Reflection on Final Paper and Class

Well, it's been a good month and a half since I started this research project, and I am pretty satisfied with the results.  The primary argument of my paper was that in modern and postwar Japan there continued to exist a tension between old and new attitudes toward suicide, evidenced in reactions to General Nogi's suicide and consistently high suicide rates; thus, modern Japanese literature emerged as a way to address this ongoing tension between traditional and contemporary views of suicide.

Although I feel like I made good use of the research I conducted, I was somewhat dissatisfied with my inability to delve more deeply into the religious and gender-based aspects of these various views of suicide.  All of the major postwar works I read and discussed in my paper were inherently biased from a male perspective, offering little room to address how gender and gender roles might affect attitudes toward suicide.  In addition, most of my sources focused on the sociological rather than metaphysical aspect of suicide.  Had I been given more time and space to conduct further research, I would have certainly explored these two topics.

As an English and Japanese major, it was nice to be able to finally use the resources from both my majors and synthesize them in an impressive research project.  Throughout this semester, I have faced extraordinary amounts of homework, papers, and projects--but I have managed to survive (no pun intended).  Writing 340 didn't teach me anything new about the technical aspect of writing, but it did present a challenge in trying to balance paper assignments with homework from my major classes.  I definitely became better at time-management and, as a result, produced better papers.  This semester has required me to write academically more than any other, but the constant practice ultimately showed me how to write professionally without compromising my personal, creative style.

Writing 340 has also taught me how to properly research.  The librarian gave me invaluable tips when trying to locate information in two very different fields.  ProQuest ended up being a wonderful resource, but I found a few articles through other databases that I wouldn't have originally thought to check.  Because I intend to go to graduate school in the next couple years, Writing 340 gave me multiple opportunities to practice researching and presenting my findings in cohesive, interesting analyses.  I probably won't maintain a blog in the future, but I will most certainly continue to employ the skills I have gained from this class.

Sorry for the rambling!  Now, I just want to extend a BIG THANKS to everyone who read any part (or all!) of my academic blog.  I'm sorry I won't be able to keep it up (it is an interesting topic after all!), but who knows--maybe you'll eventually see a giant book about suicide in Japan with my name on it. :)

P.S. Here is a trailer for the Norwegian Wood movie from 2010 (see older post for info on the book).  I haven't seen it yet, but I plan to!

The Sensational Suicide of General Nogi

In continuing with some extra research, I discovered a book entitled Suicidal Honor: General Nogi and the Writings of Mori Ōgai and Natsume Sōseki by Doris G. Bargen.  Because I haven't focused too much on specific suicides, I've decided for this post to discuss one of Japan's most famous deaths--that of the (in)famous General Nogi (1849-1912).

First, a little background information.  During the Meiji period 明治時代 (1868-1912), Nogi Maresuke 乃木 希典 was a well-known and highly respected general in Japan's imperial army.  But after losing the imperial banner in the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877, Nogi began to exhibit a peculiar longing for death that never abandoned him.  It wasn't until the day of Emperor Mutsuhito's funeral on September 13 that Nogi finally took his own life alongside his wife.

The historical and cultural significance of Nogi's death lies in the manner in which he executed it.  Nogi committed a form of seppuku called junshi 殉死, which literally means to "follow one's Lord into death."  In spite of the massive and ubiquitous Westernization that Japan was experiencing at the time, Nogi opted for an ancient ritualized form of suicide.  The effects his suicide had, however, were ultimately polarizing.  Several Japanese peoples lauded the act as a rekindling of the traditional Japanese values of self-sacrifice and loyalty; others viewed it as an unnecessary and outdated return to a pre-modern past.  Unsurprisingly, foreigners had the most trouble comprehending the violent display.  But indisputably, Nogi became a sort of paragon for Japanese values; he epitomized self-sacrifice and honor and immortalized himself as a hero of Japan.

What struck me was this tension between the East and the West.  Even today, there seems to be the question of how "Western" Japan should strive to be--and what parts of its indigenous tradition it should preserve.  Only in the past decade or so did Japan's MHLW begin to promote suicide prevention in light of the peak in suicide rates starting in the late '90s.  But why did it take so long for Japan to address the issue of suicide when self-inflicted deaths had been a problem for decades?  Could it have had anything to do with Japan's attempts to distinguish itself from the West and to avoid typical Western measures such as prevention programs?  It is my belief, and one that I hope to prove in my research paper, that there is still a struggle between traditional values and progressive foreign thought when it comes to suicide.  But it remains a complicated concept.  What do you think?

Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood

Many avid readers, even non-Japanese ones, are probably familiar with (or have, at the very least, heard of) Japan's most renowned contemporary fiction writer, Haruki Murakami 村上春樹(1949-).  I had heard the name myself only a handful of times, especially in connection with surrealism and dystopian societies.  But this semester, my Japanese literature professor assigned one of Murakami's older works entitled Norwegian Wood ノルウェイの森.  Published in 1987, this novel catapulted Murakami to international fame.  But what struck me as peculiar was how the book itself was not one of these surreal re-imaginings that I knew Murakami to be so fond of.  Rather, it was a simple, autobiographical-sounding tale of a young man, Toru, a young woman, Naoko, and their connection to a friend and boyfriend, respectively, named Kizuki--who, at the beginning of the novel, suddenly, and for no apparent reason, commits suicide.

My research on the sociological aspects of suicide in Japan has revealed some startling facts about suicide's moral implications and social utility.  But this modern novel in particular offers a unique and complex take on the age-old topic.  Instead of using suicide to establish a seamless conclusion to a narrative, such as author Matsumoto Seichou does in his 1960 novel Nami no Tou (see previous post), or to reiterate traditional  values of self-sacrifice and honor, Murakami illustrates the disastrous snowball effect suicide can have on others.  His novel is a realistic depiction of suicide; it does not laud the act but condemn it, primarily by highlighting the severe aftereffects such an event can have on the people involved.  For Toru and Naoko, Kizuki's suicide does nothing to maintain the group harmony.  Toru and Naoko sustain a peculiar friendship following Kizuki's death, but it is almost unnatural for the pair; Kizuki's presence, it seems, was the fundamental nexus in the trio of friends.

Murakami paints a picture of suicide different from the traditional Japanese values of honor, duty, and self-sacrifice.  In Norwegian Wood, we are never given a direct motivation for Kizuki's suicide.  Wendy Jones Nakanishi, author of "The Dying Game: Suicide in Modern Japanese Literature," asks, "Was Kazuki's suicide in Norwegian Wood attributable to school pressures?"  Perhaps had Murakami clarified this, there would have been a sense of closure for the friends.  But not all suicides have clear motivations behind them, and the ones that don't are often the ones that leave others feeling most dissatisfied.  In other words, Murakami focuses on the effects of suicide rather than the cause.  No longer is suicide simply an effortless slip out of the harsh reality of life; it has consequences on the living and likewise holds the capacity to damage, rather than rectify, lives and/or situations.  The entire novel details Toru's and Naoko's different reactions to Kizuki's suicide--how they try to move on, try to understand what happened, and eventually come to terms with it.  But for Naoko, her boyfriend's suicide can never be rationalized or accepted.  SPOILER: Eventually, she too ends up killing herself.

In his version of literary suicide, Murakami channels the more Western ideas that suicide is not a solution but a problem.  We don't exactly know what Kizuki's problems were, but we do know that his decision to commit suicide becomes a (particularly long-term) problem for both Toru and Naoko.

What I want to know is why certain authors, such as Murakami, want to portray this specific side of suicide.  Instead of reverting back to more traditional depictions of aesthetic or honorable suicide, Murakami suggests suicide is a crisis to be avoided.  Is Murakami simply trying to view suicide from a more realistic lens to appeal to a modern audience?  Are Japanese values of self-sacrifice changing to say that suicide is no longer practical or responsible?

The Seppuku Ritual

 

I've mentioned multiple times in both  my presentation and previous posts the prevalence of a type of formalized ritual suicide called seppuku 切腹, or the cruder hara-kiri 腹切り, which more literally translates to "stomach cutting."  I haven't taken the time to thoroughly examine the historical or cultural context associated with the traditionally militaristic ritual of the samurai, so I would like to use this post as a chance to elaborate on this topic of particular interest to me.  I will be basing all of my research off of one of my sources for my paper, a 2011 book entitled Seppuku: A History of Samurai Suicide by Andrew Rankin.  The chapter I am focusing on is "The Seppuku Ritual."

Before 1600, seppuku was more of an impromptu act in times of "inevitable capture or defeat" (87); it had no formalized rules or methods as we understand it today.  In fact, it wasn't until the early 1700s that more detailed guidelines began to surface for how to correctly perform seppuku.  According to the systematic ritual, the location is extremely important, as well as the type of sword used, the clothes, the audience, and the pre-ritual cleansing.  Family was not allowed to attend the ceremony.

