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Thoughts on… Passionate Friendship: The Aesthetics of Girls’ Culture in Japan
[
Finished February 19th, 2025.]
My first full read of 2025 is done! As mentioned, I would like to do a write-up on everything I read this year: so today, I bring you my review of Passionate Friendship: The Aesthetics of Girls’ Culture in Japan (2012) by Deborah Shamoon. This book is a reread for me; I read it some time during 2016, and I think it was one of the major catalysts for shoujo culture becoming one of—if not my most—intense special interest. When I read it back then, my thoughts on it were quite polarized. Has my opinion gotten better or worse? Well, ah, to be frank…in some ways, yes, my opinion is little better. For the most part—no. I think it has somehow gotten rather worse, especially the harder I think on it; so, let’s dive in.
Introduction
Passionate Friendship: The Aesthetics of Girls’ Culture in Japan (from here on out Passionate Friendship) is a book about precisely what it sounds like it’s about; but, I imagine, what it sounds like it’s about is only particularly apparent to a certain kind of person. What is “girls’ culture” exactly, and what does that mean in Japan specifically?
As Shamoon states, girls’ culture, or shoujo bunka is “a discreet discourse on the social construction of girlhood” (p. 1). Adolescence is a social construct: “The concept of adolescence, and particularly female adolescence, is one of the hallmarks of modern industrialized nations, which encourage girls to delay marriage, childbearing, or entering the workforce, usually to receive higher education” (p. 2). Generally speaking, historically there was not really a transitionary period between adulthood and childhood; as alluded to, only modern industrialized nations could afford to have a large class of almost-adults who were not contributing directly to society. While the trope of rampant child marriage and the like in history is nonsense (in many societies historically, the average age of marriage or childbirth was in the late teens to early twenties; young by our standards, but hardly children), it is true that people often entered adulthood in a fairly abrupt fashion, and there was rarely “teen culture” as we think of it now.
Girls’ culture in Japan began to emerge in the late nineteenth to the early twentieth century; “in the pre-war [pre-WWII] period, a girl [female child] became a [shoujo] [cultural identity] by attending an all-girls secondary school and by reading girls’ magazines (Imada 5), in other words, through a process of enculturation through [shoujo] bunka, which was created among girls in higher schools, mainly attended by daughters of the new urban middle and upper classes” (p. 2). (Note: Shamoon writes “shoujo” with a macron, but since this font doesn’t have that, I’m using the more normative—in casual writing—“ou” to render the word; so, I’m only replacing the word with a different spelling. I will also be doing this for other words with the macron). In other words, it consisted of the culture—and especially media culture—of the new social class of adolescent girls. While the context that birthed Japanese girls' culture as such has changed drastically (coed schools are the norm, manga magazines have subsumed literary magazines as the media nexus, etc), there’s still a remarkable link between the present and the past, which is much of what this book is about.
Shamoon never elaborates on why this matters, but I have some suggestions. In a broader sense, what I dub “shoujo culture”—combining the English and Japanese terms—has actually had a pervasive cultural impact; especially in Japan, of course, but also in the United States and elsewhere. Much has been written on the influence of kawaii culture, for example—this has its origins in shoujo culture. (And, indeed—homegrown American equivalents of kawaii culture also often have their origins in American girls’ culture, although I believe this to be a much less pervasive and cohesive entity compared to shoujo culture). Anime and manga are becoming an enormous facet of the American media landscape, often subsuming our domestic media among the youth—this, too, has been much touched by shoujo culture. It can be quite illuminating for anyone with an interest in Japanese culture or pop culture more broadly to learn about.
For myself, there’s the simple fact that so many of my favorite artists were shoujo artists, some of my favorite pieces of fiction were shoujo, many of my interests have their origins in shoujo culture—or my interests have some kind of deep manifestation within it (perhaps this statement will make more sense as we go along). Maybe it seems frivolous, but it is something I care about quite a lot and find very interesting.
Summary
Passionate Friendship is divided into five chapters, which can be summarized as thus: Chapter 1 focuses on “pre-shoujo” history, the cultural forces which led to the emergence of shoujo culture; Chapter 2, which focuses on pre-war shoujo culture, and its birth in the aforementioned schools and magazines; Chapter 3, which focuses on the narratives and aesthetics found in pre-war shoujo media; Chapter 4, which covers the birth of modern shoujo manga; and lastly, Chapter 5, about the “shoujo manga revolution” in the 1970s.
I don’t want to summarize these in too much detail, since I would like to make my own amateur summary of all this history some time (utilizing other books as well, of course), but I think there has to be a decent amount just so it’s clear what I am talking about when I get into more extensive critiques. So:
During the Meiji era (1868-1912), Japan underwent rapid modernization and Westernization. One of the biggest philosophical shifts was the importation of the idea of “spiritual love”: “before Meiji, the terms that most closely correspond to ‘love’ were [ninjou] (literally, ‘human emotions’) and iro (lust), both of which lack the spiritual dimension associated with love in European literature. In Edo fiction portraying heterosexual relationships, the geisha represented the realm of lust, while the wife maintained the household” (pp. 16-17). From Christian thought came the idea that love was something spiritual and transcendent: “The most important aspect of courtship, then, was not physical attraction, but intellectual conversation, a joining of souls rather than the flesh” (p. 18). While this kind of love “elevated woman, the love interest, to divine status” (p. 17), in practice, “love begins with the man’s own fantasies and ideals; the woman is almost incidental” (p. 18).
There was a sort of panic about the idea of “spiritual love” and a panic about the new social class of “female student,” as girls’ schools were usually run by Christian missionaries, and thus the students often subscribed to this kind of thought. Outside observers often found these ideas, and the girls who subscribed to them, as dangerous foreign elements who had the potential to majorly harm Japanese society. The first chapter goes over a few of these examples in literature, in books written by adult men. The nascent class of shoujo were “represented as both the object of the desiring male gaze and the ultimate Other that threatens to disrupt the family unit and, by extension, the Japanese nation as a whole” (p. 14). This comprises Chapter 1.
As probably goes without saying, the way girls thought of themselves and their own ideals were completely different—indeed, often basically contradictory—to the ideas propagated by the mainstream patriarchal society. “Prewar girls’ culture coopted the discourse of spiritual love (ren’ai) not to describe heterosexual love [...] but instead to describe the passionate friendships formed with each other” (p. 29). These relationships were called “Class S” relationships (probably for “sister,” as Shamoon states, but I’ve read elsewhere this etymology isn’t so certain). These types of relationships were both pervasive in the art and fiction of the literary magazines circulating at the time, and by all accounts, in real life as well. These kinds of relationships “were normative within girls’ culture of the 1920s and 1930s, and helped to develop the dominant aesthetics of girls’ culture: purity, elegance, innocence, and chastity” (p. 30). I have more to say on this, but we’ll get to that later. Anywho, that’s Chapter 2.
With that out of the way, it’s a bit easier to summarize the rest of the book succinctly, as I can simply elaborate on the particulars as needed. The third chapter goes over some of the most popular shoujo artists of the era: Yumeji Takehisa, Kashou Takabatake (whose art decorates the cover of this book), and Jun’ichi Nakahara; and the most popular shoujo author, Nobuko Yoshiya. The fourth chapter talks, as mentioned, about the rise of manga as a medium, especially on the roles of Osamu Tezuka as an early shoujo author, and Macoto Takahashi for his role in codifying the “shoujo style,” bringing influence over from the pre-war days to the post-war era. The last chapter talks about the “shoujo manga revolution,” here represented by The Heart of Thomas by Moto Hagio, and The Rose of Versailles by Riyoko Ikeda—both manga that, it’s important to note, were not translated when this book was written, but have been since.
Critique
So…when I write these, generally I would like to state what I liked about a book before what I disliked; but, with this book, admittedly the criticisms far outweigh the praise. I will not bury the lead and say that, yes—if this is a subject you have any interest in, this book is a decent place to start (actually, surprisingly, I think the best place to start is Wikipedia—then if you find that interesting, read this book). But the things I disliked in this book were so glaring that I must talk about them. A lot of my thoughts are mirrored in other reviews, but I think they are worth delving into with more detail.
