The Well-Trod and Annoying Path of Learning Japanese Kanji

Every now and then at the Samurai Archives, be it on the podcast, or here on the blog, we mix things up a bit.  One thing that comes up every now and then on the forum is, "What's the easiest way to learn Kanji?"  It's pretty contentious (which a simple google search will illustrate), because everyone who has decided they want to learn Japanese will probably, at some point and for whatever reason, end up tackling the dreaded Japanese writing system- mainly Kanji. And everyone who has been through it wants to brag that they have the BEST way to learn Kanji. So if you're looking for tips, tricks, and hints on the most effective, fast, and pain-free methods for learning kanji... well you're gonna have to go somewhere else.

If you want a "how to", there are plenty of crappy blogs out there with opinions on The Best Way to Learn Kanji, many of which might work for you, and others that tell you to imagine Kanji as people bending over looking at their shoes, or to create nursery rhymes to help you remember Kanji, or whatever, but rather than reinvent the wheel with another "This is the best way" blog post to add to the confusion strewn about the internet, which never really works anyway, we got a group of people together who have reached some sort of relatively respectable level of Kanji learning to talk about their experiences learning Kanji.  Not only will it probably not give you The Best Way to Learn Kanji, but you'll probably find contradiction and contention below - why? Because there is no BEST way, just the way that works for you, which will involve hard work and annoyance, and be anything but easy. The following is the experience of people who've already been through it, and more or less pulled it off.  So go forth and be schooled. Just keep in mind - your mileage may vary.

First, we'll start with Chris, host of the Samurai Archives Podcast (mostly for convenience since I'm writing the introduction anyway)...

My interest in the Japanese language was fueled by my obsession with the martial arts in high school in the early '90's.  I somehow got my hands on a tiny Japanese-English and vice-versa dictionary which had a list of katakana and hiragana in the back.  I started teaching myself katakana because it seemed a lot easier to write than hiragana, and I quickly realized I could write out test answers on my desk in pencil in katakana, or even blatantly in pen on the back of my hand, which freed me up to do things more important than studying - it goes without saying that 20 years ago, teachers in Small Town USA didn't even have a concept of a non-European language, let alone written Japanese. At this point I think I just wrote out the katakana until I had it memorized.  The idea of flashcards never even hit me at this point.

Once I got to college, I started taking Japanese language classes, but at this point, although I did have a heavy interest in Japanese, I didn't have a heavy interest in studying.  I was able to pull in As and Bs pretty easily without studying, so all I really accomplished was to get a pretty good grasp of hiragana, katakana, and probably about 50 kanji in the first year..  Fortunately I spent the next year in West Bumfuck, Japan, and that's where I got serious.  Things seem to have changed quite a bit in the last 20 years, but when I got to Japan, all anyone ever told me about was how "foreigners can't learn Japanese", and since I have a belligerent streak when it comes to people telling me what I can't do, and since I already had hiragana and katakana in the bag, I started on Kanji with a vengeance. We learned a handful a week in grammar class, but that didn't even remotely come close to satisfying my desire to get ahead, so I started with a few angles.  I stole a kanji dictionary from the library, which included illustrated stroke order (I still have this dictionary, in fact), and collected Kanji to learn by picking up a random manga (the first of which turned out to be a first edition Battle Angel Alita - although it wasn't called that at the time), and starting on page one, looked up the kanji in the dictionary, and wrote them thousands of times.  I use no hyperbole here.  I literally sat in the library probably about 4-8 hours a week, every week, writing so much Kanji I would use up every single piece of paper with any available space for writing on it in the library.  Running out of paper would essentially be my signal that it was time to put down the book, grab a few gaijin dorm mates, and ride our Wizard of Oz bicycles down to the beer machine at the bottom of the hill and start the evening's festivities.

On the subject of Kanji dictionaries, people don't seem to realize the value of looking up Kanji in a dictionary - a paperback, non-electronic dictionary.  It forces you to learn the radicals (the parts that make up the kanji), and it forces you to be able to get an accurate stroke count for the Kanji.  Also, and I see people rail against this all over the internet, but you not only have to learn to write Kanji with the correct stroke order, you gotta write it a metric shit ton of times. After three months of my insane kanji writing marathons, I suddenly hit a critical mass.  Let me explain.

When I first started learning Kanji, it literally looked like a random collection of lines, and I had trouble even getting an accurate count of the number of strokes, and I sure as hell couldn't write it in the correct stroke order without looking at my handy-dandy stolen dictionary that illustrated the stroke counts.  But suddenly, around the third month, something in my brain changed - I could look at any Kanji, even one I had never seen before, and I could instantly know the correct stroke order, and I could count the number of strokes in my head.  As an aside, the first three months in Japan listening to spoken Japanese, I had to translate it in my head into English, and then I would understand it, but right around the same time in that third month, suddenly I was sitting in class and I realized with not a little bit of shock that I was no longer translating Japanese into English in my head, I was just understanding it.  A brain seems to need a certain volume maintained over a certain amount of time to reach a critical mass where things suddenly change.  I think it's similar to learning an instrument.  For a while you're just playing notes and mimicking things and memorizing things, and then suddenly BANG everything changes, and you can actually play.

But, back to the Kanji.  So, for me, writing Kanji a gazillion times, as boring as it sounds, internalized it (it's not just "memorization").  Oddly enough, I'm pretty sure that even at this time I still wasn't ever using flashcards.  I was reading newspapers and such, noting Kanji I didn't know, then writing the everloving shit out of 'em.  So I think at the point I left Japan after the year was up, I probably could write around 500 Kanji, and probably read twice as many.  People don't realize that reading and writing are two unrelated skills.  Currently I can easily read three or four times as many Kanji as I can write. I see it and can read it, but since I don't ever write anything by hand (computers don't count), I've gotten pretty limited in what I can recall in order to write out by hand without looking it up.

A few years later, I went back to Japan, and started using flashcards.  Every sign I saw, or every TV show or movie I watched that had Kanji that I didn't know, I put on flashcards, which probably resulted in about 500 flashcards of jukugo (two-Kanji combinations), or words.  And at this point, I could knock out most of a newspaper, or read any random novel by Akagawa Jiro and barely crack a dictionary three times.  Flashcards worked great for my reading.  If you learn jukugo, you basically learn the On'yomi for both Kanji, and next time you see one of them with something else, you've already got half the word read (feel free to utilize Google if you need a definition of On'yomi and Kun'yomi - but it's basically the two main different ways to read Kanji).  So I've always been a fan of flash cards for quick recognition, which you can then solidify even more as you read.  But again, they do very little, if anything, for writing.

Now, in this day and age, you really don't need to learn how to hand-write any Kanji - I can type out an entire letter with barely a hitch in Japanese because hitting the magic space-bar gives you a list of Kanji, and if you can read 'em, you can pick 'em out of a line up.  But the experience of writing out Kanji by hand is important not just because some teacher says it is, but because it is also a learned skill, and learning it seems to do something to your brain that I can only assume is good, and probably useful for something.  I didn't major in Neuroscience, so that's as technical as I can get, although I have read that learning multiple languages changes structures in the brain, which seems like a good thing, expanding the brain and all, but damn it's annoying when you're speaking to someone in English, but you can only come up with the Japanese version of the word you need in your head.

