An ambitious young man of the 1880s, flattering a girl he may want to marry (or may not, if a more advantageous alliance materializes), asks her, "What are you reading these days, Osei?" When Osei in reply mentions "Outlines of the World's History" by William Swinton, Noboru, the young man, is suitably impressed: "You're so young and just a woman and yet you study so hard."
Osei and Noboru are characters in "Japan's first modern novel" — "Ukigumo" ("Floating Clouds") by Futabatei Shimei (1864-1909). The core innovation that qualifies it as a vanguard work in a new age is, paradoxically, its banality. Banality is real. It's honest. Most people are banal. Modernity is banal. It commercializes us, industrializes us, molds us and polishes us. The dashing heroes and black villains of earlier fiction no longer speak to us.
The Meiji Era (1868-1912) was characterized by full-throttle Western-style modernization. "Suddenly," a disgruntled ex-samurai wrote sardonically of the early phase of the transformation, "everything had to be in the Western manner. All at once, customs were broken and manners changed, and people's hearts and minds ran ever more frivolous and shallow."