The most salient issue with this book is, essentially…Passionate Friendship is, in many respects, an incredibly homophobic book. I attempted to give the benefit of the doubt; but, sadly, the harder I think of it all, the worse it gets. The worst part is, it is to such a degree that I believe it calls the very integrity of this book itself into question. I do believe much of the historical information given here is true, based on other things I’ve read, but it’s deeply frustrating how the author is not fully reliable.
This all begins early on; when Shamoon talks about Class S relationships, she is very intent on emphasizing that they were not lesbian. And…I think there is some truth to this, especially when she elaborates—although she does not do so especially well. Shamoon seems to take for granted that “lesbian” means “an inherently marginalized social identity a woman can have based on her having sexual intercourse with other women” (in my own words)—which is certainly one way to describe what “lesbian” can mean, yes. And, yes—our modern identity politics are, indeed, a very recent, Western innovation. But Shamoon sems to twist herself in knots trying to explain why these relationships could never have been what we call “lesbian,” seemingly unaware of the fact that this term can ever mean anything more than the previously stated definition. It’s frustrating because it frequently feels…disingenuous. S relationships cannot be “lesbian” because they’re not sexual, not a fixed identity, not marginalized by wider society; maybe they could have been romantic in some sense, but never lesbian, homosexual. Sometimes she almost appears to acquiesce, and admit sometimes they could have been romantic in the way we now would think of it—but honestly it is all so muddled.
For whatever it is worth, the way I would describe the “Class S” phenomenon is it was something that both included what we would call romantic relationships, and also expanded beyond them to include friendships. Sometimes they were just besties mimicking romantic relationship conventions before they found a real husband, as was the common wisdom at the time; sometimes they were little baby lesbians who would go on to spend their lives together. Shamoon speaks of expanding definitions—“my point is not to refute the emotional or possibly erotic bonds between girls, but to open the definition of the relationships beyond their current parameters” (p. 34)—but she also tends to come off rather scandalized that people would interpret even explicitly homosexual acts as…uh, homosexual—or “lesbian.” I feel like I am speaking in circles, but that is much what this part of the book felt like. I do agree with her to a degree, I think people are not aware enough of the changes in our ideas of sexuality, I think people too readily ascribe modern sexual identities onto historical people and fiction…but I feel the way this is expressed here is obtuse, to say the least. I’m not sure why it would be so difficult to explain that this is a phenomenon that both encompassed what we would now call lesbian and what we wouldn’t, and that what was intended in fiction…varied.
So, what was intended in fiction—this is where the book started truly annoying me. It is undeniably true that Class S fiction was generally interpreted as harmless by everybody; as Shamoon says, “S relationships were not necessarily pathologized, nor were they subversive, but rather mimicked heterosexual courtship in a safe, socially acceptable way” (p. 36). Thus, it is reasonable to assume that a lot of the fiction featuring these relationships had no intentional “homosexual” undertones at all—personally, it is a joke I often make that some media is so aggressively straight, that it loops right around into being aggressively gay, because when there is no “threat” of homosexuality, the intimacy allowed (and the homoeroticism of it all) just really bursts forth. My issue is that she makes this argument…about Nobuko Yoshiya.
If somehow you have heard of Nobuko Yoshiya, you surely already know where I am going with this: Yoshiya was a lesbian. No, she never claimed our modern identity in her life, so far as I am aware—but she is one of the few historical figures I know of where I feel very confident in assigning this label to her; at most, she was bisexual with a heavy preference for women. Shamoon says: “[Yoshiya] lived from 1923 until the end of her life with another woman, Monma Chiyo, which has led postwar scholars to label her as a lesbian and to read her work in biographic terms. Anthropologist Jennifer Roberston, for instance, in a short biographic essay, gives a detailed account of Yoshiya’s life with emphasis on the love letters she exchanged with Monma, particularly those expressing frustration with their inability to marry” (p. 70, emphasis mine). She goes on: “Scholars [...] color their analysis of Yoshiya’s fiction with details of her private life.” Can you see the issue here?
Yes, it is true: you should not view the kind of fiction someone makes as a pure reflection of their life, their views, etc. But also, there is another truth: we are all bound by our own perspective. All creatives are drawing upon our own experiences. I say this as an author and an artist myself, and one who knows many others: if I laid out my life bare for you, my experiences, my beliefs, my tastes—you would understand a lot about my work. Acting like it would be a mistake to ever interpret Yoshiya’s work as queer at all just seems—kind of insane, honestly. Only one of Yoshiya’s stories is translated into English, and in it there’s a (rather long) reference to—and a quote from…Sappho!! The person who the word “lesbian” is referring to! Be so for real right now! Yoshiya’s going to waltz in quoting Sappho at me, and you’re going to tell me I’m wrong for interpreting any kind of subtext there? Because supposedly the audience would have never done so? Because nobody who ever read this stuff would have ever been homosexual in any way, or?
I attempted to have good faith, and assumed Shamoon just does not seem to understand the artistic process—there is another thing (that I will get to) that seems to point to this. But, here is extra context that is largely absent from this book, but I know for some reason: most—if not all–of the pre-war artists Shamoon speaks of here…were queer (and yes, I think bringing up this information would be relevant; I will get to why in a little bit). Yumeji Takehisa I have seen Japanese people say he was, but I have not found evidence of this myself, so for now I will discount him (I don’t recall the book I have about him touching on this—not saying it wasn’t, but I don’t remember, and cannot say here). Kashou Takabatake and Jun’ichi Nakahara, however…
For Takabatake, in the back matter, Shamoon alludes to this: “In his personal life, [Kashou] surrounded himself with attractive young male apprentices and never married, suggesting a personal tendency towards homoeroticism” (p. 149). However, not long after this, Shamoon mentions something else: “In a not uncommon circumvention of the same-sex marriage prohibition, in 1957 Yoshiya adopted Monma Chiyo as her daughter, even though Monma was only three years her junior” (p. 149). Details on Takabatake’s personal life seem pretty scant, but there are a few things we know: he never married, and when he reached middle-age, he legally adopted one of his “disciples,” and they went on to do joint exhibitions and things together. When Takabatake died, they were both buried in the same grave. Does this prove without a shadow of a doubt he was queer? I suppose not…but I’ll let you decide.
Now, Jun’ichi Nakahara? We don’t have to guess or use context clues or whatever—he was gay. We know this basically for a fact. His son wrote about it—Nakahara had a male lover who he spent his life with, in addition to having a legal wife. Although, I must add…Nakahara was quite possibly not what we would call gay, but transgender; but, as he never transitioned in any way, for better or worse I will have to continue referring to him as male (interestingly enough, from what I’ve read, his wife was also probably what we would call transgender—it seems they both expressed desires to be the opposite sex, and seemed dissatisfied with the societal roles they were forced to play…but they played them regardless).
So let me synthesize what I’m getting at here: Nobuko Yoshiya was essentially a lesbian, which Shamoon details because pretty much everything written about Yoshiya in English is about this in particular—it’s unavoidable. Almost, if not every artist she talks about was queer—but this information is extremely obscure, if not nonexistent in English (but not especially so in Japanese, mostly, particularly for Nakahara); therefore, she does not talk about any of their sexualities. Shamoon brings up Yoshiya’s sexuality to dispel any notions that her work could be read as queer in any way; girls did not view it in this fashion, society did not view it in this fashion, it is anachronistic to do so. Even though most (or all!) of the major figures she lists as having an influence on this genre were queer. So we are to believe none of these people’s personal lives had anything to do with the art they made, or had any influence on why people were drawn to it or what they got out of it, because it was able to fly within the bounds of social acceptability.
Hmm. Okay.
The reason I was suspecting Shamoon simply doesn’t understand the artistic process is because of a concept that is repeated throughout this book, that I have not yet mentioned: Shamoon states that shoujo culture is based on a “culture of sameness.” Which, perhaps there is something to this; even now, teen culture is heavily based around fitting in with those around you—it comes with the territory of being an adolescent. But I think Shamoon’s evidence for this “culture of sameness” is incredibly weak.
