Small Words. Big Trouble.

Sometimes it’s simpler for me to point something out in anime and, in so doing, give it context. Today’s subjects are the words “kata” (型) and “kei” (系). When playing second fiddle in a compound word, “kata” -> “gata”, but “kei” remains the same. (That’s because “H Dei” would be really, really awkward to say.)

The anime this is from is a quirky semi-romantic comedy with a lot of sex jokes. A quick viewing of the opening theme (which all but anime newbies will know as “the OP“) explains the context of the kata/gata part: various girls are being rated according to their breast sizes. (^^;) I expect this would be A-cup, B-cup, C-cup, etc. So, our heroine is a B.

The “H Kei” part is from the girl having a revved-up sex drive and is on a personal mission to lose her virginity. Her problem is that she’s squeamish about actual physical contact and relationships, which is where most of the humor comes in. Her lust is willing, but her inner maiden is not. Quite a quandary, isn’t it?

So how do we actually translate these words? As it often is, we first need to understand what the words do in their own language before mastering what they do in ours.

Things vs. People

At its most basic, “kata” covers things and “kei” covers people. 

A “kata” fundamentally represents the physical shape of something. That is why, in the industrial world, such-and-such kata generally represents a model or pattern. A “kataban” (型番) , or kata + number, usually reaches English as a pattern number. Similarly, “katagami” (型紙) – the same “gami” as in “origami”, so kata + paper = pattern paper for making dresses.

“Kei”, on the other hand, addresses groups, systems, and lineage. Have you ever heard the term nikkei? The kanji is 日系, with “sun/ Japan” and “kei”. This means of Japanese descent. Keizu (系図) is kei + map, meaning a genealogy. A direct descendant is a chokkei (直系), straight/ direct + kei.

What we’re really learning here is that the exact English words used may vary, but there is a much bigger difference between how the words are used in the Japanese language. There is no reason for confusion. A “kata” refers to a physical characteristic (in this case, breast size); a “kei” refers to the group that the heroine belongs to, namely “H” – for hentai, pervert, deviant, and so forth. (^^;)

I didn’t watch the whole show myself but it did have its silly laughs. For a mature audience, of course.

At some point animators got lazy and made the kanji on the shoulder "hyaku hyaku" instead - during the actual show.

Bonus: The Hyaku Shiki

Another word similar to those two is shiki (式). This one gave me some trouble before I was even working professionally because fictional robots using such a name don’t seem to correspond to American naming conventions. That’s right! They don’t! This actually sounds more like it’s British. After all, Japanese civilization has been in touch with lots of British naval culture for a long time.

So, we could call the “Hyaku Shiki” from Zeta Gundam, back in 1985 and a video game classic, the “Type 100” because it isn’t using “kata” for “model” in the name. Even so, there’s no way a translator would get a free hand in real life. You translate names as you’re told to and that’s the end of it.

Incidentally, the “shikigami” uses the same “shiki” as above. Actually, the term “shiki” usually relates to equation, formula, and ceremony; I view this as being all related to procedure. Put another way, a mathematical formula is a ceremonial rite of a very different kind. These are methods used to get from point A to point B, but since they’re not models or systems, they’re another kind of classification, whatever that turns out to be. – J

Most casual viewers of anime and learners of Japanese are familiar with the word sugoi (すごい), roughly equivalent to “tremendous”. However, as a matter of grammar, it’s not good to write “sugoi hayai”. That’s hayai (速い) for the adjective “fast”. The reason’s simple: “sugoi” is an adjective too. It doesn’t mesh.

When using the root of “sugoi” to add detail to “hayai”, the spelling changes to fit this new role. That’s why we use sugoku (すごく、凄く) to fit the bill. My post title’s “incredibly fast” illustrates the grammar: “incredibly” modifies “fast”. 

Incredible Speed?

