Tag: translations

We’re expanding the translation and publication program to speeds that the conventional distribution simply cannot handle. We’re also taking a poll on how many books we have to have on the shelf to interest people in access to the rapidly growing library. If you are a reader, please visit Castalia Library and answer the one-question survey there. There is no correct answer; if you’re not interested, then please let us know. If you’re an inveterate KU subscriber who needs at least one million books before you’ll bother, let us know that too.

And thanks to all the existing subscribers for your support. This week’s book has already gone out to you.

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• Romance of the Three Kingdoms Vol. 1: The Peach Garden by Eiji Yoshikawa
• Romance of the Three Kingdoms Vol. 2: The Gathering Stars by Eiji Yoshikawa
• Romance of the Three Kingdoms Vol. 3: From the Grass by Eiji Yoshikawa
• Romance of the Three Kingdoms Vol. 4: The Way of the Vassal by Eiji Yoshikawa
• Romance of the Three Kingdoms Vol. 5: The Sleeping Dragon by Eiji Yoshikawa
• The Mystery Planet Gan by Unno Jūza
• The Phantom of the Underground Tank by Juza Unno
• Kojiki: The Record of Ancient Matters by O no Yasumaro
• 795: The Complete Waka of Genji Monogatari by Murasaki Shikibu
• The Sacramental Lands by Francesco Jovine

Since we remain limited to publishing ten books per week on Amazon, the complete, unabridged set of Eiji Yoshikawa’s epic Romance of the Three Kingdoms will not be available until next Friday. But it was a very productive week nevertheless, since six of the ten books released have never been available in English before; I particularly recommend The Mystery Planet Gan for anyone who enjoys classic science fiction of the Heinlein juvenile variety.

While the focus on published books was heavy on the Japanese this week, don’t be misled into thinking that the released books represent the fullness of our translation efforts, as we’re now increasing the translation rate to up to 30 books per week in preparation for the launch of Castalia Unlimited, our subscription-only, DRM-free epub store that we expect to launch in October with more than 500 titles available by the end of 2026. Please note that everyone who is a paid subscriber to the Castalia Library will have access to it from the start in case you want to avail yourselves of the weekly ebook release in the interlude.

We also will be announcing three print editions of Natsume Soseki novels, Kokoro, Botchan, and Sanshiro in the coming week, and we’re now working on the print edition of a two-volume set of The Secret Scrolls of Naruto by Eiji Yoshikawa, so rest assured that traditional readers will not be left out.

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Someone asked for the complete list of translations by Castalia House, so I’ve added a page on the Library site that will be regularly updated; it can also be accessed from the top of the site by clicking on Translations. I suppose I can probably add a link on the sidebar here as well; I’ll do that shortly. And, of course, you can always flip through the carousel on the sidebar to see the latest additions: today’s were Kojiki: The Record of Ancient Matters and Sangokushin Book 4. And on Saturday’s I’ll provide a list of the ten translations published this week, complete with links.

Please note that not all books that have been translated have been released yet, and not all of them even appear on the list. We have to maintain a few surprises, after all. I’m told we’re still on track to launch the new Unlimited site in October, but, as always, don’t take our initial estimated dates too seriously.

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This is the initial volume of the first complete English translation of Eiji Yoshikawa’s Sangokushi. The reason his retelling of the Chinese classic tale of the Three Kingdoms has taken so long to appear in English in its entirety despite its massive popularity in Japan is an accident of publishing economics, not any lack of literary merit.

Yoshikawa is the most widely read novelist in Japanese history. His Musashi has sold an estimated 120 million copies. His Sangokushi, which has sold over 80 million copies, not only shaped how modern Japan understands the classic Chinese story, but also, through the various manga, anime, and games derived from it, how much of the world sees it. The video game franchise from Koei that introduced most Westerners to these characters draws more on Yoshikawa than on Luo Guanzhong. You have almost certainly encountered his influence without even knowing it.

And yet, this book not actually a part of the well-known Romance of the Three Kingdoms in its original form. It is something decidedly different than that. To put it in terms that most modern readers will comprehend, the difference between Sanguo Yanyi and Sangokushi is the difference between The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings.