Shamoon mentions how Class S relationships were only socially acceptable if both partners were traditionally feminine: “Sexologists condemned and pathologized what Roberston calls a ‘heterogender’ relationship, meaning that one of the female partners adopted masculine clothing, speech, or behavior (Takarazuka 68). [...] It was coupling not merely with someone of the same sex, but with one who exhibited the same modes of dress, speech, and behavior as oneself. The uniforms girl students wore, usually some variation on the sailor suit with a blue pleated skirt, contributed to the ideal of sameness in that it created a similar appearance among schoolgirls. The S relationships celebrated in girls’ magazines were between two girls who were not only feminine, but who dressed exactly alike. The ideal of S relationships encouraged sameness and loving one who looks just like the self, or, rather, a better, idealized self” (p. 37). I…don’t think this makes much sense if you actually think about it.
Of course sexologists, educators, etc, only approved of these relationships if both partners were feminine: are these the kinds of people you expect to promote gender nonconformity, particularly in early twentieth century Japan? Even now, in Japanese media, I’ve still seen the attitude that lesbian relationships are just playing pretend until the girls join a “proper” heterosexual marriage—obviously, you’d want everyone involved to remain “fit” for a traditional heterosexual marriage. Also, from the novels Shamoon describes in Passionate Friendship, at least from her own description of them…the girls hardly seem like pure mirror images of each other.
Also, the uniform thing…it feels contradictory? Later on, Shamoon speaks on Takabatake’s tendency of drawing pairs of girls with one wearing a kimono, and one in Western-style clothing: “The pair of girls with similar faces, one wearing Japanese clothes and one wearing Western clothes, may reflect the assimilation of Western culture in Japan and emphasizes the essential sameness of the Japanese girls inside the clothing” (p. 67). So…when they are dressed the same, it is to show they are the same. When they are dressed differently, it is to show they are the same. How are we to show when they are not the same, then?
Also, on why the girls in these illustrations all look so similar, same face abounding—of course, Shamoon says this is to emphasize this supposed “culture of sameness.” But, like with all of this…Occam’s Razor. As an artist, I can say: drawing varied faces—especially in art styles this stylized (particularly in the case of Nakahara’s art style)—is difficult. This is something you still see in all media, especially Japanese media, to this day—anime characters, like in these illustrations, often look the same physically, with different hair styles/colors and eye colors. These illustrations do not show varied hair/eye colors because Japanese people near universally have dark hair and dark eyes. It’s not that deep.
There is also the fact that…this art is commercial art. It was made to be mass-marketable and appealing. Shamoon has some understanding of the kind of constraints brought on by commercial art: “She cites the emphasis on stylized figures and detailed clothing as well as the lack of images of illness and poverty as evidence of [Kashou’s] allegiance to an imperial ideology (15), but commercial art, and in particular the bijinga genre, is by its very nature concerned only with the ideal and with fantasies of wealth and privilege” (p. 62). Yet, Shamoon seems almost deliberately ignorant of the fact that this factor will also lead to artists making what is similar, familiar—why deviate from what sells? Especially since, as Shamoon notes about Takabatake, “By the late 1920s, he was producing between eighty and one hundred illustrations each month” (p. 64)—a staggering amount that makes me ill to think about, to be honest.
Later on, Shamoon discusses how this “culture of sameness” continued after WWII; specifically on this point, she discusses The Rose of Versailles. Unfortunately, admittedly, I have not finished the manga, I have only read about halfway through it; I have finished the anime a couple of times at least, but I know it changes some things, so I will reserve some of my judgement. Some of it.
Even from what I read, however, there is one massive, glaring issue with what is written on The Rose of Versailles. Shamoon says: “The narrative [of The Rose of Versailles] first pairs Oscar in an S relationship with Rosalie Lamorlière. [...] Rosalie’s adoring admiration for Oscar is reminiscent of the S relationship, but Oscar does not reciprocate her love. Oscar makes it clear she wants a relationship with a man; that is, she desires an adult, rather than an adolescent relationship” (p. 123).
The text, in case you cannot see the image: Oscar is holding Rosalie. Oscar says: “If I really were a man…I would marry you, without a doubt…truly.”
Is this the rejection in question? Is that what is going on here?!
Oh, you say, that’s just what it says in English? What about the original Japanese? Translators take all sorts of liberties!
It says this in Japanese: 「もしわたしがほんとうの男性だったら…まちがいなくおまえを妻にするよ……ほんとだ。」Roughly: “If I were a real man…Without a doubt, I would make you my wife……truly.”
Is that Oscar not reciprocating her love? Is that Oscar saying she only wants a real relationship with a man?! That isn’t Oscar saying, “I love you and want to be with you, but societal circumstances forbid it”?!?
For me this is the most angering and frustrating part of the book, because unfortunately, it throws everything else into question. So Shamoon is willing to flagrantly lie if it serves her agenda—how much is anything else in this book true? How am I meant to trust it? The worst part is, this is a pretty obscure topic, with only so much written on it in English especially, so to some degree, I have to. For what it’s worth, I think the general historical information is fairly accurate—as long as you ignore her opinions on anything remotely relating to homosexuality. Or frankly, most of her analysis in general.
Shamoon says more on The Rose of Versailles, but…again, it is on the later parts of the manga, and I am still most familiar with the anime, and admittedly as I write this, I am quite tired. Maybe that is lazy of me, but despite the length of this thing I am not writing some essay for university, or anything at all, I’m just having a bit of fun, because for some unholy reason this is my idea of “fun”. I will just say, considering this, I have…doubts. About her analysis. But I will spare at least that for now.
So, I knew well that this post is long enough as it is; still, I think it’s worth looking at this “culture of sameness” concept, and try to figure out why it is here at all. Shamoon does not go anywhere with it, really—she says there is a “culture of sameness,” yet she never clearly explains why or what that is meant to mean.
I think part of it is related to her ideas on “spiritual love”; which, for what it is worth, I think are considerably more convincing—although this idea is not unique to her, and weirdly enough I think she somehow downplays this point as she mentions its importance. (Shamoon goes out of her way to emphasize how the ideas of “spiritual love” quickly lost their specifically Christian character, “most girls did not continue religious practice after graduation” (p. 31), and these ideas were wholly secularized. None of this is untrue necessarily, and it is worth going over; but something else I think is worth mentioning in this regard is—again!—almost every artist she mentions as playing a pivotal role in the development of shoujo culture either came from a Christian background, or were actively Christian [Nakahara came from a Christian family; Takehisa and Takabatake were baptized, and for the latter in particular, some of his last art ever was religious art for a chapel]. The Christian influence wasn’t just some vague cultural osmosis deriving from the school setting or general discourse; the artists and writers contributing to this subculture were drawing upon their own experiences, backgrounds, and beliefs to formulate something cohesive—that, I would imagine, resonated with their audience so much because there was an overlap between them and their audience. It feels like Shamoon operates under the assumption that artists just regurgitate the zeitgeist back to itself instead of being individual agents with their own personal relationship to it, and give back to it through their work).
I believe these could be connected because, as Shamoon stated, in the popular discourse, “spiritual love” was so heavily focused on the perspective of the man; or, to put it more broadly, it centered on the Lover, while the Beloved was just a conduit through which the Lover could experience spiritual transformation. My assumption for Shamoon’s logic is that the “culture of sameness” would elevate both partners in an S relationship to Lover and Beloved status, although in the idealized form expressed in shoujo magazines, the elder always held the Lover status, and the younger Beloved status (although in the footnotes, Shamoon mentions that in reality, either partner could take the more active role). If this is what she was getting at, however, I wish she would have just…said so.
My less charitable interpretation is that the “culture of sameness” idea is just yet another tool used to downplay any hint of anything resembling homosexuality in shoujo culture. There’s never anything like a real romantic bond—they’re all just trying to be each other! It couldn’t be that basically everyone making all of these things were queer and usually in active gay relationships! That’s ridiculous!
Anyways.
