Tokugawa Japan’s Sexual Culture through Ihara Saikaku
In The Life of an Amorous Man as well as his The Life of an Amorous Woman or, Five Women Who Loved Love, author Ihara Saikaku paints an interesting literary portrait of Tokugawa Japan’s sexual culture. First, bisexuality is openly acknowledged yet discreetly conducted only among men, which seems to confine females to heterosexuality. However, equally prized and admired in both men and women is natural beauty, a trait that has the power to transcend social hierarchies. Furthermore, this kind of loveliness coupled with youth makes the most intoxicating combination for Saikaku’s characters—even mere children are very casually made sexual objects. However, through these works, it seems that only males engaged in sexual activity with very young boys, while young girls were taken care of with the expectation that they grow up to favor their benefactor as future courtesans.
Starting from the first chapter of The Life of an Amorous Man, it is clear that homosexuality was common only among men, as lesbian interactions are never described. This reflects Tokugawa Japan’s strongly male-centric culture, which even applied to sexual gender norms—men can have both men and women, but it doesn’t matter what a woman wants because she needs a man, and needs always come before wants. Yet this is not to say that Saikaku always portrays his female characters as weak and less intelligent.
First, male homosexuality is casually introduced without explanation in the chapter “Strange Mate”, in which Yonosuke decides to take advantage of young male prostitutes—“you know, those professional transient boys from Kyoto and Osaka—look[ing] for accommodations to ply their secret trade…Yonosuke thought: ‘This is indeed a windfall’” (413). Just turned fourteen, Yonosuke does not seem to even bat an eye or wrestle with the idea of homosexuality, and instead embraces it like a “windfall” to a retired professional. Not once does Saikaku have Yonosuke question his bisexuality, and the reader is taken aback at how eagerly and shamelessly Yonosuke pursues his desires. Furthermore, this shows while homosexuality was not openly discussed or publicly allowed in Tokugawa Japan, it was instantly recognized and readily fulfilled—“The innkeeper guessed aright what Yonosuke was seeking and gave some of the names of those youths who were available for the night” (419). Indeed desperate for money after being disowned by his father, Yonosuke briefly becomes an “innkeeper” himself, selling boys’ bodies knowing their popularity among older men.
Yet male homosexuality seems limited to two youths or one older man and a youth—never both older men. For example, in Ihara Saikaku’s The Tale of Gengobei, the protagonist Gengobei’s two great lovers were both young boys compared to his age of twenty-six. In describing his first one, Saikaku uses the most beautiful metaphors to describe the boy’s beauty: “For many years now he had been enamoured of a young boy by the name of Nakamura Hachijuro, to whom he had from the outset bound himself by the deepest vows of lifelong loyalty. Hachijuro was a youth of the greatest beauty, like in purity to a single-petalled cherry whose blossoms are yet but half opened. His indeed was the flavor of a flower endowed with the gift of human speech” (100).
Exclusively homosexual, Gengobei becomes the tragic love of Oman, a fifteen year old girl, who ultimately shaves her head and dresses as a boy to seduce Gengobei. She succeeds, and Gengobei’s sexual arousal towards the young “boy” is surprisingly graphic and quite curious. Gengobei starts eating a “root called mandioc, so often used in manly love” (p. 114). Afterwards, he throws his clothes off and “set[s] in earnest about the task of love-making”, “half senseless with excitement” (114). Now much older than twenty-six, Gengobei’s sole desire for young boys does not surprise the female Oman, who is never once deterred by his sexual preference. In fact, when he chews on the mandioc root, she is “further tickled at the thought”—simply amused and even more interested in Gengobei—rather than discouraged. This shows how in Tokugawa Japan, women were accustomed to male homosexuality, even feeding it as long as it meant that she could secure him as a husband. Oman ultimately tricks Gengobei into a written contract, binding him to her before he discovers that she is actually not a boy. Instead of being angry, Gengobei is “overcome” by Oman’s earnest confession of love, and grows “shamefully enraptured at the fair prospect that lay before him, he displayed once more the fickleness of the human heart” (115). This leads the reader to believe that Gengobei is now allowing himself to feel attracted to women, which makes male homosexuality something that could be easily overlooked or overcome.
