All Things Japanese – goinggaijin.com

Mikane Jinja

Kyoto is said to be the city of 1000 temples and shrines. There are the famous temples dating back to the days when Buddhism first arrived in Japan. There are the tiny shrines enshrining only the gods know who, hidden on steep mountain paths. And there are numerous small shrines at the centre of local neighbourhoods. One of these is Mikane Jinja a few streets west of the Manga Museum.

This neighbourhood was once the quarter of Kyoto’s metalworkers. Kamanza dori, for example, was the street of tea kettle makers. In 1588, Hideyoshi started minting gold coins, and when Ieyasu became shogun, he established a Kinza and Ginza (gold and silver mint, respectively) where the Manga Museum stands today.

This led to an influx of skilled artisans who worked at the mints and settled in the area. The mint also attracted money changers (and lenders) as well as people who worked with precious stones and minerals. Over time, the area became very prosperous. People living here could afford expensive clothes and accessories, which gave rise to the term “Ryogaemachi style”, named after one of the local streets.

The main deity of Mikane Jinja is Kanayamahoko-no-Mikoto, the God of metals, minerals, and mining. When exactly the shrine was established is not certain, but it is known, that it started as a small shrine on a private property somewhere in the area. More and more people came to worship at the shrine, and providing access at all times became a burden to the owners of the property. Therefore, in 1883, new land was donated, and the deities were moved to the newly constructed shrine that still stands on the very same spot.

Today, Mikane Shrine attracts people who pray for wealth and prosperity, as well as good fortune in businesses related to metals – mining, steel industry, car manufacturing, electronics etc. – or finance – investments, accounting, banking, real estate etc.

The most striking feature of Mikane Shrine is its golden torii. The shiny paint was especially developed by a local company to withstand outdoor conditions for many years. Gold is also the colour of the bell rope used to ring the bell before prayer, and a goshuin slip with real gold leaf is available at the shrine.

At the back of the precincts is a large ginkgo tree, 22 metres tall and 200 years old. In folklore, ginkgo trees are a symbol of prosperity, growth, and longevity and its leaves especially are a symbol of infinite good fortune. This is why many of the shrines’ omamori and omikuji are shaped like or feature ginkgo leaves, and in autumn, visitors may even ask for real leaves from the sacred tree to take home.

Mikane Shrine is accessible to worshippers 24/7, but its main festival is the reitai-sai festival in autumn. Held every year on the last weekend in September, it features a children’s procession and mikoshi parade as its main attractions. Food stalls and games for kids as well as a lucky draw add to the festive atmosphere.

If you are in town at this time, it’s a great way to experience a real neighbourhood festival in Kyoto and to mingle with the locals.

How to Make Zori

Zori are a type of Japanese-style flip flops. Traditionally, farmers made them during winter using rice straw from their fields. They were meant as footwear for outdoors and pretty much everybody wore them when walking short distances.

Interestingly, they are fairly durable. Remember that in the olden days of Edo, the streets were not paved, so little stones would get stuck in the gaps between the straw and over time create a durable sole. On wood surfaces or even tatami this would be disastrous, hence, they were always taken off before entering a home or temple.

Zori are still quite popular, and nowadays, they are also made from fabric, but this version is meant for indoors. They can be very colorful, and they are very comfortable in summer when it’s too hot for socks or slippers and you still don’t fancy walking barefoot.

Below is a video (in Japanese with subtitles) that teaches the process of making zori from old t-shirts step-by-step. It’s quite a way to go until summer, but it’s good to get a head start.

Concert

I’m busy today getting ready for this year’s very first BATI-HOLIC solo concert (aka in Japanese: one-man show). The place is fairly small and they sold out last week, and since I’m planning to stand in the first row, thank you, I’ll better be there before the doors open. I’ll check in later!

Later: This was so much fun! It’s great when the people are all fans of the band and go with the music. I didn’t quite make it to the first row, but I could secure a seat on a platform with tatami and small tables, and it’s easy to get up and dance there. It was perfect!

