October 04, 2018
Toradora
A tsundere is most often a girl who, as an initial response to a new situation or circumstance, reacts in a cold and hostile manner, often violently so (tsun-tsun). This behavior presents a sharp contrast with her moe outward appearance.
The guy who survives this onslaught of first (and second and third and twentieth) impressions will eventually discover her vulnerable and affectionate side (dere-dere).
The key word here is survive.
As with all well-worn types, tsundere can quickly wear out its welcome and fall into cliche and stereotype, especially when the guy functions as little more than a doormat. The quality of the conflict depends on the quality of the opposing forces. In Toradora they are formidable.
A "tiger" faces off against a "dragon."
In addition to the native Japanese terms, tigers and dragons can be referred to using "loan words" or English cognates. So tora (虎) is Japanese for "tiger." So is a taigaa. The dragon imported from European fantasy is a doragon. A Chinese dragon is a ryuu (竜 or 龍).
Toradora combines the two, meaning "tiger and dragon," which also refers to the two main characters, Taiga Aisaka and Ryuuji Takasu.
The actual kanji for Taiga's name (大河) mean "big river." As everybody likes to point out, it's not a common name for a girl. So given her personality and diminutive size, Taiga has been nicknamed "Palm-Top Tiger."
Minori Kushieda is a tomboy and captain of the softball team. Sumire Kano, the student class president, hilariously governs like a Marine Corps drill instructor. Though nobody appears all that intimidated by her, and vice-president Yusaku Kitamura is always one step behind her to smooth the waters.
Ami Kawashima is a teen fashion model taking a hiatus while she deals with a
stalker. She soon learns to handle her problems the Taiga way.
The male-female ratio notwithstanding, it is not a harem series. As with Tomoya and Nagisa in Clannad (another harem-but-not-really series), the chemistry between the main characters is such that the only question is when and how they will end up together, not if.
Toradora begins with Taiga admiring Yusaku Kitamura from afar, and Ryuuji pining for Minori Kushieda. While too many complications spring from wrongheaded presumptions and poor communication, considering the introverted nature of Japanese society, it did not strain belief for me.
Actually, the first scene of Toradora has Ryuuji trying to dispel the wrongheaded assumptions most people make about him.
In this respect, it's not hard to see Toradora as a upside-down version of Clannad. At the beginning of Clannad, Tomoya and Satoshi have dedicated themselves to being the school's juvenile delinquents. And then one day Tomoya encounters the quiet and gentle Nagisa.
On the other hand, to his constant irritation, everybody outside his close circle of friends believes Ryuuji is a juvenile delinquent. His mother works in a hostess club. His father was a yakuza who (he's been told) got killed in a gang hit. People who don't know Ryuuji are scared to death of him.
Except that Ryuuji grew up being the only responsible person in the house. He'd rather shop for dinner than pick a fight. As in Clannad, he runs into a girl who is his psychological opposite. After much melodrama, they manage to grasp what the other needs and smooth out the rough parts.
Another similarity between the two series is that, although romances, they ultimately avoid idealizing teenage infatuation.
In the concluding dramatic arc, Toradora races toward a Romeo & Juliet conclusion (without anybody dying). But the lesson Taiga and Ryuuji arrive at independently is that when you and everyone you know has that many issues, you should deal with them first. Love will not conquer all.
Rest assured that a happy ending is in the offing, though you'll have to stick through the closing credits of the last episode for the delightful pay-off.
Toradora is a light novel series by Yuyuko Takemiya and has been adapted to manga and anime. The anime is available on Crunchyroll and Tubi.
Labels: anime, anime reviews, introversion, japanese, social studies, tubi
March 01, 2018
The life of a salesman
The most beloved stereotype of the Japanese salesman is that of a mild-mannered carnival barker as portrayed in the long-running Tora-san movies. Persistent and endearingly ingratiating (almost to the point of being annoying). Not hard-sell.
The business of business-to-business—a popular subject of Japanese television melodramas—combines persistence and supplication in the face of rejection. The objective, it seems, is to be inoffensively irritating to the point that the other side caves to get rid of you.
Sort of like stalking. In a good way! Ganbaru—to patiently persist, endure, never give up—is intrinsic to the character of the ideal Japanese striver. A good salesman is NOT Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross. That's how yakuza behave. That's why yakuza terrify the average Japanese.
In Japan, one such feared "hard sell" technique is known as "catch sales." It uses an aggressive approach (invading a person's space and getting in his face) to physically move the conversation to a "home ground" where the salesman controls every aspect of the interaction.
You know, like a church.
As I recount in Tokyo South, back during the late 1970s and early 1980s, Mormon missionaries deployed catch sales techniques with enormous success. In the short term. In the long term—well, by design, Mormon missionaries aren't around for the long term.
So the whole thing fell apart in a few short years. The catch sales approach treats people as disposable. The bird in the hand is never worth as much as two in the bush, and for good reason. It's a lot easier to sell the idea of joining a community than to create one.
Or as Groucho Marx famously said, "I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member." If it's that easy to join, why join? Besides, all Japanese already belong to a club. It's the Japanese club, and being a member is a full time job.
If you can sell that, then you are sure to "always be closing."
The business of business-to-business—a popular subject of Japanese television melodramas—combines persistence and supplication in the face of rejection. The objective, it seems, is to be inoffensively irritating to the point that the other side caves to get rid of you.
Sort of like stalking. In a good way! Ganbaru—to patiently persist, endure, never give up—is intrinsic to the character of the ideal Japanese striver. A good salesman is NOT Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross. That's how yakuza behave. That's why yakuza terrify the average Japanese.
In Japan, one such feared "hard sell" technique is known as "catch sales." It uses an aggressive approach (invading a person's space and getting in his face) to physically move the conversation to a "home ground" where the salesman controls every aspect of the interaction.
You know, like a church.
As I recount in Tokyo South, back during the late 1970s and early 1980s, Mormon missionaries deployed catch sales techniques with enormous success. In the short term. In the long term—well, by design, Mormon missionaries aren't around for the long term.
So the whole thing fell apart in a few short years. The catch sales approach treats people as disposable. The bird in the hand is never worth as much as two in the bush, and for good reason. It's a lot easier to sell the idea of joining a community than to create one.
Or as Groucho Marx famously said, "I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member." If it's that easy to join, why join? Besides, all Japanese already belong to a club. It's the Japanese club, and being a member is a full time job.
If you can sell that, then you are sure to "always be closing."
Labels: introversion, japanese culture, japanese tv, movies about japan, social studies, tokyo south, yakuza
June 15, 2017
Church of the extrovert
"Different" is not always "good." Too much "difference" in close proximity causes wars. Especially when it comes to theology, I don't see the point in "kicking against the pricks" if you can't align yourself theologically with a religion. Go find another cause or church.
(In other words, my "activism" ends exactly at the point I'd have to get out of my armchair to do anything about it.)
On the other hand, a religion that promotes itself as having a "catholic" outreach must realize that differences in human nature exist. Unfortunately, it's easier to pursue utopian universality by pretending that everybody is (or should be) a clone of whoever's in charge.
As a case in point, an article about psychological depression in the Winter 2017 BYU Magazine uses missionary service to illustrate several aspects of the problem and then completely misses the point. Because one size fits all.
Consider the sidebar featuring the anecdote in which Lindsay, "a self-
The "advice" that follows never acknowledges that perhaps being "bold and assertive and confident" isn't for everybody and certainly not for every missionary. Instead, one is supposed to "increase resilience" and develop "coping skills." In other words, conform.
The coping strategies that worked for her--"spending time alone or reading a book"--are not allowed. Perversely enough, the only acceptable alternative this Hobson's choice offered her was to be labeled mentally ill.
To be sure, people have all kinds of issues, and being "with a companion 24/7 that [you] didn't choose, learning a foreign language, and adapting to a different culture" are some of the demanding pressures that inevitably come with being a Mormon missionary.
But, frankly, those pressures--which are finite in duration and not that much more demanding than the rest of post-mission real life--are peanuts compared to the expectations of unavoidable social engagement. And yet these expectations are simply never questioned.
