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A review by notwellread
Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden
4.0
As with The Help, this is another novel for which I feel I need to discuss the social context and controversy before reviewing the actual book. Arthur Golden, who is a white American man, has been criticised for appropriating the voice of a Japanese woman for the sake of this novel, but it is worth noting that he is well-educated on the subjects on which he writes (having an MA in Japanese History from Columbia), interviewed actual former geisha for his research (whether they like the finished product or not — more on this later), and in my view has approached the more sensitive topics and aspects with nuance and respect.
However, the original controversy, preceding these more topical debates, was not about cultural appropriation or anything of that nature: as part of his research, Golden interviewed a retired geisha, Mineko Iwasaki, and used some aspects of her life as the basis of his novel, but she afterwards sued him for breach of contract and defamation of character, asserting that Golden had agreed to protect her anonymity due to the traditional code of silence followed by geisha regarding their clients, whose anonymity is considered extremely important (he originally published her name in the acknowledgements of his novel). They eventually settled out of court for an undisclosed sum of money. I think people have gravitated towards making this controversy racially based, when in fact they are guilty of overlooking ‘own voices’ and an aspect of cultural nuance themselves by ignoring the actual geisha’s stated feelings on the matter. Iwasaki also has [b:her own memoir|522534|Geisha, a Life|Mineko Iwasaki|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1359402937l/522534._SY75_.jpg|18133], written as a rebuttal of Memoirs, if critics would prefer to read that, but I perceive three problems with this approach. Firstly, if the original grievance surrounded the taboo of disclosing your clients’ secrets, then by publishing her own memoir she has done the same thing. Secondly, it seems her main grievance with the narrative is that she thinks geisha are able to profit off the delusions of men, who want to see an image of ideal womanly beauty — the problem with this approach is that you are still perpetuating those same standards by practising as a geisha at all, and perpetuating the male delusion by allowing them to believe it’s real. Thirdly, if the novel is so different from her own life, we should keep in mind it is only a piece of historical fiction (emphasis on the ‘fiction’ here), and the level of difference may suggest a significant degree of artistic license which moves the narrative further away from her own life, which may serve more as ‘inspiration’ rather than as a solid foundation. In any case, I did not feel that this controversy detracted from my enjoyment of the novel, and I will try to separate the art from the artist for the remainder of this review.
For what it’s worth, I do think Golden’s interpretation of this geisha’s experience added authenticity to the novel, which I think was also his motivation for listing her in the acknowledgements in the first place, especially when considered alongside with the fictional translator’s note at the beginning. It seems to me he is going overboard with careful consideration and sensitivity, and in fact may have overthought it, and judging from other reviews the results have been highly variable among readers. I’ve seen a repeated criticism that the ‘Japanese’ naturalistic style to the imagery is overdone, but to me this is a pretty clear imitation of how actual Japanese writing, particularly poetry, comes across in translation, and not off the mark. The novel is told in first person from the perspective of Chiyo (later ‘Sayuri’), so it makes sense that she likens her experiences to things she herself has seen, touched, heard, and felt. It also emphasises Sayuri’s own affinity with the natural world, which stands in such stark relief to the heavy makeup and false smiles required of the geisha, which is what ultimately makes her stand out and capture the heart of an unpretentious person like Nobu. This character trait is also the source of her vulnerability: she is, in a sense, too genuine: her attempts to plot and scheme tend to fail, and cannot conquer her feelings.
It initially occurred to me that Chiyo/Sayuri’s ‘special eyes’, a blue-grey colour unusual in Japan, are a little cliché, but Mineko Iwasaki had light brown eyes, so he has simply exaggerated the unusual quality of this one real-life geisha. It also at least goes some way to explaining why she’s treated as special in a setting that places such extreme emphasis on women’s looks, why she repeatedly manages to escape the fates of the less fortunate characters, and why the okiya women and Mameha make more of an effort to help her succeed as a geisha (and why she has so much success with the men when she gets there). The eyes also symbolise her association with water: she comes from a fishing village by the sea, and it is these eyes she shares with her mother, who dies at the beginning of the novel from ‘too much water’ in her, showing the vulnerability it can express. This is heavily emphasised throughout the text, most memorably in the following passage:
“I can see you have a great deal of water in your personality. Water never waits. It changes shape and flows around things, and finds the secret paths no one else has thought about — the tiny hole through the roof or the bottom of the box. There’s no doubt it’s the most versatile of the five elements. It can wash away earth; it can put out fire; it can wear a piece of metal down and sweep it away. Even wood, which is its natural complement, can’t survive without being nurtured by water. And yet, you haven’t drawn on those strengths in living your life, have you?”
The writing style also throws into relief the grace and elegance encompassed in the tradition of the geisha, the beautiful artistry of Japanese culture, alongside the brutality of the system, the beatings and exploitation, and the precariousness of the geisha’s existence, as fragile as beauty itself. Although some criticise this novel for romanticising and idealising this world, although it is certainly one lost to history (Sayuri notes in her old age that geisha are almost dying out in Gion now), the latter aspect avoids the impression of anything too perfect. Indeed, the novel conveys the perils of putting so much emphasis on beauty at the expense of all else: it is the obsession with controlling and possessing beauty that lies behind the machinery which serves to put the women so much at the mercy of the men. There is a reason why all the dances they perform are so melancholy, representing sad, untouchable beauty, and the fleeting nature of happiness and love.
