Tales of Idolized Boys: Male-Male Love in Medieval Japanese Buddhist Narratives 0824886798, 9780824886790

Citation preview

Tales of Idolized Boys

QR

Tales of Idolized Boys QR Male-Male Love in Medieval Japanese Buddhist Narratives

Sachi Schmidt-Hori

University of Hawai‘i Press Honolulu

© 2021 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 26 25 24 23 22 21   6 5 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Schmidt-Hori, Sachi, author. Title: Tales of idolized boys : male-male love in medieval Japanese Buddhist narratives / Sachi Schmidt-Hori. Description: Honolulu : University of Hawai‘i Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021012053 | ISBN 9780824886790 (cloth) | ISBN 9780824888930 (pdf) | ISBN 9780824888947 (epub) | ISBN 9780824888954 (kindle edition) Subjects: LCSH: Japanese fiction—1185-1600—History and criticism. | Male homosexuality in literature. | Buddhist stories, Japanese—History and criticism. | Buddhist acolytes—Japan—History. | Buddhist acolytes in literature. Classification: LCC PL777.33.H59 S36 2021 | DDC 895.63/2093538086642—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021012053 Cover art: Vignette 4.1 from Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. Cover design: Aaron Lee

University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources.

For my mother, Hori Masana (1947–2020)

Contents

Acknowledgments Prelude

Introduction: Becoming a Chigo

ix xiii

1

Chapter One: Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics and Aesthetics of Acolyte-Monk Love

41

Chapter Two: A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys

78

Chapter Three: The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals, Transformations, and Triumph

104

Chapter Four: The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love with an Aristocratic Lady

134

Epilogue

161

Glossary

167

Notes

171

Bibliography

207

Index

223

Color plates follow page 103 and 133

Acknowledgments

M

any advice books for young professional women tell us to perform the extraordinary human feats of mental and communicative acrobatics if we wish to be successful in the world of business, law, medicine, journalism, art, academia, and almost everything else. Be assertive, but not too much. Show vulnerability, but don’t be weak. Behave like men, but don’t look like one. And here is my favorite: Fake it till you make it. Nevertheless, if I were to author an advice book on the “tightrope walking” of being in my profession, pretense would not be a part of it. As a first-generation immigrant of a blue-collar upbringing, a non-native speaker of English, and a short Asian woman, my two cents would be: (1) Practice the walk with rigor; (2) Practice landing after a fall with even greater rigor; and (3) Get yourself the sturdiest safety net you can ever find. Throughout the process of writing this book, my mentors, colleagues, friends, and family have watched over me. To use the analogy of tightrope walking, these people are my trainers and cheerleaders, who also provided me with a soft place to fall. My wonderful Dartmouth colleagues—Dennis Washburn, James Dorsey, Allen Hockley, Miya Xie, and Charlotte Bacon—read one or more chapters of this book and gave me many constructive suggestions. The Leslie Center for the Humanities funded the manuscript review seminar for this project, allowing me to invite two superb external readers, Tani Barlow and Charlotte Eubanks. Their feedback immeasurably improved this work, and I am extremely grateful. My departmental colleagues, especially Yūsaku Horiuchi, Steve Ericson, Edward Miller, Levi Gibbs, Sujin Eom, Ikuko Watanabe, Mayumi Ishida, Soyoung Suh, Sunglim Kim, Reiko Ohnuma, and Eng-Beng Lim, have offered great help and support since my arrival in 2015, and I would like to thank them all. I am in this profession today thanks to the graduate education I received at the University of Washington. To this day, Davinder ix

x Acknowledgments

Bhowmik, Edward Mack, and Zev Handel offer me guidance whenever I am in need of their wisdom and pep talks. Suyong Pak, Christopher Lowy, Stephen Poland, Jon Holt, Kai Xie, and Yukiko Shigetō are my fellow UW graduates with whom I have shared the joy and challenge of juggling research, teaching, dissertation, and life outside the campus. I want to thank all of my scholar friends, who always inspire me. Rajyashree Pandey, Keith Vincent, Samuel Perry, Wendy Matsumura, Stephen Miller, Patrick Donnelly, Lori Meeks, Jason Webb, Vyjayanthi Selinger, Andrew Leong, Roy Chan, Kōno Kensuke, Tsuboi Hideto, and Hibi Yoshitaka—thank you for being there for me. I am grateful to Kanechiku Nobuyuki, Sakamoto Kiyoe, and Ishii Tomoko for their guidance. Lindsay Nelson, Grace Ting, Patrick Schwemmer, Eirko Hata, and Keiko Eguchi motivated me to stay on track during my three-month stay in Tokyo in 2019. Akiko Takeyama, Brian Ruppert, Gian-Piero Persiani, Takeshi Watanabe, Aaron Proffitt, and James Fujii moved me with their kindness when I was least expecting. I am very fortunate to have my fellow scholars of premodern Japanese literature as friends and occasional writing buddies: Jyana Browne, Beth Carter, and Otilia Milutin. I owe the production of this book to Stephanie Chun and Grace Wen, acquisitions editor and managing editor at the University of Hawai`i Press, respectively. This book also tremendously benefited from the two anonymous readers’ illuminating feedback, criticism, and energetic words of encouragement. Allison Van Deventer and Ivo Fravashi, the excellent copyeditors, helped me write with clarity. Melissa McCormick kindly allowed me to use her personal photographs of the Chigo imamairi scroll for chapter 4. The British Museum and Itsuō Art Museum in Osaka granted me permission to use photographs of Chigo no sōshi for chapter 2 and Ashibiki-e for chapter 3, respectively. International Research Center for Japanese Studies let me borrow the images of Koshibagaki zōshi and Fukuro hōshi ekotoba for chapter 2. The brutal winter of Hanover, New Hampshire, is manageable thanks to my friends with warmest hearts: Helen Hong, Sergi Elizalde, Sarah Coulter, and Casey Aldrich. My students at Dartmouth College make teaching extremely enjoyable even on those days when the highest temperature is in a single digit. Ann Fenton, my department’s administrator, and Nien Lin Xie, our subject librarian, make my life much less hectic.

Acknowledgments

xi

I would not have been doing what I do today, had my mother not allowed me to go to college despite her financial challenges and even study abroad in America during my junior year. She would have been the happiest person to see a book with my name published; I miss her. Last but not least, Roy Schmidt has been the greatest partner the world could ever offer me. Every day, he takes great care of everyone around him: the kids, his father, Molly the Cat, and me. He has read all of the numerous versions of this manuscript (not because he is interested in the subject matter) and helped in completing this book every step of the way. Momoka and Rikuo remind me that life is most meaningful when we do not take ourselves too seriously and know the true priorities in life.

Prelude

T

ales of Idolized Boys: Male-Male Love in Medieval Japanese Buddhist Narratives contributes to the fields of premodern (before 1600) Japanese literature and the history of gender and sexuality by pursuing four interrelated goals. First, this book explores the intersection of sei 性 (“gender,” “sexuality,” and “sex”), age, and social status in premodern Japan, especially in the context of medieval (ca. 1192–1600) Buddhist monasteries. The primary focus of this exploration is the formal and prearranged transactional relationship between a group of adolescent boys called chigo 稚児/児 (Buddhist acolytes) and their master priests. The second goal of this book is to situate the medieval genre of chigo monogatari 稚児物語 (acolyte tales) in the larger literary tradition of Japan. The third goal is to analyze the scholarship on chigo monogatari that has been published since the 1950s, with attention to the trends in discussing sei, age, and social status. Finally, this book provides in-depth comparative readings of six chigo tales that are highly relevant to the discussions of sei, class, power, politics, and religion in our own time. Born of elite pedigrees, chigo had a striking presence in the monochromic temple precincts due to their courtly elegance and androgynous charm, highlighted by their long ponytails, makeup, and colorful robes. For their master priests, they played diverse roles. The boys were their teachers’ disciples, personal attendants, and sexual partners. During important religious ceremonies, the chigo also enchanted local donors and pilgrims with music and dance. Images of beautiful chigo are omnipresent in numerous scroll paintings and illustrated tales. The authors of chigo tales built their romantic and deeply religious narratives upon the shared cultural knowledge of the chigo— revered as bodhisattvas in the flesh and celebrated for their beauty and artistic skills—not only by reaffirming these images, but also at xiii

xiv Prelude

times by subverting them. Although most of these fictional stories were likely authored by clergymen who read them among themselves for pleasure, they soon became a part of the mainstream literary tradition and were copied and circulated beyond the Buddhist community, to the extent that a satirical parody of chigo monogatari was composed (see chapter 4). As will be discussed further in the introduction of this book, chigo tales—especially because of their association with the erotic labor that the historical acolytes provided their teachers—have been subjected to serious scorn and criticism in modern Japanese- and English-language scholarship. The emergent notion of Westernized masculinity, along with unexamined layers of misogyny and homophobia, has obscured premodern conceptions of the chigo, wrapping it in accusations of deviance, sexual abuse, and lack of agency on the youths’ part. Given this less-than-ideal reception history, the present book offers what Rita Felski calls a “postcritical reading” of chigo tales, a mode of reading that is informed by traditional literary critique but transcends its typically “suspicious” and sometimes reductive approaches to texts.1 Another way of characterizing my approach to the genre of chigo tales is to say that sexual agency and the negotiation of power are matters that to me are both deeply important and personal. Tokyo—Early 1980s A seed for this research was planted in my heart when I was nine or ten. Throughout my childhood, my mother implicitly demonstrated to me how the covert, unspoken rules of human relations could play out in our lives. During the 1980s, my mother, a young, single parent of three, worked at a nightclub in Kabukichō, an entertainment and red-light district of Tokyo. Every afternoon when I came home from school, I found her sitting in front of her dressing table, busily applying makeup and curling her medium-length jet-black hair. She would then loosely wrap her head with a large, emerald-green silk scarf to protect her perfect curls from oil and steam before starting to cook dinner for us. We were the odd family that finished dinner long before other moms in our neighborhood had begun preparing theirs. At fivethirty, my mother changed into one of her chic dresses, and by six, she was out the door. The three of us did not see her again until the next morning.

Prelude

xv

There were other odd things about my childhood home. We lived in an old, rundown apartment with walls so thin I could hear my next-door neighbor’s son (a classmate of mine) cough, sneeze, and laugh. Taking a bath was another issue. At the time, the lowestgrade apartments in Tokyo did not yet enjoy the convenience of private baths (ofuro). Those without ofuro turned to community bathhouses (sentō) out of necessity, although many people who had their own ofuro still enjoyed occasional trips to sentō. Fortunately for my mother, who initially had to go to sentō during the day, our landlord decided to “upgrade” his property by building a row of ten individual bathroom stalls, one for each family, on the premises. Yet I used to dread this nightly roundtrip between my apartment and the bathroom through a narrow, poorly lit alley, where several stray cats roamed around. I always prayed that I would not bump into the boy from my class on my way to the bathroom or back from it. I envied my friends who had normal ofuro at home. Our apartment always looked cramped and disorganized. Kids’ clothes, toys, comic books, school supplies, and backpacks were always lying in heaps. We had no “nice” things like a piano, flowers, plants, paintings, or family photos, which could have made the place more like a “regular” home, I thought. Nonetheless, in retrospect, our home had a strange appeal, a certain paradoxical beauty. In the midst of the chaotic clutter sat a shoddy bookcase, sinking into the yellowed straw mat (tatami) of the room. It was packed with hundreds of my mother’s old books: Sōseki, Tanizaki, Akutagawa, Kawabata, Hesse, Dostoevsky, Baldwin, Shakespeare, and many more. These dog-eared, worn-out, and scribbled-on paperbacks were what she read on the train bound for the glittering neon lights of Kabukichō. As I recall the solemn stillness of the bookcase in our dingy, disorderly apartment, it invites a parallel with another picture in my head: my mother savoring a moment of tranquility inside the noisy Shinjuku-bound train car, filled with young people anticipating a night of carefree pleasure. My mother’s occupational title was hosutesu (an adaptation of the English word “hostess”), although women in this profession almost never call themselves hosutesu. When asked about their job, it is common for them to say what they do, rather than who they are: “I work at night” (yoru no shigoto shitemasu) or “I work at a bar” (nomiya de hataraitemasu). Growing up, I never liked the sound of the word hosutesu, perhaps because I sensed the slight contempt

xvi Prelude

people injected into the four syllables. This is the power of labeling and ostracizing others. Even such a meaningless nomenclature as hosutesu can dispirit a child. While two “hosutesu clubs” can be as dissimilar from one another as a Saks Fifth Avenue boutique and a Walmart, and two women working in the same establishment may differ greatly in age, personality, and style, one thing is always the same: the importance of the women’s skill at entertaining the mostly male clientele through conversation, drinks, and charm. In a high-end nightclub, such as those where my mother used to work, a new client must be introduced by a pre-existing patron, and when a woman switches to a different club, her entire clientele generally moves along with her. Thus, the hosutesu and her patrons often develop a long-term, quasiromantic professional relationship. Some of my mother’s clients occasionally treated us to dinner at fancy French, Italian, or Korean restaurants in downtown Tokyo. (From the outside, we must have looked like an ordinary family of five.) My mother never kept her job a secret from us, nor did she hide our existence from her clients. These wealthy men were kind to us, always saying, “Study hard and help your mom when you grow up!” (Ganbatte benkyō shite, okaasan o raku ni shite agete ne). Instead of driving a cab, authoring novels, treating cancer patients, or teaching math, my mother dressed impeccably and entertained her patrons after their long, stressful workdays. She regarded these men not only as the source of her income, but also as friends and allies. As unusual as my childhood was, I was generally content with the choice my mother made in order to keep a roof over our heads and save money for the future. Strangers, however, were less willing to accept someone like my mother as an ordinary citizen. Neighbors and my schoolmates’ parents tended to see her as simultaneously sleazy, piteous, and angelic. Sleazy, because of an inexplicable (though not uncommon, in Japan or elsewhere) contempt for women who use any amount of their sexuality to make a living; piteous for enduring such a shameful act as working as a hosutesu; and angelic for debasing herself out of love for her children. Although I always found these sentiments equally absurd and infuriating, my mother never seemed to pay attention to the moral crusaders who wished a more “respectable” job upon her (which would have meant the acceptance of a huge pay cut). She was simply too busy feeding her children, making sure they did not turn

Prelude

xvii

into juvenile delinquents, and saving for their education. After staying in the industry for over a decade, never missing a single day of work, my mother managed to send two of her children to college. Watching my mother negotiate with the club management and her patrons taught me a simple fact of life: power need not stem from wealth, a high-status profession, or a special talent. Kabukichō nightclubs may seem far removed from the normative mores of the rest of society, and many people believe that a hosutesu is at the mercy of her clients and her employer. Nevertheless, well-established clubs are generally governed by a self-regulating system that generates a power equilibrium among the three parties involved. The more exclusive and prestigious a club is, the more it is in the clients’ best interest to behave in accordance with their social stature, that is, with kindness and generosity toward the women and the management. To enforce this unwritten agreement, however, the business and its employees do not rely solely on the clients’ goodness of heart. At such high-end clubs, where the customers pay all of their bills at once at the end of each month, the honor system gives the clients prestige, yet they must also disclose verifiable contact information. An ill-behaved patron risks being blacklisted in the Kabukichō or facing other social sanctions, which could involve his employer or family. The women, too, possess plenty of leverage as long as they contribute to the business. They are able to negotiate their salaries, benefits, and hours, since losing a hosutesu to a competitor means losing her entire clientele, and an unhappy former employee may speak unfavorably about her previous club to her peers, which could undermine the business’s efforts to attract skillful women. All in all, it would be inaccurate to assume that the hosutesu (or anyone working in any sector of the erotic industry) are victims of patriarchal exploitation, temptresses who take advantage of men’s weakness, or self-sacrificing saints. Each woman is different and has a different set of circumstances. Also, the ways hosutesu exert their power over clients are manifold and multi-faceted. Coquetry and flirtation work for some women; some are fantastic singers or dancers; while others capitalize on their beauty (although it is common knowledge in the industry that the most successful hosutesu in a club is not usually the most beautiful woman). Although my mother was not notably gorgeous or even particularly cheerful, let alone seductive or submissive, she did quite well in her profession with the resources she had cultivated by reading great literature and reading

xviii Prelude

people. The sources of her power, I think, were her down-to-earth personality, no-nonsense authenticity, and an unapologetic drive for upward mobility.

It was during a graduate seminar that I first encountered Buddhist acolyte tales. These narratives turned out to be an abundant repository of all things fascinating: Heian-esque courtly aesthetics, depictions of nonbinary gender, an array of Buddhist ideals, portrayals of male-male love, and intricate negotiations of power between the chigo characters and those around them. Yet above all, the reception history of acolyte tales intrigued me. In the 1950s and 1960s, during the initial stage of research on chigo tales, scholars in Japan routinely prefaced their works with blatantly homophobic apologia for the subject matter.2 This was a lingering effect of the drastic and then-necessary political strategy the Meiji government (1868–1912) implemented—deploring same-sex love and concealing Japan’s history of embracing this custom for almost a millennium—in order to “civilize” and “Westernize” the nation.3 Since the mid-1980s or so, however, with the rising global awareness of diversity in gender and sexuality, discriminatory sentiments about homosexuality have waned in Japanese academic publications. To put it bluntly, the intellectuals of Japan, once again, began to fear being labeled as “backward” by their Western counterparts. This time, however, they feared being seen not as “homophilic” but as overtly homophobic. What happened next is remarkable: the nonchalantly homophobic evaluation of the chigo tale genre was replaced by denouncements of the same exact texts for the age gap between partners in a male homoerotic relationship (nanshoku), newly interpreted as the sexual abuse of children. I also noticed during the graduate seminar that no scholars were asking why the boys may have been motivated to participate in erotic labor in monasteries. My impression is that pondering even the possibility of benefits to the boys is deemed condoning the practice. But it seemed to me that to call this tradition child sexual abuse might be to make a too-hasty judgment, an assessment too detached from medieval Japanese society, which operated under a worldview that differed widely from our own. I was also curious to learn whether there had been a self-regulating system that created a relative power

Prelude

xix

equilibrium, or a type of symbiosis within the chigo tradition, like the unwritten rules of the Kabukichō clubs that few outsiders know or care to understand. Yet I never addressed these questions during the seminar, because I did not have the guts to go against what seemed like the consensus across all the secondary texts we read. In fact, it took me several years to gain enough confidence and courage to embark on this project. Since then, more than a handful of people have advised me to choose a “safer” topic for my first book. One acquisitions editor from an academic press asked me how I felt about the “child brides” living in the Middle East and Africa today and, before hearing my response, concluded that our meeting was over. Nonetheless, here I am, re-reading this prelude in preparation for the publication of my book, thanks to the tremendous support of those who have believed in the validity of this study. A rundown apartment with a detached bathroom; an impeccably made-up woman on a train reading a beat-up softcover; wealthy businessmen walking down the neon-lit streets of Kabukichō; beautiful lay boys idolized as living bodhisattvas; priest-authors composing romantic tales of chigo; elite monks’ infatuation with their young disciples—none of these entities are reducible to what they appear to be from the outside. Yet it is possible for us to deepen our understanding of seemingly unfamiliar concepts and human behaviors. We can also learn to see Otherness in a new light by carefully peeling off layers of meanings—with our mind, eyes, ears, and heart open, and with a dose of humility. This book is for those who believe in the possibility of achieving a less divided, less judgmental society by delving into literary texts from a temporally and culturally distant world.  

Introduction

B ecoming

T

a

C higo

oday, the traditional concept of chigo—a deified adolescent boy who formed a transactional, sexual relationship with a highranking priest—is almost completely absent from the collective consciousness of the people of Japan. If one were to ask random people on the street in present-day Japan what the term “chigo” meant to them, chances are that some would have no idea, while others would be familiar with the word only as in o-chigo-san, or the young boys and girls (from toddlers up to children aged eight or nine) who partake in religious processions, wearing special makeup, headgear, and costumes (see figure 1). The websites of temples and shrines periodically post advertisements recruiting local children to participate in upcoming festivals as o-chigo-san. The present-day o-chigo-san may be best described as a faint residue of a particular aspect of what being a chigo entailed in medieval Japan, namely, being the center of admiration during a religious festival. Although obtaining a comprehensive and historically precise picture of chigo is almost impossible, this introductory chapter aims to explain how chigo as a concept was linguistically, visually, ritually, and discursively constructed in premodern Japan. To trace this historical process of becoming a chigo, I will first examine various aspects of chigo’s sei 性 (gender, sexuality, and sex), which is different from the sei of young children, adolescent girls, adult women, and adult men. This examination of chigo’s sei will be followed by a discussion of a drastic epistemological shift in nineteenth-century Japan that transformed the understanding of sei. This shift occurred when 1

2 Introduction

Figure 1.  O-chigo-san at Gion Festival, Yasaka Shrine, Kyoto, 2017. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

the Meiji government established itself in 1868 as a modern nationstate, modeled after the Western powers. With this radical reconfiguration of gender and sexuality as the backdrop, I will present a brief reception history of acolyte tales since the 1950s and discuss how this book contributes to the fields of literary studies, Buddhist studies, and gender and sexuality studies through a close, nonreductive reading of six chigo monogatari. C higo as Nonadults / Symbolic Children Perhaps the best way to delineate the ontology of the concept of chigo is to point to its liminal and nonbinary structure. One of the liminalities of the chigo is “nonadultness.” To quote Gregory M. Pflugfelder, age is “not an absolute quantity but rather a social category and can, accordingly, be reckoned in various ways.”1 In fact, chigo embody their nonadultness through the very title of “chigo,” which literally means “children,” as well as through their hairstyle and child names (dōmyō or yōmyō). Nevertheless, the chigo’s nonadult status is unlike what we call “infantilization,” which is a form of disempowerment. Rather, this



Becoming a Chigo

3

phenomenon had to do with the sacralization and aestheticization of chigo, both as a concept and as flesh-and-bone beings. According to Matsuoka Shinpei, the strong association between children and sacrality/spirituality emerged during the mid- to late Heian period (ca. 794–1191), partly due to the prevalence of child emperors (yōtei). For centuries, the government was dominated by the Fujiwara regency and retired emperors, while the actual sovereigns—the child emperors—were revered for their sanctity, which was amplified by their lack of earthly power or desires (at least for several years).2 Moreover, at this historical moment, it became increasingly common to visually represent religious/spiritual figures and bodhisattvas as children. In 1069, for instance, the statue of Prince Shōtoku at Hōryūji was replaced with another that represented the subject as a seven-year-old boy.3 Certainly, representing emperors, bodhisattvas, and religious leaders (such as Prince Shōtoku) through images of children is congruent with the artists’ attempts to aestheticize the figures in the eyes of the viewers, not least because people tend to find children beautiful, adorable, and morally pure. That said, the chigo’s childness is different from the youthfulness on display in a painting of the sevenyear-old version of a legendary prince. Chigo’s corporeality is based on their adolescent bodies, which are modified with selective markings of childness. The result is a visually appealing form of nonadultness, which, again, is not achieved by infantilizing, degrading, or disempowering the teenage boys. The title

In classical Japanese, “chigo,” a compound of chi 乳 (milk) and ko/go 子 (child), originally denoted “a child” or “children,” ranging from infants to those around the age of twelve. The secondary meaning of the term is “boy attendants for noblemen or priests,” followed by its tertiary definition: “younger partner of male homoerotic relationships.”4 In the context of medieval monasteries, the term almost always referred to the second definition, which, of course, does not mean that the term ceased to evoke the image of a child. The two primary meanings of chigo—“children” and “attendants”—overlapped significantly. And one of the ways these two meanings were connected was through the hairstyles that signaled the subjects’ nonadultness.

4 Introduction

Plate 7 vividly highlights the most remarkable visual attribute of a chigo: his long ponytail. While the length of one’s hair is primarily associated with gender in modern societies, the rigid tonsorial conventions of premodern Japan signaled many more traits: age status, social class, and occupation, in addition to gender. It was customary for children to grow their hair long and style it in twin loops, one by each ear, or in a ponytail, depending on the era and their social class. Once a boy was ready to attain adult status, usually around age fourteen or fifteen, he went through the coming-of-age rite called genpuku, during which his hair was trimmed and styled into a topknot. The ceremony was finalized with the donning of a cap. From the seventh century until the late Muromachi era (ca. 1336– 1600), a cap was one of the most significant symbols of manhood, worn by all save clergymen and men of the outcast class.5 Court officials wore small kanmuri caps as part of their formal attire, while they wore the tall lacquered hats called eboshi on informal occasions.6 The custom of donning eboshi caps (with variations in style and material) gradually spread to the warrior and commoner classes and eventually became standard for the majority of men. Eventually, the norm solidified to the extent that revealing one’s uncovered head was deemed taboo, and men kept their caps on even while they bathed or slept.7 In contrast to this compulsory marking of adult maleness through the topknot and headgear, the acolyte’s long ponytail did not signal a deliberate act of becoming an acolyte. Instead, it was a continuation of a childlike hairstyle past the average age of undertaking the genpuku. The robust association between coiffure and age group can be inferred from the fact that many synonyms of “children” and “youths” in the premodern and early modern Japanese lexicon pertain to hair.8 Examples include warawa 童, suihatsu 垂髪 (both of which mean “unbound hair” and “children”), maegami 前髪 (“forelocks” and “adolescent boys”), and tsunogami 角髪 (“twin loops” and “children”). Among these, the most general and commonplace is warawa. As a classifier of a person, warawa is equally likely to refer to (1) children around the age of ten; (2) servants/personal attendants of all ages; (3) child dancers for religious festivals; and (4) Buddhist acolytes (chigo).9 According to Katō Osamu, the oldest extant collection of poetry from the eighth century, A Collection of a Myriad



Becoming a Chigo

5

Leaves (Man’yōshū), contains seven examples of the word “warawa,” of which two refer to the haircuts of children and the other five refer to children themselves.10 By the time of Sei Shōnagon’s Pillow Book (Makura no sōshi, ca. early eleventh century), however, the term was likely to equally mean “children” or “servants/attendants.”11 In other words, a simple noun that originally described unbound hair began to incorporate the new meaning of “children.” It then expanded its definition to include “servants” and “attendants,” precisely because children were regarded as the natural attendants of adults, especially among the commoner class.12 They grew up following, accompanying, imitating, and helping adults so that they could absorb the necessary knowledge and skills to become useful and independent members of society. Lowborn servants who belong to the outcast class, too, were called warawa, even in their old age, and exhibited their humble status via nonadult hairstyles. They were also known as daidōji 大童子, ō-warawa 大童, or ō-chigo 大児 (dōji is the Sinified equivalent of warawa), all of which literally mean “big children.” Without the opportunity to undertake the haircutting and capping ceremonies, the daidōji’s trademark was a ponytail (or sometimes another common hairstyle for children). Yet unlike the ponytail of a chigo, which complemented his androgynous allure, the childlike hairstyle of a lowly adult warawa did not translate to an aesthetic appeal. Many images of adult or elderly warawa with facial hair, brawny physiques, wrinkled faces, and receding hairlines are found in texts from medieval times, including An Illustrated Scroll of the Tale of Heiji (Heiji monogatari emaki, thirteenth century; see figure 2) and An Illustrated ­Biography of Reverend Hōnen (Hōnen shōnin eden, fourteenth century).13 A comical representation of a daidōji appears in the thirteenthcentury collection of anecdotal tales Gleanings from the Tales of Uji Dainagon (Uji shūi monogatari). In the short vignette titled “About the Affair in Which a Daidōji Stole Salmon” (1:15), the daidōji is described as “a creepy, vulgar-looking, aged man with dull eyes and a bald spot on top of his head.” When two fish peddlers suspect the daidōji of stealing two of their salmon, they call him wa-senjō, which roughly translates as “lowly old man.” At the end of the tale, the men demand that the suspect open his robe to prove his innocence, and he reluctantly obliges. When one of the peddlers finds the missing fish tied around the old man’s belly, he proudly exclaims, “See what you

6 Introduction

Figure 2.  An adult warawa with facial hair (left) depicted in the Tale of Heiji scroll (thirteenth century). Source: Wikimedia Commons.

did!” The daidōji begrudgingly retorts, “What a rude person you are. If you make people strip down like this, even those royal consorts would probably have one or two inches of sake [“salmon” and “slit”] under their bellies!” Everyone around him guffaws at the lewd joke.14 In the limited research that has been published on daidōji, scholars have yet to agree on how to interpret these grown-ups of nonadult status. On the one hand, Kuroda Hideo states that daidōji were



Becoming a Chigo

7

forced into sporting a children’s hairstyle to embody their lowly social station.15 On the other hand, Amino Yoshihiko suggests that their alterity was a source of their power; the adult herd “boys” (ushikai warawa), for example, took advantage of the magical force (juryoku) of their long hair to control the fierce beasts.16 The two points raised by Kuroda and Amino are not mutually exclusive, however. Rather, both aspects signify the Otherness of warawa, which cannot be simply reduced to the notion of “powerlessness.” To return to the ontology of the chigo, their title and hairstyle, too, together created the liminal imagery of their age status. However, the chigo’s alterity was aesthetically distinct from the subversive and lowly imagery of daidōji. Much like the secular domain, the Buddhist community was hierarchically organized, and, among thousands of “symbolic children” residing in large monastic complexes, the chigo sat on the top tier of the pyramid due to their elite pedigree. This fact can be confirmed by Tsuchiya Megumi’s study of the seating arrangements during two New Year’s ceremonies at Daigoji. According to her research on the attendants’ physical proximity to the abbot, chigo occupied the most prestigious position, seated closest to the abbot, followed by chūdōji (“middle children,” servants aged around twelve or thirteen), and finally daidōji.17

Another important aspect of chigo’s symbolic childness was achieved through their “child names” (dōmyō or yōmyō). Today we prove who we are to strangers by showing identification cards that bear images of our faces and names. Our names are the linguistic equivalent of our faces, and our faces are the corporeal counterpart of our names; both are intimately attached to our identities but exist for others. To invoke J. L. Austin’s speech act theory, every time others called a chigo by his dōmyō, be it “Hanamatsu-maru” or “Tsuruwakamaru,” he became all the more a symbolic child. This is because, as Austin posits, words are not merely a string of sounds to which meanings are attached, but they also create “the realities we use the words to talk about.” We use, he explains, “a sharpened awareness of words to sharpen our perception of [the realities].”18 How, then, are dōmyō distinct from conventional names for adults? For both boys and girls, children’s names in premodern Japan were influenced by animism. Therefore, dōmyō evoked everyday

8 Introduction

entities, including animals (dogs, turtles, cranes), plants (mugwort, pine, moss), mundane objects (sleeves, rocks, “this [kore]”), and filthy, vulgar, and/or frightening things (feces, “lowly species [gesu],” devils). It bears mentioning that those strange names in the last category were believed to have the power to ward off evil spirits.19 Typically, chigo were given two-character names with the diminutive suffix -maru (or -maro).20 Though -maru later developed the connotation of “something small and adorable,” it was originally derived from the verb maru 放る (to excrete), and this meaning lingers in the modern Japanese lexicon, as in o-maru (a portable toilet for toddlers).21 Therefore, the names with -maru or -maro were originally meant to fend off evil spirits. Once an adolescent boy or girl from an elite background underwent the coming-of-age ceremony, he or she adopted an adult name, consisting of the father’s surname followed by a newly minted given name. Most adult given names were created by combining a character that represents a positive concept (e.g., righteousness, loyalty, and excellence) and a suffix.22 Curiously, names that end with -maru or -maro were given not only to children and chigo but also to men of the outcast class, female entertainers, armories, weapons, musical instruments, ships, and domesticated animals.23 Amino Yoshihiko explains that these groups of people and inanimate objects are similar in that they belong to the liminal space between the sacred and profane realms.24 To return to Austin’s speech act theory, a child name attached to an adult body, whether the body of a chigo (who was old enough to attain adult status, if he so wished), a man of the outcast class, or a female entertainer, enacts the subject’s liminality, which is reinforced every time others address him or her by the name. Similarly, through the combination of his title as a chigo, literally meaning a “child,” his child name (dōmyō) used beyond childhood, and his childlike hairstyle, the acolyte embodied an aesthetically enchanting existence, a composite of childness and a sufficiently sexually mature body. Moreover, like all the people and objects commonly given the suffix “-maru” or “-maro,” a chigo was also equipped with what Amino calls “liminal power.” Again, this invisible force made outcast men, who were often tasked with disposing of corpses and skinning animal carcasses, immune to the defilement of death, and rendered armor and vessels unaffected by the enemy’s arrows and stormy waters, respectively. Through the same liminal power, a chigo and his master priest were rendered insusceptible to the sin of breaking the celibacy vow. Yet for

Becoming a Chigo



9

a youth to transform fully into a chigo, it was not enough to change his name and appearance; he had to be figuratively reborn as an avatar of the bodhisattva of mercy through an esoteric ritual called the chigo kanjō. Chigo

as

A vatars

of

B odhisattvas

The second facet of the chigo’s liminal ontology is their “neither human nor divine” status. In several acolyte tales, the chigo is posthumously discovered to be an avatar of a bodhisattva. Historically, too, the youths are known to have undergone an esoteric kanjō 灌頂 (Sk. abhiṣeka or abhiṣecana, literally “watering one’s crown”) ritual to be reborn as bodhisattvas in the flesh.25 All the extant documents related to the chigo kanjō were created within Tendai institutions. This is not surprising, given that Tendai is the school of Buddhism most prominently associated with the custom of institutional fosterage of adolescent boys as chigo and with the production of acolyte tales. The Tendai initiation rite for chigo was an elaborate, weeks-long process.26 And, once a youth completed the process, he donned a colorful suikan robe, his long hair was tied into a ponytail, and his face was adorned with makeup. The Eizan Library of Enryakuji (Mount Hiei) owns one of the few surviving copies of a chigo kanjō manual, which has a colophon of 1450.27 According to Tsuji Shōko, the front cover reads A Private Record of the Chigo kanjō (Chigo kanjō shiki), but the contents consist of two related but separate documents. The first, whose title is written on the front cover (i.e., A Private Record of the Chigo kanjō), is a chigo kanjō manual that stipulates the rules and procedures of the ritual. The second, titled A Private Record of the Great Esoteric Teachings for Chigo (Kō chigo shōgyō hiden shiki), details the appropriate etiquette for chigo and proper ways for a monk to have intercourse with chigo.28 Based on the first document, A Private Record of the Chigo kanjō, the process of the initiation rite can be summarized as follows. QR After weeks of preliminary purification of the youth in seclusion, the seven-day-long chigo kanjō ceremony begins. A series of esoteric practices takes place three separate times each day: during the hour of the

10 Introduction Tiger (three to five o’clock in the morning), the hour of the Ox (eleven in the morning to one in the afternoon), and the hour of the Dog (seven to nine in the evening). During the day, the youth and his master chant the Amitābha Sutra (Amida-kyō) in front of the images of three holy figures: the Kannon Mandala in the center, flanked by Hie Sannō Gongen (the avatar of the tutelary god of Mount Hiei) and Master Jikaku (also Ennin, 794–864).29 In the evening, they chant the Avalokiteśvara Sutra (Kannon-gyō). After this, the teacher-disciple dyad together chants various mantras one hundred or one thousand times each and gives thirty-three prayers to each of the holy figures on the altar. Upon the completion of the seven-day chanting of the sutras and offering of prayers, the master orally transmits esoteric teachings on the acolyteship to the youth. Next, the master performs mudras, as his disciple re-enters the sacred hall dressed only in trousers. The boy prays three times to the deities and purifies his body with incense. He then recites the Five Great Vows, cleanses his teeth and mouth, drinks the holy water, and blackens his teeth with a brush three times.30 He transforms his body into that of a chigo by putting on makeup, a suikan robe, and ceremonial headgear. The kanjō ritual climaxes when the high priest waters the youth’s crown, after which the master chants a portion of the Avalokiteśvara Sutra. Now the youth is given a chigo name and is announced to have been reborn as the bodhisattva Kannon (Sk. Avalokiteśvara, Ch. Guanyin), whose unlimited compassion is destined to save all sentient beings.

QR The most significant takeaway point of the Private Record of the Chigo kanjō may be that this document clearly states that if a priest is tormented by carnal desire, he is permitted to have intercourse with a properly consecrated chigo. A monk who transgresses by having intercourse with a youth who is not a chigo, however, will be sent to one of the three hells.31 Another curious feature of this document is that the chigo kanjō is explained as a rite to transform the youth into a specific bodhisattva. Though some acolyte tales render chigo as manifestations of a Shinto deity or a bodhisattva other than Kannon, there appears to be a strong connection between chigo and Kannon, given the description in the Private Record of the Chigo kanjō and prominent acolyte tales that link the two entities. I will examine this in chapter 1.



Becoming a Chigo

11

C higo as Androgynous Beings In addition to the nonadult and semibodhisattva status, chigo’s liminal existence pertains to their nonbinary gender. It is no exaggeration to say that chigo in illustrations appear to be young women (plate 7) to the untrained eye. In fact, even for the trained eye, it is not easy to tell women and chigo apart: historians have yet to decisively conclude whether certain figures in medieval illustrated scrolls belong to one group or the other.32 Of course, this does not mean that the people of medieval Japan could not distinguish between them in illustrations. Researchers seeking to do the same must rediscover the “grammar” of identifying chigo and women.33 To understand chigo’s sei, it is important to keep in mind two somewhat paradoxical principles: chigo and young women share many commonalities, yet the two groups are fundamentally distinct and are never interchangeable. Below I will discuss several dimensions of chigo’s sei in comparison to that of young women, which will illustrate curious overlaps and differences between them. Shared proximity to children

It is my contention that a chigo’s visual resemblance to a woman cannot be simply equated with the former’s emulation of the latter’s corporeality, and therefore it is problematic to read chigo’s corporeality as “feminized.”34 Rather, I argue, the visual similarities between chigo and women stem from multiple conditions, one of which is their mutual proximity to children. For instance, according to the anthropologist Kōhara Yukinari, a male face tends to change more drastically over time than a female face; in adulthood, his face elongates, the nose bridge and forehead rise, the jaw widens, and the facial hair darkens and thickens.35 This means that a thirty-year-old woman’s face, on average, bears more similarities to an adolescent boy’s face than does the face of a man of the same age. The chigo, who were otherwise old enough to be recognized as adult men, halted their transition into adulthood for four to five years; this short window of time was an “ephemeral state, in which masculinity, femininity, childhood, and adulthood sublimely coalesce[d].”36 Nevertheless, they had no choice but to graduate from this temporary position before their faces and bodies matured completely. To put it differently, it was through the genpuku ceremony, involving a drastic change of

12 Introduction

hairstyle and clothing, that boys broke away from the relatively genderless state of childhood. Although our minds tend to view an adult man as the standard, unmarked, and default version of humankind, and to see women and children as marked (e.g., smaller, gentler, weaker, prettier) versions of the man, the maturing processes of boys required them to adopt deliberate and drastic markings of the male gender by applying a series of modifications to their appearance.37 In contrast to the genpuku ritual, the physical transformation of girls upon their coming-of-age ceremony (mogi 裳着) was minimal. During mogi, the girl put on a pleated skirt (mo 裳) over her robe, and the skirt’s cord was tied by her father or another male guardian, while a handful of hair was tied at the top of her head. Although this partial “updo” hairstyle was worn by middle- and upper-class women on special occasions, they normally left their hair down or tied it into a loose ponytail in premodern times. Another “childlike” attribute of women, though mostly of women of the nonelite class, was that they never acquired adult names and continued to be addressed by their dōmyō.38 Chigo and women as the objects of male desire

As mentioned above, in premodern Japan, young women, chigo, and children were often construed as the “smaller, gentler, weaker, and prettier” versions of “people” (i.e., adult men), and they were often the objects of protection, care, and admiration.39 Women and adolescent boys, especially chigo, were the objects of men’s sexual desire.40 This tendency is clear in the premodern Japanese literary tradition as well. Below is a brief survey of the ways chigo are represented as the objects of adult clergymen’s desire in Japanese-style poetry (waka), Chinese-style poetry (kanshi), and anecdotal tales (setsuwa). Romantic poems sent by priests to chigo are found in a number of waka anthologies, including the fourth and sixth imperial collections, A Later Collection of Gleanings of Japanese Poems (Go-shūi wakashū, 1086) and A Collection of Verbal Flowers (Shika wakashū, 1151), respectively. The nonimperial waka collections that are known to feature poems alluding to monk-chigo love are A Second Collection of the Shared Lineage (Shoku mon’yō wakashū, ca. 1305), whose compilers were two chigo attached to the Hōō-in cloister of Daigoji, and A Poetry Collection of Anshōji (Ansen wakashū, ca. 1369), compiled by Anshōji’s chigo Aiyo-maru (later abbot Kōga). A Collection

Becoming a Chigo



13

of Oak Leaves of Nara (Nara-no-ha wakashū, 1237) is an interesting anthology because its tenth volume, titled Miscellaneous Poems, Volume 1, on Warawa, is dedicated to poems written for and by chigo.41 In keeping with the waka tradition of privileging frustrated love over joyful romance, many of these poems express laments, grudges, and yearning for chigo, as the following two examples illustrate. Someone told me that my disciple was visiting someone else, so I sent this poem to him on a spring day: Monk Zōe Shirazariki waga kotonoha ni oku tsuyu no hana ni utsurō kokoro ari towa

I never knew about the change of heart of the dew, formed on the leaf that speaks of my feelings; it now longs for a new flower.42

I composed this poem because a long time has passed since I saw the warawa I had cared for: Master Kei’i Tanomeshi o matsu ni higoro no suginureba tama-no-o yowami taenubeki kana

Though I trusted in you, days have passed by while I awaited; the string of my soul has weakened and my life shall end soon.43

The following verse depicts a monk daydreaming about his lover, a chigo, after they spend a night together. Conventionally, it is a man who visits his female lover, and the “woman who awaits/longs for her lover” (matsu onna) is a stock poetic persona. However, in a discipleteacher relationship, it is the chigo who pays the visit, rendering the master in the position of the matsu onna.44 He left his robe here, as we were saying good-bye. So I attached this poem and returned it to him: Master Jōei Kite nareshi yowa no koromo o

Though I am returning the well-worn robe

14 Introduction kaeshitemo arishi sugata o yume ka to zo omou

you wore that night, I still wonder if that figure I saw was perhaps a dream.45

In many Buddhist communities, especially in Kyoto and Nara, composing waka was one of the most important intellectual and leisurely activities. Among Rinzai Zen monks, however, it was Chinesestyle poetry (kanshi), such as five- or seven-character zekku 絶句 (Ch. jueju), that occupied the leisure time of the clerics. And these Zen clergies, too, composed numerous nanshoku-themed poems (enshi 艶 詩), focusing on Zen acolytes called kasshiki 喝食 (“meal announcers”).46 An example by San’eki Eiin (mid-sixteenth century) is translated below. A Thank-You Note As I repeatedly see your beautiful face with crimson cheeks, I forget about my white hair Between heaven and earth we cherish our affections Together we share pleasures and deep dreams on a pair of pillows The old pair of lovebirds would lose a hundred chips against us.47

The last line of this poem implies that the young-and-old couple is expected to outlive the seventy-year-old pair of lovebirds (in this case, mandarin ducks), thus win the bet against the birds and earn a hundred poker chips. In the preface of this poem, the poet/older lover suggests that his infatuation with the adolescent boy rejuvenates him and makes him forget his declining appearance. A similarly themed poem by Shinden Seiha (1375−1447) is as follows: Together we composed the New Year’s poems—The Camellia Age The red-cheeked face and glossy side locks—the springtime of youth We newly composed a thousand poems and verses in a day The lovely spring winds tousled my white hair On the flowery rush mat, I picked up the brush and bashfully showed the poems to the people.48

In this poem, Shinden Seiha contrasts his old age to the colorful, animated images of the flowery season, the exquisiteness of the kasshiki, and the spring winds. The title also evokes longevity, for camellias



Becoming a Chigo

15

were thought to survive eight thousand springs and autumns, according to a legend noted by Zhuangzi (fourth century BCE). What is puzzling is the older partners’ reference to their own white hair in these Chinese-style nanshoku poems. If they are Zen priests, as they are represented in the poems, their heads should be shaven. Even if Zen priests can see white hairs emerging from their scalp between shaves, it would be difficult to “tousle” 撩 them. For this reason, the older lovers in these poems are likely to be imagined as Daoist hermits. Among the Chinese-style poems on the poets’ love for kasshiki, recurrent phrases used to describe the youths’ appearance are “voluptuous” (嬋娟 sen’en or 嬋妍 senken), “jade face” (玉貌 gyokubō or 玉顔 gyokugan), “femme fatale” (傾城 keisei), and “beautiful one” (美人 bijin or 佳人 kajin). The boys possess skin as white as snow, glossy jet-black hair, thinly drawn eyebrows, and crimson cheeks, all of which are phrases commonly used to praise women’s splendor in the Chinese literary tradition. In one parallel verse, Ōsen Keisan (1429–1493) directly compares a kasshiki to the legendary beauty Yang Guifei: “When seated, you resemble Yang Guifei in front of the Chenxiang Pavilion.”49 These waka and kanshi should not necessarily be read autobiographically. Nevertheless, it is clear that chigo and kasshiki are positioned as recipients of priests’ admiration and erotic desire, whether the relationship is a disciple-master dyad or an unofficial love affair between an acolyte and a priest who is not his master.50 In the genre of anecdotal tales, too, we can discern clergymen’s general admiration for the chigo with varying degrees of erotic connotations. Episode 53 of Essays in Idleness (Tsurezuregusa, ca. 1300) is about a farewell banquet at Ninnaji for a chigo who is about to take the tonsure, and episode 54 illustrates a group of Ninnaji monks scheming to befriend a very attractive chigo with a gift, to no avail.51 A more dramatic example is a “sympathetic response” (kannō 感応) story from A Collection of Tales of Times Now Past (Konjaku monogatari-shū, ca. 1120).52 In this anecdote (17:44), an impoverished monk makes pilgrimages to pray earnestly for a better life. One day, he encounters an attractive, masterless chigo with no place to go. Taken by the youth’s allure, the monk decides to take him home. At the monastery, his colleagues are shocked to see the monk accompanied by such a charming chigo and make a fuss about it. So the monk decides to keep the youth by his side, away from others’ curious eyes. As they become increasingly intimate, the monk realizes that the

16 Introduction

youth is actually a young woman disguised as a chigo. Despite the fear of breaching the celibacy vow, they become lovers; she eventually gives birth to a baby and disappears. What the monk thinks is a baby turns out to be a lump of gold that the deity Bishamonten (Sk. Vaiśravana) has brought him in response to his prayers.53 This story unambiguously illustrates how the homosocial world of clerics automatically views a chigo as the object of erotic desire. Moreover, this desire remains unchallenged even when the chigo turns out to be female, indicating the similarity between transgenerational male-male love and male-female love. C higo ’ s S ei versus Young Women’s S ei This introduction has so far described the chigo as a triply liminal construct: neither adult nor child, neither human nor divine, and neither male nor female. Obviously, these three nonbinary attributes interlock and collectively reinforce the liminality of the acolytes. To describe the sei of the chigo with more nuance, the current section will compare representations of the chigo’s sei with that of three subgroups of women: heroines of romantic tales, shirabyōshi dancers, and meshūdo (female attendants who provide sexual labor for their masters). Chigo versus heroines of romantic tales

A typical chigo monogatari centers on a serendipitous encounter between a cleric in his late twenties or early thirties and a beautiful chigo from a remote and/or rival temple. Despite the chigo’s provenance, or perhaps because this challenge fuels the monk’s passion, he earnestly woos the youth through love poems. This formulaic pattern emulates the heterosexual courtship convention of romantic tales. Among the six works I will examine in this book, four of them—A Long Tale for an Autumn Night; The Tale of Genmu (both ­chapter 1); vignettes 2, 3, and 5 of A Booklet of Acolytes (chapter 2; the other two vignettes do not involve courtship); and The Mountain (chapter 3)—follow this pattern. One important exception is The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth (chapter 1), in which a runaway chigo asks an elderly priest to take him in (much like the abovementioned “sympathetic response” tale of Bishamonten). As for The



Becoming a Chigo

17

Chigo Known as Miss Rookie, which we will explore in chapter 4, it is the chigo who pursues his love interest, the daughter of a minister. Though an adult man’s initial approach to his love interest follows a similar protocol whether he is approaching an acolyte or a young lady, there is some difference in how the recipient of the courtship is expected to react. Simply put, chigo are allowed to exhibit a wider range of emotions than women. For instance, the boy may behave seductively toward a priest, as in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, or act highly responsive to a suitor (e.g., The Mountain) without compromising his desirability, whereas female literary characters can be rejected for being too eager.54 I would argue that this leniency toward the chigo’s (imagined) sexual appetite is shown, first, because the chigo is not female, and, second, because he is deemed an inherently erotic being. The chigo does not exist without his master priest, whom he serves sexually. Chigo versus shirabyōshi

Shirabyōshi (“white tempo”) is a type of song and dance performance that became popular during the twelfth century, and the performers of this art form were called shirabyōshi as well.55 The performance was also known as otoko-mai (man’s dance) because the female entertainers cross-dressed, wearing men’s white suikan robes and eboshi hats and carrying swords, as they danced and sang a type of ballad called imayō (“contemporary style”).56 Although the entertainers later dropped the eboshi and the sword (see figure 3), they continued to wear men’s robes. In premodern Japan, sexual relationships between entertainers and their patrons Figure 3. An illustration of shirabyōshi were extremely common, and Bimyō by Kikuchi Yōsai (1788–1878). shirabyōshi were no exception. Source: ­Wikimedia Commons.

18 Introduction

This means that chigo and shirabyōshi shared the following three traits: their androgynous charm, their role as dancers and singers, and the erotic labor they were expected to provide. Along these lines, Abe Yasurō remarks on chigo’s striking similarities to shirabyōshi dancers in their appearance, artistic skills, and relationship to men. Regarding the physical resemblance, Abe discusses the image of a shirabyōshi depicted in a thirteenth-century illustrated scroll called Poetry Competition of Artisans during the Hōjō Rite at Tsuruoka Shrine (Tsuruoka hōjō-e shokunin uta-awase), attributed to a commission by the Kamakura shogun Prince Munetaka (1242–1274). Among the images of various laborers, artists, and artisans who had gathered for the hōjō-e (the ceremonial release of animals in captivity) at Tsuruoka Hachiman Shrine is a pair of female entertainers: a courtesan (yūjo) and a shirabyōshi. Abe describes the latter as “standing with a long ponytail, dressed in a suikan robe and ōguchi trousers, made-up countenance with drawn eyebrows, [. . .] exactly identical to the appearance of a Buddhist acolyte” (mattaku jiin no chigo no sugata to hitoshii).57 He continues, “This is not merely that a woman is cross-dressing as a man. Rather, the costume signifies liminality, which intentionally obscures representations of gender.”58 In this vein, Takigawa Seijirō has suggested that, by adopting the looks of chigo, the shirabyōshi became the object of both nanshoku (male-male love) and joshoku (male-female love), as they “danced as beautiful adolescent boys by day and served their patrons as courtesans at night.”59 Interestingly, not only did the shirabyōshi women emulate the chigo’s appearance, but chigo also adopted the shirabyōshi dance. It was both common and popular for chigo to perform this dance onstage during the festival called en’nen (“extending one’s life”), normally held immediately after a major Buddhist sermon. Therefore, in addition to being connected via the tonsorial and sartorial conventions, shirabyōshi and chigo were intimately connected through a particular performance art. Nevertheless, Abe’s comparison of chigo and shirabyōshi does not end here; he also likens the two dyads of shirabyōshi-patron and chigo-master to each other. To illustrate the parallel between these two erotic relationships, Abe mentions a famous anecdotal tale about Cloistered Prince Kakushō (1129−1169, the imperial abbot of Ninnaji) and his two chigo, Senju and Mikawa, included in A Collection of Notable Tales Old and New (Kokon chomonjū).60 In this story,



Becoming a Chigo

19

Kakushō adores Senju but soon begins to favor a newcomer, Mikawa. Devastated, Senju refuses to perform music at an important banquet. After much coaxing, Senju appears in stunningly beautiful attire and sings a poignant imayō song, moving everyone to tears. Later that night, Kakushō takes Senju to his bedchamber. Seeing this, Mikawa leaves behind a farewell poem and takes the holy vow on Mount Kōya. This story of Senju and Mikawa exhibits a plot similar to that of the “Giō” chapter of The Tales of the Heike (Heike monogatari, ca. fourteenth century). In this famous episode, the head of the Taira, the chancellor Kiyomori, is infatuated with a shirabyōshi dancer named Giō and patronizes her. She thus supports her sister and mother (another shirabyōshi and a retired shirabyōshi, respectively), prompting all the other dancers in the capital to envy her fortune. Nevertheless, Kiyomori soon comes to prefer another shirabyōshi, Hotoke, and orders Giō to leave his premises immediately. On her way out, she tearfully inscribes a poem on the sliding panel of what is soon to be Hotoke’s bedchamber. The poem describes the fate of all dancers, who are quickly discarded by the capricious patron. Without the means to make a living, Giō, her sister, and her mother retreat to the countryside and become nuns. Before long, Hotoke, too, abandons the pursuit of fame and joins Giō’s hermitage as a nun. In the end, all four women are said to have posthumously attained rebirth in the Pure Land.61 In Abe’s words, the two pairs of entertainers (Senju and Mikawa, Giō and Hotoke) are “completely equated in these tales” in that they are “enacting their shared destiny that has been forced upon them [by male superiors]” (mizukara ni owasareta unmei o enjiteiru), which is the fate of “being adored for their artistic skills only to be abandoned after a while.”62 Abe’s statement holds true as long as this “destiny” refers to these two quasifictional (or possibly completely fictional) tales. Yet he generalizes this statement to all chigo and shirabyōshi, remarking that such a precarious condition was essential to the ontology of shirabyōshi and chigo. Despite Abe’s characterizations, however, the chigo-master dyad is significantly different from the shirabyōshi-patron relation for at least three reasons. First, performing music and dance was only one of the many activities in a chigo’s life, and in fact being a good musician and/or dancer was not a prerequisite for initiation into acolyteship. (The boys learned the performance arts after becoming chigo.)63

20 Introduction

Even as a full-fledged acolyte, the youth did not depend solely on music and dance to advance his career. Of course, the same could not be said of a professional entertainer whose artistic skills were her primary means of earning a living. Second, acolyteship was a prearranged, temporary position that lasted no more than four or five years. In this respect, chigo differed from those who were born into families or classes of entertainers, such as shirabyōshi, noh actors, and kugutsu (itinerant puppeteers). Therefore, the premise of Abe’s suggestion that chigo were destined to be disposed of by their masters cannot be generalized to most chigo. Lastly, the master-chigo relationships were arranged between the Buddhist institutions and the families for their long-term mutual benefit, which is likely to have deterred the master priests from abusing their power over their disciples. Even if this arrangement did not work perfectly, it would be incorrect to assume that the way Mikawa retired from his position was the norm. (For that matter, we cannot assume that the story of Giō represents a typical shirabyōshi life, either.) Importantly, the anecdote of Senju and Mikawa and the “Giō” chapter of the Heike spotlight the wise individuals who came to realize the law of impermanence, one of the essential principles of the Way of Buddha. Neither the cruelty of powerful men nor the plight of entertainers is the central theme of these narratives. They are extraordinary stories and thus worth telling; the events and the characters are not to be interpreted as the norm. Chigo versus meshūdo

Another subgroup of women who have been compared to chigo is the meshūdo 召人 (“those who are beckoned”), or the female attendants who became their lords’ sexual partners. In her studies of historical and fictional accounts of sexual politics in court, Kimura Saeko theorizes the notion of “nonproductivity” to represent the sexuality of meshūdo and chigo.64 A sexual union can be “nonproductive” on two levels: first, due to the impossibility of procreation, the most salient cause of which being same-sex partnership; and second, due to the impossibility of producing political power through procreation of legitimate offspring. For instance, an emperor’s relationship with his meshūdo would likely be a “nonproductive” one, because children born to them would not be considered legitimate members of the imperial family.



Becoming a Chigo

21

Further, Kimura appropriates the concept of chigo in her reading of Torikaebaya (which translates as “I wish I could swap my children,” ca. twelfth century). The two protagonists of this story are a minister’s children born to two different wives. One is a daughter, raised as a boy, and the other a son, raised as a girl. Kimura first analogizes the physicality of these half-siblings with the nonbinary gender of chigo. She then employs the notions of chigo and meshūdo (both in a figurative sense) to explicate the “nonproductive” sexualities of the half-siblings, each of whom is put in a homosocial environment (i.e., the son works in the women’s quarters, and the daughter serves in the men’s quarters of the court).65 The story revolves around the rift between the ostensibly “nonreproductive” milieus and the unexpected outcome: the birth of an illegitimate child to each of the siblings.66 Moreover, in Kimura’s reading of The Tale of Iwashimizu (Iwashimizu monogatari, ca. thirteenth century), she likens the homoerotic relationship between two adult male characters (a nobleman known as Lord Aki and a lesser-ranking man of warrior class, Iyo-no-kami) to master-chigo and master-meshūdo pairings due to their shared “nonproductivity.”67 While it is relevant to discuss the androgynous corporeality of the main characters of Torikaebaya by using chigo as an analogy, Kimura’s other point, which conflates the chigo’s relationship to his master and the meshūdo’s relationship to her master, is a stretch. The two aspects of chigo and meshūdo that set them most clearly apart from each other were their status and function. That is, chigo were the official and socially sanctioned lovers of their masters, whereas the “beckoned ones” were the masters’ unofficial lovers and were politically inferior to the primary and secondary wives. As for the function, chigo played a significant role in publicly exhibiting their masters’ cultural, social, and economic capital, as I will elaborate below. It is evident that chigo’s visibility during religious rites, ceremonial processions, and dance performances functioned as a pivotal power generator for major Buddhist institutions, even at the risk of inciting too much desire among the spectators. This image of chigo as enchanting, elegant entertainers with a hint of seductiveness, enthralling the men in the audience, is a common trope in the literary and visual arts. To illustrate this phenomenon, Oak Leaves of Nara includes love poems that were supposedly sent by clergymen to chigo after seeing them singing and dancing during a Buddhist sermon (e.g.,

22 Introduction

nos. 675, 676, 684–686, and 724).68 Images in medieval scrolls also depict important religious events as occasions for priests and aristocratic men in the region to gather and pursue beautiful chigo. In this vein, Haruko Wakabayashi states that the Sakura-e (Cherry Blossom Sermon) was “famous for attracting monks from every temple who were eager to meet beautiful chigo,” and many medieval accounts describe Buddhist priests who “became so enamored of chigo that they sought to win them over with poetry.”69 In stark contrast to the idol-like position of beautiful and talented acolytes, meshūdo were never considered objects of desire par excellence in premodern cultural discourse, visual arts, or literature, although they were not stigmatized (they were considered fortunate to have won over their masters).70 All in all, the master-chigo dyad is fundamentally dissimilar to an elite man’s erotic relation with a meshūdo. To reiterate, the distinctness of the former relationship originates from the combination of the following attributes: (1) it was unreproductive; (2) it was officially institutionalized and openly celebrated even by the lay community; (3) it was short-term; and (4) the junior party had high status within the institution to which he belonged—the chigo was not only of elite lineage but had also been reborn as an avatar of the bodhisattva Kannon. The “C higo System” It goes without saying that these idolized boys known as chigo did not suddenly emerge out of thin air. Their existence must be understood within the framework of the “chigo system,” the term originally coined by Paul S. Atkins to refer to the transactional relation between a chigo and his master.71 In this book, however, I will expand the scope of the chigo system by including what lay beyond the disciple-teacher pair, namely, the family of the boy and the home institution of the priest. To grasp the essence of an obsolete custom such as the chigo system, it is useful to draw an analogy to something more familiar. The best parallel to the chigo system is the institution of marriage, which constantly preoccupied the social elites in premodern Japan. This is because, as Stephanie Coontz reminds us, marriage was primarily motivated by the need to ensure the survival of families for most of history, rather than by romantic attraction between individuals. Through the union of two families, people could acquire an



Becoming a Chigo

23

increased labor force (i.e., spouses, children, and in-laws) and resources.72 In the case of premodern Japan, the most rigorous and effective form of marriage politics came in the form of the sekkan seiji (regency politics) of the ninth and tenth centuries, orchestrated by the prominent Fujiwara family. This process began with the cultivation of their young daughters’ intellectual, cultural, and artistic sensibilities. In adolescence, these highly refined ladies entered service at the court, and one of them (or occasionally two) was named the emperor’s primary consort. Once she had borne him a son and the child had secured the title of crown prince, the Fujiwara man (i.e., the consort’s father) would pressure the reigning emperor into abdication and enthrone the child emperor. The young emperor’s maternal grandfather would then serve him as regent and become the de facto ruler of the court.73 Much as the court and the Fujiwara benefited mutually from regency politics, Buddhist institutions and aristocratic and elite military families, too, formed reciprocally beneficial coalitions through the chigo system. For instance, Taira no Tsunemasa (?–1184, nephew of Kiyomori) received an education at Ninnaji as an acolyte of the aforementioned Cloistered Prince Kakushō (i.e., the master of Senju and Mikawa). According to the two Heike chapters (“Tsunemasa’s Flight from the Capital” and “Concerning Seizan”) in volume 7, Kakushō was so fond of the young Tsunemasa that he entrusted the boy with Seizan, a centuries-old Chinese lute and a designated imperial treasure.74 Under the care and affection of this powerful abbot of imperial lineage, Tsunemasa grew up to become a distinguished poet, musician, and governor of three provinces, while the Taira family undoubtedly profited from their connection with the court and Ninnaji through Tsunemasa’s acolyteship. The chigo system and the Fujiwara regency, the two forms of interdomain quid pro quo, can also be analyzed as instruments of a society-wide mechanism for exchanging human capital. According to Kuroda Toshio’s kenmon taisei (structure of ruling elites) theory, medieval Japanese society was sustained by the “shared rulership” of three political blocs: the court/aristocracy, the shogunate/military elites, and large religious institutions.75 Each bloc had its own administrative headquarters, army, and retainers, among other things, yet none was quite powerful enough to govern the nation in its entirety. Consequently, instead of competing for a political monopoly, the

24 Introduction

three blocs formed a troika-like system of interdependency, each offering its specialty. The court/aristocracy took care of the administrative functions, the shogunate/elite warrior families took charge of military affairs, and the religious establishments controlled spiritual matters.76 Significantly, the boundaries across the three blocs were fluid and porous, and people frequently capitalized on this fluidity by trading domain memberships and thus ensuring the cooperative interdependency. The imperial and nonimperial statuses, for instance, were blurred through many conventions, one of which was shinseki kōka 臣籍降 下. Shinseki kōka refers to the practice of relegating nonheir princes to a noble yet nonroyal status and thus creating a codependent affiliation between the imperial house and the aristocracy. The best-known example of shinseki kōka, albeit in a fictional tale, involves the hero of The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari, ca. 1008). Due to political pressure, the Kiritsubo emperor is compelled to designate First Prince, born to his primary consort, the crown prince over the more talented and beloved Second Prince, born to his lesser-ranking but favorite consort. As a result, Second Prince takes the surname Minamoto and becomes known as Hikaru Genji (the Radiant Minamoto).77 In addition to being a strategy to avert a potential succession dispute, shinseki kōka was practiced out of financial necessity; emperors typically had multiple wives and concubines of various ranks, often resulting in a large number of children, who would eventually have strained the finances of the imperial treasury had they remained princes or princesses. At times, especially during the Heian period, princesses became noble nonroyals by marrying into an aristocratic family. This is also called shinseki kōka, written with a different final character (臣籍降嫁). Another method of lessening the financial burden of the court was for princes and princesses to enter into the priesthood or nunhood. Through this tradition, the court not only reduced the burden of feeding, housing, clothing, and educating them but also prevented the cloistered princes and princesses from producing legitimate offspring. As in the case of Cloistered Prince Kakushō of Ninnaji, the abbotships of numerous monasteries and convents in Kyoto and Nara were traditionally occupied by royalty, which in turn vastly elevated the religious institutions’ prestige. In short, the chigo system needs to be understood against this historical backdrop: the interconnected, interdependent elite society



Becoming a Chigo

25

of premodern Japan wherein the sons and daughters of ranking families were critical assets. And for the youths in question, participation in the chigo system was an opportunity to receive a premier education, to create political connections, to demonstrate their filial piety to their parents, to accumulate religious merit, and to bask in the homoerotic energy inside and outside of their home institutions as idolized boys. An Analysis of N anshoku and J oshoku In the previous section, I argued that the chigo system is comparable to arranged marriage. This is because both were widely practiced ways for families to valorize the sexual capital of their offspring for the purpose of creating political and economic securities. Seen through our modern lens, however, the two systems appear strikingly different, not least because arranged marriage in premodern Japan involved a man and a woman, while the chigo system involved two males. Nonetheless, in pre-Meiji Japan, male-male love—nanshoku 男色 (or danshoku)—between an elite man and an adolescent boy was deemed as normative as male-female love (joshoku 女色). Though nanshoku and joshoku may appear to be synonymous with “homosexuality” and “heterosexuality,” respectively, there are several key differences. To explain, I will call the first pair the “nanshoku-joshoku paradigm,” and the combination of heterosexuality, homosexuality, and bisexuality the “sexual orientation paradigm.” Most obviously, the nanshoku-joshoku paradigm is unlike the sexual orientation paradigm in that it represents an exclusively androcentric (or more precisely, adult-male-centric) perspective and cannot be used to describe the erotic desire of a female or an adolescent boy.78 Also, nanshoku is usually transgenerational, though male homosexuality does not indicate age-based structure. Further, the nanshoku-joshoku paradigm is not tied to what we think of today as the “sexual identity” of the subjects (i.e., adult men). This is because nanshoku and joshoku refer to what a man does, rather than who he is. One can practice nanshoku or joshoku exclusively, switch to the other, or engage in both at the same time without having to define or redefine oneself. In this regard, the nanshoku-joshoku paradigm presents a stark contrast to today’s global LGBTQ discourse, which tends to emphasize the first half of the “nature-nurture” interplay, or what Shannon Weber calls “biological homonormativity.”79 Nevertheless,

