To walk through Japan in search of Junichiro Tanizaki is to seek not just places, but a particular quality of light—or, more precisely, a certain quality of shadow. He was a writer obsessed with aesthetics, a cartographer of sensuality who charted the shifting landscapes of a nation caught between a gilded past and a tumultuous future. His life was a pilgrimage in itself, a dramatic arc from the electric gleam of modern Tokyo to the hushed, amber-toned corridors of Kyoto and Ashiya. To follow his path is to understand how a place can shape an artist, and how an artist can, in turn, forever change the way we see a place. It’s a journey that reveals the soul of Japan, not in its grand monuments, but in the texture of a lacquered bowl seen in candlelight, the rustle of a kimono, and the quiet dignity of an old wooden house. Our journey will take us from the bustling streets where his rebellious genius was forged to the tranquil gardens where his masterpieces were penned, uncovering the very scenes that bled into the pages of classics like The Makioka Sisters and the profound essay In Praise of Shadows. We are chasing the ghost of a feeling, an atmosphere he so brilliantly captured, a Japan that still whispers to those who know where to listen.
This literary pilgrimage echoes the experience of following the footsteps of a literary giant in Portugal and Lanzarote.
Echoes of a Modern Boy: Tanizaki’s Tokyo Genesis
Every story has its origin, and for Junichiro Tanizaki, that origin was the vibrant, chaotic, and relentlessly advancing city of Tokyo at the dawn of the 20th century. Born in Nihonbashi, the merchant core of old Edo, he belonged to two worlds. The scent of woodblock prints from his family’s printing business intertwined with the new, foreign aromas of industry and Western imports. This duality—the profound pull of tradition and the alluring shimmer of the new—became the central conflict of his life and art. His Tokyo was a city casting off its samurai-era skin for a suit and tie, a place of gas lamps, clanging streetcars, and a burgeoning, sometimes reckless, sense of modernity. It was here that Tanizaki, the ‘Modern Boy,’ first honed his pen, not to celebrate the new age, but to delve into its dark, thrilling, and often perverse undercurrents.
Nihonbashi and the Birth of a Diabolical Aesthetic
To grasp Tanizaki’s early work, one must first picture the Nihonbashi of his youth. This wasn’t merely a district; it was the ‘zero mile marker’ from which all roads in Japan were measured, the epicenter of commerce and culture for centuries. Even as Western architecture began to grace the skyline, the area maintained the dense, intimate energy of the Edo period. Narrow alleys, hidden shrines, and the lingering spirits of the pleasure quarters beat beneath the surface of Meiji-era progress. It was in this setting that Tanizaki penned stories like The Tattooer, a tale steeped in a uniquely Japanese eroticism that feels both ancient and startlingly modern. The story’s fixation on a woman’s skin as a canvas for sublime, terrifying art could only have emerged in a place where beauty and danger stood so closely side by side.
A visit to Nihonbashi today calls for some imagination. The great wooden bridge has been replaced by a stone structure overshadowed by an expressway, a stark symbol of the very transformations Tanizaki witnessed. Yet, the spirit of the place persists. You can sense it in the grand, historic Mitsukoshi department store, a pioneer of its era, or in the tranquility of nearby shrines like Fukutoku Shrine, an urban sanctuary. To truly connect with Tanizaki’s world, explore the Coredo Muromachi complex, which elegantly blends modern design with traditional crafts. Here, you can find shops selling gold leaf, lacquerware, and artisanal knives—items that reflect the deep aesthetic sensibility Tanizaki later championed. Walking these streets, you can almost sense the tension he experienced: the friction between the refined, inherited beauty of Japanese craftsmanship and the raw, untamed energy of a city hurtling toward an uncertain future.
Ginza and the Café Culture
While Nihonbashi represented his traditional roots, Ginza was his playground of rebellion. In the 1910s and 20s, Ginza was Japan’s answer to Paris or Berlin—a dazzling stage for the moga (modern girl) and mobo (modern boy). It was a world of movie palaces, dance halls, and, most importantly, cafés. These were more than places to drink coffee; they were laboratories of Western culture, where young artists and intellectuals could experiment with new ideas, fashions, and identities. Tanizaki, drawn to Hollywood and Western aesthetics, was a natural inhabitant of this world. He embraced its glamour, its speed, and its perceived decadence—a phase he himself called ‘diabolism.’
