[Feature: New Theory of Reading] Roundtable Discussion: Reading the Classics in the Age of AI

Today, as part of our special feature 'New Theory of Reading,' I would like to hold a roundtable discussion titled 'Reading the Classics in the AI Era.' As you know, we are currently in an unexpected situation due to the new coronavirus, but I hope to make this a roundtable discussion that maintains the same spirit as usual.

My specialty is modern Japanese literature, and I also study Meiji-period texts that are considered classics, but I feel that people generally have a sense of resistance toward things called 'classics.' Today, I would like to ask everyone what kind of reading methods they use to enjoy the classics.

First, and this might actually be the conclusion, I would like to hear your thoughts on 'what is a classic?'

Being old alone does not make something a classic. Mr. Hayashi, I believe you wrote in your book that the 'Dekansho' (Descartes, Kant, Schopenhauer) type of education from the old high school system is not important, and that works like 'The Tale of Genji' are interesting to read repeatedly. Conversely, Mr. Komai, you have included 'Dekansho' in the lineup of the Classical New Translation Library. First, Mr. Hayashi, what are your thoughts?

In high school, my least favorite subject was Modern Japanese. My high school years were a time of active leftist movements, and the Modern Japanese teacher would constantly say ideologically biased things, which wasn't interesting at all. In contrast, when I tried reading things like 'The Tale of the Heike' on my own, I thought, 'Oh, this is interesting.'

I didn't particularly dislike modern literature. At that time, I read what everyone else was reading, like Yukio Mishima and Kobo Abe, and those were interesting, but I really hated the Modern Japanese taught in class. So, it felt like I found a reason for living in classical literature, and that was the first trigger that drew me to the classics.

After all, classics are works that have been read through the ages precisely because they are considered interesting in every era, even while many other works have been lost. They are interesting to people of any era—that is, they have an unchanging, or in other words, universal appeal.

As I read, I felt things like, 'Ah, yes, that's right,' and now I've become a stubborn old man who reads nothing but classical literature... (laughs).

Mr. Komai, you select books not just from Japan, but from the wider world.

In my generation, influenced by Yukio Mishima and Tatsuhiko Shibusawa whom you just mentioned, three authors—Sade, Bataille, and Jean Genet—gained enormous popularity starting around high school. So, how should I put it, I felt like I wanted to read something a bit 'edgy.'

At the same time, people of the older generation, the so-called Zenkyoto (All-Campus Joint Struggle Council) generation, told me, for better or worse, within their classical educationalism, that 'you must read the classics.' But I always felt that even if I read them, I couldn't quite reach a full understanding.

As Mr. Hayashi just said, people up to my generation thought that classics were wonderful, and I actually read them quite hard from high school through university, but they didn't really resonate with my heart. I always felt that I couldn't find a way of reading that I could personally be satisfied with.

However, in the 21st century, when the trend of 'new translations' emerged, including Japanese works like 'The Tale of Genji,' I felt that we could read the classics more freely. In other words, signs began to appear that reading the classics would become ordinary reading rather than something 'noble.' So, I started reading them again.

Then, while being involved in the work of translation myself, I approached classical works by clarifying what it was I hadn't understood; that is how I engage with the classics.

Mr. Campbell, you have been reading from a perspective outside of the Japanese educational curriculum.

I didn't face and study Japanese as a national language (Kokugo), but learned it as the Japanese language. I think I have proceeded with reading using a single paradigm or conceptual framework of 'Japanese Literature' rather than 'National Literature' (Kokubungaku).

In my early teens, I grew up in diverse linguistic environments, living in Paris and England due to my parents' work. To borrow Mr. Komai's words, after entering university, I did want to do something a bit 'edgy.'

Looking back now, I think there was a slight time lag between America and Japan. When I entered university, the student movements in America had already subsided; rather, I belong to a generation that is very subtle and cannot empathize with such things. The Vietnam War ended in 1975, and I turned 20 about three years later, but I think my generation had something like a disconnect from the generation slightly above us.

So in my case, being 'edgy' wasn't about defying some authority. At that time, literary theories like Foucault and Derrida were very popular, and various literatures from all times and places were being approached using new theories from an equidistant perspective. While reading such theoretical literature toward the end of high school, I learned that Japanese literature also existed.

It was just when Mr. Seidensticker's new English translation of 'The Tale of Genji' was released in 1976. It was the first new translation since Arthur Waley's English translation of 'The Tale of Genji' (1921–1933). I think I was 19 when I bought it and read it through.