26 Introduction

human sexuality can also be significantly shaped by cultural factors. In the case of premodern Japan, the nanshoku-joshoku paradigm suggests the strong influence of an aesthetics that rendered both women and adolescent boys ideal objects of adult men’s desire. Next, I will examine the linguistic development of the Sino-Japanese terms “nanshoku” and “joshoku.” “Nanshoku” is the Japanized pronunciation of the ancient Chinese compound “nanse,” consisting of a character standing for “male” 男 (nan) and another, 色 (Jp. shoku, Ch. se), that represents multiple concepts, including “color,” “countenance,” “splendor,” “love,” and “amorousness.” According to a search of the Ancient Text Database, nanse appears in a sentence from The Book of Former Han (Han shu, Jp. Kanjo, ­second century CE).80 The sentence at issue is a person’s utterance, “柔曼之傾意, 非獨女德, 蓋亦有男色焉,” which can be translated as “An enthralling and seductive appearance that stirs up the heart of a man does not only belong to a woman; a man can possess such beauty.” In this sentence, “nanse” does not translate as “male-male love” but refers to the “beguiling allure of a male person.” Though the remark does not specify the age range of those who may possess nanse, it is likely to be referring to young men and teenage boys with androgynous charm, rather than to an adult man with masculine handsomeness. The subject’s (an adult man) attraction to the object (the owner of the nanse) described in the above utterance is deeply connected to transgenerational male homoeroticism. This connection explains why the concept was adopted into Japanese primarily to stand for transgenerational “male-male love.” (Today the term “nanse” can refer to male-male love in Chinese, but this is probably a reverse import from Japan.) Another search of the Ancient Text Database demonstrates that “nuse” 女色 (Jp. joshoku), consisting of “female” and the character for “countenance, splendor, love, and amorousness,” was much more common and had a longer history than “nanse.” The term “nuse” appears in as many as five pre-Qin classics, including the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji, Jp. Shiki, 109 BCE–91 BCE), and this compound evidently referred to (and in modern Chinese still refers to) a woman’s seductive beauty. In other words, “nuse” and “nanse” were both used to represent a person’s ominously extraordinary beauty, and the latter was evidently coined through an analogy to the former. In contrast to the long history of the Chinese “source words,” the terms “nanshoku” and “joshoku” did not enter the Japanese



Becoming a Chigo

27

lexicon until much later, probably as late as the 1200s. The earliest use of “nanshoku” listed in Nihon kokugo daijiten is from Continued Discussions of Ancient Matters (Zoku kojidan, 1219). Interestingly, in this text, the word appears within a question, inquiring of ancient China: “Did the incident pertaining to nanshoku happen in Han Dynasty?” (Kanka ni nanshoku no koto ari ya?).81 It is obvious that “nanshoku” here refers specifically to “male-male love” rather than to the beauty of a youth. In response to the question, the other person relays the legend he had heard from someone, the famous episode of the “passion of the severed sleeve.” In this legend, Emperor Ai of Former Han (r. 7–1 BCE) wakes up from a nap with his male lover, Dong Xian. Seeing Dong Xian still sound asleep, the emperor cuts off the sleeve of his own robe, which is caught between his lover’s head and the bedding, to avoid disturbing his sleep.82 The earliest use of “joshoku” listed in Nihon kokugo daijiten is found in a text almost contemporary to the Continued Discussions. This is A Collection of Excerpts (Senjūshō, mid-thirteenth century), an anthology of Buddhist tales attributed to the brush of the renowned monk-poet Saigyō (1118–1190). In the particular episode (9:7), “joshoku” is used synonymously with “nuse” (i.e., the inauspicious beauty of a woman), something men need to be cautioned against because it becomes an obstacle to Buddhist enlightenment.83 The secondary meaning of “joshoku,” “men’s love for women,” appears to be a much later invention, since the oldest example listed in Nihon kokugo daijiten is a text composed two centuries after the Collection of Excerpts.84 Despite the brevity of this analysis, it is safe to assume that the temporal order in which 男色 and 女色 came into existence in the two languages is: (1) nuse in ancient Chinese (female beauty); (2) nanse in ancient Chinese (male beauty through the eyes of men); (3) nanshoku (male-male love) and joshoku (female beauty) in early medieval Japanese; and (4) joshoku in late medieval Japanese (male-female love). Further, by tracing this lexical development, we can conjecture that “nanshoku” was adopted from Chinese around the thirteenth century, despite the slight difference in meaning, out of the need for a concrete and relatively neutral term to describe the common phenomenon of male-male love. It seems that once the term “nanshoku” became mainstream in Japan, people reappropriated the term “joshoku” (female beauty) as a parallel concept to nanshoku: male-female love. As a result, by the fifteenth century, the terminology had emerged to

28 Introduction

conceptualize the nanshoku-joshoku paradigm, or the architecture of the normative male erotic desire of the time. Sexuality in the Religious Context of Premodern Japan To outline the context in which the chigo system emerged and flourished for centuries, this section will provide a brief overview of how the two principal religions of Japan, Shinto and Buddhism, historically dealt with the issues of sexuality, both joshoku and nanshoku.85 Although certain religious discourses existed that treated sexuality as sinful, immoral, and/or defiling, human sexuality, including nanshoku, was never relegated to the realm of taboo in premodern Japan. This general acceptance or tolerance of sexuality, especially that of men, likely originated from the indigenous belief system of ancient Japan, an amalgamation of Shinto (the Way of Kami) and animism, which generally regarded sexuality in positive terms as the source of all vibrant lives under the sky. Even after Buddhism became the most influential religion in the land around the tenth century, its teaching about sexuality was nativized to meet the needs of the government, elite officials, and common practitioners. Attitudes toward sex in Shinto discourse

Perhaps the most striking dimension of Japan’s earliest history is its purported genesis. According to the imperially commissioned record of mythohistory A Record of Ancient Matters (Kojiki, 712), the court of the eighth century likened the divine creation of its country to the process of courtship, intercourse, and childbirth between two gods. Tasked with birthing the country of Japan, the male kami Izanagi proposes to his wife Izanami, “I am thinking of thrusting the part of my body that protrudes into the part of your body that is open to fill it up so we can birth lands. What do you think?”86 The matter-of-fact reference to genitalia and intercourse, not to mention the attribution of the divine nation’s origin to sex, reflects an affirmative attitude toward sexuality, which stands in stark contrast to the well-known episode in the Book of Genesis. Upon consuming the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve are awakened to their naked state and sexual desire, and they are consequently exiled from the Garden of Eden. God then declares that he will make childbirth excruciatingly painful, as an additional punishment for Eve and all of her female



Becoming a Chigo

29

descendants. Moreover, the son of God, Jesus Christ, will be born to a virgin woman. Although sexual intercourse had a negative association in the Shinto belief system, the association did not pertain, at least originally, to the stigmatization of sexual desire or the sacralization of chastity. Instead, the taboo came from the fear of defilement through contact with bodily fluids.87 This means that people temporarily abstained from sexual contact, for instance, during a mourning period for a household member or before an important pilgrimage. But because defilement was deemed temporary, if a person became contaminated with a taboo object, he or she could be treated through a purification ritual.88 Attitudes toward sex in Buddhist discourse

The Buddhist interpretation of sex tended to be far more negative than that of Shinto, especially at the religion’s inception (ca. fourth century BCE) and during the nascent stages. Nevertheless, after Buddhism was introduced to Japan in the mid-500s CE, its cross-pollination with indigenous beliefs, the political pragmatism of the court, and variants of Daoism significantly modified the ideas of sex, marriage, and procreation within Japanese Buddhist discourses. The most fundamental trait that separates Buddhism from Shinto and the Abrahamic faith is that the Way of Buddha is not concerned with the origin of the universe or the human species. Its primary concern instead is to halt the cycles of human suffering. The term “buddha” means “one who has reached enlightenment,” and the attainment of buddhahood, or the state of complete detachment from all earthly desires, is the ultimate goal of Buddhism.89 Because the historical Buddha (ca. fourth–fifth century BCE, also Siddhārtha, Gautama, Śākyamuni) construed all forms of attachment, even love for one’s spouse or children, as sources of suffering, sexuality was something all believers had to transcend. In short, sexuality was discouraged on the grounds of impeding the quest for enlightenment and, in the case of heterosexual love, for the possibility of producing offspring, for whom humans were bound to feel love and attachment, perpetuating the cycle of suffering.90 For these reasons, celibacy was regarded as foundational to the monastic life.91 In the Buddhist faith, the general code of conduct for followers is called vinaya (Jp. kai 戒). Vinaya consists of hundreds of precepts

30 Introduction

(Jp. ritsu 律). Generally speaking, Japanese monks’ and nuns’ attitudes toward these rules were not as rigid as the founders of ancient Indian Buddhism had expected. One of the reasons for their lax attitude is that Japan imported the laity-centered Mahāyāna (Great Vehicle) Buddhist principles from China during the mid-sixth century. In the ensuing centuries, the Mahāyāna teachings continued to be privileged over the more ecclesiastic-centered Therevāda Buddhism in Japan, producing pragmatic-minded clerics.92 For them, taking the tonsure was not solely a religious endeavor. It offered a range of practical benefits, from shelter, food, and educational opportunities to exemptions from hard labor and conscription. Neither the government nor the Buddhist institutions regarded the pragmatic motivations of the aspiring clergy as a problem, since offering people good incentives to enter the priesthood and nunhood was necessary for the Buddhist institutions’ survival. Priestly love, marriage, and sexuality

Unsurprisingly, some priests, especially those who resided outside the temple precincts, took wives and raised families.93 Based on a survey of legal codes, land transfer documents, and chronicles, among other sources, Lori Meeks attests that Japanese clergymen “enforced celibacy only at particular times or in particular situations” and that, by the Heian period, the court was “increasingly tolerant of clerical violations of the monastic codes.”94 Furthermore, in the Kamakura period, it became increasingly common for monks to bestow their wisdom, property, and clerical titles on their biological heirs.95 In premodern Japan, the most famous married monk was Shinran (1173–1262), the founder of the True Pure Land school (Jp. Jōdo shinshū), and his followers also openly took wives and procreated. According to a medieval text called A Record of Shinran’s Dream (Shinran muki) and its variants, during Shinran’s seclusion at Rokkakudō in 1201, the bodhisattva Kannon enshrined at the religious site appeared in a dream in the form of a white-robed monk and spoke: 行者宿報設女犯, 我成玉女身被犯, 一生之間能荘厳, 臨終 引導生極楽 (If you were destined to commit nyobon [breaking the celibacy vow with a woman], I would transform my body into that of a beautiful woman and receive your sinfulness. I would then help you live your solemn life. When the end of your time comes, I will guide you to the Pure Land).96



Becoming a Chigo

31

If Shinran was struggling to reconcile himself to the principle of celibacy, as some scholars believe, this anecdote can be understood as depicting “sympathetic response,” or a state of “resonance between a believer and the divine being who is the object of belief.”97 Curiously, as Charlotte Eubanks illustrates, erotic desire on the part of the believer often plays an important role in sympathetic response stories.98 An episode reminiscent of Shinran’s dream is included in Times Now Past (17:45). In this story, a monk-in-training from Shinano Province is overcome with lust upon seeing a gorgeous statue of the celestial maiden Kisshō (Sk. Lakshmi) at a temple. He prays day and night for a beautiful woman just like the statue. One night, he has an oddly realistic dream about having sex with the very goddess he has lusted for. When he returns to the same temple, he discovers the familiar mark of his own semen on the statue’s robe. This monk-in-training is greatly ashamed of his deed and reveres the goddess for her profound compassion.99 Along with sympathetic response, a critical concept that mediates the close relationship between amorous feelings and Buddhist soteriology is “skillful means” (also “expedient means,” Jp. hōben, Sk. upāya).100 Skillful means can refer to a “provisionary divine intervention” that meets a short-term goal as a step toward the ultimate goal of enlightenment, comparable to a raft that a person desperately needs to cross a river and will abandon once reaching the other side. Bodhisattvas—those who have almost attained enlightenment or those who have attained buddhahood but linger in this world to help others—are known to be masters of skillful means. Sometimes the “raft” to cross the river manifests itself as a beautiful woman who captivates the mind of a priest. For instance, another story from Times Now Past (17:33) tells of the bodhisattva Kokūzō (Sk. Ākāśagarbha), who takes the form of a lovely young widow. She promises to a novice priest that they can marry if he spends three years on Mount Hiei eagerly studying the Buddhist scriptures. After three years of rigorous study, he returns to the spot where he encountered his bride-to-be, but the mansion is nowhere to be found.101 One form of skillful means to curb male believers’ sexual desire, depicted in ancient Indian Buddhist texts, is exposure to the sight of female bodies decaying in a graveyard. Within the Japanese Buddhist discourse, however, grotesque representations of sexuality did not catch on as a didactic method. Instead, many Buddhist-inspired vernacular writings, in both verse and prose, resorted to what

32 Introduction

Rajyashree Pandey calls the “mujō [evanescence] rather than fujō [impurity]” approach.102 Pandey points out that Kamo no Chōmei’s (ca. 1153–1216) A Collection of Tales of Religious Awakening (Hosshinshū, ca. 1212) and A Companion in Solitude (Kankyo no tomo, 1222) by Keisei (1189−1268), for example, “display considerable ambivalence towards the plight of [the men who are attached to their dead lovers].” These authors “profess to be deeply moved by the feeling and sensitivity expressed” by the surviving lovers, “rather than unequivocally condemning deluded attachment.”103 As we will see in more detail in chapter 1, archetypal chigo tales, too, suggest that earthly attachment is but a futile human endeavor. While this revelation evolves into a profound religious awakening, these tales never treat love or sex as immoral or disgusting. Nyobon versus nanshoku

When it comes to priestly marriage or sex with a woman, modern scholarship has at times erroneously exaggerated the severity of this transgression, perhaps because of the medieval Buddhist term nyobon 女犯, mentioned earlier in Shinran’s dream story. It appears that speakers of the modern Japanese language often misinterpret this two-character compound—a Japanese coinage rather than a Chinese import—due to an association with a modern phrase “onna o okasu 女を犯す” (to rape a woman). In The Red Thread (1998), Bernard Faure explains this term as “literally ‘assaulting’ or ‘forcing’ women, although it came to lose some of its violent connotations.”104 Furthermore, Faure translates the Kannon’s oracle in Shinran’s dream in The Power of Denial (2003): “If you, the practitioner, due to past karma, must violate women, I will become a jade woman to be violated by you.”105 This translation is incorrect in that the object of violation is interpreted as women rather than the celibacy vow and therefore unnecessarily vilifies Shinran and all the clergymen who have female lovers or wives. When a Sino-Japanese compound word conveys “a transitive action being inflicted upon a direct object,” the word order normally follows the Chinese syntax of “verb-object,” as in bonkai 犯戒 “violating a precept” and hanzai 犯罪 “committing a crime.” In the case of nyobon, the first character (female) needs to be parsed as modifying the second (transgression), just as sokubon 触犯 (touch-transgression) refers to a transgression by touching a statue of the Buddha.106



Becoming a Chigo

33

In any case, the concept of nyobon, which is the most prevalent term to indicate “violation of the celibacy precept,” is curious. It reflects the Buddhist community’s preference for male-male love over heterosexual sex (with the obvious exception of the Pure Land and True Pure Land schools). That is to say, the idea of nyobon concerns only a monk’s sexual relations with a female, either a laywoman or a nun, and shows no regard for the following cases: (1) a monk’s sexual relationship with another male; (2) a nun’s sexual relationship with a male; and (3) a nun’s sexual relationship with a female. Intriguingly, there are no common terms to specifically refer to (2) and (3), while a neutral or slightly positive term was used to represent (1), namely, nanshoku. To reiterate my points, the parallel concept to nanshoku is not nyobon but joshoku, and there is no parallel term for “nyobon” that would have meant “breach of the celibacy precept by having sex with a male.”107 This asymmetry in the two types of priestly sexuality, one with a female partner and the other with a male, indicates that there was even greater leniency toward nanshoku within medieval Buddhist communities than toward marriages between monks and women. The “origin” of nanshoku

Due to the prevalence of nanshoku in premodern Japan, scholars and nonscholars alike have shown interest in locating the “origin” of this phenomenon, as in “What caused it?” and “When did it begin?”108 (To the extent that modern scholars are not similarly contemplating the “origin” of joshoku, men’s desire for women is taken for granted as the normative behavior.) The best-known origin story of nanshoku from the Muromachi period onward is the legend of Kūkai (774–835, posthumously Kōbō Daishi), the transmitter of the Zhenyan (Jp. Shingon) school of Buddhism.109 According to this legend, Kūkai is also credited with the transmission of male-male love from Tang China to Japan in the ninth century. The celebrated Confucian scholar Kaibara Ekiken (1630–1714), for instance, noted that the “frivolous custom of nanshoku has been around since the time of Kōbō,” and a comic verse (senryū) of the Edo period read, “Kōbō enters through the backdoor, Shinran enters through the front door.”110 Yet the connection between Kūkai and nanshoku is often remarked on in a humorous context, as in the case of the senryū above, and therefore it is questionable whether the people of the Muromachi and Edo periods

34 Introduction

took this legend at face value. As for the famous researcher of male homoeroticism Iwata Jun’ichi, he dismisses it as a “vulgar tradition.”111 Paul Gordon Schalow similarly denies the legend’s credibility, although he appreciates the fact that it spun off many curious texts during medieval and early modern periods.112 Gary P. Leupp is one of a minority of scholars who find the Kūkai legend plausible for two reasons. First, pre-Heian accounts of male-male sexuality are sporadic in Japan, even though Chinese tales of male-male romance were common as early as the sixth century BCE. Second, given that the Japanese sent numerous emissaries to the Tang dynasty (of which one was Kūkai) to borrow continental technologies, customs, and ideas, it is possible for the people of Japan to have “adopted various elements of the Chinese homosexual tradition.”113 Nevertheless, it is unreasonable to claim that male-male eroticism is something that requires a formal introduction. Furthermore, if Kūkai had actually introduced nanshoku to the people of Japan soon after returning to Japan in 806, the origin story should have emerged much earlier than the fourteenth century. Despite the lack of credibility, the idea that nanshoku originated in Tang China is fascinating in itself. This is precisely because the motivation is not to blame China for altering the landscape of sexuality in Japan but rather to elevate the status of nanshoku as a custom that emerged in the center of civilization. Male-male love was already one legitimate half of the nanshokujoshoku paradigm that defined acceptable sexuality for adult men, and the Kūkai legend merely added a fanciful origin to the already established norm. Throughout the Edo period (ca. 1600–1867, also Tokugawa period), the tradition of nanshoku among Buddhist priests, samurai, and wealthy merchants remained popular and became almost an art form, known as the “way of loving the youth” (shudō, wakashudō, nyakudō, or jakudō). This art, integrated into the vibrant theater scene and pleasure quarter cultures in major urban centers, inspired numerous literary and visual works, such as Ihara Saikaku’s collection of short stories The Great Mirror of Male Love (Nanshoku ōkagami, 1687), Kitamura Kigin’s anthology of poems and excerpts of stories Wild Azaleas (Iwatsutsuji, 1676), and countless homoerotic ukiyoe prints, all of which celebrated transgenerational male-male love.114



Becoming a Chigo

35

Discourses on Male-Male Love at the Dawn of Modernity Considering that today’s English-language media often paint Japan as a homophobic country, it is ironic that the end of nanshoku-joshoku paradigm resulted from Japan’s contact with the West in the late 1800s.115 During the Meiji period, the cultural, religious, and sexual landscape of Japan was drastically transformed by the government’s efforts to establish Japan as a formidable modern nation and to reinstate the Shinto-based rule of the emperor. This new emphasis on the divine origin of the imperial line radically disempowered the institution of Buddhism, as the modern regime strove to diminish the differences between ordained priests and laymen by forcing the clerics to take surnames, partake in the universal household registration system (koseki seido), and submit to national conscription. Additionally, in 1872, the government promulgated the “eating meat and taking a wife” (nikujiki saitai) law, which read, “From now on Buddhist clerics shall be free to eat meat, marry, grow their hair, and so on. Furthermore, there will be no penalty if they wear ordinary clothing when not engaged in religious activities.”116 According to Richard M. Jaffe, this decriminalization of priestly marriage was intended to prevent nanshoku, which had come to be stigmatized under the influence of the Western sexual ideology.117 Only one year after the secularization of the priesthood via the nikujiki saitai law, a new national penal code was instituted to criminalize anal intercourse (keikan) for the first time in Japanese history.118 Although this penal code was in effect for only nine years before it was abolished in 1882, legal publications continued to condemn anal sex as “the worst violation of human morality” whose “harm [was] immense.”119 After four decades of denouncing dōsei-ai (the calque translation of “homosexual love”) during the Meiji era, the government successfully marginalized same-sex love, and this trend continued until the post–World War II period.120 By the time Ichiko Teiji, one of the most prominent scholars of Japanese classics, published A Study on Medieval Novels (Chūsei shōsetsu no kenkyū, 1955), only ten years after the end of World War II, the concept of nanshoku appears to have been expelled to the fringes of human sexuality. In his analysis of the chigo monogatari genre, Ichiko comments that nanshoku is an “unnatural act and a perverted sexual desire seen in perverts.”121 He also credits the

36 Introduction

absence of women with the emergence of nanshoku as “an outlet for the priests’ oppressed sexual desire,” just as warriors took beautiful youths to the battlefields, another milieu from which women were excluded. Furthermore, he explicates the prototypical ending of chigo monogatari, wherein the chigo’s true identity is found to be an avatar of a bodhisattva, in the following way: “Buddhist priests [. . .] must have been aware that nanshoku was an immoral, unnatural act. This is why they invented the plot where the chigo turns out to be an avatar of the Buddha or a bodhisattva.”122 Two years later, in his article on two medieval homoerotic texts, Kaneko Matebei also describes nanshoku in prejudiced terms: “abnormal sexuality, indecency, cruelty, unnaturalness, and immorality.”123 Today, the blatantly homophobic language used by Ichiko, Kaneko, and many other scholars in academic writing is shocking.124 Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of such language, however, is the willful dismissal of Japan’s not-too-distant past, a time when elite men were free to have sexual relationships with younger male partners. Ichiko, for instance, never even attempts to provide religious, cultural, medical, or legal “explanations” to buttress his exceedingly negative perception of male same-sex love. He simply presents his homophobic view as something universal and commonsensical, for which no self-reflection is warranted. It is remarkable that what had been widely perceived as an aspect of normative human sexuality for the entire duration of recorded history was stigmatized, pathologized, and criminalized in a mere few decades. Despite the magnitude of this paradigm shift, Ichiko exhibits no intellectual curiosity about the recent history of his country. Meanwhile, during the post–World War II era, most research on male-male intimacy in literary texts, visual arts, and theater was undertaken by connoisseurs and literati, such as Iwata Jun’ichi (1900–1945), Inagaki Taruho (1900–1977), and Dōmoto Masaki (1933–2019).125 The profound expertise of these intellectuals notwithstanding, their writings tend to indicate the authors’ fetishization of nanshoku. Thus, their works may contribute little to deepening and broadening our understanding of human sexualities in meaningful ways. The rise of the global gay rights movement from the 1960s forward brought an increasing awareness of diversity in gender and sexuality in Western nations. In Japan, too, by the late 1980s, discriminatory statements about same-sex love could no longer



Becoming a Chigo

37

appear in mainstream academic discourse in any discipline. What happened next was remarkable in the academic field of premodern Japanese literature. The homophia-inspired negative evaluation of the chigo tales propagated by Ichiko and his contemporaries was replaced wholesale by similar denouncements of the genre—this time around, for its portrayal of lovers with an age gap. Contemporary Discourses on Transgenerational Male-Male Love According to the political scientist Joseph Fischel, as sexual minorities in the United States gained “unprecedented representational legitimacy in media and significant legal protections” in recent decades, new national anxieties emerged in America, especially about “sex offenders,” or adults who are attracted to adolescents and form sexual relationships with them.126 This discursive shift, to borrow Fischel’s words, rendered such people as “the new queer” and rapidly and drastically transformed the way transgenerational sexuality is perceived in postindustrial democratic societies.127 In light of this politicocultural climate, scholarly interrogations of nanshoku in Anglophone and Japanese-language scholarship have focused on its age and power differences for the past few decades. The outcome of the paradigm change has been overarching. Today, when the idea of transgenerational male-male coupling is evoked, we tend to make a series of mental leaps, from “inserter vs. insertee” to “active vs. passive,” and then to “dominance vs. servitude” and “predatory vs. victimized.” The contemporary critiques of chigo nanshoku and chigo tales seem to be premised on these mental leaps.128 An example of the rhetoric that automatically victimizes the chigo is found in Faure’s The Red Thread. In this work, the author criticizes chigo monogatari for aestheticizing the chigo system. He then suggests we see these tales “as a rather crude ideological coverup for a kind of institutionalized prostitution or rape.”129 To support his argument, Faure extensively cites Hosokawa Ryōichi’s collection of essays first published in 1993. In one of the essays, Hosokawa surveys multiple texts that tell of nanshoku in monastic contexts, including Taira no Tsunemasa in the Heike; the noh play Kagetsu, featuring a fictional erotic entertainer named Kagetsu; and a document regarding a historical daidōji named Aimitsu-maru. Hosokawa then concludes that shōnen-ai (love for boys) in monasteries is a system that

38 Introduction

“coerces the younger partner into a unilateral sexual servitude,” and under these circumstances, “the powerful priest controls the boy’s body and personhood, including his ‘inner-self’ [naiteki jiko].” With regard to Amimitsu-maru of the outcast class, Hosokawa argues that the sexual servitude into which he was forced “destroyed his ‘innerself’ ” as he grew older, because “he was no longer capable of maintaining his identity as a youth.”130 Similarly, Kanda Tatsumi claims that the deification of the chigo served not only to justify the priests’ “abuse” (ryōjoku) of the youths but also functioned as a “device to intensify [the monks’] sexual pleasure” (kairaku o zōshin saseru tame no sōchi ).131 Kanda notes, “[O]ne can visualize the brutal reality of how countless acolytes were physically violated by priests and later discarded like a pair of tattered shoes,” but he neglects to support his statement with evidence or reasoning.132 Jim Reichert, too, suggests that premodern nanshoku is less desirable than its modern counterpart because “the inherent power differential embedded in the practice, manifest in the pairing of a sexually active adult with a sexually passive youth, seriously undermines any nanshoku apologia.”133 Although modern scholars’ contempt for nanshoku in medieval monasteries may appear reasonable or even morally sound to the readers of this book, I argue that their hyperbolic and highly speculative language irresponsibly demonizes the Buddhist institutions and parents of the historical chigo.134 To paint the chigo system with a broad brush as “child sexual abuse” contributes nothing to efforts to prevent actual sexual exploitation in our society. Worse, the hyperbole surrounding the chigo system and chigo monogatari stigmatizes these very topics. This stigmatization undermines the objectives of deepening our understanding of human sexuality across time and culture and of countering the sexual exploitation of vulnerable populations as well as various forms of discrimination against sexual minorities. Another issue pertains to how we understand negotiations of power. The representation of power dynamics among characters is central to many literary texts, and analyzing such a motif is a key aspect of literary criticism. Yet at times, scholars and readers of texts unwittingly equate a power differential with abuse of power. A gap in power and/or age, of course, is not the same as exploitation, as most hierarchal relationships are not usually abusive (e.g., parent-child, employer-employee, teacher-student, buyer-seller, doctor-patient, pet



Becoming a Chigo

39

owner-pet). Moreover, horizontal relationships are as vulnerable to dysfunctionality as any other relationship. Animosity between two equal-status parties can also produce intense rivalry, and it sometimes turns into violent conflict. As a result of the misguided cognitive shortcuts, the nanshoku of premodern Japan has incited much suspicion among modern scholars. Meanwhile, it is worth noting that an age gap within a heterosexual couple is rarely cause for such intense denunciation (as in Hosokawa’s “it would destroy the personhood of the younger partner”). As for the taboo of “power difference,” scholars seldom vilify historical or fictional relationships between an impoverished woman and a wealthy man, while a breach of the celibacy vow is easily forgiven if it leads to a heterosexual monogamous relationship. In other words, a heterosexual relationship is deemed benign unless there is clear evidence to indicate otherwise. Conversely, transgenerational male-male sexuality is perceived by default as coercion even in the absence of evidence, perhaps because we internalize the post-1990 convention that typecasts the older partner of such a dyad as a predatory homosexual man and the younger partner as an innocent victim who is not yet aware of his “sexual orientation.”135 This recent sea change in academic discourse—the dramatic switch from denouncing the chigo system for its homosexuality to denouncing it for its age/power difference—does not indicate a new open-mindedness in the field toward sexual minorities. The repulsion that many scholars (and nonscholars) feel when thinking of the chigo system likely derives from a compound of several affects, including homophobia, secularism, Orientalism, and the concept of “statutory rape.”136 Nonetheless, as far as recent publications are concerned, these scholars tend to turn their repulsion into just a denouncement of the age/power differential and nothing else, possibly in an attempt to package their complex, multilayered contempt into a simple but visceral, seemingly moral-based argument. The fact is that analyzing the chigo system through the lens of “child sexual abuse” is anachronistic, as teenagers were not considered “children” in medieval Japan. Further, this perspective connotes deep-seated homophobic sentiment, as the same level of suspicion is not applied to historical and fictional heterosexual relations with age/power gaps.137 Illustrations of sexuality other than a monogamous union between two (and only two) consenting adults of opposite sexes with neither a large age gap nor a monetary transaction often repel people

40 Introduction

in the way that an illustration of, say, a war would not.138 Today’s scholars of premodern military epic, such as The Tales of the Heike, do not and are not expected to criticize the brutality depicted in the tales. Neither do they claim that the anonymous authors devised war tales for the purpose of justifying or aestheticizing mass killing. These scholars seldom preface their research with a disclaimer that their interest in texts that depict beheading, disembowelment, and infanticide does not mean they condone such atrocities. And this is the way it should be. For the most part, readers and researchers of premodern Japanese texts succeed in compartmentalizing the old norms that would be considered strange, unsightly, unethical, or criminal in today’s Japan, such as polyamory, covering one’s face with a fan in public, exorcizing an evil spirit to cure a disease, dragging six-foot-long hair, breaking into a poetry recitation in the middle of a conversation, enthroning a child emperor, honor killing, the creation of an outcast class, wearing a tall lacquered hat indoors, engaging in human trafficking, ritual suicide in lieu of a verbal apology, blackening teeth, and outsourcing the task of breastfeeding one’s own child to a stranger. Nevertheless, the chigo system has so far been largely treated as something beyond our ability to historicize and analyze according to the cultural, religious, and political context of medieval Japan. I hope this book will provide useful conversation starters in the fields of Japanese literature, history, Buddhist studies, and gender and sexuality studies about many important issues: the chigo monogatari genre, the chigo system, the reconciliation of celibacy and sexuality in the Buddhist tradition, erotic labor, nonbinary gender, sexuality as a form of human capital, the fluidity of human sexuality, age as a social construct, the myth of unmediated agency, and many more.  

Chapter 1

Chigo Monogatari Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics and Aesthetics of Acolyte-Monk Love

A

s the introduction briefly discussed, visual and textual images of chigo can be observed in waka poems, Chinese-style verses (kanshi), anecdotal tales (setsuwa), noh plays, and illustrated scrolls (emaki), many of which idealize their androgynous beauty, grace, spirituality, and artistic skills.1 The literary genre that arguably most vividly shaped the image of chigo during the medieval period is what we today call chigo monogatari. Fourteen such works have survived to the present (see “List of Extant Chigo monogatari” in the bibliography).2 These vernacular tales of varying styles, forms, and degrees of religiosity and eroticism were likely first created by clergymen affiliated with Mount Hiei and other powerful temple complexes around the early 1300s. It is clear that these texts were soon disseminated far beyond the bounds of Buddhist institutions. For example, one of the chigo monogatari we will examine later in this chapter functioned as an advertisement for a particular temple and the sacred statue enshrined there.3 Another illustration of acolyte tales’ popularity is that, in 1436, Prince Fushiminomiya Sadafusa (1372–1456) noted in his chronicle Kanmon gyoki that he had borrowed from Mount Hiei the five illustrated scrolls of a chigo monogatari called The Mountain (Ashibiki-e).4 Furthermore, a satirical parody version of a chigo tale was composed, likely by a lay female author (see chapter 4). My primary objectives in this chapter are threefold. First, to provide a concise yet useful overview of the chigo monogatari genre, I will examine how Japanese-language scholarship has traditionally 41

42

Chapter One

defined chigo monogatari since the 1950s and also consider what would be gained by a more in-depth and expansive analysis of the corpus. My second objective is to offer a comparative close reading of three works of chigo monogatari that may be described as “archetypes” based on the traditional definitions of this genre. These three acolyte tales are The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth (Chigo Kannon engi), A Long Tale for an Autumn Night (Aki no yo no nagamonogatari), and The Tale of Genmu (Genmu monogatari). Finally, based on the comparative analysis of the three archetypes, this chapter will propose more nuanced interpretations of these individual works, which will further inform the epistemology of the chigo monogatari genre as a whole. C higo M onogatari as a Literary Genre The subgenre of medieval novels / otogi zōshi

One of the oldest uses of the term “chigo monogatari” appears in the title of the chigo tale anthology A Collection of Chigo monogatari (Chigo monogatari burui, n.d.), compiled by a celebrated literatus of the Tokugawa period, Ōta Nanpo (1749–1823, also Shokusanjin).5 In modern times, it was Ichiko Teiji who popularized this term in A Study on Medieval Novels.6 In this survey of numerous medieval short tales (which he calls chūsei shōsetsu, or “medieval novels”) from the late Kamakura and Muromachi periods, Ichiko divides them into six categories: court novels, monk/religious novels, military novels, commoner novels, foreign country novels, and nonhuman novels.7 Ichiko further classifies these six genres into multiple subgenres, and chigo monogatari is one of the subgroups of the monk/religious novels (i.e., medieval novels → monk/religious novels → chigo tales). The genre name otogi zōshi is often used synonymously with (and more frequently than) Ichiko’s term “medieval novels” today, and many dictionaries, encyclopedias, and scholarly works describe chigo monogatari as a subgenre of otogi zōshi.8 This appellation originates from Otogi bunko (Companion Library), a collection of twenty-three short narratives on various topics from the medieval period, compiled and published during the early eighteenth century and “otogi zōshi” used to refer only to the twenty-three stories included in this set. Nevertheless, this term was later extended to



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

43

refer to medieval vernacular tales in general, a corpus of several hundred texts.9 Scholars’ descriptions of the chigo monogatari genre

Today, scholars’ general perception of the chigo monogatari genre seems to have been shaped by Ichiko Teiji’s influential work mentioned above. In addition to listing the most obvious traits of chigo monogatari (i.e., featuring a chigo as a protagonist and centering on the monastic life of the main characters), Ichiko characterizes these stories as “naturally [onozukara] pertaining to nanshoku due to the absence of women.”10 He further notes that the chigo and his lover meet a tragic fate, usually the death of the youth, but this tragedy in turn compels the survivor (the monk) to “enter into the true Buddhist faith” (shin no Butsudō ni hairu).11 Table 1.1 shows a summary of a survey of twelve Japanese-language sources that describe the chigo tale genre, consisting of seven studies of a chigo tale (five journal articles and two book chapters, nos. 1–7) and five entries in reference works (dictionary and encyclopedia entries, nos. 8–12) that list definitions of chigo monogatari. The trifecta suggested by Ichiko—romantic love, tragedy (or death of the chigo), and the religious awakening of the monk—is clearly reflected in the way these twelve recent publications define or describe the genre. Table 1.1.  Descriptions of the chigo monogatari genre in twelve sources Romantic love

1 Nishizawa (1970)

Mostly stories about nanshoku

2 Nishizawa (1980)

Stories about nanshoku with chigo

3 Takeuchi (2000)

Similar to romantic tales between a man and a woman (danjo no ren’ai monogatari)

Tragedy

Religious awakening of the monk

Despite the characters’ mutual affection, they are separated and one of them is destined to die

The characters’ carnal desire functions as an opportunity for a religious awakening

4 Yaguchi (2005)

Love stories (koi monogatari) between a chigo and a monk; the relationships are mainly depicted as tragic love

5 Aoki (2007)

Stories revolving around a monk’s longing (renbo) for a chigo

6 Aoki (2008)

The main themes are the romantic relationship (kōjō) between a monk and a chigo, their separation, and their awakening/ renouncement of the world

7 Ri (2016)

Depict a romantic relationship (kōjō) between a monk and a chigo

The relationships are mainly depicted as tragic love; the chigo characters compel their lovers into a religious awakening through their own death

The chigo characters compel their lovers into a religious awakening through their own death

The main themes are the romantic relationship between a monk and a chigo, their separation, and their awakening/ renouncement of the world

The main themes are the romantic relationship between a monk and a chigo, their separation, and their awakening or renouncement of the world; many exhibit the element of the “honji” (manifestation) stories, in which the chigo turns out to be a deity In many cases, the monk attains a true awakening through a romantic relationship with a chigo, whose true identity is that of a buddha



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

8 Nihon kokugo daijiten (2002)

Many works revolve around a tragic same-sex love (dōsei-kan no hiren) between a monk and a chigo

9 Digital Daijisen (2012)

Genre that revolves around nanshoku between a chigo and a monk

45

Many works revolve around a tragic same-sex love (hiren) between a monk and a chigo

10 Daijirin, 3rd Genre of short tales ed. that revolve around (2006) lust (aiyoku) between a chigo and a monk 11 Britannica kokusai daihyakka jiten (2010)

Stories that depict a relationship(kankei) between a monk (or a nobleman or samurai) and a chigo; a type of nanshoku tale

12 Nihon daihyakka zensho (2001)

Love stories (ren’ai monogatari) that involve chigo

Tragic Exhibit strong (higekiteki) tales religious undertones

Taking into consideration the limited space of these short articles and dictionary/encyclopedia entries, table 1.1 shows that “love” is what these authors prioritize the most, as all twelve sources mention this component of chigo monogatari. Interestingly, only five sources emphasize the same-sex-ness of the main characters’ relationship by using the terms “nanshoku” (nos. 1, 2, 9, 11) or “dōsei” (“same-sex”; no. 8). The vocabulary used to describe the characters’ romantic or sexual relationships is mostly neutral (ren’ai, koi, kōjō, etc.), except for in the Japanese-language dictionary Daijirin, which uses a term with negative connotations, “aiyoku” (lust). Fewer than half of the sources mention “tragedy” or “religious awakening” to characterize chigo monogatari as a whole.

46

Chapter One

The fourteen extant tales of chigo

Let us now take a closer look at the general plots of the fourteen extant chigo monogatari. To do so, I will use the following five criteria to measure their “chigo monogatari-ness,” or their proximity to the typical features of this genre, as indicated by the published scholarship: (1) at least one of the principal characters is a Buddhist acolyte; (2) the chigo and a Buddhist monk develop mutual affection; (3) the chigo dies an untimely death; (4) the surviving lover renews his devotion to the Way of Buddha; and (5) the chigo turns out to be an avatar of a bodhisattva. Figure 4 shows that only three of the fourteen satisfy all five criteria: Kannon’s Manifestation, Autumn Night, and The Tale of Genmu. This means that each of the five traits conveys a varying degree of “chigo monogatari-ness,” and some play more significant roles than others in qualifying a text as a chigo tale. In other words, a combination of just a few of these five attributes can suffice, while a different combination may mean that the text is not recognizable as a chigo monogatari. What is even more remarkable is that three of the fourteen texts do not even feature a current chigo: The Tale of Ben (Ben no sōshi), The Tale of Matsuho Bay (Matsuho no ura monogatari), and The

Figure 4.  General plots of the fourteen extant chigo monogatari.



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

47

Tale of Mount Toribe (Toribeyama monogatari). In the first two, the younger protagonist is a former Buddhist acolyte; in the Ben, Ben no Kimi is now a young monk, and Tō no Jijū in the Matsuho is now a young nobleman. Even more surprisingly, the younger protagonist of Mount Toribe, Tō no Ben, has never been an acolyte before; he is a nobleman’s son who lives at home, though, importantly, his lover is a clergyman (otherwise this tale would not have been classified as a chigo monogatari). Given that Matsuho and Mount Toribe are both included in Ōta Nanpo’s Collection of Chigo monogatari, by the late Tokugawa period, the term “chigo” in chigo monogatari was no longer limited to attendants of high-ranking priests or noblemen but instead could also indicate the tertiary meaning of the term: “the younger partner of a nanshoku relationship,” as long as the older partner was a Buddhist priest.12 In a similar vein, when the younger hero is a Buddhist acolyte, his love interest does not have to be a priest. In The Tale of Saga (Saga monogatari), the Buddhist acolyte Matsuju falls in love with a lay recluse, whereas the acolyte in The Illustrated Scroll of the Acolyte at Shōren-in (Shōren-in chigo no sōshi emaki) becomes the lover of a nobleman. A Buddhist acolyte need not even form a nanshoku relationship, for that matter—in The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie (Chigo Imamairi), the hero, a chigo from Enryakuji, pursues a relationship with an aristocratic lady and eventually marries her, and together they raise a family (see chapter 4). Nevertheless, it would be highly unlikely for a love story between a woman and the male attendant of a nobleman to be classified as a chigo monogatari. In other words, as a rule of thumb, the minimum requirement for a tale to be regarded as a chigo monogatari is that a Buddhist acolyte be one of the principal characters, or, alternatively, that a priest develop a nanshoku relationship with a younger partner who is not a Buddhist acolyte. In addition, as long as a Buddhist acolyte is one of the main characters, romantic endeavors on his part are not necessary for the story to be considered a chigo monogatari. In fact, in three stories, the chigo character does not form a romantic relationship with anyone: The Letter from Lord Kōzuke (Kōzuke no Kimi shōsoku), Hanamitsu and Tsukimitsu (Hanamitsu Tsukimitsu), and Excerpts of Dust and Thorns (Jinkenshō). The Lord Kōzuke has a structure that is very similar to that of the aforementioned “skillful means” story from Times Now Past (17:33), wherein a beautiful widow uses her charm to encourage a young monk to diligently study the Buddhist scripts

48

Chapter One

for three years. In the Lord Kōzuke, a young monk named Engen (formerly known as Lord Kōzuke) writes to his master about an encounter with a beautiful chigo during the previous summer. The letter informs the recipient that Engen instantly became infatuated with this youth and tried to sleep with him, but instead of reciprocating his affection, the chigo challenged him to explain the true meaning of a famous waka by the Heian poetess Izumi Shikibu.13 When the inadequacy of Engen’s understanding of the poem was revealed, the youth suggested that the monk did not deserve his love and mysteriously disappeared. Afterward, the priest earnestly practiced nenbutsu (the chanting of Amida Buddha’s name). In contrast, Hanamitsu and Tsukimitsu is the tragic story of two half-brothers who are both chigo; the older (Hanamitsu) commits suicide because of the slander spread by his stepmother (Tsukimitsu’s birthmother). Although Hanamitsu’s sexual relationship with two of his monk friends is subtly insinuated, nanshoku is not central to this tale. Next, let us consider “tragedy,” especially a chigo’s untimely death, as a major characteristic of chigo monogatari. In modern academic discourse, wherein same-sex love is no longer a clear evil, the unnatural death of chigo characters may implicitly amplify some scholars’ negative perception of the chigo system. For instance, Faure (Red Thread) and Atkins (“Medieval Imagination”) both allude to René Girard’s scapegoat theory to interpret the chigo as an innocent victim who is sacrificed for the purpose of subduing communal violence and reinstating order in society.14 Nevertheless, the application of Girard’s framework to the concept of chigo, whether in history or in fiction, is problematic for a few reasons. First, understanding the chigo system through the prism of the scapegoat theory ignores the existence of (1) the historical chigo, who are not known to have died unnatural deaths en masse; (2) the chigo and ex-chigo characters who do not die within the stories (Matsuho, Ashibiki, Booklet of Acolytes, Lord Kōzuke, Saga, Miss Rookie); and (3) the non-chigo characters who die within the tales (the younger lover in Mount Toribe, the older lover in the Ben, the older lover in the Matsuho). Second, the two scholars ignore the fact that chigo is a temporary status. This transient state of acolyteship requires the chigo characters’ disappearance (via death or vanishing) or their transition into adulthood (by taking the tonsure or undertaking the genpuku ceremony). In fact, all extant acolyte tales either eliminate the chigo characters or have them grow up, with the exception of the erotocomedic



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

49

scroll A Booklet of Acolytes.15 Given the authors’ incentive to maintain the youthful beauty of the chigo for the audience’s pleasure, it is understandable that many chose to kill off their chigo characters rather than allow them to grow up and become adult men. Drawing on literary theory to paint the chigo as victims of communal violence, therefore, does little to deepen our understanding of acolyte tales. Third, by projecting the image of a sacrificial being onto the chigo characters, this theory may perpetuate the unfounded assumption that the chigo system was inherently abusive toward the acolytes. All in all, the chigo character’s death departs most clearly from the Girardian concept of scapegoating—the sacrifice of an innocent victim who is deified only post hoc—in that the untimely death of the youth usually turns out to be a part of the chigo-qua-bodhisattva’s plan. Thanks to this divine intervention, at the end of the story, the aspiring monk (i.e., the surviving lover) and others reaffirm their religious devotion. What, then, might be a more suitable framework for analyzing the main characters’ deaths in chigo monogatari? One possibility is to recall the aesthetics of romantic Heian court literature, namely, the waka poetry and courtly monogatari that chigo tales tend to emulate. Romantic waka and monogatari traditionally privilege the poignant aspects of romance, such as desertion, change of heart, forbidden love, and, of course, the death of the lover, over a happy-go-lucky ethos. Another notion worth considering is the perception of death in medieval Japan. While people tended to fear the pollution caused by the death of a household member or contact with an animal carcass, death in the abstract had much more positive connotations. This was at least partly due to the Buddhist ideology that regards this world as a temporary lodging, which all believers must transcend by attaining enlightenment. Thus, for devout Buddhists, death symbolizes the beginning of a better life. For the surviving lovers, too, the death of the beloved is an opportunity to realize the impermanence of life and the need to accumulate Buddhist merit to ensure one’s own enlightenment. Indeed, the unification of love, loss, and awakening is a well-established framework that was prevalent in medieval Buddhist literature. The Skillful Means Story: The Blueprint of Archetypal C higo M onogatari The common structure across the three exemplary chigo monogatari is what Konno Tōru dubs “joshoku hōben-tan” (stories of joshoku as

50

Chapter One

a skillful means), which weaves the tropes of sympathetic response (kannō) and skillful means (hōben) into a powerful narrative of a religious miracle.16 To illustrate an example that shows a close resemblance to many chigo tales, I will summarize the legend of a historical priest named Chikō (ca. 709–?) below.17 The story begins when Chikō is still an adolescent boy, Mabukuda-maro, residing in a wealthy man’s mansion as a lowly child servant. QR One day, Mabukuda-maro inadvertently stole a glance at the daughter of his master and became completely obsessed with her. Having no means to confess his love to the young lady, the boy made himself completely lovesick. Fearing that his son might die of heartache, the mother of Mabukuda-maro, a gatekeeper of the mansion, also fell ill. The ladies-in-waiting eventually reported this matter to their young mistress. She felt great pity and told Mabukuda-maro he would need to first learn to read and write if he wanted to send her a love letter. So he did as he was told in one or two days. Then she said her aged father might pass away soon, after which she would need a very wise husband to manage the household. Mabukuda-maro studied diligently and became extremely knowledgeable. Next, the young lady encouraged him to take the tonsure and devote himself to the Way of Buddha. While he was traveling around the country as a pilgrim, however, the young lady suddenly died of an illness. After years, the former lowly servant finally returned home only to learn that the young lady had been long dead. Realizing the impermanence of all things, he devoted his whole life to the study of Buddhist teachings. In the end, as an eminent holy man, Chikō attained rebirth in the Pure Land (ōjō). The young lady was an avatar of the bodhisattva Monju (Sk. Mañjuśrī).

QR Thus, the legend of Chikō conveys the ultimate goals of Buddhism, the renunciation of this-worldly attachment and the accumulation of religious merit, without resorting to negative representations of sexuality. Many chigo monogatari take a similar approach to nanshoku. Before beginning a discussion of the specifics of the three archetypal chigo tales, however, let us consider the cultural significance of bodhisattva worship in medieval Japan, which is deeply embedded



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

51

in those powerful miracle stories of chigo-qua-bodhisattva. In the next section, I will discuss Kannon, the bodhisattva of compassion, featured in Kannon’s Manifestation and Autumn Night, and the bodhisattva of wisdom, Monju (Ch. Wenshū, Sk. Mañjuśrī), who appears in The Tale of Genmu. Bodhisattva Worship in Medieval Japan The Sanskrit term “bodhisattva” (Jp. bosatsu) is a compound of “bodhi” (awakening) and “sattva” (person), commonly referring to “one who courageously seeks enlightenment through totally and fully benefiting others.”18 The bodhisattva is often regarded as pivotal in the lay-centered Mahāyāna tradition, embodying the possibility that all sentient beings can attain buddhahood.19 As intermediaries between the Enlightened One and believers, bodhisattvas have a significant presence, arguably more so than the Buddha himself, in medieval Japanese literary and visual arts. Kannon’s ability to perceive all the sounds of the world signifies his utmost compassion, which leads him to heed the prayers of all sentient beings until they are free from suffering. In this vein, Kannongyō (i.e., chapter 25 of the Lotus Sutra, also the “Universal Gateway” [Fumonbon] chapter) catalogues an impressive list of adversities from which this bodhisattva can save those who worship him: drowning in a river, being lost at sea, murder, demonic attack, fierce beasts and noxious snakes or insects, legal punishment, attack by bandits, falling from steep precipices, extremes of weather, and internecine civil military unrest, among other things.20 Reflecting Kannon’s immense popularity in medieval Japan, a plethora of didactic anecdotes was produced to illustrate his miraculous powers. Volume 16 of Times Now Past, for instance, consists entirely of stories of miracles by Kannon, forty in all. In this volume, the bodhisattva mercifully feeds part of his own flesh to a starving monk (no. 4) and prevents a young woman from being forced into marriage with a serpent (no. 16). To the modern reader, some of the divine interventions carried out by Kannon may seem unconventional and even puzzling. Not only does the bodhisattva take an arrow to save a violent criminal (no. 26) and help a gambler (no. 37), but he also rewards a fervent Kannon worshipper by drowning him (thus escorting this man to the Pure Land) when he is found to be reluctant to catch sacrificial animals for a local Shinto festival (no. 35).21

52

Chapter One

In addition to directly helping the masses through miracles, Kannon is known to be a great teacher of the Way of Buddha through skillful means; he can transform himself into one of thirty-three figures to guide a mortal in the direction of religious devotion, and ultimately to enlightenment or rebirth in the Pure Land. Although just seven of the thirty-three manifestations are female (nun, Buddhist laywoman, elder’s wife, householder’s wife, officer’s wife, Brahman woman, and young girl), by the tenth century in China Kannon had come to be perceived as more female than male.22 Thanks to the Chinese influence, a feminized image of Kannon became prevalent in Japan as well. The art historian Yamamoto Yōko, for instance, remarks, “One may be surprised to hear that Kannon actually wears a mustache, since the feminine image of this bodhisattva is undeniably common.”23 In addition, the Japanese tendency to imagine Kannon in the form of a woman may be attributed to the famous legend of Shinran (see the introduction), in which Kannon promises to appear as a beautiful maiden and receive his transgression should he feel compelled to breach his celibacy oath. The most direct connection between the chigo system and Kannon, of course, is that the Tendai consecration rite purportedly turned a youth into an avatar of Kannon. (This ritual may have been partly inspired by Shinran’s oracle story.24) The historical Buddha, too, guarantees Kannon’s ability to absorb a mortal’s sexual frustration in the Lotus Sutra: “If there are beings of much lust who are constantly mindful of and humbly respectful to the bodhisattva He Who Observes the Sounds of the World, they shall straightaway contrive to be separated from their lust.”25 In contrast to the feminine imagery of Kannon, Monjushiri Bosatsu (more commonly Monju Bosatsu), whose avatar appears in The Tale of Genmu as the chigo Hanamatsu, is often associated with the image of an adolescent boy. In the iconography of the Buddhist Triad (Shaka sanzon), this bodhisattva of wisdom flanks the Buddha along with Fugen Bosatsu (Ch. Puxian, Sk. Samantabhadra) mounting a white elephant. Typically portrayed as a youth astride a mythical lion (shishi) and carrying a sword, Monju appropriately represents the youth Hanamatsu, who takes vengeance on his father’s killer and is in turn killed by the son of his victim. Moreover, in the popular imagination of the Tokugawa period, Monju’s association with “the way/ art of loving youth” was widespread, although it is not clear whether this connection already existed when The Tale of Genmu was composed.26 In any case, Monju’s connection with male-male love is due



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

53

to his full name in Japanese, Monjushiri, of which the last two syllables are homophonous with the Japanese word for “buttocks.” His name thus became a code for male-male sexuality within the haikai (comic verse) tradition.27 One of the historical conditions that pushed the people of medieval Japan to turn to Buddhist practices was the belief that Japan had entered the Age of the Final Dharma (Mappō) in 1052, after which reaching enlightenment would become exceedingly difficult.28 Due to this widespread pessimism and strong desire to overcome the challenge, the medieval period spawned many vibrant religious movements and new schools of Buddhism (e.g., Pure Land, True Pure Land, Ji, and Nichiren). In an attempt to increase their chances of posthumous salvation, the masses, too, were mobilized to practice Buddhist rituals: they chanted Amida Buddha’s name, copied sutras (especially Kannon-gyō), and visited famous Kannon sites, such as Hasedera, Kiyomizu-dera, and Ishiyama-dera.29 T he S tory of K annon ’ s M anifestation as a Y outh : The Origin Story of a Kannon Statue In this section, we are going to take a close look at the first representative chigo monogatari: The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth.30 This tale was composed during the late Kamakura period and is the second-oldest extant chigo monogatari after The Letter from Lord Kōzuke. Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth deviates from the other romantic chigo tales by casting the chigo’s lover as an old monk, although he is not the boy’s original master (i.e., the high priest who initiated the boy into acolyteship). Compared to the other two archetypal chigo monogatari, Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is much shorter and has a simpler organization. At its core, this is an origin story (engi) that explains the historical circumstances in which a boy-figured Kannon statue came to be enshrined at Bodai-in in Nara.31 A summary is provided below. QR There once was a revered priest in Nara. He lamented that he had no one to call a disciple, even though he was over sixty years of age. A youth, who would care for him, carry the torch of the Way of Buddha, and pray  for his rebirth in the Pure Land, was what the priest wished for.

54

Chapter One

Therefore, he made a monthly pilgrimage to Hasedera for three years, in hopes that the bodhisattva Kannon would grant him a disciple. Nevertheless, he decided to descend the mountain, having realized that his wish had not come true even after he made three extra monthly pilgrimages. While passing through the foothills of Mount Obuse with a heavy heart, he saw an attractive chigo of thirteen or fourteen playing the Chinese flute in the middle of nowhere. Intrigued, the monk asked the youth who he was and what he was doing there. It turned out that the chigo had become upset with his master priest and run away from his home temple near Tōdaiji. When the beautiful boy unexpectedly asked the monk to keep him as an attendant (chūdōji), the priest became overjoyed and took him to his cloister. The boy was unimaginably caring and talented in music and poetry, so the monk felt extremely thankful to Hasedera Kannon. The two spent many months sharing their bliss, until the boy suddenly fell ill toward the end of their third spring together. On his deathbed, the youth asked the master not to bury or cremate his body but instead to keep it in a coffin for fifty-five days and then open it. When the youth passed away, the grief-stricken monk placed his body in a casket as instructed and stored it in the Buddha hall of his home temple. Hearing the devastating news, people from near and far visited the temple and copied the Lotus Sutra to ensure the repose of the youth. Upon completing the memorial service, the priest was overcome with emotion and opened the lid of the casket. As the magnificent fragrance of sandalwood filled up the room, the golden Eleven-Faced Kannon emerged. The bodhisattva informed the monk that the youth had been one of his own avatars. He then promised to return in seven years to escort the monk to the Pure Land and disappeared into the skies as if he were a flash of lightning.

QR At the end of the story, the narrator notes that the Kannon statue enshrined at Bodai-in was modeled after the image of this particular Kannon, adding that those who make a pilgrimage to see this boyfigured statue and offer him copies of the Lotus Sutra will surely be rewarded. Much like the other chigo monogatari examined in this book, Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is an adaptation of an earlier tale.



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

55

The “source story” is a short vignette, another origin story of the same Kannon statue at Bodai-in, included in A Collection of Miraculous Stories of Hasedera (Hasedera reigenki, ca. 1200).32 Some of the superficial differences between the two texts derive from the fact that the earlier version offers more concrete information: the monk is identified as Reverend Chogon from the Bodai-in cloister at Kōfukuji, and the exact date of his encounter with the boy as the New Year Day of Kankō 5 (1008). In contrast, the priest in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth remains anonymous, while his affiliation with Bodai-in is not disclosed until the very end and there is no mention of any particular date. A more significant distinction is that the master-disciple dyad in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is far more erotic than the pair in the source text; this may be one of the reasons the Stories of Hasedera version has not been considered a chigo monogatari. The eroticization of the master-disciple dyad in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is achieved through the following methods: making the priest’s request specifically about acquiring a disciple; making the boy slightly older; emphasizing the boy’s attractiveness; and inserting iconographical symbols of romantic love into the illustrations of the Kōsetsu Museum version. To elaborate on the first point, what Chogon asks Hasedera Kannon for in Stories of Hasedera is general religious awakening, not a disciple.33 After three years of pilgrimages with no effect, the priest encounters a boy (warawa) of twelve or thirteen, who laments that he has no one to rely on.34 Out of pity, Chogon employs the boy as a servant at his cloister with no awareness of the connection between this event and his pilgrimages.35 In contrast, the anonymous monk of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth specifically prays for an attendant-disciple. So, upon meeting the mysterious youth, who now appears slightly older (thirteen or fourteen), the monk immediately thanks the bodhisattva for making his wish come true. Second, while the narrator of Stories of Hasedera praises only the boy’s piety and loyalty and never mentions his physical attractiveness, the beauty and poise of the youth in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth are highlighted time and again. For instance, the moment the monk lays eyes on the youth, he is struck by the latter’s “complexion pale as the moon and adorned with flower-like magnificence.”36 He is also “more graceful than a willow bending in a spring breeze.”37 Iconographically, too, this youth is portrayed with the signature

56

Chapter One

markers of a chigo, namely, a long ponytail, a powdered face, and a beautiful robe. He also plays the flute, which is a sign of education and class. (No images accompany Stories of Hasedera.) The third method of eroticization also concerns the illustrations of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth. Kimura Saeko points out that the initial encounter of the protagonists is preceded by an image of a pair of inosculated pine trees (aioi no matsu), a symbol of romantic love, standing in the middle of a desolate field. She also notes that there exists another pair of trees outside Bodai-in, one taller than the other, that evokes transgenerational nanshoku.38 Other pictures visualize the intimacy between the monk and his disciple more concretely. In one illustration, the couple and a few guests gather for a soiree and enjoy music and company, while another depicts the monk embracing the dying chigo, whose head is resting on his teacher’s lap.39 In the picture of the memorial service for the dead youth, the monk is found prostrating himself over the casket, weeping.40 In addition to highlighting the romantic dimension of the protagonists’ relationship, the author of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth amplified the dramatic effect of the ending. On the one hand, in the Stories of Hasedera version, the monk Chogon discovers a statue of the Eleven-Faced Kannon in the deceased warawa’s casket. Having witnessed this miracle, Chogon reaffirms his devotion to the bodhisattva of mercy. When the final moment of his life approaches, he entrusts his salvation to the mercy of Kannon, and this leads him to be reborn at Kannon’s home, Mount Potalaka. The final scene of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, on the other hand, is far more spectacular. The golden Kannon himself appears before the monk and promises that the bodhisattva will personally escort him to the Pure Land in seven years so that they will be “together on a lotus petal in the ninth and highest grade of paradise.” Then, in a flash, the bodhisattva flies into the sky.41 Though both stories explain the origin of the same boy-figured Kannon statue at Bodai-in of Kōfukuji, Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth explicitly advertises the location where the sympathetic response occurred, encouraging the readers to pay a visit to this particular statue at the particular subtemple. One of the significant features of engi stories such as Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is that they were products of collaborative efforts on the part of religious institutions and others who had a stake in the promotion of the temples and shrines: government agencies, donors, local people, and



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

57

residents of the estates.42 This information sheds light on the lay people’s perception of the chigo system. The production of an engi narrative would naturally require crafting a positive or awe-inspiring image of the religious establishment so that it appealed to potential pilgrims and donors from near and far. In this vein, the creation of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth by adding more dramatic and erotic elements to an older, more subdued story indicates that not only were the lay community familiar with priest-chigo nanshoku but they also did not regard it as distasteful. A L ong T ale for an A utumn N ight : A Synecdoche for the C higo M onogatari Genre A Long Tale for an Autumn Night (Aki no yo no nagamonogatari, before 1377) is by far the most famous chigo monogatari, and it has attracted a fair amount of attention in Japanese-language scholarship.43 Not only is this work a religious tale par excellence, but it was also known for its nanshoku theme during the Tokugawa period, judging from the fact that a digest version of Autumn Night is included in a seventeenth-century collection of literature on male-male love, Wild Azaleas (Iwatsutsuji) compiled by the celebrated scholarpoet Kitamura Kigin (1624−1705).44 Whereas Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is an engi story of the Chigo Kannon statue at Bodai-in, Autumn Night takes the form of a quasibiography of a prominent Tendai priest, Reverend Senzai (?–1127, also Sensai and Sensei). He is famous for rebuilding Ungoji in Kyoto and for erecting an enormous golden statue of Amida Buddha within its precincts in 1124.45 As a legendary figure, Senzai also appears in an anecdote included in Senjūshō (3:7), in which he is reprimanded by the bodhisattva Monju after refusing to give a robe to an aged female beggar (Monju’s avatar).46 Moreover, he was a renowned poet whose works made it into numerous waka collections, including the most prestigious imperial anthology, New Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern (Shin-kokin wakashū, 1205, nos. 658 and 1977).47 The latter (no. 1977) is incorporated into Autumn Night as the poem that Senzai composes in his hermitage, thinking of his dead lover: The light of the moon / we viewed together / Is it guiding him / Westward, tonight?48 Autumn Night opens with a monologue by an unnamed narrator, an old man versed in Buddhist principles. During a long, sleepless

58

Chapter One

autumn night, he decides to tell a story he has recently heard, the story of the wondrous events that occurred during the reign of Emperor Go-Horikawa, when Master Senzai was still known as the monk Keikai and resided in the Eastern Pagoda of Mount Hiei.49 Below is a summary of this tale.50 QR When Keikai was a young priest with the rank of risshi (master of precepts), his heart was restless, despite his reputation as a great sage. Yearning for a true understanding of the Way of Buddha, he traveled to Ishiyama-dera and gave prayers to the Kannon for seventeen days. On the seventeenth night, a beautiful chigo appeared in his dream, so Keikai interpreted this as a positive omen. Nevertheless, the situation worsened back on Mount Hiei; the stunning image of the youth constantly occupied Keikai’s mind and heart. To express his grievance, he set off to return to Ishiyama-dera. On his way, Keikai was caught in a rain shower and decided to take shelter at his home temple’s long-term enemy, Miidera.51 There, Keikai stole a glimpse of a chigo, who looked identical to the very youth who had been consuming every waking moment of his life. Keikai managed to befriend the chigo’s boy attendant, Keiju, and learned that the beautiful youth’s name was Umewaka; he turned out to be the son of the Hanazono Minister of the Left and an acolyte serving the abbot of Miidera. Keikai eventually won the trust of Keiju and this boy agreed to assist the monk with delivering love letters to Lord Umewaka. After a period of courtship, Keiju set up their first tryst. They consummated their relationship that night and exchanged vows to be lovers. Back at the Eastern Pagoda, the dreamlike night with the chigo further fueled Keikai’s obsession, making him completely lovesick. Learning of this, Umewaka decided to visit Keikai—he clandestinely departed Miidera, accompanied only by Keiju. On their way to Mount Hiei, however, the pair was kidnapped by a band of bird-faced flying goblins (tengu) disguised as mountain ascetics (yamabushi) and was thrown into a cavern. Meanwhile at Miidera, the disappearance of the beloved Umewaka triggered chaos among the clerics. Hearing the rumor that a Hiei monk had recently pledged his love to this chigo, they concluded that Umewaka’s father must have given the two permission to elope. A mob of five hundred angry Miidera monks subsequently attacked the minister’s



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

59

residence, burning every building to the ground. In response, Keikai led a force of over a hundred thousand fighting monks from all 3,700 branch temples in a counterattack, reducing all of the buildings to ashes and leaving intact only the shrine of Shinra Daimyōjin, the patron deity of Miidera.52 Fortunately, Umewaka and Keiju escaped from captivity thanks to the help of a dragon god who had also been incarcerated in the cave. Despite a moment of joy and relief, the chigo realized that the two places he called home, his father’s mansion and Miidera, had been completely obliterated because of his own selfish actions. Crushed by agonizing guilt and despair, Umewaka jumped into the Seta River when Keiju left his side to deliver his letter to Keikai. Upon discovering the lifeless body of Umewaka, Keikai and Keiju were overcome with immense grief and pain, and both contemplated following him in death. The next day, they took the body to a nearby crematory and helplessly watched the beautiful boy’s flesh turning into a wisp of smoke. After three days of mourning, Keikai set out on a pilgrimage, carrying his lover’s ashes in a small container strapped around his neck. Later he built a hermitage in a place called Iwakura on Mount Nishi, where he prayed for Umewaka’s salvation. Keiju, too, became a priest and retreated into seclusion on Mount Kōya. In the aftermath of the violent conflict, thirty surviving Miidera priests kept vigil in the shrine of Shinra Daimyōjin. Deep in the night, when dream became indistinguishable from reality, a lavish procession escorting Hie Sannō, the guardian deity of Mount Hiei, appeared in the eastern sky and descended to Miidera. The Shinra Daimyōjin then threw a splendid banquet and entertained his guests with a feast and music all night long. The next morning, after the strange visitors disappeared into the sky, one priest inquired of the Shinra Daimyōjin why he was so amicable toward the patron god of their enemy. The great deity explained that the destruction of the temple was not in vain, because it had opened up a myriad of opportunities for accumulating religious merit, such as rebuilding the halls and recopying sutras. Shinra Daimyōjin went on to say that he and Hie Sannō were ecstatic to see Keikai’s profound religious awakening. Basking in awe, these thirty Miidera priests decided to visit the hermitage of Keikai, who had now taken a new name, Senzai. He later built Ungoji near the capital so that he could directly serve the masses. Numerous worshippers from all walks of life were seen gathered around this holy man, crying tears of utmost bliss.

