This is a gross underestimation of the emotional rollercoaster Murasaki experiences during nearly three decades of marriage to Genji, a man who is more than her lover; he is her only family, her soul mate, and, inadvertently, her abuser. The abuse she suffers is not physical – it was against Heian law for men to beat their wives (Morris: 1964: 218) –, but the emotional violence that was so widespread among women of her class, the product of involvement with men who were never expected to be faithful in the first place. At the outset, the 10-year-old girl Genji spies by chance in “Young Murasaki” is firstly a substitute for Fujitsubo, his father the Emperor’s consort with whom he is infatuated, and secondly a pliable test subject to mould into his ideal spouse. He covets not only her resemblance to another woman, but also her childishness and vulnerability, which he takes advantage of by kidnapping her when her guardians understandably withhold their blessing. As much as the tale draws parallels between Murasaki and Genji’s unfortunate childhood circumstances – children born to low-ranking mothers by fathers already married to more powerful women, and thus largely unacknowledged – to imply that they are destined for each other (Bargen: 1997: 110), and goes on to portray the bulk of their marriage as being as “open and settled” as one could wish (Morris: 1964: 233), realistically Murasaki will never be Genji’s one-and-only. Furthermore, true love itself can never be enough for her; such women lived “on a knife edge” (Bowring: 2004: 27). The child Murasaki can only enjoy so much attention from her new guardian-cum-fiancé because his first wife, who is more importantly his social equal, conveniently dies as soon as Murasaki is old enough for Genji to consummate their relationship in “Aoi” (Morris: 1964:
This is a gross underestimation of the emotional rollercoaster Murasaki experiences during nearly three decades of marriage to Genji, a man who is more than her lover; he is her only family, her soul mate, and, inadvertently, her abuser. The abuse she suffers is not physical – it was against Heian law for men to beat their wives (Morris: 1964: 218) –, but the emotional violence that was so widespread among women of her class, the product of involvement with men who were never expected to be faithful in the first place. At the outset, the 10-year-old girl Genji spies by chance in “Young Murasaki” is firstly a substitute for Fujitsubo, his father the Emperor’s consort with whom he is infatuated, and secondly a pliable test subject to mould into his ideal spouse. He covets not only her resemblance to another woman, but also her childishness and vulnerability, which he takes advantage of by kidnapping her when her guardians understandably withhold their blessing. As much as the tale draws parallels between Murasaki and Genji’s unfortunate childhood circumstances – children born to low-ranking mothers by fathers already married to more powerful women, and thus largely unacknowledged – to imply that they are destined for each other (Bargen: 1997: 110), and goes on to portray the bulk of their marriage as being as “open and settled” as one could wish (Morris: 1964: 233), realistically Murasaki will never be Genji’s one-and-only. Furthermore, true love itself can never be enough for her; such women lived “on a knife edge” (Bowring: 2004: 27). The child Murasaki can only enjoy so much attention from her new guardian-cum-fiancé because his first wife, who is more importantly his social equal, conveniently dies as soon as Murasaki is old enough for Genji to consummate their relationship in “Aoi” (Morris: 1964: