In this blog post, we’ll explore how Dōpo’s concise writing style and detailed descriptions of scenery reveal a modern “inner world” and continue to resonate with us today.
Why Dōpo?
Although Doppo is often referred to as a pioneer of naturalism in the history of Japanese literature, he was in fact a leading figure in modern Japanese literature who forged his own path, unbound by any specific school of thought, and influenced various movements in subsequent generations. In Japan, he has long been cherished alongside writers such as Natsume Sōseki and Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, but in Korea, only a relatively small number of his works have been introduced in the form of anthologies.
This by no means implies that Doppo’s works are uninteresting. Rather, it is simply that his concise writing style from over a century ago—which blends archaic language with modern expressions—and his meticulous descriptions of scenery require a great deal of time and effort from translators, making it difficult to introduce his works fully in Korea.
While running a website called “Japanese Literature Hobby” in 1999, I met many people searching for translations of Tōhō’s works. Interestingly, there was also significant interest in Tōhō among Korean literature majors; this was largely due to the influence of Kojin Karatani’s book ‘The Origins of Modern Japanese Literature’, which frequently cited Tōhō.
Karatani highly praised Dōpo as a writer who discovered the inner self (the modern self) in Japanese literature. He emphasized that Dōpo revealed the inner self by depicting landscapes as they were, rather than through the objective depictions seen in traditional landscape paintings of the past. In this book, Karatani even argued that Tōhō’s literary lineage was closer to the mainstream of modern literature than those of Futabatei, Ōgai, or Sōseki, and he assessed that Tōhō was the first to write a confessional work in the form of “unvarnished records.”
Akutagawa also held Tōhō in high regard. He viewed Tōhō as a figure on par with Strindberg, Nietzsche, and Tolstoy, and was so deeply impressed that he described Tōhō as “a poet who clearly understood the feelings of a person killed by a train.” It is also said that the early poet Naoya began his career under Tōhō’s influence.
The praise for Tōhō at the time stemmed not merely from his literary techniques but from the high regard in which his “transparency”—the honest revelation of subjects and emotions—was held. For this reason, many writers and critics took notice of Tōhō.
Biographical descriptions of what kind of writer Tōhō was have also been passed down. For example, one critic viewed Tōhō as a writer with a dual nature: one who could pierce through reality with a sharp mind while gazing toward the heavens with a gentle heart. For this reason, his works are evaluated as a coexistence of honest and dispassionate landscape descriptions and compassionate portrayals of human beings.
Upon hearing of Tōhō’s death, the poet Takuboku Ishikawa wrote in his diary, “This truly gifted poet went unrecognized by others for ten years. He was recognized for a mere three years, and then he died. Has Mr. Tōhō, who was a true writer even among the Meiji-era creators, finally passed away?” expressing his sorrow and respect for Tōhō.
Korean modern writers and critics also held Dōpō in high regard. Kim Eok described Dōpō as “a writer whose concise works captivate the heart,” while Choi Seo-hae—known as a pioneer of “poverty literature”—is said to have avidly read Dōpō’s short story collections and admired his writing style. In an interview, Lee Gwang-su once remarked that, along with Natsume Sōseki, he always wanted to read Kunikida Tōpō’s works.
Tōpō’s delicate descriptions of scenery and the stories woven within them feel like a poem or a painting. His prose occasionally reveals a flash of intellect, possessing a charm that even modern readers can appreciate as “art they want to keep close at hand.”
Bang Jeong-hwan also confessed in an essay that he was an avid reader of Tōhō. He wrote about an experience where, while reading Tōhō’s ‘Bedside Diary’, he was reminded of his own heartbreak and sat there for a long time—a testament to how deeply Tōhō’s works resonated with the sentiments of the youth of his time.
