Through The Eyes of A Twentieth-Century Court Lady Gender, Class, and The Challenge To The Field of Classical Japanese Literature - Miyake

Josai University Educational Corporation
Through the Eyes of a Twentieth-Century Court Lady? Gender, Class, and the Challenge
to the Field of Classical Japanese Literature
Author(s): Lynne K. Miyake
Source: U.S.-Japan Women's Journal. English Supplement, No. 18 (2000), pp. 27-57
Published by: University of Hawai'i Press on behalf of Josai University Educational
Corporation
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English Supplement No. 18, 2000 27
Through the Eyes of a Twentieth-Century Court Lady?

Gender, Class, and the Challenge to the Field of
Classical Japanese Literature
Lynne K. Miyake
When I first read Iwasa Miyoko's "Nyõbõ no me" (literally, "The Eye[s] of a Court
Lady"),1 an account of her omiyazukae (court service) as an asobi aite ("humble

playmate," or "honorable play companion") to the late Teru no miya Shigeko
(Emperor Hirohito' s eldest daughter and the present emperor's eldest sister), I was
struck by its title.2 Could tenth- or eleventh-century court service be viable in the
twentieth century? Couched in the highest order of humble and honorific language,
"Nyõbõ no me" did take me back to the glowing praises of imperial mistresses, to
Sei Shönagon's Makura no sõshi (Pillow Book) and, to a lesser degree, Murasaki
Shikibu's diary; it spoke of court service as though it had remained the same
despite the great political, social, institutional, and economic changes of the
intervening ten centuries.
But was it possible for a nyõbõ nikki (court lady diary) in the lineage of its
Heian and Kamakura prototypes to exist in the twentieth century- and, in effect, to
enable Iwasa through its pages to "be(come)" a Heian court lady? Iwasa valiantly
attempts to make this case. Although a child companion to a child princess, Iwasa
Lynne K. Miyake is associate professor of Japanese, Women's Studies, and Asian American Studies
at Pomona College. Her recent publications include studies of the conceptualization of genres in
classical Japanese literary studies, the early history of classical Japanese literature in English
translation, and collaborative, performative readers in Heian narratives. She has just received a grant
from the Japan Foundation to work on a book manuscript on interactive narrators and readers in
Heian literature.
© 2000 by the Center for Inter-Cultural Studies and Education, Josai University
28 U.S. - Japan Women's Journal
considers her relationship to her princess very much that of a lady-in-waiting

serving a beloved imperial mistress with unmitigated loyalty and love, thus placing
herself within the nyõbõ katagi (court lady code of honor) of old. All that is lacking
is the classical Heian or Kamakura prose.

To embark on her journey across the centuries, Iwasa very carefully and
deliberately forges her ties to the past and to the narratives of two of the most
revered women writers in Japanese. Ostensibly, Iwasa writes her diary to preserve a
tradition that slips farther into oblivion with each passing year. Yet if we follow
Pierre Bourdieu' s lead in examining the structure and operation of what he terms
the "field of cultural production" (here specifically the space of early classical
Japanese literary studies and its sub-field, nikki bungaku, or classical diary
literature), discussed in more detail below, Iwasa's performance can be read as
something other than simply reviving an old tradition or seeking camaraderie with
ladies-in-waiting of the past. Rather, to refigure the field of early classical, tenth-
through mid-fourteenth-century Japanese literature, Iwasa uses (1) "Nyõbõ no me,"
a seemingly nondescript piece published privately with her own funds, (2)
"Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari, Sono ichi-Sono hachi" (Poemtale, Court Lady Tale,
Numbers One to Eight), and (3) her recently published Kyutei joryu bungaku
dokukaikö (An Examination of Writings by Women of the Court). In so doing, she
challenges the elite critics in the field, contesting their definition of who and what
constitutes a writer of nikki bungaku and, by extension, who is most qualified to
read and interpret nyõbõ nikki.3 On one level, then, Iwasa records the experiences
of someone whose role recalls an age long past, while on another level she attacks
the traditional readings and interpretations of classical court-attendant diaries
presented thus far by the hegemonic critical elite of the field.

To do so, Iwasa makes two interesting claims. First, she maintains that
insights garnered from living in a hierarchical society and from serving an imperial
mistress are not only necessary but invaluable for the study of diary literature,
especially court lady diaries. Second, by virtue of her upbringing and court service,
Iwasa claims an "authenticity and authority" for her studies of court lady diaries.
Thus Iwasa secures her credentials as a court attendant by aligning herself directly
with Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shõnagon, the premier ladies-in-waiting of old.
In the aftermath of poststructuralism and cultural studies, many would view
Iwasa's claims as questionable at best- and her essentialist rendering of class (as
something that is monolithic, unchanging, and without the requisite historical,
social, and institutional contextualization) as nothing short of naive. Moreover,
Iwasa's lack of self-reflection both about the elitism inherent in her class and about
her privileged position prompts her to speak to issues of hierarchy and hegemony in
the field of classical Japanese literary studies in terms of gender inequality alone.
Clearly Iwasa is not alive to these concerns. But to give her the benefit of the doubt,
she addresses issues of hierarchy only in a very localized struggle with specific
contemporary male scholars in the circumscribed area of study of Heian and
Kamakura women's court diaries, and is not making wide-ranging claims about
women in Japan or even in academia but is, rather, raising issues that concern a
very small sector of the academy. Hers is a struggle in a different place- albeit one
that needs to be addressed. Pierre Bourdieu's notions of the field of cultural
production and cultural capital prove helpful in this endeavor.
Notions of Literary Fields of Production
Bourdieu defines the "field of cultural production" as the arena (or "universe of
belief') in which the material and symbolic production of literary and cultural
works take place.4 This field of literary cultural production has an infrastructure that
is in constant motion, like any other political, economic, or scientific field. At any
one time, several forces are in play: both the cultural products (novels, plays)
themselves and, no less important, the agents who create them (writers, dramatists)
and the bestowers of value (critics, editors) who sanction the products and
producers as works of art and producers of art. The tasks of the field, then, are the
production and assessment of its products (i.e., a determination of what constitutes
literary products and who can sanction these products as legitimate).
These judgments are, of course, highly contested, and constant jockeying
among the participants for the right to make them is the norm. In effect, the more
say a player has in determining the parameters of the cultural products of the
field- in other words, the more knowledge (s)he has of the rules of the game and
how to manipulate them- the more cultural capital (s)he is said to have at his/her
disposal. Conversely, the more cultural capital (i.e., the cultural competence and
aesthetic disposition necessary to decide which products are legitimate and have
value in the field) a participant collects, the more honored and revered (s)he
becomes, thus allowing him/her to gain symbolic capital and become a central
player in the field.
As Bourdieu has outlined the rules of the game, then, the field is comprised
of opposing forces, the most prominent of which are the dominant players who
make the decisions and the challengers, like Iwasa, who contest their right to do so.
One way a challenger can mount his/her challenge is by acquiring cultural capital -
that is, by challenging the established definitions of the field, and of those in
dominance, by securing the tools to reconfigure and redefine what counts as
cultural production. According to Bourdieu's Distinction: A Social Critique of the
Judgment of Taste, the task of the dominant class is to use reproductive strategies to
maintain or increase its assets and position and, ultimately, to fend off challenges.
These reproduction strategies depend on both the volume and composition of the
capital to be reproduced and the state of the instruments of reproduction (such as

inheritance law, custom, and the education system).5
One such instrument, used in early classical Japanese literature, is the
creation of a hierarchy of importance among the genres in the field.6 For example,
Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji ) and, by extension, tsukuri monogatari

