The Japan Society Review 69
Book, Stage, Film, Arts and Events Review

Issue 69 Volume 12 Number 3 (June 2017)

Looking at the titles of Japanese books recently
released in the UK, it is evident that the landscape ofJapanese literature translated into English is becoming
more and more rich and diverse. Now, together with theworks of celebrated authors, lesser known stories fromnew Japanese writers are also reaching us thanks to thededicated effort of publishers and translators.
The June issue of The Japan Society Review illustrates
this trend by reviewing two different collections of shortstories. The first one is Men Without Women, the lastest
work of Murakami Haruki to be translated into English. As
Chris Corker points out, in this book Murakami deals not
only with questions of isolated masculinity, but also withthe problems of constructing heterosexual relationships incontemporary society. The second is the so-called Keshiki
series, a collection of eight short stories showcasing thework of some of the most exciting writers working in Japan
today. In her review, Eluned Gramich explores how travel,
migration and restlessness are at the heart of these stories.

Entering into the field of non-fiction, Charlotte Goff
reviews Gitte Marianne Hansen’s Femininity, Self-harm andEating Disorders in Japan. Through a careful evaluationof a wide-range of media including anime, manga,
television drama and literature, this volume examines theconstruction and representation of normative femininity
in contemporary Japanese culture and how these relate toself-harm and eating disorders in Japan.
Finally, this issue of the Japan Society Review
also includes a review of Ainu. Pathways to Memory, adocumentary directed by Marcos Centeno Martín in 2014,
which ‘portrays the problems of identity and assimilationof the Ainu people in Japan and means of preserving
and disseminating their culture’. Our reviewer Susan
Meehan contextualises the film, examining the historicalcircumstances surrounding this issue and pointing out
some of the contemporary questions and contradictions
presented in the documentary.
Alejandra Armendáriz-Hernández

Contents
1)

Keshiki series. New voices from Japan2)

Men without Women by Murakami Haruki

3)Femininity, Self-harm and Eating Disorders in Japan byGitte Marianne Hansen

4)

Ainu. Pathways to Memory directed by Marcos Centeno
Martín

EditorAlejandra Armendáriz-Hernández
Reviewers
Chris Corker, Charlotte Goff, Eluned Gramich and Susan Meehan.
(Image by Strangers Press)

Keshiki Series. New Voices from Japan
Time Differences by Tawada Yoko, translated byJeffrey Angles
The Transparent Labyrinth by Hirano Keiichiro,translated by Kerim Yasar
Mariko/ Mariquita by Ikezama Natsukim, translated by
Alfred Birnbaum
Friendship for Grown-ups by Yamazaki Nao-Cola,translated by Polly Barton
Mikumari by Kubo Misumi, translated by Polly Barton
The Girl Who is Getting Married by Matsuda Aoko,
translated by Angus Turvill
At the Edge of the Wood by Ono Masatsuga,translated by Julie Winters Carpenter
Spring Sleepers by Yoshida Kyoko
Strangers Press (2017)
ISBN-13: 978-1911343004
Review by Eluned Gramich
The first thing you notice about the Keshiki series –the new collection of contemporary Japanese writingfrom Strangers Press – is its striking beauty. Each of thechapbooks has its own unique design, which reflects
the atmosphere of the stories within. The importanceof the visual is brought home by the series’ title, Keshiki
or 景色, meaning ‘scene’ or ‘scenery’. These eightbooklets carry eight different views of an expansive
and ever-changing landscape.
The project, which began in
Norwich, has reached Japanese writers
and translators across the world. Yoshida
Kyoko, for instance, has chosen to writein her second language (English) rather
than her mother tongue. She is not the
only one to move between languages:
Tawada Yoko, a Japanese writer basedin Berlin, has written both in German and Japanese.
Tawada’s novella Time Differences, translated fromthe Japanese by Jeffrey Angles into a flowing English,
follows the lives of three young men, locked into acomplex love-triangle. Each of them is displaced: theJapanese teacher in Germany, the American in Japan,
the German in America. This is one of the more realist
stories in the series, and Tawada brings each place alive
through personal touches; details that no one but an
author who has spent time in those countries could
know. Each man lusts for the other, and behind theromantic yearning is also the shadow of homesickness.
Tawada succeeds in describing honestly and delicately
2