The kaishaku is a necessity.  He is the friend or colleague selected to perform the decapitation of the one committing seppuku after the ritual stomach cutting has been completed.  This person's responsibilities are to monitor the entire event and confirm its correct execution.  This two-person performance could be described in more Western terms as a type of assisted suicide, although this in turn tends to de-ritualize the significant formalized aspects of the entire act.  In addition, the kaishaku is supposed to have at least one assistant--again, to ensure the flawless progression of the seppuku ritual.  The somewhat large number of people associated with the ritual--the kaishaku, the assistant(s), and the audience--highlight, in my opinion, the ingrained social significance and superiority of the group in Japanese society--even, as this illustrates, in acts of individual suicide.  The suicide ritual is thus a sort of nexus in the chain of society, functioning as a means of upholding harmony between individuals and the overarching fabric of the group.

Interestingly, the act of seppuku itself assumes a variety of forms.  There is ichimonji (one horizontal cut), which was standard in the Tokugawa Period (1603-1867).  Rankin explains how "Many early cases of ichimonji are actually aborted jumonji [two crossed cuts to form a cross shape], where a warrior intending to make two cuts runs out of steam after the first" (97).  It would seem that even samurai could only withhold so much pain at a single moment.  In some ways, the more cuts a warrior could make before dying, the more respect and praise he could garner upon his death.  The sanmonji (three horizontal cuts) was probably the most painful and impressive version of seppuku a warrior could perform--if he had the guts (pun intended).

This is just a cursory description of the intricacies of the seppuku ritual.  But I think it is important that for us to understand suicide's place in modern society and literature we have a keen understanding of the ritualized origins of a very important--though these days rare--method of suicide.

Current Suicide Trends and Prevention Measures

So I figured for this post, I would take a step away from the literary world and focus primarily on the sociological aspect of my research.  I went over most of these points in my presentation (NOTE: Must be logged in as USC student/faculty to view in GoogleDocs), but here I'd like to present the current rates and prevention measures for suicide in Japan a bit more in-depth.

After I gave my presentation in class on Tuesday, I conducted more research on my topic and found a much more informative sociological article from 2009 that contained a suicide rate chart reaching as far back as 1899 (previously, I could only find one reaching as far back as 1953).  According to the chart's accompanying analysis, there is a clear peak after WWII (something I theorized but did not have adequate data to use as evidence) as well as peaks in 1986 and 2003.  Again, the highest number of suicides was attributed to males, mostly of middle-age status, and there is a clear link between suicide rates and unemployment rates.

But aside from middle-aged men, "among men under 44 and women under 34 years of age, suicide is the most frequent cause of death."  In short, suicide in Japan appears to be most prominent in young adults and the early middle-aged.  But why is this?  The article doesn't offer much in terms of speculation, but based on my own research, I find it likely that the high tendency for youths--in particular high schoolers--to commit suicide has much to do with school pressure, entrance exams, and bullying.

The article goes on to define a brief history of legal and social actions taken to curb suicide rates.  Official prevention measures started in 1979 with the Cabinet Office and Ministry of Education.  But it wasn't until after 1998 with the economic disaster and sudden spike in suicide rates that the Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare (MHLW) began to more diligently assess the problem of suicide.

Something I was not aware of in giving my presentation was the formation of the Comprehensive Suicide Prevention Initiative (CSPI) in 2007.  The project runs under the motto "Creating a Society Where Life is Easier."  It recognizes suicide as a "forced death," implying that the cause is not in the individual but in society.  This idea fits nicely into what I've been uncovering--the fact that one of the reasons suicide is so high today is not simply because of the economy but a set of embedded societal expectations, particularly those of middle-aged men.  Whether or not suicide rates directly relate back to the samurai ideals of honor and duty is unclear, but it is certain that the Japanese still value these traits--and that suicide remains an unfortunate extension.

What do you think?

Author Yukio Mishima, Suicide, and Aestheticism

I'm guessing a lot of non-Japanese people don't know too much about contemporary Japanese authors.  One writer I find most fascinating--as do most Japanese people, I'm presuming--is Yukio Mishima 三島 由紀夫 (1925-1970).  Mishima was famous for his revolutionary literary works and style--and infamous for his traditional political ideologies.  Several of Mishima's works, such as The Sailor Who Fell From Grace with the Sea 午後の曳航 or Patriotism 憂國, exhibit a peculiar preoccupation with the philosophical and political implications of death, or more particularly suicide.  Mishima often represents death as an honorable act of duty and as a social, political, and/or philosophical statement--a way for the protagonist to come to terms with some sort of significant internal dilemma.