So what if we change the grammar and change “fast”, an adjective, into “speed”, a noun? Well, in English, the “ly” is dropped and we get “incredible” back as a pure adjective.

Japanese isn’t much different. Speed itself would be hayasa (はやさ、速さ).  The ending sa (さ) makes nouns out of various Japanese concepts, with speed being only one. Another example would be omosa (おもさ、重さ), for “weight”. (And no, I do not mean “mass”, Japanese has another word for it. Mass is not weight, as we know from high school science.)

So our result is:

Sugoi hayasa (凄い速さ、すごいはやさ）。

Where would you use the first, then? Well “hayai” being an adjective by itself, it must be modifying something. For example:

スーパーマンがすごくはやい！

(Suupaaman ga sugoku hayai = Superman is incredibly fast!)

Faster than a speeding bullet, perhaps? – J

For someone not intending to mess with the written  Japanese language, verbs,  or doushi (動詞), are one of the largest hurdles to forming one’s own sentences in Japanese.  Forming sentences is a major positive step for the early learner.

It had been a while since I’ve been teaching another early Japanese learner, and this time, it’s a bright girl who has prior language learning experience, but whose focus is on understanding and speaking the language rather than complex reading or writing (at this stage in time). Yesterday was her first bite at the apple for learning verbs, so I considered this a critical stage.

Pleasantly, the lesson went extremely well. Her being bright helps immensely,  but success was not an  accident on  my part; I know I helped greatly through these principles:

1.  Logical progression, covering aru and iru first along with desu before starting anything else.

2. Use of taberu (“To Eat”) as a simple, easy to use verb to demonstrate present, past and progressive tenses (eats, was eating, is eating)

3.Teaching both plain and polite levels for all verbs covered

4. Avoiding negative forms (except for aru and iru, to show the negative forms of desu) to cut out fully half of the mental burden

5. Use of examples, student reading of phrases, variations in sentences, etc.,  to increase familiarity with new concepts.

For more on aru, iru, and desu, see this post.

Of course, I’l be covering the negative forms with her soon enough. It’s just futile to do so when the concept is still fresh; I would have only harmed retention for the time being. A student can only juggle so many new balls at once.

Actually, this is a key point for me. Finding a way to deliberately restrain the lesson made it far more effective. This done, I could focus attention on the matters at hand, answer good questions by the student (always a joy), and all in all, it went extremely well.

I wanted to write about this because, well, I think it’s a very positive thing, and I think I will be using this as a template for any other verb teaching (in Japanese or English) that I find myself doing in the future. Soon enough, I should be working as a webmaster too, but I’ll probably still tutor part-time.

Here’s a few thoughts, posed in a question and order format.

Q. Why teach the plain and the polite together? Classrooms only use the polite.

A. Well that’s the problem.As soon as you step out of the classroom into the real world, the “polite” level (ex.: “hito ga imasu”) isn’t the only one you encounter. You can easily encounter the “plain,” but not rude, level of speech (ex.: “hito ga iru”). If your Japanese is only valid inside a classroom, you’ll be tripped up as soon as real life departs from the script.

Q. Why all the variation in examples? Doesn’t that confuse the student?

A. The student needs to learn that there is a pattern to verbs. The most basic present tense of the verb is always its “root” form, also called the dictionary form. When you look verbs up in the dictionary, they’re under things like iru, taberu, and so on and so forth. That’s your starting point, and conjugations flow from this root. Once you learn the patterns, your familiarity level rises immensely.

Having said this, it’s variation within a range. Too much will bury a student, so familiarity with a restrained number of variables is needed first. You can add more later.

Q. Why teach the progressive tense at such an early stage?

A. Because “John eats an apple” isn’t especially natural sounding for normal speech, neither in English nor in Japanese. “John is eating an apple” is far more natural. That present is very useful for general statements, such as “Dolphins eat fish,” but for individual people and individual acts, the “progressive” tense (which I informally call “the continuing present” to describe it to people) is far more natural. Natural is good.

