From Ito
This short piece by Ryunosuke Akutagawa takes the form of a mock letter, but beneath its playful surface lies a sharp literary sensibility. Writing from Ito in April 1923, Akutagawa pretends to complain that a newspaper has misplaced a “literary work” by printing school study questions outside the arts page. The joke rests on his treating ordinary educational prompts as if they were poetry. Yet the irony deepens in the postscript, where he describes a sick young girl absorbed in those same questions. What begins as satire turns unexpectedly tender: the imagination awakened by cherry blossoms, granite, and seaweed becomes a genuine form of beauty. The piece showcases Akutagawa’s blend of wit, delicacy, and awareness of how literature can arise from the most unlikely language. (QA warning)
Dear Sir,
I beg your pardon. I, for my part, have originally had no experience in newspaper editing, yet I have always understood that literary works belong in the literary section. And yet the April 13 issue of the Jiji Shimpo (Shizuoka edition) has printed a literary work outside the literary section. It appears under something called “Today’s Self-Study Assignment.”
Fourth year of elementary school: What sort of structure do cherry blossoms have?
Fifth year of elementary school: What minerals make up granite?
Sixth year of elementary school: State the usefulness of seaweed.
This is, of course, poetry. In particular, the phrase “the structure” of cherry blossoms possesses a clumsy brilliance beyond description. I assume it was some editorial mistake, but I cannot help earnestly hoping that works of this sort may hereafter be placed in the literary section. Though this is presumptuous of me, I submit it for your attention. Respectfully.
April 13 At Ito
Ryunosuke Akutagawa
To Mr. Sasaki Mokusaku
P.S. At the same inn where I am staying there is a girl of twelve or thirteen. She is said to have kidney disease, and her complexion is waxen. Attending her is either her mother, or else a woman of about fifty who does not resemble her very much. This morning, when I happened to go into the reception room, I found this shadow-thin girl leaning over a wicker table, intently reading “Today’s Self-Study Assignment.” No doubt the girl, like myself, was imagining cherry blossoms, granite, and seaweed dripping with salt water. This is by no means mere conjecture; anyone could tell as much with a single glance at her face. Naturally, I feel an artistic jealousy toward the author of “Today’s Self-Study Assignment.” And yet in the girl’s rapt face I sensed an indescribable happiness. Since you too live by the pen, I imagine you must also wish to write even a single line of such a work; and if, moreover, only such works came to be printed even in the literary pages of the newspapers, how delightful that would be.
Yours in haste.
(April, 1923)