flemmings | (no subject)

Oh happy day. A post from

cougarfang sends me off to squint at Minekura's wp, which I've avoided for several years because even at my ridiculous resolution and even bolding to read it gives me migraines in about three seconds. And all fuman about the Japanese and their damnable love of frames and their damnably high resolutions (must be a Mac thing) being taken as read, the woman has a Homura short story 'The People of Illusion,' preceded by neat dragons and "Tell me what you desire. I'll give it to you. In return for everything you are."

(More Buddhist phrases. 色即是空, all is illusion, I suppose, unless there's another more common translation than illusion. Oh, and

paleaswater, if you're here- a question about Chinese titles.

In Onmyouji- the Phoenix volume, for reference- Seimei's tutelary deity is 泰山府君. From the Japanese webpages I'm getting that the 府 is a kind of office where the dead are dealt with. (What a pity I know nothing of YnM's set up because that's what this sounds like. The Buddhist texts have Taishanfu as a regular stop souls make on the road after death.) This however turns Seimei's deity from the terrible Lord of Tai Mountain into Chief Official of the Taishan Post-mortem Sorting Office. OK, I'm being facetious, but what was your instinctive reaction to the title? Buddhist or bureaucrat or possibly Taoist? (I'm getting that, once again, the Buddhists insinuated themselves into an older belief system here.) Thanks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

-_- I was afraid of that.

Really, the Chinese collective unconscious is so... prosaic that I have to wonder how western Orientalism came to be in the first place. 'The strange, mysterious, violent and romantic realm of whole-grain vitamin fortified brown bread.' (I suppose I should read those Sax Rohmers to see what it was on about.)

My fave opera is Turandot, and the first production I saw had a set lifted from Apocalype Now: lurid red lights, swampy air, severed heads, and people in robes or rags as per character. No particular time or place, and scary as hell. The second one was set in China, all walled villas, and the chorus was in grey pajamas and coolie head scarves, and it just didn't *work*. Never mind that what the first emperor got up to was quite as arbitrary as Turandot: these good citizens of Beijing looked all wrong singing Turn the grinding wheel and sharpen the axe. C'mon guys, who's minding the store?

That's what I'm always asking myself as well. I sometime wonder if it's simply that people nowadays don't know how to describe these sort of things -- if one translated some of the most ravishing beautiful Chinese poetry one often got the brother number ten ox effect -- perhaps this is the same thing. Perhaps these gods & immortals would feel terrifyingly primative if one actually know what people thought about them, instead of only having a couple bland lines about the chief-official of taishan perfecture dining and wining a passerby.

I should reread this story I'm translating, but the impression I got first time through it was pretty creepy. As of people dealing with something that neither thinks nor acts the way we do.

It that an Onmyouji story or something else?

Onmyouji- Phoenix.