Q. Why is logical progression important?

A. Because learning a language is a different process than memorizing it. If you memorize, you will forget; if you learn,  you more or less won’t. At worst, you’ll get rusty and need to be reminded of something.

To learn a language, it needs to start making sense to you as a learner. That’s why logical progression is very important.

Also, there are certain irregular features in all the languages I know of that simply can’t be avoided; you just need to learn them the hard way. Example: the fact that nai is the simple present negative form of aru, but that it’s also used as the negative form of the copula desu. It’s also the trend-setter for all negatives in Japanese verbs.

In addition, teaching iru serves two functions: letting me preach the iron clad difference between aru and iru (the former is for inanimate objects; the latter for animate objects, i.e. people and animals and nothing else), and to show how iru is the second verb in the progressive form of taberu. That is, tabeteiru uses “iru” at the end. This means, “is eating” (as in, John is eating an apple; John ga ringo o tabeteiru.)

My Conclusions

This was a highly successful experiment. While my task was made easier by the brightness of this student, my lesson organization and complete command of the material was a big factor in her picking things up to the extent she did. Future lessons will capitalize on this, with extra grammar curtailed (in the short term) to add new vocabulary and keep raising that familiarity factor.

The key is limiting what the student has to juggle at any one time. Obviously,  a more advanced student can juggle more advanced things, but the total number of new variables has to stay at some kind of reasonable level.  Rushing would not have increased the pace of progress. The lesson was not slow, but everything was paced to give each element the student’s full attention, as well as mine.

Also, my policy of always being open to questions that interrupt my lesson (in one on one, mind you) has never been more vindicated. When a student asks a question, that student is concentrating on that issue. It increases the likelihood of what you say being remembered. Being ready to teach outside the script can make that teaching a lot more effective.

I think that you still need a script… when handling fundamentals. This girl is dedicated enough to re-read my PDF format lesson at a later date, so I designed the lesson with that in mind. A script disciplines me and prevents me from going too far, too fast.

The Goal

The real goal of all this is to empower the student to create her own Japanese sentences as soon as humanly possible. This is very important for student morale, a sense of progress, keeping attention focused, and most of all, seeing new vocabulary etc. from many different angles, which helps  immensely in learning for the long term.

In other words, rather than teaching a mountain of vocabulary and then expecting someone to learn grammar by happenstance, vocabulary and grammar are used to reinforce each other. By the same token, drowning in grammar without enough vocabulary only leads to frustration; vocabulary and grammar are instead used to reinforce each other.

The result is a student who can learn  a new word and instantly try to plug it into her existing knowledge. She’s not always going to succeed the first time, but that thought process alone is extremely valuable in strengthening long-term learning.

It’s way better than trying to memorize a foreign language.  It’s only when you feel empowered that you feel like it’s a second language. That is a goal worth aiming for. – J

One of the largest annoyances in trying to teach Japanese is that many words have differences that dictionaries will not tell you about. Some differences ought to only matter to ex-translators, like me; but not all.

Among these frustrations is the fact that, without having learned Japanese natively, a learner will not have a “feel” for where one word should be used, as opposed to where another word should be used instead. Often, I have been “mostly” aware of an issue but only truly nail it down when I break out an online Japanese-to-Japanese dictionary and look at how something is used.

This stretches to the very words used to discuss studying and learning in themselves.

In modern Japanese, “to study” (as a verb) is benkyou suru. This is “benkyou” (勉強、べんきょう) as a kanji compound word, formed of kanji for “strive” and “strength”; mentally speaking, it’s about putting your back into it. The “suru” is the Japanese catch-all verb suffix, “to do.”

Now, Japanese nouns have a bias towards the plural when neither singular nor plural is indicated. So, “benkyou” by itself would be best read as studies.

The problem is, when you get to “to learn,” Japanese has two very distinct verbs, both of which are used for learning, as opposed to “studying” per se.

