The Essential Kawabata

With a literary career that spans nearly five decades, Yasunari Kawabata (川端 康成) has established himself as one of the most prominent and influential names in the ambit of Japanese literature. Born on June 11, 1899, in Osaka, he was orphaned when he was four; he would eventually lose his close paternal relatives before he was raised by his maternal relatives when he was in his teenage years. At the Tokyo Imperial University, he initially entered the Humanities Faculty as an English major. By this time, he was enamored by the works of Rabindranath Tagore, who, in 1913, was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. However, Kawabata eventually changed his field of study to Japanese literature. Shortly after graduating from university, Kawabata and other young writers like Yokomitsu Riichi founded the journal Bungei jidai (The Artistic Age).

The founding of the journal marks a pivotal point in Kawabata’s career development. It was in the journal that he published his first major work, 伊豆の踊子 (Izu no odoriko; translation, The Dancing Girl of Izu), a semiautobiographical short story. Building on the success of his major work, Kawabata published more works that earned him more recognition within Japanese literary circles, albeit modest at best. It was not until the completion of 雪国 (Yukiguni) that he was able to secure his stranglehold as one of Japanese literature’s most illustrious writers. From that point on, there was no looking back for Kawabata, who, over time, became one of the most enduring names in Japanese literature, almost synonymous with it.

Indeed, 雪国 holds a remarkable distinction in Kawabata’s literary career. Not only did it establish Kawabata as a household name, but it would be one of his three major works – along with 千羽鶴 (Senbazuru, 1949-1952; trans. Thousand Cranes) and 山の音 (Yama no oto, 1949–1954; trans. The Sound of the Mountain) – that were cited by the Swedish Academy when they awarded Kawabata the Nobel Prize in Literature. It was an unprecedented recognition as Kawabata became the first Japanese writer to earn the recognition. Originally published as a series between 1935 and 1937, 雪国 was eventually published as a collective in 1948. In 1956, it was made available to Anglophone readers with the English title Snow Country. Edward Seidensticker’s translation is widely credited by academics as one of the key drivers for Kawabata’s Nobel nomination.

In the depths of the mirror the evening landscape moved by, the mirror and the reflected figures like motion pictures superimposed one on the other. The figures and the background were unrelated, and yet the figures, transparent and intangible, and the background, dim in the gathering darkness, melted into a sort of symbolic world not of this world.

Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country

The train came out of the long tunnel into the snow country. The earth lay white under the night sky. This is one of the most recognized opening lines in the realm of Japanese literature. The train is bound for a secluded onsen (hot spring) town tucked in the titular snow country on the western coast of Japan. On board the train is Shimamura, a reserved but intensely observant dilettante from Tokyo who is also the novel’s main character. In his early middle ages, Shimamura is a rich and married man whose fortune comes from an inheritance. He was also a self-professed expert and critic of Western ballet. Interestingly, he has never witnessed a ballet performance before. During the ride, Shimamura noticed the two passengers he shared the carriage with—a sick young man and a beautiful girl who “acted rather like a married couple.”

Shimamura becomes captivated by the reflection of the young girl, who is eventually introduced as Yoko. Her face seems detached – her eyes, in particular, enthrall him – and it floats over the rugged mountain landscape. It is a haunting image that leaves a deep impression on Shimamura and sets the tone for the rest of the novel. During this trip, Shimamura intends to see a young woman named Komako, whom he first met during an earlier stay at the inn. At that time, a half-year prior, Shimamura had settled at the inn after a week-long mountain trek. He requested the company of a geisha, but none were available due to a local festival. A maid suggested Komako, who, although not a geisha at the time, occasionally stepped in to assist at large gatherings.

Komako’s youthful innocence and kind heart immediately attracted Shimamura. However, he was apprehensive about asking her for anything other than friendship. He eventually yielded to his impulses, admitting to himself that he was falling in love with Komako. His first visit ended abruptly. On his return to the snow country, Shimamura finds that Komako has become a full-fledged geisha and has embraced the geisha life. The second visit also unveiled some details of Komako’s life. Komako invited Shimamura to her home, where he learned that the sick young man he shared a carriage with, Yukio, was also residing. Yukio, the son of a music teacher, came home after being afflicted with tuberculosis. Shimamura detects hints of a complicated past between Komako and Yukio.