The Chinese classic that Westerners know through the Moss Roberts translation and the Dynasty Warriors games, Luo Guanzhong’s fourteenth-century Sanguo Yanyi, is a chronicle. A great chronicle, one of the four pillars of Chinese literature, it consists of eight hundred thousand words of war and statecraft and betrayal. But it is not a story in the conventional sense, rather, it is chronicle in which an omniscient narrator moves through events in sequence, characters are introduced by their attributes and then perform accordingly, and every few pages a poet inserts a verse that serves as commentary to inform the reader how he should feel about what he just read.

It is magnificent literary edifice. What it is not, in any modern sense, is a novel.

In Sangokushi, serialized in the Chūgai Shōgyō Shinpō, the predecessor of today’s Nikkei, from August 26, 1939 to September 5, 1943, Eiji Yoshikawa took the skeleton of that chronicle and did something fundamentally different with it. He transformed it from a historical document into a story. What he did was more than a translation and more than an adaptation. He turned the chronicle into a novel, with all that implies: interiority, psychological development, scenes that reveal character instead of advancing the plot, and a narrator whose relationship to his material is more that of an author who creates his characters than a historian who records their deeds.

The difference is visible from the start. Luo Guanzhong’s Sanguo Yanyi opens with the Yellow Turban Rebellion and moves swiftly to the Peach Garden Oath. Yoshikawa, on the other hand, begins with a young man named Liu Bei walking to the city to buy medicine for his sick mother. He sells the family sword to pay for it. And when his mother learns what her son sacrificed for her, she throws the medicine into the river. This scene does not exist in the Chinese original. Yoshikawa invented it because he understood something that did not concern Luo Guanzhong: the reader has to know a man before he cares about that man saving the empire. Likewise, the girl Furong, whom Liu Bei meets on the riverboat, does not exist in the Chinese original. The encounter with bandits on that same journey does not exist. The village school where Liu Bei studies does not exist. Yoshikawa constructed all of it from his imagination because he needed his readers to arrive at the Peach Garden Oath already invested in the man who is taking the vow. Luo Guanzhong could simply announce that Liu Bei was a virtuous descendant of the imperial house and expect his audience to accept it. Yoshikawa could not.

This pattern runs through the entire work. Where the Yanyi externalizes; Yoshikawa internalizes. Where the Chinese original informs you that Cao Cao was cunning, Yoshikawa shows you a man with a devious mind who calculates as easily as other men breathe. Where the original describes Guan Yu’s loyalty as a fixed attribute, Yoshikawa shows you a man who keeps faith because he has decided that he will not betray another, even at great personal cost, not because he is incapable of betrayal.

Cao Cao is the most dramatic beneficiary of this method. In the Chinese tradition he is largely a brilliant villain, the usurper who perverts the mandate of Heaven and whose dynasty is rightly displaced those more worthy. Yoshikawa’s Cao Cao is far more dangerous and seductive; he is a man you can understand and with whom you can sympathize. You know why his subordinates follow him. You can see the genuine poetry in his soul alongside his ruthlessness. You will even find yourself, at times, preferring his company to the hero’s, and Yoshikawa knows you will. In doing so, he transforms what was a great historical chronicle into a great novel.

And so I hope it is with pleasure that you, the English reader can at last read Eiji Yoshikawa’s great work, Sangokushin, in its entirety.

• Romance of the Three Kingdoms Vol. 1: The Peach Garden by Eiji Yoshikawa
• 795: The Complete Waka of Genji Monogatari by Murasaki Shikibu

There are two new releases today, the first being the aforementioned Yoshikawa work, the second being all 795 poems from The Tale of Genji. For more information on both, including excerpts, visit Castalia Library.

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Castalia House would appreciate your assistance in expressing your preference in a comparison of three different translations of Narziss und Goldmund by Hermann Hesse. One is our new and original translation from the German. One is the most popular translation from 1968. And one is the newer, elite translation from 1994. And none of them are identified, so please read all three translations of the same scene and then express your preference in the poll at the bottom.

We’re not operating under any illusions that our translations are always going to be the best ones, or the ones with the most fidelity to the original text. But it is important for us to repeatedly confirm that they are reasonably competitive with the best ones available to the English-reading world.

UPDATE: Translation 1 was Vennewitz (1992), Translation 2 was Molinaro (1968) and Translation 3 was Castalia (2026). The results of the 124-reader poll can be seen on Castalia Library.

