Reviews of The Mirror in the Shrine herald its unconventional approach to studying history but question whether it is a historical work. I will leave this question for later after we have had a chance to examine the work more closely. However, before we do, it is important to ask: Who is Robert Rosenstone?
Rosenstone is a professor of history at the California Institute of Technology. He is a prolific writer whose earliest published works recounted the experience of American communists. His first book on the Abraham Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War and a biography of John Reed established him as an historian of the American left. He has authored several journal articles on specific topics from these monographic works. Incidentally, as he was working on his biography of John Reed, he began a discourse with Warren Beatty that eventually contributed to the factual basis of the movie Reds. Rosenstone goes to great lengths in his 1982 article Reds as History to distance himself from involvement. Still, he also initiates a growing interest in film’s effectiveness as historical representation. He has since published the book we are looking at tonight, Mirror in the Shrine and subsequent work on the challenges of film to the idea of history. The Mirror in the Shrine and several journal articles in the early eighties witnessed Rosenstone explore extra-national influences on an individual’s psyche. For the last quarter of a century, his work has explored how history is presented. His most recent journal articles and his co-founding and continuing editing of the journal Rethinking History, the “…sole historical journal that welcomes innovation
and experimentation.”
His latest articles have focused on how modern representation lends veracity to history but threatens to overwhelm its objectivity.
Mirror in the Shrine marks a turning point in Rosenstone’s professional life. By exploring personal influences, He questions how such experiences can be conveyed.
So, to the Mirror in the Shrine.
1974 Robert Rosenstone traveled to Japan to teach history at two universities. In Mirror in the Shrine, he offers an exercise in experimental writing to present a three-subject historical narrative in search of an explanation for his modern-day experience. The subjects of his book all travelled to Japan in the late Nineteenth Century, much in the same way as the author did in the late Twentieth Century. On returning from Japan, Rosenstone saw Western culture through different eyes. He described a feeling of discontent, uneasiness and dislocation2 when he returned from his time in Japan. His own culture was made to feel a bit alien3 He discovered that his experience in Japan had altered his worldview, and in Mirror in the Shrine, he provides a commentary on his journey of exploration of others who he feels shared this view-altering experience.
This change of perspective is a very personal metamorphosis for Rosenstone. During the writing process, Rosenstone discovered that conventional narrative techniques left him feeling too distant from his subjects and unable to represent this profound personal change. To more effectively express his subjects’ experiences and relate their stories, he appropriates techniques used by cinematic screenwriters. As a result, Mirror in the Shrine could correctly be identified as a film presented on paper rather than celluloid. His subsequent works, exploring the filmmakers’ effectiveness in representing history, provide a valuable counterpoint to his admitted exploratory work in this book.
Mirror in the Shrine tells the parallel stories of three Americans who travelled to Japan in the late Nineteenth Century. Japan at this time had only recently been opened to foreigners due to Admiral Perry’s visit and a subsequent treaty signed between the United States and Japan. Japan is just emerging from the feudal rule of the shogunate and has witnessed the restoration of an emperor. Although coming from different backgrounds, the subjects of Rosenstone’s book all undertake teaching assignments in Japan as the country reacts to the impact of exposure to Western ideals on traditional Japanese society. William Griffis, a theology student, sought to bring Christianity to the ‘pagan’ Japanese. Edward Morse was a world-renowned zoologist looking to add to his catalogue of brachiopods, something you may think of more as shellfish. The last subject, Lafcadio Hearn, an itinerant author, came to Japan hoping to be inspired in his writing by distancing himself from his own culture.
All the travellers felt they would bring their little bit of Western civilisation to the Japanese. The author contends that although they did have a significant impact on Japan at the time, they were more affected by Japan than Japan by their presence. This is not to say that these men were not influential. All three are remembered to this day and were the subjects of writing inside and outside Japan following their stays. However, ultimately, Rosenstone wants to examine how his subjects were altered by their journey to Japan.
In this regard, he seeks to write a psychohistory of these three men. As he crafts their stories, he concludes that he cannot relate this transformation using traditional forms of historical writing. Instead, claims Rosenstone, he was struck at one point that he should have his writing follow more of the form of a movie. Using a third-person narrative, he feels he cannot satisfactorily get “close enough” to his characters. In his colourful language, he feels the narrative form “…did not let me see the world through their eyes, smell it through their noses.”
Rosenstone is a very personal historian. In this book, he seeks to get close to his subjects, but he perhaps gets a little too close to their experience. While his own experience can allow him to explain others’ experiences better, this situation also threatens his objectivity. At times, the reader senses that he lacks the detachment to separate the experiences appropriately to examine where his experience may differ from his subjects.