Verb #1: manabu (学ぶ、まなぶ)

Verb #2: narau (習う、ならう)

As you can see, these are “native Japanese” verbs rather than a compound word built out of kanji with “suru “slapped onto the end.

Now, are these verbs redundant? Quick answer: no.

As my own “benkyou” has increased over the years, I have learned that modern Japanese has very few true redundancies, and these become less and less as the language is refined by educational authorities. A lot of things that look the same in a dictionary simply aren’t exactly the same in practice; and so it is here.

The difference is that one refers to abstract learning, while the other refers to tangible learning.

In other words, manabu means to learn per se, while narau essentially means learning by rote, that is, learning by repetition via lessons.

Now we begin to see how the three are separate, if related.

The Japanese for “basics” (again, bias towards plural) is kihon (基本、きほん). So if we have a sentence saying:

nihongo no kihon o manabu

This is to learn the basics of Japanese (nihongo).

If, in contrast, we have this:

nihongo o narau

This is to learn Japanese via lessons, such as those I provide in private tutoring (chiefly over Skype).

In contrast:

nihongo no kihon o benkyou suru

This is studying the basics of Japanese. This does not necessarily involve any interaction with a teacher or tutor; you can “hit the books” all by yourself in the comfort of your own room.

Finally, for contrast:

hatsuon o narau

This is learning pronunciation, or hatsuon (発音、はつおん), through repetitive lessons. After all, unlike, let’s say, Physics or Civil Engineering, pronunciation is something that can be learned, at least to a significant extent, by rote.

Thus, you are probably safe using “manabu” for most anything having to do with learning, but “narau” should be used in the specific contexts I have laid out here. Just because the dictionary says they’re both verbs for “learn” does not mean they are identical and should be used the same way.

Benkyou ni Naru

Now, the real stumper for all this was when I came across the expression, benkyou ni naru (勉強になる). Naru is a verb that is often read as “to become,” but a really narrow reading shows its roots are in growth, so something can “grow into” something else.

The fundamental problem is that English just doesn’t swing that way. I can read this, and know what it’s trying to tell me, but I can’t directly translate it, because English uses a word with a different root to get to the same place.

This is where a video game character, the flashy American Excellen Browning comes in, from the Super Robot Wars series of mecha tactical role playing games. Unlike American game offerings, I’ve had the luxury of hearing the Japanese voice actress in a few video games that never made it to the US. But anyway, the point of this…

This girl was explaining that Ochstan Launcher, the primary weapon of her personal machine, the Weissritter (“White Knight”), a long twin-barreled weapon firing both armor-piercing bullets and a powerful beam, means “yari” in Japanese. (槍、やり) This is for “spear” and “lance.”

She follows this up by saying,

“Benkyou ni naru deshou?”  (勉強になるでしょう?）

Now, she can’t be the subject of that sentence; it must be the “yari” meaning (or imi (意味、いみ)) of “Ochstan,” which is German. (I’m using the best source I can so if that’s not a good English romanization, tough.)

So, given that this revelation is the subject, she’s giving a “deshou” statement of pretty decent conviction that her previous sentence will “benkyou ni naru,” which would have to mean, become part of one’s studies, become a matter of one’s education… OK, now we have a candidate. If it’s related to education, then perhaps it is educational.

So, you see, even though “study” isn’t part of the final version, “educate” is stretched to carry the nuance of the English-language word “educational.”

The problem is, an idiom this does not make, and this girl lives for three things: accurate shots, idioms, and really bad puns, which I won’t get into today and might take five years of “benkyou” to appreciate, anyway.

But, we can dress this up like this:

“‘Ochstan’ means ‘Lance.’ Learn something new every day!”

That’s more like it.

Puns and Lame Jokes

Speaking of Excellen’s lines, this was a different one.

