Customer Reviews

The Tale of Genji: (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)

5 star:		(15)
4 star:		(7)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(2)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

I've read all three translations of The Tale of Genji. For those who don't know there are three translations so far, by Arthur Waley, Edward Seidensticker and this one by Taylor. All of them have their flaws. Waley's translation is known for being a beautifully written, but very freely translated, so free that he left out several chapters. Where Seidensticker's translation is known for being more accurate but the language is not as beautiful. Of all three I think I prefer Taylor's. In addition to the story, he gives an extensive description of the culture and a listing of the Japanese names of the characters which is very helpful for figuring out the intricate details of rank and social position. This may be a bit too much information for those who don't know very much about Heian culture.

For those who don't know much about the plot, the Tale of Genji is divided into two almost completely separate stories. The first part of the story is about Prince Genji, the son of the emperor and a low ranking consort who dies due to her rivals' jealousy. The emperor griefstricken marries another much younger and higher born woman who looks very much like Genji's mother, who Genji falls in love with. Their doomed love affair and its consequences is at the center of this novel. However Genji has many other love affairs some of them with very destructive consequences. Genji's story is both tragic and also light hearted at times as well. Although the story is about Genji, the memorable female characters far outnumber the male ones. Heian Japan was a mostly matrilocal society, where the court was controlled by the grandfather or the father-in-law of the emperor. Women had much more power than in later eras, however, their independence depends on their wealth and social status but the heroines are distinct and have their own thoughts, feelings and personalities.

The second part of the story are the grandchildren of Genji and it takes place after Genji has died. It is the story of the competition between Kaoru, Genji's "son" who is actually the son of Genji's principal wife and her lover, and Genji's grandchild, Niou, and their competition for the love of three sisters. It is very different from the first part of the story, much darker and obsessive. One reviewer described the two parts as Jane Austen and Wuthering Heights in the same novel.

Taylor's translation is well written, informative, and beautifully packaged. I highly recommend it.

This novel is, quite simply, my favorite of all books. It has sparked a love for Japanese culture that has persisted from my first reading of it in the mid-1970s.

I have read the entirety of all three of the complete English translations. To my mind, Royall Tyler's is clearly the best of the lot. Even though I can't compare it to the original, given what I know about Heian culture and the other reading I've done, this version somehow seems to capture the spirit of the age beyond what the others achieved. I vastly prefer the way Tyler has approached the matter of identifying the characters, for example. He uses their courtly titles, even though those change during the course of the story. He manages to keep the reader oriented by the straightforward listing of characters that appears at the beginning of each chapter.

Combined with Tyler's other strategies, I feel closer to experiencing the story the way I imagine it was experienced by Murasaki Shikubu's contemporaries. To me this suggests an approach to translation that strives to come to terms with what the text demands; it better conveys the inherent nature and complexity of the prevailing style. Yet Tyler's fluency as a writer nonetheless draws one deep into a character-based story.

I could go on and on, as this novel is one of my great loves. But I'll simply say it's an essential read and that this is the essential translation.

Having loved both the Arthur Waley and Edward Seidensticker versions of The Tale of Genji as well as the bits and pieces of Murasaki Shikibu's classical Japanese I had hammered through as a graduate student in East Asian studies, I was thrilled to hear that someone had done a "stunning" new translation of this work I and so many other Genji fans regard as one of the greatest "novels" ever written. Fortunately, a friend of mine, who is also a Genji fan, had the foresight to forward me some random passages of the Tyler version before I actually shelled out any money. In comparing these quotes to the Waley and Seidensticker versions I was much surprised to find that the Tyler translation comes up short in almost every regard, and that even Seidensticker's version, engaging as it is, is somewhat disappointing. Compare their respective translations of this short passage from a scene in Chapter Five ("Murasaki"), where Genji is visiting a Buddhist monastery in the mountains:

Waley's version:
Genji felt very disconsolate. It had begun to rain; a cold wind blew across the hill, carrying with it the sound of a waterfall--audible till then as a gentle intermittent plashing, but now a mighty roar; and with it, somnolently rising and falling, mingled the monotonous chanting of the scriptures. Even the most unimpressionable nature would have been plunged into melancholy by such surroundings. How much the more so Prince Genji, as he lay sleepless on his bed, continually planning and counter-planning.

Seidensticker's version:
Genji was not feeling well. A shower passed on a chilly mountain wind, and the sound of the waterfall was higher. Intermittently came a rather sleepy voice, solemn and somehow ominous, reading a sacred text. The most insensitive of men would have been aroused by the scene. Genji was unable to sleep.

