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Botchan, by Natsume Soseki, The Janus-nature of Japan
Now that I thought about it, though, I realized that most people actually encourage you to turn bad, They seem to think that if you don’t, you’ll never get anywhere in the world. And then on those rare occasions when they encounter somebody who’s honest and pure-hearted, they look down on him and say he’s nothing but a kid, a Botchan. If that’s the way it is, wouldn’t it be better if they didn’t have those ethics classes in elementary school and middle school where the teacher is always telling you to be honest and not to lie. The schools might as well just go ahead and teach you how to tell lies, how to mistrust everybody, and how to take advantage of people. Wouldn’t their students, and the world at large, be better off that way? Redshirt had laughed at me for being simpleminded. If people are going to get laughed at for being simpleminded and sincere, there’s no hope. Pg. 72
In the case of Natsume Soseki, it wouldn’t be hyperbole to say he is a figure of titanic importance to his country’s national literature. In many ways the father of modern Japanese literature and the leading author of the Meiji period, Soseki was born February 9, 1867 in Tokyo as Natsume Kinnosuke (Soseki is a nickname, a Chinese word meaning stubborn that he received from a friend as an adult), and died December 16, 1916 in Tokyo, at age 49. A scholar of British literature, Soseki had a firm appreciation of western culture, and yet well grounded in Japanese culture he often struggled to find a medium of self-expression and self-understanding, a personal struggle that, in many ways, exemplifies the crux of Japan’s issue of self-identity over the last one hundred plus years.
From 1984 until 2004, Soseki’s portrait graced the front of the one thousand yen banknote (about ten dollars U.S)—and as an aside, I’ve always felt that to be one thing sorely lacking from American currency: the depiction of important cultural figures. Whereas other countries honor poets and novelists, the only non-Presidents on American currency are Alexander Hamilton, who founded the Treasury Department, and Benjamin Franklin, both distinctly political figures with major roles in the foundation of the country, but not artists by a long run. Between 1901 and 1903, Soseki lived in Britain, in the poverty of a Japanese government scholarship, reading and studying in seclusion, and it wasn’t until 1905, two years after returning to Japan, that his first novel I am a Cat, brought him wide acclaim in Japan. In the course of the subsequent short, eleven-year literary career, Soseki left a deep mark.
Natsume Soseki’s novels deal with the classical themes of Japanese literature (namely, giri, burden of duty, versus ninjo, human feeling), but they also deal with individual struggle, loneliness, and questions of social direction and cultural identity. Today all of his novels remain in print, and remain frequently read and studied, and of these Botchan is among the most popular, frequently assigned to middle school readers and a favorite of younger audiences, leading to analogies as Japan’s Tom Sawyer. He is one of Japan’s most beloved and influential authors, and, though not as well known as some more modern Japanese writers in America, he has been widely translated into English and his work is readily available.
Botchan, a Japanese word that can be literally translated as “young master”, is here used somewhat ironically as Botchan, (the only way that the novel refers to him), as he does not come from a rich or prestigious family. His mother died when he was young, and his father died some years after that, living Botchan’s older family with the family’s meager inheritance (of which Botchan is given six hundred yen).
Aside from its literal meaning, Botchan can be used to describe a young son of a respectable family, or to describe someone who is naïve, or possibly just bratty and spoiled rotten. Japanese is a beautiful language and as a language it epitomizes many of the themes of this novel; it can appear deceptively clear-cut and straightforward, yet filled with nuance and double-meanings it is richly indirect. Terms like Botchan, and elements like honorifics are fine examples of this. Japanese has a veneer of candor that can obfuscate the subtlety of the language at times.
And considering this, this translation by J. Cohn does a wonderful job at capturing the unique voice of Botchan and the other characters. Cohn provides a smooth and seamless translation that makes the reading experience pleasant and easy. I only have one stern criticism: what Cohn does with the nicknames Botchan provides to the teachers he comes to work with. In his foreword, Cohn describes the original words, and talks about the nuance of what they mean and then proceeds to use incompetent English substitutes after explaining what the original terms meant and why English terms couldn’t convey the same sentiments. I have a twofold annoyance there; first, there’s no sense in not using the Japanese terms after you’ve already thoroughly and excellently defined them in the foreword of the novel, two, I think it’s ridiculous to translate nicknames in the first place—it’s no different than translating the proper names themselves; a character whose name is, say Sakura, should not then be translated throughout the entire novels as Cherry Blossoms and the same concept applies to a nickname.
