Japan

Absolute Erotic, Absolute Grotesque: The Living, Dead, and Undead in Japan's Imperialism, 1895-1945

caitlin — Sat, 04 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Mark Driscoll, an associate professor of Japanese and International Studies at the University of North Carolina, here presents a very thorough reassessment of Japanese imperialism of Asia in the first half of the twentieth century. Driscoll focuses his attention on the fringes of the colonized Asian peoples, writing about the Chinese coolies, Korean farmers, Japanese pimps and trafficked women of various Asian nationalities that moved Japan's empire along and provided the behind-the-scenes energy that created such an empire. Japan's rise to a capitalist power—and its expansion of its empire—is identified by Driscoll as happening in three distinct phases, each marked by exploitation of people, land, life, and labor: biopolitics, neuropolitics, and necropolitics.

Driscoll's reading of biopolitics as it applies to Japanese imperialism and capitalism is the same as Michel Foucault's: faire vivir (improving life) and laisser mourir (letting die off). Biopolitics most often involves public health, disease prevention, maternity clinics, and hygiene campaigns. It directly ties in to the concept of laissez-faire capitalism, its aim being for some lives to be improved and for others to be left to fare for themselves. In neuropolitics, the exploited worker in the capitalist society has a life that no longer belongs to him but to the object into which he puts his life (often his job); therefore, he must try to buy back his own life in the form of “commodity substitutes.” (Think of Fight Club and its message of “the things you own end up owning you.”) Citizens in a neuropolitical state are “shocked into stupefaction,” and then tricked into buying a “second life” back from the capitalist regime in the form of consumable goods. Necropolitics, the third phase of Japan's capitalist imperial expansion, is defined as the state in which workers, forced laborers, and colonized persons are aware of the constant threat of omnipresent death, and perceive life as a constant struggle against this threat of death. The imperialistic powers over the colonized peoples subjugate their lives with the power of death.

Absolute Erotic, Absolute Grotesque is a highly fascinating book, though occasionally dry and academic. This is no fault of the writer or subject matter, but simply my own Western/Caucasian mind not having these lingual-neural pathways, but I had trouble keeping up with the many Asian names sprinkled liberally throughout the text. There is plenty in here to intrigue those with an interest in twentieth century world politics, Marxism, sex workers, the failures of capitalism, the deplorable treatment of women in war conditions, poverty, gender, race, political corruption, and the swift rise and fall of empires. Driscoll also covers pornography and drugs in Japan's colonization of Asia, and includes some grisly photographs from “erotic-grotesque” magazines, the idea of these being that the two concepts were not so different from one another.

Written by: Natalie Ballard, December 4th 2010

Dear Pyongyang

mandy — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Yonghi Yang

Typecast Releasing

Yonghi Yang and her parents are Zainichi, meaning a Korean who lives in Japan. During the division of Korea in 1948 and the war that followed, the Zainichi took sides just as those who dwelled on the peninsula did. Yang’s parents had never been to North Korea, but were so enamoured of communism and the country that in 1971 Yang's father sent his three teenage sons to live in Pyongyang, the capital, as part of the Zainichi “Return Project.” This emigration occurred between the 1950s and 1970s when “Returnees” hoped for a better life in the “fatherland.” This better life never materialized, yet Returnees were forbidden to go back to Japan.

What Yang’s father's decision regarding his sons meant and still means to the family, and how her father now feels about his decision, form the core of this remarkable documentary (much of it shot in first-person POV, a rare occurrence in cinema). Yang interviews her septuagenarian father several times in homey circumstances. He jokes, laughs, sings, banters with his daughter, and gracefully accepts being made fun of. Yang teases out superbly this non-ideological side of her father. His decision about his sons was appalling—frightening in its implications of how political ideals distort the mind. Yet he’s likable and so loves his wife, daughter, sons, and grandkids that it’s almost possible to forgive the tragic mistake he made that his sons live out to this day.

An important thread of the story is Yang’s fortune compared to her brothers’. She was the youngest child, and only daughter, and so remained in Japan where she listened to the Beatles, took up videography, and decided that she had the right to choose her own career. By contrast, the brothers and their families lived in the pinched, highly controlled, and stagnant environment of Pyongyang. Footage that Yang shot as a schoolgirl when she visited her brothers several times over the years is deftly incorporated into the present-day journey to Pyongyang of her and her parents, and plays a crucial role in this contrast.

I won’t reveal the outcome of the narrative, but suffice it to say that Yang’s father's love for his daughter doesn’t fail when she needs an important answer from him. Criticisms? Well, toward the end, Yang’s camera shoved in her father’s helpless face shades into a passive-aggressive assault.

The film is DIY to the max, so its technical aspects can be roughhewn. Yang apparently shot the present-day footage on a consumer-quality digicam. The limitations of this kind of equipment and shooting do crop up. Sometimes the image is overexposed or underexposed. Occasionally the camera work is deliriously shaky. Sometimes the dialogue is not synched properly, and sometimes it’s obscured, for example, by wrapping paper being scrunched because the mic isn’t well placed.

