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Izumi Kyōka (author), Charles Shirō Inouye (translator and author of introduction and afterword), Japanese Gothic Tales, University of Hawai’i Press, 1996. 202 pgs.

Japan Gothic Tales comprises four short stories: “The Surgery Room”, “The Holy Man of Mount Kōya”, “One Day in Spring”, and “Osen and Sōkichi”. These tales, written between 1895 and 1920, span the Meiji and Taishō eras. Inouye’s thoughtful arrangement invites readers into what Akutagawa Ryūnosuke termed “Kyōka’s world”, beginning with a relatable suburban Tokyo setting. This serves as a liminal space, easing readers into the more peculiar and labyrinthine landscapes of the Hida mountains and Kanagawa Prefecture, where unsettling events unfold and otherworldly beings dwell.

The stories deftly explore the tensions between progress and tradition, as well as the interplay of Japanese and Western cultures, extending these themes beyond the urban milieu. Kyōka examines these dynamics through the lives of diverse characters, including physicians, monks, travellers, prostitutes, and noblewomen. A common thread running through the narratives is the unpredictability—and, at times, absurdity—of human encounters, underscoring the randomness of life itself.

Both “The Surgery Room” and “Osen and Sōkichi” depict the ill-fated encounters of two doctors and their romantic interests from the past. In “The Surgery Room”, Countess Kifune lies on the operating table and vehemently rejects the use of anaesthetic. As Inouye observes, Kyōka’s scenes are vividly detailed and rich in colour. Her dramatic and bizarre self-sacrifice for the forbidden affection she shares with Doctor Takamine is encapsulated in this striking image: “A red winter plum fallen to the snow, the smooth trickle of blood flowed down her chest and soaked into her white gown.” Again, the motif of red appears: “… suddenly engulfed in rain too heavy for the season… but the flowering quince that suddenly bloomed, as if dripping with blood, startled those who saw it.” Kyōka’s haunting description of strange weather sets the stage for Doctor Hata Sōkichi’s unexpected reunion with Osen in “Osen and Sōkichi”. She rescues him from humiliation and suicidal despair. Observing her dishevelled appearance and fragile mental state, Sōkichi brings her back to his practice for a “personal visit,” where he kneels beside her bed—perhaps in a plea for forgiveness. Through the lens of these two doctors, Kyōka suggests that even science cannot fully unravel the randomness of life; those who possess such knowledge remain powerless before the whims of fate. His works intricately explore the depth of human connections and emotions, which persist and endure despite the passage of time and prolonged separations.

Seven months ago, I relocated to a new city and have since had my share of random encounters—thankfully, none as haunting or intense as those experienced by Kyōka’s characters. There are qualities in his female protagonists that I deeply admire and aspire to embody: tenderness, a strong will, and the remarkable ability to sustain this delicate duality.

In “The Holy Man of Mount Kōya”, Monk Shūchō traverses the mountains without the aid of a map, reflecting, “Maybe it was too much to ask for notations that would indicate the true difficulties of the trail.” As he ventures into an unfamiliar forest, he contends with blood-sucking leeches but eventually finds relief by a flowing stream near the lodge of a mysterious, unnamed woman. The monk is captivated by her composure and assertiveness, qualities that remain enigmatic yet magnetic:

She was gentle yet strong, lighthearted yet not without a degree of firmness. She had a friendly disposition, but her dignity was unshakable, and her confident manner gave me the impression that she was a woman who could handle any situation.

As the story unfolds, readers will sense something uncanny about her character and the monk’s reaction—his resistance to seeking her mercy is both intriguing and unsettling. Yet, I find certain aspects of her personality admirable and empowering. These traits collectively form a kind of masculine energy, which I find invaluable as a woman who has become increasingly proactive and must constantly navigate the random and the uncharted on my own.

Perhaps by chance, you have stumbled upon this review and are being introduced to Izumi Kyōka’s works for the first time. Coping with unfamiliarity and reframing haunting memories is often a daunting task. I encourage you to step into Kyōka’s strange and singular literary world and discover what you might take away from his idiosyncratic voice.

How to cite: Yeung, Vanessa Winghei. “The Haunting World of Random Encounters in Izumi Kyōka’s Japanese Gothic Tales.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 12 Dec. 2024, chajournal.blog/2024/12/12/gothic-tales.

Vanessa Winghei Yeung is a multilingual arts and heritage professional. Having lived in Hong Kong and Rome, she is now working to make Glasgow her home. Her writing has recently been featured on the website of the International Council of Museums (ICOM) and in the Scottish Book Trust’s Book Week Scotland Teaching Toolkit. Her short story, Victoria Harbour, was performed at the Liars’ League Hong Kong. Currently, she dedicates her efforts to writing about and researching decorative arts and modern architecture in pre-war Hong Kong. Her first academic article, exploring a fascinating yet short-lived interior decoration and furniture company, Arts and Crafts, Limited, is under peer review with the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Hong Kong Branch. In anticipation of the centenary of Art Deco in 2025, she is collaborating with a professor on a book celebrating Hong Kong’s Art Deco heritage. Follow her documentation and research journey: @artdecohongkong. [Read all contributions by Vanessa Winghei Yeung.]

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