Japanese Literary Terms

By Neil Plakcy

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When I began writing my series of stories based on the concepts of Japanese healing fiction, I discovered that there are many uniquely Japanese literary terms. The popularity of this form, of haiku, and even of K-drama, can help with all kinds of writing. Here are fifteen of the ones I’ve found, along with ways they can be used to generate emotional depth in your work. You don’t need to use the specific term—just understand how it can be used.

Aware

You can use the Japanese term aware (AH-WAH-RAY) to recognize that many of the objects in your work may have an emotional resonance, with feelings of sadness, patriotism, or happiness. Examples include a childhood home, seeing Olympians in the colors of the United States flag, the photo of a dead relative.

Hibiki

(HE-BEE-KEY) means echo. When the gray sky echoes the emotional despair of the character. When the noise of contractors working outside reflects the anger in a conversation.

Jo-ha-kyū

This concept of modulation and movement suggests actions should begin slowly, speed up, and then end swiftly. Compare this to the traditional three or four-act structure in genre fiction.

Kaori

(KAH-OH-REE) literally means scent or fragrance, but it has a deeper meaning in Japanese literature. For fiction writers, it can relate to the way we evoke the same feeling with very different images. Both a puppy lost in the rain and a newly divorced man might have kaori.

Karumi

(KAH-RUE-ME) means lightness, and the Japanese poet Basho used it to represent the beauty of ordinary things spoken of in a simple way. Sometimes we don’t need elaborate language or metaphors to convey feeling. An empty coffee mug left on the desk of a departed co-worker could be just a mug—or it could reflect something about the impermanence of friendship or business connections or the harshness of an economic recession.

Kidai

(KEY-DAY'EE) is a Japanese way of using metonyms. “Hollywood” represents the motion picture industry, and the White House stands for presidential power.

Kigo

(KEY-GO) are nouns which imply the season because they have been traditionally associated with certain times of the year in Japanese literature and/or real life. Daffodils and jonquils are among the first flowers of spring. With their variegated petals of red and yellow, chrysanthemums represent autumn.

Komorebi

The literal meaning of this word is the dappled sunlight filtering through trees, but it can remind us to bring gentle beauty into our works.

Ma

Ma represents the importance of emptiness in a composition. Consider the pause between action and response, between two characters expressing emotion. Ma signifies a moment of contemplation or a pause within a piece. 

Mono no aware

The addition of "mono" (things/objects) transforms the concept into an awareness of the transient nature of all things and the gentle sadness that comes with this understanding. It's not just about feeling touched or moved—it's about recognizing the inherent impermanence in beauty and life itself. This concept can be useful when you have a reflective character considering his or her past.

Mono no aware is a Japanese idiom that conveys a deep awareness of the impermanence of things and the sadness that comes with it. 

A classic example that illustrates the difference: When viewing cherry blossoms...

• Aware might be the simple emotional response to their beauty

• Mono no aware would be the bittersweet appreciation of their beauty precisely because they are fleeting, combined with the recognition that this very impermanence is what makes them so meaningful in Japanese culture
  

Mushin

(MOO-SHE'N) refers to a mental state of complete focus and clarity, free from distractions and emotional turmoil. In English, we might consider that “flow.” Consider how you can use this to show your character at work or at play.

Sabi

(SAH-BEE) signifies age or loneliness. Use an image in your writing that expresses something aged or weathered with a hint of sadness because of being abandoned. A boarded-up building in a city, or an old barn in the countryside.

Wabi

(WAH-BEE) means poverty, but in your writing it can be used to express something that is a result of living simply. Consider a well-lived-in kitchen, a pair of frayed jeans, or a coffee table scarred by long use.

Wabi-sabi

Combining wabi and sabi brings us to the beauty of imperfection and impermanence. You can use this to express the feeling that a character has for an object that has been well-used or damaged in the past.

