After five days of looking at translations of Murasaki Shikibu’s The Tale of Genji, I realise I’ve been putting together a Women in Translation Month project with a slight flaw.  You see, while the original book was written by a woman, that isn’t the case with the English-language versions I’ve covered so far, with all having been written by men.  However, there is one version translated by a woman, even if it’s rather short, and after a fortuitous discovery, I’m just in time to take a quick look at it.  Don’t expect too much from today’s post, though – this is very much a partial look at a partial translation 😉

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The late American scholar Helen Craig McCullough is perhaps best known for her translation of the Japanese warrior-epic The Tale of the Heike (which I read in Royall Tyler’s version), and wanting to come up with a version of that book that would be manageable in a university course, in 1994 she produced Genji & Heike: Selections from The Tale of Genji and The Tale of the Heike (published by Stanford University Press).  It’s a book I was aware of but unable to get through my local library, but a couple of days ago, translator Janine Beichman pointed me in the direction of a sample available from Google Books, allowing me to take a brief look at McCullough’s version of the Tale.

McCullough’s work is an intriguing book that enables university lecturers to cover two Japanese classics in one semester without having to cut out everything else (like sleep).  The Genji side consists of ten chapters, all featuring the Shining Prince himself (there’s nothing here from the later Uji chapters), with the majority focusing on his early life (‘Akashi’, the thirteenth chapter of fifty-four, is the eighth of these inclusions).  While I only got to sample a few chapters (what’s available seems to change by the day…), it was enough to get a good feel for the McCullough style.

And a nice style it is, too.  The writing eases the reader into the story well enough, and McCullough finds her place somewhere between Tyler and Arthur Waley with an enjoyable approach.  Take this brief example from ‘Hahakigi’:

“A gentle, shy woman of the second kind may pretend not to notice things about which she may justifiably complain.  To all outward appearances, she has nothing on her mind.  But when she reaches the breaking point, she flees in secret to some remote mountain dwelling or isolated shore, leaving behind an indescribably poignant letter, a pathetic poem, and mementos that are sure to make a man think of her, whether he wants to or not.”
‘The Broom Tree’, p.46 (Stanford University Press, 1994)

The text is generally clear and easy to read, and it certainly stands up well to comparisons with other versions, especially the overly wordy Washburn Genji…

If the prose is good in an understated way, it’s the poetry where McCullough forges her own path with yet another variation of style.  The original Japanese Tanka poems, although written in one line, are constructed of two parts: the first has three groups of five syllables, seven syllables, then five again, while the second part consists of two parts each of seven syllables.  The translator makes this clear in her version, dividing the poems into five lines of appropriate syllable count, with romanised Japanese facing the translation:

     asagiri no                               The one who starts for home
harema mo matanu              without even awaiting
     keshiki nite                             a break in the fog
hana ni kokoro o                   would seem to care but little
tomenu to zo miru                about a flower in bloom
‘Yūgao’, p.64

You’ll notice, too, indents indicating the shorter lines.  The addition of the Japanese is a nice touch, and I enjoyed McCullough’s efforts here, quite apart from the unique style.

Other interesting aspects of the McCullough translation include chapter titles and character names.  The translator opts for a mix of the original (‘Kiritsubo’, ‘Yūgao’) and the new (‘The Broom Tree’, ‘Young Murasaki’), which are generally true to the original, when titling the sections.  She also uses more Japanese titles than other versions for minor characters (e.g. Yugei-no-Myōbu, Uma-no-Kami), but has consistent names for the main characters, often clearly introduced at their first appearance:

To her ladies-in-waiting, her guardians, and her older brother, Prince Hyōbukyō, it seemed that palace life, with its opportunities for diversion, would be preferable to a lonely private existence, and so she was presented.  She became known as the Fujitsubo lady.
‘Kiritsubo’, p.36

This all helps to keep the text manageable without detracting from the flow of the Tale.

When it comes to footnotes, McCullough isn’t quite on the Tyler level, but she does provide a good number.  Many are used to explain the poems of course, but there are plenty of other useful gems, such as when in ‘Kiritsubo’, there’s talk of a ‘bedmate’ for the young Genji.  The translator says:

17.  When a prince was initiated into manhood, the event was normally climaxed by the acquisition of a feminine bed partner (soibushi), a girl of good family, often somewhat his senior, who usually became his principal wife later.
‘Kiritsubo’, p.38

Of course, this is exactly what happens here with Genji and Aoi.  This note is just one of many helpful explanations, which are perhaps more practical than in some other translations.

There are some shortcomings to Genji & Heike: Selections from The Tale of Genji and The Tale of the Heike, but they have less to do with the translation than with the book itself.  As noted above, it only contains ten chapters, and even here ‘Hahakigi’ only has the first half, the famous ‘rainy night conversation’ (the second half, from which the chapter gets its name, is omitted, along with the following ‘Utsusemi’ chapter which continues that story).  There’s also the issue of availability.  As a university press release, a new copy can be fairly pricy, so you might have to hunt around to source an affordable second-hand copy in decent condition.

Still, overall, the McCullough Genji makes for a nice addition to the collection of English-language translations, and if you can find a copy, it might be a good choice for a newcomer to classic J-Lit.  You see, with the addition of extracts from The Tale of the Heike, you’re effectively getting an easy introduction to two classics in the one book.  No, it’s not the whole story, but there’s plenty there to whet the appetite, and if it does persuade you to go on to a full read in the future, you know where to find out which full version you should try next 🙂