Author: Yasunari Kawabata
Edition: 1-58243-022-5
Pages: 227
Synopsis: A collection of writings (novellas, short stories, and a play) that examine the lives of characters sensitively.
This collection of writing is just as subtle, atmospheric, and melancholy as Kawabata’s other writings (at least, of what I’ve read: The Old Capital and Beauty and Sadness). These moving, bittersweet tales show snapshots out of the lives of a variety of characters.
One thing about Kawabata’s writing that is very easy to notice in this collection is the sense of introspection of his characters. The stories, even when involving multiple characters, rarely look at the actual relationship between the characters but more the effects these relationships have on individuals. Thus, even stories about divorce or affairs really involve the certain people who have gone through these experiences, not the experiences themselves, which is why this collection is so poignant and enjoyable.
This Country, That Country — A married woman loves her married next door neighbor, and to satisfy her ache has an affair with a third man. This novella mainly looks at the aftermath of the affair, as the main character Takako is breaking up with her lover and coming to terms with her feelings. She deals with the sense of feeling like two people in one body, and as if a third person wants to arise in response to her neighbor.
This story quietly looks at the smaller incompatibilities of marriage, the things that prevent passion although they are not so large as to make a marriage unbearable. This story would probably resonate stronger for a person for whom arranged marriages are an important topic.
Like with Kawabata’s other writing, I was struck by the resonance of his characters with nature. The parallel of seasons, gardens, and mountains with his characters’ lives is such an important element in his writing.
The holly was speckled with tiny white flowers. Though it was plainly visible from the sitting room, Takako couldn’t remember when the flowers had started to bloom. It was strange that she couldn’t remember.
And now the flowers were falling—the black earth in the tree’s shadow looked white.
Takako picked up three or four of the small flowers and held them in the palm of her hand. Each blossom had four round, softly curved petals. The stamens were long.
Hirata might have noticed the flowers on the holly, but of course he would know nothing at all of the delicate form of the individual blossoms. So far neither Takako nor Hirata had mentioned the flowers this autumn.
A Row of Trees — A husband is particularly touched by the changing seasons as expressed by a row of ginkgo trees on his daily walk.
The bare branches of the enormous trees at the bottom of the path looked particularly sharp against the background of yellow leaves at the top, and the foliage that rose up over the path at the top looked richly colored and even more thickly layered than usual with all those bare trees in the foreground. The sense of great height that one feels looking at ginkgos was especially marked in these trees. Even the copious small branches of the bare trees strained toward the sky, as if attempting to embrace the tree-trunks, forming shapes tightly closed. The masses of yellow leaves conveyed a sense of volume as only layers of thick leaves can, but bathing in the morning sun they looked still and lonely.
This story is also about Soeda’s daughter, who has a purse stolen from her by a con woman. I feel I would enjoy this story more if I could understand the connection between the half-bare ginkgo trees and the theft.
Nature — In this nostalgic story, a man named Uragami visits a favored vacation spot of an old, deceased friend who was a famous novelist. While there, he encounters a fan of his friend’s work, Uryû, and listens to the man’s life story. Essentially it’s a look back on the War as Uryû explains how he avoided enlisting in the war by pretendinig to be a woman. To make matters more complicated, he’s an actor (who pretended to be an actress during the War) who has always specialized in female roles.
The scenery in this story is particularly well-written. I had a very clear sense of place while reading, both of the ocean and of the spa and of the room where Uryû and Uragami are talking.
Not only the horizon, but the color of the ocean itself was oppressive. I was amazed that my friend had been able to bear it, looking out on an ocean like this from his room at the spa, and I began to feel lonely. It occurred to me that the relative proximity of the aurora borealis might make the sunset beautiful.
Raindrops — An inspection of marital happiness and jealousy in a house boarding several families.
“I don’t know….You can’t tell whether it’s rain or raindrops just from hearing that it’s water, and that it’s making noise right now.”
“If rain makes noise it’s raindrops.”
“That’s not true. The sound of rain and the sound of raindrops aren’t the same.”
My favorite part of this story is a bit off topic, but it’s usually what I end up loving most about Kawabata’s writing. His attention to nature, the way he observes things like differences between the sound of rain or the sound of raindrops, always gives me something new. I’d never distinguished between raindrops and rain before, but after reading this statement I suddenly realized the truth of it. There’s a difference between the individual drops and the actual sound of the rain.
Chrysanthemum in the Rock — The narrator of this tale is contemplating what he would like to use as his grave-marker, relating his search to the legend of a ghost from his home town. This ghost lives in a rock and requires a chrysanthemum to be planted in a hollow there. As he’s thinking, the narrator imagines an exchange with this woman, discovering why she would linger by this rock.
“He told me to wait every day, so I’m still waiting.”