QR

60

Chapter One

As is Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, Autumn Night is also connected to older, simpler texts. One is a chronicle of the intertemple skirmishes between Mount Hiei and Miidera, The Rise of Conflicts between Enryakuji and Miidera (Sanmon Mii kakushitsu no okori, ca. early thirteenth century). The entry for the second day of the fifth month in the year of Hoan 2 (1121) is translated below (the Arabic numerals are not in the original but have been added for reference): According to a rumor, (1) the risshi named Keikai of Mount Hiei fell deeply in love with a youth from Miidera. (2) Keikai secretly wandered around the boy’s temple a few times. (3) One time, the youth left his temple and no one knew his whereabouts. (4) According to a rumor, the Miidera folks made a huge commotion about this, ascended the mountain, and burned down two or three cloisters. The infuriated Hiei folks chased their enemies down and engaged them in battle, which resulted in the burning of the Miidera complex. This was the third day of the fifth month of Hoan 2. (5) Later, the youth managed to escape the goblin’s dwelling. Nevertheless, upon learning that the entire complex of ­Miidera and the mansion of his father, the major counselor [dainagon], had been reduced to ashes, the chigo jumped into the Seta River. (6) Keikai achieved a profound awakening and built Ungoji to the east of the capital. He called himself Reverend Senzai, they say. A Long Tale for an Autumn Night must be a story based on this event.53

Although this account mentions Autumn Night, which suggests that Autumn Night was written first, scholars generally agree that this comment was added by a later copier.54 Additional source texts of Autumn Night exist, as well. In Autumn Night, the language used to describe the love affair of Keikai and Umewaka alludes to sections of the well-known martial epic A Chronicle of Great Peace (Taiheiki, late fourteenth century), and several entire passages are borrowed from this text. An anecdote about the dragon god’s being kidnapped by tengu and escaping the cavern-dungeon is found in Times Now Past (20:11). As for the Miidera monks’ dreamlike encounter with Shinra Daimyōjin, it seems to have been inspired by an episode included in Discussions on Ancient Matters (Kojidan, ca. 1212).55 In this story (5:37), after the



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

61

massive burning of the Miidera complex, one of the surviving monks dreams of a man dressed in a cap and hunting attire. The monk asks the man who he is, to which he answers that he is a messenger of the Shinra Daimyōjin, the guardian god of Miidera. The monk scoffs and spits out, “So much for that nonsense! All the buildings of our temple turned into ashes and went up in smoke; how good of a guardian is he?” After a while, an old man with bright white hair and long eyebrows stretching almost down to his mouth appears and says, “How ignorant you are! Tutelary deities like myself are not there to protect the Buddha halls and cloisters. We exist to ensure the enlightenment of the clergy. A volatile occasion like this compels clerics to discover the true meanings of the Way. Such people would work most diligently toward attaining enlightenment; I am here to guard them.”56 Although these source texts of Autumn Night present themselves as historical records, the author of this chigo monogatari employs intentional anachronism to signal to the readers that this is a work of fiction. That is, the author of Autumn Night sets it in the time of Emperor Go-Horikawa (r. 1221–1232), Emperor Ichijō (r. 986–1011), or Emperor Nijō (r. 1158–1165), depending on the variant, instead of the imperial reign of Emperor Horikawa (r. 1086–1107) or Emperor Toba (r. 1107–1123), which would have overlapped with Senzai’s lifetime.57 Perhaps this deliberate anachronism indicates the author’s ambition to create a piece of literature that is fairly realistic yet simultaneously far more fantastic and poignant than a mere record of historical events could be. Just as the historical record of Chogon was adapted into the more elaborate and dramatic tale of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth with gorgeous illustrations, Autumn Night underwent a similar transformation on a much greater scale. That is, to borrow Nishizawa Masaji’s words, Autumn Night vividly exemplifies the “leap from a setsuwa [an explicatory anecdote] to a fullfledged monogatari.”58 To elaborate on Nishizawa’s point, the creation of Autumn Night involved the abstraction of “historical documents” into a symbolic narrative of universal human concerns, such as the conflicting desires for a lover and for enlightenment. This tale speaks to the fact that happiness and sorrow are two sides of the same coin; glee cannot be conceptualized without the existence of sadness, and vice versa, and these two emotions amplify each other’s effects. Tragedy helps humans find bliss in ordinary events, while profound affection for

62

Chapter One

others makes the loss thereof all the more painful. The most significant step in developing an anecdote into a chigo monogatari, therefore, is foregrounding the plight of the lover, followed by the solemn revelation that renunciation of all earthy attachment is the only path to enlightenment. To put it another way, the “monogatari-ization” process of Autumn Night involved highlighting the romantic aspect of the source story, which was quantitatively demonstrated by Nishizawa Masaji’s 1980 study. Nishizawa compared the source text (the Hoan 2 entry in the Rise of Conflicts) and Autumn Night to contrast the relative weight of each of the six stages of the story (1 through 6 in the translation above) in both texts (see table 1.2). In the Rise of Conflicts, the love affair between Keikai and the chigo consists of two sentences (twentytwo Chinese characters altogether, or 15 percent of the entire entry), while the same event accounts for 38 percent of Autumn Night. Furthermore, the second-longest section in Autumn Night (25 percent) is about Umewaka’s flight and death, increased from 22 percent in the source story, while the battle scenes are reduced from 34 percent to 14 percent through the monogatari-ization.59 Table 1.2.  Ratio of the six major events in Rise of Conflicts and Autumn Night. Events

Descriptions

Number of characters in the Rise of Conflicts

Number of lines in Autumn Night

1&2

Keikai and Umewaka’s love affair

22 (15%)

129 (38%)

3

The kidnapping of Umewaka

10 (7%)

27 (8%)

4

The intertemple battles

48 (34%)

48 (14%)

5

Umewaka’s flight and death

31 (22%)

83 (25%)

6

The awakening of Keikai and the Miidera monks

31 (22%)

52 (15%)

Source: adapted from Nishizawa 1980.



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

63

The sheer vulnerability of the reputable Buddhist monk, exhibited through his maddening passion for the youth and his devastation over Umewaka’s suicide, moves the readers profoundly. Nevertheless, after vicariously experiencing the lover’s plight, the readers discover that everything was a part of Ishiyama Kannon’s plan, a skillful means of guiding Keikai into the sublime truth of Buddhism. Such a revelation would have demonstrated the efficacy of Kannon worship and given hope to those living in a deeply somber time: the Final Stage of the Buddhist Dharma. As a piece of Buddhist literature, Autumn Night’s significance lies in its innovative transcendence of the skillful means model. Whereas many scholars focus solely on the Buddhist principle of impermanence (mujō) that Keikai comes to embrace, Konno Tōru makes an illuminating observation about another Buddhist ideal: “aspiration for enlightenment, salvation of all beings” (jōgu bodai, geke shujō 上求菩提 下化衆生). This pair of four-character phrases, appearing in the first line of Autumn Night, represents the ontology of the bodhisattva. That is, a bodhisattva is one who looks heavenward in hope of enlightenment (jōgu bodai) as well as earthward, driven by the selfless desire to save the masses (geke shujō). By opening with this moving imagery, the author signals to the readers that this story tells of a bodhisattva in the true sense, one who embodies genuine hope and unlimited compassion. Konno aptly points out that most hōben-tan (skillful means stories) center on the surviving lover’s plight and his subsequent realization of mujō, while they neglect the suffering of the dead lover (bodhisattva in disguise) through which the holy being strives toward self-enlightenment.60 For instance, Konno argues, in the aforementioned story of Mabukuda-maro (later Reverend Chikō), the young lady remains out of the boy’s reach from the beginning to the end of her life. Even though she helps him enter the priesthood and accumulate religious merit, it is only Mabukuda-maro who swallows the bitter pill in this process. The young lady, in Konno’s words, “merely pitied the boy from a lofty place and never submerged herself in the world of humanly carnal desire.”61 The oldest extant chigo monogatari, The Letter from Lord Kōzuke, similarly depicts a somewhat aloof chigo-deity who simply disappears before the monk is given a chance to become his lover. Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is closer to Autumn Night in that the monk and his disciple seem to become lovers, but the chigo’s suffering is limited to dying of an

64

Chapter One

illness. In short, the legend of Reverend Chikō, The Letter from Lord Kōzuke, and Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth together depict relatively moderate sacrifices on the part of the bodhisattvas. In contrast, Ishiyama Kannon, who manifests himself as the chigo Umewaka, commits a grave transgression as a chigo attached to Miidera by betraying his master and doing so with a monk from Miidera’s rival temple, Enryakuji. Umewaka’s love affair sets off a series of disastrous events: being kidnapped by a band of tengu and incarcerated in the cave-dungeon, which sparks the violent confrontation between Miidera and Enryakuji, causing the loss of countless lives and the burning of his father’s mansion and the Miidera complex. Finally, he feels compelled to seek penance by drowning himself. It is telling that at the end of Autumn Night, the two deities from enemy temples celebrate the seemingly horrific outcome of the forbidden love. This exemplifies the Buddhist principle of nonduality, the idea that the enlightened mind “sees reality without ‘two-ness.’ ”62 Such tragic events as the destruction of the buildings, statues, and sutras and the loss of human lives are opportunities to increase the surviving priests’ religious merit. The two guardian deities toast the birth of a new bodhisattva in the flesh, Master Senzai—the holy man who devotes his life to the salvation of all sentient beings by spreading the wisdom of the Buddha.63 T he T ale

of

G enmu : A Story of Platonic Love and Nonduality

Our last archetypal acolyte tale is The Tale of Genmu, a story centered on the strange fate of a monk named Genmu and a chigo from a faraway province, Hanamatsu. Each chigo monogatari has its own distinct ambiance, and The Tale of Genmu is one of the darker and more solemn examples, incorporating such motifs as vengeance and an encounter with a ghost. Unlike Umewaka’s death—a guilt-driven suicide, with which readers would have readily sympathized—Hanamatsu’s death is one of the links in a chain of murders. Hanamatsu, the son of a samurai, murders a man, Onodera, who killed his father in a duel when he was a young boy, and Hanamatsu is then slain by the son of Onodera. In the end, the monk Genmu takes the young Onodera (i.e., the killer of his beloved), now a recluse, as his life partner. A summary of this tale is given below.64



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

65

QR In Ōhara, near the capital, lived a young Tendai monk named Genmu, who longed to attain the true understanding of the Way.65 Every day he prayed to Hie Sannō and asked to be released from the eternal cycle of birth and death. Then, one night, Sannō appeared in Genmu’s dream and instructed him to visit Konpon chūdō (the main hall of Enryakuji) and give prayers to the Yakushi Buddha. After Genmu completed his pilgrimage to Konpon chūdō and was heading home, it started snowing heavily. So he decided to take shelter at Shiō-in Hall, where he fell in love at first sight with a beautiful chigo of sixteen or seventeen years. The youth was called Hanamatsu and had come from the Chikurinbō cloister on Mount Nikkō, along with his colleagues, the priests Sotsu and Jijū. The four entertained themselves with linking verses (renga). The following morning, Genmu went over to the inn, where Hanamatsu and the priests had been lodging, only to learn that they had already departed. Yet the youth had left a letter with the innkeeper in which he apologized for leaving so hastily and asked Genmu to visit Chikurinbō if he happened to be in the vicinity of Shimotsuke Province. Hanamatsu had also attached a poem to his letter: Awake all night / on my cold and lonely travel pillow / I cannot see you in dreams I do not dream.66 Heartbroken, the monk returned to Ōhara. Genmu anxiously awaited the end of the long winter. At the first sign of spring, he traveled by day and by night in anticipation of seeing the beautiful boy again. When he finally arrived at Mount Nikkō, however, he was at a loss, not knowing which one of the thousands of cloisters was Chikurinbō. Then a monk spotted the forlorn itinerant and approached him. Delighted, Genmu asked him for directions to Chikurinbō, but the monk suggested that it was too late for any cloister to accept visitors and that he should try again in the morning. So Genmu decide to spend the night in an abandoned hall nearby. Deep in the night, Genmu heard the faint sound of a flute coming from outside. As he listened to the enchanting music in a dreamy state, the sound became louder and louder. The flute player eventually walked into the desolate hall—it was Hanamatsu dressed in the attire of a warrior. He then escorted Genmu to Chikurinbō. There, Genmu tearfully confessed his love for the youth and suggested they play renga again to celebrate their reunion. The initial verse Hanamatsu composed,

66

Chapter One

however, was ominous: With this evening squall / we will be parted from the blossom / not to be seen again in the morning.67 After some time, Hanamatsu drew the flute from his belt, wrapped it in the paper on which he had written down their linked verses, and handed it to Genmu. The boy then bade the monk farewell and disappeared into the night. The following morning, Hanamatsu’s master priest found Genmu in his home cloister. Alarmed by the presence of this stranger, the abbot called out for his subordinates. Genmu explained who he was and why he had spent the night there. This is when the abbot told Genmu that Hanamatsu had died six days earlier, exacting revenge on his father’s killer, Onodera. After the boy’s father lost his life in a duel when Hanamatsu was seven, he vowed to someday avenge his father and he finally carried out this mission, although he was chased down by Onodera’s son and fell victim to his sword, said the abbot. Genmu was struck by the revelation that his eyes, clouded by the deep attachment, had made him envision the ghost of the youth. At last, the monk came to see the folly of all human pursuits and retreated to Mount Kōya to devote himself to the invocation of Amida’s name (nenbutsu). On the first anniversary of Hanamatsu’s death, Genmu chanced upon a monk who turned out to be the very killer of his beloved. The young Onodera had renounced the world to dedicate his life to praying for the repose of his father and Hanamatsu. For the next four decades, the two recluses chanted the holy name of Amida day and night in their hermitage. One day, Genmu, at age seventy-seven, and Onodera, aged sixty, were together reborn into the Amida Buddha’s Pure Land.

QR In closing, the narrator remarks that Hanamatsu was an avatar of Monju Bosatsu, adding that those who have heard this story should read one scroll of a Buddhist sutra and recite the holy name of Amida. If people follow this guidance, the narrator assures, at the end of their life, Amida will absolutely escort them to the Pure Land. Much like the other archetypal chigo tales, The Tale of Genmu has several source texts. One is an episode included in an obscure collection of records called Documents of the Satake Family (Satake-shi monjo, ca. late Muromachi period). It is a brief account of a historical monk named Genmu with the basic outline of The Tale of Genmu, although there is no decisive evidence to show which text was composed first.68 The Tale of Genmu is also known to allude to two short



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

67

episodes (12:15 and 12:21) from the Sangoku denki (Records of the Three Countries, fifteenth century) and a well-known otogi zōshi called The Three Priests (Sannin hōshi).69 I will return to the significance of The Three Priests later. Among the many interesting aspects of The Tale of Genmu that separate this tale from the other archetypes, the most remarkable is that the two protagonists, Genmu and Hanamatsu, do not even come close to becoming lovers. Their “first night together” is spent playing the game of renga along with two of Hanamatsu’s colleagues. By the time Genmu travels all the way to Shimotsuke to see the youth, he has already been deceased. Nonetheless, the erotic tension between the two is evident. In the letter to Genmu, Hanamatsu writes, “[T]he desire to stay here one more day burns deep in my heart,” which makes one wonder if the two priests decide to leave early in the morning to prevent Hanamatsu from seeing Genmu again.70 Moreover, the boy attaches a romantic poem to this letter: Awake all night / on my cold and lonely travel pillow / I cannot see you in dreams I do not dream. For these reasons, it is not far-fetched to include The Tale of Genmu as an archetypal chigo monogatari, although Genmu’s feelings are not exactly reciprocated by Hanamatsu. During the winter months, Genmu is restless, yearning for the youth, whereas the chigo is preoccupied by his thirst for vengeance. Therefore, when the fluteplaying ghost sees the face of Genmu in the abandoned hall, he remarks, “Somehow, traveling monk, I feel as though I’ve met you before [. . .] but I don’t quite remember.”71 The fact that Genmu and Hanamatsu fail to become lovers does not mean that this tale is uninterested in, let alone critical of, nanshoku. On the first anniversary of Hanamatsu’s death, Genmu notices the presence of the young man Onodera at Kōbō Daishi’s shrine on Mount Kōya: “This young monk was only about twenty years old and wore a tattered black hempen robe. He seemed totally intent on his salvation in the next world, as he too recited the nenbutsu. ‘How strange!’ thought Genmu. ‘As young as he is, he seems very anxious about his fate in the next world. How wonderful!’ ”72 Following their introduction to each other, the two men marvel at their strange fate, entangled in the cycle of deep attachment. In The Three Priests, the otogi zōshi to which The Tale of Genmu is believed to be alluding, a man whose beloved wife has been brutally murdered renounces the world. On his pilgrimage, he chances upon his wife’s killer, who has also taken the holy vow. The former forgives the latter and, along

68

Chapter One

with a third priest, they become friends with the same goal of attaining ōjō. At the end of this story, the three monks speak in affirmation of the Buddhist principle of nonduality: wickedness and goodness are no different, and vulnerability is not meaningless because it makes humans turn to Buddhism.73 Similarly, Genmu feels no bitterness toward Hanamatsu’s killer. Each monk treats the other as a mentor; they “devoutly recited the nenbutsu and vowed that they would share the same lotus seat when they were reborn together at the very highest level of the [Pure Land].”74 The two recluses’ sincere commitment to each other is praised by the narrator: “What a blessed fate they shared!”75 As the two tutelary gods celebrate the destruction of the Enryakuji and Miidera complexes in Autumn Night, The Tale of Genmu also illustrates the transcending power of nonduality. Two kinds of sin, Genmu’s obsession with Hanamatsu and the young Onodera’s vendetta against Hanamatsu, do not elicit karmic retribution. Instead, Genmu, after losing his beloved to the cycle of violence, acquires a fellow practitioner of nenbutsu who shares Hanamatsu’s youthful beauty, samurai lineage, and the experiences of losing a father to violence and avenging the death of his father. Their attachments are transformed into a revelation of higher truths and lifelong opportunities for redemption. N anshoku Relationships in the Archetypal C higo M onogatari Now that we have grasped the basic structures of the three archetypes, let us compare the nanshoku relationships depicted in these texts. First, the chigo in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth stands out in the acolyte tale genre because the story does not inform the readers of his name, home temple, or lineage. The only information provided is the disturbing backstory that the youth has run away from his home temple without a place to go. Further, he magically appears before the aged monk, playing the flute in the middle of an empty field, which betrays the standard protocol for a lovers’ encounter in romantic tales.76 The typical process of courtship in Heian-style monogatari and acolyte tales begins with the man catching a glimpse of an unsuspecting woman or a youth, followed by a series of poetry exchanges, after which the love interest either agrees or declines to meet the suitor.77



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

69

Obviously, the most unusual aspect of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth is that the story centers on a master-chigo relationship (albeit an unofficial one), something we do not see in any other chigo monogatari. It is significant that none of the extant chigo monogatari that came after Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth adopted its framework—why was this the case? To tackle this question, we need to return to the premise of the chigo kanjō initiation ritual, which explains the official reasoning behind the chigo system. The chigo kanjō rite posits that the youth is reborn as an avatar of Kannon in order to absorb the transgressions of imperfect mortals and guide them toward eventual enlightenment. The sobering truth, however, is that the acolytes were not tasked with helping just any unenlightened beings by having sex with them. It is abundantly clear that the official beneficiaries of their erotic labor were their master priests, who offered the chigo and their families valuable cultural capital in return. This glaring fact, I would argue, created a dilemma for authors wishing to compose a fictional tale that realistically depicted the chigo system. If the master priest was already high-ranking enough to be served by a chigo and he had earned the high station as a result of his religious merit, he should have been the last to benefit from the mercy of the living bodhisattva. This inherent flaw in the chigo system must be one of the reasons acolyte tales do not focus on the sexuality of the master-chigo dyad. Such a relationship is especially at odds with the hōben-tan framework. What kind of shortcoming should a high-ranking cleric display to inspire a bodhisattva to offer help? Also, if the high priest is struck by the emptiness of carnal desire upon the loss of his chigo, the only reasonable conclusion of the story is for him (and all the other master priests) to forsake the privilege of being served by chigo. Such a conclusion, of course, would not be congruent with the institution of the chigo system. In light of this structural impasse, Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth can be read as an attempt to create a poignant sympathetic response tale (albeit based on an older origin story) without undermining the chigo system. Consequently, the author chose to tell the story of an anonymous priest whose sincere worship of Hasedera Kannon was rewarded with an unofficial acolyte and the promise of a rebirth into the Pure Land. Furthermore, to provide a reasonable context in which the unofficial chigo could be granted, the monk had to be an elderly man who needed someone to care for him and pray for his

70

Chapter One

posthumous salvation. (In other words, it would make little sense for a younger monk to spend three years and three months praying for a disciple.78) Nevertheless, there was a drawback to making the beneficiary of Hasedera Kannon’s sympathetic response a man in his sixties: doing so limited his opportunity to “pay it forward,” compared to Genmu and Keikai (Senzai). Genmu spends forty years on the nenbutsu practice, whereas Senzai’s renewed faith pays off on a much larger scale; he rebuilds Ungoji and reaches out to the lay community, spreading the wisdom of the Buddha. Another way to look at Genmu’s and Senzai’s fervent religious devotion is to consider that it is partly motivated by their desire to accumulate Buddhist merit to ensure the salvation of their beloved, because neither of them learns that the chigo was an avatar of a bodhisattva. Conversely, not only does the aged monk in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth learn that the chigo was an avatar of Hasedera Kannon a few weeks after the boy’s death, but the priest also receives an assurance that he will attain ōjō in seven years. What might one do or not do when his afterlife is guaranteed by none other than the bodhisattva Kannon himself? Instead of continuing with the unofficial master-chigo model, later stories devised a new framework: designating a character other than the chigo’s master to be his lover/admirer, represented by Keikai, Genmu, and many others. This way, the question concerning the master priest’s sagaciousness remains outside the reader’s sight and mind. The Politics of Aging and C higo N anshoku Another reason an author might avoid featuring the “unofficial master-chigo” model is the age structure of this relationship. As noted above, for the worshipper of Hasedera Kannon to pray for a disciple, he had to be an aged priest. Though such a premise poses no challenge for an ordinary, nonerotic Buddhist narrative, it is a different matter for a romantic tale, as the lover’s advanced age can indeed undermine the effectiveness of the story. Creating a romantic chigo monogatari normally involves depicting the homosocial, erotically charged monastic milieu, wherein the male characters are arranged according to their relative sexual attractiveness. In this constellation, the chigo character is automatically set on the pinnacle of the pyramid as the object of collective sexual



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

71

desire. The acolytes are followed by younger and junior-ranking monks, and then by their older and higher-ranking counterparts. This arrangement exhibits a reverse correlation between the seniority and attractiveness of the clergymen. Put another way, unlike wealth, wisdom, and social influence (also known as economic, cultural, and social capital, respectively), which one tends to accumulate over time, desirability (or “erotic capital,” to use Catherine Hakim’s term) tends to decline over time.79 Yet the author of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth paired two individuals with an enormous erotic capital gap as the main characters, at the risk of undercutting the religiosity and aesthetic appeal of this tale. The genius of Autumn Night, The Tale of Genmu, and many other chigo tales is that the authors chose a younger monk in his late twenties or early thirties from a distant temple for the role of the acolyte’s temporary lover. Thus, they dealt with the issues of both religiosity and aesthetic appeal at once. Keikai, Genmu, and other young monk-lovers are always portrayed as handsome and masculine in ways the chigo’s masters are not. For instance, the narrator of The Tale of Genmu depicts the abbot of Chikurinbō as a visibly aged man with frost-tinged eyebrows and a wrinkly forehead.80 The abbot also likens himself to an “old pine tree” (oiki no matsu). This monochromic, gloomy imagery contrasts with the colorful and vibrant image of Hanamatsu (“pine tree in blossom”), whom the abbot calls a “blossom on a young tree” (wakaki no hana).81 Edward R. Drott shows that the aged body was particularly marginalized in premodern Japan. The eighth-century mythohistories A Record of Ancient Matters and A Chronicle of Japan frequently represent earthly deities (kunitsu-kami) as old men and women who are also “physically weak, sexually barren, and unsightly.”82 These earthly deities are, Drott notes, “in contradistinction to the heavenly deities (ama-tsu-kami) who inhabited the Plain of High Heaven and from whom the imperial line purportedly descended.”83 Around the late eleventh century, however, the formally stigmatized corporeality of the elderly became more nuanced and began to function as “an opportune device for those marginalized by traditional spatial and social schemas.”84 This phenomenon can be observed in numerous medieval legends and engi stories that feature bodhisattvas and buddhas in the form of an elder (okina), as does the genre of auspicious noh plays (wakinō or shobanme-mono). In fact, the imagery of Hanamatsu’s master may be alluding to Zeami’s

72

Chapter One

(1363?–1443?) famous wakinō called Old Pine (Oimatsu), whose protagonist is the spirit of the titular plant, a symbol of longevity. This newfound prestige of the aged body in the medieval period, however, did not go so far as to render an elderly man the ideal romantic hero. In monogatari, it is customary to mention the age of the object of desire, which indicates the importance of the age structure in a romantic relationship. The narrator almost always mentions the age of a male character’s love interest, whether it is an adolescent boy or a woman, usually as soon as he or she appears in the tale. In The Tale of Genmu, too, Hanamatsu’s age is noted at his first mention in the text (“There, Genmu noticed a youth of sixteen or seventeen”).85 Yet we never learn whether Hanamatsu’s colleagues, Sotsu and Jijū, are young or old. Similarly, there is no age description of the innkeeper or the priest who guides Genmu to the abandoned hall. In contrast, Genmu’s initial encounter with Onodera is narrated as follows: “There [Genmu] was fervently reciting the nenbutsu, praying for the salvation of each and every being in the universe, when he noticed a young monk. This young monk was only about twenty years old.”86 This description suggests Genmu’s erotic gaze. By consolidating all the erotic desire for the chigo in the younger monks, most acolyte tales obscure the fact that the youths are supposedly in monogamous sexual relationships with their teachers. In the case of The Tale of Genmu, the Chikurinbō abbot’s white eyebrows and wrinkled face and his self-comparison to an old pine invalidate his sexual vitality. Curiously, the abbot shows no concern about Genmu’s obsession toward the youth, even though he travels hundreds of miles on foot to see the abbot’s beloved chigo after meeting him only once. The ghost of Hanamatsu does not seem to worry about slighting his master, either—he escorts Genmu to Chikurinbō, where his master resides, telling Genmu that the abbot will greet him the following morning. The lack of virility in Hanamatsu’s master signifies his role as a nonromantic character; similarly, Umewaka’s teacher in Autumn Night is completely absent. As such, the sexuality of the master-chigo dyad in most acolyte tales is pushed into the obscure background of the narrative, and the readers instead focus on the acolyte’s (normally fleeting) romantic affair with someone other than his teacher.87 The readers of Autumn Night and The Tale of Genmu are given opportunities to appreciate the bittersweet love affairs of Keikai and



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

73

Genmu before the sudden and tragic demise of the youths. The excruciating grief and pain thrust upon Keikai and Genmu, however, turn into a powerful impetus for the men to refocus on their missions as Buddhist priests. In this framework, it is the institution of the Buddhist faith that prevails in the end, with its principles being upheld as the supreme truth. In the meantime, the chigo system is left unchallenged. The interlocking structure of love and religious awakening is the essence of the chigo monogatari genre, although the details vary depending on the story (see figure 4). Ultimately, the production of acolyte tales, as of most other literary texts—and other forms of art, for that matter—was intricately entangled with the creation of power, knowledge, and “reality.” The corpus of the chigo tales functioned as a cog in the power-generating engine of medieval Buddhist establishments, which further benefited the elite society at large.88 Arranged Romance as a Romance Killer To continue the analysis of love and religiosity, the dovetailed foundation of many chigo monogatari, I posit that depicting the main characters’ love affair as romantically as possible was a significant preoccupation of the authors of these pro-Buddhist tales. This is because the more devastated the monk is by the loss of the chigo, the more profound his awakening will be. To that end, it makes sense for chigo monogatari to locate romance outside the master-disciple hierarchy, since the chigo system was fundamentally incompatible with what premodern audiences (like today’s readers) viscerally associated with “romance.” According to Eva Illouz’s theory, the concept of “enchanted love” in medieval Europe literature exhibits the following six attributes: (1) its object is sacred; (2) it cannot be explained; (3) it overwhelms the experiential reality of the lover; (4) there is no distinction between the subject and object of love; (5) the object of love is unique and incommensurable; and (6) the person in love is oblivious to his or her self-interest as a criterion for loving another person.89 The vast cultural differences between Europe and Japan notwithstanding, premodern Japanese literary tradition is consistent with Illouz’s analysis, including her take on the importance of “love at first sight” in a romantic tale. According to her description, “love at first sight” is an event that occurs when one is least expecting it and completely captivates the subject. Such “enchanted love,” Illouz remarks, “affirms the

74

Chapter One

radical uniqueness of the object of love, the impossibility to substitute one object of love for another, the incommensurability of its object, the refusal (or impossibility) to submit feelings to calculation and to rational knowledge.”90 Indeed, romantic monogatari typically privilege a man’s love at first sight as the ideal beginning for a courtship. Keikai and Genmu instantly fall in love with a chigo even though Umewaka belongs to Keikai’s enemy temple and Hanamatsu is living in a distant province. Perhaps these obstacles even fuel the monks’ passion. In contrast, not only does the youth in Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth simply appear before the aged monk but also follows the monk home without any challenge, conflict, or courtship. Their relationship thus appears less romantic than those in the other archetypal chigo tales. Ultimately, the trope of “enchanted love” is diametrically opposed to what the chigo system was built upon: a formally arranged, politically motivated, short-term exchange of favors. One of the prime examples of the “enchanted love” stories of Heian Japan is The Tale of Ochikubo (Ochikubo monogatari, ca. 990). The first half of the tale illustrates the plight of the heroine, Lady Ochikubo, the only child born to the middle counselor (chūnagon) Tadayori and his secondary wife. Upon the death of this wife, Tadayori brings his young daughter to the mansion where he lives with his primary wife. The stepmother, however, is a vicious woman who confines the girl in a dungeon-like space in the subbasement of the residence and makes her work as an unpaid seamstress. The major turning point in Lady Ochikubo’s life arrives when the handsome son of a powerful minister, Michiyori, falls in love with her. He marries the young lady while she is in captivity and later manages to take her to his mother’s villa in Nijō. In the second half of the story, Michiyori orchestrates an elaborate scheme of retaliation against Lady Ochikubo’s evil stepmother. Michiyori, his beloved wife, and their adorable children soon rise to power, and their daughter becomes the primary consort of the emperor.91 The Tale of Ochikubo can be justly dubbed a story of “enchanted love.” The central theme of this tale is the triumph of the couple’s disadvantaged love (i.e., with no interfamilial backing and no intrinsic political or economic advantage for Michiyori). Michiyori even goes against the norms of his time by taking only one wife and remaining completely faithful to her.



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

75

Michiyori, of course, is an anomaly for a hero of a romantic tale. Polyamory and its consequences are the driving force of numerous courtly tales of premodern Japan. In such monogatari, arranged marriages are often depicted as loveless and tragic, reflecting the idea that these arrangements were made for the sole purpose of benefiting the two families; the couples’ feelings and desires were irrelevant. For example, many of the primary wives in The Tale of Genji, including the hero’s two official wives, are neglected by their husbands (e.g., Aoi and the Third Princess [Genji], Lady Kokiden [Emperor Kiritsubo], the first wife of Captain Higekuro, the primary wife of Tō no Chūjō, Ochiba no Miya [Kashiwagi], and the Second Princess [Kaoru]), while the men are romantically involved with their (usually lesser-ranking) lovers. Even though, in reality, primary wives should have been able to find solace in their noble lineage and official status, monogatari texts often foreground such women’s loneliness, jealousy toward their rivals (the “chosen ones”), and self-loathing. This in no way means that Heian courtly tales glamorized the lives of secondary wives, mistresses, and unofficial lovers. In these tales, such women cannot be free of anxiety about their lack of interfamilial backing and social recognition. If they are financially dependent on their male lovers (as in the case of the shirabyōshi dancer Giō), a change of heart on the part of the men can mean serious ramifications. Worse, these politically powerless women sometimes live in fear of retaliation by the primary wives.92 Even Genji’s favorite lady, Murasaki, cannot escape the precarious fate of being an unofficial wife. After a long period of relatively happy marriage, Genji suddenly takes a much younger wife of royal lineage, the Third Princess, to fill the position of primary consort that has remained vacant for decades after the death of Aoi. Utterly devastated and heartbroken, Murasaki weakens and dies prematurely without regaining complete peace of mind. Thus, the world of Heian courtly tales, revolving as it does around socially sanctioned male polyamory, often highlights the female characters’ anxieties, regardless of their rank and status. Although I maintain that the best analogy for the chigo system is arranged marriage, there are key differences between the two institutions, the most crucial of which is that the chigo is in a position to enjoy the perks of both primary wives and unofficial lovers. He possesses a high social status in his home temple, familial backing, and societal recognition, just like the primary wife of a nobleman.

76

Chapter One

However, the youth is also free from the type of insecurities that can haunt a primary wife for not being the “chosen one.” This is because the chigo is by design an erotic being who is at the center of erotic desire in monasteries and in public. In the world of chigo monogatari, too, the youth typically plays the role of the “chosen one” and the object of the enchanted, forbidden love. As a testament to the idolized boy’s enormous erotic capital, a young, handsome monk takes many risks in order to pursue his affection. Contrary to the critics’ assumption that the chigo system was inherently exploitative, it is clear that this interdomainal arrangement was founded upon conditions that empowered the acolytes and made it difficult for the master priests to abuse their power. The youth had the option to return home or pursue a different master if necessary; he possessed more erotic capital than his master; the arrangement was short-term; and procreation was impossible.93 In the meantime, the fictional world of chigo monogatari distracts the readers from the underlying architecture of the chigo system. These tales enchant the audience with a touching account of wholesome love, which inevitably comes to a sudden halt upon the expulsion of the chigo from the narrative or his entrance into adulthood. Thus, the illegitimate love affair of the protagonists threatens neither the master-chigo sexual union nor the temple-family alliance. Far from destabilizing the establishment, the passion and plight of the surviving lover are skillfully coopted into the pro-Buddhist message that protects, strengthens, and ensures the continuation of this society-wide interdependency. Conclusion This chapter has provided an overview of the chigo monogatari genre and its archetypes, qualified by the five traits strongly associated with “chigo monogatari-ness.” Also shown in this chapter is that the three representative acolyte tales, Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, Autumn Night, and The Tale of Genmu, use the framework of the deeply romantic and didactic hōben-tan as their blueprint. Through a comparative analysis of the three tales, the two pillars of chigo monogatari—enchanted love and religious awakening—have become discernible. Autumn Night can be read as the epitome of chigo monogatari because of its powerful structure that joins those two pillars through the depiction of Ishiyama Kannon’s compassion for all sentient beings and aspiration to achieve his own enlightenment.



Chigo Monogatari: Central Themes, Archetypes, and the Politics

77

I have also attempted to solve the major conundrum of the acolyte tale genre, which preexisting scholarship has yet to tackle: why do chigo monogatari almost always focus on the illegitimate romantic relations between a chigo and someone other than his master? As argued above, the answer probably has something to do with the fact that the chigo system was built upon the pretense that it existed for the benefit of all clergymen when in fact it did not. Therefore, these fictional tales needed to keep the readers’ focus away from the sexual relationship between a chigo and his master. Though Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth offered an alternative to the formal master-chigo dyad, a few difficulties remained. An aged clergyman nearing the end of his time, the monk had little time left to accumulate religious merit after the Hasedera Kannon’s divine intervention was revealed. Furthermore, in a romantic tale, it was not ideal for a sexually marginalized elderly person to form an erotic relationship with an adolescent boy. As the three archetypal chigo tales aptly maintain the readers’ attention away from the chigo system, the vulnerable and precarious position of master priests can go unnoticed. Nevertheless, one text fearlessly tackles this issue. In the next chapter, I will examine the boldest way of dealing with the unattractive, lustful high priests’ dilemma. The text, as we will see, is a collection of five short vignettes with simultaneously erotic and absurd storylines and astonishingly sensual images that turn the master priests’ insecurities into carnivalesque humor.94

Chapter 2

A Booklet of Acolytes An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys

T

his chapter will explore chigo’s erotic adventures as they are represented in the images and texts of a fourteenth-century illustrated handscroll (emaki), originally called Daigoji’s Illustrations of Male-Male Love (Daigo nanshoku-e). Commonly known today as A Booklet of Acolytes (Chigo no sōshi), this work consists of five short stories with colorful, striking images of erotic encounters between a chigo and his male partner. In keeping with the chigo monogatari tradition, the youth’s lover is a man other than his teacher and someone who is usually much younger than the master priest. The original version of the Booklet of Acolytes has been lost, and the identities of its author, calligrapher, and artist are unknown.1 Currently, Sanbō-in Cloister at Daigoji Temple in Kyoto possesses a copy with a colophon of “finished copying in Genkō 1 (1321),” although it is not available for public viewing. Another copy belongs to the British Museum, and others are in various private collections.2 In addition to being one of the fourteen extant chigo monogatari, the Booklet of Acolytes can be categorized as one of the three “ko-shunga,” or pre-Tokugawa-period erotica, along with A Book of the Small Brushwood Fences (Koshibagaki zōshi, ca. late twelfth century) and An Illustrated Tale of a Bagged Monk (Fukuro hōshi ekotoba, ca. late fourteenth century). In fact, approaching the Booklet of Acolytes both as a literary text and as a piece of visual art is vital to understanding this multimedia work, in which the main narratives, the illustrations, and the “in-picture dialogues” (gachūshi 画中詞, or 78



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 79

inscriptions of the subjects’ utterances within the illustrations) constantly interact to create complex, nuanced layers of meaning. It is an understatement to say that the Booklet of Acolytes is unlike any other chigo monogatari. Rather than a stand-alone narrative, it is an omnibus-style collection of vignettes. More significantly, this work is unique because of its absence of religious didacticism and embrace of humor. For instance, many chigo characters and their sexual partners vocalize their apprehension about committing adultery yet go on to pursue wildly sensual pleasure within the high priests’ home cloisters, implying that their “nervousness” is simply rhetorical, employed to enhance the comical undertones of this work. Furthermore, the Booklet of Acolytes is the only chigo tale that blatantly celebrates a “vulgar” (zoku) sensibility that is often associated with the explicatory tale (setsuwa) genre, as opposed to the typical “elegant” (ga) aesthetics, diction, and ambiance of most chigo monogatari, waka, and courtly tales. The narrator and the characters of each short episode in the Booklet of Acolytes utter shockingly blunt words such as “mara” (cock), “setsuri” (masturbation), and “shiri” (buttocks), while the acolytes and their lovers indulge in a variety of sexual acts with no prospect of karmic retribution or awakening to the emptiness of somatic desire. The exceedingly erotic nature of the Booklet of Acolytes extends to its illustrations. There are sixteen images in total, of which only two are not sexually explicit, although they are erotically charged. Each of the remaining fourteen images depicts a single motif: a man stimulating the chigo’s anus by fondling, licking, applying heat, lubricating, or penetrating with a penis, a hand, or a dildo. This means that the illustrations do not represent the complete duration of the episodes but rather focus on the characters’ engagement in a variety of sexual acts, as the primary function of erotic arts is to provide the viewers with arousing images. The Three Medieval S hunga Chinese and Japanese shunga

In today’s Japan, shunga 春画 (“spring pictures”) is the most common nomenclature to refer to premodern erotic paintings of East Asian origin, with the spring season being a euphemism for “sex” in classical Chinese.3 It is known that Daoist sexual treatises from China were widely read by Japanese elites as early as the eighth century, and such

80

Chapter Two

texts probably inspired and influenced the production of Japanese erotic art.4 Yet Japanese erotic art also developed its own styles and conventions. A keen attention to the genitalia, shown through intricately detailed and often oversized representations, and a humorous undertone are characteristics of pre-nineteenth-century Japanese erotica that are absent from Chinese shunga.5 Furthermore, according to Hayakawa Monta, the three medieval shunga (ko-shunga) share the following distinctive features: (1) the use of a narrative form, (2) main characters who are aristocrats and religious figures, and (3) a setting in the vicinity of Kyoto.6 I will elaborate on these points in the coming sub-sections. Shunga as narrative

Among the three narrative-based ko-shunga, A Book of the Small Brushwood Fences is remarkable in that the source story is a historical incident, a scandal that allegedly occurred in 986, involving the imperial house.7 One year prior to this event, Princess Nariko (n.d.; also Saishi) had moved to Nonomiya Shrine in Sagano, where she was scheduled to spend the two-year purification period that was required for a newly appointed imperial priestess to serve at Ise Grand Shrine. Although an imperial priestess had to remain a virgin for the duration of her tenure (i.e., an imperial reign), a rumor that Nariko was having a love affair at Nonomiya with a member of the imperial guards, Taira no Munemitsu, spread to the capital. The court opened an investigation into the matter, but the reigning sovereign, Emperor Kazan (r. 984–986), suddenly abdicated the throne before a conclusion was reached. Consequently, Nariko returned to the capital without having occupied the prestigious post of Ise priestess.8 There are two major lineages of variants of this shunga scroll: earlier, shorter versions characterized by the author’s critical attitude toward this scandal, and later, more elaborate versions that tend to romanticize the incident. Both lineages, nonetheless, openly depict forbidden sex between Nariko and Munemitsu in the sacred space of Nonomiya.9 The second ko-shunga piece, An Illustrated Tale of a Bagged Monk, is a humorous story about a lewd monk who tricks three ladies-in-waiting on a pilgrimage into having sex with him. Later, when the monk visits the same women in court, they hide him in a large fabric bag with a hole for his penis to protrude from and turn it over to their mistress, a nun (in some variants, an aristocratic lady). The mistress enjoys him and lends this sex toy to her cousin, also a nun.



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 81

Once the monk’s stamina is completely drained and he is no longer useful, the women kick him out.10 As in the case of the Brushwood Fences, different variants connote different judgments about the sensuality of the women involved in the Bagged Monk story. Kyoto elites and religious figures as subjects of shunga

The second and third attributes of the ko-shunga, the featuring of religious figures and settings in or near the capital, result from the fact that Kyoto was the center of political, religious, and cultural power from the late eighth century to the end of the sixteenth century. As mentioned earlier, the Booklet of Acolytes was originally known by the title of Daigo nanshoku-e, and one of the oldest copies of this scroll currently belongs to one of the subtemples of the Daigoji complex in Kyoto. This indicates that this emaki was most likely commissioned by a prominent figure affiliated with this prestigious Buddhist powerhouse. Although none of the episodes is set in Daigoji, all of the places mentioned in the Booklet of Acolytes are within the vicinity of Kyoto. The connection between the Brushwood Fences and the Kyoto elites is also significant, even beyond the imperial lineage of the main character, Princess Nariko. The original calligrapher is traditionally thought to have been the immensely formidable Cloistered Emperor Go-Shirakawa (1127–1192), and the scroll was purportedly produced as a wedding gift from Go-Shirakawa’s consort, Taira no Shigeko (1142–1176), to her niece, Taira no Noriko (1155–1213, the daughter of Kiyomori, later Kenreimon-in), upon her marriage to Emperor Takakura (1161–1181).11 Even though it is nearly impossible to prove or disprove such claims, it is noteworthy that members of the imperial family were associated with the production and ownership of an erotic scroll based on a historical (and historic) scandal of the court. Finally, the Bagged Monk also involves women attached to the imperial court (the ladies-in-waiting and their mistress) as well as religious figures (the priest and nuns). All in all, it is clear that the creation of the three ko-shunga was tied to an effort to represent social and religious elites in a highly sensual, vulgar, and comical light. E maki Production as the Reproduction of Power Before discussing the contents of the Booklet of Acolytes, it is useful to consider what it may have meant for the people of

82

Chapter Two

fourteenth-century Japan to commission a high-quality emaki. This process demanded a considerable amount of time, planning, and resources on the part of the “producer” (the one who commissioned the project), and talent and dedication among the collaborative team: the author of the narrative, the illustrator, the calligrapher, and the artisan who assembled everything into the form of a beautiful handscroll. By commissioning an original emaki or even high-quality copies and/or by owning a collection of premium works, the producer exhibited his or her economic, cultural, and social capital to others in the same social circle.12 Because the Booklet of Acolytes was a collection of five independent stories with masterful paintings, its production would have involved even more labor than usual on the part of the project team. What is fascinating is that wealthy, cultured figures spent time and resources to produce the three ko-shunga with over-the-top, taboo-breaking tropes: the imperial maiden’s sexual adventure in the sacred shrine; the court ladies’ and nuns’ sexual exploitation of the lecherous monk-in-a-bag; and the Buddhist acolytes’ illicit and daring tête-à-têtes. Unlike the connection between the composition of the archetypal chigo tales and the support these stories gave the institution of Buddhism, the elite individuals’ motivation for creating apparently satirical erotic art is not straightforward.13 Despite the intriguing subject matter and superb artistic value, little research has been conducted on the politicocultural significance of ko-shunga production. When it comes to the Booklet of Acolytes, even less is known. There has yet to be a serious academic engagement with this work; a handful of researchers have simply mentioned its title and given a brief description in various studies of shunga, chigo monogatari, and/or premodern Japanese homosexuality. Unfortunately, on some occasions, the Booklet of Acolytes has been appropriated as a foil for the presumably more “egalitarian” shudō of the Tokugawa period and/or modern (i.e., Westernized) homosexuality. I will return to this issue in my discussion of vignette 2. Despite the relative lack of scholarly interest thus far, the creation of the Booklet of Acolytes is nothing short of fascinating, even more so than that of the other two ko-shunga, due to what appears to be its creator’s hyperbolic self-mockery. That is to say, this erotic scroll was likely commissioned by a powerful figure affiliated with Daigoji and with a deep appreciation for nanshoku, and he probably viewed this emaki as part of a group that included others of



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 83

comparable status. This means that the premise of the work puts the primary audience in the position of a cuckold. Then why would these powerful clergymen have enjoyed reading such stories and viewing the vivid illustrations of chigo’s infidelity? Did these masters of chigo take a masochistic pleasure in imagining their own beloved youths with other men? Or did they simply shift their perspective to that of the men who “get lucky” in the stories? And why did the producer of the Booklet of Acolytes want to tell such self-deprecating stories? Although it is impossible to provide definite answers to these questions, this chapter will suggest partial answers by closely examining the narratives and images of this work in comparison with other chigo monogatari and ko-shunga. A Reading of the B ooklet

of

A colytes

The basic organization of the five vignettes in the Booklet of Acolytes can be described as an “A-B-B-B-C” structure.14 This means that vignette 1 (“Narrative Type A”) and vignette 5 (“Narrative Type C”) are distinct from each other and also from vignettes 2, 3, and 4 (“Narrative Type B”), the three middle stories with almost identical plots. Moreover, the number of images included in each vignette is arranged to form a pattern. In all the variants I have examined, plate 3 has clearly been mispositioned; it has been erroneously inserted into the beginning of vignette 5, although it is the first image of vignette 4. Once this correction is made, the numbers of the images for the five stories exhibit the “5–1–2–3–5” pattern. Again, the opening and the closing episodes contrast with the middle three. Due to their structural similarities, I will first consider the three middle episodes together, followed by an independent discussion of vignette 1, and another of vignette 5. Mercy Mercy Me 1: Vignette 2

Deducing from the recurrent pattern of this emaki, the opening paragraph of vignette 2 seems to be missing. Without introducing the characters (the sagacious high priest, his beautiful chigo, and the chigo’s suitor), the story begins abruptly with a love letter sent by a monk to his abbot’s favorite chigo: “At first, I tried to suppress my feelings like the famous poem, but now that my feelings for you have grown so deep, I am crying a river and my sleeves cannot stop it from overflowing, just as those famous poems describe.”15 Both of the poems to

84

Chapter Two

which this letter alludes are from the seventh imperial waka anthology, A Waka Collection of One Thousand Years (Senzai wakashū, 1187). One is by Jakuzen (n.d.): Michinoku no / shinobu mojizuri/ shinobitsutsu / iro niwa ideji / midare mo zo suru (As I suppress my feelings / like the Michinoku prints / my face may appear / calm to you / but my heart is in turmoil).16 The other was composed by Minamoto no Arifusa (n.d.): Morasabaya / shinobihatsu beki / namida-gawa / sode no shigarami / kaku to bakari mo (What if I reveal / to my loved one / that I have been crying a river? My sleeves cannot / shield any more tears).17 Reading this love letter, the youth responds, “I am not in a position to conduct myself as I please. There is nothing I can do about my situation. Please stop thinking about me.” Despite multiple rejections from the chigo, the monk refuses to give up. At last the boy agrees to a tryst and instructs the monk to hide in the tall reed grasses in the courtyard of their cloister. That night, with his junior acolyte as a watchman, the chigo walks into the reed bush and lifts up his robe, and the two have intercourse. They fall in love and clandestinely meet night after night without discovery. In closing, the narrator marvels at the chigo’s rare compassion, as their affair continues even after the youth takes the tonsure. As we will see in our examinations of vignettes 3 and 4, these middle stories generally consist of (1) courtship by a monk; (2) the chigo’s initial rejection; (3) the chigo’s eventual acceptance of the courtship; and (4) the couple’s carefree engagement in their illicit affair. The first three stages are clearly parodying the clichéd pattern of the romantic courtly tale. Then, in the last stage, the chigo exhibits extreme enthusiasm for the affair, evoking humor through the complete change in the boy’s attitude. Of course, repeating the same scenario three times in a row amplifies the comedic effects of the vignettes. That said, scholars who have written about the Booklet of Acolytes have not yet acknowledged the comical and subversive nature of this emaki. As an example, let us consider Saeki Junko’s essay on what she calls the “boy power” (shōnen-ryoku) phenomenon of the Tokugawa period. According to Saeki, boys (shōnen) “played significant roles [in culture of the new capital, Edo] as star kabuki actors and idols who sustained the bond between men.”18 Although most of Saeki’s essay pertains to shudō of the Tokugawa era, in the section titled “The Differences from Medieval Nanshoku,” she presents the Booklet of Acolytes as the antithesis of the “boy power” phenomenon. To make this argument, she construes the acolyte-lover pairs within this emaki as a



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 85

series of binaries, such as long hair/no hair, younger partner/older partner, pale skin/dark skin, feminine/masculine, and passive/active.19 In this vein, Saeki comments on the illustration of the courtyard scene (plate 1): “In the image wherein the monk is violating [okashite iru] the chigo from behind, the latter is at the monk’s mercy solely out of obligation [gimuteki ni sōryo no nasu ga mama] and he does not seem to be subjectively experiencing ecstasy [shutaiteki ni kōkotsu-kan ni hitatte iru].”20 This remark is followed by another: “In contrast, adolescent boys depicted in the Edo shunga have smiles on their faces and participate actively in sex with older men.”21 To judge by the above quote and the other points made throughout her essay, Saeki seems to be mistaking the acolytes’ secret lovers in this emaki for their masters. In any case, contrary to many of her assertions, the sexual exploitation of the acolytes, either by a secret lover or a master priest, is the last thing this erotica represents. Further, much like the archetypal chigo monogatari I examined in chapter 1, the world of the Booklet of Acolytes exhibits highly complex negotiations of power among the characters (chigo, master priests, and chigo’s lovers), as well as between the producer and the viewers of this emaki. In the case of vignette 2, the text plainly explains that it is the chigo who instructs the monk to wait in the courtyard. He then walks up to the monk and lifts up his own robe to have intercourse. Coercion, pressure, and obligation are not found in this story, and the lover-monk has no power over the chigo, whether political, social, or physical. Moreover, to ensure the success of this tryst, the boy enlists his junior colleague as a watchman in case the abbot summons him. This means that the abbot is being fooled by not just one but two of his acolytes, hinting at the precarious power dynamics among the characters. Indeed, after their first night, the chigo and the monk repeatedly see each other unbeknownst to their mutual superior (the abbot), and their affair continues even after the chigo takes the tonsure—an act the narrator calls evidence of “singularly profound love.” In the Booklet of Acolytes, such seriocomical juxtapositions of ga (elegance) and zoku (vulgarity) appear throughout the illustrations, narrations, and gachūshi. For instance, the narrator describes the couple’s rendezvous in the moonlit courtyard in the following way: “Standing in the dewy thicket, the chigo’s buttocks were drenched with all the dewdrops dripping from the monk’s cock,” mixing poetic and derogatory diction and images in a single sentence. The final words of this story are uttered by the junior chigo inscribed

86

Chapter Two

within plate 1: “The poignant autumn winds seem to know [ori-shirigao] now is their season.” This remark also juxtaposes ga and zoku, as it puns on the word shiri (buttocks). The most outlandishly humorous prop in this story is what appears to be a “reed suit,” which the monk is wearing on his naked body, although the narrator does not mention this strange outfit in the text. This means that after reading the last sentence of the narration (“I heard from a credible source that this singularly profound love continued even after the chigo took the tonsure”), the viewer carefully rerolls the scroll from right to left, proceeding to unroll the paper to discover plate 1. We can only imagine the surprise the viewer must have felt seeing this sight for the first time—the image of a naked poet-suitor in a reed suit with his enormous erect penis ready to penetrate the gorgeously dressed chigo. Mercy Mercy Me 2: Vignette 3

In the opening of vignette 3, the narrator introduces a renowned high priest of aristocratic birth who lives near Saga. He has a favorite chigo whom he always keeps by his side. Nevertheless, an administrative monk at this temple becomes infatuated with the high priest’s beloved chigo and tries to pursue him. The youth thinks, “If I accepted his advances and my master discovered it, my position in this temple would be jeopardized,” and he pretends not to notice anything. Yet the love-struck monk continues to let the youth know of his deep feelings whenever an opportunity arises. The chigo finally gives in and invites the monk to join him in the bath. As they soak in the warm water together, the youth extends his leg to fondle the monk’s penis with his foot. The chigo then rests his head on the edge of the tub like a pillow and makes love to the monk (plate 2, vignette 3.1). Later that night, the chigo asks the monk to stand nearby. After the high priest falls asleep, the youth sticks his bottom out of the master’s bedroom and lets the monk penetrate him (plate 2, vignette 3.2). The narrator concludes the story by saying that such a fortunate event is very rare. Vignette 3 shares the second episode’s basic plot and stock characters: a monk who pursues the favorite acolyte of the high priest, and the acolyte who hesitates at first but eventually gives in to the passion of the suitor. Once the chigo accepts the courtship, however, he becomes extremely bold and naughty. First, he seduces the monk in the bathtub by caressing his genitalia, and second, he has sex with the monk right



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 87

beside his sleeping master (and his snoozing boy servant, making the adorable sound “kūkū”). Again, given this audacity, the chigo’s earlier apprehension about getting caught induces a comical effect. Mercy Mercy Me 3: Vignette 4

In this story, a nobleman living in the vicinity of Hosshōji has an attendant he dotes on.22 Yet every night, this boy, who is versed in the martial arts, travels over to the area near Sonshōji and behaves “mischievously” (plate 3). Among the many clergymen smitten with this beautiful boy is an old, lowly monk who engages in menial labor in the monastery. For several years, this aged monk complains about his unrequited love. If people find out about his obsession with the youth, there is no doubt that he will be banished from the monastery. Nevertheless, he feels so lovelorn that he can no longer keep his feelings a secret. Discovering this old monk’s sincere heart, the youth changes his belligerent manners and abandons the Way of the Warrior. One day, the youth invites the old monk over to his chamber to wash his feet. As the latter happily obliges, the boy exposes his buttocks, as if by accident. So the monk inserts his wet fist into the youth’s bottom (plate 4, vignette 4.2). They then proceed to have sex (plate 4, vignette 4.3). The narrator marvels at how this chigo has extended his compassion to his secret lover’s colleagues, which is a rare thing to hear of. Vignette 4 is yet another story about a capricious boy who pities his suitor. But in this episode, the youth steps outside the common stereotypes attached to the younger partners of nanshoku; he is described as a “mischievous boy” (akujō o konomu warawa) who loves martial arts and even solicits sex nightly near Sonshōji. To support this characterization, in plate 3, the naughty youth grabs and tugs the younglooking monk’s rosary hard enough to rip it apart, spilling the beads all over the floor.23 Though the text does not specify, the young monk presumably retrieves the scattered beads and pieces them together. This penetrative action likely had a sexual connotation, as the monk in vignette 3 says, “There is a thing called spirit [. . .]. That’s why monks have to thrust and pierce tama (the spirit/beads of a rosary).” After breaking the youthful monk’s rosary, the boy coquettishly asks him to come over. Perhaps in a state of shock, the monk only manages to utter, “Are you serious?” Then the older monk marked with “crow’s feet” expresses his lust for the chigo: “How appalling. I am so jealous that the boy invited just him!” The other

88

Chapter Two

young-looking monk retains his composure, however, and says, “That’s heartless. Let’s just go.” According to the narrator, following this encounter, this aged menial monk (namadoshi otonashiki chūgen hōshi) becomes completely lovesick. Upon seeing the old monk weakened and scrawny (yase-otoroeru), the youth feels pity and invites the monk to come over and wash his feet, indicating the significant gap in their status. In their private moments, the two exchange playful banter, during which the youth’s speech remains domineering and the lowly monk shows his deference by constantly speaking in honorifics.24 As the monk washes the boy’s feet, the latter “as if by accident” (ayamachi naru yō nite) flashes his naked bottom. Deeply moved by this fetching gesture, the monk spontaneously reaches to the boy’s crotch. Seeing him unperturbed, the monk then thrusts his hand into the boy’s anus until his entire fist disappears “as if it had been sucked in” (suiiru yō nite). In this way, vignette 4 adds new details to the collective image of the chigo: a boy who is assertive, seductive, domineering, and playful. Just to Keep You Satisfied: Vignette 1

Now let us turn to the opening story of the Booklet of Acolytes. Out of the five vignettes, this episode shows by far the greatest complexity and depth in its plot and the characters’ interpersonal relations. It begins with the narrator’s flattering description of a reputable, accomplished, and noble high priest who lives near the Kaiden-in cloister at Ninnaji. Among the many attendants serving him, the priest is especially fond of one chigo, and he always takes this boy to bed at night. Nevertheless, his advanced age has been making it increasingly difficult for him to achieve an erection. Moved by his master’s disappointment, the chigo enlists his own attendant, Chūta, to dilate and soften his anus with Chūta’s penis, a dildo, lubrication, and a brazier. Thanks to the chigo’s diligent effort, the priest is able to achieve smooth intercourse later that night. The narrator concludes this episode with the remark that such a dedicated chigo is extremely rare. Vignette 1 shares a few traits with the “middle stories”: praise for the renowned high priest, the high priest’s favorite chigo’s engaging in sexual acts with someone else, and outlandish humor. What vignette 1 completely lacks is any type of apprehension on the part of the chigo character or his secret lover, because of the absurd premise of this story. That is, the chigo is merely dilating his own anus for his teacher,



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 89

so to speak, except that he is receiving some help from his vassal. Based on this backstory, the chigo’s intercourse with Chūta can be thought of as a case of “benevolent infidelity,” at least on the surface. One might think that the high priest of vignette 1 is being treated slightly more gently than the priest whose chigo has sex with a man right beside him (vignette 3) or the nobleman whose attendant nightly goes around the neighborhood soliciting sex (vignette 4). Yet this master of the “unusually caring” chigo is still subjected to plenty of biting ridicule. After the narrator lauds the elderly priest for his profound wisdom, this acclaim is immediately undercut by another comment: “Even though his miraculous powers were unrivaled, he still could not give up that one thing.” The narrator goes on to reveal that despite the sage’s great sexual appetite, “his arrow is no longer sharp enough to penetrate the target—it would only scratch the surface of the adjacent mounds in vain.” Plate 5 illustrates the couple’s first attempt at their “benevolent infidelity,” first with Chūta penetrating his lord with his penis (1.1) and then with a dildo (1.2). One of the ways vignette 1 differs from all the other stories in the Booklet of Acolytes is that the chigo’s unofficial lover is a layman. To be more precise, Chūta is the chigo’s “foster brother” (menotogo), or his former wet nurse’s (menoto) child.25 In premodern Japan, it was customary for a highborn lady to hire menoto to raise her child. This was done for two major reasons: one was the perception of inelegance attached to breastfeeding; the other was the desire to hasten the next conception (as lactation hinders the resumption of the mother’s menstrual cycle). Thus, the employment of menoto was a way to release the mother from the burden of caring for an infant as well as to shorten the interval between her pregnancies.26 For a woman to be employed as menoto, she has to be able to lactate, which means she has an infant of her own.27 In premodern Japan, the menoto’s biological child and her young charge were often cared for in tandem, and in their adulthood, the menoto’s child customarily served the nobleperson as a close attendant and foster sibling. For the majority of the ruling class, in which the patriarch sired children with multiple women (from the primary wife to concubines and attendants), the idea of “siblings” was a far cry from our modern equivalent, mostly because the children usually grew up in separate households. For children of the elite class, the relationship with their menotogo was more analogous to what we think of as the relationship between siblings today (or at least many literary texts paint such

90

Chapter Two

a picture). To use The Tale of Genji as an example, the hero’s most trusted vassal is his menotogo, Fujiwara Koremitsu, whereas Genji’s relationship to his half-brother, Emperor Suzaku, is a turbulent one. One of the most dramatic representations of the bond between two foster brothers is that between Kiso Yoshinaka (1154–1184) and his retainer, Imai Kanehira (?–1184). In the “Death of Lord Kiso” chapter of The Tales of the Heike, Yoshinaka is chased down by enemy troops. Once his head is taken by one of the soldiers, Kanehira proceeds to commit suicide, as the two have promised each other that they will always be together, even in death. He first announces that he will demonstrate how the bravest man of Japan ends his own life. Kanehira then plunges the tip of his sword into his mouth and flings himself headfirst from the horse.28 In medieval Japan, the pairing of a menotogo and his or her charge carried substantial meaning. It instantly evoked the image of symbolic siblings who grew up together and shared everything along the way—breast milk, a place called home, and even the final moments of life. Of course, the lifetime of shared experiences, the stereotype goes, makes the menotogo one’s most faithful and trustworthy subordinate. Further, it is no surprise that the culturally established intimacy between foster siblings could involve sexual activities. One famous example is the abovementioned Kiso Yoshinaka and his other menotogo, the celebrated female warrior Tomoe (n.d), as volume 35 of Rise and Fall of the Minamoto and the Taira indicates.29 To understand the extraordinary intimacy between the chigo and Chūta, it is essential to take this cultural meaning of foster siblinghood into account. To begin, the first two images of vignette 1 and the accompanying gachūshi let us in on the intriguing relationship between the chigo and Chūta. In plate 5, vignette 1.1, Chūta is naked except for his eboshi cap, penetrating the chigo. Though the chigo’s face is invisible, his curled-up toes, which conventionally signify the subject’s sexual pleasure, and his erect penis indicate his enthusiasm. While having sex with his lord, Chūta remarks, “Because you occasionally reward me like this for my nightly services, Sir, my faith grows stronger. When you treat me coldly, I don’t feel validated. Let me take advantage of this chance and satisfy my needs.” To this, the chigo responds, “If this is all you want, sure. [. . .] [J]ust screw me all you want!” Importantly, this conversation informs us that Chūta and the chigo have sex every night (“for my nightly services”), signaling that their benevolence is, after all, not completely innocent. On this day, Chūta is particularly



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 91

animated because he is normally on the receiving end of penetration, despite his desire to turn the tables. Given the rare opportunity to penetrate his lord, Chūta can hardly contain his excitement. In plate 5, vignette 1.2, Chūta complains that his penis has become feeble due to his nightly masturbation, indicating that solo sex is his way of coping with the frustration of being both aroused and rejected by his lord night after night. One may wonder, however, why his genitals do not appear to be so feeble. The reason is that illustrations in an emaki typically represent a duration of time, rather than being still images like photographs. One can see this most clearly in images where the same subjects are depicted at two different positions within the frame to indicate a sequence of events.30 Even though the Booklet of Acolytes does not use this technique, the very existence of gachūshi concretely demonstrates that each illustration signifies a period of time. In the case of plate 5, vignette 1.2, based on the couple’s conversation, we know that Chūta first loses his stamina, prompting the chigo’s command to switch to a dildo (“If that’s the case, shove the dildo deep into my bottom once again!”). And, while penetrating his lord with the device, Chūta evidently regains an erection. In plate 6, vignette 1.3, Chūta is now applying clove oil, a traditional analgesic and lubricant, on the chigo’s anus. Even though he is clearly ready for penetration and even vocalizes his wish for a second chance, his young lord ignores it. What is clear in vignette 1 is that being the recipient of anal penetration has nothing to do with passivity—the chigo fittingly uses a domineering style of speech, including the imperative form of the verbs “tsuke” (“Pound!”) and “ireyo” (“Put it in!”), while Chūta constantly speaks in honorifics, comparable to the way vignette 4 captures the undeniable class difference between the mischievous chigo and the aged menial monk.31 In the final illustration of this episode, the gorgeously dressed and made-up chigo stands in front of the sliding door to his teacher’s bedroom. The story ends with the following narration: “Due to the careful preparation, the master was able to achieve a perfectly smooth insertion. Such a caring chigo was very rare.” As such, the first episode of the Booklet of Acolytes consists of two socially prescribed hierarchical dyads: the master and his chigo and the chigo and his menotogo. The two hierarchies connected by the chigo, intricately enmeshed with gender, sexuality, desire, and power, fashion a curious, misshapen love triangle.

92

Chapter Two

To put the asymmetrical triangle (figure 5, left) in perspective, let us first consider an archetypal counterpart (figure 5, right) in the Uji chapters of The Tale of Genji: the world after the eponymous hero’s death. This particular “archetypal love triangle” involves two best friends and romantic rivals, Captain Kaoru and Prince Niou, and their mutual love interest, Ukifune. The class disparity between the men and the woman is undeniable, as indicated by the positions of the three characters in the right side of figure 5. Kaoru is the ostensible son of Genji with his primary wife (the lady formerly known as the Third Princess), and Niou is the son of the reigning emperor and his primary consort, Empress Akashi (Genji’s daughter).32 In contrast, Ukifune is the illegitimate daughter of a cloistered prince and has been raised by her mother and stepfather in the provinces. Her sobriquet means “floating boat,” signifying her precarious position as a woman of humble upbringing who is sought after by two young, superbly attractive noblemen of royal lineage. She is in love with both Kaoru and Niou, but there is no way she can be with both. That said, she is in no position to disgrace either man, socially or psychologically. Her inability to escape the double bind exacerbates her selfloathing, while at the same time the two best friends’ longing for Ukifune escalates, fueled by their mimetic desire and pride. In this predicament, the entanglement of sorrows, frustrations, and resentments intensifies and multiplies inside the inverted triangle, and eventually the bottom point caves in, embodied by Ukifune’s plunge into the Uji River. When her attempted suicide fails, she becomes a nun and never sees the men again.33

Figure 5.  Left, asymmetrical love triangle in vignette 1 of the Booklet of Acolytes; right, symmetrical love triangle in the Genji.