Tyler's version:
Genji felt quite unwell, and besides, it was now raining a little, a cold mountain wind had set in to blow, and the pool beneath the waterfall had risen until the roar was louder than before. The eerie swelling and dying of somnolent voices chanting the scriptures could hardly fail in such a setting to move the most casual visitor. No wonder Genji, who had so much to ponder, could not sleep.

There is no doubt Waley embellished the text, but it was clearly in the interest of conveying a sense of the exquisite poetry of Murasaki's prose. His elevated diction lends just that touch of "class" we would expect to find in an author writing for an aristocratic audience for whom style was everything. Moreover, the sumptuous musicality of his phrasing continually underscores the melancholy atmosphere even as it seems to echo the sound of the waterfall and the chanting. Seidensticker's version has the virtue of concision, but his choice of words is often questionable: "reading," for example, suggests that Buddhist monks read the sutras in private meditation rather than chanted them as a group prayer. His "sacred texts," on the other hand, implies that Genji wasn't very familiar with Buddhism, which could hardly be further from the truth. It was as central to his life and worldview as Catholicism was to the Italian princes of the Middle Ages, as Waley's "scriptures" implies. The phrase "aroused by the scene" is even more ill-chosen, for it suggests that Genji found visits to mountain temples erotically stimulating, when in fact they tended to have the opposite effect, for they reminded him of the vanity of his secular pursuits, which were, by and large, erotic.

Tyler's version follows Waley's interpretation at this point and thus avoids these particular problems, but he has others that are even worse. His "a cold mountain wind had set in to blow," for example, is dreadfully clumsy and somewhat confusing, as is his "the pool beneath the waterfall had risen until the roar was louder than before". The latter illogically suggests that it was the increased height of the pool below the waterfall that made the roar louder rather than the increase in the volume of water flowing over the falls due to the rain that had passed. A good many phrases in the other passages I sampled from the Tyler volume had similar kinds of problems, which makes me wonder if Tyler's editors ever bothered to read the work they insist is so "stunning." If any version deserves that praise it is Waley's, which may be difficult to find, but it is well worth the effort.

The "Tale of Genji" was written one thousand years ago at the court of the Emperor of Japan. It has to be said, this book will not appeal to everyone. It's very long, it has a huge cast of characters, it's loaded with poetry, and the setting is extremely different to probably anything you've encountered before. There's not much in the way of action or excitement. But if you like human dramas at a gentle pace and are willing to tackle something out of the ordinary, you may find a lot to enjoy here.
Set in tenth-century Japan, it's a bizarre world to us, where a person's worth is measured by their handwriting, their ability to match the colours of their clothes, and their ability to spout just the right poem at the right moment; where women hide themselves away for fear of being seen and are completely dependent on men for support and survival; where men can carry on as many romantic affairs as they please and are thought strange if they don't, and shed tears frequently to demonstrate their sensitivity; where ceremony, music and banquets are given far more prominence in the lives of the nobles than their official duties; where exile a mere thirty miles from the capital is a fate worse than death; and where everyone is continually being struck by the transcience of life and how sad everything is, and how they should devote themselves to religion as a result (and almost never do).
Genji is the beloved son of the Emperor of Japan, but because his mother is of low rank there is no future for him in remaining a prince of the imperial family. When he comes of age his father makes him a commoner, which frees him from the constraints of imperial dignity and allows him to serve in government. Genji is the hero for about three-quarters of the book. The main focus of the story is his love life, with the joys it brings him and the problems he brings upon himself through his behaviour. After his triumphant return from exile, his power and prestige grow and grow until, with the death of his beloved Murasaki, he grows tired of life, retires to a monastery and vanishes from the story. While Genji is beloved and admired by all in the story for his many outstanding qualities he is far from perfect, and the narrator, who intrudes herself with the occasional editorial comment, makes this clear. On the other hand, just when you are disgusted by something Genji has done, he will do something else that once again makes it clear that, in kindness at least, he is a cut above the rest of his male contemporaries.
For the last part of the story, the hero of the story is Kaoru, Genji's putative son. The sensitive and religious-minded Kaoru engages in romantic rivalry with his best friend (and Genji's grandson) Niou for the love of Ukifune, with tragic results. The book ends abruptly and unsatisfactorily, but that's not unusual for such ancient literature where unanswered, and often unanswerable, questions about the survival of documents and authors' intentions always arise.
As a human drama, with psychological insights into the characters that seem so very modern and understandable, this is a really good story (particularly in the Kaoru chapters, to my mind). I also really enjoyed the setting, which is so different to how we live today and therefore so fascinating. I have absolutely no knowledge of whether Royall Tyler's translation is a good one in academic terms, but it reads very easily and has a lot of atmosphere. The character lists at the start of each chapter aid understanding, as do the footnotes, maps, house designs, and various glossaries.
It has to be said that, by our standards, many of the men in the "Tale of Genji" behave cruelly and reprehensibly in their relationships with women. If you can work through that, and the other difficulties so unique a story presents, you will hopefully find your persistence satisfactorily rewarded.

