The Tale of Genji: The Broom tree

The Tale of Genji — The Broom Tree (Chapter 2)

Reading Murasaki Shikibu’s Genji Monogatari, often called the world’s first novel, through the lens of the Heian period: courtly etiquette, Miyabiそして モノ・ノー・アウェア shape the world around Genji.

This review of The Tale of Genji (Chapter 2: The Broom Tree) explores Heian court life, poetry, and aesthetics in Japan’s classic literature masterpiece.


Murasaki Shikibu — Tale of Genji, chapter 1 commentary
Smal’s comment on Chapter 1 — read it
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の中で Heian period, conversation gravitated to poetry, protocol, and prestige. Men debated rank and aesthetics; women were too often the topic rather than the speakers. Politics meant paperwork: fussy discussions and the careful choreography of status. The game of power had to be played perfectly.

In this classic Japanese novel, love and loss intertwine with the complexities of court life.

Genji’s world: art, etiquette, and feeling

Heian-period painting — Tale of Genji aesthetics and court poetry
Broom Tree legend

Art mattered. Exchanging poems was crucial. Miyabi—courtly refinement—was law. Donald Keene noted that nothing in the West matches the role aesthetics have played in Japan since Heian; the spirit of refined sensitivity still shapes modern aesthetics. Closely related is モノ・ノー・アウェア: a readiness to be moved by people and by nature.

Genji Monogatari illustrates the delicate balance of emotions and social norms.

Heian-kyō (Kyoto): small island of rank

The world of Genji was claustrophobic. The nobility—dominated by the Fujiwara—clustered in Heian-kyō (Kyoto), perhaps a thousand people within a city of a hundred thousand. From the seventh century, members of the Hata clan—immigrants from Gaya/Silla in Korea—settled there. The capital (from 794) followed Chang’an’s grid and Feng Shui principles.

Downtown Kyoto was closed to commoners. Goods arrived at the gates; people of lesser rank remained invisible to the elite. Their island of privilege measured only four square kilometers.

Read more on Feng Shui and East Asian capitals in my story “Shikibu’s モノ・ノー・アウェア, transient beauty”:
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Model of Dairi — Kyoto Imperial Palace in the Heian period
Dairi / 内裏 — the Imperial Palace dominated daily life.

Genji, son of Emperor Kiritsubo and the low-ranked concubine Kiritsubo Kōi, was beloved by the Emperor and envied by rivals. To shield him from court politics, he was removed from the line of succession, given the Minamoto name, and began a career as an imperial officer—Hikaru, the “Shining One.”

Chapter 2: The Broom Tree

Genji is married to Aoi, daughter of the Minister of the Left (Sadaijin). His friend Tō no Chūjō and other officials gather at Genji’s residence. Their topic: women, rank, and the perils of choice in a strict hierarchy.

“…lying there in the lamplight, against a pillar, he looked so beautiful that one could have wished him a woman. For him, the highest of the high seemed hardly good enough.”

Who to choose? Behind curtains and screens, encounters were coded by poems and perfumes. Is this one of literature’s early hints of a homoerotic gaze? Perhaps; beauty often unsettles categories.

A personal aside: my first shock of beauty came in 1965 on a new black-and-white TV—Brian Jones with his sitar. An angel. Hikaru, shining. As with Genji, charisma reframed everything around it.

Murasaki Shikibu, a lady-in-waiting within the Fujiwara, wrote men from a distance—and yet with piercing insight. Her imagination animates this courtly world.

Poems, perfume, and protocol

Junihitoe layered robes — Heian court clothing
Heian clothing — junihitoe

Marriage among nobles could involve multiple wives and concubines. Courts were strict, encounters discreet. A poem—sometimes borrowed from Chinese literature—was brushed on fine paper, scented, and sent with a flower. If a lady’s heart moved (モノ・ノー・アウェア), she replied in kind. Love could fail, too:

Near the end of the chapter: “When he learned that there was no hope… he was very hurt.”

“I who never knew what the broom tree meant now wonder… the broom tree you briefly glimpsed fades and is soon lost in view.”

Note on the image: the broom tree at Sonohara (Shinano) was said to vanish as you approached; the woman’s humble origins make her “disappear” in the eyes of rank.

Kichijōten and the limits of perfection

Kichijōten (Lakshmi) — Yakushiji temple painting, Heian era
Kichijōten — Yakushiji temple, Heian era

“…in the end, it is simply impossible to choose one woman over another… Set your heart on Kichijōten herself, and you will find her so pious and stuffy, you will be sorry!”

