, we do know that in terms of ideology and social practice, kimonos w ­ ere ultimately viewed as inappropriate and ­were “replaced” by monpe, ­either by ­actual displacement or by other sartorial adjustments. While the kimono was associated with luxuries and physical limitations, as well as the rejection of national solidarity, monpe inversely became a sign of patriotism, home-­front readiness, frugality, and rationality. The ascension of monpe and the decline of kimono ­toward the end of the war are impor­tant for considering immediate postwar sartorial changes. ­After 1945, ­women shed monpe and embraced Western dress. As Andrew Gordon explains, some histories of this shift treat monpe as an anomaly, an “indigenous” garment that interrupted the turn ­toward Western clothing that had already started in the 1920s and 1930s. Gordon rejects this idea, arguing that “a ‘leapfrog’ story of a war­ time halt in the modernization of dress followed by the postwar return to modernizing trends is too s­ imple.”80 I agree that such a narrative is problematic. W ­ omen wearing monpe during the war likely became more comfortable with the broader shift away from kimonos, and monpe therefore served as a transitional garment in this change. My view of monpe, however, is dif­fer­ent from the way Gordon characterizes the garment. In suggesting that war­time changes in everyday life paved the way

22  Chapter 1

for the postwar adoption of Western clothing, he argues that the monpe was a garment that “repudiated wafuku” and was seen as being outside this category.81 To be sure, the monpe was often presented as the kimono’s Other, but just as t­ here are many kinds of kimonos, monpe also varied in type, based on style, mode of sewing and construction, kind of fabric, and relationship to kimonos. Some monpe ­were closer to Western pants, while ­others ­were ostensibly traditional Japanese-­style garments to be worn over a kimono, similar to other types of hakama-­like overpants, and perhaps sewn in the tradition of wasai (Japanese-­style sewing) as opposed to yōsai (Western-­style sewing). Furthermore, if we consider not only basic shape (pants) and garment lineage (agricultural work wear), but also material (often made from used kimonos) and use (some w ­ ere worn as formal wear or even as wedding wear, while o ­ thers w ­ ere donned as daily clothing),82 it is difficult to label monpe categorically outside the genre of wafuku, or Japa­nese wear. Not only did some ­women wear monpe over kimonos, but they also cut up kimonos to make monpe, often with a matching (kimono-­style) upper garment; in many cases, ­t hese ­people would likely still have seen such war­time wear as an extension of their kimonos. Rather than trying to categorize all types of monpe as ­either wafuku or not, it is more useful h ­ ere to think about how they w ­ ere made during the war: usually from kimonos that w ­ ere old and worn, but sometimes, b ­ ecause of the textile shortage, from more precious kimonos. The monpe served as a transitional garment not only ­because it helped ­women get used to wearing clothes other than kimonos, but also ­because the advent of monpe made it acceptable on a national scale for w ­ omen to cut up kimonos to make other kinds of clothing. Certainly, worn-­out kimonos had always been made into other items, such as kimonos for ­children, haoris, and futons, and from the 1920s–1930s, t­ here w ­ ere even instructions in ­women’s magazines on how to remake kimonos or yukata into Western clothing. However, t­ here is no doubt that the proliferation of monpe during the war helped energize the postwar phenomenon of kōseifuku (remade clothing), clothes made from kimonos or other garments, which ­were the first types of Western clothes to emerge a­ fter the end of hostilities.

Postwar Period Just as kimonos ­were previously turned into monpe, once the war was over ­women began to turn their monpe as well as kimonos into Western clothing. The year 1947, for example, is noted for a proliferation of remade clothing and an increase in ­women wearing skirts.83 The reason for the decline in the number of ­women wearing kimonos immediately ­a fter the war was largely practical—­k imonos ­were destroyed or lost, turned into monpe or other items, or bartered or sold for survival. It was common for urbanites to sell off their clothing and other belongings

Introduction  23

on the black market or to rural residents, a phenomenon that came to be called the “bamboo shoot life” (takenoko seikatsu): removing layers of clothing one by one (and selling them) in order to be able to eat echoed the way one peels layers from bamboo shoots.84 Clothes continued to be extremely difficult to come by, and a rationing system was put in place from 1947 to 1951.85 Many p ­ eople continued to wear national subjects’ wear and monpe as well as the kimonos they still had, but the desire to change their clothes for the dawn of a new era was a power­f ul one, and ­t hose who w ­ ere able to do so soon ­adopted Western clothing for their everyday needs. Ultimately, Western clothes trumped the kimono ­because they ­were easier to move in, practical to make and maintain, and signified a shift from the past. During the war, ­women w ­ ere dissuaded from wearing fash­ion­able clothing and had to sartorially perform frugality; in 1943, for example, even making monpe with fancy designs came u ­ nder the government’s attack, as w ­ omen’s groups w ­ ere directed to make monpe only from worn-­out cloth.86 Pursuing Western fashion through remade clothing or second­hand dress in the immediate postwar period was a way to regain a sense of trends and individuality; Yanagi suggests that Western clothes also became prominent through their association with the United States and Western democracy.87 The monpe may have helped in the transition to Western wear, but it was quickly abandoned once other types of clothing and fabric became more readily available.88 In a sense, the monpe’s association with war, militarism, dearth, and the past was too strong for the garment to survive in any significant way in postwar Japan. The kimono, on the other hand, followed a more complicated trajectory. Broadly speaking, it no longer functioned as everyday wear, but it was not completely rejected like the monpe. As we have seen, during the war years, kimonos ­were never specifically considered indigenous and thus “good”; they ­were in fact often denounced as wasteful, impractical, and even considered a mark of hikokumin (traitors to the nation).89 Such attacks on kimonos as luxuries during the war, Terry Satsuki Milhaupt suggests, may “have inadvertently laid a path for the garment’s resurrection as the country’s national form of dress.” From the late 1930s to the end of the war, ­women w ­ ere prevented from wearing higher-­end kimonos, and many lost their valued kimonos u ­ nder vari­ous circumstances. The desire to reclaim such garments from the past may be one reason why expensive kimonos for special occasions continued to be very much sought a­ fter even as Western clothes ­were becoming everyday wear. Milhaupt notes that “War­t ime deprivations . . . ​directly affected the ways in which the kimono ­later came to be perceived as a symbol of the ­family’s, and by association the nation’s, hard-­won affluence.” 90

24  Chapter 1

­After the war, kimonos persisted not as everyday wear that ­women turned to a­ fter shedding their monpe, but as special garments worn for impor­tant events and traditional practices. They continued to be associated with physical restrictions and unsuitability for modern life and w ­ ere now also linked to painful memories of loss in war­time Japan. At the same time, however, they became highly desirable items of luxury, and as Japan began to reinvent itself on the world stage, they also became associated with broader concepts of “national identity,” “tradition,” and “heritage.” Kimono specialist Sasaki Aiko recalls that new kimono fabrics did not appear on the market ­until 1950 or 1951, and it was still difficult for most Japa­nese, including a young middle-­class Tokyo h ­ ouse­wife like herself, to purchase them. She remembers making do with kimonos she owned, and reusing old garments by redyeing and resewing them into other ­t hings, such as a haori or an obi.91 Eventually, with the return of economic prosperity from the mid-1950s—­often noted as the beginning of the high-­growth period—­k imonos for special occasions became sought-­after products. As Liza Dalby explains, “kimono was resurrected in the 1950s, and continued to grow in popularity during the 1960s in what Japa­ nese called a ‘kimono boom.’ Kimono’s revival was noticeable a­ fter about 1955, not as everyday wear but as ceremonial wear for the New Year’s holidays.”92 From the mid-1950s, then, p ­ eople w ­ ere turning to kimonos for special occasions, including weddings, in which brides predominantly wore kimonos rather than gowns. Renting wedding kimonos became a common practice, providing an opportunity for p ­ eople to access expensive kimonos that in e­ arlier times would have been out of their reach.93 Kimonos also came to have prestige as works of high art or traditional craft, especially with the establishment of the “Impor­tant Intangible Cultural Properties” (Jūyō mukei bunkazai) designation. With the 1954 revisions to the 1950 Cultural Property Protection Law (Bunkazai hogo hō), the government recognized ­people who achieved g­ reat mastery over par­tic­u­lar arts and crafts as prac­ti­tion­ers of Impor­tant Intangible Cultural Properties. ­These ­people, popularly known as “Living National Trea­sures” (Ningen kokuhō), include ­t hose who create kimono fabrics using their artistry in vari­ous dyeing and weaving traditions. Although kimonos made with such materials are unique works of art, the general idea of the kimono as an impor­tant manifestation of tradition grew ­because of this type of government intervention and support.94 Similar to other luxury clothing, kimonos also became part of an aspirational lifestyle and upscale image that the average consumer desired to make her own. The 1959 royal wedding between the then Prince Akihito (b. 1933, current emperor emeritus) and Shōda Michiko (b. 1934, current empress emerita) and the

Introduction  25

so-­called Michii boom pop­u ­lar­ized the clothes and accessories worn by the princess-­to-be. This included a white visiting kimono (hōmongi) with classic designs that the engaged Shōda wore in an official photo­graph in 1958; such white kimonos became a significant trend that lasted for some time, worn by ­women who aspired to such high-­class looks and associations.95 During the 1950s and 1960s, numerous films showcased female stars wearing kimonos; one kimono-­ producing region even maintained a special relationship with film studios from 1955 to 1961, so that kimonos that ­were the same as ­t hose worn by stars in films could be sold in stores throughout the country. Through such promotional tie-­ ins between kimono producers and the entertainment industry, even p ­ eople living outside major cities could purchase kimonos seen in the movies.96 Instead of simply focusing on the postwar kimono as an object replaced by Western clothes, then, we should also consider its revival as part of specific fashion trends. During the 1950s, dif­fer­ent “kimono booms” included the popularity of chabaori (short-­length haori) and the introduction of new types of fabrics for kimonos.97 The year 1965 is particularly noted as the “wafuku revival” year, due in part to the trend of ­women wearing black haoris with kimonos to attend school meetings and other formal events; this popu­lar outfit for ­mothers was widely recognized as the “PTA look” (PTA [Parent Teacher Association] rukku) (see Plate 1).98 Even l­ ater, as the kimono dis­appeared from the quotidian lives of most young ­people, the early 1970s saw the rise of “kimono wearing schools” (kitsuke kyōshitsu) in urban areas, courses one attended to learn how to put on a kimono. Such classes, which are still popu­lar t­ oday, helped w ­ omen pursue the ability to wear kimonos as a kind of specialized skill or hobby.99 The desire for kimonos for special occasions, including ceremonies for ­children (shichi-­go-­san), coming of age (seijinshiki), weddings, graduations, and other events such as tea ceremonies, reunions, and theater-­going, continued throughout the postwar period and into the pre­sent. Particularly a­ fter the 1973 “oil shock,” however, the overall market for kimonos began to decline.100 While t­here w ­ ere vari­ous kimono booms during this period, one view is that with the diminishing market from the late 1970s, the kimono industry began to focus on the production and marketing of high-­end kimonos rather than everyday kimonos. This contributed even more to the disappearance of kimonos as everyday wear and cemented the view of kimonos as expensive, special-­occasion wear.101 During the B ­ ubble economy period of 1985– 1990, for example, expensive kimonos w ­ ere purchased by the wealthy as part of a trend of con­spic­u­ous consumption.102 The ­Bubble era further reinforced the image of kimonos as a luxury; this period also saw the proliferation of extravagant weddings in which ­couples would don fancy kimonos as well as tuxedos and

26  Chapter 1

dresses. Only the wealthy could afford to actually purchase such items, but since the practice of renting kimonos for weddings had become common since the mid1950s, even p ­ eople of modest means could have such experiences. Consumers ­were increasingly able to enjoy kimonos as part of milestone events and new social or fashion trends without necessarily having to own t­ hese garments that w ­ ere no longer essential to everyday life. As we have seen, Milhaupt suggests that the association of the kimono with luxury during the war contributed to its survival as the “national costume” in the postwar era. She also won­ders, however, if other f­ actors influenced this revival, such as a younger generation “brought up wearing Western-­style clothing,” who saw kimono as “both ‘alien’ and alluring, at once foreign and familiar.” She also suggests a “nostalgia for a mythical, ‘traditional’ Japan” that propelled kimono not only into becoming a national dress but also into “a lauded example of . . . ​Japa­nese craft or art.”103 ­These f­actors certainly inspired renewed interest in traditional Japa­nese culture and putative au­then­tic national identity. Indeed, we can see how concepts such as “foreign and familiar” and “nostalgia for a mythical, ‘traditional’ Japan” contribute to the construction of an i­ magined national and gendered identity, at once connected to the past but also a part of a new postwar landscape. The kimono became strongly associated with “national identity,” “tradition,” and “heritage,” particularly during the postwar period. Although the view of kimono as “Japa­nese” wafuku (as opposed to “Western” yōfuku) was in place from the Meiji period, postwar sartorial changes and the kimono’s eventual decline in production and consumption reinforced such codes within the cultural imaginary. From outside Japan, the kimono may have often been a rather ­simple symbol, shorthand for ideas such as “Japan,” “Orient,” “exoticism/eroticism,” and even “­enemy” during the war. But within Japan, the kimono was always multivalent. With the erasure of kimonos from everyday life during the latter part of the twentieth ­century, however, the kimono as meaning became simplified in some contexts, as a source of nostalgia connected to an ­imagined national identity.104 On the other hand, when we consider ­actual kimonos in ­people’s lives during the postwar period, the concept of “luxury” stands out as a definitive notion. During this time, being able to enjoy both the latest Western clothes and kimono fashions suggested an eco­nom­ically, culturally, and even emotionally rich lifestyle, one that was strongly desired as part of the ideal life. For many older ­women who had lost their wardrobe during the war, wearing kimonos during the postwar period did not mean an embracing of traditional national garb. Rather, it more likely signified personal transcendence of hardships and emotional connections to individuals or f­ amily history. Moreover, for t­ hese ­women and ­others, kimonos also served as tools of personal expression and participation in specific fashion trends.

Introduction  27

However, for other p ­ eople kimonos ­were still associated with attitudes that proliferated in the 1920s–1930s: they ­were not rational for the postwar home, for modern w ­ omen’s lifestyles, or for the average h ­ ouse­hold bud­get. Physical constriction was also a serious consideration: most w ­ omen w ­ ere no longer comfortable in a kimono, much less able to wear one without an expert’s assistance. Unlike men’s kimonos, which are relatively easy to wear, ­women’s kimonos are comparatively restrictive and require more accoutrements. For many ­women during the late twentieth ­century, kimonos meant suffering—­being tied up with cords and layered with heavy garments without being able to make their own adjustments—­and came to be associated with notions of “gaman” (stiff upper lip) or “giri” (obligation). The younger generation in par­tic­u ­lar saw kimonos as something to be tolerated for special occasions, associated with received notions of traditional femininity, or fulfillment of f­ amily and social expectations.105 With the economic downturn of the Lost De­cade of the 1990s, the desire for expensive kimonos began to wane. But from that time to the pre­sent, new trends in kimono consumption, particularly the rise of the second­hand kimono market, internet sales, varied fabric use, and new production technologies, have made kimonos more affordable, and the images and ideas associated with them are now more complex than ever before.106 As clothes that require specialized knowledge for their wear and care and are still considered exotic compared to Western dress, kimonos ­today continue to be appreciated as vehicles of self-­development and unique self-­expression. But rules and protocols surrounding them have loosened, and ­t here is more of a casual approach to ­t hese garments. Furthermore, within the twenty-­first ­century global context, kimonos have taken on new meanings, even opening questions of cultural appropriation, national and gendered politics, and so on.107 This book focuses on the twentieth-­century kimono in Japan, but I want to note from the outset that the twenty-­first c­ entury kimono also continues to evolve as an object and an idea.

Focus and Organ­ization of Reading the Kimono By the 1960s, scholars ­were describing the kimono as “experiencing a rejuvenation as a symbol of national consciousness.”108 ­Today many p ­ eople around the world would characterize the kimono as Japan’s national costume or ethnic dress, ­whether or not they are aware of its heterogeneity and history. I want to stress h ­ ere that although my proj­ect focuses on this garment and associated language, my goal is not to reclaim the kimono as a national signifier. Although ­t here are discourses surrounding this object as a mirror of au­then­tic Japa­neseness or as an ele­ ment of the ethnocentric Nihonjinron (theories of the Japa­nese ­people), an ideology

28  Chapter 1

that promotes Japan’s uniqueness, my work is not part of such discussions.109 Notions of nationhood and national identity are treated in this book, but they are always discussed in context and are only a small part of a broad range of meanings conveyed by literary and cinematic kimonos. I engage with kimonos as tools for interpretation through textual and historical investigation, and I do not suggest that they are an essential aspect of Japa­nese identity or a sign of cultural uniqueness that must be revitalized within con­temporary Japa­nese society. It also bears mentioning that some depictions of kimonos in the texts I examine can be connected to specific geographic, class-­based culture and practice (as well as situated in par­tic­u­lar historical moments), thus also challenging the idea that kimonos represent an unchanging, hegemonic national culture. I would note h ­ ere, however, that regional differences in kimono culture and practice, or the complex pro­cesses of production, circulation, and consumption of locally produced kimonos in the national marketplace are not the focus of my investigation. As I have indicated, I do not consider kimonos to be “flat” (to invoke terminology used for literary characters) in terms of repre­sen­ta­tion, articulating unchanging traditions (­whether region-­specific or not) or an essentialized national identity. Kimonos are inherently “round,” complex objects, full of diverse and at times contradictory messages. Just as I am e­ ager to disassociate this proj­ect from nativism, I need to stress that I do not see modern and con­temporary kimonos as “­dying” t­ hings, becoming useless or devolving into inauthenticity. Certainly, kimonos have diminished as a presence in everyday life t­ oday, but they are still very much “alive” as part of new social and economic practices, protocols, and fashion.110 While the kimono is no longer integral to everyday life in the same way it was before the mid-­twentieth ­century, my discussion of its decline is always contextualized and not intended as a general statement. In terms of gender, I discuss texts written by both male and female authors, but they (and I) focus mostly on ­women’s kimonos.111 Kimonos are worn by all genders, both adults and c­ hildren, and thus my emphasis on w ­ omen’s clothing may seem one-­sided. However, within early to mid-­t wentieth-­century literary texts, w ­ omen’s kimonos often dominate in terms of descriptions and focus. This may be partly due to the fact that they are more diverse than men’s outfits and they also undergo more changes during the modern period. Men’s kimonos tend to be “conservative” in color, pattern, design, and textile use, with the exception of some items such as haori inner linings.112 As outfits, they require fewer components and have experienced less change over time. Moreover, men a­ dopted Western clothes much ­earlier than did ­women. Even during the late nineteenth ­century, Western clothes for men w ­ ere coded as garments for the public sphere (uniforms,

Introduction  29

work wear), while many types of men’s kimonos w ­ ere considered clothes for the private sphere. For ­women, in contrast, kimonos served as standard clothes for the majority of the population u ­ ntil the postwar period.113 Given ­t hese historical and sartorial circumstances, then, it may simply be that writers of the time found ­women’s kimonos more prevalent and also more compelling to describe and deploy as complex literary signifiers. It is also impor­tant to remember that historically kimonos ­were associated more intimately with ­women’s lives and identities. Before postwar ­legal changes, most ­women did not have control over financial assets; in this context, kimonos as portable property could allow for some female economic agency. Making, maintaining, and re-­creating kimonos for the entire h ­ ouse­hold was considered part of domestic duties for most ­women; although men may have ordered kimonos for themselves and their ­family, they generally did not ­handle the everyday, domestic aspects of kimono culture.114 Depending on class, region, and historical context, the ­woman of the ­house may or may not have carried out the ­actual sewing, weaving, dyeing, mending, washing, starching, airing, folding, and storing of kimonos; she may or may not have been the person who put the kimono on herself or ­others, de­cided individual aspects of a kimono order (fabric, color, crest, lining, design, style), or selected the kimono accoutrements. However, such engagement with kimonos was part of their education for many w ­ omen and an expected ele­ ment of their lives. At a time when most p ­ eople only owned a l­ imited number of items of clothing, it is not surprising that for ­women, “kimonos [­were] not simply ‘mono [­t hings]’ ” but w ­ ere closely associated with their experiences and reflected 115 “their entire lives.” Kimonos ­were inherited, bought and sold as bolts of cloth or used clothing, brought into marriages as trousseaus, and remade (usually by ­women) into other garments or daily necessities. In addition, at a time when ­women had ­limited l­ egal rights or opportunities for self-­realization, kimonos ­were often the only means for them to express themselves through self-­fashioning, consumption, or the act of creating.116 Clearly for many ­women, this object and its associated language ­were intrinsic to their identity, especially during the prewar era. In considering such gendered aspects of the kimono, Japa­nese lit­er­a­ture scholar Rebecca Copeland takes a view similar to what Kortsch has argued for Victorian ­women’s fiction, expressing interest “in the way the kimono serves as a second language in w ­ omen’s texts.”117 I agree that in many contexts, knowledge about kimonos is perceived to be within the feminine realm, and w ­ omen’s communities can coalesce around this object. In this book, however, I explore works by both male and female writers and do not treat the language of kimono specifically as a w ­ omen’s language; the readership is also not ­limited to w ­ omen. All the writers I feature are recognized for their

30  Chapter 1

expertise in kimono, as prac­ti­tion­ers who wore the garment regularly, or as collectors, connoisseurs, or arbiters of taste. While I do not discuss all novelists and essayists of the period known for their engagement with kimonos, I do focus on texts that execute kimono language in particularly impor­tant ways, often presenting meanings that have been obscured or unrecognized.118 It is fair to say, nevertheless, that the issue of gender is an impor­tant ele­ment of my investigation. The texts discussed in the pages that follow focus predominantly on ­women’s kimonos and female repre­sen­ta­tion. Thus, ­t here are cases in which a female writer uses par­tic­u­lar garments or aspects of dress culture to communicate certain ideas about w ­ omen, or to express subversion or re­sis­tance. Many essays on kimonos are published in ­women’s magazines and are especially targeted for a female readership. A text’s afterlife can also be highly gendered. For example, when a novel is reproduced on the silver screen, it can be promoted as a so-­called “­woman’s film,” a genre that features ­women and attracts female audiences. I engage with kimonos in this book while mindful of t­ hese issues.

A Word about Translation Fi­nally, I would like to address some of the issues associated with translating kimono terms into En­glish. This entails relying on more or less established translations as well as creating my own. In e­ ither case, En­glish translations rarely provide the same nuances or details as the original Japa­nese. This book is not a kimono dictionary, so in translating I do not provide extra information about the dye and weave, or any other particulars, ­unless relevant to the analy­sis. And when ­t here is clearly a disconnect between the original Japa­nese and the En­glish translation with regard to the image or feeling that the words evoke, I do my best to explain it through discussion, not directly in the translation of the words themselves. To take an example from the next chapter, I translate yūzen chirimen as “silk crepe with paste-­resist dyed designs.” This translation follows the standard En­ glish rendition, as yūzen is both the technique of paste-­resist dyeing and the designs derived from it, and chirimen is a silk crepe fabric. Yet from the standpoint of information and nuance, this translation is certainly inadequate: it does not convey the elegant image that this fabric (and the kimono made from it) should bring to the mind of the reader. The practice of “paste-­resist dyeing” must also be explained, and even though many En­glish speakers can visualize “crepe,” the word can only pre­sent a generalized idea of the fabric without conveying its dif­fer­ent possibilities for texture and heft. Thus, while I still use such En­glish translations,

Introduction  31

I am aware of their limitations and strive to provide necessary contextual information in my discussions. This means, however, that for some kimono terminology and practices, I only provide details that pertain to a par­tic­u­lar text and its sociohistorical context. Kimono “rank” (kaku), for example, a concept that also appears in the next chapter and elsewhere, is part of the complex set of rules regarding what type of kimono may be worn in a par­tic­u­lar setting. Kimonos can be categorized into varying levels of high/low ranks and would be out of place if worn to events that do not match their rank level in terms of formality. Rank does not necessarily equate to the cost of the kimono itself (expensive does not necessarily correlate with high rank), but is determined by such ele­ments as the presence, number, and type of ­family crests, kind of fabric and designs, as well as the accompanying obi and other accoutrements. With regard to protocol, t­ here are other complex rules involving gender, age, marital status, season, and so on, and while many of ­t hese rules have been stable throughout the modern period, ­others differ with era, class, and region. Rather than attempting to explain all such practices, I only discuss t­hose relevant to my exploration, and refer readers who would like to know more about such general protocol (in En­glish language) to Dalby’s discussion in Kimono.119 As to how kimonos are identified in the texts I examine, this can be general or detailed. In Japa­nese, kimonos can be called by par­tic­u­lar identifying ­factors, such as their fabric, pattern, dyeing technique, construction (such as lined or unlined), number of crests, style, and so on; I try to provide such information in as clear a manner as pos­si­ble without disrupting the flow of the text. *

*

*

The chapters in this book are or­ga­nized more or less chronologically by the publication dates of the texts, but this does not mean that discussion of a par­tic­u­lar de­cade or period is ­limited to a single chapter. Also, each chapter is or­ga­nized differently; some focus on a specific text, while o ­ thers examine multiple texts, films, or a novel together with its cinematic adaptation. In Chapter 2, I discuss Sasameyuki (The Makioka Sisters, 1943–1948), the three-­volume novel by canonical author Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (1886–1965), possibly the most well-­k nown work from the modern period associated with kimonos. Featuring ­sisters of a wealthy merchant ­family, The Makioka ­Sisters was censored during the war ­because it was considered frivolous and c­ ounter to the ethos of the times; it was completed and published in its entirety in the immediate postwar years. In this chapter, I illuminate the complex, and often hidden, meanings conveyed by the novel’s kimonos in light of specific war­time and postwar concerns,

32  Chapter 1

intertextual conversations with premodern lit­er­a­ture, and the changing sartorial culture of the 1930s–1940s. I shed new light on the garments worn by two s­ isters, Yukiko and Taeko, as well as famous episodes, such as the firefly viewing sequence, the annual excursions to see cherry blossoms, and Taeko’s traditional dance recitals. Through the kimono, I offer a new analy­sis of this canonical text. Chapter 3 investigates the afterlife of The Makioka S­ isters by showing the very dif­fer­ent ways kimonos are used in film adaptations, one made a few years ­after the completion of the novel in 1950 (directed by Abe Yutaka, 1895–1977), and the other in 1983 (directed by Ichikawa Kon, 1915–2008). Both film versions of The Makioka ­Sisters use kimonos as key visual tools to enhance aspects of the story that resonate for their respective audiences—­t he former ­under the Allied Occupation, and the latter as the nation heads into the height of economic prosperity. In Abe’s 1950 film, kimonos are used in subtle ways to dramatize the re-­creation of Taeko into a liberated yet conflicted postwar heroine, and highlight the tensions within the film regarding Cold War politics. Ichikawa’s 1983 work was disparaged by film scholar Donald Richie, who called it a “kimono show.”120 Rather than accept this film as a degradation of a superior original text, I view it as dramatizing the nation’s self-­reflection on the cusp of the B ­ ubble economy period, and as a “­woman’s film” that explores Japa­nese female identity and desires during the 1980s. I show how kimonos and other garments play a substantial and complex role in both films, speaking to the audience in power­f ul ways. The subject of Chapter 4 is kimonos in works written by Tsuboi Sakae (1899– 1967) in the 1940s and 1950s. Tsuboi is recognized as a prewar leftist activist, bestselling author, and impor­tant writer of c­hildren’s lit­er­a­ture. Despite her fame, Tsuboi has been overlooked by scholars in comparison to her friends and fellow ­women writers, Miyamoto Yuriko (1899–1951), Sata Ineko (1904–1998), and Hayashi Fumiko (1903–1951). This is in part ­because Tsuboi has been pigeonholed as a down-­to-­earth, s­ imple writer whose works require ­little analy­sis. By examining Tsuboi’s war­t ime and postwar works and their use of material culture, I challenge this view of her simplicity. Through her use of kimono language in war­time works such as “Kasuri no kimono” (The kasuri kimono, 1944) and “Ichijiku” (Figs, 1940), Tsuboi articulates emotions and ideas difficult to represent ­under military censorship. In her postwar novel Uchikake (The wedding kimono, 1955), she uses the kimono to express changes over the last hundred years and to consider past and pre­sent history through a par­tic­u ­lar feminist lens. Chapter 5 focuses on the novel Nagareru (Flowing, 1955) by Kōda Aya (1904– 1990) and the film version made the following year (directed by Naruse Mikio, 1905–1969). A critically acclaimed writer famous for her kimono expertise, Kōda uses complex narrative techniques in this novel and pre­sents kimonos as part of

Introduction  33

the disappearing world of Tokyo geisha culture. The way in which the protagonist learns to become conversant in the closed-­off world of geisha society, its language, social cues, and economic practices, is connected to her ability to read ­people and relationships configured through garments. Just as the novel suggests vari­ous meanings through sartorial culture, the film also uses kimonos and yukata worn by the leading female stars of the day to produce significant implications for the story and the 1950s context. Kōda’s 1960s work, Kimono (1965–1968), is the subject of Chapter 6. In this unfinished novel about a girl’s coming of age in the early twentieth ­century, Kōda further develops her technique in kimono language, making the kimono a critical mea­sure of female self-­development and recuperating it for a postwar generation nostalgic for the past. As an author keenly aware that knowledge about kimono is disappearing, she uses dif­fer­ent techniques to educate readers. But in the end, she abandoned the work, explaining that the kimono was no longer an object of “mutual understanding.”121 I examine this novel and the diverse meanings of the kimono through both the historical context of its setting as well as the mid-­to late 1960s when it was serialized. I also explore the unique afterlife of Kimono, fi­nally published in book form in 1993 and revitalized during the 1990s–2000s by Kōda’s ­daughter Aoki Tama (b. 1929) and grand­daughter Aoki Nao (b. 1963), who both became writers. They carry on the legacy of Kōda by weaving the story of Kimono into their own works and expanding her critical tropes about kimonos and female identity. Chapter 7 examines the four-­volume I-­novel series by Miyao Tomiko (1926– 2014), a successful, popu­lar writer who has been largely ignored in literary scholarship. Th ­ ese works, Kai (Oar, 1972–1974), Shuka (Red summer, 1980–1985), Shuntō (Spring light, 1985–1987), and Niyodogawa (Niyodo River, 1998–2000), feature a protagonist named Ayako who is based on Miyao herself. I especially focus on Red Summer, a work of “repatriation lit­er­a­ture” (hikiage bungaku), which depicts her experiences as a Japa­nese colonial settler who ends up in refugee camps in Manchuria from 1945 to 1946. Kimonos serve vari­ous functions throughout Miyao’s oeuvre, but in this par­tic­u­lar work, they are a vehicle through which she powerfully articulates taboo concepts of individual war­time responsibility, vio­ lence, and trauma. I consider the significance of this novel within the context of its publication during the early 1980s, when Japan’s colonial past had returned vividly to national consciousness with media focus on the repatriation of many Japa­nese “orphans left b ­ ehind in China” (Chūgoku zanryū koji), who sought to find their families a­ fter many de­cades.122 I also explore the interplay of Miyao’s I-­novels with her autobiographical essays on kimono and how they function to depict her authorial identity and personal experiences.

34  Chapter 1

Fi­nally, a brief conclusion discusses the state of con­temporary kimono language in the twenty-­first c­ entury. I examine the 2018 TV series Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka ­sisters of the Heisei period), which reimagines The Makioka ­Sisters as a story taking place during the economic downturn of the 1990s, and the 2018 box-­office hit Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu (­Every day a good day), a film about a ­woman who finds herself through the practice of tea ceremony. Reading the Kimono highlights an overlooked area within kimono culture—­ twentieth-­century fiction and film—­and shows its importance in furthering our understanding of the kimono, not as a static item but as a power­ful means of communication that takes many forms. By exploring ­t hese garments, we can investigate both ­t hese objects and the texts in which they live in new and unexpected ways. In this sense, Reading the Kimono is about a par­tic­u ­lar textual object, but it is also an invitation to read differently, to listen to the unexpected stories told by ­things, and to expand our exploration of repre­sen­ta­tion, context, and the production of meaning.

C HA P T E R T WO

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters From Prewar to Postwar

How do we read kimonos in modern lit­er­a­ture? My exploration begins with Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s multivolume masterpiece, Sasameyuki (The Makioka Sisters, 1943–1948). B ­ ecause of Tanizaki’s stature as one of the most impor­tant Japa­nese writers of the twentieth ­century, this novel has been analyzed from a wide range of perspectives. Yet kimonos in the work and what they are saying have not been fully investigated, despite their recognized presence. In this chapter I discuss t­ hese garments as both a source of verisimilitude and an illustration of character; they also serve as intertextual objects that evoke classical narratives and tropes in unexpected ways. Additionally, I show that kimonos take on meanings tied to their specific historical contexts, from subversion against the status quo to social change and nostalgia. The garments in this novel are not simply “realistic” objects, but produce critical meanings in the narrative. The Makioka ­Sisters is set during 1936–1941, the years leading up to the Pacific War (1941–1945), and features four ­sisters from a wealthy ­family in Osaka. Narrated in the third person, but often focusing on the perspective of the second ­sister, Sachiko, the plot revolves around the search for a husband for the third ­sister, Yukiko, and the romantic liaisons of the youn­gest s­ ister, Taeko, known as Koi-­san.1 Although not considered an I-­novel, some aspects of the work derive from Tanizaki’s experiences. The ­sisters are modeled on his wife and her siblings and the plot features the characters’ everyday concerns, lavish lifestyle, and par­ tic­u­lar dialect. By the time Tanizaki began serializing this work in the journal Chūō kōron (Central review), he was an established, canonical author, well settled in his life with his third wife, Matsuko. The Makioka ­Sisters, however, did not have a straightforward publication trajectory. ­Because government authorities considered this story of a bourgeois f­ amily to be frivolous and unsuitable for war­time Japan, serialization was canceled by order of the Imperial Army ­after several months, and Tanizaki was only able to publish the work in its entirety in 1946–1948, a­ fter the war was over.2 Of the three volumes, the last was mostly written in the postwar period, making this novel both a war­time and a postwar work.3 35

36  Chapter 2

In illustrating bourgeois characters and their lifestyles, Tanizaki depicts both kimonos and Western clothing—­the former being the representative form of dress for most of the female characters. Of course, clothing is not always described in ­great detail; this is not unusual for literary repre­sen­ta­tion of clothing, which is “rarely described in full” but meant to produce an “understood image” shared by author and reader.4 But when t­ hese garments are directly described, they especially serve vital roles, providing further depth to an already complex narrative. Tanizaki himself was a kimono connoisseur who often chose garments for his wife and ­family; he had clear tastes in ­women’s kimonos, eschewing the so-­called Tokyo style of “iki” (chic) kimonos dominated by muted shades and stripes, and favoring the so-­called Kyoto style, full of color and designs manifesting a “hannari” (elegant and bright) quality.5 When I told friends and colleagues that I was researching kimonos in lit­er­a­ ture, they would almost immediately ask about The Makioka ­Sisters—­a sign that many ­people associate this work with kimonos. To a certain extent the novel evokes images of kimonos ­because of its own sartorial depictions and atmosphere. But this association also stems from the novel’s “afterlife” in cinematic representations—as I ­w ill discuss in the next chapter. Regardless of the reason, the novel is popularly known for its kimonos, but in scholarly analy­sis, materiality within the text has rarely been investigated beyond the realm of footnotes. This chapter pushes beyond this kind of explication that simply identifies types of textiles or obscure objects. I go deeper to analyze what t­ hese kimonos are saying in The Makioka ­Sisters as they engage with then con­temporary readers. Kimonos serve a number of critical functions by depicting characters, making intricate literary allusions, expressing re­sis­tance or nostalgia, and even creating a space for metatextual reading, inviting readers to reassess fundamental questions of realism and narration. By highlighting the kimono’s multivalency, complexity, and even mutability, I offer new ways of reading this famous war­t ime/postwar novel.

Real and Symbolic Kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters While almost ­every other aspect of The Makioka S­ isters has been examined in some way—­including narrative structure, dialect usage, characters, and publication history—­only a few scholars have directly discussed garments in the text.6 This is surprising b ­ ecause the novel is full of material t­ hings (including clothes): phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal products, restaurants, ­hotels, clothing, food, art, jewelry, house­ hold objects, gift items, and books appear throughout as significant ele­ments of

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  37

the plot. Unfortunately, the 1957 En­glish translation of the work by Edward Sei­ densticker mirrors the general tendency to dismiss such items, and tends to attenuate descriptions of some objects, especially clothing.7 The decision to eliminate ­things that w ­ ere not likely to convey par­tic­u ­lar meaning to English-­speaking readers was perhaps reasonable at the time, but the translation alters the essence of the novel as a text deeply rooted in a specific time and place, and s­ haped by the subtle interplay of concrete objects with often elusive characters and narrative styles. Kimonos, with their details, particularly serve impor­tant roles in this novel. To begin, kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters produce a sense of realism. Certain details about the garments or how an outfit is worn enhance verisimilitude. This is imperative for the work, a novel of manners that takes place within specific geographic settings and historical moments. Tanizaki notes in his essay “Sasameyuki kaiko” (The Makioka S­ isters remembered) that what happens in the text is intertwined with the changing aspects of everyday life during this period, and this was therefore the first novel for which he had to research details for historical accuracy, including even the cost of taxis in certain districts and when and where certain plays had been performed.8 In another essay, “Sasameyuki ni tsuite” (About The Makioka ­Sisters), he emphasizes the au­then­tic pre­sen­ta­tion of material culture, explaining that he asked his wife “vari­ous ­things about kimonos” while writing the work.9 The novel’s vivid depiction of an ­actual event, the destructive Hanshin flood of 1938, is another example of historical authenticity informed by firsthand accounts.10 Additional details, such as how the servant Oharu wears her yukata in the flood, heighten sartorial verisimilitude and emphasize the severity of the disaster. She hitches up both her sleeves and hem in order to navigate through the mud and ­water, not even heeding the fact that this disheveled look exposes her “red koshimaki,” or undergarment.11 The description dovetails with the general portrayal of Oharu as a sloppy individual, but also underscores her commitment to serving the f­ amily in a time of crisis. H ­ ere, the kimono reflects something about the wearer’s character even as it also conveys a sense of realism and urgency. The issue of realism is complicated in this text by the fact that many characters and events are modeled on real­ity. Although the work is not categorized as an I-­novel, the Makioka ­sisters are based on Tanizaki’s wife and her ­sisters, many other characters are based on real ­people, and vari­ous plot points reflect events that actually happened.12 This may be one reason why objects that appear in the story, such as food, medical products, art objects, and clothing, have generally been overlooked in scholarly discussions. ­Because they are simply seen as ­t hings taken from real life, they are viewed as contributing to accuracy (­whether of the

38  Chapter 2

historical or personal past) but rarely interpreted as part of a carefully constructed narrative.13 ­These objects are seen as producing what Roland Barthes calls “the real­ity effect,” with no additional functions.14 While many scholars laud The Makioka ­Sisters as one of Tanizaki’s greatest works, ­others are quite dismissive.15 Feminist scholar Arai Tomiyo astutely explains the reason for this: verisimilitude, she points out, may have contributed to the view that the work is essentially “popu­lar” in nature and thus without much meaning. She notes, for example, details of the names of numerous medi­cations kept at the home and suggests that the work pre­sents “a rec­ord of w ­ omen’s everyday life” (onnatachi no seikatsushi). ­Those who believe that serious “pure lit­er­a­ture” (junbungaku) should not bother with such aspects of the “popu­lar, everyday world” (tsūzokuteki sekai), therefore, view this novel as being valueless.16 Arai’s explanation regarding prejudice t­oward ­women’s issues and everyday domestic concerns is convincing. But at the same time, by discussing the novel as a kind of “ethnography,” “an observational rec­ord of the exotic world of female culture,” she suggests that the t­ hings and events in this novel are essentially real. In her words, “the secret of this novel’s creation” is rooted in the detailed notes Tanizaki took on the “the conversations of the ­women [his wife and female relatives] in the home, their reports about what happened when they went out, the exchanges with t­ hose that work for them or visit the ­house­hold.” Arai ultimately suggests that this novel enlivens female voices and concerns, and serves a po­liti­ cal purpose in overriding the male-­centric war­time discourse of the times.17 In addition to providing this feminist perspective, Arai is one of the few scholars to discuss objects in the work, but she essentially focuses on medi­cations as real, everyday items representative of the time. Memorable examples include “Betaxin,” vitamin B shots that the s­ isters routinely inject at home (7), and the “Alsilin” antidiarrheal pills that fail to ease Yukiko’s symptoms at the end (881).18 Arai’s discussion of such items as being ethnographically meaningful is impor­tant, but it is also critical to view details like this as more than rec­ords of everyday life. Such medicines serve a power­f ul symbolic function, pointing to disease-­related concepts in the work, including tainted blood, the decline of the ­family, female pollution and the body, and concepts of insider and outsider.19 ­These objects are realistic but also convey symbolic meaning, fulfilling both modes of repre­sen­ta­tion without being l­ imited by ­either of them. In the ­actual practice of reading, it is not difficult to grasp the notion that many textual objects are both “real” and “symbolic.” Kimonos, as clothing, are everyday objects, but also have a long tradition of being viewed as vehicles of symbolic meaning, reflecting the wearer and providing commentary on the situation or action. They are also power­ful intertextual objects that draw on literary allusions and

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  39

artistic references. Furthermore, they should be considered metonymically, as objects with their own history and meaning outside the confines of the novel; this is especially impor­tant for The Makioka S­ isters when we consider the dif­fer­ent moments in which it was written, published, and read. Kimonos actually exist in ways beyond the ­simple dichotomy of real and/or symbolic in the novel, generating dif­fer­ent meanings and playing impor­tant roles as metatextual objects. In the next section, I focus on the way kimonos speak about character and identity.

Yukiko and Taeko: Kimono as Character In addition to creating a sense of historical realism, kimonos often convey aspects of the Makioka ­sisters’ appearance and character.20 Even as they illuminate ­t hese qualities, they also highlight the complex, metatextual aspects of the text. I focus ­here on Yukiko and Taeko, the younger s­ isters, whose stories drive the plot for most of the novel. It is impor­tant to note that ­t hese ­women are extremely hard to read. They are elusive characters, especially as presented through Tanizaki’s layered, polyvocal style of narration. This aspect of The Makioka S­ isters is perhaps inevitably lost in the En­glish translation.21 The novel utilizes both standard Japa­nese and also a par­ tic­u­lar type of Osaka dialect; on one hand, we get an intimate view of the s­ isters ­because their speech in dialect is amply reproduced in direct quotes. On the other hand, however, the novel often describes events and characters’ thoughts indirectly through second­hand reporting or conjecture by another, making it difficult to fully comprehend the s­ isters’ personalities.22 Furthermore, the narrative offers “dif­fer­ent kinds of information and vari­ous changing interpretations.”23 The novel is in the third person, with an elusive narrator and a fluid perspective, but since the focus is often on Sachiko’s thoughts or viewpoint, a sense of her interiority is produced and readers are able to gain, more or less, an understanding of this character. In contrast, Yukiko and Taeko are much harder to pin down. In this context, clothing provides impor­tant information. It is explained in the beginning that b ­ ecause the Makioka ­women are all beauties who look much younger than they ­really are, they have to wear “clothing” with “bold colors and patterns” (42) that do not match their a­ ctual age. In the following passage, both kimonos and Western clothes are discussed in distinguishing Sachiko, Yukiko, and Taeko, the three main female characters: With regard to clothes, Taeko dressed for the most part in Western clothes and Yukiko always wore kimonos, but Sachiko wore Western clothes in the summer and kimonos during the other seasons. Both Sachiko and

40  Chapter 2

Taeko resembled their ­father and thus similarly had a bright, energetic appearance, but Yukiko’s face had something forlorn about it. Yet strangely, despite her sad features, Yukiko looked the best in brilliant kimonos made of yūzen chirimen [silk crepe with paste-­resist dyed designs] like the ones worn in the past by serving ladies at court, while striped kimonos in somber colors in the Tokyo style did not suit her at all. (43) In broad strokes, Taeko, the youn­gest s­ ister in her mid-­twenties who wears Western dresses, is represented as having modern ideas and values. She is the only one who works, has an atelier of her own, and in the past had even tried to elope with Okubata (known as Kei-­bon), the son of a wealthy jeweler. Yukiko, who is still unmarried at thirty and ­w ill continue to sit through a series of unsuccessful miai (arranged marriage meetings) for the next several years, is the traditional melancholic beauty. Sachiko, a comfortably married ­woman in her thirties with both dresses and kimonos in her wardrobe, is neither excessively traditional nor modern. The reference to silk crepe with paste-­resist dyed designs immediately brings to mind high-­end, elegant kimonos with bright colors, flowery feminine patterns, and detailed designs. Yūzen is a technique that uses paste to cover up parts of the fabric in order to keep dif­fer­ent colors separate when creating designs by hand drawing or stencils.24 While this description may seem prosaic, yūzen as a term and concept evokes “colorful and elegant designs,”25 and kimonos using such techniques are often associated with western Japan (Kansai), the Osaka-­Kyoto area. ­Because this region is linked to traditional culture—in contrast to eastern Japan (Kantō), the more “modern” greater Tokyo area—­t he retiring, enigmatic Yukiko is portrayed as an old-­fashioned, feminine character from the past, in a sense frozen in time, who looks best in formal youthful attire. The fact that she cannot carry off the casual and chic striped kimono, representative of the mature look in the fash­ion­able Tokyo style, emphasizes her perpetual youth and affinity to the Osaka-­Kyoto region. Indeed, as we discover in the course of the novel, Yukiko does not fare well when forced to live outside the familiar space of western Japan. The discussion of kimonos versus Western clothes also creates dichotomies, including traditional/modern and East/West, that are often more complex than they seem at first. ­Later in the novel, for example, we see the young and modern Taeko wearing kimonos and even performing traditional Japa­nese dance, and traditional Yukiko resorting to Western clothing during the hottest days of the year. The s­ isters are part of late 1930s bourgeois Japa­nese culture, comfortable with traditional Japa­nese arts and Kabuki theater as well as Western novels, piano, and French lessons. For understanding both Yukiko and Taeko, then, such

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  41

dichotomies are not absolute, and the clothes worn by t­ hese ­women relay more than such general concepts, sartorial realism, or physical traits. As I w ­ ill show, kimonos in par­tic­u ­lar reveal the w ­ omen’s inner selves and highlight broader issues regarding the narrative.

Interpreting Yukiko and Her Kimonos In an early critical essay, Nakamura Shin’ichirō notes that despite the fact that Yukiko is a central character, readers for the most part are not allowed direct access to her thoughts; her interiority is ­imagined by ­others around her, especially by her ­sister Sachiko. In discussing this novel’s unusual narrative style, he points out that when characters are at the center of the action, their feelings are cut from the narrative; for example, Taeko can fully discuss Yukiko’s thoughts regarding ­things that happen to Yukiko, but readers are not given direct access to how Taeko herself feels about events in her own life.26 Yukiko is a particularly opaque character, presented by ­others in multilayered ways. An example of this occurs when she finds herself in a rather unhappy situation. The Makioka ­family had no sons, so they had to continue the ­family line through the practice of marrying ­daughters to adoptive sons-­in-­law (muko yōshi), a common practice ­under the prewar Japa­nese ­family system (ie seido). The current Makioka main ­house (honke) was thus established by the eldest ­sister Tsuruko and her husband Tatsuo, who became, as the adoptive son-­in-­law, the head of the ­family. As unmarried ­women, both Taeko and Yukiko are members of the main ­house, but b ­ ecause they dislike Tatsuo and the f­ amily’s strict ways, they have managed to live for the most part with Sachiko and her husband Teinosuke, another adoptive son-­in-­law who took the Makioka name, but only as head of the less impor­tant branch ­house (bunke).27 In the first volume of the novel, Tatsuo’s work transfers him to Tokyo, and he is forced to uproot his immediate f­ amily outside the familiar Osaka area. At this juncture, it is de­cided that Yukiko, who does not have work commitments like Taeko, must immediately move to Tokyo together with the main ­family to keep up appearances and follow expected protocol. This is clearly a very undesirable situation for Yukiko, who cannot thrive while away from the Kansai region and her other s­ isters. However, readers never learn of her feelings directly; they are only presented in an extremely remote fashion. Her homesickness is not expressed through her own words or thoughts, but is presented in the discussion Tsuruko has with Teinosuke during his visit to Tokyo (192–193). This is not conveyed by direct quotes in Osaka dialect, but what Tsuruko says about Yukiko’s be­hav­ior and conjecture about her feelings is mediated by the narrator, who paraphrases and summarizes Tsuruko’s words in standard Japa­nese. This conversation is

42  Chapter 2

framed as being retold by Teinosuke to his wife on his return home. Neither Teinosuke nor Tsuruko normally speaks in standard Japa­nese, so this adds further to the sense of indirectness.28 This complex, multilayered narrative technique emphasizes the inscrutability of Yukiko’s inner thoughts. As an enigmatic individual, Yukiko has been discussed from a number of perspectives by scholars, but as far as I can determine no one has analyzed the kimono she wears to a miai in the third volume. This is all the more surprising ­because Tanizaki explic­itly tells readers that this kimono “especially matched her character [hitogara]” (554). The lack of discussion of this kimono with many details is striking and serves to underscore how literary critics have largely ignored material codes. Dressed in this formal kimono, Yukiko sits on the train headed ­toward a meeting with a prospective groom, this time to be held in Ōgaki, Gifu Prefecture, quite far from Osaka. The narrative emphasizes her youthful looks that can carry off such a bold and bright kimono: Truly, no one would guess that she was thirty-­t hree, an unlucky age for ­women. Her face seemed thin and forlorn, but the thick makeup set it off most beautifully. The kimono, with long sleeves over two shaku in length,29 was in-­between wear [aigi], in between hitoe [unlined kimono] and usumono [thin kimono] in terms of season, the fabric something like a mixed weave [ainoko ori], a cross between kinsha [a type of silk crepe] and georgette. It was rich purple, with a bold design of large woven bamboo basket variant patterns [kagome kuzushi], with bush clovers, dianthus flowers [nadeshiko], and white waves. Of all the kimonos she owned, this one especially matched her character, and when the meeting was arranged, this kimono had been delivered express by train a­ fter a telephone call was made to the Tokyo h ­ ouse. (553–554) The passage is memorable b ­ ecause it is by far the most carefully presented kimono in the entire novel and also a rare description of Yukiko’s ­actual clothing. The details symbolically speak about Yukiko herself. Her attire is suitable for a formal miai, and her long sleeves, worn by unmarried ­women, accentuate her youth and virginal status. It is also perfectly chosen in terms of seasonal protocol (June), a kimono that is thin and delicate without being the diaphanous usumono worn at the height of the summer that shows the underkimono. It also appropriately pictures autumnal plants that look ahead to the coming season.30 The bold and large woven bamboo basket patterns might also allude to her strong w ­ ill (particularly regarding her marital options) hidden ­behind an old-­fashioned femininity, signified by dianthus flowers, which are often associated with traditional Japa­nese womanhood (Yamato nadeshiko).31

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  43

Furthermore, the kimono fabric itself signals Yukiko’s elusive and multiple natures, as the narrator can only guess what it is, pointing out that it seems “something like a mixed weave,” a cross between two types of crepe, kinsha and georgette.32 This kimono is also categorized as “in-­between wear” ­because the fabric’s opacity is in between that of a regular unlined kimono and a diaphanous one (554).33 Yukiko herself is an in-­between, ambiguous, difficult-­to-­define character: an unmarried virgin at her age (an anomaly in and of itself), so retiring that she cannot even speak on the telephone, but also firm when rejecting suitors. The symbolism of this kimono as an elusive enigma requires a reader who can understand its language. Even if the reader does not fully understand its implications, however, the detailed description reflexive of Yukiko’s “character” creates an expectation that further insight into her feelings and/or personality ­will be provided. But the text quickly thwarts such expectations. The narrative focuses on Sachiko’s perspective; she notices the unsightly spot near Yukiko’s eye that often recurs with hormonal shifts related to her “monthly illness” (menstruation, 554), clearly vis­i­ble ­under the thickly applied face powder, “like mercury in a thermometer when tilted at an a­ ngle” (555). Such references to disease, inauspicious age, and Sachiko’s “lack of hope” (555) about this match foreshadow the rude rejection the ­family w ­ ill receive l­ ater on, but we are not given further access to Yukiko’s feelings or analy­sis of her views. Due to the evasive narrative style, we do not even know if Yukiko herself had telephoned for the kimono and ordered it (desiring to wear something that reflects her inner self), nor if she herself is aware of the blemish vis­i­ble on her face on this impor­tant day. Scholars disagree as to when exactly Yukiko’s feelings are first directly presented in this novel, but the most substantial repre­sen­ta­tion of her interiority appears several chapters a­ fter this kimono description, when the meeting in Ōgaki has concluded and she is sitting by herself on another train, this time ­going to Tokyo.34 She realizes that the man staring at her from several seats away is someone she met in a miai over ten years e­ arlier. Her be­hav­ior and feelings are described in third-­person narration, and then, for the first time, we are presented with Yukiko’s stream-­of-­consciousness style interior monologue, revealing her thoughts about her past meeting with this man and relationships with ­others in her ­family. This unusual access to her thoughts occurs at a time when, “unfortunately unlike a few days ago,” her makeup has been done in a casual manner and she is wearing a garment described only as “a yūzen kimono of not a particularly impressive hue” (591). Yukiko is understandably upset that she does not look her best when ­running into a man she rejected in her youth (and who may have guessed that she is still unmarried, based on her “young lady-­like attire” [591]). It is ironic that Yukiko’s interiority is fully represented when she is wearing a kimono that is

44  Chapter 2

literally nondescript rather than when she is dressed in clothing described in a detailed manner and supposedly expressing her true self. On the surface, this may seem a minor point, easily overlooked, but ­t hese two contrasting kimonos actually highlight this unusual foray into Yukiko’s mind, guiding readers to consider the complex ways in which the novel represents her throughout the narrative. In fact, the gorgeous kimono for the miai and the nondescript yūzen kimono, taken together in this extended sequence, might be called metatextual objects that illuminate the text’s narrative style in addition to the plot. Together and in contrast to each other, they draw attention to Yukiko’s unusual inner monologue as well as the highly constructed nature of voice and narration throughout The Makioka ­Sisters. ­These kimonos flag impor­tant aspects of the narrative and create metatextual awareness, highlighting the intricate technique that undergirds this text and its broader implications. Critics such as Chiba Shunji and Hirano Yoshinobu have described the novel’s narrative style as a challenge to the standard practices of the modern novel and rules of realism.35 In this context, we can understand t­ hese kimonos as performing a dual function, not only providing insight into Yukiko’s identity, but also questioning larger ideas, such as the notion of au­t hen­tic interiority, novelistic realism, and the construction of literary character. By ignoring t­ hese garments and their place in the story, we miss deeper ele­ ments of the narrative and the intricacies of the text’s self-­reflexivity.

Taeko as Revealed through Clothes Garments also play an impor­tant role when we consider Taeko, the youn­gest ­sister, often viewed as the opposite of Yukiko, but whose interiority is equally hard to access. Unlike Yukiko, she rarely wears formal kimonos; for the most part she eschews kimonos ­because of her modern character and a body type better suited for Western clothing.36 But another reason for her clothing choice is that Taeko is the least supported Makioka ­sister in terms of finances. As the youn­gest child, she did not enjoy her ­father’s wealth before his death, and afterwards she has disagreements with the main ­family; thus, unlike the other ­sisters, she does not own many high-­quality kimonos, which are usually more costly than Western clothes. Taeko’s lack of high-­end garments (compared to Yukiko’s wardrobe) suggests the unfairness of her situation. She is also prevented by the main Makioka f­ amily from becoming a dressmaker, a professional working ­woman. Her choice in wearing Western outfits is unusually fashion forward for the time; according to a 1937 survey, only 18.5 ­percent of w ­ omen in Osaka ­were seen in Western dress.37 This does not mean, however, that her association with Western clothing suggests financial in­de­pen­dence. As

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  45

Mitamura Masako points out, it turns out that several of Taeko’s stylish Western garments are items that had been sponged off her boyfriend Okubata.38 In contrast to Yukiko, Taeko is modern, sexually active, and defiant of class bound­aries. Yukiko patiently goes through a series of miai to fi­nally end up with Mimaki, an illegitimate son of a viscount, considered a highly desirable match. But Taeko rejects Okubata, her class equal, and secretly becomes engaged to Itakura, a photographer with no education or significant lineage. This relationship ends with Itakura’s death, and ultimately, Taeko moves in with a bartender named Miyoshi a­ fter bearing his illegitimate child (who dies due to a medical error during delivery). Taeko’s “class miscegenation”39 and sexually impure body are hinted at through clothing. Although she ­favors Western dresses, she is depicted wearing yukata at home as loungewear and nightwear. While this is common practice, the way Taeko wears the garment is considered disgraceful. In the summer she is described putting on a yukata without an obi, or with only a cord, exposing her bare chest in front of her ­sisters and servants as she cools herself with a fan ­after bathing (341, 349, 436).40 By the m ­ iddle of the novel, Sachiko comments on the changes in Taeko’s “personality, expression, bodily movement, and speech,” as well as her bad manners in wearing yukata in this fashion. Her character is no longer “modern” in a positive sense, but shows a crass quality, with no regard for protocol or modesty (435–436). The wearing of kimonos in an improper way, especially without an appropriate sash, is associated with female moral impropriety as well as lower-­ class be­hav­ior. Taeko has even been heard joking around with a kimono shop owner who brazenly comments on her ample derriere, suggesting that men would be aroused w ­ ere she to wear an “unlined kimono” (hitoe no bebe, 437) that would show the contours of the body. Mitamura notes that the rare instances when Taeko wears a kimono reveal her “essence” (honshitsu).41 While this is not the case categorically, kimonos are often used to emphasize her impure body. The clearest example of this is when, ­a fter her bout with dysentery, she uncharacteristically begins to wear kimonos rather than Western dresses in public, saying that they keep her legs warm. We discover l­ater, however, that this was her way of concealing her out-­of-­wedlock pregnancy. As Mitamura suggests, the kimono worn to “conceal” ends up exposing “her unnaturally enlarged body,” 42 and when the three ­sisters go to Tokyo for Yukiko’s miai, Sachiko finds out the truth from Taeko herself that she is about “three to four months” along (829). In this way, the kimono highlights her unusual appearance and ends up revealing Taeko’s predicament as a sexually active, unmarried w ­ oman impregnated by a lower-­class man. From another perspective,

46  Chapter 2

we might say that the high-­end kimono she wears on this trip actually highlights what she is not: an innocent, virginal young w ­ oman of substantial means. Taeko’s most fully described kimono appears slightly ­earlier than this episode. This is the kimono she wears to the train station with her ­sisters to see off the hairdresser Itani, an impor­tant f­ amily outing to show re­spect to the w ­ oman who w ­ ill be organ­izing Yukiko’s upcoming miai in Tokyo. In this scene, Taeko’s kimono is described as “formal attire” (seisō), “a green kimono with large white camellias made by ebazuke” (795). In terms of workmanship, the garment is of the highest quality, ebazuke being a labor-­intensive pro­cess in which the fabric is cut and sewn together in its pre-­dyed white state; the design is then sketched across the kimono so that it remains continuous between the dif­fer­ent panels used for dif­fer­ent parts of the kimono. The kimono is then taken apart, dyed, all aspects of the design completed, then resewn.43 “Formal attire” also suggests that this might be a long-­ sleeved furisode (swinging-­sleeve kimono), as Taeko is not married. 44 The cost of such a “brilliant” (kirakirashii, 795) kimono would have been substantial, especially with the additional accoutrements of suitably formal obi, vari­ous sashes, collar, accessories, handbag, coat, footwear, and so on. The three s­ isters soon follow Itani to Tokyo for Yukiko’s miai with Mimaki, and it seems that Taeko would have worn this outfit or o ­ thers like it during this trip as well. Words such as “brilliant” and “gorgeous” (kenran, 815) reflect wealth; by this time (October 1940), high-­end garments including ­those using the ebazuke technique could no longer be made or sold due to the anti-­luxury 7.7 Prohibition Law. Taeko’s kimono may have been a rare item from the heyday of Makioka wealth when her ­father was still alive, or it may have been provided by Sachiko or another f­ amily member. E ­ ither way the garment confirms the fact that Taeko belongs to the established, rich merchant class. Despite this status, however, she does not have full access to the ­family finances, nor is she fully supported by traditional ­family obligations to provide a trousseau. Unlike Yukiko, who has “a chest of drawers full of kimonos” ready for her ­f uture marriage, Taeko “has not been given anything much of value” (439–440); she has had to rely on her own earnings, gifts from Sachiko, and, as it turns out, gifts of expensive Western clothes and jewelry from Okubata. Moreover, although she wears kimonos suitable for an unmarried ­woman, she is (secretly) no longer a virgin. Whenever she dresses in an expensive kimono, Taeko is told by f­amily members and o ­ thers that she looks better in Western clothes. Ultimately, then, ­t hese “brilliant” kimonos only illuminate discrepancies between Taeko’s appearance and real­ity. Her true identity does not match t­ hese kimonos—­they are only a costume for performing wealth and innocence, while concealing her lack of resources, her sexual knowledge, and even her pregnancy.45

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  47

In the end, Taeko is punished for her sexuality and defiance of class bound­ aries: both Itakura and the illegitimate child she has with Miyoshi die.46 She must begin her new life with Miyoshi secretly and with l­ ittle fanfare, with only the immediate f­amily aware of the circumstance. Her situation is quite dif­fer­ent from that of Yukiko, who follows the traditional path for marriage through miai, and is rewarded with a trousseau, many gifts from relatives, and connection with the peerage. And the contrast is driven home even more powerfully when Taeko comes back to claim her belongings, “surreptitiously gathering the ­things she would need right away and bundling them in a furoshiki [wrapping cloth] of karakusa [arabesque] design” (880) and carry­ing them back to her modest abode. Furoshiki are used in Japan to wrap items, and a furoshiki with a karakusa design is usually a large, sturdy cotton cloth suitable for transporting objects.47 ­Here, the mention of such an everyday item, often used for moving, highlights her missing trousseau and accurately shows her situation. The karakusa, while mundane, may also signify her resilience, as the arabesque pattern is thought to be based on vines, strong plants known to flourish and grow.48 When she is shown in this way, with very few material belongings, Taeko fi­nally appears at her most au­t hen­tic, with ­little to hide or obfuscate, at least from her f­amily. While both she and Yukiko remain opaque characters, we understand Taeko better as she reveals herself at the end, no longer requiring any costumes or per­for­mances.

“Firefly Viewing” and the Tale of Genji: Kimono as Intertextual Object Kimonos are associative items that draw on premodern traditions; in this way they function in the novel to convey multiple meanings through literary and artistic allusions. In this section, I discuss this aspect of kimonos by focusing on the hotarugari (firefly viewing) episode in the third volume, the first seven chapters relating to Yukiko’s miai in Ōgaki. I have already discussed the formal kimono she wears on the train to this meeting as a reflection of Yukiko’s “character” (554), and the metatextual role it plays in conjunction with the unimpressive “yūzen kimono” (591) she wears afterward on the journey to Tokyo. ­Here, I examine other kimonos that make references to classical Japa­nese lit­er­a­t ure and expand the meaning of the episode through intertextuality. Scholars have discussed from a number of perspectives the connection between The Makioka ­Sisters and the premodern classic Genji monogatari (Tale of Genji), which depicts court life and the romances surrounding “the shining Genji,” the son of the emperor. Tanizaki published three modern Japa­nese translations of Genji; his first came out in 1939–1941, just before he embarked on The

48  Chapter 2

Makioka ­Sisters in 1942.49 Although he obfuscates the influence of the Tale of Genji on The Makioka S­ isters, he acknowledges that “it is true that it was in my mind while I was writing this novel,” and that “one cannot say that ­t here was no influence in vari­ous re­spects.”50 The connection was not intentional, he stresses, but admits that “­there is no way I would not have been influenced in some degree or another.”51 According to Chiba Shunji, the episodic quality of The Makioka ­Sisters, together with its shifting narrative viewpoint, reflects an aesthetic associated with traditional Japa­nese picture scrolls (emaki) and the Tale of Genji.52 Noguchi Takehiko suggests the influence can be seen in Tanizaki’s expression of “subtle eroticism” and awareness of dif­fer­ent forms of time.53 The frequent composition of poetry and appreciation for seasons, rituals, and the arts also evoke the classic narrative. In terms of content, novelist Enchi Fumiko, who also translated Genji into modern Japa­nese, suggests that The Makioka ­Sisters shows the closest connection to the story of Tamakazura, a beautiful young ­woman ­under Genji’s care who is wooed by vari­ous suitors.54 Noguchi agrees that “the so-­called Tamakazura chapters” in Genji, from “Tamakazura: A Lovely Garland” to “Makibashira: A Beloved Pillar of Cypress,” best correspond to The Makioka ­Sisters as they show the glorious annual events at court and follow the courtship of Tamakazura.55 In ­t hese chapters and in Tanizaki’s novel, “the fate of the courted heroine is worked out against a background of annual functions and changing seasons.” The difference is that Tamakazura is pursued by high-­ranking men, including Genji himself, while Yukiko only has occasional miai opportunities; in the beginning, Yukiko and/or her f­amily turn away unacceptable suitors (Segoshi, Nomura) but l­ater Yukiko is rejected by men who see her as unsatisfactory (Sawazaki, Hashidera). Noguchi suggests that Yukiko’s story is “an ironical inversion of the courting tale.”56 Tamakazura and Yukiko are similar in the sense that the marriage plot for both ends rather anticlimactically, and The Makioka ­Sisters concludes with the last lines focusing on Yukiko’s unhappiness and per­sis­tent diarrhea that continues, even as she travels to Tokyo for her wedding.57 As Noguchi and o ­ thers have pointed out, vari­ous seasonal events in the Tale of Genji can also be matched with ­t hose in The Makioka ­Sisters.58 Although ­t here is ­little commonality in the plots themselves, “Hotaru: Fireflies,” one of the Tamakazura chapters, and the “firefly viewing” episode in Volume 3, are set in the same season and focus on the same insects that illuminate the darkness.59 Critics have not deeply delved into the intertextuality of this episode, but once we pay attention to kimonos, we can access critical allusions to the Tale of Genji and other classical texts. Attention to t­ hese garments also reveals a gap between romanticism and real­ity, past and pre­sent.

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  49

­These chapters in Volume 3 of The Makioka S­ isters focus on Yukiko’s miai with Sawazaki, a wealthy widower from an established ­family. Yukiko, Taeko, Sachiko, and her d ­ aughter Etsuko travel by train to Ōgaki; the pretext is that they are g­ oing for a firefly viewing, a poetic summertime event in which p ­ eople go outside to appreciate fireflies in the darkness, but the main purpose in this case is to meet the prospective groom. They are already dressed up on the train, and Yukiko wears her formal kimono that best shows her “character,” just in case the meeting with Sawazaki occurs immediately a­ fter arrival. It turns out, however, that the miai is scheduled for the following day; when they do meet Sawazaki, he turns out to be a snobbish man and the meeting is a failure. L ­ ater they receive a rude and curt letter from him expressing his lack of interest. Prior to the event, the ­sisters imagine firefly viewing as an elegant practice that involves the wearing of beautiful formal kimonos. Sachiko believes that it is normally carried out in outfits such as “long-­sleeved yūzen kimono,” and one would pursue “fireflies h ­ ere and t­ here with an uchiwa [non-­folding fan], with kimono sleeves and hems fluttering in the outside eve­ning breeze” (567). Taeko explains to her young niece Etsuko that art images of firefly viewings often show a princess with many ladies in waiting, all wearing long-­sleeved yūzen kimonos and carry­ing uchiwa, and thus this event requires such outfits for an au­t hen­tic experience. In real­ity, however, the practice is quite dif­fer­ent from such romantic notions. Wearing fancy kimonos is not recommended, as they would be soiled on paths along rice paddies and bushes, and the hosts lend the ­sisters “mosurin no hitoe” (unlined kimonos made of wool muslin, or thin woven wool, 567). Th ­ ese practical, everyday kimonos are a far cry from long-­sleeved yūzen kimonos, and it turns out that clothes have ­little to do with the event, as it is so dark along the riverbank where the fireflies are that the w ­ omen can barely see each other. The firefly viewing is based on an a­ ctual event Tanizaki experienced in 1939 in the Ōgaki area, and the downgraded kimono imparts a sense of realism.60 At the same time, this event and associated dress also have deep symbolic significance, drawing on a number of literary and artistic references that foreshadow Yukiko’s miai and its disappointing outcome. The mundane wool kimono is a letdown from the i­ magined, gorgeous yūzen, just as the ­actual meeting with Sawazaki is far worse than expected. Although Sachiko enjoys the firefly viewing, calling it “meditative” and “with childlike ele­ments” (568), it does not lead to a g­ reat romance between Yukiko and Sawazaki—in stark contrast to expectations evoked by its allusion to classical theater. As Sachiko notes, the only concrete example of firefly viewings she knows is from an Edo-­period (1603–1867) play, a scene in Shō utsushi Asagao banashi (The True Tale of Asagao), a Bunraku puppet play first performed in 1832.61 Two

50  Chapter 2

characters from established families, Miyuki (­later known as Asagao) and Asojirō (Komazawa), meet for the first time and fall in love on a riverboat during a firefly viewing. Not realizing that this is the same man chosen by her ­father to be her husband, Miyuki l­ ater runs away from home to try to find Asojirō, with whom she has lost contact. By mentioning this story of star-­crossed lovers (who eventually manage to re­unite at the end), The Makioka ­Sisters contrasts the passion expressed in the Bunraku firefly viewing scene with the complete lack of emotion to be observed in the Yukiko–­Sawazaki meeting the following day. Allusions to premodern lit­er­a­ture can also be located in the nighttime scene when Sachiko is preparing for bed. ­After recalling the firefly viewing experience in a dreamlike, stream-­of-­consciousness style, she sees a single firefly crawl into the sleeve of her yūzen kimono hanging on an ikō (kimono stand) in the corner of the room. The light from the firefly faintly glows in the dark, muted, indigo-­ colored (onando) sleeve, illuminating the takeshibo weave of the fabric (textile with bamboo-­like vertical wrinkles) (570).62 In the Tale of Genji, fireflies are associated with passion; in both narrative and poetry they are used to indicate burning longing. In the “Hotaru: Fireflies” chapter, Genji releases fireflies in Tamakazura’s room in the eve­ning in order for an enthusiastic suitor to be able to catch a glimpse of her face. This suitor is Genji’s half-­brother, a character usually referred to as Prince Hotaru, and he expresses appreciation for her beauty by presenting a poem to Tamakazura, describing his love that burns like the firefly.63 Making such connections between fireflies and passion is common in premodern lit­er­a­ture and can be seen in other chapters of Genji.64 The practice of using fireflies to see the w ­ oman’s face is also found in other classical texts.65 In the context of the time, when upper-­class ­women w ­ ere carefully hidden away ­behind blinds, the sudden, brief view of the desired figure is a revelatory moment. In the scene with Sachiko in The Makioka ­Sisters, however, the firefly glowing in the darkness is a beautiful image that offers ­little insight into Yukiko and is even anticlimactic. In other words, the insect provides light but does not illuminate anything with regard to her feelings or hidden passions. The reader can only access Sachiko’s thoughts about the firefly viewing and the miai to be held the next day. Yukiko remains a mystery, even to her s­ isters: she is shown sleeping soundly, quietly snoring like a cat. Similar to the practice in classical texts, Sachiko and Yukiko catch fireflies and carry them in their sleeves during the firefly viewing, and the glowing insect seen inside the kimono sleeve in the eve­ning echoes this allusion. But in addition, the illuminated hanging kimono itself appears as an art image evoking a museum display, the kimono’s prominence in classical lit­er­a­ture, and even tagasode (whose

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  51

sleeves), a “standard artistic convention” 66 showing gorgeous kimonos draped on a kimono stand. The tagasode image drawn on folding screens was particularly popu­lar during the early Edo period, and l­ater became a design ele­ment used on ­actual kimonos.67 A still life commonly without ­human figures, it has “romantic connotations” that lead the viewer to imagine “the person who . . . ​arrayed it [the kimono] ­t here.”  68 The subtle image of a hanging kimono illuminated by a firefly therefore conveys romance, intimacy, passion, beauty, and wealth. But the kimono in the scene itself belongs to Sachiko, not Yukiko, the protagonist of the courtship tale, and the miai itself turns out to be the opposite of such ideas. Etsuko carries fireflies home with her in a can when they leave Ōgaki, but the ­sisters discover on the train that many of the captured insects have died. A fellow passenger tells them to crush the dead fireflies to use as medicinal paste for the skin, bringing the firefly episode to a thoroughly banal and unromantic end (and highlighting the novel’s constant references to illness and pollution).69 In this sequence, we see how kimonos serve as intertextual agents that bring in additional allusions, foreshadowing the unromantic meeting and emphasizing the ironic difference between the i­ magined romantic past and the realities of the pre­sent. Although the kimonos worn by the Makioka ­sisters are quite dif­fer­ent from ­t hose of premodern eras, the garments in the firefly sequence provide an impor­tant link to classical literary and art references that expand the story of Yukiko’s miai. The association with the Tale of Genji is particularly impor­tant ­because, as illustrated by Carole Cavanaugh, clothing and textile references in this classic work are richly metonymic; rather than simply referring to another meaning (as observed in meta­phor), garments in Genji convey a series of connected and intensified meanings about gender, money, class, power, poetics, ­human relationships, and so on. In this context, Cavanaugh defines metonymy as “displacement, a movement from one contiguous term to the next, so that one term transfers its intensity to the other,” whereas meta­phor is “substitution . . . ​the se­lection of one term for another.”70 Her focus is not exactly the same as Elaine Freedgood’s discussion of metonymy in Victorian novels, but t­ hese ideas similarly underscore the complexity of literary objects in creating meaning. Kimonos in this firefly episode, the wool muslin as well as the takeshibo yūzen, evoke their premodern precursors and associated texts even as they create alternative narrative trajectories and unromantic outcomes. Tanizaki may have used the Tale of Genji in dif­fer­ent ways while writing The Makioka ­Sisters, but in the firefly episode at least, play with intertextuality and layers of meaning is particularly significant. This part of the novel, the Ōgaki miai

52  Chapter 2

episode, has the most references to traditional arts such as flower arrangement, calligraphy, Japa­nese painting, kanshi (Chinese poetry), and architecture. Sawazaki pre­sents himself as a connoisseur of calligraphy and such arts, but in his discussions with the hostess, he fails her “test” on the classics (577). He is unable to explain the name of the cottage on the premises (“Rankatei,” 575–577), a reference to a classic Chinese legend and the game of go.71 He becomes upset when asked questions he cannot answer and is deemed neurotic and a bit laughable. If he had been a modern-­day Genji, he would have been a connoisseur with perfect taste and knowledge, but even his clothing is a letdown, being a bit shabby. The letter he l­ ater sends to turn Yukiko down is also against appropriate protocol, sensibility, and taste; he uses inappropriate wording, incorrect writing ­instruments and paper, and even the timing of the letter is unacceptable. Sawazaki, an arrogant man, is shown to be lacking in aesthetic, literary, and sartorial capacities. ­Because this sequence is full of allusions that unfold through intertextuality, the suitor who fails to read correctly in this mode is obviously not the right match. Even during the miai when Sawazaki admires the calligraphy on the displayed hanging scroll, the narrator won­ders if he was able to decipher the writing accurately. Sawazaki, in short, is presented as an anti-­Genji, a disappointment who could never live up to the expectations of Yukiko and her ­family. Ironically, the full significance and recognition of his deficiencies only become pos­si­ble for a reader who can read intertextually and understand the allusive references. In quite a stunning metatextual gesture, the novel thus suggests that we should be skilled readers—­unlike Sawazaki—­even while it prevents us from fully comprehending the inner thoughts and personality of Yukiko, a major character in the work. Since Yukiko’s first, direct expression of her feelings occurs (if only briefly) on the train as she leaves Ōgaki and heads back to Tokyo (wearing the unimpressive yūzen kimono), this episode becomes even more crucial for the overall text, as an invitation to readers to think more about objects and their stories, and their complex roles within the narrative. Sawazaki’s shortcomings may also show the gradual decline of a shared allusive language—as Tanizaki himself was no doubt aware, references to traditional images, ideas, and writing ­were becoming increasingly obscure and difficult for readers to understand in the postwar period. In this episode, Tanizaki uses objects such as the pragmatic wool kimono and the yūzen sleeve with the glowing firefly to overlay intertextual classical references. The kimonos and their metonymic range engage with the dichotomy of the romantic past and the bathos of the pre­sent, highlighting the failure of Yukiko’s third miai.

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  53

Kimonos and Squeaky Obi as Re­sis­tance: The Meaning of Luxury in a Historical Context In addition to providing the real­ity effect, mirroring character, creating intertextual meaning, and opening spaces for metatextual awareness, kimonos within The Makioka ­Sisters also highlight re­sis­tance. Many kimonos in this novel are expensive garments that underscore the s­ isters’ privileged lifestyle. At the same time, as objects located within specific historical moments, living in both narrative time (1936–1941) and the time of publication (1943–1948), t­ hese luxury items convey par­tic­u­lar messages relevant to the times. Many scholars view The Makioka S­ isters as a resistant text that rejects militarism and imperial ideology. The work’s publication history supports this idea: initial serialization was terminated by the Imperial Army in 1943, Tanizaki could only print the first volume as a private edition, and he was unable to publish the second volume during the war. Anthony Chambers, Tōgō Katsumi, and Komori Yōichi explore dif­fer­ent ele­ments of re­sis­tance in the work, including, respectively, its lack of militaristic or nationalistic themes, its rejection of masculine viewpoints, and its focus on historical events other than the war. Tōgō, who construes the concept of masculinity and femininity rather simplistically, sees the novel as constructed by “female triviality” and “classist snobbism,” and suggests that it expresses “re­sis­tance when luxury was called the e­ nemy and masculine t­ hings w ­ ere promoted while feminine ­things ­were rejected.” Arai Tomiyo, who reclaims the text’s focus on female voices and ­house­hold ­matters from a feminist perspective, also argues that it pre­sents a counterpoint to war­time, male-­centered views.72 Analy­sis of the novel with regard to the war is complicated ­because it is si­ mul­ta­neously a war­time and a postwar text. The writing began in 1942 and continued through the Pacific War, but as noted at the beginning of this chapter, most of Volume 3 was written and serialized ­a fter the war had ended. The complete work was published in book form in the postwar period in 1946–1948. Speaking about the war­time context, Tanizaki states that he was not able to carry out his original intention of depicting “aspects of de­cadence” within the upper and ­middle classes. ­After serializing the beginning of the work (through Chapter 13 of Volume 1) in two issues of Chūō kōron in 1943, he was subjected to censorship and forbidden to publish any further ­because the story’s content was deemed “unsuitable for the times.”73 Although we do not know exactly which parts of The Makioka ­Sisters the military deemed inappropriate, the general critique can be gleaned from the comments of an army major involved with magazine censorship. He stated that the novel was “unforgivable” ­because it “depicted in detail the lives of ­women who

54  Chapter 2

are weak and extremely individualistic” despite the “current tensions of war­time,” and that “the attitude of a magazine that publishes such a work is shameless” and “reflects nothing but an attitude of complete disengagement from the war.”74 The opening scene of the novel certainly shows a world devoid of war­time concerns, presenting the well-­to-do ­sisters preparing to go to a private piano concert by putting on makeup, trying to find the right outfit for Sachiko, and discussing the potential groom for Yukiko’s upcoming miai.75 The lack of war issues is, on one level, a result of the story’s setting in 1936– 1941. The novel opens before the start of the Second Sino-­Japanese War and ends before the attack on Pearl Harbor. The serialization of the story, however, began when the Pacific War was already well u ­ nder way. This decision to erase the con­ temporary situation from the text can be read as a kind of po­liti­cal stance on its own; by depicting the recent past, the work is able to ignore a war that had already transformed everyday life. The depiction of luxury, however, has not been fully discussed from the perspective of re­sis­tance. That the ­women enjoy a wealthy lifestyle antithetical to war­time culture is not difficult to see, but I suggest that the s­ isters’ high-­end kimonos (some detailed, o ­ thers intimated) play a critical role in rejecting values associated with the time of national emergency. As illustrated in Chapter 1, what a person chose to wear (or was required to wear) had significant implications during this time. A ­ fter the start of the Second Sino-­Japanese War, the Japa­nese ­were forced to forgo luxuries as part of the National Spiritual Mobilization campaign. Slogans such as “Luxury is our ­enemy,” “Please cut your kimono sleeves,” and “Let’s stop getting permanent waves” circulated on the streets, shaming ­women who did not adhere to war­time standards of austerity. Eventually, limits ­were placed on materials such as cotton; poor-­quality blended fabrics using sufu ­were used out of necessity. National subjects’ wear was created for men in 1940, and w ­ omen’s standard wear was established in 1942; the latter was never widely pop­u ­lar­ized, but monpe essentially became the Japa­nese ­women’s war­time uniform. Th ­ ese traditional pants w ­ ere considered more suitable than kimonos for the active demands of the home front.76 As monpe became standard, luxurious silk kimonos came to be seen as frivolous, impractical, and most of all, unpatriotic. In addition to the National Spiritual Mobilization campaign, the so-­called 7.7 Prohibition Law, enacted on July 7, 1940, specifically forbade the production and sale of luxury items, such as high-­end kimonos, precious metals and stones, decorative items, accessories, and furniture, in order for the nation to focus on making products pertinent to the war.77 By 1942 self-­denial and austerity w ­ ere established as key concepts for the nation to win the war, values reflected in popu­lar slogans such as “I ­will not desire [­things] ­until we are victorious” (Hoshigarimasen katsumadewa). Food and clothes ­were

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rationed, and by 1943, the consumption of such t­ hings as wild plants was promoted as “decisive ­battle cuisine.”78 In light of this historical context, it is not surprising that the censors found the depiction of the Makioka ­sisters and their lives inappropriate. The description of the ­sisters’ traits through their dress, presented in the early chapters, mentions “decorative yūzen chirimen like the ones worn in the past by serving ladies at court” (43) that would suit Yukiko; Taeko, who mainly wears Western clothes and works at doll-­making, is said to own expensive handbags and “stunning shoes most likely imported from the West” (18). By 1943, items like t­ hese would have been considered anathema to the spirit of the times. The 7.7 Prohibition Law prohibited expensive luxury items of all kinds, from clothing and cloth to ­house­hold items. It specifically prohibited the production of most silk kimonos and fabric made with ebazuke technique—as we have seen, Taeko wears such formal wear. The Prohibition Law also banned sales of dolls costing over thirty yen, which w ­ ere likely the kind made by Taeko.79 The fact that the Makiokas are of a prominent Senba merchant f­ amily also underscores their undesirability as characters in war­time fiction. Th ­ ese Osaka merchants w ­ ere known for their wealth, and although the Makiokas are described as being in decline, their lifestyle at the beginning of the novel is cosmopolitan and extravagant. The complaint of the army major about the w ­ omen in the story being “individualistic” (kojinshugiteki) may be puzzling u ­ ntil one realizes that this term was often used to criticize ­t hose who did not stand with the values of war­ time sacrifice. In a book about the Prohibition Law published in Osaka by a “Senba shoten” (Senba Bookstore), for example, the writer states the imperative for ­people to abandon “the individualistic [kojinshugiteki] thinking of the past that considers it fine to spend one’s own money however one sees fit.” U ­ nder the current circumstances, it is impor­tant not to spend money on items unrelated to the war effort, and “even ­those of the class that can afford to enjoy luxuries should practice restraint.”80 As consumers of unpatriotic luxuries, including clothes, jewelry, gourmet food, and expensive lodgings, the Makiokas manifest a worldview contrary to that promoted by the Prohibition Law. Hidaka Yoshiki suggests that clothing in The Makioka S­ isters establishes the ­sisters’ “beauty” and functions as “a code to symbolize the ­sisters’ lifestyle and character.” In addition, he uses the description of the s­ isters’ clothing at the beginning of the novel, particularly of the kimono that would suit Yukiko, as an example of content that likely created “a sort of nostalgia on the part of the 1943 reader,” especially “­women of the leisure class” or “­t hose that dreamed of such [a wealthy] lifestyle.”81 In the national emergency context, when a­ ctual high-­end kimonos had dis­appeared from the marketplace and the streets, the discussion of

56  Chapter 2

such items on the page re-­creates a lost past, taking the reader away from the restrictions of the pre­sent. But in addition to nostalgia, the text’s stance of ignoring war­time values also suggests a willful re­sis­tance, especially with its overt listing of outlawed items. A very famous scene in Volume 1, Chapter 5 is particularly memorable in highlighting this aspect of the work. Sachiko, who is getting dressed to go to the piano recital, finds out that her obi, wrapped around her waist, makes a squeaking sound when she breathes. Worried about the sound, she tries wearing dif­fer­ ent obi several times without success. Along with Sachiko, Taeko and Yukiko find this to be extremely amusing, and the ­sisters laugh ­every time the obi “speaks in a squeaky manner” (kyūkyū iu, 29, 30, 31, 33). Fi­nally, Taeko solves the mystery of the sound and puts Sachiko in an obi that is not new, worn enough so that the fibers in the weave have become pliable and thus s­ ilent. This scene seems like an innocent, humorous depiction of domestic life, but the amount of wealth signified in the numerous obi, strewn about in their paper wrappings, is an impor­tant ele­ment of what is being conveyed. The obi in question are fukuro obi (pocket obi), which are formal, expensive items; the text does not contain detailed descriptions of each one, but some are identified by their design patterns, such as “kanzemizu” (swirling w ­ ater, 29) and “tsuyushiba” (dew on the grass, 30). The fact that the obi are numerous and new enough to be squeaky suggests the considerable wealth represented by Sachiko’s wardrobe. ­Because she is wearing this type of obi, readers also know that Sachiko is dressed in a formal silk kimono. When they fi­nally go out to catch their train, the three beautiful ­sisters, “dressed to the nines” (43) in gorgeous outfits, draw the startled attention of bystanders.82 The fukuro obi that Sachiko sorts through are presumably e­ ither part of her substantial trousseau or bought recently, but ­either way they would have been out of reach for most ­people. Even though they are not described in detail, we can presume they are expensive; based on cost and other f­actors, this sort of product would have been subject to the 7.7 Prohibition Law.83 By presenting such items, this 1943 text rejects the government’s targeting of luxuries and rebelliously celebrates a class deemed “individualistic” and disengaged from the war. To be sure, the scene is ­limited in its sartorial description: Yukiko is presented as someone who looks best in old-­fashioned formal yūzen chirimen, and the ­sisters cheerfully sort through Sachiko’s numerous fukuro obi. Providing only ­these small details as intimations of wealth and abundance, the novel trusts readers to conjure up images of ­t hese kimonos as expressions of the ­sisters’ luxurious lifestyles and “individualism” unconstrained by war­time austerity and values. This aspect of re­sis­tance in The Makioka S­ isters is generally lost on readers t­ oday; without specific

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  57

knowledge of kimonos and the luxury law, it is easy to read t­ hese subtle descriptions as nothing more than suggestions of beauty and wealth—in themselves perhaps a challenge to war­time values. But by paying close attention to the depiction of kimonos and related items within the specific historical context of publication, we can access an even more pointed and ironic critique, as the text rejects concepts of frugal patriotism and government control over everyday material culture.

