You must remember thisA kiss is still a kissA sigh is just a sighThe fundamental things applyAs time goes by. The most enduring stories are often very simple. Boy meets girl, they like each other, the world conspires to drive them apart, they remain faithful to each other and, in the end, they may be reunited or forever alone. His name is Shinji, her name is Hatsue, but for most of the book they are referred to as 'the boy' and 'the girl'. The boy is a poor fisherman whose father has been killed in the war, and now he has to work to support his mother and little brother. The girl is a pearl diver who has been recalled home by her rich father after being sent for adoption a long time ago. They live on a small island in the picturesque Gulf of Ise, their daily lives following a pattern set down since ancient times by the phases of the moon and the turning of the seasons. Few of them are aware or care about the modern times and the sophistication of the mainland Japan. Their lives are complete in their traditions and routines and their ambitions are narrow : a boat, a house, children to carry on honouring the ancestors and the family name.The author quotes as his source of inspiration a visit to Greece and the history of Daphnys and Chloe, the same legend that has inspired in XVI century France the popular Arcadian or Pastoral poetry and pageants. Instead of shepherds and shepherdesses Mishima chooses fishermen and pearl divers, but the basic premise of innocence and purity being threatened by envious modernists (civilization as the enemy?) is present here. While Shinji and Hatsue are presented as either unaware or immune to the temptations of carnal love, Chiyoko and Yasuo - the two youngsters who are responsible for driving them apart - are selfish and insecure and jealous. It is implied that both of them have been tainted by spending too much time on the mainland: Chiyoko at university in Tokyo, and Yasuo in seaside towns where he takes care of his father's shipping business. The contrast between tradition and emancipation may reflect Mishima's own conservative political views, although this is one of his early novels and I understand that the far-right drift manifested itself later in the author's career. One of his other signature touches is the fascination with suicide, present here in the young Chiyoko storyline and argued as a valid way to restore honour after making a mistake.I have used the world pastoral earlier, but I believe it is misleading. There is a strong lyrical sense and metaphor in the novel and an untainted natural environment, but it reminds me more of the Italian neorealism in cinema, of Passolini, Fellini, Rossellini and Visconti, with their amateur actors and their working class poetry. I see the translation into a Japanese setting in the minimalist yet luminous and clear etched prose of Mishima, in the constant awareness of nature where every coastal pine, every sea channel and gulf, every mountain fading to blue in the distance is arranged with the attention to detail and the symbolism of a Hokusai woodcut. I have only one example of the imagery that charmed me in the novel, from a visit Shinji and his mother make to the local cemetery: In the pale light of daybreak the gravestones looked like so many white sails of boats anchored in a busy harbor. They were sails that would never again be filled with wind, sails that, too long unused and heavily dropping, had been turned into stone just as they were. The boats' anchors had been thrust so deeply into the dark earth that they could never again be raised. Of all the metaphors in the novel, the strongest one by far is the one in the title - the sea is ever present, taking the role of the Greek chorus from the ancient plays, always singing in the background, marking the passage of time and the inner turmoil of the characters to the rhythm of the waves breaking powerfuly on the island's promontories. There is no place on the small island to hide away from their constant rumbling, they follow Shinji even when he goes away on a voyage to prove his manhood, when the sea rises up like an angry god and punishes the mortals by unleashing a hurricane. The sea is also constant in its inconstancy, always changing. It never stays angry for ever, and after the storm there will always be a respite, and that is the last snapshot I take from the novel: Nor was the sound of the waves strong, but coming regularly and peacefully, as though the sea were breathing in healthy slumber. Life goes on, and there will surely be another boy and another girl who will ride the waves up and down, to stormy seas or to quiet harbors.
I wish I could add my own bit of praise to the undiluted encomium of most of the reviewers here and at Amazon for The Sound of Waves, but I can’t. And although Meredith (“Tex”) Weatherby may not have the credentials of Yasunari Kawabata’s translator (Howard Scott Hibbett), I have to believe that Mr. Weatherby knew what he was doing. And so, I’ll humbly accept that I simply don’t have the requisite disposition for Eastern literature, inasmuch as my reaction to Kawabata’s work was equally tepid.By way of general observation, I’ll suggest that Mishima’s descriptions often sound contrived – too cute by half, if you will – and consequently diminish rather than enhance. His writing is also often choppy, as if he were suffering some internal order to move the plot forward with perfunctory action to which he gives only rakish attention.A couple of minor nits… As has been pointed out elsewhere, Mishima really does seem to have something of a breast fetish. But for my money, he’s got an equally strong obsession with bathroom odors. And what of the invention (whether Mishima’s or Weatherby’s is impossible to know) of “dangerless” (p. 136)? Meanwhile, can we assume that “(a)nd no none could guarantee…” (p. 160) was just a typo – that, or that a comma after “no” somehow went astray?Perhaps out of fairness to both Mishima and Weatherby, I should give an example and let you be the judge. And so, I’ll cite the following description of a thwarted sexual assault on our heroine, Hatsue, on p. 92:“Yasuo finally had Hatsue pinned to the ground beside the spring. One of the buckets had been knocked over and the water was running over the moss-covered earth. The light of the street lamp showed Hatsue’s nostrils quivering and her wide-open eyes flashing. Her hair was half in the spilled water.Suddenly Hatsue pursed her lips and spat full on Yasuo’s chin.This aroused his passion all the more and, feeling her heaving breasts beneath him, he thrust his face against her cheek.At that moment he gave a shout and jumped to his feet: the hornet has stung him again, this time on the nape of the neck.Angered beyond endurance, he tried wildly to catch the hornet, and while he was dancing about, Hatsue went running toward the stone steps.Yatsuo was in a panic of confusion. He was fully occupied with the hornet, and yet still managed somehow to satisfy his urge to recapture Hatsue, but from one moment to the next he had no idea which action he was performing, nor in what order. At any rate, catch Hatsue again he did.No sooner had he forced her ripening body down again onto the moss than the persistent hornet lit, this time on the seat of Yasuo’s trousers, and drove its stinger deeply into the flesh of a buttock.”Never mind the mob of run-on sentences here; we can dispense with those easily enough. A larger question, however, looms: is this some sort of Japanese slapstick at an otherwise rather serious – not to say ‘criminal’ – moment in the narrative? Yes, hornets sting. And yes, hornets – when provoked – will even pursue the object of their stinger-scorn. But Mishima would appear to have alighted on the serendipitous leaf of a deus ex machina and turned it into a Godzilla-like deus ex insecta. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or gnash my teeth and rend my garments at the news of a superhero hornet’s basta! in the face of all of this “quivering…flashing…heaving…and ripening.”Sheesh!Anyway and as I said before, you be the judge. And may your verdict be more charitable than mine.RRB04/06/15Brooklyn, NY
What do You think about The Sound Of Waves (2015)?