Kichijōten is the Buddhist form of Lakshmi—goddess of beauty and fortune—perhaps too perfect even for Genji. Politics soon enters the tale; Genji’s skill there will matter as much as love.

📖 Discover My Korean Journey

Alongside exploring the Tale of Genji, I’ve been writing about my own experiences in Korea — stories of culture, history, and everyday encounters that shaped my perspective.
Dive into 私の韓国旅行 to follow these reflections and see how East Asian traditions connect with modern life.

Read My Korean Journey

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Want to explore more about Genji Monogatariその Heian period, and Japanese aesthetics? Here are trusted sources:

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Tale of Genji Chapter 1 (Paulownia Pavilion): Heian Life

Tale of Genji Chapter 1 (Paulownia Pavilion)

Reading Murasaki Shikibu’s Tale of Genji, the world’s first novel: Chapter 1 introduces love, loss, and モノ・ノー・アウェア in the refined court life of the Heian period.

The Tale of Genji: a lifelong companion

It has been on my bedside table for several years now: The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu. Written between 1000 and 1008 in Japan, it belongs to the great world classics. Tackling such a work requires patience, openness, and empathy. After great writers like Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Dickens, and Shakespeare, I felt ready for Shikibu’s masterpiece. John Irving even inspired me to lay down my own pen for a while, believing life experience was necessary before writing seriously again.

The fragility of existence

To me, maturity meant laughing inwardly at the fragility of existence. The Japanese concept of モノ・ノー・アウェア touches on this—a sensitivity to impermanence. Poems sometimes surface without effort, as if my hand writes them on its own. They are subconscious echoes of fleeting awareness. Literature, at its best, reminds us of this transience while also offering a strange comfort.

Two kilos heavy

The Tale of Genji is no lightweight: 1,182 pages, nearly two kilos. By page 13, I was already immersed, anticipating the 795 poems woven throughout. Chapter 1, The Paulownia Pavilion, begins with tragedy: Genji’s mother, Lady Kiritsubo, dies, leaving the Emperor devastated.

Kiritsubo Kunisada II Utagawa 1823–1880
Kiritsubo Kunisada II Utagawa 1823–1880

On page eleven the Emperor murmurs: “If only I could find a wizard to know where her sweet spirit went.” This sense of longing, regret, and insurmountable sorrow echoes in Chinese poetry, like Bai Juyi’s Song of Everlasting Regret, and even in Western ballads like Carrickfergus. Across cultures, love and grief are expressed in hauntingly similar tones.

Insurmountable regrets

“I’m drunk today and rarely sober, a handsome rover from town to town.
Oh but I am sick now and my days are numbered.
Come all ye young men and lay me down.”

If this isn’t about the black hole of grief and homesickness, then what is? Depression, like the Emperor’s mourning, knows no rank. Regret for the past, sorrow in the present, fear of the future—they intertwine in literature and life alike. In this way, Genji’s story reminds us of the timeless nature of human suffering.

From Heian sorrow to Korean ハン

The Emperor’s grief also recalls the Korean concept of ハン—a collective feeling of unresolved sorrow and longing. Both モノ・ノー・アウェア そして ハン show how literature connects human fragility across cultures. I write more about this in my autobiographical series 韓国人と私, where East Asian traditions meet personal reflection.

About Murasaki Shikibu and the Heian court

For background on Shikibu and her world:

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Explore more about Tale of Genji Chapter 1, Heian aesthetics, and cultural context:

Summary: Tale of Genji Chapter 1 is a blueprint of Heian aesthetics: the intersection of beauty, power, and emotion.

FAQ — Tale of Genji Chapter 1

What happens in Chapter 1 of The Tale of Genji?

Chapter 1, The Paulownia Pavilion, recounts the death of Genji’s mother, Lady Kiritsubo. The Emperor’s grief and Genji’s fragile status set the stage for themes of sorrow, love, and impermanence in Heian court life.

Why is The Tale of Genji so important?

執筆者 Murasaki Shikibu around the year 1000, it is often called the world’s first novel. Its mix of prose, poetry, and psychological depth provides a vivid look into Heian-period Japan and its culture.

How does モノ・ノー・アウェア appear in Chapter 1?

The Emperor’s sorrow at Lady Kiritsubo’s death embodies モノ・ノー・アウェア—the sensitivity to impermanence and beauty. This theme resonates throughout the novel and connects to broader East Asian aesthetics.

Category: Literary Commentary

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