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Sweat, tears and nightmares : textual representations of sexual violence in Heian and Kamakura monogatari Milutin, Otilia Clara 2015

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   SWEAT, TEARS AND NIGHTMARES: TEXTUAL REPRESENTATIONS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE IN HEIAN AND KAMAKURA MONOGATARI  by  OTILIA CLARA MILUTIN  B.A., The University of Bucharest, 2003 M.A., The University of Massachusetts Amherst, 2008  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Asian Studies)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)   August 2015  ©Otilia Clara Milutin 2015   ii  Abstract Readers and scholars of monogatari—court tales written between the ninth and the early twelfth century (during the Heian and Kamakura periods)—have generally agreed that much of their focus is on amorous encounters. They have, however, rarely addressed the question of whether these encounters are mutually desirable or, on the contrary, uninvited and therefore aggressive. For fear of anachronism, the topic of sexual violence has not been commonly pursued in the analyses of monogatari.  I argue that not only can the phenomenon of sexual violence be clearly defined in the context of the monogatari genre, by drawing on contemporary feminist theories and philosophical debates, but also that it is easily identifiable within the text of these tales, by virtue of the coherent and cohesive patterns used to represent it. In my analysis of seven monogatari—Taketori, Utsuho, Ochikubo, Genji, Yoru no Nezame, Torikaebaya and Ariake no wakare—I follow the development of the textual representations of sexual violence and analyze them in relation to the role of these tales in supporting or subverting existing gender hierarchies.   Finally, I examine the connection between representations of sexual violence and the monogatari genre itself. By drawing on an extensive comparative approach that contrasts the Japanese monogatari with the Western genres of fairy tale, novel, romance and fan fiction, I argue that female readers and writers of monogatari could only address the topic of sexual violence within the confines of a genre avowedly fictitious, which, precisely because of its fictitiousness, provided a textual safe space.  iii  Preface This dissertation is original, unpublished, independent work by the author Otilia Clara Milutin.  I have conceived the project in its present form, as the next step to my previous research on kidnapping and abduction in The Tale of Genji, after extensive consultation with my adviser, Joshua S. Mostow. I have selected the texts I am analyzing here while in Tokyo, on a Japan Foundation Fellowship, working with Mitamura Masako, who guided and helped me with the genbun—original text—of these tales. The selections from the tales used here were either manually or digitally input, using the Shinpen Nihon koten bugaku zenshū database, available from JapanKnowledge.   Unless otherwise specified in the footnotes, all translations included in this study are mine. For the most part, I have translated only those episodes of direct importance to my argument, that is, those episodes involving sexual violence and mutually desirable sexual encounters. I have also not translated anew epigraphs, other quotations from the selected texts, and quotations from texts not directly relevant to the topic of sexual violence.  For six of the seven tales included here, I have relied on the Shin Nihon koten bungaku zenshū editions (both digital and hard copies). In the case of Ariake no wakare, which has not yet been included in this series, I have used Ōtsuki Ōsamu’s 1979 Ariake no wakare: aru dansō no himegimi no monogatari. In addition, I have consulted all available translations in English and, where possible, French, listed in the bibliography.  The original text is romanized using the historical kana usage (kyū-kanazukai), while proper names and titles follow the Hepburn Romanization (e.g., Torikaebaya, Yowa no Nezame, Towazugatari).  iv  Table of Contents  Abstract .............................................................................................................................. ii Preface ............................................................................................................................... iii Table of Contents ............................................................................................................. iv List of Tables ................................................................................................................... vii Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................ viii Dedication ...........................................................................................................................x 1. Introduction: Rape across Time ...................................................................................1 1. 1. The Ugly Beautiful World of Japanese Monogatari .......................................1 1. 2. Overview of the Study .....................................................................................4 1. 3. Contemporary Theories of Rape ......................................................................6 1. 3. 1. Rape Between Sex and Violence .....................................................6 1. 3. 1. 1. Brownmiller and Liberal Feminist Theory ............................6 1. 3. 1. 2. MacKinnon, Dworkin and Radical Feminist Theory ...........10 1. 3. 1. 3. Recent Developments in Feminist Theories of Rape ...........14 1. 3. 2. Rape Between Coercion and Consent ............................................21 1. 3. 2. 1. The Preeminence of Consent ...............................................21 1. 3. 2. 2. The Preeminence of Coercion ..............................................28 1. 4. Theories of Rape and Pre-modern Japanese Literature .................................36 1. 5. The Terminology of Sexual Violence and Rape in Japanese Tale Literature....................................................................................................................................46 v  2. “Turning into a Shadow”: Representations of Rape in Pre-Genji Monogatari Tales............................................................................................................................................50 2. 1. A History of the Monogatari Genre...............................................................50 2. 2. The Disappearing Heroine: Textual Management of Rape in Taketori       monogatari ........................................................................................................60 2. 3. The Sound of Silence: Contrasting Femininities and Conspicuous Absences in       Utsuho monogatari ..........................................................................................68 2. 4. Sweat and Tears: Domesticating Rape in Ochikubo monogatari ..................85 3. “Assaulted by an Evil Spirit in a Nightmare”: Rape in The Tale of Genji ...........103 3. 1. The World’s First Novel ..............................................................................103 3. 2. “Genji-Haters,” “Genji-Lovers” and the Rape Controversy ........................113 3. 3. Rape and the Shining Prince ........................................................................126 3. 3. 1. Feminine Resistance: Utsusemi and Murasaki ............................126 3. 3. 2. Feminine Desire: Nokiba no Ogi and Oborozukiyo ....................156 3. 3. 3.  Rape and Genji’s Descendants ....................................................174 4. “Powerless and Ashamed”: Representations of Sexual Violence in Post-Genji Court       Tales ..........................................................................................................................193 4. 1. Less Than a Novel: Western Popular Romances and Post-Genji Tales ......193 4. 2. Young Bamboo and Willow Branches: Rewriting Genji Rape in Yoru no nezame      .........................................................................................................................206 4. 3. The Curious Case of the Two Naishi no Kami: Rape and Im/penetrable Bodies       in Torikaebaya monogatari ...........................................................................232 4. 4. Female Powerlessness and Rape as a Tool of Sexual Regulation in Ariake no  vi       wakare .............................................................................................................252 5. Conclusion. Reading Monogatari, Writing Rape: The Monogatari Genre and Its Representations of Sexual Violence ..............................................................................261 Bibliography ...................................................................................................................284 Appendix: Original Texts ..............................................................................................317               vii   List of Tables Table 2. 1.  Typical monogatari vs. Utsuho patterns of sexual violence ..........................75 Table 2. 2.  Ochikubo monogatari ....................................................................................90 Table 3. 1.  Utsusemi ........................................................................................................131 Table 3. 2.  Murasaki ........................................................................................................149 Table 3. 3.  Nokiba no ogi .................................................................................................162 Table 3. 4.   Oborozukiyo ..................................................................................................168 Table 3. 5.  Nokiba, Oborozukiyo, Utsusemi....................................................................170 Table 3. 6.  The Third Princess .........................................................................................177 Table 3. 7.  Ochiba ............................................................................................................187 Table 4. 1.  Nezame and Chūnagon ..................................................................................212 Table 4. 2.  Nezame and the Emperor ...............................................................................225 Table 4. 3.  Naishi no Kami (male) and Saishō ................................................................238 Table 4. 4.  Naishi no Kami and the emperor ...................................................................247 Table 4. 5.  Ariake and the emperor ..................................................................................257 Table 4. 6.  Sex/ gender/ penetrability paradigms.............................................................260 Table 5. 1.  Genji monogatari vs. Towazugatari ..............................................................277   viii  Acknowledgements There are many people and institutions that have made my research possible. The Japan Foundation generously funded my fourteen-month stay in Tokyo, during which I was able to finish the core of my textual investigation. Without their assistance, my work would not have been possible. The contribution I received from the Okamatsu family and the Department of Asian Studies during the course of my program leading to this dissertation allowed me to travel and present my preliminary findings to fellow researchers at conference venues.  The moral support I have received throughout my research has been just as priceless. I am extremely grateful to my adviser, Joshua S. Mostow, who has always encouraged me, even while challenging my ideas, helping me thus strengthen my arguments and improve my methodology; to Sharalyn Orbaugh, who has taught me, in class and by personal example, the meaning of being a feminist scholar; to Stefania Burk, who has helped me shape my research at a stage when I was feeling directionless; and to Christina Laffin, who has advised me on how to best promote my research and connect with like-minded scholars.  I also thank my external examiner, Margaret H. Childs, and the members of my oral examination committee for their thoughtful comments and feedback. I will always be indebted to Doris G. Bargen for first introducing me to the topic of sexual violence in classical Japanese literature. I also owe special thanks to Mitamura Masako, of Sophia University, who patiently spent week after week, guiding me through tale after tale and discussing with me their most minute aspects, and who, with her kindness, warmth and generosity, made my research at Sophia University a most unforgettable time. Everyone at Sophia University was amazing, including my fellow graduate students who took the time to give me important feedback on ix  my research. Kagō Tomoka, in particular, displayed unearthly patience when correcting all my essays in Japanese. My friends, Yamashita Yuko, Iwanaga Ionuta and Hale Sterling, made my stay in Japan wonderful. Finally, I would like to thank my family – my husband Mihai and my mother Nesia – for their unwavering support and love.     x           To my husband,               1  Introduction Rape across Time: Contemporary Theories of Rape and Pre-modern Japanese Tale Literature  “It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.” Sherlock Holmes  1. 1. The Ugly Beautiful World of Japanese Monogatari  If there is one cause for the idealized perception most Heian and Kamakura court tales, or monogatari, enjoy today it is the circumstances of their canonization, starting at the end of the twelfth century. This statement is a bit generalizing, as not all monogatari had the good fortune of becoming canonical texts in the history of the Japanese literature. Some were ignored, others forgotten, most were destroyed. But the few that survived, that were studied, that were canonized, were sufficient to create the image of an idealized past, characterized by unprecedented artistic achievements, courtly refinement, exquisite amorous encounters and paragons of masculinity and femininity. The circa 1008 Tale of Genji, in particular, became associated, through the efforts of the Mikohidari school of poetry and its chief representatives, Fujiwara no Shunzei (1114-1204) and his son, Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), with the wondrous world of Japanese waka poetry and praised as an unsurpassable source of poetic and artistic inspiration.  2   The fate of the Genji is emblematic for the fate of many monogatari: they were valuable insofar as they represented a golden, bygone era and were precious repositories of poetic imagery, artistic design, metaphor, and high-class style. Stripped of what made them monogatari in the first place—their narratives—these tales survived and flourished truncated, abridged, pre-digested and summarized. With the exception of the scholars still able, if willing, to read their original texts, most readers of these tales knew them as a more or less cohesive string of tropes, themes and images.   The purpose of this study is not to argue that these monogatari were, in fact, ugly, repulsive and in poor taste. Monogatari are not beautiful only when we look at them, one eye covered, in an attempt to un-see what they hold that is problematic and disturbing, nor are they ugly once we examine them with both eyes open. Their value, as works of literature, stems from various achievements, not the least of which is their ability to accommodate both the beauty and the ugliness of their worlds.  The topic of my research, an investigation into the monogatari representations of sexual violence, may seem ugly to begin with; sexual violence is, in contemporary society, not easily addressed. It requires trigger warnings; it requires care and delicacy; it too often requires, unfortunately, whispers and secrecy. How much uglier should it be when contrasted with mellifluous poetry, court music and dances, colorful costumes and ritualized social interactions! In this dissertation, I set out to recover those voices, those gestures and those feelings, to recover the ugliness glibly covered by so much beauty and to demonstrate that underneath it, there is yet another textual stratum, one revealing feminine resistance, expression and agency. 3   My approach to uncovering the monogatari representations of sexual violence is divided into three goals: 1) to define the phenomenon of sexual violence in a manner relevant and applicable to classical Japanese tales; 2) to identify the textual elements that form these representations of sexual violence; and 3) to determine what makes the monogatari genre eminently suitable to representations of sexual violence. Each of these goals is pursued in different sections of my study.  The problem of defining sexual violence, and its subordinate phenomena—rape, in particular—necessitates a careful examination of contemporary theories and debates on this topic. The remainder of this introduction will address this particular issue, but it will be in the actual textual analyses that the resulting definitions and guidelines will be put to the test.   The goal of identifying the textual representations of sexual violence across the texts selected presupposes careful textual analysis of fifteen episodes featured in seven monogatari, from the earliest extant Taketori monogatari (mid-nineth century) to the latest included, the 1190 Ariake no wakare. In between, there are Utsuho monogatari (970-983), Ochikubo monogatari (late tenth century), Genji monogatari (1008), Yoru no Nezame (eleventh century), and Torikaebaya monogatari (1100-1170).  The title of my dissertation stems from the textual representations of sexual violence revealed by my research and brings together three distinctive elements representative of my findings: the “sweat” imagery that is uniquely associated with episodes of sexual violence and represents metonymically the violated female body; the “tears” imagery that is fairly common in classical Japanese literature, but gains new connotations when in conjunction with other textual representations of sexual violence; finally, the “nightmare” imagery that 4  represents a unique development in the monogatari patterns and is probably one of the most potent metaphors for rape in The Tale of Genji.   Finally, in order to answer the previous question regarding the relationship between the monogatari genre and the frequency with which it features representations of sexual violence, I pursue, throughout this study, comparisons between Japanese court tales and Western genres, such as the fairy tale, the novel, the contemporary popular romance and fan fiction.   1. 2. Overview of the Study  This study has an unintentionally symmetric structure; its introduction and conclusion frame three chapters analyzing seven monogatari, three in the first chapter, one in the second chapter and three in the final chapter. The remainder of this introduction includes an extensive review of feminist theories of rape, of philosophical approaches to coercion and consent, as well as of selected studies of rape in Western literatures and cultures. It also provides a brief section explaining the terminology used in this study based on the prior literature review.  The first chapter, entitled “Turning into a Shadow: Representations of Rape in Pre-Genji Monogatari Tales,” opens with a history of the monogatari genre and a comparison between the early monogatari discussed in this chapter, Taketori, Utsuho and Ochikubo monogatari, and the Western fairy tale genre, from the perspective of their similar histories and of their possibilities to support or to subvert established gender hierarchies. This opening section is followed by an extensive textual analysis of selected episodes from the three tales, which focuses on identifying and commenting on the way in which sexual violence—rape 5  and attempted rape—is represented in the three tales. The chapter’s title, which is an image derived from Taketori monogatari, is representative of the findings in this chapter, namely that these tales’ male authors tend to explain away, if not outright efface, inconvenient instances of sexual violence.  The second chapter, “Assaulted by an Evil Spirit in a Nightmare: Rape in The Tale of Genji,” is entirely dedicated to Murasaki Shikibu’s eleventh century tale. It opens with a comparison between monogatari such as the Genji and the Western novel, both in terms of the commonalities in the historical evolution of the two genres and in terms of their structural flexibility and character complexity. The core of the chapter is occupied by the textual analysis of seven episodes selected from the tale; five of these episodes contain representations of sexual violence, while two serve as counterpoint to these, demonstrating that not all sexual encounters in the tale necessarily end in rape. The contrast between rape and mutually desirable intercourse is a very important aspect of the present study. The title of this chapter is, as in the case of the first one, derived from an expression used to represent sexual violence in the analyzed text; unlike in the previous case, however, it serves to illustrate that with the Genji, the textual representations of sexual violence become more original, more striking and more cohesive.  The third and final chapter of this dissertation, “Powerless and Ashamed: Representations of Sexual Violence in Post-Genji Court Tales,” analyzes three tales that follow The Tale of Genji: Yoru no Nezame, Torikaebaya monogatari and Ariake no wakare. The chapter opens with a comparison between post-Genji tales and the contemporary popular romance genre, emphasizing the general tendency of treating certain genres as less important than others, due to the gender of their producers and consumers. The textual analysis of the 6  three tales reveals, in addition to a certain continuity of patterns of representing sexual violence inspired by the Genji, a considerable degree of innovation; it also notes a predilection for simplicity and directness in comparison to previously more subtle patterns. The chapter’s title borrows a new expression used in representing sexual violence in these tales, an expression indicative of their much darker, more pessimistic tone.   Finally, the study’s conclusion reviews the significant findings of the three chapters, while introducing one last comparison: between post-Genji tales and contemporary fan fiction. The purpose of this comparison is to elucidate the influence of the Genji over the tales following it, authored for the most part by women who were avid Genji fans.  The conclusion also strives to finally explain the organic connection between the monogatari genre and textual representations of sexual violence by analyzing, ironically, the sole case in which these representations escaped their generic constraints and found themselves in a thirteenth century nikki, or diary: Towazugatari by Lady Nijō.   1. 3. Contemporary Theories of Rape 1. 3. 1. Rape between Sex and Violence 1. 3. 1. 1. Brownmiller and the Liberal Feminist Theory  Antifeminists, or the so-called “backlashers,” accuse Second-Wave feminists of having “invented” the issue of rape, of having blown out of proportion a practically non-existent phenomenon, and of having infected women everywhere with rape “paranoia.” They would have us believe that prior to the late seventies, women were not confronted with the problem of rape and did not suffer its threat nor bear its consequences, and that only through feminist intervention did rape take center stage and mar forevermore the otherwise 7  harmonious relations between the sexes.1 These writers are right only insofar as they attribute to Second-Wave feminists the merit of articulating a vocal debate around the problem of rape, of discovering not rape, an age-old phenomenon, but the words to address it and the strategy to combat it in the social and political domains.   