R E S E A R C H
I I A S N E W S L E T T E R # 4 7 S p r i n g 0 0 8
One of the truly literary moments in this
period was Nobel laureate Hermann
Hesse’s Das Glasperlenspiel, which was
first published in 1943 in a Germanic con-
text of intoxication with the ‘mystic East.’
In 1969, it was finally translated into Eng-
lish as The Glass Bead Game, a novel that
posits the development of a new form of
game as the pinnacle of human civilisa-
tion, requiring consummate intellectual
and spiritual development, which is iden-
tified strongly with East Asian traditions.
Indeed, Hesse’s other novels also enjoyed
a revival in the 1960s (after his death in
1962) largely because of their resonance
with the counter-cultural, spiritual move-
ments of the time: Siddhartha (1922), Step-
penwolf (1927),
Journey to the East (1932).
This sci-fi re-figuring of Asia as a spiritual
alternative to the technologically angst-
ridden West was a common feature of
many of the novels of the period, not to
mention an already familiar orientalist
trope in European literature. Indeed, it
bled over into the sci-fi boom of the late
1970s and 1980s that followed the release
of Star Wars in 1977. For many critics (as
well as for George Lucas himself), many
aspects of the Star Wars galaxy, specifically
the mystical ‘Jedi Way,’ were derived from
Taoist and Zen philosophies (sometimes
presented with the admixture of Zoroastri-
anism); the fabled ‘force’ reconstituted qi
or ki; Yoda’s famously garbled English has
been seen as a thinly veiled representation
of Japanese-English.
Whilst the Star Wars phenomenon aban-
doned the high-brow pretensions of the
New Wave in favour of sci-fi’s more popu-
larist roots, it retained a certain nostalgic
romanticism about representations of Asia
as the home of a spiritual (and often more
‘human’) alternative to coldly technolo-
gised and alienated societies in the West.
Interestingly, the next major movement in
science fiction affected a re-technologis-
ing of this mythical spirituality, often via
the imaginary of Japanese technological
advances.
The ‘cyberpunk’ movement of the 1980s,
led by writers such as William Gibson,
Bruce Sterling and the editor Gardner
Dozois, witnesses the creation of ‘cyber-
space’ as a futurity in which consciousness,
spirituality and digital technology coalesce.
In the context of the digital revolution and
the rapid emergence of the Japanese bub-
ble economy, visions of the future began to
take on a distinctly East Asia visage, with
Ridley Scott’s sci-fi masterpiece, Blade
Runner (1982), setting an early standard.
Shortly afterwards, Gibson’s acclaimed
Neuromancer (1984) contained some pow-
erful Japanese imagery, and portrayed the
future as tinged with ‘Japaneseness’: the
microchip that makes everything possible
has the name Hosaka; the best comput-
ing power comes in the form of the Ono-
Sendai Cyberspace 7; and key characters
(such as the cybernetically enhanced and
genetically engineered super-ninja, Hideo)
have obvious Japanese origins. By the time
of Gibson’s Idoru (1996), which is explicitly
set in a version of Japan that is simulta-
neously represented as a futurity (for the
West) and as a slightly fantastical vision of
present-day Japan, cyberpunk’s love affair
with Japan was already profound. This was
techno-orientalism or Japanophilia: Japan
was no longer merely science fictional,
Japan had become the future itself.
Science fiction in Japan:
Given this context, it was not without a
measure of intentional ambiguity and per-
haps irony that Nippon 2007, the first World
Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon) to
be held in Asia (but the 65
th
Worldcon),
chose as its slogan:
Nippon – SF no kuni
(Japan – The Land of Science Fiction).
Worldcon began in New York in 1939. As
its name suggests, the convention’s ambi-
tions were international from its inception.
If we can assume that sci-fi was a genre
concerned with the future at that time (and
this is not a universal assumption, as we
have seen), and particularly with a post-
national, space-faring vision of human-
ity, then any lingering sense of national
parochialism seems both quaint and
ridiculous. Given the nature of the genre,
Worldcon should have paid more atten-
tion to the ‘World’ than the World Series…
Nonetheless, the dominance of the US
and the apparently inalienable centrality
of the English language has characterised
the history of Worldcon (and especially the
prestigious Hugo Awards that are present-
ed at the convention each year).