So, I guess my experience is as follows - writing Kanji using the correct stroke order eventually allowed me to eyeball any Kanji and be able to reproduce it correctly and immediately with zero practice.  Being forced to look up Kanji in a paperback Kanji dictionary forced me to learn Kanji radicals, and be able to get a quick and accurate stroke count, as well as be able to pick the Kanji I was looking for out of a long list of similar Kanji listed in the dictionary (If you've seen a Kanji dictionary, you'll know what I mean).  Flashcards created from what I was reading or looking at meant that I would continue to use them in practice as I read related materials or looked at store signs or what have you - the more you see/read the same Kanji, obviously the better you retain it.  I really can't speak to the mnemonic devices. I never used them.  I feel like they are pretty worthless unless you need to remember 15 Kanji for a test. In that case, I can see it being useful, but you are not going to be able to read a newspaper by looking at every single Kanji and try to remember how it looks like a sea otter balancing a butterfly on its nose.  Just do the work, slacker.

Next up is Rick Noelle, a software developer in Atlanta, and alumnus of that same school in Western backwoods Japan as Chris, above.

I started studying Japanese after taking a job in a Japanese restaurant.  Initially I focused on listening and conversation but eventually added reading and writing.  I started by memorizing hiragana and katakana and then took up Kanji.  While studying Japanese in college I would practice the assigned kanji but I also liked to study extra on my own.  Ultimately I fell back to the order taught in Japanese schools.  I basically use that as a basis but also supplement it with Kanji found in things I read for fun such as newspaper articles, manga, etc.

I think the best advice is to accept early on that there is no secret method to learning Kanji quickly.  It basically boils down to hard work and finding the system that works best for you.  I've tried many methods including those that are supposed to speed up the process such as James Heisig's Remembering the Kanji.  Those types of systems never seem to work as well as you'd like unless you are really committed to author's idea of the best way to learn.  But you might discover something about the system that you like so I think it's a good idea to try many different approaches.  In the end you can take the bits and pieces from each that you find appealing and mold them into your own custom approach.  One example from my own experience, I basically memorized all the Kanji radicals and have a unique keyword assigned to each that is based on it's actual etymology.  When I look at a Kanji I think of it as a collection of radicals rather than an individual entity and I try to come up with a mnemonic based on the radical meanings that aids in its memorization.  But since I am sticking to the 200 or so radicals, I don't need to study the Kanji in any particular order (like you must do in Remembering the Kanji).  This allows me to study them in the same order that they are taught in Japanese schools but also employ some of the parts I liked from RTK.  But again I think it's worth pointing out that there isn't a secret formula to learning Kanji and I don't think you can ever be "too good." It is something you must enjoy studying and accept that you will probably have to keep studying it as long as you are interested in Japanese.

One additional point I'd like to make is the importance of a good dictionary.  It can be a little daunting choosing a good one when starting out because there are so many to choose from - compact, comprehensive, etc.  Since you will be using your dictionary a lot, it is wise to take your time and select one with features that match your needs.  For day to day study, my personal favorite is Kodansha's Kanji Learner's Dictionary.  One nice feature is it lists kanji compounds with the target Kanji in varying positions - lead, middle, trailing, etc.  Many dictionaries will only show compounds where the target Kanji is in the lead position.  The point is to be aware that not all dictionaries are created equal and it pays to shop around.  A good dictionary can make the difference between enjoying Kanji study and dreading it.

Travis, a graduate student in Japanese history, and another host of the S-A podcast, also weighs in:

I started studying kanji, I guess we could say out of necessity. I taught myself kana while I was still in high school (using the "Let's Learn Hiragana/Katakana" series) and then began taking Japanese in college, initially out of interest in video games, though I very quickly became less interested in video games, and more in history and traditional culture. But, when I was in college, obviously having to study Kanji as part of studying the language, I never enjoyed Kanji very much, and in particular always struggled very much with it.

To study, I basically just used whatever methods we had from class. I might have used flashcards - I don't recall - but I never went out of my way to try any range of different methods or tricks for learning kanji.

Early on, if I remember right, it was mostly just a lot of repetition - the sort of "go home and write these Kanji 20 times" (or 100 times, or whatever it was) kind of homework assignments. And then, I guess, homeworks or quizzes that gave us either the kana, or the English, and asked us to provide the Kanji  or the other way around. And, of course, later on, getting into practicing Kanji by reading and writing whole sentences, and then whole paragraphs. But I don't remember any of this really working for me. I don't remember having too much trouble with what was assigned to us, and I guess I graduated college knowing fairly well the majority of Kanji that I had learned, but that jump from the level of language ability one has after four years of college language classes, to the level of language ability where you can actually read whole articles or books, and otherwise function in a relatively functional way in Japan, or in Japanese Studies, that's a pretty big leap, and that's where I really struggled.

Then I went to the Inter-University Center (IUC) in Yokohama, and, not to sound like I'm shilling for them or whatever, but, whatever they did, it worked amazingly. We were given a number of Kanji to learn every day, and were basically just left to our own devices to learn them, and to submit quizzes proving we learned them. It was left up to us whether we did one quiz a day, or five once a week, or ten quizzes at once only handing them in once every two weeks; and then we would go over the quizzes with our sensei, briefly, once a week, one-on-one. Since we didn't have a "Kanji class" or anything and were pretty much left to our own, I guess I can't say that anything special happened there either with methods, but I guess just being forced to work on it so intensively (ten characters a day or whatever it was, every day for a full school year), while being immersed in language classes - reading and writing in Japanese for so much else of what we did every day - made it work.

I don't know what aspect of the IUC experience it was - whether it was so intensively studying all the Joyo Kanji  so many every day; or the immersion element; or the radicals realization - but somehow it was like a switch was flipped, and I became able to learn Kanji  and to remember them, and figure out new ones, so much more easily than ever before. And suddenly I was memorizing and recognizing, especially, some of the rarer and more complex Kanji from placenames (e.g. 薩摩), not to mention alternate versions of characters - (e.g. 學、壱弐参) with little difficulty.

Kanji Radicals

And, perhaps most importantly, as a key element to the effectiveness of it, was the realization, of how radicals work. Apologies for over-generalizing, but I think most people who have never studied Japanese or Chinese feel terribly overwhelmed or intimidated by the sheer number, and complexity, of the characters. As did I, having somehow never been taught up to that point, or never fully realized, the extent to which most characters are made up of recombinations of the same set of elements. So, really, you don't need to memorize characters stroke-for-stroke, but only as a combination of elements (some of which are true "radicals" and some of which are not). The 'kei' of keizai 経済 is a fairly complicated, difficult to remember, early/basic Kanji  I think, and I remember having a lot of trouble with it when I was in my first or second year of Japanese classes. But, really, it's just the ito-hen 糸, do 土, and mata 又, not that one needs to know the names or meanings of these, but just to recognize them as standard elements, rather than thinking of them abstractly as a singular, unique set of 11 strokes, and memorizing each Kanji separately as a whole character unto itself. And then, the final bit of this, is the importance, or usefulness, of radicals as indicators of meaning and pronunciation. This was huge for me. I guess it must have been explained when I was in undergrad, and I guess I never really got it. But once I was being exposed to a whole bunch of different, but closely related, characters, I began to pick it up so much more quickly, and of course, today, as I'm reading through a document, I may not recognize (let alone be able to reproduce from memory) every single character I see, but I can almost always infer the reading (pronunciation), and from there figure out the word just by sound, by pronunciation.

Nate, Army officer, aspiring scholar, and another host of the Samurai Archives podcast, helps us to wrap this up:

For me, Kanji study has always been, and always will be, about flashcards. I don't mean that nifty cool virtual flash card function you have on your electronic dictionary, or nowadays on your iPad or other similar device. I mean taking those little strips of thick paper on a binder ring, writing the Kanji character and some common combinations it is in on one side, and the furigana readings, meaning, and definition of the combinations on the others. Then going through them forwards and backwards: forward, looking at the character and writing out the readings and the meaning; backwards, looking at the meanings and reading, and writing out the Kanji.

