Lafcadio Hearn (1850–1904)

How did it take me so long to get around to Hearn? I know what he's doing--being the Japan hand--but he is a particularly sprightly version, finding magic everywhere and twisting it into little pieces of art. I've done it meself, a little, when I was trying on the clothes of a writer--but in an era when we're faced with the choice between Davos man (looking a little green around the gills in 2017 too though) and digging deep into our own traditions, in rightist-nativist or show more leftist-essentialist but in any case ways that bespeak a narrowing of horizons certainly and only perhaps a deepening too, in this context a little exotica and xenophilia, especially when it comes along with the sincere love of Japan and its trivia and textures that I know so well--makes me eager indeed to credit Hearn as an OG (in Japan that means "old girl" and is the term for a retired office lady!). show less

La primera vez que escuché sobre Lafcadio Hearn debió ser en 2006, durante un curso de cine de terror japonés en el Claustro de Sor Juana, con sus pasillos atiborrados de gatos y una oscuridad que daba escalofríos. Corte a: caminando por las calles del Centro Histórico, muy cerca de donde Carlos Fuentes ubicó la casa de “Aura”, encontré en una librería un ejemplar de “Kwaidan” (1904) a punto de deshacerse. Las paginas amarillentas y el olor a humedad del libro, sólo show more incrementaron la extrañeza inquietante. Lo que Freud llamaba: lo siniestro.
Si alguien amó, interpretó y divulgó la cultura japonesa, fue Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904). Hijo de madre griega y padre irlandés, la vida del escritor y periodista fue tan intrínseca como muchos de sus relatos. Prácticamente abandonado siendo un niño, se volvió un trotamundos hasta que llegó a Japón en 1890; se casó con una mujer nipona y fue profesor en la Universidad de Tokio.
“Kwaidan” es una recopilación de cuentos aterradores que se adentran en temas como la muerte y la reencarnación, la naturaleza y el karma, desglosando las tradiciones y creencias japonesas. Son relatos breves, 17 cuentos variados en temática y estilo que tienen algo en común: la escalofriante narrativa que emana el libro desde la primera letra.
Fascinado por el misterio y riqueza cultural de oriente, Hearn tomó de antiguos libros japoneses algunas leyendas aterradoras y las moldeó en sus cuentos; también encontró historias de origen chino que le impactaron y algunas más provenientes de nativos de la zona que le confiaban crónicas atroces.
Demonios, samuráis y fantasmas (de cabello muy negro), deambulan entre relatos tan desconcertantes como tétricos, mientras Hearn, por medio de notas y apuntes, ayuda al lector occidental a entender términos japoneses ambiguos. La humedad y el hedor de la muerte, la naturalidad del regreso de ultratumba y la caligrafía como elemento para confundir espectros, son ejemplos de los temas que viven dentro de las páginas de “Kwaidan”.
Elegir un cuento favorito es inútil. En su conjunto, los relatos crean un universo macabro en el que el traslado de uno a otro va incrementando la tensión y el horror. Sin dejar de señalar ese extraño sentimiento que queda al terminar la lectura: ¿cuántas vidas habremos vivido ya? show less

This requires a little bit of patience and imagination because imagery trumps thrills, definitely. Like a lot of ghost stories these end swiftly and unceremoniously and like all oral traditions, they lose a little something in the translation, so be prepared. Still an excellent collection. The essays on insects are really beautiful and the introductory biography essay on Lafcadio Hearn may have been my favorite part. Apparently it's been made into the sweetest looking movie I've never seen.

From a Goodreads Review:

Lafcadio Hearn lived a kind of loose cannonball life, but both interesting and productive. Born half Greek on an Ionian island to a British military doctor and local woman, he grew up there, in Ireland, England, and France with little or no home life. Deserted by his parents and ultimately by all his relatives, he was sent to America where he struggled to survive but eventually became a newspaperman in Cincinnati. He married an African-American woman for a couple of show more years, but they separated. He then worked ten years in New Orleans and reported from Martinique for a couple of years as well. He translated works of Zola, Maupassant, and Flaubert into English. Sent to Japan as a correspondent, he fell in love with the country, became a Buddhist, married a Japanese, changed his name and became a citizen. He taught English in the provinces, but eventually wound up a professor at Tokyo Imperial University, dying of a heart attack at age 54 in 1904 after 14 years in Japan. If I were you, I’d read any of his interesting writings on all these places where he lived or his collections of ghost stories and other tales. I probably wouldn’t read this particular volume.
The reason I say this is that Japan basically flummoxed him. Westerners had scarcely begun to delve into Japanese history or culture. Anthropology was quite new and had nothing written on Japan yet. I found this book in the tone of “Wow! These people are so strange and different. You will never understand them, no matter what. You may love the place, but it will remain outside your ken.” In 2019, I don’t think this is a plausible direction. If you learn the language, if you come to know the culture and history, if you live among them, you may understand quite well. On the other hand, I don’t believe anyone can totally understand any large country, nor even small societies. It’s a question of your personality and your personal history as to how you perceive what surrounds you. So, the intoning and constant comparisons with Greece, the defense of Japan as a “great civilization worthy of respect and study” are very much out of date. You may grow tired quickly of such stuff. However, the man himself deserves to be remembered as one who did not look down on the Japanese, who did not want to convert them to Christianity, and tried to explain their ways to the West. show less