134
Deviant by Design
their worth in remembering those of “long ago” or the deceased, an am-
bition of modest scale. Then, however, she moves on to the significance
of written characters—that is, writing in relation to the past or unfa-
miliar: “Not only ancient matters of the splendid Engi [901–23] or Ten-
ryaku [947–57] eras, but also those of unknown lands such as China or
India—were it not for writing, how would we record and pass on even
the slightest bit? When I ponder such things, I feel that there is nothing
at all more wonderful than it.”
111
In Shunzei’s daughter’s reflections, we
see an argument for the importance of writing as such. Its value lies pre-
cisely in its ability to transmit information across time and distance: an
ability to broaden the scope of accessible materials beyond what any one
eyewitness could hope to provide.
More importantly, writing is not presented as a shoddy substitute for
a firsthand oral transmission; on the contrary, there is “nothing at all more
wonderful.” This is in direct opposition to the hierarchy familiar from
earlier tale collections such as
Tales of Times Now Past
, in which oral
transmission—the direct conduit to the eyewitness—marks veracity and/
or authority. Where once “thus it was told, and thus it has been handed
down”
112
constituted the literal last word, Shunzei’s daughter closes her
work by referring those who would speak of the affairs of emperors and
other men to
Yotsugi
and
The Great Mirror
—that is, to texts.
113
In short,
while
Nameless Writings
is written as a conversation between characters, it
invests texts and writing with a unique position vis-
à
-vis access to the past.
Tadachika was an inveterate chronicler, as the surviving portions of
his
diary attest, and his frustration when
recorded precedents proved
impossible to locate, inconclusive, or contradictory suggests that he felt
the medium of writing ought to have been a reliable means of preserving
history. Thus, even though Shunzei’s daughter’s position may have been
at the extreme end of the spectrum, it was not so far removed from
Tadachika’s.
Shunzei’s daughter’s insistence on the superlative nature of writing
differs from the attitude toward text suggested by Conlan’s more broadly
111. Higuchi and Kuboki,
Mumyōzōshi
, 184.
112. This phrase, or a variation of it, is a closing refrain for many of the tales in
Tales of Times Now Past
.
113. Higuchi and Kuboki,
Mumyōzōshi
, 249.
Multilingual Writing in Medieval Japan
135
based evaluation, but to a certain extent, the end result is the same. In
either case—be it as a way to bridge temporal or geographical divides or
as a guarantor of gravitas—the unique potential of writing is acknowl-
edged. It is writing that certifies (or at the very least enables) the accu-
racy of the transmission, and writing has a function that cannot be ful-
filled by vernacular speech (or its replication). In the logic of the world of
documents as well as that of Shunzei’s daughter’s literary imagination,
writing carries a diff erent kind of weight. Read against this larger back-
drop, it makes sense to suppose that by using the registers of both speech
and writing, Tadachika has mobilized at once the authority of the eye-
witness and the heft imparted by the suggestion that there is text that
confirms his account.
Nowhere does Tadachika state that harnessing diff
erent types of au-
thority is his agenda. However, understanding his choice to combine styles
in this way provides a consistent interpretation of the interventions he
makes in the
Mirror
genre that are otherwise unexplained. Examining
Tadachika’s multilingual maneuver from the perspective of the problem
of the eyewitness highlights diff erent issues from those exposed in the dis-
cussion of
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