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So, this morning I discovered that Amazon actually has a limit on how many ebooks you can publish in a week. I learned that this morning when my attempt to publish a frankly astonishing science fiction novel for young men entitled The Phantom of the Underground Tank by Juza Unno ran into the ten book per week barrier. So there won’t be any new ebooks published on Amazon until Monday, when we will launch something big, in both textual and historical terms.

The subject of the yet-to-be-published Unno book will be fascinating to conspiracy theorists, for reasons that the book description should make clear. Note that this book was published in Japan 86 years ago and has never before been translated into English.

In 1940, a Japanese electrical engineer who wrote science fiction imagined the year 1950: an American cargo ship fighting through an Antarctic blizzard, a secret military installation buried beneath the ice, and a fleet of underground tanks that could bore through solid rock. He called it The Phantom of the Underground Tank. When the cargo ship Ark runs aground on an uncharted Antarctic shore, young Okishima and his American friend Pete discover something impossible beneath the ice: a vast subterranean fortress stocked with machines unlike anything in any nation’s arsenal. Captured by a rogue commander with plans that could reshape the balance of power across the Pacific, the two boys must escape a prison buried a thousand meters underground, survive the frozen wasteland above, and find a way to warn the outside world before the phantom fleet launches.

A secret military installation buried beneath the ice of Antarctica… now, where have I heard that before?

I would also highly recommend Unno’s The Midnight Mayor, which I’ve been reading and very much reminds me of two of China Mieville’s better works, Un Lun Dun and The City and the City. I’m also intent on tracking down a copy of Mushitaro Oguri’s Perfect Crime 完全犯罪, as it’s not in the main public domain archive, and I’d like to translate his entire ouvre as he may actually one day rival Haruki Murakami for my favorite Japanese author. So, if you’re in Japan and find yourself in Jimbocho, please see if you can find anything by him; I’d very much like to get my hands on a first edition Kokushikan Satsujinjiken 黒死館殺人事件 and have it bound in leather.

Anyhow, here is the weekly summary of translations Castalia House published last week. If you want a daily notification, subscribe to the Castalia Library substack.

• Eagle and Dove by Zénaïde Fleuriot
• The Gate by Natsume Soseki
• Sorekara by Natsume Soseki
• King Joseph’s Baggage by Benito Perez Galdos
• The Book of the Black Death by Oguri Mushitaro
• The Marchese of Roccaverdina by Luigi Capuana
• The Devil Castle of the Pacific by Jūza Unno
• Memoirs of a Courtier of 1815 by Benito Pérez Galdós
• The Midnight Mayor by Jūza Unno
• The Second Turncoat by Benito Pérez Galdós

That may well be the highest-quality, most diverse list of books ever published in English in less than one week. Next week will introduce our first German release as well as major works by Eiji Yoshikawa. While I have requested an increase to the weekly limit, until Amazon approves one, we’ll stick to a Monday through Friday release schedule.

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I’m very, very pleased to be finally releasing this translation of an esoteric murder mystery by Oguri Mushitarō. I’ve been working on this one on and off for six months. Even figuring out a proper title for it was difficult. The print edition will be even harder to produce, due to the need to recreate all of the drawings that were not included in the ebook, as they are not necessary due to their detailed descriptions in the text. Of all the translations I’ve done to date, this is still the one that was of the most interest to me from the start.

THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH

Half a century before Umberto Eco sealed monks inside an abbey with a serial killer and a poisoned Aristotle, Oguri Mushitarō locked a detective inside a Gothic castle with a grimoire, a glowing corpse, and a prophecy of six murders written in the hand of a dead man. Serialized in 1934, The Book of the Black Death is the novel Eco might have written had he been born in Tokyo and raised on Charcot, Cagliostro, and the Kabbalistic Exegesis rather than Aquinas and Borges. Its detective, Norizumi Rintarō, is William of Baskerville’s mad Japanese twin, a polymath who deploys heraldry, toxicology, and medieval sorcery with equal fluency, and whose erudition is both the instrument of his investigation and the source of its deepest dangers. Recognized in Japan as one of the four greatest mystery novels ever written in the language, it has never before appeared in English.

