Snow Country - Yasunari Kawabata

Yasunari Kawabata was born 1899 in Osaka, Japan to a prosperous middle class family. He experienced a great deal of loss during his childhood--he was orphaned at the age of two, and his grandmother and sister died before he was ten. This familiarity with loss and grief is palpable in the stark tragedies he writes. Kawabata was a popular fiction writer, and his works were serialized in several publications. Snow Country, published in installments from 1935-37, brought him a great deal of recognition and is considered by some to be his masterpiece.


Snow Country is the story of Shimamura, a westernized upper-class gentleman of Tokyo, and Komako, a traditional geisha who lived at the isolated hot springs of Japan's "snow country," the mountainous west coast of Japan buried in snow for long winters. Their affair is tragic, filled with misunderstandings between the two. Shimamura is a connoisseur of the aesthetic. He is translating French treatises about occidental ballet into Japanese throughout the novel. It is important to note, however, that he has never seen occidental ballet performed--he is enamored of his own imaginings. This preference to dream and ideal is the root of his misunderstandings with Komako.

"A ballet he had never seen was an art in another world. It was an unrivaled armchair reverie, a lyric from some paradise. He called his work research, but it was actually free, uncontrolled fantasy. He preferred not to savor the ballet in the flesh; rather he savored the phantasms of his own dancing imagination, called up by Western books and pictures. It was like being in love with someone he had never seen." (25)

The tragedy of the novel lies in Shimamura's inability to return Komako's unreserved love. He watches and criticizes her as one would a piece of art. He doesn't fully interact with her, though. Their conversations are merely small-talk. Shimamura's idea of depth is a clinical understanding of art, a collection of terms and critical theories. When he views the scene at the hot springs, he sees the beauty of the colors, feels a distant appreciation for the people who retain the traditional Japanese roles. But he doesn't become a part of the scene, or a functioning member of their society.

"He began to wonder what was lacking in him, what kept him from living as completely. He stood gazing at his own coldness, so to speak. He could not understand how she had so lost herself. All of Komako came to him, but it seemed that nothing went out from him to her. He heard in his chest, like snow piling up, the sound of Komako, an echo beating against empty walls." (155)

There are moments when Shimamura feels pulled by his emotion for Komako--especially when she is performing music or speaking of art--but he immediately distances himself from any real emotion. "As her voice rose higher, Shimamura began to feel a little frightened. How far would that strong, sure touch take him? He rolled over and pillowed his head on an arm, as if in bored indifference" (71).


The novel concludes with a fragmented scene. Shimamura and Komako are together in the evening, admiring the beauty of the Milky Way in the clear night sky when they hear that a fire has broken out in the town. Everybody rushes to assist with putting the fire out and making whatever rescues are necessary. Shimamura and Komako are torn between following the codes of propriety (separating so that their relationship is undiscovered) and being together through the frightening event. In the midst of this excitement, Shimamura continues to glance at the Milky Way. A young girl who lived with Komako dies in the fire, and scene culminates with Komako screaming. Shimamura is completely separated from Komako at this point, horrified by the scene: "He tried to move toward that half-mad voice, but he was pushed aside by the men who had come to take Yoko from her. As he caught his footing, his head feel back, and the Milky Way flowed down inside him with a roar" (175). He watches Komako plunge into the ashes, absorbs her grief and the greatness of the Milky Way in the same moment. It is in this moment that Shimamura realizes his smallness in the universe, his impotence and unimportance. The Japanese refer to this awareness as mono no aware, a beuatifully heartrending sadness at the transience of worldly things. Shimamura, who has placed so much value on ideal (and unreal) forms, now sadly realizes how many chances to embrace reality he has forgone.