In a sequence from Lafcadio Hearn’s memoirs, he visits a shrine and passes through layers of partitions, where he finds himself in the centre of the shrine. There, expecting to find some great emblem of the ethereal foreignness of the society he is in, or at least a high priest, he instead finds a mirror embedded in the Shrine itself and sees his face staring back at him. Hearn, the most literary of the sojourners, cannot resist the symbolism and ponders whether “…the Universe exists for us solely as a reflection of our souls? Or the Old Chinese teaching that we must seek the Buddha only in our own hearts?” Throughout the book, however, this motif is constantly reinforced. In another sequence,
Lafcadio Hearn recognises himself in one of the ornamental masks a dancer wears. In another, it is the reflection in water or a highly polished sword. Eventually, it looks at Japanese faces to see some reflection of reception or acceptance.
The characters constantly seek to gain some reflection of their situation. It is telling that he uses this metaphor for all his subjects when, at times, the reader sees the book more as a reflection of the author than its subjects.
The book is carefully structured thematically into six sections:
- Before – a little background information about the opening of Japan
- Landing – The initial glimpses, the initial shock of the cultural difference – an expected
difference - Searching – The crucial point, the longing for home, but detaching from one’s own
culture, making discoveries - Loving – Realising that civilisation is not a Western ideal
- Learning – Actively pursuing specific new ideas and in many ways finding disenchantment where there was initial amusement
- Remembering – In Edward Morse’s case, a return to Japan, in all subjects, examines how they wrote about Japan and its culture.
So, you have to ask, why is it structured this way?
Rosenstone adopts this thematic presentation to allow for a narrative unity of time that would not exist if he pursued a mainly chronological presentation.
Rosenstone very skillfully builds his screenplay. The Americans he chooses to follow make their way to Japan at ten-year intervals and experience the country at very different junctures in its development and exposure to Western influences. Willis shows up just as Japan is opening up to the West. It is a time of timid interest, wariness, but curiosity. It was a time when the emperor had stringent rules to be followed, and exposure to traditional Japan was slight. At the same time, Japan has not yet changed, and Japan, viewed through Morse’s eyes, is virginal. Ten years later, when Morse showed up, Japan had already begun to change dramatically; there were Western encampments, and Western residents in the country had rapidly asserted their influence. Traditional Japan has eagerly started to seize the opportunity to progress down a Western trajectory. The gloves are off, and the thirst of the Japanese for Western influence is intense. By the time Hearn arrived, the Japanese had begun to realise the effect of this Westernisation on traditional ways, and there had been a substantial cultural backlash. The country has again started to become restrictive with the allowances for Westerners, and we see this in Hearne’s experiences. He feels so threatened at one point to lose any privileges in Japan that he adopts Japanese citizenship for fear of the consequences of remaining American in this foreign land. As Koizumi Yakumo, he spent the next twenty-five years increasingly drawn into Japanese society but always remained the observer (despite his near blindness).
This structure also has the crucial time-bridging ability to apply to Rosenstone’s experience nearly one hundred years later. This same path can be applied to his own experience. However, all too often, the reader gets the impression that the voice one hears is his and not that of his subjects. When gaps appear in the information available to himself as the historian, he laments, “Now the difficulties begin. Not for Morse but for his biographer. Then, the problem is sources – the journal he kept in Japan and the letters written at home. Neither reveals what you want to know; neither gives enough detail or the right kind of detail, to fill out the story that lies behind the words, the story that the biographer wishes to tell, of how and why Japan caused this American scientist to switch from a lifelong interest in the natural world to a passionate interest in the artefacts and customs of the human world. Easy enough to speculate on
causes.” Especially if you are Robert Rosenstone and have experienced this for yourself. What Methodologies does Rosenstone employ?
A catharsis leads him to realise that he can only be satisfied with his work by adopting cinematic techniques in his writing. To this end, he delineated four techniques that he chose to employ to gain this closeness both on his part and the readers to the historical subjects:
The use of different voices
The author freely employs the words of the subjects in the book. He attempts to get closer to the subjects by skillfully weaving their words amongst his own. He avoids the use of quotation marks and merely uses italics when his subject words are being spoken. Intertextual notes are nonexistent. In his defence, he explains in advance that he will not provide in-text references. The italics are the only trigger to let the reader know that these are the subjects’ words and not the author’s creation. The author wants to maintain the fluidity of prose. The text is a direct conversation with the reader and the subjects. This technique is supplemented by writing the entire work in the present tense, which minimises the effect of the time shifts.
We are treated to an ongoing discourse by the author that features the voices of
the subjects themselves throughout the work.
The cinematic techniques of montage, moving camera and quick takes
The cinematic feel of the work is manifested by the use of short, choppy sentences, montages and moving camera techniques, especially during the book’s first two chapters. Rosenstone was seized by the realisation that he could
only convey the distinctive Oriental way of life through something more vivid than conventional historical narrative. Therefore, the author seeks to present his narrative as if he were writing, directing and narrating a historical film.
