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Sōseki Natsume (1867-1916) is a Japanese icon. A native of the great shogunal capital of Edo, Sōseki was one year old when the Meiji Restoration established Japan as a modern nation and the city of his birth was renamed Tokyo. His lifetime almost perfectly overlaps the course of Japan's extraordinary modernization in the Meiji era (1868-1912). By the time of Sōseki's death in 1916, Japan had become an Asian empire. Not quite seventy years later, Sōseki's face would adorn the national currency, in the form of the 1000-yen banknote.

Sōseki Natsume was one of a handful of writer-intellectuals whose lives and work came to epitomize the age in which they lived—an age that resonates powerfully among Japanese and those with an interest in Japan. Like many of his contemporaries, Sōseki lived at a crossroads where his East Asian cultural heritage and taste for "traditional" arts and styles intersected with a passion for modern intellectual inquiry and knowledge of the West. Initially schooled in the Chinese classics, Sōseki was among the first students at the Imperial University to major in English. He went on to specialize in English literature and spent two years in England at the turn of the century, immersed in literary study

Sōseki Natsume's mastery of English literature and modern literary theory was unsurpassed when he returned to Japan and assumed a prestigious academic position at the Imperial University There was every reason to believe that the young scholar would find a comfortable niche at the university However, the stultifying academic routine proved irksome, and his own literary creations were beginning to earn him a widespread reputation.

The budding author, who had experienced serious melancholia and depression during his stay overseas, was a man of peevish, dyspeptic temperament—a quality reflected both in his fiction and his assorted personal writings. Indeed, Sōseki's assorted neuroses have long been a fixture of modern Japanese literary lore and the subject of endless biographical study and speculation over the years.

Gradually souring on academic life, Sōseki took the unprecedented step of accepting a position with the Asahi shinbun, a leading newspaper, as staff writer. By this time, he had already published two remarkable novels—Wagahai wa Neko de aru (I am a Cat, 1905), a brilliantly sardonic portrayal of human pecadilloes, as narrated by the family cat; and Botchan (1906), a loosely autobiographical account of the youthful experiences of its memorable protagonist.

The Asahi position, which Sōseki assumed in 1907, called for the writing of shinbun shôsetsu— so-called "newspaper fiction"—which entailed daily serialization of ones work. For a decade, this work would be part of the regular reading diet of the nation's readers, and in due course he emerged as Japan's "novelist-laureate". His mature works— most notably Kokoro (1914) and Michikusa (Grass on the Wayside, 1915)—are undisputed masterpieces of modern Japanese fiction.

Sōseki Natsume's greatest achievement is perhaps his brilliant psychological portrayal. Acutely sensitive to the spiritual and psychic toll of modern urban existence, Sōseki created a narrative means of evoking the loneliness, alienation and confusion of his protagonists. These are ordinary people leading ordinary lives, yet painfully aware of the barriers of ego and selfishness that enclosed them. Underlying the novels also is the author's enduring concern for the ethical and moral tenor of modern life.

Taken together, the Sōseki novels—serialized at the rate of approximately one per year—possess a Dickensian weight as a collective portrayal of the Meiji era seen through a series of "representative lives".

In addition to the novels, Sōseki wrote widely in other genres—poetry, literary criticism, personal essays, and assorted shorter fiction. The present work, The 210th Day, belongs to this latter category. This is a relatively minor work, which has long been overshadowed by the novels. As short fiction, it lacks the sustained plot of I am a Cat and the character development of Botchan. Given the enormous promise of what came before, it almost appears to be a retrograde work.

Yet, seen in its proper context, The 210th Day can be appreciated as an intriguing literary experiment, one that reflects the influence of earlier Japanese literary narrative while advancing a distinctly modern and progressive social ideal. It should be noted that the late Meiji period witnessed an outpouring of writing that promoted diverse social, cultural and artistic programs. Sōseki was but one of many writers experimenting with literary avenues for giving voice to prevailing intellectual and ethical issues. Contesting styles were aired in the literary periodicals, and much of this writing will strike the reader as rather awkward and tentative.

The 210th Day is such a work. It takes the form of an extended dialogue, carried over several episodes, between two friends touring the region around the volcanic Mt Aso in central Kyushu. The work is based on an actual trip that Sōseki made to Kyushu in September 1899 with a close friend, Yamakawa Shinjirô (1867-?). The two did indeed set out to climb Mt Aso, when they encountered a storm on the "210th day"—which is to say, the lunar calendar day traditionally associated with storms and typhoons.

The two friends in our tale, Kei and Roku, are loosely modeled, respectively, upon Sōseki and Yamakawa. The bulk of the story consists of their rambling dialogue, which proceeds in the absence of any narrative stage-setting. The dialogue is interspersed with occasional descriptions of the inn where they stay; and, later on, the dark, foreboding scenery they encounter on their abortive climb.