Yet Dear Pyongyang—a sad and ironic title—tells so compelling a family tale with so many political ramifications that its production flaws don’t matter a whit. This “little” film has a big mind and heart. Though it often seems as if it were made for six dollars—all right, make it ten—it’s worth a dozen megabuck Hollywood blockbusters.

Written by: Neil Flowers, November 26th 2010

Tales of Tokyo

admin — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Alan Rose

Bennett & Hastings Publishing

Full disclosure: Alan Rose and I are friends, and over the years I have enjoyed every bit of his writing. His first novel, the plot-driven ghost story The Legacy of Emily Hargraves, may differ in tone and content from Tales of Tokyo, but the underlying themes aren’t so different. Rose excels at writing about love, passion, the search for answers, and the search for self – and these are recurring themes in both of his books. In Tales of Tokyo, there are even a few ghost stories thrown in for good measure.

The plot follows the lives of four people in their twenties—Americans Chris, Jason, and Sally and Australian Delia—who relocate to Japan to teach English for a year in search of a unique identity. There is Jason’s spiritual quest; Chris’s refusal to give up on the relationship he left in Seattle; Sally’s struggle to find out who she really is instead of telling lies about herself; and Delia’s determination to battle the sexism she encounters at the school and in Japanese society. (Delia accomplishes this through sex, as she spends much of the novel chasing down eligible bedmates.)

Several parallel plots run through the novel, but none drag down the pace. Drawing all of the characters together is the whisper of a scandal at the school that even the most candid of the American staff refuse to discuss—but Chris and Delia can’t help investigating. The sleuthing that ensues culminates in several “gotcha!” moments for the reader—another fun aspect of the book.

Set in 1981 and 1982, there is more than a hint of autobiography here, as Rose spent time as an ESL teacher in Japan in the early 1980s. While more than twenty-five years have passed since that time, he recreates the scene convincingly. Through the American characters—both those in Japan and the friends they’ve left back home—we’re brought back to the Reagan years, and the author, no pun intended, doesn’t write with rose-colored glasses. We’re reminded of the increasingly large gap between the haves and have-nots, and the very first echoes of what will develop into the AIDS epidemic.

Similar to The Legacy of Emily Hargraves, Rose writes candidly about sex—and very well, I might add—and there is quite a lot of sex, gay and straight, in the book. Though it’s not pornographic for the most part, sex is a central issue for several of the main characters. Chris, a true romantic, tangles with lovers who are able to separate sex from relationships while he isn’t. Delia is motivated solely by her hormones. Sally spends a lot of time trying to lose her virginity, as well as seduce Chris, despite the fact that he is openly gay. Only Jason doesn’t focus on sex as the other characters do, although several of them wouldn’t mind sleeping with him.

The only part of the book that moves a bit slowly is a month-long journey the four friends take through some of the more remote areas of Japan. I tend to think of the wilderness as a place to go through between cities, but the nature lover may appreciate that aspect of the book. At roughly 600 pages, Tales of Tokyo is not a short novel, but it is a relatively quick and thoroughly compelling read that convinces you to really care about the characters and wonder what will happen to them. Ultimately, when the book ends, you are left wanting more.

Written by: M.L. Madison, September 1st 2010

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun: The Autobiography of a Japanese Feminist

admin — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Hiratsuka Raichō, Teruko Craig

Columbia University Press

In the beginning, woman was truly the sun. An authentic person. Now she is the moon, a wan and sickly moon, dependent on another, reflecting another’s brilliance. _ _... The time has come for us to recapture the sun hidden within us.

These lines launched Seitō, a women's literary journal, in 1911 Tokyo. Hiratsuka Raichō was one of the founders, and she poured her emotions into this opening editorial. Her essay gave voice to frustrations felt by women across the nation, and is now considered part of the canon of Japanese feminism.

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is Raichō’s autobiography. Teruko Craig has translated the first half of a four volume set, with her own summary of the latter half of Raichō’s life. The book can best be described as a memoir, with more focus on experiences than facts.

Raichō did not intend to become a feminist icon. An atypical young girl, she went fishing with her father as a child, and later fought for permission to enroll in one of the few women’s colleges. Throughout her youth, Raichō squirmed under the oppressive dictates of school and family, conventions we would designate now as patriarchal, though she was not thinking in such terms.

Raichō was given a remarkable amount of freedom for a young woman. She walked alone to and from school and pursued her own activities. Passionate about attaining spiritual growth, she studied Zen for years. Her interest in literature came late, but when it did she began poring through the classics of European thought.

It was a male friend who urged her to found Seitō, "Bluestocking," a literary journal dedicated to fostering women writers. Raichō’s original drive was to inspire women to become their authentic selves. She did not think in terms of men and women, but of people who were denying themselves spiritually.

Raichō became a primary manager of the operation, with a team of other young women, and the magazine remained independent during the majority of its run from 1911 to 1916. Those involved were dubbed "New Women" by the newspapers, and their every action was scrutinized. The editorial team constantly walked the line between asserting their rights to act freely and avoiding the condemnation of society and the government, which banned several issues.