Yugen

A mysterious and profound beauty that cannot be fully expressed in words, often associated with a sense of deep emotion. Compare this to Hemingway’s idea that a story is like an iceberg; only part of it is visible above the surface. What lies beneath is yugen.

The Art of Paragraphing

By Melissa Koslin

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I have read many, many books on writing craft, but I rarely see much about one of the most basic aspects of writing.

Paragraphing.

See what I did there? By making that one word its own paragraph, I called it out. Gave it more attention. Drew your eye to it.

As writers, our main job is to create a world in the reader’s mind, a world and people that seem real to us, so real that we will lose sleep to find out what happens to them. But there are other visual aspects to writing that are not in our imagination. Publishers put a lot of thought into the layout of the book—the font, how the beginning of a chapter is designed, the page headings, etc. And I think we all agree, these literal visual aspects are important. They make the book look and feel professional, and they stay out of the way—if they bring too much attention to themselves, they’ve been done wrong. Paragraphing is similar in that it’s not often noticed consciously by the reader. But it does have a subconscious affect.

Ever flip through a book, see huge blocks of text, and put it back on the shelf? Those books feel heavy, feel like they’ll be a slog to get through. Not exactly how writers want their fiction stories to be perceived.

Know why people are attracted to dialogue in books? Why it makes it feel like a faster pace? Part of that is due to paragraphing. Most conversation is a sentence or two, or even a single word, back and forth between two or more characters, and each time a different character talks, it’s a new paragraph. Of course, there are some books where it’s more of a soliloquy than a conversation—this is dialogue gone bad. No one wants to listen to a speech. Pretty much ever. 

You can accomplish this feeling of a faster pace without dialogue, if done properly. This is especially true in action scenes. I’m a suspense writer, with a focus on fight scenes, so I write a lot of action. Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming book The Lost Library. Notice how short the paragraphs are and how it creates a sense of quickened pace and intensity.

“I don’t think so.” She backed away, keeping her gaze on him and peripherally watching everything else around her.

He lunged and grabbed her bag.

Cali glared. “Back off.”

He yanked at her bag, but she had it slung across her body—exactly for this type of circumstance. As he yanked, he pulled her off balance, but she took a step and strengthened her stance, all while continuing to glare at him.

He raised a hand to slap her, but she blocked. Then she used both hands to shove him away.

A curse slurred from his lips.

He shifted, and she thought he was going to leave, but he came at her.

She blocked a punch and threw a kick at his groin. But she didn’t quite connect the kick—his legs were too close together.

As she was pulling her leg back to the ground, he swung his fist again. This time, it connected with her cheek.

Rage filled her like boiling water. She attacked with an elbow across his chin. And then the other elbow, and a kick to the groin. This time, her foot connected.

He stumbled back and fell.

She ran.

She felt guilty for not calling the police and pressing charges, making sure he didn’t try mugging someone else. But she couldn’t take the risk. Invisibility was her best defense.

However, paragraphing needs to be appropriate for the scene. Let’s say the characters are having a deep conversation. In these circumstances, longer paragraphs are often called for. Though we can’t let them get too long, or it starts to feel like boring blathering. What I like to do is throw in an occasional one-word paragraph, or maybe a short phrase. This draws attention and intensifies that one word. Even more so than in fight scenes because that one word is juxtaposed by longer paragraphs. Of course, we can’t randomly do this, so we need to keep an eye out for opportunities that feel organic, that intensify the emotion.

As writers, we have many tools at our disposal to make the reader see what we want them to see and feel what we want them to feel, and the best tools are the ones of which the reader isn’t even aware.

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Melissa Koslin is a fourth-degree black belt in and certified instructor of traditional Taekwondo. In her day job as a commercial property manager, she secretly notes personal quirks and funny situations, ready to tweak them into colorful additions for her books. She and Corey, her husband of twenty-five years, and their young daughter live in Yulee, Florida, where they do their best not to melt in the sun. Find more information on her books at MelissaKoslin.com.