This fascination reaches its peak in his landmark novel, Naomi (Chijin no Ai – A Fool’s Love). The story of Joji, a reserved engineer, and his obsession with transforming a young, untutored café hostess named Naomi into his ideal Western woman is a brilliant, often painful satire of Japan’s own obsession with the West. Naomi, with her Mary Pickford haircut and English phrases, embodies the spirit of Ginza—captivating, empowered, and ultimately uncontrollable. The novel takes place in the cafés and dance halls of the era, and to stroll through Ginza today is to walk through its pages. Though the original cafés may be gone, an air of sophisticated consumption lingers. Stand before the iconic Wako building with its clock tower, a Ginza landmark since the 1930s, or step into a classic kissaten like Café de l’Ambre, which preserves the Showa-era reverence for coffee. Visiting Ginza is not just about shopping; it’s about witnessing the performance of modernity, a spectacle that has unfolded on these streets for over a century—a spectacle Tanizaki both joined and expertly dissected.
The Quake that Shook a Soul: A Journey West to Kansai
The Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 was more than just a natural disaster; it was a psychic rupture that divided modern Japanese history into two distinct eras. For Tanizaki, it marked the catastrophic end of his love affair with Tokyo and its fragile modernity. The earthquake did more than topple buildings; it shattered an illusion. The Western-style brick structures he admired proved brittle, while traditional wooden buildings, designed to sway, often endured. Seeing the city he knew reduced to ash and rubble was a profound turning point, prompting a physical and artistic migration—a retreat from the ruins of a borrowed culture toward a region where he believed a more authentic, enduring Japan existed: Kansai.
From Ruin to Refuge: The Move to the Kamigata Region
The westward journey was both a retreat and a revelation. He relocated to Kamigata, a cultural region encompassing Kyoto, Osaka, and Kobe. This area was the historical heart of Japan, where the imperial court had ruled for a thousand years and where traditional arts like Kabuki and Bunraku had deeper, more resilient roots. Unlike Tokyo, which had eagerly erased its past in the name of progress, Kansai seemed to honor it. The pace was slower, the dialects softer, and the light different. This move was more than a change of address; it marked the beginning of a profound aesthetic re-education. Tanizaki began to shed his ‘diabolism’ and fascination with the West, turning his gaze inward to the subtle, shadowed beauty he found in his new home. This displacement, born of disaster, paradoxically led him to the most fertile creative ground of his life.
Yokohama’s Fleeting Charm
Before settling more deeply in Kansai, Tanizaki spent time in Yokohama. This port city, long a gateway for foreign influence, offered a different blend of East and West than Tokyo. It was less about frantic imitation and more about settled coexistence. He lived in the hilly Yamate district, historically known for its foreign residences, which featured clapboard siding, bay windows, and commanding views of the harbor. It was a place of quiet, cosmopolitan charm—a liminal space between Tokyo’s wreckage and Kyoto’s deep traditions. For a first-time visitor today, a stroll through Yamate is a step back into this transitional period. Beautifully preserved Western-style homes like Berrick Hall and the Ehrismann Residence, surrounded by rose gardens, remain. Standing in Harbor View Park, looking out over the modern port, one can feel the sea breeze that once carried new ideas and foreign goods, and imagine Tanizaki here, contemplating the ruins behind him and the unknown cultural landscape ahead.
In Praise of Shadows: Finding Japan in the Kansai Light
Tanizaki’s arrival in the Kansai region marked the beginning of his true magnum opus. It was here that his artistic vision fully matured, turning away from the glare of modernity to explore the profound beauty found in subtlety, tradition, and the nuanced interplay of light and shadow. With its deep-rooted culture and slower, more traditional pace of life, the Kansai region became both his sanctuary and muse. Immersed in its atmosphere, dialects, and aesthetics, he produced his greatest works, including The Makioka Sisters, Some Prefer Nettles, and the seminal essay defining his philosophy, In Praise of Shadows. This was not a mere rejection of modernity but a conscious choice to champion a different kind of beauty—one that was quieter, deeper, and, to him, more authentically Japanese.
Ashiya and Kobe: A Modernist’s Haven with Traditional Roots
His first major residence in the region was in the affluent suburbs between Kobe and Osaka, known for its distinctive ‘Hanshin Modernism.’ This sophisticated culture blended Western comforts with Japanese sensibilities. Wealthy merchants and intellectuals built homes featuring Western-style drawing rooms alongside traditional tatami rooms, elegantly merging two worlds. Tanizaki thrived here, settling in Ashiya in a house he called Isho-an, which became a vital setting in his literary imagination.