Raichō narrates her memoir in the voice of a confident woman, never apologizing nor boasting. I felt as though she was sitting near me, telling the story simply because I had asked to hear it. She explains her motivations, even when they are not quite what one might expect from a feminist icon. It was only later in her life that Raichō began to fight for the special rights and responsibilities women have as women, particularly as mothers. She describes this as a maturation of view.

Much time is spent on Raichō’s relationships with other writers. Though I was interested in the other women participating in Seitō, there were so many of them that they began to run together. I am sure that, to someone more familiar with the movers and shakers of Raichō’s time, the names will have more meaning, and these insights into their characters will be a gift. Craig points out that as an oral narrative, the text “tends to be repetitious and digressive,” but I rarely found this to be an issue except for these tangential stories.

The only thing missing is more of Raichō’s writings. The preeminent “In the beginning…” essay is only excerpted, allowing tantalizing glimpses into Raichō’s mind without allowing the reader to develop a sense of her full meaning. I feel it would have been helpful to have more of what appeared in Seitō as well. As such, In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is not a one-stop-shop for learning about Japanese feminism. There is a good sense of history and the larger changes in Japanese society at the time, but only in relation to Raichō and her projects. Her motivations and intentions are explained, but her work is not allowed to speak for itself. Nevertheless, the book sheds light on a time and a place that few would think of as progressive in terms of women’s rights.

Written by: Richenda Gould, June 28th 2010

The Japanese Wife

admin — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Aparna Sen

Saregama Films

Here’s what I can muster for Aparna Sen’s film The Japanese Wife: I still don’t quite get it.

The Japanese Wife is not as simple as Madame Butterfly, but I think a similar analysis applies. This film was odd. The story is about this awkward (poor!) Bengali school teacher who is lifelong pen pals with an equally socially obtuse (relatively poor) Japanese woman. Neither of them speak English as a first language, yet they communicate, fall in love, get married, and live their lives (separately) through letters. There was no miscegenation happening.

Now what is the term for sub-empires orientalizing other sub-empires?

Every time Miyage, the Japanese Wife character, spoke there would be this ever so delicate music wafting in (gongs!) and all of a sudden, as if it were the elusive groundhog itself, would come her voice. Her tiiiiiny, high-pitched, broken-English voice. I have nightmares about this voice. Exotic yes, feminine definitely, little Miyage. Flutter flutter. "Miyage" to my knowledge, is a Japanese surname, not a first name. Miss!

A lot of The Japanese Wife was by the book. Like Snehamoy (the husband) being seen as a “race”-traitor/Japan-lover, so the plot line included the exotic Asian woman captivating Snehamoy enough for him to shun Indian women, specifically Sandhya (Raima Sen’s character), the beautiful young widow who (due to unfortunate circumstances) moves in with Snehamoy and his aunt. It’s best shown in a scene that takes on nationalistic proportions, where Snehamoy represents Japan in a village kite battle against the ultra-Indian kite team manned by the local teenage boys of Snehamoy's village.

So I figure, like the timing of M. Butterfly, Incredible !ndia, too, is going through major cultural-economic shifts. I mean look at the March Nuclear Agreement; thanks to the Obama Administration, India’s ascendancy as a "sub-empire" is firmly in place. Clearly Incredible !ndia’s capitalist growth and emerging status as world economic power (8.2% growth according to Asian Development Bank in 2010) is a discursive force in itself.

New India should exercise its growing machismo and brand its own Orientalism. But that’s not it! Bengali men are not exactly the epitome of machismo. Neither does India share in the post-WWII relations between the U.S. and Japan. India is expanding and the wave it’s expanding on is producing, circulating, and reinventing cultural practices and relations. So, it’s not as simple as saying that this example of fetishizing Japanese women is some sort of inherited or weird mimesis of nation-buildings past.

In a sense (and I feel like I’m sidestepping history, power, labour, etc.), the idea of the gaze is flexible. And employed by Indians. Just watch The Japanese Wife. Or Chandni Chowk to China. Or the host of new Indian films featuring ethnically Asian characters.

Now the celibacy of Miyage and Snehamoy remains. Maybe Sen really is a genius and made it easy for us to see the symbolism in Snehamoy’s celibacy as a way of describing a postcolonial nation-in-process. Clearly India is not Empire-proper. Indian men are still symbolically emasculated, same as U.S. hegemony still exists. Or I mean, shoot, it really is all about miscegenation. And Indians are not ready for transnational-transracial love like this. You’ve got to preserve some Brahmin in there.

Shrugs.

