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  • mono 9:24 am on April 19, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: A Humane Designer, Architecture, Bernard Rudofsky, , , , Floor, Guarneri, Lessons, MoMA, Ways of Living, Wiki   

    Touch Virtuosi: Examining Bernard Rudofsky’s Approach to “Floors” 


    Andrea Bocco Guarneri has done well to have organized and executed such a thorough book as “A Humane Designer.” Guarnerri presents us with unpublished Rudofsky essays, forgotten design projects, his world travels, his history and more. One need only open the book randomly to find some hitherto unknown story about Rudofsky or project that Rudofsky was involved in.

    Today I would like to open up his short work “Variations – On a Floor” as presented in “A Humane Designer.” In this short article which was originally published in Variazioni sometime in the 1930s, Rudofsky calls attention to that most often forgot of space, the floor. For him, the floor is a much overlooked part of the living space. He examines the Italian word “pianta,” which means both “floor” and “the sole of the foot.” For Rudofsky this intertwining of the foot and the floor is crucial. That is to say, he wishes to call attention to the tactile importance of the floor and sees the floor as that point where the human is grounded, not to mention its power to affect one’s perception of relaxation and comfort.

    When I spent time in South Korea, my modest apartment had heated floors. That is, I had no gas stove or wall-mounted heating unit, but a steady warmth emanating from the floor. At first I was quite skeptical as to the benefits of this method of heating, but as winter approached and the temperatures dropped, I realized that walking barefoot across a warm floor was pure bliss. The warmth seemed to travel from the feet to the head and to the heart. I rarely if ever felt chilly while in the apartment.

    Rudofsky also mentions that the word “pianta” also means “that springs from the soil.” For Rudofsky, the melding of interior and exterior was important. Some of his houses included indoor gardens or rooms with grass instead of carpeting. Rudofsky wished to bring nature back into the living space and not disconnect the inhabitant from the tactile freshness of nature. This means that, the floor need not be flat, but alight with bumps and crevices, plants sprouting and perhaps even flowers blooming.

    Rudofsky also writes, “Try to persuade yourselves that the floor is the noblest part of the house. Make beautiful floors and respect them (184).” This attention to creating a living floor, a special floor, for Rudofsky would help to illuminate the living presence of the house or building. Again, the sole of the foot connects with the floor. As I sit here and write this I am quite aware of my wooden floor and its cooling qualities, despite its propensity for accumulating dirt and dust. At this point I can only dream of a Rudofskyesque marble floor devoid of rugs, light pink with blue veins (as he mentions), a gentle refreshing coldness perhaps complimented by a nice pair of slippers.

    picture by Subramanyan

  • mono 8:59 am on March 23, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Ambiguity, Bernard Rudofsky, , , Politeness, ,   

    The Ambiguous Other: Zizek on Japan 

    In a conversation entitled “Japan through a Slovenian Looking Glass: Reflections of Media and Politic in Cinema,” Slavoj Zizek is asked about Japan. In this brief essay I will flesh out and hopefully expand a few key ideas he presents, namely: Japanese negation, Japanese ambiguity and the importance of the surface in communication. Moreover, being one who has lived here in Japan for over three years, I hope to blend Zizek’s ideas with my private experience as perpetually being seen as the Other.

    Japanese Negation

    Zizek, in the abovementioned conversation writes, “You say no to your wife in one way, no to a child in another way. There is not one negation.” One of the first things the foreigner in Japan should know is the importance of recognizing this idea of “there is not one negation.” The English word “no” can be translated into Japanese as “iie,” but one must always keep in mind that how one negates a situation will depend more on who one is talking to and the heirachical structure inherent in that relationship. There is a way of communicating that is often used in Japanese and recognized by the Japanese and that is what is called “aimai,” or the art of indirect communication. “Aimai” is the grey space between yourself and the Other, it is the seemingly innocent remark that holds an unwritten request or demand. It is the offhand comment, which carries a heavy criticism. Japanese negation is caught up in this web of “aimai” and I have seen many foreigners perish for lack of knowing how to properly negate in this way.

    In the realm of Japanese communication one can understand the Lacanian idea of “the big Other” as the reference point of what is communicated. In almost every situation there is a strict implicit code of talking. Following the symbolic code of talking is in some ways more important than what one actually says.