Let me stress: WRITING OUT the Kanji  If you can write a Kanji  then you can recognize and read it. If you only study the reading, or think that electronic version of study is doing enough, you are wrong. You can't write if you don't practice how to write, but if you practice how to write, then you can write AND read. I can't stress that enough.

I've seen all the mnemonic stuff, the Tony Busan's or whatever, and if that works for you, then great. It never has made sense to me. I know it's all "new education" to trash rote memorization, but if I try to imagine a story for every Kanji I see, I'm wasting time and filling my head with nonsense. I've memorized Kanji by memorizing the radicals in it and how they compose it, but I'm not making up stories about the moon and the sun and the rabbit in the moon and all sorts of nonsense. Just do it--make the cards, study the cards, write the Kanji, and you'll remember them. Stories are just distracting to me.

The next step is to read. I'll admit, I'm much worse and much less disciplined at this than I should be. But pick up a book--doesn't matter if it's a manga or a novel--and start reading. Whenever you run across a Kanji you don't know, pull out your electronic (or other) dictionary, look it up, and make a card. Use the word you found it in as one of the vocab words you put on the card. And then continue on. Every so often, pull out your cards and run through them as a refresher. This builds vocab and cements the Kanji in your head. Could you imagine making up a silly story for every Kanji in a newspaper or book? I don't have that kind of time. Just make a card, move on.

That's it in a nutshell. All these fancy memorization or story techniques just seem like hogwash, promising easy and faster ways to memorize Kanji. Just sit down and study--it's hard, and a pain, and sometimes you want to pull out your hair, but it's a proven method that isn't ridiculous.

***

So, that's how the people who have done it, did it. Take from it what you will. Hard work will probably get you pretty far, so do the work, or go find a magical shortcut to learning Kanji, and good luck with that.

Book Review: Edo no Fuuzoku Mangekyou

江戸のフーゾク万華鏡
(Edo no Fuuzoku Mangekyou / Edo's Commercial Sex Kaleidoscope)
著：　永井義男 (by Nagai Yoshio)

Over the New Year holiday I had a chance to do some historical reading. I selected this book in particular because Japan-wise my university background focused more on the art side of things than the martial, and I wanted to supplement what I'd learned of the Yoshiwara via my ukiyo-e classes. (And hey, kimono-clad ladies of the night, what's not to like?)

I've translated the title as Edo's Commercial Sex Kaleidoscope, which is about as accurate as I can get it. While originally the term "fuuzoku" encompassed many aspects of daily culture (food, shelter, clothing), in modern Japan the word almost exclusively applies to stores providing services of a sexual nature. That's how the term is used in the title, so I've gone with "commercial sex" as the English descriptor. The "Mangekyo" (directly translated as "kaleidoscope") suggests variety, that there was a plethora of goings-on, and reading the book, this certainly proved to be the case. The jacket even suggests that Edo was practically a "sex theme park". While I wouldn't go quite that far, the author made a strong case that Edo had a particularly lively commercial sex industry that extended well beyond the famous Yoshiwara licensed pleasure district.

The book is organized into seven main sections: six chapters and a prologue. The prologue consists of a brief overview of the role of prostitution in Edo life, while the four chapters to follow focus on perhaps the most well-known venue of commercial sex in Edo, the Yoshiwara. The chapter after that describes the four less-known pleasure quarters at important trade stops Shinagawa, Naitou-Shinjuku, Senjuu, and Itabashi. The penultimate chapter details the illegal, scattered Okabasho districts, and the book concludes with a miscellaneous collection of other kinds of services (Yotaka streetwalkers, male youth prostitution, the Edo equivalent of love hotels, etc.).

As the prologue shows, prostitution in Edo was widespread and guilt-free--certainly more respected than non-commercial carrying on with the neighborhood girls--and also one of the period's few sources of release and entertainment. Most men who could afford to hire the services of commercial sex workers did so (the book includes an amusing anecdote about an astonishing number of Buddhist clergy caught in a Bakufu-led sting operation), and while the women were frequently sold into the industry and generally lived in a state of indentured servitude, their profession was often the only thing keeping them from dying by starvation. The profession was hard and sometimes even fatal (syphilis was so rampant that some Yoshiwara courtesans held parties when--not if--their younger co-workers first fell ill with the disease), but there was also a great deal of glamour associated with the Yoshiwara women in particular. There was generally no stigma about being a former prostitute, and they were much sought-after wives (despite being generally infertile from syphilis and other work-related conditions). The book did an excellent job of balancing the frequently rosy portrayal of the Yoshiwara seen in art and literature with the harsher aspects of the industry and Edo life in general.

While I already had a fairly general idea of what the Yoshiwara was like, this book offered an excellent overview, covering basically everything that I'd read in dozens of journal articles while going into even more detail about the day-to-day realities.

In addition to the material on the Yoshiwara, I appreciated the information about the less well-known pleasure districts: those at the Shijuku trade stops and the Okabasho. Illegal and either pointedly ignored or vehemently stamped out by the Bakufu, depending on the political climate at the time, the latter in particular are rarely mentioned in books and articles I've seen on the topic. While nowhere near as glamorous, the Okabasho served as the poor man's equivalent to the Yoshiwara.

While the book avoids getting too graphic about actual sexual practices (apart from, perhaps, the section about common lubricant formulas and how the male youth courtesans were prepared for their new vocation), the author goes into an incredible amount of detail in other areas, quoting price lists from the period and listing brothel names and locations (the area near my office was apparently a happenin' place a couple centuries back). Nagai also writes historical novels, and it shows. Rather than just chronicling events and naming personages, he allows readers to easily step into the sandals of the courtesans and their clients.

While this is a mass market book by a non-academic author (Nagai's output appears to be evenly divided among historical novels and Edo lifestyle related nonfiction), it does have an extensive bibliography and appeared well-researched. Nothing stood out as being suspect, and the overall quality was high. I especially appreciated how the author used period senryuu (tanka poems similar to haiku) to provide wry commentary on various scenes and practices introduced in the book.

I would certainly recommend the book to any Japanese reader interested in the subject. It was interesting both as a self-contained work and as a starting point for further research.

‘Superior Title, Inferior Book’-Kenneth Swope’s “A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail”

Kenneth Swope’s new book on the Bunroku/Keicho No Eki (the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 and 1597) carries the title of another Japanese name for the conflict: “A Dragon’s Head and A Serpent’s Tail”, referring to something that has an impressive beginning but no real end. It’s an inspired title, easily the best among English language books on the war (if only because Stephen Turnbull’s publishers nixed the ‘Hunting the Tiger’ title Turnbull had originally planned for ‘Samurai Invasion’). In homage to Swope’s articles that have a ‘dual’ title (such as ‘Yi Said, Li Said’ or ‘Crouching Tigers, Secret Weapons’) we’ve went the same route and called this review ‘Superior Title, Inferior Book’. Disappointingly, the book has failed to even begin to live up to the expectations many had for it when Swope promoted it in his critiques of other English language books on the war. It’s a work written with no small amount of bias and many errors of fact and interpretation.