Beyond that I disliked some of his transliteration choices. He translates, as seems to be the norm, Tanuki as badger. Here my personal opinion comes in and I get annoyed because a Tanuki just doesn’t look like a badger, it looks like a raccoon and is a creature with a folk tale reputation for being crafty and sly. If one had to translate nicknames, then translating Tanuki, the nickname Botchan gives to his mild-mannered and ineffective Principle, as Coon or Old Coon would have been a much better choice. In the other case, Cohn translates the awkward term Nodaiko, a Japanese word for an entertainer who hangs around with important people to flatter and entertain them during social events, with the supremely unsatisfying Hanger-On. Again, if, as a translator, one felt that one had to, for some reason, translate nicknames, there is an obvious, much better choice: Groupie, which, while not perfect and not quite having the same meaning, connotes the same sentiment with far less awkwardness.
Botchan is a satisfying novel. I wouldn’t necessarily describe it as a brilliant novel, and it certainly isn’t lyrical, but there is a funny, wry sarcasm in the voice of the protagonist, and his refreshing blunt sincerity buy the reader over almost immediately. The force of his personality drives the entire novel, which isn’t so much a plot as a series of character interactions.
Having used his inheritance to get an education in the physical sciences, Botchan gets a job in Shikoku, (a rural, more provincial island southeast of Honshu, where Soseki also spent some time teaching middle school, an experience upon that he based the novel on), and heads into his first experience as an adult in the working world. What he finds is a world of pettiness, hypocrisy and lies. His fellow teachers don’t speak what they mean; they lie, they misdirect, they use their words to further personal goals without any sense of honor, with the exception of the quiet, restrained, English teacher nicknamed Pale Squash, and the other math teacher, nicknamed Porcupine.
The most negatively portrayed character is that of the Vice Principle, nicknamed Redshirt, after the red shirts that he continually wears. Few other fictional characters I’ve come across can match or even compete with the sheer extent of Redshirt’s elitism. Even when he invites Botchan to a fishing trip to welcome him to the town and get to know him, he makes a show of talking about the weather, and fishing with just a line of string—none of his talents appear to be borne out of joy in his hobby, but rather honed for bragging purposes. And when all the fishing group (which includes Nodaiko, who is the Vice Principle’s personal flunky), starts catching are goruki, Redshirt pompously jokes about pulling up a lot of Russian literature that day; (a reference to Maxim Gorki). He name-drops constantly, and has no problem making facetious comments about Botchan right in front of him, but perhaps his biggest character flaw lies in his hypocrisy. Redshirt fundamentally finds excuses for his own behavior, while being quick to criticize others and hides behind his fluency and eloquence, something Botchan does not do, in fact he describes himself in pragmatic terms, saying of himself at one point, “There may be nothing very classy about the way I talk or the way I look, but I think I can say that when it comes to heart the quality is there […]” (Pg. 55).
The fundamental joy I found in the novel came from the characters. They aren’t quite stock, cliché characters, but they are realistic group and everyone has known people like them at one point or another. The arrogant snob, Redshirt, the flunky hanging off the coattails of more people, Nodaiko, the teacher who thinks public authority will collapse without him, Porcupine—these broad representations allow students to quickly make comparisons to teachers they know and even compare nicknames, (part of the reason for the books enduring popularity in Japan), while not being so broad as to remove the individual humanity of the characters.
Botchan’s students further complicate his headaches. He doesn’t mince words in his descriptions of them (nor does he ever hold back in speaking his mind, which, in a society focused on public face and politeness, is far more bold and Americans in particular would have difficulty in appreciating this part of the novel’s appeal to Japanese): “Absolutely pathetic! Considering the way they’ve been brought up, it’s no wonder they turn into such small-minded twerps, depressingly stunted like bonsai maple trees in their little pots.” (Pg.44). The words many a high school teacher has wished to say to one class or another.