When it comes to a paper film, Rosenstone has his moments. “Twelve horseback figures in a late winter landscape. From afar, dark shapes along a dirt road through valleys, across low streams, in hills where the naked branches of trees are frosted white. A heavy sky droops with clouds. Bursts of hail, flurries of snow angled by sharp wind, and an occasional shaft of sunlight. Close up, the sweating flanks of horses, mud splattering the camera lens, a flashing view of wooden stirrups, eleven with sandals, the twelfth with heavy boots. Pull back and see warriors in dark robes, faces set in the blank look of samurai on duty. The expression of the twelfth figure, clad in a western coat, blue eyes squinted
against the weather, is hidden in the folds of a muffler.” 10 Rosenstone does not get this detail from a diary. He sees it in the screenplay that he is constantly writing.
The direct address to readers and characters
Self-reflexive moments
Throughout the book, Rosenstone employs a floating you. He addresses the subjects and the readers
simultaneously, at times creating some confusion, but maintains this feeling of an ongoing discourse. Rosenstone directly addresses Edward Morse in one instance: “…Suddenly it is enough. You are tired of smiling, polite people with exquisite manners, tired of children who never fuss or cry, tired of honest merchants, helpful rickshaw men, graceful waitresses, skilful carpenters, fearless firefighters, jolly vendors, smiling priests, elegant ladies; you are tired of street festivals, actors in masks, beautiful gardens, colourful kimonos, weathered shrines, elaborate hairdos, clever toys, immaculate rooms, artful shop signs, unique designs for umbrellas, baskets, pottery, tools, and flower holders done in bamboo, wicker, ceramic, and wood; tired above all of hearing that chopsticks are efficient and economical and should be
used around the world.” Where does Rosenstone get the evidence that allows him to understand and empathise with his subject? Well, not from Morse, Rosenstone goes on to complain that “…from Morse you won’t get them…to ask why he [Morse] does not make more of the darker side of society is to ask him to be a different man.” Yet, as an author, he feels there are grounds for conjecture. It remains to the reader to judge whether this conjecture is valid. In a subsequent contribution to a work on Oliver Stone, Rosenstone admits that outright invention is sometimes necessary to fill the grey area of history. Rosenstone constructs a spectrum of historical representation: fact, near-fact, displaced fact
and finally, invention. While he is applying this model to the use of film to relate history, it seems clear that he also has his work in mind. Using this schema, it is helpful to see that what Rosenstone accomplishes in this banter about feelings with his subject is not displaced fact but fact from displacement. The lacunae become essential facts in their own right.
In short, Rosenstone suggests that past historical narrative experimentation has remained rooted in the era of late Nineteenth-century novelists. Rosenstone feels that he is pulling the profession forward with a work that attempts “To achieve the density, specificity and ease of temporal movement of a novel without sacrificing the integrity of data on which any work of history must be based; to create, in short, a piece of historical writing suited to the literary sensibility of at least
the middle, if not the late twentieth century.”
What questions does the author ask?
The author asks many questions about the evidence that he has. He directly asks the following of his subjects: - What were the subjects’ upbringings – create an impression of disparity
- Why did his subjects choose to go to Japan?
- What were their early impressions?
- What was their original judgment of the country?
- When did their judgment begin to evolve?
- Why did it evolve?
- Why did they leave the country?
- Were their objectives in coming achieved?
- What did they write after their experience?
- How did their experience in Japan change them?
Rosenstone’s questions are those that he would ask himself. His
travels and teaching in Japan changed him, and he wants to know why. I think, though, that he is asking two more significant questions, one personal and one professional:
The personal: “How and what we can learn from other traditions.”
Rosenstone states this question in his introduction, suggesting that he will have provided an answer by the end. However, in his conclusion, Rosenstone admits that the sources left by his subjects did not answer this question. He suggests that the readers must seek to answer this question for themselves; perhaps his experiment may contribute to that end. From my standpoint, other than the vivid scenes of Edward Morse’s pottery appreciation, which do not approach a depth that we, too, feel we can judge Japanese pottery, I am left empty. Without the details, I would need to answer the question as a reader.
The professional: “Is it important to write history in new and innovative ways?”
The author makes a very adept distinction in the introduction to film reviews in his magazine when he states that dramatic film can broadly be separated into two camps, those that seek to wrestle with serious historical issues (such as the Return of Martin Guerre) as opposed to those that use the past as an exotic setting for spectacle or romance (such as Gladiator). He admits that some try to do both and cites Reds. Although this book remains a book, the author has begged some discussion of the validity of his filmic technique, especially in light of his subsequent writings. He intends to discuss historical questions but to employ the backdrop of cinema in a new and innovative way to augment the related personal experiences. To make them truly personal.
He creates a vivid screenplay that he feels is necessary for the reader to appreciate the smells, touch, feel, environment, and atmosphere that his subjects feel. On an intellectual level, this supports the need to respect the deeply personal experience, which can only be accomplished through a cinematic presentation.
At the same time, he is responding to a newer generation of audience that requires visual stimuli to gain an appreciation. There has been desensitisation to description, and history, to an extent, must be brighter, more colourful, and more immediate. He is, in effect, responding to a changed audience. Is he writing for a professional audience? No. He genuinely is writing for a popular audience.