I’ve been to Japan. Ten days in the South, on the islands of Kyushu and Shikoku. Our guide, Yusuke, called these places ‘the last frontier’ of Japan, especially Shikoku which has around 3.8 million people (out of a total Japanese population of around 124 million) living on it, which makes it the most underpopulated of the four major islands. So we journeyed to quieter, more rural places, through forest, small towns and agricultural land and into smaller cities. Over-tourism in Japan is in the news, and there were tourists, certainly – but they were overwhelmingly Japanese and Korean. English was rarely spoken. Though illustrated menus were helpful, Google translate came in handy. However, the people in shops and restaurants were unfailingly patient, helpful and kind. With pointing, charades and smiles, we got got through.
Japan wasn’t a bucket-list destination of mine. It was not on my radar at all; actually, I’ve been dreaming of Sicily ever since I watched The Leopard as a teenager and I’m even learning Italian.
I decided to go when a friend confided that though she wanted to travel, she was hesitant. I said, on a whim, “I’ll go with you!” and we hit upon Japan. She, because her son recommended it as a good destination (safe, clean, amazingly different and beautiful).
And me? I had just watched the series Shogun. Thus are big – or biggish – decisions made.
Of course I took books. A fully-loaded Kindle. But instead of reading Murakami or one of the many Japanese books about cats, I read Pride and Prejudice again. And – is it so surprising? I find something new in Austen every time I read her novels – it read very differently. I’m not going to pretend that I have any profound cross-cultural observations to make, but the varying codes of behaviour at Longbourn, Netherfield Park, Rosings and Pemberly seemed to find an echo. Because I’m so familiar with P&P, I think my perception of the strangeness of Regency customs and manners have usually been blunted. But being immersed in a society so foreign to me must have got me a little off-balance. The strait-jacket of manners and customs has never seemed so confining, nor financial security so precarious.
The story of Elizabeth and Darcy didn’t quite lose its fascination, but this time I seemed to take in the whole book as a web of social manouevres, debts, obligations and unequal relationships in a way that I hadn’t before. It was pretty unromantic. Anti-romantic, even. And Lydia – ‘untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy and fearless’ – came out as one of the few characters who is uncalculating and authentic.
Reading Austen in Japan opened a big ol’ can of worms about Austen’s morality and world-view. Who knew? I look forward to travelling with her again.