Buddhism and Catholicism long ago figured out that there are convert-the-world types and there are vow-of-silence types. If you're one of the latter and find yourself in a church that's pedal-to-the-metal on the former, you're going to have problems, period.
The church of the extrovert is fine for those who are extroverts, want to become extroverts, or are willing to put up with being around extroverts. It's a Darwinistic gauntlet that systematically filters out the "unfit" personality types. That's fine too. It's a free world.
But if being the life of the party is the necessary condition the viability of the organization depends on, a church that prioritizes sociability and good PR may not be long for this earth. As Rod Dreher argues in The Benedict Option,
In his conversation with Albert Mohler about the book, he further explains:
(The "Benedict" Dreher refers to is not Pope Benedict XVI but the sixth century Benedict of Nursia. He founded the Order of Saint Benedict that defined the structure and objectives of monastic life and helped preserve Western Civilization through the Dark Ages.)
On the other hand, the Mormon church recently began dismantling its tight relationship with the BSA organization, and has hinted that it may divorce it entirely. So rejecting the popular secular option is always a possibility (though it remains increasingly unlikely).
(In other words, my "activism" ends exactly at the point I'd have to get out of my armchair to do anything about it.)
On the other hand, a religion that promotes itself as having a "catholic" outreach must realize that differences in human nature exist. Unfortunately, it's easier to pursue utopian universality by pretending that everybody is (or should be) a clone of whoever's in charge.
As a case in point, an article about psychological depression in the Winter 2017 BYU Magazine uses missionary service to illustrate several aspects of the problem and then completely misses the point. Because one size fits all.
Consider the sidebar featuring the anecdote in which Lindsay, "a self-
The "advice" that follows never acknowledges that perhaps being "bold and assertive and confident" isn't for everybody and certainly not for every missionary. Instead, one is supposed to "increase resilience" and develop "coping skills." In other words, conform.
The coping strategies that worked for her--"spending time alone or reading a book"--are not allowed. Perversely enough, the only acceptable alternative this Hobson's choice offered her was to be labeled mentally ill.
To be sure, people have all kinds of issues, and being "with a companion 24/7 that [you] didn't choose, learning a foreign language, and adapting to a different culture" are some of the demanding pressures that inevitably come with being a Mormon missionary.
But, frankly, those pressures--which are finite in duration and not that much more demanding than the rest of post-mission real life--are peanuts compared to the expectations of unavoidable social engagement. And yet these expectations are simply never questioned.
Buddhism and Catholicism long ago figured out that there are convert-the-world types and there are vow-of-silence types. If you're one of the latter and find yourself in a church that's pedal-to-the-metal on the former, you're going to have problems, period.
The church of the extrovert is fine for those who are extroverts, want to become extroverts, or are willing to put up with being around extroverts. It's a Darwinistic gauntlet that systematically filters out the "unfit" personality types. That's fine too. It's a free world.
But if being the life of the party is the necessary condition the viability of the organization depends on, a church that prioritizes sociability and good PR may not be long for this earth. As Rod Dreher argues in The Benedict Option,
If believers don’t come out of Babylon and be separate, sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally, their faith will not survive for another generation or two in this culture of death.
In his conversation with Albert Mohler about the book, he further explains:
My life is shaped around the chanting of Psalms and on all kinds of sensual ways that embody the faith. Of course you can have smells and bells and go straight to hell; that doesn't change you and lead to greater conversion. But for me as an Orthodox Christian and me as a Catholic, the faith had more traction and it drew me in closer and closer. I don't know if evangelicals can do that, because as I look at evangelicalism I see people who are zealous for the Lord, no doubt about it, but also susceptible to every trend that comes along.
(The "Benedict" Dreher refers to is not Pope Benedict XVI but the sixth century Benedict of Nursia. He founded the Order of Saint Benedict that defined the structure and objectives of monastic life and helped preserve Western Civilization through the Dark Ages.)
On the other hand, the Mormon church recently began dismantling its tight relationship with the BSA organization, and has hinted that it may divorce it entirely. So rejecting the popular secular option is always a possibility (though it remains increasingly unlikely).
Related posts
Up with introverts
The weirdest two years
Understanding Japanese women (and introverts)
Labels: buddhism, history, introversion, lds, religion, social studies
July 02, 2015
Kimi ni Todoke
As a result, even reaching the borderlines of the personality disorder spectrum in Japan—the poster child here being hikikomori—requires diving deep into Asperger syndrome territory, well past the point at which an American helicopter parent would have carted the kid off to a shrink.
To the average introvert, though, Japanese society is pretty much organized the way society ought to be, hence the nerd appeal: it's not some wayward planet Captain Kirk needs to save from itself.
(Though NHK did feel the need to create an online course for elementary school students that explains how to carry on a constructive conversation and communicate with your teacher. It's a pretty good series, frankly.)
Surveys of Japanese high school and college students reveal little interest in abandoning the traditional hierarchical social structure. Despite all the attendant dysfunctions, it's too convenient a way to relate to people without getting too forward or personal all at once (if ever).
A new word had to be invented to describe speaking colloquially with one's peers as equals: tamego (タメ語). Versus using the traditional honorifics: keigo (敬語). Nevertheless, keigo remains the universal default, even among the "younger set."
The great turning point in every Japanese romance is when the main characters start using tamego with each other.
Because of the reversed ratios on this side of the Pacific, the American extrovert's primary (if only) exposure to introverts is television. Principally Aspergery characters like Sheldon on Big Bang Theory, who aren't only introverted but socially maladaptive in a variety of humorous ways.
Granted, it is easier to "show, don't tell" when you're dealing with showy material. By the same token, the extroverted protagonist is easier to write for than somebody comfortable living inside his own head (without relying on copious voice-overs).
Extroverts aren't hard to find on Japanese television for the same reason. They're especially useful for jump-starting conflicts and propelling plots forward (see: tsundere), especially when obvious conflicts go unresolved because of the lack of definitive action or clear communication.
And, yes, the lack of definitive action or clear communication can make Japanese romances way more annoying than American ones. But when the protagonists really are introverts, also more believable (which doesn't always mean more entertaining).
The quintessential showcase is Kimi ni Todoke ("From Me to You"), the hugely popular manga by Karuho Shiina. Serialized since 2006, it's been made in a light novel series, an anime series, and a live-action film (with Mikako Tabe). Here we are presented with a mirror held up to the national teen psyche.
The premise appears entirely predictable at first: Sawako, the quietest girl in class, falls for Shota, the most popular guy.
Except that Shota is not the typical BMOC extrovert (one of those shows up in the second season). If Sawako can be described as far more shy than introverted, Shota is perhaps more introverted but markedly less shy. Shyness and introversion are certainly not synonyms!
The most introverted person in the series is Ryu, Shota's best friend. He's also not shy but has a gregariousness rating of approximately zero. He is the strong, silent type. (In the first season, Chizuru and Ryu are also the more interesting couple, a problem I'll address in a future post.)
Sawako definitely is shy. Worse, she looks like "Sadako," the devilish main character in Koji Suzuki's famous horror trilogy. Everybody calls her "Sadako" and deems her bad luck to be around. Exacerbated by her extremely reserved personality, this pretty much shuts down her social life.
Important point: that isn't something she's wrung her hands over (until now). Introverts don't. They shrug and carry on.
Sawako was comfortably living in her own little world until, like Ken Takakura in The Yellow Handkerchief, she's befriended by a happy-go-lucky pair of extroverts (extroverted according to Japanese standards). Ayane and Chizuru, in turn, connect her to Shota, who, it turns out, already has a thing for her.
(While this reliable plot device is amusing enough in fiction, in real life it often arouses the kind of emotions that would frighten Hannibal Lecter.)
But since Shota is pretty introverted too (though of the more normal sort), he's not going to broach the subject with someone he knows isn't going to broach it either. As I mentioned, this can get annoying fast. And I'll warn you: it drives the plot of practically the entire second season.
