Even the traditional forms, tanka and haiku, though moribund in 1868, took on new life, thanks largely to the efforts of Masaoka Shiki, a distinguished late 19th-century poet in both forms but of even greater importance as a critic. Yosano Akiko, Ishikawa Takuboku, and Saitō Mokichi were probably the most successful practitioners of the new tanka. Akiko’s collection Midaregami (1901; Tangled Hair) stirred female readers especially, not only because of its lyrical beauty but because Akiko herself seemed to be proclaiming a new age of romantic love. Takuboku emerged in the course of his short life (he died in 1912 at age 26) as perhaps the most popular tanka poet of all time. His verses are filled with strikingly individual expressions of his intransigent personality. Saitō Mokichi combined an absorption with Man’yōshū stylistics and a professional competence in psychiatry. Despite the austere nature of his poetry, he was recognized for many years as the leading tanka poet. In haiku, Takahama Kyoshi built up a following of poets strong enough to withstand the attacks of critics who declared that the form was inadequate to deal with the problems of modern life. Kyoshi himself eventually decided that the function of haiku was the traditional one of an intuitive apprehension of the beauties of nature, but other haiku poets employed the medium to express entirely unconventional themes.

Most tanka and haiku poets continued to use the classical language, probably because its relative concision permitted them to impart greater content to their verses than modern Japanese permits. Poets of the “new style,” therefore, were readier to employ the colloquial. Hagiwara Sakutarō, generally considered the finest Japanese poet of the 20th century, brilliantly exploited the musical and expressive possibilities of the modern tongue. Other poets, such as Horiguchi Daigaku, devoted themselves to translations of European poetry, achieving results so compelling in Japanese that these translations are considered to form an important part of the modern poetry of Japan.

The novel between 1905 and 1941

The dominant stream in Japanese fiction since the publication of Hakai (1906; The Broken Commandment), by Shimazaki Tōson, and Futon (1907; The Quilt), by Tayama Katai, has been naturalism. Although the movement was originally inspired by the works of the 19th-century French novelist Émile Zola and other European naturalists, it quickly took on a distinctively Japanese colouring, rejecting (as a Confucian scholar might have rejected gesaku fiction) carefully developed plots or stylistic beauty in favour of absolute verisimilitude in the author’s confessions or in the author’s minute descriptions of the lives of unimportant people hemmed in by circumstances beyond their control.

By general consent, however, the two outstanding novelists of the early 20th century were men who stood outside the naturalist movement, Mori Ōgai and Natsume Sōseki. Ōgai began as a writer of partly autobiographical fiction with strong overtones of German Romantic writings. Midway in his career he shifted to historical novels that are virtually devoid of fictional elements but are given literary distinction by their concise style. Sōseki gained fame with humorous novels such as Botchan (1906; “The Young Master”; Eng. trans. Botchan), a fictionalized account of his experiences as a teacher in a provincial town. Botchan enjoyed phenomenal popularity after it first appeared. It is the most approachable of Sōseki’s novels, and the Japanese found pleasure in identifying themselves with the impetuous, reckless, yet basically decent hero. The coloration of Sōseki’s subsequent novels became progressively darker, but even the most gloomy have maintained their reputation among Japanese readers, who take it for granted that Sōseki is the greatest of the modern Japanese novelists and who find echoes in their own lives of the mental suffering he described. Sōseki wrote mainly about intellectuals living in a Japan that had been brutally thrust into the 20th century. His best-known novel, Kokoro (1914; “The Heart”; Eng. trans. Kokoro), revolves around another familiar situation in his novels, two men in love with the same woman. His last novel, Meian (1916; Light and Darkness), though unfinished, has been acclaimed by some as his masterpiece.

An amazing burst of creative activity occurred in the decade following the end of the Russo-Japanese War in 1905. Probably never before in the history of Japanese literature were so many important writers working at once. Three novelists who first emerged into prominence at this time were Nagai Kafū, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke. Nagai Kafū was infatuated with French culture and described with contempt the meretricious surface of modern Japan. In later years, however, though still alienated from the Japanese present, he showed nostalgia for the Japan of his youth, and his most appealing works contain evocations of the traces of an old and genuine Japan that survived in the parody of Western culture that was Tokyo.

Tanizaki’s novels, notably Tade kuu mushi (1929; Some Prefer Nettles), often presented a conflict between traditional Japanese and Western-inspired ways. In his early works he also proclaimed a preference for the West. Tanizaki’s views changed after he moved to the Kansai region in the wake of the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923, and his subsequent writings traced his gradual accommodation with the old culture of Japan that he had previously rejected. Between 1939 and 1941 Tanizaki published the first of his three modern-language versions of Genji monogatari. He willingly sacrificed years of his career to this task because of his unbounded admiration for the supreme work of Japanese literature.

Tanizaki’s longest novel, Sasameyuki (1943–48; The Makioka Sisters), evoked with evident nostalgia the Japan of the 1930s, when people were preoccupied not with the prosecution of a war but with marriage arrangements, visits to sites famous for their cherry blossoms, or the cultural differences between Tokyo and Ōsaka. Two postwar novels by Tanizaki enjoyed great popularity, Kagi (1956; The Key), the account of a professor’s determination to have his fill of sex with his wife before impotence overtakes him, and Fūten rōjin nikki (1961–62; Diary of a Mad Old Man), a work in a comic vein that describes a very old man’s infatuation with his daughter-in-law. No reader would turn to Tanizaki for wisdom as to how to lead his life, nor for a penetrating analysis of society, but his works not only provide the pleasures of well-told stories but also convey the special phenomenon of adulation and rejection of the West that played so prominent a part in the Japanese culture of the 20th century.

Akutagawa established his reputation as a brilliant storyteller who transformed materials found in old Japanese collections by infusing them with modern psychology. No writer enjoyed a greater following in his time, but Akutagawa found less and less satisfaction in his reworkings of existing tales and turned eventually to writing about himself in a sometimes harrowing manner. His suicide in 1927 shocked the entire Japanese literary world. The exact cause is unknown—he wrote of a “vague malaise”—but perhaps Akutagawa felt incapable either of sublimating his personal experiences into fiction or else of giving them the accents of the proletarian literature movement, then at its height.

The proletarian literature movement in Japan, as in various other countries, attempted to use literature as a weapon to effect reform and even revolution in response to social injustices. Although the movement gained virtual control of the Japanese literary world in the late 1920s, governmental repression beginning in 1928 eventually destroyed it. The chief proletarian writer, Kobayashi Takiji, was tortured to death by the police in 1933. Few of the writings produced by the movement are of literary worth, but the concern for classes of people who had formerly been neglected by Japanese writers gave these works their special significance.

Other writers of the period, convinced that the essential function of literature was artistic and not propagandistic, formed schools such as the “Neosensualists” led by Yokomitsu Riichi and Kawabata Yasunari. Yokomitsu’s politics eventually moved far to the right, and the promulgation of these views, rather than his efforts to achieve modernism, coloured his later writings. But Kawabata’s works (for which he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968) are still admired for their lyricism and intuitive construction. Though Kawabata began as a modernist and experimented with modernist techniques to the end of his career, he is better known for his portraits of women, whether the geisha of Yukiguni (1948; Snow Country) or the different women whose lives are concerned with the tea ceremony in Sembazuru (1952; Thousand Cranes).

Japanese critics have divided the fiction of the prewar period into schools, each usually consisting of one leading writer and his disciples. Probably the most influential author was Shiga Naoya. His characteristic literary form was the “I novel” (watakushi shōsetsu), a work that treats autobiographical materials with stylistic beauty and great intelligence but is not remarkable for invention. Shiga’s commanding presence caused the I novel to be more respected by most critics than outright works of fiction, but the writings of his disciples are sometimes hardly more than pages torn from a diary, of interest only if the reader is already devoted to the author.