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The Sound of Waves
Set in a remote fishing village in Japan, The Sound of Waves is a timeless story of first love. It tells of Shinji, a young fisherman and Hatsue, the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village. Shinji is entranced at the sight of Hatsue in the twilight on the beach and they fall in love. When the villagers' gossip threatens to divide them, Shinji must risk his life to prove his worth.
183 pages, Paperback
First published June 10, 1954
About the author
Yukio Mishima
440 books8,000 followersYukio Mishima (三島 由紀夫) was born in Tokyo in 1925. He graduated from Tokyo Imperial University’s School of Jurisprudence in 1947. His first published book, The Forest in Full Bloom, appeared in 1944 and he established himself as a major author with Confessions of a Mask (1949). From then until his death he continued to publish novels, short stories, and plays each year. His crowning achievement, the Sea of Fertility tetralogy—which contains the novels Spring Snow (1969), Runaway Horses (1969), The Temple of Dawn (1970), and The Decay of the Angel (1971)—is considered one of the definitive works of twentieth-century Japanese fiction. In 1970, at the age of forty-five and the day after completing the last novel in the Fertility series, Mishima committed seppuku (ritual suicide)—a spectacular death that attracted worldwide attention.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,265 reviews
April 4, 2020
I’ve read a half-dozen novels by this Japanese author. All have been dark, focused on planning secret rebellions, a planned murder, ritual suicide, death and reincarnation. The author himself headed up a ritualistic right-wing group and ended up committing ritual suicide. So imagine my surprise to find I’m reading a book about first love with a happy ending! (We know this from the blurbs on the cover, so I’m not really giving away plot.)
It’s a coming-of-age story of a young man on a small Japanese island. Most of the men are fishermen going out daily in small 2-3-man boats. The island women are famous for their endurance diving to collect buckets of abalones, hopefully with an occasional pearl inside.
Social class is a theme. The main character’s father died in WW II, so his work as a fisherman is the main support of his mother and young brother, although his mother is a diver. He falls in love with the newly arrived beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man on the island who owns a large freighter. Of course it’s understood that the daughter will marry one of the few other upper-class boys on the island. The father prohibits her from seeing the lower-class boy. They interact by secret notes. The boy graduates from the small fishing boat to work on a freighter where he proves himself by an act of valor while at sea where he risks his life in a storm.
The plot is elaborated with ‘rivals,’ a young man and young woman who are interested in each of the two main characters; a scene between the boy’s mother and the wealthy man, and village gossipers who seem to do all they can to complicate the path of true love.
In the end, love finds a way through hard work, courage, honestly and doing the right thing. It could be a YA novel if the three pages describing women’s breasts were omitted, (lol, the women dive wearing only loin cloths).
The novel, published in 1954, is rich in local color and in descriptive detail of a way of life - housing, cooking, dress - that is now gone. Even the women divers are only there for tourists now. (Like the Greek sponge divers in Tarpon Springs, Florida) The story has been made into a movie in Japan several times.
While writing this review I happened to come across this article about Japanese Nobel Prize winners (Yasunari Kawabata 1968; Kenzaburo Oe 1968) and how Mishima basically ‘campaigned’ for the prize and the hope of fans that Haruki Murakami might eventually win one.
https://www.japantimes.co.jp/culture/...
Top photo of a traditional Japanese village from artmajeur.com
Abalone divers from library.ucsd.edu
The author from wikimedia.commons.com
It’s a coming-of-age story of a young man on a small Japanese island. Most of the men are fishermen going out daily in small 2-3-man boats. The island women are famous for their endurance diving to collect buckets of abalones, hopefully with an occasional pearl inside.
Social class is a theme. The main character’s father died in WW II, so his work as a fisherman is the main support of his mother and young brother, although his mother is a diver. He falls in love with the newly arrived beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man on the island who owns a large freighter. Of course it’s understood that the daughter will marry one of the few other upper-class boys on the island. The father prohibits her from seeing the lower-class boy. They interact by secret notes. The boy graduates from the small fishing boat to work on a freighter where he proves himself by an act of valor while at sea where he risks his life in a storm.
The plot is elaborated with ‘rivals,’ a young man and young woman who are interested in each of the two main characters; a scene between the boy’s mother and the wealthy man, and village gossipers who seem to do all they can to complicate the path of true love.
In the end, love finds a way through hard work, courage, honestly and doing the right thing. It could be a YA novel if the three pages describing women’s breasts were omitted, (lol, the women dive wearing only loin cloths).
The novel, published in 1954, is rich in local color and in descriptive detail of a way of life - housing, cooking, dress - that is now gone. Even the women divers are only there for tourists now. (Like the Greek sponge divers in Tarpon Springs, Florida) The story has been made into a movie in Japan several times.
While writing this review I happened to come across this article about Japanese Nobel Prize winners (Yasunari Kawabata 1968; Kenzaburo Oe 1968) and how Mishima basically ‘campaigned’ for the prize and the hope of fans that Haruki Murakami might eventually win one.
https://www.japantimes.co.jp/culture/...
Top photo of a traditional Japanese village from artmajeur.com
Abalone divers from library.ucsd.edu
The author from wikimedia.commons.com
March 6, 2024
Before writing this review, I looked at those of the other members. Many seem disappointed by the chosen theme's banality, seeing it as another learning novel.
Indeed, the theme is worn down to the frame, the love between two young people who will triumph over all difficulties; it is nothing new. But this is to forget that Mishima wrote this work, and Mishima is never banal. So, there are some excellent reasons to read this book!
We can read it because it was interesting when it relocated in Mishima's career. We find the influence of the Japanese romantic school in which Mishima debuted. The omnipresent nature and the simplicity of a plot favoring the exaltation of noble feelings had been linked to romanticism. However, Mishima already asserts his particular style. Unlike his first writings (The Temple of Dawn), the technique has simplified and is less pompous, acquiring this classic and subtle refinement that Mishima will later refine.
The other exciting aspect of this book is that Mishima interested me in his story, which repeats a theme many times. Reading it is very easy, and rather than taking us into an extended narrative about Hatsue and Shinji's moods, the author had the talent to create intense scenes that intensify the characters' passion while effectively advancing the report.
What also excites Mishima is his ability to create characters with fascinating psychology and insert them into a framework that reinforces them. Mishima is a false romantic in that he makes his hero Shinji a symbol of purity: this one, a sailor with simple pleasures, will win without tricks but by his probity hand of Hatsue. The setting of the action, Utajima Island, is, on the contrary, a very subtle metaphor for the passions of this story: the tumult of the waves, omnipresent, seems to represent the convolutions of the heart of Shinji, the sailor (storm in the crucial moments of passion). The island plays a fundamental role: its isolated appearance allows the closed door of love, creates an intimate atmosphere by its smallness that makes a village community in isolation, and allows to create an opposition to the outside world that is the rest of Japan with its large cities, unknown to the inhabitants of the island who lead a frugal life. It is also an opportunity for Mishima to affirm his adherence to the values of respect and work omnipresent on the island that his story values.
This work is a fascinating book in a banal aspect; it is well-written.
That's a pleasure to read.
Indeed, the theme is worn down to the frame, the love between two young people who will triumph over all difficulties; it is nothing new. But this is to forget that Mishima wrote this work, and Mishima is never banal. So, there are some excellent reasons to read this book!
We can read it because it was interesting when it relocated in Mishima's career. We find the influence of the Japanese romantic school in which Mishima debuted. The omnipresent nature and the simplicity of a plot favoring the exaltation of noble feelings had been linked to romanticism. However, Mishima already asserts his particular style. Unlike his first writings (The Temple of Dawn), the technique has simplified and is less pompous, acquiring this classic and subtle refinement that Mishima will later refine.
The other exciting aspect of this book is that Mishima interested me in his story, which repeats a theme many times. Reading it is very easy, and rather than taking us into an extended narrative about Hatsue and Shinji's moods, the author had the talent to create intense scenes that intensify the characters' passion while effectively advancing the report.
