An Englishman’s Shogi Quest: Discovering Japan Through Its Ancient Board Game
英会話エスティーム英語コンサルタントの清水恭宏の昔の夢は、英語を駆使するジャーナリストになることでした。最近、パソコンがない時代にワープロで書いた私の作品が出てきました。自画自賛するわけではないですが、文章に切れがあって若々しいです。これはある将棋に恋したイギリス人の将棋冒険記です。歴史的背景の違いから生じた将棋の独特なルール、2つのゲームの性格の違いなどが明確に述べられています。是非この英文を読んでほしいです。
An Englishman’s Shogi Quest: Discovering Japan Through Its Ancient Board Game
While cleaning my room the other day, I came across a piece of writing I did in the 1990s, shortly after graduating from college. It focused on Michael Sandeman, whose passion for shogi, a traditional Japanese board game, led him to Japan to improve his skills. I envisioned having this article published in the Japan Times as a freelance writer. Although that dream didn't materialize, I truly enjoyed the process of writing it and interviewing Michael in depth. With the help of Grammarly, I’ve since refined the original version into something much more polished. I hope you enjoy gaining insights into this aspect of Japanese culture.
An Englishman’s Shogi Quest: Discovering Japan Through Its Ancient Board Game
An Englishman’s Shogi Quest: Discovering Japan Through Its Ancient Board Game
By Yasuhiro Shimizu
Upon entering a quaint Japanese pub, I stumbled upon an intriguing tableau: two men engrossed in a game of shogi, a traditional Japanese board game steeped in history. One of the players, notably, was not of Japanese descent; he was English. Michael Sandeman, with a pint in hand, deliberated thoughtfully before executing a decisive checkmate against his opponent, claiming victory with enviable ease.
Yet, rather than expressing elation, Sandeman, fluent in Japanese, took the opportunity to elucidate the missteps of his rival, meticulously recounting the strategies and maneuvers that had transpired throughout the match. Sandeman is no mere novice; he is a distinguished competitor, having secured the title of British shogi champion for the past two consecutive years and proudly boasting a fourth dan ranking, the pinnacle for amateur players outside of Japan.
Shogi shares a familial resemblance with chess, both games believed to have descended from the ancient Indian abstraction known as “Chaturanga.” This game traversed continents, evolving through Persia to emerge as the foundational structure of chess. It was introduced to Japan via China in the eighth century, gaining distinctive characteristics along the way, ultimately evolving into the shogi we recognize today.
The ultimate objective in shogi, much like chess, is the checkmating of the king (王将). However, a notable distinction sets shogi apart: in chess, captured pieces are rendered unusable, while in shogi, players can reintroduce these pieces back onto the board, anywhere they wish. This unique rule compels players to anticipate their opponent’s potential use of captured pieces, thus adding layers of complexity and unpredictability to the game.
Historical context suggests that this revolutionary rule emerged in the fifteenth century, coinciding with a shift in Japanese political dynamics. The previously centralized rule gave way to feudal lords, known as “daimyo,” who engaged in relentless territorial conflicts. During this tumultuous era, vassals of a daimyo, rather than facing execution, had the opportunity to shift allegiances, battling for their former adversaries.
Sandeman reflects, “This evolution in Japanese warfare must have catalyzed the introduction of the captured piece rule.” He elucidates, “In Europe, linguistic barriers hindered the fluidity of changing sides as was commonplace in Japan, rendering the notion of utilizing captured pieces in chess impractical.”
As with sumo, which has recently become accessible to non-Japanese competitors, mastering shogi demands a profound comprehension of Japanese culture and history. Sandeman's journey is nothing short of extraordinary.
Originating from Workington, a quaint English town approximately thirty miles south of the Scottish border, Sandeman embarked on his chess journey at the tender age of four, inspired by his father, a devoted chess aficionado. By twenty, his prowess had garnered him representation for his country. However, the world of chess alone could not satiate his intellectual curiosity; he sought an entirely new challenge. This quest led him to a pivotal moment in his life.
