Imagine the life of a courtier in the Japanese emperor’s court a thousand years ago. Few can, simply due to the lack of reputable historic sources from this period. Yet we are able to glimpse into the inner workings of the Heian (794-1185 CE) court largely due to the musings of one person: Sei Shōnagon (清少納言), gentlewoman of Empress Teishi (Sadako).

Concrete facts about the author are elusive. Sei Shōnagon was born circa 966 CE, and the last reference to her was in 1017 CE. She lived during the height of the Heian period, during which Japanese culture flourished beyond the Chinese influences it received during the Nara period (710-784 CE). Sei Shōnagon was the daughter of Kiyohara no Motosuke—or, in more modern naming conventions, Kiyohara Motosuke—a poet and providential governor. Her current epithet is derived from aspects of her family: Sei (清) is a shortening of her family name, an alternative Sinitic reading of kiyo. Shonagon is derived from the common practice of referring to gentlewomen by the court ranking of a close male relative. She is also known for being endlessly witty and talented, facts that shine through in her writing. 

Much of what is known about her and, by extension, the Heian-era court, comes from her book Makura no Sōshi (枕草子), or The Pillow Book. Written on a bundle of paper gifted to Sei Shōnagon by her empress, it is a diary written in the style of the zuihitsu (随筆, literally ‘following the brush’) genre, with one thought flowing seamlessly into the next. The topics of her writings consist of a collection of poems, essays, and contemplations that record the happenings of her time in court—often, these blend into each other, as if the reader were greeted directly with Sei Shōnagon’s stream of consciousness. Later editors divided her writing into sections, which are often included in modern editions. Makura no Sōshi, along with Murasaki Shikibu’s Genji Monogatari, is one of the crowning literary achievements of the Heian period.

The court life of Sei Shōnagon is almost entirely foreign to modern audiences, even to those with peripheral knowledge of Japanese culture. The world described in her diary is detached from the lives outside of the palace, reminiscent of the lavish, cloud-embellished scenes from Yamato-e works that developed during the late Heian period—gilded, blissful, otherworldly. Nevertheless, Sei Shōnagon’s vivid descriptions and attention to relations within the court, all delivered in her witty style, endear the reader to her as if transporting us over a millennium.

What we know of her life begins—and ends—with her service to her empress, the center of her sequestered world. Empress Teishi held a precarious position within the court. She came from the powerful Fujiwara family, and her marriage to the emperor was arranged by her father, the Fujiwara Michitaka, who was arguably the most powerful man in court until his untimely death in the year 995 CE. Michitaka’s youngest brother, Fujiwara Michinaga, ascended to Michitaka’s former position and established his daughter Shōshi as First Empress in 1000 CE. Teishi gave birth in the same year, but she died two days later, prompting Sei Shōnagon to leave the court. 

Despite the tragedy of her mistress’s status, however, The Pillow Book focuses primarily on what Sei Shōnagon considered okashi—delights that colored court life. Even descriptions of things that endlessly irritated Sei Shōnagon seem humorous and airy in her voice. As one of The Pillow Book’s English translators, Meridith McKinney, described, “her gaze is determinedly, almost perversely, fixed on the delights to be found in court life; if sorrow momentarily clouds her sky, it is there only to provide the backdrop for some delightful event that relieves it with laughter.”

Aesthetic Sensibilities

A courtier’s wardrobe was one of the primary languages for evaluation. Sei Shōnagon’s excellent eye for detail enlightens the reader on the complexities of formal court wear. One’s formal wear was largely designated by rank. A notable example is the imperial color olive-green, kikujin, which only the Emperor, with the exception of Chamberlains, could wear. 

The significance of a courtier’s wear is most apparent in [83] Splendid things: “A Chamberlain of the sixth rank. He is quite a splendid sight in those special green robes he’s allowed to wear, and he can wear damask, which even a high-ranking young nobleman is forbidden.” Sei Shōnagon continued, “[lower-ranking children and officials] look quite inconsequential, at the time, but if they become Chamberlains they undergo an astonishing transformation….from the magnificent way they’re received you’d think they were heavenly beings descended to earth!” A single color can radically change one’s impression of a courtier. 

Combinations of colors were also vital to showcasing one’s aesthetic inclinations. Courtiers would layer combinations of seasonal colors, invoking seasonal flora. Gentlewomen in particular wore extensive layers of silk, each layer visible through a sliver of sleeve.

Poetry 

Poetry is woven into almost every page of The Pillow Book. Within Sei Shōnagon’s many, many lists, oftentimes the subjects involved poetic references to major works such as those in the Kokinwakashu. These poetic allusions require a dizzying array of notes to understand, thereby highlighting Sei Shōnagon’s intelligence. McKinney noted, “It would seem…that poetic allusion was woven into every elegant conversation [in court], and almost any occasion could be turned to the purposes of poetic composition.” To be a courtier in the Heian period was to be poetically inclined—in fact, most personal letters included poetry to some degree, especially romantic poems. One’s ability to recognize and compose poems, oftentimes on the fly, contributed directly to one’s personal relationships. Poetry becomes especially significant when considering the position of a gentlewoman such as Sei Shōnagon. Gentlewomen of a court would have had little connection to the outside world, spending most of their time indoors with their mistress. Letters, and by extension, poetry, would have been one of the only ways for a gentlewoman to interact with others.

