"The Printmaker's Daughter" (by Catherine Govier)

The Printmaker’s Daughter is the story of Oei, the daughter of Hokusai, the famous printmaker. (You probably know him from the near-ubiquitous The Great Wave.) The homely and awkward daughter of his second wife, Oei learns the art of painting from her father, becoming his helper and protege and rejecting traditional roles for women. But even as she bucks norms, Oei remains dutifully bound to her father and the tense relationship that happens when the student begins to surpass the master. And against the backdrop of nineteenth-century Edo Japan, the isolated country can no longer keep the rest of the world out.

As I began to read The Printmaker’s Daughter, I will admit to a bit of hesitation. Perhaps it’s just because the only other piece of historical fiction set in Japan I’ve read is Memoirs of Geisha, which has its problematic elements, or because we talked about white Canadian women writing about other cultures in my children’s and young adult literature class last semester, but the fact that a white and Western woman had written this made me, whether rightly or wrongly, prepare myself a little for the romanticization of Japan. It never came. Govier, for whom this is her tenth novel, renders Edo Japan with warts and all—or should I say prostitutes and all? Early in the novel, Oei and Hokusai befriend Shino, a noblewoman sold into a brothel as punishment for defying her husband. But it’s not just that. Oei and Hokusai are poor and working class artisans in a society that habitually bans certain art forms as decadent; they’re forever dodging debts, the law, and changing their names. And we get to see how this society interacts with the scant pieces of the West that come—specifically, the Dutch, as they alternately reject and embrace them.

Oei herself is not a sentimental woman by any means, which adds to the warts and all feel of the setting. (I was weirdly delighted by the fact that Oei is unattractive. As an adult, she never bemoans it, even as she recognizes the fact, and instead takes pride in her work and the utility of her body.) Ultimately, she’s just like her father—earthy, artistic, and proud—even as she bemoans his eccentricities. Obviously, the father-daughter relationship is at the heart of the novel. While it spans Oei’s entire life from her own clear-eyed perspective (except for a bizarre and needless dip into the mind of a Dutch doctor she befriends briefly), Hokusai lived to a ridiculously old age. After he dies, it’s a challenge for her to find an identity separate from his, as society now demands, and she never really manages the trick. Hokusai himself is charming, frustrating, and often inscrutable, but the two understand each other. I will say that I was slightly disturbed by the incestuous overtones Govier nods to once or twice—Oei remembers the feeling of her father carrying her as a child as a sexual one and later draws a piece concerning a woman being seduced by father and son. On her website for the book, Govier states that “with a father and daughter there is a sexual pull”. In the novel itself, the two hints are easy enough to gloss over, but I feel obligated to mention it, as I now cannot unsee it.

The pace, writing, and structure are pretty straight-forward and very common in historical fiction, especially historical fiction giving voice to the unsung women of history. (I did enjoy the fact that Oei struggles with being overshadowed by her father in reality; her story isn’t merely untold.) But the aforementioned random dip into the mind of the Dutch doctor is jarring, especially since Oei’s conversations with him include questioning gender roles in Japanese society and therefore pretty important. My notes include eye-rolling, as I immediately assumed they would hook up. (They, mercifully, do not, although Oei pines after him a little. Someday, guys, someday…) There’s also a tendency to introduce things with establishing them. For instance, while talking with the Dutch doctor, Oei asks about Shakespeare’s daughter, having dreamed up a life similar to her own for the woman and wondered about her for some time. Except that that moment is the first moment Oei brings the thought up. It gets worse later, when we’re introduced to Oei’s niece, who befriends her late in life, with a handwave that they’ve just become friends, despite Oei’s tense relationship with the girl’s father. It’s just as jarring as diving into someone’s head in the story of this particular woman’s life.

Bottom line: The Printmaker’s Daughter reasonably good piece of historical fiction about the overshadowed daughter of Hokusai, but the pinch of incest and lack of establishment hurt it. If you’d like.