those complicated emotions that accompany living
abroad, the sadness that comes with not being in theright place at the right time.
Not being in the right place at
the right time is one of the central
turning points of Hirano Keiichiro’s
The Transparent Labyrinth, translatedby Kerim Yasar. Here, too, we are split
between countries: Hungary and Japan.
Europe and home. The way in whichliving abroad can change a person isbrought shockingly to life through a horrifying incidentof sexual violence. The main character, a Japanesebusinessman in Budapest, is drawn into a labyrinthof sex and deceit. He shares the experience with afellow ex-pat Misato, and falls in love with her. Whenhe returns to Japan, he finds her again and they begin
a passionate affair. But is it really the same Misato in
Japan as in Hungary? Yasar’s translation captures thedark world of surveillance and mystery, as Hirano’s
storytelling explores the dangers of being seduced byforeign lands. Okada’s isolation is symbolised by thetitle: ‘he had..., without knowing it, been wandering in alabyrinth, lost. (...) Its walls couldn’t be seen or touched,
and the world outside wasn’t obscured by even a traceof fog. How would he find a way out?’ Misato is the only
one who understands, but even she is an unknown
quantity. The Misato of Hungary and Misaki of Japanembody two aspects of the self: the one who wants tostay and the other who wants to leave.
A similar push-pull relationshipis played out in Ikezawa Natsuki’s
Mariko/Mariquita. The different selves
are encapsulated in the two names:
Mariko and Mariquita, the latter being
what Kyojiro’s lover calls herself on
the tropical island of Guam. Kyojiro, ayoung anthropologist, arrives to carryout fieldwork on a remote tropical island. As Pico
Iyer points out in the foreword (one piece of advice:
don’t read the foreword before the book. Some giveaway too much, others too little, and they’re far moreinteresting after you’ve formed your own impressions),
Ikezawa locates Japan, not in relation to Europe or
the USA, but in the South-Asian tropics alongside thePhilippines. It could not be further from the brooding
European cities in Tawada and Hirano’s works. Here it’s
all humidity, jet-skis, blue sky and shimmering horizons
as Kyojiro is forced to re-evaluate his unremarkable,
work-filled life after his affair with Mariko/Mariquita.
Alfred Birnbaum’s translation renders expertly into
Issue 69, Volume 12, Number 3 (June 2017)

