Kakariko Village
“We of the Sheikah tribe have long been heralded as a people of great wisdom. Our technology became the key to sealing Ganon away during the Great Calamity, some ten thousand years ago. At one point, our technology was praised as the power of the gods . . . but eventually the people turned on it. Turned on us. Our creations came to be viewed as a threat to the kingdom. The Sheikah became outcasts, forced into exile. Some, like us, chose to cast off our technological advances and strove to live normal lives.”
— Cado, Breath of the Wild
— Cado, Breath of the Wild
A statue to the Goddess Hylia, sanctified upon an islet in the center of Kakariko Village.
It is impossible for me to write a satisfactory article about Kakariko Village without first touching upon its music, for before we can appreciate even an inch of thatched roof or tribal pennant, we must first awaken to the musical setting unfolding before us. I find it truly lovely.
The track begins as if it is the beginning of a kabuki play, as an announcement of the coming theme or personage. Blocks are struck, drums softly tapped, and chimes cascade upward in a metallic flourish. A wistful, yet playful, shakuhachi then comes in, almost lazily, like a leaf on the breeze, or like grass bending in a sun-sped wind, braced by a continued percussive cadence. It is soon undercut by a mystifying stringed instrument, which doesn’t so much complement the flute as challenge it, adding a very satisfying thematic complexity to the village. It is as if there are multiple, distinct cultural elements behind the screen, in a delicate, though competitive, dance. In an almost dismissive earnestness, the flute then jumps over an octave to a higher register, plaintively blaring out its melody while the strings and percussion continue their rhythms far below. These two symbiotic motifs play upon one another, deeply imbuing the entire village with nuance and a vague inscrutability. The music swells and recedes with an incredible natural consonance; it sounds like a meadow made music, though a meadow stirred by rival winds.
As the sun sets on this valley-hidden village, the music drops its playful elegance, descending into a more melancholic, lugubrious rendition of its theme; it loses most of its percussive zest, and the heady, diaphanous shakuhachi takes almost all focus upon itself, braced from below by a set of bells and the soft strumming of what is likely a Japanese koto. [1] Finding that we have now traversed the village, eyes closed, head slightly back, solely exploring with our ears, we may now open our eyes.
The track begins as if it is the beginning of a kabuki play, as an announcement of the coming theme or personage. Blocks are struck, drums softly tapped, and chimes cascade upward in a metallic flourish. A wistful, yet playful, shakuhachi then comes in, almost lazily, like a leaf on the breeze, or like grass bending in a sun-sped wind, braced by a continued percussive cadence. It is soon undercut by a mystifying stringed instrument, which doesn’t so much complement the flute as challenge it, adding a very satisfying thematic complexity to the village. It is as if there are multiple, distinct cultural elements behind the screen, in a delicate, though competitive, dance. In an almost dismissive earnestness, the flute then jumps over an octave to a higher register, plaintively blaring out its melody while the strings and percussion continue their rhythms far below. These two symbiotic motifs play upon one another, deeply imbuing the entire village with nuance and a vague inscrutability. The music swells and recedes with an incredible natural consonance; it sounds like a meadow made music, though a meadow stirred by rival winds.
As the sun sets on this valley-hidden village, the music drops its playful elegance, descending into a more melancholic, lugubrious rendition of its theme; it loses most of its percussive zest, and the heady, diaphanous shakuhachi takes almost all focus upon itself, braced from below by a set of bells and the soft strumming of what is likely a Japanese koto. [1] Finding that we have now traversed the village, eyes closed, head slightly back, solely exploring with our ears, we may now open our eyes.
Kakariko is airily ensconced in a mountain vale, under a close sun and towering peaks. The stone of its walls is grey, and its streams swift. The Pillars of Levia — markéd stone columns in a jeweled lake of green grass — rise far above the village, natural fortresses in the hills. For the most part these cliffs are bare but for their verdant grass, though the northeast cliff-face is topped with a healthy forest, an area of mystery even to those who live below. A lively stream falls from this small woodland, cascading down the terraced face of Kakariko, eventually coming to rest in a diminutive pool around a statue of the Goddess Hylia. From the west, Lantern Lake pours its waters into yet another pond from a series of many-tiered falls in the cliff-side. These two waters almost meet, but for a short expanse of land before Impa’s Hall, which separates them, though diminishes neither. The smaller stream is followed closely by many willows and pines, though the pride of the village seems to be in fruit-bearing trees: specifically plums, which act as protectors of the village. [2] These modest trees are planted predominantly in front of houses and shops, and are especially noteworthy flanking each side of the gateway leading to the Town Hall. Tended carefully by at least one dedicated naturalist in the village, the buds are just opening when Link arrives, yielding tender pinks, whites, and purples. Alongside the plum orchard and apple trees can be found several fields which provide Kakariko with its two most famous crops: carrots and pumpkins. In a delightful rivalry between two venerable farmers, we are made to see just how much better pumpkins are than carrots, and are also shown that carrots are the true ingredient par excellence. Finally, cuccos are tended by several villagers, and there is even a small pool for irrigation and the cultivation of a snail population. Kakariko, then, has food and to spare, with arable earth and two bountiful sources of water for drinking and irrigation.
