Writing on samurai history and Japanese culture, focusing on the samurai revolution, meiji restoration, sakamoto ryoma, katsu kaishu, yoshida shoin, saigo takamori, takasugi shinsaku, shinsengumi, shogun, Tokugawa, bakufu, bushido, seppuku, sword
Above an ebony bokutō hangs a portrait ofKatsu Kaishū, a pivotal figure in the late Tokugawa and early Meiji eras. Flanking the portrait are my Samurai Revolution and its Chinese translation, 武士革命 — inspired by his life and legacy. For anyone interested in the Bakumatsu or the evolution of Japan’s modern samurai, this book explores that transformative era.
The title of this painting, “Returning from the Surrender of Edo Castle,” is misleading: Kaishū did not attend the formal surrender ceremony. But he did negotiate the peaceful surrender of the castle with Saigō, which of course resulted in the actual surrender. For that he was considered a traitor by many in the Tokugawa camp. In the painting, behind Kaishū is a stonewall of the castle, and to the left stands a fellow Bakufu samurai, sword drawn, as if ready to attack him — a stark reminder of the danger and tension surrounding his actions.
For more on the portrait itself and the artist Kawamura Kiyoo, see my earlier post from 2017 here.
Sakamoto Ryōma is one of the most beloved and iconic figures in Japanese history. A visionary who helped shape the birth of modern Japan, his life story has inspired countless books, television dramas, and even anime and video games. Two of the most widely known works about Ryōma available in English are Shiba Ryōtarō’s Ryōma (an abridged translation of the original, Ryōma ga Yuku) and my own biographical novel, Ryōma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai. Though both books chronicle the same remarkable man, their approaches and aims differ dramatically.
In Japan, Shiba Ryōtarō is a literary giant. His historical novel Ryōma ga Yuku etched Sakamoto Ryōma into the national psyche of Japan. Shiba’s Ryōma is both inspiring and dramatic. He is cast as the Hero of the Meiji Restoration, who led Japan from feudalism into modernity. But Shiba’s book is ultimately fiction—a creative reimagining based loosely on historical events and personages.
While the English translation of Shiba’s book provides a window into this epic narrative, it is abridged and filtered through the limitations of translation. In other words, while the original Ryōma ga Yuku is readily accessible to the average reader in Japan, its cultural and linguistic nuance requires annotation and explanation in English translation. Furthermore, readers unfamiliar with Japanese language, culture, and the broader historical context will not grasp the full extent of Shiba’s masterful portrayal of Ryoma’s character and personality—nor will they recognize how much of Shiba’s book is dramatized or speculative.
Meanwhile, no discussion of Ryōma in English-language historiography is complete without mentioning the seminal scholarship of Marius B. Jansen. While Jansen never wrote a full biography of Ryōma, Sakamoto Ryōma and the Meiji Restoration provides essential academic context that remains foundational for understanding Ryōma’s place in history. Jansen’s portrayal is notably nuanced and historically rigorous. Rather than portraying Ryōma as a lone revolutionary hero à la Shiba Ryōtarō, Jansen situates him within a broader movement of reformers, intellectuals, and visionaries who collectively shaped the path to modern Japan. This perspective offers a vital scholarly counterweight to the more dramatized and romanticized depictions found in Shiba’s Ryōma.
For readers seeking academic depth, Jansen’s insights frame Ryōma’s life and achievements within the real political and cultural dynamics of his era. His work resembles my own effort to place Ryōma in the larger historical narrative—one that balances myth and reality, legend and fact.
Shiba’s Ryōma ga Yuku was the inspiration for my Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai—a biographical novel grounded in meticulous research and based on definitive secondary sources and primary sources, including letters, memoirs, and official documents. My aim was to portray Ryōma’s life as accurately as possible, cutting through the mythologizing that has so often distorted his image. I sought to portray not the fictional hero Sakamoto Ryōma, as presented by Shiba, nor the academic (and rather dry) historical and political titan as chronicled by Jansen, but the real Ryōma—the progressive thinker, political strategist, Renaissance man, and cultural bridge between the old and new Japan, with all of his complexity, idiosyncrasies, and flaws that set him apart from his contemporaries and endear him to his countrymen of the 20th and 21st centuries.
[Note: Sakamoto Ryōma—whose life I chronicled in Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai—was assassinated in Kyoto near the end of 1867, at the pivotal moment when the Tokugawa regime was collapsing. Ryōma’s assassination is the subject of Part III of Samurai Assassins.]