The strength of this translation is the introductory information that provides necessary background of both the text and the world that Genji inhabits. Much more than either the Waley and the Seidensticker versions and the footnotes are copious as well. Which makes this translation good for students and classroom study. I would still recommend Ivan Morris' book, _The World of the Shining Prince_ as supplemental information about Heian Japan but Tyler has provided a very good start with his work including very useful genealogical charts.

The illustrations are generous and found throughout the book. Seidensticker had larger illustrations but slightyly less of them whereas Tyler has opted for smaller. One of the flaws of this particular version is the fact that the illustrations are not done as well as the Seidensticker 2 volume set or even the one volume Knopf version. This flaw I place more due to the publisher who has not printed the text as cleanly e.g., ink blots and slight blurring of illustrations and incomplete pressing, as I would have expected. This flaw is found in the more expensive 2 volume hard back set as well. Another thing to consider in the paperback version is the the binding is not the best and will not stand to brutal backpack/book bag wear.

The more useful study volume is definitely Tyler's with his chronology, geneaology charts, informative introduction, footnotes, clothing and color background, offices and titles, and summary of poetic allusions.

It is a very good addition to the collection but do give a swing through both the Waley and the Seidensticker translations as well. Waley for the beautiful language (missing various chapeters) and the Seidensticker (obsessively correct). The rare 19th century partial translation done at Oxford by a Japanese student is a moot issue though interesting for the collection.

I would write a long review similar in nature to that of people who have also reviewed this book, but I feel that I would simply be repeating what they've said. I simply wanted to note something to counterpoint what Steven Bradley wrote.

This translation of Murasaki Shikibu's work is probably not the best. As is proven in a comparison of a paragraph between 3 of the most well known translations, it is easy to see that Tyler did not give quite the full emphasis that Shikibu intended. The problem, however, is that by giving the fullest detail possible, the book becomes more and more difficult to read. Just like it is difficult to read a work by Shakespeare, the language of yore is far too different in comparison to that of today.

My point is that Tyler's translation is excellent for someone who wishes to read this book for the sake of enjoyment. The more complex translations fit better for someone who is doing research into the era of the novel and who wish for a more historical approach at the style.

I personally picked up Genji due to an interest in ancient Japanese culture, thus Tyler's deep translation and excellent, informative footnotes have served me well as I explore what culture was like back then. I expect that upon finishing the novel, I will pick up a more comprehensive version, but for now, Tyler has done an excellent job in translating the book for the everyday man or woman, so I will stand by this book as an excellent translation.

The Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition of Tyler's translation is splendid, "reader friendly at every turn" ( Newsweek ), and you should ( perhaps ) buy it. I own three different translations of the Genji-monogatari:in German ( Oscar Benl ), in French ( René Sieffert ) and in English ( Royall Tyler ). The german translation is the best: artificially innocent, and excitingly ceremonial - you always enjoy a sort of stylistic chastity belt. The french translation is less sophisticated, more rhetoric, but, in the new edition ( 2007 ), it is completely overshadowed by around 500 breathtakingly beautiful japanese illustrations ( from the twelfth to the seventeenth century ). Now, this gallery happily becomes part of the translation - you are reading images.
Tyler's translation is simple and virile - he substitutes his voice for Murasaki's voice - "one could easily believe that the book was written by some gifted postmodernist" ( The Cleveland Plain Dealer ).
But do you understand the following passage ( it is the beginning of the ninth chapter ):
"The change of reign made all things a burden for Genji, and perhaps his rise in rank explains why he now renounced his lighter affairs, so that for many he multiplied the sorrows of neglect even while he himself, as though in retribution, continually lamented his own love's cruelty. She was so constantly at His Eminence's side that she might as well have been a commoner, and this seemed to displease the Empress Mother, who kept to the palace and left her in peace. Now and again His Eminence might hold a beautiful concert or something of the sort, one that set the whole court talking, so that he shone more brightly than ever; but he sadly missed the Heir Apparent, whose lack of effective support worried him, and his request that Genji look after him moved the new Commander to mingled joy and dismay."
( The translation becomes a kind of trompe l'oeil: where is Fujitsubo, where is the former Emperor, where is the new Emperor ... ).
I don't regret having bought Tyler's translation ( I like foot-notes ! ), but it's not the book for a desert island.