Written by: Nafisa Ferdous, June 11th 2010

Entangling Alliances: Foreign War Brides and American Soldiers in the Twentieth Century

admin — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Susan Zeiger

New York University Press

When men are shipped out to foreign locations to engage in wartime activities, it seems inevitable that they will become romantically and sexually involved with foreign women. In Entangling Alliances, Susan Zeiger explores this phenomenon, examining governmental, military, and societal responses to American soldiers’ desires for sex, companionship, and marriage while engaged in combat overseas. She argues that the changing ways Americans treated war brides over the course of the twentieth century demonstrates shifting American sensibilities regarding foreign policy, race, and gender. More than anything, because war brides involved an exchange of women across cultural and national boundaries, American discourse about war brides was ultimately about what constituted American manhood, men’s relationships with women, and the role of the nation in its relationship to other countries.

During World War I, the military preached sexual abstinence while devising methods to keep American soldiers and local women apart, in particular African-American soldiers and white European women. The army’s response to marriage requests vacillated until an official policy was handed down that marriage was a personal, not military, question. Meanwhile, domestic policy concerns in the U.S. triumphed over an internationally-oriented political outlook; xenophobia for newcomers was inevitable and Americans wondered if these foreign women could become good American wives. Though many predicted the demise of these marriages, evidence reveals that the majority made it.

In World War II, military policy differed depending on location. It encouraged marriage in Great Britain and Australia, both Allied countries with similar cultural backgrounds to white middle-class America. Likewise, American society welcomed these brides, suggesting that American women should emulate their domesticity and loyalty to husbands. Alternatively, the military encouraged prostitution, rather than marriage, in both Italy and the Philippines, while American society viewed these war brides as less desirable immigrants. Zeiger argues that both policies—encouraging prostitution or marriage—“shared... the intention to preserve and extend male control over women.” She also points out that though many of these local women showed independence and an assertion of personal freedom by going out with American men, sometimes against their family’s wishes, their stories “end with marriage and dependence.”

Race played a huge role in war bride stories post-WWII and throughout the Korean and Vietnam Wars. Congressional policy actively limited brides from Asian countries, outright barring Japanese spouses for several years, while all interracial couples faced social discrimination and, occasionally, found that their marriages were not legal when they moved from one state to another.

Zeiger argues that the conflicts in Korea and Vietnam saw the “demise” of the war bride as a phenomenon considered and debated by the American public. The military did not provide transport to war brides the way they did in WWI and WWII, and it actively encouraged prostitution rather than marriage, extending its WWII policy of creating red-light districts where prostitutes were regularly examined by medical officials and given “safe” ratings to prevent the spread of venereal disease. Korean and Vietnamese wives were not written about widely in the American press and they have not written about their post-war experiences in America, the way war brides from earlier eras have done. They have been, Zeiger writes, “all but invisible in American culture.”

Demographic information suggests that these Asian war brides tend to be isolated, even in comparison to other Asian immigrants though they have sponsored family members to come to the U.S., unlike earlier war brides. Though Asian war brides were an untold story, there was a lot of media attention paid to the mixed-race children left behind in Vietnam and, sometimes airlifted out and brought to the U.S. Zeiger argues that the story of Amerasian children, and the efforts to bring them to the U.S. allowed Americans to re-conceptualize the war, seeing both Amerasian children and American soldiers as victims in the story. “The American nation becomes father and, also, paradoxically, child. Vietnam, the mother, the war bride, is not part of this reconciliation.”

Entangling Alliances is a compelling read, illuminating twentieth century social struggles encountered by men and women on both domestic and foreign soil over questions of gender, race, and nationality. Though Zeiger argues that the war bride phenomenon died out with the Korean and Vietnam wars, clearly, soldiers still took wives and fathered children with Korean and Vietnamese women. More recently, stories of male American soldiers marrying Iraqi women have been exploited in the media. Because Zeiger only covers the period from WWI up through the Vietnam War, she leaves a perplexing question unexplored: What has happened with female soldiers and local men in the conflicts that the U.S. has engaged in the last twenty years? Have female soldiers, like male soldiers, engaged in romantic and sexual conquests with non-U.S. citizens? I suspect their experience has been radically different than their male counterparts.

Written by: Jessica Powers, June 5th 2010

Babies

admin — Mon, 17 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Thomas Balmès

Focus Features

I just got back from seeing the documentary Babies. I have to say that it was great! Director Thomas Balmès followed four babies from four countries for a little over a year each. The movie is mostly without dialogue, except for the little bit of the parents' talking. It is mostly shot from the baby's level, and is organized by the developmental stages of babies' lives. This choice was a great way to highlight each culture and keep the movie flowing.

I really enjoyed seeing the differences in parenting and lifestyles. I found Ponijao, the baby from Namibia, to be the most interesting. The parenting style there was extremely community oriented, though men seemed to have no place in parenting there. This collective parenting made it hard to tell who the baby's mother was through much of the movie.

Bayar, from Mongolia, lives on a family farm. It's amazing to see how closely he grows up with the animals and how he is given a lot of freedom. It's also interesting that his parents seem to take a very removed roll. Although the mother is an active parent at times, Bayar tends to be left to his own devices or with a slightly older sibling.

