It has been a thousand years or so since “Murasaki Shikibu” wrote the Tale of Genji. She wrote three centuries before Chaucer made English a respectable language for those with literary aspirations. Much of what she wrote borders on the incomprehensible today. And yet, the story of Genji consistently moves me in a way few modern authors can
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I have a copy of Tale of Genji sitting on my To Read list -- a big, big doorstop/brick of a book... which is why I've hesitated to crack it open.
Now that I know it comes in novella-sized chunks, my fear is lessened!
Muchas!
(Feel free to keep this up!)
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I initially picked it up because it seemed like the most intellectually worthy thing in the ship's library. Reading the Tale of Genji while at sea had a certain Romance to it. While you were in the shopping gallery, I was pretending that I am the kind of person that is allowed to be cultured and suave.
But the thing was fun! I actually found myself interested in the characters, caring about what happened. It didn't carry me away quite as much as Wuthering Heights, but I was far less pissed off (in Wuthering Heights, I just really wanted Heathcliff to die, and impatiently waiting for that kept me turning the pages). The alien cultural element was also intriguing.
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