The Pillow Book

“Though it’s the same it sounds different—the language of priests. Men’s language. Women’s language. Commoners always use too many words when they speak.” 

The separation between holy people, men, and women is pronounced throughout Shonagon’s text; so too is the separation between nobility and “commoners.” Perhaps most notable, throughout the text, is the use of language to set the privileged apart, both through rarefied poetry and through barriers to literacy.

“Women without prospect, who lead dull earnest lives and rejoice in their petty little pseudo-pleasures, I find quite depressing and despicable.” 

Shonagon does not hesitate to judge other women, especially those from a class lower than her own. She observes those without ambition to be boring and unworthy of high rank.

“It’s also very dispiriting when a man stops coming to visit his wife at her home. It’s a great shame if he’s gone off with a lady of good family who serves at court, and the wife sits moping at home, feeling ashamed and humiliated.” 

Shonagon sustains her interest in men’s visits to women’s homes across The Pillow Book. Wives are not a central force of family life but rather women to be visited who can be exchanged with lovers on a whim. Still, Shonagon often shows pity for women who are formally connected to men but do not sustain their attention.

“You’ve just settled sleepily into bed when a mosquito announces itself with that thin little wail, and starts flying round your face. It’s horrible how you can feel the soft wind of its tiny wings.” 

Shonagon keeps lists of “infuriating things.” This vision of a surprise mosquito demonstrates her attention to the details of the natural world; though she finds the mosquito annoying, she also appreciates the sound and sensation of its existence.

“A priest who gives a sermon should be handsome. After all, you’re most aware of the profundity of his teaching if you’re gazing at his face as he speaks.” 

Shonagon often spends time around priests; though she knows it is sinful to lust over the handsome ones, she nonetheless often comments about how easy it is to attend religious services when the priests are handsome. 

“Around the time of the new moon at the end of the fourth month or early in the fifth, the sight of the orange tree’s very white blossoms set amongst the deep green of the leaves, seen in early morning rain, is extraordinarily moving.” 

Shonagon’s meditation on the orange tree shows her how finely attuned she is to the seasons. She does not mark time in her writing by distinguishing dates or sequence of events. Instead she dwells upon seasons, describing visions that could happen during any year across history. The degree to which this scene is “moving” does not depend on when one sees it. 

“After all, the cherry blossoms every year, but does anyone find it the less lovely for that?”

Shonagon often describes festivals that occur every year in her world. Here, she depicts a beautiful but fairly regular scene of court life; however, her statement about the perennial beauty of charming events can be a larger commentary on her purpose in writing, without plot or order, the remarkable parts of her life. 

“Everything that cries in the night is wonderful. With the exception, of course, of babies.” 

Shonagon’s sense of humor shines here. Just as she becomes carried away with the beauty of animals that cry in the night, a time of day that she enjoys, she recognizes the possible exceptions to her rule.

“It’s fun the way we all discuss the men’s voices, and pass judgment on how attractive or otherwise each one sounds.” 

Because men and women are often separated, they rely on voices and written messages to develop relationships and attractions. When the men call roll in the evening, gentlewomen listen to develop attractions based off characteristics that are not physical. Just as fashion may supersede physical features, so too do voices pave the way for romantic attractions based on more than physical beauty. 

“The water plantain has an interesting name. I imagine a stuck-up person with her nose in the air.” 

As Shonagon lists various plants, her classic creative sense for description shines. She is interested not only in the way objects’ names match their meaning but also in a plant’s appearance. Language, content, and image all relate to one another in a complex manner in Shonagon’s mind. 

“The moonflower is similar to the morning glory, and when we speak of the two together it suggests that the flower is indeed a charming one -- but it’s a great pity about the plant’s long gourd pods. Why was it born like that, I wonder?” 

Shonagon often speaks in declarative or judgmental sentences. In this moment, though, she openly admits to curiosity about the purpose of the plant. In an era before modern science, those curiosities are left to be, though her scientific and detailed observations of the plant lead contemporary readers to an intimate understanding of the environment that she sees.

“Things that can’t be compared—Summer and winter. Night and day. Rainy days and sunny days. Laughter and anger. Old age and youth. White and black. People you love and those you hate.” 

Though Shonagon often speaks in absolutes, she does not always directly note contrast. In this case, though, she suggests that drawing absolute contrasts is not possible or desirable. This philosophy could extend to her social critiques, in which she often situationally rejects certain groups in relation to others but does not establish clear rules about what is appropriate, for whom, and when. 