    Japanese Ambiguity

    In the short conversation, Zizek uses the idea of ambiguity, in accord with Lacan, in a few ways: the ambiguity of the Japanese language, Japan as the ambiguous Other and the ambiguous politeness of the Japanese. First, he writes, “They elaborate the borrowing of other languages, all these ambiguities. Didn’t Lacan say that Japanese do not have an unconscious?” In my experience, I have found the following languages to have been incorporated into what is known as ‘Japanese’: English, Dutch, French, Italian, Portuguese and German. Words from different languages seem to float into the country and are reappropriated by the Japanese, transformed and made unique. Even some of the Japanese that I met did not know that their beloved food “tempura” originally came from Portuguese. The word “maniac” has been adopted as one who collects or is interested in a certain product, meanwhile the katakana (words imported into Japanese from outside) dictionaries grow thicker and thicker each year.

    Zizek also notes, “For the West, Japan is the ambiguous Other: at the same time it fascinates you and repels you.” This idea has been worked out in my explication on Bernard Rudofsky’s piece “The Advertisement” where Rudofsky analyzes the misplaced view of Japan to Western eyes. Zizek seems to hold this same idea. The image of Japan is slippery and hazy. In Sophia Coppolla’s film “Lost in Translation,” she presents a number of Japanese characters, but in turn breaks the face of the Japanese by making sure her characters are extreme: the over-the-top TV host, the drug using party goers, the demanding and upsetting photographer and the ambiguous photographer. Her presentation of the Japanese, while amusing to foreigners, can be upsetting to the Japanese simply by the consistency of their Otherness can be seen. The grey space is annihilated.

    “Let’s not forget the psychological cliche of Japan: you smile, but you never know if it is sincere or if you are mocking us – the idea of Japan as the impenetrable Other. This ambiguous politeness.” This impenetrability can be seen when a foreigner commits some kind of error in etiquette. Again, “aimai” is at play. The smile holds many meanings for the Japanese and it is not good for the foreigner to see it as just a smile. However, it is not always like this. I should clarify that in daily conversation or at the workplace, this ambiguity is clearly present, but not between close friends. Two other ideas that even the Japanese I know admit to are the use of “honne” and “tatemae,” the you that you are in public and the you that you are in private. The bold foreigner boasting of a job well done may meet the smile of his or her Japanese coworkers, the deceptive smile as one should know, it is not in proper form to boast about oneself.

    Following this, Zizek says, “In Japan, and I hope that this is not only a myth, even if something is merely an appearance, politeness is not simply insincere.” Also he says, “Masks are never simply masks.” The idea that the boastful foreigner receives a deceptive smile needs to be clarified. That is to say, the smile of the Japanese acts as a symbol of his or her politeness, it is deceptive in that the foreigner expects an “honest” reaction to a situation, wants things clarified, spelled out. The Japanese maintain this semblance of politeness for themselves, for politeness is part and parcel of the Japanese language. The Japanese person in front of you respects him or herself in respect to the symbolic order and clarifying would mean breaking this politeness, it would be obscene. That is to say, I think that Zizek is correct in his hope. For the Japanese, the etiquette of being polite shows respect to oneself as one who is caught up in the other. One has to keep in mind that there is no “I” in the Japanese language.

    I apologize for the brevity of this essay as this is only a rough sketch of something I plan on developing further at another time. Thank you for reading.

    This conversation with Zizek can be read here: http://www.ntticc.or.jp/pub/ic_mag/ic014/zizek/zizek_e.html

    All quotations have come from this article.

    Powered by ScribeFire.

    • okinawa marine 10:49 am on March 23, 2008 Permalink

      That was a very thoughtful read

    • Paul Boshears 1:46 pm on March 27, 2008 Permalink

      I am currently reading an interesting book edited by Roger Ames and Wimal Dissanayake, Self & Deception, A Cross-Cultural Philosophical Inquiry, SUNY Press, 1996. I’m glad to have found your page, thank you!

    • Kishore Budha 7:29 pm on March 29, 2008 Permalink

      The idea of the big other in Japanese culture needs to be elaborated on here. I find some similarities with Indian culture, which can assimilate other languages into its own.

    • jgrefe 7:09 pm on March 30, 2008 Permalink

      Thank you. I will work on fleshing out the idea of the big Other in terms of Japanese culture this week.

