The Revival of Bunroku Shishi

The works of Bunroku Shishi (real name Toyoo Iwata, 1893–1969), a popular author of the Showa era, have been republished one after another in recent years, creating a quiet boom.

After Mr. Makimura wrote the critical biography "The Two Showas of Bunroku Shishi" in 2009, we gradually started receiving inquiries from publishers asking to include portions of his work. Then in 2013, someone at Chikuma Bunko who had moved from sales to editorial apparently read my father's work and expressed a strong desire to publish it. The first book to be republished was "Coffee and Love" (1963). It was very well-received and is already in its 17th printing.

That is impressive.

The cover design and other aspects were presented with a fresh perspective. I think it's significant that, in addition to readers who used to read my father's old works, a new demographic has become interested. I've heard that young women are also buying them, so I feel he has been blessed with a new readership.

After that, "Seven and a Half Hours" (1960) was released as the second book, and since then, they have been releasing two books a year. Also, Chuko Bunko has been publishing revised editions of books they had previously released.

"Seishun Kaidan" (Youth Ghost Story), for which I wrote the commentary, was released in January, and a reprint was decided within five days of its release. I heard that's the shortest time ever, so it really feels like the time is ripe.

Ms. Yamazaki, what was your initial motivation for reading his work?

About ten years ago, there was a boom among young men and women in the cultural scene to dig up and rediscover old Showa-era books with beautiful cover designs or things that were still interesting to read today. Bunroku Shishi's name came up often back then.

Around that time, I was also doing things like finding and enjoying Bunroku Shishi in used bookstores. For "Coffee and Love," Keiichi Sokabe of the rock band Sunny Day Service wrote the commentary, didn't he? Because of things like that, Bunroku Shishi's name was quite well-known among people who like retro literature.

At used book fairs run by female shop owners, not only novels but also many essays were lined up. Works like "My Food Travels" (1976) and the marriage advice column "A Hundred Scenes of Couples" (1957) were also popular. I made it a point to say "I'm a fan of Bunroku Shishi" whenever I had the chance (laughs).

What other authors do those people read?

Midori Ozaki was very popular. She often wrote about Bunroku Shishi in her diary, and information like "Midori Ozaki was also a big fan of Bunroku Shishi" was starting to become known.

Of course, we didn't experience Bunroku Shishi's heyday firsthand, but many films remain. So, there was a trend of collecting Bunroku Shishi at used bookstores and simultaneously watching the films at repertory cinemas.

Mr. Makimura, how do you view the recent boom?

When I was young, even if I went to a bookstore wanting to read Bunroku Shishi, his books were completely unavailable.

My father, who was born in the Taisho era and graduated from Keio, had several of Bunroku's books on his shelf. I had been reading them since junior high school and thought they were interesting. About 15 years ago, I was in charge of the book review section for the Asahi Shimbun. I read "Musume to Watashi" (My Daughter and I, 1953–56) for work, and although it was my second time, I found it incredibly interesting and wrote about it in a small newspaper column.

The response was enormous. It wasn't from the younger generation like Ms. Yamazaki, but from old fans who said things like, "I read this when I was a schoolgirl," or "I read 'Kaigun' (The Navy, 1942) during the war and joined the Navy." There were many people who overlapped their own lives and Showa history with Bunroku's works and way of life.

So, I realized this author had a huge potential readership and read everything I could get my hands on. My theme as a reporter was "Showa History and Literati," and while Bunroku's works seem lighthearted, they actually possess a very deep level of cultivation. I felt it was a real waste for him to be treated like a mere fad author of the past. That's why I wrote "The Two Showas." I think the generation of old fans and the younger generation like Ms. Yamazaki are overlapping right now.

Works that weren't in bookstores until now are starting to appear on the shelves, and I'm sure many old fans are buying them again.

That may be true. This kind of thing is probably rare—not just old fans, but young readers are biting as well. I think that's the greatness of Bunroku.

I don't really know how big the name Bunroku Shishi was in the past, but for "Seishun Kaidan" (1955) and "Jiyu Gakko" (Free School, 1951), film companies competed to adapt them into movies in the same year they were published.