“Two women, let alone a man and a woman, who vow themselves to each other forever, and actually manage to remain on good terms to the end.” 

Shonagon calls rare any relationship that involves commitment and manages to last. This vision of relationships contrasts with contemporary ideas of monogamous relationships and demonstrates the different norms of medieval Japanese society. Relationships fade and grow anew in this society, and, though waning affections are regrettable, this fragment shows that they are, to a degree, expected.

“We were hoping to meet some people along the way, but to our great disappointment all we came across was the odd worthless commoner and a lowly priest or two.” 

A common practice for courtiers and gentlewomen like Shonagon, in this court, is to seek attention for the glorious beauty of garments and arrangements in public. Shonagon is disappointed when no one stops to admire her splendor the way she does those above her social standing.

“‘I’m simply immersing myself in moonlight,’ I replied. ‘Beautifully put,” remarked Her Majesty.” 

The Empress and Shonagon’s relationship is built on a kind of mutual respect. Shonagon’s poetic connection to nature, and her ability to describe it in written and spoken word, appeals to the Empress; in return, Shonagon thrives on the Empress’ approval of her use of language. 

“And indeed it would make a bad poem even worse to take too long in sending it, so I threw caution to the winds and wrote.” 

When writing to a man, Shonagon shows the difficulty of composing an elegant and poetic response. Poetry is the primary means of communicating, but it requires timely and clever communication. Balancing propriety and artistry on a daily basis is a difficult task.

“On our return when we arrived back here on the third day, we saw a most delightful scene, such as one finds painted on screens -- a light rain was falling, and there were men and children out in the water gathering sweet flag, the men wearing very small sedge rain-hats, their clothes tucked up high above their long shanks.” 

Rural scenes can be beautiful to Shonagon, who observes them from a distance. Each of her journeys is full of memories that she describes as a painter would. 

“You do need to ask along one or two others, or if possible more—people of the same standing as yourself, with whom you get on well and with whom you can discuss all the things that take your fancy or that you find unpleasant.” 

Religious rituals and visits can be less entertaining when not shared with another. Shonagon shows that religion is part of culture, something during which attendees connect to others. Discussion is stronger when shared with one of a parallel social standing; she cautions against inviting those who are of a lower social standing, preferring instead to share with those who will find similar elements unpleasant. 

“And why should I avoid mentioning here the fire tongs that are burned in the post-funeral fire? After all, these are things that exist in the world. I never intended this book to be seen by others, so I’ve written whatever came into my mind, without worrying about whether people would find it strange or unpleasant.” 

It is unclear when, exactly, Shonagon’s book is discovered. However, it is clear she intends the book to be a collection of daily thoughts. Part of The Pillow Book’s importance is its record of daily tasks and oddities, as opposed to official or well-curated court events, and so Shonagon’s decision to include even the banal is an important one. 

“If he really feels strongly about you, though, a man will stay on till dawn, ignoring all your urgings that he should go.” 

Shonagon’s protracted interest in men’s visits with women appears across the text. In this one, she gauges standards for men’s visits, which should show persistence. In-person time contrasts with written attention, which also fits within strict and clear expectations, including a note written upon a man’s return home from an all-night visit. 

“When I first went into court service, everything seemed to overwhelm me with confusion and embarrassment, and there were times when I could barely hold back my tears. I attended Her Majesty each night, behind her low standing curtain, and she would bring out pictures and so on to show me, but I was so hopelessly nervous that I could scarcely even stretch out a hand to take them.”

Shonagon rarely reflects on her early years in the Empress’s service. In this moment, when she shares her nerves in those early years, she shows the effort made by the Empress to establish connection between the two. It is easy to forget that Shonagon rose in ranks to become a gentlewoman; she is comfortable in her social role, but in retrospect, she can see that she gained such comfort only through time and training.

“Being disliked by others is really a most distressing thing. How crazy would you have to be, to accept calmly the fact that you’re probably the sort of person nobody likes?” 

Shonagon, who approves of gossip and of mocking others for their gaffes, is nonetheless deeply embarrassed when her social world goes awry. The disdain of others, especially, is a great fear, for even traveling or spending time alone seems undesirable. Though Shonagon is inward, she is interested in public communication and performance of inward thoughts; for this reason, it is perhaps not surprising that her pillow book is discovered and shared. 

“All moonlight is moving, wherever it may be.”

Perhaps more than anything, Shonagon records the things that move her. Moonlight is one of the most common motifs within the book, and so this phrase, close to the conclusion, seems to encompass her attention to and interest in light.