What also excites Mishima is his ability to create characters with fascinating psychology and insert them into a framework that reinforces them. Mishima is a false romantic in that he makes his hero Shinji a symbol of purity: this one, a sailor with simple pleasures, will win without tricks but by his probity hand of Hatsue. The setting of the action, Utajima Island, is, on the contrary, a very subtle metaphor for the passions of this story: the tumult of the waves, omnipresent, seems to represent the convolutions of the heart of Shinji, the sailor (storm in the crucial moments of passion). The island plays a fundamental role: its isolated appearance allows the closed door of love, creates an intimate atmosphere by its smallness that makes a village community in isolation, and allows to create an opposition to the outside world that is the rest of Japan with its large cities, unknown to the inhabitants of the island who lead a frugal life. It is also an opportunity for Mishima to affirm his adherence to the values of respect and work omnipresent on the island that his story values.
This work is a fascinating book in a banal aspect; it is well-written.
That's a pleasure to read.
February 23, 2023
This is the first book I read which was written by the author, Yukio Mishima.
I searched his background on the internet and tried to understand more about the controversy about this author.
I did google by asking which book I should read first and most of the recommendations are to read this book first.
I enjoyed reading this book. Overall this story is a bit flat, smooth, and straightforward.
I admire his style of writing and he can show you the story vividly through his words.
The story is about the life of the people on an island and a loving couple.
I searched his background on the internet and tried to understand more about the controversy about this author.
I did google by asking which book I should read first and most of the recommendations are to read this book first.
I enjoyed reading this book. Overall this story is a bit flat, smooth, and straightforward.
I admire his style of writing and he can show you the story vividly through his words.
The story is about the life of the people on an island and a loving couple.
April 24, 2022
Shiosai = The Sound of Waves, Yukio Mishima
Set in a remote fishing village in Japan, The Sound of Waves is a timeless story of first love. A young fisherman is entranced at the sight of the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village. They fall in love, but must then endure the calumny and gossip of the villagers.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش روز بیست و چهارم ماه مارس سال2009میلادی
عنوان: آوای امواج؛ نویسنده: یوکیو میشیما؛ مترجم فرناز حائری؛ تهران: نشر قطره، سال1386؛ در200ص؛ شابک9789643417093؛ چاپ دوم سال1395؛ چاپ سوم سال1396؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان ژاپن - سده20م
نقل نمونه متن: (دختری آنجا بود که پیش از این ندیده بود؛ دختر به توده ای از چوب ـ بستهای سنگین تکیه داده بود تا استراحتی کند؛ این چوب ـ بستها را به خاطر شکلشان چرتکه مینامیدند؛ قایقهای ماهیگیری را ابتدا به وسیله ی وینچ روی ساحل میکشیدند و بعد چرتکه ها را زیر قایقها قرار میدادند تا قایقها به نرمی روی آن سر بخورند؛ ظاهرا دختر تازه از حمل این چوب بستها دست کشیده بود تا نفسی تازه کند؛ پیشانی اش خیس عرق بود و گونه هایش برافروخته؛ باد سردی از سوی غرب میوزید، ولی به نظر میآمد دختر از آن خوشش میآید، صورت برافروخته اش را به طرف باد برگردانده و موهایش را به باد سپرده بود؛ کت کتانی بی آستینی بر تن داشت و شلوار کار زنانه ای که تا روی مچ پا تا شده بود، و یک جفت دستکش کار چرک؛
رنگ با طراوت پوستش فرقی با رنگ پوست دیگر دختران جزیره نداشت، ولی چیزی تازه در نگاهش بود، چیزی روشن و آرام در حالت ابروهایش؛ دختر مشتاقانه به سمت غربی آسمان چشم دوخته بود، جایی که قرص کوچک سرخفام خورشید میان توده ابرهای رو به سیاهی، غروب میکرد؛ پسر به خاطر نمیآورد که این دختر را پیش از این دیده باشد؛ چرا که چهره ای در «یوتا ـ جیما» نبود که او نشناسد؛ در نظر اول گمان کرد غریبه است؛ اما لباس دختر مثل لباس اهالی بود؛ تنها تفاوتش با دیگر دختران با نشاط جزیره، حالت ایستادن و خیره شدنش به دریا بود؛ مخصوصا از جلوی دختر رد شد؛ مثل کودکی کنجکاو که به غریبه ای خیره شود، ایستاد و به چشمان دختر زل زد؛ دختر کمی اخم کرد ولی همانطور خیره به دریا ماند و نگاهش را به طرف پسر برنگرداند؛ پسر پس از این کنجکاوی دقیق و بیصدا، به سرعت به راهش ادامه داد...؛)؛ پایان نقل؛
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 23/03/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 03/02/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
Set in a remote fishing village in Japan, The Sound of Waves is a timeless story of first love. A young fisherman is entranced at the sight of the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village. They fall in love, but must then endure the calumny and gossip of the villagers.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش روز بیست و چهارم ماه مارس سال2009میلادی
عنوان: آوای امواج؛ نویسنده: یوکیو میشیما؛ مترجم فرناز حائری؛ تهران: نشر قطره، سال1386؛ در200ص؛ شابک9789643417093؛ چاپ دوم سال1395؛ چاپ سوم سال1396؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان ژاپن - سده20م
نقل نمونه متن: (دختری آنجا بود که پیش از این ندیده بود؛ دختر به توده ای از چوب ـ بستهای سنگین تکیه داده بود تا استراحتی کند؛ این چوب ـ بستها را به خاطر شکلشان چرتکه مینامیدند؛ قایقهای ماهیگیری را ابتدا به وسیله ی وینچ روی ساحل میکشیدند و بعد چرتکه ها را زیر قایقها قرار میدادند تا قایقها به نرمی روی آن سر بخورند؛ ظاهرا دختر تازه از حمل این چوب بستها دست کشیده بود تا نفسی تازه کند؛ پیشانی اش خیس عرق بود و گونه هایش برافروخته؛ باد سردی از سوی غرب میوزید، ولی به نظر میآمد دختر از آن خوشش میآید، صورت برافروخته اش را به طرف باد برگردانده و موهایش را به باد سپرده بود؛ کت کتانی بی آستینی بر تن داشت و شلوار کار زنانه ای که تا روی مچ پا تا شده بود، و یک جفت دستکش کار چرک؛
رنگ با طراوت پوستش فرقی با رنگ پوست دیگر دختران جزیره نداشت، ولی چیزی تازه در نگاهش بود، چیزی روشن و آرام در حالت ابروهایش؛ دختر مشتاقانه به سمت غربی آسمان چشم دوخته بود، جایی که قرص کوچک سرخفام خورشید میان توده ابرهای رو به سیاهی، غروب میکرد؛ پسر به خاطر نمیآورد که این دختر را پیش از این دیده باشد؛ چرا که چهره ای در «یوتا ـ جیما» نبود که او نشناسد؛ در نظر اول گمان کرد غریبه است؛ اما لباس دختر مثل لباس اهالی بود؛ تنها تفاوتش با دیگر دختران با نشاط جزیره، حالت ایستادن و خیره شدنش به دریا بود؛ مخصوصا از جلوی دختر رد شد؛ مثل کودکی کنجکاو که به غریبه ای خیره شود، ایستاد و به چشمان دختر زل زد؛ دختر کمی اخم کرد ولی همانطور خیره به دریا ماند و نگاهش را به طرف پسر برنگرداند؛ پسر پس از این کنجکاوی دقیق و بیصدا، به سرعت به راهش ادامه داد...؛)؛ پایان نقل؛
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 23/03/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 03/02/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
September 13, 2019
The first couple of times I read Mishima, he left me feeling a little cold, and I wasn't in any rush to return to him. But return to him I did, after picking up this in a charity bookstore recently. And this simple tale of boy-meets-girl easily eclipsed the other Mishima books I'd read. It is, in all intents and purposes, a little work of art, that captures the purity of love and candor of youthful desire beautifully. He handles his story is a maturely and realistic conceived way, that never pushes the novel into soppy and melodramatic territory. The Sound of Waves takes place in a small Japanese coastline community, Uta-jima Island, that is rocky, wooded and agriculturally barren. The men are fishermen naturally, especially for octopus, and the women are skin divers after seaweed and marine snails. Shinji is a young chap, who is manly in his ways, and a hard worker on the fishing boats. He is also smitten with love for the young girl Hatsue, daughter of the island's wealthiest, most formidable man, Terukichi Miyata, a ship owner. Hatsue returns Shinji's love, but as gossip spreads, their meetings must be remain clandestine as her father has her lined up to marry Yasuo, a cocky so-and-so, who doesn't deserve her love. After Shinji proves his worth on a shipping voyage, which turns out to be a kind of test, Mishima dishes out a most satisfying finale that would warm even the coldest soul. Mishima has the craftsman's touch to evoke all the pictorial and dramatic ramifications of his setting, which is a character in itself throughout, and plays a key role in how this blossoming relationship prevails. The result is a work that carries us deeply into the lives and personalities of people who are as closely bonded to the sea as they are to each other. It was simply a wise, radiant, and lovely piece of storytelling.
