[Feature: New Theory of Reading] Roundtable Discussion: Reading the Classics in the Age of AI

Today, as part of our special feature 'A New Theory of Reading,' I would like to hold a roundtable discussion titled 'Reading the Classics in the AI Era.' As you are aware, we are currently in an unexpected situation due to the new coronavirus, but I hope to make this a discussion that maintains the same spirit as usual.

My specialty is modern Japanese literature, and I also study Meiji-period texts that are considered classics, but I feel that people generally have a sense of resistance toward things called 'classics.' Today, I would like to ask everyone what kind of reading methods they use to enjoy the classics.

First, and this might actually be the conclusion, I would like to hear your thoughts on 'what is a classic?'

Being old alone does not make something a classic. Mr. Hayashi, in your books, you have written that the 'Dekansho' (Descartes, Kant, Schopenhauer) type of education from the old high school system is not what's important, and that works like 'The Tale of Genji' are interesting because they can be read repeatedly. Conversely, Mr. Komai, you have included 'Dekansho' in the lineup of the Classical New Translation Library. First, Mr. Hayashi, what are your thoughts?

In high school, my least favorite subject was Modern Japanese. During my high school years, the leftist movement was very active, and the Modern Japanese teacher would constantly say ideologically biased things, which wasn't interesting at all. In contrast, when I read things like 'The Tale of the Heike' on my own, I thought, 'Oh, this is interesting.'

I didn't particularly dislike modern literature. At that time, I read the things everyone else was reading, like Yukio Mishima and Kobo Abe, and those were interesting, but I really hated the Modern Japanese we did in class. So, it felt like I found a reason for living in classical literature, and that was the first trigger that drew me toward the classics.

After all, classics are works that have been read through the ages precisely because they are considered interesting in every era, even while many other works have been lost. They are interesting to people of any era—in other words, they possess an 'unchanging' or universal appeal.

As I read, I felt things like, 'Ah, yes, that's exactly right,' and now I've become a stubborn old man who reads nothing but classical literature... (laughs).

Mr. Komai, you select books not just from Japan, but from the wider world.

In my generation, influenced by the aforementioned Yukio Mishima and Tatsuhiko Shibusawa, three authors—Sade, Bataille, and Jean Genet—gained enormous popularity starting around high school. So, how should I put it, I felt like I wanted to read something a bit 'edgy.'

At the same time, people of the older generation, the so-called Zenkyoto (All-Campus Joint Struggle Council) generation, told me, for better or worse, within a classical culture-oriented framework, that 'you must read the classics.' However, I always felt that even if I read them, I couldn't quite reach a full understanding.

As Mr. Hayashi just said, people up to my generation thought the classics were wonderful, and I actually read them quite hard from high school through university, but they didn't really resonate with me. I always felt that I couldn't find a way of reading them that I could personally be satisfied with.

However, in the 21st century, when the trend of 'new translations' emerged, including Japanese works like 'The Tale of Genji,' I felt that we could read the classics more freely. In other words, signs appeared that reading the classics would become ordinary reading rather than something 'noble.' So, I started reading them again.

Then, while being involved in the work of translation myself, I clarified what it was I hadn't understood and approached classical works that way—that is how I engage with the classics.

Mr. Campbell, you have been reading from a perspective outside the Japanese educational curriculum.

I didn't face and learn Japanese as a national language (Kokugo), but learned it as the Japanese language. I think I have proceeded with reading using a single paradigm or conceptual framework of 'Japanese Literature' rather than 'National Literature' (Kokungaku).

I grew up in Paris and England in my early teens due to my parents' work, and being in a diverse linguistic environment, to borrow Mr. Komai's words, I did want to do something a bit 'edgy' after entering university.

Looking back now, I think there was a slight time lag between America and Japan. By the time I entered university, the student movement in America had subsided; rather, I belong to a generation that is very subtle and cannot empathize with such things. The Vietnam War ended in 1975, and I turned 20 about three years later, but I think my generation had a sort of disconnect from the generation just above us.

So in my case, 'edgy' didn't mean rebelling against some authority. At that time, literary theories like Foucault and Derrida were very popular, and various literatures from all times and places were being approached using new theories from an equidistant perspective. While reading such theoretical literature toward the end of high school, I learned that Japanese literature also existed.

It was just when Mr. Seidensticker's new English translation of 'The Tale of Genji' was released in 1976. It was the first new translation since Arthur Waley's English translation of 'The Tale of Genji' (1921–1933). I think I was 19 when I bought it and read it through.