The last major critique I have of this book is so much of it just seems concerned with…to be blunt, dunking on people—and, in my opinion, it is very rarely warranted. As you may have already noticed in some of the quotes I pulled, Shamoon is constantly referencing other academics largely to dismiss their work outright; one gets the impression that she is, I suppose, the only one who knows anything on this subject. It’s a bit ridiculous how, with the Western academics in particular, she always insists that they’re just injecting Western ideas of lesbianism and feminism where it doesn’t belong—even though she herself is quite happy to use American data and insist there is no reason to believe it would be different from Japanese data when it’s convenient. It all comes across as very pompous. I will give credit where it is due: I think this is precisely one instance of this where it felt warranted, and where I do very much agree with what she said. But with as often as this happens in Passionate Friendship…perhaps that there is an exception that proves the rule is itself damning.
Lastly, one more thing: this is a very minor factual error I came across, that does not mean much or change anything; and indeed, I will say—I think it was nearly impossible for Shamoon to actually realize this was an error. I tried finding more photographic evidence of this online, and it was borderline nonexistent. But, er, I noticed it, so. I suppose I'll point it out.
So: in modern Japan, typically if text is written horizontally, it will be read left-to-right, in the English fashion; if the text is vertical, it will be read right-to-left, in the traditional Japanese fashion. In prewar Japan, text was almost always read right-to-left regardless of if it was vertical or horizontal. Shoujo was not typically 少女, it was 女少, etc etc.
Shamoon shares a picture of a collected volume of Yoshiya’s Flower Stories from 1939. This book has been reprinted, I believe (though I could be wrong), multiple times—but you can probably already tell where I’m going with this, Shamoon shares one of the repinted covers, not the original. This is more of a (mildly concerning) Easter egg on my end than criticism, but there you go.
So that is that. Sorry for writing…apparently almost four thousand words alone kind of just tearing this book to shreds. So it goes.
Compliments
So now, at long last, we are to what I liked about this book! Unfortunately, I imagine this section is going to be considerably shorter.
As mentioned before, I do think Passionate Friendship generally has good historical information; in particular, I think it helpfully synthesizes the development of the shoujo subculture into a cohesive narrative, starting from the Meiji period, and following the development of it up to the 1970s, in some ways its arguable height (at least, it was at this time is started to be taken somewhat seriously from the outside, although its actual height was probably the 1920s-30s).
I like how Passionate Friendship addresses a lot of the misconceptions people have about shoujo manga, how it was not something that formed by Osamu Tezuka, that is was something with a pretty long history at that point, informed by many other artists and institutions such as the Takarazuka Revue (something I unfortunately have only a surface level knowledge of, since I am merely an Anglophone). And, I do appreciate how Shamoon goes into some of the deeper undercurrents that brought about the development of shoujo culture, the broader cultural and philosophical trends at the time that contributed to its formation—I just wish she delved a little more deeply into those things, instead of her honestly usually subpar analysis.
I will give credit where it is due, however: while Shamoon’s comments on The Rose of Versailles infuriated me, I actually think her comments on The Heart of Thomas were pretty good and apt. Admittedly, in hindsight, why I think this was is not, ah, great—The Heart of Thomas is explicitly a boy’s love manga, you cannot deny that…but also, it is difficult to truly describe it as a “homosexual” story—and yes, I have read The Heart of Thomas in full, numerous times in fact, as it is my favorite manga, and one of my favorite pieces of fiction in general. I agree with Shamoon when she says The Heart of Thomas “operates on a discourse of spiritual love” (p. 105). It is something I think frequently perplexes (especially modern, Western) readers about this manga: it is focused on the romantic bonds between numerous boys, and yet these romantic bonds are not marginalized, and are taken for granted as normal (as long as they remain chaste, that is). I’ve seen people insinuate that Hagio, the author, must have not known anything about Christianity, viewing it as exotic set dressing, because homosexuality was not being actively marginalized—which is quite baffling to me considering the Christian themes are not subtle (and I am not saying anything about Hagio’s personal religiosity, I don’t know and it’s not my business—but again, that’s a deep current in shoujo culture that Hagio tapped into for The Heart of Thomas). At least to my own mind, Hagio’s purpose in focusing just on relationships between people of the same sex is clear: in addition to connecting back to the earliest days of shoujo culture, there is also the fact that it erases gender differences. We are not focusing on homosexual relationships, heterosexual relationships…we are exploring relationships between people—we are exploring “spiritual love”.
This part of the book also had something which surprised me: when Shamoon brought up the work of another scholar to dispel it, but I actually thought she was entirely in the right for doing so. Shamoon pulls a quote from another scholar, James Welker, that reads, in part: “Hagio has explained in interviews that she abandoned the lesbian version because she found her girl-girl romance “disgusting” (iyarashi) and the idea of a kiss scene between girls “as gooey as fermented soybeans” [...] [T]he lesbian narrative was graphically silenced because of Hagio’s and perhaps her readers’ inability to confront or admit their own lesbian desire directly. And, either way, the fact remains that Hagio had lesbian desire in mind when she created the narrative” (p. 107).
Okay, I will be blunt: is it wrong of me to think it is enormously out of pocket to insinuate that The Heart of Thomas stems from “Hagio’s suppressed lesbian desire”? My brother in Christ, she is alive!! This is just an absolutely insane thing to say about someone who, as of this writing (over a decade after any of these books came out) is still alive! As I have shown here, for better or worse, I am not against some curiosity about the lives of people long dead...but she is very much not dead! This just feels enormously crass to me, and I think it's something worth addressing and shooting down directly.
It also just strikes me as…dense, personally. Even just reading The Heart of Thomas alone, in a vacuum, there is to my mind little reason to assume it’s saying…anything in particular about homosexuality as a subject. As alluded to before: the bonds between the boys are broadly taken as normal and nobody questions them—they are Class S relationships applied to boys. As for why Hagio made those comments, I do not know for certain; but I believe, as Shamoon states, that Class S stories with girls were likely seen as “hopelessly old-fashioned” (p. 107), considering they were not long ago absolutely everywhere. My hunch is also that—from what I’ve seen, it appears that Class S stories, especially as they appeared in early manga, were often just…fairly saccharine, not like the more serious story Hagio was writing. My assumption is that making all the characters girls would, at that time and in that context, make it all appear more fluffy and even silly than it was meant to be. While “spiritual love” was an undercurrent in shoujo culture, I don’t get the impression that a lot of popular works were actually exploring it in a more serious manner like this. I think divorcing The Heart of Thomas a little bit from those Class S roots would have helped the reader come in with fresher eyes, not assume it was merely going to be the same kind of story they were used to. That’s just my speculation, though.
And that’s, uh…it, actually, my compliments for this book. Unfortunately there is little more to say…
Conclusion
At long last, we reach the end of this review. So, the verdict: is this book worth reading?
Despite my many, many criticisms—I would have to say, if this is a subject that interests you at all…yes. Unfortunately it is a very lukewarm yes; while I very much enjoyed learning (or in my case, remembering) much of the information here, the way it is delivered, and the “commentary” alongside it is often little short of maddening, and only becomes worse as you think about it. This book is deeply homophobic, to the point of becoming illogical, and Shamoon’s few interpretive innovations also tend to be weak and shallow. Honestly, I hope as I continue my Shoujo Studies Project, I can find a different book that gives a good overview of the development of shoujo culture, because this one is just so heavily flawed.
That said, luckily it is a fairly short book, and most of it was easy enough to get through. It seems like one might be able to read this book through JSTOR; but, if not, it can be purchased for $27—which honestly feels like quite a bit for a book this small, but considering the state of academic publishing, I’ll take it.
And, I feel the need to add this: despite how brutal I know I got at points in this write-up, I bear no ill will towards Deborah Shamoon (or James Welker, for that matter). Although this book admittedly does not give me the most faith in this, I am not claiming she is homophobic in her personal life—and either way, I do not know her, and it is not my business. This book was written quite a white ago, as well; I was still homophobic when this book was published. I am trying to give Shamoon as much benefit of the doubt as possible. I am judging the book as it is, for what it is.
So…that’s all for now! I hope I don’t have this much to say about just about anything else I read this year! Why was this so long! Goodbye!
