Kinky sex by Japanese writers

I was very fortunate to have met Edward Seidensticker when he visited Manila in the late 1950s. Edward was America’s leading scholar on Japanese culture. He had translated Kawabata’s novels, and there is a perception that this resulted happily in Kawabata winning the Nobel Prize in Literature. Ed joined the Marines and learned Japanese at the University of California at Berkeley. Ed has also written books on the development of Tokyo and Japanese history. He was an interpreter. After the war, he joined the US Foreign Service and served in Japan. As an academic, he served in Columbia, Ann Arbor and Harvard. Japan, however, was home and I always saw him when I was in Tokyo. It was he who introduced me to Japan’s foremost writers.

This Monday, I’ll reminisce about my conversations with just three of them. Of all the Japanese writers I’ve met, Hirabayashi Taiko made the deepest impression; I would like to think that the feeling was mutual, although she was about 20 years my senior. She spoke very little English, but even with that, she was very precise and articulate. She said, “Jose-san, good Japanese writers speak bad English!” She never wore western dress. It was the kimono all the time. She and her husband were imprisoned during the war. They were opposed to it. They were Socialists. I asked her about how strong the Socialist Party was then, and she said there were no Socialists in Japan’s Socialist Party. Taiko-san was very candid; when I finally asked her about the kinkiness in Japanese fiction, she said that this is what they want.

It must be noted that the Japanese regard sex without the prudishness of Filipinos. To them, it is very much a human need as food. A visit to any sex shop in Tokyo laden with sex toys is most revealing. It can also evoke some laughter.?

Ooka Shohei, who wrote that novel about his soldiering in the Philippines, was also a student of French literature. His “Fires on the Plain” is a record of his last days here, his fear of the guerillas. He was soft-spoken, watery-eyed and very reserved. The first thing he told me was that as a soldier, he did not kill a single Filipino. In hindsight, he said that the war was a big mistake. He said that he would return to the Philippines to see how the country had progressed. He was very philosophical about history and how seldom did people learn from it.

I was preparing an anthology of Asian fiction and poetry, and Ed helped me get in touch with Japanese writers, among them, Yukio Mishima. I was anxious to meet him, having read much of his work which is also spiced with kinky sex, some of them bordering on the perverse. On the phone, he agreed to meet me in the afternoon at a coffee shop at the Ginza. His English was halting but very good. I went to the coffee shop, and the waitress took me to his table. He had lean features, a pleasant face. I introduced myself and thanked him for contributing to the anthology. He didn’t offer me to sit down. He frowned and said clearly, slowly, emphasizing each word, “I don’t want to contribute to any anthology.” He was glaring at me; I was shocked but I managed to reply. “You said you will, and you asked me to come here.” He repeated, “I don’t want to contribute to your anthology.” I wheeled around and left, speechless that I could not fully express not just my disappointment but also my fury.

When I got back to Manila, I received an envelope with his story, “A Million Yen.” Oh Yukio, you really made sure I’ll never forget you! The story – very moving and contemporary – is about a young couple who perform the sex act in a small theater in the Asakusa district. They were raising money to buy a house. Mishima is the most western of the postwar generation of Japanese writers. He was also a hyper nationalist who tried to raise his own army. He killed himself by committing hara-kiri, as did Yasunari Kawabata who gassed himself to death. It seems that this death wish, which characterizes the Japanese response to failure, is also prevalent in the literary life. The question remains: why the kinky sex in Japanese literature?

My Japanese friends have no answer other than Taiko-san’s “because they like it.” Ed Seidensticker suggested that Japanese life is so ritualized and regulated that perhaps, just perhaps, this is one way they can be totally free. Today, Japan faces a demographic problem – a falling birth rate and an aging population. Many women have chosen career over marriage. What to do? Is Japanese libido on decline? All over Tokyo and Japanese cities are love hotels, easily identifiable. Some of them, particularly those in the suburbs, are very ornate and expensive, too.

Commercial sex is as easily available as liquor. Some of the girls are our OFW “dancers” or bar hostesses. There was once a district in Tokyo called Yoshiwara which was closed in the early-1950s. In it were brothels, upper-class courtesans, many of whom achieved popularity and fame. And then, the queen of them all – the geisha. She must not be mistaken for a prostitute. She must be a virgin. Her training is rigid, she learns the classical dances, how to entertain. When I was at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies in Kyoto years back, Prof. Toru Yano treated me to an unforgettable lunch in one of the restaurants up on a mountain overlooking the city. A student geisha – the maiko – entertained us. It must have cost him so much. I recreated the event in my novel, Viajero. The maiko becomes a geisha when she finally finds a patron.?

In my first trip to Kyoto in 1955, one of the highlights was an evening tour to visit to the Tayuu, a celebrated courtesan. She wore the obi of her kimono in front. Her wooden shoes were very high that she had to walk slowly or else she would stumble and fall. I do not know if the Tayuu is still there.?

Sexuality in Japan is looked at as a social fact with no religious significance. Even today, there are still arranged marriages, the Japanese family is intact and the children are raised in the traditional manner; they are after all the reason for marriage, but how they grow up will determine the quality of the family – and the nation,