Sake is the liquid soul of Japan. It’s as much a part of the country’s civilization and culture as its folk customs or indigenous religion, Shintô. In fact, we’ve written before in these pages on multiple occasions about its close ties to Shintô, as well as certain Buddhist temples. Some cultural commentators have colorfully argued that beer is the foundation of human civilization in the Western Hemisphere (pointing, as an example, to the pyramids of Egypt and that history). I would hesitate to call sake the foundation of Japanese civilization, but plenty of archaeological and textual evidence indicates that the beverage was probably present at all steps of the climb out of a primitive hunter-gatherer society and into a historic, literate one. I’m sometimes surprised, in fact, by just how prominent a place it seems to have had.
This fall, I’ve had the amazing opportunity to teach pre-modern Japanese literature to a large class at the University of California, Berkeley (I have a quasi-career in academia outside my publishing endeavors). While the class itself is primarily concerned with techniques and themes that firmly place the texts we read in the realm of literature, I can’t help but personally note all the many instances that sake makes its appearance in what we read. Sometimes, I even feel compelled to point it out to the class, if they don’t do so first.
Kôjiki (712AD), the oldest extant text of literature in Japan, is a hodge-podge collection of myths, legends and verifiable imperial history. The earlier material in the volume was transmitted aurally through the generations prior to the Japanese adopting writing technology from China, primarily through the auspices of Buddhist pilgrims and court scholars–this is also how mainland brewing techniques came to Japan. In an early segment of the book, the spirit Eight Thousand Spears travels to another land to woo one Lady Jade River. His primary wife, Lady Bold, becomes jealous and so they sing an exchange in poetic lines, of course, as spirits do. After Eight Thousand Spears sings his explanation, the narrator provides this detail: “And so his consort took up the grand sake cup, drew near, and stretched out her hands to offer it to him.” Her song in subsequent reply is one of praise and eroticism, which ends:
Come stretch out your legs
And slip deep into sleep.
Of this plentiful sake
Partake my lord!
Then the narrator slips in again to add, “So she sang, and straightaway they exchanged sake cups to bind themselves to each other. Then they embraced, and ever since have dwelt together in peace.”* Nothing like sake to smooth over infidelity and make a marriage perfect and eternal, right?
In a section of Kojiki dedicated to songs (and the contexts in which they were written), there is a scene where, in a forest of Yoshino, workers brew a “ceremonial liquor” (primitive sake) and sing, “We brewed this amazing liquor. Taste how good it is–come, drink and be filled with joy” (my own translation). The song that follows then tells of a great brewer named Susukori who has traveled from the mainland to present his brew to Emperor Ôjin. On imbibing, the emperor sings (again, my own translation):
On Susukori’s
amazingly brewed mash liquor (sake),
I have gotten drunk!
on this elixir of life,
on this elixir of laughter,
I have gotten drunk!
We can conclude that it is perfectly respectable for an emperor to become inebriated. After all, why else record this scene for posterity and include it in a volume of ‘history’ commissioned by the imperial court of ancient Japan?
In Man’yôshû, arguably the greatest anthology of poetry in the Japanese literary canon, there is a famous chôka (long poem) by the celebrated Yamanoue no Okura (who lived roughly 660-733) called “Dialogue on Poverty”. In the first section Okura assumes the voice of a man living in poverty who bemoans his condition and notes that his only solace from miserable, cold weather is a lump of blackened salt to nibble on and some sake lees that he consumes occasionally to warm his body. As the sake restores life to him, he concludes that things could be worse–like having to also care for a family, for example. In a poem about suffering that was read at court and by anybody that mattered, really, it’s telling that Okura embellishes the scene so convincingly with sake.
I could go on with many other examples from literature in later generations (especially some humorous scenes in Tale of Genji). I’d also note that sake played a part in literary production, too; poets would imbibe while they wrote in a kind of ceremony of composition sometimes. No doubt, many drank while composing outside formal settings.
At Sake Today, we continue this vital literary tradition! Not only do we write about sake as the ancients did, but we also sip a little while at our work. We hope our literary predecessors would be pleased with what we do. We hope you are, too. Maybe you can contribute to this tradition by sipping with us as you read. Come, stretch out your legs…
*Kojiki translations by Gustav Heldt from “The Kojiki: An Account of Ancient Matters” (Columbia University Press).
