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A review by jola_g
The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima
4.0
FROM HEALTHY SLUMBER TO TYPHOON
'When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused.'
Rainer Maria Rilke
My city, Lublin, is situated more than six hundred kilometres from the sea but thanks to Yukio Mishima and The Sound of Waves (1954) I could absorb it with all my senses. Not only imagine it but almost feel the salty taste on my tongue and the sea breeze on my face. Not just the sound of waves, as the title suggests, but also their view, scent, flavour and gentle touch. I read this novel last spring when no travelling was possible because of the pandemic, so I owe a lot to the author.
I am also grateful for the delight I felt while reading this book. Mishima’s prose is so unbelievably clear, precise and light. So light that you have the impression you are not reading but breathing it in. I loved its cool freshness. It is also vividly visual: no wonder the novel has been adapted for film five times.
David Burliuk, Japanese Fisherman, 1921.
The thing that surprised me the most, as I was aware of the author’s suicide at the age of forty-five, was the uplifting, idealistic optimism I found in this book, which turned out to be perfect for the stressful time. Mishima’s serene and elegant prose was like a soothing balm. By the way, there was an extract on suicide, deploring it unequivocally: 'Double suicide then? Even on this island there had been lovers who took that solution. But the boy’s good sense repudiated the thought, and he told himself that those others had been selfish persons who thought only of themselves. Never once had he thought about such a thing as dying; and, above all, there was his family to support.' What a pity the thought turned out to be impossible to repudiate by the author in 1970.
Another aspect that truly amazed me was the seemingly effortless simplicity of The Sound of Waves and the minimalistic discipline. The Vintage Classics cover, which I fell in love with at first sight, gives you an idea of what to expect. I also liked the tiny drawings at the beginning of each chapter.
The novel resembles a folk tale, structured according to a typical love story pattern: a handsome boy, Shinji, who is a fisherman, meets a beautiful girl, Hatsue, a pearl fisher. They fall in love and then bravely face some obstacles which make them prove that they deserve each other. Shinji and Hatsue's respect for social traditions and the moral code, their courage and determination turned out to be the key to success.
Shotei Takahashi, Awabi Pearl Fisher, 1931.
The predictability of Yukio Mishima’s novel made me think of the thesis of Vladimir Propp, a Russian scholar, that all folk tales are built on the basis of a homogeneous pattern. On the material of 100 stories with different plots, he distinguished the components of the folk tale and created a classification based on function. You will find some of them in The Sound of Waves, albeit Mishima’s novel is purely realistic, there are no magic elements there.
Mishima deals with universal truths but the novel is set in very concrete time and place: in contemporary Japan, on a tiny island called Uta-jima - Song Island (the inspiration was a real island, Kami-shima) in Ise Bay. I enjoyed the local colour, the descriptions of the villagers, their homes, customs, clothes, food, relationships. The existence of Shinji and Hatsue, their families and friends, is based on the sea. It feeds the villagers, gives them almost everything they need: not only work but also aesthetic pleasure. No wonder in some languages, for example in Italian, there is only one letter difference between the words ‘sea’ (mare) and ‘mother’ (madre). 'The sea—it only brings the good and right things that the island needs … and keeps the good and right things we already have here.'
In spite of appearances, the life on Uta-jima is not carefree: history stretched its claws to this remote place also: Shinji’s father was killed during the World War II like many other local men, people struggle with poverty, worry about the disturbing news of the war in Korea.
Kami-shima. [Source]
Although the plot steadily follows the classic love story plot pattern, the dynamics of the novel is based on the sea, the way the waves change: from placid and undisturbed, regular and peaceful 'as though the sea were breathing in healthy slumber' to stormy ones, typhoon included. They are like an accompaniment to the characters’ emotions and desires: 'The boy felt a consummate accord between himself and this opulence of nature that surrounded him. He inhaled deeply, and it was as though a part of the unseen something that constitutes nature had permeated the core of his being. He heard the sound of the waves striking the shore, and it was as though the surging of his young blood was keeping time with the movement of the sea’s great tides.' The waves may also symbolize the passing of time and transience of our yearnings.
Despite the foreseeability of the plot, another problem that bothered me was the explicit, clear-cut moral of the story, given on a tray, highlighted by Terukichi's explanation. Frankly speaking, I prefer to be given more independence by the author. It seems to me that a pinch of ambiguity would have made this novel even better.
The Sound of Waves truly mesmerized me and after having read the last sentence I felt like telling the author 'see you soon', not 'goodbye'. I already know that this novel is not typical for Yukio Mishima but I just can’t wait to explore his other works. And I have a strong feeling that the best is yet to come...