Re­sis­tance Contained: Cherry-­Blossom Viewings, Dance Recitals, and Luxury Kimonos Re­sis­tance against war­time ideology, emphasized through the presence of luxury, is ultimately contained by the end of the novel, set in the spring of 1941. Not only do we see an anticlimactic and rather inauspicious conclusion to Yukiko’s search for a husband and Taeko’s indecorous romances, but military news and nationalistic events also affect the ­sisters’ everyday existence; with the encroachment of the Pacific War, the Makiokas’ world of luxuries and “individualism” gradually fades away. Of course, Tanizaki only attained the freedom to portray this pro­cess of containment a­ fter the war was over. In the postwar period, he did encounter dif­fer­ent concerns about censorship, this time by the Occupation forces, and altered a few parts of the text that discuss war­time politics.84 But the depiction of luxuries and a so-­called frivolous lifestyle (as well as the pro­cess of their disappearance) was no longer a prob­lem for publication. The changes that threaten the ­sisters’ comfortable world are depicted, for example, in their annual cherry-­blossom viewing (hanami) trips to Kyoto, a f­ amily ritual so impor­tant for the Makiokas that it is repeated multiple times in the novel. It is described for the first time in Volume 1, Chapter 19 with lavish details, from the first-­class restaurants and inns to the extensive itinerary involving travel to dif­fer­ent areas of the city. ­These recurrent trips to celebrate spring involve a series of actions that are repeated ­every year, such as staying in par­tic­u ­lar lodgings, eating at the same well-­k nown restaurants, visiting certain cherry trees at famous ­temples and shrines, taking photo­graphs at the same places, and repeating other activities in the same locations. The highlight of the trip each year is seeing the weeping cherry trees (benishidare) at Heian Shrine: The w ­ omen would fret, wondering how the blossoms . . . ­were this year, and if they had already passed their prime, and ­every year would be gripped by a seductive anticipation ­until passing through the gates of the gallery. This year too they went through the gates with the same emotion,

58  Chapter 2

and on seeing the crimson clouds spread across the late after­noon sky, they all cried out together, “Ahh,” with deep feeling. This single moment was indeed the pinnacle of the two-­day event, and the happiness of this single moment was what they had been waiting for the entire year since the passing of the last spring. (142) ­ ese repeated cherry-­blossom viewings represent a kind of “cyclical time” Th in which ­t hese youthful ­women live. Tōgō Katsumi describes it as “­women’s time that repeats itself along with nature and menstrual cycles”; he views this in a negative light, but he does acknowledge that such cyclical time can also be considered a form of re­sis­tance against militarism and the broader flow of historical time (that he seems to suggest is rushing ­toward war).85 Both Noguchi Takehiko and Chiba Shunji also point out that the novel depicts “cyclical time,” such as seasonal cycles celebrated by the flower viewing, as well as time that moves in a linear fashion, described by Chiba as a “relentless forward movement that can never be recaptured.”86 Although I reject the notion that “cyclical time” or “­women’s time” are essentially associated with gender or re­sis­tance per se, they are useful concepts for highlighting the disjunction between the Makioka ­sisters’ private lives and the dominant ethos of war­time Japan. The kimonos associated with the annual cherry viewing rituals are not described in detail despite being a central part of the excursion, no less impor­tant than the blossoms themselves. We learn in Volume 1, Chapter 19, that g­ reat effort is made in planning the outfits, that Yukiko and Taeko start preparing the smallest details from early on, including the “haori, obi, and underkimono” (138). And ­t here are discussions of how awkwardly Sachiko’s d ­ aughter Etsuko walks and sits in her long-­sleeved yūzen kimono on t­ hese trips, as she rarely dons such formal wear.87 It may be that b ­ ecause this chapter was planned for publication in 1943, Tanizaki avoided presenting details about extravagant kimonos ­here.88 Even though they are not explic­itly described, however, such clothing is implied as a critical part of the blossom viewing, as seen in Sachiko and Teinosuke’s poems composed a­ fter the event. Teinosuke’s poem, “The beauties gather in their brilliant kimonos [yoki koromo] / The blossoms of Saga in the old capital are at their best” (145), for example, helps readers imagine the link between the blossoms and the w ­ omen in their finery, clearly evoking luxury and leisure, values out of f­ avor ­under the war­time regime. In addition, ­t hese kimonos enhance the sense of cyclical time, as they underscore the s­ isters’ perpetual youth and sameness from year to year. With age or change in marital status, w ­ omen must alter their garments, but no such transformations take place as part of t­ hese events. Etsuko is the only person who seems

Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  59

to experience change in this re­spect; in Volume 1, Chapter 19, she is described as being squeezed into a kimono that she has outgrown since last year. On one level, Sachiko desires change, as she wants Yukiko to be married even if it means she ­will no longer be a part of their annual excursions. On another level, however, she does not desire change at all, wanting always to be together, and lamenting the passing of her ­sisters’ “girlhoods” (138), despite their ­actual ages being in the twenties and thirties. Throughout the work, the cyclical time of seasons and repetitions of events continues, but inevitable changes also occur. A sense of the national emergency is illustrated by vari­ous means, including the Makiokas’ altered relationship to clothing and leisure activities. The first described cherry-­blossom viewing takes place in the spring of 1937, before the start of the Second Sino-­Japanese War in July of the same year. Subsequently, social changes begin to prevent the ­sisters from carry­ing out their beloved practices and traditions, and we witness the curtailing of their “individualistic” way of life. ­These changes are additionally highlighted in subtle ways through kimonos, such as in the depiction of Taeko’s per­for­mances of the traditional Japa­nese dance piece Yuki (Snow) in 1938 and 1939.89 The costumes for both years are quite gorgeous, but the kimonos are actually borrowed from her ­sisters ­because in the “current situation” (jikyoku, 266), frivolities such as dance recitals and ordering new kimonos are frowned upon. Indeed, it is even intimated that the 1939 event w ­ ill be Taeko’s last per­for­mance, as Sachiko predicts that “it w ­ ill become difficult to put on such events in the ­f uture due to self-­restraint required by the current situation [jikyoku e no enryo]” (461). The kimono Taeko wears for the first recital in 1938 is borrowed from the eldest s­ ister Tsuruko; it is a white kimono that was part of her three-­k imono wedding ensemble, made when their ­father was still alive and at the height of his wealth. The kimono depicts the landscape of Amanohashidate, a famous shoal in Kyoto Prefecture, as portrayed by the painter Kanamori Kanyō (1883–1932). Together with the other two kimonos, one black, with the image of Itsukushima island in Hiroshima Prefecture, and one red, showing the islets of Matsushima in Miyagi Prefecture, the kimono completes the image of “Nihon sankei” (266), the so-­called “three beautiful landscapes of Japan.” The white one worn for the recital also reflects the dance piece itself, with its theme of snow. In the second recital in 1939, Taeko wears a dif­fer­ent kimono borrowed from Sachiko: a red-­purple komon (kimono with all-­over repeated patterns) with snow-­ covered plum blossoms and camellia flowers (461–462) made the prior year. The kimono references the dance piece, not by its color as in the first per­for­mance, but by its repre­sen­ta­tion of snow on flowers. Mitamura Masako suggests that this

60  Chapter 2

change in kimonos, from that of Tsuruko to Sachiko, signifies that Sachiko has now taken over as Taeko’s protector.90 However, Sachiko and Teinosuke take care of Taeko for most of the novel, and she is supported by Sachiko long before this event. I read this shift differently, as a decline in the so-­called rank of the kimonos that determines their level and suitability as formal wear. This change of kimonos provides information about Taeko and also signifies the downturn in luxury kimono culture. Although the reference is subtle, and both garments are described as being suitable for the occasion, the wedding garments only worn once by Tsuruko embody the height of luxury and a sense of tradition from a bygone era. Three dif­ fer­ent artists w ­ ere commissioned to create the images for the auspicious “three beautiful landscapes of Japan,” suggesting the extraordinary cost, artistry, and time that went into the production of ­t hese kimonos. Although the significance of the wedding kimono ensemble is not explained in the text, it underscores the wealth held by the Osaka merchant class, in which w ­ omen wore three layers of black, red, and white kimonos on their wedding day when leaving the natal home.91 Judging from similarly colored wedding ensembles from the time, each of ­t hese kimonos was likely long-­sleeved and may possibly have been decorated with multiple formal crests, further emphasizing their highest rank as formal wear.92 For Taeko’s second per­for­mance, however, the white wedding kimono is replaced by Sachiko’s komon, a recently made, less formal kimono. Although some types of komon are considered high-­ranked kimonos, they are normally viewed as semiformal or informal wear; in this context, this item was likely considered lower-­ranked semiformal wear.93 The downgrade in Taeko’s costume, from a wedding kimono with an image by a famous artist to a komon, reflects the need to avoid the appearance of extravagance, a social practice required by 1939. In addition, this downgrade suggests a decline in ­family fortunes, especially with regard to Taeko; she is the only s­ ister without a proper trousseau, and her wearing of snow-­covered flowers can be read as inauspicious, suggesting the shouldering of a burden and thus implying suffering.94 Furthermore, the kimono is described in the novel ­after the revelation that Taeko intends to marry Itakura in the newfangled form of love marriage, having chosen a lower-­class man with no education or money. Sachiko is extremely upset about this and becomes all the more focused on discussing this prob­lem with Yukiko. Indeed, for Sachiko, Taeko’s dance per­for­mance is impor­tant mainly ­because it creates an opportunity for Yukiko to visit and stay with them. Ultimately, the change in kimono subtly underscores the decline of Taeko’s status (and foreshadows her f­ uture prob­lems) as well as that of the Makiokas as a f­ amily; it also indicates the national tendency t­ oward frugality. In this way, a s­ imple change

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of kimono highlights the broader changes that ­will dismantle the ­family’s lifestyle and values, as all such garments (and events where they can be worn) w ­ ill soon dis­appear from public life due to war­time anti-­luxury policies. The ­family continues the cherry-­blossom outings in the same way for the most part u ­ ntil 1940, but details are attenuated as the novel goes on. Fi­nally, the rituals themselves are altered and simplified due to ­family crises and war­time restrictions.95 The 1940 trip is noted as having been “elegant” due to the “self-­restraint required by the current situation” (jikyoku e no enryo), which resulted in fewer drinking revelers: “the ­people all walked about quietly ­under the trees, having paid careful attention not to dress in their finery” (762). By the following year, however, the valued consistency and the essence of the excursion seem to have been destroyed. The ­family is forced to be “even more restrained” than the previous year, limiting the excursion to only a day trip for which they “dressed in the most somber, inconspicuous way pos­si­ble”; and they return home “with no clear sense of what they had seen” (876). In short, it is through such references to clothing and changing modes of leisure be­hav­ior that we understand that “cyclical time,” resistant to war-­centered values, has already been eroded, highlighting the eventual disappearance of the comfortable, everyday life the w ­ omen had taken for granted. Even as late as October 1940, we see the s­ isters’ lifestyle as being in direct opposition to the “luxuries are our e­ nemy” ideology. On their trip to Tokyo, the ­women stay at the Imperial ­Hotel, visit the Kabuki theater, shop at high-­end stores in Ginza, and even purchase gifts for their friend Itani—­such as a box inlaid with mother-­of-­pearl as well as a tortoise-­shell brooch with Mikimoto pearls. They also specifically resist the ideas of the National Spiritual Mobilization campaign, including the slogan “Let’s stop getting permanent waves”: they get their hair permed at the high-­end Shiseido hair salon specifically ­because it uses the latest chemical product, called “Zotos” (818), developed by a New York firm.96 The Makioka ­sisters’ be­hav­ior may not have been so dif­fer­ent from that of real-­life ­women of leisure and wealth in 1940; not all citizenry immediately ­adopted attitudes and values recommended by the war­t ime government. The ­actual Shiseido hair salon in Ginza remained open ­until 1943, when it fi­nally donated its machinery and other items to the war effort.97 But despite the continuation of the ­sisters’ lifestyle ­here, it is evident that this is the end of an era. The 7.7 Prohibition Law may not have banned all luxury items, but numerous products would soon dis­appear from the marketplace. And even as the s­ isters focus on the miai between Yukiko and Mimaki, Tokyo is bustling with military and war-­related events due to the “Japa­nese Empire’s 2,600th Anniversary Cele­brations” (801, 804). The readers of Volume 3, fi­nally published in 1947–1948, would have read with an acute awareness of the

62  Chapter 2

changes the characters would soon face as Japan headed ­toward war with the United States.98 Indeed, as the novel comes to a close, ­t here is an increasing sense of decline and disease. In 1941, immediately a­ fter the unsatisfactory cherry-­blossom viewing, Taeko loses her baby and without any fanfare moves in with Miyoshi. And at the end, we see Yukiko preparing to leave for Tokyo, fi­nally to be married to Mimaki, but she is not excited about her departure and suffers from a per­sis­tent upset stomach. Although the blemish on her eye that fades and appears with her hormonal cycle is expected to be cured through marriage, Yukiko remains ill. It is unclear if her marriage (or the ­f uture in general) ­w ill be beneficial for her and the f­ amily in the long run.99 What should be a triumphant conclusion to Yukiko’s search for a husband is underwhelming and disconcerting. The changes in f­ amily circumstances, the decreased number of attractive marriage candidates, enforced austerity mea­sures, and greater focus on international tensions, all suggest that the glorious aspects of the s­ isters’ lives are waning. This sense of decline is emphasized through the depiction of material culture. In contrast to Taeko, Yukiko is better equipped with kimonos and gifts, but still her wedding trousseau is not considered satisfactory. Underscoring war­time realities, the text specifically names the “7.7 Prohibition Law” (876) as the hurdle that prevents the f­ amily from ordering a proper kimono for “ironaoshi” (changing into a colored kimono ­after wearing the wedding kimono during the ceremony, 876). ­Because they cannot attain a suitable high-­end kimono to be newly dyed according to their order, they must make do with what is available—­a situation that would previously have been unheard of for the ­family.100 On seeing this kimono delivered, Yukiko wishes that it was not “a wedding garment” and remembers that Sachiko had also been melancholy before her own wedding; she had even composed a poem and showed it to her ­sisters: “Sadness of a bride-­to-be / Yet another day ends as I select my kimonos [koromo erabi]” (881).101 Sachiko felt a reluctance to wed, even as she made extensive choices for her clothing, preparing a full wardrobe to be worn throughout her married life. Mitamura suggests that the mention of this poem connects Yukiko with Sachiko, reinforcing the presence of “cyclical time.”102 But this poem is used, I would argue, not so much to show the similarity between the two s­ isters but to highlight the difference in Yukiko’s circumstances. In the spring of 1941, even the ambivalent farewell to “girlhood” through sartorial preparation is diminished. Yukiko does not spend her days making decisions about her wardrobe; her preparation is brief and unremarkable. For the Makioka ­sisters, their luxurious lifestyle has already become a t­ hing of the past.

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From Re­sis­tance to Nostalgia In reading kimonos in The Makioka S­ isters, it is critical to remember the context of the novel’s creation and publication. When Tanizaki began to serialize the work, luxury obi and kimonos could be used to emphasize the resistant “individualism” permeating the novel. But by 1948, when the work was fi­nally completed and published in its entirety, t­ hese same items had taken on a dif­fer­ent connotation, as objects that ­were disappearing. And with this shift, the meaning of kimonos in the novel also changed—­from “re­sis­tance” to “nostalgia.” Through the course of the war, kimonos w ­ ere lost. Garments handed down through generations, brought into marriages, and imbued with personal history and identity w ­ ere destroyed in air raids or repurposed during a time of lack. Th ­ ose that remained intact became valuable assets that might be traded or sold. In 1945, the popu­lar term “bamboo shoot life” came to describe city dwellers’ need to barter their kimonos and belongings for food.103 Although monpe may be better known for evoking war­time strug­gles and sadness, during the immediate postwar period kimonos also carried such signification. The kimono also came to signify loss in another sense: it was an object associated with the past, disappearing from everyday life. Indeed, with the end of the war, Western clothes rapidly came to dominate ­women’s sartorial lives, taking over from the kimono for all classes and in both rural and urban areas. By 1947, the remade clothing boom was a major social phenomenon: kimonos, monpe, and other items w ­ ere transformed into Western clothes, and throughout the nation more ­women started to wear skirts.104 ­Women had already started altering and cutting up kimonos during the war, and this trend subsequently accelerated. Having experienced ease of movement with monpe and trousers, w ­ omen w ­ ere now also turning to Western clothing for an active and simplified lifestyle.105 As the kimono became an object signifying loss, change, and times past, it also came to be associated with Japa­nese identity. No longer w ­ ere high-­end kimonos, requiring artistry and capital, seen as de­cadent objects that resisted national unity; rather, they now evoked nostalgia for a lost past or an ­imagined au­t hen­tic Japan. With the historical shift from 1943 to 1948, luxury kimonos and obi no longer conveyed a message of re­sis­tance. In 1948, the opening scene of the novel, as the ­sisters prepare to go out to a concert, would not be read as an expression of defiance against the authorities; rather, as I w ­ ill further touch upon in the next chapter, it singularly evoked nostalgia for (an ­imagined) prewar past of abundance. Similarly, as Taeko’s dance costume becomes less extravagant and Yukiko suffers from a lack of kimonos at the end of the novel, the decline in the Makioka ­family’s material world came to echo war­time losses that readers themselves had

64  Chapter 2

recently experienced. In this way, during the years immediately following the war, the s­ isters’ extravagant kimonos inspired a power­f ul desire for comfort, and a lament for a time that could never be reclaimed. *

*

*

As we have seen, kimonos in The Makioka S­ isters provide realism, convey ideas about characters, and perform key metatextual and intertextual functions. And through the shift from war­time to postwar, they lose the quality of resistant “individualism” and instead evoke nostalgic longing for times now gone. To fully appreciate the complexity and polyvocality of this work, written both during and ­after the war, we need to recognize that its kimonos express a range of meanings, as living objects speaking with specific historical and intertextual resonances.

C HA P T E R T H R E E

Visual Kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters The Occupation and the ­Bubble Economy Eras

What happens to kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters when the novel is adapted for film? In cinematic repre­sen­ta­tions too, kimonos can convey historical accuracy and sense of character as well as amplifying nostalgia and tradition. Most importantly, ­t hese garments articulate the concerns of the times in which they are presented and tell stories for specific postwar contexts. In this chapter, I examine two film versions of the novel, the 1950 adaptation directed by Abe Yutaka and the 1983 production directed by Ichikawa Kon. By showing the complex ways in which visual kimonos function in t­ hese works and how they convey dif­fer­ent messages during the Allied Occupation as well as on the brink of the ­Bubble economy period, I offer new interpretations of The Makioka ­Sisters on screen. Since its publication, The Makioka S­ isters has been re-­created many times in film, tele­v i­sion, and theater. Some versions stay more or less close to the original text, focusing on one aspect of the work or another, while o ­ thers take liberties with the plot and even change the historical setting.1 ­W hether or not all remakes can be considered faithful adaptations, The Makioka ­Sisters continues to have what I call a robust “visual afterlife,” greatly impacting the perception of the original novel. Kimonos are featured prominently in this afterlife, adding to the present-­ day view of the work as being closely tied to kimonos and kimono culture. In the early 1990s, for example, the well-­k nown novelist and kimono collector Hayashi Mariko called the activity of g­ oing out on the town with friends in kimonos, “playing The Makioka ­Sisters” (Sasameyuki gokko).2 And in the 2000 issue of the kimono magazine Utsukushii kimono (Beautiful kimono), Tanizaki’s novel is recommended as a work with scenes depicting gorgeous kimonos that can readily be visualized.3 Tanizaki himself would likely be surprised by such a characterization of his work. To be sure, connoisseurs of kimono (perhaps like some readers of Utsukushii kimono) with extensive understanding of prewar sartorial culture might be able to imagine the kimonos in the text, but as discussed in the previous chapter, ­these garments are not often described in detail. The strong association of Tanizaki’s novel with kimonos is, to a certain extent, a result of its subsequent repre­sen­ta­tions 65

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on stage and screen, where the characters’ adornment with expensive garments is featured as a main part of the story. In this way, kimonos have come to play a prominent part in the popu­lar understanding of The Makioka ­Sisters. Film adaptations are, of course, distinct from the original work; how the audience experiences kimonos on the silver screen is certainly dif­fer­ent from how readers experience words on the page. Just as in Tanizaki’s written text, however, cinematic kimonos perform vital roles in addition to the production of verisimilitude or aesthetic plea­sure, creating multivalent meanings. And with each rendition, ­t hese kimonos take on dif­fer­ent resonances. The focus in this chapter is not on the differences between the novel and its film versions; rather, I treat the two cinematic adaptations of The Makioka ­Sisters on their own terms and within the historical context of each film’s production. Through this approach, we can see both the cinematic texts and the novel with fresh eyes, and reconsider the work’s visual afterlife.

Taeko as Postwar Heroine: The Makioka ­Sisters in 1950 The first film adaptation of The Makioka S­ isters came out in 1950, only two years ­after the completion of the novel’s publication. Due to the novel’s financial and critical success—it was a bestseller and won numerous awards—­t he film was advertised as “a ­g reat work unpre­ce­dented to date within Japa­nese cinema” that brought to life “Tanizaki’s greatest literary masterpiece.” 4 The film is a Shin Tōhō studio production directed by Abe Yutaka, a director particularly active during the 1920s–1950s. Abe had lived in Los Angeles and worked as an actor; he appeared in Hollywood films including one by Cecil B. DeMille (The Cheat, 1915), and became a director a­ fter moving back to Japan in 1925. The screenplay is by Yasumi Toshio (1903–1991), a screenwriter known for his prolific output. The studio spent 38 million yen on production, an extraordinary amount for the time, and its most prominent stars played the roles of the Makioka ­sisters: Hanai Ranko (1918–1961, Tsuruko), Todoroki Yukiko (1917–1967, Sachiko), Yamane Hisako (1921–1990, Yukiko), and Takamine Hideko (1924–2010, Taeko).5 The film focuses on the story of Taeko (Koi-­san). The unmarried ­sisters, Yukiko and Taeko, are portrayed as opposites but with a close relationship; the ­women both have appealing as well as unattractive qualities. We follow Yukiko’s dif­fer­ent miai, which eventually culminate in her successful engagement to Mimaki, but the story ­really centers on Taeko’s romances with Okubata (Kei-­bon), Itakura, and fi­nally Miyoshi. Taeko is played with exuberance by Takamine, the youn­gest of the four actresses.

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It has been suggested that this work focuses on Taeko ­because of Takamine’s star power.6 She started out as a child actor and had been popu­lar since the 1930s, but her ­career especially took off a­ fter the war. In 1950, she was voted by the Japa­nese public as their favorite star, placing first over Gary Cooper (second place), Ingrid Bergman (third place), and Ha­ra Setsuko (fourth place).7 In her obituary published in the New York Times, Takamine is called “one of three ­great actresses of the classical Japa­nese cinema,” along with Tanaka Kinuyo (1909–1977) and Ha­ra Setsuko (1920–2015). Taeko’s story was obviously a good fit for Takamine, who, through her vari­ous roles in the 1940s and 1950s, became “a power­f ul representative of the Japa­nese w ­ oman’s search for identity and autonomy in the years a­ fter World War II.” 8 The role of Taeko no doubt contributed to this aspect of Takamine as a star, a “system of repre­sen­ta­tion” mirroring the ideas, conflicts, and concerns of the times.9 But even without considering Takamine as a f­ actor, the story of Taeko (although set in the prewar period) was itself perfectly suited for 1950, full of ele­ ments that reflected the zeitgeist of the Occupation period. In the novel, Taeko is an opaque character, whose thoughts readers are not able to fully access. However, her sexual transgressions, as well as her defiance of class bound­aries and familial restrictions, allow an exploration of new postwar values. Indeed, Tanizaki wrote the section of the novel that discusses Taeko’s sexuality and diseased body in the immediate postwar period, and serialized Volume 3 from March 1947 to October 1948.10 Some literary scholars have focused on t­ hese aspects of Taeko, even interpreting her as a meta­phor for Japan’s defeat and postwar decline u ­ nder 11 the Occupation. While such symbolism may be too simplistic, as re-­created in the film Taeko becomes an effective vehicle for highlighting paradoxes within Japan as the nation strug­gled to redefine its own identity as a democracy and establish new norms and ideas with regard to gender, class, and sexuality. In the opening sequence of the film, superimposed text informs viewers that the story is set in 1937. Despite this clearly articulated time frame, however, the film erases all references to war-­related social issues; instead, the story focuses on topics that resonate with the postwar audience (and w ­ ere acceptable to the Occupation censors). Taeko is in effect the new postwar Japa­nese w ­ oman who strives for goals promoted by the Occupation: in­de­pen­dence from the ­family, ac­cep­tance of class equality, and pursuit of romantic love. The film script of The Makioka S­ isters was checked by the Civil Information and Education Section (CIE) of the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP) in March 1949. Kyoko Hirano notes that a reference to a potential husband being from an established f­ amily was “marked by censors”; she implies that

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the focus on class and birth, particularly in the context of an arranged marriage, was considered undesirable. As she explains, Occupation censors “considered feudalistic the Japa­nese custom of arranged meetings for prospective marriage partners, miai, ­because the custom seemed to them to downgrade the importance of the individual.” Although films featuring miai ­were made during the Occupation period, censors “wanted ­t hese films to show inequities of the traditional system of marriage.”12 This was certainly not the outcome for all films,13 but in The Makioka ­Sisters, Taeko’s story is set in contrast to Yukiko’s series of miai, and therefore offers a dif­fer­ent narrative for the postwar Japa­nese w ­ oman. Rather than taking Yukiko’s path of passively waiting for the ­family to bring her the ideal match, Taeko questions what marriage is, even asking, “Is the average f­amily life the only way for ­women to live or achieve happiness?”14 She is portrayed as a ­woman who wants to experience love and marriage on her own terms, rejecting the conventional requirements of breeding, education, and wealth. At the same time, the film expresses anxiety ­toward Taeko’s sexually liberated be­hav­ior as uncharted territory for w ­ omen, and endorses female chastity and gender bound­aries. As a complex postwar heroine, Taeko’s strug­gles are brought to the forefront of the story and emphasized in ways particularly relevant to the 1950 audience, without overtly challenging the ideological guidelines set by the Occupation censors.

The Multivalency of Taeko’s Kimonos As in the novel, Taeko’s youth and modern qualities are expressed through her Western dress, but the film further emphasizes the distinction in clothes between Taeko and her s­ isters. She is the sole female adult in the f­ amily who wears Western clothing, while her s­ isters only appear in formal kimonos. Visually she stands out: the other ­women usually remain still in the frame or move slowly and rather stiffly, while Taeko is physically expressive, the camera highlighting her ­free and active movements in dresses and skirts (and even Western-­style pajamas). The main Makioka ­house in Uehonmachi, with its traditional architecture and tata­ mi rooms, is juxtaposed with the branch Makioka ­house in Ashiya, a Western-­ style home with both Western and Japa­nese rooms. But even within the modern space of the latter, Taeko, with her own business and a boyfriend, is set apart from the more conventional Sachiko and Yukiko. In demeanor and speech, she does not hold back, and she follows her own desires. Films from the 1950s and 1960s often used w ­ omen’s kimonos as visual shorthand for conventional traditions or the older generation, contrasted against Western dress, associated with con­ temporary ideas and lifestyles, and the younger après-­guerre (postwar) generation.

Visual Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  69

Such a comparative technique is employed h ­ ere, as the film accentuates Taeko’s Western clothing. This is dif­fer­ent from the novel, which describes Sachiko and Yukiko as wearing both Japa­nese and Western dress. However, kimonos in the film are not simply markers of tradition or restrictions of the past. They also serve as objects that indicate Taeko’s ties to the exclusive Osaka bourgeoisie, its values as well as its appreciation of the traditional arts. Although Taeko wears dresses and skirts for most of the film, she herself is a master in the Yamamura school of traditional dance and, in an extended sequence, is shown performing in a kimono. The other time she is shown wearing a kimono also highlights her status as a young w ­ oman of privilege. This is when she returns home to Ashiya ­after being rescued from the flood by Itakura, wearing an everyday, rustic-­looking kimono. This kimono is borrowed from Itakura’s ­sister ­because her own clothes w ­ ere soaked through. The homely kimono provides a sharp contrast to the fash­ion­able Western dress that is Taeko’s normal wardrobe. ­People who regularly wear this kind of kimono are not equal in class or wealth to Taeko and her f­ amily. Taeko’s expertise in kimono, as a sign of class privilege and cultured knowledge, is also suggested in the dolls she makes and exhibits: many of them are traditional Japa­nese dolls wearing kimonos. And in the cinematic rendition of the famous squeaky obi scene discussed in the previous chapter, the film sticks fairly close to the original text, with Taeko overseeing the obi choices, articulating the names of the design patterns, assisting Sachiko in dressing, and ultimately solving the mystery of the obi’s sound. In other words, Taeko, with her a­ dept h ­ andling and correct interpretation of kimonos, is shown as a connoisseur conversant in Japa­nese traditions.15 In the squeaky obi scene in Sachiko’s ­house, the ­sisters are in a spacious Japanese-­style room with tatami mats, built-in kimono dressers, a mirror stand, and a formal tokonoma (alcove) with a displayed scroll and ikebana (flower arrangement). Taking out each obi from Sachiko’s capacious kimono dresser, Taeko lays them out for the close-­ups. The camera shows off the dif­fer­ent patterns, the quality of the brocade or embroidery, and emphasizes the sheer abundance of the obi and owned kimonos. The film highlights the f­ amily’s wealth through kimonos and obi, along with the luxurious Japa­nese and Western style interior spaces (see Figures 3.1, 3.2, and 3.3). Kimonos are also featured in another scene, this one set in the Uehonmachi ­house, when the camera focuses on Yukiko’s wedding kimonos and trousseau that have been taken out from an enormous storage chest and hung on clothing lines to be aired out. Although ­t hese kimonos do not belong to Taeko, they represent a lifestyle that is part of her background, similar to the expensive ring and other

Figure 3.1. Sachiko (center) trying dif­fer­ent obi with Yukiko (left) and Taeko’s help. The Makioka ­Sisters. © 1950 Kokusai Hōei.

Figure 3.2. A pile of obi laid out by Taeko. The Makioka S­ isters. © 1950 Kokusai Hōei.

Visual Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  71

Figure  3.3. Yukiko (left) and Taeko listening to Sachiko’s squeaky obi as she breathes. The Makioka S­ isters. © 1950 Kokusai Hōei.

gifts she accepts from Okubata. In this scene, servants sort through furniture and art objects while Sachiko and Tsuruko express their sadness that the main Makioka ­house must move to Tokyo. The ­sisters comment on Yukiko’s kimonos and the camera lingers for some time on t­ hese garments and other items of value, not only ­because they indicate Yukiko’s still unmarried state but also ­because they exemplify the Makiokas’ social standing and wealth. Certainly, Taeko is not fully part of this world. Compared to her s­ isters, she has not benefited very much as a member of the ­family; no one has prepared kimonos or a trousseau for her, as her ­father died and the ­family wealth began to diminish in her youth. ­Later in a plot point not found in the novel, we learn that money for her dowry had been used up by Tsuruko, who needed it for medical expenses for her c­ hildren. On one level, Taeko craves the ease and comfort of the traditional establishment class, perhaps all the more as she recognizes that she actually has fewer assets than Yukiko and the other ­sisters. But on another level, she desires to be ­free from the parasitic ideas and constraints imposed on her by the f­ amily; she hates herself for being attracted to their comfortable lifestyle and expresses to Itakura a strong desire to escape the old ideology. In this sense, her Western garb does not simply indicate her modern character, but also represents

72  Chapter 3

her difference from the other s­ isters and even highlights her inner conflict as she strug­gles to find her own place in life. Even as the kimonos in the film represent the traditional, restrictive values that the Western dress–­clad Taeko rejects, they are also luxuries that are familiar and comforting. In this work, kimonos are clearly represented as desirable items for every­one, featured as a captivating spectacle to enthrall the audience; the ­women wear dif­fer­ent kimonos throughout the film, Taeko’s dance per­for­mance is portrayed in an extended sequence, and Sachiko’s obi collection and Yukiko’s wedding trousseau are highlighted through close-­ups. Fashion critic Hayashi Kunio states that the 1950 audience was stunned by the gorgeous costumes in this film.16 The studio spent a ­g reat deal of money on this proj­ect, and it appears that significant effort was made to obtain suitable costumes and props during ­these years of immediate postwar deprivation.17 Along with food, clothing was still severely lacking at this time, and the silk kimonos owned by the Makioka ­sisters on the screen would have been objects of general admiration and desire. Kimonos w ­ ere not simply clothes but impor­tant ­family assets, and many ­people had lost their kimonos in the tumult and destruction of war. Perhaps more than any other moment in modern Japa­nese history, the visual pre­sen­ta­tion of kimonos during this time spoke of national loss, nostalgia, and longing. As discussed in the previous chapter, in 1943 the squeaky obi episode and the depiction of the ­sisters’ luxurious clothing suggested a rejection of war­time austerity mea­sures and laws. Japa­nese censors at the time certainly seem to have read the text in this way, as a rebellious, “individualistic” work. But by 1948 when Tanizaki published his work in its entirety, the kimonos and obi that once represented re­sis­tance no longer carried the same meaning. In the context of immediate postwar dearth, kimonos signified comfort, abundance, and beauty, a world that had been lost or was beyond reach for most Japa­nese. Author Miyao Tomiko remembers her own experience of reading The Makioka ­Sisters: it was published when she was recuperating from tuberculosis ­after repatriating from Manchuria. In an essay titled “Sasameyuki to kimono” (The Makioka ­Sisters and kimono), she explains how much the novel affected her: At the time, all Japa­nese w ­ ere starving and we had nothing, due to the havoc caused by war; even p ­ eople’s hearts w ­ ere impoverished and society in general had a dark somber air. I still remember very well how moving it was to read The Makioka ­Sisters at a time like this. It was so satisfying, like being able to fill one’s stomach with a wonderful, delicious banquet a­ fter being starved and exhausted. Or getting an expansive feeling, like being in a gorgeous, expensive building and looking

Visual Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  73

all around, while wearing the best finery. It can be described as a world at the height of luxury.18 Although not directly stated, it is clear that for Miyao, kimonos and other high-­ end objects, as well as the language and lifestyle of the ­sisters, helped create the atmosphere of a “dazzling” and “luxurious” story, a “beautiful picture scroll.”19 Kondō Tomie, another well-­k nown kimono connoisseur and writer, also read The Makioka ­Sisters in the immediate postwar years; she remembers her reaction to the squeaky obi scene in par­tic­u­lar. Her desire was that, “having been born a ­woman,” she wished she could have such an experience. She suggests that she wanted to be someone who could own so many new, stiff obi, and that it would be a luxurious plea­sure to have to worry about such m ­ atters as obi making noise.20 When The Makioka ­Sisters was brought to the screen in 1950, the spectacle of kimonos and obi must have dazzled the audience and evoked desires for aesthetically beautiful objects and a comfortable life. Presumably t­ hese items also tapped into nostalgia for a time before the war, when valuable garments remained intact in ­people’s homes, without being burnt, lost, or sold. From the perspective of “star-­ gazing” and kimono appreciation, the film also enabled p ­ eople to see “Deko-­ chan,” as Takamine was known, performing Japa­nese dance in a traditional wig and a kimono worn in the susohiki style (the hem dragging on the ground like a train). Th ­ ose in the know would have particularly appreciated this kimono and its pattern of snow falling on a dark background, matching the dance perfectly, a piece titled Snow (see Figure 3.4).21 The dance recital sequence highlights not only the kimono and Takamine’s per­for­mance, but also Japa­nese traditional dance itself, along with accompanying ­music and singing.22 The re­spect for such art forms shown in this film reminds us that, as discussed in Chapter 1, 1950 was also the year that the Cultural Property Protection Law was established. In the social imaginary of the 1950s, kimonos, along with other art forms connected with them, ­were becoming elevated as trea­sures of the nation to be protected and appreciated, even as the Occupation-­ period ethos devalued some traditional ideologies and practices. As one of Taeko’s students exclaims, wearing this costume Taeko looks very beautiful, “like one of the dolls she makes.” The visual appeal of her appearance, coupled with the coding of kimonos as part of an older, restrictive world (but also something to be trea­sured), further complicates the pre­sen­ta­tion of Taeko as a conflicted character. She is an innocent, doll-­like young lady of the Makioka f­ amily, at home in the established world of her class but wishing to practice the modern values of romantic love, sexual expression, and class equality. Kimonos are part of Taeko’s identity, but at the same time, her appearance in one is literally a

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Figure 3.4. Taeko in costume before performing the Snow dance. The Makioka ­Sisters. © 1950 Kokusai Hōei.

special per­for­mance. The dance is performed in costume, while she lives everyday life in Western clothes.

Reading Taeko in Western Dress The fact that Taeko does not just wear Western garments, but also wants to use the money for her trousseau to start a dressmaking business, underscores her identity as a new Japa­nese w ­ oman. Preparing to marry Itakura, who has ­little money, she upholds new ideas such as the importance of earning her own living. Certainly, the demand for sewing machines and Western clothing was already strong in the 1930s and early 1940s.23 Dressmaking schools ­were also popu­lar before the war. Tanizaki modeled Taeko’s sewing teacher on Tanaka Chiyo, one of the early Japa­nese designers, who opened her school in 1932.24 It was only a­ fter the war, however, that Western clothes rapidly came to dominate ­women’s sartorial life, with the remade clothing boom and other social changes hastening the displacement of kimonos. Taeko’s affinity for Western dress especially evokes this postwar context. In the film, Taeko’s inability to break off with Okubata, exemplified by her attraction to his material gifts and entertaining qualities, is part of her old, past

Visual Kimonos in The Makioka ­S isters  75

life. She still feels comfortable with ­t hose of the same class and likes being given expensive gifts by her suitor. But in expressing her love for Itakura, Taeko says that she is seeking “a w ­ oman’s true happiness,” a reference to the notion of true love based on individual choice and agency, and that she is prepared to work hard to be with him. Her wish to become a dressmaker and open her own shop, however, is rejected with horror by her f­ amily; earning money through this trade, an extremely popu­lar desire for many ­women in the immediate postwar years, is for them an unacceptable way to live. Just as kimonos convey dif­fer­ent meanings in this film, dresses, blouses, and skirts also pre­sent multivalent nuances, complicating Taeko’s story. In contrast to kimonos, Western clothes reflect new national and gender identities; Taeko’s many fancy outfits (presumably made by a dressmaker) also convey wealth and class. At the same time, in terms of status and viability as portable assets, they are less valuable than the kimonos worn by Yukiko and Sachiko. Once Taeko begins to date Itakura and considers dressmaking as a trade, her connection to Western clothing emphasizes a transition to a working-­class lifestyle: she views her skill with the sewing machine as a path to in­de­pen­dence and economic survival. ­After Itakura’s sudden and tortured death from illness, however, her Western clothes seem to take on other meanings as well. Taeko begins to drink excessively as a result of her desperation, and we see her be­hav­ior change, adding new nuances to her sartorial appearance. In one scene she is taken home by Okubata completely drunk and in a rather revealing dress; she is barely coherent and eventually collapses on the floor. In this part of the film, which covers Taeko’s renewed connection with Okubata (and ­later her revealed sexual relationship with Miyoshi), Taeko smokes openly in front of her ­family and often appears drunk, even drinking from Teinosuke’s liquor collection. We also see her wearing lipstick and changing her clothes on screen at one point; she throws off her dress casually, appearing in a chemise. The new dresses she has acquired are fash­ion­able and seem to be gifts from Okubata. Combined with her coarse demeanor and speech, and her smoking and drinking, ­these dresses hint at a reference to pan-­pan girls, prostitutes who cater to American soldiers. B ­ ecause ­these w ­ omen ­were considered the vanguard of immediate postwar fashion, Taeko’s modish outfits, from low-­ cut dresses to thick shoulder pads, take on new meaning as a not-­so-­oblique code for degenerate w ­ omen.25 In Figure 3.5, for example, we see Taeko smoking in front of her s­ isters in an outfit accentuating her shoulders. In this scene, Yukiko berates her for accepting Okubata’s expensive gifts and then breaking up with him a­ fter his ­family cuts him off. Taeko’s materialistic attitude and unladylike be­hav­ior are emphasized through her outward appearance, and soon afterwards, we learn that she has also lost her purity, becoming pregnant by Miyoshi, a bartender with no

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Figure 3.5. Taeko smoking in a dress and coat accentuating her shoulders, with Sachiko (left) and Yukiko wearing kimonos and haoris. The Makioka S­ isters. © 1950 Kokusai Hōei.

social standing or means. She becomes seriously ill from this ec­topic pregnancy and has to undergo surgery.26 Taeko’s Western clothing in t­ hese sequences suggests her development in an unacceptable direction. Despite the presence of the Occupation forces as liberators and Japan’s desirable rebirth as a modern democracy, the pan-­pan girls represented larger social fears regarding national emasculation and the decline of female chastity. In many works of lit­er­a­ture written by men during the immediate postwar years, such anx­i­eties ­were dramatized through female bodies, particularly by vio­lence inflicted on ­women.27 Taeko escapes this kind of treatment, but the film clearly pre­sents her sexual agency and be­hav­ior as grave ­mistakes. Taeko must atone for her sins to the end; a­ fter her disgrace, she is not allowed to come to the h ­ ouse or attend Yukiko’s wedding. In the final scenes of the film, she appears at the Ashiya h ­ ouse wearing a modest top and skirt in somber dark colors to pay re­spects to her ­sisters before embarking on a new life with Miyoshi. She is extremely contrite about her past be­hav­ior, even saying that she “wants to apologize to Kei-­bon [Okubata].” The expensive gifts from him have been returned, all the more impor­tant ­because it turns out that they had been stolen from his ­family business and had led to his disgrace. The ­sisters see Taeko off in a subdued

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and depressed manner, and her ties to the h ­ ouse­hold seem to be permanently severed. Taeko also admits with confusion that she is not even sure if Miyoshi r­ eally loves her. Unlike the novel, which hints at his good qualities and desirability, the film pre­sents Miyoshi as an enigma. He is shown briefly, smoking at the train station by himself, waiting for Taeko as she takes leave of her s­ isters. He does not seem like a promising husband-­to-­be; although he is well dressed, he looks rather menacing. It appears likely that Taeko ­w ill have to continue to atone even ­after attaining the new identity of wife. With her penitent be­hav­ior and modest dress to match, however, it is clear that she is now a redeemed character—­she is back on the correct path of sanctioned sexuality, accepting the consequences of the choices she has made. Her decidedly plain, funereal outfit represents her new respectability and the continuation of her financial strug­gles.

Taeko in Cold War Japan In discussing his novel in 1956, Tanizaki underscored the shift in ­women’s clothing that occurred a­ fter the war: “The prewar Japan that I wrote about in The Makioka ­Sisters is no longer and Japan has completely changed since the end of the war. When I wrote the novel, t­ here w ­ ere more p ­ eople wearing Japa­nese clothes than Western clothing, but now, u ­ nless they are el­derly, even w ­ omen do not wear Japa­nese clothes. Hence, they ­don’t know about somemono [dyed kimonos/­ fabrics/techniques] and such ­t hings.”28 He suggests that the world depicted in the novel has dis­appeared, along with knowledge of kimono culture. This distinction between the prewar setting and postwar pre­sent is impor­tant, but it is also critical to remember, as discussed in the previous chapter, that the final volume was mostly written in the postwar era. Tanizaki himself has described the work as “a novel created during both war and peace.”29 In this way, the work is already infused with postwar concerns, even though the story concludes before the start of the Pacific War. Taeko’s repre­sen­ta­tion in the 1950 film, therefore, develops ele­ments already pre­sent in the original text. As discussed in the previous sections, the distinction between kimonos and Western dress in the film highlights and clarifies aspects of Taeko’s character in relation to the postwar moment. On the one hand, Taeko is the new postwar heroine, to be lauded for her rejection of the f­ amily and feudalistic ways of life. But on the other hand, she is punished for pursuing romantic and sexual agency beyond acceptable limits. In the end, she departs from her ­family with ­little more than a small bundle she carries herself. As part of the plot that does not exist in the novel, Taeko does obtain some money from the ­family in the form of her ­mother’s diamond ring, a compensatory

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gift from Tsuruko, who apologizes for having used up money that had been set aside for Taeko’s trousseau. This item ­will be pawned for cash, and Taeko comments that it ­w ill be “certain to fetch a high price.” From this perspective, the differences in the fates of Taeko and Yukiko seem quite un­balanced in light of the demo­cratic values of new Japan. Taeko has chosen her own partner and embraced the concept of class equality, but it is her s­ ister Yukiko, a class-­conscious individual, who has won a fiancé from an established ­family (not of illegitimate birth as in the novel). Although Yukiko is the more prejudiced character who refused to accept the lower-­class Itakura as a ­future “younger b ­ rother” (in-­law), she is showered with many pre­sents and a substantial trousseau, including furniture such as chests of drawers and very large items covered by karakusa-­patterned wrapping cloth, prob­ably bedding or other t­ hings for her new residence. Yukiko is clearly sad about departing from her ­sisters, and her diarrhea is mentioned as an unfortunate occurrence. However, her husband-­to-be is a youthful and jovial character, a reward for her chaste patience for a sanctioned marriage, while the disgraced Taeko’s ­f uture seems excessively lonely and bleak by contrast. Carrying a small bundle wrapped also with karakusa cloth, Taeko appears freer than her s­ ister, but as the story closes with a long shot of her walking away from the ­house by herself with her back to the camera, the film seems to suggest that the new path she must forge is untested. By the end of the film, the Occupation-­promoted values of individualism and love-­based matches are attenuated by a discomfort t­ oward the exploration of female sexuality and excessive pursuit of egalitarianism. In this sense, the work’s rejection of female sexual agency overrides its promotion of class equality or in­ de­pen­dence from the ­family. The main Makioka residence at Uehonmachi is shown as a relic of the past, abandoned by the f­ amily, with only an aging servant as its caretaker. Even Tsuruko and Sachiko, making a visit to the termite-­infested abode, recognize that its days are numbered, just like the faithful servant, who is losing his faculties. In contrast, the branch f­ amily at Ashiya represents a much-­ desired balance of the old and new, with its comfortable Western and traditional Japa­nese rooms and the understanding Teinosuke as head of h ­ ouse­hold. In this sense, Taeko’s rebellion against the liberal Ashiya h ­ ouse­hold is portrayed as being beyond the pale; she resists 1950s gendered moral codes and fervently demands class barriers to be broken. Her insistence that the Makiokas be considered equal to Itakura and his uneducated parents, or Miyoshi, who lacks any parentage to speak of, ultimately may have been too radical within the Cold War context. Her denunciation of the f­ amily and its wealth, and her praise of men like Itakura who can make their own way in society, dovetail with the Occupation ideology promoting a new, classless Japan. But taken to its extreme, Taeko’s

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position echoes the “red” idea that the bourgeoisie are inherently corrupt, to be overthrown in ­favor of the proletariat, willing to ­labor with their own hands. As Ann Sherif notes, “in 1949, the year of the revelation of Soviet possession and testing of the atomic bomb and of the founding of the P ­ eople’s Republic of China, the Allied Occupation began purging socialists and communists from Japan’s schools and civil ser­v ice jobs as part of its strategy of shielding Japan from communism.”30 In 1950 Japan, rejecting the status quo, ­whether in terms of ­family authority, traditional marriage practices, or even class difference, was a pro­cess rife with contradictions. It might be argued that Taeko manifests the difficulties in which filmmakers found themselves, balancing dif­fer­ent aspects of postwar female identity with a message deemed suitable by the Occupation censors. But at the same time, the contradictory ele­ments seen in Taeko’s strug­g le to find agency, true self, and a unique path in life very much mirror the nation’s own search, which was anything but straightforward. Just as kimonos and Western dress could convey dif­fer­ent meanings, both good and bad, ideas of sexual and class equality could also shift in desirability depending on the context. On the surface, “old” objects such as the kimonos in the film provide a visual image of the restrictive, traditional world that threatens to limit Taeko’s self-­discovery. But they also suggest comfort, connoisseurship, and femininity that undercut such signification. And as Taeko tries to find herself, wearing Western clothes suitable for the new Japa­nese w ­ oman, ­t hese garments too complicate the story of her success by reflecting a range of ideas, from individuality, modern gender identity, in­de­pen­dence, and freedom, to sexual impropriety, immorality, and financial constraints. In 1951, the year a­ fter The Makioka ­Sisters, Takamine cemented her star image as a repre­sen­ta­tion of new Japan in Karumen kokyō ni kaeru (Carmen Comes Home), the first domestic full-­length color film, directed by Kinoshita Keisuke (1912–1998).31 Takamine plays Lily Carmen, a confident but dim-­w itted exotic dancer who returns to her rural birthplace determined to show off her artistic skills and educate country folk. Although it is a silly, lighthearted work, the film can also be interpreted as a satirical critique of the influence of American popu­ lar culture, reexamining what postwar Japan should look like as a cultured society. With her singing, dancing, and garish, revealing outfits, Carmen creates havoc and takes the village by storm. The work is essentially presented as a comedy about a foolish girl who believes that stripping is a legitimate art. The film’s ironic perspective was likely lost on the censors as ­t here are no overt references to US influences and no a­ ctual nudity. Carmen’s unforgettable outfits tell the story of a new Japan that is attractive, brightly colored, liberated, and yet not quite right. This exaggerated parody of

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postwar Japa­nese identity plays itself out through the body of an Americanized stripper. Carmen Comes Home became one of Takamine’s more memorable and notorious roles, even inspiring a sequel the following year; when we think about a Takamine Hideko film that specifically tells the story of new female identities through clothes, Carmen Comes Home is the one that immediately comes to mind. But it is The Makioka ­Sisters with its multivalent repre­sen­ta­tion of both kimonos and Western dress that pre­sents a much more nuanced study of a character’s rebellion against tradition; through Taeko’s conflict and desire for dif­fer­ent cultural values, the film explores the complexity of gender and national identity in 1950s Japan.

Bubbly Kimonos: The Makioka S­ isters in 1983 ­ fter Abe’s 1950 work, The Makioka ­Sisters was adapted again as a 1959 film diA rected by Shima Kōji. This film drastically changed the storyline, re-­creating it as a postwar tale. Several de­cades l­ater in 1983, famed director Ichikawa Kon fulfilled his longtime goal of presenting The Makioka ­Sisters on screen, and it is this version that is best known ­today, overshadowing the other two. ­These films are quite dif­fer­ent, but in one way or another, they all engage with the concerns and values of the times in which they w ­ ere created. Ichikawa’s 1983 film can be understood as a cele­bration of Japan’s economic successes and an expression of a sense of an au­then­tic national identity. This is also the work that has most determined the afterlife of Tanizaki’s novel: it is a kimono-­fi lled extravaganza, a harbinger of the B ­ ubble economy era, known for its consumerism, lavish lifestyles, and confidence regarding economic growth. Kimonos play an essential role in Ichikawa’s The Makioka ­Sisters, in the depiction of the Senba merchant class of the late 1930s as well as the luxury kimono market of the early 1980s. Film critic Donald Richie dismissed the work, considering it a “willful disregard” of the original novel, a “kimono show” that produced “general triteness.”32 My view is that t­ hese kimonos are “bubbly” (baburii, with qualities of over-­t he-­top luxuriousness associated with the ­Bubble era), but not in a superficial sense; ­these material items are part of the film’s raison d’être, crucial objects that dramatize the nation’s self-­reflection on its economic prosperity and pre­sent a complex view of modern Japa­nese female identity. In interviews and essays, Ichikawa repeatedly tells the story of how he had always wanted to make The Makioka ­Sisters. ­After de­cades, he was fi­nally able to create his version for the fiftieth anniversary of Tōhō Studios.33 The studio explic­ itly advertised this work as a “masterpiece of ­woman’s film [josei eiga],” a genre featuring w ­ omen and targeting a female audience.34 Ichikawa directed the film,

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co-­wrote the screenplay with Hidaka Shinya, and also oversaw the costumes with Saitō Hiroshi, president of Mimatsu, a kimono firm that created most of the kimonos in the film. Incredibly, 160 kimonos and kimono-­related items w ­ ere designed and made specifically for this work; they ­were produced with historical accuracy and with their appearance on color film in mind.35 Ichikawa estimates the value of the costumes as “several hundred million yen.”36 He also borrowed some kimonos owned by Tanizaki’s wife Matsuko for use in the film.37 The idea of The Makioka ­Sisters featuring four prominent female stars of the day in magnificent costumes had already been established by the 1950 work. Ichikawa’s adaptation and its commitment to au­t hen­tic reproductions of prewar kimonos further emphasized this concept. The actresses playing the s­ isters show off exquisite kimonos in ­every scene: Kishi Keiko (b. 1932, Tsuruko), Sakuma Yoshiko (b. 1939, Sachiko), Yoshinaga Sayuri (b. 1945, Yukiko), and Kotegawa Yūko (b. 1959, Taeko). The film’s story begins in the spring of 1938 and all four characters are featured, but the main focus is Yukiko’s marriage plot. Some major events from the novel, such as the Hanshin flood, are cut, and members of the Makioka main ­house do not relocate to Tokyo u ­ ntil the end of the film. And as in the 1950 film, the German and Rus­sian characters have been erased from the storyline.38 The work is set against the background of the four seasons and follows the ­sisters’ daily lives in the Kansai area, punctuated by Yukiko’s miai and Taeko’s relationships. All the ­sisters wear kimonos; Taeko is the only one who wears Western dress, but she also wears kimonos throughout the film. By the time Ichikawa made the film, kimonos ­were no longer intrinsic to ­everyday life. In one sense, they had become linked to a generalized sense of tradition and the past, or with national identity. But at the same time, particularly with the rise in consumer spending, they had become impor­tant ceremonial and formal garments associated with a luxurious lifestyle. Not all expensive kimonos can be worn for formal occasions, but most high-­ranked kimonos worn for such purposes fall within the broadly defined category of some no kimono (dyed ­k imono), kimonos made of white fabric that are ­later designed and dyed (atozome, later-­dyed [fabric]). The prominent use in the film of ­these one-­of-­a-­k ind formal kimonos, along with other items of clothing such as brocade obi and unique kimono coats, underscores the wealth and strong economy of 1980s Japan. The kimono as an everyday product had dis­appeared, not only b ­ ecause of the prevalence of Western wear, but also b ­ ecause of industry choices. Kimono industry insider Yajima Takatoshi notes that by the 1970s the concept of purchasing expensive kimonos through credit had become common, and the industry was specifically promoting the sales of such items. Kimono firms began to focus on selling formal kimonos, which ­were the most lucrative, eventually erasing the

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availability of affordable, everyday kimonos and making kimonos synonymous with luxury products.39 At least as represented in print and visual media, such formal kimonos w ­ ere part of impor­tant life events for ­women, including one’s coming of age and weddings. This was certainly the case during the early 1980s when Ichikawa’s The Makioka S­ isters was produced. Instead of only associating kimonos in the film with the past and traditional femininity, in this chapter I suggest that they also be read in terms of an ­i magined con­temporary Japa­nese womanhood. The memorable opening sequence, beginning with cherry blossoms in Arashiyama and the famous Togetsukyō bridge, leads to the first spoken line of the film, a close-up of Sachiko’s face as she asks “Money [okane]?” 40 This sequence takes place in a restaurant, where Sachiko, Yukiko, Taeko, and Teinosuke start on their lunch before g­ oing out to see the blossoms; Tsuruko joins them a bit l­ater (see Plate 4). Ichikawa frames the film as being about money: about ­women who live in the lap of luxury, not even aware of how much money they actually have, and about the financial dramas that drive the story forward.41 In contrast to the 1950 film, ­there is less focus on the decline of f­amily fortunes; the Makiokas in the Ichikawa version seem to be ­doing quite well, despite nostalgic comments about the ­family’s glorious past. The film’s exploration of national and gendered identities is layered—it is si­mul­ta­neously about the 1930s bourgeois lifestyle and the abundance associated with 1980s Japan. Kathe Geist suggests that the film legitimates “the new affluence of the 1980s by associating it with a traditional context,” 42 but I would push this even further to say that the affluent pre­sent is celebrated particularly b ­ ecause of its ability to reproduce and engage with the past. The traditional four seasons of Japan, iconically represented on the screen as cherry blossoms, summer clouds, autumnal fo­liage, and snow, are combined with beautiful w ­ omen in au­t hen­tic kimonos, made with designs and colors true to the historical context. Unlike the 1950 adaptation, which is much more ambivalent about what constitutes “Japan” as an identity, Ichikawa’s film consolidates what is ­imagined as traditional and au­t hen­tic, even as it reinforces ­t hese concepts as part of the pre­sent.

The Past in the Pre­sent: Perspectives of a “­Woman’s Film” Within the film, t­ here is a strong sense of nostalgia about looking to the past, especially through the perspective of Teinosuke, played by Ishizaka Kōji (b. 1941). In Ichikawa’s version of the tale, he is a man obsessed with his wife’s ­sister, Yukiko; in the final scenes he mourns her upcoming marriage, drowning his sorrows in sake as he sits alone, watching the snow swirl outside. He has just said his goodbyes to

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Tsuruko, Tatsuo, and their ­children at the train station, and they have departed for Tokyo. Yukiko also came to see her s­ ister off, but accompanied by Higashidani, her fiancé and son of a peer; Teinosuke has clearly been supplanted as her guardian.43 In ­t hese final sequences, we also see Sachiko, who did not go to the train station, visiting Taeko in her dingy lodgings. Taeko has fi­nally settled down with bartender Miyoshi, described as a sincere, responsible man. Although Sachiko says “nothing has changed,” this is not the case, as the s­ isters have dispersed to focus on their own separate lives. As Tsuruko notes with tears on the train, the s­ isters w ­ ill no longer be able to go to Kyoto together for their annual cherry-­blossom viewing. While Teninosuke drinks, the snow in his vision turns into falling cherry blossom petals, and the film ends with the scene shown at the beginning, the ­women in their kimono finery, walking among blossoms; the script comments that “this may be Teinosuke’s personal memory or fantasy.” 44 Perhaps he is remembering the time when he escorted all the ­sisters, Yukiko in par­tic­u­lar at the height of her beauty, all admiring flowers at their best. Since then, the ­women’s lives have changed, Yukiko w ­ ill marry, the blossoms of the past w ­ ill never return. And as the film hints throughout with references to war, every­t hing ­w ill be forever altered as Japan pursues further military aggression.45 Kathe Geist’s analy­sis links this sadness t­ oward impending change with the loss of “the physical, couturial, and behavioral perfection of traditional Japa­nese ­women,” contrasted against the liberated 1980s ­women who seek their own ­careers. Teinosuke’s focus on Yukiko, she suggests, “underscores the film’s dedication to the perfect Japa­nese ­woman.”  46 Geist reads the film as an expression of nostalgia ­toward w ­ omen of the past, especially identified as such through their kimonos, and anxiety ­toward changing gender relations of the pre­sent. Indeed, t­ here are aspects of conservatism with regard to gender politics in this work. Geist points out that the film endorses Tsuruko’s decision to support Tatsuo’s ­career and move with him to Tokyo, creating a “comforting fantasy for men” and admonishing “­women to support their men.” 47 And even the rebellious Taeko ends up following Miyoshi’s wishes in turning down the money for her trousseau from her f­ amily (presumably to be in­de­pen­dent from the Makiokas). Taeko explains that she w ­ ill earn money as a dressmaker, but this is l­abor to be done at home, and Miyoshi works two jobs (clearly as the main breadwinner). The film pre­sents the fact that both Teinosuke and Tatsuo are adoptive sons-­in-­law who have married into the Makioka ­family with a comic tone; the men often suffer indignities, presumably due to their original lower social rank.48 When the Makioka ­women do submit to their men, the film represents this as a more natu­ral state of affairs. Despite Ichikawa’s nostalgic pre­sen­ta­tion of ­t hese ­women, however, he does not suggest that they are perfect; he even seems to mock them at times. Ichikawa

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explains that through discussion with his wife and frequent collaborator Wada Natto, he de­cided to focus on depicting the ­sisters as a type of lost ­women who no longer exist in the pre­sent.49 He suggests that they themselves are like “light snow” (sasameyuki), quick to melt away and hard to capture. Yet his production notes underscore the fact that they are also somehow connected to the pre­sent, and have many flaws: Their everyday lives lack a sense of real­ity. But they themselves believe their lives are quite grounded. ­These w ­ omen remain far from the idea of economic hardship. They appear truly alive when they are ­doing something quite trivial. W ­ omen who only exist in such terms are tragic, but on the other hand, they also manifest elegance, egoism, excess. Paradoxically, by focusing on such w ­ omen who are thought to no longer exist in the pre­ sent, it ­will be pos­si­ble to highlight their relevance and meaning in ­today’s world.50 ­These ­women are somehow deficient, with ­little knowledge of financial ­matters, and they constantly quarrel with each other u ­ ntil Tsuruko fi­nally decides to depart for Tokyo. Although they are lovable in some re­spects, their arrogance ­toward servants is particularly unattractive. Compared to the novel or the 1950 film, the ­women’s snobbery, ignorance, and pettiness are emphasized, and Ichikawa is clearly critical of their shortcomings, especially the blatant discrimination against the lower classes.51 In many ways, he uses t­ hese characters to highlight what is desirable about the past as well as what is not—­some aspects of their lifestyle are enviable, ­others are distasteful. And although t­ hese ­women belong to the past, they grapple with issues still relevant to 1980s society, particularly ­t hose associated with the traditional ­family system, no longer part of postwar laws but still a significant aspect of everyday Japa­nese ideology and social practice. It is impor­tant to see commonalities between t­ hese 1930s characters and a­ ctual ­women of the 1980s, w ­ hether they are new kyaria ūman (­career w ­ omen) who do work similar to men in white-­ collar jobs, or the more traditional shufu (house­w ives) and kaji tetsudai (house­ work helpers), single w ­ omen from well-­to-do families who do not hold regular jobs but prepare for marriage by participating in activities such as cooking classes and flower arrangement. With this in mind, I reconsider this work as a “­woman’s film” that is very much aware of the desires and fantasies of the con­temporary female audience. This is a departure from analyses that focus on the male gaze and desire as represented by Teinosuke. Without suggesting that the gendered gaze or sexual desire is always

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stable or uniform (or delineated through a ­simple binary), I use the framework of “­woman’s film” to explore the portrayal of female characters and the role of kimonos. In the following section, I especially discuss how formal silk kimonos and other garments are presented in ways that speak to a 1980s female audience.

Kimonos and Female Desire in the 1980s Ichikawa argues for the importance of costume in film, quoting a French actress as saying that “eighty p ­ ercent of the success of a role is determined by the costume.”52 The clothes, he says, must have the power to enable actors to fully inhabit their roles and even transform their bodies.53 For his Makioka ­Sisters, costumes had to proj­ect prewar wealth and be accurate about gender, regional, and class identities. The producer, Baba Kazuo, remembers that this was the most worrisome part of making the film: w ­ hether they could make kimonos that would have been worn at the time. Thankfully, the desired effect was achieved through the participation of the kimono firm Mimatsu.54 Beyond the creation of historical realism, however, Ichikawa’s camera focuses on the kimonos in ways that seem unrelated to the plot or the development of character. Take, for example, the long opening sequence in which the s­ isters, along with Teinosuke, have gathered at a restaurant to embark on their cherry-­blossom viewing. The eldest, Tsuruko, arrives late and enters the room; the camera focuses on her back and movement as she takes off her michiyuki (a type of kimono coat). The close-up captures the large white f­ amily crest shown in the crimson inner lining, revealed as she slides the michiyuki inside out along her back. This provides a startling contrast not only to the outside mauve-­brown color of the michiyuki, but also to the muted dark green and gold obi, and to the bright purple and white sōshibori (all-­over tie-­dye) kimono.55 The loud sound of silk against silk is also a memorable feature in ­t hese shots (see Plates 2 and 3). The ­family crest signifies the importance of the Makioka ­family and Tsuruko’s authority as the oldest s­ ister and representative of the main h ­ ouse. For t­ hose in the know, this sōshibori kimono, with elaborate designs consisting of minute kanoko shibori (fawn spot tie-­dye) patterns made by hand tie-­dying, is also a clear sign of wealth and prestige.56 Her skilled movement in removing the coat also showcases the ability of the actor, Kishi Keiko, in ­handling kimono. The main effect of this visual reveal, however, is an aesthetic appreciation of the artistry of the garments themselves and a renewed recognition of the complexity of such Japa­nese wear—­t heir hidden patterns and meaning, complex color coordination, and the dif­fer­ent ways they can be seen, on or off the h ­ uman body. Similar to most clothing on film, they give information about the wearer’s age, taste, and means.

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But most importantly, this sequence functions as a spectacle that invites audience members, even if they are not fully cognizant of the implication of the ­family crest or the sōshibori kimono, to experience kimonos in aesthetic terms: the colors, designs, sounds, textures, and movement. Perhaps such moments contributed to Donald Richie’s negative view of this film as a “kimono show,” but they actually serve a par­tic­u­lar purpose: to allow kimonos to speak and perform on their own terms and to cultivate the audience’s gaze and desire. By focusing on luxury kimonos through such sensuous audiovisual repre­sen­ta­tions, the camera highlights them as highly coveted, wearable art objects. They are not simply markers of tradition but also a major part of the 1980s luxury market. A similar effect is also achieved in the longer squeaky obi sequence. This famous episode with multiple obi has been changed from the original text to take place in Tsuruko’s main ­house, with only Tsuruko and Sachiko appearing in the scene. Tsuruko is changing to the strains of non-­diegetic traditional koto m ­ usic, helped by Sachiko, in preparation for Yukiko’s miai. The camera lingers on the numerous obi strewn about on the floor, and focuses on the movements of the actors in h ­ andling the obi, as well as the sound of the obi as it is being tied. The fact that ­these w ­ omen can quickly and easily put on obi is perhaps presented as a laudable skill from the past. But at the same time, the ­whole scene can be read as an elaborate pre­sen­ta­t ion of a fantasy still relevant for the 1980s, in which one is wealthy enough to own multiple new obi as part of a formal wardrobe (and have the time, knowledge, and opportunity to wear kimonos with ease).57 The camera again emphasizes the sensuality of the colors, sounds, and movements, bringing formal kimonos and obi to the fore. Mori Yūki, who worked on the film set, suggests that The Makioka ­Sisters was a success partly b ­ ecause it prefigured the “ojōsama būmu” (young ladies boom) of the 1980s, in which p ­ eople w ­ ere fascinated by rich young ladies of the upper 58 classes. Certainly the ­sisters can be viewed as the ultimate young ladies/women of their day. Again, without reifying the concept of gendered viewership in too ­simple terms, ­t hese characters could very well have been a means for the targeted female audience to fantasize about and vicariously participate in the ojōsama world—­not just that of the 1930s but also of the 1980s. This especially dovetails with the film’s focus on Yukiko as the central character, played by Yoshinaga Sayuri, famous for her quiet, virginal, ojōsama-­t ype roles. ­Whether or not members of the female audience actually aspired to the young ladies/women lifestyle or wanted to own or wear formal kimonos, they would certainly have been aware of the value of ­t hese items. Viewers would have known that ­t hese pieces ­were one-­of-­a kind objects, reflecting the taste and expressive agency of the own­er; traditionally, high-­end kimonos w ­ ere made to order, with

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choices of fabric, color, patterns, design ele­ments, and techniques such as embroidery. Even within the robust luxury market of the 1980s, such items ­were special ­because they reflected national identity as well as a focus on domestic craftsmanship. Geist rightly points out that kimonos would not have been easily purchased by the majority of Japa­nese at the time.59 However, they could be inherited and remade, bought on credit, or, increasingly during the 1980s, rented.60 They ­were also part of an everyday media presence, in film, tele­vi­sion, and particularly mass ­women’s magazines that ­were easily accessible to all, read in hair salons, doctors’ waiting rooms, bookstores, and libraries. The opening scenes and the credit sequence of the four ­sisters in their finery, coupled with cherry blossoms and images of famous locations such as Arashiyama and the Heian Shrine, are visually striking. They feature formal kimonos in non-­ everyday settings. Similar types of images are repeated during Yukiko’s miai with Hashidera in the autumn leaf-­v iewing excursion and her final miai with Higashidani in Kyoto. For a 1980s female audience, the scenes of t­ hese actresses in formal kimonos may have immediately brought to mind cover images, kimono ads, and photo spreads in widely circulating ­women’s magazines such as Utsukushii kimono and Fujin gahō (Ladies pictorial)—­particularly b ­ ecause the same actors ­were also appearing in kimonos in such venues. In ­t hese scenes, both Yukiko and the married ­women wear formal kimonos, often also coupled with haoris or michiyuki. In Sachiko’s case, the kimono and michiyuki she wears for Yukiko’s last miai are particularly highlighted toward the end of the film; close-­ups show the coat’s inner lining with the ­family crest and the kimono’s brilliant colors and designs, perfectly suited for a married ­woman on such an occasion. Such luxurious clothing and the cele­bration of sophisticated tastes would have resonated as part of a desired lifestyle in the pre­sent, reflecting Japan’s economic rise and national pride. Formal kimonos are also featured in the “ten-­shot kimono montage” 61 ­toward the end. ­Here, a variety of displayed kimonos are shown, some in close-­up; eventually it becomes clear that t­ hese garments are being aired in Tsuruko’s h ­ ouse ­because Yukiko has another potential candidate for marriage. They are part of Yukiko’s trousseau, prepared by her ­father before he died. But the way the kimonos are extensively and carefully shot on their own and displayed as in a museum, weakens this explanation. Geist notes that “existing somewhat outside the narrative, the sequence is pure cele­bration,” and suggests that ­these kimonos that belong to Yukiko celebrate “old Japan.” 62 But if we look at t­ hese somewhat non-­diegetic objects as items beyond symbols of traditional Japan, we see that the shots also celebrate the garments themselves, specifically, the par­tic­u ­lar artistry, design, and techniques such as embroidery.63 And as I discuss below, t­ hese memorable

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kimonos speak to a number of key points in the plot, as well as the 1980s context that resonates for the audience. ­Later in the sequence, Tsuruko sits down with her back to the camera in the room full of kimonos and obi, saying, “it is impossible to make such high-­quality kimonos any more u ­ nder the current climate [gojisei].” One of the kimonos is from the e­ arlier kimono montage. This shot of Tsuruko surrounded by garments is the most gorgeously framed kimono shot in the entire film, where the kimono spectacle is at its most impressive (see Plate 6). The scene has specific resonances in the 1938 context, implicitly referencing the National Spiritual Mobilization campaign, disappearing resources, and the difficulty of obtaining luxury products. It also highlights the class difference between the Makiokas, surrounded by such expensive items, and their servant, Ohisa, who is shown crying in the dark by herself in the following shot. Tsuruko and Tatsuo in e­ arlier scenes discuss the fact that Ohisa’s ­brother has just died in ­battle for his country, but ­t here is ­little empathy or understanding, and they are more concerned about the protocol of having to send her ­family bereavement money. The amount of wealth represented in the kimono montage sequence and this kimono shot is clearly contrasted with Ohisa’s situation. The episode also emphasizes the Makiokas’ general disconnect with the notion of war-­related sacrifice.64 At the same time, however, ­t hese kimono shots also celebrate the 1980s context in which such luxuries could be reproduced and fully appreciated. In other words, the camera shows off ­t hese items as objects of desire for the pre­sent day. The spectacle is celebratory, especially with auspicious wedding-­related pictorial designs, particularly shown in the first kimono in the montage, the long-­sleeved yūzen chirimen with cranes and pine trees. The wedding theme is especially emphasized in the shot with Tsuruko; she is surrounded by an abundance of formal kimonos and obi in addition to ­those with crane designs. Yukiko’s miai with Higashidani, in the previous scenes, has clearly been successful: for the first time in the film, Yukiko’s face beams with plea­sure when she looks at the suitor. ­These kimonos foreshadow Yukiko’s successful marriage. They also reference the growing luxury wedding market of the 1980s, in which brides wore both Western bridal gowns and traditional wedding kimonos, changing several times during ceremonies and receptions, and spending an inordinate amount of money on ­these events. In the novel, Yukiko’s wedding preparations are depicted as less than adequate due to anti-­luxury laws, and her groom-­to-be has some concerning qualities. In contrast, Ichikawa’s film pre­sents Yukiko’s choice as a glorious success, admired by Tsuruko and Sachiko—­a result of her “having stuck to it without giving up” (nebarahatta), refusing all suitors ­until she found the right one. Higashidani

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is a man of many talents who has graduated from an American university where he studied airplanes, which presumably indicates ­career success in the coming years as the war intensifies. He earns a substantial salary and is a second son of a peer (not an illegitimate son as in the novel). Also, in contrast to Tanizaki’s text in which the f­amily carefully keeps Taeko’s situation a secret, Higashidani accepts Taeko and her connection with Miyoshi. For both the short-­and long-­term ­future, he seems to be the best choice, and this is emphasized by the fact that Higashidani is played by baseball star Emoto Takenori (b. 1947), a high-­profile celebrity of the day. Formal kimonos in this film celebrate Yukiko’s successful ­union and dramatize present-­day female desires and aspirations regarding money, upward mobility, and successful marriage. They do not simply proj­ect tradition or gendered ideals of the past, but also speak directly to the con­temporary fantasies of a 1980s female audience. Rather than male-­oriented desire for the waning images of traditional ­women, this film taps into the commercial real­ity of the 1980s, in which the featured formal kimonos are shorthand for wealth and connoisseurship, luxurious items that a ­woman can commission, collect, and wear. Moreover, as depicted in the kimono montage, they are also associated with weddings, which in the 1980s ­were increasingly becoming an occasion for excessive display. Ichikawa’s Makioka ­Sisters uses ­t hese items not simply as period-­specific costumes but also as a source of aesthetic plea­sure and reflection on female fantasies in the context of national prosperity.

The Gaze and Power: Teinosuke and Yukiko In my discussion so far, I have focused on aspects of female plea­sure or desire associated with kimonos, suggesting that ­these garments highlight the “affluent Japan” of the 1980s as well as the “au­then­tic Japan” of the past. I have bypassed analy­ sis of the male gaze and desire, normally a central ele­ment in interpreting this film. Now I revisit the notion of the gaze and power (and kimonos) to reconsider the way they frame female identity. As critics have noted, Teinosuke’s characterization in this adaptation as a man infatuated with Yukiko, his sister-­in-­law, departs greatly from how he is depicted in the novel.65 In the film he is often shown closely observing Yukiko; in one ambiguous scene in her room, he leans into her face, as if he is g­ oing to steal a kiss, and in another, he smiles a­ fter having accidentally come upon Yukiko lying on her side, and catching a glimpse of her legs showing from the folds of her kimono. Men appear to be drawn to Yukiko—­even Tatsuo, ­toward whom Yukiko has expressed clear dis­plea­sure, seems to go out of his way to treat her with excessive attention and care.

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Certainly, Yukiko is presented as “the most traditional and old-­fashioned of the ­sisters,” 66 a reserved ­woman waiting to meet her ­future husband through miai. As Geist points out, the Yukiko of the screen version is also “unsullied,” as she ­will ultimately marry a peer’s legitimate son, and t­ here is no reference to diarrhea as in the original text. And as noted before, Geist suggests that the film celebrates Yukiko as “the perfect Japa­nese w ­ oman.” 67 However, it is difficult to construe Yukiko in this way if we think about other aspects of her portrayal on the screen. She rarely expresses her true feelings, but is depicted as being highly class conscious and cold to the servants. She behaves in passive-­aggressive, stubborn ways, and is presented as someone who does not even fold and put away her own kimonos, leaving ­others to do this work. While this failure (or inability) to take care of one’s garments signifies class privilege, it also shows that Yukiko falls short of the traditional image of ideal womanhood. ­After changing, she leaves a kimono in a crumpled mess on the floor, a negative trait usually associated with lack of feminine propriety and attention. Perhaps her virginal helplessness, along with her intelligence, pride, and status as a young lady, was desirable to men such as Teinosuke. Certainly, Yoshinaga Sayuri, the actor playing Yukiko, proj­ects as part of her star image, qualities of being a pure, well-­educated beauty; even ­today she retains devoted male fans who call themselves “Sayurisuto” (Sayuri-­ists, or Sayuri followers). But Yukiko is complex; even if she appears pure and somewhat helpless, she is far from submissive and even challenges men in the film. She resists undesirable matches, yells at Ta­ tsuo, and is not afraid to confront Teinosuke with her own gaze when he stares at her. As Yoshinaga herself explains, Ichikawa wanted to create a Yukiko who “has a strong sense of self” and “always gets her way in the end.” 68 In the scene where Teinosuke looks in her room and sees her outstretched legs, for example, an unfazed Yukiko looks directly back at him, taking her time to slowly conceal her limbs u ­ nder her kimono. In such interactions with Yukiko, Teinosuke is always the one who looks away in embarrassment. She seems to acknowledge and understand her power.69 Marcus Nornes views Teinosuke as a Tanizaki figure who “submits to the object of his desire” through masochistic plea­sure.70 Teinosuke’s obsession with his sister-­ in-­law is certainly not a part of the novel, but Ichikawa emphasizes Yukiko’s eerie self-­confidence and power over Teinosuke and other men. Nornes also points out that Yukiko “asserts her control over the gaze”; she looks back at the men and rejects “her objectification.”71 Instead of viewing this depiction through the lens of male masochistic fantasy, we might consider Yukiko’s refusal to be a passive erotic object through the concept of female agency—­resistant be­hav­ior that may

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have appealed to the female viewership. Her defiant attitude is pre­sent from the beginning of the film, when Teinosuke stares at Yukiko’s mouth at the restaurant and admires her way of eating. By discussing an anecdote about how geisha practice the skill of eating without ruining the color painted on their lips, Teinosuke makes a connection between Yukiko and female entertainers who cater to male plea­sure. But in the act of gazing back and outstaring her brother-­in-­law, Yukiko asserts her own power, just as Taeko makes her disdain for him clear by commenting sarcastically about his knowledge of the demimonde. It is impor­tant to remember that Ichikawa’s Teinosuke also deviates from the novel with re­spect to how he makes a living. Tanizaki’s Teinosuke is an accountant, but in the film he works for a department store in the kimono sales division. This profession plays out in a number of ways. When confronted by Sachiko about what he was d ­ oing with Yukiko in her room, for example, Teinosuke claims that he was fixing her kimono, a habit from his work. We never see anything actually happen between Teinosuke and Yukiko—­there is no on-­screen kissing, much less any other kind of physicality between the two characters. Although he leans in closely ­toward her in the scene in her room, he very well could have been adjusting parts of her kimono. Teinosuke’s profession works to add ambiguity to the situation and puts him at Yukiko’s ser­vice, just as he would assiduously assist impor­tant clients. Teinosuke tends to come home early, and as Sachiko comments, “man­ag­ers for the kimono sales division rarely seem busy t­ hese days.” While alluding specifically to the anti-­luxury policies of the late 1930s, this comment also resonates with the 1980s. Even as department stores ­were thriving, kimono divisions ­were seeing a decline in the overall number of sales compared to de­cades past. Nornes identifies Teinosuke’s status as adoptive son-­in-­law as the source of his powerlessness in relation to Yukiko, and within the ­family more generally.72 As noted in the previous chapter, Teinosuke is less impor­tant than Tatsuo as an adoptive son-­in-­law b ­ ecause he is only responsible for the branch h ­ ouse as opposed to the main Makioka f­amily line. This power difference is also shown in the fact that Tatsuo and Tsuruko have produced many ­children, while Teinosuke and Sachiko only have one d ­ aughter, a point of rivalry between the two s­ isters in the film that is implicitly established at the beginning. But in addition, the fact that Teinosuke is a kimono specialist, a­ dept at fixing kimonos on the bodies of w ­ omen (unlike Tatsuo, a banker) adds another ele­ment of subversive gender politics. If we think of Yukiko as a kind of idealized geisha figure, aware of her erotic power and value as a desired object, Teinosuke becomes nothing more than her helper, the equivalent of an otokoshi, a geisha’s male dresser whose job it is to dress her in kimonos properly.73

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Sachiko explains to Tsuruko that despite her “shyness,” Yukiko “does not care at all when a man watches her putting on a kimono or d ­ oing her makeup.” As this is based on occurrences in Sachiko’s home, the “man” she is talking about is Teinosuke. The inference h ­ ere is that Yukiko does not see Teinosuke as much more than a servant or an assistant. In the scenes in her room, she looks expressionless as Teinosuke leans in, just as she is disengaged from the servants who work for both the main and branch ­houses. Even though her marriage is a source of Teinosuke’s sadness, from Yukiko’s perspective, he is more or less negligible. In this film, Yukiko is never presented as a powerless w ­ oman victimized by the unwanted harassment of a male guardian. Rather, she takes his admiration and ­those of other men in stride. Even as a young, retiring virgin, she exudes a complex power and is able to ignore and overrule men. At the end, the cherry-­blossom viewing scenes from the beginning of the film are shown again, explained as Teinosuke’s memory or fantasy. But new shots have been inserted into the sequence this time: close-­ups of two kimono sleeves belonging to Taeko and Yukiko fluttering in the wind. As a kimono specialist, Teinosuke’s focus on ­t hese long sleeves can be read as a reference to the ­women’s “unmarried” status that has changed (in the case of Taeko, who now lives with Miyoshi) or is about to change (the upcoming wedding of Yukiko and Higashidani).74 Teinosuke is no longer the man overseeing ­t hese ­women; they ­w ill inevitably take on the names of their husbands, and his own connection with them ­w ill be lost. The male gaze remains to the end, but in this w ­ oman’s film, it is essentially rendered powerless. His uncontrolled weeping at the end articulates Teinosuke’s inability to thwart change and failure to achieve his desires.

Kimono, the F ­ amily, and the Home As we have seen, kimonos in this film serve roles beyond the pre­sen­ta­tion of historical accuracy, aesthetic plea­sure, or the character of the wearer. They provide a win­dow into ideas that strongly pertain to the 1980s as well as the 1930s, and they also highlight gender politics, including traditions that still strongly affect ­women’s lives. Geist argues that the film proj­ects a kind of “traditionalism” through lavish use of seasonal images, such as cherry blossoms, autumn maple leaves, and snow, as well as its focus on kimonos; it thus encourages the Westernized Japa­ nese audience members of the 1980s to “reinvent their own Japa­neseness.” She suggests that ­these viewers are invited to “identify with” characters who, unlike themselves, are steeped in “tradition.”75 As we have seen, however, even as kimonos highlight ideas associated with the past, they also amplify issues that are very

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much a part of the 1980s. In this section, I specifically discuss the f­ amily system and the notion that female identity is defined through the home. Ichikawa’s film, more than the novel or the 1950 film, emphasizes the drama surrounding f­ amily politics. It not only highlights issues of class and gender difference, but also pre­sents the strug­gle for power and authority within the ­family. As noted e­ arlier, the ­legal ­family system was abolished a­ fter the war, but even t­ oday the general social concept of the family/house (ie) still remains influential in Japan. The concepts of the main h ­ ouse as opposed to the less authoritative branch ­house, the ste­reo­type of the powerless adoptive son-­in-­law, and squabbles over inheritance w ­ ere ­family issues still relevant in the 1980s. In the film’s opening sequence, the conflict around such issues is immediately brought to the fore, not only by Taeko’s demand to gain access to the money set aside for her marriage by her f­ather before his death (and currently held by the main h ­ ouse), but also by the seating arrangement at the Japanese-­style restaurant. ­After coming in, Tsuruko takes off her michiyuki (with the Makioka crest; see Plates 2 and 3) and heads directly to the best seat in the room, in front of the tokonoma with the hanging scroll and farthest from the entrance. Ignoring the lower-­ ranked seat, which Taeko had momentarily vacated, Tsuruko states the obvious, asking, “Is this my seat?” as she moves directly to the seat of honor. The bickering that soon ensues between Tsuruko and Sachiko clearly indicates that the authority associated with the main ­house is a source of contention for the ­sisters (see Plate 4 for the seating order).76 Kimonos can also emphasize f­ amily politics, as is made clear in the scene in Tsuruko’s home ­after the f­ amily returns from a memorial ser­vice for the deceased ­father and m ­ other. Both Tsuruko and Aunt Tominaga, described in the novel as the younger ­sister of the deceased Makioka patriarch (168), wear black mourning kimonos, noted in the script as made of “kuro habutae” (black habutae, a type of silk fabric); the other s­ isters wear kimonos made of dif­fer­ent shades of purple “hitokoshi chirimen” (type of silk crepe).77 Both of ­these types of kimonos are formal, high-­ranked, five-­crested garments, suitable for such an occasion (see Figure 3.6).78 ­These kimonos clearly indicate the dif­fer­ent positions of the characters with regard to age, relationship to the deceased ­family members, and importance. The clothes worn by the aunt and Tsuruko indicate their close connection to the dead and the main ­house, as well as their gravitas in terms of position and age. In contrast, the other s­ isters wear iromofuku (colored mourning kimono), suitable for a memorial ser­vice, but less official as mourning wear. We can attribute this difference in dress to the fact that unlike Tsuruko, Sachiko is not part of the main h ­ ouse, and Yukiko and Taeko have less impor­tant positions due to their youth and unmarried

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Figure 3.6. ­Women’s five-­crested kimono (front and back). The circles show the placement of the crests. A three-­crested kimono only has crests on the sleeves and back of the kimono (as in the image on the right), while the single-­crested kimono only has the one crest on the back. Drawing by Julie Ann Brown.

status. The r­ ose purple color is the darkest for Sachiko, and the lightest shade is worn by Taeko, the youn­gest, signifying their order in terms of age. The aunt, who demands rules be followed in terms of f­amily propriety, is guided to the highest-­ranked seat in the room, where she lectures the f­ amily about vari­ous issues. If we watch carefully, the characters sit according to rank: the aunt (as the guest and an elder), Tsuruko, Tatsuo, Sachiko, Teinosuke, Yukiko, and last, Taeko. In this case, the husbands, as adoptive sons-­in-­law, are seated lower than their wives. The demands the aunt makes are traditional and rigid even for 1938, much less 1983. She might be expected to defer to the pre­sent generation of the main ­house (Tsuruko and Tatsuo), but she seems committed to preserving the dignity and traditions of an ­earlier era when the Makioka ­family was much wealthier and more prominent. ­Earlier, she had complained by phone to Tsuruko about the planned memorial ser­v ice for the m ­ other and ­father, that it should not be combined into one event but conducted separately. Such a complaint is from another time; by 1938 combining the two rituals to save cost and time would have been understandable u ­ nder the National Spiritual Mobilization campaign, and certainly would also have been common in 1980s Buddhist ceremonial practices. Looking back at the memorial ser­v ice, the aunt also finds fault with the order in which mourners w ­ ere allowed to pay re­spects to the dead with incense. She is

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against Tatsuo’s potential move to Tokyo; she also insists that Yukiko and Taeko return to live in the main ­house as they are not actually members of Sachiko’s ­house­hold. The way in which all aspects of rank and order are emphasized by this ­family elder annoys the other characters, as clearly shown by the expressions on their ­faces. Furious, Taeko jumps up from her seat and announces she would rather die than return to the main ­house. Her rebellion is threatened by the aunt with the “severing of familial ties” (zetsuen), which essentially means she ­will be cut off financially and socially from the Makiokas. We see Taeko accepting this possibility and ­running off, to be an individual and “do what I like” rather than remaining the lowest-­ranked member of the ­family, prohibited from marrying before Yukiko, having her trousseau money withheld, and prevented from pursuing a career. While this aunt’s concept of normal ­family practices is outmoded, even in 1983 many viewers would have understood the ­trials of dealing with such an older female authority figure. W ­ hether a ­mother, mother-­in-­law, ­sister, or sister-­in-­law, such a f­ amily member could hold sway over other w ­ omen by invoking traditional concepts of familial roles, hierarchy, and the authority of elders. Similar strict rules oppressing unmarried w ­ omen, to say nothing of the practice of zetsuen, ­were no longer part of mainstream Japa­nese society by the 1980s. But many traditional demands and responsibilities required by the f­ amily institution—­the duties of the adoptive son-­in-­law, the concept of head of ­house­hold, the position of ­family elders, and the role of unmarried w ­ omen in their natal home—­were still part of everyday experiences. Kimonos, with their extensive rules of protocol and rank to determine when, what, and how certain garments should be worn by a par­tic­u­lar individual, highlight the pre­sen­ta­tion of f­ amily traditions in this context. Moreover, b ­ ecause kimonos are often considered more physically constricting than Western clothes, they can be associated with restrained bodies; in the context of strict seating protocols and ceremonial practices, such clothing meta­phor­ically and metonymically reflects restrictive domestic politics. Especially in the case of Taeko, the least power­ful member of the Makioka clan and the only ­sister seen wearing Western clothing, the kimono might be considered a signifier of stifling traditions. As was the case in the 1950 film, however, such a characterization is only one aspect of the kimono; even as it signifies tradition, it also showcases ele­ments of Taeko’s own personality. For example, Taeko’s outfit in the opening sequence, the yellow yūzen visiting kimono with bold butterfly pictorial designs, conveys her youth, class status, and out­going, colorful personality; worn with ribbon bows pinned high on her head, it also suggests her innocence. And like a butterfly, Taeko does in the end manage to fly away from the f­amily and its demands. Unlike in the novel, Taeko’s motivations for rebelling against

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the f­ amily are explained in the film—­she says she became involved with Kei-­bon and Itakura to seek attention ­because every­one was preoccupied with finding a husband for Yukiko. As Geist observes, Ichikawa’s Taeko is essentially a “rebellious teenager,” and her transgressions are minimal in comparison to Tanizaki’s version of her character. Ultimately, she is able to achieve her heart’s desire by choosing Miyoshi of her own accord, and unlike in the novel or the 1950 film, the scandalous pregnancy and its tragic outcomes never occur. From this perspective, the butterfly designs on the kimono she is wearing when we first meet her can be read as a sign of her ­free spirit and ability to escape from Makioka rules. The last time we see Taeko, she is hosting Sachiko in her small apartment ­after embarking on her new life with Miyoshi. Geist comments that Taeko’s portrayal in the end is as a ­woman who has “ ‘settled down’ ­after a rebellious youth,” “a proper Japa­nese wife” wearing a kimono and making tea for her ­sister.79 ­Here Taeko is wearing a casual kimono outfit, in contrast to other scenes in the film in which she wears fash­ion­able Western dress or a formal kimono while out, and skirts and dresses at home. This is the only time we see her in Japa­nese wear in a domestic setting, other than in a flashback scene when she wears a red kimono as a young girl. The outfit Taeko wears in her apartment is not simply a “kimono,” but a garment that notably signifies domesticity in addition to being coded as traditional and Japa­nese. This is a very specific kind of kimono wear, a short ­house­coat called hippari, worn closed over a kimono and tied on one side.80 A hippari, worn when conducting domestic work, functions like a smock to keep the kimono from getting dirty. The type of hippari that Taeko wears is very practical: it has shorter, rounded sleeves that taper at the wrists, protecting the kimono sleeves inside. The clothing clearly indicates that Taeko is no longer a carefree youth with servants, but a ­woman who remains at home with serious domestic duties (see Plate 5). The adoption of this outfit signals Taeko’s transformation and maturation into a “house­w ife.” Strictly speaking, it is unlikely that she is legally married to Miyoshi at this point, but the discussions by the ­sisters and Teinosuke suggest that this ­w ill eventually occur. A ­ fter rebelling against the Makioka f­amily and its rules, Taeko is settling down into a dif­f er­ent situation—as a ­woman of her own ­house­hold. But the outfit also reveals a change in her class and financial standing: Taeko now has to do her own ­house­work, and in the scene, she and her ­sister huddle over a brazier, the room appearing cold and dingy. Taeko is bundled up and moves very slowly; she also looks rather dowdy, her hair tied in a s­ imple braid, her outfit lumpy and lacking definition.