For the most part, one cannot fault Swope for a poor research ethic. There are fully 26 pages of works citied as sources, providing many excellent avenues of study for readers. As will be discussed later, the preponderance of Chinese sources works against it to a degree. For his Japanese sources, Swope relies too heavily on gunkimono (Japanese war tales, mixing fiction with reality and usually greatly exaggerated). He states that Chinese and Korean sources address supply, intelligence, and planning far more than Japanese accounts which stress the exploits of individual warriors. This is a direct result of relying on gunkimono-had Swope sought out letters and reports used by individual daimyo, he would have found them to be much the same as the reports of their mainland Asian foes. In another example, Swope uses as a source “Matsura Hoin Seikan Nikki”, a gunkimono written by descendants of Matsura Shigenobu (one of Konishi Yukinaga’s sub-commanders in the 1st Division). Here, Swope states “When he finally arrived at Nagoya, Hideyoshi stoked the troops’ battle lust with another bombastic speech…At the sound of a gong, the sails fluttered, and the vessels launched in unison, firing flaming arrows into the sky to mark their departure”. Well, obviously Swope is here using pejorative language when describing the Japanese (something he does throughout the book-more on that later), but that’s not the point. The point is that Hideyoshi was nowhere near Nagoya when the Matsura and the invasion force departed. Letters and other contemporary documents show he was still well over a week away. The “Matsura Hoin” was a history put together almost 300 years after the fact. It was written to not only play to the extreme anti-Korean sentiment of the Meiji era, but also to link the Matsura family with Hideyoshi (whose reputation was once again in favor during the Meiji period, both as a symbol of anti-Tokugawa rule and for his invasions of Korea). But again, Swope’s reliance on and inability to evaluate gunkimono (and using Meiji period gunkimono on top of that) results in presenting fantasy as fact. These contemporary letters and reports are harder to find than Korean or especially Chinese ones-matters of war were largely left up to individual daimyo rather than filtered through a bureaucracy and ending up in one place. Hence, the most reliable Japanese records tend to be scattered throughout museums, temples, and individual collections-but they’re out there and would have made far better sources.

Swope also uses secondary sources such as James Murdoch’s “A History of Japan” or George Sansom’s “A History of Japan” for descriptions and background. These works are considered outdated by the Japanese historical community and (in Murdoch’s case) largely of only historiographical use. Swope also curiously addresses sources and issues that haven’t been advanced by academia for many years-most notably the claim that the Japanese lost the war only due to the death of Hideyoshi, something that no scholar has seriously considered for years. Does anyone else consider Sansom a ‘modern’ writer? Despite all this, Swope has certainly done his homework and brought quite a bit of material to the table.

However, research is only the beginning-how it is used and interpreted is by far the most important part of the academic equation. Swope falls well short in this aspect, making the evidence fit his foredrawn conclusion (that the Ming army was a highly advanced and capable war machine that was the primary cause of the Japanese defeat) rather than let the facts lead him to one. While he examines Japanese sources with a critical eye (as well he should), this rarely extends to Ming sources which are almost always accepted at face value. Given the fact that Ming battle reports and memorials are well known to be every bit as self-serving and exaggerated as Japanese records (illustrated in his text by lies that were so huge, even the Chinese felt the need to investigate them), his faith in them is rather unwarranted. Swope further ‘gilds the lily’ by his choices of language and presentation when dealing with either side. For example, Swope writes about two different sieges-both situations where the defenders were sorely outnumbered and bereft of supplies, but in one case being the Chinese and the other the Japanese. Of the Chinese defenders of Namwon Swope writes “The overmatched defenders somehow managed to hold out against incredible odds for four days”, but the Japanese defenders of Ulsan are dismissed as “crumbling and they were on the verge of capitulating”. One would never suspect that the Chinese were routed by the Japanese in both battles. Among other superlatives, the Ming are routinely described by Swope as ‘heroic’, ‘superior’, ‘valiant’, ‘crushing’, and seemingly possessing nothing but ‘crack troops’. This type of wordplay glorifying the Ming and downplaying the Japanese (and also the Ming’s Korean allies) unfortunately infests the book and works to undermine Swope’s credibility. Swope states that the 2nd invasion “might have been avoided entirely had it not been for the pride of Hideyoshi and Sonjo, both of whom were too stubborn to yield to their rival.” Including Hideyoshi is completely justified. But not only was Sonjo completely left out of the peace negotiations, Swope ignores the fact that it was Ming inflexibility and pride combined with Hideyoshi’s that led to the second Japanese assault. The Ming are given virtually all the credit for the defeat of the Japanese forces in Korea-even though the Japanese were already defeated by the time the Ming found time to aid the Koreans. The Korean navy in concert with the Korean Righteous Armies and guerillas had strangled Japanese supply lines, stopped the Japanese assault, confined it to a narrow corridor, and begun to chip away at Japanese gains. Combined with some of the roughest terrain on Earth, the harsh Korean winter, and rampant disease, the Japanese defeat was just a matter of time. While there is no doubt the Ming numbers and presence sped up this process, to give them the lion’s share of the victory is a dubious proposition (especially since, outside of Chiksan, they were routinely defeated by the Japanese in most land engagements and performed poorly in those they managed to win, such as at Pyongyang).

The book leaves itself open to virtually all the criticism Swope leveled at other books dealing with the Bunroku/Keicho No Eki-these being primarily Stephen Turnbull’s “Samurai Invasion” and Samuel Hawley’s “The Imjin War”. Swope calls both Turnbull and Hawley to task for writing from an isolated perspective (Turnbull from the Japanese, Hawley from the Korean) and chastises them for using primarily Japanese and Korean sources. However, Swope comes right out and admits his work is written “primarily from the Ming perspective and relies far more on Chinese sources than those produced by Koreans and Japanese”. Further, while neither Turnbull nor Hawley seem to have a nationalistic agenda in mind, as discussed above it appears that Swope does. Turnbull is accused of “glossing over Japanese atrocities by blaming them on ‘lesser soldiers not in the first rank of samurai heroes.’” Swope does the same thing with Ming atrocities against their Korean allies, admitting to misconduct by the lower ranks but emphasizing (largely unconvincingly) that officers attempted to keep these under control. It's rather difficult to believe Ming officers weren't heavily involved with atrocities against the Koreans when the heads they presented to their superiors as trophies often included those of Korean peasant women. One can visualize a sheepish Ming officer mumbling "Gee, how'd THAT get in there?". And finally, in the course of a particularly vicious review left on Amazon for Hawley’s ‘Imjin War’, Swope calls Hawley’s book “little more than a basic narrative”. Swope admits his book is “to present a narrative of The First Great East Asian War for the broader community of military historians.” Turnbull and Hawley, meet the pot to your kettles.

Based on the text, it seems Swope has little more than a basic understanding of Japanese history. The book has a liberal dose of errors to confirm this, including small ones (such as stating that Akechi Mitsuhide forced Oda Nobunaga to commit seppuku, when in fact no one knows for certain how Nobunaga died) and medium sized ones (such as stating that Hideyori was Hideyoshi’s first son-he was actually his second, and the death of Hideyoshi’s first son was a major factor in the Taiko’s fawning upon Hideyori). There are larger errors as well, such as Swope claiming that Neo-Confucianism was introduced to Japan by Korean scholars kidnapped in the course of the war. By that time Neo-Confucianism had been around Japan for centuries (since the early Kamakura period, 1185-1333) with members of the Imperial Court such as the Fujiwara and other Japanese scholars of Chinese culture holding forth on it for the edification of various nobles and daimyo. However, it manifests itself most prominently in Swope’s apparent lack of knowledge of Japanese battle tactics. Time and time again we are told that the Japanese altered their tactics out of fear of the Ming army and the might of their artillery. For example, Swope states that “The Battle Of Pyongyang convinced them (the Japanese) that they could not go head to head with the Ming when the latter could bring their big guns to bear…For the rest of the war, the Japanese preferred to use ambushes and hit-and-run tactics against the Chinese.” He goes on to state that in response to Chinese artillery the Japanese preferred to fight from fortified positions. This was nothing new-the Japanese had been fighting this way for years and these tactics were in no way adopted in response to the Ming army. Ambushes, hit-and-run attacks with mounted archers, and surprise attacks had long been a favored weapon in the Japanese arsenal (dating back to at least the gunkimono of the 10th century). Preferring to fight from defensive positions also goes back that far, and became increasingly prevalent in response to the increasingly large number of firearms being used in the later years of the Sengoku. After Nagashino proved the strength of a well thought out defensive position manned with gunners (even as few as 1000 or less, according to some accounts), Japanese warfare increasingly had become a contest to see who could lure who out of their fortifications first. The defensive mentality of the Japanese is illustrated by the fact that at Pyongyang they fought from a fortified, defensive position-BEFORE they had encountered the supposed might of Ming artillery (and rendering Swope’s argument invalid). Their approach remained roughly the same throughout the war-the only real difference between Pyongyang and Ulsan or Sachon is that the Japanese were using Korean fortifications in the former, and their own better designed and more effective structures in the latter. Swope would have been well served to have had a scholar well versed in Japanese history read his manuscript before publication-many of these errors and misconceptions could have been prevented. This underlines one of the major roadblocks to a ‘definitive’ history of the Korean Invasions-it would be difficult to find a scholar with outstanding knowledge of the history of the three major parties. To date, the three major works have all been written from the perspective of one or the other.

