Review: A short discussion of Natsumi Soseki's famous novel, Kokoro, or "the heart of things".
24/09/06 23:29 Filed in: Books
To date
I have read two very famous Japanese books: Snow Country and now,
Kokoro. I haven't understood either.
Looking back at my notes on Snow Country, I liked enjoyed it more and understood it less. It had far more imagist beauty that I could connect to, but much more unsaid nuance.
What of Kokoro then? The book is split into 3 parts: a young student meets a disillusioned man and becomes fascinated with him, the student is forced to part from this man to attend the slow passing of his ailing father, in which time the disillusioned man attempts to explain his life to the student in a lengthy suicide letter mailed to the student's country home. The letter gives the man's full biography and details the fatal love triangle that occurred between him, his future wife and his best friend, the results of which crush the man's spirit for the rest of his life.
The book is mainly a psychological exploration of relationships: the student and the enigmatic man, the student and his parents, the older man, his friend and his future wife. More interesting that this, the book is a discourse on suspicion, anxiety and guilt that swallows lives. At times it reminded me of Crime and Punishment, what with Raskolnikov's consuming guilt. Raskolnikov, however, finds some salvation.
The book aside, I just can't get into Japanese literature. The entire book, the whole premise hinged on the fact that the man couldn't talk to his best friend honestly and resolve their differences with some sanity. The whole plot was swollen with obligation, honor, and propriety, such that the characters were paralyzed to near inaction.
A westerner reading this book probably just wouldn't connect with it. A Japanese person, although the Japanese have opened up a bit in 100 years since this was written, would understand. As for me, living in Japan and experiencing, albeit through the gauze of semi-ignorance, the same social pressures and seeing them all around me, this book encapsulates everything that pisses me off about this culture.
A comparison: Zorba the Greek, a book that I adore, has as its title character one of the most passionate people I've ever read about. Zorba wouldn't sit in a little room and agonize about his rival in the other room, he'd challenge the man to a fight. He wouldn't feel put out and depressed if he caught his love talking to the other man, he'd grab his mandolin and try to win her affections. Overall, he wouldn't wait for the "right moment" like the main character of Kokoro. He'd just do it, and to hell with propriety. If he couldn't talk about something, he'd explain with his guitar or with a crazy dance.
The book itself is so so. If you want to have an idea of Japanese-ness that gets pushed over the edge by unfortunate circumstances, give it a read. For me, however, I tossed the book down, glad that the somewhat interesting plot but annoying characters were done with. Oh, life has no meaning, I have no faith in mankind. Blah blah. When I hear someone talking like that, I think he needs to get laid or have his life put in danger. Suicide as the only recourse in a situation laced with obligation, guilt and honor, seems totally ridiculous to me. But that's the take of a freefloating "outside person" in Japan.
Looking back at my notes on Snow Country, I liked enjoyed it more and understood it less. It had far more imagist beauty that I could connect to, but much more unsaid nuance.
What of Kokoro then? The book is split into 3 parts: a young student meets a disillusioned man and becomes fascinated with him, the student is forced to part from this man to attend the slow passing of his ailing father, in which time the disillusioned man attempts to explain his life to the student in a lengthy suicide letter mailed to the student's country home. The letter gives the man's full biography and details the fatal love triangle that occurred between him, his future wife and his best friend, the results of which crush the man's spirit for the rest of his life.
The book is mainly a psychological exploration of relationships: the student and the enigmatic man, the student and his parents, the older man, his friend and his future wife. More interesting that this, the book is a discourse on suspicion, anxiety and guilt that swallows lives. At times it reminded me of Crime and Punishment, what with Raskolnikov's consuming guilt. Raskolnikov, however, finds some salvation.
The book aside, I just can't get into Japanese literature. The entire book, the whole premise hinged on the fact that the man couldn't talk to his best friend honestly and resolve their differences with some sanity. The whole plot was swollen with obligation, honor, and propriety, such that the characters were paralyzed to near inaction.
A westerner reading this book probably just wouldn't connect with it. A Japanese person, although the Japanese have opened up a bit in 100 years since this was written, would understand. As for me, living in Japan and experiencing, albeit through the gauze of semi-ignorance, the same social pressures and seeing them all around me, this book encapsulates everything that pisses me off about this culture.
A comparison: Zorba the Greek, a book that I adore, has as its title character one of the most passionate people I've ever read about. Zorba wouldn't sit in a little room and agonize about his rival in the other room, he'd challenge the man to a fight. He wouldn't feel put out and depressed if he caught his love talking to the other man, he'd grab his mandolin and try to win her affections. Overall, he wouldn't wait for the "right moment" like the main character of Kokoro. He'd just do it, and to hell with propriety. If he couldn't talk about something, he'd explain with his guitar or with a crazy dance.
The book itself is so so. If you want to have an idea of Japanese-ness that gets pushed over the edge by unfortunate circumstances, give it a read. For me, however, I tossed the book down, glad that the somewhat interesting plot but annoying characters were done with. Oh, life has no meaning, I have no faith in mankind. Blah blah. When I hear someone talking like that, I think he needs to get laid or have his life put in danger. Suicide as the only recourse in a situation laced with obligation, guilt and honor, seems totally ridiculous to me. But that's the take of a freefloating "outside person" in Japan.
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