The cultural legacy of Tōhō has had a profound influence on Japanese culture as a whole, and traces of it can still be found in contemporary popular culture. For example, in director Shinji Iwai’s film ‘April Story’ (1998), there is a scene where the protagonist reads ‘Musashino’ in the countryside of Hokkaido before heading to Musashino University in Tokyo. The scenery of Musashino resonates with the romantic sentiment of the work, demonstrating just how profound Dōpo’s influence was.
Tōhō’s Literary World — Landscapes with the Common People
Tōhō’s works were greatly influenced by the themes and techniques of Maupassant and Turgenev, as well as Wordsworth’s view of nature. However, Doppo’s primary concern was not nature itself, but rather the common people standing within that nature and the landscapes of their lives. For him, a landscape was not merely a backdrop, but a stage that, intertwined with the people existing as tiny dots within it, contained memories and history spanning vertical time.
Doppo’s view of the common people is evident in various short stories. Examples include the lonely old man in “Old Man Ken,” the poor people in “The Bamboo Side Gate” and “The Archer,” the sincere, ordinary man in “The Extraordinary Commoner,” the simple-minded boy in “Spring Bird,” the courtesan in “A Boy’s Sorrow,” and the nameless people in “Unforgettable People.” The stories of these characters always unfold alongside descriptions of the surrounding scenery that harmonize with the atmosphere.
A sentence from “Unforgettable People” aptly summarizes Doppo’s view of the common people. When one sits facing a lamp late into the night, the loneliness of life brings tears to one’s eyes, and what comes to mind then are “people”—past events, friends, and the people who stood within those scenes—and the realization that the distinction between “self” and “other” is meaningless. The sentiment that we are all born in some corner of this world, wander a long path, and eventually return hand in hand permeates all of Dōpo’s works.
This tenderness toward such nameless neighbors wells up particularly strongly when one is traveling or in a state of solitude. It is precisely the kind of moment that brings Bashō’s haiku to mind. It is highly likely that Doppo, especially after his divorce from his first wife, Nobuko, spent a lonely period in the forests of Musashino, developing a deep compassion for those who possessed nothing—in stark contrast to the upper classes. That compassion sometimes bordered on self-love; it was precisely because he had turned inward that he was able to see the people within the external landscape.
“Musashino” transcends a mere description of the landscape. The landscapes Depo depicts are not, like those of Hokkaido, natural scenes devoid of people, but rather places where traces of daily life—man-made paths, the lives of farmers, the fluttering of a fly’s wings, the distant sound of a train whistle, and the cannon fire at noon—are intertwined. There, the footsteps of people from the past remain, memories of love linger, and historical clues—such as a cemetery discovered by chance—can be found.
Toppo had also visited the vast forests of Hokkaido, but he said the atmosphere there differed from that of Musashino. He felt that while Hokkaido’s deep atmosphere lacked the scent of people, it also lacked the kind of atmosphere that, like the autumn rain in Musashino, makes one long for people and whispers to them. Ultimately, the landscape most dear to Doppo’s heart was Musashino—the place close to him where people lived and breathed.
“Old Man Ken” is an early novel based on Doppo’s experiences as a teacher in Saiki. Depicting the extreme loneliness humans experience amidst the waves on the beach, the moonlight in the night sky, and the songs of sailors, the story follows the encounter between Gen, an elderly man who has lost his beloved wife and son, and Kishu, a beggar who was abandoned as a child and roamed the graveyard—an encounter that ultimately ends in tragedy. Kishu is portrayed as a being who has forgotten even loneliness, “crawling at the bottom of the waves.”
“Beef and Potatoes” unfolds a debate between reality (beef) and idealism (potatoes), and through the protagonist’s “desire for wonder,” it poses the fundamental questions: “Who am I? Where do I come from, and where am I going?” Although the narrative tends to build suspense through a somewhat gradual progression, the protagonist’s resolve to break free from the oppression of old habits and contemplate the universe on his own terms holds universal significance as an attitude no artist should overlook. However, the story’s conclusion—in which the protagonist declares, “In the end, it is nothing but hedonism”—compels most readers to acknowledge their own fragility as they struggle between ideal and reality.