Nomenclature also seems to be a problem for the book. Swope states that the Shimazu wajou (a Japanese-style castle built in Korea) on Cheju Island (containing 2000 men) had 105 artillery pieces. Yes, 105. It would make for an interesting study to see if there existed 105 pieces of what is traditionally considered artillery (a mounted gun, either in an emplacement or carriage) across the whole of Japan in 1593, much less in a small coastal fort staffed by only 2000 men in Korea. Instead, it appears that only one of the guns would be properly considered artillery (and was most likely a captured Korean gun at that) with the rest being the heavier gauge arquebus that many Japanese units had (and that were occasionally fired from improvised emplacements). This calls into question whether the figures given for Ming artillery use the same rather loose definition.

Problems extend to all facets of the book, ranging from largely useless maps to poorly-formatted endnotes. Most of the maps only show city locations, not troop movements, and the couple that do so look (quite) a bit like maps seen in Turnbull’s book. The maps are poorly coordinated with the text-there are plenty of locations and names plotted that are not mentioned in the text, but many that do appear in the text aren’t noted on the maps. Names used on the maps do not always match with the ones used by Swope (one would presume they’re using different methods of Romanization). Dates used on the maps differ from the text, one appearing to use the Chinese calendar and the other the Western calendar. There are also several maps of China proper that have little to do with the Korean conflict. Swope uses endnotes rather than the more scholarly footnotes, making it inconvenient to check and note sources. He also uses ‘block endnotes’-every citation within a paragraph is listed in a combined entry, at times making it difficult to tell which source a quote or statistic is coming from. Many times facts pertinent to a discussion are hidden this way, such as a Chinese account of a Japanese envoy telling them that Oda Nobunaga had slain the King Of Japan (Swope correctly states this as being false in the endnotes, but would have been better served doing so in the text). There are also the inevitable typos and grammar errors that work their way into any work of this size-for example, Song Yingchang (Ming military commissioner of Korea in 1592-1593) is spelled Sang Yingchang on page 301. And while not an error per se, the use of anachronistic words such as ‘blitzkrieg’ and ‘kulturepolitik’ in referring to the conflict does seem more in keeping with a popular rather than a scholarly account. Style wise, Swope repeats certain words and phrases over and over…and over and over and over. Some of these include ‘superior’, ‘crushed’, ‘heroic’, ‘crack troops’, and ‘rained bullets’. The book has also been criticized for reading like a chapter of a biography of the Wanli Emperor rather than an account of the Korean invasions.

Swope at times even mangles Chinese and Korean history. He states that Chinese commander Song Yingchang led troops into battle at Pyongyang. According to the "Ming Shi" (History Of The Ming) as well as Song's own letters, Song at no time was present in Korea. Swope is inconsistent with his Romanization of Korean proper and place names. He also seems to have 'picked and choosed' his Korean sources with an eye on glorifying the Ming-for example, he heavily leans on "Record Of A Rebuilt Tributary State", written by a Korean author who was known to have sung the praises of the Ming more than any other contemporary. But well known Korean sources that were critical of the Ming such as "Veritable Records Of The Choson Dynasty" are never mentioned, let alone used. This further points to only the evidence that supports his central thesis being presented.

This isn’t to say that the book is completely without merit. It does give some interesting insights into the bureaucracy of the Ming and their methods for raising, supplying, and deploying troops. It paints an excellent picture of the difficulties involved in fielding and transporting armies of this era in Asian history and the massive effect that supply had on strategy-an aspect of warfare that is too often passed over and downplayed in many histories. The overwhelming bureaucracy of the Ming and the involvement of civilian officials in warfare goes a long way towards explaining the substandard performance of the Ming army during the course of the conflict. When combined with the constant arguing with their Korean allies, it’s a miracle they were able to accomplish anything at all. Swope also takes some of the shine off the legend of Korean Admiral Yi, something which was sorely needed in English language treatments of the war. While Yi was indeed a major factor in the conflict and a master motivator who maximized the huge advantage his ships and armaments gave him, there’s little question his role has been glorified and overblown. Swope gives concrete examples where the legend did not quite match up with reality. There's a handy list of figures playing a part in the conflict with a short description of the part they played or office they held. Swope has a seven page listing of Chinese characters for many of the place and proper names used in the text, a great aid for those searching for more information and far preferable to including them piecemeal in the text (although it's touched by the error bug too, as when Mouri Hidemoto's name is given an additional spurious kanji character).

As is, “A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail” forms the weakest corner of a triangle comprised also of Turnbull’s “Samurai Invasion” and Hawley’s “The Imjin War”. Perhaps those enamored of the Wanli Emperor and convinced of the incredible fighting prowess of the Ming will find it a ‘must-have’-but in Swope’s words (if not his context), “Those seeking a serious and nuanced understanding of this conflict should best look elsewhere.” We found it a major disappointment-a biased and largely uncritical book with little to add that had not already been said by Turnbull or Hawley. The lack of new information is particularly galling in the light of Swope’s promises and hints that his much heralded Chinese sources would shed a whole new light on the war. In effect, all they did was prove that Ming officers and bureaucrats were easily the match of the Japanese and Admiral Yi in glorifying and exaggerating their accomplishments, and as quick to blame others for failures as the Japanese and Koreans. Swope also makes an unconvincing argument that the war should be considered “The First Great East Asian War”-do we really need another name for a conflict that has a dozen or more already? This book is destined to become the Chinese history counterpart to the Korea-centric “Admiral Yi and His Turtleboat Armada” (although, to be fair, not quite THAT bad). It is better than Turnbull’s 96-page stinker for Osprey, “The Samurai Invasion of Korea”, but not Turnbull’s original “Samurai Invasion” (which remains the strongest English language work on the war from a purely military standpoint). Hawley’s Imjin War, even with its assorted flaws, remains the best overall treatment of the conflict. Reading all three and getting each perspective would likely give the reader a solid overview of the war. However, the position of “Definitive English Language Account of Hideyoshi’s Korean Invasions” remains unclaimed and open. Any takers?