Scholars of the rape phenomenon nowadays unanimously agree regarding the groundbreaking importance of Susan Brownmiller’s 1975 Against Our Will, one of the texts which, next to Susan Griffin’s 1977 article, “Rape: The All-American Crime,”2 rallied feminist scholars and activists to fight for a better legislative approach to the phenomenon. Ultimately this paved the way for important changes, not only in the field of law—its main arena of conflict—but also in the social and cultural domains, where feminists, from academics to grass-root militants, became interested in investigating what rape was, what it said about women, men and the relation between them, what its potential causes were and what women could do to diminish its threat.   Susan Brownmiller’s pioneering study of rape was motivated by the desire to redefine this phenomenon in order to allow for a better legal treatment of it, to reinterpret it not as a crime against the woman as a form of patriarchal property—as it was most often dealt with in traditional legislation, from lex talionis to early modern English law—but as an act of violence: “Rape is not a crime of irrational, impulsive, uncontrollable lust, but is a deliberate, hostile, violent act of degradation and possession on the part of the would-be conqueror, designed to intimidate and inspire fear.”3                                                            1 The list of antifeminist writers is unfortunately long. A few of them, Christina Hoff Summers, Daphne Patai and Noretta Koertge, Elizabeth Fox-Genovese and Kaitie Roiphe are exposed in Elizabeth Karmark Minnich’s seminal article, “Feminist Attacks on Feminism: Patriarchy’s Prodigal Daughters.” Feminist Studies 24:1 (1998): 159-175.  2 Susan Griffin, “Rape: The All-American Crime,” in Feminism and Philosophy, ed. Mary Vetterling-Bragging, Frederick A. Elliston, and Jane English (Totowa, N.J.: Littlefield, Adams, 1977), 313-332. 3 Brownmiller,  Against Our Will: Men, Women, and Rape (New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1993, c1975), 391. 8   To Brownmiller, thus, rape is not an individual sexual act that seeks to satisfy natural and biological urges, but a crime whose principal motivations are political and which serves as a strategy to dominate and degrade, to keep women under men’s control and to mark their status as property: Ethnological studies of primitive peoples far removed from us suggest the use of rape as an expression of manhood, as an indication of the property concept of women, and as a mechanism of social control to keep women in line. It has been no different in other parts of the world, if not in actual fact then often in the private and public fantasies of the men who dominate and define culture.4 Brownmiller claims, moreover, that many societies, both ancient and contemporary, developed an ideology of rape, which perceived the act as an expression of masculinity and as such idealized and admired it—she terms this cultural phenomenon “the myth of the heroic rapist.”5 In parallel with this attitude that encourages men to idealize rape and other types of aggressive behavior toward women, Brownmiller detects yet another aspect which contributes to the rape problem: the fact that women were reared to become victims of rape, by being taught “proper” feminine values, such as vulnerability, passivity and docility. In addition, desiring to justify rape, an act which defines their masculinity, as something also desirable to women in the name of their femininity, men were also culpable of circulating a series of rape myths, such as the idea that all women secretly want to be raped, that “no” means “yes,” that it is usually the woman’s fault for being raped or that she should enjoy the act since she cannot avoid it.                                                            4 Ibid., 288. 5 Ibid., 283. 9   The effect of these rape myths upon the legal and extra-legal treatment of rape in Brownmiller’s day was severe: the victim was regarded with suspicion in the courts of law and over-sexualized in the press accounts of rape cases. Brownmiller’s emphasis on violence, rather than sexuality, was meant, therefore, to combat both attitudes; in order to eliminate the blaming of rape victims, Brownmiller treats rape as she would regular assault, because, after all, assault victims are never questioned on whether he or she secretly fantasized about being assaulted prior to the act, nor are they accused of having caused the assault through their inappropriate behavior.  Brownmiller’s noble intentions make more tolerable her theoretical slippages, such as her failure to explain why rape in particular was chosen as a tool of domination and intimidation, her failure to discuss the numerous cases of acquaintance rape that hardly fit into her “domination and degradation” pattern, her assumption that women’s physical vulnerability to rape is a biological given, and her ultimate denial of feminine agency by presenting women as eternal victims of the patriarchal system. Most importantly, by de-sexualizing rape, Brownmiller practically erases its gendered dimension, despite her insistence that rape is an act of violence perpetrated by men, as a class, against women, “a conscious process of intimidation by which all men kept all women in a state of fear.”6 The legal tradition of liberal feminism was built on Brownmiller’s definition of rape as violence, as a crime that could indiscriminately affect everyone. The positive effects of this approach were that the legal definition of rape was extended to apply to a larger category of acts previously not included in the traditional definition (such as homosexual rape, marital rape, etc.); its negative side is that it ultimately erased rape’s gendered dimension.                                                           6 Ibid., 15.  10   Independently of its practical applicability, Brownmiller’s theory remains one of the first to have addressed the rape phenomenon, to have commented on its violent aspect, on its role as a strategy of masculine control and domination and on its contribution to traditional constructions of masculinity and femininity. It also brought into relief the relationship between heterosexuality and rape, an aspect which will be further developed by radical feminists.   1. 3. 1. 2. MacKinnon, Dworkin and Radical Feminist Theory  More than a decade after Brownmiller’s groundbreaking theoretical work, a new generation of feminist thinkers, of which legal scholar Catharine MacKinnon and anti-pornography activist Andrea Dworkin are the representatives, replaced the previous liberal theory of rape, which emphasized the violent dimension of this crime, with a radical feminist theory, focusing primarily on its predominantly sexual nature. But despite this dramatic departure from Brownmiller’s views on rape, there are also significant points of confluence between the two generations of rape scholars.  MacKinnon, for instance, agrees with Brownmiller on the overwhelming significance rape plays in defining women’s condition, claiming that “if sexuality is central to women’s definition and forced sex is central to sexuality, rape is indigenous, not exceptional, to women’s social condition.”7 Furthermore, she embraces the position according to which rape is “an act of terrorism and torture within a systemic context of group subjection.”8  Also like Bronwmiller before her, MacKinnon’s principal fight takes place in the legal arena, where she tries to combat the definition of the rape phenomenon that emphasizes                                                           7 Catharine MacKinnon, Toward a Feminist Theory of the State (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989), 172. 8 Ibid.  11  its distinction from regular intercourse in that it implies the use of force and the lack of consent, two redundant criteria, in MacKinnon’s view, that only serve to support the “sadomasochistic definition of sex” or “pornography’s positive-outcome-rape scenario” in which “dominance plus submission is force plus consent.”9   The principal point of divergence between MacKinnon and Brownmiller remains their respective views on the nature of rape, the former emphasizing the sexual dimension of the act, the latter its violent character. MacKinnon specifically addresses the concept of force by referring to Brownmiler’s previous feminist definition of rape, but she rejects this approach by suggesting that rape and regular intercourse might not, after all, be as different as the “rape as violence” theory makes them appear: “Perhaps the wrong of rape has proved so difficult to define because the unquestionable starting point has been that rape is defined as distinct from intercourse, while for women it is difficult to distinguish the two under conditions of male dominance.”10  Similarly, MacKinnon dismisses the relevance of the concept of consent, an integral part of the legal definition of rape, because she believes that consent only serves to give the illusion of women’s control over intercourse, whereas such control is impossible in a framework of sexual inequality: “The law of rape presents consent as free exercise of sexual choice under conditions of equality of power without exposing the underlying structure of constraint and disparity.”11 Moreover, MacKinnon remarks, by assessing rape based on the woman’s “will,” the law focuses on identifying elements of women’s resistance without however considering that women are more often than not conditioned into passivity, an opinion Brownmiller also advanced as part of her rape theory. Ultimately, in her search for                                                           9 Ibid., 173. 10 Ibid., 175. 11 Ibid., 175. 12  the answer regarding sexual aggression in the relation between sexuality and gender, MacKinnon comes to question the very concept of heterosexuality, which she perceives both as the eroticization of dominance and submission and as the gender hierarchy positioning men over women.  Andrea Dworkin’s views on rape, which predate MacKinnon’s by two years,12 are similar though more radical: she too contradicts Brownmiller’s theory that the violence of rape transforms the act into something completely different from regular intercourse, suggesting instead that rape and intercourse become almost undistinguishable under conditions of male dominance: “Intercourse is a particular reality for women as an inferior class; and it has in it, as part of it, violation of boundaries, taking over, occupation, destruction of privacy, all of which are construed to be normal and also fundamental to continuing human existence.”13  However, like MacKinnon, Dworkin is also indebted to Browmiller’s view of rape as a tool of male domination and control. To her, therefore, the act represents an expression of the power men have over women and, often, also of the hostility and anger which accompany this dominance. Moreover, in her opinion, women, who, she claims, seldom have an orgasm as a result of intercourse, frequently perform the act compulsively, despite being socialized to desire it. Disguised as an expression of women’s freedom, intercourse is anything but, especially when one also takes into account women’s fear of men and of forced intercourse.  Rape and prostitution, the two phenomena created by and concomitantly creating male domination, further serve to delineate their method, intercourse, as an act of subordinating women. As long as the three acts continue to be connected, Dworkin believes,                                                           12 Andrea Dworkin, Intercourse (New York, The Free Press, 1987).  13 Ibid., 123. 13  there will be no free intercourse for women: “Rape and prostitution negate self-determination and choice for women; and anyone who wants intercourse to be freedom and to mean freedom had better find a way to get rid of them.”14  Objectification is yet another characteristic of intercourse that Dworkin specifically addresses: she considers that for men intercourse would be impossible without their objectification of women, but that this objectification would also be impossible without women’s own complicity. Conditioned to accept their own objectification and to enforce it on their own, women lose their self-respect and agency, by actively collaborating with their oppressors in the process of objectification, which becomes a strategy of domination and  “gets the woman to take the initiative in her own degradation (…) The woman herself takes one kind of responsibility absolutely and thus commits herself to her own continuing inferiority: she polices her own body; she internalizes the demands of  the dominant class and, in order to be fucked, she constructs her life around meeting those demands. It is the best system of colonization on earth: she takes on the burden, the responsibility of her own submission, her own objectification.”15  Overall, Dworkin’s view of regular intercourse and rape is a bleak one, depicting a world in which women are tragically conditioned automatons, objectified, demeaned, possessed, forced into compliance, humiliated, dominated, dirtied and killed by men in the act of intercourse. In this patriarchal dictatorship, reform is not a realistic vision:  Male-dominant gender hierarchy, however, seems immune to reform by reasoned or visionary argument or by changes in sexual styles, either personal or social.  This may be because intercourse itself is immune to reform. In it, female is bottom, stigmatized.                                                           14 Ibid., 143. 15 Ibid., 142. 14  Intercourse remains a means or the means of psychologically making a woman inferior: communicating to her cell by cell, her own inferior status, impressing it on her, burning it into her by shoving it into her, over and over, pushing and thrusting until she gives up and gives in—which is called surrender in the male lexicon.16 More than MacKinnon, who at least believed, like Brownmiller before her, that by changing the definition of rape one can cause the entire legal approach to rape to change as well, Dworkin has been criticized for her pessimistic view of women’s condition, for denying both feminine heterosexual experience—such as the ability to distinguish between intercourse and rape—and feminine agency. But even so, one must acknowledge the remarkable progress made by radical feminists like Dworkin and MacKinnon in the study of the rape phenomenon: they exposed the similarities between heterosexual intercourse and rape; they challenged the notion of compulsory heterosexuality; they raised questions regarding the legal validity of consent in conditions of gender inequality and chastised women for their own complicity in the process of sexual objectification. Extreme as they were at times, their views effectively shocked, scandalized, challenged and changed the dominant discourse of rape characteristic of the American society in the late eighties and thereafter.   1. 3. 1. 3. Recent Developments in Feminist Theories of Rape A Critique of Third-Wave Feminism  After a series of successful changes to rape legislation resulting from liberal and radical feminist efforts, the feminist movement seems to have temporarily lost interest in the topic of rape. In a 2002 article,17 Carine M. Mardorossian severely criticizes Third-Wave                                                           16 Ibid., 137. 17 Carine M. Mardorossian, “Toward a New Feminist Theory of Rape.” Signs 27: 3 (2002): 743-775. 15  feminism for its tendency to ignore the rape phenomenon in feminist theory, in favor of more ambivalent forms of male domination such as pornography and sexual harassment.   Postmodern feminists such as Sharon Marcus and Wendy Brown are singled out as representatives of this theoretical trend that, according to Mardorossian, presents paradoxically more continuity with the “backlashers” than with the activist feminism of the Second-Wave, at least in respect to anti-rape politics: “Indeed, when postmodern feminists do tackle rape and anti-rape politics, they seem unable to do so in any other way than in the psychologizing and victim-blaming terms that have dominated hegemonic approaches to gender violence in contemporary culture.”18   Mardorossian also proceeds to identify several problems in recent feminist discussions of rape, such as the tendency to blame feminist discourse for the increase in the cases of rape and sexual abuse reported, the assumption that rape occurs because of the woman’s unsuitable reaction to the incident (such as passivity or compliance), the focus on victims and their interiority rather than on aggressors (and hence the tendency to blame women), the delineation of rape as women’s problem, the urging to women to reinvent their female self in order to avoid sexual violence (and to police themselves in the process), and the construction of female identity as “wounded,” reinforcing their victim status.19  Finally, Mardorossian situates the beginning of a new theory on rape in the analysis of certain terms used so far unproblematically. The “victim” category is the most important, because its use nowadays tends to ignore its meaning in the context of Second-Wave feminism: there, the “victim” was not characterized by passivity or lack of agency, but, on the contrary, by concrete political action and desire for change. Under the effect of the media,                                                           18 Ibid., 747. 19 Ibid., 759. 16  however, such connotations were lost and presently victims are associated with passivity, turning from the subject of political change into the object of study/ help/ theory by feminists. The dichotomy created between victims—(the ones spoken for)—and feminists—(the one doing the speaking)—needs to be eliminated and the category of “victim” reclaimed, Mardorossian suggests, in order to reject the reduction of the political to the personal and to be able to thus lay the grounds to a new feminist theory of rape.   Cahill’s Theory of Embodiment  One of Mardorossian’s contemporaries, Ann J. Cahill, takes a very important step toward devising such a new theory of rape by taking into account both the developments made by her feminist predecessors and the errors that marred their own views on rape, and by rehabilitating the important issue of personal experience, criticized and rejected as an epistemological basis by many Third-Wave feminists.20  Cahill’s investigation of rape is one that focuses on issues such as feminine subjectivity, agency and embodiment, which differentiates her approach from the two previous schools of feminist philosophy dealing with the same phenomenon: liberal feminism, represented by the work of Susan Brownmiller, defined rape as primarily an act of violence, not of sex; radical feminism, advanced by Catharine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin, claimed that rape was indistinguishable from compulsory heterosexuality. Cahill considers both theories reductionist, in that they completely fail to address several important aspects of rape that she believes her approach can properly elucidate. Thus, both theories “fail to account sufficiently for the intricate interplay of social and political power, sexual                                                           20 Ann J. Cahill, Rethinking Rape (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001). 17  hierarchization, and embodiment”21: Brownmiller assumes that the body is wholly biological and reinforces the dichotomy of nature vs. culture and violence vs. sexuality, whereas MacKinnon’s theory presents feminine sexuality as entirely constructed by masculine sexuality and patriarchal structures, and by that, she completely denies women’s participation in those structures, and their possibilities of resistance and agency.  Cahill’s mistrust of dichotomies (nature/ culture, self/society, violence/sex) is nowhere more apparent than in her rejection of the mind-body duality and of the assumption that biology is innocent of political influences. Drawing on recent scholarship on women’s embodiment, Cahill advances an understanding of the female body as “a site where the traditional philosophical oppositions of self/other, society/ self, and emotion/ intellect reveal themselves not as opposites, but as mutually defining reversabilities whose elements adhere to each other even (…) as they differ from each other.”22  By employing the concept of embodiment as the principal tool in the investigation of rape, Cahill believes that women’s direct experiences can be reintroduced into the discussion and rape can be approached not in its universality, but in its uniqueness: If we understand embodiment as the possibility condition for all human activity, as well as the site of both sexual difference and the inscription of power, we can recognize the bodily ramifications of the threat and the fact of rape, the different ways the presence of rape functions for men and women, and the different ways the various truths concerning rape are expressed.23 Moreover, Cahill argues that embodiment provides the only way out of the violence/ sex dichotomy which has continued to shape definitions of rape since the 70s. By acknowledging                                                           21 Ibid., 3. 22 Ibid., 6. 23 Ibid., 8. 18  thus that rape is a sexual assault on a sexed body and, at the same time, by admitting that rape and other forms of sexual violence are persistent realities in women’s lives without making them all-powerful and denying possibilities of resistance, she manages to avoid the pitfalls of previous feminist theories of rape.  Cahill thus proposes that rape should not be treated as a universal phenomenon, but as “an embodied experience of women.”24 She further refuses a gender-neutral approach to rape, in the manner of Brownmiller, in favor of one which takes into account the various experiences of the victims. Cahill, moreover, believes that it is the polyvocal account of rape by women who experienced it that helps one understand it as an embodied experience and not merely as an infringement of abstract rights: Embodiment is precisely the site of the possibility and necessity of difference; as such, it constitutes both that which is most shared by subjects qua subjects and that which differentiates subjects from each other. Precisely because subjects are embodied, all subjects are embodied differently.25  Still, Cahill takes precautions to deny that embodiment should be viewed as relativism: it may encourage difference, but only limited difference, since as embodied subjects, individuals share certain communal experiences (such as pain). Similarly in the case of rape, the act itself is experienced differently by different women, but all experiences have in common the idea of bodily harm.26   Next, Cahill discusses two aspects of rape which she considers to have been ignored in previous theories: the sexuality of rape and the importance of sexual difference. The first has been erased from various accounts of rape, because talking about the victim’s sexuality                                                           24 Ibid., 109. 25 Ibid., 113. 26 Ibid., 115. 