Finished February 19th, 2025.]My first full read of 2025 is done! As mentioned, I would like to do a write-up on everything I read this year: so today, I bring you my review of Passionate Friendship: The Aesthetics of Girls’ Culture in Japan (2012) by Deborah Shamoon. This book is a reread for me; I read it some time during 2016, and I think it was one of the major catalysts for shoujo culture becoming one of—if not my most—intense special interest. When I read it back then, my thoughts on it were quite polarized. Has my opinion gotten better or worse? Well, ah, to be frank…in some ways, yes, my opinion is little better. For the most part—no. I think it has somehow gotten rather worse, especially the harder I think on it; so, let’s dive in.
Introduction
Passionate Friendship: The Aesthetics of Girls’ Culture in Japan (from here on out Passionate Friendship) is a book about precisely what it sounds like it’s about; but, I imagine, what it sounds like it’s about is only particularly apparent to a certain kind of person. What is “girls’ culture” exactly, and what does that mean in Japan specifically?
As Shamoon states, girls’ culture, or shoujo bunka is “a discreet discourse on the social construction of girlhood” (p. 1). Adolescence is a social construct: “The concept of adolescence, and particularly female adolescence, is one of the hallmarks of modern industrialized nations, which encourage girls to delay marriage, childbearing, or entering the workforce, usually to receive higher education” (p. 2). Generally speaking, historically there was not really a transitionary period between adulthood and childhood; as alluded to, only modern industrialized nations could afford to have a large class of almost-adults who were not contributing directly to society. While the trope of rampant child marriage and the like in history is nonsense (in many societies historically, the average age of marriage or childbirth was in the late teens to early twenties; young by our standards, but hardly children), it is true that people often entered adulthood in a fairly abrupt fashion, and there was rarely “teen culture” as we think of it now.
Girls’ culture in Japan began to emerge in the late nineteenth to the early twentieth century; “in the pre-war [pre-WWII] period, a girl [female child] became a [shoujo] [cultural identity] by attending an all-girls secondary school and by reading girls’ magazines (Imada 5), in other words, through a process of enculturation through [shoujo] bunka, which was created among girls in higher schools, mainly attended by daughters of the new urban middle and upper classes” (p. 2). (Note: Shamoon writes “shoujo” with a macron, but since this font doesn’t have that, I’m using the more normative—in casual writing—“ou” to render the word; so, I’m only replacing the word with a different spelling. I will also be doing this for other words with the macron). In other words, it consisted of the culture—and especially media culture—of the new social class of adolescent girls. While the context that birthed Japanese girls' culture as such has changed drastically (coed schools are the norm, manga magazines have subsumed literary magazines as the media nexus, etc), there’s still a remarkable link between the present and the past, which is much of what this book is about.
Shamoon never elaborates on why this matters, but I have some suggestions. In a broader sense, what I dub “shoujo culture”—combining the English and Japanese terms—has actually had a pervasive cultural impact; especially in Japan, of course, but also in the United States and elsewhere. Much has been written on the influence of kawaii culture, for example—this has its origins in shoujo culture. (And, indeed—homegrown American equivalents of kawaii culture also often have their origins in American girls’ culture, although I believe this to be a much less pervasive and cohesive entity compared to shoujo culture). Anime and manga are becoming an enormous facet of the American media landscape, often subsuming our domestic media among the youth—this, too, has been much touched by shoujo culture. It can be quite illuminating for anyone with an interest in Japanese culture or pop culture more broadly to learn about.
For myself, there’s the simple fact that so many of my favorite artists were shoujo artists, some of my favorite pieces of fiction were shoujo, many of my interests have their origins in shoujo culture—or my interests have some kind of deep manifestation within it (perhaps this statement will make more sense as we go along). Maybe it seems frivolous, but it is something I care about quite a lot and find very interesting.
Summary
Passionate Friendship is divided into five chapters, which can be summarized as thus: Chapter 1 focuses on “pre-shoujo” history, the cultural forces which led to the emergence of shoujo culture; Chapter 2, which focuses on pre-war shoujo culture, and its birth in the aforementioned schools and magazines; Chapter 3, which focuses on the narratives and aesthetics found in pre-war shoujo media; Chapter 4, which covers the birth of modern shoujo manga; and lastly, Chapter 5, about the “shoujo manga revolution” in the 1970s.
I don’t want to summarize these in too much detail, since I would like to make my own amateur summary of all this history some time (utilizing other books as well, of course), but I think there has to be a decent amount just so it’s clear what I am talking about when I get into more extensive critiques. So:
During the Meiji era (1868-1912), Japan underwent rapid modernization and Westernization. One of the biggest philosophical shifts was the importation of the idea of “spiritual love”: “before Meiji, the terms that most closely correspond to ‘love’ were [ninjou] (literally, ‘human emotions’) and iro (lust), both of which lack the spiritual dimension associated with love in European literature. In Edo fiction portraying heterosexual relationships, the geisha represented the realm of lust, while the wife maintained the household” (pp. 16-17). From Christian thought came the idea that love was something spiritual and transcendent: “The most important aspect of courtship, then, was not physical attraction, but intellectual conversation, a joining of souls rather than the flesh” (p. 18). While this kind of love “elevated woman, the love interest, to divine status” (p. 17), in practice, “love begins with the man’s own fantasies and ideals; the woman is almost incidental” (p. 18).
There was a sort of panic about the idea of “spiritual love” and a panic about the new social class of “female student,” as girls’ schools were usually run by Christian missionaries, and thus the students often subscribed to this kind of thought. Outside observers often found these ideas, and the girls who subscribed to them, as dangerous foreign elements who had the potential to majorly harm Japanese society. The first chapter goes over a few of these examples in literature, in books written by adult men. The nascent class of shoujo were “represented as both the object of the desiring male gaze and the ultimate Other that threatens to disrupt the family unit and, by extension, the Japanese nation as a whole” (p. 14). This comprises Chapter 1.
As probably goes without saying, the way girls thought of themselves and their own ideals were completely different—indeed, often basically contradictory—to the ideas propagated by the mainstream patriarchal society. “Prewar girls’ culture coopted the discourse of spiritual love (ren’ai) not to describe heterosexual love [...] but instead to describe the passionate friendships formed with each other” (p. 29). These relationships were called “Class S” relationships (probably for “sister,” as Shamoon states, but I’ve read elsewhere this etymology isn’t so certain). These types of relationships were both pervasive in the art and fiction of the literary magazines circulating at the time, and by all accounts, in real life as well. These kinds of relationships “were normative within girls’ culture of the 1920s and 1930s, and helped to develop the dominant aesthetics of girls’ culture: purity, elegance, innocence, and chastity” (p. 30). I have more to say on this, but we’ll get to that later. Anywho, that’s Chapter 2.
With that out of the way, it’s a bit easier to summarize the rest of the book succinctly, as I can simply elaborate on the particulars as needed. The third chapter goes over some of the most popular shoujo artists of the era: Yumeji Takehisa, Kashou Takabatake (whose art decorates the cover of this book), and Jun’ichi Nakahara; and the most popular shoujo author, Nobuko Yoshiya. The fourth chapter talks, as mentioned, about the rise of manga as a medium, especially on the roles of Osamu Tezuka as an early shoujo author, and Macoto Takahashi for his role in codifying the “shoujo style,” bringing influence over from the pre-war days to the post-war era. The last chapter talks about the “shoujo manga revolution,” here represented by The Heart of Thomas by Moto Hagio, and The Rose of Versailles by Riyoko Ikeda—both manga that, it’s important to note, were not translated when this book was written, but have been since.
Critique
So…when I write these, generally I would like to state what I liked about a book before what I disliked; but, with this book, admittedly the criticisms far outweigh the praise. I will not bury the lead and say that, yes—if this is a subject you have any interest in, this book is a decent place to start (actually, surprisingly, I think the best place to start is Wikipedia—then if you find that interesting, read this book). But the things I disliked in this book were so glaring that I must talk about them. A lot of my thoughts are mirrored in other reviews, but I think they are worth delving into with more detail.