In the Celtic Renaissance château known as the Hall of Black Death, a family descended from the Medici through the sorceress-consort Bianca Capello has kept four foreign musicians sealed within its walls for forty years. When the first violinist is found dead with her corpse glowing with an unearthly phosphorescence and the locked room undisturbed, a document surfaces in the hand of the mansion’s long-dead patriarch. It is a prophecy naming six members of the household and the method by which each will be slain.

As Norizumi races to prevent the next murder, he finds himself contending not only with a killer of extraordinary cunning but with the accumulated sorcery and science of four centuries, encrypted in a grimoire that was old when the Inquisition was young. The translation, by Vox Day, is the first-ever English translation of Kokushikan Satsujin Jiken. Now available on Amazon for Kindle and audiobook.

You can probably see why I was so interested in making it available to the English-reading world after reading this description from Athos, which it produced when I first started delving into Japan’s library of untranslated texts for books that would be particularly interesting for me to read. At that time, I had not really thought about Castalia putting out translations into English, I was just in search of something new and different to read.

In Japan, Kokushikan Satsujin Jiken occupies a position for which there is no precise Western equivalent. It is counted as one of the three great “strange books” — the sandai kisho — in the entire history of Japanese detective fiction. The designation is less an honorific than a warning: these are the novels said to “cause mental disturbance upon reading,” works so structurally peculiar and intellectually dense that they have generated their own mythology. The novel is often described as the only true Gothic romance ever written in Japan, and Edogawa Ranpo, the father of Japanese mystery fiction, publicly praised it — writing an introduction to the 1935 first edition that helped establish its reputation as a landmark.

The novel’s defining characteristic is its gengaku shumi — pedantry elevated to an architectural principle. The disciplines deployed across its pages include theology, demonology, pharmacology, astrology, botany, cosmology, religious studies, physics, medicine, heraldry, psychology, criminology, cryptography, and history. Japanese critics describe the effect not as decoration but as structural inversion: the vast pedantic apparatus overwhelms the mystery itself, producing what one reviewer called a “reversal of subject and object” — the erudition becomes the point, and the murders become its occasion. It has been called a “grand temple of detective fiction,” a novel that satisfies not only the mystery reader’s appetite but a voracious intellectual hunger across every field it touches.

That Shinchōsha, a publisher not especially known for detective fiction, issued the first edition in 1935 speaks to how much attention Oguri commanded at the time in the Japanese publishing world. The novel has been continuously republished since the end of the Pacific War, appearing from Kōdansha, Chikuma Shobō, Shakai Shisōsha, Tōkyō Sōgensha, Kawade Shobō, and Kadokawa in editions spanning seven decades, a publishing record that testifies to its enduring hold on Japanese literary culture. It remains famous as the novel most readers abandon after the first chapter, and the one that those who finish it never forget.

There is a very good chance that THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH will one day be a Library book. It certainly deserves a place next to THE NAME OF THE ROSE, FOUCAULT’S PENDULUM, and THE ISLAND OF THE DAY BEFORE. It’s the sort of book that you either never finish reading, or that you read repeatedly, again and again, and never entirely put down.

You can read an excerpt on the Library site, which won’t tell you anything that I haven’t told you already, but will let you see the cover as well as today’s other release, a very well-regarded Italian work of psychological fiction by Luigi Capuana.

A word of warning: there WILL be formatting issues, without any shadow of a doubt. A book of this size and complexity needs many eyes upon it to catch all of the issues; it wouldn’t surprise me if we ended up beating the record set by A THRONE OF BONES with 10 digital versions. So you know the drill, keep a list and send it to me if and when you finish the book.

UPDATE: THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH is the #1 bestseller in Japanese language fiction.

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Keeps the freaks, creeps, and Zero Historians at bay. Actually, it’s more like two books a day being released, and three or four are being translated. Since I don’t want to a) keep changing the sidebar or b) annoying readers with constant announcements, I’ve restored the book carousel on the right sidebar, so as new translations are released on Amazon, I’ll add them to the sidebar where you may happen to notice them within a day or two. There is also a little arrow icon underneath that allows you to flip through them and see if there is anything new if you wish; the displayed book will only change every five minutes because I can’t stand excessively active pages.