While this alone may have been enough for the Sheikah in deciding upon the location of their new village, there are other concerns: especially in light of their banishment from the larger Hyrulean population. [3] These Sheikah, who chose exile, were likely after two things: safety and isolation. Stumbling into this sunlit dell, then, must have been of great fortune, for it provided them with both. This valley, now with its village, is far-removed from any major settlement or crossing-of-ways. The only road leading to it crosses the Kakariko Bridge after parting with the road uniting Fort Hateno and the East Post Ruins, and from there it climbs into the hills. It traces along the edge of the Pillars of Levia, winding its way through a narrow channel in the cliffs, finally meeting with Kakariko. The path then forms a small arch throughout the village before faltering ultimately on the Sahasra Slope. [4] Two final paths lead from the village, and both head north. One path leads upward, winding along the edge of the dell, eventually passing through the woods of the Great Fairy and joining with the West Gate of Lanayru Road. The final path leads to Kakariko Graveyard, a solemn place of low, unkempt stone and a solitary tree, evincing a deep animistic spiritualism akin to Shintō. [5] This holy place has an uninterrupted view north towards Hyrule Castle, and naught but a low wooden fence preventing a steep fall into Telta Lake at the cliff’s foot. For a persecuted people, then, this valley must have seemed a godsend.
While this alone may have been enough for the Sheikah in deciding upon the location of their new village, there are other concerns: especially in light of their banishment from the larger Hyrulean population. [3] These Sheikah, who chose exile, were likely after two things: safety and isolation. Stumbling into this sunlit dell, then, must have been of great fortune, for it provided them with both. This valley, now with its village, is far-removed from any major settlement or crossing-of-ways. The only road leading to it crosses the Kakariko Bridge after parting with the road uniting Fort Hateno and the East Post Ruins, and from there it climbs into the hills. It traces along the edge of the Pillars of Levia, winding its way through a narrow channel in the cliffs, finally meeting with Kakariko. The path then forms a small arch throughout the village before faltering ultimately on the Sahasra Slope. [4] Two final paths lead from the village, and both head north. One path leads upward, winding along the edge of the dell, eventually passing through the woods of the Great Fairy and joining with the West Gate of Lanayru Road. The final path leads to Kakariko Graveyard, a solemn place of low, unkempt stone and a solitary tree, evincing a deep animistic spiritualism akin to Shintō. [5] This holy place has an uninterrupted view north towards Hyrule Castle, and naught but a low wooden fence preventing a steep fall into Telta Lake at the cliff’s foot. For a persecuted people, then, this valley must have seemed a godsend.
One of the foot-bridges crossing the small stream which parts the two halves of Kakariko Village.
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Kakariko Graveyard can be seen here, looking toward the village; the pile of rocks is likely the graveyard itself, sepulchral and still.
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Here, we would go amiss to not discuss Shintō, the indigenous religion of the Japanese isles. While the ancient Sheikah draw their architectural inspiration from the Jōmon Period of Japanese history, the extant Sheikah seem to be the architectural realization of pre-Buddhist Japanese society, heavily grounded in Shintō as a means of cultural expression. Shintō, “with these raised-floor shrines and gable roofs (based on the agricultural model of the storehouse), grounded the religion in the Japanese landscape. Shintō was essentially a vernacular religion without a large architectural repertoire.” [6] Indeed, as we later discuss, the architectural stockpile of early Shintō buildings was not overwhelming in size or variation: this gave it (and therefore gives Kakariko Village) a tightly-coherent, readily-recognizable style, differentiating it from the Buddhist architecture that would eventually be introduced from China and neighboring Korea. Buddhism arrived in Japan in the sixth century CE, and eventually fused with Shintō; Buddhist temples were oftentimes wed to Shintō shrines, and vice versa, in a unique Japanese syncretism known as shinbutsu shūgō. [7] Although the temples were eventually untangled in the 19th century by an edict of the Meiji Government, the two religions intermingled for centuries.