From there, I read various things haphazardly, such as Ivan Morris's translation of 'The Pillow Book.' I didn't really conscious of it as having authority or being within the framework of 'classics.' However, I think I sensed that it relativized various discourses since the 18th-century Enlightenment, or rather, it was a scene of a quite different way of narrating, an emotional world.

That is how I first read pre-modern Japanese literature through translations (English translations). In a sense, I thought it could exist as something that draws a diagonal line against French, British, German, or 19th-century Russian literature, and I found it extremely interesting.

To be able to read Japanese classics in the original text rather than English translation as soon as possible, I started taking classical Japanese classes in my second year of learning Japanese. I thought, 'This is exactly about the "way of narrating."' I noticed that there is a 'grammar of discourse' with a tone different from languages like English that are analytical and have very clear articulation, such as indirect and direct speech, and I entered into it thinking it was very interesting.

So, I didn't start reading Japanese classics because of the Japanese climate, or because the Japanese language is interesting, or because it's exotic in a Japonisme way, but as an opportunity to re-examine the horizon on which I stand.

I have heard a very interesting story. Whether something like 'The Tale of Genji' is included in textbooks or not has changed based on the evaluations of the time, so 'classics' are not fixed things. Mr. Hayashi, based on your own experience, what is 'The Tale of Genji' to you?

I feel that middle and high school textbooks might be very 'sinful.' I used to be a classical Japanese teacher at Keio Girls Senior High School, but I never used a textbook. The reason is that, for example, if you take out only a tiny portion of the whole of 'The Tale of Genji' or 'The Tale of the Heike' and ask, 'Now, how is this interesting?', I think the true interest might just slip away.

Whether it's 'Genji' or 'Heike,' it is hard for young people to read, but I think the true interest is the weight that hits your heart with a 'thud' when you read through the entire work. I think it's wrong to have them read tiny bits of it as if they were samples for teaching grammar and then act as if they have learned classical literature.

In high school—since I graduated from a Tokyo metropolitan high school—university entrance exams were always sitting on top of my head. For university entrance exams, it doesn't matter how you savor the classics. It's just important to desperately memorize so-called 'exam grammar,' like what the subject is, where this modifier attaches, or what conjugation and form it is.

Instead of that way of reading, if you try reading one work all the way through during summer vacation or something, you think, 'Wait, this is completely different.' Even if you don't teach tedious grammar as if picking through the corners of a tiered lunch box, and even if there are some parts you don't understand, by reading through, literature shows its true interest for the first time. Grammar is something that, if you grasp the basics, you will naturally understand by reading a lot.

After all, it is very important to read classical literature not in a textbook or exam reference book style, but for the person to read it 'with enjoyment.'

Literature, after all, is not for the purpose of gaining culture or thinking that reading this will make you a bit more noble; it is entertainment and pleasure in a broad sense, reading because you find it interesting. I think the state of Modern Japanese and Classical Japanese education that completely excludes such parts is very sinful.

I see, that's exactly right.

In my own experience as a teacher, for example, I couldn't teach the entire volume of 'The Tale of the Heike,' so I picked out and reconstructed a consistent story about Shunkan from the whole, and spent an entire semester reading 'The Tale of the Heike' as the story of Shunkan. I think that was a very fresh experience for the students.

Instead, I didn't cover stories like Nasu no Yoichi's fan target, which appears in every textbook. Even with 'The Pillow Book,' there's no point in memorizing parts like 'In spring, it is the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light pales along the mountain rim...' Instead, I think the reason young people can feel a sense of familiarity with classical literature is the experience of reading the whole thing themselves and discovering parts that make them laugh out loud, thinking, 'Ah, Sei Shonagon is quite a sharp-tongued lady.'

I am also a graduate of Keio Girls Senior High School, and I was fortunate to be able to read the classics without the pressure of having to memorize grammar for exams. I remember reading books recommended by teachers in my own way, relying only on annotations, from high school through the beginning of university.

Looking back now, I think it was very reckless, but I felt that since people at the time understood classical grammar just by listening to it spoken, I would surely understand it eventually too. I think it was a significant experience.

That's right. Grammar is something created by analyzing the results of what has already been formed, so it isn't consciously recognized at the stage when language is being generated. When a baby starts to speak, they don't study from grammar.

So, at least regarding one's mother tongue, if you just look up a dictionary for the parts you don't understand and read while making rough guesses about the parts you don't know, you will naturally understand it.