The whole vision of this novel is captivating and gripping, in a way that is rare for me to experience: I was hooked from the point at which Chiyo goes looking for her sister, wanting them to be reunited and escape the fate of terrible exploitation. Yet the book is also surprisingly soothing and comforting, despite all the protagonist’s trauma. Although the story was very engaging, it took a very long time for Chiyo to become a geisha: the book is rather long, at more than 500 pages, and is called Memoirs of a Geisha and told in a frame narrative after Sayuri has found success (meaning that, during the years when she is forced to serve as a maid as her punishment for trying to run away, we aren’t exactly in suspense over whether she will manage to become a geisha), yet Chiyo doesn’t even become an apprentice until about 30% of the way through. Given the apparent criticism of patriarchy that encompasses the whole novel, we might expect more positive portrayals of female relationships, but Sayuri finds little comfort here, besides her relationship with Mameha. We see the way patriarchy turns women against one another instead: envy is a major theme. Envy serves as Hatsumomo’s motivation, even when Sayuri is a tiny child; it characterises a turning point in Sayuri’s life (when she stars in the dance and in the painting and suddenly the other geisha are unfriendly); it’s the motivation of the okiya’s women to adopt her, although this really manifests as money-hunger and wanting her earnings; and it seems to be. Some readers may dislike this aspect, but I thought it was realistic and effective; another sad truth of the setting.
There’s some criticism of the portrayal of the American soldiers, who Sayuri describes “giving candy to the children”, making no mention of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I am of two minds about this aspect: Sayuri does note that Kyoto was bombed much less than Tokyo or their military bases (because it wasn’t strategically important), but we still see how dramatically the characters’ lives are damaged by the war. It would have been more realistic to have some anger and fear expressed, even if Sayuri is generally an expert in suppressing her emotions. It would have been more realistic for her to at least have been suspicious of the soldiers, particularly given the often horrific experiences she’s had with more dignified and culturally familiar men. This only comes out in the physical descriptions: when Sayuri sees a drunk, naked American man and is shocked by how hairy he is, or when Europeans are described as “fat” or just very large compared to Japanese people. On the other hand, the geisha’s job is the entertain and to emanate positive energy: presumably this was a hard task in the Japanese community after the defeat. We see how dull and difficult her liaisons with Nobu and the Minister are, compared to the rowdy American parties — merriment contrasted with melancholy. A resourceful geisha, wanting to survive, is more likely to gravitate towards the latter, even if becoming a ‘comfort woman’ is part of the deal.
I thought the ending was.
However, the original controversy, preceding these more topical debates, was not about cultural appropriation or anything of that nature: as part of his research, Golden interviewed a retired geisha, Mineko Iwasaki, and used some aspects of her life as the basis of his novel, but she afterwards sued him for breach of contract and defamation of character, asserting that Golden had agreed to protect her anonymity due to the traditional code of silence followed by geisha regarding their clients, whose anonymity is considered extremely important (he originally published her name in the acknowledgements of his novel). They eventually settled out of court for an undisclosed sum of money. I think people have gravitated towards making this controversy racially based, when in fact they are guilty of overlooking ‘own voices’ and an aspect of cultural nuance themselves by ignoring the actual geisha’s stated feelings on the matter. Iwasaki also has [b:her own memoir|522534|Geisha, a Life|Mineko Iwasaki|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1359402937l/522534._SY75_.jpg|18133], written as a rebuttal of Memoirs, if critics would prefer to read that, but I perceive three problems with this approach. Firstly, if the original grievance surrounded the taboo of disclosing your clients’ secrets, then by publishing her own memoir she has done the same thing. Secondly, it seems her main grievance with the narrative is that she thinks geisha are able to profit off the delusions of men, who want to see an image of ideal womanly beauty — the problem with this approach is that you are still perpetuating those same standards by practising as a geisha at all, and perpetuating the male delusion by allowing them to believe it’s real. Thirdly, if the novel is so different from her own life, we should keep in mind it is only a piece of historical fiction (emphasis on the ‘fiction’ here), and the level of difference may suggest a significant degree of artistic license which moves the narrative further away from her own life, which may serve more as ‘inspiration’ rather than as a solid foundation. In any case, I did not feel that this controversy detracted from my enjoyment of the novel, and I will try to separate the art from the artist for the remainder of this review.
For what it’s worth, I do think Golden’s interpretation of this geisha’s experience added authenticity to the novel, which I think was also his motivation for listing her in the acknowledgements in the first place, especially when considered alongside with the fictional translator’s note at the beginning. It seems to me he is going overboard with careful consideration and sensitivity, and in fact may have overthought it, and judging from other reviews the results have been highly variable among readers. I’ve seen a repeated criticism that the ‘Japanese’ naturalistic style to the imagery is overdone, but to me this is a pretty clear imitation of how actual Japanese writing, particularly poetry, comes across in translation, and not off the mark. The novel is told in first person from the perspective of Chiyo (later ‘Sayuri’), so it makes sense that she likens her experiences to things she herself has seen, touched, heard, and felt. It also emphasises Sayuri’s own affinity with the natural world, which stands in such stark relief to the heavy makeup and false smiles required of the geisha, which is what ultimately makes her stand out and capture the heart of an unpretentious person like Nobu. This character trait is also the source of her vulnerability: she is, in a sense, too genuine: her attempts to plot and scheme tend to fail, and cannot conquer her feelings.
