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A review by monumentalfolly
Spring Snow by Yukio Mishima
4.0
The author and some of his hagiographers refer to the tetralogy as his masterwork. Having read only the first novel in the series so far, I am not yet convinced. My sense of Mishima is often the balance between the inner world of his characters and "the plot." Some of his novels lean more heavily to the one side or the other. "Spring Show" strikes me as rather balanced, although leaning toward the latter. One is more likely compelled to read by the unfolding story of Kiyoaki and Satoko, than by the inner life of any of the characters, nor the philosophical threads woven through characters and story. The narrative here, in lesser hands, would devolve into soap opera -- a potboiler period romance -- but Mishima's keen line drawings of characters lifts it. A third aspect of his skill as an author are the frequent lyrical passages, often describing scenes of nature.
One point that stood out for me was the use of images in the novel, often to create a supernatural or surreal view of characters or narrative: the sepia photo of the massed soldiers at the Russo-Japanese war dead memorial, the oil painting of the Matsugae patriarch in the billiard room, the (seemingly hand-tinted) photograph of the monastery of Wat-Po in Thailand, the pornographic scroll, and even the briefly described screen at Gesshu. All have somewhat mystical, or eerie qualities to the characters seeing them.
The soldiers in the first are as "like figures in a renaissance painting" -- an image described by another image. The photograph is later recalled on the carriage ride with Satoko through the snow, an illusion that creates a grotesque amid this otherwise blissful journey.
The portrait is tied to a paranormal story, its falling from the wall when the patriarch died.
The Thai photograph leads directly into a discussion (and rumination) on dreams: "For everything sacred has the substance of dreams and memories, and so we suddenly experience the miracle of of what is separated from us by time or distance, suddenly being made tangible." Images do that as well.
Later, Kiyoaki describes Satoko: "he felt he was looking at a fine painting whose colors, once brilliant, were fading horribly before his very eyes." Another somewhat supernatural way of seeing, as with the war photo and the portrait, connected with death or decay.
Finally... Mishima often ends his chapters with a haiku-like jolt, often a sound.
One point that stood out for me was the use of images in the novel, often to create a supernatural or surreal view of characters or narrative: the sepia photo of the massed soldiers at the Russo-Japanese war dead memorial, the oil painting of the Matsugae patriarch in the billiard room, the (seemingly hand-tinted) photograph of the monastery of Wat-Po in Thailand, the pornographic scroll, and even the briefly described screen at Gesshu. All have somewhat mystical, or eerie qualities to the characters seeing them.
The soldiers in the first are as "like figures in a renaissance painting" -- an image described by another image. The photograph is later recalled on the carriage ride with Satoko through the snow, an illusion that creates a grotesque amid this otherwise blissful journey.
The portrait is tied to a paranormal story, its falling from the wall when the patriarch died.
The Thai photograph leads directly into a discussion (and rumination) on dreams: "For everything sacred has the substance of dreams and memories, and so we suddenly experience the miracle of of what is separated from us by time or distance, suddenly being made tangible." Images do that as well.
Later, Kiyoaki describes Satoko: "he felt he was looking at a fine painting whose colors, once brilliant, were fading horribly before his very eyes." Another somewhat supernatural way of seeing, as with the war photo and the portrait, connected with death or decay.
Finally... Mishima often ends his chapters with a haiku-like jolt, often a sound.