September 2, 2016
The fresh morning breeze blows through your face, the sun is rising in the far horizon. An early ray of sunlight catches your vision and you feel temporarily overwhelmed by the gentle brightness of its glare but you welcome the comforting warmth caressing your skin. The chirping of morning birds and the steady buzzing of insects melt into a unified chorus of vitality that invigorates your slowly rising spirit. A smile comes to your lips. You live a simple rural life, uncomplicated, fulfilling. You labor during the day; you rest at night your back sore and aching but your soul peaceful and contented. This is the life of your ancestors, the life your father had, the life of his father before him, and the only kind of life they thought possible. But then a sudden gust of wind covers the footprints they’ve made and you find yourself astray drifting towards the crossroads of change, a scary but promising future forcing itself into your consciousness.
The sound of waves is a simple tale of a fisherman who falls in love with the beautiful daughter of the most prosperous man on their small island. At the surface a heart wrenching story of impossible love but on a deeper layer also a melancholy cry against the encroachment of the modern western world to the simple life of rural Japan. It is innocent, lovely, and enchanting like a young virgin pure at heart. It brings a certain air of unassuming pride to the simple life of the past which pierces the modern sentimentality our generation has learned to romanticize. The story spotlights the rustic lifestyle of a traditional, conservative country that during that time was slowly losing grip of its identity. Shinji, a young fisherman, physically gifted, but financially and mentally at the bottom of the pile, falls in love with the modest beauty of young Hatsue. She returns his affections and together they strive to stay afloat in the surging seas of the island’s moral and socioeconomic judgments.
This is a happy story, like the fairy tales and folklores that have been passed down from one generation to the next; we’ve all learned that good things come to good people.
“Once again it came to pass that Shinji, little given to thinking as he was, was lost in thought. He was thinking that in spite of all they’d been through, here they were in the end, free within the moral code to which they had been born, never once been estranged from the providence of the gods… that, in short, it was this little island, enfolded in darkness, that had protected their happiness and brought their love to this fulfillment.”
Work hard, obey the law, please the gods, follow your parents, get along with your neighbors, and love your country, this is the creed of our forefathers, their answer to the question of a good and happy life. Today we’ve complicated the answer to this simple question. We’ve introduced self-discovery, existentialism, all kinds of anxieties and other concepts, which befuddle the mind into a constant state of perplexity and indecision. Maybe the answer is not so complicated, then again maybe the answer to a question of the past is an answer from the past, and the answer to the question of the present, one from the present. But what I do know is that these little nuggets of wisdom have tided generations of our ancestors into the safe and prosperous shores of simple satisfaction. These overused instructions, no matter how ancient, are worth paying attention to, if not out of applicability then out of reverence. The moral codes and traditions of those before us, no matter how backward and revolting to our modern sensibilities, have played a guiding hand to the fruition of our current circumstances. And we owe it to them, from their success we’ve either immortalized or forgotten, to their mistakes we’ve learned from, to live lives worthy of the future.
“Oh, Shinji-san, let us go on truly, with strong hearts!”
In the dark seas and unexplored fields of the unknown, the lighthouse of the past shines ever so brightly guiding the children of tomorrow, reminding us of the simple lessons that the farmer and the fisherman have known for ages.
Let us not forget.
The sound of waves is a simple tale of a fisherman who falls in love with the beautiful daughter of the most prosperous man on their small island. At the surface a heart wrenching story of impossible love but on a deeper layer also a melancholy cry against the encroachment of the modern western world to the simple life of rural Japan. It is innocent, lovely, and enchanting like a young virgin pure at heart. It brings a certain air of unassuming pride to the simple life of the past which pierces the modern sentimentality our generation has learned to romanticize. The story spotlights the rustic lifestyle of a traditional, conservative country that during that time was slowly losing grip of its identity. Shinji, a young fisherman, physically gifted, but financially and mentally at the bottom of the pile, falls in love with the modest beauty of young Hatsue. She returns his affections and together they strive to stay afloat in the surging seas of the island’s moral and socioeconomic judgments.
This is a happy story, like the fairy tales and folklores that have been passed down from one generation to the next; we’ve all learned that good things come to good people.
“Once again it came to pass that Shinji, little given to thinking as he was, was lost in thought. He was thinking that in spite of all they’d been through, here they were in the end, free within the moral code to which they had been born, never once been estranged from the providence of the gods… that, in short, it was this little island, enfolded in darkness, that had protected their happiness and brought their love to this fulfillment.”
Work hard, obey the law, please the gods, follow your parents, get along with your neighbors, and love your country, this is the creed of our forefathers, their answer to the question of a good and happy life. Today we’ve complicated the answer to this simple question. We’ve introduced self-discovery, existentialism, all kinds of anxieties and other concepts, which befuddle the mind into a constant state of perplexity and indecision. Maybe the answer is not so complicated, then again maybe the answer to a question of the past is an answer from the past, and the answer to the question of the present, one from the present. But what I do know is that these little nuggets of wisdom have tided generations of our ancestors into the safe and prosperous shores of simple satisfaction. These overused instructions, no matter how ancient, are worth paying attention to, if not out of applicability then out of reverence. The moral codes and traditions of those before us, no matter how backward and revolting to our modern sensibilities, have played a guiding hand to the fruition of our current circumstances. And we owe it to them, from their success we’ve either immortalized or forgotten, to their mistakes we’ve learned from, to live lives worthy of the future.
“Oh, Shinji-san, let us go on truly, with strong hearts!”
In the dark seas and unexplored fields of the unknown, the lighthouse of the past shines ever so brightly guiding the children of tomorrow, reminding us of the simple lessons that the farmer and the fisherman have known for ages.
Let us not forget.
March 6, 2020
Leída para el #marzoasiatico ♥
Aunque es descrita como una gran historia de amor, para mi, la relación entre nuestros dos jóvenes protagonistas me parece que queda ensombrecida por la presencia del mar, del faro, de los barcos pesqueros... La protagonista es esa pequeña isla de pescadores en la que se suceden los días, uno tras otro, sin (aparentemente) ningún cambio ni novedad.
El libro es un gran canto a la vida sencilla y noble, a lo tradicional ante la modernidad, a lo rural ante la corrupción de la gran ciudad... En fin, es una historia inocente, bucólica y dulce muy bien narrada.
A mi me conquistó ese alma tan costumbrista que tiene, la descripción de la vida de las buceadoras, las diferencias de clase entre unos habitantes y otros, los encuentros secretos, la cercanía entre los vecinos...
No es una gran historia, pero yo la he disfrutado mucho.
***Recomiendo leer este librito de manera pausada para disfrutar más de esa ambientación tan especial que te va envolviendo poco a poco
****Es lo primero que leo de Mishima y me he quedado con unas ganas enormes de seguir con su obra.
Aunque es descrita como una gran historia de amor, para mi, la relación entre nuestros dos jóvenes protagonistas me parece que queda ensombrecida por la presencia del mar, del faro, de los barcos pesqueros... La protagonista es esa pequeña isla de pescadores en la que se suceden los días, uno tras otro, sin (aparentemente) ningún cambio ni novedad.