The most salient issue with this book is, essentially…Passionate Friendship is, in many respects, an incredibly homophobic book. I attempted to give the benefit of the doubt; but, sadly, the harder I think of it all, the worse it gets. The worst part is, it is to such a degree that I believe it calls the very integrity of this book itself into question. I do believe much of the historical information given here is true, based on other things I’ve read, but it’s deeply frustrating how the author is not fully reliable.
This all begins early on; when Shamoon talks about Class S relationships, she is very intent on emphasizing that they were not lesbian. And…I think there is some truth to this, especially when she elaborates—although she does not do so especially well. Shamoon seems to take for granted that “lesbian” means “an inherently marginalized social identity a woman can have based on her having sexual intercourse with other women” (in my own words)—which is certainly one way to describe what “lesbian” can mean, yes. And, yes—our modern identity politics are, indeed, a very recent, Western innovation. But Shamoon sems to twist herself in knots trying to explain why these relationships could never have been what we call “lesbian,” seemingly unaware of the fact that this term can ever mean anything more than the previously stated definition. It’s frustrating because it frequently feels…disingenuous. S relationships cannot be “lesbian” because they’re not sexual, not a fixed identity, not marginalized by wider society; maybe they could have been romantic in some sense, but never lesbian, homosexual. Sometimes she almost appears to acquiesce, and admit sometimes they could have been romantic in the way we now would think of it—but honestly it is all so muddled.
For whatever it is worth, the way I would describe the “Class S” phenomenon is it was something that both included what we would call romantic relationships, and also expanded beyond them to include friendships. Sometimes they were just besties mimicking romantic relationship conventions before they found a real husband, as was the common wisdom at the time; sometimes they were little baby lesbians who would go on to spend their lives together. Shamoon speaks of expanding definitions—“my point is not to refute the emotional or possibly erotic bonds between girls, but to open the definition of the relationships beyond their current parameters” (p. 34)—but she also tends to come off rather scandalized that people would interpret even explicitly homosexual acts as…uh, homosexual—or “lesbian.” I feel like I am speaking in circles, but that is much what this part of the book felt like. I do agree with her to a degree, I think people are not aware enough of the changes in our ideas of sexuality, I think people too readily ascribe modern sexual identities onto historical people and fiction…but I feel the way this is expressed here is obtuse, to say the least. I’m not sure why it would be so difficult to explain that this is a phenomenon that both encompassed what we would now call lesbian and what we wouldn’t, and that what was intended in fiction…varied.
So, what was intended in fiction—this is where the book started truly annoying me. It is undeniably true that Class S fiction was generally interpreted as harmless by everybody; as Shamoon says, “S relationships were not necessarily pathologized, nor were they subversive, but rather mimicked heterosexual courtship in a safe, socially acceptable way” (p. 36). Thus, it is reasonable to assume that a lot of the fiction featuring these relationships had no intentional “homosexual” undertones at all—personally, it is a joke I often make that some media is so aggressively straight, that it loops right around into being aggressively gay, because when there is no “threat” of homosexuality, the intimacy allowed (and the homoeroticism of it all) just really bursts forth. My issue is that she makes this argument…about Nobuko Yoshiya.
If somehow you have heard of Nobuko Yoshiya, you surely already know where I am going with this: Yoshiya was a lesbian. No, she never claimed our modern identity in her life, so far as I am aware—but she is one of the few historical figures I know of where I feel very confident in assigning this label to her; at most, she was bisexual with a heavy preference for women. Shamoon says: “[Yoshiya] lived from 1923 until the end of her life with another woman, Monma Chiyo, which has led postwar scholars to label her as a lesbian and to read her work in biographic terms. Anthropologist Jennifer Roberston, for instance, in a short biographic essay, gives a detailed account of Yoshiya’s life with emphasis on the love letters she exchanged with Monma, particularly those expressing frustration with their inability to marry” (p. 70, emphasis mine). She goes on: “Scholars [...] color their analysis of Yoshiya’s fiction with details of her private life.” Can you see the issue here?
Yes, it is true: you should not view the kind of fiction someone makes as a pure reflection of their life, their views, etc. But also, there is another truth: we are all bound by our own perspective. All creatives are drawing upon our own experiences. I say this as an author and an artist myself, and one who knows many others: if I laid out my life bare for you, my experiences, my beliefs, my tastes—you would understand a lot about my work. Acting like it would be a mistake to ever interpret Yoshiya’s work as queer at all just seems—kind of insane, honestly. Only one of Yoshiya’s stories is translated into English, and in it there’s a (rather long) reference to—and a quote from…Sappho!! The person who the word “lesbian” is referring to! Be so for real right now! Yoshiya’s going to waltz in quoting Sappho at me, and you’re going to tell me I’m wrong for interpreting any kind of subtext there? Because supposedly the audience would have never done so? Because nobody who ever read this stuff would have ever been homosexual in any way, or?
I attempted to have good faith, and assumed Shamoon just does not seem to understand the artistic process—there is another thing (that I will get to) that seems to point to this. But, here is extra context that is largely absent from this book, but I know for some reason: most—if not all–of the pre-war artists Shamoon speaks of here…were queer (and yes, I think bringing up this information would be relevant; I will get to why in a little bit). Yumeji Takehisa I have seen Japanese people say he was, but I have not found evidence of this myself, so for now I will discount him (I don’t recall the book I have about him touching on this—not saying it wasn’t, but I don’t remember, and cannot say here). Kashou Takabatake and Jun’ichi Nakahara, however…
For Takabatake, in the back matter, Shamoon alludes to this: “In his personal life, [Kashou] surrounded himself with attractive young male apprentices and never married, suggesting a personal tendency towards homoeroticism” (p. 149). However, not long after this, Shamoon mentions something else: “In a not uncommon circumvention of the same-sex marriage prohibition, in 1957 Yoshiya adopted Monma Chiyo as her daughter, even though Monma was only three years her junior” (p. 149). Details on Takabatake’s personal life seem pretty scant, but there are a few things we know: he never married, and when he reached middle-age, he legally adopted one of his “disciples,” and they went on to do joint exhibitions and things together. When Takabatake died, they were both buried in the same grave. Does this prove without a shadow of a doubt he was queer? I suppose not…but I’ll let you decide.
Now, Jun’ichi Nakahara? We don’t have to guess or use context clues or whatever—he was gay. We know this basically for a fact. His son wrote about it—Nakahara had a male lover who he spent his life with, in addition to having a legal wife. Although, I must add…Nakahara was quite possibly not what we would call gay, but transgender; but, as he never transitioned in any way, for better or worse I will have to continue referring to him as male (interestingly enough, from what I’ve read, his wife was also probably what we would call transgender—it seems they both expressed desires to be the opposite sex, and seemed dissatisfied with the societal roles they were forced to play…but they played them regardless).
So let me synthesize what I’m getting at here: Nobuko Yoshiya was essentially a lesbian, which Shamoon details because pretty much everything written about Yoshiya in English is about this in particular—it’s unavoidable. Almost, if not every artist she talks about was queer—but this information is extremely obscure, if not nonexistent in English (but not especially so in Japanese, mostly, particularly for Nakahara); therefore, she does not talk about any of their sexualities. Shamoon brings up Yoshiya’s sexuality to dispel any notions that her work could be read as queer in any way; girls did not view it in this fashion, society did not view it in this fashion, it is anachronistic to do so. Even though most (or all!) of the major figures she lists as having an influence on this genre were queer. So we are to believe none of these people’s personal lives had anything to do with the art they made, or had any influence on why people were drawn to it or what they got out of it, because it was able to fly within the bounds of social acceptability.
Hmm. Okay.
The reason I was suspecting Shamoon simply doesn’t understand the artistic process is because of a concept that is repeated throughout this book, that I have not yet mentioned: Shamoon states that shoujo culture is based on a “culture of sameness.” Which, perhaps there is something to this; even now, teen culture is heavily based around fitting in with those around you—it comes with the territory of being an adolescent. But I think Shamoon’s evidence for this “culture of sameness” is incredibly weak.
