Itemize Books Supposing Snow Country
| Original Title: | 雪国 [Yukiguni] |
| ISBN: | 0679761047 (ISBN13: 9780679761044) |
| Edition Language: | English |
| Setting: | Japan |
| Literary Awards: | Prix du Meilleur Livre Étranger for Roman (1961), Mikael Agricola -palkinto (1959) |
Yasunari Kawabata
Paperback | Pages: 175 pages Rating: 3.67 | 17990 Users | 1733 Reviews
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Nobel Prize recipient Yasunari Kawabata's Snow Country is widely considered to be the writer's masterpiece, a powerful tale of wasted love set amid the desolate beauty of western Japan.At an isolated mountain hot spring, with snow blanketing every surface, Shimamura, a wealthy dilettante meets Komako, a lowly geisha. She gives herself to him fully and without remorse, despite knowing that their passion cannot last and that the affair can have only one outcome. In chronicling the course of this doomed romance, Kawabata has created a story for the ages, a stunning novel dense in implication and exalting in its sadness.
Present Based On Books Snow Country
| Title | : | Snow Country |
| Author | : | Yasunari Kawabata |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | Special Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 175 pages |
| Published | : | 1996 by Vintage (first published 1948) |
| Categories | : | Fiction. Cultural. Japan. Asian Literature. Japanese Literature. Classics. Literature. Asia. Romance |
Rating Based On Books Snow Country
Ratings: 3.67 From 17990 Users | 1733 ReviewsRate Based On Books Snow Country
This is the story of three different trips by Shimamura up into the Snow Country of Japan. Each trip occurs in a different season, and each in turn reflects his deepening involvement with a country geisha in a small village. While journeying by train there for his second visit he is struck by the beauty of a fellow passenger who by chance is traveling to the same village. As Shimamura gets more deeply involved, at least physically, with the geisha, he remains deeply intrigued by the other woman.Gray, the color of loneliness and dissatisfaction, of a heart torn by guilt and shame. Long, gray winters and snow-covered mountains, snow as high as his knees, snow to bury his secret rendezvous. Gray, the color a person sees, when he thinks the grass is greener elsewhere. Black and white forms gray in Kawabata's fictional creation, where the mountains are "black," but "brilliant with the color of the snow." Perhaps gray is the color of unrequited love, or of "wasted effort." He was conscious
Most of my friends from Kerala would be familiar with the film Thoovanathumbikal by the famous Malayalam writer and director P. Padmarajan. The film narrates the story of the love of a young-man-about-town, Jayakrishnan, for two girls: Radha, a prim-and-proper Indian miss and Clara, a prostitute. Padmarajan uses the two women as symbols for two facets of femininity (and therefore, of life) - one light and chaste and the other dark and mysterious. I was reminded of this movie all the time while
Shimamura gets on a train to dreamland. He escapes from the urbanity of Tokyo, from the grayish routine, the dull marriage, the mediocre reality that leaves him numb and empty in search of the purest expression of his desires. He is a dilettante, an expert aesthetician who knows that beauty lingers in memory of times past, on the glint of two sad eyes sparkling in a pale face, in a head tilted at a certain angle, in fragrances and sounds and the noiseless rippling waves that assimilate a caress.
Shimamuras Tale Part IThe Milky WaySits high aboveMountain country,IlluminatingVillages below.Stardust falls Earthbound, Until, frozen,It becomesWhite snowflakesThat shroud the ground,Two meters deep.My hands reach outTowards the winter sky,Hoping I might catch A star in each hand.For a moment,Theyre in my grasp.I adore themLike theyre loversThat I can keep.My desire doesn't Require thatI make a choice.Sometimes, its true, You can have both.But the angry fire In my selfish heartMelts my loving
I am white, mostly. And cold. And occasionally, weeping. But you dont see my tears, for they run down the stream and lose their essence at the prolonged kiss of the first sun. But I do not mind. I come alive to die; I bulk up to surrender; I appear to vanish. But I, too, have admirers. Admirers, who eye ephemeral beauty with a stinging lacquer of depleting life, colluding their vision with a bagful of clouded vignettes stroking the air that arises after all is consumed and lost. Visiting Japan
I view Asian Art through Western eyes. Not that I have a choice, I guess. That process enhances, even as it limits.I love the beauty, the intricacy of Japanese woodblock prints, but I fear Im seeing them superficially. Am I missing something, I wonder, if only a nuance? And Murakami. Even though his works owe much to Bulgakov and The Beatles, there is a descent from Japanese forerunners and the history and culture of those islands that probably okay, certainly - eludes me.Once an artist hits
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