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The film highlights the formal, so-­called dyed kimonos made of later-­dyed fabric, but also features many everyday or casual kimonos usually considered of lesser rank, generally known as ori no kimono (woven kimonos), that is, kimonos that are made with fabric that has been dyed first as thread, then woven (sakizome, prior-­dyed [fabric]).81 ­These everyday kimonos are also presented as desirable works of art—­t he s­ isters often wearing them at home with eye-­catching obi and haoris.82 Certainly, by the 1980s, many such kimonos would have been just as expensive as formal kimonos, and the audience would have appreciated the subtle beauty of ­these casual kimonos. The hippari, however, was a less familiar garment, and many viewers in 1983 may not have been able to identify it by name. Yet the idea that Taeko is wearing an in-­house garment to protect the kimono while ­doing domestic work would have been instantly recognized. In an e­ arlier scene, Tsuruko wears a striking “tōzan fū” (tōzan cotton-­style) hippari with bold stripes when organ­izing items in the store­house, and hippari in general are similar in function to the more familiar kappōgi smock.83 That is to say, even though Taeko’s hippari is a traditional garment that had largely dis­appeared in 1980s everyday life (as h ­ ouse­work was generally no longer conducted in kimonos), it would have been read as a sign of Taeko’s changed circumstances. She is not simply “a proper Japa­nese wife,” as Geist notes, but one who, as she tells her s­ ister, “can at least serve tea.” The run-­down apartment is her own space, but ­t here are no servants, and ­t here is not much to offer a visitor other than tea. The shift from her prior identity is enhanced, not only by the fact that she is wearing a kimono, but ­because she dons a hippari for domestic work and presumably to keep warm. At the end of the sequence, Sachiko looks at her s­ ister with concern, while Taeko f­ aces away from her, hunched over in her bulky garments, preparing tea. Despite Taeko’s entry into a lower-­class situation, however, her ­future with Miyoshi does not look too bleak; her intention is to become a dressmaker who works from home, and his goal is to open a bar. Although in a less glorious manner than Yukiko, Taeko has managed to gain happiness. Her desire to make her own choices in life has transformed her from an impetuous youn­gest girl of the Makiokas to a young “wife,” and solidified her position within her own h ­ ouse­hold. As traditional objects with rules, kimonos can emphasize aspects of the past and practices that no longer pertain t­ oday. However, they can also dramatize issues that still persist, including hierarchy and rules in the f­ amily and associations of w ­ omen with the domestic sphere. Taeko’s visiting kimono with butterflies, light colored mourning kimono, and practical hippari tell dif­fer­ent stories about her identity and relationships to the ­family and the home.

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Kimonos as Past and Pre­sent In comparison to the 1940s or 1950s, kimonos in the early 1980s had become somewhat exotic and at the same time more deeply associated with tradition and national identity. But in the 1983 Ichikawa film we cannot read them purely as traditional items of the past (accurate costumes) or accessories for the female body as perceived by the male gaze (Yukiko’s revealed leg). Rather, The Makioka ­Sisters actively uses ­t hese garments in a complex and nuanced way, drawing on a wide range of associations that also resonate in the pre­sent. Even as it carefully shows off kimono culture in homage to Tanizaki’s masterpiece, Ichikawa’s film also invites the audience to experience kimonos as a living aspect of the 1980s, highlighting their visual prominence through camera techniques, framing, and editing. To say that Ichikawa is literally “selling” kimonos in this film (in ways similar to ­women’s magazines) is an exaggeration, but he is certainly aware of creating fantasy and desire for the targeted female audience. Although famous for many critically acclaimed films, including Tokyo Orinpikku (Tokyo Olympiad, 1965), Ichikawa also worked on TV commercials from the 1960s to 2000.84 He even packaged “Japan” for sale, editing commercials for the famous 1971 “Discover Japan” campaign launched by Japan National Railways, which ­later developed into the “Exotic Japan” campaign of the 1980s.85 The idea of an au­t hen­tic, traditional, and exotic Japan waiting to be rediscovered and appreciated through travel and consumption was certainly a significant part of the 1980s cultural imaginary. The 160 kimonos and related items in this film dramatize the Makioka s­ isters as ­women from times past. But just as ­t hese ­women are portrayed as grappling with relatable modern concerns (sibling rivalry, f­amily conflicts, romance, and marriage), kimonos also convey present-­day associations. Th ­ ese costumes insist on being seen in their own right. Celebrated as luxury items and as part of the national economic vitality, they speak to gendered aspirations about economic status, marriage, and power. They also remind viewers of concerns connecting the past to the pre­sent, such as views of the f­ amily and the gendered domestic sphere. *

*

*

Both the Abe Yutaka and the Ichikawa Kon films created unique visual afterlives for The Makioka S­ isters through effective uses of clothing. In the 1950 film, the kimonos worn (or not worn) by the ­sisters evoke ideas about war­time loss as well as changes in national and gendered identities ­under the Allied Occupation. The kimonos in the 1983 film dramatize the theme of nostalgia and tradition, but also

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develop dif­fer­ent messages against the thriving economic background of the 1980s. By considering kimonos as multivalent objects with their own history and meaning, we see that they play a critical role in expanding the original Tanizaki text. They are not simply aesthetic objects or historically accurate costumes; rather, they make ­these adaptations fully resonant—­and differently meaningful—­ for the times in which they w ­ ere produced.

C HA P T E R F OU R

Voices of Re­sis­tance Kimonos in Tsuboi Sakae’s 1940s–1950s Works

The works of Tsuboi Sakae have been described as “lit­er­a­ture of the p ­ eople.”1 Yet unlike Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, a male canonical writer, Tsuboi’s biography is not well known, and her diverse corpus, produced during the prewar, war­time, and postwar periods, has not received the in-­depth exploration it deserves. In this chapter, I examine Tsuboi’s stories from the 1940s and 1950s, specifically, “Kasuri no kimono” (The kasuri kimono, 1944), “Ichijiku” (Figs, 1940), and Uchikake (The wedding kimono, 1955). Th ­ ese works treat kimonos as part of everyday life and historical real­ity, and also as impor­tant instruments of expression. In ­t hese war­ time short stories and postwar novel, kimonos speak about the war, the ­family system, gendered and national identities, and generational changes within modernity. By closely investigating what t­ hese kimonos say, I highlight the artistry of Tsuboi’s narratives. Tsuboi has generally been overlooked in academic studies, in part ­because of her gender, but also b ­ ecause she is considered an author who appeals to all readers, not just the literati. Her successes in the genre of c­ hildren’s lit­er­a­ture validated the idea of her writing as being uncomplicated, and she is still viewed as a down-­ to-­earth, straightforward storyteller who pre­sents stories of ­children and rural folk with a humanistic perspective. Her best-­known work, Nijyūshi no hitomi (TwentyFour Eyes, 1952), an anti-war novel about a teacher and her twelve students, especially contributed to her image as an accessible popu­lar writer. And she became even more famous with the hugely successful 1954 film adaptation of this work directed by Kinoshita Keisuke (1912–1998) and starring Takamine Hideko, which was filmed in Tsuboi’s native Shōdoshima, an island in the Inland Sea of Japan. Tsuboi’s works are strongly inspired by her life in Shōdoshima and stories about her f­ amily and relatives, w ­ hether on the island or in Tokyo. The d ­ aughter of a cooper, she experienced poverty and hardship in her youth; although she managed to gradu­ate from higher elementary school, she worked from a young age to ease the burden on her f­ amily. In 1925 she moved to Tokyo and married proletarian poet Tsuboi Shigeji (1897–1975) and also became the adoptive ­mother of an infant (her dead s­ ister’s ­daughter); in her late forties in 1945, she a­ dopted another 100

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orphaned baby (her nephew’s son). Tsuboi did not start writing u ­ ntil 1934 at age thirty-­five, encouraged by her close female friends, writers Miyamoto Yuriko and Sata Ineko. With their support and advice she published “Daikon no ha” (Leaves of daikon, 1938), considered her debut work. Featuring characters modeled on her youn­gest ­sister and her ­sister’s ­children, including one who suffered from severe visual impairment, the story was nominated for the Akutagawa Prize (Akutagawa shō) and launched Tsuboi’s writing ­career.2 By the 1950s, with the success of Twenty-­Four Eyes and works such as Haha no nai ko to ko no nai haha to (A motherless child and a ­mother without a child, 1951), which was also adapted into a film, Tsuboi had become a ­house­hold name. According to Sagi Tadao, the editor of Tsuboi Sakae zenshū (Collected works of Tsuboi Sakae), one reason Tsuboi has largely been ignored by scholars is the way her image was created at the time of her debut, as “a good, kind-­hearted auntie [obasan], who emerges smiling from the kitchen, while wiping her hands on her apron.”3 This patronizing view of Tsuboi persisted throughout her c­ areer, and associations with domesticity (kitchen, apron, wiping hands) and maternal cheerfulness (kind-­hearted, smiling, auntie) are consistently evoked by critics. Sagi suggests that this image went hand in hand with the notion that such a w ­ oman has “limitations” as a serious writer, and anything that did not fit the image has been ignored.4 In 1955 literary critic Togaeri Hajime explained that this characterization of Tsuboi suggests that, in contrast to most w ­ omen writers, Tsuboi appears “down-­to-­earth” (shominteki), “warm,” and “easy to feel close to”; at the same time, however, it reflects a sense that she “appears amateurish for a real author [honkakuteki na sakka].”5 In general, Tsuboi’s straightforward style, connections with the countryside, focus on f­amily m ­ atters and everyday life, combined with her commercial success, likely led scholars to overlook her writing. Togaeri even says that critics are not interested in Tsuboi b ­ ecause “her works are straightforward and can be clearly and immediately understood by every­one” and do not require interpretation by “specialists.” 6 Tsuboi herself seems to have been well aware of such attitudes; looking back at her nearly thirty-­year writing ­career in 1961, she suggests that p ­ eople see her as a writer who produces works “with ­little effort,” a person who “writes easily like she is taking a shit [unko].”7 By viewing Tsuboi’s writing as self-­evident and uncomplicated, we do a disser­ vice to this author who wrote in a range of literary genres. Even when writing about her f­ amily in I-­novels, she is not presenting an artless transcription of the truth; we should not assume that her focus on everyday t­ hings (local practices, food, clothing, furniture, plants, a sewing box) means that she sees them as flat symbols or simply as a way to enhance verisimilitude. As I have suggested in

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previous chapters, depictions of material objects in modern Japa­nese lit­er­a­ture have been largely ignored, despite the fact that they can shape individual identities and frame relationships between characters. They also serve as an impor­tant means of communicating with readers, and a way to access shared understandings or emotions. In some cases, they encode re­sis­tance that cannot be overtly expressed; other times they function as self-­referential devices and produce a sense of metatexuality. In Tsuboi’s case, such everyday objects may appear to be clear-­cut at first glance, but their meanings can be quite complicated. In writing about poverty in her I-­novels, for example, clothing and related items are presented not only as basic necessities of life, but also as repositories of ­human memories and experiences. In “Tansu no rekishi” (The history of a chest of drawers, 1943) and “Hana” (Flowers, 1954), for example, childhood memories of having to move h ­ ouse are connected with a tansu; this chest of drawers is carried by hand in the m ­ iddle of the night, by the light of a lantern, presumably transported in secret so that creditors cannot repossess the item or the ­family’s kimonos stored in it.8 In both stories, the protagonist recalls the unnervingly loud rattling of the drawer ­handles. In “Flowers,” the contents are described as “kimonos for a f­ amily of six, put away in the four drawers of a small tansu” and “kimonos barely enough to manage both summer and winter seasons.”9 In “The History of a Chest of Drawers,” the protagonist, now of comfortable means, recalls her strug­gles even a­ fter marriage. Another tansu is featured in the story, one that she paid for in installments ­because her f­ amily could not afford to give her a trousseau; it has now become old, like “an aged ­mother.” This piece of furniture itself remembers ­family history, including the times when it “gave up the items inside its drawers” so that the f­ amily could eat, a reference to the common practice in which ­people in need of cash pawned their kimonos for necessities.10 Sagi notes that when Tsuboi started married life in 1925, she had to pawn her kimonos to buy items such as “a cooking pan, pot, rice, and miso” and obtain “a rental futon.”11 ­Because kimonos are essentially one-­size-­fits-­all garments, loaning and borrowing them ­were common practices; ­t hose who did not have requisite kimonos for a certain season or an event often relied on the wardrobes of ­others. In her early years of marriage, for example, Tsuboi lived near writers Hirabayashi Taiko (1905–1972) and Hayashi Fumiko. Th ­ ese two w ­ omen w ­ ere worse off financially than Tsuboi, and Hirabayashi recalls that they routinely borrowed her kimono to go out, so much so that it became awkward for Tsuboi herself to wear it.12 Like many of her contemporaries, Tsuboi wore kimonos throughout her life. While many p ­ eople a­ dopted Western clothing a­ fter the war, in photo­graphs she

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is mostly seen wearing a kimono, usually what appears to be a so-­called prior-­ dyed, “woven kimono.”13 In a 1959 essay Tsuboi mentions vari­ous types of woven kimonos as her favorites, and explains that she has purchased them for over twenty years from the same sellers.14 ­W hether she herself was aware of this or not, such kimonos matched her identity as “down-­to-­earth,” even ­after she had become a successful, bestselling author.15 In 1952, a commentator praised her for her “unaffected [soboku] . . . ​personality and work,” likened to “rough, handwoven cotton [cloth].”16 Using fabric meta­phors to assess vari­ous female authors, this writer links Tsuboi with the cheapest and most unsophisticated fabric, one that proj­ects a sense of approachability, practicality, and simplicity. Tsuboi is dif­fer­ent from the other writers I discuss in this book b ­ ecause she was not a kimono connoisseur or collector, and she is not particularly known for her writing about kimonos. However, her works eloquently depict how t­ hese garments function in common ­people’s lives as clothing and financial assets, how they shape individual identities and establish links between p ­ eople. They also articulate meanings within the specific context of their pre­sen­ta­tion. An example is the short story “Hitotsumi no kimono” (Baby kimonos, 1945), based on Tsuboi’s experience of adopting an orphaned one-­year-­old boy (her nephew’s son) a month or so ­after the war’s end. As the newspapers report that one out of eight Japa­nese ­w ill likely starve due to the lack of resources, the narrator brings a sickly infant into her home and tells Masako, her ­adopted d ­ aughter, now twenty-­t hree years old, that they need to make kimonos for the baby. She recalls, with tears in her eyes, that it had also been through the act of sewing kimonos that “feelings of love began to wind around her bit by bit” when she ­adopted Masako twenty years ­earlier. The story suggests that although the narrator’s experience of adopting a niece and a grandnephew might be unique, the hope and plea­sure involved in making such tiny kimonos is a feeling many ­women shared and understood in the immediate postwar context, ­whether recalled with joy or sadness.17 Tsuboi’s work during the 1940s and 1950s shows close engagement with historical changes, including shifts in sartorial practices. Her texts also provide a productive comparison to t­hose of the other writers I discuss b ­ ecause they showcase kimonos in dif­fer­ent settings, including rural and lower-­class contexts. Through such signification, kimonos communicate par­t ic­u ­lar messages for the times not immediately evident to present-­day readers, such as anti-war re­sis­tance, critiques of the f­ amily system, and questions about social change. By closely examining t­ hese objects, we discover the complexity of the stories they tell, and how they serve purposes beyond s­ imple symbolism or the production of realism.

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“The Kasuri Kimono” (1944) “The Kasuri Kimono” was published in the magazine Bungei yomimono (Literary stories) in April 1944.18 This short story is about a m ­ other named Fuyuko and a men’s kasuri (ikat) kimono, made of kongasuri, dark blue cotton fabric with white kasuri patterns (see Figure 4.1).19 The tale begins with the explanation that although finances w ­ ere tight, Fuyuko had managed to purchase this high-­quality indigo-­dyed cotton at a sale when her only child, Tarō, was still in high school. She sews a kimono with a matching haori for him as an outfit for special occasions, and as he grows taller over the years, she lets down the hem. Tarō’s kimono is an item of g­ reat pride for the f­ amily, especially as it becomes harder to obtain cloth: “­every year, changes regarding the clothing issue became more and more pronounced. Even kongasuri made with a [lower-­quality] staple fiber blend was

Figure 4.1. Men’s kasuri kimono and haori ensemble from the early twentieth ­century. Detail from an illustration by Noda Kyūho. In Nemoto Tohō, “Kuro kochō (26),” Osaka Asahi shinbun, September 9, 1908. Reproduced by permission.

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no longer available.”20 Tragically, Tarō dies suddenly of pneumonia, three months before he is scheduled to serve in the war as a university student-­soldier. Fuyuko experiences an emotional breakdown and periodically takes out the kimono to lament over it. She begins, however, to see it from a new perspective when her nephew Shin’ichi comes to stay one night and wears it a­ fter a bath. The kimono fits him perfectly, and Shin’ichi, who has been serving on a naval battleship, appreciates this garment as much as his cousin did, even borrowing it for several weeks while on shore leave. A few months l­ater, however, Fuyuko experiences another loss, as the ­family is notified of Shin’ichi’s death in ­battle. The story ends with Fuyuko weeping, but deciding to give the kimono to her niece, Kazue, who needs a sturdy, suitable fabric to make a monpe—­which she ­will wear to serve in the ­women’s volunteer corps (teishintai) ­after graduation from higher girls’ school. The kasuri kimono illustrates Fuyuko’s identity through her connections with ­others. At the beginning of the story, she is shown as a conscientious wife and ­mother who worries about making this expensive purchase, and she is relieved when her husband approves. He explains that he himself never owned such a kimono b ­ ecause his ­mother had told him “kongasuri was something worn by rich ­people” and made him wear kimonos made of “rough” fabric that she wove by hand herself. It seems that his youthful “longing” for kasuri kimonos is fulfilled through his son, and he praises Fuyuko for the good purchase (474). Fuyuko takes ­great care in buying and making this kimono, the first adult kimono outfit she sews for Tarō. When it is completed, her son is still a teenager embarrassed about his entry into adulthood, and cannot express his thanks directly. But l­ater on, he asks to wear the kimono whenever pos­si­ble—­a sign she interprets as gratitude and appreciation. The kimono is an object that links f­ amily members, shows Tarō’s growth, and mirrors Fuyuko’s happiness and contentment with her son. With Tarō’s death the kimono becomes a sign of loss; this is underscored again with the death of Shin’ichi, who has a build similar to Tarō and looks like him from b ­ ehind. Fuyuko, a grieving m ­ other, no longer has any hope of nurturing her “sons.” From the late 1930s, images of motherhood and maternal love occupied a central place within Japa­nese lit­er­a­ture and culture. Especially with the beginning of the Second Sino-­Japanese War and the National Spiritual Mobilization campaign in 1937, vari­ous w ­ omen’s groups became a part of the war effort, and the 1937 Mother-­Child Protection Act (Boshi hogo hō) gave assistance to financially insecure m ­ others and caregivers of young ­children, reflecting the government’s emphasis on the importance of motherhood and its role on the home front. The view that a w ­ oman must “give birth and increase the population” (umeyo fuyase­ yo) and commit to producing and supporting soldiers of the nation became part

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of the dominant ideology of the times. In fiction and images, this concept of the loving ­mother was also tied to a belief in the purity of the homeland, and highlighted the sacrifice and devotion required of all subjects for imperial Japan.21 According to literary scholar Kobayashi Hiroko, Tsuboi is known for writing about the bond between ­mother and child, as well as expressions of maternal love, but she never published fiction about the “­mothers of the war­time nation” (gunkoku no haha), who express pride in giving up their sons for the war effort.22 Fuyuko loses her son to disease and expresses sadness over her nephew’s death in action; as a protagonist seen crying through the end of the story, she is certainly not a model m ­ other who stoically supports the war. Sagi Tadao implies that Fuyuko’s maternal love is separate from nationalistic sentiments, arguing that “The Kasuri Kimono” expresses “the love between ­mother and child” (boshi jōai) and is not “lit­er­a­ture following the national policy [kokusaku shōsetsu], complicit with war efforts and praising the war.”23 Sagi organizes Tsuboi’s war­time (1938–1945) fiction for adults ­under four categories: “complicit with the war effort,” “[exploration of] where to find happiness and live positively ­under war­time realities,” “depiction of the pain and sadness during war­time, including anti-­war fiction,” and “unrelated to war, often focused on the past or memories.” He classifies “The Kasuri Kimono” ­under the third category, as a tale that focuses on war­time suffering. Following Sagi’s schema, the majority of Tsuboi’s fiction during this period is in the fourth category (“unrelated to war”), but several “complicit” fictional stories w ­ ere also published during 1942–1944.24 Such categories are useful, but they are schematic and only serve as a starting point to think about each story. This tale is undeniably about a m ­ other’s suffering and loss, but we should delve further into “Fuyuko’s sadness,” described as “complex” (fukuzatsu, 477). We must consider how the text works to layer meanings in a way that enabled publication during war­time censorship while allowing for alternative voices or ideas to emerge. Indeed, the story actually has all the ele­ments from Sagi’s first three categories: support for the war effort, depictions of characters trying “to find happiness,” and experiences of “pain and sadness,” as well as anti-­war sentiments that challenge the status quo. With this complexity in mind, it is vital to examine the role of the kongasuri kimono itself, especially how the titular object communicates resistant notions that could not be easily articulated ­under Japan’s war­time regime. Although not a typical “­mother of the war­time nation,” Fuyuko is depicted in ways that conform to conventional expectations—as a w ­ oman who worries about her husband’s approval and even feels “guilty” about Tarō’s death from illness. As parents, Fuyuko and her husband w ­ ere not able to “send their son to the battle-

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field,” a situation that they consider a “kind of tragedy” (476). Even Tarō apologizes for his unexpected death just before passing (“I’m sorry. I’m sorry”), “the short words overflowing with a young man’s complex [fukuzatsu] feelings” (477). Fuyuko’s view seems to be that Tarō is apologizing not only for the pain that he has caused them but also for d ­ ying before starting his military ser­v ice. A ­ fter his death, Fuyuko tries to recover herself, and accepts a position of responsibility as the head of tonarigumi (neighborhood association), working with “fervor and sincerity” (481). She sees her nephew in naval uniform as full of “dignity” (478), and at the end of the story, she prepares to help her niece, who w ­ ill serve in the volunteer corps, presumably to perform factory-­t ype ­labor. With all this in mind, we can see how the story was deemed suitable for war­ time publication and might even be labeled as supporting the war effort. The “complexity” of Fuyuko’s sadness is, as the text suggests, based in part on her son’s lack of ser­v ice to the nation and compounded by her “guilt.” Yet this can also be read in other ways. Fuyuko explains to her nephew Shin’ichi that if Tarō had died in action, she “would not cry so openly,” suggesting that she is allowed to grieve in public precisely ­because she does not have to pretend to be proud of her son’s death (479). In this sense, the “complexity” of her feelings may be based on the fact that, unlike other m ­ others, she is able to openly lament and be offered words of condolence—­perhaps she feels “guilt” b ­ ecause she is able to express the sadness that other ­mothers around the country cannot. Fuyuko weeps throughout the story, holding onto Tarō’s kimono; even ­after Shin’ichi’s so-­called glorious death in b ­ attle as a naval lieutenant, she cries so much that her vision is blurred. And as she decides to give the kimono to Kazue at the end, the story concludes with further lamentation: “Tears ran down Fuyuko’s cheeks again” (482). The text focuses on loss, represented physically by the kasuri kimono, an object that continues to exist, although its owner has dis­appeared. The kimono becomes an extension of Tarō himself ­after his death; Fuyuko even hears it speaking words of encouragement: “­Mother, you must feel better / get a hold of yourself [genki o dashinasai]” (477). With news of Shin’ichi’s death, Fuyuko places the kimono on the tokonoma and pays her re­spects to the war dead, bowing down deeply. However, she is quickly overcome and hugs it to her breast, crying uncontrollably. This emotional scene underscores Shin’ichi’s death as a personal one, and not one in which the fallen soldier is solemnly worshipped as an eirei (spirit of a soldier who died in b ­ attle). The death of young men is a tragedy shared by many other Japa­nese ­mothers, but the story does not glorify the idea of national sacrifice. Simply put, the kimono is a symbol that represents the dead and expresses the connection between ­mother and child as well as other ­family members. But when we pay par­tic­u ­lar attention

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to details of the kasuri kimono, considering its own life and trajectory through time and space, we see the more nuanced function it serves to reflect and refract Fuyuko’s personal loss and innermost feelings. A valuable and rare kimono by the early 1940s, this kongasuri was carefully maintained during Tarō’s lifetime and resewn for adjustments. Kimonos are not laundered regularly but maintained through periodic airing and spot cleaning. The text explains that “since [Tarō] only wore it for formal occasions, its indigo color [ai no iro] matured [kareteitta] without ever having been washed” (476). The word “kareru” usually means “wither” and carries a negative connotation, but ­here the word is presented as positive, referring to the way age naturally enriches the indigo-­dyed, highly prized dark blue color.25 The kimono, like Tarō, is youthful, but in the pro­cess of maturing well. ­After Tarō’s death, Shin’ichi wears the kimono and gives it new meaning beyond “sad memories” (481). Fuyuko is able to discuss with her husband that they are not so unhappy b ­ ecause they w ­ ere at least able to have the experience of being parents; gradually her health and mindset improve. ­After borrowing the kimono during his shore leave, Shin’ichi returns the garment by post, and Fuyuko takes on the task of laundering it for the first time; she takes apart the individual panels, washes them in ­water, dries them, and resews them back to their kimono form. In the ­water, the kimono bleeds, “filling the basin with indigo color bluer than the sky,” and Fuyuko is surprised by the color, “so dark it was frightening.” ­After the fabric dries, however, she sees that it “had taken on an even brighter hue with an added sheen” (482). The kimono has gone through a pro­cess of rebirth: no longer is it just a remnant of Tarō’s life but a garment for the living that would be (so Fuyuko thinks) worn regularly by Shin’ichi. Despite the laundering, the color does not fade but shines brightly. The act of washing can be viewed negatively in terms of kimono valuation ­because the fabric is no longer in its “new” state; with this kongasuri, however, the fabric appears even better than before. Rowland Ricketts, textile scholar and artist with expertise in indigo production and use, explains that with indigo-­dyed fabric, ­t here is an understanding that the more one washes it, the brighter it w ­ ill become, due to the removal of impurities in the dye and/or “the whitening of the undyed portions of the kasuri designs.”26 Unlike other types of dyes, indigo does not easily fade, but takes on a rich tone with age and use. In the story, ­t here is very ­little detail about this textile; it is not specified, for example, if it was dyed with sukumo (dyestuff made from indigo plant leaves), synthetic indigo, or a mix of the two.27 ­W hether or not Tsuboi had such distinctions in mind, she is clearly relying on a general understanding about indigo-­dyed textiles to empha-

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size the image of the kimono’s rebirth and to remind readers that the garment has a full life of brightening and maturing ahead. Such understanding of indigo was likely common at the time, considering the widespread use of indigo-­dyed fabrics and the iconic status of the vari­ous shades of blues achieved by this dye. The notion that laundering would take off layers of accumulated dirt and transform the fabric would also have been recognized by readers, especially t­ hose who regularly performed such chores at home. In other words, the image of the renewed kimono is not just a randomly concocted symbol, but one that draws on traditional knowledge as well as firsthand experiences with textiles. The rebirth and continued life of this kimono would have resonated for t­hose with such understanding, including ­women who handled domestic work—­many of whom may have been m ­ others who had lost their sons. But even as Fuyuko, and presumably the reader along with her, celebrates the rebirth of the kimono, the beauty of the shining blue image is si­mul­ta­neously overlaid with an ominous foreshadowing created by the dark blue w ­ ater dripping off of it—­gesturing to Shin’ichi’s death at sea, as well as the fact that the bleeding/weeping ­w ill continue. Kazue, the niece, w ­ ill be the third person to wear this kimono; ­a fter Tarō’s death she had asked Fuyuko if she could have it to make a monpe to wear in the volunteer corps. Once Kazue hears that her cousin Shin’ichi had requested to wear it on shore leave, however, she rescinds the request, saying that “it is too wasteful [mottainai] to make it into a monpe just yet” (480). The story ends with Fuyuko walking to Kazue’s h ­ ouse to bring news of Shin’ichi’s death, deciding to give the kimono to her, and weeping. This mirrors the 1940s real­ity that ­women w ­ ere wearing monpe for practical and symbolic purposes in support of the war effort. ­There was a dearth of durable-­quality textiles; with the requirement for monpe to be sturdy and unadorned, men’s kimonos with their plain colors and s­ imple patterns such as kongasuri ­were ideal for making into monpe.28 Growing up, Tarō had worn the kimono for formal occasions, while Shin’ichi wore it as home wear in his lodgings while on shore leave. Such kimonos for male adults ­were often associated with the private sphere, and it was common practice to come home and change into kimonos a­ fter wearing suits or uniforms. In Shin’ichi’s case, it seems that he enjoyed the garment as a special treat b ­ ecause he had not worn a kimono in a long time, it represented a connection to his cousin, and it was associated with nonmilitary life and part of his “momentary rest” from ­battle (481). Given the lack of fabrics at this time, as well as the 1940 emergence of national subjects’ wear, the kasuri kimono would have been especially perceived as a luxury.

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Once the garment is given to Kazue, it ­w ill serve the nation. This also signals the end of its own life, as it ­w ill be cut up and made into monpe. This relatively unworn garment, which had only “entered ­water” once, ­w ill have its life cycle cut short, ­going from formal wear to home wear, and then irrevocably transformed into work wear. As a monpe for a young person, it is unlikely that the straight panels of the kimono fabric w ­ ill be retained; they w ­ ill prob­ably be cut in ways that would make it impossible to resew them into their original form. The garment is impor­tant as a symbol of h ­ uman relations and of connections with t­ hose who have passed. But when we consider the item itself and the details of its own “death,” we get an even stronger sense of the futility of loss; an object that was already rare in the early 1940s, and should have been worn and cherished over many generations, becomes valued only for its practical utility to the national proj­ect of war. Fuyuko is, of course, d ­ oing what society would find admirable, sacrificing her son’s keepsake to help her niece, but this is not a story that celebrates such sacrifices for the war effort. Kazue is presented as a rather self-­centered individual, asking for the kimono when she sees it during the ­family’s Hyakunichisai (Shinto religious observation held on the one hundredth day since the deceased’s passing), and does not seem to have fully given up on owning it even a­ fter she agrees to let Shin’ichi use it instead. She is not represented as a sympathetic character who would appreciate the many layers of meaning the kimono had for Fuyuko, Tarō, or Shin’ichi. The story, then, uses Fuyuko’s continued melancholy coupled with the wasteful fate of the kasuri kimono to question the broader situation in which young lives are lost and m ­ others continue to despair. It emphasizes Fuyuko’s resignation that she ­will never again have the maternal experience of watching her son(s) mature. And just as their lives w ­ ere cut short, the kimono’s maturity is also sacrificed to the rise of monpe, a war-­focused utilitarian garment. Along with Fuyuko’s personal loss, therefore, the kimono also embodies the wasteful deaths of young men; read in this way, the tale expands beyond the sadness of one par­tic­ u­lar individual into a statement against the war. The handing off of this “­dying” kimono to Kazue is also a foreboding ending; just as the garment itself has been sacrificed for the nation, one won­ders about the fate of this young w ­ oman—­and ­others like her—on the home front.29 Thus, while “The Kasuri Kimono” has enough ele­ments of complicity for it to be published in 1944, by reading closely with a focus on deaths, of both h ­ umans and kimono, we discover quiet re­sis­tance and anti-war sentiment. For this message to be fully understood, the author relies on readers’ knowledge or shared experience of indigo-­dyed fabrics, details of making and maintaining a kimono, and what it means to cut up a relatively new kimono so that it can be made into a

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monpe. In order to fully appreciate the nuances of this text, disarmingly told in a ­simple, straightforward manner, we have to pay attention to what Elaine Freedgood has called the object’s “own properties and history,”30 in this case, t­ hose of a men’s indigo-­dyed kasuri kimono, and what readers of the time recognized about them. Readers ­today without any familiarity with kimonos can still appreciate this story as an expression of maternal loss in war­time Japan. But to comprehend the dif­fer­ent registers of sadness, as well as the work’s message with regard to complicity and re­sis­tance, it is critical to understand this kimono in its a­ ctual historical context and its function beyond real­ity effect or flat symbol. As Sagi notes, Tsuboi wrote some works that ­were “complicit with war efforts” in fiction, essays, and ­children’s lit­er­a­ture, essentially during the latter part of the war (1942–1945).31 I am not suggesting that all such texts secretly question the status quo, or that they all convey hidden messages through everyday objects. Nevertheless, it is impor­ tant to listen to what t­ hings are saying in Tsuboi’s works, b ­ ecause they often communicate meanings that are not immediately evident, and can greatly alter the perception of a text. Rather than accepting her down-­to-­earth qualities as a sign of an easy-­to-­u nderstand writer, we should consider how she employs easy-­to-­ understand everyday items in complicated ways, to effectively communicate with the readership of her time. In “The Kasuri Kimono,” the object’s death underscores an anti-­war sentiment that could not be presented outright in 1940s war­ time lit­er­a­ture.

“Figs” (1940) The dif­fer­ent ways in which Tsuboi speaks to her audience through kimonos can also be observed in another war­time short story titled “Figs” (1940), published in Bungei shunjū (Literary years). Sagi categorizes this work set in a rural village, presumably in Shōdoshima, as “unrelated to war.”32 Unlike “The Kasuri Kimono,” the story does not reference the war and may be set in the recent past; the characters speak in local dialect and only the narration uses standard Japa­nese. The story follows the life of Hagino, who is a­ dopted at the age of ten by her widowed and childless aunt Sato, who lacks an heir and thus needs her niece to carry on her husband’s f­ amily line. Hagino is the biological ­daughter of Shika, the ­sister of Sato’s deceased husband. Shika, who has seven ­children, particularly pushed for this adoption ­because she wanted her natal f­ amily property to be inherited by someone of her own blood. This practice of adopting from within the extended ­family when ­t here was no offspring was a common one, but Hagino is unable to develop a deep relationship with Sato, a pathologically miserly ­woman. She also

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grows estranged from Shika as well as her siblings, due to lack of interaction ­after her adoption. At the end of the story, Hagino, now twenty-­two years old and working as a maid in Osaka, is called back home ­because of Sato’s death; the story closes with Hagino observing Shika cutting down the fig trees on the property that had been so impor­tant to Sato. The figs are central to this story, symbolizing abundance and wealth, and mirroring Sato’s life itself. Over the years, t­hese trees had produced so much fruit that normally they would have been eaten by the f­ amily and given to friends and neighbors. But Sato, who had planted t­ hese trees herself a­ fter her marriage, never enjoyed them in this way; she sold the harvested fruit ­every year, obsessively taking care that no one, including Hagino, would steal them from her. As the years pass, the trees become less productive, but Sato does not accept the fact that ­t here is a life span to all living ­t hings. In the end, just like her, they die withered and without leaves or fruit. Indeed, when Sato dies in her seventies, hardly anyone mourns her passing, and she is characterized by Hagino as a “lonely w ­ oman”33 who had somehow lost her way. Throughout, the story depicts Sato as a sad person determined to squeeze the full value out of her belongings—­t he fig trees as well as the a­ dopted Hagino, who is fed very l­ ittle while growing up, and who eventually works to bring extra income into the h ­ ouse­hold. In addition to imagery from the natu­ral world, kimonos also serve an impor­ tant role in developing Hagino and Sato’s stories. Hagino initially agrees to be ­adopted when she is manipulated by Shika’s words to believe that she w ­ ill be able to wear beautiful kimonos, “not hand-­me-­downs from your ­sisters, but all new,” and live in a much larger ­house with a garden that produces “persimmons, summer oranges, and t­ hose delicious figs” (340). To this l­ittle girl, figs and kimonos are shorthand for a rich, comfortable life, but they both fail to live up to expectations. At first, ­t hings seem to go well, ­because Sato, who takes in sewing as part of her livelihood, makes a fine kimono for Hagino to celebrate her first Girls’ Festival (hatsuzekku) as Sato’s d ­ aughter. Hagino is allowed to wear this kimono to visit her natal home, where it is admired by Shika, who examines the fabric and notes that it is made of real wool. Hagino is happy and content, realizing that she is the only one who owns such a kimono with proper sleeves like an adult (her older ­sisters only have kimonos with short, rounded sleeves). Hagino appears to have “made a good bargain” (tokushita, 341) by being ­adopted, just as Shika says. But this satisfaction does not last long; she soon becomes isolated from her siblings, given ­limited meals, and ­little access to the delicious figs. Even her clothes become a source of discontent and embarrassment. Sato continues to make new outfits for Hagino, but she does not allow her to wear them b ­ ecause she is afraid they w ­ ill be soiled. She loves good-­quality items

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and wants Hagino to appear superior to the other village ­children. But even for New Year’s holidays and summer festivals, when special kimonos are typically worn, Hagino is permitted only to drape them over her shoulders in front of the chest of drawers. She is never allowed to actually put them on, much less step outside wearing them. Sato buys new fabric for Hagino each season, and creates more kimonos, but Hagino becomes increasingly resentful, asking, “What is the use of making kimonos that c­ an’t be worn?” (346). Even when Hagino is allowed to wear a new item, such as a “hakama” (overskirt) needed for school, Sato forbids her to remove the “shitsuke ito,” the thread sewn around the hem to keep the pleats closed (345). This is a bizarre restriction, ­because this type of shitsuke ito is normally placed as part of the finishing touches to a newly made item and must be removed before the garment is worn. It signifies the newness of the clothing, but in practical terms it keeps the folds and layers neat ­until the item is worn for the first time.34 In the case of this hakama, an overskirt worn over the kimono, it is absurd to keep ­these temporary stitches, b ­ ecause they impede leg movement.35 Although the hakama in question is made of fine cashmere, Hagino feels ridicu­lous, “arriving at school looking quite awkward, as if she was stuffed into a tube” (345). Luckily, the teacher removes the stitches, laughing at the situation; the narrator suggests that if it was anyone other than the teacher who did this, Sato would have been extremely angry. Although readers t­ oday would certainly recognize the strangeness of such be­ hav­ior, the specific details about kimonos as a reflection of Sato’s miserliness would have resonated more fully with a 1940s readership. Not only would readers have been quite familiar with practices associated with Japa­nese wear, but the war­time lack of kimonos and quality fabrics in real life would have made t­ hese depictions even more poignant and power­f ul. Although it is not explic­itly explained in the narrative, Sato’s obsession with keeping kimonos “new” (not simply clean) appears to be rooted in a desire to make objects hold their value. Allowing Hagino to wear them is “a waste” (mottainai, 345) ­because the more clothes are worn, the less value they have in the marketplace. Sato’s desire to keep the shitsuke ito intact expresses an extreme desire to preserve the object’s value—­not removing this thread allows the garment to maintain the illusion of newness. Sato’s be­hav­ior of making and storing kimonos cannot simply be seen as that of a cost-­conscious m ­ other who wants to keep ­t hings intact for Hagino’s ­f uture. Allowing a child to only admire a kimono without wearing it and prohibiting the removal of shitsuke ito makes no sense. Moreover, the constant amassing of kimonos is antithetical to the concept of thrift in general, even if it is a legitimate way to save assets for a girl’s ­future. At the same time, however, Sato does not easily

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fit into the ste­reo­t ype of the cruel adoptive m ­ other, familiar from stories featuring nasanu naka (the relationship of a parent and child who are unrelated by blood), b ­ ecause she is similarly miserly with regard to her own wardrobe. As was common in some regions at the time, w ­ omen ­were expected to wear “shiromuku” (346), a white kimono outfit, for funerals. Sato is remembered by villa­gers for her bizarre way of wearing this—an occurrence that happened only once, but made her forever a laughingstock. She had to attend a funeral, but did not want the fabric to wrinkle or be dirtied, so she wore the kimono without an obi, tied only with a single cord. Rather than wearing the obi over the cords that hold the kimono in place as one normally does, she folded the obi and carried it draped over her arm, along with a new white silk undergarment. This look makes her appear “like a madwoman” (346) as she is essentially ­going out in public half dressed, holding her wrap-­around slip for all to see. Furthermore, in order to avoid getting the collar of the kimono soiled, she exposed a lot of skin below the neck, wearing her collar back in an exaggerated manner; with her ­free hand, she hoisted her kimono hems up high to avoid getting them dirty, thus revealing her legs. Although this is not directly stated, such exposure of flesh, as well as public appearance in a kimono only tied with a cord, is beyond the pale for a respectable w ­ oman. It seems that Sato does not want to be seen in an “inferior kimono” but is willing to be in a state of undress in order to save her good clothes from creases and wear. She carries the obi and new undergarment to show owner­ship, not using them as they ­were intended. Sato yells at Hagino for wasting anything at all, even for failing to use the last bit of starch to stiffen kimono fabric ­after it is washed. Both figs and kimonos in this story emphasize Sato’s belief that nothing should be wasted and all objects must be used in a way that maintains their full value. But as the story reveals, this approach to life is flawed and does not provide plea­sure or significant financial benefit. The figs Sato so carefully guards do not bring in a lot of money, and the kimonos only fill a chest of drawers without seeing the light of day. In a sense, neither the figs nor the kimonos are allowed to be used or enjoyed to their full potential. This way of treating objects instrumentally, but not truly appreciating their value, is mirrored in Sato’s treatment of Hagino, her greatest investment. She is overjoyed when Hagino goes to work in Osaka and sends home two-­t hirds of her earnings. However, as Hagino herself laments, by working away from home she is actually unable to fulfill a critical role as an ­adopted child, namely to care for Sato in her old age. In the end, Sato dies by herself, found collapsed in a storage closet a­ fter neighbors realize the h ­ ouse had been shuttered for several days. Despite Sato’s extreme thrift and abhorrence of waste, she has failed to actually use

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and appreciate her “possessions” correctly. It is no coincidence that she is found dead in a storage closet, where she is cut off from ­people, even Hagino, her closest kin, and surrounded only by objects.

The Komon Silk Crepe Kimono The full impact of Sato’s misguided use of assets is manifest in the “komon chirimen no kosode” (all-­over repeat-­patterned silk crepe kimono, 352) that Hagino discovers ­after Sato’s passing. Hagino had never seen Sato wear this kimono, but only remembers her injunction not to give it away a­ fter her death. Despite the lack of details, readers at the time would have recognized this kimono as a luxury in a ­woman’s wardrobe. Although ­there may have been variations based on region and class, many kinds of komon chirimen kimonos at that time would have been considered a type of semiformal wear.36 Such kimonos could only be purchased if one had the means to create a wardrobe with extras beyond everyday clothing and formal wear such as a crested kimono. The word kosode is most commonly understood ­today as an early modern kimono with sleeves with small openings, considered the precursor to the modern kimono. However, kosode also referred to lined silk kimonos with inserted padding; into the early twentieth c­ entury, such kimonos with floss silk padding w ­ ere 37 commonly worn in multiple layers (kasane) during the winter months. In addition, in some dialects kosode meant ­either “finest kimono” or “silk kimono,” usage that has been noted into the mid-­twentieth ­century.38 ­Because the practice of wearing kimonos in layers, as well as padded kimonos in general, began to decline from the 1910s–1920s, it could be that Sato’s kosode was an older type of kimono with padding.39 Or it could be that the word was employed to suggest a luxurious, expensive kimono, or simply used in lieu of “kimono.” 40 ­There is no additional description of this garment, but regardless of its patterns or color, it would have been seen by readers as a special garment, ­because komon silk crepe was a high-­quality fabric desired throughout the early twentieth ­century.41 In the context of a text published in 1940, komon chirimen no koso­ de would have conveyed a sense of abundance and personal comfort, somehow incongruous with Sato’s life. At the same time, the fact that such an expensive item had been carefully saved in her chest of drawers underscores Sato’s lifetime of preserving kimonos without wearing them. This discovery is made even more shocking by Hagino’s additional find. The collar of the kimono is unnaturally stiff, and Hagino realizes to her surprise that layers of ten-­yen bills have been carefully sewn inside. The kimono is a secret storage site for Sato’s precious savings (in addition to the money she has in the bank). This is another sign of Sato’s rather pathological be­hav­ior of thrift and

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saving—­something that might have been rooted in a sense of precariousness as an outsider lacking blood ties in this village. (Even Hagino, who she manages to adopt, is a relative by marriage, not a blood kin.) Furthermore, as a specifically gendered item, this kimono underscores Sato’s focus on owner­ship of ­t hings she might call her own, such as her wardrobe and the figs she planted, in a society that generally did not recognize female economic agency. The komon silk crepe kimono seems to express Sato’s life of scrimping and saving as pitiful—­t he money and kimonos constitute a substantial fortune, but it has done her l­ittle good. Also, unlike stories in which ­women sew such items as love letters or photo­graphs into their obi and undergarments and wear them close to their bodies but out of sight, Sato’s collection of money is a sad obsession, even if it benefits Hagino financially in the end.42 As if to turn away from this sign of her adoptive m ­ other’s tragic life, Hagino hurriedly puts the kimono back in the chest of drawers, and thinks to herself that she cannot tell her birth ­mother Shika about it. The reader actually does not find out how much money is in the kimono ­because Hagino puts the item away quickly without investigating further. Regardless of how we imagine the appearance and characteristics of this kimono, it clearly exemplifies Sato’s failure to fully enjoy objects, ­people, and life overall. Furthermore, the very lack of information about the garment mirrors Sato herself: her background is vague, and all Hagino knows is that she had come to the village pursuing Kihei (­later her husband) when he returned to his hometown having failed in business in Osaka. According to gossip, Sato may already have been a ­w idow or from the demimonde, although Hagino finds it impossible to imagine her as “a w ­ oman of the trade” (shōbai onna, 348). Carefully hidden away in a drawer (and not fully described), the kimono and its secrets encapsulate ­Sato’s miserly and mysterious character, unresolved even a­ fter death. Additionally, this kimono brings to the story relevant issues of inheritance and ­family. With her adoptive ­mother’s death, Hagino, as the heir to the estate, ­w ill inherit the land and property. She chooses (at least for now) not to tell her birth ­mother about the kimono; ­t here is a barrier between them, exacerbated by Hagino’s newly found financial power. We also get a sense that Hagino is committed to keeping Sato’s secret, instead of telling Shika, who had long looked down on her sister-­in-­law. Although Hagino is Shika’s d ­ aughter by blood, they belong to dif­fer­ent f­ amily lines; Shika is part of her husband’s f­ amily, while Hagino carries on the f­ amily line of Kihei, who is Sato’s deceased husband and Shika’s b ­ rother. As the narrator explains, when Sato was trying to find an heir, she considered adopting from her own side of the ­family, but Shika moved quickly to thwart having “a complete stranger stealing her natal home” (340), convincing her ­daughter

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Hagino to agree to the adoption ­because she was “a nine-­year-­old who was the most easily manipulated at the time” (340). ­Because Hagino is Sato’s heir, her rights to the property are indisputable. But when Shika comes to visit a­ fter Sato’s death, she—as Hagino’s birth m ­ other who grew up in this house—­happily reorganizes every­t hing in the storage areas, behaving as if “it is her right” (325) to come and go freely. Outside, she is already getting rid of the fig trees from the orchard in order to reinstate the vegetable garden that had been ­there originally. Shika also senses, however, that her relationship with Hagino has shifted; she looks back at her ­daughter “with a mixed expression, combining a sense of ease ­toward someone whom she felt close to, as well as some amount of ner­vous­ness” (352). Although she moves about her natal home freely, erasing the reminders of Sato, the land does not belong to her. For her part, Hagino feels quite sad, watching as Shika chops down the withered fig trees that had been connected to “Sato’s ­whole life, not thought about by anyone” (353). In the last lines of the story, Hagino scrutinizes the stumps, searching for new growth. ­These figs, representing Sato’s life, are central to the story, but it is the discovery of the komon silk crepe kimono at the end that highlights concern about Hagino’s ­f uture and most powerfully reminds readers about ­family lines, inheritance, and owner­ship. Through her obsession with preservation, Sato has amassed an extensive wardrobe/fortune for Hagino, and the text also refers to a bank account in another town, presumably with even more savings. Even though the existence of such wealth seems to indicate a secure f­ uture for Hagino, it also reflects her further alienation from her own flesh and blood: just as Sato never revealed to Ha­ gino exactly how much money she had, Hagino too keeps the kimono a secret from her own m ­ other. As a gendered object that points to tragic and hidden female stories and lives, the komon silk crepe kimono brings to the fore issues associated with the ­legal institution of the ­family system. As discussed ­earlier in Chapter 2, this patriarchal system included the practice of primogeniture, having a power­f ul ­family head, and a hierarchical network between the main ­house and branch ­houses. The importance of carry­ing on the ­family name and keeping property and land intact through the generations was a fundamental aspect of this social structure. Hagino’s adoption is a result of this system, following the common practice of selecting kin as heir when t­ here was no offspring.43 In this context, Hagino inherits wealth, but she is also burdened with the responsibility of carry­ing on this f­ amily line; in the f­ uture, she w ­ ill be required to marry an adoptive son-­in-­law so that the ­family name ­will continue and the property

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­ ill be handed down intact through her c­ hildren. The komon silk crepe kimono, w and the vari­ous references to clothing ­earlier in the story, emphasize Hagino’s connection to Sato, but also highlight the ­women’s roles within the ­family system, as custodians of property that carries on beyond individual lives. Even in death, Sato’s role as custodian is associated with objects being stored (her body is found in a storage closet, and she has stored money in a kimono). Kimonos are often part of a ­woman’s trousseau, but in Hagino’s case, she w ­ ill not marry into another f­ amily and bring her kimonos with her. Instead, as heir to the f­ amily line and property, she must remain with ­these objects (and the land) and marry a man who w ­ ill become an adoptive son-­in-­law. Ultimately, the komon silk crepe kimono with money sewn inside is a valuable but ambivalent object that raises more questions than it answers. ­Will Hagino become another Sato, who keeps such secret items for herself, is emotionally cut off from o ­ thers, and w ­ ill only be remembered for the t­hings she leaves b ­ ehind? With the owner­ship of this kimono and other properties, Hagino has already inherited Sato’s role as familial custodian, maintaining objects and land for safekeeping. Like Sato, Hagino ­w ill also be required to produce an heir—­whether it be through birth or adoption. The fact that Hagino continues to look for new shoots growing from the old fig stumps at the end of the story shows the potential for new beginnings and changes. Perhaps she w ­ ill be dif­fer­ent from her adoptive m ­ other who kept putting off finding a suitable husband for Hagino; implicit in her delay was Sato’s desire to keep the property and land for herself, without turning them over to the next generation. But at the same time, Hagino’s act of looking for life where ­t here is none is eerily reminiscent of Sato, who demanded that the aging trees bear fruit forever and ultimately became “used up” through her connection to this land. It could be that Sato learned her ways from her husband Kihei, and she may have become extremely thrifty in order to survive in a f­ amily with few assets. Certainly, with regard to the fig trees which she planted and harvested for money, her be­hav­ior is the same as her husband’s during his old age. Angry at the mysterious disappearance of the fruit ­every year, he had cut off the lower branches to prevent ­people from being able to reach the ripe figs. Kihei died ­after falling off the roof in the pro­cess of plucking the fruit from the upper branches; villa­gers caustically described his end as a “love suicide with figs” (340). Sato’s outlook and obsessions may be a result of her life with this man; she carried on his legacy, which, in turn, she has left for Hagino. The bush clover (hagi), a delicate flower from which Hagino takes her name, suggests that she ­w ill remain a demure, traditional w ­ oman, following in the footsteps of her elders and taking directions from her husband. Even if Hagino is able

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to find her own mate, as Sato did for herself, both husband and wife would be tied to this land, its obligations, and its rich yet unhappy legacy. A subtle metonymic symbol, the komon silk crepe kimono brings all of ­t hese points together. ­Because this object remains as Sato had left it, it particularly emphasizes the inheritance and ties that continue, in contrast to the figs that have come to the end of their life cycle. Ultimately, this is not just a story about one miserly, lonely w ­ oman; rather, it is about generations of ­women within the ­family system who are victimized by it, but also help maintain its function, replicating the very traditions and worldviews that oppress them. The expensive, out-­of-­place kimono with its hidden trea­sure is an inherited blessing and curse, highlighting the intricacies of the Sato–­Hagino relationship within the broader network of ­family lineages, female roles, and obligations. This gendered object associated with ­women’s assets and inheritance powerfully speaks to readers, connecting ideas and nuances not directly articulated in the text itself. Even as it pities ­women like Sato who have somehow “lost” their good qualities along the way, the story pre­sents a subtle criticism of the ­family system and of female complicity. The existence of the mysterious kimono, as well as the stumps of the fig trees, indicates that readers must consider Hagino’s ­future beyond the story’s end, as she “carefully looks” and “searches” for a new way to live as the caretaker of this property and f­ amily line (353). “Figs” makes no reference to the war; nor does it embed an anti-­war message like that of “The Kasuri Kimono.” If we pay attention to the plot through clothing in conjunction with the figs, however, we can see how the story articulates social commentary: between the lines we can read a critique of the f­amily system and the ways w ­ omen are formed through its multigenerational framework. U ­ nder war­ time censorship, it was likely difficult to directly question established social practices, such as adoption for the maintenance of ­family lines and ­women’s need to carry on f­amily traditions. But this story’s subtle message, told through the be­hav­ior of an eccentric old ­woman, would have escaped notice by the authorities. And b ­ ecause Sato’s actions are extreme, the story would not have been considered a satire about war­time values of thrift and avoidance of waste. One part of the text actually suggests that thrift itself is an impor­tant virtue.44 The story might even be perceived as a criticism of consumerism, as Sato makes and hoards numerous unworn kimonos. Regardless of w ­ hether or not the content is “unrelated to war,” 45 I would argue that the komon silk crepe kimono at the end alerts readers to the flaws and dangers of the ­family system for ­women—­and therefore expresses an impor­tant critique of the values of the time. According to lit­er­a­ture scholar Kobayashi Hiroko, a strong awareness of “gender in­equality” is found in Tsuboi’s postwar fiction;

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with the social and ­legal changes that took place ­a fter the war, Tsuboi “changed” and became sensitive to feminist issues.46 In Kobayashi’s view, Tsuboi expresses frustration with “gender in­equality” in her diaries during the war, but it is only ­later that she clearly develops this new theme in her fiction.47 However, by carefully reading works such as “Figs”—­and especially through attending to the voices of the objects within it—we can see that her war­time works are already manifesting feminist concerns, subtly questioning social practices that shape female identities and lives. It is a nuanced and complex critique: even as Tsuboi exposes the rigidity of social demands and practices of inheritance in which ­women act as custodians of property, she also acknowledges female complicity within this structure and the extraordinary tactics w ­ omen deployed to navigate the demands of the f­ amily system.

The Wedding Kimono (1955) While the komon silk crepe kimono emerges at the end of “Figs” as a subtle commentary on gender and the ­family system, Tsuboi chose a dif­fer­ent way to approach a similar topic in her novel The Wedding Kimono, first serialized in the magazine Gunzō (Group) in 1955.48 In this postwar work, Tsuboi weaves a tale around an uchikake. Uchikake, also known as kaidori, is a kimono worn without an obi, in this case as the final outer layer of a wedding ensemble. Its hem trails on the ground, creating a train-­like effect (see Figure 4.2). In the story, this wedding kimono is a f­amily heirloom handed down through four generations of w ­ omen living in Sakate village on Shōdoshima island from the 1850s to the 1950s. Narrated in the third person, the novel follows the lives of each of t­ hese ­women, beginning with the legendary matriarchal ancestor, Suzu, who married into the Fukumotoya, or “Kobanya,” ­family, a prominent village headman’s clan in 1855; the uchikake is made as part of her wedding wardrobe.49 The three successive female descendants of this f­amily line (Tatsu, Koume, Kotoji) also wear this kimono for their weddings, carry­ing on the f­amily name by marrying adoptive sons-­in-­law. The novel ends with the fifth-­generation descendant Sayaka, a young student attending a ­woman’s college in Tokyo, trying on the uchikake while at home during winter break. The lining of the kimono catches on her wristwatch, and the heirloom is torn; Sayaka is apol­o­getic, but proceeds to further rip the fabric to show her ­mother (Kotoji), grand­mother (Koume), and great-­grandmother (Tatsu) that the silk had “deteriorated” over time as a “natu­ral phenomenon” (280). In 1855 Suzu marries into the f­ amily wearing this uchikake, a part of her extensive wedding wardrobe and trousseau. The garment is made of “shuchin,” a type of satin, and embroidered with the auspicious trinity of “pine, bamboo, and plum”;

Figure 4.2. Uchikake worn as part of a wedding outfit in the early twentieth c­ entury. From Mitsukoshi 2, no. 3 (March 1912): 3. Image courtesy of Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu “Kindai Nihon no Shinsō Bunka” (created by MCD Purojekuto).

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it is fully lined with red “shioze habutae,” a superior, hefty silk, and its padded hem is “one-­sun” (approximately 3 cm) thick (181). Made by artisans in the Kyoto area, this kimono is of the highest quality and represents the epitome of luxury. The garment is trea­sured and handed down, coming to have dif­fer­ent meanings for each character who wears it; by the time the kimono’s sturdy silk lining has deteriorated into flimsy tatters (“soroberi,”50 280) it has become an object with multiple meanings, embodying the complexity of Kobanya f­amily history. In the end, Sayaka, a confident single w ­ oman, declares the kimono to be a “symbol of the ­family system [kazoku seido]” and an object that “tied down [shibaritsuketa] generations of Kobanya w ­ omen to the f­ amily [ie]” (279). ­Because of this interpretation by a character within the tale, a number of critics have read The Wedding Kimono as a feminist text celebrating Sayaka’s liberation from the feudal ­family.51 ­Others, however, have pointed out that the novel shows both positive and negative aspects of the traditional f­amily system for ­women.52 What­ever their position, most scholars have interpreted this story by viewing the uchikake as a rather flat symbol, without closely analyzing the object’s differing meanings for each character. Furthermore, they have neither considered the kimono within the historical context of the mid-1950s when the book was written, nor employed a broader perspective, investigating what kimonos meant in postwar Japan. Literary scholar Kanai Keiko sounds a warning against taking Sayaka’s words at face value, and although our approaches to the text are dif­fer­ent, I agree that Tsuboi wanted readers to think beyond this character’s ­simple view of the kimono.53 ­Here, I consider the layers of symbolic meaning associated with this garment as a part of postwar kimono culture. I also provide a close reading of the uchikake in light of ­actual ­family relations and characters’ individual lives, and examine it as a self-­reflexive, metatextual object. Through this analy­sis, I show how the text produces a feminist message, but one that pushes beyond an optimistic narrative of postwar liberation. Tsuboi engaged with kimonos and issues of clothing not only during the war but also during the immediate postwar years. As Japan began to rebuild, ­people experienced challenges of all sorts, including obtaining fabrics and clothing. The 1942 Clothing Ticket System (Iryō kippu seido) had already been in place to limit the consumption of fabric and clothing during the war, and restrictions continued ­under the Allied Occupation with a new ticket system from 1947 to 1951.54 As discussed in Chapter 1, vast numbers of wardrobes w ­ ere lost for vari­ous reasons during the war, and in the aftermath, even ­people who managed to retain their garments often resorted to selling them in order to survive. Tsuboi’s works reflect such experiences and memories of loss and dearth. “Tokushu iryō haikyū bi” (Distribution day for special clothing, 1945), published

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before the war’s end, depicts a day in the life of an old village shop­keeper, who sells items to t­ hose who have government tickets. “Kon no sebiro” (The navy blue suit, 1947), based on Tsuboi’s personal experience, features a husband’s best suit that is lent to a f­ amily friend to be worn on his wedding day; the item is burnt and lost forever in an air raid. Feeling happy that their friends survived, yet sad to have lost the cherished item (and in turn feeling guilty about this emotion), the wife in the story thinks “such feelings abound all over Japan.”55 ­These complex emotions about a lost object, the story implies, are not just about the object itself, but deeply tied to the broader experience of war and to the feelings of being a survivor. With regard to kimonos specifically, Tsuboi published stories in the late 1940s and early 1950s featuring w ­ omen, especially impoverished w ­ idows, who sell their kimonos and obi to survive. Some texts also show such ­women becoming used clothing brokers, even working as black marketers.56 In “Kantsubaki” (Winter camellia, 1951), a ­widow who deals in used clothes to feed herself and her ­children reflects that “­t here are as many dif­fer­ent ‘situations’ [jijō]” that ­people are in “as ­there are dif­fer­ent kinds of patterns on kimonos” being sold, and she views her l­abor as providing “solutions.”57 Used or old kimonos, during the immediate postwar years, must be understood in this light—as items that have stories to tell and are intimately linked in the cultural imaginary with loss, strug­gle, and memory. The Wedding Kimono resonates within this imaginary, building on ­these associations to examine a kimono that has survived for approximately a hundred years, managed to escape war­t ime fires, and remained within one f­ amily. Read within this critical historical context, the uchikake is an object that evokes resilience, reminding readers of the mutually shared experience of the war as well as postwar strug­gles. At the same time, it also embodies the irrevocable changes of postwar Japan, mirrored in the deterioration of the kimono. By the end of the story, the garment has no resale or use value; the old silk makes it worthless and no one would want to wear such a wedding kimono. Sayaka’s pronouncement at the end limits its meaning to a “symbol of the f­amily system.” This is without a doubt an impor­tant aspect of the uchikake, but through this statement Sayaka mutes the other stories that it tells and denies its metonymic power. As noted above, we should not accept Sayaka’s interpretation as the definitive way to read the entire story; we should, however, consider her opinion as a way to understand this young character herself. Sayaka’s viewpoint is provided with no nuance whatsoever, and this self-­assured interpretation is actually an invitation for readers to reconsider the overall text—to reexamine the concept of the f­ amily system and the century-­old kimono in 1955, just as the nation was beginning to enjoy rec­ord economic growth, now known as Jinmu keiki (Jinmu economic boom, December 1954–­June 1957).58

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We also need to examine the uchikake in light of each Kobanya ­woman’s story, as it resonates differently for ­every character and takes on additional nuances through the multigenerational stories as a ­whole. This seems like an obvious way to understand such an object, which can even be considered the protagonist of the novel. However, most critics simply focus on its “death” at the end of the story, accepting Sayaka’s view. Such easy endorsement of Sayaka’s interpretation is, I believe, a result of the biased view that Tsuboi’s works are inherently simplistic. Even though the featured object takes on dif­fer­ent meanings throughout the text, ­t hese critics turn to what they perceive as the correct interpretation generously provided by a straightforward writer. The titular object, therefore, is contained as a flat symbol, with only one meaning attached to it. In the pages that follow, I work against this reading to demonstrate the polyvocality of this kimono.

Suzu: Grande Dame and Progenitor The kimono was originally made for Suzu, a ­woman who married into the Kobanya ­family, and whose legend seems to be well remembered in the village even a hundred years l­ater. In Suzu’s tale, the uchikake underscores the wealth, good fortune, and happiness associated with her marriage, as well as her subsequent tragedy and resilience. Worn on her wedding day, the kimono signifies her triumph; tall, beautiful, and born into a rich ­family, Suzu successfully marries for love with the Kobanyas’ son and heir. The f­ amily had initially objected to the marriage b ­ ecause of her inauspicious birth year, but the son, unbeknownst to Suzu, lied and said he had gotten her pregnant, enabling the wedding to go through. The splendid uchikake, displayed to the public as was customary, amazes the poor villa­gers who could never imagine such luxury and good luck. The ­women in par­ tic­u­lar marvel that the kimono was fully lined with shioze habutae silk, an unbelievable extravagance. ­There is a sense of jealousy ­toward the bride, endowed with beauty, wealth, and the ability to pursue individual happiness. The Kobanya f­ amily comes to see Suzu as the perfect daughter-­in-­law, despite her inability to produce ­children a­ fter many years of marriage, and they allow the ­couple to adopt Rikimatsu, a son from Suzu’s side of the ­family (her ­brother’s child). During the festivities for the adoption, however, Suzu’s husband dis­appears into a room, and Suzu senses that he is not alone in the dark, but with her younger ­sister Miki. It is unclear w ­ hether this was a consensual relationship, but she becomes pregnant. According to lore, Suzu stays with her ­sister at her natal home throughout the birthing pro­cess, then takes the infant away as her own child, even as Miki lies d ­ ying due to the difficult birth. Despite rumors, the female baby, named Tatsu, is raised as Suzu’s own child, as a ­daughter she gave birth to in her

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thirties; in this way Suzu is able to produce a child with Kobanya blood, as well as blood from her own side of the ­family. Born in the first year of Meiji (1868), Tatsu grows up to be a lively, intelligent child who looks like Suzu and is adored by both her parents. For Suzu, however, the meaning of the uchikake changes, no longer simply signifying wedded bliss and wealth; it has also come to be a reminder of her husband’s betrayal and her ac­cep­tance of it. The night Suzu realized that her husband had been unfaithful, she had worn the uchikake afterwards in front of him and asked to be “his bride once more” (184). With this act, she implied that she knew of, but forgave, his infidelity, begging to be reinstated as his romantic and sexual partner.59 Although such secrets are a part of Suzu’s legend, within the f­ amily she is remembered not so much as a suffering wife but as a power­f ul figure, famous for her wise counsel and abilities as a village leader. She comes into her own especially ­after her husband dies of a stroke and she becomes a ­w idow at age thirty-­nine. Suzu carries out f­amily and community responsibilities with satisfaction, realizing that “­women can do anything if they put their minds to it” (192). In this sense, her marriage and ser­v ice to the Kobanya ­family enable her empowerment and self-­expression, albeit only as a w ­ idow who cuts off her hair, pledging lifetime fidelity to her dead husband. Tatsu, introduced in the first lines of the novel as now being eighty-­eight years old, repeatedly tells the story of Suzu as the prominent f­ amily ancestor and keeps her memory alive. Although Tatsu has known the truth about her birth for a long time, she still considers Suzu her real m ­ other and the original source of the bloodline of the Kobanya w ­ omen, who are all tall like Suzu. From the beginning, the uchikake reflects complicated truths of Suzu’s life, both glorious and devastating; it also establishes itself in the first generation as a multivalent object that can be interpreted in dif­fer­ent ways. Through this depiction of Suzu’s experience, the late nineteenth-­century ­family system is also shown to be both an oppressive institution as well as one that affords certain freedoms and means of self-­realization for ­women.

Tatsu: Establishing the Matrilineal Line Suzu does not allow Tatsu to have her own way with regard to marriage. In order to maintain the Kobanya ­family line, Tatsu is forced to wed her cousin and adoptive elder ­brother, Rikimatsu, when she is only seventeen. As a child, Tatsu had admired the uchikake and worn it e­ very time it was taken out of storage to be aired. Perhaps b ­ ecause of this, the villa­gers began to sing a song about her in the early Meiji period, emphasizing the wealth of the Kobanya f­amily with the following

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phrase: “the Kobanya of Sakate needs no brooms / Tatsu sweeps dust with her uchikake hem” (187).60 Again, the wedding kimono is associated with riches, but also viewed with resentment as part of unseemly excess. For Tatsu, like Suzu, the kimono comes to illustrate both the light and darkness associated with her marriage. As a strong-­w illed tomboy, she does not care for the weak Rikimatsu, and even ­after the wedding, she tries to resist his advances. However, ­after she learns of her true parentage, she begins to come to terms with her place in life—­until she falls in love with Tatsujirō, a younger son of a tenant farmer (kosaku) who works on Kobanya land. She has an affair with him once, before Tatsujirō is drafted as a soldier, and tries to divorce Rikimatsu. However, when Tatsu discovers that she has become pregnant with Tatsujirō’s child, she decides to remain in the marriage, her secret known only to Suzu. The female child, named Koume, is raised as the Kobanya heir.61 With her responsibilities to the ­family, Tatsu cannot hope to marry Tatsujirō, who is considered her inferior. Nor can she allow her own or Koume’s reputation to be tainted in any way. Tatsujirō also has his disappointments ­after he returns from military ser­v ice; although he was keen to marry a ­woman chosen for him by the Kobanya ­family, his elder ­brother’s suicide makes it necessary for him to marry his sister-­in-­law instead. With his new responsibilities as heir to his ­family, Tatsujirō must fulfill obligations to this w ­ oman who has been widowed. No one is allowed to have any agency in ­matters of marriage; as Suzu comments, “for every­one’s families, what is of the utmost importance is the ­family [oie daiji]” (219). When Rikimatsu dies of a sudden illness, Tatsu is left a w ­ idow at twenty-­five. Suzu does not allow her to cut her hair, and hopes to find her another husband even if this means Tatsu must leave her natal home. Tatsu, however, stays as a Kobanya w ­ oman, her only wish being to ensure the happiness and reputation of her d ­ aughter. Her passion for Tatsujirō had been extinguished long ago; at one point, rumors swirled about Koume’s parentage, but they dis­appear over time due to Tatsu’s upright be­hav­ior and Tatsujirō’s eventual death as a soldier in the First Sino-­Japanese War. To be sure, then, Tatsu’s story is about self-­sacrifice and inability to escape from duty. At the same time, she is also the person who changes the essence of Kobanya as an institution. ­Because she produces an heir through her affair with Tatsujirō, Tatsu establishes the dominance of matrilineality while also sustaining the f­ amily bloodline—as she herself has Kobanya blood. Bypassing Rikimatsu, the official heir a­ dopted to carry on the Kobanya line, Tatsu gives birth to Koume, whose true legitimacy as heir comes from her ­mother’s side. Although the traditional ­family system did not always prioritize blood ties or patrilineal descent (as can be seen in the practice of adoptive heirs), the way Kobanya is established as a matrilineal

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line, full of matriarchs and sustained by lone female heirs, is quite unusual. We see this matriarchy play out in the way Koume is brought up carefully by her ­mother and grand­mother, without any male intervention. Certainly, Sayaka’s interpretation is not incorrect—­the wedding kimono commits the Kobanya w ­ omen to the f­ amily, and represents the f­ amily system—­but as we can see ­here, when we focus on the ­women’s individual stories, the “­family system” means dif­fer­ent ­things for each character and does not produce a straightforward image of female oppression. For Suzu and Tatsu, the ­family is a source of both self-­realization as well as repression, of ­great happiness as well as tragedy; it is what made t­hese w ­ omen power­ful and resilient. And although they are not necessarily fulfilled as wives or lovers, they achieve authority as ­mothers and grand­mothers, identities that flourish within the matriarchal structure of the ­house­hold. Already at this point in the tale, from late Edo through Meiji, it is clear that Sayaka’s eventual pronouncement does not encompass the complexity of ­these ­women’s lives.

Koume: Romance and Passivity As a young girl, Koume is informed about her real f­ ather, but the secret does not affect her in any substantial way. Unlike her m ­ other and grand­mother, who faced numerous challenges, Koume, who grows up ­under the protection of ­these ­women, is portrayed as rather oblivious and not very resourceful. Although it was thought that Koume would marry a distant relative by arranged marriage, the potential groom dies in the Russo-­Japanese War, and a­ fter a romantic courtship, she marries an adoptive son-­in-­law who earns a good salary as a sailor. Her wedding, in which she also wears the hereditary uchikake, is a ­grand affair, and she gives birth to a d ­ aughter, Kotoji, in the first year of the Taishō period. As the Kobanya wealth grows, Kotoji becomes the first in the ­family to be educated in Tokyo, entering a ­women’s medical school. Living in her natal home and with a loving, successful husband, Koume experiences no major setbacks in life ­until Kotoji is arrested for being a “red” (252) and returns home in disgrace. Koume’s husband dies soon afterward from a heart attack.

Kotoji: Unwitting Rebel Returns Home Koume is depicted as a passive ­woman with a traditional outlook, satisfied in the domestic sphere. Kotoji, however, seems to take a­ fter Tatsu and Suzu, and is interested in broader society. Yet Kotoji is also portrayed as innocent, without a clear understanding of her identity and unable to successfully navigate the social turmoil of the 1920s and 1930s. She is jailed in Tokyo as a student activist and continues to be watched by the police back home even a­ fter her release; she is marked

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as a dangerous thought criminal and monitored for over ten years u ­ ntil the war’s end. Yet Kotoji is not a true rebel—­she had simply become attracted to a poor male student who was interested in leftist thought; she provided him with financial support, joined his study group, and read a few ideological works that she “did not understand at all.” She remembers criticizing the “feudalism of Kobanya, her natal f­ amily” in front of ­t hese friends, but other­w ise, her only crime had essentially been “a desire to learn something” (266). Sayaka’s interpretation of the uchikake is essentially based on a ­limited understanding of her m ­ other Kotoji’s experience. Despite being labeled a “red,” Kotoji is inundated with marriage proposals ­after returning home, due to the ­family’s wealth. Having failed in her wish to become a doctor, and unable to reconnect with her male friend, Kotoji cynically embraces her role in the f­ amily as the Kobanya heir; she chooses an unattractive, uneducated candidate for her husband, not caring about the consequences. For the wedding, Kotoji was supposed to wear a “crested kimono with a common, plain design along the hem” as “was suitable for the times,” rather than the elaborate uchikake, but she specifically asks to wear the latter, saying that “the uchikake has long functioned to tie [tsunagitometoku] the w ­ omen of Kobanya to the f­ amily” (262). The wedding kimono is already quite old, but shows off Kotoji’s appearance and makes the short, unimpressive husband look even more pathetic next to her. Kikujirō, an unsophisticated elementary school teacher and son of a farmer, seems inferior to Kotoji in e­ very way. Kotoji, however, comes to appreciate him; she learns that he has been harassed at work by the police due to her reputation, and decides to become a “good wife” (267). He quits his job and becomes a farmer to work on the f­ amily land with his wife, who embraces this lifestyle. Their d ­ aughter Sayaka is born in 1934. Kotoji wants to resist the “Kobanya blood” that only produces lone female heirs and tries to have more c­ hildren, but Kikujirō dies as a soldier abroad in the 1939 Nomonhan Incident (269). Like the other w ­ omen, Kotoji ends up confirming the rumor that the Kobanya is a “­family of ­w idows” (264), becoming one herself at age twenty-­eight. When Kotoji wore the uchikake to marry Kikujirō, she had given up on her dreams; the kimono represents her despair, even self-­critique, as a ­woman who attempted to question established social institutions but returned to them in the end. The kimono also signifies a safe haven, a place she can recuperate from being called a “traitor” by her friends for leaving jail ahead of ­others (258). By wearing the uchikake instead of a standard crested kimono, she is embracing Kobanya identity and its wealth—­t his is a conservative return to conventional class-­based values, but also a desire to be safe, away from ideological persecution. Her grand­

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mother Tatsu had noticed that Kotoji de­cided to wear the uchikake ­after repeated visits by a local detective who continued to question her. Her wearing of the traditional, elaborate kimono in this context can be read as a kind of per­for­mance intended to illustrate Kotoji’s ideological conversion (tenkō). At the same time, it is not simply a per­for­mance, as Kotoji has sincerely committed to continuing the Kobanya line. The ­women of Kobanya had supported Kotoji’s wish to be educated and serve the greater society; and when this fails, they protect her from harm. It is when she gives birth to Sayaka, however, that Kotoji most profoundly connects with the notion of “Kobanya” and appreciates its long history. But even as she celebrates her f­ amily, she is adamant that her d ­ aughter establish her own identity, naming her “Sayaka,” meaning “clarity” or “freshness,” without consulting anyone ­else (268). Rather than being an institution that oppresses w ­ omen, the Kobanya had supported and protected Koume and Kotoji in their marriage and childrearing. For Suzu and Tatsu too, the ­family was a source of “support” as well as a “weight” they had to bear.62 Compared to ­these ­women, the men in the story are noticeably weak or remain undeveloped as characters, and the four ­women all outlive their spouses.63 As Kobayashi Hiroko notes, ­because t­ hese ­women become ­widows, they have to “maintain the ­family system” in lieu of men; they are fundamentally depicted as “supporters” of their descendants and as ­women who help each other.64 ­These ­women are the ­family institution, with all its prob­lems and advantages; men help produce the next generation, but they are depicted as rather ancillary and even seem to become used up in the pro­cess. ­These w ­ omen as a ­whole embody the Kobanya, while each generation has its own unique story that takes place within the greater context of Japa­nese history.

Sayaka: Voice of the Postwar Generation From this perspective, Sayaka seems an immature reader of the uchikake; she claims that it was her ­mother who had said that the kimono was a “symbol of the ­family system,” but this is not actually in the text (279). Rather, the explanation Kotoji gives about her decision to wear the kimono for her wedding is that it served to “tie [tsunagitometoku] the w ­ omen . . . ​to the f­ amily” (262), suggesting a desire to remain connected, a nuance quite dif­fer­ent from being “tied down” (shibari­ tsuketa, 279) as described by Sayaka. Furthermore, critics only focus on Sayaka’s interpretation of the uchikake as “the ­family system,” but do not discuss her other claim that it represents her ­mother’s “spirit of rebellion.” Presumably, Sayaka sees Kotoji’s decision to wear it at her wedding as a kind of ironic stance ­toward the ­family institution. In the novel, the glibness with which Sayaka tries to sum up

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Kotoji’s experiences is presented in a negative manner—­Kotoji becomes very upset with her ­daughter and denounces such analy­sis as “lacking seriousness” and “a frivolous way of seeing my life” (279). Readers who have followed the course of events know that for Kotoji the uchikake symbolizes a number of t­ hings, and it is impossible to pin it down in such a superficial way. The kimono is also overlaid with meanings linked with other Kobanya ­women and significant social changes that have taken place over time. Such facile summaries, as Kotoji seems to sense, undermine her identity as well as the lives of t­ hose who wore it before her. Sayaka is a postwar youth who embraces new ideas such as “democracy” and “gender equality” and is full of hope for the ­future (271). While not a sexualized, delinquent-­youth type like the Taiyōzoku (Sun Tribe) depicted in Ishihara Shintarō’s Taiyō no kisetsu (Season of the sun, 1955), Sayaka is a rather unappealing character, immature, lacking consideration for the older generation, and too ­eager to make light of t­ hings from the past.65 Although Sayaka sees herself as dif­fer­ent from the other Kobanya w ­ omen, she actually resembles her m ­ other when she was her age, determined to go to Tokyo. But by the time Sayaka gradu­ates from higher girls’ school, the f­ amily’s financial situation has changed drastically. Like other landowning classes, the Kobanya lost a significant amount of their property ­because of land reforms carried out by the GHQ (General Headquarters); their substantial savings also dis­appeared as a result of changes in the value of the currency. Given t­ hese diminished circumstances, the f­ amily sells off lumber from its lands in order to send Sayaka to a ­women’s college in Tokyo. Tatsu decides to allow this, to support Sayaka “even if it depletes the f­ amily’s assets.” For her part, Sayaka takes this as a m ­ atter of course, even saying that “the Kobanya w ­ ill lose every­thing [tsubureru] . . . ​I’ll use it all [tsubushite­ yaru],” and happily leaves for Tokyo wearing a newly made Western suit (272). As she travels to the capital for the first time, she hears about Kobanya history from her ­mother, who accompanies her, and she begins to see that t­ hese ­women’s lives cannot be labeled in clear-­cut terms such as “disgusting” (regarding Tatsu’s infidelity) or “odd” (274, 273). Ultimately, however, even ­a fter three years at the university, Sayaka does not seem to have gained the wisdom to fully appreciate the ­family institution that has enabled her education and her path ­toward self-­realization. The final scene of the novel shows Kotoji in the storage ­house searching for anything of value, worried that she may not be able to pay the tuition for Sayaka’s final year of college. Sayaka comes in looking for her m ­ other, and complains about the sickening “moldy smell” that she calls “the smell of Kobanya” (277). Th ­ ere is nothing of any worth left, as every­t hing has already been sold for Sayaka’s sake. Only the uchikake remains, and Sayaka claims that it is “a symbol of the ­family

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system” and expresses surprise that t­ here w ­ ere t­ hose who w ­ ere “happy to wear such ­t hings at their wedding,” a jab at her grand­mother. ­After exiting the store­ house, Sayaka wears the kimono over her suit as a joke in front of the w ­ omen (Tatsu, Koume, Kotoji). She dances, flinging the sleeves, and sings, “Tatsu—­no—­ Sayaka sweeps dust with her uchikake hem” (279). Sayaka rejects the object for herself (“No way, it’s not for me”), and as she removes it quickly, the kimono catches on her wristwatch and is torn. She further rips at the tear to show that this was inevitable, only apologizing at the end (280). What is the text saying by having Sayaka determine the symbolic meaning of the kimono, then tearing it? Is this work simply celebrating the fact that this Kobanya ­woman has been released from “the f­ amily system” (279) due to postwar l­egal changes and the new Constitution? Although many critics have taken this view, the character’s clearly self-­centered attitude seems to undermine this interpretation. Seeing Sayaka tearing the uchikake, the w ­ omen are lost for words: Sayaka had no choice but to continue apologizing to the generations of the ­women of this family/house [ie], who seemed to have lost their voice for a brief moment. While ­doing so, she was waiting for the old ­women, particularly Great-­Grandmother Tatsu, to speak, to voice what would likely be the final parting words given to the uchikake, words of farewell [uchikake ni okuru saigo no, ketsubetsu no kotoba de arudarō sono hitokoe o]. (280) ­ ese final sentences of the work show Sayaka waiting for Tatsu and the other Th ­women to speak, to both exonerate her actions and officially recognize that the object has no further use for the f­ amily. But the novel ends before such words are spoken.

Listening to the Wedding Kimono Kobayashi Hiroko sees this novel as presenting both the “positive” and “negative” aspects of the ­family system, and suggests that Sayaka’s re­spect ­toward her elders underscores this point, even though she rips the uchikake lining. In her analy­sis, however, Kobayashi notes that the message of liberation is the focal point of this work, saying that “critique ­toward the traditional ­family system and male-­female in­equality was still fresh and attractive” in 1955, a time when “­actual pressures from feudal institutions still remained a part of everyday practice.” She suggests that such a critique of the past lacks nuance in parts, but ultimately endorses this work as a feminist text celebrating power­f ul ­women’s stories and sisterhood.66 Kanai Keiko takes a dif­fer­ent approach, arguing that Tsuboi wanted readers to see that Sayaka’s heavy-­handed interpretation of the kimono is inadequate.

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Despite her “thoughtlessness in further tearing at the wound of the worn-­out uchikake lining,” Sayaka also waits for “her great-­grandmother’s words.” Thus, Kanai suggests, the text celebrates the stories b ­ ehind the object. Rather than having individual memories and experiences die along with old objects, the hope, as expressed in the final scene, is that t­hese stories w ­ ill continue to be shared. Kanai’s analy­sis, therefore, focuses on the moment of waiting for Tatsu’s voice, rather than on the tearing of the kimono, highlighting the transition from an object to the spoken/written word. She implies that material objects have a ­limited life span, while stories have the potential to be kept alive forever. Although her comments on this story are rather brief and undeveloped, Kanai essentially rejects liberation as the message of the tale, and suggests reading this novel as a metatext that emphasizes the importance of storytelling. In this way, she exchanges one symbol for another; the material object, with its limitations, dies, but The Wedding Kimono, the novel full of stories, lives on, a text that she meta­phor­ically calls a “woven textile” (orimono).67 Storytelling is certainly a vital ele­ment of this text; the novel opens with the description of eighty-­eight-­year-­old Tatsu telling stories of her ­mother Suzu’s exploits to Sayaka and the other w ­ omen. She tells t­ hese stories repeatedly, and it seems that even the villa­gers know about vari­ous aspects of Suzu’s legend. As a work about the Kobanya ­women, the novel celebrates the act of carry­ing on tales through the generations, even stories considered shameful or events that cannot be verified. But Kanai’s privileging of the word over the object misses the mark, in the sense that the torn kimono is not yet laid to rest at the end, and readers can only guess what Tatsu’s a­ ctual words w ­ ill be. Rather than seeing the kimono as a symbol of feminist triumph, or an abstract meta­phor for “woven stories” that essentially empower the notion of the written word, I would like to suggest an interpretation that focuses on the object itself. By taking off the uchikake and saying, “No way, it’s not for me” (280), Sayaka seeks to escape the “contagious magic” associated with the object, what she considers restrictions suffered by the Kobanya ­women. I use the concept of “contagious magic,” long ago developed by James George Frazer, to highlight the fact that clothing (which touches the body and therefore becomes its extension) is often associated with the person or p ­ eople who wore it.68 Thus, a garment can be perceived as being able to transmit the wearer’s experiences or fate to whoever puts it on next. For Sayaka, this hundred-­year-­old uchikake worn by generations of her ancestors threatens to make her into a w ­ oman of the past, weighing her down with the responsibilities of the f­ amily and perhaps even determining her fate to become a young ­w idow. In contrast to Kotoji, who chose to align herself with the ­family institution, Sayaka rejects the kimono, and it tears easily. It is also meaningful

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that the item is torn by a watch, indicating the passage of time. The power of Kobanya, as seen before the war, is no more, and the deteriorated silk emphasizes the diminishment of its wealth and stature in postwar Japan. Yet Sayaka still waits for word from the f­ amily elder and continues to be dependent on the w ­ omen to complete her education. Tatsu w ­ ill no doubt forgive her great-­granddaughter for this mishap with an heirloom. But the fact that the novel ends on a moment of uncertainty and deference makes us won­der if Sayaka w ­ ill actually be f­ ree from the ­family system, which she associates with the uchikake. The continued presence of the kimono—­even with a large tear in the lining—is a power­f ul reminder that what­ever postwar ­legal changes have been instituted, the ­family system as a social institution remains a fundamental part of Japa­nese society. Despite the emphasis on individualism, marriage during the 1950s–1960s was still viewed as a pro­cess involving f­ amily units. As previously noted, the preservation and continuation of the f­amily line through adoptive sons-­in-­law, for example, remains common even in the twenty-­first ­century. Legally, Sayaka has the right to choose her spouse, and she is certainly ­free from a fate like that of Tatsu, an arranged marriage with a feeble cousin who she was brought up with as an “elder ­brother” (192). But the question remains ­whether Tatsu and the other w ­ omen, who value their Kobanya identity, w ­ ill agree to let the f­ amily name die out, to forgo the practice of adopting a son-­in-­law. And even if Sayaka decides to marry into another ­family, or remain unmarried and without progeny, she still has numerous responsibilities as the last of the Kobanya ­women. Having used up most of the ­family’s assets for her education, she has a responsibility to find a way for them all to survive through their old age. The store­ house no longer contains anything of value to sell, and Sayaka has destroyed the uchikake, what Kotoji called the only remaining item of any worth; we cannot even be certain that Sayaka w ­ ill be able to pay for her last year of college. Rather than signifying a triumphant liberation, the novel thus ends on an ambiguous, almost foreboding note. Sayaka’s attribution of symbolic meaning to this object actually creates more questions than answers, leaving readers to won­ der if she w ­ ill truly be liberated from the f­ amily system, and what this freedom might look like. In the ­future, w ­ ill she be released from marital, reproductive, and financial duties to the ­family? And although we can only guess what Tatsu is ­going to say, as it is only Sayaka’s prediction that her words “would likely be” (de arudarō) the “words of farewell” to the kimono, it is unlikely that she would tell her great-­ granddaughter to immediately throw out this f­ amily keepsake, damaged only in the lining. ­There is very ­little one can do with a wedding kimono that has reached the end of its life, but it might be kept for sentimental reasons, or eventually taken apart so some parts can be saved. Such speculation about the ultimate fate of a

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literary object and the act of reading beyond the ending may seem odd, but by focusing on the object and its materiality, we can reexamine the posited symbolism from a dif­fer­ent perspective and allow the kimono to show its full metonymic potential. Even if we accept Sayaka’s symbolic equation of the uchikake as ­family system, the ending suggests that just as the material presence of the wedding kimono still persists, the institution cannot be so easily relegated to the past. This is not to say that the novel defends the f­ amily system in a reactionary fashion, but rather that it pre­sents a realistic take on the postwar promise of female agency. This is not so much a feminist cele­bration of liberation, but a feminist concern for the ­f uture; the ending recognizes the prob­lems that Sayaka ­w ill likely face as the female heir of an old, declining, landowning ­family, even while honoring the resilience of the ­women of her clan. The novel ultimately gestures to the obstacles that this young w ­ oman may encounter, while si­mul­ta­neously expressing hope that, with the support of her female elders, she w ­ ill eventually find her own path. By focusing on the presence of the kimono at the end, we can also extend its meaning in other ways. The torn kimono is a broader reminder of the past that also signifies change. The Kobanya w ­ omen’s stories, while focused on personal events, are related within the context of greater historical shifts, such as the wars of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The kimono has survived through all t­ hese events, and in a sense is no less impor­tant than the a­ ctual Kobanya blood sustained through ­t hese ­women. The uchikake’s deterioration prompts renewed recognition of the weight of collective history and its influence on individual lives. In addition, the ending expresses lament about ­things and ideas from the past that are disappearing, and the fact that the younger generation may “rip” and destroy them without truly understanding or appreciating their significance. By the mid-1950s, Western clothing had become the standard wear for a new age, and young p ­ eople in general did not desire kimonos as in the past. To be sure, in the years ­after the war, kimonos and kimono fabrics ­were eagerly resewn into Western-­style clothing—­but even such refashioning would not have been pos­si­ ble with a garment that had become flimsy with age. By continuing to tear at the hole she made in the lining, Sayaka emphasizes the fact that this object no longer has economic value. Kimonos in general seem quite alien to her; as a character, she is never depicted wearing a kimono, and when she does don the uchikake, she ­handles it carelessly and only as a joke. While it may not be regularly practiced ­today, in the 1950s most readers would prob­ably have known that it is standard to remove wristwatches and jewelry before putting on a kimono outfit, to avoid damage to the fabric. The text does not point this out, but Sayaka has failed to take any care in this regard, due to her lack of knowledge about kimonos or her

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inconsiderate nature. As part of the postwar generation, Sayaka rejects the past without fully understanding it; she sees this kimono as unrelated to her life.69 Although each generation may resist the views and customs of the prior generation, t­ here is a par­tic­u ­lar divide between prewar and postwar with regard to sartorial practices and associated worldviews. The elder ­women’s inability to speak at the end underscores their shock at Sayaka’s actions. This also highlights the fact that a rich, multivalent object is being inadequately identified as a flat symbol. Only the readers who have followed the multigenerational saga are able to recognize what this garment has meant for each ­woman, while Sayaka, whose knowledge is circumscribed, simply views it as a defunct item symbolic of past ills. The kimono can only be fully understood when it is acknowledged as a metonymic object manifesting national and personal histories and existing within the real time of mid-1950s Japan. Unable to be easily thrown away, but irreparably damaged, its concrete presence persists—­a nd speaks—­beyond Sayaka’s capacity for comprehension. The kimono thus becomes a metatextual object that shows us how not to read (the object itself as well as the broader work), while pointing out additional concerns for the ­f uture of this ­family. In the past, Kotoji had worried that with each successive generation Kobanya ­women ­were becoming “less impressive” or “small” (kotsubu, 275); one won­ders if Sayaka ­w ill ultimately mature into someone who appreciates the complexities b ­ ehind ideas, objects, and ­people, with the ability to read beyond easy descriptions and narrow analy­sis. At the end, we are left in limbo, wondering how she (and the ­family) ­w ill turn out. The Wedding Kimono is one of many 1940s–1960s works by w ­ omen writers that explore female identity through gender relations, the multigenerational ­family, and sociohistorical changes. Many of t­ hese works attempt to understand w ­ omen in postwar Japan through issues associated with the ­family and female self-­ realization. Enchi Fumiko’s Onnazaka (The Waiting Years, 1949–1957) and Onnamen (Masks, 1958), for example, depict female revenge or re­sis­tance against the ­family system, even as the w ­ omen become, in some ways, just as oppressive as the institution that has traumatized them. In Hanaoka Seishū no tsuma (The Doctor’s Wife, 1966) and Kinokawa (The River Ki, 1959), Ariyoshi Sawako illustrates how w ­ omen’s fates are s­ haped by marriage and incorporation into the f­amily structure, and examines their ability to maneuver within the restrictions and possibilities this space provides. In par­tic­u ­lar, The River Ki, published only a few years ­after The Wedding Kimono, similarly showcases how w ­ omen of dif­fer­ent generations marry and manage their roles within the ­family, reframing modern Japa­nese history through female experiences. Both stories conclude in the 1950s, questioning ­whether and how the postwar generation ­will learn from its forebears.