No novel has gripped a nation and culture as, "The Tale of Genji", by Murasaki Shikibu has the people of Japan and many others. This novel penned roughly a thousand years ago during the Heian era in Japan by a woman remains relevant today. In Japan, the novel has spawned creations in other artistic mediums such as the scrolls of the 12th century painter Fujiwara Takayoshi, which depict scenes taken from the novel. And, the influence has continued unabated with other paintings, ceramics, sculpture and so on. Both No theater and Kabuki theater also dip into the Genji well for inspiration.

In the context of history, " The Tale of Genji", resists comparison to any other work with the works of Homer perhaps being the lone exception. While the works of Dickens in Great Britain, Twain in America, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky in Russia and others depict snippets of history in their respective cultures, the popularity of their works do not compare to the singular work of Murasaki Shikibu. Why this is so, I will never know, but in the reading of the novel, the rich and evocative language and poetic prose along with a transfixing yet meandering storyline accost the reader.

Although Murasaki possessed transcendent talent, she wrote to a diminutive audience. In fact, her readership was composed of the very people that she utilized as characters. No one else was intended to read her masterpiece. The notion that her novel, set in this obscure time and place, would be relevant for over one thousand years by countless millions, would surely blow her mind. So the question remains as to why it still unto this day resonates, and the answer to this is multifaceted and complex. And they speak to the timeless and unchangeable nature of mankind. Therefore, her themes are as relevant today as yesterday, and they will be relevant tomorrow.

One such theme that is embodied in the character of the protagonist Genji is the insatiable and restless nature of mankind. An inability to attain contentedness permeates his existence. Even though he is endowed with privilege, talent, looks, and access to the throne, his life is wrought with inner turmoil. In this, every decision he makes seems to further complicate his life, rather than provide him peace. From his acquisition of wives, which seemed right at the time, to the construction of his dream mansion at Rokujo to house his wives in a symmetrical fashion, nothing satisfied.

Another theme that pervades the pages of this epic relates to the issues of gender. Relating to this issue, the author Murasaki Shikibu, a woman, emerges as an expert witness. And, the issue at hand is the objectification of women, and its deleterious ramifications on all. From Genji's abduction of the character Murasaki, a defenseless preteen, to the courting of Ukifune later on in the novel, the injurious ramifications of this objectification emerge. The only escape hatch available for these women at this time appears to be the world of Buddhism and nunnery.

These are two of the many themes that enthrall the readers of, "The Tale of Genji" unto this very day. And, this is why the novel, one of the first the world has ever witnessed, still rings true today and is worth reading. And, read you will since the novel is lengthier than "War and Peace".









do not compare to the singular work of Murasaki Shikibu. Why this is so, I will never

Though it made the reading of the Genji extremely dense, I feel that the extra information provided in this edition is invaluable to understanding the story, especially for people of this modern age. The setting and lifestyle of the story is so far removed from the 21st century that to appreciate what's going on, a lot of details need to be explained, and Royall Tyler does an excellent job of it, while maintaining a faithful translation. He stays true to the original author's naming conventions-- that is, she does not refer to characters by real personal names but uses titles and nicknames, and Tyler follows this convention but includes a list of who's who in each chapter, with updates to their changing titles throughout the story.

One note: I did not realize that there were appendices until the very end of the book, and seriously regretted not looking at them before. He includes a map of the capital, the imperial palace grounds, a glossary of commonly used terms, and a guide to period fashion, which helps to illustrate all those discussions about the beautiful clothes the characters wear. Do not be afraid to refer to and make use of these guides at the back of the book while you are reading the Genji! More understanding results in a deeper appreciation of the book.

That being said, I don't think anyone can be expected to understand everything on the first read. I feel that the Genji Monogatari is a story to be read many times throughout one's life, and perhaps every time you read it you will discover something new.

I have read several different translations of this book, but I felt the most satisfied by Royall Tyler's translation. I think it is a great place to start, at the very least.

About the tale itself, what more can I say that hasn't been said? I find this to be a remarkable piece of literature, a carefully crafted and wonderfully told tale of the height of the Heian era, the elegant golden age of Japan where aristocrats correspond in poetry and romances are hatched from a glimpse of a sleeve or the twang of the biwa. Tied strongly to the context of the times--the norms, values, and sensibilities are uniquely Heian--this tale is in many ways influenced by the Japanese take on Buddhism, specifically the focus on the transience of all things, although the intense focus on aesthetics and worldly beauty seems rather un-Buddhist in many ways. Yet, the tale is universal as well in its broader themes; that it is still widely read and enjoyed a thousand years after its composition in many cultures outside of Japan is a testament to this fact. That said, it is not a tale for everyone. Its length, its distance culturally from the modern Western heritage, its leisurely and sometimes slightly plodding plot--these will put off many. And yet, for the interested, attentive reader, this book is an immensely enjoyable read and also window into a unique and beautiful time and place in human history.