Shintō (神道), literally the Way of the Gods, is a diverse, wide-ranging collection of beliefs from communities across Japan; it is both communal and small-scale, as well as integrated into the highest orders of the Japanese monarchy — encompassing both village superstition and royal ritual. Shintō is inextricably tied to the land, where kami (spirits or deities) dwell, and is an expression of the relationship between humanity and nature. “Shinto emerged gradually in ancient times and is distinctive in that it has no founder, no sacred books, no teachers, no saints, and no well-defined pantheon. It never developed a moral order or a hierarchical priesthood and did not offer salvation after death. The oldest type of Shintō ceremonies that could be called religious were dedicated to agriculture and always emphasized ritual purity. Worship took place outdoors at sites proclaimed to be sacred. In time, however, the ancient Japanese built permanent structures to honor their gods. Shrines were usually built on mountains or in rural areas, often on unlevel ground, without any symmetrical plan.” [8] It should surprise no one to discover that early religious experiences were tied deeply to agriculture and the life-cycles of crops, animals, and people; of old, nothing was more important than a good harvest, healthy livestock, or continued prosperity. That ceremonies should be guided toward this end is logical, then, and the Japanese focus on ritualistic purity maps onto this intent splendidly. The vast number of Shintō shrines in Japan (roughly 80,000 [9]), with their attendant number of deities, means that each experience of Shintō should prove distinct and uniquely beautiful — these experiences tying together a culture, and helping to heal the ever-tenuous balance between humanity, nature, and the gods. Kakariko Village is but one small extension of this vast net of religious expression.
Shintō (神道), literally the Way of the Gods, is a diverse, wide-ranging collection of beliefs from communities across Japan; it is both communal and small-scale, as well as integrated into the highest orders of the Japanese monarchy — encompassing both village superstition and royal ritual. Shintō is inextricably tied to the land, where kami (spirits or deities) dwell, and is an expression of the relationship between humanity and nature. “Shinto emerged gradually in ancient times and is distinctive in that it has no founder, no sacred books, no teachers, no saints, and no well-defined pantheon. It never developed a moral order or a hierarchical priesthood and did not offer salvation after death. The oldest type of Shintō ceremonies that could be called religious were dedicated to agriculture and always emphasized ritual purity. Worship took place outdoors at sites proclaimed to be sacred. In time, however, the ancient Japanese built permanent structures to honor their gods. Shrines were usually built on mountains or in rural areas, often on unlevel ground, without any symmetrical plan.” [8] It should surprise no one to discover that early religious experiences were tied deeply to agriculture and the life-cycles of crops, animals, and people; of old, nothing was more important than a good harvest, healthy livestock, or continued prosperity. That ceremonies should be guided toward this end is logical, then, and the Japanese focus on ritualistic purity maps onto this intent splendidly. The vast number of Shintō shrines in Japan (roughly 80,000 [9]), with their attendant number of deities, means that each experience of Shintō should prove distinct and uniquely beautiful — these experiences tying together a culture, and helping to heal the ever-tenuous balance between humanity, nature, and the gods. Kakariko Village is but one small extension of this vast net of religious expression.
A water basin for purification at Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima, in Hiroshima Prefecture, Japan. Image in the Public Domain.
Marking their newfound boundaries, the Sheikah, at some point, put up a series of gates, or torii (literally bird abode in Japanese - 鳥居). The world of Japanese gates is a dizzying one, with regional, local, and sometimes temple-specific variations; happily, though, there are similarities which tie them all together, and which can help to explain their existence in Kakariko Village. A torii, in short, is “a monumental, free-standing gateway on the approach to a Shintō shrine, consisting of two pillars connected at the top by a horizontal crosspiece and a lintel above it, usually curving upwards.” [10] Torii, as demarcations of physical space, seek to separate the boundary between the mundane and sacred; they can also identify hallowed locations or objects, such as mountains, rocks, or other natural phenomena. As in Kakariko, it should be noted, torii are in no way defensive structures; they are meant to announce the numinous. [These gates consist of many parts, each with distinct Japanese names and functions. They may be painted or unpainted; traditionally, they are painted vermillion and black, but in Kakariko they are of a simple dark wood. Torii can furthermore be separated into two schools: shinmei and myōjin, which have straight lintels and curved lintels respectively.] As with all architectures in The Legend of Zelda, real-world traditions are given game-specific nuance, and therefore the torii we see in Breath of the Wild are similar to those of Japan, yet are different enough in detail to augment a new culture.
The two principle paths into Kakariko Village are each marked by two main torii. These gates, instead of having two main posts, have four, and these posts are square in shape, not circular — creating a distinct torii of the Sheikah. And while each set of two posts has a large, extending lintel, as in traditional torii design, there is only one shared crossbeam, uniting the structure in its center, and which is further buttressed by three smaller wooden beams. Two curved beams unite the structure at its top, carrying red cloth as symbolic drapery. But the most noticeable difference is the triangular beam that dominates the gate, almost like the empty gable of a roof. (Thus far, I have not found another torii with this distinct design, which shows a large departure from tradition in Sheikah design, solidifying their unique cultural milieu.) At its topmost point, this beam bears an open eye of polished metal, creating a watchful feeling on the path. Red ropes wind around the bottom of each post, echoing the red of the cloth above, and from the lintels and crossbeams are hung four pennants: three with the Eye of the Sheikah, and one with an unexplained symbol: a triangle floating above fading lines.