The Sound of the Waves is one of the best books i have read. it may be short but it shows how confidence is rewarding and that anything is possible in life despite the odds. This novel is about a love triangle, or some may say a love square, but no matter how many obstacles were put into the protagonist's way, his love was successful at the end. The protagonist, named Shinji, was a fishermen, but then he came across a wealthy girl named Hatsue and falls in love. The odds were against him; everyone in the island was against him, but nothing stopped him from his affection. He lost confidence many times because of who he was, but at the end, that was the reason why Hatsue fell in love with him. She saw the real Shinji that no one else knew until the end, the hardworking fishermen. Shinji saves Hatsues fathers ship that was caught in a storm. His confidence and determination shine brighter than wealth itself. and despite his status Hatsue couldnt care less about fame or money. Yukio portrays that what matters the most is whats on the inside not the outside. Hard work prevails at the end. Yukio's message to the readers is that hard work is always rewarded. So never give up because one day you might be successful.
—Kristin
I can't believe he survived. Being a sexy man in a Mishima book must be like being in "Takeshi's Castle". But Shinji makes it through to the final, and carries off the woman with the great tits. Incredible.
—David
I’m not one for feel good stories. To me, literature is all about engaging and expanding the mind, and not many fairy tale endings get you thinking about much. In high school, I was the Hamlet guy, while all the girls were more Midsummer Night’s Dream. Till now, I might have said that a love story with a happy ending would never mean as much as a Romeo and Juliet tragedy. The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima made me a believer.The story is the most familiar one in the world. A young boy, Shinji, falls in love with the newcomer, a beautiful pearl diver named Hatsue. Their innocent love begins at first sight. It is tested by the gossiping of the citizens of the tiny island paradise of Uta-Jima, Song Island. Against calumny, natural disaster, and the scheming of Shinji’s fellow suitor Yauso, love overcomes.What makes this story unique, then? It is an easy read: two days for an avid reader, so it’s not the depth of plot. The tropical paradise of Song Island is beautifully brought to life by Mishima’s incredible talent at description. Neither size nor setting is enough to make such a novel stick in my mind, however. No, it is the characterization of the main characters and the beautiful message they make about morality.Shinji and Hatsue are innocent in every sense of the word. Shinji has no understanding of love at all. His naievete comes from a pure ignorance of love. Young lovers, as I know from experience, analyze every little word and action from one another, searching for hidden meaning, fantasizing of every fairy tale ending and agonizing over every horrible possibility of being spurned. Shinji has none of this. He believes every word that Hatsue tells him. In this way, truth and love are inextricably tied together. Shinji’s knows that Hatsue’s words are both loving and true, without falling into the trap of over analyzing. In today’s world, where trusting people are often ridiculed as being gullible, Shinji’s honesty is a breath of fresh air.The theme of innocence does not end here, however. It hits home where fairy tales cannot goes: sexuality. Shinji has not even a semblance of an understanding about sex. In a rather awkward meeting, Hatsue and Shinji see each other nude. They are shameless, refusing to hide themselves. At the first touch, however, Hatsue tells Shinji that they cannot move forward until they are married. She has an innate but illogical and inexperienced understanding that sex before marriage is wrong. Again, without questioning, Shinji trusts and falls obedient to Hatsue.The similarities to Adam and Eve are too obvious to ignore (please note that this is all my own interpretation. Neither the characters or the author, Mishima, were Christian. This is me putting my words into Mishima’s mouth.) Both characters exhibit traits of our first parents before the Fall of Man. They are incapable of sin, and exemplify virtue. They are full of kindness: Shinji generously gives to another family in the community, and Hatsue gives a surprise gift to Shinji’s mother. Forgiveness too: Yauso, another suitor, attempts to rape Hatsue. She covers up the incident because he merely asked politely. Yauso is the evil snake in this story, personifying at least five of the Seven Deadly Sins: gluttony, sloth, lust, and wrath and envy. The lovers are, like Adam and Eve, moral despite ignorance of evil.Not your typical love story anymore, is it? I certainly don’t think so. The title, The Sound of Waves, is a reference both to the island culture and the rushing blood in Shinji’s heart when he is with Hatsue. This book has got my blood moving too. Even amongst feel good stories, The Sound of Waves stands tall and singular. It is a breath of fresh, salty ocean air.
—Greg Heaney
