An hour into this enchanting exhibition, I could have done with a neck massage. Not that I’m complaining. The endlessly engaging vitrines, the cuddly robot seals, the kimonos, the rice-makers, the globes, the monitors screening clips from classic Studio Ghibli films, the vintage Game Boys, not to mention the Hiroshige woodblock prints – they are all marvellous, but they are all positioned at toddler height, meaning grownups have to stoop to conquer their ignorance about the ancient roots of modern Japanese culture. I’m writing this with aching joints after kneeling before a glass case containing an exquisite netsuke moon rabbit that incarnates a Japanese legend. I should have brought kneepads. Japan: Myths to Manga aims to teach the Young V&A’s core demographic of 0-14-year-olds (as well as their vertically challenged guardians) that a lot of the popular culture they love – movies, manga, anime, video games, tamagotchi – is drawn from rich folklore and myth. The name of the video game Okami, for example, means white wolf, which is the form the Shinto sun goddess Amaterasu was apt to take. Meanwhile Sailor Moon, the Japanese schoolgirl-turned-superhero and the most successful manga franchise of all time, puns with the words for moon and rabbit, linking this modern icon to the legendary bunny who, even now, is grinding rice on the moon. Ideally visitors will leave this show as familiar with, say, Urashima Tarō’s underwater trip on the back of a turtle to a dragon kingdom as they are with Little Red Riding Hood and Thor’s hammer. The curators have divided the exhibition into four sections: sky, sea, forest, city. Each begins with a wall text narrating charmingly strange Japaneses folk tales, such as The Wonderful Tea-Kettle, in which a poor priest buys an old kettle that, when it boils, shapeshifts into a raccoon dog. And all he probably wanted was a nice cuppa, poor chap. I learn from a wall text in the sky section that one day the ruler of heaven, Taishakuten, came down to earth in disguise as an old man and felt peckish. He asked the fox, the monkey and the rabbit to find him something to eat. The fox brought fish, the monkey fruit, while the rabbit, finding nothing else, offered himself. In thanks for that self-sacrifice, Taishakuten placed the rabbit on the moon. In other versions of the legend, the rabbit jumps into a fire yelling “Eat me!” Perhaps the curators don’t want to scare the target audience with tales of bunny roastings. At one point, I accepted the curators’ challenge to play a set of taiko drums, the historic means of tempting Amaterasu from the cave where she hid to avoid her rambunctious brother (such a relatable story). I crawled like a preschooler between drum sets and beat them senseless to make Amaterasu come out and suffuse the world in her golden rays. There are other interactive elements, including a story corner and an origami workshop. That said, I was too intimidated to show off my paper-folding skills at the latter, after seeing the most beguiling exhibit in the show. Located in a glass case, it is a paper bag. Admittedly, it’s a Cartier bag, but that’s not the point. The artist Yuken Teruya has, with incredible finesse, cut into the bag to change it into a kiribati tree with delicate foliage. The result is backlit in a vitrine. Only when you bend down will you see what all the fuss is about. This is the first temporary exhibition at the Young V&A after a seven-year makeover. Japan: Myths to Manga feels, among other things, like a lovely corrective to the British Museum’s big but spiritless grown-up Manga show in 2019. I left that feeling disappointed by its lack of verve, wit and joy. All three are in unlimited supply here. I got several Proustian rushes, feeling nostalgic for that time a decade ago when my daughter and I were enchanted by Hayao Miyazaki’s animated films. Several low-hung screens have clips from his Studio Ghibli oeuvre, including that heart-catching moment in Ponyo when the titular goldfish princess, stuck in a jar floating in the sea, is rescued by a small boy. Another vitrine contains a pair of the craziest shoes in history. Masaya Kushino’s so-called Bird-witched collection was inspired by the bird paintings of 18th-century Japanese artist Īto Jakuchū. The pair on display are made from woven silk, crocodile leather and Spanish cockerel feathers, with heels sculpted from brass to look like talons. These shoes aren’t made for walking. I’m not entirely sure what they’re doing in this show – perhaps they are the footwear of choice for the sun goddess, which would explain why she had so much trouble getting out of her cave. No matter. I’m very glad indeed to have seen them.