English the different layers of tone – the casual andformal, the affecting and distancing. Will Koji be able
to leave everything behind for love?
These stories show how unwise
it is to fix your hopes on one person,
because they might not be who you
thought they were. In the final shortstory of Friendship for Grown-ups
by Yamazaki Nao-Cola: the thinly
disguised author, Yano Terumi ,discovers the difficulty expectations
can cause when she gets involved with a musician,
who is also a reader of her novels. Yano realises she
can’t separate herself from her persona as an ‘author’,no matter how hard she tries. In her writing, Yamazaki
seems more interested in the distance between lovers
than in what unites them. The title suggests that real
intimacy becomes more difficult as you grow older. To
have a real love-affair, it’s almost better to be a child:innocent, uncomplicated, trusting. The highlight inthis book is its beginning: an amoeba-to-human origin
myth mixed up with pop culture and tongue-in-cheekreferences to her characters. It’s funny and clever,and its wackiness is buoyed along by Polly Barton’stranslation: ‘People... began to make noises like “ah”
and “ooh”. And so language was born’.
Where Yamazaki’s charactersconsistently fail to get together –apart from the amoebas – sex is thecentrepiece of Kubo Misumi’s Mikumari.
By contrast to the sadomasochistic
elements in Tawada and Hirano’s
sexual encounters, Kubo’s story of anolder married cosplayer’s affair witha schoolboy is full of playful eroticism. A schoolboy
dresses up as anime characters and learn his lines before
each meeting with Anzu. In Mikumari, pretending tobe someone else isn’t necessarily a source of anxiety as
it is for Yano Terumi, but of intense pleasure. Throughthe boy’s narration, we get a glimpse into the childlessmarriage of the woman who’s initiating him into
adulthood, and the ending is surprisingly melancholy
and bittersweet.
Marriage is also the focus of Matsuda Aoko’s
aptly titled The Girl Who is Getting Married, which
follows a woman coming to terms with her bestfriend’s engagement. The storytelling is definedby psychological precision and sharp, aphoristic
commentary (Of a dead goldfish, the narrator says: ‘Even
the smallest of deaths has an undeniable splendour
when it happens in front of you’, and a shopping
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mall: ‘It is so bright you could forgetthe human race has such a thing as
shadows’). Matsuda spins the ordinary(the price of tights, for example, orhair removal) into the extraordinary.
This style also owes its clarity to thetranslator, Angus Turvill. As the story
develops, the narrator’s mask begins
to slip, revealing her fear of losing her friend, as well
as deeper fears about men and sex. After re-reading,
I’m still not sure whether this is a book about female
friendship, lesbian attachment or if it’s a confessional
soliloquy, or a mixture of all three at once.
In the Keshiki series, narratives
often disintegrate, obfuscate, mystify.
In Ono Masatsugu’s At the Edge of theWood, translated by the wonderful
Juliet Winters Carpenter (translator of
Mizumura Minae’s A True Story), we
leave the known – Japan, Germany,
Hungary, Guam – and enter anightmarish wonderland. Reminiscent of the deliberate
dislocation and timelessness of J. M. Coetzee’s The
Childhood of Jesus, Masatsugu tells the story of a father
and son living alone in a cottage near a wood, while his
pregnant wife is staying with her parents. The wood
is a place of supernatural power, filled with dwarves,
ghosts, changelings, and refugees whose presenceis never fully explained. An old woman appears, witha withered breast hanging out of her clothes, andseduces his son. The sound of coughing in the night,
harmless at first, grows increasingly menacing. Eventhe candles on a birthday cake becomes an object of
unnamable fear. Masatusugu is a master of balancing
the banal (“driving to the shopping centre again”) withthe ghostly (“the sound of coughing – the sound of aperson being strangled”), creating a disconcerting talethat moves between the real and unreal.
Nowhere else is the boundary
between real and unreal more blurredthan in sleeplessness. In Yoshida
Kyoko’s Spring Sleepers, the ‘genuine
insomnia’ sufferer Yuki is sent by his
doctor on a retreat. His journey takes
him to a topsy-turvy realm beyond ourworld, even our dimension: ‘The city
was now composed of lines and segments, angles
and curves. Triangles, circles, squares’. Language itself
breaks down: ‘Sun Light, Moon Reflect, River Flow, Wind
Blow’. Although written in English, Yoshida’s second
language, the play with words recalls Japanese kanji.
3Perhaps because English is not her mother tongue,
Yoshida’s language is often daring and punchy, giving
us phrases like ‘farewell-dressed’ and ‘cat-walked’,a playfulness which is evident, too, in the events ofthe story. As Brian Evenson notes in his introduction:‘Yoshida subtly passes back and forth between one
lens and the other, suggesting that literature is less anational enterprise and more a productive interchange
between genres, traditions, languages and cultures’.

