Artistic Collaboration and The Ukiyo-E Market: Julie Nelson Davis

PARTNERS in PRINT
Artistic Collaboration
and the Ukiyo-e Market
Julie Nelson Davis

Partners in Print
Partners in Print
and the Ukiyo-e Market
Julie Nelson Davis
University of Hawai‘i Press

Honolulu
© 2015 University of Hawai‘i Press
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
20 19 18 17 16 15 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Davis, Julie Nelson, author.
Partners in print : artistic collaboration and the ukiyo-e market /
Julie Nelson Davis.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-8248-3938-3 (cloth : alk. paper)
1. Ukiyoe—Case studies. 2. Color prints, Japanese—Edo
period, 1600–1868—Case studies. 3. Artistic collaboration—
Japan—History—18th century—Case studies. I. Title.
N7353.6.U35D38 2015
769.952’09033—dc23
2014026817
University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper

and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the
Council on Library Resources.
Designed by Mardee Melton

Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc.
For Ray and Camille
Contents
List of Illustrations ix
Acknowledgments xv
Introduction: The Floating World and Its Artistic Networks 1
Chapter 1
Teaching the Art of Painting through Print: A Master Painter,
His Students, and the Illustrated Book 20
Chapter 2
Picturing Beauties: Print Designers, Publishers,
and a Mirror of the Yoshiwara 61
Chapter 3
Unrolling Pictures for the Erotic Imagination: A Designer,
His Publisher, and The Scroll of the Sleeve 108
Chapter 4
Making Dogma into Comedy: A Writer and an Illustrator
Send Up Religion in a Popular Book 143
Conclusion: Reconsidering Collaboration and Ukiyo Art Worlds 185
Notes 195
Works Cited 223
Index 235
Illustrations
1.1. Toriyama Sekien, Kitagawa Utamaro, and Toriyama Sekichūjo. Untitled, ca. 1786.
1.2. Kano Chikanobu. Scroll of Comic Pictures (Giga zukan), late seventeenth to early
eighteenth centuries.
1.3. Hishikawa Moronobu. Illustration of lion and peony on Chinese-style screen, from
Collected Designs for Standing Screens and Hanging Scrolls (Byōbu kakemono ezukushi),
1701.
1.4. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Hotei, from Echoes of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko),
1773.
1.5. Toriyama Sekien, Illustration of a winter landscape, from Echoes of Bird Mountain
(Toriyama biko), 1773.
1.6. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a scene from the Tale of Genji, from Echoes of Bird
Mountain (Toriyama biko), 1773.
1.7. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a locust and eggplant, from Echoes of Bird Mountain
(Toriyama biko), 1773.
1.8. Toriyama Sekien, Illustration of a peacock, peahen, and peonies, from Echoes of Bird
Mountain (Toriyama biko), 1773.
1.9. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a peacock, peahen, and peonies, continued, from
Echoes of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko), 1773.
1.10. Toriyama Sekien, Illustration of Emperor Shun, from Painting Comparisons (Kaiji
hiken), 1778.
1.11. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Emperor Nintoku, from Painting Comparisons (Kaiji
hiken), 1778.
1.12. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of the Queen Mother of the West, from Painting
Comparisons (Kaiji hiken), 1778.
1.13. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of the Tamatsushima princess, from Painting
Comparisons (Kaiji hiken), 1778.
ix
1.14. Toriyama Sekien, Illustration of Kappa, and Kawauso, from Night Procession of a
Hundred Monsters and Spirits (Gazu hyakki yagyō), 1776.
1.15. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Shinkirō, from Collection of Past and Present Monsters
and Spirits (Konjaku hyakki shūi), 1781.
1.16. Toriyama Sekien. Night Procession of the Hundred Demons, ca. 1772–1781.
1.17. Toriyama Sekien, Night Procession of the Hundred Demons, ca. 1772–1781.
1.18. Kitagawa Utamaro. Child’s Nightmare of Ghosts, ca. 1800–1801.
1.19. Toriyama Sekien and Shikō. Illustrations for a New Year’s haikai anthology.
1.20. Toriyama Sekiryūjo. Illustration of cranes and plum trees, from Bakuseishi, 1787.
1.21. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Kintarō and demons, from Bakuseishi, 1787.
1.22. Kitagawa Utamaro. Illustration of a yūjo of the Chōjiya House, from Bakuseishi, 1787.
1.23. Kitagawa Utamaro. Illustrated Book: Selected Insects (Ehon mushi erami), 1788.
1.24. Kitagawa Utamaro. Gifts from the Ebb Tide (Shiohi no tsuto), 1789.
1.25. Kitagawa Utamaro. Illustrated Book: The World in Silver (Ehon gin sekai), 1790.
2.1. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Segawa, Matsushima, Somenosuke, and
Hatsukaze of the Matsubaya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō
bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.2. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Preface to The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin
awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.3. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Spring Flowers, from The Mirror of
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.4. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Summer Flowers, from The Mirror of
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.5. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Colophon, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.6. Kitao Shigemasa. Beauties of the Eastern Sector (Tōhō no bijin), from the set Beauties of
the Four Quarters (Tōzai Nanboku bijin), ca. 1775.
2.7. Katsukawa Shunshō. Autumn Wind at the Southern Station (Nan’eki shūfū), ca. 1774.
2.8. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Utamachi, Matsunoi, Hanamurasaki, and
Wakamurasaki of the Matsubaya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared
(Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.9. Urokogataya Magobei and Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Yoshiwara Guidebook: Flower Spring
(Saiken hana no minamoto), 1774.
2.10. Isoda Koryūsai. Hinazuru of the Chōjiya, from the series Models of Fashion: New
Designs Fresh as Spring Leaves (Hinagata wakana no hatsumoyō), 1776.
2.11. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Hinazuru, Karauta, and Meizan of the Chōjiya,
from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.12. Suzuki Harunobu. Konohana of the Iedaya and Hanachō of the Iseya, from Beauties of
the Yoshiwara, Compared (Seirō bijin awase), 1770.
2.15. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Selection of Famous Blossoms (Meikasen), 1776.
x | Illustrations
2.16. Katsukawa Shunshō. Untitled illustration, from Selection of Famous Blossoms
(Meikasen), 1776.
2.17. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Matsubaya brothel, detail from Selection of Famous Blossoms
(Meikasen), 1776.
2.18. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Senzan, Chōzan, and Toyoharu of the
Chōjiya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata
kagami), 1776.
2.19. Tsutaya Jūzaburō, Chōjiya brothel, detail from Selection of Famous Blossoms (Meikasen),
1776.
2.20. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Nishikidō, Manzan, and Toyosumi of the
Chōjiya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata
kagami), 1776.
2.21. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Tamanoi, Katsuyama, Sugatano, and
Sayoginu of the Yotsumeya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō
bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776.
2.22. Pictures of Upright Flower Arrangements (Rikka zu), 1673.
2.23. Nishikawa Sukenobu. Illustration of the Osaka Shinmachi pleasure quarter, from
Picture Book of One Hundred Women (Hyakunin jorō shinasadame), 1723.
2.24. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Onomachi, Kazusano, and Toyozuru of the
Maruya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata
kagami), 1776.
2.25. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Eguchi, Kaoru, Tachibana, and Ninoaya of
the Shinkanaya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase
sugata kagami), 1776.
2.26. Kitao Masanobu. Hinazuru and Chōzan of the Chōjiya from Mirror of Yoshiwara “Castle
Topplers” in a New Comparison of Beauties, with Their Own Calligraphy (Yoshiwara keisei
shin bijin awase jihitsu kagami), 1784.
3.1. Frontispiece, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785.
3.2. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 1 (Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime), from The
Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785.
3.3. Torii Kiyonaga. A Modern Version of Ushiwakamaru Serenading Jōrurihime (Mitate
Jōrurihime), ca. 1785.
3.4. Torii Kiyonaga. Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime, ca. 1782.
3.5. Torii Kiyonaga. Illustration of the Eijudō Shop, from Colors of the Triple Dawn (Saishiki
mitsu no asa), 1787.
3.6. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 2, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785.
3.8. Torii Kiyonaga. Lady-in-Waiting Crossing Nihonbashi, ca. 1783.
3.10. Nishikawa Sukenobu. Illustration of Yase charcoal seller and Ohara firewood seller,
from Picture Book of One Hundred Women (Hyakunin jorō shinasadame), 1723.
Illustrations | xi
3.14. Torii Kiyonaga. Geisha Boarding a Boat (Fune ni noru geisha), ca. 1782.
3.15. Shimokōbe Shūsui. One from a set of twelve untitled prints, ca. 1771.
3.18. Shimokōbe Shūsui. One of a set of twelve untitled prints, ca. 1771.
3.22. Torii Kiyonaga. Evening Glow at Ryōgoku Bridge (Ryōgokubashi sekisho), from Eight
Views of Edo (Edo hakkei), ca. 1781.
4.1. Kitao Masayoshi. How to Draw Simple Animals (Chōju ryakugashiki), 1797.
4.2. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masayoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye Mind Study
(Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku hayasomegusa), 1790.
4.3. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masayoshi. Preface to Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye
Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku hayasomegusa), 1790.
xii | Illustrations
4.23. Eishōsai Chōki. Good and Evil Influences in the Yoshiwara, early 1790s.
4.24. Chōbunsai Eishi. Good and Evil Influences in the Yoshiwara, ca. 1791–1794.
4.25. Katsushika Hokusai. Teach Yourself to Dance (Odori hitori geiko), 1815.
4.26. Utagawa Kunisada, Actors Bandō Mitsugorō IV as a Good Influence and Nakamura
Shikan II as an Evil Influence in a Grand Finale Dance Play, 1832.
5.1. Shikitei Sanba. Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A Spurious History of Popular
Illustrated Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki-hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke nendaiki),
1802.
5.2. Shikitei Sanba. Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A Spurious History of Popular
Illustrated Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki-hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke nendaiki),
1802.
Illustrations | xiii
Acknowledgments
In the process of writing this book about collaboration I have been aware of
how much I, too, am supported by a network of individuals and institutions, and
I wish to express my appreciation to all here. I am grateful to my teachers: Paul
Berry, Chino Kaori, Kobayashi Tadashi, Peter Parshall, Charles Rhyne, Jerome Sil-
bergeld, and others. To my colleagues in the Department of the History of Art
at the University of Pennsylvania I offer thanks for their wit, friendship, and
exchange of ideas. In our writing group Ayako Kano and Linda Chance read drafts
of this book, and I owe them a great debt for their insights and gentle critiques.
The Penn-Cambridge Kuzushiji Reading Group, a subgroup of the Penn Reading
Asian Manuscripts Faculty Working Group, helped read and suss out the mean-
ing of several tricky Edo-period texts, for which I thank them sincerely. Gratitude
is also due to the University of Pennsylvania Libraries for materials, space, and
the assistance of Heather Glaser, Molly des Jardin, Bill Keller, Alban Kojima, Brian
Vivier, and many others.
Institutional support in the form of time and funds made this project possi-
ble, and I offer thanks for the following opportunities. A grant from the Northeast
Asia Council of the Association for Asian Studies, with the support of the Japan-
U.S. Friendship Commission, was instrumental in the formation of this project.
A Mellon Fellowship in the Penn Humanities Forum provided a year of collegial
inquiry on the theme of virtuality and subtly transformed my approach. Fund-
ing provided by several U.S. National Resource Center grants from the Center for
East Asian Studies made it possible to conduct research in Japan and to present
work in progress at conferences. At the University of Pennsylvania the University
xv
Research Foundation in the Provost’s Office and a School of Arts and Sciences
Research Opportunity Grant provided funds for the images and publication sup-
port, and a Weiler Family Dean’s Leave through the School of Arts and Sciences
granted much-needed time for completing the manuscript. Two one-week writing
retreats in two consecutive summers, supported by Penn, provided inspiration
through perspiration. Additional thanks go to students in several seminars for
their considerate yet critical responses to the work read in drafts. I am also appre-
ciative of contributions made by my graduate students, Quintana Heathman, Jean-
nie Kenmotsu, Jeehyun Lee, and Erin Kelley Schoneveld, and those of my research
assistants Camille Davis and Miki Morita.
To the many curators and librarians that gave me the opportunity to study
works in their collections, and to the institutions that made it possible to acquire the
images reproduced here, I offer my gratitude: Janice Katz, the Art Institute of Chi-
cago; Barbara Brejon-de-Lavergne, the Bibliothèque nationale de France; Tim Clark
and Alfred Haft, the British Museum; Michel Maucuer, the Cernuschi Museum
of Art; Matsuo Tomoko and Tanabe Masako, the Chiba City Art Museum; Ann
Yonemura and Reiko Yoshimura, the Freer and Sackler Galleries; the Honolulu
Museum of Art; Sakai Gankow and the Japan Ukiyo-e Museum; the Keiō University
Library; Anne Nishimura Morse, Ellen Takata, and Sarah Thompson, the Museum
of Fine Arts, Boston; the National Diet Library; Madeleine Viljoen, the New York
Public Library; Shelley Langdale and Felice Fischer, the Philadelphia Museum
of Art; the Tokyo Metropolitan Library; the University of Tenri Library; and the
Waseda University Library. Invitations to present work in progress made the project
move forward, and I offer thanks to the Donald Keene Center of Japanese Studies at
Columbia University, the International Ukiyo-e Society, the Portland Art Museum,
the San Diego Museum of Art, the Smart Museum of the University of Chicago, the
Swarthmore College Department of Art, Temple University, the University of Kan-
sas Kress Department of the History of Art, the University of Wisconsin Stevens
Point, the Walters Art Museum, and the Workshop in the History of Material Texts
at the University of Pennsylvania. The Becker family, the Feinberg family, Sebas-
tian Izzard, the Luber Gallery, Geoffrey Oliver, the Tajima Gallery, and private indi-
viduals also generously shared works in their collection. Thanks are also given to
the Art Research Center at Ritsumeikan University and the Department of Philos-
ophy at Gakushūin University for providing institutional affiliations and research
support. I would like to thank the many other individuals (who may be unnamed
but are not forgotten) at these and other institutions for their generous assistance.
Colleagues and friends offered assistance, comments, and good cheer
throughout. Among these many, I would like to thank Akama Ryō, Asano Shūgō,
Alessandro Bianchi, John Carpenter, Sharon Domier, Matthi Forrer, Sherry Fowler,
xvi | Acknowledgments
Fujisawa Akane, Fujisawa Murasaki, Drew Gerstle, Christine Guth, Alfred Haft,
Hibiya Taketoshi, Inge Klompmakers, Shelley Langdale, Lawrence Marceau, Dan
McKee, Matthew McKelway, Matsumura Masako, Julia Meech, Terry Milhaupt,
Robert Mintz, Laura Moretti, Joshua Mostow, Amy Newland, Jane Oliver, Ozawa
Hiromu, Satō Satoru, Timon Screech, Cecilia Segawa Seigle, Ann Sherif, Henry
Smith, Suzuki Jun, Suzuki Keiko, Ellis Tinios, Miriam Wattles, and Stephen
Whiteman, among others. Frank Chance, Lynne Farrington, Renata Holod, Ann
Rosalind Jones, Justin McDaniel, Holly Pittman, John Pollack, Larry Silver, Peter
Stallybrass, Nancy Steinhardt, and other colleagues and friends in Philadelphia
made timely contributions, for which I am grateful. Very sincere thanks are also
offered to my editor, Patricia Crosby, and to the University of Hawai‘i Press. I am
grateful for the support of my Davis and Stockwell families. Most of all, I thank
Ray and Camille for their love and support throughout.
Acknowledgments | xvii
Introduction
The Floating World and Its Artistic Networks
Ukiyo-e, or the “pictures of the floating world,” were the visual and textual
manifestation of the interests, desires, and expressions of a complex social net-
work in Tokugawa-period Japan (1603–1868). Whether intended for the commer-
cial market or for private circulation, these goods are evidence of a lively intel-
lectual and economic exchange between publishers, designers, writers, carvers,
printers, imitators, patrons, buyers, and their audiences. These products of the
floating world retain traces of this interaction. Taking this as its main proposition,
this book makes a close analysis of four printed objects of the later eighteenth
century where this exchange is evidenced and attests to the interaction between a
painter and his students, between two painter-designers, between a print designer
and a publisher, and between a writer and his illustrator. Each of these four dyads
represents a model of standard practice for the period, but each investigates a dif-
ferent kind of problem for period print culture. How the medium of print repli-
cated contemporary discourses of social and aesthetic import, and for whom and
for what purpose those views were being put into print are further investigated
through these specific examples. By recasting these printed works as evidence of
commercial and artistic cooperation, this book seeks to expand our understanding
of the dynamic processes of production, reception, and intention in floating world
print culture.
1
The main purpose of this project is to explore four different kinds of printed
works as evidence of exchange between participants in period networks. The term
“exchange” is intended to place the works between their producers and their audi-
ence, interpreting them as the material record of that dialogue. It also serves to
open up the ways in which the participants involved worked together, in the man-
ner of a partnership. Although the term “collaboration” may initially bring to mind
a scenario where the participants meet more or less as equal partners—and that
has been a useful model for thinking through some of these issues1—contribu-
tions to a project are not always evenly matched. Rather, input is usually not equiv-
alent (as our own experience makes evident), and participants offer differing levels
of expertise, resources, connections, and skills. As the following chapters show,
how these individuals worked together varied due to actual conditions, but all con-
stituted partnerships with the common goal of creating the work under analy-
sis. Some of these individual contributions were regarded as important and were
made visible, while others were occluded in the production and reception of the
works in question.
In conceiving this project, I consciously restricted its scope to four case stud-
ies from the final few decades of the eighteenth century. Although other moments
in ukiyo-e history offer compelling evidence of collaboration, this moment pres-
ents a particularly vibrant set of social and aesthetic networks that supported these
partnerships in print. This book also emphasizes the pictorial, while remaining
engaged with and aware of the interaction between text and image in the period.
My terrain of study is also selected from the genre known then as now as ukiyo-e.
The word ukiyo described the present as a “floating world,” and with the
addition of the term e for “images,” it became linked to the domain of “pictures.”
Ukiyo was also attached to sōshi, or “written work,” and as ukiyo-zōshi, popular lit-
erature described those pleasures of the present for its readers; illustrating these
stories provided opportunities for visual designers to represent the fictional world.
Although modern disciplinary boundaries tend to separate ukiyo pictures and writ-
ing into two separate spheres, they were not divided in the period under study
here; in that spirit, this project crosses that boundary.
In the period, the term “ukiyo-e” defined a category of production, style, and
form of visual representation as a genre, and it included painted images as well as
those rendered through woodblock printing. As has often been discussed in the lit-
erature on the genre, the term ukiyo drew originally from a Buddhist homophone
that described human existence as transient and painful. By the seventeenth cen-
tury the word had been appropriated and transformed (with new kanji charac-
ters) to describe the ephemerality of pleasure.2 Thus, these pictures of the float-
ing world were typically differentiated by their subject matter from other forms of
2 | Partners in Print
pictorial representation in the period. At the same time that it was conceptually
separated from the mundane present and its social spheres, this floating world
was tethered to fixed locations and to the profitable representation and promotion
of all that was associated with it.
As a proper noun, Floating World was employed to denote specific places—
the kabuki theater, the pleasure quarters, the sumo competition sites, celebrated
places, and others—while as a common noun it connoted the attitude of drift-
ing through the world in pursuit of diversion. Named and mapped, these Float-
ing World locales were designed to offer escape and release from the quotidian
and prosaic. Entering into these zones, participants sought relief from routine;
for some these places offered the freedom of new attitudes or alternate identities.
Some sites were considered so diverting and so potent that they were termed evil
places (akusho), a term most often used to refer to the kabuki theaters and the plea-
sure districts. These were often described in terms that encouraged moderation (at
least according to social and official conventions), for excess might lead down the
road of dissipation and ruin.3 Other forms of pleasure seeking—such as watching
sumo wrestling or touring a famous site—were less philosophically charged but
nonetheless served to distract and amuse.
The representation of these places, in image and in text, heightened their
appeal as actual and virtual realities. (For those who operated these sites, play
turned a tidy profit and its representation served to enhance appeal.) For the most
part, the consumers of the floating world lived in the major cities; emerging mer-
cantile economies afforded new opportunities to spend money, while away time,
or develop social interactions. But as representations, pictures and books were
not fixed to these places; these were vehicles through which the floating world
ethos, its pictures, and stories could be dispersed beyond the metropolitan areas
throughout the land.
Tokugawa Sociality and the City of Edo

By the mid-eighteenth century, the center of floating world publishing was, argu-
ably, located in the city of Edo (modern-day Tokyo). This was the shogun’s cap-
ital and the site of our four case studies. Floating world print culture developed
against the backdrop (and in response to the resultant conditions) of the socio-
political realities of the Tokugawa shogunate (lasting from 1603 to 1868). By
the period under consideration, the Tokugawa mechanism of coordinated gov-
ernance of the Japanese states had been in practice for some 170 years. Its sys-
tematic organization of the social order and of de facto political rule is too com-
plex to discuss in full here (and has been admirably done elsewhere), yet some of
Introduction | 3
its features are worth bringing forward as relevant to the social, political, artistic,
and mercantile conditions of the time. The Tokugawa political order was estab-
lished as a pyramidal structure, with the shogun at the pinnacle, and adminis-
tered from Edo. All people were classified under the Tokugawa era’s top-down
Neo-Confucian hierarchy of samurai, farmer, artisan, and merchant in what
amounted to a caste system.4
Although technically occupying the top position, the shogun did not enjoy
hegemonic rule but achieved political order through a complex web of alliances
and fealties. (The emperor reigned ceremonially from Kyoto but had less political
power throughout the period.) Directly below the shogun were the daimyo, lords
of the separate provinces, and they worked with their samurai to control their ter-
ritories in semiautonomy (ultimately reporting to the upper levels as necessary).
In the lower sectors of the pyramid were the towns, with village and organizational
leaders that maintained order, again with a high degree of independence but like-
wise obliged to report to their superiors.5 Through this system of segmented social
order, each group was offered a fair degree of latitude, but all had to report upward,
and it was also strictly vertical in terms of rank. Upward mobility was not typically
viable for men; unless a man was born into vassalage as a samurai, he could not
(unlike in the previous era) become one.6
However, while rule by rank established a system of vertical operational
control, it also worked to coordinate horizontal connections. In some spheres it
was possible to cross social boundaries that were not prohibited by status or rank
restrictions. Groups of individuals interested in studying poetry, tea, painting, and
other cultural activities might include various members from differing ranks.7
Limits were proscribed upon some kinds of socializing—most significantly those
that touched upon the realm of the political—but cultural spheres where it was
ostensibly one’s skill, style, and perfection of manners that made for successful
social interaction remained more open.8 And yet, while it has been argued that it
was theoretically possible to throw off the shackle of one’s birthright in such pur-
suits, it seems rather unlikely that all differences of rank and position could be
erased in spite of the desire to emphasize cultural affinities. One suspects, too,
that status differences were subtly recognized—for how could something as sim-
ple as where to sit be resolved without the benefit of social distinctions?—but the
pretense was made that for this moment it was the aesthetic practice that was the
main occupation not the rights of rank. This contract of behavior facilitated social
networking and, as discussed in the chapters that follow, often provided opportu-
nities for patronage for ukiyo-e as well as connections for its producers.
Edo’s publishing trade was predicated upon the city’s status as the political
capital. The city grew to become the largest city in the federation of Japanese states
and with its mix of educated samurai and townspeople became a place where
these lateral associations were made possible. The city itself was organized by
status hierarchies, with specific districts being the terrain of the fudai daimyo
(those with long-standing alliances to the Tokugawa), the tozama daimyo (those
brought into alliance through other measures), the hatamoto samurai (directly
serving the Tokugawa), and the merchants and artisans. This city planning struc-
ture has been aptly described as manifesting the “metaphor and mechanism” of
Tokugawa power.9 By 1644, the city of Edo had grown to cover an area of forty-four
square kilometers (approximately seventeen square miles), making it more than
double the area held by Kyoto, about twenty-one square kilometers.10 At the begin-
ning of the nineteenth century, its population count was about 1.4 million resi-
dents, making it much larger than any city in Europe at the time.11 Naitō Akira
summarized the population data as follows, and in doing so points to the dis-
tinctions made in ranks, the sectoring of the city accordingly, and the practice of
census taking:
From 500,000 to 700,000 lived in warrior districts, 50,000 to 60,000 in

religious districts, and 550,000 to 650,000 in townspeople’s districts.
Directives for the first actual census were not announced until 1721, but
it appears that by that time the population was already about 1,300,000.
By comparison, Europe’s largest city, London, had a population of about
850,000 in 1801. Edo’s population in 1725 broke down into 650,000 in
warrior districts, 50,000 in religious districts, and 600,000 in townspeo-
ple’s districts.12
Some sectors of the city were more densely populated than parts of Tokyo today—a
fact that is hard to fathom when, as Naitō points out, people lived in “low tene-
ments,” such as two-story row houses (rather than in modern apartment towers
that take advantage of vertical space); as he rightly remarks, this must have made
for a “staggering crush of humanity.”13 Those heavily populated districts were the
zones occupied by the townspeople (chōnin), the merchants and artisans who sup-
plied the city with goods and services.
At the center of the city’s spiral plan was the shogun’s castle. Period maps
designate it as such but render it as empty, a pictorial convention that hid the
means of access from potential challengers to Tokugawa strength. All distances
from the city were measured from Nihonbashi, the “bridge of Japan,” the starting
place of the great Tōkaidō road that began in Edo and ended in Kyoto. Nihonbashi
was in effect the city’s epicenter. It was also the heart of the merchant and artisan
district, and many of Edo’s most successful ukiyo publishers were located within
Introduction | 5
this district or within a few minutes’ walk. The growth of this city, and of literacy
rates along with other factors, meant that by the nineteenth century Edo supported
917 publishers (up from 493 in the eighteenth century). By contrast, in Kyoto and
Osaka the number of publishers declined, respectively, from 536 to 494 and 564 to
504 in the same period.14 Due to these social, political, and cultural conditions, Edo
came to dominate the field of floating world publishing.
Production and Reception

in the Ukiyo-e Art World
Throughout the Tokugawa period, floating world images were rendered in the
mediums of both painting and woodblock printing. Ukiyo-e pictures were based
upon painting, so much so that even when rendered in print, these images employ
the visual language of painting as their source and often reference its purpose. As
a pictorial practice, ukiyo-e was in dialogue with and borrowed from the much
wider range of visual representation of its time—it is not uncommon to see uki-
yo-e pictures quoting other contemporary styles—and the act of aesthetic sam-
pling surely demonstrates how much visual producers were aware of the success
of their competitors. Those who wielded the brush—often described in modern
terms as artists—were trained as painters. Those who achieved stature in the field
were known as ukiyo-e masters (ukiyo-eshi), a term often present in signatures as
well as in period literature. Painters and their patrons, regardless of style, partici-
pated in the discursive formation of an ongoing practice of artistic appreciation, in
a critical dialogue between the present and the past.
Print likewise encompassed a larger categorical terrain of manufacture
and material than is implied by the term ukiyo-e. Other genres also employed the
technology of woodblock reproduction, and, as was the case with painting, these
designers participated in a larger visual and literary print culture. Indeed, the his-
tory of ukiyo-e printed material is also derived from and participant in the history
of the book in Japan. Whether rendered in the medium of painting or print, float-
ing world pictures elaborated upon the various subjects of diversion while refer-
ring (at times excessively, at others compulsively, and sometimes reluctantly) to all
that those subjects might include.
Ukiyo-e, whether made manifest in the form of paintings, sheet prints,
illustrated books, or other materials, have been granted the status of art in the
modern period. The social and cultural values of the early modern world did not
designate these under an umbrella term like “art”; rather, things were more spe-
cifically distinguished within fields of practice and medium (e.g., pictures, pottery,
writing, and others). What is clear from the historical and material record is that
some things were highly appreciated and subject to connoisseurship; some were
made from the start to meet specific aesthetic tastes.
Practices such as commissioning, collecting, selling, trading, preserving, and
others are markers for appreciation in this aesthetic sphere. By the later eighteenth
century, most paintings—and some floating world printed things—were likewise
prepared and treated as status goods, in the manner of what we consider under the
term art. Some printed matter, however, was clearly designed to capitalize upon a
passing fad, to satirize a current event, or to promote an event—or in other words,
to make a quick profit. Just as printed works today engage a wide range of possible
intentions and uses, from limited-edition books and artist prints to magazines and
posters, so did ukiyo-e have a similar range of functions in their own time.15
Painters and print designers often worked in the roles of, or in concert with,
poets and writers, often as members of the many aesthetic spheres that flourished
throughout the period. The disciplinary boundaries that constitute the fields of the
history of art and literature are modern constructs that often obscure this collabo-
ration and, indeed, make it difficult to articulate roles in a world where the notion
of the solitary genius was unfamiliar (a notion that was, of course, one by-product
of nineteenth-century romanticism). As artistic producers working within these
networks, painters, print designers, writers, and others were likewise reliant upon
materials provided by other skilled producers: brush makers, ink and pigment pro-
ducers, weavers, paper makers, distributors, mounters, binders, and others. They
were part of and reliant upon the exchange of these and other materials for their
artistic outputs.
Sociologist Howard Becker described this larger network of known and
unknown participants that are part of the production of (what is regarded today
as) the artwork as an “art world,” a relevant term for the pages that follow. Becker
opens his illuminating study with the recollections of writer Anthony Trollope
(1815–1882) “to allow himself no mercy” in an effort to begin working by 5:30 a.m.
every day to demonstrate how even small contributions might become significant.
Trollope paid a groom an extra five pounds per year to call upon him and bring
him his coffee to start his day; through this, Trollope wrote, “by beginning at that
hour I could complete my literary work before I had dressed for breakfast.”16
Becker employs this story to set the frame for his definition of an art world:
All artistic work, like all human activity, involves the joint activity of a
number, often a large number, of people. Through their cooperation, the
art work we eventually see or hear comes to be and continues to be. The
work always shows signs of that cooperation. The forms of cooperation
may be ephemeral, but often become more or less routine, producing
Introduction | 7
patterns of collective activity we can call an art world. The existence of art
worlds, as well as the way their existence affects both the production and
consumption of art works, suggests a sociological approach to the arts.
It produces, instead, an understanding of the complexity of the coopera-
tive networks through which art happens, of the way the activities of both
Trollope and his groom meshed with those of printers, publishers, crit-
ics, librarians and readers in the world of Victorian literature and of the
similar networks and results involved in all the arts.17
Although the point may seem straightforward, it is an important one: the creative
process of making the final product (whether it is or is not art)—operas, films,
paintings, novels, and others—requires the contributions of many. Some may be
recognized for their roles (composers and singers, directors and actors, painters
and writers, editors and producers, for example) while others less so (costume
designers, key grips, studio assistants, typesetters, and others) or not at all (such
as local distributors, cleaners, and canvas makers). These works require an audi-
ence, as Becker points out, and Trollope was reliant upon his “critics, librarians
and readers,” just as makers of culturally appreciated works in any era are like-
wise dependent upon readers, spectators, viewers, and listeners, among others.
How those consumers engage the work varies; once the work leaves the hands of
its makers, it is no longer bound by the terms imposed by its producers, as dis-
cussed below.
Floating world images and texts were similarly the product of their art
world. Just as one might point to Trollope’s groom as well as to his critics as partic-
ipants in his network, evidence of similar cooperative action can be traced in uki-
yo-e works. There can be no doubt that the term “art world” raises the question of
whether these ukiyo-e works were considered to be art in their own time. Yet as
the foregoing suggests, many paintings, prints, and illustrated books seem to have
been regarded as such by their patrons and makers. Taking note of Becker’s delib-
erate use of lowercase “art” also, I argue, allows us to use this term productively to
demarcate a range of material texts, images, and objects, as well as performative
acts, that were appreciated in their own time. Regardless of the terms by which
they were known, there is no doubt that a similar practice of aesthetic evaluation
was present in eighteenth-century Japan. The larger field of floating world arts
(both literary and visual) was likewise considered in its own time as constituting
an art world, as numerous material representations attest.
In the following four chapters, I examine the ways in which floating world
objects bear traces of their art world and, more specifically, how these works stand
as evidence of collaborative exchange intended for aesthetic and other purposes.
One dimension of this cooperative practice exists at the level of production, and it
might be fruitfully classed in terms of labor, where the contributions of specific tal-
ents result in the final object. Gauging its reception is more intangible, but how that
work is consumed, understood, and imitated, and, in the process, transformed, pro-
vides clues to what its audience desired and demanded. Commissions by patrons
might also be brought into both the categories of production and reception.
Thinking about these issues of production and reception may, at first
glance, seem part and parcel of the art historian’s task, but I would contend that
the dominant paradigms for analyzing ukiyo-e have tended so far to emphasize
artistic production over reception, in studies that engage in the appreciation of the
object itself, the analysis of its content, and the singular contributions of its named
artist. I propose that recognizing cooperative exchange need not lessen individ-
ual contribution, nor does it degrade the aesthetic merits of the work, but rather
that by acknowledging cooperation we return these to their larger social and aes-
thetic networks. In addition, bringing reception as well as market concerns to bear
acknowledges the role these works played in a larger commercial context (that was,
after all, vital to their production). That is to say, it is not my intention to dimin-
ish artistic contributions or to lessen the beauty of the work at hand by bringing
in questions of how and for whom these things were made. Instead, my purpose
is to call attention to the ways in which collaboration was foundational to making
the work under analysis within the two spheres of production and reception in the
ukiyo-e art world.
This project focuses mainly upon these issues as they are most pertinent
to woodblock printing. While the subject, practice, and history of painting are
always present in ukiyo-e visualities—for, after all, ukiyo-e designers were trained
as painters—painting as a material good has a different history of production than
does print.18 Paintings may, of course, be done as ready-mades, but many more
(and especially those by the leading painters of the late eighteenth century) were
the products of commission and are the outcome of another kind of social con-
tract, that between the patron and the painter.19 Paintings also occupied another
register of appreciation, it may be argued, visible in their materials as well as in
their uses, and the available evidence indicates that in the period painting was
considered a more expensive and higher-status product than prints. Given paint-
ing’s stature as a practice, it seems no accident that when the figure of the print
designer is shown at work in period images, he is shown as a painter, limning mar-
velous works.20 Of course, paintings (especially those composed from mineral pig-
ments, with gold and silver adornments, on silk grounds) cost more than prints;
no wonder so many of the known patrons for painting were among the elite and
the well-to-do.21
Introduction | 9
In the later eighteenth century most paintings were made as unique objects;
by contrast, printed pictures were intended from the start as multiples. That the
purpose of printing is to make reproductions may seem plainly evident, so much
so that it need not be stated. Yet the fact that the intention was to make reproduc-
tions is in itself significant. There can be no doubt that the material effort (and
cost) of designing, carving, and printing multiples requires, even demands, a pro-
ductive outcome. That is to say, profit must be realized to appropriately compen-
sate the effort that is expended. That profit may not always have been realized in
financial terms, some might argue, for social capital and cultural influence are
also potential gains. But if the goal were to yield a financial return, when a work
became profitable would have depended upon the circumstances. Some works
were designed to be best sellers sold to the public while others were made to sat-
isfy a commission from a small group of clients. Thus, these multiples could be
produced in large runs, or in small ones, depending upon audience demand. The
fact that the publisher often retained ownership of the woodblocks meant he could
reprint the work at any time thereafter to meet demand.
Yet while each printed impression was, of course, a copy, this is not to say
that these things were copies of something else. These multiples were, by and
large, based upon original compositions made for the purpose of print. Some
images might have come close to being replicas of another image, as comparable
to the original or documentation of an original now lost. A copy of such a source
might serve to preserve, advertise, or reveal it (and the last is particularly meaning-
ful for works unavailable for viewing because of social and cultural restrictions)
and thus benefited by being replicated. But copies of this sort, I would argue, make
up a small fraction of the total output of floating world pictures—most images had
the status of being the original or at least the manifest expression of the picture
as imagined. Although the picture itself may have been one of many produced
through reproduction, it was, from the start, designed to be the image of record.
Similar points may be made about texts as well. What might be the so-called origi-
nal image begs a question that is not particularly useful here; for the most part the
status of the original was not relevant. Making multiples was.
As reproductions these printed things were, by definition, available for
consumption on a larger scale than that possible for a single work. Their mak-
ers aimed for an audience made up of numbers at least equal to the number of
printed things produced; as such, these images, whether produced on the order
of tens, hundreds, or thousands, functioned as transmitters of information. Mak-
ers and viewers were thus part of an “imagined community” joined through the
printed material (to adapt Benedict Anderson’s observations of the modern world
for the premodern one22). How viewers and readers interpreted works varied.
Peter Kornicki’s point about published works is worth bearing in mind through-
out: “Publication entails a loss of control over texts: over who reads them, over
how they are read, over what texts people read, and over what constructions are
put upon them.”23 These materials were bought and sold, borrowed and lent, read
and discussed, kept and discarded. Printed works had the capacity to circulate
broadly, reaching a larger audience than would singular works of higher expense
such as paintings. Many prints were designed with commercial intent: advertising,
critiquing, or lampooning the entertainments and occupations of the day. They
might also be fashioned as commemorative, celebratory, and complimentary, serv-
ing personal enthusiasms as well as social aspirations, with many designed as pri-
vate projects. Regardless, they were made in print, as print, and for print, using
that technology for its maximum potential.
Their producers succeeded in deploying the technology for greatest effect,
too, as the high numbers of printed objects produced in the period that remain
extant today attest. Yet as we shall see in the following chapters, it is difficult to
estimate numbers produced—exact figures for sheet prints remain elusive for
the eighteenth century. For books, sales in the later eighteenth century might
approach as high a number as ten thousand copies.24 We must also be aware of the
fact that while some were cherished, kept safe in albums and boxes (in the period
equivalent of contemporary museum practices), many did not receive such spe-
cial treatment and thus no longer survive. We do not yet have a calculation for the
rate of loss, but one might surmise that it must have been significant. As is the
case with things in the present, many printed works were discarded, lost, dam-
aged, consumed by fire, or given away—gone. Many have perished since, through
neglect, overuse, adversity, and disaster.25 Those that survive are thus made that
much rarer.
To return to the question of collaboration, how paintings and prints were
made, acquired, and appreciated signals a range of participants in their art worlds:
makers, publishers, patrons, viewers, collectors, and others. For commissioned
paintings, the art world model might seem at first glance to consist of the central
dyad of patron and painter, but others would have offered materials (grounds, pig-
ments, inks, mountings) that required skilled labor in their manufacture. With
prints, those contributions would have been based upon appropriate divisions
of labor that made it possible for the work to be completed efficiently. As men-
tioned above, while using the term “collaboration” may seem to propose a model
of exchange between equals, it is worth stating that working together need not
mean that each member of the group would have held equivalent status or have
had equal say over the final product. More likely that effort would have contained
within it explicit or implicit power dynamics that affected those in the group.
Introduction | 11
Partners in Print
Perhaps the most influential writing in English on the subject of ukiyo-e collab-
oration remains Tijs Volker’s 1949 essay “Ukiyoe Quartet: Publisher, Designer,
Engraver and Printer.”26 Yet the Edo art world extended beyond these four, as oth-
ers have discussed, most significantly in the role of the writer. Taking a note from
historian Robert Darnton’s well-known model for book production in Europe,27
attention must also be given to other ukiyo-e contributors. These include the copy-
ists, paper preparers, suppliers of the wood used for the blocks, the producers of
colorants, pigments, ink, and paper, and the distributors of the final product, from
the shippers to the shopkeepers to the book lenders, as well as a host of others
offering funds, goods, and services. They all played roles important in production
and dissemination.
Of these participants, the publisher held a key position in the production
and reception circuit. His role depended on whether he was the principal agent,
making works on speculation for the market, or acting as a coordinator for a com-
mission. For printed works intended as commercial products (including sheet
prints, popular books, and the like), the publisher would assess the market and
commission skilled workers to produce the content. He hired designers and writ-
ers to carry out the initial sketches and draft the manuscripts, often along his
guidelines. After approving the content, the publisher would hire carvers to render
the woodblocks and printers to make the printed works from the blocks. This pro-
cess leveraged the availability of skilled, specialist labor, and while individual cases
varied, each participant was paid a fee for the work performed. In organizing the
labor for these projects, the publisher often built off school reputations, paired up
proven sellers, and capitalized upon popular trends; his business relied upon his
ability to assess the market and deploy talent. 28
For works produced on commission, the publisher served as the coordina-
tor of the project, using funds provided by clients to cover all costs. (Some proj-
ects were made, however, without the publisher’s intervention, with an individual
carrying out the same process.) The organizer of the project, whether publisher
or group leader, would find producers to carry out the necessary work, such as
the artist(s), writer(s), carvers, and printers. For some commissioned works, the
clients might receive the entire batch, with none left over (and in these cases, the
costs would have been borne entirely by the clients). Surimono, specially commis-
sioned and luxurious prints featuring poetry and often made to commemorate the
New Year or other special events, were produced along this second model, as dis-
cussed in chapter 1. These exquisite images were often made for individual poets
as well as poetry groups. They feature special printing techniques (such as blind
embossing, color overlays, and the like) on high-quality paper and were produced
in small numbers, clearly intended for circulation among an elite group.29
However, some commissioned works were made in a scheme whereby a
set number of the finest works went to the clients to fulfill the contract and the
publisher sold additional copies from his shop (and in these cases, the clients’
subvention may have completely paid for the project, but it seems as likely that
their support could have been partial, such that the publisher’s calculated costs
required sales, or the publisher sought an opportunity to make a profit). Poetry
anthologies are one example of this kind of production. In some cases, the ver-
sion issued to the public was altered for the sales edition—perhaps with adapta-
tions to the printed effects or changes to the blocks—and differences in the two
versions signals the difference in the intended audiences. One of the best-under-
stood examples of this model is Suzuki Harunobu’s (1725?–1770) Eight Views of the
Parlor (Zashiki hakkei) of 1766; the first printing features high-quality techniques,
and the name on the prints is that of the client, but later printings bear the name
of Harunobu.30 Some actor prints seem also to have been partially subsidized by
patrons who received the finest impressions, and additional prints were sold from
the publisher’s shop.31
The publisher’s role as producer was sometimes fodder for period com-
mentary upon the print trade. This is humorously shown in the comic illustrated
novel It’s a Hit! The “Local Book” Wholesaler (Atariyashita jihon-doiya, 1802), written
and illustrated by Jippensha Ikku (1765–1831); this text has been skillfully trans-
lated and analyzed by literature scholar Lawrence Marceau and is worth summa-
rizing here.32 Ikku’s protagonist throughout is the publisher Murataya Jirobei, the
owner of the Eiyūdō shop, and the writer begins this story by recounting how he
had received the request from his publisher (a trope Ikku used in other stories as
well).33 But Ikku, as was his wont, adds a twist—this cannot simply be a documen-
tary-style report of how this little book came into being—rather each stage in the
process is assisted by various forms of trickery. The publisher, hoping to make the
year’s “number-one hit,” gives Ikku a libation to inspire him—it was so effective
that “this year’s work turned out to be head and shoulders above anything else, due
to the efficacy of the secret potion.”34
The process of turning the manuscript into a book is described through
the rest of Ikku’s tale, with each stage overseen by the publisher, Murataya. Deter-
mined to have a best seller, Murataya contracts the block carvers, and, after he
serves them another potion, they complete all the blocks in a single night. Another
mixture, now made from the arms of famous warriors, is given to the printers,
and “as a result the arms of the block rubbers took on unbelievable strength and
vitality, so each of them could print tens of thousands of sheets in a single day.”35
Introduction | 13
The processes of collating and trimming the printed sheets are likewise assisted
by concoctions. When he is not able to invent one appropriate for making cov-
ers, the publisher beats a drum, sings, and dances to spur the child apprentices
on to cover the books. The tasks of stitching the covers on and binding the books
are accomplished by his wife and mother, after a plan to train an ant to pull a
thread through the holes proves unsuccessful.36 (Making covers and sewing bind-
ings were assigned to children and women, presumably because they required
less skill.) Now complete, the book is given to the peddler (aided by an amulet)
to take to the bookstores, where it immediately sells out. The book is such a tre-
mendous success that crowds of people swarm around Murataya’s shop, begging
for copies.37
Ikku’s inventive rendering of the process of print production as aided by
potions and sake, drums and dances, ants and amulets served to jazz up what
might otherwise have read as a rather laborious sequence of tasks. The publisher’s
somewhat avaricious nature is the butt of the joke, but given his financial invest-
ment in materials and labor, there is no doubt that Murataya would have wanted
the book to be a quick seller. As the producer-director of the project, the publisher
owned both the final printed product and the woodblocks—what constituted in
effect the intellectual and material properties.
Although the conditions and stresses for the publisher in Japan varied from
those experienced by their peers in Europe, had they met, they would no doubt
have groused about the same things (just as professionals do in international ven-
ues today). Darnton wrote of the complexities involved in being a publisher in
early modern France. These included such issues as the price of paper and its vary-
ing degrees of quality, the smuggling of books (particularly across borders, espe-
cially significant for illegal books), relations with sales representatives and literary
agents, dealing with piracy, swapping, distribution (through alliances), and the
impact of politics, among others.38 Reflecting upon what he had learned through
archival work, Darnton commented,
What impressed me most was the need of a publisher to keep several

balls in the air while the ground was shifting beneath his feet. He might
be negotiating terms for new campaigns of paper, recruiting workers for
his printing shop, settling a contract with an insurer at the French bor-
der, firing off directions to a sales rep in deepest France, modifying his
view of the market according to information from his agent in Paris, lay-
ing plans to pirate promising new works, arranging swaps with half a
dozen allied houses, adjusting his list in conformity to advice received
from dozens of retailers, and trimming his business strategy to suit the
vagaries of politics, not only in Versailles but in other parts of Europe—
all at the same time. He also had to consider many other factors, such as
the possibility of purchasing original manuscripts from authors (a haz-
ardous undertaking because they sometimes sold the same work under
different titles to two or three publishers), the availability of specie in the
quadrennial fairs of Lyon, the dates of expiration of outstanding bills of
exchange, the changing rates of tolls on the Rhine and the Rhône, even
the date when the Baltic was likely to freeze over, forcing him to send
shipments to St. Petersburg and Moscow overland. It was his ability to
master the interrelation of all these elements that made the difference
between success and failure.39
Though Tokugawa-period publishers worked under different conditions, the Jap-

anese publisher’s profits derived from his skillful management of many of the
same factors, as Ikku’s narrative attests. In addition to those tasks described above,
the publisher would also have had to acquire materials at competitive prices, hire
and retain a stable of talent, negotiate distribution, keep up on trends (and pinch
good ideas), adhere to (and sometimes slip around) censorship restrictions, and
participate in the booksellers’ guild, among other tasks.40
In Edo floating world printed matter was classed as commercial, distin-
guishing it from more scholarly material. Separate guilds for the two classes of
publishing were established early in the eighteenth century. Both groups were
charged with self-regulation and censorship.41 Subject limits were placed upon
what floating world publishers might produce, such that some topics were explic-
itly banned. This meant that floating world subjects were ostensibly limited to
nonessential or popular subjects that posed no threat to the status quo, although
many writers and illustrators pushed the limits of what might be expressed. But
flouting restrictions was not unusual in the period. People regularly tested the
boundaries of what was permitted, often edging up to but not crossing the line.
There were many ways, after all, to get around the limits of the regulations. His-
torical and contemporary individuals might be called forth through allusion and
plays on names. Subversive materials could be printed without including the
names of the artist and publisher. Remarks about current and historical events
might be scribbled in graffiti, lyricized by itinerant singers, printed in broad-
sheets (some of which survive), or inscribed in manuscripts. How much man-
uscripts contributed to this world of information remains one of the most com-
plex problems for the period, as Kornicki has written.42 Period edicts prohibiting
the act of exchanging manuscripts that contained “baseless rumors” through the
lending libraries (kashihon’ya)—of which there were more than 650 by the start
Introduction | 15
of the nineteenth century43 —make clear how these served as a vector for social
commentary.
Edo publishers worked within these limits to produce profitable works;
they were attentive to marketing their commercial products effectively, and to the
benefits of branding their talent, promoting the skills and specialties of partic-
ular designers and writers. As I have demonstrated previously, constructing an
artistic persona for the artist-designer Kitagawa Utamaro (1753?–1806) was criti-
cal to his success and was abetted by his publisher Tsutaya Jūzaburō (1750–1797).44
Similarly, writer Santō Kyōden (1761–1816) seems to have benefited from being
described and depicted as an author (and perhaps it is no accident that Kyōden also
worked extensively with Tsutaya).45 Indeed, looking at the history of ukiyo-e texts
and images with an eye to how their makers manipulated their social personae, we
could enumerate a significant number whose reputations were burnished through
skillful promotion. That is not to say that these writers and designers did not also
offer creative talent—without their ideas and skills it would not have been worth-
while for the publishers to produce their works—nor that they did not have their
own fan bases. That they did these things so well, so prolifically, and so originally
means that they informed, impressed, and delighted their audiences while also
turning a profit for their publishers.
These writers and designers often became so closely associated with their
products that many of the same kinds of associations made through the author
function were present in the past, just as they are today.46 This is verified through
numerous period documents, but one of the most compelling is the legal require-
ment set out under the Tokugawa edict that all printed materials include the
names of the designers and writers as well as the identifying marks (if not also the
names) of the publishers. The edict shows that it was the exchange between the
publisher and his creative contributors that was defined as the generative point for
what became the final work. Those whose names or seals appeared in the printed
work were thus responsible for any transgressions of restrictions on content and
presentation.
Other names, such as those of the carvers and printers, are less frequently
recorded in sheet prints, although beautifully produced illustrated books may fea-
ture the name of the carver and occasionally that of the printer. However, their
work is made tangible in the final printed material—visible in details such as
exquisitely fine lines or sensitive gradations of color—and with more careful and
close study of cases where their names are known, it may be possible to chart out
their contributions more fully.
Implicit throughout this discussion of ukiyo-e production is its market. As
mentioned, paintings were often commissioned, as were special production prints
(such as surimono prints for poetry groups). Publishers also often asked designers
and writers to produce works for print, but they succeeded and failed by predicting
what clients wanted as well as teaching them what they should want (like film pro-
ducers and gallery owners today). These businessmen thus influenced consump-
tion, followed trends, and imitated things they saw their rivals selling by the score.
Their audience not only consumed the work but also experienced through these
works the sense of being a part of a larger, like-minded community.
To turn to reception, the act of consuming a work of art—of even looking at
one—is always socially inscribed, whether it takes place in the palace, the private
residence, the print shop, the modern museum, or elsewhere. Whether they were
commissioned or commercial works, the future of product types was influenced
by consumer response in a circuit of exchange measurable in profits and losses.
But buying and borrowing were not the only factors in play in encountering texts
and pictures. Access to images might also be determined through social interac-
tion, and this was often a significant factor in the act of art appreciation. As art his-
torian Craig Clunas points out, having access to engage the act of seeing was fun-
damental to consumption, and contexts for viewing were significantly different in
East Asia than in Europe. Ownership, placement, and format mattered:
When it came to “painting” (hua), the formats of handscroll, hanging

scroll and album gave the owners of the physical objects a control over the
viewing of the representations [in Ming China] which was different from
that enjoyed by the patron of the larger forms of contemporary painting
in Europe. There, access to the space where the picture was (even though
this was restricted on the grounds of status or gender) gave access to the
picture. In China, where there was no space where the picture continu-
ously “was,” every act of viewing was also an act of social interaction.47
Clunas’ point is that in order to see handscrolls, hanging scrolls, and albums in
Ming China required that the owner of the object facilitate viewing by opening and
displaying the work to the viewer. (And the same was true of Edo Japan.) This act
of seeing is by definition a collaborative exchange—between owner and viewer—
as well as, more distantly, with the painter and his world.48
More specifically, format and location mattered—a lot. Hanging scrolls may
be installed in an alcove or against a wall and thus be viewed once one had gained
access to the space where they were displayed. However, unlike European panel
or canvas paintings, hanging scrolls may be shown for only a limited time before
the strain of being on display takes its toll on the physical structure of the paint-
ing itself; it must be rolled up once more and returned to storage for its own
Introduction | 17
preservation. The handscroll requires more active intervention, and handscrolls
were not left open for viewing in early modern Japan as they are in museums today.
As discussed in chapter 3, viewing a handscroll requires the act of unrolling, roll-
ing up, and unrolling again so that its contents can be disclosed; this may be done
as a solitary act or by a small group of participants. Viewing the handscroll is by
definition active and permitted; the format of the illustrated album or book, too,
engages the physical and social in similar ways. Thus, for these formats, there was
“no space where the picture continuously ‘was’,” as Clunas rightly argued, in Ming
China or Edo Japan.49
By contrast, floating world sheet prints offered the possibility of a differ-
ent visual encounter, and their popularity in Edo Japan was no doubt due to their
accessibility. Publishers put sheet prints out for passersby to admire in the front
of their shops, hoping to draw customers in to make a purchase (as can be seen in
the picture of Nishimuraya’s shop illustrated in chapter 3 and on the cover). Sheet
prints were also posted in spaces visible to casual viewers, in the manner of post-
ers, and floating world pictures often make a point of showing prints pasted up
on walls in accessible places, like restaurants or teahouses. Yet sheet prints might
also be treated like paintings, mounted as hanging scrolls, handscrolls, or albums,
and in being transformed, they engage the same limits and possibilities for view-
ing that are features of those formats.
As Clunas notes, these rules of sociality were also inflected by gender. So,
too, is the act of viewing, and as shown in the following four chapters, the works
in question were produced mainly for a world that privileged masculine subjectiv-
ity.50 That had an affect upon how things were made, seen, and saved. The overall
macro construct of the masculine gaze as configured in service to dominant oper-
ations of power and gender is pertinent to the following discussions. But it is also
important to point out that the gaze was also manipulated, resisted, permeated,
and occluded by a wide range of viewers of both sexes.
These pictures of the floating world were part of a complex art world where
ukiyo-e’s makers and audience were aware of the social, cultural, and gender dis-
tinctions implicit in production and reception. Others have also discussed uki-
yo-e as a collaborative enterprise, and while this project is indebted to those, its
purpose is to push the inquiry further.51 These issues are explored in the follow-
ing chapters, and each begins with partnerships—a teacher and his students,
two painter-designers, a designer and a publisher, and a writer and an illustra-
tor—and with a single work that is the product of working together; the investi-
gation expands to engage their larger social contexts. The four works selected for
close analysis are not only the product of collaboration but also represent a broad
range of printed works: a surimono, a specially commissioned print, from 1786;
a full-color illustrated album (wahon or ehon), The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties,
Compared, 1776; a printed handscroll (emaki), The Scroll of the Sleeve, circa 1785; and
an illustrated novel (kibyōshi), Quick-Dye Mind Study, 1791. Notably, none of these
works was designed as a single-sheet print, arguably ukiyo-e’s most famous works.
(Although the individual prints in The Scroll of the Sleeve were produced in the
same process, and they could have been sold separately, they were likely intended
from the start to be presented not as individual prints but as a set.) The choice to
focus on works other than the single-sheet, commercial print is deliberate; it is
my intention to demonstrate how these four other kinds of printed things were
equally part of that system of production and reception. However, sheet prints
as well as paintings and other works come into the discussion as comparisons
throughout as part of the expanded discussion of related work. Throughout, con-
sideration is also given to the way in which each of these specific, named product
types were designed for slightly different audiences (that might overlap but did not
exactly match the others, or with that of the sheet-print market).
In writing this introduction and the book as a whole, I often reflected upon
the problem of how to link four things that were made in the same process but
where each was fundamentally different in so many ways. It is a bit like the prob-
lem that the classic Sesame Street ditty poses: “One of these things is not like the
other.” Three were clearly expensive, one was cheap. Three engage the kinds of
knowledge held by the connoisseur, one is a ribald satire about an order of knowl-
edge describing the human condition. Three are “appropriate for all ages,” one
seems to have been designed for more adult tastes. Three take up subjects familiar
from the floating world, and one draws from the visual practices associated with
formal painting. And yet these four things are a set, unified through their engage-
ment with four dimensions of cultural inquiry vital to the floating world: the sta-
tus of art, the definition of beauty, the physicality of the body, and the inquiry into
the intellect. These four case studies trace a narrative arc that spans these four top-
ics, shifting from the subject of art to the art of beauty, from the body as artifice
to the body as material, and from the physical body to the immaterial mind. In
this selection of four things, we will thus encounter a range of issues of medium,
genre, knowledge, visuality, sexuality, and representation, among others, as part of
our inquiry into the collaborative enterprise of making printed pictures of and for
the floating world.
Introduction | 19
C hapter 1
Teaching the Art of Painting

through Print
A Master Painter, His Students,
and the Illustrated Book
The lion pauses, scratches his ear, and shakes the peony he holds in his
mouth (figure 1.1). As he turns toward us, he seems to take us and everything
before him in his gaze. A young boy, frightened by the grimacing lion, runs to the
comforting arms of a seated woman. She and an older child seem to offer the boy
this reassurance: it is only a painted lion, decorating the flat surface of the stand-
ing screen. The picture tells a familiar narrative of the power of images and of the
painter’s prowess: the lion on the screen, it asserts, looks so real that it has fooled
the boy. As we shake our heads in wonder at the child’s misapprehension, the
picture does another kind of work: it suspends the illusion before us that what is
shown in the print is a record of the lad’s reaction, just as though it were happen-
ing before us. The picture depicts the figures within encountering a picture, but
in its representation, it beguiles us of its own truth, that what we are seeing in the
plane of the picture is the truth of their response. We forget that the picture is a fic-
tion, and when we do, the picture has done its work: it has fooled us, just as the flat
painting of the lion fooled the boy. We may even forget that as a printed image it is
a copy of another picture (the sketch) that contained within it the copy of another
picture (the painting). The image is thus an extended play upon the conceit of
copying, representation, and mimesis.
20
Figure 1.1. Toriyama Sekien, Kitagawa Utamaro, and Toriyama Sekichūjo. Untitled, ca. 1786.
Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Surimono, 27.7 × 39.2 cm. Becker family
collection.
The picture has more to tell. The screen’s placement in the scene takes
advantage of an East Asian painting convention whereby the most important object
is put in the center of the composition. The picture is shown as though placed on a
Chinese-style screen (tsuitate), and the painting rendered in the Chinese-inflected
Kano workshop manner; both format and style lend status to the picture. The sub-
ject of the lion and the peony refers to the myth of the Buddhist monk Jakushō
(Ōe no Sadamoto, ca. 962–1034) during his travels in China. The story had been
made into a noh play, but at this time was more familiar from its adaptation for
kabuki.1 According to the story, as the monk approached a narrow stone bridge
spanning a ravine, he learned from a child standing nearby that the Pure Land of
the bodhisattva Mañjuśrī was located on the other side. But the bridge could be
crossed only by those who had achieved enlightenment. The child explained that if
the monk would wait awhile, something marvelous would occur; then the boy van-
ished. Suddenly a lion appeared and danced in a field of peonies. When he beheld
Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 21

this scene, the monk reached enlightenment and traversed the bridge into para-
dise. The lion, being the mount of Mañjuśrī, stood in for the miraculous presence
of the bodhisattva of wisdom; being both a manifestation and a substitution for the
bodhisattva, its appearance triggered the monk’s transformation.
The power of this image is thus redoubled through the allusions to the
awe-inspiring appearance of the lion. The painting is signed “from the brush of
Sekien, age seventy-five.” Its designer, Toriyama Sekien (1712–1788), is acclaimed
as the master painter of the image on the screen. The screen is framed by the
scene of the woman and children in front; the signature to its left reads “pictured
by Yūsuke,” marking the child’s reaction as from the hand of Kitagawa Utamaro
(1753?–1806), here using his personal name to sign the image. To the right side
a third signature, “pictured by Sekichū,” indicates that the arrangement of trees
behind the screen is by a third hand, that of Toriyama Sekichūjo (1763–?). The
placement and kind of these pictorial elements signal a hierarchy of contribution:
Sekien in the center is the most important, Utamaro on the lower left is second,
and Sekichūjo at the right is third. The signatures reinforce Sekien’s position,
with the term “brush” proclaiming his greater mastery than does the more hum-
ble term “pictured” used by Utamaro and Sekichūjo. This privileging of Sekien is
appropriate, for he was the teacher of Utamaro and Sekichūjo.
The contribution of the lion—the master Sekien—is strategically represented
in the form of a painting. Rendered with dark, contoured inky lines, this printed paint-
ing is shown mounted on a Chinese screen, and in style and format, the quoted paint-
ing carries with it the cultural authority of all that Chinese pictures (kara-e) bore in the
period. Utamaro’s figures, by contrast, are shown wearing Japanese costumes, asso-
ciating these with Japanese pictures (yamato-e), while Sekichūjo’s cherry blossoms
allude to ink-painting traditions. In form and iconography this picture draws on a
set of referents and pictorial traditions well understood by contemporary viewers.
This print is a composite image, a pictorial collaboration. It is the material
evidence of the relationship between these three names, as well as of the anon-
ymous block carvers, printers, and others who rendered it as a print. There is
no seal or other designation for a publisher. These features and its high produc-
tion values indicate that this is a special kind of single-sheet print—a surimono.
While that term may be translated literally as “printed thing,” it signified then, as
now, something much greater. Surimono were specially commissioned images that
employed the highest-quality materials and techniques available at the time. These
dazzling displays of design, carving, and printing were intended to be private gifts,
not sold as commercial works, and produced in small print runs. Many were made
to celebrate the New Year or to commemorate other special occasions; they often
feature design elements that signal the season or the year.2
Many surimono included the poems and signatures of others who contrib-
uted to the project as a cooperative venture, but unfortunately the poetry section
that would have accompanied this impression is no longer extant. What is partic-
ularly impressive about this surimono is its large size: even without the missing
section the dimensions of the paper make it larger than the standard ōban format
(39 × 26 cm) used for sheet prints in this period. With the poetry section attached,
this would have been very large for a surimono. The size, the high quality of the
paper, and the technical achievements signal that this was a costly production.
A number of seals are included on the print, and they likewise attest to the partic-
ipation of notable figures. Sekien’s artist seals are included after his signature on
the standing screen, and these would have appeared on all impressions. However,
three other seals have been added to this impression, verifying the presence and
contributions of the seal owners; two are particularly meaningful. On the lower
left, the large seal reads gessō, or “moon window,” and as it uses one of Sekien’s art-
ist names, it was no doubt his own seal. The seal at the lower right, translated as
“Collection of Nanpo,” denotes the participation of one of the period’s leading cul-
tural figures, Ōta Nanpo (1749–1823), the leader of the Yomo poetry group. But this
is testament, too, to something even more remarkable: that Nanpo owned this very
impression. Perhaps, it may be speculated, Nanpo participated in the production
of the surimono as one of its patrons. The third seal, at the lower left, is yet to be
identified but appears to be that of a later collector. At present, this impression is
the only one known in the world, and, as such, it stands as evidence of a singular
moment of cooperation between teacher, students, and collector.
The picture clearly demonstrates period appreciation for Sekien as a painter.
Today, however, Sekien is little discussed, not one of the figures usually featured
in exhibitions, scholarship, or classroom discussions about Edo-period painting
and printed works. When Sekien is mentioned, it is invariably for two achieve-
ments: as the illustrator of four popular compendia of the “night procession” of
specters, demons, and ghosts and as the teacher of the more famous Utamaro.
While Sekien may often be overlooked in the present, he was known in the Edo
art world as an accomplished poet, connoisseur, and painter in the Kano style. He
was highly successful as a designer of illustrated books replicating painting styles
and principles. He was also active as a teacher of painting. Thus, Sekien’s role is
worthy of reappraisal: he was a key point of transfer of traditional painting style for
the floating world. In this chapter, that act of transmission is regarded as a collab-
orative exchange that occurred through teaching and through the illustrated book.
While the relationship between master and student is not egalitarian, it is predi-
cated upon an active exchange. Each participant is reliant upon the other (indeed,
each is defined by the terms of the relationship), and each benefits from the other.

