The Pillow Book

Chapter 110 begins with a list of “common things that suddenly sound special” (118). Ordinary events and objects, on the first day of the new year, feel special. Shonagon follows there with brief lists of “things that lose by being painted” and “things that gain by being painted” (119).

Shonagon writes, in Chapter 113, that “winter is best when it’s fearfully cold,” and summer “when it’s impossibly hot” (119).

In her list of “moving things,” Shonagon imagines “a young man of good birth, engaged in rigorous preparations for undergoing the Mitake austerities” (119) She imagines his private devotions and his decision to wear humble clothing for the ritual journey. This practice, of wearing poor clothing, bothered a man named Nobutaka once, and he decided to wear beautiful clothing out to the rural setting. The people there were awed, and after his return, he was named Governor of the province; this “just goes to show,” everyone says, “that he’d been perfectly right in what he said” (119).

Shonagon’s delicate sense of weather and seasons returns, as the sound of “the autumn cricket,” which is “frail and tentative,” is one she listens for closely (119). She also describes the “feeling of snow in the freezing air” when on a temple retreat (120). Shifting to the second person, she tells of a time when “you’ve come on pilgrimage to the temple” in order “to seclude yourself” (120). The space, filled with chanting monks in robes and high clogs, is “a scene that goes perfectly with the place” (120). Monks lead ladies to their rooms, and in their fancy clothing “it’s delightfully reminiscent of the palace” (120).

The space where the sacred image rests is full of pilgrims, and “that glimpse of the inner sanctum beyond the lattice screen” fills you “with a feeling of reverence” (121). When the priests gather, intoning prayers and swaying, their voices rise above the sound of many prayers at once and “you’ll suddenly catch an occasional phrase” (121).

In your rooms, Shonagon writes, you can hear others chanting and praying. If you stay “for some days” you have some “leisure during the day” (122). Bells ring when people offer up dedications and prayers. On “any normal occasion,” this is the shape of the day, but at the New Year, “the place is simply an uproar of noisy activity” (122).

Shonagon also enjoys the seclusion when “the blossoms are at their height” (124). Young people, “of good retainer families,” wear beautiful clothing as they beat the prayer gong (124). Shonagon stresses that “you do need to ask along one or two others” who are “of the same standing as yourself,” not just attendants (124).

Indeed, Shonagon finds crass “a man who sets off alone in his carriage to see an event such as the Kamo Festival” (124). It is “mean-spirited” to sit alone when many others would “love the chance to go” (125).

This is like the many “miserable-looking things” that Shonagon lists in Chapter 117. Abandoned, dingy, and dowdy things make up this list. In the next two chapters, she lists “things that look stiflingly hot,” like “an extremely fat person with a great deal of hair,” and “embarrassing things” (125). One of the most notable embarrassments is a woman whose lover fawns over her but who privately thinks that “she’s full of irritating faults” (126).

Chapter 120 lists “awkward and pointless things,” like upended trees and shipwrecked boats (127). Two chapters later, she lists “awkward and embarrassing things,” like listening to a story that should be moving but struggling to show emotion (127). Conversely, Shonagon writes, it is awkward and embarrassing to show great emotion in a moment that does not call for such emotion, as when she wept watching in impressive imperial procession.

Shonagon describes a day when the Regent emerges from his room to the sight of many beautiful women flashing the sleeves of their garments. Even his brother, Commissioner Michinaga, bows to him; Shonagon wonders at his “present glory” (129).

In Chapter 124, Shonagon meditates on the beauty of “the way the water drops hang so thick and dripping on the garden plants after a night of rain” (129). Rain on spider webs, too, “forms the most moving and beautiful strings of white pearly drops” (130). Most importantly, though, she finds “it fascinating that things like this can utterly fail to delight others” (130).

Before the Festival of Young Herbs one year, Shonagon sees some unfamiliar plants in the collection that children bring to her. She longs to share poems about the wild chrysanthemum with the children, but she knows that the poems “would go right past their little ears” (130).

One day, she receives a gift of heitan cakes (a type of rice cake) from Secretary Controller Yukinari. She shows the gift, and the elegant note that comes with it, to the Empress, who is impressed with the witty writing. They call in the Minister of the Left to advise how to respond. The man is impressed by her “brilliant” poetic reply (132). They mock Norimitsu, the enthusiastic poet; later, Shonagon hears that Yukinari shares the story of her witticism in front of the Emperor.

