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Well, after years of dragging my heels, I have finally succumbed to the inevitable: last week, I broke down and purchased a cellular phone. I was beginning to think that I was the last person on this archipelago to be cell phone-less.
In fact, it has been widely reported that upwards of 75% of the Japanese population has a "keitai," or portable phone, which would mean something like 100 million machines out there, all around us!
That staggeringly high number doesn't seem so far-fetched when you take a look on any given train in Japan and notice the furious text-messaging going on all around you.
A few weeks ago, in fact, while riding a train from Nagoya during rush-hour, it seemed to me that a good chunk of those 100 million phones were crammed into my car alone. It appeared that everyone was looking down and either typing something into, or reading something on, his or her phone - that is, everyone other than those few passengers who were sleeping, pretending to sleep, or reading Manga (comic books).
Now, I know that there is a small but significant anti-keitai crowd out there (of which I was one), but after reading a New York Times article (and watching several recent domestic television reports on this same topic) about how five of last year's "top 10" best-selling novels were originally cell-phone novels, I have come to the conclusion that it might be best to "join 'em," since I definitely cannot "beat 'em" (as the old saying goes).
In other words, those of us who think that we can just "wait until this whole keitai fad blows over" are in for a long, long wait!
But to be honest, I am of two minds when it comes to the notion of a "keitai novel." This is one area of modern life in which I strongly prefer to remain in the "analog" stage, so to speak, rather than rush to embrace the "digital."
Although the novel itself has enjoyed only a brief history, relatively speaking (regardless of whether we date it from the arrival of Don Quixote, let's say, or from Japan's own Genji Monogatari), it still has something of a scared aura about it, and I just cannot help but feel that it is being seriously threatened by today's visually oriented, "cyber" culture.
I mean, yes, "keitai novels" are technically "literature," and perhaps some beautiful writing will be born of this new genre, with its various constraints (short sentences, small screens, etc.) - after all, doesn't Haiku poetry operate in much the same way, with a set number of syllables, an obligatory reference to the seasons, and so on?
However, in the end, I find myself agreeing with the (admittedly) rather snobbish and stodgy "literary" crowd, in thinking that this is yet another nail in the coffin of the author, the novel, and perhaps "literacy" taken more generally.
As an instructor (and, myself, a fellow student) of literature, I must say that I am happy to see writers exploring new media, experimenting with new styles, and enjoying some share of commercial success. When push comes to shove, "keitai novels" are being read, after all, and are therefore fostering literacy in their own way. They seem to be most appealing to those readers raised on Manga (with its style, layout and format conducive to being read during short train rides), who are more comfortable with text-messaging rather than (longer and more formalized) email. For many of these readers, as the various newspaper, magazine and television reports attest, this is the first "novel" that they've read. Oftentimes, the authors themselves are also first-timers.
Well, what does all this say about Japanese literary culture, or the domestic education system? And what does it tell us about where the "novel" is headed? I'm not really sure. But, to me, it all seems very sad - at least at first glance - in that I expect a culture that prides itself on its high literacy rate and demanding educational standards to have produced high school graduates who have read at least one or two novels, in their entirety, by the time they turn 19 or 20 years old. I know from my experience in the classroom that this is not often the case, and that many students have been too busy preparing for exams and attending Juku (cram school) to really have had the time and opportunity to read for enjoyment or out of self-interest.
So, perhaps, in its own way, this new genre - the "keitai novel" - will help to change that for the better. Perhaps it will encourage young people to read, and to write, and most importantly to appreciate the beauty and power of language. Only time will tell. But for the rest of us, especially those last holdouts, valiantly resisting keitai culture to the bitter end (all the while wondering "what on earth happened to all the public phones?"), or for those traditionalists among us, those final defenders of "high" literary culture, perhaps it would be better to embrace this latest trend, and help nurture and guide it, rather than simply deride it as yet another example of disposable, "trash" culture.
Cell Phone Culture and Literacy
Well, after years of dragging my heels, I have finally succumbed to the inevitable: last week, I broke down and purchased a cellular phone. I was beginning to think that I was the last person on this archipelago to be cell phone-less.