El libro es un gran canto a la vida sencilla y noble, a lo tradicional ante la modernidad, a lo rural ante la corrupción de la gran ciudad... En fin, es una historia inocente, bucólica y dulce muy bien narrada.
A mi me conquistó ese alma tan costumbrista que tiene, la descripción de la vida de las buceadoras, las diferencias de clase entre unos habitantes y otros, los encuentros secretos, la cercanía entre los vecinos...
No es una gran historia, pero yo la he disfrutado mucho.
***Recomiendo leer este librito de manera pausada para disfrutar más de esa ambientación tan especial que te va envolviendo poco a poco
****Es lo primero que leo de Mishima y me he quedado con unas ganas enormes de seguir con su obra.
October 30, 2014
You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss
A sigh is just a sigh
The fundamental things apply
As 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.
July 6, 2020
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.
July 18, 2019
More like 4 and a half stars.
My introduction to Yukio Mishima’s work a couple of years ago left a lasting impression: the prose, even translated, was intoxicating, the characters tragically real and the setting perfectly captured. A friend especially recommended I read “The Sound of Waves” next. This is a short book that contains a familiar story: coming of age and falling in love for the first time. We never really get tired of writing and reading about that, do we? But you’ll find no tired clichés here, despite the timelessness of the plot. Just as in “Spring Snow” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), what could have been an easy tale of young love has much more going on below the surface than you might think!
There is something incredibly romantic to me about the setting: a small, isolated island surrounded by the beauty of the ocean (they say the world’s most beautiful sunsets are to be seen in Japan…), where life is rough but simple, and has followed the pace set by the fishing seasons with a certain indifference towards the modernization of the rest of the country. I probably wouldn’t want to live there is real life, but it’s nice to imagine that such places exist and to escape there for a few hours between the pages of a book.
I know that Mishima was going for something very different, though: he longed for the idealized past of his country, before it opened to the West, before the War, and remote places such as Uta-Jima probably seemed to him like relics of “his” Japan. The people who leave this idyllic little fishing village come back spoiled by city life, corrupt in their actions; as where those who stay behind seem to remain innocent, their hearts untarnished by the big bad world out there. It’s a naïve view, but it infuses this story with a certain fairy tale flavor that’s hard to resist.
Shinji is a young fisherman, who lives with his mother and younger brother on a small, remote island in post-WWII Japan. His life is simple and he is content with his routine, until Hatsue, the daughter of the island’s wealthiest man, comes back to live with her father. But life in a small town means that everyone knows about everyone else’s business, so when he and the young pearl diver fall in love, malicious gossip will try to drive them apart. But Shinji’s devotion is stronger than any spiteful attempt to separate him from Hatsue.
The juxtaposition of the strength and purity of the feelings experienced by Shinji and Hatsue and the descriptions of the fragile houses and huts, the threadbare clothes worn by everyone and the grueling work they must do, with the sea always in the background, is a lyrical and powerful blend. The 200 pages go by in a wink. Mishima’s simple but incredibly graceful prose describes innocent love so well, but it also makes Chiyoko’s feelings just as vivid and painful to witness.
I will be looking for more novels by Mishima: his stories seem to always linger in my mind long after I've turned the last page, the way only great books do.
My introduction to Yukio Mishima’s work a couple of years ago left a lasting impression: the prose, even translated, was intoxicating, the characters tragically real and the setting perfectly captured. A friend especially recommended I read “The Sound of Waves” next. This is a short book that contains a familiar story: coming of age and falling in love for the first time. We never really get tired of writing and reading about that, do we? But you’ll find no tired clichés here, despite the timelessness of the plot. Just as in “Spring Snow” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), what could have been an easy tale of young love has much more going on below the surface than you might think!
There is something incredibly romantic to me about the setting: a small, isolated island surrounded by the beauty of the ocean (they say the world’s most beautiful sunsets are to be seen in Japan…), where life is rough but simple, and has followed the pace set by the fishing seasons with a certain indifference towards the modernization of the rest of the country. I probably wouldn’t want to live there is real life, but it’s nice to imagine that such places exist and to escape there for a few hours between the pages of a book.
I know that Mishima was going for something very different, though: he longed for the idealized past of his country, before it opened to the West, before the War, and remote places such as Uta-Jima probably seemed to him like relics of “his” Japan. The people who leave this idyllic little fishing village come back spoiled by city life, corrupt in their actions; as where those who stay behind seem to remain innocent, their hearts untarnished by the big bad world out there. It’s a naïve view, but it infuses this story with a certain fairy tale flavor that’s hard to resist.
Shinji is a young fisherman, who lives with his mother and younger brother on a small, remote island in post-WWII Japan. His life is simple and he is content with his routine, until Hatsue, the daughter of the island’s wealthiest man, comes back to live with her father. But life in a small town means that everyone knows about everyone else’s business, so when he and the young pearl diver fall in love, malicious gossip will try to drive them apart. But Shinji’s devotion is stronger than any spiteful attempt to separate him from Hatsue.
The juxtaposition of the strength and purity of the feelings experienced by Shinji and Hatsue and the descriptions of the fragile houses and huts, the threadbare clothes worn by everyone and the grueling work they must do, with the sea always in the background, is a lyrical and powerful blend. The 200 pages go by in a wink. Mishima’s simple but incredibly graceful prose describes innocent love so well, but it also makes Chiyoko’s feelings just as vivid and painful to witness.
I will be looking for more novels by Mishima: his stories seem to always linger in my mind long after I've turned the last page, the way only great books do.
September 11, 2011
I'm probably crazy and am imagining a considering feeling between Yukio Mishima and me. I'm feeling like he's a kindred spirit kind of author who wants the same kinds of things that I wanted. (Past tense, I mean. For him, not me. I want.)
Pretend I'm not crazy. What if The Sound of Waves was a beautiful story about young love between two young and loving individuals? Shinji, a simple guy who liked simple, pure at heart things like providing for his family and village. Not simple life stuff like gossip and possession. What if his girlfriend was Hatsue. She's beautiful in the wake up and smell the flowers kind of way. Sunny days and ocean horizons. Uncomplicated goodness and babies smiling that's a real smile and you don't wonder if they just have gas. I wasn't a nice baby the way my mom tells it. I probably wasn't. I probably just had gas. But I like sunsets and watching fish underneath the water. The way their mouths open and they breathe with gills. I'd want them to stay under there forever and never have to come up (guess that rules out life as a simple fisher woman or diving woman, like Hatsue or Shinji's mother).
Their surroundings aren't as easy as that. The seas don't part when it sees (sea) love. It's earned like rain or stuff that happens with time. Not grisly for ratings on the nature channel nature just real nature time.
I felt like Mishima wanted to be like Shinji and Hatsue. Or at least part for them. Their gossip mongerer is a young woman named Chiyoko. All she wanted was to smile beautifully like they did. She's outside, bitter and another taste can make it bearable. I liked that. The ability to stop and smell flowers, as they say. To be pretty too and share that smile. I felt like The Sound of Waves was the yearning to be like them and it felt all the more bittersweet for being outside. They aren't hurt by the world that doesn't find it that hard. The fish are still under the water and there are still flowers. They won't go away. Some feeling I had about innocence.
It's just a feeling I had. It could be possible to see it and follow it.
Pretend I'm not crazy. What if The Sound of Waves was a beautiful story about young love between two young and loving individuals? Shinji, a simple guy who liked simple, pure at heart things like providing for his family and village. Not simple life stuff like gossip and possession. What if his girlfriend was Hatsue. She's beautiful in the wake up and smell the flowers kind of way. Sunny days and ocean horizons. Uncomplicated goodness and babies smiling that's a real smile and you don't wonder if they just have gas. I wasn't a nice baby the way my mom tells it. I probably wasn't. I probably just had gas. But I like sunsets and watching fish underneath the water. The way their mouths open and they breathe with gills. I'd want them to stay under there forever and never have to come up (guess that rules out life as a simple fisher woman or diving woman, like Hatsue or Shinji's mother).