The two principle paths into Kakariko Village are each marked by two main torii. These gates, instead of having two main posts, have four, and these posts are square in shape, not circular — creating a distinct torii of the Sheikah. And while each set of two posts has a large, extending lintel, as in traditional torii design, there is only one shared crossbeam, uniting the structure in its center, and which is further buttressed by three smaller wooden beams. Two curved beams unite the structure at its top, carrying red cloth as symbolic drapery. But the most noticeable difference is the triangular beam that dominates the gate, almost like the empty gable of a roof. (Thus far, I have not found another torii with this distinct design, which shows a large departure from tradition in Sheikah design, solidifying their unique cultural milieu.) At its topmost point, this beam bears an open eye of polished metal, creating a watchful feeling on the path. Red ropes wind around the bottom of each post, echoing the red of the cloth above, and from the lintels and crossbeams are hung four pennants: three with the Eye of the Sheikah, and one with an unexplained symbol: a triangle floating above fading lines.
Past these doubled gates are smaller torii of two leaner posts and a uniting rope, upon which hang something akin to Japanese ema — wooden charms found at Shintō shrines. These types of gates are called shime torii, and are often hung with fetishes or other religious implements. A phenomenon called kanjo nawa exists in rural parts of Japan, in which shimenawa are strung across the borders of villages in order to protect from spirits and other supernatural entities that would cause harm. [11] In Breath of the Wild, the ropes carry a series of small wooden planks, potentially derivative of many Japanese cultural artifacts, from the ema mentioned above to nafudakake (name plates in memoriam or to pay thanks to patrons at temples). More simply, and this is perhaps more likely, they are wind chimes, as they are unmarked by any symbol or script. These small planks are cut into two different sizes, and most are painted, though some remain the natural color of bamboo. Fascinatingly, the choice of color in paint reflects the color of the traditional torii: vermillion. So while the torii of the village are left in their natural state, the wooden chimes of the village hearken back to the color-schemes of traditional Japanese gates. These chimes hang together in small clusters, rattling gently in the breeze, producing one of the best features of the village: the small, rain-like patter of wooden chimes in the wind. These shime torii are not simply found at the entrances to the village however, but cascade throughout the very air of the village, hanging over places both sacred and earthly: they overhang paths and houses, but also stretch over the guardian statues of the village, as well as over the statue of the Goddess Hylia herself.
The Torii of Iki Shrine and Iki Pine Grove By そらみみ (Soramimi) (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (httpscreativecommons.orglicensesby-sa4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.
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The "Married Couple Stones" (Meito Iwa) at Futami, in the Mie Prefecture of Japan. This is an example of shime torii, or a gate marked with shimenawa, a rope used in ritual marking.
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Kakariko consists in ten buildings, nestled onto rock terraces, and surrounded by dirt footpaths, lined with grass, upon which are scattered the leaves of untold years. At night, these paths are lit by small lanterns on wooden posts, providing an orange glow during dark nights in the mountains. Serving as protective spirits for travelers are squat statues of frogs [12], well-worn by weather, though freshly painted with the vermillion insignia of the Sheikah. And this is a village worth protecting. This is clearly a community tightly-knit by common culture and tradition: there are friendly rivalries, close families, and people of all generations imparting knowledge and structure as their positions allow — the elderly passing on wisdom, and the youth manifesting action and progression. And while this is not an overly-complex society, there is still a great division of labor, as evinced through the different buildings and businesses to be found around the village. Of the ten structures, four are mercantile buildings (an inn, a produce shop, a fletcher, and an armorer), five are houses, and there is the residence of Impa, which overlooks and dominates the village. Although these buildings all have unique elements marking their function and residents, they are all bound together by a common architecture: all variations on an architectural theme. The differences are quite simple: layout, orientation, size, and shape all vary, as do the number of windows on a given building, or the shape of its roof; the top cross-beam may also be different, along with various decorations or ornaments to be found upon each house’s walls.
Yet the buildings are tied together under the shinmei style (shinmei-zukuri - 神明造) which is as beautiful as it is simplistic. Exemplified by Japan’s famous Ise Shrine — among the holiest Shintō shrines — this architectural mode is, “a style of Shintō shrine embodying the original style of Japanese building, before the introduction of Buddhism. It consists essentially of a small unpainted rectangular structure raised above the ground level on posts inserted directly into the earth. A railed veranda surrounds the structure at floor level, a freestanding post at each gable end supports the ridge, and the bargeboards extend outward from the thickly thatched roof, forming chigi at each end.” [13] There is one very important point within that quote that should be restated: this style is pre-Buddhist in nature, and is thus considered to be a purely Japanese form of architecture, just like the particular Jōmon architecture discussed in the previous article. The agenda of the designers within this game seems to be the glorification of indigenous Japanese design and tradition: a rehabilitation of older forms for newer media. And just as the Jōmon transitions into the Yayoi and then Kofun eras of Japanese history, the era of the ancient Sheikah grows into the age of the modern Sheikah, complete with cultural crossover and diffusion. [14]
Yet the buildings are tied together under the shinmei style (shinmei-zukuri - 神明造) which is as beautiful as it is simplistic. Exemplified by Japan’s famous Ise Shrine — among the holiest Shintō shrines — this architectural mode is, “a style of Shintō shrine embodying the original style of Japanese building, before the introduction of Buddhism. It consists essentially of a small unpainted rectangular structure raised above the ground level on posts inserted directly into the earth. A railed veranda surrounds the structure at floor level, a freestanding post at each gable end supports the ridge, and the bargeboards extend outward from the thickly thatched roof, forming chigi at each end.” [13] There is one very important point within that quote that should be restated: this style is pre-Buddhist in nature, and is thus considered to be a purely Japanese form of architecture, just like the particular Jōmon architecture discussed in the previous article. The agenda of the designers within this game seems to be the glorification of indigenous Japanese design and tradition: a rehabilitation of older forms for newer media. And just as the Jōmon transitions into the Yayoi and then Kofun eras of Japanese history, the era of the ancient Sheikah grows into the age of the modern Sheikah, complete with cultural crossover and diffusion. [14]
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Left: one of the Traveler's Guardian Deity statues near the foot-bridge. Notice the insignia of the Sheikah upon its chest, painted in vermillion.