It initially occurred to me that Chiyo/Sayuri’s ‘special eyes’, a blue-grey colour unusual in Japan, are a little cliché, but Mineko Iwasaki had light brown eyes, so he has simply exaggerated the unusual quality of this one real-life geisha. It also at least goes some way to explaining why she’s treated as special in a setting that places such extreme emphasis on women’s looks, why she repeatedly manages to escape the fates of the less fortunate characters, and why the okiya women and Mameha make more of an effort to help her succeed as a geisha (and why she has so much success with the men when she gets there). The eyes also symbolise her association with water: she comes from a fishing village by the sea, and it is these eyes she shares with her mother, who dies at the beginning of the novel from ‘too much water’ in her, showing the vulnerability it can express. This is heavily emphasised throughout the text, most memorably in the following passage:
“I can see you have a great deal of water in your personality. Water never waits. It changes shape and flows around things, and finds the secret paths no one else has thought about — the tiny hole through the roof or the bottom of the box. There’s no doubt it’s the most versatile of the five elements. It can wash away earth; it can put out fire; it can wear a piece of metal down and sweep it away. Even wood, which is its natural complement, can’t survive without being nurtured by water. And yet, you haven’t drawn on those strengths in living your life, have you?”
The writing style also throws into relief the grace and elegance encompassed in the tradition of the geisha, the beautiful artistry of Japanese culture, alongside the brutality of the system, the beatings and exploitation, and the precariousness of the geisha’s existence, as fragile as beauty itself. Although some criticise this novel for romanticising and idealising this world, although it is certainly one lost to history (Sayuri notes in her old age that geisha are almost dying out in Gion now), the latter aspect avoids the impression of anything too perfect. Indeed, the novel conveys the perils of putting so much emphasis on beauty at the expense of all else: it is the obsession with controlling and possessing beauty that lies behind the machinery which serves to put the women so much at the mercy of the men. There is a reason why all the dances they perform are so melancholy, representing sad, untouchable beauty, and the fleeting nature of happiness and love.
The whole vision of this novel is captivating and gripping, in a way that is rare for me to experience: I was hooked from the point at which Chiyo goes looking for her sister, wanting them to be reunited and escape the fate of terrible exploitation. Yet the book is also surprisingly soothing and comforting, despite all the protagonist’s trauma. Although the story was very engaging, it took a very long time for Chiyo to become a geisha: the book is rather long, at more than 500 pages, and is called Memoirs of a Geisha and told in a frame narrative after Sayuri has found success (meaning that, during the years when she is forced to serve as a maid as her punishment for trying to run away, we aren’t exactly in suspense over whether she will manage to become a geisha), yet Chiyo doesn’t even become an apprentice until about 30% of the way through. Given the apparent criticism of patriarchy that encompasses the whole novel, we might expect more positive portrayals of female relationships, but Sayuri finds little comfort here, besides her relationship with Mameha. We see the way patriarchy turns women against one another instead: envy is a major theme. Envy serves as Hatsumomo’s motivation, even when Sayuri is a tiny child; it characterises a turning point in Sayuri’s life (when she stars in the dance and in the painting and suddenly the other geisha are unfriendly); it’s the motivation of the okiya’s women to adopt her, although this really manifests as money-hunger and wanting her earnings; and it seems to be
Spoiler
Pumpkin’s motivation to betray her at the end, because Sayuri is the star and things have gone badly for Pumpkin, who has had to prostitute herself and live in a half-wrecked houseThere’s some criticism of the portrayal of the American soldiers, who Sayuri describes “giving candy to the children”, making no mention of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I am of two minds about this aspect: Sayuri does note that Kyoto was bombed much less than Tokyo or their military bases (because it wasn’t strategically important), but we still see how dramatically the characters’ lives are damaged by the war. It would have been more realistic to have some anger and fear expressed, even if Sayuri is generally an expert in suppressing her emotions. It would have been more realistic for her to at least have been suspicious of the soldiers, particularly given the often horrific experiences she’s had with more dignified and culturally familiar men. This only comes out in the physical descriptions: when Sayuri sees a drunk, naked American man and is shocked by how hairy he is, or when Europeans are described as “fat” or just very large compared to Japanese people. On the other hand, the geisha’s job is the entertain and to emanate positive energy: presumably this was a hard task in the Japanese community after the defeat. We see how dull and difficult her liaisons with Nobu and the Minister are, compared to the rowdy American parties — merriment contrasted with melancholy. A resourceful geisha, wanting to survive, is more likely to gravitate towards the latter, even if becoming a ‘comfort woman’ is part of the deal.
I thought the ending was