Then I read various things haphazardly, such as Ivan Morris's translation of 'The Pillow Book.' I wasn't very conscious of there being some authority there or of it being a framework called 'the classics.' However, I think I perceived that it relativized various discourses since the 18th-century Enlightenment—that it was a scene with a quite different way of narrating, or an emotional world.

That is how I first read pre-modern Japanese literature through translations (English translations). In a sense, I thought it was extremely interesting, thinking it could exist as something that draws a diagonal line against French, British, German, or 19th-century Russian literature.

Wanting to read Japanese classics in the original text rather than English translation as soon as possible, I started taking classical Japanese classes in my second year of learning Japanese. I thought, 'This is exactly about the way of narrating.' I noticed there was a 'grammar of discourse' with a tone different from analytical languages with very clear articulation like English, such as indirect and direct speech, and I got into it because I found it very interesting.

So, I didn't start reading Japanese classics because of the Japanese climate, or because the Japanese language is interesting, or because it's exotically 'Japonisme,' but as an opportunity to re-examine the horizon on which I stand.

I've heard a very interesting story. Whether something like 'The Tale of Genji' is included in textbooks or not has changed based on the evaluations of the time, so 'classics' are not fixed things. Mr. Hayashi, based on your own experience, what is 'The Tale of Genji' to you?

I believe that middle and high school textbooks are very 'sinful.' I used to be a classical Japanese teacher at Keio Girls Senior High School, but I never used a textbook. The reason is that, for example, if you take out only a tiny portion of 'The Tale of Genji' or 'The Tale of the Heike' and ask, 'Now, how is this interesting?', I think the true appeal slips away.

Whether it's 'Genji' or 'Heike,' it is difficult for young people to read, but I think the true appeal is the weight that hits your heart when you read through the entire work. I think it's wrong to have them read just a tiny part of it here and there, like a sample for teaching grammar, and act as if they've learned classical literature.

In high school—since I graduated from a Tokyo metropolitan high school—university entrance exams were always hanging over my head. For entrance exams, it doesn't matter how you appreciate the classics. It's just important to desperately memorize so-called 'exam grammar,' like what the subject is, where this modifier applies, or what conjugation and form it is.

Instead of that way of reading, if you try reading one work all the way through during summer vacation or something, you think, 'Wait, this is completely different.' Even without teaching tedious grammar as if picking through the corners of a tiered lunch box, by reading through, even if there are parts you don't quite understand, literature will show its true appeal for the first time. Grammar is something that, once you grasp the basics, you naturally understand by reading a lot.

Ultimately, it is very important to read classical literature because one 'finds it interesting,' rather than reading it in a textbook or exam-reference-book style.

Literature, after all, is not for gaining culture or thinking you'll become a bit more noble if you read it; it's a form of entertainment and enjoyment in a broad sense, something you read because you find it interesting. I think the state of Modern Japanese and Classical Japanese education, which completely excludes those parts, is very sinful.

I see, that's exactly right.

In my own experience as a teacher, for example, I couldn't teach the entire 'Tale of the Heike,' so I picked out and reconstructed a consistent story about Shunkan from the whole work and spent an entire semester reading 'The Tale of the Heike' as the story of Shunkan. I think that was a very fresh experience for the students.

In exchange, I didn't cover stories like Nasu no Yoichi's fan target, which appear in every textbook. Even with 'The Pillow Book,' there's no point in memorizing parts like 'In spring, the dawn. As the hills grow gradually white...' Instead, I think the reason young people can feel a sense of familiarity with classical literature is the experience of reading the whole thing themselves and discovering parts that make them burst out laughing, thinking, 'Ah, Sei Shonagon is a sharp-tongued lady.'

I am also a graduate of Keio Girls Senior High School, and I was fortunate to be able to read the classics without the pressure of having to memorize grammar for exams. I remember reading books recommended by teachers in my own way, relying only on annotations, from high school through the beginning of university.

Looking back now, I think it was very reckless, but I felt that since people back then understood classical grammar just by listening to it spoken, I would surely understand it eventually too. I think it was a significant experience.

That's right. Grammar is something created later by analyzing the results of what has been completed, so it isn't consciously recognized at the stage when language is being generated. When a baby starts to speak, they don't study from grammar.

So, at least regarding one's native tongue, if you just look up a dictionary for parts you don't understand and read while making rough guesses for the rest, you'll naturally understand it.

