A Great Woman of the Meiji Era

As I mentioned in my previous blog, 

in fifth grade I moved from Chōfu to my grandmother’s house in Setagaya.
Just five minutes from the station, 

it was a spacious home with a garden as large as the house itself, 

comfortable enough for six of us including my grandmother.

Remarkably, my grandmother bought this house almost on her own.

It was about 8 times larger than my new home. 

Later my mother had to sell the house for financial reasons. 

It was so big that no one could buy it all at once—she sold it in halves.

You might say, “Well, houses and land were cheaper back then.” 

True, but remember: my grandmother was born in 1908, the 41st year of Meiji. 

How many women of that era bought a house with their own earnings? 

She had a university degree, worked as an editor at a major publisher, and eventually became an executive. 

I suspect she was among the best-paid women of her time.

This grandmother and I were not blood relatives; she was my mother’s stepmother.

In fact, I had four grandmothers, three on my mother’s side.

The first—my real grandmother—was a wild one who eloped with a painter, divorced, and later ran a mahjong parlor.

The second is the editor I’m writing about here.

The third was a famous actress, never married but said to have been my grandfather’s lover in his later years. 

We called her the “Ései-Ball's Grandma,” after the crumbly wheat cookies she often brought us.

She was stylish, sharp, full of outrageous jokes, and carried an unmistakable aura.

My mother used to say:

“Your grandfather had terrible taste in women—he only ever married monsters.”

Perhaps she felt that way because she grew up caught in the power struggles of three mothers.

The truth is, each of these women had a will of iron, 

fierce self-assertion, and values carved in stone. 

For women of that time, they were extraordinary. 

Today, women can earn like men because society allows it. 

Back then, to compete—and even surpass men—took more than effort, brains, or luck. 

It required an exceptional spirit.

My grandfather, a staunch liberal, loved such fiercely independent women. 

For a man of his generation, I assume, that was unusual.

As a child, however, I wasn’t fond of the “Sakurajōsui Grandma” (the editor). 

She rarely smiled, never joked, was strict—and, bluntly, plain. 

Well, looks didn’t matter; she wasn’t competing on those terms. 

Still, she resembled Yasunari Kawabata made even sterner and turned into a woman. 

You know Kawabata, right? 

He was a Nobel Prize–winning novelist—and he looked just like that.

Children are conservative creatures. 

Just like most men, 

they prefer young women who are pretty, healthy, and cheerful. 

My grandmother was the opposite.

Only later did I realize how cool she was. 

In a man’s world—or really, in human society—

she built a house on intellect alone, never leaning on feminine charm. 

With age, that achievement strikes me more deeply.

That said, my grandfather later fell in love with the actress, 

leading to a swamp of jealousy and resentment.

From the age of five or six, I knew never to mention one grandmother in front of the other. My mother often recounted their love triangle, and I loved the stories,  

like the time the editor grandma threw water in the actress grandma’s face! 

My mother once said:

“The first time I saw the Ései-Boru Grandma, I knew: 

 as a woman, the Sakurajōsui Grandma could never match her.”

At ten years old I nodded: “I get it. Makes sense.”

Unwilling to divorce, my grandmother expanded the house and built my grandfather a study so he couldn’t leave. 

As a child I didn’t understand. 

Now, after nearly making myself sick worrying over renovation costs and ultimately buying a place with bathroom and kitchen already redone, I do. 

Her ability to pull it off was remarkable.

Grandfather couldn't enjoy a fine study, even fit for meetings, 

the stress consumed him and he died. 

The grand, calculated battle suddenly lost all meaning. 

Almost literary in its futility.

When I think of my grandmother, 

I marvel: some women are truly extraordinary.

Well… whether I’d want to be like her myself is another matter.