19  may invite the victim’s culpability and encourage her feelings of shame. Nevertheless, Cahill states that this aspect must be addressed if we are to understand that “rape is sexual because it uses sexualized body parts and the very sexuality of the victim and the assailant as a means to commit physical, psychic and emotional violence.”27  Sexual difference, on the other hand, helps explain issues such as the constant threat of rape women must put up with, as well as the fact that rape is a crime committed, for the most part, by men against women and as such, “it constitutes a qualitative and sexually differentiated distinction between the social lives of women and those of men.”28 In other words, rape serves as sexually differentiating, by marking one group, women, as inferior to another. Despite that, both feminist theories and patriarchal interest have the tendency of completely ignoring the sexually differentiating social functions of rape,29 though for entirely different reasons: feminist emphasis on gender neutrality was seen as a step away from gender hierarchy; patriarchal attempts to depict rape as gender-neutral stemmed from masculinist assumptions that women’s victimization is a rare phenomenon and denied justice specifically for women. To Cahill, however, rape is sexed in two important ways: as a means of sexual differentiation and hierarchization, it perpetuates a system of oppression; as involving the sexualities of both victim and assailant, rape contains a set of sexual meanings for the two.30  Cahill also addresses the relationship between rape and subjectivity, claiming that the individual is intersubjective (linked with other beings surrounding him/her) and that there is no pure pre-social self. Moreover, bodily intersubjectivity means that the relationships with                                                           27 Ibid., 120. 28 Ibid., 121. 29 Ibid., 123. 30 Ibid., 126. 20  other subjects may cause bodily changes.31 Thus, rape affects not only the body of the victim, but her entire body-self; it effectively severs the intersubjective relations between the self and the surrounding beings by destroying the victim’s trust in others—this is called “social death”— and unless the victim manages to reconstruct a new body-self for herself, the effects could be deadly—i.e., could lead to suicide: Because that intersubjective agency is essential to embodied personhood, an act of rape is more than a temporary hindrance of one’s bodily movement, more than a merely unpleasant sexual encounter. The actions of the rapist eclipse the victim’s agency in a particular sexual manner. Because it renders impossible for that moment the victim’s intersubjective agency, rape is a bodily, sexual assault on a woman’s underlying conditions of being.32 It becomes apparent that Cahill’s innovative approach to rape seeks therefore to reconcile previous feminist theories on the phenomenon, by eliminating the dichotomies constructed by them and subsuming them under the concept of embodiment, which allows for discussion of both feminine subjectivity and agency. By reintroducing into her analysis of rape women’s direct experiences, Cahill emphasizes the social and political constructedness of the feminine body and the fundamental role rape plays in this process. Finally, the diversity of rape experiences serves to reject the universality of the rape phenomenon, while at the same time maintaining a common denominator in the female body, the main site of these experiences.                                                               31 Ibid., 129. 32 Ibid., 132. 21  1. 3. 2. Rape Between Coercion and Consent   The liberal and radical feminist theories of rape impacted first the legal field, their principal target, where they determined significant changes to the existing rape laws and to the legal procedures characterizing rape trials. From there, they rippled through the entire field of social sciences and humanities, influencing to a greater or lesser degree literature, visual and performing arts, cultural studies and philosophy. Philosophers, in particular, have engaged in lively debates surrounding such issues as the ethical wrongs of rape, the proper definition of the phenomenon, the dichotomy coercion–consent emphasized by the traditional legal take on rape, and the potential taxonomical changes to rape laws. Depending on their orientation in the coercion vs. consent debate, philosophical approaches can be divided into those that focus on the preeminence of consent in the legal definition of rape and those that argue for the preeminence of coercion.   1. 3. 2. 1. The Preeminence of Consent Most early modern legal definitions of rape presupposed intercourse with a woman “by force and against her will.”33 Recently, however, legal scholars and philosophers seem to prefer the consent aspect of the rape definition, claiming that it is sufficient as a tool in analyzing and penalizing the crime of rape. Heidi M. Hurd and Larry Alexander both concur on the “moral magic of consent”34 that serves to alter the rights and obligations of others.                                                            33 The earliest Massachusetts statute of 1642 specified that “if any man shall forcibly and without consent ravish any maid or woman that is lawfully married or contracted, he shall be put to death.” For more on the history of rape law, see Keith Burgess-Jackson, “History of Rape Law,” in A Most Detestable Crime, ed. Keith Burgess-Jackson (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999): 15-32. 34 Heidi M. Hurd, “The Moral Magic of Consent.” Legal Theory 2 (1996): 121-146; Larry Alexander, “The Moral Magic of Consent II.” Legal Theory 2 (1996): 166-174.  22  Hurd’s approach to consent is divided into several subsections: firstly, she argues that consent is an act of will, “a subjective mental state akin to other morally and legally significant mens rea”35; secondly, she claims that the mens rea of consent is, at its base,  intent and that, according to what she calls the “first identity thesis,”36 the mens rea of consent is identical to the mens rea of principal liability; thirdly, she adds the “second identity thesis” for the purpose of explaining that “the conditions under which … consent is defeated are identical to the conditions under which defendants are properly excused from moral blame”37; finally, Hurd argues that the victim lacks the capacity and the opportunity for meaningful choice under the exact same conditions that a defendant does (youth, insanity, inebriation, etc.). Ultimately, what she is trying to suggest is that “the conditions of consent parallel the conditions of liability”38 and that victims should be held responsible for choices made under similar conditions as defendants.  Hurd further states that consent can function to transform the morality of someone else’s acts, that is, to make “right” an action which would otherwise be “wrong.” By doing that, the consenter “alters the obligations and permissions that collectively determine the rightness of others’ actions.”39  Next, she argues that consent is an exercise of will, a “subjective mental state”40 that is intentional and has a propositional content. Furthermore, negligent ignorance of someone else’s potential acts (ex. wearing a red dress in a bar) or knowledge of these potential acts does not constitute consent to them; not even the desire that one perform certain acts                                                           35 Ibid., 121. The Oxford English Dictionary defines mens rea as “the particular state of mind required to make an action criminal; a criminal state of mind; (more generally) criminal intent,” accessed May 10, 2015, http://www.oed.com.  36 Ibid., 122.  37 Ibid., 122. 38 Ibid., 123. 39 Ibid., 124. 40 Ibid., 125. 23  constitutes unequivocal consent to those acts. Thus, “one must conclude that consent is equivalent not to desire as such, but to the execution of desire, namely, to choice.”41  Regarding the propositional content of consent, Hurd states that the object of consent is the description of an act and not the act itself (for that reason, consent is vitiated if the act is misdescribed in order to ensure consent). For consent to be valid and help the defendant avoid criminal liability, the victim’s description of the act and the defendant’s description of the act must coincide (this is the “first identity thesis,” according to which “a rape becomes consensual sex if and only if the woman has as her purpose intercourse with the defendant”42). In that respect, the mens rea of consent, Hurd further claims, is similar to the mens rea of accomplice liability in that, by giving consent, the plaintiff/ victim must intend to aid the defendant’s actions.  Because the first identity theory is not without its issues, Hurd advances another theory named the “description thesis” which holds that the victim’s consent is valid as long as her description of the act she consents to matches that of the defendant. This theory contributes to the “fine-grained identity thesis,”43 according to which both mens rea and the description of actions must coincide for victim and defendant.  Finally, Hurd introduces the “second identity thesis” according to which in order to express consent the plaintiff must do so “free of those constraints on autonomy that, if present in the case of the defendant, would legitimately result in an excuse”44 (youth, insanity, intoxication, extreme provocation).                                                            41 Ibid., 126. 42 Ibid., 130. 43 Ibid., 134. 44 Ibid., 140. 24  Alexander’s approach to consent is largely similar to Hurd’s. The fundamental difference between the two authors is that while Hurd “believes that to consent is to intend another’s act of crossing what, in the absence of consent, is a moral boundary,”45 Alexander states that “to consent to the conduct in question is not to intend that conduct,”46 that is, “to consent is to form the intention to forgo one’s moral complaint against another’s act.”47  Moreover, Alexander states that the ability to consent to a boundary-crossing act relies on several factors, including capacity, information and motivation. Capacity presupposes several aspects, such as the right age, the lack of mental disease or irrationality, the absence of intoxication and the presence of a minimum self-control. It is, in other words, “the capacity to be an autonomous and responsible agent.”48 Information refers to the absence of false beliefs which sometimes might vitiate consent, by destroying the identity between the act consented to and the act actually performed. Still, Alexander warns, not all false beliefs are serious enough to negate consent.  Finally, motivation is a broad category which might be divided into two subclasses: offers and threats. In theory, the former subcategory cannot vitiate consent, even if some offers are fraudulent and morally wrong (such as the promise to cure an incurable disease in exchange for sex). Threats, on the other hand, can vitiate consent if serious enough (death, bodily harm, etc.), but are irrelevant if the victim would have consented to the act even in the absence of the threat. There are other background motivations impacting on the issue of consent, such as unwarranted and warranted hopes and fears.                                                            45 Alexander, 166. 46 Ibid., 166. 47 Ibid. 48 Ibid., 167. 25   Alexander further notes that consent obtained in the situations examined above (with offers, legitimate or not, veridical or not, but not with threats) still counts as consent, even if it is based on mistaken beliefs or false promises, because “even valid moral objections to choice situations do not vitiate consent.” Basically, according to Alexander, “one consents to an act when, acting with the capacity necessary for autonomous, responsible agency, one chooses to forgo valid rights-based moral objections to the act (…) and to the alternative presented by the actor that motivates the choice to forgo such objections.”49  On the other hand, threats against the victim’s rights seriously vitiate her consent, “even if the interests threatened are trivial, unrelated to physical security, and not protected by the criminal law.”50 Still, this would not make all nonconsensual sex morally wrong or liable to becoming a criminal case. 51  Hurd and Alexander’s analyses of consent are important insofar as they provide an in-depth examination of what consent is—that is, of its propositional content—and of the circumstances that could determine or even vitiate consent, such as capacity, information, and motivation. The two authors’ theoretical failures stem from their inability to envision any other context than the liberal framework where all individuals enjoy perfectly similar rights and obligations. When Hurd, for instance, insists on striking a balance between the circumstances which nullify consent and those which eliminate criminal liability, she obviously assumes that victim and defendant are fundamentally equal individuals, similarly affected by circumstances such as age or alcohol. Needless to say, she also neglects all                                                           49 Ibid., 172. 50 Ibid., 173. 51 Alexander offers the example of threatening someone with a pinch in order to force consent and argues that if someone consents to sex, as a result of such a threat, then sex is, technically, non-consensual. To the person consenting, however, non-consensual sex is less of a violation than a pinch, in which case this particular example of non-consensul sex becomes unprosecutable. Ibid., 173. 26  potential hierarchical arrangements, caused by age, race, class or gender disparities, as well as the effect of gender roles and cultural expectations in shaping individual reactions to similar situations. Ultimately, both articles on the “moral magic of consent” are highly abstract debates around a highly abstract notion of consent, enacted in a rarefied philosophical sphere in which the semantic categories remain stable and the “real world” does not interfere to destabilize them.  A more balanced view on the consent aspect of the rape definition comes from philosophy scholar David Archard, who attempts to define the ethical wrong of rape as caused by its non-consensual nature.52 His position comes as a reaction to those views that deny that non-consensual sex is always wrong and that feel that a definition of rape should either be limited to the coercive aspect of the crime or to a conjunctive use of both the element of force and of non-consent. While in the case of forcible rape, its wrong is almost never disputed, in the case of NCS (non-consensual sex)53 there are opinions which dismiss its wrongfulness, often on account of the victims’ own view that what happened to them is not rape. Nevertheless, Archard persists in claiming that all NCS, independently of the circumstances, is seriously wrongful, even if not always harmful.  Firstly, by distinguishing between hurt (“experienced pain, displeasure, discomfort”), harm (“a setback to another’s interests”) and wrong (“an indefensible setback to another’s interests”54), Archard allows room for complex situations and ambiguous positions (such as harmless rape, the one of which a woman is not aware), while maintaining that the essential wrong of rape is that it is “a violation of the woman’s sexual integrity.”55                                                            52 David Archard, “The Wrong of Rape.” The Philosophical Quarterly Vol. 57, No.228 (2007): 374-393. 53 Archard prefers the use of this acronym throughout the article.  54 Ibid., 378. 55Ibid., 379. 27  Secondly, Archard allows for the existence of two categories: core and aggravating harms, the former referring to those harms applying to all cases of rape, while the latter referring strictly to particular circumstances typical of specific cases of rape. Another division is between direct and indirect harms, the first category referring to harms affecting only the victims of rape, while the second to harms affecting the entire category of women (such as the fear of rape). The essential wrong of rape, Archard contends, stems from the core, direct harms it causes.  Finally, Archard supports his view that all NCS is wrongful by referring to two models for understanding the importance of interests: in the network model, an interest is important in its relation to other interests, while in the spatial model its importance is determined by its proximity to the individual self. The former arrangement would discount rape as less important than enforced labor (because the latter interferes with many other interests, while rape does not), while the latter would place extreme emphasis on rape, because it affects sexuality, an issue at the core of human identity. NCS becomes thus, via sexuality, an extremely wrongful crime against the self: Human beings are fundamentally sexed beings. This is true whatever the interests humans variously happen to have in sex and however they variously think of themselves. Insofar as this is the case, humans have a central interest in their sexual integrity not being violated. The claim that rape defined as NCS is seriously wrongful ultimately derives support from an objectivist view that humans are sexed beings.56 Archard’s intervention is overall beneficial to raising awareness of the wrongness of non-consensual intercourse, without however criminalizing each such encounter on account of the lack of consent. He thus manages to criticize NCS as morally wrong, to show why it is                                                           56 Ibid., 392. 28  so without falling into the trap of seeing women as victims. Unlike Hurd and Alexander, whose approach to the issue of consent was overly-preoccupied with the legal applicability of their theories, Archard delivers a purely philosophical argument which focuses primarily on the ethical wrongness of the act of rape, allowing for more freedom in approaching the phenomenon in the absence of the need for rigid legal taxonomies.   1. 3. 2. 2. The Preeminence of Coercion On the other side of the coercion–consent debate, there are scholars and philosophers who argue for prioritizing the coercion aspect of the legal definition of rape, claiming that it allows for a better legal categorization of rape and of related sexual crimes. This faction is further divided into two camps that focus on two tenets of the liberal feminist theory of rape: the violent nature of the act, which associates it more with assault than with a normal heterosexual act, and the role of rape in enforcing and maintaining gender hierarchy.  A representative of the first camp is Donald Dripps, who argues for the replacing of the legal definition of rape with one that emphasizes its forceful dimension and, as a result, the replacing of the former category of rape as crime with several statutory offenses that would better reflect various degrees of criminal liability.57  The changes Dripps proposes take into account the concept of sexual autonomy, which he defines as “the freedom to refuse to have sex with anyone for any reason”58 and which represents, in effect, the property rights over one’s own body. This particular view of sex is termed the “commodification theory,” according to which “sexual cooperation is a service much like any other, which individuals, have a right to offer for compensation, or not,                                                           57 Donald Dripps, “Beyond Rape: An Essay on the Difference between the Presence of Force and the Absence of Consent.” Columbia Law Review 92: 7 (1992): 1780-1809. 58 Ibid., 1785.  29  as they choose.”59 This sexual autonomy is, however, relative and can be burdened by various constraints, some violent, others not, some immoral, others outright criminal. Examining several hypothetical cases, Dripps reaches the conclusion that some constraints are legitimate while others are illegitimate—pressuring a minor, for instance, is always illegitimate, while pressuring an adult woman is not, in his opinion.  Dripps further proposes the treatment of sexual assets (e.g.,. attractiveness) as any other economic asset that people have the right to bargain for, exchange, sell and so on. Dismissing feminist views that consider such bargaining relationships as ultimately exploitative, he retorts that not only sexual bargaining, but “all human cooperation, sexual and otherwise, is caused by unequal, and from the individual standpoint, arbitrary pressures.”60 Moreover, in his view, “there is good reason to believe that the inequality of women in sexual bargaining is less than their inequality in commercial bargaining.”61 Based on his “commodification theory,” Dripps then turns to rape laws and suggests potential reforms: he defines as “sexually motivated assault”62 sexual submission ensured through physical violence (rough sex would not be forbidden, because it would mean consent to violence, not to sex) and argues for severe punishment because of the violence of the crime. Dripps admits that his view devalues the sexual nature of the act, but he considers his suggestion worthwhile because to him, “violence is more dangerous and more culpable than an unwelcome sex act.”63 Another category subsumed by the current term of “rape” would include “sexual expropriation,” which refers to “those pressures to cause sexual cooperation, short of                                                           59 Ibid., 1786.  60 Ibid., 1791. 61 Ibid., 1791. 62 Ibid., 1797. 63 Ibid., 1799. 30  violence, that deserve to be punished as crimes.”64 Using the “sex as money” comparison, Dripps claims that sexual expropriation is to sexually motivated assault what larceny is to robbery and suggests that it should be punished accordingly, i.e., less seriously. Dripps’s anti-feminist arguments did not fail to elicit responses. Jefferey A. Gauthier, in an article intended as a defense of “recent attempts to move away from consent as a criterion for rape by considering the nature of sexual relations under the coercive conditions of a sexist society,”65 designates Dripps’s “commodification theory” as a backlash reaction to feminist writers Martha Chamallas, who proposed that “mutuality rather than consent ought to be the measure of non-coercion in sexual relationships,”66 and Lois Pineau, who advanced a model of “communicative sexuality,” according to which “the absence or presence of consent should be measured by the absence or presence of an ongoing communication between the sexual partners.”67 In Gauthier’s opinion, Dripps’s theory is not entirely incompatible with the feminist notion of mutuality, yet it does display certain blind spots in relation to the sexist society in that Dripps suggests sexuality be perceived as the object of an equal bargaining between men and women: “ Dripps’s treatment of sex as the object of bargaining omits the fact that politically disadvantaged parties consent to coercive bargains all the time in various kinds of markets. In short, Dripps’s analysis falters because, despite his acknowledgment of some of the shortcomings of the law’s current treatment of the crime of rape, he fails                                                           64 Ibid., 1799.  65 Jeffrey A. Gauthier, “Consent, Coercion and Sexual Autonomy,” in A Most Detestable Crime: New Philosophical Essays on Rape, ed. Keith Burgess-Jackson (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999): 71-92; 72. 66 Ibid., 76. 67 Ibid., 76. 