“No matter how many days you wait, it doesn’t look like he’s going to come. Your hands and feet must be frozen already. How about this—what if you were to plant a chrysanthemum in this rock, and let it wait here in your place?”
“I’ll wait as long I’m alive. If I die here, a chrysanthemum will bloom here and wait in my place.”
“He may not come even when there’s a chrysanthemum waiting.”
[...]
“If this autumn’s chrysanthemum dies, another chrysanthemum will bloom next autumn. If a chrysanthemum takes my place, I’ll be happy.”
His thoughts progress from discovering a work of art to use as a headstone, to the natural emergence of headstones of famous figures, to the end of his desire to locate his own headstone.
First Snow on Fuji — A pair of old lovers reunite and decide to spend a chaste night together. This story has the most subtle sadness of this collection; the clearly poor condition Utako has arrived in, the loneliness between the characters, Jiro’s wistful thoughts of reality, the very marital way in which they move despite the long years they have been apart, the tragedy of their past. Despite its sadness, it’s so graceful.
Utako felt relaxed, it was true. Yet at the same time she felt a loneliness, like a dying flame.
This story gives a forbidden look at what might have been, passion turning to love, emptiness leaving solitude, closure, even forgiveness. It’s the ability to say goodbye to a lover one has left long ago, knowing that even if what was once there is gone, at least for a moment it existed at all.
Silence — After suffering a stroke, a famous author Akifusa is paralyzed; he can no longer speak nor use his right hand at all. Despite that he could form characters if he wanted to with his left hand, he chooses to remain in silence while his daughter takes care of him. The narrator of the story goes to visit this writer, since he’s been a mentor in the past. Running alongside this story is the rumor of a ghost who appears in taxis at night; she never speaks, only rides for awhile and disappears. The silent, paralyzed novelist is no different than the ghost, and the story ends on an ominous tone as the taxi driver warns the narrator that speaking to a ghost will leave him cursed.
“That single letter ‘t’ would probably have more love in it than all the novels you’ve written during the past forty years, and it would probably have more power.”
Her Husband Didn’t — A young man finds solace after he discovers his first love affair has been no more than the execution of a rather foolish daydream for his partner. This story shows how discrepancies in communication, in this case the different reasons for the affair coming into existence, can affect a person.
Yet the cold feeling of that earlobe had instantly cleansed him of his filth. The earlobe was just as round and plump as an earlobe ought to be—it was small enough that Junji could squeeze it between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, no bigger than that—yet it filled him with a sense of the beauty of life. The smooth skin, the gentle swelling—the woman’s earlobe was like a mysterious jewel. Her purity had remained intact there, inside it. The earlobe held dew-like droplets of the essence of female beauty. A sentimentality like yearning welled up inside Junji. He had never known anything with a texture like this. It was like touching the lovely girl’s soul.
This may be my favorite passage out of the entire collection. Junji’s perspective isn’t even about his sexual desire for Kiriko, nor thoughts of himself, but a fascination with something ordinary that to him is beautiful. When I read this passage, I feel really in touch with Kawabata. I appreciate the way he does this, how he makes me realize the variety of human likes and dislikes in existence, how we can look at the same things in different ways, how what’s beautiful to one person may simply be unnoticed by another. I feel like, here, he so accurately captures a perspective that isn’t often explored…this boyish, surrealistic fascination of Junji’s is comparable to any of our preferences that may seem out of touch or unshared with others, which, even communicated, remain private still. In a way, this story speaks to my need to communicate, too, and my difficulty in doing so.
Yumiura — What’s the emotional distinction between an event that could have happened but didn’t and one that’s been forgotten? This question disturbs an older writer when he’s visited by a woman who claims they met long ago. Even as he’s beginning to believe her (despite being unable to remember even the smallest detail), he discovers something about the town that she claims as their meeting place.
The Boat-Women — This historical drama takes place during the battle of Dan-no-ura, chronicling the events of a daughter and father reuniting. This one is a bit hard for me to review because I don’t know much about this time period, but it reminded me of several other dramas in small ways including King Lear and even La vida es sueño. Aside from the main story about Kagekiyo reuniting with Murasaki, this play also offers insight about the aftermath of this battle.
Oh how precious / the preciousness of this day / this life the life of a drop of dew yet still I chance to meet / the joy of this day. The sadness of this day / yesterday a dream / tomorrow an illusion / today in reality here on my lap / the b iwa I pluck and make sing / whose child listens / it is my own good child / oh how precious / the preciousness of this day.
My favorite stories in this collection are Chrysanthemum in the Rock, First Snow on Fuji, and Silence. To me, they are the most touching and interesting.
Another interesting review of this collection can be found here. Part of the first short story This Country, That Country is available online for free via NY Times here. No subscription is necessary.