Shamoon mentions how Class S relationships were only socially acceptable if both partners were traditionally feminine: “Sexologists condemned and pathologized what Roberston calls a ‘heterogender’ relationship, meaning that one of the female partners adopted masculine clothing, speech, or behavior (Takarazuka 68). [...] It was coupling not merely with someone of the same sex, but with one who exhibited the same modes of dress, speech, and behavior as oneself. The uniforms girl students wore, usually some variation on the sailor suit with a blue pleated skirt, contributed to the ideal of sameness in that it created a similar appearance among schoolgirls. The S relationships celebrated in girls’ magazines were between two girls who were not only feminine, but who dressed exactly alike. The ideal of S relationships encouraged sameness and loving one who looks just like the self, or, rather, a better, idealized self” (p. 37). I…don’t think this makes much sense if you actually think about it.
Of course sexologists, educators, etc, only approved of these relationships if both partners were feminine: are these the kinds of people you expect to promote gender nonconformity, particularly in early twentieth century Japan? Even now, in Japanese media, I’ve still seen the attitude that lesbian relationships are just playing pretend until the girls join a “proper” heterosexual marriage—obviously, you’d want everyone involved to remain “fit” for a traditional heterosexual marriage. Also, from the novels Shamoon describes in Passionate Friendship, at least from her own description of them…the girls hardly seem like pure mirror images of each other.
Also, the uniform thing…it feels contradictory? Later on, Shamoon speaks on Takabatake’s tendency of drawing pairs of girls with one wearing a kimono, and one in Western-style clothing: “The pair of girls with similar faces, one wearing Japanese clothes and one wearing Western clothes, may reflect the assimilation of Western culture in Japan and emphasizes the essential sameness of the Japanese girls inside the clothing” (p. 67). So…when they are dressed the same, it is to show they are the same. When they are dressed differently, it is to show they are the same. How are we to show when they are not the same, then?
Also, on why the girls in these illustrations all look so similar, same face abounding—of course, Shamoon says this is to emphasize this supposed “culture of sameness.” But, like with all of this…Occam’s Razor. As an artist, I can say: drawing varied faces—especially in art styles this stylized (particularly in the case of Nakahara’s art style)—is difficult. This is something you still see in all media, especially Japanese media, to this day—anime characters, like in these illustrations, often look the same physically, with different hair styles/colors and eye colors. These illustrations do not show varied hair/eye colors because Japanese people near universally have dark hair and dark eyes. It’s not that deep.
There is also the fact that…this art is commercial art. It was made to be mass-marketable and appealing. Shamoon has some understanding of the kind of constraints brought on by commercial art: “She cites the emphasis on stylized figures and detailed clothing as well as the lack of images of illness and poverty as evidence of [Kashou’s] allegiance to an imperial ideology (15), but commercial art, and in particular the bijinga genre, is by its very nature concerned only with the ideal and with fantasies of wealth and privilege” (p. 62). Yet, Shamoon seems almost deliberately ignorant of the fact that this factor will also lead to artists making what is similar, familiar—why deviate from what sells? Especially since, as Shamoon notes about Takabatake, “By the late 1920s, he was producing between eighty and one hundred illustrations each month” (p. 64)—a staggering amount that makes me ill to think about, to be honest.
Later on, Shamoon discusses how this “culture of sameness” continued after WWII; specifically on this point, she discusses The Rose of Versailles. Unfortunately, admittedly, I have not finished the manga, I have only read about halfway through it; I have finished the anime a couple of times at least, but I know it changes some things, so I will reserve some of my judgement. Some of it.
Even from what I read, however, there is one massive, glaring issue with what is written on The Rose of Versailles. Shamoon says: “The narrative [of The Rose of Versailles] first pairs Oscar in an S relationship with Rosalie Lamorlière. [...] Rosalie’s adoring admiration for Oscar is reminiscent of the S relationship, but Oscar does not reciprocate her love. Oscar makes it clear she wants a relationship with a man; that is, she desires an adult, rather than an adolescent relationship” (p. 123).
The text, in case you cannot see the image: Oscar is holding Rosalie. Oscar says: “If I really were a man…I would marry you, without a doubt…truly.”
Is this the rejection in question? Is that what is going on here?!
Oh, you say, that’s just what it says in English? What about the original Japanese? Translators take all sorts of liberties!
It says this in Japanese: 「もしわたしがほんとうの男性だったら…まちがいなくおまえを妻にするよ……ほんとだ。」Roughly: “If I were a real man…Without a doubt, I would make you my wife……truly.”
Is that Oscar not reciprocating her love? Is that Oscar saying she only wants a real relationship with a man?! That isn’t Oscar saying, “I love you and want to be with you, but societal circumstances forbid it”?!?
For me this is the most angering and frustrating part of the book, because unfortunately, it throws everything else into question. So Shamoon is willing to flagrantly lie if it serves her agenda—how much is anything else in this book true? How am I meant to trust it? The worst part is, this is a pretty obscure topic, with only so much written on it in English especially, so to some degree, I have to. For what it’s worth, I think the general historical information is fairly accurate—as long as you ignore her opinions on anything remotely relating to homosexuality. Or frankly, most of her analysis in general.
Shamoon says more on The Rose of Versailles, but…again, it is on the later parts of the manga, and I am still most familiar with the anime, and admittedly as I write this, I am quite tired. Maybe that is lazy of me, but despite the length of this thing I am not writing some essay for university, or anything at all, I’m just having a bit of fun, because for some unholy reason this is my idea of “fun”. I will just say, considering this, I have…doubts. About her analysis. But I will spare at least that for now.
So, I knew well that this post is long enough as it is; still, I think it’s worth looking at this “culture of sameness” concept, and try to figure out why it is here at all. Shamoon does not go anywhere with it, really—she says there is a “culture of sameness,” yet she never clearly explains why or what that is meant to mean.
I think part of it is related to her ideas on “spiritual love”; which, for what it is worth, I think are considerably more convincing—although this idea is not unique to her, and weirdly enough I think she somehow downplays this point as she mentions its importance. (Shamoon goes out of her way to emphasize how the ideas of “spiritual love” quickly lost their specifically Christian character, “most girls did not continue religious practice after graduation” (p. 31), and these ideas were wholly secularized. None of this is untrue necessarily, and it is worth going over; but something else I think is worth mentioning in this regard is—again!—almost every artist she mentions as playing a pivotal role in the development of shoujo culture either came from a Christian background, or were actively Christian [Nakahara came from a Christian family; Takehisa and Takabatake were baptized, and for the latter in particular, some of his last art ever was religious art for a chapel]. The Christian influence wasn’t just some vague cultural osmosis deriving from the school setting or general discourse; the artists and writers contributing to this subculture were drawing upon their own experiences, backgrounds, and beliefs to formulate something cohesive—that, I would imagine, resonated with their audience so much because there was an overlap between them and their audience. It feels like Shamoon operates under the assumption that artists just regurgitate the zeitgeist back to itself instead of being individual agents with their own personal relationship to it, and give back to it through their work).
I believe these could be connected because, as Shamoon stated, in the popular discourse, “spiritual love” was so heavily focused on the perspective of the man; or, to put it more broadly, it centered on the Lover, while the Beloved was just a conduit through which the Lover could experience spiritual transformation. My assumption for Shamoon’s logic is that the “culture of sameness” would elevate both partners in an S relationship to Lover and Beloved status, although in the idealized form expressed in shoujo magazines, the elder always held the Lover status, and the younger Beloved status (although in the footnotes, Shamoon mentions that in reality, either partner could take the more active role). If this is what she was getting at, however, I wish she would have just…said so.
My less charitable interpretation is that the “culture of sameness” idea is just yet another tool used to downplay any hint of anything resembling homosexuality in shoujo culture. There’s never anything like a real romantic bond—they’re all just trying to be each other! It couldn’t be that basically everyone making all of these things were queer and usually in active gay relationships! That’s ridiculous!
Anyways.
The last major critique I have of this book is so much of it just seems concerned with…to be blunt, dunking on people—and, in my opinion, it is very rarely warranted. As you may have already noticed in some of the quotes I pulled, Shamoon is constantly referencing other academics largely to dismiss their work outright; one gets the impression that she is, I suppose, the only one who knows anything on this subject. It’s a bit ridiculous how, with the Western academics in particular, she always insists that they’re just injecting Western ideas of lesbianism and feminism where it doesn’t belong—even though she herself is quite happy to use American data and insist there is no reason to believe it would be different from Japanese data when it’s convenient. It all comes across as very pompous. I will give credit where it is due: I think this is precisely one instance of this where it felt warranted, and where I do very much agree with what she said. But with as often as this happens in Passionate Friendship…perhaps that there is an exception that proves the rule is itself damning.