  • mono 6:49 pm on March 6, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Advertisement, Americanization, Bernard Rudofsky, , imitation, , , , ,   

    An Explication of Bernard Rudofsky’s Advertisement from “The Kimono Mind: An Informal Guide to Japan and the Japanese” 

    The image of Japan when viewed through the medium of an advertisement is deceptive for their exists a gap between the seduction of the advertisement and the reality of the modern country of Japan. Moreover, approaching Japan may prove frightening for one who recognizes this difference, yet has had no way to actually test the difference by setting foot into the country. Finally, the elusiveness of Japan, its peculiarity due to its perpetual transformative state further adds to the confusion of trying to grasp it. These are the main ideas expressed by Bernard Rudofsky in Advertisement from his book “The Kimono Mind: An Informal Guide to Japan and the Japanese.” With these ideas in mind he approaches the idea of Japan with satiric wit, curiosity and solid historical grounding.

    Rudofsky sets the scene for this piece by painting Japan as being among one of the last great unexplored yet inhabitable civilizations in the world, a treasure chest of unseen possibilities. Contrasting Japan with Europe and the Americas, he writes, “The only unknown country with a tolerable climate, with a fascinating albeit incomprehensible civilization hermetically sealed against contamination from the outer world, was Japan (Rudofsky 11).” That Japan was “sealed” served to account for the abundance of produced images, strange and mystifying, which emerged in connection with the country and its inhabitants. Rudofsky notes, “The picture the West had formed of her was rather two-dimensional – a country resembling nothing so much as a stage set (Rudofsky 11).” From this advertised image of Japan came the perception of what Japan was and what it could be. However, the lack of the real, the reliance on the image taken to be real created an imaginary Japan, a mediatized Japan.

    As he goes on to note, the images depicted of Japan came in the form of mythical creatures, jaw dropping scenery, the uniqueness of their traditional dress and a curious look into the Japanese people’s quirky gestures and mannerisms, their overall demeanor. However, “The toy box has long since been pried open, the forbidden land surveyed and assessed, a census taken (Rudofsky 12).” What Rudofsky means by this is that the image when juxtaposed with the actuality of Japan, differed greatly and, by virtue of the opening of Japan in that a great Westernization descended upon and was taken up by the country and the people, but not without consequence. Moreover, the magnificent images of Japan were reduced, modernized and advertised through the lens of the West. The traditional dress had transformed into modern wear, the mythical creatures into airplanes and technology. Conversely, as written, “And yet, the mystery persists. If anything, it has deepened and darkened (Rudofsky 13).” That is to say, even with the modernization of Japan, there is still something untouchable and just out of reach, some facet of the Japanese character and landscape that escapes and eludes proper description.

    For Rudofsky, this eluding haze of what “Japan” means lies in the transitory nature of the country and its culture. “The testing ground of humanism Japan has been called, and a country in transition. Indeed, so long she has been in transition – and will probably remain so – that we ought to consider her as being in permanent transition (Rudofsky 13).” It is this perpetual state of cultural transition that has transformed Japan, as Rudofsky notes, into “one big laboratory on a nationwide scale where the elixir of life is being distilled from the latest formulas (Rudofsky 13).” For Rudofsky, this also means that if one wishes to learn about the culture of Americanism, one should visit and observe Japan for the Japanese offer the perfect spectacle of American life, although completely physically detached from its actual shores. He writes, “Although theirs is a spotty, Japanese Americanism, its fragrance is overpowering (Rudofsky 13-14).”
    He also notes the disappointment that befell those who took to Japan’s shores after its opening to the world. That is, those who imagined the country to hold countless riches were surprised to find Japan to be a relatively poor country and as certainly not as picturesque as displayed in its images. But, strikingly, even in spite of its visual poverty, Rudofsky goes on to note that, “What caught the eye and touched the heart was the spectacle of a country at perpetual peace; a harmoniousness of man and nature that had departed from the Western world with the advent of industrialization (Rudofsky 14-15).” What Rudofsky is pointing us to is the consequences of modernity as experienced through the eyes of those who may approach Japan from a Western viewpoint. Moreover, of the civilizational consequences of modernity.

    Rudofsky goes on to note two important points. First, is the impressive ability of Japan to “catch up” to the rest of the world in terms of technological advancement, cultural modernization and ultimately cultural decline. Their seeming willingness to compete with America, greatly impressed Americans in that, “Her conquerors were thrilled, for nothing appeals to an American more than a redeemed sinner. Our ultimate failure to steer them along simple lines of joyous redemption is to be blamed, however, less on abstract verbal barriers than on the real gap between two nations harboring absurd opinions about themselves and each other (Rudofsky 16).” What Rudofsky is pointing to here is the connection between the Japanese and Americans in cultural pride and in the struggle to produce and progress, which is so vehemently stressed in both cultures. He writes, “Japanese have plotted with desperation a path through the muddles of American upper and lower middle class values, of bureaucratic and academic principles, while Americans have been living doggedly in musty Buddhist convents, inhaling the odor of sanctity and seeking revelation through undernourishment and overfatigue (Rudofsky 16-17).”