And since "Musume to Watashi" was the source material for the very first NHK morning drama (Asadora), he must have been an incredibly popular author.

I wasn't his contemporary either, but I think he was truly a popular author. His books were lined up in rows on the shelves of Kadokawa Bunko and Shincho Bunko. Also, as you mentioned, Daiei and Shochiku released movies with the same original story and title on the same day. And that was during the golden age of cinema.

Since I was born when my father was sixty, I only saw him as an author during my childhood. My father wrote at home; his daily life consisted of writing manuscripts in the morning and having various visitors come to the house in the afternoon. Since he was also involved in theater, people from publishing and theater came by every single day.

Where was your home at that time?

It was in Akasaka, Tokyo.

Did you have the impression that he was always busy?

However, unlike the typical image of an "author," he was someone who was very punctual. He wrote a set number of manuscript pages every morning with great regularity.

It's amazing that he did it properly in the morning. In a book I read recently called "Daily Rituals: How Artists Work," it said that good writers do their work in the morning.

One usually has an image of them writing in the middle of the night.

I thought so too. I'd love to know Bunroku Shishi's daily routine (laughs). Was he an early riser?

He would wake up around 7:00 and write his manuscripts. Given his age, the father I knew was probably slightly past his peak as a writer.

Bunroku was a disciplined person and didn't seem to care much for the so-called "Buraiha" (decadent) or stereotypical literary youth types. He was involved in Shingeki (modern theater) and the founding of the "Bungakuza" theater company, but theater people often tend to be quite disorganized (laughs), or some get too deeply immersed. He wasn't that type.

For example, he absolutely kept his manuscript deadlines. He seemed to be someone who wouldn't allow any indulgence—either for himself or others—just because he was a man of letters. He was apparently strict with others as well. For instance, regarding manuscript fees, which are often treated with a sort of tacit understanding in the industry, Bunroku would confirm them clearly. And in return, he kept his deadlines. I've heard from seniors that if an editor was a bit sloppy, Bunroku would scold them severely.

I feel that being disciplined in various aspects is what led to such a large body of work.

Also, he was a big eater, especially when he was young. There was a period before Mr. Iwata was born when he lived in Sendagaya.

He was probably in his 40s then; he would work in the morning and apparently eat a huge lunch. Then he would spend over an hour walking around the Japan Young Men's Hall and the National Stadium area to digest his food. Although he was a heavy drinker, he lived a self-disciplined life. Just as he set aside time in the morning for writing, he was a person of rational thinking.

At home, did he tell his children to discipline their lives?

No, he didn't say things like that much. It seems my father also had a period when his life was a bit wild around the age of 20.

However, he was strict about money. I remember being scolded severely when I lost a wristwatch he had just bought for me (laughs). But generally, he was more like, "You're a boy, so do as you please."

Having studied in France, Shishi's works give a very stylish impression. His descriptions of food and women's clothing are both accurate and skillful, and very chic. While he was disciplined himself, he was also very good at depicting slovenly characters (laughs).

When would you say was the peak of Bunroku Shishi's popularity?

He had major hits both before and after the war. Before the war, "Kaigun" sold incredibly well, and he received the Asahi Prize, sponsored by the Asahi Shimbun, along with people like Tsuguharu Foujita. I think this was one peak for him as a writer. After the war, he gained popularity again with "Tenya Wanya" (1949) and "Jiyu Gakko," and "Oban" (1956–58) was a massive hit. After the war, he was probably busiest around the mid-1950s, right around the time Mr. Iwata was born.

Since I was born unexpectedly, he must have been working hard to earn money for my milk (laughs).

There's something that overlaps between Tsuguharu Foujita and Bunroku Shishi.

They both studied in France.

Yes, I feel a strong connection between "Kaigun" and war paintings like "Final Fighting on Attu."

Our generation knows that "Tenya Wanya" and "Oban" were huge hits after the war, but we tend to really like things like "Coffee and Love" or "Seishun Kaidan." It's interesting that there's a slight gap between what was a hit back then and what appeals to the younger generation now.