Mr. Hayashi just mentioned it being a kind of entertainment. Indeed, in the language of the Edo period, stories and various 'kusazoshi' (illustrated storybooks) were sometimes read as 'nagusami' (pastime/solace). As Mita-mura Engyo wrote during the war, I think the two pillars of 'edification' and 'laughter' are the most significant axes when looking at Edo period literature.

The word 'kyoyo' (culture/education) did not exist in the Edo period. I believe it is a translation of the German word 'Bildung' and others. On the other hand, the word 'tanoshimi' (enjoyment) did exist. However, just as the word 'kuraku' (pain and pleasure) exists, I believe that enjoyment was actually continuous with sorrow or pain, rather than just being about 'I did it!' or 'it feels great.'

There is a very excellent essay called 'Taikan Zakki' written by Matsudaira Sadanobu after he stepped down from his position as Roju (Senior Councilor). In it, he says, 'Sorrow and joy go around like a tamaki.' A 'tamaki' is something like a bracelet—in other words, a ring. Pain and pleasure are connected like a Mobius strip and are not clearly articulated as separate things.

Now, while we are in the midst of a pandemic called COVID, we are trying to connect using remote operations while maintaining social distance. From within that, there is enjoyment and hope that leads to tomorrow. Therefore, I think we need to delve a little deeper into what is 'interesting.'

A long time ago, I had Mr. Hayashi come to an omnibus lecture at the University of Tokyo's College of Arts and Sciences that I organized. In it, he developed a bold theory that Edo period literature is not that interesting (laughs). Of course, that was a strategy, and afterward, he spoke about how the appeal of Edo literature has been read through the ages with a different kind of interest than what we call 'creativity' in modern times. He talked about how there is something slightly different from the enjoyment we seek from books in the modern era.

As Mr. Hayashi mentioned earlier, rather than classics for exam study cut into small pieces, one can read in various free-wheeling ways. And I think it can be pointed out that Japanese pre-modern literature over several hundred years existed as a mechanism where reading through one work opens doors one after another.

I think 'reading for enjoyment' is an important motivation for anyone, but especially for adults, enjoyment can include seriousness, right?

However, even if we know the classics are interesting, they are separated by time and it takes time to understand them, which is why I think they tend to be avoided by the general public.

Many are busy with work and can't get around to the classics. They prioritize things that are useful. In that regard, Mr. Komai, I think you have faced the joy of reading classics within the workplace of a weekly magazine, which mixes the serious and the lighthearted.

I think reading 'Anna Karenina' while dealing with scandals in a weekly magazine editorial department was a rather unique lifestyle (laughs).

I also feel that I was thoroughly tormented by grammar in high school regarding Japanese classics. As mentioned, I lived in a system where I would read just a bit of the original text but never read the whole 'Tale of Genji' in modern translation. So, I had a huge complex regarding classical Japanese and Chinese.

Mr. Campbell wrote in 'J-Bungaku' that he started reading Japanese literature vigorously in English during his second year of university. The fact that he entered Japanese classics through English was an important hint for me in thinking about 'translation,' including modern translations.

I think it was Masamune Hakucho who made a famous comment that reading 'The Tale of Genji' in English was extremely interesting. Sometimes you can read it if you place a 'cushion' like that. There is the term 'classical culture-ism,' but I think there are times when the image of it being 'culture' or 'hard to read' is too strong, preventing one from simply enjoying the work.

When Hashimoto Osamu released 'Momojiri-go Yaku Makura no Soshi' with the translation 'Spring is like, dawn!', everyone in the 'Shukan Hoseki' editorial department read it. I think that was a very big deal. For myself, I first read the entire 'Tale of Genji' through Waki Yamato's manga 'Asakiyumemishi,' and then I went on to read the 'Yosano Genji.' In that way, as an entry point, I think there is a modern appeal, even if it might not be academic.

If we view it as 'culture,' Japan had to absorb Western culture in a great hurry since the Meiji Restoration, so we didn't quite reach the point of enjoying the works at eye level. This was my biggest motivation for wanting to create the Classical New Translation Library.

Rather than ending one's life without ever reading the classics, I thought it was very important as an editor to make it possible for many people to read them by lowering the hurdle and enlisting the help of experts.