Japanese Mari was raised in a very Western manner, with her mother taking her to prearranged play dates and having her interact with toys produced by the baby industry. In California, Hattie grows up with a ton of toys and books. She goes to organized baby-centered activities, but otherwise is very solitary. Out of all the babies' fathers, Hattie's seems to be the most involved in his child's life.

Babies does a great job of staying silent; there is no voice-over commentary or focus on the parents apart from when they are interacting with their child. That said, I think the filmmaker intended to create a discussion about parenting, but Babies could easily act as a way to create an Other by creating a divide between Western and non-Western worlds. Although it shows how babies are similar overall, cultural and economic divisions and not providing context and commentary makes it too easy to view those from non-Western cultures as outsiders.

When watching the film it's hard to remember that these are sample sizes of one, which makes it easy to critique the parenting style of, say, the Japanese parents because there are more than a few scenes of Mari being crabby. But she could easily have colic or be teething or it could just be a result of her parents' individual style, not a reflection of Japanese society as a whole. Similarly, Babies makes it seem as though this Mongolian family is completely removed from parenting, when it could be the economic pressures they face that creates a need for both of Bayar's parents to work.

I noticed some negative reactions in the theater. The film shows breastfeeding, which elicited a small gasp from another patron, and there were also some inappropriate reactions to the children in two of the cultures who were regularly without pants. I think these reactions tell a lot about Americans biases, and how these negative views make natural choices difficult for many mothers.

Other than these few things, Babies was amazing. I'd definitely suggest it to anyone who has an interest in children or parenting. I would just make sure the person understands that these are glimpses into the lives of individuals, and while the people featured may represent a part of their culture, they are not necessarily representative of the culture as a whole.

Cross-posted at Squirrely Mama

Written by: Cheryl Friedman, May 17th 2010

Nakigao (Crying Girl)

admin — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Amuse Soft Entertainment

You may have already heard about Nakigao (Crying Girl), a DVD released in Japan last month. It features eleven young Japanese actresses crying over real-life dramas they’ve had. And… that’s about it. The DVD is being marketed toward Japanese men, either for sexual or ego enjoyment purposes.

Given the wide rage of fetishes out there, especially when it comes to viewing women as victims or vulnerable, I’m not really surprised this DVD exists. But I’m really bothered by the lack of criticism it’s receiving from bloggers and news outlets, where it’s gotten any coverage at all. It’s been highlighted (in English-language blogs) as just one more “WTF, Japan” idiosyncrasy that also provides a fleeting glimpse into a gender status quo most Westerners take for granted.

Steve Levenstein over at Inventor Spot posted a somewhat cynical take of the DVD, but nonetheless concluded, “it seems that men in Japan need to have their 'conquering instinct' stoked up, and the way to do this is by watching beautiful women cry. Yep, in a nutshell: men feel stronger after experiencing the weakness of women. But hey—Japan is a different culture and Crying Girl just underlines that fact.” Levenstein notes, smartly or perhaps cheekily, that if a self-help tool for empowering men, which utilizes women as props to do so, were marketed in the U.S., “you’ll earn yourself a swift kick in the, er, nutshells.” Yet it’s okay to condone that dynamic in Japan? Maybe he didn’t feel empowered to take a feminist critique?

Posts didn’t ask questions about the deeper why of this DVD's existence, or whether they were doing something helpful or harmful by advertising it. Instead of being “culturally sensitive” (or culturally insensitive in a tongue in cheek way, which is what I think most of the blogs that posted about the DVD sought to be), such coverage is participating in the perpetuation of Western stereotypes about Japanese women as meek and submissive.

Most irksome to me is the surprising coverage this stupid DVD got into the May issue of Marie Claire. It was featured in the “Bulletin” section, which usually highlights items that are new, relevant, progressive, and pro-woman. Notes Marie Claire, “the film pitches itself as a self-help tool to empower men and stir up their ‘macho instincts’ by showing the ‘vulnerability’ of women.” Alongside informative and helpful bits about DC’s wack anti-prostitution initiative—which could get you arrested for carrying more than three condoms—and the fiftieth anniversary of the birth control pill (happy birthday, old friend!) was a toothless review-slash-apology for Crying Girls.

I think the author wanted to highlight it more as an oddity than anything else, but by not offering any kind of critique of the DVD, it came off as condoning, or presuming normative gender roles in Japan: “the sixty-three-minute sobfest promises that men won’t be able to resist the ‘pure tears and running noses’ and ‘sad sexy voices’ of the women reliving their misery. Whatever turns you on, right?”

It’s convenient to Otherize a taboo to make yourself feel more normal, but meanwhile child pornography and other disturbing fetishes are alive and well in the U.S. and all over the world. Marie Claire interviews a Japanese psychologist who confirms: “Japanese women are getting more powerful by the day, and men are experiencing a deep malaise of inadequacy.’ Anyone need a tissue?” And that’s where the article ends. Instead of making the newsy bit about how women in Japan are “getting more powerful by the day,” the story is the misogynistic prop that men need to make themselves feel better.