This is the underlying flaw in the teen soap opera: you have to keep breaking up the couple so they can get back together. For a long-running series, I would prefer something akin to the timeline of Clannad, that follows the main characters out of their teenage years into their early twenties.
(These problems might also have been mitigated if, as Kate puts it, Sawako and Shota didn't have so much time to "sit and around and get angsty," and got themselves a part-time job or serious hobby.)
 |
| A troublesome extrovert. |
What ultimately saves the series (more in the first season than the second), is that romance is not the constant focus of attention. Rather, the story is about how extending her circle of friends to two or three more people not only expands her world but theirs as well.
Sawako isn't "troubled" or "damaged" or harboring deep psychological secrets. She is only less than fully functional in her inability to "read" people, but even that becomes a kind of superpower. Not reacting predictably to ulterior motives has the comical result of defanging the mean girls.
For an introvert to be an outlier in a Japanese melodrama, she has to be a true outlier. So Sawako is odd even by Japanese standards, but not so odd that millions of Japanese don't identify with her.
If you're looking for a Harlequin plot with extroverts confessing their undying love and making public displays of affection, you're not going to get it (prepare for the exact opposite). What you will get instead is a gentle, goodhearted tale about quiet people becoming better at who they already are.
Related posts
Kimi ni Todoke (Hulu CR)
MacGuffin man
Useful Japanese stereotypes
Understanding Japanese women
Labels: anime reviews, introversion, japanese culture, japanese tv, manga, nhk, romance, social studies
December 16, 2013
The bright side of the Moon
Actually, the far side of the Moon is no darker than the near side. In astronomical terms, the word would have originally meant "unexplored." (And then there's that more well known Dark Side of the Moon back here on Earth.)
Another modern urban myth is that we have the Space Program to thank for Tang, Teflon, and Velcro. All three predate NASA. But we can credit Project Apollo for a fantastic illustration of what defines a true introvert.
It comes from Al Worden, the Apollo 15 command module pilot. XKCD calculated that as he orbited the far side of the Moon, he became one of handful of men who've been not only the furthest away from human civilization, but from any other human being.
Of the experience Worden recalled:
Introverts don't necessarily mind talking to people, but they loath being compelled to talk to people on terms not of their own choosing.
Another modern urban myth is that we have the Space Program to thank for Tang, Teflon, and Velcro. All three predate NASA. But we can credit Project Apollo for a fantastic illustration of what defines a true introvert.
It comes from Al Worden, the Apollo 15 command module pilot. XKCD calculated that as he orbited the far side of the Moon, he became one of handful of men who've been not only the furthest away from human civilization, but from any other human being.
Of the experience Worden recalled:
There's a thing about being alone and there's a thing about being lonely, and they're two different things. I was alone but I was not lonely. My background was as a fighter pilot in the air force, then as a test pilot--and that was mostly in fighter airplanes--so I was very used to being by myself. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn't have to talk to Dave and Jim any more. On the backside of the Moon, I didn't even have to talk to Houston and that was the best part of the flight.
Introverts don't necessarily mind talking to people, but they loath being compelled to talk to people on terms not of their own choosing.
Labels: introversion, space
July 23, 2012
Tsurube's Salute to Families
NHK's Somewhere Street is a travel show that doesn't have a host and never breaks the fourth wall. All you see is what the camera sees. It's the "first-person shooter" of travel shows.
Tsurube's Salute to Families is the exact opposite. Shofukutei Tsurube doesn't break the fourth wall, he stomps through it. The camera crew hustles to keep up, not stopping filming while changing the filters or bothering to do retakes when the boom mike dips into the frame.
(Though not Steadicam cameras, they do a good job avoiding the annoying "shaky-cam" effect.)
Tsurube shoots each episode with a celebrity co-host, who picks some small corner of Japan to visit. They wander around the place, taking in the local attractions, sampling the local dishes, and visiting the town's school. The end result is two forty-five minute episodes.
Tsurube and his co-host do the first episode together, then split up for the second. I suspect a production crew picks out the most promising locations, though Tsurube makes it look completely spontaneous. There is a good deal of editing for time, which consists of simple jump cuts.
As the name of the show implies, Tsurube makes a point of looking for people who have been living in the area for ages, and then meeting as many of their extended family as possible. He's been doing the show for fifteen years so people can trust him not to make them look bad.
He's a frumpy, affable, garrulous man, who's typical outfit is a T-shirt and jeans. If you're old enough to remember, he has the homespun presence of Charles Kuralt in his "On the Road" segments.
Tsurube has a long acting career in movies and television. He is by training a rakugo artist, a monologist that specializes in traditional Japanese storytelling. Rakugo artists are popular choices for television shows that depend on improvisational patter to keep the pace going.
In particular, Tsurube posses that extraordinary talent to become anybody's best friend about five minutes after meeting them. He brings to mind John Althouse Cohen's observation that
In a country of 128 million introverts, Tsurube is the extrovert everybody imagines they would like to be or be with. He's your favorite, slightly eccentric uncle, that you love having around, though for no more than forty-five minute a week.
Tsurube's Salute to Families is the exact opposite. Shofukutei Tsurube doesn't break the fourth wall, he stomps through it. The camera crew hustles to keep up, not stopping filming while changing the filters or bothering to do retakes when the boom mike dips into the frame.
(Though not Steadicam cameras, they do a good job avoiding the annoying "shaky-cam" effect.)
Tsurube shoots each episode with a celebrity co-host, who picks some small corner of Japan to visit. They wander around the place, taking in the local attractions, sampling the local dishes, and visiting the town's school. The end result is two forty-five minute episodes.
Tsurube and his co-host do the first episode together, then split up for the second. I suspect a production crew picks out the most promising locations, though Tsurube makes it look completely spontaneous. There is a good deal of editing for time, which consists of simple jump cuts.
As the name of the show implies, Tsurube makes a point of looking for people who have been living in the area for ages, and then meeting as many of their extended family as possible. He's been doing the show for fifteen years so people can trust him not to make them look bad.
He's a frumpy, affable, garrulous man, who's typical outfit is a T-shirt and jeans. If you're old enough to remember, he has the homespun presence of Charles Kuralt in his "On the Road" segments.
Tsurube has a long acting career in movies and television. He is by training a rakugo artist, a monologist that specializes in traditional Japanese storytelling. Rakugo artists are popular choices for television shows that depend on improvisational patter to keep the pace going.
In particular, Tsurube posses that extraordinary talent to become anybody's best friend about five minutes after meeting them. He brings to mind John Althouse Cohen's observation that
Most ordinary citizens who tried to run for president would probably come off as wooden and unhip. The candidate who can "connect" with most people is actually unlike most people.
In a country of 128 million introverts, Tsurube is the extrovert everybody imagines they would like to be or be with. He's your favorite, slightly eccentric uncle, that you love having around, though for no more than forty-five minute a week.
Labels: introversion, japanese tv, japanese tv reviews, television reviews
September 01, 2011
Useful Japanese stereotypes
A while back, my sister asked what I thought of two books she's using in her Business Communications course—How to Say "No" Without Feeling Guilty (U.S.) and 16 Ways to Avoid Saying "No" (Japan)"—specifically, the sociological picture they paint of Japanese society. To summarize:
As far as broad brushes go—which anybody painting big pictures has to use (stereotypes persist because they are useful)—I don't find much here to disagree with. But in explaining the what, the why perhaps needs more attention. It's too tautological to say that a culture is a certain way because that's the way the the culture is.
For example, generally speaking, it's true that Japan is a "high-context" culture and the United States is a "low-context" culture. Japan has maintained a common frame of reference for centuries (from 1603–1868, allowing nobody else in as a matter of national policy), while the United States has been integrating unique frames of reference for centuries.
Americans have to let the words speak for themselves because they can't automatically assume a shared context. Japanese can imply a lot more, trusting that the other person will understand what they are hinting at (which is not to say that this trust can't be highly misplaced).
Writers can play with this ambiguity and hide information from the reader. (Unfortunately, doing so also hides information from the translator.) It is grammatical in Japanese to drop subjects, and the passive voice is ubiquitous. Dialogue tags can also be a lot more vague, with the speaker being identified, for example, solely by the choice of pronoun (and I'm not refering to gender).