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 93

In contrast, the opening episode of the Booklet of Acolytes about the “unusually caring chigo” paints a very different love triangle. The two parties who share a love for the chigo are not social equals, and the connection between the priest and Chūta (indicated by the dotted line in figure 5, left) is weak and impersonal. In fact, the chigo’s two lovers are on the opposite ends of every spectrum: social class, age, physical attractiveness, sexual potency, and reversibility of sex position. One is a renowned, sagacious priest who is a designated penetrator (his age-induced erectile dysfunction notwithstanding); the other is a handsome young man of humble birth with a high-functioning penis, and, just like the chigo, he is a giver and receiver of anal intercourse. In stark contrast to the perfectly symmetrical love triangle fashioned by the main characters of the Uji chapters, which eventually purged the most vulnerable party in the most tragic way, this asymmetrical triangle is a well-oiled machine. The center of desire is the chigo, who is, unlike Ukifune, in total control of the triad—he knows exactly what he needs to give and not give to his two lovers. With his aged master, who possesses economic, social, and cultural capital, the acolyte ingeniously provides the only thing his teacher is missing in his life—effortless penetration—by loosening his own bottom. The chigo also demonstrates a masterful ability to wrap Chūta around his little finger. The menotogo is kept in a state of suspended frustration and is only occasionally gratified with the “special reward.” Although their nightly sex must gratify Chūta, it also makes him yearn for the rare chance of penetrating his lord. Even when he is given such an opportunity, the story informs us, as soon as his performance declines, the chigo ruthlessly orders Chūta to switch to a dildo and refuses him a second chance. The chigo never overindulges or cajoles Chūta, so there is no ambiguity about who is in control. Another crucial aspect of the misshapen love triangle is that there is no sense of rivalry or jealousy between the chigo’s master and retainer. For Chūta, whose paramount priority is his beloved lord’s well-being, it is in his best interest to do everything possible to safeguard the mutually beneficial master-disciple relationship. This means that the high priest’s happy sex life is synonymous with Chūta’s own bliss. Furthermore, this loyal retainer of the chigo has no reason to feel jealous of the high priest; not only is it highly unlikely that the chigo will be physically attracted to him, but it is also true that the priest cannot achieve sex without Chūta’s indirect assistance. Is the high priest then jealous of Chūta? The night the priest achieves

94

Chapter Two

smooth intercourse with his beloved, he must realize that someone has prepared the chigo’s bottom on his behalf and that that someone was probably the chigo’s personal attendant. For an obvious reason, the priest does not mind this benevolent infidelity. Thanks to these well-balanced interdependencies the chigo has formed with his master and his vassal, as well as the very loose tie between the master and Chūta, every party’s satisfaction is ensured. The juxtaposition of the two love triangles challenges our tendency to view a horizontal relationship in an unquestioningly positive light and to equate hierarchy with abusiveness. Another important point is that the give-and-take between the chigo and his master is designed to be ephemeral. The acolyte is destined to move on to the next stage of his life after his tenure. For the time being, there is no emotional buildup or eruption in this unusual, misshapen, gleeful love triangle. Please Stay (Once You Go Away): Vignette 5

The final episode of the Booklet of Acolytes opens with the now-familiar introduction of a high priest who is extremely accomplished and sagacious. He lives in Kitayama and, as one would expect, adores his chigo. The youth, with his gentle temperament and superb skills in music and entertainment, is the center of admiration at every banquet he attends. Whenever someone pays attention to this boy, however, the jealous priest becomes testy. Therefore, the narrator explains, people stop visiting his cloister, including his own disciples. Nevertheless, one young besotted monk in this temple remains indomitable. He decides to make his heart known to the youth, sneaks into his bedroom—a windowless retreat called a nurigome—and quietly awaits an opportunity. That night, when entering the nurigome, the chigo senses someone’s presence, which leads him to wonder, “Did someone feel so deeply as to visit me here? How touching.” So moved by this stranger’s gesture, the chigo lies down to offer his bottom, while sticking his head out from under the curtain to read a bedtime story to his boy servant. The monk nervously embraces the boy’s hip from behind— amazingly, he does not even budge. So the monk proceeds to penetrate him. Because the chigo is such a veteran of the art of nanshoku, the insertion is perfectly smooth and the youth even continues to chat with his boy servant while this is happening! After this event, the chigo installs a wooden door to his nurigome so that he and his lover can enjoy each other’s company with increased privacy.



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 95

It is obvious that the final episode of this erotic emaki is much simpler than the opening story in terms of the characters’ interpersonal relations and the plot. The five pictures attached to vignette 1 also exhibit more variety than those accompanying vignette 5, all of which simply portray five different sex positions of the couple in the nurigome. (The first four images are painted darker to reflect being inside the windowless retreat, and the final image is lighter thanks to the torch the monk brings in.) Curiously, the illustrations of the two other surviving works of medieval erotica, the Brushwood Fences and the Bagged Monk, also end exactly the same way: with a series of sex positions performed by the characters against a blank background (plates 11 and 12), although the images number three instead of five.34 Since this commonality strongly suggests that an established convention governed the way medieval erotic emaki ended, the objective of vignette 5 was predetermined. Also, if the background had to be blank, it makes sense that the scene was set in the windowless, sound-proof nurigome. In keeping with the rest of the Booklet of Acolytes episodes, the images and dialogue of vignette 5 show the chigo as an active, enthusiastic participant in a sexual adventure with a colleague. His sensual pleasure is expressed via curled toes, smiles, and tight embraces. And the nuances of the interactions revealed by the gachūshi include playful affect and humor. Further, an examination of the gachūshi of vignettes 1 and 5 shows an unmistakable pattern. These intimate conversations revolve around affirmations of all five senses: olfactory (“It’s so fragrant,” Chūta, plate 6, vignette 1.3), tactile (“Ouch, watch how you blow the fire,” chigo, plate 6, vignette 1.4), auditory (“Aw, aw! [moaning],” monk, plate 8, vignette 5.2), gustatory (“Ah, tasty. Slightly bitter,” monk; “A little salty,” chigo, plate 9, vignette 5.4), and visual (“It’s so bright,” chigo; “I have never seen anything like this before,” monk, plate 10). Such bodily sensations and pleasures are generally discouraged in Buddhist teachings as sources of attachment—with the notable exception of the Tachikawa-ryū school. This branch of Shingon Buddhism is said to have been established by Ninkan (n.d.), who was a Shingon priest and disciple of Shōkaku (1057–1129). Curiously, Shōkaku was an abbot of Daigoji and the founder of its Sanbō-in cloister, where the oldest extant version of the Booklet of Acolytes is still preserved.35 Therefore, it is possible that this erotic handscroll was significantly influenced by the Tachiwaka-ryū doctrine, which

96

Chapter Two

valorizes vivid sensory experiences, especially sexual ecstasy, as a gateway to enlightenment or rebirth into the Pure Land. Corporeality as Depicted in the B ooklet

of

A colytes

Now that we have examined the narratives and gachūshi of the Booklet of Acolytes, we shall shift our focus to the visual components of this emaki. As a starting point, let us consider what it means to feature nude subjects in visual arts. One way to approach this inquiry is to analyze “nudity” vis-à-vis different types of unclothedness. The art historical distinction between “nakedness” and “nudity” was most famously articulated by Kenneth Clark: “To be naked is to be deprived of our clothes, and the word implies some of the embarrassment most of us feel in that condition. The word ‘nude,’ on the other hand, carries, in educated usage, no uncomfortable overtone.”36 To imagine a form of unclothedness in visual arts that is not “nudity,” we can consider “colonial nakedness” as an example. Popularized in Europe during the Victorian era, “colonial nakedness” was a signifier of the “primitiveness” and “savagery” of colonized subjects, a trope that fascinated the viewers of colonial arts.37 Conversely, “nudity” in visual arts can be understood as an unrealistic idealization of the male and female figures of reproductive age, usually represented as able-bodied, cis-gendered, neither obese nor scrawny, youthful, and unblemished. In addition, these figures usually possess the complexions, facial features, and facial and body hair deemed attractive in the culture and time period in which the particular art piece was created. Although it is impossible to categorize all visual representations of unclothedness according to the binary of degradation and unrealistic idealization, this framework suggests various symbolic interpretations of unclothed flesh and is a useful tool for analyzing the subjects of the Booklet of Acolytes. Aside from the three ko-shunga, complete unclothedness in medieval arts appears to be limited to infants and sinners in hell. In regard to the latter examples, Kuroda Hideo examines two illustrated scrolls, A Book of Hell (Jigoku sōshi, twelfth century) and The Origin of Kitano Tenjin (Kitano Tenjin engi, thirteenth century), and notes that the male subjects in hell are dehumanized not only through their nakedness but also via their “caplessness.” Because it was considered taboo for an adult male to reveal his topknot in medieval Japan, these emaki depicted abject, capless figures to enhance the



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 97

didactic objective of hell scrolls.38 Of course, in the Booklet of Acolytes, Chūta maintains his eboshi cap during sex. His headgear and his unclothed flesh, marked with a darker complexion, a muscular physique, and an enlarged phallus, together represent an idealized young adult man’s body that is worth viewing. That is to say, he is “in the nude” rather than “naked.” In addition to the distinction between nakedness and nudity, the concept of “nudity as a costume” proposed by the Greek classicist Larissa Bonfante is pertinent here.39 With this concept, Bonfante argues that nudity in art shares many of the functions of conventional clothing. Indeed, the corporeality of the characters in the Booklet of Acolytes tells the viewers of the scroll a great deal about the subjects, even while they are in a state of unclothedness. This notion becomes most salient when we compare the chigo and his attendant, Chūta, in vignette 1. Because Chūta is not merely the chigo’s personal attendant but also his menotogo, the medieval viewers of vignette 1 would have automatically projected the culturally established image of foster brotherhood onto the pair. This would include an assumption that they are similar in age. Therefore, calling the chigo an “adolescent boy” or “youth” on the one hand and labeling Chūta an “adult man” on the other seems to contradict such a purportedly self-evident notion as “age.” Furthermore, because the chigo and Chūta happen to both have the male sexual organ, our genital-centric idea of “biological sex” would compel us to call both protagonists “male.” Nonetheless, the nude bodies of the chigo and his attendant, which signify their symbolic age and symbolic sei (sex/gender), show that thrusting them into the same box would be a significant contradiction. One way to work through this apparent contradiction is to read the unclothed, stylized bodies of the chigo and Chūta as “costumes” or “performative nudity.” That is, what has materialized on the surface of the scroll paper as paintings is the crossover of the performative and discursive sei and age of the two concepts: “chigo” and “young adult layman.” Put another way, the fact that the two subjects are close in age and possess similar genitals is not the primary concern of the artist, producer, or intended audience of the Booklet of Acolytes. In this framework, even the boundaries between the chigo’s makeup and flesh and between Chūta’s eboshi and flesh are blurred. The whiteness of the chigo’s powdered face extends to the rest of his body, while Chūta’s eboshi is integrated into his corporeality, and

98

Chapter Two

their gendered attire is simply replaced with gendered nudities, both of which are culturally, discursively, and performatively constructed “costumes.” Another case in point is the chigo’s suitor from vignette 4. Upon his first encounter with the mischievous youth, who breaks his colleague’s rosary, the old menial monk becomes scrawny and weak due to lovesickness. When the chigo invites the monk to his place, however, the monk’s physique is far from old or scrawny. Despite the distinct “crow’s feet” on his eyes, he seems to have received a generous “costume upgrade,” because, as the one who has sex with the charming adolescent boy, it is best if he is not an eyesore to the viewers. This observation aligns with the discussion of age in chapter 1. Because advanced age is a personal trait that significantly marginalizes a character’s desirability, almost all the authors of chigo monogatari divert the reader’s attention from the fact that the chigo is the designated lover of his master priest.40 Yet, to reiterate my point, when a story did call for a depiction of a chigo having sex with an old monk, as in vignette 4, the artist gave the latter a makeover to make him appear good enough to be the boy’s sexual partner. Now, based on the stylized and discursively constructed corporeality of the chigo in the illustrations of the Booklet of Acolytes, I will consider the gender construction of the chigo in the acolyte tale genre as a whole. In the past, scholars have offered varying takes on this matter. For instance, Kuroda Hideo argued that chigo’s gender was either musei (nongender) or chūsei (neutral gender),41 which has been seconded by Hashidate Ayako.42 Ichiko Teiji, Higuchi Kiyoyuki, and others used the term “dōsei-ai” (homosexuality) to describe chigo-monk relationships,43 while Tanaka Takako suggested that chigo represented feminine gender.44 In my view, Kuroda’s argument best describes the chigo’s nonbinary ontology. To build on his approach, I propose that a chigo’s liminal status allowed his gender expression to materialize and congeal in relation to another figure, especially in a romantic or sexual context. As I demonstrated in the introduction, there are numerous resemblances between chigo and young women, and according to the illustrations accompanying the Booklet of Acolytes, the two groups’ similarities extend to their nude bodies in erotic art. It is undeniable that in the presence of a male sexual partner, the acolyte’s performative nudity is modeled after that of women in a heteroerotic setting. In plate 5, vignette 1.2, and plate 13, the Brushwood Fences, the



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 99

chigo and the imperial priestess are characterized by their long, jetblack, flowing hair; curled-up toes; fair complexion; and plump figures. The boundary between the body of a young woman and that of a chigo is further blurred by the representation of the chest. Because women’s breasts were primarily a symbol of motherhood and were not considered erotic or sexual in medieval Japan, neither the Brushwood Fences nor the Bagged Monk pays close attention to the female subjects’ breasts.45 In most images, the woman’s breasts are not even visible, being hidden behind clothing, her partner’s limbs, or her own limbs. This indifference to breasts stands in vivid contrast to the contortionary postures the female subject is given to ensure a clear view of her vulva. Even in the few cases where the view of the woman’s breasts is not obstructed, the amount of detail conveyed is miniscule compared to the meticulous delineation of the genitalia. Along the same lines, in the Booklet of Acolytes, the youth’s anus is treated as a proxy for a vagina; his sex positions provide an unobstructed view of his buttocks. Furthermore, the chigo’s anus is not only penetrated by the partner’s penis or a dildo, but also fondled, licked, warmed up, lubricated, and so on. Conversely, the chigo’s penis, which is always drawn smaller than his partner’s, never attracts the lover’s attention (and the acolytes pay no attention to their partners’ anuses either). The performative nudity of the adolescent boys in the Booklet of Acolytes is even more remarkable when contrasted to that of their ancient Greek counterparts. Somewhat similarly to the nanshoku and shudō of pre-Meiji Japan, elite men of ancient Greek cities celebrated paiderastia, or pederasty. According to Andrew Lear and Eva Cantarella, ancient Greek pederasty consisted of “erotic relations between adult men and adolescent boys [. . .] [that] was practiced on a more widespread basis and with greater public approval than any time in any Western culture.”46 Out of the several iconographical conventions for the younger male partners called eromenoi (singular eromenos), their muscular physique is the most noticeable (see figure 6). Although toned bodies have wide aesthetic appeal across cultures, the “costume” of the eromenos is interesting because it is coded with highly specific sexual implications. To unpack this visual “grammar,” it is important to point out that the “proper” form of malemale copulation in ancient Greek was intercrural (i.e., between the thighs). For this reason, the youth’s thighs were highly eroticized, resulting in the convention of exaggerating their thickness (comparable to the enlargement of the male and female genitals in Edo shunga).47

100

Chapter Two

Figure 6 shows a typical schema of pederastic courtship; the older partner (erastes, plural erastai) is seen fondling the youth’s chin and genitals simultaneously, while his knees are kept bent. The bent knees of the erastes and the thick thighs of the eromenos in tandem signal the desirer and desiree of intercrural sex.48 Furthermore, in Athenian pederastic arts, idealized male partners both young and old typically exhibit disproportionally small and flaccid penises. Based on these observations, it is clear that ancient Greek pederasty was made to appear unambiguously distinct from heterosexual love. The eromenos was cherished as a more youthful version of the erastes, and the ideal form of male-male sex—intercrural stimulation—was performed, discussed, illustrated, and promoted. Anal penetration, in contrast, was extremely stigmatizing, albeit only for the recipients. This is precisely because it was deemed feminizing and therefore degrading the insertees, although this does not mean that people of ancient Greece never performed anal sex. In sum, the superficial resemblances notwithstanding, medieval Japanese nanshoku and ancient Greek pederasty were built upon immensely different gender/sexual ideals that were projected onto the younger partners. Nevertheless, the fact that the younger participant in nanshoku was positioned as the “feminine” partner should not be interpreted according to the misogynistic and homophobic concepts of “feminization” and “emasculation.” The Kyoto-centered elite culture of Heian and medieval Japan upheld the tradition of embracing a feminine aesthetics, and both highborn men and women equated it with elegance, sophistication, and native Japanese (as opposed to Sino-Japanese) sensibility.49 Even though women in premodern Japan did not enjoy the same privileges that men did, “femininity” as a concept was generally not stigmatized, and in certain contexts it was positively regarded.50 In this vein, androgyny was not a construct that represented “a male with insufficient masculinity” or “a female with insufficient femininity.” Instead, it usually represented the amalgamation of the best qualities of both worlds. Adolescent boys, especially chigo, were idealized and idolized due to their androgynous allure and its impermanence. Further, whether in an Autumn Night–type romantic tale or the erotocomedic Booklet of Acolytes, the chigo characters are no less in control of their bodies and minds than other highborn characters in monogatari.

Figure 6.  “Black-figure” vase painting from ancient Athens, ca. sixth century BC. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

102

Chapter Two

Conclusion This chapter has examined discursive and visual representations of the erotic adventures of five chigo, materialized as the Booklet of Acolytes handscroll. In the past, most scholarly writing on the acolyte tale genre has appropriately positioned Autumn Night as the paragon of chigo monogatari, the masterwork that perfectly unifies the two narrative worlds of enchanted love and Buddhist soteriology. In my view, the Booklet of Acolytes also marks an enormous accomplishment of the literary and visual arts of medieval Japan. It creatively incorporates the Tachikawa-ryū school’s uncompromising affirmation of the five senses and sensual pleasures, while completely subverting the institutional hierarchy within the monastic realm. The Booklet of Acolytes achieves its carnivalesque transvaluations through the juxtaposition of absurdly comical plots and striking, skillfully created images, which Ozaki Kyūya lauds: “If this had not been an emaki of erotic content, no doubt it would have been named a national treasure.”51 Indeed, considering that it has been a slow process for the acolyte tale genre in general to attract serious, unbiased attention, it is no surprise that scholars have been reluctant to engage fully with this hypererotic rendition of chigo monogatari. It is intriguing, and therefore worth repeating, that this emaki, which consists of five stories of adulterous acolytes and their cuckolded masters, was commissioned by a powerful Daigoji figure (who was likely a master of acolytes himself). In short, the Booklet of Acolytes is an elaborate self-mockery on a massive scale. For the unnamed Daigoji abbot who commissioned this work, one of the motivations may have been to undercut the impact of the “inconvenient truths” surrounding the chigo system. There are two major “inconvenient truths” that pertain to the chigo system. As I argued in chapter 1, the premise that the youths were reborn as living bodhisattvas to absorb the transgressions of the imperfect mortals is a stretch. In reality, the acolytes’ posts were arranged by their families and the Buddhist institutions for their mutual gains. Furthermore, even if the chigo’s sexual labor was not stigmatized, old people’s sexuality was not deemed romantic or aesthetically pleasing. As a result, most chigo monogatari were designed to obfuscate the transactional and unromantic master-acolyte dyad by directing the reader’s attention away from the chigo system and toward the boy’s unsanctioned, temporary love affair with a young, handsome



A Booklet of Acolytes: An Erotic Handscroll of Five Capricious Boys 103

monk. Nevertheless, the Booklet of Acolytes seems to have resorted to a radically different and innovative approach to the issue: hyperbolic, scathing, self-deprecating humor. With this humor, each episode of the Booklet of Acolytes tackles head-on the unspoken, inconvenient truths of the chigo system. First, this erotic emaki illuminates the fact that exceptionally renowned Buddhist teachers were, after all, mere humans and hardly immune to such feelings as lust, jealousy, and insecurity. Second, in the chigo system, the beautiful adolescent boy willingly slept with his master simply because it was his job. Once his tenure was over, the youth moved on and started a new life as an adult man. The contradictory nature of the chigo system notwithstanding, it was not necessarily up to the Buddhist institutions to revise or dismantle it. This is because this interdomainal arrangement had been incorporated into a much larger machine that supported the interdependencies of the ruling class. The chigo system was imperfect in that it was built upon a false premise, but it was probably the best imperfection—just like the similarly imperfect institution of marriage—the Buddhist community could have devised. In keeping with the chigo monogatari tradition, the Booklet of Acolytes exhibits no attempt to represent the adulterers as villains or the master priests as victims. But this erotic emaki goes one step further by refusing to make the illicit affairs opportunities for the characters to experience religious awakenings. The self-deprecating humor that imbues the vignettes can also be interpreted as one of the few options available for overcoming the anxieties shared by the beneficiaries of the system. The anonymous producer of the Booklet of Acolytes seems to have created a piece of art that openly displayed his (and his peers’) worstcase scenarios: the master priest suffers from age-induced erectile dysfunction; the abbot’s favorite chigo has sex with a man in the high priest’s own bedchamber as he snoozes; the nobleman’s beloved chigo nightly visits neighboring temples to solicit sex, and so on. By dwelling on these scenarios, the producer of this emaki and his peers may have been able to laugh at themselves before being laughed at, thus disempowering their critics and finding solace in the belief that their acolytes would at least be more faithful than those in the Booklet of Acolytes.

Chapter 3

The Mountain An Acolyte Tale of Traversals, Transformations, and Triumph

T

he fifth chigo monogatari I examine is The Mountain (Ashibiki).1 On the “flow chart” of the fourteen extant chigo monogatari (see figure 4), based on a series of simple yes/no questions, the Booklet of Acolytes (chapter 2) is separated from the three archetypes by only one degree, a difference produced by a single question: “Does the chigo die?” The one other text that shares a spot on the chart with the Booklet of Acolytes is The Mountain. The ambiance of these two texts could not be any more dissimilar, but just as all the acolyte characters featured in the ko-shunga version of chigo monogatari stay alive and well, the younger protagonist of The Mountain lives a long (though turbulent) life. At the end of this tale, the former chigo attains rebirth in the Pure Land as an aged recluse. Despite several signs of influence by Autumn Night, the author of The Mountain does not attempt to emulate the most famous chigo monogatari. On the contrary, the creator of The Mountain appears to be rejecting the “solutions” to which Autumn Night and many other chigo tales resort to create romantic and pro-Buddhist narratives of chigo. The Mountain plays an extremely important role in the genre of chigo monogatari by showing its readers a radically novel way to tell a story of commitment to love and religious devotion without killing off the youth in the process. The Mountain is also one of the few chigo monogatari whose main characters travel far beyond their domain (i.e., monasteries and other religious sites). In this way, this story bridges the two worlds connected by the chigo system: the homosocial and homoerotic 104



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

105

Buddhist institutions and the main characters’ homes, which are domestic spaces occupied mostly by laymen and laywomen of all ages and ranks. In addition to the numerous crossings between physical locations and atmospheres, The Mountain captures the transformations of the characters over time. The older protagonist, Jijū, is a chigo-turned-priest; Jijū’s father is a Confucian scholar-turned-Buddhist; and the younger protagonist, initially called Wakagimi (Young Lord), transforms his appearance and status several times in this tale. Below is a plot summary of The Mountain.2 QR There once was a man who had abandoned Confucianism for Buddhism. He decided to entrust his bright and adorable son to the care of a reputable priest at the Eastern Pagoda on Mount Hiei. The priest cherished this chigo. Two or three years passed and the chigo entered the priesthood. He came to be known as Jijū no Kimi Gen’i. One moonlit evening in the eighth month, Jijū was in Shirakawa, near the capital, to visit an acquaintance. While taking a walk, Jijū heard the beautiful sound of the Chinese lute. Intrigued, he walked in the direction from which the music was coming. He arrived in front of a villa; inside was a beautiful chigo of fourteen or fifteen playing the Chinese lute. Jijū found out from a servant that the youth was the son of Minbukyō Tokugō, a scholar monk at Kōfukuji, and he was also an acolyte attached to Tōnan-in Cloister in Nara.3 Jijū was immediately attracted to this chigo. He returned to this villa the next day and exchanged poems with the boy. A few days later, knowing that he would have to head home soon, Jijū went back to see the boy, hoping to spend some time with him. Fortunately, that night, the two became lovers. The couple spent a few blissful days together, and, after promising to be reunited soon, they parted ways. Jijū, back on Mount Hiei, and Wakagimi, back at his father’s residence in Nara, were lovelorn, each neglecting his duties. Upon the Tōnan-in abbot’s nudging, Tokugō finally made his son return to his master. Nonetheless, even in the presence of his master, Wakagimi was visibly preoccupied with his distant lover, making the abbot feel uneasy. Moreover, determined to see his lover again, Wakagimi slipped out of Tōnan-in and headed for Mount Hiei. Meanwhile, Jijū, too, decided to descend the mountain to visit the youth in Nara. Fortunately, they stumbled upon each other at the main Buddha hall of Enryakuji. Elated,

106

Chapter Three

Jijū introduced Wakagimi to his master at the Eastern Pagoda and received his blessing. At Tōnan-in, however, the disappearance of Wakagimi triggered chaos. Hearing the rumor that the chigo had recently involved with a Hiei priest, the youth’s tutor (menoto), the monk Kakunen, ascended the mountain and demanded the return of his young charge. Although the clergymen were alarmed by the sudden appearance of this Nara monk, Jijū’s master intervened to alleviate the tension. The master then suggested that Jijū travel to Nara and formally ask Wakagimi’s father for permission to live with his son on the mountain. Subsequently, Kakunen escorted Jijū and Wakagimi to Tokugō’s residence. Having been reunited with his son, the happy father gave the two permission to be together on Mount Hiei. After spending some time in Nara, Jijū headed back to the mountain first. Meanwhile, all the attendants at Tokugō’s residence began preparing for the celebratory departure of their young lord. Though the abbot heard about the return of his chigo and offered to send an escort to bring him back to Tōnan-in, Tokugō made up some excuses and kept his son home. While the house was filled with an auspicious air, Tokugō’s second wife was overcome with fury about all the fanfare her stepson was receiving. One night, the stepmother sneaked into the youth’s bedchamber and cut off his long ponytail (plate 14). The next morning, everyone in the house panicked at the incident that had transpired overnight. The departure for the mountain was canceled and, in despair, the youth secretly ran away from home. As Wakagimi wandered aimlessly in the mountains, he encountered a group of mountain ascetics (yamabushi) traveling to Mount Kumano. Without a place to go or a person to rely on, the lonely youth decided to follow them (plate 15). After Jijū anxiously awaited his reunion with his lover for some time, he ran out of patience and sent a group of monks and warawa to escort Wakagimi back his way. Upon the revelation of the devastating news, however, Jijū fell gravely ill and retreated to his father’s home in the capital. For the next few months, Jijū’s parents tried to help him by bringing in yinyang diviners and healers, but Jijū became frailer by the day. Fearing that their son might be on the verge of death, his parents summoned a reputable yamabushi, known for his “blade-sharp” power to exorcize and heal anyone. Accompanying the ascetic was a young assistant, who turned out to be none other than Jijū’s estranged lover, now called Shōshō no Kimi. Jijū immediately bounced back, and the



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

107

couple moved to Mount Hiei. On the mountain, Shōshō no Kimi took the tonsure and called himself Monk Zenji.4 Two or three joyful years passed. Zenji then began to worry about his aging father, Tokugō. So the couple set out for Nara. On their way, Zenji sent a letter from his lodgings to announce their arrival. The letter, however, was delivered during Tokugō’s absence and his wife received it. The thought of her stepson’s return provoked this woman and reignited her fury. This time, she enlisted her son-in-law, the monk Raikan, and ordered him to murder her stepson before his arrival. Although Raikan gathered two hundred outlaws with a plan to ambush Zenji, Jijū caught wind of the scheme and assembled an army of the fiercest fighting monks from the mountain to counterattack. Jijū at last took Raikan’s head himself. Now that the wicked woman’s machinations had been exposed, Tokugō banished his wife along with his stepdaughter and their female servant. Having recuperated for several days in Nara, Jijū prepared to ascend the mountain. Before his departure, Tokugō expressed his wish to keep his son close. Knowing that Zenji was now the only family left to him, Jijū accepted the request and promised his lover that their hearts would always be together. Years passed and Zenji inherited Tōnan-in after his former master’s death and came to be known as Shōshō Risshi; Jijū also became the head at the Eastern Pagoda of Mount Hiei. For a period, each won rank and fame though his earnest devotion to the Way of Buddha. Nonetheless, Jijū’s father, the former Confucian scholar, cautioned him against the futile pursuit of fame and glory. After the death of his father, Jijū took a new name, Jakuji Shōnin, and retired to Ōhara and later to Mount Kōya. There he met an aged recluse, Nara Shōnin, who turned out to be his estranged lover. The two spent one or two years together until Jakuji fell ill. Within a few days, he was reborn into Amida’s Pure Land. Nara Shōnin spent some time in the hermitage to be close to his lover’s grave and then set out on a pilgrimage. Eventually he built another hermitage in the foothills of Mount Higashi; in the last moment of his life, with the wonderful scent of sandalwood, the Three Buddhas appeared and escorted the recluse to the Pure Land.

QR

108

Chapter Three

An Ersatz Version of A utumn N ight ? There is little debate among scholars about which work singlehandedly defines and represents the chigo monogatari genre. The answer, of course, is A Long Tale for an Autumn Night. To this day, the vast majority of scholarship on chigo monogatari has centered on this work. One of the unfortunate consequences of the singular prominence of Autumn Night is that it can overshadow the existence of the other chigo monogatari, with the result that those who study this masterwork may inaccurately assume they are versed in the acolyte tale genre as a whole. Further, the other acolyte tales are sometimes undervalued simply because they are not Autumn Night. The most authoritative encyclopedia of premodern Japanese literature, Nihon koten bungaku daijiten (Great dictionary of classical Japanese literature, 1983–1985), for instance, delivers a harsh verdict on the literary value of The Mountain, calling it “an ersatz imitation of the Autumn Night,” with the plot being “lesser in scale” and “contrived.”5 Another literary encyclopedia, Chūsei ōchō monogatari / otogi zōshi jiten (Dictionary of medieval courtly tales and otogi zōshi, 2002), criticizes the “disconnectedness” of the events and the deus ex machina-esque reunions of the lovers in The Mountain, though the author of the entry, Nishizawa Masaji, also remarks that it is “as emblematic of chigo monogatari as the Autumn Night.”6 Similarly, Ichiko Teiji both praises and dismisses The Mountain as “the second best chigo monogatari.”7 In response to these less-than-flattering evaluations, two short articles were published in 2005, each defending this text’s literary worth. One is by Yaguchi Yūko, who asks, “Is Ashibiki really a mere mediocre imitation of the Autumn Night?” and aptly critiques the premise of the comparison.8 The other is by Tanaka Takako, who attempts to make a case for the superiority of The Mountain over Autumn Night, based primarily on the fact that the younger protagonist (Wakagimi) does not die in the end. In fact, on close examination, Tanaka’s main argument has less to do with The Mountain than with the familiar denouncement of Autumn Night and the chigo monogatari genre in general, for she posits the chigo characters and historical acolytes as the victims of systemic sexual exploitation.9 Much as many other scholars have done in the past, Tanaka’s criticism of the chigo tale genre conflates the perspectives of the authors, the fictional



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

109

monk characters (the chigo’s masters and lovers), and the historical masters of chigo. It goes without saying that, in reality, the perspectives of the author and the priest characters of an acolyte tale (let alone those of thousands of historical priests) are independent of each other, and the perspectives of the author and the monk characters of one text are never generalizable to the entire genre. Although Tanaka rightly points out that the authorial perspectives of Autumn Night and The Mountain are starkly different, the disparity cannot be explained as the former being “written from the perspective of the priest, who is a violator” (okasu gawa no sō),10 whereas the latter is depicting “an equal partnership of a chigo and a monk” (chigo to sō to no taitō na ai).11 Instead, the disparity derives from each author’s method of integrating the two pillars of chigo monogatari: romantic love and Buddhist soteriology, as I will illustrate in the next section. A utumn N ight versus T he M ountain As mentioned earlier, The Mountain appears to be in conversation with Autumn Night without attempting to become a version of it. Among the superficial commonalities between the two texts, an obvious one is that each of the lover-monks (Keikai and Jijū) belongs to the Eastern Pagoda at Mount Hiei, indicating that both authors were likely affiliated with Enryakuji. Each character also falls in love with an acolyte from a distant temple that has long harbored enmity toward Enryakuji (Miidera and Kōfukuji). In each case, this obstacle makes it possible for much of the story to unfold outside the chigo’s home temple and thus keeps the audience’s focus away from the chigo system. Of course, the combination of the distance and intertemple animosity also makes the plot more dramatic, since it creates conflicts among characters, fuels the passion of the lovers, and exacerbates the monk’s pain after a tragedy befalls the chigo character (kidnapping, assault, death). Recall that, in Autumn Night, Umewaka is kidnapped by a band of tengu before commiting suicide. This means that each of the chigo characters similarly vanishes for a time, as the result of a villain’s evil deed, namely, the tengu’s kidnapping of Umewaka and the stepmother’s cutting of Wakagimi’s hair. Yet the consequence of Umewaka’s disappearance is much harsher: Enryakuji and Miidera turn exceedingly violent toward each other, due to their centuries-old rivalry and

110

Chapter Three

grudges, and countless human lives are lost and buildings, statues, and sutras go up in smoke. Because of this horrendous outcome, Umewaka decides that death might be the only option to atone for his guilt. As a result of his suicide, Keikai and the surviving Miidera monks realize the supreme Buddhist truth to which they were previously oblivious. In contrast, Wakagimi’s adversity, the loss of his long ponytail, is incomparable to Umewaka’s calamity, although this incident still so devastates Wakagimi that he runs away from home, giving up his dream of being with Jijū on Mount Hiei. I will return to the issue of Wakagimi’s hair and flight from home later. The greatest accomplishment shared by the two tales is their integration of enchanted love and the supremacy of Buddhist soteriology into a single narrative. The Mountain, however, diverges from the framework employed by Autumn Night (the skillful means tale or hōben-tan) by allowing the main characters to live on, part ways of their own accord, and find each other again in their old age. Further, the author of The Mountain creates this new type of acolyte tale by adopting a different framework: mamako banashi, or “the story of a stepchild,” whose protagonist overcomes a series of challenges and, in the end, attains long-term happiness with his or her beloved. M amako B anashi : The Triumphant Story of a Stepchild One of the oldest extant mamako banashi is the aforementioned Tale of Ochikubo, a tenth-century story of enchanted love in which the bullied stepdaughter marries an ideal nobleman and eventually becomes the mother of the imperial consort. The Ochikubo’s contemporary mamako banashi is The Tale of Sumiyoshi (Sumiyoshi monogatari), whose heroine is also subjected to her stepmother’s bullying at home, albeit her treatment is much less horrific than the abuse inflicted upon Lady Ochikubo.12 The literary tradition of mamako banashi continued through the medieval period, forming a subgenre of otogi zōshi.13 According to Ōchi Yuriko, the mamako banashi that became popular during the Muromachi era generally consist of three major stages: the beginning, the trials, and the resolution. The beginning stage describes the birth of the protagonist, usually a girl, and the death of her birthmother. During the trial stage, the heroine is uprooted from her home (unlike the heroines of the Heian mamako banashi, who are confined at home) due to the stepmother’s evildoing. The girl winds up deep in



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

111

the mountains, where she usually encounters a supernatural savior. With the help of this magical figure, the heroine overcomes a series of hardships and marries an ideal nobleman. Finally, the resolution stage informs the readers of the elimination of the stepmother, the birth of the protagonist’s children, and the family’s happiness and prosperity.14 Some of the famous Muromachi stepdaughter tales include Lady Hanayo (Hanayo no hime), The Hag Robe (Ubakawa), and The Bowl Bearer (Hachi-kazuki), all of which consist of the three stages suggested by Ōchi.15 To illustrate the basic structure of the medieval mamako banashi, I will provide a plot summary of Lady Hanayo. QR In the province of Suruga, there lived a wealthy man, Moritaka, and his wife. Because they longed for a child, they built a chapel to enshrine a statue of Kannon and earnestly prayed for a baby every day. After several years, a lovely baby girl was born; they called her Lady Hanayo. Sadly, when Hanayo was only nine years old, the mother became ill and passed away. Moritaka continued to dote on Hanayo and pray for his late wife’s repose in the afterlife. Some time passed, and Moritaka’s relatives urged him to take a new wife to care for him and Hanayo. At last, when the girl was eleven, his father reluctantly decided to remarry. The new wife despised her stepdaughter because her husband paid attention only to this girl. One day, while Moritaka was away, the stepmother hired a samurai and had him kidnap and abandon Hanayo on a remote mountain near Mount Fuji. Moritaka, of course, was devastated at the news of his daughter’s disappearance. Meanwhile, Hanayo aimlessly walked about in the mountains, terrified and freezing. She prayed to the god of the mountain and to Kannon, asking for protection. Then she saw a hint of a bonfire in the distance. The light was coming from the dwelling of the mountain crone (yamanba). Despite her hideous appearance, the crone was kind and granted the girl a small bag of treasures and a magical robe that could transform the wearer into an old woman. The mountain crone also gave Hanayo directions to people’s residences where she might be able to find work. Disguised, Hanayo found work as an old hearth maid in the mansion of a middle counselor (chūnagon). One day, the middle counselor’s youngest son, Saishō, caught a glimpse of Hanayo in her true form and instantly fell in love with her. Saishō hid Hanayo in his menoto’s home

112

Chapter Three

and visited her every night. Hearing that her youngest son was infatuated with some unidentified woman, Saishō’s mother felt uneasy and decided to hold a “bridal contest” for her three sons, in the hope that the anonymous woman would embarrass herself in front of the entire family and Saishō would become disillusioned with her. On the day of the competition, Hanayo unknowingly reached into the bag the mountain crone had given her. Inside the bag were colorful gems, which instantly turned into piles and piles of beautiful silk robes, sashes, accessories, swords, and everything else Hanayo needed to gorgeously dress herself and her attendants. During the contest, everyone agreed that the older brothers’ wives were no match for Hanayo’s beauty and poise. Happily married to Saishō, Hanayo rejoined her beloved father. The stepmother clandestinely left Moritaka’s residence and was never seen again. Saishō moved into his father-in-law’s mansion, inherited the lordship, and managed the estate with his wife. The couple was blessed with adorable children, Moritaka married the middle counselor’s niece, and everyone in the family lived happily ever after.

QR Simply put, the mamako banashi is a coming-of-age tale about an abused stepdaughter who grows up to be a marriageable adult woman as a result of conquering arduous challenges.16 In the otogi zōshi versions of mamako banashi, unlike their Heian counterparts, the heroines are always displaced from their homes. Lady Hanayo is kidnapped by the stepmother’s accomplice, whereas the heroine of the Bowl Bearer is kicked out of the home by both of her parents. As for the protagonist of the Hag Robe, the stepmother’s abuse is so unbearable that the girl runs away of her own accord. Wakagimi’s case is comparable to the last case; his stepmother successfully eliminates the youth by hacking his hair off. This means that she knows that Wakagimi, without his beautiful long hair, will be too ashamed to remain in Tokugō’s household, to such an extent that he will even sever his ties with his father, his lover, and his master. Why is this the case? The underlying reason behind Wakagimi’s flight has yet to be seriously considered by scholars. The two 2005 articles by Yaguchi Yūko and Tanaka Takako, for example, mention the incident only in passing. Ichiko Teiji, too, simply describes the sequence of the attack and the protagonist’s departure in the plot summary of The



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

113

Mountain in Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei as “Tokugō’s second wife was jealous of her stepson and cut off his hair in the middle of the night, so the chigo left home.”17 Similarly, in the plot summary included in the otogi zōshi encyclopedia, Nishizawa Masaji describes the event thus: “The stepmother of Wakagimi, who had always despised the boy, cut his precious black hair. So he left Nara in despair.”18 Komatsu Shigemi’s approach is slightly different. He dramatizes the young hero’s plight by attaching a creative caption to the illustration of Wakagimi melancholically sitting on the veranda amid the chaos inside the home the morning after the incident: “The following morning, Wakagimi woke up to a clamor in the house. When he saw himself in the mirror, the youth was utterly devastated. His appearance was completely altered by the hideous cropped hair. He broke down and sobbed, thinking to himself, ‘How could I ever let Jijū see me like this?’ ”19 Still, this caption, too, points to Wakagimi’s cropped hair as the direct cause of his flight. The narrator of The Mountain does not explain why a mere haircut should drive a youth away from his home, father, lover, and career. The entire aftermath is described in two sentences: “Wakagimi was devastated about his appearance. Perhaps due to the profound sadness he was experiencing, he slipped out of Tokugō’s compound in Nara when the sun was setting, and started traveling aimlessly. This is when he encountered a group of mountain ascetics on their way to Kumano. So Wakagimi followed them to their destination.”20 The narrator expends few words on describing the situation, perhaps because the medieval audience did not need an elaborate explanation. Now that the modern readers of The Mountain can no longer easily connect the dots between the incident and Wakagimi’s subsequent flight, it is necessary to take a close look at the cultural significance of hair in premodern Japan. Hairstyles That Matter Tonsorial regulations in premodern Japan

It would be difficult to claim that our head hair has as much practical utility as our eyes, ears, noses, mouths, and limbs do. The only practical value of the head hair may be its moderate ability to protect us from head trauma and cold air (a role that can be easily played by a head covering). Nonetheless, the hair on the head, or rather the way

114

Chapter Three

the hair is modified, plays an essential role in our social life. In Penny Howell Jolly’s words, hair modification creates a “semiotic system” consisting of “a series of signs legible to those in our social groups.”21 Just as our faces, which we cannot easily see, and our personal names, which we rarely say out loud, primarily exist for other people’s sake, our hair too exists mostly for others. In premodern Japan, this was particularly true, because hairstyles were prescribed and people generally had to style their hair according to their gender, age group, class, status, and occupation. During the Asuka period (ca. 592–628), the court adopted a law from Korea known as the “twelve grades of cap rank” (kan’i jūnikai, 603), which forced male courtiers to wear a cap (kanmuri) in a particular color according to their rank. The enforcement of this law gradually shifted aristocratic men’s hairstyle from the traditional mizura (a loop of hair by each ear; for children, it is called tsunogami or agemaki) to a topknot that could be neatly tucked ­inside the cap. Eight decades later, in the fourth month of 683, ­Emperor Tenmu (r. 673–686) issued a decree that standardized the “updo” style (keppatsu) as the legally sanctioned means of hairdressing for the majority of the people.22 While the keppatsu law had a drastic effect on men’s hair in Japan, it did not carry the same weight for women. In fact, the government’s attitude toward women’s hairstyles was ambivalent, causing Tenmu to lift, reimpose, and relift the law enforcing the keppatsu on women during his reign.23 This suggests that women’s long unbound hair signified something more complex than that of men. It was something simultaneously enthralling and threatening to men, and the emperor apparently could not decide whether to mitigate the charm or the harm. In fact, the initial decree of 683 already excluded women over forty, probably because their coiffure was no longer a threat to men or an object of their desire.24 Meanwhile, keppatsu remained the standard hairstyle for Japanese men for twelve hundred years, from 683 to the Meiji Restoration of the late nineteenth century. (Additionally, until the late Muromachi period, men were required to cover their topknot with headgear.25) By the same token, for over a millennium, male individuals who did not wear this signature hairstyle belonged to one of five categories: boys who had yet to undertake the genpuku ceremony, symbolic children (chigo, chūdōji, daidōji, etc.), clerics, mountain ascetics, and outcasts.



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

115

The transformative power of head hair

A boy in premodern Japan, unless he was born into the outcast class, was destined to cut his hair as part of the coming-of-age ceremony or to shave his head to take the holy vow. Interestingly, since the age of genpuku was not rigidly fixed (it was generally between fourteen and twenty), it was the hairstyle that determined the boy’s position on the child-adult continuum, rather than his calendar age.26 Such societal norms gave the head hair far-reaching performative power. A youth’s hairstyle and the interpellation to which he was subjected (such as “chigo,” “warawa,” or “Umewaka-maru”) together formed his corporeality as a symbolic child. In fact, the remarkable transformative force of the hair is vividly illustrated in the mythohistories of Japan. A Record of Ancient Matters gives an account of the sun goddess Amaterasu, who amassed incredible physical power by changing her feminine hairstyle to that of men (mizura) upon receiving an unexpected visit from her unruly brother, the sea-god Susano-o.27 Also recorded in A Chronicle of Japan is the gender transformation of the legendary Empress Jingū (r. fourth century) by virtue of donning the mizura. After the death of her husband, Emperor Chūai, Jingū inherited his mission to unite the nation and rule the Korean Peninsula. She traveled to Kashihi Bay and said as she unwrapped her hair, “I [. . .] intend in person to chastise the West. Therefore do I now lave my head in the water of the sea. If I am to be successful, let my hair part spontaneously into two.”28 The moment she dipped her head in the ocean, her hair separated in half, so the Empress bound her parted locks into two bunches. She then announced that even though she was a “weak woman” (taoyame), now that she had assumed the form of a “fierce man” (masurao), she would forcefully execute her “grand, manly plan” (ooshiki hakarigoto, or yūryaku) of subjugating Silla.29 This engulfing power of the hair to transform the subject’s corporeality, including its capacity to “male”—as in a causative verb—a body that was previously construed as “female,” speaks to the notion that gender is a continuum rather than a fixed binary. It also aligns with Judith Butler’s theory of performativity, through which she famously conceptualized gender as “the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being.”30 Butler’s theory defies the common presumption

116

Chapter Three

that one’s male- or femaleness is a “revelation” or a “natural reflection” of one’s internal “authentic truths” (based on the shape of the sexual organ, gender identity, etc.) that are self-evident to the subject. Conversely, one’s male- or femaleness is a set of socially sanctioned exteriors (hairstyle, clothing, mannerisms, etc.) that together create a vision of sei (which in turn shapes one’s “authentic truths”). In the case of a chigo, after he undergoes the initiation ritual, various modifications are made to his exteriority. He first changes his hairstyle to a long ponytail and puts on colorful attire and makeup. He also acquires the title of “chigo” and a personal chigo name. As his appearance becomes increasingly chigo-like, his internal self gradually takes the shape of a chigo as well. In A Record of Ancient Matters, Amaterasu gained astonishing physical might through her change of hairstyle—as she stomps the ground in anticipation of battle, her body sinks into the hard earth, as if she were walking on three feet of powder snow. What if we suppose that the effect of the stepmother’s assault on Wakagimi was as robust as Amaterasu’s transfiguration? What if the attack did not merely constitute the shortening of the boy’s hair but was the equivalent of the “swing of a magic wand” to instantly dispel his entire chigo-ness? And what if he could not have regained the same level of chigo-ness without repeating the entire process all over again, beginning with growing his hair back, undergoing the chigo kanjō ritual, submitting to Buddhist training, and so on? Cutting hair as a form of violence

In premodern Japan, government regulations meant that people had no freedom to modify their hairstyles to their liking. When people were tasked with cutting others’ hair, that is, not merely trimming the ends but removing a significant length (e.g., as a part of the genpuku or ordination ceremony), the haircutters had to follow established protocols. One consequence of this hyper conservativism about hair modification was that cutting someone else’s hair without permission became a form of grave violence. This means that such an act could be either a criminal offense or a form of corporal punishment.31 For instance, because the combination of a topknot and headgear signified a man’s privilege as a standard “human,” cutting someone else’s topknot was a way of relegating the victim to a subhuman rank, similar to that of beggars, outcasts, and criminals.32



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

117

As for cutting a woman’s hair against her wishes, several accounts of such violence are given in fictional, quasihistorical, and historical texts. A fictional example is found in The Illustrated Tale of Obusuma Saburō (Obusuma Saburō ekotoba, late Kamakura ­period), a variant of mamako banashi. In this story, an adorable baby girl is born to a wealthy man named Yoshimi Jirō and his wife. The couple names her Jihi (“Compassion”), and she grows up to be a gorgeous young woman. One day, Jirō is ambushed by a band of robbers during an outing and fatally wounded. Moments before his demise, Jirō leaves a will with his vassal in which he asks his younger brother, Obusuma Saburō, to care for his wife and daughter after his death. Unfortunately, Saburō and his wife kick Jirō’s wife and daughter out of their own home and the evil couple move in as the new master and mistress of the household. Saburō’s wife then crops Jihi’s hair down to the middle of her back, changes her name to Karakami (“Korean God”), and forces her to labor as a lowly maid. Moreover, when a midranking government official courts Karakami instead of the wife’s biological daughter, the infuriated woman further shortens her niece’s hair, renames her Nenohi (“The Day of the Rat”), and clothes her in a ragged mesh garment commonly worn by beggars.33 A quasihistorical account of cutting a woman’s hair is given in the eleventh chapter of The Tale of Flowering Fortunes (Eiga monogatari, ca. 1030). Some time after Retired Emperor Ichijō (980– 1011) passed away, one of his widows, the imperial consort Fujiwara no Genshi (n.d.) became romantically involved with a nobleman, Minamoto no Yorisada (977–1020). This affair infuriated Genshi’s father, Akimitsu. To punish his daughter, Akimitsu reportedly cut Genshi’s beautiful trailing hair into the “bob” haircut (ama ni nashite).34 Somewhat similarly, according to the “Kogō” chapter of the Heike (6:4), the hegemon Kiyomori cut the hair of a lady-in-waiting named Kogō in a rage after Emperor Takakura (Kiyomori’s son-in-law) became too infatuated with her while neglecting his own daughter (Empress Kenreimon-in Noriko [also Tokushi and Tokuko]).35 Obviously, the case of the Obusuma Saburō is driven by a slightly different motivation than the other two. Because Jihi never commits any offense against anyone, her aunt’s act of cutting her hair, especially the first time, is not punitive per se. Saburō and his wife intend to abuse their niece out of sheer loathing (likely derived

118

Chapter Three

from the couple’s inferiority complex vis-à-vis Jirō and his family) by forcing her to look, live, and feel like a lowborn servant. Secondarily, Saburō and the wife preemptively prevent Jihi from competing in the marriage market against their eldest daughter, who, according to the narrator, resembles a demon. In the case of Genshi, however, Akimitsu’s primary objective was to punish his daughter for what he perceived as sexual impropriety—presumably based on the ideology that a widow should preserve her chastity in honor of her late husband until her own death. To Genshi and everyone else, the loss of her gorgeous trailing hair—the most prized symbol of gentlewomen—would have been a visible reminder of her alleged “sexual impropriety,” an equivalent of the “scarlet letter.”36 Another motivation behind Akimitsu’s behavior would have been to keep his daughter from continuing with the affair. By cutting Genshi’s hair, the angry father attempted to make her look undesirable to her lover and to make her look and behave like a nun. As for the case of Kogō, although she had already contemplated taking a holy vow as a nun before this incident, Kiyomori forcibly cut the lady’s hair out of fury for the purpose of breaking her spirit. To return to The Mountain, taken together, the cases clarify the stepmother’s assault of Wakagimi. First, it is certainly an attempt to undermine her stepson’s social status: he is attached to the prestigious Kōfukuji as the only son of the scholar monk Minbukyō Tokugō and the favorite acolyte of the Tōnan-in abbot. For Jihi, her aunt’s attack causes her to become similar to the lowest-ranking servants, whereas Wakagimi’s degradation takes the form of joining a group of heretics who practice mountain asceticism. It must be no coincidence that Wakagimi’s hairstyle is identical to that of the yamabushi in plate 15. In the world of Buddhist literature, mountain ascetics are not simply pagans; they are also scorned as avatars of the bird-faced flying goblins (tengu).37 Second, when the stepmother attacks Wakagimi, it is undeniable that she has motivations similar to those of Fujiwara no Akimitsu and Taira no Kiyomori. She wants to deplete Wakagimi’s erotic capital by altering his appearance and making his body look like that of an adulterer. I will further discuss the significance of the stepmother’s attack in relation to Wakagimi’s sexuality in the next section.



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

119

Reading T he M ountain as a Quasi-M amako B anashi For Wakagimi or any other chigo, the emblematic long ponytail is the defining feature of their corporeality and the source of their spiritual and erotic powers. Losing his precious locks to the sneak attack is therefore horrendous enough. Nonetheless, the stepmother’s calculated assault amplifies the injury to him precisely because of her timing. Recall that in Lady Hanayo, the magical gems from the mountain crone turn into piles of gorgeous robes and accessories that the heroine needs for her decisive victory in the bridal contest. Similarly, in The Mountain, the ladies-in-waiting at Tokugō’s residence are tasked to create the garments for the special procession that their young lord and his entourage are about to undertake. That is to say, in this story, Wakagimi’s departure is likened to a wedding ceremony, and his imminent future on the mountain to a marriage of the protagonists. Furthermore, for Wakagimi, his decision to be with Jijū on Mount Hiei permanently means he is prepared to graduate from the acolyteship, discontinue his sexual relationship with his teacher, and become an ordained priest. It would likely have been the job of the “bridegroom” to formalize this transition by cutting the chigo’s long ponytail and shaving his head. Nevertheless, as we know, this scenario never comes to pass for the newlyweds-to-be. Jijū’s mission of consummating his union with his beloved is stolen by the stepmother. In sum, Wakagimi is left to resemble an adulterous woman—only a few days before his “wedding” day.38 After waking up to the horrific outcome of the assault, Wakagimi flees his home in despair. Had The Mountain been an archetypal mamako banashi, Wakagimi would have then come across a supernatural figure who would have helped him survive and attain eternal happiness. Sadly, Wakagimi is not so fortunate—it is a group of yamabushi who saves his life instead.39 What may be the significance of the fact that Wakagimi’s “saviors” are yamabushi? As mentioned earlier, the Buddhist community imagined yamabushi to be the avatars of tengu, the flying goblins that were equated with evilness (ma 魔).40 In addition, in medieval times, the mountain ascetics were known to love beautiful boys.41 This belief can be observed in the noh play The Goblin at Mount Kurama (Kurama Tengu), in which a mountain ascetic (a tengu in disguise) becomes enamored with the chigo Ushiwaka-maru (the young Minamoto no Yoshitsune).42 Another Yoshitsune legend, A Record of

120

Chapter Three

Yoshitsune, echoes a similar sentiment. While Yoshitsune and his entourage are traveling north to flee persecution by Minamoto no Yoritomo (Yoshitsune’s older half-brother and the head of the Minamoto), the hero’s wife disguises herself as a chigo. Yoshistune’s most loyal retainer, Benkei, remarks as he coaches the lady how to act like an acolyte, “Since there are numerous yamabushi in the Deep North, we are going to encounter them on our way. They will break a flowery branch and present it to you, saying, ‘This is for the young one.’ ”43 Given this cultural background, when Wakagimi is rescued by the group of mountain ascetics, he inadvertently enters into a nanshoku relationship with its leader. If we are to read The Mountain as a variant of mamako banashi, the yamabushi leader plays the role of both the protagonist’s savior (in the role played by the mountain crone for Hanayo) and the hardship (the equivalent of Hanayo’s hard labor as a hearth maid). Moreover, during the trial period, Hanayo and Wakagimi each construct an undesirable temporary self: an anonymous, lowly old woman and the apprentice yamabushi, Shōshō no Kimi, respectively. For the stepchild characters to escape their predicaments, someone else has to look past their temporary guise and redeem them for who they are. These special people, of course, become their true lovers. The months-long quasicaptivity of Shōshō in the company of the group of heretics finally comes to an end when Jijū’s father summons the “blade-sharp” yamabushi to treat his deathly ill son. Jijū is not thrilled at first, but he is convinced by the ascetic’s scruffy face and white beard, signs of long and arduous training, and agrees to receive his treatment. Jijū then notices the yamabushi’s charming assistant, who is not quite twenty years old. As he attentively observes the youth’s rich shoulder-length hair and his attire gracefully framing his petite body, he realizes that the youth is none other than his lover, whose disappearance caused his illness.44 Before Wakagimi’s disappearance, Jijū had seen his lover only as a chigo with the iconic long ponytail, makeup, and elegant suikan robe. So it takes him a few moments to realize that the youth is his missing lover, although Jijū is instantly drawn to him. As the couple rejoices at their reunion and cries tears of happiness, the mountain ascetic and Jijū’s father stare at them dumbfounded, not knowing what is happening. Jijū then makes an emotional plea to the yamabushi explaining their backstory and begging him to let his disciple go. Now that Shōshō has no reason to be at his master’s mercy, he, too, straightaway asks

The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals



121

the yamabushi to let him stay with Jijū. The yamabushi hedges but admits that “saying something disagreeable would do no good” and agrees to let his disciple-lover be with Jijū. As the mountain ascetic is leaving the estate of his client, in a last attempt to preserve their relationship, he says to the youth, “No matter where you may be, I shall never forget you. Please, whenever you come back to the capital, be sure to inform me.” Shōshō replies, “Of course I will,” although the readers would know he has no intention of doing so.45 As table 3.1 illustrates, the former chigo’s reunion with Jijū marks a positive turning point in his life, corresponding to Hanayo’s encounter with her future husband, Saishō. Once Hanayo and Saishō fall in love, despite his mother’s scheme to break them up, they together follow a linear progression toward “eternal happiness.” The details of Hanayo’s “eternal happiness” are left to the reader’s imagination—hopefully, she will always be beautiful, well taken care of by her husband and entourage, blessed with lovely children, and her husband will show no interest in any other women. In short, Lady Hanayo spares its readers the unglamorous, realistic details of married life. This literary convention of obfuscating the postwedding life of a romantic heroine is not dissimilar to the tradition of expunging the younger protagonist from an acolyte tale before he loses his youthful, androgynous beauty. Nevertheless, The Mountain rejects both conventions and instead puts the younger protagonist to work again—this time, toward his own rebirth into the Pure Land. Table 3.1.  Major events in The Mountain and Lady Hanayo The former chigo

Hanayo

Banishment

The stepmother cuts his hair and he runs away from home

The stepmother has a samurai kidnap Hanayo and abandon her in the mountains

Savior

The yamabushi leader

The mountain crone

Hardship

Erotic labor as the yamabushi leader’s lover

Physical labor as an aged hearth maid in the mansion of the middle counselor

Breakthrough

Reunion with Jijū in the capital

Saishō’s “discovery” of Hanayo

122

Chapter Three

Further development

Moves to Mt. Hiei with Jijū The stepmother is eliminated Inherits Tōnan-in

Victory in the bridal contest The stepmother is eliminated Reunion with her father

Eternal happiness

Devotion to Buddhist practices Reunion with his former lover Rebirth in the Pure Land

Happy marriage Births of children Prosperity

Once reunited with Jijū in the capital, Shōshō moves to Mount Hiei and begins his life anew—as an ordained priest, Zenji. The couple spend a few joyful years on the mountain together, but Zenji grows increasingly concerned about his aging father, Tokugō. Zenji’s homecoming provides Tokugō with the opportunity to eliminate his malicious wife and stepdaughter permanently. Yet with his son living so far away, he will now be all alone in Nara. The lovers therefore opt to go their separate ways, each focusing on his duty as a son and clergyman. Zenji eventually inherits Tōnan-in from his master, earns the title of gon-no-risshi (supernumerary master of precepts), and becomes known as Shōshō Risshi. In his old age, Shōshō Risshi retreats to a mountain hermitage and calls himself Nara Shōnin. He is rewarded with a serendipitous reunion with his former lover, now called Jakuji Shōnin. In this way, The Mountain tells a touching story of love and religious devotion without driving the chigo out of the story. Thus far, I have attempted to explicate the structure of The Mountain as a quasi-mamako banashi by paying particular attention to Wakagimi’s plight. Again, one of the most notable characteristics of the medieval mamako banashi is that its protagonist, a stepchild, is destined to be uprooted from home. Yet precisely because he or she is displaced from home and steps into the paranormal space of the deep mountains, the protagonist eventually finds a path to eternal happiness. In this vein, the stepmother’s attack on Wakagimi, which disfigures him and drives him away from home, is the beginning of a series of challenges. And only through overcoming these obstacles can he triumph as the hero of this deeply romantic, religious narrative. Further, Wakagimi’s loss of his beautiful hair appears to play yet another critical role in this tale. In the next section, I will demonstrate how



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

123

the stepmother’s cutting of Wakagimi’s hair fits into The Mountain’s ambitious goal: to be the only chigo monogatari whose younger protagonist unapologetically shaves his head, lingers until he reaches a ripe old age, and finally attains rebirth into the Pure Land. Taking Steps toward the Buddhist “Happily Ever After” The stepmother’s attack as a buffer

Earlier, I pointed out that Wakagimi’s postattack coiffure is identical to that of the mountain ascetics depicted in plate 15. Equally significant is that his cropped hair also resembles that of a woman who had undertaken “partial tonsure.” The signature bob haircut was called amasogi (nun’s cut), and it indicated the transitory state between a laywoman and a nun. Although some noblewomen did seek a full tonsure (teihatsu, “shaving one’s head,” or rakushoku, “dropping one’s ornament”) to become fully ordained nuns, aristocratic ladies were generally discouraged from shaving their heads. This is purportedly because fully tonsured women were not allowed at court or at any places or occasions associated with Shinto.46 Nevertheless, it is not difficult to imagine how visually astonishing it would have been for a highborn lady with silky, six-foot-long, jet black hair to instantly switch to a state of complete baldness. In a similar vein, a bald-headed woman who renounced the world, along with her love life, family, and feminine beauty, must have been a threat to manhood, and she may occasionally have been stigmatized for lacking femininity. (This negative perception may have spawned the nuns’ custom of covering their shaved heads with headscarves.) Therefore, not only was the “nun’s cut” a preparatory state before the eventual full tonsure, but it also can be understood as a “buffer” that shielded the women from stigmatization. If aristocratic women’s heads were shaved, it was typically done on their sickbed.47 Curiously, according to Katsuura Noriko, once a woman had completely shaven her head, she “was regarded as the equivalent of a male monk.”48 For instance, Imperial Consort Fujiwara no Senshi (962–1002) first became a partially tonsured nun after the death of her husband, Emperor En’yū (r. 969–984). A decade or so later, she received the full tonsure as she neared her own end; the courtier-calligrapher Fujiwara no Yukinari (972–1027) described

124

Chapter Three

this event in his diary as having “turn[ed] her into a [male] priest” (sō to nasu). Similarly, in the words of the courtier Fujiwara no Sanesuke (957–1046), Imperial Consort Fujiwara no Seishi (972–1025) was “made into a male priest” (hōshi to nasu) when she shaved her head on her deathbed.49 This, of course, is still another example of the depth of tonsorial power—by adopting a male hairstyle, the sun goddess Amaterasu acquired enormous physical might; Empress Jingū swiftly subjugated the Korean Peninsula; and highborn women nearing death defied the common belief that women were unable to attain enlightenment.50 Along similar lines, the stepmother’s attack pushes Wakagimi in the direction of acquiring masculinity, adulthood, and priesthood, creating a buffer zone between the state of the triply liminal chigo and that of a full-fledged priest. Indeed, the author of The Mountain provides Wakagimi with another buffer by fluidly moving the story back and forth between male homosocial-homoerotic realms and heterosocial-heteroerotic domains. The acolyte in the mixed-gender domain

Partially modeled after the mamako banashi prototype, The Mountain goes against the tendency of acolyte tales to exclude women. As we have seen, the main stage of this story continues to shift between the homosocial religious world (Mount Hiei, Tōnan-in, the dwelling of the yamabushi, and Mount Kōya) and mixed-gender domestic spaces, namely, Tokugō’s residence in Nara and the home of Jijū’s parents in the capital. The narrative, however, pays no heed to a key female character in a typical mamako banashi—the stepchild’s dead mother. The readers are not even given an explanation of how Wakagimi’s mother died; the narrator simply states, “Years had passed since the death of Wakagimi’s mother, so Tokugō decided to promote one of his attendants to become his new wife.”51 Conversely, in Lady Hanayo, the heroine’s biological mother, who dies an untimely death, is remembered by the heroine as an exquisite and loving lady. Moreover, toward the end of the story, Hanayo attributes all of her good fortune to her late mother, who built a chapel to worship Kannon. Yearning for a child, the lady prayed to the bodhisattva of compassion and, after Hanayo was born, she continued to pray for the well-being of her daughter, until the last day of her life. This type of virtuous message honoring the late mother



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

125

is prevalent in mamako banashi because one of the functions of this genre of stories is to teach the readers (girls and young women) about the importance of filial piety.52 The disregard for Wakagimi’s birthmother is also congruent with the fact that the majority of The Mountain’s female characters— the ladies-in-waiting who work at the homes of both protagonists, Jijū’s mother, and Tokugō’s stepdaughter—receive little attention. They remain in the background without uttering a word. Worse, the only two female characters who speak in this tale, the stepmother and her servant Owari, are villains. Thus, breaking out of the typical allmale setting of chigo monogatari does not mean that The Mountain depicts women in a positive light. The repeated insertion of Wakagimi into a mixed-gender domestic milieu, however, plays a significant role in this story in a way that is not directly related to the plot. That is, it makes Wakagimi’s physical transformation from an idolized and eroticized figure to a cleric with a shaved head less dramatic and more digestible for the audience. Within the fourteen extant acolyte tales, The Mountain is the only text in which the central chigo character takes the tonsure midstory. In all the other cases of a chigo’s entrance into the priesthood (i.e., Hanamitsu and Tsukimitsu, The Tale of Matsuho Bay, and vignette 2 of A Booklet of Acolytes), the event is announced by the narrator at the very end. This is because, in Yaguchi Yūko’s words, taking the tonsure causes a chigo to “relinquish his charm as a [symbolic] child,” after which he “can no longer be the object of [Buddhist priests’] romantic interest.”53 Therefore, just as we rarely encounter realistic depictions of romantic heroines in middle age and beyond, Hanamitsu and Tsukimitsu, the Matsuho Bay, and vignette 2 of A Booklet of Acolytes spare the readers the image of the chigoturned-monk in a plain black robe, wearing no makeup, and with a head completely shaven. The fact of the matter is that to soften Wakagimi’s relinquishment of his beauty and avoid alienating the readers, he must be made unlike Umewaka, the mysterious chigo-qua- bodhisattva. The Mountain achieves this innovation by illuminating several sides of its younger protagonist, instead of portraying him solely as the object of the homoerotic desire of his master, colleagues in the monastery, and lover. The readers of The Mountain are given opportunities to see him as the son of Tokugō, the stepson of Tokugō’s second wife, the young master at Tokugō’s residence, and the yamabushi-in-training