Their surroundings aren't as easy as that. The seas don't part when it sees (sea) love. It's earned like rain or stuff that happens with time. Not grisly for ratings on the nature channel nature just real nature time.
I felt like Mishima wanted to be like Shinji and Hatsue. Or at least part for them. Their gossip mongerer is a young woman named Chiyoko. All she wanted was to smile beautifully like they did. She's outside, bitter and another taste can make it bearable. I liked that. The ability to stop and smell flowers, as they say. To be pretty too and share that smile. I felt like The Sound of Waves was the yearning to be like them and it felt all the more bittersweet for being outside. They aren't hurt by the world that doesn't find it that hard. The fish are still under the water and there are still flowers. They won't go away. Some feeling I had about innocence.
It's just a feeling I had. It could be possible to see it and follow it.
December 20, 2022
Set on a small Japanese island, The Sound of Waves is a love story between a young fisherman and the daughter of the richest man in town. While none of the characters are deeply developed, the book is nonetheless enchanting for its lush descriptions of the simple life led on this island. Mishima clearly aims to establish this as a kind of primordial Eden, untouched by the corruption of the modern, Western world, and he succeeds in painting a lovely portrait of a traditional community. In some passages, such as during the culminating boat voyage, Mishima’s prose becomes nearly intoxicating.
Where this book disappoints, in my opinion, is in the characterization—particularly in the characterization of the women. A good love story, for me, should show why the two lovers in question are attracted to one another. This requires developing their individual personalities and then showing how they change in the presence of their beloved. But Mishima’s fixation with breasts makes this nearly impossible. Shinji, our hero, notices first and foremost the breasts of Hatsue, his love interest. For her part, she demonstrates an extreme devotion to Shinji, yet it is never clear why this is so, since they hardly have a real conversation during the entire book.
Now, if you think I am exaggerating when I say that Mishima has a fixation with breasts, then I must present the following evidence. In one scene, a group of the island’s women are gathered to dive for sea snails (and are thus undressed). What does Mishima imagine these women doing? Discussing their breasts, of course:
Further down the page, this is what Mishima imagines the mother of the protagonist is thinking (a widow, in dire financial straits):
As a comparison, here is how Mishima describes an insignificant male character in the same chapter:
I think there is a very clear difference.
(If these passages sound a bit awkward, you can blame me, since I am translating from the Spanish translation.)
Now, I am not ragging on Mishima for being a bad feminist, but because I think his breast-centric portrayal of the women seriously weakened the story. The book would have been a great deal more interesting if the Hatsue were not simply two boobs, filled with desire, and instead she had some reason for liking Shinji—some aspect of her personality that was fulfilled by him.
In any case, I think it is fair to say that the book is still mostly a charming read—a short and sweet love story, on a beautiful island.
Where this book disappoints, in my opinion, is in the characterization—particularly in the characterization of the women. A good love story, for me, should show why the two lovers in question are attracted to one another. This requires developing their individual personalities and then showing how they change in the presence of their beloved. But Mishima’s fixation with breasts makes this nearly impossible. Shinji, our hero, notices first and foremost the breasts of Hatsue, his love interest. For her part, she demonstrates an extreme devotion to Shinji, yet it is never clear why this is so, since they hardly have a real conversation during the entire book.
Now, if you think I am exaggerating when I say that Mishima has a fixation with breasts, then I must present the following evidence. In one scene, a group of the island’s women are gathered to dive for sea snails (and are thus undressed). What does Mishima imagine these women doing? Discussing their breasts, of course:
The breasts of all the women were well tanned, and furthermore were not distinguished precisely by that mysterious quality that whiteness provides, even lacking in large part the transparency of the skin that reveals the veins. Judging solely by the skin, they appeared totally insensitive, but beneath the toasted epidermis there had been created a lustrous and semitransparent color, like that of honey.
Further down the page, this is what Mishima imagines the mother of the protagonist is thinking (a widow, in dire financial straits):
The mother of Shinji was proud of her breasts, still firm and vigorous, the most youthful of the married women her age. As if they had never known the anxiety of love or the suffering of life, her breasts were raised all summer long towards the sun, from which they obtained their inexhaustible strength.
As a comparison, here is how Mishima describes an insignificant male character in the same chapter:
He was a gaunt man, and on his chest, toasted by the sun, visible through the open collar of his shirt, one could count his ribs. He had very short hair, black streaked with grey, and his cheeks and his temples bore dark spots produced by age. His teeth were scarce and were stained by tobacco, and this lack made it difficult to understand what he said, above all when, such as now, he raised his voice.
I think there is a very clear difference.
(If these passages sound a bit awkward, you can blame me, since I am translating from the Spanish translation.)
Now, I am not ragging on Mishima for being a bad feminist, but because I think his breast-centric portrayal of the women seriously weakened the story. The book would have been a great deal more interesting if the Hatsue were not simply two boobs, filled with desire, and instead she had some reason for liking Shinji—some aspect of her personality that was fulfilled by him.
In any case, I think it is fair to say that the book is still mostly a charming read—a short and sweet love story, on a beautiful island.
January 14, 2022
"Nu stiu de ce oare/ Spiritu-mi amar/ Zboara in nelinisti, peste mari,/ nebun si solitar." (Paul Verlaine, "Je ne sais pourqoui")
Aceste versuri ale lui Verlaine exprima perfect esenta cartii, "Shiosai" fiind despre mare, valuri, porturi, faruri, pescari, vapoare, cautatoare de perle si in general viata tihnita a unui sat de pescari. In mijlocul acestor frumoase imagini maritime, pentru care se uziteaza o multitudine de figuri de stil, autorul reuseste sa surprinda si chintesenta spiritului japonez.
Personajele sunt caracterizate de onoare, un simt al dreptatii dezvoltat, demnitate si isi fac meseria cu buna-credinta respectand atat traditiile cat si marea. Ei se tem de imensa intindere de apa si isi ofera omagiile acesteia recunoscand ca natura este cea care le decide viata de fiecare data cand ies in larg, dar le si recompenseaza curajul prin adesea bogatele capturi de peste.
Daca barbatii se afla la cheremul apelor, majoritatea fiind pescari, femeile si ele isi risca vietile scufundandu-se in mare in cautarea perlelor.
Aceasta tema maritima pare sa fie printre favoritele autorului, ea regasindu-se in nenumarate creatii ale sale cum ar fi "Ingerul decazut" sau "Amurgul pescarului".
Un alt lucru care se repeta in fiecare opera a lui Mishima este crezul sau in codul onoarei samurailor "Bushido", intr-atat de profund incat, pana la urma, insusi autorul se va sinucide apeland la ritualul seppuku.
Iata ca desi am vorbit atat de mult despre mare, "Shiosai" este in esenta o poveste de dragoste interzisa dintre un tanar pescar, Shinji si o frumoasa cautatoare de perle, Hatsue.
Intr-o zi, dupa ce Shinji isi termina treaba pe barca porneste spre far pentru a duce peste paznicului de acolo iar cand traverseaza plaja observa o fata care priveste marea si care reuseste sa-l impresioneze. Hatsue era fiica unuia dintre cei mai instariti oameni din sat si tatal ei alesese deja un pretendent pentru ea. Totusi, cei doi ajung sa se indragosteasca si intalnirea lor va fi una foarte frumoasa, avand loc intr-o seara la far, pe muzica valurilor furioase, cu aerul sarat pe ale lor buze si in umbra focului de pe plaja care lumineaza misterios trupul ei gol...
Consider ca este important sa retinem si numele zeului marilor la japonezi, Watatsumi-no-Mikoto. Oarecum amuzant e faptul ca daca esti in pericol de inec si vrei sa-i invoci ajutorul, pana ii termini de rostit tot numele te-ai si inecat. :)
In incheiere am selectat cateva citate care mi s-au parut foarte frumoase:
"Cum nu avea imaginatie bogata, nu stia sa-si omoare timpul in felul dulce-amar al indragostitilor, sporind la infinit, in mintea sa, nelinistea sau bucuria."