Isho-an was a physical embodiment of the cultural crossroads he navigated. The house itself was a dialogue between East and West, and within its walls, he wrote Some Prefer Nettles. The novel’s central conflict—a modern couple in a failing marriage, caught between a new life and the allure of traditional arts like Bunraku puppetry—mirrors the atmosphere of the house and the Hanshin region. To appreciate this period fully, a visit to the Tanizaki Jun’ichiro Memorial Museum of Literature in Ashiya is essential. The museum thoughtfully reconstructs Isho-an, allowing visitors to step directly into his world. You can feel the cool tatami beneath your feet, observe how light filters through paper shoji screens, and sit in the very rooms where he contemplated the delicate balance between tradition and modernity. Access is straightforward, typically a short train ride from Kobe or Osaka to Ashiyagawa Station, followed by a pleasant walk. The museum’s small, intimate setting provides a powerful sense of the man and his environment. Standing there, with the green Rokko Mountains visible beyond the windows, you sense the quiet, contemplative spirit that inspired his nuanced and psychologically rich stories.
Kyoto’s Whispering Alleys: The Cradle of The Makioka Sisters
If Ashiya represented a graceful compromise, Kyoto was total immersion. His move to the ancient capital marked the final stage of his artistic pilgrimage. He settled in Sakyo Ward, near Shimogamo Shrine, a leafy, tranquil area away from the main tourist routes. This was a Kyoto of quiet residential streets, babbling canals, and the ever-present aura of a thousand years of history seeping from the earth. This atmosphere of unhurried, cyclical time became the soul of his masterpiece, The Makioka Sisters.
The Shimogamo Residence and the Flow of Time
The novel, chronicling the lives of four sisters from a declining Osaka family in the years before World War II, is less a plot-driven narrative and more a rich tapestry of seasonal rhythms and cultural rituals. It is essentially a love letter to the Kansai way of life that Tanizaki feared was disappearing forever. To walk through his Kyoto is to enter the world of the Makioka sisters. A stroll along the Philosopher’s Path in spring, when cherry blossoms form a pale pink canopy over the canal, is to relive the sisters’ annual hanami (cherry blossom viewing) trips. This path, running between Ginkaku-ji (The Silver Pavilion) and Nanzen-ji Temple, is among Kyoto’s most contemplative walks. The best times to visit are early mornings or weekdays to avoid crowds, allowing the gentle atmosphere to enchant you. Visiting Heian Shrine, with its vast courtyard and stunning weeping cherry trees, feels like stepping onto the novel’s film set. You can almost hear the sisters’ quiet conversations and the rustle of their kimono. Likewise, experiencing the Gion Festival in July, with its towering floats and ancient music, connects visitors to the deep, enduring cultural pulse of the city that forms the novel’s backdrop.
In Praise of Shadows and the Aesthetics of Darkness
Living in Kyoto also solidified the ideas in his most famous essay, In Praise of Shadows. This brief work serves as a poetic manifesto against the harsh, uniform glare of Western modernity and as a celebration of the subtle beauty found in darkness. Tanizaki argues that traditional Japanese aesthetics—from lacquerware and gold leaf to architecture and theater—were designed to be appreciated in the dim, flickering light of candles or paper lanterns. In this half-light, surfaces gain depth, colors deepen, and mystery endures.
To experience this firsthand, seek out the right environments in Kyoto. Avoid the brightly lit main halls of popular temples and instead explore the sub-temples of larger complexes like Daitoku-ji or Nanzen-ji. There, in smaller, older wooden buildings, one can find the very atmosphere he describes. Sit on a quiet temple veranda, gazing at a moss garden as afternoon light fades. Notice how the wooden pillar grain seems to glow, and how shadows in the room’s corners are not empty but rich with texture and presence. For a fully immersive experience, consider dining at a traditional restaurant or staying in a classic ryokan (inn). In these spaces, where light is used sparingly and natural materials prevail, you begin to see the world through Tanizaki’s eyes, understanding why a gleaming white porcelain bowl strikes him as less beautiful than a deep, dark lacquer bowl that holds shadows within its depths.
The Bridge of Dreams: Uji and The Tale of Genji
Tanizaki’s devotion to Japanese tradition was so profound that he devoted years to a monumental task: translating the 11th-century classic The Tale of Genji into modern Japanese. This was not merely a linguistic exercise but a deep communion with the core of Japanese literary and aesthetic culture. His work on Genji naturally led him to Uji, a small city just south of Kyoto that serves as the melancholy and beautiful setting for the final chapters of the tale.