Above: the hanging chimes of Kakariko, soaring above the village. |
There are a few differences between the architecture of the shinmei style and that of the Sheikah, which yield the uncanny perception of Kakariko Village as hovering somewhere between the real and idealized. While the thatched roofs and raised floors are common between the two schools, and while the rooftops bear katsuogi, or the short, decorative logs placed at right angles along the ridges of roofs, there are no chigi, or forked finials, as is so common in Shintō architecture. In Kakariko, these katsuogi occasionally bear the clan symbol, though they are originally thought to have simply been weighting for thatch; of course, they serve an aesthetic function as well. The houses and other buildings all share walls of cream-white on a base of dark, raised wood (again, mimicking the ancient storehouses on which they were based), with an occasional fence enclosing the veranda between the edge of the platform and walls of the house. This outer porch, on nearly every structure, holds pots, buckets for storage (whose lids are weighed down with heavy stones), baskets, supplies, and tools for farming and construction. Wood panelling, matching the wood of the veranda, extends vertically up the lower third of the wall, with a parallel cross-section of wood above demarcating the door’s lintel. The door itself is of a lighter wood, and is not embellished, but for a decorative eye in its center; above the lintel can also be found this same eye. On some houses and shops there are external lanterns, while shops carry more embellishments than the houses; they have illustrative and written signs above their portals, and the shop-keeps often hang wide red ribbons under the eaves.
Three commercial buildings are shown above; the inn, marked by the sign of a crescent moon, is draped with large red banners, with an enormous glowing lantern above the door. To the right is the grocer, and behind the inn is the fletcher.
Above: the katsuogi and chigi of Ise Shrine: By Naiku_01.JPG N yotarou derivative work AMorozov (Naiku_01.JPG) [CC BY 2.5 (httpcreativecommons.orglicensesby2.5), GFDL (httpwww.gnu.orgcopyleftfdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0
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While not as ornate as the shrine at Ise, the home above shows the same roof design elements, but in a more organic style.
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Finally, we have arrived at the most overt and lovely architectural element in Kakariko: the rooftops. “It is mainly to the roof that the Japanese house owes its picturesque appearance; it is the roof which gives to the houses that novelty and variety which is so noticeable among them in different parts of the country.” [15] Minka (民家), as these structures are called, simply means “the homes of the people” and refers to vernacular architecture, with its focus on local materials, tradition, climate, and topography. It goes without saying that minka vary widely from region to region. Minka are traditionally classified by the designs of their roofs, and are sometimes named based upon their forms, from the gasshō style (a typical form of gesture given when bowing) to the kabuto, or helmet, style. [16]
Thatch in Japan is typically rice straw, where such roofs are called warabuki (“straw-covered”). In the process of thatching, dried straw is bundled and tied, and then attached to the roof structure, creating overlapping layers, as with roof-tile. [17] The roofs of Kakariko seem to take inspiration from many different minka around Japan. As in the real world, the thatching in Kakariko is quite thick, so as to trap heat and resist the elements, but the roofs of Kakariko seem to be equally fanciful in relation to their function. Like rough-clipped hair, or like military helms, the thatching of Kakariko forms the troughs and crests of waves, rising above doorways and descending upon the corners to give added protection and insulation to the houses. Dormer windows on the roofs break up this curious thatch-work, and the windows all seem to be of a red-painted wood which divides four panes of glass. More noticeable still are the long beams which perch atop each building. These beams seem fashioned from single pieces of wood, rising like waves toward their middles, and curving upward at each end like the prow of a ship; some have cross-beams, the katsuogi spoken of above, which further add to the ornamentation of Kakariko’s buildings.