"Chiyoko stia bine avantajele unui chip urat, asa cum socotea ca e si al ei. Odata ce si-l inasprea, isi putea ascunde sentimentele mult mai bine decat cineva cu chip frumos. Insa ceea ce considera ea uratenie nu era, de fapt, decat masca de ghips de care se agata o fecioara."
"Fata venise in graba si pieptul ii tresalta puternic, amintindu-i lui Shinji de freamatul valurilor indigo din larg."
Aceste versuri ale lui Verlaine exprima perfect esenta cartii, "Shiosai" fiind despre mare, valuri, porturi, faruri, pescari, vapoare, cautatoare de perle si in general viata tihnita a unui sat de pescari. In mijlocul acestor frumoase imagini maritime, pentru care se uziteaza o multitudine de figuri de stil, autorul reuseste sa surprinda si chintesenta spiritului japonez.
Personajele sunt caracterizate de onoare, un simt al dreptatii dezvoltat, demnitate si isi fac meseria cu buna-credinta respectand atat traditiile cat si marea. Ei se tem de imensa intindere de apa si isi ofera omagiile acesteia recunoscand ca natura este cea care le decide viata de fiecare data cand ies in larg, dar le si recompenseaza curajul prin adesea bogatele capturi de peste.
Daca barbatii se afla la cheremul apelor, majoritatea fiind pescari, femeile si ele isi risca vietile scufundandu-se in mare in cautarea perlelor.
Aceasta tema maritima pare sa fie printre favoritele autorului, ea regasindu-se in nenumarate creatii ale sale cum ar fi "Ingerul decazut" sau "Amurgul pescarului".
Un alt lucru care se repeta in fiecare opera a lui Mishima este crezul sau in codul onoarei samurailor "Bushido", intr-atat de profund incat, pana la urma, insusi autorul se va sinucide apeland la ritualul seppuku.
Iata ca desi am vorbit atat de mult despre mare, "Shiosai" este in esenta o poveste de dragoste interzisa dintre un tanar pescar, Shinji si o frumoasa cautatoare de perle, Hatsue.
Intr-o zi, dupa ce Shinji isi termina treaba pe barca porneste spre far pentru a duce peste paznicului de acolo iar cand traverseaza plaja observa o fata care priveste marea si care reuseste sa-l impresioneze. Hatsue era fiica unuia dintre cei mai instariti oameni din sat si tatal ei alesese deja un pretendent pentru ea. Totusi, cei doi ajung sa se indragosteasca si intalnirea lor va fi una foarte frumoasa, avand loc intr-o seara la far, pe muzica valurilor furioase, cu aerul sarat pe ale lor buze si in umbra focului de pe plaja care lumineaza misterios trupul ei gol...
Consider ca este important sa retinem si numele zeului marilor la japonezi, Watatsumi-no-Mikoto. Oarecum amuzant e faptul ca daca esti in pericol de inec si vrei sa-i invoci ajutorul, pana ii termini de rostit tot numele te-ai si inecat. :)
In incheiere am selectat cateva citate care mi s-au parut foarte frumoase:
"Cum nu avea imaginatie bogata, nu stia sa-si omoare timpul in felul dulce-amar al indragostitilor, sporind la infinit, in mintea sa, nelinistea sau bucuria."
"Chiyoko stia bine avantajele unui chip urat, asa cum socotea ca e si al ei. Odata ce si-l inasprea, isi putea ascunde sentimentele mult mai bine decat cineva cu chip frumos. Insa ceea ce considera ea uratenie nu era, de fapt, decat masca de ghips de care se agata o fecioara."
"Fata venise in graba si pieptul ii tresalta puternic, amintindu-i lui Shinji de freamatul valurilor indigo din larg."
October 18, 2023
Пожалуй, каждый рецензент упомянет о необычности для творчества Мисимы отсутствия мотивов Смерти в данной новелле, которую можно было бы даже отнести к разряду пасторальных. Но зачем эксцентричному бунтарю и склонному к эпатажу ломателю стереотипов писать такой роман с хэппи-эндом, где герой получает в жены красавицу и становится наследником дела ее отца? Да, Мисима был впечатлён историей Дафниса и Хлои, но его роман прост и бесхитростен. Но каких-то иных причин я не знаю. Мы все привыкли искать скрытый смысл в том, что написано иначе, чем в других произведениях писателя, отличающегося смелостью взглядов и новаторством, но его (скрытого смысла) просто нет. Впрочем, роман не лишён приятности: в нем прекрасно передана атмосфера японской глубинки, жизнь рыбаков, ныряльщиц за жемчугом, смотрителя маяка.
August 10, 2015
Clearly, breasts fascinated Mishima. Now that we’ve established this (or rather he did through a couple of scenes and descriptions)…
This is a story that embraces modern sexuality and teenage angst, a love story involving a young fisherman, Shinji, and a rich man’s daughter named Hatsue. Where there is love, there is rivalry, for Shinji must deal with another boy who feels entitled to Hatsue. As a result, conflict and gossip ensues and though deeply in love, Shinji and Hatsue find themselves constrained by the dating rules of their village.
Set within the small fishing village of Uta-jima, there are lots of intricacies about the fishing life to be admired: octopus-fishing, seaweed diving, and more.
Even with Mishima’s occasional bobble with metaphoric language, stylistically, this is a novel to be admired. The imagery is affected by simple phrasing, the sense of longing and desire designed artfully through tone. I could feel Shinji’s yearning to be with Hatsue—and vice versa. Could feel the desperation and self-loathe of Chiyoko, the young girl who had always thought of herself as ugly and invisible.
The simplicity of ordinary life is captured so beautifully here. Even though you’re reading about a small village where the most heightened activities include boats heading out in the mornings and returning in the evenings, and women going diving, it is still fulfilling. This examination of innocent love and the male-female dynamics is effective most likely because of the way Mishima balances the imagery of the sea, with the youthful tone of the novel. Get to the characters though, and you know that Mishima wants you to think a certain way about each character. He is not bashful in his descriptions: some are brusque and even slightly comical.
It is apparent that this is a short novel with a lot to say, and yet it does so in only a few words. It is a novel about naiveté, yet it is written with informed grace, with quite a few thematic undertones smartly interlaced through story and setting. The ending though…heh…
This is a story that embraces modern sexuality and teenage angst, a love story involving a young fisherman, Shinji, and a rich man’s daughter named Hatsue. Where there is love, there is rivalry, for Shinji must deal with another boy who feels entitled to Hatsue. As a result, conflict and gossip ensues and though deeply in love, Shinji and Hatsue find themselves constrained by the dating rules of their village.
Set within the small fishing village of Uta-jima, there are lots of intricacies about the fishing life to be admired: octopus-fishing, seaweed diving, and more.
Even with Mishima’s occasional bobble with metaphoric language, stylistically, this is a novel to be admired. The imagery is affected by simple phrasing, the sense of longing and desire designed artfully through tone. I could feel Shinji’s yearning to be with Hatsue—and vice versa. Could feel the desperation and self-loathe of Chiyoko, the young girl who had always thought of herself as ugly and invisible.
The simplicity of ordinary life is captured so beautifully here. Even though you’re reading about a small village where the most heightened activities include boats heading out in the mornings and returning in the evenings, and women going diving, it is still fulfilling. This examination of innocent love and the male-female dynamics is effective most likely because of the way Mishima balances the imagery of the sea, with the youthful tone of the novel. Get to the characters though, and you know that Mishima wants you to think a certain way about each character. He is not bashful in his descriptions: some are brusque and even slightly comical.
It is apparent that this is a short novel with a lot to say, and yet it does so in only a few words. It is a novel about naiveté, yet it is written with informed grace, with quite a few thematic undertones smartly interlaced through story and setting. The ending though…heh…
October 18, 2015
Kinda BR with Lau and Shii :P
"But the strange way in which love can torture the heart with desire was no longer a novel thing for him."
