Otogizoshi: The Fairy Tale Book of Dazai Osamu
Language: English
Pages: 142
ISBN: 4902075407
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Dazai Osamu wrote The Fairy Tale Book (Otogizoshi) in the last months of the Pacific War. The traditional tales upon which Dazai's retellings are based are well known to every Japanese schoolchild, but this is no children's book. In Dazai's hands such stock characters as the kindhearted Oji-san to Oba-san ("Grandmother and Grandfather"), the mischievous tanuki badger, the fearsome Oni ogres, the greedy old man, the "tongue-cut" sparrow, and of course Urashima Taro (the Japanese Rip van Winkle) become complex individuals facing difficult and nuanced moral dilemmas. The resulting stories are thought-provoking, slyly subversive, and often hilarious.
In spite of the "gloom and doom" atmosphere always cited in reviews of The Setting Sun and the later No Longer Human, though, Dazai's cutting wit and rich humor are evident in the entire body of his work. His literature depicts the human condition in painfully blunt and realistic terms, but, like life itself, is often accompanied by a smile.
trying to kill me!” It isn’t until moments before his death that the tanuki sees through the rabbit’s evil scheme, by which time of course it’s too late. The merciless oar comes down on his head with a thwack, and then with another thwack. The surface of the lake glitters in the setting sun, and his head appears there as he comes up for air, disappears as he sinks again, then reappears as he bobs back up. “Owww! How could you? What did I ever do to hurt you? Was loving you a sin?” Those are his
nods. “What a pair!” O-Suzu says, and laughs. “Well, please come again soon!” “I will,” Ojii-san says solemnly. He begins to walk out but stops. “Where are we, anyway?” “In the bamboo forest.” “Oh? I don’t remember seeing a house like this in the forest.” “It’s here,” O-Suzu says and exchanges a smile with O-Teru. “But it’s not visible to the average person. We’ll bring you here any time you like. You need only lie face down in the snow at that same entrance to the forest.” “That’s good to
need to drink and loosen up a little. There’s such a thing as being too serious, you know. ‘The Saint of Awa,’ eh? Well, forgive me, mister holy man!” He mutters these tirades to his wen, roundly disparaging one person or another, and always finishes by clearing his throat loudly: Ahem! It grew cloudy. The wind started to blow. Rain came pouring down. Squalls like this are rare in springtime. But we must assume that weather is volatile on mountains the size of Tsurugi. White mists rise
shall demonstrate for those foul ogres a dance that will leave them gasping in stunned admiration. And if by any chance they aren’t stunned, I shall lay them all low with this iron-ribbed fan! What are they, after all, but drunken, dimwitted Oni? Such are his ardor and enthusiasm as he makes his way deep into the mountain forest with shoulders squared, clutching his fan in his right hand, that it’s difficult to tell whether he wants to dance for the ogres or exterminate them. When an artist is
none other than the one Urashima-san discovered being tormented by a group of children, took pity on, purchased from the children, and released into the sea. “‘Loafing about’? That’s cold. I’ll remember that, young master. The fact is, I’ve been coming here every day and night since we last met, waiting for you. It seems to me I owe you a favor.” “Rather reckless of you, I’d say. Or perhaps ‘rash’ is the word. What if those children had found you again? Little chance you’d come out alive a