Shonagon recounts a series of complaints lodged by gentlewomen one evening in their idle moments. Eventually, they decide to go to sleep; a night priest, who has overheard the complaints, interjects ironically: “do keep talking all night, ladies” (133). Shonagon finds the statement “very entertaining” (133).

When the Regent passes away, the Empress commences religious ceremonies. At the time, Tadanobu, who admires Shonagon, meets her and complains that “such a long-standing acquaintance as [theirs] surely can’t simply end without intimacy” (134). She asks that he “just love [her] from a distance” (134).

In Chapter 129, Shonagon recounts a night when Yukinari stays, talking, until dawn. He sends a note to apologize for not staying longer, and the two begin to send notes back and forth, full of innuendo about gates and guards. When one of Yukinari’s letters reaches a Bishop, he is “quite overawed by it” (135). But Yukinari has, he admits, shared his notes with senior courtiers, for “there’s no point in having something wonderful if you don’t share it” (135). 

One night, Yukinari and some other men make noise outside the Empress’s household. The Empress sends Shonagon out, where she sees only a branch of bamboo, pushed out from under the blinds. The men have taken the bamboo from a specific garden, intending to compose poems on the subject, and want “the ladies to take part” (136). Eventually, one of the courtiers reappears. The men tell the story to the Emperor, and word returns to the Empress the next day of Shonagon’s clever responses. Shonagon is proud that “Her Majesty takes such pleasure on behalf of whomever it is that the senior courtiers are reported to have praised” (137).

In Chapters 132 and 133, Shonagon lists “occasions when the time drags by” and “things that relieve such occasions” (139). Then, she lists “worthless things” like “someone who’s both ugly and unpleasant” (140). She also decides to mention “fire tongs that are burned in the post-funeral fire,” because “these are things that exist in the world” (140). Shonagon professes that she can list them because she “never intended this book to be seen by others, so [she’s] written whatever” comes into her mind without a worry over whether people will “find it strange or unpleasant” (140).

“Things that are truly splendid” captivate Shonagon, and the Provisional Festivals are among her favorites (140). She describes the ceremonies, dances, and musical performances that are part of the festivals. Viewers feel that they “could keep watching the dances all day and never tire of them” (141). At times, the Empress will call upon the dancers to perform again, to the delight of the gentlewomen with her.

Shonagon explains the “upheaval and commotion” after the Regent passes away (143). The Empress moves, and Shonagon returns home, though she worries that she cannot “sustain the estrangement for very long” (143). A messenger arrives one day to try to compel Shonagon to return, but she complains that she “wasn’t liked” and “didn’t like” life with the gentlewomen (143). She admits to her book, though, that “Her Majesty had never given me real cause to be concerned over how she felt about me,” only that the others who had spread rumors that she “was in league with the Minister of the Left” (143).

Despite the Empress’s many subsequent messages, Shonagon worries about returning to her. They exchange riddles and stories, though, and Shonagon feels welcome back to her service.

Shonagon imagines, in the next chapters, a rural scene and the scene of a man playing a board game called sugoroku. The arrogance this game brings out is entertaining; so too is a game of go (a strategy game) between a person of high standing and his social inferior. 

“Alarming-looking things,” like “a hairy yam that’s been baked,” are the subject of Chapter 140 (148). “Things that look fresh and pure” offer refreshment in the next chapter, and then “distasteful-looking things” follow that (148).

Later, Shonagon explains some “things that make the heart lurch with anxiety” (148). This worry comes “when a parent looks out of sorts, and remarks that they’re not feeling well” and also “when you hear the voice of your secret lover in an unexpected place”: they are two different experiences, inspiring the same emotional twinge (148). For Shonagon, “the heart is a creature amazingly prone to lurching” (149).

It also lurches, perhaps, at the “endearingly lovely things” she lists next (149). Children and infants, in various states of dress and engaging in various charming activities, populate this list. Just like a boy reading “aloud in his childish voice,” so too is a chick running around with “its lanky legs looking like legs poking out from under a short robe” (149). Children are also the subject of a chapter on “times when someone’s presence produces foolish excitement” (149).

Chapter 146 lists “things with terrifying names” that inspire fear (150). The list is long and includes “violent monks” as well as “thunder” and “comets” (150). The next chapters lists “things that look ordinary but become extraordinary when written” (150). The act of writing gives a visual representation of the idea the word captures.

Shonagon lists “repulsive things,” like “the back of a piece of sewing,” next (150). Then, she lists “occasions when something inconsequential has its day,” like “daikon radishes at New Year” (151).