McKinney continued, “Anyone who hoped to be admired and accepted had to be deeply knowledgeable about the poetic canon…and able to weave apposite allusions to them into her or his own occasional poetry.” 

Throughout numerous instances throughout the book, readers are greeted with Sei Shōnagon’s brilliance. Not only is she able to respond to her peers’ references with whip-quick wit, but she does so while navigating through gender norms within the court. 

Following the Nara period, Chinese culture remained prevalent within court life, even during this flourishing of Japanese culture. Women, however, were expected to learn the “womanly” Japanese aspects of culture, while men were expected to study Chinese classics for their future positions. This included a linguistic differentiation between men and women: women studied the phonetic Japanese scripts, hiragana and katakana, that are said to have originated during this period, while men studied Chinese. It was considered unseemly for a gentlewoman to demonstrate substantial knowledge of Chinese culture. Here, readers will see a clear distinction between Sei Shōnagon and her contemporary, Murasaki Shikibu.

Murasaki Shikibu is known to have unabashedly demonstrated her knowledge of Chinese culture. She had mastered the Chinese script when the average gentlewoman only knew common terms, and clearly exhibited her knowledge of Chinese literature, particularly Chinese poetry. 

Sei Shōnagon, by contrast, displayed her knowledge in much more subtle ways. The Pillow Book includes accounts from when Sei Shōnagon alluded to, but never directly referenced, Chinese literature. In section [77], she was sent a letter from her acquaintances as a test: they had written the first line of a paired Chinese couplet poem with the question, “How should it end, tell me?” Court norms dictated that Sei Shōnagon responding in Chinese would have been uncouth as a gentlewoman, so she opted to respond in kind—Sei Shōnagon composed the last line of a new poem in Japanese, alluding to the original work with the expectation that her counterpart would complete her poem with their own words. This, reportedly, stumped her recipients.

There are many other allusions to both Chinese and Japanese poems throughout The Pillow Book. The depth of her knowledge no doubt amazed even her fellow courtiers—a reader with any amount of education in Chinese literature would have recognized Sei Shōnagon’s brilliance in her poetic works. 

Romance

In the Heian-era court, romantic relationships and, by extension, marriages were much looser than what the average modern reader would be familiar with. It was normal for a man to have had multiple lovers whose homes he would visit. For gentlewomen such as Sei Shōnagon, who resided in her mistress’s palace, many of her interactions with men would have been through blinds that marked off the “rooms” of an inner court. 

In romance, once again, poetry becomes a key player. Men who visit women during the night were expected to send their lovers letters, called kinuginu no fumi (後朝の文), next-morning letters, the coming morning. 

General mentions of romantic escapades are interspersed throughout the book; however, Sei Shōnagon mentions very little of her own romantic relationships beyond simple flirtations. There are no mentions of a husband or children in the book, and she very well may have died unmarried and without children. These facts perhaps were not important enough to Sei Shōnagon for her to have recorded them. This book, after all, was about her delights within her court life that revolved around her mistress. 

Closing

While reading The Pillow Book, a reader would suspect that Sei Shōnagon had not experienced many troubles beyond superficial ones; however, her contemporaries and modern readers know this to be untrue. Her mistress’s precarious position within the court would have been a well-known fact, and Sei Shōnagon could not have remained unaffected by Empress Sadako’s fall from power following her father’s death. The Pillow Book, nonetheless, rarely mentions this political turmoil. 

In the closing supplemental passages, Sei Shōnagon writes, “Overall, I have chosen to write about the things that delight, or that people find impressive, including poems as well as things such as trees, plants, birds, insects and so forth…. I merely wrote for my personal amusement things that I myself have thought and felt.” In its earliest stages, The Pillow Book must have worked as Sei Shōnagon’s diary. Certain portions of the writing imply that her work was shared with others. Although she claims a courtier found her writings by accident, scholars debate whether this is to put on airs. Sections have insertions that Sei Shōnagon added after hearing outside opinions, so following the spread, Sei Shōnagon was likely at the very least cognizant of her audience while writing. 

Perhaps Sei Shōnagon’s depiction of her court life is an act of devotion toward her mistress, depicting her as an ever-graceful being—so as to protect her mistress’s image within the hostile imperial court. Although Sei Shōnagon mentions specific events, she often omits the mention of time entirely: the Japanese language allows her to use time-neutral verbs, making the world illustrated to the reader seem, as McKinney puts it, “quite literally, timeless.” Another possibility is that Sei Shōnagon’s refusal to depict these negative aspects of her life was a form of escapism. Regardless, the Sei Shōnagon that modern readers are privy to is the witty, intelligent—if a little conceited and sheltered—gentlewoman, who enjoyed naps on rainy days and stylish outfits. Whatever the book’s original purpose was, reading The Pillow Book allows the reader to view court life through her “delightful” rose-tinted glasses.

Sei Shōnagon’s charm and sensitivity to the world around her make The Pillow Book a riveting read, depicting a world that seems so completely foreign to our modern society, with occasional bursts of raw human experience that transcend time.

The Pillow Book focuses primarily on what Sei Shōnagon considered okashi—delights that colored court life. Even descriptions of things that endlessly irritated Sei Shōnagon seem humorous and airy in her voice. As one of The Pillow Book’s English translators, Meridith McKinney, described, “her gaze is determinedly, almost perversely, fixed on the delights to be found in court life; if sorrow momentarily clouds her sky, it is there only to provide the backdrop for some delightful event that relieves it with laughter.”