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Especially when read within this intertextual context, The Wedding Kimono carries a weighty and nuanced feminist message, asserting the need for Japa­nese ­women to accurately understand the past in order to create a better ­f uture. *

*

*

In “The Kasuri Kimono,” “Figs,” and The Wedding Kimono, Tsuboi Sakae uses kimonos as integral narrative ele­ments, communicating productively with readers in both war­t ime and postwar contexts. The indigo kasuri kimono articulates ­t hings that cannot be overtly expressed u ­ nder war­time censorship, including re­ sis­tance to the war. The komon silk crepe kimono enables an examination of female identity in light of the traditional f­amily system. The hundred-­year-­old uchikake invites readers to explore the meaning of both the garment as well as the text itself. ­These three narratives open up new ways of considering Tsuboi’s works and their connections to concepts of re­sis­tance and feminism. Her war­time stories are written in a variety of tenors and genres, but they call out for a reexamination of the ways resistant perspectives can be articulated through easily overlooked objects such as everyday garments. Furthermore, ­these texts also allow us to question the assumption that Tsuboi’s feminist writing only began during the postwar period. In her war­t ime works too, questions of gender equality, social hierarchies, and systemic prob­lems are very much pre­sent, culminating in a novel such as The Wedding Kimono, which pre­sents an intricate view of hope for postwar female liberation. Fi­nally, ­t hese works all challenge the ste­reo­t ypical view of Tsuboi as a writer of s­ imple stories using a straightforward narrative style. They showcase her talent for creating multiple levels of meaning and employing dif­fer­ent forms of language. Just as Tsuboi is more nuanced and complex as a writer than the “auntie” persona often attributed to her, the kimonos she depicts are not ­simple or inconsequential. They demand to be recognized as objects with robust historical lives, interacting intimately with ­human characters, and producing nuanced meanings. As a writer who often focused on everyday material objects, from clothing to h ­ ouse­hold items, Tsuboi deserves new assessment in this light: among her multiple talents, she is a master storyteller who crafts narratives by harnessing the potent voices of objects.

C HA P T E R F I V E

Deciphering the Geisha World Literary and Visual Kimonos in Kōda Aya’s Flowing

Kōda Aya has traditionally been described as a literary d ­ aughter continuing the legacy of her ­father, Kōda Rohan (1867–1947), a renowned Meiji author. In this chapter and the next, I examine her works featuring kimonos, and I reframe her identity as a literary progenitor who wields kimono language as a subtle and effective means of expression. The current chapter focuses on her novel Nagareru (Flowing, 1955), a complex work generally considered her masterpiece. Set in a declining Tokyo geisha h ­ ouse (okiya), we see how the maid, Rika, an outsider, learns to “read” the closed world of the demimonde and its denizens. Although ignored by critics, kimonos are a key part of this interpretive pro­cess required of Rika and readers. They provide insight into characters and situations, and in the end, the concept of reading accurately becomes a critical means of assessing Rika’s fate. I also discuss the film adaptation directed by Naruse Mikio, released a year a­ fter the publication of the novel. Although the visual kimonos in the film function differently from the literary kimonos in the text, they offer new insights into the story. The film provides a vivid pre­sen­ta­tion of 1950s kimono culture, particularly in downtown Tokyo (shitamachi) and the unique world of the Yanagibashi geisha. It also uses garments to develop characters and central themes, including ­t hose of pollution and disease. In 1947, forty-­t hree-­year-­old Kōda Aya began her ­career by writing about her ­father ­after his death. Th ­ ese works, about his passing as well as their life together, offered a rare look into Rohan’s world as presented by his d ­ aughter, a w ­ oman who had spent most of her life in the domestic sphere. Kōda lost her m ­ other at a young age; Rohan remarried soon ­after, but from about age sixteen, Kōda was essentially ­running the ­house­hold due to her stepmother’s ill health. In 1928, Kōda herself married a man from a merchant ­family and worked in a liquor shop for a time, but they divorced in 1938. Kōda and her d ­ aughter, Tama, returned to live with Rohan; the three of them made up the ­house­hold, and Kōda took care of her ­father ­until he passed away in 1947.1 Kōda received recognition for her (auto)biographical writing, but eventually sought to create her own narratives, unrelated to her ­father. She would go on to write short stories, novels, memoirs, and essays on a 137

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range of topics and was well known during her lifetime. ­After her death in 1990, ­t here was renewed interest in her works, boosted in part by the literary debuts of her d ­ aughter, Aoki Tama, and her grand­daughter (Tama’s d ­ aughter), Aoki Nao. Flowing was born of a writing crisis and reflects Kōda’s determination to establish her own identity as an author. In the April 7, 1950, eve­ning edition of Mainichi shinbun, she announced that she would stop writing, due to her dissatisfaction with the easy way she had entered the profession as Rohan’s d ­ aughter. If she ­were ever to write again, she explains, she would only do so “as a person who can write about anything, moving away from the subject of memories about my ­father.”2 From late November 1951 ­until mid-­January 1952, Kōda worked ­under a pseudonym as a live-in maid in a geisha ­house in Yanagibashi, an entertainment district in Tokyo.3 Through this experience, she was able to flee from her real identity and familiar surroundings, and engage with a world unrelated to the ­father–­daughter dyad that had determined her c­ areer. The experience inspired her to write Flowing, a novel significantly dif­fer­ent from her prior works; it was serialized in Shinchō (New tide) in 1955 and published as a book in 1956.

Kōda Aya’s Flowing Flowing is often seen as Kōda’s emergence as a true novelist, successfully creating a complex fictional world without relying on stories about her ­family.4 Told in the third person, but essentially from the perspective of Rika, the maid, Flowing depicts a run-­down geisha ­house called Tsutanoya and the characters associated with it in then con­temporary Tokyo. Rika, who is no longer young, is an outsider, a “shirōto” (nonprofessional, amateur) who has left the respectable, middle-­class world ­after the death of her husband and child. Becoming a menial worker, she enters into the “kurōto” (professional) world, demarked geo­graph­i­cally as a geisha h ­ ouse in the entertainment district, but also culturally and linguistically as an unfamiliar space.5 “Professional” in the Japa­nese context usually means geisha, actors, entertainers, and t­ hose involved in the so-­called w ­ ater trade (mizoshōbai; work associated with nightlife); “nonprofessional” in this case refers to w ­ omen in the respectable, mainstream world of daytime work and ­house­hold life.6 It is impor­tant to remember that geisha do not exactly fit into the usual Western concept of w ­ omen in the demimonde; they are not prostitutes, but entertainers and performers whose livelihoods and l­ abor systems are entwined with nightlife businesses. In Flowing, we also see references to geisha who moonlight as sex workers. The novel was published a year before the 1956 Anti-­Prostitution Act (Baishun bōshi hō), which outlawed the enabling of prostitution and caused difficulties for associated businesses.7 In

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this context, Flowing does not focus on the glamour of the entertainment district, but on the strug­gle of “professionals” to survive. As Alan Tansman notes, “Rika often seems like an anthropologist witnessing the final days of a ­dying culture.”8 Critics have analyzed Flowing from vari­ous ­angles, remarking on its complex language and narrative style, and its divergence from traditional portrayals of the floating world of the plea­sure quarters. As both Alan Tansman and Ann Sherif demonstrate in dif­fer­ent ways in their monographs on Kōda Aya, Flowing employs unusual language, styles, sounds, and perspectives. Tansman notes that in the novel, Rika encounters a “world filled with voices and ­music, with special languages belonging to a system of communication dif­ fer­ent from her own.”9 Sherif shows that the text does not simply pre­sent an erotic world of fantasy and traditional aesthetics, but offers a win­dow into a way of life in which ele­ments associated with geisha coexist with postwar realities of poverty and diminishing cultural stature.10 Set in a ramshackle ­house where a sick dog and his feces take up space in the entry­way, closets are full of mice droppings, and Rika’s allotted futon is stained with someone ­else’s menstrual blood, the story provides an unflinching backstage view of the geisha world. It is ­here that the mistress of the ­house, known only as “shujin” (mistress, 7), lives with her ­daughter and other relatives, and where dif­ fer­ent geisha come to prepare for their work of entertaining men at restaurants and tea­houses. Other characters connected to this unique neighborhood come in and out of the h ­ ouse, treating the space as their own. Rika enters as an outsider, and through observations and interactions, gradually develops the ability to accurately read this foreign world. Through her sojourn, she not only learns to gauge ­others but also to understand her own place in this alien landscape. From the very beginning, the novel pre­sents the world of geisha as distinct from every­t hing Rika has ever known. The first line of the story emphasizes this point: “It must be this h ­ ouse but how does one enter; t­ here was no tradesmen’s entrance [katteguchi]” (4). B ­ ecause the dwelling lacks a proper mode of entry for a servant, Rika learns from the beginning that what is normal in this space is dif­fer­ent from the nonprofessional world. Listening to the sharp, female voices inside, she makes a quick judgment call and slides open the front door: “Then the voices of the h ­ ouse all s­ topped in perfect unison” (4). As Fujimoto Hisahiko suggests about this opening scene, the text begins with Rika confronting “symbols (information) that are impossible to decipher.”11 As the novel unfolds, we observe Rika becoming an incisive reader, just as we (as readers) are challenged to keep up with her understanding of spoken and unspoken language, mysterious practices, sounds, characters, relationships, and

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events. Indeed, the plot is sometimes rather opaque, in large part due to the unique, flowing narrative style.12 In this chapter, I argue that kimonos are an integral part of this deciphering pro­cess. They are tools that Rika employs in order to understand ­people and situations, and they also serve as hints Kōda provides for readers. Within Flowing, ­t here are stories and ideas that can only be fully understood by examining garments and related accoutrements. Reading kimonos in this way enables engagement with vari­ous aspects of the geisha world, in-­depth consideration of dif­fer­ent characters, and full appreciation of the complexity of the novel’s ending.

Rika and Reading Kimonos on the Page When Rika first enters Tsutanoya, she understands who the mistress is (“her thick body just barely contained in a multicolored kimono”) but does not know who the other ­women are. She initially identifies them by their clothes; ­people are labeled as “the red haori” and “the ­woman in the black haori” (5, 6, 8). Although characters are named ­later, names are fluid and not always real. Rika herself is laughed at for having an exotic, flowery name (literally “pear blossom”) unsuitable for “a servant over forty” (8). In fact, her name seems so out of place that the mistress suggests “Haru” (spring, 9), the name of the previous maid, as being more appropriate. Unlike “Rika,” the commonplace “Haru” is more fitting for a servant, and Rika begins her ser­vice with both names. The other ­women are only identified by their professional geisha names, while some are only called by nicknames. From the beginning of the novel, we see that a name is only one type of signifier that is affixed to a person and may or may not provide insight into a character. Rika reads other p ­ eople and events using a diverse set of tools, even as she protects her own identity from being found out by o ­ thers. In truth, she is a competent, educated ­woman who used to have servants of her own, but has now fallen on hard times. One way that Rika “reads” is through kimonos, a skill she hones during her stay in this place, in which “kimonos have absolute value as merchandise” (27). Kimonos reflect the character and worth of the professional wearer (who herself is a kind of merchandise) and also function as essential tools in the creation of fantasy. Just as Tsutanoya, on the edge of economic collapse, masks its grime and moral degeneration, the geisha world is all about putting on a brilliant show through costume and per­for­mance. The ability to fully understand the economic system of the demimonde is also tied to competence in interpreting kimonos and related objects that function as currency.

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Rika easily pegs some ­people from the beginning, such as the mistress’ niece Yoneko, described as “with both extremely poor looks and low-­quality kimono but with lips that ­were beautifully painted” (8). Despite being the ­daughter of the moneylender Kishimojin, she has ­little ­going for her; she lacks ability, attraction, and money, and is burdened by her frustrated sexual desires. When Rika first meets Yoneko’s young d ­ aughter Fujiko, she is taken aback not only by the child’s spiteful statements, but also by her appearance: she is “wearing a dirty kimono and a torn red tabi [split-­toed socks] with a toenail sticking out of it” (68). Fujiko is a victim of Yoneko’s neglect; she is a disagreeable, sickly child whose ­mother who cannot even mend her clothing. Other characters’ qualities take time to unfold. While living ­under the same roof, Rika recognizes the mistress’ attractive qualities as well as her shortcomings. Scholars writing about Flowing often quote the famous description in which the mistress is caught off balance by the child Fujiko’s embrace and falls onto the tatami mat.13 Although this is not a scene of a ­woman falling into bed with a lover, Rika is taken aback by the erotic movement of the mistress’ body—an ingrained, automatic reaction that Rika recognizes unmistakably as the sign of a professional. The sensuality of her body is highlighted by clothing—­the erotic light pink undergarment is revealed as her kimono opens, and “the heavy silk crepe kimono sleeves slide down, revealing her upper arms.” Rika is mesmerized by the beauty of the mistress’ movement as she slowly dips to the floor, but once she quickly fixes her appearance and sits primly, she becomes an “uninteresting ­woman,” tainted with a sense of “impurity” (82). While describing such aspects of the mistress’ essence, the passage also demonstrates Rika’s powers of observation and analy­sis. Even such a fleeting, quick movement tells her a ­great deal about the mistress’ life and her past. ­Toward the end of the novel, Rika is even able to assess the mistress’ singing and shamisen playing so perceptively that she is accused of having secret connections in the geisha world. Tansman notes that Rika is not only able to evaluate such m ­ usic, an impor­tant form of geisha language, but also “learned the geisha’s way of manipulating language to smooth out difficult situations.”14 She is able to quickly appease the mistress for commenting on her artistry and speaking out of turn. Although critics have noted Rika’s ability to read dif­fer­ent kinds of geisha language as well as the ­human body, her masterful ability to interpret clothing and objects has been overlooked. In a scene in which she examines her mistress’ sandals amid a sea of other footwear at the “kenban” (administrative office of the geisha h ­ ouses, 89), for example, Rika is able to discern the mistress’ feelings, her place in geisha society, and even her ultimate fate. The mistress’ wooden sandals

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are of the highest quality compared to the ­others, carved from single pieces of wood and with the straight lines of the grain continuous throughout (“honmasa,” 91), while younger geisha tend to wear veneered sandals that simulate such an expensive look (“harimasa,” 91).15 Like her footwear, the mistress is an au­then­tic old-­school geisha brought up in the profession, not a superficial geisha of the new generation. But Rika is also aware of the complexity of this situation: the times are changing, and it may be better to wear cheaper items that “look good” and change them frequently, rather than using “good t­ hings.” The sandals mirror the mistress’ “feelings of superiority over the veneered ones,” but ironically, their high value also manifests “what might be called an appearance of decline” (91). It is precisely ­because her business and circumstances are on the wane that the mistress proudly wears such superior sandals—­even though, as Rika notes, very few ­people would have the eye to discern their true worth and quality. In this passage the author does not gloss terms such as “honmasa” and “harimasa,” but seems to expect the reader to understand them or at least to accurately pick up their significance—to be a quick study, just like Rika. As we learn through the course of the novel, following Rika’s observations, the mistress is unable to overcome her economic losses and is eventually forced to give up her place of business. Rika is a­ dept at judging p ­ eople based on what they choose to wear, and as she works at Tsutanoya, she also begins to see a dif­fer­ent side of the geisha world through garments and related items. Kimonos are not just equivalent to a ­woman’s assets or a reflection of her worth, they are also work wear, uniforms that become soiled throughout the course of the year. Although Rika is a ­house­maid and never sees the ­women as they work at parties held in restaurants and tea­houses, she realizes that tabi transfer the dirt to the hips when they sit, “the knees pick up the dirt from the tatami, the sleeves become grimy from their wrists and the dishes of food they carry” (148). From this perspective, the New Year’s tradition of appearing in a new kimono is impor­tant in this community; it is a way to show off one’s assets and reinforce a sense of belonging, but it is also a way to feel cleansed and renewed. Kimonos are also vital for creating a sense of fantasy, extravagance, and eroticism. ­After a new geisha making her debut in full regalia visits Tsutanoya to pay her re­spects, the geisha Nanako and Someka try to figure out how much every­ thing cost. The formal “takashimada” styled wig, Nanako determines, is “not of the highest quality,” the obi is not the most expensive kind, and the underkimono is made of “just regular red silk crepe fabric” (65, 67). It is the first time Rika has seen a geisha in a formal black kimono up close, but she also makes quick calculations, observing that the yellow hair ornament seems to be made of real tortoise

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shell rather than celluloid. Someka first calculates the entire outfit to be about “300,000 yen,” but she also says that it could be as low as “150,000 yen.” The new geisha is an investment that another geisha h ­ ouse has made, and “its survival depends on her success” (67). The ability to select the right merchandise, to make it appear at its best, is just as critical in this world as the ability to figure out the correct worth of an item. In addition to learning to discern the price of garments, a geisha must also be able to pre­sent herself as a highly desirable and valuable product. To be successful in the professional world, one has to be able to read outfits (and the ­people who wear them) accurately, to see beyond the fantasy created by ­others; at the same time, one must also cultivate one’s own flawless, luxurious appearance. ­There are many t­ hings Rika does not understand about this h ­ ouse and demimonde culture, but she quickly intuits its complicated economic system and the role of the servant within it. She keeps her mouth shut about the mysterious money delivered to the mistress and is rewarded with a gift of a brand-new gauze kimono undergarment, reinforcing her silence. The underclothes establish an intimate connection between mistress and servant, based on their mutual secret knowledge, and also emphasize the hidden nature of this transaction. Rika understands the meaning attached to such objects as well as to cash that circulate within this system, and makes her own judgment about vari­ous gifts, payments, and exchanges. In Flowing, the ability to understand and ­handle kimonos is vital. ­Those without this fa­cil­i­t y fail, while t­ hose who have such skills succeed as readers of p ­ eople and the professional world. Ability in this context is about having expert sensibility, being smart with money, and understanding ­human nature and relationships; being able to read kimono well is a skill tied to one’s worth, intelligence, and capacity to attract good luck. One of the geisha, Namie, is an example of total failure in this re­spect. Although she never directly appears in the novel, she used to work for Tsutanoya and continues to be a major prob­lem for the mistress. A poor girl from Chiba Prefecture with no skills as a proper geisha, she was made to sleep with clients. She has run away from Tsutanoya leaving debts, and to make ­matters worse, her u ­ ncle frequently returns to blackmail the mistress for sexually exploiting a minor. Namie is described as an ignorant character who was, like a child, happy to wear any kind of kimono she believed beautiful. “Even if she was made to wear used kimonos or given kimonos that had been redyed, she was happy as long as it had long sleeves, was made of kinsha chirimen [type of silk crepe], and had red and blue designs on it. Even if she was sitting next to a popu­lar geisha wearing the most luxurious outfit with an obi costing several tens of thousands of yen, she

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would not know the difference between them. Rather than feeling embarrassed, she would even go so far as to brag about her own appearance” (47). In the end, both her u ­ ncle and the mistress run into trou­ble with the police. Namie is ultimately unable to reclaim the kimonos she had left at Tsutanoya; the other w ­ omen have stolen the garments in her absence. Namie has failed completely, losing impor­ tant items even as she continues her line of work elsewhere. Tsutaji, a successful geisha, is the complete opposite of Namie. She has a rich patron, a president of some firm, and assets of her own. Unlike other geisha, she possesses the wherewithal to have a new kimono made at the end of each year, so she looks “clean” while every­one e­ lse looks “dirty” (148). For the end-­of-­year gift-­ giving rituals too, she purchases new items with cash to give away as pre­sents, in contrast to the mistress and o ­ thers who make do by regifting or exchanging gifts at the stores. Tsutaji is not taken advantage of by anyone, and is kind but unsentimental, understanding that kimono accessories and other items “used to be assets for a geisha, but now should just be treated as business expenses for tax purposes” (136). She turns all gifts she receives into cash, and does not believe in amassing items such as wooden sandals, obi scarves, and obi cords. In the end, Tsutaji is rewarded for her managerial skills and devotion to her patron (and the patron’s sick wife). She receives the honor of being chosen to be the patron’s next wife; she is anointed thus by his ­family, including the current wife who lies ­dying on her sickbed. Tsutaji (whose geisha name is clearly taken from Tsutanoya) leaves the geisha h ­ ouse to become an “okusama” (madam, 230), a wife in a wealthy, nonprofessional ­house­hold. Tsutaji’s success and ability rise to the top in the world of respectability is in clear contrast to Namie, who loses her purity and kimonos and ends up working in a “third-­rate district” (240). Tsu­ taji w ­ ill not be taking her belongings into her new life, but this is ­because she no longer has any use for kimonos and clothes connected to the professional world. As she explains, the ­dying wife wants Tsutaji to come as she is; she wants Tsutaji to use “every­t hing of hers, even her nightwear,” and so all Tsutaji has to bring is “herself” (232). As someone who has read and handled kimonos well, she is able to transform herself into a new person, complete with a new set of nonprofessional clothing that w ­ ill redefine her. Throughout Flowing we encounter stories and meta­phors related to kimonos. Wearing a “kappōgi” (54) that clearly marks her as a domestic, Rika reads the language of clothing all around her. In the nonprofessional world too, she uses kimonos to understand ­people—­for example, she describes a cousin she stays with as a “wise wife who had managed to get by through wearing kimonos that had been redyed many times [somekae somekae shite]” (165). This is a ­woman who is stingy ­toward herself and ­others but has pride in her practice of thrift. Rika’s sojourn in

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the professional world further develops her interpretive abilities. As the narrative progresses, more clothing meta­phors appear. When a heated argument is interrupted, characters “rush to cloak, as if with a kimono, one’s exposed true feelings” (250), and Yoneko’s crush on Saeki, the handsome secretary who works for the mistress’ former lover, is described as an emotion in which “cords all over her body and face have come loose” (220), similar to the way a kimono ­w ill not stay on the body correctly with inadequately tied cords, creating a ridicu­lous—­and sexually loose—­appearance. Readers, along with Rika, are invited to recognize the way in which kimonos function as a means through which to decode the text—­t he characters, situations, and the language by which they are described.

Three Characters and Their New Year’s Kimonos Flowing establishes the importance of being able to “read” in such a manner, showing Rika’s innate abilities and her education in the geisha world, but the work also pre­sents valuable information via characters’ clothes, without any gloss by the narrator or Rika. In ­t hese cases, the reader is challenged to examine the text carefully and, emulating Rika, decode the kimonos. In the mid-1950s context, Kōda likely expected that an astute reader would be able to understand what garments w ­ ere saying even without explicit explanation. Certainly, the information conveyed in t­ hese kimonos provides further depth to characters who can appear rather elusive. In this section, I focus on the way specific kimonos illustrate the qualities and even predict the ­f uture circumstances of three characters: the mistress, Someka, and Nanako.

The Mistress and the Plum Garden Kimono Outfit Of the kimonos described in the novel, the outfit worn by the mistress for the New Year’s cele­bration—­garments she calls “old ­things from before the war”—is by far the most stunning: The [black] kimono featured an abundance of red and white plum blossoms in full bloom created by dyed designs, tie-­dyed patterns, and embroidery, and also included the flowing w ­ ater pattern [nagare]. The obi was of tsuzure weave and the image on it was, of course, the bush warbler [uguisu]. No doubt so that it would not clash with the kimono, the bush warbler was perched on a delicate branch with two or three buds, but without any fully open plum blossoms. The front of the obi echoed the kimono and pictured flowing w ­ ater. Rika wondered if this might be an outfit with a formal name such as “the plum garden” or “the plum tree in which the bush warbler dwells [ōshukubai].” (173)

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“The elegant eroticism emanating from the [mistress’] entire body” enhances the beauty of the outfit, and the mistress looks “incomparably gorgeous” (174). We recognize h ­ ere traditional glamour and excellent taste; this black formal geisha’s kimono and obi are of the highest quality and perhaps even of historical significance. Ironically, this richness hides the real­ity that the mistress is broke, and that the New Year’s cele­bration is only a temporary respite from Namie’s blackmailing ­uncle and the notices from the tax bureau requiring them to appear for an interview about delinquent payments. This irony is enhanced all the more if one recognizes the meaning of the combination of the plum blossoms and the bush warbler. The coupling is well known in terms of seasonal design and poetic use, signifying “early spring.” This design is auspicious for the New Year ­because the plum “flowers at the beginning of the year,” and “the bush warbler’s song heard in the new year” is known as “hatsune” (first sound). However, as a kimono design this is an extremely extravagant choice that can only be worn for a short time.16 Once a­ ctual plum trees flower, usually around February in the Tokyo area, the design is no longer suitable b ­ ecause seasonal kimono patterns should anticipate what is to come. Rules about anticipating the season in kimono wear have become rather loose t­ oday, but a geisha such as the mistress at this time would likely have followed such practices carefully. The amount of money presumably spent on ­t hese items, which can only be worn for a month or so and are unlikely to be worn ­every year, starkly contrasts with the mistress’ current financial state. And at the end of the novel, it becomes clear that despite the lucky design motifs, the year has turned out to be a catastrophic one for her. The auspicious message of this kimono is also undercut by the presence of the flowing ­water pattern. This design is quite common in kimonos, often combined with flowers as it is ­here.17 But it could be seen as a specific reference to the “ups and downs of life” and the unexpected directions it takes, foreshadowing the mistress’ eventual downfall.18 Having enjoyed a glorious past, the mistress ­w ill lose out in the end, ultimately having to move across the river, into a neighborhood considered much less prestigious for a geisha h ­ ouse. The title, Flowing, was never fully explained by Kōda, although we know that she initially planned to use the title “Hashitemae” or “Before the bridge.”19 We can certainly associate the word, “flowing,” with the rivers located in the entertainment district, the way Rika’s life (and t­ hose of the other characters) change from one state to another, and even the “flowing” syntax and unusual style of language employed in the text.20 The general sense of life as an unpredictable pro­cess of “flowing” is clearly reflected in the character of the mistress.

Plate 1. Black haori (front and back) from the early 1970s with a single crest, worn by a young m ­ other. The design with the pink background features black trees embellished with gold embroidery. Courtesy of Taoka Noriko. Photo­graph by K. Suzuki.

Plate 2. Tsuruko taking off her michiyuki. The camera focuses on Tsuruko and then on her back as she removes the coat, revealing its crimson lining. The Makioka Sisters. © 1983 Toho.

Plate 3. Tsuruko taking off her michiyuki (continued from Plate 2). Close-ups highlight the coat’s crimson lining with the white family crest as well as the details of the sōshibori kimono and obi. The Makioka Sisters. © 1983 Toho.

Plate 4. The four sisters (clockwise, left to right: Sachiko, Taeko, Yukiko, and ­Tsuruko) with Teinosuke on the far left at a restaurant at the beginning of The Makioka ­Sisters. © 1983 Toho.

Plate 5. Taeko on the right, wearing a hippari in her apartment, with Sachiko in a haori. The Makioka ­Sisters. © 1983 Toho.

Plate 6. Tsuruko surrounded by kimonos and obi. The Makioka ­Sisters. © 1983 Toho.

Plate 7. The back of an iromuji with a dye-­reserved crest. A single-­crested light blue kimono with an under­lying woven pattern of waves worn with a gold and muted pink obi. Photo by M. D. Foster.

Plate 8. Close-up of the dye-­reserved crest in Plate 7. The crest is crossed hawk feathers inside a circle. Photo by M. D. Foster.

Plate 9. A volume of the Collected Works of Kōda Aya with the “Kōda check” cover. Kōda Aya, Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 1 (Chūōkōronsha, 1958). Reproduced by permission. Photo by author.

Plate 10. Kimono Before and ­After, with a photo of Aoki Tama on the cover. Aoki Tama, Kimono atosaki (Shinchōsha). Reproduced by permission.

Plate 11. Kimono book cover based on a black haori that Kōda Aya gave to Aoki Tama. The flower pattern is from the insets on the lower parts of the sleeves. Kōda Aya, Kimono (Shinchō bunko). Reproduced by permission.

Plate 12. The self-­ published edition of Oar with the blue striped kimono cover. Miyao Tomiko, Shikaban Kai (Dai ichibu) (1972). Reproduced by permission from Kōchi Kenritsu Bungakukan. Photo by author.

Plate 13. Narrating Kimonos, with a photo of Miyao Tomiko on the cover. Miyao Tomiko, Kimonogatari (Bunshun bunko). Reproduced by permission.

Deciphering the Geisha World   147

In the description of the mistress wearing this kimono, the focus on the sensuous way she carries off the outfit is quite striking. But the emphasis on her hips, eyes, lips, and “the narrow tabi” peeking out “from the red plum blossoms [on the hem of the kimono]” (174) is only part of what the text conveys about this character. In paying attention to the stories associated with the mistress and kimonos, we recall that she has a rental storage room packed full of high-­quality kimonos and fabric. E ­ arlier in the novel, Rika learns from Someka, one of the geisha, that the mistress has such a trea­sure trove b ­ ecause her patron, who lives in Fukui Prefecture, is in the “thread-­related business” (itohen). When “times ­were booming,” the mistress lived in utter luxury and “did not even wear the same kimono twice” (124). If the outfit is from before the war, as the mistress says, and if she has been with her patron for a long time, then it is clear that as a geisha she has enjoyed significant periods of economic success and comfort. The patron is from a prefecture in which the textile industry has a long history; during the period between the two World Wars as well as during the so-­called Itohen keiki (Thread-­related economic boom) spurred by the Korean War (1950–1953),21 the region thrived as a producer of rayon.22 It could very well be that the patron is someone who has made his money in such textiles. The New Year’s silk kimono made in the prewar era is stunning and extravagant, but we can surmise that like the other clothes and textiles in storage, the outfit prob­ably does not legally belong to the mistress. As Someka explains, the patron made sure to register all items in storage in his name. The mistress may appear to have wealth in kimonos (if not in ­actual cash), but unfortunately ­t hese items are not hers. She can wear them, but it is impossible for her to do anything ­else with them, such as sell them off for money. Although the mistress appears beautiful and erotic in this kimono, therefore, the most impor­tant story ­here (that is never actually articulated) is that she does not even own her garments. She may have had an illustrious ­career but did not get much out of it in the end. Even the postwar thread-­related boom does not seem to have helped her much. With no economic sense, she has avoided paying all types of taxes so that she now owes “an astronomical figure” (176); she ­will ultimately lose most of her employees and perhaps even her business. She has no long-­range assets even in h ­ uman terms, as her d ­ aughter Katsuyo is unable to carry on the business, and her niece Yoneko is of l­ittle use. Her s­ ister, the moneylender Kishimojin, ­will not bail her out. And even the helpful servant, Rika, w ­ ill leave at the end. Her h ­ ouse, Tsutanoya, literally means “house of ivy.” The ivy crest is particularly favored in the demimonde and other “client-­based businesses” of the entertainment

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and nightlife industries, b ­ ecause like ivy, they hope to grow and thrive by clinging to clients or patrons.23 The only one that succeeds in this vein is Tsutaji, whose geisha name includes “tsuta” (ivy). Significantly, the mistress herself, who remains unnamed throughout the novel, never achieves lasting success; nor can she hope for assistance from her patron, who now rarely comes to Tokyo due to “the bad economy” (fukeiki, 124–125). By putting together all the information about the mistress, the patron, and textile-­related economic history, we can fi­nally discern the meaning of the New Year’s kimono. On one hand, its sumptuous quality is the exact opposite of the mistress’ a­ ctual financial situation, but on the other hand, it perfectly embodies her situation and even foreshadows her fate. The plum and bush warbler combination is luxurious ­because it can only be enjoyed for a short time, but that time of glory has flowed on, never to return. Like the kimono, the mistress herself is a relic of an e­ arlier time. Even if the garment could be sold, it would no longer bring its true value ­because of its age, changing times for the geisha, and the flagging economy. It is generally understood that the thread-­related boom ended ­after the 1953 Korean Armistice Agreement since the Americans no longer required war-­ related products. By 1955, when this novel was published, it would have been clear that the mistress, despite her artistic skills and beautiful appearance, has ­little hope of recovering her position. With no solid financial mooring to bring her stability, she w ­ ill be washed away in the flow of changing times.

Someka and the Green Crested Kimono Someka, the old geisha at Tsutanoya, is another character in dire straits, and her New Year’s kimono also articulates a depressing situation. Even though she is tied down with debts and barely able to afford proper meals, Someka agrees to buy a new kimono the dealer recommends for her. The garment is a dark green “iromontsuki” (colored crested kimono) with “ordinary pine branches” designed on the lower part of the garment; the dealer touts the color as being “next year’s trend” and the kimono as “subtle, fash­ion­able, and fresh” (139). Unfortunately, the fabric is actually not of the best quality, the pine design is too meager, and, as Rika thinks, the green is not a suitable color for the entertainment business ­because it ­w ill look “faded” in the eve­ning (141). Someka does not ­really love it ­either, as the plain kimono is clearly for an el­derly person and as a geisha, she refuses to be labeled “an old w ­ oman” (142). She also knows that purchasing the item w ­ ill create more debt with the mistress. The mistress w ­ ill pay the kimono seller on her behalf, adding to Someka’s debts; the system is such that the mistress profits from a commission on such sales.

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Due to her desire to have a New Year’s kimono, however, Someka eventually makes the purchase. The design has been adjusted with “embroidery with red [akai] thread,” and the final product is supposed to be a “pine in the morning sun” (173). Even this, however, does not show her own initiative; she has only accepted the kimono dealer’s suggestion and assertion that “red-­hued pines” (araishu no matsu, 141) are in vogue.24 Both the mistress and her ­daughter Katsuyo had also praised the idea to embellish the image in this way, suggesting that with the green background it would be seen as “a pine in the morning sun on top of a high mountain” (145). In the end, the text describes the kimono as a bad buy: “it was more like a pine in the sunset, appearing as if night would fall soon. ­There was nothing one could do about the thin fabric, unable to keep the wearer warm, and the green color was oddly cheap-­looking; t­ here was no doubt the kimono would look terrible ­after being worn just a few times” (173). The pine is a standard auspicious image, particularly associated with longevity. But as part of a sparse design, it ironically underscores Someka’s age (older ­people’s crested kimonos tend to have comparatively fewer pictorial images). A pine branch shining in the bright morning sun is suitable for New Year’s, signifying a new beginning, but interpreted as a forlorn pine in the setting sun, the design would convey a sense of ending—­both for the kimono and the wearer. “Someka” is a sensual geisha name, meaning “colored by fragrance”; she is rumored to have an “abnormal” (221) sexual appetite, living with a younger man. Despite her new outfit, the year begins catastrophically for Someka, her financial prob­lems with Kishimojin preventing her from working during the first days of the new year. L ­ ater, the younger lover leaves her, she has a fight with Katsuyo and the mistress, and she is eventually forced to quit the geisha h ­ ouse. It seems that the only ­t hing that lasts for her are her money trou­bles. Rika finds Someka oddly likable, but she is always a bit off-­k ilter. Even words associated with fabric and clothing used in relation to her, such as “hirogatte” (expand) and “tsubomatte” (narrow), do not pertain to her beauty or skill in the wearing of kimonos. Putting on kimonos skillfully entails the layering of garments with straight lines—­wrapping and tying the outfit so that the kimono (and all its underlayers) fits the body appropriately. Thus, “tsubomatte,” specifically the term suso tsubomari (narrowed hemline), is normally associated with the ideal way of wearing a kimono so that it narrows at the ankles, creating a tightened hemline. The inverse of this, with the hem (suso) flaring out (hirogatte/hirogaru) like a skirt, is generally considered a failure. In the case of geisha, however, in an indoor setting they might wear formal kimonos with a trailing hem so that it flares out. In the novel, we see such specific kimono terms used in wordplay, describing Someka’s

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feelings about g­ oing into debt to purchase kimonos. When she is in the pro­cess of buying, “the kimono seems to expand a lot/be quite expansive” while “the money appears to be a small/narrow ­matter,” but once the kimono is delivered and worn, “suddenly the kimono shrinks, becoming small/narrow and the amount of money seems to expand, causing heartache” (149). Through t­ hese sartorial meta­phors, Someka is portrayed as enamored with kimonos and unable to resist purchasing a brand-­new garment, making her financial situation much worse. Like the poor-­quality, unattractive colored kimono, Someka herself is portrayed as a failure of sorts, unlikely to succeed in the new year or beyond. However, despite her prob­lems, she is as resilient as the long-­living pine in the sunset. And indeed, only a day a­ fter leaving Tsutanoya, she starts working at another h ­ ouse.

Nanako and the Winter Peonies Kimono Fi­nally, the other character whose clothes are described in detail is Nanako, a young geisha who works for Tsutanoya. With trendy curled hair, Nanako is a new type of postwar geisha who was an office worker before taking this job. Her New Year’s kimono is stunning, and she pays careful attention in putting together accessories such as the obi scarf and obi cord. The kimono is white with designs of dark red winter peonies. As Nanako explains, “it is not one of ­those kimonos with the standard placement of designs on the hem, but the peonies are in bloom all around the kimono, from the front [uwamae] to the hidden panels [shitamae]. . . . ​ I made them draw in some flowers just outlined in gold too” (146). The peony is considered a gorgeous flower associated with female beauty, and it is a ­great extravagance to have t­ hese images also drawn on the shitamae, the lower right front part of the kimono that is barely seen when it is wrapped around the body and covered by the uwamae, the lower left front part. The hand-­drawn gold flowers would likely have cost extra as well. Fi­nally, the choice of white for a kimono is quite bold, ­because the fabric can easily be soiled and is therefore difficult to maintain. This kimono shows that Nanako is thriving in her profession—­but its meaning changes once we learn that she is supplementing her income through sex work. In the novel, this is obliquely suggested when Rika glances at the notebook in which Nanako rec­ords her income and expenses and finds additional income listed ­under several dif­fer­ent names of establishments. Nanako keeps up appearances by making derogatory comments about “specialists” who cater to men sexually, and claims that she spends time with clients playing “mahjong.” She never admits that she herself is moonlighting as a prostitute, but instead portrays herself as a “first-­class geisha who lives in a pure manner” and works for a “high-­

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ranking ­house” (214). ­There is no implication in the novel that she is being exploited or is unhappy with her arrangement, but her secret work—­hidden from public view like the peonies on her shitamae—­suggests a dif­fer­ent way of interpreting her extravagant kimono. It seems that such luxuries are only pos­si­ble b ­ ecause of personal choices regarding her profession. Nanako epitomizes the new breed of geisha described by the mistress as somebody who is “neither h ­ ere nor t­here” and does not distinguish between “work and play” (95–96). With a modern sensibility, Nanako thinks nothing of walking around the geisha ­house in her underwear, perhaps a reference to the fact that a portion of her earnings comes from disrobing. When she goes out to meet her former lover, the president of a textile firm who is now down on his luck, she has a hard time deciding what to wear for the rendezvous. In the end, she chooses Western clothes, a black skirt, white blouse, and yellow sweater: Wearing elegant pearls that may or may not be real, and with a coat slung over her shoulders, she did not look like a geisha, an old-­fashioned identity, but she did not look like a [regular] young lady e­ ither. Nor did she look like a pan-­pan girl. The most accurate description would be the newfangled geisha, Nanako, who exhibited aspects of her former life as a secretary; compared to her appearance in geisha wear, she looked stronger and more carefree. (208–209) Ultimately, the modern geisha Nanako is a consummate realist who “calculates what is profitable and what is not” and “does not involve herself with business that leads to loss” (218). She rejects the ex-­lover when she realizes t­ here is no benefit to reestablishing their relationship. And unlike older geisha, she keeps a detailed rec­ord of her income to check on the payments she receives from the mistress and looks out for her own interests. Fittingly, the winter peony depicted on her New Year’s kimono conveys a sense not only of beauty but also of resilience: it is a flower that blooms in the season of snow, and in gardens it is usually protected by straw covering so that it survives the cold.25 Nanako’s white New Year’s outfit matches the season and is also an expression of herself; it reflects the care she takes in order to thrive in this industry, crafting her own geisha identity in the postwar world. By choosing a white kimono with a lavish design, Nanako also highlights her youth and fashion-­forward sensibility. Although dif­fer­ent from the type of kimono worn by Nanako h ­ ere, white kimonos, particularly with extensive pictorial designs, would be all the rage in a few years, becoming one of the most memorable

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kimono trends of the late 1950s through the 1960s.26 Young Nanako is a geisha for a new Japan: with l­ imited training and traditional knowledge, performing her identity only as necessary, and focusing on her own survival. *

*

*

In sum, ­t hese three kimonos reveal much about the ­women who wear them, and Kōda doubtless enjoyed infusing such intricate information into clothing. While Someka’s pine in the sunset may be relatively easy for present-­day readers to understand, the pictorial details of the mistress’ and Nanako’s kimonos, against the backdrop of the historical and economic contexts of the mid-1950s, are more difficult to immediately recognize. But such nuances and hidden messages, I would argue, are a vital aspect of Flowing; they are an integral ele­ment of the reading experience and resonate with the novel’s broader theme of seeing and reading accurately.

Winners and Losers: Rereading the Ending Rika herself is rarely described in terms of appearance but is revealed through her inner thoughts. When she stays with her cousin due to an illness, we learn some aspects of her past life. And during this convalescence Rika realizes that she misses her workplace; when she recovers, she returns to Tsutanoya fully committed to her job. In the end, however, the geisha ­house is bought out. Rika is contacted by Nandori, a former geisha, now a mistress of a restaurant, and recruited to be in charge of a new business to be located at the Tsutanoya site. Having entered into the professional world as a maid, Rika has successfully transformed herself and, it is suggested, ­w ill become someone of consequence, managing a business in the district. (Although it is unclear what the enterprise might be, one guesses that it may be a restaurant or something along t­ hose lines.) As part of her final ser­v ice to Tsutanoya, Rika helps the mistress move her ­house­hold across the river, and the novel ends with Rika walking back, presumably to the old ­house, in the ­middle of the night. Leaving ­behind the mistress whose circumstances are in “decline” (chōraku, 282), Rika thinks about this “new start that is not entirely about joy” (281–282) and remembers the way the mistress had originally given her a dif­fer­ent name, “Haru,” ­because she “found [saying] the name Rika to be a bother” (282). The word “chōraku” (decline) is also used to describe how blossoms fade away and fall. While Rika (pear blossom)/Haru (spring) is about to blossom into her new life, she feels pain seeing that the mistress’ glory days have come to an end. Despite this sadness, however, critics have interpreted the novel’s ending as a happy one, with Rika achieving upward mobility in a world that clearly distin-

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guishes winners from losers. Scholars have tended to be critical of this outcome, considering it too abrupt and contrived.27 Reading the work as a kind of I-­novel, for example, Kobayashi Hiroko suggests that this ending was inevitable b ­ ecause it would have been unseemly for Rika (as an extension of the author, Kōda Aya) to return to the nonprofessional world (as Kōda did in real life). In order to avoid the appearance that Kōda chose to live in Yanagibashi purely as a way to get new material for her writing, it was impor­tant for the protagonist to stay in the geisha world and succeed, rather than replicate the author’s temporary sojourn t­ here as a maid.28 Of course, it is not always easy to disassociate Rika (and the narrator) from Kōda Aya the author, b ­ ecause she is often represented as a wise, observant reader of p ­ eople, events, and language.29 However, even before considering such a biographical analy­sis, it is critical to interrogate the assumption that the ending in fact represents a straightforward success story for the protagonist. As I ­will suggest, the conclusion is much more ambivalent. Flowing is about a character who enters into a foreign space and learns to decode its p ­ eople and practices. Rika deduces the difference between appearances and what is actually happening, who has power and who does not, and how objects and money circulate within this par­tic­u­lar economy. The practice of reading accurately and in depth is necessary for survival in this world, and kimonos provide one gauge of understanding for both Rika and the reader. But in the end Rika does not necessarily understand what is happening; the ending is opaque, and it is ultimately unclear if Rika’s ­f uture situation ­w ill be truly beneficial. On the surface, this new position with Nandori, a respected former geisha and power­f ul force within the community, seems much more promising than staying with the mistress. Yet it is unclear what the a­ ctual business is and who is financing it. Saeki, the secretary to the mistress’ former lover, is also involved, and he might be the a­ ctual owner of the business, with money invested by Nandori or his employer. Rika deduces that she is ­going to be put “in charge of this enterprise, at least on the surface” (281), a tricky situation that could be a financial minefield for her. Although she feels kindly disposed ­toward Saeki, a younger person, she also recognizes aspects of him that are not likable. Nandori too is an elusive character; she has been more helpful to the mistress than Kishimojin, but her motives for providing assistance are never made clear. Rika surmises that Nandori “bought or was made to buy” the mistress’ ­house (280); all we know for sure is that she is involved in the enterprise in some fashion, as Saeki explains that she is the one who wanted to employ Rika. ­Because Nandori ­w ill be her new mistress, she holds the key to Rika’s ­f uture. But Rika’s understanding of this elusive character is l­ imited. In the past, Rika had observed Nandori getting up from the futon in her underkimono, rising in a sensual

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manner.30 Ann Sherif characterizes her as a “quin­tes­sen­tial geisha”; she is “an older ­woman, who, though alone, gets out of bed as if she had just spent a passionate night with a lover.”31 The text describes Nandori’s underkimono as “lilac colored, with a pattern of white weeping cherry trees and green weeping willows, and an attached silver gray collar”; it is “loosely tied with a bamboo green underkimono sash with a single dokko [vaj­ra] line pattern in white.”32 The description continues: “Although t­ here was no red anywhere in this outfit, it was gorgeously colorful [hanayaka]” (210). The cherry and willow, matched with lilac and green colors, convey a sense of growth and life. Nandori pays close attention to her appearance, even though the underkimono is presumably seen only by herself, “her passions having now been burnt out” and remaining only as memories (211). Scholars have focused on the physicality of this scene but ignored Nandori’s clothes. Yet they do reveal aspects of who she is. The reference to the lack of red colors, for example, may be associated with her graduation from the world of passion (and perhaps obliquely with menopause, symbolically referenced in a subsequent conversation with Rika). At the same time, the underkimono shows that she is thriving, the word “hanayaka” (gorgeous) and the pictorial design conjuring images of flowers (hana) in bloom and vari­ous growing plants. Although she may be considered beyond her prime with regard to sexuality, Nandori is in the spring of her life in other ways, a leader in the community and mistress of a well-­ regarded restaurant. As Tsutaji explains to Rika, Nandori has been surrounded by “first-­rate customers” all her life and is considered the “highest-­ranking” individual in the district (190). And Nandori shows herself to be a keen reader of ­people, recognizing that the way Rika operates is by saying very ­little, and that Rika is a “true nonprofessional . . . ​w ith a keen eye” (213), able to observe ­t hings clearly. The name Nandori is actually a nickname given to her in the text by Rika. When she is first introduced, Nandori is referred to as “the old mistress of Mizuno” (101) or “Mizuno” (189) (presumably the name of her restaurant), but Rika gives her a new nickname ­after hearing her use the old-­fashioned word (“nandori,” 193), meaning gentle or calm. Although this is supposedly Nandori’s preferred way of ­doing ­things (as opposed to the way the mistress has mishandled the situation with the blackmailer), we won­der if this is a fitting name for her. According to Tsutaji, she can be a difficult, proud person, having never experienced misfortune herself. It is true that Rika’s new employment has suddenly materialized in a quiet, peaceful manner, but is this alliance with Nandori desirable, and is she truly a gentle individual? ­These questions arise, considering Rika’s reaction on hearing about the job. While ­t here are still many ­t hings she does not understand, her initial reaction

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seems on point. She learns that she has been “taken away” (281) from the mistress and observes to Nandori and Saeki that “it seems that I have been given to you along with the ­house” (280). Critics have never discussed this aspect of the ending, but essentially Rika is being treated like an object, removed from one position of ser­v ice and placed into another. On the surface the new position appears as “an unbelievable, rare opportunity” (280), but one won­ders about this troubling lack of agency. Nandori seems benevolent and wise, in contrast to Kishimojin, the other older ­woman who wields power in the story. However, the ambivalence of the ending suggests some similarities between Nandori and the merciless moneylender, which puts Rika’s success in a negative light. Kishimojin, initially nicknamed “Diamond” (41, 43–46) for the large ring she wears, is called thus b ­ ecause she lives near a ­temple dedicated to Kishimojin (Hārītī), a Buddhist goddess who protects ­children. In legend, Kishimojin is a former demon who used to eat ­children, but repented through the intervention of the Bud­dha. With regard to the Kishimojin with the diamond ring, Rika has heard from o ­ thers that she has the “character of a Kishimojin who ­w ill never reach enlightenment” (48). Indeed, at the end of the novel she turns out to be a veritable demon who has already accepted payment for her ­daughter Yoneko to work at a tea­house. Yoneko w ­ ill be a ­house­maid, but w ­ ill also be allowed to work at parties at this “third-­or fourth-­rate” establishment (248), which sounds suspiciously like a job that might entail prostitution. Kishimojin has de­cided that she w ­ ill help raise Yoneko’s d ­ aughter Fujiko, but t­ here is no question that this is a business transaction. With her good looks, Fujiko is considered a valuable asset for the f­ uture; once grown, she is likely to make money for her grand­mother as a successful geisha. Nandori may not be as cold-­blooded as Kishimojin, but she has certainly upended the mistress’ plans by taking Rika away. Originally, it was the mistress who was planning to start an inn nearby with Rika in a position of authority, but now Rika finds herself in a similar situation ­under Nandori’s control. Rika is in a much better state than Yoneko, but the way she has been traded (likely as part of the mistress’ negotiations with Nandori and Saeki) reminds us that Rika is, like Yoneko, a pawn in other ­people’s games. Rika does not appear to have much say in the m ­ atter ­because she lives day to day on her wages and occasional tips, and has no choice but to flow (nagareru) wherever and to whomever the current takes her. Even Kōda Aya, who acknowledged in an interview that Rika does “achieve a certain status in that world,” stresses that she is not yet tested in the professional realm, and must suffer before she can achieve her true standing. Kōda describes Rika as “the most incomplete” of the characters, whose fate is yet unknown.33 Even if we do not accept the authorial viewpoint as the only way to interpret a text, it

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is worth noting that Kōda’s view of Rika’s rise as being “too easy”34 dovetails with the uncertain nature of this promotion. The sudden conclusion thrust upon Rika is better understood as an ambivalent one, rather than a straightforward rags-­to-­riches ending in which the protagonist is rewarded for her abilities. Furthermore, this outcome raises the question of w ­ hether or not Rika has become a superior reader who can fully comprehend ­t hings, ­people, and relationships in the professional world. ­Toward the end, ­t here is a famous scene in which Rika accurately judges the quality of the mistress’ musical abilities. Perhaps Rika has become an ­adept “reader” in this area, but she still lacks the skills to accurately understand her own situation, and does not have a full picture of Saeki, his employer, Nandori, or the mistress’ money prob­lems. The idea of in-­depth reading through kimono is presented in the novel as part of Rika’s practice and abilities; characters who fail to comprehend their assets (sartorial or other­w ise) cannot succeed. The description of several key outfits also provides readers with additional insight into individual characters, not immediately obvious at first glance. As a fundamental part of life in the entertainment district, kimonos provide a critical means of interpretation throughout the text. In the end, the novel raises questions about the fate of Rika herself, a character who is not described in detail with regard to appearance and still remains somewhat of an enigma. Has she truly become a first-­rate reader and does she have what it takes to succeed in this world? We leave Rika as she walks back in the darkness of night, feeling that both she “and the narrow streets are stagnating [yodondeiru] with exhaustion and loneliness” (282). “Yodondeiru,” a term describing stagnating w ­ ater, a halting of movement, underscores the murky and directionless quality of this moment without a sense of flowing. In this way Rika embarks on her new life alone, pondering the past and without a clear view of her f­ uture.

Visual Kimonos in Naruse Mikio’s Flowing A year a­ fter the novel’s publication, Tōhō Studios released the film Nagareru (Flowing, 1956), directed by Naruse Mikio. Naruse, an impor­tant film director of the Golden Age of Japa­nese cinema, is known for his “­woman’s films,” works starring ­women and targeting a female audience. In her monograph, The Cinema of Naruse Mikio, Catherine Russell calls Flowing “one of the key ­woman’s films in Naruse’s oeuvre.”35 Kōda’s novel was a significant cultural phenomenon, winning major awards, including the 1956 Nihon Geijutsuin shō (Japan Art Acad­emy Prize). The film too enjoyed critical acclaim and won the Geijutsusai Monbu Daijin shō (National Arts Festival Minister of Education Prize) in 1956.36

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Naruse’s film should also be understood as a major part of the novel’s afterlife, and part of what might be called a Kōda boom of the 1950s.37 In 1958, for example, it was screened at an event in Tokyo commemorating the new seven-­ volume Kōda Aya zenshū (Collected works of Kōda Aya) hosted by the publisher Chūōkōronsha. ­People came to see Kōda Aya, listen to lectures on her works, watch the film, and celebrate the publication of her collected works, beautifully bound in handwoven kimono fabric of a checkered design, named the “Kōda check” (Kōda gōshi) (see Plate 9).38 Naruse’s film featured top female stars of the day, a major draw for the audience.39 In fact, it was extraordinary to see so many top-­billing ­women together in one film, including Tanaka Kinuyo (1909–1977, Rika), Yamada Isuzu (1917– 2012, Tsutayakko—­the mistress), Takamine Hideko (Katsuyo), Sugimura Ha­ ruko (1906–1997, Someka), and Okada Mariko (b. 1933, Nanako). Kurishima Sumiko (1902–1987, Ohama—­the Nandori/Mizuno character), a prominent film star who had retired from the movies in 1935, also made a special appearance.40 An advertisement for Flowing in a 1956 film journal underscores the presence of ­t hese ­women and emphasizes the work’s focus as a w ­ oman’s film: “A ­women’s world unknown to ­women! W ­ omen’s sadness that can only be depicted by a ­woman—­Kōda Aya’s masterpiece written with a delicate brush and fresh sensibility, made into a film by the master Naruse Mikio with a flowing, elegant touch!” 41 Not only is it a film full of famous ­women, based on a story by a famous female writer and directed by a master of w ­ oman’s film, but it also features an exotic “­women’s world,” the secret, closed world of geisha. Like the novel, the film does not portray erotic love scenes or parties for men in tea­houses, but focuses on the domestic drama within Tsutanoya, especially around the issue of money.42 The screenplay is by Tanaka Sumie (1908–2000) and Ide Toshirō (1910–1988), but Tanaka explains that Naruse himself was also deeply involved in creating the script, which diverges from the original novel.43 While Rika remains an impor­ tant character, the main focus is the mistress, named Tsutayakko (referred to as Otsuta), and several key events are compressed into a short period of time, playing out mostly in the summer instead of winter. The opening shot is of the flowing river. Rika, a ­w idow whose child has died, arrives at Tsutanoya to work as a maid (and is renamed Oharu by the mistress). The financial trou­bles of Tsuta­ yakko and her ­house make up the main plotline; the most significant difference from the novel is the ending, in which the Nandori character, named Ohama, purchases Tsutanoya. Although Tsutayakko believes she has been rescued from debt by her former “geisha ­sister,” it turns out that Ohama intends to expand her restaurant business and evict Tsutayakko. Ohama secretly recruits Rika to work for

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her, but Rika refuses to take part in this endeavor and plans to return to the nonprofessional world, to face her in-­laws and vari­ous obligations. Thus Rika remains loyal to her mistress and does not achieve success in the professional world in the film; t­ hose in Tsutanoya remain oblivious to their fate at the end, but change is inevitable, emphasized by shots of the flowing river reminiscent of the opening scene.44 Kimonos are a constant presence in the film, both as everyday wear and as work wear. Along with the Western clothing worn by some of the ­women, ­t hese visual kimonos tell stories about the characters; they also create a power­f ul narrative that enhances the plotline. The kimonos described in the novel do not appear in the film (and ­t here are no New Year’s cele­brations), and famous scenes involving garments (such as when the mistress falls to the ground or Nandori rises from bed) are not re-­created on the screen. The only exception is the appearance of the newly minted geisha who visits Tsutanoya—­t his is also the only time we get a view of geisha in formal regalia, with a traditional hairstyle and the long kimono hem properly lifted up with the left hand (hidarizuma)—­but her kimono is not black as it is in the novel. The film does not try to reproduce specific aspects of Kōda’s text but invents new ways of using kimonos as critical ele­ments of cinematic storytelling. ­Because the film is essentially set in the summer, many characters wear yukata, unlined kimonos usually made of cotton (see Figure 5.1). The bold designs of the yukata, often with abstract lines and shapes, create a unique visual experience, despite the fact that the film is in black and white. The contrast between the designs on the garments and the straight lines of the interior space is striking, and the garments enhance the ­women’s physical presence and movement. For viewers ­today, the dif­fer­ent kinds of traditional yukata and kimono patterns, as well as the now rarely seen bodily movements associated with kimono, would no doubt seem exotic.45 For the 1956 audience too, the variety of yukata and kimono designs, as well as the skilled ways in which actors carried off their garments, would have been a significant source of visual plea­sure, especially in the context of the changing sartorial culture of the times. Just as in the book, garments including yukata convey messages about characters, context, and plot. When the film begins, the river and street scenes identify the setting as the entertainment district and also show ­women with traditional hairstyles, emphasizing the uniqueness of this environment. Rika, played by Tanaka Kinuyo, appears with her luggage, an outsider asking for directions; despite the heat, she is wearing a kimono with the collar drawn together tightly. Immediately in the next scene, the camera focuses on the back of a sauntering ­woman wearing a garment that intimates a professional identity, a loosely worn

Deciphering the Geisha World   159

Figure 5.1. The Tsutanoya ­women at home in yukata (left to right: Yoneko, Tsutayakko, and Katsuyo), with Rika in Western clothes with an apron. Flowing. © 1956 Toho.

striped kimono with a striped obi tied slightly askew. She walks by Tsutanoya, and the camera brings us inside where the drama begins. Even though she appears only briefly, this ­woman conveys the aesthetic of iki (chic) associated with the demimonde, in contrast to Rika’s respectable quality as a nonprofessional.46 Through clothing and be­hav­ior, Rika’s difference is emphasized from the very beginning, and indeed, throughout the film she continues to stand out for her deep bows and polite, formalistic speech. The summer setting is particularly effective as it allows for the ubiquity of yukata. ­These are summer kimonos, traditionally worn indoors, usually as loungewear or sleepwear, and therefore suggest a sense of intimacy. Although men, w ­ omen, and ­children can also wear yukata in vari­ous situations outdoors, they w ­ ere originally the equivalent of bathrobes or nightclothes and still remain lowest in terms of kimono rank. The use of yukata in this film is an effective way of framing the story as an intimate look into the backstage realities of the geisha world. The w ­ omen wear yukata indoors at Tsutanoya and around the neighborhood; we see them constantly changing into their fancy work kimonos or outfits for ­going out, and then back into yukata once they return. We also see them sleeping in ­t hese garments.

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In Flowing, the job of “costume con­sul­tant” (ishō kōshō; a specialist who oversees the historical and contextual accuracy of the costumes) is credited to Iwata Sentarō (1901–1974), an artist who drew illustrations for serialized novels and was known for his images of beautiful ­women.47 It seems, however, that Naruse himself was also closely involved with the choice of clothes and how they ­were worn. He was a notoriously taciturn director, but he paid close attention to costumes and oversaw their se­lection in a strict manner. Nakakita Chieko (1926–2005), who played Yoneko in Flowing, explained in an interview that Naruse had a deep understanding of details such as kimono patterns and did not allow costumes to be used ­until he approved them. As an actor who worked with him regularly, Nakakita interpreted Naruse’s costume choices as an impor­tant component of his ideas about her roles and guessed that other actresses also developed their characters around his garment se­lections. For Flowing, Nakakita recalled that she arrived on the set wearing her yukata properly, but Naruse came to her side and wordlessly messed it up, indicating that it had to be worn very loosely. ­After this incident, Nakakita wore the garment in this way as a part of her role, to match Yoneko’s character.48 On screen, Yoneko’s appearance in yukata is quite memorable, as she is the most disheveled of all the w ­ omen, her collar open and baggy, the obi loose, and the hem worn very high like a child. She clearly lacks the sophistication of a geisha like Tsutayakko, her s­ ister in the film version. But neither is she a proper “nonprofessional”; although she supposedly takes on occasional domestic work as a maid, she is a far cry from the hardworking, competent Rika. Her sloppy way of dressing reflects her inadequacies, as well as her unseemly fixation on her former lover. Clearly, clothing served as an impor­tant method of communication for Naruse, conveying information about the characters. Writer and kimono expert Kondō Tomie is critical of the costume choices for Flowing, explaining that she likes the yukata but feels that the other kimonos and many obi w ­ ere generally too “modern” in their designs to have been worn by Yanagibashi geisha. She concedes that young geisha working in the district at the time may have worn such garments, but complains that the kimonos and obi worn by the main character Tsutayakko and the older geisha Someka should have been more “iki,” which in her view means, for example, dark, somber-­hued garments with subtle, small, all-­ over patterns, or thin, vertical lines.49 I have g­ reat re­spect for Kondō’s knowledge of twentieth-­century kimono culture, and I am sure the film falls short in some ways with regard to historical realism. However, for Naruse, authenticity in kimono wear was prob­ably only impor­tant up to a point; he likely chose costumes for their visual impact on the screen, as well as to satisfy a popu­lar i­magined view of

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geisha as wearing bold designs. He likely felt that fans would appreciate seeing top stars wearing striking kimonos rather than ­t hose with more subtle shades and patterns. Most importantly, I believe Naruse chose kimono patterns and Western dress styles to proj­ect messages about the characters or the dramatic situation. Tsuta­ yakko’s yukata and kimono designs include flowing ­water and similar patterns, as well as stripes, including yorokejima (wavy stripes). Tsutayakko, played by Yamada Isuzu, is a much more sympathetic character than the mistress in the novel; in the film she is portrayed as a geisha known for her musical abilities but down on her luck, having followed her heart and been cheated out of money by a former lover. The swirling patterns underscore both her importance as a protagonist in Flowing and her drifting, lost quality, having to face life’s ups and downs without anyone to turn to. ­These striking clothing designs also suggest that she has a strong personality; she is unwilling, for example, to compromise and take a patron she does not like.50 Kimonos with stripes are not always part of the iki aesthetic, but in her case, the bold stripes emphasize her professional identity.51 This is very much in contrast to her ­daughter Katsuyo, who has quit the geisha business ­after only six months. Katsuyo wears dresses, blouses, and skirts; when she wears yukata at home, they do not have striped patterns. Like Tsutayakko, the film version of Katsuyo (played by Takamine Hideko) is more likable than in the novel; she is portrayed as a d ­ aughter always trying to protect her m ­ other. She describes herself as a hybrid, “born in a professional ­house­hold but raised like a nonprofessional.”52 She possesses many high-­quality kimonos that ­were made at the time of her geisha debut (in one scene they are shown being hung and aired), but they are useless now that she is no longer in the profession. To Rika, this wardrobe is beautiful and a source of admiration, but to Katsuyo, the kimonos only represent “the additional debt” her m ­ other had to take on, and remind her of her own lack of ability to earn money. When the kimono dealer comes to Tsutanoya to advertise his wares, Katsuyo ignores him while the ­others gather around to look over his fabrics. At the end of the film we see Ka­ tsuyo furiously sewing with a sewing machine, as if to reject the d ­ ying geisha world of kimono and embrace new economic opportunities associated with Western clothing. As her m ­ other continues to practice her shamisen and singing downstairs, Katsuyo explores ways “to feed myself and my ­mother” in the years to come, making a racket upstairs with her modern tool for survival. Novelist and critic Kataoka Yoshio comments that Katsuyo’s dresses and Western outfits are quite fash­ion­able, and that this may indicate that she has been brought up not wanting for ­t hings. Even though Tsutanoya is in serious debt, her

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­ other has provided for her. This observation certainly dovetails with the signifim cant investment Tsutayakko has made in purchasing Katsuyo’s kimono wardrobe. She is not happy with the idea that her ­daughter is interested in taking in sewing and seems ­eager to match Katsuyo with Saeki, who is Ohama’s nephew in the film. Significantly, however, even this critic who reads Western clothing does not fully appreciate kimono language. He observes only, for example, that the modern geisha Nanako’s kimono is “shiny and light [keikai]” in comparison to Tsuta­ yakko’s. It is not clear which kimono(s) he is talking about, but he seems to suggest that the difference is based on age and lack of gravitas.53 This observation misses many nuances about dif­fer­ent types of kimonos and yukata, occasions for wearing them, as well as pictorial and abstract designs. Nanako, played by Okada Mariko, is a young former office worker. We see her in a range of clothes: yukata, a dress, a sleek two-­piece Western ensemble, and formal kimonos for her job. Unlike in the novel, ­there is no reference to her working as a prostitute, although she does express disappointment about a former lover who “tried to ‘play’ for f­ ree by talking about the past.” The kimono(s) Kataoka calls “shiny and light” may have appeared that way to him ­because of the par­ tic­u­lar types of fabric used. Also, many of her kimonos are light c­ olored, which may have contributed to such an impression. The most memorable (and shiniest) of her formal kimonos is the one with large irises, flowers associated with the summer season in kimono wear (see Figure 5.2). For ­t hose familiar with kimono culture and poetic references, the obi, with its crisscrossed lines, might evoke bridges drawn in an abstract manner, thus completing the yatsuhashi (eight bridges) design. Yatsuhashi, or the pictorial combination of irises and wooden bridges, derives from a poem attributed to Ariwara no Narihira (ca. 825–880) in the classic work Ise monogatari (Tales of Ise).54 Although it is difficult to clearly see the obi design and the details within the kimono, viewers aware of such design patterns would likely have thought about this pos­si­ble reference while watching the film. Certainly, the large size of the flowers is better suited for someone of Nanako’s age, rather than an older ­woman like Tsutayakko. However, the main point of this “shiny and light” kimono, in my reading, is not to show that Nanako is a young person without much responsibility. Rather, it creates a juxtaposition—­the modern, likely untrained, geisha is the one wearing a pictorial seasonal kimono with the potential for evoking a complex classical reference. Does she even understand the meaning of her clothing? By the 1950s, the Yanagibashi geisha district had to rely on p ­ eople like Nanako to carry on its traditions. This is a precarious

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Figure 5.2. Nanako in a kimono with irises; Rika is helping her put on the obi. Someka (right) is holding up a mirror to her hair. Flowing. © 1956 Toho.

venture, as young, new workers may not have a full understanding of the details or meaning of the outfits they wear, and this likely extends to other geisha traditions they are supposed to uphold and transmit. If anything, this kimono is not “light,” but “heavy” in the sense that it represents sartorial, literary, and artistic references that are increasingly lost on the average viewer. Just as fewer and fewer ­people can hear the difference between Tsutayakko’s expert shamisen playing and that of Someka, who fudges the notes, it is only a ­matter of time before more cultural institutions and practices associated with this world ­w ill fade from popu­lar understanding. Even in 1956, the kimono worn by Nanako and its potential for such commentary on the changes taking place in postwar Japan may have been too specialized for most filmgoers. However, the very subtlety of the message is indicative of the attention paid to each costume in Flowing, creating a vibrant sense of characterization and storytelling possibilities that deserve careful scrutiny. Naruse did not try to replicate Kōda Aya’s Flowing (or to achieve full accuracy with regard to Yanagibashi material culture), but just as Kōda did in the novel, he uses kimonos in both subtle and overt ways to develop ele­ments of character, plot, and broader social commentary.

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The Story of Disease and Recovery in Naruse’s Flowing In this final section, I show how yukata in the film also develop the theme of disease and taint, another critical ele­ment of Naruse’s Flowing. This theme is certainly pre­ sent in the novel, but amplified and more explicit in the film. The film’s first scene within Tsutanoya is an argument between Katsuyo and Namie, a disgruntled geisha employee. In the novel, Namie only appears in discussions by ­others, but in the film her physical presence highlights the prob­lems of the h ­ ouse. Expressing outrage, Katsuyo rejects Namie’s accusations that Tsutanoya has been skimming from their pay and makes fun of Namie’s poor, rustic background and lack of sophistication. Katsuyo also challenges Namie’s concept of correct pay, saying that her “unofficial salary” is not g­ oing to make it into the books, suggesting that she knows Namie also works as a prostitute. This is emphasized again ­later when Namie storms out angrily, and the ­women of the ­house won­der where she has gone. Nanako suggests she went to make extra cash and Someka comments wryly, “It’s true she’s young but it’s amazing how she can keep her body g­ oing [yoku karada ga tsuzuku].” While the sense of conflict and physical pollution associated with prostitution plays out downstairs, upstairs Tsutayakko sits on her futon, using an electric gadget to massage her neck, shoulders, and arms. Katsuyo comes up to talk to her ­mother, and we discover that Tsutayakko has turned down requests to appear at events and has been trying to rest.55 Wearing a yukata with bold lines evocative of swirling w ­ ater, she complains of not being able to sleep at night. Afterwards, when her s­ ister Otoyo (the Kishimojin character) visits and asks, “I heard you w ­ ere sick in bed?” Tsutayakko responds, “Yes, it’s all from being in debt up to my eyeballs [shakkin de kubi ga mawaranakunacchatte].” The Japa­nese expression used here, “not being able to move one’s neck due to debt,” becomes a pun, as she has also been massaging her neck. Tsutayakko folds up her futon to create a place for Otoyo to sit, but the sense of illness and disorder continues, as Otoyo tries to persuade her to take on another patron. ­Because Tsutayakko has been swindled out of money by her former lover, she has had to borrow money from Otoyo, who is now ­eager to be paid back. Otoyo has found a wealthy man for Tsutayakko and encourages her to get him to provide financial assistance. The situation for the mistress upstairs is not so dif­f er­ent from the situation downstairs—­ even as Namie is despised for her sex work, the owner of the ­house is in danger of having to “sell” herself, with Otoyo serving as her “pimp.” A sense of physical taint, as well as financial and personal prob­lems, permeates Tsutanoya. ­Later we see Tsutayakko return home following a brief meeting with Otoyo and the potential patron at the Kabuki theater. She changes into another yukata, and sitting sideways in an informal position, plays her shamisen slowly and lethar-

Deciphering the Geisha World   165

Figure 5.3. Tsutayakko playing a shamisen in a yukata with the old coins pattern. Flowing. © 1956 Toho.

gically (see Figure 5.3). Visually, this yukata is especially emblematic, as the all-­ over images appear to be “the old coins pattern” (kosengara), ancient coins with holes, depicted on the garment. She is trapped by her debts, and her symbolically coin-­covered body may be the only way out of her situation. Although she ultimately rejects Otoyo’s proposition, the melancholic atmosphere contributes to a listlessness and sense of disease—­she plays her instrument upstairs without singing, sitting near the area that was her sickbed, and waiting for Rika to bring her some sake so she can drink her sorrows away. The yukata worn by the ­women show the intimate backstage realities of the geisha world. At the same time, they highlight the theme of illness, made most apparent by Fujiko’s sickness. Becoming ill from lack of proper maternal supervision, Fujiko, Yoneko’s young ­daughter, suffers from a fever and upset stomach. In the film she is portrayed as a cute, rather quiet child; ­after getting a dreaded shot from the doctor, she lies in bed for much of the film’s duration, her futon laid out in the m ­ iddle of the downstairs area where she watches vari­ous ­house­hold dramas unfold. In this way, Naruse literally puts disease—­specifically one experienced by a child due to her ­mother’s neglect—at the heart of the ­house­hold.

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In the novel, ­t here is a sick dog tied up in the entry­way to Tsutanoya. This ­ ying animal does not appear in the film, but it is made clear that the h d ­ ouse­hold is diseased or tainted in vari­ous ways. Namie’s ­uncle, who comes to the ­house to blackmail the mistress, continues the dispute about Namie, including the question of w ­ hether or not Tsutayakko made her engage in sex work as a minor. Listening to this man’s outbursts in the ­house, Fujiko cries out to her ­mother that she is scared. She also closely watches Someka and Nanako dance around drunk ­after coming home from an engagement (see Figure 5.4). They make a ruckus about how fun and easy it is to be in the profession, but Someka, with her obi undone in the pro­cess of undressing, ends up vomiting off of the veranda. The sick Fujiko’s gaze that surveys the “illnesses” in the h ­ ouse is built into the framework of the film. She is nursed back to health by Rika, the outsider who remains separate from the dissipation of the h ­ ouse­hold. Dressed properly in her kimono on arrival, Rika wears practical Western blouses and skirts for her l­ abors and only wears a yukata for sleep. As she helps the child recover, the ­house­hold also seems to right itself. The blackmailing scandal reaches a resolution through the intervention of the local police; by the time the ­house­hold celebrates the solu-

Figure 5.4. Someka (left) and Nanako dancing while drunk. Flowing. © 1956 Toho.

Deciphering the Geisha World   167

tion reached by all parties, Fujiko is healthy again and her bedding has been removed from the room. In the end, Tsutayakko does not have to compromise herself with men to pay off her debts but decides instead to sell the h ­ ouse to Ohama. The understanding is that Tsutayakko ­w ill rent from her and continue the business as before. A ­ fter this, Tsutayakko seems refreshed and practices the shamisen downstairs, singing and sitting properly. Fujiko too is more lively and engaged, asking Rika about a book. The final shift occurs a­ fter the older geisha Someka becomes intoxicated, fights with Katsuyo, and quits the establishment together with Nanako. ­After this, the next scene is designated as “autumn” in the screenplay, indicating that some time has passed.56 In Tsutanoya, ­t here are new younger trainees receiving shamisen lessons from Tsutayakko, and both Yoneko and Fujiko sit by correctly and observe. We also see Katsuyo working hard upstairs on a sewing machine; she is no longer sitting idly, passing the time making crafts with yarn. When Someka once again returns to the geisha h ­ ouse, contrite and sober, every­one is alert and spending time productively. Accepting Someka’s formal apology, Tsutayakko tells her that she herself is also “starting anew.” ­Because this scene takes place in the fall, the w ­ omen are wearing kimonos at home instead of yukata.57 Koromogae (changing of garments) following the seasons is still practiced in Japan with clothes such as school uniforms, where students begin wearing summer and winter uniforms on designated days or during a specific period of time. Kimono rules also dictate what can be worn in which months, although such rules are not always strictly upheld. The shift from yukata to kimono as home wear in the film shows that the heat has dissipated and summer is over. It also conveys a feeling of recovery, as if every­one has been able to leave their sickbeds (tokoage; literally, putting away the bed). We see Fujiko dancing to Tsutayakko’s shamisen; Someka says to Tsutayakko and Yoneko, “Fujiko has gotten so skilled [at dance], you [Yoneko] must be looking forward to the ­future [tanoshimi nee].” The implication is that the ­f uture of Fujiko as a geisha and Yoneko as her m ­ other is secure. By extension, as Fujiko is considered the one who ­w ill carry on the business instead of Katsuyo, the fate of Tsutanoya appears safe and sound, its ­f uture mistress showing g­ reat promise. As if to emphasize the theme of fresh beginnings and recovery from disease, a new geisha arrives at Tsutanoya in her formal outfit with her geisha ­mother and male attendant, in order to pay re­spects. The geisha ­mother comments on Tsutayakko’s recovery (“It’s wonderful that you have gotten completely well”), most likely as an oblique reference to her vari­ous past prob­lems, including general health. Tsutayakko replies, “Thank you very much. Our h ­ ouse is full of new f­ aces as well.” The sound of Katsuyo’s sewing machine, along with Tsutayakko singing

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and playing the shamisen together with Someka, indicate liveliness and hope. Catherine Russell suggests that “only in the final sequences in which w ­ omen are gathered together to teach new pupils do they seem to be in harmony with their surroundings.”58 I do not agree that this is the only instance of such “harmony,” but this closing scene certainly stands in stark contrast to the initial sequence in Tsutanoya when Katsuyo and Namie are arguing over receipts—­t he most visually disorienting scene in terms of character and spatial repre­sen­ta­tion. In that early sequence, p ­ eople are shot from dif­fer­ent directions; the audience does not understand what is ­going on, who the characters are, and the location of the rooms and entry­ways. It is visually disharmonious, and the entire atmosphere is chaotic and unsettled. By the end, however, the characters are fully in harmony with each other; the ­house too, both upstairs and downstairs, is equally full of purpose. The cloth hanging (noren) above Tsutanoya’s entry­way fi­nally seems appropriate, its design of sawarabi (young bracken shoots) evoking renewal and rebirth. Yet this theme of recovery is completely undercut and made all the more tragic when we see it through Rika’s eyes, once she learns the truth. The scenes pertaining to Rika at Ohama’s restaurant show that Ohama’s motivation for assistance was far from altruistic. Ohama tries to recruit Rika for her business, revealing that she bought Tsutanoya in order to turn it into a branch restaurant. Rika is shocked, but Ohama lightly laughs and implies that Tsutayakko has no idea that she is about to be evicted. Ohama notes that Tsutayakko w ­ ill have money enough to continue her geisha h ­ ouse in another location across the river but suggests that it is not a promising f­ uture. She comments, “I saw the new trainees the other day but not one of them ­w ill amount to much. Otsuta-­san [Tsutayakko] has been a geisha for so long, but this shows she ­really d ­ oesn’t have a discerning eye. Th ­ ose girls ­w ill all become like Namie. ­They’ll have to rely on their bodies to be able to live as geisha.” In Ohama’s view, Tsutanoya cannot thrive with only employees that ­will have to rely on their bodies as commodities, rather than their skills in shamisen, singing, or dance. ­After Rika turns down Ohama’s offer of employment, she is asked to keep this discussion a secret. Unlike in the novel, in which Rika is taken from Tsutanoya (with the mistress’ approval) to work for Nandori/Saeki, in the film Rika is the only one who knows what ­will happen to Tsutanoya. She is the only one who can see the truth—­that harmony, recovery from illness, and productivity for the ­future are to be short-­lived. What appeared at first to be Tsutayakko’s successful escape from her debts to Otoyo is only an illusion, as Ohama turns out to be even more self-­ serving and scheming. Furthermore, it is hard to believe that Ohama would truly consider Katsuyo as a bride for her nephew Saeki, and thus Tsutayakko’s hopes on that front w ­ ill likely be dashed as well.

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Fujiko has recovered, and now it is Rika, weighted down with the devastating secret of Tsutanoya’s fate, who casts a melancholy look over the premises. She gazes at the building and the ­people, and listens to the shamisen and the sewing machine. It turns out that Rika also has to put her own ­house in order, so to speak, as she tells Katsuyo she ­w ill be returning to her in-­laws, to inter the bones of her dead husband and child in the ­family grave. She had run away from responsibilities to her husband’s relatives in order to make her own living, but she suggests that her current freedom (“selfish actions,” wagamama) may not last long. Rika too ­w ill ultimately leave Tsutanoya, just like the other employees. With the fate of this geisha ­house unclear, from the perspective of Rika and the audience, ­t hese final scenes of renewal and recovery appear tragic. The only concrete hope is located in the figure of Katsuyo, who has abandoned the geisha world to try to earn a living through the sewing machine—­not to sew kimonos, which are made by hand, but Western clothing. The sewing machine was a symbol of income, work, and practical education for ­women in the 1950s, and was a respectable means for ­women to earn money. As Andrew Gordon has noted, the rise of Western clothing as everyday wear a­ fter the war meant t­ here was need for t­ hose who could use t­ hese machines, and this included w ­ omen working in shops as well as from home.59 Katsuyo had explained to her ­mother that she wanted to “take in subcontracting sewing work,” and at the end of the film, she seems to be experimenting by making something on her own, ­doing what the screenplay notes is “­simple dressmaking.” 60 In an e­ arlier scene in which Katsuyo visits the employment bureau, t­ here is a long line of young w ­ omen like herself who need jobs. This signifies that work for ­women is hard to come by, but it also makes another point: every­one is dressed in Western clothes, in a dress or skirt, and no one is wearing a kimono. Like Ka­ tsuyo, who mainly appears in Western clothing (except for yukata which she wears only at home), w ­ omen of the new generation are essentially abandoning Japa­nese wear. When we see Katsuyo sewing at the end of the film, it is obvious that she is tapping into a potentially ­v iable long-­range source of income. The nationwide need for “dressmakers, seamstresses, and home-­sewing ­house­w ives” eventually abated in l­ater de­cades, with the proliferation of affordable, ready-­made Western clothes. The sales of sewing machines in Japan, for example, slowly declined a­ fter “an all-­time peak in 1969.” 61 But in 1956, the sewing machine was an impor­tant means of income and even female in­de­pen­dence. It would have been a more promising prospect for Katsuyo than trying to keep the geisha h ­ ouse g­ oing or finding a suitable husband, both options that would require financial assistance from men in some form. Russell observes that “by expanding the role of Katsuyo and giving it to Takamine Hideko, Naruse’s film adds to Koda’s

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novel a sense of the emerging generational rift of postwar Japan.” 62 As we saw with the 1950 Makioka ­Sisters film, Takamine’s star image played a role in projecting the conflicts and changes faced by younger ­women in the postwar landscape. Her repre­sen­ta­tion at the end of Flowing particularly emphasizes this “generational rift.” Although Tokyo geisha districts, such as Yanagibashi, still existed in the 1950s, the film’s repre­sen­ta­tion of Tsutanoya and its strug­gles—­including its reliance on male patronage and a decrease in true professionals fully trained in the arts—­suggests that their unique culture was becoming more and more esoteric and increasingly part of the past. ­Today, the film Flowing is a kind of time capsule that rec­ords images of Yanagi­ bashi, long-­gone everyday sartorial practices, and g­ reat actresses in their prime. In contrast to 1950s viewers who ­were more familiar with kimono culture, the twenty-­first ­century audience would not necessarily recognize details about traditional patterns or nuances of how clothing is worn; the sense of intimacy, illness, and renewal, along with details of character evoked through costume are all but lost on con­temporary viewers. For many ­people, the change of seasons as represented by dif­fer­ent types of kimonos, or association of yukata with intimacy or illness have already become exotic concepts. ­Today, yukata can be worn to vari­ ous events and are considered outdoor clothing; with global warming and the disappearance of strict kimono protocol, they are now worn e­ arlier and l­ ater than the prescribed summer months. When ­people now wear yukata indoors or to bed, it is usually only at traditional Japanese-­style inns or hot spring resorts, and not as nightwear in their daily lives. In short, Naruse’s repre­sen­ta­tion of a changing Japan is all the more poignant t­ oday, and the messages presented through kimonos and yukata are much harder to recognize. Just as the film predicts, traditional practices associated with kimono culture have faded and Western clothing has become the standard apparel for everyday life. *

*

*

In both Kōda Aya’s novel and Naruse Mikio’s film, kimonos are utilized as valuable tools for communication. To fully engage with the theme of decoding and interpretation at the heart of Kōda’s Flowing, one must read characters and events through clothing, in addition to geisha customs, language, and ­music. Through this pro­cess, we realize that the ending, usually understood as Rika’s success, may not be as it first appears, and won­der if Rika has indeed become a reader who can survive in the professional realm. In Naruse’s film, yukata and other garments are used to enhance ideas already pre­sent in the novel and to create new inferences. Clothes dramatize the mistress’ debt and Nanako’s postwar identity, and

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throughout, they powerfully highlight the sense of disease and pollution pre­sent in this geisha h ­ ouse. By exploring the language of kimono in both the novel and film, we can appreciate anew the complexities of Flowing. This is not only a stylistically challenging work, but also a text that asks us to think broadly about what it means to be a good reader, beyond the specific space of the 1950s Tokyo demimonde.