That's true. In "Jiyu Gakko" and "Tenya Wanya," although Bunroku writes skillfully and lightly, the heavy atmosphere of the war still clearly remains. On the other hand, "Coffee and Love" and "Seishun Kaidan" are works from around 1955, the beginning of the high-growth era, when the weight of the war was fading and the times were becoming a bit lighter and brighter. I think that atmosphere synchronizes with the present day.

I re-read "Seishun Kaidan" to write the commentary this time, and both the old and new generations appear in it. The memories of the war held by the old generation come through vividly, and because of that, the message that the younger generation should live freely comes across very strongly.

The younger generation today is suffering from various frictions that are different from the war back then, and it feels as if they are being told to live freely. "Coffee and Love" is like that too, and "Et-chan" (1937) is also very lighthearted.

It's like saying, let's throw away fixed ideas about masculinity or femininity and just relax a bit more.

Yes, now there are old fans, real-time fans, and people like Mr. Makimura who belong to the so-called rediscovery generation. So, he's the type of author who gets discovered over and over again.

In a word, I think it means he doesn't grow old. Like Soseki Natsume, all popular authors write using the events and customs of their time as material. Some authors grow dated because of that, but neither Soseki nor Bunroku ever do. The material might get old, but the themes are eternal. That's why I thought he wasn't the kind of author who would perish even if he disappeared from bookstores for a while.

Regarding the fact that he disappeared from bookstores for a while, was it partly because he had sold too much?

I think there was a difference in evaluation between readers and professional critics. He wasn't easily included in the genre of so-called "authors who remain in history," and seemed to be standing a bit apart.

What was his reputation like in literary circles?

Bunroku's main stages were newspapers and "Shufu no Tomo" (Housewife's Friend). Newspaper novelists might have been looked down upon a bit. He was hardly ever picked up by the so-called literary establishment; there were no critiques of Bunroku Shishi back then, and there are still almost none today.

However, perhaps due to personal friendships, people like Hideo Kobayashi and Hiroyuki Agawa evaluated Bunroku very highly.

Was there a tendency to disregard things that were light and bright?

The mainstream of the literary world was the "I-novel," which seriously pursued the inner self to the limit, and the prose had to be extremely elaborate. Since things like the "God of Literature" were considered the highest class, he was a bit of a different type.

All of Bunroku Shishi's works are full of humor. Where does that sense of humor, brightness, and lightness come from?

I think the fact that he started in theater is a big factor.

That's right. Since his starting point was as a man of the theater, above all, his dialogue is excellent. His use of quotation marks is wonderful.

Traditional novelists compete on how well they can write the narrative text, don't they? Since Bunroku returned after studying modern French theater, he has a mastery of dialogue—he's good at so-called "killer lines." For example, Isosuke and Komako in "Jiyu Gakko." Komako says to Isosuke, "Get out!" This single phrase, "Get out!", really feels like the world of theater. There are many such killer lines. I think the fact that he was a man of the theater is the definitive keyword for Bunroku's literature.

That is exactly why so many of his works have been adapted for the screen.

Exactly. There is a clear narrative structure, the scenes are distinct, and the endings leave a lasting impression. While some call his style stage-like or formulaic, his deep cultivation makes every single scene truly profound.

The characters stand out, yet they are interesting because they aren't stereotypes. They are easy to understand, but they have real depth and nuance. I imagine they are very rewarding for actors to play.

Also, when watching the films, many follow the novels very faithfully. I think that's because the novels are written in a way that they can become movies as they are. The imagery pops into your head instantly.

Yes, they are very cinematic.

He doesn't write tedious details, yet the scenes come alive before your eyes. I'm particularly impressed by how well he depicts the city; it makes you want to actually go there. Or you recognize it and think, "Oh, I know that place."

In the upcoming "Seishun Kaidan," places like Akasaka and Kugenuma appear. Kugenuma is where my father's younger brother lived for a long time. So when I read it, I can tell, "Ah, this is that place."