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Based on exhaustive research into the life of famed painter and printmaker Hokusai, this novel postulates that much of his work, particularly in his dotage, was actually that of his daughter and chief protégée, Oei. Born in 1800 in Edo (now Tokyo), Oei is her father’s favorite, and his only child displaying a talent for drawing equal to his own. Oei follows her father to the Yoshiwara, the licensed red-light district of Edo, where he sketches the courtesans. Among these is Shino, a noblewoman sold into prostitution as punishment for some unknown transgression. Shino becomes Hokusai’s mistress and teaches the young Oei manners and martial arts. After Shino marries, Hokusai and Oei travel throughout Japan and Hokusai becomes obsessed with the sea, which will be the subject of his best-known masterpiece, Great Wave Off Kanagawa. Never considered pretty (her prominent jaw earns her the nickname Ago-Ago, or chin-chin), Oei attracts lovers with her wit and talent and charms a Dutch art connoisseur. A brief marriage ends in divorce because Oei eschews housework and smokes and drinks sake like a man. For Hokusai, family exists only to serve his art. After his other children (and wives) either flee or die, Oei becomes her father’s sole partner and caregiver. Their fortunes wax and wane with the vagaries of artistic fashion, not to mention the caprices of the ruling Shogun and his censors. Among their bestselling products are Beauties, scrolls depicting life among the courtesans, and shunga—pornography. As Hokusai ages (his life-span extends to an unheard-of, for that period, 90), he suffers from palsy, and Oei acts as his ghost-painter. While symbiotically joined to her father, Oei wonders if, after helping to prolong her father’s life, she will ever have her own.

Although her story is hamstrung by an episodic and gangly narrative structure, Oei’s quandary will resonate with female artists today.

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Recounting the story of her life, Oei plunges us into the colourful world of nineteenth-century Edo, in which courtesans rub shoulders with poets, warriors consort with actors, and the arts flourish in an unprecedented moment of creative upheaval. Oei and Hokusai live among writers, novelists, tattoo artists, and prostitutes, evading the spies of the repressive shogunate as they work on Hokusai’s countless paintings and prints. Wielding her brush, rejecting domesticity in favour of dedication to the arts, Oei defies all expectations of womanhood—all but one. A dutiful daughter to the last, she will obey the will of her eccentric father, the man who created her and who, ultimately, will rob her of her place in history.

Vivid, daring, and unforgettable, The Printmaker’s Daughter shines fresh light on art, loyalty, and the tender and indelible bond between a father and daughter.

Set in 19th century Japan, the Edo period, The Printmaker's Daughter is a fascinating rendering of life’s hardships for Japanese women and artists in that era. Oei is the favourite daughter of her famous master painter artist father, Hokusai. Despite Hokusai’s fame, his family was truly poor. Born to him late in life, she immediately enchanted him because of her aptitude for art and her vivid personality, unusual for Japanese women. When he leaves his family to pursue his art, he takes his favourite child with him. Despite the restrictions imposed on her, she served as a dutiful business partner to her father, keeping his accounts, helping his students, and even secretly completing some of his art projects. He struggled against strict government control and strong sentiments against artists. He took his daughter along with him in his travels, leaving her in the care of courtesans in the pleasure district so he could work. Oei struggles to find a balance between honing her talent as an artist and learning the womanly household arts expected of a young woman in such a strict culture. She also grapples with her allegiance to a father she equally resents is sometimes repulsed by – a man truly selfish in his pursuits with poor appreciation for the Oei’s own sacrifices.

In this dual biographical historical novel about Oei and Hokusai’s lives, readers will experience rich details of Japanese life. Told in first person narrative through Oei’s point of view, this is a beautifully written and well-researched story. As with most biographical historical novels, I did find the pace slow at various points in the story. This is normal and to be expected; after all, true life is not always filled with constant turmoil and conflict. Therefore, readers should understand this and enjoy the story for what it is - an accurate portrayal of two struggling artists who left an indelible mark upon history, art, and culture in Japan. The novel describes a world far removed from that which we know in the West.

Oei’s story is one of dauntless courage to overcome cultural restrictions for women of the time. Through beautiful prose, the writer evokes emotion and I could not help becoming fascinated with this exotic story, especially when given glimpses into the brothel life and prostitution.