“The Ochstan Launcher’s “B-Mode” stands for “Brilliant.” You believe me, right?“

She’s a gem. She really is. – J

One of my formative lessons in Japanese culture was an old National Geographic article about the cranked up, high stress, high velocity fresh fish business during the mid-80’s, when Japan was booming. It explained how no-fault apologies stop blood from running in the streets. Fascinating, really.

In other words, the Japanese aren’t polite because they don’t get angry; they’re polite because they do get angry, and require a visible effort to apologize to calm tensions. Japanese people are raised to regard the apology as a white flag, reminding of the need for peace and harmony in all things… and that violating this peace has consequences.

But no, it’s not that the other person doesn’t want to gut you with a knife for bumping into his cart and costing him thousands of dollars’ worth in raw fish. It’s that he gracefully puts this temptation aside because of societal norms.

That doesn’t mean the action is excused. It is simply tolerated, because in the above circumstances, it’s not just an issue of harmony – it’s an issue of all being involved in business, i.e. making money (金, かね、kane), so stopping to squabble is a lot less productive than moving on to the next profit-making opportunity.

There Is No Excuse

A Japanese phrase I often hear by anyone using a “serious” speaking style (esp. in a business, government or organizational context) is 申し訳御座いません (moushi wake gozaimasen).

Now, “gozaimasen” is an old, over-polite, negative existence verb (like 無い (nai), which can replace gozaimasen in less formal speech). In other words, is not. The other part, “moushiwake,” is listed in your typical J>E dictionary as “apology, excuse.”That’s not really a good way to read it, though.

It’s best to read this as excuse, because then you get the idiomatic phrase “There is no excuse,” which we may read as an apology. Indeed, as a former translator, I would be at pains to write this as anything other than “My apologies.”

Now, totally aside from the entire concepts of idioms, this isn’t like the notorious no-apology apology excuse in English. (You know, where you say “I regret if my words were misinterpreted,” thus saying it’s someone else’s abject stupidity that you are apologizing for, which isn’t much of an apology at all.) This is the no-excuse apology, as in, “I cannot excuse my actions. Through making this clear, I implicitly and truthfully apologize to you.”

Or put another way, if you say an apology does not suffice, you are apologizing nonetheless.

The cultural aspect – I don’t want to say difference really – is that when an excuse is waived, because a lot of excuses come up in life (and not just “the dog ate my homework”), the other party is hoped and expected to not be out for blood (anymore). It’s not something where the other party retains the implicit right to get more angry, insulted by an apology being in place of restitution.

When Toyota was against the rocks vis a vis unintended acceleration, people were saying that an apology was a legal precursor to suing because everyone could then say that it was an admission of guilt. I’m not sure if this was an invention of the moment or firmly based in precedent; I wasn’t under the impression that Japan was as lawsuit happy as the US, but over time, cultures can become more like each other in certain respects, too. Happens often enough. Do you think blue jeans were always a Japanese fashion staple?

Apologies Preceded By BS

The point of saying there is no excuse is to say, in effect, “I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you.” Or, I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you now. No more excuses. We’re past that.

Now, one of the principles of reading history is to understand that people writing it have biases. If monks in the 12th century were complaining about women bathing with men in hot baths (which were essentially temporary structures), it’s probably because that was happening a lot. Otherwise monks wouldn’t be complaining about it, would they?

So put very bluntly, why would the Japanese language (and through it, the Japanese culture) have a way of saying, “Let’s cut out the BS,” if there wasn’t a lot of chaff thrown up to avoid having to apologize?

Of course there is. That’s why the apology system exists as something to use as a last resort.

I’ve had a mildly amusing time reading about a Japanese playwright who’s spent time in the West, and who was complaining to an English language paper out of Japan (the Japan Times), who cited the problem of hearing “the high ups decided it” and thinking he was being lied to, that someone lower did decide something, and had just guessed what the high ups wanted. To hear a nihonjin say that is fascinating, really. Though, I rebut by saying that we don’t know that it isn’t what the high ups wanted; he just wanted to know the right person to yell at, and as a result, he was efficiently denied such information.