On the other hand, female homosexuality does not seem to be present because they are completely dependent on men for their livelihood, a cultural fact that is mentioned over and over again through Saikaku’s discussion of widows. As a result, female homosexuality does not exist because women do not need other women, not because it is explicitly prohibited. In the chapter “Young Widow’s Plight”, Yonosuke’s “elderly confidant” explains that young widowers “are perhaps the easiest to seduce” because left to take over her late husband’s business and family matters, “her sense of insecurity increases. Willy-nilly she depends on others. Dead leaves pile up in her garden, and she forgets to have her house reroofed. On stormy nights the roof leaks, the thunder rolls, and she remembers how, in her fear, she used to nestle close to her husband and cover her head with a blanket…Meanwhile she must keep up her late husband’s shop…In so doing, she sits at his old desk, flicking away at his abacus and counting the profits and losses. But no matter how intelligent she may be, her efficiency is not quite up to what a man can do. She knows it, and inevitably she turns over the responsibility to the chief clerk” (p. 463). The “elderly companion” goes on to explain that these young widows ultimately engage themselves in either religious abstinence or scandal, driven by a loneliness that seemingly only men can completely fulfill. Therefore, this excerpt shows how female homosexuality was uncommon in Tokugawa Japan not necessarily because it was publicly frowned upon, but because the women themselves had zero sexual interest in their own gender as they could not help each other out socioeconomically.
However, this is not to say that Saikaku believed all women to be weak and incapable, and there are many excerpts that actually portray them as clever, assertive, and a force to be reckoned. In The Tale of Gengobei, Saikaku begins the story with yet another discussion of young widows, who are of course incredibly saddened at the loss of her husband but only “from mere sense of duty and in order to be seen by others” (108). She is quick to rebound after the customary mourning period, and knows exactly how to attract men without seeming like she’s trying too hard—“the effect is all the more alluring” (108). These widows can decide to commit to a convent one day, then feel a pang of indecisiveness when it comes to throw away all of her fine garments, a fickleness that Saikaku finds characteristic of women—“Naught in this world is as fearsome as women. Should anyone try to retrain them from their fickle ways, he will be faced with a great show of womanly tears” (108). To Saikaku, it seems women should be feared because of their instability, which if combined with a little cunning, could spell disaster for the Tokugawa man.
Other examples of assertive women include the wives and daughters of a fishing hamlet Yonosuke visits on his way to a temple—once their husbands go out to sea for weeks, they open up their doors to traveling men for one or few-night stands. “When their menfolk returned from the sea these erring women stood up the family oars against their homes as a prearranged warning signal to male visitors from the cities” (1518). Still another example is when Yonosuke tells a story about his attempt to seduce his shopkeeper friend’s wife, who ultimately hits Yonosuke on the head in response to his continued pursuit of her, screaming “That [is] for insinuating that I should be unfaithful to my husband!” (560). Showing the bruise to his friends at a temple, Yonosuke praises this woman as a “living saint” compared to the dozens of impious courtesans he has seduced, leading him to threaten to kill himself over the rejection. However, the temple priestess overhears this story and says, “‘So she is a living saint, eh? You have a lot to learn yet, dear boy. Don't threaten to kill yourself. That shows weakness. No woman will like you for it. Just take her in your arms. Gently. Then squeeze her passionately. Let her feel your masculine power over her, over her mind and body. No woman can resist for long when she feels it in her hot blood. She will hesitate breathlessly. That hesitation is your supreme moment.’" This example reflects two kinds of strong females—one is unshakably moral while the other knows exactly how to destroy this morality in other women. The priestess insightful yet cunning advice causes Yonosuke to cry out “You are a devil!” in response.