(fictional tales) hold top honors, while nikki bungaku are second or considered a
draw with others in the tale series, such as the poem tale (uta monogatari ), the
historical tale ( rekishi monogatari), and the war tale ( gunki monogatari). The lowest
rank is reserved for setsuwa (short tales). Poetry anthologies and collections, with
the exception of the Kokinwakashu (Collection of Ancient and Modern Poetry),

rank lower than Genji and slightly below the other major prose pieces despite
poetry's prominence in the Heian period, thanks to the twentieth-century preference
for prose and predominance of the novel. In diary literature, a hierarchy is also
evident: Heian ( chako ) diaries are awarded higher status than Kamakura ( chusei )
diaries. As a result, those who have written the so-called definitive commentaries
on Genji and on the Heian diaries such as Izumi Shikibu nikki (The Diary of Izumi
Shikibu) and Kagerõ nikki (The Kagerõ Diary) command higher positions than
other critics.
What is of special interest is the presence of a marked gender bias in this
hierarchy. It is no accident, according to Iwasa, that diaries that are more amenable
to heterosexual male interest and expertise (e.g., those that describe love relations
among men and women rather than relationships among women) take precedence
over those that require sensitivity to the workings of a woman's mind in a more
straightforward career setting.7 Thus The Tale of Genji and the Heian diaries that
focus more on romantic love triangles and intrigue rank higher. The lesser tales,
which include nonromantic elements such as travel accounts and religious
connotations, and the Kamakura court diaries (such as Ben no Naishi nikki,
Nakatsukasa Naishi nikki, and Takemuki ga ki), which read more like "career
women" accounts of a day on the job and which speak to the everyday lives of
court attendants, are positioned lower in the hierarchy.
Gender and Class Differentiation
Why is this so? Why is there such a marked gender differentiation in the field? To
answer these questions, we must take a closer look at how the field of classical
Japanese literary cultural production is constituted, where Iwasa and her diary fit in,
why she mounts an assault on the field- and, ultimately, how effectively
Bourdieu's configuration of the field provides answers to our queries. As indicated
above, Bourdieu proves more helpful in outlining Iwasa' s position on the margins
than in coming to terms with her gender. Indeed, Iwasa' s life and work are living
proof that the creation of cultural capital and authority is much more conflicted than
Bourdieu would have it, and does not simply reproduce a hierarchy of class but is
actually complicated by the presence of gender. The "internalized code or cognitive
acquisition which equips the social agent with a competence to decipher cultural
relations and cultural artifacts,"8 and which is operative in the field of early classical
Japanese literary cultural production, has characteristics that impede Iwasa and
other female scholars in acquiring the necessary cultural capital to become central
players in the field. Most are patronized when they are young; many are harassed as
they get older; others are simply ignored.
Again, why the gender differentiation? Without adequately integrating the
consequences that his own insights have on the function of gender in the
constitution of the field of cultural production, Bourdieu notes that those in
dominance can maintain exclusive membership through hidden criteria- that is,
through traits held in common beyond requirements explicitly demanded. These

"secondary properties, "as Bourdieu calls them, are absent from the official job
description but function as tacit requirements. Age, sex (normally gender), and
social or ethnic origin are examples of such operative, unstated principles of
selection or exclusion.9 In the field of early classical Japanese literary studies,
gender operates as a prominent "secondary property." First and most obviously,

male candidates are generally given preference over female candidates in the
securing of teaching positions. Even graduating from Tokyo University (Tõdai) or
one of the top women's universities, such as Ochanomizu, does not guarantee a
female scholar employment at a high-ranking university, so that many women are
relegated to second-tier women's colleges and universities. Second, the educational
system in place in Japan has a hidden male privilege. A majority of the most
prominent scholars in the field, whom some would call the "old guard," are
graduates of Tokyo University or students ( deshi ) of those who graduated from
Tokyo University, which still selects more male than female students.
Recently, a group known as the Monogatari Kenkyükai (Classical Narrative
Study Group) has risen to challenge the Tõdai hegemony. The group is composed
largely of Waseda University graduates; its members are considered "trendy" and,
like Iwasa and her female colleagues, they are still challengers rather than wielders
of power. Most recently, they have been accused of uncritically using Western
literary techniques inappropriate for classical Japanese literary studies and have
been losing ground as traditional scholars begin to reassert themselves. The group
includes several prominent female scholars who are relatively young. They still
receive the support of their older male colleagues, but it will be interesting to see
how they fare once they become older.
In Iwasa's estimation, then, within the specifications outlined above, her
qualifications of having served an imperial mistress mean very little and have not
provided her with much advantage in the study of court-attendant diaries- the very
area in which they should have some impact. Events in postwar Japan may account
for this: under the reforms instituted in Japan after World War II, aristocrats lost
their lands and were virtually discredited in the "democratic" age that dismantled
such privilege. Takie Lebra notes that, although a large majority of the former
aristocrats reside in Tokyo, they are scattered and do not "exhibit the prestige
associated with the [post-Meiji] kazoku [sic] status but rather maintain a low,
cryptic profile and joke about their being shin-heimin ('new commoners,' a post-
Meiji name for former outcaste)."10 A second reform that had great repercussions
for Iwasa was the establishment of a new "equal opportunity" educational system in
which meritocracy rather than aristocracy became the key." Education was to be
the great leveler of the playing field, and in many ways it was, for it allowed not
just the rich and the upper class but many other Japanese as well to attend colleges
and universities. Yet it accomplished this largely for men. Women were not
afforded the same opportunities and thus were barred from participating in the
lucrative and necessary sensei/deshi (teacher/student disciple) networks in
academia.
This is not to say that the academy discriminated against those of

aristocratic background, many of whom did secure employment within its walls.12
Further, according to Lebra's study, the old elite has survived in postwar Japan
through assimilation by the new elite in the governmental, political, financial,

industrial, and professional sectors. Many of its members have been "recycled" in
popular contemporary culture as professional actors and actresses, or in the "public
sharing" of illustrious ancestors for the purpose of historical and cultural

preservation. Nonetheless, members of the former nobility have not escaped
criticism, animosity, and ridicule. The negative criticism, Lebra hypothesizes, "may
reflect universal ambivalence toward power, authority, and the social order as being
at once desirable and oppressive."'3
Whatever the ambivalence, diaries, memoirs, and studies of and by those
who experienced the bygone years of aristocratic life have been gaining a certain
degree of public attention. Here in the United States, we have Lebra's award-
winning study, Above the Clouds: Status Culture of the Modern Japanese Nobility
(1993), and, from a different perspective, Matthews Hamabata's Crested Kimono:
Power and Love in the Japanese Business Family (1990), which deals with upper-
class business magnates. In Japan, we see the likes of Iwasa's "Nyõbõ no me" and
her series of articles entitled "Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari" (Poemtale, Court Lady Tale,
1996-1997), as well as Sakakibara Kisako's Tokugawa Yoshinobuke no
kodomobeya (The Children's Room of the Tokugawa Yoshinobu Household,
1996). Sakakibara was five years ahead of Iwasa at the Gakushuin School for the
aristocracy.
Given Iwasa's class and gender, it comes as no surprise that she is blind to
the elitism in her championing of her class upbringing and unaware of the privilege
that her class affords her. In Iwasa's eyes, her aristocratic lineage has been less a
site of privilege than of disprivilege14 in postwar Japan. Herein lies another puzzle
for the "field of cultural production," because Bourdieu's configuration of the

dominant, established class as a monolithic, hegemonic elite in opposition to a
separate group of challengers does not fit Iwasa's profile. Although perhaps not
explicitly stated in his Field of Cultural Production, for Bourdieu the binaries of
upper and lower class operate at opposite ends of a continuum.15 As a challenger,

Iwasa must be an outsider, and she would indeed most likely be of lower-class
status in fields like those of academia and literary cultural production.
Fundamentally Marxist in orientation, Bourdieu would not expect to find Iwasa on
the margins of literary studies: Iwasa's access to literacy, to literary works, to the
leisure of reading and studying are prerogatives of her class. How could her special
class privilege function as a site of disprivilege? (See Bourdieu's analysis of class

in Distinction, and his rendering of the upper class as the dominant and most
privileged group in the production of cultural products.) In Iwasa's reading of the
field, however, her class status does act as a site of disprivilege, especially when
coupled with her gender and her educational background.
There is no doubt, however, that Iwasa's upper-class upbringing also

functions as a site of privilege. In an age when many women were not allowed the
luxury of an education, Iwasa was encouraged to attend a special school for female
children of the aristocracy in the company of an imperial princess, no less. This
privilege cannot be underestimated. Hence an anomalous situation emerges for