Mr. Hayashi just mentioned that it is a kind of entertainment. Indeed, in the language of the Edo period, stories and various 'kusazoshi' (illustrated storybooks) were sometimes read as 'nagusami' (pastime/solace). As Mitamura Engyo wrote during the war, I think the two pillars of 'edification' and 'laughter' are the largest axes when looking at Edo period literature.

The word 'kyoyo' (culture/education) did not exist in the Edo period. I think it is a translation of the German word 'Bildung' and others. On the other hand, the word 'tanoshimi' (pleasure/enjoyment) did exist. However, as the word 'kuraku' (pain and pleasure) suggests, I believe that pleasure was actually continuous with sorrow or pain, rather than just being about 'I did it!' or 'It feels so good.'

There is a very excellent essay called 'Taikan Zakki' (Miscellaneous Notes in Retirement) written by Matsudaira Sadanobu after he stepped down from his post as Roju (Senior Councilor). In it, it says, 'Sorrow and joy are like a ring (tamaki) that goes around.' A 'tamaki' is something like a bracelet, a circle. Pain and pleasure are connected like a Mobius strip and are not clearly articulated as separate things.

Now, while we are in the midst of a pandemic called COVID, we are trying to connect using remote operations while maintaining social distance. From within that, there is enjoyment and hope that leads to tomorrow. Therefore, I think we need to delve a little deeper into what is 'interesting.'

A long time ago, I had Mr. Hayashi come to an omnibus lecture at the University of Tokyo's College of Arts and Sciences that I organized. In it, he developed a reckless theory that Edo period literature is not that interesting (laughs). Of course, that was a strategy, and afterward, he spoke about how the interest of Edo literature has been read through the ages with an interest different from what is called creativity in modern times. He talked about how there is something slightly different from the enjoyment we seek from books in modern times.

As Mr. Hayashi mentioned earlier, rather than classics for exam study cut into small pieces, one can read in various free-wheeling ways. And I think it can be pointed out that Japanese pre-modern literature of several hundred years existed as a mechanism where reading through one work opens doors one after another.

I think 'reading for enjoyment' is an important motivation for anyone, but especially for adults, enjoyment can include seriousness, right?

However, even if we know that the classics are interesting, they are separated by time, and it takes time to understand them, which is why they tend to be avoided by the general public.

Many are busy with work and cannot get around to the classics. They prioritize things that are useful. In that regard, Mr. Komai, I think you have faced the pleasure of reading the classics within the workplace of a weekly magazine, which involves a mix of hard and soft topics.

I think reading 'Anna Karenina' while dealing with scandals in the editorial department of a weekly magazine was a rather unique lifestyle (laughs).

I also feel that I was thoroughly tormented by the grammar of Japanese classics when I was in high school. As you said, I lived in a system where I would read just a bit of the original text but never read the whole of 'The Tale of Genji' in modern translation. Therefore, I had a huge complex regarding classical Japanese and classical Chinese.

Mr. Campbell wrote in 'J-Bungaku' that he started reading Japanese literature vigorously in English during his second year of university. The fact that he entered Japanese classics through English was an important hint for me in thinking about 'translation,' including modern translations.

I think it was Masamune Hakucho who made the famous comment that reading 'The Tale of Genji' in English was very interesting. There are cases where placing a cushion like that allows one to read. There is the term 'classical educationalism,' but I think there is too much of an image that it is about culture or that it is hard to read, which sometimes prevents people from simply enjoying the work.

When Hashimoto Osamu released 'Momojiri-go Yaku Makura no Soshi' (The Pillow Book in Slang) with the translation 'Spring is like, the dawn!', everyone in the 'Shukan Hoseki' editorial department read it together. I think that was a very big deal. For myself, I first read the entire 'The Tale of Genji' in Waki Yamato's manga 'Asaki Yumemishi,' and then went on to read the 'Yosano Genji.' In that way, as an entrance, it might not be academic, but I think there is a modern interest.

When viewed as culture, Japan had to absorb Western culture in a great hurry since the Meiji Restoration, so it didn't quite reach the point of enjoying the works at eye level. This was my biggest motivation for wanting to create the Classical New Translation Library.

Rather than ending one's life without ever reading a classic, I thought it was very important as an editor to make it possible for many people to read them by lowering the hurdles and enlisting the help of experts.

While creating articles about the secular world at the weekly magazine site and reading classics like 'Anna Karenina' or Dostoevsky, it seemed like there was a sense of incongruity, but I actually understood well that classical literature also skillfully incorporated the social conditions of its time. In a weekly magazine-like site, there are actually human dramas like those in the novels of Balzac or Zola. Zola's 'Nana' is exactly the world of high-class courtesans. And yet, French literature became a textbook after the Meiji era, and people read it thinking it's something very noble. That's also true for Japanese classics.