    Second, and in closing the piece, he notes the elusiveness of the Japanese character and the country. He mentions the difficulty of expressing the Japanese in terms of cliches, which come much easier to him when talking about other cultures. What is unique for Rudofsky is the ease and the pride with which the Japanese transformed their country: “Although they carry a heavy burden of comparison with the past, they are nothing less than proud of having transformed a mythical jungle into a modern desert (Rudofsky 17).”
    It is on this note that Rudofsky addresses the person fascinated with Japan, yet senses some danger of metaphorical collapse upon arrival. The person who, having read about Japan, having seen the advertisements, has come to have second thoughts, worries, about the real Japan. He ends the piece with, “Indeed, if he looks for a flash of enlightenment on contact, he is disappointed for even the shores may turn out to be largely metaphorical. What he needs is a divining rod or an article of faith (Rudofsky 17).”

  • mono 6:57 am on March 4, 2008 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Bernard Rudofsky, , English language, , , , , Lafcadio Hearn, , , ,   

    An Explication of Bernard Rudofsky’s On Language from “The Kimono Mind: An Informal Guide to Japan and the Japanese” 


    Upon entering into a Japanese conversation with a native-Japanese speaker, one may find oneself at a crossroads of misunderstanding, incomprehensibility, extreme conversational nuance and tremendously polite speech. That this communicative mountain shall serve to block one’s attempts at deciphering the conversation or inspire one to imitate one’s Japanese conversant, depend on one’s capacities for minding and comprehending not just the Japanese language as such, but the character of what a conversation could be and the ways in which Japanese verbal communication may differ from one’s own mother tongue. Investigating this, architect/photographer/writer/curator and world traveler, Bernard Rudofsky, in his piece On Language, from his book “The Kimono Mind: An Informal Guide to Japan and the Japanese,” leads us through a sketch of the art of spoken Japanese with firsthand observations, linguistic insights, historical quotations and with examples from Japanese thinkers and writers.

    A thesis that Rudofsky will continue to flesh out through the remainder of this piece is: “Only unimaginative people conceive of language as a means of communication (Rudofsky 153).” From this, Rudofsky begins by analyzing the the Japanese language from viewing a direct translation of simple Japanese into English. Rudofsky points out the commonly used phrase, “Nihongo de kore ha nan tte iiudesuka?” which translates literally into English as “Japan-language in, this as-for, what that say (Rudofsky 153)?” He writes that, “By merely skimming the English columns in the pages of a Japanese phrase book, once perceives at once the mock-profundity of every utterance (Rudofsky 153).” That is, by looking at the way the language unfolds, we get a glimpse into the, what appears to Rudofsky, the poetic nature of the language (“mock profundity”) and to see its difference and grammatical uniqueness when directly contrasted with the English language. That is, not only is the grammatical flow of Japanese in sharp contrast to English, the way the language calls for one’s minding of the world, is also very different.

    Rudofsky continues by setting the backdrop of the origins of the Japanese language by using the Biblical story of the Curse of Babylon. He writes, “Yet, with the greatest of misfortunes often being a blessing in disguise, the shutdown of the enterprise led to the Babylonian separatist movement, which in turn brought about the discovery and subsequent colonization of the Japanese islands by a splinter group (Rudofsky 154).” The elucidation of this particular story in relation to the Japanese comes, as Rudofsky notes, from the German physicist Engelbertus Kaempfer. He goes on the elucidate the Babylonian movement in Kaempfer’s terms as opposed to the more mystical and mythical creation myths as presented by Japanese writers of old. In support of the Babylonian Curse story, Rudofsky notes, in addition to it being a more sound creation story, “It also would help to account for some of their peculiarities: their aloofness from all non-Japanese, their legendary endurance of incommodities, their addiction to pilgrimages and travel in general, most of all, their convoluted language (Rudofsky 155).”
    For Rudofsky, who in the larger context of his life, I assume possessed some ability to speak Japanese, the Japanese language was particularly cursed by the Tower of Babel incident, although even so, “It is their secret strength, but it also could become their undoing (Rudofsky 155).” He goes on to write about the Japanophile-writer Lafcadio Hearn, who even though he made Japan his permanent home, married and had children, refused to learn the Japanese language, because of the difficulty of being able to not only speak Japanese, but in the seeming impossibility to think like a Japanese person. Holding this position as well, Rudofsky is hesitant to compare Japanese to romance languages like French or Italian. For Rudofsky, “It simply is not a tourist’s dish. Moreover, anybody who has acquired by some gruesome brain manipulation the faculty to speak Japanese, realizes how futile were his efforts. His difficulty in communicating with the Japanese has merely grown in depth (Rudofsky 157).”