Obviously, some excuses are justified. Others are not. From the outside it’s hard to tell the difference; that’s the point. People who are just making excuses aren’t in a hurry to announce that to the universe. This is, if not an issue of outright lying, quite a bit of stretching the truth.

But there are legitimate excuses in this world.

The Language of Apology

訳 (わけ、wake): subjective reason. (Not to be confused with 理由 (riyuu) for reasons that are objective, scientific and otherwise beyond dispute)

申し訳 (もうしわけ、moushiwake): excuse. (“mousu” = polite verb for “to say.” As a result: “stated reason” = excuse)

言い訳 （いいわけ, iiwake): excuse. (Iu = plain version of uber-polite “mousu”)

詫び （わび, wabi): apology. (Native Japanese word; there are more elaborate kanji-based ones.)

礼儀 (れいぎ, reigi): etiquette/ courtesy.

敬語（けいご、keigo): honorific speech. (“Terms of respect,” keigo = respect + speech)

言い訳ない (いいわけない, iiwake nai): my apologies. (A less formal version)

申し訳無い (もうしわけない, moushiwake nai): my apologies. (Formal version.)

丁寧 (ていねい、teinei): courteous (adj.) (also read as polite).

丁寧語 (ていねいご, teineigo): courteous speech (also read as polite speech).

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading. – J

Onsen Master itself is all about Japanese hot springs bathing. I strongly suggest taking a look, since you can get a nice look at the Japanese culture that surrounds hot springs bathing; a good example is the luscious food shown here.

I’ve added Onsen Meijin to my blogroll, which isn’t nearly large enough but, I haven’t been doing this blog full time.

Usually, when お疲れ様です (o-tsukaresama desu) rolls off the Japanese tongue, it can be safely understood as “Thank you for your hard work.”

The “o” part means that this applies to someone else. The “tsukare” part is a direct reference to fatigue.

The “sama” part… in kanji, this is the same “sama” that is used as an honorific, but there is another, highly relevant reading here. This kanji is used in words and idioms relating to situations. Or rather, what something seems to be.

Example:

様子 (yousu) = appearance

様式 (youshiki) = pattern

様相 (yousou) = aspect

It is in this sense that 様 marks that someone else (because of the “o” honorific) seems to be tired.

The “desu” is simply a copula adding a verbal punctuation mark affirming the sentence in a polite manner (as it is the polite form, not a plain form like “da”).

So, by idiomatically remarking upon how someone else is tired, this is implicit recognition of that person’s hard work.

An Anime Pun

In the mecha anime television series Godannar, puns are heavily involved in the names of people and machinery. But never mind that. We’re focused on a different pun.

When the leading character of the show, Go (shown above), is done his “work” for the day (he’s a giant robot pilot, that’s his day job…), he gets mobbed by staff who keep going

「お疲れ様です」

in different speaking styles. At the end of the ritual, he wearily remarks

「疲れてねえよ。」

“I’m not tired.”

(The writer of this article takes a brief moment to laugh.)

Now, where it really gets funny is… at the start of the show, it’s his wedding day. (So of course some giant monster picks that day to attack. Of course.) And his angry left-at-the-altar wife pursues him all the way onto the battlefield, not being the “nobly waiting” type.

To boot, she calls him by her pet name for him, Go-chin. Rather than -chan, this uses -chin because put together, this is an… impact sound effect. gachin, gochin… it sounds very similar. It’s like the sound made when an anime hero smashes something with his fist, like Go’s personal combat style.

So with all this revealed in front of his co-workers, he is greeted with the following:

「お疲れ様です、ごーちん。」

“O-tsukaresama desu, Go-chin.”

(The author rolls on the floor, laughing.)

So after that, Go says very wearily,

「疲れてねえよ！！」

“I’m not tired…!!”