Of course, it is not merely coincidental that
the first Worldcon to be held in Asia comes
at the peak of European and American
interest in science fictional Japan. Howev-
er, it is also the case that Japanese science
fiction is beginning to play a highly visible
role in Euro-American popular culture: the
anime and manga explosion of the 1990s
and 2000s has made Japan a global force
in science fiction, and Japanese video
games (often with sci-fi themes) dominate
the international market. The influence of
Japan and Japanese sci-fi on the US is now
unequivocal, leading Tatsumi Takayuki
to claim that we are all ‘Japanoids’ today
(Japanoido sengen, 1993), whether we know
it or not: Ridley Scott freely confesses the
influence of Japanese media on his clas-
sic Blade Runner; the Wakochoski brothers
are open about the importance of anime in
their Matrix trilogy (and even produced an
anime interlude, the Animatrix, 2003); and
recently Leonardo DiCaprio announced
that he would produce a movie version of
the classic animanga Akira. Not only that,
but anime has broken through into the
mainstream of Western popular culture:
science fiction directors such as Oshii
Mamoru (Ghost in the Shell, 1995) and
O
¯ tomo Katsuhiro (Akira, 1988) are now
iconic figures in their own right.
It should come as no surprise, then, that
Worldcon has finally had to recognise that
Japan is not merely science fictional, but
also a real-world context for a specific tra-
dition of science fiction. That said, many
gaijin (alien) participants at
Nippon 2007
were surprised to learn about the depth
and richness of Japanese science fiction,
which has developed in dynamic interac-
tion with Western sci-fi, even if that devel-
opment has gone almost completely unno-
ticed in the English language literature of
sci-fi criticism. Nippon 2007 coincided with
the 46
th
Japan Science Fiction Convention
(the first JSFC was in Tokyo, 1962) – the
annual event at which the prestigious
Seiun Prizes (the Japanese equivalent of
the Hugo Awards) have been awarded
since 1970.
One of the intriguing things about the
JSFC is its sense of the world. Whilst it
makes no claims to being a ‘Worldcon,’ its
history shows a much greater openness to
(and awareness of) sci-fi from overseas.
Indeed, unlike the Hugo Awards, there is a
special Seiun Prize for the best translated
novel, which has been won by such genre-
greats as Frank Herbert, Robert Delazny,
and David Brin. Conversely, the great Japa-
nese sci-fi writers are almost unheard of in
Europe and the US, despite the fact that
many of them engage directly with the
themes and questions raised by European
and American authors, providing interest-
ingly inflected, alternative visions. To the
extent that the ‘world’ is aware of Japanese
sci-fi, it appears to locate the genre in the
media of anime, manga and video games,
neglecting the novels and short stories
that comprise the backbone of the sci-fi
‘megatext’ in the West. In other words, the
field of science fiction demonstrates inter-
national language politics in microcosm.
Some of the more literary classics of Japa-
nese science fiction have been translated
into English. The towering figure of Komat-
su Sakyô (who has won the Seiun four
times) might be known to English readers
as the author of Nihon chimbotsu (1973,
translated as Japan Sinks, 1995), which sold
over four million copies in Japan; as guest
of honour, Komatsu also won the Seiun
at Nippon 2007 for the eagerly anticipated
sequel Nihon chimbotsu II (2007). Read-
ers may also be familiar with the work of
Abe Kôbô, whose mainstream novels have
made something of an impact in transla-
tion, and whose experimental sci-fi novel
Daiyon kampyo-ki (1958, translated as
Inter Ice-Age 4, 1970) appeared in English
in time for the New Wave. However, other
accomplished writers will be lesser known:
the unparalleled master of the ‘short short’,
Hoshi Shin’ichi is virtually unknown; even
the incomparable Tatsui Yasutaka, famed
in Japan as the recipient of both the Tani-
zaki Prize and the Kawabata Prize for lit-
erature (1987 and 1989), who has won
back-to-back Seiun Prizes (1975 and 1976),
has only recently come to the attention of
the international public, partially because
he wrote the novel (1993) on which Satoshi
Kon’s acclaimed anime, Papurika (2007),
was based. In recent years, science fiction
in Japan has reached new levels of matu-
rity and acclaim; non-genre, literary writers
such as the Nobel laureate Oe Kenzaburô
and the phenomenally successful Muraka-
mi Haruki have been experimenting with
elements of science fiction and fantasy in
speculative ways.
In fact, sci-fi in post-nuclear Japan looks
very different from its counterparts in the
West, which Japanese authors were hun-
grily reading in translation. Rather than
observing the characteristic ‘frontiers-
manship’ that is often present in Anglo-
American genre novels, Tatsumi Takayuki
(Full Metal Apache, 2006) suggests that
we can see a spirit of ‘creative masochism’
(sôzôteki higyaku seishin) in Japanese sci-fi,
characterised by the anxiety of writers like
Komatsu and Abe Kôbô about the ideolog-
ical heritage of the Second World War and
the twin, reinforcing psychological dam-
age caused by defeat and by the apocalyp-
tic nature of that defeat. For these writers,
sci-fi possesses a special mission and pur-
pose in post-war Japanese society, since it
necessarily contains within it hypotheses
for the future development of Japan and
visions of ‘tomorrow’ that allowed the
‘New Japan’ of the post-1945 era to con-
tinuously challenge and re-conceptualise
its post-war trajectory. Given the events
of the Pacific War, this self-reflective and
self-critical task seemed especially urgent
in the 1960s, but it also continues as a
central theme in Japanese science fiction
throughout the subsequent generations
of writers; it has witnessed something of
a renaissance in the 1990s following the
end of the Cold War and Japanese society’s
concomitant quest for national identity.