    The task of having to “think Japanese,” Rudofsky continues, presents a challenge to Western peoples in that the Japanese language relies more on strict forms of etiquette and layers of obfuscation than on lucidity and intelligibility. But, he writes, “Paradoxically, such inability to express themselves in articulate speech gives the Japanese a sense of superiority similar to that which the women of Old China derived from their bound feet (Rudofsky 157).” That is to say, it is their distinct curse of linguistic obscurity that opens up the singularity of the Japanese language. As the caption from a picture from a “Kanji (Chinese characters used in Japanese writing) dictionary” featured says, “There are upwards of 80,000 ideograms. A knowledge of 3,000 is necessary to read a newspaper. Even the simplest of them permit several interpretations (Rudofsky 157).” Again, Rudofsky is returning to this idea that the obscurity Japanese language is the secret strength of the Japanese.

    As to the obscurity of the language, Rudofsky presents three examples, the first being Japanese poetry and its importance in the realm of everyday Japanese life. As Rudofsky points out, “Pronouncements that decide the lives of millions of people are sometimes couched in poetic double-talk (Rudofsky 158).” Rudofsky clarifies this by giving the example of Emperor Hirohito, who, in trying to establish a peaceful resolution before engaging in the Pacific War, recited a poem, which unfortunately wasn’t clear enough. Furthermore, Rudofsky writes, “In their endeavors to save face, the Japanese are able to climb heights of detachment ordinarily reserved for stage characters only (Rudofsky 159).” He backs this up by giving the example of the poetic recitation delivered by the builder of the Castle of Tokyo to his assassin at the moment of death.

    Continuing on his analysis of the language comes the perception that the Japanese may hold for the non-Japanese speaker and the role of the translator, Rudofsky writes, “They cleansed their language of its functional impurities and elevated it to an abstract art. They have no love for clumsy foreigners who pester them for explanations and elucidations; who dig for a meaning until it stands revealed. Hence the translator is made the whipping boy for all linguistic ills (Rudofsky 159).” For Rudofsky, the Japanese revel in verbal expression and, given the chance, are apt to spin out of control with their verbal incantations increasing the difficulty of extracting a “correct” translation into another language. In his words, “Being wordy people, they are apt to let themselves get carried away by their verbal flood and to launch into fabrications of their own. So flagrant is their license sometimes that even a person innocent of any knowledge of Japanese discovers the deceit (Rudofsky 159-160).” The example is given of Commodore Perry who, despite not being able to understand Japanese, greatly mistrusted his Japanese translator and, upon having told him so, was surprised to see his delight. For, “Accusations of this sort do not ruffle the composure of a Japanese. He may reply that his thoughts are too subtle for translation; that his rendering them into an uncongenial idiom is an approximation at best. No harm is done, he thinks, if thoughts are left unsaid, or words go untranslated (Rudofsky 160).”

    For Rudofsky, the obscurity of the Japanese language blossoms in the realm of politeness instead of, like those of us in the English-speaking world, intelligence. That is, it is more important for one to be able to speak properly, following the codes of etiquette, than it is for one to speak clearly and directly. He writes, “In sum, a Japanese interpreter seems to be under a compulsion to vaporize a thought and to make the most gripping ideas sound innocuous (Rudofsky 160).” In this way, Rudofsky is returning to the aforementioned points regarding the difficulty in being able to think in a Japanese way and the struggles which one who undertakes the Japanese language will struggle with, perhaps what Rudofsky himself, as a foreigner who lived in Japan, struggled with.

    As to some positive points regarding the obscurity of the language, Rudofsky says, “It sustains an even temperature of colloquy, discourages confidences, and preserves an all-important standoffishness. The supreme medium of communication is, not surprisingly, silence – a rather sullen silence, indistinguishable from boredom (Rudofsky 160).” From this semblance of silence, Rudofsky mentions the impressive nature that the Japanese language comes to have in the eyes of foreigners, that is, the image of a zen master contemplating a koan in temple. However, as Rudofsky almost humorously points out, “Usually silence means that their train of thought has jumped the track (Rudofsky 161).”