I propose that Sekien transferred knowledge about painting from the privileged
Kano workshop to the commercial floating world and, in effect, enabled a shift in
that style from the world of private commissions to market consumption, from
elite painting to popular print.
In the act of making his knowledge of Kano-style painting available in the
printed book, Sekien was making public the trade secrets of the Kano workshop
and rebranding its style under his name. The success of these printed books
points to a new audience interested in the history of painting and in the practices
of the connoisseurship of pictures as well as in the social benefits of participating
in other cultured practices, and of being part of what was, in effect, an art world.
Sekien was thus naming, defining, and categorizing period artistic prac-
tices, appropriating the art of painting for the floating world. His partners were
his teachers, poetry networks, students, publishers, period connoisseurs, and the
broader Edo audience. Sekien was a participant in the overlapping artistic, literary,
and publishing milieus that transformed ukiyo-e in the last quarter of the eigh-
teenth century.
Sekien and Issues of Artistic Style,

Status, and Specialization
Sekien did not achieve a high profile in his own time: he was not included on
period lists of important painters, such as those included in published guidebooks
of the time, nor did writers extol his virtues. Rather, deducing from the quality of
his work, and from his rather conservative style, he was a moderately successful
painter, likely seen by patrons as a safe and affordable choice. His style and sta-
tus have made his career of less interest to a modern scholarly approach that priv-
ileges innovation and stature in assessing artistic contribution. While writing a
chronology of work from a lifetime that spanned seventy-seven years (by the Japa-
nese count) at his death in 1788 is well beyond the scope of this project, this chap-
ter gives an overview of his career in its discussion of his role as a teacher of paint-
ing to ukiyo-e artists.3
Much of Sekien’s painting career was located outside the sphere of the
floating world. He did not make images that are typical for artists in the ukiyo-e
genre—there are no pictures of fūzoku, celebrating the customs and manners of
the time, that category of production that included sumo wrestlers, kabuki actors,
beautiful women, and famous places. Nor did Sekien produce any single-sheet
prints or paintings in the ukiyo-e style. Rather, Sekien worked in the style of a
Kano town painter, granting him a particular status as a visual producer. Even after
Sekien began designing printed books for floating world publishers, he did not
take up typical ukiyo-e subjects or produce sheet prints. Sekien’s social status, as
well as patronage and preferences, was defined by his artistic practice as a Kano-
style painter, book illustrator, and teacher.
Sekien’s place in ukiyo-e studies today may also raise the issue of whether
the genre has been too narrowly defined around the full-color sheet print (nishi-
ki-e) and its subject matter. Period documents make it clear that those who were
constructing the boundaries of ukiyo-e in the late eighteenth century regarded
innovation as important for the emerging canon, and after the advent of the full-
color sheet print in 1765, designing those prints was a marker of marketability
and, by extension, artistic status. Sekien was not commissioned to design for this
single-sheet full-color print medium and did not shift his professional status as a
painter to become a print designer. Although Sekien was included in the earliest
canon for floating world pictures, the Ukiyo-e Miscellany (Ukiyo-e ruikō), begun in
the late eighteenth century, he was not granted a separate listing as an individual
name. Instead, he was included in the entry for Utamaro as his teacher, a fact that
suggests Sekien was well regarded as a name-brand painter.
Sekien also did not found a lineage that bears his name, as others before him
had done. Setting up a house name was not a prerequisite for being included in
the ukiyo-e canon—after all, Okumura Masanobu (1686–1764), Suzuki Harunobu
(1725?–1770), and Isoda Koryūsai (1735–1790) had accomplished students, but they
did not establish lineages either. Yet having such a position as founder (and listed
as such in period documents) signals legacy and grants permanent position as
house name. Sekien’s contemporaries, Katsukawa Shunshō (1726–1792) and Kitao
Shigemasa (1739–1820), were both successful producers of full-color sheet prints
and founded lines that came to bear their names, the Katsukawa and Kitao, respec-
tively. Followers bearing their house names were expected to carry on their house
styles. However, there is no Toriyama lineage. Nor did Sekien gain the right to use
the Kano name, and though he trained in the Kano style, he is not considered a
Kano artist nor included on Kano house charts. He was regarded then, as now, as
a “town painter” (machi-eshi). Sekien’s legacy, I argue, is manifest in other forms
of active cultural adaptation, from the sphere of traditional painting to the modern
zeitgeist of the floating world.
Painting Practices and Hierarchies: Artistic Training

Born in 1712, Sekien had Sano as his family name and reportedly came from a
family of some social position perhaps in service to the Tokugawa shogunate.
According to some accounts, Sekien was a priest and may have even served in
this occupation, although this cannot be confirmed from extant documents.4

Sekien is reported to have been, due to his social station, familiar with tea prac-
tice and ikebana as well as a participant in the haikai poetry circles, as Shimada
Tsukuba, among others, has stated.5 Edo-period texts written after Sekien’s death
indicate that he was regarded as an informed person, knowledgeable in every area
of cultural practice and acquainted with established poets and prominent Confu-
cian scholars.6 From these few remarks Sekien’s reputation is cast as a man more
engaged with high culture (ga) practices than with those of the popular (zoku) and
the floating world.7
Sekien’s apprenticeship was in the Kano workshop, the foremost painting
lineage in Japan in the late eighteenth century. After nearly three centuries of affili-
ations with powerful elites, the Kano had ateliers in all major cities where its paint-
ers generated works for all purposes and instructed applicants in an entrenched
house style. The Kano workshop specialized in images of reliably high quality that
met specific style standards of conservative tastes—in short, finely worked images
where the best surprise was no surprise. Its strictly patriarchal and pyramidal
organization paralleled that in place for the shogunate, and like those established
in the political sphere, it sought to maintain the Kano brand’s position of power
and influence in the Tokugawa art world. Throughout the period, the workshop
achieved that by retaining its status as the main supplier of images to the shogun
ate and its military elite.8 It also was successful in transmitting its painting prac-
tices; not only did it generate new Kano masters but it also provided training for
painters that developed their own styles, such as Tani Bunchō (1763–1841), Iwasa
Matabei (1578–1650), and Maruyama Ōkyo (1733–1795), among others.9
In the early Tokugawa period, the Kano workshop expanded its reach to
Edo by launching new branches while retaining its founding workshop in Kyoto.
Status was defined through association with political ranks and service to the
shogunate.10 Initially Kano painters in direct service to the shogunate were called
painters in attendance (goyō eshi), but in 1763 the shogun Tokugawa Ieharu pro-
moted his favorite painter, Kano Eisen-in Michinobu (1730–1790), as a “painter to
the inner quarters” (oku goyō eshi), and this became the highest status position in
the Kano workshop. This new title also made clear the status distinction for paint-
ers serving outside the castle walls in a more or less official capacity (omote goyō-
eshi).11 Below these were painters hired by daimyo and considered “retained.” Dis-
tinctions were also made in the use of the Kano name; those at the highest ranks
were Kano, and some of those considered to be retained were granted the right to
use the name for a single generation. Below these were the town painters. They
were trained in a Kano atelier but not granted the use of the Kano name; they did,
however, provide paintings for all comers, greatly expanding the base market for
the Kano style.12
The Kano workshop privileged the imitation of past models over innovation
and talent.13 The dictum “One brush, unchanged for a thousand generations,” writ-
ten by Kano Yasunobu (1613–1685), sums up the lineage’s strategy of artistic consis-
tency, devotion to its founders, and emblematic referencing.14 The workshop’s paint-
ings and texts demonstrate that deviation from the orthodox standard in order to
emphasize individual creativity was not deemed meritorious under the Kano. Faith-
fulness in imitating line by line, dot for dot the workshop standards in the copybook
method was required.15 Rather than studying from models or sketching from life,
students worked from pictorial sources (funpon), such as designs in sketchbooks,
their teachers’ pictures, copies of paintings from previous generations, and others.
This approach also emphasized the connoisseurship of past models.16
Kano painting discourse emphasized these and other principles in sev-
enteenth-century texts such as Kano Yasunobu’s Secret Keys to the Way of Paint-
ing (Gadō yōketsu), drafted in 1680, and Kano Einō’s (1631–1697) Japanese Painting
History (Honchō gashi), published in 1693.17 These treatises articulated the house
method and promoted its superiority in painting, setting out its standards. Yasu-
nobu’s Secret Keys to the Way of Painting was calculated to define the methods,
means, and practices of the Kano workshop. By appearing in print, Secret Keys to
the Way of Painting also systematized that which had been previously communi-
cated through oral transmission within Kano ateliers.18 However, its publication
meant that Kano secrets became available for widespread consumption. This,
along with similar works, used print to make Kano and other period styles avail-
able for study by potential students, clients, and collectors.
Sekien would have been trained to recycle these stock subjects and styles
while in the atelier of Kano Chikanobu (1660–1727).19 Chikanobu was the third
head of the Kobikichō oku eshi line, one of the four highest-ranking Kano houses
directly serving the Tokugawa shogunate.20 The connection between Sekien and
Chikanobu is substantiated in the introduction to Sekien’s Picture Album, where
Chikanobu is named as his teacher. Chikanobu’s manipulation of Kano style is vis-
ible in the handscroll Scroll of Comic Pictures (Giga zukan), in his use of lines and
overall composition (figure 1.2). As a set of humorous pictures (giga), the hand-
scroll includes episodes where supernatural beings act out in surprising or foolish
ways. Here, an enraged God of Thunder scares off a tengu, a legendary creature
often shown with wings and a large nose. Other sections of the handscroll show
a variety of other droll occurrences: an owl rides on the back of a boar; a deer, cat,
and tanuki (raccoon dog) play music; and a rabbit sits on a giant gourd while mon-
keys endeavor to pull it over.21
A second Kano artist, Gyokuen (1683–1743), is also posited as Sekien’s
teacher.22 Gyokuen was the fourth-generation head of the Okachimachi branch

of the Kano school.23 He was the second son of Kano Kyūhaku Masanobu (1577–
1654).24 Sekien’s change of his artistic name from Toyofusa to Sekien may signal
his apprenticeship with Gyokuen, as it uses the same character “en” that appears
in Gyokuen. Such a change would have been approved by Gyokuen and would
serve to denote Sekien’s affiliation to the master. However, Gyokuen is not named,
as Chikanobu is, in documents associated with Sekien. Sekien also changed his
familial name from Sano to the artistic name Toriyama, although how he came to
arrive at this is not known.25
Regardless of teacher, Sekien would have been trained in the copybook
method, including both printed and sketched painting manuals. Looking broadly
over his extant paintings, it is clear that Sekien relied upon the Kano formula
and that he had relative success as a town painter.26 But Sekien’s contribution to
the floating world is most tangible in the way his painting style was rendered
into print. It is in his printed books that Sekien’s awareness of the larger painting
trends of the period is best evident; these books, like the Kano copybooks, provided
templates for his students, his contemporaries, and later generations.
Figure 1.2. Kano Chikanobu. Scroll of Comic Pictures (Giga zukan), late seventeenth to early eighteenth
centuries. Handscroll, ink and color on silk. 31.2 × 509.1 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum.
Printing the Art of Painting
Sekien’s range as a painter is evident, to be sure, in the numerous examples that
remain from his hand, but his printed books, it may be argued, serve as better evi-
dence of his pedagogy and his status in the broader world of Edo art appreciation.
These books document his style, and by functioning as encyclopedias of artistic
themes, served to extend his reach beyond his patrons and students, making that
style visible through the medium of the book to a larger audience. These books
are also evidence of his ongoing dialogue with his teachers and with the past,
demonstrating his engagement with the subject of painting as a heuristic category.
Printed books about the subject of painting were in circulation during Sekien’s
time, and it may be suggested that they not only functioned as documentation of
styles (individual as well as school) but also participated in the construction of a
history of painting as a professional practice.
Among the most famous books on painting from the period are the Chi-
nese titles The Mustard Seed Garden Manual (Jieziyuan huazhuan, 1679) and the
Eight Varieties of Painting Styles (Bazhong huapu, ca. 1621). Both were reprinted in
Japan—as, respectively, the Kaishien gaden in 1748 and the Hasshū gafu in 1672 and
1710. Both transferred Chinese painting style to Japan, with significant impact, as
has been discussed elsewhere, and Sekien’s training would no doubt have brought
him into contact with these texts. Other period books made the secrets of the Kano
style available in print. For example, Tachibana Morikuni (1649–1748) translated
sketchbooks for woodblock print, in books such as Old Stories about Illustrated
Books (Ehon kojidan, 1714) and A Treasure Pouch of Picture Book Sketches (Ehon utsu-
shi takarabukuro, 1720), and Morikuni recycled the sketches of his Kano-trained
teacher, Tsuruzawa Tanzan (1655–1729), in Strokes of the Brush and Rough Pictures
(Unpitsu soga, 1749).27 Ōoka Shunboku’s (1680–1763) Skillful Painting Concealed and
Revealed (Gakō senran, 1740) and Garden of Japanese and Chinese Famous Pictures
(Wakan meigaen, 1749–1750) likewise included Kano, as well as other, styles and
were useful sources for painters as well as connoisseurs.28
Painters active in the floating world genre likewise produced design books.
Hishikawa Moronobu’s (ca. 1618–1694) Collected Pictures for Standing Screens and
Hanging Scrolls (Byōbu kakemono ezukushi, 1701), functioned as a compendium
of painting subjects, styles, and formats. Each page presents one or more illus-
trations of paintings, and the book covers subjects from Chinese and Japanese
classics to Buddhist themes, shown mounted as hanging scrolls, folding screens
(byōbu), Chinese-style standing screens, sliding doors (fusuma), and illustrated
handscrolls (emaki), with subject and format matched. The postscript describes
the book as a study guide to painting, and the purpose of the project was clearly to

provide viewers—painters and consumers—with an artistic encyclopedia. Look-
ing through Moronobu’s book with an eye to Sekien’s own designs, one comes
across many subjects rendered in similar styles. Among the most striking is the
illustration of a dancing lion on a Chinese-style standing screen (figure 1.3). It is
exactly the kind of image that Sekien might have used for his surimono design of
the lion on the screen and as such connects that image to a much longer history
of the subject in painting. At the same time, this picture (as with all other images
in Moronobu’s book) testifies to period sensibilities of the standards and standbys
of painting themes.
Through the act of reproduction printed books diffused, even canonized,
individual and school styles. This function was well understood by their produc-
ers. For us, they serve to reconstruct another history of painting, its methods,
and connoisseurship practices. Sekien entered into this discourse on paintings
Figure 1.3. Hishikawa Moronobu. Illustration of lion and peony on Chinese-style screen,
from Collected Designs for Standing Screens and Hanging Scrolls (Byōbu kakemono
ezukushi), 1701. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Tokudaibon, 30 × 19.5 × 1.9 cm.
Special Collection, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution
Libraries, Rare 154.7.M6la.
through two illustrated books. The first, Echoes of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko,
1773), is better known by the title of its reprinted version, Sekien’s Picture Album
(Sekien gafu, 1774), and is a deluxe full-color replication of his paintings.29 The sec-
ond project, Painting Comparisons (Kaiji hiken, 1778), presents a compendium of
thematic contrasts. Both demonstrate what Sekien would have taught his students
and serve to promote his style to readers.
Echoes of Bird Mountain (Sekien’s Picture Album) reproduces Sekien’s paint-
erly range in period styles, and it is highly appreciated for its use of exceptional
printing techniques. There are three known printings of this book: on all three
the colophons include Sekien’s name, with examples of his seals, and the names
of three of his students, Shikō, Sekihō, and Gessa. Not only does this establish the
position of these students in his studio but their inclusion may also indicate that
they assisted in the transfer of Sekien’s designs to the sketches (shita-e) used by
the block cutters.30 The colophons for the three printings further demonstrate that
several publishers regarded the project as worthy of acquisition and republication
over the course of a few years. The colophon on the first printing lists the publish-
ers Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi Seibei, and Yūrien Toshū, as well as the names
of the carver and the printer, Enkōdō Tōei and Aisō Nanri, respectively. These
three publishers would have been the ones backing the project in its first incar-
nation in 1773. In the second printing from the following year, 1774, only one of
them, Yūrien Toshū, remained, but he was joined in the project by the publisher
Enshūya Yashichi; this team included the printer Kanamori Chōsai. Yūrien Toshū
and Enshūya Yashichi must have felt assured of the project’s further profitability,
as they issued a third imprint, a single-volume abridged version in 1775.31
The first printing of this book on Sekien’s painting style was titled Echoes
of Bird Mountain (1773); subsequent reprintings appeared under the title Sekien
gafu. The first title is allusive and personal—with a secondary meaning along the
lines of “Toriyama heir”—employing terms that seem in line with works made in
special, limited production in a small run. The title shift in the subsequent pro-
ductions to the more descriptive Sekien’s Picture Album suggests a savvy remarket-
ing of the project to a broader audience. By using his art name, Sekien, and the
specific term for a book about painting style (gafu) in the second title, the change
denotatively marked the book as part of a classificatory field, putting it alongside
other such books that documented painting styles (such as the Hasshū gafu).32 It
signals, too, that Sekien was perceived by these publishers as a worthy artist to
commemorate; the rhetorical move made here signifies that Sekien was an appre-
ciated master painter and thus regarded as more than a Kano town painter. That
the publishers deemed it worthwhile to make an abridged version (no doubt at a
cheaper price) reinforces this perception.

All three versions were made in large format, each approximately 31.8 × 21.5
centimeters, and this project was in fact the largest and grandest full-color book of
its day. The first title is renowned for its technical finesse and for the earliest use of
the fukibokashi technique in printing, rendering ink tones as gradations across the
page (visible, too, in the subsequent printings as well). It also included other spe-
cial techniques for shading a color area (itabokashi) and to suggest transparency
through thin double printing of color (gomazuri) as well as two kinds of gauffrage
embossing (karazuri and kimedashi).33 The use of these exquisite printing tech-
niques signals great expense, but whether that cost was borne by private investors
for a commemorative work or by publishers willing to take a large risk on a com-
mercial product is as yet unknown. Regardless, it was designed from the start as
a gafu, or an album of painting style—a record of a master’s skill, akin to the mod-
ern-day exhibition catalogue for a one-man show.
Text and image are deployed to acclaim Sekien’s talents. Three prefaces are
included, each written in a distinct linguistic style: the first in classical Chinese, the
second in Kanbun (Chinese-style text glossed for Japanese reading), and the third
in Japanese. The first two relate that Sekien studied with Kano Chikanobu, forging
the link to that renowned Kano master. Sekien is further described as displaying
his talent in the Motonobu and the Itchō styles. These notations reference, respec-
tively, the founder of the Kano school, Kano Motonobu (1476–1559), and the seven-
teenth-century master Hanabusa Itchō (1652–1724). This is name-dropping with
a purpose—it sets the viewer up to be aware of Sekien’s position in painting his-
tory, act in the manner of a painting connoisseur, and make comparisons between
Sekien and these renowned masters. The Sekien style, these prefaces continue, is
derived from the Kano tradition, and he is a master of figure painting and the bird-
and-flower (kachōga) genre; these styles are all demonstrated in the book itself.
The third preface is signed “from the brush of Toriyama Sekien himself”
and is presented as a printed rendering of the painter’s own calligraphy. Here
Sekien begins with a list of things that gladden the heart, beginning in a poetic
manner: “Flowers are [known for] their scent, and birds, too, their song, the groves
for their swaying, and waterfalls trembling like a caress from the mountaintop—
it is these that the hearts of all people celebrate.”34 In just such a spirit, he contin-
ues, he takes up his brush to cheer those who should look upon his pictures, so
these designs have been carved into the cherry blocks. There is nothing, Sekien
avers, like looking at paintings from the past to understand nature; his pictures,
he hopes, will also be appreciated by future generations. These words of humble
solicitude are written in classical style, and replete with allusion they frame the
project in formal elegance. Thus, the three prefaces work to characterize Sekien as
distinguished, privileged by these markers of tradition.
The subsequent pages of the book are all Sekien compositions, rendered
as though copied from his paintings. The first image shows Hotei, one of the
seven gods of good luck, riding an ox while accompanied by his young appren-
tice (figure 1.4). Hotei looks directly at the viewer through a translucent fan, his
round face and body mimicked by the large bag of treasure behind him. This is
an auspicious opening, and with the blossoming plum on the right, appropriate
for a project released at the New Year. Rendered in a modified Kano style, it dis-
plays painterly lines in the treatment of the costumes and more descriptive ones
for the bodies, with green and red printed highlights on Hotei’s fan, the boy’s cos-
tume, and the lacquer bowl. Turning the page, the viewer encounters the power-
ful and long-familiar image of Shōki the demon queller. He is shown on the right
side of the opening, one eye closed as though focusing upon the viewer, the two
subdued demons in his employ standing to the left side. This image uses only
Figure 1.4. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Hotei, from Echoes of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko),
1773; published by Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi Seibei, and Yūrien Toshū. Full-color woodblock
printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 31.8 × 21.5 cm. Chiba City Museum of Art.

shades of black and gray, and here the emphatic and heavy line used on the cos-
tumes is typical eighteenth-century Kano. In these two images, both style and
theme set the stage: this is to be a performance of well-known subjects shown in
classic styles.
Throughout Sekien is represented through his designs as a master of period
styles and subjects, and these printed paintings demonstrate that the carvers and
printers employed for the project were pushing the woodblock medium farther
than it had gone before. This may be seen, for example, in the battle between the
dragon and tiger, a picture recognizable as a theme and in its treatment as based
in Kano style. In the printed image the tones of black that obscure and disclose
the entwined forms are intended to simulate the effects of a wet, inky brush on
paper. Many pictures enact a string of referents that extend from the Kano to its
Figure 1.5. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a winter landscape, from Echoes of Bird Mountain
(Toriyama biko), 1773; published by Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi Seibei, and Yūrien Toshū.
Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 31.8 × 21.5 cm.
Chiba City Museum of Art.
Figure 1.6. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a scene from The Tale of Genji, from Echoes of
Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko), 1773; published by Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi Seibei, and
Yūrien Toshū. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 31.8 ×
21.5 cm. Chiba City Museum of Art.
own adapted sources in Chinese painting, as, for example, in the sharply angled
winter landscape in figure 1.5. While Sekien’s knowledge may have been only that
deriving from the Kano lineage, that reference bears signifiers that link it to the
long Japanese history of adapting Southern Song painting (the Xia Gui style) as it
was achieved by Sesshū (1420–1506) in the fifteenth century. In doing so, Sekien is
adapting these Kano-inflected sources for the present, enacting a kind of collabo-
ration with that past for his contemporary viewers.
Other pictures explicitly refer to yamato-e (Japanese style) precedents, as
they had likewise been adapted by the Tosa painters (among others) (figure 1.6).
More recent styles are also mined, in clear citations to Hanabusa Itchō and oth-
ers. Eighteenth-century studies in shasei, or “sketching from life,” seem to be at
play in his study of the locust on the eggplant; but this image, too, has associations

Figure 1.7. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a locust and eggplant, from Echoes of Bird Mountain
(Toriyama biko), 1773; published by Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi Seibei, and Yūrien Toshū.
Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 31.8 × 21.5 cm. Chiba City
Museum of Art.
reaching back to Chinese insect studies, as well as to Japanese pictures, and thus
displays both histories (figure 1.7). Others, such as the landscape with Mount
Fuji, employing a lowered horizon line and sensitive gradations of color, suggest
Sekien’s awareness of contemporary innovations in representing distance and
atmosphere. The book includes an extraordinary pair of pictures showing a pea-
cock, a peahen, and a peony, rendered in a “fur and feathers” mode (perhaps even
with an awareness of paintings being produced exactly at this time by artists such
as Maruyama Ōkyo). Here, the bodies of the birds are shown spreading across one
opening, with their feathers extending on to the following pages in a celebration of
color printing (figures 1.8 and 1.9). Sekien’s range of styles is the point here: he is
the master of these privileged painting practices. Publishers, carvers, printers, and
the painter have collaborated to give the reproduced lines all the signifying values
present in the brushstrokes: this is a catalogue of printed paintings.
As noted, using the term gafu (painting style book) in the second title (as
Sekien gafu) harked back to the Hasshū gafu. This eight-volume work presented
the subjects and styles privileged in the Chinese literati painting canon, with each
Figure 1.8. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a peacock, peahen, and peonies, from Echoes
of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko), 1773; published by Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi Seibei,
and Yūrien Toshū. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon,
31.8 × 21.5 cm. Chiba City Museum of Art.
Figure 1.9. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of a peacock, peahen, and peonies, continued from
Echoes of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko), 1773; published by Hanaya Kyūjirō, Wakabayashi
Seibei, and Yūrien Toshū. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper.
Tokudaibon, 31.8 × 21.5 cm. Chiba City Museum of Art.
volume dedicated to a particular master, and it was widely used by Japanese paint-
ers engaged in the study of Chinese painting style.35 A number of other printed
books produced in the period likewise replicated painting, appearing under a vari-
ety of titles, and the term gafu also came to be used in works dedicated to a sin-
gle artist’s style. Significantly, the gafu made to honor Hanabusa Itchō (Itchō gafu,
1770) appeared just three years before the first printing of Toriyama biko/Sekien
gafu.36 Inasmuch as gafu may have been produced as commemorative volumes,
they also reified individual brushes as name brands. Indeed, some served to pro-
duce posthumous renown, as was the case with Kōrin’s Painting Style (Kōrin gafu),
produced by Nakamura Hōchū (?–1819) in 1802 for Ogata Kōrin (1658–1716). Pro-
ducing Toriyama biko/Sekien gafu was thus in service to putting Sekien on a par
with other period painters and to affirm his visual brand.
Pictorial Comparisons
Five years later, in 1778, the publisher Enshūya Yashichi published Sekien’s cata-
logue of pictorial themes, Painting Comparisons. Enshūya was one of several pub-
lishers included on the second and third printings of Sekien’s Picture Album, and
he had, in the meantime, also produced Sekien’s first title on the spectral beings
of the night. If Sekien’s Picture Album demonstrated Sekien’s mastery of painting,
reprinted in sumptuous color, this second book on the subject functioned more as
a highlights collation of images on Chinese- and Japanese-styled pictorial themes.
Produced in a smaller format, 22.3 × 16.1 centimeters, in three volumes, this book
functioned more explicitly as a reference work of subjects shown in associated
styles.
The preface to Painting Comparisons opens with the phrase “among the
men of letters there is none in the Eastern Capital like Sekien.” It relates that in
this book, Sekien presents pictures of figures in wakan style, a phrase referring to
the well-established discursive construct comparing Japanese (wa) and Chinese
(kan) modes.37 Signed by Ozawa Yasuchika, the preface states that this project on
pictorial themes features human figures shown in three volumes. In subsequent
works, it continues, Sekien will also share his knowledge of bird-and-flower and
landscape themes. Those pictorial themes are thereafter depicted in styles appro-
priate to their subject, as skillfully rendered by Sekien, with Chinese stories pre-
sented in a self-consciously Chinese mode and Japanese ones replicated in a man-
nered Japanese style.38
Two comparisons from the volume demonstrate how these pictorial tradi-
tions were put into contrast. A double-page picture labeled “Emperor Shun” is the
first picture in the illustrated book (figure 1.10). Emperor Shun, from the period
twenty-third to twenty-second centuries BCE, was classed as one of the three sov-
ereigns and five emperors of ancient China; he was renowned for his virtuous
works, effective rule, and appreciation for music. Sekien shows this worthy figure
seated in an elaborate chair and playing a qin (zither). The emperor is flanked on
the right by courtiers holding stanchions, while three peasants kneel before him.
The scene, from the figures’ costumes, hairstyles, and facial hair to the setting,
and the style, in the treatment of the angled surfaces, dark outlines, and texture
strokes, are all meant to signal Chinese style. The text recounts how “according to
the Shiki [Records of the Grand Historian], one day [Emperor Shun] was plucking
his five-stringed qin and reciting the poetry of the Southern Winds. . . .” and con-
tinues to relate how his music and poetry were so profound that they resulted in
the “five grains” (rice, barley, soy, and two varieties of millet) being produced in
abundance and then a “great peace” descended on the land.39
On the following double-page composition is its Japanese comparison, the
legendary Emperor Nintoku of the fourth century seated in the uppermost story of
a pavilion at the upper left of the spreading landscape (figure 1.11). This text relates
the tale when Nintoku noticed, from his high vantage point, that only a few houses
had smoke rising from their chimneys. Concluding that this meant the people
had little to eat, Nintoku suspended the rule of forced labor. As the text notes,
“At that time there was peace in this world,” with the five grains, as in the Chinese
case, produced in great abundance.40 The thematic parallel is thus made between
beneficent rulers, while the contrast is drawn in painting style. Here, the figure
of the Japanese emperor is reduced to a few lines in the pavilion, much of his
body hidden from view. Instead the emphasis is placed upon the landscape spread-
ing below his view. Elements of this scene—the long finger-line mists separat-
ing planes of distance, the rolling hills, the cluster of rustic houses, the pillow-
like forms of the pine branches, and the tiny figures that populate the scene—are
meant to recall standard elements present in Japanese-style narrative handscrolls.
Beginning the book with these two scenes of prosperity and of high stature follows
a protocol of representation, where the highest ranking were deemed the most
appropriate, and perhaps most auspicious, place to begin. These two images also
propose a world of prosperity and peace, appropriate for a New Year’s publication,
with the point of comparison being the good government of the two emperors
(which resulted in the plenty of the five grains).
Similar parallels are made between subjects and styles throughout the proj-
ect. For example, the regal and gracious form of the legendary Queen Mother of
the West, Xiwangmu, dressed in an elaborate set of Chinese robes, looks on as her
attendant brings her the peach of immortality.41 Xiwangmu’s Japanese counterpart
is the elegant fifth-century poet Princess Sotōri (labeled here as Tamatsushima),

Figure 1.10. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Emperor Shun, from Painting Comparisons (Kaiji
hiken), 1778; published by Enshūya Yashichi. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Hanshibon,
22.8 × 16 × 0.8 cm. Special Collection, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery,
Smithsonian Institution Libraries, Rare 754.7.S3a.
shown with twelve robes spread around her, reciting a poem while watching a spi-
der (figures 1.12 and 1.13).42 Contrast is further being drawn between cultural pref-
erences for female beauty. These references to standard figure types would have
served, for Sekien’s students as well as his other readers, in the manner of the
copybook explicating form and content.
Thus, the book mirrors opposites of the same conceptual order—for exam-
ple, as seen above, of the ideals of the good ruler or of courtly beauty. In doing so,
it sets up the potential for making playful comparisons between styles and topics.
Sekien used discursively charged mark-making techniques throughout. For exam-
ple, Chinese style might be suggested by rendering rocks with axe-cut strokes or by
outlining robes with strokes ending in exposed tips. By rounding banks, contour-
ing garments in geometric patterns, and using “ripped-away roof style” to reveal
interiors, Sekien renders the Japanese scenes with similar rhetorical charges. The
project is designed to put these stylistic elements into opposition in the service of
an appropriately rendered and accessible guide to iconic themes.
Figure 1.11. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Emperor Nintoku, from Painting Comparisons (Kaiji
hiken), 1778; published by Enshūya Yashichi. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Hanshibon,
22.8 × 16 × 0.8 cm. Special Collection, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery,
Smithsonian Institution Libraries, Rare 754.7.S3a.
The final text pages of the book demonstrate Enshūya’s commitment to

Sekien’s project of illustrating these two modalities of pictorial production. The col-
ophon leads with “From the brush of Toriyama Sekien Toyofusa,” followed by the
term kōkō monjin, referring to the students charged with collating the designs, and
their names Shikō, Gessa, and Enjū. Block carver Machida Jōuemon is named on
the colophon, signaling that this artisan was well regarded for his work. Including
the names of the students and the block carver nods to their contributions as col-
laborators. As is typical for many books, this one includes an inventory of selected
projects by the publisher, here the “Inventory of the Brush of Toriyama Sekien Toyo
fusa.” Among these, Toriyama biko (using the first title for the Sekien gafu) is listed
as still available for purchase, in two volumes. Additional Enshūya-issued products
included two titles on the theme of the night procession of ghosts and demons and
two on the theme of the Ming-dynasty tale of the Water Margin in stock. The inven-
tory also describes Painting Comparisons as available with three volumes on fig-
ure studies; however, it also promises that sequel volumes on bird-and-flower and

Figure 1.12. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of the Queen Mother of the West, from Painting
Comparisons (Kaiji hiken), 1778; published by Enshūya Yashichi. Woodblock printed book, ink
on paper. Hanshibon, 22.8 × 16 × 0.8 cm. Special Collection, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M.
Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution Libraries, Rare 754.7.S3a.
landscape themes will be brought out soon. The inventory confirms the promise
given in that preface that Sekien will produce two additional titles on the themes of
landscape (sansui) and birds and flowers.43 Given that these are not extant, it seems
likely that these painting compendia were never brought to fruition.
Catalogues of the Supernatural

As mentioned, Sekien is widely appreciated today for his treatment of the theme
of the night procession of ghosts, demons, and spectral creatures of the small
hours. There is no doubt that his treatment of this subject was extremely popular
with Edo readers, as the inventory list above demonstrates. Over a period of some
eight years, Sekien illustrated four multivolume titles, all for Enshūya: Night Pro-
cession of a Hundred Monsters and Spirits (Gazu hyakki yagyō, 1776), Past and Present
Illustrations: More Hundred Monsters and Spirits (Konjaku gazu zoku hyakki, 1779),
Figure 1.13. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of the Tamatsushima princess, from Painting
Comparisons (Kaiji hiken), 1778; published by Enshūya Yashichi. Woodblock printed book, ink
on paper. Hanshibon, 22.8 × 16 × 0.8 cm. Special Collection, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M.
Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution Libraries, Rare 754.7.S3a.
Collection of Past and Present Monsters and Spirits (Konjaku hyakki shūi, 1781), and A
Pouch of Musings on Monsters and Spirits (Hyakki tsurezure bukuro, 1784).44 In these
Sekien seems to have been freer to make innovations on the theme, going beyond
the established set of uncanny and otherworldly beings to give other phenomena
(such as creaky floorboards) literal forms.45
Many of the fantastical creatures featured in these four titles are derived
from folklore, as well as from period literary and visual sources. The topic had
precedents in Chinese sources and had become a well-known subject of Japanese
painting, with the most famous precedent in Japanese art being the sixteenth-cen-
tury painting The Night Procession of a Hundred Monsters and Spirits, held in the
Shinju-an subtemple of the Zen monastic complex Daitoku-ji in Kyoto, as Michael
Dylan Foster and Melinda Takeuchi have also noted. The painting features a pro-
cession of various monsters, demons, and others that fills the length of the hand-
scroll.46 Whether or not Sekien, based in Edo, would have seen that original, or if

he had known other painted works on the same theme, is difficult to establish.
His more immediate precedents would have been in the Kano workshop, as Kano
Chikanobu’s Scroll of Comic Pictures demonstrates.
However, both the Shinju-an handscroll and Chikanobu’s painting present
the figures in a significantly different manner than does Sekien’s bestiary. The
Shinju-an example depicts a parade of otherworldly beings, while Chikanobu’s is a
sequence of action vignettes. Sekien, by contrast, presents each creature as an indi-
vidual subject, set out as a separate entry in the manner of an illustrated encyclope-
dia, an ordering scheme that remained in practice through all four titles. Each of
Sekien’s figures is illustrated on its own half page (one side of the book opening),
labeled with its Chinese characters glossed with furigana (Japanese syllabic char-
acters), and shown in places where one might expect to encounter it. For example,
the kappa, an amphibious creature known for drowning its victims, reaches out
from a tangle of lotus plants as though grasping toward the reader; above, the text
relates, “Kappa. Also called the kawatarō” (figure 1.14).47 On the opposite page, the
kawauso stands with a lantern, as though ready to assist a disoriented passerby to
find his way home; although it often takes the form of a river otter, this creature
can transform itself into a winsome child or beautiful woman, and like the kappa,
drowns its victims.48
Sekien likely employed the printed book Wakan sansai zue (Japanese-Chinese
pictorial compendium of the three realms) as one of his sources.49 This 105-volume
work, compiled by Terajima Ryōan and published in 1713, was adapted from the
Chinese encyclopedia Sancai tuhui (Pictorial compendium of the three realms) of 1607.
Just as its source did, the Japanese-Chinese Pictorial Compendium of the Three Realms
classifies all things within the three realms—heaven, earth, and humanity—with an
entry on each subject and an appropriate illustration. Numerous artists employed it
as a source during the Edo period.50 Perhaps Sekien consulted this volume for some
of his supernatural creatures (such as the kappa), along with other period sources.51
Sekien’s explicit depiction and labeling of each nocturnal creature treats
them in the manner of things to be catalogued, following in the same practice of
categorizing things that he demonstrated so ably in his reference works on paint-
ing. The night procession titles function like a codex, as a directory of strange
beings.52 The act of making these things into a catalogue was consistent with the
logic of the period, by which things could be classified and organized for ready
understanding and then replicated as knowledge in printed books.53 Sekien’s
studies also leveraged period interest in classifying the natural world, in prac-
tices known as honzōgaku (materia medica) and hakubutsugaku (natural history).54
These illustrated books can also be productively compared with other period pub-
lications that made an art form of listing the kinds of things one might want to
know, works such as household encyclopedias (setsuyōshū), guidebooks, and other
lists. But Sekien’s books made the otherworldly into a tangible set of categories,
cataloguing ghosts, demons, tricksters, and others in the manner of a bestiary.55
His innovation is to render these hitherto unseen creatures visible and knowable:
he makes these things real, as real as the world that surrounds them, and grants
the reader the right of sight into the world of the monstrous.56 Readers and artists
thereafter had at their fingertips a reference guide to the uncanny.
Sekien’s treatment of the theme in the subsequent three publications moves
from more established categories of creatures to his own creative variations on
the subject. In the Collection of Past and Present Monsters and Spirits of 1781, Sekien
describes even more kinds of marvelous beings: flying squirrels, demons that inhabit
lanterns, hands that emerge from the sleeves of empty kosode (short-sleeved robes),
spirits that live in looms, kettles that transform into tanuki, and warriors that do
Figure 1.14. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Kappa and Kawauso, from Night Procession of
a Hundred Monsters and Spirits (Gazu hyakki yagyō), 1776; published by Enshūya Yashichi.
Reprinted in 1805 by Maekawa Yaemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Hanshibon,
22.2 × 16 × 0.6 cm. Purchase—The Gerhard Pulverer Collection, Museum funds, Friends of
the Freer and Sackler Galleries and the Harold P. Stern Memorial fund in appreciation of Jeffrey
P. Cunard and his exemplary service to the Galleries as chair of the Board of Trustees (2003–
2007); FSC-GR-780.621.1 009.

Figure 1.15. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Shinkirō, from Collection of Past and Present Monsters
and Spirits (Konjaku hyakki shūi), 1781; published by Enshūya Yashichi. Woodblock printed book,
ink on paper. Hanshibon, 22.5 × 15.6 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Gift of Mrs. Jared K. Morse
in memory of Charles J. Morse 2009.3758. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
battle over inkstones, among others. Most of these are shown as single-page designs,
but one, a magnificent double-page image titled “Palatial Mirage” (Shinkirō), takes
advantage of the larger space to present something that seems derived from paint-
erly traditions. Here, Sekien depicts the legend of the clam described in the passage
along the left: it grew to enormous size and could breathe out an illusion of a mag-
nificent, exotic palace compound (figure 1.15). The shells along the beach at low
tide, shown from multiple angles, suggest his study of the actual objects, while the
composition that rises above seems clearly indebted to the long tradition in Chinese
painting of showing building complexes set in mountainous landscapes.
Sekien’s pursuit of this subject was not limited to print but also included
a painting of the hundred ghosts and demons (ca. 1772–1781). Comparing it with
Sekien’s printed books, Asano Shūgō writes that it is a “painted rendition of
these encyclopedias” and proposes that this would have been a work produced on
commission.57 Research by Timothy Clark has established that all but two of the
creatures shown in the painting derive from the 1776 title, with the remaining two
from 1779.58 The handscroll opens with a charming rendition of the kodama, or “tree
spirits,” in the form of elderly figures beside the large pine that would have been
their home (figure 1.16). In the third section of the scroll, the kappa and kawauso
are presented, and the kappa ensconced in the lotus marsh and the kawauso with
his straw hat appear in nearly the same guise as they did in the printed book (fig-
ure 1.17). The handscroll format requires a different kind of engagement; Sekien
designs vignettes, as his teacher did, and brings these creatures into a larger, sus-
tained treatment in the manner of a landscape. The painting closes with the mon-
sters’ retreat at the break of dawn, appearing only as forms and shadows that fade
behind the pine groves as birds traverse the brightening sky.59
Sekien’s printed bestiaries of the macabre were extremely useful to later
generations of artists interested in the representation of these things. They were,
in essence, sourcebooks on the subject. Utamaro made several sheet prints of
supernatural creatures, clearly based upon his teacher’s precedents; he quoted
from Sekien in his rendition of a child’s nightmare in the single-sheet print shown
in figure 1.18.60 Later ukiyo-e artists, such as Kuniyoshi and Hokusai, likewise
seem to have used Sekien’s catalogues of nighttime horrors.61 These books, like
his painting manuals, put Sekien in the position of authority, and just as his name
became aligned with painting practices in the previous books, so too is his right
of sight being extended over the catalogue of the supernatural. Viewers aware of
period practices might have recognized the Kano work behind Sekien’s hand, but
putting his imprimatur upon these subjects effectively made him the new owner
of this field of intellectual property.
Lateral Networking:
Haikai Annuals for the New Year
Thus through these books Sekien treated the topics of both painting and the super-
natural in the manner of categories, as copybooks for their representation. These
would no doubt have been useful in training his students, several of whom are
named as contributors on the colophons to those titles. Giving students the oppor-
tunity to participate in the production of such works, as seen on the colophons,
was a standard means of promoting their names and providing affiliations. These
listings also help establish when individual students studied in the master’s ate-
lier and attest to their teacher’s acknowledgment that his trainees are well versed
in the subjects represented.
Sekien was active in haikai poetry circles, and this venue provided opportu-
nities for both Sekien and his students to make productive connections. From the

Figure 1.16. Toriyama Sekien. Night Procession of the Hundred Demons, ca. 1772–1781.  Handscroll,
ink, color, and gold on silk. Image: 27.9 × 431.1 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William
Sturgis Bigelow Collection 11.7705. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Figure 1.17. Toriyama Sekien. Night Procession of the Hundred Demons, ca. 1772–1781. Handscroll,
ink, color, and gold on silk. Image: 27.9 × 431.1 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William
Sturgis Bigelow Collection 11.7705. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Figure 1.18. Kitagawa Utamaro. Child’s Nightmare of Ghosts, ca. 1800–1801; published by
Ōmiya Gonkurō. In the dream bubble, the monsters plan their night’s work: the rokurokubi, the
monster with the long neck, says: “Let’s howl and moan again tonight,” and the others agree:
“We’ll give him a good scare if his old mother doesn’t wake him up!” “Good, good, let’s show
her some scary dreams tonight, too!” Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Ōban,
37 × 24 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John T. Spaulding Collection 21.6428.
Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
1770s through the early 1780s Sekien and his students contributed illustrations to
poetry anthologies from the circle of the haikai master Tōryūsō Enshi (birth and
death dates unknown). Haikai networks were among the most active in the period,
offering their participants the opportunity to make broad connections. The poetry
form haikai (often called haiku in modern usage) was developed as linked verse
in the medieval period, and due to the late seventeenth-century innovations of
Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694) and his followers, haikai became more widespread in
the Edo period, practiced by people of all ranks. Although it had coded norms of
engagement, its gatherings and groups offered a space where its poets might cross
social boundaries (assisted by the fact that within those spheres participants would
be called by their poetry names, haimei, not by their given names or ranks). Haikai
groups were not strictly organized as were the schools (iemoto) that structured pro-
fessions or pursuits (such as ikebana and tea) but were more decentralized, con-
sisting of rather fluid groups of amateur participants. These amateur circles were
described as kumi (group), za (link), or kumi-ren (group circle) and led by a teacher
(sōshō) who served to instruct, critique, and moderate the proceedings.62
These social networks were enormously influential in the period, as Ike
gami has described:
During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the social and cognitive
networks associated with haikai poetry became so intricately interwoven
with the fabric of Tokugawa society that we cannot understand any lit-
erary or artistic productions in this period without some knowledge of
the symbolic paradigms and actual social networks associated with the
haikai. Furthermore, their open and fluid networking styles were highly
adaptable to the operation of commercial market networks. With their
remarkable ability to create private associational networks and adaptabil-
ity to connect with commercial market networks, the haikai poetry net-
works epitomized the Tokugawa style of aesthetic enclave publics. The
haikai circles brought together persons from different regional, status,
occupation, and gender categories within the temporary public worlds
created by a common interest in this type of poetry.63
In addition, haikai poetry groups took advantage of commercial print culture to

commemorate, replicate, and publicize their activities. These included poetry
anthologies as well as albums featuring portraits of the poets (identified by their
pseudonyms) with their contributions. These publications document period net-
works and demonstrate how these groups—as discrete units and as overlapping
ones—offered many opportunities for greater lateral social connections.
Like surimono, haikai poetry anthologies were commissioned works, with
funds provided by their contributors. From 1756 through 1786, Tōryūsō Enshi pro-
duced anthologies celebrating the New Year (saitanchō), with poems and illustra-
tions from his haikai circle.64 Sekien contributed designs to these anthologies,
and they were also among the first places where Sekien’s students’ illustrations
appeared. Among those students included in these anthologies were Kyūei, Enji,
Shikō, Sekiryūjo, and Utamaro; of these, little is known about Kyūei and Enji, but
more may be discerned about the other three.65 Other well-known floating world
figures, such as Koikawa Harumachi (1744–1789), Utagawa Toyoharu (1735–1814),
and Eishōsai Chōki (active 1789–1823), have been proposed as students of Sekien,
but these, unfortunately, are not represented in the haikai anthologies or other
printed books (and their affiliation with Sekien is thus unconfirmed).66
The Sekien group had contributed to Enshi’s anthologies as early as 1770,
and it seems likely that Sekien’s Picture Album of 1773 may have developed through
affiliations the haikai networks provided. Looking at the master’s and his students’
images also establishes stylistic connections between them, and since these illus-
trations were in monochrome, they emphasize individual brushwork as well as
attest to the carver’s skill in producing what were in effect miniature paintings in
printed poetry collections (figure 1.19). These New Year’s anthologies became the
first venues for his students to publish their illustrations, and this opportunity no
doubt came about due to their affiliation with Sekien.67
One of the more mysterious Sekien students that features in these poetry
anthologies is a designer that went by the name of Shikō. Images by Shikō were
included in the anthology Eternal Spring (Chiyo no haru, 1770) and in the New Year’s
anthology illustrated here, among others.68 However, no illustrated books or sheet
prints signed by Shikō appeared after these contributions. The disappearance of
this name might indicate that this student did not make the transition from stu-
dent to professional or that Shikō elected to take another name for his later career.
Indeed, it has long been thought that Shikō became the well-known ukiyo-e art-
ist Eishōsai Chōki, although this evolution from Shikō to Chōki is also contested.
If, however, this connection could be proved, Sekien would be linked to two of
the era’s best-known illustrators of images of women: Utamaro and Chōki. Chōki
became known for his images of beautiful women and his sumo prints, along with
other subjects, in the 1790s (see figure 4.23). He changed his name to Shikō around
1795 (written with the same characters), but he later returned to using the name
Chōki.69 No concrete link has yet been forged between Sekien’s student Shikō and
Chōki, and the likelihood that there may have been two artists that employed the
name Shikō has been raised. Given that it would have been unusual for an artist to
revert to a name he had used earlier in his career, some scholars therefore doubt

Figure 1.19. Toriyama Sekien and Shikō. Illustrations for a New Year’s haikai anthology,
produced by Tōryūsō Enshi. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Hanshibon, 23.5 × 15 cm.
Gift of Martin A. Ryerson, 3-3-37, The Art Institute of Chicago.
that the Shikō of Sekien’s studio was the artist that became Chōki.70 The fact that
such a clear line cannot be drawn between Shikō the apprentice in the anthologies
and Chōki the successful print designer may also demonstrate how few of Sekien’s
numerous trainees were backed by publishers to make the leap to more expensive
projects such as full-color single-sheet prints.
Another enigmatic figure from Sekien’s atelier is Toriyama Sekiryūjo
(b. 1769). This designer’s name has at its end the character representing “woman,”
indicating that Sekiryūjo was a female student. Her use of the name Toriyama
suggests that she was either related to Sekien or considered qualified to be
granted the use of the name (as was also the case for the woman painter Sekichūjo
included in the surimono). Women were frequent participants in haikai poetry groups,
as poets and as teachers, and poetry anthologies featuring haikai by women were also
published in the period.71 Sekiryūjo displayed her skills in an illustration of one of the
gods of good fortune, Hotei, that appeared in a saitanchō of 1780. There her use of a
dark and modulated line that encases the god’s bag of treasure, as well as his robes,
what might be considered her use of the Kano painterly style, demonstrates her famil-
iarity with Sekien’s Picture Album and its many precedents.72 Showing Hotei in frontal
view is both an homage to her teacher as well as a rather standard, albeit appropriately
lively and humorous, rendering of the jolly god of good luck.
Haikai networks and floating world circles were overlapping arenas of cultural
engagement. Sekien’s participation in Enshi’s haikai network undoubtedly brought
him and his students into the larger context of Edo haikai, through which he would
have met such figures as Shigemasa and Shunshō. These artists were active in haikai
circles and had their illustrations included in those anthologies. In addition, Sekien
would have been connected to floating world groups through his publishers. His long
affiliation with publisher Enshūya Yashichi likely was the connection for Sekien to the
publisher Tsutaya Jūzaburō. It cannot be an accident that by the early 1780s, Sekien
and Utamaro were being commissioned to illustrate popular books produced by this
increasingly influential publisher.
Of Sekien’s students, Utamaro was undoubtedly the most successful, and look-
ing broadly over Utamaro’s artistic career, it seems evident from that start that Uta-
maro did not intend to follow his master and become a Kano-style town painter. Rather,
his production of simple sheet prints and designs for illustrated books describe the
path of one fulfilling commissions while simultaneously developing a reputation in
the field of ukiyo-e. Although Utamaro initially used an artistic name, Toyoaki, based
upon that of Sekien’s own Toyofusa, he abandoned that name in favor of the one for
which he is best known, Utamaro.73 His affiliation with Tsutaya, and their promotion
of the Utamaro style along specific lines, defined Utamaro’s career, as I have discussed
previously, and their affiliation was surely derived from his teacher’s networks. Sig-
nificantly, however, Utamaro preceded Sekien in the commission of providing illustra-
tions for a Tsutaya-produced project; this was the Short History of the Fashionable Great
Tsū Gods (Minari daitsūjin ryaku engi), a comic novel written by Shimizu Enjū and pub-
lished in 1781. Three years later Sekien was likewise backed by Tsutaya in the book
Tales of Valor Told in Pictures (Gazu seiyūdan, 1784), also written by Shimizu Enjū.74
Their connection to Tsutaya transformed both their careers.
Tsutaya’s promotion of Utamaro, as well as his more limited employment of
Sekien, suggests that the publisher was making a savvy decision about the potential
profit each might yield. Their relative ages—Utamaro was in his thirties, Sekien in
his seventies—and their styles—Utamaro already developing his signature beauties,

Sekien working in the clichéd Kano mode—no doubt factored into the publish-
er’s shrewd analysis of the marketability of each in the cutthroat sheet-print busi-
ness. Tsutaya did not sponsor Sekien as a sheet-print artist but backed Utamaro
extensively.
But privately commissioned poetry albums were apparently another matter,
a place where the established teacher might be called upon to contribute. Sekien,
Utamaro, and Sekiryūjo contributed finely executed illustrations to the kyōka
poetry album Bakuseishi, published by Tsutaya in 1787. Kyōka, or, literally, “mad
poetry,” was another networked circle of cultured practices, like haikai. In its meter
and structure kyōka was based upon the classical waka form, but its practitioners
delighted in using it for humorous, satirical ends. Ōta Nanpo and Akera Kankō led
this special commission celebrating fellow kyōka poet Kamakura no Chikabito’s
(also known as Bakuseishi) recovery from a serious illness. The first image, signed
by Sekiryūjo, depicts the auspicious signs of a crane and a plum tree (figure 1.20).
The second, a scene of arm wrestling between the early thirteenth-century warrior
Asahina Yoshihide and a demon, was “painted playfully by old man Sekien, aged
Figure 1.20. Toriyama Sekiryūjo. Illustration of cranes and plum trees, from Bakuseishi, 1787;
published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper.
Kyōkabon, 20.7 × 15.2 cm. Chiba City Museum of Art.
seventy-seven” (figure 1.21) (and here the seal reads gessō, and although it uses the
same terms that appear in the seal on the surimono, this is a different seal). Uta-
maro’s illustration shows the yūjo (courtesan) Hinazuru of the Chōjiya with two
kamuro (apprentices) looking at a hanging scroll of Fukurokuju, one of the seven
lucky gods (figure 1.22). All three illustrations employ the theme of the crane—
as the object of study itself, as the decoration on a robe, and as the name of the
brothel—and all refer to the meaning of the crane as a symbol of longevity. There
are also poems contributed by Shikō and Utamaro. This work, too, signifies the
collaborative ties that remained between Utamaro, Sekiryūjo, and Shikō and their
teacher, now brought thoroughly into the trend-setting circle of Nanpo, Kankō,
Tsutaya, and others.
In the following year, in one of Utamaro’s most important illustrated books,
the long-lasting social and artistic influence of his teacher is made further evi-
dent. In 1788 Utamaro provided images for the commissioned poetry album Illus-
trated Book: Selected Insects (Ehon mushi erami); published by Tsutaya, it included
poems by Edo notables. Sekien’s postscript burnishes Utamaro’s reputation.
Figure 1.21. Toriyama Sekien. Illustration of Kintarō and demons, from Bakuseishi, 1787;
published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper.