C HA P T E R SI X

Kimono Lessons Kōda Aya’s Kimono and Its Afterlife

A de­cade ­after publishing Flowing, Kōda Aya further developed her use of kimono language and established it as a key aspect of her novel Kimono, serialized from June 1965 to August 1968 in the journal Shinchō. In this chapter, I discuss this “bildungsroman [kyōyō shōsetsu]”1 that follows the protagonist’s coming of age as she grows up and is educated through kimonos in early twentieth-­century Tokyo. Rutsuko, the youn­gest of four siblings, learns about the world and herself by developing her tastes and abilities in dress, and by engaging with vari­ous interpersonal and socioeconomic issues connected with garments/textiles. In this work Kōda employs dif­fer­ent forms of kimono language and cultivates the notion of the kimono as a vehicle for life lessons and growth, especially for w ­ omen. The novel, however, also exemplifies Kōda’s awareness of the precarity of kimono language in late 1960s Japan. She never finished Rutsuko’s story, in part due to concerns about the lack of reader interest in kimonos; the unfinished novel was not published in book form u ­ ntil 1993, several years ­after Kōda’s death. In previous chapters, I have discussed the afterlives of novels on the screen (such as The Makioka S­ isters or Flowing), but ­here I show how Kimono, as a novel with a unique publication history, is reframed de­cades ­after its initial appearance. Thus, in addition to examining the work itself, kimonos, and Kōda Aya in the 1950s–1960s context, I investigate the novel’s reemergence during the 1990s–2000s in the essays of Kōda’s d ­ aughter Aoki Tama, and ­later in the 2010s writings of grand­daughter Aoki Nao. By reading Kimono in this way, I illuminate Kōda’s skill in kimono language and repre­sen­ta­tion, and highlight her identity as a literary progenitor. Kimono begins with Rutsuko as an unruly child who encounters dif­fer­ent fabrics and outfits, and cultivates her haptic and sartorial preferences, as well as her worldview. Throughout the work, kimonos play a central role in the episodes that show her pro­cess of maturing. As Ann Sherif notes, “kimonos are the means by which Rutsuko comes to develop her own sense of personhood.”2 Rutsuko attends higher girls’ school, makes friends from dif­fer­ent social backgrounds, and observes how her two older s­ isters marry and become part of other families. Her ­mother, 172

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with whom she has a difficult relationship, falls ill and passes away, despite the care provided by Rutsuko and her grand­mother. A ­ fter graduation, Rutsuko begins to meet candidates for her arranged marriage, but the ­family’s life is thrown into turmoil by the G ­ reat Kantō Earthquake of 1923. Their home is burnt and their belongings, including clothes, are destroyed. ­After they re-­create their lives from scratch and return to their old neighborhood, Rutsuko ends up falling in love and marrying against the express wishes of the ­family. The serialization ends with the depiction of her wedding night. Rutsuko is primarily taught about kimonos by her paternal grand­mother, a wise female elder. This education entails what might be called learning to “read” (interpret) and “write” (express herself through) kimonos. But this is not only a ­matter of recognizing kimono types, textiles, designs, associated vocabulary, and what t­ hese ­t hings signify; nor is it just about learning how to dress skillfully and appropriately. In Rutsuko’s education, the kimono is part of everyday domestic, social, and financial life. Often made or maintained at home, kimonos ­were taken apart, washed, and resewn. As they wore out, they ­were mended, relined, redyed, and made into other garments and ­house­hold items such as bedding. And as discussed in Chapter  1 and elsewhere, for many ­women kimonos w ­ ere a critical form of property, brought into a marriage and worn for a lifetime. They ­were also items of economic exchange: as bolts of new fabric or even as second­hand clothing, kimonos could be gifted, pawned, or used as payment. In this novel, Ru­ tsuko learns to interpret, ­handle, and wear such garments in the context of ­human–­k imono interactions; kimonos are a fundamental aspect of her life and enable an understanding of herself, o ­ thers, and society in general.3 As a work serialized in the late 1960s when the kimono generally had ceased being everyday wear, Kimono celebrates kimono language while also acknowledging that it is becoming obscure. Even as Rutsuko’s tale features the transmission of kimono knowledge and experience from one generation to another, it is fully aware that for many readers, ­t hese garments and associated culture have already become exotic. Unlike the early twentieth ­century, when kimono culture was at the heart of everyday life in Japan, by the 1960s kimonos w ­ ere worn primarily for special occasions. The el­derly and p ­ eople working in certain professions would still have worn them regularly, but in general kimonos had been replaced by Western wear and ­were no longer used as standard clothing. In this context, Kimono can be understood as a work deeply aware of the challenges of using ­k imono language even while employing it to educate and communicate with the readership. In examining Kimono, it is vital to consider the views of the author, a kimono connoisseur who wore the garment all her life, the 1960s context of publication,

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as well as its narrative setting in the early twentieth ­century. How does Kōda pre­ sent this tale, recognizing that readers may not have the same level of familiarity with kimonos and fluency in kimono language as she does? Does her literary expression reflect the fact that the kimono, its meanings, and terminology ­were shifting? In addition to t­ hese multiple contexts, we should think about how Kimono reemerged in the 1990s, when the kimono as an object had transformed even further. Indeed, the novel has had a unique afterlife. Subsequent to its 1965–1968 serialization, it was revitalized as a book published by Shinchōsha in 1993; then it was included in the 1994–1997 twenty-­t hree-­volume Kōda Aya zenshū (Collected works of Kōda Aya) published by Iwanami shoten, which stimulated new interest in this author.4 It was also reframed in the essays of Kōda’s literary inheritors, Aoki Tama and Aoki Nao, who further developed and carried on the tropes about kimonos through their own writing as they engaged with Kōda’s works. Their transmission of ideas from Kimono especially helps us see Kōda Aya from a fresh perspective as a literary progenitor, not only a literary d ­ aughter writing in the shadow of Kōda Rohan. The literary ­daughter image persists in part ­because Kōda Aya developed her ­career by writing about her f­ ather, portraying herself as his inadequate pupil. A famous series of 1948 essays, for example, depicts her as a young child learning from her f­ather how to clean the h ­ ouse properly; even s­ imple acts of dusting or scrubbing with rags and w ­ ater have broader moral, philosophical lessons and implications for what is considered desirable be­hav­ior.5 ­Because of such depictions, general readers and scholars have often accepted the idea of the real Kōda as being ­shaped and created by a superior master. We should remember, however, that it is Kōda herself recounting t­ hese stories of an extremely unusual education.6 With regard to the kimono, several essays by Kōda feature episodes in which Rohan imparts lessons about the garment. In one 1948 essay, Rohan comments on Kōda’s ability, attained in ­middle age, to wear any type of kimono, including ­t hose that are threadbare. Although this ability is seen as a sign of maturity, it is specifically associated with a kind of transcendence of material concerns, as well as an aesthetic stance along the lines of wabi sabi (plain, unadorned), connected to tea ceremony and other traditional practices.7 In a 1973 essay, Kōda explains that her f­ather told her about the potential danger and eroticism of kimono for ­women, with its vari­ous openings that could allow access by male hands.8 However, such ideas about kimonos ascribed to Rohan never appear in Kimono; in this 1960s novel, Kōda develops the garment as a means for female growth and interpretive acuity. She also emphasizes intergenerational knowledge as something transmitted from older w ­ omen to the young female protagonist.9 A de­cade or so

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­a fter Flowing, which features kimonos as items to be read accurately, Kimono shows how ­t hese garments become key ele­ments of a girl’s education, challenging her to deepen knowledge of herself and o ­ thers, and to discover broader truths about the ­human experience.

Rutsuko’s Kimono Lessons: Reading and Beyond Kimono features everyday life in 1910s–1920s Tokyo, in which kimonos w ­ ere prevalent. Kōda depicts this world for a 1960s readership whose relationship with kimonos had changed significantly. Scholars in the early 1960s w ­ ere already explaining that the kimono was “­dying out as a form of every-­day dress” and “reemerging as a form of ceremonial or formal dress.”10 ­Because the story is presented as the pro­cess of Rutsuko’s education, it allows readers to learn along with the protagonist. In comparison to Flowing, which provides only l­ imited glosses on material objects and vocabulary, Kimono includes more explanations about items and even their significance, through narration and the characters’ direct speech and thoughts. The novel opens with a dramatic incident that illustrates for readers how engagement with garments, their tactile qualities, colors, and patterns, can define a person’s character. Kimono starts with Rutsuko being reprimanded by her f­ amily for ripping a sleeve off her “dōgi,” an undergarment with padding: “The one torn sleeve was placed in the ­middle, and Rutsuko, her grand­mother, and ­mother sat in a triangle around it.”11 Before ­going to school Rutsuko had torn off the left sleeve and shoved it in the trash, where it had been discovered; the right sleeve is still attached, but barely. Rutsuko tries to explain the reason for her violent and wasteful act—­t he garment is bulky, uncomfortable, and impedes her movement. She liked its warmth, but hated the way it felt on her body, constricting her shoulders and thickening the area around her belly. Her ­mother does not understand this and is shocked by her ­daughter’s actions, which go against norms of feminine be­hav­ior. For the m ­ other, brought up in northern Japan, making a dōgi for her youn­gest child is an act of love, and she has put in extra padding for warmth. Rutsuko realizes that she is cold without this undergarment, but prefers the yukata usually worn as nightwear that her grand­mother chooses as its replacement. This opening scene functions in part to establish a fundamental rift between Rutsuko and her ­mother—­they never become close, due to their dif­fer­ent characters and outlooks. The only person who understands each of their views is the grand­mother, who recognizes both Rutsuko’s and her daughter-­in-­law’s proclivities. It is only ­after the grand­mother explains her ­mother’s feelings to her that Rutsuko is able to truly feel sorry and apologize.

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This scene also establishes Rutsuko’s identity as a girl who does not hesitate to pursue her desires—­she wants to feel comfortable in her body and even makes choices considered unconventional and unfeminine. Through clothes and the ­human relationships that develop around them, Rutsuko not only has to learn what she likes and dislikes, but also what is acceptable within society. Most importantly, through the course of the novel she comes to understand that individual feelings and worldviews are connected to kimonos, and that in order to successfully find herself and her place in society, she has to attain superior skills in their interpretation. As a young girl, Rutsuko’s learning pro­cess is filled with violent be­hav­ior and destructive outcomes as she pursues ease for herself and expresses her wants. She objects to always wearing her ­sisters’ hand-­me-­downs, but cannot bear the roughness of the starched, “brand-new cotton kasuri” (11) kimono made for her ­either, screaming and crying ­after donning it briefly, and unwittingly staining it. Her “going-­out kimono made of chirimen” (13) makes her uncomfortable as well, due to its weight and the way it clings to her ankles. Throughout the novel, we see a strong link between kimonos and Rutsuko’s physical and ­mental well-­being. She breaks out in hives when wearing garments made of merinsu or seru, types of woolen cloth. When wearing seru for the first time, she comes down with a fever, and the doctor tries to give her an enema treatment. Struggling violently, Ru­ tsuko kicks the doctor in the chest, dirtying his expensive, formal black habutae silk kimono. Her parents are required to pay for the cost of cleaning and resewing the kimono, but what lingers in Rutsuko’s mind is how wonderfully cool the smooth fabric felt against her feet. Indeed, just as Rutsuko learns what she hates about certain kimonos and fabrics, she also learns what she loves with a passion. She feels most comfortable in yukata made of cheap cotton, faded from having been laundered many times. It is light, smooth, and cool against the skin; she can move freely in it and get it dirty without getting scolded. As a child she also adores her silk haori, a gift from her aunt. The design is to her liking, but more importantly, the fabric is light, soft, and warm. The cloth is of lower rank than the chirimen that the aunt buys for Ru­ tsuko’s older s­ isters, but this does not ­matter to her. As she learns what she likes and dislikes, Rutsuko’s demands become more pronounced, such as refusing to wear a starched yukata or a stiff obi. For her ­these personal preferences provide bodily comfort and psychological balance, and are also expressions of individual agency and identity. Although she is derided by her ­sisters for her sensitivities about clothing, the reader gradually discovers that they are also a sign of her connection to the f­amily, traits shared by many ­people including her grand­mother.

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The novel is not intended as a kimono dictionary or manual, but by showing how young Rutsuko learns about dif­fer­ent fabrics and designs, as well as other aspects of early twentieth-­century middle-­class Tokyo kimono culture, Kōda implicitly educates her 1960s readership. Through Rutsuko’s conversations with the grand­mother, readers can learn about kimonos and how to read them accurately, improving their own abilities in kimono language. The notion of dressing appropriately for dif­fer­ent situations (so-­called TPO, or “time, place, and occasion,” terminology that is still used in Japan t­ oday) and the idea that “clothes make the (wo)man” would have been well recognized in the 1960s, but readers would have had to learn how they ­were practiced in the past. As Rutsuko discovers what works for her own body and comfort, she is also schooled (with readers) about what is considered appropriate or well dressed for someone of her age, gender, class, and situation. In addition, the detailed descriptions of dif­fer­ent textiles, their weight, feel, and the look of the weave, would have been particularly educational. Rutsuko’s emphasis on tactile comfort and sensual plea­sure, how dif­fer­ent types of kimono cloth feel on the body and against her skin, would have provided readers with knowledge that was rapidly disappearing and generally inaccessible to them on a personal level.12

Rutsuko as the Checkered Habutae Kimono Readers soon understand Rutsuko as a girl who challenges gender and social norms; this is expressed through her lack of interest in a kimono’s monetary value or rank, and her desire to be able to move freely without restrictions. Her character is clearly encapsulated in the first kimono fabric she chooses by herself, which becomes a favorite garment worn throughout her youth. The kimono is made of habutae, the smooth silk she first encountered through her mishap with the doctor. The fabric is beige with dark purple, green, and brown lines of dif­fer­ent widths creating a large checkered pattern. She finds it in a tall pile of textiles for sale, an item unlike other ­children’s kimonos that feature red patterns or designs such as “large chrysanthemum flowers” and “mandarin ducks on flowing w ­ ater” (50). Through prior dialogue and episodes, Rutsuko and readers have learned that habutae is normally worn by men, and it is usually not made into ­women’s kimonos in Tokyo at this time.13 ­L ater readers also realize that this combination of an expensive cloth with a checkered pattern is quite rare. Checks are an everyday pattern that cannot be used in formal wear, and therefore most ­people would find this combination undesirable. Indeed, as the story unfolds, readers understand that this kimono is dif­fer­ent from standard kimonos worn by girls, and therefore it reflects Rutsuko’s unusual tastes. They learn that the fabric she chooses is a one-­of-­a-­k ind item that defies rules about age and gender; in this

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way, the garment mirrors Rutsuko herself. She is an unconventional, special girl who might often be overlooked, but is appreciated by ­those able to see that she is an unusual trea­sure. Wearing this new kimono with a red habutae obi, an uncommon sash for girls, Rutsuko is praised by relatives for her unique sensibility.14 At the same time, however, this kimono foreshadows prob­lems Rutsuko w ­ ill likely face in the ­f uture ­because of her inability to conform. The fabric is specially dyed with a made-­to-­order design, but it had been rejected by the person who commissioned it. B ­ ecause of the unusual combination of design and fabric, the cloth did not sell for years and had become discolored and stained in some parts. Ru­ tsuko’s ­mother was able to purchase it at a bargain price, but as something abandoned by the person who ordered it, the fabric is less than pristine and can be seen as rather inauspicious. The reckless way Rutsuko goes ­after this object is also noteworthy. Echoing the opening scene of the novel in which she has torn off her sleeve in a rough manner, her acquisition of this bolt of cloth is decidedly unfeminine, even violent. Without asking adults for help, Rutsuko yanks at the fabric stacked out of her reach, upsetting the mountain of inventory and being covered by an avalanche of kimono textiles, barely escaping injury. Throughout her youth, Rutsuko shows herself to be a tomboy who also single-­mindedly goes a­ fter what she wants, both considered unfavorable traits for girls. H ­ ere she is shown again “upsetting” normative standards to fulfill her desire. Like the checkered habutae itself, is Rutsuko too unusual? And ­w ill she be able to find good fortune in marriage, the ultimate goal for w ­ omen at the time? One won­ders if she w ­ ill be like this kimono, lucky enough to be discovered by a person who appreciates her unique worth, or if she ­w ill ultimately just be seen as odd and without value.

Wearing, Giving, and Receiving Kimonos As a young girl Rutsuko understands her own likes and dislikes, but she is still unable to put on a kimono outfit by herself in a comfortable way, and needs her grand­mother’s skilled touch. Rutsuko almost fails the higher girls’ school entrance exam ­because of an ill-­fitting, oversized kimono made of meisen (an affordable, so-­called prior-­dyed, woven silk fabric popu­lar in the prewar period) that had been washed and resewn to an adult’s size.15 Her grand­mother was not able to dress her that day, and due to the physical discomfort caused by the garment, Rutsuko is unable to focus and does badly on the test. The grand­mother realizes that it is not enough to impart tactile knowledge and basic understandings of kimonos. Rutsuko must learn to maintain a wardrobe herself, and to determine the right way to wear garments in relation to her body. As clothing that is worn in layers, wrapped around the body and tied with cords and an obi, a kimono requires skill

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to put on and accessorize. Her grand­mother trains her to master self-­dressing, to be self-­sufficient in wearing kimonos, and to achieve comfort and style. Unlike the oldest s­ ister, who needs Rutsuko and o ­ thers to dress her on impor­tant occasions, Rutsuko gains an invaluable skill that provides her with agency, in­de­pen­ dence, and even the power to control o ­ thers by dressing them to her w ­ ill. ­There are also broader social lessons to be learned. Indeed, her grand­mother’s kimono training permeates all aspects of life, including acknowl­edgment of class difference (most p ­ eople spend their lives in cotton while a few spend theirs in silk, even wearing silk undergarments), economic ­factors (­family finances that require Rutsuko to wear hand-­me-­downs), and social protocol. Through kimonos and textiles, Rutsuko learns how to interpret the world in which she lives and to behave appropriately as a moral h ­ uman being, befitting her own station.16 This is exemplified in the lessons she learns on giving and receiving items—­ how and what to give, what one might receive in exchange, and what is necessary and fundamental to h ­ uman life. Through interactions with her closest school friends, Kazuko, an impoverished scholarship student who has to work to support the f­ amily, and Yūko, a rich ­daughter of a viscount, Rutsuko begins to understand her own ­family’s position in society. She learns it can be hurtful and inappropriate to simply give poor ­people damaged, worn-­out items for charity, and is able to deepen her friendship with Kazuko through a well-­t hought-­out gift, a brandnew, thick cotton cloth intended for a kimono raincoat. This fabric, won in a lottery and not needed by Rutsuko’s ­family, becomes a sturdy hakama that Kazuko can wear while riding a bicycle as a delivery girl. Even giving and receiving kimono-­related items within one’s ­family is a complex ­matter. When her m ­ other becomes bedridden, Rutsuko works hard with her grand­mother to make her comfortable. She discovers, however, that sometimes even acts of “filial piety” can result in “harsh rejection” (pisshato kuru, 224) ­unless one thinks about the other person’s feelings. She is excited about having helped order a new futon for the patient, reusing an old chirimen kimono she wore as a child; she tells her ­mother about this silk-­covered futon, expecting her to be happy to have better bedding. But on the contrary, her ­mother becomes angry ­because she was not consulted in the decision about this major purchase. Luckily, the wise grand­mother saves the day, commenting that they ­w ill be able to remake every­ one’s bedding thanks to the ­mother’s shrewd bud­geting and planning; the ­mother accepts the new futon, appeased and happy to be recognized as a capable h ­ ouse­wife. For Rutsuko the futon is a gift that rewards her ­mother for her years of hard work, but it is implied that from her m ­ other’s perspective, it is an object that simply marks her as a sick patient. Even though the futon has been made especially for her, she cannot accept it u ­ ntil her role in making economic decisions about the

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­ ouse­hold is acknowledged. Rutsuko learns such intricacies of giving and receivh ing “kimonos” with her grand­mother as her guide. The three ­sisters’ dif­fer­ent personalities are also illustrated through what they expect to receive when they are married and what they give back to the natal ­family. The unnamed beautiful eldest s­ ister marries into a wealthy f­ amily to which she brings many high-­quality kimonos and futons as her trousseau. She even demands to wear okaidori (uchikake, 135) for her wedding, an unheard-of luxury, although her ­father forbids this and it does not happen. Despite her rich lifestyle, she is quite stingy ­toward ­others, only offering “gifts” of used cotton sheets and worn-­out kimonos to her parents, and once even demanding payment for such items. How she expresses herself through the giving and receiving of kimonos is indicative of who she is: always dressed immaculately but self-­centered and vulgar. The second s­ ister, Mitsuko, is comparatively likable and more generous, and she even pays for new silk fabric to be used to make the sick ­mother’s bedcover. However, she is similar to the older ­sister in that her worldview is ­shaped by her husband and his ­family. She is initially obsessed with kimonos as “a tool for improving her appearance and thereby her desirability as a marriage partner,”17 but ­later weds without a trousseau of kimonos, asking instead for cash. As a ­woman marrying into a merchant’s f­ amily, Mitsuko adopts their pragmatic way of thinking that prioritizes money, and in the end chooses to have a s­ imple wedding ceremony.

Reading the Purple Iromuji with a Patch Crest Of all the s­ isters, Rutsuko carries on the grand­mother’s legacy as a skilled reader and writer of kimonos who is able to use this knowledge for good. Rutsuko’s name echoes the biblical Ruth (Rutsu), underscoring her loyalty to the ­family and select status.18 She is particularly contrasted with the eldest ­sister, a mean-­spirited, shallow reader of kimonos. When their ­mother eventually passes away, the difference in how the s­ isters read kimonos is evident at her funeral. Rutsuko attends the ceremony in a dark purple silk iromuji (colored monochrome kimono) with a ­family crest, an unexpected gift from her grand­mother for the event.19 Seeing this formal wear, suitable for an unmarried young ­woman to wear to a funeral, the oldest s­ ister smirks knowingly and comments: You did well, asking for such a nice kimono. Was it a reward for taking care of the sick patient [their ­mother]? I’m jealous that purple looks so wonderful against your pale skin. But why did you choose to use a harimon [crest made on separate cloth(s) and patched on]? That is so déclassé [gesuppoi]. (260)

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The materialistic s­ ister sees this kimono only as a “reward” that Rutsuko skillfully managed to snatch up. She congratulates her on getting such a garment, but asks scornfully why the ­family crest is a patch and does not appear directly on the fabric itself. Dressed impeccably, the wealthy, married ­sister questions the harimon, which she considers lower class and in bad taste.20 Unlike the e­ arlier example of Rutsuko’s checkered habutae kimono, Kōda does not directly educate readers in the kimono language she uses; assuming readers have adequate knowledge, she never explains what a harimon is. To be sure, harimon is a relatively obscure term now, but most 1960s readers would prob­ably have understood it. The desired type of formal crest (the kind preferred by the ­sister) is a “dye-­reserved crest” designed directly on “the white of the fabric that was reserved before the garment was dyed”21 (see Plates 7 and 8). Unlike such a crest made on new cloth, the harimon is a patch with the crest dyed on and affixed ­later, indicating that the kimono has been remade from an older kimono. The text does not discuss why this was used, but the harimon underscores the economic limitations the grand­mother faced in procuring a suitable garment for Rutsuko. Using the harimon was the only way to create a crested kimono by redyeing and resewing an older garment. This kimono appears as “proper mourning clothes,” but it is a “cobbled together outfit from head to toe, all arranged by her grand­mother’s wits” (257). The ­sister is likely aware that the crest is a patch ­because of the downturn in ­family finances and that Rutsuko was not able to have a new kimono. Even so, Kōda shows h ­ ere that the s­ ister is a l­ imited reader of kimonos ­because she is unable to appreciate what they signify beyond monetary value and aesthetics. Rutsuko does not respond to her s­ ister, nor does she directly think about what the harimon represents, but it is clear that for her (and hopefully for readers as well) this remade kimono with a patch crest articulates a complex network of h ­ uman ties, emotions, and values—­the grand­mother’s thoughtfulness and skilled house­ keeping abilities, the intimate bond between Rutsuko and the grand­mother, and Rutsuko’s commitment to this ­family. The ­sister’s reading is purely superficial, only associating the harimon with lack of taste or money. Although she is older than Rutsuko, she is unable to access the deeper meaning of this kimono that Rutsuko and readers understand. At the funeral, the eldest s­ ister cannot even put on her formal black mourning kimono with five crests by herself and forces Rutsuko to help. Mitsuko, the second ­sister, who appears in Western dress, expresses dissatisfaction that Ru­ tsuko outranked her by wearing a crested kimono. Both of them are concerned with appearances, even arguing with relatives about the ranking order of ­t hose offering incense to the deceased in the ceremony. While Rutsuko mourns her

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­ other, the s­ isters and other relatives are focused on unimportant issues even as m the corpse is being cremated. They discuss the “special kimono” (262) worn by Rutsuko’s wealthy friend Yūko at the funeral ceremony, and laugh at Rutsuko when she is unable to recall much detail about it, calling her “ukkarimono” (person who does not pay attention or is careless, 262). This is ironic, of course, b ­ ecause they (not Rutsuko) are the careless readers. The notion of understanding kimonos well is underscored in ­t hese scenes—­t he s­ imple recognition of types of fabric and the wearing of correct clothing is not enough. The s­ isters and other relatives might think Rutsuko is deficient in this re­spect, but their own concerns only reveal their “lack of sensitivity” (262) about what truly m ­ atters. What they are lacking are skills to see and feel deeply, to read beneath the surface.

Encountering Sexual Desire and Returning to the “Starting Point” Throughout the novel, milestones and critical life experiences are mediated through kimonos. Rutsuko is the youn­gest, and thus observes with won­der and distaste the ways in which her ­sisters awaken to sexuality. She also has an unpleasant shock with her first direct encounter with male sexual desire, while wearing a dark blue purple meisen kimono with light blue, pink, and orange horizontal stripes. This is a hand-­me-­down from Mitsuko, who has s­ topped wearing striped kimonos, following her fiancé’s suggestion that she should wear kimonos with pictorial designs instead. The garment never suited Mitsuko, but it makes Rutsuko look slender and more mature. It is while wearing this kimono that Rutsuko is targeted by a man on a train who presses his knees against her leg and touches her shoulder; this incident, as explained by the grand­mother, shows that she is no longer a girl in the eyes of society. Such sexual harassment occurs again on a crowded train when her arms and hips are groped. Fi­nally, the worst incident occurs on a third occasion when a man ejaculates on her, soiling the back of her kimono. Even ­after this third incident, Rutsuko is still an innocent, unaware that anything has happened and not understanding the substance stuck to the kimono. When she returns home, her grand­mother explains about sex in a matter-­of-­fact manner, and even points out how this kimono enhances Rutsuko’s figure, the stripes indicating her curves and suggesting what her “naked body” (205) looks like. In the grand­mother’s view, the contrast between Rutsuko’s lack of self-­ awareness and the garment’s provocative features had “made low, vulgar men do strange t­ hings” (206). Mitsuko laughingly suggests the incident should be a source of pride for Rutsuko, who “attracted three men” (207), but Rutsuko herself is angry and unhappy about her changing body and does not want to wear this kimono again.

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The incident serves as a painful rite of passage in itself, but it also foreshadows the way in which Rutsuko w ­ ill continue to experience male desire as something violent and violating. The man who w ­ ill eventually become her husband is someone who she initially sees in a photo­graph as a marriage candidate. Although her f­ather rejects this match, soon afterwards Rutsuko meets him in person by chance, when he comes to her rescue ­after she is hit by a bicycle and her kimono is torn in the back. He lends her a wrapping cloth to hide her legs and helps her home. She falls in love with him and proceeds with the marriage against her ­family’s wishes. Her headstrong way of knowing what she wants is a character trait we have already seen with regard to her choice in clothing. In this way, Rutsuko’s choice of husband is catalyzed by an incident with a kimono. The ­union, however, turns out to be a terrible ­mistake. The novel ends on her wedding night as Rutsuko is about to experience sex for the first time, but the scene is depicted without plea­sure on her part, as her husband roughly removes her garment following his own desires. The e­ arlier scenes of young Rutsuko being manhandled on the train, therefore, suggest retrospectively a blind spot in her knowledge of the realities of the world. Although she matures and acquires wisdom through kimonos, her lack of experience with men and relationships may very well haunt her life g­ oing forward. To make a broader point about Rutsuko’s coming-­of-­age story, it is worth noting that Kimono not only educates readers in prewar kimono culture and language, but also explores what clothes mean in the context of national history. In the latter part of the story, Rutsuko and her ­family experience the 1923 ­Great Kantō Earthquake. Her grand­mother, f­ ather, and ­brother all survive, but they lose their home and are literally left with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. In addition, the eldest ­sister miscarries and Mitsuko becomes disfigured, burnt while trying to flee to safety. Rutsuko, who loses all her clothing except the old cotton yukata she was wearing at the moment of the temblor, comes to realize that the “fundamental starting point of clothes” is to “cover the flesh” and “protect from the cold” (341). Her education is about understanding, wearing, sewing, giving, and receiving kimonos, but from this moment in the novel, it also involves a rebuilding of her life with this “starting point” in mind. As noted in Chapter 1, this earthquake contributed to the popularization of Western clothing for a variety of reasons, including the destruction of p ­ eople’s kimono wardrobes. The grand­mother laments Rutsuko’s bad luck in having lost all her kimonos, and she herself wears an “appappa” (339) made of some wrapping cloth quickly sewn together, making every­one laugh and providing comic relief during a difficult time. The ­father wears a new suit, a gift from the president of his com­pany, and both he and Rutsuko’s b ­ rother announce that from now on

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they w ­ ill switch to Western clothes. A ­ fter a time, Rutsuko and her grand­mother begin to sew kimonos for themselves with cheap cotton fabric sent by an acquaintance. In this way, the earthquake ­causes all of the characters to begin their lives anew, with Rutsuko in par­tic­u­lar considering what is truly necessary in life. The text depicts a 1923 event, but we should remember that it was published in the 1960s. With its focus on fire spreading through neighborhoods and the loss of basic items for survival (such as food, clothes, and shelter), it also echoes memories of World War II. Even if readers personally did not experience kimonos being burnt or having to barter them for food during or ­after the war, such images ­were prominent in the cultural imaginary. The discussion of the earthquake and its aftermath would certainly have reminded readers in the 1960s of the trauma of the war, and caused them to reflect broadly on the past and the nation’s subsequent path. Such scenes would have also jogged memories of their own histories with clothing, and the complex course of postwar recovery. In this way, Rutsuko’s education through kimonos shows her development as an individual but also allows readers to cultivate their own interpretive insights and recall collective national experiences as they learn about prewar everyday dress culture.

Life and Death of Kimonos: The 1960s Kimono is a bildungsroman that retraces individual and national growth, while educating readers in kimono literacy and celebrating prewar material culture. Sherif notes that this work, set in the early twentieth c­ entury, paid “homage to the end of the age of kimono,” but, as a 1960s serialization, it also “rode the crest of the kimono boom occasioned by the return of economic prosperity in postwar Japan.”22 Indeed, it is vital to examine this novel not only in connection to prewar Japan, but also in light of its publication during the rapid postwar economic rise. In the 1960s, kimonos ­were no longer the main component of the average Japa­nese wardrobe; in this sense they had become “­dying” objects from the past. At the same time, however, they w ­ ere very much “alive” as garments worn for special occasions, ele­ments of par­tic­u ­lar fashion trends, and symbols considered to represent nostalgia or national identity. As noted in Chapter 1, the 1960s saw a rise in vari­ous kimono fashions. In 1965, the year Kōda started serializing Kimono, kimono and haori sets for men sold well, and ­mothers often wore black haoris over kimonos (often iromuji) to school events in what came to be called the “PTA look” (see Plate 1).23 Kōda even wrote an essay on the black haori trend in 1968, discussing its popularity among ­women.24 By 1968, Japan’s gross national product (GNP) had risen to second place in the world.25 If the kimono is “a symbol of national consciousness,”26

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the 1960s kimono boom might be seen as a rediscovery and reaffirmation of Japa­ nese identity; discourses about the kimono even became a part of the ethnocentric Nihonjinron.27 With this economic prosperity and the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, one ­factor in the popularity of kimonos may have been a general interest in Japa­nese culture and a so-­called au­then­tic national identity. But rather than seeing this rise in kimono fashions only through the lens of nationalism or as a return to Japa­nese wear, we can also understand it as part of the broader consumer lifestyle of the 1960s. The late 1950s “three sacred treasures”—­the black-­and-­white tele­v i­sion, refrigerator, and washing machine—­were taken over by the “3C” around the mid1960s: the color TV, “cooler” (air conditioner), and car.28 The rise in consumption of t­hese and numerous other products, as well as increased spending on leisure travel and entertainment, reflected the arrival of a new consumer culture.29 Even as many w ­ omen w ­ ere wearing black haoris in 1968, they w ­ ere also enjoying other con­temporary fashions, such as flared trousers and mini­skirts (especially made popu­lar by the British model Twiggy’s visit to Japan in 1967).30 By this time, Western clothes w ­ ere easily obtained and enjoyed, and could be bought ready-­ made.31 In this context, 1960s kimonos w ­ ere part of a new fashion culture with access to dif­fer­ent kinds of apparel and means of self-­expression. Growth in personal wealth, increases in consumer choice, and development of leisure activities all fueled the kimono boom. From this perspective, Kimono can be read as a reassessment of 1960s society in which p ­ eople “sought identity in consumer culture.”32 The novel emphasizes that Rutsuko is not a consumer expressing herself through trends; her identity is constructed through kimonos she has worn and used over time. She makes use of l­ imited resources: patching her worn-­out, favorite check kimono so that it can continue to be enjoyed, and remaking a childhood kimono into her m ­ other’s special futon. And she is proficient in kimono sewing and upkeep, skills that have become rare in the average 1960s h ­ ouse­hold. In one sense, then, Kimono is very much a part of the zeitgeist of the 1960s economic miracle ­because it grants significance to material objects such as clothing. But at the same time, by illustrating Rutsuko’s meaningful relationships with kimonos, it questions the rise of consumerism and the postwar culture of abundance. The eldest s­ ister, for example, values high-­quality garments and focuses on collecting the best ­t hings for herself, often treating h ­ uman relationships in purely transactional terms. In contrast, Rutsuko’s remaking of items such as her favorite kimono is not simply about thrift, but also an intense expression of love and appreciation that goes beyond economic value. It is also implied that she cherishes the object in part ­because of the way it contributes to her own identity and represents memories made while wearing it. Although this checkered kimono is

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patched everywhere below the torso (unable to be seen by o ­ thers when she is wearing a hakama) and the shoulder area has faded, she still enjoys wearing it as a young student. Indeed, Rutsuko is wearing this kimono when she first meets Sono, her ­father’s longtime lover, a w ­ oman who ­will ­later become a mentor figure. She compliments Rutsuko on how the check pattern suits her, and they bond over their shared feeling that the more a favorite kimono becomes worn out, the more one becomes attached to it, making it impossible to throw away. The relationship one has with such a kimono overlaps with the idea of appreciating impor­tant h ­ uman connections—­ rather than touting the values of accumulation and consumption, one should celebrate the select number of meaningful ­things and ­people that become part of your life. Read in this way, we can see how the story is about the past but also engages with the 1960s pre­sent, critically reexamining con­temporary society with its endless variety of consumer products and choices. As the novel nears its end, Rutsuko prepares to embark on her new life as a bride. Sometime ­after the ­Great Kantō Earthquake, she becomes engaged, but due to the f­ amily’s losses and diminished circumstances, her trousseau is minimal compared to ­those of her ­sisters. She is careful to avoid bother­ing her aged grand­ mother with the complex pro­cess of ordering kimonos and turns instead to Sono. With Sono’s expert advice, Rutsuko is able to prepare for her marriage ­under bud­get amid the ­family’s disappointment about her choice of mate. Her wedding clothes in par­tic­u­lar reveal that she has mastered the subtle nuances of kimono. She shows herself off to perfection in a white habutae wedding kimono, choosing not to wear blush and emphasizing the beauty of her white skin. For the reception, she adds blush to her face and changes into a red kimono with designs of “hitta,” a type of kanoko shibori pattern, a clever choice that creates a visually stunning contrast to the white kimono. Actually, the tiny hitta patterns on this ceremonial garment ­were not tie-­dyed individually by hand (“shibori” 419), but dyed onto the fabric directly (“some” 419).33 In other words, Rutsuko did not choose a superior type of hitta kimono, such as one that had been “hand tie-­dyed, with designs in gold and silver foil as well as hand embroidery,” but one in which tie-­dyeing is mimicked by a dyed pattern, and “the images of auspicious bamboo on the hem w ­ ere patched on to the kimono fabric” (419). To the trained eye, this kimono speaks of cost-­cutting mea­sures, but it is gorgeous enough to dazzle the in-­laws from the countryside and satisfy the husband, who clearly cares about outward appearances in order to further his c­ areer. Although Rutsuko’s kimono education has been a success, the text suggests that she has failed in selecting the right husband, stubbornly resisting her ­family’s concerns about this man. She has not been able to see through his slick ways and

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calculated wish to marry a girl beloved in the neighborhood in order to bring success to his burgeoning medical practice. Rutsuko has ­little experience or understanding of love and sexuality, and her fiancé appears to be a rather shallow and thoughtless individual. Rutsuko is uncharacteristically quiet and still at her wedding ceremony, and her f­ather and grand­mother worry that she may have realized her ­mistake, but a l­ ittle too late. Kimono ends with a disturbing depiction of Rutsuko’s wedding night. The husband is happily drunk, but Rutsuko gains no plea­sure from his words and actions. She is repulsed by his kisses that are “slimy with saliva” and smell of the “fish he had eaten” and the “sake he had drunk” (420). Fi­nally, she prepares herself for bed, wearing the flower-­patterned yukata that Sono had chosen for her, tying the obi tightly around her waist. Her husband grabs her and forces her down on the bedding in a scene that is at once clinical and violent, as her clothes are removed for the first time by a man. The novel had opened by underscoring Ru­ tsuko’s agency as a girl who tears the sleeve off an uncomfortable undergarment. In contrast, the ending shows her being passively disrobed: “The underclothing made a sound sliding down her hips, being removed by another’s hands, not hers.” This pro­cess, described in a disengaged manner as “a marital ceremony that was proceeding smoothly” (421), is completely devoid of romance or happiness. The scene illustrates Rutsuko’s loss of agency and highlights the feeling that the marriage was a ­mistake. The ending questions the ­couple’s ­f uture,34 and as novelist Mizumura Minae points out, it foreshadows what is to come, suggesting that Ru­ tsuko ­w ill eventually leave the marriage, just as she has refused to don certain types of kimonos in the past.35 The striking resonance created between the novel’s beginning and the end almost makes us forget that Kimono was never completed and that Kōda abandoned the serialization.36 The original plan was to continue Rutsuko’s story, and, according to a former editor, Kōda’s intention was to transform Rutsuko into a “bad one [waru] who has an extramarital affair” and “goes around in a soiled kimono.”37 And Aoki Tama explained in an interview with Ann Sherif in 1998 that her m ­ other had intended to continue the story so that she could “explain what the kimono meant to older w ­ omen.”38 Regardless of her plans, however, Kōda became too busy with other proj­ects to complete the novel. During the early 1970s she was involved in the raising of funds for the reconstruction of a pagoda at a ­temple in Nara and observed the pro­gress while living nearby. She also published essays such as Ki (Trees, 1971–1984) and Kuzure (Landslides, 1976–1977), considered to reflect her new interest in natu­ral phenomena.39 ­There was, however, another reason Kōda s­ topped working on Kimono. Aoki Tama explains that she had entreated her ­mother to continue the story, but Kōda

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had refused, noting the decline of kimono culture. Kōda’s words are paraphrased by Aoki: No m ­ atter how much I write about the fun, beautiful, and in­ter­est­ing aspects of kimono, it d ­ oesn’t mean much if ­t here is no one actually wearing them. When I was writing Kimono ­there was still something that was mutually understood, but as time passes by, it [the kimono] is no longer even something to be enjoyed but has moved farther and farther away. If t­ here is no mutual feeling [kyōkan], no one ­w ill read it [the work].40 Kōda does not want to speak a language that is no longer widely recognized. In Kimono, she celebrates the rich kimono culture of the past by describing dif­ fer­ent fabrics, tactile sensations, protocols, and daily practices. But the very act of writing and providing explanations contributes to the fossilization of kimono culture, helping to transform it into a carefully preserved relic displayed in a museum. For Kōda, the kimono is still alive in the 1960s. But she understands that for most p ­ eople, it has become a special-­occasion garment and not part of everyday life and discourse. She also recognizes that, like the kimono, she herself is turning into a relic of the past. In Landslides she comically illustrates how uncomfortable she finds trousers, a garment she has to wear to climb mountains for her research. She compares her experience to the pain “young w ­ omen who w ­ ere 41 raised in Western clothes” feel in kimonos. In spite of the postwar kimono boom, ­people like Kōda with many de­cades of kimono experiences ­were becoming a rarity.

The Author and Books as Kimonos: The 1950s The fact that Kōda abandoned Kimono is especially poignant b ­ ecause of the close connection between kimonos and the author herself. This association had been well cultivated since the 1950s, through her stories, essays, and collected works. She published fiction that featured kimonos in unforgettable ways, such as “Kuroi suso” (Black hem, 1954) about the life of a ­woman depicted through a mourning kimono, as well as Flowing (1955).42 Naruse Mikio’s 1956 film also augmented this author–­k imono connection, and Kōda wrote many kimono essays during the 1950s and 1960s. The seven-­volume Collected Works of Kōda Aya, published by Chūōkōronsha in 1958–1959, especially underscored the repre­sen­ta­tion of Kōda as kimono. As mentioned in the previous chapter, this set of books literally wore kimonos: the book covers ­were crafted from handwoven cotton kimono cloth with a “brown and light gray” checkered pattern, inspired by the image of

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the author and named the “Kōda check” 43 (see Plate 9). ­These kimono-­clad volumes ­were sold in individual dark blue boxes, considered the “equivalent of obi” 44 (see Figure 6.1). Chūōkōronsha, a major publishing com­pany at the heart of the literary world, put g­ reat effort into promoting ­t hese volumes.45 The books dramatized the Kōda check fabric as Kōda herself, and projected a certain image of Kōda and her writing. The textile was designed by a master dyer based on a “late Edo-­period” pattern and “woven in a Tanba region style of traditional mingei [folk art] cloth.” 46 In kimono protocol, both cotton cloth and checks (which, as we have seen, is an informal pattern) are considered suitable for low-­ranking casual wear.47 In contrast to formal silk textiles, such checkered cotton suggested earthiness and a sense of the everyday. But as discussed in Chapter 1, with the establishment of such designations as “Impor­tant Intangible Cultural Properties” for vari­ous kimono-­ related arts, this type of handwoven cloth had also come to be seen as a valuable example of mingei artistry.48 The kimono fabric thus evoked cultural significance,

Figure  6.1. Advertisement for the Collected Works of Kōda Aya with an image of a “Kōda check” covered volume and book box, as well as a promotional essay by Kawabata Yasunari. Reproduced by permission from Chūō kōron 73, no. 7 (1958).

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handmade authenticity, and high quality, as well as a feeling of familiarity. ­These contrasting impressions effectively promoted Kōda’s writing and Kōda herself as down-­to-­earth, yet serious and impor­tant. During 1958–1959, ­these collected volumes ­were advertised in Chūō kōron and Fujin kōron, magazines published by Chūōkōronsha. One ad includes promotional copy by Nobel Prize–­winning novelist Kawabata Yasunari (1899–1972), proclaiming Kōda’s literary works as “reminiscent of Japa­nese handwoven fabric” 49 (see Figure 6.1), while another directly links cover-­author-­content, entreating readers to “please collect all of Kōda’s lit­er­a­ture, resembling exquisite handwoven cotton, by way of t­ hese beautiful collected volumes wearing the special ‘Kōda check’ handwoven cotton.”50 In another version, Kōda’s kimono-­clad image appears alongside copy that similarly invites readers to access “a daily life [seikatsu] full of delicate sensibility and a strong, passionate attitude t­ oward life [jinsei]” through “Kōda lit­er­ a­ture,” which can be attained with t­ hese “Kōda check” volumes (see Figure 6.2).51 The publication of the collected works was commemorated in a July 1958 Tokyo event, with lectures by noted intellectuals Takeda Taijun (1912–1976) and Kobayashi Hideo (1902–1983), a speech by Kōda Aya, and a special film screening of Flowing.52 With the participation of ­t hese impor­tant male writers, the publisher is clearly emphasizing Kōda’s stature as a serious writer, able to transcend the then perceived limitations of her gender.53 At the same time, the promotional campaign highlights the connection Kōda has with kimonos, as a ­woman writer with interests and expertise particularly appealing to female readers. Fujin kōron features a special photo­graph series in the July 1958 issue, for example, showing Kōda wearing a kimono made of the Kōda check fabric and watching weavers produce the cloth in Nagano Prefecture.54 The com­pany also gave away the fabric to be made into kimonos to a hundred ­people, and announced the winners in the May 1959 issue of Fujin kōron; the names ­were printed together with a photo of Kōda attending the lottery drawing.55 This cotton kimono book cover projected a power­f ul message: Kōda and her works are one-­of-­a-­k ind and valuable, but also unaffected and attractive to a wide range of readers. As we have seen in Chapter 4 with the association of Tsuboi Sakae with handwoven cotton, female authors in the 1950s could be described through textile meta­phors.56 Emerging from immediate postwar lack, fabrics w ­ ere an impor­tant part of h ­ uman life, connected with gendered domesticity, and in some cases, with authenticity and high culture. Th ­ ese books w ­ ere such meta­phors brought to life: unlike decorative silk fabrics, the somber checkered cotton did not emphasize Kōda’s femininity in ways that undermined her seriousness, nor did it overemphasize lit­er­a­ture as a consumer product. Rather, t­ hese volumes gave readers

Figure 6.2. Advertisement for the Collected Works of Kōda Aya with an image of the author in a kimono. Reproduced by permission from Chūō kōron 73, no. 11 (1958).

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the satisfaction of owning an au­then­tic, handmade item (that contained intellectual, high-­quality writing) without appearing superficial or materialistic. Kōda’s grand­daughter and Aoki Tama’s d ­ aughter, Aoki Nao, writes about this fabric in the 2011 essay collection Kōdake no kimono (Kimonos of the Kōda ­family).57 Many of Aoki’s works closely engage with writing by her grand­mother as well as her ­mother, and also their kimonos.58 Aoki Nao explains that b ­ ecause the Kōda check cloth was woven by hand, “one loom could only produce a single tan [standard length needed for making an adult kimono] per day,” enough to cover “fifty-­t hree books.” She notes that “the collected works had seven volumes each . . . ​and tens of thousands of books w ­ ere sold. Thousands of tan of this cloth ­were created entirely by hand in the short space of eight months during the publication of the series.”59 In the late 1950s, such kimono cloth could still be produced on this scale by hand. In contrast, when Miyao Tomiko, another writer closely linked to kimonos (and discussed in the next chapter), de­cided to self-­publish her first book with a fabric cover in 1972, it had become difficult to locate the kind of striped cotton kimono cloth she desired. She needed enough to cover only five hundred books, but even ­after consulting a well-­k nown com­pany, she could only find machine-­ woven cloth, and choices w ­ ere l­imited.60 ­There ­were obviously other ­factors that caused this situation, but this provides a snapshot of the decline of the everyday kimono in the late twentieth c­ entury. And in the early twenty-­first c­ entury, Aoki Nao, writing about the Kōda check, explains that she was shown swatches of checks and stripes of vari­ous kinds from its late inventor’s collection, and was told most could no longer be reproduced due to the disappearance of artisans. She comments that even the Kōda check kimono owned by Kōda herself no longer exists, and survives only as small scrap remnants, likely b ­ ecause it was well loved and well worn.61 The postwar kimono revival invigorated Kōda’s writing and helped to enhance her popularity. But already by the 1950s, even while she was becoming synonymous with the garment, Kōda was noting the kimono’s decline. We see this, for example, in a 1958 essay about kimonos, a genre in which she published prolifically. In this work, she expresses her desire to “transmit every­t hing one knows to the inheritors [of kimono knowledge and practice],” young ­people who ­w ill wear kimonos maybe “several times a year,” so that the “life” of kimono w ­ ill continue. But she also makes a self-­deprecating comment about this effort, saying that for youth, this knowledge may only be “something unwanted, like garbage” that “an old w ­ oman” is forcing them to accept.62 Perhaps b ­ ecause of her desire to keep the kimono “alive,” most essays and stories Kōda wrote during the 1950s and 1960s treat kimonos in an approachable

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fashion, explic­itly or implicitly teaching readers who w ­ ere no longer expected to have in-­depth knowledge. On the ­whole, Kōda’s kimono essays from this period do not require the reader to have a specialized understanding; while varied in content, many are descriptive tutorials, covering topics such as protocol, taste, and the garment’s historical past.63 Only a few of the early essays, such as “Kimono sandai” (Three stories of kimono, 1948), require readers to have high-­level kimono literacy. The witty exchange between the ikebana teacher and Kōda Rohan in this text is completely lost on the uninitiated; it can only be understood by a reader who recognizes the downside of wearing a linen kimono and the unattractive bodily movements required to smooth wrinkles—­none of which is explained in the work itself.64 At least in 1948, Kōda seemed to believe readers had enough ­familiarity with such kimonos, w ­ hether from personal experience or general knowledge, to appreciate such humor. Her two novels, Flowing, published in 1955, and Kimono, serialized in 1965– 1968, use dif­fer­ent styles of narration. As discussed, aspects of kimono discourse are opaque in Flowing, but Kōda uses this very opacity as a kind of rhetorical device to highlight Rika’s engagement with the professional world, a place she must learn to read accurately. Kimono has more explanations, some parts echoing her clearly written, educational kimono essays. In all ­these works, we can observe how Kōda had ­great sensitivity to readers’ changing kimono fluency, and adjusted her writing as appropriate through the course of the 1940s–1960s. From this perspective, Kimono can be read as a concerted effort on her part to illustrate to a broad readership the pro­cess of becoming “educated and nurtured” 65 by kimonos. It is significant, however, that in the context of postwar social and sartorial shifts, she would ultimately abandon this narrative about a ­dying object, leaving Rutsuko’s story unfinished.

Remaking Kimonos: The 1990s–2000s ­ fter the 1960s, it seemed that Kōda had correctly predicted the decline of kimono A culture. A kimono industry expert notes that “in 1981, the kimono market was half that of 1973, and ten years ­after that it was halved again.” 66 Despite this, the novel Kimono enjoyed a robust afterlife during the 1990s–2000s, through its publication as well as its renascence in the works of Aoki Tama. Many of Kōda’s ­later serialized works, including Kimono, ­were published as books for the first time ­after her death.67 Writers often enjoy renewed interest and a boost in sales ­after they pass on, but Kōda was given special revalidation. Writing in 1993, critic Nakano Kōji discusses this posthumous rediscovery of Kōda and posits that her works speak to the current setting in which “the B ­ ubble has

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burst.” The trendy works of the ­Bubble economy era, focusing on urban life and youth culture, had become obsolete, while Kōda’s “honed writing has begun to shine like a well-­worn piece of cloth washed numerous times.” 68 This view may be a bit schematic, but it is helpful for thinking about the novel’s message of advocating for a meaningful relationship with material objects. Kimono came to have par­tic­u­lar resonance in the 1990s when overconsumption and upscale brands had become gauche and ­people w ­ ere beginning to reevaluate their connections to clothing and other items. Aoki Tama also played an impor­tant part in Kimono’s afterlife, highlighting such aspects of Kōda’s novel in her own writing and celebrating the kimono as a vehicle for female self-­development. According to her ­daughter Nao, Aoki Tama became a writer in order to ensure the success of the 1994–1997 Collected Works of Kōda Aya.69 Just like Kōda herself, Aoki Tama debuted as an essayist a­ fter the death of a parent; she began to write in her sixties in order to promote her m ­ other’s works and presumably to continue the f­ amily legacy. Her first book, Koishikawa no uchi (The ­house in Koishikawa, 1994), looks at the relationship between herself, her m ­ other, and her grand­father from a new perspective, reframing Kōda’s renowned essays about Rohan in a dif­fer­ent light.70 Especially with works such as Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi (Inside Kōda Aya’s kimono dresser, 1995; hereafter Kimono Dresser) and Kimono atosaki (Kimono before and ­after, 2004–2005), collected essays with detailed photo­graphs, Aoki Tama effectively cultivated a new readership for her ­mother’s writing during the 1990s–2000s (see Plate 10).71 In ­t hese works, kimonos are featured as objects that connect Aoki to her ­mother, ­daughter, and grand­father. The essays also frame Aoki’s literary endeavors as works that extend or overlay new meaning onto her m ­ other’s writing. In the afterword to Kimono Before and A ­ fter, she expresses deep regret for failing to persuade her m ­ other to continue the story of Kimono. This explains her commitment to kimono culture and also explic­itly connects ­t hese essays to her m ­ other’s novel.72 ­These books of essays discuss f­amily kimonos and include many photo­graphs. Kimono Dresser features Kōda’s kimonos and the ­mother–­daughter relationship; Kimono Before and A ­ fter shows the work of vari­ous artisans, but especially highlights Aoki Tama’s journey in remaking a number of her inherited kimonos. Both works emphasize key messages from Kimono, such as growing through engagement with kimonos and valuing connections with both objects and p ­ eople. Kimono Dresser especially provides readers with insight into the types of garments discussed in the novel, as well as the link between the fictional Rutsuko and Kōda Aya. In “Tagasode” (Whose sleeves), for example, an essay in Kimono Dresser, readers learn the significance of the Kimono book cover—­t hat it was based on a haori

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that Kōda designed herself and gave to Aoki as a wedding gift.73 Kōda did not think a plain, black haori suited the young Tama and chose to cover parts of the sleeves with fabric with a flower pattern; her thinking was that the insets could be removed ­later when Tama grew older. Aoki explains that this garment, conveying Rutsuko’s youth, was perfect for the Kimono cover, and that the Rutsuko–­book happily went out into the world wearing the haori (see Plate 11).74 In another essay, “Usuwata” (Padded garment), Aoki discusses a dōgi she gave to her ­mother for her eightieth birthday. Without directly mentioning Kimono, Aoki explains that Kōda in her youth “tore off the sleeve” of such a padded undergarment—­ making a connection between Kōda and Rutsuko.75 Literary scholars have ignored t­ hese essays, perhaps b ­ ecause such writings view Kōda and Kimono through an autobiographical lens and do not directly analyze her language and narratives. But I would argue that ­these works are not simply memoirs but also a valuable response to Kimono, revitalizing its essential messages and reproducing a similar pro­cess of education. Aoki’s essays bring Kōda’s novel to life by replicating the notion of kimono literacy and interpretation. Just as readers learn how to read kimonos through Rutsuko’s growing-up pro­cess, they follow a similar journey through Aoki’s engagement with the kimonos that Kōda has left for her. While recognizing that Kimono is a work unto itself, I suggest that t­ hese ­later essays complement and add new layers of meaning to Kōda’s text. Both Aoki Tama and Aoki Nao appeared in magazines during this time as kimono prac­ti­tion­ers promoting kimono culture and the legacy of Kōda Aya.76 Aoki Tama also wore her m ­ other’s kimonos, describing herself as an “emonkake” (kimono hanger),77 someone who could give life to the items Kōda left ­behind. Although she pre­sents herself in a self-­deprecating way as a passive “hanger” that just modeled ­these items for the media, Aoki engages actively with kimonos in her writing as well, textually representing ideas from Kimono in a new light. For example, in the essay “Tachikake no yukata” (Half-­cut yukata) in Kimono Dresser, Aoki Tama goes through her ­mother’s ­t hings a­ fter her death and finds a yukata fabric that is only partly cut. She is puzzled ­because her ­mother regularly made such garments in just “half a day,” but soon concludes that this item speaks of her m ­ other’s decline and may even suggest that she was aware of her impending death.78 Just like Rutsuko, Aoki’s ability to grow as a person is connected to her capacity to understand such kimonos, as well as the h ­ uman emotions and relationships embedded within them. This theme continues in Kimono Before and ­After; in “Toriaezu no hako” (The “for the time being” box), Aoki finds bolts of brand-­new kimono cloth in a box labeled “toriaezu” (for the time being). They are in their white state (before being dyed and sewn). In t­ hese items, Aoki sees Kōda’s

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preparation for the f­ uture, including a situation in which such textiles would be difficult to find. They have been placed in temporary storage (“for the time being”), and may have also been meant as gifts for her inheritors, blank canvases to be completed through their participation.79 Aoki listens to what t­ hese texts/textiles are saying, and through this intimate communication she also begins to express her own identity. The white fabric that needs to be dyed to feature its under­lying woven pattern is presented as a “difficult question/problem” (nanmon) for which a suitable answer/solution must be found.80 Similar to Rutsuko, who sees herself connected to her f­ amily and o ­ thers through kimonos, Aoki shows how she is becoming “educated and nurtured” through the textiles her ­mother has left ­behind. She needs to understand her own tastes to create meaningful garments; this is not only about engaging with new white fabrics, but also remaking existing items to make them useful. A kimono with plum blossoms that Kōda made in her sixties is thus redyed with the help of craftspeople so that it can be worn by grand­daughter Aoki Nao; a black cloth meant for a funeral kimono is transformed into a blue kimono with a wax drip technique so that it resembles countless tiny “stars against the night sky.”81 Published in the 1990s–2000s, ­t hese works by Aoki Tama are memoirs and photographic documentations of kimono culture. At the same time, they are also unique literary responses to Kōda Aya’s Kimono. Appearing a­ fter the novel’s publication in book form, the essays distill aspects of Rutsuko’s lessons, emphasizing again the importance of understanding kimonos as part of personal growth. By stressing the continued relevance of Kimono for a new generation of readers, Aoki Tama’s essays effectively shape the novel’s afterlife.

Kimono Afterlives ­ oday kimonos in Japan are still high-­end formal wear, but as we have seen in T Chapter 1, the expansion of the used kimono market and online sales venues, as well as the production of affordable textiles that use new technologies have also transformed them into accessible, casual clothing.82 According to one statistic for 2017, sales in kimono stores had declined about 80 ­percent compared to thirty years ­earlier.83 But at the same time, other means of purchasing and wearing kimonos have become readily available. Aoki Tama observes in the 2006 afterword to Kimono Before and ­After that numbers of kimono wearers have increased.84 And a 2010 book by an industry specialist explains that kimonos had been worn predominantly for formal events, but now w ­ omen create opportunities to wear them on their own.85 Rules about protocol have also become less rigid over the years, and kimonos are now more approachable; still exotic compared to familiar West-

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ern clothes, they are also an effective means of expressing individuality and “enhancing the self” (jibun migaki).86 Such trends have certainly continued into the 2020s. In other words, the kimono is still alive and well, continuing to inspire what Kōda called “mutual feeling,” albeit in ways she did not predict. This is also the case for Kimono, which continues to be read; despite being an incomplete work featuring what was considered a disappearing garment, the paperback edition has been reprinted nineteen times between 1996 and 2019.87 And it also lives on in the kimono essays of Aoki Tama, one of Kōda’s literary inheritors. More recently, Aoki Tama’s own ­daughter, Aoki Nao, has also continued this engagement with Kimono. The 2011 essay collection Kimonos of the Kōda ­Family does not mention her grand­mother’s novel directly, but it is in conversation with Kimono as well as her m ­ other’s writings about it. Presenting herself as a Rutsuko-­ like figure, Aoki Nao recounts memories of being taught by her grand­mother about kimonos, starting at age six by wearing woolen kimonos at home and practicing wearing silk with her ­mother’s old kimono while in high school. She expresses gratitude for Kōda’s precious gift—­the ability to be able to wear and appreciate kimonos. Through her essays, Aoki shows how, with her grand­mother’s and ­mother’s help, she became conversant in kimonos—­able to wear them well, understand what suits her, and comprehend the world and relationships through them. Certainly, Kimonos of the Kōda F ­ amily is based on Aoki Nao’s own experiences, but by overlaying the image of Kōda with Rutsuko’s grand­mother, who goes to ­great lengths to ensure her grand­daughter’s kimono education, the work subtly and creatively links the three w ­ omen and their textual productions while re-­enlivening Rutsuko’s fictional story.88 Despite Kōda’s misgivings about the f­uture of kimonos, the novel Kimono, as well as the garments themselves, live on in the twenty-­first ­century. *

*

*

Kōda’s novel celebrates the kimono as a vehicle for female growth and educates readers in kimono language. While presenting t­ hese garments as a source of life lessons for Rutsuko, Kōda also expressed her anxiety about the longevity of kimonos in the late 1960s by abandoning the serialization. Through a close examination of its messages in vari­ous historical contexts as well as its unique afterlife, however, we see that Kimono’s intimate engagement with the garment as a power­f ul means of communication continues to thrive in the pre­sent. Kimono remains a well-­read work t­oday, and is reinvented through the writing of Aoki Tama and Aoki Nao. The novel particularly distinguishes Kōda as a literary progenitor, creatively exploring what it means to tell stories through objects and asking timeless questions about repre­sen­ta­tion and the production of meaning.

C HA P T E R SE V E N

Lost Kimonos Writing the Self in Miyao Tomiko’s I-­Novels

Miyao Tomiko was a prolific writer whose bestselling works have been turned into successful films, TV dramas, and plays. She was also a kimono connoisseur and collector with in-­depth knowledge about the garment. Despite her fame in Japan, Miyao has been ignored on the ­whole by scholars, viewed as a popu­lar author who produced entertainment for the masses. In this chapter, I shed new light on her work, focusing on her I-­novels and essays that feature kimonos in complex ways. In par­tic­u­lar, I discuss her four-­volume I-­novels known as “Ayako-­mono”1 (the Ayako series): Kai (Oar, 1972–1974), Shuka (Red summer, 1980–1985), Shuntō (Spring light, 1985–1987), and Niyodogawa (Niyodo River, 1998–2000). ­These works depict the birth and growing-up pro­cess of Ayako, who mirrors Miyao herself; she lives in early twentieth-­century Kōchi, then in Manchuria with her husband and infant d ­ aughter during 1945–1946. The ­family returns to Kōchi ­after the war, and the series ends when she is still in her twenties. ­These novels use kimonos to illustrate the intricacies of Ayako’s story and her relationships, especially with her m ­ other; in conjunction with her kimono essays, they also add to Miyao’s self-­representation. Rather than considering the clothing in t­ hese works simply as a rec­ord of real garments, we need to reconsider their literary function, as carefully crafted items conveying a range of meanings. In this chapter I especially focus on Red Summer, which depicts Ayako’s life in Manchuria; in this text, kimonos serve a critical role in articulating taboo issues of war­ time responsibility and trauma within the context of colonialism. Born and raised in Kōchi city, Miyao was the ­daughter of a successful broker in the then ­legal business of placing w ­ omen and girls in geisha ­houses and brothels. Although Miyao strug­gled with this f­ amily background, it was an aspect of her identity that was foundational to her c­ areer. Writing about this personal and historical past, she explained, freed her from shame and secrecy,2 and it was through novels about the prewar Kōchi demimonde that she established her place as a writer from the 1970s. During the 1980s she became a ­house­hold name ­because of film adaptations of her works by director Gosha Hideo (1929–1992): Kai (film: Oar, 1985), Yōkirō 198

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(1975–1976; film: The Geisha, 1983), and Kiryūin Hanako no shōgai (The life of Kiryūin Hanako, 1978–1979; film: Onimasa, 1982).3 ­These Gosha films highlighting sex, vio­lence, and the yakuza underworld helped create an image of Miyao as a writer of sexuality and taboo ele­ments of the prewar past. But in addition to t­ hese works on prostitutes and gangsters, Miyao also wrote prolifically about an array of subjects well into the 2000s and has an impressive rec­ord of bestsellers and literary awards. B ­ ecause her writing is considered popu­lar lit­er­a­ture, however, and the 1980s Gosha films produced a rather skewed view of her works, scholars have not fully examined her literary achievements in the way that they deserve. Miyao wrote in many genres, including historical novels that reinterpret famous figures and events, such as Tenshōin Atsuhime (Tenshōin, Princess Atsu, 1984), televised as an NHK (Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai) TV drama series in 2008; Miyaobon Heike monogatari (The Tale of Heike, Miyao version, 1999–2003); and Nishiki (Brocade, 2006–2008), based on the life of Tatsumura Heizō (1876–1962), an obi production pioneer who also studied ancient textiles. She also wrote novels about the Kōchi demimonde, based on personal memories, interviews, and historical documents. Th ­ ese include Iwago oboegaki (Iwago’s memoirs, 1975–1976), inspired by events recorded in the diaries of her f­ ather; Kantsubaki (Winter camellias, 1976), about the lives of geisha and based on Miyao’s experiences growing up with such girls in the same h ­ ouse­hold; and The Life of Kiryūin Hanako, modeled on a Kōchi gangster and his f­ amily.4 In all t­ hese genres, Miyao’s extensive knowledge of kimono contributes to the overall authenticity and atmosphere. Although a­ ctual descriptions are not always presented in ­great detail, her familiarity with kimono culture and attention to historical accuracy provide a sense of depth and authority. W ­ hether writing about nineteenth-­century life in Edo C ­ astle or the prewar Kōchi geisha world, Miyao enlivens characters and stories through discussions of everyday materiality. She also wrote a significant number of essays about kimonos, mainly for ­women’s magazines, on topics such as kimono history, prewar kimono culture, and her own past and pre­sent wardrobe collections. In my discussion of the Ayako series, I also examine kimono essays that focus on Miyao’s life.

From Oar to Niyodo River: Materiality and the ­Mother–­Daughter Bond The four-­volume I-­novel series was published over a thirty-­year period from 1972 to 2000, but illustrates a relatively short time in Ayako’s life as a child and then as a young ­woman with a ­daughter of her own. As a bildungsroman, a narrative of self-­development and self-­discovery, the tale shows the construction of Ayako’s

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identity as a ­daughter of a Kōchi demimonde broker, a schoolgirl, a teacher, and eventually a wife (and daughter-­in-­law) in a farming f­ amily. In this section I focus on how kimonos dramatize the ­mother–­daughter bond, a central theme in ­t hese works. The saga begins with Oar, which explores the relationship between Ayako’s parents, Tomita Iwago and Kiwa. Ayako is born halfway through the novel, and at the end, we see her being taken away to live with her ­father as a result of her parents’ divorce. Spring Light (published as the third volume) is chronologically next, covering Ayako’s school years, her first teaching job, and the proposal from her f­ uture husband. In Red Summer Ayako marries and gives birth to a d ­ aughter; the main focus of the work, however, is the life-­changing experience she has in Manchuria. Fi­nally, Niyodo River details her life back on her husband’s ­family farm in Japan and the death of both her parents in the immediate postwar years. The series concludes with the suggestion that Ayako ­will ­later transform herself into an author: ­after her ­father’s funeral she discovers his diaries, which would ­later compel her to write about “the ­family business that she hated throughout her youth.”5 This ending effectively unifies the four texts by referring back to Oar, Miyao’s first effort to write about her dark ­family secret. Indeed, although she had made her debut in 1962 and even won a literary award the same year, it was not u ­ ntil Oar, ten years l­ater, that she would draw from such personal material. Miyao herself comments in 1973 that this work “does not directly take the form of an I-­novel,”  6 perhaps b ­ ecause it is narrated in the third person with a focus on the perspective of Kiwa. However, b ­ ecause it illustrates Ayako’s birth and childhood and sets the stage for her story that follows, Oar is viewed as the first work in the series. Miyao wrote Oar while working at her day job as an editor. In 1972, she spent almost as much as her annual salary to produce a self-­published edition (shikaban) of the first section (Part I), which she then sent out to publishers and submitted for a prestigious literary award. This turned out to be a good investment: she won the award and was also able to finish and publish the novel.7 The title refers to the “oar” that one uses to row through the rough seas of life, an apt meta­phor for Kiwa, who ­faces many challenges as the wife of a prostitute-­geisha broker and “­mother” to a large ­house­hold that includes several girls destined for the trade.8 Kiwa has two sons, but one dies young from lung disease and the other helps his ­father in the business that she abhors. Kiwa also experiences heartbreak b ­ ecause of her husband’s infidelities. Ayako is actually the child of her husband and his mistress, but Kiwa adopts her and raises her from infancy. Throughout the series, their ­mother–­daughter bond remains extremely strong, and they never acknowledge the open secret that they are not related by blood.

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Miyao describes Oar, which provided her big break, as a “requiem for my ­ other.” She also explains that when she was planning the self-­published edition, m she wanted it to “symbolize” her ­mother and de­cided to make the book cover out of a cotton kimono fabric with a striped design reminiscent of her m ­ other’s daily wear.9 As discussed in the previous chapter, by the 1970s finding such cloth had become very difficult. Miyao was fi­nally able to order enough fabric, but only the machine-­woven kind was available. Using this textile, she was able to dress, as it ­were, all five hundred copies of this edition in cotton kimono cloth with blue stripes (see Plate 12).10 The connection between Miyao and her ­mother (Kiyo) expressed through this kimono-­clad volume is reflected in the relationship between Ayako and Kiwa, especially through references to clothing that dramatize their intimacy. Throughout the saga, the material presence of the self-­published edition also resonates in the narrative content; kimonos and other items of dress appear in the series as an integral way to express the m ­ other–­daughter bond. In Oar, soon a­ fter Ayako is born, clothing facilitates the emergence of maternal love. Kiwa is initially devastated by her husband’s decision to bring his lover’s child into their h ­ ouse­hold and legally register the baby as their offspring. The agreement she makes with her husband is that she ­will not rear this child, who w ­ ill be cared for by a wet nurse. Yet on the day of the child’s naming ceremony, Kiwa gives advice about the baby’s clothing, and her feelings begin to change. The w ­ oman in charge of ordering the child’s wardrobe, a brothel owner, has no understanding of what is appropriate. Examining the baby’s red yūzen kimono with padding specifically made for the ceremony, Kiwa points out that the padding is unnecessary, the rounded sleeves are too large, and the sash has to be redone. Through such interactions Kiwa begins to feel closer to the child and her re­sis­tance starts to give way. The child is named Ayako and feted as a girl who ­w ill be as exceptional and beautiful as “twilled silk” (ayaginu, 212). One eve­ning, Kiwa dramatically bonds with this newborn. In the m ­ iddle of the night she hears the baby moaning downstairs, discovers that Ayako is suffocating u ­ nder the sleeping wet nurse, and saves her just in time. Ayako is thus taken into Kiwa’s direct care as her own d ­ aughter and brought up as “Tomita no honso” (trea­sure of the Tomita ­house, 223). In some instances, the ­father–­daughter relationship is also expressed through clothes. As a child of a wealthy man, Ayako is used to having a fine wardrobe. In Spring Light, ­after her parents’ divorce, Ayako (in the sixth grade) moves in with her ­father, Iwago, who has set up ­house with his new wife and her two ­children. In cele­bration of Ayako’s arrival, Iwago takes the entire f­amily out to buy her a new overcoat. This is, as even Ayako realizes, an awkward expression of joy for an unexpressive ­father; the overcoat itself is an extravagant and unnecessary purchase

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during war­time when students w ­ ere no longer allowed to wear such luxury items to school. While such scenes suggest genuine affection, the relationship between Ayako and Iwago is often full of conflict. In Oar, Ayako even tries to kill him with a sword ­after she sees his physical vio­lence t­ oward her m ­ other. In contrast, the relationship between Ayako and Kiwa is unchanging. When their connection is expressed through clothing, it is not simply about acquisition and owner­ship, but presented in a more tactile, intimate manner. In Spring Light the new overcoat is juxtaposed with Kiwa’s black cashmere shawl, an item worn over ­women’s kimonos. Before Ayako leaves for her f­ ather’s new home, she and Kiwa walk in the cold night, bundled together in this shawl, “their bodies bumping against each other.”11 Unlike this physical closeness that keeps Ayako warm, the overcoat is not something she wanted, and even when g­ oing out to purchase it, her new f­ amily walks separately in a straight line reflecting a clearly defined hierarchy: Iwago first, then Ayako, followed by his wife, then the two stepsiblings. Throughout the series, the motif of garments highlights the closeness of ­mother and ­daughter. Kiwa carefully dresses the sickly Ayako with extensive layers throughout her childhood. When Ayako accepts her first job as a schoolteacher in a rural area, Kiwa gives up her own long red leggings (worn ­under her kimono) in order to keep her ­daughter warm; she does this even though woolen items ­were a rare commodity that could not be purchased during the war. And in the postwar years, it is not Iwago, but Kiwa, who comes to Ayako’s aid by purchasing a kimono dresser (tansu) and other items for her, ­after Ichi, Ayako’s mother-­in-­law, demands that these objects be brought into their shared home as part of a belated trousseau. In Niyodo River, Kiwa dies of a heart attack at the age of fifty-­nine, wearing only her pink “okoshimaki” (350) that Ayako had sewn with flannel and cotton. This kimono underskirt was a special year-­end gift from Ayako, who reciprocated her m ­ other’s care by providing warmth and protection from the cold. Kiwa had cherished this garment, and quickly grabbed it to hide her naked body as she started to feel ill while taking a bath. Ayako’s older ­brother says to her, “The parent–­ child tie is a strange t­ hing. As she was ­dying, she put on your gift with her own hands” (361–362). The ­mother who made decisions about the ­daughter’s infant clothing dies wearing a garment her d ­ aughter had given her. As noted in Spring Light, the relationship between Kiwa and Ayako is “nasanu naka” (parent-­and-­ child relationship unconnected by blood ties, 29), traditionally considered a source of strife, particularly between stepmothers and their ­children. One of the major themes of the series is the bond between Ayako and Kiwa that transcends such ste­reo­t ypes.

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The tale ends with Iwago’s death and Ayako’s discovery of his diaries that would become instrumental to her f­ uture ­career as an author. But throughout the series, it is the relationship between Ayako and her ­mother, dramatized through kimonos, that plays a major symbolic role in showing an essential part of Ayako’s identity. ­Unless one pays careful attention to the construction and framing of ­these lengthy novels, it is easy to overlook the way clothing is repeatedly used to highlight the ­mother–­daughter connection and unify the four volumes. Ultimately, through a careful reading we can appreciate the dif­fer­ent ways kimonos highlight Ayako’s self-­development and awakening.

The Meaning of Material Objects in I-­Novels Before turning to Red Summer and its use of kimonos beyond the Ayako–­Kiwa relationship, it is worth taking a moment to think about the broader meaning of objects in I-­novels. In my discussion of The Makioka ­Sisters in Chapter 2, I noted that scholars have generally ignored material objects in this work b ­ ecause they viewed such items as being based on real­ity. Although Tanizaki’s text is not considered an I-­novel, it is well known that he modeled his story and characters on ­actual events and p ­ eople. Thus, when literary critics discuss objects from the work, they usually treat them as t­ hings taken from real life, functioning to provide historical accuracy and create verisimilitude. As I argue, however, it is more productive to think of items, including specific kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters, as indicating more than that; read metonymically, they provide multiple meanings within their historical contexts of articulation. With I-­novels such as the Ayako series, the relationship between text and real­ ity is perceived to be even closer than in works like The Makioka ­Sisters, ­because by definition I-­novels are thought to intimately reflect the author’s own experiences. In more carefully defining the genre, of course, we should remember that “I-­novel” is a rather elusive term. Although it is usually considered a retelling of the author’s life in fictional form, the term can encompass a broad range of texts, and what is considered an I-­novel also changes over time. As Tomi Suzuki has noted, the I-­novel is a complex genre, negotiated through critical discourses on notions of selfhood, language, and modernity. Generally speaking, however, “the reader’s expectations concerning, and belief in, the single identity of the protagonist, the narrator, and the author of a given text ultimately makes a text an I-­novel.” Rather than defining the I-­novel through “certain referential, thematic, or formal characteristics,” we should view the genre as being created through modes of reading combined with the author’s own definitions and/or ac­cep­tance of such “autobiographical assumptions on the part of the reader.”12

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The Ayako novels are modeled on Miyao’s own life. Although the protagonist of Oar is the ­mother, ­after Ayako’s birth the emphasis shifts to the child’s story. Spring Light, Red Summer, and Niyodo River all feature Ayako as the protagonist and provide her perspective on events; the narration is in the third person but does not take an omniscient point of view.13 Given Tomi Suzuki’s comments above, ­these works can clearly be considered I-­novels, both ­because of the author’s stance as well as the way they have been perceived by readers.14 Despite well-­recognized theoretical premises, such as the fluidity of identity and the constructed nature of language and text, I-­novels by popu­lar writers, particularly t­ hose that treat past history, tend to be valued for their accurate repre­sen­ ta­tion of real­ity and truthful content about the author’s thoughts and experiences. Even in the few critical discussions of Red Summer that exist, for example, scholars focus on the plot and details rather than the way Miyao uses dif­fer­ent narrative techniques or explores issues of memory and truth.15 Miyao also writes in an essay that ­after the publication of Oar, she was criticized for her “exaggerated” depiction of poverty in early twentieth-­century Kōchi slums. She denies this accusation of overdramatization and emphasizes that c­ hildren in t­hese neighborhoods r­ eally only wore “faded, threadbare, and torn short kimonos without even a sash” and that “­there w ­ ere cases of [­people who] peeled off their mud walls for food.”16 Such an emphasis on authenticity is a double-­edged sword ­because truthful statements can also be devalued as ­little more than rec­ords of facts. Objects like kimonos particularly suffer in this regard: although Miyao is expected to accurately represent early to mid-­t wentieth-­century material culture (in Kōchi and Manchuria), critics ignore her descriptions as simply based on real clothing, overlooking the fact that they might have meaning beyond authenticity. To be sure, not all clothing carries similar levels of meaning. Th ­ ere are clothes in the series that are modeled on Miyao’s a­ ctual garments and mainly contribute to the real­ ity effect or serve as ­simple symbols. In Oar, for example, the three-­year-­old Ayako wears a special outfit for a ceremony to celebrate her growth; this is based partly on an a­ ctual garment. The monpe with a dragonfly pattern she wears to school in Spring Light is also “real” but additionally conveys the symbolic possibility of freedom and flight from home.17 But other garments featured in the series encapsulate a rich set of meanings that demand deeper analy­sis; that is, they need to be understood both in terms of the real (as they ­really ­were) or realism (as they could have been), and the multiple interpretive possibilities they represent. Throughout the series, clothing underscores the ­mother’s self-­sacrifice and the intimacy between Ayako and Kiwa, themes encapsulated in the kimono cover edition of Oar. But kimonos also fulfill other narrative functions. At times, ­these material objects even speak on their own terms, counteracting or resisting Ayako’s

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thoughts, even undermining the straightforward understanding of her story as one of t­ rials and eventual triumph. As we ­w ill see in Red Summer, for example, Ayako’s kimonos in Manchuria speak of taboo ideas in the context of colonialism. In the next sections, I closely examine this work and its use of garments, exploring their multivalence.

Red Summer: Writing Manchuria Red Summer is distinct from the other I-­novels in the series ­because it is also an example of hikiage bungaku (repatriation lit­er­a­ture), portraying Ayako’s experiences in war­time and postwar Manchuria and her subsequent repatriation to Japan. The plot follows Ayako as she moves to Manchuria with her husband, Kaname, and their newborn baby, arriving in April 1945.18 Kaname has taken a job as an elementary school teacher for a farming settler community from Kōchi Prefecture, and the teachers and their families live in a village called Yinmahe (Inbahō), a train ­ride away from the capital Xinjing (Shinkyō, now Changchun). ­After Japan loses the war in August, the families are first saved by Chinese neighbors who hide them from a mob, and they manage to flee to a refugee camp.19 ­After being moved from place to place as refugees along with agricultural settlers, Ayako and her f­amily are fi­nally repatriated, returning to Japan ­a fter a year and a half in Manchuria. In August 1945, at the end of World War II, approximately 6.9 million Japa­nese ­were overseas, outside of the so-­called interior (naichi). ­After the disintegration of the Japa­nese Empire, “of the 6.7 million who eventually returned to Japan, 5 million arrived by the end of 1946.”20 Miyao Tomiko was one such repatriate (hikiagesha), returning to Kōchi Prefecture in September 1946 along with her husband and infant ­daughter.21 In some cases, repatriates ­were unable to return ­until much ­later, years and de­cades a­ fter the war was over. Manchukuo, Japan’s puppet state established in 1932, was developed as the “jewel in Japan’s imperial crown.”22 By the end of the war, over 2 million Japa­ nese residents, both military and civilian, ­were living in the region.23 The last days of the war and its immediate aftermath w ­ ere extremely violent. On August 9, 1945, the Soviet Union invaded Manchuria without much re­sis­tance from the Japa­nese forces, the Kwantung Army, and on August 12, the army and government withdrew from Xinjing. The military evacuated its own personnel and families, but most Japa­nese nationals w ­ ere essentially abandoned. Many able-­bodied male settlers had been drafted, so the agricultural settler communities in northern Manchuria that w ­ ere attacked by the Soviets w ­ ere mainly composed of the el­derly, ­women, and ­children.24

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Fleeing immigrants not only faced attack from the Soviets, but also from the Chinese, including “workers and farmers seeking revenge for loss of land, forced ­labor, and other depredations they had been made to endure by the Japa­nese.”25 The Japa­nese ­were also caught in the civil war between the Chinese Nationalists and Communists; many immigrants died as a result of mass suicide, starvation, and disease.26 Agricultural settlers particularly suffered in the aftermath; they ­were only 14 ­percent of the Japa­nese population in Manchuria in 1945, but “accounted for 45 ­percent of the civilian deaths at the end of the war.”27 As Lori Watt notes, the stories of settlers from this time “appear as a collage of nightmares—­a combination of flight, hunger, terror, sickness, and death.”28 In several essays and interviews, Miyao explains how she became sick with tuberculosis at age twenty-­one a­ fter she returned to Japan, and with the fear of imminent death she de­cided to note down her experiences in Manchuria. This was particularly impor­tant for her ­because she felt that at the time ­people in the interior ­were not interested in hearing repatriates’ stories. The desire to tell her story was the initial motivation for her to become an author.29 However, it would be over thirty years before she published a book on the subject, and even during the serialization she took time off, l­ater explaining that she very much disliked writing Red Summer. Considering the descriptions of vio­lence and the strug­gle to survive in subhuman conditions, it was evidently difficult for Miyao to reengage with her traumatic experiences.30 To be sure, the authenticity of t­ hese experiences is an impor­tant ele­ment in this novel. At the same time, Miyao made it very clear in a 1985 interview that in distinction to memoirs that make up the majority of writing by repatriates from Manchuria, her novel is not a pure “rec­ord” of events that happened.31 Like the other I-­novels featuring Ayako, Red Summer derives its legitimacy from being close to Miyao’s own life, but as a work of fiction it carefully frames the repatriate experience and Ayako’s growth in ways that transcend specific facts and events.32 Miyao explains that her interest in writing this work was not to pre­sent documentation like many repatriate memoirs (“taikenki”) but to explore the pro­cess by which ­human feelings are lost and relationships fall apart in extreme situations of deprivation.33 It is in this context that we observe Ayako’s inner growth and change. In Red Summer, material objects fulfill a particularly impor­tant role, illustrating the characters’ destitution in war­time and immediate postwar Manchuria. Like food, shelter, and tools, clothing is critical for survival—­not only as covering for the body but also as currency (to be sold or used for bartering). In this context, clothes are imbued with a dif­fer­ent kind of significance and set of meanings from the other novels in the series. They become catalysts for deep self-­analysis

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and interpretation on the part of Ayako as well as the narrator/implied author ­because they are essential objects in a context of dearth, highlighting everyday strug­gles in an intensely intimate way. Furthermore, t­ hese material objects enable Red Summer to address taboo issues of colonialism and individual war­time responsibility. Such explorations contribute to the broader discourse of the early to mid-1980s when the work was being serialized. Manchuria and Japan’s colonial past ­were impor­tant topics then ­because of the publication of numerous repatriate memoirs and media focus on the Japa­nese “orphans left b ­ ehind in China,” who ­were raised by Chinese families. In the early 1980s ­t hese ­people w ­ ere starting to return to Japan in significant numbers.34 In an interview about Red Summer, Miyao argues in 1985 that it is vital to demand that the Japa­nese nation (“kokka”) take responsibility for the war. At the same time, however, she challenges the idea that individuals who immigrated to Manchuria w ­ ere simply victims. As she explains, “one of the greatest reasons we went to Manchuria was ­because it was not being bombed [like the interior] and ­people w ­ ere also paid a sum of money to go. . . . ​A lthough we said it was for the nation [okuni], we went ­because Manchuria as a place without air raids was extremely attractive. In a sense it was a way to escape from the interior [naichi].”35 Such ideas about accountability are rarely expressed by t­ hose who w ­ ere part of the colonial enterprise. Red Summer often portrays the Japa­nese characters in terms of their duality, both as victims as well as victimizers and agents of empire. This aspect of the novel may be subtle, but Miyao’s recognition of complicity is power­ ful and unusual. Jinno Morimasa, who has extensively interviewed and written about Japa­nese settlers in Manchuria, notes that very few of them explic­itly express remorse about having taken over land owned by Chinese farmers. The general view, as articulated by one of his interviewees, seems to circumvent this as a decision made elsewhere: “the land issue had been taken care of by ­t hose above us in station [ue no hito] and so we never knew what had happened to the locals.”36 Most of the Japa­ nese interviewees from former settler groups explained that at the time they did not think of Manchuria as a foreign country but believed “it was ­under Japa­nese rule ­because Japan colonized it.”37 Given this understanding, even addressing the issue of civilian responsibility in fiction was likely a complex undertaking for Miyao, especially in the context of the 1980s, when many repatriates ­were speaking out about their traumatic experiences and w ­ ere beginning to be acknowledged as victims of war­time Japa­nese policies and propaganda. When carefully read, Red Summer does not shy away from ­t hese difficult questions: on the surface it may appear to focus on Ayako’s personal suffering, loss, and resilience, but it also

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addresses issues of complicity within the broader vio­lence of empire. Below I illustrate how kimonos and other objects tell t­ hese complex and nuanced stories by questioning the meaning of owner­ship within this context.

Kimonos in Red Summer: Owner­ship, Loss, and Colonialism One of the central plot points of Red Summer is the loss of Ayako’s entire wardrobe in the aftermath of Japan’s defeat. As a bride from a well-­off ­family, her belongings included an extensive collection of kimonos; when moving from Kōchi to Manchuria, she insists on shipping them all to her new home, even though she is advised to leave most of them b ­ ehind with her mother-­in-­law for safekeeping. She thinks of Manchuria as a “peaceful place without air raids” and desires to be ­f ree to choose to wear what­ever she likes without being ­limited to “monpe,” the de facto national uniform for w ­ omen in the interior (46–47). Not surprisingly, ­after settling in the remote village of Yinmahe, Ayako’s owner­ship of many high-­ quality kimonos distinguishes her from poor Japa­nese agrarian settlers and other teachers. When the group of teachers and their families hear about the Soviet invasion, they decide to leave their clothing and valuables with Wen (On), a Chinese neighbor. ­After moving their belongings to safety, however, they learn of Japan’s defeat and are attacked by a mob; they are then forced to escape to a refugee camp in Yingchengzi (Eijōshi). While living t­ here in severely deprived circumstances with ­little more than the clothes on her back, Ayako visits a local market and sees two items of clothing for sale: her “peony-­colored kimono raincoat woven with silk from yamamayu [Japa­nese silk moths]” and her husband’s “white silk suit” (254) that they had left with Wen for safekeeping.38 The discovery of ­t hese clothes at the market creates a rift among the refugee teachers. The leader, principal Okamoto, argues that Wen, who is “pro-­Japanese” (shinnichika, 257), must have given up the two items to thwart reprisals from other Chinese. However, Ayako thinks that it is also pos­si­ble that Wen had immediately sold all of their items for his own gain. Despite her youth and ­limited understanding of the world, she had thought about Wen’s awkward position in the village ­after Japan’s defeat. She also won­ders about the limitations of language and communication between Wen and the Japa­nese teachers. ­Later, several men in the group return to the village, undertaking the dangerous journey to try to collect their ­t hings in order to prepare for the coming winter. When they get ­t here, Wen tells them that he too had been attacked by a mob and “all of their ­t hings have been stolen” (334). Wen gives them a small amount

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of money as compensation, but Ayako’s husband, who did not accompany the men, declines his portion. Thus, Ayako’s kimono wardrobe, meant to last a lifetime, dis­ appears completely with nothing to show for it. In the novel, t­ here is no clear answer as to exactly what happened, but this ambiguity is not simply about Wen’s allegiance. Rather, the incident, along with other instances of loss and stealing throughout the text, connects with larger questions of what constitutes owner­ship in Manchuria. Ayako herself does not explic­ itly think about imperialism as a violation of o ­ thers’ land and sovereignty, but the kimonos and their absent presence throughout the text encourage readers to contemplate this perspective. In the early part of the novel, the narrator states that local farmers had to leave their land, ceding space to Japa­nese settlers “who forcibly came into the area,” and that the school buildings where Ayako and her husband live and work had also belonged to the Chinese (69–71). As Louise Young explains, the Japa­nese authorities took over the land in Manchuria through “price manipulations, coerced sales, and forced evictions,” and in 1941, only about half of the land possessed by the Japa­nese had been paid for: “Not only did imperial privilege allow Japa­nese settlers to take prime lands away from Chinese farmers, but it also facilitated exploitation of the ­labor power of many of the same ­people they had just displaced.”39 Sometime ­after arriving in Manchuria, Ayako and her husband move into the school dormitory and oversee settlers’ ­children who cannot commute to school. Daily life is rough and food choice is ­limited, and Ayako does not have the necessities she is used to, such as an unlimited supply of w ­ ater. She is happy, however, to be in a position of authority, making the “coolie” (87) hired for the dormitory do her h ­ ouse­work, and telling students to carry out vari­ous jobs for her. She also enjoys wearing dif­fer­ent kimonos ­every day and thoroughly embraces her life in Manchuria as “not ­limited like the interior” (86). This carefree life, represented by the variety of kimonos and a domestic space ­under her control, is built on the ­labor and property of o ­ thers. The narration of Red Summer is in the third person, but features Ayako’s perspectives and thoughts.40 In general, the young, naïve h ­ ouse­w ife embraces war­ time ideology and does not think about the implications of her lifestyle. But t­ here are also subtle interventions by the narrator/implied author, who periodically comments on the protagonist’s thoughts and actions, as a kind of older Ayako figure looking back at her younger self. This narrator has knowledge that young Ayako and other characters do not, including f­ uture events and historical information. At times this narrative voice is quite critical t­ oward Ayako, and at other times, encouraging; the narrator also tries to understand her state of mind and pro­cess of change.