126

Chapter Three

at the home of Jijū’s parents before he becomes the monk Zenji. As a result, the younger hero of The Mountain comes across as unusually human, imperfect, nondivine, and nonmysterious, which makes his transformations less shocking and less disappointing than they would otherwise be. With Buddhist enlightenment as the ultimate goal, Wakagimi’s long spiritual journey consists of numerous incremental steps. Along the way, the stepmother attempts to break his spirit by hacking his long ponytail, and when this does not work out, she even schemes to have him murdered. But the hero of this tale never relents. Instead, at every juncture of his spiritual journey, he evolves. His appearance, name, and status transform: from the chigo Wakagimi (his actual chigo name is not revealed) to the yamabushi-in-training Shōshō no Kimi, followed by the monk Zenji, Shōshō Risshi, and, finally, the recluse Nara Shōnin. Through these gradual changes in Wakagimi’s corporeality and ontology as well as the opportunities for the readers to see him through the non-erotic eyes of his father, stepmother, female attendants, and Jijū’s parents, the hero of The Mountain earns the gift of living a full and complete life until his natural death. This wholesome life of our hero, of course, is filled with ups, downs, and a hiatus of nanshoku relationships. Male-Male Love in T he M ountain Human love with Jijū

In the most archetypal chigo monogatari, Autumn Night, the relationship between Keikai and Umewaka is punctuated by a series of challenges, beginning with the former’s unrequited love for the image of the youth in his dream. Days later, he chances upon Umewaka at Miidera—the archenemy of Keika’s home temple—and becomes even more obsessed with the boy. The young monk’s pursuit of the chigo stretches over many days of trial and failure. At last the two seize the opportunity to have a rendezvous one evening and exchange vows of eternal love. Surprisingly, this turns out to be the only time they spend a night together as lovers. In this story, the fleeting love affair of Keikai and Umewaka is presented as something mystical, beautiful, dreamlike, and surreal. This is not the case for the protagonists of The Mountain. As an integral part of the “wholesome and complete” life of the humanized



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

127

chigo and his partner, this story traces the evolution of their less-thanmystical romantic endeavor until their final reunion. Wakagimi’s humanity vis-à-vis Umewaka is obvious from the beginning, as shown in his receptivity to Jijū’s advances. The day after Jijū first sees Wakagimi in Shirakawa, he returns to the villa to catch a glimpse of the chigo again. Surprised to see this stranger outside the fence of the villa, Wakagimi blushes and hides behind the curtain, yet he does not leave the site entirely. Jijū then squeezes through a gap in the fence and comes inside the premises. Standing beside the veranda, the monk composes a poem: “Behind this curtain / you may be wondering who this stranger is / But I know you and / my heart is already engrossed in you.” The youth immediately replies in verse, “I am not convinced / How could anyone see me through the curtain / let alone feel so strongly about me?”54 One week after this poetry exchange, Jijū returns to Shirakawa, hoping that the chigo’s servant will let him see the chigo. To his delight, Wakagimi has already been on the lookout for him, standing by the gate. After they speak with each other for a while, the chigo escorts the monk inside. They become lovers that night. Once Wakagimi and Jijū are lovers, they spend their days and nights at the villa in Shirakawa, playing music and singing along. Appalled by their nonchalant attitude, Tokugō scolds his son, reminding him that he has an obligation to the abbot of Tōnan-in. Once Jijū awkwardly introduces himself to Tokugō, the father ceases to gripe, perhaps because the couple is about to be miles apart. Meanwhile, Wakagimi and Jijū take Tokugō’s silence as a cue to enjoy each other’s company even more openly. Finally, Jijū receives a message from his master, instructing him to hurry back to the mountain, so they bid farewell each other, vowing to meet again. The master-chigo relationship

I have noted in the previous chapters that the chigo’s masters tend to remain in the background, and if they appear as characters, their sexual engagement with their acolytes is downplayed. Umewaka’s master, for example, never appears as a character in Autumn Night, while The Tale of Genmu moderates the Chikurinbō abbot’s sexual relationship with Hanamatsu. That is, when Genmu visits Mount Nikkō to look for Hanamatsu, the abbot does not seem troubled by the fact that this young, good-looking monk, clearly besotted, has traveled all

128

Chapter Three

the way from Kyoto to the eastern province to see his favorite chigo. In the comical and satirical Booklet of Acolytes, however, each vignette pokes fun at the master of the chigo. In other words, masterchigo sexuality is not something to which an acolyte tale pays close attention, and when it does, it portrays the union in an exaggerated, humorous manner. In The Mountain, the treatment of the master-chigo relationship is somewhere between a complete denial and over-the-top mockery. Every time Wakagimi slights his master, the author of The Mountain draws the audience’s attention to the insecurities of the Tōnan-in abbot. For instance, upon returning from Shirakawa to Nara, the chigo feels too preoccupied with Jijū to resume his duties at Tōnan-in, so he lingers at his father’s estate. Seeing this, Tokugō reprimands his son, saying, “How long do you plan to behave this way? Why don’t you compose yourself and hurry to your master? The abbot has kept telling me how concerned he was while you and I were in Shirakawa.” The boy reluctantly departs for Tōnan-in simply because “it was not as if Wakagimi could disobey his own father.”55 Upon Wakagimi’s return, however, things do not improve for the abbot: “Every time the abbot looked over to check on his disciple, the youth was absorbed in deep thoughts, reminiscing about what had happened in Shirakawa. Overcome by a range of emotions, the abbot remarked, ‘I am turning into that old grouch who fusses over everything!’ Despite his efforts, he was unable to maintain a poker face, so others began asking him what the matter was. Inside his heart, the abbot was distraught and was struck by how much the chigo had changed just within the few days he was gone.”56 The nanshoku relationship with the yamabushi leader

Another man with whom the younger protagonist of The Mountain forms a sexual relationship is the yamabushi leader. Although it would be inaccurate to characterize this man as a villain, it is nonetheless an unfortunate situation for Shōshō to be his lover. Because Shōshō does not enter into Shugendō (Mountain Asceticism) out of genuine desire, this relationship brings him no benefits beyond survival, unlike his relationship with his master priest at Tōnan-in. Furthermore, because his relationship with the yamabushi is an informal, ad hoc arrangement, Shōshō has no leverage or protective measures, such as the presence of his father, whose utmost concern is the



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

129

well-being of his son. Hence, as soon as Shōshō is reunited with Jijū in the capital, he breaks off relations with his temporary master. Fortunately for Shōshō, after he regains his freedom, no one blames, criticizes, or shames him for what he has had to do to survive. In sum, The Mountain unmistakably champions the protagonists’ romantic love based on mutual attraction, and Shōshō’s uneven relationship with the yamabushi leader functions as a foil for the ideal companionship. This story also breaks with the conventions of acolyte tales by exposing the truth about the chigo system, that is, a chigo’s participation in a sexual union with his teacher signifies his willingness to provide erotic labor diligently, rather than his sexual attraction to the master. On the whole, this tale’s attitude toward the chigo system is ambivalent at best. Although the author certainly does not vilify the abbot, his authority over his chigo is depicted as a precarious one. This phenomenon can be seen most saliently in his power negotiation with the chigo’s other male guardian: his father, Tokugō. Father versus Master If an author of an acolyte tale wished to protect the positive image of the chigo system, he had good reason to avoid depicting the power dynamics between a chigo’s two male guardians. In fact, out of the five acolyte tales we have examined thus far, The Mountain is the only text that features the younger protagonist’s father. In other texts, chigo’s fathers are either not mentioned at all or are mentioned only for the purpose of explaining the chigo’s lineage. The master-father dyad of The Mountain is of particular interest because both men belong to the great Kōfukuji community, with the abbot holding a far higher status than Tokugō. Nevertheless, Tokugō is depicted as a father first and a member of the Kōfukuji complex second. When necessary, he is not afraid to betray the hierarchical order of his institution for the love of his son. Although Tokugō tries to intervene in his son’s affair with Jijū on multiple occasions, after Wakagimi slips out of Tōnan-in to be with his lover, Tokugō appears to recognize the boy’s stubbornness and the importance of respecting his feelings and desires. Once Wakagimi’s tutor, the monk Kakunen, arrives on Mount Hiei and demands his young lord back, Jijū’s master steps in and suggests that Jijū ask Wakagimi’s father for permission to be with his son, completely leaving the chigo’s master out of

130

Chapter Three

the discussion. Tokugō, of course, chooses his son’s happiness over loyalty to the abbot and agrees to send Wakagimi to Enryakuji as soon as appropriate preparations have been made. Having caught wind of Wakagimi’s return, the abbot repeatedly summons his disciple, but Tokugō makes up various excuses to avoid complying.57 Fortunately, many years later, when the former chigo (monk Zenji) visits Tōnan-in, the abbot, who is dying of an illness, shows no sign of bitterness. On the contrary, the former master is delighted to see Zenji and asks him to be the head of Tōnan-in after his death. Hypothesizing the Authorship of T he M ountain After The Letter from Lord Kōzuke was composed during the late Kamakura period, a host of similarly oriented narratives emerged. Most of these stories conclude by affirming the primacy of Buddhist teachings over a fleeting this-worldly attachment, whereas the formal master-chigo union, vaguely lurking in the background, is not subjected to scrutiny. The Mountain’s approach to the chigo system is remarkably different, as the author is clearly not afraid to shed light on the unglamorous aspects of this tradition. This includes the chigo’s impenitent obsession with a young, handsome monk from a rival temple, the abbot’s grievance about his disciple’s unfaithfulness, and the abbot’s precarious authority over his chigo vis-à-vis his father. In my view, this tale’s subtly critical stance toward the chigo system was not the result of the author’s moral judgment on the tradition. Rather, it probably stemmed from the fact that the chigo system benefited only the top echelon of the monastery. I would also argue that The Mountain seems to be reflecting the perspective of lower- to midranking clerics—or the bystanders of the chigo system— who were unlikely to be in the position of having chigo of their own, even in the future. These bystanders played a significant role in the longevity and vibrancy of the chigo system because they experienced (but could not act upon) mimetic desire for the master priests, thereby further elevating the status of the ranking priests and strengthening their authority. Another way to look at the exclusivity of the chigo system is to hypothesize that it resulted in resentment among the lower- and midranking clerics. Thus, The Mountain appears to represent the bystanders’ fantasy. In this highly unrealistic scenario, a gorgeous chigo falls in love with a slightly upgraded version of themselves, runs away from the master to be with him. Then, after overcoming a



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

131

series of obstacles, the lovers spend the last few years of their life in a small, serene mountain hermitage until they both finally attain enlightenment. Conclusion Despite The Mountain’s reception history as a failed imitation of Autumn Night, its plot, characters, and structure bear little resemblance to those of Autumn Night. Yet thematically speaking, both acolyte tales excel at telling a compelling story of selfless love and religious devotion. Also, to make a comparison between The Mountain and Lady Hanayo, the latter story progresses rapidly until the heroine’s marriage to her Prince Charming—and then it stalls. The very last thing the narrator mentions in this heterosexual mamako banashi is that she is blessed with one baby boy and one baby girl and that she finds each child superb menoto and attendants. The Mountain, in contrast, does not stop at the resolution of the major conflict, following Shōshō’s reunion with Jijū in the capital. Afterward, the younger protagonist continues to endure and overcome challenges: a threat of assassination, a long-term separation from Jijū, and the deaths of his father and master. In addition to discussing these similarities and differences between The Mountain and its more tragically oriented counterparts, this chapter has offered an in-depth analysis of hair in the context of premodern Japan. By slashing Wakagimi’s hair, the stepmother accomplishes many objectives. She undermines the boy’s attractiveness; she makes him resemble a heretic, a lowly servant, and an adulterous woman at the same time; she deprives Jijū of a chance to give his lover a tonsure; and, most importantly, she expels Wakagimi from home. I have also argued that Wakagimi’s cropped hair signifies his transitory status as he stands on the cusp of becoming an adult male priest. By creating this buffer between his status as a chigo and an ordained priest, The Mountain seems to have made the hero’s transformation more gradual, similarly to the way highborn women sought a partial tonsure as an in-between state before pursuing a full tonsure. The abundant illustrations of tonsorial power in premodern Japanese texts, including The Mountain, show us that one’s sei is not a merely descriptive manifestation of one’s internal “truth.” Rather, human corporeality—the “vision” of sei included—is embodied and

132

Chapter Three

materialized in an intricate web of social, cultural, and religious conditions and messages. This vision of physicality functions as a prescriptive force to shape one’s self. The descriptive and prescriptive functions of body and self push, pull, and interact, allowing one to continue evolving throughout one’s life. Today we tend to regard gender/sex, race/ethnicity, and age as more predetermined and unchangeable than, say, social class, spirituality, and morality. Nonetheless, in premodern Japan, all of these labels were considered more or less malleable. To the extent that the modification of hair, clothing, and appellation caused the individual to emerge as a new being, it is understandable that the government strictly regulated such social markers in premodern times. As Nikki Sullivan reminds us, it is important to question the overwhelmingly prevalent notion that the subject is a “unique, unified, rational, autonomous individual [. . .] whose desires and actions are transparent to him or herself,” since there is no “true self that exists prior to its immersion in culture.” The Mountain, a relatively unknown tale from medieval Japan, helps us question the validity of the numerous labels we apply to define ourselves and others hastily and uncritically every day. Figuratively speaking, initiation into chigo-hood was not unlike signing a short-term, nonrenewable contract to play a stage character. The process of casting an adolescent boy for this role was arranged between the boy’s parents and his future master, as illustrated at the beginning of The Mountain (Jijū’s father entrusts the boy to the care of the high priest at the Eastern Pagoda of Enryakuji). When a mutual agreement was reached, the youth was given a script to play his role by and remained in the spotlight at the monastery for a few years. Although we don’t know whether physical contracts for chigo actually existed, an etiquette manual, known as Uki (ca. 1190), has survived.58 Composed by the Cloistered Prince Shukaku (1150–1202), the first half of this document, titled “Matters Regarding Symbolic Children and Others’ Etiquette” (Dōgyō tō no shōsoku no koto), enumerates twenty-five “do’s and don’ts” for chigo. One of the instructions concerns the timing of retirement: “The age for taking the tonsure should be between seventeen and nineteen. Since the acolytes decorate their countenances with kohl, rouge, and face powder only for four or five years, during that time, they should diligently study the classics.”59 As a result, the lifespan of the chigo was much shorter than a woman’s “marriageable age” in medieval times. In the world of chigo monogatari, the youth usually steps out of the spotlight before the



The Mountain: An Acolyte Tale of Traversals

133

light turns off on its own, with the exception of the hero of The Mountain. Long after taking the holy orders, he unapologetically occupies the center stage to pursue his goal of attaining enlightenment. Toward the end of the story, the author lets the reader have a glimpse of the former chigo, now known as the recluse Nara Shōnin: “extraordinarily skinny, with a dark complexion, and wearing an old, droopy, ink-dyed black robe.”60 The relatively earthly milieu of The Mountain created a heartwarming love story of two fervent followers of Buddhism. What happens to a chigo, then, when he moves from the monochromic cloister on Mount Hiei to the flowery capital and lives in a domestic space occupied by numerous ladies-in-waiting—as one of them? In the next chapter, we will consider our last chigo monogatari, the story of a Hiei chigo who falls in love with the daughter of a minister and pursues her affection through an elaborate, novel scheme.

Chapter 4

The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love with an Aristocratic Lady

T

he last chigo monogatari that this book will examine is The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie (Chigo Imamairi), an acolyte tale that has drawn increasing scholarly attention in recent years.1 The title stems from the temporary nickname given to its hero, On-Imamairi (Miss Rookie). He earns this sobriquet when he takes a leave from his acolyte position and serves his love interest, the daughter of a high-ranking minister, as her new lady-in-waiting. In the “flow chart” of the chigo monogatari genre (figure 4), The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie diverges from the archetypes by two degrees, for the chigo character does not develop a romantic relationship with a Buddhist monk and does not turn out to be an avatar of a deity. Unsurprisingly, scholars have positioned Miss Rookie as “an anomalous and marginalized” acolyte tale, precisely because the male protagonist forms a heterosexual relationship with an aristocratic lady and, by the same token, much of the story unfolds outside a Buddhist institution.2 In Ichiko Teiji’s words, this work “lies midway between chigo monogatari and romantic novels of aristocrats.”3 Although such assessments of Miss Rookie are not invalid, they do not necessarily capture this tale’s bold, playful, and subversive ethos. As this chapter will show, Miss Rookie is a satirical parody of the chigo monogatari genre, sprinkled with lighthearted and not-solighthearted humor. It also deals with such important yet neglected issues as female homosociality, interspecific and interreligious relations between Buddhist humans and Shugendō-practicing tengu, and 134



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 135

the reconciliation of this-worldly happiness and posthumous salvation. What is most significant is that, while the majority of chigo tales focus on the androcentric monastic world and they were likely penned by male priests for the enjoyment of predominantly male audiences, Miss Rookie is the opposite. In short, this tale is presented to its readers as a chigo monogatari “of the women, by the women, and for the women.” As a first step toward delving into this fascinating story, let us consider the plot. QR Not so long ago, there was a minister of the center (naidaijin), who was fortunate to have a handsome son and a stunningly beautiful daughter. Himegimi (Young Lady) had been betrothed to the crown prince and everyone at the mansion had attended her with the utmost care and admiration. Regrettably, in the second month of the year, Himegimi suddenly fell ill. Afraid that she may have been possessed by a malevolent spirit, the minister had reputable healers conduct an exorcism, albeit to no avail. He then summoned the bishop (sōjō) from Mount Hiei.4 After seven days of prayers and purification rites, Himegimi made a significant recovery. Though her parents were elated, they asked the bishop to extend his stay just to be on the safe side. It was past the twentieth day of the third month and an assortment of flowers was in full bloom in the courtyard of the mansion. One late afternoon, the bishop’s favorite chigo, who had accompanied his master to the minister’s estate, was strolling through the courtyard, enjoying the view of the lovely blossoms, and caught a glimpse of Himegimi sitting on the veranda (plate 16). The lady seemed to be fifteen or sixteen years of age. Her beauty and elegance were mesmerizing, and the youth was instantly enthralled. On the final day of the bishop’s scheduled stay, the chigo asked for a temporary sick leave and headed for the home of his menoto (wet nurse) in the capital. At the menoto’s home, the chigo spent weeks lying in bed and refusing to confide in her. Eventually, he sat up and began scribbling verses about unrequited love on a sheet of paper. So the nurse hit upon the idea that her young lord must be lovelorn for someone.5 She finally persuaded him into a confession; upon hearing his story, the nurse decided to pull a stunt on behalf of her beloved charge. For the next few months, she frequented the minister’s mansion with various tributes and befriended the women who worked on site. She

136

Chapter Four

then volunteered her “young mistress” (i.e., the chigo) for a position as a lady-in-waiting to serve the minister’s daughter. Although the chigo was initially flabbergasted at this idea, he reluctantly agreed to dress as a woman for the chance to see the young lady again. The menoto and her attendants transformed the chigo into a charming lady-in-waiting and they set out for his interview in a carriage. It was around the tenth day of the ninth month. At the minister’s mansion, the people came out to greet the candidate. Thanks to the chigo’s beauty, poise, and superb talents in the Chinese lute (biwa) and calligraphy, he was hired on the spot. From that day on, the people at the mansion called the new attendant On-imamairi (Miss Rookie). As he taught the young lady the biwa, they became close friends. Because On-imamairi kept the young lady company day and night, Himegimi’s other attendants found themselves out of place in their mistress’s chamber and spent more time in the other locations of the premises. The more private time the chigo spent with Himegimi, however, the more painful it became to suppress his feelings. Fully aware that the lady’s wedding day was fast approaching, the chigo finally confessed everything to her. Although Himegimi was horrified and dumbfounded at first, after days of continuous courtship, they became lovers. Several weeks passed and Himegimi felt unwell; the chigo broke to her the terrible news that she was probably pregnant, turning her life upside-down. With all the elaborate planning for her wedding already underway, Himegimi was utterly devastated. Meanwhile, the Enryakuji bishop had been nagging the menoto for the return of his favorite acolyte. Unable to keep evading the pressure, the menoto asked the chigo to take a temporary leave from his service at the minister’s mansion. Though it was painful to leave his pregnant lover behind, the chigo had no choice. He first went to the nurse’s home to change back into his chigo attire and then ascended the mountain. In contrast to the chigo’s gloomy spirit, the bishop and the other clergymen were overjoyed at the chigo’s return and threw a celebratory banquet (plate 17). A few days passed on the mountain. One evening, the forlorn youth was out on the veranda. This is when a tengu, dressed in the garb of a yamabushi, appeared out of thin air and snatched him away. The sudden vanishing of the chigo set off a panic on the mountain. The clergymen thought this must be the work of those wicked flying goblins and started praying for the return of the chigo. The ominous news spread to the capital. Having a hunch that this must be her lover, Himegimi’s shock was indescribable. Without her only confidant, the thought of



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 137

herself at the center of salacious gossip was so unbearable that it made her feel suicidal. One early morning, while her attendants were still sound asleep, Himegimi slipped out of her home. She aimlessly walked about in the deep mountains until her feet bled, looking for a body of water to dive into. But her heart broke whenever she imagined how excruciating her death would be to her parents. Her suicide would be a terrible disgrace to the family name as well. Himegimi was at a loss. Then she saw a faint light flickering in the distance, so she decided to walk in that direction. The light was coming from the dwelling of an enormous, hideous-looking ama tengu (nun goblin). The lady summoned up the courage to ask for a night’s stay (plate 18). Despite some initial reluctance, the ama tengu let the human girl in, having used her mind-reading powers to discern the situation. The ama tengu told Himegimi that it was her own child who had kidnapped her lover and instructed her to hide in a cabinet-like shrine (zushi). Soon, the ama tengu’s son, an eerie-looking tengu named Tarō-bō, accompanied by his fellow flying goblins and the spiritless chigo, arrived and threw a rowdy banquet (plate 19).6 The ama tengu managed to convince Tarō-bō to entrust the chigo to her care overnight, on the condition that should she ever lose the boy, he would take his own mother’s life. As soon as all the evil creatures left her dwelling, the ama tengu let Himegimi and the chigo reunite. Although this would mean the end of her life, the ama tengu, who had now turned to the Buddhist faith, offered to take the young couple any place they wished to go. To this, the chigo replied, “Please take us to my menoto’s home.” The chigo, who had been spirited away from Mount Hiei, must already be dead, people came to assume. As for the chigo’s menoto, she had taken the tonsure and moved to Uji, where she prayed for her young master’s salvation day and night.7 So her surprise and delight were extraordinary when she saw her beloved lord alive and well. Sadly, soon after the ama tengu dropped the couple off on the menoto’s doorstep, she was devoured by her son and his underlings. Having witnessed a murder of crows in the sky throw down her severed feathered arm just outside the nurse’s home, the chigo and Himegimi offered her a solemn memorial service. Meanwhile, in the care of the menoto of Uji, her daughter Jijū, and other attendants, Himegimi gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The chigo was a proud new father, and everyone was in a celebratory spirit. But Himegimi’s heart was in turmoil. Every night, the lady had the

138

Chapter Four

same dream about her parents weeping frantically, worrying about their missing daughter. Seeing the young lady’s grief, the menoto decided to pull another stunt. First, she composed a letter and sent it to the chigo’s master, informing him that his disciple had been found alive and was staying with her now. As soon as the bishop received this letter, he rushed down to Uji.8 The master priest was ecstatic to see his acolyte as well as to learn of the great efficacy of his prayers. The chigo explained to his master that the young lady had been brought to the nurse’s home but she refused to tell anyone her name or where she had come from. Thinking that this might be the missing daughter of the minister, the bishop then hurried to the capital. Since Himegimi’s disappearance, the minister’s wife had stopped taking any food and had become extremely frail. However, hearing that her daughter might still be alive, she could hardly contain her excitement. To find out whether this unidentified girl was actually her missing daughter, the mother sent Himegimi’s former menoto, Saishō, to Uji. Before Saishō’s arrival, the chigo temporarily changed from his acolytes’ attire to that of an adult man and stayed behind a partition so Saishō, his former colleague, would not recognize him. When Saishō and Himegimi saw each other, all they could do was cry happy tears. Saishō then returned to the capital to relay this marvelous news. Eager to see their daughter as soon as possible, they sent Saishō right back to Uji. For Himegimi, the notion of homecoming was bittersweet, knowing that she would miss the women she had grown so fond of during her time in Uji. Several days after the young lady left for home, a marvelous procession arrived to escort Himegimi’s husband and her infant son to the capital. The new groom turned out to be of the prestigious Northern Fujiwara lineage. So the minister fabricated a pretext to welcome the young couple into his mansion. After informing the court of the passing of his sick daughter, the minister also notified them that his son with a concubine had just undertaken the genpuku ceremony and was ready to serve the court. Thus, the former chigo received the rank of lesser captain (shōshō). The couple was blessed with another baby boy, followed by a baby girl, who eventually became the junior consort (nyōgo) to the emperor.9 Moreover, they had a dream of the ama tengu’s rebirth into the Inner Sanctum of the Fourth Heavenly Realm (Tosotsu no naiin). The former chigo was promoted to the rank of major captain (taishō) as well. The menoto of Uji was given a piece of land near her home, and her daughter, Jijū, was appointed to be the new nyōgo’s lady-in-waiting.

QR



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 139

Miss Rookie is a multimedia text, consisting of the main text, illustrations, and gachūshi (in-picture dialogues), similar to the Booklet of Acolytes. While each of the three modes conveys a set of meanings within its own bounds, when juxtaposed, these modes of media interact with each other to create curious layers of meanings.10 In light of this complexity, chapter 4 will analyze the main narrative, ­illustrations, and gachūshi, as well as the richly layered discourse of this tale, emerging from the interactions of the media modes. Through this process, this chapter will attempt to deepen the readers’ understanding of Miss Rookie and, more crucially, show how this story positions itself within the landscape of the chigo monogatari genre at large. The C higo : A Not-So-Idolized Boy The chigo’s social station

To begin our analysis of Miss Rookie, we shall examine its hero, simply known as “the chigo.” Recall that the chigo name of the younger protagonist of The Mountain is also unknown to the readers, although the narrator calls him by the honorary title “Wakagimi” (Young Lord). The namelessness of Miss Rookie’s protagonist is but one example of the text’s refusal to wholeheartedly idealize and idolize its hero. Its heroine, in contrast, is addressed by the narrator as “Himegimi” (Young Lady), or the female equivalent of “Wakagimi.”11 Of course, toward the end of the story, the hero does turn out to be of elite pedigree. When this fact is announced, the narrator suddenly switches from her moderately polite language to ­extremely honorific language in the space of a single sentence, indicated by the boldface and underlining below: “As for this man we call ‘chigo,’ his origin is not frivolous. He is the honorable descendant of the Northern Fujiwara [. . .]” (Kono chigo to mōsu mo moto no nezashi ada narazu, kita no Fujinami no on-sue nite owashimashi-kere-domo).12 Although Abe Yasurō regards the chigo’s heritage as “clearly the same station as Himegimi’s or higher,”13 it is important to keep in mind that as an orphan, the chigo has no family backing and is socially and politically at a significant disadvantage. When he refuses to return to the mountain after falling in love with Himegimi, the chigo, unlike the protagonist of The Mountain, does not have a home to return to. Instead, he goes to his menoto’s

140

Chapter Four

home. It is obvious that, had it not been for his marriage to Himegimi, he would have been destined to become a priest on Mount Hiei, whether he liked it or not. The chigo’s erotic capital in the eyes of nanshoku practitioners

It goes without saying that, from Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth to The Mountain, all five chigo monogatari we have seen so far treat the acolyte character as the object of desire within the homosocial/ homoerotic domain to which he belongs. Across these five tales, the subjects of homoerotic desire are the masters of the chigo, the chigo’s unofficial lovers, the chigo’s colleagues (clergymen), the chigo’s foster brother (A Booklet of Acolytes, vignette 1), and the yamabushi in The Mountain. Miss Rookie, too, makes it clear that the hero is the center of homoerotic desire on Mount Hiei. For instance, at his first appearance in this story, the narrator informs the readers that the bishop adores this disciple so much that he never lets the boy out of sight. When the chigo falls ill (due to lovesickness for Himegimi), the master immediately sends a group of holy men to the menoto’s home and has them conduct an exorcism for his disciple. And as the chigo’s stay on the mountain stretches out, the master demands his return to the menoto. Upon the chigo’s return to Mount Hiei, the bishop and other priests enlist multiple acolytes to throw a banquet to welcome him back (plate 17). I will also argue that the chigo is seen through a homoerotic lens by the tengu Tarō-bō. As discussed in chapter 3, the reputation of tengu and yamabushi as admirers of beautiful boys, especially Buddhist acolytes, was well established in medieval times. Therefore, it is no surprise that Tarō-bō’s kidnapping of the chigo is at least partly motivated by his sexual desire for the youth. This reading can be supported by textual evidence as well. On the same night that Himegimi stumbles upon the dwelling of the ama tengu, Tarō-bō brings a number of his fellow tengu to her home. There, the half-bird, half-human creatures feast on food and sake and take off. What was the occasion for this party? As some scholars have already pointed out, we can draw a parallel between the two banquets (one on Mount Hiei and the other at the ama tengu’s home). The illustrations of the banquet scenes convey the creator’s disapproval of hedonistic clergymen by insinuating



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 141

that they resemble the evil creatures.14 In my view, the implied comparison of Tarō-bō to the bishop goes beyond the fact that both are the hosts of the banquets—Tarō-bō is about to become the youth’s formal older sexual partner, and the banquet is a proxy for a wedding ceremony between the chief tengu and the unconscious chigo. Tarō-bō, who obviously does not live with the ama tengu, has brought his underlings to his mother’s home to celebrate this special occasion.15 Furthermore, plate 19 depicts what seems to be a mound of rice cakes, sake in a red wooden cup (the bride and groom drink from a single cup during a wedding ceremony), and a red snapper, all of which are typically served at an auspicious event. Had it not been for the ama tengu’s intervention, the chigo might have been in a position similar to that of Shōshō no Kimi in The Mountain, having to convert to Shugendō and become a reluctant lover of the yamabushi leader (who is, in this case, a bona fide tengu). Although The Mountain casts Wakagimi’s relationship with the Tōnan-in abbot and his quasicaptivity by the yamabushi in a slightly negative light, the story is not critical of nanshoku itself. Rather, these less-than-perfect sexual unions function as antitheses to the romance between Wakagimi and Jijū based on mutual attraction. On the contrary, in the gynocentric world of Miss Rookie, male-male love is indeed marginalized—no positive examples of nanshoku are shown in this story. This does not mean, however, that the chigo’s relationship with Himegimi is upheld as a case of enchanted love. The chigo’s erotic capital in the eyes of women

As the hero of a heterosexual love story, how does the chigo fare? One way to answer this question is to compare Miss Rookie to the other two otogi zōshi that feature romance between a female character and a chigo. The first is a skillful means tale, The Tale of a Humble Hut (Hanyū no monogatari), summarized below. QR The daughter of a major counselor (dainagon) was known to be a gorgeous lady, and many bachelors asked the major counselor for her hand in marriage. Uninterested in such a frivolous matter as romantic love, the young lady announced she would agree to meet only with a suitor who could compose a letter that alluded to a great waka poem

142

Chapter Four

unknown to her. As expected, no one was able to meet her demand, until the moment she received a message from a chigo at Miidera, hinting that he had once attempted to drown himself due to the pain of his one-sided love for her. Time passed and the young lady set out on a twenty-seven-day pilgrimage to Ishiyama-dera. On the first night, a beautiful youth appeared to her in a dream, saying that he was the sender of the love letter. After spending some time at Ishiyama-dera, she noticed the voice of a young man chanting a sutra. Since the voice sounded familiar, she looked inside the chamber from which the voice was coming. It was the chigo from Miidera. She became completely captivated by this mysterious youth, although it was time for her to return home. Back home, the young lady confided in her menoto and menotogo about what had happened in Ishiyama-dera. Thanks to their help, the couple was able to meet in person for the first time; they eventually married and soon had a baby boy. Sadly, the lady unexpectedly fell ill and died at the age of twenty-three. Her husband retreated to a hermitage on Mount Higashi, spending the rest of his life praying for the repose of his late wife. He then attained ōjō at the age of forty-eight. It turns out that the young lady was an avatar of Kannon, who appeared in the form of a young woman to lead the former chigo, the lady’s parents, and many others to attain enlightenment.16

QR The other otogi zōshi on chigo-woman romance is known as The Tale of Tsukiō and Otohime (Tsukiō Otohime monogatari), a story far more fantastical than the Humble Hut.17 This narrative concerns an interspecific marriage (a subgenre of otogi zōshi called irui kon’in-tan 異類婚姻譚); the heroine, Otohime, is the daughter of the dragon king (ryūō) of the undersea world, and she falls in love with a chigo named Tsukiō. In the end, Tsukiō, Otohime, and their son live happily ever after in the undersea world. It is noteworthy that, as in the case of the Humble Hut, it is the heroine’s “stolen glimpse” (kaimami 垣間見) that makes her fall in love with the gorgeous chigo. This shows that a chigo can be the object of men’s and women’s erotic gaze. The opening section of Miss Rookie, however, casts the chigo in the role of a typical monogatari hero—it is the chigo who steals a glance at the unsuspecting heroine and falls in love. This, of course, destabilizes the traditional gazer-gazee dyad, in which the chigo typically



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 143

occupies the latter role, even when the gazer is a woman. Further, the narrator of this tale diverges from the chigo monogatari convention of praising the chigo’s beauty the first time the chigo is mentioned. The narrator of Miss Rookie simply introduces the hero in the following way: “This bishop had a chigo, whom he always kept by his side. For this trip to the minister’s residence, too, he brought the boy along, as usual.”18 This does not mean, however, that this chigo is any less attractive than the other acolyte characters we have seen thus far. Rather, the narrator is suspending the obligatory praise of the hero’s attractiveness until his transformation into Miss Rookie. For the time being, the narrator directs the readers’ attention to Himegimi’s exquisiteness in the kaimami scene: “The lady seemed to be about fifteen or sixteen years of age, leaning against the balustrade of the veranda, admiring the cherry blossoms. She was extraordinarily graceful and her resplendent eyes and forehead were beyond description. When for some reason she flashed a smile, he felt as if his heart was filled up with her loveliness.”19 Following the narrator’s description of Himegimi’s enthralling beauty, the viewers of the illustrated texts are presented with a visual representation of the kaimami scene in which the chigo is the gazer, while Himegimi, who is oblivious to the existence of the spectator, is the gazee (plate 16). This type of kaimami, with a gazer and an unsuspecting gazee, is a common motif in romantic tales. An illustration of such a scene normally centers the object of desire, while the spectator turns his or her back on the viewer of the image. Nevertheless, when it comes to Miss Rookie, all four versions of the illustrated texts (three emaki and one narae-bon) I have seen assign the chigo to play the dual role of gazer and “co-gazee,” as he reveals his frontal view to the audience. How should we interpret this unusual composition of the kaimami scene with two foci?20 On the one hand, it is easy for the readers of the Humble Hut and the Tsukiō and Otohime to perceive the chigo characters as recipients of erotic desire by simply matching their own gaze to that of the female protagonists, who instantly fall in love with their future husbands after kaimami. On the other hand, the narration of the kaimami scene in Miss Rookie does not seem to be inviting the audience (who must have been predominantly female) to match their gaze to that of either Himegimi or the chigo. One possible way to read the text and illustration of this scene is to regard them together as a playful, or even satirical, reversal of what elite men had been enjoying for centuries: the chance to

144

Chapter Four

objectify women and adolescent boys side by side (i.e., nanshoku-joshoku paradigm). In other words, the kaimami scene provides the female audience with a rare opportunity to observe two objects of male love, with the chigo on the right and the court ladies on the left. Indeed, the hero of this story is destined to become the center of the female—albeit nonerotic—gaze as a one-of-a-kind spectacle: the chigo-turned-lady-in-waiting, Miss Rookie. Thus, compared to the other five acolyte tales we have examined in chapters 1 through 3 and the two love stories of a chigo and a woman (Humble Hut and Tsukiō and Otohime), Miss Rookie seems unwilling to idealize its hero at the outset of the story. Even after Himegimi and the chigo become lovers, it would be difficult to say that he is presented to the female audience as an ideal male partner. One of the reasons for this is that, throughout Miss Rookie, there is no first-person account of Himegimi’s deep affection for her lover. Conversely, the only emotions the young lady clearly expresses via conversations or poetry exchanges are sadness, apprehension, and fear, resulting from her unplanned pregnancy, the possibility of becoming the target of an enormous scandal, the chigo’s departure for Mount Hiei, the chigo’s disappearance, and her parents’ belief that she may be dead. The chigo’s transformations

In my discussion of the chigo’s nude body (chapter 2), I explained the fluidity of chigo’s sei. Due to his liminal ontology, a chigo represents a more feminine form of androgyny when he is juxtaposed with a more archetypal male, such as Chūta. By the same token, Miss Rookie attests to the fact that a chigo’s masculinity is amplified when he is paired with an archetypal female. In this sense, this narrative exposes the blurred boundaries between maleness and femaleness. Another story that plays on the fluid sei of a young male character is found in Notable Tales Old and New (16:511), and Miss Rookie appears to be alluding to this anecdote. In this story, a monk with a feminine face falls in love with a beautiful nun at first sight. To get close to her, he pretends to be a woman and visits the nun’s residence, saying, “I recently lost my husband and shaved my head. Could you take me as your disciple?” The nun graciously obliges. After years of living under the same roof, the monk summons up his courage, confesses his secret, and initiates lovemaking. In the middle of having



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 145

intercourse, the nun jumps up and rushes to the Buddha hall in her home. Horrified, the monk regrets his actions. Yet the nun soon returns with a smile on her face. When the monk asks what happened, she replies, “I just could not keep such a wonderful pleasure all to myself, so I went to share my bliss with the Buddha!”21 Evidently, what enables this monk’s gender bending is identical to what allows the chigo to become Miss Rookie: the possession of the right face and the right hairstyle, as well as the declaration of a new identity. One condition that clearly differentiates the two stories is that the monk passes as a nun without any modification of his appearance. The chigo, in contrast, undergoes a somewhat elaborate transformation, although his “female-ing” turns out to be subtly imperfect. This ever-so-slight imperfection is repeatedly insinuated by the female attendants at the minister’s mansion and by the female narrator (probably an attendant herself) with keen interest in the appearance of their new colleague. Scrutinizing Miss Rookie

Recall that the idea of dressing the chigo up as a woman is proposed by his foremost advocate: his menoto, who raised him and loved him for many years as a surrogate mother and his closest attendant. When the nurse dresses the chigo in the correct attire for ladies-in-waiting, she thinks to herself, “There is nothing about him that makes him look any different from any actual ladies-in-waiting” (Nyōbō ni sukoshi mo tagō keshiki naku). Her young lord looks noble and exquisite, which deeply pleases the menoto.22 Nevertheless, the story implies that her evaluation of the chigo’s transformation is influenced by her rose-colored glasses. When the chigo, dressed as a charming maiden, arrives at the minister’s mansion in a carriage, the live-in employees at the minister’s mansion are pleasantly surprised by the appearance of this attendant-wannabe: “Inside the minister’s estate, torches were elegantly lit, and the ladies-in-waiting came out to greet the new girl, who appeared to be in her late teens. Her refined, graceful beauty was extremely appealing, and her hair, eyebrows, and forehead, among other things, far surpassed their expectations. More junior-ranking attendants were trying to catch a glimpse of the candidate, oohing, aahing, and whispering to each other. So the menoto felt that her plan was a huge success.”23 Yet the gachūshi of the illustration

146

Chapter Four

corresponding to this particular scene tells a slightly different story. Among many words of admiration uttered by the attendants, one lady-in-waiting makes a comment explicitly about the chigo’s androgynous charm: “Look how she got off the carriage. She seems slightly boyish [sukoshi warawa-nari nite] and so refreshing. How attractive she is!”24 Also, in the following scene, when the female attendants introduce the new attendant to the minister, the narrator describes his appearance as “slightly boyish [sukoshi warawa naru] but charming, elegant, and graceful.”25 People’s curious eyes continue to follow the chigo into the evening, when he gives Himegimi a lute lesson. In the illustration of this scene, four ladies-in-waiting surround their newest colleague, seemingly with every eye glued to him. The first two women praise the chigo’s superb musical talent. What follows is Chūnagon-dono’s penetrating comment: “Why does Miss Rookie not trim her sidelocks? I cannot believe she wears her hair like that.” Bōmon-dono chimes in, saying, “Indeed. Even [average-looking] women like us would care to trim our sidelocks. I wonder if she is too attached to her long hair.”26 The reason the chigo has not quite perfected a woman’s hairstyle is probably that he sees Miss Rookie as a temporary persona, a means to an end. When he returns to Mount Hiei, he cannot appear before his master and colleagues with trimmed sidelocks. A woman’s untrimmed sidelocks indicate neglect, but a chigo who trimmed his sidelocks would be signaling his desire to wear a woman’s hairstyle. This is still another example of numerous idiosyncrasies concerning hair modifications—a trait that seems extremely trivial to outsiders’ eyes can stir up a range of emotions and evaluations among insiders. It may be that the “boyishness” of the chigo/Miss Rookie noticed by the women at the minister’s mansion has little to do with the inadvertent seeping of his “truths” (his male body and male identity) through the feminine disguise. Instead, it may simply be that his hairstyle is that of a pre-genpuku/mogi child, and this subtle signifier of genderlessness is perceived as androgyny by the spectators. Parodying the “I wish to see him as a woman” trope

The previous chapters of this book have shown how acolyte tales, through a variety of methods, buttressed the institution of the chigo system. Along these lines, in chapter 3, I argued that one of the functions of the stepmother’s attack on Wakagimi was to provide the



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 147

text’s primary audience (clergymen in favor of nanshoku) with a “buffer” between the protagonist’s linear progression from the state of being a beautiful chigo to becoming an ordained priest. Likewise, heteronormative romantic tales, too, tend to support the institutions of marriage and patriarchy by glamorizing the process in which enchanted love develops into marriage, procreation, and prosperity. In this paradigm, the beautiful, caring, and virtuous heroines serve as role models for the female audience, and the handsome, resourceful, and chivalrous heroes embody what the audience should want in their own spouses. This means that, in Miss Rookie, the hero’s transformation from the state of being chigo into becoming a near-perfect maiden is a detour rather than a part of the linear progression a romantic hero is expected to achieve. This is another piece of evidence that the male protagonist of Miss Rookie is not a typical romantic hero, because such a digression would be unlikely to make him more desirable in the eyes of a female audience. One possible way of interpreting the chigo’s transvestism is to see it as a parody of the established trope of “I wish to see him as a woman” (onna nite mitatematsura mahoshi), most famously known from the “Broom Cypress” chapter of the Genji. In this scene (often called the amayo no shinasadame or “discussion on a rainy night”), the seventeen-year-old hero, the Radiant Genji, and his fellow playboy friends debate the qualities that make for the ideal woman. During the passionate discussion, the noblemen notice that Genji has been oddly silent for some time. When they look over, they find Genji “dressed in an intentionally casual manner in an informal robe [. . .] over soft white underrobes [. . .] [having] neglected to tie up the cords of his outer robes.” The narrator remarks that the three men “felt a desire to see him as a woman” and realized that none of the highestranking ladies would look adequate to be paired with a figure like Genji.27 Within this tale, the expression “I wish to see him as a woman” is used to describe the beauty of four highborn male characters, including the hero.28 To expound upon this phenomenon, I have hypothesized that the vision of a male character who possesses what I call a “beautiful feminine face” stirs up the beholder’s desire to match his “beautiful feminine face” with a beautiful feminine hairstyle and attire.29 This desire, harbored by the observer, constitutes nothing but a fantasy, and the beholder does not normally act upon the idea. In fact, any unrealistic and erotically charged fantasy tends to remain intriguing to the extent that it is not expected to come true.

148

Chapter Four

If the gazer’s wish to see the man as a woman did in fact come true through a change in his hairstyle, clothing, and so on, there is no guarantee that this person would look more attractive than before the transformation. To scratch the monogatari-readers’ itch to turn a femininely handsome man into a full-fledged woman without risking disappointment, a chigo may be the most fitting literary character to take up the task of “female-ing,” since many of the chigo characters already possess “beautifully feminine faces,” and their hair is already similar to women’s. Nevertheless, reading the chigo’s “female-ing” as a parody of the established literary trope (which is prevalent beyond the Genji) does not mean that its purpose is simply playful and lighthearted fun. As in the case of the kaimami scene, it can also be understood as an expression of this tale’s critical stance toward the male-centered elite culture with a long history of objectifying women and young men side by side, and of keeping young men away from their potential female partners through the chigo system. It can also be read as a tongue-in-cheek response to the “I wish to see him as a woman” trope, as if to show that men cannot achieve “complete femaleness” after all. All in all, it is possible to read this tale as women’s subtle criticism of nanshoku culture, primarily for the exclusion of women. To this end, Miss Rookie idealizes its female protagonist over its male counterpart in term of pedigree, character, and general desirability. The tale then goes on to convey to its readers that not only is a woman the superior lover for a man but also, given the opportunity to choose, a chigo would want a woman as well. Finally, another crucial drawback of the male protagonist of Miss Rookie as the hero of a romantic tale is his relative inaction. The only significant voluntary action he takes in the entire story is to pursue Himegimi as a lover during his service at the minister’s mansion. Otherwise, he remains in the shadow of the more active female characters: the menoto, the ama tengu, and the female protagonist of this tale, Himegimi. Himegimi: A Nonordinary Heroine Stunningly beautiful, graceful, and noble, Himegimi appears to embody the archetypal heroine of an auspicious monogatari, a girl who “has it all” and whom her female audience adores and envies.



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 149

Nevertheless, Miss Rookie puts its heroine in a hugely disadvantaged position from the outset. This is because she is about to achieve what the heroine of a romantic tale is supposed to earn at the end of the story: her betrothal to the heir apparent to the throne. The equally idealized heroines of romantic and didactic monogatari, such as Lady Hanayo and Lady Ochikubo, endure a range of predicaments, from parental abuse, solitude, and hopelessness to grueling labor, until their future husbands magically appear before their eyes. These loving and handsome men help the ladies escape their plights. Thus, these tales teach the female audience the value of perseverance, dedication, and filial piety, all of which are destined to pay off in significant ways. In this vein, Himegimi’s involvement with someone other than her fiancé, the crown prince, would have been a “loss” in the eyes of most medieval readers. Certainly, Himegimi’s affair with the chigo could have become her “gain” in a completely different scenario, such as if Himegimi had loathed the crown prince and wished to nullify her engagement to him. But Miss Rookie does not provide such a premise. Himegimi simply gives into the chigo’s persistent courtship, and she is inadvertently trapped in this relationship by her pregnancy. It is questionable whether she would still have chosen the chigo over the crown prince had she not become pregnant when she did. From the time when Himegimi becomes gravid until she and her new husband return to the capital, her life can be described as disastrous; it is not a life that her female audience would have been envied. In fact, Himegimi’s pregnancy brings significantly unbalanced outcomes to the couple. On the one hand, her superior social position, especially her father’s close affiliation with the court and her engagement to the crown prince, make the situation immeasurably more injurious to her than to the chigo. If this scandal had been exposed, it would have been considered lèse-majesté and would have ended her father’s career. On the other hand, the orphaned chigo, who was destined to enter priesthood on Mount Hiei, benefits tremendously from his illicit affair. He acquires a powerful new adoptive family and a court rank, on top of marrying the love of his life and becoming the father of an imperial consort. To exemplify the rift between the lovers, the gachūshi of the scene, wherein the chigo first breaks the news about the pregnancy, captures Himegimi’s devastation. She breaks down and says, “I wish I could disappear like a bubble floating in water. I will not be able to face the world.” In response,

150

Chapter Four

the chigo suggests she should find comfort in the thought that this was all predetermined by fate.30 As if this were not dreadful enough for the heroine, the chigo leaves her behind in the capital to return to Mount Hiei in time for an en’nen ceremony, and he is spirited away. For some time, all the young lady can do is lie in bed and hide behind the curtain to keep others from noticing her changing body. The thought of jumping into the water to end her suffering haunts her, although she knows suicide would bring immense sorrow and shame upon her family. Himegimi’s concerned parents and fiancé have an exorcism performed to cure her mysterious illness and regretfully postpone the wedding. Though she is unsure whether to live or die, one thing is abundantly clear in the young lady’s mind. She will not let the world see the arrival of her illegitimate child. So the lady secretly departs her home and goes deep into the mountains. Just as the chigo trespassed upon the women’s quarters as Miss Rookie some time earlier, Himegimi, too, winds up in a place offlimits to women, albeit unwittingly. In premodern times, many sacred peaks were designated sites for Shugendō training, and women were excluded from these spots because of the alleged impurity of their body. Shugendō evolved from the ancient mountain worship by incorporating various facets of esoteric Buddhism, Daoism, and shamanism. Yamabushi, Buddhist priests, and even some laymen practiced Shugendō to acquire magicoreligious powers, especially the ability to exorcise evil spirits. As seen in plate 15, mountain ascetics’ attire featured a black cap (tokin), a tunic with baggy trousers (suzukake), a fan (hiōgi), and a wooden/bamboo container carried on the back (oi), among other things, with each item carrying symbolic significance.31 In regard to Himegimi’s entering the sacred peaks, Melissa McCormick convincingly argues that this entails the young lady’s participation in “a quasi-ritualistic mountain ascent,” through which its female readers “could imagine their own identities and circumstances according to the imagery, practices, and genealogies of a male-centered ascetic practice.”32 McCormick further remarks that Himegimi is allowed to “re-appropriate the embryological symbolism of yamabushi practice.” That is, rather than conducting this Shugendō ritual while carrying the symbolic womb (i.e., the oi) on her back, Himegimi does so while pregnant, which McCormick explains as, “[I]nstead of carrying the symbolic womb[,] she is in a sense a walking womb.”33



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 151

This observation aligns with the overall pro-women messages of Miss Rookie, including its attempt to reclaim women’s ownership of feminine aesthetics and the attention of young men. Furthermore, in Miss Rookie, the heroine undergoes another symbolic rebirth in the dwelling of the ama tengu. When the matriarch informs Himegimi of her wicked son’s imminent visit, she “hides in a womblike shrine-cabinet [zushi]” wherein she awaits her reemergence in the fetal position.34 After Tarō-bo and his underlings leave, the ama tengu, as if a midwife, helps Himegimi come out of the zushi. It is worth noting that after her symbolic rebirth, her suicidal thoughts never haunt her again—she clearly chooses life over death, or, more precisely, the lives of her unborn child and herself. Soon afterward, she gives birth to a beautiful baby boy in the home of the menoto who is the surrogate mother of the chigo, the birthmother of her daughter Jijū, and now a motherly caregiver of Himegimi. The M enoto : Breast Milk Is Thicker Than Blood The first episode of the erotic chigo monogatari, A Booklet of Acolytes, features the “benevolent infidelity” of a chigo and his menotogo named Chūta. As mentioned before, highborn women in premodern Japan did not breastfeed their own children and instead hired menoto for this purpose. Yet the menoto’s service usually continued far beyond their young charges’ infancy, which is one of the many differences between a “menoto” and a “wet nurse.” In a romantic monogatari, the single most important role that the protagonist’s menoto plays is to assist with her charge’s romantic endeavors or to eliminate potentially undesirable suitors.35 In Lady Hanayo, Saishō’s menoto hides Lady Hanayo in her home, and in the Humble Hut, the heroine’s menoto and menotogo locate the Miidera chigo on behalf of their mutual mistress. It is telling that in the slightly misogynystic chigo monogatari, The Mountain, Wakagimi’s menoto (乳父/傅) has to be a male monk, Kakunen. Interestingly, Kakunen, too, intervenes in his young charge’s love affair with Jijū.36 Given this convention of the menoto character’s function, it is no surprise that the menoto in Miss Rookie is so determined to help her lord pursue the minister’s daughter. The quasi-mother-son bond between the menoto and the chigo in Miss Rookie is particularly strong, probably because he is an orphan. The text even implies that the menoto and the bishop are

152

Chapter Four

competing for the affection of the chigo. When the chigo falls sick with love for Himegimi, he retreats to the menoto’s home in the capital. This is similar to the situation in which Wakagimi refuses to return to Tōnan-in and stays in his father’s residence after falling in love with Jijū. Whereas Tokugō scolds his son and sends him right back to his master, the menoto maps out an elaborate scheme that not only helps the chigo but also keeps him away from her competition, the bishop, for an extended period. The menoto first lays the groundwork herself by visiting the minister’s estate. There, she inquires of the women on the premises whether the minister’s family is in need of a decorative cosmetic box (tebako), knowing that the family is collecting a fine dowry for the daughter’s upcoming wedding. Then the menoto offers the women a gorgeously crafted tebako—a gift the chigo once received from none other than his master. Nothing speaks more loudly about the menoto’s profound love for her charge than what she does after he is kidnapped by the tengu. She becomes a nun and undertakes a pilgrimage, letting her feet guide the way. After this, she retreats to Uji and prays to the Buddha night and day, saying, “Please let me know my young lord’s whereabouts and let me see him in this world just once. If he happens to have passed away already, then may you take my worthless life away and allow us to be reborn on the same lotus flower in the Pure Land and exchange our vows.”37 When the menoto hears a knock on her door and opens it, standing before her are her missing young master and an unknown lady. At first, she does not believe her eyes and assumes a fox or something of the sort has come to play a trick on her. She then thinks to herself, “Who cares if he is not real?” (samo araba are) and happily invites the couple in.38 Once she realizes that it is indeed her beloved young lord, she thanks and praises the Buddha for his guidance and cries endless tears of joy. The other guardian of our hero, the bishop, also cares deeply about the chigo, but compared to the menoto, this high priest tends to be depicted as a less-than-sagacious figure. For instance, when the chigo falls sick, he sends a steady stream of priests over to the menoto’s home and has them conduct an exorcism for his disciple. The chigo is greatly annoyed by the incessant chanting of the sutras and sends them back to the mountain. Also, when the high priest is finally reunited with his long-lost chigo, he immediately congratulates himself on the power of his own prayers. In both cases, he behaves in this



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 153

manner precisely because the menoto has intentionally kept him in the dark. The A ma T engu : The Manifesto of the Mother Monster Of the three principal “mother” characters in Miss Rookie— Himegimi, the menoto of Uji, and the ama tengu—the one who commits the most selfless act is the only nonhuman of the triad. To bring Himegimi and the chigo to safety, the ama tengu feeds her own flesh to the very flesh she brought into the world: Tarō-bō. On the grounds that the ama tengu has converted to the Buddhist faith and subsequently attains posthumous salvation, Miss Rookie can be regarded as a deeply Buddhist text. The concept of a tengu-qua-nun was not invented by the author of Miss Rookie, however. Such a figure is found in Times Now Past (20:5) as well. In this anecdote, an ama tengu sneaks into the Buddha hall of a temple and tries to steal a crate storing monks’ holy robes, although she is in the end overpowered by the prayers of a renowned bishop from Ninnaji and runs away.39 The narrator of this story provides no details about the female goblin’s appearance except that she is wearing a headscarf (a visual marker of nuns), as if there is nothing extraordinary about her appearance. In contrast, the ama tengu in Miss Rookie is portrayed as a monstrous figure, standing as tall as the eaves of her home and holding a flaming torch, and her husky, frightening voice comes out of a long, hooked beak jutting from her hawklike face (see plate 18).40 The Japanese tengu’s association with birds and yamabushi developed only during the late Heian period. Literally meaning “celestial dog/fox,” tengu 天狗 (Ch. tiangou) is the nomenclature the ancient people of China gave to such inauspicious omens as comets and shooting stars, since they resembled mischievous canines running across the sky with their long tails trailing behind.41 In Japan, the earliest known use of this term is in A Chronicle of Japan, noting a falling meteor. Hearing the people’s terror, a scholar monk named Sōmin, who had spent over two decades in China studying Buddhism, reportedly explained to the onlookers that it was a roaring celestial fox.42 As Buddhist teachings penetrated Japanese society, tengu began to be associated with wickedness or wicked beings (both can be conceptualized as ma) without a specific shape, and they were believed to tempt people into committing sins and to thereby obstruct their

154

Chapter Four

enlightenment.43 For instance, in the Uji chapters of the Genji, the heroine Ukifune was caught in a tumultuous love triangle with Kaoru and Niou that she found unbearable (see chapter 2). Once she began contemplating suicide, “some goblin [tengu] or sprite of the forest [kodama]” compelled her to jump into the Uji River.44 During the medieval period, as Shugendō’s popularity grew, the images of yamabushi, birds (especially hawks and crows), and tengu became increasingly conflated, at least partly due to the Buddhist establishment’s effort to curb the heretic influence. Therefore, it is unsurprising that a chigo monogatari should have cast Shugendō and yamabushi in a negative light: the kidnappers of Umewaka, the yamabushi leader in The Mountain, and Tarō-bō, who kidnaps the chigo and even commits matricide. By the same token, the choice in Miss Rookie to feature the heinous creature and to turn her into a paragon of compassion after her conversion to Buddhism indicates the prominence of the Way of the Buddha. At the dwelling of the ama tengu, before Tarō-bō and his guests arrive, the mother monster warns Himegimi that her son and his underlings are terrifying beings with no sense of compassion (osoroshiku mono no aware mo shiranu).45 Once the chaos of the raucous drinking and eating is over and the couple is reunited, the nun goblin remarks, “It must be due to the lack of kindheartedness in my previous life that I have sadly acquired a beastly form in this life.”46 The ama tengu also tells Himegimi and the chigo that she has been diligently chanting the holy name of Amida Buddha. Implying that her posthumous salvation is no longer impossible, she conveys to the couple that she is willing to give up her life to bring them back where they belong.47 Then, before departing for Uji, the ama tengu gives the couple instructions: “When my child takes my life, you shall see the sign. After that, please carefully conduct a memorial service on my behalf. Also, at the place I am about to take you, be sure to put up talismans that bear the words of the Sonshō Dhāraṇī and the mantra of Compassionate Salvation (which tengu are known to fear).”48 In Buddhist teachings, the “tengu’s realm” (tengu-dō, sometimes used interchangeably with madō or “the evil realm”) is the place where those who are conceited and/or begrudging are born. Whereas the ama tengu attributes her fate of having been born into the tengu’s realm to the lack of compassion in her previous life, she may also feel that she has committed a greater sin in her current life: prolonging the cycle of evil by producing Tarō-bō. Accordingly, she devotes



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 155

herself to the nenbutsu practice, to undo some of her sin, without knowing for sure whether she can transcend the tengu’s realm. This is when a strange twist of fate makes the lost human girl stumble into the ama tengu’s home. After discovering that this girl’s anguish is not unrelated to her own sin of bringing Tarō-bō into this world, the ama tengu turns this serendipity into an opportunity for atonement. The text presents the mother-child bond between the ama tengu and Tarō-bō as a feeble one. For instance, when the two have their only dialogue in this story during the banquet in the home of the mother goblin, she refers to herself as “ama” (nun).49 In this context, a more natural choice of general noun in lieu of a first-person pronoun would be, of course, “haha” (mother). Or she could even have resorted to the generic first-person pronoun “ware” (I/me), which she does use during her conversation with Himegimi.50 The ama tengu’s decision to call herself “ama” in front of Tarō-bō symbolizes her renunciation of Shugendō and of her role as his mother in the hope of achieving enlightenment. As for Tarō-bō, this tengu leader shows little deference to his mother linguistically or otherwise (in the main text and the gachūshi). He generally refrains from using the socially obligatory honorific language for a parent, although he uses the auxiliary verb to indicate moderate politeness (sōrō). The only adequately deferential line is “Ushinawase-tamai-sōrawaba, on-inochi o mōshiuku-beshi” (If you let the chigo escape, I shall take your life away), which includes the honorific auxiliary (tamō) and the politeness prefix on- attached to inochi (life).51 Tarō-bō’s exclusive use of honorific language in this context, however, makes his message all the more chilling and ruthless. Fully aware that her action will cause her cold-blooded son to destroy her, the ama tengu brings Himegimi and the chigo to safety in Uji. The couple later sees her severed arm. They conduct a heartfelt memorial service in Uji, and after getting settled in the capital, they copy the five Mahāyāna sutras, build a Three Buddhas hall, and continuously pray for her salvation. As a result, Himegimi and her husband have a dream of the ama tengu, now beautiful, riding a purple cloud and being reborn into the Inner Sanctum of the Fourth Heavenly Realm, or the home of bodhisattva Maitreya (Jp. Miroku Bosatsu), in which women could be reborn.52 Just as the ama tengu serves Himegimi as her symbolic midwife earlier in the story by helping the girl emerge from the zushi cabinet, Himegimi reciprocates the

156

Chapter Four

gift of rebirth for the mother monster. This is another touching representation of female bonding in Miss Rookie. M iss R ookie : A C higo M onogatari of Subversions Religiosity

In many ways, a typical chigo monogatari and a typical romantic courtly tale are at odds with each other, at least on the superficial level. The former’s fundamental objective is to support the continuous existence of Buddhist institutions and the chigo system—without having to rely on procreation. In fact, as the chigo monogatari gained popularity outside the Buddhist community, these tales may have propagated positive images of the Buddhist faith and the chigo system, encouraging more people to turn to Kannon worship or to urge their sons to pursue acolyteship. Heterosexual courtly tales with happy endings, in contrast, promote marriage and reproduction. Therefore, the creation of Miss Rookie signifies an impressively ambitious will of the author, who integrates two genres that are mirror images of each other. In short, this is a truly subversive monogatari. That said, as a sign of being a relatively secular-oriented chigo monogatari, Miss Rookie ends with the celebration of the thisworldly achievements of the main characters. The couple welcomes another baby boy and a baby girl into their family; the former chigo is promoted to the rank of major captain; their daughter is named the new junior imperial consort (nyōgo); the couple gives pieces of land to the menoto; and the menoto’s daughter, Jijū, is chosen to serve the new nyōgo as her attendant. The only religious component of this happy ending is the ama tengu’s rebirth into Miroku’s Pure Land. We cannot overemphasize the fact that, out of the numerous characters, the author of this tale singles out this female, nonhuman, former heretic to achieve posthumous salvation. Romance

As much as Miss Rookie breaks a number of rules associated with the chigo monogatari genre, it also breaks many rules of romantic, heterosexual courtly tales. The most remarkable example of the latter rule breaking is that Himegimi’s station is set much higher than that



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 157

of the hero at the outset of the story. Therefore, when their relationship is finally officialized toward the end of the narrative, we find Himegimi—unlike most monogatari heroines—socially and politically worse off than she was before meeting the chigo, whereas the hero is rewarded with significant upward social mobility. Of course, there are other stories whose hero of humble birth marries an aristocratic lady or the daughter of a wealthy man, but in such cases, the lady (who functions as a “trophy wife”) is not choosing her husband over someone else, let alone someone of royal blood. The fact that Himegimi is betrothed to the crown prince at the very beginning of the story makes it almost impossible for any man to suddenly appear and improve her situation. In the premodern Japanese monogatari tradition, the most coveted fate for a woman is to become the mother of an emperor (kokubo 国母 or “national mother”), and Himegimi could have achieved this position if it were not for the chigo. (To allow Himegimi to “recover” some of the loss she has incurred, the author makes her daughter enter the court with the possibility of becoming the mother of a kokubo.) On the surface, Himegimi’s fall in station seems like an unintended, ironic result of the author’s attempt to elevate the desirability of the heroine vis-à-vis the hero. I shall return to this point later. Surprisingly, even the court is not outside the purview of Miss Rookie’s rebellious spirit. The crown prince is made to believe that his fiancée, the minister’s daughter, has tragically passed away. He eventually ascends to the throne and marries the granddaughter of the same minister. He is not aware that his new consort is actually a child born to his former fiancée and the very man who cuckolded him. Thus, this story subtly destabilizes the integrity of the imperial line. The polyphonic world of Miss Rookie

All in all, Miss Rookie is a highly effective satirical narrative. One of the ways the text communicates an ethos of subversion is through the somewhat cynical voice of the narrator. For instance, after Himegimi and Miss Rookie become lovers, the minister’s wife walks in on the couple in bed and expresses her happiness at finding such a wonderful companion for her daughter. In reaction, the narrator comments, “How gullible and foolish she is!” (hakanaku okogamashisa ya).53 Also, the morning after Himegimi’s flight, her disappearance sends shock waves across the minister’s mansion. In the midst of the horror

158

Chapter Four

and panic, the narrator does not fail to mention that the minister is extremely concerned about his reputation in court.54 Even more intriguing is how some of the illustrations and gachūshi are put to use. Usually the process of creating a literary text requires that unnecessary descriptions and irrelevant voices be eliminated so that the work can present an illusion of coherence. What the creator of Miss Rookie accomplishes is to present multilayered realities by selectively inserting marginal information into the monogatari. Thus, this story chips away at the appearance of coherence and unified perspective that monogatari readers would expect to see. Whereas the narrator of Miss Rookie delineates the essence of events in the main text, the accompanying illustrations sometimes zoom out of the center of a particular event just enough to capture activities by side characters that are incongruent with the narration. Moreover, some illustrations also pick up “noise”—the marginalized voices of side characters and bystanders—and boldly broadcast it through the gachūshi. One rather lighthearted example of this is the scene in which the menoto tries to befriend the women at the minister’s mansion. She begins crying uncontrollably while pretending that one of the ladiesin-waiting there resembles her late daughter. In the accompanying illustration, several women look sympathetically at the menoto standing on the veranda. Within the same picture, the menoto’s girl servant down on the ground comments, “What on earth is this? She just told a made-up story and started bawling. I wonder if she has lost her mind. Unbelievable.”55 Other “behind-the-scenes” illustrations concern some of Himegimi’s closest attendants. The main text notes that ever since Miss Rookie started serving Himegimi, she has been constantly by the young lady’s side, so the rest of her attendants have begun working in various other parts of the mansion. The visual representation of this scene captures the intimate moment of the couple on the left side of the frame. In the room adjacent to the couple’s bedchamber, three female attendants (one of whom is Himegimi’s menoto, Saishō) are huddled around a sugoroku table (a type of board game), chattering: “Great, now it’s my turn to throw the dice and make a comeback!” “Go ahead. I am going to keep beating you again and again!”56 Along similar lines, on the morning of Miss Rookie’s temporary absence, Saishō and other women lament that they won’t be able to play hooky while she is gone.57 Although the strong bond between



The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie: When an Acolyte Falls in Love 159

Saishō and Himegimi is conjectured from their emotional reunion in Uji, there is no question that Saishō failed at the most important task given to a menoto of a young lady: to guard her against potentially undesirable suitors.58 Perhaps the most striking example of “noise” is the scene following the disappearance of Himegimi. While most of the ladies-inwaiting prove themselves to be loyal servants of the family by expressing their worries and fears, a couple of the attendants are concerned about an entirely different matter. They find a grief-stricken colleague’s frowning face so funny that they are trying to suppress their urge to burst into laughter.59 Lastly and most symbolically, those who have the final words of the story are three of Himegimi’s ladiesin-waiting. At the very end of the scroll, they gossip about the uncanny resemblance of their new young lord to their former colleague, Miss Rookie.60 Conclusion Our sixth and final chigo monogatari has been The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie—the work I called “an acolyte tale of the women, by the women, and for the women.” This description, however, is not to be taken literally, because no one can know for sure who composed this tale, for what reason, or for whom. Rather, the description refers to the text’s self-presentation, and a close reading of this work indicates that such an interpretation is plausible. Unlike any other extant chigo monogatari, Miss Rookie impresses upon its readers vivid images of lively, wise, and caring female characters and their unlikely camaraderie. Not only is this an unusually gynocentric tale by any measure, but it is also a skillfully satirical and humorous narrative. This story’s cynical or disapproving stances toward powerful institutions and figures are expressed via a variety of voices. Through the innovative use of peripheral voices that are normally edited out of a text, this seemingly innocuous tale exposes the precarity of elite institutions and those who occupy the top echelon thereof, hidden behind the veneer of their authority, courtly elegance, composure, loyalty, and holiness. Before concluding this chapter, I will pose two questions and suggest possible answers. The first question is: Why does Himegimi fall ill at the beginning of this story? In Miss Rookie, multiple characters suffer from ailments with known causes—the chigo’s

160

Chapter Four

lovesickness, Himegimi’s pregnancy, and the minister’s wife’s dejection after her daughter’s disappearance. Nevertheless, the young lady’s illness remains a mystery. If we are not to accept “We don’t know” as the answer (although it would not be incorrect), the only possible explanation this text offers is that Miss Rookie is a story of sympathetic response between the ama tengu, who sincerely wishes for her penitence and salvation, and the bodhisattva Miroku, who heeds her voice and plants a little seed. The seed is Himegimi’s illness, which sparks a chain of events: the minister’s invitation to the bishop to come to the capital, the chigo’s kaimami of the young lady, the birth of Miss Rookie, Himegimi’s pregnancy, Tarō-bō’s kidnapping of the chigo, Himegimi’s flight and her encounter with the ama tengu, and, finally, the ama tengu’s self-sacrifice and her subsequent rebirth into the Miroku’s Pure Land. The other question is: Why does Himegimi have to get the short end of the stick? Even after things appear to have fallen into place, Himegimi is never given a chance to redeem her original self. The young lady who was once engaged to marry the crown prince is rendered dead by her father, and her husband is adopted into her own family. Now her birth parents have suddenly become her in-laws and Himegimi has to live as the anonymous wife of a courtier. Earlier, I noted that the significant fall in Himegimi’s station appears to be an unintended and ironic consequence of pitting the two protagonists against each other. Yet there might be a more pro-women way of understanding this situation. Perhaps this tale is questioning the value of the narrowly defined “happiness” for girls and women: being sought after by a highborn man, marrying up, and giving birth to children to the political benefit of the family. Even though Himegimi never achieved the status of imperial consort, she may have found a new meaning in life after the entire grueling ordeal. At the very least, the series of challenges must have made our heroine exponentially more resilient and compassionate than the young lady she once was. We know she left her old self behind and lived her public life anew as a wife and mother. She may have found her newfound anonymity and enormous freedom refreshing. Or she may have been too busy to lament the life she could not attain. At times, she must have reminisced about the incredible plight she had undergone and thought of her savior whom she had also saved—the kindhearted, honorable ama tengu riding a purple cloud with a beautiful smile on her face.