Figure 1.22. Kitagawa Utamaro. Illustration of a yūjo of the Chōjiya House, from Bakuseishi,
1787; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper.
In one passage of Sekien’s lengthy testimony, he praised Utamaro’s skill as a

painter: “These are true pictures from the heart—my student Utamaro captures
the life expressed in the being of the insects, and he follows the laws of painting in
pictures and abides by the rules of the brush to draw life in its heart and spirit.”75
These are terms that attest to Utamaro’s accomplishments in the art of painting,
given here by one whose own reputation had been previously acknowledged in
printed books.
Throughout the Selected Insects poetry album, Utamaro displays his skill in
rendering the fine details and forms of the plant and animal life depicted. In one
composition Utamaro acknowledges his stylistic debt to Sekien. Utamaro’s com-
position of the katydid on the squash (figure 1.23) references Sekien’s treatment of
the locust and eggplant in the Sekien’s Picture Album from fifteen years earlier. And
indeed, Utamaro’s album as a whole is based upon a long history of similar images
Figure 1.23. Kitagawa Utamaro. Illustrated Book: Selected Insects (Ehon mushi erami), 1788;
published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color with mica on
paper. Kyōkabon, 27.1 × 18.4 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Gift of Mrs. Jared K. Morse in
memory of Charles J. Morse 2008.167.1-2.
of insects and plants that can be traced back through Sekien to the Kano, Japanese
traditions and eventually to Chinese painting practices.
Utamaro continued to reference his teacher, as a few selected examples
demonstrate. In the kyōka album Gifts from the Ebb Tide (Shiohi no tsuto, 1789),
Utamaro quotes Sekien’s design of “Palatial Mirage” (see figure 1.15) in his treat-
ment of shells washed up on the shore (figure 1.24). Utamaro’s treatment of the
landscape in Illustrated Book: The World in Silver (Ehon gin sekai), as though ren-
dered entirely in ink, harks back to the lessons of painting history that would have
been made familiar to him by his teacher (figure 1.25). These references are sin-
cere flattery, signals that by referring to his teacher, Utamaro benefits from all that
Sekien’s images connote. For Tsutaya, as the publisher of these albums, as well as

Figure 1.24. Kitagawa Utamaro. Gifts from the Ebb Tide (Shiohi no tsuto), 1789; published by
Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Kyōkabon, 25.8 ×
18.9 cm. Spencer Collection, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations.
the kyōka poets and other viewers, these quotations served as signifiers of mean-
ing, of a kind of visual classicism, connecting the floating world present to the
privileged history of painting.
In 1788, when he wrote so glowingly of Utamaro’s talent, Sekien was seven-
ty-seven; he died later that same year. Sekien remained throughout his career, as
this chapter has shown, a committed practitioner of the Kano style, and his sta-
tus as such lent cultural capital to the floating world through his work, his stu-
dents, and his affiliations. This is evidenced by the treatment of Sekien in the
Studies on Ukiyo-e (Ukiyo-e kōsho), a document that may be the earliest extant man-
uscript on ukiyo-e, dated to 1802.76 This first catalogue of ukiyo-e was likely begun
a decade earlier by Ōta Nanpo, and it includes notations by Sasaya Shishichi Kuni
nori and Santō Kyōden (1761–1816). Although each entry is only a few lines long,
the terms used therein demonstrate that writers on ukiyo-e were preserving period
modes of evaluation for artistic contributions. Sekien is not granted a separate
Figure 1.25. Kitagawa Utamaro. Illustrated Book: The World in Silver (Ehon gin sekai), 1790.
Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Kyōkabon, 26.1 × 19 cm. Clarence
Buckingham Collection, 1925.3024, The Art Institute of Chicago.
entry—although his contemporaries Shigemasa and Shunshō are, as is his stu-

dent Utamaro. Rather, information about Sekien appears in the Utamaro entry,
where the deliberate mention of Sekien and the Kano function as both strategic
affirmation and name-dropping: “At the start he [Utamaro] entered the studio of
Toriyama Sekien and studied pictures in the Kano [style].”77 Later writers contin-
ued adding to this document, and by the mid-nineteenth century later variations of
the Ukiyo-e Miscellany include Sekien as an independent entry.78 But what this ear-
lier version demonstrates is how within a few years of his death, Sekien retained
name-brand stature, was being commemorated for his contributions as a teacher,
and was regarded as a bridge to the socially privileged Kano style. This is a discur-
sive strategy in service to both an art world and an audience that sought both diver-
sion and cultural capital through floating world aesthetics and related spheres of
sociality.
Sekien thus provided ties between the privileged and the popular styles, and
perhaps equally important in the history of artistic appreciation, it was his printed
books that defined and transmitted fundamental principles of painting and con-
noisseurship to a broader audience. To return to the image that opens this chapter,

this surimono was meant to quote Sekien’s style and, in doing so, to honor the mas-
ter painter. Visually, the lion refers back through a string of signifiers to Kano prec-
edents, demonstrating the workshop’s style that is also so effectively replicated in
so many illustrations in Sekien’s paintings and printed books. But the fact that the
screen in the surimono is so prominently signed as Sekien’s gives his style in the
present precedence over the past; it is his style that is asserted as owning the sub-
ject.79 Like the textual mention of the Kano in the Utamaro entry discussed above,
as a visual form it further grants cultural legitimacy to the scene; that power is
redoubled through the boy’s total belief in the reality of what is before him.
Sekien’s signature announces his age as seventy-five, drawing attention to
his esteemed stature, and provides the print with the date of 1786.80 By then, Sekien
had produced his books on painting style and the supernatural world, contributed
his and his students’ illustrations to haikai anthologies, and participated in float-
ing world print networks. Why would this print be issued at this moment? It is a
shame that the text that would have accompanied the image is no longer extant,
and with it, the potential of further explanation. But as we have seen, the image
works as a whole to accord esteem to the master. The Kano style, the Chinese
screen, the status of the painting set out as art in the composition, and the trope of
mimesis all serve to underscore his talent as a painter. This image makes us look
again at Sekien’s mastery of a range of painting styles, their circulation, and their
transferal to his students. Sekichūjo’s contribution follows in the wake of her mas-
ter’s brush, while in the foreground Utamaro’s transforms it; it was Utamaro, the
student, who, more than any other, would change floating world pictures thereaf-
ter. This pictorial collaboration is a dialogue not only with the past but with the
future as well.
And yet at the same time that the picture commemorates Sekien as a mas-
ter, it demonstrates how the student was the one to transform those lessons for
the floating world through their collaboration: it is, after all, Utamaro’s figures
that enliven the scene by reacting so expressively to the painted lion. Utamaro
thus pays homage to his teacher while simultaneously capping his contribution in
the manner of a haikai contribution. It is Utamaro’s response that persuaded us to
drop our gaze and to believe, just for a moment, in the illusion of the image and
all that it enfolds.
C hapter 2
Picturing Beauties
Print Designers, Publishers, and
a Mirror of the Yoshiwara
Four well-dressed women are seated in a well-appointed interior (fig

ure 2.1). One pauses in her reading and looks up, gesturing, while her companions
contemplate her remarks. To their right, the sliding door is open to the veranda,
showing a potted Adonis plant, and in the garden beyond, the branches of a blos-
soming plum tree (the subtle pink of the printed bloom now faded to a pale tint).
Behind them, an arrangement of flowering plum and camellia ornaments the
alcove, while a design of iris and water plantain decorates the sliding doors. Expen-
sive, well-made objects, including a koto (zither), a lacquer smoking set, and a writ-
ing desk, surround them. Their robes bear the designs of the house pattern of pine
needles, but each has an upper robe with another motif, including tree peonies,
egrets and snow, narcissus, and plum blossoms. The code implied by the flowers
is that this scene takes place at the New Year, the end of winter and the start of
spring. Arranged like the beautiful things that surround them, in this elaborate
mise-en-scène, these figures are put on display as the celebrated “flowers” of the
Matsubaya house.
This picture is the first of forty-three double-page openings showing the
moments and activities of the female sex workers of the licensed brothel quarter
in The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami).
Publishers Tsutaya Jūzaburō (1750–1797) and Yamazaki Kinbei (shop active late
seventeenth to early nineteenth centuries) produced this magnificent full-color
61
Figure 2.1. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Segawa, Matsushima, Somenosuke, and
Hatsukaze of the Matsubaya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin
awase sugata kagami), 1776, vol. 1; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-
color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum
of Fine Arts, Boston. Source unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston.
printed book at the New Year of 1776; they employed two important ukiyo-e mas-
ters of the time, Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō to render images that
purport to show the quarter’s beauties as though occupied in their daily activ-
ities. In this picture, as throughout the book, the courtesans are presented for
the viewer, their faces and bodies turned toward us so that we might see them in
their most flattering appearance, set within elegant settings. Just as the books dis-
cussed in the previous chapter instructed their viewers in the art of painting, this
book offers its audience the opportunity to practice the art of making distinctions
among the so-called beauties of the licensed quarter. The project The Mirror of
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared was from the start a collaboration between these
two publishers, their two commissioned designers, the woodblock carvers, and the
printers. As this chapter argues, this illustrated book was also designed to present
a carefully calibrated view of the quarter in service to those who benefited from its
economy of pleasure.
Knowing All about the Yoshiwara District

The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared put into print the act of connoisseurial
regard through images for a world where the act of evaluation was essential. The
Yoshiwara district was constructed, from its start in 1617, as a village of brothels,
after several brothel owners petitioned the shogunate to be granted the right to
establish a licensed prostitution quarter in the city of Edo. Organized and operated
by the owners, this district sustained its own services independent of the city and
included the bordellos, assignation houses, teahouses, and other entertainments.
Similar official quarters had been or soon would be established in other major cit-
ies, including Osaka, Kyoto, Nagasaki, and others; brothels flourished at the major
post towns and in unofficial locales throughout the provinces. Yet although pros-
titution was licensed in the Yoshiwara district, it was not completely contained
within the quarter; an unofficial sex trade continued to flourish in various locales
throughout Edo—in unlicensed districts, as well as on boats, in bathhouses, at
teahouses, and elsewhere.1
In late 1656 the Yoshiwara was ordered to move to a distance of 5.6 kilome-
ters (about 3.5 miles) from the city center, just north of the district of Asakusa.2
This distance required clients (always male) to travel by palanquin, by boat, on
horseback, or by foot.3 Although the distance was not great, it was far enough
that going to the Yoshiwara required purpose and effort. Making it seem worth
the trouble was, in effect, essential to its success, and floating world pictures and
texts represented it as a place of distinctive pleasures. Travel to the Yoshiwara was
described, too, as a kind of pilgrimage, with places along the way demarcated as
famous places (meisho) and overlaid with poetic allusions.4 The Yoshiwara was
marketed as more than a place to seek sexual release.
Surrounded by a moat, with main access through its great gate, the quar-
ter was an enclosed district. Its professional prostitutes were known at the time
by the legal definition of yūjo (literally, “women for play”), although period texts
often used alternate terms, such as yūkun (play pals) and shōgi (prostitute), among
others. Although often described as “courtesans,” that term alludes to the court
as well as to the figure of the “court mistress” and puts another gloss on these
Picturing Beauties | 63
professionals; eschewing both “courtesan” and “prostitute,” I use in this discus-
sion the period term yūjo to describe these sex workers. During the period in ques-
tion, these professionals numbered some three thousand in the quarter,5 and there
they typically served out ten-year contracts of indenture.
Some of these women served in houses where little more than sex was on
offer, but other brothels proffered the opportunity for a sophisticated man to be
entertained by the most accomplished and erudite, treated for a time as an hon-
ored guest. A myriad of unusual and elegant euphemisms, cultural practices, and
customs demarcated the Yoshiwara as an elite pleasure district; these social codes
effectively masked the harsher realities experienced by those who served its pur-
poses. Texts and pictures of the Yoshiwara marketed its diversions to an audience
interested in the affairs of the quarter. Some viewers no doubt appreciated study-
ing texts and pictures featuring high-ranking yūjo in order to glean fashion tips,
while others found them useful in understanding the Yoshiwara’s distinctive cus-
toms. Viewers with time and money at hand could pursue—or at least imagine
doing so through text and image—other kinds of associations.6 Floating world
publishing served and whetted a consuming desire to know all about the Yoshi-
wara, its customs, and its yūjo.
Yoshiwara clients were expected to master a complex array of manners and
codes, including knowing what to wear and what to say, as well as handling the
more mundane matters of the financial transactions in an elegant, offhand man-
ner. Thus, many books and prints were produced that describe the quality of being
au courant with the styles, manners, and customs of the day. The goal was to be
tsū, a word that meant both the act of being culturally sophisticated and the man
that achieved it. The great sophisticates (the daitsū) are portrayed in literature of
the time as aficionados of the finer things on offer in the Yoshiwara and in the
larger city (and being described as tsū in these printed materials also served to
enhance their reputations as such). Many of these cultured men participated in
circles of activity where they could present themselves as men of culture—as in
the haikai and kyōka networks—and where, whether they came from the artisan,
merchant, or samurai estates, they might rub elbows with those engaged in sim-
ilar pursuits. In the later eighteenth century some sophisticates in the Yoshiwara
poetry circles became influential style makers.7 The great sophisticates knew not
only about the yūjo but also about the geisha, the accomplished dancers and sing-
ers who performed at parties in the quarter.8 For some men becoming a sophis-
ticate meant gaining a level of cultural distinction that might not be available in
their usual, status-defined engagements; mastering the codes and conventions of
the pleasure quarters meant gaining cultural capital.9
Critiques (hyōbanki) and style books (sharebon) written by these great tsū
and produced by publishers affiliated with the Yoshiwara offered tips on the
houses and their denizens, style and fashion, manners and customs, among oth-
ers. Trends changed quickly in Edo, and books like The Essence of Today’s Fash-
ions (Tōsei fūzokutsū, 1773) guided men on how to dress for success.10 Those who
achieved this aesthetic of gentlemanly cool were promoted as exemplars in the
style book Eighteen Great Connoisseurs and One Hundred Pillows (Jūhachi daitsū
momo temakura, 1778).11 Although the codes of engagement stressed sophistica-
tion, ready cash often overcame perceived social deficiencies.
At the same time, making the Yoshiwara into a place where one had to mas-
ter a range of customs (rather like traveling to a foreign country) also inscribed
it as an exotic realm (and enhanced the erotic potential of the exotic). Market-
ing the Yoshiwara served to keep it as an object of interest, and seemed to have
been regarded as necessary in a city where a host of other locations offered sex
for sale, including the unlicensed brothel districts (okabasho, or “hill places”), tea
shops, inns at the nearby post towns, among others, as well as in a variety of pri-
vate arrangements.12 Women employed in other capacities, such as waitresses and
shop attendants, were promoted in prints as beauties, too (see figure 2.7 for an
example). As others have noted, one of the efforts of The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beau-
ties, Compared was to contest the growing popularity of these alternatives to the
Yoshiwara, and “books such as these can be seen in part as a counter-maneuver by
the brothel owners and publishers to emphasize the exclusivity—and hence justify
the high prices—of the Yoshiwara.”13
Printing the Quarter’s Reflection

The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared, I propose, was conceived by its pro-
ducers to frame one’s imagined engagement with the district, as though one were
on a selected tour of its best bordellos. Made up of three volumes, its title, Seirō
bijin awase sugata kagami—translated for this chapter as The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Beauties, Compared—used terms replete with allusion. Seirō, or “azure towers,”
was a euphemism for the Yoshiwara and employed a Tang-dynasty term to clad
the “houses” in classiness and classicism; as a euphemism it disguised the pur-
pose of the thing in question, that these houses, no matter their rank, offered sex-
ual pleasures in exchange for cash.14 The second term, bijin, has the literal mean-
ing of “beautiful people,” and although gender neutral, it had by this time come to
be used more often in the praise of women; as such it refers to the beauties repre-
sented in the book’s pages as well as in the quarter.
The conjunction of seirō and bijin referred without question to the women
indentured in service to the quarter. They have, the title explains, been selected
through awase, the act of comparing things through juxtaposition and through the
act of ranking them, and the reader is invited through this title to participate in fur-
ther evaluation. Awase alluded to customs such as poetry competitions (uta awase)
and picture competitions (e-awase), among others, where the mastery of specific
arts was assessed, as contributions of individuals or of their teams.15 Sugata refers
to their “figures” as they are shown in the kagami, the “mirror,” of the book, it now
being promoted as reflection and replication, knowledge and even truth, through
the many allusions present in the concept of the mirror.16 In the final three terms
the title becomes more provocative, in a sequence that literally reads “mirror com-
paring figures,” and in the compound awase kagami referred to the use of two mir-
rors to see both sides of a figure. The title thus calls forth two key ideas: first, that
what is shown inside is a reflection of the beauties of this exclusive quarter, and
second, that they have been appraised and selected for the viewer’s appreciation.
This title appears as a center cartouche on heavy paper covers printed in
blue, with patterns of golden mists and scalloped clouds flecked with squares of
silver, using highly appreciated paper decoration practices; the books are bound
on the right in the fukurotoji, or “pouch binding” process. Volumes one and two
feature views of the yūjo organized by house, shown through the four seasons, and
volume three includes three other views of yūjo in the quarter and pages of their
poetry. Opening volume one, the first three pages present an introduction written
in an elegant hand (figure 2.2). Although famous writers often contributed intro-
ductions, here the publisher Tsutaya Jūzaburō is given as its author (using his
title as the “master of the Kōshodō”). The modulations of the brush, the deliber-
ate flourishes and extensions, weighting and spacing, brought to writing the text,
and as represented in print, demarcate this hand as highly skilled in this long-
appreciated art. Kanji characters are rendered in cursive, glossed with furigana to
facilitate comprehension by readers of varying literacy levels. The text employs
tropes of authority and elegance in the terms it uses and in its grammatical ren-
dering; it may be translated as follows:
Things about pictures are as a matter of course determined in the court,

and as a matter of course later these are called intelligent opinion. Eval-
uating Chinese painting [kara-e] and objects is difficult all the same, and
just as the stars move, tastes in the famous names do not remain the
same. So it is for the exquisite brushes of the painters in the three capi-
tals who are renowned in Japanese painting [yamato-e]. As the years pass
and the months fade, from decorations for coiffures to the embroidered
brocade designs of robes and obi, fashions and customs come and go.
It is the same as a child growing into adulthood. At this present time the
beautiful faces and figures of the prostitutes17 of the quarter tremble in
anticipation, make graceful promenades, and appear lovely in their ele-
gantly appointed parlors. In that quarter the prospering Kitao and Katsu-
kawa effortlessly depicted them in multicolor splendor. This is given the
title The Mirror of Beautiful Figures, Compared [Bijin awase sugata kagami]
and made into three volumes, namely Moon, Snow, and Flowers. And
as a wish for its long and splendid success, and that of the work of my
business, too, it is carved into cherry wood. I requested that each courte-
san compose a poem as one leaf from each of the four seasons to color
their portrayals [sugata-e] with spirit and heart, and hope that those many
Shōkun18 have no regrets when this arrives there and that they respond
to it with a seductive expression playing across their lips.
New Year’s, in the fifth year of the fiery monkey of An’ei 5 [1776]
Written by the master of the Kōshodō shop19
By opening with allusions to courtly taste, to Chinese and Japanese paint-

ing (as kara-e and yamato-e), the preface frames the project in the terms of artistic
appreciation. The author, emphasizing how the manner of that appraisal changes
over time, as do famous names and fashions, assumes the voice of cultural author-
ity upon these matters. The ukiyo-e masters Shigemasa and Shunshō are given
here only by their lineage names, as Kitao and Katsukawa, but significantly it is
asserted that their images are derived from their own experiences of the quarter.
Their pictures, Tsutaya continues, have been carved into the finest of materials,
the cherry-wood blocks.
The preface calls attention to the beauties represented and asserts a direct
connection between the producers of the book and the actual yūjo. The purpose
is clearly to enhance the reality effect of the project. These are their own poems
and these are their pictures, Tsutaya asserts, but as shall be seen, in spite of the
proposition that both are taken directly from the women concerned, there is noth-
ing about the poems or the pictures that mark them as individualized. Indeed, the
term used to describe the pictures of the women is sugata-e, literally the “picture
of the figure.” Although it has been translated as “portrait,”20 it was not the term
used most often in the 1770s to signal resemblance. Rather, the term nise-e, or
“likeness picture,” served that function, but it was used most often for actor prints
and not (yet) for images of yūjo. Sugata-e suggested, nonetheless, that there was
something of the figure that was being actively referenced here, and as an allusion
Figure 2.2. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Preface to The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin
awase sugata kagami), 1776, vol. 1; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-
color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum
of Fine Arts, Boston. Source unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston.
between image and its model served in a textual and visual strategy that asserted
verisimilitude.
That call to resemblance is furthered by the image on the next page, a botan-
ical study of violets and dandelions (figure 2.3). These flowers denote the sea-
son as spring and seem, at first glance, a naturalistic display, as though observed
in place and rendered thus by the artist. Upon closer regard, it is clear that the
style calls, as the calligraphy did, to the world of established visual practices. The
careful rendering of leaves, of purple violets gracefully rising in space, and of yel-
low dandelions shooting upward are forms that are carefully shown in multiple
perspectives and demonstrate skill in the art of painting. Three other botanical
studies are included in the first and second volumes, each serving to demarcate
a season. Halfway through the first volume summer is signaled by a magnificent
double-page opening of iris and water plantain (figure 2.4); the second volume fea-
tures a study for autumn with Hibiscus mutabilis (fuyō) and Platycodon grandiflorus
(kikyō), and for winter an arrangement of chrysanthemums.
These floral images not only set the seasons for the sections throughout but
they also set up other cultural references. First, they lend the project the authority
of painting, as suggested above, by imitating the practices of bird-and-flower rep-
resentations in East Asian art, such that printing becomes imbued with the status
of painting. Second, they present an illusion of naturalism, encouraging viewers
to look at the following images as though naturalistic representations of what was
before the artists (and, by their hands,
brought before us). And third, they
call our attention to the use of flow-
ers throughout the book, picking up
on period interest in the natural world,
and to the many deliberate presenta-
tions of ikebana in subsequent scenes.
The flowers thus signify the sea-
sons, assert artistry, and refer to cul-
tured activities, to be sure. But they
also called attention to the period prac-
tice of referring to the yūjo as blos-
soms, an association ineluctably linked
to an iconography that coded flowers
as metaphors for desire. The surfaces,
scents, and forms of flowers were long
associated in painting and poetry with
sex and sexuality. While not explic-
itly stated in the book, the referential
capacity for the floral to slip over to the
sensual was without any doubt being
summoned in these naturalistic stud-
ies, in the frequent portrayal of flowers
in arrangements in the interior spaces
and in other visual citations throughout
the book project. In the first and sec- Figure 2.3. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa
ond volumes each of these floral stud- Shunshō. Spring Flowers from The Mirror of
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin
ies is followed by double-page views awase sugata kagami), 1776, vol. 1; published
of the beauties of the quarter.21 Shown by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei.
in groups of four or five, each yūjo is Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and
color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm.
named and shown engaged in activities
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.  Source
appropriate to the seasons. None of the unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015
images in the book are signed. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Figure 2.4. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Summer Flowers from The Mirror of
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776, vol. 1; published by
Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color
on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Source unidentified
2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
The third volume opens with a picture of the Great Gate of the Yoshiwara
and is followed by three images showing the quarter’s well-known annual events
as though attended by select yūjo from a variety of houses. These are followed by
several pages of poems; each yūjo shown in the first two volumes has contrib-
uted one poem (in two cases, two poems) for a total of 164 poems.22 These poems
include seasonal references, but the poems by individual yūjo are not presented
in the same season in which they are shown in the pictures, thus there is no
direct correlation between the poetry and the sequence of presentation in volumes
one and two. Although the introduction suggests that Tsutaya received the poems
directly from the ladies, that is not asserted further in this section, and it seems
more likely that the poems were collected by the brothel owners and passed along
to the publisher. The poems have all been reinscribed by a skilled calligrapher
rather than rendered in their own hands, and while these haikai poems are ele-
gant enough, they are quite conventional—demonstrations of accomplishment
rather than of originality. For example, the yūjo Hatsuito writes a spring poem that
draws on standard tropes appropriate for the New Year: “Waking early to take up
the first brush to write the song of the
bird.” In the summer section Chōzan
contributes the following: “Oh, my
heart is like a fan used to beat the air
on a firefly hunt.”23 Yet the assertion
that these poems were written by the
named yūjo adds to the aura of authen-
ticity proposed in the preface.
The book closes with the colo-
phon, documentation required by pub-
lishing edicts at the time (figure 2.5).
It opens with the ukiyo-eshi, or “uki-
yo-e masters,” Kitao Karan Shigemasa
and Katsukawa Yūji Shunshō; includ-
ing their haikai names (Karan and
Yūji) lent elegance to the project and
connected them to the larger poetry
networks active at the time. It also
includes the name of the woodblock
carver, Inoue Shinshichi; given that
the carver’s name was not required by
edict, that this carver is named sug-
gests a special commission as well as
high regard. The date is given as the
spring of the New Year 1776. Finally,
the colophon ends with the names
of two publishers under a term indi-
cating that this was a joint produc- Figure 2.5. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa
tion. The name on the right reads Shunshō. Colophon, The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata
“Yamazaki Kinbei,” with his shop kagami), 1776, vol. 1; published by Tsutaya
located in the Hongokuchō section of Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-color
the Nihonbashi district. In final posi- woodblock printed book, ink and color on
paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum
tion is the name “Tsutaya Jūzaburō,”
of Fine Arts, Boston. Source unidentified
his shop location at the Great Gate of 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum
the Yoshiwara. of Fine Arts, Boston.
The colophon emphatically makes the point that the two publishers were copro-
ducers of the illustrated book in collaboration with the two ukiyo-e masters and
the woodblock carver. The publishers selected the designers and carver from
among the most prestigious ukiyo-e painters and woodblock carvers of their day.
Shigemasa and Shunshō were well established by this time, with their own ate-
liers and students being trained to carry on the Kitao and Katsukawa lineages;
by 1777 both were ranked in period critiques as among the best of their genera-
tion.24 Shunshō may be the better known of the two artists today, widely appre-
ciated for his actor prints and his extraordinary paintings. Likewise Shigemasa,
it can be argued, has been appreciated less in modern ukiyo-e studies, likely
due to the fact that so much of his work was in book illustration rather than in
full-color prints or paintings; but having illustrated some three hundred books,
it is clear that he was often commissioned and highly successful as an illustra-
tor.25 However, the listing of their names on the colophon, with Shigemasa first,
seems to indicate that Shigemasa, not Shunshō, was deemed the lead artist on
this project.
Shigemasa had one of the longest careers of any ukiyo-e artist, spanning
from the 1760s well into the early nineteenth century, but as is the case with so
many ukiyo-e painter-designers, a full biographical record for Shigemasa can-
not be reconstructed from available sources. Shigemasa was born in Edo, appar-
ently the son of the book publisher Nakamura Saburōbei of the Suwaraya.26 He
seems to have studied for a time with Nishikawa Shigenaga (d. 1756), but in spite
of this connection, he was regarded in the period as being self-taught.27 By the
end of the 1760s, Shigemasa was active as a book illustrator, and he became one
of the most influential teachers, it can be argued, of the period, training art-
ists such as Kitao Masanobu (also known as the writer Santō Kyōden), Kitao
Masayoshi (1764–1810), and Kubo Shunman (1757–1820).28 He was described in the
Studies on Ukiyo-e (Ukiyo-e kōsho) of 1802 as “well versed in warrior and bird-and-
flower pictures,” and was thus known at the time as a reliable illustrator of a range
of subjects.29
Like many others in the period, Shigemasa was initially inclined to imi-
tate the style of other successful artists. In his actor prints of the 1750s he tended
toward imitating the dominant style of designers such as Torii Kiyomitsu (1735–
1785), and in the 1760s to mimic Harunobu’s light-boned delineation of the female
figure. Like Harunobu, Shigemasa seems also to have been aware of ukiyo-e styles
being pursued outside Edo, and to have taken on board the innovations of the
Kyoto illustrator Nishikawa Sukenobu (1671–1751).30 And as the market for the
illustrated book continued to expand during this period, Shigemasa became a well-
known name in book illustration (sashi-e).31 By the mid-1770s Shigemasa had devel-
oped a formula for taller and more robust figures (figure 2.6). Shigemasa’s stan-
dard beauty was drawn with a wider oval face, lengthened nose, and dark brows,
with just the lobes of the ears visible under the projecting wings of the hairstyle.
These beauties from the “eastern sector” (referring to one of the unlicensed dis-
tricts) have their robes held closed with sashes of imported cloth; the figure on the
left in the illustration wears a batik and the one on the right a velvet obi, costly fab-
rics at the time.
The second artist listed on the colophon, Shunshō, is regarded now, as he
was in his own lifetime, as an innovator, teacher, and fine painter. Although the
date and place of his birth are unknown, his death in 1792 at the age of sixty-
seven (by the Japanese count) has been used to propose that his year of birth
was 1726. He trained with Edo painter Miyagawa Shunsui (active ca. 1741–1772),
and although Shunshō does not directly display features of Shunsui’s style in his
own work, he no doubt learned the arts of painting and book illustration from
this established master.32 Shunshō’s earliest extant prints are images of kabuki
actors, and it was in the trade of kabuki illustration that he became established
and in which his students worked. The Katsukawa lineage of actor-print design-
ers became, thanks to Shunshō and his atelier, the leaders in Edo of the genre of
kabuki illustration, a position the Katsukawa enjoyed through the end of the cen-
tury. Shunshō also designed images of beauties and in the years preceding his col-
laboration with Shigemasa, in the early 1770s, modeled his beauties upon Haruno-
bu’s petite figures.
By 1777, Shunshō had come to be described in a critical ranking as highly
regarded for his ability to capture likenesses (nigao), presumably referring to his
skill in suggesting the specific facial features of celebrity actors.33 He collaborated
with another actor-print designer, Ippitsusai Bunchō (active ca. 1755–1790), on the
Illustrated Book of the Stage in Fan Shapes (Ehon butai ōgi), published by Kariganeya
Ihei in 1770. In this volume featuring pictures of individual actors the seal of the
designer responsible for each composition is included on the printed image itself,
making clear which hand designed which image. This book was so popular that
eleven months after its first appearance an application was submitted seeking per-
mission to reprint.34 However, when he was designing images of women, Shun-
shō—like all other floating world designers of the period—idealized rather than
individualized their features, as may be seen in figure 2.7. In comparison with Shi-
gemasa’s beauties, Shunshō’s seem slightly more petite in all dimensions, yet the
similarity of their depicted figures suggests that both were representing period
preferences for female beauty.
Both designers were thus well established in their respective fields by the
time they came to work together on The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared.
Given their stature, there can be little doubt that they were competitors; putting
them together as partners likely doubled the potential audience. Their collabora-
tion was apparently successful enough that they worked together on at least two
other books in the years following The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared.35
However, in neither is it possible to determine the terms of their relationship
or their artistic process. How they might have worked together is an important
question given the fact that, as mentioned previously, the images in The Mirror
of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared are not signed. Indeed, the question of who
designed which image has been one of the main points of inquiry in previous
studies. One early suggestion was that if the first two volumes were assigned by
season—with each artist contributing all designs for each of these subsections—
then since Shigemasa’s name was listed first on the colophon perhaps Shigemasa
provided illustrations for the first half of each of the first two volumes, spring
and autumn, while Shunshō delineated those for summer and winter.36 Freder-
ick Gookin, the influential early twentieth-century collector and later curator of
the Art Institute of Chicago, likewise concurred in an unpublished study of Shun-
shō.37 Yet this scheme of seasonal division of labor does not seem to be how the
work was assigned, as Japanese print expert Hayashi Yoshikazu has previously
stated. Hayashi argued that by looking more closely at details, such as the ear
lobes, neck folds, and facial features, one can make discriminations between the
two hands.38
Looking through the book as a whole, it is possible to distinguish between
the two hands in some scenes, and to ascribe attributions, while in others it seems
that both may have contributed. In yet others it appears as though their styles
may have been deliberately blended. The first two opening scenes, both of the
Matsubaya brothel, demonstrate the kinds of stylistic differences that may be dis-
cerned (see figures 2.1 and 2.8). In the scene of seated figures in an interior (fig-
ure 2.1), the women are shown with rather large, slightly square faces and expan-
sive, horizontally inclined hairstyles; their bodies are also quite substantial and
the garments likewise full. The impression here is of a loveliness predicated on
an appreciation of the curving forms and flowing garments, in a manner simi-
lar to Shigemasa’s treatment in The Beauties of the Four Districts (see figure 2.6).
Figure 2.6. Kitao Shigemasa. Beauties of the Eastern Sector (Tōhō no bijin), from the set Beauties
of the Four Quarters (Tōzai Nanboku bijin), ca. 1775. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on
paper. Ōban, 38.1 × 25.9 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John T. Spaulding
Collection 21.5858. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Turning the page (figure 2.8), the yūjo are rendered as smaller in their bodily pro-
portions, with lighter frames and more delicate facial features and tighter hair-
styles; these are qualities that signal treatment more typical of Shunshō. If the
book opens in this manner—with the first illustration by Shigemasa and the sec-
ond by Shunshō—this is consistent with the way that their names are listed on
the colophon. As Hayashi pointed out, as the senior colleague (senpai), and with an
established career as a bijinga designer, Shigemasa would have had the lead role in
the project,39 confirming the ranking signaled on the colophon. That ranking of
artistic talent likely determined the division of labor in the project, and one might
expect a similar progress of trading off throughout the rest of the book.
And yet, that cannot be confirmed by paging through the book. Rather, as
one turns the pages in the volumes, one often senses that the distinctions visible
in some parts of the book have been retained in some passages and lessened in
others (making it nearly impossible to count off contributions). Individual style
seems to have been modified in the effort for greater visual uniformity, perhaps
a decision made on the part of the publishers. But it is worth bearing in mind
that, given the process of making prints, the woodblock carver may have made
changes to the images in the process,40 and indeed, without the original sketches
(which do not survive) how much the carver contributed may not be discerned.
What can be asserted is that Shigemasa and Shunshō contributed to the project
in a manner designed from the start as a collaborative process, where the inten-
tion was to represent the quarter’s beauties under a unified scheme directed by
the publishers. After all, had the intention been to highlight the contributions of
the painters (as individual contributions), the images would have been signed or
included seals.
Instead, the publishers seem to have intended to redirect the viewer’s atten-
tion to serve another purpose. Naming the painter-designers in the preface and
colophon serves to promote them in the manner of brand names, but their individ-
ual contribution has been ameliorated in the actual images in service to what was
intended, from the start, to be a cooperative project. Omitting signatures serves to
make the images seem more transparent, too—authorship has been de-empha-
sized. In the pictures are instead the names of the individual yūjo. In the act of
reading the name and matching it to the figure, one bypasses the painter, inter-
preting the scene as though transparently representative—in doing so, the viewer
treats the scene as a virtual reality. The intended effect serves the project, whereby
Figure 2.7. Katsukawa Shunshō. Autumn Wind at the Southern Station (Nan’eki shūfū), ca. 1774.
Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Ōban, 38 × 25.5 cm. Clarence Buckingham
Collection, 1939.2167, The Art Institute of Chicago,
Figure 2.8. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Utamachi, Matsunoi, Hanamurasaki,
and Wakamurasaki of the Matsubaya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō
bijin awase sugata kagami), 1776, vol. 1; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei.
Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum
of Fine Arts, Boston. Source unidentified  2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston.
what is being shown is being privileged over who is showing it.41 That is part of its
strategy, after all—to make it seem that the scenes are a mirror of that world (as the
title of the book asserts), reflected as a reality, not rendered as a fiction.
Collaboration in Publishing
The upshot of interpreting the scenes as melding styles means that it is no longer
possible to focus our attention on the individual designers, frustrating the art his-
torian seeking to understand this project as a collaboration between two artists.
However, with this line of interpretation now deferred (releasing the crotchety art
historian from the all-too-familiar artist-centered bind), another line of inquiry
opens. This new approach allows one to consider another dimension of floating
world print culture and its collaborative process. That is indicated, significantly,
in the colophon, clearly listing the two publishers, Yamazaki Kinbei and Tsutaya
Jūzaburō, as joint publishers. The colophon did not list other likely (and influen-
tial) participants in the process—the patrons—but, as I will demonstrate, their role
is everywhere implied.
As a cooperative project between Tsutaya and Yamazaki, both contributed
important elements to the project. However, Tsutaya may have been the lead pro-
ducer and thus would have retained ownership of the blocks. If so, Tsutaya would
have held what amounted to the right for the work (although this was not equiva-
lent to the modern concept of copyright).42 Tsutaya could thus reissue the book in
new print runs; the fact that the title of this book appears on later inventories for
his shop indicates that he was either selling leftover stock or continuing to pro-
duce new printings.
But clearly the project relied, too, upon the contributions of Yamazaki
Kinbei. The Yamazakiya shop affiliation brought at least three important things
to the project: location, reputation for excellence, and publishing rights. In the
1770s, Yamazaki Kinbei was the more established publisher, and his shop in the
Nihonbashi district of Edo was located in the center of floating world publish-
ing. He was well known for sheet prints by artists such as Okumura Masanobu
and illustrated books by Suzuki Harunobu, among others.43 Yamazaki may have
brought some of the talent to the table; he was, after all, the publisher of an ear-
lier Shigemasa project, Illustrated Book: Flowers of Edo (Ehon Azuma hana, 1768).44
Shunshō benefited from the connection with the Yamazakiya shop later; two illus-
trated books, Illustrated Book: Mountain of Honored Warriors (Ehon ibuki yama,
1778) and The Thirty-six Poets (Sanjū rokkasen, 1789), signal their continued alli-
ance. Yamazaki may also have contracted the block carver Inoue Shinshichi, but
that connection to the master carver may also have come through Shunshō or
Shigemasa. Shigemasa’s Illustrated Book: Miscellany Like Salt from Seaweed (Ehon
moshiogusa, 1768) featured carved blocks by Inoue. Shunshō’s designs for the
deluxe project The Brocade of the Hundred Poets in Eastern-Style Weave (Nishiki
Hyakunin isshū Azuma ori) produced two years earlier, in 1774, were likewise ren-
dered by the esteemed carver. (Sekien, too, benefited from Inoue’s talents, as men-
tioned in the previous chapter, as had Harunobu.45) However, Yamazaki likely
oversaw the printing in color; he (not Tsutaya) held the right to produce color-
printed books as well as nishiki-e (full-color prints), rights that amounted to
licenses in the period.
Tsutaya Jūzaburō, by contrast, was not yet well connected in the business
of floating world printing. Although Tsutaya later became one of the period’s
most renowned publishers, at this time he was just beginning his trade, in a shop
located outside the Great Gate of the Yoshiwara. Tsutaya had worked with both
ukiyo-e masters in earlier projects, but he had not yet gained the right to publish
full-color prints nor to distribute printed materials in Edo. Thus, his affiliation
with Yamazaki was a strategic one: it meant the product could be published in
color as well as marketed in Edo. With it available in Nihonbashi as well as at the
Yoshiwara, this served to significantly expand the potential market.46
But more important, Tsutaya seems to have provided the connections to
the licensed quarter. Born within the quarter itself and later adopted by a family
that operated a teahouse just outside the Great Gate, Tsutaya was a true insider
to the Yoshiwara. His uncle owned an assignation teahouse (ageya) called the
Owariya located on the main street of the quarter (Nakanochō); this business
served as the go-between with and provided space for clients to meet with the
yūjo. Tsutaya’s brother-in-law operated a procurement teahouse on the street that
approached the quarter, and it was in
this location where Tsutaya established
his first shop.47
Tsutaya’s name first appears
on a book colophon for a Yoshiwara
guidebook from 1774, beside that of
the established publisher, Urokogataya
Magobei. These guidebooks named
and ranked the yūjo working in the
quarter, organizing them by brothel. In
their second collaboration from 1775,
the notation above Tsutaya’s name
reads “saiken revised” and “subsequent
publication,” meaning that Tsutaya
was responsible for editing this vol-
ume and would be producing these
guides in the future (figure 2.9). His
revisions were likely due to his having
Figure 2.9. Urokogataya Magobei and

Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Yoshiwara Guidebook:
Flower Spring (Saiken hana no minamoto),
1774. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper.
Chūhon, 18.5 × 12.5 cm. Author photograph;
private collection (now in the collection of
Keiō University Library).
carried out a new survey of the quarter—and to do so, he would have had direct
contact with the brothel owners. He would also have collected the fees associated
with publishing the guidebooks subsidized by the brothel owners.48
About the same time, Tsutaya produced his first solo publication, a critique
(hyōbanki) of the yūjo of the Yoshiwara titled A Thousand Cherry Trees at a Single
Glance (Hitome senbon), dated 1774.49 This title was also listed on the advertise-
ments for the above-mentioned 1775 guidebook (using a title variant, Hitome sen-
ken).50 Tsutaya employed Shigemasa with the commission. Both were members of
the Danrin haikai group led by Tani Sōgai (d. 1823),51 a fact that raises the possi-
bility that they met through this poetry network. Tsutaya’s selection of Shigemasa
signifies his ability, right from the start, to employ marketable names for books
about the quarter. Their affiliation lasted through Tsutaya’s lifetime, and Shige-
masa continued working with the next-generation owners of his shop, resulting in
some thirty book titles.52
Yoshiwara guidebooks and critiques ranked and named those who served in
the quarter, while critiques, such as A Thousand Cherry Trees at a Single Glance, and
pictures of the yūjo, like The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared, replicated the
critical terms of evaluation in text and image. The subject of “pictures of beauties”
(bijinga) was one of the mainstays of ukiyo-e and included both professional beau-
ties (such as yūjo and geisha) and those from Edo city life (teahouse waitresses,
shopgirls, daughters, and so on). As Kobayashi Tadashi has argued, these pictures
of “beautiful people” were connected to other seventeenth-century connoisseurial
practices, where things were evaluated by appearance and type.53 To be a connois-
seur—to know all about something particular (to be tsukushi)—was greatly val-
ued for evaluating hawks and horses as well as artworks and other commodities.
This connoisseurial eye was also invoked, Kobayashi argues, in appraising bijin.
That practice made those “beautiful people” (and initially this representational
approach included attractive young men) into objects under a visual regime where
they were judged according to set standards for costume, gesture, and figure—
features that all served as disguises and allurements for the body itself. 54
The practice of knowing-all-about something was an active mode of
appraisal for women in the later eighteenth century, as may be seen in the float-
ing world texts and images that replicated its terms. It was a form of awase, of
evaluation, and in A Thousand Cherry Trees at a Single Glance that act of select-
ing was completed in advance for the benefit of the reader.55 The preface is sub-
titled “Hana sumai,” or “Blossom Sumo Competition,” and after opening with
a quote from Yoshida Kenkō’s (1283–1352) famous Essays in Idleness (Tsure-
zuregusa, 1330–1332), it frames the book as a competition among the “famous
flowers.” The preface proposes a rather fantastic scenario: upon the request
of a big spender, the women of the quarter were organized into east and west
sumo teams and made to compete; the referees’ rankings are presented in the
book. Readers may very well have their own favorites, but they are requested to
leave the final decisions up to the judges.56 The point was that the serious com-
petition that went on in the Yoshiwara was wittily turned into a sumo competi-
tion between its finest flowers. The book plays with the notion of a competition
between the blossoms of the quarter by juxtaposing their artful flower arrange-
ments with their names. For sophisticates, making comparisons between ikebana,
for example, and the beauties of the quarter would have seemed an inspired and
amusing entertainment.
Tsutaya’s critiques and guidebooks reinforced as well as advertised these
practices of evaluating yūjo in Yoshiwara’s economy of sex. After reinventing the
critique form with A Thousand Cherry Trees at a Single Glance, he would go on to
reimagine the guidebook genre. This came about due to his gradual assumption
of the right to publish such books as a result of publisher Urokogataya’s coming
under official investigation after issuing the Quick Reference Household Encyclo-
pedia (Hayabiki setsuyōshū) without having secured permission from the origi-
nal Osaka publisher. Urokogataya’s production was temporarily halted during the
investigation, and Tsutaya took the lead in producing the 1775 Yoshiwara guide-
books (both names appear in the guidebooks of 1775). According to Suzuki Toshi-
yuki, after Urokogataya Magobei was found guilty and subsequently censured,
Tsutaya gained the right to publish the Yoshiwara guidebooks in 1777.57 By 1779,
Tsutaya had begun noting the location of his shop as being on the approach to the
quarter, using the phrase “Yoshiwara guidebook publisher and bookshop.”58
Tsutaya continued publishing these guides to the quarter for the rest of
his career. It was from this position, as Suzuki has noted, that Tsutaya further
extended his publications on the quarter:
The Yoshiwara district staged pageants and events during the An’ei era
[1772–1781] and Tsutaya published and advertised the prints and pam-
phlets that accompanied such events. Tsutaya played a major role in this
process. In effect, the Yoshiwara had Tsutaya as its publicist, and thus a
publishing-based strategy developed. The pamphlets and other publica-
tions that he produced and distributed related to events and activities that
conveyed the fascinating world of the Yoshiwara to the people through-
out Edo.59
Suzuki’s description of Tsutaya as the “publicist” for the quarter is affirmed through
the guidebooks and other printed materials, including The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Beauties, Compared. This close concordance between the activities of the district
and Tsutaya’s publication strategies demonstrate that the publisher was working
with the quarter to expand its representation in print. Tsutaya also added informa-
tion about the quarter’s teashops and restaurants in what amounted to advertise-
ments for those businesses. Given that the brothels may already have been provid-
ing more than information for these books—it has been conjectured that they also
contributed subventions—this further
development of subjects in the guide-
books may indicate that Tsutaya was
also cooperating with (and receiving
subsidies from) these business owners
along with the brothel owners.60
In 1776, at the same time he was
copublishing The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Beauties, Compared with Yamazaki,
Tsutaya was also collaborating with
publisher Nishimuraya Yohachi on a
new series of sheet prints about the
quarter. Nishimura Yohachi was the
second son of Urokogataya but had
been adopted as the heir and son of
the established publisher Nishimuraya
Yohachi I. Yohachi II became one of
the major publishers of ukiyo-e in the
last quarter of the eighteenth century.
Tsutaya and Nishimuraya Yohachi II
collaborated on a series of single-sheet
full-color prints depicting Yoshiwara
yūjo. Again, the strategic pairing meant
that the prints were available within
Edo, at Nishimuraya’s shop the Eijudō,
and from Tsutaya’s in front of the Great Figure 2.10. Isoda Koryūsai. Hinazuru of the
Chōjiya, from the series Models of Fashion:
Gate of the Yoshiwara. This was The
New Designs Fresh as Spring Leaves (Hinagata
Models of Fashion: New Designs Fresh wakana no hatsumoyō), 1776; published by
as Spring Leaves (Hinagata wakana no Nishimuraya Yohachi and Tsutaya Jūzaburō.
hatsumoyō), designed by Isoda Koryū- Full-color woodblock print, ink and color
on paper. Ōban, 37 × 26.2 cm. Museum
sai (1735–1790) (figure 2.10).61 Signifi- of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John
cantly, there are no other ōban (large T. Spaulding Collection 21.8229. Photograph
format) full-color prints published by © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Tsutaya until the next decade,62 since he did not yet possess the license to produce
works in full color (nishiki-e). When Tsutaya purchased Moriya Kohei’s shop in
1783, not only did he acquire a prime location near the Nihonbashi district but he
also gained the publishing rights for full-color printing and maps along with Mori-
ya’s complete inventory.63
Both Tsutaya’s and Nishimuraya’s publisher’s marks are included in the
first ten compositions of Koryūsai’s series. Their cooperative venture ended in
the following summer when Nishimuraya took over the production; the Eijudō
house continued publishing the remarkably long-lived (and no doubt profitable)
series with sheet prints through 1784.64 As with the guidebooks and critiques, a
model wherein the brothel owners may have subsidized these images has been
put forward; Suzuki also proposes that in order to continue publishing the series
Nishimuraya must have had a contact within the Yoshiwara, and it seems likely
that his contact was Tsutaya.65 Perhaps the title’s allusions to period pattern books
(hinagatabon) might also suggest that garment makers also provided funds.66
However, these single-sheet prints and the deluxe illustrated book were
clearly designed for different functions and viewing responses. The sheet prints
made with cheaper paper and lower-quality production values were intended as
one-offs, while The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared was a high-quality,
expensive, and large-scale project. Their subjects, too, are shown in a manner
appropriate to their formats, producing different engagements by the viewer.
Koryūsai’s sheet print shows a public view of the yūjo on promenade, in the man-
ner in which they paraded in the quarter; it looks like an advertisement, made
in a format that could be pasted up for display. Shigemasa and Shunshō’s book
engages a mode of viewing that is meant to be more intimate; with the volume
held in the hands or resting on a table, the turning of each page revealed a new
scene of the individuals in their private chambers, a view available only to those
most familiar with that secret world.
Looking at the same named yūjo, Hinazuru of the Chōjiya, in both formats
underscores these differences (figure 2.11). In the sheet print, she is the largest fig-
ure to the right, shown with her two adolescent assistants following in her wake,
a standard representation of the yūjo promenading in the quarter. In The Mirror
of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared, Hinazuru is seated at the lower right holding the
drum; she is not distinguishable by her facial features (for she closely resembles
her companions) but by her name written to the left of her figure. Both figures are
shown wearing attractive costumes and up-to-date hairstyles in a manner appro-
priate to their status (and promotion as exemplars of fashion), but there is nothing
in either picture that indicates that their images have been drawn from observa-
tion. The viewer is put into a different position as he looks at each of these images:
Figure 2.11. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Hinazuru, Karauta, and Meizan of the
Chōjiya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami),
1776, vol. 1; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-color woodblock printed
book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Source
unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
for the sheet print, he is like a member of an audience watching the yūjo parade
by; for the book, he is given a more intimate view, as though observing them from
their garden.
Tsutaya’s entire career as a publisher, from the simple black-and-white
guidebooks to sheet prints to full-color luxury books, was predicated from the
start upon the Yoshiwara trade. Guidebooks remained a reliable source of income,
as a form of job printing, and in subsequent years, Tsutaya revamped the format,
making it larger and with more details about the quarter. He included the location
of his shop, the Kōshodō, on the map of the approach to the quarter, as seventh
on the right as one proceeded away from the Great Gate. No doubt this notation
served as a handy reference for readers who had acquired their guidebooks else-
where and needed a new edition.
Pictures of Beauties
One of the many conceits of The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared was its
title, adapted from Suzuki Harunobu’s Beauties of the Yoshiwara, Compared (Seirō
bijin awase), a five-volume album from 1770 (figure 2.12).67 In addition to borrow-
ing from the title, the 1776 project shifted the terms of representation from singu-
lar objects on a page, as in Harunobu’s precedent, to showing the yūjo in groups in
well-fitted interiors. Yoshiwara cognoscenti would have recognized the source and
compared the new offering with the older one (in the manner of the awase given
Figure 2.12. Suzuki Harunobu. Konohana of the Iedaya and Hanachō of the Iseya, from Beauties
of the Yoshiwara, Compared (Seirō bijin awase), 1770; published by Funaki Kanosuke, Koizumi
Chūgorō, and Maruya Jinpachi. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper.
Ōhon, 26.5 × 18 cm. Spencer Collection, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden
Foundations.
Figure 2.13. Urokogataya Magobei and Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Yoshiwara Guidebook: Flower Spring
(Saiken hana no minamoto), 1774. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17 × 12 cm.
Author photograph; private collection (now in the collection of Keiō University Library).
in the titles). By updating something that after only six years was already looking
old-fashioned, The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared offered the opportunity
for these two publishers to demonstrate advances in techniques and materials and
make this new offering even more sumptuous.
The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared further constructs a rhetoric of
progress in the presentation of the houses in the quarter, in the manner of a vir-
tual tour. The first two volumes are organized by Yoshiwara blocks, as my research
comparing the named houses with a contemporary Yoshiwara guidebook demon-
strates. Volume one shows the houses on the first and second blocks of Edochō
(Edochō Itchōme and Ni-chōme), and volume two shows those on Sumichō and
blocks one and two on Kyōmachi (Kyōmachi Itchōme and Ni-chōme), as clearly
visible on this map page from a 1775 guidebook (figure 2.13).68 Yoshiwara guide-
books presented the houses in the quarter according to their placement on its main
streets; the notion was that by holding the guidebook in one hand, the reader could
proceed, on foot or in his imagination, through the quarter down each street. In
Yoshiwara Guidebook: Flower Spring (Saiken hana no minamoto), published by Uro-
kogataya in 1775, the first page of the listing of brothels describes their geographic
location in text (figure 2.14). The first line on the right reads, “From here, the
brothel section” and the second “Edochō Itchōme, on the right side from Nakano-
chō,” thus one turns right at the corner of Nakanochō and Edochō and follows the
guidebook down the right side of the street. All pages in the section for Edochō,
“right side,” follow, with the next section organized as Edochō “left side.” This page
for the Gakuiseya follows what is this guidebook’s standard listing practice, with
the owner’s name at lower right and the yūjo listed across the page; the location of
the name indicates the woman’s position in the house, the symbol above denoting
her ranking.
By contrast, when Tsutaya published his guidebook Selection of Famous Blos-
soms (Meikasen) in the New Year of 1776, not only did he play once more on the
Figure 2.14. Urokogataya Magobei and Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Yoshiwara Guidebook: Flower Spring
(Saiken hana no minamoto), 1774. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17 × 12 cm.
Author photograph; private collection (now in the collection of Keiō University Library).
Figure 2.15. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Selection of Famous Blossoms (Meikasen), 1776. Woodblock
printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17 × 12 cm. Facsimile edition reprinted in An’ei kōki
Yoshiwara saiken shū (Tokyo: Kinsei Fūzoku Kenkyūkai, 1988).
theme of the yūjo as the flowers of the quarter but he also took the opportunity
to reimagine how to represent the space of the quarter (figure 2.15). The list has
become a street map: written directions are no longer necessary. Each house is
placed in its geographical site, and the rankings are posted in the allocated plot.
This structure would allow the patron to the quarter to walk down the street, guide-
book in hand, and understand the location of houses on both sides of the street
simultaneously. More to the point, he could read the rankings of the yūjo employed
in each house, in that location, as though reading the menu of what was on offer
therein. Not only did Tsutaya’s version transform the format but it also updated
the listings within the houses. By comparing specific houses between Urokogata-
ya’s and Tsutaya’s books, there is a greater completeness in Tsutaya’s than in Uro-
kogataya’s, more than can be ascribed to the year between publications, demon-
strating that Tsutaya has completed a new survey. Significantly, Tsutaya’s 1776
guidebook includes an opening illustration by Shunshō as well as a notice about
Hitome senbon, illustrated by Shigemasa, on the colophon page, confirming Tsuta-
ya’s employment of both at this time (figure 2.16). Given Tsutaya’s role as editor
and Urokogataya’s uncertain position (being under official review), there can be
no doubt that Tsutaya’s version was the more accurate. In both guidebooks, one
hundred houses are named.
By contrast, The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared does not replicate
either guidebook’s representation of the quarter. First, unlike the guidebook, it
does not list all one hundred houses in the Yoshiwara. Instead, it shows only thir-
ty-two. This evidences that a selection—an awase as mentioned in the title—was
made for representation in the illus-
trated book. Second, although the full-
color album retains the overall group-
ing of houses by block, the order of
presentation does not follow the geo-
graphical progress used in the guide-
book. Turning the page after the map
in these guidebooks, the first house on
the right side of Edochō Itchōme is the
Gakuiseya, and thus one might expect
that this house should be shown first
in The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties,
Compared. Instead, the first house
shown in the illustrated book, directly
following the botanical scene for
spring, is the Matsubaya; and yet this
house is the second entry in the guide-
book. The Gakuiseya does not appear
in the illustrated book until the fourth
double-page opening.
Comparing guidebooks against
the album, it becomes evident that the
organizers of the deluxe album were
Figure 2.16. Katsukawa Shunshō. Untitled selecting and presenting the houses
illustration, from Selection of Famous Blossoms according to another logical program,
(Meikasen), 1776; published by Tsutaya one that was not imitating the physi-
Jūzaburō. Woodblock printed book, ink on
paper. Chūhon, 17 × 12 cm. Facsimile edition
cal geography of the quarter nor giving
reprinted in An’ei kōki Yoshiwara saiken shū it complete representation. Their deci-
(Tokyo: Kinsei Fūzoku Kenkyūkai, 1988). sion, instead, was based upon another
scheme: rank. In each of the four seasonal sections, the first and last scenes in
each section are from those houses where the yūjo held high rank. This structure
places the high-ranking houses where they would most be noticed, framing each
seasonal section, emphasizing their position. In the spring section the high-rank-
ing houses, the Matsubaya and the Ōgiya, open and close the sequence, respec-
tively. Houses with middle ranking yūjo such as the Kakuiseya are put in the mid-
dle of these sections, like a sequence of notes between a dramatic opening and
closing musical passage. Turning back to the poems at the end of the third vol-
ume, these are also presented in the same manner—each seasonal section opens
and closes with contributions by high-ranking courtesans; those of middle ranks
are in the middle.69
The selection, placement, and organization of the illustrated book thus rep-
licate the quarter’s own hierarchical system. This could have been achieved only
through close coordination between the publishers and the brothel owners. Given
Tsutaya’s established role as editor of the guidebooks, I would argue that these
selections—of number of houses and placement—also point to the brothel owners
as possible financial contributors to The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared. In
such a scheme, each house owner would have provided funds for the privilege of
having his selected yūjo shown. Houses that had more than one illustration (such
as the Matsubaya) would have made a higher contribution for the privilege of hav-
ing multiple double-page openings. Considering how often the male clients who
counted themselves as the intimates (najimi) of individual yūjo were called upon
to give money to the brothels, it can also be speculated that they could also have
provided funds for the project.
Thus, by replicating these hierarchies of the quarter, the book is an awase in
its construction—a ranked listing—done in advance for the benefit of readers. For
the brothel owners, these differences of rank would have been regarded as critical
to the presentation of their businesses. Such distinctions are further replicated in
the images, I argue, not by the faces or figures but by the kinds and qualities of the
material goods that surround them. Sophisticated viewers are being called upon to
make similar evaluations—to participate in the comparative rankings—by paying
attention to what and how things are being shown.
Turning back to the illustration of the Matsubaya brothel (see figure 2.1), the
first picture in volume one, set after the spring scene, we recall that these beauties
are presented in a second-floor interior with decorated sliding doors (fusuma), a
flower arrangement, writing implements, a stringed instrument (koto), and other
goods. Those familiar with the value of these things might very well be able to
gauge the size of the room (by counting the standard-sized tatami mats), the price
of the objects, and indeed the costs associated with being entertained by one of
these four yūjo.70 An aficionado might also consult Tsutaya’s guidebook Selection
of Famous Blossoms to learn that these were chūsan-ranked courtesans, the second
rank in the Yoshiwara system (figure 2.17).71 The term chūsan referred to her price:
three bu (silver coins) for an afternoon or an evening, a significant amount (about
three thousand copper coins [mon], or three-quarters of a gold ryō). The three-coin
cost did not cover tipping (and there were lots of tips), nor did it guarantee success;
a client would have to have had several such meetings before being granted sexual
intimacy with a woman of this rank. Moreover, these fees did not include the many
tips required for all sorts of services, nor did it cover entertainment (by geisha),
food, drink, or other necessities.72 That the Matsubaya was also represented with a
second picture (and one that featured mica enhancement), showing several more
chūsan-ranked figures, signals its stature in the quarter.
Given that these two pictures of the women of the Matsubaya do little to indi-
vidualize the facial features of the yūjo portrayed, it might be asked what the title and
Figure 2.17. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Matsubaya brothel, detail from Selection of Famous Blossoms
(Meikasen), 1776. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17 × 12 cm. Facsimile edition
reprinted in An’ei kōki Yoshiwara saiken shū (Tokyo: Kinsei Fūzoku Kenkyūkai, 1988).
preface suggested when they described these representations as sugata or sugata-e,
figures or pictures of figures. While nise-e was, as mentioned, the more typical
word to designate “resemblance” at the time, using sugata-e may nonetheless have
suggested that there was something of the figure that was being actively referenced
here. However, as a term, sugata-e did not assert portraiture, and these are ideal-
ized, not observed, representations of these yūjo. What is shown is more likely an
imagined view of their world, but its material repleteness is such that it encourages
us to look at it as though it were a kind of truthful view, a mirror. But that is, after
all, what the picture is supposed to do: make this world seem real and inviting.
Closer observation makes it clear that even something more is going on in
these images: they show what matters in making an awase. Turning to the first
page after the summer botanical scene, the viewer sees the three yūjo of the Chō-
jiya house relaxing in an elegantly apportioned room (figure 2.18). Chōzan, seated
in the center of the room, and Senzan, resting on a low table to the right, read the
classic text The Tale of Flowering Fortunes (Eiga monogatari), while Toyoharu, on the
lower left, writes a poem. They are seated in an elegant second-floor parlor, in a
large space that features a tokonoma alcove in the rear and a second alcove on the
right, both including decorated panels of a chrysanthemum design. For viewers
familiar with the architectural practices of the day, the size of this room could be
estimated, since at least four tatami mats are shown; the width of the tokonoma is
equal to the length of one of the mats, making this a substantial space for display-
ing treasured objects. The luxury goods visible in the space add to the impression
of sumptuousness, and these also include the books, Senzan’s lacquer desk, and
Toyoharu’s writing set. In the alcove to the right, the large box includes the label
for what is inside: the multivolume The Moon in the Lake (Kogetsusho), a commen-
tary on The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari). In the rear of the room, a large-scale
hanging scroll, two elaborately decorated lacquer boxes, a Chinese-style lacquer
table, and an incense burner are displayed in the tokonoma alcove. Likewise, the
three yūjo are garbed in expensive-looking garments; that Chōzan’s outer robe fea-
tures an embroidered peacock-feather design has been carefully represented in the
printed effects.
Showing the yūjo reading and writing calls attention to their erudition and
imbues the scene with the terms of high culture.73 Displaying The Moon in the
Lake was also, as the samurai, calligrapher, painter, and all-around aesthete Yana
gisawa Kien (1704–1758) noted, used to signal their high status (although it may
have been little more than ornamental).74 At the same time it is that familiar trope
of occupation and absorption that allows the viewer to observe the scene as though
he happened upon it; he is unobserved, his gaze unchallenged. The yūjo have been
arranged as though placed into a set, and with their attention otherwise engaged,
Figure 2.18. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Senzan, Chōzan, and Toyoharu of the
book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Source
unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
the picture is designed to suggest that what it presents is a real view of what it is
that yūjo do when not occupied by clients. But this is, of course, part of the Yoshi-
wara fantasy. There is nothing specific here that indicates that the yūjo had “sat”
for their portraits or had been observed in situ (nor was painting from life expected
for pictures like these). Instead, the scene is designed to engage material assess-
ment, as an opulent mise-en-scène. The connoisseurial gaze recognizes and ranks
the quality and type of such things as the lacquer boxes and brocade robes. The
yūjo are, like the objects that surround them, put on display as high-quality objects,
and they, too, are meant to be assessed in the manner of all other things.
Figure 2.19. Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Chōjiya brothel, detail from Selection of Famous Blossoms
(Meikasen), 1776. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17 × 12 cm. Facsimile edition
reprinted in An’ei kōki Yoshiwara saiken shū (Tokyo: Kinsei Fūzoku Kenkyūkai, 1988).
Reading the picture against Tsutaya’s guidebook, it is evident that these yūjo
were some of the highest ranking of the district (figure 2.19). Chōzan and Senzan
were yobidashi chūsan, or “by appointment chūsan,” the most elite status in the
period, and they held first and second position in the Chōjiya. Yobidashi meant
that they were available only “by calling them out” to an appointment teahouse
(ageya); and this rank, “by appointment,” was rarely granted. Chōzan and Senzan
were thus not required to sit on display in the latticed parlors awaiting custom-
ers, as were all others, but would have been met by their clients in an assignation
teahouse on the Nakanochō. They were two of three to hold this status in a house
staffed by a total of seventeen yūjo. Toyoharu, listed seventh in the brothel ranking,
held chūsan rank and was one of five at this level (with two additional places cur-
rently not staffed). Although time spent with a chūsan was already expensive, being
with a yobidashi chūsan no doubt incurred additional charges for the appointment.
In addition to the three yobidashi and five chūsan in the Chōjiya, nine additional
names are given at the “room holding” (heyamochi) denomination.75 All three yobi-
dashi yūjo shown in the color album were so successful that they could each sup-
port two kamuro (child trainees).
Thus, this picture, with its luxury objects exceeding even those of the Mat-
subaya, serves to reinforce its occupants’ status as among the most valued com-
modities of the quarter. Image and text work together to enhance the illusion the
Yoshiwara strove to sustain (and that was being produced for the brothels by the
publisher). While overt references to their roles as sexual companions are not made
in the images, the close observer would notice how much their allure is empha-
sized. Costume, posture, makeup, and hairstyles, the features that Kobayashi
describes as making up the “beautiful figure,” are all put on display. Subtle signals
are also being made to bodily attractions, in the exposed wrists and napes, and in
the overprinted black of their lustrous hair and paper-white polished skin.
Sensual pleasure is called forth by the surfaces and forms that serve, fetish-
like, to stand in for what is not seen. The layer upon layer of silken robes, with
sash ends extending toward the viewer’s grasp, seem to be waiting to be untied;
the robes folding between legs call attention to their parting; necks emerging from
collars leave a space that invites the hand; and delicate wrists emerge from sleeves
that fall in forms resembling female genitalia (a long-standing visual trope in erot-
ica). Senzan’s posture, too, has a flirtatious, come-hither quality, while Chōzan
seems ready to drop her book and reach toward the viewer. Luxury and sexuality
are intertwined to underscore their exquisite, high-status allure. (And once one
begins to read the book with an interest in its allusions to sex, one sees that it is
replete throughout.)
The Chōjiya was the only house to be represented by three double-page
openings, a fact that underscores its elite rank in the quarter. Nishikidō, Manzan,
and Toyosumi are shown in the second page. Two of these yūjo were chūsan, hold-
ing the second rank; only Toyosumi was heyamochi, or “room holder,” at the fourth
level (figure 2.20). In the third of the Chōjiya scenes, Hinazuru plays a drum while
her companions, Meizan and Karauta, pose gracefully on the veranda (see figure
2.13). Of these, Hinazuru held the high rank of yobidashi, on a par with Chōzan
and Senzan shown in the first Chōjiya scene and is listed in the guidebook in
the third position after them. (The sequence of these three images replicates the
high-middle-high pattern used throughout the book, with yobidashi in first and
third frames.) Although these additional images feature elegant compositions, the
material goods put on display and the spaces the yūjo inhabit do not match the
expense of those included in the first illustration. By making a comparison of the
three images—acting out the awase of the book’s title—it is evident Chōzan and
Senzan are the most prized of the Chōjiya brothel’s list of yūjo.
By reading other images from the album against the guidebook, it becomes
clear that the producers of the book used the strategy of matching materiality to
house status and individual ranking. The connoisseur to the quarter is encouraged
Figure 2.20. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Nishikidō, Manzan, and Toyosumi of the
book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Source
to evaluate, to compare, and to assess what is put on display before him; he par-
ticipates in the awase that has been made on his behalf. And yet at the same time,
we must be aware of the fact that for some others these scenes may have been less
charged—for readers less concerned with cracking the Yoshiwara codes, they may
have been simply pictures of the famous courtesans. How this book was read was
not fixed, after all; some of its subtle codes could be easily missed, overlooked,
or ignored.
Using an eye attuned to those codes of representation as one moves through
the scenes of The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (as though one were a
sophisticate), status distinctions are signaled in all its details—interior, decora-
tion, and costume are markers for rank. In some compositions, stunning deco-
rations and dazzling printing effects are used to enhance the interiors of many
middle-range brothels, where status restrictions limited architectural features.
Throughout floral arrangements participate in the marking of the seasons, sig-
nal status, and recall the trope of the “blossoms” of the quarter, but in the scene
from the Yotsumeya, it becomes the focal point of the composition (figure 2.21).
This early-summer floral arrangement is so eye-catching that it encourages com-
parison with period ikebana books, where one might become familiar with model
types (figure 2.22). Another precedent appears in a picture of yūjo of Osaka’s Shin-
machi district by Nishikawa Sukenobu, in the Picture Book of One Hundred Women
(Hyakunin jorō shinasadame, 1723) (figure 2.23). But here the purpose of this spec-
tacular arrangement is to distract the viewer from noticing that this is a small-
ish room with no tokonoma where it (and other objets d’art) can be displayed.
Instead, the floral arrangement is backed only by a standing screen. Both would
Figure 2.21. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Tamanoi, Katsuyama, Sugatano, and
Sayoginu of the Yotsumeya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase
sugata kagami), 1776, vol. 2; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-color
woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston. Source unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Figure 2.22. Pictures of Upright Flower Arrangements (Rikka zu), 1673. Woodblock printed book
with hand coloring, ink and color on paper. Ōhon, 34.7 × 25 cm. Spencer Collection, The New
York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations.
Figure 2.23. Nishikawa Sukenobu. Illustration of the Osaka Shinmachi pleasure quarter, from
Picture Book of One Hundred Women (Hyakunin jorō shinasadame), 1723, vol. 2. Woodblock
printed book, ink on paper. Ōhon, 25.7 × 37.3 cm. Waseda University Library.
signify artfulness and expense, but both, unlike the tokonoma, would have been
temporary displays.
In another scene, showing the Maruya house, two yūjo cluster together, the
curves of their robes set against the rectilinear forms of the architecture, in order
to watch a third figure lifting ice from the water basin; the ice has had its surface
enhanced by mica printing, adding glitter to the garden in winter, visually com-
pensating for the lower status implied by the narrow veranda (figure 2.24). These
yūjo of the Yotsumeya and the Maruya are, as the guidebook reveals, women of the
“suite holding” (zashikimochi) rank—the third level below yobidashi chūsan and
chūsan of the Chōjiya and the Matsubaya.
Figure 2.24. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Onomachi, Kazusano, and Toyozuru of
the Maruya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami),
book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Source
In some cases, the decorations become the central focal point for the com-
position. In one scene, the yūjo of the Shinkanaya prepare for the annual Tanabata
Festival held on the seventh day of the seventh month (figure 2.25). Reading this
image against the guidebook, we learn that these are yūjo of the next ranks, with
two at the suite-holding rank, one at the room-holding level, and one not listed at
all. Only one of these, Ninoaya, can support a kamuro trainee; this fact alone indi-
cates the lower status these women held in the complex ranking system of the
Yoshiwara. But it is not just in the guidebook that this difference is shown—in the
image, their lower rank is signaled by the closeness of the quarters, the simpler
decorations, and even the bedding on prominent display in the adjacent room.
Figure 2.25. Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō. Eguchi, Kaoru, Tachibana, and Ninoaya
of the Shinkanaya, from The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin awase sugata
kagami), 1776, vol. 2; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yamazaki Kinbei. Full-color woodblock
printed book, ink and color on paper. Tokudaibon, 28.1 × 18.7 cm. Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston. Source unidentified 2006.1749.1-3. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
For some Edo-period connoisseurs, looking at a scene from this illustrated
book would likely have been enough to gauge the status of the brothel. For modern
viewers, making such distinctions becomes easier to see through contrast, drawn
clearest perhaps by comparing the highest- and lowest-ranking figures. The Chō-
jiya yūjo occupy a room that is spacious and architecturally refined, while they are
elegantly arranged in a pyramidal form (see figure 2.18). By contrast, those in the
Shinkanaya are clustered closely together in a cramped, narrow, and bare-bones
space, seated nearly on top of one another (see figure 2.25). The painting, lacquer
boxes, and books displayed in the Chōjiya house have the sheen and lasting value
of luxury goods, while the eye-catching Tanabata decoration in the Shinkanaya is
only a temporary, inexpensive paper and bamboo display. Their garments also sig-
nify material difference. Chōzan, holding the highest rank, has her costume com-
posed of high-quality embroidered robes, but those shown from the lower ranks
wear patterned, resist-dyed garments, a difference in quality that is effectively ren-
dered in the printing process.
Making these distinctions, then as now, requires close looking with atten-
tion to the evaluation of quality, having a connoisseur’s eye trained in the practice
of appraisal. It is another kind of collaborative enterprise, one between the reader
and the book (and by extension, its producers). These differences are expressed
through the details of the elements of the mise-en-scène—costumes, objects,
settings, and even seasons—but not in those of the faces, bodies, gestures, and
expressions of the figures themselves. Such material distinctions in support of
rank and prestige would have mattered a lot in the Yoshiwara, especially to the
brothel owners, their clients, and to the yūjo themselves.
Rather than serving as portraits of individuals, these representations, I
argue, mark the yūjo as product types, with their value keyed to the quarter’s rank-
ing system. The book’s purpose was to enhance the illusions of the quarter. By
engaging the practice of making these aesthetic distinctions, the pictures seduce
the viewer to drop the skeptical gaze and read what is shown as though it were
real. These images make the beauties and objects on display into what is, in effect,
a virtual reality. The logic of materiality as part of this fantasy extended to the
production of The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared itself. The book was
made using the highest craftsmanship of the period, a luxury object designed to
be appreciated, as a thing itself, at the same time as it elicited appreciation for what
it depicted.
The book’s high quality would have required considerable investment, and
it seems to have functioned as both commemoration and advertisement. Given
that the guidebooks were likely subsidized by the brothel owners,76 it seems more
than likely that these proprietors of the thirty-two brothels shown, and perhaps
some select clients of the quarter,77 were the patrons of The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Beauties, Compared. In such a scenario, these patrons would have received the first
and best printings, with subsequent copies sold from Tsutaya’s and Yamazaki’s
shops. However, an advertisement from Tsutaya’s 1776 guidebook evidences that it
was also put on sale. This notice begins with the abbreviated title “Mirror of Beau-
ties, Compared” and specifies that it is sold in a box, complete in three volumes.
The advertisement continues, “This book presents the Yoshiwara yūkun [play pals]
printed in full color. The girls of the licensed quarter are shown as if in a mirror.
Please consider having a look and buying it.”78 The title is also listed on a later
Tsutaya back-of-guidebook inventory from 1782, demonstrating that he continued
to profit from its sale at his shop.79
For Yoshiwara connoisseurs, the book clad the quarter in glamour, no doubt
differentiating its sex trade from that on offer in unlicensed settings. The high-
est-ranking houses of the Yoshiwara were the elite zones of pleasure after all. But
in showing only these select houses, the book edited out the many lower-rank-
ing houses, some two-thirds of the quarter. The lowest-ranking third consisted of
brothels staffed by otsubone (“compartment,” indicating that these ranks occupied
an even smaller space) and kiri (cut-rate) prostitutes. But even these guidebooks to
the licensed quarter did not include all those occupied in its sex trade; those pros-
titutes known as kashi (moatside) and teppō (firearms) were not registered in the
guidebooks. These at the lowest ranks constituted a significant portion of the pop-
ulation—five years later in 1782 these at the lowest ranks numbered 1,274 individ-
uals of the total population of 2,912.80
Given that the book was available for purchase from Yamazaki’s and Tsuta-
ya’s shops, it also seems evident that not all readers would have approached it with
attention to the kinds of material differences described above. At present we do
not know as much about contemporary readers of this work as we would like, but
one reader wrote in his diary that he received the book early in 1776. This was the
daimyo Yanagisawa Nobutoki (approximately 1752–1792), a known patron of Shun-
shō paintings and a kabuki aficionado.81 Yanagisawa was a frequent visitor to the
Yoshiwara at this time, as notes in his diary evidence, often making arrangements
for his visits through the teahouse called Shirotamaya just outside the Great Gate,
and was familiar with many of its geisha, yūjo, and even one of its brothel owners.82
Other readers, such as merchants and artisans, might have understood the mate-
rial references, but others might have read the book as little more than a Yoshiwara
yearbook for 1776, showing off the stars of the quarter. How women readers might
have encountered this book likewise raises a number of potential questions. I sus-
pect, as with all books, there was a broad range of readership, with some picking
up the book’s representational strategies and others not.
But documentary-style representation was not the purpose of The Mirror of
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared, nor was realism a characteristic of the images rep-
resenting the district throughout the history of ukiyo-e. Rather its representational
strategies—which houses were included, which yūjo were named and shown, and
how those beauties were presented—and production quality demonstrate that
for its producers and patrons certain standards had to be maintained. The very
materiality of this object—from inception through design—is a marker of a sub-
stantial investment. If this illustrated book is indeed the product of collaboration
between the publishers, artists, and brothel owners, it serves as a record of a trans-
action between those participants. To adapt Michael Baxandall’s insight about fif-
teenth-century Italian painting for eighteenth-century Japanese print culture, as
such, “some of the economic practices of the period are quite concretely embod-
ied” in the final product.83
For an ambitious publisher like Tsutaya, this venture would have provided
him with the opportunity to demonstrate his ability to marshal the talents of Shi-
gemasa and Shunshō, as well as the considerable skills of the block carvers and
printers. The two projects of 1776—the illustrated book and the print series show-
ing the yūjo of the Yoshiwara—enabled Tsutaya to learn from the more established
publishers Yamazaki and Nishimuraya, to piggyback his profession and reputa-
tion on theirs, and to distribute his projects through shops in central Edo. How-
ever, while both The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared and the single-sheet
prints were harbingers of things to come, neither was immediately followed up by
similar offerings from the publisher.
Yet The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared not only presaged many
of the future projects for which this publisher is renowned but also signaled his
ambition to become a player in the broader field of publishing. One of Tsutaya’s
operating modes was to imitate and improve upon the successes of other pub-
lishers. Just as he had previously done with Urokogataya Magobei and the Yoshi-
wara guidebooks, so he later emulated Urokogataya’s success in publishing genres
beyond those semiannual handbooks. In 1775 Urokogataya published a volume
of witty fiction and launched one of the late eighteenth-century’s most important
genres; this was the kibyōshi (literally, “yellow-backed novel,” a type of light fic-
tion) Dr. Glitter-’n’-Gold’s Dreams of Glory (Kinkin Sensei eigai no yume), by Koikawa
Harumachi (1744–1789). The Urokogataya bookshop remained a leader in the field
of popular fiction through the end of the decade.
Tsutaya imitated Urokogataya’s success in the field of light literature. In
1777, Tsutaya published his first style book (sharebon), with text by Hōseidō Kisanji
(1735–1813); this book, Courtesans’ Gazeteer (Shōhi chiriki), parodied a geography
text while describing the social codes and practices of the Yoshiwara. He began to
move more assiduously into the field of ezōshi (illustrated books), producing style
books, light fiction, jōruri (puppet-theater scripts) books, and other materials, hir-
ing writers well-known as sophisticates.84 Like his mentor Urokogataya, he too
took up popular-book publishing; after 1780, Tsutaya published some of the best-
known works of writers Harumachi and Kisanji.
In 1783 Tsutaya returned to the concept of the “yūjo shown in a mirror,”
advertising an even more deluxe album called The Mirror of Yoshiwara “Castle Top-
plers” in a New Comparison of Beauties, with Their Own Calligraphy (Yoshiwara keisei
shin bijin awase jihitsu kagami) (figure 2.26). It was to be designed by Shigemasa’s
student, Kitao Masanobu, and to feature contributions by two influential leaders of
poetry groups affiliated with the Yoshiwara group (the Yoshiwara ren), Ōta Nanpo
Figure 2.26. Kitao Masanobu. Hinazuru and Chōzan of the Chōjiya, from Mirror of Yoshiwara
“Castle Topplers” in a New Comparison of Beauties, with Their Own Calligraphy (Yoshiwara keisei
shin bijin awase jihitsu kagami), 1784; published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock
printed book, ink and color on paper. Double ōban, 37.3 × 50.6 cm. Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston. Source unidentified 2006.1341. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
(1749–1823) and Akera Kankō (1740–1800). According to the announcement, the
new project was to include one hundred designs of the elite yūjo and their own
poems written in their own calligraphy, in a larger format. In spite of that, the proj-
ect seems not to have succeeded on the scale advertised—it appeared as a double
large-format (ōban) album of only seven images (and one may wonder whether it
failed due to lack of funding or to the fact that it was advertised as representing all
the houses in the quarter, not just the top third). Yet, as with The Mirror of Yoshi-
wara Beauties, Compared, the potential client could cross-check each yūjo in Tsuta-
ya’s guidebook published at the New Year of 1783.85
By 1784 Tsutaya was himself being configured as one of the sophisticates of
the quarter, shown as an active member of the Yoshiwara group. He was a mem-
ber of a circle that included several brothel owners and was shown in Haruma-
chi’s The Meeting of the Yoshiwara Great Sophisticates (Yoshiwara daitsū-e, 1784) with
Murata Ichibei (1754–1828), the owner of the Daimonjiya brothel; Suzuki Uemon
(1744–1810), the owner of the Ōgiya; and the owner of the Daikokuya. Akera Kankō
and other Yoshiwara sophisticates were also shown there, all performing in witty
disguise in the manner so much appreciated in those circles. As much as this
inclusion in a period book serves to connect Tsutaya to the brothel owners, it also
served those owners and the publisher to represent them as daitsū (great sophis-
ticates)—and members of an elite circle—to their readers. They were part of the
larger network of contributors, even collaborators, in the act of representing and
interpreting the Yoshiwara.
Given how much Tsutaya’s career intersected with the concerns of the
Yoshiwara quarter, his practices as the publisher and editor of the guidebooks,
and his family’s business connections in the district, there can be little doubt that
Tsutaya was acquainted with these and other brothel owners years earlier when he
produced The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared in 1776. Tsutaya continued
to publish the guidebooks throughout the rest of his career, and this form of job
printing must have provided a reliable income as well as expanded his network
of influential contacts. Indeed, Tsutaya’s affiliations with such literary figures as
Ōta Nanpo, Akera Kankō, Yadoya no Meshimori (1753–1830), and the celebrated
kabuki actor Ichikawa Danjūrō V (1741–1806), among others, developed through
the Yoshiwara circle. His affiliations with—and promotion of—artists such as
Kitagawa Utamaro (1753?–1806), Tōshūsai Sharaku (active 1794–1795), Eishōsai
Chōki (active ca. late 1790s to early 1800s), Torii Kiyonaga (1752–1815), Katsushika
Hokusai (1760–1849), and Kitao Masanobu (especially in his guise as the writer
Santō Kyōden) must have also relied upon Yoshiwara profits. He also sponsored
some of Edo’s most renowned writers, including Hōseidō Kisanji, Koikawa Haru-
machi, Kyokutei Bakin (1767–1848), and Jippensha Ikku (1765–1831). By the end of
the century, Tsutaya had become one of the most famous ukiyo-e publishers, with
even his shop in central Edo illustrated as a meisho, a famous place, in the city.
Putting this illustrated book back into its context demonstrates how it was
produced for the business of the licensed pleasure district and how it served its
needs. It was produced for and sustained by collaboration between two artists,
their publishers, the brothels, and the clients. Floating world print culture, from
guidebooks to critiques, stylebooks to sheet prints, worked as a coordinated set of
materials that packaged the Yoshiwara and its customs as a self-contained reality.
These printed things produced a kind of virtual world, an illusion sustained by,
acting within, and making profits for a material context. Making these works visu-
ally and sensually engaging as objects, and working with artists and writers to pro-
duce works that enhanced the practice of connoisseurial assessment of the Yoshi-
wara’s commodities of pleasure, The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared served
the business of the quarter. It benefited those who made and profited from sus-
taining the virtual dimension of this floating world, as well as those who sought
refuge in its illusions.
And although the quarter was established to profit from Edo’s economy of
sex, nowhere in that book is the subject of sex put explicitly on view. Rather, the
purpose of the quarter is suppressed, made covert, and conveyed through asso-
ciation, allusion, and cultural know-how. Yet, in preface and colophon, the book
named its makers, and in its images, it named the houses and the yūjo of the quar-
ter; all that has been put on view therein may be named and known and compared
with other printed materials. That this title was listed on later inventories further
attests to its status as a nameable, knowable, and visible work, one of many such
commodities openly available in the print market. It could be put into the public
sphere precisely because it did not illustrate the quarter’s commodity—the yūjo’s
real bodies and the act of sex—and its rite of sight fell within the boundaries of
what was regarded as suitable for the genre.
C hapter 3
Unrolling Pictures for the

Erotic Imagination
A Designer, His Publisher, and The Scroll of the Sleeve
A small handscroll is set on the table. Untying its silken cords and slowly
unrolling the scroll from right to left, the viewer opens the work and reads the first
lines of the frontispiece (figure 3.1):
To begin, yin and yang were formed from the midst of chaos. The heav-
enly gods of the seventh generation, the deities Izanagi and Izanami,
coupled together upon the floating bridge of heaven. He said, “What rap-
ture to meet by chance such a beautiful girl,” and this was the beginning
of desire.1
The viewer, tempted by the subject described in these lines and impatient to see
what follows, rolls up this section. Noticing the seal at the end of the passage, the
viewer puzzles over its meaning—who might this be that used the seal “Admira-
tion Himself”?
Rolling up the scroll on the right and unrolling it again on the left, the viewer
observes the first image as it emerges (figure 3.2). Bold angular lines enclose a
form along the lower edge, then green brocade fabric appears at the top. Rounded
contours of robes pile up and then part, revealing a hand guiding a fully tumes-
cent penis toward the edges of a rosy vulva. Unrolling a bit more, the viewer sees
108
the robes regather to cover the bodies; sleeve edges frame the two faces. The pic-
ture shows two lovers, their bodies extending beyond the image frame, as though
cropped by and made closer in the long and narrow format. Once the scene is fully
unrolled, the viewer notices how the textiles surround the faces and genitals, draw-
ing attention to these zones of intimacy. Continuing through the scroll, rolling up
with the right hand, unrolling with the left, the soft thick paper passing under the
hands, the viewer is treated to twelve erotic scenes. This scroll is all about sex.
The act of mounting these prints in the form of a handscroll intentionally
engaged practices of viewing and made associations to the history of painting.
Viewing a handscroll is, regardless of subject, a real-time performance of exposing
and hiding. As what is shown within is disclosed, inch by inch, scene by scene, one
becomes absorbed in this kinesthetic act of viewing. The virtual world constructed
in the space of the handscroll format captures the imagination, taking on the sem-
blance of a self-contained reality, enacting what is, after all, the work of pictures.2
Handscrolls sometimes achieve this through continuity, where what is shown is
one long, panorama-like view, while some use the format to set up a sequence of
Figure 3.1. Frontispiece, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785. Woodblock print, ink
and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet: 12.6 × 67.8 cm. Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston. William Sturgis Bigelow Collection RES.09.319. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston.
Figure 3.2. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 1 (Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime), from The
Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper.
Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet: 12.6 × 67.8 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William Sturgis
Bigelow Collection RES.09.319. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Unrolling Pictures for the Erotic Imagination | 109

narrative frames. Regardless of visual structure, the handscroll as an image format
engages this process of imaginative absorption as part of its material form. Here,
the act of unrolling the handscroll harnesses the visual practices and responses
intrinsic to this format to perform for the subject of sexual pleasures. The format’s
rite of sight is used to enhance the erotic charge of its subject. Viewing, already a
voyeuristic experience, is made all the more potent in this example.
But who made this work? None of the images in this handscroll are signed.
There is no colophon at the end of the scroll. There is only that small seal, allu-
sively suggestive in the terms “Admiration Himself,” placed at the end of the fron-
tispiece: but to whom this might refer cannot be known. Authorship is thus not
being claimed through text. This act of removing those authorial markers was fol-
lowing in the practice for the production of erotica in the period. But that, as shall
be demonstrated, was more of a rhetorical move than an actual one. The hand of
the designer and the imprint of the publisher were being declared in the images;
those in the know about ukiyo-e would recognize these and other metapictorial
signs and could give names to the designer and publisher.
A Scroll for One’s Sleeve: All about Pleasure

The frontispiece and its sophisticated associations propose that the project as a
whole was designed to encourage an aesthetic evaluation. Readers of the pref-
ace are meant to appreciate both the elegance of its masterful calligraphy and the
erudition of its references. It also whets the viewer’s expectations of what will be
shown (see figure 3.2). It begins, as seen above, by locating the origin of sexual
engagement in the ancient past, in yin and yang, and with the Shinto gods Iza
nami and Izanagi, credited with creating the islands of Japan through their inter-
course. This play on archaistic texts in a historicizing mood follows typical prac-
tices for the genre of the frontispiece and would have been expected; setting up
the male god’s aside as the source of desire is a witty turn on that form. The text
then moves class by class to other living things likewise engaged. Taking it from
the top once more,
To begin, yin and yang were formed from the midst of chaos. The heav-
enly gods of the seventh generation, the deities Izanagi and Izanami, cou-
pled together upon the floating bridge of heaven. He said, “What rapture to
meet by chance such a beautiful girl,” and this was the beginning of desire.
Thereafter, from human beings to beasts and birds, insects and fish, there
is none that does not so conjoin. The noble ones above the clouds, too, steal
moments from sleep to pledge eternal vows; the fierce warrior consumed
with sexual longing, likewise, feels his heart melt; the hearts of both the
old and the young, too, palpitate before glorious hair and a face like a rose
mallow,3 and attraction to one another in this way of love becomes a dance.
The pheasant of the spring field, the deer of autumn, while their calls and
forms both differ, yet both seek out a mate the same.
By including a broad range of “things that mate” in this list—from the elemental
forces of nature and the Shinto gods, to nobles and warriors, to old and young,
and to animals and birds—this prologue performs a catalogue of sexual pairings.
It brings this subject the same kind of encyclopedic attention that was being given
to other topics such as those discussed in the previous two chapters. It acts to
make what will follow seem “natural.”
In its references as well as in its language choices throughout, the passage
conveys a classicizing air. For some readers, the opening lines would bring to
mind introductions to poetry anthologies, perhaps even to Ki no Tsurayuki’s (ca.
871–945) preface to the tenth-century A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern
(Kokinshū).4 The preamble shifts to call up well-known historical and literary allu-
sions, first with a reference to Yoshida Kenkō’s (1283–1352) famous Essays in Idle-
ness (Tsurezuregusa, 1330–1332), and then to Chinese source materials. These all
serve the purpose of adding layers of cultural referentiality, and in doing so, the
text proposes its subject as another part of that same history:
In truth, as Kenkō proposed, a man lacking in passion feels like a jeweled

wine cup without a bottom, is this not so?5 And isn’t it said that the Han
emperor would press himself up to the picture of the figure of Lady Li
painted on the wall, consoling his heart to her jewel? And then, long ago,
Emperor Yue6 exchanged sweet nothings with Xi Shi,7 too, on the kimono
sleeve of Mount Kuaiji. Fluttering brocade pictures that show indulgent
figures remove the shadows of the saddened heart and lift its thoughts.
Like the plum at the window, with its color and scent (like a woman’s
charms), this scroll of the sleeve is something to divert the heart of the
pleasure seeker.
[Seal] Admiration Himself
The cultured reader, the preface suggests, would have at his fingertips knowledge
of these sources and, through the act of recognizing those allusions, appreciate its
droll twists upon classical texts.
The text also refers to the rather unusual treatment of the subject matter
within the visual conventions of this handscroll. The image of the Han emperor

pressing his body up against the picture of his favorite—and of the literalness of
that encounter with the surface of the image—connects to the treatment of the
bodies rendered as though cropped and closer to the picture plane; the viewer
also might imagine pressing up to these images. The terms in the preface—sode
no maki, or a “scroll of the sleeve”—seem to refer, too, to this object, and thus this
metaphor has since become the title used for the work itself. It suggests that when
rolled up it might be possible for it to be slipped into a sleeve (and once more
brought close to the body). The text uses the notion of the sleeve as a place where
lovers might meet (on the sleeve of the mountain), and the call to the textile (per-
haps the sleeve again) is associated with the fluttering brocade. It is also linked to
the pictures shown within, in a pun on the term nishiki-e, or “brocade pictures,”
employed at the time for full-color prints. Calling forth the plum blossom, their
color and scent, and the erotic appeal of women, the preface makes a synesthetic
appeal to all senses.
By closing with a seal, the text follows standard practice, whereby the writer
of the introduction is granted authorship through his signature or mark. In the
previous two chapters, these provided a means of identifying the writer of the pref-
ace as the painter, publisher, or other collaborator. Although the witty sobriquet
“Admiration Himself” (Jikotsu) may not be linked to a known individual, it brings
forward the idea that this writer, just like the viewer, was engaged in the act of high
regard (even love) for what was before him (as well as perhaps feeling the same for
himself ). In the pretense of granting authorship to someone, it satisfies the view-
er’s desire for a maker while at the same time hiding whoever that might be. It is
ostensibly nodding to the requirement, under period edicts, for image designers to
be named, while slipping around, by dint of anonymity, the prohibition on works
of sexual content.
It is through image, not the text, that the attribution to designer and pub-
lisher can be established for The Scroll of the Sleeve. Turning back to look again at the
first picture in the handscroll, its subject, style, and production so closely resem-
ble two other, signed and sealed sheet prints featuring the same figures, that an
attribution can be made without hesitation (figures 3.3 and 3.4). Both comparison
images depict the meeting of the legendary lovers Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime
told in the Twelve Sections Tales (Jūniban sōshi).8 The subject was so popular that the
publisher issued these pictures in the form of a triptych and a pillar print (hashi-
ra-e). In both, Jōrurihime stands just inside the threshold to the veranda, and hold-
ing her sleeve to her mouth, she seems entranced by the handsome young man
playing his flute on the left. She is shown wearing the fashion of the early 1780s,
in an ukiyo-e repackaging of the past for the present. In form and detail her hair-
style, garments, facial features, and gestures are very similar to those of the young
woman in the erotic image, with the triptych being the closer match. Those of the
male figure, Ushiwakamaru, in his costume, court cap, and features, are likewise
repeated. The consistency in the details of line, contour, and compositional sen-
sibility between the comparison images and the handscroll secure the attribution
on the basis of style. Both the triptych and the pillar print are signed Kiyonaga ga,
or “pictured by Kiyonaga,” and thus the handscroll may now be attributed without
any reservation to the prolific Torii Kiyonaga (1752–1815). Style is also the basis for
proposing a date of circa 1785 for the erotic work.9 Text is not required for this attri-
bution: style stands in for signature.
The handscroll’s material qualities link it to the same publisher of the pil-
lar print and triptych. The erotic image was produced using the most advanced
printing techniques of its time, all shown most clearly in the triptych: high-qual-
ity paper, extremely fine carving, and a rich variation of the same hues. The pub-
lisher’s high standards are evident in the careful replication of the painter’s hand,
in the line quality and elaborate patterns. His expectations for quality printing are
apparent in the exquisite effects of overlay printing, blind embossing, saturated
tones, and expert registration of the blocks during printing. The pillar print, by
contrast, did not include as many of these finer treatments, for it likely would have
been a lower-cost item; yet it, too, demonstrates an eye for quality in the carving
Figure 3.3. Torii Kiyonaga. A Modern Version of Ushiwakamaru Serenading Jōrurihime (Mitate
Jōrurihime), ca. 1785; published by Nishimuraya Yohachi. Full-color woodblock print, ink and
color on paper. Ōban triptych, 39.4 × 72.9 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and
John T. Spaulding Collection 21.7503-5. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

and printing (but its condition has suffered). Both the triptych
and the pillar print are marked with Nishimuraya’s crest of the
peaked roof over three commas and a second seal that gives his
shop name, Eijudō. No crests or seals are necessary for The Scroll
of the Sleeve: the high standards are the publisher’s trademark.
Thus, style and production values serve as the indexical markers
for designer and publisher. This attribution would have readily
been made by viewers who knew all about floating world print-
ing, in an act of aesthetic and connoisseurial evaluation.
But these three prints, while showing the same protag-
onists, do not depict the same moment in their romance. The
story of these lovers falls along familiar narratival lines: the
young Ushiwakamaru is on a journey and is walking through a
garden when he hears the sound of a koto. Intrigued, he pauses
and peeps through the hedge to glimpse Jōrurihime, and then he
begins playing his flute in accompaniment to her playing. The
koto stops, and its musician, Jōrurihime, peeks out to see a daz-
zlingly attractive man in her garden. This is the moment shown
in the triptych and pillar print. After such a coy meeting, the story
continues with a series of attempts and rebuffs between the lov-
ers. Eventually Ushiwakamaru overcomes Jōrurihime’s scruples,
and they spend the night together; it is their tryst that is the sub-
ject of the first scene of the handscroll. The close connection
between these two moments—of first encounter and the later
tryst—and their visual representation constructs for an informed
viewer the knowledge of what came before and after. Looking
back at images of their first meeting, the viewer would no doubt
recall the tryst (and looking at the tryst brings back a memory of
the scene on the veranda). The signed and sealed image becomes
infused with all the associations made explicit in the sexual
image, in the manner of a nudge and a wink.
Figure 3.4. Torii Kiyonaga. Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime, ca. 1782;

published by Nishimuraya Yohachi. Full-color woodblock print, ink and
color on paper. Hashira-e, 68.4 × 11.6 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston—
Worcester Art Museum exchange, made possible through the Special Korean
Pottery Fund, Museum purchase with funds donated by contribution, and
Smithsonian Institution—Chinese Expedition, 1923–1924  54.365. Photograph
© 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
From this great distance in time, the attribution of the erotic image may
seem too simple, such that we might ask why it was necessary to omit signature
and crest when style and quality made the attribution so discernible. The straight-
forward reply is that since this handscroll was ostensibly in violation of period
edicts forbidding this subject matter, the publisher and designer were deftly skirt-
ing that regulation by making the work seem anonymous. Yet that act of omission
meant that Kiyonaga and Nishimuraya were in a catch-22: they were now in direct
violation of the edict that required producers’ names on all printed works. But in
doing so they were using the same work-around that all producers of erotica in the
period employed.
Nishimuraya and Kiyonaga were two of the most important and prolific
ukiyo-e figures of the mid-1780s. The publisher Nishimuraya Yohachi may be best
known in this period for his long-running series of the 1770s and 1780s The Mod-
els of Fashion: New Designs Fresh as Spring Leaves (Hinagata wakana no hatsumoyō).
However, the Eijudō publishing house was well established before that series, pro-
ducing actor prints and popular fiction from the 1760s onward and achieving con-
siderable success with designers Koryūsai and Bunchō.10 The Nishimuraya shop
achieved top-ranking status in these decades (and retained it in subsequent ones).
In 1781 Ōta Nanpo (1749–1823) ranked Nishimuraya as one of the top eight pub-
lishers of popular fiction, in a list that ordered them as follows: Tsuruya, Murataya,
Okumuraya, Matsumuraya, Nishimuraya, Iseya, Iwatoya, and Tsutaya.11
Nishimuraya Yohachi’s stature was such that writer Kyokutei Bakin (1767–
1848) included remarks about him in his Catalogue of Recent Edo Authors (Kinsei-
mono no hon Edo sakusha burui). According to Bakin, the founder of the Nishimu-
raya shop adopted the second son of Urokogataya Magobei (the publisher of
Yoshiwara guidebooks), and this adopted son became known as Nishimuraya
Yohachi.12 This act of adoption not only secured the future of the Nishimuraya
shop but also deepened its backlist: as Bakin wrote, “There is a book shop and pub-
lisher called Urokogataya in Odenmachō and the bookseller Nishimuraya Eijudō
was given his inventory. It has now been established for many years.”13 In addi-
tion, Bakin recorded remarks that Yohachi reportedly made to the writer Santō
Kyōden. These confirm that when publishers were producing commercial work,
they would commission and pay writers and illustrators a “contribution fee.” For
works where the writers and illustrators were asking to be published, there would
be no such stipend. Bakin noted that Yohachi commented that the act of publica-
tion made the names of the writers and illustrators well-known, serving as a kind
of advertisement.14 Bakin’s reports confirm the publisher’s key role in acquiring
and maintaining inventory, contracting talent, receiving commissions, and creat-
ing and marketing famous names.

Born in 1752, the designer Kiyonaga was the son of a bookseller. At the age
of ten, he entered Torii Kiyomitsu’s atelier as an apprentice; he was later adopted
into the line and given the name Torii Kiyonaga.15 Although the Torii line’s main
trade was in materials for kabuki, Kiyonaga became one of the most influential
designers of pictures of beautiful women. When his teacher, Kiyomitsu, died in
1785, the role of head of the Torii lineage had not been resolved, and two years
later, Kiyonaga became the fourth head of the Torii school.16 For the rest of his
career, Kiyonaga was occupied mainly in designing theatrical materials and in
training the fifth master of the Torii school, Kiyomitsu’s grandson, Kiyomine
(later Kiyomitsu II, 1787–1868).17 Kiyonaga died in 1815 on the twenty-first day of
the fifth month at the age of sixty-three and was interred at Ekōin Temple near
Ryōgoku Bridge.18
Nishimuraya was one of Kiyonaga’s most consistent employers. Kiyonaga
illustrated Nishimuraya’s deluxe book Colors of the Triple Dawn (Saishiki mitsu no
asa), produced for the New Year of 1787 (figure 3.5).19 The pictured signboard in
front bears large characters reading honton’ya, or “publisher-owned bookshop,”
with Eijudō and Nishimuraya glossed in smaller text on the right and left, respec-
tively. The shop’s crest tops the sign and is emblazoned on the curtain to the right.
Another sign, posted on the pillar on the left side of the image, partially obscured
by the pine decoration, gives the title of this book and the name Torii Kiyonaga, in
what is effectively a little intratextual referentiality. The print visible at the front of
the shop and the popular book held by the young boy display two products within
the picture, and with the picture itself, serve to represent three forms of Eijudō
products: single-sheet prints, illustrated fiction, and the deluxe printed album.
Kiyonaga, too, is well represented in this image: through his name, through the
print of the yūjo on display, and through the design of the picture. It is an embod-
iment and emblem of their collaboration: Nishimuraya published more Kiyonaga
images than did any other publisher, particularly between 1777 and 1786, and their
affiliation lasted until the latter part of Kiyonaga’s life.20
Kiyonaga’s oeuvre is estimated to reach a total of 1,152 sheet prints and
sets, 161 book titles, and numerous paintings.21 Of the sheet prints, 551 (or some
43 percent) include publisher’s seals. The remaining 57 percent do not include
documentation for publishers, but these may have been issued, as was often the
case, with a paper wrapper (tsutsumigami) bearing the publisher’s information
(and, being covers, these wrappers rarely survive).22 Nishimuraya’s seal appears on
323 of those sheet prints bearing publisher’s crests, making up nearly 59 percent
of his publisher-affiliated output. The next largest number issued by a single pub-
lisher, Takatsuya Isuke, is just under 11 percent of the 551 designs, and those by
other publishers decline significantly.23 As ukiyo-e scholar Tanabe Masako points
Figure 3.5. Torii Kiyonaga. Illustration of the Eijudō shop, from Colors of the Triple Dawn (Saishiki
mitsu no asa), 1787; published by Nishimuraya Yohachi. Full-color woodblock printed book, ink
and color on paper. Ōhon, 25.5 × 19.3 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Nellie Parney Carter
Collection—Bequest of Nellie Parney Carter 34.395. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston.
out, in some cases where there are reprints of the same image, often an earlier
impression of a print may not include a publisher’s seal, but a later impression of
the same image will. This and other features suggest that it became increasingly
important for publishers to identify their work over the course of the 1770s and
1780s, both as a matter of marking as well as marketing production.24 In addition,
Nishimuraya seems to have been committed to sponsoring Kiyonaga designs in
the pillar print format. Of the 124 Kiyonaga designs for this format, only 34 bear
publisher’s seals, and all are Nishimuraya seals. Thus, style, production quality,
and pattern of activity further support the attribution of The Scroll of the Sleeve to
Kiyonaga and Nishimuraya.
Designer and publisher would have made a conscious decision to employ
the pillar print as the format for this erotic handscroll. What is striking here is that
they have used a format more commonly seen in a vertical orientation (whether
mounted or not), although this subject was rarely shown in vertical pillar prints.

Turning it ninety degrees to the horizontal and offering it in the form of a hand-
scroll seems consistent with a kind of floating world ironic logic as well as serves
the subject depicted. But Kiyonaga was not the first to use the format in this way,
as Hayashi Yoshikazu has previously noted,25 and the visual pun implicit in turn-
ing something sideways would no doubt have been appreciated. Moreover, in
selecting this format, they were capitalizing on its popularity in the later decades
of the eighteenth century and further enhancing this charged imagery.
Known in the period as pillar hung (hashira-kake) or pillar applied (hashira-
kakushi), the format type matched the dimensions achieved by cutting one stan-
dard paper size into four strips, achieving the dimensions of twelve to thirteen cen-
timeters in one dimension and seventy to seventy-six centimeters in the other.26
Pillar prints were sold mounted on paper backings (like hanging scrolls) and as
individual sheets that might be applied to other surfaces.27 The fact that the stan-
dard pillar in domestic architecture at the time was 12.1 centimeters suggests that
there may be a deliberate consonance between structure and format size.28
Pillar prints often played with the visual experience of peeking through
a parted sliding door or through the slit of a window. Some designers used the
length of the composition to show figures standing or en promenade. The length-
ened format was useful in other visual configurations such as showing indi-
viduals on several levels of a building, of dreamers and their visions, of people
playing with things flying through the air, and the like. Designers also cropped
compositions from other formats (as the comparisons above suggest). The for-
mat was so well-known that it was described in period literature. In 1782 Santō
Kyōden’s Things for Sale You Know All About (Gozonji no shōbaimono) included
it as one form of printed material that had been transformed into a character
in his story. The protagonist is a yellow-backed novel (kibyōshi), and his lovely
young pillar print (hashira-kakushi) sister is in love with a handsome actor print.29
Shikitei Sanba’s Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A Spurious History of
Popular Illustrated Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki-hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke
nendaiki, 1802) included notes on the history of floating world books and pictures
throughout, as part of a history of the print trade. In one scene, Sanba’s cartouche
notes that “Suzuki Harunobu and Isoda Koryūsai’s pictures of women [onna-e] in
single sheets are of the first rank. ‘Pillar pictures’ [hashira-kakushi] and picture
books of women [onna-ehon] are popular.”30 Sanba continued, two pages later, with
this comment: “From Koryūsai pillar hangings of pictures of women came out in
great numbers; more and more likewise from Kiyonaga, too; and they were used
by everyone.”31
Taking a popular format that was known as a specialty of the designer, and
one that had so many associations with beauties (as objects of the gaze), brought
all those connotations to The Scroll of the Sleeve. Vertical prints could be used to
reveal parts of the body to the gaze—for example, in compositions where robes
part to show ankles, thighs, or breasts—but very few used that orientation to show
figures having sex. Rotating that vertical format seems to have posed a different
kind of visual problem, albeit one that seems almost rhetorical: what might hap-
pen when that compositional area became so definitively horizontal? That stand-
ing figures would lie down—and they would do what it was that people do when
lying down and not sleeping—seems to be the reply that is being offered by the
shift in orientation.
The Subject of Sex in Pictures

This was not Kiyonaga’s first foray into the field of erotica, although it is argu-
ably the most beautifully produced.32 Nine works with sexual content have been
attributed to Kiyonaga, and seven of these may be securely dated by style to the
period between 1783 and 1787.33 The Scroll of the Sleeve was made during that period
of highest production, and it seems evident that publisher and designer were mak-
ing this work with a specific audience in mind, one that could afford what must
have been a relatively expensive item. Given the high production values, it may be
possible to postulate that the work was made not entirely as a speculative venture
but one where its primary patrons provided a partial subvention or subscribed in
advance.
As noted above, Nishimuraya and Kiyonaga were, however, in violation of
standing regulations. In 1722 shogunal edicts banned erotica as part of an omni-
bus of prohibitions:
(1) New books which contained depraved or divergent opinions on the

subjects of Confucianism, Buddhism, Shintoism, medicine, or poetry
were prohibited; (2) kōshokubon [erotic books] were not to be printed;
(3) it was prohibited to publish matters about anyone’s family back-
ground or ancestors; (4) all books were to list the author’s and publish-
er’s names in the colophon; (5) no one was to publish about Tokugawa
Ieyasu or his family. Special permission might be requested at the office
of the commissioner.34
One thing that is clear from this list of tabooed subjects is that the shogunate
had a vested interest in restricting expression that might damage the status quo.
The political (the Tokugawa), the ancestral (particularly for some families), reli-
gious and philosophical, poetry and medicine were all categories of knowledge

that were apparently important to control. The terse ban of erotica in this list sug-
gests that this zone of representation, too, was seen as having the potential to be
socially destabilizing if it were not kept within specific boundaries. Requiring
the names of writers and publishers meant that violators could be prosecuted.
The floating world solution for erotica—as well as for the other subjects—was
simply to leave it unsigned. The high number of erotic works that remain from
the period suggest that it was not really a subject that was regarded as worth
patrolling—the ban seems as much rhetorical as anything else—and that at the
same time it was regarded by its makers as an underground form of expression,
one that existed in contradistinction to official rhetorics.35 In fact, the few cases
from the eighteenth century when practitioners were called in under suspicion of
breaching period restrictions were nearly all political; none were accused of violat-
ing the ban on erotica.
There was, indeed, no shortage of kōshokubon—literally, “liking sex”
books—and their trade was regulated through the publishers’ guilds. Peter Kor-
nicki describes how this was managed in Osaka:
The guilds were much exercised at least in public, about the possibility
of members handling undesirable books in the retail sides of their busi-
nesses. In 1735 the Osaka guild issued a list of seven banned kōshokubon
which members were supposed not to sell, and in 1740 introduced a sys-
tem of fines for members found selling erotic pictures. In 1795 the guild
was warned by a member of the urban administration that some book-
shops had kōshokubon on display and that this could cause problems for
the guild. Again, the Osaka guild does not appear to have suffered in any
way from the willingness of its members to flout the law.36
In 1771 the Kyoto booksellers’ guild produced a Catalogue of Banned Books (Kinsho
mokuroku) to assist members in tracking blacklisted titles. As Kornicki points out,
it also had a second function: “The presence of a title in the list indicates that the
compilers were actually familiar with the book in question and that books were
actually circulating in defiance of the law. Kinsho mokuroku could also be read,
therefore, as a bibliographic guide to such works.”37 Erotic books were circulating,
too, through the lending libraries (kashihon’ya).38
Whether or not scofflaws were brought in for official review for violating
any ban depended in large part upon the current shogunal administration and its
goals. If subjected to inquiry and found guilty, the punishment could be severe
and used as an example to others, as in the well-known case of publisher Tsutaya
Jūzaburō and writer-illustrator Santō Kyōden in 1791 (discussed in chapter 4).
To generalize, as long as certain subjects were not taken on directly, most of the
time officials turned a blind eye to, or perhaps were not informed of or able to
decode, the range of infractions.
Nevertheless, the repeated injunctions in the edicts against these books
about sex signal that they remained a point of official attention—or at least of rhe-
torical concern.39 From the number of extant works of erotica from the period,
and the actions taken in the Osaka and Kyoto guilds, it is also clear, first, that this
genre was deemed profitable enough to take the risk. (Although there are clearly
moments when some producers deemed it too risky, as it may have been for Uta-
maro in the early 1790s.40) The large number of extant volumes and the continued
production within the genre, as well as the circulation of these works through the
book lenders, also demonstrate that although prohibited these works were rarely
censored. Had censorship been actively pursued and effectively enforced, it seems
unlikely that so many works would have been produced or remain extant today.41
With so many ukiyo-e designers having designed erotica, and with so much
surviving from the period, it is clear that representing this subject matter was part
of the typical practice for many floating world designers. The high numbers of
extant material have also been used to argue that, while there may have been an
official prohibition against this material, there was no social stigma surrounding
it. However, this generalization deserves reevaluation through closer studies of
individual works within specific contexts. In brief, like other subjects in ukiyo-e,
it is important to consider the production of erotica within a context of changing
fashions and markets as well as political and social contexts of time and location.
It would also behoove us to look at the production rates for individual designers—
for some produced few while others produced many—as a point of inquiry. It may
also be possible to consider the publishers—for they actually produced the work—
as well as to chart other patterns of activity and consumption.
That the term kōshokubon was used in these and other period documents
demonstrates that it functioned for period officials as a category designation. Today
the term shunga, or, literally, “spring pictures,” is most often employed to describe
works depicting sex acts.42 In modern publications shunga is used as though it
were a standard genre descriptor, but this has been challenged on the grounds that
it was not the term used in official documents. It was also not the only term used
in the period—for indeed there were many others. Thus, one debate in the field
has been what to call works depicting sexual activity. The range of terms used in
the period demonstrates a linguistic pleasure in variety and nuance as well as per-
ceptible distinctions in the taxonomy of representation.43 While the debate over
period terminology is beyond the scope of this project, it is worth bringing for-
ward the critique that employing shunga as the dominant organizing term lends

authority to what is, after all, a euphemism. It also gives the impression that appli-
cable terms available in English (or other languages) are not relevant—that there
is a linguistic lack that can be filled only by the term shunga. This usage further
implies that there is something unique about Japanese representations of sex that
must be described using a Japanese term. (My use of the term yūjo in the previous
chapter might be queried on similar grounds. However, it was a legal designation
used at the time, and it does not have an equal term in English, given how much
“courtesan,” “prostitute,” and even “sex worker” are unsatisfactory alternatives.)
Privileging shunga likewise occludes how these works share features with simi-
lar imagery present in other early modern cultures around the globe. How much
using shunga exoticizes Japanese erotica (and may lead to an unconscious accep-
tance of an Orientalist mind-set) is also worthy of critical analysis.44
But if not shunga, then what? To call these works pornography is equally (if
not more) fraught. “Pornography” is also ahistorical, for this term made its appear-
ance in English in the mid-nineteenth century (and is thus a Victorian concept) and
brings associations from its incarnation in French, where le pornographe referred
to writings about prostitution.45 If not “pornography,” or shunga, why not “erotica”?
It, too, one might argue, may not be a neutral term, but it brings with it the bene-
fit of being a standard bibliographic field marker used to describe a broad range of
things that share similar features and transcend specific contexts and cultures. If
one employs “erotica” as a cataloguing term, this allows Japanese representations to
be placed into a wider, even global, sphere of similar works and to draw connections
and comparisons. Erotica, by broadening the scope, further recognizes that these
pictures and texts are part of a larger conversation about sexuality. This term, too,
may not be completely satisfactory, but by defining our use of a known term, these
Japanese materials are brought into a larger context and granted the potential to
cross modern, national boundaries. In using a term like erotica, we also turn away
from a mind-set that (at the same time that it unintentionally argues for unique-
ness) subtly supports modern claims to cultural specificity and national identity.46
Erotica, moreover, works in similar fashion as do other terms employed in
art historical discourse. For example, using the term “icon” signals in an art his-
torical discussion that the work under consideration has a votive function (even
while we may debate what exactly that was), and there is little doubt that the choice
of the term serves to mark the object under review as functionally different from
other things. Terms such as “portrait” and “history painting” likewise establish
basic function and purpose, although they may also require additional definition
for their particular contexts.
This is not to say that it is not extremely important to pay attention to the
terms that may have been used in the work itself—or by its makers—for such
terms signal how it was considered as a category of “thing.” By working through
the denotative and connotative meanings of specific period terms, the discus-
sion can encompass matters of intention as well as of reception. Interrogating
the terms that are used in accompanying texts (whereby shunga is one of many)
is likewise essential for analysis. In the case of the work that is the subject of
this chapter, another means of engaging its potential signification would be
to use its title, but that is unknown. Whether the allusive phrase sode no maki
used in the preface that now serves as its modern title was what it was called
in later eighteenth-century Japan cannot be verified. The handscroll was not
recorded in other period documents such as booksellers’ inventories, lists of
banned works, letters, diary entries, or the like. Like its makers, its title, too, was
rhetorically hidden.
Just as icons may be associated with spiritual practices, or history painting
with nation building, the fact that this handscroll was designed for sexual arousal
is also taken as given throughout this analysis. The question of actual usage is
left aside from this discussion given that no evidence for the use of this particular
work remains, and there is ample conjecture elsewhere about how period erotica
may have been employed.47 Stories, poems, and jokes about how people used erot-
ica as well as pictures showing lovers inspired by pictures must be regarded with
skepticism; these, like other fictive representations about the potential use of pic-
tures, cannot be assumed to represent actual practice or experience.48 As for who
may have looked at these pictures and found them arousing, it seems likely that a
broad range of viewers, male and female, would have done both.49 However, erotica
was produced in service to the overall macro constructs of the male gaze. Sociolo-
gist Ueno Chizuko made this point succinctly:
It is known that Edo erotica was produced, circulated and marketed as

consumption goods, by men, for men, and among men. In spite of the
indispensable presence of female sexuality in art, women are entirely
absent from the industry except as models. In this male-dominated mar-
ket, female sexuality is constructed through the male gaze.50
Bearing these points in mind, the purpose of this chapter is to approach The Scroll
of the Sleeve as part of a larger group of texts and images that had as their purpose
the pedagogies of evaluation, connoisseurship, and pleasure, produced through
the partnership of publisher, artist, and viewer. In the same way that Shigemasa
and Shunshō’s depiction of the Yoshiwara was designed to satisfy a particular taste,
not to replicate reality, so, too, are the images in The Scroll of the Sleeve designed to
offer sexual fantasies in service to other desires.

A Set of Pleasures
By employing the term sode no maki, or, literally, “sleeve’s scroll,” the frontispiece
declared that this work was intended from the start to be mounted as a hand-
scroll. Today it is held in museum collections as both a handscroll and as a group
of single-sheet prints.51 The practice of mounting prints in a handscroll was not
unusual in the period, although the album format seems to have been more often
employed by print collectors. The shogunal councillor Matsudaira Sadanobu is
known to have owned three handscrolls with sheet prints (although they seem not
to have been erotica) and to have lent them to another daimyo.52 Mounting prints
in a handscroll would have required more investment than would have placing
them in an album; putting printed things into this format also treats them like
painting, and in doing so, lends the cultural signifiers of painting to printing.
None of the prints in The Scroll of the Sleeve is numbered, and the scenes
do not follow a set narrative. Thus what might have been the intended sequence
(if there was one) cannot be known. The example held by the Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston, is beautifully preserved in what appears to be the original handscroll
mounting, and its sequence of images is used as the template for the discussion
to follow. As we shall see, three of the thirteen prints—the preface, the first, and
the last—seem to have been intended to appear in the locations where they appear
in the Boston copy, but the other ten, being separate sheets of paper, need not
have had the same fixed locations. It may be surmised, however, that the arrange-
ment of these individual sheets into the Boston handscroll would have been deter-
mined by its producers or its owners. Perhaps the sequence was determined in
Nishimuraya’s shop, and if that were the case, the sequence would represent the
intention of the publisher, perhaps in consultation with the designer, for the pre-
sentation of the work. If there was an intended progression from scene to scene,
that sequence suggests a program of assessment—a kind of awase. However, one
might also imagine a scenario wherein the purchaser purchased the prints as
individual sheets and requested that they be placed into a handscroll mounting
in a sequence that met his taste. Both possibilities implicate the act of selecting
in accord with desires shaped by larger social and cultural mores. Each scene is
framed as a self-contained moment; this is not a set of images that tell a single
story, rather this is a medley of erotic scenarios.
The scene of the young lovers Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime is the first
scene in the Boston scroll, following directly after the frontispiece (see figures
3.1 and 3.2). Having an opening scene bearing allusions to the so-called classi-
cal was standard in works of erotica, and it serves to reinforce the elegance of the
frontispiece, too. The preface and first scene are thus placed in their expected
locations. The second scene, as positioned in the Boston handscroll, radically
shifts the manner of engagement from the classical to the contemporary. The
compiler of this handscroll seems to have been seeking deliberate contrast in this
juxtaposition.
In the second scene, a man encircles his arm around a woman, pulling her
closer, while she pushes her hand against her vulva; her facial expression suggests
discomfort with his intensity, and her hand gesture suggests that she is resist-
ing penetration (figure 3.6). The contrast between hands and facial expressions
implies a rough encounter, but whether it is preferred, obliged, or opposed is a
matter of speculation. Here, as with the scenes that follow, the viewer is encour-
aged to tease out the clues of costume and features to assign a social reading to the
figures shown. Since the woman’s teeth are blackened, in the practice followed by
wives and yūjo, it has been postulated that this scene may represent an encounter
between a husband and wife.53 Another scholar offers the interpretation that the
man is not her spouse but a libertine (yūyarō) who has surprised the woman alone
in the house.54 The woman’s hairstyle also closely resembles one worn by prosti-
tutes in the unlicensed district in other images by Kiyonaga, leaving open the pos-
sibility that she may be a middle-ranked professional sex worker. The juxtaposition
of these two images—between the classical and the contemporary—points to the
tastes of the patron (whether he was the publisher or the purchaser) in the hand-
scroll’s program of pleasure.
The next scene offers the evaluative gaze the opportunity to appraise another
pairing, this time a lady-in-waiting and her lover (figure 3.7). The compositional
rhythm follows the precedent of the previous two; unrolling reveals first the lower
portion of the body, then the genitalia, then the upper bodies and faces. The woman
here may be identified as a goten jochū, a female servant in a high-ranking daimyo’s
or even the shogun’s household, as indicated by her silk headdress (tsunokakushi).
The implied narrative is that this woman has used an excuse of going to the shrine
Figure 3.6. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 2, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca.
1785. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet: 12.6 ×
67.8 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William Sturgis Bigelow Collection RES.09.319.

