Tale of Murasaki: A Novelby Liza Dalby
In the eleventh century Murasaki Shikibu wrote the world’s first novel, The Tale of Genji, the most popular work in the history of Japanese literature. In The Tale of Murasaki/b>/b>/b>
The Tale of Murasaki is an elegant and brilliantly authentic historical novel by the author of Geisha and the only Westerner ever to have become a geisha.
In the eleventh century Murasaki Shikibu wrote the world’s first novel, The Tale of Genji, the most popular work in the history of Japanese literature. In The Tale of Murasaki, Liza Dalby has created a breathtaking fictionalized narrative of the life of this timeless poet–a lonely girl who becomes such a compelling storyteller that she is invited to regale the empress with her tales. The Tale of Murasaki is the story of an enchanting time and an exotic place. Whether writing about mystical rice fields in the rainy mountains or the politics and intrigue of the royal court, Dalby breathes astonishing life into ancient Japan.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
New York Times Book Review
“Liza Dalby is not just a remarkable scholar of Japanshe is a keen storyteller.”
Arthur Golden, author of Memoirs of a Geisha
“An impressive spectacle.... Demands to be savored and appreciated.”
San Francisco Sunday Examiner & Chronicle
“An amazing feat.... Anyone already an enthusiast either of [The Tale of] Genji or of Arthur Golden’s wonderful Memoirs of a Geisha will already be running to the bookstore for this book.... A wonderful accomplishment.”Newsday
“Exquisite and poetic.... A leisurely, rich novel told in a dreamy style.... Elegant.”
The Times-Picayune (New Orleans)
“Captivating.... The Tale of Murasaki gets the big things right, including, indispensably, the dark undercurrent of sadness running below the bright, embroidered surface.... All this, and much more, rings so true to the created milieu of Genji that one is inclined to indulge Dalby in all she has dreamed or imagined.”
The Washington Post Book World
“Authentic.... Re-creates the life of an 11th-century Scheherazade.”
- Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
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- Random House
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Read an Excerpt
I was pregnant with you when my mother died, but my condition was far from normal. I was often overwhelmed by waves of nausea. The only thing that held them at bay was a fresh citron. Scratching the bumpy yellow yuzu skin released a tiny vapor of citrus essence to inhale and quell my rising gorge. But most of the time I simply surrendered to queasy lassitude. I had to tuck emergency drafts of yuzu and tangerine peel in my sleeves to get through my mother's funeral. She had been living in seclusion for some time. Some people, on hearing of her death, were surprised that she had still been alive.
Your grandmother was well known as the lady who wrote the Tale of Genji. That novel of romance and poignant observation appeared like a bright full moon floating out of a dark sky. No one had read anything like it before. It brought my mother fame and notoriety in her day. Still, I was surprised at the crowd that gathered for her final rites. At least a dozen ladies endured the inconvenient all-day trip to Ishiyama Temple. They must have been Genji readers who preferred the life they found in my mother's stories to their own dull husbands or difficult situations.
I'm sure my mother became a recluse in order to disentangle herself from Genji. The work had come to envelop her life. Yet Genji was also her child. She had created and nurtured it, but then, as children do, it grew up and eventually slipped from her control. I was a much more compliant child than the book. I never gave her as much cause for concern as did Genji.
Perhaps because people were infatuated with the heroine of her novel, they confused my mother with that character. She was nicknamed Murasaki when she entered Her Majesty's service. Readers of the tale seemed to think they knew her because they knew Genji's Murasaki. I think my mother grew tired of the letters and visits from people of all ranks, including imperial personages, whom, of course, she could not ignore. It had gotten to the point where readers became so involved with her characters that they importuned my mother to create particular scenes to satisfy their imaginations. They came to expect things of Genji, and my mother grew equally tired, I'm convinced, of meeting their expectations and thwarting them.
She had even been invited to join the empress's entourage because of Genji. It must have seemed a miracle to her, a bookish widow, to have been lifted out of obscurity into the conspicuous brilliance of that imperial salon. Genji writing brought her to the attention of the regent Michinaga, the man who controlled emperors and ruled the country in fact if not in name. Whatever my mother's relationship to Michinaga may have been, Genji was largely responsible.
One bears children and eventually launches them into society, praying they will make a favorable impression, attain a suitable status, or at least not be an embarrassment. Perhaps one has taught them something that will give them the strength to suffer the karma they were born with. Yet eventually children will do as they will. The influence of previous existence will play out in ways we cannot possibly know. As a parent, one accepts this. But a work of fiction is a perverse child. Once created, it makes its own way without apology, brooking no influence, making friends and enemies on its own.
