A modern classic, written in 1913 (but set in the 1880s). Very Japanese in that the story is more in what is omitted than in what is told. Indeed, not much ever "happens,” although there is a clear narrative arc and a beginning and a middle. (An end, not so much.) The unnamed middle-aged narrator is reminiscing about a classmate’s “affair” with a local moneylender’s mistress. And precisely because such a bald statement omits so much, this is worth your time. It’s about the mistress, about the classmate, and Japan’s arrival on the world stage, and about nostalgia for a simpler time--among other things. ( )

But not all wild geese can fly, and in Ogai’s novel there are several that cannot. (8)

Gradually her thoughts settled. Resignation was the mental attitude she had most experienced. And in this direction her mind adjusted itself like a well-oiled machine. (47)

Whatever pain the decision might cost her, she was determined to keep her sadness to herself. And when she had made this decision, the girl, who had always depended on others, had felt for the first time her own independence. (76)

A woman may have her heart set on a particular article, yet she may not go so far as to think of buying it. Each time she passes it, she may stop and look into the window where the article, say a ring or a watch, is on display. She doesn’t go to that shop deliberately, but whenever she happens to be in the neighborhood on some business or other, she always makes it a point to examine it. Though she recognizes that she will never be able to buy the article, the renunciation and the desire to have it often give rise to a not too keen but rather faint and sweetly sad emotion. And she enjoys feeling it. On the other hand, a particular item she can afford and has determined to buy gives her acute pain. (92-3)

Hopeful images entered her mind. Women pitiably waver in their decisions until they have made up their minds, yet once they have decided on their course of action, they rush forward like horses with blinders, looking neither to the right nor left. (105-6)

Okada and I crossed the end of Hanazono-cho and went toward the stone steps leading to the Toshogu Shrine. For some time we walked in silence.
“Poor bird,” said Okada, as if speaking to himself.
Without any logical connection the woman of Muenzaka came into my mind. (112)

I looked back once more, but the woman was no longer in sight. (118)


( )

Such a simple story, of two ships passing in the night, the closeness of whose encounter only we can see with the help of our lighthouse narrator. That the events had to have happened the way they did, felt not contrived but perfectly natural. That both sides would romanticise each other so, added to melancholy of the missed opportunity whilst also portended what a catastrophe it would have been. I think this may have been the perfect short story. ( )

Della fascinazione che intercorre tra lo studente e la donna alla finestra l'autore dice troppo poco. I protagonisti del romanzo sono l'usuraio, l'insopportabile moglie e il vecchio padre della giovane alla finestra.
Gran parte della narrazione va spesa dietro a loro e non è affatto interessante. Peccato. ( )

Ōgai is often mentioned as one of the pre-eminent Meiji authors alongside Natsume Sōseki. If that's truly the case then The Wild Geese doesn't do him justice as it's not a patch on Sōseki's best.

Perhaps a lot of this is down to the translation, which isn't the best. For instance, at one point we're told that Otama's father felt that losing his daughter to a scary looking policeman was, "like having her carried off by a monster with a long nose and a red face." That's a very awkward sentence and to anyone in the know (admittedly far from everybody) that quote obviously describes a Tengu. Why the translators didn't just romanise the Japanese word or pick an appropriate substitute like "demon" instead of giving a literal description of a Tengu, I don't know. It seems awfully clumsy and I can't believe that's how it was written originally in the Japanese. There are other minor issues with the translation - such as the way honorifics are denoted - that do grate; but perhaps this is only noticeable to someone more familiar with Japanese culture. Regardless, it would be nice to see a decent translation one day (I know the translation Tuttle use for Botchan is another awful disservice).

The story itself is fine but feels rather lightweight. Little takes place in the novel, which is fine, but it all feels so inconsequential in a way that the minor events of, say, Sōseki's Sanshirō don't. The characters and story take a while to get going and then it ends quite suddenly. The lack of neat resolution may be part of the point but it all feels rather abrupt.

It all left me wondering why Ōgai is thought of in such high regard. Given that few of his works are easily available in translation one would expect what is available to be among his best work; either this translation is very poor or that's simply not the case. ( )