Figure 3.7. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 3, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785.
Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet: 12.6 ×
to meet her lover but has instead gone to a liaison teahouse (deai chaya). She is so
eager that she has not even removed her tabi socks.55
Kiyonaga showed this high-ranking female type in other pillar prints,
including one published by Nishimuraya (figure 3.8). Here, the lady-in-waiting is
treated like any other beauty making her promenade. Displaying her figure in uki-
yo-e puts a person of status (and who perhaps should have remained unseen) into
a representational context where she is made available for all, regardless of station,
to see. To make one further shift, from the public eye into the realm of the erotic,
parodies the assumed propriety of such a figure. Viewers in the know might asso-
ciate her with scandals concerning women of her rank, most famously the Lady
Ejima incident of 1714. After having completed her required visit to the temple
Zōjōji, Ejima, a high-ranking lady-in-waiting in the household of the mother of the
shogun Ietsugu (r. 1709–1716), declined the invitation to meet with the abbot and,
accompanied by eleven attendants, made a detour to the Yamamuraza kabuki the-
ater. There they met and drank with Ejima’s lover, actor Ikushima Shingorō and
others from the theater; stories of the event spread, and it soon came to light that
Ejima and Shingorō had been lovers for nine years. Punishments rained down on
all participants: the ladies were sent to serve other daimyo, and Shingorō was exiled
to Miyakejima. In addition, the theater was closed, its structure demolished, and
its assets seized.56 With this as their background, both images are further charged
with disruptive social implications (as a kind of carnivalesque play on status) at the
same time as they are also infused with erotic associations. The lady-in-waiting’s
journey may be implied in the vertical pillar print, but it is made explicit in The
Scroll of the Sleeve.
This comparison between horizontal and vertical prints also demonstrates
Kiyonaga’s period stylization of the female figure. In his earlier work he drew
inspiration from Shigemasa’s distinctive style of the mid to later 1770s (such as
figure 2.6). Over the course of the next decade, Kiyonaga elon-
gated the female figure and developed a new type for ukiyo-e. As
Kobayashi Tadashi has noted, this shift to a taller figure began in
the early 1780s, at the same time that Kiyonaga stopped design-
ing for the smaller chūban format and shifted to the larger ōban.57
Perhaps not coincidentally Kiyonaga began making his figures
taller, extending the proportions of the figure beyond those used
in previous decades, a change that was feasible in part due to the
larger size of the paper. Kiyonaga’s beauties achieve proportions
of a ratio of eight heads to the body, in contrast to the previous
standard of six heads to the body. The result is a more statuesque
figure, and a shift in beauty standards, but, Kobayashi notes, not
one necessarily based upon the actual height of women of the
day. At the end of the Tenmei era, the average size for a woman
was 140 to 150 centimeters (approximately 55 to 59 inches) tall,
while Kiyonaga’s figures often appear much taller, as much as
170 centimeters (66 inches).58
As Kobayashi proposes, Kiyonaga may have been basing
his new standard upon ideas of bodily proportions that were
coming to Japan from Western books, such as may be seen in
The Great Book of Painting (Het groot schilderboek) illustrated by
Gérard de Lairesse (1640–1711). Published in Amsterdam in 1707,
this book was acquired by the Western studies scholar Hiraga
Gennai (1728–1779) through the Dutch trade in Nagasaki; like-
wise the painter Satake Shozan (1748–1785) made copies after the
illustrations of human proportions from this book in a sketch-
book in about 1778.59 Perhaps Kiyonaga had access to this mate-
rial, as Kobayashi suggests, or learned of it through another
source. Similar books circulating in Edo at the time, such as
The New Book of Anatomy (Kaitai shinsho, 1774), also represented
European concepts about the human body. Kiyonaga may thus
have been responding both to period trends and to the increased
Figure 3.8. Torii Kiyonaga. Lady-in-Waiting Crossing Nihonbashi (Nihonbashi

wo wataru seizō no onna), ca. 1783; published by Nishimuraya Yohachi. The
poem reads: Hatsuzora ya / Fuji o mikaesu / Nihonbashi (Oh! The sky on
the morning of the New Year / Looking back at Fuji / Nihonbashi). Full-
color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Hashira-e, 70 × 11.4 cm.
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John T. Spaulding Collection
21.5512. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

dimensions of paper formats that came to be preferred in the later eighteenth
century. Regardless, what is significant is that Kiyonaga radically redesigned the
female figure, establishing a template that subsequent designers further enhanced.
The presentation of the figures is reversed in the fourth scene in The Scroll
of the Sleeve, with the faces of the figures revealed first as one unrolls the hand-
scroll. Kiyonaga presents another Edocentric fantasy: that of an encounter between
an urbane Edo man and a rustic charcoal seller from Yase (a village on the out-
skirts of Kyoto) (figure 3.9). The charcoal seller from Yase and the kindling seller
from Ohara were already established as sexualized figures in Edo-period images.60
They were shown in other period materials, such as Nishikawa Sukenobu’s Pic-
ture Book of One Hundred Women (Hyakunin jorō shinasadame, 1723) (figure 3.10).
The Yase charcoal seller, shown on the right, wears a garment of a similar pattern
as that in Kiyonaga’s image and thus seems like a potential source for his design.
As country lasses, the Ohara kindling and Yase charcoal sellers arguably occupied
a similar zone of erotic fantasy as the shepherdess in the European imagination
and the farmer’s daughter in the American one. The so-called Edo rogue may have
been more than just a stand-in for the street-smart and sexy lad; it has been sug-
gested that the crest on the back of his robe marked him as a representative of the
Yotsumeya shop in the Ryōgoku district, a well-known provider of sexual potency
medicines.61 If this is a form of product placement, her curled toes at the left of the
image prove the point, the tangible expression of city potency over country natu-
ralism. As such, the image emphatically celebrates the Edoite, playing once again
with appropriation and with the tension between the modern (Edo) and the classi-
cal and nostalgic (Kyoto).62 The design here is particularly skillful, in the dynamic
interplay of line, color, and printed texture, to suggest the many layers and textures
of textiles, skin, hair, and charcoal, and to the weight of bodies, as calls to engage-
ment to the sense of touch.
1785. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet: 12.6 ×
Figure 3.10. Nishikawa Sukenobu. Illustration of Yase charcoal seller and Ohara firewood
seller. The figures are identified here as Yase no kurogi uri (right) and Ohara no shiba uri
(left). From Picture Book of One Hundred Women (Hyakunin jorō shinasadame), 1723, vol. 1.
Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Ōhon, 25.7 × 37.3 cm. Waseda University Library.
In the scenes discussed thus far, aspects of the classical, class, and moder-
nity have been turned on their sides in their transference from one cultural zone
into the erotic. Each has also been designed to produce an affect of engagement
on visual as well as narratival lines—in a manner that likewise suggests a prac-
tice of connoisseurial appraisal that is in keeping with the times. Through the
1780s being tsū—to have expertise in traversing social customs—was, as it had
been in the previous decade, a desired quality for men. Many of the images in The
Scroll of the Sleeve seem gauged to instruct, inform, and amuse such a sophisti-
cated viewer through cultural allusions and visual comparisons. Ushiwakamaru
has wooed Jorūrihime through poetry, but the placement of the second scene, with
its implications of resistance, might suggest that the organizer of the handscroll
was seeking the contrast of opposition. Likewise the juxtaposition between the
lady-in-waiting and her lover with the (presumably) en plein air encounter of the

Figure 3.11. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 5, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki), ca. 1785.
Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet: 12.6 × 67.8
cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William Sturgis Bigelow Collection RES.09.319. Photograph
© 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Edo tradesman and the Yase charcoal seller underscores the potential excitement
achieved through social difference and fantasy. The viewer is called upon again to
act as a connoisseur of the selected representations before him; once more, pro-
duction and reception are being presented as judged and selected (awase).
In the fifth scene, the bodies are reversed again, and as the scroll opens feet
appear first and faces last (figure 3.11). Her expression, mouth slightly open to
show blackened teeth, suggests intense desire, while his raised head and glance
to the right express attention, perhaps even concern or surprise, at how assert-
ively she is taking control of this encounter. The woman is wearing a thick kihachi-
jō-style robe of yellow silk, woven with a pattern of brown stripes, of the kind worn
after the bath.63 As with previous examples, this small detail allows one to con-
struct a potential narrative: here, that she has caught the man completely naked on
his way to his bath and cannot wait to climb on top of him. Her action functions as
a literal inversion of those that came before, set in high contrast against the open-
ing scene’s elegant standard. As such, it makes the somewhat awkward quality of
their encounter comic, manifest most clearly in the misalignment of their genitals
and in the contrast between their facial expressions.
If The Scroll of the Sleeve has been organized to present these images in
a sequence that produces an effect through juxtaposition and rhythm, with per-
haps the designer participating in the selection of subjects to meet that end,
that mood has shifted from the rustic fantasy of the fourth scene to the gender
inversion of the fifth. The sixth scene presents another mood, one that might be
regarded as the antithesis of what has been presented previously. Reversing the
alignment of the bodies, with the lacquered pillow framing the right side, the cou-
ple shown here is resting, presumably after coitus (figure 3.12). Her raised arm,
shown white against the deep black of lacquer and the attenuated line of her hair,
his hand resting against her red cotton under robe, and their intertwined legs
read as the gestures of a middle-aged couple long familiar with one another. His
face, presented in full view, teeth visible through parted lips, is meant to be some-
what amusing in the ukiyo-e rhetoric of facial types and in its placement near her
underarm hair. Just as the previous image might raise a query about commen-
tary, modern viewers may wonder whether this image serves to celebrate the long-
term companionship enjoyed by this couple (in a rather rare scene of middle-aged
love64). It may also gently mock the man’s deflating member, signaling that he has
lost his former stamina (this may seem all the more the case when put in contrast
to the previous scenes), casting the scene as humorous. Regardless, with this pre-
sented halfway through the handscroll, it is clear that Kiyonaga is representing a
compendium of possible pairings, a catalogue of types drawn from fiction, fantasy,
and the quotidian.
The seventh image in the Boston handscroll features a figure that can be
identified as a geisha from the Fukagawa district (figure 3.13).65 Kiyonaga showed
this social type in other prints, for example in the pillar print shown in figure
3.14, as well as in another book of erotica, Twelve Scenes of the Way of Sex (Shikidō
1785. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet:
12.6 × 67.8 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William Sturgis Bigelow Collection RES.09.319.

jūniban, ca. 1782). These women were identified by their cos-
tumes and known at the time to be unlicensed sex workers (often
called haori geisha). The erotic image is a rather unusual exam-
ple in Kiyonaga’s oeuvre where the couple is engaged in anal sex,
and it is this subject, as well as the manner of presentation, that
makes it possible to connect it to a possible image source.
Two precedents for this image have been proposed, a paint-
ing by Tsukioka Settei (1710–1786) and a set of prints attributed
to Shimokōbe Shūsui (d. 1789); both artists were active in the
Kamigata (Kyoto-Osaka) region. Both works share with The Scroll
of the Sleeve the use of the narrow pillar print format, and both
also feature a similar scene of anal penetration. In Settei’s paint-
ing, the image that most closely relates to Kiyonaga’s scene rep-
resents the pairing of the mature man with an idealized youth
(the wakashu).66 The Shūsui-attributed version is notably much
smaller than The Scroll of the Sleeve67 and has switched the fig-
ures to a male-female pairing. The shift in sex partners as well
as its status as a printed work makes the Shūsui more likely as
a source for Kiyonaga (figure 3.15). Although the composition
is not a complete match, the overall approach—as well as Shū-
sui’s choice to depict the penetrated figure as female—makes
this compelling as a likely precedent for The Scroll of the Sleeve.
Kiyonaga made modifications to Shūsui’s design, shifting the
man’s face to the foreground and lessening the expression of dis-
comfort on the woman’s face; instead of crying out and wringing
her hands as she does in the Shūsui version, Kiyonaga’s woman
brings her hand close to her mouth, as though to bite it, and
tightly closes her eyes, while the man seems stoically intent. The
man’s striped garment flows over and around the bodies, enclos-
ing the woman’s tie-dyed patterned (shibori) robe and red under
robe on one side. Kiyonaga’s adaptation emphasizes refinement
in design over bodily expression.
Shifting social pairings again in the eighth scene of the Bos-
ton scroll, Kiyonaga presents a young pair that has presumably
Figure 3.14. Torii Kiyonaga. Geisha Boarding a Boat (Fune ni noru geisha),
ca. 1782. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Hashira-e; 69.9
× 12.1 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John T. Spaulding
Collection 21.5531. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Figure 3.15. Shimokōbe Shūsui. One from a set of twelve untitled prints, ca. 1771. Color
woodblock print, ink and color on paper. 7.1–7.5 × 52–52.5 cm. Bibliothèque nationale de France.
interrupted their calligraphy lesson, the practice book thrown to the side (figure
3.16). Above their heads is a portable desk and calligraphy practice book. The text
in the book reads “Now, to everyone there who entertained me at the New Year’s
occasion” (Mairasesoro minaminasama asobashi otoshi mukahe), and it employs a
variation on a phrase used by women in the period as an opening for a letter.68
Again, the robes are parted to reveal the pair in coitus, but in a manner that seems
more discreet by comparison with those previous, perhaps in deference to the sub-
ject. Neither partner has yet developed the secondary sexual characteristic of pubic
hair, indicating that both are still adolescents, and this is in keeping, too, with their
hairstyles and costumes.69
As the ninth image opens, the scene reveals a young woman hiding her
face behind her red-dyed shibori robe as she looks directly into the eyes of a more
mature man (figure 3.17). He wets his fingers, as though providing lubrication
before his penis enters her vulva. Her long sleeve ripples between their faces, and
her white under robe gathers between their bodies, elements of a costume appro-
priate for a yūjo in training (furisode shinzō). This image has been identified as her
deflowering by an experienced patron; this event, known as the mizu-age, was an
expensive and fetishized pleasure for connoisseurs of the licensed quarters.70

Another impression of this image is the only known sheet that includes
printed dialogue between the figures. Although such texts are common in many
works of erotica, none are present throughout the Boston scroll, and it may be
argued with conviction that text was not included in the images that constitute
the first printing of The Scroll of the Sleeve. The text added to this later impression
(perhaps directly in the key block or with inserted woodblock plugs) may be trans-
lated as follows:
[Girl]: I love you so much, so much that I don’t know what to do, but if
you tell anyone of our relationship, I will be so embarrassed. Please, don’t
tell anyone.
[Man]: Of course I won’t tell! If anyone were to find out, I should
have a bigger problem than you.71
Another translation of this text denotes the male participant as a servant, but
how this identification was made is not clear since no such social designation is
included in the text. However, the fact that this text was added in a later impres-
sion suggests that its producers decided to spell out this scene as a tryst between
a shinzō (yūjo in training) and her lover (who, it seems, is not her client). Read-
ing the image against this text, the figures’ gestures—hers of hiding her face
behind her sleeve, his of bringing his fingers to his mouth—now suggest two
people in collusion, and the genital gesture, too, figures into this narrative of
a secret liaison.
Throughout The Scroll of the Sleeve, the bodies are cropped by the narrow
boundaries of the format. Descriptive lines demarcate the edges of the bodily
forms, contours of breasts, folds in skin, shapes of nipples and genitals, striations
of hair, and silhouettes of fingers grasping and caressing. Kiyonaga’s line is most
Figure 3.18. Shimokōbe Shūsui. One from a set of twelve untitled prints, ca. 1771. Color
woodblock print, ink and color on paper. 7.1–7.5 × 52–52.5 cm. Bibliothèque nationale de France.
developed in the treatment of facial expressions and in the description of the con-
tours of the genitals; in most images, faces and genitals are separated by swaths of
fabric, made into two distinct zones, framed by pattern and color. These are clearly
meant to be the places where the viewer focuses attention. The purpose of the
images is not to describe the bodies in a realistic manner—nor to replicate sexual
positions in a manner that seems based upon observation—but to put the expres-
sions on the faces into parallel with the genitals. Hayashi and Lane suggested that
this might be considered a kind of “sexual okubi-e,” referring to the slightly later
ukiyo-e representation of bust portraits (“large head pictures”).72 The idea is that
facial types and genitalia are matched—as a kind of sexual physiognomy—and
Kiyonaga, by making explicit these correspondences, is participating in a practice
of evaluating and typologizing that was active in the period, as I have discussed
elsewhere.73
Kiyonaga’s goal in some images, such as this one of the furisode shinzō and
her lover, is to present their bodies as though seen in a particular place, perhaps
glimpsed under a raised blind. Shūsui’s version of a similar scene seems to be
Kiyonaga’s source (figure 3.18). Kiyonaga has reversed the direction of the two fig-
ures and changed the man’s activity from stimulating the woman’s nipple to bring-
ing his hand before his mouth. By drawing the two faces closer, as though they are
looking into each other’s eyes, Kiyonaga has enhanced the charge of their secretive
tryst. But the more significant change overall is the way that Kiyonaga has turned
the bodies in space, shifting them onto a more horizontal plane, suggesting reces-
sion across the narrow field of the format. In this comparison, as with the previ-
ous, Kiyonaga’s treatment of the bodies reads as an attempt to achieve a greater
degree of naturalism.
In the tenth scene, the arrangement of the figures shifts direction once more
and represents a pair kissing during sex, their faces almost like mirror images
(figure 3.19). Both figures are nude, the zones of face and genitals separated by
only the flowing cloth of her red undergarment. It has been suggested that this
scene may represent a prostitute from the unlicensed district (okabasho), a reading

Figure 3.19. Attributed to Torii Kiyonaga. Scene 10, The Scroll of the Sleeve (Sode no maki),
ca. 1785. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Horizontal hashira-e; each sheet:
perhaps determined by her hairstyle, with its two pins and single comb.74 Another
interpretation is that her well-trimmed pubic hair may signal that she is employed
in the Yoshiwara licensed district.75 The fact that she might be either indicates the
challenge of identifying the social status of a figure where there are so few refer-
ents, but it also leaves this image open to further narrative engagement, allowing
the viewer to fill in the scenario.
Throughout The Scroll of the Sleeve, the emphasis upon the treatment of the
textiles serves as a call to the tactile senses, as though one were to imagine the feel
of cloth against skin or of the hand passing from clothing to body, enhancing the
erotic charge. It also serves to demarcate status and social role throughout, from
Ushiwakamaru’s brocade jacket to the Fukagawa geisha’s black outer robe (haori)
to the striped and dyed cottons of so many others. Here, the emphatic lack of fabric
serving as a backdrop, social marker, or encircling device draws the viewer’s atten-
tion to other descriptions of texture and touch: the curving fingers of the woman’s
left hand against the back of her thigh, the touch of the tongues in the kiss, and, of
course, the full engagement of genitals.
In the final scene of sexual intercourse, the scroll opens to show a woman
with a simpler hairstyle and blackened teeth resting against her folded arms; the
man’s face appears behind her shoulder just above her waist. Her leg is raised, its
form extending beyond the edge of the paper, with the heel dipping down in front
of the pattern of the man’s robe, above their conjoined genitals (figure 3.20). The
sash tied around her waist indicates this woman is pregnant. If one purpose of The
Scroll of the Sleeve is to show a range of social types, with this scene, Kiyonaga com-
pletes another kind of catalogue, this one of the life cycle, from youth to maturity,
pregnancy to middle age. Yet this catalogue, like so many other erotic works from
the same moment, leaves out bodies of advanced age, an omission that may likely
be ascribed to period preferences.
Upon Closer Viewing

It was typical at the time that sets of images should come in a standard number,
and twelve pictures in a set (with or without a frontispiece text) was one of the
more common, an organizational scheme based upon the twelve months of the
year. Sets of erotica thus often include twelve images, and the viewer proceeding
through this scroll, having seen the frontispiece and eleven pictures, would expect
that it would end with one more scene of sexual engagement. However, this group
ends with an altogether different image: three circular close-ups of genitals with
explanatory labels (figure 3.21).
This is a radical shift in composition, from the horizontal, full body to the
encircled bodily part shown in larger scale. The text to the right of each vignette
describes the qualities of the female genitals as shown. The first, on the right,
reads, “Picture of the newly opening manjū” (Manjū shinkai no zu) and employs
the slang “sweet bean-paste bun” (manjū) to describe the vulva of a young woman.
This type is further described with the kanji compound shinkai, which can also be
read arabachi, identified by some interpreters as signaling the intact, or virginal,
state;76 shinkai was also a term used in period erotic manuals. The picture frames
her pudendum with textiles; the patterns on the right are appropriate for a young
woman, and the white spotted robe on the left for a man. The man’s hand pulls up
her robes as her hand grasps his wrist, in a gesture that may be read as permissive.
Her genitals do not yet have pubic hair, signaling that she is an adolescent, and the
rendering of her vulva as small and rather delicate seems in accordance with one
frequent treatment of the shinkai type.
The circle at the center of this sheet shows a white underskirt drawn back to
the left and along the lower edge of the composition to reveal two fingers palpating
a vulva from the rear. On the right, outside the circular frame, the text describes

this scene as “Picture of the opening of the highest quality” (Jōbon kai no zu). In
my translation of these terms I have rendered the character kai in its literal mean-
ing as “opening,” but the same character can also be read as tsubi or bobo, long-
used terms for the vulva.77 The text and image suggest that quality of the vulva is
under evaluation, with that act of assessment put on display for the viewer’s edifi-
cation and appraisal.
The set of three images ends with the most explicit text and representa-
tion. With a label that reads “Picture of the lascivious opening” (Inran kai no zu),
the third image shows a man’s erect penis beside the vulva, his hand opening the
labia as he prepares to enter from behind.78 The presentation and treatment of this
vulva, with its prolific hair and greater size, is likely meant to represent the genita-
lia of a more mature woman. The red under robes shown in the first and third cir-
cles act like curtains to frame the composition of the three roundels. This is a set
of things, appraised and ranked. The vulva rated superior is in the center, flanked
on right and left by the youthful and the more experienced.
It is in this final set of three images that the voyeuristic impulse is most
acutely engaged. Throughout The Scroll of the Sleeve, the extreme cropping of the
bodies and their gradual exposure through the act of unrolling the scroll have
implied a view through a narrow, horizontal space. Here the viewer is made to
peer through another frame, this time of the circle itself. This presentation refers
explicitly to contemporary interest in imported viewing devices, such as magni-
fying glasses, telescopes, microscopes, peep boxes, and the like. The interpreta-
tion of vision and of the act of seeing itself was transformed by these devices, as
Timon Screech has argued so effectively in his study of European viewing devices,
and looking at things closer was also associated with the act of categorization and
appraisal in both scientific and amateur practices.79 Kiyonaga referenced this kind
of viewing in an image of Nihonbashi from the Eight Views of Edo (Edo hakkei),
where the encircled view and extreme recession along the bridge mimicked the
experience of looking through a telescope (figure 3.22).
The telescope was often used as a device in erotica as a means of cuing
or representing the act of spying upon an object of interest. A few years later,
about 1789, Utamaro and Shunchō showed it in use in the opening scene of an
erotic book, Picture Book of the Princess’s First Time (Ehon hime hajime), where the
young ladies spy upon their neighbors having sex.80 Bringing viewing devices that
seemed both modern and foreign into the context of the erotic likewise transfers
one thing to make it into another. This kind of frisson was also associated with
ideas of mitate—“the comparison of things by seeing”—and of parodic play, and
likewise changes both terms.
Kiyonaga’s use of the circle form
and its potential association with view-
ing devices seem uncannily similar
to works made by two painters from
the Kansai region, Maruyama Ōkyo
and Tsukioka Settei. It is difficult to
determine whether Kiyonaga knew of
Ōkyo’s studies of human figures from
about 1770, where nude bodies are ren-
dered in detail across the plane of two
parallel handscrolls, with inset stud-
ies of body parts.81 Yet the similari-
ties of figures treated as though laid
across the horizontal axis of the hand-
scroll and of genitalia shown close-up
in circles seem compelling visual evi-
dence of the possibility that Kiyonaga
had viewed this work. Ōkyo’s proj-
ect was an ink sketch, not a printed
work, and there is no documentation
of Kiyonaga or his publisher being at
an event where the work was revealed,
thus no chain of evidence can be estab- Figure 3.22. Torii Kiyonaga. Evening Glow
lished to make this connection con- at Ryōgoku Bridge (Ryōgokubashi sekisho),
crete. The possibility exists that they from Eight Views of Edo (Edo hakkei), ca.
did see it, however, and that is made 1781; published by Nishimuraya Yohachi.
Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on
all the more likely since Ōkyo’s scroll paper. Ōban, 24.1 × 17.8 cm © Trustees of
was produced in more than one copy. the British Museum.

If either Kiyonaga or Nishimuraya had seen these designs, this would also demon-
strate the interest of Edo visual producers in mimicking Kyoto designs for another
possible market.
Yet another source of material, this time printed in Osaka, may have been
more readily available. Tsukioka Settei illustrated several printed kōshokubon
where the qualities of the genitals are described and classified by type. By focus-
ing upon these bodily parts, as one might do with a magnifying glass or with a
microscope, and ranking them, these books participate in and explain the act of
appraising what is before the viewer. In one example, from Settei’s Love Letters and
a River of Erect Precepts for Women (Onna shimegawa oeshi-bumi, ca. 1768), six kinds
of vulva (tsubi) are illustrated and their qualities explained. It describes these types
as follows:
Maiden [arabachi or shinkai]: has not yet been opened.

Top-ranking vulva [uwatsuki]: the space between it and the anus is
more than nine centimeters.
Middle-ranking vulva [chūbon]: the space after it and the anus is
about four and a half centimeters.
Low-ranking vulva [gebon]: space between it and the anus is one to
two centimeters.
Wide vulva [hirotsubi]: the vertical length of the labial folds over the
clitoris is approximately twelve centimeters. This vulva gets plenty of air
and tends not to be smelly.
Long type [sanenaga]: this vulva with long labia is just like a shop cur-
tain [noren]. Also called the “apron vulva” [maedare bobo]82
The text and its accompanying images clearly demonstrate an interest in the
period of categorizing features of the sexualized body. This book, as C. Andrew
Gerstle has discussed in detail, parodies a popular admonition and erudition
book for women, shifting the “textbook” terms from behavior to sex and offering
a kind of counterdiscourse to didacticism. As such it served as an erotic manual,
and it describes how to evaluate potential partners as well as give and receive sex-
ual pleasure for both men and women. It gives extensive instructions on vari-
ous sexual techniques as well as modes of evaluations, and in the cataloguing of
both is another example of the ways in which the pleasures of sex were treated
as a pedagogical matter.83 The passage cited above may also have been referring
to period discourses on sexual hygiene.84 Although the example discussed here
is only one page of a rather lengthy book, it demonstrates the kind of attention
paid to instructing and appraising genitalia (and male genitals are also treated to
the same kind of discussion). It also fetishizes the genitals, making them into the
object of the scopophilic gaze.
Kiyonaga likely would have known of books such as this one when he was
designing the images for The Scroll of the Sleeve. Given Kiyonaga’s close association
with Nishimuraya, there is no doubt that he and his publisher would have had the
opportunity to become familiar with a wide array of books produced in the period
and to have thought creatively about transferring and updating their models for
an Edo audience. This final set of three circular images engages both an imagined
narrative and the connoisseurial eye. As such, it completes a set of images that
have similarly engaged the eye (and mind), acting as the puncto in a lengthy, sheet-
by-sheet catalogue describing a range of sexual (and notably all male-female) possi-
bilities.85 Now at the end, the viewer would roll the scroll back up to the beginning,
and perhaps, in doing so, bring to those scenes an analysis of the genitals on dis-
play that is informed by these and other classifications.
The Scroll of the Sleeve combined format, subject, and practices to turn this
work of printing into an object that imitated painting and extended the act of
connoisseurship into the realm of sex. The many connections that I have drawn
between The Scroll of the Sleeve and related prints made by the team of Nishimu-
raya and Kiyonaga demonstrate how style and production values functioned in
ukiyo-e as authorial markers, akin to trademarking and signing; these are markers
that position them as the authors of the erotic narratives and typological order rep-
resented within. Their purpose was to whet desire, and in doing so, they predicted
and responded to period tastes, demonstrated in the selection and representation
of subject matter. If the sheets were sold mounted, the arrangement of scenes in
the Boston handscroll represents a decision made by the publisher, perhaps in
consultation with the designer. If these sheets had been purchased unmounted,
that sequence may instead demonstrate the taste of the patron. Regardless, the
owner of the Boston handscroll—whoever he might have been—would have spent
a considerable outlay for one of the most finely produced works of erotica that rei-
fied the act of being sophisticated (tsū) about the art of sex.
The specular and social status accorded to this connoisseurial gaze is like-
wise called forth by the sobriquet in the frontispiece: “Admiration Himself.” “Admi-
ration” covers the act of assessing, appraising, evaluating, and enjoying. But per-
haps this seal has a secondary, hidden meaning: might it also mean “the one who
makes love to himself,” as has been suggested?86 If so, the act of admiration is
explicitly linked with that of self-pleasuring. That term, of course, might be used
for another kind of dissembling, of the sort so often used in floating world circles,
but it has larger implications. Although this chapter has emphasized the practice
of connoisseurship in the evaluation of sex, that act was also one that was meant

to elicit pleasure through looking. It was, without a doubt, also designed to stim-
ulate desire. One might imagine a range of viewers engaged in this kind of sco-
pophilia, even as one might imagine a variety of responses. Just as the terms for
art were being replicated in Sekien’s works (as discussed in chapter 1), and those
of beauty in The Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (in chapter 2), this hand-
scroll served as a master class in the appraisal of another category: here, however,
the object of evaluation is that of forms of sexual pleasure. The act of evaluation by
looking shifts in these three examples from art to artifice, from the idealized to the
physical, in what is, in effect, another manner of material assessment.
Reflecting upon works that do not have sexual intimacy as their subject
causes one to reconsider the implicit eroticism present in such images. That is to
say, looking again at such scenes as those of Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime (see
figures 3.3 and 3.4), or the lady-in-waiting en promenade (see figure 3.8), and oth-
ers, with The Scroll of the Sleeve in mind, one may be challenged not to read those
pictures as prequels to the erotic versions. The triptych and vertical pillar prints
may then be interpreted as showing what happened before Ushiwakamaru and
Jōrurihime met under the cover of night or what this proper-looking woman from
a high-ranking household looks like on her way to a secret and prohibited encoun-
ter. These and other comparisons demonstrate the potential for slippage between
the explicit and the implicit, the displayed and the hidden, the permitted and the
prohibited. Recognizing this changes how one reads ukiyo-e images that do not
have sex as their explicit subject and further demonstrates how much these pic-
tures of the floating world engaged practices of visual classification and narratival
speculation.
Those matters of appreciation and evaluation extended into the sphere of
social life in Edo, and they were represented as cultural knowledge in sheet prints,
illustrated books, paintings, and other works. Kiyonaga and Nishimuraya collabo-
rated to produce a catalogue of recognizable social types in sheet prints, and this
handscroll served to reveal the intimate life of those familiar figures from the
present as well as from the literary past. That such a project might be deployed
to assess sexual facility as well as to label genitalia demonstrates how those con-
noisseurial codes extended fully through the social and sexual spheres. This erotic
work appropriated those subjects and shifted them from one zone to another in
service to the specular pleasures of viewing.
C hapter 4
Making Dogma into Comedy

A Writer and an Illustrator Send Up Religion
in a Popular Book
In the three preceding chapters how floating world partnerships and col-
laborative networks produced works of high technical standard for discriminat-
ing audiences was at the center of discussion. Through these case studies I have
argued that the system of connoisseurship in use made the material object—as well
as that which it represented—the object of an evaluative gaze. The talents of all con-
tributors were melded together in the purpose of creating an illusion of seeing, as
though that which was shown was representative of something observed by the art-
ists and put into print for the benefit of the viewers. These expensive projects—a
surimono, a deluxe illustrated book, and a printed handscroll—were by definition
highly valued cultural products. Floating world participants used these printed
works to replicate aesthetic aspirations and, in doing so, reinscribed social codes.
However, these kinds of deluxe objects were more the exception than the
rule in Edo printing. Inexpensive illustrated books and sheet prints were the most
widely available formats, produced in high numbers and for a broader audience.
As collaborative projects, these also shrewdly manipulated period viewing prac-
tices for novelty and interest at the same time as they played off of popular topics,
pastimes, and fads. They likewise made use of the rite of sight—and the right of
sight—to represent, reveal, and resist.1
In this chapter I engage another means through which such acts of distinc-
tion were practiced in the period. Here, the object that is at the center of our case
143
study used the printed medium to evaluate and assess popular doctrine and its
effects upon the material world. This example takes up another format: the kib-
yōshi, or “yellow-backed novel.” Between 1775 and 1806, these little books were
best sellers, offering a cheap and easy means of escaping the fixed realities of the
late eighteenth century. Savvy publishers often paired up the most talented writ-
ers and illustrators of their day in order to make a profit (although few could have
gone to the extremes Ikku described in his account of publishing a best seller
discussed in the introduction). Featuring protagonists coming undone by misap-
prehension and desire, these stories often sent up social expectations and moral
codes. Many of their narratives drew upon familiar (and often more didactic) plot
lines, such as spendthrift sons or star-crossed lovers. Some described other, more
unlikely, and even fantastic stories, such as a mermaid transformed into a dutiful
wife or conjoined twins traversing the pleasure districts. By turns slapstick and
sardonic, these tales turned daily life upside down and inside out.2 They also rep-
resented another set of Edo-period values, and in looking more closely at one of
these, this chapter offers another model of exchange between makers and their
audience.
This case study opens up another dimension of Edo culture—wherein the
low trumped the high, at least for a little while, and allowed the reader to experi-
ence a moment where the usual rules of life under the Tokugawa were suspended.
As Henri Bergson wrote in 1914, taking a close look at something humorous can
reveal much about its humorists and their audience:
For this comic spirit has a logic of its own, even in its wildest eccentric-
ities. It has a method in its madness. It dreams, I admit, but it conjures
up in its dreams visions that are at once accepted and understood by the
whole of a social group. Can it then fail to throw light for us upon the way
that human imagination works, and more, particularly social, collective,
and popular imagination? Begotten of real life and akin to art, should it
not also have something of its own to tell us about art and life? 3
Taking Bergson as a guide, this chapter endeavors to reconsider what the images
and texts of the floating world and its “logic of its comic spirit” reveal about art and
life, the social and collective imagination, the dreams and madness of Edo culture.
This chapter also takes up the fourth pairing of our quartet of collaborative
teams: that of author and illustrator. For their publishers, these novels were cheap
to produce. Small in size, printed from one set of blocks with black ink on recycled
paper, these books featured easy-to-read, quick-moving stories and abundant illus-
trations (usually in a set number of pages per volume). They were originally bound
in blue paper covers (that, due to the instability of the dyes, quickly changed to yel-
low). Like pulp fiction, these illustrated books were produced in great numbers
(in runs of thousands for popular titles); they were sold at low prices in bookshops
and rented for even less by book lenders. For writers, these pages offered a venue
where satire and in-the-know allusions could make a mockery of political restric-
tions and social conventions of their moment. Getting these books out quickly
while the joke was still relevant was clearly a goal—timing was everything—and
some books seem like simple (and sometimes even simplistic) shaggy dog stories
elaborating a one-liner. For young illustrators, the task of drawing the pictures was
often their big break into the ukiyo-e market. Becoming known as a book illustra-
tor seems to have been one of the stepping-stones in developing a career in uki-
yo-e, often leading to commissions for single-sheet prints or deluxe printed books.
This chapter takes a closer look at one of these yellow-backed books, the
Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
hayasomegusa, 1790), a collaboration between author Santō Kyōden and illustra-
tor Kitao Masayoshi (see figure 4.4 among others). As with Sekien’s ghost books,
this kibyōshi was made using only a set of single blocks to transfer the text and
image (rather than being made through the multiple-block technique). Quick-Dye
Mind Study was printed on recycled paper, as may be seen by the rougher quality
and imperfections of the paper, a sign of low material investment. Yet in being so
affordable, it had a potentially wider reach of influence, and many kibyōshi, such
as this one, show the wrinkles, abrasions, and other signs of having been read by
many. Kyōden and Masayoshi, I argue, used this format to engage in the critical
evaluation of the moral order and the place of the individual in society. In doing so,
their project functions to parse those codes, and their viewers were being invited to
do the same as they read this tale. Just as Sekien and Utamaro did for painting, Shi-
gemasa, Shunshō, and Tsutaya did for the Yoshiwara, and Kiyonaga and Nishimu-
raya did for erotic fantasy, here illustrator and writer are replicating period critical
practices of assessment (in the manner of awase). Just how much floating world
publishing was participant in a subculture that was ambivalent to—and some-
times directly opposed to—the bounds of authority becomes more apparent in this
case study. Social commentary was being hidden in plain sight.
In this chapter, I take up some of these provocative issues through a close
study of Quick-Dye Mind Study. This little book was previously translated into
English by Chris Drake and published in Haruo Shirane’s exemplary omnibus
reader Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900 (2002); nota-
bly, the translation includes small illustrations of the actual pages of the kibyōshi,
allowing the reader to compare translation with image. Here, I offer another trans-
lation of key passages to investigate this kibyōshi as a collaboration between writer,
Making Dogma into Comedy | 145

illustrator, publisher, and their audience. Rereading this kibyōshi is meant to call
attention to how it functioned as an interplay of text and image, and to discuss
how, from their conception to their construction, letter and line are fully integrated
into a verbal-visual continuum.
Politics and the Floating World in Confrontation

At the New Year of 1790, when this book was issued, the kibyōshi genre was flour-
ishing, in spite of recent restrictions enacted to rein in commercial printing. The
shogunate was in its fourth year of the social and political reorganization that
came to be known as the Kansei Reforms (Kansei Kaikaku, 1787–1793). Matsudaira
Sadanobu (1758–1829), the senior councillor (rōjū shūza) to the shogun Tokugawa
Ienari (1773–1841), was the chief architect of these reforms. From the time of his
appointment in 1787, Sadanobu sought to rectify what this administration appar-
ently regarded as the missteps of the Tenmei era by reestablishing Neo-Confucian
principles in the newly proclaimed Kansei era. Policies were promoted with the
purpose of regulating morality by stressing economy, thrift, and a return to the
“scholarly” (bun) and the “military” (bu).4 The goals of these reforms were to sta-
bilize the economy, reinforce social hierarchy, and check excess in all things. They
had a profound effect upon the social conditions surrounding the production and
reception of floating world printed matter, from sheet prints to erotica to illus-
trated books.
The reforms also quickly became the subject of critique in some floating
world printed media. Those in charge of the reforms clearly recognized that restat-
ing the restrictions on alternative expression was required. As noted, floating
world publishing had long been restricted under Tokugawa law, and edicts prohib-
ited reference to contemporary events and to historical or political figures. How-
ever, over the fifteen years prior to the publication of Quick-Dye Mind Study (under
the Tenmei regime), these restrictions had not been closely monitored, even when
print matter mocked current affairs. Shortly after the promulgation of the Kan-
sei Reforms, a number of popular books appeared that made satirical fodder out
of the new order. Not surprisingly, the official order responded by promulgating
edicts in the fifth and ninth months of 1790 (notably, only a few months after
Quick-Dye Mind Study was issued). These targeted print culture, and this time it
appeared that prosecution would be enacted for perceived violations. These were,
in effect, censorship laws, restricting subjects and modes of expression in floating
world publishing.
This was a radical shift in what had been allowed in popular print. Texts
by Kisanji, Harumachi, Tōrai Sanna (1744–1810), and Kyōden published in the
previous decade that satirized social conditions were no doubt taken as evidence
of the lax application of authority under the previous administration.5 The newly
issued edicts restricted subject matter, materials, and modes of distribution, and
although many of these edicts simply restated earlier prohibitions, this time they
were issued with the purpose of monitoring and punishing offenses. These new
prohibitions had a chilling effect upon the floating world. Several prominent writ-
ers of samurai rank departed from its literary circles. Ōta Nanpo retreated from
their world in 1787 in order to take up activities more suited to a man of his status.
Writers Kisanji and Harumachi, both samurai, were summoned in 1789 to report
to the shogunal council. Both had written light fiction lampooning the previous
administration, but that was not to be tolerated under the new one; being sum-
moned for review was clearly intended to make them into visible demonstrations
of the shogunate’s discipline. Kisanji left Edo shortly after his review, perhaps hav-
ing been posted to service in Akita Province. Harumachi, however, failed to appear
at the appointed hour. He died in the seventh month of 1789 under mysterious cir-
cumstances shortly before his appointment, perhaps, it was rumored, having cho-
sen suicide over official examination.6
By the time Quick-Dye Mind Study was put on sale in 1790, its author, Santō
Kyōden, was already a prominent figure in the genre and in floating world circles.
Kyōden made his career as an ukiyo-e illustrator under the name of Kitao Masa-
nobu with works such as The Mirror of Yoshiwara “Castle Topplers” in a New Compar-
ison of Beauties, with Their Own Calligraphy (Yoshiwara keisei shin bijin awase jihitsu
kagami, 1784) (see figure 2.26). By the mid-1780s Kyōden seems to have come to
prefer the role of author, and after his kibyōshi titled Playboy, Grilled Edo-Style (Edo-
umare uwaki no kabayaki, 1785) became a best seller, his bankability was assured.7
But Kyōden did not limit his commentary to blundering wannabe sophisticates
like the one featured in Playboy. In A Visit to Mount Fuji Cave (Fuji no hito-ana ken-
butsu, 1788), he took aim at Sadanobu’s policies in a parody of the arts of scholar-
ship and the military, setting up the street-smart Edoite as hero and the samurai
as incompetent bumbler, privileging wit over status and inverting social expecta-
tion. In this act of overturning the practices of the fixed world for the benefit of
the floating one, Kyōden was treading close to the line of what might be allowed.
In 1789, just a year before publishing Quick-Dye Mind Study, Kyōden expe-
rienced his first brush with authority. He had illustrated Ishibe Kinkō’s Black and
White Watery Mirror (Kokubyaku mizukagami), a thinly veiled tale of the real-life
attempt to assassinate former councillor Tanuma Okitsugu. The problem with
this subject was that it explicitly violated the prohibition on current events. Both
Kyōden and Kinkō were fined and warned that further infractions would not be
tolerated.8 In spite of this, Kyōden elected not to sheathe his potent wit; instead his

solution in Quick-Dye Mind Study was redirection. Like a skilled magician, Kyōden
and his collaborators used clever patter and diversion to distract the eye from see-
ing what was just before it.
Kitao Masayoshi, Kyōden’s junior in Shigemasa’s atelier, was selected to
provide the illustrations for Quick-Dye Mind Study. Masayoshi was rising in stat-
ure in ukiyo-e circles, a fact that is evident from his commission to illustrate a
full-color album of exotic birds, Pictures of Imported Birds (Kaihaku raikin zui, ca,
1790), in the same year. Masayoshi was tasked with revising studies of birds by the
Nagasaki painter Ishōsai Shūsen Genyū (1736–1824) for this project (the original
sketches are no longer extant) in what was surely an extraordinary commission for
an emerging illustrator. Later in the period Masayoshi became a prominent figure
under the name of Kuwagata Keisai, serving as painter in attendance to the daimyo
of Tsuyama in 1794, and later to Sadanobu himself.9 By 1797 he had come to be
regarded as worthy of a style book (gafu) titled How to Draw Simple Animals (Chōju
ryakugashiki); in the example shown in figure 4.1, he masterfully and simply ren-
dered cranes, bats, and sparrows turning in space. The selection of Masayoshi to
Figure 4.1. Kitao Masayoshi. How to Draw Simple Animals (Chōju ryakugashiki), 1797. Full-color
woodblock printed book, ink and color on paper. Ōhon, 26.4 × 18.5 cm. Spencer Collection,
The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations.
illustrate Kyōden’s text was in line with the usual tactics for providing up-and-com-
ers in a “house line” (here, the Kitao) the opportunity to gain a name in the popu-
lar genre of the illustrated book. His teacher, Shigemasa, and his senior colleague,
Kyōden, would surely have promoted the younger Masayoshi in this project, for
keeping the project as a Kitao-line endeavor would have been advantageous as well
as opportune.
Publisher Ōwada Yasuemon commissioned and marketed Quick-Dye Mind
Study from his shop in the center of the merchant district.10 The publisher hired
the block cutters, printers, and binders, and as the owner of the woodblocks, he
was also the owner of its content. Ōwada transferred the blocks a few years later
(sometime in the mid-Kansei era), sell-
ing them to Enomoto Kichibei. In 1794
or 1795, Enomoto apparently asked
Kyōden to reissue the book.11 Subse-
quently the blocks were sold to Tsutaya
Jūzaburō, who apparently intended to
reissue the book once more; however,
it seems that by then, Kyōden may
have elected not to agree to another
edition.12
With a publication date of the
New Year of 1790, Quick-Dye Mind
Study was in production by the latter
part of 1789. Kyōden, having just been
remonstrated, would surely have been
aware of the risks involved in taking on
a new satirical target. Yet the kibyōshi
genre—or perhaps its audience—
seemed to demand satire. Having had
their appetites whetted by juicier offer-
ings, readers would not, it seemed, be
satisfied with Neo-Confucian didacti-
cism, lightweight stories, or other fare
on offer. Kyōden, too, must have rel- Figure 4.2. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa
ished the challenge, and as literature yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye
scholar Nakayama Yūshō pointed out, Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
hayasomegusa), 1790; published by Ōwada
Kyōden’s approach was to find a new Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on
target for his satire in the Quick-Dye paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metropo
Mind Study.13 litan Library.

This kibyōshi was issued in three volumes, each with a cover, and sold as a
set bound with a wrapper; each volume included an illustrated cover (figure 4.2).
Its Japanese title, Shingaku hayasomegusa, is multivalent. Shingaku, “Learning of
the Heart-Mind,” was the name of a populist doctrine. Not so coincidentally, this
new faith was being preached in Nihonbashi, in the center of Edo and within a
few minutes’ walk of the publisher’s shop in Ōdenma-chō. The title’s second term,
hayasomegusa, means both “quick-dye plant” and “quickly colored writings,” sug-
gesting a “quick-dip” transformation through dyeing or through Shingaku teach-
ings. Combined with the first part Daikokushō uke aiuri, meaning “greatest sales
guaranteed,” the title plays with the notion of the doctrine as a product and prom-
ises it to be an effective and swift means of transformation.14
In naming Shingaku as its object, the book violated the edicts banning float-
ing world commentary on “matters of the present,” since everyone surely knew it
referred to the lectures being given nearby. Founded by Ishida Baigan (1685–1744)
in 1729, Shingaku’s central concept held that the innate nature (sei) of an individual
was originally good, but that people went astray due to ethical underdevelopment
or to the conditions under which they were living.15 Baigan’s student Teshima
Toan (1718–1786) adapted this teaching to make it more accessible to the popu-
lace.16 Toan emphasized “knowing the original mind” (honshin o shiru), return-
ing to Neo-Confucian principles of “preserving one’s original nature” (honzen no
sei) and “retrieving one’s innate knowledge of goodness” (ryōichi). Shingaku also
incorporated Zen Buddhist concepts of enlightenment through “discovering the
original mind” (honshin hatsumei) and Zen’s practice of quiet contemplation (seiza
no kufō).17 Shingaku held that as one proceeded to know the original mind, one
naturally would engage in a moral life, embracing Neo-Confucian virtues of loy-
alty and filial piety.18 Thus, Shingaku retooled several doctrines into one syncretic
whole.
Toan and his disciples taught these tenets through public lectures, often
offering free sessions for adults and children.19 By the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury, Shingaku had established 180 schools throughout the major provinces. In
1779 Toan sent his student Nakazawa Dōni (1725–1803) to Edo, and from 1781 on,
Dōni preached at his lecture hall in the heart of Nihonbashi.20 Dōni also taught
Shingaku to samurai households and was hired by Sadanobu (the shogunal coun-
cillor promoting the Kansei Reforms) to instruct the men in his employ. Thus,
Shingaku’s message of moral edification was supported by Sadanobu and, by
extension, the shogunate.21 Shingaku also used print to promote its teachings, in
handbills, short books, talismanic images, and chapbooks for children.
Quick-Dye Mind Study thus capitalized upon the popularity of Shingaku
teaching. Kyōden begins his variation with a bang (figure 4.3):
Picture books [ezōshi] stinking of
dogma are detestable. Now taking
that stinking theory and without
making it merely into a device, we
will tell children about it in these
three volumes.22 If we are able to
acquire that principle, Big Daddy
Buddha will skillfully pocket it
among his teachings and beat a
retreat. Old Man Confucius, too,
will put the Will of Heaven in his
sleeve and likewise depart. So,
too, will our country’s Big Sister,
Amaterasu, and others like her.
How they will receive it so pure
and clean!23
Although the title may have led readers

to think this book might be an easy-to-
read summary of Shingaku, straight-
away Kyōden rejects doctrine as a sub-
ject for illustrated books. In setting up
this position as the exact opposite of Figure 4.3. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masayoshi.
the reader’s expectations, he immedi- Preface to Greatest Sales Guaranteed:
ately turns this “stinking dogma” into Quick-Dye Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri:
Shingaku hayasomegusa), 1790; published by
the object of humor.24 Stating that chil- Ōwada Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book,
dren are the intended readers, Kyōden ink on paper. Chūhon,17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo
casts the subject into the realm of the Metropolitan Library.
childish, using a common dodge at the
time to avoid official rebuke.25 Kyōden then calls forth the three central doctrines
most familiar in Japan, all of which had been amalgamated into the teachings of
Toan and Dōni. Using transposition to change the solemn into the familiar, Kyōden
asserts that with a truth so powerful that the Buddha, Confucius, and Amaterasu
will employ it for their own purposes, this “quick-dye mind study” would reap the
sales guaranteed in the title. Even with these dodges, there can have been little
doubt that he intends to make light of the doctrine named in the title.
Turning the page, the reader enters into Kyōden and Masayoshi’s world (fig-
ure 4.4). In typical fashion the narrative begins at the top right. The text continues
across the upper page, staggered around the figure in the center; it then shifts on