Thatch in Japan is typically rice straw, where such roofs are called warabuki (“straw-covered”). In the process of thatching, dried straw is bundled and tied, and then attached to the roof structure, creating overlapping layers, as with roof-tile. [17] The roofs of Kakariko seem to take inspiration from many different minka around Japan. As in the real world, the thatching in Kakariko is quite thick, so as to trap heat and resist the elements, but the roofs of Kakariko seem to be equally fanciful in relation to their function. Like rough-clipped hair, or like military helms, the thatching of Kakariko forms the troughs and crests of waves, rising above doorways and descending upon the corners to give added protection and insulation to the houses. Dormer windows on the roofs break up this curious thatch-work, and the windows all seem to be of a red-painted wood which divides four panes of glass. More noticeable still are the long beams which perch atop each building. These beams seem fashioned from single pieces of wood, rising like waves toward their middles, and curving upward at each end like the prow of a ship; some have cross-beams, the katsuogi spoken of above, which further add to the ornamentation of Kakariko’s buildings.
A thatched house in Shirakawa-go, Gifu Prefecture: By Karl Baron from Malmö, Sweden (Shirakawa-go) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
A series of minka of the gasshō (united-hands) style in Gokayama in Toyama Prefecture. I can't help but draw comparisons between it and Kakariko: both are hidden in mountain vales, both rest upon terraces with small agricultural fields, and both are dotted with flowering trees and small streams. It made the UNESCO World Heritage Site list in December of 1995, with many houses over 300 years old. Source: くろふね [CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.
Impa’s residence, which dominates the village, is a special case, though it still relies on the same architectural elements. It is the only building within the village with a cruciform plan, and it is the most richly adorned. It sits on what is almost an island, but for a thin promontory that connects it to the village; upon this rocky path is placed a stair of dark wood, entered onto by means of a small gate with thatching. The staircase leads to a large veranda which encircles the hall, and which forms a perfect square, complementing the cruciform structure it supports. Small, translucent windows with red shutters look out onto the village, while above, large banners of white, blue, and red hang down from the thatching. The roof carries a few small dormer windows and decorative strings, and itself is crowned with immense beams and katsuogi. These are tied up, much like the torii at the outermost limits of the village, with red rope, and the largest cross-beam most of all. At the end of the gable facing the village, a large symbol of an eye in metal looks directly over the statue of the Goddess Hylia. This is the same sigil that is found upon the gates to the village, and upon the gate at the bottom of the staircase. Inside, the main hall is capacious, with exposed beams (of the same type found atop the structure), hanging banners, and statues ensconced at the tops of pillars. Small seating mats rest in front of Impa, and two staircases lead upward from either side of the main dais; these both lead to the living quarter, which is a charming room of books, beauty accessories, and personal study. All houses in this village share commonalities on the interior, as well. Exposed beams, white-washed walls, and wooden floors and furniture all grant an earthy appearance to the town, grounding it in its location. Pitchers of sake rest upon tables, small desks carry lamps, vases, and books, and each villager has a particular hobby of note which can be explored simply by peering into each house. Of great interest to us, though, is an etching upon the walls. Almost as if from a dream, the designs of the Jōmon retrace themselves in modern-day Kakariko, stemming from beams and flooring in curvilinear familiarity. These designs, though not as organic and random as the embellishments of the Ancient Sheikah, are clearly renderings of those same designs, an homage to times and ancestors long past.
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Left: the Town Hall, where Impa resides, accessed by means of a long stair. The Hall sits atop a rocky outcropping in the middle of a deep pool fed by the Lantern Lake above in the mountains.
Above: Impa sits in meditation upon the dais. |
In Kakariko Village, the design team accomplished great things. They were able to promote vernacular Japanese architecture on a world stage, tweaking it only slightly, yet preserving its beauty and ancientry, while still creating an in-game culture that was at once novel and convincing. The interests of the design team sprang from their love of traditional Japanese architecture — specifically those forms that predate Buddhism and other foreign influences into their archipelago. [18] Shintō architecture is something almost wholly Japanese, and Kakariko is but one branch of that great stream: a hearkening-back to older forms given new light in uniquely Hyrulean ways.
Notes and Works Cited:
[1] My ignorance of traditional Japanese instrumentation precludes me from knowing exactly what these instruments are; light research and a good ear have led me to believe that the instruments in the music matched those talked about above, but, if a more-knowledgeable reader knows better, I will change the text without a moment of hesitation. Although I love music with humility, it is not an area of deep expertise.
[2] "The plum trees that dot the village symbolize endurance and prosperity, reflecting the character and current circumstances of these hearty people, so they treat them as protectors of the village."
White, Keaton C., and Shinichiro Tanaka. The Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild: Creating a Champion, p. 257. Dark Horse Books, a Division of Dark Horse Comics, Inc., 2018.
[3] Cado, one of the main guardsmen, states: “We of the Sheikah tribe have long been heralded as a people of great wisdom. Our technology became the key to sealing Ganon away during the Great Calamity, some ten thousand years ago. At one point, our technology was praised as the power of the gods . . . but eventually the people turned on it. Turned on us. Our creations came to be viewed as a threat to the kingdom. The Sheikah became outcasts, forced into exile. Some, like us, chose to cast off our technological advances and strove to live normal lives.”