Bourdieu: the fact that upper-class origins can function not only as a site of
disprivilege but also, at the same time and in the same place, as a site of privilege.
Thus challengers are outsiders but can also share in the prerogatives of the
dominant class. Iwasa's position is multifaceted and contradictory, and is
simultaneously one of privilege and disprivilege, challenger and reinscriber of
literary tradition.
Yet despite the multiplicity of Iwasa's position, the configuration of the

dominant class (that sector of the academy specializing in early classical Japanese
literary studies) does not allow her easy access to the highest circles. Indeed, her
profile has three flaws that make her an outsider. First, although progressive for her
time, Iwasa did not enter a university or formally finish college. Instead, she
attended Gakushüin, a school for the imperial family and the aristocratic class, and
acquired the equivalent of what we would now call a high school education.16 She
was privy for a short time to the "Tokyo-style" lectures of Hisamatsu Shin'ichi, one
of the great names in the field, but was never formally acknowledged as his student
or the recipient of all the benefits that accompany public mentorship (i.e., patronage
in matters of employment and publication).17 Her exposure certainly did not afford
her entrance into Hisamatsu' s and Tödai's senpai/kõhai (senior/subordinate or
upper/lower classman) network of graduates. Second, she was female, and third,
she was of upper-class heritage.
Despite these setbacks, Iwasa did extremely well on her own and gained
prominence as a leading scholar of the Kyõgokuha school of poetry (one of the

three major poetic factions), which traces its origins to the Kamakura period and the
writings of Fujiwara no Teika and Fujiwara no Tameie. She wrote eight books
(some for popular consumption) 18 and numerous commentaries and articles. She cut
her teeth on chOsei nikki (Kamakura diaries) and became such an expert on court
lady diaries that the Shõgakukan editors asked her to write the commentaries for
two of them ( Ben no Naishi nikki , 1246-1252, and Izayoi nikki, 1279-1280) for
their new Chusei nikki kikõshu volume (The Late Twelfth- Through Mid-
Fourteenth-Century Diary and Travel Collection, 1994). Iwasa even began to
contest some of the readings of passages in Heian diaries ("Izumi Shikibu nikki
dokkaikõ," Kokugo kokubun, 55:4 [1986]), based on her experiences as a court
attendant. None of this prestige, however, garnered her the cultural capital that she
needed to successfully challenge the many critiques of court lady diaries that she
feels misinterpret the relationships between court-attendant authors and their
imperial mistresses.
Enacting Humble Companionship
Perhaps it was under these circumstances that Iwasa conceived her slim,
unassuming "Nyõbõ no me" and decided to take on the "big boys." In an epilogue
she describes the genesis of the work, which is a slightly modified version of a
lecture she gave in January 1987 at the Tsurumi University Japanese Literature
Autumn Lecture Series. In Iwasa' s seemingly unpretentious words, the volume was
"unsuitable as a scholarly publication, . . . nothing more than a personal

reminiscence," so she printed it at her own expense for limited distribution. 19
Just over thirty pages long, the text consists of a short introduction, five
sections, and an epilogue - all of which Iwasa hopes will help set the record
straight. In the opening lines of the diary, in most polite, proper kenjõgo (humble
discourse), she addresses both the male critics in the field who know little about
court service to a mistress and those born and raised in the postwar years who have
not experienced a hierarchically structured society, and asks what they think (read
"know") about court lady diaries and their code of honor: 2(1
There is no need to speak at length about the "court ladies" who were the
mainstays of the literati and who so brilliantly flourished at court during

the Heian and Kamakura periods. But with what emotions buried in their
hearts did they serve at court- that is, how would they describe their
mutually shared code of honor? In this day and age, when society has lost
any sense of what it means to serve at court or what it is like to "have a
master/mistress," I wonder what the honorable male scholars and those,
both men and women, who have been raised in the postwar years and have
not known a hierarchical society think about such a "court lady's code of
honor."21
This is a seemingly innocuous passage, but with it Iwasa begins her quest to
establish the authority and authenticity of her class upbringing and court service to
Teru no miya. No doubt she can be accused of essentializing her experience and of
trying to make herself into a full-fledged court lady, but as we will see, her reading
of court diaries, based on her service, is invaluable to the Heian and Kamakura
experience.
In Section One of "Nyõbõ no me," Iwasa presents the credentials of her
mistress and, by extension, her class. Royal Princess Teru no miya Shigeko
Naishinnõ was born on December 6, 1925 as the eldest daughter of Crown Prince
Hirohito. Affectionately known as Teru no miyasama (the Princess Teru), she
captured the hearts of the populace and graced the front page of the newspaper
every New Year's Day. Teru no miya married Prince Higashikuni no miya
Morihiro22 in October 1943, only to be reduced to commoner status after the war.
She raised five children and died in July 1961, at the youthful age of thirty-five.
Born the same year as the princess, Iwasa served her from age four through sixteen,
through two years of preschool and eleven years of elementary and middle school at
Joshi Gakushüin,23 for a total of thirteen years. As one of the select few (out of sixty
classmates) who served the princess most intimately, Iwasa was invited to the
princess's home Kuretakeryö, in the imperial compound, and even went to Hayama
Villa for seven or eight summers beginning in 1930. 24
The 1927 entries from the diary of Kawai Yahachi, high steward to the
empress (Kõgõ no miya dai fu)- a record that Iwasa likens to a classical courtier
diary in the tradition of Fujiwara Teika's Meigetsuki (Record of the Clear Moon,
which covers thirty-five years between 1180 and 1235)- speak of the difficulties
posed in the planning of the princess's education. Teru no miya was the first royal
female child in modern times to acquire an education, for the Meiji emperor did not
feel that female children should be educated and the Taisho emperor only had boys.
With the blessing of the royal couple, it was finally decided that Teru no miya
would attend preschool ( yõchien ) and then proceed to Joshi Gakushüin, a school
especially set up for female children of the imperial family and the aristocracy. This
is confirmed by Iwasa's grandmother's diary, which, like Kawai's diary, appears in

the second installment of Iwasa's "Poemtale, Court Lady Tale."
The May 30, 1930 entry in her grandmother's diary records Iwasa's
selection and her first visit to the preschool, while those that follow describe her
subsequent attendance at the Hama Detached Palace, and at the Shinjuku Imperial
Garden or at Gyõen (locations where the preschool was held), as a "humble
companion" (asobi aite) to the princess.25 It was her early visits to the summer villa
in Hayama, on July 24 and August 2, 1930, however, that Iwasa considers to be her
first experience of court service. Her grandmother notes that a formal invitation was
extended to Iwasa by the empress on July 23. Iwasa made her first visit the next day
in the company of two other little girls, and a second on August 2 with just one
other child. Although both entries are straightforward records by her grandmother,
the uncharacteristically detailed accounts nonetheless speak to the anxiety felt by
Iwasa's parents and grandmother that Iwasa do her "job" well.

Iwasa notes that, because she was four years old at the time, she cannot be
sure which were her first memories of the princess, but that the days spent at
Hayama were her most memorable. What amazes her is how such a sheltered young
child as she was never cried or fussed and executed her "duties" with the greatest of
seriousness. It was difficult to be so proper and well behaved for such long stretches
of time, Iwasa comments. Tying her service to that of yet another court lady of old,
she notes that no doubt it is this experience that helps her understand just how much
of a strain ( kurõ ) it must have been for Lady Nijõ of Towazugatari (The Unsolicited
Tale) to have served Emperor Go-Fukakusa from the tender age of four.26
Again to strengthen the "authenticity" of her experience, Iwasa is careful to
point out that her service to the imperial family did not occur in isolation. Such
service is the right and privilege of her class, from Sei Shõnagon and Murasaki
Shikibu through Lady Nijõ, Kawai Yahachi, and even Iwasa's father, Hozumi
Shigetõ. Shigetö was appointed high steward to the crown prince ( Tõgõ daibu ) on
August 10, 1945 (five days after the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, one
day after Nagasaki, and four days before Japan's surrender). According to Iwasa's
notation in "Poemtale #2," Shigetõ oversaw the prince's middle-school education,
was responsible for the new directions that had to be taken by the imperial family
after the war, and negotiated with Mac Arthur' s General Headquarters to forge that
new role.27 In one passage she alludes to the dedication and loyalty with which her
father served the prince in the difficult years after the war, the strain perhaps
showing in his dying within two years after his service ended:
[Hozumi Shigetõ] served until 1949, when the Crown Prince graduated
from middle school, and then became a Supreme Court judge, but having
attended the royal family in most troubling times, he died in April 1951 at
the age of sixty-eight- as if his time at court had shaved years off his body
and soul.2"
In another entry in "Poemtale #4," Iwasa affectionately describes a happier aspect

of her father's service- his attendance at several waka poetry sessions involving
the crown prince and his companions.
Iwasa's proximity to the princess and her father's service to the royal family
are not, however, her only bases of "authority"; her upbringing is yet another. In
"Poemtale #1" she describes the household in which she was raised. Practitioners of
law for two generations, the family was nonetheless steeped in Meiji liberalism and
Edo literature, kanbun Chinese classics, waka poetry, shibai plays, and Edo-style
gesaku prose, rather than late Taisho-early Showa modernism, Ginbura (sauntering
along the westernized Ginza), motion pictures, or the all-female Takarazuka review.
There was no television. Radio listening was limited to live broadcasts of plays,
Kabuki chanting, and ballads; nightly entertainment consisted of family discussions

nf rtramfl and literature, centered on waka Doetrv. The house was overflowing with
books, which were stuffed into every nook and cranny, even taking over the entire
second floor and half of each of the hallways. Iwasa had the run of all the books in
the house, so her introduction to literature was diverse, running the gamut of
Grandmother Hozumi Utako's diary, Kujö Takeko's2* poetic anthology, and the
Kokinwakashu (Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems, 905) and Gosen wakasha
(Later Collection of Japanese Poetry, 951) gleaned from Tanizaki Jun'ichirö's