Maeda Keiji, Stephen Hayes, and The Last Samurai: Pop Culture’s Impact On Historical Studies

One of the best features of the Samurai Archives Citadel is that it’s designed to be inclusive. Virtually anyone with an interest in pre-20th century Japanese history can fit in comfortably there. There are a lot of sites that take up positions at either end of the spectrum-ranging from hardcore academic lists such as PMJS (Pre-Modern Japanese Studies) to historically bereft video game, martial arts, and movie boards. The Citadel can accommodate the members of both. This lets the members with a greater degree of historical knowledge have a place to enjoy themselves with off-the-wall topics, while allowing ‘entry level historians’ a venue to get a firm grounding in ‘real’ history. The dual nature of the Citadel is reflected by the Samurai Wiki (an online source which is recommended to students by many University professors and high school teachers) and the 10 Common Samurai Misconceptions, a section which all new members are encouraged to read. As might be imagined, occasionally the newer members put forth arguments and positions that they support with baggage from their initial interests-be it video games, manga, anime, chambara, martial arts, or half-baked philosophy books. Usually, these musings fall into one of several pop culture categories:

1. The Modern Sammyrai-would be modern day followers of Bushido and the tenets of the Hagakure, pledging to live their lives by the way of the sword in an honorable manner.
2. Ninjer-see above, but substitute ‘ninja’ for ‘samurai’. These people believe the outrageous claims and false histories given by such ‘masters’ as Ashida Kim and Stephen Hayes.
3. Christian Sammyrai-those who place an inordinately large focus on Christian Samurai, and greatly overestimate the impact they had on Sengoku Japan.
4. Gamers-whether tabletop or video, gamers sometimes display an obsessive need to have everything neatly categorized, and show blind faith in the historical accuracy of their favorite pastimes. This can be seen most readily in the person of Maeda Keiji, a very minor samurai whose major claim to fame was being related to Maeda Toshiie-but a character that is regarded by many gamers as being one of the most significant figures of the age due to being portrayed as such in the ‘Sengoku Musou’ video game series.
5. Manga, Anime, and Other Fiction-much like video gamers, they can get too caught up in fictional worlds and believe that these works truly present things the way they were. The Shinsengumi (a group which is fascinating on its own merits) is a favorite topic for wild enhancement and crazy speculation.
6. Jidai-geki programming-a particularly virulent strain of misinformation-situations, objects, and personages glimpsed in chambara films and period dramas are quoted as facts when discussing historical events. The television miniseries ‘James Clavell’s Shogun’ and the film ‘The Last Samurai’ are likely the most notorious examples of this.

Of course, this doesn’t mean just because a person reads manga, watches samurai movies, practices Japanese martial arts, or plays video games that they can’t also have a solid base in historical knowledge-many of the most well versed Citadel members have a major interest in these fields. However, when some nonsensical thread shows up authored by a person who will defend their position to the death, it usually sprouts from one of the pop culture influences listed above-usually leaving the regular members wondering if having an inclusive site is a such a great idea after all. This begs the question-does pop culture have a valid role in aiding the study of history? Specifically, does popular entertainment bring any value to the field of pre-20th century Japanese history?
There’s a strong precedent of pop culture coloring the world of Japanese history. Many would be surprised to learn that much of what we accept as Japanese history in the West is actually pop culture. Edo period playwrights, novelists, musicians, and artists all produced fanciful works that over time became accepted as the truth. Early Western historians drew heavily on these sources and presented them as fact. Perhaps the best example of this is the story of The 47 Ronin, where virtually everything one can read on the subject in the West is based on a puppet play, kabuki drama, or novel. Only in the last five years or so have Western scholars taken a serious look at the event, disregarding secondary sources and attempting to reconstruct the event with contemporary accounts. The state of modern scholarship in the West is excellent-with copying machines, faxes, and the internet all aiding in making primary sources and rare documents readily available to scholars all over the world. However, general histories and surveys still rely primarily on decades old work. The majority of popular samurai author Stephen Turnbull’s works have been based on secondary Edo period manuscripts that discuss Sengoku and earlier events (to his credit, Turnbull’s research has become increasingly involved as better sources have become more accessible). Even in Japan, works produced for the general public such as the Rekishi Gunzou series rely heavily on Edo and Meiji period works for their information-and that information can be as misleading and false as anything found in the mythical war tales of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Here, it becomes obvious that pop culture was ingrained into Japanese history long before Western historians took an interest in it.
Moving along to modern pop culture, there are rare examples of it that actually do interject a learning element into their presentations. In the yearly NHK Taiga dramas, there are short segments at the beginning and end of the presentations giving historical background to the goings-on. A popular subgenre of video gaming that is beginning to show up in Japan involves historical quiz programs that are presented in the form of a game (there are current efforts touching on the Sengoku and Edo eras and beyond, with an emphasis on the arts, politics, and personalities). Video game publisher Koei (Sengoku Musou, Nobunaga No Yabou, Kessen, etc) is known for including extensive historical dictionaries, factual biographies, period artwork, and other features that are designed to show gamers the historical truth behind the fantasy. The video game Yoshitsune Eiyuden Shura has a huge historical section that would easily be the equal of any introductory college text. Many movie releases on DVD have extras on the discs that delve into the events or time period that the film covers (although many times these are also sensationalized and somewhat inaccurate accounts, such as the extras on The Last Samurai DVD). Animeigo’s Samurai Cinema label included historical liner notes with VHS releases, which now are included on the DVD itself. Some manga and anime releases follow these examples as well. Tabletop gaming (or computer simulations) is perhaps the most serious source of historical information among popular entertainment. Some releases are more along the lines of simulations than actual games. They feature meticulously researched maps, unit counters, and rules that cover practically every facet of period warfare. I t could be argued that playing one of these efforts would teach more about the nature of samurai warfare on a tactical level (including the importance and difficulties of command and supply) than would a book covering the same subject. Note that we’re not talking efforts such as Samurai Swords (Milton Bradley) or Shogun: Total War (Electronic Arts), both of which feature healthy doses of fantasy to make for a more exciting gameplay experience. Rather, we’re talking more about products like GMT’s RAN game, the Takeda series of PC games, and any number of Japanese tabletop simulations such as those published in Game Journal and Command Magazine Japan. One interesting facet of this historical element embedded in pop culture is that many Japanese products that are translated into English ‘lose’ this element. Koei games released in the United States routinely do not include the historical dictionaries. Taiga dramas many times drop the ending historical bumpers. This may be because it is believed that the users of these products overseas are only interested in the entertainment value and will have no real interest in Japanese history, or as a cost cutting/revenue producing measure (not having to pay for someone to translate the dictionary, or using the time gained from cutting the bumpers for extra commercials).
So it seems that there is a minimal learning value imbedded in many sources of ‘samurai pop culture’. However, I believe their real value lies in instilling a desire to learn more about Japanese history and culture. For all the misconceptions, falsehoods, and brutal misuse of the Japanese language in James Clavell’s Shogun (either the novel or miniseries), it has probably been more influential in turning Westerners towards a serious study of Japanese history than any other work. The Last Samurai, an excellent action film which is rife with historical inaccuracies, has had a similar effect. Martial arts, anime, manga, video games-at some point, most every user of these will become curious and want to learn more about the truths that lie behind them. While many don’t like the answers they find and prefer to remain with their dearly held illusions (usually martial artists that can’t believe their dojo doesn’t really have a 1000 year old history, or that the ninja techniques they use have all been invented in the last 20 years), others go on to develop a solid grounding in many areas of Japanese history-be it political, military, cultural, or economic. Films, games, and other works of fiction are also excellent jumping off points, introducing new avenues to explore and questions to be answered. The planned ‘Samurai 101’ forum on the Samurai Archives hopes to help many of the curiosity seekers and newbie historians along as they make the transition from fantasy to serious study.
There is a place for pop culture in the world of academia. Used correctly, these fonts of entertainment can not only impart rudimentary facts and information but also help guide their users to more involved and appropriate sources. Rather than incurring scorn and ridicule, they should be seen as a tool in stimulating an interest in Japanese history. Judging from the fact that there are far, far more people involved in the study of Chinese history than Japanese, this can only serve to bring some much needed fresh blood into the field. While it can be frustrating for long-time forum members to see neophytes extol the virtues of Bushido, haggle over who would win in a fight (samurai vs. ninja/knight/professional wrestler/etc), or claim to be harboring centuries old ninja secrets, just remember: we all had to start somewhere, and it was probably at a point just as ridiculous. Now you’ll have to excuse me-I’m going for Izumo Okuni’s 5th weapon in Sengoku Musou, and that fringed parasol is proving to be tough to get…

What is a samurai?