The Sapir–Whorf hypothesis—which goes in and out of favor, depending on the tides of academic political correctness—has its place. To quote Wikipedia, "Differences in the way languages encode cultural and cognitive categories affect the way people think, so that speakers of different languages will tend to think and behave differently depending on the language they use."
However, it can quickly degrade into a chicken-egg problem, encouraging nativist nonsense such as the Nihonjinron craze during the 1980s, which extrapolated Sapir–Whorf down to the genetic level and back up to the nationalistic level, pushing the notion of "exceptionalism" into the absurd.
Applying Occam's Razor, though, I think these approaches can overthink the whole thing. The biggest clue is that while Japanese are indeed "group oriented," they're not a bunch of extroverts who want to hang out together volubly emoting in a big Oprah-fest. It's more a collective action and safety-in-numbers thing.
The easiest way to understand Japan is that it's a country of 128 million introverts living in a country the size of California. It really is that simple. As the Wikipedia writer wittily puts it (with a bit of editing):
Considering Japan's recent feudal past—more efficiently run and deeply entrenched than medieval Europe's—and in light of an ultra-high population density, institutionalizing ways of not stepping on the toes of people who could ruin your day was a Darwinian necessity that shaped the society and the individual and the language (like those Russian foxes).
And has also resulted in a culture where the default coping mechanism is passive-aggressive behavior. Maybe that's why nerdy introverts all over the world instinctively "get it."
Japanese culture values non-confrontation and discourages the expression of negative emotions (but more amongst insiders than outsiders; it is more acceptable to be rude to outsiders than insiders). An individual raised in Japan will make more group ("we") references, rely more on nonverbal communication (silence, eye contact or lack thereof), and experience more communication apprehension (get worried about communicating) than an individual raised in the United States.
As far as broad brushes go—which anybody painting big pictures has to use (stereotypes persist because they are useful)—I don't find much here to disagree with. But in explaining the what, the why perhaps needs more attention. It's too tautological to say that a culture is a certain way because that's the way the the culture is.
For example, generally speaking, it's true that Japan is a "high-context" culture and the United States is a "low-context" culture. Japan has maintained a common frame of reference for centuries (from 1603–1868, allowing nobody else in as a matter of national policy), while the United States has been integrating unique frames of reference for centuries.
Americans have to let the words speak for themselves because they can't automatically assume a shared context. Japanese can imply a lot more, trusting that the other person will understand what they are hinting at (which is not to say that this trust can't be highly misplaced).
Writers can play with this ambiguity and hide information from the reader. (Unfortunately, doing so also hides information from the translator.) It is grammatical in Japanese to drop subjects, and the passive voice is ubiquitous. Dialogue tags can also be a lot more vague, with the speaker being identified, for example, solely by the choice of pronoun (and I'm not refering to gender).
The Sapir–Whorf hypothesis—which goes in and out of favor, depending on the tides of academic political correctness—has its place. To quote Wikipedia, "Differences in the way languages encode cultural and cognitive categories affect the way people think, so that speakers of different languages will tend to think and behave differently depending on the language they use."
However, it can quickly degrade into a chicken-egg problem, encouraging nativist nonsense such as the Nihonjinron craze during the 1980s, which extrapolated Sapir–Whorf down to the genetic level and back up to the nationalistic level, pushing the notion of "exceptionalism" into the absurd.
Applying Occam's Razor, though, I think these approaches can overthink the whole thing. The biggest clue is that while Japanese are indeed "group oriented," they're not a bunch of extroverts who want to hang out together volubly emoting in a big Oprah-fest. It's more a collective action and safety-in-numbers thing.
The easiest way to understand Japan is that it's a country of 128 million introverts living in a country the size of California. It really is that simple. As the Wikipedia writer wittily puts it (with a bit of editing):
Under the alias of assertions of differences, expressions of nationalism in Japan, as elsewhere, borrow promiscuously from the conceptual hoards of others, and what may seem alien turns out often to be, once studied closely, merely an exotic variation on an all too familiar theme.
Considering Japan's recent feudal past—more efficiently run and deeply entrenched than medieval Europe's—and in light of an ultra-high population density, institutionalizing ways of not stepping on the toes of people who could ruin your day was a Darwinian necessity that shaped the society and the individual and the language (like those Russian foxes).
And has also resulted in a culture where the default coping mechanism is passive-aggressive behavior. Maybe that's why nerdy introverts all over the world instinctively "get it."
Related posts
Life is a sim
Understanding Japanese women (and introverts)
Labels: deep thoughts, history, introversion, japan, japanese, social studies
July 04, 2011
Life is a sim
Any missionary who has served in Japan quickly learns the expression, "Rusu desu." It means, "Nobody's home." Japan is a nation of 128 million introverts. The novelist Hyakken Uchida summed up the near-universal sentiment when he posted a parody of an old tanka poem on his front door:
On this side of the Pacific, it's an extrovert's world, so they get to define the terms of the debate, expressed as anything from rolled eyes to "call the men in the white coats" exasperation to unbridled rage at all those activities introverts enjoy doing that don't involve, you know, them.
In Japan, if you shut yourself in your room and don't come out for a year, okay, you're probably an "introvert." Otherwise, you're "normal," and "normal" activities have been extended and refined to introverted degrees that shock extroverted sensibilities all the more, such as the dating sim.
The dating sim evolved out of the "interactive novel," one of those technologies that has forever remained stubbornly over the horizon--except in Japan, where it has merged with the manga/anime aesthetic and narrative style and succeeded amazingly well.
One of the most popular dating sims is Love Plus (Peter Payne touches upon it here), cited in some translated 2ch responses to this by-the-numbers rant about how Japan's whole problem is the "fantasy world of comics, video games and animated pornography."
As the first point makes clear, as with slams of romance novels, these kinds of criticisms ultimately boil down to snobbery: my ways of wasting time are more refined than your ways of wasting time. Not to mention that wasting it in a group is always deemed more productive than wasting it alone.
That last one is an important demographic point that the "birth dearth" people utterly fail to comprehend: the Japanese are choosing to not gallop mindlessly into a Malthusian catastrophe. Just to make this point clear:
Even so, as stubborn contrarian Eamonn Fingleton insists, no ostensibly "dying nation" has ever done so well as Japan.
I'm not a game player, so I can't offer any opinions in that department. But Kanon and Clannad--based on dating sims--are in my top ten list. The KimiKiss manga are pretty good too (very Jack Weyland-ish). Game-play imposes a structure on the narratives that lend to solid plotting.
Here is a Love Plus trailer.
There is no greater joy
than receiving a visitor
But I don't mean you
On this side of the Pacific, it's an extrovert's world, so they get to define the terms of the debate, expressed as anything from rolled eyes to "call the men in the white coats" exasperation to unbridled rage at all those activities introverts enjoy doing that don't involve, you know, them.
In Japan, if you shut yourself in your room and don't come out for a year, okay, you're probably an "introvert." Otherwise, you're "normal," and "normal" activities have been extended and refined to introverted degrees that shock extroverted sensibilities all the more, such as the dating sim.
The dating sim evolved out of the "interactive novel," one of those technologies that has forever remained stubbornly over the horizon--except in Japan, where it has merged with the manga/anime aesthetic and narrative style and succeeded amazingly well.
One of the most popular dating sims is Love Plus (Peter Payne touches upon it here), cited in some translated 2ch responses to this by-the-numbers rant about how Japan's whole problem is the "fantasy world of comics, video games and animated pornography."
• Oh, and its OK to be obsessed with movies and books then?
• Make reality more interesting than games, please.
• Yeah, I can live on games alone.
• If everybody became obsessed with games, then we would live in a peaceful society.
• Reality does not want to deal with me, you idiot.
• The world in the monitor is reality. The world we live in is just imaginary.
• To be honest, I don't want a (real) woman.
• Love Plus IS reality.
• But the 2D world is ideal.