In Nintendo's 2018 book, Creating a Champion, it is written that not only were the Sheikah exiled, but they were "oppressed by the king of Hyrule." (p. 101) On page 368, more detail is given: "Their technology was key in helping the chosen hero and the princess seal Ganon away ten thousand years in the past and usher in an age of peace, but the king of Hyrule at the time began to fear and doubt the Sheikah. He became possessed by thoughts of imagined Sheikah betrayal. He issued an order to abolish technology and began to oppress the Sheikah. The Sheikah's laboratories were closed, research was prohibited, and data was destroyed. Their best researchers were expelled from the kingdom and monitored. Any Sheikah who dared oppose this order was met with severe punishment, including imprisonment."
[4] Interestingly, the road appears to pick up at the feet of the slope; whether it was planned to be so, or whether it has simply fallen into disuse is unknown. The slopes are quite gentle, so it may have been that the Sheikah ultimately got rid of it, through unmaking or simply through refusing it maintenance. Having a road west would certainly decrease the village’s chosen isolation, so that last scenario is not unlikely. [Update: per Creating a Champion, p. 368, this road likely used to lead to the Great Plateau.]
[5] Shinto, “was initially practiced in places of great natural beauty demarcated by piles of stones and other organic boundaries.”
Cole, Emily. “Classical Japan - Pre-C. 6th BCE - C. 19th.” The Grammar of Architecture, Craftsman House, 2007, pp. 66–67.
[6] Ibid.
[7] The Editors of Encyclopædia Britannica. “Shinbutsu Shūgō.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 20 July 1998, www.britannica.com/topic/Shinbutsu-shugo.
[8] Department of Asian Art. “Shinto.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/shin/hd_shin.htm (October 2002)
[9] Bernard, Rosemarie. “The Forum on Religion and Ecology at Yale.” Shinto | Religion | Yale Forum on Religion and Ecology, The Forum on Religion and Ecology at Yale, fore.yale.edu/religion/shinto/.
[10] Ching, Frank. A Visual Dictionary of Architecture. 2nd ed., John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2012.
[11] “Kanjo Nawa (Sacred Rope Protecting Local People From Evil Spirits).” トップ, Kasagi Town, 10 May 2017, www.town.kasagi.lg.jp/contents_detail.php?frmId=452.
[12] "I was just polishing the guardian deities. These deities are like signposts that guide us through our lives. Master Link, I want you to know that the path you are walking down is one we should all follow. I . . . I'm afraid doing stuff like this is the only thing I can do to help you . . . ." — Paya, Breath of the Wild
[13] Ching, Frank. A Visual Dictionary of Architecture. 2nd ed., John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2012.
[14] "Ancient ruins, sacred beasts, and shrines are inspired by Japan's Jōmon period. What if the Sheikah tribe, who created it, continued to develop their civilization based on this trend? This is how the design of the village where the Sheikah tribe lived and the Sheikah tribe was decided."
Nintendo Dream Web. "BotW developer interview immediately after release." 21 July, 2018. https://www.ndw.jp/post-1433/
[15] Morse, Edward Sylvester. Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings. Dover Publications, 1961.
[16] Locher, Mira. Traditional Japanese Architecture: an Exploration of Elements and Forms. Edited by Kengo Kuma, Publishers Group UK Distributor, 2010.
[17] There are many positive aspects to this style of roofing, with commensurate trade-offs; while such materials are cheap and plentiful, as well as easy to replace, they are not as durable as ceramic or wood, and need to be replaced with greater frequency (although modern thatch-work seems to have closed that gap considerably). And although thatch is naturally weather-resistant and a good form of insulation, it is very labor-intensive, and the residual grains found in the thatch can encourage birds and rodents to take up roost within it.
[18] Senior Lead Artist Makoto Yonezu stated that: "At the beginning of the project, I had thought about how I wanted to create some element of ancient Japanese culture somewhere in this Zelda game. From there, the connection between ancient Japan and shinobi was folded into a Sheikah village, which led to the concept behind Kakariko Village. It was built around the motifs of Japanese mountain villages with terraced rice fields, as well as other elements such as stone statues of frogs to capture the ninja essence."
White, Keaton C., and Shinichiro Tanaka. The Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild: Creating a Champion, p. 257. Dark Horse Books, a Division of Dark Horse Comics, Inc., 2018.
[1] My ignorance of traditional Japanese instrumentation precludes me from knowing exactly what these instruments are; light research and a good ear have led me to believe that the instruments in the music matched those talked about above, but, if a more-knowledgeable reader knows better, I will change the text without a moment of hesitation. Although I love music with humility, it is not an area of deep expertise.
[2] "The plum trees that dot the village symbolize endurance and prosperity, reflecting the character and current circumstances of these hearty people, so they treat them as protectors of the village."
