As we approach the end of a wonderfully celebratory Women in Translation month, Asymptote is proud to present a week of content featuring women writers and translators who are working at the top of their game. Since the first WIT Month in 2014, advances and improvements have been made for women working in global letters, but the significance of continuing to read and translate women’s voices remains. The act of reading women is indistinguishable from the act of reading the world—a truth we must continue to recognize.
First up in our spotlight series is translator from the Japanese, Ginny Tapley Takemori. Though Japanese literature is a landscape built by men and women alike, the nation-specific politics and postulations of gender makes for thought-provoking discussion as one examines the truths and concepts reflected in its literature. An advocate for women translators and writers in Japan, Tapley Takemori has translated award-winning texts by Sayaka Murata, Kyoko Nakajima, Kaori Fujino, among many others. In the following dialogue, she speaks with blog editor Xiao Yue Shan about her prolific endeavours of translating such vital, well-loved work.
Xiao Yue Shan (XYS): While there isn’t necessarily a conspicuous lack of literature by women in Japan, the country’s publishing market does seem entrenched in a gendered hierarchy, with books by women largely being marketed towards and read by women. Has this been your experience in navigating Japan’s literature? And if so, do you think it has affected the way women in Japan write?
Ginny Tapley Takemori (GTT): I don’t think there is a lack of books by women—on the contrary, there are lots of women writers! A lot of women working in publishing as well, for that matter, and I don’t really notice works by women writers being particularly marketed towards and read by women. I wonder what the stats for that might reveal? There may be some truth in it, given the historical development of women’s literature in Japan. From my own present observations, however, I’d say it’s true in certain cases; for instance, Boys’ Love manga is written by women for women, but it’s super niche. In 2017, Waseda Bungaku published their whopping tome Joseigo (女性号, Women’s Edition) and it sold out in a week! I’m not convinced that only women bought it. One thing that is clear is that women are winning the big literary prizes (about par with men for the Akutagawa and the Naoki). And I don’t get the impression that these prizewinning authors are writing specifically for women at all.
XYS: Yes, I definitely agree that women have quite a prominent, well-regarded presence in Japanese literature—arguably more so than in most other countries! Yet as you said, there are certain indications in the historical development of Japanese literature that subject matter is ingrained with gendered notions: women engaging more with the occupations of day-to-day life, men with politics and metaphysical matters.
GTT: That has been the case until not so long ago, but I’m not sure the boundaries are so clear nowadays. There’s an enormous variety in women’s writing now in terms of genre, writing style, and subject matter. I don’t think women writers are content to be confined to any particular subject or style, and in some cases, they explode these boundaries in quite spectacular and innovative ways, like Sayaka Murata with Earthlings. Some also deliberately revisit literature of the past, like Hiromi Kawakami in The Ten Loves of Nishino (trans. Allison Markin Powell), harking back to The Tale of Genji. There are critics who claim that contemporary writers are nowhere near the standard of the greats like Mishima, Soseki, et al (all men, naturally), but I have a different view of literature myself.
XYS: Would you say that one of the aims of Strong Women, Soft Power—the collective you co-founded with fellow translators Allison Markin Powell and Lucy North—is to direct a spotlight on women writers in Japan, and in doing so, direct the country towards gender equality, as well as greater awareness and resistance to sexism?
GTT: Strong Women, Soft Power is first and foremost a translators’ collective, and our aim is to give Japanese women writers a voice to speak for themselves through translation. It is not our intention to impose any forms of feminism or feminist critique on them; we simply aim to create awareness of their work and highlight the imbalance in the translation of men and women writers (a phenomenon not exclusive to Japan). At the same time, we offer a platform for promoting work by women writers and to some extent for women translators, although we do collaborate regularly with our male colleagues too.
XYS: But do you find the fact that giving Japanese women writers a stronger international presence, and using women translators to do so, is inherently political?
GTT: Well, it is certainly a feminist endeavor, essentially to address a long-standing imbalance in the publishing business in the US and the UK, but perhaps with wider ramifications.