While I was creating articles about the secular world at the weekly magazine, reading classics like 'Anna Karenina' or Dostoevsky felt like there was a sense of incongruity, but I actually understood well that classical literature also skillfully incorporated the social conditions of its time. A weekly magazine-like setting actually has human dramas like those in the novels of Balzac or Zola. Zola's 'Nana' is exactly the world of high-class courtesans. And yet, French literature became a textbook after the Meiji period, and we tend to read it thinking it's something very noble. That's true for Japanese classics as well.

I think it's good to look at the original text after reading Mr. Hayashi's 'Kinyaku Genji Monogatari.' I don't think there are many people like Mr. Campbell who first read in English and are now experts in Edo-period Chinese poetry, but I am convinced that the possibility of reaching that point exists within translations and modern versions. Sakaguchi Ango said that if you really find it interesting, you will definitely end up looking at the original text. Those words encouraged me greatly. One of my big motivations for creating this 'Classical New Translation Library' was to ensure that the Japanese reading world does not lose such possibilities.

I think that was a very suggestive talk. Regarding 'The Tale of Genji,' Motoori Norinaga wrote an introductory book called 'Tama no Ogushi.'

He says the reason 'The Tale of Genji' is interesting is that, unlike the people depicted in Chinese classics, there isn't a single person who sticks to one direction, like being purely good or purely evil. Instead, humans have times when they are good and times when they are bad. They are honest but also cowardly. When they appear before someone they like, they can be very pathetic, effeminate, and hopeless. He says it's interesting because those things are depicted as they are.

When people hear 'The Tale of Genji,' some say, 'It's the world of Heian court elegance (miyabi), isn't it?' When I hear that, I think, 'Ah, this person has never read Genji.' Norinaga says that no matter how many times you read it, it's interesting and you never get bored. I truly agree with that opinion; I don't know how many times I read it to write 'Kinyaku Genji,' but it's still interesting every time I read it.

I once had a student at the girls' high school who was a returnee raised in America. She had a strong sense of awareness regarding her identity as a Japanese person and said she wanted to read 'The Tale of Genji,' a classical work that would be proof of her being Japanese. So, she came to my house every week to read 'The Tale of Genji.' Eventually, she started reading the original text of 'The Tale of Genji' on the train to and from my house.

First, you teach them a bit about how to read and encourage them. For example, if you teach them that the adjective 'uruhashi' means a beauty that is upright and flawless, like a Buddhist statue, and conversely has a negative side of being hard to approach, that's 100 times better than teaching them what conjugation or form it is.

I gave her hints on how the author brought out this character image and we read together; I remember she finished reading the entire work by herself about a year later.

That's amazing.

If you have the experience of reading classical literature as a part of yourself without having a complex toward the classics, even 'The Tale of Genji' isn't scary, and you don't think it's a grand thing just because you read it.

I was taught that kind of experience by my returnee student, and it gave me many hints for my subsequent approach to classical literature. I think that connects to what Motoori Norinaga was saying. I believe that is why it is excellent literature and why 'Genji' has been passed down for 1,000 years. And the reason I write modern translations of 'Genji' is that people today still want to read it somehow, so I think that work also has meaning.

I felt that Mr. Hayashi's 'Kinyaku Genji Monogatari' is both a translation and a creation; through the choice of words for translation, I could understand what parts you find interesting and what aspects of the characters you find cute or distasteful, seen through the eyes of Hikaru Genji, from between the lines.

I think there was something important in Mr. Hayashi's statement. Rather than whether one can read the original text of 'The Tale of Genji' on the train, I think it's important whether it feels right as a scene, as something personal.

Mr. Komai mentioned an entry point to the classics, but I imagine something like koji mold in sake—that is, a catalyst that allows one to enter. That might be a modern translation, or it might be a manga adaptation. You proceed with reading while going back and forth with the original text. Or secondary works. In the Edo period, for example, with 'The Tales of Ise,' a large number of derivative secondary creations were made, such as 'Nise Monogatari' or 'Koshoku Ise Monogatari.' The same goes for 'The Tale of Genji.' You enter the classics through such things.

After all, I think such a perspective is completely invisible when learning classics in public school education. If I had been from a Tokyo metropolitan high school, I certainly wouldn't be here (laughs).

How do we find catalysts? For young people in the future, how can we take the classics—or for me, classical books and the books themselves as a whole encompassing both old and new—and turn that diverse energy, which is truly unparalleled in the world, into fermented food? In that sense, I think translation is one very important means.

