idiosyn-cracies is the first step to the understanding of a nation. If, prior to World War II, half a million Americans had visited Japan, and if even one-tenth of that number of my countrymen could have paid a visit to the United States, I am firmly convinced that there would never have been a "Pearl Harbor." However, there are no doubt many foreigners who will never have the opportunity to visit my country and associate extensively with the Japanese, and others who, though honoring us with their presence, nevertheless may find themselves perplexed by many apparently incomprehensible aspects of Japanese living. It is my sincere hope that both groups will derive some benefit from the following chapters, in which I have tried to shed some light on the less well-known facts about my country's people and their customs.
2 Paper Houses, Bathhouses, and
Teahouses
TO say, "Japanese houses are made of wood and paper," and let the statement stand, perpetuates a widespread misconception. They are certainly more than that! It is true that most Japanese houses look extremely flimsy to Westerners, especially those small houses which were built by the thousands in the bombed-out urban areas after the war. They are mostly of wooden construction, since timber is used extensively because of its easy availability. But our houses have beams and walls just like wooden houses in other parts of the world. Also, most windows and even sliding doors have glass panes, not just paper and wood. In general, I would say that a middle- or upper-class dwelling in Japan is not much flimsier than a California bungalow.
Several years ago an enterprising American trader started importing prefabricated houses to Japan, thinking that such imports would fulfill a need in this war-ravaged country. Contrary to general expectations, this enterprise did not do at all well. One of the many reasons for the failure was that the standard parts prefabricated in the United States were not suitable for house-construction in Japan. Japanese houses require many extra supports in order to make them earthquake-proof, and this factor was not taken into consideration by the American manufacturer.
The roof of the average Japanese house is quite solid, with thick, well-baked, and often gracefully-curved tiles dovetailing into each other. I have not seen wooden houses in other parts of the world with roofs built in such elaborate and substantial fashion. The roof of a California-style bungalow would not withstand the violent typhoons which sweep our country from time to time. As a matter of fact, after the war the United States Army requisitioned a number of purely Japanese-style houses in many parts of the country and made good use of them as living quarters, with very little alteration.
In the construction of Japanese houses, much attention is paid to ventilation in order to protect against the extreme dampness and sultriness of summer—wide windows, walls of small area, easily-detachable paper partitions, and a floor elevated high off the ground. One unfortunate result of this construction is that it makes Japanese houses extremely cold in winter.
In Tokyo and throughout that half of the country which lies north of it, winter is quite severe and lasts for perhaps six months of the year, from November to April. This is true in spite of the fact that northern Japan lies at a latitude from 38 to 45 degrees north, almost the same as northern California in America, and extending as far south as Spain and Portugal in Europe. Being situated this far south with its shores washed by the warm Japan Current, Japan should be much warmer in winter than it actually is. The reason that the country is unduly cold in winter months is because of the bleak cold wind which blows from the Siberian wilderness; furthermore, these winds are exceedingly damp, making the cold much more penetrating. However, the sky is usually very clear in Japan in the winter, and the sun is quite warm; so much so that Japanese houses have long been constructed in such a way as to take in as much sunshine as possible. All farmhouses in the Kanto plain north of Tokyo, where it is extremely windy during the winter months, have a very tall hedge grown at the back, or north side, of the house, which completely shelters the house. Each house has a spacious veranda facing due south, so as to obtain a maximum of the sun's warmth. In fact the entire house serves as a sunroom, so that the occupants can dispense with any heating arrangement. This ingenious system applies in varying degrees to the construction of almost all our houses.
At night and on cloudy or snowy days when there is no warmth from the sun, the people usually seek the warmth of their kotatsu, a small, square charcoal stove placed on the floor and covered with a wire netting, over which is spread a thick cotton-padded quilt. Several people squat around it and put their legs underneath the quilt, by which means the meager heat generated by the charcoal brazier, or hibachi, keeps their feet and bodies sufficiently warm. In most houses the brazier is built a good foot or so below the matted floor, so that one can sit and stretch his legs toward the brazier without the discomfort that squatting on the floor entails.
Although the exterior of Japanese houses is quite picturesque, especially those in the countryside with thatched roofs, it is the interior of the house which is most striking to Western eyes. The interior of our houses, especially from the point of view of a foreigner seeing it for the first time, is quite bare. The rooms are almost entirely devoid of furniture, the only ornaments being the kakemono, or hanging picture or calligraphy scroll, and perhaps some sprays of flowers arranged in a vase in an alcove. Many Westerners look upon this simplicity as something of a virtue, embodying the refined taste of the Japanese. This simplicity is, in fact, a keynote of all things Japanese. The floor of a Japanese room is covered with thick straw mats, called tatami. They are immaculate and a delight to walk on. Doors and partitions are all sliding ones, primarily in order to save space. Shoji, or detachable partitions, are truly made of "paper and wood," and are strikingly beautiful. They consist of wooden frames with many symmetrical sections, covered with white paper of exquisite quality. Many Westerners are quite entranced with them. On my recent visit to the States I saw that some of my American friends were using shoji which they brought back from Japan in their living rooms as screens, with very pleasing effect. This novel idea, I found, was greatly admired by their neighbors.
A Japanese room is bare mainly because it has to be used not only as a living room but also as a dining room, and often, too, as a bedroom. At night a whole set of bedding is taken from a closet and spread out on the matted floor. In the morning the bedding is again tucked away in the closet. For eating, we take out a small table about a foot high, around which the members of the family squat without chairs. When the meal is over, this table is again placed in the corner. With the room thus bare, it can be used for other purposes. Visitors may be shown into the same room and offered the zabuton, or cushion, to sit upon. Thus a large number of people can live in a comparatively small house, making maximum use of all available space.
I once rented a two-storied Japanese-style residence of medium size in Tokyo. It was a house which normally could have housed five or six members of a Japanese family, living quite comfortably in Japanese fashion. However, I did not care to live in Japanese style, so I furnished the whole house in Western style, by converting and arranging the rooms into living room, dining room, and bedroom. Then much to my surprise I found the house too small even for myself alone! The minimum number of pieces of Western-style furniture I brought in were crowding each other and took up so much space that the whole house looked like a second-hand furniture store.
As I have travelled about various parts of the globe, I have realized what little room the average Japanese needs in his daily living; and thus how eighty-eight million people have managed to live in a country not larger than the single state of California, and furthermore with only eighteen per cent of its total land area being arable. Simplicity, then, by necessity, is the keynote of our living.
My countrymen, if they could afford it, would prefer living in the more comfortable, Western-style houses. In the late 'twenties and all through the 'thirties, when the Japanese economy was on the upgrade, the fashion for a middle-class man was to build his house with a special foreign-style annex. The average house in those days, especially in urban areas, had this extra room, built entirely in the Western style, in which tables and chairs and other Western furniture were placed. This room was used mainly for receiving visitors, so they would not have to go through the ordeal of crossing their legs and squatting on the floor.
The Japanese habit of taking a communal