Similarly, in her afterword, Yoshida writes that theaim of the Keshiki series is to create a home for thisinterchange between ‘migratory writers’. Travel,
migration and restlessness are at the heart of thesestories. As Yoshida says: ‘The language of our writing
is a strange land where we travel’. After reading andre-reading these stories, I can only hope that Keshiki
will continue its journey into new and unexploredterritories.§

Men Without Womenthe biggest failing in an otherwise very strong
collection, one which leaves the reader with muchfood for thought.
Male loneliness is not new ground for Murakami,
whose characters often find themselves deserted bytheir female partners. In both Wind Up Bird Chronicle
and Dance Dance Dance the protagonists’ partners
leave abruptly and without explanation. The stranded
males are forced afterwards to seek companionshipin oddballs, teenage girls and sometimes even talking
animals. Based in Tokyo, it’s likely that Murakami is
influenced by his surroundings. In no other city inthe world is loneliness so apparent, and in no othercity in the world have shrewd businesses so adeptly
catered for the demand for companionship. Fromhostess bars to maid cafes, to companion pillows andthe newly announced Gatebox, an alarm clock-cumdigital girlfriend which sends loving text messages
while its owner/boyfriend is at work. In a city with
one of the highest population densities in the world,
citizens are crammed so tightly together, but they
have never been so far apart. It is arguably that
Murakami’s portrayal of loneliness, which everyone
has experienced at some time and in some form,
is one of the key factors in his popularity. In Men
Without Women he gives it one of its most potently
heart-rending illustrations.
The beginning of the book welcomes the reader
into the comfort of familiarity. The first two stories
take the form of Beatles song titles, an enduring
theme of the Japanese author. ‘Drive My Car’ featuresa protagonist who, after losing his wife and turning
to drink, has his licence suspended and is unable todrive. When he hires a masculine female driver andthey form a close bond, he reveals the secrets of his
dead wife’s affair. This evolution of the protagonist
from one who drives women (his wife) to one who
is driven by a woman is one of the more pronounced
examples of gender role reversal. In ‘Yesterday’, aman recounts his friend from his youth in Tokyo, a

by Murakami Haruki
translated by Philip Gabriel
Harvill Secker (2017)
ISBN-13: 978-1911215370
Review by Chris Corker
Sharing its name with anErnest Hemmingway shortstory compilation released in
1927, Murakami’s Men without
Women, like its titular predecessor, deals not onlywith isolated masculinity, but also with the delicatelybalanced equilibrium of heterosexual relationships.
What is signified in the title is not only physical absenceof women in men’s lives but also the difficulty ofthese opposites to live harmoniously due to societalpressures. What at first glance appears to be anotherstraightforward battle of the sexes, however, soon
evolves into something far more sweeping in scope.
The difference between Hemmingway and
Murakami’s collections is the way they deal with
their respective gender roles. In Hemmingway’s
famous ‘Hills like White Elephants’, contained within
his Men Without Women, a couple reflect on theirdecision to have an abortion. The gender roles here
are clearly defined, the man practical but lacking in
empathy, the woman more empathetic but withoutthat functional mode of thought. In Murakami’s Men
Without Women, however, the case is best describedas inverted. It is the women who take the positionof power, who are also prone to infidelity and quick
to throw away sentiment. Meanwhile, the men areleft to pine and agonise, creating romantic illusions
to keep themselves content. The antiquated genderroles have been reversed. This effect, while successful
in ostensibly creating a sense of evolution, feels false
in reality. Simply switching one rigid stereotype withanother is a thinly-veiled ruse that often forces thecharacters into two-dimensionality. This is perhaps
4Issue 69, Volume 12, Number 3 (June 2017)