Actually, I have recorded the entire 'Kinyaku Genji Monogatari' and released it as audio media, and I always do a reading when I'm asked to give a lecture related to Genji. At that time, I print the original text and distribute it to the audience, and have them listen to my 'Kinyaku' with their ears while looking at the original text. Those who listen can understand the original text, thinking, 'Ah, I see, so this is what it means.'

Since today's title includes 'Classics in the AI Era,' I'll mention this as well: I hope that by using electronic media or functions like AI, we can provide approaches to the classics for young people that were impossible in the past.

In other words, when reading an e-book, you don't have to look up a dictionary every time; sometimes the meaning appears just by clicking. Also, a very large function of electronic media is the ability to search. In our scholarship, for example, to reach a single interpretation, we induce from a massive number of examples how this word has been used or what sentiment it has expressed.

We can prepare texts with full electronic annotations so that even people who have never been familiar with the classics can read them without any trouble. Therefore, the hurdle is lowered significantly, making it easier for people who have never been familiar with the classics to do so, and there are aspects that make research easier as well.

At the National Institute of Japanese Literature, with the cooperation of many researchers, we are moving forward with a large-scale 10-year research project called the 'Project to Build an International Collaborative Research Network for Pre-modern Japanese Texts.' We have turned 300,000 titles of classical books into high-definition images and added bibliographies as metadata, and as mentioned, there are hyperlinks that allow searching of the text data, enabling entry into various interpretations.

This is very rare in the world, but as a database, you can see all the images of the actual items. A decisive difference between Japanese classical books and modern ones is that characters and pictures have become inseparable, such that you cannot articulate which is primary and which is secondary. Whether it's an Edo-period novel or a haiku book, the pictures and characters there exist together. They are organically connected.

Since I'm at home right now, I'll show you one: there is a book called 'Ryoko Yojinshu' (Collection of Precautions for Travel) published in Edo in the 7th year of Bunka. This is a book that allows you to truly experience how people in the early 19th century moved through space.

It includes what kind of snakes are dangerous in summer, how to protect your body, and various travel tools and maps. In other words, it's a book that allows you to relive the time spent moving through space. In modern classification, this would probably be a how-to book rather than literature, but for people in the Edo period, this was a literary work, a piece of reading material. Images of such 'objects' can be viewed instantly at any time from the National Institute of Japanese Literature.

Also, for example, cookbooks have been made in large quantities in Japan since the 17th century, and from those, you can make dishes that haven't appeared on Japanese tables for 200 years. We've created an Edo cooking corner on the electronic version of the recipe collection 'Cookpad,' turning 18th-century works like 'Tofu Hyakuchin' or 'Tamago Hyakuchin' into current menus.

In this way, I think there can also be approaches that enter directly from classical books into the questions and challenges that various people today face in their daily lives.

That's very interesting.

One more thing: the so-called humanities and sciences is a dichotomy that did not exist before the 1880s. Therefore, I believe we should offer materials that lead to integrated learning of the humanities and sciences, so that not only researchers but also citizens can share knowledge.

For example, for several years we have been conducting joint research on 'auroras' with the National Institute of Polar Research, a very important science facility located next to the facility where the National Institute of Japanese Literature is housed, which sends Antarctic wintering parties.

In Fujiwara no Teika's 'Meigetsuki,' it says that an ominous 'sekki' (red spirit), like the northern mountains burning red, could be seen from his residence in Kyoto. For hundreds of years, there was a debate about what this was. About three years ago, through joint research between the Polar Research Institute and us, it was discovered that this was actually an aurora. In the 13th century, low-latitude auroras could actually be seen with the Kyoto area as the southern limit. In the description of the year 620 in the 'Nihon Shoki,' there is a description of the same 'sekki,' and this was also unresolved, but it was found to be an aurora by combining various geological or astronomical findings.

Enjoying cooking or having dreams while looking at the night sky is a very universal human curiosity and interest that remains unchanged across all times and places. How to connect and open up such things to what we call classics today—I think that is what will be required from now on.

In addition to major literature like "Genji" or "The Pillow Book," there was another stream of literature, for example in the Middle Ages, where people called "jigenin" (lower-ranking officials)—who were different from the court nobles—monks, samurai, and commoners would gather to compose renga (linked verse) and engage in various activities.

I will show you one as well. This is a haiku book called "Inanome-shu." It is a self-published book, so to speak, created by a haiku poet named Ryodai, who was a disciple of Tagawa Horo, and I believe it dates from around the Tenpo era. At the beginning, it contains renku (linked verse) that Ryodai was involved in, but the latter half is filled with verses by poets with names I have never even heard of. These are verses by Ryodai's amateur disciples from around Kazusa, Shimosa, Awa, and Hitachi. In other words, it is like a self-published book from what we would call a haiku society today.