In fact, it has been widely reported that upwards of 75% of the Japanese population has a "keitai," or portable phone, which would mean something like 100 million machines out there, all around us!
That staggeringly high number doesn't seem so far-fetched when you take a look on any given train in Japan and notice the furious text-messaging going on all around you.
A few weeks ago, in fact, while riding a train from Nagoya during rush-hour, it seemed to me that a good chunk of those 100 million phones were crammed into my car alone. It appeared that everyone was looking down and either typing something into, or reading something on, his or her phone - that is, everyone other than those few passengers who were sleeping, pretending to sleep, or reading Manga (comic books).
Now, I know that there is a small but significant anti-keitai crowd out there (of which I was one), but after reading a New York Times article (and watching several recent domestic television reports on this same topic) about how five of last year's "top 10" best-selling novels were originally cell-phone novels, I have come to the conclusion that it might be best to "join 'em," since I definitely cannot "beat 'em" (as the old saying goes).
In other words, those of us who think that we can just "wait until this whole keitai fad blows over" are in for a long, long wait!
But to be honest, I am of two minds when it comes to the notion of a "keitai novel." This is one area of modern life in which I strongly prefer to remain in the "analog" stage, so to speak, rather than rush to embrace the "digital."
Although the novel itself has enjoyed only a brief history, relatively speaking (regardless of whether we date it from the arrival of Don Quixote, let's say, or from Japan's own Genji Monogatari), it still has something of a scared aura about it, and I just cannot help but feel that it is being seriously threatened by today's visually oriented, "cyber" culture.
I mean, yes, "keitai novels" are technically "literature," and perhaps some beautiful writing will be born of this new genre, with its various constraints (short sentences, small screens, etc.) - after all, doesn't Haiku poetry operate in much the same way, with a set number of syllables, an obligatory reference to the seasons, and so on?
However, in the end, I find myself agreeing with the (admittedly) rather snobbish and stodgy "literary" crowd, in thinking that this is yet another nail in the coffin of the author, the novel, and perhaps "literacy" taken more generally.
As an instructor (and, myself, a fellow student) of literature, I must say that I am happy to see writers exploring new media, experimenting with new styles, and enjoying some share of commercial success. When push comes to shove, "keitai novels" are being read, after all, and are therefore fostering literacy in their own way. They seem to be most appealing to those readers raised on Manga (with its style, layout and format conducive to being read during short train rides), who are more comfortable with text-messaging rather than (longer and more formalized) email. For many of these readers, as the various newspaper, magazine and television reports attest, this is the first "novel" that they've read. Oftentimes, the authors themselves are also first-timers.
Well, what does all this say about Japanese literary culture, or the domestic education system? And what does it tell us about where the "novel" is headed? I'm not really sure. But, to me, it all seems very sad - at least at first glance - in that I expect a culture that prides itself on its high literacy rate and demanding educational standards to have produced high school graduates who have read at least one or two novels, in their entirety, by the time they turn 19 or 20 years old. I know from my experience in the classroom that this is not often the case, and that many students have been too busy preparing for exams and attending Juku (cram school) to really have had the time and opportunity to read for enjoyment or out of self-interest.
So, perhaps, in its own way, this new genre - the "keitai novel" - will help to change that for the better. Perhaps it will encourage young people to read, and to write, and most importantly to appreciate the beauty and power of language. Only time will tell. But for the rest of us, especially those last holdouts, valiantly resisting keitai culture to the bitter end (all the while wondering "what on earth happened to all the public phones?"), or for those traditionalists among us, those final defenders of "high" literary culture, perhaps it would be better to embrace this latest trend, and help nurture and guide it, rather than simply deride it as yet another example of disposable, "trash" culture.
In any event, when I look around me on the train the next time, and see elementary school kids, senior citizens, and just about everyone in between quietly tap-, tap-, tapping into their next generation cell phones, I will think of it as the novel, as we once knew it, being transformed—and the “next generation of literature” being born.
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