"Seishun Kaidan" is actually a novel with a lot of travel distance. The woman's house is toward Kugenuma, and the boy's house is a modern apartment in Akasaka. The two members of the older generation meet at the cemetery in Koganei, and the end is at Mukojima Hyakkaen. It covers a lot of ground. There aren't many authors who can use locations so effectively. In this respect, too, I think it's a work that looks great on film.

I also really like "Et-chan." This is also very cinematic; it's set in the streets of Tokyo, but it makes me feel like I'm watching a Hollywood Shirley Temple movie. Even though it's set in Tokyo, I don't think there are many novels with such a sophisticated, "high-collar" feel.

Being cinematic might be an element that makes it easy for the younger generation to accept.

Yes, "Shichijikan-han" (Seven and a Half Hours) is being accepted in the same way. It's from an era when it took seven and a half hours to get from Tokyo to Osaka. Within that seven-and-a-half-hour timeframe, and in the limited location of a train, various dramas unfold.

There are scenes like Act 1 Scene 1, Act 2 Scene 1, Scene 2, and so on. Since he was a man of the theater, he might have written with the constant mindset of, "I'll make this part of Act 3 into this kind of scene."

Are there many plays written by Shishi Bunroku?

There aren't many, but they exist. The most famous is "Higashi wa Higashi" (East is East, 1933). I definitely want you to read it. It's a short but serious play, and the theme is how fundamentally difficult cross-cultural understanding is. Bunroku's first wife was French; they had a child, but things didn't go well, and she returned to France and passed away. Based on that painful experience, he swapped the era and the roles of the man and woman to depict how difficult it is to live in a different world with a different race. International marriage is not uncommon now, but it's a very modern theme.

Since the novels are being reprinted in paperback so much, I'd love to see the plays as well. It would be different if today's actors performed them.

Perhaps by a troupe like Bungakuza.

Yes, I'd like to see them try it.

Regarding the connection with Keio University, Bunroku-san went from the Yochisha Elementary School to the Keio Futsubu School, and then from the department of political economy to the literature department at the university. Also, Bunroku-san's father was a student of Yukichi Fukuzawa.

My grandfather was named Shigeho Iwata, and like Yukichi Fukuzawa, he was from Nakatsu. In the end, he respected Yukichi Fukuzawa and entered Keio University, but initially, he rebelled against the teacher's progressive ideas and was even made to join a group to assassinate him. I've heard that he then switched sides and became one of the teacher's disciples.

That's dramatic. I wish he had turned that into a novel. It would have been very interesting.

The connection between my grandfather and Yukichi Fukuzawa seems to have been quite deep. After entering Keio University, and I believe with the teacher's guidance, he studied abroad in America for a year and started a business in Yokohama upon his return. The father of the woman he married was a man named Jinta Hirayama from Mikawa, who was a pyrotechnician in Yokohama. He also managed an inn, which people from Keio University who were from Nakatsu apparently used. My grandfather and the daughter there were brought together, and the person who introduced them was Tokujirō Obata.

My father's name, "Toyoo," also comes from the character "Toyo" in Nakatsu = Buzen Province (Toyo-no-kuni). I've heard that it was also Tokujirō Obata who gave him that name.

After the war, Bunroku-san moved from Oiso, where he had been living, to Akasaka. I heard that was for his child's education. Was he already thinking of putting them into Keio University at that time?

It seems he hadn't decided on the Yochisha specifically, but he did want to put them in a school in Tokyo.

Mantaro Kubota, who graduated from Keio University and co-founded Bungakuza, was about the same age as Bunroku-san. So was the former President Shinzo Koizumi.

That's right. When he entered the Keio Futsubu School, Shinzo Koizumi was a university student and apparently taught him tennis.

Among writers, Hideo Kobayashi also lived in Shonan, so they were close. Also, Eiji Yoshikawa, since their houses were close in Akasaka.

The house in Oiso was very memorable in "Musume to Watashi" (My Daughter and I), but was the house in Akasaka a modern apartment like the one in "Seishun Kaidan"?

No, that's the strange part; "Seishun Kaidan" was published in 1955. He moved to Akasaka in 1958, so the timing doesn't quite match. I wonder how he wrote about Akasaka.