smart and good-looking young student with little
enthusiasm for taking the university entrance exams.
On a whim the friend decides to intensively study andthen completely mimic the Kansai Japanese dialect,much to the horror of his Tokyo-based parents andpreppy girlfriend.
While the awkwardness of male-female
relationships features heavily in these two stories, amore prominent theme begins to take shape. Whilein ‘Drive My Car’ the protagonist makes references
to having to play a part in his everyday life just to
survive (‘It’s gotten so hard that I have a hard time
drawing a clear line between the two. That’s what
serious acting is all about’ (p. 25), the protagonist
in ‘Yesterday’ wants nothing more than to shunpreconceived ideas about how he should live hislife. This is a theme that continues throughout thebook, the characters, regardless of their gender, often
finding it difficult to piece together the juxtaposedparts of themselves, one half what they are, one halfwhat they are supposed to be. ‘Because’, says theprotagonist at the beginning of ‘Yesterday‘, ‘in the
final analysis, the language we speak constitutes
who we are as people’ (p. 46). By the end of thestory, however, this sentiment seems hollow andthe protagonist contradicts himself in supporting his
friend’s decision.
‘Samsa in Love’ and ‘Scheherazade’ present
isolation in its literal and devastating form, theprotagonist being totally cut off from the world. Whilein ‘Samsa in Love’ this isolation is wrapped in intrigue
and never fully revealed, ‘Scheherazade’ deals with thereal-life Japanese phenomenon of hikkikomori, besttranslated as shut-ins; people who isolate themselvesfrom society in the most straightforward way by
never leaving their apartments. Scheherazade, so
dubbed by the protagonist, is a care worker who, like
Princess Scheherazade of A Thousand and One Nights,
entertains the protagonist with tantalising tales to draw
him out of himself. And, of course, this rehabilitation
also includes sex. Lots of it. This is a Murakami story
after all, and would therefore be incomplete withoutsome ailment being cured through intercourse with akindly, charming older woman.
‘An Independent Organ’ addresses ageing, but
is also replete with the themes of the collection as awhole, namely those of society’s pressure to conformand the reversal of gender roles. Dr Tokai, advancing
towards his sixties, is happily living the bachelor
lifestyle when he develops an unrequited love for ayounger woman. His pining for her is very much in theLatest reviews: www.japansociety.org.uk/resources/reviews/

style of stereotypical feminine behaviour, and indeed
when his condition is discussed by two concerned
parties his apparent anorexia is described as acondition that afflicts ‘almost always young women’.
As with the rest of the collection, however, Dr Tokai’s
love sickness is indicative of a deeper existential crisis.
On seeing an account of the dehumanizing process
in Nazi concentration camps, he begins to wonderat his own worth should his title, smart clothes andwealth be taken from him. The conclusion he comesto leaves him unable to take any further pleasure inlife.
The strongest story of the collection, ‘Kino’,brings with it echoes of Murakami’s best works. Thisis the sort of story that only Murakami can write,
the adventure that takes pace in a microcosm, asedentary Odyssey where Odysseus takes the plane
home because the seas look a bit choppy. The titular
Kino, after discovering his wife being unfaithful, quits
his job and opens up a small bar in a quiet suburb.
Listening to jazz and reading books, his routine inoccasionally interrupted by stray cats, Yakuza-types
and nymphomaniacs. Seemingly unmoved by his
wife’s conduct and their ongoing divorce process,Kino finds contentment in his self-created haven andits unbroken equilibrium.
One day, however, he begins to notice snakes
circling his bar and takes them as an ill omen. Whenone of his peculiar regulars advises him to leave before
something bad happens, he escapes to Kyushu. ‘Kino’
does a great job of introducing mystery and keeping
the reader intrigued, and while it does have many
similarities to Murakami’s earlier work, it’s difficult to
not wish that, as he turned the short story ‘Firefly’ into
Norwegian Wood, he couldn’t do the same here. As
it is, it remains an accomplished short story but also aprematurely-ended tease at something greater.
With this collection, Murakami, delves far
deeper than just the roles of the sexes to portray the
everyday artifice people rely onto survive in society,drawing focus on the unease this can cause withinthem. Those that actively shun this pretence findthemselves in no better predicament, inevitably
misunderstood by those around them and ostracisedfrom common society. In a book that grows in skill
and confidence with each story, Murakami has deftly
portrayed the modern human condition in a way thatis both sensual and heart-achingly sad.
In the final, titular, story ‘Men Without Women’,the protagonist’s ex-girlfriend is describing her loveof elevator music:5‘When I listen to this music I feel like I’m a wideopen, empty place. It’s a vast space, with nothing toclose it off. No walls, no ceiling. I don’t need to think,
don’t need to say anything [...] everything is simply
beautiful, peaceful, flowing. I can just be‘ (p. 227).