In 1976, during a casual evening in a London pub, Sandeman played chess with a friend, who, during their conversation about global games, introduced him to shogi. He cautioned Sandeman against taking it seriously, asserting that mastery would be insurmountable for foreigners.
Unfazed, Sandeman embarked on a journey of discovery. “At that time,” he recalls, “resources in English about shogi were virtually nonexistent. I found myself grappling with Japanese magazines, deciphering their content primarily through kanji dictionaries, all while striving to grasp the nuances of the game.”
After several years of self-study, he participated in a shogi tournament in London in 1982. Out of six matches, two were against Japanese players, yielding a commendable four wins and two losses—a promising outcome for a novice. Teruichi Ando, a professional sent by the Japan Shogi Federation, recognized Sandeman’s potential and promoted him to first-dan. By 1983, he ascended to second-dan, marking the commencement of his ascent within the echelons of shogi.
Throughout the mid-1980s, Sandeman engaged in virtually every shogi tournament across Europe, traversing countries hitchhiking and consistently finishing in the top tiers. In 1989, to further hone his skills, he ventured to Japan, undertaking the role of an English teacher in Kanazawa for a year and a half. During this time, he dedicated his considerable intellect and energy to immersing himself in the world of shogi.
“When I first arrived in Kanazawa,” he recounts, “the notion of a foreigner playing shogi was met with skepticism. However, as I demonstrated my capabilities through gameplay, my social circle expanded dramatically. My reputation proliferated via word of mouth, culminating in encounters with formidable amateur players, thrusting me into the depths of the authentic shogi realm.”
Having savored the richness of shogi, Sandeman now perceives chess as a game predominantly governed by knowledge rather than innate ability. He explains, “In chess, there is an acute focus on learning strategies, particularly during the opening phase; a misstep here can lead to irrevocable consequences, drastically diminishing one’s chances of recovery—dramatic tension ensues as players frequently vie for a draw.”
In contrast, Sandeman has observed that shogi presents a compelling blend of strategy and adaptability, an odyssey that continues to captivate him, making sure all the pieces are working effectively. If those conditions are met, and an eye is kept open for any sudden attack from the opponent, one can play more or less as one chooses.
Although Sandeman has achieved so much in shogi, it seems likely that his shogi odyssey will continue much further. In England, he devotes much time to composing shogi problems (tsume-shogi), a simulation game, to compensate for the lack of shogi partners at home. He has had one of his works published in a Japanese shogi magazine, the first time a foreign player has ever appeared in any magazines specialised in tusume-shogi. “It would be nice,” he says, “if I could teach shogi in third-world countries and share this fantastic game with others in the future.”
By Yasuhiro Shimizu
Upon entering a quaint Japanese pub, I stumbled upon an intriguing tableau: two men engrossed in a game of shogi, a traditional Japanese board game steeped in history. One of the players, notably, was not of Japanese descent; he was English. Michael Sandeman, with a pint in hand, deliberated thoughtfully before executing a decisive checkmate against his opponent, claiming victory with enviable ease.
Yet, rather than expressing elation, Sandeman, fluent in Japanese, took the opportunity to elucidate the missteps of his rival, meticulously recounting the strategies and maneuvers that had transpired throughout the match. Sandeman is no mere novice; he is a distinguished competitor, having secured the title of British shogi champion for the past two consecutive years and proudly boasting a fourth dan ranking, the pinnacle for amateur players outside of Japan.
Shogi shares a familial resemblance with chess, both games believed to have descended from the ancient Indian abstraction known as “Chaturanga.” This game traversed continents, evolving through Persia to emerge as the foundational structure of chess. It was introduced to Japan via China in the eighth century, gaining distinctive characteristics along the way, ultimately evolving into the shogi we recognize today.
The ultimate objective in shogi, much like chess, is the checkmating of the king (王将). However, a notable distinction sets shogi apart: in chess, captured pieces are rendered unusable, while in shogi, players can reintroduce these pieces back onto the board, anywhere they wish. This unique rule compels players to anticipate their opponent’s potential use of captured pieces, thus adding layers of complexity and unpredictability to the game.