• My [2D] girlfriend is Aika-san. She lets me meet her whenever I want and greets me with a smile if I forget a date, and she does not cost money. Thats all I need.
• I'm 30 and earn 3.5 million yen [$40K USD]--how am I supposed to get married?
• I tried to face reality and it became Love Plus.
• A country of Neets [England] being worried about Japan?
• Girls in games won't cheat on us.
• The solution is simple: make it so that anime and manga characters can get pregnant.
• There are too many Japanese people anyway, so decreasing the population would be just right.
As the first point makes clear, as with slams of romance novels, these kinds of criticisms ultimately boil down to snobbery: my ways of wasting time are more refined than your ways of wasting time. Not to mention that wasting it in a group is always deemed more productive than wasting it alone.
That last one is an important demographic point that the "birth dearth" people utterly fail to comprehend: the Japanese are choosing to not gallop mindlessly into a Malthusian catastrophe. Just to make this point clear:
• Japan has a population of 128 million.
• And is the approximate size of California, with less arable land (and even less than that since the March tsunami and Fukushima meltdown).
• The current population of California (37 million) is about that of Japan two hundred years ago.
Even so, as stubborn contrarian Eamonn Fingleton insists, no ostensibly "dying nation" has ever done so well as Japan.
I'm not a game player, so I can't offer any opinions in that department. But Kanon and Clannad--based on dating sims--are in my top ten list. The KimiKiss manga are pretty good too (very Jack Weyland-ish). Game-play imposes a structure on the narratives that lend to solid plotting.
Here is a Love Plus trailer.
Related posts
Kanon
Clannad
Understanding Japanese women (and introverts)
Fumiko's Confession (how a dating sim is not supposed to turn out)
Labels: anime, computers, demographics, introversion, japan, manga, pop culture, sex
December 06, 2010
The magic door
I previously mentioned the delightful romantic dramedy I'll Still Love You in Ten Years.
To summarize: imagine that Leonard Hofstadter and Penny (but make her a young editorial assistant) from Big Bang Theory get married. She de-geekifies him, he becomes rich and famous, they end up loathing each other. So he borrows his old professor's time machine and goes back to when they first met in order to break up the relationship.
(Incidentally, I identify completely. This is exactly how geeky introverts think.)
The restrained NHK style gets it exactly right, pushing the physical relationship off to the side and focusing on what makes people fall in love despite themselves, without getting too full of its philosophical self. Ten years ago, it would have made a great Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan vehicle. As a stage play, it'd be a nice answer to Saturday's Warrior.
There's only one small special effect in the whole series--a 1000 yen coin from 2020 disappears when the disrupted timeline is restored. We never see the actual time machine. We're only shown a small theoretical prototype in the professor's lab. It's simply stipulated that the time machine exists.
In other words, it's a magic door. That's all we need.
The "magic door" approach comes from an episode on Red Dwarf where the crew discovers a "space-time portal" that will permit them to travel back in time in order to warn themselves of the disaster that will befall them a few weeks hence.
Call it the Goldilocks problem in science fiction and fantasy: explaining too much or explaining too little. Fantasy with pretensions to "hard SF" often succumbs to the former (Star Trek). A good example of the latter is Jin, an otherwise excellent time travel drama from Tokyo Broadcasting System.
Dr. Jin Minakata (Takao Osawa) is a 21st century surgeon who gets caught in a "time slip" (as it's called in Japanese) and saves the life of Saki's (Haruka Ayase, on the left) brother before fully realizing where he is, and before realizing that he has just done something thought utterly impossible back then.
(Incidentally, Osawa and Ayase also pair up in Ichi, a pretty good Zatoichi spin-off, with Ayase playing against type as the blind-but-lethal swordswoman.)
Following the iron-clad rule that time travelers must travel to interesting times and immediately meet interesting people, as soon as he figures out he's in 1860's Edo (Tokyo), he promptly runs into Sakamoto Ryoma (exuberantly played by Seiyou Uchino, Rika's time-traveling husband from I'll Still Love You in Ten Years).
The episodic conflicts involve Dr. Minakata figuring out how to use his skills with mid-19th century technology. Though Japan had yet to go through its industrial revolution, it still had some of the best specialty steel, silk and ceramics makers in the world. So Minakata could have many of his surgical instruments custom made.
He next sets out to invent penicillin. Granted, the most drastic improvements in health over the past two centuries came from public sanitation. But the Edo government was about to collapse, so a major public works project wasn't in the cards. It's a clever choice, as is having a soy sauce factory handle the mass production.
Although the plots have to be manhandled a bit to set up the medical case for each episode, they're well-researched (at least I found them convincing) and completely fascinating. It makes for a good basic course in pharmacology and emergency medicine. I'd like to see what Dr. House could do in a Civil War-era hospital with 21st century knowledge.
The series conflict involves Minakata's 21st century fiancee, who is in a coma after an operation he convinced her to undergo. He has a photograph of the two of them, taken at her bedside. As he begins to treat one particular patient (the geisha on the right, who's the splitting image of his fiance), the photograph begins to change.
In time, his fiance appears to return to health. And then starts to disappear. Minakata concludes that if he cures his patient, a series of cause and effect will cause her to vanish from history. Add to this his knowledge that Ryoma was assassinated in 1867. Does he act in the present or preserve the future he knows?
It's an interesting set of conflicts and dramatically very well done. There's only one problem with the series: there's no magic door.
A magic door is vaguely implied in the pilot episode. But later, what was implied doesn't seem to exist. The premise gets shuffled off stage with a bunch of literary handwaves and pretty cinematic flourishes and a WTF metaphor about a fetus in a bottle that never made any sense (I don't think it made any sense to the director either).
Maybe Minakata hit his head and he's the one in the coma. Maybe he's not a man dreaming he's a butterfly, but a butterfly dreaming he's a man. Whatever. However clever it looks on paper, this "We're too good for concrete fantasy" business gets my goat. My magical realism better have magic. If here be dragons, I expect real dragons.
Though in this case I suspect they're trying to keep all their options open by not committing to any one plot device. Unfortunately, when it comes to the integrity of a narrative, that kind of halfheartedness never serves storytelling well.
The series is good enough that you can answer their hand wave with one of your own and keep watching. But lacking a physical hook on which to hang the premise--an earthquake, say, or an errant MRI machine--despite the satisfying conclusion, the protagonist's lack of other options detracts from the dramatic impact.
Perhaps the manga on which the television series was based handles it differently. And because most series television in Japan consists of a dozen episodes and that's it (or a dozen episodes a year, very frustrating with ongoing series), it's possible they could come back for a season two (and TBS has just announced there will be).
But they'd still have to come up with a magic door.
To summarize: imagine that Leonard Hofstadter and Penny (but make her a young editorial assistant) from Big Bang Theory get married. She de-geekifies him, he becomes rich and famous, they end up loathing each other. So he borrows his old professor's time machine and goes back to when they first met in order to break up the relationship.
(Incidentally, I identify completely. This is exactly how geeky introverts think.)
The restrained NHK style gets it exactly right, pushing the physical relationship off to the side and focusing on what makes people fall in love despite themselves, without getting too full of its philosophical self. Ten years ago, it would have made a great Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan vehicle. As a stage play, it'd be a nice answer to Saturday's Warrior.
There's only one small special effect in the whole series--a 1000 yen coin from 2020 disappears when the disrupted timeline is restored. We never see the actual time machine. We're only shown a small theoretical prototype in the professor's lab. It's simply stipulated that the time machine exists.
In other words, it's a magic door. That's all we need.
The "magic door" approach comes from an episode on Red Dwarf where the crew discovers a "space-time portal" that will permit them to travel back in time in order to warn themselves of the disaster that will befall them a few weeks hence.
"What is it?" Cat wants to know.
Lister offers up the typical technobabble explanations of it being a "interstellar dimensional space-time continuum" or whatnot. But with every explanation, Cat only gets more confused and keeps repeating, "But what is it?"
Finally Lister says, "It's a magic door."
And Cat says, "Oh, a magic door! Why didn't anyone say so!"