I think it's good to look at the original text after reading Mr. Hayashi's 'Kinyaku Genji Monogatari' (The Carefully Translated Tale of Genji). I don't think there are many people like Mr. Campbell who first read in English and are now experts in Edo-period Chinese poetry, but I am convinced that the possibility of reaching that point exists within translations and modern translations. Ango Sakaguchi said that if you really find it interesting, you will definitely look at the original text. Those are words that encouraged me greatly. One of my big motivations for creating this 'Classical New Translation Library' was to ensure that the Japanese reading world does not lose such possibilities.

I think that was a very suggestive talk. Regarding 'The Tale of Genji,' Motoori Norinaga wrote an introductory book called 'Tama no Ogushi' (The Jeweled Comb).

He says the reason 'The Tale of Genji' is interesting is that, unlike the people depicted in Chinese classics, there isn't a single person who sticks to one direction, like being purely good or purely evil. Instead, humans have times when they are good and times when they are bad. They are both honest and cowardly. When they appear before someone they like, they are very pathetic, effeminate, and hopeless. He says it's interesting because those things are depicted as they are.

When people hear 'The Tale of Genji,' some say, 'It's the world of Heian court elegance (miyabi), isn't it?' When I hear that, I think, 'Ah, this person has never read "Genji."' Norinaga says that no matter how many times you read it, it's interesting and you never get bored. I truly agree with that opinion; I don't know how many times I read it to write 'Kinyaku Genji,' but it's interesting every time I read it.

I once had a student at the girls' high school who was a returnee raised in America. She had a strong sense of awareness regarding her identity as a Japanese person and said she wanted to read 'The Tale of Genji,' a piece of classical literature that would be proof of her being Japanese. So, she came to my house every week to read 'The Tale of Genji.' Eventually, she started reading the original text of 'The Tale of Genji' on the train to and from my house.

First, you teach her a bit about how to read and encourage her. For example, if you teach her that the adjective 'uruhashi' means a neat, upright beauty like a Buddhist statue, and conversely has a negative side of being hard to approach, that's 100 times better than teaching her what conjugation or form it is.

I gave her hints on how the author brought out this character image, and we read together; I recall that she finished reading the entire work by herself about a year later.

That's amazing.

If you have the experience of reading classical literature as a part of yourself without having a complex toward the classics, even 'The Tale of Genji' isn't scary, and you don't think it's a grand thing just because you read it.

I was taught such an experience by my returnee student, and it gave me many suggestions for my subsequent approach to classical literature. I think that connects to what Motoori Norinaga was saying. I think that's why it's excellent literature and why 'Genji' has been passed down for 1,000 years. And the reason I write modern translations of 'Genji' is that people today still want to read it somehow, so I think that kind of work also has meaning.

I felt that Mr. Hayashi's 'Kinyaku Genji Monogatari' is both a translation and a creation, and through the choice of words for translation, I could understand what parts you find interesting and what parts of the characters you find cute or annoying through the eyes of Hikaru Genji, reading between the lines.

I think there was something important in Mr. Hayashi's statement. Rather than whether one can read the original text of 'The Tale of Genji' on the train, I think it's more important whether it feels right as a scene, as something personal.

Mr. Komai mentioned the idea of an entrance to the classics, but I imagine something like koji mold in sake—that is, a catalyst that allows one to enter into it. That might be a modern translation, or it might be a manga adaptation. You read while going back and forth with the original text. Or it's a derivative work. In the Edo period, for example, with 'The Tales of Ise,' a large number of derivative secondary creations were made, such as 'Nise Monogatari' or 'Koshoku Ise Monogatari.' The same goes for 'The Tale of Genji.' You enter the classics through such things.

After all, I think that kind of perspective is completely invisible when learning classics in public school education. If I had been from a Tokyo metropolitan high school, I definitely wouldn't be here (laughs).

How do we find a catalyst? For young people in the future, how can we take the classics—for me, classical books, the books themselves, as a whole encompassing both old and new—and turn that diverse energy, which is truly unparalleled in the world, into fermented food? In that sense, I think translation is one very important means.

Actually, I have recorded the entire 'Kinyaku Genji Monogatari' and released it as audio media, and I always do a reading when I am asked to give a lecture related to Genji. At that time, I print the original text and distribute it to the audience, and have them listen to my careful translation with their ears while looking at the original text. Those who listen can understand the original text, thinking, 'Ah, I see, so that's what it means.'