31  to recognize either the crime or its treatment as symptomatic of a political system of sexual exploitation.68 Another rather anti-feminist take on the preeminence of coercion in the legal definition of rape comes from philosophy scholar and self-proclaimed feminist Sarah Conly.69 Her main argument is predicated on the question of whether verbal pressure and fear of emotional harm is sufficient cause to transform sexual intercourse into rape. In particular, she is interested in discovering exactly what type of psychological pressure is necessary in order to negate consent.  Some views hold that the entire gender-class system of the U.S. is enough to invalidate consent; others claim that consent is negated by a woman’s unwillingness to engage in intercourse despite her expression of consent; still others state that what matters is what the woman feels (violated or not). In Conly’s opinion, however, the focus should be on the kinds of means that were used to bring sex about, such as emotional pressure, pursuit in the face of opposition, and psychological force.  While agreeing that some forms of discourse have an undeniable potency, Conly warns that one should not discredit a woman’s agency by claiming that she has no resources in the face of powerful male speech acts: “Accepting that psychological pressure could be a means to rape wrongly suggests that women are weak-minded, prone to collapse under ‘emotional pressure’ and to concede to the desires of the stronger-minded male.”70 At the same time, Conly accepts that coercion does exist and suggests several criteria required for identifying it: intent, which refers to the fact that the coercer is doing what he does intentionally (also referred to as mens rea); choice, according to which “it is possible                                                           68 Ibid., 79. 69 Sarah Conly, “Seduction, Rape, and Coercion.” Ethics 115: 1 (2004): 96-121.  70 Ibid., 103. 32  that, in some cases of psychological pressure, the victim of pressure is so demoralized as to literally lose the ability to choose”71; harm, which applies to those situations in which the person coerced has no reasonable choice between doing what the coercer wants and other bad options. Each of the three criteria has further gradations: different degrees of harm result from different degrees of coercion. A fourth criterion is legitimacy, which questions the coercer’s position from the point of view of its legitimacy/illegitimacy to make certain demands of the victim.  Consequently, because certain types of coercion are legitimate, deciding to give in to them is at most poor decision-making or weakness of will, something that cannot be invoked when accusing someone of rape. A perfect example of taking advantage of someone’s weakness of will is seduction. Although often mistaken for rape (because it puts pressure on the woman to do something she might not have done otherwise), seduction is, in Conly’s opinion, “if a man consciously tries to undercut a woman’s decision-making process by arousing emotion.”72 She further assumes that attraction and desire preexist in the seduced woman, so that the seducer only acts to enhance these preexistent feelings by exploiting a vulnerability or disrupting logical thought. Moreover, because the need to persuade others to do what we want is considered a normal, natural desire, Conly claims that as long as it is done within its legitimate limits, one person has the right to try and persuade another to have sex and that sex should be the object of a negotiation. Law should, therefore, distinguish between seduction and rape as between money loss and robbery and between various types of rape as well (extortion rape vs. violent rape).  Ultimately, to Conly rape is no different from property crimes and “laws need to be                                                           71 Ibid., 105. 72 Ibid., 113. 33  expanded to recognize sexual coercion in areas where it already recognizes monetary coercion.”73 A direct answer to Conly’s article comes from philosophy scholar Scott A. Anderson, whose approach to the issue of coercion places him in the second camp, which focuses on the role rape plays in establishing and maintaining gender disparities.74 Basically, Anderson claims that “treating pressure to have sex like any other sort of interpersonal pressure obscures the role such sexual pressure might play in supporting gender hierarchy.”75 The ground on which Anderson first confronts Conly is the debate surrounding seduction and its potentially ethical wrongness, which stems from the fact that “background forces and injustices—systematic gender hierarchy, for instance—empower some seducers and weaken their targets.”76 In other words, Anderson suggests that without understanding the importance of the wider context in which sexual pressures used by seducers occur one cannot actually understand what is wrong with them.  Psychological pressure is one form of furthering a sexual relation that is often considered morally if not legally suspect, but that, when compared to the use of physical force in cases of rape, appears to be rather trivial. Conly tends to define seduction and the use of some types of psychological pressure as exploitation of an individual’s weakness of will. Anderson, on the other hand, considers that “the generic way in which Conly treats ethical judgment about sex (…) is insensitive to the special context of sex and sexuality that gives                                                           73 Ibid., 120. 74 Scott A. Anderson, “Sex Under Pressure: Jerks, Boorish Behavior and Gender Hierarchy.” Res Publica 11(2005): 349-369. 75 Anderson, 2005, 349. 76 Ibid., 349. 34  sexual pressure its particular urgency”77 and accuses Conly of “a sort of liberalism that remains unmoved by her expressed feminist concerns.”78  Regarding the question of why women often submit to men’s pressures and what power men have to coerce women into sex, Anderson insists that to answer these questions one must carefully look at the context in which pressure and submission occur, because institutional, social, and relational factors conspire to make such pressures viable. Moreover, “men pressuring women into sex takes place against a background in which men and women differ in their ability to use or resist violent attacks.”79 Thus, firstly, men are physically able to face threats that most women cannot handle; secondly, because male pressure is more likely to escalate into violence, women have more reasons to fear men than the opposite; thirdly, unlike most men, women often face sexual pressures which are more diffuse and cumulative. Anderson takes his approach to rape a step further by proposing a legal reform in which the definition of rape is centered on the concept of coercion instead of that of consent, heavily used so far and still predominantly supported by legal scholars.80 At the same time, he advances a new taxonomy to be used in rape legislation; thus, rape would refer to “penetrative sex by means of direct force, or threats of force or violence, or penetrative sex against the will of the victim where use of force, violence, or physical intimidation are in the offing,”81 sexual assault would cover cases of rape, but also “illegal, unwanted sexual touching, uses of direct force or threats of force or violence as a means to sexual conduct                                                           77 Ibid., 356. 78 Ibid., 357. 79 Ibid., 366.  80 Scott A. Anderson, “Rape and Other Varieties of Unlawful Coercive Sexual Abuse.” Unpublished presentation resume (September 8, 2008). 81 Ibid., 1. 35  other than penetrative sex, and sexual touching and intercourse with someone who is physically or mentally incapable of resisting or rebuffing the activity,”82 and sexual abuse would refer to both sexual assault and “(1) the use of certain illicit, non-violent, non-forceful threats to achieve sexual ends including intercourse and other forms of sexual conduct; (2) the use of authority (…) for purpose of obtaining sexual favors; (3) taking sexual advantage of minors by adults; (4) the use of certain kinds of fraud or deceit to induce someone to engage in or submit to sexual conduct that they would refuse if undeceived.”83  Another direction in which Anderson develops his argument is towards demonstrating that sexual abuse is mostly a gendered crime which actively contributes to the prevalence of gender oppression in society. He further believes that by focusing on the non-consent aspect of the sexual crime, one fails to understand what is truly wrongful about these sexual impositions, because not all cases of missing consent are equally problematic in regard to the women involved. Sexual violations are wrong, in Anderson’s opinion, not only because they are unjust expropriations or disrespectful of an individual’s autonomy and bodily integrity, but because, as a gendered crime, they contribute to a more systematic structure of gender oppression: “While one can define sexual abuse in terms of disrespect for consent, what this leaves out of account are the interpersonal and social power dynamics that explain how such abuse is possible to begin with. These power dynamics are typically gendered in a way that reflects male dominance.”84 On the other hand, focusing on the coercive element in rape allows for multiple and variable situations of sexual violation to fit into his proposed legal taxonomy.                                                           82 Ibid., 1. 83 Ibid., 1-2. 84 Ibid., 22.  36  Anderson’s approach to coercion and his attempt at legal reform are highly sensitive to feminist concerns, such as the focus on gender hierarchies and their relationship with the use of psychological pressure during heterosexual intercourse. Some call it seduction; he calls it “boorishness.”85 At the same time, he remains considerate enough to neither transform women into mere victims of gender hierarchies nor blame them for lack of will and poor decision-making. His discussion of seduction in the context of the hierarchical structures of gender relations is particularly helpful in de-romanticizing courtship practices, for, if the man’s aggressive pursuit of a woman is taken as an expression of power at least as much as an expression of passion, one needs to seriously reevaluate the instances in which women “succumb” to male seduction and wonder how much this submission was caused by genuine desire and how much was an effect of power disparity. Finally, his new rape taxonomy can prove extremely useful, if only as an effective example, in an alternative approach to rape in a context where issues related to consent or lack thereof can sometimes be difficult to demonstrate.   1. 4. Theories of Rape and Pre-modern Japanese Literature  In addition to law and philosophy, contemporary theories of rape also influenced the works of scholars of literature, cultural studies and art. A deep interest in the topic of rape colored approaches to popular literature, with seminal works in the field such as Tania Modleski’s Loving With a Vengeance,86 and Janice Radway’s Reading the Romance87 discussing representations of rape in popular romances, and in art, with authors such as A.W.                                                           85 Anderson, “Sex Under Pressure,” 2005, 349.  86 Tania Modleski, Loving With a Vengeance: Mass-produced Fantasies for Women (New York: Routledge, 2008, c. 1982).  87 Janice Radway, Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy, and Popular Literature (Chapell Hill: University of Carolina Press, 1991, c. 1984).  37  Eaton and Diane Wolfthal investigating heroic rape in classical European painting and medieval rape imagery respectively;88 in cinema, in the works of scholars such as Deborah Cheney and Sarah Projanski, focusing on representations of rape in American films.89  Literary and interdisciplinary approaches to rape abound: Angeliki E. Laiou’s volume focusing on studies of rape in Ancient Greece and Rome, the Byzantine Empire and Western Medieval Europe;90 Kathryn Gravdal’s investigation of rape in medieval French literature and law’91  and Corinne Saunders’s exploration of the literature of medieval England in search of representations of rape92 are but a few of a plethora of studies preoccupied with rape and its literary and extra-literary representations. These authors are very much indebted to feminist theories of rape; in fact, most of the monographs mentioned here open with an ample review of feminist writings on the topic and most authors openly trace their interest in rape to the influence of feminist scholarship. Nevertheless, when it comes to the core of their analyses, they detach themselves from contemporary approaches in favor of a reading of representations of rape very much grounded in the historical context they scrutinize. As Saunders aptly phrases it, the risks of contemporary scholarship focusing on historical representations of rape are immense:  Anachronisms and ahistorical generalisations are a perpetual risk if,  as is often and perhaps necessarily the case, we insist on interpreting, for instance, the medieval                                                           88 A. W. Eaton, “Where Ethics and Aesthetics Meet: Titian's Rape of Europa.” Hypatia 18: 4, Women, Art, and Aesthetics (2003): 159-188 and Diane Wolfthal, “"A Hue and a Cry": Medieval Rape Imagery and Its Transformation.” The Art Bulletin 75: 1 (1993), 39-64.  89 Deborah Cheney, “Visual Rape.” Law and Critique 4: 2 (1993): 189-206 and Sarah Projanski, “The Elusive/ Ubiquitous Representation of Rape: A Historical Survey of Rape in U.S. Films, 1903-1972.” Cinema Journal 41:1 (2001): 63-90. 90 Angeliki E. Laiou, ed. Consent and Coercion to Sex and Marriage in Ancient and Medieval Societies (Washington:  Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1993).  91 Kathryn Gravdal, Ravishing Maidens: Writing Rape in Medieval French Literature and Law (Philadelphia : University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991).  92 Corinne Saunders, Rape and Ravishment in the Literature of Medieval England (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2001).  38  period as though its deep structures were (even if those living within that century were blissfully unaware of the fact) identical with those at the start of the twenty-first century.… At the same time, the opposed danger, sometimes incurred by the scholars whose entire preoccupation is with the accurate establishment of a text or the elucidation of a legal nicety, is that of producing work that seems willfully ignorant of modern interpretations and complacently contemptuous of the general reader.93 Torn between these two conflicting yet equally disturbing possibilities, most scholars use contemporary theories of rape as a frame for their research which focuses, at its core, on textual analyses supplemented by studies of rape in the legal, religious, philosophical or medical discourses of the time period under investigation. This approach is usually successful in presenting a larger picture and capturing both hegemonic and marginal discourses on the rape phenomenon, yet its efficiency is entirely determined by the existence of discourses alternative to literature. The question that arises is how to proceed when such parallel discourses are scarce or completely absent.   When compared to the overabundance of studies of rape in European literatures, the very small number of similar studies in the case of pre-modern Japanese literature is relevant in itself. Part of the reason for this absence is, on the one hand, the lack of useful data regarding the legal and even religious discourses on rape prior to the twelfth century—the beginning of the Kamakura period—94 and on the other hand the unwillingness of many                                                           93 Saunders, Rape and Ravishment, 2.  94 Kamakura period (1185 – 1333) marked the rise of the warrior class and, with it, a greater interest in the legal treatment of rape. For more information of the topic, see Hitomi Tonomura, “Sexual Violence Against Women: Legal and Extralegal Treatment in Premodern Warrior Societies,” in Women and Class in Japanese History, ed. Hitomi Tonomura, Anne Walthall and Wakita Haruko (Ann Arabor: Center for Japanese Studies, The University of Michigan, 1999): 135-153. 39  scholars to integrate contemporary feminist theories of rape into their approaches to the pre-modern context.95   The present study is built on the premise that by using contemporary feminist theories of rape to make up for the lack of extra-literary data, one can achieve a much better understanding of representations of rape in pre-modern Japanese literature and gain the necessary tools to investigate them. Given the significant developments of feminist scholarship on rape, it would simply be unwise to completely exclude it from an investigation of the rape phenomenon, albeit one which focuses on a context temporally, spatially and culturally remote from the circumstances of their original production. Furthermore, it would be disingenuous to pretend that their influence can simply be checked-in with the final lines of the introduction.   My approach comes with its own set of risks, as do all readerly positions, conscious or not, because, as one scholar of Japanese literature, Richard Okada, warned:  the particular (though often assumed to be universal) positions of readerly construction (…) become moments at which the question of ‘ideology’ enters. From positions always already constructed at particular sociocultural coordinates, the reader ‘reads,” that is, ‘re-creates,’ the text and in doing so is apt to merge positions—the ones attributable to the text and the ones offered by the reader’s cultural perspective—that may very well be incommensurable and only result from an act of interpretative violence.”96                                                           95 Japanese scholars such as Komashaku Kimi and Setouchi Jakuchō were often criticized for their excessively feminist approaches to pre-modern Japanese literature, for twisting literary examples to fit contemporary theories, in other words, for reading every sexual encounter as a case for rape simply because it occurred in a context of gender inequality.  96 Richard H. Okada, Figures of Resistance: Language, Poetry and Narrating in The Tale of Genji and Other Mid-Heian Texts (Durham: Duke University Press, 1991): 4-5. 40  The danger of bending texts to one’s own ends, the threat of universalizing the rape phenomenon, the risk of reading back into pre-modern Japanese literature concepts that might have been unintelligible to authors and readers of that time period darken the present approach; still, by being exposed to light, these shadows are somewhat diminished. Moreover, by openly engaging with contemporary feminist theories of rape, this study allows for a constant questioning of its own ideological position.   What is it then that the feminist scholarship on rape can bring to an investigation of this phenomenon in pre-modern Japanese tale literature of the ninth to the thirteenth centuries? Each school of thought—the liberal, the radical, and the postmodern—comes with its own contributions. One benefits, furthermore, from the recent philosophical debates centered on the coercion-consent legal definition of rape.  Under the influence of scholars of the liberal tradition, such as Susan Brownmiller, one is prompted to interrogate the relationship between rape and the social, political and economic situation of women. Presented as a tool of domination and control in a context of gender disparity and as a product of male dominance, rape becomes thus both a symptom and an effect of gender hierarchies. It becomes imperative, therefore, to approach it in conjunction with a careful analysis of its circumstances. One must, therefore, be extremely sensitive to the class and gender positions of the characters involved in rape incidents in the texts analyzed and examine how their particular circumstances affect their victimization.  Another characteristic of Brownmiller’s approach to rape is her insistence on its violent nature. Normally, this would translate into a scrupulous investigation of material evidence indicative of rape. This strategy is, however, doubly problematic: on the one hand, it is too uncomfortably reminiscent of traditional attitudes toward rape, which insisted on 41  focusing on the visible and so-called “objective” proofs of rape; while on the other, it assumes that the degree of violence employed in rape incidents is always fairly constant and not subjected to cultural variables. In order, therefore, to make sense of the violent dimension of rape in a pre-modern society, one must take into account the cultural limitations imposed on the use of violence in social relationships. In an age when capital punishment was generally avoided even in extremely serious circumstances, one should expect to find an overall different degree of violence employed in rape incidents as well; in other words, one must be aware that sexual violence in the Heian and Kamakura monogatari context will rarely if ever take the form of scratches and bruises. Instead, it will disguise rather as more inconspicuous reactions on the women’s part, sometimes as very subtle forms of psychological distress.    A final aspect of Brownmiller’s theory worth taking into account in an investigation of literary representations of rape in pre-modern Japanese literature is the insistence on the social and cultural conditioning of women as victims. In contemporary society, this translates as the permanent reinforcing of such ideas as women’s physical inability to resist rape, their responsibility to avoid rape-favoring circumstances, and the limiting of their overall mobility in the name of their physical security. One detects similar strategies at work in the pre-modern Japanese context: perfect isolation and inaccessibility are highlighted as the best strategies to avoid male sexual aggression. In addition to this hegemonic view on femininity, one notices, moreover, alternative discourses which allow for subversive feminine positions contrasting the victim stereotype. Investigating, therefore, not only incidents of rape, but also successful resistance to rape contributes to a better understanding of the limits of the hegemonic scripts regulating gender roles and of the possibilities of feminine agency.  42   Radical feminist theories of rape, developed by MacKinnon and Dworkin in particular, contribute an alternative approach to the rape phenomenon in pre-modern Japanese literature by focusing the analysis on the relationship between rape and regular intercourse. These scholars’ claim, that under conditions of male domination the two acts are practically undistinguishable, requires further examination: if it were so, the vast majority of sexual encounters in classical Japanese tales could be categorized as incidents of rape. Unfortunately, this approach has already been tried and proved unsuccessful because of its sweeping generalizations and lack of careful consideration of the texts. What remains, thus, is to credit MacKinnon and Dworkin’s critics, who claim that there is indeed a difference between regular heterosexual intercourse and rape and to look for that difference by comparing potential representations of rape with what is unarguably considered unproblematic, regular intercourse. It means, in other words, to develop a picture of rape starting with the negative, with what is not rape, following MacKinnon’s own advice on investigating the rape phenomenon: “To know what is wrong with rape, know what is right about sex.”97   Secondly, the pessimistic view radical feminism has on women’s possibilities of resistance serves as motivation for an inquiry into similar possibilities or lack thereof available to women within classical Japanese tales. As stated before, the strategies of resisting rape in literary works deserve further investigation, in terms of their efficiency in the textual context. Ranging from isolation and flight to self-imposed chastity and stubborn refusal to marry, feminine resistance to male sexual aggression in classical Japanese tales speaks loudly of agency and power and is necessary to relieve the gloom of an investigation into the rape phenomenon.                                                            