I see. In that work, it was a very modern house with a unit kitchen and such, and it was depicted as if the heroine felt suffocated.

I don't think he was that particular about his own house.

What was his study like?

He used two studies, one Japanese-style and one Western-style. Depending on his mood, he would switch between writing in the tatami room or at a table.

Was it a fountain pen, after all?

No, he used a mechanical pencil.

A mechanical pencil! That's unexpected.

How modern.

I wonder what brand of mechanical pencil it was. I'm very curious (laughs).

That might be where his rationalism came out, but he didn't seem to have a strong insistence that it had to be a specific piece of stationery.

Are the original manuscripts still at home?

Most of them are entrusted to the Kanagawa Museum of Modern Literature.

We should definitely do a Shishi Bunroku exhibition.

I went to the Kanagawa Museum of Modern Literature quite often when I was writing "Futatsu no Showa." They have an enormous amount of materials on Bunroku-san there. I think it was around last year that they were talking about wanting to do something about Bunroku-san.

I'd love to see the original manuscripts and know about his favorite items. He also wrote essays about food, so I'm very curious about what kind of breakfast he always ate (laughs).

He ate bread in the morning. He would have regular toast.

Always bread in the morning?

Yes. And coffee.

Was he particular about his coffee?

It was an era when there weren't many varieties yet, but it wasn't instant; he would put grounds in a percolator.

Wow, that was quite stylish for the time.

My grandfather had a business near the foreign settlement in Yokohama, so I think he had been seeing various foreigners since he was a child. Also, after entering the Yochisha, he stayed in the Mita dormitory, so he might have seen new things in places like that as well.

Was he sensitive to new information?

It seems he clearly distinguished between things he was interested in and things he wasn't. Even when listening to people talk, if the content became something he was interested in, he would suddenly perk up (laughs).

I think one of the reasons he is read by young women is that he is very good at depicting women. He doesn't just depict strong women in a one-dimensional way, and they aren't all beauties, but the way he writes them is very skillful and charming. You can also feel a sense of independence in the women.

"Coffee to Ren'ai" (Coffee and Love) also has a protagonist who is good at brewing coffee, and women probably find it refreshing that she leaves behind her useless young husband and the people who only want her coffee-making skills to travel to Europe. In "Shichijikan-han," the girls who appear are also very resolute. Conversely, I think today's literature might be lacking in those kinds of female figures.

I see.

"Danpatsu Jochu" (The Bobbed-Hair Maid, 1940) is an old work, but a maid who is like a Modern Girl appears and says surprisingly modern things. You can't easily find this kind of female figure in works that are on the surface of literary history. I think that's why it feels fresh to girls today.

From my perspective, the image of my father studying women doesn't really click. So, when I read my father's works later, I wondered, "How can he write dialogue for women like this?" (laughs).

In "Musume to Watashi," I think the way he depicts his daughter and how he interacts with her is wonderful.

I think Bunroku-san was a person of Showa Modernism at his core. He was the generation after Taisho intellectualism. Showa Modernism was an era when new women like the Modern Girls came out into the city, as seen in the Shingeki theater movement.

Before the war, Bunroku-san was interviewing them. For example, if he heard that "anmitsu" was popular among women working at department stores, he would gather those women and take notes on their raw words, like what was delicious or what they called certain things.

That's a lovely story.

I believe it was around 1935; even back then, he had the intellect and the skill to capture the sensibilities of young women.

He came from the Shingeki (New Theater) movement, but even within that, the Tsukiji Little Theater style was a bit old-fashioned. He belonged to the next generation. It was an era where proletarian theater and aestheticism were in fierce competition.

Since he was with Bungakuza, he leaned toward aestheticism. However, what he learned in France from directors like Jacques Copeau wasn't just experimental theatrical techniques; it was the idea that a play cannot exist unless it pleases the audience. He believed that those who only please themselves are no good, and proletarian theater is even worse because it places art beneath ideology.