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This dual perspective si­mul­ta­neously adds a raw immediacy and a contemplative tone to the depiction of an individual’s experience in 1945–1946 Manchuria. Ayako herself does not criticize war­time ideology directly, but the narrator is clearly uncomfortable with the way Ayako often accepts the status quo and believes in the Japa­nese Empire. Even while recognizing Ayako’s sincerity, the text underscores her ignorance and immaturity. In this way, the novel is able to depict a proud immigrant who thinks she is serving the nation, while si­mul­ta­neously offering an implicit critique of the colonial enterprise. This dual framework helps readers see beneath the surface and recognize impor­tant moments when Ayako herself begins to be aware of the meaning of Japa­nese presence in Manchuria. Soon ­after the teachers’ families store their valuables with Wen, they are attacked by a swarm of p ­ eople with weapons rushing t­oward their village. Ayako immediately flees with her child to the home of their Chinese neighbor, Wang (Wan). Wang hides them in his oven, saving their lives, but the mob takes all their remaining belongings. “Ayako thought that she understood the meaning of this riot,” observing that with the removal of ­t hings from the residence and even “the odor of the Japa­nese, this place reverted to being the original mud h ­ ouse, the ­house built by its o ­ wners” (193). The school­house, “built by ­t hose of the same race [dōminzoku] [as the rioters]” (194) is also left intact, although items inside are totally destroyed.41 Ayako is terrified and numb from having escaped this “violent mob” (bōmin, 192), but somehow also recognizes this as an erasure of colonial rule. Despite this broader understanding, Ayako is mystified by the be­hav­ior of individuals she knows (as opposed to the unknown masses). She is shocked to see a young man from the Wang h ­ ouse­hold taking part in the looting by stealing her mirrored dressing stand. Although Ayako and her baby have been saved by Wang, she is uneasy about this and questions the f­ amily’s allegiance. Eventually she concludes that such “petty theft” (shōtoru) is part of the national culture and not seen as a serious crime. This, she feels, is “completely dif­fer­ent from the sensibilities of the Japa­nese” (194). The idea of theft as being anathema to the Japa­nese cannot be read in a straightforward manner. Ayako’s statement about “petty theft” reverberates throughout the work in an ironic way, as ­later she and her husband themselves turn to theft for survival in the camps. As a refugee, Ayako steals a diaper made from a men’s yukata from a Japa­nese ­house­hold, exchanging it for a cornmeal dumpling that she, constantly feeling hungry, eats without sharing with her f­ amily. She feels tremendous guilt for this act and determines never to steal again. But when the Japa­nese refugees are moved to Jiutai (Kyūdai) and forced to work for the Soviets (and ­later the Eighth Route Army [Paarogun], then the Nationalist Army [Kokufu-

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gun]), her husband, as well as other Japa­nese, routinely commits “petty theft,” stealing from military supplies in order to supplement their meager rations of sorghum gruel. Ayako feels no qualms about this, and comes to celebrate acts of stealing such t­ hings as a handful of soybeans, a bearing, dried noodles, and thread as necessary for survival. In fact, such “petty theft” leads to one of the impor­tant moments t­ oward the end of the novel. Ayako, who has begun to question her complete reliance on her husband, realizes the value and dignity of earning money. She begins a small-­scale, intermittent business in which she fries stolen soybeans and hires Japa­nese boys to sell them on the street. This opens her eyes to the happiness of being compensated for ­labor; the activity also ­frees her from her f­ ather’s decree that respectable ­women should stay home and not work for pay. One scholar has interpreted this as Ayako’s feminist awakening; she becomes a kind of “Nora” figure who resists patriarchal control, like the character from Henrik Ibsen’s (1828–1906) A Doll’s House (1879).42 It is certainly a celebratory moment, but we should not miss its profound irony. In order to achieve this liberation, Ayako must still rely on her husband (to steal the soybeans), and the business model is based on the same sort of “petty theft” that had so shocked her before.43 Through the course of the novel, the act of “petty theft” changes from an immoral act to “an act that resulted from unbearable hunger” (314), then to a blameless act of survival, and ultimately to an enterprising way of expressing agency and self-­realization. This change of values occurs due to the complete reversal of Ayako’s situation—­from a respected w ­ oman of property (kimonos, housing) with status (teacher’s wife) to a refugee dressed in rags without any belongings at all. ­After Japan’s defeat, the world has become “ fangōru” (182, 294), a phrase shouted by mobs that attacked the Japa­nese, indicating that “heaven and earth have switched positions” in Manchuria (182). The colonists have become refugees who must now work for their former subordinates. The notion of owner­ship in this “upside down” world is not sacrosanct as Aya­ ko once believed. In Yingchengzi, the Chinese take over the coal mines formerly controlled by the Japa­nese, and Chinese and Korean miners are replaced by Japa­nese l­abor. In the Jiutai refugee camp, the Japa­nese are hired by the Soviets to transport their spoils of war, a vast amount of supplies including food and clothing formerly held by the Kwantung Army, said to be the “greatest in scale in all of Manchuria” (370). The Japa­nese risk their lives to conduct “petty theft” from this hoard, and a­ fter the Soviets leave, the refugees learn that they have only been paid for half of their work. Even ­human beings are “owned,” as the Eighth Route Army abducts Kaname and he only manages to escape ­under fire. Tragic stories of w ­ omen taken by the Soviets also abound. Unlike several young refugee ­women,

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Ayako escapes being taken by the Nationalist Army thanks to her unattractive, dirty, “beggar-­like” appearance (383). In this “upside down” world, Ayako’s view of “petty theft” changes, as she experiences situations in which land, property, and even h ­ uman beings can be owned by constantly shifting “­owners.” At the same time, this depiction of a reversed world underscores the fact that the Japa­nese had also turned Manchuria “upside down” before this, legitimating Japa­nese owner­ ship of land and property through the logic of colonialism. Ayako discovers her kimono raincoat and Kaname’s suit for sale at the market on her first visit outside the Yingchengzi camp area. This scene is critical in prefiguring Ayako’s changing attitude t­oward “petty theft” that follows, and we see the affective ways in which clothing highlights questions of owner­ship. When she sees the raincoat and suit, she feels a sense of intense familiarity with the two unique objects. Her coat is a rare item that made her stand out in war­time Kōchi, and the suit is a one-­of-­a-­k ind garment, made from silk that Kaname’s m ­ other had spun herself. Both are clearly marked with the names of their ­owners, “Tomita” (Ayako’s maiden name) and “Miyoshi” (254); the drycleaners in Japan had sewn the names with colored thread on the inside of the collars so t­ here is no question of misidentifying t­ hese objects. Ayako does not doubt for a moment that the shop­keeper ­will return ­these items to her; she tells Kaname to speak to the man so she can take them back right away. But her husband refuses to do so and tells her that it ­w ill not do any good as they do not have any money. Ayako does not understand this reasoning: “­You’re wrong!” Ayako became outraged and shouted while holding the raincoat in her right hand, the suit in her left. “The names are evidence, ­aren’t they? Th ­ ere’s no better proof that I am the owner of t­ hese ­t hings, right? I’m certain h ­ e’ll return them to me if you talk to him.” (256) Ayako even tries to negotiate herself, but Kaname silently pries the clothes from her hands and leads her home. She obeys, but does not understand “why they w ­ on’t be returned to her.” “The clothes packed in the wooden crates” w ­ ere not sold or given to Wen, so Ayako feels strongly that “if she pursued the ­matter by official means, it ­w ill become clear who the owner is” (256). She continues to think this way for a long time. Since Ayako and her ­family rushed to the refugee camp soon ­after the looting by the mob, they are much worse off than most o ­ thers who had time to bring necessary belongings. Ayako escaped wearing only “a lined kimono made of Mōka cotton, of such poor quality that she rarely wore it even back home, and a kasuri monpe” (203). Having moved to Manchuria to be able to wear her many fine kimo-

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nos and avoid wearing monpe, Ayako has ironically ended up with only her worst clothes. H ­ ere, in a world where owner­ship cannot be clearly established even through “official means,” signs such as sewn-in names have ­little significance. Of course, she has been a victim of theft, but she is also part of the colonial enterprise that has stolen from o ­ thers. The scene of Ayako’s outrage subtly reminds readers of this duality and also highlights the sequences that follow, in which she comes to accept “petty theft” in daily life. The scene also frames another taboo topic related to owner­ship. Immediately before Ayako finds the two items for sale in the market, she is approached by a Chinese man who is e­ ager to buy her d ­ aughter, Miya, strapped to her back. A crowd of onlookers surround them as the man continues to press his offer and Ayako and Kaname repeatedly turn him down. As they leave, Kaname explains: “Apparently many Japa­nese sell their c­ hildren t­ hese days. That man said he just bought one yesterday in Jiutai. All Japa­nese ­children are ‘very good’44 and among them Miya was particularly fat and healthy looking so he said he can get a very high price for her” (252–253). Kaname comments that such c­ hildren are in demand b ­ ecause the Japa­nese are “an excellent race” (yūshū na minzoku, 253), a view that reflects the problematic mindset of imperial ideology. The c­ ouple is not interested in the offer, but at the same time they are strangely pleased to learn that they are not without property, that “they still had this fat baby named Miya as their belonging [mochimono].” They are proud that even in their desperate situation they could reject the man’s offer of money; the power they feel is also from the discovery of owner­ship, that they “still own a trea­sure that can be sold if they wanted.” ­After catching up with the o ­ thers who had also come to the market, they repeat the story and laugh; the leader Okamoto even makes a joke about the possibility of his three c­ hildren fetching a high price. The narrator comments again, however, that Okamoto too must have felt empowered “to hear the possibility that ­children could be a source for commerce [shōbai]” (253). The fact that ­children are considered sellable “­things” owned by parents shows the extraordinary and dire circumstances in which the refugees find themselves. Ayako and Kaname choose not to pursue this route, but they accept the equation that their baby, like any other item, is a potential “commodity” (shōhin, 253). As I have suggested, Ayako’s lost kimonos function as a central symbol around which the notion of owner­ship coalesces, opening new ways to view such concepts. The text avoids directly addressing the individual immigrant’s culpability and role within the empire, but indirectly pre­sents the victim/victimizer duality through the depiction of ­things and changing owner­ship. The revelation that ­children are treated in this way adds to this exploration and is particularly poignant ­because it occurs immediately before Ayako discovers her kimono raincoat and husband’s

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suit—­property that has been alienated from her forever. The juxtaposition of the scenes drives home the point that Ayako owns nothing in this land except for her child—­a “­t hing” that can be bought and sold in the harsh, tragic context of the times. As a text published in the 1980s, when Japan’s colonial past reemerged viscerally through the daily media presence of the Japa­nese “orphans left b ­ ehind in China,” Red Summer acknowledges without judgment the real­ity in which owner­ship of ­children did change hands in Manchuria for vari­ous reasons, ­whether through selling, abandonment, or adoption. As Mariko Asano Tamanoi notes about female settlers: “In order to save the lives of their ­children, as well as their own lives, thousands of ­women who had been left to themselves ­were forced to, in their own words, ‘leave,’ ‘give up,’ ‘abandon,’ ‘sell,’ or ‘entrust’ their loved ones to Chinese families.” 45 In Red Summer, no characters are forced to make this choice, although t­ here are instances of infant death, abortion, and adoption in the camps. Okamoto’s wife ­later becomes pregnant with her fourth child, and they give the baby to a childless Japa­nese ­couple. The child eventually dies, and Ayako realizes that the general sentiment is one of ac­cep­tance, that “it was prob­ably good that t­ here was one less mouth to feed” (338). Still young and immature, Ayako is quite critical of this ­woman who has given up her infant and staunchly believes that a ­mother must bring up her own child (despite being raised by a doting adoptive m ­ other herself). But at the same time, she herself experiences difficulties raising Miya, being tied down by a helpless baby and barely able to produce breast milk. Indeed, at one point in the throes of hunger, Ayako even thinks it might be “happier for the two of them if she strangled Miya to death” (231). A ­ fter the incident in the market, she also finds herself wondering on vari­ous occasions how much Miya would fetch. On a cursory reading, Red Summer appears to be telling Ayako’s story as one of victimization and hardship, but on closer examination, we realize that kimonos and other objects in this work complicate the narrative, forcing confrontation with taboo issues such as individual accountability and the c­ hildren left ­behind. ­After learning that her wardrobe is gone, Ayako periodically experiences dreams in which her kimonos appear one ­after another. The lost garments haunt the work as a kind of spectral presence, continuing to question owner­ship in war­ time and postwar Manchuria. To be sure, Ayako’s clothes have been stolen, but she herself has stolen both as a colonist with power and as a desperate refugee. She may not have sold her child, but she accepts the idea of the infant as a potential “commodity,” and may have carried out the transaction u ­ nder dif­fer­ent circumstances. By carefully juxtaposing valuable t­ hings both inanimate and animate and exploring questions of loss and possession, the text goes beyond realistic repre­ sen­ta­tion in depicting the Japa­nese presence in Manchuria.

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Kimonos in Red Summer: Self-­Development and the “Repatriate’s Spirit” The lost kimonos in Red Summer also illustrate Ayako’s self-­development. Manchuria was touted as a land of plenty by the Japa­nese government promoting emigration, but for Ayako it was an exotic yet familiar place. This was ­because of her ­father’s business relationships with Japa­nese brothel ­owners in the major cities of Manchuria. Th ­ ese men had visited Kōchi as f­ amily guests while Ayako was growing up; they told stories of an easy life and cheap “coolie” l­ abor, and brought back luxuries such as furs and choco­late, establishing in Ayako’s mind an image of a “utopia across the sea” (16–17). ­After her marriage, Manchuria became an even more desirable destination, offering freedom from the oppressive daily life on a rural Kōchi farm. Ayako is also moved by Kaname’s decision to work in Manchuria as a way for them both to “sacrifice themselves for the nation” through education (17). Due to war­time teachings and her sheltered background, Ayako’s understanding of Manchuria is ­limited. She weeps when she sees “coolies” (62) on the train for the first time when she arrives in Xinjing, their figures reminding her of slum dwellers in Kōchi, and won­ders if it is “the sense of superiority as Japa­nese” (63) that makes her compatriots ignore them. She also ponders what she learned in elementary school, that is, the slogan “gozoku kyōwa” (the harmony among five races, 63),46 referring to “Han Chinese, Japa­nese, Koreans, ethnic Manchu, and Mongols,” 47 and how the Japa­nese are supposed to be the leaders of Asia. Despite such moments that compel her to interrogate her beliefs, Ayako ultimately accepts the status quo; she considers herself part of the ruling class and even treats the Japa­nese schoolchildren from poor settler families as her personal assistants. It is only a­ fter she becomes a refugee that Ayako undergoes a complete transformation, both inside and out. By the time she embarks on her repatriation, she has become the mirror image of the coolies at the beginning of her journey to Manchuria, wearing nothing but rags and crushed into an open freight car. In exchange for the loss of her status and belongings, Ayako achieves a deeper understanding of both herself and the realities of the world around her. In Red Summer, the kimono is not used as a sign of national or ethnic difference per se. Rather, Ayako’s kimonos are a sign of her wealth, distinguishing her from other Japa­nese. She enjoys wearing dif­fer­ent outfits and gives away kimonos and other clothing to ­children and teachers. Even when she commissions her “coolie” to sell one of her kimonos to Chinese neighbors, the money she ­will make is secondary; rather, she is pleased that it ­w ill be of use to ­t hose who need silk to make hats and footwear. ­Until she loses her entire wardrobe, Ayako feels no deep

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attachment to t­ hese garments given to her by her parents and o ­ thers, as she has never had to strug­gle for their keep. She does not understand why Okamoto’s wife is shocked to see her cutting up a check-­patterned, “unlined Yonezawa kimono” (178), a so-­called prior-­dyed, or woven kimono made in the area of Yonezawa, Yamagata Prefecture, to make a dress for Miya—­for many families such kimonos are precious items to be carefully worn for three generations. The narrator also notes that Ayako does not yet realize that by giving clothes away, she may be wounding o ­ thers’ pride. But ­after several interactions with a female teacher who refuses to wear Ayako’s belongings, Ayako begins to won­der if she is just pleasing herself by being a “benefactor” (178). On the w ­ hole, the kimonos that Ayako loses are not described in individual detail, only as items kept in wooden boxes. In Red Summer, kimonos are usually not invoked to express close relationships between the characters but rather to illustrate power difference, a fact that Ayako begins to grasp even before their disappearance. But by the time she is in the refugee camp, Ayako has shed all vestiges of her self-­worth and must resort to rummaging through garbage heaps to find necessities. Settlers make fun of her in a way that would have been unthinkable before, saying that “even teachers’ wives have to shit and pee just like us” (207). Fi­ nally, the clothes that Ayako wears ­every day turn into shredded rags, and she has to make garments out of discarded hemp sacks; this is what Ayako and Kaname are wearing when they are repatriated to Kōchi.48 Most painfully, Ayako is criticized by an old w ­ oman in the Yingchengzi camp for having “lived like a flower, changing into dif­fer­ent kimonos morning and night,” and her current state of living in squalor with no belongings is described as “due punishment by heaven” (bachi, 328). This is schadenfreude and also a critique of Ayako’s lack of conformity, as someone who lived among settlers while wearing clothes beyond their reach. In the camp too, she remains out of place, still defined by the lost kimonos. She is forced to confront both her past and current be­hav­ior and to question who she is beyond t­ hese lost signs of power. The experience opens her eyes to the complexities of ­human nature and relationships in this extreme environment. The novel never pre­sents a monolithic view of the Japa­nese in Manchuria, but shines a light on conflicts between dif­fer­ent groups or individuals and their competition to survive ­after the war. Ayako’s lost kimonos and the concomitant loss of her worth make her look closely at herself and examine power structures she had previously accepted. In one instance, Ayako begins to directly question male authority and social hierarchy. A ­ fter the discovery of the kimono raincoat and suit for sale at the market, principal Okamoto says that Ayako must have made a ­mistake. But she refuses to back down, insisting that the items she saw ­were hers

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­ ecause of the names sewn into them. Immediately afterwards, she realizes that b no ­woman had ever spoken publicly in this way, much less to challenge a man’s statement. ­Later, Okamoto tells the members of the group that they should disband and go their separate ways ­because of an undesirable “foreign ele­ment” (288); he hints that this refers to Ayako, admonishing her for being “selfish in both words and actions” (289). Ayako recognizes that Okamoto has attached himself to a settler-­refugee group with better prospects for survival, and made her a scapegoat for his abandonment of the teachers and their families. Ayako’s awakening to structural systems of wealth, gender, and social status, as well as the value of l­abor, is mediated through kimonos and their loss. In this pro­cess, she attains a dif­fer­ent form of power, the so-­called hikiagesha seishin (repatriate’s spirit). This often-­used term is explained by Kawamura Minato in his analy­sis of repatriation lit­er­a­ture as “a spirit that focuses on protecting the ‘individual’ above all e­ lse” and an attitude that questions “all established beliefs, knowledge, and ways of thinking.” Ayako hones her survival instincts in the camps and even embraces theft as a way to eat. As Kawamura explains, the “repatriate’s spirit” can be seen as an “egotistic” mindset that may be “strongly colored by a view of the self as a victim” and even manifesting a desire t­ oward “a kind of anarchy.” But this absolute focus on the individual, he argues, can be a positive quality when it appears as a value system in contrast to other Japa­nese whose tendency is to embrace a “sense of community” and uphold “tradition.” 49 While Kawamura defines the repatriate’s spirit in the context of its manifestation in Japan where the repatriate is viewed as an Other, Mariko Asano Tamanoi explains it as a phenomenon seen overseas in the pro­cess of the return to the homeland. In her discussion of repatriate memoirs, she defines the term as “the strong ­will of each individual Japa­nese to fulfill his or her goal of repatriation.” To achieve this end, she notes, “refugees ­were willing to do anything, including sell their ­children or deceive—­and even kill—­t heir compatriots. It is this spirit that eventually enabled the strongest to return home.”50 In Red Summer, the refugees do not hear about the a­ ctual possibility of repatriation u ­ ntil t­ oward the end of winter in early 1946, but the dream of returning and seeing her f­ amily drives Ayako’s determination to survive. It strengthens her initial understanding as a refugee that “one cannot survive without focusing on the self, above o ­ thers, even including spouses and parents” (212). In the camps, Ayako f­ aces discrimination as a non-­settler and a ­woman who has lost all her belongings. Through this experience, she acquires the repatriate’s spirit and develops her own code of ethics. While observing the individualistic actions of o ­ thers and the often brutal decisions they make to survive, she considers what is acceptable for herself. She learns to steal and accept handouts, but she

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does not sell or kill her child. She also observes a teacher’s wife having sex with a Chinese man, presumably in exchange for food, but despite feeling envious that this w ­ oman is able to eat, Ayako feels “revulsion . . . ​w ith regard to prostitution” (309). As the narrator explains, her decision not to sell herself may have come from observing her f­ ather’s procuring business. By learning to question the authority of men like Okamoto, who exhibits extreme selfishness when it comes to daily rations and other issues associated with self-­preservation, Ayako takes a second look at the way she herself is labeled “selfish” (wagamama, 289, 291, 292). Although this negative trait is associated with her from childhood, she begins to understand what kind of “selfishness” and be­hav­ior is acceptable for herself, and searches for balance in her own expression of the repatriate’s spirit. From the beginning, the kimonos Ayako insists on taking to Manchuria are presented as a reflection of her immaturity and selfishness—­her youthful desire to wear dif­fer­ent clothes and rejection of the wishes of her mother-­in-­law that she leave her wardrobe ­behind. Although she did not understand this at the time, by shipping all her clothing Ayako was, in effect, sending a clear message to her mother-­in-­law Ichi that she had no desire to return to live with her on the ­family farm. The narrator depicts Ayako happily packing her belongings, but also comments: “one won­ders how Ichi felt listening to Ayako’s cheerful voice” (47). Kimonos for w ­ omen during this time w ­ ere valuable property brought into marriages and w ­ ere meant to last a lifetime, and in Niyodo River, the mother-­in-­ law severely criticizes Ayako for the loss of her wardrobe. The lost kimonos allow Red Summer (and Niyodo River) to circuitously articulate the many ­t hings Ayako has “lost” in Manchuria—­including her ­human dignity, and at times, honesty and compassion. At the same time, this loss also becomes a positive symbol of her development as a person; and in gaining the repatriate’s spirit, Ayako learns what is acceptable for herself in being “selfish,” laying the groundwork for further growth ­after she returns home. In contrast to her mother-­in-­law, Ayako’s f­ ather is able to see the value in this loss. He says in Niyodo River: “You have lost every­t hing in Manchuria, but instead gained something invaluable from heaven. . . . ​If your gaining grit and power was the result of the loss of ten or twenty kimonos, this exchange was more than worth it” (45). This loss highlights Ayako’s development, but also addresses a broader taboo. Ayako’s losses in Manchuria can be accepted ­because she is one of the lucky ones, who did not lose ­family members or face sexual vio­lence. At the end of Red Summer, Ayako is interviewed in the port of Sasebo in Nagasaki Prefecture immediately ­after disembarking the repatriation ship. She is offered hospitalization and ­free treatment for venereal disease if she had been “raped by Soviet soldiers or Chinese in Manchuria” (435). She can honestly say she is not worried about such ­t hings

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­ ecause she has not been having sexual relations even with her husband, and is b grateful for her “good fortune” (436). L ­ ater she learns that many w ­ omen in the settler groups received treatment in t­ hese facilities.51 Ayako survives, is able to return home without any trauma in this re­spect, and her losses in Manchuria are reconfigured by her ­father as having had a positive effect. This “good fortune” especially stands in sharp contrast to that of the multitudes of w ­ omen who could not return to the homeland. They are represented in Red Summer by Tsuruko, a maid in a Japa­nese brothel in Xinjing who had formerly worked as a h ­ ouse­maid for Ayako’s parents. Tsuruko is depicted as Ayako’s counterpart who was “just like a s­ ister” (96), about the same age, wearing a baggy monpe in the Xinjing fashion in contrast to Ayako’s tight Kōchi-­style monpe. Before repatriation begins, Ayako is fi­nally able to go to the brothel to visit Tsuruko again; she learns that she had died of tuberculosis while hiding from Soviet soldiers. Her body is untraceable, buried in a mass grave site, and ­t here is nothing left to be saved as a keepsake. The only items the brothel owner gives Ayako are pieces of fabric from a silk haori that clearly did not belong to Tsuruko. Although the text does not point this out, the presence of this fabric, which Ayako eventually fashions into “the finest dress for repatriation” (423) for Miya, becomes a sign for the missing childhood friend. Unlike her unfortunate sister-­counterpart, Aya­ ko herself survives and is able to go home, while Tsuruko only lives on as a memory of loss, encapsulated in cloth that never even touched her skin. Ayako’s vari­ous losses in Manchuria propel her forward as she returns to Japan at the end of Red Summer and rebuilds her life in the sequel Niyodo River. The triumph of survival and repatriation, however, is attenuated by the understanding that many p ­ eople lost much more. The absence of kimonos dramatizes Ayako’s self-­discovery and understanding, and indirectly reminds readers of this broader trauma. Indeed, Red Summer is more than just an I-­novel about Ayako’s personal experience; it is a profound and significant work that grapples with the collective imperial past.

Kimono Essays: Authorial Self-­Representation and Interwoven Genres In the Ayako series, kimonos variously represent the m ­ other–­daughter bond, question notions of owner­ship and commodity in the colonial context, and show Ayako’s pro­cess of self-­discovery. In this section, I explore Miyao’s kimono essays, published around the same time as ­t hese I-­novels, in which similar garments and stories appear. Th ­ ese works are based on Miyao’s own experiences and thoughts, but I do not consider them as the “real­ity” with which the Ayako series must

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be compared. Rather, I see ­t hese essays as part of a pro­cess of authorial self-­ representation established through vari­ous genres, including the I-­novels. The lost kimonos in Manchuria, as well as other garments that speak of the ­mother–­daughter connection, appear in ­these essays as an integral aspect of Miyao’s identity, and also enable her to expand the meaning of the Ayako narratives. The essays in Hana no kimono (Flower kimonos, 1982–1983) ­were serialized in Madamu (Madame), a ­women’s magazine, then published as a book in 1983; they largely concern Miyao’s memories of specific kimonos from the past.52 Most of the essays in Kimonogatari (Narrating kimonos, 1999) w ­ ere first serialized in the w ­ omen’s magazine Katei gahō (Home pictorial) in 1998. This is a collection of photo essays or­ga­nized around the twelve months of the year; it includes numerous photo­graphs of Miyao’s kimonos (see Plate 13).53 The title Narrating Kimonos is particularly evocative, suggesting that it is not only Miyao who is telling stories about the kimonos, but also the kimonos themselves. The publication of t­ hese essay collections overlaps in time with the serialization of Red Summer (1980–1985) and Niyodo River (1998–2000), respectively, and the kimonos discussed in the novels also appear in t­ hese essays.54 ­These works take up kimonos associated with Miyao’s m ­ other, the book cover of Oar, as well as the kimonos connected to her time in Manchuria. “Shima” (Stripes) in Flower Kimonos, for example, discusses autobiographical episodes that involve kimonos with striped patterns, including the “unlined Yonezawa kimono” (415) that Miyao made into dresses for her ­daughter and which was ­later stolen by looters.55 In “Kasuri,” another essay in the collection, she recalls specific kasuri kimonos in relation to Yuriko (Yuri chan), a ­family servant who ­later worked in Xinjing and was the model for Tsuruko (Tsuru chan), the maid who dies in Red Summer.56 And in “Shiawase o haoru” (Wearing happiness) in Narrating Kimonos, Miyao explains that to this day she does not like kimono raincoats b ­ ecause of the experience of finding her coat for sale in the market in Manchuria. In “Stripes,” Miyao frames the notion of lost kimonos as part of a shared national loss, beginning her essay in this way: On vari­ous fronts, one feels deep resentment [urami] ­toward Japan for having carried out that stupid war, but this is also particularly true when one thinks about clothing. If ­there had been no war, most ­women would still be holding onto their precious clothes handed down from their m ­ others and grand­mothers, and I think that dress culture would be very dif­fer­ent t­ oday. ­There are vari­ous reasons for the loss of t­ hese traditional and good ­things [furuki yoki mono]. First, kimonos ­were burnt as a result of the war;

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also, due to lack of clothing they w ­ ere traded for food; ones made of sturdy fabric ­were remade into monpe, a kind of work wear; and they also wore out from daily use ­because they could not be replaced. From 1941 or so, the production of w ­ omen’s clothing [kimonos] was in serious decline and thus, during the ten years or so ­until the industry recovered a­ fter the war, Japa­nese ­women lost most of what they owned.57 (408) Although this lament about lost clothing may appear relatively trivial on the surface, Miyao describes it as a widely shared experience that unites many w ­ omen, not just repatriates from Manchuria, and locates stories of personal loss as part of a broader national tragedy stemming from the war. ­These essays cannot be considered examples of the “afterlife” of the I-­novels ­because they w ­ ere produced contemporaneously by the author. But in the same way that Kōda Aya’s Kimono is layered with additional meaning by the kimono essays of Aoki Tama and Aoki Nao, Miyao’s essays augment and amplify the stories in the Ayako series. They accentuate both the authenticity and the creativity of the I-­novel kimonos—­the aura of real­ity as well as their fictionality (as the depictions in the essays often diverge from the novels).58 By telling stories about kimonos that differ subtly from ­t hose told in the novels, the essays support the real­ity of the object—­and the memories, experiences, and truths with which it is imbued—­even as they destabilize it. They remind us that ­t hese kimonos are both real and symbolic, both material and immaterial, and always si­mul­ta­neously inside and outside the texts in which we find them. Furthermore, the essays reinforce the importance of kimono narratives for Miyao’s identity in a broad sense, one that includes the Ayako I-­novels as part of the continuum of her self-­representation. They supplement the story of the lost kimonos and showcase Miyao’s development into a successful author. ­After returning from Manchuria, Miyao suffered many hardships, and she once again lost most of her kimonos to pawnshops.59 In t­ hese autobiographical essays, kimonos lost in postwar Japan exemplify personal financial crises, but are also connected to a fresh start with her second husband (Miyao), who she married in 1964, a year ­after her divorce. In 1966 the ­couple sold their possessions and left Kōchi to begin a new life in Tokyo. In “Bara” (Rose) in Flower Kimonos, Miyao explains that the only Japa­nese clothing she was able to hold onto at this time was an Ōshima kimono (a type of so-­called prior-­dyed, woven silk kimono from Kagoshima Prefecture) and a haori made from a redyed visiting kimono. In ­t hese essays, the experience of losing her kimonos “twice” signifies Miyao’s strug­gle to establish her identity and ­career as a writer, ultimately achieving this goal with Oar.

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The kimonos that exist only in Miyao’s memories and her writing, as well as a­ ctual kimonos in her current possession (that often remind her of items from the past), tell the story of her life trajectory. In Narrating Kimonos, the photo­graphs of her expensive kimonos reflect Miyao’s economic success and professional triumph. The ones she received as gifts from fans, friends, and ­others also showcase her valuable connections with p ­ eople. At the same time, many of t­ hese kimonos serve as referents to the lost kimonos of her past, and in this way they retrace her identity as the d ­ aughter of a sex trade broker and as a repatriate who would eventually become a famous writer. This authorial self-­representation through kimonos, told in “interwoven,” mixed genres and venues, enables Miyao to communicate with her readers in a power­f ul way. She can enrich their engagement with the Ayako series while also drawing in new readers, deepening their connection to her as an author who shares her life and intimate thoughts through multiple media. In this way, readers become further invested in the greater corpus of Miyao’s writing as well as with her authorial persona. We see an effective case of such “interweaving” in Narrating Kimonos and Niyodo River, both serialized from January  1998. An essay in the former foregrounds an impor­tant kimono that appears in the I-­novel. At the end of Niyodo River, the last novel of the series, Ayako inherits her m ­ other’s kimono, described only as “an Ōshima,” and her “yamamayu coat” (367).60 I conclude this section with a discussion of t­ hese garments, especially the m ­ other’s kimono that is left to the d ­ aughter as a keepsake. Niyodo River follows Ayako’s life ­after repatriating to Japan, and builds on the ­mother–­daughter tie illustrated through kimonos in Oar and Spring Light. An impor­tant plot point in Niyodo River concerns the rebuilding of Ayako’s wardrobe ­after losing every­t hing in Manchuria. Vari­ous ­people provide her with used kimonos, including her sister-­in-­law and her ­father’s wife. Her mother-­in-­law, Ichi, even learns how to weave in order to make cotton cloth for Ayako. However, Ichi gives Ayako an oppressive task: she demands that as part of her belated trousseau her natal f­ amily provide a chest of drawers (tansu) to store kimonos and a storage chest (nagamochi) with futon inside. The custom of this region is for the bride to marry into the f­amily not only with kimonos but also with t­ hese large items of furniture. Although urbanites in the city of Kōchi had come to see such furniture as cumbersome, old-­fashioned objects, ­people in the countryside, like Ichi, still saw them as vital status symbols that demonstrate the wealth a bride has brought into the ­house­hold. During the war, Ayako’s ­father was unable to obtain ­these items for his ­daughter ­because they ­were not available for purchase, and a­ fter the war he cannot

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assist ­because of his severely diminished finances. It is Ayako’s ­mother, Kiwa, who comes to her aid; she had built a successful restaurant business ­after her divorce, and is therefore able to purchase t­ hese expensive items for her d ­ aughter. In this way, she helps Ayako establish a good relationship with her mother-­in-­law and secure her place within the home. Ayako is not happy that she has to rely on her m ­ other’s financial assistance, but is ultimately relieved that life w ­ ill become more tolerable ­after acceding to Ichi’s wishes. The chest of drawers reminds Ayako of her lost kimonos, and she even won­ ders “what would I possibly put in it?” (348). The “empty” dresser becomes a sign of her folly—­not only the loss of all her kimonos, but also the burden she has now placed on Kiwa’s shoulders for paying for such an object. The theme of Kiwa’s self-­ sacrifice and devotion to Ayako is again highlighted in the work through the motif of kimonos (and their lack). As mentioned e­ arlier, Ayako w ­ ill eventually manage to “repay” Kiwa with a h ­ umble gift of a kimono underskirt, which symbolically ends up serving as her shroud. ­After Kiwa’s death, Ayako inherits her Ōshima kimono and coat in a dramatic and poignant way. ­Because she is not a blood relation, Ayako has no right to ask for any keepsakes of her m ­ other. Her b ­ rother insists on getting all of Kiwa’s assets, but luckily an ­uncle intercedes and Ayako is ultimately able to receive ­t hese two garments.61 The items are only mentioned briefly in Niyodo River, but they can be read as a culmination of the repeated motif of Ayako’s bond with Kiwa throughout the series, as well as an echo of kimonos lost in Manchuria; indeed, the yamamayu coat, although not described as a raincoat, is made of the same type of textile as the lost garment in Red Summer. Unlike the kimonos she has lost before, Ayako is able to hold on to t­hese items, but they actually represent her greatest loss—­t he death of her m ­ other. While serializing Niyodo River, Miyao wrote about her m ­ other’s Ōshima kimono in Narrating Kimonos, in an essay titled “Haha no kimono” (My ­mother’s kimono).62 The work also features a photo­g raph of Miyao wearing this brown-­ colored kimono. Ōshima silk is famous for its crisp texture, but Miyao, who wore her ­mother’s kimono for the first time in her seventies for this photo shoot, discovered it was so well worn that it was limp, like “gauze” (103). While the Ayako I-­novels stand on their own, readers who have read about and seen photos of this kimono in Narrating Kimonos are able to experience the m ­ other–­daughter tie in Niyodo River in an even more in-­depth fashion. The essay shows that Miyao’s experience of wearing her ­mother’s kimono allowed her to understand, on a physical level, the frugal lifestyle her ­mother led in order to sustain her f­ amily. As she notes, this kimono was prob­ably one of her m ­ other’s finest garments, carefully worn for over forty years.

224  Chapter 7

In Miyao’s essay, the Ōshima kimono becomes an integral part of her authorial self-­representation and overlays the notion of a ­mother’s sacrifice onto the kimono in Niyodo River. And by giving textual kimonos in the I-­novels a sense of material real­ity through photo­graphs and related stories, Miyao adds new dimensions—­ such as haptic immediacy—to the reading experience. Pre­sen­ta­tion of her kimono narratives through interwoven genres in this way enriches the Ayako I-­novels, expands Miyao’s authorial image, and cultivates an intimacy with her readers.

Return to Manchuria Through their presence in essays and the I-­novels, Miyao’s kimonos (both lost and currently owned) become a vital component of her narratives of self-­development and self-­representation. Indeed, although the Ayako novels do not need to be read together with the essays, we would be remiss to ignore them: both speak in dif­fer­ ent tenors to create meaning through garments. Such multiple genres interweave dynamically to pre­sent Miyao/Ayako as si­mul­ta­neously a real person and a fictional character, existing in a kind of self-­constructed continuum. I end this chapter with a striking example of this dynamic, in which Miyao seeks closure by revisiting Manchuria in 1998, some fifty-­two years a­ fter her repatriation to Japan. The trip, including a visit to Changchun (then Xinjing), Yinmahe, Jiutai, and Yingchengzi, was filmed for an NHK TV program and first aired on December 12, 1998. A reportage essay Miyao published in Shūkan asahi (Asahi weekly) on November 27, 1998, discusses the filming and uses photos from her trip to this part of northeastern China.63 An interview in the same issue also provides details about the upcoming TV program and includes additional photo­graphs of Miyao revisiting places from her 1945–1946 sojourn.64 Although t­ hese texts are not kimono essays, her monpe with a matching top is featured prominently, with most photos showing Miyao wearing this ensemble during her travels. One photo caption in the interview notes: “She traveled in a monpe in order to reproduce [saigen] the time in the past when she went to/was in Manchuria [toman].” 65 In the essay, Miyao writes movingly about the experience of revisiting the places that made her into a writer and fi­nally being unburdened of traumatic memories. She describes weeping many times, and analyzes one instance as “a deep regret ­toward my younger self, who supported the war out of complete ignorance at the time” (154). During the visit, she feels relieved of the fear she experienced from the attack in Manchuria, an occurrence that had haunted her “for about thirty years even a­ fter returning to Japan” (152). Throughout the essay, she explic­itly refers to many of the events illustrated in Red Summer.

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The filming of the NHK program begins with her taking the train from Changchun to Yinmahe, the same route she took on first arriving in Manchuria as a colonial immigrant in 1945. In the essay she describes the clothes she wore for the TV shoot: “I wore the meisen monpe that had been stored for a long time in the bottom of the kimono dresser, put on a head­scarf as we did back then, and carried a small bag” (153). In an essay in Narrating Kimonos, Miyao explains that this monpe ensemble was initially made for a visit to China requiring the preparation of “prewar clothing” (134), presumably for a media-­related proj­ect. This trip never happened, and neither did the many other opportunities to travel to China; the ensemble was carefully stored u ­ ntil she was fi­nally able to wear it on this occasion in 1998.66 Although made in postwar Japan, this outfit represents the past. By the late 1990s, monpe ­were relics, rarely if ever worn as regular clothing; of all Japa­nese garments, the monpe is the one item that still overwhelmingly conjures up images of the war. And meisen, a type of fabric particularly popu­lar in the 1920s– 1930s, further adds associations with the prewar and war­time past. Her journey back in time, though no doubt sincere on Miyao’s part, is jarring b ­ ecause she wears this outdated outfit as she travels through a radically transformed northeast China no longer populated by Japa­nese settlers. The reportage includes a photo of Miyao on the train to Yinmahe, having a conversation with a Chinese man who has never met a Japa­nese person before, and ­after visiting Changchun, she notes that this place which “used to seem like a Japa­nese city full of Japa­nese, does not even have one Japa­nese restaurant anymore” (155). Clearly, the Manchuria Miyao remembers is long gone. Miyao is able to fi­nally visit the gravesite where her friend Tsuruko is said to be buried with other Japa­nese.67 She even meets Wang’s relatives (descendants of the ­house­hold head who saved her life by letting her hide in the oven) and Wen’s f­ amily (descendants of the man who took her kimonos for safekeeping). She learns that ­after “five wooden boxes full of silk garments” (155) ­were transported to Wen’s home, vandals attacked one eve­ning and every­t hing was stolen. In the melee, a son of the f­ amily was thrown from a win­dow and subsequently died. Miyao notes that the question she had for so many years about what happened to her kimonos is now fi­nally answered, and she expresses sadness that her belongings ended up bringing such trou­ble to the Wen f­ amily. She leaves a copy of Red Summer with them and prays for the deceased ­family elder (the man who had worked for their school and is mentioned by name in the novel), who passed away only a month before her visit.68 Unlike in Red Summer, the fate of the lost kimonos is fi­nally clarified as Miyao hears about t­ hese tragic events.

226  Chapter 7

In the essay, Miyao is writing as herself and telling her own story. Yet by reproducing the past through this visit in a monpe outfit, she also reanimates Ayako’s story through a physical and material presence. For readers familiar with Red Summer and the I-­novel series, and perhaps also the kimono essays, her monpe ­here not only signifies a reenactment of the individual and collective memories of war­time, but also more broadly references the recurring idea of lost kimonos, so central to Miyao’s writing. Her monpe, an anachronistic object no longer worn in everyday life, is a reminder of the a­ ctual items lost in Manchuria, and also encapsulates the notion of lost lives, the irrevocable passage of time, and the changes that both Japan and China have under­gone. For t­ hose unfamiliar with Miyao’s story and her writing, the idea of a person returning to the former colonies in clothing of the time may seem problematic, promoting a nostalgia that could be construed as insensitive. Certainly, the notion of “reproducing” (saigen) moments from the colonial past raises many questions. This idea of ­going back in time, even unwittingly, may be built on a tacit assumption that the space of the “past” somehow remains the same, while ­t hose visiting the “past” have changed. It is unclear ­whether or not wearing the monpe was Miyao’s own idea, and due to the difficulty in finding a copy of this TV episode, I cannot say how it was presented in the program. To an extent, the garment may have been intended to function as a kind of costume for a multimedia event (TV program and essay for a popu­lar magazine). However, this monpe is clearly not just an outfit for show. This trip would force Miyao to grapple with traumatic memories; she notes in the essay that even on her way to the airport in Tokyo, she still hoped it might be canceled. She had received many invitations to revisit this part of China over the years, but had always de­cided not to go b ­ ecause she did not feel up to it. As someone in her seventies, however, Miyao “pushed” herself to take this trip in order to address her time in Manchuria head on, ­because despite being a period of “only about a year and a half” (153), it had ­shaped her own life so profoundly. In a sense, then, the trip is about her determination to directly face her many past selves—as colonist, refugee, and ­daughter of a broker who has sent w ­ omen to work on the continent—­and to revisit, however difficult, her “starting point as a writer” (152).69 In this context, the monpe can be read as a meaningful outfit, signifying her commitment to returning to a painful past (one in which she was complicit as well as a victim) and being fully pre­sent, both physically and psychologically, in ­t hose moments. For Miyao and her readers who know her stories, it is a metonym that links her past and pre­sent identities, the Miyao–­Ayako continuum, and her numerous literary works. Through this garment that demands a reckoning with

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the national past, the vari­ous tenors of Miyao’s personal past are made tangible and vis­i­ble. *

*

*

In Miyao’s writing, kimonos play impor­tant roles and tell unexpected stories. ­These multivalent objects create a critical framework that animates Miyao’s personal and fictional trajectories while also evoking historical changes over the course of the twentieth ­century. In the Ayako series, kimonos are power­f ul referents for the ­mother–­daughter tie and for self-­development. In Red Summer specifically, they speak of taboo subjects of owner­ship and colonial logic. Miyao also extends the motif of lost kimonos in her autobiographical essays and other venues to further complicate her literary self-­representation. Th ­ ese garments cultivate deep connections with her readers, enabling access to Miyao’s intimate memories and creative narratives in multiple formats.

C ​ onclusion Into the Twenty-­First ­Century

In this book I have explored works of lit­er­a­ture and their cinematic adaptations through the lens of kimonos and their language. My endeavor has been to show that it is critical to read literary objects that are usually overlooked—in this case kimonos—­because they tell vital stories about character and plot, and also comment meaningfully about sociohistorical and intertextual contexts. By reclaiming the language of kimono, we access the subtle yet dynamic ways authors with kimono expertise wrote for their audiences; we also see how objects, with their own histories, complicate and challenge the narratives in which they reside. And by considering the afterlives of texts, ­whether through repre­sen­ta­tion on the screen or posthumous revitalization, we also recognize how material items speak differently over time, creating new meanings for themselves and the stories they inhabit. Read from this perspective, The Makioka S­ isters reveals its multivalency as both a war­time and a postwar text; transformed into films, the story visually highlights issues that resonated with then con­temporary audiences. For Tsuboi Sakae, kimonos illuminate the intricate subtlety of her writing, ­whether in the context of military censorship or during the 1950s. The novels of Kōda Aya deeply engage with kimono language and create new possibilities for their cinematic and literary afterlives. And in Miyao Tomiko’s texts, kimonos take on vari­ous meanings while playing a critical role in her own literary self-­representation. In Reading the Kimono I expand ways to read modern texts, ­whether canonical or popu­lar, so that we can more fully appreciate their multilayered complexity. And although my focus is the kimono, a broader goal has been to contribute to a reconsideration of literary objects of all sorts, to pay attention to the dif­fer­ent ways in which narratives and t­ hings can be understood. With regard to kimonos, my exploration of their language, history, and culture shows a frequently overlooked fact—­t hat ­t hese garments are an ever-­present part of Japan’s modernity, from the prewar through the postwar eras. They are not simply premodern or early modern artifacts, but part of modern lit­er­a­ture and history, deeply intertwined with ideologies critical to the modern period, from 228

Conclusion  229

selfhood to national identity. Once we start looking carefully at kimonos in twentieth-­century stories, we see them playing vital roles, as an integral part of self-­expression, class markers, gendered politics, and determinants of security or precarity. This does not mean, however, that they are unchanging objects; rather, they are inherently fluid, generating diverse meanings for individuals and communities through their metonymic capacity. My book, I hope, sheds light on this aspect of the kimono, as a ubiquitous, complex, and heterogeneous presence in twentieth-­century Japan. In Japan t­ oday, kimono language has inevitably shifted as a mode of communication, but it has not dis­appeared. Kimonos are still “alive,” even making a comeback in areas beyond the luxury market, to be enjoyed as second­hand clothing or affordable garments that use digital print technology. What are kimonos saying in such a context, as ­actual material objects and in lit­er­a­ture and films? Looking beyond the twentieth c­ entury, I conclude h ­ ere with a brief exploration of kimono repre­sen­ta­tion in the 2010s; despite historical and sartorial shifts, t­ hese garments and their language remain an effective means of expression.

Twenty-­First-­Century Kimono Language Reading the Kimono features authors and directors who lived through the prewar and war­time periods, and had intimate knowledge of the kimono. Japa­nese writers and filmmakers t­ oday also utilize this garment to depict stories about the past as well as the pre­sent. However, their relationships with the kimono are inevitably dif­fer­ent from t­ hose of e­ arlier generations, and any shared vernacular about it has also been refashioned. But this is just the point: as a “live” object, the kimono is always changing, and ­t here w ­ ill always be multiple ways of representing and reading it in the twenty-­first ­century and beyond. In a recent reinvention of The Makioka ­Sisters, for example, kimonos serve as a shorthand for traditions and for the past, but they also provide ironic play. Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka ­sisters of the Heisei period, 2018), a four-­part NHK TV series, reimagines Tanizaki’s story as taking place from 1992 to 1994, following the collapse of the B ­ ubble economy.1 In the opening sequence, the s­ isters watch a televised interview in which their ­father formally announces that his clothing empire, the Makioka Group, is bankrupt and ­w ill be taken over by an American firm. Their 290-­year-­old f­ amily history as kimono merchants has come to a tragic end. In the series, the four s­ isters wear sumptuous kimonos in a few of the scenes, echoing established practice in dramatic and cinematic adaptations of this novel. The oldest, Tsuruko, almost always wears kimonos, even at home, while the o ­ thers

230  Conclusion

mainly wear Western dress, but they all don their finest kimonos to view the changing maple leaves, and they wear formal, crested black kimonos to attend their f­ ather’s funeral. Compared to previous visual versions of The Makioka S­ isters, however, kimonos are not a regular part of the ­sisters’ sartorial lives. Both Sachiko and Yukiko wear formal kimonos when attending the latter’s numerous miai meetings, but Taeko looks down on this as being old-­fashioned. It is explained that the reason they wear Japa­nese attire for miai is ­because the Makioka business empire was originally built on the kimono trade.2 Kimonos therefore underscore the ­women’s ­family identity and social status, but they are essentially tools to ensure success in the matchmaking pro­cess. Sachiko even tells Taeko that she plans to stop wearing kimonos ­after Yukiko finds a husband. In another scene, Tsuruko forces Taeko to change her clothes so that all four ­sisters can walk to the train station and view the maple leaves in fine kimonos, performing leisure, taste, and wealth. In this way, kimonos are associated with perceived social expectations and the glories of years past. By making the Makioka business one founded on the kimono trade, the TV series actively inserts the garment into the storyline. But despite this effort, it does not always pre­sent a very realistic image of kimonos in the 1990s. Scenes of the ­house­keeper cleaning the h ­ ouse in a kimono, or Tsuruko relaxing at home in Japa­ nese wear, appear contrived. As an adaptation of Tanizaki’s tale, the work needs to show kimonos in con­temporary life, but at the same time, it seems aware that this is a tricky, rather artificial endeavor. In the final scenes, for example, the ­sisters enjoy drinking tea in a ­temple, all wearing dresses or skirts while sitting on the floor in the traditional manner. Observing themselves, Sachiko jokes how odd it is for them to be in Western clothing, intimating that they should ­really be in kimonos in such a setting. The choice not to clothe the s­ isters in extravagant kimonos for their final appearance is an ironic rejection of visual expectations for The Makioka ­Sisters, similar to the series’ refusal to show the ­women viewing cherry blossoms in kimonos. In addition, this is a recognition that by the 1990s, Western dress was in fact the norm for most occasions. The ending is also quite effective for a Makioka ­Sisters set at the beginning of the Lost De­cade: the last lines, in a voice-­over by Sachiko, tell us that a month ­later, they would experience the 1995 ­Great Hanshin-­Awaji Earthquake, and “the long, long, era of loss would begin.”3 In place of the march t­ oward the Pacific War portrayed in the novel, this story leads to the economic downturn and the tragic loss of lives in the catastrophic earthquake. In this context, expensive kimonos do not fit pre­sent realities, and can only serve as relics of past ­family fortunes and the disappearing economic successes of the 1980s.

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In short, the kimonos in this series pay homage to the Tanizaki text and its many visual adaptations, but at the same time they appear out of sync with con­ temporary life. The story may end on a dark note of impending decline, but it also includes tongue-­in-­cheek moments such as portrayals of Yukiko’s ­future husband, Mimaki. He is an over-­t he-­top character who attends his miai in shorts and must be coached by Yukiko on how to eat in a way that allows him to chew and swallow successfully. With comical characters and episodes such as this, kimono-­clad ojōsama in the 1990s can be understood as equally fantastical or contrived. In this way, the TV series is very much aware of changing times, shifting social mores, and the incongruity of kimonos in 1990s life, even when worn as formal wear. Thus, the work limits their appearance and makes them a subject of ironic commentary at the end. In contrast, a film also released the same year, Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu (­Every day a good day, 2018; directed by Ōmori Tatsushi), pre­sents a very dif­fer­ent view of kimonos—as an organic part of the practice of Japa­nese tea ceremony. The story follows Noriko, a university student who begins taking tea lessons with a ­woman named “Takeda sensei [teacher]” in 1993. In this box-­office hit, Noriko grapples with an esoteric practice full of rules and protocol. But she continues her weekly lessons and, as she grows from life experiences both good and bad, she begins to understand tea ceremony as a form of meditation and a way to appreciate everyday life. The story ends in 2018, with Noriko feeling that even ­after twenty-­four years, she has only just started her pro­cess of learning. The film is based on a 2002 book of the same title by Morishita Noriko (b. 1956), a memoir about de­cades of tea ceremony lessons (from 1977 to 2002), describing her own coming of age and self-­discovery through the practice.4 Both the book and film depart from the ste­ reo­t yped image of tea ceremony as a snobbish pastime for wealthy ­women, and focus instead on its essence of mindfulness and inner contemplation, albeit with a light touch. In the book, the w ­ omen at the major tea ceremony events are all described as wearing kimonos, but t­ here are only a few a­ ctual descriptions of Takeda sensei and Noriko in such garments. In the film adaptation, however, Takeda sensei is always shown wearing a kimono, and Noriko herself also begins to wear kimonos as she matures in the tea world. Unlike The Makioka S­ isters of the Heisei Period, in this context the presence of kimonos seems natu­ral ­because the practice of sadō/chadō (the way of tea) is a space in which they continue to be normative attire. When Noriko and her cousin Michiko attend their first session with Takeda sensei, they are in Western dress, and the first t­ hing they learn is the correct way to fold and unfold the fukusa, a kind of handkerchief used to wipe the tea vessels

232  Conclusion

and utensils. They are shown the elaborate pro­cess of h ­ andling the red, square fabric, and are also told to “pretend” on vari­ous occasions—to insert the fukusa into their kimono lapel or to tuck the edge of the fukusa into their obi.5 Although they are not actually wearing kimonos, they must act like they are, and make do, for example, by holding the kerchiefs to their chests. Even though most of Takeda’s students come to their lessons in skirts or dresses, this early scene underscores the idea that the standard clothing in the tea room is the kimono. Even when ­these garments are not worn, they are still a part of the practice in the con­temporary era as an absent presence. ­After growing into a thirty-­year-­old ­woman, Noriko is shown wearing kimonos during everyday lessons. She is now one of the more established students, but she still feels inferior to ­others as she fails to remember key points they have covered in their studies. Her polished appearance in kimonos in t­hese sequences contrasts with her lack of confidence and feeling that she does not “­really belong.” In one scene, she is shown wearing a particularly memorable light-­colored kimono with an all-­over geometric pattern of asanoha (hemp leaves), as she watches a ­student half her age show considerable skill in performing the ceremony (see Figure C.1). This popu­lar pattern of asanoha is worn by ­people of all ages, but it was also traditionally used on infants’ garments so they w ­ ill grow up healthy 6 and strong, like the sturdy hemp plant. In the context of Noriko watching the talented girl’s per­for­mance with a disheartened expression, the kimono seems to suggest that she herself is the child in the room who needs to grow into an adult happy with who she is, rather than always berating herself for being “awkward and slow-­w itted.” Furthermore, the shot shows Noriko looking dejectedly at Takeda and observing that the teacher is content with the per­for­mance of the younger pupil. When the camera cuts to Takeda, however, we realize that her dark-­colored kimono is also covered with a subtle all-­over asanoha pattern; the kimono patterns connect the two w ­ omen. But this shot is very brief—­t he audience is given only a momentary hint that Noriko, even though she feels inferior, ­w ill someday become a person of depth like Takeda, whom she greatly admires. In 2018, it is likely that most viewers would not know the meaning (or even the name) of this pattern; nevertheless, they are invited to ponder the significance of the identical design.7 ­After experiencing vari­ous hardships, such as her fiancé’s infidelity, cancellation of her wedding, her f­ ather’s death, and job insecurities, Noriko slowly comes to accept her own identity and appreciate the dif­fer­ent ways tea ceremony allows her to live a meaningful life. The last scene shows her as a ­woman in her forties, wearing a kimono with pictorial designs of bamboo leaves. The auspicious bamboo fits the occasion, as she is attending the first tea ceremony of the year. But it also

Conclusion  233

Figure C.1. The hemp leaves pattern. Drawing by Julie Ann Brown.

signifies her inner power (like the resilient bamboo plant).8 The association of bamboo with strength is widely recognized, but viewers need to pay close attention to interpret its significance; the bamboo plant image is also pre­sent in the tea vessel she examines, an item that brings back memories of the past and imparts impor­tant lessons about appreciating e­ very day. Although the bamboo designs on her kimono are only vis­i­ble in a few shots, they are clearly connected to No­ riko’s growth. Fi­nally, Takeda sensei tells Noriko to try teaching tea ceremony herself, ­because she ­w ill learn even more from her students. The ending seems to suggest that Noriko may embrace this new role for herself. The kimonos in ­Every Day a Good Day speak eloquently of the pro­cess of female development. The importance of the garments in the film is further underscored by the fact that Takeda sensei is played by Kiki Kirin (1943–2018), an actress recognized for her kimono knowledge and unique sensibilities.9 Although kimono-­ wearing w ­ omen are depicted as the norm in tea ceremony circles, the film also makes a point of rejecting the ste­reo­t yped image of this world as being “elegant [miyabi] . . . ​like The Makioka ­Sisters.” At a large-­scale tea event, hordes of ­women

234  Conclusion

in kimonos are shown r­ unning through a Japa­nese garden to get the best position in line, and they also comically squeeze themselves in between ­others to secure preferred spots in the tea rooms. Just ­because the w ­ omen are wearing kimonos, the film makes clear, they do not invariably embody sophistication. In this way, the film also critiques the exoticism and mystique associated with kimonos and with the tea ceremony as an “elegant” practice. In their dif­fer­ent ways, both The Makioka ­Sisters of the Heisei Period and ­Every Day a Good Day effectively and meaningfully employ kimono language. The kimonos appearing in the former highlight their own unusual presence in the everyday life of the 1990s, in stark contrast to the 1930s–1940s (and other Makioka ­Sisters adaptations). In the latter, kimonos are a normative part of a very par­tic­u­ lar con­temporary world, that of tea ceremony practice. W ­ hether they make us think about changes in sociocultural values during the transition from the ­Bubble economy era to the Lost De­cade, or provide insight into connections between characters, kimono language in the twenty-­first ­century is still alive. *

*

*

Especially since the postwar period, the kimono has often been viewed as a repre­ sen­ta­tion of traditional Japa­nese femininity and an ­imagined national identity. But I hope my book has shown that such concepts make up only a small fraction of what the kimono is saying to us. This nuanced garment is heterogeneous, contextual, and polyvocal. This book has been my own way of celebrating twentieth-­ century kimono language; I hope it ­w ill be of use to ­others as they advance its study from diverse perspectives and time periods. My focus has been on lit­er­a­ ture and film from twentieth-­century Japan, but t­ here are also expressive kimonos in both Japa­nese and non-­Japanese art, lit­er­a­ture, fashion, and popu­lar culture. Reading the Kimono offers strategies for reading ­t hese and other areas of kimono presence and repre­sen­ta­tion, including historical fiction, period dramas, manga, anime, cosplay, tourism, and video games. Wherever and in what­ever form it may appear, the kimono continues to tell us vital stories. It demands to be read.

Notes

1. Introduction Some parts of this chapter appeared in e­ arlier forms in “Reading and Writing Material: Kōda Aya’s Kimono and Its Afterlife,” Journal of Asian Studies 76, no. 2 (May 2017): 333–361; and “Speaking Vio­lence in a Repatriation Novel: Miyao Tomiko’s Shuka,” Proceedings of the Association for Japa­nese Literary Studies 19 (2018): 262–270. 1. The first scene is from Kōda Aya, Nagareru, in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 5 (Iwanami shoten, 1995), 173–174, discussed in Chapter 5. The second scene is from Tsuboi Sakae, “Kasuri no kimono,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 2 (Bunsendō, 1997), 482, discussed in Chapter 4. 2. Masuda Yoshiko, ed., Nihon ifukushi (Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 2010), 238; see also Terry Satsuki Milhaupt, Kimono: A Modern History (London: Reaktion Books, 2014), 21. Kosode is often translated as “small sleeve,” but the term actually derives from the small opening of the sleeve, contrasted to sleeves with larger openings for the hands. See Kondō Tomie, Yosooi no onna gokoro: Mōhitotsu no Nihon josōshi (Kōdansha, 1985), 76; Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 9; Milhaupt, Kimono, 21. 3. On kimono rental experiences as part of tourism in Kyoto, see Jennifer S. Prough, Kyoto Revisited: Heritage Tourism in Con­temporary Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2022), 153–180. 4. For a study of the kimono industry t­ oday and its “crisis and hope” (xi), see Julie Valk, Selling the Kimono: An Ethnography of Crisis, Creativity and Hope (London: Routledge, 2021). 5. For examples of such domestic work of the past, see Koizumi Kazuko, Shōwa no kaji: Hahatachi no kurashi (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2010), 40–53; Koizumi Kazuko, “Wagaya no kimono monogatari,” in Shōwa no kimono, edited by Koizumi Kazuko (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2006), 26–29; Valk, Selling the Kimono, 36; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Ifuku no teire,” in “Sankō nōto,” Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu “Kindai Nihon no Shinsō Bunka,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​?­id​=2­ 0; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Kurimawashi/kōsei,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­m inpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​?­id​=2­ 1; and Daimaru Hiroshi, “Katei hōsei,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​ .­html​?­id​=2­ 3. The three essays by Daimaru are also in Daimaru Hiroshi and Takahashi Haruko, Nihonjin no sugata to kurashi: Meiji, Taishō, Shōwa zenki no shinsō (Sangensha, 2016), 51–54, 56–59. 6. For examples in En­glish of the complex rules, procedures, and items necessary for putting together a kimono outfit, see Liza Crihfield Dalby, Kimono: Fashioning Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 162–213; Valk, Selling the Kimono, 23–25. Valk also discusses the past practice of the wedding trousseau (63–64).

235

236   Notes to Pages 3–5 7. See Mori Rie, “Kingendai ni okeru ‘kimono’ no hyōkihō to sono imi no hensen: 1874 nen–1980 nen no shinbun kiji o chūshin ni,” Nihon Kasei Gakkai shi 66, no. 5 (2015): 198, 211. 8. I discuss aspects of this issue l­ ater in the chapter. Questions about categories are raised by ­others, including Gavin James Campbell, “Styling Hirohito: Modernity, Monarchy and ‘Western Clothes’ in Interwar Japan,” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture (2021): 2–4; Michelle Liu Carriger, “No ‘­Thing to Wear’: A Brief History of Kimono and Inappropriation from Japonisme to Kimono Protests,” Theatre Research International 43, no. 2 (2018): 171–173. 9. Milhaupt, Kimono, 21. 10. Mori, “Kingendai ni okeru ‘kimono,’ ” 198, 200–201, 210–211. 11. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 359–362; Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 190–195. 12. Alison Lurie, The Language of Clothes (New York: Henry Holt, 2000). 13. Dalby, Kimono, 163, 168, 176. 14. Milhaupt, Kimono. 15. See Jacqueline M. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the ­Enemy’: Fashion and Textiles in War­ time Japan,” in Wearing Propaganda: Textiles on the Home Front in Japan, Britain and the United States 1931–1945, edited by Jacqueline M. Atkins (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 157–169; Hiroshi Kashiwagi, “Design and War: Kimono as ‘Parlor Per­for­mance’ Propaganda,” in Wearing Propaganda, 171–181; Midori Wakakuwa, “War-­Promoting Kimono (1931–45),” in Wearing Propaganda, 183–203; Tatsuichi Horikiri, The Stories Clothes Tell: Voices of Working-­ Class Japan, edited and translated by Reiko Wagoner (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016); Rie Mori, “Kimono and Colonialism,” in 20 seiki ni okeru “kimono” bunka no kindaika to kokusaika: Bushitsu bunka hyōshō bunka no shiten kara, by Mori Rie, Terry Satsuki Milhaupt, Sarah Frederick, and Suzuki Keiko (Mori Rie, Nihon Joshi Daigaku Kasei Gakubu Hifuku Gakka Senshoku Bunkashi Kenkyūshitsu, 2012), 85–91; Mori Rie, “Nihon shokuminchiki no Chōsen ni okeru ‘kimono’ no imeeji: Bungaku eiga nado o shiryō to shite,” Kokusai Fukushoku Gakkai shi 38 (2010): 21–32; Suzuki Keiko, “ ‘Kimono’ bunka ga kaigai o mawaru: Yushu­ tsuhin, aroha, sukajan no ichikōsatsu,” in 20 seiki, 53–63; Fukai Akiko, Kimono to Japonisumu: Seiyō no me ga mita Nihon no biishiki (Heibonsha, 2017). 16. Sheila Cliffe, The Social Life of Kimono: Japa­nese Fashion Past and Pre­sent (London: Bloomsbury, 2017); Valk, Selling the Kimono. 17. Cliffe, Social Life of Kimono; Valk, Selling the Kimono; Julie Valk, “From Duty to Fashion: The Changing Role of the Kimono in the Twenty-­First ­Century,” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture 22, no. 3 (2018): 309–340; Julie Valk, “The Smell of Shōwa: Time, Materiality and Regimes of Value in Japan’s Second­-­Hand Kimono Industry,” Journal of Material Culture 25, no. 2 (2020): 240–256; Stephanie Assmann, “Between Tradition and Innovation: The Reinvention of the Kimono in Japa­nese Consumer Culture,” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture 12, no.  3 (2008): 359–379; Jenny Hall, Japan beyond the Kimono: Innovation and Tradition in the Kyoto Textile Industry (London: Bloomsbury Visual Arts, 2020), 123–156. 18. Julie Valk, “The ‘Kimono Wednesday’ Protests: Identity Politics and How the Kimono Became More Than Japa­nese,” Asian Ethnology 74, no. 2 (2015): 379–399; Carriger, “No ‘­Thing to Wear,’ ” 165–184; Yuko Matsukawa, “Cross-­Dressing as Whitewashing: The Kimono Wednesdays Protests and the Erasure of Asian/American Bodies,” Inter-­Asia Cultural Studies 20, no. 4 (2019): 582–595; Prough, Kyoto Revisited, 175–176. The 2015 “Kimono Wednesdays” event involved Claude Monet’s 1876 painting titled La Japonaise, in which the artist’s wife Camille is

Notes to Pages 5–9   237 shown wearing a kimono. The museum encouraged p ­ eople to try on an a­ ctual replica of this kimono made in Kyoto (as part of the painting’s tour in Japan) and pose in front of the painting for photos. This event sparked protest from t­ hose who viewed it as an instance of cultural appropriation and support for an exoticizing, orientalist gaze; t­ here w ­ ere also counter-­protesters who did not see the event in this light and supported what they saw as an opportunity to experience Japa­nese culture. 19. See Carole Cavanaugh, “Text and Textile: Unweaving the Female Subject in Heian Writing,” positions: asia critique 4, no. 3 (Winter 1996): 595–636; Dalby, Kimono, 217–269; Koike Mitsue, Fukushoku no hyōgen (Keisō shobō, 2009), 94–148. 20. For some examples, see Kondō Tomie, Bunshi no kimono (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2008); Koike, Fukushoku, 166–185; Sarah Frederick, “The Cosmopolitanism of the ‘Kimono’ in Magazine Fiction,” in 20 seiki, 65–76. Mitamura Masako analyzes kimonos along with Western dress in “Sasameyuki shiron: ‘Koromo’ no teikyō to ryūtsū o megutte,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō: Kyōkai o koete, edited by Chiba Shunji and Annu Bayaaru-­Sakai [Anne Bayard-­Sakai] (Kasama shoin, 2009), 319–347. For an attempt to reproduce kimonos in lit­er­a­ture by means of photo­graphs, other images, and museum displays, see Ōno Rafu and Nakamura Keiko, eds., Tanizaki Jun’ichirō bungaku no kimono o miru: Tanbi, karei, akuma shugi (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2016). 21. Roland Barthes, “The Real­ity Effect,” in The Rustle of Language, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1986), 141–148. 22. Christine Bayles Kortsch, Dress Culture in Late Victorian W ­ omen’s Fiction: Literacy, Textiles and Activism (Farnham, UK: Ashgate, 2009), 4–5. 23. Milhaupt, Kimono, 11. 24. Arjun Appadurai, “Introduction: Commodities and the Politics of Value,” in The Social Life of Th ­ ings: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, edited by Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 5. 25. For some examples in En­glish and American literary studies, see Bill Brown, A Sense of ­Things: The Object ­Matter of American Lit­e r­a­ture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003); Elaine Freedgood, The Ideas in Th ­ ings: Fugitive Meaning in the Victorian Novel (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006); Babette Bärbel Tischleder, The Literary Life of Th ­ ings: Case Studies in American Fiction (Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2014). 26. Freedgood, Ideas in Th ­ ings, 10, 11, 14, 92. 27. See, for example, Hugh Bredin, “Metonymy,” Poetics ­Today 5, no. 1 (1984): 45–58. 28. Freedgood, Ideas in Th ­ ings, 2, 3, 101. 29. Carole Cavanaugh uses metonymy with a dif­fer­ent focus to discuss Heian-­period textiles and clothes in lit­er­a­ture. I discuss this in Chapter 2. Cavanaugh, “Text and Textile,” 614. 30. In this book, I do not isolate objects above narratives and characters, but examine them together in the interpretive pro­cess. In this way, my approach differs from that of Freedgood, who distinguishes between what she calls “strong” and “weak” “metonymic readings,” the latter focusing on what objects tell us about the ­human characters that own them “and not about themselves or their own social lives.” Freedgood, Ideas in Th ­ ings, 12. In my investigation of kimono language I do not make such distinctions, but focus on what is appropriate for interpreting dif­fer­ent items and texts. 31. The Fifteen-­Year War includes the Second Sino-­Japanese War (1937–1945) as well as the Pacific War (1941–1945). 32. For the history of the sewing machine in Japan, see Gordon, Fabricating Consumers. For the survival of the kimono as formal and ceremonial wear, see Dalby, Kimono, 131; Milhaupt,

238   Notes to Pages 10–12 Kimono, 240; Valk, Selling the Kimono, 6; Keiichirō Nakagawa and Henry Rosovsky, “The Case of the D ­ ying Kimono: The Influence of Changing Fashions on the Development of the Japa­ nese Woolen Industry,” Business History Review 37, no. 1/2 (1963): 80. 33. See Cliffe, Social Life of Kimono, 1–12; Valk, “From Duty to Fashion,” 309–340; Valk, Selling the Kimono, 111–134. 34. Dalby, Kimono, 60–61. 35. On new Western technologies, see Milhaupt, Kimono, 74–96; Annie Van Assche, “Interweavings: Kimono Past and Pre­sent,” in Fashioning Kimono: Dress and Modernity in Early Twentieth-­Century Japan, edited by Annie Van Assche (Milan: 5 Continents Editions, 2005), 19–22. On questioning Japa­nese versus Western categories, see n. 8. 36. For this data see Alex Bates, The Culture of the Quake: The ­Great Kanto Earthquake and Taishō Japan (Ann Arbor: Center for Japa­nese Studies, University of Michigan, 2015), 1–2. 37. Dalby, Kimono, 125; Yanagi Yōko, Iseikatsu shakaishi (Gyōsei, 1992), 9. 38. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 333–334, 340–342. For example, the still ubiquitous “seeraa­ fuku” (sailor-­style schoolgirl uniform) was created in 1918 (340). See also Daimaru Hiroshi, “Kodomo no yōfuku,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­m inpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​?­id​ =­530, also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 386–387. 39. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 341. 40. Dalby, Kimono, 125–126; Nakagawa and Rosovsky, “Case of the D ­ ying Kimono,” 65– 66; Ann Sherif, Mirror: The Fiction and Essays of Kōda Aya (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999), 135–136. 41. See Dalby, Kimono, 125; Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 9. 42. The origin of the term appappa is unclear. One theory is that the word indicates that the hem of the skirt flares open widely (“patto hirogaru”). Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 337. On appappa in general, see Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 337–340; Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 9; Yanagi Yōko, Fasshonka shakaishi: Haikara kara modan made (Gyōsei, 1983), 238–239; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa Fukusō de tsuzuru Nihon no fūzokushi (Chūō bunka shuppan, 1987), 211–212; Takahashi Haruko, Kindai Nihon no shinsō bunka: “Shintai to yosooi” no bunka henyō (Sangensha, 2006), 266–272; Yamanobe Tomoyuki, “20 seiki no kimonozō,” Utsukushii kimono 194 (Winter 2000): 117; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Kantanfuku/appappa,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​ .­ac​.­jp​/n ­ ote​/­contents​.­html​?­id​= ­422, also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 255–257. For images of w ­ omen wearing appappa with traditional hairstyles and footwear, see the 1931 photo­graph and 1932 illustration from Miyako shinbun: “Ii yōsu towa mōsemasenna: Korega paapaa,” and “Sobae (68),” Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu, http://­shinsou​ .­m inpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­contents​/­​?­original​_­id​=­F 01​-­237 and http://­shinsou​.­m inpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­contents​ /­?­original​_ ­id​=­F01​-240. The former image is also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 257. 43. Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 9; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 212; Masuda, Nihon ifu­ kushi, 339–340; Takahashi, Kindai Nihon no shinsō bunka, 268–272. H ­ ere I use the terms kantanfuku and appappa interchangeably; Takahashi points out that they can be the same or considered separate items depending on the context. She does suggest that fash­ion­able Western “house­ dress” types of kantanfuku are dif­fer­ent from appappa (266–272). 4 4. Takahashi, Kindai Nihon no shinsō bunka, 266; Daimaru, “Kantanfuku/appappa,” also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 255; Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 338. 45. According to Yanagi, for example, an e­ arlier criticism in 1913 pre­sents Western dress as “extravagant and vain,” while kimonos are “down to earth and practical.” Yanagi, Fasshonka shakaishi, 236.

Notes to Pages 12–17   239 46. For more on Seikatsu Kaizen Dōmeikai and associated campaigns, see Sheldon Garon, Molding Japa­nese Minds: The State in Everyday Life (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 1997) 11–13, 129–134; Jordan Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan: Architecture, Domestic Space, and Bourgeois Culture, 1880–1930 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003), 162–202. 47. On daily life improvement and Fujin no tomo, see Garon, Molding Japa­nese Minds, 132– 133; Sand, House and Home, 189. 48. See Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 342; Dalby, Kimono, 127; Yanagi, Fasshonka shakaishi, 236. 49. This writer uses the term “obidome” to mean obi cord, now usually called obijime. Obidome seems to have been a prewar term for the obi cord, while ­today it normally refers to the accessory worn with the obijime. See Mure Yōko, Kanreki kimono nikki (Bungeishunjū, 2019), 32. 50. Kyōko, “Shufu no gaishutsugi ga naze yōfuku de aritai ka,” Fujin no tomo 26, no. 5 (May 1932): 76–78. Also quoted in Heibonsha Henshūbu, ed., Dokyumento Shōwa sesōshi senzenhen (Heibonsha, 1975), 124–126. 51. Emuko, “Shufu ga yōfuku ni shite gogaku benkyō no jikan o tsukutta keiken,” Fujin no tomo 26, no. 5 (May 1932): 74–75. 52. On this incident, I primarily use information from Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 334–335. See also Nakagawa and Rosovsky, “Case of the D ­ ying Kimono,” 66; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 213–214; Sasaki Aiko, Kimono gurashi onna no koyomi (Kyoto: Tankōsha, 1986), 66– 67; Yamanobe, “20 seiki,” 117; Matsubara Yoshimasa, Imayō kimono kōza (Senken shinbunsha, 2010), 92. 53. Nakagawa and Rosovsky, “Case of the D ­ ying Kimono,” 66. 54. On the changes of kimono underwear due to rationalization, see Dalby, Kimono, 126. 55. Andrew Gordon points out that the increase in Western dress at this time is also related to the rise of sewing schools, dress shops, and the popularization of sewing machines and consumer credit. Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 120–126. 56. Dalby, Kimono, 130. 57. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the ­Enemy,’ ” 162–163; Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 134– 135; Muraki Kazuko, “Sensōchū no kimono,” in Shōwa no kimono, 102–104; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 230–231; Nagahara Kazuko and Yoneda Sayoko, Onna no Shōwa shi zōhoban (Yūhikaku, 1996), 78–79. 58. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the E ­ nemy,’ ” 163–164; Muraki, “Sensōchū no kimono,” 103– 104; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 232; Yamashita Etsuko, “Shashin de tadoru 20 seiki kimono shi,” Utsukushii kimono 194 (Winter 2000): 127; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 92–93. 59. Muraki, “Sensōchū no kimono,” 102–104; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 93. 60. Muraki, “Sensōchū no kimono,” 105–106; Dalby, Kimono, 130; Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Shōwa shi, 78–79. 61. Kaneko Shigeri, “Kaado o moratta hitobito: Kyōyō no hikui hito ga ōkatta,” Sutairu 5, no. 10 (October 1940): 10–11. 62. See Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 142–143. For more on kokuminfuku, see I­ noue Masahito, “Sōdōin taiseika no ifuku seisaku to fūzoku,” in Koromo to fūzoku no 100 nen, edited by Nihon Seikatsu Gakkai (Domesu shuppan, 2003), 55–73; I­ noue Masahito, Yōfuku to Nihonjin: Kokuminfuku to iu mōdo (Kōsaidō, 2001), 15–131; Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the E ­ nemy,’ ” 165– 166; Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 350–353; Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Shōwa shi, 80; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Kokuminfuku,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​ ?­id​= ­4 48, also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 311–313.

240   Notes to Pages 17–21 63. On fujin hyōjunfuku, see Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 143–146; Masuda, Nihon ifu­ kushi, 353–354; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 233; Muraki, “Sensōchū no kimono,” 104; Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the E ­ nemy,’ ” 165–166; I­ noue, “Sōdōin taiseika,” 73–81; ­Inoue, Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 53–60, 67–69, 171–233; Takahashi Haruko, Nenpyō Kindai Nihon no shinsō bunka (Sangensha, 2007), 469; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 94; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Fujin hyōjunfuku,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​?­id​= ­4 49, also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 313–315. 6 4. See Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 354–355. 65. Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 148. 66. On monpe, see Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 146–148; Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 354–355; Dalby, Kimono, 130–131, 152; Muraki, “Sensōchū no kimono,” 104; ­Inoue, “Sōdōin taiseika,” 81–84; Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the ­Enemy,’ ” 166–168; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 231; Takahashi, Nenpyō, 427–428; ­Inoue, Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 171–233; Nagahara and Yoneda, Onna no Shōwa shi, 80; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 94; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Josei zubon/monpe,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­m inpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​?­id​= ­4 23, also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 258–260. 67. On the cloth products rationing system, see Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the E ­ nemy,’ ” 166– 168; Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 355–358; Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 232–233; Muraki, “Sensōchū no kimono,” 104–105. 68. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the E ­ nemy,’ ” 166–168. 69. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the E ­ nemy,’ ” 166. See also the anecdote about monpe made of omeshi in Daimaru, “Josei zubon/monpe,” also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 259. In general, meisen was a more affordable silk, while omeshi was a higher-­end product. For more on meisen, see Chapter 6, n. 15. 70. Takahashi, Nenpyō Kindai Nihon, 497; Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 10. 71. See Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 148. 72. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 355. 73. See Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 354. ­Inoue Masahito notes that at the time, ­t here w ­ ere a range of styles of garments called monpe made in a variety of ways. ­Inoue, “Sōdōin taiseika,” 84. See also his discussion in Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 215–226. I translate hakama as “overpants” ­here, but as noted ­later in the book, ­there are also hakama that should be translated as “overskirt.” 74. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the ­Enemy,’ ” 169. 75. Saitō Keizō, Kokuminfuku no kōan (Shūhōen, 1939), 146, reprinted in facsimile form in Kindai ifuku sho shūsei, vol. 6: Taiheiyō senjika no fukushoku, edited by Masuda Yoshiko (Kuresu shuppan, 2015). Also quoted in ­Inoue, “Sōdōin taiseika,” 82–83; ­Inoue, Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 224. See also Daimaru, “Josei zubon/monpe,” also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 259. For an image of an obi worn high above the monpe waistline, see the 1936 illustration in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 259. 76. See ­Inoue, “Sōdōin taiseika,” 83. 77. Shimokawa Kōshi and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, eds., Zōhoban Shōwa Heisei kateishi nenpyō 1926–2000 (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2001), 138. 78. Mito Kotomi, “Monpe no uta,” Ifuku kenkyū 3, no. 3 (1943): 89, reproduced in ­Inoue, “Sōdōin taiseika,” 82; ­Inoue, Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 229–231. 79. ­Inoue, Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 225.

Notes to Pages 21–25   241 80. Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 186. For his vari­ous points in rejecting this theory, see 186–187. For more on the “leapfrog” idea, presented by Minami Hiroshi, see also ­Inoue, Yōfuku to Nihonjin, 23–33. 81. Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 187. 82. See, for example, images of ­women attending a wedding wearing monpe over formal crested kimonos in 1944. Sasaki, Kimono gurashi, 105. Yamashita Etsuko notes that in some cases, both the bride and female ­family members all wore monpe. Yamashita, “Shashin de tadoru,” 125. 83. Shimokawa and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, Zōhoban, 183, 190. Yanagi also mentions that in addition to p ­ eople wearing remade clothing, used clothes from Occupation personnel w ­ ere being sold and other types of Western dress also appeared on the black market. Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 11. 84. Shimokawa and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, Zōhoban, 166, 177; Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 10–11; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 95. 85. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 360. 86. Shimokawa and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, Zōhoban, 142. 87. Yanagi, Iseikatsu shakaishi, 11. 88. See Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the ­Enemy,’ ” 169. 89. See Yamashita, “Shashin de tadoru,” 125; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 93. 90. Milhaupt, Kimono, 239. 91. Sasaki, Kimono gurashi, 116–117. 92. Dalby, Kimono, 131. 93. See Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 380. 94. See Bunkachō (Agency for Cultural Affairs, Government of Japan), “Intangible Cultural Properties,” http://­w ww​.­bunka​.­go​.­jp​/­english​/­policy​/­c ultural ​_­properties​/­i ntroduction​ /­intangible​/­; Bunkachō, “Hito ga tsutaeru dentō no ‘waza’ Jūyō mukei bunkazai: Sono ‘waza’ o hoji suru hitobito,” https://­w ww​.b ­ unka​.­go​.j­ p​/­tokei​_­hakusho​_­shuppan​/s­ huppanbutsu​/b ­ unkazai​ _­pamphlet​/­pdf​/­pamphlet​_­ja​_­07​.­pdf; Milhaupt, Kimono, 196–197; Yamanobe, “20 seiki,” 117; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 99. 95. See Yamashita, “Shashin de tadoru,” 126; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 97; Hayashi Mariko, “Michiko Kōgōheika,” in “Kakukai chomeijin ga kataru Watashi ga aogu 20 seiki no kimono bijin,” Utsukushii kimono 194 (Winter 2000): 132. Yamashita (126) notes that other types of white kimonos also became popu­lar a­ fter this. 96. Sasaki, Kimono gurashi, 117–118. 97. See Toita Yasuji, Genrokusode kara mini sukaato made: Nihon no fasshon 300 nen emaki (Sankei shinbunsha, 1972), 198; Kondō Tomie, Kimonogatari imamukashi (Kōdansha, 1991), 23; Yamashita, “Shashin de tadoru,” 125–126; Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 95–97. 98. Shimokawa and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, Zōhoban, 342, 344; Yanagi Yōko, Fasshonka shakaishi Gendaihen: Masu fasshon kara haitacchi fasshon e (Gyōsei, 1989), 159–160. 99. See Yamashita, “Shashin de tadoru,” 127; Toita, Genrokusode, 246. 100. See Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 98–99. 101. See Itō Motoshige and Yajima Takatoshi, Kimono bunka to Nihon (Nihon keizai shinbun shuppansha, 2016), 64–76. Valk discusses postwar luxury kimonos in Selling the Kimono, 48–69. While her focus is on silk kimonos, it should be noted that ­t here are also high-­end kimonos made with other textiles. 102. See Cliffe, Social Life of Kimono, 63.

242   Notes to Pages 26–29 103. Milhaupt, Kimono, 239. 104. For a broader discussion of ­factors that led to the establishment of the kimono as a national cultural icon, including Japonisme, Orientalism, Japa­nese imperialism, and colonialism, see Mori Rie, “ ‘Kimono’ no kindaika to shokuminchi shugi: Bushitsu to hyōshō, ifuku to kotoba,” in 20 seiki, 93–98. 105. On the production of traditional femininity and “gaman” (362) in wearing kimonos for coming-­of-­age ceremonies, see Ofra Goldstein-­Gidoni, “Kimono and the Construction of Gendered and Cultured Identities,” Ethnology 38, no. 4 (Autumn 1999): 351–370. On the transition from such “duty” kimonos to “fashion” kimonos ­today, see Valk, “From Duty to Fashion.” 106. On the used kimono boom, online kimono sales, and increased numbers of wool, cotton, and polyester kimonos during the 2000s, see Mure Yōko, Kimono ga hoshii! (Sekai bunkasha, 2002), 103–120; Mure Yōko, Kimono 365 nichi (Shūeisha, 2004), 245–246, 259–260, 290–291. On trends of the 2010s and ­f uture market possibilities, see Itō and Yajima, Kimono bunka. For current innovations in the textile industry in Kyoto, see Hall, Japan beyond the Kimono. A number of kimono scholars have observed changes in kimono consumption trends in the 2000s–2010s, such as the rise of second­hand kimono sales and internet commerce. See, for example, Assmann, “Between Tradition and Innovation,” 363–364; Valk, “From Duty to Fashion,” 327–338; Valk, “The Smell of Shōwa”; Valk, Selling the Kimono; Cliffe, Social Life of Kimono, 63–64. 107. See n. 18. Another kimono controversy concerning cultural appropriation is the 2019 attempt by Kim Kardashian to use “Kimono” as the name of her underwear line and to trademark the brand. A ­ fter significant online backlash, the product was renamed. Vanessa Friedman, “Kim Kardashian West and the Kimono Controversy,” New York Times, June  27, 2019, https://­w ww​ .­nytimes​.­com​/­2019​/0­ 6​/­27​/­fashion​/­k im​-k­ ardashian​-­west​-­k imono​-­cultural​-a­ ppropriation​.­html; Christie D’Zurrilla, “­After Kimono Backfired, Kim Kardashian Plays It Safe with New Shapewear Name,” Los Angeles Times, August  26, 2019, https://­w ww​.l­ atimes​.c­ om​/e­ ntertainment​-­arts​/­t v​ /­story​/­2019​-­08​-­26​/­k im​-­k ardashian​-­west​-­shapewear​-­name​-­skims​-­k imono. 108. Nakagawa and Rosovsky, “Case of the D ­ ying Kimono,” 80. 109. Liza Dalby also criticizes such discourses in Kimono, 141–143. See especially her analy­sis of Norio Yamanaka’s The Book of Kimono (Kodansha International, 1982). Andrew Gordon also discusses postwar Nihonjinron kimono advocates in Fabricating Consumers, 194. Other works that discuss Yamanaka include Assmann, “Between Tradition and Innovation,” 359–379; Josephine Rout, “Kimono Codified: Uniform for the Nation,” in Kimono: Kyoto to Catwalk, edited by Anna Jackson (London: V&A Publishing, 2020), 211–219. 110. See Cliffe, Social Life of Kimono; Valk, “From Duty to Fashion”; Valk, Selling the Kimono; Manami Okazaki, Kimono Now (Munich: Prestel, 2015). 111. The film directors I discuss are men. 112. Van Assche, “Interweavings,” 27. 113. See Valk, “From Duty to Fashion,” 311–312; Nakagawa and Rosovsky, “Case of the ­Dying Kimono,” 61–63. A famous indicator of this gender difference during the prewar period includes modernologist Kon Wajirō’s visual “Index” based on a 1925 observation proj­ect in Tokyo’s upscale Ginza district. This “Index” shows that 67 ­percent of men wore Western clothes while 33 ­percent wore kimonos; in contrast, only 1 ­percent of the ­women wore Western dress and 99 ­percent wore kimonos. Milhaupt, Kimono, 110. ­There was an increase in the number of ­women wearing Western clothing from the 1930s, but even in major cities kimonos remained the dominant form of clothing. See, for example, Kon’s “The Percentage of Western

Notes to Pages 29–35   243 Dress in Vari­ous Places,” a visual graph based on data collected in 1937 in eigh­teen cities; according to this, ­women wearing Western clothing range between 13.9 and 36 ­percent in Japan’s interior depending on the city; when including colonial cities, the average percentage is 26 ­percent. Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 122–123. 114. See n. 5. Not all kimonos ­were made at home, and in many cases they ­were made by specialists. Sasaki Aiko writes in her memoirs about growing up in a merchant’s h ­ ouse­hold in early twentieth-­century Hokkaido, saying that her f­ ather ordered all of his wife’s kimonos from Tokyo. Sasaki, Kimono gurashi, 6. My discussion h ­ ere focuses on the domestic sphere; outside this realm, of course, men worked as kimono specialists in vari­ous areas of production, retail, maintenance, e­ tc. 115. Sasaki, Kimono gurashi, 114. She uses ­these expressions ­a fter discussing her ­sister’s kimono that had to be bartered in exchange for rice during the war. 116. In discussing her aunt, a well-­to-do kimono connoisseur, Koizumi Kazuko (b. 1933) suggests that ­women like her bought vast numbers of kimonos ­because “­t here was no other means of self-­expression in t­ hose days.” Koizumi, “Wagaya,” 32. 117. Personal email communication, December 18, 2012. Her approach is reflected in her forthcoming essay, “­Behind the Seams: Tamura Toshiko, Enchi Fumiko, and the Language of Kimono.” 118. Novelists known for their expertise about kimono that I do not discuss in this book include Enchi Fumiko (1905–1986), Ariyoshi Sawako (1931–1984), and Uno Chiyo (1897–1996). Uno was also a kimono designer, famous for her unique designs and practices that often challenged standard kimono protocol. 119. Dalby, Kimono, 162–213. 120. Donald Richie, “The Film Adaptations,” in A Tanizaki Feast: The International Symposium in Venice, edited by Adriana Boscaro and Anthony Hood Chambers (Ann Arbor: Center for Japa­nese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998), 166. 121. Aoki Tama, Kimono atosaki (Shinchōsha, 1998), 183. 122. See Lori Watt, When Empire Comes Home: Repatriation and Reintegration in Postwar Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2009), 11.