modern rendition of Genji. It also included the writings of Empress Eifukumon'in
(wife of Emperor Fushimi, 1271-1342) and the Kyõgokuha poetic school (via
Hisamatsu Shin'ichi).30 An eclectic and decidedly informal introduction to
literature, Iwasa' s training has the earmark of a Bourdieuian strategy to reproduce
class privilege. It effortlessly taught the rules and regulations of her class just when
it seemed least likely to be engaged in instruction.
Reading Court Service: Engendering Authenticity and Authority
A second major strategy that Iwasa employs to claim authority is the establishment
of her credentials as a court lady. This she does by disregarding the historical
context of her own period and privileging instead the classical age of Murasaki
Shikibu and Sei Shõnagon by drawing parallels between their court service and hers.
Highlighting similarities and ignoring differences, Iwasa notes that all three women
received private or informal ( shi-teki ) rather than public ( kõ-teki ) appointments,
thus allowing them greater proximity to their mistresses and explicitly charging
them with promoting the well-being of these mistresses.31 Iwasa then deftly takes her
argument one step farther, indicating that the distinctions between the two
categories, both in the past and in her own time, were not clear cut. Some formally
appointed ladies were in intimate service to the empresses or princesses, while some
privately appointed ladies undertook formal rituals, so that even an informal

appointee like Iwasa herself received formal recognition and assignments. In short,
Iwasa transforms her asobi aite experiences into those of a full-fledged adult court
attendant whose most important task was the love and promotion of her mistress- a
questionable strategy to some, but a highly effective one nonetheless.
Having thus established herself as a "court lady," Iwasa moves into a

discussion of what the court lady's code of honor meant for her generation. As with
the court attendants of old, Iwasa contends, service was rendered not simply out of
duty but out of love for and pride in a personage who warranted such adoration. In
Section Two of her account, Iwasa tells us that those who attended Teru no miya
clearly held their heads a little higher knowing that "Our Princess" ( uchi no
miyasama ) was the best of the lot. Even Her Highness Kuni no miya Asako Jõtenka
had to be identified as "Asa miyasama," utilizing her first name;32 only Teru no
miya could simply be called "Miyasama" (Princess). This kind of pride was not
undeserved, according to Iwasa, because Teru ni miya was a generous, cheerful
personality blessed with a sweet smile that at the same time pierced one's soul with
it acumen. Despite her youth, Teru no miya exhibited wisdom, beauty, and
innocence - a kind of majesty and dignity, the birthright of the highborn.33 The
Empress's High Steward Kawai recognized this and did his utmost to ensure her the
best possible education. Although it can neither be substantiated nor viewed

without skepticism, prominent Heian scholar Ikeda Toshio34 of Tsurumi University,
upon seeing a picture of Teru no miya at nine years old, is quoted by Iwasa as
unhesitantly noting her resemblance to Empress Sadako, one of the most
charismatic imperial consorts in history. Since no one knows exactly what Sadako
looked like, Iwasa is no doubt using both these references to make her point that
Teru no miya was a personage of such superior moral and regal character that Iwasa
did not mind forgoing her childhood and even giving up her life for such a one-
just as Sei Shõnagon was glad to do for Sadako.

What this kind of unstinting service entails is described in Sections Three
and Four of "Nyõbõ no me," which examine three imperial women of old, their
relationships with their ladies, and the very different kinds of salons over which
they presided. In the course of this discussion, Iwasa shows us firsthand exactly
how her position as a former "court lady" enables her to make startling revelations
about Hachijö'in and the salons in which Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shõnagon
served. Iwasa begins her analysis by noting the difference between Sei Shõnagon 's
and her own experiences. She laments the fact that her time at court was devoid of
warm, lively, and witty exchanges like those between Sadako and Shõnagon. In one
such interaction, the empress even called Shõnagon by name, singling her out
among her ladies and openly acknowledging how much pleasure Shõnagon brought
her:
"One day, when the snow lay thick on the ground and it was so cold that
the lattices had all been closed, I and the other ladies were sitting with Her
Majesty chatting and poking the embers in the brazier.
'Tell me, Shõnagon,' said the Empress, 'how is the snow on
Hsiang-lu peak?'
I told the maid to raise one of the lattices and then rolled up the
blind all the way. Her Majesty smiled. . . ."M
In the presence of all, the Empress calls out, "Oh, Shõnagon," and directly
asks her a question. At Shönagon's quick reply, the Empress smiles. How
happy Shõnagon must have been. I felt so jealous. Anyone who has served
at court would never think this but a boastful tale. They would hold this up
to their own experiences, as I did, and re-live the moment with Shõnagon,
enviously viewing it as an ideal relationship between mistress and lady,
almost impossible in this world.36
Many have dismissed this incident as Shönagon's grandstanding, and no

doubt there is an element of that, but in Iwasa's estimation it is much more: it
stands as a depiction of an ideal relationship between empress and lady in which

mutual love and enjoyment can be expressed openly. Such a relationship was not
possible for Murasaki Shikibu or for Iwasa, but this was not simply the result of
differences in personalities. Shikibu, who was famous for her introverted, darker,
ironic view of life, would have favored a more subdued relationship, whereas the
extroverted, feistier Shõnagon, always ready to do one-upsmanship battle, would

have relished brilliant, flashier exchanges. Yet this is only half the answer. The
more interesting question is why each developed the writing persona that she did.
Kokubungaku (Japanese literature) scholars have noted that changes in the political
climate are the key. Iwasa takes this one step farther, positing that what was more
important for nyõbõ nikki (court lady diaries) was the effect that these changes had
on the Kõkyu (the Inner Palace, or, bluntly put, the imperial harem).
What Iwasa highlights in her analysis, then, is not the general effect of the
poltical climate but the specific effect that it had on the dispositions of Sadako and
Akiko. A more relaxed, laissez-faire approach suited Sadako well and enabled her
to establish a vibrant, "flashy" salon and supportive, stimulating relationships with
her ladies. A much more stringent and oppressive climate caused the younger,
much gentler Akiko to take the safer, less conspicuous route both in terms of her
salon and in her relationships with her ladies. Thus, although the heydays of the
courts of Empresses Sadako and Akiko were separated by only ten years, this
decade was critical in the fashioning of Makura no sõshi and Murasaki Shikibu
nikki :
The Pillow Book and The Diary of Murasaki Shikibu are considered
products of the same time period, or at least of contiguous periods, but in
actuality this is not true. The Pillow Book records the events of 993 to
1000, while The Diary of Murasaki Shikibu, those of 1008 to 1010. These
works are separated by ten years. And it is an amateur's guess, but in these
ten years the power dynamics within the Inner Palace shifted from a less
orchestrated, more laissez-faire approach, based on Sadako's personal
charisma, to one meticulously micromanaged by Michinaga- one highly
politicized and demanding flawless perfection with no margin for error."
Between 993 and 1000, Empress Sadako maintained the Inner Palace as a
"showy, socially prominent space" under her tutelage. However, because Sadako's
brother and main supporter, Korechika (974-1010), relied almost entirely on
Sadako's charms and ability to sustain the interest of Emperor Ichijõ and to retain
the upper hand at court, he was undermined by Fujiwara no Michinaga (966-1027),

Akiko' s father.38
When Michinaga presented Akiko at court in 999, he made certain not to

fall victim to the same error, and left the political struggles among the emperor's
consorts of the Inner Palace neither to chance nor in the hands of his still very
young daughter (who was twelve). He maintained stringent control over Akiko and
the occurrences in the Inner Palace.39 This no doubt changed the tenor of court
politics, although Iwasa suggests that the effect that Michinaga's political strategy
had on what many have considered the less important, women-centered salons of
the Inner Palace cannot be underestimated, for it had far-reaching consequences for
nyõbõ nikki.
Thus in "Nyõbõ no me," and to a greater extent in "Poemtale #3," Iwasa

contends that Michinaga's strategies created new circumstances that, in
combination with an empress very different from Sadako, resulted in the creation of
a very different salon and a very different mistress-lady relationship. It was the
composite of all these aspects- the different political climates, the dispositions of
the two empresses, and the subsequent relationships with their ladies-in-waiting-
that in effect produced the two very different literary products, Makura no sõshi and
Murasaki Shikibu nikki. Although Kokubungaku scholars have factored in

historical and contextual differences in assessing Shikibu and Shõnagon' s prose
styles, they have stopped short of looking extensively at how the relationship
between Sadako and Shõnagon and that between Akiko and Shikibu affected the
writing of the respective nyõbõ narratives, and have also failed to examine why the
relationships developed as they did.
Basking in the love of her mistress and in their mutual respect and adoration
for each other (which Sadako expressed toward all her ladies), Sei Shõnagon could
write with great assurance and bright abandon even when the situation became
difficult for her mistress. Three years older than Emperor Ichijõ when she entered
court, and "dauntless and resolute"40 until the day she died, Sadako had great
confidence in her abilities to provide a space where all her ladies, including
Shõnagon, could flourish without undermining the stability of the Inner Palace and
cause debilitating jealousy and havoc. Murasaki Shikibu, in contrast, was never
sure of her standing vis-à-vis Akiko and developed a much more subdued and
introspective style reflective of her diffident relationship with her mistress. It was
not a question of Shikibu being less committed to Akiko than Shõnagon was to
Sadako, but of Akiko's personality and the age at which she entered court. Iwasa
notes that Akiko was a lady of great talent, but that "compared to Sadako, she was
cautious and gentle." Perhaps due to some faux pas made as a child, Akiko seems to
have decided to take the "safe and 'tried-and-true'" methods and "radically avoided
expressing any individual likes and dislikes."41