Now, here’s the question. Is it more annoying to have a second daily Castalia Library announcement of the day’s new books in addition to the daily book excerpt – currently we’re collectively reading through Machiavelli’s DISCOURSES ON LIVY – or would it be more irritating to have the new book announcements on the same email at the bottom? I’m just curious to see what people’s general preferences are.

And if you hate all email announcements, that’s fine, but then don’t subscribe to email lists and keep your opinion to yourself. That’s not an option for us, because people actually do want to know about these things.

On that note, today’s new books are SOREKARA by Natsume Soseki and KING JOSEPH’S BAGGAGE by Benito Perez Galdos, the 11th in the Episodios Nacionales and the first of the Second Series. This is the first time El equipaje del rey José has ever been published in English.

I completely understand the tidal wave of translations is going to rapidly become tedious for many readers here, but this is absolutely necessary for the Alexandria project, and the more people read, rate, and review the new books, the more the algorithm will support it and the more people are going to hear about it and take part in it.

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About six months ago, I attempted to automate my translation process. It’s not full automation, because every book is different and requires an amount of personal attention at various stages of the process, but the biggest problem was that the process required regular attention, so my ability to provide oversight was the bottleneck. That first attempt failed for technical reasons far beyond my ability to address, and since getting a translation or two a week was all that was necessary, I didn’t bother attempting to work around the problem.

Now that the infrastructure for Byron AI has been assembled and we’re building the training corpus, it occurred to me that it might give me a way around the translation bottleneck. After a little experimentation, this, in fact, proved to be the case. Over the weekend, the brand new Book Star spent its inaugural flight translating the six remaining novels of the Sangokushi, the extremely popular Japanese version of the famous Chinese book known as The Romance of the Three Kingdoms written by Eiji Yoshikawa.

What this means is that instead of translating one or two books per week, I can translate two or three books per day. And not only is has the speed been increased, but the quality of the translations are arguably a little better, since the possibility of copy-based mistakes has been significantly reduced. Consider how Grok regarded the first-ever English translation of a chapter from the ninth volume:

This is an outstanding literary translation of the “改元” (Change of Era Name / A New Reign-Name) section from Yoshikawa Eiji’s Sangokushi. It sits well above solid professional work and approaches the highest tier of literary historical fiction translation.

Strengths

• Prose quality and narrative voice: The English has genuine literary rhythm, cadence, and controlled irony that closely mirrors Yoshikawa’s elegant, slightly detached, occasionally wry classical-Japanese narrative style. Passages such as the commentary on phoenixes, qilins, and “momentum of the times,” the description of the emptying court, the Empress’s quiet departure, Zu Bi’s defiance and death, the forced abdication ceremony under a cold red sun, and the final image of the former emperor dwindling on a donkey are particularly fine—vivid, economical, and emotionally precise without overstatement.
• Dialogue and register: Court speech, ministerial pressure, the Emperor’s restrained dignity and later fury, Hua Xin’s insolence, and the private exchanges (Sima Yi’s silent look, Jia Xu’s choreography of refusal) feel natural and differentiated in English while retaining a formal, period-appropriate tone.
• Historical and cultural handling: Reign-names (Yankang → Huangchu), titles, omens, the Yao-Shun precedent, the Terrace of Abdication, and the ritual of repeated refusal are rendered accurately and gracefully. The translation neither exoticizes nor flattens the Chinese historical framework as filtered through a major Japanese novelist.
• Pacing and atmosphere: The slow, inexorable tightening of pressure, the shift from rumor to open coercion, the theatricality of the abdication rite, and the bleak coda are all sustained with excellent control. The text reads as literature, not as a “faithful” but stiff rendering.

Comparison to the scale anchors

• Clara Bell’s solid, serviceable 19th-century translations of classical fiction are competent and readable but often flatter, more Victorian-domestic in texture, and less attentive to stylistic nuance or ironic distance. This work is substantially more sophisticated in voice, imagery, and narrative intelligence.
• William Weaver’s best work achieves near-miraculous fidelity to Eco’s layered erudition, linguistic play, and structural complexity while remaining fluid and pleasurable in English. Yoshikawa’s text is more straightforward historical narrative with a classical Japanese literary overlay; it does not demand the same extreme virtuosity. The present translation comes very close to the ideal for this particular source—elegant, faithful in spirit and detail, and highly readable as English prose—but does not quite reach the rarefied height of Weaver at his peak with Eco.

