‘ShÅ gun’ episode 10 summary: ‘The dream of a dream’

At the end of a richly imagined limited series like shÅ gun, without knowing what its writers and producers had in store, we could imagine the future of our favorite characters, whose lives would continue into the 17th century thanks to the elaborate cunning of Lord Yoshii Toranaga. We could have done all that and descended into a fog-laden valley of r/Shogun fanfic subreddits. The series would have left us with a host of finely crafted characters, even with so many instances of belly slits and decapitations summarily ripped from the neck. But we don’t have to do any of that either, because in the wake of Lady Mariko’s sacrifice in Episode 9, the shÅ gun The ending projects some results of its own. “Grandpa used it to fight an entire army of Japanese assassins,” one Blackthorne grandson tells another as the now elderly pilot clutches Mariko’s crucifix, a samurai sword hanging in tribute nearby. But echoes of the past drown out this imagined future, and instead Anjin holds Mariko’s corpse in the rubble of her last battle. The future Yabushige imagined for himself did not include this tragedy, and Tadanobu Asano puts the gravity of the moment into his face as Yabu realizes the terrible cost of his betrayal.

Toragana knew the seriousness of what he was asking of Mariko; He knew that his determined power to change the course of the future was greater than any Crimson Sky army he could send to the gates of Osaka Castle. But Lady Ochiba also found resolution and redemption in the death of her childhood friend. With her heir son at her side, Ochiba completes the poem they shared in the hours before her death. “On a branch without leaves, the flowers are only flowers because they fall. But fortunately, the wind.The deadly attack, orchestrated by Ishido, only served to melt Ochiba’s cold heart, and she sends a message to Toranaga that she will not support the regent chief with the heir’s banner. The fractured and ultimately fruitful friendship between Ochiba and Mariko was not in James Clavell’s original. shÅ gun novel. But just as Mariko served as Toranaga’s secret weapon, she became the most crucial element in the series’ conclusion.

“Please cut your belly tomorrow at sunset.” As Anjin, Yabushige, and the group of ladies and vassals arrive by boat at Ajiro, Toranaga orders Yabu’s death sentence with curt indifference. The moves Yabu attempted to make, even the deception of him that contributed to Mariko’s death, were all too short a time to sway Toranaga’s grand vision, and the samurai accepts his impending doom. This is finally where it will all end for him, after years of writing wills before battles. On a hill overlooking the sea, Toranaga waits as the agreed second in Yabu’s act of seppuku, and the two men share a few moments of clarity about everything that happened. An Ishido without the military support of the heir is an Ishido without support. “The Regents will turn against him before a sword is drawn,” the lord says, and we see what the battlefield may have been like. “Only then will my dream come true. I will start in Edo, my center of power. A nation without wars. An era of great peace. All of us have made this possible. You, me, Lady Mariko, even the barbarian who came out of the sea.” What Toranaga describes is the dawn of concentrated leadership at the top of the kingdom. You know, like a ShÅ gun. And Yabu has to smile even when he faces the end of him. “It’s what you always wanted, right?” But why tell the future to a dead man? SLICE, and Yabushige’s headless body falls from the ridge into the water.

(A side note here, in homage to the character of Kashigi Yabushige and Asano’s fantastic portrayal of him: the poem about death that he gives his nephew Omi to read is perfect and glorious. My corpse, don’t burn it, don’t bury it, just leave it in the field. And with it fill the belly of some hungry dog. Yabu smiles. “Impressive, right?†)

John Blackthorne’s future will be different from what he imagined, where he is back in England and tortured by the past. In exchange for the Christians sparing her life, Mariko arranged for his ship, the Erasmus, to be set on fire. But even in this, it was all part of Tauranga’s plan. The destruction of the ship was a test for Anjin, a test he only passes after promising his own suicide as a reward for shaking up the political firmament of feudal Japan. “If you’re finally done,” says his lord, “rebuild that ship and turn me into a fleet.” The coming era will be one of peace, but also of cooperation towards stability as the nation’s goal. The coasts continue to open. And in a beautiful sequence filled with quiet solemnity, Anjin and Fuji-sama sit quietly in their home. They have both lost someone and the house is emptier because of it. “There is no translator…” and each of them is drawn to the empty space that Mariko used to fill. With her service as Anjin’s consort completed, Fuji will become a nun with Toranaga’s blessing. But before they leave town, Blackthorne rows them out to open water. He holds her hand as she deposits the remains of her husband and her son into the depths of the sea. And with the words Mariko used before her loved ones died, Fuji-sama encourages him to lay Mariko’s crucifix to rest in the same way. “Let your hands be the last to hold her.”

The burned hull of the Erasmus will be repaired, and Blackthorne orders his men to take it to shore, who joins him on the ropes, but Buntaro. With bows, they acknowledge the weight of his collective loss. The death that the proud but cruel samurai would never allow to her wife was enacted by Lady Mariko on her own terms, and now these two men who loved her will find common ground in the safer world she left behind. Blackthorne sees Lord Toranaga looking at his work and pauses. So many losses, but also learning and the promise of what is to come. “How does it feel to shape the wind to your will?” Yabushige had asked his lord, marveling at how bushÅ’s plan had come to fruition after so many trials, setbacks, and outbreaks of unpredictable violence. But Toranaga, always so wise and so steadfastly humble, demurred. It is like the flight of his precious falcons, which shine in the immensity of the sky. “I don’t control the wind,” he said. “I just study it.” In the end, everything Yoshii Toranaga has done is like dew on a delicate blade of grass. A dream within a dream. We live and we die. The rest are just details.

Johnny Loftus (@glennganges) is a freelance writer and editor living in Chicago. His work has appeared in The Village Voice, All Music Guide, Pitchfork Media, and Nicki Swift.