Figure 4.4. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masayoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye Mind
Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku hayasomegusa), 1790; published by Ōwada Yasuemon.
Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metropolitan Library.
the left side to the space between the forms floating above and the clouds below.
Dialogue spoken by the standing figure is inserted at the lower right and directly
before him. This would be the conventional progress the reader would be expected
to follow as he engaged the text, but he also has the option of interrupting his read-
ing to take in the dialogue passages or to study the image. In the center, Masayo
shi’s figure is dressed like a Shinto god, holding a bubble pipe to his mouth and a
bowl in his left hand. The bubbles he blows emerge between the columns of text,
some remaining round, others becoming ovoid and irregular in shape. The text
begins as follows: “In human beings there are things called spirits.” Here Kyōden
and Masayoshi present their central conceit: there is a spirit or soul (tamashii) that
exists as a separate force in the human body.
The spirit and body are thus set up as distinct elements existing in a dual-
ity. Kyōden’s text and Masayoshi’s images represent the spirit as capable of actions
that are independent of the body, and in setting up this duality, they diverge from
Shingaku teachings. Shingaku made the essential distinction not between spirit
and body, or even mind and body, but between things that had form, visible and
material manifestations of the earth, and those that were formless, invisible but
all around us and that were from heaven. The mind was formless, Toan explained,
and not the source of mundane thoughts; it was not something in the body (not “a
thing inside your chest”) and the source of thoughts, rather, those thoughts “are
all shadows of what is seen and heard . . . the mind of speculation, the deluded
mind.”26 Toan discounted the idea that there was a spirit that lived in the body,
often contesting the popular representation of this spirit as “some sort of round
thing (‘ball of fire’) inside the body.” He used examples to disprove the idea of a
spirit inside the body; for example, when one cuts open a cherry tree or an eel, one
sees the interior of that object, not its spirit.27
But Kyōden retains the idea of this spiritlike entity, and he further conflates
it with the mind in a move deliberately contrary to Shingaku doctrine. Adding a
variety of references to this conceit, Kyōden snowballs the metaphor and turns it
into nonsense:
In human beings are things called spirits. To say what kinds they are,
men’s spirits should be swords. Then, according to the jōruri play White
Pines [Hime komatsu],28 in the explanation by Shunkan, women’s spirits
are definitely mirrors. Then again, the spirits on the stage are like copper
wrapped in red paper. But these theories are better left aside. To say they
are like swords and mirrors is just to make similes.
According to a song sung about spirits found in the back of a histor-
ical chronicle, “From the nine trees in the mountain of the three fires,
there is one that is earth, seven are metal, and five are waters.” But this
is fallacious. From the first the spirit is not something else. While living,
it is the spirit, in death it is the “ghost.” Still, we also call it the “mind” or
“soul,” and this is so important for human beings that nothing surpasses
it. If we may think about where this thing that we call the spirit comes
from, it must come from heaven.29
Here, Kyōden writes in such a fashion that we might imagine this comes from a
lecture on morality, but through repetition and absurdity he distorts the language
for comic effect. Describing men’s spirits as swords and women’s as mirrors aligns
them with two of the three Shinto treasures (the sword, mirror, and jewel) while
also making a rather obvious joke about anatomical features. He rushes headlong
to tell us that “spirits on the stage” are copper wrapped in paper, then rhetorically
discounts all that he has said before as just making similes. The text proceeds to

make preposterous allusions to the Five Elements (Wu Xing) in his “song of the
spirits.” In a rhetorical turn, now disavowing other doctrines, Kyōden describes
the mind or spirit as the most important thing of all for human beings and identi-
fies it as coming from heaven. In this last, Kyōden picks up a Shingaku tenet, that
it was this mind that was of central concern and that this mind was derived from
heaven.30 After sending up the rhetoric of religious oratory by making deliberately
ridiculous associations, Kyōden returns briefly to a slightly more serious level in
the assertion of the spirit’s origins.
Although the spirit may come from heaven, its form can be altered due
to circumstances. Kyōden parodies the Shingaku description of the origin of the
spirit, substituting another generative means, and this is what Masayoshi pictures:
To begin at the beginning, in the realm of heaven resides the deity called
the Emperor of Heaven. He used to have something like a tea bowl into
which the skin of the soapberry tree seed31 had been dissolved into water,
and taking his bamboo pipe, he would blow spirits out of his pipe.32 His
method was the same as the one used by children blowing bubbles.
When he blew them out, he made perfectly formed round spirits, but
blown by the winds of delusion and dishonesty,33 their inside would get
warped, or they’d even become triangles or squares, and they would go
flying onward.34
Heaven and its life breath (ki, or, in Chinese, qi) are here made literal in the Emper-
or’s breath, and the mystery of creating spirits is brought down to the mundane act
of blowing bubbles.35 Kyōden makes Heaven into a real place, in concordance with
Neo-Confucianism, and populates it with an emperor (not a shogun). The soul,
too, is made material, as a soap bubble. In doing so, Kyōden concretizes the inef-
fable and Masayoshi renders it visible. The Emperor of Heaven makes an unlikely
aside about his appearance: “To make me into a form and put me into a picture
will probably be vexing. For today only I’ll take the shape of a Japanese god [tentei].
Don’t tell the other countries!” Imitating the call of a vendor, the Emperor contin-
ues, “Hyō-ban, hyō-ban, hyō-ban—bubbles, bubbles, bubbles for sale!”36
Kyōden and Masayoshi clearly do not reinforce the Shingaku teaching of the
original mind in this sequence. Instead text and image rely upon the long-standing
concepts of the spirit that Toan criticized, that the spirit was “some sort of round
thing inside the body,” concepts that were readily available in popular sources like
kabuki theater, ukiyo-e, and other kibyōshi from the period.37 In this book, Kyōden’s
strategy is to imagine that the spirit is an independent entity, lives in the body, and
has the potential to be formed, from its beginning, as good or evil.38
The story begins on the following page (figure 4.5). The narrative employs
one of the floating world tropes of the good son’s downfall, but gives it a new spin.
That long-familiar story concerned the gradual slide of the protagonist from moral
rectitude to debauchery, disinheritance, and ruin. The potential for such ill-con-
sidered and selfish pursuits and their disastrous effects on the family were part of
the base anxiety and resultant moralization in the period, especially pertinent in a
moment when Neo-Confucian ethics were being reiterated. Notably, this kind of
debasement and all that caused it were actively being lectured against in Shingaku
admonitions against such immoral behavior.39
The narrative arc begins with the protagonist in a state of righteousness,
acting in a manner corresponding to contemporary Neo-Confucian values. Pun-
ning on associations with the spirit (tamashii) in calling the child a jewel (tama),
it begins: “Here in Edo in the Nihonbashi area there was a well-to-do merchant
known to all as Rihei. His wife became pregnant, and when, ten months later to

the day, she gave birth to a jewel of a child, a boy, everyone in the household offered
their congratulations.”40 The text is cued to the scene at the lower left, where we see
the midwife and her assistant bathing the newborn child, while behind the mother
sits in the birthing chair. The father, Rihei, wears a robe bearing the character ri,
meaning “profit,” instead of the ri that appears in his name and that lent him the
more suitable meaning of correctness, reason, and law. The pun puts those two
terms—“profit” and “reason”—in opposition.
The story flows across the top of the page, from right to left, but Masayoshi’s
design reversed the order of narrative: the birth is shown to the left and subse-
quent actions on the lower right. On this page this story’s rite of sight is revealed
to the reader: there are forces and things unseen to the protagonists but that are
visible to us. Kyōden continues with a pun on the idea of the “quick dye,” and then
explains what we see occurring at the lower right:
Indeed [a child] is like a white thread, to be dyed in various ways, without

a doubt. Just after Rihei’s son was born, a deformed Evil Spirit was about
to slip under his skin to get into his body, but the Emperor of Heaven
appeared and firmly twisted the Evil Spirit’s arm. He sent in a perfectly
round spirit instead. This was because the father, Rihei, had with sin-
gle-mindedness conducted himself well, and the Emperor of Heaven
bestowed this mercy upon him. Yet not even an iota of this was seen by
ordinary people.
[Emperor of Heaven:] Go straight in here.
[Good Spirit:] Yes!
The wooden clappers beat chon-ku-ku-ku.41
The Good Spirit enters the baby’s body and will determine his actions. Kyōden
employs the comic convention of the protagonist as an absentminded puppet
manipulated by exterior forces: the child will be made to act in ways that he cannot
himself control. The page ends with the onomatopoeia chon-ku-ku-ku, signaling
the clappers used at the end of an act in kabuki.
In Masayoshi’s design, layers of visibility have been represented as broken
into three delineated spaces: that of what is presented, the baby displayed in the
foreground; the private, in the enclosed scene of the mother, bracketed by the slid-
ing door and twofold standing screen; and the invisible, nearly contained on the
right page, now shown in smaller scale. Moreover, the figures otherwise invisible
to ordinary eyes are shown in rather surprising ways: the Emperor of Heaven, a
rather imposing figure on the previous page, is brought down to an almost child-
like scale. Faced with the problem of how to show the spirit as a legible form,
Masayoshi devised an inventive solution: each loincloth-clad spirit is marked with
the kanji ideogram for good or evil written on (or perhaps in) its bubble-shaped
head. This is a double-layered compositional strategy.42 The terms of good and
evil are thus made literal, visible, and granted agency. These heretofore ineffable
spirits are more than something animating the body; they are granted the same
visual space as a corporeal body and granted the power to make the body act, more
like puppeteers than presences. Having these figures be established as indepen-
dent forces beyond the child’s control is clearly not in accordance with Shingaku’s
notion of the original mind. But for Kyōden and Masayoshi it establishes an effec-
tive comic device and links word and image. Thus, the stage has now been set for
a tale of the competing claims of the Good (Zendama) and the Evil (Akudama)
Spirits.
In the third scene, the son, Ritarō (Big Boy Reason), is the very model of the
filial son (figure 4.6). The text explains,
Rihei called his son Ritarō, and every day the Good Soul stuck with, pro-
tected, and resided with him, and as he was growing up, he displayed
intelligence and good behavior. Such high caliber was so beyond other
children that his parents, regarding him as a jewel, raised him with great
care. As a soul is at age three, so shall it be until it’s a hundred, and it
looked to be so reliably to the end.43
Clearly Ritarō’s good behavior is due to the fact that he has the Good Spirit liv-
ing in his body and directing his actions. In this scene he and the Good Spirit
speak aloud as one, saying, “My dad and mom are so important to me. I’ll never
gamble, throwing coins into holes or pulling strings for prizes.”44 Readers familiar
with Dōni’s Venerable First Precepts (Dōni ō zenkun, 1789), Dōni’s book of Shingaku
didactics for children, would have recognized Kyōden’s reference to its morally
instructive phrase “There are no jewels in the world more important than Father
and Mother.”45 Ritarō’s pledge to refrain from gambling likewise referred to Shin-
gaku prohibitions of the time.46 Likewise, the homily written on the screen behind
Ritarō emphasizes Neo-Confucian didactics: “The virtuous man grows straight
like the green bamboo.”47
Ritarō is thus established as the very model of filial piety. But with the con-
cept of moral struggle having been introduced earlier, readers familiar with the
typical arc of this narrative would have expected the tale to make a twist. It does.
In the next scene, viewers are once more granted special powers to see beyond
the human realm: the first Evil Spirit hanging around with four other scoundrels
in the world beyond (figure 4.7). Masayoshi depicted the Evil Spirits seated on

top of a flat cloud, surrounding by billowing cumulous forms, as though in some
aerial sphere above the earth. In spite of being spirits, their bodies are described as
somatic forms. These invisible forms have been made present, and the details of
their bodies—muscular calves, shoulders, and arms set in contrast with rounding
bellies tending toward flabbiness—function to make them verifiable. Made into
physical forms, visible before our very eyes, these images of the spirits as material
beings offer proof of their existence.
Equally telling is what they are shown doing with their bodies. With their
gangsterlike postures, these are clearly spirits experienced in the ways of wicked-
ness. Their body language marks them as crude and ill-mannered—none model
postures that would be considered appropriate in polite company. Kyōden explains
that the problem faced by the Evil Spirit in times like the present is that people
are “holding fast to the moral ways of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Shinto, and
no one had a bad heart. There was thus no place where he would be admitted. He
hung around in the sky, waiting for the time when the Good Spirit in Ritarō’s body
would not be there, so that he could dwell in the center of Ritarō’s physical body
and make the other spirit move to another home.”48
Kyōden and Masayoshi have thus set up this scene, through both text and
image, to demonstrate that these Evil Spirits are the complete opposite of Ritarō’s
virtuous Good Spirit. Yet as in other kibyōshi, it is these figures that act in ways inap-
propriate to social norms that are meant to be funny or satirical. Proceeding from
right to left, the comments scattered across the sky end at the left edge of the page:
[Evil Spirit Number One:] What about it, guys, how’s about fifty rounds
of cards?
[Evil Spirit Number Two:] I’d like to buy some stock in a body.
[Evil Spirit Number Three:] These days, everyone is following
Shingaku, and people for us to make a home in are getting few and far
between, so we’re in a fix.
[Evil Spirit Number Four:] Lined up like this now, it looks like we’re
going to start gambling with dice. Or it’s like being at the place for the
One Million Prayer ceremony and forgetting our prayer beads.49
The Evil Spirits’ desire to gamble is thus comically opposed to Ritarō’s aversion
to the same sin. The comment that one spirit would “like to buy some stock in a
body” derides the irregular period occurrence of buying occupations and family
names as a way to get ahead,50 an act that by definition was regarded as unethical in
a society where inherited rank determined status. Similarly, Jōdoshū, or Pure Land
Buddhism, and its communal prayers are mocked, and Shingaku’s effectiveness

is damned with faint praise. Kyōden
closes the scene with a pseudomoraliz-
ing comment along the very left of the
page: “These selves being Evil Spirits
were assuredly from bodies with bad
existences, and as such, they have wan-
dered from the middle path.”51
Cutting from the scene of the
disgruntled Evil Spirits, the first vol-
ume ends with Ritarō coming of age.
He has remained the model son, so
much so that “soon he was being
trusted with the business of the shop,
and being conscientious and honest,
he got up early in the morning, and
went to bed late at night” (figure 4.8).52
He has his forelock cut, signifying he
is now an adult, but he refuses to pluck
his hairline in the most fashionable
style of the time, and the Good Spirit
bears witness to his model behavior.
The cover to the second volume
Figure 4.8. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa shows Ritarō sitting at his desk read-
yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye ing a letter, with a strange vapor ris-
Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
ing up, piquing the reader’s interest to
Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink open the volume (figure 4.9). Turning
on paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo the page, the reader learns that the fil-
Metropolitan Library. ial son, exhausted by his constant dil-
igence, has slacked off to rest in the
middle of the day (figure 4.10). Kyōden tells us that “when people are sleeping,
their spirits surely go out to play.” In this scene, it is the absence of the Good Spirit
in Ritarō’s body that brings about his downfall. The text continues,
When Ritarō was in his eighteenth year, one day, tired from balancing the
accounts, he went to sleep. The Good Spirit, a little worn-out after having
the Evil Spirit trying again and again [to gain entry], and thinking it was
fine since Ritarō was asleep, went out for a while. It was just the opportu-
nity for the Evil Spirit, and calling his mates to come [along], they tied up
the Good Spirit, and then they went into his body.53
Figure 4.9. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa Figure 4.10. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa
yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye
Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
hayasomegusa), 1790; published by Ōwada hayasomegusa), 1790; published by Ōwada
Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on
paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metro paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metro
politan Library. politan Library.
In the inset above Ritarō’s sleeping form, we are shown what he cannot see but
will surely feel: that three evildoers have taken his noble spirit hostage. The Good
Spirit cries out, “Oh! This is terrible,” while one of the Evil Spirits exults, “This
feels great!” (Yoi kibikibi).54
Shingaku addressed issues of mind-body perception and argued that the
body was made up of material, as a form. According to Shingaku, when the body
was not activated by the mind, it became an empty form. Toan argued that although
the body seemed material, as a manifestation of the earth, when it was not being
perceived by the mind, it was in fact empty: “For even though one has form, if one
is not aware of it, isn’t that being empty? Thus, when you are quite asleep you are
empty, but when you open your eyes, you don’t feel that your body is gone—you
instantly create this preconception (shian).” 55
Yet in Masayoshi’s illustrations to Quick-Dye Mind Study the Good and Evil
Spirits have been granted form equal to all others, granted the same visual weight

in the pictures. This representation relies upon popular conventions, not upon
Shingaku ones. In many examples from the period, the idea of the mind and its
desires was shown as a dream space projected above the body (as in the example of
the child’s nightmare discussed in the first chapter). Pictures such as these showed
how the imagined world, more real to the dreamer than the one he or she is in,
has been cast beyond the body, allowing the dreamer to leave temporarily the fixed
world of the physical. The viewer is once more given special visual access, allowed
to see both worlds in a kind of double exposure, and the stillness of the dream-
er’s body is contrasted with the action taking place in the form representing the
dreamer’s mind space. This juxtaposition of the dream and reality was frequently
employed for parody or to reveal the dreamer’s secret desires. Here it makes evi-
dent to us what is really happening—and gives a reason why Ritarō is not entirely
responsible for what is about to happen to him.
Having now gained control of Ritarō’s body, the Evil Spirits take him off to
the Yoshiwara licensed pleasure district located on the northern edge of Edo (fig-
ure 4.11). In addition to being a place surrounded by fantasies of pleasure, the
Yoshiwara was also called one of Edo’s wicked places (akusho) in common par-
lance. No wonder the Evil Spirits want to go there, the reader might say, for this
wicked place would surely welcome wicked spirits. The Evil Spirits push and pull
Ritarō as if he were a sleepwalker. He is unaware of being under their spell and
disguises the truth of the journey from himself, rationalizing that he is on his way
to pray at the famous Sensōji Temple at Asakusa (a destination on the way to the
Yoshiwara). Just outside the quarter he encounters two signs that spell out that
he still has the opportunity to achieve salvation through devotion. On the right
the board bears the large characters “Benzaiten” in the center; surrounding this
are notices explaining that an image of the bodhisattva Kannon will be shown at
Fudō Temple in Mejiro from the seventeenth of the sixth month through the eigh-
teenth of the eighth month. Large characters for the term “thousand chanting” of
the sutras advertise the opportunity to participate in prayer at the Yūtenji Temple
in Meguro.56 But Ritarō, towed along by the Evil Spirits, is blinded to these signs,
and he continues on to the pleasure quarter, telling himself that he is just going to
have a quick look around.
Masayoshi’s picture uses one convention of showing the approach to the
licensed district, that of the brothel roofs beyond the embankment opposite, the
actual distance occluded by the mist. By this time, this particular view of the Yoshi-
wara had appeared so often in so many sheet prints and popular books that it
would have been recognizable as such from the features of the bank, the path,
and the rooftops beyond. This representation was in effect a “picture of a famous
place” (meisho-e), a kind of emblematic, even iconic image of the district.
Readers might have expected the tale to follow the by now long-familiar tale
of the filial son fallen into dissipation in the quarter, but Kyōden and Masayoshi
offer up a few surprises along the way (figure 4.12). Kyōden describes a scene of a
party in the district as follows (and manages to insert a bit of product placement
as well):
Steered by the Bad Spirits, Ritarō came to the Yoshiwara. He’d thought
he’d have a look in and go on home, but after seeing the early evening
sights on the main street [Nakanochō], he gradually had his spirit [ki]
enchanted by the Evil Spirits. He asked the owner of a teahouse to
arrange for the prostitute [jorō] Ayashino of the Miuraya to entertain
him.57 Straightaway the Evil Spirits flew up to heaven, and forgetting
about returning home, they went completely berserk.58

The Evil Spirit gang flew up and danced a dance.
[Evil Spirit Number One:] Let’s do it like that!
[Evil Spirit Number Two:] Yeah, yeah.
[Evil Spirit Number Three:] Do it, do it.
[Ritarō:] Oh, something smells nice. It’s the scent of Okamoto Hair
Oil for Young Ladies.
[Geisha:] “Drinking sake all night long—on and on, as if there were
no midnight—and on into madness.”
[Ritarō:] Hey, this is fun, such fun. It’s too bad that I never knew of
such fun until now.59
Ritarō is entertained by Ayashino of the Miuraya brothel, but at the time this book
was published, there was no such person; Kyōden has made this name up as a
pun on the word ayashi, or “suspicious.” This Ayashino is modeled on another
stock character from Edo fiction, the yūjo (courtesan) as an avaricious and preda-
tory consumer of men. In its overall composition the scene resembles stock rep-
resentation of parties in the quarter, except now that familiar set is enlivened by
the presence of the Evil Spirits doing a lively dance above Ritarō. The antics of the
Evil Spirits and their transparent joy in their own debauchery made this one of the
most famous scenes in the book.
The product placement involves the shop of Okamoto Genjirō, located in
Sukiyabashi, just outside the Yoshiwara Great Gate. Okamoto apparently stocked
scented hair oils called Fragrance for Young Ladies (Otome Kaori) and Cloudy Sky
(Kumoi). Japanese literature scholar Koike Masatane suggests that the mention of
this product might have been because Okamoto was a friend of Kyōden’s, or that
the proprietor may have made a request to have his name included here.60 Direct
references to products such as this in popular culture were not unusual, but as an
extratextual reference it interrupts the narrative sequence, in the manner of break-
ing the fourth wall or a direct address in theatrical productions. It also reminds us
of the potential for commercial subventure of these books, and of ukiyo-e publish-
ing more generally.
In the next scene, Ritarō beds Ayashino, thanks to the assistance of the Evil
Spirits (figure 4.13). They literally move his hands to pull down her collar, mak-
ing a joke out of Ritarō’s innocence being such that they had to do it all for him.
After establishing the couple just so, the Evil Spirit seated atop them closes out the
scene saying, “Hey, that’s all for tonight,” followed by an onomatopoeic rendering
of kabuki drums, ton, ton, ton.61 This enacts an interruption in the space of the nar-
rative, in the manner of an aural signal that to readers would close out this part of
the story as in a kabuki play.
On the left, we are shown that Ritarō’s pleasure is due to the fact that the
Good Spirit has been taken captive. The spirit has been bound and tied to a giant
character reading “disaster” (wazawai), a kanji form that by being made up of the
radicals for “river” and “fire” alludes to calamity. Here, Masayoshi’s image plays
with the Shingaku practice of using kanji ideographs writ large to emphasize a
point in lectures. Typically, these were more common terms, such as “good” and
“evil” and the like, and since they were heavily used, and were considered ephem-
era, no examples survive to the present. In Masayoshi’s rendering, the kanji ideo-
graph has been turned into a three-dimensional shape, and by tying the Good
Spirit to the form, this design makes the disaster that has befallen the Good Spirit
literal and present. The rope crosses over the sign and breaks it to make it a visual
pun: now the lower section resembles a figure running in the opposite direction.
Masayoshi plays with the potential for the ideograph to be both sign and form, to
emphasize the Good Spirit’s desire to rescue Ritarō from misfortune.

Meanwhile, on the next double page opening, we learn that Ritarō has
enjoyed an extended visit in the pleasure district (figure 4.14). Kyōden narrates
across the top that the Evil Spirits have temporarily abandoned their host to rest in
Ayashino’s robe. Released from their influence, Ritarō has a moment of clarity and
uncertainty, saying to himself,
“However did I come to be here? Why have I come to feel this way?”
He felt as though he had woken from a dream, and without saying a
word, he got up to leave, but the Evil Spirits were disturbed and they
woke up. Determined not to return home, they immediately jumped
back into Ritarō’s body, and then, with a change of heart, Ritarō decided
at that instant that he would be staying on. Just then the Good Spirit,
having finally cut the rope, came dashing in, and grabbing Ritarō’s arm
began dragging him home. The Evil Spirits, not wanting to go home,
pulled the other way. When Ritarō was being pulled to the left, he said,
“Ah, I’d rather stay on,” but when he was being pulled to the right, he
said, “No way, I’ve got to go home.” He went up and down the hall, back
and forth, back and forth.
The Spirits’ shapes cannot be seen by unenlightened eyes, and the
man from the teahouse said, “This guest is acting really weird.”
[Ayashino:] Either you go home or you stay. This is idiotic!
[Evil Spirits:] Let’s get this body out of the well water. No going—and
no farting!
[Evil Spirits:] Yoisho, yoisho, yoisho—heave ho, heave ho, heave ho!62
Masayoshi’s image presents what is explained midway through this passage:

Ritarō is being pulled literally from side to side by the Evil and Good Spirits. The
Evil Spirits are shown in the action of pulling up a bucket from a well, showing the
effort they express in the text. Notably, their strength of three in this moral tug-of-
war is barely a match for the power of a single Good Spirit.
This represents another kind of literalization, that of the struggle of the
individual to rein in competing desires. By presenting moral conflict as mani-
fested in forces external to the individual, text and image effectively undercut the

emphasis in Shingaku of an individ-
ual’s free will in finding his ethical
truth (“true heart”). Surely this float-
ing world representation of the com-
petition between evil and good seemed
more concrete than did the didactic
preaching of the lecture hall. It thus
subverts the authority of Shingaku and
by extension the Neo-Confucian order
promoted by Sadanobu’s reforms.
Being a stronger force, good
overcomes evil, and Ritarō returns
home to work diligently. Disgusted
by his previous behavior, he consigns
his association with the prostitute to a
bad dream (figure 4.15). Ayashino has
not forgotten this profitable customer,
however, and she sends him a letter.
The Good Spirit tries to prevent Ritarō
from reading the letter, but “without
thinking about it, Ritarō opened it.
Then, a bad spirit that had been trans-
Figure 4.15. Santō Kyōden and Kitao ported in this letter tried to grab him.”63
Masayoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: In the picture, the letter, now the vehi-
Quick-Dye Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri:
cle of transmission, seems to be releas-
Shingaku hayasomegusa), 1790; published by
Ōwada Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ing an Evil Spirit like a toxic gas. And
ink on paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo yet, although the power of good seem-
Metropolitan Library. ingly was greater, evil’s trickery is such
that it will determine Ritarō’s future.
The principle of Shingaku’s “true heart” is irrelevant in Kyōden and Masayoshi’s
world where one’s action is determined by an uncontrollable, invisible force. This
is the final page of the second volume, the cliff-hanger alluded to by the cover of
this volume.
The cover to the third volume likewise shows a dramatic scene (figure 4.16).
This fascicle begins with Ritarō rationalizing his expenditures in the Yoshiwara
quarter as a small part of his annual income, reconsidering his life of thriftiness
as a futile gesture (figure 4.17). It is in the space above that another story and its
consequences are made visible—this, the text and image propose, is what is really
happening: “When Ritarō revealed his bad intentions, seeing his chance this time,
the Evil Spirit cut down and killed the Good Spirit, and he got his long-sought
revenge.”64 The act is done, and the Good Spirit topples backward, blood spurt-
ing from his chest, while the Evil Spirit cries out, “Prepare yourself to die.”65 The
violence of this scene—where a figure armed with a samurai sword kills an inno-
cent—demonstrates that the Evil Spirit is beyond the reach of any moral order. It
also put into form one of the realities of the shogunate’s social order, where samu-
rai retained the rights of martial law and could strike down a transgressor at will.
In doing so, it implicitly calls into question both the ethical claims of Shingaku
and the political rule of the shogunate.
After this, Ritarō is once again completely under the Evil Spirits’ influence.
He returns to the brothel, staying there for four or five days at a time, as the text
relates in the next scene (figure 4.18). In the passage above, it is revealed that Ritarō’s
body had been such a hospitable place that the Good Spirit had been living there
with his wife and children. Now, having claimed Ritarō’s body as their own, the
Figure 4.16. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa Figure 4.17. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa
yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye
Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
hayasomegusa), 1790; published by Ōwada hayasomegusa), 1790; published by Ōwada
Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on
paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metro paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metro
politan Library. politan Library.

Evil Spirits drive the wife and children from the body, an act shown in the vapor
trail extending from Ritarō’s chest across the left side of the page. Kyōden breaks
the fourth wall to speak directly to the reader, editorializing that “it was pathetic
how they were moved out of the body that they had lived in for so many years.”66
The good wife calls out her departing words: “I’ll get even with you for this.”67 But
the Evil Spirits celebrate, toasting the departing Good Spirits: “From now on, it’s
our world. Here’s to you.”68 Meanwhile, in the foreground the head clerk from the
family shop and Ayashino, unaware of the permanent eviction of the Good Spirit
family, and the complete occupation of Ritarō’s body by the Evil Spirits, act out
their own response to the situation. The clerk futilely appeals to Ritarō to return
home, and even Ayashino agrees that it’s now time for the party to come to an end.
But Ritarō has not spiraled down far enough to be rescued yet. According
to the logic of the familiar tale of the reckless son, he must come to rock bottom.
That is where Kyōden takes the tale, writing that Ritarō “in addition to paying for
prostitutes, ran amok, drank a lot of sake, and ran high risks by gambling and swin-
dling.”69 His parents finally disown him. His moral turpitude is such that more and
more Evil Spirits come to reside in his body (figure 4.19). Now the farthest thing
from a model son, Ritarō, in his desperation, tries to rob his family’s storehouse but
is stopped when the dog raises the alarm. The comic is called forth in the juxtaposi-
tion of the loyal and disloyal, contrasting the valor of the family dog and the immo-
rality of the unfilial son. Text and image parody a puppet play (jōruri), Commentary
on Taiheiki Chūshingura (Taiheiki Chūshingura kōshaku, 1766), where the masterless
samurai (rōnin) hero Oboshi Yuranosuke repairs a storehouse wall with mud and
puns on the word for “mud” (doro) with that for “thief” (dorobō), saying, “In the past
the master, today the thief.” Here, the dog says, “In the past my master, now he’s
the mud” 70 in a parody of that famous scene. Masayoshi describes Ritarō’s figure as
though he is taking the pose of a kabuki actor playing for the audience. Meanwhile,
above the Evil Spirits rejoice and perform a festival dance.

The Evil Spirits “become more and more arrogant,” and Ritarō ends up
a roadside bandit (figure 4.20).71 Here, the description of Ritarō’s downfall is
squeezed onto the road shown in the lower right, and his redemption is detailed in
the space under the darkened sky; this organization of the text breaks with the con-
ventions of reading, from upper to lower, that were used on previous pages. Down-
fall is placed low and redemption is placed high on the page, making literal Ritarō’s
state of being. Kyōden also names Ritarō’s savior, Dōri Sensei, or Master Reason,
on this page. For period readers, naming this leader Dōri would evoke the name
of the Shingaku master preaching at Nihonbashi, Nakazawa Dōni. Kyōden writes,
Then, however, there was a truly brilliant man of great learning and
benevolence called Dōri Sensei. One night, while he was returning home
after a lecture, he met that robber [Ritarō] in that very place. Having great
physical strength, Dōri Sensei quickly pulled Ritarō down. He felt pity
for Ritarō, believing that somehow through didactic instruction he could
reform Ritarō’s bad heart and pardon his sins. Together they returned to
Dōri Sensei’s lodgings.72
The image, thus, depicts Dōri Sensei besting Ritarō in a display of physical and
spiritual strength. The Evil Spirits point and laugh at Ritarō, mocking him.
Although Zen masters used physical discipline in their instruction, it might well
be asked how fitting it would have been to show a Shingaku master beating a
bandit to submit to the doctrine, especially from the fictional avatar of one who
preached self-discipline.
Although the Good Spirits had been trying to reclaim their place in Ritarō’s
body, they were not able to achieve that goal until Ritarō himself was converted
to Shingaku. Ritarō becomes a devoted student of Master Reason, and through
this “true learning” of Shingaku, he returns to his “original mind” (honshin). That
allows the Good Spirit family to drive out the Evil Spirits, described in the virtual
space above (figure 4.21). Perhaps the logic is that they, being Good Spirits, may
knock down their enemies but they shall not slay them. In the lower portion of the

picture, Ritarō sits in a posture of regret, listening to Dōri, and Kyōden uses this to
bring in the moral for the story. Dōri Sensei speaks to Ritarō:
[Dōri Sensei:] Of everything that is important to human beings, it is

the mind [kokoro] that is of single importance. Each and every one acts
according to his own mind, and we experience pain. That mind-heart is
namely the spirit. If you take this path of reason [dōri] you will come to
comprehend this.
[Ritarō:] I alone did not possess the truth. I did it all so that she
would tell me she fancied me,73 and I gave [so much] money as offerings
[for the special holidays in the Yoshiwara], too. Now I am sick of it all,
sick of it all.74
Master Reason’s words sound so much like religious rhetoric that it seems possi-
ble that Kyōden was imitating an actual speech by Dōni. But Ritarō’s reply, while
giving lip service to the “truth” of Shingaku, shows that he regrets more being
made a fool of by the Yoshiwara enterprise than his lack of dogmatic instruction.
That it is not due only to Dōni’s actions and teachings—and thus not due to Shin-
gaku—that he has returned to moral behavior is clearly displayed on the screen
above representing Ritarō’s mind. Were it indeed a return to his “true mind,” that
truth would more aptly be expressed, perhaps, as in Zen representations, as an
empty circle (ensō). The mind, we recall, was formless in Shingaku: the spirit was
not “some sort of round thing (‘ball of fire’) inside the body,” as Toan said.75
Instead, Masayoshi’s illustration of the mind-space image emphatically
attests to another truth: Ritarō’s return to his original mind may have been assisted
by Dōni’s intervention, but his real salvation is achieved thanks to Mrs. Good Spirit
and her sons defeating the Evil Spirits. Yet Ritarō remains unaware of the truth.
Significantly, it is not the Shingaku truth of the original mind that he cannot see.
Rather it is the truth that the readers have seen: Kyōden and Masayoshi’s floating
world conceit that there is something that lives inside the body, and that it is this
spirit that controls our actions.
Thus, Kyōden and Masayoshi make a joke out of what should be sacred,
turning it into something profane, absurd, and ridiculous.76 Text and image work
in concert to render the tenets of Shingaku invalid, even impotent. That inver-
sion is not undone by the final line of dialogue on this page, where Master Rea-
son says, “Here, finally, I must speak to the author of this book. Seems like there’s
been a lot of unlawfulness and insolence, hasn’t there?”77 In making the charac-
ter seem to speak directly to the author—and thus to the reader—Kyōden uses
direct address again in order to deflect criticism before it is offered. It does not
undo the damage wreaked by sending
up Shingaku; instead it shifts attention
away from what actually happened, as
another misdirection.
Quick-Dye Mind Study con-
cludes with Ritarō’s return home to his
parents, where he becomes “a paragon
of virtue, and the house and business
prospered. Thus everyone said it came
to pass thanks to Dōri Sensei’s benev-
olence. The Good Spirits’ sons suc-
ceeded their father, and making their
home in Ritarō’s body for a long time,
cherishing their mother, and mind-
fully protecting all. From then on, the
spirits remained seated, never once
taking their leave” (figure 4.22).78 Here
the human order might give due praise
to Dōri Sensei’s teaching, but the fact
is—as the emphasis on the Good Spir-
its’ continued diligence makes appar-
ent—everyone in the book (and by
extension, all those who believe in the Figure 4.22. Santō Kyōden and Kitao Masa
doctrine) remains blind to the truth of yoshi. Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye
Mind Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
what actually happened.
Thanks to Kyōden and Masayo Yasuemon. Woodblock printed book, ink on
shi, the reader is told and shown the paper. Chūhon, 17.4 × 13 cm. Tokyo Metro
truth: the rights of sight trump all. politan Library.
Looking closely at the text, one notes
that it uses the long-standing rhetorical move that what is at fault is not directly
mentioned. Rather, the act of putting emphasis on something else implicitly puts
what is not said under critique. It is in this contrast between what is praised and
what remains unsaid that this critique is made. No one present in Ritarō’s world
can see the truth, after all—they are blind to the battle between good and evil—
but we, the readers, are shown that truth. Rhetorically, moral conduct has been
restored through doctrine, but what is unsaid is reinforced by what is shown to
make clear that it is the presence of the Good Spirits that produces the family’s
contentment. The book ends with this rhetorical double play to restore social order
to its normal bounds, ending the carnival of inversion.

Although it made sport of a contemporary practice and a known public fig-
ure, and thus it was technically in violation of the publishing edicts, the book was
not banned. For although Kyōden and Masayoshi mocked Shingaku, they did not
overturn it, nor did they take direct aim at its patrons. Their critique remained
implicit, after all, but was it so indirect that it was not understood? Adam Kern,
in his book Manga from the Floating World, argues that the book was not didactic
in purpose, but that by making the doctrine accessible, it nonetheless promoted
Shingaku:
Kyōden’s Fast-Dyeing Mind Study (Shingaku hayasomegusa, 1790) has been

described as having been written for “didactic” purposes, as though Kyōden
had finally turned away from satire for good? He had not. For one thing,
Kyōden’s piece treats its subject lightly. This is Mind Study (Shingaku), a
syncretic doctrine that swirled together Confucian, Shinto, and Buddhist
ideas in a kind of pragmatic hodgepodge. At the very least, Kyōden dumbs
down some tenets of Mind Study in an attempt to popularize it.79
To be sure, Kyōden takes this doctrine lightly, but I believe he is doing more than
simplifying the doctrine of Shingaku for general use. Quick-Dye Mind Study is not
a treatise wherein one has an original mind to which one seeks to return, as would
be expected in a work supportive of its claims. Rather, for Kyōden and Masayoshi,
Shingaku is a foil. They ask instead, what is the origin of moral behavior? How
might it be governed? If it is indeed these spirits, as independent agents, that cause
our behavior, how are we to regulate them? Kyōden’s reply is that we cannot con-
trol our behavior or return to our original mind—rather, we are puppets carrying
out the wills of these invisible spirits that inhabit our bodies—and Masayoshi’s
illustrations make that assertion manifest before us. This is a direct contradiction
of Shingaku doctrine.
The book thus puts the issue of individual morality, the very cornerstone
of the shogunate’s reforms, into question. Now, with the individual divested of
personal responsibility, and instead subject to the whims of ungovernable forces,
the book disputes the political order’s ethical claims. It may be a good joke, but as
Bergson noted, this laughter is generated by how well it reveals the falseness of
the social system in which one is embedded: “As we are both in and of it, we can-
not help treating it as a living being. Any image, then, suggestive of the notion of a
society disguising itself, or of a social masquerade, so to speak, will be laughable.”80
By making literal the division between good and evil, embodying those concepts in
the figures of the spirits, and granting them agency, Kyōden and Masayoshi reveal
the fallacy of Shingaku’s (and by extension, the shogunate’s) very pursuit.
This book thus took aim at the fundamental rhetoric promoted by Shin-
gaku and the shogunate, but if it hit its target, it did not draw return fire. Quick-
Dye Mind Study was not deemed to be in violation of the restrictions on publish-
ing about “matters of the present.” However, it may have contributed to what did
occur in the following year. In 1791 Kyōden was prosecuted by the city magistrate
and found guilty of violating those edicts in three other books (sharebon) after they
were approved by the censors, printed, and put into distribution. These books
came out under the imprint of Tsutaya Jūzaburō, among the many that he pro-
duced with Kyōden. Tsutaya paid half his net worth in a fine, and Kyōden spent
fifty days under house arrest in manacles.81 Why these other three books were a
problem (and Quick-Dye Mind Study was not) is hard to determine as these later
titles appear rather tame to us today. Perhaps it was that these three had themes
that went that little bit too far: one revealed the dark side of the Yoshiwara and
another made fun of Confucianism. Perhaps most damningly, the third described
a young man who turns into an automaton after following the shogunate’s pro-
scriptions and, as a result, does not really learn to live until that logic is overturned;
he realizes the error of his ways, and he becomes a true Edoite (Edokko).82 The real
problem may have been that with these three books enough was enough—both
the author and publisher had come too close to the line too many times and it was
time to bring their subversions to an end. The publisher apologized, in the frontis-
piece to Kyōden’s first publication following their punishment, but I wonder how
seriously to take this gesture of penitence when it appeared in a fantastic tale of a
mermaid made into a proper merchant’s wife.83
Yet Tsutaya and Kyōden returned to production and immediately began
cashing in on the Quick-Dye Mind Study’s popularity. They produced two sequels
that featured only the antics of the Evil Spirits, in 1791 and 1793, further send-
ing up the reforms’ proscriptives on ethical self-governance.84 In 1795 or 1796
(Kansei 7 or 8), the publisher Enomoto reprinted Quick-Dye Mind Study, mak-
ing changes to some images.85 About this time, Tsutaya asked Kyōden to bring
out a new and improved version of the original story, but the author refused;
instead the publisher brought out a third sequel written by humorist Kyokutei
Bakin in 1796.86
The Good and Evil Spirits, meanwhile, seem to have struck a chord with the
public. Other print designers used the device in their own images. In a triptych
print by Eishōsai Chōki, the young man on the right is undergoing a tug-of-war
by Good and Evil Spirits as he stands undecided near the entrance of the Yoshi-
wara licensed quarter. The figures already proceeding into the quarter, along the
main street, Nakanochō, are accompanied by Evil Ones (figure 4.23). In another
image, the Good Spirits futilely attempt to convince the patrons to leave a party in

Figure 4.23. Eishōsai Chōki. Good and Evil Influences in the Yoshiwara, early 1790s; published
by Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Ōban triptych, 39.6 ×
77.2 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John T. Spaulding Collection 21.7541-3.
full swing, while Evil Ones dance and play all around them. Here, Chōbunsai Eishi
(1756–1829) has made an amusing innovation—now all the Good Spirits are fully
dressed, rather than clad just in loincloths; it may be surmised that this also was
meant to make them seem even more proper and correct (figure 4.24).
Although it was clearly in violation of prohibitions against depicting con-
temporary events, the 1790 edition of Quick-Dye Mind Study was not suppressed.
This may have been because it ostensibly made Shingaku its target, not the sho-
gunate’s reforms. Perhaps as long as the conceits of Quick-Dye Mind Study, its
sequels, and related prints remained on the page, officials could turn a blind eye
to their subversive potential. But when the book inspired behavior that caused a
ruckus, it was time for action. Apparently the antics of the Evil Spirits became so
popular that people began walking around merchant neighborhoods carrying lan-
terns decorated with pictures of the Evil Spirits. But this was taking things a little
too far: in the seventh month of 1793, the city magistrate’s office issued an official
proclamation making it forbidden to sell the lanterns.87
Those events were described in a document by Santō Kyōzan (1769–1858),
Kyōden’s younger brother, in 1837. He wrote an introduction to a manuscript copy
of Quick-Dye Mind Study, now in the collection of the Tokyo Metropolitan Library,
Figure 4.24. Chōbunsai Eishi. Good and Evil Influences in the Yoshiwara, ca. 1791–1794; published
by Iwatoya Kisaburō. Full-color woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Ōban triptych, 38.2 ×
75.3 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William S. and John T. Spaulding Collection 21.7374-6.
where he recalled the circumstances of its production. This manuscript may be

the final clean copy that would have been given to the block carvers for a reissue
of the original story, to be carved into new woodblocks.88 (It is clearly not the same
manuscript used to produce the first version of Quick-Dye Mind Study, as there
are numerous differences between the manuscript and the first printed title, and
although the manuscript is illustrated, it does not include the name of the illus-
trator.89) However, Kyōzan makes a number of errors in his discussion of Quick-
Dye Mind Study, no doubt due to the fact that he was relying upon his memory
more than forty years later. Yet as one of the few period sources, and one com-
posed by Kyōden’s nearest relative, his recollections are worth studying for what
he believed was the book’s history. He begins by recounting how the book came
into being:
My deceased elder brother Seisai Kyōden first began spreading his work
throughout the world in Tenmei 2 [1782] in his twenty-second year. Book
publishers competed for his work, and requests came in without end
day after day, year after year. By the time there were more than thirty
works, his name spread over all the lands between the seas, and there

was nobody who did not know his name from kings and lords to concu-
bines and wives, young cowherds and horse grooms. This is a work that
in Tenmei 5 [1785] my twenty-four-year-old elder brother gave to Tsutaya
Jūzaburō of Kōshodō in Toriburachō. The title was Quick-Dye Mind Study
[Shingaku hayasomegusa].90
Here, Kyōzan errs on the date and publisher for the first printing of Quick-Dye
Mind Study; the book appeared in 1790 under the imprint of Ōwada Yasuemon
when Kyōden was age thirty. Perhaps, as Nakayama Yūshō has written, Kyōzan
conflated this title with Kyōden’s other title for 1785, Playboy, Grilled Edo-Style, pub-
lished by Tsutaya.91 Yet Kyōzan’s comments on his brother’s success as a writer
seem consistent with what is known of Kyōden’s period success: that he became so
famous in his own time that he became a household name.
Kyōzan’s next remarks verify that Kyōden was responding to the great pop-
ularity of Shingaku at the time:
There was a man from the capital named Dōni who came to Edo and
taught everyone Shingaku—even the rabble came through his gate—
and Dōni’s teaching of Shingaku echoed through Edo. In response to
that great popularity, my elder brother [wrote] this particular work, and
he used the name Dōri as a substitute for Dōni Sensei. This work like-
wise echoed through the capital and it sold over seven thousand cop-
ies. The blocks became worn down and the bookseller-publisher of the
newly carved edition made a profit and flourished. That new edition also
wore down, and then they were about to carve another new edition. At
the same time that they asked the painter of the original work, Kitao Shi-
gemasa, to illustrate this book, the Buddha from Seiryōji was unveiled
at Ekōin, and many people crowded around—such that if you called it
a morning pilgrimage, you would be ruining your evening. The offi-
cials prohibited this [crowding], and they issued an edict stating that the
youth had recently been chanting the phrase “Akudama chōchin” and
were being influenced, all because the townspeople have been going wild
throughout the night with these lanterns.92
Here, Kyōzan confirms that Kyōden was responding to the immense popularity
of Shingaku teachings and that he substituted the fictional Dōri for Dōni. More
important is the notation that seven thousand impressions were yielded from the
first printing, that the subsequent reprinting resulted in worn-out blocks, and that
the publisher was about to pay to have another set of blocks carved. If Kyōzan is
remembering the print run correctly, these numbers add to our knowledge of how
many impressions a block would have supported—as well as document the popu-
larity of a little book such as this one. Unfortunately, Kyōzan seems to have misre-
membered who it was that illustrated the book—it was not Shigemasa, but Shige-
masa’s student, Masayoshi.
What is even more remarkable is the concurrence of events he then
describes—that the crowd at Ekōin Temple was so thick that it would take one an
entire day to perform a morning pilgrimage, and that edicts were issued banning
large numbers of people gathering for such events.93 More significantly, Kyōzan
reports that people were parading around Edo with lanterns inscribed with the
Evil Spirits, so much so that children began chanting “Akudama chōchin,” or “Evil
Spirit lanterns.” Here our impression is that Kyōzan is describing how the popular
assembly of individuals at the temple was regarded as a threat (but was it one of
safety or of politics?) and needed restricting. Parading with lanterns was likewise
seen as excessive.
Finally, Kyōzan closes with Kyōden’s response to these events, and with his
explanation of how this manuscript came to survive:
Because of this, my older brother respected the edict and he did not allow
[publication of ] a third edition of the Evil Spirit [Akudama] story. He
secretly put this manuscript away, and it has been already forgotten for
the past fifty years. Lately in order to air out his books I opened his book
chest. Among the books I looked at I found something tucked between,
and it was this book. How could I throw away this manuscript that is
unique in the realm. Thus I personally bound it, wrote down the cir-
cumstances surrounding this volume, and it being my family possession,
I offered it to later generations.94
Kyōden is cast as taking the sage tactic of not putting himself into poten-
tial hot water with further publications. The fact that there are no other examples
of books or prints featuring the Good and Evil Spirits dated after the reprintings
of the 1790s or the last sequel of 1796 suggests Kyōzan may have been correct in
saying that Kyōden refused to participate in later renditions. Nakayama has made
a close study of the pages that follow Kyōzan’s introduction, and this manuscript,
in Kyōden’s hand, has led him to propose that this copy was indeed prepared as
the clean copy for a new print run and can be dated from late 1794 to early 1795
(Kansei 7–8).95
That some kind of censorship must have been put into place for the (per-
haps too enthusiastic) appreciation of the entire subject of the struggle between

Figure 4.25. Katsushika Hokusai. Teach Yourself to Dance (Odori hitori geiko), 1815; published by
Tsuruya Kinsuke. Woodblock printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 18.5 × 12.5 cm. Purchase—
The Gerhard Pulverer Collection, Museum funds, Friends of the Freer and Sackler Galleries
and the Harold P. Stern Memorial fund in appreciation of Jeffrey P. Cunard and his exemplary
service to the Galleries as chair of the Board of Trustees (2003–2007); FSC-GR-780222 019.
Good and Evil Spirits is reinforced by the fact that the subject disappears from
floating world printing in the later 1790s. However, the Evil Spirits made a come-
back nearly twenty years later in a book by Hokusai called Teach Yourself to Dance
(Odori hitori geiko, 1815). Here, Hokusai has diagrammed the Evil Spirits’ dance
steps, so that we can follow along (figure 4.25). The Good and Evil Spirits also
appeared onstage in kabuki in 1832 with Bandō Mitsugorō playing the Good and
Nakamura Shikan II the Evil Spirit (figure 4.26).96 According to period notations,
the dance of the Evil Spirits continued to be popular in Edo after it was shown
onstage in this manner. The device of the Good and Evil Spirits was used with
Figure 4.26. Utagawa Kunisada. Actors Bandō Mitsugorō IV as a Good Influence [Zendama] (right)
and Nakamura Shikan II as an Evil Influence [Akudama] (left) in a Grand Finale Dance Play (Ōkiri
shosagoto), 1832 [3rd month]; published by Kawaguchiya Uhei. Full-color woodblock print, ink
and color on paper. Ōban diptych, 36.2 × 50 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. William Sturgis
Bigelow Collection 11.15206-7. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
regularity into the Meiji period (after 1865) onstage, in morality pictures, game
boards (sugoroku), and the like.97
Looking back at this little book in the light of its subsequent history and
influence, it stands as a prime example of the ways in which kibyōshi writers, illus-
trators, and publishers used allusion and metapictorial reference to hide critique
in plain sight. Their selection of the topic and satirical treatment demonstrates
how the floating world was more than just a place of play—it was also politically
coded. What it shows, and how it shows that, may seemingly remain within the
rules, but in its manipulation of what might be shown, it flouted the codes being
promoted by the ruling order. As William LaFleur wrote about another class of
beings, the Hungry Ghosts (gaki), and their representation in medieval hand-
scrolls, “This art, intended to render visible what was ontologically out of sight,

ended up showing all too vividly what was supposed to have remained socially
invisible.”98 Here the comic is called forth by the ridiculousness of the body in
action and yet unaware of its manipulation by the spirits. In this contest of desire
and morality, Kyōden and Masayoshi made a mockery of doctrine. While moral-
ity may have been the new political dogma for the shogunate, those reforms were
after all not what was wanted or needed in the floating world. Indeed, Kyōden
seems to have been expressing a position of resistance to such restrictions and
the promotion of morality when he wrote, “Picture books stinking of dogma are
detestable.”99
Conclusion
Reconsidering Collaboration
and Ukiyo Art Worlds
In the preceding four chapters, we have encountered issues related to

the collaborative processes but at the same time have explored issues of agency,
authorship, and reception, concerns shared by the publishers, designers, and writ-
ers (as well as those that served as censors). A final example compellingly demon-
strates how commercial printing reified these values. In 1802 Shikitei Sanba
(1776–1822) published a kibyōshi recounting the incredible story of “Princess Pot-
on-Her-Head,” a young woman unfortunate enough to have a hat-shaped ceramic
vessel temporarily affixed to her head.1 The story line relates her trials and tribu-
lations to humorous effect in a narrative arc that concludes with her release from
the vessel and her happy marriage. It is not this story that is of interest to us here,
however. Instead, it is Sanba’s notations on floating world print culture. These
construct a history of publishers, writers, and designers that spans from the earli-
est productions to his present.
Sanba describes his rationale in a brief preface on the lower right of the
page shown in figure 5.1. His tongue-in-cheek subtitle tells us that this is “not a
treasure book,” playing against the idea of the treasure book as typically a chronol-
ogy or history.2 He continues, writing that although this may be a “spurious his-
tory,” it is meant to succinctly review the many and various styles of popular fic-
tion (kusazōshi) from its beginning right up to the present. Discussing this history
fully—from early to middle to late—would take up too many pages, Sanba adds.
185
To take as one example, Kitao Sensei (Shigemasa) worked in various styles, from
that of Torii Kiyomitsu right up to current styles. This history cannot be discussed
completely (in the space of the small format that was typical for kibyōshi), Sanba
notes, and thus, readers are advised to wait for the complete edition forthcoming
the next spring.3
To the left of this preface Sanba provides a roll call of noteworthy publish-
ers, each with its house crest, proprietor name, and address featured in a sep-
arate box; those no longer active are marked by a circle, and those continuing
in the trade with a triangle. Urokogataya Magobei (retired)—the firm that pub-
lished the Yoshiwara guidebooks discussed in chapter 2—is first, recognizable by
its distinctive crest of three triangles enclosed by a circle. Active publishers include
several discussed in the previous pages of this book, such as Tsutaya, Nishimu-
raya, Izumiya, Tsuruya, and Ōwadaya. In the lower center, a separate rectangle fea-
tures those one “needs to know”: “Tsuru, Tsutaya, Sen-Ichi, Murata, Yamaguchiya,
Iwato, Enomoto, Nishi wa mura [and] miya.” These are the publishers Tsuruya,
Tsutaya, Izumiya, Murataya, Yamaguchiya, Iwatoya, Enomotoya, Nishimuraya,
and Nishimiya—a group that Sanba apparently considered the top nine for fiction.
To the right of this cartouche, Sanba includes his own name and seal, comment-
ing he did “a little this year, too.”
On the next page, Sanba includes a register of the light fiction writers of the
past given as a list across the top (figure 5.2). Contemporary writers are so well-
known today, Sanba writes, that he has omitted them in order to favor those from
the past; writers retired from the genre are marked by a circle with an empty cen-
ter, while those now deceased have a blackened one. Among these are the retired
Kisanji and the deceased Harumachi, Shiba Zenkō, and Tōrai Sanna, among oth-
ers. Some have had their seals and other information included as well; of these,
Harumachi’s sake cup set out of kilter is the most eye-catching.
The lower half of the page changes its representational scheme from a
list to a map, here presenting the “Names to know of Japanese artists and illus-
trators.”4 In this map, the realm of the floating world is made literal as islands
and continents, with each province bearing the name of an artist-designer. This
style of map, as historian Marcia Yonemoto has noted, is in the Gyōki form, a
Figure 5.1. Shikitei Sanba. Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A Spurious History of Popular
Illustrated Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki-hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke nendaiki), 1802.
Publishers are listed here with their business location, crests, and proprietors’ names; those
marked with a circle were in operation, while those denoted with a triangle had ceased production
of illustrated fiction. Sanba’s signature and seal are included in the second rectangle from the
lower right. Next to this is the list of those considered worth knowing for fiction. Woodblock
printed book, ink on paper. Chūhon, 17.3 × 12.7 cm. Waseda University Library.
Conclusion | 187
long-standing conventional type.5 Sanba writes along the side that the map
includes both illustrators of fiction books as well as those of sheet prints. In the
text inscribed in white against the black background (as though floating in the
sea), he notes rather telegraphically that “pictures formerly went up to Okumura,
Suzuki, Miyagawa, and then Koryū, Ishikawa, and Torii. From Kiyonaga to Kitao,
Katsukawa, Utagawa, and Uta, then to Hokusai in contemporary times.”6 Here
Sanba replicates what was, in effect, the canon of important ukiyo-e practitioners:
from the 1740s to 1760s, Okumura Masanobu, Suzuki Harunobu, and Miyagawa
Chōshun (1682–1752); from the 1770s to the 1790s, Torii Kiyonaga, the Kitao, Kat-
sukawa, and Utagawa lineages, and Utamaro; and in the present day, Katsushika
Hokusai. With these two pages before him, the reader is informed of the key fig-
ures in the triangle of cooperation of publisher, writer, and designer.
Throughout the rest of the book, as Sanba is telling the remarkable tale of
Princess Pot-on-Her-Head, he represents each page in a particular style, with nota-
tions in cartouches along the borders of the pictures (in the manner of a hypertext).
It is a visual tour of the history of floating world styles from the earliest anonymous
illustrators to the most recent. His signature on the final illustration acknowledges
his purpose. He writes, “The pictures on all fifteen pages previous represent the
various famous names of designers drawn playfully.”7 By invoking these famous
names and mimicking their styles, Sanba is replicating the ukiyo-e canon, itself
under construction during this period in the Ukiyo-e Miscellany (Ukiyo-e ruikō)
begun by Ōta Nanpo and carried on by Santō Kyōden and Sanba himself.8
Using three modes of representing knowledge—the list, the map, and the
replication of visual styles—these pages demonstrate what was, for Sanba and his
contemporaries, fields of production. Moreover, these practitioners—publishers,
writers, and illustrators—came to be accorded the privilege of becoming a so-called
famous name in floating world publishing. Those considered the authors of the
works were those whose names were so prominently displayed in signatures—the
Figure 5.2. Shikitei Sanba. Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A Spurious History of Popular
Illustrated Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki-hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke nendaiki), 1802.
The upper section includes selected names of fiction writers, with those with a white circle
having retired and those with a black circle deceased. Among these, one may take note of the
(now retired) notables Kisanji, Harumachi, Tōrai Sanna, Shiba Zenkō, and others. The lower
section makes a map of artists and illustrators. The perimeter is organized by lineage, including
the Utagawa, Torii, Kitao, and Katsukawa along the edge from upper right to upper left with
selected individual names. In the center island are figures considered singular, such as Bunchō,
Koryūsai, Ishikawa Toyonobu, Harunobu, Chōki, and others, while the islands above are labeled
(from right to left) Sharaku, Kitagawa Utamaro, and Hokusai. Woodblock printed book, ink on
paper. Chūhon, 17.3 × 12.7 cm. Waseda University Library.
Conclusion | 189
writers and designers—or in their iconic crests—the publishers. The person hold-
ing the book in hand, as the consumer, was crucial to this collaborative enterprise;
although unnamed by Sanba, his participation is everywhere implied. In 1802, this
constituted the ukiyo “art world.”
The kibyōshi form used by Sanba was not only made to present this story but
also organized what was possible in its pages. Throughout our consideration of
these four case studies, it has become clear that just as printed works today engage
a wide range of possible intentions and uses, from magazines and posters to lim-
ited-edition books and artist prints, so did floating world printed objects have a
similar range of functions in their own time. Some—such as the surimono, poetry
books, and erotic handscrolls—were intended from their inception to be regarded
as printed paintings, while others—the compendia of ghosts and demons, illus-
trated novels, and others—to make use of print as a means of inexpensive mass
production. Their reception—from the moment they were published to their insti-
tutional acquisition—may be further understood in how they were imitated as
well as how they were handled. These were materials that had afterlives, and how
they were treated—whether they were handled with extreme care or with grubby
fingers—likewise reveals a lot about their status as objects (from art to ephemera)
in the early modern period.
Yet these factors can sometimes be rather easy to overlook in today’s world
where floating world pictures and books are sold at high prices and treated like
treasures. Conservation standards require that sheet prints are carefully matted
and kept in dark boxes to preserve their delicate colorants, pigments, and paper,
regarded with near veneration in dim galleries and in private showings. Books are
wrapped in specially made acid-free cases and laid on their sides in metal shelv-
ing units. Paintings are kept rolled up, wrapped in silk, housed in boxes. They are
stored in temperature and humidity controlled vaults, available for viewing when
on exhibition, brought out for special requests, or (increasingly) made available
as digital images on collection Web sites. These fragile images are usually classed
by artist’s name, such that those by Utamaro or Hokusai are put into their respec-
tive boxes, sold by name as masters by dealers and at auction, and discussed in
books and exhibitions that explore the life and work of a particular artist. (As this
writer has done as well.) Authenticity is privileged in our contemporary system of
appraisal, as is authorial intention.
We recognize that the material capitalism of the present reconstructs float-
ing world printed pictures as something they may not all have been, but its bene-
fit is that this history of appreciation and preservation makes it possible for us to
engage in connoisseurship as well as to consider the works as part of their social
and material histories. Thematic discussions of cultural practices (kabuki theater,
the licensed pleasure district, sumo wrestling, and travel) and studies of particular
motifs (cats, mountains, flowers, and so on) provide opportunities for us to see the
ways in which these topics remained pertinent (as well as profitable) over time. By
studying particular kinds of printed matter, such as the illustrated book (ehon) or
the privately produced print (surimono), attention may also be given to how writ-
ers and illustrators juxtaposed text and image and how that was an act of creative
expression. Printed works that describe the history of visuality—such as books
about painting as a subject—and the representation of ukiyo-e as part of that his-
tory engage period dialogues on the broader world of image production. Patron-
age, the market, and period censorship offer other productive means of reconsid-
ering the place of prints in public and private discourses.
This book has confronted many of the above issues within the broader dis-
cussion of collaborative practice. In all four case studies the material production
of the printed image is a result of the contribution of expertise by those that car-
ried out the roles of the so-called ukiyo-e quartet—publisher, artist, carver, and
printer—and their apprentices and affiliates. In each chapter it becomes clear,
however, that the works under investigation were part of a much bigger network—
and of an art world—and with its own audience. These overlapping spheres of
activity supported and sustained their production and reception. For Sekien, that
art world had its foundations in the Kano workshop, and for this teacher and his
students, print made it possible for his painting style to be disseminated beyond
the walls of the atelier; Sekien here becomes the bridge in a collaboration with the
past (in his replication of painting styles), the present (in his training of students),
and the future (in their transformation of his modes for the floating world). Sekien
and his students likewise benefited from the practice by haikai and kyōka poets to
use print, too, and for publishers to realize the profitability of printed catalogues
of things (such as bestiaries on the supernatural). Sekien’s audience is both visible
and hidden. Some, such as the poets in the haikai anthologies and kyōka books,
may be named, but many readers can only be presumed as present (who, after all,
were the readers of the compendia of the things that go bump in the night?). But
without the consumers who desired these products, printing Sekien-illustrated
books would have been a futile exercise. Instead, the case of Sekien, his students,
and their networks demonstrates that they were engaged in an aesthetic enter-
prise, mindful of the stakes and benefits of adapting and appropriating active
artistic discourses. This case study shows, too, how the power of the image—best
represented by the illusion of the painted lion—exceeds our ability to contain it,
signifying more than language can describe.
Shigemasa and Shunshō’s album of Yoshiwara yūjo participated in another
kind of exchange, subtly reifying another set of social practices. By reading this
Conclusion | 191
luxuriously printed (and no doubt expensive) project in conjunction with guide-
books to the quarter, this chapter showed how their collaboration extended beyond
their association with one another and their publishers to the Yoshiwara broth-
els and its clients. This aesthetic network understood how the material terms of
evaluation were being signaled in the scenes of brothel interiors and why; these
terms also served to replicate the distinctions of rank made between individuals
employed in the brothels illustrated and reinforce the hierarchies employed in the
quarter. These cultural codes point to the owners of the brothels represented as
likely patrons of the illustrated book, and with their larger audience composed of
its aficionados, with the publishers serving as the producers of the project.
The case of The Scroll of the Sleeve reveals how style and production func-
tioned as visual signatures. Like other art forms, ukiyo-e required that individual
artists as well as publishers develop telling features that made it possible to iden-
tify their contributions at a glance—and in this case, the attribution to Kiyonaga as
designer and Nishimuraya as publisher is made through comparison with other
signal images. That they, too, were playing with a wide range of source materials
was more than a nod and a wink to their audience. Rather, theirs was the skillful
redeployment of cultural codes, and they implicated their viewers in the visual
appropriation of all that was put on display. Using the narrow format of the pillar
print for this handscroll was a strategic means to make a genre that was already a
voyeur’s delight all the more charged. More than any other, this case demonstrates
how collaboration extends beyond the terms of production, for in the representa-
tion of the fantasy of sex, all—artist, publisher, carvers, printers, and viewers past
and present—are implicated in all that it entails.
These three cases relied upon their readers’ having a kind of specialist
knowledge in their consumption. Each is, to different degrees, about visual eval-
uation. These are broad categories of things that were, after all, available for con-
sumption either on the open market (although the terms of acquisition varied, to
be sure) or through the medium of the printed image. The fourth case takes up
the act of evaluating contemporary moralities, and in doing so, indirectly targets
the effectiveness of the political order to control what might be made visible (as
well as how and by whom). Kyōden and Masayoshi’s collaboration in word and
image twisted Shingaku dogma, and in their inverted (some may even say per-
verted) literalization of Good and Evil Spirits, they exposed Shingaku’s fallacies
(and those of the social order who supported Shingaku as a means of promulgat-
ing morality). Here, another collaborator in the floating world is implicated: the
shogunal bureaucracy in its efforts to contain print through restricting its subjects
and forms. That effort was effective, as Kyōzan’s recollections testify, in quelling
further exploration of a potential subversion. And yet the longevity of the subject’s
appeal demonstrates how potent that satire could be—instead of dying it went dor-
mant until political pressures lessened—and it could (and did) return with vigor.
Although many of the mundane but oh-so-important details of who did
what, when, and for how much cannot be fully documented through period evi-
dence, the fact remains that making and consuming ukiyo-e printed materials
was, by definition, a collaborative enterprise. Regardless of the fact that there was
as yet no term coined for “fine art,” for that specific word would not be devised
for nearly another century (as bijutsu), as mentioned previously, it is clear that
some forms of ukiyo-e attained the status of highly appreciated works. These were
clearly participant in—and the product of—an interlinked field of production with
a purpose. They reproduced that art world’s terms of appraisal, and they relied
upon its extended networks of contributors—from the paper and pigment mak-
ers to the name-brand artists and publishers to the varied patrons and viewers—
as participants in an extended network of collaborators. Like the book you hold
in your hand, they represented more than the ideas and contributions of a single
individual—they were produced through and for a social and aesthetic network.
Conclusion | 193
Notes
Introduction
1 Vera John-Steiner discusses the case of Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque as an
“integrative collaboration,” an intellectual exchange of near equals; see Creative Col-
laboration (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 70.
2 The terms and concepts described in this section have been discussed in numerous
publications; for an overview of these and related issues, see Donald Jenkins, “The
Roots of Ukiyo-e: Its Beginnings to the Mid-Eighteenth Century,” in The Hotei Encyclo-
pedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints, ed. Amy Newland (Amsterdam: Hotei, 2005), 1:47.
3 As C. Andrew Gerstle has argued, the concepts of carnival and performance are rel-
evant to these spaces; see “The Culture of Play: Kabuki and the Production of Texts,”
Oral Tradition 20, no. 2 (2005): 194.
4 Others, such as actors, yūjo (courtesans), leather tanners, et al., were considered hinin,
or “not human,” and officially outside this hierarchy. See Henry D. Smith, “Five Myths
about Early Modern Japan,” in Asia in Western and World History: A Guide for Teaching,
ed. Ainslie T. Embree and Carol Gluck (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1997), 514–522.
5 Eiko Ikegami, Bonds of Civility (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 130;
see her discussion of the policy of rule by status, or mibun seido.
6 Ibid., 129.
7 Ibid., 130.
8 Ibid., 131.
9 William Coaldrake uses this phrase in “Edo Architecture and Tokugawa Law,” Monu-
menta Nipponica 36, no. 3 (1981): 239.
10 Naitō Akira, Edo, the City that Became Tokyo: An Illustrated History (New York: Kodan-
sha, 2003), 99.
11 Ibid., 178. By comparison, the population of London in 1801 was about 850,000, and
Paris about 547,000; see Yazaki Takeo, Social Change and the City in Japan, trans.
195
David L. Swain (Tokyo: Japan Publications, 1968), 134. The population of Peking
reached 800,000 to 900,000 in the eighteenth century; Nakamura Satoru, “The Devel-
opment of Rural Industry,” in Tokugawa Japan: The Social and Economic Antecedents
of Modern Japan, ed. Chie Nakane and Shinzaburō Ōishi (Tokyo: University of Tokyo
Press, 1990), 84. The Edo numbers did not include transients, such as rōnin (master-
less samurai), who were known to live in high numbers in the major cities, making
an exact population count difficult; Susan B. Hanley and Kozo Yamamura, Economic
and Demographic Change in Preindustrial Japan, 1600–1868 (Princeton: Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 1977), 351.
12 Naitō Akira, Edo, 178.
13 Ibid.
14 Moriya Katsuhisa, “Urban Networks and Information Networks,” in Nakane and
Ōishi, Tokugawa Japan, 115–117.
15 Among others, see Mary Elizabeth Berry’s outstanding study of early modern Japa-
nese print culture, Japan in Print: Information and Nation in the Early Modern Period
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006).
16 Anthony Trollope, An Autobiography (1883; repr., Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1947), 227, as cited in Howard Saul Becker, Art Worlds (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1984), 1.
17 Becker, Art Worlds, 1–2.
18 There are too many excellent studies of ukiyo-e painting available to give a com-
plete listing here, but the reader is recommended to start with the following four:
Timothy Clark, Ukiyo-e Paintings in the British Museum (London: British Museum
Press, 1992); Anne Nishimura Morse, ed., Drama and Desire: Japanese Paintings from
the Floating World, 1690–1850 (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 2007); Michel Maucuer,
ed., Splendeurs des courtisanes—Japon, peintures ukiyo-e du musée Idemitsu (Paris:
Musée Cernuschi, 2008); and Naitō Masato, Ukiyo-e saihakken: Daimyōtachi ga medeta
ippin, zeppin (Tokyo: Shōgakkan, 2005).
19 Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy: A Primer in the
Social History of Pictorial Style (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988).
20 See Naitō Masato, “The Origins of Ukiyo-e,” in Morse, Drama and Desire, 38, and Julie
Nelson Davis, “Peindre les couleurs du Monde flottant: Réflexions sur le peintre de
l’ukiyo-e et son art,” trans. Elisabeth Luc, in Maucuer, Splendeurs des courtisanes, 40–48.
21 See, for example, Naitō Masato’s excellent study of aristocratic and daimyo patronage
for ukiyo-e paintings, Ukiyo-e saihakken. For more on prices for paintings, see Timon
Screech, “Owning Edo-Period Paintings,” in Acquisition: Art and Ownership in Edo-
Period Japan, ed. Elizabeth Lillehoj (Warren, CT: Floating World Editions, 2007), 23–51.
22 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of
Nationalism, rev. ed. (New York: Verso, 1996).
23 P. F. Kornicki, “Unsuitable Books for Women? Genji monogatari and Ise monogatari in
Late Seventeenth-Century Japan,” Monumenta Nipponica 60, no. 2 (2003): 147.
24 See, for example, Sumie Jones’ discussion of publishing in An Edo Anthology: Literature
from Japan’s Mega-City, 1750–1850 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013), 24–25.
25 For example, the collection of Kobayashi Bunshichi was destroyed in the 1923 Great
Kantō Earthquake; it is estimated to have included about two thousand paintings and
196 | Notes to Pages 5–11

one hundred thousand prints; see Oikawa Shigeru, “Ukiyo-e Collecting in Japan,” in
Newland, Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints, 1:383.
26 Tijs Volker, Ukiyo-e Quartet: Publisher, Designer, Engraver and Printer, Mededelingen
van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 5 (Leiden: Brill, 1949). The point can be
made that the term “quartet” leaves out some participants, such as the copyist that
transformed the artist’s sketch into the template used by the block carvers, or that it
does not distinguish between the key block carver and lesser block carvers, or that
there might be more than one printing house used for the project. However, the fact
that they are usually not named in projects makes their contributions difficult to
trace. For the purposes of this project, these others will remain folded into the profes-
sional roles played by the engraver (carver) and the printer.
27 Robert Darnton, “What Is the History of Books?” Daedalus 111, no. 3 (Summer 1982),
65–83.
28 Chris Uhlenbeck discusses these points further in “Production Constraints in the
World of Ukiyo-e: An Introduction to the Commercial Climate of Japanese Printmak-
ing,” in Newland, Commercial and Cultural Climate of Japanese Printmaking, 11–22.
29 Henry D. Smith discusses the capital investment of the publisher and his ownership
of the blocks in “The History of the Book in Edo and Paris,” in Edo and Paris: Urban
Life and the State in the Early Modern Era, ed. James L. McClain, John M. Merriman,
and Kaoru Ugawa (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994), 343; he notes that “in the
later Edo period, one does find printers dealing directly with individuals, such as
teachers of the artist, who ordered private editions for distribution to students and
colleagues. The bulk of publishing, however, remained in commercial hands.”
30 For more, see David B. Waterhouse, Harunobu and His Age: The Development of Colour
Printing in Japan (London: British Museum, 1964), and Kobayashi Tadashi, Seishun
no ukiyoeshi Suzuki Harunobu: Edo no kararisuto tōjō (Chiba: Chiba City Museum of
Art, 2002).
31 Most notably, for actor prints; see Asano Shūgō, “Sharaku no dai-ikki yakusha-e
o megutte,” in Sharaku: Ukiyo-e o yomu 3, ed. Asano Shūgō and Yoshida Nobuyuki
(Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1998), 45. Osaka prints of actors were often made for fan
clubs as commissions or as partially patron-funded projects, as discussed in numer-
ous publications.
32 Lawrence E. Marceau, “Behind the Scenes: Narrative and Self-Referentiality in Edo
Illustrated Popular Fiction,” Japan Forum 21, no. 3 (2010): 409. Reproduction of this
illustrated book is available in Koike Masatane, Uda Toshihiko, Nakayama Yūshō,
and Tanahashi Masahiro, eds., Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon—zoku kan 2 (Tokyo:
Shakai shisōsha, 1985), 227–248.
33 For example, in The Monster’s Taiheiki (Bakemono Taiheiki) of 1804, Ikku writes that
his publisher, Yamaguchiya Chūsuke, came to him with a request to write the book
and Ikku then received his inspiration for the story from a dream; reprinted in Koike
et al., Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon, 4:270–271.
34 Marceau, “Behind the Scenes, 409.”
35 Ibid., 411. Koike et al., Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon—zoku kan 2, 234.
36 Marceau, “Behind the Scenes,” 412–416; Koike et al., Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon—
zoku kan 2, 240–243.
Notes to Pages 12–14 | 197