Since today's title is 'Classics in the AI Era,' if I speak with a bit of a connection to that, I hope that by using electronic media or functions like AI, young people can approach the classics in ways that were impossible in the past.

In other words, when reading e-books, you don't have to look up a dictionary every time; sometimes the meaning comes up just by clicking. Also, a very large function of electronic media is the ability to search. In our scholarship, for example, to reach a single interpretation, we induce from a vast number of examples how this word has been used or what sentiments it has expressed.

We can prepare texts with full electronic annotations so that even people who have never been familiar with the classics can read them without any trouble. Therefore, the hurdles are lowered considerably, making it easier for people who have never been familiar with the classics to do so, and there is an aspect where research also becomes easier to conduct.

At the National Institute of Japanese Literature, with the cooperation of many researchers, we are proceeding with a large-scale 10-year research plan called the 'Project to Build an International Collaborative Research Network for Pre-modern Japanese Texts.' We are turning 300,000 titles of classical books into high-definition images and adding bibliography as metadata, and as you mentioned, there are hyperlinks that allow searching of the text data, enabling entry into various interpretations.

This is very rare in the world, but as a database, you can see all the images of the actual items. A decisive difference between Japanese classical books and modern ones is that characters and pictures are inseparable, to the point where you cannot articulate which is primary and which is secondary. Whether it's an Edo-period novel or a haiku book, the pictures and characters there exist together. They are organically connected.

Since I am at home right now, I will show you one: there is a book called 'Ryoko Yojinshu' (Collection of Precautions for Travel) published in Edo in the 7th year of Bunka. This is a book that allows you to truly experience how people in the early 19th century moved through space.

It includes what kind of snakes are dangerous in summer, how to protect your body, and various travel tools and maps. In other words, it is a book that allows you to relive the time spent moving through space. In modern classification, this would probably be a how-to book rather than literature, but for people in the Edo period, this was a literary work, a piece of reading material. Images of such 'objects' can be seen instantly at any time from the National Institute of Japanese Literature.

Also, for example, cookbooks have been made in large quantities in Japan since the 17th century, and from them, you can make dishes that haven't been on Japanese tables for 200 years. We have created an Edo cooking corner on the electronic version of the recipe collection 'Cookpad,' and we are turning things like the 18th-century 'Tofu Hyakuchin' (One Hundred Tofu Delicacies) or 'Tamago Hyakuchin' (One Hundred Egg Delicacies) into current menus.

In this way, I think there can also be an approach from the side of classical books to directly enter the questions and challenges that various people today face in their daily lives.

That's very interesting.

One more thing: the so-called humanities and sciences is a dichotomy that did not exist before the 1880s. Therefore, I believe we should offer materials that lead to integrated learning of humanities and sciences, so that not only researchers but also citizens can share knowledge.

For example, for several years we have been conducting joint research on 'auroras' with the National Institute of Polar Research, a very important science facility that sends Antarctic wintering parties, which is located next to the facility housing the National Institute of Japanese Literature.

In Fujiwara no Teika's 'Meigetsuki' (Record of the Clear Moon), it says that an ominous 'sekki' (red spirit), like the northern mountains burning red, could be seen from his residence in Kyoto. For hundreds of years, there was a debate about what this was. About three years ago, through joint research between the Polar Research Institute and us, it was discovered that this was actually an aurora. In the 13th century, low-latitude auroras could actually be seen with the Kyoto area as the southern limit. In the description of the year 620 in the 'Nihon Shoki' (Chronicles of Japan), there is the same description of 'sekki,' which was also unresolved, but it was found to be an aurora by combining it with various geological or astronomical knowledge.

Enjoying cooking or having dreams while looking at the starry night sky is a very universal human curiosity and interest that remains unchanged across all times and places. How to connect such things to what we call classics today and open them up—I think that is what will be required from now on.

In addition to major literature like "The Tale of Genji" or "The Pillow Book," there was another literary stream, for example in the Middle Ages, where people known as jigenin (lower-ranking officials)—who were different from the court nobles—monks, samurai, and commoners would gather to compose renga (linked verse) and engage in various activities.