This is the exact same misreading of a potentially feminist storyline that I wrote about in January. The New York Times spun potentially good news—women are earning more—into an androcentric tale of female victimhood: men are marrying women for their money. Why does androcentrism seem to be more newsworthy than feminism? Is feminism a trope or something nowadays?

I don’t want to make a mountain out of a mole hill, but I wish that either this DVD wasn’t mentioned at all, or that, if it was, it was critiqued in a more thoughtful way. Instead of wasting ink describing how eleven women are crying to make businessmen feel macho, let’s use our 'ink' to talk about the under-sung work of Japanese feminists, and important regional groups like the Asia-Japan Women’s Resource Center.

If you’re thinking of ordering this ridiculous DVD, instead buy Broken Silence: Voices of Japanese Feminism. Then you’ll really learn something about the Japanese woman, as she speaks for herself.

Cross-posted with Gender Across Borders

Written by: Jessica Mack, April 28th 2010

Kissing the Mask: Beauty, Understatement and Femininity in Japanese Noh Theater

admin — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By William T. Vollmann

Ecco

Full disclosure: I am an avid fan of William T. Vollmann's work and was excited to read this book. Vollmann often has strange and interesting things to say about women and gender relations, and his notorious interest in prostitutes (who feature prominently in both his fiction and non-fiction) may almost be labeled as an obsession. In his latest book, Kissing The Mask, Vollmann concentrates on the nature of femininity by viewing it primarily through the lens of the ancient, gorgeous masks of Japanese Noh theater. It is also a meditation on the idea of femininity as a staged performance.

Noh theater is far too complex to encapsulate in just a few sentences, and Vollmann himself often professes trouble in defining it thoroughly. At first glance, Noh seems a bizarre choice of medium through which to focus on femininity, as most Noh actors are male and men traditionally play the roles of women with the aid of costuming and masks. However, Vollmann directs his attention, and the readers', to the beautifully rendered Noh masks representing female characters. These become a metaphor for the “mask” of femininity that many women wear: makeup, jewelry, clothing, and other adornments that are more or less socially mandated.

Similarly, the elaborate and carefully orchestrated movements on the Noh stage are analogous to the “staged” femininity also involving complex, time-consuming, and money-burning ornamentation that often results in constricted and painful mobility. Vollmann is concerned with what “manifests” a woman as opposed to what a woman “is,” and in this endeavor he visits Japanese geishas and transvestites, both of whom could be said to wear the feminine mask. He digresses into history of what other cultures have traditionally considered “beautiful,” and manages to weave in thoughts about porn stars and artists' muses.

Vollmann readily admits that he perceives women as “the other,” and is fully aware of the fact that he is viewing women through the privilege of a male gaze. He waxes rhapsodic about female beauty throughout the text, basically elevating women on a very high and poetic pedestal, which made me slightly uncomfortable; when a person (or entire gender) is put up on a pedestal, it's a long way to fall. Vollmann appears to genuinely like and respect women, however, and my discomfort was minor and temporary. He also, as in his other nonfiction books, makes no pretense about being an objective observer; he is fully immersed as a character in his own true story.

Kissing The Mask is highly valuable as a look into the secretive, baroque, and intricate Japanese subcultures of Noh theater and geisha teahouses, with the author's personal study of staged femininity mostly as a bonus. Furthermore, it's enriched with William Vollmann's gorgeous and almost lyrical prose, plenty of photographs and drawings, several appendices with notes and chronologies, and a glossary for the many Japanese words and phrases liberally sprinkled through the material.

Written by: Natalie Ballard, April 6th 2010

Intimate Encounters: Filipina Women and the Remaking of Rural Japan

admin — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Lieba Faier

University of California Press

Intimate Encounters: Filipina Women and the Remaking of Rural Japan is a culmination of professor Lieba Faier's fieldwork in the late 1990s in the Nagano region of Japan, specifically Central Kiso. For a few years, Faier lived in the area, interviewing both the Japanese natives and the Filipina women who came to Japan under entertainment visas. The Central Kiso area had a particular phenomenon: a surprising number of foreign brides from the Philippines either met their husbands at the hostess bars where they worked or through mediated marriages.

Faier discusses the two mentalities surrounding these Filipina brides: first, many Japanese thought they came from a poor and inferior country, and were looking for rich husbands; on the other hand, others viewed these brides as ii oyomesan, Japanese for “good wife.” Filipina brides who were viewed as ii oyomesan possessed “Japanese” qualities, such as being dutiful towards their husbands and in-laws. When interviewed, these women revealed that they were following their Filipina values.

Even though many of these women came to Japan searching for a better life and a way to support their families back in the Philippines, many found obstacles. While their visas were for cultural performances, the majority worked in hostess clubs, where they were expected to please men and get them to drink. Many of the women performed sexual services, though it was a violation of their visas. If a Filipina woman did marry a Japanese man, she faced the disapproval of Japanese in-laws. Faier recounts stories of Filipina brides who ran away from their husbands, working underground when their visas expired.