Torii Kotondo , Combing the Hair, 1933.
'When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused.'
Rainer Maria Rilke
My city, Lublin, is situated more than six hundred kilometres from the sea but thanks to Yukio Mishima and The Sound of Waves (1954) I could absorb it with all my senses. Not only imagine it but almost feel the salty taste on my tongue and the sea breeze on my face. Not just the sound of waves, as the title suggests, but also their view, scent, flavour and gentle touch. I read this novel last spring when no travelling was possible because of the pandemic, so I owe a lot to the author.
I am also grateful for the delight I felt while reading this book. Mishima’s prose is so unbelievably clear, precise and light. So light that you have the impression you are not reading but breathing it in. I loved its cool freshness. It is also vividly visual: no wonder the novel has been adapted for film five times.
David Burliuk, Japanese Fisherman, 1921.
The thing that surprised me the most, as I was aware of the author’s suicide at the age of forty-five, was the uplifting, idealistic optimism I found in this book, which turned out to be perfect for the stressful time. Mishima’s serene and elegant prose was like a soothing balm. By the way, there was an extract on suicide, deploring it unequivocally: 'Double suicide then? Even on this island there had been lovers who took that solution. But the boy’s good sense repudiated the thought, and he told himself that those others had been selfish persons who thought only of themselves. Never once had he thought about such a thing as dying; and, above all, there was his family to support.' What a pity the thought turned out to be impossible to repudiate by the author in 1970.
Another aspect that truly amazed me was the seemingly effortless simplicity of The Sound of Waves and the minimalistic discipline. The Vintage Classics cover, which I fell in love with at first sight, gives you an idea of what to expect. I also liked the tiny drawings at the beginning of each chapter.
The novel resembles a folk tale, structured according to a typical love story pattern: a handsome boy, Shinji, who is a fisherman, meets a beautiful girl, Hatsue, a pearl fisher. They fall in love and then bravely face some obstacles which make them prove that they deserve each other. Shinji and Hatsue's respect for social traditions and the moral code, their courage and determination turned out to be the key to success.
Shotei Takahashi, Awabi Pearl Fisher, 1931.
The predictability of Yukio Mishima’s novel made me think of the thesis of Vladimir Propp, a Russian scholar, that all folk tales are built on the basis of a homogeneous pattern. On the material of 100 stories with different plots, he distinguished the components of the folk tale and created a classification based on function. You will find some of them in The Sound of Waves, albeit Mishima’s novel is purely realistic, there are no magic elements there.
Mishima deals with universal truths but the novel is set in very concrete time and place: in contemporary Japan, on a tiny island called Uta-jima - Song Island (the inspiration was a real island, Kami-shima) in Ise Bay. I enjoyed the local colour, the descriptions of the villagers, their homes, customs, clothes, food, relationships. The existence of Shinji and Hatsue, their families and friends, is based on the sea. It feeds the villagers, gives them almost everything they need: not only work but also aesthetic pleasure. No wonder in some languages, for example in Italian, there is only one letter difference between the words ‘sea’ (mare) and ‘mother’ (madre). 'The sea—it only brings the good and right things that the island needs … and keeps the good and right things we already have here.'
In spite of appearances, the life on Uta-jima is not carefree: history stretched its claws to this remote place also: Shinji’s father was killed during the World War II like many other local men, people struggle with poverty, worry about the disturbing news of the war in Korea.
Kami-shima. [Source]
Although the plot steadily follows the classic love story plot pattern, the dynamics of the novel is based on the sea, the way the waves change: from placid and undisturbed, regular and peaceful 'as though the sea were breathing in healthy slumber' to stormy ones, typhoon included. They are like an accompaniment to the characters’ emotions and desires: 'The boy felt a consummate accord between himself and this opulence of nature that surrounded him. He inhaled deeply, and it was as though a part of the unseen something that constitutes nature had permeated the core of his being. He heard the sound of the waves striking the shore, and it was as though the surging of his young blood was keeping time with the movement of the sea’s great tides.' The waves may also symbolize the passing of time and transience of our yearnings.
Despite the foreseeability of the plot, another problem that bothered me was the explicit, clear-cut moral of the story, given on a tray, highlighted by Terukichi's explanation. Frankly speaking, I prefer to be given more independence by the author. It seems to me that a pinch of ambiguity would have made this novel even better.
The Sound of Waves truly mesmerized me and after having read the last sentence I felt like telling the author 'see you soon', not 'goodbye'. I already know that this novel is not typical for Yukio Mishima but I just can’t wait to explore his other works. And I have a strong feeling that the best is yet to come...
Torii Kotondo , Combing the Hair, 1933.