Perhaps it's not so different from a flesh-and-blood child, after all.
The Genji tale was like an elder brother to me from the time I was born. It was always taking up my mother's time, demanding her attention like any selfish boy. It never went away or lessened its demand. As jealous as I was when I was young, eventually I, too, fell under Genji's spell.
We did not meet often during the years my mother lived as a nun. My own career at court was developing moderately well, and I was then under the protection of Counselor Kanetaka, a nephew of Regent Michinaga. It was his child--you--I carried at the time of Murasaki's death.
I thought I should probably never marry. How was I to know the fated connections and promotions that were to come my way? I was not worried about my future, because my mother was not. She would not have abandoned me at sixteen unless she felt my prospects were secure.
The faint scent of cherry blossoms will always remind me of my mother's departing this world. As we left the sand-strewn funerary plain at dawn, we passed stands of blooming cherries in the morning fog. Then, as the sun warmed the earth and the fog melted away, a soft smell filled the air. No one thinks of sakura for its scent--it hasn't the strong honey odor of plum--but out in the countryside, in such masses, sakura seemed to have a subtle fragrance.
I was carrying the urn with Murasaki's ashes to take back to our family temple. My grandfather Tametoki should have been in charge, but, mortified at seventy-four to have outlived his children, he shrank from taking an official part in the ceremony. Shaking his gray head like one of the querulous macaque monkeys we saw on the mountain roads, my grandfather lamented the fortune of his continued good health as much as his daughter's death.
The following month I journeyed for the last time to my mother's retreat near Kiyomizu Temple to gather her things. I knew there would not be very much because she had already given away her musical instruments, her books, and--of course, long since--all of the fine silk clothing she had worn at court. There were some good padded winter robes, which I donated to the temple, as well as the sutras she had been copying in her graceful calligraphy. I managed to find the only things I wanted--her dark purple inkstone, a set of writing brushes, and a Chinese celadon brush rest in the form of five mountains. As I knelt at her low writing table, I noticed another bundle of papers, rolled tightly and wrapped in a scrap of chartreuse silk. Thinking these to be old letters she had kept for the paper on which to copy more sutras, I decided to take them with me for my own writing practice. Paper is not cheap, and I thought I might as well put it to the use my mother intended. The priest was disappointed. These people are always on the lookout for extra paper.
From the Hardcover edition.
Meet the Author
Author of Geisha and Kimono and the only Westerner ever to have become a geisha, Liza Dalby is a consultant for Steven Spielberg’s upcoming film adaptation of Memoirs of a Geisha. She lives in Berkeley, California.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Everytime I read this book I get so lost in it. It gets shorter everytime I pick it up. 'Some books just aren't long enough.' I had the pleasure of meeting Liza Dalby once. She is a great lady with extensive understanding of what it truly is to be in that life of courtesans and Geisha. Highly recommended.
this book helped me heighten the interest in not only the heian culture but all general interest in the histories and cultures of various countries. it does a great job showing the scene to the reader. very beautifully written, poetic, and elegant.
This book is book is subtle, and the conflict is there if one knows how to sense the intense emotion under the refined surface. The restraint of expression is, of course, intentional, and Liza Dalby has accomplished it beautifully. The personal conflict goes beyond just Murasaki wondering what to write her next poem about. The conflict is of a young woman who does not quite fit the mold of what a woman should be in tenth century Japan. Dalby beautifully and subtly expresses Murasaki's sensibilities, as shaped by her culture, upbringing, and personality. Writers like myself will relate Murasaki's thoughts about writing her Genji tales.
This book is exclusively for the Japanese enthusiast. There are some very interesting facts disclosed in the novel but they could easily be summed up in one or two chapters. The author actually goes into too much detail at some points by describing the multiple colors of every single person's robes. Personally, I am not that interested in the percentage of different ingredients that go into making incense. The real problem that I had with the book was the story. There is no excitement, no climax. The fact that the story is losely based on some facts about Murasaki would give, I believe, some room for some type of excitement. Murasaki's biggest dilema is what to say in her next poem. I found myself struggling through the book counting the pages. I have not read the Tales of Genji. I do think that if I had read it before I read this book it might have been more interesting.
Normally I love to read and can sit through any book, no matter how slow it is theres always SOMETHING. But this book was a chore to read. I was very interested because I had loved Memoirs of a Geisha but nothing happens in this book. Its full or random uninteresting little poems and I had to force myself to finish it. I have never been so disappointed by a book before in my life and for people that want some kind of plot or storyline this book is not for you.
This was not a particularly good book - in fact I struggled to keep reading it! I wouldn't really recommend it. There is some interesting information but the story was a bit dry and uneventful.