Tokyo Before Tokyo
By Timon Screech
Reaktion Books (2024)
ISBN-13: 978-1789149555
Review by Trevor Skingle
What a fascinating book, illustrated with some wonderful images, some of them quite unexpected!
An almost academic but eminently readable introduction sets out the antecedents of Edo, the former name of the city known today as Tokyo. Then the book moves on to six chapters covering, firstly, how Edo was conceived; secondly, its layout and the central main bridge; thirdly, Edo in its abstract forms and its magical protection; fourthly, Edo Castle; fifthly, its culture; and sixthly, its 'floating worlds' or pleasure districts. Closing the book there is a brief final chapter looking at the transition from Edo to Tokyo.
In the first chapter, there are several cross-fertilising explanations and illustrations with other sites in Japan and abroad, many of which are surprising and unexpected at first, but patience and tolerance with the author is rewarded as these make sense in the author's explanations. Although not mentioned, there are some modern geomantic adaptations, such as the replacement of Kyoto's ancient southern exit/entrance, the Rajo-mon (see page 28), with the modern large rectangular space in Kyoto's main station structure, supposedly a geomantic exit/entrance for Kyoto's patron dragon.
Although the affluent Yamanote section of Edo is mentioned (page 43), there is no mention of the Shitamachi area, those parts of the city where the plebeian, merchant and artistic classes resided. Those familiar with this part of Tokyo's urban conceptual nomenclature might seem puzzled by this omission taking into consideration that, although it was not synonymous with Edo, its inhabitants were considered the real Edokko, the true children of Edo.
Chapter two deals with Nihonbashi, Tokyo's preeminent bridge, and mentions the bridge as a place from which to measure distance, and as the start/end point of one of the most important ancient travel routes, the Tokaido, as well as another to Nikko, the Nikkokaido - though, puzzlingly, the other three routes of the Gokaido (the Five Routes), the Koshukaido Road, the Oshukaido Road and the Nakasendo Road, are not mentioned. Perhaps the Nakasendo was omitted because the book emphasised the underlying spiritual significance of the stations of the Tokaido, even though, alongside the Tokaido, it was the other major route between Edo and Kyoto. Also covered is the main bell of Edo, although this time the other eight bells scattered around the city are mentioned. Another topic covered is the existence of the Nagasaki-ya (aka the Dejima of Edo) established in 1609, which was the hostel of the Dutch East India Company (VOC - Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie) the designated lodgings for foreigners visiting Edo (which was located near Exit 4 of Shin Nihonbashi Station). This might explain why, with his strong connections with the VOC, the Japanese townhouse of William Adams (Anjin Miura) was conveniently located nearby in what was formerly called Anjin-cho (Anjin Town) in Nihonbashi (where a marker can be found on Anjin-dori) in the heart of what was the main mercantile distribution district supplying Edo Castle.
Chapter three is a wonderfully “enlightening” treatment of the major religious sites in Edo. It details the origins of these sites as well as their connection with other religious sites as precursors to those developed in other cities based on the Edo sites; some are particularly unknown, except to Edo/Tokyo connoisseurs, such as Eko-in in Ryogoku, the spiritual home of Sumo, and Kan'ei-ji in Ueno, which also served as a redoubt for Tokugawa Yoshinobu, the last shogun, before he left Edo into relative obscurity. One observation though; there is no mention of the Fujizaka, small scale replicas of Mt. Fuji, such as the very popular one at Shinagawa Shrine. Built in the 16th century, as religious sites associated with the Fujiko religious movement, these would undoubtedly have contributed to the perception of Edo as a sacred space. However, Mt. Fuji is treated in chapter five as an integral part of the poetic metamorphosis of Edo beyond that of the then capital through the Tales of Ise, which describes the aesthetically impressionistic journey or “descent” of a man travelling from the capital to the plains of Musashi.
In three fairly distinct sections, chapter four explores the origins of Japanese castle layouts and the changes made as a result of contact with the West and the impact of devastating fires on the regular rebuilding of Edo Castle (also known as Chiyoda Castle). It also explores the layout and aesthetic interpretations of the coded decoration of Nijo Castle, accompanied by some wonderful illustrations as a way of suggesting similarities with what might have existed in the Edo castle. Finally it also includes a brief section on Edo Castle as it actually was from the disaster-stricken resources available. Illustrations of the castle that could have been used, but have been overlooked, include the Edo-Tokyo Museum's scale replicas of Honmaru and Ninomaru, the Ohiroma (Great Audience Hall), Matsu-no-Oroka (the Pine Tree Corridor) and Shiro shoin (the Inner Hall) of the castle, based on plans from the mid-18th century, and a life-size reconstruction of part of Matsu-no-Oroka.
In conclusion, the theme of the dynamic development of the seemingly ever-changing face of Edo into the vibrant, dynamic city of Tokyo that is covered in the final brief chapter is exemplified by the often-sad replacement of some of the older, more traditional elements with the new. From the disappearance of buildings, such as the wonderful old 1819 Edo flagship shop Habutae Dango which was located near Nippori Station, and popular with Shiki Masaoka, Okakura Tenshin and Natsume Soseki, in whose novel I am a Cat it is mentioned; to traditions, such as Bunkyo-ku's “chrysanthemum dolls” During the Meiji period (1868-1912), every autumn the area of Sendagi Dangozaka in Bunkyo-ku was full of 'chrysanthemum dolls'. These dolls had realistic limbs and heads, while the rest of the body was made of and covered with chrysanthemums. They were made to represent traditions such as Kabuki and folk tales. About twenty garden houses competed with these dolls, which lined the streets around Dangozaka. They are mentioned in Natsumi Soseki's novel Sanshiro and in Mori Ogai's Youth. The last time they were shown was in 1911. And the disappearance of areas such as in the charming Kuramae district (lit. “in front of the rice granaries” - see my document Edo no Kuramae) with its delightful travel connections, including the How-Did-You-Fare pine tree, to the pleasure district of the Yoshiwara (information markers for which can still be found north-east of Sensoji temple today), the journey to which is covered in chapter six, and an enchanting legend about Tokugawa Ieyasu and the Abegawa River. These sorts of things and places seem to exemplify the city's transitional states between what was, what is, and what remains in this, as the book points out, seemingly ever-changing city.
The sophistication of the city as a result of the dynamic cycles of deconstruction and reconstruction known in modern times as “transitional culture” is not only rooted in the Japanese concept of impermanence but also provides practical solutions and adaptations to natural disasters. Fortunately, some of the older sites still remain and await the avid reader and city explorer. This is a must-read before exploring Tokyo, especially if you are trying to find those Edo-era relics or places associated with Edo that still exist in the modern city. And rest assured, many are still there. They just need some effort to find them. Happy reading and happy hunting!