One thing I find always very interesting at such concerts is how quickly people tend to leave when everything is over. Some 15 minutes after the last encore, the place was half empty already. I stuck around with some friends, and I enjoy this part of chatting and drinking and having fun with them and the band members just as much as the music itself.

Goodness, I’m not turning into an extrovert, am I?

Hina Matsuri

Tomorrow is hina matsuri, the doll or girl festival. Traditionally, it was meant as a purification rite / blessing for girls, and to this day, there are religious ceremonies in many shrines in the country.

During the Edo period, the custom of setting up so-called hinadan with dolls in homes with girls started – ideally, one for each girl. The most elaborate hinadan have seven tiers, starting at the top with a pair of dairi-bina, which are accompanied on lower tiers by ladies-in-waiting, musicians, guards, and gardeners. Other tiers showcase miniature household goods that a young lady of means could not do without.

Growing up in a small house with lots of stuff that I wasn’t allowed to touch, I don’t usually put up seasonal decorations. However, there is something about hina matsuri that makes me give in, and I bought a very modern dairi-bina pair a few years ago. And then, last year, a friend of mine gave me a super cute pair of dairi-bina in the shapes of my zodiac animal, so…

The Meiji Guillotine Murders

Futaro Yamada

Tokyo, 1869. Two years after the Meiji Emperor took the throne, the country still reels from the aftermath of the Boshin Civil War. Yet, the government, now relocated to Tokyo (formerly known as Edo) tries to regain control and establishes an executive and judicial system after Western examples. The newly established Imperial Prosecuting Office is tasked with tackling the rampant corruption within the government itself.

Chief inspectors Kawaji and Kazuki are two brilliant detectives who are just the right people for this task. Together, and with the help of a shrine maiden who can summon the dead, they solve five impossible seeming murders of minor officials. However, are these murders as unconnected as they seem – or is there somebody pulling the strings from behind?

This historical crime novel is a fairly slow book. The first 100 pages or so only set the scene and introduce us to minor and major characters. The five cases are independent of each other and are solved as such. The puzzles are interesting and fun to solve, but there is no indication that there may be a mastermind behind all the murders; when his identity is revealed, it comes as a shock.

The introduction of the miko-medium to solve the murders seemed strange to me (Shinto doesn’t really deal with death), but since Yamada makes her a foreigner (who may have her own powers), I’ll forgive him for this.

Futaro Yamada was born 1922 in Hyogo Prefecture and studied medicine at Tokyo University. His first short story “The Incident at the Dharma Pass” was published in 1947, and he went on to write more than 100 novels and short stories in his lifetime. In Japan, his best-loved works are historical crime and ninja novels, and many of his books have been adapted for film or manga and anime. He died in 2001.

If you’re ready for something different with a long lead-in to set the scene, give this a try. You can get the book on amazon.

Hyakunin Isshu

For you,
I came out to the fields
to pick the first spring greens.
All the while, on my sleeves
a light snow falling.
Emperor Koko, 9th cent.

This is a poem from the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu, probably the most famous of all collections of Japanese poetry. The name can be translated as “One hundred people, one poem each” and this anthology of waka poetry was collected in Kyoto’s Arashiyama district. There, at Mt. Ogura, was the home of Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), himself considered one of Japan’s greatest poets.

He selected many poems by his contemporaries, but also by famous older poets whose work had been handed down for many years, among them 20 women. While there are many other anthologies of waka poetry, it is believed that this one became so famous because of the fame of Fujiwara no Teika – and because he had just the right connections to the Imperial court.

Writing waka poetry was one of the courtiers’ favourite pastimes, and to this day, the emperor himself gives out the prize for the best new year’s poetry. Most of the poems contained in the Hyakunin Isshu are love poems, and many of them allude to a time of the year using words like “cherry blossoms”, “full moon”, “crimson mountains” and others.