A day trip to Uji is a pilgrimage into the heart of the Heian period world that so captivated Tanizaki. Dominated by the swift-flowing Uji River and the iconic Uji Bridge, walking across the bridge is to tread upon centuries of history and legend. The ultimate destination is Byodo-in Temple, a masterpiece of Heian architecture whose Phoenix Hall famously appears on the 10-yen coin. The hall, reflected perfectly in the surrounding pond, seems to float between heaven and earth, its elegance and harmony breathtaking. To connect more deeply with Tanizaki’s work, visit the Tale of Genji Museum, which offers an evocative multimedia experience of the novel’s world, helping you appreciate the complex emotions and refined aesthetics he sought to preserve. A stroll along the river, perhaps stopping at a teahouse to sample the town’s famous matcha, completes the experience. In the quiet dignity of Uji, one can feel the unbroken thread of Japanese culture that Tanizaki dedicated his life to tracing.
The View from the Final Shore: Atami and Yugawara
In the final decades of his life, Tanizaki made one last significant change, leaving the cultural hub of Kansai for the picturesque coastal resorts of the Izu Peninsula. This move to Atami and later Yugawara, renowned for their hot springs and ocean vistas, ushered in a new phase in both his life and work. The ambiance here was distinct—less focused on the weight of ancient history and more attuned to the serene, cyclical rhythms of the sea and seasons. It was a retreat into a more private, secluded world, a place of reflection where he continued to write with remarkable energy, producing some of his most daring and introspective novels.
A Room with a View: The Later Works and Coastal Seclusion
This final period was marked by reflection on themes of aging, memory, and desire. The coastal scenery of Izu, with its dramatic cliffs, pine-covered hills, and the vast Pacific Ocean, provided an ideal setting for these deep, often unsettling explorations. From his home, he could watch the shifting light on the water, a constant yet ever-changing presence. This environment encouraged a different kind of creativity—one that turned inward. His later novels, such as The Key and Diary of a Mad Old Man, are masterpieces of psychological tension, often confined within the walls of a single home. They are both claustrophobic and expansive, probing the secret lives and forbidden desires of elderly protagonists. The quiet seclusion of his life in Atami and Yugawara allowed him to explore these complex inner worlds with unflinching honesty. He built a residence in Yugawara named “Shou-un-so,” crafted to his specific aesthetic preferences, further evidence of his lifelong pursuit of a perfect environment for his life and art.
Seeking Tanizaki’s Ghost in Izu
For modern travelers, visiting Atami and Yugawara offers an opportunity to connect with the final chapter of Tanizaki’s story. These towns remain popular onsen destinations, easily reached from Tokyo. Though his specific homes may not be open to the public, the atmosphere that inspired his late works is readily felt. Staying in a traditional ryokan here is essential. Opt for a room with a sea view and an open-air bath (rotenburo). Soaking in the hot, mineral-rich waters while listening to the waves allows one to experience the same restorative tranquility Tanizaki sought. This is a destination for slow travel. Stroll along the coastline, visit the MOA Museum of Art in Atami, which features a remarkable collection of Japanese and East Asian art resonant with Tanizaki’s aesthetic values, or simply relax in a quiet café overlooking the sea. In Izu, you are not searching for grand monuments to the author, but rather for a feeling—the peaceful, contemplative, and slightly melancholic mood that permeates his final, brilliant works.
A Pilgrimage Through Light and Shadow
To follow the path of Junichiro Tanizaki is to journey through the core of 20th-century Japan, witnessing its turbulent transformations and enduring beauty through the eyes of one of its most perceptive observers. The journey starts in the electric glow of a modernizing Tokyo, a city he both embraced and later fled. Its soul is found in the soft, diffused light of Kansai, within the quiet elegance of an Ashiya home and the timeless alleys of Kyoto, where he learned to cherish the shadows. It ends on the peaceful shores of Izu, where he spent his final years gazing at the endless sea, his focus having shifted from the external world to the vast landscapes of the human heart. This is more than a literary journey; it is a lesson in aesthetics. To visit these places is to understand that beauty is not always born in the bright and the new, but often dwells in the subtle, the aged, and the imperfect. It is to learn to see, as Tanizaki did, the deep richness concealed in shadows, and to discover the poetry lingering in the quiet corners of a swiftly changing world.