Epilogue

I

n the history of Japan, the medieval period was a particularly ­tumultuous time. It was literally the “middle” period, sandwiched between the more peaceful Heian and the Tokugawa eras. Not only did the people living in medieval times suffer from a series of natural disasters, but their lives were also disrupted and threatened by manmade disasters. They lived through the rise and fall of two military shogunates, the split of the imperial household into Northern and Southern Courts due to the succession dispute, violent intertemple conflicts, and a series of catastrophic civil wars. In addition, by 1052, it was believed that the world had entered the Final Stage of the Buddhist Dharma, when the teachings of the historical Buddha had begun to deteriorate, making enlightenment less achievable for mortals. Rather than resigning themselves to hopelessness, the people felt compelled by their dismal life prospects to turn with renewed commitment to Buddhist practices in the earnest hope of an afterlife. One of the key concepts frequently used to describe the political climate of medieval Japan is gekokujō 下剋上 (overthrowing of the upper by the lower), referring to the inversions and shifts in the established power dynamics within the social, political, economic, and military domains. In this vein, many otogi zōshi are said to reflect this transformative cultural trend of the time, in which “individuals of lower status rise above or otherwise get the better of their superiors.”1 Some of the representative works that portray the upward mobility of impoverished and underprivileged men include The Tale of Bunshō (Bunshō sōshi), The Tale of the Millionaire in Umezu (Umezu chōja monogatari), and The Daikoku Dance (Daikokumai, also The Tale of Daietsu [Daietsu monogatari]), in which a man of humble birth achieves “stunning worldly success.”2 Other famous examples that reflect the notion of gekokujō are Lazy Tarō (Monogusa Tarō), Little 161

162 Epilogue

One-Inch (Issun Bōshi), and The Tale of a Little Man (Ko-otoko no sōshi), which are said to “tell of extraordinarily lazy or diminutive men who succeed in marrying women beyond their social and physical stature.”3 Nevertheless, the underlying message about these unlikely heroes’ triumphs has little to do with the protagonists’ efforts. These men are rewarded with wealth, court ranks, and beautiful wives thanks to divine intervention, their hidden noble pedigree, or a combination of the two. For instance, the hero of the Daikoku Dance is the filial son of extremely poor parents. After he prays to the Kiyomizu Kannon for help, the bodhisattva of mercy grants him a piece of straw, which he trades for increasingly valuable items. With his propriety and newfound wealth, this young man marries an aristocratic lady. Another example is the titular hero of the Lazy Tarō, a homeless man covered in filth and grime. Nevertheless, after days of cleaning and grooming, he is found to be a stunningly handsome man of high birth—the grandson of a former emperor, no less. We shall note that, in every case, the hero moves to the capital and becomes a subject of the court, acquiring the most traditional form of prestige. Rather than truly reflecting the idea of gekokujō by transcending the power of the old establishment, these men join the establishment and reinforce the time-honored social hierarchy. While the fantastic stories of miracles and hidden elite pedigrees give little hope to the oppressed class, the same is not true for many Buddhist tales that focus on happiness in the afterlife. Instead of the promise of wealth and attractive spouses, these religious narratives encourage the readers to let go of earthly desires, seclude themselves in the mountains, copy the sutras, and chant the nenbutsu in order to secure posthumous salvation, which all believers can supposedly obtain. (It was fortunate for the Buddhist institutions that no one could disprove this promise.) In this regard, most of the fourteen extant chigo monogatari narratives provide hopeful messages for their readers, whether they were clerics, lay folks, men, women, elites, or commoners. The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth demonstrates the efficacy of Kannon worship; A Long Tale for an Autumn Night illustrates the incredible compassion of the Kannon; and The Tale of Genmu reminds the readers of the importance of forgiveness, redemption, and nondualism. Further, The Mountain teaches the readers the value of being tenacious and resilient, while The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie advocates the virtues

Epilogue

163

of selflessness and unconditional faith in the power of Buddhism, even if one is a female heretic monster. Prospective C higo M onogatari Research The 260-year rule of the last shogunate, the Tokugawa bakufu, ended in 1867, and the new Meiji imperial government was established the following year. One of the most urgent goals of the leaders of this newborn nation was to reverse the unequal treaties with the Western powers. Another was to elevate Japan’s inferior status on the world stage. Throughout the process of adopting political, legal, and educational systems, the latest industrial and scientific technologies, and cultured lifestyles from such countries as France, Germany, the United Kingdom, and the United States, the Meiji government also attempted to dissociate itself from the old customs that would make Japan look “effeminate” in the eyes of the Western nations. To this end, the Meiji imperial regime upheld such “masculine” slogans as bunmei kaika (advancing civilization), fukoku kyōhei (enriching the nation and strengthening the army), and shokusan kōgyō (encouraging industry). In this politicocultural climate, the centuries-old nanshoku-joshoku paradigm was gradually replaced with the tripartite paradigm of homosexuality, bisexuality, and heterosexuality, of which only the last component was deemed acceptable. The notion of ideal masculinity also changed, rendering obsolete—at least for the time being— such iconic cultural heroes of yesteryear as Narihira, Genji, and Yoshitsune, who embodied courtly refinement, androgynous beauty, and amorousness. Today one of the greatest obstacles to reading pre-Meiji literature is our impulse to apply the implicit yet pervasive misogynistic and erotophobic lens of the present. Although misogynistic and antisex discourses existed before the Meiji period, an increasing number of studies on the history of gender and sexuality in Japan has demonstrated that the modernizing and Westernizing processes of the nation exacerbated the negative associations of the notions of “feminine” and “erotic” (see the introduction). Since the inception of chigo monogatari studies in the 1950s, quite a few journal articles and book chapters have examined this genre of literature, of which a more-than-negligible number appear to have been colored by homophobic, misogynistic, and anachronistic understandings of the chigo system. The fact of the matter is that as

164 Epilogue

long as newer research continues to build uncritically on the preexisting academic discourse on the chigo system, it will continue to be difficult to expand and deepen our collective knowledge of chigo monogatari. To break the cycle of perpetuating homophobia, misogyny, secularism, and anachronism, we need a more introspective, self-reflective metaanalysis of the dominant academic discourse of our time. In light of the unfortunate reception history of chigo monogatari, I wrote this book with what Rita Felski calls “postcritical reading” in mind.4 Though no study can be completely free of subjectivity and personal beliefs, it has been my intention to let chigo monogatari speak for themselves first, rather than approach the texts with a predetermined thesis. I hope this book will be able to offer a useful perspective or two, which may in turn start a new type of conversation about chigo monogatari and the chigo system. Expanding the Definition of Success Medieval Buddhist tales often prod their readers to look to the wonderful “equal opportunity,” the chance for people of all walks of life to achieve eternal happiness in the afterlife. In contrast, for the less religiously inclined citizens of modern capitalist nations, “happiness” has little to do with detaching oneself from earthly desires, practicing the nenbutsu, or copying sutras. Instead, happiness today has a great deal to do with the idea of “success.” Through the media and other means, we are bombarded with visions of narrowly defined success in the domains of education, career, social life, and romantic life, presented as what we ought to desire. And those who are determined to achieve alternative forms of happiness are rendered invisible and inaudible to the rest of society. My mother, who worked as a Kabuki-chō hosutesu during my childhood, indeed subscribed to the mainstream definitions of success and happiness. When I was five or six, I once asked her if there was a god. Without a moment of contemplation, she answered, “If there were such a thing, you would see money raining every day!” My mother knew very well the advantages of possessing a financially rewarding, “respectable” occupation and a stable lifestyle. It just so happens that a life of prestige and stability was out of her reach, as she was a single mother of three young children without a college education or much work experience. Even though she was too busy to feel sorry for herself or let others make her feel small, I would be

Epilogue

165

lying if I said she was completely satisfied with her life or that she regarded her life as “successful.” Certainly, my mother did not want her children to be in a similarly disadvantaged position. In an ideal world, people in all walks of life would be able to find happiness and peace of mind through many different means and would be respected for doing their best. Yet to realize such a society would require a drastic shift in our value system. Realistically speaking, to make a cultural shift possible, we almost certainly need to begin by conforming to the old value system. Only after acquiring a conventional form of “success” might we have a chance of advocating for meaningful change and challenging the status quo that benefits the powerful at the expense of the less privileged. In short, our challenges to the old values must be constantly backed up by recognizable “seals of approval,” such as academic degrees, professional certificates, affiliations with organizations, respectable positions within the organizations, and so on. This is our reality, but it can also be our skillful means. The otogi zōshi heroes who were born into disadvantaged lives seem to have forgotten all about the injustices that used to oppress them once they achieved a level of privilege; they happily became cogs in the oppressing regime. These innocent-sounding stories should be a reminder that meaningful gekokujō requires tenacity, resilience, and an aspiration to become a part of something bigger than ourselves and something that takes more than one generation to achieve. Thanks to my mother’s diligent work, I received an education and a chance to study abroad during my junior year in college. One fortunate event led to another for the next two decades (college education to me was what the piece of straw was to the protagonist of Daikoku Dance). The scrawny girl who used to be mesmerized by the sight of her mother applying eye shadow and curling her hair in front of the vanity in the cramped dingy apartment has now written this book. It is my objective to use my research and teaching to shed light on the covert aspects of premodern Japan and beyond, through which I hope to reflect the voices of courageous, selfless people who use their lives to make this world a kinder place for all.  

Glossary

ama  尼

a nun  

bosatsu  菩薩

a bodhisattva

chigo  稚児・児

Buddhist acolytes

chūdōji  中童子 adolescent boy attendants (not of elite or outcast class) chūsei shōsetsu  中世小説

medieval novels

daijōji  大童子

adult attendants (of outcast class)

dōmyō  童名

a child name

eboshi  烏帽子

a lacquered, tall hat for adult males

emaki  絵巻

illustrated scrolls

engi  縁起 origin stories of religious institutions and/ or statues en’nen  延年

“life-extending” dance and singing

ga  雅

courtly elegance

gachūshi  画中詞

in-picture dialogues

genpuku  元服

the coming-of-age ceremony for boys

hōben  方便

skillful means, expedient means

hōben-tan  方便譚

stories centering on a bodhisattva’s hōben

imayō  今様

“contemporary style”; a type of ballad

jōgu bodai, geke shujō    上求菩提 下化衆生

a spiration for enlightenment, salvation of all beings

joshoku  女色

women’s beauty; male-female love

kaimami  垣間見

clandestinely observing one’s love interest

167

168 Glossary kanjō  灌頂

the esoteric initiation ritual

kannō  感応

sympathetic responses

kasshiki  喝食

chigo for Zen temples

keppatsu  結髪

styling one’s hair into an updo

ko-shunga  古春画 erotica created before the seventeenth century ma  魔

evilness, evil beings

mamako banashi  継子話

stepchild tales

Mappō  末法

Age of the Final Dharma

menoto  乳母

a (former) wet nurse; a nursemaid

menoto  傅

a tutor

menotogo  乳母子 a menoto’s child, who serves their mutual charge meshūdo  召人

female attendants who provide sexual labor

mizura  角髪

a hairstyle with twin loops

mogi  裳着

the coming-of-age ceremony for girls

monogatari  物語

vernacular tales

mujō  無常 impermanence nanshoku  男色

male-male love (usually transgenerational)

nenbutsu  念仏

chanting of Amida Buddha’s name

nurigome  塗籠

a windowless retreat

nyobon  女犯

breach of celibacy vow with a woman

ōjō  往生

rebirth into the Pure Land

otogi zōshi  御伽草子 novels”

medieval short stories, aka “medieval

renga  連歌

linked verse, the game of linking verses

sei  性

gender, sexuality, sex

sekkan seiji  摂関政治

regency politics

setsuwa  説話 didactic)

anecdotal tales (often religious and/or

Glossary shirabyōshi  白拍子 dressed as men)

a type of entertainers (usually women

shudō  衆道

the way/art of loving youths

Shugendō  修験道

Mountain Asceticism

shunga  春画

pre-1600 erotica of East Asian origin

169

-tan  譚 -story tengu  天狗

bird-faced flying goblins

waka  和歌

Japanese poetry with thirty-one syllables

warawa  童

children; servants

yamabushi  山伏

practitioners of Shugendō, mountain ascetic

zoku  俗

vulgar and comedic ethos

Notes

Abbreviations NET  Nihon emaki taisei MJMT  Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei SNKBT  Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei SNKBZ  Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū ZNET  Zoku Nihon emaki taisei

Prelude 1. Rita Felski, The Limits of Critique (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2015), 12. 2. See, for example, Kaneko Matabei, “Nyake kanjinchō to Kokkei shibun: Nihon nanshoku bungaku bunken kaisetsu 1,” Kokubungaku 19 (1957): 36; Ichiko Teiji, Chūsei shōsetsu no kenkyū (Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1955), 137; Araki Yoshio, ed., Chūsei Kamakura Muromachi bungaku jiten (Tokyo: Shunjūsha, 1955), 242–243. 3. See, for example, Gregory M. Pflugfelder, Cartographies of Desire: MaleMale Sexuality in Japanese Discourse, 1600–1950 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 146–234; Mark McLelland, Queer Japan from the Pacific War to the Internet Age (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2005), 15–24.

Introduction: Becoming a Chigo 1. Gregory M. Pflugfelder, “The Nation-State, the Age/Gender System, and the Reconstitution of Erotic Desire in Nineteenth-Century Japan,” Journal of Asian Studies 71, no. 4 (2012): 965. 2. Matsuoka Shinpei, Utage no shintai: Basara kara Zeami e (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1991), 118–122. See also Christine M. E. Guth, “The Divine Boy in Japanese Art,” Monumenta Nipponica 42, no. 1 (1987): 1–23. 3. Matsuoka, Utage no shintai, 118.

171

172

Notes to pages 4–8

4. Nihon kokugo daijiten, s.v. “chigo.” 5. This does not mean that clergymen were not allowed to wear caps. Rather, my point here is that clergymen were not required to wear caps at all times, unlike their secular counterparts. 6. For further discussions of the eboshi cap, see chapter 2. 7. For further discussion of head hair, see chapter 3. 8. Ikegami Ryōta, Zukai Nihon no shōzoku (Tokyo: Shinkigensha, 2008), 134. Curiously, around the thirteenth century, a special type of banquet called bureikō 無礼講 (“gatherings with no proprieties”) was frequently held. During a bureikō, men of all ranks removed their social markers (eboshi caps, topknots, and garments) and socialized. See, for example, Hasegawa Tadashi, ed., Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū (hereafter SNKBZ), vol. 54, Taiheiki 1 (Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994), 34–35. The custom of wearing a cap had subsided by the seventeenth century, although the topknot and shaved crown remained the standard adult male hairstyle until the late nineteenth century. 9. Nihon kokugo daijiten, s.v. “warawa.” 10. Katō Osamu, “Chigo” to “warawa” no seikatsushi (Tokyo: Keiō Gijuku Daigaku Shuppankai, 1994), 27–28. 11. Ibid., 31–33. The conflation of children and servants is not limited to premodern Japan. For instance, in his seminal work Centuries of Childhood, Philippe Ariès notes, “The idea of childhood was bound up with the idea of dependence: the words ‘sons,’ ‘varlets,’ and ‘boys’ were also words in the vocabulary of feudal subordination” in seventeenth-century France. See Philippe Ariès, Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life, trans. Robert Baldick (New York: Vintage Book, 1962), 26. 12. Another term that referred to “attendants/servants” during the time of Man’yōshū is “ko” 児/子, which came to mean “children” by the mid-Heian period. See Katō, “Chigo” to “warawa,” 7. 13. See Komatsu Shigemi, ed., Zoku Nihon emaki taisei (hereafter ZNET), vol. 17, Zen-kunen kassen ekotoba, Heiji monogatari emaki, Yūki kassen ekotoba (Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1989); Komatsu Shigemi, ed., ZNET 1–3, Hōnen shōnin eden, vols. 1–3 (Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1981). 14. SNKBZ 50, Uji shūi monogatari, 49–50. 15. Kuroda Hideo, “Emaki” kodomo no tōjō: Chūsei shakai no kodomozō (Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 1989), 97–100. 16. Amino Yoshihiko, Igyō no ōken (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1986), 49. 17. Tsuchiya Megumi, Chūsei jiin no shakai to geinō (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2001), 130–177. 18. J. L. Austin, “A Plea for Excuses,” in Philosophical Papers, ed. J. O. Urmson and G. J. Warnock (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 182. 19. Tateishi Kazuhiro, “Hōyō to dōmyō: Utsuho monogatari shinsei no seiiku girei,” in Seiiku girei no rekishi to bunka, ed. Fukutō Sanae and Kojima Naoko (Tokyo: Shinwasha, 2003), 186–196.



Notes to pages 9–11 173

20. The suffix “-maru” or “-maro” can be omitted from a dōmyō. For instance, “Ushiwaka-maru” (the child name of Minamoto no Yoshitsune [1159– 1189]) is probably the most recognizable dōmyō in today’s Japan, but in The Tales of the Heike (ca. fourteenth century) and A Record of Yoshitsune (fifteenth century), Yoshitsune’s child name without the suffix (i.e., Ushiwaka) is more common. Also, of the six acolyte tales this book will examine, only two works reveal the chigo’s names: Umewaka (A Long Tale for an Autumn Night) and Hanamatsu (The Tale of Genmu), abbreviated from Umewaka-maru and Hanamatsu-maru, respectively. In the case of the protagonist of The Mountain, the younger protagonist is addressed as “Wakagimi” (Young Lord). All the other acolyte characters are referred to by their titles such as “the chigo” and “the warawa.” 21. Nihon daihyakka zensho, s.v. “o-maru.” 22. The adaptation of the Chinese-style names was propagated during the reign of Emperor Saga (809–823). See Tateishi, “Hōyō to dōmyō,” 186. 23. Amino Yoshihiko, Nihon no rekishi o yominaosu (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 2009), 110–115. 24. Ibid., 112–116. 25. Kanjō refers to the climactic part of esoteric initiation ceremonies, in which the anointer pours holy water onto the head of the recipient of consecration. 26. See Tsuji Shōko, “Chigo kanjō no kisoteki kōsatsu: Giki no shōkai to seiri,” Nara Joshi Daigaku Ningen Bunka Kenkyūka nenpō 27 (2012): 274–278. The modern figure who has single-handedly popularized these obscure documents is the novelist Mishima Yukio (1925–1970), through his famous work Forbidden Colors (Kinjiki, 1951). The Tendai priest and writer Kon Tōkō (1898–1977), however, has accused Mishima of plagiarizing a portion of Kon’s short story “Chigo” (1947) to compose Forbidden Colors. Kon reportedly referred to the Private Record of the Chigo kanjō to write the chigo kanjō scene of “Chigo.” Although he had the special privilege of viewing this document as a Tendai priest, Kon argues, Mishima could not have known about the existence of this text, let alone its contents. See Tsuji Shōko, “Kon Tōkō ‘Chigo’ to ‘Kō chigo shōgyō hiden shi,’ ” Josetsu 38 (2011): 215. 27. Enryakuji is Japan’s first Tendai (Ch. Tientai) temple complex, built on Mount Hiei, near Kyoto. The colophon of the 1450 copy of the chigo kanjō manual attributes its original authorship to Genshin (942–1017), the renowned Tendai master and author of The Teachings Essential for Rebirth (Ōjōyōshū, 985), although this is probably anachronistic. 28. Tsuji, “Kon Tōkō ‘Chigo,’ ” 215. 29. According to Tsuji Shōko, Ennin was the first priest to conduct the chigo kanjō. If this claim holds true, the tradition of the chigo system began as early as the ninth century. See Tsuji, “Giki no shōkai to seiri,” 276. 30. Teeth blackening (ohaguro or kane) became popular among court women during the Heian period. This beautification practice was adopted by

174

Notes to pages 11–14

aristocratic men and elite warriors from the late Heian through the Muromachi period. See Chris Nelson and Kyōko Selden, “The Tale of Oan,” Review of Japanese Culture and Society 16 (2004): 1–2. 31. Tsuji, “Giki no shōkai,” 274–278. 32. Kuroda Hideo, Sugata to shigusa no chūseishi: Ezu to emaki no fūkei kara (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2002), 30–45. See also Tsuchiya, Chūsei jiin, 158–166. 33. One of the most reliable ways to distinguish a chigo from a highborn woman is the position of the ponytail. An elite-class woman’s ponytail tends to be tied at a lower point (close to the middle of her back) than that of a chigo or a lower-class woman. 34. Nevertheless, as I will discuss in chapter 2, some literary and artistic conventions for portraying chigo seem to borrow from the preexisting custom of representing young women. As for the chigo’s makeup (face powder, teeth blackening, artificial eyebrows, and rouge), it also appears to emulate women’s makeup. 35. Kōhara Yukinari, Kao to hyōjō no ningengaku (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1995), 40–41. 36. Sachi Schmidt-Hori, “The Boy Who Lived: The Transfigurations of Chigo in the Medieval Short Story Ashibiki,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 75, no. 2 (2015): 321. 37. The idea that adult men are seen as unmarked “people” has been confirmed in many fields of social science. One of the most obvious illustrations of this tendency is the ways we linguistically express gender and age in the Japanese and English languages (and numerous others). For instance, a group of warawa can include both male and female children/servants, but a warawa is defaulted to a male. To emphasize the female gender of a warawa, one must say “me no warawa” (a female warawa). Similarly, until recently, the word “men” in English was used interchangeably with “people.” Furthermore, synonyms of “people” in both Japanese and English could technically include people of all ages, but without a qualifier, they are generally assumed to be between ages twenty and fifty. To emphasize the two ends of the age spectrum, one must use adjectives (e.g., “young,” “old”) to modify “people,” or use different terms (e.g., “the elderly,” “infants,” “children”). 38. Nomura Ikuyo, Jendaa no chūsei shakaishi, Dōseisha chūseishi sensho, vol. 22 (Tokyo: Dōseisha, 2017), 103. 39. According to Katō Osamu, during the time of Man’yōshū, “ko” referred to both “loved ones” and “attendant/servants” (cf. note 12 of this chapter). However, by the mid-Heian period, “ko” had come to mean “a child/children” exclusively. See Katō, “Chigo” to “warawa,” 4–6. 40. In premodern Japan, transgenerational male-male love was common outside Buddhist communities as well. Nonetheless, as a matter of literary convention, the romantic and/or erotic connotation is much more automatic and robust when men gaze upon chigo than upon adolescent boys or young men who are not acolytes.



Notes to pages 14–18 175

41. Higuchi Yoshimaro, ed., Nara-no-ha wakashū to kenkyū (Toyohashi, Japan: Mikan kokubun shiryō Kankōkai, 1959). See also Kaneko Matabei, “Nara-no-ha wakashū: Nihon nanshoku bungaku bunken kaisetsu 2,” Kokubungaku (1958): 27–39. 42. Nara-no-ha (no. 689). See Higuchi, Nara-no-ha, 107. All translations are mine unless otherwise noted. 43. Go-shūi (no. 733). See Tsukamoto Tetsuzō, ed., Shūi wakashū, Go-shūi wakashū (Tokyo: Yūhōdō, 1926), 439. 44. Here, the intersection of sexuality and social hierarchy in a master-disciple relationship subverts the convention that normally renders the suitor as the visitor. In fact, plate 7 depicts a chigo (i.e., the visitor) waiting for the door to his master’s bedroom to open (see chapter 2). In most romantic acolyte tales, however, the relationship between the two main characters is similar to heterosexual love, in which the suitor (a young monk who is not the chigo’s master) visits his love interest (chigo from a different temple). 45. See Gunsho ruijū 154:10, Shoku mon’yō wakashū, 304. 46. Matsumura Yūji, Hayashi Tatsuya, and Furuhashi Nobutaka, eds., Nihon bungeishi: Hyōgen no nagare, vol. 3, Chūsei (Tokyo: Kawade Shobō, 1987), 150–151. 47. See Hanawa Hokiichi, ed., San’eki enshi, Zoku gunsho ruijū, vol. 345, San’eki enshi (Tokyo: Zoku gunsho ruijū Kanseikai, 1932), 500. 48. Tamamura Takeji, ed., Gozan bungaku shinshū bekkan, vol. 1, Shinden shikō (Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1977), 866. 49. Tamamura Takeji, ed., Gozan bungaku shinshū, vol. 1, Senpukushū (Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1967), 867. The Chenxiang Pavilion was located in Emperor Xuanzong’s (685–762) palace. It is known as the place where Li Bo (701–762) composed three verses praising the beauty of the peonies and Yang Guifei. Another connection between this femme fatal and a chigo is found in A Record of Yoshitsune, in which the young Yoshitsune, a chigo, is compared to Yang Guifei and other legendary beauties. See SNKBZ 62, Gikeiki, 53, and my forthcoming article: Sachi Schmidt-Hori, “Yoshitsune’s Transformation from ‘Small but Beautiful’ to ‘Small but Mighty’: National and Gender Identities in the Cultural History of Japan,” Journal of Japanese Studies (forthcoming). 50. Love poems composed by chigo for their lovers also exist. For examples, see Nara-no-ha (nos. 734 and 735). 51. SNKBZ 44, Tsurezuregusa, 122–125. 52. For a comprehensive study of kannō, see Charlotte Eubanks, “Sympathetic Response: Vocal Arts and the Erotics of Persuasion in the Buddhist Literature of Medieval Japan,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 72, no. 1 (2012): 43–70. 53. SNKBZ 36, Konjaku monogatari-shū 2, 403–409. 54. For instance, in the “Molted Cicada Shell” chapter of The Tale of Genji, the hero accidentally sleeps with the stepdaughter (Nokiba no Ogi) of his love

176

Notes to pages 18–23

interest (Utsusemi). Though Genji admits that Nokiba no Ogi is much more physically attractive than her stepmother, he finds the girl’s enthusiasm off-putting and idealizes Utsusemi, who manages to rebuff his advances. See SNKBZ 20, Genji monogatari 1, 115–132. 55. For a book-length study of shirabyōshi in English, see Roberta Strippoli, Dancer, Nun, Ghost, Goddess: The Legend of Giō and Hotoke in Japanese Literature, Theater, Visual Arts, and Cultural Heritage (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2017). 56. See SNKBZ 45, Heike monogatari 1, 35. 57. Abe Yasurō, “Sei no ekkyō: Chūsei no shūkyō, geinō, monogatari ni okeru ekkyō suru sei,” in Onna no ryōiki, otoko no ryōiki, ed. Akasaka Norio, Nakamura Ikuo, Harada Nobuo, and Miura Sukeyuki (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2003), 204. 58. Ibid. 59. Takigawa Seijirō, Senshōshimi (Tokyo: Seiabō, 1965), 22. 60. Abe, “Sei no ekkyō,” 205–206. For the typeset text of this anecdote, see, for example, Tsukamoto Tetsuzō, ed., Kokon chomonjū (Tokyo: Yūhōdō, 1914), 270–272. Kakushō is also famous for being the master of Taira no Tsunemasa (?–1184), the subject of the “Tsunemasa’s Flight from the Capital” (7:17) and “Concerning Seizan” (7:18) chapters of the Heike (Kakuichi-bon) and the noh play Tsunemasa. 61. See SNKBZ 45, Heike monogatari 1, 34–50. For an English translation, see, for example, Royall Tyler, trans., The Tale of the Heike (New York: Penguin Books, 2014), 15–28. 62. Abe, “Sei no ekkyō,” 206. 63. Ibid. 64. Kimura Saeko, Koi suru monogatari no homosekushuariti: Kyūtei shakai to kenryoku (Tokyo: Seidosha, 2008), 17–30, 224–248; Onna-tachi no heian kyūtei: Eiga monogatari ni yomu kenryoku to sei (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 2015), 232–238. 65. Kimura, Koi suru monogatari, 24–50. 66. In the end, the half-brother and half-sister switch positions and enter into the “heteronormative” sexual politics at court. 67. Kimura, Koi suru monogatari, 243. 68. See Higuchi, Nara-no-ha. 69. Haruko Wakabayashi, The Seven Tengu Scrolls: Evil and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy in Medieval Japanese Buddhism (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012), 104. 70. For example, The Tale of Flowering Fortunes (Eiga monogatari, ca. 1030) lists a number of women whom Prince Atsuakira (also Koichijō-in, 994– 1051) loved. His favorite was Ruri, a daughter of the governor of Shimotsuke. She originally served Atsuakira’s wife as her lady-in-waiting but became his meshūdo and bore him many children. The narrator calls her “saiwai-bito” (a person of extraordinary fortune). See SNKBZ 33, Eiga monogatari, 238–239.



Notes to pages 24–27 177

71. Paul S. Atkins, “Chigo in the Medieval Japanese Imagination,” Journal of Asian Studies 67, no. 3 (2008): 951. 72. Stephanie Coontz, Marriage, a History: From Obedience to Intimacy or How Love Conquered Marriage (New York: Viking, 2005), 5–6. 73. When considering the literary history of Japan, it is critically important to understand how the intersection of gender, sexuality, and politics influenced the production and circulation of literature. Ninth- and tenth-century Japan witnessed the world’s first surge in literary production by women as a by-product of the Fujiwara’s regency politics. Most famously, each of the Ichijō emperor’s (980–1011) two Fujiwara consorts (Shōshi, 988–1074; Teishi, 976–1000) set up a literary salon in court, where many talented ladies-in-waiting honed their skills in composing poetry and prose texts. This means that a single family’s political ambition trickled down to people of the provincial governor class, whose own daughters’ education was also proven to be a valuable investment of time and resources. This is because there was a constant demand for talented ladies-inwaiting to serve, educate, and entertain the imperial consorts. Murasaki Shibu (ca. 978–1014), the author of The Tale of Genji, was recruited for her literary genius to serve Shōshi as a lady-in-waiting. See, for example, H. Richard Okada, Figures of Resistance: Language, Poetry, and Narrating in The Tale of Genji and Other Mid-Heian Texts (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1992), 159–164. 74. SNKBZ 46, Heike monogatari 2, 77–82. Though historically inaccurate, the Heike reads as if Shukaku, rather than Kakushō, were Tsunemasa’s master. Further, a variant of the Heike, the Rise and Fall of the Minamoto and the Taira (Genpei jōsuiki, Kamakura period), presents the monk Gyōkei as a former lover of Tsunemasa. See Kokumin bunko Kankōkai, ed., Genpei jōsuiki (Tokyo: Kokumin bunko Kankōkai, 1912), 805. 75. See Kuroda Toshio, Kenmon taisei-ron, Kuroda Toshio chosakushū, vol. 1, ed. Tanaka Fumihide (Tokyo: Hōzōkan, 1994). 76. Mikael S. Adolphson, The Gates of Power: Monks, Courtiers, and Warriors in Premodern Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2000), 1–20. 77. The Sinified pronunciation (on-yomi) of the character Minamoto is “gen,” and Genji is a common appellation for the family. 78. This points to the fact that women’s desire was, for the most part, outside people’s consciousness, and when it did enter their perception, it entailed excessive sexual desire. This taboo on women’s enthusiastic sexuality is indicated in the genesis story of Japan. The husband-and-wife kami, Izanagi and Izanami, failed to produce proper offspring at first, because the female god initiated the process by praising the appearance of her husband. The couple was able to create the islands of Japan only after they repeated the process with the male god initiating. See SNKBZ 1, Kojiki, 31–42; SNKBZ 2, Nihon shoki 1, 25–35. 79. See Shannon Weber, “ ‘Born This Way’: Biology and Sexuality in Lady Gaga’s Pro-LGBT Media,” in Queer Media Images, ed. Jane Campbell and Theresa Carilli (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013), 111. See also Lisa Duggan,

178

Notes to pages 28–30

The Twilight of Equality? Neoliberalism, Cultural Politics, and the Attack on Democracy (Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2003), 50. The nanshoku-joshoku paradigm can deepen our understanding of the significant role that culture plays in shaping the human sexual desire. 80. The database is available through the website for the Chinese Text Project, www.ctext.org. 81. SNKBT 41, Kojidan, Zoku kojidan, 828. 82. This well-known anecdote is the source of the Chinese idiom “duan xiu” (断袖, Jp. danshū), a euphemism for male-male love. In the Continued Discussions, however, the person who was asked about the instance mentions a different emperor, Emperor Cheng of Former Han (r. 33–37 BCE), from whom Emperor Ai inherited the throne. 83. In the Senjūshō Kenkyūkai version of the text, based on the Matsudaira-bon manuscript, the term is “onna no iro” (女の色) with the same meaning as its Sinified counterpart, joshoku. See Senjūshō Kenkyūkai, ed., Senjūshō zen chūshaku, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2003), 617. 84. This is Shikishō (1477), which is the Zen monk Tōgen Suizen’s (1430– 1489) commentary on the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji). 85. Japan had a long tradition of male-male intimacy before the dawn of modernity even outside the monasteries, which J. Keith Vincent construes as the “male heterosocial continuum” that fluidly combines “a heterosexual male’s friendship with another male” and “male homosexuality.” See J. Keith Vincent, Two-Timing Modernity: Homosocial Narrative in Modern Japanese Fiction (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2012), 6–15. See also Paul Gordon Schalow, A Poetics of Courtly Male Friendship in Heian Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2007); and Gustav Heldt, “Between Followers and Friends: Male Homosocial Desire in Heian Court Poetry,” U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal 33 (2007): 3–32. There are also books on the topic for general audiences, including Takemitsu Makoto, ed., Nihon nanshoku monogatari: Nara jidai no kizoku kara Meiji no bungō made (Tokyo: Kanzen, 2015); and Tsuneo Watanabe and Jun’ichi Iwata, Love of the Samurai: A Thousand Years of Japanese Homosexuality, trans. D. R. Roberts (London: Gay Men’s Press, 1989). 86. See SNKBZ 1, Kojiki, 31–35. The birth of the country as the result of sexual intercourse between a male and a female deity is also depicted in the other imperially commissioned record of history, A Chronicle of Japan (Nihon shoki, 720). See SNKBZ 2, Nihon Shoki 1, 25–35. 87. In some cases, the taboo on blood evolved into a taboo on women (especially those of reproductive age), due to their association with menstruation and childbirth. Even in today’s Japan, many religious sites and objects (e.g., mountain peaks, sumo rings, palanquins for Shinto festivals) are off-limits to women to ensure their “purity.” 88. See Janet R. Goodwin, Selling Songs and Smiles: The Sex Trade in Heian and Kamakura Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2007), 84–



Notes to pages 30–31 179

111. During the Heian period, the most dangerous defilement was that of death. This is why those from the outcast class, who were considered immune to the pollution of death, were in charge of disposing of corpses and skinning animals. 89. Tōji Kamata, Myth and Deity in Japan: The Interplay of Kami and Buddhas, trans. Geynor Sekimori (Tokyo: Japan Publishing Industry Foundation for Culture, 2017), 37–42. Depending on the school of Buddhism and the time period, the idea of “enlightenment” is also referred to, with slightly varying nuances, as “rebirth in the Pure Land” (Jp. ōjō), “salvation,” “Nirvana,” and “buddhahood.” 90. Knowing that extinguishing all amorous feelings toward women was a challenge even for some of his primary disciples, the Buddha frequently preached about the defilement of the human body, especially that of women. The following verse from the Sutta Nipata (1:11) exemplifies this idea: “The body which is put together with bones and sinews, plastered with membrane and flesh, and covered with skin, is not seen as it really is [. . .]. Then in nine streams impurity flows always from it; from the eye the eye-excrement, from the ear the ear-excrement, mucus from the nose, through the mouth it ejects at one time bile and . . . it ejects phlegm, and from (all) the body come sweat and dirt [. . .].” F. Max Muller, trans., Sacred Books of the East 10, part 2 (London: Oxford University Press, 1924), 32–33. 91. The oldest extant text that unambiguously condemns male-male sex for the sake of same-sex-ness comes from the influential Buddhist text Essentials for Rebirth (Ōjōyōshū, 985), penned by Genshin (942–1017). In this text, Genshin preaches about a special inferno called takunō 多苦悩 (numerous agonies) just for men who had sex with other men. Ishida Mizumaro, trans., Ōjōyōshū: Nihon Jōdokyō no yoake, vol. 1, Tōyō bunko, vol. 8 (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1963), 17–18. This is unmistakable evidence that at least some clerics opposed nanshoku, putatively irrespective of lay/ordained status, although adherents to the Buddhist ideal of renouncing carnal attachment should not see nanshoku any differently from joshoku. In this regard, Genshin’s preaching against nanshoku appears to be a rare example of overt homophobia against male-male love in premodern Buddhist discourse, for he does not denounce joshoku or female homoeroticism. 92. For instance, after the monk Saichō (767–822) returned from Tang in 804, he reformed Japanese Buddhism by establishing a home of the Japanese Tendai School, Enryakuji, on Mount Hiei, replacing the Theravāda-based Four Part Vinaya, originally brought from Tang by Ganjin (Ch. Jianzhen, 688–763), with the apocryphal Brahmā Net Bodhisattva Vinaya of the Mahāyāna tradition. Saichō also constructed a new ordination platform at Enryakuji to produce wholly Mahāyāna-based ecclesiastics in Japan. See Paul Groner, Saichō: The Establishment of the Japanese Tendai School (Berkeley: Center for South and South East Asian Studies, University of California at Berkeley, 1984). 93. See, for example, Ishida Mizumaro, Nyobon: Hijiri no sei (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 1995); and Lori Meeks, “The Priesthood as a Family Trade: Recon-

180

Notes to pages 31–34

sidering Monastic Marriage in Premodern Japan,” in Family in Buddhism, ed. Liz Wilson (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2013), 253–276. 94. Meeks, “Priesthood as a Family Trade,” 254. 95. Ibid. 96. Matsunami Kikusui, Kaishū to Shinran (Sakugi-son, Japan: Sakugi-son Seinendan, 1923), 57. On the reception of this anecdote in academic discourse, see Galen Amstutz, “Sexual Transgression in Shinran’s Dream,” Eastern Buddhist, New Series 43, no. 1/2 (2012): 225–269. The fact that the chigo kanjō ritual in the Tendai tradition symbolically transforms the youth into an avatar of Kannon may have been inspired by the legend of Shinran, although this hypothesis would be at odds with Tsuji’s claim that the chigo kanjō goes back to the ninth century. See Tsuji, “Giki no shōkai to seiri,” 276. We need more research into how the chigo kanjō developed over time and took the shape recorded in the extant manual from the Muromachi period. 97. Eubanks, “Sympathetic Response,” 50. 98. Ibid., 47–49. 99. SNKBZ 36, Konjaku monogatari-shū 2, 409–411. 100. For a comprehensive study of upāya, see Michael Pye, Skilful Means: A Concept in Mahayana Buddhism, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2003). 101. Ibid., 370–382. 102. Rajyashree Pandey, “Desire and Disgust: Meditations on the Impure Body in Medieval Japanese Narratives,” Monumenta Nipponica 60, no. 2 (2005): 197. 103. Ibid., 213–214. 104. Bernard Faure, The Red Thread: Buddhist Approaches to Sexuality (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 182. 105. Bernard Faure, The Power of Denial: Buddhism, Purity, and Gender (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003), 205–206; emphasis mine. 106. According to Kadokawa kogo daijiten, the classical Japanese verb犯す (okasu or sometimes bonsu) carries numerous meanings, ranging from “to break a rule,” “to invade someone else’s space,” and “to transgress” to “to have sex in a sacred place” and many more. While the act of okasu/bonsu is inherently transgressive, it is not always negative, immoral, or criminal. For instance, the nobleman Fujiwara no Yorinaga (1120–1156) wrote in his diary, Taiki, about the pleasure of a particular transgression: receiving anal sex from his lover, Fujiwara no Tadamasa, who was four years his junior. Yorinaga wrote, “彼人始犯余, 不敵不 敵” (He fucked me for the first time. How bold of him!). See Kurokawa Mayori, ed., Shiryō taikan, vol. 1 (Tokyo: Tetsugaku Shoin, 1898), 134. 107. Yorinaga actually used the term “nanbon” 男犯 in his diary to describe his sexual adventures with his male lovers, though it does not seem to have become an idiomatic expression. Because he was not a priest, the “transgression via having sex with another male” did not constitute a breach of the celibacy vow. Yorinaga’s transgression may refer to intercourse between two males who



Notes to pages 34–36 181

are close in age, receiving anal sex from a lower-ranking partner, or having wild sex for purely somatic pleasure. 108. See, for example, Gary P. Leupp, Male Colors: The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 28–31; Koishikawa Zenji, ed., Danshoku no minzokugaku. Rekishi minzokugaku shiryō sōsho (dai 2-ki, no. 3) (Tokyo: Hihyōsha, 2003); Kurushima Noriko, Nagano Hiroko, and Osa Shizue, eds., Jendaa kara mita Nihonshi: Rekishi o yomikaeru (Tokyo: Ōtsuki Shoten, 2015); and Peter Harvey, An Introduction to Buddhist Ethics: Foundations, Values, and Issues (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 109. See, for example, Leupp, Male Colors, 28–31. 110. See Nakae Katsumi, Sei no Nihonshi (Tokyo: Kawade Bunko, 1985), 67–68. 111. Watanabe and Iwata, Love of the Samurai, 31. 112. Paul Gordon Schalow, “Kūkai and the Tradition of Male Love in Japanese Buddhism,” in Buddhism, Sexuality, and Gender, ed. José Ignacio Cabezón (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 215. 113. Leupp, Male Colors, 11–12. 114. See Paul Gordon Schalow, trans., The Great Mirror of Male Love (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990); Paul Gordon Schalow, “The Invention of Literary Tradition of Male Love: Kitamura Kigin’s Iwatsutsuji,” Monumenta Nipponica 48, no. 1 (1993): 1–31; and Hayakawa Monta, Ukiyoe shunga to nanshoku (Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 2018). 115. For instance, a headline in the Japan Times from May 6, 2016, reads, “Bullying of LGBT Students at ‘Epidemic’ Levels in Japan: Human Rights Watch.” Another example, from the August 4, 2018, Daily Beast, is “They Said What?! Anti-LGBT Prejudice Reigns in Japan’s Ruling Party.” 116. Richard M. Jaffe, Neither Monk nor Layman (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2011), 4. 117. Ibid., 205. 118. Pflugfelder, Cartographies of Desire, 159. 119. Maekawa Naoya, “Dansei dōseiai-sha” no shakaishi: Aidentiti no juyō, kurōzetto e no kaihō (Tokyo: Sakuhinsha, 2017), 28. 120. The effects of the modern regime’s effort to marginalize homoeroticism sometimes manifested in unexpected ways. For instance, during the Taishō period (1912–1926), the people of Japan (re)discovered dōsei-ai (homosexual love) through the translations of European sexology journals, and they found this phenomenon exotic and fascinating. This sensationalization of the notion of same-sex love, now largely absent from the collective consciousness of the people of the Taishō period, spawned a “sexology boom” (seiyokugaku būmu), culminating in the births of numerous sexology journals and magazines. See Kawaguchi Kazuya, Kuia sutadiizu (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2003), 28–34. Furthermore, beginning in the early postwar period, several popular magazines that targeted sexual minorities were published, including Search for Humanity (Nin-

182

Notes to pages 37–38

gen tankyū, 1950–1952), Adonis (Adonisu, 1952–1962), and The Rose Tribe (Barazoku, 1971–). See Maekawa, “Dansei dōseiai-sha,” 62–204. 121. Ichiko, Chūsei shōsetsu, 131. It is clear that Ichiko’s homophobic view was not an exception but the rule of the time. Three years before his book came out, Furukawa Kiyohiko published a short article on The Tale of Genmu and The Tale of Ben. In this essay, Furukawa describes chigo monogatari as stories “featuring perverted love [hentai ren’ai], born out of the peculiar social structure of the warriordominated era.” See Furukawa Kiyohiko, “Nikko-zan no sōbō bungaku: Genmu monogatari to Ben no shōshi,” Kokugo to kokubungaku 29, no. 8 (1952): 10. 122. Ibid., 137. 123. Kaneko, “Nyake kanjinchō,” 36. Higuchi Kiyoyuki’s Sei to Nihonjin is an example of quasischolarly writing that continued to exhibit an overtly homophobic interpretation of nanshoku into the 1980s. See Higuchi Kiyoyuki, Sei to Nihonjin (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1985), 184–189. 124. Margaret H. Childs, in a 1980 article, aptly contests the homophobic remarks made by Ichiko Teiji and Araki Yoshio. In this piece, Childs argues against the scholars’ presumption that the religious ending is a convenient cover for the main focus of the tales (i.e., male homosexuality). She points out that chigo tales normally end with the priest’s religious awakening (hosshin) and the negation of carnal desire, exemplifying that “the only happy ending was the victory of religion.” See Margaret H. Childs, “Chigo Monogatari: Love Stories or Buddhist Sermons?,” Monumenta Nipponica 35, no. 2 (1980): 127–129. 125. See, for example, Iwata Jun’ichi, Honchō danshokukō, Danshoku bunken shoshi: Gappon (Tokyo: Hara Shobō, 2002); Inagaki Taruho, Shōnen-ai no bigaku (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 2005); and Dōmoto Masaki, Danshoku engeki-shi (Tokyo: Shuppansha, 1976). 126. Joseph J. Fischel, Sex and Harm in the Age of Consent (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2016), 8–9. Although “sex offenders” certainly include those who are attracted to young children, Fischel’s primary focus is adults who develop mutual attractions and form sexual relationships with teenagers. His analysis on the recent shift in the American legal system and media representations (positive portrayals of LGBTQ individuals and the demonization of transgenerational sexuality) is applicable to how contemporary scholarship on the chigo system and chigo tales switched its focal point from the same-sex-ness of the relationships to the age difference. 127. Ibid., 9. 128. See, for example, Hosokawa Ryōichi, Itsudatsu no Nihon chūsei: Kyōki, tōsaku, ma no sekai (Tokyo: JICC Shuppan-kyoku, 1993); Tokue Gensei, Muromachi geinōshi ronkō (Tokyo: Miyai Shoten, 1984); Faure, Red Thread, 1998; Kanda Tatsumi, “Chigo to tennō: Dajōtennō Go-Sukōin to chigo monogatari,” in Seikatsu sekai to fōkuroa, Tennō to ōken o kangaeru, vol. 9, ed. Amino Yoshihiko (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2003), 155–180; Saeki Junko, “Shunga no ‘shōnen-ryoku’: Miwaku to iu kenryoku,” Eureka: Poetry and Criticism 47, no.



Notes to pages 38–42 183

20 (2015): 135–145; and Ri Yonmi, “Chigo monogatari ni okeru yokubō to seigensō no shikumi,” in Etoki to denshō soshite bungaku, ed. Hayashi Masahiko (Tokyo: Hōjōdō, 2016), 529–545. 129. Faure, Red Thread, 265. This line of argument is identical to Ichiko’s aforementioned claim: “Buddhist priests [. . .] must have been aware that nanshoku was an immoral, unnatural act. This is why they invented the plot where the chigo turns out to be an avatar of the Buddha or a bodhisattva” (Ichiko, Chūsei shōsetsu, 137). Their remarks seem to be driven by confirmation biases that pick out specific parts of a text that are useful to “prove” their predetermined conclusion and dismisses any details that may weaken the goal. This is the antithesis of “postcritical reading.” 130. Hosokawa, Itsudatsu no Nihon chūsei, 73–74. 131. Kanda, “Chigo to tennō,” 158. 132. Ibid. 133. Jim Reichert, In the Company of Men: Representations of Male-Male Sexuality in Meiji Literature (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006), 4. 134. This type of hyperbolic language devoid of intellectual curiosity and of efforts to provide evidence invites comparison with the hyperhomophobic language of pre-1980s scholarship on chigo monogatari and the chigo system. 135. Fischel, Sex and Harm, 8–9. 136. On the intersection of secularism and liberal Western political discourses, see Talal Asad, Wendy Brown, Judith Butler, and Saba Mahmood, Is Critique Secular? Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech (Berkeley: Townsend Center for the Humanities, University of California, 2009). 137. Scholars have criticized transgenerational male-female sexual relationships in which the younger female partners show distress, such as the marriage between Genji and Murasaki in the Tale of Genji and between Retired Emperor Go-Fukakusa and Lady Nijō in The Confession of Lady Nijō (Towazugatari, ca. 1306). I am exploring this topic in my current research. 138. Gayle S. Rubin warns us that the hierarchies of sexual value “function in much the same ways as for ideological systems of racism, ethnocentrism, and religious chauvinism. They rationalize the well-being of the sexually privileged and the adversity for the sexual rabble.” See Gayle S. Rubin, “Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality,” in Deviations: A Gayle Rubin Reader (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011), 150–151.

Chapter 1: Chigo Monogatari 1. For a study of chigo characters in noh plays, see William MacDuff, “Beautiful Boys in Nō Drama: The Idealization of Homoerotic Desire,” Asian Theatre Journal 13, no. 2 (1996): 248–258. 2. This list is taken from Aoki Yūko, “Chigo mono ‘Matsuho monogatari’ no hōhō,” Denshō bungaku kenkyū 56 (2007): 85–96.

184

Notes to pages 42–48

3. For an in-depth discussion of engi and engi literature, see Abe Ryūichi, “Revisiting the Dragon Princess: Her Role in Medieval Engi Stories and Their Implications in Reading the Lotus Sutra,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 42, no. 1 (2015): 27–32. 4. ZNET 20, Ashibiki-e, 102–103. 5. See Kondō Heijō, ed., Chigo monogatari burui, Zoku shiseki shūran 6 (Tokyo: Kondō Shuppanbu, 1917–1930), 485–615. The six works included in the Chigo monogatari burui are A Long Tale for an Autumn Night; A Teaching for Chigo (Chigo kyōkun), a text attributed to the renowned renga master Sōgi (1421–1502); The Tale of Matsuho; The Tale of Genmu; The Tale of Mount Toribe; and The Tale of Saga. All but A Teaching for Chigo are included on the “List of Extant Chigo monogatari” in this book. For a study of A Teaching for Chigo, see Or Porath, “Nasty Boys or Obedient Children? Childhood and Relative Autonomy in Medieval Japanese Monasteries,” in Child’s Play: Multi-Sensory Histories of Children and Childhood in Japan, ed. Sabine Frühstück and Anne Walthall (Oakland: University of California Press, 2018), 17–40. 6. In the introduction of his book, Ichiko explains why he prefers the term “medieval novels” (chūsei shōsetsu) over otogi zōshi to refer to medieval short vernacular tales. See Ichiko, Chūsei shōsetsu, 1–22. 7. The original terms are kuge shōsetsu, sōryo/shūkyō shōsetsu, buke shōsetsu, taishū shōsetsu, ikoku shōsetsu, and irui shōsetsu. 8. See, for example, Furukawa, “Nikko-zan no sōbō bungaku”; Nishizawa Masaji, “Genmu monogatari to Sangoku denki to no kankei,” Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 15, no. 16 (1970): 218–221; Konno Tōru, “Chūsei shōsetsu: Aki no yo no nagamonogatari,” Iwanami kōza: Nihon bungaku to Bukkyō, vol. 9 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1995), 257–282; Yamada Shōsen, “Genmu monogatari o yomu,” in Nikkō: Sono rekishi to shūkyō, ed. Sugawara Shinkai and Tanabe Saburōsuke (Tokyo: Shunjūsha, 2011), 149–168; Sachi Schmidt-Hori, “The New Lady-in-Waiting Is a Chigo: Sexual Fluidity and Dual Transvestism in a Medieval Buddhist Acolyte Tale,” Japanese Language and Literature 43, no. 2 (2009): 383–423 and “Boy Who Lived”; and Ri, “Chigo monogatari ni okeru yokubō.” For example, an encyclopedia entry on chigo monogatari reads as follows: “A subgenre of otogi zōshi; generally centered on monks’ romantic relationships with Buddhist acolytes. Since women were not allowed into medieval monasteries, boys replaced their role as attendants for high priests. ­Consequently, romantic relationships between monks and chigo, among chigo themselves, and between chigo and women who resided outside the monastery were fairly common. The chigo monogatari genre employs these concepts as its basis and further develops religious, mysterious, and tragic plots. In these stories, the chigo is aesthetically idealized and treated as an avatar of a deity.” See Nihon daihyakka zensho, s.v. “chigo mono.” Although calling chigo monogatari a subgenre of otogi zōshi or “medieval novels” adds little substance to our knowledge of these tales, it is customary for scholars to do so in their writings, possibly as a way to increase the audience’s sense of familiarity with the



Notes to pages 48–50 185

texts. Nonetheless, the formation of a literary genre is “a process, not a determinate category” (Ralph Cohen and John L. Rowlett, Genre Theory and Historical Change: Theoretical Essays of Ralph Cohen [Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2017], xiv), not to mention that neither “otogi zōshi” nor “medieval novels” as a category existed at the time of the creation of the fourteen chigo monogatari. Therefore, it is useful to keep in mind that these labels are mere expedients, and it is important to resist the temptation to fit texts into these categories. 9. See Minobe Shigekatsu, “Otogi zōshi no koshō to han’i,” Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kanshō 61, no. 5 (1996): 26–35. Even though chigo monogatari are conventionally classified as a subgenre of otogi zōshi, this does not mean that all chigo tales belong to the otogi zōshi category. Among the fourteen works included in the “List of Extant Chigo monogatari” appended to this book, A Booklet of Acolytes and Excerpts of Dust and Thorns are not otogi zōshi. The first is a collection of five erotic short stories with highly graphic illustrations (see chapter 2), and the second is an eleven-volume collection of anecdotal tales, one of which is about two Buddhist acolytes on Mount Hiei. 10. Ichiko, Chūsei shōsetsu, 131.  11. Ibid., 137–138. Ichiko attributes the tragic fate of the lovers to the “unnaturalness” of nanshoku: “Because chigo monogatari depict nanshoku, which is unnatural, they never have a ‘happily ever after’-type of ending.” Ichiko, Chūsei shōsetsu, 137. 12. Nihon daihyakka zensho, s.v. “chigo.” 13. Izumi Shikibu’s poem and an English translation by R. Keller Kimbrough are as follows: Kuraki yori / kuraki michi ni zo / irinubeki / haruka ni terase / yama no ha no tsuki (From darkness / into a path of darkness / I must enter / shine your light afar / moon on the mountain ridge!). See R. Keller Kimbrough, Preachers, Poets, Women, and the Way: Izumi Shikibu and the Buddhist Literature of Medieval Japan (Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2008), 42. 14. See Atkins, “Medieval Imagination,” 964–967; and Faure, Red Thread, 274. Although they do not mention Girard’s scapegoat theory by name, Abe and Hamanaka both link chigo’s suffering to their sacrality. See Abe Yasurō, “Jidō setsuwa no keisei (ge): Tendai sokuihō no seiritsu o megutte,” Kokugo kokubun 53, no. 9 (1984): 30–56; and Hamanaka Osamu, Muromachi monogatari ronkō (Tokyo: Shintensha, 1996), 15–24. 15. Vignette 2 of A Booklet of Acolytes is the exception, as the narrator mentions that the chigo later took the tonsure. Also, the Shōren-in is missing the ending. 16. Konno, “Chūsei shōsetsu,” 268. 17. Though this legend and its variants are included in several collections of Buddhist tales, the summary is based on the version included in A Collection of Old Didactic Anecdotes (Kohon setsuwa-shū, ca. twelfth century). See Kawaguchi Hisao, ed., Koten shiryō ruijū, vol. 6, Umezawa-bon Kohon setsuwa-shū (Tokyo: Benseisha, 1977), 206–212.

186

Notes to pages 51–53

18. Encyclopedia of Buddhism, s.v. “bodhisattva.” 19. Encyclopedia of Japan, s.v. “bodhisattva.” Despite the common perception that the concept of “bodhisattva” is a distinctively Mahāyāna doctrine, ­according to Y. Krishan, this notion emerged as a discursive tactic used to propagate Mahāyāna Buddhism during the sixth century CE. Krishan writes, “The concept of bodhisattva is common in Hīnayāna [lesser vehicle] literature [. . .]. [T]he term ‘bodhisattva’ did not have one fixed meaning [. . .] [and it] was continuously interpreted and re-interpreted and clothed with different meanings in the different texts of the various schools of the Hīnayāna and Mahāyāna.” See Y. Krishan, “The Origin and Development of the Bodhisattva Doctrine,” East and West 34, no. 1/3 (1984): 199–200. 20. Leon Hurvitz, trans., Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, rev. ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 287–288. To find corresponding passage in Kumārajīva’s Chinese translation, see the Chinese Electric Tripiṭaka Collection (CBETA) database, http://tripitaka.cbeta.org/. 21. SNKBZ 36, Konjaku monogatari-shū 2, 149–291. 22. See Chün-fang Yü, Kuan-yin: The Chinese Transformation of Avalokitesvara (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 407–486. According to Reiko Ohnuma, throughout Indian Buddhist literature, the vast majority of bodhisattvas are known to be male. This includes Kannon, as attested by Kannongyō, in which his Sanskrit name with the male suffix -īśvara (Avalokiteśvara) is explained as “He Who Observes the Sounds of the World.” This, however, is not to say that the gender of Kannon or any other bodhisattvas is rigidly fixed. Reiko Ohnuma, “Woman, Bodhisattva, and Buddha,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 17, no. 1 (2001): 63–83. 23. Yamamoto Yōko, Zuzōgaku nyūmon: Gimonfu de yomu Nihon bijutsu (Tokyo: Bensei Shuppan, 2015), 24. The feminine image of Kannon is probably the reason Childs, in her translation of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, uses the feminine pronoun for this bodhisattva. 24. The potential connection between the chigo kanjō ritual and Shinran’s dream legend needs to be investigated further. Even though the initiation ritual of chigo was likely established before the time of Shinran (1173–1262), the story may have influenced the development of the idea that the chigo is an avatar of Kannon in particular. 25. Hurvitz, Lotus Blossom, 288. 26. Hiramatsu Ryūen, “Nihon Bukkyō ni okeru sō to chigo no nanshoku,” Nihon kenkyū 34 (2007): 94. 27. SNKBZ 66, Ihara Saikaku-shū 1, 332n4. The cultural association between nanshoku and Monju is seen in Ihara Saikaku’s collection of five semifictional tragicomedies, Five Sensuous Women (Kōshoku gonin onna, 1686). After a merchant’s wife named Osan elopes with one of her male employees, the couple spends the night at a temple. That night, Monjushiri appears in Osan’s dream and sternly demands that she repent of her sin by becoming a nun. Osan, how-



Notes to pages 53–56 187

ever, sassily responds, “Please don’t worry about what may happen to me in the future. [. . .] Monju, you are an expert on the art of loving the youth, but you have no clue when it comes to love between men and women!” See SNKBZ 66, Ihara Saikaku-shū 1, Kōshoku gonin onna, 331–332. 28. See, for example, Jackie Stone, “Seeking Enlightenment in the Last Age: Mappō Thought in Kamakura Buddhism, Part I,” Eastern Buddhist, New Series 18, no. 1 (1985): 28–31. 29. Yoshiko K. Dykstra, trans., “Tales of the Compassionate Kannon: The Hasedera Kannon Genki,” Monumenta Nipponica 31, no. 2 (1976): 113. 30. For an English translation, see Margaret H. Childs, trans., “The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth,” in Parting at Dawn: An Anthology of Japanese Gay Literature, ed. Stephen D. Miller (San Francisco, CA: Gay Sunshine Press, 1996), 31–35. 31. For a facsimile of the illustrated handscroll and a typeset text, see Komatsu Shigemi, ed., Taima mandara engi, Chigo Kannon engi, Nihon emaki taisei (hereafter NET), vol. 24 (Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1979). Bodai-in is formally known as Bodai-in ō-midō, part of the Kōfukuji complex. 32. Tagawa Fumihiko, “Jisha engi no saiseisan to sono henyō: Chigo Kannon engi o megutte,” Indogaku Bukkyōgaku kenkyū 52, no. 1 (2003): 234–235. A typeset version of A Collection of Miraculous Stories of Hasedera can be found in Bussho Kankōkai, ed., Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho, vol. 118 (Tokyo: Bussho Kankōkai, 1913), 334–418, available at the National Diet Library Digital Collection, http://dl.ndl.go.jp. For the source story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, see 398–400. A similar anecdote is also included in A Record of Famous Sites of Nara (Nanto meisho-ki, 1730) and A Record of the Origin of Kōfukuji (Kōfukuji ranshō-ki, after 1717). 33. The text says, “He firmly prayed for a religious awakening” (hosshin kakko to inori). See Bussho Kankōkai, Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho, 399. 34. It is not clear whether the word “warawa” means “a child” or “a servant.” The boy describes himself as “having no relations and no one to rely on” (muen ni shite tasuke shitashimu beki mono nashi). If he is a regular child, this means that he has no parents or guardians. If he is a servant, this means that he has no parents, guardians, or employers. See Bussho Kankōkai, Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho, 399. 35. However, the narrator of this text implies the potentially romantic and/ or sexual nature of Chogon’s six-year relationship with his warawa, stating that they “became extremely familiar” (warinaku nareshi) and “became intimate” (ainareshi). See Bussho Kankōkai, Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho, 400. 36. Childs, “Kannon’s Manifestation,” 32. 37. Ibid. 38. Kimura, Koi suru monogatari, 153. 39. See NET 24, Chigo Kannon engi, 54–55, 66. 40. Ibid., 67.

188

Notes to pages 56–61

41. Childs, “Kannon’s Manifestation,” 35. 42. Heather Blair and Tsuyoshi Kawasaki, “Editors’ Introduction to Engi: Forging Accounts of Sacred Origins,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 42, no. 1 (2015): 11. 43. See, for example, Nomura Hachirō, Monogatari bungaku kenkyū sōsho, vol. 26, Muromachi jidai shōsetsu-ron (Tokyo: Kuresu Shuppan, 1999); Hirasawa Gorō, “Aki no yo no nagamonogatari kō,” Bulletin of Shindō Bunko Institute 3 (1964): 297–298; Nishizawa, “Genmu monogatari” and “Chigo monogatari Aki no yo no nagamonogatari no sekai,” Kokugo to kokubungaku 57, no. 5 (1980): 38–51; Ōkura Ryūji, “Eisei bunko zō Aki no yo no nagamonogatari emaki,” Bijutsushi 33, no. 2 (1984): 97–120; and Konno, “Chūsei shōsetsu.” Within Anglophone scholarship, Richard K. Payne has written the only article dedicated solely to Autumn Night. See Richard K. Payne, “At Midlife in Medieval Japan,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 26, no. 1/2 (1999): 135–157. 44. For a typeset text of Iwatsutsuji, see Asakura Haruhiko, ed., Kana zōshi shūsei, vol. 5 (Tokyo: Tōkyodō Shuppan, 1984), 351–366. See also note 114 of the introduction of this book. 45. Nihon jinmei daijiten, s.v. “Sensai.” 46. Yoshiko Kurata Dykstra, trans., The Senjūshō: Buddhist Tales of Early Medieval Japan (Honolulu, HI: Kanji Press, 2014), 68–70. See also Nakamura Hajime and Masutani Fumio, eds., Bukkyō setsuwa taikei, vol. 37, Nihon no koten 2, Chūsei-hen (Tokyo: Suzuki Shuppan, 1985), 107–109. 47. SNKBZ 43, Shin kokin wakashū, 194, 573. 48. Childs, “Chigo monogatari,” 150. 49. Depending on the variant, the story may be set during the reign of Emperor Ichijō or of Emperor Nijō. See Ōkura, “Eisei bunko zō,” 97. Childs does not mention any imperial reign in her 1980 translation. 50. For a typeset text of Autumn Night, see, for example, Ichiko Teiji, ed., Nihon koten bungaku taikei 38, Otogi zōshi (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1986), 460–485. For an English translation, see Childs, “Chigo monogatari,” 132–151. 51. Its official name is Onjōji. 52. The scale of the skirmish seems to have been exaggerated, perhaps because of the narrative style of military epic storytelling. 53. The Arabic numerals in the text come from Nishizawa, “Aki no yo no sekai,” 42. A typeset text of The Rise of Conflicts between Enryakuji and Miidera is included in Kondō Heijō, ed., Shiseki shūran, vol. 12 (Tokyo: Kondō Shuppanbu, 1926), 256–272, available at the National Diet Library Digital Collections, http://dl.ndl.go.jp. 54. See Konno, “Chūsei shōsetsu,” 260–261. 55. Nishizawa, “Aki no yo no sekai,” 41. 56. SNKBT 41, Kojidan, Zoku kojidan, 486–487. The same story is also found in A Collection of Prayers to God (Shojin hongai-shū, 1324).