Call it the Goldilocks problem in science fiction and fantasy: explaining too much or explaining too little. Fantasy with pretensions to "hard SF" often succumbs to the former (Star Trek). A good example of the latter is Jin, an otherwise excellent time travel drama from Tokyo Broadcasting System.
Dr. Jin Minakata (Takao Osawa) is a 21st century surgeon who gets caught in a "time slip" (as it's called in Japanese) and saves the life of Saki's (Haruka Ayase, on the left) brother before fully realizing where he is, and before realizing that he has just done something thought utterly impossible back then.
(Incidentally, Osawa and Ayase also pair up in Ichi, a pretty good Zatoichi spin-off, with Ayase playing against type as the blind-but-lethal swordswoman.)
Following the iron-clad rule that time travelers must travel to interesting times and immediately meet interesting people, as soon as he figures out he's in 1860's Edo (Tokyo), he promptly runs into Sakamoto Ryoma (exuberantly played by Seiyou Uchino, Rika's time-traveling husband from I'll Still Love You in Ten Years).
The episodic conflicts involve Dr. Minakata figuring out how to use his skills with mid-19th century technology. Though Japan had yet to go through its industrial revolution, it still had some of the best specialty steel, silk and ceramics makers in the world. So Minakata could have many of his surgical instruments custom made.
He next sets out to invent penicillin. Granted, the most drastic improvements in health over the past two centuries came from public sanitation. But the Edo government was about to collapse, so a major public works project wasn't in the cards. It's a clever choice, as is having a soy sauce factory handle the mass production.
Although the plots have to be manhandled a bit to set up the medical case for each episode, they're well-researched (at least I found them convincing) and completely fascinating. It makes for a good basic course in pharmacology and emergency medicine. I'd like to see what Dr. House could do in a Civil War-era hospital with 21st century knowledge.
The series conflict involves Minakata's 21st century fiancee, who is in a coma after an operation he convinced her to undergo. He has a photograph of the two of them, taken at her bedside. As he begins to treat one particular patient (the geisha on the right, who's the splitting image of his fiance), the photograph begins to change.
In time, his fiance appears to return to health. And then starts to disappear. Minakata concludes that if he cures his patient, a series of cause and effect will cause her to vanish from history. Add to this his knowledge that Ryoma was assassinated in 1867. Does he act in the present or preserve the future he knows?
It's an interesting set of conflicts and dramatically very well done. There's only one problem with the series: there's no magic door.
A magic door is vaguely implied in the pilot episode. But later, what was implied doesn't seem to exist. The premise gets shuffled off stage with a bunch of literary handwaves and pretty cinematic flourishes and a WTF metaphor about a fetus in a bottle that never made any sense (I don't think it made any sense to the director either).
Maybe Minakata hit his head and he's the one in the coma. Maybe he's not a man dreaming he's a butterfly, but a butterfly dreaming he's a man. Whatever. However clever it looks on paper, this "We're too good for concrete fantasy" business gets my goat. My magical realism better have magic. If here be dragons, I expect real dragons.
Though in this case I suspect they're trying to keep all their options open by not committing to any one plot device. Unfortunately, when it comes to the integrity of a narrative, that kind of halfheartedness never serves storytelling well.
The series is good enough that you can answer their hand wave with one of your own and keep watching. But lacking a physical hook on which to hang the premise--an earthquake, say, or an errant MRI machine--despite the satisfying conclusion, the protagonist's lack of other options detracts from the dramatic impact.
Perhaps the manga on which the television series was based handles it differently. And because most series television in Japan consists of a dozen episodes and that's it (or a dozen episodes a year, very frustrating with ongoing series), it's possible they could come back for a season two (and TBS has just announced there will be).
But they'd still have to come up with a magic door.
Labels: criticism, introversion, japan, japanese tv, japanese tv reviews, kate, magic, sakamoto, science fiction, television, television reviews, thinking about writing
August 19, 2010
Born that way
The remarkable thing (for an introvert, at least) about this recent bit of research showing that introverts are biologically "that way" is that anybody ever thought differently.
Alas, the vast majority of extroverts continue to not only believe that introverts want to be like them, but that they really could be just like them if they only "tried harder."
I couldn't help noticing a derivation of the "Ann Althouse rule" (If it ever seems that men are greater than women, you must look harder until you can perceive that women are greater than men):
That's right, "people in general" are more "meaningful" to extroverts. In other words, extroverts: good and trustworthy; introverts: weird and scary.
This is just one more piece of evidence to support the assertion that personality is not merely a psychology concept. [There is a] broader foundation for the behavior that you see, implicating that there are neural bases for different personality types."
Alas, the vast majority of extroverts continue to not only believe that introverts want to be like them, but that they really could be just like them if they only "tried harder."
I couldn't help noticing a derivation of the "Ann Althouse rule" (If it ever seems that men are greater than women, you must look harder until you can perceive that women are greater than men):
The introvert's brain treats interactions with people the same way it treats encounters with other, non-human information [while] human faces, or people in general, hold more significance for extroverts, or are more meaningful for them.
That's right, "people in general" are more "meaningful" to extroverts. In other words, extroverts: good and trustworthy; introverts: weird and scary.
Labels: introversion, science, social studies
July 22, 2010
Up with introverts
My sister Kate has been discussing (part I part II ) the problem Hollywood has getting introversion right. Lately, though, in a few certain cases, it's at least been getting it less wrong. This dialog from NCIS perfectly sums up how extroverts misunderstand introverts:
That is exactly my reaction when strangers barge into my personal space with an assumed sense of instant familiarity: I don't know you. Don't presume that you know me.
Gibbs is a classic introvert. That business about him spending all of his free time down in the basement with his boat—perfectly content holed up in his cave—is such an introvert thing (and not because the introvert in question is lonely or depressed or otherwise psychologically impaired).
Women assume he's an alpha male extrovert. What they get is an alpha male introvert. For Gibbs, trying to "build" a new relationship just isn't worth it. He's a Darcy (or Seeley Booth), and if they're not Elizabeth Bennet (or Temperance Brennan), they're never cracking that shell.
Granted, this is a way of showing that Gibbs is "damaged goods." Otherwise he'd be like, well, DiNozzo. But that only proves the point. As C.S. Lewis has observed, the desire for solitude has become, in the modern world, a malady that must be "cured."
DiNozzo, in contrast, behaves like an extrovert and McGee behaves like an introvert, but as Kate points out, neither really is. (I don't know whether this is a purposeful mistake or not). My term for McGee is unselfconscious nerd. There's a big difference.
(David, by the way, is Gibbs's id, which I think is done brilliantly.)
Because extroverts, in Rauch's words, "have little or no grasp of introversion," they define introversion in terms of what they observe introverts doing (especially if it runs counter to their own tastes). And then treat that behavior as a marker for introversion in general.
The best example of this is Sheldon on Big Bang Theory. (This series is so right in so many ways I have to believe one of the producers is writing what he knows, or is an extraordinarily skilled observer.)
Leonard, Sheldon's roommate and fellow physicist, is a frustrated introvert who fancies being "cured." Because Leonard and Sheldon share the same hobbies and interests—professionally and personally—extroverts will assume that Sheldon is the same sort of introvert too.
He's not. When the rest of the world is not behaving the way Sheldon expects it to, he berates it and bosses it around, loudly and shamelessly—and often successfully—until it complies.
Sheldon is unselfconscious about himself in ways that make Leonard (or any true introvert) wilt. What is "introverted" about Sheldon—the same goes for McGee—is how he spends his time. As with Darcy, the "normal" interests of extroverts are boring, insipid, and beneath him.
But in situations where Leonard—and Darcy—would suffer in silence, Sheldon says so pointedly and leaves. Sheldon is not a "social" or "retiring" introvert. And not an extrovert. I would call him an "apavert."
The same way an "apatheist" has concluded that atheists care way too much about whether nor not God exists, for an "apavert," the distinctions between "intro" and "extro" are beside the point. The id and the superego are fused into an undifferentiated mass.