Much of this dialogue is marked by easy-going, light-hearted banter. For instance, there is the scene in Chapter 3 involving a somewhat dimwitted waitress who, when asked for some soft-boiled eggs (which in Japanese translates as "half-boiled"), brings out a combination of raw and hard-boiled eggs:

"[Waitress], you can see that the other gentleman has raw eggs and I have hard-boiled eggs."

"Yes, for sure."

"Why have you done it like that?"

"I boiled half of them."

Such comic patter is redolent of the literary burlesques of the late Tokugawa period (1600-1868) and the popular raconteurs whose lively storytelling captivated Sōseki in his youth. Indeed, the preponderance of dialogue in The 210th Day can be interpreted both as homage to an admired cultural form that was on the decline and as a literary etude—an occasion for experimenting with styles of dialogue. The dialogue is indeed quite effective.

The two characters—acquaintances whose relationship remains unclear—contrast strongly with one another. Kei, dynamic and opinionated, lets on that he is the son of a tofu manufacturer, then surprises his friend by advocating a radical social agenda. Proclaiming the need for a just society, Kei expresses disdain for worldly gain and class inequity, and contempt for those with power and privilege. His shrill idealism masks a deeply cynical nature:

"Underneath their congenial masks, human beings are capable of every kind of baseness. If they are penniless they stick to themselves. But if they have a certain position in society, that's when the problems start. They infect the whole of society with their meanness...." (Chapter 3)

Keis righteous indignation, with which he harangues his easy-going friend, is reminiscent of I am a Cat, in which the pretensions of the high and mighty come in for frequent drubbing. A similar moral agenda marks Botchan, whose entirely unpretentious protagonist stands up to arrogance, deceit, and hypocrisy. On the other hand, Roku is intrigued by the revelation of his friend's background and wants to hear more. But Kei will not oblige. Their conversation becomes a series of dodges and feints, much like the circuitous path they take up the volcano.

Sōseki sets his tale in the rural hinterland, far from his comfortable urban haunts, and the ensuing description of the hostile elements and ominous natural forces that beset his characters is skillfully drawn:

"The gigantic mountain rumbles more violently every five minutes, and each time the rain and the smoke seem to be quivering in unison, the final waves of vibration shaking the body of Roku, who remains motionless and deprived of strength. As far as the eye can see the grass bends under the smoke and is whipped to and fro by the bursts of rain." (Chapter 4)

The 210th-day storm overpowers the two friends and they must abandon their climb. The next morning, Kei tries to talk his reluctant friend into making another go at climbing Mt Aso. He is intent on having his way. They talk things over, and Kei once again turns to the theme of injustice and the evils wrought by society's high and mighty:

"If we live in this world our foremost aim should be to defeat the monsters of civilization and give some little comfort to the lower classes without money or power; do you not think so?"

"Yes, that's true—yes."

Having finally convinced his friend on this score, Kei uses his leverage to have the friend agree to join him on a second attempt to climb the mountain. And so the story ends.

Kei's discourse on social injustice in The 210th Day resonates with the author's own social philosophy, and it reflects the larger concerns of Japanese writers and intellectuals who sought a high moral and intellectual plane for literature. Yet, Sōseki's little tale is as much a parody of intellectual posturing and pomposity as it is a serious presentation of ideas. Its nicely deployed comic effects place it firmly in the orbit of the truly masterful I am a Cat.

In a sense, Sōseki's freedom to experiment with fictional technique, as represented by works such as The 210th Day, ended when he joined the Asahi staff as a literary journalist. He would now be expected to produce works that appealed to the general reading public. It may be argued that the discourse style employed in his ephemeral "dialogue-tale" would be put to use in the subsequent novels. It is certainly the case that a number of his protagonists would hold forth on social issues and ethics. In this sense, The 210th Day stands as an interesting narrative hybrid, written at a particular juncture in the author's career that points to earlier influences while foreshadowing the noteworthy development of his mature literary style.

The present volume is one of the more recent in Tuttle's project of new and reissued translations of Sōseki's work. Thanks to Tuttle, we have a representative sampling of the writings—novelistic and otherwise—of this seminal author, who continues to inspire and entertain Japanese and non-Japanese readers alike. In particular, I am delighted that in addition to The 210th Day, Tuttle has recently published several volumes of Sōseki's personal writings, including Inside My Glass Doors and Spring Miscellany. These collections, which provide fascinating insights into the author's early years, his family, and his circle of friends and colleagues, are a most welcome addition to the work available in English.

MARVIN MARCUS

February 2002