Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata (Part Two) “He stood gazing at his own coldness, so to speak.”

 

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I learned about Chijimi linen in Part Two of Snow Country. Ojiya Chijimi is the art of turning plant fibers into fabric with the help of sun and snow. One of the last steps of making this special fabric is to lay it on the snow for ten to twenty days, where it is bleached by the elements. 

Why does Kawabata include this tradition in his novel? To be sure, he tells of one of the art forms in the country he is depicting. But, maybe, in the stretch of my imagination, it also points to the condition of Komako’s heart. For surely she loves Shimamura, just as surely, he cares very little that she does. Her heart seems to be bleached by the coldness of his heart just as the linen is bleached by the sun when it lies on the snow.

It makes me sad.

Kawabata won the Nobel Prize for Snow Country in 1968. It is an incredibly spare, and often, to me, disjoined novel. As the characters speak, they don’t seem to be answering one another. It’s as if each is carrying on with his or her own thoughts, regardless of what the other has just said. I found myself reading, and rereading, certain passages for clarity. And maybe that is just the point: Shimamura and Komako are never truly communicating. Not in any meaningful, or lasting, way.

How can this be called a love story? To me, a love story involves two people who care about each other, and it is clear that Shimamura is able to care for little but himself. 

If a man had a tough, hairy hide like a bear, his world would be different indeed, Shimamura thought. It was through a thin, smooth skin that man loved. Looking out at the evening mountains, Shimamura felt a sentimental longing for the human skin. (p. 85)

This longing doesn’t mean it becomes actualized, however. Kawabata doesn’t give us a clear indication as to why Shimamura is so emotionally detached. Could it be, in part, because he comes to the snow country from Tokyo?

Tokyo people are complicated. They live in such noise and confusion that their feelings are broken to bits. Everything is broken to bits. (p. 90)

Maybe this accounts for some of his emotional aloofness. But, Komako attributes this distance to gender. 

It will be the same wherever I go. There’s nothing to be upset about…And I can’t complain. After all, only women are really able to love. (p. 98)

Even as they watch a fire destroy a cocoon-warehouse, and a woman’s body fall from the balcony, it is Komako who is screaming and Shimamura who is passive. 

If Shimamura felt even a flicker of uneasiness, it was lest the head drop, or the knee or a hip end to disturb that perfectly horizontal line…Komako screamed and brought her hands to her eyes. Shimamura gazed at the still form. (p. 128)

I have no ability to comprehend such a cold and heartless person; whether a person comes from a city or a small mountain town, whether a person is male or female, whether a person has a tough hairy hide or a thin skin, we are meant to love one another. It is a sad story that Kawabata gives us, and the fact that Snow Country resulted in a Nobel Prize means it must have a lot to say to a lot of people who ponder the heart of mankind. 

Or, the coldness therein.