XYS: Your most recent translation, Sayaka Murata’s Convenience Store Women, has been widely praised, and often lauded as an “unlikely feminist tale.” When I read the book, I too found this to be the case, in that the central character, Keiko, operates according to her own logic and standards. However, this reading likely originates from a western perspective, and Keiko’s singularity speaks more to the insider/outsider paradigm that is particularly prevalent in Japanese social dynamics. I’m curious as to whether Japanese readers are also encouraged to read this novel as feminist.
GTT: Actually, that is not my most recent translation: The Little House by Kyoko Nakajima was published by Darf Publishers in 2019, and Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings is about to be released. That aside, I would agree with you that the feminist reading probably does stem largely from a western perspective. Sayaka Murata said that she was surprised to hear from some Japanese women readers that they actually sympathized with Shiraha, which is pretty unthinkable for western readers. I think for Japanese readers, what is most striking is how Murata subverts our view of what passes for normal through the character of Keiko—and that is also what struck me most when I read it. The feminist issues are there, but they are not foregrounded. But all readers bring their own experience to a book, so once it’s out there in the wider world, they will see different things in it. Murata always says that a book is like a musical score, and readers are the musicians; a book is only complete with their performances.
XYS: That shocks me as well, that any reader—regardless of gender—would be sympathetic towards Shiraha, who is quite the unlikable misanthrope (much like the so-called incels!). Why do you think that is?
I also wonder if there is a case to be made that “feminist issues” in Japan have an affinity with issues of nonconformism. For example, women who choose to not prioritize marriage, or to remain childless, subvert common concepts of femininity; I think we are used to thinking of these women as upholding feminist ideas, and in Japan especially, to be a feminist is to be somewhat of an outsider in society. Do you feel that for Japanese readers, then, reading about a woman’s active resistance against normalcy is a feminist experience?
In your more recent translations, do you find feminist themes or readings as well?
GTT: I don’t really know why—it shocks me too! Maybe they feel sorry for him in some way; after all, he is also an outsider, which is not a comfortable position to be in for most Japanese. But then, I see many western women defending indefensible men as well. Attitudes are so deeply embedded in culture and upbringing that some women cannot see beyond that, and they end up perpetuating inequality.
As for the issue of nonconformism, I can see where you’re coming from, and I think you are right that there are clear cases of that. Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings definitely portrays an outsider’s experience (and does it really well) on an entirely different plane to Convenience Store Woman. Many reviewers are calling it “mind-blowing,” which was my own experience (I felt my head exploding in the last four pages). But I don’t think that’s the full picture. Take Kyoko Nakajima’s The Little House, for example: the narrator, Taki, comes from the impoverished north and was sent to serve as a maid in Tokyo straight out of elementary school. Neither she nor the other characters in the book can be seen as nonconformists, but there are still a number of feminist elements to the story.
XYS: In Kittredge Cherry’s 1987 book, Womansword, she delves into the Japanese lexicon to plumb it for the language that both denotes and assigns regularity, history, and magnitude to Japanese womanhood and femininity. Some terms are predictably stereotypical (蚤の夫婦 / “flea couple,” in which the woman is taller than her male partner) and some are painfully archaic (内城の功 / “a man’s success is due to his wife’s sacrifices”). Do you ever encounter such gendered terminology in your translations, and how do you work with that?
GTT: I can’t think of any specific cases offhand, although it is so embedded in the language that I almost certainly have come across it at some point—even the term 家内 (literally meaning “inside the home”) for “wife,” for example. But my approach would be as with any other translation issue: what is its function within the text? Is it marked or not? My role as translator is to recreate the original text in English, not to insert my opinions about the language used. Of course, my translation depends on my interpretation of the book as a reader, but I try to recreate what seem to me to be the author’s intentions as best I can. So for example, if the word 家内 is not marked in the original, I will simply use “wife” in English—but if the context shows that it is being used to get a particular point across, I might try to work that into my translation.
XYS: A lot of women writers in Japan confront sexuality, femininity, gender norms, and societal expectations in their work, yet there is a frustrating deficit of forward momentum in feminist politics. Do you sense an urgency for structural, societal change among the women writers and translators you’ve worked with here, or is there more of a mutual exclusivity between literature and politics?