Faier's fieldwork is incredibly extensive, covering both Japanese and Filipina points of view. She does an excellent job portraying the different reasons these women came to Japan, and the various difficulties they went through. Intimate Encounters is an enjoyable read, not only for students of anthropology, but also for those interested in either Japan or the Philippines.

Written by: Elizabeth Stannard Gromisch, December 28th 2009

Japanese Floral and Forest Pendants

admin — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 08:09:00 +0000

By 2mile Jewelry

My first assignment for the Indian edition of Marie Claire was to write a book review of Kamila Shamsie’s novel Burnt Shadows. Having never written for a glossy mag before, I was quite excited about this opportunity—but nervous too. Bigger publications have a tendency to censor unflattering sentiments that might alienate potential advertisers, and when it comes to fiction, I’m not easy to please. If I failed to be impressed by Shamsie’s work, would I still get the gig? Fortunately, I never had to find out.

The book’s back cover description may fool a potential reader into thinking Burnt Shadows is about the life of a Japanese woman in Nagasaki post-atomic bomb detonation, but it’s not. Although she is the only constant figure throughout the novel, Hiroko Tanaka is simply the conduit through which one is introduced to an entire cast of global characters, all of whom are beautifully fleshed out and whole. Many times, the reader learns of a character far before that person is actually introduced into the main story, which makes it all the more exciting to meet them when they finally do make their entrance. The seamless shifts from one person’s perspective to another create a cinematic element to the story, and while reading Burnt Shadows I found myself wondering if Shamsie has sold the film rights to this book, as it is enormously adaptable to the big screen.

So if this is a jewelry review, why am I spending so much time hyping a novel? Like Tanaka herself, this review is the conduit through which the Japanese Floral and Forest pendants are introduced, as both have a particularly florid Japanese aesthetic. The cherry blossom design on the Japanese Floral, in particular, pendant brings to mind the two unprecedented and (so far) un-replicated events that eventually led to the end of World War II at the expense of thousands of civilian lives in Japan. It brings this to mind because the springtime blooming of the delicate pink flowers in both Washington, D.C. and Hiroshima’s Peace Park are an annual reminder of these devastating events; the trees in the U.S. capital city were originally gifted in 1912 by Tokyo Mayor Yukio Ozaki as a symbol of friendship between the two countries. It’s a friendship that comes and goes.

One’s seemingly harmless and well-intended personal choices necessarily accumulate and intersect with the lives of others to create cause and effect simultaneously and mold our individual and collective pasts, presents, and futures in ways both known and unknown. In Burnt Shadows, the concept of home is fluid and dynamic, as Shamsie embodies the world in her characters. The story glides from one geographic landscape to another—Delhi, Karachi, New York, Afghanistan—giving the reader a glimpse of what life may be like for those living in multiple locales while blurring topographic borders that are arbitrary yet endlessly meaningful. Everyone is an outsider in one context or another, yet all fit together and fill each others' lives with what was previously missing. Every character has a role to play, and each role is as important as the next.

Though largely weightless, the Japanese Floral and Forest pendants are heavy with meaning: impossible love that is made possible, unlikely friendships forged from necessity, betrayal of the worst kind, premature loss of loved ones. This is my own association for this pair of pendants, a representation of natural beauty crafted from the dirt by human hands that toiled and provided care. I’ll be sure to wear them with the requisite grace and humility they deserve.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, November 15th 2009

Arminico Hewa

admin — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 09:13:00 +0000

By OOIOO

Thrill Jockey

When I was twenty, I flew off to Japan one spring with a stated mission “to be alone.” While this may sound more glamorous than it actually was, I did accomplish my goal. Unable to speak to anyone, wandering between cities and sights in dazed confusion, I was undeniably alone. It was either the best ten days of my life or the strangest—and really, it was probably both.

Japanese band OOIOO recreate the strangeness of that experience. Their all-female lineup, which has made space for the likes of Sean Lennon in the past, plays a mix of experimental and minimalist noise rock. Much like their counterpart band, The Boredoms, OOIOO vacillate between enjoyably listenable and disturbingly avant garde.

On Arminico Hewa, tracks range from under two minutes to over six. Songs like “Ironrun” and “Konjo” run together and sound like Japanese tribal chants—if such a thing exists outside of a Kabuki theater. “Polacca” could almost be mistaken for a rock song. For balance, tracks like “Ulda” bring to mind the shoegaze fuzz of My Bloody Valentine. MBV's Kevin Shields scored much of the music for Lost In Translation. It all comes together, no?

My partner’s brother—a twin in DNA only—recently returned from a conference in Osaka with pleasant things to say about his time abroad. While I’ve recently warmed to the idea of returning to the islands nation, I’d no doubt do better with some company this time. As demonstrated by the constantly shifting OOIOO lineup, comfort—or at least safety—comes in numbers.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, October 20th 2009

C'est La Dernière Chanson

admin — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 22:57:00 +0000

By Maher Shalal Hash Baz

K Records

When the songs on Maher Shalal Hash Baz’s latest release, C'est La Dernière Chanson, last longer than thirty-seven seconds, they are very enjoyable. The eighteenth record for the band is a two disc album consisting of a total of 277 songs ranging from a confusing eleven seconds of horns and drums to three minutes and one second of musical pleasure. Founded by Tori Kudo, the group is now centered around a core group of three musicians (Tori, his wife Reiko Kudo, and Hiroo Nakazaki), but Maher Shalal Hash Baz’s lineup has changed over the band’s eighteen years with a steady stream of incoming and outgoing talent.