Many introverts grow up as apaverts until the cruel, hard world makes it clear that if you're not an extrovert, you're nothing. At which point they develop an introverted shell to defend themselves from noisy extroverts. Or become Garrison Keillor's "Norwegian bachelor farmers."
I am, but remain intrigued by the contrasts, so end up following the advice to "write what you know." The Path of Dreams is one long exercise in making a male romantic lead out of an introvert. And unlike Twilight, my vampires are introverts too. In chapter 28 of Angel Falling Softly:
Frankly, it'd be pretty stupid for a vampire not to be an introvert (David Boreanaz's Angel gets this right). No matter how sparkly they are.
CGIS Special Agent Borin: So what's your beef Gibbs? That I'm Coast Guard, that I'm a woman or that I managed to get the drop on you in that house?
NCIS Special Agent Gibbs: I don't know you.
That is exactly my reaction when strangers barge into my personal space with an assumed sense of instant familiarity: I don't know you. Don't presume that you know me.
Gibbs is a classic introvert. That business about him spending all of his free time down in the basement with his boat—perfectly content holed up in his cave—is such an introvert thing (and not because the introvert in question is lonely or depressed or otherwise psychologically impaired).
Women assume he's an alpha male extrovert. What they get is an alpha male introvert. For Gibbs, trying to "build" a new relationship just isn't worth it. He's a Darcy (or Seeley Booth), and if they're not Elizabeth Bennet (or Temperance Brennan), they're never cracking that shell.
Granted, this is a way of showing that Gibbs is "damaged goods." Otherwise he'd be like, well, DiNozzo. But that only proves the point. As C.S. Lewis has observed, the desire for solitude has become, in the modern world, a malady that must be "cured."
DiNozzo, in contrast, behaves like an extrovert and McGee behaves like an introvert, but as Kate points out, neither really is. (I don't know whether this is a purposeful mistake or not). My term for McGee is unselfconscious nerd. There's a big difference.
(David, by the way, is Gibbs's id, which I think is done brilliantly.)
Because extroverts, in Rauch's words, "have little or no grasp of introversion," they define introversion in terms of what they observe introverts doing (especially if it runs counter to their own tastes). And then treat that behavior as a marker for introversion in general.
The best example of this is Sheldon on Big Bang Theory. (This series is so right in so many ways I have to believe one of the producers is writing what he knows, or is an extraordinarily skilled observer.)
Leonard, Sheldon's roommate and fellow physicist, is a frustrated introvert who fancies being "cured." Because Leonard and Sheldon share the same hobbies and interests—professionally and personally—extroverts will assume that Sheldon is the same sort of introvert too.
He's not. When the rest of the world is not behaving the way Sheldon expects it to, he berates it and bosses it around, loudly and shamelessly—and often successfully—until it complies.
Sheldon is unselfconscious about himself in ways that make Leonard (or any true introvert) wilt. What is "introverted" about Sheldon—the same goes for McGee—is how he spends his time. As with Darcy, the "normal" interests of extroverts are boring, insipid, and beneath him.
But in situations where Leonard—and Darcy—would suffer in silence, Sheldon says so pointedly and leaves. Sheldon is not a "social" or "retiring" introvert. And not an extrovert. I would call him an "apavert."
The same way an "apatheist" has concluded that atheists care way too much about whether nor not God exists, for an "apavert," the distinctions between "intro" and "extro" are beside the point. The id and the superego are fused into an undifferentiated mass.
Many introverts grow up as apaverts until the cruel, hard world makes it clear that if you're not an extrovert, you're nothing. At which point they develop an introverted shell to defend themselves from noisy extroverts. Or become Garrison Keillor's "Norwegian bachelor farmers."
I am, but remain intrigued by the contrasts, so end up following the advice to "write what you know." The Path of Dreams is one long exercise in making a male romantic lead out of an introvert. And unlike Twilight, my vampires are introverts too. In chapter 28 of Angel Falling Softly:
Wolves lived in packs, far from the madding crowd. [Milada] lived alone, but alone among many. It amounted to more than the simple utilitarianism of keeping her food close at hand; that incalculable need to maintain the illusion of her humanness kept her at once insulated from the teeming city, yet cheek by jowl with the peopled world.
Frankly, it'd be pretty stupid for a vampire not to be an introvert (David Boreanaz's Angel gets this right). No matter how sparkly they are.
Related posts
Life is a sim
Caring for your introvert
Understanding Japanese women (and introverts)
Real introversion versus Hollywood I
Real introversion versus Hollywood II
Labels: introversion, kate, movies, social studies, television
February 05, 2010
Fumiko's Confession
In Japan, a "confession" (告白) is what a girl does when she expresses her feelings to a boy she likes (usually but not always in that order). In Y/A romances, it is the subject of an unbelievable amount of angst. In Ranma 1/2, for example, it is treated the same as a marriage proposal.
My explanation for this is that, in terms of what's considered "normal" behavior in the U.S., introversion is the status quo in Japan. So making simple declarations like this are incredibly stressful. As my sister points out, this is an important clue to understanding Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.
An unsuccessful confession (a very prototypical scene) begins Fumiko's Confession, igniting a very un-prototypical rollercoaster of a short film drawn by one very talented Hiroyasu Ishida (you may want to take a Dramamine first). Rarely are teenage emotions so vividly illustrated.
Here are the five lines of dialog, with the boy featuring typical junior high school male cluelessness.
The hilly setting of Fumiko's Confession reminds me of Tama New Town in western Tokyo, where Whisper of the Heart (which also contains a misaligned "confession") and many other Studio Ghibli films take place.
My explanation for this is that, in terms of what's considered "normal" behavior in the U.S., introversion is the status quo in Japan. So making simple declarations like this are incredibly stressful. As my sister points out, this is an important clue to understanding Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.
An unsuccessful confession (a very prototypical scene) begins Fumiko's Confession, igniting a very un-prototypical rollercoaster of a short film drawn by one very talented Hiroyasu Ishida (you may want to take a Dramamine first). Rarely are teenage emotions so vividly illustrated.
Here are the five lines of dialog, with the boy featuring typical junior high school male cluelessness.
FIRST SCENE
Fumiko: Ah, um, please go out with with me!
Takashi: I'm sorry, but right now I'm concentrating on baseball.
MIDDLE SCENE
Fumiko: [Just before running down the little old lady.] He's such an idiot!
LAST SCENE
Fumiko: I'll make miso soup for you every morning! [A colloquial expression that means the same as above.]
Takashi: I'm sorry, but I want to focus on baseball right now.
The hilly setting of Fumiko's Confession reminds me of Tama New Town in western Tokyo, where Whisper of the Heart (which also contains a misaligned "confession") and many other Studio Ghibli films take place.
Labels: anime, introversion, japan, movies, social studies
June 20, 2009
Darcy and Kagekatsu
My sister's analysis of Darcy from Pride and Prejudice reminds me of the NHK historical drama, Tenchijin, about a minor daimyo, Kagekatsu, who governed Echigo Province from 1578 to 1623. He is depicted as a classic introvert, handsome and accomplished, but who loathed "socializing."There is apparently solid historical evidence for him being a man of few words (the court historians kept detailed records), and actor Kazuki Kitamura does a good job of depicting him just dying inside when trapped in situations he has to schmooze his way out of.
Like the great warlord Uesugi Kenshin, whom he succeeded, when faced with a battle or political dilemma, Kagekatsu was wont to retreat to a literal cave to think things through. If he'd been lord of Pemberley instead of Echigo, he would have spent most of his time in the study.
When dealing with the hyper-extroverted warlord Hideyoshi, he dragged along his gregarious adopted brother, Kanetsugu (Satoshi Tsumabuki), to do the talking, a la Aaron and Moses. Kanetsugu had to work hard to convince Hideyoshi that his brother was being quiet, not contemptuous.
As Jonathan Rauch (my go-to guy on the subject) explains, "[Extroverts] cannot imagine why someone would need to be alone; indeed, they often take umbrage at the suggestion."
Kitamura's Kagekatsu would make a good Darcy. Not surprisingly, the NHK series is told from the point of view of Kanetsugu, not Kagekatsu. Introverts really are boring, but they prefer it that way.
