Masks by Fumiko Enchi (translated by Juliet Winters Carpenter)

In Masks, Enchi explores an intense and passionate relationship between two women – a mother-in-law and her widowed daughter-in-law, as viewed by two men who are rivals in the affection of the younger woman. It is an extremely intriguing novel, a tense psychological drama in which motives are questionable and actions open to interpretation.

The basic premise of the story is quite simple. Yasuko, the daughter in law, is recently widowed. Her husband, Mieko’s son Akio, was killed on the slopes of Mt. Fuji in a sudden avalanche. Ibuki is married with a small child, but desires Yasuko who is a student in his class. His friend Mikamē, a doctor, wishes to marry Yasuko. The story follows the men’s relationships with Yasuko and the enigmatic Mieko with whom Yasuko has a strangely disturbing relationship.

This is a story which heavily relies on the concepts of ‘masks’. In the early part of the novel Yasuko, Mieko, Mikamē and Ibuki visit a Nō master (Nō is a form of Japanese theatre, highly stylised and noted for its use of masks) who is displaying some old costumes and masks from his theatre days. Here they encounter various masks including two in particular which are highly relevant both to the two ladies and the rest of the story:

‘The mask’s forehead and cheeks were well rounded; the suggestion of a smile hovered around the eyes, their lids curved and drooping, and the lips, half parted to reveal a glimpse of teeth. By some extraordinary artistry in the carving of the mask, that smile could change mysteriously into a look of weeping.

“This is Magojirō. A young woman, like Ko-omote, but one with greater femininity and the fully developed charms of someone older, a young woman at the peak of her beauty. When you know the masks as well as we do, they come to seem like the faces of real women. And this, of all the masks handed down in our family, is the one I love best.” He handed the Magojirō mask carefully to Yasuko.

“But I’ll show you another mask that I couldn’t love if I wanted to, one that won’t even let me near, one that makes me feel a kind of irritation – even hatred may not be too strong a word. Its nam is Zō no onna. It’s used for the characters of exalted rank – the court lady in Burden of Love or the celestial being on Robe of Feathers.”

Yorikata picked up the mask and slowly extended his arms up and out, holding it level with his own face. It was the visage of a coldly beautiful woman, her cheeks tightly drawn. The sweep of the eyelids was long, and the red of the upper lip extended out to the corners of the mouth in an uneven and involved line, curving at last into a smile of disdain. A haughty cruelty was frozen hard upon the face, encasing it like crystals of ice on a tree.’

These two masks appear to represent Yasuko and Mieko who have a mysterious and complex relationship, one which appears to frighten Yasuko but from which she appears unable to escape. Or is she? This is a question which runs throughout the novel: which is the mask? There are so many: the Nō masks themselves which are highly representative objects; the masks of identity which both Yasuko and Mieko seem to wear, their ‘true’ identities hidden behind them; the mask of respectability which Ibuki wears, which slips when he enters into his illicit relationship with Yasuko. Which is the ‘mask’ and which is the truth? It is a question which Enchi opens up, but which she leaves you, the reader, to unpick as you will.

Ibuki and Yasuko enter into a sexual relationship, possibly at the behest of Mieko. Yasuko certainly seems to believe (or presents such a belief) it is the case. And it is Mieko, the silent unknowable woman, around whom this story pivots. All the intrigue, all the deceptions, all the psychological elements revolve around the older woman about whom each of the characters puzzle. As Yasuko describes here:

‘”It’s no game. Believe me, she is a woman of far greater complexity than you – or anyone – realize. The secrets in her mind are like flowers in a garden at nighttime, filling the dark with perfume. Oh, she has extraordinary charm. Next to that secret charm of hers, her talent as a poet is really only a sort of costume.”’