Regarding the translation, ultimately, all translations have their strengths and their weaknesses; all translators must make tradeoffs and decisions pretty much on a word-by-word basis on issues such as whether to maintain the letter of the text or the spirit of the text, when to remain truer to the source language and when to make concessions to the target language. As such, there is no such thing as a "best" translation, as this is ultimately a subjective decision. For this reason, I frequently agonize over which translation of a work to read, as which translation you read (especially the first time one encounters a work) will forever color your perceptions, emotions, and enjoyment relating to the work.

In the case of the Tale of Genji, however, the choice was not agonizing for me. Even though I count certain translations that take freedoms with the original text as favorites (e.g. FitzGerald's version of Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat is a guilty pleasure of mine), Waley's remarkable liberties with the text were a non-starter for me. This might be a particular bias for me, for as someone who can understand Japanese, I can compare Murasaki's original with Waley's version and see the differences whereas for other languages I cannot understand, I can remain blissfully ignorant of the differences between the translation and the source material. Seidensticker is much more faithful to the substance of the original than Waley, but in terms of style, whereas Murasaki's writing tends to be rather flowing, elegant, poetic, and indirect, Seidensticker's prose is characterized by relatively short, choppy sentences and characterized by a directness that, while more appropriate for English, is a bit jarring for those who can read the original text. Although Seidensticker's translation could be seen as less "cluttered" by footnotes, without such notes the frequent allusions to other works (be they poetry, historical works, or other fictional accounts) that Murasaki makes--instantly identifiable to Murasaki's contemporaries--are lost on the modern reader. Seidensticker has his followers, but I personally do not find him enjoyable.

In contrast, I found Tyler's translation to both remarkably faithful to the original and yet quite enjoyable in modern English. First of all, Tyler provides a thorough and interesting introduction to the work, which helps put the reader in the context in which it was written. Stylistically, Tyler's language matches the leisurely, flowing, and poetic style of Murasaki quite well. Consider that in the first three paragraphs of the text, the original contains 7 sentences. Tyler translates this in 6. Seidensticker uses a remarkable 15 sentences! Tyler is also much closer to the original in referring to most characters by their titles rather than by name. Even the person who is most commonly referred to by name, Genji, is called by a rather generic surname that is as much as or more reflective of his status in the nobility (the Minamoto "clan") rather than a "family name" in the modern sense of the word. This authenticity places demands on the reader that Seidensticker does not; for some this "burden" is more trouble than its worth (and to be honest, can make it difficult to get back into the book after an absence of any length), but personally in addition to this convention's faithfulness to the original I find this touch to create a level of intimacy that draws the reader into the novel, as an insider for whom names are no longer necessary. Tyler provides the titles and names used at each chapter start (as well as a brief introduction, which is frequently necessary because the chapters do not always flow chronologically) and occasionally provides footnotes where the title usage gets confusing (personally, there were a few places were I could have used more footnotes along those lines, but 98% of the time it is clear to the attentive reader who is being referred to).

Just as in Seidensticker's translation, there are many beautiful illustrations. Versions of this tale have been illustrated in Japan almost as long as the novel has been around, so this adds not only a nice aesthetic touch in keeping with Heian sensibilities but also faithfulness to the tradition of the tale. Tyler pays considerable attention to the poetry in the tale, which is ridiculously difficult to translate due to the many layers of word play and allusion to other works of poetry and literature that simply cannot be captured in modern English. Somewhat regrettably, many of Tyler's clever turns of phrase (such as exploiting the remarkable similarity in dual meaning of the modern English "pine" and the Japanese "matsu") will likely be lost on many who are not familiar with the Japanese language, but they are enjoyable for those who do understand what Tyler is up to (and can be enjoyed anyway by those who do not). Almost all poems have footnotes with additional information about the style, substance, and allusions present in the original poem.

In the end, Tyler's faithfulness to both the style and substance of Murasaki's original places demands on the reader; not all will enjoy the expectations he places on the reader with respect to such issues as titles versus names. As always with translations, kick the tires on a couple of options and find what works for you. However, for me personally, it is this faithfulness to an incredibly gifted writer and a lyrical and poetic tale that makes Tyler the translation of choice for me.