The enigma surrounding Komako made Shimamura even more apprehensive about deepening his relationship with Komako. He was wary of her complex past, and he left the snow country more confused than ever. Nevertheless, a third visit soon ensued. The village was now bathed in the rich colors of fall. However, Komako has suffered some major losses. Yukio and the music teacher have passed away. Meanwhile, an older geisha is leaving town in the wake of a scandal. Komako, whose drinking addiction was hinted at earlier, continued to pursue a relationship with Shimamura. She also doubted Shimamura understood her feelings for him. Nevertheless, Komako continued to visit Shimamura in his room at the inn after her engagements. The question lingers: Will Shimamura finally let go of his reservations?

It was a stern night landscape. The sound of the freezing of snow over the land seemed to roar deep into the earth. There was no moon. The stars, almost too many of them to be true, came forward so brightly that it was as if they were falling with the swiftness of the void. As the stars came nearer, the sky retreated deeper and deeper into the night clolour. The layers of the Border Range, indistinguishable one from another, cast their heaviness at the skirt of the starry sky in a blackness grave and somber enough to communicate their mass. The whole of the night scene came together in a clear, tranquil harmony.

Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country

On the surface, Snow Country is the chronicle of a futile love that blossoms in a hot spring town. Although both Komako and Shimamura clearly develop feelings for each other, it is also apparent that their affair is doomed. Shimamura is married with children, while Komako is blossoming into adulthood. Various obstacles prevent them from pursuing a true relationship. Shimamura has lingering doubts about Komako and her past. Moreover, gossip proliferates in the secluded town, painting Komako in a different light. However, the most significant obstacle to their romance is the nature of Komako’s profession. As a geisha, she is forbidden from forming emotional attachments with clients while still expected to fulfill their desires.

Japan’s geisha culture – Kawabata’s oeuvre remarkably explores various facets of Japanese culture and society – takes the center stage in the novel. In particular, the stark dichotomy between city geishas and hot spring geishas is underscored. City geishas are often perceived as more refined, equipped with artistic skills such as music and dance, and are celebrated for their cultural knowledge. In contrast, hot spring geishas are trained to cater to the whims of transient, unremarkable clients—often unaccompanied men like Shimamura, who seek a brief escape in the countryside. The hot spring geisha is reduced to a mere entertainer for spontaneous weekend visitors. The line distinguishing a hot spring geisha from a prostitute is thin.

The relationship between Komako and Shimamura also possessed erotic undertones. There is a sensuality that binds them. Beyond physical attraction, Kawabata portrays Komako as a true artist, one of the novel’s central themes. This is highlighted in a scene when Shimamura asks Komako to play the samisen, a traditional stringed instrument. Komako played it with authenticity and dexterity, resonating with the emotional undercurrents of their time together. This also tickles the auditory sense, but it also prompted Shimamura to meditate on mortality: The first notes opened a transparent emptiness deep in his entrails, and in the emptiness the sound of the samisen reverberated. It is a eureka moment of existentialism, as Shimamura contemplates the inconsequential nature of his existence in the grand design of the universe.

Beyond geisha culture – or perhaps intertwined with it – the novel pays homage to beauty. This is evident in Shimamura’s infatuation with the ephemeral beauty of young women, echoing Kawabata’s The House of Sleeping Beauties. Seeking escape from his quotidian urban life, Shimamura becomes enamored first with Komako’s beauty, then with Yoko’s haunting presence. After all, Shimamura is an aesthete. Kawabata’s descriptive, evocative prose captures the changing beauty of nature: the snow country transforms through spring, winter, and autumn. These seasonal shifts are a visual delight and demonstrate Kawabata’s mastery in evoking the senses. Auditory imagery is equally vivid, from the wind brushing the grasses to the cacophony of insects.

Nothing could be more comfortable than writing about the ballet from books. A ballet he had never seen was an art in another world. It was an unrivaled armchair reverie, a lyric from some paradise. He called his work research, but it was actually free, uncontrolled fantasy. He preferred not to savor the ballet in the flesh; rather he savored the phantasms of his own dancing imagination, called up by Western books and pictures. It was like being in love with someone he had never seen.

Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country

Kawabata also integrates the prized Chijimi grass-linen into the narrative. To escape the confines of the onsen, Shimamura visits two nearby villages known for weaving the fabric. The laborious process—young, unmarried women spend the entire winter crafting it—reflects the region’s historic reliance on textile production. Shimamura is captivated by the immense effort required to produce Chijimi, which starkly contrasts with his own idle lifestyle. Symbolically, Chijimi serves as an allegory: after being painstakingly crafted, it is worn and discarded by worldly men like Shimamura. He draws a poignant parallel – Komako’s love, like the Chijimi linen, is something beautiful yet ultimately disposable.

The tension between tradition and modernization is another recurring theme in the novel. Kawabata excels at capturing traditional Japanese customs, particularly those surrounding geisha culture. The setting itself – a remote hot spring village – is steeped in tradition. Yet, signs of modernity intrude. The story was written during Japan’s militarist era, and modern inventions are present, chiefly the train. While the train symbolizes modernity, it is treated as a natural part of traditional life. The contrast between modern and traditional values is further reflected in the characters: Shimamura fancies himself an expert in Western ballet, while Komako is rooted in Japan’s traditional arts.

Snow Country is a precursor to Kawabata’s broader oeuvre. On the surface, it presents a love story between two star-crossed lovers, Komako and Shimamura, whose circumstances render their romance futile. It is a “waste of effort,” doomed from the outset. Yet beyond the romantic and sensual layers, the novel captures the essence of Japan. In awarding Kawabata the Nobel Prize in Literature, the Swedish Academy praised him for his narrative mastery and his deep expression of “the essence of the Japanese mind.” These qualities permeate Snow Country. Juxtaposing the beauty of the countryside with emotional and existential introspection, the novel stands as a hallmark of Kawabata’s artistry and an essential work in Japanese literature.

It was a stern night landscape. The sound of the freezing of snow over the land seemed to roar deep into the earth. There was no moon. The stars, almost too many of them to be true, came forward so brightly that it was as if they were falling with the swiftness of the void. As the stars came nearer, the sky retreated deeper and deeper into the night color.

Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country
Book Specs

Author: Yasunari Kawabata
Translator (from Japanese): Edward G. Seidensticker
Publisher: Charles E. Tuttle Company
Publishing Date: 1968 (1948)
Number of Pages: 175
Genre: Literary

Synopsis

The theme of this remarkable novel is the possibility of love in an earthly paradise. Does the perfect fulfillment of sensory pleasure nourish love, or does hedonism defeat itself through satiation, the paralysis of desire, the ephemeral nature of all pleasure? Kawabata, one of the most distinguished of Japanese novelists, explores this theme with astonishing awareness and perception.

The hero is a wealthy dilettante free of all worldly cares, an aesthete, an expert in pleasure – but quite incapable of love. There is no little irony in Kawabata’s characterization of Shimamura: He is an authority on the occidental ballet, but he has never seen a ballet. Indeed, we suspect he would close his eyes if a ballet were performed before him.

The heroine, Komako, is a hot-spring geisha, overflowing with love, and in fact deeply in love with Shimamura. In Japan, the special delights of the hot springs are for the unaccompanied gentlemen. Shimamura likes to escape from his studies to one of these gemlike, exquisitely beautiful mountain resorts, where he has gradually been attracted to Komako. As is made brilliantly clear in an early scene, Komako is not a prostitute, although resort geishas are much more easygoing than their talented city counterparts. A heady sensuality is part of life in such a resort. The clatter of the inn, the earthiness of the servants, the languors of the hot baths, the pursuit of over-ripe pleasure, the beauty of the houses and of the landscape – all have their intoxication for Shimamura, the sensualist.

Yet in the end all this fails him. Because the joy of the senses is not enough? Because Shimamura is too self-centered? Because he only half loves Komako, loves her for her gentleness and her little arts, but not her person?

Kawabata’s style communicates exquisitely, as the writing of no other country can, the joy of the knowing eye, of the sensitive skin, of the ear, the nose and the tongue. And the unfolding story of Shimamura and Komako stirs in the reader an ache of mingled excitement and pity; their final, predestined parting is deeply moving.

About the Author

To know more about the recipient of the 1968 Nobel Prize in Literature award Yasunari Kawabata (川端 康成), click here.