We talk a lot about samurai at the Samurai Archives, needless to say. I think most of us take for granted what a samurai was, however. I've never been truly confident in my own off-hand definition of the term. So without further ado, what was a samurai? Whole books have been written on the nature and evolution of the samurai (see Farris and Friday, specifically), so one post will definitely not be sufficient to address this problem. These are my impressions after reading several sources (specifically Friday's Hired Swords, Farris' Heavenly Warriors, and Varley's Warriors of Japan), so specific page numbers won't be mentioned. I'm not pleased with the brainstorming laid out in this post, but it's a start towards better understanding the samurai class. If you disagree or have more to add, please discuss it in the comments section!

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A samurai was just a warrior: an armored man who rode a horse, had two deadly, curved swords, battled ninja for honor, and followed Bushido.

Wrong.

If a samurai was just a warrior, then anyone who practiced violence and destruction for a living would be called a samurai. If so, then where is their Bushido code of ethics? First off, the Bushido code of ethics is waiting to be invented in the 17th--early 20th century. Secondly, there are historical documents that list the number of samurai in different periods of Japanese history. The numbers are very small: remember that the samurai only numbered less than 10% of the whole population of Japan. Therefore, something distinguished this small group of people known as "samurai" from other warriors. I won't delve into the following very deep, but the samurai fought with bow and arrow much longer than he did with his iconic katana, ninja was simply the term for a samurai on a secret mission (once over, he would return to his normal position of counting rice in the castle storehouse), and Bushido...well, I'm not going to even touch Bushido in this post.

The etymology of the noun "samurai" 侍 derives from the classical Japanese verb, "saburau", which means "to serve" or "to attend." By that token, the noun form means, "a servant" or "an attendant."

There were 9 court ranks in the ancient system. The 5th rank signaled entry into the aristocratic class. The samurai were typically of the 6th rank, which means that they would serve or attend (in both the bureaucratic and military sense) to those individuals who held higher court ranks (5th-1st). Therefore, the Western misconception that samurai were definitively male warriors can be dispelled. The samurai held a certain rank and ranged from assassins to wet nurses to paper-pushers.

The samurai in battle was lightly armored, rode a small horse, and shot a bow and arrow, carrying a sword at his or her side.

The samurai needed a source of income. Living in an agrarian society (where one can't eat aristocratic or military titles), their best bet was to deal directly with the land. They became "on-site landlords" (a term Dr. William Wayne Farris uses often) who 1) made sure the peasants farmed and 2) collected taxes.

If we define the samurai as simply a mounted archer, we can see their origins very early. We would also be forced to call a shipwrecked Chinese merchant who rode a rose and carried a bow a "samurai" as well. I believe we need to dig deeper.

The Kiso horse is indigenous to the Japanese archipelago. Decreasing greatly in number in the Yayoi period, horses didn't come back onto the scene until c. 450 AD when they were brought over (with equestrian gear such as horse armor, stirrups, etc...) from Korea. These Korean horses were used for riding and military purposes. The bow and arrow (even composite versions) are found in archaeological sites as early as the Jomon Period (c. 10,000-300 BC), in roughly the same form as that used by the warriors of the late Heian Period (12th century). Therefore, by viewing the samurai as mounted archers, we see a very early (after c. 450) development. This line of reasoning would suggest that (1) kofun held samurai remains; (2) samurai were involved in the excursions to the Korean Peninsula; (3) samurai were intricately involved in the Ritsuryo State and the Taiho military; and (4) simply evolved into the samurai of the medieval period.

The district magistrates, who came from locally notable families, were institutionalized into around 550 officials throughout the archipelago in the Ritsuryo State/Taiho system of the late 7th/early 8th century. These locally notable people were individuals skilled in the martial arts (the way of the bow and horse; kyuuba no michi). If ancient military aristocrats became the 8th century district magistrates, then the former horseriding warrior elite evolved into the later district magistrates and both were therefore samurai. If horseriding archers weren't samurai originally, then the district magistrates were the ones to evolve eventually into samurai .

As far as a local notable goes, there were approximately 9 district magistrates per province (66 total), yielding a national total of around 550. They were the network or apparatus through which the Chinese-style bureaucratic system controlled the peasants. It seems only natural that district magistrates, who brought together and led the local armies, for the court, could be called "samurai" in the 8th century.

The district magistrates were given large tracts of land. In light of this, the local notables were also landowners. They were landlords as well, who charged exorbitant interest to the peasants. They controlled local matters and regulated/administered the raising of horses.

Many of the poems in the Man'youshuu anthology were written by the district magistrates, which projects forward to the image of the later, learned warrior aristocrats of the Heian period.

Or were samurai none of the above, but simply military aristocrats? These military aristocrats were people like Fujiwara no Nakamaro, Fujiwara no Sumitomo, and Taira no Masakado (incidentally all rebels). These men may be termed military aristocrats or servants of the court. Perhaps the 8th century Nakamaro and Hirotsugu are too early to be called "military aristocrats" for they weren't of military families, but were nobles who revolted. Yes, they had military retinues in the capital, but they are best termed aristocratic "servants of the court." Not only are all servants of the court not of the 6th or 5th court rank, but they don't belong to military houses. This factor of lineage (also important in premodern Shinto and Buddhist transmission) is important because samurai, as a basic prerequisite, placed great value on lineage. Therefore, military aristocrats will be defined as houses given to the profession of warfare, like the Sakanoue, Outomo, and the Mononobe. However, all of these families were before the institutionalization of the warrior households (and the allowance to carry weapons and practice violence) after the rebellions of Masakado and Sumitomo in the 10th century. These houses like the Kawachi Minamoto and the Ise Taira obeyed Imperial orders making them "servants of the court." They fought as mounted archers, and they were influential on the local scene as provincial governors and district magistrates. These 10th century "tsuwamono no ie" therefore play an important part in our definition. However, even as early as the 9th century, "houses that specialized in military affairs emerged" such as the Sakanoue.

The development of the aforementioned "on-site landlords" on Shouen (estates) around 1050 and after, improved the economy after difficult times of drought, famine, and epidemics. It also brought the peasant cultivators back onto the fields. These on-site landlords were like district magistrates, in that they dealt with the lowest levels of the populace who produced the agricultural products and were also "servants of the court." However, the district magistrates' profession was not guaranteed: they did not have the surety of their position like the military lineages of the late 10th century/early 11th century. Yet, the Minamoto fell out of favor after Yoshii's late 11th century Later Three Years' War. Therefore, surety of position shouldn't be counted as a prerequisite for being a samurai.

If we call samurai an "agrarian landlord," military aristocrats in the capital wouldn't be "samurai," even though they are the head of the warrior lineage, itself. Therefore, samurai are local notables (or from once-local lineages, like the Sakanoue) who served the court and were predominantly mounted archers. This definition obviously evolved in later periods of Japanese history. Strata of the samurai *did* have very strong ties to the land through jobs such as landlords, but that definition is too specific and discriminatory towards those members at court.

As mentioned, a "mounted archer" would allow the definition to go back to the 5th century. An "agrarian landlord" would allow the definition to apply to district magistrates and their unofficial successors, the on-site landlords under the shouen system, a span from the 8th to the 11th century, and exclude those at court. The multiple factors must therefore be present.

