Stranger in the Shogun's City by Amy Stanley Review

Amy Stanley’s history book Stranger in the Shogun’s City is primarily about a Japanese woman called Tsuneno who was born in the northern Japanese province of Echigo (now Niigata) in 1804 and eventually fled the dull rural life for the more exciting city life on offer in Edo (the old name for Tokyo). It’s also about Edo and the radical change that it would experience during and shortly after Tsuneno’s lifetime.

I picked this one up with the expectation that Tsuneno’s story must be a remarkable one given that she was nobody especially noteworthy but an entire book was written about her. And, disappointingly, it turned out to be a mundane life story: she married multiple times, independently made her own decisions - like going to live in Edo when she was expected to settle down in the countryside - and worked numerous menial jobs before dying fairly young at the age of 49.

I’ll give Stanley kudos for the amount of effort that went into researching this book, deciphering the complex and outdated Japanese of the time, and it’s amazing that so much primary source material still exists - Tsuneno and her family, particularly her eldest brother Giyu, were prolific letter writers and record keepers so that every scrap of correspondence was held onto.

But I feel like this one falls into the murkily politicised subgenre of feminist history where, in addition to the large amount of primary material available, the book exists to highlight a Strong, Independent Woman more than anything. Stanley makes the point in her conclusion that history tends to focus on men and their achievements, ie. Commodore Matthew Perry, who opened Japan up to trade with the outside world, rather than, say, the ordinary women who work behind the scenes to keep the wheels of society turning.

And while I agree that ordinary people’s lives of course play a part in history and teach us just as much about our past as notable historical figures do, the reason why history tends to spotlight certain individuals, like Commodore Matthew Perry, is less about sexism than it is for the obvious fact that their lives were more interesting and unique than most people’s (including ordinary men, not just ordinary women).

That’s basically why I wasn’t that engaged by this book: Tsuneno’s life just wasn’t that interesting. Stanley does bring her world to life well, explaining how society was structured - both in Echigo and Edo, contextualising the figures and events that affected Tsuneno’s life - if you’re after a portrait of early 19th century Japan, this book is for you. But that’s not what I was looking for and the extensive passages on Edo minutiae really bored me while I waited for something astonishing to happen to Tsuneno and it never did.

If nothing else, this book underlines the importance of writing for everyone, today and always - not just professional writers or wannabes, but ordinary people writing about their everyday lives. One day, assuming your correspondence survives, you too might have a future historian write a book about you!