While the leadership of tea schools remains in the hands of men, in contemporary Japan almost 90 percent of tea practitioners are women. This was not always the case, however. In the early modern period, men dominated the tea world and, with few exceptions, women were excluded. Or were they? Rebecca Corbett begs to differ and, in the informative and enjoyable book Cultivating Femininity, demonstrates not only that women from across the social spectrum did indeed partake in early modern tea culture, but also that their involvement “alters our understanding of tea history” (p. 5).
Why has the presence of women in the early modern tea world gone undetected thus far? In part, argues Corbett, this is the result of current bias: the enduring perception that women's tea practice is somewhat inferior to men's and the purists’ dismissal of the early modern popularization of tea culture have stifled serious research on female tea practitioners. Additionally, traditional sources such as official records of tea gatherings offer an incomplete picture: most women participated as guests in ceremonies hosted by male relatives; these family gatherings were less likely to be recorded. As a consequence, early modern women tea practitioners have fallen through the cracks (p. 11).
To set the record straight, Corbett complements traditional evidence (records of tea gatherings and tea manuals) with nontraditional sources: puppet and kabuki plays, board games, manuals for the edification of women, and bridal trousseau catalogs. She also expands the definition of “tea practitioner” to include anyone familiar with the rules of tea, irrespective of school affiliation, mastery, or regular attendance at gatherings (p. 9). The emerging picture shows not only the extent of female involvement in early modern tea culture but also the ways in which knowledge of tea procedures was part of a larger conversation about femininity, elegance, and, ultimately, the parameters of status.
It may be tempting to read Cultivating Femininity as a text about female empowerment by way of tea, but that would be a mistake. While it is Corbett's contention that the acquisition of tea skills enabled non-elite women to accrue cultural capital and blur status boundaries by appropriating a practice of the elites, she also points out that no gender gap was bridged whatsoever (pp. 119, 120). If a distance was reduced, it was the one between high-ranking and commoner women, never the one between women and men.
It is indeed significant that almost all of the sources Corbett deploys were produced by men who spoke about, directed, and set the limits for female tea practices both at the elite and nonelite level. Take for example Ōguchi Shōō’s A Woman's Handbook (1721), a privately circulated manuscript aimed at elite women and the focus of chapter 2. A Woman's Handbook advocates a “subordinate role” for women during tea ceremonies, treats them as extensions of male figures (their seating placement depending on their husband's rank), and even admonishes them not to flaunt their expertise: when it comes to tea—indeed, one suspects, as a general rule—“women should appear to know nothing” (p. 66). More than a century later, domain lord Ii Naosuke used the same text to instruct his female relatives and their attendants in proper tea practices, demonstrating not only, as Corbett points out, that “the demand for a handbook on women's tea had not diminished” (p. 88), but also that male control over women's tea activities persisted. With chanoyu, women “cultivated a femininity”—to hint at the book's title—that was constructed and handed down to them by men.
The same was true for nonelite women. Popular writings produced after the middle of the eighteenth century, such as edification manuals for girls (examined in chapter 4), often included sections on tea. By learning how to recognize and properly place each tea utensil and by understanding the correct body posture and movements to deploy at gatherings, women of the commoner class would acquire the grace and sophistication of their social superiors. The gap that was bridged was, again, one of status vis-à-vis high-ranking peers, not one of gender. One popular manual published in 1787, for example, advised, “when you have free time, study chanoyu, but women should not become immersed in it” (p. 110); another reminded women that their duties as wives and daughters came before tea (p. 112).
In the modern era, women gained ground in the tea world, but gender-based expectations remained firmly in place. In the Meiji period, tea was added to the curriculum of girls’ schools and women of all ages were encouraged to practice chanoyu as a national tradition. By the early twentieth century, more and more women made tea their business (sometimes literally by becoming teachers), a sign that “the gender demographics of the tea world were changing” (p. 133). However, tea remained associated with ideals of femininity that would not threaten male dominance, so much so that in 1935 a Takarazuka actress assured critics that the androgynous members of the revue were just “ordinary girls … who practice the tea ceremony” (p. 143).
These are just some of the many things I have learned from Corbett's short and accessible book, one I recommend not only to tea aficionados but also to anyone interested in women's history, gender, and cultural history. Cultivating Femininity is a book that remedies the erasure of women from history without overstating the extent of their achievements: yes, women partook in early modern tea culture, but the margins they gained by training in chanoyu were as thin as the tea they were making.