It is like a LINE group, isn't it? They might not necessarily be gathered in one place.

That's right. Most likely, they charged a fee called "idashiku-ryo" to include a single haiku in the book. When you read it, Ryodai's own verses are dull, but among the verses written by the amateurs, there are interesting ones that reflect their views on the seasons and labor, closely tied to their actual lives.

In terms of the horizon of literature in a broad sense, it is not just that Murasaki Shikibu or Sei Shonagon are great; for such prominent geniuses to emerge, there must be a layer of folk songs, folklore, myths, and legends that supported the literary consciousness Japanese people have held since ancient times. As Mr. Campbell mentioned, it is from those various buds of literature that the koji (mold) gradually ferments to produce a fine flavor. And occasionally, a "Daiginjo" (premium sake) is produced (laughs).

I understand well that while both of you have a strong commitment to physical books, you also actively utilize seemingly contradictory technologies like digitalization. Since I also research by excavating texts written by amateur contributors in the modern era, I found it interesting to hear about these continuities.

Regarding the earlier talk about catalysts, I believe Mr. Komai has brought surprising translations of literature written in various languages to the world by leveraging the interpretations of translators. For example, the Kansai-dialect version of "Tannisho" translated by Minato Kawamura. Also, for the well-known "The Lady who Loved Insects," Mimi Hachikai changed the title to "I Like Insects," making readers realize that such a way of reading existed.

As for the form of books, the Koten Shinkyaku Bunko (New Translations of Classics) series has interesting cover designs that make me want to keep them on hand, but on the other hand, reading them as e-books can broaden the scope, as both of you discussed.

Actually, Koten Shinkyaku Bunko has been rushing to digitize from the beginning. This is because with e-books, you can jump to the notes with a click. That is a significant factor.

Furthermore, by using many illustrations, we can make them very easy to read for general readers. For example, "Ryojin Hisho" is a collection of imayo songs that were popular in Kyoto during the 11th and 12th centuries. The appearance and clothing of the various professionals and performers mentioned can be explained instantly by including illustrations from picture scrolls or "Shokunin Uta-awase" (Poetry Contests of Artisans). Also, being able to show the locations of natural disasters like famines, great fires, and tornadoes that occurred frequently during the time "Hojoki" was written is a benefit of using diagrams.

I believe incorporating such insights into books is very important. Also, it is difficult to understand colors in the classics. Therefore, in "Towazugatari," we have included the traditional Japanese colors mentioned in the book in color even in the e-book version. I think this has almost never been done before. In other words, you can actually see what kind of color "koji-iro" (citrus orange) is.

Also, regarding foreign literature, for example, the clothing of 18th-century European women was something Japanese translators previously struggled to understand no matter how much they researched in libraries, but now it can be understood instantly via the internet. I think the extent to which this has changed the reception of literature is beyond imagination.

Furthermore, there is a novel called "Heart of Darkness" by Conrad about traveling up the Congo River, and I hear you can now see all the images of that journey. In that sense, I think such elements will increasingly be incorporated into translations of Japanese classics as well.

And as Mr. Hayashi mentioned, audiobooks are truly becoming popular now. We have developed the habit of silent reading for things that were originally meant to be heard. I believe the possibility of being able to enjoy things in their original form will expand even further as we enter the AI era.

Mr. Campbell mentioned earlier that I gave a lecture at the University of Tokyo, and I believe I talked then about how "one must not read waka silently."

In other words, you shouldn't read a poem like "Kokoro-ate ni orabaya oran hatsushimo no oki-madohaseru shiragiku no hana" in about 10 seconds. You have to "sing" it over about 30 seconds, starting with "Kokoro-ate ni..." Because you spend a long time visualizing and ruminating on a single thought or scene before moving to the next phrase, rhetorical devices like kakekotoba (puns), makurakotoba (pillow words), or jokotoba (introductory phrases) become very vivid. There are things we have appreciated by "singing" in that way.

However, if you just skim it with your eyes, all that flavor is completely lost. In other words, the sentiment—whether it be a landscape, a color, "kanashi" (sorrow/pathos), or "tanoshi" (joy)—that you were savoring while waiting for the next word is skipped, and you just see the conclusion. There is no way to understand the appeal of waka with that kind of reading. That is why Masaoka Shiki harshly criticized the "Kokinshu" in his "Letters to a Poet," but that was simply because Shiki did not know how to read it.

