The Unwelcomed Lizard by Timothy Poulton

The Unwelcomed Lizard by Timothy Poulton

Eternally mysterious Mount Fuji, as seen from Lake Kawaguchiko. On dim days—which is to say most days—it’s less a mountain than an allegation, obscured by fog and industrial haze, witnessing this behemoth is always a blessing. One meaning of the word Fuji is “peerless one.” Another interpretation, “deathless,” echoes Taoist belief that the volcano harbors the secret of immortality. Another source for this etymology, the tenth-century “Tale of the Bamboo Cutter,” offers up feudal lore (foundling in rushes, changeling child, suitors and impossible tasks, mighty ruler overpowered by gods) in which Princess Kaguya leaves behind a poem and an elixir of everlasting life for the emperor on her way home to the moon. The heartbroken emperor orders the poem and potion to be burned at the summit of the mountain, closest to the firmament. Ever after, the story concludes, smoke rose from the peak, given the name fu-shi (“not death”). Of all the gods and monsters that have visited Fuji, only Godzilla is unwelcome there. In obeisance to the etiquette of destruction observed in films featuring the legendarily overgrown lizard, Fuji’s summit is treated as a national treasure to which the alpha-predator is denied access. Godzilla has clomped about the lower slopes in several movies—and another accidental tourist, King Kong, was dropped on his head during an aborted ascent—but Godzilla has never conquered Fuji. The mountain begins to feel mysterious again.

Timothy Poulton: Photos