Thus Akiko never let Shikibu know where she stood in her affections. This
was compounded by the fact that Shikibu arrived in Akiko's service six years after
Akiko came to court, which placed Shikibu in the awkward position of being a
relative newcomer in an all-female community in which the "pecking order" was
already in place. Calling upon her own experiences in court service, Iwasa
conjectures that Shikibu looked forward to making her time at court as stimulating
and exciting as it had been for Shõnagon. It must have been a great disappointment
that the times and Akiko herself seem to preclude that chance, leaving Shikibu to
create her own very different nyõbõ nikki.42
Court Service and the Nature/Nurture of "Imperial Mystique"
Thus Iwasa establishes her credentials as a court lady both by aligning herself with
Shikibu and Shõnagon in the service of their mistresses and by bringing to the fore
the importance of examining how lady-mistress relationships affected their writing.
In light of the fact that both Shikibu and Shõnagon wrote works that ostensibly
focus on their time at court and interactions with their mistresses, this makes
remarkable sense.
In Section Four of "Nyõbõ no me," Iwasa turns to the Kamakura period and
to two royal ladies, Empress Kenshünmon'in (1141-1176) and Princess Hachijö'in

(d. 1211), both depicted in the 1219 court diary Tawakiharu (Life), to discover the
"secret ingredient" that caused capable women like Shõnagon and Shikibu to love
their mistresses so unstintingly. The answer lies in what Iwasa labels the innate
"imperial mystique" of empresses and princesses- a disposition present in royal

personages by virtue of birth. It is not something that can be taught or learned but
that can only be lived. This smacks of an elitism that privileges Iwasa' s position as
a "truer" arbitrator of court diaries and that highlights her lack of self-reflection on
her position; nevertheless, we should hear her out.
Bourdieu's analysis of class- the distinction of taste that distinguishes all
class and class disposition- is instructive in this regard. Although, like Iwasa, he is
guilty of essentializing upper-class values and giving them special credence,

Bourdieu considers the ways a person acts, moves, dresses, and decorates his/her
home, a person's taste in music, his/her choice of leisure activity, and even a
person's attitude toward food (as nourishment or polite ritual) and how it is served
(individual portions or ladled out from a casserole) as indicators of the class in

which a person has been raised and of which (s)he is a part. Iwasa goes a step
farther, contending that imperial personages were marked by a distinguishing air-
an air that seemed to be part of their "genes" as much as a product of their milieu.
Only those in the know (e.g., people like Iwasa, High Steward Kawai, and
Professor Ikeda) would not overlook or misinterpret it. Iwasa points to Go-
Shirakawa's (r. 1155-1158) sister Hachijo'in and to his consort Kenshünmon'in as
examples.
Kenshünmon'in was the daughter of the courtier Taira no Tokinobu and
began her career as a court lady. She slowly rose in rank as she gained the
affections of Go-Shirakawa, and became empress dowager (nyõin) after giving
birth to Emperor Takakura (r. 1168-1180). The court diary Tamakiharu notes that
no matter how lofty her rank, she never put on airs and was conversant in the ways
of the world, confident and forthright. She also had a mischievous side that allowed
her to relax fully in the presence of her ladies (e.g., loosening her robe at the neck
and fanning herself) and to blend in with them easily when they traveled about
incognito ( shinobi aruki).43
In contrast, Hachijo'in, the daughter of Retired Emperor Toba (1 107-1 123),
is described in the following way:
Hachijö-in's palace, the Senior Courtiers' Chambers, the Inner Gate, and
the connecting corridors are so dusty that those visiting cannot find any
space to walk, but no one says "Sweep it up" or "Mop it up." Even when I
say, "Really, this won't do," no one agrees with me and finds fault. Only at
such times, however, do they take notice- "My, what is this?"- and
sweep it up. . . . Again, when Emperors Nijö'in and Go-Shirakawa'in
prevail upon Hachijõ-in to borrow her valuable pieces of furniture and
accessories, so that there is nothing but dust left in her royal storehouse,
she thinks nothing of it. Her usual appearance from morning to evening,
day or night, is her formal hakama and, appropriate to the season, summer
or winter, she always dresses formally, as if she were receiving guests.
Those who serve her do not know formal from daily wear, either. But this
is what is so endearing about her.44
According to Iwasa, scholars mistakenly read this passage as a negative

appraisal of the princess, especially in comparison to the brilliant assessment of
Kenshünmon'in. Iwasa points to the final statement, "This is what is so endearing
about her," and asks whether it does not seem to be saying that Hachijö'in's
innocent, extraordinary unconcern about the details of daily life (dust everywhere)
and the ways of the world (relinquishing her priceless furniture and accessories
without a second thought) was the very thing that drew people to her. Most people
would consider such actions eccentric or unwise at best, but for those in the know,
these qualities reveal Hachijö'in's sense of "total satisfaction with her

surroundings" to a point of complete disregard. Secure in who she was, there was
no need to fear or worry about her life, even when the birth of other siblings
threatened her position. In a passage from the Imak agami (The Mirror of the
Present, ca. 1180), Hachijö'in is quoted even at age four as being delighted in the
birth of her younger brother, proclaiming that he would become crown prince and
she, the crown prince's elder sister. Iwasa conjectures that ordinarily it would be
difficult to accept the birth of a brother who, as the next heir, would surely usurp
her favored status as the oldest daughter, but Hachijö'in possessed "extraordinary
magnanimity" as a result of the conditions into which she was born. Teru no miya
is quoted as making similar gestures at the birth of Akihito.45
Iwasa claims that she is hard pressed to explain exactly why Hachijö'in had
this special something, whatever it was, that Kenshünmon'in, for all her attractive
qualities, could not duplicate. It almost seemed inborn, an inherent "royalness" that
graced Hachijö'in's every gesture and that revealed itself in the events of her daily
life. She had it simply by virtue of who she was: a royal princess by birth. Bourdieu
would term this quality "disposition," meaning the breeding and conditioning used
by a particular class not only to reproduce itself but also to mark itself as separate.
So completely and effortlessly does it make its mark on those it touches that it
appears to be inborn. Iwasa talks about it in these terms in discussing Teru no miya:
The Princess' countenance was vibrant and she always seemed "to be in
the best of spirits." She was of a bright and generous temperament,
possessing a certain innocence, yet when she smiled, in that instant one felt
as though she had pierced through every nook and cranny of one's soul- a
frightening kind of sagacity. It had little to do with age but was an inborn
charisma, the birthright majesty of the highborn.46
This royal disposition, in both Bourdieu's and Iwasa's assessment, cannot

be learned in school or through instruction later in adult life, as evidenced by
Kenshunmon'in. By labeling it "the birthright majesty of the highborn," Iwasa
seems to be describing not something that Teru no miya acquired through training
but something innate, inborn. Teru no miya did not have to learn the modern
equivalent of the proper way to receive a male guest, the exact shade of vermilion
to wear with pale yellow, or the perfect placement of a curtain of state ( kichõ ); like
Empress Sadako and Princess Hachijõ-in, she simply "knew."