The poems and their writers have garnered lots of attention over the years; both feature prominently in woodblock prints or are alluded to in other Japanese works of literature. Since the Edo period, they also have a connection to the New Year in the form of the karuta game.

Karuta is a game of memory, where, when hearing the first half of a poem, the players must find the card with the second half as quickly as possible. There are karuta clubs throughout the country, and therefore, the poems of the Hyakunin Isshu are known by practically every Japanese. At home, it’s usually played as a team of three people – one who reads the beginning of the poem, and two who are trying to find the other half of the card as quickly as possible.

Since 1904, there is also competitive karuta, with the main tournament being held at Omi shrine in January, and roughly 50 other tournaments being held throughout the year. In Japan, there are more than 10,000 competitive players, and the game is even considered a sport.

The Hyakunin Isshu has been translated numerous times into a number of languages. Each translation brings a new aspect to the poetry, yet, there are many hidden meanings that are not only hard to translate, but may fly over the head of the unsuspecting foreign reader. For example, would you have guessed that the “first spring greens” in the above poem (translated by Peter MacMillan) are the nanakusa – seven herbs that are gathered and eaten on January 7 for a healthy winter?

A Death in Tokyo

Keigo Higashino

On a typical evening in Tokyo, a man staggers onto Nihonbashi Bridge and collapses in front of a policeman. However, he isn’t just drunk, he had been stabbed to death. Not long afterwards, a young man called Yashima is hit by a car nearby. In his possession he has the wallet of the dead man on the bridge.

When eventually a connection between the two men is found and Yashima dies from his injuries, the police close the case. But inspector Kaga is not so easily satisfied, and when he digs deeper into the murder victim’s life, the unearths a motive tied to the man’s strong belief in justice and taking responsibility.

An enjoyable read about two good men who have to pay the ultimate price – one for sticking to his principles and the other for letting go of them in a moment of weakness. Even though I felt that the mystery element wasn’t as strong as what I have come to expect from Higashino, I liked that there was a larger team involved in the investigation. This is closer to reality than the usual lone wolf detective of fiction.

Keigo Higashino, born 1958 in Osaka, started writing while still working as an engineer for a Japanese automotive company. His first novel won the prestigious Edogawa Rampo Award for crime fiction, which led him to become a professional author. Since then, he has written more than 65 novels and 20 short story collections, many of which have won awards or have been turned into films or TV series. About 20 of his books have been translated into English.

At the end of this book, there is an unexpected moral lesson that is timeless and transcends the boundaries of culture and language. Find out what it is and get the book on amazon.

The Thief

Fuminori Nakamura

The Thief is an experienced pickpocket with hunting grounds all over Tokyo. He has honed his craft since childhood and over the years has even developed his own professional ethics: Target only wealthy people, only take the cash (and the occasional watch), drop the wallet into a mailbox after the deed.

His easy-going life is interrupted when his first partner in crime offers him a job: Simply tie up an old man and empty his safe. The Thief reluctantly agrees, and his instincts prove correct when he learns that after he had left the house, the man – a prominent politician – was brutally murdered. Now, the Thief is forced to leave Tokyo, but the person behind the murder may not be shaken off that easily.

This was an enjoyable, fast-paced read, and the unnamed Thief was easy to root for, thanks to his self-imposed moral code and his attempt to keep a poor boy from the neighborhood from following in his footsteps. As an interesting aside, the author poses the question of fate, essentially: “is our fate controlled by something outside of us, or is it our fate to be thus controlled?” While the story itself is quite straightforward, these are the questions that will keep you thinking for a while.

Fuminori Nakamura (a pseudonym) was born in 1977 in Aichi Prefecture and graduated from Fukushima University (Applied Sociology) in 2000. In 2002, his first novel won the Noma Literary Newcomer Award. Since then, he has won numerous prestigious awards for his writing – The Thief earned him the Oe Prize for example – and a number of his books were translated into other languages. Nakamura now lives in Tokyo.

