The Sound of the Mountain

I am afraid that in large part, I may miss out certain detailed brilliance, or misinterpret any underlying statements. But that is to be the case with a rich, complex novel, and the challenge of writing this is far overwhelming. I hope also to avoid bringing discredit to the author Yasunari Kawabata.

Having got that off my chest, a synopsis of the novel is in order. The protagonist is an aging Japanese businessman, Ogata Shingo, who with his wife, Yasuko, shares the same roof with their son, Shuichi and beloved daughter-in-law, Kikuko. Shingo suffers from flashes of lost memories and occasionally hears the mountain behind his garden rumbling, which seem to signify the closing of death.

The post-war Japanese family isn’t a peaceful one, which is excellent ingredient for a print-to-film movie. Shuichi, having changed after coming back from the war, is a habitual philanderer, to the extent that Kikuko, up to the end, is prepared to leave him if not for Shingo. He leaves his mistress, a war widow, who becomes pregnant, on her insistence that the baby isn’t his. But nothing is obscure with the truth here. Meanwhile, Kikuko immerses in taking care of Shingo as a docile daughter would, or maybe more. In return, Shingo pampers her even more than his own: Fusako, who moves in with her two young children. Subtly, “a flash like heaven’s own wayward love" touches the old man’s heart, manifesting in his dreams with guilt, as images of naked woman; these he associates with Kikuko. Of significance, I say, is also Shingo’s passionless relation with his disappointing wife and foolish daughter, who seems only to bring him trouble.

Deciphering the various themes, I would think the mountain symbolises the aging generation of Shingo. Reading his thoughts, the mountain seems to speak of ancient wisdom: the sin of incest-like relation, the responsibility and moral obligation towards one's own blood and marriage. With these, he ponders repressing his gentle love for the child-woman, Kikuko and cleaning up the mess his family creates. The exact opposite is Shuichi’s generation, finding pleasure in an older woman, and remorselessly treating his marriage with cruelty. At one point, he even asks Shingo to tell Kikuko that she is a “free agent”

Delightful are also the poetic visualisations – or should I say, Haikus – which enrich this commendable read far beyond most others, leading to the prestigious Literary award of Nobel Prize.

Excerpt:

He took up the Jido*. “This one is a sprite. A symbol of eternal
youth. Did I tell you about it when I bought it?”
“No.”
“Tanizaki, the girl who was in the office. When I bought it I had her
put it on. She was charming. A great surprise.”
Kikuko put the mask to her face. “Do you tie it behind?”
No doubt, deep behind the eyes of the mask, Kikuko’s eyes were
fixed on him.
“It has no expression unless you move it.”
The day he had brought it home, Shingo had been on the point of
kissing the scarlet lips. He had felt a flash like heaven’s own wayward love.
“It may be lost in the undergrowth, but while it still has the flower
of the heart….”
Those too seemed to be words from a No play.
Shingo could not look at Kikuko as she moved the glowing young
mask this way and that.
She had a small face, and the tip of her chin was almost hidden
behind the mask. Tears were flowing from the scarcely visible chin down
over her throat. They flowed on, drawing two lines, then three.
“Kikuko,” said Shingo, “Kikuko. You thought if you were to leave
Shuichi you might give tea lessons, and that was why you went to see your
friend?”
The jido Kikuko nodded.
“I think I’d like to stay on with you here and give lessons.” The
words were distinct even from behind the mask.
A piercing wail came from Satoko**.
Teru*** barked noisily in the garden.
Shingo felt something ominous in it all. Kikuko seemed
to be listening for a sign at the gate that Shuichi, who evidently went to visit
the woman even on Sunday, had come home.

*Noh mask
**Fusako's baby
***The abandoned dog who gives birth at their house.