Let me show you something as well. This is a haikai book called "Inanome-shu." It is a self-published book, so to speak, created by a haiku poet named Ryodai, a disciple of Tagawa Horo, and I believe it dates from around the Tenpo era. The first part contains renku (linked verse) that Ryodai was involved in, but the latter half is filled with verses by poets with haiku names I've never even heard of. These are verses by Ryodai's amateur disciples from around Kazusa, Shimousa, Awa, and Hitachi. In other words, it's like a self-published book from a modern-day haiku society.

It's like a LINE group, isn't it? They might not necessarily be gathered in one place.

That's right. They probably charged a fee called "idashiku-ryo" to publish a single haiku there. When you read this, Ryodai's own verses are quite dull, but among the verses written by the amateurs, there are some that are really interesting because they reflect a sense of the seasons and a view of labor that is closely tied to their actual lives.

In terms of the horizon of literature in a broad sense, it's not just that Murasaki Shikibu or Sei Shonagon were great; for such outstanding geniuses to emerge, there had to be a foundation. As Mr. Campbell mentioned, there were folk songs, oral traditions, myths, and legends—the seeds of various literatures—that supported the literary consciousness Japanese people have held since ancient times. From that soil, the koji (mold) gradually fermented to produce a fine flavor. And occasionally, a Daiginjo (premium sake) is produced (laughs).

I understand that both of you have a strong commitment to the physical reality of books, yet you also actively utilize seemingly contradictory technologies like digitalization. Since I also excavate and study texts written by amateur contributors in the modern era, I found it fascinating to hear about these continuities.

Regarding the earlier talk about catalysts, I believe Mr. Komai has brought many works written in various languages to the world through surprising translations that leverage the translator's interpretation. For example, the Kansai-dialect version of "Tannisho" translated by Minato Kawamura. Also, for the well-known "Mushi Mezuru Himegimi" (The Lady who Loved Insects), Mimi Hachikai changed the title to "Atashi wa Mushi ga Suki" (I Like Insects), making readers realize there was such a way to read it.

As for the form of books, the Koten Shinvaku Bunko (Classical New Translation Library) has such interesting cover designs that I want to keep them on hand, but on the other hand, reading them as e-books can broaden one's scope, as both of you discussed.

Actually, the Koten Shinvaku Bunko has been rushing to digitize from the beginning. This is because with e-books, you can jump to the notes with a click. That's a big factor.

Furthermore, by using many illustrations, we can make them very easy for general readers to read. For example, "Ryojin Hisho" is a collection of imayo (modern-style) songs that were popular in Kyoto in the 11th and 12th centuries. The appearance and clothing of the various professionals and performers mentioned can be explained instantly by including illustrations from picture scrolls or "Shokunin Uta-awase" (Poetry Contests of Artisans). Also, being able to show the locations of natural disasters like famines, great fires, and tornadoes that occurred frequently during the time "Hojoki" was written is a benefit of using diagrams.

I believe incorporating such insights into books is very important. Also, it's difficult to understand colors in the classics. Therefore, in "Towazugatari," we have included the traditional Japanese colors that appear in the book in color even in the e-book version. I think this has almost never been done before. In other words, you can actually see what kind of color "koji-iro" (citrus orange) is.

Also, regarding foreign literature, for example, the clothing of 18th-century European women was something that Japanese translators previously struggled to understand no matter how much they researched in libraries, but now it can be found instantly on the internet. I think the extent to which this has changed the reception of literature is beyond imagination.

Furthermore, there is Conrad's novel "Heart of Darkness," which involves traveling up the Congo River; I hear you can now see images of the entire journey upstream. In that sense, I think such elements will increasingly be incorporated into translations of Japanese classics as well.

And as Mr. Hayashi mentioned, audiobooks are really becoming popular now. We have developed the habit of silent reading for things that were originally meant to be heard. I believe the possibility of being able to enjoy things in their original form will expand even further as we enter the AI era.

Mr. Campbell mentioned earlier that I gave a lecture at the University of Tokyo, and I believe I talked then about how "one must not read waka silently."

In other words, you shouldn't read a poem like "Kokoro-ate ni oraba ya oran hatsushimo no oki-madowaseru shiragiku no hana" in about 10 seconds. You have to "sing" it over about 30 seconds, starting with "Kokoro-ate ni..." It is precisely because you spend a long time visualizing and ruminating on a single thought or scene in your head before moving to the next phrase that rhetorical devices like kakekotoba (puns), makurakotoba (pillow words), or jokotoba (preface phrases) become so vivid. We have appreciated these works by "singing" them in that way.