Notes to pages 61–68 189

57. Nomura, Monogatari bungaku kenkyū sōsho, 391. 58. Nishizawa, “Aki no yo no sekai,” 43. 59. Ibid., 43–44. 60. Konno, “Chūsei shōsetsu,” 270. 61. Ibid. 62. William R. LaFleur, The Karma of Words: Buddhism and the Literary Arts in Medieval Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 21. See also Rajyashree Pandey, Writing and Renunciation in Medieval Japan: The Works of the Poet-Priest Kamo no Chōmei (Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998), 30–34. 63. Konno, “Chūsei shōsetsu,” 277. 64. For a typeset text of The Tale of Genmu, see, for example, Yokoyama Shigeru and Matsumoto Ryūshin, eds., Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei (hereafter MJMT), vol. 4 (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1981–1988), 398–416. For an English translation, see Margaret H. Childs, trans., “The Tale of Genmu,” in Parting at Dawn: An Anthology of Japanese Gay Literature, ed. Stephen D. Miller (San Francisco, CA: Gay Sunshine Press, 1996), 36–54. The same translation is included in Margaret H. Childs, Rethinking Sorrow: Revelatory Tales of Late Medieval Japan (Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1991), 31–52. 65. Scholars have noted the significance of the protagonist’s name, Genmu, which is often written with a combination of the “illusion” and “dream” characters (幻夢). Nevertheless, different variants use different compounds, such as 源夢 (“origin” and “dream”) and 玄無 (“darkness” and “nothingness”). For this reason, I have some reservations about emphasizing the symbolic meaning of his name. 66. Childs, “Tale of Genmu,” 43. 67. Ibid., 47. 68. In regard to this issue, Gotō Tanji suggests that due to the tendency for a narrative to become more elaborate over time, it is more likely that the Satake story was the main source of The Tale of Genmu than the other way around. Even in the event that the Satake is proven to have come later than The Tale of Genmu, Gotō argues, it would probably be because the Satake’s article was a copy of The Tale of Genmu’s source story, now lost. See Gotō Tanji, Chūsei kokubungaku kenkyū (Tokyo: Isobe Kōyōdō, 1943), 92–95. 69. Nishizawa, “Genmu monogatari,” 218–221. 70. Childs, “Tale of Genmu,” 43. 71. Ibid., 45. 72. Ibid., 51. 73. Childs, Rethinking Sorrow, 90. 74. Childs, “Tale of Genmu,” 53. 75. Ibid. 76. Hamanaka Osamu states that the flute was a “liminal musical instrument” (kyōkai-teki na gakki) that resonated with the chigo’s liminal status and the liminal locations (such as the foothill of a mountain). In addition to Kannon’s

190

Notes to pages 68–76

Manifestation as a Youth, chigo characters play the flute in The Tale of Genmu and the Saga. See Hamanaka, Muromachi monogatari ronkō, 25–38. 77. For a discussion of the “stolen glimpse” (kaimami) trope, see chapter 4. 78. In the Stories of Hasedera version, Chogon’s age is unknown. 79. Catherine Hakim, Erotic Capital: The Power of Attraction in the Boardroom and the Bedroom (New York: Basic Books, 2011), 16–21. 80. Childs, “Tale of Genmu,” 48. 81. Ibid., 50. 82. Edward R. Drott, Buddhism and the Transformation of Old Age in Medieval Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2016), 5. 83. Ibid., 7. 84. Ibid., 73. 85. Childs, “Tale of Genmu,” 34. 86. Ibid., 51. 87. The acolyte tale genre’s tendency to undercut the sexuality of the masterchigo dyads can be contrasted to the representations of monastic nanshoku in Chinese-style poetry composed by Zen priests. As mentioned in the introduction of this book, sensual Chinese-style poems tend to highlight the gap in erotic capital between the poet (i.e., an aged Zen monk) and his young disciple and to connect it to the rejuvenating power of having sex with kasshiki (Zen acolytes). In the Zen literary tradition, kasshiki is associated with a red flower with a long, skinny stem called sennō 仙翁 (“old hermit”; in English, this flower is called “ragged-robin”) because of its resemblance to adolescent boys’ rosy cheeks and thin, ­underdeveloped (“green”) physique, and this plant was believed to be an ingredient of the elixir of immortality. See, for instance, ZGR 345, San’eki enshi, 500. For an essay series on the sennō flower as a trope of the nanshoku Zen poem, see Yoshizawa Katsuhiro, “Sennōke—Muromachi bunka no yokō 1–15,” originally published in the journal Zen bunka, vol. 185–187 (2002–2003). Available on the website of the International Research Institute for Zen Buddhism, http://iriz.hanazono.ac.jp. 88. Some of the most salient examples of power-generating artistic creation in premodern Japan include court compilations of mythohistories and imperial poetry anthologies, religious arts (e.g., texts, paintings, statues), and the Muromachi shoguns’ patronage of noh theater, the tea ceremony, kōwaka dance, and so on. 89. Eva Illouz, Why Love Hurts: A Sociological Explanation (Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2012), 159–160. 90. Ibid., 161. 91. SNKBZ 17, Ochikubo monogatari, 17–343. 92. Genji’s mother, a lesser consort of Emperor Kiritsubo, indeed died as a result of having been viciously tormented by the primary wife of the emperor, the Kokiden consort. 93. In a heterosexual union, the birth of a child can be a double-edged sword; it is often a blessing to a good marriage, but it can also trap a woman in a bad marriage.



Notes to pages 77–80 191

94. The Bakhtinian concept of “carnival” refers to extraordinary cultural spaces and occasions where “inversions in social hierarchy, suspension of sexual restrains, and the possibility of playing new and different roles” occur. See, for example, Katerina Clark and Michel Holquist, Mikhail Bakhtin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), 251.

Chapter 2  Booklet of Acolytes 1. The catalogue of premodern Japanese paintings An Addendum to the Picture Album of Ancient Objects (Zōho kōko gafu, 1901) lists Daigoji’s Illustrations of Male-Male Love as follows: “One scroll. Hashimoto Tsuneakira [1755–1805] attributes the images of this work to Toba Sojō [also Kakuyū, 1053–1140]. A source says it belongs to one of the Daigoji cloisters. According to Itabashi Tsurao [1809–1872], it is stored in Rishō-in, though he has not seen it himself. Another says it is located at Sanbō-in.” See Kurokawa Harumura, ed., Zōho kōko gafu, vol. 7 (Tokyo: Yūrindō, 1901), 59. According to Ozaki Kyūya (1890–1972), Kuroita Katsumi (1874–1946), who used to own a copy of this scroll, came up with the new title, Chigo no sōshi. See Ozaki Kyūya, Kinsei shomin bungaku ronkō, ed. Nakamura Yukihiko (Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1973), 191–192. Toba Sōjo was an abbot of Enryakuji and a famous painter, but it is unlikely that the Booklet of Acolytes dates back to his time. For a monochromic variant, see Fukuda Kazuhiko, ed., Enshoku ukiyoe zenshū, vol. 1, Nikuhitsu emaki-sen, vol. 1 (Tokyo: Kawade Shobō, 1995), 30–45. 2. See the British Museum’s exhibition catalogue by Timothy Clark, Akiko Yano, Andrew Gerstle, and Aki Ikegami, eds., Shunga: Sex and Pleasure in Japanese Art (London: British Museum Press, 2013), 66; 78–79. 3. The use of the term “shunga” to refer to premodern erotic arts of East Asian origin in general is a recent phenomenon. Until the modern period, “shunga” normally referred to erotica imported from China, whereas their native counterparts were called “osoku-zu” 偃息図 (illustrations of resting), “makura-e” (pillow pictures), and “warai-e” (smile-inducing pictures). 4. No Japanese shunga from the Heian period, if any were created, have survived, including copies. Also, the three extant ko-shunga are copies from the late Muromachi or Tokugawa periods. The nanshoku-themed Zen poems mentioned in the introduction and chapter 1 clearly exhibit Daoist interpretations of sexuality: sex as a spiritual or even medicinal practice. 5. Ishigami Aki, Nihon no shunga ehon kenkyū (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2015), 42. 6. Hayakawa Monta, “Kyōto to ko-shunga,” Eureka: Poetry and Criticism 47, no. 20 (2016): 84. 7. Toward the end of the Muromachi era, erotic art replaced the narrative form of ko-shunga with a newly standardized structure: an album of twelve discrete images of sex acts. Given that the production of narratives with illustrations requires a complex coordination between the author and the artist, this standardization can be understood as a simplification of the shunga production process. This process may

192

Notes to pages 80–84

have accelerated the mass production of shunga prints during the Tokugawa period, or, conversely, the high demand for larger-scale, rapid production of shunga among the merchant class with disposable income may have necessitated the simpler album format (or perhaps both forces were at play). See Shirakura Yoshihiko, ed., Bessatsu Taiyō: Nikuhitsu shunga (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2009), 5. 8. Nariko and Munemitsu’s affair is chronicled in such texts as Nihon kiryaku (late Heian period), Honchō seiki (mid-twelfth century), and Jikkinshō (mid-thirteenth century). The account of this incident in Jikkinshō, however, indicates that Nariko was dismissed from her position due to the scandal. 9. See Motohashi Hiromi, “Hanpuku sareru saigū to mittsū no katari: Koshibagaki zōshi ga kataru kinki no koi o chūshin ni,” Monogatari kenkyū, no. 15 (2015): 1–13. 10. Although this is the standard plot summary of the Bagged Monk given by scholars (e.g., Hayakawa, “Kyōto to ko-shunga,” 82–83; Hayashi Yoshikazu and Richard Lane, eds., Higa emaki: Koshibagaki zōshi, Teihon ukiyoe shunga meihin shūsei, vol 17 [Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 1997], 20–21), Yoshihashi Sayaka and Iguro Kahoko each reports that she was unable to locate the specific variant with this didactic ending. See Yoshihashi Sayaka, “Tokyō Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan shozō Fukuro hōshi emaki ni tsuite,” Rikkyō Daigaku Daigakuin Nihon bungaku ronsō 11 (2014): 49–67; Iguro Kahoko, “Fukuro hōshi ekotoba denpon no hensei ni tsuite,” Ukiyoe geijutsu 171 (2016): 5–29. 11. Hayashi and Lane, Higa emaki, 19. 12. See, for example, Takagishi Akira, “Chūsei ni okeru emaki no shūshū kyōju to kenryoku,” in Ōchō bungaku to monogatari-e, ed. Takahashi Tōru (Tokyo: Chikurinsha, 2010), 75–90. 13. This is an intriguing conundrum, and we need more research before we can begin to solve it. In many ways, these elaborate and costly hand-painted/copied ko-shunga stand in stark contrast to the erotic prints of the Tokugawa period, which were mass-produced and commercially traded. 14. For a replica of the scroll with censored images, see Inagaki Taruho, ed., Taruho-ban “Nanshoku ōkagami” (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1977). This deluxe box set includes a booklet, consisting a typeset text of the five vignettes and an introduction to this work. See Miya Tsugio, Chigo no sōshi emaki kaidai, in Inagaki, Taruho-ban “Nanshoku ōkagami.” 15. In this emaki, the chigo’s secret lovers are usually their colleagues, because A Booklet of Acolytes is inviting the viewers to focus on the tragicomedic position of the master priests. As discussed in the previous chapter, in most chigo monogatari, the youths fall in love with clerics from faraway (or even rival) temples, which keeps the audience’s attention away from the chigo system. 16. See Miura Osamu and Tsukamoto Tetsuzō, eds., Kin’yō wakashū, Shika wakashū, Senzai wakashū (Tokyo: Yūhōdō Shoten, 1913), 397. This poem relies on the homophones shinobu (“to endure” or “to suppress one’s feelings”) and Shinobu, a place name in Michinoku (the present-day Tohoku region).



Notes to pages 84–89 193

17. Ibid., 400. 18. Saeki, “Shōnen-ryoku,” 135. 19. Ibid., 140–141. Brian Fair observes the existence of a quasiuniversal hierarchy that divides “male homosexuals” into two camps: dominant, masculine penetrators and effeminate and degraded penetrates. He calls the narrative based on this hierarchy “penetration discourse.” See Brian Fair, “Constructing Masculinity through Penetration Discourse: The Intersection of Misogyny and Homophobia in High School Wrestling,” Men and Masculinities 14, no. 4 (2011): 492. 20. Saeki, “Shōnen-ryoku,” 141. As discussed in the introduction of this book, the verb okasu in modern Japanese carries significantly negative, violent connotations. When the direct object of this verb is a person, as in “chigo o okasu,” the phrase means “to sexually assault/rape the chigo,” which does not accurately describe any of the vignettes in the Booklet of Acolytes. 21. Ibid. 22. As noted in chapter 1, a nanshoku relationship between a layman and his younger attendant counts as a motif of chigo monogatari. 23. Charlotte Eubank, who read an earlier version of this chapter, suggested that the tugging of the rosary and the subsequent spilling of the beads may have been a “visual pun” on masturbation and ejaculation. Although no published scholarly writing appears to have discussed this particular representation, I find her theory convincing. 24. It was standard for low-ranking clergymen to speak in honorifics to acolytes. A comical story included in the collection of anecdotes Gleanings from the Tales of Uji Dainagon (1:12) illustrates this point. One evening, a group of monks on Mount Hiei decided to make rice cakes. A chigo who had already gone to bed overheard this and was thrilled, though he pretended to be asleep so he would not seem vulgar. When the rice cakes were ready, one monk came to wake up the chigo by saying, “Pardon me for disturbing you. Would you please wake up?” (Mono mōshi saburawan. Odorokase tamae). But the chigo thought it might look more believable if he did not wake immediately; he hoped the monk would try again. Then another monk yelled, “Hey, do not disturb him. The young lord has already fallen asleep” (Ya, na okoshi tatematsuri so. Osanaki hito wa neiri tamai ni keri). The youth was dumbfounded. Finally, after a long pause, he answered “Yeees?” so all the monks chuckled. The first monk used a humble verb to lower his action of speaking (mono mōshi saburō) and an honorific verb to elevate the chigo’s action of waking up (odorokase tamae). The second monk also used a humble verb to denote his colleague’s action of waking (okoshi tatematsuru), while using an honorific verb for “falling asleep” (neiri tamō). See SNKBZ 50, Uji shūi monogatari, 45–46. 25. Much as female attendants at the court or at noblemen’s households were able to gain upper social mobility through an intimate connection with their employers, some women earned social currency by serving families as menoto. See Thomas D. Conlan, “Thicker Than Blood: The Social and Political Sig-

194

Notes to pages 89–95

nificance of Wet Nurses in Japan, 950–1330,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 65, no. 1 (2005): 159–205. 26. Sawayama Mikako, Edo no chichi to kodomo: Inochi o tsunagu (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2017), 162–171. 27. In reality, menoto sometimes referred to personal attendants of children (as in “nursemaids”), and an ability to provide breast milk was not always required. There are also cases in which noble people and their menotogo did not have a shared childhood for a variety of reasons. For instance, a menoto sometimes hired another menoto for her biological child and kept him or her at home while she lived in the home of her employer. Nonetheless, in a fictional tale, the notion of menotogo evokes the stereotypical image of pseudosiblings who are more intimate than biological siblings. 28. See Tyler, Tale of the Heike, 468. By the late Heian period, menoto could also mean “male attendants for young charges.” This is true for Kiso Yoshinaka’s male menoto, Nakahara Kanetō (?–1181), the father of Imai Kanehira. For this reason, it is questionable whether Yoshinaka and Kanehira shared the breast milk of the latter’s mother. Nonetheless, such complexities in the notion of menotogo do not seem to have affected the literary representations of foster sibling characters. For more discussions of menoto, see chapter 4. Also see my forthcoming article on menoto and menotogo: Sachi Schmidt-Hori, “The Erotic Family: Structures and Narratives of Milk Kinship in Premodern Japanese Tales,” Journal of Asian Studies (forthcoming in 2021). 29. See Kokumin bunko Kankōkai, Genpei jōsuiki, 870. 30. See, for example, Virginia Skord Waters, “Sex, Lies, and the Illustrated Scroll: The Dōjōji engi emaki,” Monumenta Nipponica 52, no. 1 (1997): 67. 31. Even when a chigo speaks in deferential language, he uses masculinestyle speech. In Gikeiki, when Yoshitsune’s primary vassal, Benkei, coaches his lord’s wife to disguise herself as a chigo, he instructs, “[P]lease be sure to practice male speech, keep your attire in order, and act like a chigo at all times. If you continue to be so dainty and bashful, you won’t be able to fool our enemies.” See SNKBZ 62, Gikeiki, 384. 32. Kaoru’s biological father is Kashiwagi, the son of Genji’s best friend, Tō no Chūjō. 33. This action of Ukifune’s, of course, cannot be simply reduced to her lack of strength or agency. She chooses the only way she knows to escape an impossible situation without disgracing the noblemen, neither of whom has any intention (or means) of taking her as an official wife due to her low birth. After her failed attempt to drown herself, she initially resents the fact that her life has been spared. Nevertheless, through her strong will to renounce the world, she becomes untouchable, and with that, this tale ends rather abruptly, without offering the readers a clear catharsis. 34. Both images of erotica come from the Enbon Database of the International Research Center for Japanese Studies, available at http://db.nichibun.ac.jp. 35. Nihon daihyakka zensho, s.v. “Tachikawa-ryū.”



Notes to pages 96–100 195

36. Kenneth Clark, The Nude: A Study in Ideal Form (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1956), 3. 37. Philippa Levine, “States of Undress: Nakedness and the Colonial Imagination,” Victorian Studies 50, no. 2 (2008): 189. 38. Kuroda, Sugata to shigusa, 178–179. For instance, in the Ochikubo, one of the forms of revenge that the hero Michiyori schemes to exact from the evil stepmother’s uncle (an old doctor who attempted to sexually assault Lady Ochikubo) is to humiliate him by knocking off his eboshi in public. See SNKBZ 17, Ochikubo monogatari, 206. 39. Larissa Bonfante, “Nudity as a Costume in a Classical Art,” American Journal of Archeology 93, no. 4 (1989): 543–570. Although Bonfante’s paper focuses solely on the nudity of young male subjects in ancient Greek arts, her theory that the stylized, artistic representations of unclothedness can be construed as a culturally constructed “costume” is applicable beyond the context of ancient Greek arts. 40. In the case of vignette 1 of the Booklet of Acolytes, as well, the illustrations exclude the impotent high priest and depict only the sexual acts of the chigo and Chūta. 41. Kuroda, “Emaki” kodomo no tōjō, 96. 42. Hashidate Ayako, “Chigo no sei,” Tōkyō Joshi Daigaku kiyō 60, no. 2 (2010): 51–52. 43. Ichiko, Chūsei shōsetsu, 131; Higuchi, Sei to Nihonjin, 184–185. 44. Tanaka Takako, “Tomo ni seichō suru ai: Muromachi jidai Ashibiki o megutte,” Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kanshō 50, no. 3 (2005): 91. 45. The relative lack of interest in women’s breasts in erotica continued throughout the Tokugawa period. Nakano Akira writes, “For the people of Japan, the chest was not a source of embarrassment [. . .]. Because women’s breasts were deemed so mundane that [Edo shunga] artists obviously did not delineate them in detail.” See Nakano Akira, Hadaka wa itsu kara hazukashiku natta ka (Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 2010), 215. 46. Andrew Lear and Eva Cantarella, Images of Ancient Greek Pederasty: Boys Were Their Gods (London: Routledge, 2008), xv. In this study, Lear and Cantarella survey Athenian pederastic arts from the sixth through the fourth centuries BCE and discuss the iconography of the older and younger male subjects. 47. Ibid., 25. 48. Ibid., 27. 49. See, for example, Chino Kaori, “Nihon bijutsu no jendaa,” Bijutsu-shi 43, no. 2 (1994): 235–246; and Maeda Kazuo, Otoko wa naze keshō o shitagaru no ka (Tokyo: Shūeisha, 2009). The idea of linking feminine attributes to Japaneseness (vis-à-vis Sino-Chinese sensibility) was central to Motoori Norinaga’s (1730–1801) conceptualization of the “pathos of things” (mono no aware), the supreme aesthetics of the Heian culture, most ideally embodied by The Tale of

196

Notes to pages 100–110

Genji. See, for example, Yamaguchi Shigio, trans., Genji monogatari tama no ogushi: Mono no aware-ron (Tokyo: Tsūshinsha, 2013), 190–191. 50. This phenomenon invites a parallel to the fact that in Heian and medieval times, the hypermasculinity of the samurai culture was often associated with coarseness and provinciality. 51. Ozaki, Kinsei shomin bungaku ronkō, 175.

Chapter 3  The Mountain Portions of this chapter appeared in an earlier form in “The Boy Who Lived: The Transfigurations of Chigo in the Medieval Japanese Short Story Ashibiki,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 75, no. 2 (2015): 299–329. 1. The Japanese title Ashibiki (“feet-dragging”) comes from “ashibiki no.” This conventional epithet (makura kotoba or “pillow word”) is used in waka poetry to modify the word yama (mountain) and its synonyms. In The Mountain, the chigo asks his unknown suitor where he came from, to which Jijū responds “Ashibiki no,” indicating Mount Hiei. This exchange signifies the level of the monk’s and the chigo’s knowledge of courtly culture (the youth is a talented player of the Chinese lute as well). 2. For a typeset text, see, for example, SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatarishū jō, 4–83. 3. According to Ichiko Teiji’s annotation, the location of Tōnan-in is unknown. Given that Wakagimi’s father is attached to Kōfukuji, Ichiko suggests Tōnan-in is a cloister of the Kōfukuji complex. My reading of The Mountain in this chapter is also premised upon this highly reasonable assumption. Kōfukuji and Mount Hiei are 65.8 kilometers (40.8 miles) apart. 4. Although the narrator calls him Shōshō no Kimi once, even after he becomes a monk (p. 51), outside of this one time, he is constantly referred to as Zenji, until he is promoted to the rank of gon-no-risshi (p. 70). 5. Nihon koten bungaku daijiten, s.v. “Ashibiki.” 6. Nishizawa Masaji, ed., Chūsei ōchō monogatari  /  otogi zōshi jiten (Tokyo: Bensei Shuppan, 2002), s.v. “Ashibiki.” 7. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 4. 8. Yaguchi Yūko, “Chigo monogatari Ashibiki kō,” Kokubun mejiro, no. 44 (2005): 37. 9. Tanaka, “Tomo ni seichō suru ai,” 86–93. In this paper, Tanaka mistakes Tokugō (the chigo’s father) for the youth’s master and bases her analysis on this mix-up. 10. Ibid., 87–88. 11. Ibid., 89. 12. For an in-depth analysis of mamako banashi, see Sachi Schmidt-Hori, “Symbolic Death and Rebirth into Womanhood: An Analysis of Stepdaughter Narratives from Heian and Medieval Japan,” Japanese Language and Literature 54 no. 2 (2020): 448–475.



Notes to pages 110–114 197

13. Matsumoto Ryūshin, “Sumiyoshi Monogatari igo: Mamako ijime-tan no ruikei ni kansuru ichi kōsatsu,” Geibun kenkyū 3 (1954): 18. 14. Ōchi Yuriko, Nihon no mamako banashi no shinsō: Otogi zōshi to mukashi banashi (Tokyo: Miyai Shoten, 2006), 8–9. 15. For a typeset text for Lady Hanayo, see, for example, MJMT 10:515– 559. For an English-language essay and translation of this text, see Noriko T. Reider, Seven Demon Stories from Medieval Japan (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2016), 156–201. An English translation of the Bowl Bearer is available: Chigusa Steven, “Hachikazuki: A Muromachi Short Story,” Monumenta Nipponica 32, no. 3 (1977): 303–331. For an analysis of this otogi zōshi from the perspective of Buddhism, see Monika Dix, “Hachikazuki: Revealing Kannon’s Crowning Compassion in Muromachi Fiction,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 36, no. 2 (2009): 279–294. Keller Kimbrough’s translation of the Hag Robe is found in Keller Kimbrough and Haruo Shirane, eds., Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds: A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018), 265–272. 16. Ōchi, Nihon no mamako banashi, 115–118. 17. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 4. Ichiko’s caption for the illustration of the attack (plate 14 in this book) provides no more information than his plot summary: “One night, the stepmother cut off the hair of Wakagimi while sleeping. Saddened by this event, he departed from home the following evening and wandered about in the mountains, where he joined a group of yamabushi traveling to Kumano” (p. 40). 18. Nishizawa, Chūsei ōchō monogatari, s.v. “Ashibiki.” 19. Komatsu Shigemi, ed., ZNET 20, Ashibiki-e, 34–35. None of the illustrations in the emaki version of The Mountain accompany gachūshi; Wakagimi’s utterance has been added to the caption by Komatsu to explicate the situation to the readers. 20. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 40. 21. Penny Howell Jolly, Hair: Untangling a Social History (New York: John C. Otto, 2004), 7. 22. It reads, “From now on, all men and women must wear their hair up. They must complete the hairdressing before the thirtieth day of the twelfth month.” See SNKBZ 4, Nihon shoki 3, 418. 23. SNKBZ 4, Nihon shoki 3, 418n1. 24. Another group of people exempted from the keppatsu law of 683 was religious professionals, such as Shinto priests, diviners, and mediums (see SNKBZ 4, Nihon shoki 3, 436–437). This is because their long, unrestrained hair was believed to possess spirit-channeling powers, and they needed to keep their hair unbound to conduct rituals and exorcisms. According to Nakayama Tarō, the belief that the hair of the head held special power stemmed from its three unique traits: the head hair continues to grow throughout one’s lifetime; its color changes drastically from jet black to snow white; and the hair of a corpse remains intact long

198

Notes to pages 114–118

after the flesh decomposes. See Nakayama Tarō, Nihon fujo-shi (Tokyo: Parutosusha, 1984), 564. Not only is white hair a sign of aging (as in the eyebrows of Hanamatsu’s master priest in The Tale of Genmu and the hair of the Zen priests in Chinese-style nanshoku poems), it is also a sign of eerie alterity (e.g., the beard of the tutelary god of Miidera, the hair/facial hair of the yamabushi leaders in The Mountain and The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie [see chapter 4]). 25. Around the time of the Ōnin War (1467–1477), the capping rule became relaxed among the samurai class. See Hirokawa Jirō, “Fukushoku to chūsei shakai: Bushi to eboshi,” in Emaki ni chūsei o yomu, ed. Fujiwara Yoshiaki and Gomi Fumihiko (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1995), 87–98. 26. During the Tokugawa period, adolescent boys (wakashu) wore a transitional coiffure to visibly mark their in-between status, which required a youth’s forehead to be “partially indented at the temples to give it a more angular appearance, called “putting in corners” (kado o iru). See Pflugfelder, “Reconstitution of Erotic Desire,” 967. 27. SNKBZ 1, Kojiki, 55–57. 28. W. G. Aston, trans., Nihongi: Chronicles of Japan from the Earliest Times to A.D. 697 (London: K. Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1924), 228. 29. SNKBZ 2, Nihon shoki 1, 423–424. According to the Chronicle of Japan, when Empress Jingū and her troops swiftly traveled to Silla by sea, thanks to the aid of the god of wind, the king and his people immediately surrendered and became the subjects of Jingū (pp. 427–428). 30. Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York: Routledge, 1990), 43–44. 31. Abe Yasuhiro, “Chūsei shakai ni okeru ‘kami-kiri’ o megutte: Kashiteki mibun hyōshikiron ni yosete,” Chiba shigaku 14 (1989): 41–43. 32. Ibid., 47. 33. See NET 12, Obusuma Saburō ekotoba, Ise shin-meisho e-utaawase, 45. The only surviving texts of the Obusuma Saburō are fragments. In the NET version, the illustration of Nenohi (formerly Jihi) laboring as a lowly servant is missing, but another fragment includes an image of Nenohi with very short hair and her mother (the mother’s hair, too, has been cropped to the middle of her back) drawing water from a well (p. 108). A digitized version of the Obusuma Saburō scroll is available at the website of National Treasures and Important Cultural Properties of National Museums, Japan, http://www.emuseum.jp. 34. SNKBZ 32, Eiga monogatari 2, 19. 35. SNKBZ 45, Heike monogatari 1, 431–441. 36. According to Katsuura Noriko, severing the hair was a customary method of punishing a female adulterer. See Katruura Noriko, “Amasogi-kō,” in Siriizu josei to Bukkyō, vol. 1, Ama to Amadera, ed. Ōsumi Kazuo and Nishiguchi Junko (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1989), 32. For an English translation of this study, see Katsuura Noriko, “Tonsure Forms for Nuns: Classification of Nuns According to Hairstyle,” in Engendering Faith: Women and Buddhism in Premodern



Notes to pages 118–124 199

Japan, ed. Barbara Ruch (Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2003), 109–130. 37. The association between tengu and mountain ascetics is extremely prevalent. Roald Knutsen remarks, “The common characteristics demonstrate that both the yamabushi and the tengu were, from the moment they each appeared in the written or iconographic record, thought of as almost completely identical.” See Roald Knutsen, Tengu: The Shamanic and Esoteric Origins of the Japanese Martial Arts (Folkestone, UK: Global Oriental, 2011), 101. Umewaka’s kidnapper in Autumn Night and the abductor of the hero of Miss Rookie (chapter 4) are also represented as yamabushi-tengu. 38. Although the stepmother’s action is by no means justifiable, to regard Wakagimi as someone who committed sexual impropriety is not completely baseless and is far more reasonable than treating either Genshi or Kogō as such. It is only due to the tradition of the chigo monogatari genre that the readers normalize an acolyte’s infidelity toward his master. In reality, acolytes were expected to be sexually faithful to their teachers during their tenure. Nonetheless, not only did Wakagimi begin his love affair with Jijū while he was under the care of the Tōnan-in abbot, but he was about to terminate this formal union unbeknownst to his master. 39. In the Heian tale The Tale of the Hollow Tree (Utsuho [also Utsubo] monogatari, ca. tenth century), the main character of the second chapter, Tadakoso, is a beautiful adolescent boy. His stepmother develops romantic feelings for Tadakoso, but when he rejects her, the angry woman slanders him to her husband. The youth, in despair, leaves home, follows a traveling mountain ascetic, and at last becomes a recluse. See SNKBZ 14, Utsuho monogatari 1, 236– 241. It is highly likely that The Mountain was alluding to The Hollow Tree. 40. For a more detailed discussion of tengu, see chapter 4. 41. Leupp, Male Colors, 38. 42. See, for example, Jay Rubin, Tashiro Keiichirō, and Nishino Haruo, eds., Katsurazaka yōkyoku dangi: Takasago, Teika, Miidera, Yoroboshi, Kurama tengu (Kyoto: Kokusai Nihon Bunka Kenkyū Sentaa, 2006), 140–143. 43. SNKBZ 62, Gikeiki, 384. 44. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 45. 45. Ibid., 48–49. 46. Katsuura, “Amasogi-kō,” 25–26. Though not as commonly, some highborn women took the full tonsure, as shown in the Illustrated Tale of a Bagged Monk (see chapter 2). The most famous historical example of a fully tonsured highborn nun is Empress Shōshi (988–1074). On aristocratic women’s ordination processes, see Lori R. Meeks, “Reconfiguring Ritual Authenticity: The Ordination Traditions of Aristocratic Women in Premodern Japan,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 33, no. 1 (2006): 51–74. 47. Katsuura, “Amasogi-kō,” 26. 48. Ibid., 25. 49. Ibid., 25–16.

200

Notes to pages 124–134

50. Ibid., 27. The belief that women were unable to attain enlightenment (or buddhahood, ōjō, Nirvana, etc.) and a counternarrative suggesting otherwise coexisted in premodern Japan. For instance, in the Kakuichi-bon version of the Tales of the Heike, the four shirabyōshi dancers achieve ōjō at the end of the “Giō” chapter, and so is Empress Kenreimon’in Noriko at the end of the final chapter. Just as entering into the Age of the Final Dharma compelled the people of medieval Japan to turn to Buddhist practices, the ambiguous state of their afterlife motivated at least some women to devote themselves to Buddhism with increased rigor. To put it differently, declaring the absolute impossibility of women’s salvation would have driven all female believers away from the faith, which would have been detrimental to the survival of Buddhist institutions. 51. SNKBZ 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 39. 52. Matsumoto, “Sumiyoshi monogatari igo,” 19. 53. Yaguchi, “Ashibiki kō,” 39. 54. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 11–12. The original poems are Tamadare no/ mizushirazu toya/ omouramu/ hayakumo kakeshi/ kokoro narikeri and Obotsukana/ ikanaru hima ni/ tamadare no/ tareka kokoro o/ kake mo somubeki, respectively. 55. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 20. 56. Ibid., 20–21. This segment alludes to a famous waka poem by Taira no Kanemori (?–990): Shinoburedo / iro ni idenikeri / waga koi wa / mono ya omou to / hito no tou made (Even though I hide it / it shows all over my face / such is my longing / so that people ask me / “What are you thinking about?”), Shūishū, no. 622 and Ogura hyakunin isshu, no. 40. See Joshua Mostow, Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image (Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 1996), 260. 57. This can be contrasted to a similar situation with a different result in Miss Rookie, which I will examine in chapter 4. In Miss Rookie, the male protagonist, a Hiei chigo, is an orphan and has been raised by his menoto. While the chigo engages in a love affair with an aristocratic lady in the capital, the master priest nudges the menoto (who is supposedly caring for the sick chigo in her home) to send the chigo back his way, and she eventually gives in to the pressure. 58. The title does not translate into meaningful English. Shukaku basically authored a two-volume work and named the first volume Saki, “a document of the left” and the second volume Uki, “a document of the right.” Saki stipulates rules regarding religious rites and Uki concerns non-religious matters. 59. Ueda Kazutoshi, ed., Shinkō guisho ruijū, vol. 19, Uki (Tokyo: Naigai Shoseki, 1932), 321. 60. SNKBT 54, Muromachi monogatari-shū jō, 79–80.

Chapter 4: The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie 1. See, for example, Someya Hiroko, “Emaki ni okeru honbun to gachūshi hikaku no kokoromi: Chigo Imamairi monogatari emaki no baai,” Gobun 121



Notes to pages 134–138 201

(2005): 132–141; Melissa McCormick, “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers: Envisioning the Female Ascetic in a Medieval Chigo Tale,” in Crossing the Sea: Essays on East Asian Art in Honor of Professor Yoshiki Shimizu, ed. Gregory P. A. Levine et al. (Princeton, NJ: P. Y. and Kinmay W. Tang Center for East Asian Art and Department of Art and Archeology, Princeton University, 2012), 107–133; Shikatani Yūko, “Otogi zōshi Chigo ima no Kashiwagi monogatari juyō,” Nagoya Daigaku kokugo kokubungaku 106 (2013): 1–15; Suematsu Misaki, ed., Chigo ima zen chūshaku: Nagoya Daigaku Hikaku-jinbungaku kenkyū nenpō bessatsu (Nagoya, Japan: Nagoya Daigaku Bungaku Kenkyūka, Hikaku-jinbungaku Kenkyū-shitsu, 2012); Kataoka Asami, “Chigo imamairi monogatari seiritsu shikō: Waka juyō no sokumen kara,” Kenkyū to shiryō no kai 70 (2013): 21–36, and “Chigo imamairi monogatari ni okeru Kohata no shigure juyō hokō,” Kenkyū to shiryō no kai 70 (2013): 37–40. For an English translation of the narae-bon text with annotations and a brief introduction, see Schmidt-Hori, “The New Lady-in-Waiting Is a Chigo.” For a typeset text and modern Japanese translation, see Eguchi Keiko, Shikatani Yūko, Suematsu Misaki, and Hattori Yuka, eds., Muromachi jidai no bōi miitsu gaaru: “Chigo ima” monogatari no sekai (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2019). According to Eguchi et al., so far five copies of Miss Rookie have been discovered, two of them as recently as 2016: (1) the Kōshien Gaikuin-bon (two scrolls, calligraphy attributed to Awataguchi Hōgen, Muromachi era, hakubyō koe 白描小絵 [small-sized scrolls with monochromic images], no gachūshi); (2) the narae-bon version (three booklets, early Tokugawa era, polychromic, early modern–styled ­illustrations, no gachūshi); (3) a personal collection (fragments, Muromachi era, hakubyō koe); (4) the former Hosomi Collection version (two scrolls, Muromachi era, polychromic); and (5) the Empukuji-bon (fragments, calligraphy attributed to Nakayama Nobuchika, late Muromachi era, polychromic). See Eguchi et al., Muromachi jidai no bōi miitsu gaaru, 216. 2. Nishizawa, Chūsei ōchō monogatari, s.v. “Chigo Imamairi.” 3. Ichiko Teiji, Mikan chūsei shōsetsu kaidai (Tokyo: Rakurō Shoin, 1942), 130. 4. The high priest’s rank differs depending on the text. 5. This tale reminds us of the absence of “sexual orientation” as a framework of human sexuality in premodern Japan. The chigo’s erotic labor for his master and his desire for Himegimi are presented matter-of-factly, with no authorial attempt to expound upon this phenomenon, because people of medieval Japan did not interpret the hero as “being forced into nanshoku despite his apparent heterosexual orientation,” “awakening to his ‘true’ sexual orientation,” or “awakening to his bisexuality.” 6. His name is Ōmine-bō in different versions of the text. 7. The center of Uji and the capital are 17.7 kilometers (11 miles) apart. 8. From Mount Hiei to Uji is a distance of 27.4 kilometers (17 miles). 9. This is probably the former crown prince, to whom Himegimi was originally engaged.

202

Notes to pages 139–143

10. These richly layered meanings are lost when one reads typeset texts with no illustrations (e.g., MJMT, Koten bunko versions). 11. To illustrate this point, when Himegimi and the former chigo have two more children after moving to the capital, the narrator remarks, “After this event, one wakagimi and one himegimi, both equally radiantly adorable, were born.” See Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 207–208. 12. Ibid., 207. 13. Abe Yasurō, “Chigo ima kara e-monogatari no sekai o hiraku,” in Muromachi jidai no bōi miitsu gaaru: Chigoima monogatari emaki no sekai, ed. Eguchi Keiko, Shikatani Yūko, Suematsu Misaki, and Hattori Yuka (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2019), 258. In the same paragraph, Abe describes the hero of Miss Rookie as “serving the bishop at Mount Hiei and being controlled/dominated by him” (Yama no zasu ni tsukae, shihai sareru chigo). This description does not fit in with this tale, however. The chigo never behaves as if he is being controlled or dominated by his master (for instance, the chigo refuses to return to the mountain after falling in love with Himegimi). If anything, the chigo and his menoto seem to think the bishop is simple-minded and gullible. 14. See McCormick, “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers,” 120; Abe, “Chigo ima kara,” 259. 15. After the ama tengu promises Tarō-bō that she will care for the chigo, the narrator states that “each tengu returned his own home” (ono-ono kaerinu). See Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 189. 16. Also known as The Tale of the Major Counselor (Dainagon monogatari). For a typeset text, see, for example, MJMT 10. 17. Also known as The Dragon King’s Palace (Ryūgū). For a typeset text, see Eva Kraft, ed., Nishi Berurin-bon otogi zōshi emaki-shū to kenkyū, Mikan kokubun shiryō (Toyohashi, Japan: Mikan kokubun shiryō Kankōkai, 1981), 1–37. 18. Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 147. As mentioned in chapter 1, the narrator of a romantic tale often “indexes” a character as an object of male desire by describing his/her age and attractiveness at the same time. Here, the narrator of Miss Rookie neither praises the chigo’s appearance nor mentions his age until he becomes Miss Rookie, whereas Himegimi’s age and beauty are described at her first appearance in the narrative. 19. Ibid. 20. Melissa McCormick comments on this unusual composition as follows: “Rather than the usual voyeur’s pose turned away from the scroll’s viewer, the boy is depicted with his face to us and situated between a profusion of flowering cherry trees. [. . .] The viewer assumes the role of the spying monk and enjoys a clear look at the ethereal chigo, who is at once a spectator and the spectacle. The chigo’s typical identity as an object of desire thus remains intact as a female audience takes ownership over this character.” See McCormick, “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers,” 120–121.



Notes to pages 145–151 203

21. In this story, the monk-nun is called “imamairi” (rookie). In the end, the couple become husband and wife and they live a happy life together. For a typeset text, see Tsukamoto Tetsuzō, ed., Kokon chomonjū, 501–504. 22. Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 159. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid., 162. 26. Ibid., 167. For the illustration, see 56–57. For the former Hosomi Collection version of the same image, see McCormick, “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers,” 108. 27. Dennis Washburn, trans., The Tale of Genji (New York: W. W. Norton, 2015), 26. 28. Although the expression “I wish to see him as a woman” may not have been coined by Murasaki Shikibu, the Genji certainly made it popular. In the post-Genji literary tradition, too, this remained a standard expression to praise a nobleman’s handsomeness. 29. For a more comprehensive study of the trope of “I wish to see him as a woman,” see Sachi Schmidt-Hori, “Non-Binary Genders in the Genji, the New Chamberlain, and Beyond,” in The Tale of Genji : A New Translation, Contexts, Criticism, ed. Dennis Washburn (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2021), 1282–1295. 30. Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 68–69, 174. In many monogatari, illicit affairs result in pregnancy. When this happens, characters above all fear the potential political repercussions and damage to their personal reputations, although they also typically accept the outcome as a predetermined fate. It is uncommon for them to express guilt for betraying their spouses or their illicit lovers’ spouses, however. In the case of Himegimi, too, she never expresses a sense of guilt vis-àvis her fiancé. Rather, her concerns are mostly about her family’s and her own reputations. On representations of illicit affairs in Heian literature, see Masuda Shigeo, Heian kizoku no kekkon, aijō, seiai: Tasai-sei shakai no otoko to onna (Tokyo: Seikansha, 2009), 160–203. 31. According to the Encyclopedia of Japan, there are sixteen unique articles that Shugendō practitioners typically wear or use during ascetic training, which are thought to “symbolically transform the disciple from a profane to a sacred state.” The items that are not visible in plate 15 include a collar with six colored tufts (yugesa), a Buddhist rosary (nenju), a conch-shell trumpet (hora), a staff with rings (shakujō), and a fur rug hanging down from the waist in the back (hishiki). See Encyclopedia of Japan, s.v. “yamabushi.” 32. McCormick, “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers,” 109. 33. Ibid., 129. 34. Ibid. 35. For in-depth studies of menoto and menotogo in Heian monogatari, see Yoshikai Naoto, Genji monogatari no menotogaku: Menoto no iru fūkei o yomu

204

Notes to pages 151–157

(Kyoto: Sekai shisō-sha, 2008); and Furuta Masayuki, Heian monogatari ni okeru jijo no kenkyū (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2014). 36. In Nihon kokugo daijiten, the earliest example of a male menoto is from The New Mirror (Ima kagami, 1170). Whereas a female menoto is normally denoted with a compound of the “milk” and “mother” characters (i.e., 乳 母) a male menoto is with a compound of “milk” and “father” (乳父) or a single character 傅. Interestingly, to emphasize the breastfeeding role of a female menoto, a new term, ochi no hito 御乳人 (“the person with milk”) was coined around the same time. (In Nihon kokugo daijiten, the earliest use of ochi no hito is also from the New Mirror.) 37. Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 191. 38. Ibid. 39. SNKBZ 37, Konjaku monogatari-shū 3, 40–41. It is clear that an ama tengu is, on the simplest level, a “gobliness,” or the female counterpart of the yamabushi tengu. That is, being an ama does not mean that she is a Buddhist nun. Nevertheless, in the case of this particular ama tengu, she clearly identifies herself as a Buddhist nun, as indicated in her self-identification as an “ama” during her conversation with Tarō-bō. 40. The pictorial renditions of the tengu vary widely depending on the artist. In the narae-bon version, the ama tengu is drawn as if she is a human nun. In the Empukuji-bon, the bird-looking tengu resemble sparrows rather than hawks or crows. 41. Nihon daihyakka zensho, s.v. “tengu.” 42. SNKBZ 4, Nihon shoki 3, 46–47. In this version, the ruby (phonetic guide) for 天狗 is ama tsu kitsune. 43. Mori Masato, Konjaku monogatari-shū no seisei (Tokyo: Izumi Shoin, 1986), 215–216. 44. Washburn, Genji, 1310. 45. Eguchi et al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 186. 46. Ibid., 100–101, 190. 47. Ibid., 189. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., 187. 50. Ibid., 186. 51. Ibid., 93, 128. 52. Kimura Saeko notes that rebirth into the Inner Sanctum of the Fourth Heavenly Realm (Tosotsuten ōjō) was “imagined at court circles in medieval Japan as a scene of women’s salvation.” See Kimura Saeko, “The Confessions of Lady Nijō as a Story for Women’s Salvation,” Aspects of Classical Japanese Travel Writing, special issue of Review of Japanese Culture and Society 19 (2007): 98. This way, in Miss Rookie, the ama tengu subverted two constraints imposed on women, the enactment of the Shugendō rite and the attainment of ōjō. 53. Eguchi et. al., Bōi miitsu gaaru, 171.



Notes to pages 158 205

54. Ibid., 193. 55. Ibid., 33–34, 153. 56. Ibid., 64–65, 171. 57. Ibid., 71–73, 176. 58. Put another way, the unexpected coupling of the highborn lady and the orphaned chigo was made possible by the combination of their caregivers: Himegimi’s inattentive, gamble-loving menoto and the chigo’s highly attentive and competent menoto. 59. Ibid., 110–11, 194. 60. Ibid., 142.

Epilogue 1. Haruo Shirane, ed., Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginnings to 1600 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 1098–1099. 2. R. Keller Kimbrough, “Late Medieval Popular Fiction and Narrated Genres: Otogizōshi, Kōwakamai, Sekkyō, and Ko-jōruri,” in The Cambridge History of Japanese Literature, ed. Haruo Shirane, Tomi Suzuki, and David Lurie (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 358. 3. Ibid. 4. Felski, Limits of Critique, 12.

Bibliography

List of Extant C higo monogatari (adopted from Aoki 2007) The Letter from Lord Kōzuke (Kōzuke no Kimi shōsoku, late Kamakura) The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth (Chigo Kannon engi, late Kamakura) A Booklet of Acolytes (Chigo no sōshi [also Daigoji nanshoku-e (Daigoji’s Illustrations of Male-Male Love)], before 1321) A Long Tale for an Autumn Night (Aki no yo no nagamonogatari, Nanbokuchō) An Illustrated Scroll of Acolytes at Shōren-in (Shōren-in chigo no sōshi emaki, early Muromachi) The Tale of Genmu (Genmu monogatari, before 1469) The Tale of Ben (Ben no sōshi, late 1500s) The Mountain (Ashibiki, late Muromachi) The Tale of Mount Toribe (Toribeyama monogatari, late Muromachi) The Tale of Matsuho Bay (Matsuho no ura monogatari [also Matsuho monogatari (The Tale of Matsuho)], late Muromachi) The Tale of Saga (Saga monogatari, late Muromachi) The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie (Chigo Imamairi, late Muromachi) Hanamitsu and Tsukimitsu (Hanamitsu Tsukimitsu [also Hanamitsu], late Muromachi) Excerpts of Dust and Thorns (Jinkenshō, ca. 1483)

Abe, Ryūichi. “Revisiting the Dragon Princess: Her Role in Medieval Engi Stories and Their Implications in Reading the Lotus Sutra.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 42, no. 1 (2015): 27–70. Abe Yasuhiro. “Chūsei shakai ni okeru ‘kami-kiri’ o megutte: Kashiteki mibun hyōshikiron ni yosete.” Chiba shigaku 14 (1989): 34–51. Abe Yasurō. “Chigo ima kara e-monogatari no sekai o hiraku.” In Muromachi jidai no bōi miitsu gaaru: Chigoima monogatari emaki no sekai, edited by

207

208 Bibliography Eguchi Keiko, Shikatani Yūko, Suematsu Misaki, and Hattori Yuka, 257– 259. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2019. ——— . “Jidō setsuwa no keisei (ge): Tendai sokuihō no seiritsu o megutte.” Kokugo kokubun 53, no. 9 (1984): 30–56. ——— . “Sei no ekkyō: Chūsei no shūkyō, geinō, monogatari ni okeru ekkyō suru sei.” In Onna no ryōiki, otoko no ryōiki, edited by Akasaka Norio, Nakamura Ikuo, Harada Nobuo, and Miura Sukeyuki, 197–223. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2003. Adolphson, Mikael S. The Gates of Power: Monks, Courtiers, and Warriors in Premodern Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2000. Amino Yoshihiko. Igyō no ōken. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1986. ——— . Nihon no rekishi o yominaosu. Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 2009. Amstutz, Galen. “Sexual Transgression in Shinran’s Dream.” Eastern Buddhist, New Series 43, no. 1/2 (2012): 225–269. Aoki Yūko. “Chigo mono ‘Matsuho monogatari’ no hōhō.” Denshō bungaku kenkyū 56 (2007): 85–96. ——— . “Hōraku mugen: Genmu monogatari o megutte.” In Otogi zōshi hyakka ryōran, edited by Tokuda Kazuo, 111–125. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2008. Araki Yoshio, ed. Chūsei Kamakura Muromachi bungaku jiten. Tokyo: Shunjūsha, 1955. Ariès, Philippe. Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life. Translated by Robert Baldick. New York: Vintage Book, 1962. Asad, Talal, Wendy Brown, Judith Butler, and Saba Mahmood. Is Critique Secular? Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech. Berkeley: Townsend Center for the Humanities, University of California, 2009. Asakura Haruhiko, ed. Kana zōshi shūsei. Vol. 5. Tokyo: Tōkyōdō Shuppan, 1984. Aston, W. G., trans. Nihongi: Chronicles of Japan from the Earliest Times to A.D. 697. London: K. Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1924. Atkins, Paul S. “Chigo in the Medieval Japanese Imagination.” Journal of Asian Studies 67, no. 3 (2008): 947–970. Austin, J. L. “A Plea for Excuses.” In Philosophical Papers, edited by J. O. Urmson and G. J. Warnock, 175–204. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979. Blaire, Heather, and Tsuyoshi Kawasaki. “Editors’ Introduction to Engi: Forging Accounts of Sacred Origins.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 42, no. 1 (2015): 1–26. Bonfante, Larissa. “Nudity as a Costume in a Classical Art.” American Journal of Archeology 93, no. 4 (1989): 543–570. Bussho Kankōkai, ed. Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho. Vol. 118. Tokyo: Bussho Kankōkai, 1913. Buswell, Robert E., ed. Encyclopedia of Buddhism. New York: Macmillan Reference, 2004.

Bibliography

209

Butler, Judith. Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of “Sex.” New York: Routledge, 1993. ——— . Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge, 1990. Childs, Margaret H. “Chigo Monogatari: Love Stories or Buddhist Sermons?” Monumenta Nipponica 35, no. 2 (1980): 127–151. ——— . Rethinking Sorrow: Revelatory Tales of Late Medieval Japan. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1991. ——— , trans. “The Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth.” In Parting at Dawn: An Anthology of Japanese Gay Literature, edited by Stephen D. Miller, 31–35. San Francisco, CA: Gay Sunshine Press, 1996. ——— , trans. “The Tale of Genmu.” In Parting at Dawn: An Anthology of Japanese Gay Literature, edited by Stephen D. Miller, 36–54. San Francisco, CA: Gay Sunshine Press, 1996. Chino Kaori. “Nihon bijutsu no jendaa.” Bijutsu-shi 43, no. 2 (1994): 235–246. Clark, Katerina, and Michael Holquist. Mikhail Bakhtin. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984. Clark, Kenneth. The Nude: A Study in Ideal Form. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1956. Clark, Timothy, Akiko Yano, Andrew Gerstle, and Aki Ikegami, eds. Shunga: Sex and Pleasure in Japanese Art. London: British Museum Press, 2013. Cohen, Ralph, and John L. Rowlett. Genre Theory and Historical Change: Theoretical Essays of Ralph Cohen. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2017. Conlan, Thomas D. “Thicker Than Blood: The Social and Political Significance of Wet Nurses in Japan, 950–1330.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 65, no. 1 (2005): 159–205. Coontz, Stephanie. Marriage, a History: From Obedience to Intimacy or How Love Conquered Marriage. New York: Viking, 2005. Dix, Monika. “Hachikazuki: Revealing Kannon’s Crowning Compassion in Muromachi Fiction.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 36, no. 2 (2009): 279–294. Dōmoto Masaki. Danshoku engeki-shi. Tokyo: Shuppansha, 1976. Drott, Edward R. Buddhism and the Transformation of Old Age in Medieval Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2016. Duggan, Lisa. The Twilight of Equality? Neoliberalism, Cultural Politics, and the Attack on Democracy. Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2003. Dykstra, Yoshiko K., trans. The Senjūshō: Buddhist Tales of Early Medieval Japan. Honolulu, HI: Kanji Press, 2014. ——— , trans. “Tales of the Compassionate Kannon: The Hasedera Kannon Genki.” Monumenta Nipponica 31, no. 2 (1976): 113–143. Eguchi Keiko, Shikatani Yūko, Suematsu Misaki, and Hattori Yuka, eds. Muromachi jidai no bōi miitsu gaaru: Chigoima monogatari emaki no sekai. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2019.

210 Bibliography Eguchi Keiko, Shikatani Yūko, and Tamada Saori, eds. Muromachi jidai no shōjo kakumei: “Shin Kurōdo” emaki no sekai. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2014. Eubanks, Charlotte. Miracles of Book and Body: Buddhist Textual Culture and Medieval Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. ——— . “Sympathetic Response: Vocal Arts and the Erotics of Persuasion in the Buddhist Literature of Medieval Japan.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 72, no. 1 (2012): 43–70. Fair, Brian. “Constructing Masculinity through Penetration Discourse: The Intersection of Misogyny and Homophobia in High School Wrestling.” Men and Masculinities 14, no. 4 (2011): 491–504. Faure, Bernard. The Power of Denial: Buddhism, Purity, and Gender. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003. ——— . The Red Thread: Buddhist Approaches to Sexuality. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998. Felski, Rita. The Limits of Critique. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2015. Fischel, Joseph J. Screw Consent. Oakland: University of California Press, 2019. ——— . Sex and Harm in the Age of Consent. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2016. Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality. 3 vols. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Pantheon Books, 1978–1988. Fukuda Kazuhiko, ed. Nikuhitsu emaki-sen. Vols. 1–2. Enshoku ukiyoe zenshū. Vol. 1. Tokyo: Kawade Shobō, 1995. Fukutō Sanae. Heianchō no otoko to onna: Kizoku to shomin no sei to ai. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1995. Furukawa Kiyohiko. “Nikko-zan no sōbō bungaku: Genmu monogatari to Ben no sōshi.” Kokugo to kokubungaku 29, no. 8 (1952): 9–18. Furuta Masayuki. Heian monogatari ni okeru jijo no kenkyū. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2014. Gomi Fumihiko. Inseiki shakai no kenkyū. Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1984. Goodwin, Janet R. Selling Songs and Smiles: The Sex Trade in Heian and Kamakura Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2007. Gotō Tanji. Chūsei kokubungaku kenkyū. Tokyo: Isobe Kōyōdō, 1943. Groner, Paul. Saichō: The Establishment of the Japanese Tendai School. Berkeley: Center for South and South East Asian Studies, University of California at Berkeley, 1984. Gundry, David. Parody, Irony, and Ideology in the Fiction of Ihara Saikaku. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2017. Guth, Christine M. E. “The Divine Boy in Japanese Art.” Monumenta Nipponica 42, no. 1 (1987): 1–23. Hakim, Catherine. Erotic Capital: The Power of Attraction in the Boardroom and the Bedroom. New York: Basic Books, 2011.

Bibliography

211

Hamanaka Osamu. Muromachi monogatari ronkō. Tokyo: Shintensha, 1996. Hanawa Hokiichi, ed. San’eki enshi. Zoku gunsho ruijū. Vol. 345. Tokyo: Zoku gunsho ruijū Kanseikai, 1932. ——— , ed. Shoku mon’yō wakashū. Gunsho ruijū. Vol. 154. Tokyo: Zoku gunsho ruijū Kanseikai, 1928–1934. Harvey, Peter. An Introduction to Buddhist Ethics: Foundations, Values, and Issues. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Hasegawa Tadashi, ed. Taiheiki. Vols. 1–4. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 54–57. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994–1998. Hashidate Ayako. “Chigo no sei.” Tōkyō Joshi Daigaku kiyō 60, no. 2 (2010): 49–78. Hashimoto Osamu. Hiragana Nihon bijutsushi. Vol. 2. Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1997. Hayakawa Monta. “Kyōto to ko-shunga.” Eureka: Poetry and Criticism 47, no. 20 (2016): 78–92. ——— . Ukiyoe shunga to nanshoku. Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 2018. Hayashi Yoshikazu and Richard Lane, eds. Higa emaki: Koshibagaki zōshi. Teihon ukiyoe shunga meihin shūsei. Vol. 17. Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 1997. Heldt, Gustav. “Between Followers and Friends: Male Homosocial Desire in Heian Court Poetry.” U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal 33 (2007): 3–32. ——— , trans. The Kojiki: An Account of Ancient Matters. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. Higuchi Kiyoyuki. Sei to Nihonjin. Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1985. Higuchi Yoshimaro, ed. Nara-no-ha wakashū to kenkyū. Toyohashi, Japan: Mikan kokubun shiryō Kankōkai, 1959. Hiramatsu Ryūen. “Nihon Bukkyō ni okeru sō to chigo no nanshoku.” Nihon kenkyū 34 (2007): 89–130. Hirasawa Gorō. “Aki no yo no nagamonogatari kō.” Bulletin of Shindō Bunko Institute 3 (1964): 227–298. Hirokawa Jirō. “Fukushoku to chūsei shakai: Bushi to eboshi.” In Emaki ni chūsei o yomu, edited by Fujiwara Yoshiaki and Gomi Fumihiko, 87–98. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1995. Hosokawa Ryōichi. Itsudatsu no Nihon chūsei: Kyōki, tōsaku, ma no sekai. Tokyo: JICC Shuppan-kyoku, 1993. Hotate Michihisa. Chūsei no onna no isshō. Tokyo: Yōsensha, 1999. Hurvitz, Leon, trans. Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma. Rev. ed. New York: Columbia University Press, 2009. Ichiko Teiji. Chūsei shōsetsu no kenkyū. Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1955. ——— , ed. Heike monogatari. Vols. 1–2. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 45–46. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994. ——— . Mikan chūsei shōsetsu kaidai. Tokyo: Rakurō Shoin, 1942.

212 Bibliography ——— , ed. Mikan chūsei shōsetsu. Koten bunko. Vol. 12. Tokyo: Koten Bunko, 1947. ——— , ed. Muromachi monogatari-shū. Vols. 1–2. Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei. Vols. 54–55. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1989–1992. ——— , ed. Otogi zōshi. Nihon koten bungaku taikei. Vol. 38. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1986. Iguro Kahoko. “Fukuro hōshi ekotoba denpon no hensei ni tsuite.” Ukiyoe geijutsu 171 (2016): 5–29. Ikegami Ryōta. Zukai Nihon no shōzoku. Tokyo: Shinkigensha, 2008. Illouz, Eva. Why Love Hurts: A Sociological Explanation. Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2012. Inagaki Taruho. Shōnen-ai no bigaku. Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 2005. ——— , ed. Taruho-ban “Nanshoku ōkagami.” Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1977. Ishida Mizumaro. Nyobon: Hijiri no sei. Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 1995. ——— , trans. Ōjōyōshū. Vols. 1–2. Tōyō bunko. Vols. 8 and 21. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1963–1964. ——— , ed. Reibun Bukkyō-go daijiten. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1997. Ishigami Aki. Nihon no shunga ehon kenkyū. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2015. ——— . “The Reception of ‘Shunga’ in the Modern Era: From Meiji to the PreWWII Years.” Translated by Rosina Buckland. Shunga: Sex and Humor in Japanese Art and Literature, special issue of Japan Review 26 (2013): 37–55. Iwata Jun’ichi. Honchō danshokukō, Danshoku bunken shoshi: Gappon. Tokyo: Hara Shobō, 2002. Jaffe, Richard M. Neither Monk nor Layman. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2011. Jolly, Penny Howell. Hair: Untangling a Social History. New York: John C. Otto, 2004. Josei to Bukkyō Tōkai Kantō Nettowaaku, ed. Shin Bukkyō to jendaa: Joseitachi no chōsen. Tokyo: Nashinoki-sha, 2011. Kajihara Masaaki, ed. Gikeiki: Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 62. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 2000. Kamata, Tōji. Myth and Deity in Japan: The Interplay of Kami and Buddhas. Translated by Geynor Sekimori. Tokyo: Japan Publishing Industry Foundation for Culture, 2017. Kanda Hideo, Nagazumi Yasuaki, and Yasuraoka Kōsaku, eds. Hōjōki, Tsurezuregusa, Shōbōgenzō zuimonki, Tan’ishō: Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 44. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1995. Kanda Tatsumi. “Chigo to tennō: Dajōtennō Go-Sukō-in to chigo monogatari.” In Seikatsu sekai to fōkuroa: Tennō to ōken o kangaeru, vol. 9, edited by Amino Yoshihiko, 155–180. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2003.

Bibliography

213

——— . Gisō no gensetsu: Heianchō no ekurichūru. Tokyo: Shinwasha, 1999. Kaneko Matabei. “Nara-no-ha wakashū: Nihon nanshoku bungaku bunken kaisetsu 2.” Kokubungaku 23 (1958): 27–39. ——— . “Nyake kanjinchō to Kokkei shibun: Nihon nanshoku bungaku bunken kaisetsu 1.” Kokubungaku 19 (1957): 36–44. Kataoka Asami. “Chigo imamairi monogatari ni okeru Kohata no shigure juyō hokō.” Kenkyū to shiryō no kai 70 (2013): 37–40. ——— . “Chigo imamairi monogatari seiritsu shikō: Waka juyō no sokumen kara.” Kenkyū to shiryō no kai 70 (2013): 21–36. Katō Osamu. “Chigo” to “warawa” no seikatsushi. Tokyo: Keiō Gijuku Daigaku Shuppankai, 1994. Katsuura Noriko. “Amasogi-kō.” In Ama to Amadera. Shiriizu josei to Bukkyō, edited by Ōsumi Kazuo and Nishiguchi Junko, 1:12–42. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1989. ——— . “Tonsure Forms for Nuns: Classification of Nuns According to Hairstyle.” In Engendering Faith: Women and Buddhism in Premodern Japan, edited by Barbara Ruch, 109–130. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2002. Kawabata Yoshiaki and Araki Hiroshi, eds. Kojidan, Zoku kojidan. Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei. Vol. 41. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2005. Kawaguchi Hisao, ed. Umezawa-bon kohon setsuwa-shū. Koten shiryō ruijū. Vol. 6. Tokyo: Benseisha, 1977. Kawaguchi Kazuya. Kuia sutadiizu. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2003. Kimbrough, R. Keller. “Late Medieval Popular Fiction and Narrated Genres: Otogizōshi, Kōwakamai, Sekkyō, and Ko-jōruri.” In The Cambridge History of Japanese Literature, edited by Haruo Shirane, Tomi Suzuki, and David Lurie, 355–370. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. ——— . Preachers, Poets, Women, and the Way: Izumi Shikibu and the Buddhist Literature of Medieval Japan. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2008. Kimbrough, Keller, and Haruo Shirane, eds. Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds: A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales. New York: Columbia University Press, 2018. Kimura Saeko. “The Confessions of Lady Nijō as a Story for Women’s Salvation.” Aspects of Classical Japanese Travel Writing. Special issue of Review of Japanese Culture and Society 19. (2007): 87–102. ——— . Koi suru monogatari no homosekushuariti: Kyūtei shakai to kenryoku. Tokyo: Seidosha, 2008. ——— . Onna-tachi no Heian kyūtei: Eiga monogatari ni yomu kenryoku to sei. Tokyo: Kōdansha, 2015. Knutsen, Roald. Tengu: The Shamanic and Esoteric Origins of the Japanese Martial Arts. Folkestone, UK: Global Oriental, 2011. Kobayashi Yasuharu and Masuko Kazuko, eds. Uji shūi monogatari. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 50. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1996.