In contrast to the 1950s and 60s in the
West, the 1970s and early 1980s might
be seen as the ‘golden age’ of Japanese
science fiction, during which time a new
generation of writers could refer back to
classics of home-grown sci-fi (as well as to
imported and translated texts), especially
after the nuclear monstrosity of Gojira and
the publication of Komatsu’s Japan Sinks
in 1973. For the first time, young Japanese
writers could identify Japanese heroes of
sci-fi, alongside the big names of Cord-
wainer Smith and Samuel Delany who
were emerging against the background of
the Vietnam war. Indeed, the 1970s and
80s were periods of incredible richness in
Japanese sci-fi, at least partly because writ-
ers absorbed all of the previous SF tradi-
tions from the West simultaneously at that
time, rather than diachronically, resulting
in unusual patterns, motifs and themes
that were creatively ‘Japanese.’
Unlike his Anglo-American compatriots,
Komatsu’s sci-fi was characterised not by
the claustrophobic paranoia of the Cold
War but rather by the grand tectonic move-
ments of history (and the earth’s tectonic
plates!), which seemed to persist in imper-
illing Japan. Indeed, the role of histori-
cal singularities (such as the apocalypse
itself) in Japanese science fiction cannot
be understated, and many of the most
influential writers to emerge during the
‘golden era’ seemed to orientate their work
around them. One such figure, who would
later break through to world acclaim with
the anime Akira (1988), after the manga
of the same name (1982-86), was O
¯ tomo
Katsuhiro for his manga
Dômu (1980-2,
1983). By the early 1980s Japanese sci-fi
was rapidly becoming a hermetic and cul-
tural world of its own, both in touch with
Anglo-American currents and self-reflec-
tively independent of them.
One of the most exciting and interesting
aspects of Japanese sci-fi is, of course, the
way in which its own megatext is explicitly
open to a range of additional media. We
have already mentioned anime and manga,
and the 1980s and 1990s witnessed a
string of impressive, conceptual works
by the likes of Shirow Masamune and
Oshii Mamoru, and then Anno Hideaki’s
remarkable and revolutionary, Shinseiki
Ebuangerion (1995-96). As was already the
case in the 1920s, Japanese sci-fi shows a
predilection for exploring the technological
limits of the human via robots, cybernetics
and ‘mecha.’ A persistently controversial
issue in sci-fi (and Japanese cyborg sci-fi
in particular) concerns the gender politics
of the interactions between female figures
and technological change.
However, it is also noteworthy that the
Seiun Prize is sensitive to the demands
and potentials of different media as expres-
sive forms. It is notable, for example, that
the 2001 Seiun Prize for Best Media was
not awarded to a feature film or an anime
but to a video game – the characteristi-
cally ‘Japanese’ Playstation title Gunparade
March, which (like many of the most
popular games in Japan) was never even
released in Europe or the US. The game
was later made into a manga by Sanadura
Hiroyuki and an anime series by Sakurabi
Katsushi, both of which have been licenced
for translation into English.
This openness to varied media as the vehi-
cles for science fiction is symptomatic of
a wider embrace of what has been called
‘convergence culture’ – the increasing
tendency for cultural franchises to employ
multiple media to relate a core narrative,
around which the various media ‘con-
verge.’ Although the Matrix series is often
cited as a classic example of convergence
in the West, it is in Japan that we see the
most highly developed, persistent and per-
vasive examples. Perhaps the most famous
and successful sci-fi example is the sprawl-
ing and epic Final Fantasy series, which
incorporates dozens of video games,
manga, anime, novels, and various other
‘character goods.’ But Final Fantasy is not
unique in its convergent nature – it is not
uncommon for Japanese sci-fi stories to
unravel in multiple media. In other words,
sci-fi is an unusual expressive form and a
socio-economic phenomenon in Japan.
In sum, it seems that science fiction pro-
vides an interesting lens on questions of
cultural history and the political uncon-
scious in various societies; it expresses
political critique and futurist visions of
reform; and it manifests important cur-
rents in socio-economic change as well as
transnational cultural flows. As the ‘land
of science fiction,’ Japan is a fascinating
case.
Chris Goto-Jones
Asiascape.net
Leiden University
chris@asiascape.net
Akira (1988).
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Ghost In the Shell
(1995).
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