37 Marceau, “Behind the Scenes,” 417–418; Koike et al., Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon—
zoku kan 2, 244–247.
38 Robert Darnton, “ ‘What Is the History of Books?’ Revisited,” Modern Intellectual His-
tory 4, no. 3 (2007): 497–502.
39 Ibid., 501–502.
40 Peter F. Kornicki, The Book in Japan: A Cultural History from the Beginnings to the
Nineteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 1998). See also Henry D. Smith II, “Japaneseness
and the History of the Book,” Monumenta Nipponica 53, no. 4 (1998): 499–515.
41 The jihonya (also jihon-doiya), or local bookshop, specialized in lighter fare, while the
shomotsuya (also shomotsu-doiya), or scholarly bookshops, produced works considered
serious; see Suzuki Jun and Ellis Tinios, Understanding Japanese Woodblock-Printed
Illustrated Books: A Short Introduction to Their History, Bibliography and Format
(Leiden: Brill, 2013), 41. Edo guilds were established in 1721, and those in Kyoto and
Osaka were established in 1716 and 1723, respectively; guilds were charged to have
members appointed on a rota to serve as censors. See Kornicki, Book in Japan, 180–
181, 338; Richard H. Mitchell, Censorship in Imperial Japan (Princeton: Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 1983), 4; Suwa Haruo, Shuppan kotohajime: Edo no hon (Tokyo: Mainichi
shinbunsha, 1978), 66.
42 Peter F. Kornicki, “Manuscript, Not Print: Scribal Culture in the Edo Period,” Journal
of Japanese Studies 32, no. 1 (2006): 23–52.
43 Jones, Edo Anthology, 24.
44 See Julie Nelson Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty (London: Reaktion Books;
Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007).
45 See Adam L. Kern, “Blowing Smoke: Tobacco Pouches and Authorial Puffery in the
Pictorial Comic Fiction (Kibyōshi) of Santō Kyōden” (PhD diss., Harvard University,
1997).
46 See, for example, ibid.; Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty; and Julie Nelson
Davis, “Artistic Identity and Ukiyo-e Prints: The Representation of Kitagawa Utamaro
to the Edo Public,” in The Artist as Professional in Japan, ed. Melinda Takeuchi, 113–151
(Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2004). The concept of the “author function”
is reliant upon Roland Barthes, “The Death of the Author,” in Image, Music, Text
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1977), and Michel Foucault, “What Is an Author?” in The
Foucault Reader, ed. P. Rabinow, 101–120 (New York: Pantheon, 1984).
47 Craig Clunas, Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China (Princeton: Princeton Uni-
versity Press; London: Reaktion Books, 1997), 113.
48 Michael Ann Holly, Past Looking: Historical Imagination and the Rhetoric of the Image
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), 20–23.
49 Being able to see standing screens (byōbu), sliding door panels (fusuma), and murals
meant having access to specific spaces; byōbu were typically displayed for specific
purposes rather than continuously, thus available for limited periods.
50 See, among others, on the formation of the gaze in the social order, Jacques Lacan,
Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, ed. Jacques-Alain Miller, trans. Alan
Sheridan (London: Hogarth Press, 1977); on the gaze as coded masculine, see Laura
Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (1975): 6–18, and
Mary Devereaux, “Oppressive Texts, Resisting Readers and the Gendered Spectator:

The New Aesthetics,” in “Feminism and Traditional Aesthetics,” special issue, Jour-
nal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 48, no. 4 (Autumn 1990): 337–347.
51 For some recent publications that take up issues of collaboration in ukiyo-e, see
Roger S. Keyes, Ehon: The Artist and the Book in Japan (New York: New York Public
Library, 2006); Julia Meech and Jane Oliver, eds., Designed for Pleasure: The World
of Edo Japan in Prints and Paintings, 1680–1860 (New York: Asia Society and Japa-
nese Art Society of America; Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2008); Laura
Mueller, ed., Competition and Collaboration: Japanese Prints of the Utagawa School
(Leiden: Hotei, 2007); Amy Reigle Newland, ed., The Commercial and Cultural Climate
of Japanese Printmaking (Amsterdam: Hotei, 2004).
Chapter 1: Teaching the Art of Painting through Print

1 On the noh play and its history, see Robert Borgen, “Stone Bridge (Shakkyō),” in
“In Memory of Marian Ury,” special issue, Japanese Language and Literature 37, no. 2
(October 2003): 104–116.
2 On formats, see Asano Shūgō, “An Overview of Surimono,” trans. Timothy Clark,
Impressions 20 (1998): 31. Asano also notes that surimono used thicker, unsized pre-
sentation paper (hōsho) produced in large sheets (ō-bōsho) (about 42 × 57 cm), while
“brocade prints” (nishiki-e) were usually put on sized paper.
3 On Sekien, see, among others, Shimada Tsukuba, “Sekien no Bashō zō,” Ukiyo-e
geijutsu 4, no. 10 (1935): 1–3; Takada Mamoru, ed., Gazu hyakki yagyō (Tokyo: Kokusho
Kankōkai, 1992). I have briefly discussed Sekien in “Kitagawa Utamaro and His Con-
temporaries, 1780–1804,” in The Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints, ed.
Amy Reigle Newland (Amsterdam: Hotei, 2005), 1:135–166, and Utamaro and the
Spectacle of Beauty (London: Reaktion Books; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press,
2007). Currently, Lawrence Marceau is writing a study of Sekien’s Gazu hyakki yagyō
and Jörg Ebenschwanger is producing a dissertation on Sekien; both projects are
eagerly anticipated.
4 See Takada, Gazu hyakki yagyō, 325; Michael Dylan Foster, Pandemonium and Parade: Jap-
anese Monsters and the Culture of Yōkai (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 57.
5 Shimada, “Sekien no Bashō zō.” Jack Hillier, in his study of Edo-period printed books,
wrote, “From old records we learn that ‘he had a beautiful house and garden, where
he was fond of entertaining friends at the ceremonial tea, at which he was considered
an adept.’ ” (Utamaro: Colour Prints and Paintings, 2nd ed. [London: Phaidon, 1961], 3).
Unfortunately, these “old records” are not cited.
6 Shin zoku ukiyo-e ruikō, as documented in Takada, Gazu hyakki yagyō, 325. For a
compilation of all period writings on Sekien, see “Ukiyo-e bunken shiryōkan,” http://
www.ne.jp/asahi/kato/yoshio/kobetuesi/sekien.html (accessed August 15, 2011).
7 Yamana Kakuzō, Nihon no ukiyo-eshi (Tokyo: Daiichishobō, 1930), 265.
8 See, for example, Takeda Tsuneo, Kanoha kaigashi (Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunkan,
1995); Karen M. Gerhart, “Talent, Training, and Power: The Kano Painting Workshop
in the Seventeenth Century,” in Copying the Master and Stealing His Secrets: Talent and
Training in Japanese Painting, ed. Brenda G. Jordan and Victoria Weston (Honolulu:
University of Hawai‘i Press, 2003), 9–30.

9 See Frank Chance, “In the Studio of Painting Study: Transmission Practices of Tani
Bunchō,” in Jordan and Weston, Copying the Master and Stealing His Secrets, 60.
10 See Yukio Lippit, Painting of the Realm: The Kano House of Painters in 17th-Century
Japan (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2012).
11 See Timon Screech, The Shogun’s Painted Culture: Fear and Creativity in the Japanese
States, 1760–1829 (London: Reaktion Books, 2000), 138.
12 Sasaki Jōhei, “The Era of the Kanō School,” in “Edo Culture and Its Modern Legacy,”
special issue, Modern Asian Studies 18, no. 4 (1984): 653.
13 Brenda G. Jordan, “Copying from Beginning to End? Student Life in the Kano
School,” in Copying the Master and Stealing his Secrets, 31.
14 Screech, The Shogun’s Painted Culture, the quote appears on 130; discussion of con-
trast between Kano and others’ style, 131–132.
15 See Jordan, “Copying from Beginning to End?” 33–39, for further discussion of this
approach.
16 Ibid., 35.
17 Gerhart, “Talent, Training, and Power,” 21. See also Quitman Eugene Phillips, “Honchō
gashi and the Kano Myth,” Archives of Asian Art 47 (1994): 46–57.
18 Gerhart, “Talent, Training, and Power,” 22.
19 Kano Gyokuen (1683–1743) has also been suggested as Sekien’s teacher, but modern
scholars regard Chikanobu as the more likely, as documented in Shimada Tsukuba,
“Sekien no Bashō zō,” and more recently in Asano Shūgō, “Toriyama Sekien,” in
Ukiyo-e daijiten, ed. Kokusai Ukiyo-e Gakkai (Tokyo: Tōkyōdō shuppan, 2008), 353.
20 He was the eldest son of Kano Tsunenobu; see Tokyo Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan,
Kano-ha no kaiga (Tokyo: Tokyo Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, 1979), entry 149. Chika
nobu was also the teacher of Katō Bunrei (1706–1782), teacher of the literati painter
Tani Bunchō; see Chance, “In the Studio of Painting Study,” 62.
21 Comic pictures were long a part of Japanese painting, but these may also have been
related to similar work by the painter Hanabusa Itchō; see Yasumura Yoshinobu,
entry 47, in Hizō Nihon bijutsu taikan, ed. Hirayama Ikuo and Kobayashi Tadashi
(Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1992–1994), 2:281. On Itchō, see Miriam Wattles, The Life and
Afterlives of Hanabusa Itchō: Artist-Rebel of Edo (Amsterdam: Brill, 2013).
22 The link to Gyokuen is discussed, for example, in Takada, Gazu hyakki yagyō, 323;
Shimada, “Sekien no Bashō zō,” 1; Kikuchi Sadao, “Utamaro, Eishi no ukiyo-e,” in
Zaigai Nihon no shihō, vol. 7, ed. Yamane Yūzō (Tokyo: Mainichi shinbunsha, 1980),
113; Yamana, Nihon no ukiyo-eshi, 265.
23 The Okachimachi was an omote eshi line, meaning it was a lower-ranking designation
in the Kano system but one that still served the shogunate and received stipends.
24 Takeda, Kanoha kaigashi, 306, 433. Gyokuen’s style is difficult to assess, however; at
present, none of his paintings are known in museum collections or reproduced in
books about the Kano school.
25 On the connection to Gyokuen, see Kobayashi Tadashi and Ōkubo Jun’ichi, eds.,
Ukiyo-e no kanshō kiso chishiki (Tokyo: Shibundō, 1994), 233. On the name changes,
see Yamana, Nihon no ukiyo-eshi, 264; Sugimoto Ryūichi, “Utamaro kaimei izen—
Toyoaki ki no shomondai,” Museum 435 (1987): 22; and Shimada, “Sekien no Bashō
zō,” 1.

26 Two votive paintings are published in Shimada, “Sekien no Bashō zō.” Exemplary
paintings are also held in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Tokyo National
Museum, and the Chiba City Museum of Art, among others.
27 Tanzan was a student of Kano Tan’yū’s (1602–1674); see Jordan, “Copying from Begin-
ning to End?” 35.
28 Shunboku included designs by Sekien’s teacher, Kano Chikanobu, of the Eight
Immortals of the Wine Cup in the Garden of Famous Japanese and Chinese Pictures
(Wakan meigaen, 1749–1750), evidencing his period stature.
29 The Sekien gafu held in the British Museum is reproduced in full in Narazaki Mune-
shige, ed., Ukiyo-e Masterpieces in European Collections: British Museum, vol. 2 (Tokyo:
Kōdansha; New York: Kodansha International, 1988).
30 As Hillier has noted, its title and production quality suggest “the authority of an
accepted master . . . and one could believe that the artist had gone out of his way
to demonstrate his eclecticism, his ability to handle a wide range of subjects in
a diversity of styles” (The Art of the Japanese Book [New York: Sotheby’s, 1987],
1:395–396).
31 These printing differences are discussed in Asano Shūgō, entries 190–193, in Nara
zaki, Ukiyo-e Masterpieces in European Collections, 2:290–291.
32 As Suzuki Jun and Ellis Tinios note, this function of gafu was such that they were
“explicitly advertised as painting manuals (edehon) in publishers’ lists”; Suzuki and
Tinios, Understanding Japanese Woodblock-Printed Illustrated Books: A Short Introduc-
tion to Their History, Bibliography and Format (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 26.
33 This book is said to be the first to feature the fukibokashi technique; see Hillier, Art of
the Japanese Book, 1:396; Yamana, Nihon no ukiyo-eshi, 265.
34 Author’s translation. I would like to thank the members of the Penn-Princeton-
Cambridge kuzushiji reading group and Ms. Matsumura Masako for their help in
transcribing this text.
35 Hillier, Art of the Japanese Book, 1:73–75; among the Japanese painters to have used
the volume, Hillier cites Gion Nankai (1677–1751), Yanagisawa Kien (1704–1758),
and Sakaki Hyakusen (1697–1753). Melinda Takeuchi has also discussed Ike Taiga’s
employment of the Hasshū gafu; see Taiga’s True Views: The Language of Landscape
Painting in Eighteenth-Century Japan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1992), 2, 9,
23, 140.
36 Miriam Wattles, “The Life and Afterlives of Hanabusa Itchō (1652–1724)” (PhD diss.,
New York University, 2005).
37 The phrase reads wakan no jinbutsu.
38 For a discussion of the tensions between these two styles in the premodern period,
see Chino Kaori, “Gender in Japanese Art,” in Gender and Power in the Japanese Visual
Field, ed. Joshua Mostow, Norman Bryson, and Maribeth Graybill (Honolulu: Univer-
sity of Hawai‘i Press, 2003), 17–34.
39 See also R. H. van Gulik, “The Lore of the Chinese Lute: An Essay in Ch’in Ideology
(Continued),” Monumenta Nipponica 2, no. 1 (January 1939): 388.
40 See Wm. Theodore de Bary et al., Sources of Japanese Tradition, 2nd ed. (New York:
Columbia University Press, 2001), 2:74.
41 This figure seems reliant upon a similar one in Ōoka Shunboku’s Gakō senran.

42 See also the painting by Utagawa Yoshiteru in the British Museum on the theme
of Princess Sotōri, discussed by Timothy T. Clark in Ukiyo-e Paintings in the British
Museum (London: British Museum Press, 1992), 223.
43 The entire three-volume work is available in digital form on the Kanazawa College of
Art library Web site: http://www.kanazawa-bidai.ac.jp/tosyokan/edehon/main2.htm
(accessed July 23, 2013).
44 All four are reproduced in Takada, Gazu hyakki yagyō. Inoue Yashichi is given as the
block carver for Konjaku hyakki shūi and Hyakki tsurezure bukuro; see chapter 2 for
more on this contributor.
45 See, for example, the “house sounding” creature (yanari) in Foster, Pandemonium and
Parade, 62–63.
46 Ibid., 57, also cites two painted handscrolls, Bakemono zukushi (Complete shape-shift-
ers), artist and date unknown, and Hyakki zukan (Illustrated scroll of a hundred mys-
teries), by Sawaki Sūshi, 1737, as precedents; whether Sekien would have known these
is a point to consider, however.
47 Takada, Gazu hyakki yagyō, 36.
48 Ibid., 37.
49 Foster, Pandemonium and Parade, 57.
50 See, for example, the discussion of Maruyama Ōkyo’s use of this source for his phys-
iognomic studies in John Teramoto, “Problems of Corporeality in Japanese Paint-
ing,” in The Imagination of the Body and the History of Bodily Experience, ed. Kuri-
yama Shigehisa (Kyoto: International Research Center for Japanese Studies, 2000),
199; Sasaki Jōhei, “Edo jidai no gekasho oyobi sōsho to jintai hyōgen no kankei—
Maruyama Ōkyo no jinbutsuzu kenkyū,” Tetsugaku kenkyū, no. 550 (1990): 1477. Shi-
rasugi Etsuko connects two Utagawa Kunisada prints showing inner anatomical
structures from about 1850 to the Wakan sansai zue in “Envisioning the Inner Body
during the Edo Period in Japan: Inshoku yojo kagami (Rules of Dietary Life) and
Boji yojo kagami (Rules of Sexual Life),” Anatomical Science International 82 (2007):
46–52.
51 The kappa is listed by its alternative name, kawatarō, in part 40 of the Wakan san-
sai zue; see Wakan sansai zue (Tokyo: Nihon Zuihitsu Taisai Kankōkai, 1929), 1:461.
The Edo-period original has been digitized and is available online at http://record.
museum.kyushu-u.ac.jp/wakan/wakan-jin/page.html?style=b&part=19&no=21
(accessed July 23, 2012). On the figure of the kappa in past and present, see Michael
Dylan Foster, “The Metamorphosis of the Kappa: Transformation of Folklore to Folk-
lorism in Japan,” Asian Folklore Studies 57, no. 1 (1998): 1–24. Another rendering of a
kappa appears in Hiraga Gennai’s parody of a sermon, Rootless Grass (Nenashigusa,
1763); see Adam L. Kern, Manga from the Floating World: Comicbook Culture and the
Kibyōshi of Edo Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006), 99;
there Kern also illustrates Santō Kyōden’s imitation of Gennai’s kappa in Unsavorily
Mismatched Jiffy Shanks (Fuanbai sokuseki ryōri, 1784).
52 Foster, Pandemonium and Parade; Melinda Takeuchi, “Kuniyoshi’s Minamoto Raikō
and the Earth Spider: Demons and Protest in Late Tokugawa Japan” Ars Orientalis 17
(1987): 5–38. Foster also links (55) this presentation to Chinese pre-Ming encyclo-
pedias such as the Shanhaijing (Guideways through mountains and seas, produced

between fourth and first centuries BCE) that catalogued unusual locales and their
denizens. See also Stephen Addiss, ed., Japanese Ghosts and Demons (New York: Bra-
ziller, 2001).
53 Michel Foucault’s observations on the formation of knowledge might be used pro-
ductively here; see The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (New
York: Vintage, 1994).
54 Foster, Pandemonium and Parade, 31–35.
55 Ibid., 31–35, 56, 65–66.
56 Renata Holod, “Site of Sight, Right of Sight, and Rite of Sight: Exploring the Cultures
of Seeing,” The 60-Second Lectures, September 24, 2004, http://www.sas.upenn.edu/
60second/speakers/1544/Renata%20Holod (accessed September 12, 2013).
57 Asano Shūgō, entry 36, on Toriyama Sekien, Night Procession of the Hundred Demons,
in Drama and Desire: Japanese Paintings from the Floating World, 1690–1850, ed. Anne
Nishimura Morse (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 2007), 142.
58 Timothy Clark, “Hyakki yakō zukan,” in Bosuton Bijutsukan nikuhitsu ukiyo-e, ed.
Tsuji Nobuo (Tokyo: Kōdansha; Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 2000), 160–161.
59 This scene is also shown as the closing image to Past and Present Illustrations: More
Hundred Monsters and Spirits; see Asano, entry 36, on Toriyama Sekien, 146.
60 See the three Utamaro prints reproduced in Asano Shūgō and Timothy Clark, The
Passionate Art of Kitagawa Utamaro, trans. Timothy Clark, 2 vols. (Tokyo: Asahi shim-
bun; London: British Museum, 1995), entries 53, 54, and 55.
61 Sekien’s compendia are likely sources for such later works as Kuniyoshi’s Raikō and
the Earth Spider and Hokusai’s One Hundred Tales (Hyaku monogatari), ca. 1830. See
Takeuchi, “Kuniyoshi’s Minamoto Raikō and the Earth Spider,” and, on Kuniyoshi’s
adaptation of the night procession, Timothy T. Clark, Kuniyoshi: From the Arthur R.
Miller Collection (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 2009), 268.
62 Eiko Ikegami, Bonds of Civility (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 175.
63 Ibid., 172–173.
64 New Year’s anthologies were not new; one produced by Ihara Saikaku and his circle
for New Year’s 1676 is discussed in Morikawa Akira, “Enpō yonen Saikaku saitanchō,”
in Nihon bungaku kenkyū taisei: Saikaku, ed. Hinotani Teruhiko (Tokyo: Kokusho
Kankōkai, 1989), 31–48. Matsuo Bashō also produced verses for the saitanchō issued
for the New Year 1738; see Makoto Ueda, The Path of Flowering Thorn: The Life and
Poetry of Yosa Buson (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 6.
65 Ōta Kinen Bijutsukan, Utamaro to sono shūhen (Tokyo: Ukiyo-e Ōta Kinen Bijutsu-
kan, 1992), 26; see p. 25 for the illustration in a 1781 saitanchō.
66 The association between Toyoharu and Sekien derives from the nineteenth-century
account by Iijima Kyoshin (1841–1901) about the Utagawa school, Biographies of Uki-
yo-e Artists of the Utagawa School (Ukiyo-eshi Utagawa retsuden), reprinted in Ōta
Kinen Bijutsukan, Utagawa Toyoharu to sono jidai: Botsugo 180-nen kinen (Tokyo:
Ukiyo-e Ōta Kinen Bijutsukan, 1994), 109. The following two notations (pp. 21, 109)
appear to connect Toyoharu to Sekien: (1) “The proof for this is that I saw a genre
picture that was signed ‘Brush of Utagawa Toyoharu, pupil of Toriyama Sekien
Toyofusa,” and (2) “The character Toyo of Toyoharu was given to him by Sekien,
whose real name was Toyofusa.”

67 For example, Utamaro’s first illustration included in the anthology Chiyo no haru
(Eternal spring), in 1770, published by Tōryūsō Enshi. There beside the simple design
of eggplants Utamaro signed “shonen Sekiyō ga,” or “pictured by the youth Sekiyō,” a
name that in its derivation takes “Seki” from Sekien’s own artistic name. Reproduced
in Asano and Clark, Passionate Art of Kitagawa Utamaro, entry 453.
68 For additional Shikō illustrations, see Ōta Kinen Bijutsukan, Utamaro to sono shūhen,
illus. 21, 22, 25, 26.
69 Ibid., 23.
70 Suzuki Kōhei, “Eishōsai chōki,” in Ukiyo-e daijiten, ed. Kokusai Ukiyo-e Gakkai
(Tokyo: Tōkyōdō shuppan, 2008), 77.
71 See Ikegami’s discussion of women in haikai in Bonds of Civility, 187–191; as she notes
(188), the 1774 anthology Tamamo-shū featured contributions by 117 women poets.
72 See Ōta Kinen Bijutsukan, Utamaro to sono shūhen. Ōoka Shunboku also presented
Hotei in this guise; see his illustrations in Gakō senran, vol. 5, as well as in Wakan
meigaen.
73 In 1775, Utamaro was signing works with the name Kitagawa Toyoaki, using an artis-
tic alias derived from Sekien’s personal name, Toyofusa, for book illustrations, prints
of actors and warriors, and a surimono print of actors’ haiku. See Sugimoto, “Utamaro
kaimei izen,” 20–28. For additional examples of early work and signatures, see Asano
and Clark, Passionate Art of Kitagawa Utamaro, entries 18, 19, 454, 455. Utamaro’s
early career is also considered in Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, chap. 1.
Due to the lack of biographical details for Utamaro, it has been conjectured that
Sekien was Utamaro’s father or adopted father; this has been challenged on the evi-
dence that Utamaro never used the artistic surname Toriyama. See also Yamana,
Nihon no ukiyo-eshi, 268–270.
74 Matsuki Hiroshi, Tsutaya Jūzaburō: Edo geijutsu no enshutsuka (Tokyo: Nihon keizai
shinbunsha, 1988), 49–51; Suzuki Toshiyuki, Tsutaya Jūzaburō, vol. 9 of Kinsei bun-
gaku kenkyū sosho (Tokyo: Wakakusa shobō, 1998), 152.
75 For the entire passage, see Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, 56.
76 This manuscript copy was one of a group of documents compiled by Kitakōji Ken,
including the zuihitsu essay titled A Record of Things Just as I Heard Them (Kiku mama
no ki), by Kimura Mokurō (1774–1856); see Hamada Giichirō, ed., Ōta Nanpo zenshū
(Collected works of Ōta Nanpo) (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1988), 18:436.
77 Hamada, Ōta Nanpo zenshū, 18:445. See also Kobayashi Tadashi, Utamaro: Portraits
from the Floating World, trans. Mark A. Harbison (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1993), 71.
78 See Nakada Katsunosuke, Ukiyo-e ruikō (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1982), 93.
79 It would be possible to trace this figure through printed works, such as those designed
by Ōoka Shunboku, to similar Kano-style treatments.
80 Takahashi Seiichirō, ed., Ukiyo-e Taikei, vol. 5, Utamaro (Tokyo: Shūeisha, 1975), 74.
Daniel McKee has proposed that since a small rabbit is placed on the memorial table to
the left, this object might serve as a calendrical marker for a New Year’s surimono and
would date this print to 1795; that dating would make it a commemorative work for the
seven-year memorial service (shichinenki) held in honor of his teacher (e-mail message
to author, December 19, 2008), a very likely alternative. I offer my sincere thanks to
Daniel McKee for reminding me of this image and thus prompting this project.

Chapter 2: Picturing Beauties
1 For more, see Sone Hiromi, “Prostitution and Public Authority in Early Modern
Japan,” trans. Akiko Terashima and Anne Walthall, in Women and Class in Japanese
History, ed. Hitomi Tonomura, Anne Walthall, and Wakita Haruko, 169–185 (Ann
Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1999). See also Amy
Stanley, Selling Women: Prostitution, Markets, and the Household in Early Modern Japan
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), and Cecilia Segawa Seigle, Yoshiwara:
The Glittering World of the Japanese Courtesan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press,
1993).
2 See Seigle, Yoshiwara, 48–50, for more on the move to the new location.
3 How one traveled there was also determined by status; period edicts warned, for
example, that chōnin (townsmen) should not use palanquins; seventeenth-century
restrictions forbade chōnin from using this mode of transport unless the passenger
was over sixty (amended to fifty) or ill; see Donald H. Shively, “Sumptuary Regu-
lation and Status in Early Tokugawa Japan,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 25
(1964–1965): 123–164 (on palanquins, see 130–131, 151, 161n16). Riders typically left
their horses at the stables in Asakusa and made the rest of the journey on foot.
4 See Timon Screech, “Going to the Courtesans: Transit to the Pleasure District of Edo
Japan,” in The Courtesan’s Arts: Cross-Cultural Perspectives, ed. Marsha Feldman and
Bonnie Gordon, 255–279 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).
5 Working from period guidebooks (saiken), Miyamoto Yukiko has established that
the yūjo population in Shin-Yoshiwara in 1782 numbered 2,912 (“Yūri no seiritsu to
taishūka,” in Bunka no taishūka, ed. Takeuchi Makoto, Nihon no kinsei 14 [Tokyo:
Chūō kōronsha, 1993], 216).
6 See also Julie Nelson Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty (London: Reaktion
Books; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007), chap. 3, on images of twenty-
four hours in the daily life of the yūjo.
7 See Haruko Iwasaki, “The World of ‘Gesaku’: Playful Writers of Late Eighteenth Cen-
tury Japan” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1984), and Eiko Ikegami, Bonds of Civility
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005).
8 Seigle, Yoshiwara, 131–133.
9 Nakano Mitsutoshi, “The Role of Traditional Aesthetics,” and Teruoka Yasutaka,
“The Pleasure Quarters and Tokugawa Culture,” both in Eighteenth-Century Japan:
Culture and Society, ed. C. Andrew Gerstle (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1989), 125–126,
and 26, respectively.
10 Reproduced and transcribed in Mizuno Minoru, ed., Sharebon taisei (Tokyo: Chūō
kōronsha, 1979), 6:65–82; see also Haruko Iwasaki, “The World of ‘Gesaku’: Play-
ful Writers of Late Eighteenth Century Japan” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1984),
88–89.
11 Teruoka, “Pleasure Quarters and Tokugawa Culture,” 26.
12 Sone, “Prostitution and Public Authority,” 172–177.
13 Osamu Ueda and Timothy T. Clark, The Actor’s Image: Print Makers of the Katsukawa
School (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago, in association with Princeton University
Press, 1994), entry 75, p. 2 of an unpaginated entry.
14 This term has often been translated as “green houses.”

15 Ueda and Clark, Actor’s Image, entry 75, p. 2 of an unpaginated entry.
16 The term kagami can also engage another pun, for the character used here can be
read as kan or kagami, and it can draw a connection with the homophone for “model,”
or “paragon,” as well as “mirror”; if so, it reasserts the idea of these figures as exem-
plars. Kagami might also signal the idea of a work of great learning, as a treasure book
of knowledge, and was often used as such in titles.
17 Here the kanji term shōgi (prostitute) is glossed with furigana to read kimi (ladies),
another term for prostitute at the time. See Maeda Isamu, ed., Edogo daijiten: Shinsō-
bon (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 2003), 312.
18 Referring to the story of Wang Zhaojun (known in Japanese as Ō Shōkun), one of the
Four Beauties of ancient China, who was a lady-in-waiting at the court of Emperor
Yuan of the Han (r. 48–31 BCE) and married to the Xiongnu khan Huhanye, as part of
a peace treaty, and later remarried to one of his sons by another marriage. Her embel-
lished story became the subject of Chinese poetry and drama, and it was adapted for
the noh theater as the play Shōkun. On Wang Shaojun, see, among others, Daphne
Pi-Wei Lei, “Wang Zhaojun on the Border: Gender and Intercultural Conflicts in
Premodern Chinese Drama,” Asian Theatre Journal 13, no. 2 (Autumn 1996): 229–237.
On Shōkun (also known as Oshōkun), see Donald Keene and Royall Tyler, eds., Twenty
Plays of the Nō Theatre (New York: Columbia University Press, 1970), 166–167, where
they discuss the transmission of the story, as well as note that the authorship of this
play is unknown and seems to predate Zeami Motokiyo (1363–ca. 1443).
19 My translation; I would like to thank Matsumura Masako for her assistance in read-
ing this text. For other renderings, see Ueda and Clark, Actor’s Image, entry 75, p. 1 of
an unpaginated entry, and Jack Ronald Hillier, The Art of the Japanese Book (New York:
Sotheby’s, 1987), 2:356–357.
20 In Ueda’s translation; see Ueda and Clark, Actor’s Image, entry 75, p. 1 of an unpagi-
nated entry.
21 Volume one includes a total of nineteen scenes of the yūjo in their houses, while
volume two includes twenty-two double-page openings.
22 Roger S. Keyes, Ehon: The Artist and the Book in Japan (New York: New York Public
Library, 2006), 96.
23 I would like to thank Matsumura Masako of the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation for her
help in transliterating these poems.
24 See, for example, the listing of ukiyo-e artists Tochi manryō (Country of ten thousand
gold coins, 1777), published in Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, 27.
25 Hinohara Kenji, “Kitao Shigemasa ga ‘Haikai nanoshi ori’ ni tsuite—Kamigata ehon
kara kachō gakushū o chūshin ni,” Bijutsushi: Journal of the Japan Art History Society
52, no. 1 (October 2002): 76. This figure includes both ehon and sōshi.
26 Hayashi Yoshikazu, Shigemasa: Enpon kenkyū (Tokyo: Yūkō shobō, 1966), 20.
27 For a discussion of Shigemasa’s dates, names, and family history, see Hayashi, Shi-
gemasa, 17–56; David B. Waterhouse, “The Birth of the Full-Colour Print: Suzuki
Harunobu and His Age, Early 1760s to Early 1780s,” in The Hotei Encyclopedia of Jap-
anese Woodblock Prints, ed. Amy Reigle Newland (Amsterdam: Hotei, 2005), 1:109;
Hillier, Art of the Japanese Book, 2:348.
28 Hinohara Kenji, “Kitao Shigemasa ga ‘Ehon Azuma hana’ ‘Ehon asamurasaki’ ” (On

“Flowers of the East” and “Pale Violet,” by Kitao Shigemasa), Ukiyo-e geijutsu 145
(2003): 56.
29 Ōta Nanpo, “Ukiyo-e kōshō,” in Hamada Giichirō, ed., Ōta Nanpo zenshū (Tokyo: Iwa-
nami shoten, 1988), 9:444; also discussed in Hinohara, “Kitao Shigemasa ga ‘Ehon
Azuma hana’ ‘Ehon asamurasaki,’ ” 56; Hayashi, Shigemasa, 20.
30 Hillier, Art of the Japanese Book, 2:348; Hayashi, Shigemasa, 53.
31 Hayashi, Shigemasa, 54.
32 For a brief discussion of Shunshō’s career, see Iwakiri Yuriko, “Katsukawa Shunshō,”
in Newland, Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints, 2:455.
33 See Tochi manryō in Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, 27.
34 Fujisawa Murasaki, “Suzuki Harunobu no ehon—‘Ehon seirō bijin awase,’ ” in Uki-
yoe no genzai, ed. Yamaguchi Keizaburō (Tokyo: Bensai shuppan, 1999), 117.
35 Illustrated Book: Brocades with Precious Threads (Ehon takara no itosuji, 1786), and
Warrior’s Great Learning (Musha kagami, n.d.)
36 Laurence Binyon and J. J. O’Brien Sexton, Japanese Colour Prints (Boston: Boston
Book and Art Shop, 1923), 214.
37 Frederick William Gookin, “A Master of Old Japan: Katsukawa Shunshō, 1726–1793:
A Review of His Life and Works (unpublished manuscript, 1931), 150–154; Ueda and
Clark, Actor’s Image, entry 75, p. 1 of an unpaginated entry.
38 Hayashi, Shigemasa, 75–77. Naitō Masato also recommends this approach (after
Morelli), Katsukawa Shunshō to Tenmeiki no ukiyoe bijinga (Tokyo: Shohan, 2012),
76–77.
39 Hayashi, Shigemasa, 75–77.
40 Hillier, Art of the Japanese Book, 1:331.
41 This line of analysis might be profitably extended to considerations of other images
of the same moment and of the uses of naturalism in their representation. For exam-
ple, Shunshō’s designs showing the actors backstage rely upon a similar trope for
their naturalism.
42 See, among others, Henry D. Smith II, “The History of the Book in Edo and Paris,”
in Edo and Paris: Urban Life and the State in the Early Modern Period, ed. James
L. McClain, John M. Merriman, and Kaoru Ugawa (Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, 1994), 343, for an overview of the implications of being the owner of the
woodblocks.
43 The Harunobu books are Illustrated Book: Eternal Pines (Ehon chiyo no matsu) and
Illustrated Book: The Flowering Katsura (Ehon hanakatsura).
44 For a discussion of this project, see Hinohara, “Kitao Shigemasa ga ‘Ehon Azuma
hana’ ‘Ehon asamurasaki,’ ” 56–60.
45 Inoue Shinshichi carved the blocks for Sekien as well as for Harunobu’s A Picture Book
of Children’s Targets (Ehon warabe no mato, 1767). See “Inoue Shinshichi,” in Editorial
Committee for the Ukiyoe Encyclopedia (Genshoku Ukiyo-e Daihyakka Jiten Henshū
Iinkai), ed., Genshoku ukiyo-e daihyakka jiten (Tokyo: Taishūkan shoten, 1980–1982),
3:105, and John Fiorillo, “Inoue Shishichi[rō],” in Newland, Hotei Encyclopedia of
Japanese Woodblock Prints, 2:446.
46 Suzuki Toshiyuki, Tsutaya Jūzaburō, vol. 9 of Kinsei bungaku kenkyū sosho (Tokyo:
Wakakusa shobō, 1998), 24–25. For an overview of Tsutaya’s career as a publisher, see

Julie Nelson Davis, “Tsutaya Jūzaburō, Master Publisher,” in Designed for Pleasure:
The World of Edo Japan in Prints and Paintings, 1680–1860, ed. Julia Meech and Jane
Oliver, 115–141 (New York: Asia Society and Japanese Art Society of America; Seattle:
University of Washington Press).
47 Tanaka Yūka, “What Did Tsutaya Jūzaburō Contribute?” in Suntory Museum of Art,
Utamaro, Sharaku no shikakenin, sono na wa Tsutaya Jūzaburō (Tsutaya Jūzaburō, the
publisher who discovered Utamaro and Sharaku) (Tokyo: Suntory Museum of Art,
2010), iii–v.
48 Suzuki Toshiyuki, “Tsutajūban saiken to sono daisai kōkoku” (Tsutaya-published
guidebooks and their inserted advertisements), in Yoshiwara saiken: Edo bijo kurabe
(Edo beauties compared: The Yoshiwara guidebooks), ed. Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation
(Yokohama: Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, 1995), 19–20.
49 Reproduced in Mizuno Minoru, ed., Sharebon taisei (Tokyo: Chūō kōronsha, 1978–
1988), 6:185–222.
50 Tanaka, “What Did Tsutaya Jūzaburō Contribute?” iii–v.
51 Sebastian Izzard, “Kunisada the Artist,” in Kunisada’s World, ed. Sebastian Izzard
(New York: Japan Society, in association with the Ukiyo-e Society of America, 1993), 2.
52 Suzuki Toshiyuki, Tsutaya Jūzaburō, 149–150.
53 Kobayashi Tadashi, “The Kanbun Bijin: Setting the Stage for Ukiyo-e Bijinga,” trans-
lated and adapted by Julie Nelson Davis, in Newland, Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese
Woodblock Prints, 1:83–87.
54 Ibid.
55 Tanaka Yuka, “What Did Tsutaya Jūzaburō Contribute?” iv.
56 The preface is transcribed in Mizuno, Sharebon taisei, 6:187–189. I would like to thank
Laura Moretti, Linda Chance, and Frank Chance for their collaboration in reading,
transcribing, and teasing out the meaning of this preface.
57 Suzuki Toshiyuki, Tsutaya Jūzaburō, 11.
58 In Tsutaya Jūzaburō, Autumn’s Evening Glory (Aki no yūbae, 1779), facs. ed. reprinted
in An’ei kōki Yoshiwara saiken shū (Tokyo: Kinsei Fūzoku Kenkyūkai, 1988).
59 Suzuki Toshiyuki, “Tsutaya Jūzaburō the Bookseller,” trans. Martha McClintock, in
Suntory Museum of Art, Utamaro, Sharaku no shikakenin, viii.
60 Suzuki Toshiyuki, “Tsutajūban saiken to sono daisai kōkoku,” 19.
61 Suzuki Toshiyuki, “The Publisher Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Ukiyo-e Publishing,”
in Newland, Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints, 1:175; Allen Hockley,
The Prints of Isoda Koryūsai: Floating World Culture and Its Consumers in Eighteenth-
Century Japan (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2003), 87–132.
63 Ibid.
64 In total, it includes over 130 individual designs. Koryūsai continued as the designer
through 1782; thereafter, Nishimuraya employed Kiyonaga for the series through
1784; see Hockley, Prints of Isoda Koryūsai, 87–132.
66 Suzuki Toshiyuki, “Publisher Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Ukiyo-e Publishing,” 175; Hock-
ley, Prints of Isoda Koryūsai, 87–132.
67 Fujisawa, “Suzuki Harunobu no ehon,” 117.

68 Introduction to the facsimile edition of Kitao Shigemasa and Katsukawa Shunshō,
Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami, 3 vols., published by Kubota Beisai (Tokyo: Fūzoku
Emaki Zuga Kankōkai, 1916)
69 I would like to thank Professor Satō Satoru for this observation.
70 This line of analysis is inspired by Michael Baxandall’s discussion of “gauging” in
Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy: A Primer in the Social History of
Pictorial Style (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 86–89.
71 See Seigle, Yoshiwara, 161–162, for more about the yūjo Segawa V of the Matsubaya,
whose entire contract was purchased by a certain Toriyama for the price of 1,400
ryō. Another yūjo would have ascended to the name thereafter in the usual prac-
tice of the Yoshiwara, and the figure shown in figure 2.1 is Segawa VI. Segawa VI
likewise had her contract purchased sometime between 1782 and 1784; see Asano
Shūgō, “Kiyonaga hanga no hennen ni tsuite—Bijin fūzokuga o chūshin ni,” in Torii
Kiyonaga—Edo no Vīnasu tanjō (Torii Kiyonaga: The birth of Venus in Edo), ed. Chiba
City Museum of Art (Chiba: Chiba City Museum of Art, 2007), 269.
72 Seigle, Yoshiwara, 133.
73 On women as readers, see Peter F. Kornicki, Mara Patessio, and G. G. Rowley, eds.,
The Female as Subject: Reading and Writing in Early Modern Japan (Ann Arbor: Center
for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2010).
74 Peter F. Kornicki, “Unsuitable Books for Women?” Genji monogatari and Ise monoga-
tari in Late Seventeenth-Century Japan,” Monumenta Nipponica 60, no. 2 (2003):175.
75 Urokogataya’s guidebook from the previous spring lists these others at the
suite-holding (zashikimochi) level; see Urokogataya Magobei, publisher, and Tsutaya
Jūzaburō, editor, Saiken hana no minamoto (Yoshiwara guidebook: Flower spring),
Spring 1775, facs. ed. reprinted in An’ei kōki Yoshiwara saiken shū (Tokyo: Kinsei
Fūzoku Kenkyūkai, 1988).
76 Suzuki Toshiyuki, “Tsutajūban saiken to sono daisai kōkoku,” 20–21.
77 Such as the najimi, men who had exclusive relationships with individual yūjo; see
Seigle, Yoshiwara, 67.
78 Tsutaya Jūzaburō, Meikasen (Edo: Tsutaya, 1776).
79 Tsutaya Jūzaburō, Yoshiwara saiken (Edo: Tsutaya, 1782).
80 Miyamoto, “Yūri no seiritsu to taishūka,” 216.
81 For more information about this daimyo and his association with Shunshō, see
Timothy T. Clark, “Katsukawa Shunshō: Paintings for the Samurai Elite,” in Meech
and Oliver, Designed for Pleasure, 101–115; Naitō Masato, “The Origins of Ukiyo-e,”
Drama and Desire: Japanese Paintings from the Floating World, 1690–1850, ed. Anne
Nishimura Morse, 34–40 (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 2007); Naitō
Masato, Ukiyo-e saihakken: Daimyōtachi ga medeta ippin, zeppin (Tokyo: Shōgakkan,
2005); Hanasaki Kazuo, Yanagisawa Nobutoki nikki oboegaki (Tokyo: Miki shobō,
1991).
82 Yanagisawa also received visitors from the quarter at his residence, including the
male geisha Konparu Heikichi, two female geisha, the Daikokuya brothel owner,
and even the yūjo Meizan of the Chōjiya; see Hanasaki, Yanagisawa Nobutoki nikki
oboegaki, 152–159, for an overview, and 193–215 for relevant diary entries.
83 Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy, 1.

84 Suzuki Toshiyuki, Tsutaya Jūzaburō, 11, 207. For a list of Tsutaya’s published books,
see Suzuki Toshiyuki, Tsutajū shuppan shomoku, vol. 77 of Nihon shoshigaku taikei
(Japanese bibliography survey) (Musashimurayama-shi: Seishōdō shoten, 1998).
On Tsutaya’s guidebooks, see Suzuki Toshiyuki, “Tsutajūban saiken to sono daisai
kōkoku,” 19–21.
85 The relationship between this album and contemporary guidebooks is well illus-
trated in Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, Edo bijo kurabe.
Chapter 3: Unrolling Pictures for the Erotic Imagination

1 Translations are mine unless otherwise noted. See, for the transcription, Hayashi
Yoshikazu and Richard Lane, eds., Sode no maki—Torii Kiyonaga, vol. 24 of Teihon
ukiyoe shunga meihin shūsei (Tokyo: Kawade shobō shinsha, 1995–1996), 45. I also
referred to Timothy Clark’s unpublished English translation, shared with me in 1994.
I would also like to thank Ellis Tinios for our discussions over many years about
Kiyonaga and The Scroll of the Sleeve; I appreciate his generosity in sharing photo-
graphs, engaging in lively discussions, for looking closely with me at the Philadelphia
Museum of Art impression, and more.
2 Jacques Lacan, Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, ed. Jacques-Alain Miller,
trans. Alan Sheridan (London: Hogarth Press, 1977), 101.
3 Fuyō, or Hibiscus mutabilis.
4 For a translation, see Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenius, Kokin-
shū: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern (Boston: Cheng and Tsui, 1996), 35.
5 This passage refers to Kenkō’s Essays in Idleness: “A man may excel at everything else,
but if he has no taste for lovemaking, one feels something terribly inadequate about
him, as if he were a valuable winecup without a bottom.” See Donald Keene, Essays in
Idleness: The Tsurezuregusa of Kenkō (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), 6.
6 Reference to Etsuō Kōen (Yue Wang Gou Jian), King Goujian of the Yue (r. 496–465
BCE).
7 Xi Shi, one of four great Chinese beauties, from the Spring and Autumn period.
8 Helen Craig McCullough, Yoshitsune: A Fifteenth-Century Japanese Chronicle (Stan-
ford: Stanford University Press; Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1966), 47–50. Ushi
wakamaru was another name used by Minamoto no Yoshitsune (1159–1189).
9 Hayashi Yoshikazu, Kiyonaga to Shunchō: Enpon kenkyū (Tokyo: Yūkō shobō, 1976),
62–63; Kobayashi Tadashi, ed., Ukiyoe soroimono makurae (Tokyo: Gakken, 1995),
137; Chris Uhlenbeck, ed., Japanese Erotic Fantasies: Sexual Imagery of the Edo Period
(Amsterdam: Hotei, 2005), 188.
10 Tobacco and Salt Museum, “Kikakuten—Hanmoto no sekai,” Bulletin of the Tobacco
and Salt Museum, 1992, 2–15.
11 Nanpo’s remarks appear in Kikujusō; see Hamada Giichirō, ed., Ōta Nanpo zenshū
(Collected works of Ōta Nanpo) (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1988), 7:227–235; Matsuki
Hiroshi. Tsutaya Jūzaburō: Edo geijutsu no enshutsuka (Tokyo: Nihon keizai shinbun-
sha, 1988), 43–45.
12 Takizawa Bakin, Kinsei mono no hon—Edo sakusha burui (1834), reprinted in Kinsei
mono no hon Edo sakusha burui: Chosha jihitsu hokibon, ed. Kimura Miyogo (Tokyo:

Yagi shoten, 1988). Urokogataya first published the kusazōshi titled Terako tanka in
1762 and later gave the blocks to the Nishimuraya for republication; Tobacco and
Salt Museum, “Kikakuten,” 10. Terako tanka is also discussed in R. Keller Kim-
brough, “Illustrating the Classics: The Otogizōshi Lazy Tarō in Edo Pictorial Fiction,”
Japanese Language and Literature 42, no. 1 (April 2008): 260. See also Matsuki, Tsutaya
Jūzaburō, 76.
13 In the essay (zuihitsu) titled The Swallow and Stone Miscellany (Enseki zashi) (1811); see
Tobacco and Salt Museum, “Kikakuten,” 10.
14 Ibid.
15 Yamaguchi Keizaburō, “Torii Kiyonaga to sono shūhen ni tsuite,” in Ukiyoe hakka
2: Kiyonaga, ed. Yamaguchi Keizaburō (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1985), 128; Kiyonaga’s
father’s name was Shirokoya Ichibei, and Kiyonaga’s was initially Seki Shinsuke; later
he became Seki Chōemon. For more information on Kiyonaga’s biography, see Chie
Hirano, Kiyonaga: A Study of His Life and Works (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 1939),
58–60, or Yamaguchi, Ukiyoe hakka 2, 128–140. Kiyonaga’s first sheet print, showing
the actor Nakamura Noshio I, was published in 1772; see Chiba City Museum of Art,
ed., Torii Kiyonaga: Edo no Vīnasu tanjō (Chiba: Chiba City Museum of Art, 2007),
entry 1, p. 26.
16 The two-year delay that occurred before Kiyonaga assumed the role of Torii IV may
have been due to the fact that Kiyomitsu did not have any male heirs and the line of
succession was not clearly demarcated. Kobayashi Tadashi, Kiyonaga, vol. 2 of Meihin
soroimono ukiyoe (Tokyo: Gyōsei, 1991), 126.
17 Kiyonaga’s production of single-sheet prints declined after he became head of the
Torii school, no doubt due to his other responsibilities. An anecdotal story told by
biographers is that when Kiyomitsu’s grandson and eventual heir, Kiyomine, became
Kiyonaga’s student at age seven or eight, Kiyonaga, out of respect for the Torii fam-
ily, forced his own son, Kiyomasa (fl. 1789–1800), a promising artist of twenty, to
put down his brush. Whether or not this is true is not clear; it may attest to the
system of succession. See Hirano, Kiyonaga, 68–69; Yamaguchi, “Torii Kiyonaga to
sono shūhen ni tsuite,” 139; Narazaki Muneshige, Kiyonaga, vol. 3 of Ukiyoe bijinga,
yakusha-e (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1965), and in English, Masterworks of Ukiyo-e: Kiyonaga,
trans. John Bester (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1976), 13.
18 Kiyonaga’s name was listed after his father’s on the temple records as Shirokoya Ichi-
bei; Kiyonaga’s wife, son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter were also registered
there; see Hirano, Kiyonaga, 59n3. Kiyomine assumed the role of the fifth head of the
Torii school in the seventh month of 1815 and changed his name to Kiyomitsu II in
the eleventh month of the same year; he lived until the age of eighty, dying in 1868,
the year of the Meiji Restoration; Narazaki, Masterworks of Ukiyo-e: Kiyonaga, 16.
19 The term “triple dawn” refers to the fact that the first day of the new year represents
the start of three new moments: the first day, month, and year; Chiba City Museum
of Art, Torii Kiyonaga: Edo no Vīnasu tanjō, 222.
20 Ibid. In addition, Kiyonaga contributed to a group painting given to the publisher
sometime between 1810 and 1813; see Sebastian Izzard, ed., Kunisada’s World (New
York: Japan Society, in association with the Ukiyo-e Society of America, 1993), 174–
175; Julie Nelson Davis, “Kitagawa Utamaro and His Contemporaries, 1780–1804,”

in The Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints, ed. Amy Reigle Newland
(Amsterdam: Hotei, 2005), 163–164.
21 Matthi Forrer’s study of designer oeuvres organized by publisher, format, and approx-
imate date establishes another means of studying affiliations and trends; see Matthi
Forrer, “The Relationship between Publishers and Print Formats in the Edo Period,”
in The Commercial and Cultural Climate of Japanese Printmaking, ed. Amy Reigle
Newland, 171–205 (Amsterdam: Hotei, 2004). My analysis employs Forrer’s method
and draws from the most complete inventory of Kiyonaga’s oeuvre to date for these
counts, Chiba City Museum of Art, ed., Torii Kiyonaga sakuhin somokuroku (Chiba:
Chiba City Museum of Art, 2007). Triptych prints were counted as a single design
rather than three separate sheets. Prints issued in sets, such as various “eight views,”
have been counted as individual designs (thus, eight designs in an “eight views” set).
22 Tanabe Masako, “Kiyonaga no bijinga—Shōhin to shite no shiten kara,” in Chiba City
Museum of Art, Torii Kiyonaga: Edo no Vīnasu tanjō, 283.
23 On Kiyonaga’s work with Takatsuya Isuke, see Tanabe Masako, “Takatsuya Isuke
to Torii Kiyonaga: Nishikie no ōgonjidai wo sendō shita hanmoto to eshi,” Ukiyo-e
geijutsu 163 (2012): 29–51. As Forrer notes, even though only 43 percent of Kiyonaga’s
sheet print oeuvre may be given to specific publishers, this is significantly higher
than the totals given to some of Kiyonaga’s predecessors; Forrer, “Relationship
between Publishers and Print Formats in the Edo Period,” 177.
24 Tanabe, “Kiyonaga no bijinga,” 282. See also Forrer, “Relationship between Publishers
and Print Formats in the Edo Period,” 177. Publisher’s marks appear more consistently
after the Kansei Reforms edicts; see Peter F. Kornicki, The Book in Japan: A Cultural
History from the Beginnings to the Nineteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 340; on these
regulations more generally, see Peter F. Kornicki, “Nishiki no Ura: An Instance of Cen-
sorship and the Structure of a Sharebon,” Monumenta Nipponica 32, no. 2 (Summer
1977): 153–188; Julie Nelson Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty (London: Reak-
tion Books; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007), 64–66; Sarah E. Thompson
and H. D. Harootunian, Undercurrents in the Floating World: Censorship and Japanese
Prints (New York: Asia Society Galleries, 1991). Edicts affecting ukiyo-e publishing
are also available in Genshoku Ukiyo-e Daihyakka Jiten Henshū Iinkai, ed., Genshoku
ukiyo-e dai-hyakka jiten (Tokyo: Taishūkan shoten, 1980–1982), 3:121–124.
25 Hayashi and Lane, Sode no Maki, 8; in addition to those discussed in this chapter,
these include a narrow handscroll painting given to the School of Miyagawa Chōshun,
a printed example in a slightly wider configuration by Ishikawa Toyonobu, and a
tanzaku-format (39 × 17.5 cm) work by Shōeki.
26 Kokusai Ukiyo-e Gakkai, ed., Ukiyo-e daijiten (Tokyo: Tōkyōdō shuppan, 2008), 394.
27 Kobayashi Tadashi, Edo no e o yomu (Tokyo: Perikansha, 1989), 192. In the 1740s the
pillar print format was called hababiro hashira-e, or “wide pillar print,” and was made
by cutting the standard paper sheet into three sections rather than four. Okumura
Masanobu (1686–1764), in his typical mode of self-promotion, took credit for the pil-
lar print, signing one of his prints “hashira-e kongen,” or “origination of the pillar
print,” in spite of the fact that his contemporaries were using the format. By the late
1760s, the narrower four-length form became the new standard; Ishikawa Toyonobu,
Harunobu, and Koryūsai also designed for the format.

