Ep. 51 Hikaru Kimi e pt.2

cover design by Cordelia Shan

Written by Cordelia.

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Hello, my dear listeners! Welcome back to the Thursday Night Kissaten. I have to apologize for skipping last week’s update—things got a little hectic. I ran into some trouble with people, and on top of that, my injured leg flared up with a lot of pain. I guess winter isn’t helping—it’s making my leg act up. And, well, some people have been… how can I put this? Demanding a lot of attention from me. It’s been weird.

Anyway! Let’s move on. In today’s episode, we’re diving back into the Taiga drama Hikaru Kimi e with part two.

Opening
For the first-ever Taiga drama based on the Heian period, it’s fascinating how much attention they gave to detail—especially in showing the characters’ handwriting. Every actor took professional calligraphy lessons, learning from certified experts how to use an ink brush on soft paper. Thanks to their hard work, the calligraphy in this production was absolutely stunning!

Here’s an interesting fact: the main character, Mahiro—played by Yuriko Yoshitaka—is left-handed in real life. But for this role, she had to learn to write with her right hand using an ink brush. Not just a pen—an ink brush! That takes dedication. The effort and time these actors put into Taiga drama productions are honestly jaw-dropping.

Middle
Now, about the character Mahiro. In this production, the writer gave the fictional name Mahiro to the historical figure we know as Murasaki Shikibu. Why? Because no one knows her real first name.

In fact, most women in the Heian period didn’t have their names recorded. In historical archives, women were barely mentioned at all. And even when they were, they often had no names. “Murasaki Shikibu” isn’t a real name. Murasaki means the color purple, and Shikibu refers to her father’s job title. Similarly, Sei Shonagon, the author of The Pillow Book, and Izumi Shikibu, the author of The Diary of Izumi Shikibu, are known by titles, not names.

This lack of naming is rooted in misogyny, a system designed to erase women’s identities. Even today, you can see remnants of this. Deborah Levy, in her nonfiction book The Cost of Living, wrote about how her male colleagues often forgot the names of women they met at social events, instead referring to them as “someone’s wife or girlfriend.” If we don’t have names, who are we?

It’s amazing how women like Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shonagon broke through this system. They wrote so beautifully, so powerfully, that even society’s misogyny couldn’t ignore them. Their works have endured for over a thousand years, proving their brilliance.

By the way, both Sei Shonagon and Izumi Shikibu make appearances in this drama, Hikaru Kimi e, and the actresses playing them did an incredible job.

Here’s something I noticed: both Sei Shonagon and Izumi Shikibu left their homes and the role of motherhood to work professionally in the court. Thousands of years ago, these women were chasing their literary dreams, even if it meant going against societal norms. And yet, even today, leaving home for work can still be seen as “abandoning” your children, as if being a mother should be a woman’s only role. I’ve heard men say, “That’s the way it’s supposed to be!” Oh my god.

Transition to Rankings
Now let’s talk about aristocratic rankings during the Heian period in Japan.

Based on what I’ve read, only court servants ranked at level five or above were considered aristocrats, or “kuge” in Japanese. The daughters of these families lived vastly different lives depending on their father’s rank.

For example, Mahiro (or Murasaki Shikibu) grew up in her family’s house, now a temple called Rozanji in Kyoto. If you ever visit Kyoto, you should check it out. It’s not a big house, but her great-grandfather had been highly ranked in the court. Her father, however, was not as high-ranking, which meant Mahiro had more freedom than most aristocratic daughters. She was able to go out, receive an education, and live a life that allowed her to become the writer we now celebrate.

There’s a scene in the drama where Michinaka’s wife asks Mahiro how she met her husband. Mahiro replies that she first met him when she was nine years old. The wife is shocked, exclaiming, “Nine?! How did your parents let you go out?!”

This reminds me of something I’ve experienced. Many international students I’ve met from China were surprised when I told them I worked part-time jobs while studying. They’d say, “How come your parents don’t give you money?” The reaction was almost identical. Hahahaha!

Writing as Purpose
After her husband’s death, Murasaki Shikibu had to work. With little income from her father, she got a job serving the Empress. It was during this time that she wrote The Tale of Genji, a story of love and power spanning 54 chapters.

Her writing resonated deeply with those around her. She found readers, and in doing so, she found purpose. She began observing life around her more keenly, eventually writing about herself in The Diary of Murasaki Shikibu. This diary is still studied today as a key historical reference for the Heian period.

Scholars often describe Shikibu as being “sensitive to life and death,” but I think “sensitive” isn’t the right word. She was conscious. She saw life and death differently, almost as a writer would treat herself like a character. If you’re a writer, you know exactly what I mean.

Ending
I personally visited her historical home, Rozanji, in January 2024. It’s a beautiful place. As a writer myself, I’ve always been fascinated by other writers’ spaces—their homes, their desks, the tools they used. 

There is something about a writer’s room and their desk. It’s a space imbued with magic, where thoughts are transformed into words, where bookshelves reflect the worlds the writer has built or borrowed.

I loved it.

And I really like her. NHK’s Taiga drama about Murasaki Shikibu was fantastic. Thank you again for toning into Thursday night Kissaten, I am your host Cordelia, have a good night.