In short, as mentioned, when we say "reading," we think of silent reading, but even with Futabatei Shimei's novels, they aren't very interesting when read with the eyes, but if you try reading them aloud yourself, you understand. The beginning is stiff, but from the middle, you can tell the tone gradually becomes like that of Encho (a rakugo storyteller).

Even with Natsume Soseki, there are parts that are very difficult to understand when reading with the eyes, but if you read them aloud slowly and in a loud voice, they enter your head smoothly without any problem. I believe that such methods should be presented as ways of reading.

This story resonates with the "koji mold" analogy from earlier. In other words, for the majority of people who do not live their lives constantly looking at the classics, reading aloud is one of the catalysts for drawing out the interest from them. I remember Mr. Hayashi's lecture vividly; it was, in essence, a "recommendation for slow reading." Since Mr. Hayashi is also a performer, he experienced the classics and "traced" them with his own body.

This "tracing" might be another keyword. Tracing with the voice—that is, reading aloud. When the Ueno Library was established in 1885, signs saying "Do not make noise" were posted, and reading aloud became impossible. This is a phenomenon that runs parallel to Japan's modernization. The act of reading aloud and reciting was lost.

At the National Institute of Japanese Literature, about three years ago, we created an interesting experimental laboratory called the "Nigel Art Co-creation Lab" to create art together. We invited five artists, and among them, Koji Yamamura, one of Japan's leading short animation creators, discovered a ukiyo-e artist named Kuwagata Keisai. Kuwagata Keisai was considered a peer of Katsushika Hokusai in his time, but he is a ukiyo-e artist who is hardly remembered today.

Mr. Yamamura came to the institute and became obsessed with picture books that were very widely read during the Edo period, such as "Choyu Ryakugashiki" (Abbreviated Drawing Styles of Birds and Beasts) and "Jinbutsu Ryakugashiki" (Abbreviated Drawing Styles of People). Just like Mr. Hayashi, he "traced" the lines drawn by this man Keisai one by one. In doing so, he created a short animation work called "Dreams of Keisai" (Yumemi no E).

The content of "Dreams of Keisai" is a completely new creation. However, the expression itself was made with great respect for Kuwagata Keisai's lines and his method of capturing the world with a single stroke.

This can be seen as a secondary creation, or as creating new value emerging from the soil of dormant cultural resources. I think it can be called another form of the classics.

Up until around Futabatei Shimei, I think Edo culture was in people's flesh and blood, but now that it has been severed, how do we connect to the classics? As a method for that, I think we can drive data through various means such as electronic information including AI or machine-readability, and share it with people in various fields.

You just mentioned Kuwagata Keisai, and in Edo-period books, there are many so-called copybooks for grass-style kana (cursive). Originally, Japanese people enjoyed characters like pictures. This is slightly different from Western calligraphy; the character itself is a piece of art.

When it was converted to movable type in the Meiji era, the aspect of characters as "beautiful traces of the water-stalk pen" was completely lost. For example, in Edo-period kana copybooks, the so-called oraimono (textbooks), there are at most about 20 characters on a single page. Such a thing is unthinkable in modern Japan.

As one stage of study, one must be able to read that kind of grass-style kana, but even among those who have studied Japanese well as a foreign language, many cannot read it. The reason for this is that deciphering or decoding characters involves something that cannot be grasped from the shape of the characters alone. When reading this as a native language, one is instead reading the meaning. One hears the meaning even in sound. Therefore, behind reading those cursive characters, if you don't have a foundation in Japanese classical literature, you cannot perform the cross-referencing that tells you "this context shouldn't be possible."

For example, if you can read seven characters at the top and four at the bottom like a jigsaw puzzle but cannot read the two characters in between, it might become possible in the future to have AI analyze the seven and four characters and search under the condition of that flow to decipher them.

I believe that through digitalization technology, opportunities for each individual to directly touch rare books that were previously only accessible to experts have greatly increased. I also think digitalization has, conversely, allowed individuals to feel the physicality of the drawings and the writer's habits.

I hope that through technological innovation, an era will come where we can incorporate the classics into our own bodies and enjoy them. Furthermore, when AI becomes involved, it seems to exist not as something in opposition to the classics, but as a tool to make their content more interesting.