28 See Heino Engel, Measure and Construction of the Japanese House (Rutland, VT: Tuttle,
1985), 32.
29 Koike Masatane, Uda Toshihiko, Nakayama Yūshō, and Tanahashi Masahiro, eds.,
Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon, Gendai kyōyō bunko (Tokyo: Shakai shisōsha, 1980), vol.
1; the hashira-kakushi appears on p. 221. For a discussion and translation of this book,
see Adam Kern, Manga from the Floating World: Comicbook Culture and the Kibyōshi of
Edo Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006), 256–338.
30 For Japanese text, see Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 4:249.
31 See also ibid. Also discussed in Miyatake Gaikotsu, ed., Kono hana (Osaka: Gazoku
bunko, 1911), 13.
32 Richard Lane points to an earlier Tosa school scroll and a stencil printed (kappa-zuri)
version by Ishikawa Toyonobu as potential precedents, but neither of these employed
the close-up treatment of the figures as did Kiyonaga’s; Lane, “Kiyonaga: ‘Shunga up
Your Sleeve’—Sode no maki and More,” in Sode no maki, 55.
33 Compared with other designers before and after Kiyonaga, this is a small number,
as scholar Hayashi Yoshikazu has noted. Harunobu made twenty, Shigemasa thir-
ty-three, Shunshō nineteen, and Utamaro thirty-three separate book titles depicting
sexual imagery; Hayashi, Kiyonaga to Shunchō, 61.
34 Translated and included in Richard H. Mitchell, Censorship in Imperial Japan (Prince
ton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 4; see also Suwa Haruo, Shuppan kotohajime:
Edo no hon (From the start of publication: Edo books) (Tokyo: Mainichi shinbunsha,
1978), 163–164.
35 Two recent publications, issued just as this project was going to press, also discuss
censorship and erotica: C. Andrew Gerstle and Timothy T. Clark, “Introduction,” in
“Shunga,” special issue, Japan Review 26 (2013): 8. See also Jennifer Preston’s over-
view “Shunga and Censorship in the Edo Period (1600–1868),” in Shunga: Sex and
Pleasure in Japanese Art, ed. Timothy Clark, C. Andrew Gerstle, Aki Ishigami, and
Akiko Yano, 246–258 (London: British Museum, 2013).
36 Kornicki, Book in Japan, 348.
37 Ibid.
38 C. Andrew Gerstle, Tsukioka Settei I: Onna shimegawa oeshi-bumi (Love letters and a
river of erect precepts for women), Kinsei enpon shiryō shūsei 4 (Collected erotic texts
of the early modern period 4), ed. Hayakawa Monta (Kyoto: International Research
Center for Japanese Studies, 2007), 6.
39 See Amaury A. García Rodríguez’ discussion of such books in El control de la estampa
erótica japonesa shunga (Mexico City: El Colegio de México, 2011), 221–226.
40 Notably, Utamaro did not produce erotica between the seventh month of 1790 and
the first month of 1795; see Matthi Forrer, “Shunga Production in the 18th and 19th
Centuries: Designing ‘un enfer en style bibliographique,’ ” in Imaging/Reading Eros:
Conference Proceedings, Sexuality and Edo Culture, 1750–1850, ed. Sumie Jones (Bloom-
ington: East Asian Studies Center, Indiana University, 1995), 24.
41 These and other issues have been discussed extensively elsewhere; the interested
reader is advised to consult the works cited above. They have also been taken up in the
British Museum exhibition, catalogue, and special journal issue; the catalogue and
journal issue unfortunately arrived too late for their contents to be fully incorporated

into this text and notes; see Clark, Gerstle, Ishigami, and Yano, Shunga, and Gerstle
and Clark, “Introduction.”
42 Clark, Gerstle, Ishigami, and Yano, Shunga; Shirakura Yoshihiko, ed., Ukiyo-e
shunga o yomu (Tokyo: Chūō kōron shinsha, 2000); García Rodríguez, El control de
la estampa erótica japonesa shunga, 81–98; Timon Screech, Sex and the Floating World:
Erotic Images in Japan, 1700–1820 (London: Reaktion Books; Honolulu: University of
Hawai‘i Press, 1999); Rosina Buckland, Shunga: Erotic Art in Japan (London: British
Museum, 2010).
43 Henry Smith, “Overcoming the Modern History of Edo ‘Shunga,’ ” in Jones, Imaging/
Reading Eros, 26. Smith surveyed the terms employed in senryū (humorous or satir-
ical haikai) and found that out of 150 possible terms from the period, the most fre-
quent were makura-e (pillow pictures), 46 percent; warai-e or warai-bon (“laughing”
pictures or “laughing” books), 25 percent; shunga (literally, “spring pictures”), 15 per-
cent; Nishikawa-e (Nishikawa pictures, after Nishikawa Sukenobu), 10 percent; and
hisho (secret writings), 4 percent.
44 See Smith, “Overcoming the Modern History of Edo ‘Shunga.’ ”
45 Lynn Hunt, “Introduction: Obscenity and the Origins of Modernity, 1500–1800,” in
The Invention of Pornography: Obscenity and the Origins of Modernity, 1500–1800, ed.
Lynn Avery Hunt, 9–47 (New York: Zone, 1993).
46 On discussions of national identity, see, for example, Harumi Befu, “Nationalism
and Nihonjinron,” in Cultural Nationalism in East Asia: Representation and Identity, ed.
Harumi Befu, 107–135 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).
47 For an overview, see, for example, Clark, Gerstle, Ishigami, and Yano, Shunga.
48 See, for example, Shirakura, Ukiyo-e shunga o yomu, 9; Screech, Sex and the Floating
World.
49 See Clark, Gerstle, Ishigami, and Yano, Shunga, and articles in “Shunga,” special
issue, Japan Review 26 (2013).
50 Ueno Chizuko, “Lusty Pregnant Women and Erotic Mothers: Representations of
Female Sexuality in Erotic Art in Edo,” in Jones, Imaging/Reading Eros, 110.
51 I would like to thank the curators who showed me other impressions at the British
Museum, Bibliothèque nationale de France, and the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
The examples in both the British Museum and Bibliothèque nationale have been
removed from the handscroll format and are now treated as a set of thirteen sheet
prints. The copy in the Philadelphia Museum of Art is also in the handscroll format,
but this copy is incomplete and has been remounted in a different sequence. There
are likely other copies in private collections.
52 Naitō Masato, Ukiyo-e saihakken: Daimyōtachi ga medeta ippin, zeppin (Tokyo: Shōgak
kan, 2005), 169.
53 Hayashi, Kiyonaga to Shunchō, 235; Kobayashi, Ukiyoe soroimono makurae, 39; Lane,
“Kiyonaga,” 54, suggests she is being “forcefully seduced by a mature man.”
54 Kobayashi Tadashi and Shirakura Yoshihiko, eds., Shunga to nikuhitsu ukiyoe (Tokyo:
Yosensha, 2006), 187.
55 Ibid., 189.
56 Donald H. Shively, “Bakufu versus Kabuki,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 18,
no. 3/4 (December 1955): 348–349.

57 The chūban, “medium block,” is approximately 26 × 19 centimeters (10.5 × 7.5 in.),
and the ōban, “large block,” is about 26 × 38 centimeters (10.5 × 15 in.). The ōban
became the new standard size at about this same time; see Kobayashi Tadashi,
“Edo no Vīnasu —Hatoshin no Kiyonaga bijin,” in Chiba City Museum of Art, Torii
Kiyonaga: Edo no Vīnasu tanjō, 9.
58 Ibid., 9.
59 Ibid., 10.
60 Kobayashi, Ukiyoe soroimono makurae, 41.
61 Ibid.
62 Lane, “Kiyonaga,” 53, suggests that this is also meant to be an ideal pairing, the
“Kyō-onna, Azuma otoko,” or (in his words) the “Kyoto Beauty, Edo Gallant.”
64 Kobayashi and Shirakura, Shunga to nikuhitsu ukiyo-e, 191.
65 Ibid., 193.
66 Settei’s representation of a second image, showing the woman “on top” (discussed
above), provides another link to this as a possible precedent.
67 The vertical dimension of Shūsui’s prints is 7.5 centimeters. Yamamoto Yukari
notes that the work is unsigned, but the preface is signed Dōrakutei Shujin (Master
of the Pavilion of Pleasurable Amusements); the attribution to Shūsui was made by
Richard Lane in 1971; see Clark, Gerstle, Ishigami, and Yano, Shunga, 180.
69 The prominent display of the calligraphy practice book may link this image to the well-
known scene in Ihara Saikaku’s The Woman Who Spent Her Life in Love of the calligraphy
teacher’s affair with her younger male student; see in The Life of an Amorous Woman and
Other Writings, ed. and trans. Ivan Morris (New York: New Directions, 1963), 156–158.
70 Kobayashi, Ukiyoe soroimono makurae, 47; Hayashi, Kiyonaga to Shunchō, 238;
Kobayashi and Shirakura, Shunga to nikuhitsu ukiyo-e, 195, also call this the ritual of
the arabachi wo waru.
71 Hayakawa Monta, ed., Secret Images: Picasso and the Japanese Erotic Print (Barcelona:
Picasso Museum; London: Thames and Hudson, 2010), 150.
72 Lane, “Kiyonaga,” 54.
73 See Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, chaps. 2, 4.
74 Kobayashi, Ukiyoe soroimono makurae, 47; note that this designation is given in the
Japanese caption, while the English translation also included there calls her a “geisha
from the licensed quarters.”
75 Kobayashi and Shirakura, Shunga to nikuhitsu ukiyo-e, 195.
76 Ibid., 197; Lane, “Kiyonaga,” 53.
78 In Kobayashi, Ukiyoe soroimono makurae, inran kai no zu is translated as “revealing
the shadowy uprising in secret places,” a possible alternative interpretation. In the
Kōjien dictionary, inran is described as a sexuality that lusts after the penis and has
more the meaning of “lascivious.” The Progressive Waei Chūjiten uses the term in a
modern context as “an easy lay.”
79 Timon Screech, The Western Scientific Gaze and Popular Imagery in Later Edo Japan:
The Lens within the Heart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

80 See Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, 96–97.
81 This date is taken from the copy held in the Spencer Museum of Art, University of
Kansas; it is given on that copy, bearing signatures of both Ōkyo and his student
Ōshin, as Meiwa 7 (1770).
82 My translation, in consultation with C. Andrew Gerstle’s rendering in Tsukioka Settei
I, 4:83 (see the illustration also on p. 83). Other Settei books where similar rankings
appear include Bidō nichiya johōki (A treasure book for women on the way of love—
Day and night, mid-1760s), and Onna teikin gosho bunko (Womanly virtue and a library
on the private parts, ca. 1768). For Bidō nichiya johōki, see C. Andrew Gerstle, Tsukioka
Settei II: Bidō nichiya johōki, Kinsei enpon shiryō shūsei (Collected erotic texts of the
early modern period) 5, ed. Hayakawa Monta (Kyoto: International Research Cen-
ter for Japanese Studies, 2010); this volume includes rankings of genitals of both
sexes. Onna teikin gosho bunko is as yet unpublished in full; it can be accessed online
through the Ritsumeikan Art Research Center database project; selected pages from
this book also appear in Buckland, Shunga, 85. Note that later artists also included
similar representations and rankings; for other examples, see Buckland, Shunga,
114–115. Jack Ronald Hillier includes selected erotica by Settei and Shūsui in The Art
of the Japanese Book (New York: Sotheby’s, 1987), 2:288–296.
83 Gerstle, Tsukioka Settei I.
84 See Laura Moretti, “Intertextual Divertissement, Sexual Education and Entertaining
Humor: The World of Onna enshi kyōkun kagami,” in “Shunga,” special issue, Japan
Review 26 (2013):211.
85 That male-female couplings tend to be represented more often in Japanese erotica
than male-male or female-female ones is discussed briefly in Clark, Gerstle, Ishi-
gami, and Yano, Shunga, 20. The literature on male-male sexualities in the period is
extensive and beyond the scope of this project.
86 Screech, Sex and the Floating World, 23.
Chapter 4: Making Dogma into Comedy

1 Renata Holod, “Site of Sight, Right of Sight, and Rite of Sight: Exploring the Cultures
of Seeing,” The 60-Second Lectures, September 24, 2004, http://www.sas.upenn.
edu/60second/speakers/1544/Renata%20Holod (accessed September 12, 2013).
2 For more on kibyōshi, see, among others, Adam L. Kern, Manga from the Floating
World: Comicbook Culture and the Kibyōshi of Edo Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Asia Center, 2006); Haruo Shirane, ed., Early Modern Japanese Literature:
An Anthology, 1600–1900 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002); and Sumie
Jones, ed., An Edo Anthology: Literature from Japan’s Mega-City, 1750–1850 (Honolulu:
University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013).
3 Henri Bergson, Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic, trans. Cloudesley
Brereton (New York: Macmillan, 1914), 3.
4 The Kansei Reforms are discussed in numerous publications; for a general over-
view, see Tsuji Tatsuya, “Politics in the Eighteenth Century,” in Early Modern Japan,
ed. John Whitney Hall, 425–471, Cambridge History of Japan 4 (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1991).

5 Nakano Mitsutoshi, “Bunka-men ni okeru Kansei kaikaku,” in Bungaku to bijitsu no
seijiku, ed. Tsuji Tatsuya and Asao Naohiro, Nihon no kinsei 12 (Tokyo: Chūō kōron-
sha, 1993), 70.
6 See Haruko Iwasaki, “The World of ‘Gesaku’: Playful Writers of Late Eighteenth
Century Japan” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1984), 358; Jones, Edo Anthology,
26–27; Nakano, “Bunka-men ni okeru Kansei kaikaku,” 69–78, discusses the edicts
and effects on literary circles; see also Nakayama Yūshō, “Kaisetsu,” in Edo no gesaku
(parodii) ehon, ed. Koike Masatane, Uda Toshihiko, Nakayama Yūshō, and Tanahashi
Masahiro (Tokyo: Shakai shisōsha, 1980), 3:281.
7 For translations, see Jones, Edo Anthology, 189–218, and Kern, Manga from the Float-
ing World, 373–425.
8 Nakayama, “Kaisetsu,” 281; Jane Devitt, “Santō Kyōden and the Yomihon,” Harvard
Journal of Asiatic Studies 39 (1979), 257.
9 As Naitō Masato has noted, although Sadanobu was directing the reforms, this did
not mean he was not also aware of (and perhaps appreciative of ) floating world cul-
ture, as his own writing on the subject (in two published and one manuscript kib-
yōshi) and his collection of ukiyo-e indicate. Naitō reports that Sadanobu’s collection
included Masayoshi’s (working under the name of Kuwagata Keisai) Kinsei shokunin
zukushi ekotoba, that Sadanobu also ordered Kyōden to write a preface on these paint-
ing scrolls, and that it is also said that Sadanobu desired to meet Koikawa Harumachi
and Hōseidō Kisanji; see Naitō Masato, Ukiyo-e saihakken: Daimyōtachi ga medeta
ippin, zeppin (Tokyo: Shōgakkan, 2005), chap. 7. See also Haruko Iwasaki, “Portrait
of a Daimyo: Comical Fiction by Matsudaira Sadanobu,” Monumenta Nipponica 38,
no. 1 (Spring 1983), 1–19, and Timon Screech, The Shogun’s Painted Culture: Fear and
Creativity in the Japanese States, 1760–1829 (London: Reaktion Books, 2000).
10 In the Ōdenma-chō district near Nihonbashi.
11 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:250.
12 Tokyo Metropolitan Library, http://www.library.metro.tokyo.jp/digital_library/collection/
the7/tabid/2003/Default.aspx (accessed November 18, 2012).
13 Nakayama, “Kaisetsu,” 281.
14 Ibid.
15 Jennifer Robertson, “Rooting the Pine: Shingaku Methods of Organization,” Monu-
menta Nipponica 34, no. 3 (Autumn 1979): 313.
16 Ibid., 314.
17 See, for example, the discussion by Peter Nosco, review of Confucian Values and Pop-
ular Zen: Sekimon Shingaku in Eighteenth-Century Japan, by Janine Anderson Sawada,
Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 21, no. 4 (December 1994): 441.
18 Janine Anderson Sawada, Confucian Values and Popular Zen: Sekimon Shingaku in
Eighteenth-Century Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1993), 89.
19 Although these free lessons were ostensibly held to broaden its audience (see ibid.,
110, 115), their real focus seems to have been to further the goals of the committed
practitioners.
20 Sanzensha Hall in Nihonbashi.
21 Timon Screech, The Western Scientific Gaze and Popular Imagery in Later Edo Japan:
The Lens within the Heart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 81.

22 My translation throughout this chapter employs the transcriptions in Koike et al., Edo
no gesaku, 3:251–280, and is rendered in consultation with Chris Drake’s in Shirane,
Early Modern Japanese Literature, 712–729.
23 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:251; Drake notes that this phrase refers to the Shingaku
doctrine whereby one of “six virtues of women” is to be “pure and clean”; see Shirane,
Early Modern Japanese Literature, 712; Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:251.
24 Mizuno Minoru, Santō Kyōden no kibyōshi (Tokyo: Yūkō shobō, 1971), 215.
25 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:251n4.
26 As translated and quoted in Sawada, Confucian Values and Popular Zen, 65.
27 Ibid., 67.
28 White Pines (Hime-komatsu ne no hi no asobi), first performed in 1757; see Drake in
Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature, 712; Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:252n1.
29 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:252; at 252n6, Koike explains that Shingaku had the
precept that “the Heart is Heaven.”
30 See Sawada, Confucian Values and Popular Zen, 65.
31 Given in the text as mukunoji, known at the time as the mukuroji tree, Sapindus
mukurossi, an evergreen tree also known as Chinese soapberry. The seeds contain
saponin, which, dissolved in water, produces a soapy lather.
32 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:253n8: this line refers to the phrase used in the period
that a string of energy (ki, Ch. qi) comes down from Heaven (here, being a place) and
enters into the mother’s body.
33 Here the text references Buddhist concepts; I am borrowing Drake’s elegant render-
ing of this line with “delusion and dishonesty” from Shirane, Early Modern Japanese
Literature, 713.
34 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:252–253.
35 See also Timon Screech, “Bubbles, East and West: An Iconic Encounter in 18th-Cen-
tury Ukiyo-e,” Impressions 22 (2000): 87–107.
36 The term used here refers to one’s reputation or public estimation.
37 Earlier kibyōshi that used the device of the Emperor of Heaven include Kisanji’s Ledger
of the Way of Heaven (Tendō daifukuchō, 1786), and Kyōden’s Words of Heaven’s Blessings
(Tenkei wakumon, 1784). The idea of the spirit being embodied in the heart derives
from Kisanji’s Playing in the Wrong Paddock (Machigai kuruwa asobi, 1778). Kyōden
also wrote about the nature of the spirit in two kibyōshi in the previous year, 1789, The
Salutary Story of a Spirit Restored (Enju hangontan) and Meeting Up with the Moun-
tain Cuckoos of Kekoro (Yamahototogisu kekoro no mizuage). See Tanahashi Masahiro,
Suzuki Katsutada, and Uda Toshihiko, Kibyōshi senryū kyōka, vol. 79 of Shinpen Nihon
koten bungaku zenshū (Tokyo: Shōgakkan, 1999), 244.
38 Onitsuka Satoshi, “Shingaku hayasomegusa kanken,” Kokubun 92 (2000): 96.
41 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:255; Drake in Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature,
714. The Emperor’s line is followed by the onomatopoeic rendering for the sound of
the wooden clappers used in kabuki. Note also that the illustration here of the birth
and the baby’s first bath is like illustrations in books from the period.
42 Mizuno, Santō Kyōden no kibyōshi, 215.

44 Ibid., 257, explains that the picture mimics a private Shingaku lesson for children.
45 Nakayama Yūshō, “Kaga Bunkō Kura ‘Zendama Akudama Shingaku hayasome-
gusa shahon’ kō—Seiritsuki to Kyōzan tsuiki ni tsuite,” Edo jidai bungakushi, no. 1
(1980): 7.
46 Although this prohibition on gambling did not appear until 1793 in Dōni’s tract Dōni
Sensei’s Honored Letters of Moral Teachings (Dōni Sensei gokōsatsu dōwa), it was likely
part of his preaching at the time Kyōden was writing this satire; see Koike et al., Edo
no gesaku, 3:8.
47 See also Drake’s translation in Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature, 715.
49 Ibid., 259n9, notes this is a reference to a Jodoshū practice of mass prayers of the
ritual of the hundred prayer beads.
50 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:258n5.
51 Ibid., 259. Koike suggests that these Evil Spirits were probably from people who had
committed grave sins in their previous lives and died by execution, suicide, or double
suicide; they may be lost in this “middle existence,” waiting to be reborn; see Koike et
al., Edo no gesaku, 3:259nn10, 11.
52 Ibid., 260.
53 Ibid., 261.
54 Ibid.
55 Sawada, Confucian Values and Popular Zen, 65. Toan’s conception was based on the
way in which mental concentration allows the mind to forget the body’s presence, in
the engagement of the present activity. These forgotten spaces were thus “empty,”
and we “live by forgetting—this is the reason for emptiness.” As Sawada explains,
“When one is totally engrossed in an activity, such as viewing cherry blossoms, one
forgets the body naturally; one becomes lost in the object and, thus, ‘empty.’ From
the perspective of this experience of no self (ware nashi), the body is simply an ‘empty
gourd’ ” (66).
56 In Drake’s translation, far right: “Chikubu Island, Designated Imperial Prayer Place.
Greatest of Only Three Manifestation Sites of the Female Fortune God Benzaiten.
Thirtieth of Thirty-Three Kannon Pilgrimage Temples in the Kyoto Area. Secret Kan-
non Image Officially on Limited Display at Fudō Temple in Mejiro: Seventeenth of
Intercalary Sixth Month to Eighteenth of Eighth Month.” The sign on the left reads,
“Thousand-Sutra Chantings Daily: Seventeenth to Twenty-Fifth of Seventh Month.
Yūtenji Temple, Meguro.” See Drake in Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature, 917.
57 Koike notes that this use of the name suggests that her heart is suspicious (Edo no
gesaku, 3:264n5).
58 Ibid., 264.
59 Ibid., 265.
60 Ibid., 264–265n9.
61 Ibid., 266.
62 Ibid., 268–269.
63 Ibid., 270.
64 Ibid., 271.

65 Ibid.
66 Ibid., 272.
67 Ibid.
68 Ibid., 272–273.
69 Ibid., 274.
70 As noted by Drake in Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature, 726; Koike et al., Edo
no gesaku, 3:275.
72 Ibid., 276–277.
73 Drake in Shirane, Early Modern Japanese Literature, 728–729n54, explains that this pas-
sage refers to a song called “Blossom Banquet.” Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:279n9,
gives the full citation of the song, a line of which says, “I alone do not possess the
truth, and if he said he loved me, I would become his,” from the Hana no en (a kabuki
musical interlude known as a meriyasu). The point is that Ritarō cannot distinguish
between his desire and the “truth of his heart”; the song expresses his wish to con-
tinue to hang on to his own wishes rather than encounter the “truth.”
75 Sawada, Confucian Values and Popular Zen, 67.
76 Mikhail Bakhtin, “Forms of Time and of the Chronotope in the Novel” in The Dialogic
Imagination: Four Essays (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 163; Mikita Hoy,
“Bakhtin and Popular Culture,” New Literary History 23, no. 3 (Summer 1992): 772.
78 Ibid., 280.
79 Kern, Manga from the Floating World, 207.
80 Bergson, Laughter, 18.
81 Peter F. Kornicki, “Nishiki no Ura: An Instance of Censorship and the Structure of a
Sharebon,” Monumenta Nipponica 32, no. 2 (Summer 1977): 157–158. The three share-
bon were Courtesans’ Silken Sleeve (Shōgi kinuburui), Library of Contrivances (Shikake
bunko), and The Other Side of the Brocade (Nishiki no ura), all 1791.
82 See also Minami Kazuo, Edo no fūshiga (Tokyo: Yoshikawa kobunkan, 1997), on sat-
ires, including these, during the Edo period.
83 See also Davis, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty, 67–68.
84 These were Human Lifetimes Torso Calculator (Ningen isshō muna zanyō, 1791) and Evil
Spirits Bagsful of Patience (Kanninbukuro ojime no zendama, 1793).
85 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 3:250; for comparisons of the changes made by Enomoto,
see Tobacco and Salt Museum, Kansei no shuppan-kai to Santō Kyōden: 200 nen mae ga
omoshiroi (Tokyo: Tobacco and Salt Museum, 1995), 62–63.
86 Shinpenzuri Shingaku sōshi (1796).
87 Tobacco and Salt Museum, Kansei no shuppan-kai to Santō Kyōden, 64.
88 Nakayama, “Kaga Bunkō Kura,” 5.
89 For more details, see ibid., 5–6.
90 The transcription from the manuscript and translation were done in collaboration
with the Penn-Princeton-Cambridge kuzushiji reading group, November 2012.
91 Nakayama discusses these errors as well as previous scholarship on these points in
“Kaga Bunkō Kura,” 5–6.

92 Translation and transcription from the manuscript Shingaku hayasomegusa,
by Kyōzan, held in the Tokyo Metropolitan Library; for a sample page, see the
library’s Web site, http://www.library.metro.tokyo.jp/digital_library/collection/the7/
tabid/2003/Default.aspx (accessed March 9, 2014).
93 Ibid., 9–10, discusses the evidence from the Ekōin records concerning the display of
the secret image from Seiryōji at the temple; Kyōzan seems to be confusing the dates.
94 Translation from manuscript cited above.
95 Ibid., 12.
96 In Yayoi no hana Asakusa matsuri in the seventh month of 1832.
98 William LaFleur, “Hungry Ghosts and Hungry People: Somaticity and Rationality
in Medieval Japan,” in Fragments for a History of the Human Body, Part I, ed. Michel
Feher (New York: Zone, 1989), 293.
Conclusion
1 This volume is titled Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A Spurious History of Pop-
ular Illustrated Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki-hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke nen-
daiki, 1802). See Koike Masatane, Uda Toshihiko, Nakayama Yūshō, and Tanahashi
Masahiro, eds., Edo no gesaku (parodii) ehon, Gendai kyōyō bunko (Tokyo: Shakai
shisōsha, 1980), 4:229–263.
2 Nakayama Yūshō, “Kaisetsu,” in Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 4:264.
3 Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 4:231. See also Marcia Yonemoto’s translation of the pref-
ace, Mapping Early Modern Japan: Space, Place, and Culture in the Tokugawa Period,
1603–1868 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 149; Yonemoto ascribes
the title of Kitao Sensei to Kitao Masanobu (also known as Santō Kyōden), but given
the comparison Sanba makes between Kitao Sensei and Torii Kiyomitsu and others,
it seems more likely that Sanba was referring to the long-lived and prolific founder of
the Kitao school, Kitao Shigemasa. My discussion of this and other passages is also
informed by Timon Screech’s unpublished translation of this text.
4 Here, I have used both illustrator and artist to capture Sanba’s dual use of terms in the
kanji and its furigana gloss; the kanji reads gakō (literally, “picture artisan”), a period
term for illustrators, but is glossed in furigana as eshi (picture master) used often for
acclaimed master painters. In addition, this subheading uses the term tsukushi, to
“know all about” something (here, the names) and, as Kobayashi Tadashi has argued,
indicates connoisseurial assessment; see “The Kanbun Bijin: Setting the Stage for
Ukiyo-e Bijinga,” trans. and adapted by Julie Nelson Davis, in The Hotei Encyclopedia
of Japanese Woodblock Prints, ed. Amy Reigle Newland (Amsterdam: Hotei, 2004),
1:83–87; see also chapter 2 of this volume.
5 Yonemoto, Mapping Early Modern Japan, 151.
6 Transcribed in Koike et al., Edo no gesaku, 4:234.
7 Ibid., 261.

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Index
Akera Kankō, 54, 106 205n.5, 209n.75; saitanchō, 51, 53,

art world: contributors to, 11–12; definition 191, 203nn.64–65; sharebon, 65, 104,
of, 7–9, 18; participation in, 23, 24, 26, 177
59; ukiyo-e and, 18, 190–191, 193 bookshops: jihonya (also jihon-doiya),
Asakusa, 63, 162, 205 198n.41; shomotsuya (also shomotsu-
assignation house (ageya), 63, 80, 95 doiya), 198n.41
author: concept of, 34; function, 16 brothels. See prostitution; Yoshiwara
bubbles, 152, 154, 157, 218n.35
Bakuseishi, 54–55 Buddhism: Pure Land (Jōdoshū), 21, 159;
Bandō Mitsugorō, 182, 183 Zen (Rinzai Zen), 150, 173, 174
Baxandall, Michael, 104, 196, 209n.70
Beauties of the Yoshiwara, Compared carvers: collaboration, 1, 22, 34, 36, 63,
(Seirō bijin awase), 86. See also Suzuki 179, 191–192, 197n.26; commissions,
Harunobu 12, 13, 72, 79; contributions of, 77;
Becker, Howard, 7–8 naming of, 16, 31, 41, 71, 202n.44;
Bergson, Henri, 144, 176, 216n.3, 220n.80 skill, 51, 104
bijinga (pictures of beauties), 77, 81 Catalogue of Banned Books (Kinsho
bird-and-flower painting (kachō-e), 32, 38, mokuroku), 120
41, 69 censorship: censors, 177, 185, 198n.41;
book lending. See lending libraries concerns about, 181; edicts, 16, 71,
book production, 13–15 115, 146, 180, 181; enforcement, 121;
books, types of: hyōbanki, 65, 81; kibyōshi, examples of, 82, 177; guild practices,
104, 118, 145–183, 185, 187, 190, 213n.29, 121; restrictions, 15
216n.2, 218n.37; kōshokubon, 119–121, childbirth, depiction of, 156, 218n.41
140; kyōkabon, 54–59, 191; saiken, 80–82, Chōbunsai Eishi, 178, 179
85–87, 90–92, 95–96, 100–107, 115, 187, Clark, Timothy T., 46
235
Clunas, Craig, 17, 18 flowers: arrangements, 91, associations
Collected Designs for Standing Screens with sexuality, 69; botanical studies, 69;
and Hanging Scrolls (Byōbu kakemono seasonal markers, 61, 68; yūjo as, 81–82,
ezukushi), 30 89. See also ikebana
Colors of the Triple Dawn (Saishiki mitsu no Forrer, Matthi, 122, 212n.21, 213n.40
asa), 116 Foster, Michael Dylan, 43, 202n.45,
commissions: commercial sale, 15–17, 202n.51
53, 50, 115, 145, 148–149, 185, 197n.29;
illustrated books, 51, 54, 55, 71–72; gambling, 157, 159, 171, 219n.46
paintings, 11–13, 16, 24, 46; practices of game boards (sugoroku), 183
publishers, 12, 63; prints, 12, 18, 22, 25, gaze, masculine: definition of, 18, 198n.50;
32, 51, 197n.31; subvention, 13, 83, 119, interpretive position of, 118, 119, 123,
165; types of, 9, 10. See also patronage 141; resistance to, 18
connoisseurship, 7, 24, 27, 30, 123, 141, 143, geisha: depiction of, 81; entertainers, 64,
190; as awase (evaluation), 66, 81, 86, 90, 92, 164; Fukagawa type, 131–132, 136,
91, 93, 96, 97, 124, 130, 145 215n.74; male, 209n.82; patronage of,
103
Darnton, Robert, 12, 14 genitalia: classes of, 137, 140, 215n.70;
Dōni’s Venerable First Precepts (Dōni ō hygiene, 140
zenkun), 157 Gerstle, C. Andrew, 140
Drake, Chris, 145, 218n.22, 219n.47, 220n.70 ghosts, hungry (gaki), 183
Dutch, trade with, 127 Gifts from the Ebb Tide (Shiohi no
tsuto), 57
Echoes of Bird Mountain (Toriyama biko), Gookin, Frederick, 75
31–38, 41 Great Book of Painting, The (Het groot
edicts. See censorship; printing schilderboek), 17
Edo, city of, 4–6 Greatest Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye Mind
Edoite (Edokko), as type, 128, 147, 177 Study (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
Eighteen Great Connoisseurs and One hayasomegusa), 19, 145–180. See also
Hundred Pillows (Jūhachi daitsū momo Kitao Masayoshi; Santō Kyōden
temakura), 65
Eight Varieties of Painting Styles (Bazhong haikai: anthologies, 51, 60, 191; circles, 26,
huapu), 29 50, 64, 81, 191; social network, 50; use of
Eight Views of Edo (Edo hakkei), 138–139 names, 50; women poets, 53, 71, 204n.71
Eishōsai Chōki, 51, 52, 106, 177–178, 189 Hanabusa Itchō, 32, 35, 38, 200
Ejima incident, 126 Hanaya Kyūjirō, 31
Ekōin Temple, 166, 180, 181, 221n.93 hashira-e. See pillar print
Enomoto Kichibei, 149, 177, 187 Hayashi Yoshikazu, 75, 77, 118, 135
Enshūya Yashichi, 31, 38, 41–42, 53 Hillier, Jack Ronald, 199n.5, 201n.30,
erotica: censorship of, 121; concept of 201n.35, 216n.82
pornography, 122; edicts on, 119, 120; Hiraga Gennai, 127, 202
guild regulation, 120; period terms, 120, Hishikawa Moronobu, 29, 30
214n.43; shunga as an alternate term, Hōseidō Kisanji: affiliation with Tsutaya,
121–123; signatures and, 100, 115; use 104–106; Matsudaira Sadanobu
of, 123 and, 217n.9; official summons, 147;
236 | Index
representation of spirit, 218n.37; 191; use of copybooks, 27, 28, 40, 47;
reputation, 187, 189; use of satire, 146 workshop, 24–27
How to Draw Simple Animals (Chōju Kano Motonobu, 32
ryakugashiki), 148 Kano Yasunobu, 27
humor, 144 Kansei Reforms, 146, 150, 177, 212n.24,
216n.4
Ichikawa Danjūrō V, 106 Kariganeya Ihei, 73
Ihara Saikaku, 203n.64, 215n.69 Katsukawa Shunchō, 139
ikebana, 26, 50, 69, 82, 98. See also flowers Katsukawa Shunshō: book illustration, 72,
Illustrated Book: Selected Insects (Ehon 79; colophon for The Mirror of Yoshiwara
mushi erami), 55–57 Beauties, Compared, 71–72; commission
Illustrated Book: The World in Silver (Ehon of, 62, 104; connoisseurship of beauty,
gin sekai), 59 62, 84, 123, 145, 191; daimyo patronage
Inoue Shinshichi, 71, 79, 207n.45 of, 103; erotica, 213n.33; haikai
Ippitsusai Bunchō, 26, 73, 115, 189 participation, 25, 53; kabuki illustration,
Ishibe Kinkō, 147 73; life and work, 72–73, 207n.32,
Ishida Baigan, 150 207n.37; lineage, 67, 72–73; painting, 72;
Ishōsai Shūsen Genyū, 148 reputation, 59; saiken illustration, 90;
Isoda Koryūsai: lineage, 25; reputation, style, 75, 77, 84, 207n.38, 207n.41
118, 189, 212n.27; The Models of Fashion: Katsushika Hokusai: affiliation with
New Designs Fresh as Spring Leaves Tsutaya, 106; Good and Evil Spirits, 182;
(Hinagata wakana no hatsumoyō), 83, representation of monsters and ghosts,
84, 115 47, 203n.61; reputation, 189
It’s a Hit! The “Local Book” Wholesaler Kern, Adam, 176
(Atariyashita jihon-doiya), 13–14 Ki no Tsurayuki, 111
Iwasa Matabei, 26 Kitagawa Utamaro: affiliation with
Iwatoya Kisaburō, 115, 187 Tsutaya, 53–54, 106; alternate names, 22,
Izumiya Ichibei, 187 53, 204n.67, 204n.73; artistic persona,
16, 55; erotica, 139, 213n.33; poetry
Jakushō (Ōe no Sadamoto), 21 anthologies, 55; reputation, 23, 25, 189;
Japanese Painting History (Honchō gashi), 27 as student of Sekien, 22–25, 47, 49, 51,
Jippensha Ikku: affiliation with Tsutaya, 56–58, 145; surimono, 22, 60
106; on book production, 13–15, 144, Kitao Masanobu. See Santō Kyōden
197n.33 Kitao Masayoshi: alternate name, 217n.9;
jōruri, 105, 153, 171 commissions, 148; misattribution, 181;
student of Shigemasa, 72, 148, 149
kabuki, 190; adaptation for, 21, 182; Kitao Masayoshi and Greatest Sales
entertainment, 3, 103, 126; images of, Guaranteed: Quick-Dye Mind Study
24, 73; references to, 154, 156, 165, 171 (Daikokujō uke aiuri: Shingaku
Kano Chikanobu, 27, 28, 32, 44, 200n.20, hayasomegusa): illustrations for, 151–167,
201n.28 184, 192; selection as illustrator, 145, 148,
Kano Einō, 27 149
Kano Gyokuen, 27, 28, 200n.19 Kitao Shigemasa: additional references,
Kano lineage: ranks, 200n.23; secrets, 59, 221n.4; book illustration, 72–73, 79;
29; style, 21, 23, 24, 33–35, 54, 58–60, colophon for The Mirror of Yoshiwara
Index | 237
Beauties, Compared, 71–72; commission Mirror of Yoshiwara “Castle Topplers” in a
of, 62, 104; connoisseurship of beauty, New Comparison of Beauties, with Their
62, 84, 123, 145, 191; erotica, 213n.33; Own Calligraphy, The (Yoshiwara keisei shin
haikai participation, 25, 53; hyōbanki bijin awase jihitsu kagami, 1784), 105, 147
illustration, 81, 90; imitation of, 126; life Miyagawa Chōshun, 189, 212n.25
and work, 72–73, 206n.25; lineage, 67, Miyagawa Shunsui, 73
72–73, 105, 148–149; misattribution, 181; Models of Fashion: New Designs Fresh as
period reports about, 59, 187, 221n.3; Spring Leaves, The (Hinagata wakana no
style, 75, 77, 84 hatsumoyō), 83, 115
Kobayashi Tadashi, 81, 96, 127 monsters and spirits: illustration of, 43–49;
Koikawa Harumachi: affiliation with sources for, 43, 44; kappa, 44, 47, 202n.51;
Tsutaya, 105; fiction, 104; Matsudaira kawauso, 44, 47; kodama, 47; rokurokubi,
Sadanobu and, 217n.9; official 49; types of demons, 45
summons, 147; reputation, 187, 189; Moon in the Lake, The (Kogetsusho), 93
satire, 146; as student of Sekien, 51 Moriya Kohei, 84
Koike Masatane, 165 Murata Ichibei, 13, 14
Kornicki, Peter F., 11, 15, 120, 198n.41 Murataya Jirobei, 106
Kubo Shunman, 72 Mustard Seed Garden Manual, The
kyōka, 54, 57, 64, 191 (Jieziyuan huazhuan, 1679), 29
Kyokutei Bakin (Takizawa Bakin), 106,
115, 177 Naitō Akira, 5
Naitō Masato, 207n.38, 217n.9
LaFleur, William, 183 Nakamura Shikan II, 182–183
Lairesse, Gérard de, 127 Nakayama Yūshō, 149, 180, 181
Lane, Richard, 135 Nakazawa Dōni: Shingaku teachings, 150,
lanterns, ban on, 178–179, 180 151, 157, 174, 219n.46; parody of name,
lending libraries (kashihon’ya), 15, 120 172; report about, 180
natural history (hakubutsugaku), 111
Machida Jōuemon, 41 New Book of Anatomy, The (Kaitai shinsho),
map, Gyōki form, 187 127
Marceau, Lawrence, 13, 199n.3 Night Procession of a Hundred Monsters and
Maruyama Ōkyo, 26, 36, 139, 202n.50 Spirits (Gazu hyakki yagyō), 43–45
materia medica (honzōgaku), 44 Nihonbashi: as center of Edo, 5, 127, 138;
Matsudaira Sadanobu: collection of, 124; as publishing district, 71, 79, 80, 84; and
Kansei Reforms, 146, 147; patron, 148, Shingaku, 150, 172, 217n.10
217n.9; Shingaku and, 150, 168 Nishikawa Shigenaga, 72
meisho (famous places), 63, 107; Nishikawa Sukenobu, 72, 98, 99, 128;
representation, 162 erotica, 214n.214
mind-body duality, 152–154, 162 Nishimuraya Yohachi: affiliation with
mirror, 66, 93, 135, 153, 206n.16 Tsutaya, 104; illustration of shop, 18, 116;
Mirror of Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared, marks, 114; relationship to Urokogataya,
The (Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami), 83, 211n.12; reputation, 187; shop, 124; shop
61–107, 142. See also Katsukawa location, 83; sponsorship of Kiyonaga,
Shunshō; Kitao Shigemasa; Tsutaya 119, 126, 141, 142, 187, 192, 208n.64
Jūzaburō; Yamazaki Kinbei noh, 21, 199n.1, 206n.18
238 | Index
Ogata Kōrin, 38 publishers, 77, 91; collaboration between,
Okumura Masanobu, 25, 189, 212n.27; 31, 66–72, 79, 104, 106, 107; collaboration
affiliation with Yamazaki Kinbei, 79 with others, 119, 123, 141, 144, 146,
Ōoka Shunboku, 29, 201n.28, 204n.72, 183, 189, 191, 192, 193; colophons, 31,
204n.79 41, 47, 71–73, 75, 77, 79–80, 107, 119;
Ōta Nanpo, 23, 54, 55, 58, 105, 106, 115, commissions by, 32, 52, 96, 115, 149,
147, 189, 204n.76 180; competition, 179; guilds, 15, 120,
Ōwada Yasuemon, 159, 180, 187 121, 198; hontonya, 116; imprint quality
as marker, 110, 112–114, 124, 192;
painting: appreciation of, 6, 9, 22, 66, 190; inventories, 41, 42, 79, 103, 107, 123; lists
books about, 29–32, 34, 36, 38–42, 47; of prominent, 115, 185, 186; location
commission, 16; European, 127; history of shops, 71, 79, 80, 150; numbers of,
of, 24, 27, 56, 57–59, 68–69; imitation of, 6; retention and sale of woodblocks,
52, 54, 109, 124, 141, 190; patronage, 103; 10, 31, 79; role of, 1, 13–18; use of seals
sources, 43, 44, 46; status goods, 7, 10, 11, and crests, 22, 114, 116, 117, 190. See also
104, 142; style, 21, 23, 28, 32, 35, 38, 60; edicts; printing; individual publishers by
teaching and practice, 6, 24, 26, 60, 91; name
viewing, 17
Painting Comparisons (Kaiji hiken), 31, 38–43 Ryōgoku district, 116, 128
patronage, 4, 25, 196n.21. See also
commission Santō Kyōden: affiliation with Tsutaya, 16,
pattern books (hinagatabon), 84 106, 120, 177, 180; alternate name (Kitao
Picture Book of One Hundred Women Masanobu), 72; censorship of, 120, 177;
(Hyakunin jorō shinasadame), 98, 128 comments on publishers, 115; Greatest
pillar print (hashira-e): definition, 118, Sales Guaranteed: Quick-Dye Mind Study,
212n.27, 230n.27; pillar applied (hashira- 145–189, 192, 219n.46; on print formats,
kakushi), 118; pillar hung (hashira-kake), 118; as student of Shigemasa, 72, 105;
118 Studies on Ukiyo-e (Ukiyo-e kōsho), 58
Playboy, Grilled Edo-Style (Edo-umare uwaki Santō Kyōzan, 178–181, 192
no kabayaki), 147, 180 Satake Shozan, 127
poetry forms. See haikai; kyōka; senryū scopophilia, 141. See also gaze, masculine
portraiture: category, 67, 94, 102, 122; Screech, Timon, 138
fugato-e, 67, 93; nise-e, 67, 93; ōkubi-e, Scroll of Comic Pictures (Giga zukan), 27,
135; of poets, 50; practice of, 94 44, 218n.21
printers: collaboration, 1, 8, 12, 22, 36, 63, Scroll of the Sleeve, The (Sode no maki), 19,
191; commission, 149; names of, 16, 31; 108–142, 210
skill, 13, 34 seasons, references to, 22, 66–70, 75, 91,
printing: edicts concerning, 71, 112, 115, 98, 102
119, 121, 146, 147, 150, 176–177, 212n.24; Secret Keys to the Way of Painting (Gadō
regulations on, 15, 115, 119, 212n.24; yoketsu), 27
techniques, 12, 32 Sekien’s Picture Album (Sekien gafu). See
prostitutes. See yūjo Echoes of Bird Mountain
prostitution: euphemisms for, 64, 65; Selection of Famous Blossoms (Meikasen),
others, 63; unlicensed, 63, 65, 73, 101, 89–90, 92, 95
125, 132, 135. See Yoshiwara senryū, 214n.43
Index | 239
sheet prints, formats of: chūban, 127, Tale of Genji, The (Genji monogatari), 93
215n.57; hashira-e, 113–115, 116–118, 126, Tanabe Masako, 116
131–132, 142, 192, 212n.27; ōban, 83, 106, Tani Bunchō, 26
127, 215n.57 Tani Sōgai, 81
sheet prints, subjects of. See bijinga; Tanuma Okitsugu, 147
yakusha-e telescope, 138–139
sheet prints, types of: nishiki-e, 84, 112, Terajima Ryōan, 44
198n.2; surimono, 12, 17, 18, 22, 23, 30, Teshima Toan, 150
51, 53, 60, 143, 190, 191 Things for Sale You Know All About
sheet print techniques, 13, 32, 113 (Gozonji no shōbaimono), 136
Shiba Zenkō, 187, 189 Tinios, Ellis, 198n.41, 201n.32, 210n.1
Shikitei Sanba, 118, 185, 187, 189, 190, Tokugawa Ienari, 146
221nn.3–4 Tokugawa Ietsugu, 126
Shikō, 31, 41, 51, 52, 55, 204n.68 Tōrai Sanna, 146, 187, 189
Shimokōbe Shūsui, 132, 133, 135, 215n.57 Torii Kiyomine (Kiyomitsu II), 116,
Shingaku: doctrine, 150, 153, 154, 218n.23; 221nn.17–18
parody of, 151–178, 192; practitioners, Torii Kiyomitsu, 72, 116, 187, 221n.3
150; publications, 157, 219n.46; report on Torii Kiyonaga: affiliation with
illustrated book related to, 180; teaching Nishimuraya, 116, 117, 142, 145,
of, 150, 219n.44; use of ideographs, 165 192, 208n.64; affiliations with other
Shinto: ban on representation of, 119; publishers, 106, 211n.23; erotica, 115,
gods, 110–111; precepts of, 159, 176; 119, 125–139, 213nn.32–33; oeuvre, 116,
representation as priest, 152–153 117, 208n.64, 211nn.15–20, 212n.21;
Shin-Yoshiwara. See Yoshiwara reputation, 118, 189; source material,
Shirane, Haruo, 145 139–140; style, 113, 192; temple records,
Smith, Henry D., 197n.29, 214n.43 211n.18; use of pillar print format, 117, 118
sophisticates (tsū), 64, 82, 91, 97, 105–106, Torii school, 116, 211nn.16–17
147; manner of, 141 Toriyama Sekichūjo, 21, 22, 52, 60
Studies on Ukiyo-e (Ukiyo-e kōsho), 58, 72 Toriyama Sekien: affiliation with Enshūya,
sumo: entertainment, 3, pictures, 24, 51; 31, 38, 40–43, 45–46, 53; affiliation
trope of, 81–82 with Tsutaya, 53–56; book illustration
Suzuki Harunobu: affiliation with painting style, 31, 34–42; name,
Yamazaki Kinbei, 79; erotica, 213n.33; 28, 31; as painter, 22, 24, 29; poetry
lineage, 25; patronage of, 13; pillar affiliations, 50–51; poetry albums,
prints, 118, 212n.27; reputation, 118, 189; 54–56; representation of monsters
as source, 72, 86 and spirits, 42–47, 202n.46, 203n.61;
Suzuki Jun, 201n.32 reputation, 24–26, 58–59, 199n.5; seals,
Suzuki Toshiyuki, 82, 84, 210n.84 23; source material, 29, 30; status,
Suzuki Uemon, 106 28; surimono, 22, 60; training in Kano
workshop, 25, 27–28, 29, 191, 200n.19,
Tachibana Morikuni, 29 200n.22; transmission of painting
Takatsuya Isuke, 116, 212n.23 styles, 24, 28, 29, 34–42, 142, 145, 191.
Takeuchi, Melinda, 43 See also Kitagawa Utamaro; Koikawa
Tale of Flowering Fortunes, The (Eiga Harumachi; Shikō; Toriyama Sekichūjo;
monogatari), 93 Toriyama Sekiryūjo
240 | Index
Toriyama Sekiryūjo, 51–55 1802), 118, 185–189. See also Shikitei
Tōshūsai Sharaku, 106, 189, 197n.31 Sanba
Trollope, Anthony, 7–8
Tsukioka Settei, 132, 139–140, 215n.66, Ueno Chizuko, 123
216n.82 Ukiyo-e Miscellany (Ukiyo-e ruikō), 25, 59,
Tsuruzawa Tanzan, 29, 201n.27 189
Tsutaya Jūzaburō: biography, 80; censure, Urokogataya Magobei: affiliation
120; publication rights, 82; reputation, with Tsutaya, 80; commission of
115, 187; shop in Nihonbashi district, Koikawa Harumachi, 104; fiction,
84, 106 104, 105, 211n.12; guidebooks (saiken),
Tsutaya Jūzaburō, affiliations of: with 90, 104, 187, 209n.75; relationship
Akera Kankō, 55; with brothel owners, to Nishimuraya Yohachi, 83, 115;
91, 106; with Ichikawa Danjūrō V, 106; reputation, 187; review and censure, 82,
with Nishimuraya Yohachi, 83, 104; 90
with Ōta Nanpo, 55; with Yadoya no Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime, story of,
Meshimori, 106 112–114, 124, 129, 136, 142
Tsutaya Jūzaburō, commissions by: Utagawa Kunisada, 202n.50
Eishōsai Chōki, 106, 178; Hōseidō Utagawa Toyoharu, 51, 203n.66
Kisanji, 104, 105; Isoda Koryūsai,
83; Jippensha Ikku, 106; Katsukawa viewing: access, 17; practices, 16–18,
Shunshō, 62, 90; Katsushika Hokusai, 108–109; right of sight, 45, 57, 143; rite
106; Kitagawa Utamaro, 16, 53–56, of sight, 107, 110, 143, 156
57–58; Kitao Shigemasa, 62, 81; Koikawa
Harumachi, 105; Kyokutei Bakin, 106; Wakabayashi Seibei, 31
Santō Kyōden (Kitao Masanobu), 16, wakashu, 132
105, 106, 149, 177, 180; Torii Kiyonaga,
106; Toriyama Sekien, 16, 53–56; Yadoya no Meshimori, 106
Tōshūsai Sharaku, 106 yakusha-e (pictures of actors), 197n.31
Tsutaya Jūzaburō and Yoshiwara district: Yamaguchiya Chūsuke, 197n.33
advertisement for The Mirror of Yamamoto Yukari, 215n.67
Yoshiwara Beauties, Compared (Seirō bijin Yamazaki Kinbei, 61, 79–80, 103–104
awase sugata kagami), 103; collaboration Yanagisawa Kien, 93, 201n.35
with Urokogataya Magobei, 80, 104; Yanagisawa Nobutoki, 103, 209n.82
collaboration with Yamazaki Kinbei, Yoshida Kenkō, 81, 111, 210n.5
61, 79, 104; colophon, 71; critiques Yoshiwara, brothels in: Chōjiya, 55,
(hyōbanki), 81–82; guidebooks (saiken), 83–85, 94–97, 100, 102, 105, 207n.82;
80, 82–83, 85, 88–90, 92, 95; patrons, Gakuiseya, 88; Maruya, 86, 100;
103; preface, 66–67, 70; shop in Matsubaya, 61–62, 75, 90–92, 100,
Yoshiwara, 80, 115, 120, 145, 149, 177, 209n.71; Ōgiya, 91, 106; Shinkanaya,
180, 187; style books (sharebon), 104; 101–102; Yotsumeya, 98, 100
Yoshiwara connections, 80, 106 Yoshiwara, publications about: critiques
Twice-Baked Princess Pot-on-Her-Head: A (hyōbanki), 81; guidebooks (saiken),
Spurious History of Popular Illustrated 80–81, 85, 209n.75, illustrated books
Fiction (Mata yakinaosu Hachikazuki- (ehon), 61, 191; others, 115, 123, 136,
hime—Kusazōshi kojitsuke nendaiki, 142, 145, 147, 162–163, 165, 168, 174,
Index | 241
177–179, 187, 191–192; sheet prints, yūjo of the Yoshiwara district: poetry by,
83–84, 178–179; stylebooks (sharebon), 70–71; publications about, 81–83, 88–89;
65, 104, 177 representation of, 63–77, 83–85, 86,
Yoshiwara licensed pleasure district: 91–102, 104–107, 116, 133–134, 165, 191;
brothel owners, 91; customs, 64–65; status, 195n.5, 205n.5
entertainments, 163–165, 168; yūjo ranking, Yoshiwara’s: chūsan, 92, 95,
establishment, 63; euphemism for, 65; 96, 100; heyamochi, 95, 96; kamuro, 55,
marketing, 96, 107; patrons, 86, 103, 95, 101; kashi, 103; kiri, 103; otsubone,
209n.77; plan, 63, 87; poetry groups, 103; shinzō, 133–135; teppō, 103; yobidashi
105–106; population, 205n.5; relocation, chūsan, 95, 96, 100; zashikimochi, 100,
63; reputation, 162, 174; travel to, 209n.75
205nn.3–4 Yūrien Toshū, 31
yūjo: alternate terms, 63, 89; definition,
63, 122 Zōjōji, 126
242 | Index
About the Author
Julie Nelson Davis is associate professor of the history of art at the University of
Pennsylvania, where she teaches the arts of East Asia from 1600 to the present.
She received her BA at Reed College and her PhD at the University of Washing-
ton; she was also a Monbukagasho research student at Gakushūin University in
Tokyo. Davis’ primary research concerns ukiyo-e and the arts of the Tokugawa
period (1615–1868). Her acclaimed first book, Utamaro and the Spectacle of Beauty,
was published in 2007. Additional publications include articles on the publisher
Tsutaya Jūzaburō in Julia Meech and Jane Oliver, eds., Designed for Pleasure: The
World of Edo Japan in Prints and Paintings, 1680–1860 (2008), on a painting by Tei-
sai Hokuba in Kokka (2007), on Kitagawa Utamaro and his contemporaries in The
Hotei Encyclopedia of Japanese Woodblock Prints (2005), and on Utamaro and the
status of the ukiyo-e artist in Melinda Takeuchi, ed., The Artist as Professional in
Japan (2004), as well as many others.
Production Notes for
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JAPANESE ART AND VISU AL CULTURE
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Hokusai’s Great Wave

Biography of a Global Icon
CHRISTINE GUTH
2015, est. 152 pages, 79 b/w and color illus.
Cloth ISBN: 978-0-8248-3959-8; paper ISBN: 978-0-8248-3960-4
No non-western artwork has been reproduced so widely or undergone so

many reconfigurations in so many parts of the world as Hokusai’s “Great
Wave.” Wide ranging in scope yet grounded in close readings of widely
disparate iterations of the wave, multidisciplinary and theoretically
informed in its approach, Hokusai’s Great Wave will be of interest to
students of Japan and its culture and more generally to those seeking
fresh perspectives on the dynamics of cultural globalization.
Kyoto
An Urban History of Japan’s Premodern Capital
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2014, 256 pages, 58 b/w and color illus.
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“The city of Kyoto comes alive in Stavros’ comprehensive study, the

enduring main character of an enthralling and thoroughly researched
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evidence to great effect, but it is above all the book’s many maps,
diagrams, and photographs that make the city more than just a backdrop
to the narrative.” —MORGAN PITELKA, University of North Carolina
UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I PRESS | HONOLULU, HAWAI‘I 96822-1888

Artistic Collaboration and The Ukiyo-E Market: Julie Nelson Davis

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Julie Nelson Davis

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Introduction: The Floating World and Its Artistic Networks 1

Conclusion: Reconsidering Collaboration and Ukiyo Art Worlds 185

Tokugawa Sociality and the City of Edo

From 500,000 to 700,000 lived in warrior districts, 50,000 to 60,000 in

Production and Reception

What impressed me most was the need of a publisher to keep several

Though Tokugawa-period publishers worked under different conditions, the Jap-

When it came to “painting” (hua), the formats of handscroll, hanging

Teaching the Art of Painting

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 21

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 23

Sekien and Issues of Artistic Style,

Painting Practices and Hierarchies: Artistic Training

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 25

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 27

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 29

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 31

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 33

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 35

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 39

The final text pages of the book demonstrate Enshūya’s commitment to

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 41

Catalogues of the Supernatural

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 43

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 45

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 47

In addition, haikai poetry groups took advantage of commercial print culture to

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 51

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 53

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 55

In one passage of Sekien’s lengthy testimony, he praised Utamaro’s skill as a

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 57

entry—although his contemporaries Shigemasa and Shunshō are, as is his stu-

Teaching the Art of Painting through Print | 59

Four well-dressed women are seated in a well-appointed interior (fig­

Knowing All about the Yoshiwara District

Printing the Quarter’s Reflection

Things about pictures are as a matter of course determined in the court,

By opening with allusions to courtly taste, to Chinese and Japanese paint-

Figure 2.9. Urokogataya Magobei and

Unrolling Pictures for the

Unrolling Pictures for the Erotic Imagination | 109

A Scroll for One’s Sleeve: All about Pleasure

In truth, as Kenkō proposed, a man lacking in passion feels like a jeweled

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Figure 3.4. Torii Kiyonaga. Ushiwakamaru and Jōrurihime, ca. 1782;

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The Subject of Sex in Pictures

(1) New books which contained depraved or divergent opinions on the

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It is known that Edo erotica was produced, circulated and marketed as

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Four well-dressed women are seated in a well-appointed interior (fig