Perhaps not in a physical sense…

So there you have it. A gag based largely upon a literal response to a figurative expression.

Did you know Japanese had it in it? Did you? Well they know how to do pun gags too. Note it for future reference. – J

Yakuwari (役割、やくわり)

A yakuwari can be a duty, a role, or a part to play. The first kanji can be read as “of use,” which is a concept used in service (for if you are of use to the Emperor, you serve him and his interests). The second kanji is emphatically read as divide, as if splitting a log in two. Consequently, if this is a part, it is a part created through the division of labor.

Yaku (役), The Suffix

When we speak of such-and-such yaku, we speak of such-and-such role. This can apply to the theater, but linguistically speaking, life is just one big stage. This terminology can apply to real life quite well.

For example…

Senpai Yaku (先輩役)

This is playing the role of the senpai, the senior comrade. (Kanji: “Ahead” and “comrade”) Put at its most simplest, this would be the senior detective paired with a junior detective.

In Tokyo dialect, the “n” is pronounced “m” (for “sempai,”) but this is an issue of dialect (and ease of saying the word really fast). It is never written with an “m” in actual Japanese. It’s one of the relatively few cases of nouns not being pronounced as they are written.

Broadly speaking, it is the role of the senpai to engage superiors and peers on behalf of the team (even if it is a two-man team). This requires adequate speaking and leadership skills to say what needs to be said, and remain polite while doing it. This means being able to convey a lot of information in high level Japanese, when required.

Yet, even in Japan, the Western archetype of the senpai who bends the rules (a little) exists. The room for maneuver may not be very wide, but that is precisely why someone who knows and understands the barriers and the walls to each side can navigate the labyrinth of Japanese bureaucracy to attempt to lead things to a positive outcome.

Put another way, this is knowing what is black and white, and what is a gray area where initiative (usually discouraged by the system) can be invaluable – if it is done properly.

Kouhai Yaku (後輩役)

This is the role of the kouhai (spoken with a trailing “o” and a nearly mute “u”). Kanji: Behind + comrade. So, this is the junior comrade.

In a police drama, this would be the young detective paired with the veteran. As in American dramas, this can mean the rookie is either in need of adult supervision, or is far too accustomed to black and white cases. In either case, a dose of “the real world” (from the senior detective’s point of view) is delivered.

Fundamentally, the kouhai is not expected to be on the same level. Also one should keep in mind that this is as much a linguistic issue as a “respect hierarchy” one; you need to know how to address others, and dividing into senpai and kouhai is a quick and dirty, and therefore useful, way of organizing social roles in a simple and uncomplicated way.

The thing I really like to remember is that the senpai is expected to actually take care of his kouhai (singular or plural). In other words, the kouhai getting the coffee is not the limit of the relationship; it isn’t just lip service. Peers will not respect a senpai who doesn’t look after his people.

Conversely, the kouhai is expected to support the senpai in any way possible. This is because, where teams are concerned, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Japanese society never sees things in terms of just the individual, because society’s too big to squish things down to that (unless you’re a Shogun or something).

Otori Yaku (囮役)

An otori (囮、おとり) is simply, in English, a decoy. The kanji suggests a cage and the kanji for “become”; therefore, the deceived one becomes trapped. Thus, the concept of a decoy: that which lures and ensnares the enemy.

In many video games, this is an unofficial role, but in some, you can deliberately set someone to be a decoy and draw enemy fire from other members of a team in the field. The latter occurs in “Super Robot Wars: Scramble Commander”, a game I have played. Drawing off fire allows other units to attack uninhibited or charge up a special attack.

Thus, using a particular command from the battle tactics menu, under “Support,” allowed the player to assign someone to decoy duty. This is a temporary role, and decoy duty can be changed.

I use this to demonstrate that not all roles are permanent, but they are roles nonetheless.