I would like to ask Ms. Kodaira. Mr. Hayashi mentioned that entrance exam study is not good, but I think another problem is the Japanese academic societies. I am active mainly in the Society of Early Modern Japanese Literature, but I also belong to the Society of Modern Japanese Literature. However, there are almost no such "dual-wielders." We are divided into ancient, medieval, early modern, and modern, and even after 100 years, the early modern and modern periods do not intersect. I feel this is quite a disservice.

Roughly speaking, the text as a thing with mass has been lost in the process of modernization. It has become conceptualized, so to speak. From reading aloud to silent reading, I think there has been a continuous thinning of physicality. While a review of this is currently taking place, is there any possibility of bridging the pre-modern and the modern?

I think that is a very big issue. As a practical matter, with the decrease in the number of students and faculty due to the declining birthrate, it could be said that we are entering a situation where we can no longer say "I only teach this" if we want to ensure diversity. However, if knowledge becomes intermingled, this does not necessarily have only negative meanings.

Regarding silent reading, in Meiji-era movable type, there are cases where furigana with slightly different meanings are attached to kanji, making them look like double meanings. There was talk about the importance of hearing with the ears, but I think there are times when readers find it interesting to have two meanings enter through the eyes. Therefore, since the modern era began, it hasn't just been a matter of losing things; I think there are also things newly gained. However, those are often transformations of things that existed before.

So, I believe that forums for academic societies of different eras to interact with each other, and of course dialogue with the field of education, will be even more necessary from now on.

Unless one has some basic foundation to begin with, the joy of re-reading the classics as an adult will not be born. For that purpose, I think it will be very important how to convey the techniques for interesting reading in the field of school education.

Thank you very much. I would also like to ask Mr. Komai: including electronic publishing, how can we use the classics in new ways to create attractive outputs or products in, say, five or ten years?

Since the Meiji era, when people spoke of classics in Western modern literature, the 18th and 19th centuries were particularly called classics, but we are also treating the 20th century as classics.

In order to let people know that the classics have universal value and are enjoyable to read, Stendhal, Flaubert, Dickens, and Hesse are of course necessary, but beyond that, I also want to incorporate Asian and African literature that has not been translated much until now. I want to spend five or ten years cultivating readers who will read them.

Another thing is that I want to further enrich the Japanese and Chinese classics. For someone like me who has read mostly Western literature, Japanese classics are actually incredibly fresh. Reading "The Tale of Genji: A Respectful Translation," I thought it was truly interesting.

Furthermore, in Koten Shinkyaku Bunko, even for Meiji-era works like Nakae Chomin's "A Discourse by Three Drunkards on Government," we have released modern Japanese translations for those written in a kanbun-style that young people today cannot read. Uchimura Kanzo's "How I Became a Christian," originally written in English, was released under the title "Boku wa ikani shite Kirisutokyo-to ni natta ka." Modern Japanese literature has not been much of a target for translation (modernization) until now, but I hope to release them comprehensively as classics in Koten Shinkyaku Bunko.

To enrich the world of reading, I would like to continue trying various things with everyone's help.

Because the Meiji Restoration was such a massive transformation, many people are under the impression that cultural matters were also severed there.

However, regarding printing technology, for example, woodblock printing was a very powerful medium until the 1890s, and from around the late 1880s, letterpress printing suddenly became dominant. At the same time, Futabatei Shimei and Tsubouchi Shoyo appeared, followed by Soseki and Ogai. But actually, before that, there were people who are now almost forgotten, like Sosotei Koppi Dojin or Choman Koji, who wrote many so-called public speaking books, and they are fascinating. They were very popular at the time.

I would definitely like to see light shed on what the Meiji people of Soseki and Ogai's youth were reading, and have those included in the category of classics.

Even Ito Jakuchu was forgotten for a long time, so there are still many raw gems that we must excavate. From the era of the Kojiki and Manyoshu, the world of books has continued uninterrupted in Japan until the present day. I would like Koten Shinkyaku Bunko to handle such works in a way that people today can understand.

Thank you very much. I would certainly like to ask for your assistance.

Researchers are good at pursuing things that are interesting to them and deviate from the standard, but conveying both the interest of standard works and the interest of works that deviate is very important for conveying the perspective itself of what one finds interesting.

In terms of the relationship with technology, I think it is also important that the development of media has made it possible to distinguish between things with many recipients and those with few, allowing us to share things that are minor but interesting. I also hope that this will open up measures to connect readers interactively.

I have been completely drawn into everyone's stories over this long period today. Thank you very much.