“Making History” with Words: Revisiting the Golden Age of Russian Literature Assistant Professor, Graduate School of Humanities, Chiba University Tomoyuki TAKAHASHI

The mid 19^th-century is often referred to as the Golden Age of Russian novels, a time when countless eminent writers­—Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Turgenev—all flourished. We spoke with Assistant Professor Tomoyuki Takahashi of the Graduate School of Humanities, a dedicated scholar of Russian literary history from this era and an accomplished translator.

On the path to Russian literary studies

What inspired you to study Russian literature?

I’ve loved stories and poetry since my elementary school days and often read both Japanese and foreign literature translated for children. I was also drawn to biographies of great historical people, which sparked my interest in history. After entering university, I initially considered studying Japanese history, but I found my literature classes so fascinating that I ultimately decided to pursue Russian literature.

Why Russian literature, rather than English, French, or Japanese literature?

In my second year of high school, I read War and Peace by Tolstoy, which inspired me to choose Russian as my second foreign language at university. Language played a significant role in my decision, but looking back, choosing Russian literature was not an inevitable path. My passion for literature has always come first, and Russian literature is simply one gateway into the broader literary world. Even now, I enjoy reading a wide range of works beyond Russian literature.

Updating Russian literary history from a perspective of ‘reflection’

Please tell us the details of your study.

My area of expertise is Russian literature from the 1840s to the 1860s, and one word I frequently encounter in works from this period is ‘reflection.’ The ‘reflection’ I refer to here is not merely introspection. With the influx of Western ideas and culture, Russian society at the time found itself in a state of ambiguity—neither entirely Russian nor fully European. Intellectuals of the era were torn between the modern Western world they sought to emulate and the reality of Russia as it was. Reflection represents a state of heightened self-awareness that grapples with this inner conflict. At the heart of 19^th-century Russian literature lies a fundamental desire to ‘overcome reflection.’

My research is guided by this central question: if we revisit Russian literature from this period through the perspective of self-reflection, might we challenge and refine the conventional, schematic understanding of Russian literary history?

What is a schematic view of Russian literary history?

The 1840s is often referred to as the ‘Remarkable Decade,’ typically understood through two key frameworks: ‘the transition from Romanticism to Realism’ and ‘the conflict between the Westernizers and the Slavophiles*’. Writers and works have long been classified according to these perspectives, a structure that remains valid today. However, this framework has also led to biases in the selection of research subjects.

My approach is to reassess literary history by highlighting authors who have fallen outside the traditional narrative and clarifying their significance. Specifically, I focus on the poet Aleksey Pleshcheev and the poet, critic, and novelist Apollon Grigoryev. Although they have not received much scholarly attention, both writers offer unique responses to the question of how to overcome reflection.

*An ideological movement that emerged in 19^th-century Russia, whose members opposed the ‘Westernisers’ who sought Western-style modernization and took a stance that emphasized Russian traditions.

For instance, Pleshcheev introduced a new type of protagonist in his poetry­^—one unlike any seen before. Russian poetry has a longstanding tradition of featuring ‘prophets,’ and Pleshcheev built upon this by presenting a novel image of a prophet who exists beyond reflection. I have termed this figure the ‘little prophet.’ I believe this concept of the ‘little prophet’ helps bridge a gap in conventional literary history, offering a fresh perspective on the lineage of protagonists in Russian literature.

Recently, you have been conducting comparative research between Russian and Japanese literature.

Yes. Having read Japanese literature, I believe I can offer insights that may be valuable to the study of Russian literature. Conversely, as a scholar of Russian literature, I also see ways in which my research can contribute to the understanding of Japanese literature. I believe this cross-perspective is what makes my approach unique as a native Japanese speaker studying Russian literature.

Specifically, I aim to foster a dialogue between these two literary traditions, focusing on the concept of ‘reflection’ in Russian literature, which I just mentioned, and the theme of ‘coincidence,’ a fascinating motif often found in Japanese literature.

The joy of translation: weaving words with care

You have been consistently working on translating Russian literature as well.

I truly enjoy translating. Converting Russian text into Japanese excites me.

Since I started translating, I have also found myself reading novels more, searching for expressions I can incorporate. It is a new way of enjoying novels that I have found through translation. Even when I read Japanese novels now, I often think, “Maybe I can use this expression here,” or, “I haven’t used this phrase yet.”

Please tell us about your latest translated book,Strange Tales from 19^th-Century Russia.

This is a translation of seven selected 19^th-century Russian strange stories, six of which are translated into Japanese for the first time.
This edited and translated volume is also related to my research. As I mentioned earlier, there is a conventional view of 19^th-century Russian literature that progresses from romanticism to realism. However, I have selected intriguing works that might be overlooked in that schematic framework, all within the broader themes of horror and fantasy.

What challenges did you face in translating this work?

Russian literature has a unique narrative technique known as ‘Skaz (cказ)’. Novels consist of an arrangement of words, but their origins lie in oral storytelling—speaking and listening—their essence is in the spoken word. Skaz refers to a style of writing that seeks to capture the authenticity of the ‘living voice’ in text. While works with a strong sense of the ‘living voice’ can be found in both Europe and Japan, there is no specific term for this technique in Japanese or English. In Russia, however, it is called Skaz and has developed into a significant literary tradition.
Even in translation, sections that embodied Skaz were particularly challenging. How could I reproduce narration and dialogue that carried a strong ‘living voice’ in Japanese? That was something I struggled with deeply.

Japan also has a rich culture of oral storytelling, such as Rakugo, and some of these stories have been transcribed into written form. To find the Japanese equivalent of Skaz, I listened to Rakugo. In modern Japanese novels, Jiro Asada’s When the Last Sword Is Drawn (Mibu Gishi Den) is a perfect example of Skaz. It is written in a way that makes you feel as if you can truly hear the Nanbu dialect of the late Edo period, which is unfamiliar to us today. I used such works as references to search for suitable words for the translation.

The role of literary studies: passing down the ‘reading skills’

What is the best part of studying literature?

That’s something I think about a lot, and I struggle to find the right way to express it. One thing I can say for sure is that we can read foreign literature thanks to translations. Translations are built on a foundation of accumulated research. This is especially important when works are separated from us by time—social customs change, and so do the meanings of words. Research bridges that gap, allowing us to connect with texts from different eras. This makes translation possible, and we can enjoy these works.

The same applies to Japanese literature. The reason we can read The Tale of Genji (Genji Monogatari) today is because, throughout the centuries, there have always been people who carefully studied it and passed down the knowledge of how to read it. I believe that continuing this tradition of ‘reading skills” is one of the essential roles of literary research.

Another key aspect of literary research is ‘making history.’ Events of the past do not automatically become history—they must be told. History only takes shape when it is recorded and studied through academic processes. Few people would argue that history is unnecessary; as humans, we have an innate desire to understand and organize the past. Literary research plays a role in shaping the history of literature. And history itself is not static—it must be constantly reassessed and updated. This is why literary research remains meaningful and worth pursuing.