I’m currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden, which was adapted to a feature film starring Zhang Ziyi in 2005. The book is a fascinating insight into a whole new world. I’ve only read the first third of the book and I find it hard to put down. The story is a first-person account of Sakamoto Chiyo’s life and her journey to become a Geisha. I would strongly recommend this book to anyone with even the slightest interest in Japanese culture and history. Truly an enlightening read.
Fine. I concede. I fell for it.
Recently I was shocked at the suggestion this book was fiction. You see it starts off with a rather convincing “translator’s note” from a Professor of Japanese at NYU detailing his relationship with a Geisha. Their friendship developed over the years inevitably leading to her dictating her memoirs to this professor. The story then proceeds in the first person from Sayuri/Chiyo’s point of view.
While reading I found myself continually remarking at the astonishing level of detail this Geisha was able to recall, especially her early childhood. There were even occasional quirks of English I mistook for translation artefacts. The the illusion that this was a factual account somehow added a certain magical quality to the story. I felt a sincere privilege to be reading the personal memories of one of the most renowned Geisha in Japan.
Now for the betrayal.
I flicked to the end to find the “acknowledgements’ of an author claiming with much smugness that “the character of Sayuri and her story are my own inventions. The historical facts of a geisha’s day-to-day life in the 1930s and 1940, however are based on extensive research.”
But then, reconciliation.
After initial disappointment at the abrupt destruction of my blissful ignorance, I resolved to appraise Golden for his efforts. I could have sat there condemning his stealthy deceit but the man has created a truly enveloping fable, and such imagination can only be admired.