    Also, Rudofsky discusses the tendency of the Japanese speaker to verbally overdue conversations that could be relegated to short responses. He gives the example of how one must be careful not to be too direct even in such simple requests as a hotel wake-up call or asking for a bill at a restaurant. His method of combating the futility of direct speech is this: “The complex message has to be chopped up into tiny earfuls, patted and moistened with generous amounts of spittle and kneaded into acoustic pellets to be dispatched one by one with perfect timing (Rudofsky 161).” In this way, Rudofsky again points to the poetic and indirect nature of the Japanese language as it is intertwined with the etiquette of politeness. Finally, Rudofsky notes to the foreigner approaching the Japanese language, “Keep in mind that they are unfamiliar with our athletic regime of hardening the eardrums, snatching the thread of discourse from others, drowning words with laughter and expletives, talking fast while trying to follow the conversation of others (Rudofsky 161).” What Rudofsky provides here is a strategic approach to the language, hints from someone who has gained an inside view, so to speak.
    In closing, Rudofsky describes a huge Japanese dinner party in which many speeches were delivered and received applause and attentiveness despite the fact that the speakers’ volume was only audible to those in the first two rows. He writes, “The Japanese have a faculty of enjoying speech regardless of content (Rudofsky 162).” That is, it didn’t matter that the speeches could not be heard, for the Japanese, the murmur of the speech was enough to enjoy and, furthermore, it would have been in bad form to have requested the speaker to raise his or her voice. Rudofsky continues by giving the example of a foreign lecturer speaking about Henri Bergson (in French) and that by the end of the speech the only members remaining in the audience were Japanese, despite the fact that the Japanese in attendance could not speak or understand the French language. Rudofsky: “This makes the Japanese the world’s best listeners (Rudofsky 162).”

    “To the Japanese, the thought that a speaker, celebrated or not, casual or formal, should attach importance to being understood reveals a small mind. Incomprehension on the highest level has its own merits, even when they are not discernible to us (Rudofsky 163).” It is this recognition of incomprehension that leads Rudofsky to respect the Japanese language, despite his seeming frustration with it. He closes On Language with a message to foreigners coming to Japan: “Cultural differences or no cultural differences, if we want to get along with the rest of the world, we cannot afford to be dogmatic (Rudofsky 163).”

    What this end points to is, despite all of the barriers posed by the Japanese language when approached by an English speaker, one should learn to capacitate oneself to the unique, to the acceptance of other ways of conversing and, hence, being. It seems to me that in Rudofsky’s probing of the Japanese language, he has come to appreciate the differences and has come to lend his ear and heart to the difficulty of the Japanese language.

    In my reading of this piece, I have come to see Rudofsky, himself, as a pure Japanese enthusiast and from re-reading this piece, I would like to offer a brief summary. By engaging and reopening the ways that other travelers have approached and been befuddled by the Japanese language, Rudofsky has drawn out several points for those with interest in learning Japanese or for those who wish to gain some insight into the angle of the Japanese character. For him, Japanese, as such, is a language much different from English. The structure is completely different, which proves the first point of difficulty, and, moreover and more importantly, the way of communicating while using this language demands a wholly new way of understanding and approaching a conversation. Moreover, it seems that Rudofsky is preparing the reader for a chance encounter with a Japanese person and, at the same time, educating the reader in how to approach the conversational situation so as to put the Japanese speaker at ease. At the same time, this text also calls for the positive recognition and appreciation of the Japanese way of communicating. That is, Rudofsky is asking the reader to allow him or herself to accept this way of communicating as something uniquely Japanese and, upon encounter with Japan, to keep these points in mind and, instead of trying to “dogmatically” adjust the flow of conversation to fit the foreigner’s way of being, to be willing to be open to the Japanese way of politeness and etiquette. Furthermore, looking at this piece in relation to “The Kimono Mind: An Informal Guide to Japan and the Japanese” as a whole, I see this as being a plea, a plea to those who would be quick to dismiss the Japanese language as a hodgepodge of other Asiatic languages and instead to see the Japanese as a singular way of expression and a challenging, yet rewarding cultural experience.

    Rudofsky, Bernard. The Kimono Mind: An Informal Guide to Japan and the Japanese. Garden City: Doubleday & Company, 1965.

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    • Leo Wong 10:24 am on June 3, 2010 Permalink

      Am an enthusiast of both Yasujiro Ozu and of Bernard Rudofsky and so was glad to come upon this. Thank you.

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