I would argue, however, that although Iwasa appears to mystify this
knowledge as a birthright, she herself explains in Section Three of "Nyõbõ no me"
that this quality results from the conditions into which these ladies were born. In
other words, the highborn didn't have to worry about the details of their
livelihood - the servants took care of such mundane matters. (See Lebra's
explanation of how servants, accompanying the aristocrats, "discharged all

transactions with store clerks, leaving the master [or mistress] aloof from or
ignorant about money.")47 The highborn were secure in their positions, and in the
knowledge of who they were, precisely because they were born into (high) status,
money, and security. Under such circumstances it may be easier to be

magnanimous - and the examples of Akiko and Teru no miya, who seemed to have
learned to dispense their magnanimity in ways markedly different from Sadako and
Hachijo'in, indicate that nurture has more to do with it than first meets the eye.
Thus being born into royal conditions of privilege may look very much like
being born with an otherworldly innocence, a largess of spirit capable of imbuing
the hearts of others with unmitigated love and loyalty. Not all royal children
possess this quality to the same degree, of course, but according to Iwasa,
Hachijö'in had it and so did Teru no miya. So finely calibrated that it can only be
recognized by those in the know, this royal disposition can easily be missed and
misinterpreted by people with modern (read "bourgeois/nonaristocratic")
sensibilities.
Rereading the Court Lady Code of Honor
In Sections Four and Five of "Nyõbõ no me," Iwasa discusses this "birthright
majesty of the highborn" in basically essentialistic terms and does not problematize
the eliteness inherent either in its formulation or in her position as one of the few
people raised in the proper class to appreciate it. Although this is a matter of
concern, readers cannot help but be struck by the heartfelt sincerity of the love and
loyalty that Iwasa feels for Teru no miya. Iwasa would give her life for her
mistress- and she would do so not from what she terms the "Confucian, medieval
warrior code of morality" but from a sense of duty "more freely given and natural,"
"private," and based on human love.48
Not having been raised in such a milieu, most of us in the twenty-first

century do not understand what it means to "serve" or to love so deeply someone
we may have been drafted into serving (as in Murasaki Shikibu's case). The only
hierarchies with which we are familiar are based on work relationships and on
economic, educational, religious, and other status differentials; one based solely on
aristocratic birth is foreign to us. For these reasons I believe that many of us have
unconsciously minimized Shônagon's worshipful appraisal of Sadako as a thing of
the past, or at least as something tangential to the work. Thus it has taken someone
like Iwasa to make me realize how dismissive we have been of a crucial aspect of
Makura no sõshi.
Although greatly muted, similar deeply felt sentiments existed between

Murasaki Shikibu and Akiko as well. In "Poemtale #3," Iwasa contends that
although her relationship with her mistress and Shikibu's with hers may not have
been as open or as free as Shönagon's, in both cases they were just as rich and as
deep. Iwasa turns to a different source- Shikibu's description in Genji of Yügiri's
inability to express his love for his stepmother Murasaki no ue as she lies dying- as
the best way to describe the kind of love that existed between Akiko and Shikibu
and, ultimately, between Iwasa and Teru no miya. This love is just as great as
Shönagon's for Sadako, but the times, dispositions, and relationships involved
precluded its being openly expressed.49
That is the way it is sometimes, Iwasa argues, but whatever the

circumstances, a court lady's sense of love and pride in the knowledge that her
empress or princess is peerless (sugureta) remains constant, and is what makes her
and her twentieth-century colleagues as much court ladies as their counterparts of
old. It is this love and pride that account for their upholding the court lady's code of
silence, never revealing the details of their service to family, friends, to anyone. But
it is also this code of honor that makes them continuously relive the wondrous
beauty and delight that the very presence of their mistresses bestowed on them.
According to Iwasa, it is this second state of the heart, if you will, that makes court
attendants lovingly recall, just as Sei Shõnagon and Murasaki Shikibu did, the
events and moments shared with their mistresses.
Perhaps it was seeing the misplaced critical readings of Sadako, Hachijo'in,

and the like that caused Iwasa to break the code of silence- or, more accurately, to
re-figure the court lady code of honor, as Shikibu and Shõnagon did, and truly enact
the pledge of service she had made to her mistress years before. Iwasa would best
serve her mistress by writing her own elegiac tribute, thus resurrecting Teru no
miya' s life from silence and bourgeois misinterpretation:
"Oh, My Princess . . ."-these words would press upon the heart of one
who has served. For no reason, that lady would be moved to tears- she
was/is the reason for serving at court; she was/is a court lady's sweet
reward. No longer to be denied, this fullness of emotion causes the lady to
write her diary, vividly resurrecting the memories even years after her
service has ended.50
Iwasa is no different, she seems to imply.
Indeed, this appears to be the case, for even if we cannot fully agree with
Iwasa's desire to "be(come)" a nyõbõ, as readers of "Nyõbõ no me" we cannot help
but feel the full impact of her love for her mistress. But hers is not simply a gesture
put down on paper, yet another saga of nyõbõ love and loyalty. Rather, it is a
heartfelt desire to right the record of twentieth-century readings of nyõbõ nikki- in
effect, to shake us out of the complacency of our postwar bourgeois mindset. I am
not saying that we should or even can abandon our individual locations, but that we
should be alive to our own blind spots. Being sensitive to and privileging
aristocratic sensibilities are not the answer for every text, but in the case of tenth-
through fourteenth-century women's court diaries, Iwasa has a point: such

sensibilities are helpful in more accurately reading these texts.
Even though Iwasa uses the questionable techniques of essentializing and

authenticizing her experiences, she interrogates our egalitarian notions: yes, capable
women like Shõnagon and Murasaki could and would willingly submit to imperial
personages, and would do so with immense love and loyalty. Perhaps it was Iwasa's
conflicted position in the academy, one of privilege and disprivilege, of being
simultaneously an insider and an outsider, that made her aware of the need to
examine more closely the finely calibrated differences inherent in nyõbõ nikki and
the reasons they developed as they did. Perhaps that is what prompted her mission
to reconfigure how women's court diaries are read. In any event, Iwasa boldly
utilizes the word and spirit of court ladies in her titles and in her texts ("Nyõbõ no
me" and "Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari") to "right" what she contends are "wrong"
readings of these diaries. She points directly at the complex, contradictory, multiple
axes of her privilege and disprivilege, questioning Pierre Bourdieu' s constitution of
fields of cultural production. As already noted, Bourdieu's idea of such fields is

helpful in identifying Iwasa as a challenge to the dominant male critical hegemony
in classical Japanese literary studies, but less adept in reconciling Iwasa's class
status with that of her gender.
Iwasa's court lady texts also speak to her preoccupation with "be(com)ing"
a nyõbõ in order to be true to her nyõbõ katagi (court lady code of honor).
Proponents of poststructuralism, cultural studies, and other approaches have

cautioned against the feasibility of such a move, but a careful perusal of Iwasa's
performance reveals much. In the process, for one reader at least, it has opened up a
new, more sensitive perspective on nyõbõ nikki and an understanding of how

nonhierarchical postwar bourgeois upbringings may have prejudiced readings of Sei
Shõnagon and Murasaki Shikibu. Thus "Nyõbõ no me" - and "Utagatari,

Nyõbõgatari"- remain conflicted to the end. Part diary, part elegy, they are blind to
their inherent elitism and essentialism, yet have done much to challenge the
Bordeauian cultural paradigm and our notions about aristocracy and privilege,
especially in our reading of classical Japanese court lady diaries.
Notes
1. The term "me" also indicates perspective, point of view, vision, and way of life -
elements of Iwasa's court service that she hopes to raise in her narrative. I thank Toshiko
Imazeki for this insight. The translation for asobi aite has been modified from Takie
Lebra's translation of oaite. See Lebra, Above the Clouds: Status Culture of the Modem
Japanese Nobility (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), p. 278.
2. I would like to thank the following people for their help in bringing this article to
completion: Iwasa Miyoko, for fielding numerous inquires about her life, her writings, and
the times surrounding her court service; Dorinne Kondo, for reading earlier versions of this
paper; and the two anonymous outside referees, for their insightful comments and
suggestions and careful reading of the paper.
3. See Iwasa Miyoko s Kyutei joryru bungaku dokukaikõ: Chusei hen ( lokyo: Kasama
Shoin, 1999) in its entirety, and especially the epilogue, pp. 434-435, for a statement on her
revisionist stance.
4. Pierre Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature, ed.
Randal Johnson (New York: Columbia University, 1993), pp. 82-87, and idem,
Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1984), pp. 50-53, for the definition of cultural capital below. See
also p. 2 of Richard Nice's "Introduction" in Distinction for a concise definition of the
term.
5. Bourdieu, Distinction, p. 125.