White, Keaton C., and Shinichiro Tanaka. The Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild: Creating a Champion, p. 257. Dark Horse Books, a Division of Dark Horse Comics, Inc., 2018.
[3] Cado, one of the main guardsmen, states: “We of the Sheikah tribe have long been heralded as a people of great wisdom. Our technology became the key to sealing Ganon away during the Great Calamity, some ten thousand years ago. At one point, our technology was praised as the power of the gods . . . but eventually the people turned on it. Turned on us. Our creations came to be viewed as a threat to the kingdom. The Sheikah became outcasts, forced into exile. Some, like us, chose to cast off our technological advances and strove to live normal lives.”
In Nintendo's 2018 book, Creating a Champion, it is written that not only were the Sheikah exiled, but they were "oppressed by the king of Hyrule." (p. 101) On page 368, more detail is given: "Their technology was key in helping the chosen hero and the princess seal Ganon away ten thousand years in the past and usher in an age of peace, but the king of Hyrule at the time began to fear and doubt the Sheikah. He became possessed by thoughts of imagined Sheikah betrayal. He issued an order to abolish technology and began to oppress the Sheikah. The Sheikah's laboratories were closed, research was prohibited, and data was destroyed. Their best researchers were expelled from the kingdom and monitored. Any Sheikah who dared oppose this order was met with severe punishment, including imprisonment."
[4] Interestingly, the road appears to pick up at the feet of the slope; whether it was planned to be so, or whether it has simply fallen into disuse is unknown. The slopes are quite gentle, so it may have been that the Sheikah ultimately got rid of it, through unmaking or simply through refusing it maintenance. Having a road west would certainly decrease the village’s chosen isolation, so that last scenario is not unlikely. [Update: per Creating a Champion, p. 368, this road likely used to lead to the Great Plateau.]
[5] Shinto, “was initially practiced in places of great natural beauty demarcated by piles of stones and other organic boundaries.”
Cole, Emily. “Classical Japan - Pre-C. 6th BCE - C. 19th.” The Grammar of Architecture, Craftsman House, 2007, pp. 66–67.
[6] Ibid.
[7] The Editors of Encyclopædia Britannica. “Shinbutsu Shūgō.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 20 July 1998, www.britannica.com/topic/Shinbutsu-shugo.
[8] Department of Asian Art. “Shinto.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/shin/hd_shin.htm (October 2002)
[9] Bernard, Rosemarie. “The Forum on Religion and Ecology at Yale.” Shinto | Religion | Yale Forum on Religion and Ecology, The Forum on Religion and Ecology at Yale, fore.yale.edu/religion/shinto/.
[10] Ching, Frank. A Visual Dictionary of Architecture. 2nd ed., John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2012.
[11] “Kanjo Nawa (Sacred Rope Protecting Local People From Evil Spirits).” トップ, Kasagi Town, 10 May 2017, www.town.kasagi.lg.jp/contents_detail.php?frmId=452.
[12] "I was just polishing the guardian deities. These deities are like signposts that guide us through our lives. Master Link, I want you to know that the path you are walking down is one we should all follow. I . . . I'm afraid doing stuff like this is the only thing I can do to help you . . . ." — Paya, Breath of the Wild
[13] Ching, Frank. A Visual Dictionary of Architecture. 2nd ed., John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2012.
[14] "Ancient ruins, sacred beasts, and shrines are inspired by Japan's Jōmon period. What if the Sheikah tribe, who created it, continued to develop their civilization based on this trend? This is how the design of the village where the Sheikah tribe lived and the Sheikah tribe was decided."
Nintendo Dream Web. "BotW developer interview immediately after release." 21 July, 2018. https://www.ndw.jp/post-1433/
[15] Morse, Edward Sylvester. Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings. Dover Publications, 1961.
[16] Locher, Mira. Traditional Japanese Architecture: an Exploration of Elements and Forms. Edited by Kengo Kuma, Publishers Group UK Distributor, 2010.
[17] There are many positive aspects to this style of roofing, with commensurate trade-offs; while such materials are cheap and plentiful, as well as easy to replace, they are not as durable as ceramic or wood, and need to be replaced with greater frequency (although modern thatch-work seems to have closed that gap considerably). And although thatch is naturally weather-resistant and a good form of insulation, it is very labor-intensive, and the residual grains found in the thatch can encourage birds and rodents to take up roost within it.
[18] Senior Lead Artist Makoto Yonezu stated that: "At the beginning of the project, I had thought about how I wanted to create some element of ancient Japanese culture somewhere in this Zelda game. From there, the connection between ancient Japan and shinobi was folded into a Sheikah village, which led to the concept behind Kakariko Village. It was built around the motifs of Japanese mountain villages with terraced rice fields, as well as other elements such as stone statues of frogs to capture the ninja essence."
White, Keaton C., and Shinichiro Tanaka. The Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild: Creating a Champion, p. 257. Dark Horse Books, a Division of Dark Horse Comics, Inc., 2018.