It is no coincidence that ‘history’ ends with the
word ‘story’; events from reality really do make the greatest tales. The
47 Ronin is precisely that. A novelized event from the Genroku era of
Japanese history (late 17th-early 18th century), it is perhaps the greatest
story of revenge ever told, not to mention one of the world’s great
tragedies. A deep expression of loyalty,
the lengths Oishi and his fellow ronin go to perform their duties defending the
honor of their liege arouses a primal sense of emotion, the suffering and
triumph unmatched. The men’s tombs
standing to this day in Tokyo, the 200 years that have since passed have done
nothing to diminish the power of this great story—true history.
The storyline of The
47 Ronin is particularly difficult to
comment upon without spoiling major plot points, some of which occur at the
very beginning. (For those not wishing
to have the story spoiled, it is best not to read many reviews of the book;
taking it all in with a clean slate is the biggest part of the enjoyment.) Suffice to say, the
book has everything a highly entertaining and emotionally affective story
should. Along with the aforementioned
attributes, love, trickery, suspense, and sacrifice exist in such proportions
as to make the reader doubt the veracity of the book as history. It should thus be noted that there are two
versions of the story told: the romanticized version and that closer to the
real history. John Allyn’s translation (the version being reviewed here) is of
the former.
The timeline, characters, and settings of the
romanticized version the same as the historical, the difference amounts mostly
to tone. Purists will comment that
details are altered, removed, or created, and yes it is true, however, the
street-corner storyteller will tell you that it is well-timed and slight
exaggerations combined with packaging the story in the language of novels that
renders the romanticized version more engaging than the drier historical
version. Kira, for example, while
following the same historical path in each version, is nevertheless capable of
producing more despicable comments and damning words in the romanticized
version. Much like the two versions of China’s The Three Kingdoms, each have their
advantages, and thus choosing between them is a matter of taste. (If the reader prefers something more
historically accurate, versions of that story are also in print.)
While not necessary, a small amount of knowledge
regarding traditional Japanese culture, particularly samurai codes of honor and
propriety, would help the reader fully understand the sense of duty and
propriety underlying the deeds and conduct of the daimyos, shoguns, samurais,
sing-song girls, and peasants featured in The
47 Ronin. The translation clear and
lucid, Allyn presents the story transparently enough that the mindset
motivating what otherwise seems strange behavior to the Western mind can be
implicitly understood, extrapolated from context. Though the cultural backdrop gives the story
its depth, knowledge as such is not necessary, the bones of the story touching
something more primeval in the human soul.
In the end, The
47 Ronin is one of the great tales of
revenge, and given its cultural context, may be the greatest. (The number of film and television versions
of the story in Japan
is mindboggling.) That the story is
taken from real history makes it all the more amazing—a thought that trails the
reader like a shadow to the end. Though
I have not read other translations of the story, Allyn’s version is accessible,
well-paced, engaging, and balances nicely on the line between condescending to
the reader’s knowledge of Japan
and telling an exotic tale. The Tale of the Heike and The Tale of Genji may garner more
attention from scholars, but The 47 Ronin is for everybody as beneath the
culture, history, and samurai lore is a story that lives and breathes at all
levels of humanity. Their monument
standing still, Oishi and the 46 other ronin truly deserve a place in people’s
hearts and history.
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