6. Bourdieu does not specifically point to genre as such an instrument, but from my
reading of how hierarchical differentials are created in Bourdieu's model, I identify genre
as such a site. There is some controversy among Japanese scholars as to whether or not
genres exist in Japanese classical literature. Konishi Jin'ichi argues strongly that they do in
his volume on Japanese literary history, translated into English as A History of Japanese
Literature: The Early Middle Ages, Volume Two , but his view may not be as widely held
in Japan (Kikuta Shigeo, personal communication, May 15, 1997). However, despite
disagreement about the appropriateness of genre categories, most scholars use them to
some degree. See Imazeki Toshiko, "Kükan to jikan no gyõshi: Nikki, kikõ to shiron,
monogatari," in Takeishi Tadao et al., eds., ChOsei bungaku kenkyQ (Tokyo: Sõbunsha
Shuppan, 1997), p. 117, for one such view. As an added concern, in the U.S.,
postmodernism has ushered in a general disdain of genres, although I still feel that genres
are viable and will utilize them, if more loosely and less categorically than before.
A hierarchy in classical Japanese literature definitely exists. Hierarchy in any human
endeavor is inevitable: a Japanese scholar once noted that even in the case of Robinson
Crusoe, a hierarchy of two developed as soon as Friday appeared on the scene. And as
Bourdieu so eloquently points out in Distinction, there is no specific person (or thing)
solely responsible for its establishment. Those who work in the field, and those who have
been raised in the "milieu" of the discipline, are simply "taught" that knowledge in much
the same way that any class raises its members to perpetuate its values. In classical
Japanese literature, the rankings are evident in the way works are "rated" in literary
histories: for example, many chüsei diaries and setsuwa tales are not usually given high
marks, while Genji is unanimously deemed to be stellar. Also, if we look at which works
are included in the early (not the new) editions of two of the main classical Japanese
literature collections, Nihon koten bungaku taikei and Nihon koten bungaku zenshu, we
find that prose narratives outnumber poetry anthologies, that no private poetry collections
are in evidence, and that chuko diaries are included but not chusei court-attendant diaries.
Another indicator of prominence is the degree of scholarly attention placed on particular
works: articles on classics like Genji, for example, greatly outnumber those of lesser known
works. In recent years, however, this implicit hierarchy has been changing, giving more
credence to smaller and lesser known works.
7. It should be noted that Towazugatari is more the exception than the rule. I thank
Iwasa Miyoko for this explanation about male preferences in diary literature (personal
communication, May 21, 1997). See her KyOtei joryü bungaku dokukaikõ: ChOsei hen, p.
20, for more information. See Imazeki, Chusei bungaku kenkyQ, pp. 121-127, for brief
synopses of chûsei diaries.
8. Randal Johnson, "Editor s Introduction: Fierre Bourdieu on Ari, Literature ana
Culture," in Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production, p. 7. See also Bourdieu,
Distinction, p. 2.
9. Bourdieu, Distinction, pp. 102-103.
10. Lebra, Above the Clouds, p. 353.
11. See ibid., pp. 7-8, for an explanation of the creation of a new elite, based on
education as opposed to birth and family privilege.
12. Ibid., pp. 290, 286-287.
13. Ibid., pp. 10, 64-65.
14. 1 thank Dorinne Kondo for the coining of this term.

15. Western thought, as it operates for Bourdieu as well, has traditionally assumed that a
choice must be made between two diametrically opposed positions, although in
investigating the position of women, feminist scholars of color such as Lata Mani have
long contended that the situation is more complex. As in the case of Mani's study of sati
burning, women often have agency in the exact moments when they are deemed to be
without it, so that both these "states" can coexist at the same time in the same place. Lata
Mani, "Multiple Mediations: Feminist Scholarship in the Age of Multinational Reception,"
Feminist Review 35 (Summer 1990): 24-41.
16. In actuality, Iwasa completed chQgakkõ, or middle school, which is equivalent to
what we would now call high school. To complicate things further, the term " chQgakkõ "
was reserved for schools for boys. GakushQin for girls was called kõtõ gakkõ, as opposed
to another system for girls called jogákkõ. It was not until 1987, at the age of sixty-one, that
Iwasa acquired her highest degree, a doctorate in literature. (Unlike the situation in the
U.S., most people in the literary field in Japan begin their careers with masters degrees.
Doctorates are not the norm and are often completed at the end of one's career. They are
not required to secure a university post.) Iwasa retired from Tsurumi University in 1997 as
a professor emeritus ( Meiyõ kyõju). (Iwasa Miyoko, personal communication, September
24, 1997.) See Lebra, Above the Clouds, pp. 265-284, for a discussion of the GakushQin
educational system.
17. Iwasa Miyoko, "Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari, Sono ichi" (Poemtale, Court Lady Tale,
Number 1), Bungaku, 7:2 (Winter 1996): 103. Hereafter, the installments in this series of
articles are abbreviated "Poemtale" with the installment number following, e.g., "Poemtale
#1." Page references are to the Bungaku rather than the KyOtei no shunju publication.
18. The two volumes in which "Nyõbõ no me" and the "Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari series
appear are for popular audiences and are not regarded as scholarly by the academic
community. Despite their academically insightful and serious content, these publications
are considered "hobbies" or "Op Ed-like" pieces rather than serious scholarly endeavors. It
must be pointed out, however, that the "Utagatari" pieces were originally published as
installments in the academic journal Bungaku.
19. Iwasa Miyoko's "Nyõbõ no me" was first published by Kasama Shoin in 1988. It
was reprinted in Iwasa Miyoko, Kyutei ni ikiru: Tennõ to nyõbõ to (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin,
1997), under the title Nyõbõ no me: Watashi no miyazukae." I provide page references
from the later publication because the former is not widely available.
20. See p. 20 of Iwasa, Kyutei joryu bungaku dokukaikõ for further explication ot her
position.
21. The passage is from Iwasa's "Nyõbõ no me," p. 1, and the translation is mine.
Hereafter, all translations are mine unless otherwise indicated. "Dansei kenkyüsha no
katagata" is rendered as "honorable male scholars" to show both aspects of honorific usage:
respect for Iwasa's male colleagues but also a more ironic, questioning reading. Both
meanings are in play here, and in this case the honorific language can be read as damning
as well as showing respect. This reading is further strengthened by the appending of the
honorific verb kangaete irassharu used in conjunction with the auxiliary verb deshõka,
asking what the position of the male scholars really is (a rhetorical stance on Iwasa's part
perhaps?). Katagata may indeed be taken as a straightforward honorific, but there is also
nothing that precludes a more mischievous, double-entendre reading vis-à-vis both the male
scholars and all scholars born without direct knowledge of hierarchical society.
22. "Shinnö" (prince) was the term reserved for an emperor's brothers and sons, and
"Naishinnõ" (princess) for an emperor's sisters and daughters. The titles õ and nyoõ (also
translated as "prince" and "princess," respectively) were used for male and female imperial
descendants down to the fifth generation, counting the emperor as first. Morihiro falls into
the latter category, and Teru no miya into the former (Lebra, Above the Clouds, p. 54, and
Iwasa Miyoko, personal communication, September 24, 1997 and July 3, 1999). See Lebra,
Above the Clouds, pp. 54-60, for further information.
23. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," pp. 2-3. Iwasa came to serve as Teru no miya's asobi aite
for the following reasons: (1) she was the same age as the princess, (2) she was in the
princess's class from the beginning as an attendee of the GakushOin nursery school, a
privilege accorded only to those of aristocratic standing, and (3) she was one of the first
children invited to the imperial summer villa in Hayama as a playmate for the princess.
Strictly speaking, Iwasa's family was shin (new) or kunkõ (merit) kazoku ("flowery
lineage," therefore nobility) rather than kuge or daimyõ kazoku, who were the elite from
theTokugawa period. In 1869, theMeiji government merged the Tokugawa daimyö landed
warrior families and the pre-Meiji court nobility kuge class into the new elite of the period,
the kazoku. Iwasa's family did not share these lineages but was awarded aristocratic
standing during the Meiji period for meritorious services rendered by her grandfather. Once
conferred, each successor was entitled to the kazoku rank (Iwasa Miyoko, personal
communication, July 3, 1999, and Lebra, pp. 46-53). For a full account of kazoku life from
the Meiji period to the present, see Lebra's Above the Clouds.
24. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," p. 3; idem, "Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari, Sono ni" (Poemtale,
Court Lady Tale, Number 2), Bungaku 7:2 (Spring 1996): 1 17.
25. These are Grandmother Hosumi's diary entries for June 6 and 13, July 4 and 19,
1930, quoted in her grandaughter Iwasa's "Poemtale #2, p. 1 16.
26. Ibid, pp. 117-118.
27. Ibid, p. 1 14. Iwasa's father was a law professor at Tokyo University for most of his
working career. However, he often served as a consultant for the Kunaishõ, the Ministry of
the Imperial Household, on educational matters, and gave lectures on various aspects of
Japanese society before the empress and the empress dowager. This was his initial contact
with the royal family.
Iwasa's father was appointed chief steward to the crown prince just as the war was
ending, when there was great fear that the imperial family would be abolished or that the
emperor might even be executed. There was great uncertainty as to what the Americans
would do, and Shigetõ was selected both because his name was known somewhat to the
Americans through his writings on law and because he was seen as more liberal and as not
having actively supported the war. According to Iwasa, her father was brought in to prepare
the imperial house for Japan's defeat. As it turned out, Shigetö helped map the direction of
the imperial house in the early postwar years, as well as serving as head of the shiki (board
for the crown prince's household). This also specifically included his taking care of the
prince's personal needs, accompanying the prince to various places and events, and
overseeing his education. Iwasa notes that the chief steward's job was similar to that of the
grand chamberlain (jijuchõ ) except for the additional responsibility of taking care of the
prince's education (Iwasa, personal communication, July 3, 1999).
According to Lebra, one did not have to be of kazoku status to hold positions at court,
but those attending to the personal domestic needs of the imperial family tended to be court
insiders rather than outsiders. See Lebra, Above the Clouds , pp. 306-310 for a description
of the chamberlain's job, and pp. 301-312 for further information on the kinds of careers
available at court.
28. Iwasa Miyoko, "Utagatari, Nyõbõgatari, Sono yon" (Poemtale, Court Lady Tale,
Number 4), Bungaku 7:4 (Fall 1996): 183.
29. Kujö Takeko (1897-1928) was a daughter of the Nishihonganji Õtani family who
married Kujõ Yoshi, the younger brother of the Taisho Empress. Takeko bid farewell to her
newly wed husband in Europe, thinking that she would see him shortly, but he did not
return to Japan for twelve years. Iwasa, "Poemtale #1," pp. 99-100.
30. Ibid, pp. 96-97, 99-100, 102, 104-105.
31. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," p. 4. It is interesting to note that Iwasa aligns herself more
with the Heian ladies-in-waiting; there is only one short mention of a Kamakura lady-in-
waiting, Lady Nijõ. Her reference to the Kamakura period centers mainly on an imperial
princess Hachijö'in. I am indebted to one of the outside readers for this observation.
32. Ibid, p. 5. Kuni no miya Asako was Teru no miya's cousin, the daughter of the
Showa Empress' older brother. As offspring of a collateral line rather than the reigning
imperial house, she was not accorded the same kind of prestige as Teru no miya (Iwasa,
personal communication, July 3, 1999). Lebra supports Iwasa's claim that at Joshi
Gakushüin, Teru no miya "held a uniquely distinguished status, the highest of all royal
princesses. Hence, both students and teachers, when they happened to meet Princess Teru
were supposed to stop and bow." Lebra, Above the Clouds, p. 273.
33. Iwasa, "Poemtale #2," p. 1 16.
34. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," p. 6. A professor of Japanese literature at Tsurumi
University, Ikeda is a noted scholar on such works as Genji monogatari, Sarashina nikki,
and Hamamatsu Chunagon monogatari, as well as comparative studies of Chinese and
Japanese literature.
35. The translation of the passage from Makura no sOshi is from Sei Shõnagon, ine
Pillow Book of Sei Shõnagon, trans. Ivan Morris (New York: Columbia University Press,
1927), p. 243.
36. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," pp. 10-1 1.
37. Ibid., p. 12.