GTT: Well, I think you have to take into account that there are cultural differences between western countries and Japan. In the West, we tend to be more assertive in our opinions, and to a certain extent, our cultures demand that we are. But that does not work in Japan—in fact, being too aggressive often has the opposite of the desired effect, or can make life very uncomfortable for the person concerned. Shiori Ito, for example, had to move abroad after refusing to drop her court case against her rapist, and the publication of her book Black Box (although it is interesting to note that she has a lot of supporters, both men and women, in Japan). That is not to say that women never state their opinions: certain politicians have faced outcry after making outrageous comments, such as referring to women as baby machines or decreeing that they should wear high heels at work.
I guess there is frustration, but frankly, I get that in the West too. In the UK, where I’m from, it is maddening that prosecutions for rape have actually fallen in recent years, and women still routinely earn less than men for the same jobs. But when it comes to literature specifically, some writers are quite outspoken about politics: Kyoko Nakajima, for example, regularly posts about politics on social media, and Mieko Kawakami openly talks about feminism in interviews. Other writers prefer to let their work speak for itself: Miyuki Miyabe refuses to talk to the press or appear in public at all, while Sayaka Murata is happy to be in the public eye but always says that she is not political, that in her books she is simply shining a spotlight on certain aspects of society without necessarily passing judgement—and yet, the anger is quite evident in both authors’ works. And after all, the focus of our collective is literature by Japanese women writers, hence its name: Strong Women, Soft Power.
XYS: In that case, are you optimistic about Japan’s movement towards gender equality, and the role that women writers play in it? How do you see Japanese literature evolving?
GTT: Well, I do think society is changing in Japan—I have seen big changes just in the couple of decades or so I’ve been living here. Having said that, much more needs to change before we get anywhere close to gender equality (and as I said before, I think that is true of other countries as well). But young people will be facing new challenges going forward, and I imagine that writers will be producing works that reflect and examine those challenges, too. I’m looking forward to seeing what they come up with.
XYS: Regarding English translations, do you ever feel that there’s some bias towards certain subjects or tones? After Haruki Murakami’s explosive success, for example, there seemed to be a rise in Japanese fiction that circulated his mild form of magical realism, and many texts that appeared in translation afterward were kindred in that particular style.
GTT: Publishing translated literature is often seen as quite risky, largely because editors often cannot read the original work for themselves, so it is hardly surprising that many publishers want to capitalize on previous successes. For many years, I had publishers and agents asking me who was the next Haruki Murakami. There is still a large volume of manga and light novel series being published too, especially in the US. But many publishers are open to new works. For example, since translators around the globe started to make a concerted effort to promote women writers in translation, with initiatives like Women in Translation Month, I’ve had publishers and agents asking about Japanese women authors. And now more women authors are being published in English—to such an extent that I’ve even heard some grumbling that not enough men authors are being published! But I see this as a hugely progressive step: now readers in English-speaking countries can have a more balanced view of Japan, as they can read about the female perspective of society through these women authors. And I truly believe that literature has the power to change hearts and minds—the very definition of soft power.
Ginny Tapley Takemori lives in rural Japan and has translated fiction by more than a dozen early modern and contemporary Japanese writers. Her translation of Sayaka Murata’s Akutagawa Prize-winning novel, Convenience Store Woman, was one of The New Yorker’s best books of 2018, Foyle’s Book of the Year 2018, and was shortlisted for the Indies Choice Award and Best Translated Book Award. Her translation of Kyoko Nakajima’s Naoki Prize-winning The Little House was published in February 2019. Forthcoming translations include Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings (October 2020) and Kyoko Nakajima’s Things Remembered and Things Forgotten (a co-translation with Ian MacDonald, spring 2021).
Xiao Yue Shan is a poet and editor born in Dongying, China and living in Tokyo, Japan. Her chapbook, How Often I Have Chosen Love, won the Frontier Poetry Chapbook Prize and was published in 2019. Her website is shellyshan.com.
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