214 Bibliography Kōhara Yukinari. Kao to hyōjō no ningengaku. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1995. Koishikawa Zenji, ed. Danshoku no minzokugaku. Rekishi minzokugaku shiryō sōsho (dai 2-ki, no. 3). Tokyo: Hihyōsha, 2003. Kojima Noriyuki, Kuranaka Susumu, Naoki Kōjirō, Mōri Masamori, and Nishimiya Kazutami, eds. Nihon shoki. Vols. 1–3. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 2–4. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994–1998. Kojima Noriyuki, Tōno Haruyuki, and Kinoshita Masatoshi, eds. Man’yōshū. Vols. 1–4. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 6–9. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994–1996. Kokumin bunko Kankōkai, ed. Genpei jōsuiki. Tokyo: Kokumin bunko Kankōkai, 1912. Komatsu Shigemi, ed. Ashibiki-e. Zoku Nihon emaki taisei. Vol. 20. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1983. ——— , ed. Hōnen shōnin eden. Zoku Nihon emaki taisei. Vols. 1–3. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1981. ——— , ed. Obusuma Saburō ekotoba, Ise shin-meisho e-utaawase. Nihon emaki taisei. Vol. 12. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1982. ——— , ed. Taima mandara engi, Chigo Kannon engi. Nihon emaki taisei. Vol. 24. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1979. ——— , ed. Zenkunen kassen ekotoba, Heiji monogatari emaki, Yūki kassen ekotoba. Zoku Nihon emaki taisei. Vol. 17. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1997. Kon Tōkō. Kon Tōkō daihyōsaku senshū. Vol. 5. Tokyo: Yomiuri Shinbun-sha, 1973. Kondō Heijō, ed. Chigo monogatari burui, Zoku shiseki shūran. Vol. 6. Tokyo: Kondō Shuppanbu, 1917–1930. ——— , ed. Shiseki shūran. Vol. 12. Tokyo: Kondō Shuppanbu, 1926. ——— , ed. Zoku shiseki shūran. Vol. 6. Tokyo: Kondō Shuppanbu, 1917–1930. Konno Tōru. “Chūsei shōsetsu: Aki no yo no nagamonogatari.” In Iwanami kōza: Nihon bungaku to Bukkyō, vol. 9, 257–282. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1995. Kraft, Eva, ed. Nishi Berurin-bon otogi zōshi emaki-shū to kenkyū. Mikan kokubun shiryō. Toyohashi, Japan: Mikan kokubun shiryō Kankōkai, 1981. Krishan, Y. “The Origin and Development of the Bodhisattva Doctrine.” East and West 34, no. 1/3 (1984): 199–232. Kuroda Hideo. “Emaki” kodomo no tōjō: Chūsei shakai no kodomo-zō. Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 1989. ——— . Sugata to shigusa no chūseishi: Ezu to emaki no fūkei kara. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2002. Kuroda Toshio. Kenmon taisei-ron. Kuroda Toshio chosakushū. Vol. 1. Tokyo: Hōzōkan, 1994. Kurokawa Harumura, ed. Zōho kōko gafu. Vols. 1–11. Tokyo: Yūrindō, 1901.

Bibliography

215

Kurokawa Mayori, ed. Shiryō taikan. Vols. 1–3. Tokyo: Tetsugaku Shoin, 1898–1900. Kurushima Noriko, Nagano Hiroko, and Osa Shizue, eds. Jendaa kara mita Nihonshi: Rekishi o yomikaeru. Tokyo: Ōtsuki Shoten, 2015. LaFleur, William R. The Karma of Words: Buddhism and the Literary Arts in Medieval Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Lear, Andrew, and Eva Cantarella. Images of Ancient Greek Pederasty: Boys Were Their Gods. London: Routledge, 2008. Leupp, Gary P. Male Colors: The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Levine, Philippa. “States of Undress: Nakedness and the Colonial Imagination.” Victorian Studies 50, no. 2 (2008): 189–219. Mabuchi Kazuo, Kunisaki Fumimaro, and Inagaki Taiichi, eds. Konjaku monogatari-shū. Vols. 1–4. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 35–38. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1999–2002. MacDuff, William. “Beautiful Boys in Nō Drama: The Idealization of Homoerotic Desire.” Asian Theatre Journal 13, no. 2 (1996): 248–258. Maeda Kazuo. Otoko wa naze keshō o shitagaru noka. Tokyo: Shūeisha, 2009. Maekawa Naoya. “Dansei dōseiai-sha” no shakaishi: Aidentiti no juyō / kurōzetto e no kaihō. Tokyo: Sakuhinsha, 2017. Mass, Jeffrey P., ed. The Origin of Japan’s Medieval World: Courtiers, Clerics, Warriors, and Peasants in the Fourteenth Century. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997. Masuda Shigeo. Heian kizoku no kekkon, aijō, seiai: Tasai-sei shakai no otoko to onna. Tokyo: Seikansha, 2009. Matsumoto Ryūshin. Nihon koten bungaku daijiten. 6 vols. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1983–1985. ——— , ed. “Sumiyoshi Monogatari igo: Mamako ijime-tan no ruikei ni kansuru ichi kōsatsu.” Geibun kenkyū 3 (1954): 17–48. Matsumura Yūji, Hayashi Tatsuya, and Furuhashi Nobutaka, eds. Nihon bungeishi: Hyōgen no nagare. Vol. 3, Chūsei. Tokyo: Kawade Shobō, 1987. Matsunami Kikusui. Kaishū to Shinran. Sakugi-son, Japan: Sakugi-son Seinendan, 1923. Matsuo Kenji, ed. Hakai to nanshoku no Bukkyōshi. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2008. ——— . Shisō no shintai: Kai no maki. Tokyo: Shunjūsha, 2006. Matsuoka Shinpei. Utage no shintai: Basara kara Zeami e. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1991. McCormick, Melissa. “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers: Envisioning the Female Ascetic in a Medieval Chigo Tale.” In Crossing the Sea: Essays on East Asian Art in Honor of Professor Yoshiki Shimizu, edited by Gregory P. A. Levine et al., 107–133. Princeton, NJ: P. Y. and Kinmay W. Tang Center for East Asian Art and Department of Art and Archeology, Princeton University, 2012.

216 Bibliography McIntosh, Mary. “The Homosexual Role.” Social Problems 16, no. 2 (1968): 182–192. McLelland, Mark. Queer Japan from the Pacific War to the Internet Age. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2005. Meeks, Lori R. “The Priesthood as a Family Trade: Reconsidering Monastic Marriage in Premodern Japan.” In Family in Buddhism, edited by Liz Wilson, 253–276. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2013. ——— . “Reconfiguring Ritual Authenticity: The Ordination Traditions of Aristocratic Women in Premodern Japan.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 33, no. 1 (2006): 51–74. Minamoto Junko. Bukkyō to sei: Erosu e no ifu to sabetsu. Tokyo: San’ichi Shobō, 1996. Minemura Fumito, ed. Shin kokin wakashū. Shinpen Nikon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 43. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1995. Minobe Shigekatsu. “Otogi-zōshi no koshō to han’i.” Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kanshō 61, no. 5 (1996): 26–35. Mishima, Yukio. Forbidden Colors. New York: Vintage Books, 1999. Misumi Yōichi and Ishino Keiko, eds. Sumiyoshi monogatari, Torikaebaya monogatari. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 39. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 2002. Mitani Eiichi, Inaga Keiji, and Mitani Kuniaki, eds. Ochikubo monogatari, Tsutsumi chūnagon Monogatari. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 17. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 2000. Miura Osamu and Tsukamoto Tetsuzō, eds. Kin’yō wakashū, Shika wakashū, Senzai wakashū. Tokyo: Yūhōdō Shoten, 1913. Miya Tsugio. “Chigo no sōshi emaki kaidai.” In Taruho-ban “Nanshoku ōkagami,” edited by Inagaki Taruho. Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1977. Miyata Noboru. Kodomo, rōjin to sei. Nihon o kataru. Vol. 12. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2007. Mostow, Joshua. Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 1996. Mori Masato. Konjaku monogatari-shū no seisei. Tokyo: Izumi Shoin, 1986. Motohashi Hiromi. “Hanpuku sareru saigū to mittsū no katari: Koshibagaki zōshi ga kataru kinki no koi o chūshin ni.” Monogatari kenkyū 15 (2015): 1–13. Muller, Max F., trans. Sacred Books of the East 10. Part 2. London: Oxford University Press, 1924. Nakae Katsumi. Sei no Nihonshi. Tokyo: Kawade Bunko, 1995. Nakamura Hajime and Masutani Fumio, eds. Bukkyō setsuwa taikei. Vol. 37. Nihon no koten 2: Chūsei-hen. Tokyo: Suzuki Shuppan, 1985. Nakamura Yukihiko, Okami Masao, and Sakakura Atsuyoshi, eds. Kadokawa kogo daijiten. Tokyo: Kadokawa Gakugei Shuppan, 2012. Nakano Akira. Hadaka wa itsu kara hazukashiku natta ka. Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 2010.

Bibliography

217

Nakano Kōichi, ed. Utsuho monogatari. Vols. 1–3. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 14–16. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 2004. Nakayama Tarō. Nihon fujo-shi. Tokyo: Parutosu-sha, 1984. Nelson, Chris, and Kyōko Selden. “The Tale of Oan.” Review of Japanese ­Culture and Society 16 (2004): 1–5. Nishizawa Masaji. “Chigo monogatari Aki no yo no nagamonogatari no sekai.” Kokugo to kokubungaku 57, no. 5 (1980): 38–51. ——— , ed. Chūsei ōchō monogatari / otogi zōshi jiten. Tokyo: Bensei Shuppan, 2002. ——— . “Genmu monogatari to Sangoku denki to no kankei.” Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kyōzai no kenkyū 15, no. 16 (1970): 218–221. Nomura Hachirō. Muromachi jidai shōsetsu-ron. Monogatari bungaku kenkyū sōsho. Vol. 26. Tokyo: Kuresu Shuppan, 1999. Nomura Ikuyo. Jendaa no chūsei shakaishi. Dōseisha chūseishi sensho. Vol. 22. Tokyo: Dōseisha, 2017. Noshi Masahiko. Sengoku bushō to nanshoku: Shirarezaru buke shudō no seisuishi. Tokyo: Yōsensha, 2013. Ōchi Yuriko. Nihon no mamako banashi no shinsō: Otogi zōshi to mukashi banashi. Tokyo: Miyai Shoten, 2006. Ōga Tetsuo, ed. Nihon daihyakka zensho (Nipponica). Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1994–1997. Ōgoshi Aiko and Munamoto Junko, eds. Kaitai suru Bukkyō: Sono sekushuaritikan to shizen-kan. Tokyo: Heibunsha, 1994. Ohnuma, Reiko. “Woman, Bodhisattva, and Buddha.” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 17, no. 1 (2001): 63–83. Okada, H. Richard. Figures of Resistance: Language, Poetry, and Narrating in The Tale of Genji and Other Mid-Heian Texts. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1992. Ōkura Ryūji. “Eisei bunko zō Aki no yo no nagamonogatari emaki.” Bijutsushi 33, no. 2 (1984): 97–120. Ozaki Kyūya. Kinsei shomin bungaku ronkō. Edited by Nakamura Yukihiko. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 1973. Pandey, Rajyashree. “Desire and Disgust: Meditations on the Impure Body in Medieval Japanese Narratives.” Monumenta Nipponica 60, no. 2 (2005): 195–234. ——— . “Love, Poetry and Renunciation: Changing Configurations of the Ideal of Suki.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 5, no. 2 (1995): 225–244. ——— . Perfumed Sleeves and Tangled Hair: Body, Woman, and Desire in Medieval Japanese Narratives. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2017. ——— . “Rethinking the Politics of Gender and Agency: An Encounter with the ‘Otherness’ of Medieval Japan.” Japan Forum (2018): 1–23.

218 Bibliography ——— . Writing and Renunciation in Medieval Japan: The Works of the PoetPriest Kamo no Chōmei. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998. Payne, Richard K. “At Midlife in Medieval Japan.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 26, no. 1/2 (1999): 135–157. Pflugfelder, Gregory M. Cartographies of Desire: Male-Male Sexuality in Japanese Discourse, 1600–1950. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. ——— . “The Nation-State, the Age/Gender System, and the Reconstitution of Erotic Desire in Nineteenth-Century Japan.” Journal of Asian Studies 71, no. 4 (2012): 963–974. ——— . “Strange Fates, Sex, Gender, and Sexuality in Torikaebaya Monogatari.” Monumenta Nipponica 47, no. 3 (1992): 347–368. Pollack, David. “The Cultural Environment of Edo Shunga.” Impression 31 (2010): 72–87. Porath, Or. “Nasty Boys or Obedient Children? Childhood and Relative Autonomy in Medieval Japanese Monasteries.” In Child’s Play: Multi-Sensory Histories of Children and Childhood in Japan, edited by Sabine Frühstück and Anne Walthall, 17–40. Oakland: University of California Press, 2018. Pye, Michael. Skilful Means: A Concept in Mahayana Buddhism. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge, 2003. Reichert, Jim. In the Company of Men: Representations of Male-Male Sexuality in Meiji Literature. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press: 2006. Reider, Noriko T. “ ‘Hanayo no hime,’ or ‘Blossom Princess’: A Late-Medieval Japanese Stepdaughter Story and Provincial Customs.” Asian Ethnology 70, no. 1 (2011): 59–80. ——— . Seven Demon Stories from Medieval Japan. Logan: Utah State University Press, 2016. Reischauer, Edwin O., ed. Encyclopedia of Japan. Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1993. Ri Yonmi. “Chigo monogatari ni okeru yokubō to sei-gensō no shikumi.” In Etoki to denshō soshite bungaku, edited by Hayashi Masahiko, 529–545. Tokyo: Hōjōdō, 2016. Rubin, Gayle S. “Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality.” In Deviations: A Gayle Rubin Reader. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011. Rubin, Jay, Tashiro Keiichirō, and Nishino Haruo, eds. Katsurazaka yōkyoku dangi: Takasago, Teika, Miidera, Yoroboshi, Kurama tengu. Kyoto: Kokusai Nihon Bunka Kenkyū Sentaa, 2006. Ruch, Barbara, ed. Engendering Faith: Women and Buddhism in Premodern Japan. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2002. Saeki Junko. Iro to ai no hikaku bunkashi. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2010. ——— . Otoko no kizuna no hikaku bunkashi: Sakura to shōnen. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2015.

Bibliography

219

——— . “Shunga no ‘shōnen-ryoku’: Miwaku to iu kenryoku.” Eureka: Poetry and Criticism 47, no. 20 (2015): 135–145. Saitō Ken’ichi. Kodomo no chūseishi. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2012. Sawayama Mikako. Edo no chichi to kodomo: Inochi o tsunagu. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2017. Schalow, Paul Gordon, trans. The Great Mirror of Male Love. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990. ——— . “The Invention of Literary Tradition of Male Love: Kitamura Kigin’s Iwatsutsuji.” Monumenta Nipponica 48, no. 1 (1993): 1–31. ——— . “Kūkai and the Tradition of Male Love in Japanese Buddhism.” In Buddhism, Sexuality, and Gender, edited by José Ignacio Cabezón, 215–230. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992. ——— . A Poetics of Courtly Male Friendship in Heian Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2007. Schmidt-Hori, Sachi. “The Boy Who Lived: The Transfigurations of Chigo in the Medieval Japanese Short Story Ashibiki.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 75, no. 2 (2015): 299–329. ——— . “The Erotic Family: Structures and Narratives of Milk Kinship in Premodern Japanese Tales.” Journal of Asian Studies (forthcoming). ——— . “The New Lady-in-Waiting Is a Chigo: Sexual Fluidity and Dual Transvestism in a Medieval Buddhist Acolyte Tale.” Japanese Language and Literature 43, no. 2 (2009): 383–423. ——— . “Non-Binary Genders in the Genji, the New Chamberlain, and Beyond.” In The Tale of Genji : A New Translation, Contexts, Criticism, edited by Dennis Washburn, 1282–1295. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2021. ——— . “Symbolic Death and Rebirth into Womanhood: An Analysis of Stepdaughter Narratives from Heian and Medieval Japan.” Japanese Language and Literature 54 no. 2 (2020): 448–475. ——— . “Yoshitsune’s Transformation from ‘Small but Beautiful’ to ‘Small but Mighty’: National and Gender Identities in the Cultural History of Japan.” Journal of Japanese Studies (forthcoming). Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985. Senjūshō Kenkyūkai, ed. Senjūshō zen chūshaku. Vols. 1–2. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2003. Shikatani Yūko. “Otogi zōshi Chigo ima no Kashiwagi monogatari juyō.” Nagoya Daigaku kokugo kokubungaku 106 (2013): 1–15. Shirakura Yoshihiko, ed. Bessatsu Taiyō: Nikuhitsu shunga. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2009. Shirane, Haruo, ed. Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600– 1900. New York: Columbia University Press, 2004.

220 Bibliography ——— , ed. Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginnings to 1600. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007. Shirasu Masako. Ryōseiguyū no bi. Tokyo: Shinchō Bunko, 1997. Shōgakukan kokugo jiten Henshūbu, ed. Nihon kokugo daijiten. 2nd ed. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 2001–2002. Someya Hiroko. “Emaki ni okeru honbun to gachūshi hikaku no kokoromi: Chigo Imamairi monogatari emaki no baai.” Gobun 121 (2005): 132–141. Steven, Chigusa. “Hachikazuki: A Muromachi Short Story.” Monumenta Nipponica 32, no. 3 (1977): 303–331. Stone, Jackie I. Original Enlightenment and the Transformation of Medieval Japanese Buddhism. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 1999. ——— . “Seeking Enlightenment in the Last Age: Mappō Thought in Kamakura Buddhism, Part I.” Eastern Buddhist, New Series 18, no. 1 (1985): 28–56. Strippoli, Roberta. Dancer, Nun, Ghost, Goddess: The Legend of Giō and Hotoke in Japanese Literature, Theater, Visual Arts, and Cultural Heritage. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2017. Suematsu Misaki, ed. Chigo ima zen chūshaku: Nagoya Daigaku Hikaku-jinbungaku kenkyū nenpō bessatsu. Nagoya, Japan: Nagoya Daigaku Bungaku Kenkyūka, Hikaku-jinbungaku Kenkyū-shitsu, 2012. Sullivan, Nikki. A Critical Introduction to Queer Theory. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Tabata Yasuko and Hosokawa Ryōichi. Nyonin, rōjin, kodomo. Nihon no chūsei. Vol. 4. Tokyo: Chūōkōron-sha, 2002. Tagami Taishū. Bukkyō to seisabetsu: Indo genten ga kataru. Tokyo: Tōkyō Shoseki, 2004. Tagawa Fumihiko. “Jisha engi no sai-seisan to sono hen’yō: Chigo Kannon engi o megutte.” Indogaku Bukkyōgaku kenkyū 52, no. 1 (2003): 234–236. Takagishi Akira. “Chūsei ni okeru emaki no shūshū kyōju to kenryoku.” In Ōchō bungaku to monogatari-e, edited by Takahashi Tōru, 75–90. Tokyo: Chikurinsha, 2010. Takamitsu Makoto, ed. Nihon nanshoku monogatari: Nara jidai no kizoku kara Meiji no bungō made. Tokyo: Kanzen, 2015. Takeuchi Machiko. “ ‘Chigo monogatari’ ni okeru sōryo to ai.” Kokubun mejiro 39 (2000): 88–94. Takigawa Seijirō. Senshōshimi. Tokyo: Seiabō, 1965. Tamamura Takeji, ed. Gozan bungaku shinshū. Vol. 1, Senpukushū. Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1967. ——— , ed. Gozan bungaku shinshū bekkan. Vol. 1, Shinden shikō. Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1977. Tanaka Takako. “Tomo ni seichō suru ai: Muromachi jidai Ashibiki o megutte.” Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kanshō 50, no. 3 (2005): 86–93.

Bibliography

221

Tateishi Kazuhiro. “Hōyō to dōmyō: Utsuho monogatari shinsei no seiiku girei.” In Seiiku girei no rekishi to bunka: Kodomo to jendaa, edited by Fukutō Sanae and Kojima Naoko, 165–208. Tokyo: Shinwasha, 2003. Teruoka Yasutaka, and Higashi Akimasa, eds. Ihara Saikaku-shū. Vols. 1–4. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 66–69. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1996–2000. Tokuda Kazuo, ed. Otogi zōshi jiten. Tokyo: Tōkyōdō Shuppan, 2002. Tokue Gensei. Muromachi geinōshi ronkō. Tokyo: Miyai Shoten, 1984. Tōno Haruyuki. “Nikki ni miru Fujiwara no Yorinaga no nanshoku: Ōchō kizoku no wita-sekusuarisu.” Hisutoria (1979): 15–29. Tsuchiya Megumi. Chūsei jiin no shakai to geinō. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2001. Tsuji Shōko. “Chigo kanjō no kisoteki kōsatsu: Giki no shōkai to seiri.” Nara Joshi Daigaku Ningen Bunka Kenkyūka nenpō 27 (2012): 272–278. ——— . “Chigo kanjō no kisoteki kōsatsu: Shohon no shōkai to seiri.” Nara Joshi Daigaku Ningen Bunka Kenkyūka nenpō 26 (2010): 362–370. ——— . “Kō chigo shōgyō hiden shi saikō.” Chūsei bungaku 58 (2013): 83–90. ——— . “Kon Tōkō ‘Chigo’ to ‘Kō chigo shōgyō hiden shi.’ ” Josetsu 38 (2011): 215–226. Tsukamoto Tetsuzō, ed. Kokon chomonjū. Tokyo: Yūhōdō, 1914. ——— , ed. Shūi wakashū, Go-shūi wakashū. Tokyo: Yūhōdō, 1926. Tyler, Royall, trans. The Tale of the Heike. New York: Penguin Books, 2014. Ueda Kazutoshi, ed. Shinkō gunsho ruijū. Vol. 19. Tokyo: Naigai Shoseki, 1932. Ueda Masaaki, Nishizawa Jun’ichi, Hirayama Ikuo, and Miura Shumon, eds. Nihon jinmei daijiten. Tokyo: Kōdansha, 2001. Vincent, J. Keith. Two-Timing Modernity: Homosocial Narrative in Modern Japanese Fiction. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2012. Wakabayashi, Haruko. The Seven Tengu Scrolls: Evil and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy in Medieval Japanese Buddhism. Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press, 2012. Washburn, Dennis, trans. The Tale of Genji. New York: W. W. Norton, 2015. Watanabe, Tsuneo, and Iwata Jun’ichi. Love of the Samurai: A Thousand Years of Japanese Homosexuality. Translated by D. R. Roberts. London: Gay Men’s Press, 1989. Waters, Virginia Skord. “Sex, Lies, and the Illustrated Scroll: The Dōjōji Engi Emaki.” Monumenta Nipponica 52, no. 1 (1997): 59–84. Weber, Shannon. “ ‘Born This Way’: Biology and Sexuality in Lady Gaga’s ProLGBT Media.” In Queer Media Images, edited by Jane Campbell and Theresa Carilli, 111–121. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013. Weeks, Jeffrey. Making Sexual History. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2000. Willig, Rosette F., trans. The Changelings: A Classical Japanese Court Tale. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1983.

222 Bibliography Yaguchi Yūko. “Chigo monogatari Ashibiki kō.” Kokubun mejiro 44 (2005): 36–44. Yamada Shōsen. “Genmu monogatari o yomu.” In Nikkō: Sono rekishi to shūkyō, edited by Sugawara Shinkai and Tanabe Saburōsuke, 149–168. Tokyo: Shunjūsha, 2011. Yamaguchi Shigio, trans. Genji monogatari tama no ogushi: Mono no awareron. Tokyo: Tama Tsūshinsha, 2013. Yamaguchi Yoshinori and Kōshino Takamitsu, eds. Kojiki. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vol. 1. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1997. Yamamoto Yōko. Zuzōgaku nyūmon: Gimonfu de yomu Nihon bijutsu. Tokyo: Bensei Shuppan, 2015. Yamanaka Yutaka, Ikeda Naotaka, Akiyama Ken, and Fukunaga Susumu, eds. Eiga monogatari. Vols. 1–3. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū. Vols. 31–33. Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1995–1998. Yokota-Murakami, Takayuki. Don Juan East/West on the Problematics of Comparative Literature. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998. Yokoyama Shigeru and Matsumoto Ryūshin, eds. Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei. Vols. 1–15. Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1981–1988. Yoshihashi Sayaka. “Tokyō Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan shozō Fukuro hōshi emaki ni tsuite.” Rikkyō Daigaku Daigakuin Nihon bungaku ronsō 11 (2014): 49–67. Yoshikai Naoto. Genji monogatari no menotogaku: Menoto no iru fūkei o yomu. Kyoto: Sekai shisō-sha, 2008. ——— . “Kaimami”ru Genji monogatari: Murasaki Shikibu no shuhō o kaiseki suru. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2008. Yoshizawa Katsuhiro. “Sennōke: Muromachi bunka no yokō 1–15.” Zen bunka 185–187 (2002–2003). Yü, Chün-fang. Kuan-yin: The Chinese Transformation of Avalokitesvara. New York: Columbia University Press, 2001. Zōho shiryō taisei Kankōkai, ed. Taiki. Zōho shiryō taisei. Vols. 23–25. Tokyo: Rinsen Shoten, 1965.

Index

Bold page numbers refer to images or tables. Abe Yasurō, 18–19, 20, 139 acolyte tales. See chigo monogatari acolytes. See chigo Aimitsu-maru, 37, 38 Aki no yo no nagamonogatari. See Long Tale for an Autumn Night ama tengu (nun goblin), 151, 153, 154–156, 160, 204nn39–40 Amaterasu, 115, 116, 124 Amida Buddha: nenbutsu practice, 48, 66, 67, 68, 70, 72, 154–155, 162, 164; Ungoji statue, 57 Amino Yoshihiko, 7, 8 anecdotal tales (setsuwa), 15–16, 18–19, 41, 79 animism, 7–8, 28 Ansen wakashū. See Poetry Collection of Anshōji Aoki Yūko, 44 ascetics. See mountain ascetics Ashibiki. See Mountain, The Atkins, Paul S., 22, 48 Austin, J. L., 7, 8 Autumn Night. See Long Tale for an Autumn Night Bagged Monk. See Illustrated Tale of a Bagged Monk Ben no sōshi. See Tale of Ben “black-figure” vase painting, 100, 101 Bodai-in, Kōfukuji, 53–55, 56, 187n31 bodhisattvas (bosatsu): in Buddhist Triad, 52; chigo as avatars of, 9–10, 22, 36, 52, 66, 69, 180n96; genders, 186n22; Kokūzō, 31; Maitreya (Miroku), 155,

156, 160; Monjushiri (Monju), 50, 52–53, 57, 66, 186n27; nanshoku and, 52–53, 186n27; origins of concept, 185–186n19; worship in medieval Japan, 51–53, 63. See also Kannon bodies: aged, 71–72; of chigo, 3, 8, 15, 96–99, 144; colonial nakedness, 96; female, 98–99, 150, 195n45; nudity in visual arts, 96–100; sei and, 131–132; senses, 95 Bonfante, Larissa, 97, 195n39 Book of Hell, A (Jigoku sōshi), 96–97 Book of the Small Brushwood Fences, A (Koshibagaki zōshi), 78, 80, 81, 95, 98–99, Plates 11, 13 Booklet of Acolytes, A (Chigo no sōshi): as chigo monogatari, 104, 185n11; comical elements, 84, 85–86, 87, 89, 102, 103, 128; commissioner, 82–83, 102; extant copies, 78, 95, 191n1; images, 79, 83, 86, 90–91, 95, 96–99, 102, Plates 1–10; in-picture dialogues (gachūshi), 78–79, 85, 90, 91, 95; language used, 79; as multimedia work, 78–79; narratives, 79, 83–95, 192n15; original title, 78, 81; places mentioned, 81; scholarship on, 82, 84–85, 102; sensory experiences, 95–96; significance, 102; structure, 83; uniqueness, 79; Vignette 1, 83, 88–94, 92, 97–99, 151, Plates 5–7, 13; Vignette 2, 83–86, 125, 185n15, Plate 1; Vignette 3, 83, 86–87, Plate 2; Vignette 4, 83, 87–88, 98, Plates 3–4; Vignette 5, 83, 94–95, Plates 8–10

223

224 Index bosatsu. See bodhisattvas Bowl Bearer, The (Hachi-kazuki), 111, 112 “boy power” (shōnen-ryoku), 84–85 boys: coming-of-age rites (genpuku), 4, 8, 11–12, 115; hairstyles, 4–5, 115, 198n26. See also chigo; children Brushwood Fences. See Book of the Small Brushwood Fences Buddhism: attitudes toward sex, 28, 29–34, 178n87, 179nn90–91; Final Dharma Age (Mappō), 53, 63, 161; in Meiji period, 35; vinaya, 29–30, 179n92. See also chigo system; nuns; priests Buddhist acolytes. See chigo Butler, Judith, 115–116 Cantarella, Eva, 99 celibacy, clerical, 29–31, 32–33 chigo (Buddhist acolytes): addressing with honorific language, 193n24; androgyny, xiii, 11–16, 100, 144, 146; as avatars of bodhisattvas, 9–10, 22, 36, 52, 66, 69, 180n96; benefits for, xviii, 25; bodies, 3, 8, 15, 96–99, 144; child names (dōmyō), 2, 7–9; dance performances, 18, 19–20, 21; entrance into priesthood, 125, 132; erotic labor, 18, 102, 129; etiquette manuals, 132; femininity, 98, 148; gender construction, 98, 100; hairstyles, 2, 3–5, 116, 174n33; heterosexual relationships, 141–144; hierarchical status in monasteries, 7, 22; language used, 194n31; liminality, 2, 7, 8, 9, 11, 16, 98, 189n76; masculinity, 144; meanings of term, 3, 47; nonadultness and symbolic childness, 2–5, 7–9, 115; as objects of sexual desire, 16, 22, 70–71, 72, 140–141, 142–143; physical appearances, xiii, 3, 8, 11, 15, 116; social status, 75–76, 157; as temporary status, 20, 48, 103, 132–133; tragic deaths, 48–49; visual similarities to women, 11, 15, 18, 98–99. See also chigo monogatari; master-chigo relationship Chigo Imamairi. See Chigo Known as Miss Rookie chigo kanjō ritual, 9–10, 52, 69, 173n25, 173n27, 173n29, 180n96, 186n24

Chigo Kannon engi. See Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth Chigo Known as Miss Rookie, The (Chigo Imamairi): banquet scenes, 136, 137, 140–141, Plates 17, 19; Buddhist principles, 162–163; as chigo monogatari, 134–135; comparisons to The Mountain, 140–141, 151–152, 154; ending, 156; extant copies, 200–201n1; female characters, 143, 144, 145, 148–153, 154–156, 159–160; female readers, 144, 148, 150–151; heterosexual relationship, 134, 142–144, 149, 156–157; illustrations, 139, 140–141, 143–144, 146, 158–159, 202n20, Plates 16–19; in-picture dialogues (gachūshi), 139, 145–146, 149–150, 158–159; kaimami scene, 143–145, 160; master-chigo relationship, 136, 138, 140–141, 143, 151–153, 202n13; peripheral voices, 158–159; plot, 16–17, 47, 135–138, 159–160; protagonist, 134, 139–147, 148, 149–150, 151–153, 200n57; satire in, 134, 143–144, 147–148, 157–158; subversive ethos, 134, 156–159 chigo monogatari (acolyte tales): archetypes, 16–17, 42, 76–77, 102, 108; audiences, xiv, 41, 82–83; authors, xiii–xiv, 41; Buddhist principles, 63–64, 67–68, 70, 73, 76, 130, 156, 162–163; circulation, 41; compared to romantic tales, 16–17, 49, 156–157; endings, 36, 48–49, 182n124; “flow chart,” 46; fourteen extant, 41, 46–49; as literary genre, 42–43, 184–185n10; plots, 43, 46–49; popularity, 156; protagonists, 46–49; scholarship on, xiv, xviii, 35–36, 37–40, 42–46, 43–45, 108, 163–164. See also master-chigo relationship Chigo monogatari burui. See Collection of Chigo monogatari Chigo no sōshi. See Booklet of Acolytes chigo system: bystanders, 130–131; coalition of Buddhist institutions and families, 20, 23–25, 102, 132; compared to arranged marriages, 75–76; inconvenient truths, 69, 77, 102–103, 129, 130; marriage analogy,

Index 22–23, 25; modern views of, 38, 40; power relations, 76, 77, 129–130; romance and, 73–76; social function, 103 Chikō, legend of, 50, 63–64 child emperors, 3, 23 child names (dōmyō), 2, 7–9, 12, 173n20 children: as attendants, 3, 5; chigo as symbolic, 2–5, 7–9, 115; hairstyles, 114; o-chigo-san, 1, 2; sacralization, 3; sexual abuse, xviii, 37, 38, 39; wet nurses for, 89, 145–146, 151–153, 193n25, 194n27, 204n36. See also boys; girls Childs, Margaret H., 182n124 Chinese shunga, 79–80 Chronicle of Japan, A (Nihon shoki), 71, 115, 153, 198n29 Chūsei ōchō monogatari / otogi zōshi jiten (Dictionary of medieval courtly tales and otogi zōshi), 108, 113 Clark, Kenneth, 96 clerics. See nuns; priests clothing: caps, 4, 17, 90, 97, 114, 172n7, 198n25; of mountain ascetics, 150; robes, 9; of women, 12; worn by shirabyōshi dancers, 17, 18 Collection of a Myriad Leaves, A (Man’yōshū), 4–5 Collection of Chigo monogatari, A (Chigo monogatari burui), 42, 47 Collection of Excerpts, A (Senjūshō), 27, 57 Collection of Miraculous Stories of Hasedera, A (Hasedera reigenki), 55–56, 187nn34–35 Collection of Notable Tales Old and New, A (Kokon chomonjū), 18–19, 144–145 Collection of Oak Leaves of Nara, A (Nara-no-ha wakashū), 12–13, 21–22 Collection of Tales of Religious Awakening, A (Hosshinshū), 32 Collection of Tales of Times Now Past, A (Konjaku monogatari-shū), 15–16, 31, 47–48, 51, 60, 153 coming-of-age rites (genpuku), 4, 8, 11–12, 115 coming-of-age rites (mogi), 12 Companion in Solitude, A (Kankyo no tomo), 32 Continued Discussions of Ancient Matters (Zoku kojidan), 27, 178n82

225

Coontz, Stephanie, 22 cultural capital, 69, 71, 93 daidōji (“large children”; lowly servants), 5–7 Daigoji, 7, 12, 78, 81, 82, 95, 102, 191n1 Daigoji’s Illustrations of Male-Male Love (Daigo nanshoku-e). See Booklet of Acolytes Daikoku Dance, The (Daikokumai), 161, 162 danshoku. See nanshoku Daoism: attitudes toward sex, 29, 191n4; hermits, 15; sexual treatises, 79–80; Shugendō and, 150 death: in chigo monogatari, 48–49; perceptions in medieval Japan, 49; shaving head on deathbed, 123–124 Discussions on Ancient Matters (Kojidan), 60–61 Documents of the Satake Family (Satakeshi monjo), 66, 189n68 Dōmoto Masaki, 36 dōmyō. See child names Drott, Edward R., 71 Eiga monogatari. See Tale of Flowering Fortunes emaki (handscrolls), 47, 81–83, 91, 96–97. See also Booklet of Acolytes enchanted love, 73–75, 147 Ennin, 173n29 Enryakuji (Mount Hiei), 9–10, 47, 64, 109–110, 173n27, 179n92 erotic capital, 71, 76, 118, 140–144, 190n87 erotica. See ko-shunga; shunga Essays in Idleness (Tsurezuregusa), 15 Eubanks, Charlotte, 31, 193n23 Excerpts of Dust and Thorns (Jinkenshō), 47–48, 185n11 expedient means. See skillful means Fair, Brian, 193n19 families: chigo system and, 20, 23–25, 102, 132; function of marriages for, 22–23 Faure, Bernard, 32, 37, 48 Felski, Rita, xiv, 164 Final Dharma Age (Mappō), 53, 63, 161 Fischel, Joseph J., 37, 182n126

226 Index Fugen Bosatsu (Ch. Puxian, Sk. Samantabhadra), 52 Fujiwara family, 3, 23, 177n73 Fujiwara no Genshi, 117 Fujiwara no Sanesuke, 124 Fujiwara no Seishi, 124 Fujiwara no Senshi, 123–124 Fujiwara no Yorinaga, 180–181nn106–107 Fujiwara no Yukinari, 123–124 Fukuro hōshi ekotoba. See Illustrated Tale of a Bagged Monk Furukawa Kiyohiko, 182n121 Fushiminomiya Sadafusa, Prince, Kanmon gyoki, 41 gekokujō (overthrowing of the upper by the lower), 161–162, 165 gender: as continuum, 115, 132, 144–145; in language, 174n37; nonbinary, 11, 16, 21, 98, 100; performativity, 115. See also men; sei; women Genji monogatari. See Tale of Genji Genmu monogatari. See Tale of Genmu Genpei jōsuiki. See Rise and Fall of the Minamoto and the Taira genpuku. See coming-of-age rites Genshin: chigo kanjō manual, 173n27; Essentials for Rebirth (Ōjōyōshū), 179n91 Gikeiki. See Record of Yoshitsune Girard, René, 48, 49 girls: coming-of-age rites (mogi), 12; in Fujiwara family, 23; stepchild tales, 110–111 Gleanings from the Tales of Uji Dainagon (Uji shūi monogatari), 5–6, 193n24 Goblin at Mount Kurama, The (Kurama Tengu), 119 goblins (tengu): admirers of chigo, 119, 140–141; ama tengu (nun goblin), 151, 153, 154–156, 160, 204nn39–40; associations with yamabushi, 58, 118, 119, 153, 154, 199n37; in Autumn Night, 58, 60; birds and, 153, 154; history of concept, 153–154; in Miss Rookie, 136–137, 140–141, 154–156; in The Mountain, 118, 154 Go-Shirakawa, Cloistered Emperor, 81 Gotō Tanji, 189n68 Greece, ancient: eromenoi, 99–100, 101; pederasty, 99–100

Hachi-kazuki. See Bowl Bearer Hag Robe, The (Ubakawa), 111, 112 hairstyles: of boys, 4–5, 115, 198n26; of chigo, 2, 3–5, 116, 174n33; cutting hair without permission, 116–119, 131, 198n36; of men, 114, 115, 172n7; of mountain ascetics (yamabushi), 118, 123; of nuns, 123; partial tonsure, 123; of priests, 15; regulations, 4, 114, 116; of servants, 5; shaving head on deathbed, 123–124; social meanings, 113–114, 115–116; spirituality and, 197–198n24; of women, 12, 114, 117–118, 123–124, 146, 174n33 Hakim, Catherine, 71 Hamanaka Osamu, 189n76 Hanamitsu and Tsukimitsu (Hanamitsu Tsukimitsu), 47, 48, 125 Hanayo no hime. See Lady Hanayo Hanyū no monogatari. See Tale of a Humble Hut happiness and success, 164–165 Hasedera reigenki. See Collection of Miraculous Stories of Hasedera Hashidate Ayako, 98 Hayakawa Monta, 80 Heiji monogatari. See Tale of Heiji Heike monogatari. See Tales of the Heike heterosexual relationships: of chigo, 141–144; courtship, 17, 68; joshoku, 18, 25–28, 33; with meshūdo, 20–21, 22; in Miss Rookie, 134, 142–144, 149, 156–157; nyobon (breaking celibacy vow with woman), 30, 32–33. See also marriages; romantic tales Hiei, Mount, 41, 58, 60. See also Enryakuji Higuchi Kiyoyuki, 98 hōben. See skillful means hōben-tan. See skillful means stories homoerotic relationships: in ancient Greece, 99–100; binaries, 84–85, 193n19; in premodern Japan, 178n85; stigma in Meiji period, 35; in Tang China, 34; transgenerational, 37–39; twentiethcentury views, 35–37, 181–182nn120– 121. See also nanshoku homophobia, xiv, xviii, 36, 39, 163–164, 179n91, 182n121 homosexuality, 82, 98. See also homoerotic relationships; nanshoku

Index Hori Masana, xiv–xviii, 164–165 Hōryūji, 3 Hosokawa Ryōichi, 37–38 Hosshinshū. See Collection of Tales of Religious Awakening Ichijō, Retired Emperor, 117, 177n73 Ichiko Teiji, 35–36, 37, 42, 43, 98, 108, 112–113, 134 Ihara Saikaku, 34, 186n27 Illouz, Eva, 73–74 Illustrated Scroll of the Acolyte at Shōren-in (Shōren-in chigo no sōshi emaki), 47 Illustrated Tale of a Bagged Monk, An (Fukuro hōshi ekotoba), 78, 80–81, 95, 99, 199n46, Plate 12 Illustrated Tale of Obusuma Saburō, The (Obusuma Saburō ekotoba), 117–118, 198n33 Imai Kanehira, 90, 194n28 imperial family: associations with erotic scrolls, 81; child emperors, 3, 23; consorts, 123–124, 177n73; divine origins, 28, 35, 177n78; members as nuns or priests, 24; mothers of emperors (kokubo), 157; sekkan seiji (regency politics), 3, 23, 177n73; shinseki kōka, 24 impermanence (mujō), 20, 50, 63 Inagaki Taruho, 36 Iwashimizu monogatari. See Tale of Iwashimizu Iwata Jun’ichi, 34, 36 Iwatsutsuji. See Wild Azaleas Izanagi and Izanami, 28, 177n78 Izumi Shikibu, 48 Jaffe, Richard M., 35 Jakuzen, 84 Jigoku sōshi. See Book of Hell Jingū, Empress, 115, 124, 198n29 Jinkenshō. See Excerpts of Dust and Thorns Jolly, Penny Howell, 114 joshoku (male-female love), 18, 25–28, 33. See also heterosexual relationships; nanshoku-joshoku paradigm kaimami (stolen glimpse), 142–145, 160 Kakushō, Cloistered Prince, 18, 23, 24, 176n60

227

Kamo no Chōmei, 32 Kanda Tatsumi, 38 Kaneko Matebei, 36 Kankyo no tomo. See Companion in Solitude Kannon: appearance to Shinran, 30, 32, 52; Bodai-in statue, 53–55, 56; chigo as avatars of, 10, 22, 69, 180n96; compassion, 51; gender, 52, 186n22; manifestations, 52; miracles, 51; skillful means, 52, 63; worship of, 10, 63. See also Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth kasshiki. See Zen acolytes Katō Osamu, 4–5 Katsuura Noriko, 123 Keikai. See Senzai Keisei, 32 Kikuchi Yōsai, 17 Kimura Saeko, 20–21, 56, 204n52 Kiso Yoshinaka, 90, 194n28 Kitamura Kigin, Wild Azaleas (Iwatsutsuji), 34, 57 Kitano Tenjin engi. See Origin of Kitano Tenjin Kōfukuji: Bodai-in, 53–55, 56, 187n31; characters in The Mountain associated with, 105, 118, 129, 196n3; rivalry with Enryakuji, 109 Kojidan. See Discussions on Ancient Matters Kojiki. See Record of Ancient Matters Kokon chomonjū. See Collection of Notable Tales Old and New Kokūzō (Sk. Ākāśagarbha), 31 Komatsu Shigemi, 113 Kon Tōkō, 173n26 Konjaku monogatari-shū. See Collection of Tales of Times Now Past Konno Tōru, 49–50, 63 Koshibagaki zōshi. See Book of the Small Brushwood Fences ko-shunga (medieval shunga), 78, 80–81, 82–83, 192n13 Kōzuke no Kimi shōsoku. See Letter from Lord Kōzuke Kūkai (Kōbō Daishi), 33–34 Kurama Tengu. See Goblin at Mount Kurama Kuroda Hideo, 6–7, 96, 98 Kuroda Toshio, 23

228 Index Kyoto: Daigoji, 7, 12, 78, 81, 82, 95, 102, 191n1; elite culture, 81, 100; Gion Festival, 2; as setting for ko-shunga, 81; Ungoji, 57 Lady Hanayo (Hanayo no hime), 111–112, 119, 120, 121, 121–122, 124–125, 131, 151 Lazy Tarō (Monogusa Tarō), 161, 162 Lear, Andrew, 99 Letter from Lord Kōzuke, The (Kōzuke no Kimi shōsoku), 47, 48, 53, 63–64, 130 Leupp, Gary P., 34 Long Tale for an Autumn Night (Aki no yo no nagamonogatari): authorship, 109; Buddhist principles, 63–64, 70, 73, 76, 162; as chigo monogatari, 46, 61–62, 76, 102, 108; comparisons to The Mountain, 104, 108–110, 126–127, 131; fame, 57; major events, 62, 62; master-chigo relationship, 58, 62–63, 64, 72–73, 74; plot, 57–59, 64, 72–73, 109–110; protagonists, 57, 58–59, 64, 70, 71, 126, 173n20; source texts, 60–61, 62; themes, 61–62 Lord Kōzuke. See Letter from Lord Kōzuke Lotus Sutra, 51, 52, 54 love, enchanted, 73–75, 147. See also romantic tales love triangles, 91–94, 92 Mabukuda-maro, 50, 63 Maitreya (Miroku), 155, 156, 160 Makura no sōshi. See Pillow Book mamako banashi (story of a stepchild), 110–113, 117–118, 119, 120–122, 124–125, 131. See also Tale of Ochikubo manhood. See men Man’yōshū. See Collection of a Myriad Leaves Mappō. See Final Dharma Age marriages: arranged, 22–23, 25, 75–76; of Buddhist priests, 30, 32, 35; social function, 22–23 masculinity, 144, 163, 196n50 master-chigo relationship: age differences, 69–70, 71–72, 77; in Autumn Night, 58, 62–63, 64, 72–73, 74; contracts, 132; distinctive characteristics, 22;

infidelity, 58–59, 64, 72, 77, 83, 88–89, 91–94, 102–103, 199n38; in Miss Rookie, 136, 138, 140–141, 143, 151–153, 202n13; in The Mountain, 105, 128, 129–130, 132, 199n38; power relations, xviii–xix, 37–39, 70–71, 91; roles of chigo, xiii, 21; romantic poetry, 12–15, 21–22; sexual activity, 10, 17; in Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, 55–56, 63–64, 68–70, 71, 74, 77; in The Tale of Genmu, 127–128. See also chigo system Matsuho no ura monogatari. See Tale of Matsuho Bay Matsuoka Shinpei, 3 McCormick, Melissa, 150, 202n20 Meeks, Lori R., 30 Meiji period, xviii, 1–2, 35, 163 men: adult names, 8; caps worn by, 4, 17; facial changes over time, 11; hairstyles, 114, 115, 172n7; masculinity, 144, 163, 196n50; as menoto, 204n36; wish to see as woman, 147–148. See also boys; gender; priests menoto (wet nurses), 89, 145–146, 151–153, 193n25, 194n27, 204n36 menotogo (foster siblings), 89–90, 91, 93, 97, 151, 194nn27–28 meshūdo (“those who are beckoned”), 20–21, 22 Miidera, 58–59, 60–61, 64, 109–110 Minamoto no Arifusa, 84 Minamoto no Yoshitsune, 119–120, 173n20, 194n31 Miroku (Maitreya), 155, 156, 160 Mishima Yukio, 173n26 misogyny, xiv, 163–164 Miss Rookie. See Chigo Known as Miss Rookie monasteries, status hierarchies, 7, 22, 69, 73 Monjushiri Bosatsu (Monju Bosatsu), 50, 52–53, 57, 66, 186n27 monks. See priests Monogusa Tarō. See Lazy Tarō Motoori Norinaga, 195n49 Mountain, The (Ashibiki): authorship, 109, 130–131; Buddhist principles, 162; as chigo monogatari, 104; comparisons to Autumn Night, 104,

Index 108–110, 126–127, 131; comparisons to Miss Rookie, 140–141, 151–152, 154; ending, 104, 110, 133; female characters, 106, 107, 112–113, 118, 124–125, 126; hair-cutting by stepmother, 106, 110, 112–113, 116, 118–119, 122–123, 124, 126, 131; illustrated scrolls, 41, Plates 14–15; major events, 121–122; male-male love in, 126–129; as mamako banashi variant, 119, 120–122; master-chigo relationship, 105, 128, 129–130, 132, 199n38; menoto, 131, 151; mixedgender domestic settings, 104–105, 125–126; plot, 105–107, 120–122, 131; protagonists, 104, 105–107, 125–127, 132–133, 173n20; readers, 41, 113, 121, 125–126, 144–147; scholarship on, 108–109, 112–113; significance, 104–105 mountain ascetics (yamabushi): admirers of chigo, 119; in Autumn Night, 58; clothing, 150; goblins and, 58, 118, 119, 153, 154, 199n37; hairstyles, 118, 123; in The Mountain, 106, 119, 120–121, 128–129, 141; nanshoku relationship with, 128–129, 141. See also Shugendō Murasaki Shibu, 177n73. See also Tale of Genji Nakayama Tarō, 197n24 nanshoku (male-male love): bodhisattvas and, 52–53, 186n27; in chigo monogatari, 68–70, 72–73; female criticism, 148; Genshin’s preaching against, 179n91; “origin” of, 33–34; in poetry, 21–22, 190n87; popularity in Edo period, 34; religious and societal tolerance, 25–28, 33; scholarly use of term, 45; stigma in modern Japan, 35–36, 37–38, 39; transgenerational, xviii–xix, 37–39, 56, 70–71, 72–73, 174n40, 190n87; transgressive, 180–181nn106–107. See also homoerotic relationships; master-chigo relationship nanshoku-joshoku paradigm, 25–28, 33, 35, 143–144, 163, 201n5 Nara-no-ha wakashū. See Collection of Oak Leaves of Nara

229

Nariko, Princess, 80, 81, 192n8 New Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern (Shin-kokin wakashū), 57 Nihon daihyakka zensho, 45 Nihon kokugo daijiten, 27, 45 Nihon koten bungaku daijiten (Great dictionary of classical Japanese literature), 108 Nihon shoki. See Chronicle of Japan Ninnaji, 15, 18, 23, 24, 88, 153 Nishizawa Masaji, 43, 61, 62, 108, 113 noh plays, 20, 37, 41, 71, 119 nonadults, 2–9 nonduality, 64, 68 nonproductivity, 20–21 nudity: performative, 97–99; in visual arts, 96–100 nun goblin. See ama tengu nuns: hairstyles, 123; imperial family members, 24; sexual relationships, 33, 144–145; tonsure, 123, 199n46 nyobon (breaking celibacy vow with woman), 30, 32–33 Obusuma Saburō ekotoba. See Illustrated Tale of Obusuma Saburō Ōchi Yuriko, 110–111 o-chigo-san (children in religious processions), 1, 2 Ochikubo monogatari. See Tale of Ochikubo okasu (to violate [a rule], to sexually assault [someone]), 32, 109, 180n106, 193n20 Old Pine (Oimatsu), 71–72 Origin of Kitano Tenjin, The (Kitano Tenjin engi), 96–97 Ōsen Keisan, 15 Ōta Nanpo, A Collection of Chigo monogatari, 42, 47 Otogi bunko (Companion Library), 42 otogi zōshi (medieval novels): chigo monogatari as subgenre of, 184– 185nn10–11; mamako banashi (story of a stepchild), 110, 112; power relations in, 161–162, 165; romances between women and chigo, 141–142; The Three Priests (Sannin hōshi), 67–68; use of term, 42–43 outcast class, 8, 38, 40, 114, 116, 178–179n88 Ozaki Kyūya, 102

230 Index Pandey, Rajyashree, 32 Pflugfelder, Gregory M., 2 Pillow Book (Makura no sōshi), 5 poetry: Chinese-style (kanshi), 14–15, 190n87; waka, 12–14, 21–22, 49, 57, 83–84 Poetry Collection of Anshōji, A (Ansen wakashū), 12 Poetry Competition of Artisans during the Hōjō Rite at Tsuruoka Shrine (Tsuruoka hōjō-e shokunin uta-awase), 18 power relations: in Booklet of Acolytes, 85; desirability hierarchy, 70–71; fathers versus masters, 129–130; gekokujō (overthrowing of the upper by the lower), 161–162, 165; hierarchical status in monasteries, 7, 69, 73; in master-chigo relationship, xviii–xix, 37–39, 70–71, 91; in otogi zōshi, 161–162, 165; political blocs in medieval Japan, 23–25; social hierarchy, 139–140, 156–157 priests: celibacy, 29–31, 32–33; in erotic tales, 80–81; imperial family members, 24; marriages, 30, 32, 35; old, 68, 69–70, 71–72, 77, 87–88, 93, 103; poetry by, 14–15, 190n87; readers of chigo monogatari, 41; Zen, 14–15, 190n87. See also master-chigo relationship Private Record of the Chigo kanjō, A (Chigo kanjō shiki), 9–10 Record of Ancient Matters, A (Kojiki), 28, 71, 115, 116 Record of Shinran’s Dream, A (Shinran muki), 30–31 Record of Yoshitsune, A (Gikeiki), 119–120, 173n20, 175n49, 194n31 Records of the Three Countries (Sangoku denki), 67 Reichert, Jim, 38 Ri Yonmi, 44 Rinzai Zen monks, poetry by, 14–15 Rise and Fall of the Minamoto and the Taira (Genpei jōsuiki), 90, 177n74 Rise of Conflicts between Enryakuji and Miidera, The (Sanmon Mii kakushitsu no okori), 60, 62, 62 romantic tales: compared to chigo monogatari, 16–17, 49, 142, 156–157;

courtship, 68; enchanted love theme, 73–75, 147; heroines, 16–17, 72, 75, 148–149; illicit affairs, 203n30; menoto characters, 151 Saeki Junko, 84–85 Saga monogatari. See Tale of Saga Saigyō, 27 San’eki Eiin, 14 Sangoku denki (Records of the Three Countries), 67 Sanmon Mii kakushitsu no okori. See Rise of Conflicts between Enryakuji and Miidera Sannin hōshi. See Three Priests Satake-shi monjo. See Documents of the Satake Family scapegoat theory, 48, 49 Schalow, Paul Gordon, 34 Second Collection of the Shared Lineage, A (Shoku mon’yō wakashū), 12 sei (“gender,” “sexuality,” and “sex”): androgyny, xiii, 11–16, 100, 144, 146; of chigo, 11–22, 98; embodiment, 131–132; epistemological shift, 1–2; fluidity, 132, 144; of women, 12, 16–22. See also gender; sexuality Sei Shōnagon, Pillow Book (Makura no sōshi), 5 sekkan seiji (regency politics), 3, 23, 177n73 Senjūshō. See Collection of Excerpts Senzai (Sensai and Sensei), 57, 64, 70. See also Long Tale for an Autumn Night setsuwa. See anecdotal tales sexual orientation paradigm, 25–26 sexuality: nanshoku-joshoku paradigm, 25–28, 33, 35, 143–144, 163, 201n5; nonproductivity, 20–21, 22; religious context, 28–34; scholarship on, 163; transgenerational, xviii–xix, 37–39; of women, 17, 177n78. See also heterosexual relationships; homoerotic relationships; nanshoku; sei Shinden Seiha, 14–15 Shingon Buddhism: Kūkai as transmitter, 33; Tachikawa-ryū school, 95–96, 102 Shin-kokin wakashū. See New Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern Shinran, 30–31, 32, 52, 186n24 Shinran muki. See Record of Shinran’s Dream

Index shinseki kōka, 24 Shinto, 28–29, 35, 197n24 shirabyōshi (“white tempo”) dancers, 17–20, 17 Shōkaku, 95 Shoku mon’yō wakashū. See Second Collection of the Shared Lineage Shōren-in chigo no sōshi emaki. See Illustrated Scroll of the Acolyte at Shōren-in Shōtoku, Prince, 3 Shugendō (Mountain Asceticism), 128, 141, 150, 154, 155, 203n31. See also mountain ascetics Shukaku, Cloistered Prince, 132, 200n58 shunga (“spring pictures”), 78, 79–81, 82–83, 191nn3–4, 191–192n7 skillful means (Jp. hōben, Sk. upāya), 31–32, 49–50, 52, 63 skillful means stories (hōben-tan), 49–50, 63, 69, 76, 110, 141–142 social hierarchy. See power relations speech act theory, 7, 8 stepchildren. See mamako banashi Story of Kannon’s Manifestation as a Youth, The (Chigo Kannon engi): Buddhist principles, 162; as chigo monogatari, 46, 55–56; illustrations, 55–56; master-chigo relationship, 55–56, 63–64, 68–70, 71, 74, 77; as origin story of statue, 53–54, 56–57; plot, 16, 17, 53–54; source, 54–56 Sullivan, Nikki, 132 Sumiyoshi monogatari. See Tale of Sumiyoshi sympathetic response (kannō), 15–16, 31, 50, 56, 69, 70, 160 Tachikawa-ryū school, 95–96, 102 Taira no Kanemori, 200n56 Taira no Munemitsu, 80 Taira no Noriko (Empress Kenreimon-in), 81, 117, 199–200n50 Taira no Shigeko, 81 Taira no Tsunemasa, 23, 37, 176n60, 177n74 Takeuchi Machiko, 43 Takigawa Seijirō, 18 Tale of a Humble Hut, The (Hanyū no monogatari), 141–142, 143, 151 Tale of Ben, The (Ben no sōshi), 46–47

231

Tale of Flowering Fortunes, The (Eiga monogatari), 117, 118, 176n70 Tale of Genji, The (Genji monogatari): author, 177n73; hero, 24, 90, 147, 175–176n54; “I wish to see him as a woman,” 147, 203n28; marriages, 75, 183n1; menotogo character, 90; primary wife characters, 75, 190n92; Uji chapters, 92, 154, 194n33 Tale of Genmu, The (Genmu monogatari): Buddhist principles, 67–68, 70, 73, 162; as chigo monogatari, 46, 67; master-chigo relationship, 127–128; plot, 64–66, 72–73, 74; protagonists, 52, 64, 65–66, 67, 70, 71–73, 173n20, 189n65; source texts, 66–68, 189n68 Tale of Heiji (Heiji monogatari), 5, 6 Tale of Iwashimizu, The (Iwashimizu monogatari), 21 Tale of Matsuho Bay, The (Matsuho no ura monogatari), 46–47, 125 Tale of Mount Toribe, The (Toribeyama monogatari), 46–47 Tale of Ochikubo, The (Ochikubo monogatari), 74–75, 110, 195n38 Tale of Saga, The (Saga monogatari), 47 Tale of Sumiyoshi, The (Sumiyoshi monogatari), 110 Tale of the Hollow Tree, The (Utsuho [also Utsubo] monogatari), 199n39 Tale of Tsukiō and Otohime, The (Tsukiō Otohime monogatari), 142, 143 Tales of the Heike, The (Heike monogatari): chigo character, 23, 37, 176n60, 177n74; child name of Yoshitsune, 173n20; “Giō” chapter, 19, 20, 199–200n50; “Kogō” chapter, 117, 118; menotogo characters, 90; violence in, 40; women attaining enlightenment, 199–200n50 Tanaka Takako, 98, 108–109, 112 Tendai school. See chigo kanjō ritual; Enryakuji tengu. See goblins Tenmu, Emperor, 114 Three Priests, The (Sannin hōshi), 67–68 Times Now Past. See Collection of Tales of Times Now Past Tomoe, 90 tonsorial regulations. See hairstyles Toribeyama monogatari. See Tale of Mount Toribe

232 Index Torikaebaya, 21 Tsuchiya Megumi, 7 Tsuji Shōko, 9 Tsukiō Otohime monogatari. See Tale of Tsukiō and Otohime Tsurezuregusa. See Essays in Idleness Tsuruoka Hachiman Shrine, 18 Tsuruoka hōjō-e shokunin uta-awase. See Poetry Competition of Artisans during the Hōjō Rite at Tsuruoka Shrine Ubakawa. See Hag Robe Uji shūi monogatari. See Gleanings from the Tales of Uji Dainagon Uki, 132, 200n58 Ungoji, Kyoto, 57 United States, anxieties about transgenerational sexual relationships, 37, 182n126 Utsuho [also Utsubo] monogatari. See Tale of the Hollow Tree waka. See poetry Wakabayashi Haruko, 22 Waka Collection of One Thousand Years, A (Senzai wakashū), 84 warawa, 4–7, 6, 55, 174n37, 187nn34–35 Weber, Shannon, 25 wet nurses. See menoto Wild Azaleas (Iwatsutsuji), 34, 57 women: ability to attain enlightenment, 199–200n50; breasts, 99, 195n45; characters in Miss Rookie, 143, 144, 145, 148–153, 154–156, 159–160; chigo resembling, 11, 15, 98–99;

clothing, 12; commonalities and differences with chigo, 11–22; courtesans, 18; disguised as chigo, 15–16, 120, 194n31; femininity, 100; hairstyles, 12, 114, 117–118, 123–124, 146, 174n33; heroines of romantic tales, 16–17, 75, 148–149; imperial court members, 81; in imperial family, 123–124, 157; impure bodies, 150; menstruation, 178n87; meshūdo, 20–21, 22; names, 12; as objects of men’s sexual desire, 12; readers of Miss Rookie, 144, 148, 150–151; sexual desire, 17, 177n78; shirabyōshi dancers, 17–20, 17; stepmothers, 110–113, 117–118; violating, 32, 193n20; warawa, 174n37; wet nurses (menoto), 89, 145–146, 151–153, 193n25, 194n27, 204n36; writers, 177n73. See also gender; girls; heterosexual relationships; marriages; nuns Yaguchi Yūko, 44, 108, 112, 125 yamabushi. See mountain ascetics Yamamoto Yōko, 52 Yang Guifei, 15, 175n49 Yasaka Shrine, Kyoto, Gion Festival, 2 Zeami, Old Pine (Oimatsu), 71–72 Zen acolytes (kasshiki), 14–15, 190n87 Zen priests, poetry by, 14–15, 190n87 Zoku kojidan. See Continued Discussions of Ancient Matters

About the Author

Sachi Schmidt-Hori is assistant professor in Japanese literature at Dartmouth College. Her research focuses on the intersections of gender, sexuality, corporeality, and class depicted in pre-1600 Japanese tales. Her second monograph will investigate the literary representations of nonbiological familial relations in ancient and medieval narratives, including “milk kinship” and stepparent-stepchild relationships.

Plate 1.  Vignette 2, Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum.  onk: My longtime wish has just come true. This must be due to the power of the Buddha statue I M worship. How else could I have made my secret known to you? It was unbearable to keep my feelings concealed. Or is it because of this beautiful landscape? Chigo: Although there were times when I could have spoken to you, I was unable to bring myself to do so, since people’s hearts are fickle. Now that we are no strangers to each other, let’s meet again when the right opportunity returns like an ocean wave. Junior chigo: The poignant autumn winds seem to know now is their season.

Plate 2.  Vignettes 3.1 (left) and 3.2 (right), Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. ( 3.1) Monk: What is going on? I cannot believe this is for real. This kind of fortunate event has never happened to me before. But it feels even more regrettable to think how aloof you were toward me all this time. Ah, how much I was thinking about you! Chigo: Indeed. But, since you are not blaming me for my rudeness in the past, I won’t say anything. I am just so glad you have not forgotten about me. (3.2) Monk: There is a thing called spirit (tamashii; “tama” is homophonous with the word for “beads”). People are afraid of having their spirit stolen. That’s why we monks must thrust and pierce the tama (the spirit/beads of a rosary). Chigo: This is so scandalous. Please try not to surprise anyone by making a loud noise. How incredibly frightening. Please come closer. I will embrace you tightly.

Plate 3.  Vignette 4.1, Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. Chigo: (to Young Monk 1) Please come visit me for a minute. Don’t be unseemly; what’s the rush for? Young Monk 1: (to the youth) Are you serious? Old Monk: How appalling. I am so jealous that the boy invited just him! Young Monk 2: That’s heartless. Let’s just go.

Plate 4.  Vignettes 4.2 (left) and 4.3 (right), Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. ( 4.2) Chigo: Where are you touching? That’s not my foot, Silly. What do you think you are doing? Monk: Because my old eyes can’t see well, I have to rely on my heart. Please don’t mind it and just pity me. Could you please tell me how you felt about me all this time? (4.3) Chigo: Monk, what are you doing without washing my feet first? It is so darling of you to have felt so deeply about me. Monk: Months and years were flying by and I thought your heart was fleeting, too. But I longed for you and came here despite my fears. This is so unexpected.

Plate 5.  Vignettes 1.1 (left) and 1.2 (right), Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. ( 1.1) Chūta: Because you occasionally reward me by allowing me to do this as much as my heart desires, my faith for you grows stronger and stronger. When you treat me coldly, however, I don’t feel validated. Let me take advantage of this chance and satisfy my needs. Chigo: If this is all you want, sure. I was just going to visit my master sometime this evening before he falls asleep, but it’s still bright outside. You are so impatient! Fine, just screw me all you want! (1.2) Chūta: Alas, it is so regrettable. Although there is the other type of service, I have been getting a hard-on every night and, when it happens, I cannot help but jerk off. My junk has gotten so feeble due to the nightly masturbation. . . Chigo: If that’s the case, shove the dildo deep into my bottom once again!

Plate 6.  Vignettes 1.3 (left) and 1.4 (right), Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. ( 1.3) Chūta: It is so fragrant. Sir, you have such a stubborn, tight bottom. You probably won’t give me that wonderful reward, but I wish I could thrust my penis into here until it loosens up! Chigo: Dip that brush in the clove oil very well and twist it into my buttocks, five inches or so. (1.4) Chigo: Ouch, watch how you blow the fire.

Plate 7.  Vignette 1.5, Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum.

Plate 8.  Vignette 5.1 (left) and 5.2 (right), Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. (5.1) Chigo: Now let’s do it facing each other. Monk: No, I will please you like this a little longer. After that, I will flip you over and pound hard. (5.2) Chigo: You are such a show-off, as if people were watching. Monk: If people were watching, what would I do? Aw, aw!

Plate 9.  Vignette 5.3 (left) and 5.4 (right), Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. (5.3) Chigo: Oh no, what’s happening? Monk: There is no way I would pass up such a delicious treat. When my mouth is not as busy, I will explain what’s happening in detail. (5.4) Monk: Ah, tasty. Slightly bitter. Chigo: This tastes good, too, but a little salty.

Plate 10.  Vignette 5.5, Booklet of Acolytes. Courtesy of the British Museum. Chigo: Oh no, it’s so bright. What is going on? Monk: I have never seen anything like this before. Seems like a great habit to keep.

Plate 11.  Ending of the Brushwood Fences. Courtesy of Nichibunken.

Plate 12.  Ending of the Bagged Monk. Courtesy of Nichibunken.

Plate 13.  Vignette 1.2 (left), Booklet of Acolytes, and scene from the Brushwood Fences (right). Courtesy of the British Museum and Nichibunken.

Plate 14.  The stepmother cuts off Wakagimi’s hair while he sleeps. In the adjoining room, ladies-inwaiting are sewing robes and sashes for the procession. Courtesy of Itsuō Art Museum.

Plate 15.  Wakagimi follows a group of mountain ascetics. Courtesy of Itsuō Art Museum.

Plate 16.  The Hiei acolyte stealing a look at the minister’s daughter. Painting 3 of the former Hosomi Collection version of The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie. Current location unknown.

Plate 17.  The banquet on Mount Hiei. Painting 14 of the former Hosomi Collection version of The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie. Current location unknown.

Plate 18.  Himegimi encounters the ama tengu in the mountains. Painting 16 of the former Hosomi Collection version of The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie. Current location unknown.

Plate 19. The banquet at the ama tengu’s home. Clockwise from the upper-left corner: the chigo, Tarō-bō (Ōmine-bō), the ama tengu, and the zushi, in which Himegimi is hiding, behind the half- birdhalf human tengu. Painting 17 of the former Hosomi Collection version of The Chigo Known as Miss Rookie. Current location unknown.