97 MacKinnon, Towards a Feminist Theory, 174.  43   With the work of post-modern or Third-Wave feminists such as Ann Cahill, this investigation of literary representations of rape gains a new dimension: Cahill’s insistence on interpreting rape as an embodied experience raises the question how the female body was constructed in pre-modern Japanese literary works and what its relationship to representations of rape was. To put it differently, if, as Cahill claims, rape plays a decisive role in the construction of the female body as sexually different, then what exactly is its visible contribution to bodily representations in Japanese tale literature? The issue of visibility takes center stage at this point because, as all scholars of pre-modern Japanese literature know, the female body is often erased, rendered invisible in episodes of sexual encounters, being replaced metonymically by hair or clothing. What this study will argue, then, is that rape makes the female body visible again, albeit through very subtle elements; it furthermore owes this realization to Cahill’s emphatic insistence that one must interpret rape as an act grounded in the physical reality of the body and not only as a strategy of social and political domination.   Another important aspect of Cahill’s approach to rape is her engagement with the Foucauldian theory of the body as a site of power and of resistance,98 that is, as a product of rape, but also a site of feminine agency. When applied to pre-modern Japanese literary representations of the female body, this dual perspective generates a new series of questions, such as how one can reconcile the idea of “disembodied” female characters with that of feminine agency. An immediate answer would be to detect the minutest representations of the female body and interpret them as potential expressions of agency, all the more so since the heroines of classical tales are generally marked by an absence of concrete physical                                                           98 See chapter five of Cahill’s Rethinking Rape, “A Phenomenology of Fear: The Threat of Rape and Feminine Bodily Comportment,” pp. 143-166. See also Ann J. Cahill, “Foucault, Rape, and the Construction of the Feminine Body.” Hypatia 15: 1 (2000): 43-63.  44  attributes. In this context, expressions of physical pain and psychological distress—together with metonymical images of bodily fluids such as sweat or tears—often stand as markers of feminine resistance to male sexual aggression or as effects of this aggression on the female body.   It becomes evident that representations of the body are central to discussing representations of rape in classical Japanese tale literature, serving at the same time as yet another element that could help distinguish between the act of rape and that of normal intercourse. By comparing the female body in a rape incident with that in a regular sexual encounter, one gains a priceless tool in identifying and isolating representations of rape, in determining how rape and consensual sex are actually different.   Turning finally to the philosophical debate surrounding the preeminence of coercion or consent in the legal definition of rape, let us incorporate here Catherine MacKinnon’s view on the issue of consent, which, in her opinion, is irrelevant under conditions of gender inequality, independently of the context: Man proposes, woman disposes. Even the ideal in it is not mutual. Apart from the disparate consequences of refusal, this model does not envision a situation the woman controls being placed in, or choices she frames. Yet the consequences are attributed to her as if the sexes began at arm’s length, on equal terrain, and in the contract fiction.99 In negating consent, MacKinnon comes close to sharing the opinion of one scholar of pre-modern Japanese literature, Royall Tyler, who claims, in relation to heroines of classical Japanese tales, that their reactions to first intercourse can never betray consent or sexual                                                           99 MacKinnon, Towards a Feminist Theory, 174. 45  interest, as only ignorance of sex can be the mark of a proper young lady.100 The difference between the two is that while MacKinnon assumes that a woman has no possibility to reject a man’s sexual advances by refusing to consent, Tyler assumes that consent is not something the Heian-period unmarried woman of a certain class can express freely. Both scholars, however, can be proven wrong in their own ways, by addressing those particular instances that can be read as feminine consent to intercourse or, even better, by examining concrete examples that constitute resistance and rejection. One can argue, moreover, that in the world of Japanese classical tales, gender hierarchy is sometimes enhanced, and sometimes evened out by class configurations. In other words, there are instances when female characters can express meaningful consent or refusal on the ground of their higher social status compared to that of their suitors, just as there are cases when women’s vulnerability is two-fold, a result of their gender and of their class.  From the Conly-Anderson debate surrounding the issues of seduction and coercion, one can gain insight into how to distinguish one from the other, smart manipulation from unscrupulous pressure. In contrast to Conly’s insensitivity to context, one must take into account aspects such as gender and class disparities when discussing the correct calibration of psychological pressure so as to fall short of coercion and into the category of seduction. Again, finding examples to illustrate various degrees of pressure and attempting to integrate them into the two categories—seduction and coercion—would probably be the safest approach.   This debate around the use of pressure in courtship situations is, furthermore, useful as a strategy to de-romanticize sexual encounters. The simplest method to do away with                                                           100 Royall Tyler, “Marriage, Rank and Rape in The Tale of Genji,” Intersections: Gender, History and Culture in the Asian Context 7 (2002); http://intersections.anu.edu.au/issue7/tyler.html, accessed May 25, 2011. 46  sexual violence in classical Japanese tales has been to present it as a natural component of courtship, as an expression of masculine desire, which also serves to satisfy a deeper yearning in women: “Rape occurs in the woman’s world of illusion; it is a ritual of love that exists in fantasy: a man says to a woman that she is so desirable that he will defy all the rules of honor and decency in order to have her.”101 By questioning courtship and seduction one is, therefore, forced to confront and question the male aggressive sexual pursuit of women.   1. 5. The Terminology of Sexual Violence and Rape in Japanese Tale Literature  The previous literature review section highlighted some of the problems I confronted in my attempt to establish a working definition for the phenomena analyzed in this study. It also made clear that, despite their technical and lexical differences, I am using rape and sexual violence interchangeably. I should, however, clarify that I am resorting to this substitution because I see the latter as an umbrella term for a variety of acts, including the former. According to my own taxonomy used in this study, the phenomenon of sexual violence incorporates, in the context of classical Japanese tales, acts and behaviors ranging from clandestine intrusion, abduction, kidnapping, and sexual harassment to attempted rape and rape.   It should be further mentioned that, of all the acts incorporated under the term of sexual violence, rape alone does not allow for multiple gender configurations apart from a very strict heterosexuality: while clandestine intrusion, sexual harassment and attempted rape                                                           101 Helen Hazen, Endless Rapture: Rape, Romance, and the Female Imagination (New York: Scribner, 1983): 8. 47  may affect male characters cross-dressing as women, rape in monogatari is successfully perpetrated exclusively by male characters against female characters.102   In their usage here, both terms, sexual violence and rape, share a series of commonalities: they are unwanted, unwelcome and unpleasant for the women involved. What this means, in view of the theories of rape previously discussed, is that the focus in the textual analyses included here is entirely on the ways women react to various types of male behavior. The heroines’ embodied experiences take precedence and are used in determining the patterns of representing sexual violence in the text. Gender and social hierarchies, expressions of consent—more precisely of feminine desire and reciprocity—and the use of force and coercion, while fundamental to the present study, are not taken as immovable rules, whereas women’s reactions, physical and psychological, become central to the analysis.   In practice, my approach to rape in this study is one that, for fear of anachronism, does not start from a rigid contemporary definition of rape in order to apply it indiscriminately to premodern texts; on the contrary, my research presupposes identifying and examining numerous episodes of sexual intercourse throughout numerous tales, many not addressed here. By closely examining the reactions of the female characters involved in these episodes, I have divided them into three categories: episodes potentially including sexual violence, episodes of mutually desirable sex, and inconclusive episodes. I then turned to the first and second categories and selected those episodes most representative for the tale in which they are featured in terms of the importance of the characters involved.  Once the textual analysis resulted in a series of words, images and phrases expressing feminine distress, anxiety, pain and trauma, I turned to the available theories on rape and                                                           102 To date, I have yet to identify an episode in which a male character abducts another male character cross-dressing as a woman.  48  tried to determine in which way these theories corroborated my findings. As already stated in the previous section, each theory examined contributed, to a greater or lesser extent, to my own approach to this phenomenon. The liberal feminist theory bade me consider the social and economic differences between the characters involved in episodes of sexual violence; the radical feminist theory inspired me to look for instances of feminine agency and desire to contrast with the episodes of sexual violence; the embodiment theory, fundamental to my approach, made the female characters’ voices and experiences a priority and determined me to explore their acts of resistance as much as their victimization; the philosophical debates on coercion and consent contributed to my understanding of how desire/consent and male aggression/violence were expressed in classical Japanese tales. While I do not always refer to these theories by name in my textual analysis, their influence is more than obvious in my approach.  One final aspect that needs explaining before getting into the core of my research is the way I address and write about the episodes of sexual violence in monogatari literature. Most frequently, I term these “representations of rape/sexual violence,” but every so often I refer to the tales’ authors “writing rape” and not “writing about rape,” as would be more natural. Behind my linguistic choices is the attempt to separate the phenomena of sexual violence and rape in the Heian and Kamakura societies, which saw the production and consumption of the tales discussed here, from the phenomena of sexual violence and rape as existing in the world of the tales. When I initially embarked upon this research, I intended to prove that there is indeed a profound connection between the two aspects: sexual violence outside and within the tales. Unfortunately, although scholars suspect and hypothesize about this possibility, there is simply not enough evidence to support such a hypothesis. Therefore, 49  in an attempt to extricate the literary phenomenon of sexual violence from the possible social phenomenon, of whose existence we do not have sufficient traces, I resort to a vocabulary that emphasizes this contrast: “representation” versus “reflection,” and “writing rape” versus “writing about rape.” By this choice, I am moreover stating that, until future scholarship succeeds in filling in the existing blanks, the two phenomena—sexual violence in Heian and Kamakura societies and sexual violence in monogatari—can and should be dealt with separately. In my research, sexual violence in the selected tales is present independent of whether sexual violence exists outside those tales or of whether the authors and readers of the tales themselves had ever experienced it first-hand. The desire to speculate remains, as does the possibility of future scholarship to close the gap between the literary and the extra-literary worlds.        50  2. “Turning into a Shadow:” Representations of Rape in Pre-Genji Monogatari Tales  2. 1. A History of the Monogatari Genre  This chapter examines the three early monogatari: Taketori monogatari 竹取物語 (The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, ca. mid-ninth century)103—the earliest extant monogatari, Utsuho monogatari 宇津保物語 (The Tale of the Cavern/ The Hollow Tree, ca. 970-983),104 and Ochikubo monogatari 落窪物語 (The Tale of the Lady Ochikubo, late tenth-century),105 investigating their textual involvement with rape, that is, whether this involvement results in representation, misrepresentation, or elision.   A first issue that requires clarification before proceeding to the actual analysis of the three texts is the use of the term monogatari. What is a monogatari and how reliable is it as a literary term? In its most basic interpretation, the word monogatari, made out of the noun mono 物 (“thing”) and the verb kataru 語る (“to talk, to speak, to tell, to narrate”), would translate as “telling of things.”106 Furthermore, according to Donald Keene, “the earliest use of the term (…) seems to have the meaning of ‘legend.’ Instances in old writings where mono was used to mean the gods or the souls of the dead have suggested to some that monogatari                                                           103 Richard H. Okada, Figures of Resistance, 61. He cites Katagiri Yōichi, Taketori monogatari, Kan’yaku Nihon no koten, vol. 10 (Shōgakukan, 1982-1988), 98-99.  104 Since Utsuho monogatari is conventionally attributed to courtier Minanoto no Shitagō, its dates coincide with its presumed author’s lifetime. Wayne P Lammers, “The Succession: Kuniyuzuri. A Translation from Utsuho monogatari,” Monumenta Nipponica 37 (2) (Summer, 1982): 139-178. 105 Inaga Keiji, “Jitsumei no jinbutsu kara shūshokukei meimei e – Ochikubo monogatari to Tsutsumi chūnagon monogatari no aida,” Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū, vol, 17 (Shōgakukan, 2000).  106 Donald Keene, Seeds in the Heart: Japanese Literature from the Earliest Times to the Late Sixteenth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 433. 51  were originally narrations about supernatural beings, both gods and the deified ancestors of the different clans.”107  However, the term monogatari also accepted an opposite meaning. Thus, Keene also remarks that “in the Heian period (794-1185) the word monogatari meant either gibberish, idle talk, or a work of prose fiction in the vernacular, as opposed to the learned language, which was classical Chinese, or kanbun.”108   A glance at the two definitions of the term, one referring to its use prior to the Heian period, the other to its use during the Heian period, reveals how unstable the notion of monogatari really is. The monogatari has a protean and polyvalent nature that allows its authors unprecedented freedom of creation, unfettered by major generic constraints, and the liberty to approach any and all topics, inasmuch as it lies at the intersection between the reality and fictitiousness.   This semantic discussion is further complicated by the fact that the monogatari genre can be thematically and stylistically divided into sub-units such as “made-up tales” (tsukuri monogatari 作り物語) and “poem-tales” (uta monogatari 歌物語), sub-units which, as Katagiri Yōichi, among others, warns, owe more to contemporary critics than to the people of the age which saw their production.109 The truth is that Heian people took liberties when assigning certain works to certain genres; the result is the survival of variant titles for the                                                           107 Ibid. Also, Konishi Jin’ichi, A History of Japanese Literature. Volume Two: The Early Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), 305. For a more sophisticated approach to monogatari, see Mitani Kuniaki, Monogatari bungaku no hōhō (Yūseidō, 1989), Mitani Kuniaki, Monogatari bungaku no gensetsu (Yūseidō, 1992), Fujii Sadakazu, Monogatari bungaku seiritsushi: furukoto, katari, monogatari (Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 1987) and Fujii Sadakazu, Monogatari riron kōgi (Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 2004). 108 Haruo Shirane, The Bridge of Dreams: A Poetics of The Tale of Genji (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987), xv. 109 Katagiri Yōichi, “Shoki monogatari no hōhō – sono denshōsei o megutte,” Taketori monogatari, Ise monogatari, Yamato monogatari, Heichū monogatari, Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū, volume 12 (Shōgakukan, 1994), 5. 52  same literary work, titles which place it into the monogatari, the nikki (memoir) or the shū (poetry collection) category. A work attributed to Izumi Shikibu (b. 976-?), a contemporary of Murasaki Shikibu (973 -1014 or 1021), the author of The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari, 源氏物, ca. 1009), circulated under three variant titles: Izumi Shikibu monogatari (The Tale of Izumi Shikibu), Izumi Shikibu nikki (The Diary of Izumi Shikibu) and Izumi Shikibu shū (The Poetry Collection of Izumi Shikibu), and hers was by no means an isolated case.110  The closest we come to grasping people’s understanding of the monogatari genre during the late Heian and early Kamakaura periods is by looking at the Mumyōzōshi 無名草子 (An Untitled Book, 1196-1202), the first extant work of prose criticism and attributed to a woman known as Shunzei’s Daughter (1118-1204). To its author, monogatari are praise-worthy as “realistic” or “possessing truth” (makoto) when they deal not necessarily with real, historically accurate events, but with events which, to the readers, seem plausible and believable, and as somewhat faulty when the events they present are supernatural, exaggerated or hard to believe (makoto shikaranu/ shikarazu).   Aspects of Sagoromo monogatari, such as its ending, with Sagoromo, a commoner, becoming the emperor, are criticized for “horribly lacking in truth” (ito osoroshiku, makoto shikaranu);111 in Mitsu no Hamamatsu (known as Hamamatsu Chūnagon monogatari), a characters’ rebirth as the Chinese Crown Prince is seen as “lacking truthfulness” (makoto shikarazu);112 most importantly, Fujiwara no Teika himself is singled out for his poor skills as a writer of monogatari. His Matsura no miya is seen as “only having the appearance of a monogatari, while containing many untruthful things” (tada keshiki bakari nite, muge ni                                                           110 For further information and clarification of the distinctions between the three genres, see Konishi Jin’ichi, A History of Japanese Literature, 251-252. 111 Matsura no miya monogatari. Mumyōzōshi, SNKBZ, volume 40 (Shōgakukan, 1999), 223. Henceforth, Mumyōzōshi, SNKBZ.  112 Ibid., 239. 53  makoto naki monodomo ni haberu naru beshi).113 Claims such as these indicate not only the critic’s valuation of what she understands as “realism,” but also her categorizing of monogatari based on their “realist” value into “realistic” and “unrealistic” or fantastic. According to this division created by Shunzei’s Daughter, Taketori monogatari would fall into the “unrealistic” monogatari category, because it contains several episodes punctuated by supernatural events and appearances; Utsuho monogatari would occupy the middle ground between “realistic” and “unrealistic”114; while Ochikubo monogatari would be a “realistic” monogatari, focusing as it does on the domestic drama of its eponymous heroine.115 Still, Shunzei’s Daughter does not address any of the three monogatari, analyzing instead the tales produced after The Tale of Genji, Murasaki Shikibu’s eleventh century masterpiece, so that it is unclear where she stands on these tales preceding it. She might have been less critical of them, however, seeing as they were some of the oldest and presumed to be important literary stepping-stones for the author of the Genji—a work that Shunzei’s Daughter places at the pinnacle of the entire monogatari genre.  To return to the initial question on the meaning of monogatari, based on the previous overview, one can assert that the term applies to works in Japanese vernacular prose (usually interspersed with poetry), narrating supernatural or commonplace events, but more often a subtle mixture of the two, usually regarded as “lies” and “fabrications” (itsuwari 偽, soragoto空言), but with a hidden potential of weaving a believable web of events that its readers come to no longer regard as worthless “gibberish.” In terms of translation, the word                                                           113 Ibid., 257. 114 For a detailed discussion of realism in Utsuho monogatari, see Kathryn Adair Herbert, “A Study of Realism in Utsuho monogatari” (Ph. D. dissertation, University of Auckland, 1984) and Marie Jacqueline Mueller, “The Nature and Origins of Realism in Utsubo monogatari” (Ph. D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1982).  115 Konishi Jin’ichi prefers the terms “fictional monogatari” and “factual monogatari,” but his distinction is also based on the Mumyōzōshi criticism of tales. See Konishi, A History of Japanese Literature, 1986, 252-260. 54  “tale” is for the time being the most neutral to take on some of the meanings associated with monogatari. “Novel” or “romance” are sometimes preferred, but, as I will strive to prove later, the two terms cannot be indiscriminately applied to each and every monogatari.  