Femininity, Self-harm andEating Disorders in Japanby Gitte Marianne Hansen
Routledge (2015)
ISBN-13: 978-1138905306
Review by Charlotte Goff
Hansen tells us in the
introduction to Femininity,
Self-harm and Eating Disorders
in Japan that its inspiration came from a conversation
overheard not in Japan, but the Copenhagen fitness
club where she worked before moving to Japan.
The three subjects which form the mainstay of thisanalysis are concerns worldwide, but Hansen uses
Japanese visual and narrative culture as a window
into their thematisation in the specific context ofcontemporary Japan. Through careful evaluation ofmedia including anime, manga, television drama andliterature, Hansen addresses three central questions.
First, she asks what constitutes normative femininity incontemporary Japan. Second, Hansen questions how
this normative femininity is presented in Japaneseculture. Finally, she asks how self-harm and eating
disorders and their cultural representations relate tonormative femininity.
Modern Japanese women, Hansen argues,
find themselves torn between conflicting normsof femininity. The traditional feminine norm sees
woman as mother and wife, positioning her within thedomestic sphere, whilst a more recent but co-existing
norm locates women outside, in the social world.
Under pressure to perform multiple, paradoxical roles
in order to be accepted as women, Hansen claims
that both female characters and some real womenshow signs of fragmentation. These women seek
both to navigate ‘contradictive femininity’ and repair
their fragmented selves. For the female charactersin visual and narrative culture, techniques such as
the ‘doppelganger’ are deployed. Hansen looks forexample at Yazawa Ai’s manga series NANA, in which
two female characters both named Nana double
up in order to fulfil expectations in both domestic
and social spheres. In Anno Moyoco’s Hataraki-man
6

Despite all other hurdles that the characters
overcome in the world, despite everything else they
accomplish, it is this just being that always eludes
their grasp.§(working man), (1) female character Matsukata Hiroko
is able to transform between one version of herself
located in the traditional female norm, and anotherself, described as male, who is a successful journalist.
Non-fictional women, Hansen points out, areunable to use the techniques open to their createdcounterparts. These women therefore turn, sometimes,
to maladaptive coping mechanisms including selfharm and eating disorders. Whilst she does not claimthat self-harm and eating disorders are exclusively
the products of mixed messages about femininity,
Hansen conceives them as tools sometimes used in
the battle to navigate contradictive femininity. I wasleft wondering why Hansen chose to put self-harmand eating disorders in one category, beyond theirshared use of self-directed violence. It would havebeen interesting to see more consideration of related
behaviours such as suicide: though suicide is a hugeconcern in Japan, Hansen mentions it only briefly,
and blurs the distinction between self-harm andattempted suicide. However, she raises interesting
points about the culturally-defined nature of whatsocieties consider to be healthy or sick, questioning
the norms which dictate that self-cutting and purging
are pathologised, whilst cutting in the context ofpiercings or tattoos, or strict dieting, are thought
healthy.
Some of the most interesting parts of this text
were Hansen’s interpretations of implicit themes inJapanese culture. Her point that the name ‘Midori’ canbe considered a shorthand for someone rebellious,
who doesn’t follow social norms, as well as her analysisof Murakami’s short story Midori iro no kemono (thelittle green monster), prompted me to reconsider mybelief that Murakami’s books could be discounted
so quickly for portrayals of women who are passive
and written to distract or cater to the lone maleprotagonists. Hansen put forward a case for Murakami
as an author who, rather than perpetuating thesenegative images of women, exposes and implicitly
criticises them. Similarly, she subverts the acceptedidea that the female protagonists who predominate
Studio Ghibli’s output always represent a positive
image of femininity, through a detailed analysis of
implicit themes of disordered eating in Spirited Away.
Issue 69, Volume 12, Number 3 (June 2017)