Mishima was a peculiar author and his uniqueness is reflected in Shinji and Hatsue's love story. You can expect Mishima's commitment to the island with detailed, aesthetic descriptions just as much as to breasts and tanning.
Star-crossed lovers are often fated and forced to chose between life and love so I thought I knew what to expect from The Sound of Waves. What I was not expecting was to fall in love with the islanders. Mishima illustrates the daily life of the diving women, the men relaxing at the bath-house and the meetings of the Young Men's Association with such an ease. Every single chapter is a little piece of a beautiful picture perfectly painted.
Shinji's transformation from a shy kid to a brave, confident young man and his pure love towards Hatsue are the highlights of this story. With unpretentious charm, The Sound of Waves is a simple yet entrancing thing.
"Please, please don't give up hope; please keep on fighting."
"But the strange way in which love can torture the heart with desire was no longer a novel thing for him."
Mishima was a peculiar author and his uniqueness is reflected in Shinji and Hatsue's love story. You can expect Mishima's commitment to the island with detailed, aesthetic descriptions just as much as to breasts and tanning.
Star-crossed lovers are often fated and forced to chose between life and love so I thought I knew what to expect from The Sound of Waves. What I was not expecting was to fall in love with the islanders. Mishima illustrates the daily life of the diving women, the men relaxing at the bath-house and the meetings of the Young Men's Association with such an ease. Every single chapter is a little piece of a beautiful picture perfectly painted.
Shinji's transformation from a shy kid to a brave, confident young man and his pure love towards Hatsue are the highlights of this story. With unpretentious charm, The Sound of Waves is a simple yet entrancing thing.
"Please, please don't give up hope; please keep on fighting."
March 24, 2022
Shinji vive junto a su familia en Utajima, una pequeñita isla de Japón, donde todos sus habitantes viven del mar y lo que este les proporciona. Shinji, un ingenuo adolescente, trabaja en un barco pesquero y con lo que gana mantiene a su madre y a su hermano pequeño Hiroshi. De normal apacible y tranquilo, Shinji vive feliz en su pequeño pueblo y no aspira a mucho en la vida más allá de crecer y poder comprarse su propio barco. Pero un día llegará al pueblo Hatsue, la hija del hombre más rico del lugar, y los dos jóvenes sentirán una inmediata conexión. Las alegrías y las penas del amor han llegado a la vida de ambos.
La historia de “El rumor del oleaje” no es una historia muy compleja, ni una historia con grandes cambios. Es simplemente la historia de un amor inocente de juventud, donde dos jóvenes tiernos y buenos se encuentran y empiezan a experimentar los primeros sentimientos amorosos que han vivido en su vida. Quizás desde el punto de vista actual, pueda parecer una historia donde no hay mucho movimiento e incluso tontuna, pero hay que valorar que nos habla de un romance en un pequeño y anticuado pueblo ubicado en Japón en los años 50. Realmente, lo que es a mí, me ha parecido una delicia. A veces, menos es más, y esta historia es un ejemplo de ello.
Me ha sorprendido enormemente encontrarme con una historia tan mona y tan tierna dentro de la obra de Mishima, la verdad. Es uno de mis autores favoritos de la vida, y en su obra siempre describe a personajes tocados que de alguna manera viven frustrados ante la vida que llevan y que pueden llegar a ser tremendamente crueles. Y precisamente este tipo de historias y personajes es lo que me enganchó tantísimo a Mishima y lo han convertido en uno de mis autores indispensables. Pero “El rumor del oleaje” no es así, y sin embargo, sigue siendo muy especial. Pese a todo hay detallitos, hay situaciones y, sobre todo, hay personajes que recuerdan un pelín a esas obras de las que hablo, pero en este libro da la sensación de que no tienen cabida, y la propia historia se encarga de alejarlos.
Aunque, debo admitir que lo que más me ha gustado han sido las descripciones del pueblo, cosa rara en mí, porque no soy ese tipo del lector por regla general. Pero en esta historia es una delicia como se va describiendo ese mar, esos barcos, esas montañas, esas personas y como la mezcla de todas estas cosas crea una imagen bellísima. Me ha recordado un poco a la sensación que tuve cuando leí “Kioto” de Yasunari Kabawata, ambas dos son historias, que aunque no les quito mérito o interés a la trama, lo realmente bello de ellas es como se muestra y se habla de la naturaleza que rodea la historia. Mishima tiene una delicadeza brutal a la hora de describirnos esta bello pueblo, y especialmente, los cuatros primeros capítulos, donde esta descripción se profundiza, me han parecido una gozada.
No quiero decir mucho más, porque es una historia cortita y sencillita, pero quizás es la idónea para iniciarse con el autor. No sé hasta que punto será representativa del resto de su obra, porque aún me faltan muchos libros suyos por leer, este es el sexto, pero sí que basándome en lo que por ahora he leído de él, no creo que lo sea mucho. Sin embargo, es una lectura tan agradable y bonita, que sí que puede hacer fácil a nuevos lectores el adentrarse en la pluma del autor y ya luego coger obras más complejas, tanto en forma como en contenido. Mishima es un de mis grandes placeres, no puedo ocultarlo.
La historia de “El rumor del oleaje” no es una historia muy compleja, ni una historia con grandes cambios. Es simplemente la historia de un amor inocente de juventud, donde dos jóvenes tiernos y buenos se encuentran y empiezan a experimentar los primeros sentimientos amorosos que han vivido en su vida. Quizás desde el punto de vista actual, pueda parecer una historia donde no hay mucho movimiento e incluso tontuna, pero hay que valorar que nos habla de un romance en un pequeño y anticuado pueblo ubicado en Japón en los años 50. Realmente, lo que es a mí, me ha parecido una delicia. A veces, menos es más, y esta historia es un ejemplo de ello.
Me ha sorprendido enormemente encontrarme con una historia tan mona y tan tierna dentro de la obra de Mishima, la verdad. Es uno de mis autores favoritos de la vida, y en su obra siempre describe a personajes tocados que de alguna manera viven frustrados ante la vida que llevan y que pueden llegar a ser tremendamente crueles. Y precisamente este tipo de historias y personajes es lo que me enganchó tantísimo a Mishima y lo han convertido en uno de mis autores indispensables. Pero “El rumor del oleaje” no es así, y sin embargo, sigue siendo muy especial. Pese a todo hay detallitos, hay situaciones y, sobre todo, hay personajes que recuerdan un pelín a esas obras de las que hablo, pero en este libro da la sensación de que no tienen cabida, y la propia historia se encarga de alejarlos.
Aunque, debo admitir que lo que más me ha gustado han sido las descripciones del pueblo, cosa rara en mí, porque no soy ese tipo del lector por regla general. Pero en esta historia es una delicia como se va describiendo ese mar, esos barcos, esas montañas, esas personas y como la mezcla de todas estas cosas crea una imagen bellísima. Me ha recordado un poco a la sensación que tuve cuando leí “Kioto” de Yasunari Kabawata, ambas dos son historias, que aunque no les quito mérito o interés a la trama, lo realmente bello de ellas es como se muestra y se habla de la naturaleza que rodea la historia. Mishima tiene una delicadeza brutal a la hora de describirnos esta bello pueblo, y especialmente, los cuatros primeros capítulos, donde esta descripción se profundiza, me han parecido una gozada.
No quiero decir mucho más, porque es una historia cortita y sencillita, pero quizás es la idónea para iniciarse con el autor. No sé hasta que punto será representativa del resto de su obra, porque aún me faltan muchos libros suyos por leer, este es el sexto, pero sí que basándome en lo que por ahora he leído de él, no creo que lo sea mucho. Sin embargo, es una lectura tan agradable y bonita, que sí que puede hacer fácil a nuevos lectores el adentrarse en la pluma del autor y ya luego coger obras más complejas, tanto en forma como en contenido. Mishima es un de mis grandes placeres, no puedo ocultarlo.
August 1, 2019
A simple story told beautifully.
