Nov. 12th, 2013 10:03 pm
あれたる庭に つもるはつ雪
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muckefuckIf Dalby's book were "one with rayguns in it", I'd borrow ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
princeofcairo's consecrated expression and say I was reading it "for the chrome". But that doesn't seem appropriate to a historical fiction; perhaps, then, "for the inlay" or--channelling niemandsrose here--"for the fabrics". This is often a way of damning a book for weakness of plot, which is a little unfair given that Dalby hamstrings herself by choosing to focus on a figure the arc of whose life is pretty uneventful. There are plenty of gaps, which she fills in artfully, but it's not like Murasaki can unexpectedly sail off into the sunset with a Chinese lover or be revealed as a transgender ninja assassin.
To tell the truth, I was growing bored of the descriptions of palace life in parallel with the protagonist's dissatisfaction with it, so it did actually come as a bit of a surprise to have the novel conclude so poignantly. Unfortunately, I don't know Genji well enough to get an idea what kind of conversation Dalby is having with it, but she makes a good enough case for what Murasaki was trying to do with the Uji Chapters that I've been lured into giving them a go. (I suspect approaching them at some remove as something of a brief sequel to the bulk of the work is more likely to meet with success than reading straight through was.)
I am impressed that she managed to work in almost the complete body of Murasaki's known poetic compositions (and so thrilled that she includes the original Japanese text of them [in rōmaji] that it's a disappointment to take up Seidensticker again and find he doesn't do the same). But--as always with this sort of writing--there were some glaring anachronisms that shook me out of the action, e.g. mention of "stress" and of the narrator's failure to be "objective" in her appraisals of her peers. I'm sceptical either concept existed in Hei'an Japan. The former is first used in reference to a psychological state only in 1942, the latter in the sense of "impartial and unbiased" in 1838.
I'm often narrating in my head, sometimes in a contemporary naturalistic fashion, sometimes in the style of historical fantasy. When it's the latter, I'm always stopping to ask myself, Is that a word someone with this imagined background would use? Is that even a concept they would recognise? If their native language would be different (and is one I know), I might ask, What word is this "translating" in the "original"? On the one hand, it's not practical to avoid, say, all English words which have appeared after 1500 when writing mediaeval fantasy. But it seems to me a good first approximation to make sure you're not projecting your own values and worldview too far into the past. I can't argue with Dalby for going with readability over verisimilitude at many points; it certainly made for a quick and easy read. But the most noticeable missteps don't seem they would've been that hard to avoid.
By the way, one of those bits of inlay alluded to earlier (treated in a footnote) is this:
princeofcairo's consecrated expression and say I was reading it "for the chrome". But that doesn't seem appropriate to a historical fiction; perhaps, then, "for the inlay" or--channelling niemandsrose here--"for the fabrics". This is often a way of damning a book for weakness of plot, which is a little unfair given that Dalby hamstrings herself by choosing to focus on a figure the arc of whose life is pretty uneventful. There are plenty of gaps, which she fills in artfully, but it's not like Murasaki can unexpectedly sail off into the sunset with a Chinese lover or be revealed as a transgender ninja assassin.To tell the truth, I was growing bored of the descriptions of palace life in parallel with the protagonist's dissatisfaction with it, so it did actually come as a bit of a surprise to have the novel conclude so poignantly. Unfortunately, I don't know Genji well enough to get an idea what kind of conversation Dalby is having with it, but she makes a good enough case for what Murasaki was trying to do with the Uji Chapters that I've been lured into giving them a go. (I suspect approaching them at some remove as something of a brief sequel to the bulk of the work is more likely to meet with success than reading straight through was.)
I am impressed that she managed to work in almost the complete body of Murasaki's known poetic compositions (and so thrilled that she includes the original Japanese text of them [in rōmaji] that it's a disappointment to take up Seidensticker again and find he doesn't do the same). But--as always with this sort of writing--there were some glaring anachronisms that shook me out of the action, e.g. mention of "stress" and of the narrator's failure to be "objective" in her appraisals of her peers. I'm sceptical either concept existed in Hei'an Japan. The former is first used in reference to a psychological state only in 1942, the latter in the sense of "impartial and unbiased" in 1838.
I'm often narrating in my head, sometimes in a contemporary naturalistic fashion, sometimes in the style of historical fantasy. When it's the latter, I'm always stopping to ask myself, Is that a word someone with this imagined background would use? Is that even a concept they would recognise? If their native language would be different (and is one I know), I might ask, What word is this "translating" in the "original"? On the one hand, it's not practical to avoid, say, all English words which have appeared after 1500 when writing mediaeval fantasy. But it seems to me a good first approximation to make sure you're not projecting your own values and worldview too far into the past. I can't argue with Dalby for going with readability over verisimilitude at many points; it certainly made for a quick and easy read. But the most noticeable missteps don't seem they would've been that hard to avoid.
By the way, one of those bits of inlay alluded to earlier (treated in a footnote) is this:
According to the official calendar, the most emphatic breaks between the seasons occurred on the tenth day of the tenth month, when lined winter robes were brought out, and at the beginning of the fourth month, when everyone changed to unlined summer garments.On a hunch, I checked the Chinese calendar. Sure enough, today is the tenth day of the tenth month. I didn't actually zip the lining into my windbreak to make it a winter coat, but I was sorely tempted!