Having only graduated from high school a few years past, I could say the same about more than a few of my fellow classmates, and could still the say the same about a depressing number of college students in my classes. In the small, provincial town Botchan teaches in, everybody is aware of everyone’s affairs, and the parochial, insouciant attitudes of the students and people alike drive him mad, particularly the ending “na moshi” that they use at the end of nearly every sentence. They play pranks on him, write mocking jeers about his personal life (for instance how much soba he ate at a stand the night before), and in one instance fill his bed with grasshoppers while he stays overnight in the dorm as the teacher on duty. He chases them down and yells at them, yet they calmly deny they had anything to do with it, mocking him all the while. He dismisses them, and his subsequent rant, exemplifies his character:
Not only does that passage exemplify Botchan’s character, but it also exemplifies why he draws the reader in like he does and why we, as a reader, like him. His simple but fair view of the world is something that everyone can find appeal in. Botchan doesn’t moralize; he was a fighter, a troublemaker—but he took responsibility, he wasn’t a coward. This is what redeems Botchan as a character; he has many other aspects that are rough and less than inviting; he is somewhat anti-intellectual, he has a hyped up sense of masculinity and a short-temper, but he recognizes his own flaws and holds no illusions about himself or others. His sincerity makes up for his other character flaws, and he has a maturity that is far and above those around him, far beyond the students just a few years younger than him.
Everybody wears more than one face in this novel except for Botchan himself; he always is what he is and that doesn’t change. Even when he brushed me the wrong way I found myself admiring him, and that’s the novel’s true strength. Botchan is a simple work, not complex, extremely prosaic as opposed to poetic, but it appeals nonetheless to the heart, and tells a story both mundane and exciting, dull in setting but beautiful, in an odd use of the word, in characters. For foreign readers interested in exploring the work of Natsume Soseki, Botchan provides a nice, funny and easily accessible window; even if not exemplary of the writer’s wide and diverse style, the book still highlights many of the central theme’s of the author’s oeuvre, and a offers fine taste of Japanese culture. *****
-jw
Now that I thought about it, though, I realized that most people actually encourage you to turn bad, They seem to think that if you don’t, you’ll never get anywhere in the world. And then on those rare occasions when they encounter somebody who’s honest and pure-hearted, they look down on him and say he’s nothing but a kid, a Botchan. If that’s the way it is, wouldn’t it be better if they didn’t have those ethics classes in elementary school and middle school where the teacher is always telling you to be honest and not to lie. The schools might as well just go ahead and teach you how to tell lies, how to mistrust everybody, and how to take advantage of people. Wouldn’t their students, and the world at large, be better off that way? Redshirt had laughed at me for being simpleminded. If people are going to get laughed at for being simpleminded and sincere, there’s no hope. Pg. 72
In the case of Natsume Soseki, it wouldn’t be hyperbole to say he is a figure of titanic importance to his country’s national literature. In many ways the father of modern Japanese literature and the leading author of the Meiji period, Soseki was born February 9, 1867 in Tokyo as Natsume Kinnosuke (Soseki is a nickname, a Chinese word meaning stubborn that he received from a friend as an adult), and died December 16, 1916 in Tokyo, at age 49. A scholar of British literature, Soseki had a firm appreciation of western culture, and yet well grounded in Japanese culture he often struggled to find a medium of self-expression and self-understanding, a personal struggle that, in many ways, exemplifies the crux of Japan’s issue of self-identity over the last one hundred plus years.
From 1984 until 2004, Soseki’s portrait graced the front of the one thousand yen banknote (about ten dollars U.S)—and as an aside, I’ve always felt that to be one thing sorely lacking from American currency: the depiction of important cultural figures. Whereas other countries honor poets and novelists, the only non-Presidents on American currency are Alexander Hamilton, who founded the Treasury Department, and Benjamin Franklin, both distinctly political figures with major roles in the foundation of the country, but not artists by a long run. Between 1901 and 1903, Soseki lived in Britain, in the poverty of a Japanese government scholarship, reading and studying in seclusion, and it wasn’t until 1905, two years after returning to Japan, that his first novel I am a Cat, brought him wide acclaim in Japan. In the course of the subsequent short, eleven-year literary career, Soseki left a deep mark.
