January 11, 2025
How could this be? How
could a small village of simple, industrious people become collective
murders? This is the
question that dog’s the reader of Akira Yoshimura’s 1982 novel
Shipwrecks. Set on
the rocky west coast of medieval Japan, we observe the daily struggle
to survive for the about 120 people of an unnamed village of
fishermen. Yoshimura’s
language is direct and austere, an aesthetic that is both beautiful
and supportive of the telling of this story. And the story is
riveting, as slowly we learn of the tradition of
O-fune-sama, The Ship.
One can only imagine the slow degression of morals that
occurred in this village over time: a shipwreck leads to a blessing of
food and goods to a people on the brink of starvation.
Could it be that the floundering ship saw the salt-making fires
on the beach and veered towards the light in a storm?
Maybe if we built more fires, this good fortune might occur
again. With each
shipwreck, the village would come to think of the bounty as essential
to their being. At some
point, survivors of a shipwreck had to be dealt with, and the murder
became explicit. Over time,
O-fune-sama went from a
new and active choice of evil over good, to a tradition, to village
rules that must be followed.
Still, it is hard to look at the actions of these
unsophisticated rural people and not wonder why moral questioning was
not present. It is one of
the fascinating aspects of Yoshimura‘s storytelling that we find many
clues how this could be.
First,
O-fune-sama has been going on for generations, becoming part of
village tradition in a culture that reveres tradition.
It has been ritualized in their religious ceremonies, so that
questioning
O-fune-sama is akin to questioning their religion.
God blesses their village with
O-fune-sama, so why should its good be doubted? Their belief in
reincarnation enables the cheapening of life, since following the
traditional ways will inevitably lead to a pleasant afterlife followed
by a return to the village.
Survival of the village is essential to the well-being of not
just themselves, but their ancestors too.
O-fune-sama has become a part of their coming-of-age rituals,
so that young boys look forward to participating in the important task
of fire-tending as part of growing up and becoming a man.
The Japanese culture of putting community over the individual
makes speaking out against communal decisions taboo.
Finally, and most importantly,
O-fune-sama could only be possible through the all-too-common
human flaw of considering an in-group person of greater value than an
out-of-group person. The
isolation of the small village makes the “othering” of those outside
easy. The result is a
compelling story of a simple and difficult life punctuated by horrible
crimes, and eventually consequences.
The unquestioned following of rules and the dictates of the
village leader works well for the community, until it doesn’t.
Read at this level, the story is a good one. But one need step
back only a little to see a bigger picture:
village as metaphor for country, and
O-fune-sama as metaphor for war.
Yoshimura was 18 when World War II ended, becoming a part of
the post-war generation that had to grapple with the consequences of
Japan’s prior militaristic choices.
I’ve been to Japan many times, and I am friends with many
Japanese people. My
experience of the people and culture of Japan today seems completely
incompatible with the actions of that country in the 1930s and 40s.
Was Japan of 1982, the year
Shipwrecks was published, radically different from the Japan
of 1932? How could those
awful events of 50 years before, the starting of a war, the brutality
of the Japanese army, the Rape of Nanking and other innumerable deaths
and crimes, be explained?
Could something like it happen again?
While Yoshimura was likely thinking about how culture,
religion, and tradition in Japan could have led good people to embrace
the evils of their country’s decisions leading to and during war, the
same forces are at work throughout the world.
Somehow, when dealing with nations, we stop talking about what
is right and what is wrong, and instead talk about what is in the
national interest.
Collectively, we are willing to engage in crimes that we would never
even consider as an individual. My country is definitely not immune.
And these big, weighty issues were writ small by Yoshimura, as
a 10-year-old boy puts out sea in a canoe, fishing line in hand.
I found
Shipwrecks hauntingly beautiful, as well as thought provoking.
And then there is the final lesson of the novel:
karma is a bitch.
Chris Mack is a writer in Austin, Texas.
Copyright 2025, Chris Mack.
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