A second issue in the following analysis of the three monogatari is that of authorship. The three early texts discussed here have all been attributed to male authors: Taketori to courtiers such as Minamoto no Tōru (822-885), Archbishop Henjō (815-890), Ki no Haseo (845-912), Ki no Tsurayuki (d. 945) and Minamoto no Shitagō (911-983); Utsuho and Ochikubo to the same Minamoto no Shitagō.116 Despite its later association with women’s writing, the birth of the monogatari genre is therefore credited to male writers, as is the case of yet another genre, the nikki (memoir) with its earliest extant example written in kana,117 the Tosa nikki (935), penned by Ki no Tsurayuki.  The irony is hard to miss, if indeed one interprets the tales’ attribution as unquestionable proof of the genre’s masculine origins and one blatantly ignores almost forty years of female-authored autobiographical writings which followed Tsurayuki’s work and paved the way for the Kagerō nikki, authored by Michitsuna’s Mother. Joshua Mostow, in his At the House of Gathered Leaves, decided to focus precisely on those works that span the divide between Tosa nikki and Kagerō nikki and to point to the memoirs’ political dimension and to their authors’ active role in the cultural and political configurations of their day:                                                           116 Ibid., p. 447. He cites Mitani Eiichi and Inaga Keiji, Ochikubo monogatari, Tsutsumi chūnagon monogatari, Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū (Shōgakukan, 1972), 19-20.  117 There are journals which predate the Tosa nikki, but they were all written in kanbun, literary Chinese, by monks or courtiers. Tsurayuki’s innovation was, on the one hand, the adoption of a female persona and, on the other, the use of Japanese vernacular language. For further details, see Lynne Miyake, “The Tosa Diary: In the Interstices of Gender and Criticism,” in A Woman’s Hand: Gender and Theory in Japanese Women’s Writing, ed. by Paul Schalow and Janet Walker (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996) and Gustav Heldt, “Writing like a Man: Poetic Literacy, Textual Property, and Gender in the ‘Tosa Diary’,” The Journal of Asian Studies 64:1 (2005): 7-34. 55  These texts are important as well for the light they shed on the diary form’s relationship to politics. Only by taking these earlier nikki into consideration can the political role of women’s writings be appreciated. . . Women such as these, as well as later writers like Sei Shōnagon and Murasaki Shikibu, found ways to write for themselves and other women in the interstices of texts ultimately controlled by men.118 Tomiko Yoda, in turn, rejected the generalizing trend according to which two major Heian literary genres have an unquestionably male point of origin, claiming that the relationship between gender and genre in early Japanese literature is a far more problematic issue, all too often colored by a contemporary understanding of gender roles: Despite the association of women with the rise of vernacular literature, not only Tosa nikki but the other two representative early kana texts of unknown authorship—Ise monogatari and Taketori monogatari—are assumed to have been written by men. In other words, the discipline posits masculine agency at the critical juncture when Japanese language emerged on the stage of history as a literary discourse. Once again, overcoming the “lack” embodied by women and the feminine serves as a catalyst for the emergence of the national subject. Heian women writers and their work enter the historical stage only by following the male writers who crossed the gendered division of writing. Heian texts by women are placed between the legacy of their male forefathers’ pioneering works and echoes of the unselfconscious and natural discourse of anonymous women whose vanished voices and writings constitute the prehistory of kana literature. As one may imagine from such a pedigree, writing by Heian                                                           118 Joshua Mostow, At the House of Gathered Leaves: Shorter Biographical and Autobiographical Narratives from Japanese Court Literature (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004), 38. 56  women is all too often read through essentialized notions of gender attributes and gendered division of labor.119 Furthermore, one cannot simply assume—based solely on a handful of surviving examples— that an entire genre was brought into being out of thin air by the genius of a handful of gifted poets and literati. Any such attempt would come close to the accuracy of guessing the illustration of a thousand-piece puzzle when one only has only a handful of pieces. Indeed, by examining references in extant tales, scholars have identified by title no fewer than eighty-four monogatari no longer extant, twenty-eight of which predate The Tale of Genji and could thus have been contemporary with Utsuho and Ochikubo, if not with Taketori itself.120 It would be absurd to assume that all of them—if indeed the number comes close to representing the entire corpus of monogatari circulating between the ninth and the late tenth centuries—were written by men. The three tales selected here can reveal, at best, a limited picture of the state of the genre during the two centuries preceding The Tale of Genji, and they cannot by any means give a definite answer regarding the origins of the monogatari as a genre. Still, serendipitously, they were all presumably penned by male authors, an aspect which facilitates a debate on the connection of gender and genre. Furthermore, the fact that out of all the tales circulating during the two centuries in question, these specific three were preserved and transmitted may indicate their higher status, popularity and better alignment with the predominant social, political and cultural values of their day.                                                           119 Tomiko Yoda, Gender and National Literature: Heian Texts in the Constructions of Japanese Modernity (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004), 109. 120 Konishi, A History of Japanese Literature, 1986, pp. 312-313. The total number of lost tales is even more devastating: the late thirteen century waka anthology Fuyōshū includes 1563 poems from no fewer than 220 monogatari, of which only twenty-three are extant today. For more information, see Robert O. Khan, “Ariake no wakare: Genre, Gender, and Genealogy in a Late Twelve Century Monogatari” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of British Columbia, 1998). 57   The question remains, however, how to avoid the association between male authorship and the origins of the monogatari genre. Tomiko Yoda, as seen above, hints at the existence of numerous anonymous female voices, vanished and forgotten, who might have played a role in the development of the genre; finally, there is also the distinct possibility that among the no-longer extant tales, some of them or maybe even the majority of them, might have been written by women.   Moreover, Konishi Jin’ichi establishes a connection between the development of the monogatari genre and previous Japanese archaic narratives, that is, the myths and legends which circulated orally before the Nara period (710-794) and which were then written down in the Kojiki (Record of Ancient Matters, 古事記, 711-712) and Nihon shoki (The Chronicles of Japan, 日本書記, ca. 720), Japan’s earliest written works:121  … setsuwa are divided into two groups: those dealing with deities and those dealing with the royal house. All, in different degrees, are monogatari about superior beings and fantastic events. If we consider this point alone, that such beings and events appear in archaic narrative, little difference will be perceived between archaic narrative and early fictional monogatari. It is for this reason that stories transmitted from archaic times are thought to have been the source of early medieval fictional monogatari. Both narratives are thought to share common features. This is a reasonable view, since fictional monogatari contain a great many elements inherited from oral setsuwa.”122                                                           121 Konishi refers to these myths and legends as setsuwa, with the meaning of “story,” “narrative,” tale,” but more specifically “myth” and “legend.” Konishi Jin’ichi, A History of Japanese Literature, 139. 122 Ibid., 305. 58   Not only are ancient myths and legends and monogatari related, but, as Konishi further suggests, Hieda no Are, the depository of all those stories, the person who memorized them all and then dictated then to Ō no Yasumaro (? - 723), the scribe who penned the Kojiki and then contributed to the compilation of Nihon shoki as well, was in fact a woman. Hieda no Are was a member of the kataribe guild or clan, reciters and shamans “whose function was to transmit by memory matters of importance to the local societies and clans;”123 she might just supply us with an alternative, non-masculine point of origin for the monogatari tradition, a very appealing possibility, but one that is, unfortunately, a continuous matter of scholarly debate.124   The fluidity of the definitions assigned to the term monogatari as well as the debates generated by the issues of gender and authorship in the history of the genre invite a comparison to another genre, more familiar to Western audiences: the fairy tale. The origins of the fairy tale genre, far remote from its contemporary assignation as “children literature,” are found in the oral narratives created and transmitted by adults and answering primarily to their needs. As Jack Zipes succinctly puts it, “from the very beginning, thousands of years ago, when all types of tales were told to create communal bonds in the face of the inexplicable forces of nature, to the present, when fairy tales are written and told to provide hope in a world seemingly on the brink of catastrophe, mature men and women have been the creators and cultivators of the fairy-tale tradition.”125 The fairy tale, like the monogatari,                                                           123 Ibid., 168. 124 Among the supporters of the theory that Hieda no Are was a woman are, beside Konishi, Saigo Nobutsuna, Kojiki kenkyū (Miraisha, 1973) and Mitani Eiichi, Kojiki seiritsu no kenkyū (Yūseido, 1980), while its opponents include Mizuno Masayoshi, “Kojiki to kokugaku,” Ueda Masaaki, ed., Kojiki (Shakai Shisō Sha, 1977) and Donald Keene, Seeds in the Heart, 1999. For further details on the pros and cons of this theory, see Keene, 1999, 37-38. 125 Jack Zipes, When Dreams Come True: Classical Fairy Tales and Their Tradition (New York: Routledge, 2007), 1.  59  shares a series of features with ancient myths and legends and, more importantly, a similar history in its involvement with the issues of authorship and gender. In Zipes’s words, The first stage for the literary fairy tale involved a kind of class and perhaps even gender appropriation. The voices of the nonliterate tellers were submerged, and since women in most cases were not allowed to be scribes, the tales were scripted according to male dictates or fantasies, even though they may have been told by women. Put crudely, one could say that the literary appropriation of the oral wonder tales served the hegemonic interests of males within the upper classes of particular communities and societies, and to a great extent, this is true. However, such a crude statement must be qualified, for the writing down of the tales also preserved a great deal of the value system of those deprived of power. The more the literary fairy tale was cultivated and developed, the more it became individualized and varied by intellectuals and artists, who often sympathized with the marginalized in society or were marginalized themselves. The literary fairy tale allowed for new possibilities of subversion in the written word and in print; therefore, it was always looked upon with misgivings by the governing authorities in the civilization process.126 Three ideas expressed in the paragraph above are of immediate import to this analysis of Japanese monogatari: 1) the fact that female oral narratives were often appropriated by male scribes; 2) that they were made to serve hegemonic socio-cultural scripts; and 3) that sometimes they retained remarkable possibilities of subverting those same scripts they were supposed to uphold. Hieda no Are’s case comes to mind when thinking about male appropriation, as do the multiple lacunae punctuating early monogatari history. As for the                                                           126 Ibid., 7. 60  tales’ interaction with and resistance to hegemonic scripts, this will be something my analysis will attempt to elucidate.  The similarities between the three early monogatari discussed here and the Western fairy tale tradition extend beyond possible similar origins and comparable interplay of gender and authorship, but these similarities will be detailed in the analysis of the three texts. Ultimately, the main purpose of this comparison of genres is to help illuminate the respective representations/misrepresentations/elisions of rape in the three selected monogatari.   As previously discussed, the three texts can be divided into “unrealistic”—Taketori– and “realistic”—Ochikubo—with Utsuho occupying the middle ground. If, however, one attempts a similar division based on their particular representations of rape, the two categories arising are 1) tales which conspicuously attempt to avoid the topic—Taketori, Utsuho—and 2) tales which directly represent (or misrepresent) rape—Ochikubo.   The following pages will, therefore, examine those tales in which the very absence of episodes of sexual violence in a context otherwise rich with possibilities for its representation is itself a conspicuous choice. I will also analyze how, despite their authors’ attempts to sanitize gender relations by eliding sexual violence entirely, the role models they propose are by no means compliant with existing patriarchal gender roles. Next, the analysis will turn to the only early tale in which rape is clearly represented and which employs it as an effective narrative strategy meant to support patriarchal gender roles.  2. 2. The Disappearing Heroine: Textual Management of Rape in Taketori monogatari   Taketori monogatari, the earliest extant example of its genre, is also the closest, in terms of its plot, to the oral tradition of the fairy tales. Richard H. Okada, who dedicates a 61  very detailed investigation to what he calls the “Taketori pretexts,” identifies four possible sources of stories related to the Taketori text.127 Prominent among them is the Hagoromo line, encountered in various oral and written narratives throughout Asia and the West. Kawai Hayao summarizes this narrative as follows: Parallel to stories about Kaguya-hime are Hagoromo (feather cloak) legends about tennyo (angel) wives in the fairy tale category, with many variations widely spread in Japan. Stories about a woman who originally lives in the heavenly realm but appears in this one are found all over the world, but often a princess who gets changed into a swan by a magical spell (…).128 Kawai refers here to stories in which a heavenly maiden, impressed by the kindness and generosity of a poor, but dignified human man, decides to leave her lofty heavens, descend to earth, and marry the kind soul as a reward for his behavior.   A variation of the Hagoromo story is the legend included in the Tango fudoki (The Chronicles of the Tango Province, eighth century), under the title “The Shrine of Nagu.” Called ‘Shrine of Nagu,’ this story is (…) from the Fudoki of the Tango area. Eight heavenly maidens are bathing at Manai. A certain old couple sees them and hides one of their flying cloaks, thus causing the heavenly maiden who now cannot fly to become their foster child. Through her hard work, the couple becomes rich. Once rich, they kick the maiden out. Sobbing, she wanders about here and there, for she no longer is able to return to heaven. At last, her heart settles down at the Nagu village.                                                           127 Okada, Figures of Resistance, 1991, 42-52. 128 Hayao Kawai, The Japanese Psyche: Major Motifs in the Fairy Tales of Japan (Woodstock: Spring Publications, Inc., 1996), 99. 62  She decides to stay there saying ‘I am the Toyouka-no-me-no-mikoto residing in the Nagu shrine in Takeno.’ Here the story ends.129 What is interesting to note in the two variants of the Hagoromo story cited above is that neither seems to mix gender relations with coercion: in the tennyo (heavenly maiden) turned wife story, her descent to earth is voluntary and it is usually in response to the hero’s acts of kindness, while in the tennyo turned daughter story, her descent is coerced by the old couple whose daughter she is forced to become and the heavenly maiden is further exploited and abandoned by her adoptive parents. What both Okada and Kawai ignore is the existence of yet another line, in Ōmi fudoki (The Chronicles of the Ōmi Province, eight century), a text contemporary to the Tango fudoki, in which a fisherman spies on a band of celestial maiden bathing and steals the feather garment of one of them, forcing her to stay on earth and become his wife.130  According to this story, South of the village Yogo-no-sato in the district of Ika-no-kori, province of Ōmi, there is a small lake. Eight heavenly maidens once flew down on earth as swans [shiratori 白鳥] to bathe at the lakeshore, when Ikatomi, from the mountaintop in the west, happened to see their mysterious figures in the distance. Coming near, he saw that they were heavenly maidens and, enchanted by their beauty, he could not leave                                                           129 Ibid. 130 Royall Tyler, trans., Japanese Nō Drama (London: Penguin Books, 1992), 97. Tyler claims that it was this story line that served as a source of inspiration for the sixteenth-century nō play Hagoromo, in which a fisherman steals a heavenly maiden’s feather garment and promises to return it only if she performs a dance. In the nō play the sexual coercion aspect is completely eliminated, but its connection to the Ōmi fudoki source is obvious. Recently, this particular Hagoromo variant has inspired a manga and then anime series, Ayashi no Seresu (Ceres, Celestial Legend) which exploits the rape motif to its fullest potential. In it, the heavenly maiden’s tennyo genes are transmitted to her female descendants who, once they come into their supernatural powers, seek to kill the male members of their family, as revenge for what the original maiden had to suffer at the hands of her fisherman-captor. Yū Watase, Ayashi no Seresu (Shōgakukan, 1997-2000), Ceres, Celestial Legend, DVD (San Francisco: Viz Video, 2000-2002).  63  the place. He quietly sent out his white dog, who stole the heavenly feather garment [ama-no-hagoromo 天の羽衣] of the youngest, which he then concealed. The seven elder sisters in alarm at the intrusion flew off to the sky, but the youngest, prevented by the loss of her feather garment from returning, became an earth-bound human being. Ikatomi built a house in that place, which because of these events came to be known as Kami-no-ura, and he lived there with the younger sister of the heavenly maidens. And eventually two boys and two girls were born to them .... Later, the mother found her feather garment, and, putting it on, flew back up to heaven.131  The Taketori narrative bears the influence of all three story lines, yet manages to sanitize its story of all undesirable elements: the heavenly maiden Kaguya-hime descends to earth not as a result of some sort of coercion, by her adoptive parents or prospective suitors, but because she is charged with an unnamed transgression she must expiate. Her adoptive parents, in turn, not only do not exploit and discard her once she has made them prosperous, but, on the contrary, bow to her every wish and, in general, respect her decisions. Finally and most importantly, Kaguya-hime’s five suitors are so inept in their pursuit that they become nothing more than the objects of ridicule. The only worthy suitor, the emperor, who comes the closest to actually possessing the princess, is ultimately deterred by her supernatural qualities.   What is conspicuous in the tale is precisely this obvious elision: while most of the story is concerned with courtship in one form or another, and while one of its potential sources clearly associates courtship with sexual coercion, the Taketori manages to                                                           131 Allan L. Miller, “The Swan-Maiden Revisited: Religious Significance of ‘Divine-Wife’ Folktales with Special Reference to Japan,” Asian Folklore Studies 46: 1 (1987): 68. He cites Fudoki II, Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku taikei (Iwanami Shoten, 1958), 47-49. For a detailed analysis of the “swan maiden” motif in Western scholarship, see 55-65. 64  successfully eschew the topic almost entirely. As previously stated, there is but one scene in which Kaguya-hime faces male aggression: after having heard of her beauty and tried to press his suit, the emperor, whom the princess has turned down just as she did the previous five noblemen who wanted her, stops by the bamboo-cutter’s house on pretext of going on a hunting trip. There, he sees the princess and, smitten by her beauty and radiance, approaches her, grabs her sleeve and plans on taking her back with him to the palace. Endowed with supernatural powers as she is, Kaguya-hime turns into a shadow and evades the emperor’s unwanted embrace. The text reads:  The emperor quickly appointed a day for the royal hunting and departed on the assigned day. Having reached Kaguya-hime’s house, he entered and thereupon he saw a beautiful creature sitting there completely surrounded by resplendent light. “So this must be she,” the emperor thought, and grabbed her sleeve as she was trying to escape to the inner chambers. She tried to cover her face with her sleeve, but he had already seen her and found her incomparably beautiful. “I will not let you go,” he said and, as he tried to take her away, Kaguya-hime answered: “If only this body of mine had been born on this earth, you could have probably made me serve you at court, but, as it is not, you cannot simply take me away.”  “Why should that be so? I have a mind to have you come with me,” the emperor replied and summoned his carriage. As he did so, Kaguya-hime suddenly turned into a shadow. Even a cursory glance at the text’s description of the encounter between the emperor and Kaguya-hime is sufficient to indicate the potential for sexual violence: the emperor, the most powerful man in the realm, will not be deterred by the princess’s initial rejection and, unlike 65  her previous suitors, believes he can just grab the woman he wants to possess. Had Kaguya-hime been an ordinary mortal heroine, like so many heroines later in the Genji, she would not have had any possibility of resisting what are obviously unwanted advances, but being as she is a creature from the moon and thus, more powerful than even the emperor, she can elude his grasp. As Michele Marra ironically notes, it is not the woman who is able to escape potential sexual violence, but the supernatural creature: The scene of the emperor’s encounter with the princess constitutes a model well known to the reader of Genji monogatari. He enters Kaguyahime’s room, catching her by the sleeve, while the frightened girl attempts to escape. The emperor tries to lead her away on his palanquin, but she can count on a weapon unknown to the Genji’s heroines. She knows how to become invisible to the human eye. The frantic emperor begs her to reappear, promising to conform to a more reasonable behavior and to content himself with a final look at the girl.132 In this case, the Taketori text’s engagement with sexual violence is therefore not complete elision, but very clever crisis management: sexual violence is neutralized not through elimination, but by virtue of the heroine’s unearthly powers. Unlike the Ōmi fudoki tale in which her otherworldly character could not save the maiden once she lost her feather garment, Kaguya-hime retains her supernatural powers with or without it. The princess’s inviolable nature exposes the emperor’s abduction attempt as equally prone to failure as the other suitors’ wooing attempts and, at the same time, represents sexual violence in a very ambiguous manner. On the one hand, one might read the Taketori scene as a confirmation that in monogatari sexual violence is a phenomenon most heroines, human or supernatural,                                                           132 Michele Marra, The Aesethetics of Discontent: Politics and Reclusion in Medieval Japanese Literature (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1991), 28.  