Alongside the presence of masks, Enchi also explores the concept of spirit possession. This is a concept which very closely aligns both with the story and the idea of ‘masks’. In the world of spirit possession, the body becomes a ‘mask’ for the spirit possessing it, hiding its true nature behind a human façade. All of the characters are in some way exploring or researching this idea, but it is Mieko who seems to have made the greatest, albeit secret, breakthrough. In his own research Mikamē discovers a paper that Mieko wrote many years early called ‘An Account of the Shrine in the Fields’ in which she explores the story of the Rokujō lady from The Tale of Genji. In the story, the Rokujō lady, a jealous lover of Genji’s, uses her spirit to attack his wife which eventually leads to the wife’s death. The character of the Rokujō lady is a minor one in the Tale of Genji, but Mieko writes a paper describing a more sympathetic interpretation of the story. Is this, too, because Mieko is a Rokujō lady herself, attacking the spirits of others either knowing or unbeknowing? When confronted about the significance of the paper, Mieko dismisses it, but you are left feeling that its importance is somehow the cornerstone of the whole story.

Further complicating the story is the discovery that Yasuko’s husband Akio had a twin sister who had been separated from him at birth and brought up separately. The sister, Harumē suffered some mental disability as a result of apparent abuses heaped upon her by her brother before they were born. Following Akio’s death, Harumē came to live with her mother, but her presence remained a secret. Harumē herself then becomes a ‘mask’, a puppet, in Mieko’s bigger plan (which is never really made clear) which involves tricking Ibuki into sleeping with her, believing he is with Yasuko. It is at this point that the question arises: how much is Yasuko being controlled, or how much is she implicit in the terrible acts that are being played out here?

It’s a complex novel, extraordinarily so considering its brevity. Yet there’s a sense that there is no word misplaced here, every step of the story has been cleverly and carefully crafted. I found myself, again, impressed by Enchi’s writing skill, her ability to craft a story without missing a beat. Masks is an intense read, it is intriguing and clever and deep. It is a highly sexual story, raising questions about gender relations, the motives that drive people and the nature of identity. That Mieko is somehow at the centre of it all is apparent, yet Mieko is the one character we never really get to know. As Yasuko says: “it seems to me she must be one of the last women who lives that way still - like the masks – with her deepest energies turned inwards.”

Enchi is a great writer, one who deserves to be mentioned alongside the other Japanese greats like Kawabata, Abe and Soseki. I find it quite depressing that so few of her works have been translated to English – only 3 out of 7 works. It is a similar situation to that of Yoko Ogawa who is similarly overlooked, despite being an extraordinary writer. Yet at the same time the shelves are bulging with works from writers like Murakami (both) or Taichi Yamada who aren’t fit to wash her socks. Such a shame. I’d like to think that gender wasn’t at play here, especially considering how ‘feminist’ Enchi’s work is, but I can see no other reason why she isn’t recognised as the astonishingly great writer she is.

Masks is a brilliant, psychological drama which draws you in right from the beginning. A short and somewhat shocking novel which will leave you thinking about it for days afterwards.

10 Japanese writers everyone should read

Thanks to the growing availability of writers in translation, it is now possible to easily access writers from other cultures. I have a particular fondness for Japanese writers, having explored their works as liberally as I am able. The following list is not exhaustive, but is a reasonable guide to the breadth of Japanese writing worth exploring. There are some notable omissions. For example, I haven’t included Murasaki Shikibu or Sei Shonagon, both of whom are extremely worth reading. Other notable omissions include Yukio Mishima and Kenzaburo Oe who are both great writers whose works are interesting but didn’t appeal to me. If you’re interested in exploring Japanese writing, it is worth getting hold of the Oxford Book of Japanese Short Stories which will give you a broad spread of the best the Japanese have to offer. It is a great collection in and of itself, and a worthy presence in my library.

1. Yoko Ogawa

Yoko Ogawa

Ogawa is the mistress of dark, psychological stories. She explores the darker, less understandable parts of human nature with an unflinching eye. Hotel Iris explores a sado-masochistic relationship between a young woman and an older man, The Diving Pool collects stories of obsession. Surprisingly, one of my favourite novels by Ogawa is the highly contrasted The Housekeeper and the Professor, which is a sweet and uplifting book. Whichever Ogawa you find, she is absorbing and deeply psychological. A thrilling writer, unafraid to explore the dark side of the human experience.