2. Literary Kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters 1. In the text, Sachiko’s thoughts are the most directly and fully revealed. See Ken K. Ito, Visions of Desire: Tanizaki’s Fictional Worlds (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991), 194; Takama Fumika, “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō Sasameyuki ron: Mokuteki to shite no katari,” Kindai bungaku shiron 44 (December 2006): 41–47; Satō Jun’ichi, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō: Kata to hyōgen (Seikansha, 2010), 141–166; Kaga Otohiko, Nihon no chōhen shōsetsu (Chikuma shobō, 1976), 126–127; Tōgō Katsumi, “Sasameyuki shiron: Taeko no monogatari aruiwa byōki no imi,” Nihon bungaku 34, no. 2 (February 1985): 71. 2. The serialization of The Makioka ­Sisters began in Chūō kōron in the January 1943 issue, but it was ­stopped by the authorities ­a fter the March 1943 issue. In July 1944, Tanizaki distributed to his friends two hundred copies of a privately printed edition of Volume 1 (jōkan). He completed Volume 2 (chūkan) in December 1944 but was unable to publish it due to military censorship. A ­ fter the war, Tanizaki published Volume 1 in June 1946 and Volume 2 in February 1947 (from Chūōkōronsha). Volume 3 (gekan) was first serialized in the journal Fujin kōron (Ladies’ review) from March 1947 to October 1948 and was then published by Chūōkōronsha in December 1948. See “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō kankei nenpu” in Nagae Hironobu and Yamaguchi

244   Notes to Pages 35–37 Masayuki, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō shoshi kenkyū bunken mokuroku, edited by Bunken Mokuroku Shoshiryō Tō Kenkyūkai (Bensei shuppan, 2004), 402–403. 3. In 1948, Tanizaki explained that he began writing the novel in 1942 ­after the war began. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki kaiko,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 22 (Chūōkōronsha, 1974), 362. In 1949, he notes that a­ fter he finished Volume 2, he had to evacuate b ­ ecause of air raids and was unable to write very much; therefore, “most of Volume 3 was written a­ fter the war was over.” Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki sadan,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 23 (Chūōkōronsha, 1974), 239. Tanizaki also explains that he had written about “fifty to a hundred manuscript pages” of Volume 3 when the war ended. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki ni tsuite: Sōsaku yodan (sono ichi),” Bessatsu bungei shunjū 53 (August  1956): 185. See Tōgō Katsumi, “Sensō towa nande attaka: Sasameyuki seiritsu no shūhen,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 30, no.  9 (August  1985): 79; Watanabe Naomi, “Sasameyuki to hachigatsu jūgonichi,” Shinchō 86, no. 1 (January 1989): 332. For Tanizaki’s treatment of the manuscript during the war, see Tanizaki Matsuko, Ishōan no yume (Chūōkōronsha, 1979), 21–22, 95–97. 4. Clair Hughes, Dressed in Fiction (Oxford: Berg, 2005), 3. 5. See Miyao Tomiko, “Sasameyuki to kimono,” in Tetoboshi no ki, by Miyao Tomiko (Shinchōsha, 1992), 123. Actress Takamine Hideko, who knew Tanizaki and his f­ amily, describes Matsuko and her ­sisters as regularly “wearing yūzen and komon [all-­over repeated pattern] silk kimonos, the kind that ­were of Tanizaki’s taste.” Takamine Hideko, Watashi no tosei nikki gekan [vol. 2] (Shinchōsha, 2012), 112. For Matsuko’s own discussion of her husband’s expertise, see Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe no yume (Chūōkōronsha, 1998), 105–108. 6. For examples of works that discuss clothing in The Makioka ­Sisters, see Mitamura Masako, “Sasameyuki shiron: ‘Koromo’ no teikyō to ryūtsū o megutte,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō: Kyōkai o koete, edited by Chiba Shunji and Annu Bayaaru-­Sakai [Anne Bayard-­Sakai], 319–347 (Kasama shoin, 2009); Hidaka Yoshiki, “Yūkan madamu no senchū to sengo: Tanizaki Jun’ichirō Sasameyuki,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 47, no. 9 (July 2002): 116–120. 7. Junichiro Tanizaki, The Makioka S­ isters, translated by Edward G. Seidensticker (New York: Vintage International, 1995). 8. Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki kaiko,” 364. 9. Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki ni tsuite,” 186. Tanizaki Matsuko, born into a wealthy Osaka ­family (and married to a rich merchant before becoming Tanizaki’s wife), had in-­depth knowledge about the kimono culture of her class and region. 10. Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki kaiko,” 364–365; Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki ni tsuite,” 186–187. Kawamoto Saburō introduces Wada Minoru’s study that shows Tanizaki borrowed heavi­ly from school essays about the flood, and also discusses Tanizaki’s use of another essay collection. Kawamoto Saburō, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai dai 12 kai: Tanizaki no daisuigai byōsha o tasuketa mono,” Chūō kōron 122, no. 3 (March 2007): 291–295. 11. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 15: Sasameyuki (Chūōkōronsha, 1973), 280. Subsequent quotes are cited directly in the text. For this work, I have also consulted Tanizaki, Makioka ­Sisters, and the notes (“Chūkai”) by Hosoe Hikaru in the Shinchō bunko edition, in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Sasameyuki, 3 vols. (Shinchōsha, 2011). 12. See Chiba Shunji, “Sasameyuki,” in Kanshō Nihon gendai bungaku, vol. 8: Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, edited by Chiba Shunji (Kadokawa shoten, 1986), 180; Kawamoto Saburō, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai saishūkai: Semarikuru sensō no kage,” Chūō kōron 122, no. 6 (June 2007): 233; Noguchi Takehiko, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” translated by Teruko Craig, Journal of Japa­nese Studies 3, no. 1 (Winter 1977): 3–5; Anthony Hood Chambers, The Secret Win­dow:

Notes to Pages 38–39   245 Ideal Worlds in Tanizaki’s Fiction (Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1994), 73–75. Tanizaki acknowledges that some characters are modeled on his relatives but denies that Teinosuke (Sachiko’s husband) mirrors himself. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Mittsu no baai,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 18 (Chūōkōronsha, 1974), 289. Tanizaki Matsuko sees the Makioka ­sisters as being modeled on herself and her siblings, and also considers Teinosuke to be “Tanizaki’s alter ego,” although “the story itself is purely fiction.” Tanizaki Matsuko, Ishōan, 85. In her essays and memoirs, she discusses vari­ous models for the characters, as well as real occurrences, speech, and writing incorporated into The Makioka ­Sisters. See, for example, Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 71–72, 121; Tanizaki Matsuko, Ishōan, 12, 83–103; Tanizaki Matsuko, Shōchikukyo tsuisō: Jun’ichirō to Sasameyuki no sekai (Chūōkōronsha, 1983), 101–111, 141–160, 172. 13. In his “Sasameyuki to sono jidai” series in Chūō kōron, Kawamoto focuses on how the text pre­sents ­actual events and ­t hings, but also recognizes that the novel is not entirely devoted to “realism.” Kawamoto Saburō, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai dai 5 kai: Modan toshi Kōbe to Tanizaki no yume,” Chūō kōron 121, no. 8 (August 2006): 294. Komori Yōichi comments that for him the most in­ter­est­ing way to read this novel is in conjunction with newspaper articles of the time, ­because this reveals how the novel incorporates real events while challenging mainstream war­t ime discourse. Hasumi Shigehiko and Komori Yōichi, “Taidan: Tanizaki raisan Tōsō suru disukūru,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 38, no. 14 (December 1993): 25–26. Anthony Chambers notes that “much of what happens in the novel is fabricated,” despite Tanizaki’s use of real events and ­people, and comments that the work is “as carefully structured as anything Tanizaki wrote.” Chambers, Secret Win­dow, 76. 14. Roland Barthes, “The Real­ity Effect,” in The Rustle of Language, translated by Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1986), 141–148. 15. See, for example, Hasumi Shigehiko’s views in Hasumi and Komori, “Taidan,” 27–28. 16. Arai Tomiyo, “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō Sasameyuki: Onna bunka no fiirudo waaku,” in 20 seiki no besuto seraa o yomitoku: Josei, dokusha, shakai no 100 nen, edited by Egusa Mitsuko and I­ noue Rie (Gakugei shorin, 2001), 191–192, 195–197. 17. Arai, “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō,” 211–212. 18. I follow the romanizations in Hosoe Hikaru, “Chūkai,” in Sasameyuki jōkan, by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Shinchōsha, 2011), 307, and Hosoe Hikaru, “Chūkai,” in Sasameyuki gekan, by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Shinchōsha, 2011), 483. 19. For examples of analy­sis of disease in the novel from vari­ous perspectives, see William Johnston, “Illness, Disease, and Medicine in Three Novels by Tanizaki,” in A Tanizaki Feast: The International Symposium in Venice, edited by Adriana Boscaro and Anthony Hood Chambers (Ann Arbor: Center for Japa­nese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998), 139–150; Chambers, Secret Win­dow, 81–82; Michael P. Cronin, Osaka Modern: The City in the Japa­nese Imaginary (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017), 124–133; Tōgō, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 74–79; Murase Shirō, “Taisha suru shintai no monogatari: Seimei genshō toshite no Sasameyuki,” in “Shinpojiumu: Sasameyuki Yamai no jikū,” Kokugo kokubun kenkyū 87 (December 1990): 7–15; Shibata Shōji, “ ‘Yamai’ to ‘sensō’ no jikū: Sasameyuki no gūiteki hyōshō,” Mita bungaku 100, no. 144 (2021): 170–190. 20. Hidaka Yoshiki notes that the description of the s­ isters’ clothing functions to heighten their beauty and “symbolize their lifestyle and character.” Hidaka, “Yūkan madamu,” 119. 21. For a comparison of excerpts from the original and the Seidensticker translation, and a discussion of the erasure of the narrative’s complexity, see Hirano Yoshinobu, “Sasameyuki

246   Notes to Pages 39–43 no ‘katari’: Kindaiteki shuhō to shite no monogatari,” Yamanashi Eiwa Tanki Daigaku kiyō 24 (December 1990): 68–71. Hirano also cites Etō Jun as pointing out this loss in the En­glish translation (70). 22. On this indirect style of narration see Nakamura Shin’ichirō, “Tanizaki to Sasameyuki,” in Shinsen gendai Nihon bungaku zenshū, vol. 37: Yamamoto Kenkichi, Nakamura Mitsuo, Yoshida Ken’ichi, Nakamura Shin’ichirō shū (Chikuma shobō, 1960), 356. 23. Kaga, Nihon no chōhen shōsetsu, 129. 24. Both types of yūzen techniques are used in yūzen chirimen. Okabe Takao, ed., Kimono yōgo jiten (Fujin gahōsha, 1999), 178. See also Ikeda Yoshimasa, Tsutsui Tomio, and Mimura Minako, eds., Shinsen kimono jiten (Senken shinbunsha, 2012), 210, 226. 25. Okabe, Kimono yōgo jiten, 178; Ikeda, Tsutsui, and Mimura, Shinsen kimono jiten, 193. 26. Nakamura, “Tanizaki to Sasameyuki,” 356. 27. ­Under the prewar Japa­nese ­family system, established by the Meiji Civil Code of 1898, primogeniture was standard practice. In families that had no sons, it was common for an adoptive son-­in-­law to take the ­family name. The ­family system was dismantled in 1947. ­Under Japa­nese law t­ oday, primogeniture is no longer practiced, but normally a married ­couple can only have one shared name, and the practice of having adoptive sons-­in-­law carry on the ­family name also continues. In the prewar ­family system, the branch ­house was generally seen as being ­under the authority of the main h ­ ouse. For more on the ­family system, see Joy Hendry, Understanding Japa­nese Society (London: Croom Helm, 1987), 21–37; Merry Isaacs White, Perfectly Japa­nese: Making Families in the Era of Upheaval (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 28. For a detailed discussion of this par­tic­u­lar passage see Satō, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, 144–147. Satō argues that the narrator’s presence is obscured h ­ ere and suggests that this type of reporting directed at Sachiko reaffirms the sense of “real­ity” (147). The narrative can be read as functioning in this way, but I would also suggest that this sense of “real­ity” is constantly questioned and reestablished throughout the text; such unconventional narrative techniques force readers to see the narrative scaffolding itself rather than just the content of what is being narrated. 29. One shaku in this case is approximately 38 centimeters. See “kujirajaku” in Kōjien, fifth edition; Ikeda, Tsutsui, and Mimura, Shinsen kimono jiten, 256. 30. For a list of autumnal plants in designs including bush clovers and dianthus flowers (also known as pink), see Hayasaka Yūko, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten (Shikaku dezain kenkyūjo, 2001), 78. 31. For an example of the woven bamboo basket (kagome) pattern, see Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 12. Kuzushi can refer to a pattern that is deconstructed so as to appear like another pattern, as well as a pattern that has been changed from its usual appearance. It can also refer to a design that breaks up the pattern using a faded look in parts. See Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 30. 32. According to Kōjien, fifth edition, “ainoko” can mean “mixed-­race,” “hybrid,” or something that indicates “in-­betweenness”; it is used ­here presumably to indicate that the fabric has mixed/hybrid/in-­between qualities of both native kinsha and georgette, a fabric originally created in France. 33. Seidensticker translates aigi as “under-­k imono,” a kimono worn between the outer kimono and the undergarment. Tanizaki, Makioka ­Sisters, 333. The word does have this connotation, but given the context I follow the meaning as glossed in Hosoe, “Chūkai,” Sasameyuki

Notes to Pages 43–47   247 gekan, 440. The kanji characters used in the novel, 間着, often indicate an underkimono, but the homophone 合着 means in-­between wear. See Okabe, Kimono yōgo jiten, 22–23; Ikeda, Tsutsui, and Mimura, Shinsen kimono jiten, 52. Tanizaki Matsuko uses 合着 to mean in-­between wear, explaining in 1971 that fabrics for such kimonos have more or less dis­appeared. In 1976 she also describes a type of kimono she owns as “a kimono worn between the season for an unlined kimono and the season for a thin kimono.” Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 379, 399. 34. For a discussion of critics’ dif­fer­ent views and analy­sis of textual examples see Hirano, “Sasameyuki no ‘katari,’ ” 63–66. 35. Chiba Shunji, “The Makioka ­Sisters as an Emaki,” in Tanizaki Feast, 131; Hirano, “Sasameyuki no ‘katari,’ ” 81–83. 36. As a student of Japa­nese dance, Taeko wears kimonos for her recitals, but they are borrowed from her ­sisters. I discuss ­t hese kimonos ­later in the chapter. 37. This is based on Kon Wajirō’s 1937 study, cited in Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 122–123. See Chapter 1, n. 113. 38. Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 332. 39. Ito, Visions of Desire, 208. 40. Yukata is normally worn with cords and an obi, but in ­these episodes Taeko ­either wears it open, “only wrapping a bath towel around her hips” (341), or with just a cord or similar sash that makes it easy for the opening to loosen. The term used in the latter examples is “obi hiro hadaka” (349, 436). The Shinchō bunko edition glosses this as a “slovenly way of wearing a kimono with only a cord or a narrow obi.” Hosoe Hikaru, “Chūkai,” in Sasameyuki chūkan, by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Shinchōsha, 2011), 393. The fans mentioned are electric fans as well as handheld uchiwa (non-­folding fan). 41. Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 330. 42. Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 331. 43. On ebazuke, see Hosoe, “Chūkai,” Sasameyuki gekan, 474. Similar terms, eba and ebamoyō, are explained in Okabe, Kimono yōgo jiten, 49. 4 4. In discussing con­temporary kimonos, Liza Dalby translates seisō as “full dress” and notes that for single ­women it would be “ furisode.” Liza Crihfield Dalby, Kimono: Fashioning Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 172. 45. Mitamura suggests that Taeko knows that the f­ amily w ­ ill soon disown her due to the pregnancy and goes on the trip to Tokyo to enjoy herself as a ­family member while wearing kimonos; ­t hese garments thus function as “fake wear” (gisō) or “costume (cosplay)” (kasō [kosupure]). Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 331. It is worth noting, however, that technically Taeko’s relationship with the f­amily has already been “severed” (kandō) due to her scandals (797). The narrator explains Taeko’s motivation to go to Tokyo as an expression of personal thanks to Itani, who had been supportive of her despite her “bad be­hav­ior” (797). Indeed, Itani has specifically said Taeko should come to Tokyo with the s­ isters. This detail underscores the audacity of Taeko’s actions, b ­ ecause she is hiding her pregnancy (from the readers also at this point) while showing appreciation to Itani for implying that she deserves to be recognized by the ­family and not be “considered as a disgrace” or an impediment to Yukiko’s marriage (797–798). 46. This punishment for sexual and class taboo is noted in Ito, Visions of Desire, 208. 47. See Nagasaki Iwao and Yumioka Katsumi, eds., Meiji Taishō Shōwa ni miru Kimono monyō zukan (Heibonsha, 2006), 24.

248   Notes to Pages 47–49 48. See Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 90. 49. This translation was titled Jun’ichirō yaku Genji monogatari (Tale of Genji, translated by Jun’ichirō). Tanizaki subsequently published two more revised translations ­a fter the war: Jun’ichirō shinyaku Genji monogatari (Tale of Genji, new translation by Jun’ichirō, 1951–1954) and Tanizaki Jun’ichirō shinshinyaku Genji monogatari (Tale of Genji, renewed translation by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, 1964–1965). “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō kankei nenpu,” in Nagae and Yamaguchi, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, 401–406; Miyoshi Yukio, ed., “Nenpu,” in Sasameyuki gekan, by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Shinchōsha, 2011), 505–507. 50. Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki kaiko,” 365. 51. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki o kaita koro,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 23, 364. 52. Chiba, “Makioka ­Sisters as an Emaki.” 53. Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 12–13. 5 4. Enchi Fumiko, “Genji monogatari ni kaketa hashi,” Chūō kōron 80 (October 1965): 297–298. 55. Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 15. For the En­glish chapter titles in Genji I follow Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji, translated by Dennis Washburn (New York: W. W. Norton, 2015). 56. Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 15, 22. 57. Noguchi points out that Tamakazura’s abrupt marriage to Higekuro is a rejection of the successful courtship narrative, and suggests that Yukiko’s marriage to a viscount’s son has the “outward form of the medieval tale of courtship” but was an intentional parody of “the ste­ reo­typical happy ending of the bride entering the Imperial court.” Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 21, 23. For a recent view in Genji scholarship that considers Tamakazura’s marriage and subsequent life as a “fantasy of female mobility and overt agency” (13), see Edith Sarra, Unreal Houses: Characters, Gender, and Genealogy in the Tale of Genji (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2020), 13, 129–185. 58. Noguchi seems to suggest that this is not based on “conscious imitation on the part of the author,” but due to the similarity of Japa­nese seasonal markers. Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 24. Kanda Tatsumi argues that the famous cherry-­blossom viewing sequence in The Makioka S­ isters is based on the “Takekawa: Bamboo River” chapter from Genji. Kanda Tatsumi, “Sasameyuki to Genji monogatari: Bunka no shūen to igakuteki gensetsu,” Nihon kindai bungaku 74 (May 2006): 352–362. 59. Kanda sees the firefly viewing as “an elegant event” that gestures to the Hotaru chapter but ultimately highlights medical references. See Kanda, “Sasameyuki to Genji monogatari,” 359. Maruno Yakō also makes a connection between the Hotaru chapter and the firefly episodes, although his argument is based on a somewhat unusual interpretation of how Genji carried the fireflies in the chapter. Maruno Yakō, “Sasameyuki to Genji monogatari,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kanshō 18, no. 8 (August 1953): 9. 60. The event did not involve a miai. See Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki sadan,” 239; Kawamoto Saburō, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai dai 14 kai: Utsukushiki sakura to hotaru to Yukiko,” Chūō kōron 122, no. 5 (May 2007): 228–229. Tanizaki Matsuko also mentions this firefly viewing in Ashibe, 145, and Ishōan, 90. 61. For a discussion of this play and the translation of commonly performed acts from Bunraku, see “The True Tale of Asagao” in Stanleigh H. Jones, trans., The Bunraku Puppet Theater of Japan: Honor, Vengeance, and Love in Four Plays of the 18th and 19th Centuries (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013), 236–280.

Notes to Pages 50–52   249 62. This is presumably the kimono Sachiko plans to wear to the miai meeting as Yukiko’s guardian. Onando color is glossed as gray-­toned indigo in Hosoe, “Chūkai,” Sasameyuki gekan, 443, but it is also described as muted dark indigo with a slight green tone in Yoshioka Sachio, Nihon no iro jiten (Kyoto: Shikōsha, 2005), 143. 63. Murasaki, Tale of Genji, 513–514. The Washburn translation calls this man Prince Sochinomiya, but he is more traditionally called Prince Hotaru b ­ ecause of the fireflies incident in this chapter (see 517). For Tanizaki’s modern Japa­nese rendition of this episode from his final postwar translation, see Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 26: Shinshin yaku Genji monogatari kan 2 (Chūōkōronsha, 1974), 295–297. 64. Murasaki, Tale of Genji, 876, 1313; Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 27: Shinshin yaku Genji monogatari kan 3 (Chūōkōronsha, 1974), 422–423; Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 28: Shinshin yaku Genji monogatari kan 4 (Chūōkōronsha, 1975), 587. In “Maboroshi: Spirit Summoner,” Genji yearns for his dead beloved, Murasaki, in a poem that alludes to fireflies, passion, and a Chinese poem; in the last chapter, “Yume no ukihashi: A Floating Bridge in a Dream,” Ukifune views fireflies, but the scene is ­later taken over by torchlights from Kaoru’s escorts, referencing his longing. I am grateful to Edith Sarra for pointing out t­hese literary references. Personal email communication, September  15, 2016. Tanizaki Matsuko also writes on firefly-­related poetry from Genji and other texts. Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 322–324. 65. Dennis Washburn notes that “­t here are several literary antecedents [to Genji] for using fireflies in this manner,” and mentions “Tales of Ise, section 39.” Murasaki, Tale of Genji, 513. See Watanabe Minoru, ed., Ise monogatari (Shinchōsha, 1991), 53–54. Another antecedent is Utsuho monogatari (The tale of the hollow tree) in the “Naishi no kami” chapter, where the emperor is able to view Naishi’s visage by the light of fireflies in his sleeve. Nakano Kōichi, ed., Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū, vol. 15: Utsuho monogatari 2 (Shōgakukan, 2001), 269–271. I am grateful to Edith Sarra for bringing t­ hese examples to my attention. Personal email communication, September 13, 2016. 66. Dalby, Kimono, 291. 67. See, for example, Nagasaki and Yumioka, Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 174. In the novel, it is not clear exactly how the kimono is hung, and it is prob­ably not folded in the way kimonos are in many tagasode images. However, the idea of a beautiful kimono on a kimono stand still evokes the idea of tagasode and other classic images of kimonos in ­women’s private quarters. 68. Dalby, Kimono, 291. 69. Kanda connects this ending of the episode to the novel’s use of “medical discourse” and illness. Kanda, “Sasameyuki to Genji monogatari,” 359. 70. Carole Cavanaugh, “Text and Textile: Unweaving the Female Subject in Heian Writing,” positions: asia critique 4, no. 3 (Winter 1996): 614. 71. Rankatei uses the term ranka (rotten axe ­handle), a reference to a Rip Van Winkle–­type Chinese legend about a woodcutter who becomes engrossed in watching ­children play the game of go. B ­ ecause ­these ­children are super­natural beings, his axe h ­ andle rots away while he watches (indicating an extraordinary passage of time); when he returns to his village, he does not recognize anyone. Ranka is associated ­here with go and its enjoyment that makes one forget the passage of time. See Hosoe, “Chūkai,” Sasameyuki gekan, 445–446. In the novel, the hostess’ deceased husband, who spent a lot of time in this cottage, also played go. This cottage is modeled on an ­actual building called “Rankatei,” built by a relative of the man considered the model for Tatsuo, Tsuruko’s husband. See Kawamoto, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai dai 14 kai,” 229.

250   Notes to Pages 53–58 72. See Anthony Hood Chambers, “The Makioka ­Sisters as a Po­liti­cal Novel,” in Tanizaki Feast, 133–138; Tōgō, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 71–72; Hasumi and Komori, “Taidan,” 25–26; Arai, “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō,” 212. 73. Tanizaki, “Sasameyuki kaiko,” 362–364. The original plan seems to have been to cancel the serialization ­after the third installment (­after Chapter 19). Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki jōkan genkō dai 19 shō atogaki,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 23, 191. See Hatanaka Shigeo, “Ikiteiru heitai to Sasameyuki o megutte,” Bungaku 29 (December  1961): 98–99; also noted in Tōgō, “Sensō towa nande attaka,” 77. While Hatanaka and Tōgō discuss the third installment as having been planned for the May 1943 issue, the second installment in the March issue includes a note that the story w ­ ill continue in the June issue. See Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Sasameyuki, Chūō kōron 58, no. 3 (March 1943): 159. The “Notice” in Chūō kōron notifying readers of the cancellation of The Makioka ­Sisters appears in the June issue (but is dated May 1943). See “Okotowari,” Chūō kōron 58, no. 6 (June 1943): 111. For more on publication history and the writing of Volume 3, see n. 2 and 3. 74. Hatanaka, “Ikiteiru heitai to Sasameyuki,” 97; Tōgō, “Sensō towa nande attaka,” 77. 75. See Tōgō, “Sensō towa nande attaka,” 77. 76. See Nagahara Kazuko and Yoneda Sayoko, Onna no Shōwa shi zōhoban (Yūhikaku, 1996), 76–80; Masuda Yoshiko, ed., Nihon ifukushi (Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 2010), 347–355; Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 135, 140–148; Dalby, Kimono, 131, 152. For more on monpe, national subjects’ wear, and w ­ omen’s standard wear, see I­ noue Masahito, Yōfuku to Nihonjin: Kokuminfuku to iu mōdo (Kōsaidō, 2001). See also the discussion about t­ hese garments in Chapter 1. 77. See also Chapter 1, n. 58. For detailed explanations of the prohibited items and interpretation of the law, see Hōrei Chōsa Kenkyūkai, ed., Shashihin tō seizō hanbai seigen kisoku kaisetsu: Kokumin hitsudoku (Osaka: Senba shoten, 1940); Minobe Yōji, Shashihin tō seizō hanbai seigen kisoku ni tsuite (Nihon Hyakkaten Kumiai, 1940). 78. Iwanami Shoten Henshūbu, ed., Kindai Nihon sōgō nenpyō dai sanpan (Iwanami shoten, 1991), 332, 336. 79. Hōrei Chōsa Kenkyūkai, Shashihin, 19–20, 43. 80. Hōrei Chōsa Kenkyūkai, Shashihin, 9–10. 81. Hidaka, “Yūkan madamu,” 119–120. 82. ­There are dif­fer­ent ranks of formality for fukuro obi, based on their weave/fabric, usage of gold or silver threads, patterns, and pictorial designs. ­Because the ­women are “dressed to the nines,” however, we can assume ­t hese obi are on the formal side. See Mori Kayoh, ed., Shashin de wakaru Kimono yōgo jiten (Natsumesha, 2011), 44, 134–136. 83. Vari­ous prohibited sales items included types of obi fabric over 150 yen and ready-­made or semi-­ready-­made obi over 60 yen; production of obi made with tsuzure ori (an extremely expensive kind of woven textile) was forbidden. Hōrei Chōsa Kenkyūkai, Shashihin, 21, 37, 38. 84. For the difference between the postwar version and the 1944 privately printed version of Volume 1, Chapter 17, see Tōgō, “Sensō towa nande attaka,” 81–83. Tanizaki made changes to this section depicting the ­family’s discussion of politics with their Rus­sian friends. Tōgō suggests that Tanizaki did so in order to prevent censorship by the CIE (Civil Information and Education Section), especially since they had already censored another work of his published in 1946 (83). The latter incident is also noted in Hatanaka, “Ikiteiru heitai to Sasameyuki,” 99. 85. Tōgō, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 72.

Notes to Pages 58–62   251 86. Chiba, “Sasameyuki,” 187; Chiba Shunji, “Tanizaki Jun’ichirō Sasameyuki no jikan,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kanshō 73, no. 2 (February 2008): 118; Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 20. 87. Etsuko seems to have a designated kimono for ­t hese trips (140, 264), and this may also be the case for Yukiko (243). 88. See n. 73. 89. ­These episodes are in Volume 2, completed in 1944, but not published ­until 1947. 90. Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 326–327. 91. Tanizaki Matsuko discusses this as a long-­standing past Osaka practice. When she herself married her first husband, a wealthy merchant, she followed tradition by wearing such a three-­layered ensemble when leaving her home. The pictorial images on her kimonos ­were the three auspicious plants—­pine, bamboo, and plum—­designed by three dif­fer­ent artists. For the wedding she seems to have worn a shiromuku (white kimono) outfit as well as a colored uchikake (overkimono with a trailing hem) ensemble. See Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 78–79, 370–371. 92. In Tanizaki Matsuko’s case, she describes her three-­k imono ensemble as having very long swinging sleeves (ōfurisode), but does not mention crests per se. She does note that many items within her trousseau (from furniture to chopstick boxes and casual kimonos) ­were decorated with the ­family crest. Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 78, 369. For examples of three-­k imono ensembles with multiple crests from the Meiji and Taishō periods, see Nagasaki Iwao, ed., Kimono Beauty: Shikku de modan na yosooi no bi Edo kara Shōwa (Tokyo bijutsu, 2013), 290–295. ­There ­were likely many historical, regional, and class variations in how wedding ensembles ­were worn. See Nagasaki, Kimono Beauty, 286, 297; Masami Yamada, “Clothed in Splendour: Bridal Kimono from the Edo Period to the Pre­sent Day,” in Kimono: Kyoto to Catwalk, edited by Anna Jackson (London: V&A Publishing, 2020), 104–105. 93. Dalby categorizes komon as informal “street wear” with a repeated pattern all over the kimono. Dalby, Kimono, 173, 176–177. However, t­ here are also komon that can be worn in semiformal settings, and ­those categorized as high-­ranking kimonos, such as Edo komon. With regard to the prewar period, t­ here are numerous examples of komon described as semiformal wear. See Chapter 4, n. 36. 94. Tanizaki Matsuko discusses such inauspicious views about snow-­covered plant designs. Her own wedding kimonos (each with pine, bamboo, and plum), mentioned in n. 91, all featured the plants covered in snow (“yukimochi”). Some ­people opposed this design, saying that it was inauspicious b ­ ecause it could signify “one’s shoulders burdened with hardship,” just as the plants are burdened with the weight of the snow. However, her kimonos w ­ ere made with this design in accordance with her f­ ather’s taste. Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 78. This first marriage ended in divorce and she subsequently married Tanizaki; it is likely that he was aware of this story and the inauspicious association. 95. Anthony Chambers discusses the “decline” in the cherry-­v iewing trips as ending in “an empty formality.” Chambers, Secret Win­dow, 79–80. 96. On “Zotos,” see Hosoe, “Chūkai,” Sasameyuki gekan, 476. 97. Kawamoto, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai saishūkai,” 234. 98. On the “historical irony” readers would have been aware of, see Chambers, Secret Win­ dow, 81–82. This is also referenced in Cronin, Osaka Modern, 138. 99. Both Noguchi Takehiko and Tōgō Katsumi point out the cyclical nature of Yukiko’s skin ailment. Noguchi, “Time in the World of Sasameyuki,” 29; Tōgō, “Sasameyuki shiron,”

252   Notes to Pages 62–67 73. Kawamoto Saburō suggests that Yukiko’s diarrhea symbolizes unease ­toward the encroaching war. Kawamoto, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai saishūkai,” 235. Tōgō suggests that the diarrhea symbolizes her “ner­vous­ness about marriage” as well as her liberation from a doll-­like state and coming into being as “an individual body.” Tōgō, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 78. Mitamura Masako agrees with Tōgō in that this represents Yukiko’s body rejecting the marriage. Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 345. For vari­ous views of illness and diminishment of Yukiko and Taeko in Volume 3, see Shibata Shōji, “Hyōshō toshite no ‘genzai’: Sasameyuki no aregorii,” Nihon bungaku 49, no. 9 (September 2000): 38–41; Shibata, “ ‘Yamai’ to ‘sensō,’ ” 187–190. For a connection between disease and anti-­f uturity, see Cronin, Osaka Modern, 124–133. 100. Making a kimono of this nature would normally begin with the se­lection of the white silk fabric, which was then dyed and designed according to the buyer’s wishes. The text notes that it could not be dyed due to the prohibition law, and they ­were therefore forced to resort to “demono” (876), which was then “sewn” (shitate, 881) by the kimono dealer. Hosoe Hikaru glosses “demono” as “used product” or “special sales item.” Hosoe, “Chūkai,” Sasameyuki gekan, 482. 101. Tanizaki Matsuko quotes a similar poem and explains that she wrote it while preparing for her first marriage: “Autumn sadness for a bride-­to-be / Yet another day ends as I select my kimonos.” Tanizaki Matsuko, Ashibe, 79–80. She also discusses the quantity and quality of clothing, including underwear and tabi (split-­toed socks), that ­women of this class in Western Japan brought into marriage (368–367). 102. Mitamura, “Sasameyuki shiron,” 323. 103. Shimokawa Kōshi and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, eds., Zōhoban Shōwa Heisei kateishi nenpyō 1926–2000 (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2001), 166. 104. Shimokawa and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, Zōhoban, 183, 190. 105. See Koizumi Kazuko, ed., Yōsai no jidai: Nihonjin no ifuku kakumei (OM shuppan, 2004), 5–7; Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 190–195. For more on monpe, see Chapter 1.

3. Visual Kimonos in The Makioka ­Sisters 1. I do not discuss the 1959 Daiei studio film version directed by Shima Kōji due to significant changes to the plot and its transformation into a postwar tale. In the Conclusion I discuss the 2018 TV miniseries The Makioka ­Sisters of the Heisei Period, set in the early 1990s during the Heisei era (1989–­April 30, 2019). 2. Hayashi Mariko, Kimono no yorokobi: Kimono nanakorobi hachioki (Shinchōsha, 2011), 39. 3. “Kimono 20 seiki o shiru tame no dokusho annai,” Utsukushii kimono 194 (Winter 2000): 134. 4. Urasaki Hiromi, “Eiga Sasameyuki o meguru ku no danshō,” in Sasameyuki kaisetsu riifuretto, edited by Kimata Kimihiko, pamphlet included with Sasameyuki, directed by Abe Yutaka (1950; Japan: Kinokuniya shoten, 2007), DVD. 5. Urasaki, “Eiga Sasameyuki”; Kimata Kimihiko, “Suttafu & kyasuto purofiiru,” in Sasameyuki kaisetsu riifuretto. 6. Urasaki, “Eiga Sasameyuki.” 7. Shimokawa Kōshi and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, eds., Zōhoban Shōwa Heisei kateishi nenpyō 1926–2000 (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2001), 221. 8. Dave Kehr, “Hideko Takamine, Lauded Japa­nese Actress, Dies at 86,” New York Times, January 3, 2011, http://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2011​/­01​/­04​/­movies​/­04takamine​.h ­ tml.

Notes to Pages 67–73   253 9. Su Holmes, “ ‘Starring . . . ​Dyer?’: Re-­Visiting Star Studies and Con­temporary Celebrity Culture,” Westminster Papers in Communication and Culture 2, no. 2 (2005): 10. See also Richard Dyer, Stars: New Edition with a Supplementary Chapter and Bibliography by Paul McDonald (London: British Film Institute Publishing, 1998); Richard Dyer, Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society (London: Macmillan Education, 1987). 10. For publication details, see Chapter 2, n. 2 and 3. 11. Shibata Shōji, “Hyōshō toshite no ‘genzai’: Sasameyuki no aregorii,” Nihon bungaku 49, no. 9 (September 2000): 39. Shibata (42) notes similar viewpoints stated in Tōgō Katsumi and Shimizu Yoshinori. See Tōgō Katsumi, “Sasameyuki shiron: Taeko no monogatari aruiwa byōki no imi,” Nihon bungaku 34, no. 2 (February 1985): 79; Shimizu Yoshinori, Kyokō no tentai: Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Kōdansha, 1996), 177. 12. Kyoko Hirano, Mr. Smith Goes to Tokyo: Japa­nese Cinema ­under the American Occupation, 1945–1952 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992), 70–71. 13. Hirano notes that a reference to a potential groom and his class standing in the script for Ozu Yasujirō’s Banshun (Late Spring, 1949) was marked for deletion by CIE in May 1949 but put back into the final version. Hirano, Mr. Smith Goes to Tokyo, 70. 14. Sasameyuki, directed by Abe Yutaka (1950; Japan: Kinokuniya shoten, 2007), DVD. All subsequent quotes from the film are from this source. 15. The obi design patterns Taeko lists in the film are: “takarakuzushi” [sic] (broken up trea­ sures); “tsuyushiba” (dew on the grass); “uroko ni momiji” (scales and Japa­nese maple). The last one is featured on the obi that Taeko lays out in Figure 3.2. “Takarakuzushi” seems to be a ­mistake for “takarazukushi” (collection of trea­sures), perhaps an error on the part of the writer, director, or actor. In this scene in the novel, the narrator describes the pattern on one obi as “kanzemizu” (swirling ­water), and one of the ­sisters suggests that Sachiko try wearing the “tsuyushiba” obi. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 15: Sasameyuki (Chūōkōronsha, 1973), 29–30. 16. Hayashi Kunio, Sengo fasshon seisuishi (Genryūsha, 1992), 42. 17. “Matsubayashi Shūe (tōji cheefu jokantoku) intabyū: Abe Yutaka kantoku to Sasameyuki ni tsuite no omoide,” in Sasameyuki kaisetsu riifuretto. 18. Miyao Tomiko, “Sasameyuki to kimono,” in Tetoboshi no ki, by Miyao Tomiko (Shinchōsha, 1992), 120–121. 19. Miyao Tomiko, “Sasameyuki: Senbō to wagami kanashisa ni mi o yakareta watashi no Sasameyuki,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 23, no. 10 (August 1978): 103. This is another essay in which she talks about her experience of reading The Makioka ­Sisters. Miyao also explains the impact the novel had on her in the roundtable “Zadankai: Sasameyuki no sekai,” in Sasameyuki no kimono, edited by Ichikawa Kon (Ōbunsha, 1983), 107. 20. Kondō Tomie, Tsutaete okitai furuki yoki kimono no tashinami: Nihon eiga ni manabu (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2018), 13. 21. This dance expresses the feelings of a nun, formerly a geisha, who recalls an unhappy past romance. The piece is associated with snow in a number of ways. See Gunji Masakatsu, ed., Nihon buyō jiten (Tokyodō, 1977), 427–428. Although the title is not presented in the film, it is specified in the novel. Takamine ­later wrote that she received training from Takehara Han, considered the master of this par­tic­u­lar dance. In the film she appears to be wearing Takehara’s own kimono costume and borrowed hair ornaments. See her explanation and photos in Takamine Hideko, Watashi no tosei nikki gekan [vol. 2] (Shinchōsha, 2012), 109–110, 111, 113.

254   Notes to Pages 73–81 22. The sequence begins with the audience watching another w ­ oman performing traditional Japa­nese dance before it transitions to a dif­fer­ent room, where Taeko is getting ready. Itakura comes to take her photo­graph and she poses for him in costume. Next, we see Taeko’s per­for­mance on stage. The three accompanying musicians, who appear in many shots, include Tomizaki Shunshō (1880–1958), who was ­later designated as a so-­called Living National Trea­ sure in 1955. 23. Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 119. 24. Hosoe Hikaru, “Chūkai,” in Sasameyuki chūkan, by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Shinchōsha, 2011), 379; Kawamoto Saburō, “Sasameyuki to sono jidai dai 8 kai: Taeko no zasetsu to junan,” Chūō kōron 121, no. 11 (November 2006): 351–354. 25. During the immediate postwar period, pan-­pan girls played a role in the adoption and dissemination of the latest American fashions in ­women’s clothing, such as thick shoulder pads. For an ironic discussion of this phenomenon, see Urabe Makoto, Ryūkō uragaeshi: Monpe kara minisukaato made (Bunka shuppankyoku, 1982), 28–35. For descriptions of pan-­pan girls of this period as wearing “bright red lipstick” and “a top with large shoulder pads,” see Masuda Yoshiko, ed., Nihon ifukushi (Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 2010), 359. 26. In the novel, the infant dies during delivery. 27. Michael S. Molasky, The American Occupation of Japan and Okinawa: Lit­er­a­ture and Memory (London: Routledge, 1999), 11–12. See also Sharalyn Orbaugh, Japa­nese Fiction of the Allied Occupation: Vision, Embodiment, Identity (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 460–473. 28. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki ni tsuite: Sōsaku yodan (sono ichi),” Bessatsu bungei shunjū 53 (August 1956): 185. 29. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, “Sasameyuki kaiko,” in Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 22 (Chūōkōronsha, 1974), 364. 30. Ann Sherif, Japan’s Cold War: Media, Lit­er­a­ture and the Law (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 3. 31. As the first movie to be shot with Japa­nese color film, it was also filmed in black and white at the same time. See Kōdansha, ed., Shōwa nimannichi no zenkiroku, vol. 9 (Kōdansha, 1989), 138–139. 32. Donald Richie, “The Film Adaptations,” in A Tanizaki Feast: The International Symposium in Venice, edited by Adriana Boscaro and Anthony Hood Chambers (Ann Arbor: Center for Japa­nese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998), 166. 33. See Ichikawa Kon and Mori Yūki, Kanpon Ichikawa Kon no eigatachi (Yōsensha, 2015), 322–323; “Hajimete eigaka ni seikō shita ‘Sasameyuki’ no sekai: Taidan Yodogawa Nagaharu Ichikawa Kon,” Kinema junpō 860 (May 1983): 70–71; Ichikawa Kon, “Ishō,” in Sasameyuki no kimono, 81–82; Kathe Geist, “Adapting The Makioka ­Sisters,” in Kon Ichikawa, edited by James Quandt (Toronto: Toronto International Film Festival Group, 2001), 357; David Desser, “Space and Narrative in The Makioka S­ isters,” in Kon Ichikawa, 373. 34. See “Seisaku nyūsu” and “Seisaku nyūsu dai 2 dan,” u ­ nder “Seisaku nyūsu (tokuhō),” in “Tokuten” in Sasameyuki, directed by Ichikawa Kon (1983; Japan: Tōhō), DVD. 35. See Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 328; Ichikawa, “Ishō,” 83; “Zadankai: Sasameyuki no sekai,” 105, 107–108; “Sasameyuki no kimono o orinasumade,” in Sasameyuki no kimono, 138–140. 36. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 328. 37. “Zadankai: Sasameyuki no sekai,” 108.

Notes to Pages 81–86   255 38. For a clear discussion of the differences between the novel and the film, see Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters.” 39. See Itō Motoshige and Yajima Takatoshi, Kimono bunka to Nihon (Nihon keizai shinbun shuppansha, 2016), 62–64. See also Chapter 1, n. 101. 40. Sasameyuki, directed by Ichikawa Kon (1983; Japan: Tōhō), DVD. All subsequent quotes from the film are from this source. I also consult the script published as Ichikawa Kon and Hidaka Shinya, “Sasameyuki,” Kinema junpō 860 (May 1983): 78–106. However, it is impor­tant to note that the film deviates from this script in many places. Mori Yūki also notes the uniqueness of the film’s opening. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 326. 41. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 326. 42. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 368. 43. In the novel, the character’s name is Mimaki, not Higashidani. Geist suggests that the name change is due to the fact that Mimaki sounds too similar to Makioka. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 359. 4 4. Ichikawa and Hidaka, “Sasameyuki,” 106. For an analy­sis of the scene from a dif­fer­ent perspective, see Marcus Nornes, “Context and The Makioka S­ isters,” East-­West Film Journal 5, no. 2 (July 1991): 57. 45. Geist suggests that the soldiers at the train station are an indication that the ­family’s “way of life” ­w ill eventually dis­appear. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 359. 46. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 368, 369. 47. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 369, 371. 4 8. On repre­sen­ta­tions of adoptive sons-­in-­law in this film, see Geist, “Adapting The Makioka ­Sisters,” 368; Nornes, “Context and The Makioka S­ isters,” 56. 49. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 323–324. 50. Ichikawa, “Ishō,” 82. 51. Marcus Nornes reads this class distinction in the film through the concept of “uchi/ soto” (“inside/outside”). Nornes, “Context and The Makioka ­Sisters,” 57–60. See also Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 363. 52. Ichikawa, “Ishō,” 81. This is noted as “seventy ­percent” in Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 328–329. 53. Ichikawa, “Ishō,” 81. 54. “Zadankai: Sasameyuki no sekai,” 105–106. 55. This kimono and michiyuki are identified in the costume list with photo­graphs: “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” in Sasameyuki no kimono, 148, 152. For color photo images, see Ichikawa, Sasameyuki no kimono, 15, 44. 56. This par­tic­u ­lar sōshibori kimono uses hitta shibori (hitta tie-­dye) and hitome shibori (one-­eye tie-­dye) techniques. “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” 148. Th ­ ese techniques can be categorized as kinds of kanoko shibori. For more on sōshibori kimono and ­t hese other terms, see Ikeda Yoshimasa, Tsutsui Tomio, and Mimura Minako, eds., Shinsen kimono jiten (Senken shinbunsha, 2012), 210, 223, 230. According to Kondō Tomie, this kimono is the most expensive item used in the film. Kondō focuses on the haori removal scene as a moment for the audience to be dazzled by the unveiled kimono. She also notes that this kimono outranks the visiting kimonos worn by the other ­sisters in this scene. Kondō, Tsutaete okitai, 11–12. 57. In the novel, the obi are fukuro obi, but in the film they are identified as maru obi (­whole obi). Maru obi use the greatest amount of obi fabric and are considered the most expensive and highest-­ranked obi in kimono protocol. See Ikeda, Tsutsui, and Mimura, Shinsen kimono jiten,

256   Notes to Pages 86–93 119; Liza Crihfield Dalby, Kimono: Fashioning Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 186. 58. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 324. 59. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 368. 6 0. Itō Motoshige points out that rentals for long-­sleeved kimonos, worn by ­women for coming-­of-­age ceremonies, did not exist in 1970. Itō and Yajima, Kimono bunka, 61. 61. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 366. 62. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 366. 63. Some of the kimonos shown in the montage and following sequence as part of Yukiko’s trousseau can be found in “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” 148, 150, 154. Color photo­ graphs are in Ichikawa, Sasameyuki no kimono, 9–11, 33, 58, 64–65. 64. Geist points out that the film criticizes the Makiokas’ “obliviousness to the coming war.” Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 363. 65. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka ­Sisters,” 359–360, 368–369; Nornes, “Context and The Makioka ­Sisters,” 48–57; Richie, “Film Adaptations,” 166; Kondō, Tsutaete okitai, 8. 66. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 369. 67. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 369. 68. Yoshinaga Sayuri, “ ‘Sasameyuki’ no Yukiko,” in Sasameyuki no kimono, 118. 69. See the analy­sis in Nornes, “Context and The Makioka ­Sisters,” 56–57; Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 360; Kondō, Tsutaete okitai, 8. 70. Nornes, “Context and The Makioka S­ isters,” 55. 71. Nornes, “Context and The Makioka S­ isters,” 56. 72. Nornes, “Context and The Makioka S­ isters,” 55–57. 73. On the otokoshi profession t­oday, see Jan Bardsley, Maiko Masquerade: Crafting Geisha Girlhood in Japan (Oakland: University of California Press, 2021), 67. 74. Taeko’s yellow kimono is described as a “visiting kimono” made of “hitokoshi chirimen” (a type of silk crepe) with “yūzen” designs in “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” 150. For a color photo image, see Ichikawa, Sasameyuki no kimono, 30–31. Although this kimono (as well as the one worn by Yukiko) may not technically be furisode, the sleeves appear longer than ­t hose of the married ­sisters. 75. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 365–367, 368. 76. The position of the other seats is not as clearly defined in terms of rank, but generally speaking, Teinosuke and Taeko’s seats are less desirable b ­ ecause of their proximity to the entrance. H ­ ere, I do not consider the mise-­en-­scène and cinematic framing, but focus on generally perceived rules of seating. 77. The descriptions of the ­sisters’ kimonos in the script match what they wear to a memorial ser­v ice in the novel. See Ichikawa and Hidaka, “Sasameyuki,” 100; Tanizaki, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō zenshū, vol. 15: Sasameyuki, 624. On hitokoshi chirimen, see Hosoe Hikaru, “Chūkai,” in Sasameyuki gekan, by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (Shinchōsha, 2011), 453. The “colored mourning kimonos” (iromofuku) are described as “purple” (murasaki); in the film they appear closer to what we might call rose-­colored. “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” 152. For color photos, see Ichikawa, Sasameyuki no kimono, 46–47. 78. The number of crests is one of many ele­ments that determine a kimono’s rank. Five-­ crested kimonos are the highest, followed by t­ hose with three crests and then single crests. In addition, the type of crest, in terms of dyeing style, design, use of embroidery, ­etc., establishes the rank of the kimono. Th ­ ere are also high-­ranking kimonos without crests, adding to the com-

Notes to Pages 96–102   257 plexity of the ranking system. For more on crests, see Dalby, Kimono, 182–184. In both the script and the novel, the numbers of crests are not specified, but it is easy to assume from the context that they are all five-­crested kimonos (as represented on screen). Ichikawa and Hidaka, “Sasameyuki,” 100; Tanizaki, Sasameyuki, 624. 79. Geist, “Adapting The Makioka S­ isters,” 362. 80. I follow the terminology used to describe similar garments in “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” 153. 81. See, for example, Takizawa Shizue, Kimono no ori to some ga wakaru jiten (Nihon jitsugyō shuppansha, 2012), 3. It should be noted that the distinction between kimonos made of later-­dyed and prior-­dyed fabrics does not always correspond neatly with categories such as formal/informal and expensive/inexpensive. 82. Although ­t hese are not the only types of kimonos worn at home by the s­ isters, we often see them in scenes set inside the h ­ ouse, contrasted against formal outfits worn for special events; most of the kimonos worn by servants also appear to be of the prior-­dyed variety. 83. “Sasameyuki no kimono: Sakuhin risuto,” 153. For a color photo image of Tsuruko’s hippari, see Ichikawa, Sasameyuki no kimono, 52. 84. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 537–542. 85. Ichikawa and Mori, Kanpon, 537–538. On Discover Japan and Exotic Japan campaigns, see Marilyn Ivy, Discourses of the Vanis­hing: Modernity, Phantasm, Japan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 29–65. A book about Ichikawa notes that the Discover Japan campaign led to the beautiful repre­sen­ta­t ions of “traditional Japa­nese landscapes and culture” on color film seen in his works. Eiga Hihō Henshūbu, ed., Ichikawa Kon taizen (Yōsensha, 2008), n.p. [12].

4. Voices of Re­sis­tance 1. Sagi Tadao, Hyōden Tsuboi Sakae (Kanrin shobō, 2012), 7. 2. For Tsuboi’s biography, see Sagi Tadao, ed., “Tsuboi Sakae nenpu,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 12 (Bunsendō, 1999), 83–114; Sagi, Hyōden, 365–409. 3. Sagi, Hyōden, 7. For other references to this prevailing image of Tsuboi, see, for example, Togaeri Hajime, “Tsuboi Sakae,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 6 (Bunsendō, 1998), 521; Hirano Ken, Ara Masahito, Hirata Jisaburō, and Sugimori Hisahide, “Zadankai joryū sakka o kataru,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 3 (Bunsendō, 1997), 566. 4. Sagi, Hyōden, 7–8. 5. Togaeri, “Tsuboi Sakae,” 521. 6. Togaeri, “Tsuboi Sakae,” 522. 7. Tsuboi Sakae, “Waga shōsetsu: Uchikake,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 11 (Bunsendō, 1998), 293–294. 8. This concern with creditors is emphasized in “Flowers,” but not as much in “The History of a Chest of Drawers.” In both stories, the tansu was brought into the ­family as part of her m ­ other’s trousseau. 9. Tsuboi Sakae, “Hana,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 6, 140. 10. Tsuboi Sakae, “Tansu no rekishi,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 2 (Bunsendō, 1997), 325. Sagi calls this an “essay-­like” short story, noting that the details are close to Tsuboi’s a­ ctual life and repeated in vari­ous “stories and essays.” Sagi Tadao, “Kaidai,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 2, 520. 11. Sagi, Hyōden, 99.

258   Notes to Pages 102–106 12. Sagi, Hyōden, 104. See also Hirabayashi Taiko, Sabaku no hana dai ichibu (Kōbunsha, 1957), 212. 13. See Chapter 3, n. 81. 14. The vendors Tsuboi mentions are a “Ryukyu [Okinawa Prefecture] kimono seller” and a “Shinshū [Nagano Prefecture] dyer” from whom Sata Ineko also purchases kimonos. Tsuboi mentions “woven Ryukyuan fabrics” as one of her favorite types and says that she and Sata even have matching Ryukyuan cotton kimonos. Tsuboi Sakae, “Honno sasaina kazukazu no omoide,” in Geppo 8: Sata Ineko sakuhin shū 3 (Chikuma shobō, 1959), 2. 15. It should be noted that ­t here are many kinds of prior-­dyed, woven kimonos, and they ­were not necessarily inexpensive, even in the 1950s. 16. “Machi no jinbutsu hyōron: Odaka Tomoo, Tsuboi Sakae, Shigemitsu Mamoru,” Chūō kōron 67, no. 5 (May 1952): 35. Also quoted in “Dōjidaihyō kara,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 4 (Bunsendō, 1998), 538. The unnamed author of this 1952 essay describes Hayashi Fumiko as “rayon,” Miyamoto Yuriko as “pure wool,” and Nogami Yaeko (1885–1985) as “pure silk.” The author also says that Hirabayashi Taiko used to be the same as Tsuboi Sakae (“rough, handwoven cotton”), but that “her recent works are close to meisen with a bit of rayon mixed in” (35). 17. Tsuboi Sakae, “Hitotsumi no kimono,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 3, 51. 18. According to Tsuboi, the story was published ­earlier by Manshū mainichi shinbunsha “around 1942 or 1943.” However, this is unverified as scholars have not been able to locate this item. Tsuboi Sakae, “Tsuboi Sakae” in “Shūkan shinchō keijiban,” Shūkan shinchō 3, no. 26 (June 30, 1958): 48. Discussed in Sagi, “Kaidai,” 527; Sagi, Hyōden, 215. 19. Kasuri, created by weaving resist-­dyed yarn, is usually translated as “ikat,” although ­t here are also other ways of making fabrics with kasuri designs. ­There are many types of kasuri patterns, and kongasuri worn by men often had small all-­over patterns, such as the jūjigasuri (cross-­marked kasuri) seen in Figure 4.1. On kasuri and kongasuri, see Ikeda Yoshimasa, Tsutsui Tomio, and Mimura Minako, eds., Shinsen kimono jiten (Senken shinbunsha, 2012), 209, and Okabe Takao, ed., Kimono yōgo jiten (Fujin gahōsha, 1999), 98, respectively. Matching konga­ suri kimono and haori ­were standard for many male students during the early twentieth ­century; in Figure 4.1 the student is wearing a collarless shirt under­neath, following trends of the time. For the entire image and discussion of it, see Daimaru Hiroshi and Takahashi Haruko, Shinbun rensai shōsetsu no sashie de miru kindai Nihon no shinsō bunka (Sangensha, 2019), 353. In the 1940s, with the dearth of fabrics, a kongasuri kimono and haori would have been a special outfit for a student like Tarō. 20. Tsuboi Sakae, “Kasuri no kimono,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 2, 476. Subsequent quotes from the work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 21. Iwabuchi Hiroko, “Senjika no bosei gensō: Sōryokusen taisei no kaname,” in Onnatachi no sensō sekinin, edited by Okano Yukie, Kitada Sachie, Hasegawa Kei, and Watanabe Sumiko (Tokyodō, 2004), 195–198; Wakakuwa Midori, Sensō ga tsukuru joseizō: Dai niji sekai taisenka no Nihon josei dōin no shikakuteki puropaganda (Chikuma shobō, 1997). See also Michiko Suzuki, Becoming Modern ­Women: Love and Female Identity in Prewar Japa­nese Lit­e r­a­ture and Culture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010), 107–145; Sharalyn Orbaugh, Propaganda Performed: Kamishibai in Japan’s Fifteen Year War (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 272–325. 22. Kobayashi Hiroko, Josei sakka hyōden shiriizu, vol. 12: Tsuboi Sakae (Shintensha, 2012), 109. She points out, however, that Tsuboi did write a 1942 reportage upon visiting such a m ­ other, expressing admiration (112–113). This essay, titled “Nihon no haha (1)” (­Mothers of Japan [1]),

Notes to Pages 106–113   259 was published in Yomiuri hōchi shinbun as part of a campaign to praise ­mothers who served the nation; fifty authors ­were commissioned to interview and write about such ­mothers. A dif­ fer­ent essay by Tsuboi, titled “Nihon no haha (2)” (­Mothers of Japan [2]), Kobayashi argues, is more critical about ideas of sacrifice for the war (113–114). For more on the campaign and Tsu­ boi’s essays, see Iwabuchi, “Senjika,” 198–201; Sagi, Hyōden, 248–249. 23. Sagi, Hyōden, 215. 24. Sagi, Hyōden, 242–243. 25. Indigo-­dyeing artist and scholar Rowland Ricketts notes that this term is used ­today in reference to indigo-­dyed textiles to convey a positive sense of the color becoming enriched through maturity. Personal email communication, July 31, 2018. 26. Ricketts, personal email communication, July 31, 2018. 27. I am greatly indebted to Rowland Ricketts for sharing with me his expertise about indigo-­dyed fabrics. I have relied on his knowledge in this section. Ricketts notes that textiles “dyed with synthetic indigo,” or in a “ ‘mixed’ vat” with sukumo and synthetic indigo, would bleed out a blue color when washed (as in this story). Ricketts, personal email communication, July 13, 2021. Synthetic indigo was already available from the late Meiji period. Britannica kokusai daihyakka jiten (2004). If the fabric used synthetic indigo, the dye would not include impurities, so the brightening effect would have come from the whitening of the kasuri patterns. Ricketts, personal email communication, July 31, 2018. 28. See, for example, Daimaru Hiroshi, “Senjika no joseitachi,” in “Sankō nōto,” Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu “Kindai Nihon no Shinsō Bunka,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​/­contents​.­html​?­id​=­547, also in Daimaru Hiroshi and Takahashi Haruko, Nihonjin no sugata to kurashi: Meiji, Taishō, Shōwa zenki no shinsō (Sangensha, 2016), 422. 29. While matrilineal connections cannot be considered essentially subversive or directly ­counter to the patriarchal family-­state system, it is worth noting that this kimono is circulated among t­ hose of Fuyuko’s natal ­family line. At the very least, the kimono is presented as part of her own identity and personal story that bypasses patrilineal emphasis. 30. Elaine Freedgood, The Ideas in ­Things: Fugitive Meaning in the Victorian Novel (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 12. 31. On Tsuboi’s war­time works, see Sagi, Hyōden, 200–261; see especially the charts on 242– 244, 246–247, 254–255. For an example of a “complicit” ­children’s story in which monpe is featured, see “Obaasan no tanjōbi” (Grand­mother’s birthday, 1944). This story is about a w ­ oman who is opposed to her grand­daughters wearing monpe and working outside the home; she becomes “enlightened” at the end and accepts their work in the volunteer corps. The text can be read as an example of imperial feminism, in which feminist ends (female contribution to society; validation of female ­labor) are achieved through an endorsement of the imperial proj­ect. Tsuboi Sakae, “Obaasan no tanjōbi” in Korekushon sensō to bungaku, vol. 14: Joseitachi no sensō, edited by Asada Jirō et al. (Shūeisha, 2012), 313–325. Even ­here, however, ­there are some ele­ments that can be read as being critical of war­t ime society. Sagi, Hyōden, 231. 32. Sagi, Hyōden, 242. 33. Tsuboi Sakae, “Ichijiku,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 1 (Bunsendō, 1997), 351. Subsequent quotes from the work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 34. See “shitsuke,” in Ikeda, Tsutsui, and Mimura, Shinsen kimono jiten, 304. 35. ­There are dif­fer­ent kinds of hakama. In Chapter 1, they ­were translated as “overpants,” but h ­ ere this is an “overskirt.”

260   Notes to Pages 115–116 36. In describing Meiji-­period clothing culture, Ema Tsutomu, a historian of customs, notes that “komon chirimen” was “second-­tier formal wear” for ­women from the late 1880s. Ema Tsutomu, “Nihon fūzoku bunkashi,” in Ema Tsutomu chosakushū, vol. 1 (Chūōkōronsha, 1975), 254. And in a 1933 “Kyoto-­dyed komon chirimen” prize giveaway sponsored by the popu­lar magazine Shufu no tomo (House­w ife’s friend), this fabric is described as suitable as “visiting wear or lower-­ranked formal wear [chotto shita reifuku].” Shufu no tomo 17, no. 12 (December 1933): 56. 37. Daimaru Hiroshi, “Kimono no eri,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­note​ /­contents​.­html​?­id​= ­433; Daimaru Hiroshi, “Kasane,” in “Sankō nōto,” http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​ .­ac​.­jp​/­note​/c­ ontents​.­html​?­id​= ­434. Th ­ ese are also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 278–279, 280–281. See also Masuda Yoshiko, ed., Nihon ifukushi (Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 2010), 237–238. 38. Nihon hōgen daijiten notes kosode as meaning “haregi” (finest kimono), example from Mie Prefecture (1957–1959); “silk kimono,” examples from Nagano (1961) and Mie (1935) Prefectures, https://­japanknowledge​.­com​/­lib​/­display​/­​?­lid​=2­ 0100LD00614890. 39. Daimaru, “Kasane,” also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 281; Shōwa Joshi Daigaku Hifukugaku Kenkyūshitsu, ed., Kindai Nihon fukusōshi (Kindai Bunka Kenkyūjo, 1971), 201–202, 299, 356–357. The latter cites a 1918 newspaper article in which the writer encourages w ­ omen not to be “embarrassed” about abandoning padded kimonos during the winter (356). See also excerpts from a 1938 essay titled “Sanmai gasane” (Three-­layered kimonos) by Tamura Toshiko (1884–1945), in which she details the bygone practice of layering kimonos (Daimaru, “Kasane”; Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 280–281). 40. Based on her analy­sis of Yomiuri shinbun and Asahi shinbun from the 1870s to 1980, Mori Rie notes that as late as the 1920s kosode was used to signify “nagagi” (long garment), that is, the kimono. She does not provide details of usage, such as ­whether or not this could indicate the kimono’s value or the presence of padding. Mori Rie, “Kingendai ni okeru ‘kimono’ no hyōkihō to sono imi no hensen: 1874 nen–1980 nen no shinbun kiji o chūshin ni,” Nihon Kasei Gakkai shi 66, no. 5 (2015): 209. 41. For photographic examples that show early twentieth-­century komon chirimen as part of the latest trends, see Shufu no tomo 17, no. 12: 56; Mitsukoshi 8, no. 6 (June 1918): 43; “Aki fuyu muki no shingara komon chirimen,” Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu, http://­shinsou​.­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­contents​/­​?­original​_­id​=X ­ 01​​- ­085. 42. In the early twentieth c­ entury, the practice of sewing something precious into the lining of a garment or obi was likely not unusual. Hiding a romantic item was a way for ­women to secretly express themselves. Hanayagi Shōtarō (1894–1965), a renowned actor also known as a kimono connoisseur, rec­ords a story he heard from the famous beauty and poet Yanagihara Akiko (Byakuren, 1885–1967). Yanagihara’s friend, g­ oing through her dead m ­ other’s garments, discovered a love letter sewn inside a beautiful obi. The letter was from a man her m ­ other had loved before her marriage, and in it he lamented their inability to wed. He congratulated her on her upcoming arranged marriage, and also revealed that a marriage had been arranged for him by his ­father as well. This was found in an obi with all-­over designs of vari­ous ­family crests, and one crest was particularly featured with a bright blue color. The friend surmised that this was the man’s f­amily crest, and it was her m ­ other’s way of keeping the memory of their love alive. Hanayagi Shōtarō, Kimono kanzashi (Kyoto: Wakei shoten, 1949), 108–113. An example from fiction that comes to mind is Shinju fujin (Madame Pearl, 1920), the bestselling work by popu­lar writer Kikuchi Kan (1888–1948). The protagonist keeps her true love’s photo­graph sewn into her underkimono so she can wear it next to her skin. The item is discovered ­after her murder.

Notes to Pages 117–129   261 Kikuchi Kan, Shinju fujin Chūkai kōsetsu: Honbun hen, edited by Kikuchi Kan Kenkyūkai (Kanrin shobō, 2003). On this work, see Michiko Suzuki, “Shinju fujin, Newspapers and Celebrity in Taishō Japan,” Japan Review 24 (2012): 105–125. 43. On the ie system, see Chapter 2, n. 27. 4 4. When Hagino is reprimanded by Sato for wasting starch, the narrator explains that Hagino is not upset about being told to be thrifty, an impor­tant value that she accepts. Rather, she objects to Sato’s irrational insinuation that she was also secretly stealing figs (346). 45. Sagi, Hyōden, 242. 46. Kobayashi, Tsuboi Sakae, 156. 47. Kobayashi, Tsuboi Sakae, 156–157, 267. 48. In a 1961 Asahi shinbun article, Tsuboi explains that The Wedding Kimono entailed historical research, which is not how she usually writes fiction. This self-­deprecating essay explains that she unwittingly incorporated a few personal ele­ments in the story, but also subtly expresses irritation at being pigeonholed as a writer who only borrows from personal experiences. Tsuboi, “Waga shōsetsu: Uchikake,” 293–294. 49. Although not explained in the text, “Kobanya” presumably reflects the ­family’s wealth (koban refers to gold coins used in the early modern period—so the name literally means “gold-­ coin ­house/family”). Tsuboi Sakae, Uchikake, in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 7 (Bunsendō, 1998), 179. Subsequent quotes from the work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 50. Soroberi, as it is explained in the text, is a term describing “old kimonos,” suggesting that even if one touched the garment “lightly” (sorotto), it would “tear” (beritto) easily (280). 51. See Togaeri Hajime, “Kaisetsu,” in Nihon bungaku zenshū, vol. 40: Tsuboi Sakae shū, edited by Togaeri Hajime (Shinchōsha, 1969), 490; Shibaki Yoshiko, “Tsuboi Sakae san no bungaku,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 7, 508. 52. See Kobayashi, Tsuboi Sakae, 253–258; Kubokawa Tsurujirō, “Kaisetsu,” in Uchikake, by Tsuboi Sakae (Kadokawa shoten, 1958), 153–158. 53. Kanai Keiko, “Utau koe kataru koe: Uchikake dansō,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 7, 502. 54. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 360. 55. Tsuboi Sakae, “Kon no sebiro,” in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 3, 455. 56. For stories of w ­ omen selling wardrobes and/or becoming used clothing brokers, see, for example, Tsuboi Sakae, “Magaki fujin” (Mrs. Magaki, 1946) and “Aoi kisetsu” (The age of youth, 1948), in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 3, 129–135, 492–516; “Yome” (Daughter-­in-­law, 1949) and “Kantsubaki” (Winter camellia, 1951), in Tsuboi Sakae zenshū, vol. 4, 69–88, 436–438. 57. Tsuboi, “Kantsubaki,” 438. 58. The period of Jinmu keiki is defined differently in vari­ous contexts. I follow dates provided in Britannica kokusai daihyakka jiten (2004) and Dejitaru Daijisen. 59. At this point Suzu and other f­amily members have high hopes of Suzu having a “seraigo” (183), a child who is conceived ­a fter an adoption takes place, and her plea clearly has sexual overtones, asking to be bedded as a “bride.” 60. In the original Japa­nese, the word “kosode” is used in the song to mean “uchikake,” prob­ ably ­because another name for this object is “uchikake kosode.” See also a discussion of this object in the text (233). 61. The similarity between Tatsu and Tatsujirō’s names is due to the fact that both w ­ ere born in the same year of the dragon (tatsu). 62. Kobayashi Hiroko uses ­t hese terms to suggest that the work shows both sides of the ­family for all the Kobanya ­women. Kobayashi, Tsuboi Sakae, 253.

262   Notes to Pages 129–139 63. Regarding similar views about the male characters, see, for example, Takeuchi Emiko, “Josei sakka ga kaku 11: Tsuboi Sakae cho Uchikake,” Nihon kosho tsūshin 984 (July 2011): 30; Takeuchi Kiyomi, “Uchikake: Onna godai no monogatari ga shōsha surumono,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kanshō 62, no. 10 (October 1997): 56–57. 6 4. Kobayashi, Tsuboi Sakae, 257–258. 65. On the Sun Tribe, Ishihara’s work, and 1950s youth culture, see Ann Sherif, Japan’s Cold War: Media, Lit­er­a­ture and the Law (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 173–202. 66. Kobayashi, Tsuboi Sakae, 254–257, 259. 67. Kanai, “Utau koe,” 502. 68. For the original concept of “contagious magic,” a subset of “sympathetic magic,” see James George Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study of Magic and Religion (Oxford, MS: Proj­ect Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, 2003), http://­w ww​.­g utenberg​.­org​/­fi les​/­3623​/­3623​-­h​ /­3623​-­h​.­htm. 69. Sasaki Aiko recalls that new kimono fabric did not circulate on the market u ­ ntil 1950 or 1951, and such luxuries ­were out of reach for most ­people. Sasaki Aiko, Kimono gurashi onna no koyomi (Kyoto: Tankōsha, 1986), 116. Even if Sayaka had the means to purchase new kimonos, one senses that as a typical student she would not be drawn to such traditional clothing. With regard to wedding garments, w ­ omen mainly wore kimono outfits during the mid-1950s, but they ­were usually rented. A 1956 newspaper article reports that 90 ­percent of weddings ­were conducted with rented clothing, and only 10 ­percent of ­t hose rentals ­were Western-­style garments. Commenting on this, Masuda Yoshiko adds that Western-­style bridal dresses only became popu­lar a­ fter the 1959 royal wedding of Prince Akihito (current emperor emeritus) and Shōda Michiko (current empress emerita). Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 380–381.

5. Deciphering the Geisha World 1. On Kōda Aya’s biography, see Kanai Keiko, “Nenpu,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 23 (Iwanami shoten, 1997), 487–540. See also Ann Sherif, Mirror: The Fiction and Essays of Kōda Aya (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999), 3–28; Alan M. Tansman, The Writings of Kōda Aya, a Japa­nese Literary ­Daughter (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993), 16–42. 2. Kōda Aya, “Watashi wa fude o tatsu,” in Kōda Aya zenshū geppō 4, reprinted in Kōda Aya zenshū bekkan furoku (1994 nen ban geppō) (Iwanami shoten, 2003), 32. 3. Kanai, “Nenpu,” 506–507. 4. See, for example, Fujimoto Hisahiko, Kōda Aya “watashi” dearu koto e: “Omoideya” kara sakka e no kiseki o tadoru (Kanrin shobō, 2007), 63–88. Alan Tansman suggests that “Flowing marks the climax of Aya’s ­career”; Tansman, Writings, 102. On Flowing in En­glish, see Sherif, Mirror, 73–104; Tansman, Writings, 102–135. 5. Kōda Aya, Nagareru, in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 5 (Iwanami shoten, 1995), 5. Subsequent quotes from the work ­w ill be noted in the text in parentheses. 6. See also Liza Crihfield Dalby, Kimono: Fashioning Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 325. 7. For more on this law, prostitution, and Flowing, see Kobayashi Hiroko, “Shintai no omomi to ugoku shintai: Nagareru ni tsuite,” in Kōda Aya no sekai, edited by Kanai Keiko, Kobayashi Hiroko, Satō Ken’ichi, and Fujimoto Hisahiko (Kanrin shobō, 1998), 287–288. 8. Tansman, Writings, 104. 9. Tansman, Writings, 123. 10. On the complex portrayal of the “floating world,” see Sherif, Mirror, 73–104.

Notes to Pages 139–149   263 11. Fujimoto, Kōda Aya, 69. 12. The voices of Rika and the narrator are very closely fused, although they also diverge in parts. Although I w ­ ill not expand on it h ­ ere, many scholars have commented on the perceived connections between narrator-­R ika-­author (Kōda Aya), Rika-­author, or narrator-­author. See Kobayashi, “Shintai no omomi,” 272–275; Nakayama Akihiko, “Barroku teki sekai no kyoshū: Nagareru to Kuzure,” in Kōda Aya no sekai, 344–351; Tansman, Writings, 108. 13. See Kobayashi, “Shintai no omomi,” 276; Sherif, Mirror, 91–93. 14. Tansman, Writings, 125. 15. For images and explanation of dif­fer­ent types of wooden sandals, see, for example, Maruya, “Geta no mekiki,” https://­w ww​.­getaya​.­org​/­getamekiki​.­html. 16. Nagasaki Iwao and Yumioka Katsumi, eds., Meiji Taishō Shōwa ni miru Kimono monyō zukan (Heibonsha, 2006), 84. 17. Hayasaka glosses “nagare” and “nagashi” as pictorial designs showing such t­ hings as flowers and plants on flowing w ­ ater. The mistress’ kimono combines the flowing w ­ ater with the blossoms in the design in some fashion, while the front of the obi appears to use the flowing w ­ ater pattern on its own. It is thus likely that the word nagare is used h ­ ere in a general sense, as flowing ­water, often referred to as “ryūsui.” See Hayasaka Yūko, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten (Shikaku dezain kenkyūjo, 2001), 31, 141–143. 18. See “ryūsui” in Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 141. 19. See “Zadankai Geisha to jochū to tsuma no ikikata: Nagareru no eigaka o megutte,” Fujin kōron 41, no. 12 (December, 1956): 197. Kōda associates “before the bridge” as a moment in which one stops to look around before crossing over to the other side. 20. Assuming from context that the novel is set in Yanagibashi, the rivers associated with the area are the Kanda and Sumida Rivers. See the map in Satō Ken’ichi, “Bungaku sanpo: Yanagibashi,” in Kōda Aya no sekai, 172–173. 21. On this boom, see, for example, United States-­Japan Conference on Cultural and Educational Interchange (CULCON), “Tokuju (Special Order) Boom and Female Workers,” in Cross Currents, http://­w ww​.­crosscurrents​.­hawaii​.­edu ​/­content​.­a spx​?­lang​= e­ ng&site​= ­japan&theme​ =­work&subtheme​=­­WOMEN&unit​=J­ WORK003. Another term for this postwar thread-­related boom is “Gachaman keiki” (Gachaman economic boom), so named for the sound a loom makes during the weaving pro­cess (gacha) and ten thousand (man) yen, the amount of money that one such sound of the loom would produce. See Bakumatsu Meiji Taishō Shōwa Fukusō de tsuzuru Nihon no fūzokushi (Chūō bunka shuppan, 1987), 237; Matsubara Yoshimasa, Imayō kimono kōza (Senken shinbunsha, 2010), 95. 22. For a short history of the textile industry in the Hokuriku region, including Fukui Prefecture, see Nippon Ginkō Kanazawa Shiten, “Chōsen suru Hokuriku no sen’i kigyō,” Hokuriku no sakura repōto: Bank of Japan Kanazawa Branch Reports and Research Papers (April 8, 2019): 4–6, http://­w ww3​.­boj​.­or​.­jp​/­k anazawa​/­kouhyou​/­report​/­report20190408​.­pdf. “Gachaman keiki” is mentioned on p. 5. 23. Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 86; Nagasaki and Yumioka, Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 62. 24. ­There are dif­fer­ent possibilities for the kind of red that “araishu” signifies. According to one color dictionary, it can mean “deep red”; Yoshioka Sachio, Nihon no iro jiten (Kyoto: Shikōsha, 2005), 23. However, the term is more commonly used for a muted yellow-­red, closer to an orange color. The latter seems to fit better with the satirical discussion of the sunset pine, as well as the original image presented by the kimono dealer, who suggests adding “a few stitches

264   Notes to Pages 151–157 with gold or colored thread” (141). The ­actual thread that has been added is only described as “red,” and ­t here is not much detail about how the final product actually appears. 25. Nagasaki and Yumioka, Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 34. 26. The white visiting kimono boom was sparked by the one worn by Shōda Michiko, the current empress emerita, as the fiancée of Prince Akihito, the current emperor emeritus. See Chapter 1, n. 95. B ­ ecause only the designs on the lower part are described for Nanako’s kimono, I assume it is not a visiting kimono but a crested formal kimono, the same type as Someka’s New Year’s kimono. Visiting kimonos also have pictorial designs on the upper part of the body and sleeves. 27. Kobayashi, “Shintai no omomi,” 288–291; Tansman, Writings, 134–135. 28. Kobayashi, “Shintai no omomi,” 289–290. 29. See Nakayama, “Barroku teki,” 344–351. Focusing on the notion of per­for­mance, Alan Tansman suggests that Rika and Kōda “merge again into a single identity” at the end of the novel. Tansman, Writings, 135. 30. This sequence is discussed in Kobayashi, “Shintai no omomi,” 276; Sherif, Mirror, 93– 94; Tansman, Writings, 109–110. 31. Sherif, Mirror, 94. 32. Dokko, also tokko, an abstract line pattern based on the vaj­ra (Buddhist ritual object), is often depicted on types of Hakata obi (obi woven in the area of Hakata, Fukuoka Prefecture). 33. “Zadankai Geisha to jochū to tsuma,” 190–191. 34. “Zadankai Geisha to jochū to tsuma,” 190. 35. Catherine Russell, The Cinema of Naruse Mikio: W ­ omen and Japa­nese Modernity (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008), 295. 36. Kanai, “Nenpu,” 510–511. The film ranked eighth in the Kinema junpō (Cinema news) best domestic film list for the year. Kinema-­Junposha, “Kinema junpō besuto ten: 1956 nen dai 30 kai,” http://­w ww​.k­ inenote​.­com​/­main​/­award​/k­ inejun​/­y1956​.­aspx. 37. In 1957, Flowing was also performed as a play in Tokyo’s Shinbashi Enbujō theater. Kanai, “Nenpu,” 510. 38. See the announcement for the lectures and film screening on July 10, 1958, in Tokyo’s Yomiuri Hall, in the ads for Kōda Aya zenshū in Chūō kōron and Fujin kōron. “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Chūō kōron 73, no. 7 (July 1958): unpaginated advertisement; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 7 (July 1958): unpaginated advertisement; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 8 (August 1958): unpaginated advertisement. See also Fujimoto Hisahiko, “Kōda gōshi ittan o hyakumeisama ni zōtei: Chūōkōronsha ban zenshū to Kōda gōshi,” in Kōda Aya no sekai, 91–92; Kanai, “Nenpu,” 513–514. Photo­graphs from the event and a summary of a speaker’s talk are printed in the advertisements for the collected works in “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Chūō kōron 73, no. 9 (September 1958): unpaginated advertisement; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 9 (September 1958): unpaginated advertisement. I discuss ­t hese collected volumes with Kōda check covers in the next chapter. 39. Abe Kashō, Naruse Mikio: Eiga no joseisei (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2005), 236. 4 0. See Satō Tadao, “Nagareru,” pamphlet included with Nagareru, directed by Naruse Mikio (1956; Japan: Tōhō), DVD; Kawamoto Saburō, Naruse Mikio: Eiga no omokage (Shinchōsha, 2014), 34–35; Suzanne Sheaman [Susanne Schermann], Naruse Mikio: Nichijō no kirameki (Kinema junpōsha, 1997), 246. 41. “Nagareru,” Eiga hyōron 13, no. 11 (November 1956): unpaginated advertisement.

Notes to Pages 157–161   265 42. Kawamoto Saburō comments that the film omits places and activities associated with geisha and describes its obsession with money, a topic of par­t ic­u ­lar interest for Naruse. Kawamoto, Naruse Mikio, 30–34, 43–49. Susanne Schermann also points out that “glamorous parties” are not shown in this film. Sheaman [Schermann], Naruse Mikio, 247. 43. Tanaka Sumie, “Nagareru,” in “Nagareru,” Kinema junpō 157 (October 1956): 145. 4 4. For differences between the novel and film, including the focus on Tsutayakko instead of Rika, see “Zadankai Geisha to jochū to tsuma,” 188; Seki Reiko, Josei hyōshō no kindai: Bungaku kioku shikakuzō (Kanrin shobō, 2011), 383–405; Fujimoto, Kōda Aya, 71–73; Abe, Naruse Mikio, 237. 45. In her discussion of the now rarely seen physical movements conducted in a kimono, Kondō Tomie mentions “eritsuki,” the act of lightly pushing on the front of the kimono collar with one hand while lengthening one’s neck forward. She explains that one can see Ohama ­doing this in Flowing. Depending on the context, this could be interpreted as e­ ither an “affected” or “humorous” gesture. She also discusses other movements involving sleeves and fans, as well as the act of striking the front of one’s obi once with one hand, like a drum, ­after tying it. Kondō Tomie, Kimono meijin (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2012), 156–158. A dif­fer­ent version of the obi strike can be seen in Ichikawa’s Makioka ­Sisters; Sachiko strikes the back of the obi once a­ fter she finishes putting it on Tsuruko. 46. The term iki has been discussed in diverse ways depending on the context. H ­ ere I associate iki with a geisha sensibility in choices of kimonos and ways of wearing them. See, for example, Dalby, Kimono, 325. Stripes are not always associated with iki or with professionals, but the overall effect ­here illuminates this ­woman’s identity. For other ways of understanding the meaning of iki in relation to kimono, see Terry Satsuki Milhaupt, Kimono: A Modern History (London: Reaktion Books, 2014), 126–130; Sheila Cliffe, The Social Life of Kimono: Japa­nese Fashion Past and Pre­sent (London: Bloomsbury, 2017), 35; Kondō Tomie, Tsutaete okitai furuki yoki kimono no tashinami: Nihon eiga ni manabu (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2018), 159–164. 47. Kataoka Yoshio, Eiga no naka no Shōwa 30 nendai: Naruse Mikio ga egaita ano jidai to seikatsu (Sōshisha, 2007), 235; Kondō, Tsutaete okitai, 159. Iwata appears in a photo taken during the costume se­lection for Flowing, along with Naruse, Kurishima, and Okada. See “Nagareru,” Kinema junpō 157 (October 1956): 159. 48. Tanaka Masumi, Abe Kashō, Kimata Kimihiko, and Tanno Tatsuya, eds., Eiga dokuhon Naruse Mikio: Sukitōru merodorama no hakō yo (Firumu aatosha, 1995), 62–64. 49. Kondō, Tsutaete okitai, 159–164. Kondō seems to attribute costume choices to Iwata, but I believe Naruse was heavi­ly involved in making such decisions. 50. With regard to the flowing ­water pattern, Someka also wears a yukata with this design, but in the form of “ryūsui momiji” (maple leaves in flowing ­water), a pattern that references Ta­ tsutagawa (Tatsuta River), famous for the changing colors of maple trees in the autumn. On this classic pictorial design, see Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 85; Nagasaki and Yumioka, Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 70–71. Someka is similar to Tsutayakko in the sense that she is also mired in debt, a man deserts her, and she has to face difficulties by herself; ­these parallels are subtly presented in the scene when she appears drunk in this yukata and has a fight with Tsuta­ yakko. Unlike in the novel, she returns to apologize at the end and resumes work at Tsutanoya. 51. According to Kondō Tomie, Tsutayakko’s striped garments with thick vertical or wavy lines are too modern; to be more au­t hen­tic, the stripes should be very narrow. Kondō, Tsutaete okitai, 160. However, popu­lar understanding of iki and the geisha aesthetic ­were prob­ably not

266   Notes to Pages 161–174 so specific even in 1956, and it is likely that the general audience would have read ­t hese striped kimonos as iki in contrast to the clothing of nonprofessional characters like Rika and Katsuyo. 52. Nagareru, directed by Naruse Mikio (1956; Japan: Tōhō), DVD. All subsequent quotes from the film are from this source. When quoting, I use the lines directly from the film, but have also consulted the published screenplay: “Nagareru,” Kinema junpō 157: 143–163. As is common, ­t here are discrepancies between the film and the published screenplay. 53. See Kataoka, Eiga no naka, 235–236. 54. Yatsuhashi, located in present-­day Aichi Prefecture, was famous for its many bridges and irises. It is also the place at which Ariwara no Narihira was said to have read a poem that embeds the word “kakitsubata” (iris) within it. On “kakitsubata” and “yatsuhashi,” see Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 69; Nagasaki and Yumioka, Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 48. 55. In the screenplay, turning down a request from the kenban to appear at a party is more directly stated. “Nagareru,” Kinema junpō 157: 144. 56. “Nagareru,” Kinema junpō 157: 162. 57. Rika and Katsuyo wear Western clothing. 58. Russell, Cinema of Naruse Mikio, 301. See also her discussion of the way space and characters are filmed (300–301). 59. Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 186–214. 60. “Nagareru,” Kinema junpō 157: 163. 61. Gordon, Fabricating Consumers, 196, 213. 62. Russell, Cinema of Naruse Mikio, 303.

6. Kimono Lessons This chapter is a significantly revised and expanded version of “Reading and Writing Material: Kōda Aya’s Kimono and Its Afterlife,” originally published in Journal of Asian Studies 76, no. 2 (May 2017): 333–361. 1. Tsujii Takashi, “Kaisetsu,” in Kimono, by Kōda Aya (Shinchōsha, 1996), 366; also in Kimono, by Kōda Aya (Shinchōsha, 2019), 436. 2. Ann Sherif, Mirror: The Fiction and Essays of Kōda Aya (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999), 140. For her discussion on Kimono, see 131–155. 3. Ann Sherif suggests that “through garments she [Rutsuko] is able to gauge the quality of ­people around her and understand the workings of social and economic class.” Sherif, Mirror, 145. As I note in Chapter 1, it is impor­tant to acknowledge that kimono language/literacy was (and is) heterogeneous due to class, gender, regional, and historical differences. This novel does not suggest that ­t here was only one way to understand kimonos in early twentieth-­century Japan, but pre­sents desirable ways of reading and writing kimonos especially as perceived by Rutsuko’s grand­mother, who is a member of a middle-­class ­family in Tokyo. 4. See Kanai Keiko, “Nenpu,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 23, by Kōda Aya (Iwanami shoten, 1997), 520; Fujimoto Hisahiko, “Chosaku nenpyō,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 23, 547. The bunkobon (paperback) Shinchō bunko edition was first published in 1996 by Shinchōsha; the revised paperback edition was published in 2014 in larger print. See the last unpaginated publication information pages in the Shinchō bunko editions: Kōda Aya, Kimono (Shinchōsha 1996) and Kimono (Shinchōsha, 2019). The 1994–1997 collected volumes w ­ ere reprinted again in 2001–2003,

Notes to Pages 174–178   267 and a new additional volume (bekkan) was published in 2003. Personal email communication with Iwanami shoten, sales division, January 31, 2017. 5. Kōda Aya, Atomiyosowaka, in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 1 (Iwanami shoten, 1994), 112–168. 6. Ann Sherif insightfully explores Kōda’s “textual humility” in such autobiographical essays as a “discursive strategy for self-­presentation” that fulfills numerous functions. Sherif, Mirror, 55. See 29–72 for her discussion; especially 36–42 on essays about ­house­work. Alan Tansman also notes Kōda’s use of “the rhe­toric of personal inadequacy” as part of her “literary persona.” Alan M. Tansman, The Writings of Kōda Aya, a Japa­nese Literary ­Daughter (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993), 4. For his discussion on her autobiographical writing, see 16–56. 7. Kōda Aya, “Kimono,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 1, 195, 198–199; see also “Hanayukata,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 19 (Iwanami shoten, 1996), 319–320. The essay “Kimono” also underscores the fact that day-­to-­day management of kimonos was a w ­ oman’s h ­ ouse­hold responsibility. Kōda recounts a time when her ­father had to go out in a formal kimono and hakama. The kimono was sewn to an incorrect length, and Kōda’s stepmother had to make quick adjustments with her needle just before he left the ­house. As a result, the rough stitches remained vis­i­ble over the waist of the hakama, making Rohan look ridicu­lous for an impor­tant occasion (192– 193). Even Rohan, with his ­house­cleaning abilities and knowledge of kimonos, has no control over the situation—he has to rely on ­others to manage how he appears in the world. 8. Kōda Aya, “Tsutsumu, kukuru, musubu,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 20 (Iwanami shoten, 1996), 47–51. 9. Writing about her own upbringing, Kōda describes being educated by her paternal grand­mother in addition to her ­father. See Misokkasu, in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 2 (Iwanami shoten, 1995), 3–172. For example, her grand­mother teaches her what is impor­tant in sewing kimonos (31–33). Kimono is not considered an I-­novel, although it is thought to include some autobiographical ele­ments. 10. Keiichirō Nakagawa and Henry Rosovsky, “The Case of the D ­ ying Kimono: The Influence of Changing Fashions on the Development of the Japa­nese Woolen Industry,” Business History Review 37, no. 1/2 (1963): 80. 11. Kōda Aya, Kimono, in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 17 (Iwanami shoten, 1996), 4. Subsequent quotes ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 12. Ann Sherif discusses how Rutsuko celebrates pleasant sensations of fabrics as a part of her self-­discovery pro­cess. Sherif, Mirror, 140–141. 13. At the end of the work, Rutsuko wears a white habutae wedding kimono, which appears as a normative use for this fabric. In Chapter 3, I discuss formal crested black-­colored habutae kimonos worn by w ­ omen in The Makioka S­ isters (the novel as well as Ichikawa’s film). Norms for habutae use w ­ ere clearly dif­fer­ent depending on period, situation, and region. 14. Readers in the 1960s would likely have understood that Rutsuko’s tastes are rather sophisticated for a child, but they may not have known about gendered norms regarding habutae in early twentieth-­century Tokyo. They also may not have been able to visualize this par­t ic­u ­lar check (“dōji gōshi”; the child check, 52), which is mentioned only by name. Th ­ ere are dif­fer­ent types of checks with this name, but in this case it is likely that this large checkered pattern is made up of horizontal and vertical stripes of varying widths on a monochrome background. For an example of dōji gōshi, also called komochi gōshi (parent-­and-­child check), see Hayasaka

268   Notes to Pages 178–185 Yūko, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten (Shikaku dezain kenkyūjo, 2001), 28. The design may be a reminder that Rutsuko, despite her chic taste, is indeed still a child protected by her parents, reflected in this check pattern in which smaller lines appear alongside thicker ones. Although slightly dif­fer­ent from the example ­here, Aoki Nao describes the “Kōda check” used for the Collected Works of Kōda Aya as a type of komochi gōshi. Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono (Kōdansha, 2011), 51. 15. Atkins explains meisen as being woven from “warp-­printed silk thread made from lower-­grade cocoons.” Jacqueline M. Atkins, “ ‘Extravagance Is the ­Enemy’: Fashion and Textiles in War­t ime Japan,” in Wearing Propaganda: Textiles on the Home Front in Japan, Britain and the United States 1931–1945, edited by Jacqueline M. Atkins (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 159. 16. Also see Sherif, Mirror, 141–145. 17. Sherif, Mirror, 142. 18. Rutsuko’s name is generally thought to reference Ruth. Sherif, Mirror, 139–140; Takahashi Hideo, “Kōda Aya no mukunaru jikan,” Shinchō 90, no. 4 (1993): 209; Katsumata Hiroshi, “Tokkuri to waingurasu,” in Kōda Aya zenshū geppō 5, reprinted in Kōda Aya zenshū bekkan furoku (1994 nen ban geppō) (Iwanami shoten, 2003), 38. Katsumata suggests that Rutsuko’s name is auspicious ­because Ruth is blessed by God. Critics, however, have not discussed the qualities I mention, such as being a chosen individual and her loyalty. The biblical Ruth is special b ­ ecause she becomes David’s ancestor despite not being an Israelite, and her loyalty to the ­family is a significant ele­ment of her story. See “Ruth” in “The Megillot (the Scrolls)” ­under “Biblical lit­er­a­t ure” in Encyclopædia Britannica, https://­w ww​.­britannica​.­com​/­topic​/ ­biblical​ -­literature​/­The​-­Megillot​-­t he​-­Scrolls. 19. Iromuji is a kimono dyed a single color (other than black), with no pictorial designs or patterns. It can, however, be made with fabric with an under­lying woven pattern (jimon) as in Plate 7. Iromuji with multiple or single crests can be worn for formal events (with a formal obi as in Plate 7); even ­today ­t hose in somber colors can be worn to wakes or memorial-­related events with a black obi. L ­ ater in the novel, Rutsuko also wears the same kimono with a hakama to her graduation. The colored mourning kimonos that the three younger ­sisters wear in The Makioka ­Sisters are types of crested iromuji, and are re-­created as such in the Ichikawa film. See Chapter 3, n. 77. On iromuji and iromofuku ­today, see Ikeda Yoshimasa, Tsutsui Tomio, and Mimura Minako, eds., Shinsen kimono jiten (Senken shinbunsha, 2012), 55–56. For more on crests, see Chapter 3, n. 78 and Figure 3.6. 20. Harimon is also called haritsukemon or kiritsukemon. See Okabe Takao, ed., Kimono yōgo jiten (Fujin gahōsha, 1999), 81, 153. 21. Liza Crihfield Dalby, Kimono: Fashioning Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 183. 22. Sherif, Mirror, 135. 23. See Chapter 1, n. 98. 24. Kōda Aya, “Kuroi haori,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 18 (Iwanami shoten, 1996), 20–25. 25. See Iwanami Shoten Henshūbu, ed., Kindai Nihon sōgō nenpyō dai sanpan (Iwanami shoten, 1991), 466; Masuda Yoshiko, ed., Nihon ifukushi (Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 2010), 366. The high economic growth during 1965–1970 is known as Izanagi keiki (Izanagi economic boom). Iwanami Shoten Henshūbu, Kindai Nihon, 456. 26. Nakagawa and Rosovsky, “Case of the D ­ ying Kimono,” 80. 27. See Chapter 1, n. 109.