Just as homosexuality was limited to men, it seems that early sexual activity was exclusive to young boys. Again in the chapter, “Strange Mate”, Yonosuke is fourteen years old, officially no longer a child yet still a young teenage boy. He changes his “wardrobe signifying the end of childhood—he slipped on a robe with sleeves that had no wide openings under the armpits. Neighbors regretted the change, for they felt that his back view in a child’s tight-sleeved robe had been particularly attractive” (399). As this is a translation, the English wording brings questions to the reader—who are these neighbors and why are they all looking at a boy’s “back view?” Or is this Saikaku using these “neighbors” as a mask for the same regrets he once felt? As mentioned previously, Gengobei expresses no moral qualms about having relations with young boys, and even as a monk, he has two small boys fighting over his affection.
Yet when it comes to young girls, older men never engage in physical sexual activity with them, instead opting to treat them with lavish gifts and granting their childish desires. In the chapter “The Spirit is Restless”, Yonosuke runs into three little kamuno, twelve-year old girls who are “little attendants” to well-known courtesans. These three little girls—who Yonosuke knows by name—are happy to see him, and are even happier to give him a “gentle massage”. However, this is as far as it goes physically, quite innocent compared to the sexual acts expected of young boy prostitutes. After Yonosuke gets a little drunk, he grants the three girls a wish, which is two palanquins connected in the middle so they can chat and enjoy themselves on the way home rather than sitting on their respective pack horses. As a result, Yonosuke promptly arranges twelve men to carry two palanquins attached together—“‘A tall order,’ thought Yonosuke. But he did not bat an eye” (1685).
However, when it comes to young boys and older women, sexual activity is again absent. This is demonstrated in the chapter “Through a Spyglass”, an eleven year-old Yonosuke brazenly demands to visit a much older waitress after seeing her bathe from a roof. Saikaku’s portrays the waitress as confused, as she feels strangely shameful for having her nude body shown even to such a young boy. After allowing him to come over, she “pick[s] him up, tucked his head into her bosom and held him tightly for a moment. Then she dropped him roughly, ran out of the house, slammed open the door of the home of Yonosuke’s parents, and called: ‘Oh, wet nurse! Wet nurse!’ When the boy’s former wet nurse, now personal maid, came to the door, the laughing waitress shouted acidly: ‘Could I borrow some breast milk from you? Yonosuke-sama still needs to be wet-nursed!’” (232). The personal maid comes running, and she and the waitress laugh raucously at Yonosuke. Should Yonosuke have approached Gengobei, he would not have been turned away like this—instead, he would have eagerly started chewing his mandioc root. Therefore, this example seems to indicate that men and boys enjoyed unbridled sexual freedom, whereas women and girls simply chose not to engage in sexual activity with each other or young boys because older men were the keys to their livelihood.
In conclusion, a very complex portrayal of Tokugawa Japan’s sexual culture emerges from Ihara Saikaku’s literary works. Homosexuality is exclusive to men, yet is a characteristic that is fluid, temporary, and extremely casual. More importantly, these homosexual relationships seem limited to an older man and a young boy, or two young boys—never two older men, which again confirms the idea that homosexuality was considered in a phase in Tokugawa Japan. However, women choose not to engage in lesbian activity not because it is prohibited, but because they see no real utility in having relationships with women—they provide no economic or social benefits to each other. Consequently, to Saikaku, they are emotional yet cunning creatures that can and will do anything it takes to secure a man. However, Saikaku’s portrait of Tokugawa Japanese sexual culture should not be considered completely representative of the era—as with any literary work, it is prone to the author’s own biases and personal experiences. Yet the variety of characters and personalities in his stories lead readers to believe that his work is quite comprehensive when attempting to capture the sexual culture of his time.
Works Cited
Ihara, Saikaku. The Life of an Amorous Man. Rutland, VT: C.E. Tuttle, 1964. Print.
Ihara, Saikaku. The Life of an Amorous Woman: And Other Writings. New York: New Directions Book, 1969. Print.