He belongs to the aestheticist school, but the reason his work never became thin or frail is likely because he learned in Paris that a play only truly exists when it has a broad readership and audience. This is a philosophy that also connects to newspaper serials.

I also like modernist literature, but those things largely vanished with the war. In that context, the reason Shishi Bunroku became a popular writer again after the war was perhaps because he had internalized that kind of mass appeal.

There was a modernist magazine called "Shinseinen" (New Youth) founded in 1920. He contributed to it when he was young. So, he must have had a sense for the things that fashionable young people would gravitate toward. It's a bit different from the Taisho-era intellectualism associated with Iwanami.

From the perspective of our generation, it's very gratifying that those elements survived and continued into the post-war period.

That's probably because he wasn't part of the mainstream literary establishment (laughs).

There is a certain charm that comes precisely from not being mainstream.

Laughter is exactly like that. Right now, the Asahi Shimbun is re-serializing Soseki's "I Am a Cat," but Soseki himself stopped writing humor after that. So, the lineage of humor in modern Japanese literature is very thin.

It feels like there was quite a bit of humorous literature before the war, but then it suddenly vanished. Also, because he wasn't mainstream, our generation feels a sense of "we discovered him ourselves."

There might be something to that.

The father I knew was over 60, and back then, 60 was truly an old man. He was naturally a man of few words, and I don't recall him being a particularly funny conversationalist.

However, he gave interesting names to all sorts of things. Shortly before he passed away, he organized a golf group and named it the "Fukidamari-kai" (The Drifts Society) (laughs). He said everyone had grown old and couldn't get good scores anymore, so they were piling up like fallen leaves, but occasionally a wind blows and they flutter up. I thought that kind of naming was clever—very much like him.

Is there a particular work by Bunroku-san that you like the most?

My image of my father is that he was quite masculine; he wasn't the type to crack jokes at home. So, I prefer works like "Oban" that feature masculine characters.

The film version of "Oban" was also a huge hit.

Daisuke Kato played the lead, didn't he?

I started with "Coffee and Love," so I'd like to recommend that, though men might have different opinions.

For me, it's definitely "Musume to Watashi" (My Daughter and I). I think it's a masterpiece of autobiographical literature. There was a journalist and historian named Tokutomi Soho who was active from the Meiji to the Showa era. He lived a long life into the post-war period, and there's a story that Soho highly praised "Musume to Watashi."

I think it's an excellent novel for parents with children to read, especially for fathers with daughters. I can't help but read it in the context of the Showa era, but even without that, you can feel the joy of reading autobiographical literature. "The Autobiography of Fukuzawa Yukichi" is known as a representative work of the genre, and I think this stands alongside it.

For those reading him for the first time, I'd suggest starting with recently popular works like "Coffee and Love" or "Seven and a Half Hours." If you find those interesting, reading "Musume to Watashi" will give you a good understanding of what kind of person the author was. Also, "Et-chan" is good—very refreshing. The novel "Nobuko" is also good; it's like a modern version of "Botchan."

Reprints are coming out one after another, but there are still many that haven't been re-released. Like "Hakone-yama." Also, I really like his short stories, so I hope more short story collections will be published. The kind I used to buy at secondhand bookstores.

Are there many in secondhand bookstores?

There are fewer than there used to be, but for the older editions, Shishi Bunroku's books often have very stylish cover designs, so I still collect them. "Seven and a Half Hours" has a lovely slipcased cover that looks like a fried egg in a frying pan. Also, "Danpatsu Jochu" (The Bobbed-Hair Maid) is from the Cobalt series, so it has illustrations by Seiji Togo, but there are other versions too. I lent mine to someone and it never came back, though (laughs).

There are several short stories set in Shikoku after the war. They are interesting if you know the circumstances of that era, but they are interesting even if you don't. His observation of people is unique—it's never sugary. But it's not cold either. He doesn't let things settle into simple moral tales or sentimental stories. He seems to be saying, "This is what humans are like; don't look at them through abstract concepts."

He's an author worth digging into—worth discovering. There must be works of a different type than the ones currently being reprinted, and I hope we can continue to unearth more of them.