Natsume Soseki’s novels deal with the classical themes of Japanese literature (namely, giri, burden of duty, versus ninjo, human feeling), but they also deal with individual struggle, loneliness, and questions of social direction and cultural identity. Today all of his novels remain in print, and remain frequently read and studied, and of these Botchan is among the most popular, frequently assigned to middle school readers and a favorite of younger audiences, leading to analogies as Japan’s Tom Sawyer. He is one of Japan’s most beloved and influential authors, and, though not as well known as some more modern Japanese writers in America, he has been widely translated into English and his work is readily available.
Botchan, a Japanese word that can be literally translated as “young master”, is here used somewhat ironically as Botchan, (the only way that the novel refers to him), as he does not come from a rich or prestigious family. His mother died when he was young, and his father died some years after that, living Botchan’s older family with the family’s meager inheritance (of which Botchan is given six hundred yen).
Aside from its literal meaning, Botchan can be used to describe a young son of a respectable family, or to describe someone who is naïve, or possibly just bratty and spoiled rotten. Japanese is a beautiful language and as a language it epitomizes many of the themes of this novel; it can appear deceptively clear-cut and straightforward, yet filled with nuance and double-meanings it is richly indirect. Terms like Botchan, and elements like honorifics are fine examples of this. Japanese has a veneer of candor that can obfuscate the subtlety of the language at times.
And considering this, this translation by J. Cohn does a wonderful job at capturing the unique voice of Botchan and the other characters. Cohn provides a smooth and seamless translation that makes the reading experience pleasant and easy. I only have one stern criticism: what Cohn does with the nicknames Botchan provides to the teachers he comes to work with. In his foreword, Cohn describes the original words, and talks about the nuance of what they mean and then proceeds to use incompetent English substitutes after explaining what the original terms meant and why English terms couldn’t convey the same sentiments. I have a twofold annoyance there; first, there’s no sense in not using the Japanese terms after you’ve already thoroughly and excellently defined them in the foreword of the novel, two, I think it’s ridiculous to translate nicknames in the first place—it’s no different than translating the proper names themselves; a character whose name is, say Sakura, should not then be translated throughout the entire novels as Cherry Blossoms and the same concept applies to a nickname.
Beyond that I disliked some of his transliteration choices. He translates, as seems to be the norm, Tanuki as badger. Here my personal opinion comes in and I get annoyed because a Tanuki just doesn’t look like a badger, it looks like a raccoon and is a creature with a folk tale reputation for being crafty and sly. If one had to translate nicknames, then translating Tanuki, the nickname Botchan gives to his mild-mannered and ineffective Principle, as Coon or Old Coon would have been a much better choice. In the other case, Cohn translates the awkward term Nodaiko, a Japanese word for an entertainer who hangs around with important people to flatter and entertain them during social events, with the supremely unsatisfying Hanger-On. Again, if, as a translator, one felt that one had to, for some reason, translate nicknames, there is an obvious, much better choice: Groupie, which, while not perfect and not quite having the same meaning, connotes the same sentiment with far less awkwardness.
Botchan is a satisfying novel. I wouldn’t necessarily describe it as a brilliant novel, and it certainly isn’t lyrical, but there is a funny, wry sarcasm in the voice of the protagonist, and his refreshing blunt sincerity buy the reader over almost immediately. The force of his personality drives the entire novel, which isn’t so much a plot as a series of character interactions.
Having used his inheritance to get an education in the physical sciences, Botchan gets a job in Shikoku, (a rural, more provincial island southeast of Honshu, where Soseki also spent some time teaching middle school, an experience upon that he based the novel on), and heads into his first experience as an adult in the working world. What he finds is a world of pettiness, hypocrisy and lies. His fellow teachers don’t speak what they mean; they lie, they misdirect, they use their words to further personal goals without any sense of honor, with the exception of the quiet, restrained, English teacher nicknamed Pale Squash, and the other math teacher, nicknamed Porcupine.