The Thief was his first novel to be translated into English. However, its fairly straightforward style makes the original popular among Japanese students. Whatever language you prefer, the book is available on amazon.

Autumn Ikebana

On Friday, I went to this year’s Autumn Tanabata Exhibition of the Ikenobo school for ikebana flower arranging. This is the oldest annual exhibition of ikebana; it dates back to the Edo period and has been ongoing ever since. I have written about the history of ikebana and the Ikenobo school when I went to the spring exhibition in 2022, so I will not go into details again here.

This year, I had as a guide a friend of mine who works at the Ikenobo to show me through the exhibition and explain more of the art behind ikebana and what to look for in an arrangement. Here are a few details of what she told me.

Rikka is the oldest, most traditional style of flower arrangement and the most heavily formalized. It originated in the Muromachi era and was meant for large-scale arrangements in temples and the homes of nobles and samurai – essentially to show off their wealth and influence.

In Rikka, the goal is to create a whole landscape with a wide variety of plants; the back and top of the arrangement signifies the landscape far off, the closer and lower parts the nature nearby. Rikka is easily recognized by the round bundle the stems of the plants form in the container.

Shoka was developed in the Edo period. These arrangements are often much smaller, since they were meant for the tokonoma in the rooms of the lower class people (albeit rich ones, think merchants etc.)

A Shoka arrangement uses at most three different types of plants, they form a single line segment in the container and are best viewed from the front of the row rather than the side. Shoka is considered the most dignified style, and ideally, the flowers used encompass the past, present, and future of the seasons.

Then there is Free Style, where essentially “anything goes”. These arrangements come in all sizes and often include non-natural materials as well. Looking through the photos I took, I find myself mostly drawn to these pieces, they are very individual and often outright whimsical. Yet, the flowers should still form the focal point of the arrangement.

The goal of any arrangement in any style is that it looks as natural as possible, even if artificial means are used. We’re talking about using wires to bend stiff materials, or hand creme to prevent the tips of leaves from drying out too quickly. Some arrangements are even planned out in advance, and tree branches are cut and put together to create specific angles to fit the design. All of this is fine – as long as the end result still looks natural.

When learning ikebana in the Ikenobo school, students start out with the Free Style before moving on to Shoka and finally, Rikka. My friend explained that soft materials are easiest to use, while a Rikka arrangement that only consists of pine branches, for example, marks the height of a student’s accomplishment.

With all this information, the exhibition was much more enjoyable than the previous time. I feel I know some details to look for, even though I cannot judge the actual artistic merit of an arrangement. So far, I’ve always thought that ikebana had very strict rules to create a piece, but when starting out in Free Style, this is not necessarily true. I’m thinking it might be nice to try ikebana, but it is a very expensive hobby indeed.

Hanten

This is a hanten, a traditional Japanese jacket that originated among the common people in the 18th century. Since it is meant for winter, it is stuffed with wadded cotton for insulation. There is no difference in hanten worn by men and women, and traditionally, they may show family crests or other decorations.

I got my hanten from a friend late last winter, so it only has the tiniest of sleeves. I’ve been wearing it for a couple of weeks now and it is surprisingly warm, even though I am not heating my house yet. I doubt that this particular hanten will work throughout the entire winter though, for that it would need to fully close in front. Also, the neck area is quite unprotected; for now I’m wearing turtleneck sweaters underneath, but experience shows that I’ll need more than that when winter hits for real.

The company producing this item was founded in 1913 in Fukuoka prefecture and the whole production – from design to weaving to sewing – is done in-house. They have many versions of hanten and other traditional Japanese clothes like samue, haori or jinbei for summer, but they also produce more modern clothing. From what I can gather, they do not ship abroad (the website is Japanese only) but just window shopping for their colorful clothes is quite satisfying.

Check them out here: https://shop.miyata-orimono.co.jp/