In Patriotism, a 1960 novella mentioned above, Mishima plays with the idea of seppuku, or ritualized suicide (see previous post for picture and definition).  The story focuses on the last night of a young soldier, Shinji, and his beautiful wife, Reiko, both of whom plan to end their lives via ritualized suicide, a decision that stems from Shinji's traumatic inability to decide between vowing loyalty to the imperial army and backing his friends.

If we are to analyze Mishima's descriptive suicide in accordance with my previous post, the type of suicide in Patriotism seems to fall under all three categories.  Shinji's decision to commit seppuku is both a traditional show of duty as well as an acceptable escape from an impossible situation--in this case, his inability to choose between his obligations as a soldier and his commitment to his friends.  However, his choice to die alongside his wife, who slits her own neck, is a startlingly provocative depiction of the power of love in the spiritual and physical bond between husband and wife.

Mishima transcends these three categories by adding an aesthetic element.  Suicide is depicted in seamless juxtaposition with sex, love, and honor.  It is an act of courage and almost pleasure for Shinji and Reiko.  This idea of aestheticism in suicide is prevalent in another 1960 Japanese work entitled Tower of Waves, or Nami no Tou, by Seichou Matsumoto.  In her review of the novel, Roxanne Russell describes suicide as a serene and natural departure for the heroine.

Mishima's and Matsumoto's works differ greatly in their material and even in the setting and reasoning behind their protagonists' suicides.  But there is still a fundamentally aesthetic aspect to suicide in both of their writings.

What do you think?  Is it okay to depict suicide as something beautiful?  Or does this simply perpetuate the idea that suicide isn't a "big deal"?

What Kinds of Suicide are There?

I think the title says it all--What kinds of suicide exist in Japanese culture?  It's a difficult question to ask, but I believe it is important for me to establish the different types of actions people take and how their choices influence the way people view suicide in Japanese society.  Is all suicide viewed as sympathetic and/or morally responsible, or are only specific types of suicide considered so?  It's one of those ambiguous notions that will be difficult for me to fully answer.  But hopefully I can shed some light on just how complex the trend of suicide--in both Japanese society and literature--really is.

I am basing most of my research in this post off of one of my key sources highlighted in my literature review.  It is a scholarly article by Wendy Jones Nakanishi entitled "The Dying Game: Suicide in Modern Japanese Literature."  Her analysis provided me with some fundamental facts about suicide--the idea that there are multiple circumstances in which suicide can become a viable option for the modern-day Japanese.

So what is there?

First, there's the idea that suicide can be "an honorable means of accepting blame or of shouldering responsibility," as Nakanishi states.  This can be tied back to the traditional samurai codes, in which men would commit seppuku--a type of suicide involving disemboweling oneself with a sword.

Choosing to die is linked to the concept of self-sacrifice, of acknowledging one's failure to be successful and/or carry out one's duties/obligations (whether they be militaristic, social, or moral).

Another example of suicide are the infamous lovers' suicide pacts, or shinju 心中(double suicide).  In contemporary literature, we see shinju as a running theme in Jun'ichiro Tanizaki's novel Quicksand.  We also see similar themes in Haruki Murakami's works, as Nakanishi points out.  If we look at Japan from a religious context, shinju makes a lot of sense.  People did and do not necessarily fear the afterlife or any type of moral reckoning upon death; thus, shinju is nothing but a pragmatic and romantic way to extricate one's relationship from the confines of strict social convention.

A third type of suicide is something probably more prevalent in the West--the idea of escaping from a problem that seems to have no end in sight.  In Japan, this can be attributed to either bullying, or ijime いじめ, or the pressure to pass difficult school entrance exams.

These are probably what most Westerners think of when they hear the phrase "suicide in Japan."  We tend to have this view of Japanese suicide as something we're more familiar with--social and school-related pressures--but we rarely seem to associate suicide with some of Japan's more traditional, culturally ingrained mores, such as honor, duty, and responsibility.

What do you guys think?  What do you think of when asked to ponder "suicide in Japan"?  Am I right in assuming that most Westerners would probably only think of the third type I listed above?

Tentative Topic for Final Research Project

It's been a difficult couple of weeks trying to figure out just what I'm most interested in writing about for this final research project.  But finally--I think--I have decided on a (tentative) topic.