The most negatively portrayed character is that of the Vice Principle, nicknamed Redshirt, after the red shirts that he continually wears. Few other fictional characters I’ve come across can match or even compete with the sheer extent of Redshirt’s elitism. Even when he invites Botchan to a fishing trip to welcome him to the town and get to know him, he makes a show of talking about the weather, and fishing with just a line of string—none of his talents appear to be borne out of joy in his hobby, but rather honed for bragging purposes. And when all the fishing group (which includes Nodaiko, who is the Vice Principle’s personal flunky), starts catching are goruki, Redshirt pompously jokes about pulling up a lot of Russian literature that day; (a reference to Maxim Gorki). He name-drops constantly, and has no problem making facetious comments about Botchan right in front of him, but perhaps his biggest character flaw lies in his hypocrisy. Redshirt fundamentally finds excuses for his own behavior, while being quick to criticize others and hides behind his fluency and eloquence, something Botchan does not do, in fact he describes himself in pragmatic terms, saying of himself at one point, “There may be nothing very classy about the way I talk or the way I look, but I think I can say that when it comes to heart the quality is there […]” (Pg. 55).
The fundamental joy I found in the novel came from the characters. They aren’t quite stock, cliché characters, but they are realistic group and everyone has known people like them at one point or another. The arrogant snob, Redshirt, the flunky hanging off the coattails of more people, Nodaiko, the teacher who thinks public authority will collapse without him, Porcupine—these broad representations allow students to quickly make comparisons to teachers they know and even compare nicknames, (part of the reason for the books enduring popularity in Japan), while not being so broad as to remove the individual humanity of the characters.
Botchan’s students further complicate his headaches. He doesn’t mince words in his descriptions of them (nor does he ever hold back in speaking his mind, which, in a society focused on public face and politeness, is far more bold and Americans in particular would have difficulty in appreciating this part of the novel’s appeal to Japanese): “Absolutely pathetic! Considering the way they’ve been brought up, it’s no wonder they turn into such small-minded twerps, depressingly stunted like bonsai maple trees in their little pots.” (Pg.44). The words many a high school teacher has wished to say to one class or another.
Having only graduated from high school a few years past, I could say the same about more than a few of my fellow classmates, and could still the say the same about a depressing number of college students in my classes. In the small, provincial town Botchan teaches in, everybody is aware of everyone’s affairs, and the parochial, insouciant attitudes of the students and people alike drive him mad, particularly the ending “na moshi” that they use at the end of nearly every sentence. They play pranks on him, write mocking jeers about his personal life (for instance how much soba he ate at a stand the night before), and in one instance fill his bed with grasshoppers while he stays overnight in the dorm as the teacher on duty. He chases them down and yells at them, yet they calmly deny they had anything to do with it, mocking him all the while. He dismisses them, and his subsequent rant, exemplifies his character:
Not only does that passage exemplify Botchan’s character, but it also exemplifies why he draws the reader in like he does and why we, as a reader, like him. His simple but fair view of the world is something that everyone can find appeal in. Botchan doesn’t moralize; he was a fighter, a troublemaker—but he took responsibility, he wasn’t a coward. This is what redeems Botchan as a character; he has many other aspects that are rough and less than inviting; he is somewhat anti-intellectual, he has a hyped up sense of masculinity and a short-temper, but he recognizes his own flaws and holds no illusions about himself or others. His sincerity makes up for his other character flaws, and he has a maturity that is far and above those around him, far beyond the students just a few years younger than him.
Everybody wears more than one face in this novel except for Botchan himself; he always is what he is and that doesn’t change. Even when he brushed me the wrong way I found myself admiring him, and that’s the novel’s true strength. Botchan is a simple work, not complex, extremely prosaic as opposed to poetic, but it appeals nonetheless to the heart, and tells a story both mundane and exciting, dull in setting but beautiful, in an odd use of the word, in characters. For foreign readers interested in exploring the work of Natsume Soseki, Botchan provides a nice, funny and easily accessible window; even if not exemplary of the writer’s wide and diverse style, the book still highlights many of the central theme’s of the author’s oeuvre, and a offers fine taste of Japanese culture. *****
-jw
). Without the main character, there wouldn't be a story; he's one of those literary characters who's irreplaceable. If you put someone else in his place, I feel, simply put, no matter how hard you try it wouldn't be as good a work. I read somewhere (probably wiki) that many people like the novel a lot because Botchan is not the person they are, but the person they want to be. 