Lastly, one more thing: this is a very minor factual error I came across, that does not mean much or change anything; and indeed, I will say—I think it was nearly impossible for Shamoon to actually realize this was an error. I tried finding more photographic evidence of this online, and it was borderline nonexistent. But, er, I noticed it, so. I suppose I'll point it out.
So: in modern Japan, typically if text is written horizontally, it will be read left-to-right, in the English fashion; if the text is vertical, it will be read right-to-left, in the traditional Japanese fashion. In prewar Japan, text was almost always read right-to-left regardless of if it was vertical or horizontal. Shoujo was not typically 少女, it was 女少, etc etc.
Shamoon shares a picture of a collected volume of Yoshiya’s Flower Stories from 1939. This book has been reprinted, I believe (though I could be wrong), multiple times—but you can probably already tell where I’m going with this, Shamoon shares one of the repinted covers, not the original. This is more of a (mildly concerning) Easter egg on my end than criticism, but there you go.
So that is that. Sorry for writing…apparently almost four thousand words alone kind of just tearing this book to shreds. So it goes.
Compliments
So now, at long last, we are to what I liked about this book! Unfortunately, I imagine this section is going to be considerably shorter.
As mentioned before, I do think Passionate Friendship generally has good historical information; in particular, I think it helpfully synthesizes the development of the shoujo subculture into a cohesive narrative, starting from the Meiji period, and following the development of it up to the 1970s, in some ways its arguable height (at least, it was at this time is started to be taken somewhat seriously from the outside, although its actual height was probably the 1920s-30s).
I like how Passionate Friendship addresses a lot of the misconceptions people have about shoujo manga, how it was not something that formed by Osamu Tezuka, that is was something with a pretty long history at that point, informed by many other artists and institutions such as the Takarazuka Revue (something I unfortunately have only a surface level knowledge of, since I am merely an Anglophone). And, I do appreciate how Shamoon goes into some of the deeper undercurrents that brought about the development of shoujo culture, the broader cultural and philosophical trends at the time that contributed to its formation—I just wish she delved a little more deeply into those things, instead of her honestly usually subpar analysis.
I will give credit where it is due, however: while Shamoon’s comments on The Rose of Versailles infuriated me, I actually think her comments on The Heart of Thomas were pretty good and apt. Admittedly, in hindsight, why I think this was is not, ah, great—The Heart of Thomas is explicitly a boy’s love manga, you cannot deny that…but also, it is difficult to truly describe it as a “homosexual” story—and yes, I have read The Heart of Thomas in full, numerous times in fact, as it is my favorite manga, and one of my favorite pieces of fiction in general. I agree with Shamoon when she says The Heart of Thomas “operates on a discourse of spiritual love” (p. 105). It is something I think frequently perplexes (especially modern, Western) readers about this manga: it is focused on the romantic bonds between numerous boys, and yet these romantic bonds are not marginalized, and are taken for granted as normal (as long as they remain chaste, that is). I’ve seen people insinuate that Hagio, the author, must have not known anything about Christianity, viewing it as exotic set dressing, because homosexuality was not being actively marginalized—which is quite baffling to me considering the Christian themes are not subtle (and I am not saying anything about Hagio’s personal religiosity, I don’t know and it’s not my business—but again, that’s a deep current in shoujo culture that Hagio tapped into for The Heart of Thomas). At least to my own mind, Hagio’s purpose in focusing just on relationships between people of the same sex is clear: in addition to connecting back to the earliest days of shoujo culture, there is also the fact that it erases gender differences. We are not focusing on homosexual relationships, heterosexual relationships…we are exploring relationships between people—we are exploring “spiritual love”.
This part of the book also had something which surprised me: when Shamoon brought up the work of another scholar to dispel it, but I actually thought she was entirely in the right for doing so. Shamoon pulls a quote from another scholar, James Welker, that reads, in part: “Hagio has explained in interviews that she abandoned the lesbian version because she found her girl-girl romance “disgusting” (iyarashi) and the idea of a kiss scene between girls “as gooey as fermented soybeans” [...] [T]he lesbian narrative was graphically silenced because of Hagio’s and perhaps her readers’ inability to confront or admit their own lesbian desire directly. And, either way, the fact remains that Hagio had lesbian desire in mind when she created the narrative” (p. 107).
Okay, I will be blunt: is it wrong of me to think it is enormously out of pocket to insinuate that The Heart of Thomas stems from “Hagio’s suppressed lesbian desire”? My brother in Christ, she is alive!! This is just an absolutely insane thing to say about someone who, as of this writing (over a decade after any of these books came out) is still alive! As I have shown here, for better or worse, I am not against some curiosity about the lives of people long dead...but she is very much not dead! This just feels enormously crass to me, and I think it's something worth addressing and shooting down directly.
It also just strikes me as…dense, personally. Even just reading The Heart of Thomas alone, in a vacuum, there is to my mind little reason to assume it’s saying…anything in particular about homosexuality as a subject. As alluded to before: the bonds between the boys are broadly taken as normal and nobody questions them—they are Class S relationships applied to boys. As for why Hagio made those comments, I do not know for certain; but I believe, as Shamoon states, that Class S stories with girls were likely seen as “hopelessly old-fashioned” (p. 107), considering they were not long ago absolutely everywhere. My hunch is also that—from what I’ve seen, it appears that Class S stories, especially as they appeared in early manga, were often just…fairly saccharine, not like the more serious story Hagio was writing. My assumption is that making all the characters girls would, at that time and in that context, make it all appear more fluffy and even silly than it was meant to be. While “spiritual love” was an undercurrent in shoujo culture, I don’t get the impression that a lot of popular works were actually exploring it in a more serious manner like this. I think divorcing The Heart of Thomas a little bit from those Class S roots would have helped the reader come in with fresher eyes, not assume it was merely going to be the same kind of story they were used to. That’s just my speculation, though.
And that’s, uh…it, actually, my compliments for this book. Unfortunately there is little more to say…
Conclusion
At long last, we reach the end of this review. So, the verdict: is this book worth reading?
Despite my many, many criticisms—I would have to say, if this is a subject that interests you at all…yes. Unfortunately it is a very lukewarm yes; while I very much enjoyed learning (or in my case, remembering) much of the information here, the way it is delivered, and the “commentary” alongside it is often little short of maddening, and only becomes worse as you think about it. This book is deeply homophobic, to the point of becoming illogical, and Shamoon’s few interpretive innovations also tend to be weak and shallow. Honestly, I hope as I continue my Shoujo Studies Project, I can find a different book that gives a good overview of the development of shoujo culture, because this one is just so heavily flawed.
That said, luckily it is a fairly short book, and most of it was easy enough to get through. It seems like one might be able to read this book through JSTOR; but, if not, it can be purchased for $27—which honestly feels like quite a bit for a book this small, but considering the state of academic publishing, I’ll take it.
And, I feel the need to add this: despite how brutal I know I got at points in this write-up, I bear no ill will towards Deborah Shamoon (or James Welker, for that matter). Although this book admittedly does not give me the most faith in this, I am not claiming she is homophobic in her personal life—and either way, I do not know her, and it is not my business. This book was written quite a white ago, as well; I was still homophobic when this book was published. I am trying to give Shamoon as much benefit of the doubt as possible. I am judging the book as it is, for what it is.
So…that’s all for now! I hope I don’t have this much to say about just about anything else I read this year! Why was this so long! Goodbye!
no subject
I can absolutely see why this books was mostly frustrating. I can't get over that whole thing about the line from The Rose of Versailles. And just the blatant disregard for the more obvious queer relationships these shoujo artists and writers had.
Amazing work!
no subject
Yeah, it's...a lot. 😭 I wish there were more books on this subject without the homophobic undercurrent...