Guardian of the Dream - Afterword and Author's Notes

Guardian of the Dream

(Book 3 of the Guardian of the Spirit Series)

Author: Uehashi Nahoko

Translator: Ainikki the Archivist

 

 Afterword and Author's Notes

    The story for Guardian of the Dream came to me in a dream. (Well, not the whole thing, but the first bit of it.) It’s more accurate to say that the story is the product of the pieces of many dreams I’ve had over the years. Have you ever had a dream that leaves you with a strong impression of it after you wake up—one that’s impossible to forget, even years later?

    The first dream that I remember having such a strong impression on me was of a mountain lake. The lake was as clear and clean as a pane of glass. I saw a palace reflected in it, upside-down. The lake and the palace left a strong impression on me, but the lakeshore, the pebbles and sand around it, and the mountains overhead were overwhelming. I saw smoke drifting over the lake, though I couldn’t see where it had come from. A middle-aged man stood on the shore of the lake with his back to me; I couldn’t see his face, but I felt like I knew him, somehow, and that I had known him for many years. I had memories of conversations we’d shared, but I couldn’t remember any of them in detail.

    Like I said before, I remembered this dream vividly, and I kept thinking about it over the years. I didn’t do anything with it until the idea of the dream connected with the character of Torogai in my mind.

    Yes, Torogai: a magic weaver, an old irascible woman, strong enough to look death in the face without dying herself. I didn’t base her on a specific person, but on many of the tough older women that I’ve encountered in life.

 

***

 

    I have a particular fondness for Okinawa, where both of my grandmothers lived after World War II. They both survived the war and raised many children to adulthood after. They were remarkable women, both of them, but what I remember more than anything else is that they were both Okinawan shamanesses (they’re called kankakarya).

    In my own research, I’ve encountered many people who are perhaps best typified as fanatics—people who think they’ve been possessed by a god, or priestesses at temples. A common image people have is of this kind of person showcases them with black eye whites and irises, crazy and unreachable. I understand why that image is part of the popular imagination, but that’s not how I think of priestesses or shamanesses. I always think of my grandmothers before anything else.

    My grandmothers both smoked and drank tea together, consulting with one another in a tatami room while their tea steamed up into their faces. They always spoke quickly, without hesitation. Their faces were fretworks of wrinkles. I’ve seen women like this everywhere, not just in Japan but in Australia and other places. They hold their tribes and families together. I’m always fascinated by them when I meet them.

 

***

 

    My grandmothers weren’t as sharp-tongued as Torogai. I was teased as a child, and much of Torogai’s harsher language comes from those experiences. My grandmothers spoke in their regional dialect, which was quite difficult for me to understand, especially when I was very young. And whenever I tried to say something, they’d usually laugh. They couldn’t understand me very well, either.

    My grandmothers may have laughed when we tried to talk, but they always took good care of me while I was a student. I could always visit them for a good meal and a place to rest. They even gave me bus fare a few times when I foolishly forgot my own money. I relied on them a lot as a child and teenager. Often times, their advice would be to pray, and they would always reassure me that everything would be all right. They’d lived through World War II, after all, and all the suffering they encountered after that was filtered through that lens. I found their reassurances heartening. They knew what they were talking about.

***

    Shamanesses and priestesses are thought to be a link between people and the gods. The past is full of tales of human suffering. There are examples of women choosing to become shamanesses and priestesses in times of particular hardship, because it’s challenging to bear all that suffering alone and be unable to do anything about it. In my research, I’ve uncovered long traditions of shamanesses passing down what they’ve learned to the next generation, increasing both their knowledge and compassionate understanding.

    Quick-witted, heroic, kind—those words describe the shamanesses I’ve been fortunate enough to meet. They are guides for others, helping them overcome their most painful experiences. I was thinking of all the shamanesses I’ve known when I first developed Torogai’s character.

 

***

 

    One more thing: I was thinking about my grandmothers’ past while I was creating Torogai’s. One of my grandmothers had ten children, but lost nearly all of them to childhood diseases. That was devastating, of course; she told me that for months or years after, she would find tiny clothes in closets and try to put her hand through the too-small sleeves, remembering everyone she’d lost. I never forgot those stories.

    All the imagery in my dreams and the experiences of my early life combined as I wrote Guardian of the Dream. I discovered who Tomca was before she was Torogai. I saw the Li peeking out of the dense undergrowth on a forest floor in a dream. They were near the lake, listening to the echoes.

    For me, writing stories is reliant on imagery—on connecting one image to another, sometimes in unexpected ways. I don’t understand writing myself, sometimes—it’s a riddle. All I know for sure is that this story was made from my most vivid dreams and some of my most intense experiences.

 

Uehashi Nahoko

May 2000