However, if you just scan it with your eyes, all that flavor is completely lost. In other words, the process of waiting for the next word while savoring the sentiment—whether it's a landscape, a color, "kanashi" (sorrow/affection), or "tanoshi" (joy)—is skipped, and you just see the conclusion. There's no way to understand the appeal of waka with that kind of reading. That's why Masaoka Shiki harshly criticized the "Kokinshu" in his "Letters to a Poet," but that was simply because Shiki didn't know how to read it.

In short, as mentioned, we think of reading as silent reading, but for example, with Futabatei Shimei's novels, they aren't very interesting when read with the eyes, but when you try reading them aloud yourself, you realize their merit. The beginning is stiff, but from the middle, you can tell the tone gradually becomes more like Encho's storytelling.

Even with Natsume Soseki, there are parts that are very difficult to understand when reading with the eyes, but if you read them aloud slowly and in a loud voice, they enter your head smoothly without any problem. I believe that kind of approach should be presented as a way of reading.

This story resonates with the "koji mold" analogy from earlier. In other words, for the majority of people who don't live their lives constantly looking at the classics, reading aloud is one of the catalysts for drawing out the enjoyment. I remember Mr. Hayashi's lecture vividly; it was, in essence, a "recommendation for slow reading." Since Mr. Hayashi is also a performer, he experienced the classics and "traced" them with his own body.

This "tracing" might be another keyword. Tracing with the voice—that is, reading aloud. When the Ueno Library was established in 1885, signs saying "Keep Quiet" were posted, and reading aloud became impossible. This phenomenon ran parallel to Japan's modernization. The act of reading something out loud was lost.

At the National Institute of Japanese Literature, about three years ago, we created an interesting laboratory for co-creating art called the "Nigel Art Co-creation Lab." We invited five artists, and among them, Koji Yamamura, one of Japan's leading short animation creators, discovered a ukiyo-e artist named Kuwagata Keisai. Kuwagata Keisai was considered a peer of Katsushika Hokusai in his time, but he is a ukiyo-e artist who is hardly remembered today.

Mr. Yamamura came to the institute and became obsessed with picture books that were very widely read during the Edo period, such as "Choryu Ryakugashiki" (Cursive Sketches of Birds and Beasts) and "Jinbutsu Ryakugashiki" (Cursive Sketches of People). Just like Mr. Hayashi, he "traced" the lines drawn by Keisai one by one. In doing so, he created a short animation work titled "Dreams" (Yumemi no E).

The content of "Dreams" is a completely new creation. However, the expression itself was made with great respect for Keisai's methods, such as his lines and his way of capturing the world with a single stroke.

This can be seen as a derivative work, or as creating new value emerging from the soil of dormant cultural resources. I think it can be called another form of the classics.

Up until around Futabatei Shimei, I think Edo culture was in people's flesh and blood, but now that it has been severed, how do we connect to the classics? As a method for that, I think we can use electronic information including AI, or machine readability, to drive data in various ways and share it with people in different fields.

You just mentioned Kuwagata Keisai, and in Edo-period books, there are many so-called copybooks for kusagana (cursive kana). Originally, Japanese people enjoyed characters as if they were pictures. This is a bit different from Western calligraphy; the character itself is a piece of art.

When characters were converted to movable type in the Meiji era, the aspect of characters being "beautiful traces of the brush" was completely lost. For example, in Edo-period kana copybooks, or so-called oraimono (textbooks), there are at most about 20 characters on a single page. Such a thing is unthinkable in modern Japan.

As one step of study, one must be able to read that kind of kusagana, but even among those who have studied Japanese well as a foreign language, many cannot read it. The reason is that identifying or decoding characters involves something that cannot be grasped from the shape of the characters alone. When reading this as a native language, one is instead reading the meaning. One hears the meaning even in sound. Therefore, behind reading those cursive characters, if you don't have a foundation in Japanese classical literature, you can't perform the cross-referencing that tells you "this context shouldn't be possible."

For example, if you can read seven characters at the top and four at the bottom like a jigsaw puzzle but can't read the two characters in between, it might become possible in the future to have AI analyze the seven and four characters and search under the condition of that flow to figure it out.

I believe that through digitalization technology, opportunities for each individual to directly touch rare books and other items that were previously only accessible to experts have greatly increased. I also think digitalization has, conversely, allowed individuals to feel the physicality of the drawings and the author's writing habits.

I hope that through technological innovation, an era will come where we can enjoy the classics by incorporating them closely into our own bodies. When AI becomes involved, it seems it will exist not as something in opposition to the classics, but as a tool to make their content more interesting.