The English translation of the Japanese group’s name seems as mysterious as it does in the original Hebrew. Taken from Isaiah 8:1 and 8:3, the name means, “Hurrying to the spoil, he has made haste to the plunder." Musically, however, the band has concocted a multi-genre dish of musical flavor. A catchy jazz base is typically sprinkled with folk and peppered with unique rock overtones. Many of the short songs are congruent in their frequent bursts of a-tonal arrangement, yet maintain an endearing quality. The occasional vocal tracks are equally intriguing in Japanese and English, whether you understand or not.

Currently, the only song available on the group’s Myspace page, "Joab," is longer (three times longer) than many compositions on C'est La Dernière Chanson and is from a different record. At the same time, it still gives an accurate taste of what you may be biting off with this newest release. Something about Maher Shalal Hash Baz’s noise is so painfully cute that even the parts that don’t sound good feel strangely pleasant.

I strongly recommend investing nine minutes in "Joab" to see whether or not you can live without this band.

Written by: Tatiana Ryckman, September 15th 2009

Learning to Behave Naturally

admin — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 00:30:00 +0000

Directed by Tamarah Cohen

Learning to Behave Naturally is a seventy-six-minute documentary based on a series of interviews in a language class at the University of Western Japan. A cross-section of students and faculty of diverse ages, gender, race, and social classes talk freely about childhood experiences regarding their gendered roles, interests, and behaviors. The film re-affirms our stereotypical divisions between boys and girls, and confirms our “accepted truth” that young children in any country and of any social class, race, or gender play happily together without being aware of any differences between them until conscious parents, teachers, or other adults teach them to be view and participate in society though gendered roles.

All participants state that boys in any country wear blue colors while girls wear pink, that this has been the norm for centuries. Japanese elementary school children will be placed in a “boys only class” or a “girls only class,” with boys being the “chosen people.” They have to be strong, are allowed to be “wild”, and can go out at night. They can play football or basketball, and appear controlled and powerful. Boys are not allowed to cry from an early age as it is not a “manly” emotion. Girls, on the other hand, have to be sensitive, graceful, and play with their Barbie dolls. They play while learning to be homemakers.

This gendered identity is decided by parents and society at the children’s early age. The rules and traditions of adults make children aware of their differences and, in fact, curb their freedom to behave naturally. Therefore, the title of the video is very appropriate to the message conveyed in it. We learn to behave in certain ways because of our conscious society, not because we are made up this way. Cohen’s film can serve as a valuable visual source in a sociology or women’s studies class at any university in the world.

Written by: Anna Hamling, June 3rd 2009

Big Man Japan

admin — Fri, 15 May 2009 14:14:00 +0000

Directed by Hitoshi Matsumoto

Magnolia Pictures

The experience of watching Big Man Japan, directed by and also starring Hitoshi Matsumoto, is akin to the pleasure of watching a five-year-old running on a child-size hamster wheel in the park. One alternates between confusion, amusement, and boredom as the aesthetic combines and alternates between the humor of a Hollywood slapstick, the visual dynamic of a video game, and the tone of a documentary. This rhythm kept my mind clear to wonder: why is it that movies seeking to illustrate male impotence give the man longer than is generally considered socially acceptable hair and female friends—if any friends at all?

In Big Man Japan, Matsumoto tells the story of the current Big Man; part soldier, part icon, it is the job of the Big Man to protect Japan from monsters. Living in his regular size, of an average height, when on call, the Big Man is zapped into enormity when needed. However, the superhero’s identity is not a secret, and as his popularity wanes, his fence is scrawled with graffiti, and his lawn is covered with trash. Rocks are thrown through his window, to which the Big Man responds by meekly covering the broken panes with cardboard and going about his day. The central character of this film, although a larger-than-life male, is meant to be perceived as a woman as opposed to a big man—weak, sentimental, and incompetent.

Standing in stark contrast is the other character in the movie, a woman. Perpetually trying to make money, the Big Man’s agent—a harpy in either high heels or pimping tracksuit, complete with a pair of larger-than-life dogs and too-cool-for-school stance—objectifies him by placing endorsements across his chest. At a potential turning point in the film, he declares to his disinterested agent, “No matter what, I will never surrender my hips” completing the image of impotence the viewer has already formed of him. The battle is won, the endorsement is placed on his back, but he is thoroughly emasculated.

While there are mounting covert and overt sexual and political references throughout the film, all of them are magnified by the documentary tone set by the filmmakers. The film runs as snippets placed together to create a narrative around this hero who is anything but.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, May 15th 2009