Minor reservations (why not higher)

• Occasional slight smoothing or heightening of Yoshikawa’s already polished diction (common and usually beneficial in literary translation of this material).
• A few title renderings and minor phrasing choices are debatable (though none are inaccurate or damaging).
• The translation is so polished that a reader unfamiliar with the Japanese might not feel the underlying classical-Chinese allusiveness quite as sharply as in the original, but this is an almost inevitable trade-off and is handled with taste.

Overall, this is excellent work: accurate, stylish, atmospheric, and fully successful as literary English. It would stand up very well in a published edition of Yoshikawa.

Another Red Team member, Gemini, concurred:

This is an exceptional translation. It effortlessly captures the register of classic historical narrative—crisp, authoritative, yet engaging—matching the high-literary standard set by top-tier English translators of East Asian and European historical fiction. It reads like original, published English prose while preserving the precise tactical pacing of traditional Chinese/Japanese historical accounts. Overall, this is a polished, publication-ready piece of work that comfortably surpasses standard translation work (easily clearing the Clara Bell benchmark) and flirts with master-level literary prose.

This raises the obvious question: what on Earth is Castalia going to do with 700+ annual translations? We obviously can’t turn all of them into leatherbound editions. And the answer is simple: we’re going to create a limited form of something that could be described as Castalia Unlimited, which would be a misnomer since there will be limits. Starting whenever we get it going, so sometime between November and January, paid subscribers to the Castalia Library substack will not only receive the weekly ebook as they do already, but they will also be given access to the Castalia Digital Library and permitted to download up to three additional free ebooks per month.

It won’t just be translations available there either. The Castalia Junior Classics will be there, in English and other languages. A number of Library works will be there. Most of my own works in foreign languages will also be available there, as well as those of any Castalia authors who a) aren’t on Kindle Select and b) give us their permission. It won’t be quite as good a deal as Kindle Unlimited in sheer volume terms, but the quality is absolutely assured to be considerably higher. So, if you’d like to assure yourself access to the Castalia Digital Library, consider subscribing to the Library substack now.

And speaking of translations and the Library site, this week’s book has been sent out to the subscribers and is now available on Amazon as Kindle, KU, and audiobook. The title is THE HAUNTED FLAME and it is the second volume of Japanese literary great Naoki Sanjugo’s The Chronicle of the Southern Kingdom, the 1930 novel that made its author the most popular historical novelist in Japan and gave his name to the illustrious Naoki Prize. It is a dark story of faction and inheritance in which the weapons are patronage, rumor, marriage, arson, and occult curses, and in which the men responsible for the Meiji Restoration are still young, poor, and powerless.

The old lord has a legitimate heir and a favorite concubine, and they are violently opposed to each other. Shimazu Nariakira is forty years old and still waiting to inherit Satsuma. Oyura wants the domain for her own son. Between them stand the samurai of the Otame faction, who have chosen their side and will pay for it in exile and in blood. Not even their graves will protect them; the angry lord’s fury even reaches down into the earth to exhume what is buried there.

And in a sealed room, a sorcerer grinds his brush in his own blood mixed with that of a dog’s, and paints a demon-god onto white silk. One after another, Nariakira’s children sicken and die of causes no physician can explain.

Far below the great houses, the ruin spreads outward. A sister sells herself to a man who is using her for advancement. A brother comes to Osaka to find out why. A street singer, a disgraced storyteller, and a woman with nothing left to sell are pulled into a conspiracy that was never meant to include them. And in Kagoshima, two low-ranking young men named Saigo Kichinosuke and Okubo Toshimichi begin to understand that the fight over one domain is the first tremor of something that will take the whole country.

Then smoke appears on the horizon at Shinagawa, and the Black Ships come.

An excerpt is available on Castalia Library. As a side note, I should mention that I changed the name of the first volume to THE CURSED KINDLING since I thought it was a better and more descriptive title, although it may take a while for Amazon to implement the change.

UPDATE: We may as well call the subscription Castalia Unlimited. Upon further review, three books per month in addition to the 4-5 weekly books is infinitely more than Kindle Unlimited provides, because KU only lets you borrow up to 20 books total, and you lose all access to them once you stop your subscription.

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