Thinking about the Japanese language from the perspective of 'I don't like the word "love"' [Novel Afterword]

I understand 'koi' (romantic love), but I don't understand 'ai' (love). It's not limited to romance; there is 'love' for this and that, but I don't really like the word 'love'. I think I possess the emotions that fall under the 'love' for various things that overflow in society, and I don't intend to deny them completely. However, when I put them into words, they immediately feel limited and cliché.

I thought about the above when I changed the ending of the novel 'Kokoiro Dangi' that I finished today. I will write about the merits of the Japanese language, which I developed from my personal preference of 'I want to avoid the word love'.

Interpretations as numerous as the people who hold them

An acquaintance who is a mathematician said something interesting about language.

He said that while words leave room for as many interpretations as there are people, mathematics results in only one interpretation no matter who reads it. I thought that was an interesting perspective. I wonder if 'communication gaps' and 'misunderstandings' are nonsense among mathematicians.

When I come into contact with various types of writing in my work and private life, I feel like I understand that. The types of writing that must narrow down the interpretation to one, in order to approach mathematics, would be news and academic papers, I suppose. It would be a big problem if they changed depending on the person. That is the reason why my boss in the editorial department once said, 'Do not use adjectives.' Because adjectives are subjective.

On the other hand, arts such as literature, painting, and music can have as many interpretations as there are people. To give an easy-to-understand example, music becomes completely different sounds depending on the conductor and their interpretation.

By the way, in my mind, the art of letters is not 'bungaku' (literature) but 'bungaku' (a play on words), but it is a pity that the word 'bunraku' (a type of traditional puppet theater) already exists. I think writing is music.

'The moon is beautiful, isn't it?' by Natsume Soseki

Therefore, although there are many people who explain 'love', I feel that the interpretation is up to each individual. It is so versatile that in some cases, it doesn't even feel like the same word.

Natsume Soseki, who first translated the English 'I love you' into Japanese,

It is a famous story that he translated it as this. When I first heard it, I thought it was a line that was too cheesy, at least in modern times, regardless of whether it was Japan's culture of bashfulness or not. I wonder if everyone was convinced at the time. However, it seems that there are people who advocate theories that the authenticity of this story is unknown, or that he didn't mean it in such a romantic sense.

The concept of 'love' did not exist in Japan

In the midst of this, what caught my interest was the story that 'the concept of "love" did not exist in Japan.' When I looked for it, I found an article like this.

The idea that 'love' was a concept unique to Western culture, and that's why I have some resistance to it, really made sense to me. According to this article, even if there were things close to it, they were not expressed with the word 'love'.

I thought it would be great if Natsume Soseki also felt a sense of discomfort and said the above phrase as a last resort.

But now, we use 'I love you' normally in dramas, manga, and novels. It's fine because it's fiction, but in reality, I hate saying it or being told it. I never trusted people who said 'I love you' to me at all.

Japanese people who prefer ambiguity

Perhaps it is because I am Japanese that I do not want to limit subtle emotions to the word "love." It is said that the ambiguous expressions in the Japanese language are unparalleled in the world. This is because the Japanese people are a nation that considers ambiguity to be a virtue. I wonder if the fact that there are eight million gods in Japan has something to do with it as well.

It's things like "reading the air," isn't it? While there are good aspects to ambiguity, there are also times when it can be frustrating.

This mimetic word, or onomatopoeia, for "frustration" (iraira) is also said to be unique to Japan. I like wordplay, so I speak almost entirely in onomatopoeia when I'm with my family, and I use them frequently in the novels I write. The musical elements emitted from the rhythm and sound of the characters are wonderful, aren't they?

Incidentally, it is said that there are 4,000 or 4,500 Japanese onomatopoeic words, and I even found a site that stated, "English only has 150 onomatopoeic words." How would one express emotions without onomatopoeia? I cannot imagine a world without them.

Japanese literature is only possible because it is in Japanese

Thinking about it that way, can the merits of domestic literature, which carries the thoughts and aesthetics unique to the Japanese people, be conveyed in any language other than Japanese? I saw someone say this on Twitter and it really resonated with me.

Global books are written in English and are based on the thoughts of people who use English. Even if one were fluent in both Japanese and English and could translate their own Japanese into English, no matter how wonderful a novel one writes, it is impossible without someone to translate it. Even if there were someone to translate it, it would be meaningless if the interpretation were different. In today's world, that could only be achieved by someone with considerable ability and fame. And those who evaluate it are native English speakers. Can they really understand the ambiguity of the Japanese people?

When I think about things like that, I also wonder if domestic literature that is evaluated globally is truly wonderful as literature. In my case, to begin with, regardless of whether it is domestic or international, there are few works that are exceptionally highly regarded by the public that I actually like.

I have also written about my thoughts on language in this article.

I think about "writing" quite often on a daily basis.