[Imai Nobuo — Kyoto Mimawarigumi samurai who confessed involvement in the 1867 assassination of Sakamoto Ryōma]
During the years that the Shinsengumi were arresting and killing anti-Bakufu rebels on the streets and alleys of Kyoto, another Bakufu security force called Kyoto Mimawarigumi (Kyoto Patrol Corps) were doing the same thing. While the Shinsengumi corpsmen, from Commander Kondō Isami and Vice-commander Hijikata Toshizō on down, were rōnin, the Kyoto Patrol Corps generally consisted of direct vassals of the shogun. When a band of Mimawarigumi swordsmen, including Imai Nobuo, assassinated Sakamoto Ryōma and his cohort Nakaoka Shintarō at the former’s hideout in Kyoto around the end of 1867, the Shinsengumi were suspected. In 1870, Imai confessed to the authorities that he and others had acted under orders from their commander, Sasaki Tadasaburō, who was also involved. But Imai claimed that he had not had a hand in the actual killings, since he and two others had been downstairs guarding the place while the others went upstairs, where they attacked Ryōma and Nakaoka. Ryōma’s assassination is the subject of Part III of Samurai Assassins.
Imai’s confession notwithstanding, for decades it was “generally believed that Sakamoto Ryōma and Nakaoka Shintarō were killed by Kondō Isami and Hijikata Toshizō,” he said in 1900 in an interview for an article titled “Sakamoto Ryōma Satsugaisha” (“Sakamoto Ryōma’s Killers”). “But actually I did it.” As I wrote in Samurai Assassins,
Shinsengumi corpsman Shimada Kai denied that the Shinsengumi had anything to do with the assassinations, saying that they did not hear about the incident until the next day. Shimada’s claim is supported by another former Shinsengumi corpsman, Yūki Minizō. “We were at Kondō’s place that night,” Yūki recalled years later. “. . . When we heard about the assassinations the next day, we said to one another that whoever did it must have been a very skilled swordsman. . . . When we heard that it was Imai who had done it, it made sense. Imai was well known in Edo at that time for his great skill with a short sword. When he was set to attack, it was said that all you could see was his sword. Imai was the only person who could have done such work in such cramped quarters in so short a time.”
The conflicting accounts of Ryōma’s assassination remain one of the enduring mysteries of the Bakumatsu era. I explore these events in detail in my forthcoming book, Samurai Swordsmen: The Definitive History of the Shinsengumi (1863–1869). For details see the Shinsengumi Hub.
If you’ve spent any time diving into Bakumatsu history, you’ve probably come across the phrase “Renaissance Samurai.” It’s a neat way to capture the fierce, transformative spirit of figures like Sakamoto Ryōma—a samurai not bound by the old codes but reborn into a rapidly changing world (and a true “Renaissance man” at that).
I coined the phrase in my book Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai to highlight exactly that—a multi-talented samurai caught between tradition and modernity, blazing a new path.
Lately, I’ve noticed the phrase popping up here and there online, often without a byline or a nod to its origin. Is this plagiarism? Probably not—more like a gentle reminder of the lower end of human nature.
But here’s the thing: words, ideas, and phrases don’t float in a vacuum. They come wrapped in stories, research, and countless hours of writing. When people use a phrase like “Renaissance Samurai” without credit, they’re missing the context, the depth, and the passion behind it.
So, if anyone likes the phrase, that’s great—because it means the story is still alive and resonant. But a little credit would be appropriate, I think—a respectful nod that keeps our collective storytelling honest and vibrant.
To everyone who’s read, shared, or been inspired by Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai, thank you. Your engagement keeps this history breathing—and “Renaissance Samurai” more than just a catchy phrase.
And to the rest of the internet: maybe next time, dig a little deeper before borrowing. We storytellers work hard to keep history alive—and honest.
Aizu samurai Yamakawa Hiroshi’s Kyōto Shugoshoku Shimatsu, a history of the office of the protector of Kyoto, was published in 1911. The office of the protector of Kyoto, which lasted for more than five years (1862 – 1867), was held by Matsudaira Katamori, daimyo of Aizu. As the protector of Kyoto, he was the master of the Shinsengumi.
During the years that the Shinsengumi were arresting and killing anti-Bakufu rebels on the streets and alleys of Kyoto, another Bakufu security force called Kyoto Mimawarigumi (Kyoto Patrol Corps) were doing the same thing. While the Shinsengumi corpsmen, from Commander Kondō Isami and Vice-commander Hijikata Toshizō on down, were rōnin, the Kyoto Patrol Corps generally consisted of direct vassals of the shogun. When a band of Mimawarigumi swordsmen, including Imai Nobuo, assassinated Sakamoto Ryōma and his cohort 