Notes to Pages 185–189   269 28. Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 366–367; Shimokawa Kōshi and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, eds., Zōhoban Shōwa Heisei kateishi nenpyō 1926–2000 (Kawade shobō shinsha, 2001), 356; Sesō Fūzoku Kansatsukai, ed., Gendai fūzokushi nenpyō: Shōwa 20 nen (1945)–­Heisei 12 nen (2000) Zōho nihan (Kawade shobō, 2001), 186; Yanagi Yōko, Fasshonka shakaishi Shōwahen: Fashizumu kara mii izumu e (Gyōsei, 1983), 331. 29. See Yanagi, Fasshonka shakaishi Shōwahen, 331. 30. Shimokawa and Katei Sōgō Kenkyūkai, Zōhoban, 339, 362, 368, 370; Sesō Fūzoku Kansatsukai, Gendai fūzokushi nenpyō, 187, 192–193; Masuda, Nihon ifukushi, 373. 31. See Yanagi Yōko, Fasshonka shakaishi Gendaihen: Masu fasshon kara haitacchi fasshon e (Gyōsei, 1989), 107–108. Andrew Gordon points out that “the domestic sale of sewing machines” declined from 1969 and explains that married ­women transitioned from “fabricating or pro­cessing what the ­family consumed” to becoming “purchasing agents.” Andrew Gordon, Fabricating Consumers: The Sewing Machine in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 213. 32. Yanagi, Fasshonka shakaishi Shōwahen, 331. 33. For more on hitta and the difference between shibori and some techniques and terminology, see “hitta shibori” and “suri bitta” in Ikeda, Tsutsui, and Mimura, Shinsen kimono jiten, 221, 230. 34. Yuri Sachiko, Josei sakka hyōden shiriizu, vol. 13: Kōda Aya (Shintensha, 2003), 154. 35. Mizumura Minae, “Takusan no kimono ni irodorare tsuzuru josei no hansei: Kōda Aya Kimono,” in Nihongo de yomu toiu koto, by Mizumura Minae (Chikuma shobō, 2009), 35. On how dif­fer­ent Japa­nese critics have read this ending, including a more positive understanding of the wedding night, see Sherif, Mirror, 151. 36. For another aspect of this “disturbing symmetry,” see Sherif, Mirror, 151. 37. Kojima Chikako, “ ‘Kimono’ to ‘Ki’mono: Kōda sensei no bannen,” in Kōda Aya zenshū geppō 6, reprinted in Kōda Aya zenshū bekkan furoku, 42–43. 38. Sherif, Mirror, 154. 39. See Kojima, “ ‘Kimono’ to ‘Ki’mono”; Sherif, Mirror, 151; Aoki Tama, Sofu no koto haha no koto: Aoki Tama taidanshū (Ozawa shoten, 1997), 99–104; Aoki Tama, “ ‘Kimono’ no koto nado: Atogaki ni kaete,” in Kimono atosaki, by Aoki Tama (Shinchōsha, 2006), 180–182. 40. Aoki Tama, “ ‘Kimono’ no koto nado,” 183. 41. Kōda Aya, Kuzure, in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 21 (Iwanami shoten, 1996), 45. 42. For an En­glish translation and discussion of “Black Hem,” see Tansman, Writings, 88– 97, 166–183. 43. Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 51. 4 4. Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 51. 45. Fujimoto Hisahiko, “Kōda gōshi ittan o hyakumeisama ni zōtei: Chūōkōronsha ban zenshū to Kōda gōshi,” in Kōda Aya no sekai, edited by Kanai Keiko, Kobayashi Hiroko, Satō Ken’ichi, and Fujimoto Hisahiko (Kanrin shobō, 1998), 91. 46. Fujimoto, “Kōda gōshi,” 92; Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 51. 47. Liza Dalby categorizes cotton as “casual” u ­ nder “ fudangi” (everyday wear). Dalby, Kimono, 173. 48. For more on the history of the mingei movement, see Kim Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty: Mingei and the Politics of Folk Art in Imperial Japan (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007). Although Brandt focuses primarily on the period through World War II, she also discusses impor­tant postwar developments (223–227).

270   Notes to Pages 190–193 49. “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Chūō kōron 73, no. 7 (July 1958): unpaginated advertisement; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 7 (July 1958): unpaginated advertisement. For the most part, such advertisements for the Collected Works of Kōda Aya are the same in both Chūō kōron and Fujin kōron. See Fujin kōron (July 1958–­May 1959) and Chūō kōron (July 1958–­April 1959). For more on the collected volumes, see Fujimoto, “Kōda gōshi”; Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 50–59. 50. “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Chūō kōron 73, no. 10 (October 1958): unpaginated advertisement; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 11 (October 1958): unpaginated advertisement. 51. “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Chūō kōron 73, no. 11 (November 1958): unpaginated advertisement; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 12 (November 1958): unpaginated advertisement. 52. See Kanai, “Nenpu,” 513–514; “Kōda Aya zenshū zen nanakan,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 8 (August 1958): unpaginated advertisement. The ad also lists writer Ariyoshi Sawako as one of the speakers. See also Chapter 5, n. 38. 53. On traditional negative views about w ­ oman writers, see Rebecca L. Copeland, ed., ­Woman Critiqued: Translated Essays on Japa­nese ­Women’s Writing (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006). 54. “Shoka no Kōda san: Suwa kohan nite,” Fujin kōron 43, no. 7 (July 1958): unpaginated series of photo­graphs with captions. 55. “Tōsensha happyō,” Fujin kōron 44, no. 6 (May 1959): unpaginated announcement of winners’ names with photo­graph of Kōda at the se­lection site. 56. See Chapter 4, n. 16. 57. This work about Aoki Nao’s experiences with kimonos as well as her relationships with her ­mother and grand­mother was initially serialized in an ­earlier format as “Sobo, Kōda Aya no sugatami no naka ni” (In Grand­mother Kōda Aya’s mirror) in Misesu (Mrs.) in 2006–2007. 58. Aoki Nao has also written on other topics associated with Kōda; see for example, Ugoku toki, ugoku mono (Moving time, moving ­things, 2002), a book of essays in which she revisits sites of avalanches, floods, and volcanic activity that her grand­mother wrote about in Landslides. 59. Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 52. 60. I discuss this book in the next chapter. For an image of it, see Plate 12. Miyao Tomiko mentions this cover in several of her works. See Miyao Tomiko, Hana no kimono, in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 13 (Asahi shinbunsha, 1993), 413–414; Miyao Tomiko, Kimonogatari (Bungeishunjū, 2002), 122; Miyao Tomiko, “Tsumugi no hanashi,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 14 (Asahi shinbunsha, 1993), 149–150. 61. Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 54, 56. 62. Kōda Aya, “Kakiawaseru,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 9 (Iwanami shoten, 1995), 312, 314–315. 63. See, for example, the series “Kimono” (1967) and “Kimono to onna” (Kimono and ­women, 1967), both in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 18, 71–123, 135–160. 6 4. See Kōda Aya, “Kimono sandai,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 1, 315–316. 65. Kōda Aya, “Furisode o kau,” in Kōda Aya zenshū, vol. 19, 304. 66. Matsubara Yoshimasa, Imayō kimono kōza (Senken shinbunsha, 2010), 99. 67. According to Kojima Chikako, Kōda was not enthusiastic about preparing her serializations for book publication from about 1965 to 1975. An exception to this was Tō (­Battle), serialized in 1965, which was published in book form in 1973. Kojima, “ ‘Kimono’ to ‘Ki’mono,” 42.

Notes to Pages 194–197   271 68. Nakano Kōji, “Kōda Aya no kōsei,” Shinchō 90, no. 5 (1993): 229. 69. Aoki Nao, Kōdake no kimono, 115. Takayanagi Nobuko, an editor who worked with Kōda, Aoki Tama, and Aoki Nao, explains that she encouraged Aoki Tama to write, saying that it would be an “advertisement for the forthcoming Collected Works of Kōda Aya.” Takayanagi Nobuko, “Kuzure kara Koishikawa no uchi, Ugoku toki, ugoku mono made,” in Kōda Aya ten, edited by Setagaya Bungakukan (Setagaya Bungakukan, 2013), 72. 70. Aoki Tama, Koishikawa no uchi (Kōdansha, 1998). 71. Some parts of Kimono Dresser ­were serialized in Geijutsu shinchō (The arts new tide) in 1994. Kimono Before and ­After was serialized in Geijutsu shinchō in 2004–2005, then published in 2006 with a new afterword. On Kimono Dresser, see also Sherif, Mirror, 136. When Sherif was writing her book, the other essays by Aoki Tama and Aoki Nao ­were not yet published. 72. Aoki Tama, “ ‘Kimono’ no koto nado,” 189. 73. The cover image was used on the box of the 1993 book as well as the cover of the paperback edition, first published in 1996. For photos of the haori and the book box, see Aoki Tama, Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi (Shinchōsha, 2000), 44–45. 74. Aoki Tama, Kōda Aya no tansu, 43–49. 75. Aoki Tama, Kōda Aya no tansu, 206. 76. See, for example, Kurowassan tokubetsu henshūban: Kimono no jikan (Magajin hausu, 2003), 118–119, 175. 77. Kurowassan tokubetsu henshūban, 118; Aoki Tama, “Atogaki,” in Kōda Aya Kimonochō, edited by Aoki Tama (Heibonsha, 2009), 243. 78. Aoki Tama, Kōda Aya no tansu, 104. 79. Aoki Tama, Kimono atosaki (Shinchōsha, 2006), 12–14. 80. Aoki Tama, Kimono atosaki, 14. 81. Aoki Tama, Kimono atosaki, 40. 82. See Chapter 1, n. 106. 83. “Kimono Store Sales in Japan,” graph with data from Yano Research, in NHK World Special Program, “Imagine One World Kimono Proj­ect,” YouTube, https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​ /­watch​?­v​=­W6VzDHutm​_ ­0. 84. Aoki Tama, “ ‘Kimono’ no koto nado,” 188. It is unclear what period she is comparing the increase to, but one assumes she is thinking of the 1990s. 85. Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 21. 86. Matsubara, Imayō kimono kōza, 22, 29. 87. Kōda Aya, Kimono (Shinchōsha, 2019), unpaginated last page with publication information. On paperback editions, see n. 4. 88. For another kimono-­related book by Aoki Nao, see Tagasode wagasode (Whose sleeves, my sleeves), a title that echoes her m ­ other’s “Tagasode” essay in Kimono Drawer. ­Here she pre­sents interviews with kimono artisans including t­ hose who make textiles with digital print technology. Aoki Nao, Tagasode wagasode: Kimono meguri (Kyoto: Tankōsha, 2017).

7. Lost Kimonos Some parts of the discussion on Red Summer in this chapter appeared in an e­ arlier form in “Speaking Vio­lence in a Repatriation Novel: Miyao Tomiko’s Shuka,” Proceedings of the Association for Japa­nese Literary Studies 19 (2018): 262–270.

272   Notes to Pages 198–204 1. Dan Fumi, “Owari no hajimari,” in Niyodogawa, by Miyao Tomiko (Shinchōsha, 2000), 386–387. 2. Miyao Tomiko and Shimaoka Shin, “Bungaku iggosō: Sore wa Manshū taiken kara hajimatta: Miyao Tomiko,” Subaru (April 1985): 16, 23–24. 3. Dates are based on “Nenpu,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15 (Asahi shinbunsha, 1994), 311–320; Setagaya Bungakukan, ed., “Miyao Tomiko ryakunenpu,” in Chi ni fushite hana saku: Miyao Tomiko ten, edited by Setagaya Bungakukan (Setagaya Bungakukan, 2008), 82–91. 4. See Miyao Tomiko, “Iwago bangai: Suzuhachi no koto,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 14 (Asahi shinbunsha, 1993), 241; Miyao Tomiko, “Ukishizumi gojūnen,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 14, 254. Miyao was inspired to write The Life of Kiryūin Hanako by an entry in her ­father’s diary. Miyao Tomiko, “Kiryūin Hanako no shōgai,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 14, 243–244. 5. Miyao Tomiko, Niyodogawa (Shinchōsha, 2000), 384. Subsequent quotes from this work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 6. Miyao Tomiko, “Jyoryū shinjinshō kara Dazaishō e,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 14, 230. 7. Miyao, “Jyoryū shinjinshō,” 233. The literary award was the Dazai Osamu shō (Dazai Osamu Prize). See also Miyao, “Jyoryū shinjinshō,” 226–236; Miyao’s pertinent diary entries from 1972–1973 in Miyao Tomiko, “Nikki,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 164–187. The first volume of Oar was published by Chikuma shobō in 1973, the second volume in 1974. “Nenpu,” Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 314. 8. Miyao Tomiko, Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 1: Kai (Asahi shinbunsha, 1992), 85. Subsequent quotes from this work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 9. Miyao Tomiko, Kimonogatari (Bungeishunjū, 2002), 122. To describe the cover, h ­ ere she uses the phrase “tōzan-­style” (122), invoking its similarity to tōzan, a type of striped cotton fabric. However, elsewhere she also calls it “tōzan” as well as “mentsumugi” (a type of woven cotton fabric). For the first example, see Miyao Tomiko, Hana no kimono, in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 13 (Asahi shinbunsha, 1993), 413–414; Miyao, “Nikki,” 170. For the latter, see Miyao Tomiko, “Tsumugi no hanashi,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 14, 150; Miyao, “Jyoryū shinjinshō,” 233. 10. Miyao, Kimonogatari, 122; Miyao, “Tsumugi no hanashi,” 149–150; Miyao, Hana no kimono, 413–414; Miyao, “Nikki,” 170. 11. Miyao Tomiko, Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 2: Shuntō (Asahi shinbunsha, 1992), 116. Subsequent quotes from this work w ­ ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. Spring Light was first serialized in Shinchō (August 1985–­November 1987), and was published as a book by Shinchōsha in 1988. “Nenpu,” Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 318–319. 12. Tomi Suzuki, Narrating the Self: Fictions of Japa­nese Modernity (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996), 6–7. Suzuki’s own focus is the period between the 1920s and 1960s, but her broad understanding of the genre pertains equally to the 1970s–2000s. 13. Tomi Suzuki points out that third-­person narration is common in “typical” I-­novels. Suzuki, Narrating the Self, 5. 14. Hayashi Mariko notes that characters such as Iwago, Kiwa, and Ayako are based on real p ­ eople; she emphasizes, however, that Miyao did not simply “write about her experiences and ­family as they ­were” in her I-­novels, but adapted them as a writer. Hayashi Mariko, Tsu­ zuru onna: Hyōden Miyao Tomiko (Chūōkōronsha, 2020), 217. 15. An exception is Fujimoto Chizuko’s suggestion that the motif of food is used throughout the work as a means to explore Ayako’s dependence on ­others. Fujimoto Chizuko, “Miyao

Notes to Pages 204–206   273 Tomiko Shuka: Osanai haha Ayako no Manshū taiken,” Kokubungaku kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 31, no. 5 (May 1986): 119. 16. Miyao, Hana no kimono, 292. For the description in Oar, see Miyao, Kai, 55–59. 17. The description of the infant’s outfit is a combination of what Miyao herself wore on this occasion and her favorite kimono made l­ ater. See Miyao, Kai, 229; Miyao, Hana no kimono, 309–311. The monpe in Spring Light, made from a cotton kasuri kimono with a pattern of large dragonflies, is based on what Miyao wore at the time. Ayako is wearing this when she gets her job as a teacher, a dream opportunity for her to leave home and sever connections with her ­father. See Miyao, Shuntō, 325–327; Miyao, Kimonogatari, 207–210. 18. Ayako gives birth in Japan while Kaname is in Manchuria; he comes back to fetch the ­family. 19. In the novel, Miyao calls t­ hese neighbors “Manjin” (­people of Manchuria; but the word can also mean Manchus) and describes them as speaking a “local dialect” (chihōgo), similar to the way she and the other Japa­nese speak in “Tosa dialect.” Miyao Tomiko, Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 3: Shuka (Asahi shinbunsha, 1993), 75. Subsequent quotes from this work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. In my discussion of Manchuria throughout this chapter, I use the general designation “Chinese” for ­t hese characters and ­others described as “Manjin.” As Mariko Asano Tamanoi notes, the distinctions between Han and Manchu ­peoples ­were often elided in the terminology of the time, as with “Manchus,” which could refer to both. See Mariko Asano Tamanoi, “Knowledge, Power, and Racial Classification: The ‘Japa­nese’ in ‘Manchuria,’ ” Journal of Asian Studies 59, no. 2 (May 2000): 248–276. 20. Lori Watt, When Empire Comes Home: Repatriation and Reintegration in Postwar Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2009), 2. 21. “Nenpu,” Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 312. 22. Louise Young, Japan’s Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of War­time Imperialism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 22. 23. Mariko Asano Tamanoi, Memory Maps: The State and Manchuria in Postwar Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009), 61–62. 24. See Tamanoi, Memory Maps, 18; Watt, When Empire Comes Home, 101–102; Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 406–410. 25. Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 409. 26. Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 409–411; Tamanoi, Memory Maps, 18. 27. Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 411. 28. Watt, When Empire Comes Home, 102. 29. “Nenpu,” Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 312–313; Miyao Tomiko, “Subaru to watashi no nijūgonen,” in Oharidōgu: Kioku no dampen, by Miyao Tomiko (Shinchōsha, 1996), 63; Miyao Tomiko, “Hikiage kinenbi,” in Tetoboshi no ki, by Miyao Tomiko (Shinchōsha, 1992), 30; Miyao Tomiko, “Kyū Manshū kikō: Inbahō gojūsannenme no namida,” Shūkan asahi 103, no. 55 (November 27, 1998): 152; Miyao, “Ukishizumi gojūnen,” 267; Miyao, Hana no kimono, 345; Miyao and Shimaoka, “Bungaku iggosō,” 17–19; Yamaguchi Mayako, “Miyao Tomiko gojūninen buri ni kyū Manshū o tazunete: Watashi ga sakka o kokorozashita genten no chi,” Shūkan asahi 103, no. 55 (November 27, 1998): unpaginated interview article with photo­graphs; Horita Ayumi, “Haisengo no hisansa egaku: Niyodogawa sakusha no Miyao Tomiko san kataru,” Asahi shinbun (March 6, 2001): 7. Miyao also says it was impor­tant for her to leave ­t hese rec­ords for her d ­ aughter. Miyao and Shimaoka, “Bungaku iggosō,” 19; Miyao, “Kyū Manshū kikō,”152; Horita, “Haisengo no hisansa egaku,” 7.

274   Notes to Pages 206–211 30. Miyao, “Subaru to watashi,” 64–65; Miyao and Shimaoka, “Bungaku igossō,” 22–23. Red Summer was first serialized in Subaru (Pleiades) from May 1980 to April 1985. However, the serialization was ­stopped during all of 1982, as well as in the January 1981 and April 1984 issues. It was published in a two-­volume book form by Shūeisha in June 1985. “Nenpu,” Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 316–318. 31. Miyao and Shimaoka, “Bungaku igossō,” 23. 32. For differences between the events in Ayako’s story and t­ hose of Miyao’s memories about real life, see, for example, Miyao Tomiko, “Kioku no naka no ‘Manshū’: Ningen to shite saitei no seikatsu,” Bungei shunjū 61, no. 10 (September 1983): 110; Miyao, Shuka, 155–156, 168; Miyao, “Ukishizumi gojūnen,” 264. I also discuss other examples in this chapter. 33. Miyao and Shimaoka, “Bungaku igossō,” 23. 34. Watt, When Empire Comes Home, 11. 35. Miyao and Shimaoka, “Bungaku igossō,” 24. 36. Jinno Morimasa, Manshū ni okurareta onnatachi: Tairiku no hanayome (Nashinokisha, 1992), 237. 37. Jinno, Manshū ni okurareta onnatachi, 12. 38. Kimono raincoats (amagōto) are generally long (ankle length) to provide protection from the rain. They can have vari­ous styles of collars/lapels and closures. This par­tic­u­lar raincoat is not described in detail beyond the color and silk fabric, but one assumes it is long, based on the specificity of the term. In the photo essay collection Kimonogatari (Narrating kimonos, 1999), “kimono raincoats” that Miyao owns are ankle length, while t­ hose called kimono “coats” (kōto) are generally shorter. Th ­ ese photos accompany an essay that touches upon her experience of losing her raincoat in Manchuria. See Miyao, Kimonogatari, 36–37, 40–41, 43–50. However, kimono “coats” are not always of shorter length; for a 1938 photo of “ fujin kōto” (ladies’ coats) made with vari­ous types of fabrics, all ankle length, see “Fujin kōto,” Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu “Kindai Nihon no Shinsō Bunka,” http://­shinsou​ .­minpaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­contents​/­​?­original​_­id​=X ­ 01​-­265, also in Daimaru Hiroshi and Takahashi Haruko, Nihonjin no sugata to kurashi: Meiji, Taishō, Shōwa zenki no shinsō (Sangensha, 2016), 271. On the history of w ­ omen’s kimono coats, see Daimaru Hiroshi, “Josei kōto,” in “Sankō nōto,” Kokuritsu Minzokugaku Hakubutsukan Shinsō Gazō Deetabeesu, http://­shinsou​ .­minpaku​.­ac​.j­ p​/­note​/c­ ontents​.­html​?­id​= ­429, also in Daimaru and Takahashi, Nihonjin, 269–271. 39. Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 401–403. 40. In a recent publication, Lianying Shan comments that the “novel is written in the third-­ person, but the narrative perspective is close to that of the main character Ayako.” Lianying Shan, “­Women and Colonies: Shanghai and Manchuria in the Autobiographical Writings of Hayashi Kyōko, Sawachi Hisae, and Miyao Tomiko,” in Handbook of Modern and Con­ temporary Japa­nese ­Women Writers, edited by Rebecca Copeland (Tokyo: Japan Documents, 2022), 303. 41. I translate “minzoku” as “race,” while acknowledging the prob­lems of this translation as noted by Tamanoi, “Knowledge, Power,” 250. 42. Fujimoto, “Miyao Tomiko,” 119. See also Saga Yūko, “Miyao Tomiko Shuka ron,” in “Shōwa” bungakushi ni okeru “Manshū” no mondai, edited by Sugino Yōkichi (Waseda Daigaku Kyōiku Gakubu Sugino Yōkichi Kenkyūshitsu, 1992), 206. 43. In Niyodo River, it is noted that she was only able to sell ­t hese items twice. Miyao, Ni­ yodogawa, 92.

Notes to Pages 213–221   275 4 4. The word used ­here (天好) is glossed with the pronunciation “tenhao.” In this context, the expression seems to be understood by both Chinese and Japa­nese residents as “very good” or “desirable.” 45. Tamanoi, Memory Maps, 18. 46. Tamanoi notes that this official slogan was created together with Manchukuo. Tamanoi, “Knowledge, Power,” 249–250. For the En­glish translation of the slogan, I follow Tamanoi while agreeing with her point about the difficulty of using the term “race” (250). 47. For the translation of the names of ­t hese ­peoples, I follow Kimberly T. Kono, Romance, ­Family, and Nation in Japa­nese Colonial Lit­er­a­ture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 15. 48. Miyao discusses wearing such clothes made of sacks during their repatriation (as part of her a­ ctual experience). Miyao, “Hikiage kinenbi,” 26–29. 49. Kawamura Minato, Ikyō no Shōwa bungaku: Manshū to kindai Nihon (Iwanami shoten, 1990), 215–218. 50. Tamanoi, Memory Maps, 80. 51. Lori Watt notes that ­women who returned via Sasebo and elsewhere also received abortions, which w ­ ere illegal at the time (­until legalization in 1948). See Watt, When Empire Comes Home, 111–125. W ­ hether or not the venereal diseases or pregnancies occurred as a result of sexual vio­lence, the discourse of the times associated female repatriates from Manchuria with “bodily contamination” (113) and the potential to threaten “the f­ uture of the Japa­nese race” with disease and interracial c­ hildren (112). 52. Miyao, Hana no kimono, 285–418. Subsequent quotes from this work ­w ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. The essays in Flower Kimonos ­were serialized October 1982–­September  1983 and accompanied by illustrations, primarily of birds and flowers. The book version was published by Kōdansha. See “Shoshutsu shohan,” in Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 13, unpaginated publication notes [421]; “Nenpu,” Miyao Tomiko zenshū, vol. 15, 316–317. 53. Miyao, Kimonogatari. Subsequent quotes from this work w ­ ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. The main essays in Narrating Kimonos ­were serialized in the January–­ December 1998 issues of Katei gahō. The introductory essay was published in Katei gahō (December 1997), one essay was published in 1995 in another journal, and two ­were created for the book version. For publication information details, see the first edition of Narrating Kimonos, published in 1999. “Shoshutsu ichiran,” in Kimonogatari, by Miyao Tomiko (Sekai bunkasha, 1999), 208. 54. Niyodo River was first serialized in Shinchō (January 1998–­February 2000). The book version was published by Shinchōsha in December 2000. Setagaya Bungakukan, “Miyao Tomiko ryakunenpu,” 89–90. For publication details about Red Summer, see n. 30. 55. Checks in kimono terminology are called kōshijima (checked stripes) and are categorized as a stripe pattern. In this essay, the green unlined kimono is described as showing red and white checks, while the item in Red Summer is green with yellow and red checks. In both cases, the base green color appears to be part of the checked design. Miyao, Hana no kimono, 415; Miyao, Shuka, 178. 56. See Miyao, Hana no kimono, 375–385. In the reportage and interview I discuss at the end of the chapter, this ­woman is referred to as “Tsuru chan” and “Tsuruko.” Miyao, “Kyū Manshū kikō,” 152, 155; Yamaguchi, “Miyao Tomiko.” 57. In this passage Miyao does not use words such as “kimono” or “Japa­nese clothing” (wafuku), but only “clothing” or “clothes” (irui; iryō) to refer to kimonos.

276   Notes to Pages 221–229 58. See, for example, the dif­fer­ent ways Tsuruko and Ayako’s contrasting monpe styles are described in Red Summer and in the essay “Monpe fasshon” (Monpe fashion) in Narrating Kimonos. Miyao, Shuka, 112; Miyao, Kimonogatari, 214–215. 59. See Miyao, Hana no kimono, 361; Miyao, Kimonogatari, 7–8. 60. As noted above, an “Ōshima kimono” is mentioned in “Rose” in Flower Kimonos. It is presumed that this is the item that belonged to her m ­ other, but ­t here is no mention of this in this ­earlier essay. Miyao, Hana no kimono, 361. 61. Unlike the novel, in Narrating Kimonos, Miyao explains that a­ fter her ­mother’s death, she examined items in her m ­ other’s kimono dresser together with her ­brother. 62. ­Here Miyao says that the keepsakes she received w ­ ere a “doro Ōshima kimono” (a type of Ōshima woven with silk fiber that has been dyed in a pro­cess using doro [mud] and sharinbai [a type of plant]) and a “yamamayu coat” (102). On Ōshima textiles and the dyeing pro­cess, see Ikeda Yoshimasa, Tsutsui Tomio, and Mimura Minako, eds., Shinsen kimono jiten (Senken shinbunsha, 2012), 23; Takizawa Shizue, Kimono no ori to some ga wakaru jiten (Nihon jitsugyō shuppansha, 2012), 10–13. 63. Miyao, “Kyū Manshū kikō,” 151–155. Subsequent quotes from this work w ­ ill be noted directly in the text in parentheses. 6 4. Yamaguchi, “Miyao Tomiko.” The NHK TV program is noted ­here as Sekai: Waga kokoro no tabi, on NHK-­BS2 channel, scheduled to air December 12, 1998, 8:45–9:30 p.m. According to information on the NHK website, this program, which ran from 1993–2002, featured famous p ­ eople traveling to places that had ­great personal meaning for them. In total, 320 p ­ eople appeared on the show and visited some seventy countries. The episode featuring Miyao is described as “Chūgoku: 53 nenme no shuka” (China: Red summer fifty-­t hree years ­later). ­A fter it first aired on December  12, 1998, 8:45–9:29 p.m., it was shown again on December  13, 10:00–10:44 a.m. and December 17, 11:35 p.m.–­December 18, 12:19 a.m. NHK Aakaibuzu (Archives), “Sekai: Waga kokoro no tabi,” in “NHK hōsōshi,” https://­w ww2​.­nhk​.­or​.­jp​/­archives​ /­t v60bin​/­detail​/­index​.­cgi​?­das​_­id​=­D0009010392​_­0 0000. 65. Yamaguchi, “Miyao Tomiko.” 66. Miyao, Kimonogatari, 131, 134. Miyao also explains that the monpe was made by “T,” who still produces “Chichibu meisen” (meisen made in the area of Chichibu, Saitama Prefecture). 67. See n. 56. 68. Miyao, “Kyū Manshū kikō,” 154–155. In Red Summer, the Wen f­ amily is described as a forty-­person clan. The characters specifically mentioned are the old man, who seems to be the ­family head, and his son who works as a laborer for the school. Miyao, Shuka, 74. The son was modeled on the deceased elder referred to in the essay. In Red Summer, the items are entrusted to the old man, while in the reportage, Miyao says that she gave the items to the son for storage. Miyao, Shuka, 163–165; Miyao, “Kyū Manshū kikō,” 154–155. 69. Among other reasons for taking this trip was her desire to pray at the grave of Tsuruko and to see with her “own eyes” (152) the place where several young ­women she knew well had been sent by her f­ather to work. As part of her trip and before the filming began, she also visited the neighborhood in Dalian where ­these ­women had lived. Miyao, “Kyū Manshū kikō,” 152–153.

Conclusion 1. The four-­part series aired on NHK-­BS Puremiamu (Premium) channel from 10:00 to 10:54 p.m. on January 7, January 14, January 21, and January 28, 2018; the screenplay was written

Notes to Pages 230–233   277 by Hōrai Ryūta (b. 1976). See NHK Aakaibuzu (Archives), “Puremiamu dorama Heisei Sasameyuki” in “NHK hōsōshi,” https://­w ww2​.­nhk​.­or​.­jp​/­archives​/­t v60bin​/­detail​/­index​.­cgi​?­das​ _ ­id​=­D 0009050862​_­0 0000; see also NHK, “Puremiamu dorama Heisei Sasameyuki,” https://­ www6​.­nhk​.­or​.­jp​/­drama​/­pastprog​/­detail​.­html​?­i​= ­4696. 2. It is also explained that wearing Makioka Group–­brand Western clothing to miai would be in bad taste b ­ ecause the clothes would be recognized as the ­family’s own products. 3. Heisei Sasameyuki (2018; Japan: NHK Entaapuraizu, 2018), DVD. 4. Morishita Noriko, Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu: “Ocha” ga oshiete kureta jūgo no shiawase (Asuka shinsha, 2002). It has been translated into En­glish as Noriko Morishita, ­Every Day a Good Day: Fifteen Lessons I Learned about Happiness from Japa­nese Tea Culture, translated by Eleanor Goldsmith (Tokyo: Japan Publishing Industry Foundation for Culture, 2019). The director of the film, Ōmori Tatsushi (b. 1970), wrote the screenplay. 5. Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, directed by Ōmori Tatsushi (2018; Japan: Happinet Parco, 2018), DVD. All subsequent quotes from the film are from this source. 6. See Hayasaka Yūko, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten (Shikaku dezain kenkyūjo, 2001), 23; Nagasaki Iwao and Yumioka Katsumi, eds., Meiji Taishō Shōwa ni miru Kimono monyō zukan (Heibonsha, 2006), 196. 7. The official film website notes that Miyamoto Masae, who has worked on about 200 films, was in charge of costumes. Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu Seisaku Iinkai, “Eiga Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu kōshiki saito,” https://­w ww​.n ­ ichinichimovie​.j­ p​/­. In an early online interview Miyamoto explains she “likes kimonos”; and they seem to be part of her creative and professional interests. Nikkatsu, “Staff Interview,” https://­w ww​.­n ikkatsu​.­com​/­i nterview​/­200704​/­vol16​.­html. Morishita Noriko, the author of the original book, was closely involved with the film production as the tea ceremony advisor. She writes about the experience in a 2021 book but does not discuss costume se­lection pro­cesses. Morishita Noriko, Seiran no niwa ni suwaru: Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu monogatari (Bungeishunjū, 2021). 8. On bamboo leaf patterns, see Hayasaka, Nihon Chūgoku no monyō jiten, 54–55; Nagasaki and Yumioka, Meiji Taishō Shōwa, 74. 9. For examples of Kiki’s own kimonos see Bessatsu Taiyō Henshūbu, ed., Kiki Kirin no kimono (Heibonsha, 2019).

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Index

Page numbers in boldface type refer to the figures. Plate numbers in italics refer to the images in the color insert. Abe Yutaka, 66. See also The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1950 film) Akihito, Prince, 24–25, 262n69, 264n26 Allied Occupation of Japan. See Occupation period Aoki Nao: interviews with kimono artisans in Tagasode wagasode (Whose sleeves, my sleeves), 271n88; legacy of Kōda Aya’s Kimono continued by, 33, 138, 172, 195, 197, 221; Ugoku toki, ugoku mono (Moving time, moving things), 270n58 Aoki Nao–Kimonos of the Kōda Family (Kōdake no kimono): on Aoki’s relationship to her mother (Aoki Tama) and grandmother (Kōda Aya), 197, 270n57; on the “Kōda check” cloth, 192, 268n14; Rutsuko’s story enlivened through, 197; three generations of the Kōda family women linked in, 197 Aoki Tama: image of, Plate 10; Koishikawa no uchi (The house in Koishikawa), 194; legacy of Kōda Aya’s Kimono continued by, 33, 138, 172, 194–196, 221 Aoki Tama–Inside Kōda Aya’s Kimono Dresser (shortened form: Kimono Dresser) (Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi): link between Kōda Aya and the fictional Rutsuko discussed in, 194; as a literary response to Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 194–196; publication of, 271n71; “Tachikake no yukata” (Half-cut yukata) essay in, 195; “Tagasode” (Whose sleeves)

essay in, 194–195, 271n88; “Usuwata” (Padded garment) essay in, 195 Aoki Tama–Kimono Before and After (Kimono atosaki): book cover of, Plate 10; on kimono wearers in Japan today, 196, 271n84; as a literary response to Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 194, 195–196; publication of, 271n71 Appadurai, Arjun, 6 appappa: in Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 183; popularity of, 11–12, 13, 15; in relation to kantanfuku (easily sewn clothes), 12, 238n43; as a term, 12, 238nn42–43. See also sewing machines and dressmaking Arai Tomiyo, 38, 53 Ariyoshi Sawako, 135, 243n118, 270n52 Atkins, Jacqueline M., 268n15 Ayako series (Ayako mono). See Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series (Ayako mono) bamboo: association with strength, 233; bamboo shoot life (takenoko seikatsu), 23, 63; kagome (woven bamboo basket pattern), 42, 246n31; on kimonos, 120, 186, 232–233, 251n91, 251n94, 277n8; as one of the three auspicious plants, 120, 251n91; takeshibo (fabric woven with bamboo-like vertical wrinkles), 50 Barthes, Roland, 5, 38 Brandt, Kim, 269n48 Bubble economy era, 8, 9, 25–26, 32, 65, 80, 193–194, 229

295

296  Index Cavanaugh, Carole, 51, 237n29 censorship: The Makioka Sisters (1950 film) impacted by, 67–68; Tanizaki’s encounters with, 35, 53–54, 57, 243n2, 250n84; Tsuboi Sakae and, 32, 106, 119, 136, 228 Chambers, Anthony Hood, 53, 245n13, 251n95 checked designs: Ayako’s checkered Yonezawa kimono in Miyao’s Shuka (Red summer), 216; child check (dōji gōshi; komochi gōshi), 267–268n14; the “Kōda check” (Kōda gōshi), 157, 188–189, 189, 192, 268n14, Plate 9; kōshijima (checked stripes) as the kimono terminology for, 275n55; Miyao Tomiko’s checkered Yonezawa kimono, 220; not used for formal wear, 177; Rutsuko’s checkered habutae kimono, 177–178, 185–186, 267–268n14 Chiba Shunji, 44, 48, 58 Cliffe, Sheila, 5 coats, jackets, and smocks. See haori (kimono jacket); hippari (short housecoat/smock); kappōgi (white smock worn over kimonos as workwear); kimonos–kimono coats (kōto) Cold War, issues in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 32, 78–79 Copeland, Rebecca L., 29, 243n117 cords: koshihimo (cords used to put on underkimonos and kimonos), 13; obidome (prewar term for obijime, obi cords), 13–14, 239n49; obijime (obi cords), 144, 150 crests (mon): colored crested kimono worn by Someka in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing), 148; crested black kimonos in Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka sisters of the Heisei period), 230; crested garments from the prewar period, 251n92, 260n42; crested mourning kimonos in The Makioka Sisters (novel and 1983 film), 267n13, 268n19; crest paper (mongami) used when storing

kimonos, 14; crossed hawk feathers inside a circle, Plates 7–8; dye-reserved crest, 181, Plates 7–8; five-crested garments, 93, 94, 181, 256–257n78; harimon (patched crest), 180–181; ivy crest, 147; a kimono’s rank determined by, 31, 60, 256–257n78; of the Makioka family in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 85, 87, 93, Plate 3; Rutsuko’s kimono with a patch crest, 180–181, 268n19; used on Tanizaki Matsuko’s trousseau in her first marriage, 251n92. See also funerals and mourning Cultural Property Protection Law (Bunkazai hogo hō), 24, 73, 189 Dalby, Liza Crihfield: on “the language of kimono,” 5; on modern kimonos, 10, 16, 24, 31, 247n44, 251n93, 269n47; nativist discourse on kimonos criticized by, 242n109 dressmaking. See sewing machines and dressmaking dyed kimono (some no kimono) (also known as atozome [later-dyed] kimono), 81, 97, 257n81 Ema Tsutomu, 260n36 Emoto Takenori, 89 Enchi Fumiko, 48, 135, 243n118 Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, book): author Morishita Noriko, 231; translation of, 277n4 Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, film): asanoha patterns on kimonos in, 232, 233; directed by and screenplay by Ōmori Tatsushi, 231, 277n4; exoticism of kimonos and tea ceremony rejected in, 233–234; kimonos in the practice of tea ceremony shown as normative, 231–233; The Makioka Sisters mentioned in, 233; Miyamoto Masae in charge of costumes for, 277n7; Morishita Noriko as tea ceremony advisor for, 277n7. See also Kiki Kirin

Index  297 fabric: cotton, 12, 16, 18, 54, 103, 179, 180, Plate 9, Plate 12; metaphors used to describe women writers, 103, 189, 190, 258n16; with staple fiber (sufu), 16, 54. See also checked designs; habutae; kimonos–kimono patterns and pictorial designs; kimonos–kimono fabrics and fabric types; komon (kimono with all-over repeated patterns); shibori (tie-dye); stripes family/house (ie): adoptive sons-in-law (muko yōshi), 41, 83, 91, 93–95, 117–118, 120, 127, 133, 246n27, 255n48; branch house (bunke), 41, 91, 92, 93, 117, 246n27; family system (ie seido; kazoku seido), 41, 84, 93, 117–120, 122–136, 246n27; filial piety, 179; main house (honke), 41, 85, 93–95, 117, 246n27; nasanu naka (the relationship of a parent and child who are unrelated by blood), 114, 202; severing of familial ties (zetsuen), 95 Fifteen-Year War (1931–1945), 1, 8, 237n31. See also Pacific War (1941–1945); Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945); World War II First Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895), 126 Flowing (Nagareru, film directed by Naruse Mikio): critical acclaim, 156; female stars featured in, 157, 160, 161, 162; illness and renewal in, 164–168, 170; Naruse involved in screenplay and costume selection, 157, 160–161, 163, 265n47, 265n49; Naruse’s interest in the issue of money shown in, 157, 265n42; sex work in, 164, 166; Someka and Nanako dancing in, 166, 166; as a “woman’s film,” 156–157; yukata (summer kimono) in, 33, 158–161, 159, 165, 167, 170, 265n50. See also Kōda Aya–Flowing (Nagareru, novel); Nakakita Chieko; Okada Mariko; Sugimura Haruko; Takamine Hideko; Tanaka Kinuyo; Yamada Isuzu

flowing water (nagare; ryūsui) pattern: with Japanese maple (ryūsui momiji), 265n50; on the plum garden kimono outfit in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing), 1, 145–148, 235n1, 263n17; on Tsutayakko’s garments in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 161 footwear: geta (wooden sandals), 12, 141–142; getabako (footwear cabinets), 14; tabi (split-toed socks), 141, 142, 147, 252n101; worn with appappa, 12, 13; worn with monpe (traditional trousers), 18, 19, 20 Freedgood, Elaine, 7, 51, 111, 237n30 fukusa (handkerchief used to wipe tea vessels and utensils), 231–232 funerals and mourning: crested black kimonos in Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka sisters of the Heisei period), 230; funeral wear in Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 180–182, 268n19; habutae for, 93; iromofuku (colored mourning kimono), 93, 256n77, 268n19; mourning kimono in Kōda’s “Kuroi suso” (Black hem), 188; mourning kimonos in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 93, 256n77, 268n19; mourning kimonos in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 256n77, 268n19; shiromuku (white kimono ensemble) worn to, 114 furisode (swinging-sleeve kimono), 46, 247n44, 256n74 furoshiki (wrapping cloth), with karakusa (arabesque) design, 47, 78 geisha: iki (chic) associated with, 160–161, 265n46, 265–266n51; otokoshi (a geisha’s male dresser), 91; as professionals (kurōto), 138. See also Flowing (Nagareru, film directed by Naruse Mikio); Kōda Aya–Flowing (Nagareru, novel); kurōto (professional); Yanagibashi Geist, Kathe, 82, 83, 87, 90, 92, 96, 97, 255n43, 255n45, 256n64

298  Index gender: changes in gendered identities under the Allied Occupation, 67–68, 76, 78–79, 98; habutae worn by men in prewar Tokyo, 177; kimonos as a second language in women’s texts, 29–30; Kon Wajirō’s “Index” of the adoption of Western clothing during the prewar period, 28–29, 242–243n113; men’s kasuri kimono and haori ensemble, 104, 104, 258n19; suffering associated with women’s kimonos, 27; women’s kimono, 2. See also woman’s film; women writers Gordon, Andrew, 21–22, 169, 239n55, 242n109, 269n31 Gosha Hideo, film adaptations of Miyao Tomiko’s works, 198–199 Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake, 230 Great Kantō Earthquake (1923): depictions in Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 173, 183–184, 186; impact on Japanese fashion, 11–12, 183 habutae (a type of silk fabric/kimono made of the fabric): crested black habutae in The Makioka Sisters (novel and 1983 film), 267n13; formal black habutae worn by men, 176; as mourning kimono, 93; Rutsuko’s checkered habutae kimono, 177–178, 185–186, 267–268n14; Rutsuko’s white habutae wedding kimono, 267n13; shioze habutae, 122, 124 hakama: as “overpants,” 20, 22, 240n73; as “overskirt,” 113, 240n73, 259n35 Hana no kimono. See Miyao Tomiko–Flower Kimonos (Hana no kimono) hanging of clothes and textiles: emonkake (kimono hanger), 195; emonzao (kimono hanger), 13, 14; kimono hanging on an ikō (kimono stand) illuminated by a firefly, 50, 51; noren (cloth hanging) with sawarabi (young bracken shoots) design, 168; tagasode image, 50–51, 249n67 hannari (elegant and bright), “iki” (chic) contrasted with, 36 haori (kimono jacket): Kōda Aya’s Kimono book cover based on Aoki Tama’s haori, 194–195, Plate 11; men’s kasuri kimono

and haori ensemble, 104, 104, 258n19; popularity of chabaori (short-length haori), 25; PTA look employing a black haori, 25, 184, Plate 1; similar style jacket, 19; worn by Sachiko and Yukiko in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 76; worn by Sachiko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), Plate 4, Plate 5 Hayasaka Yūko, 263n17 Hayashi Fumiko, 32, 102, 258n16 Hayashi Kunio, 72 Hayashi Mariko: “playing at The Makioka Sisters,” 65, view on the Ayako series, 272n14 Heisei Sasameyuki. See The Makioka Sisters of the Heisei Period (Heisei Sasameyuki) Hidaka Yoshiki, 55, 245n20 hippari (short housecoat/smock), 96–97, Plate 5 Hirano, Kyoko, 67–68, 253n13 Hirano Yoshinobu, 44, 245–246n21 “Ichijuku.” See Tsuboi Sakae–“Figs” (Ichijiku) Ichikawa Kon: Tokyo Orinpikku (Tokyo Olympiad), 98; work for the Discover Japan campaign, 99, 257n85. See also The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1983 film) identity politics: controversy surrounding “Kimono Wednesdays” at the MFA, Boston, 5, 236–237n18; cultural appropriation, 242n107; imagined national identity associated with kimonos, 26, 27–28, 242n109 iki (chic): as fashionable style associated with Tokyo, 36, 40; geisha sensibility associated with, 159, 160–161, 265n46, 265–266n51 Important Intangible Cultural Properties (jūyō mukei bunkazai), 24, 189 in-between wear (aigi): discussion of fabrics for, 246n32, 246–247n33; worn in between seasons for hitoe (unlined kimono) and usumono (thin kimono), 42–43, 246–247n33

Index  299 indigo and indigo-dyed fabrics: laundering associated with renewal or enrichment of color, 1, 108–109, 259n25, 259n27; in Tsuboi’s “Kasuri no kimono” (The kasuri kimono), 1, 104, 108–111, 136, 259n27. See also kasuri (ikat) Inoue Masahito, 240n73 I-novel (shishōsetsu; watakushi shōsetsu): Kōda’s Kimono not considered as, 267n9; The Makioka Sisters not considered as, 35, 37, 203; material objects in, 102, 203–205, 206–207; reality in, 8, 203–204, 206, 272n14; Rika and Kōda Aya as seen in Nagareru (Flowing, novel), 153, 264n29; third-person narration in, 204, 272n13; by Tsuboi Sakae, 102. See also Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series (Ayako mono) iromuji (colored monochrome kimono), 180, 184, 268n19 Ishizaka Kōji, as Teinosuke in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 82, Plate 4 itohen (thread-related business), 147 Itohen keiki (Thread-related economic boom, aka Gachaman keiki), 147, 263n21 Japanese clothing (wafuku): historical and social concerns expressed by depictions of, 9–10; kimonos as wafuku in distinction to yōfuku (Western clothing), 3, 10, 26; the “wafuku revival” year of 1965, 25. See also cords; footwear; funerals and mourning; furisode (swinging-sleeve kimono); hakama; haori (kimono jacket); hippari (short housecoat/ smock); in-between wear (aigi); iromuji (colored monochrome kimono); kappōgi (white smock worn over kimonos as workwear); kimonos; komon (kimono with all-over repeated patterns); kosode; monpe (traditional trousers); obi (sash); obiage (obi scarf); uchikake (over kimono with a trailing hem) (aka kaidori; okaidori); undergarments; unlined kimono (hitoe); visiting kimono (hōmongi); yukata (summer kimono)

Jinmu keiki (Jinmu economic boom), 123, 261n58 Jinno Morimasa, 207 Kai. See Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 1: Oar (Kai) kaidori (aka okaidori). See uchikake (over kimono with a trailing hem) Kanai Keiko, 122, 131–132 Kanda Tatsumi, 248nn58–59, 249n69 kantanfuku (easily sewn clothes). See appappa kappōgi (white smock worn over kimonos as workwear), 21, 97, 144 kasuri (ikat): definition and terminology, 258n19; kimonos discussed in Miyao’s “Kasuri,” 220; kongasuri (dark blue cotton fabric or kimono with white kasuri patterns), 104, 258n19; laundering of such patterns on indigo-dyed fabric, 108, 259n27; as luxury, 109; on men’s kimono ensemble, 104; monpe in Miyao’s Shuka (Red summer), 212; monpe in Miyao’s Shuntō (Spring light), 273n17; Rutsuko’s kimono, 176. See also indigo and indigo-dyed fabrics; Tsuboi Sakae–“The Kasuri Kimono” (Kasuri no kimono) “Kasuri no kimono.” See Tsuboi Sakae–“The Kasuri Kimono” (Kasuri no kimono) Katsumata Hiroshi, 268n18 Kawabata Yasunari, promotional essay for Kōda Aya zenshū (Collected works of Kōda Aya) published by Chūōkōronsha, 189, 190 Kawamoto Saburō, 244n10, 245n13, 252n99, 265n42 Kawamura Minato, 217 Kiki Kirin, 233, 277n9 Kimono (novel). See Kōda Aya–Kimono Kimono atosaki. See Aoki Tama–Kimono Before and After (Kimono atosaki) Kimono Dresser. See Aoki Tama–Inside Kōda Aya’s Kimono Dresser (shortened form: Kimono Dresser) (Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi)

300  Index kimono dresser. See tansu (chest of drawers) Kimonogatari. See Miyao Tomiko–Narrating Kimonos (Kimonogatari) kimono language: as a concept used in this book, 4–11, 29–30, 31–34, 228, 237n30, 266n3; in modern literary studies, 5–6; in relation to “the language of clothes,” 4. See also metonymy kimonos: imagined national identity associated with, 26, 27–28, 184, 242n109; “kimono” as a term used in this book, 1, 3; monpe (traditional trousers) made of, 9, 18–19, 19, 22, 63, 110–111, 221; as portable currency, 2, 29, 75, 140, 206; shitamae (front lower part that is covered when wearing), 150; tactile qualities of, 175–178; as unpatriotic, 23, 54; uwamae (front lower part that is visible when wearing), 150; as wafuku (Japanese clothing) in distinction to yōfuku (Western clothing), 3, 10, 26; women’s kimono diagram, 2. See also crests (mon); funerals and mourning; furisode (swinging-sleeve kimono); habutae; haori (kimono jacket); hippari (short housecoat/smock); iki (chic); in-between wear (aigi); iromuji (colored monochrome kimono); kappōgi (white smock worn over kimonos as workwear); komon (kimono with all-over repeated patterns); kosode; obi (sash); uchikake (over kimono with a trailing hem); undergarments; unlined kimono (hitoe); visiting kimono (hōmongi); yukata (summer kimono); yūzen (paste-resist dyed design/dyeing technique) kimonos–kimono coats (kōto): michiyuki worn by Sachiko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 87; michiyuki worn by Tsuruko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 85, 93, 255n55, Plates 2–3; in relation to raincoats (amagōto), 274n38; yamamayu coats, 223, 276n62. See also haori (kimono jacket) kimonos–kimono coats (kōto)–raincoats (amagōto): lost raincoat in Miyao’s Shuka

(Red summer), 208, 212, 213–214, 216–217, 218, 220, 223; styling of, 274n38 kimonos–kimono fabrics and fabric types: chirimen (silk crepe), 30, 40, 55, 56, 88, 115–120, 176, 179, 246n24, 260n36, 260n41; cotton, 158, 176, 179, 183, 184, 189, 202, 212, 222, 242n106, 269n47, 272n9; hitokoshi chirimen, 93, 256n74, 256n77; kinsha chirimen, 42–43, 143; komon chirimen kimono in “Ichijiku” (Figs), 115–119; meisen, 19, 178, 182, 240n69, 268n15; merinsu, 176; mosurin, 49; omeshi, 19, 240n69; Ōshima, 221–224, 276n60, 276n62; postwar availability of new kimono fabric, 262n69; recycling of fabric from worn-out kimonos, 22, 24, 134, 181–182; Ryukyuan cotton kimonos, 258n14; seru, 176; silk made of yamamayu (Japanese silk moths), 208, 222, 223; takeshibo, 50; tōzan or tōzan-style striped cotton, 97, 201, 272n9, Plate 12; woven Ryukyuan fabrics, 258n14; Yonezawa, 216, 220. See also checked designs; crests (mon); dyed kimono (some no kimono) (also known as atozome [later-dyed] kimono); habutae; in-between wear (aigi); indigo and indigo-dyed fabrics; kasuri (ikat); shibori (tie-dye); stripes; unlined kimono (hitoe); woven kimono (ori no kimono) (also known as sakizome [prior-dyed] kimono) kimonos–kimono industry: buying on credit, 81–82; the Makioka Group imagined in Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka sisters of the Heisei period), 229–230; secondhand kimono sales and internet commerce, 27, 242n106; Tokyo specialists, 243n114; in the twenty-first century, 2, 5, 235n4 kimonos–kimono patterns and pictorial designs: asanoha (hemp-leaves pattern), 232, 233; bush clovers, 42, 246n30; butterflies, 95–96, 97, Plate 4; camellias, 46, 59; cranes, 88, Plate 6; ebazuke technique, 46, 55; irises, 162, 163,

Index  301 266n54; kagome (woven bamboo basket pattern), 42, 246n31; kanzemizu (swirling water), 56, 253n15; kosengara (old coins pattern), 165, 165; kuzushi, 42, 246n31; nadeshiko (dianthus flowers), 42, 246n30; Nihon sankei (three beautiful landscapes of Japan), 59; snow, 73, 74; tagasode, 50–51, 249n67; takarazukushi (collection of treasures), 253n15; tsuyushiba (dew on the grass), 56, 253n15; uguisu (bush warbler), 145–146; uroko ni momiji (scales and Japanese maple), 70, 253n15; waves, 42; winter peonies, 150–152; yatsuhashi (eight bridges), 162, 163, 266n54; yukimochi (snow-covered plants), 59–60, 251n94. See also bamboo; checked designs; flowing water (nagare; ryūsui) pattern; iki (chic); kasuri (ikat); komon (kimono with all-over repeated patterns); pines; plums and plum blossoms; shibori (tie-dye); stripes kimonos–kimono wearing: care of, 13–15; for coming-of-age ceremonies, 25, 82, 242n105, 256n60; as inferior to Western dress, 13–15; koromogae (changing of the garments), 167; by older women during the postwar period, 26; for selffashioning, 29, 243n116; sharing of garments, 102; suffering associated with women’s kimonos, 27. See also iki (chic); yukata (summer kimono) kimonos–sewing of: kimono sewing and maintenance, 2, 29, 243n114; shitsuke ito, 113; wasai (Japanese-style sewing) as opposed to yōsai (Western-style sewing), 22 kimonos–sleeves: firefly in the sleeve of Sachiko’s kimono in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 50–51, 52; Genroku sode (Genroku-period style small, rounded sleeves), 20; of Taeko and Yukiko’s kimonos in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 92, 256n74; tsutsusode (cylindrical sleeves), 20. See also furisode (swingingsleeve kimono); kosode

kimonos–wealth and prestige of: class difference signaled by, 4, 79, 88, 179, 216; as family heirlooms and keepsakes, 120, 122, 223, 276n62; kimonos in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 69, 70, 71, 71–73; luxury associated with, 9, 16–17, 21, 23–26, 46; and the ojōsama būmu (young ladies boom), 86, 231; as part of trousseaus, 29, 46, 56, 62, 69, 72, 87, 118, 120–121, 180, 186, 235n6, 251n92, 256n63, Plate 6; as portable currency, 2, 63, 173, 184, 206, 243n115; Tsuruko surrounded by garments in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 88, Plate 6 kimonos–wedding kimonos: with cranes and pine designs, 88, Plate 6; early twentieth-century example of, 121; ironaoshi (changing into a colored kimono after wearing a white kimono during the ceremony), 62; as part of trousseaus, 87, 120, 251n92, 256n63; rentals, 24, 262n69; Rutsuko’s wedding kimonos, 186, 267n13; shiromuku (white kimono ensemble) as, 251n91; three kimono ensembles as, 59–60, 251n91, 251n92, 251n94; in Tsuboi’s Uchikake (The wedding kimono), 120, 122–124, 126, 128–129, 131–134. See also Tsuboi Sakae–The Wedding Kimono (Uchikake); uchikake (over kimono with a trailing hem) Kinoshita Keisuke: film adaptation of Tsuboi’s Nijyūshi no hitomi (Twenty-Four Eyes), 100; Karumen kokyō ni kaeru (Carmen Comes Home), 79–80 Kishi Keiko, as Tsuruko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81, 85, Plates 2–3, Plate 4, Plate 6 Kobayashi Hiroko, 106, 119–120, 129, 131, 153, 258–259n22 Kōda Aya: decline of kimono culture predicted by, 188, 193; father-daughter dyad with Kōda Rohan, 137–138, 174; image of, 191; Ki (Trees), 187; as the “Kōda check,” 188–192; “Kuroi suso” (“Black hem”), 188; Kuzure (Landslides),

302  Index Kōda Aya (cont.) 187, 188, 278n58; link with the fictional Rutsuko, 194–195; as literary daughter, 137, 174; as literary progenitor, 137, 172, 174–175, 197; serializations of her works, 193, 270n67; temporary stay in Yanagibashi, 138, 153 Kōda Aya–Collected Works of Kōda Aya (Kōda Aya zenshū) (publication by Iwanami shoten): Kimono included in, 174; publication of, 194, 266–267n4, 271n69 Kōda Aya–Collected Works of Kōda Aya (Kōda Aya zenshū) (publication by Chūōkōronsha): advertisement for, 189, 190, 191, 270n49, 270n52; with the Kōda check cover, 157, 188–192, 189, 268n14, Plate 9 Kōda Aya–Flowing (Nagareru, novel): clothing metaphors and wordplay in, 144–145, 149–150; the concept of “flowing” in, 140, 145–146, 156; narrative style, 139–140, 193; publication of, 138; as a result of a writing crisis, 138; Rika and Kōda Aya as seen in, 153, 264n29; sex work in, 138, 150–151, 155. See also geisha Kōda Aya–Kimono (novel): Aoki Nao’s contribution to its afterlife, 33, 138, 172, 194–197, 194, 221; Aoki Tama’s contribution to its afterlife, 33, 138, 172, 194, 194–197, 221; as bildungsroman (kyōyō shōsetsu), 172, 184, 199–200; book cover based on Aoki Tama’s haori, 194–195, Plate 11; the Great Kantō Earthquake featured in, 173, 183–184, 186; Kōda’s abandonment of, 33, 187–188; publication of, 172, 174, 197, 266–267n4; sexuality in, 182–183, 187; significance of Rutsuko’s name in, 180, 268n18; some autobiographical elements in, 267n9 Kōda Aya–kimono essays: the decline of kimonos addressed in, 192–193; “Kimono,” 267n7, 270n63; “Kimono sandai” (“Three stories of a kimono”),

193; written during the 1950s and 1960s, 188, 192–193 Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi. See Aoki Tama–Inside Kōda Aya’s Kimono Dresser (shortened form: Kimono Dresser) (Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi) Kōda Aya zenshū. See Kōda Aya–Collected Works of Kōda Aya (Kōda Aya zenshū) (publication by Iwanami shoten); Kōda Aya–Collected Works of Kōda Aya (Kōda Aya zenshū) (publication by Chūōkōronsha) Kōda Rohan: and kimonos, 174–175, 193, 267n7; renown of, 137. See also Kōda Aya Koizumi Kazuko, 243n116 Kojima Chikako, 270n67 komon (kimono with all-over repeated patterns): favored by Tanizaki, 244n5; komon chirimen kimono in “Ichijiku” (Figs), 115–119; rank categorizations of, 60, 115, 251n93, 260n36; worn by Taeko for the Snow dance in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 59–60 Komori Yōichi, 53, 245n13 Kondō Tomie, 73, 160–161, 255n56, 265n45, 265n51 Korean War (1950–1953), Itohen keiki (Thread-related economic boom) in Japan during, 147, 148 Kortsch, Christine Bayles, 6, 29 kōseifuku (remade clothing): kimonos remade into Western-style clothing, 134; postwar phenomenon of, 9, 22–23, 29, 63, 74, 87, 241n83 kosode: as “finest kimono” or “silk kimono,” 115, 260n38; as kimono with small sleeve openings, 1, 115, 235n2; as lined silk kimono with padding, 115, 260n39; the modern kimono traced to, 1; as “nagagi” (long garment) or “kimono,” 260n40; as a term, 115, 235n2; in Tsuboi’s “Ichijiku” (Figs), 115–120; uchikake kosode, 261n60 Kotegawa Yūko, as Taeko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81, Plate 4, Plate 5

Index  303 kurōto (professional): definition of, 138; Katsuyo in Flowing (Nagareru, film) as a professional/nonprofessional hybrid, 161; the mistress in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing) identified as, 141; as opposed to “shirōto” (nonprofessional), 138; realm of geisha, 138 The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1950 film): Abe Yutaka’s direction of, 32, 66; and censorship, 67–68; Cold War issues in, 32, 78–79; family wealth highlighted through kimonos in, 69, 70, 71, 71–73; obi design patterns in, 69, 70, 71, 253n15; Occupation period issues, 67–68, 80; sexuality in, 67–68, 75–77; Snow dance performed by Taeko, 73–74, 74, 253n21; squeaky obi sequence, 69, 70, 71; Taeko’s degeneracy highlighted through clothing, 75–76, 76. See also miai (arranged marriage meetings); Takamine Hideko; Todoroki Yukiko; Yamane Hisako The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1959 film directed by Shima Kōji), 80, 252n1 The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1983 film): celebration of kimonos in, 80–81, 85–88, Plates 2–3, Plate 6; economic prosperity reflected in, 82, 85, 89; family conflict in, 93–95; female desire and fantasy in, 84–89; gender roles in, 83–84; hierarchy in, 93–96, Plate 4; Ichikawa Kon’s direction of, 80–81; “Japan” as an identity addressed in, 82, 87, 98; male gaze in, 84–85, 89–92, 98; nostalgia in, 82–84, 98; “ojōsama būmu” (young ladies boom) prefigured by, 86; squeaky obi sequence, 86, 255–256n57; Taeko’s clothing and changed circumstances, 96–97, Plate 5. See also Emoto Takenori; Ichikawa Kon; Ishizaka Kōji; Kishi Keiko; Kotegawa Yūko; miai (arranged marriage meetings); Sakuma Yoshiko; Yoshinaga Sayuri The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, novel): and censorship, 35, 53–57, 72, 243n2, 250n84; characters and events modeled on

Tanizaki’s family and experiences, 35, 37, 38, 244n5, 245n12; cherry blossom viewings, 57–59, 61–62; cyclical time in, 58–62; disease in, 38–39, 43, 48, 51; English translation of, 37, 245–246n21, 246n33; firefly viewing (hotarugari) sequence in, 32, 47–52, 248n59; intertextuality in, 47–52; metatextual awareness created by kimonos, 36, 41–44; nostalgia in, 35, 55–56, 63–64; publication of, 35, 53, 243–244n2, 250n73; sense of realism of, 37–38, 244n10, 244–245n12, 245n13; sexuality in, 45, 46–47; squeaky obi in, 56–57, 72–73, 255–256n57; Taeko’s Snow dance in, 59–61; and the Tale of Genji, 47–52; wartime changes depicted in, 58–64. See also miai (arranged marriage meetings); Tanizaki Jun’ichirō; Tanizaki Matsuko The Makioka Sisters of the Heisei Period (Heisei Sasameyuki): broadcast information, 276–277n1; Hōrai Ryūta, 276–277n1; as TV series set in the 1990s, 34, 229–231, 234, 252n1. See also miai (arranged marriage meetings) Manchuria: Japan’s colonial history, 205–208, 214–215, 217. See also Miyao Tomiko; repatriates (hikiagesha); repatriation literature (hikiage bungaku) Masuda Yoshiko: on pan-pan girls, 254n25; on Western-style bridal dresses, 262n69 metonymy, 6–8, 51, 237n30 miai (arranged marriage meetings): in Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka sisters of the Heisei period), 230–231, 277n2; in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 66, 68; in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81, 86, 87–89, 90; in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 40, 42–52, 54, 61, 294n62; marriages in Tsuboi’s Uchikake (The wedding kimono), 125–126, 127, 128, 133; Occupation censors’ views of, 67–68; Rutsuko’s marriage to rejected miai candidate in Kōda’s Kimono, 173, 183, 186–187; as the traditional path for marriage, 40, 47, 68, 260n62

304  Index michiyuki. See kimonos–kimono coats (kōto) Milhaupt, Terry Satsuki, 5, 6, 23, 26 mingei (folk art), 189, 269n48 Mitamura Masako, 45, 59–60, 62, 237n20, 247n45, 252n99 Miyamoto Yuriko, 32, 101, 258n16 Miyao Tomiko: family background of, 198; film adaptations of her work by Gosha Hideo, 198–199; image of, Plate 13; Iwago oboegaki (Iwago’s memoirs), 199; Kantsubaki (Winter camellias), 199; Kiryūin Hanako no shōgai (The life of Kiryūin Hanako), 199; literary achievement of, 198–199; Miyaobon Heike monogatari (The Tale of Heike, Miyao version), 199; Nishiki (Brocade), 199; as a repatriate from Manchuria, 205, 206–207, 273n29, 275n48; Tenshōin Atsuhime (Tenshōin, Princess Atsu), 199; visit to northeast China in 1998, 224–227, 276n64, 276n69; Yōkirō, 198–199 Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series (Ayako mono), the four-volume I-novels, 198 Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 1: Oar (Kai): family conflict in, 202; film adaptation by Gosha Hideo, 198; as I-novel, 33, 198, 200, 204; motherdaughter bond in, 200–201, 222; publication of, 200, 272n7; self-published edition of Part I of (aka Shikaban Kai), 200, 204, 272n7, 272n9, Plate 12 Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 2: Red Summer (Shuka): feminist awakening in, 211, 216–217; as I-novel, 33, 198, 204, 206; issues of wartime responsibility, colonialism and imperialism, 198, 207, 209–214, 215, 227; kimonos as a sign of Ayako’s wealth, 215–216; kimonos left with the Wen family, 208, 225, 276n68; lost kimonos in, 212, 216–217, 218–219, 222, 223, 274n38; and Miyao’s Hana no kimono (Flower kimonos), 220; narration of, 209–210, 274n40; publication of, 274n30; the “repatriate’s spirit” in,

217–219; as a work of repatriation literature, 33, 205–207 Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 3: Spring Light (Shuntō): father-daughter relationship expressed through clothes in, 201–202; as I-novel, 33, 198, 200, 204; mother-daughter bond in, 201–202, 222; publication of, 272n11 Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 4: Niyodo River (Niyodogawa): discussion of the lost kimonos in, 218; as I-novel, 33, 198, 200, 204; and Miyao’s Kimonogatari (Narrating kimonos), 220–224; motherdaughter bond in, 202–203, 222–224; publication of, 275n54; tansu and belated trousseau in, 202, 222–223 Miyao Tomiko–Flower Kimonos (Hana no kimono): “Bara” (Rose) essay in, 221, 276n60; “Kasuri” essay in, 220; and Miyao’s Ayako series, 220–221; publication of, 220, 275n52; “Shima” (Stripes) essay in, 220–221 Miyao Tomiko–Narrating Kimonos (Kimonogatari): distinction between kimono coats and kimono raincoats in, 274n38; Miyao pictured on the cover of, Plate 13; and Miyao’s Niyodogawa (Niyodo River), 220–224, 276n61; “Monpe fasshon” (Monpe fashion) essay in, 276n58; monpe worn to China in 1998 described in, 225, 276n66; publication of, 220, 275n53; “Shiawase o haoru” (Wearing happiness) essay in, 220 mon. See crests (mon) monpe (traditional trousers): in the immediate postwar period, 22–23, 63; kimonos remade into, 9, 18–19, 19, 22, 63, 110–111, 221; made of omeshi, 240n69; in Miyao’s Ayako series, 204, 208, 219, 212–213, 219, 273n17, 276n58; in Miyao’s Kimonogatari (Narrating kimonos), 276n58; obi showing above the waistline of, 240n75; and postwar kōseifuku (remade clothing) boom, 22, 63; signification of, 17, 21–23, 63, 225; in

Index  305 Tsuboi’s “Kasuri no kimono” (The kasuri kimono), 105, 109–110; in Tsuboi’s “Obaasan no tanjōbi” (Grandmother’s birthday), 259n31; types of, 20–22, 219, 240n73; wartime proliferation of, 9, 17–23, 18, 23, 54, 63, 105, 109, 110, 208, 225; worn as formal wear or wedding wear, 22, 241n82; worn by Miyao Tomiko, 204, 224–227, 273n17, 276n66; worn with Japanese garments or footwear, 18, 19, 20–22, 20; worn with Western garments or footwear, 18, 19, 20–22, 20 Mori Rie, 3, 242n104, 260n40 Morishita Noriko. See Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, book); Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, film) Mori Yūki, 86, 255n40 mourning. See funerals and mourning Nagareru. See Flowing (Nagareru, film directed by Naruse Mikio); Kōda Aya–Flowing (Nagareru, novel) Nakakita Chieko, as Yoneko in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 159, 160 Naruse Mikio, as a director of “woman’s films,” 156–157. See also Flowing (Nagareru, film directed by Naruse Mikio) National Spiritual Mobilization (Kokumin seishin sōdōin) campaign, 16, 54, 61, 88, 94, 105 national subjects’ wear (kokuminfuku), 17, 21, 23, 54, 109 Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu. See Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, book); Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, film) Nihonjinron (theories of the Japanese people), 27–28, 184–185, 242n109 Niyodogawa. See Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 4: Niyodo River (Niyodogawa) Noguchi Takehiko, 48, 58, 248nn57–58, 251n99 Nornes, Marcus, 90, 91, 255n51

obi (sash): book boxes as “obi,” 189, 189; dokko (vajra) design on, 264n32; fukuro obi (pocket obi), 56, 250n82, 255n57; hiding of precious items in, 116, 260n42; maru obi (whole obi), 255n57; obi striking, 265n45; as part of a kimono outfit, 1, 3, 46, 58; part of the plum garden kimono outfit in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing), 145–146, 263n17; prohibition of types of obi fabric, 56, 250n83; squeaky obi sequence in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film); 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 253n15; squeaky obi sequence in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 86, 255n57; squeaky obi sequence in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 56, 253n15, 255n57; Tatsumura Heizō, obi production pioneer, 199; Tsuruko’s obi shown in the coat removal scene in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 85–86, Plate 3; Tsuruko surrounded by kimonos and obi in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 88, Plate 6; wearing a kimono or yukata (summer kimono) without an obi, 45, 114, 247n40; wearing an undone obi, 166, 166; worn by Nanako in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 162, 163; worn by Rutsuko in Kōda’s Kimono, 178; worn with monpe (traditional trousers), 20–21, 240n75. See also cords; obiage (obi scarf); iki (chic) obiage (obi scarf), 13, 144, 150 object studies, 6–8, 111, 237n30 Occupation period: censorship encountered by Tanizaki during, 57; Clothing Ticket System during, 122; Cold War issues and The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 32, 78–79; devaluation of traditional ideologies and practices during, 67–68, 73, 76, 78–79, 98; film censorship during, 67–68; Taeko of The Makioka Sisters (novel and 1950 film) reflecting issues of, 67; Western dress during, 22–23, 241n83. See also pan-pan girls Okada Mariko, as Nanako in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 157, 162, 163, 166

306  Index Ōmori Tatsushi. See Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, film) orphans left behind in China (Chūgoku zanryū koji), 33, 207, 214 Pacific War (1941–1945): Clothing Ticket System during, 122; impact on clothes, 16–17, 54, 57; The Makioka Sisters as wartime and postwar text, 35, 53–54, 77. See also World War II pan-pan girls: American fashions in women’s clothing worn by, 75, 254n25; Nanako’s clothing in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing) contrasted with, 151; as symbols, 76; Taeko’s clothing in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film) compared with those of, 75–76, 76 patterns. See bamboo; checked designs; flowing water (nagare; ryūsui) pattern; iki (chic); kasuri (ikat); kimonos–kimono patterns and pictorial designs; komon (kimono with all-over repeated patterns); pines; plums and plum blossoms; shibori (tie-dye); stripes pines: cranes and pine wedding garments in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 88, Plate 6; as one of the three auspicious plants, 120, 251n91; sunset pine design in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing), 148–150, 152, 263–264n24; on wedding kimonos, 88, 120, 251n91, 251n94 plums and plum blossoms: one of three auspicious plants, 120, 251n91; on kimonos, 120, 196, 251n91, 251n94; plum garden kimono outfit in Kōda’s novel Nagareru (Flowing), 1, 145–148, 235n1, 263n17; on the yukimochi (snow-covered plants) design kimono in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 59 PTA (Parent Teacher Association) look (PTA rukku), 25, 184, Plate 1 reality effect, 5, 38, 53, 111, 204 repatriates (hikiagesha) and repatriation: after World War II, 205; hikiagesha seishin (repatriate’s spirit), 217–218;

Miyao Tomiko’s experience as a, 205, 206–207, 273n29, 275n48. See also orphans left behind in China (Chūgoku zanryū koji) repatriation literature (hikiage bungaku): hikiagesha seishin (repatriate’s spirit) in, 217–218; Miyao’s distinction between Shuka (Red summer) and repatriate memoirs, 206; Miyao’s Shuka (Red summer) as, 33, 205; repatriate memoirs, 206, 207. See also Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 2: Red Summer (Shuka); repatriates (hikiagesha) Richie, Donald, 32, 80, 86 Ricketts, Rowland, 108, 259n25, 259n27 Russell, Catherine, 156, 168, 169–170 Sagi Tadao, 101, 102, 106, 111, 257n10 Saitō Keizō, 21 Sakuma Yoshiko, as Sachiko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81, Plate 4, Plate 5 Sasaki Aiko, 24, 243n114, 262n69 Sasameyuki. See The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1950 film); The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1959 film directed by Shima Kōji); The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1983 film); The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, novel) Sata Ineko, 32, 101, 258n14 Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945): images of motherhood in Japanese literature and culture during, 105; impact on clothes wearing, 16–17, 54, 59. See also National Spiritual Mobilization (Kokumin seishin sōdōin) campaign; 7.7 Prohibition Law (Shichi shichi kinrei) Seidensticker, Edward G., 37, 246n33 7.7 Prohibition Law (Shichi shichi kinrei), 16–17, 46, 54–55, 56, 61, 62, 250n83 sewing machines and dressmaking: and female independence, 74, 169; kantanfuku (easily sewn clothes), 12, 238n43; shift to Western clothing connected to, 169, 239n55; yōsai (Western-style sewing) contrasted with wasai (Japanese-style sewing), 22.

Index  307 See also appappa; kōseifuku (remade clothing); Western clothing Shan, Lianying, 274n40 Sheaman, Suzanne [Schermann, Susanne], 265n42 Sherif, Ann: on the Cold War, 79; on Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 172, 184, 187, 266n3, 267n12; on Kōda’s Nagareru (Flowing, novel), 139, 154; on Kōda’s “textual humility,” 267n6 shibori (tie-dye): hitome shibori (one-eye tie-dye), 255n56; hitta (type of kanoko shibori pattern), 186, 255n56, 269n33; kanoko shibori (fawn spot tie-dye), 85, 186, 255n56; sōshibori (all-over tie-dye) kimono worn by Tsuruko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 85–86, 255n56, Plates 2–3, Plate 4 Shikaban Kai (Self-published edition of Oar Part I). See Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 1: Oar (Kai) Shirokiya fire incident, 15 shishōsetsu. See I-novel (shishōsetsu; watakushi shōsetsu) Shōda Michiko: “Michii boom,” 24–25; visiting kimono (hōmongi) worn by, 25, 241n95, 264n26; Western-style bridal dress, 262n69 Shuka. See Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 2: Red Summer (Shuka) Shuntō. See Miyao Tomiko–Ayako series book 3: Spring Light (Shuntō) socks and sandals. See footwear storage chest (nagamochi), 222 stripes: checks categorized as “checked stripes” (kōshijima) in kimono terminology, 275n55; on iki (chic) kimonos, 36, 40, 159, 160–161, 265n46, 265–266n51; Miyao’s “Shima” (Stripes) essay in Hana no kimono (Flower kimonos), 220–221; Rutsuko’s meisen kimono, 182; of Tokyo-style kimonos, 40; tōzan or tōzan-style striped cotton cover of Miyao’s Shikaban Kai (Selfpublished edition of Oar Part I), 201, 272n9, Plate 12; Tsuruko’s tōzan-style

cotton hippari in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 97; of Tsutayakko’s garments in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 159, 161, 265–266n51. See also checked designs Sugimura Haruko, as Someka in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 157, 163, 166 Suzuki, Tomi, 203, 204, 272nn12–13 Takahashi Haruko, 238n43 Takamine Hideko: “Deko-chan” as nickname of, 73; in Karumen kokyō ni kaeru (Carmen Comes Home), 79–80; as Katsuyo in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 157, 159, 161–162, 169–170; in Nijyūshi no hitomi (Twenty-Four Eyes, film), 100; as a star and system of representation, 67, 79, 170; as Taeko in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 66–67, 70, 71, 73, 74, 76, 253n21; on Tanizaki Jun’ichirō and his family, 244n5 Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari): fireflies in, 50, 249nn63–66; importance of material culture in, 5; intertextual references in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 48, 50–52, 248n57, 248n58, 248n59; metonymic textile references in, 51; Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s translations of, 47–48, 248n49; Tanizaki’s writing of The Makioka Sisters influenced by, 47–48 Tamanoi, Mariko Asano, 214, 217, 273n19, 275n46 Tanaka Kinuyo, as Rika in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 67, 157, 158, 159, 163 Tanizaki Jun’ichirō: aspects of The Makioka Sisters modeled on his experiences and family, 35, 36, 37, 244n5, 245n12; comment on postwar changes in women’s clothing, 77; firefly viewing experienced by, 49, 248n60; historical accuracy and authentic representations in The Makioka Sisters, 37–38, 244n10, 245n16; translations of Tale of Genji, 47–48, 248n49; on the writing of The Makioka Sisters, 35, 244n3. See also The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1950 film); The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, 1983 film); The Makioka Sisters (Sasameyuki, novel)

308  Index Tanizaki Matsuko: on firefly viewing, 248n60; first marriage, 244n9, 251n94, 252n101; on in-between wear (aigi), 246–247n33; her kimonos in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81; knowledge of kimono culture, 37, 244n9, 251nn91–92, 251n94, 252n101; models for the Makioka sisters based on her and her family, 37–38, 245n12; poetry by, 249n64, 252n101 Tansman, Alan M., 139, 141, 262n4, 264n29, 267n6 tansu (chest of drawers; kimono dresser): for a bride’s trousseau, 3, 202, 222–223, 257n8; in Miyao’s Niyodogawa (Niyodo River), 202, 222–223; as repositories of memories and experiences, 102; in Tsuboi’s “Hana” (Flowers), 102, 257n8; in Tsuboi’s “Tansu no rekishi” (The history of a chest of drawers), 102, 257n8. See also Aoki Tama–Inside Kōda Aya’s Kimono Dresser (shortened form: Kimono Dresser) (Kōda Aya no tansu no hikidashi) tea ceremony (sadō; chadō), 34, 174, 234. See also Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, book); Every Day a Good Day (Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu, film) Todoroki Yukiko, as Sachiko in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 66, 70, 74, 76 Togaeri Hajime, 101 Tōgō Katsumi, 53, 58, 251n99 The True Tale of Asagao (Shō utsushi Asagao banashi), 49–50 Tsuboi Sakae: background of, 100–101, 257n10; clothing in immediate postwar works of, 103, 123; “Daikon no ha” (Leaves of daikon), 101; and feminism, 119–120, 259n31; Haha no nai ko to ko no nai haha to (A motherless child and a mother without a child ), 101; “Hana” (Flowers), 102, 257n8; handwoven cotton associated with, 103, 190, 258n16; “Hitotsumi no kimono” (Baby kimonos), 103; “Kantsubaki” (Winter camellia), 123; kimonos worn by, 102–103, 258n14; “Kon no sebiro” (The navy blue suit),

123; Nijyūshi no hitomi (Twenty-Four Eyes), 100, 101; “Obaasan no tanjōbi” (Grandmother’s birthday), 259n31; scholarly disregard of her work, 32, 100–101; “Tansu no rekishi” (The history of a chest of drawers), 102, 257n8, 257n10; “Tokushu iryō haikyū bi” (Distribution day for special clothing), 122–123; Tsuboi Shigeji, 100, 102; wartime writing by, 106, 111, 122–123, 259n31, 258–259n22 Tsuboi Sakae–“Figs” (Ichijiku): family system in, 111–112, 114, 115–120; feminist concerns, 119–120; komon chirimen kimono in, 115–120 Tsuboi Sakae–“The Kasuri Kimono” (Kasuri no kimono): anti-war sentiment subtly expressed in, 106, 108–111, 136; indigo-dyed kasuri kimono featured in, 104, 108–111, 136; motherhood in, 105–108, 110; publication of, 104, 258n18 Tsuboi Sakae–The Wedding Kimono (Uchikake): as feminist text, 32, 122, 131, 134–136; matriarchal Kobanya family in, 120, 122, 124–131, 261n49; Tsuboi’s historical research for, 261n48; the uchikake featured in, 120, 122–136, 261n60 Uchikake (novel). See Tsuboi Sakae–The Wedding Kimono (Uchikake) uchikake (over kimono with a trailing hem) (aka kaidori; okaidori): as part of a wedding kimono ensemble, 120, 121, 180, 251n91; uchikake kosode, 261n60. See also kimonos–wedding kimonos; Tsuboi Sakae–The Wedding Kimono (Uchikake) undergarments: dōgi (undergarment with padding), 175, 195; koshimaki (or okoshimaki, wrap-around slip), 12, 15, 37, 114, 202; nagajuban (underkimono), 13, 14, 42, 58, 142, 153–154, 246–247n33, 260n42 unlined kimono (hitoe), 12, 42–43, 45, 49, 216, 220, 275n55, 246–247n33 Uno Chiyo, 17, 243n118

Index  309 Valk, Julie, 5, 235n6, 241n101 visiting kimono (hōmongi): made into Miyao Tomiko’s haori, 221; in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 95, 97, 255n56, 256n74, Plate 4; worn by Shōda Michiko, 25, 241n95, 264n26 wabi sabi (plain, unadorned), 174 wafuku. See Japanese clothing Washburn, Dennis, 249n65 Watt, Lori, 206, 275n51 Western clothing (yōfuku): appappa as part of the shift toward, 12; in the early descriptions of the sisters in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 39–40; as everyday clothing in Japan after World War II, 1, 4, 9, 10; gender difference in their adoption during the prewar period, 28–29, 242–243n113; the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923 and, 11, 183; in Heisei Sasameyuki (The Makioka sisters of the Heisei period), 230, 277n2; ideas and values associated with, 23, 40, 79, 238n45; and Katsuyo in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 161, 169; kimonos as wafuku (Japanese clothing) in distinction to, 3, 10, 26; monpe worn with, 18, 20, 20; in Nichi nichi kore kōjitsu (Every day a good day, film), 231; of pan-pan girls, 75, 254n25; as part of women’s standard wear (fujin hyōjunfuku), 17, 18; popularization of sewing machines and, 169, 239n55; promotion by the Daily Life Improvement League (Seikatsu Kaizen Dōmeikai), 12; as rational clothes for modern life, 12–15; as ready-made, 185; shift to, 11–15, 21–23, 28–29, 63, 134, 170, 241n83, 242n113; Shirokiya fire of 1932 and, 15; Shōda Michiko and bridal dresses, 262n69; worn by Mitsuko in Kōda’s Kimono, 181; worn by Nanako in Kōda’s Nagareru (Flowing, novel), 151; worn by Rika in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 159, 163; worn by Taeko in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 68, 69, 70, 71, 74, 76, 79; worn by Taeko in The

Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81, 96; worn by Taeko in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 39–40, 44–46, 55. See also kōseifuku (remade clothing); sewing machines and dressmaking woman’s film, 30, 32, 80, 84–85, 156–157 women’s standard wear (fujin hyōjunfuku), 17, 18, 54 women’s volunteer corps (teishintai), 105, 107, 109, 259n31 women writers: fabric metaphors for, 103, 189, 190, 258n16; traditional negative views of, 190 World War II: memories of destruction echoed in Kōda Aya’s Kimono, 184; repatriation of overseas Japanese following, 205. See also Fifteen-Year War (1931–1945); Occupation period; Pacific War (1941–1945); Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945) woven kimono (ori no kimono) (also known as sakizome [prior-dyed] kimono), 97, 102–103, 178, 216, 221, 257nn81–82, 258n15 Yajima Takatoshi, 81 Yamada Isuzu, as Tsutayakko in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 157, 159, 161, 165 Yamane Hisako, as Yukiko in The Makioka Sisters (1950 film), 66, 70, 71, 76 Yamashita Etsuko, 241n82, 241n95 Yanagibashi: Kōda Aya’s temporary stay in, 138, 153; as presumed setting of Kōda’s Nagareru (Flowing, novel), 138, 263n20; sartorial practices associated with, 160, 162–163, 170; as setting of Flowing (Nagareru, film), 137, 138 Yanagi Yōko, 238n45, 241n83 yōfuku. See Western clothing Yoshinaga Sayuri, as Yukiko in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 81, 86, 90, Plate 4 yukata (summer kimono): Aoki Tama’s “Tachikake no yukata” (Half-cut yukata) essay in Kimono Dresser, 195; appappa as an alternative to, 12; as clothing today, 2, 170; disease and pollution associated

310  Index yukata (summer kimono) (cont.) with, 164–165, 170–171; improper ways of wearing, 45, 247n40; as loungewear or sleepwear, 159, 159, 166, 168, 169, 170, 175, 187; made into a diaper, 210; of Oharu in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 37; Rutsuko’s wearing of, 175–176, 183, 187; Someka’s garment in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 265n50; Tsutayakko in, 159, 161, 165; as visual experience, 158; Yoneko’s sloppy appearance in Flowing (Nagareru, film), 160 yūzen (paste-resist dyed design/dyeing technique): Ayako’s kimono in Miyao’s

Kai (Oar), 201; cranes and pine wedding kimono in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 88, Plate 6; Etsuko’s kimono in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 58; favored by Tanizaki, 244n5; long-sleeved yūzen kimono and firefly viewing, 49, 52; Sachiko’s kimono in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 50–51; Taeko’s kimono in The Makioka Sisters (1983 film), 95, 256n74, Plate 4; as a term, 30, 40; western Japan (Kansai) associated with, 40; and Yukiko in The Makioka Sisters (novel), 40, 43–44, 47, 55, 56

About the Author

Michiko Suzuki is associate professor of Japa­nese and comparative lit­er­a­ture at the University of California, Davis. Her work examines narratives in light of cultural discourses and historical contexts and focuses on issues that include gender, modernity, sexuality, sexology, w ­ omen writers, and kimono culture. She is the author of Becoming Modern W ­ omen: Love and Female Identity in Prewar Japa­ nese Lit­er­a­ture and Culture.