The Game of Go: The National Game of Japan

In Short

This book is a comprehensive, practical guide to Go, the national game of Japan. By blending historical context with rigorous technical instruction, the author demystifies the game's rules, terminology, and sophisticated opening strategies. It remains a definitive early-twentieth-century effort to codify a game that, while possessing deceptively simple rules, offers infinite strategic depth. Through annotated games and detailed diagrams, the text provides a systematic roadmap for students seeking to master the elusive balance between territorial aggression and defensive structural integrity.

The Story

The narrative of the book is the story of the game’s evolution from an aristocratic pastime to a disciplined intellectual pursuit. It begins with the arrival of Go in Japan during the 8th century, chronicling how it moved from the imperial courts of Kyoto into the broader society. As the game transitioned from a noble secret to a public endeavor, it developed a formal hierarchy of skill, eventually resulting in the professional Academy system that categorized players into distinct degrees.

The heart of the book lies in this transition from historical curiosity to technical mastery. The author details the equipment—the polished shell stones and slate pieces—and the physical board, which historically held symbolic, astronomical significance. This sets the stage for the core conflict: the battle for territory. The reader is introduced to the "principle of the two Me," the essential survival mechanism that allows a group of stones to exist independently on the board. From this fundamental rule, the author constructs a complex world of tactical maneuvers, such as Seki (a neutral stalemate) and Semeai (mutual attacks).

As the instruction deepens, the focus shifts to the "Joseki," or fixed opening patterns. Here, the reader learns that professional play is not a chaotic skirmish but a methodical expansion from corners and edges toward the center. The author presents numerous annotated games between high-ranking masters, demonstrating how these practitioners balance their influence across the board. These accounts move from the early-game occupation of corners, through the intricate middle-game maneuvering where territory is contested, to the final, precise calculations of the end game.

The arc concludes with an extensive series of technical problems. These are not merely puzzles but exercises in applied logic, covering scenarios like "robber’s attacks" (Oi otoshi) and the delicate art of cutting off an opponent’s supply lines. By the final page, the reader is no longer looking at a board of scattered stones, but at a living grid of tactical possibilities. The evolution is complete: the student has moved from the simplicity of a black stone on a white board to an appreciation of a system that rewards foresight, sacrifice, and the calm assessment of risk.

How It Unfolds

The historical foundation The text traces the introduction of the game from China to Japan in the 8th century, noting early anecdotes of courtly play and the eventual emergence of professional schools. It establishes the cultural importance of the game, emphasizing how it became an essential pursuit for the Japanese nobility.

The mechanics of survival The focus shifts to the board and stones, explaining how the number of pieces corresponds to the days of the year and the intersections on the board. The author then details the "principle of the two Me," the absolute requirement for any group of stones to remain on the board without being captured.

The structure of professional play The author explains the Academy’s ranking system, distinguishing between various degrees of skill and the honorary titles bestowed upon the best players. This section serves to set the standard for the reader, illustrating the dedication required to achieve the highest level of proficiency.

The tactical landscape The instruction moves to standard terminology, such as Semeai (mutual attack) and Seki (a stalemate). These definitions provide the vocabulary necessary for the reader to analyze the later, more complex illustrative games.

The illustrative games The book presents several annotated matches between fifth-degree players and others, detailing move-by-move strategies. These examples demonstrate how the game progresses from the corners toward the center and how professionals handle handicaps.

The mastery of the end game The final section addresses the end game, where every move is calculated for maximum point gain. It provides a series of specific problems—such as connecting groups and executing Oi otoshi—to test the reader's ability to apply the principles learned earlier.

The People

The book is populated by historical masters and the teachers who provided the author with his knowledge. Murase Shuho, the premier player of the 1880s, stands as the benchmark of excellence; his inventions and victories serve as the standard by which all other play is measured. Honinbo Shuyei is also highlighted as a rare figure, being the only player of the Meiji period to reach the ninth degree.

Alongside these legends are the author’s mentors, Mokichi Nakamura and Jihei Hashiguchi. Nakamura serves as the bridge between the Japanese tradition and the Western reader, supplying the enthusiasm and material that make the book possible. Hashiguchi, known to readers of the New York Sun, provides the expert technical assistance required to translate the nuances of professional play into readable English. The readers themselves are characterized as students—those who have moved beyond the "smattering" of basic knowledge and now require the rigorous structure of Joseki to improve. These students must learn to abandon the beginner's impulse to attack every stone, instead adopting the patience and structural discipline modeled by the masters.

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the necessity of the "two Me" rule for any group hoping to survive on the board:

"In order for a group of stones to be safe, they must contain two disconnected vacant intersections or 'Me,' and this group is safe forever."

He reflects on the etiquette and strategic philosophy surrounding the opening move, specifically addressing the center point known as Tengen:

"It used to be regarded as exceedingly impolite and insulting to play the first stone on the handicap point in the center of the board, called 'Ten gen.'"

He summarizes the tactical reality of the game’s opening phase, illustrating the difference between novice and master:

"In the beginning the good players spread their stones over the board as much as possible, and avoid close conflicts."

What It's Really About

At its core, this book argues that Go is a discipline of balance rather than brute force. It is about the "economy of space"—the realization that one cannot capture the entire board, but must instead secure viable territory while leaving room for the adversary to do the same. The text treats the board as a microcosm where the "principle of the two Me" mirrors the necessity of maintaining independence in a complex, interconnected system. It asks the reader to look past the individual stone and see the group, and beyond the group to the influence of the whole. The book posits that true mastery is not found in the destruction of the opponent, but in the harmonious and efficient management of one's own resources.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, methodical study of complex systems will find this book deeply rewarding. It feels like a time capsule from the early 1900s, carrying the formality of its era and the earnestness of a writer determined to introduce a profound, foreign discipline to a new audience. It does not coddle the reader; the technical diagrams and the reliance on Japanese terminology require genuine focus and patience.

You will appreciate this if you are a student of logic, a lover of games that reward long-term strategy over short-term reflexes, or someone interested in the history of cross-cultural intellectual exchange. While the notation system and the period-specific language might feel slightly removed from modern, app-based play, the foundational strategies remain as relevant today as they were in 1908. What stays with you is the elegance of the game—the way it turns a simple grid into an arena of profound psychological and logical combat. The book succeeds because it treats the reader as an intellectual equal, inviting them to sit at the table, observe the masters, and eventually, begin to see the board with clarity. It is a demanding, rewarding read for those who prefer substance over speed.