Historical context suggests that this revolutionary rule emerged in the fifteenth century, coinciding with a shift in Japanese political dynamics. The previously centralized rule gave way to feudal lords, known as “daimyo,” who engaged in relentless territorial conflicts. During this tumultuous era, vassals of a daimyo, rather than facing execution, had the opportunity to shift allegiances, battling for their former adversaries.
Sandeman reflects, “This evolution in Japanese warfare must have catalyzed the introduction of the captured piece rule.” He elucidates, “In Europe, linguistic barriers hindered the fluidity of changing sides as was commonplace in Japan, rendering the notion of utilizing captured pieces in chess impractical.”
As with sumo, which has recently become accessible to non-Japanese competitors, mastering shogi demands a profound comprehension of Japanese culture and history. Sandeman's journey is nothing short of extraordinary.
Originating from Workington, a quaint English town approximately thirty miles south of the Scottish border, Sandeman embarked on his chess journey at the tender age of four, inspired by his father, a devoted chess aficionado. By twenty, his prowess had garnered him representation for his country. However, the world of chess alone could not satiate his intellectual curiosity; he sought an entirely new challenge. This quest led him to a pivotal moment in his life.
In 1976, during a casual evening in a London pub, Sandeman played chess with a friend, who, during their conversation about global games, introduced him to shogi. He cautioned Sandeman against taking it seriously, asserting that mastery would be insurmountable for foreigners.
Unfazed, Sandeman embarked on a journey of discovery. “At that time,” he recalls, “resources in English about shogi were virtually nonexistent. I found myself grappling with Japanese magazines, deciphering their content primarily through kanji dictionaries, all while striving to grasp the nuances of the game.”
After several years of self-study, he participated in a shogi tournament in London in 1982. Out of six matches, two were against Japanese players, yielding a commendable four wins and two losses—a promising outcome for a novice. Teruichi Ando, a professional sent by the Japan Shogi Federation, recognized Sandeman’s potential and promoted him to first-dan. By 1983, he ascended to second-dan, marking the commencement of his ascent within the echelons of shogi.
Throughout the mid-1980s, Sandeman engaged in virtually every shogi tournament across Europe, traversing countries hitchhiking and consistently finishing in the top tiers. In 1989, to further hone his skills, he ventured to Japan, undertaking the role of an English teacher in Kanazawa for a year and a half. During this time, he dedicated his considerable intellect and energy to immersing himself in the world of shogi.
“When I first arrived in Kanazawa,” he recounts, “the notion of a foreigner playing shogi was met with skepticism. However, as I demonstrated my capabilities through gameplay, my social circle expanded dramatically. My reputation proliferated via word of mouth, culminating in encounters with formidable amateur players, thrusting me into the depths of the authentic shogi realm.”
Having savored the richness of shogi, Sandeman now perceives chess as a game predominantly governed by knowledge rather than innate ability. He explains, “In chess, there is an acute focus on learning strategies, particularly during the opening phase; a misstep here can lead to irrevocable consequences, drastically diminishing one’s chances of recovery—dramatic tension ensues as players frequently vie for a draw.”
In contrast, Sandeman has observed that shogi presents a compelling blend of strategy and adaptability, an odyssey that continues to captivate him, making sure all the pieces are working effectively. If those conditions are met, and an eye is kept open for any sudden attack from the opponent, one can play more or less as one chooses.
Although Sandeman has achieved so much in shogi, it seems likely that his shogi odyssey will continue much further. In England, he devotes much time to composing shogi problems (tsume-shogi), a simulation game, to compensate for the lack of shogi partners at home. He has had one of his works published in a Japanese shogi magazine, the first time a foreign player has ever appeared in any magazines specialised in tusume-shogi. “It would be nice,” he says, “if I could teach shogi in third-world countries and share this fantastic game with others in the future.”