Works such as “The Sorrow of a Boy,” “The Sorrow of a Painting,” and “Spring Bird” have been included in Japanese textbooks for over a century, appealing even to young readers. In Korea, there is research indicating that Lee Gwang-su drew inspiration from “The Sorrow of a Boy” and “The Sorrow of a Painting” for his own works, and there is also a thesis suggesting that Jeon Young-taek was inspired by “Spring Bird.” Doppo’s stories about boys have long influenced multiple generations.
“The Extraordinary Criminal” is a work that extols Somin, who rejects worldly success and lives diligently toward a modest goal. Although he had great ambition from a young age and was influenced by the spirit of the times, Doppo ultimately remained true to his literary nature, which could not accept the hypocrisy of the world. This work has frequently been included in student readers.
‘The Fatalist’ deals with the mysteries of the universe and the strange fate of humanity, dramatically presenting problems that remain unsolved even by today’s scientific thinking. As the representative work from the short story collection ‘Fate’—which established his reputation—it addresses themes such as the secret of one’s birth and incest; one of the characters’ names even appears to be linked to Dōpo’s actual life. For example, there are elements in the story that evoke the name of Dōpo’s first wife, Nobuko, leading some to interpret a connection between the young Dōpo’s personal sorrow and the work’s theme.
The confessions of carnal desire revealed in “The Honest Man” and “Women’s Troubles” show a strong influence from Maupassant. Doppo is credited with boldly and candidly acknowledging carnal desire, thereby pioneering the genre of the “erotic novel.” Furthermore, some research suggests that the Korean author Kim Dong-in’s ‘Baedaraegi’ was inspired by the themes and structure of ‘Yeonan’.
‘The Archer’ and ‘The Bamboo Side Gate’ are considered masterpieces from Doppo’s later years, distinguished by their realistic artistry. Doppo did not view the common people as mere objects but presented descriptions that delved deep into their hearts—something made possible because he himself was one of them. His close friend Tayama once summed up Doppo’s life in a single word: “poverty.”
‘“The Lady of Kamakura”’ is a work set against the backdrop of the relationship between Dōpo and his first wife, Nobuko. Nobuko is a figure who casts a shadow of deep love-hate throughout Dōpo’s works; she can be interpreted both as a “high-class shrew” from a male perspective and, from a female perspective, as a modern woman who shook off the shackles of premodern ethics to find her own life. In any case, Nobuko can be seen as the one who ignited Doppo’s creative passion and added depth and weight to his work.
I will also briefly note Nobuko’s life after that. After divorcing Tōpō, Nobuko gave birth to a daughter in Sapporo in 1897 but had her adopted by another family. In 1901, following the successive deaths of her parents, a family meeting approved her departure to marry a man in the United States; however, a scandal involving an affair with a married purser on the ship forced her to return home, and this incident was reported in the newspapers, becoming a major topic of conversation. Nobuko later had a daughter with that man and was widowed in 1921. Records indicate that in 1933, she moved to Moka City in Ibaraki Prefecture, where her younger sister lived, and opened a Sunday school to teach the Bible and hymns. Nobuko died in 1949 at the age of 71 and was buried alongside her daughter.
Finally, Tōhō’s ‘Honest Record’ is a collection of diaries spanning from February 1896 to January 1897; it is a valuable source offering a glimpse into the inner world of a young man during the Meiji modernization era and can be regarded as the prototype of the Japanese autobiographical novel. Excerpts from this diary detailing his romance with Nobuko were published separately under the title ‘Love Diary’. This book features selected passages depicting the beginning of Tōhō and Nobuko’s romance and the moment they reaffirmed their love for one another in the Musashino Forest. Although, in reality, this scene did not mark the end of Tōhō’s life, we have chosen it as the conclusion here so that readers may fully experience Tōhō’s love and the beauty of the landscape.