Division of Labor

No one can be all things to all people. Japanese society thrives on this principle, and always has.

This is not to say that all of Japanese society was always based on castes. For instance, samurai were only made a permanent hereditary class at the end of the Sengoku Jidai (戦国時代), or Warring States Period, to end the upward mobility offered by chaos and strife (and therefore dampen the chaos and strife). Also, as shown in Seven Samurai, a samurai could cut off his top knot and shave his head and become a monk.

Put another way, if you couldn’t go up, you could go down.

Even so, many social roles are very long-term in nature. More to the point, Japanese society is comfortable with roles and collectively wants people to play them. This is an issue often decried by left-wing activists (as they would in any society with strong roles not defined by political value), but whether simply a matter of cultural sympathies or a strong, rarely changing societal mandate, the idea of roles is a big one to keep mental track of when dealing with Japanese culture.

Roles are not absolute, but they are important.

Not Every Situation Is Formal

One of the real, visceral failings of standard Japanese courses is that they only teach the formal versions of verbs in the classroom. Granted, this is good for academic situations, the conduct of professional business, and interactions with public officials, and all students do need to learn formal versions. Nonetheless, students are tangibly harmed by the inability to use and understand plain and informal Japanese that is commonly employed in real life.

For our purposes, the classroom is not real life.

Anyone attempting to read manga to learn Japanese (and if you want raw material for this, just go to J-Comi; see previous post) absolutely will not succeed without a broad understanding of informal Japanese.

Furthermore, informal Japanese is necessary for full enjoyment of anime, film, and normal, everyday conversation with Japanese natives.

For businessmen, small talk is far more difficult to engage in without informal Japanese. Thus, a firm grounding in it is necessary.

The Really Basic Basics

基本の基本は (The basic basics) are like this:

行く　（いく） = iku, “To Go.” Root version/ plain, informal version.

行きます 　（いきます） = ikimasu, “To Go,” Formal version.

Let’s alter this slightly.

We’re going to use the volitional tense, which reads like “Let’s do X.”

学校に行こう。（がっこうにいこう。）= gakkou ni ikou. “Let’s go to school.”

This is the plain version.

学校に行きましょう。（がっこうにいきましょう。） = gakkou ni ikimashou. “Let’s go to school.”

This is the polite version.

The first version would be naturally spoken by young boys, but the second version would be naturally spoken by young girls.

This is such a basic, basic, fundamental comprehension issue that it is scarcely worth the time to even try to teach someone how to read manga if this is not covered.

It’s vital to understanding the feel and tone of Japanese dialog. If you have an interest in this, make it your business to learn the plain forms of Japanese verbs – starting with the most common ones that you will see. Besides, the plainest form is the root form, also known as the dictionary form. You do want to be able to look these up in a real dictionary at some point, don’t you?

– J

This reads like “soo yuu koto.” This is Tokyo dialect, under-pronouncing the first part. One might see the “koto” part either in kana or as kanji, but what we’re really seeing is actually:

そういう事

The “sou” part indicates something “over there,” like sono and sore do. The “iu” part is for, well, 言う (to say). This doesn’t make much sense until you read it in a context, like this:

“You mean that unless we hit the monster it in three places at once, we can’t beat it?”

(nod) “Sou iu koto.”

In other words, it’s a reference to what the previous speaker just said.

Now, koto (事) here is a thing, but it is not in the English sense in this respect: in Japanese, a “koto” is an intangible thing only.

A mono (物) is, in contrast, a tangible thing.

Love is a koto. Ice cream is a mono. Idealism is a koto. An airplane is a mono.

This pattern never changes.

Words, too, are a koto rather than a mono, for words are not tangible; they are ideas.

So, to revisit the earlier example, with proper localization:

“You mean that unless we hit the monster it in three places at once, we can’t beat it?”

(nod) “That’s how it is.”

Or put in an overly literal way, it is as you (just) said.

So that’s how it is.