66  must face. On the other hand, all it needs is for Kaguya-hime to turn invisible to diffuse the sexual threat, making it unsuccessful, and thus neutralizing it. Ultimately, the ambiguity of the tale’s involvement with sexual violence is the result of Kaguya-hime’s very nature: she is female, but not mortal. One can thus focus on her gender and read a positive message of female resistance to male sexual pressure, or, on the contrary, on her unearthly nature, and the reading then turns pessimistic, in that it hints that all resistance is futile for mortal women. Undoubtedly, the tale simultaneously allowed both readings, which would explain why Kaguya-hime herself was sometimes regarded as a dubious role model for women, as one can note by examining a criticism of Kaguya-hime voiced during the picture contest in The Tale of Genji, organized so as to ensure a solid position at court for Genji’s protégée, Akikonomu: The Right retorted that the heavens to which Princess Kaguya returned were really too lofty to be within anyone’s ken, and that since her tie with earth involved bamboo, one gathered that she was in fact of contemptible birth. She lit up her own house, yes, but her light never shone beside the imperial radiance. Abe no Ōshi threw away thousands and thousands in gold, and all he wanted from the fire rat’s pelt vanished in a silly puff of smoke; Prince Kuramochi, who knew all about Hōrai, ruined his own counterfeit jeweled branch. These things, they claimed, marred the tale.”133 The Left, Genji’s party, presents a set of illustrations inspired by Taketori monogatari against the Right’s illustrations of Utsuho monogatari. The Right’s criticism of the tale is directed entirely at Kaguya-hime, charged with being of low birth, but most importantly, with behaving inappropriately towards her suitors and the emperor and it wins the round,                                                           133 Royall Tyler, trans., The Tale of Genji (London: Penguin Books, 2001), 325. 67  suggesting that the arguments brought against Taketori are considered valid, at least by the characters present, if not by the tale’s author.   To reiterate, the most serious accusation brought against Kaguya-hime is her behavior towards her suitors—a refusal to yield to their demands that spells her refusal to marry. In her article on Kaguya-hime, Xiu-min Hu establishes her as the starting point of a matrilineal genealogy, continued with Murasaki, Ōigimi and Ukifune in The Tale of Genji and singles her out as the first heroine who, for apparently unknown reasons, refuses to marry: “Although it is not clear why Kaguyahime refuses marriage, it is possible that two reasons might be the fact that she is a heavenly being and that she is escaping what for a woman was often an unhappy situation as far as Heian marriage practices were concerned.”134  A woman, albeit from a different realm, who refuses to marry in a polygynous system? Even without her successful escape from the emperor’s abduction attempt, Kaguya-hime would still remain a very dangerous role model for women who were supposed to represent the main audience of the monogatari genre. The potential for subversion, which Jack Zipes identified in the case of literary fairy tales, is present in the Taketori monogatari as well: whatever its author’s intent might have been, the message he transmits is rife with double meanings. “Only a supernatural being can escape human relations and resist masculine pressure” can easily turn on its head into “Any woman can refuse marriage and resist sexual violence.”   If, like many fairy tales in the West, Taketori monogatari was indeed the very first attempt at male appropriation of a text which might have had female roots, then the result is debatable at best, and despite its author’s attempts to sanitize the source tales by managing                                                           134 Xiu-min Hu, “Princesses Who Yearn for the Moon: Murasaki, Oigimi, and Ukifune as Reflections of Kaguyahime,” BC Asian Review 11 (1997-1998): 17. 68  sexual violence so as to disarm its threat, the heroine’s dual character undermines his effort. Were later efforts more successful? That remains to be seen in the following two tales.  2. 3. The Sound of Silence: Contrasting Femininities and Conspicuous Absences in Utsuho monogatari Utsuho monogatari (The Tale of the Cavern) is attributed, together with Ochikubo monogatari analyzed in the following section, to Minamoto no Shitagō (911-983) and believed to have been written, as a result of a commission, towards the end of the courtier’s life, sometime between 970 and 983.135 The tale’s fairly extensive narrative follows a few subplots: the most important one is concerned with the transmission of musical skills from Toshikage, a gifted young man who is sent on an embassy to China and who learns the koto in wondrous circumstances from supernatural beings, to his unnamed daughter, to his grandson Nakatada, and finally, to Toshigake’s great-granddaughter, Inumiya, Nakatada’s daughter by an imperial princess. Another subplot focuses on the desirable Atemiya, the daughter of an imperial prince who becomes a commoner under the name Minamoto no Masayori, and chronicles the vain attempts of her numerous suitors to gain her favor; Atemiya eventually chooses politics over romance and marries the Crown Prince, whom she adroitly manipulates, upon his coronation, into naming her own son the future Crown Prince. Both narrative lines, and in particular the Atemiya subplot, are punctuated by stories of courtship and romantic encounters, yet, strangely, both succeed in avoiding anything remotely indicative of male aggression or sexual violence. As demonstrated in the case of Taketori monogatari and as will be discussed in the case of Ochikubo and the numerous tales                                                           135 For various theories on the circumstances of the tale’s creation, see Keene, Seeds in the Heart, 1999, 441-446, Konishi, A History of Japanese Literature, 1986, 276. 69  following it, most romantic encounters have the hidden potential of transforming into instances of sexual violence, necessitating careful management on the part of their authors if such developments are to be avoided. The Taketori author, as discussed, chose to make his heroine disappear and, with her, all threat of sexual violence coloring her encounter with the emperor. The Ochikubo author will resort to another strategy, allowing sexual violence to occur, but then explaining it away as something positive for the heroine’s long-term destiny. In the case of Utsuho, none of these strategies are present; a much simpler and far more effective strategy is at work here: as self-evident as it may sound, the best way to avoid sexual violence in a monogatari is to deny the potential a scene has for sexual violence. One may argue that the absence of sexual violence from certain monogatari episodes simply indicates that those are not scenes of sexual violence to begin with and that the entire talk of their “potential” for sexual violence is nothing but an argumentative device. That might indeed be so, were it not for the fact that their potential for sexual violence is objectively demonstrable. In fact, the first scene from the Utsuho selected here creates the preferred pattern for numerous scenes of sexual violence in later monogatari without containing itself any indication of sexual violence.  Before proceeding to the scene itself, a brief explanation is in order: after returning from his trip to China, having gained wondrous skills at playing the koto, Toshikage teaches his daughter all that he has learned from his otherworldly teachers. Despite his gift, however, he incurs political disfavor with the ruling emperor and decides to lead a life of hermit-like reclusion. When he passes away, he leaves behind a daughter bereft not only of a parent, but also of any kind of protection; alone, with only a servant named Sagano, the unnamed daughter leads a life of poverty and destitution until, on a pilgrimage to Kamo, the young 70  scion of the Fujiwara Prime Minister, endearingly called Waka Kogimi in the text (“the young little lord”), happens to catch a glimpse of her in the garden and then returns to her house at nightfall. The text reads as follows: The wooden shutters to the east wing were raised and inside there was someone quietly playing the koto. The young boy drew closer, saying “Although I long to contemplate its beauty, the moon…”136 He then sat on the veranda and inquired, “Who is it that lives in such a [dilapidated] mansion? Tell me your name,” but there was no answer. Because it was so dark inside, he could not see where she had gone. And the moon gradually… [hid behind the mountain’s crest]: tachiyoru to   “No sooner one draws close mirumiru tsukino  then she hides behind the mountain’s crest irinureba   —the moon—; kage wo tanomishi  And how sad to have come hito zo wabishiki  hoping for her presence,” he said, and then, irinureba   “She disappeared—the moon— kage mo nokoranu  not even her shadow remains yama no ha ni   at the mountain’s crest. yado madohashite  Wandering lost, without an inn, nageku tabibito  only the suffering traveler.”                                                           136 Waka kogimi is reciting here poem 884 of the Kokinshū, by Ariwara no Narihira: akanaku ni/ madaki mo tsuki no/ kakururu ka/ yama no ha nigete/ irezu mo aranan. “though still I long to/ contemplate its beauty   the/ moon goes early to/ hide   oh, that the mountain’s crest/ might flee   barring its retreat.” Laura Rasplica Rodd, trans., Kokinshū: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern (Boston: Cheng & Tsui Company, 2004), 303. 71  When he went towards where the girl had disappeared to, he found himself inside the nurigome.137 He sat down in there and tried to talk to her, but she still did not answer. “This is so unpleasant. Please say something,” he urged her. “I did not come here pushed by ordinary feelings,” he continued, and, because he was so endearing and still very young, the young woman felt more at ease and answered in a soft voice, which sounded so sad to him: kagerofu no   “The mayfly— aru ka naki ka ni  Whether she exists or not honomekite   it is hard to tell. aru ha ari tomo  But even if she were here, omohazaranamu  no one would remember her.” His feelings stirred, the young boy asked: “Why would you live in a lonely place like this? Who is your family?” “How then should I answer? Because I live in such a dilapidated house, no one visits me at all, so that your arrival is something I would never have thought of,” she replied. “Since relationships progress from shallow to friendly, the very fact that we don’t understand each other right now is encouraging. When I passed by your house today, your beauty touched me so that, as anticipated, I could not leave without stopping here.  How lonely you must be without a father! Who was he?” the young boy kept asking. “Even if I tell you who he was, because he was no one of great importance in this world, you will not know of him,” she replied,                                                           137 The nurigome is the only room with built-in walls inside a Heian period shinden mansion. The rest of the rooms had temporary partitions, usually made of screens that could be moved around at will. Since the nurigome was the most secure room in the house, having solid doors which could be locked when necessary, it was usually used to store valuables. The shinden-zukuri (寝殿造り) is the architectural style characterizing the Heian period. It consisted of a central pavilion, connected to east and west wings by narrow covered corridors. For more on Heian period architecture, see Kawamoto Shigeo, Shinden-zukiri no kūkan to gishiki (Chūō Kōron Bijutsu Shuppan, 2005). 72  and quietly strummed the koto before her, while the young boy sat there listening to the charmingly exquisite sound. They talked the night away and, somehow, he ended up sleeping that night at her side.  Thus, seeing her loneliness and pain, the young boy felt even more taken with her and made pledges of eternal love. He felt so moved by her plight that he did not even care about returning to his parents, but his parents loved him dearly and, losing sight of him even for just a little while, were in great turmoil over him. He told her as much and drew close to her, seeming unable to take his leave, feeling unbearable regret at having to abandon her and return home. “We are now inseparably connected. It may indeed be that we were bonded in a former life and we were thus fated to meet like this. That is why I naturally want to keep seeing you, but as you know, I have parents who never take their eyes off me and who worry even when they leave me to serve at court. How much more worried must they be, with me being here since last night? Because I have never wandered around secretly visiting women, I will not be able to keep visiting you the way I want, but I will do my best to look for an opportunity to come, be it at night, be it during the day. Will you be waiting for me here? Do you have other family? Is there any other man visiting you? Please let me know how things are,” he inquired and the young woman, her heart filled with anxiety, finally answered, despite feeling shy and sad: “Would I live alone in this temporary abode if I had a parent or someone to visit me? There is no other way for me than to rot away in this house.” “Whatever happens, what a child you are to speak so! Even if, against my will, I will not be able to come, I will not have forgotten you,” he reassured her. “Because my father was not known to anyone, even if I were to talk 73  about him, who would even remember him?” she said, playing the koto next to her, her crying figure awakening his pity and sorrow.  He spent the night expressing the depth of his love and, before he knew it, the next morning arrived. Knowing that from then on they would find it difficult to meet each other, he felt even sadder than before and, since the day had already broken, he knew he could not stay like that forever. Thinking that his parents must be worried and the household must be in an uproar by now, he could not help feeling anxious and said “What to do from now on? I wish I could spend at least today staying here like this, but my parents and I have lived in the same house without me being separated from them even for a little while and, even when going out together, I would not stray far. Yesterday I had no intention of accompanying them out because I was not feeling well, but my father told me to accompany him no matter what, so I had no choice but to go. I now understand that I was fated to come here and meet you. I do not even dream of neglecting you, but it will probably be impossible to visit you from now on.” The young woman replied faintly, akikaze no   “Sadly blows the autumn wind fuku wo mo nageku  upon the field of asdjiifu ni   plaintive reeds. ima ha to karemu  Oh, think of them   wori wo koso omohe  as they wither.” The young boy, split between worrying about his parents and feeling sorry for the young woman, answered: hasuwe koso   “The tips of the reeds 74  aki wo mo shirame  may know indeed  ne wo fukami   the effects of autumn, sore michishibawi  yet the depth of their roots itsuka wasuremu  will never forget their green path.” Beloved one, please do not think lightly of me.”138 The pattern mentioned previously, which occurs repeatedly throughout scenes of sexual violence in later monogatari, is the following: a young man catches a glimpse of a beautiful young lady—sometimes as a result of kaimami (“peeping through a hole in a fence”); as a result, he is smitten with the young lady and risks intruding into her quarters, usually under the cover of the night; the young woman is terrified upon finding herself in close quarters with a complete stranger—the text is explicit regarding her fear; despite the young lady’s protests, the amorous man proceeds to approach her, embrace her, move her away, according to the case, and eventually sleep with her; the young woman is, throughout, frightened, in distress, on the verge of expiring, crying, sweating and, generally, unable to answer any of the man’s entreaties; the young man eventually departs at the break of dawn, making numerous promises and, sometimes, eliciting a reluctant response from the woman.  This pattern can obviously be glimpsed only when combining data from numerous monogatari following the Utsuho. It occurs in the Genji, in Yoru no Nezame and in Ariake no wakare, among others, but whether it already existed at the time Utsuho came into being, or whether later tales created it, based on the Utsuho itself, is impossible to ascertain. The two possibilities generate two different interpretations: if one assumes that this pattern first emerged in the Utsuho, where, as I will demonstrate in the following pages, it was not associated with sexual violence, and that later monogatari authors co-opted it and used it in                                                           138 Utsuho monogatari, volume 1, SNKBZ, volume 14 (Shōgakukan, 1999), 52-56. 75  connection or even as a premise to sexual violence, then one must admit that later monogatari authors certainly had a very keen eye for spotting this scene and this pattern’s potential for sexual violence and exploiting it to the fullest.  The other possibility, even less sustainable for lack of evidence, is that this pattern already existed, in the numerous monogatari now extinct, where it was associated with sexual violence and that it was the Utsuho author who co-opted it and attempted to neutralize, more or less successfully, its problematic potential. Before inquiring into why it was so important to neutralize the threat of sexual violence in this case, however, one must address how the Utsuho pattern deviates from the norm. I will be using here a chart to contrast the Utsuho episode with the established pattern of later monogatari.  Typical monogatari pattern of sexual violence The Utsuho pattern sudden kaimami sudden kaimami 立ち寄りたまひて折りたまふに、この女の見ゆ。あやしくめでたき人かな。 “As he approached, he saw a young woman. She was strangely beautiful.” intrusion NO intrusion 立ち寄りたまへば入りぬ。「あかなくにまだきも月の」などのたまひて、簀子のはしにゐたまひて “The young boy drew closer, saying “Although I long to contemplate its beauty, the moon…” He then sat on the veranda…” the woman is frightened and attempts to escape Toshikage’s daughter is not frightened, but does withdraw “When he went towards where the girl had disappeared to, he found himself inside the nurigome.” 立ち寄りたまへば、入りぬ かの人の入りにし方に入れば、塗籠あり the man tries to pressure the woman into giving in, first by using words Waka Kogimi inquires about the young lady’s family and name 親ものしたまはざなれば、いかに心細く思さるらむ。たれと聞こえし “How lonely you must be without a father! Who was he?”   76  Typical monogatari pattern of sexual violence The Utsuho pattern the woman resists      Toshikage’s daughter answers to Waka Kogimi’s questions and feels attracted to him けはいなつかしう、童にもあらば、少しあなづらはしくや見えけむ “because he was so endearing and still very young, the young woman felt more at ease and answered in a soft voice, which sounded so sad to him” the man pressures the woman by using physical aggression the texts provides no proof of physical aggression or sexual violence, on the contrary: 夜ひと夜ものがたりしたまひて、いかがありけむ、そこにとどまりたまひぬ “They talked the night away and, somehow, he ended up spending that night at her side.”  the man pledges his never-ending love, yet often, the woman fails to reciprocate or provide an answer      Waka Kogimi pledges his love, Toshikage’s daughter answers and, on his departure, she cries からはらなる琴をかき鳴らして、うち泣きたるけはいもいみじうあはれなり “…she said, playing the koto next to her, her crying figure awakening his pity and sorrow.” the man attempts a poetic exchange but, often, the woman does not provide the responding poem Toshikage’s daughter initiates the poetic exchange herself 秋風の吹くをも嘆く浅茅生にいまはと枯れむをりをこそ思へ “Sadly blows the autumn wind upon the field of plaintive reeds. Oh, think of them as they wither.” Table 2. 1. Typical monogatari vs. Utsuho patterns of sexual violence  As can be observed from the previous chart, the typical monogatari pattern of sexual violence and the Utsuho pattern, of a regular romantic encounter, do share certain similarities: the kaimami debut is most certainly identical. One can even argue that Waka Kogimi intrudes upon Toshikage’s daughter, although the text does not mention any surreptitious measures he takes to hide his trespassing, indicating that his entering what he believes to be an abandoned mansion does not equate to a similar entrance into a territory clearly occupied by another person. Most importantly, there is no evidence of aggression on the part of the male protagonist, just as there is no evidence of fright and resistance on the 77  part of the female protagonist. What we have here, then, is two very young lovers, coming together by chance and sharing what is possibly their first sexual experience.   In fact, it is the protagonists’ very young age that is the key to transforming this episode from one of potential sexual violence to one of mutually desirable sexual exploration, much like contemporary American “Romeo and Juliet laws”139 transform statutory rape into teenage sex. It is, moreover, age and social status which further differentiate the Utsuho pattern present in this episode from the typical monogatari patterns of potential sexual violence, because, in addition to the significant departures from the norm highlighted in the chart above, there is a series of other elements separating Waka Kogimi from heroes such as Genji, Nezame’s Chūnagon and Torikaebaya’s Saishō.   The appellations used for these characters should provide the first clue: as already mentioned, the Utsuho hero is referred to as Waka Kogimi, a term used for male offspring of aristocratic descent prior to their access to the socio-political hierarchy of the court, that is, prior to the genpuku ceremony which marked boys’ coming-of-age, usually between twelve and fourteen. In other words, the Utsuho protagonist is too young to have been awarded an official position at court, whereas Genji, at the time of his encounter with Utsusemi is already a chūjō, a middle captain of junior fourth rank, Nezame’s Chūnagon is, obviously, middle counselor of junior fourth rank when he meets Nezame, while Saishō is, as his title indicates, a lower grade consultant, when he rapes the crossdressing heroine of the Torikaebaya and her “wife,” Yon no kimi.140                                                           139 Usually, a “Romeo and Juliet law (i)s designed to ensure differentiarion and equity in charges and punishment for the same sexual act commirred by an adult on a child versus by a teen on a younger reen (generally, not more than 4 years younger).” For more information, see Bruce Gross, “Romeo & Juliet Laws: When the Punishment Does not Fit the Crime,” Annals of the American Psychotherapy Association, 10:2 (2007): 22. 