As an English and Japanese double major, I am most unsurprisingly obsessed with literature in all its forms.  Although I have only taken two classes in Japanese literature, I have taken countless classes in British and American literature, which has provided me with a keen understanding of Western depictions of certain prevalent themes during specific literary periods.  It was during my first few encounters with Japanese literature, however, that I began to notice the startlingly high number of references to a single theme, a theme that seemed to span historical periods: Death.  But this wasn't natural death; it wasn't the typical conflict of murder or assassination or manslaughter usually depicted in our traditional tales of love, justice, or revenge--this was self-imposed, self-willed.  Voluntary self-destruction.  In other words, suicide.

My first thoughts were, Why is suicide such a popular theme?  Why do the Japanese seem to have such a fascination with self-destruction?

In Tanizaki's Quicksand, for example, a trio of lovers prepares for a communal suicide ritual by gulping poison.  In Mishima's Patriotism, a devoted soldier commits seppuku--a traditional samurai ritual that consists of disemboweling oneself with a sword.

As these works illustrate, suicide is a commitment to another human being, an expression of love.  It is also a pinnacle of honor and a mark of masculinity.

Overall, suicide appears to be a complicated concept, leaving me to wonder: What is the best way to approach this topic?  Perhaps, I thought, if I analyze it from both a historical/cultural lens and a psychological perspective, I will be better able to understand just why this theme of suicide has survived (pun intended) the ages and remains so prevalent in contemporary Japanese literature today.  And so I have tentatively decided that with this research project, I will attempt to use the resources of psychology and cultural history to grasp a better comprehension of the significance of suicide in Japanese literature.  

Wish me luck in my research! \(^o^)/ ありがとう！

Assignment 2: Ibsen vs. Bond

It's Assignment 2 time already!  For this paper, we're required to discuss the relationship between the audience and the author of a particular work/artistic piece.

Well, as an English major, I can say I knew almost instantly I'd want to focus on a literary work for my topic.  The trickier part, however, was trying to decide between two fascinating plays: 1. Saved by Edward Bond, a startlingly crude tale of violence and social morality, and 2. A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen, an 1879 drama surrounding the internal plight of a young housewife.

What attracted me to both of these plays were entirely different reasons.

Saved is one of those preposterously macabre narratives, one undoubtedly psychological but also so primitively violent as to be unfairly defined by a single scene in which a gang of youths stone a baby to death.  This particular scene--indeed, the climactic crux of the play--nevertheless elicited some severe outrage following its premiere in 1965.

On the other hand, A Doll's House--released 86 years earlier than Bond's masterwork--is one of those thought-provoking visionaries with an emphasis on re-evaluating society's social and gender constructs in a time of relatively constricting expectations.  The so-called "problem" was in its controversial conclusion: Nora, the model wife and mother as well as keen heroine of the story, decides to abdicate these feminine-relegated functions by leaving her husband and children to seek outside fulfillment in her otherwise monotonous life.

Now, clearly, both of these plays offer room for discussion.  But which seems to evoke a greater sense of an ongoing discourse between the audience and the author?  From what I gathered in my research, I think it is safe to say that Ibsen's A Doll's House ultimately offers far more room for research and analysis.  Whereas Bond did not historically respond much to the negative criticism surrounding his play--or, at least, did not seem to find it alarming--Ibsen thoroughly defended his original ending, referring to any forced changes in it as "barbaric act[s] of violence."  Ibsen, fearing that translators and others would butcher his work, was nonetheless forced to construct an alternate ending to his play, in which Torvald guilt-trips Nora into staying with him for the sake of their children.

Now, what is probably perhaps most fascinating is how Ibsen responded to his audience's negative reactions to the ending in A Doll's House.  Instead of complaining or continuously defending his artistic liberties, Ibsen decided to take a far more interesting route--by composing a follow-up response play entitled Ghosts.  The play was released in 1882, just three years after A Doll's House, and follows a woman named Helen who has led a stiff life of disappointment: Her husband had several affairs in spite of her wishes to reform him and her son struggles with syphilis contracted directly from his father.  Is this the punishment that would await Nora if she were to continue to conform to these Victorian values of strict morality?

The questions of society, roles, gender, and values are too irresistible for me to pass up.  For this assignment, I plan to tackle these elusive ideas and decode just how the audience responded to Ibsen's work, why, and whether or not I believe Ibsen's choice in producing Ghosts was an intelligent and pragmatic response to this criticism.