Labels: criticism, history, introversion, japan, nhk, peaks island press, taiga drama
December 09, 2008
Understanding Japanese women (and introverts)
Browsing through David Radtke's Understanding Japanese Women blog—which isn't as Orientalist as it sounds—it becomes clear that as much as Japanese women, Radtke is attempting to communicate an understanding of introverts.
I often found myself laughing out loud at his advice. Not because it's wrong. But because most of it applies equally well to me, a white American male and grade-A introvert. To illustrate, I'll tweak a few excerpts from various posts:
I'm not at all surprised by this confusion of culture and personality. As Jonathan Rauch observed in his landmark Atlantic essay on being an introvert in an extroverted world:
It's possible that, limited to his wife (and girlfriends), Radtke's sociology suffers from a too-small sample size. But if a quarter of the American population is "introverted" (Rauch's guess), then by American standards, I can imagine a 75/25 split in the opposite direction in Japan.
After all, from 1603 to the mid-19th century, Japan officially declared along with Sartre that "Hell is other people." The battle cry leading to the overthrow of the Tokugawa regime was Son'nou Joui! "Revere the Emperor! Expel the barbarians!"
The Edo period now holds a place in popular culture similar to that of the old American West. The classic Japanese geezer rant is how great things were before them dang "Black Ships" (referring to Commodore Perry's 1852–1854 mission to Japan) showed up.
The difference is that Radtke is willing to admit that different can indeed be good (though it might take some getting used to). But back here in the good old U.S.A., Rauch points out, introversion is diagnosed as a disease to be cured—with more extroversion.
If you think that, then "you are probably driving [your introvert] nuts."
I often found myself laughing out loud at his advice. Not because it's wrong. But because most of it applies equally well to me, a white American male and grade-A introvert. To illustrate, I'll tweak a few excerpts from various posts:
Right now you could be destroying your romance with your [introvert]. How? By clinging to [him] too much.
Remember, calm politeness [for an introvert] is one way of distancing [himself] from others. If your [introvert] is acting very polite and not warm and loving, [he] is actually putting up a barrier between you.
[Introverts] prefer to quietly deal with bad situations rather than to verbalize their disapproval. This works in arguments as well.
[Introverts] yearn to have a marriage where unspoken understanding becomes the normal way to "communicate."
In conclusion, [introverts] just prefer to have less and less conversation as the relationship progresses deeper and deeper.
I'm not at all surprised by this confusion of culture and personality. As Jonathan Rauch observed in his landmark Atlantic essay on being an introvert in an extroverted world:
Extroverts are easy for introverts to understand, because extroverts spend so much of their time working out who they are in voluble, and frequently inescapable, interaction with other people. But the street does not run both ways. Extroverts have little or no grasp of introversion.
It's possible that, limited to his wife (and girlfriends), Radtke's sociology suffers from a too-small sample size. But if a quarter of the American population is "introverted" (Rauch's guess), then by American standards, I can imagine a 75/25 split in the opposite direction in Japan.
After all, from 1603 to the mid-19th century, Japan officially declared along with Sartre that "Hell is other people." The battle cry leading to the overthrow of the Tokugawa regime was Son'nou Joui! "Revere the Emperor! Expel the barbarians!"
The Edo period now holds a place in popular culture similar to that of the old American West. The classic Japanese geezer rant is how great things were before them dang "Black Ships" (referring to Commodore Perry's 1852–1854 mission to Japan) showed up.
The difference is that Radtke is willing to admit that different can indeed be good (though it might take some getting used to). But back here in the good old U.S.A., Rauch points out, introversion is diagnosed as a disease to be cured—with more extroversion.
If you think that, then "you are probably driving [your introvert] nuts."
Related posts
Life is a sim
Up with introverts
Useful Japanese stereotypes
Labels: deep thoughts, introversion, japan, social studies
March 09, 2007
Densha Otoko
Densha Otoko ("Train Man") is the supposedly true story, first posted on the Internet forum 2channel under the handle "Densha_Otoko," of a lowly otaku who falls in love despite himself. While riding home on the subway, he saves the lovely Hermes (so named for her choice of name-brand fashion accessories) from a mean drunk, and to his great consternation finds himself with a "real" girlfriend on his hands.Although the comparison that springs immediately to mind is You've Got Mail, the more apt analog is My Fair Lady, with the Henry Higgins role being filled by Train Man's 2channel correspondents, who virtually rally to his side with advice about how to evolve from closet geek into a man worthy of such a high-class girlfriend. (Or for that matter, a real girlfriend, period.)
I haven't read the book or seen the television series that also sprang forth from the 2channel account, so my thoughts are confined to the movie alone. But in short, if the cinematic version is anything close to the truth, then it stands as proof that some stories are too good to be true. Or are too good to serve as the plots of disbelief-suspending narrative fiction.
I understand the appeal of an "ugly duckling" story crafted specifically for the geek demographic. I readily admit to being one of them. But the film stumbles at several critical junctures along the way and then tries too hard to make up for its dramatic shortcomings.
The first mistake is making our hero not just a geek, but a borderline hikikomori, a term (literally meaning "to pull in and retreat") used to describe an extreme introversion that in more extroverted societies than Japan would be diagnosed as autism or Asperger's syndrome.
Of course, like Cinderella or Eliza Doolittle, starting the protagonist off at a low point gives the ugly ducking that much more room to grow. Takayuki Yamada, the actor who plays Train Man, is a handsome-enough man in real life, so the script takes every opportunity to nerd and klutz him up. But the depiction is so over the top that the mind strains to comprehend what in the world Hermes (Miki Nakatani) sees in him.
There are moments that offer a peek into what may be going on in Hermes's head, the diamond in the rough she perceives Train Man to be. For example, when he bursts into an enthusiastic exegesis of The Matrix, or when, asked for advice on what laptop to buy, delivers a fire hose of information, useless in its sheer volume.
Hermes is shown to be so attractive and competent and upwardly mobile that I imagine her parents constantly arranging o-miai for her, and her getting bored with the staid salaryman types she finds sitting across the table week after week. The same way Eliza is ultimately (in the movie, at least) drawn to the eccentric Higgins rather than the insipid Freddy, she is drawn to Train Man's quirky passions.
I've also listened to Dr. Laura enough times in the car to gather that some women are attracted by the idea of boyfriend-as-fixer-upper, though such calls invariably end with the unsparing observation that this is never a good idea and will turn out badly.
After all, the bet that Henry Higgins makes is that he can pass the finished product as a member of his social class. A hundred thousand years of evolutionary psychology has conditioned us to see nothing unusual in zillionaire Tom Hanks ending up with shopkeeper Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail. But we need some convincing when the roles are reversed, as they are in Densha Otoko.
To be sure, practically the entire population of Japan self-identifies as "middle class," but there's middle class and then there's middle class. Ryoko Kuninaka, who fills the ugly duckling role on Brother Beat (again, a very attractive woman in real life), shows up as one of the geeks in Densha Otoko (and is similarly dowdied down). I kept thinking, "Hey, you ought to date her instead!"
In Brother Beat, we know that Tatsuya is going to end up with her because she's arisen out of the same blue collar working class as he has. This is shown in several scenes, such as one where, watching her father at work, Tatsuya recalls a similar image of his own father, who ran a dry cleaner's. Or when Tatsuya's mom invites her over for dinner and she fits right in to their lower middle class digs.
However, Densha Otoko not only doesn't show any of this, it doesn't even tell, and so Hermes remains a mystery, making the movie's fastidious adherence to Train Man's point of view a profound detriment. Granted, the POV is no doubt meant to reflect the POV of the original 2channel postings, but in this case we're left with half a story.
Nothing establishes any kind of commonality between the two leads, other than a chance encounter on a train and a couple of pretty bad dates. They are and remain such disparate characters that the ending--the romantic climax of the story--instead made me think of a kid's movie about a child who finds a cute doggy shivering in the rain and, feeling sorry for him, takes him home. Sentimental, yes. Romantic, no.
Labels: introversion, japan, japanese movie reviews, movie reviews