Therefore, when did the samurai emerge? I believe they emerged in the 11th century when "on-site landlords" (Farris' term), the shouen system, the Minamoto and Taira emerged, and the court greatly depended on these principally warrior houses for protection.

Snobbery, Fear and Loathing in the Imjin War

I’ve been leading a small discussion group on the Samurai Archives Citadel forum on the topic of Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s invasions of Korea. We’ve been having a great time and learning a great deal about this conflict. We recently had a discussion about some of the books covering this topic available in English. Never a dull topic, this 1592-1598 conflict has managed to spark debate among Chinese, Korean and Japanese scholars for quite a long time. Now, it seems the scholarly sniping has reached the English speaking world as well.

In the past six years or so, it seems that Hideyoshi’s Korean wars, henceforth called the ‘Imjin War’ have caught the attention of native English-speaking scholars. First on the scene was Stephen Turnbull in 2002 with his ground breaking book, Samurai Invasion, followed by Samuel Hawley with The Imjin War. Kenneth Swope, currently an Assistant Professor of History at Ball State University, came out with some papers and articles on the conflict, most notably “Crouching Tigers, Secret Weapons: Military Technology Employed During the Sino-Japanese-Korean War, 1592–1598” published in The Journal of Military History 69 (January 2005) and then “Beyond Turtleboats: Siege Accounts from Hideyoshi’s Second Invasion of Korea, 1597-1598” published in the Sungkyun Journal of East Asian Studies Vol. 6, No. 2. 2006.

First a few words on Turnbull. Let’s face it. Dr. Turnbull has been a whipping boy in many circles for a variety of reasons ranging from recycling Papinot nearly word for word, sloppy mistakes, and then regurgitating his own works in “new” books at a pace that rivals the output of the slurpee machine at the corner Seven-Eleven. But I’m not here to bury Dr. Turnbull today in heaps of scorn, but to praise him. Faults aside, Turnbull deserves a great deal of credit for bringing the Imjin War to the forefront as his name is a big draw in the samurai history mass media market. In the West, the Imjin War is really the truly ‘forgotten’ Korean war and Turnbull has pulled this topic out of the shadows and into the light in what I feel is probably his best major work. Turnbull gives a very good, agenda-free account of the conflict that left me hungering for more.

Luckily for me, Samuel Hawley came out with the meaty The Imjin War. At over 600 pages, this book is a feast for one looking for a well-rounded narrative of the war. I was hooked as soon as I started reading about the pre-invasion diplomatic posturing and blundering. Well researched and documented, Hawley deserves a big round of applause for this work. While Turnbull is better at focusing on the purely military aspects of the Imjin War, Hawley excels at telling the “story behind the story” in an easy-to-follow format. Hawley and Turnbull’s books nicely complement each other kind of like an appetizer and a main course. But what’s for dessert?

Unfortunately it looks like “sour grapes” are on the menu. As previously mentioned, Swope has written some articles (actually more than two) on the Imjin War, and a book entitled A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Greater East Asian War, 1592-1598, is due to be published later this year as part of the University of Oklahoma Press’s “Campaigns & Commanders” series. But even long before the publication of his book, Swope has taken it upon himself to go on the offensive against both Turnbull and Hawley.

Here is what Swope had to say about Turnbull’s Samurai Invasion in his “Crouching Tiger” article:
“Stephen Turnbull published the first popular account, which, although it provides a solid general narrative of the war, has a number of shortcomings. First of all, Turnbull relies entirely on Japanese- and English-language secondary materials, augmented by a few translations of primary sources. He uses virtually nothing written from the Chinese perspective, not even widely available English-language reference works or monographs. He also leaves out much important Japanese scholarship, most notably the works of Kitajima Manji, who has published extensively on the subject. As a result the work is one-sided and presents a rather flawed interpretation of the war. Turnbull repeats the conventional view that Hideyoshi’s death in 1598 was the primary factor in Japan’s defeat in Korea. He also seems to adopt a pro-Japanese slant throughout, such as glossing over Japanese atrocities by blaming them on “lesser soldiers not in the first rank of samurai heroes.” Nevertheless, Turnbull does deserve credit for making a larger audience aware of this war and its historical importance...erroneously refers to the Battle of Pyŏkchegwan as the largest or most important conflict of the entire Korean campaign.”

It doesn’t seem all that professional to attack another author like this in an article such as “Crouching Tigers”. Turnbull’s book may have some flaws and is by no means perfect, but I cannot agree completely with Swope’s criticism of Turnbull. Was “Crouching Tigers” meant to be an op-ed or review of other works or a vehicle for Swope to put forth his theory that technology was the single most important variable in determining the outcome of the war?

Turnbull has trooped on with his Imjin research and has published additional titles for Osprey that touch upon the Imjin War, most notably Fighting Ships of the Far East 2 and the newly released Japanese Castles in Korea 1592-98. I think it is safe to say that Turnbull’s level of scholarship is improving, but again, his previous works have brought himself a lot of criticism in the past, some of it deserved. People may have a negative thing or two to say about Turnbull, but one thing you cannot deny is that he has been a gentleman in the face of Swope’s criticism. In the bibliographical section of Japanese Castles in Korea, Turnbull praises Swope as being a ‘particularly fine contributor’ to the study of the Imjin War and singles out “Crouching Tigers” as one of these outstanding articles. I thought this was classy, especially after what Swope wrote about Turnbull’s book in that article.

In the case of Hawley’s book, Swope goes to work on him in perhaps one of the most public of places in the world-- Amazon.com. In a scathing swipe at Hawley in a review on the book’s website, Swope writes:

“While this book has the trappings of an academic monograph, it is in fact little more than a basic narrative cobbled together from translated sources. The author provides little real analysis and has only a limited grasp of the actual historical source base, instead working through the translations of others. The result is a well-intentioned, but ultimately unsatisfying work full of both minor and major mistakes of fact and interpretation. It is perhaps slightly better than what might be available in English (in one volume) at this point, but those seeking a serious and nuanced understanding of this conflict, should best look elsewhere.”

Oh, the snobbery drips from Swope’s review like snot from a bratty kid’s runny nose! Hawley’s book was a six-year labor of love in the making, and the painstaking research he did to weave this book into a coherent and excellent overview of the Imjin War deserves to be commended. For an academic aspiring for Imjin ‘greatness’, a blatant attack of this nature is despicable.

What is Swope looking for? Absolute perfection? In a topic such as the Imjin War where the truth lies somewhere between what is written in the contemporary primary sources of the Japanese, Koreans and Chinese, it is going to be hard to find perfection—let alone write a book that satisfies people who have ulterior agendas aimed at defending or glorifying the actions of any one of the combatants in this multinational conflict.

I don’t know what Turnbull and Hawley have done to deserve such public attacks by Swope. Perhaps they didn’t heap enough praise on the Ming nor pay the proper level of respect to the Middle Kingdom’s role in pushing the Japanese ‘robber dwarfs’ off the continent. Whatever the case, I certainly hope that this isn’t Swope’s way of doing pre-publication self-promotion. Swope’s swipes at both Turnbull and Hawley sorely detract from the merit of his own research and writing—and that is too bad, because I think Swope has a lot of interesting things to say, whether one agrees with everything he writes or not. Instead, Swope has taken us on a snobbish detour into his personal fear and loathing of his peers. Perhaps it is just a case of Imjin envy?

In any event, Swope’s criticisms, like an old fashioned Chinese fo-lang-chi firearm, lack any decisive battlefield punch and could make him look like a true paper tiger. Swope himself will have to run the gauntlet of peer reviews when his new book, A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail is published. Swope’s attacks on Turnbull and Hawley could actually blow up in his face like a poorly made Ming copy of a Portuguese arquebus if his book misses the mark. All we can do is wait and see.