140 “On-line Glossary of Japanese Historical Terms,” Historiographical Institute, The University of Tokyo, accessed April 15, 2015, http://wwwap.hi.u-tokyo.ac.jp  78   Waka Kogimi’s young age, similar to that of Toshikage’s daughter, means, moreover, that there is no element of intimidation in their interaction, an element which colors, for instance, Genji’s early relationship with Murasaki, whom he encourages to regard him as a father figure before proceeding to have sex with her. It also means that both teenagers were highly inexperienced in amorous affairs, thus neither having the upper hand over the other in the relationship. Waka Kogimi’s young age, therefore, defines his relationship with Toshikage’s daughter as one of equals, one in which neither social standing, nor experience puts one partner in the position to pressure and manipulate the other. Most of the later encounters based on this pattern will be dramatically different from the Utsuho episode.  Having established the way in which the tale’s author constructs this particular scene and his strategies for expunging any trace of potential sexual violence from it, one has to question his purpose. In the previous Taketori episode, the author’s attempt to avoid sexual violence in the encounter between Kaguyahime and the emperor, whether to present Kaguyahime as the epitome of ideal femininity or to avoid associating an imperial figure with unpalatable male aggression, resulted in highlighting the heroine’s alien femininity, less than ideal, ultimately, precisely because of its alien nature.  In the case of the Utsuho, Toshikage’s daughter becomes the archetype for another Heian ideal of femininity, one less alien and, overall, more successful: the mugura no kado (“dilapidated house”) woman. A young woman living in a dilapidated old house, its gardens overgrown with weeds, its owner long gone, is a significant trope in Heian monogatari. French scholar Alain Walter interprets this image, while eroticizing and exoticizing it at the same time, by connecting it with the beauty of the ruins in which the young woman dwells: 79  This young woman, full of grace and elegance, exquisitely clothed, yet living in a ruined house, enhances with her beauty the beauty of the ruins, just as the ruins enhance her own beauty. She is the symbol, the reincarnation of the past glory of the ruins, which project onto her youth the shadow of impermanence and of decay. The other elements of the scene gravitate towards one of these two poles, the young lady and the ruins: the twilight, the rain falling over the ruins, the mountain thrush, the plum blossoms; these elements all highlight the beauty of the young woman.141 Beyond the poetical beauty of Walter’s description, there lies another interpretation which can be assigned to this “beauty in the ruins,” one less poetical and more prosaic: this mugura no kado woman is one utterly deprived of protectors. Economically bankrupt, socially invisible, politically irrelevant, this young woman becomes, to monogatari heroes, a romantic ideal,142 not despite her vulnerabilities, but precisely because of them. She may not have a fortune to back up a young ambitious courtier’s career, family connections to provide a useful network of acquaintances or a father to support his every endeavor, but what she has—herself, her body—can be taken possession of while avoiding the responsibilities which came with most arranged marriages of the time. Being poor, she depends upon the man who visits her; being without a socially relevant family, she is in no position to make demands; being without a father, she has no possibility of escape when things go sour.   Toshikage’s daughter is all that a mugura no kado woman should be: poor, helpless and alone. She is indeed discovered, amid her ruins, by the young Fujiwara scion, but her life does not immediately turn for the better. In fact, after returning from his escapade, Waka Kogimi is grounded indeterminately—a sign, again, of his own young age—and is unable to                                                           141 Alain Walter, Érotique du Japon classique (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 2004), 59. 142 See “the rainy night discussion” analyzed in Chapter Two, 122-123. 80  visit Toshikage’s daughter. She, of course, is pregnant as a result of their encounter, and eventually gives birth to a baby boy, the future Nakatada.   Sagano, Toshikage’s daughter’s only servant, dies and the daughter is left alone with the child, who, as he grows becomes more and more beautiful, attracting the attention of the neighbors. For fear of gossip, the two move into a forest, where the son discovers a cavern made by four pines growing together and there he settles his mother—this cavern gives the tale its title. The two spend their time together, playing the koto, until one time when a band of warriors camps in the forest. The mother takes out one of the magical instruments inherited from Toshikage, plays on it and trees collapse over the warriors. The “Little Lord,” now Fujiwara no Kanemasa, the Minister of the Right to Emperor Suzaku, is on an outing with the emperor in that very forest. He hears the sound, goes to investigate and eventually realizes that he has found the woman he met long time ago and that he has a son.   This mugura no kado woman enjoys her happy ending: her teenage lover becomes a significant political player who is, finally, able to recognize his son and offer both of them the necessary social and economic support. Her encounter, which could have been but was not sexually violent, brought social advancement and success. At the same time, the feminine ideal that she comes to represent—the destitute, powerless, extremely vulnerable young woman awaiting the fateful intervention of a dashing young courtier—becomes very desirable, for it ensures the lady’s social ascendance and achievement. This ideal was most certainly not credible to later women writers of monogatari and it might have been just as improbable to its contemporaneous readers because, like the Taketori before it, the tale’s author made a significant mistake: he undermined the efficiency of his first feminine ideal by 81  proposing another. Kaguyahime failed because of her dual nature; Toshikage’s daughter fails because she ends up as a mere foil to Atemiya.  Atemiya makes her debut in Chapter Three of the Utsuho monogatari, entitled “Fujiwara no Kimi,” which focuses initially on her father, the eponymous Fujiwara lord, an imperial prince whose mother belongs to the powerful Fujiwara lineage, but who becomes a commoner under the name Minamoto no Masayori. He marries two women, lady Ōidono, the daughter of the Prime Minister, and lady Ōmiya, the daughter of Emperor Saga. He has four sons and five daughters from the former and eight sons and nine daughters from the latter and most of them live together in a grand mansion. His ninth daughter, Atemiya, grows into an unparalleled beauty courted by a great number of men. What follows are the various stories of Atemiya’s suitors.  In this third chapter, no fewer than ten suitors appear: (1) Atemiya’s full brother, Nakazumi; (2) Toshikage’s grandson, Nakatada, and (3) his father, Fujiwara no Kanemasa; (4) councilor Sanetada, the son of the Minister of the Left Minamoto no Sueakira; (5) major counselor Taira no Masaaki; (6) Prince Hyōbukyō, a younger brother of Emperor Saga; (7) Prince Kantsuke, an old pervert who even attempts to kidnap Atemiya, but fails miserably; (8) Miharu no Takamoto, another comic figure, like Kantsuke, who is a stingy courtier who changes his cheap ways while trying to woo Atemiya; (9) Yoshimune no Yukimasa, a talented and well-travelled young man; and (10) Shigeno no Matsuge, the widowed governor of Kyūshū.143  Strangely, except for Prince Kantsuke who attempts to abduct Atemiya while she is attending a public procession but who is duped into abducting and marrying a girl of lesser                                                           143 I am using here the appellations assigned to these characters in the only available English translation of Utsuho monogatari: Ziro Uraki, trans., The Tale of the Cavern (Tokyo: Shinozaki Shorin, 1984), vii-ix.  82  standing—no worries for the substitute victim here, apparently—none of the other suitors represent any physical threat to this very desirable young lady. In fact, Atemiya maintains, throughout the ten courtships, a remarkable control over all correspondence and meetings with her potential suitors and no matter how much access some of the men have to her household, no matter how many of her servants they have bribed, no matter how pitiful the circumstances they find themselves in, Atemiya remains unattainable.  Sanetada has an accomplice, one of Atemiya’s ladies-in-waiting, named Hyōe, in his service and yet all he gets is one letter; Fujiwara no Kanemasa has one of Atemiya’s own brothers, Sukezumi, as his accomplice, yet eventually, despite his wife’s blessing—Toshikage’s daughter remains pliable throughout the tale—he decides to abandon his pursuit; Nakazumi, Atemiya’s brother, has unrestricted access to her, but since his desire for her is such a taboo, does not act upon it; Miharu no Takamoto, the stingy courtier, attempts to bribe another of Atemiya’s ladies-in-waiting, Kunai, but his efforts are in vain; Yoshimune no Yukimasa moves into Atemiya’s mansion to live with one of her brothers, Akizuki, and enrolls another of Atemiya’s numerous brothers, Yukizumi, as a go-between, blackmailing him in order to get an answer from Atemiya; Shigeno no Masuge hires not one, but two go-between who keep promising him Atemiya, while receiving expensive gifts from him. Ten persistent suitors, employing usually successful strategies, all fail when faced with Atemiya. One might see some of these suitors as especially inept at courtship—Kantsuke, Takamoto and Masuge are clearly comic interludes—others as bound to fail due to various taboos—Nakazumi, because he is Atemiya’s full brother, and Kanemasa, because he competes with his own son, Nakatada—but there still remain a good half of them who cannot be dismissed as simply inept. Therefore, if it is not the suitors’ ineptness that causes their 83  failure, it must mean that it is Atemiya’s own strategy of resistance thwarting them. In any other monogatari, a woman aggressively pursued by even one determined man ends up in a situation when she can no longer avoid sexual violence. Atemiya is pursued by ten, yet the closest she comes to being a victim of sexual violence is when Prince Kantsuke abducts a different woman.144 Her control of not one, but ten attempts at courtship, would make Atemiya indomitable enough to become a role model for Heian women, looking at monogatari for ways to deal with their own amorous affairs. But Atemiya is not supposed to be the role model taking center stage in the Utsuho: Toshikage’s daughter, representing the mugura no kado woman would make a much better example, all the while supporting patriarchal gender roles and proposing a feminine ideal that does not challenge the status quo. Like Kaguyahime before her, there is something disquieting about Atemiya. And as in the case of Kaguyahime, Murasaki Shikibu was keen to observe her potentially subversive nature. In the “Hotaru” (“The Fireflies”) chapter of The Tale of Genji, the character Murasaki exclaims: “…look at the young Fujiwara lady in The Hollow Tree. Grave and sober as she is, she never goes astray, but her stiff speech and behavior are so unladylike that she might as well.”145 The young Fujiwara lady, so calculated as to impress Murasaki as unfeminine, is none other than Atemiya. But the example set by this unusual lady does not end with her courtship and once she marries the Crown Princess and enters court service her agency and determination become even more visible. In the “Kuniyuzuri” chapter, this Crown Prince finally becomes the                                                           144 This episode is connected, interestingly, with a few Genji monogatari episodes in which women sacrifice other women in order to escape sexual violence. For more details, see 158-160. Here, however, it is not Atemiya, but her father who arranges the substitution, sacrificing in the process the daughter of one of his retainers.  145 Royall Tyler, The Tale of Genji, 2001,462. 84  Emperor, setting into motion an entire succession of plots, conspiracies and entanglements at court. And at the very heart of these conspiracies are always women—cherchez la femme applies very well to the events in this chapter: the Empress Mother plots to have her choice of a future Crown Prince, even if this means she has to sacrifice one of her daughters to attract political allies; Atemiya, now known as Fujitsubo, retires from court, technically blackmailing the young Emperor into submitting to her wishes if he still hopes to see her again; and the wives of powerful noblemen meet and plot for their various personal ends, while also supporting Atemiya’s political efforts. No other monogatari features as many female characters directly embroiled in political struggles and actively seeking to advance their socio-economic status as the Utsuho in the “Kuniyuzuri” chapter. It becomes apparent why, then, this female character would be problematic in the context of the previous episode involving Toshikage’s daughter. For all her ideal femininity, presupposing youth, innocence and meekness, the unnamed heroine cannot stand up to someone of Atemiya’s caliber, someone named from her very debut, one who is assertive, smart, controlling and manipulative. Despite its author’s attempts to avoid sexual violence and to advance a certain feminine ideal supporting existing gender hierarchies, the Utsuho does not fare much better than the Taketori because neither text seems able to completely eliminate alternative femininities. It appears that as long as there is a strong heroine, whatever message the tales might want to advance becomes ambiguous by virtue of her very presence.     85  2. 4. Sweat and Tears: Domesticating Rape in Ochikubo monogatari  Ochikubo monogatari (The Tale of the Lady Ochikubo) is the only one of the three tsukuri monogatari—made-up, fictional tales— preceding The Tale of Genji that fulfills what later the author of the twelfth century work of prose criticism, the Mumyōzōshi, defines as a “realistic” tale, in that it does not resort to supernatural events to further its plot and instead focuses on the everyday life of its eponymous heroine. To anyone familiar with the Cinderella narrative, the Ochikubo plot is an easily recognizable variation: a certain Chūnagon—Counselor—has several daughters by his current wife and one by a deceased princess. The orphaned girl, referred to as Ochikubo because of her humble living quarters—ochikubo meaning literally “lower room”—suffers her step-mother’s constant persecution and humiliation and has no one to rely on except a servant known as Akogi. As with other Cinderella-type heroines, Ochikubo too is kind, patient and excels at domestic tasks such as sewing.  The young servant Akogi has a relationship with a household retainer, Korenori, whose mother had been the nurse of the young scion of an aristocratic family, Michiyori or Sakon-e no Shōshō—a Lieutenant of the Left Palace Guards. From his breast brother, the Lieutenant learns of the young woman’s existence and initiates a courtship; when his letters receive no answer, our hero enlists Korenori’s help and, while his accomplice keeps Akogi, the girl’s only protector, busy, the Lieutenant intrudes upon Ochikubo and has sex with her. His initial intentions are not particularly serious, but he is impressed and charmed by his lover and proceeds to turn this casual affair into a marriage, by visiting the lady three nights in a row.  86  Eventually, the girl’s step-mother finds out about the relationship and slanders Ochikubo to her father: the result is that she is imprisoned in a storage room and in danger of being violated, with her step-mother’s blessings, of course, by an old, lecherous uncle, Tenyaku no Suke—a Deputy in the Bureau of Medicine. Only due to Akogi’s cunning and to Ochikubo’s own ability to physically resist the old man, does she manage to delay the unavoidable violation long enough for the Lieutenant to steal into the storage room and spirit her and Akogi away to his Nijō residence.  The remainder of the story details the Lieutenant’s commitment to his wife, his faithfulness to her, as well as his numerous acts of revenge on Chūnagon’s household. Ochikubo manages thus to secure an unassailable position as the main and only wife to a rising political player, her husband eventually becomes Minister of the Left and Daijōdaijin—Chancellor—“and they live happily ever after.” The good are thus rewarded, the evil punished and reformed and the tale gains a happy-ending rarely encountered in the world of monogatari.  Two episodes in the above summary have the potential of constituting scenes of sexual violence: the Lieutenant’s initial intrusion upon Ochikubo and the subsequent unwanted sexual advances on the part of the Deputy. Of the two, the latter is quite obvious and the narrator is unequivocal in his description of the events and his position in relation to them: the Deputy is a despicable fellow, worthy only of being criticized and made fun of and the danger he poses, though quite palpable, can be deflected with a little bit of cunning. The Lieutenant’s case, however, is just as clearly not meant to be read as rape, despite the fact that textually it is presented as at least highly problematic. Its complexity requires thus further scrutiny. 87  Thinking that there was no one around, the Lieutenant easily opened the lattice doors, using a piece of wood, and entered. The lady rose, terrified, but he drew near and caught hold of her. Akogi, who heard the sound of the lattice door being opened, wondered surprised what it could be and tried to get up, but Korenori stopped her. “What was that? I want to see why I heard the sound of the door being opened,” she said, and Korenori reassured her “It’s probably just a dog, or a mouse. Are you frightened?” “Why are you saying that? Is it because you know what it is all about?” “I haven’t done anything wrong. Let’s just sleep,” Korenori said, embracing Agoki and making her lie down. “How miserable! How terrible!” complained Akogi, angry with Korenori and feeling bad for her mistress, but he held her in his arms so tightly that she could not even move. She was utterly helpless.   The Lieutenant, still holding onto the lady, took off his robe and lay down next to her. The lady, terrified and miserable, was weeping and trembling with her entire body. “You think of all the bad things that could happen in this world, but I will prove to you the depth of my love.146 I came here to take you to a cavern, away from the world and its sorrows.” “Who might this person be?” the lady wondered, but first and foremost, she wept and wanted to die of shame, thinking at how shabby, how terribly unsightly her robes and trousers were. The pitiful sight of her crying troubled him so much that he remained silent and just lay there embracing her.  Since the place where Akogi slept was next to the lady’s room, she could hear the faint sound of her mistress’s weeping. “So that’s what it is,” she thought and, much distressed, tried to rise again, but Korenori stopped her one more time. “Are you doing something to my lady and that is why you keep me here like this? It’s all                                                           146 Literally, “since you think of all the painful things in this world, I will show you all the pathos of love.” 88  very suspicious. You are such a hateful person,” Akogi said, angrily, pulling violently away from him and getting up. Korenori laughed. “I know absolutely nothing about this thing. Plus, do you think a thief would come at such a time? It must be a man visiting her. Even if you were now to go there and interrupt him, it would be of no use.” “Please don’t go on pretending you don’t know. Do tell me who he is! This is such a terrible thing! How distressed the young lady must be!” she said, crying, and Korenori replied, laughing, “Don’t be such a child.” Akogi grew angrier, “To think I have become involved with such an inconsiderate man like you!” Korenori was pained by her words and admitted: “Actually, it is the Lieutenant. He simply came here for a talk, and what happened, happened. Be silent and stop complaining. Their relationship must be a matter of fate.” “Very well,” Akogi replied, “but what truly pains me is that my mistress will believe I was involved in all this, when in fact you told me nothing of the Lieutenant’s arrival tonight. Oh how I wish I had not left my mistress alone to come here with you,” she said with resentment. “She will probably understand that you knew nothing about this. Don’t be so angry and don’t hate me so much!” Korenori said, consolingly, and he distracted her until she forgot her anger. Meanwhile, the Lieutenant addressed the lady: “Why is it that you find me so repelling? I may not be of high rank, but neither am I so low as to make you cry. I have often sent to you letters which you have not answered, not even to let me know you read them. I thought it was useless. I was determined not to write to you anymore, but from the very first letter I sent you, I have come to love you. Because now I believe that it has been my fate to be hated by you, your cruel behavior no longer pains me.” Thus he spoke and lay down next to her. The lady wished she could just 89  die. She had no inner robe and underneath her outer robe, she had only her trousers. Realizing that in places her skin was visible through her garments, all she could think was “How horrible!” She was bathed in sweat, rather than tears. As he lay there looking at her, the Lieutenant was filled with pity. He tried to console her by talking about various things, but could not elicit any answer from her. She bitterly resented Akogi for the shame she now felt.   Finally dawn broke. A rooster began to crow and the Lieutenant recited: kimi ga kaku   “How painful! naki akasu dani  you crying like this kanashiki ni   throughout the night ito urameshiki   and now, how hateful! tori no kowe kana  the rooster’s cry. “Please answer me every once in a while. If I do not hear your voice, I feel as if we are not truly bound as lovers.” At last, feeling half dead, half alive, the lady answered: hito-gokoro   “To a cruel heart,  uki ni ha tori ni  like yours, taguhetsutsu   I cannot answer naku yori hoka no  in any other voice kowe ha kikaseji  than that of the rooster.”  She was very endearing and the Lieutenant, who had treated her quite casually, became very serious about her.   Hearing voices announcing the Lieutenant’s carriage, Korenori said to Akogi, “Go in and announce the carriage.” “I will not go. If I were to go now, she will 90  certainly think that I knew about ev