It is clear that for Hansen, ‘feminine’ is not a fixed
position, but rather exists on a spectrum. Hansen
discusses female representations as varied as thewoman trapped in sand in Otsuichi’s short story
Mukashi yūhi no kōen de (long ago at dusk in thepark), to the housewife-turned-model Miki Makoto in
television drama Bara iro no seisen (the rose-coloured
crusade), to artist Aida Makoto’s Toretate ikura-don(bowl of rice with fresh salmon roe) in which a young
girl, stomach squeezed by male hands, dispenses
salmon roe from her vagina. She jumps, too, between

different forms of cultural product: from anime totext, and from TV drama to visual art. Because of this,in addition to its obvious appeal for people interested
in women’s studies and mental health, Hansen’s bookshould appeal to anyone wanting insight into diverse
Japanese narrative and visual media.§

Ainu. Pathways toMemoryare an indigenous people of northern Japan, Sakhalin,
the Kurile Islands, and the Kamchatka Peninsula.
Those living in Hokkaido were stripped of land andtheir culture when the island was incorporated into
Japan in 1869 by the Meiji government, which came
to power in 1868, marking the end of feudalistic Japanand the emergence of the modern Japanese state.
Many Ainu customs were prohibited and salmon
fishing and deer hunting, which the Ainu relied on,
were restricted. The Meiji government asserted
its control over Japan by affirming that Japan wassocially and culturally homogeneous, ignoring its
minority populations. An 1899 regulation promoted
the assimilation of the Ainu through learning theJapanese language and engaging in agriculture(rather than the hunter-gatherer ways of the Ainu).
This law was only abolished in 1997.
An interviewee remarks that former Prime
Minister Nakasone, as recently as 1986, said, ‘Japanis a racially homogenous nation, and there is nodiscrimination against ethnic minorities with Japanesecitizenship’. This comment bothered and politicisedmany Ainu at the time, keen to redress this perception(4). Centeno finds it imperative to show how the
Ainu’s lifestyle and culture were suppressed by the
Meiji government and how they were dispossessedof their lands. A number of Ainu are concerned withremedying this obliteration of their culture by making
efforts to reassert it. These ‘paths to memory’ – assome of the Ainu revive or restage ancient ways of lifeand share their history and culture with the younger
generations, both Ainu and wajin (non-Ainu Japanese)
seem to be a source of self-worth.
The film doesn’t provide any clues as to whether
the non-Ainu Japanese care much about landmarks
for the Ainu such as the Japanese Diet recognizing
the Ainu as indigenous people in 2008, but my senseis that most feel that the Ainu have largely assimilated.

directed by Marcos Centeno
MartínReleased in 2014
Review by Susan Meehan
Marcos Centeno Martín isa lecturer in Film Studies,
Department of Japan and
Korea at SOAS, University of London. In 2014, hereleased Ainu. Pathways to Memory, ‘which portrays
the problems of identity and assimilation of the
Ainu people in Japan and means of preserving anddisseminating their culture’ (1).
Concern about the preservation of the Ainu
and Ainu culture is nothing new. In 1910, The Daily
News reported, ‘The politest people of earth came to
London yesterday. They were a party of Ainu, relicsof a dying race, which is said to have once occupied
the same position with regard to the Japanese as did
the Saxons to Britain...’. These ten Ainu had come to
be exhibited as a living display at the Japan-British
exhibition of 1910 (2). Fortunately, the Ainu still exist,
though numbers have severely dwindled. The official
number of Ainu in Japan stands at 25,000 though it islikely that only 20,000 exist.
Centeno’s thorough research into the Ainu overthe last ten years has fed into his film. It is a mixtureof informative documentary and interviews with
Ainu specialists in Japan and Europe and with Ainu inJapan. His aim is to shed light on and to support the
Ainu community as it attempts ‘to regain its culture
and dignity’ (3). Centeno’s voice-over and interviews
with three Ainu specialists from the University of
Hokkaido (Dr Okada Mayumi, Dr Wakazono Yushiro
and Dr Ochiai Ken’ichi), establish the basics – the Ainu
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Note(1) Translations are Gitte Marianne Hansen’s.

