In 1908, and already an established popular writer, Natsume Soseki turned to more experimental forms of expression. Among these was his accounting of 10 dreams he had purportedly experienced. All are fairly dark. One finds a man killing pigs on the edge of a cliff over which he eventually tumbles; another is about a man being ridden by a blind child who turns out to be the son he killed -- at once his descendant and his ancestor.
Though all 10 are as arbitrary as real dreams are, one is inclined to read further meaning into the collection. One of the reasons for that is that there is nothing more boring than listening to other people's dreams. Some sort of meaning seems to be required. Hence the listener turns psychiatrist, and the critic looks for structure.
Another reason is that it is possible to see the pig dream as a kind of allegory on the problems of the individual in society, and the blind-boy dream as related to questions of identity in the Meiji era.
Both were major concerns of Soseki's. Indeed, they constitute two of his main themes. He later incorporated them in "Sanshiro," that classic study of a search for identity that he began just after he had transcribed his 10 dreams, and in his masterpiece, "Kokoro," a study of a solitary individual.
"Ten Nights' Dreams," though not perhaps the most popular of Soseki's works, has long appealed to translators. One of the earliest versions in English (by Miyamori Asataro) appeared in 1917, followed by an anonymous translation in 1922 and one by Hara Sankichi and Shirai Dofu in 1934. Postwar translations include that by Earl Miner and Oura Yukio, 1961; another by Ito Aiko and Graeme Wilson, 1969; and the present translation. George Saito produced one in the 1950s, although it is not included in either the Kodansha or the P.E.N. listings of Japanese literature in foreign languages.
The present translation is the work of five translators -- though only one is mentioned on the title page. Consequently, the reader will not expect the single style or the unified tone that might otherwise have prevailed. Each of the five did two dreams each and there are consequent stylistic differences. In addition, since they are all translating out of their own language and into a language not their own, there are anomalies, despite the efforts of Loretta Lorenz, who acted as English consultant.
One of the most persistent is the use of indirect discourse when Soseki specified direct discourse. This smooths the text, to be sure, but it also adds an anodyne quality not often encountered in a writer as specific as Soseki. At the same time, however, there is a tendency toward another kind of specificity that the foreign translator avoids.
For example, when the man carrying the blind child reaches the grave marker, he finds, in this translation, that the characters on the stone were "scarlet like the stomach of a newt." In the Oura/ Miner translation, this is given as "bright as the marking of a lizard," a description that fits the ascribed literary tone but is, in fact, not precisely what Soseki wrote.
In the eighth dream, the dreamer finds himself on a large ship. It is filled with foreigners and is proceeding west. He questions a crew member, who replies with a song. Oura/Miner have the final lines as: "So we float along on the waves, the rudder our pillow, drifting, drifting along." The present translators, having decided that the song was a "sea shanty," render this as "My ship is my home and ever I roam. Sail on, sail on, sail on. Ho!"
Vagaries of translation aside, one may, I think, find this dream frankly allegorical. Japan is sailing west and is filled with foreigners, and the solitary Soseki wants off. In the dream he jumps overboard. In real life, a similar situation made him just as miserable, but had a less permanent result.
This was the trip to London in 1900 where he finally met the West face to face. Soseki's stipend was not enough, he did not know anyone, he was lonely, and he began to display some of those lifelong eccentricities with which he is now associated.
How surprised he would be to see this modest translation that has been published to celebrate his arrival in London 100 years ago. And how astonished he would be to learn that it is the work of a Soseki Museum in London, located right across the street from where he lived in Clapham.
This is all the work of a devoted follower, Sammy I. Tsunematsu, who bought the flat that houses the museum and began collecting. Opened in 1984, it now offers an impressive collection of Sosekiana. Also among its works is an ambitious publishing plan. Soon, Global Orient will release the Brodey/Tsunematsu translation of "Travels in Manchuria and Korea," a work never before available in English.
This translation can be ordered from the Soseki Museum in London, The Chase, 80b, London SW4ONG U.K. Fax: +44 20 8773 9670. The e-mail address is: [email protected]
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