2. Natsuo Kirino

Another female writer exploring the dark side of human, or perhaps more accurately women’s, nature. Violence and crime, domestic violence, adultery, murder, sex and death. Kirino shines an unforgiving light on all of these issues. I particularly enjoyed her entry to the Canongate myths series The Goddess Chronicle which explores the legend of Iznami and Izanaki the god of life and goddess of death, cast alongside the story of a young Japanese woman tied to a terrible fate. Kirino highlights the barrenness and difficulty for women in Japan who are, too easily, tied to a life without choices. She’s a rip-roaring read too, exciting and terrifying.  

Weird, I say

3. Kobo Abe

Abe is weird, really weird. I can’t tell you how weird. Perhaps most famous for The Woman in the Dunes, the story of a man who becomes trapped in a village drowning in sand, whose daily task is solely to prevent the sand from crushing his prison, Abe also wrote about a man who lives in a box (The Box Man, it’s creepy) and a man who wakes to find radish sprouts growing out of his legs (Kangaroo Notebook). Weird I tell you (but extremely compelling).

4. Yasunari Kawabata

Everything Kawabata wrote was exquisite. Exquisite is simply the only word to describe this writer. There’s a sparseness in his writing, a simplicity which belies the underlying complexity of his stories. It is the ritual of the Japanese tea ceremony captured in novel form, perhaps most openly in the novel The Master of Go which focuses entirely upon an extraordinary game of Go. My recommendation would be the wonderful Beauty and Sadness, though Snow Country is also well worth a read.

5. Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Toshiro Mifune...mmm

Famous for the story ‘Under a Bamboo Grove’ which became one of Kurosawa’s most famous movies Rashomon (which is actually the title of the collection, not the story itself). Under a Bamboo Grove is famous for the way in which it explores the same event – the rape of a woman in said grove and subsequent murder (or is it suicide) of her husband – from the perspectives of the three participants none of which give the same account of the incident. It is perhaps the most extreme example of the unreliable narrator and leaves you wondering who, if anybody, you can ever believe.

6. Fumiko Enchi

tense & difficult

Enchi is difficult to get hold of in translation, but her novels are worth the effort of tracking down. Another writer with an unflinching gaze; her novels give a sense of tension and claustrophobia whilst projected in a seemingly ordinary domestic setting. The Waiting Years is a tense and difficult novel exploring the dominion of one man over his wife and youthful mistresses. It is an oppressive but impressive read.

7. Jun’ichiro Tanizaki

The Key and Diary of a Man Old Man follow a similar theme, older men enacting a sexual obsession. But how alone are those men in acting out that obsession? Erotic and disturbing, both novels shine a light on the nature of sexual desire particularly in older relationships. For a more conservative taste, The Makioka Sisters follows the decline of an upper class family in the pre-war years. Tanizaki is a diverse writer who focuses on inter-relationships with a fresh and fearless eye.

8. Banana Yoshimoto

Banana Yoshimoto is a growing writer, a writer who appears to be growing before my eyes. Worth reading Kitchen, a collection of novellas about loss and Asleep a collection of novellas surrounding the theme of sleep. Banana Yoshimoto’s work has a youthful and personable feel, whilst addressing difficult issues of identity, loss and sense of purpose.

9. Hiromi Kawakami

Gorgeous cover

Not just because Strange Weather in Tokyo has the best cover ever, but because it is also an excellent book. Another novel exploring an unusual relationship between a woman and an older man who used to be her schoolteacher. The behaviour of both parties borders on strange, and nothing about their relationship is commonplace.  

10. Haruki Murakami

I almost didn’t add Murakami to the list, perhaps because he is so well known already or perhaps because I’ve lost faith in Murakami as a writer. But to leave him out would be unfair; whilst I haven’t gelled with his more recent works (1Q84 is an abomination of bad characterisation) his earlier works still hold much of interest. Norwegian Wood is perhaps the best known of his earlier works, but it is Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World which most grabs my attention. It’s a story with a split identity and will leave you with a curious fondness for your shadow for a long time after reading. Another surprisingly good read from Murakami is Underground, a chilling factual exploration of the Tokyo Underground sarin gas attacks, a book guaranteed to make you question exactly what you would do if someone ordered you to do it.