After Proofreading
In these notes written for successive issues of Shinshicho, Ryunosuke Akutagawa comments on the sources of his early stories, his ideal of the small but finished work, his respect for Natsume Soseki, and his hopes and misgivings as he prepares to attempt fiction on a larger scale.
○ I intend to go on writing fiction with material of the same kind as I used this month. I should hate to have that work simply consigned to the category of historical fiction. Of course, I do not imagine the present piece amounts to much. In time, however, I may manage the method somewhat better. (First issue of Shinshicho)
○ I took the material for “The Wine Worm” from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. It differs hardly at all from the original story. (Fourth issue of Shinshicho)
○ The title “Shuchu” is pronounced shuchu, not sakamushi. The matter has been bothering me, so I add this note. (Sixth issue of Shinshicho)
○ I wrote a story called “Yam Gruel” for the September issue of Shinshosetsu.
○ I am told there is still some empty space, so I shall write a little more. According to a letter from Matsuoka, Shinshicho has quite a number of earnest readers in Niigata Prefecture. Many of them, it seems, are young people who aspire to creative writing. Not only for the sake of Shinshicho, but for Japan as well, I hope that their number will increase—provided, of course, that the self-confidence of our circle is more than mere conceit.
○ Some people reproach my writing for being too neatly confined within a small compass. Yet what I want to make is a finished work, however small. In art there is no realm for the unfinished. The road to a great finished work consists only of small finished works. The large unfinished works now in fashion mean nothing whatever to me. (Through the seventh issue of Shinshicho)
○ For “Tobacco” I slightly altered a story I had encountered long ago while reading Mr. Takagi's work on comparative mythology. I believe even that book did not say where the legend came from.
○ For “The Tobacco Pipe,” which I wrote for Shinshosetsu, I likewise made slight use of a story told to me by an old man from the Kaga domain. The material for the previously published “Lice,” for this story, and for “The Enlightened Lord,” to appear next month, was all gathered for me by the same person.
○ Some people seem to think that every member of our circle is extraordinarily self-assured, but that is a grave mistake. We often take off our hats to the work of other writers. Whenever I find a writer who has seized firm hold of something and set it down, I often feel compelled—leaving aside for the moment what the subject itself may be—to respect the skill with which it has been grasped and written. (There are writers of this sort among the Naturalists too.) I consider this a more rational kind of admiration than being impressed by a writer's tendency alone.
○ It is rather presumptuous to suppose that praise must invariably delight a writer.
○ Critics are not the only ones who pass judgment on writers. Writers pass judgment on critics as well. And where logic is concerned, the soundness of a writer's judgment can be determined objectively. (Through the ninth issue of Shinshicho)
○ Nothing could be more deeply regretted than the death of Professor Natsume. He had already accomplished more than enough in the past. Yet nothing could be more deeply regretted than his death, because lately he seemed to have reached a turning point. Like every great man, at the age of fifty he was about to take another mighty stride forward.
○ Speaking for myself, however severely anyone else might abuse me, I was satisfied if he praised me. At the same time, I sometimes feared the danger of making him my sole standard.
○ Then various circumstances prevented me from doing any work at all over the New Year. Even in what little I did accomplish, lack of time often drove me to force the work. The thought of this still displeases me. It weighs on me not only as a matter of conscience; I also feel genuinely sorry when I think how much trouble I must have caused the editors of other magazines.
○ From now on, I should like to finish a work first and send it out only if someone can use it. I have long thought so, but lately the feeling has grown particularly strong.
○ I also want to settle down and, within the limits of my ability, tackle something on a somewhat larger scale. I do have a plan, but it seems so likely to fail that I am tempted to hesitate. I should be in a sorry state if, as Amiel put it, I did nothing but flourish my sword to test my arm and never once used it in earnest.
○ When I think of Professor Natsume, who advanced continually, inevitably, and with such underlying strength, I am ashamed of my own faintheartedness. Ashamed from the bottom of my heart.
○ The literary world is moving toward something yet to come. As those destined to perish fall away, those destined to be born will surely emerge. Something must happen this year. Something has to happen. We all feel that our preliminary trials are over. (Second year, first issue of Shinshicho)
(March 1916–January 1917)