7

While the first half of the film shows Centeno’s
interviewees addressing the frailty of Ainu culture andthe discrimination the Ainu have encountered, thelatter part focuses on concrete efforts to revive the
Ainu language and Ainu culture.
Centeno visits various cultural centres andmuseums which are promoting the preservation of
the Ainu culture including the Ainu Culture Centre inTokyo, the Museum of Ainu culture established in 1992
in Nibutani and the Shiraoi museum which dates backto the 1970s. The museums in Shiraoi and Nibutani
look like 19th-century Ainu villages replete with chiseor Ainu-style houses made of wood and thatchedroofs. This was done, it is suggested, to recover an old
way of building houses. Though these museums are
one way for the Ainu to present their culture, there
is often a theme park element to them. Some of the
Ainu who promote Ainu music or culture at these sites
tend to live a somewhat dual existence straddlingtheir current life and this other romanticised version.
It is amiss to suggest a collective identity forcontemporary Ainu, who are such a diverse groupof people. The very end of the documentary hinges
on the fact that Ainu culture still exists and can be
expressed in many ways, not just through Ainu dance,
and that many young Ainu are looking towards a new
future. This is certainly worth further investigation.
There is no question that Centeno is a passionate
advocate of Ainu culture and I would agree that it isimportant to maintain diversity and different typesof culture and ways of life which embrace a range ofthinking and encourage the acceptance of a variety oflifestyles. While Centeno presents a platform for theinterviewees and refrains from providing ready-madeconclusions, his choice of interviewees is limited andthey largely share the same opinions. There is also alack of young Ainu representation.
The exchanges with the Japanese academics area bit dry, and fairly historical rather than reflective of
the present situation. The interviews are divided up
into short segments and interleaved with one another,making it all feel rather patchy. The soundtrack is amish-mash as well, partly Ainu music and partly fusion,
merely adding exotic background music.
Nevertheless, it is undeniable that many Ainu
are justifiably and demonstrably seeking to recoveror even reconstruct their culture before the last few
remaining Ainu-speaking members of the community
die out. In many cases this is from a sense of pride,
identity and validation. The importance to them of

Image from Ainu. Pathways to Memory

their Ainu identity cannot be underestimated. Politicalactivism has been a factor in rescuing languages fromextinction, so the Ainu should not lose hope as theirprecious language and/or way of life can be salvaged
if there is a will. As Judith Thurman points out in a
fascinating article for The New Yorker, the BBC finallylaunched a Welsh language radio station in 1977 andsince 1999 Welsh language instruction for students
up to the age of 16 has been mandatory in Welsh
state schools, leading to a revival of the language.
In 2011, 19% of the Welsh population were found to
speak Welsh (5).
Though few speakers of Ainu exist, the language
seems to be undergoing something of a renaissanceand it is through films like Centeno’s that this interest
can be encouraged amongst Ainu and non-Ainu
alike.§
Notes(1) From the documentary’s official website, https://ainumemoryfilm.com/los-creadores/.
(2) Miyatake, Kimio, ‘Ainu in London 1910: Power,
Representation and Practice of the Ainu Village’, in
Hotta-Lister, Ayako and Nish, Ian(eds.), Commerce andCulture at the 1910 Japan-British Exhibition, Centenary
Perspectives, Global Oriental, 2013, p.112.
(3) From the documentary’s official website, https://ainumemoryfilm.com/sinopsis-del-documental/.
(4) In a retrograde step, I discovered that as recently as
2014, a member of the Hokkaido Prefectural Assembly
stirred controversy by stating it is ‘highly questionable’
that the Ainu are an indigenous people of northern
Japan (‘A Shameful Statement on Ainu’, The Japan
Times, editorial, 17 November 2014).
(5) Thurman, Judith, ‘A Loss for Words – Can a Dying
Language be Saved?’, The New Yorker, 30 March 2015.