38. Ibid. See Iwasa Miyoko, Utagatan, JNyobogatari, sono san proemiale, court Laay
Tale, Number 3), Bungaku 7:3 (Summer 1996): 137-138 for more information on Sadako,
and pp. 139-140 for more on Akiko and her relationship to Murasaki Shikibu. A reading of
Sadako's fate at the hands of Michinaga necessitates an examination of how the fall from
grace of Iwasa's own mistress, Teru no miya (in the aftermath of Japan's defeat in World
War II), affects Iwasa's reading not only of Makura no söshi but of other nyõbõ nikki as
well. However, doing justice to such a complex issue is beyond the scope of this paper, so I
leave it for further study.
39. In "Poemtale #3," Iwasa provides three reasons for the changes enacted by
Michinaga: (1) There were limits as to how long dominance in the Inner Palace could be
based solely on Sadako's charismatic personality; Korechika relied too heavily on Sadako
and was not ready to counter Michinga's challenge when it came. In contrast, Michinaga
learned his lessons well and realized that political dominance even in the Inner Palace
could not be left to any consort, no matter how charismatic, but had to be carefully
monitored and maintained. (2) When Akiko came to court she was a mere twelve years old,
whereas Emperor Ichijö was twenty and no longer satisfied with simple diversions as he
might have been when Sadako came to court. More sophisticated activities and extravagant
furnishings, which included talented women like Murasaki Shikibu, had to be brought to
bear to keep Ichijõ coming to Akiko's salon. (3) The difference in the ages of Akiko
(twelve) and Sadako (twenty-three) in 999 was also critical. Although Sadako had taken the
tonsure, Ichijõ still favored her. Further, other courtiers began to send their own daughters
to court in hopes of taking advantage of Akiko's youth. Any of these women could have
borne Ichijö's heir, and it was only by luck that Akiko did so in 1008. The competition was
fierce, and it was a tense time for both Michinaga and, more importantly, for Akiko. See
Iwasa, "Nyõbõ nome," pp. 9-15. See also idem, "Poemtale #3," pp. 138-142.
40. Iwasa, "Poemtale #3 , p. 137.
41 . Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," pp. 12-13.
42. Iwasa, "Poemtale #3," pp. 140-141.
43. Iwasa, "Nyõbo no me, pp. 16-17.
44. Ibid, p. 18.
45. Ibid., p. 19.
46. Iwasa, "Poemtale #2," p. 116.
47. Lebra, Above the Clouds, p. 154.
48. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," p. 21.
49. Iwasa, "Poemtale #3," p. 142.
50. Iwasa, "Nyõbõ no me," p. 9.

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Josai University Educational Corporation

Josai University Educational Corporation, University of Hawai'i Press are collaborating

Through the Eyes of a Twentieth-Century Court Lady?

Lady"),1 an account of her omiyazukae (court service) as an asobi aite ("humble

considers her relationship to her princess very much that of a lady-in-waiting

is the classical Heian or Kamakura prose.

through mid-fourteenth-century Japanese literature, Iwasa uses (1) "Nyõbõ no me,"

constitutes a writer of nikki bungaku and, by extension, who is most qualified to

the traditional readings and interpretations of classical court-attendant diaries

presented thus far by the hegemonic critical elite of the field.

In the aftermath of poststructuralism and cultural studies, many would view

production and cultural capital prove helpful in this endeavor.

Notions of Literary Fields of Production

production and assessment of its products (i.e., a determination of what constitutes

literary products and who can sanction these products as legitimate).

These judgments are, of course, highly contested, and constant jockeying

capital to be reproduced and the state of the instruments of reproduction (such as

One such instrument, used in early classical Japanese literature, is the

Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji ) and, by extension, tsukuri monogatari

the exception of the Kokinwakashu (Collection of Ancient and Modern Poetry),

poetry's prominence in the Heian period, thanks to the twentieth-century preference

What is of special interest is the presence of a marked gender bias in this

Gender and Class Differentiation

actually complicated by the presence of gender. The "internalized code or cognitive

they get older; others are simply ignored.

Again, why the gender differentiation? Without adequately integrating the

through traits held in common beyond requirements explicitly demanded. These

gender operates as a prominent "secondary property." First and most obviously,

relegated to second-tier women's colleges and universities. Second, the educational

Recently, a group known as the Monogatari Kenkyükai (Classical Narrative

how they fare once they become older.

In Iwasa's estimation, then, within the specifications outlined above, her

This is not to say that the academy discriminated against those of

through assimilation by the new elite in the governmental, political, financial,

popular contemporary culture as professional actors and actresses, or in the "public

sharing" of illustrious ancestors for the purpose of historical and cultural

at once desirable and oppressive."'3

Whatever the ambivalence, diaries, memoirs, and studies of and by those

for the "field of cultural production," because Bourdieu's configuration of the

upper and lower class operate at opposite ends of a continuum.15 As a challenger,

class privilege function as a site of disprivilege? (See Bourdieu's analysis of class

privileged group in the production of cultural products.) In Iwasa's reading of the

coupled with her gender and her educational background.

There is no doubt, however, that Iwasa's upper-class upbringing also

privilege cannot be underestimated. Hence an anomalous situation emerges for

Yet despite the multiplicity of Iwasa's position, the configuration of the

she was of upper-class heritage.

prominence as a leading scholar of the Kyõgokuha school of poetry (one of the

Enacting Humble Companionship

"unsuitable as a scholarly publication, . . . nothing more than a personal

mainstays of the literati and who so brilliantly flourished at court during

Hirohito. Affectionately known as Teru no miyasama (the Princess Teru), she

is confirmed by Iwasa's grandmother's diary, which, like Kawai's diary, appears in

the uncharacteristically detailed accounts nonetheless speak to the anxiety felt by

Iwasa's parents and grandmother that Iwasa do her "job" well.

Again to strengthen the "authenticity" of her experience, Iwasa is careful to

In another entry in "Poemtale #4," Iwasa affectionately describes a happier aspect

the crown prince and his companions.