I'd like to ask Ms. Kodaira. Mr. Hayashi mentioned that entrance exam study is not good, but I think Japanese academic societies are also to blame. My main field of activity is the Society of Early Modern Japanese Literature, but I also belong to the Society of Modern Japanese Literature. However, there are almost no such "dual-wielders." We are divided into ancient, medieval, early modern, and modern, and even after 100 years, the early modern and modern periods do not intersect. I feel this is quite a disservice.

Broadly speaking, the text as a thing with mass and substance has been lost in the process of modernization. It has become conceptualized, so to speak. From reading aloud to silent reading, there has been a continuous thinning of physicality. While a reassessment is currently underway, is there any possibility of bridging the pre-modern and the modern?

I think that is a very big issue. As a practical matter, with the decrease in the number of students and faculty due to the declining birthrate, it could be said that we are reaching a situation where we can no longer say "I only teach this" if we want to ensure diversity. However, if knowledge becomes intermingled, this doesn't necessarily have only negative meanings.

Regarding the talk of silent reading, in Meiji-era movable type, there are cases where furigana with slightly different meanings are attached to kanji, making them look like double meanings. There was talk about the importance of hearing with the ears, but there are also times when readers find it interesting because two meanings enter through the eyes. Therefore, since the modern era began, it's not just that things have been lost; some things have been newly gained. However, those are often transformations of things that existed before.

So, I believe that venues for academic societies of different eras to interact with each other, and of course dialogue with the field of education, will become even more necessary from now on.

Without some degree of basic grounding to begin with, the pleasure of re-reading the classics as an adult will not be born. For that purpose, I think it will be very important how we convey the techniques for reading interestingly in the field of school education.

Thank you. I also want to ask Mr. Komai: including electronic publishing, how can we use the classics in new forms to create attractive outputs or products in, say, five or ten years?

Since the Meiji era, when people spoke of classics in Western modern literature, the 18th and 19th centuries were particularly called classics, but we are also treating the 20th century as classics.

In order to let people know that the classics have universal value and are enjoyable to read, Stendhal, Flaubert, Dickens, and Hesse are of course necessary, but beyond that, I also want to incorporate Asian and African literature that has rarely been translated until now. I want to spend five or ten years nurturing readers who will read them.

Another thing is that I want to further enrich the Japanese and Chinese classics. For someone like me who has read mostly Western literature, Japanese classics are actually incredibly fresh. Reading "The Tale of Genji: A Careful Translation," I thought it was truly interesting.

Furthermore, in the Koten Shinvaku Bunko, we have released modern Japanese translations of Meiji-era works that young people today cannot read because of their kanbun-style prose, such as Nakae Chomin's "A Discourse by Three Drunkards on Government." Kanzo Uchimura's "How I Became a Christian," originally written in English, was released under the title "Boku wa Ikani shite Kirisutokyo-to ni Natta ka." Modern Japanese literature has not often been the subject of modern translation until now, but I hope to release it comprehensively as classics in the Koten Shinvaku Bunko.

To enrich the world of reading, I would like to borrow everyone's strength and continue to try various things.

Because the Meiji Restoration was such a massive transformation, many people are under the impression that cultural matters were also severed there.

However, regarding printing technology, for example, woodblock printing was a very powerful medium until the 1890s, and from around the late 1880s, letterpress printing suddenly became dominant. At the same time, Futabatei Shimei and Tsubouchi Shoyo appeared, followed by Soseki and Ogai. But actually, before that, there were people who wrote many so-called public speaking books, such as Sosotei Koppidojin or Choman Koji, who are almost forgotten now, and they are very interesting. They were very popular at the time.

I would definitely like to see light shed on what the Meiji people of Soseki and Ogai's youth were reading and have those included in the category of classics.

Even Ito Jakuchu was forgotten for a long time, so there are still many raw gems that we need to excavate. From the era of the Kojiki and Manyoshu, the world of books has continued uninterrupted in Japan right up to the present. I would like the Koten Shinvaku Bunko to handle these in a way that people today can understand.

Thank you very much. I would certainly like to have your support.

Researchers are good at pursuing things they find interesting that fall outside the standard, but conveying both the appeal of standard works and the appeal of works that deviate is very important for conveying the perspective itself—what one finds interesting.

In terms of the relationship with technology, I think it's important that the development of media has made it possible to use different channels for things with many recipients and those with few, allowing us to share things that are minor but interesting. I also hope for the opening of measures that can connect readers bi-directionally.

I have been completely drawn into everyone's stories over this long period today. Thank you very much.