September 18, 2018
This was an endearing book about how a boy meets a girl. It reminded me of Romeo and Juliet a bit although with a much happier ending. ☺️
October 4, 2018
İtiraf ediyorum; Dalgaların Sesi’ne Mişima’dan yine bir Mişima kitabı okumak için başladım ama aradığımı bulamadım. Bu bulamamak kötü bir şey değil bence, bir yazardan hep aynı kitabı beklemek yazarın yaratıcılığını kısıtlayan bir şey. Alışkanlıkların gözü kör olsun, kitap boyunca kötü bir olay bekledim, değil mi ki yozlaşmış, ahlaksız, köklerinden kopuk bir toplumda yaşıyor ve eyliyorduk bir hikayenin mutlu sonla bitmemesi lazımdı. Gözüm sürekli “batılı gibi giyinmiş” ya da “batı tarzı bir evde yaşayan” pislikler aradı ama yazarın bu güzelliği kirletmeye niyeti yoktu.
Neyse kitaba gelelim; konu basit bir aşk hikayesi, hatta Yeşilçam klasiği fakir oğlan zengin kız birlikteliği ve doğurduğu sorunlar. Az kötü adamlar, dedikodular, iyi insanlar ve aşık gence yardım eden diğer fakirler. Bu bilindik hikaye Mişima’nın anlatım gücü, tasvirleri ve renkleri ile güçleniyor. Ada ve insanları bu aşk hikayesinin yan karakterleri olmaktan öte kendi dertleri ve tasaları içinde karakter olarak ortaya çıkıyor.
Kitabı okurken, Mişima yıkım sonrası Japonya’sında bu kadar saf bir hikayeyi yazmaya neden ihtiyaç duydu diye çok düşündüm ve eski yani artık ölmüş Japonya’nın sıradan insanları ve basit yaşamlarına son bir saygı duruşu çabası olarak yorumladım. Zira Mişima’nın yazdığı her şeyin edebiyat dışında da bir üst anlamı olduğuna inanıyorum. Bu aşk hikayesine mekan olarak Ada’yı seçmesi de böylelikle başka bir boyut kazanıyor. Çünkü bu anlatıyı olanaklı ve inanılır kılan şey Kutsal Japon denizi ile kuşatılmış yani artık kutsallığını yitirmiş Japon karasından kopmuş bu küçük kara parçası( bkz. Denizi Yitiren Denizci) Velhasıl, başka bir Mişima gösterdiği için bu küçük adaya, süngerci kadınları ve balıkçı erkeklerine teşekkür ederim.
Mişima değil aşk hikayesi 0-0 biten bir amatör lig futbol maçı yazsa da okur ve keyif alırım ama Mişima dünyasına yeni girecek o şanslı okura başlayacağı yerin bu kitap olmadığını da söylemek isterim.
Neyse kitaba gelelim; konu basit bir aşk hikayesi, hatta Yeşilçam klasiği fakir oğlan zengin kız birlikteliği ve doğurduğu sorunlar. Az kötü adamlar, dedikodular, iyi insanlar ve aşık gence yardım eden diğer fakirler. Bu bilindik hikaye Mişima’nın anlatım gücü, tasvirleri ve renkleri ile güçleniyor. Ada ve insanları bu aşk hikayesinin yan karakterleri olmaktan öte kendi dertleri ve tasaları içinde karakter olarak ortaya çıkıyor.
Kitabı okurken, Mişima yıkım sonrası Japonya’sında bu kadar saf bir hikayeyi yazmaya neden ihtiyaç duydu diye çok düşündüm ve eski yani artık ölmüş Japonya’nın sıradan insanları ve basit yaşamlarına son bir saygı duruşu çabası olarak yorumladım. Zira Mişima’nın yazdığı her şeyin edebiyat dışında da bir üst anlamı olduğuna inanıyorum. Bu aşk hikayesine mekan olarak Ada’yı seçmesi de böylelikle başka bir boyut kazanıyor. Çünkü bu anlatıyı olanaklı ve inanılır kılan şey Kutsal Japon denizi ile kuşatılmış yani artık kutsallığını yitirmiş Japon karasından kopmuş bu küçük kara parçası( bkz. Denizi Yitiren Denizci) Velhasıl, başka bir Mişima gösterdiği için bu küçük adaya, süngerci kadınları ve balıkçı erkeklerine teşekkür ederim.
Mişima değil aşk hikayesi 0-0 biten bir amatör lig futbol maçı yazsa da okur ve keyif alırım ama Mişima dünyasına yeni girecek o şanslı okura başlayacağı yerin bu kitap olmadığını da söylemek isterim.
May 5, 2022
"Giờ đây, đối với Shinji, cơn say men tình lâng lâng bất tận này, tiếng sóng gầm gừ dữ tợn ngoài kia, tiếng gió lay những ngọn cây run rẩy, tất cả dường như đang dâng trào mạnh mẽ trong cùng một âm sắc cao vút của thiên nhiên. Trong lòng chàng trai chan chứa một niềm hạnh phúc thuần khiết khôn nguôi."
Updated review 16/3/2021
Dù đã chuẩn bị tinh thần cho một cuốn tiểu thuyết được viết bởi cái tên đình đám nhất thế kỷ 20 trong làng văn học Nhật Bản, một người cuối cùng đã chọn cái kết như một võ sĩ đạo, "Tiếng triều dâng" lại làm cho mình cảm thấy bất ngờ vì sự trong trẻo và mát lành của cuốn sách.
"Tiếng triều dâng" mang trong mình hình ảnh của một cô đảo hậu thế chiến II với muôn vàn cảnh đẹp trải dài trước mắt. Đã lâu rồi mình chưa đọc một cuốn sách đem lại cảm giác dễ chịu như thế, giống như được đứng trước khung cảnh thiên nhiên hoang sơ ấy, cảm nhận được mùi mằn mặn và những cơn gió lồng lộng từ biển thổi vào.
Đọc một cuốn sách thiên về tả thiên nhiên quả thực rất khó thấy hay. Hoặc là bạn phải thật sự thân thuộc với khung cảnh được nhắc đến, hoặc là tác giả phải thật sự có tài. "Tiếng triều dâng" có được cả hai điều ấy. Những câu chữ của Mishima vừa gần gụi, lại vừa rất gợi tả, dù dung lượng của những phần tả cảnh chiếm phần lớn cuốn sách, mình không gặp quá nhiều trở ngại hay chán nản khi thưởng thức những phân đoạn đó.
Nói đơn giản hơn một chút, thì hậu vị của "Tiếng triều dâng" chính là cảm giác mát lành của gió biển hoang sơ, của sự yên ả nơi núi rừng biển cả.
Cuốn tiểu thuyết này được Mishima sáng tác dựa trên cảm hứng từ chuyến đi Hy Lạp của ông. Ông say đắm vào quang cảnh của đất nước ấy, say mê thần thoại Daphnis và Chloe để rồi tạo nên một "Tiếng Triều Dâng" vừa mang nét đẹp của Hy Lạp với hàng trăm bậc thang đá nơi quay đầu lại là toàn bộ quang cảnh biển núi trải ra trước mắt, vừa mang sắc hương của một Nhật Bản hậu chiến hoang sơ hồn hậu.
Thuộc dạng tiểu thuyết coming-of-ages (dạng tiểu thuyết thường kể về một thanh thiếu niên và những chuyện xảy ra xung quanh cuộc sống của họ: chuyện tình cảm, cảm xúc cận kề ngưỡng cửa trưởng thành, ...), "Tiếng triều dâng" kể về Shinji - một chàng ngư dân mười tám tuổi, khỏe khoắn và vô tư, lần đầu trải nghiệm những rung động đầu đời với Hatsue - cô gái xinh đẹp con một nhà có điều kiện của đảo. Chuyện tình cảm bị ngăn trở bởi đôi trẻ không môn đăng hộ đối. Típ truyện rất quen thuộc và thật ra tình tiết không có gì mới, vì thế đừng trông chờ cuốn sách sẽ có nhiều tình tiết lắt léo và gay cấn nhé.
Bạn có còn nhớ được lần đầu tiên trái tim mình biết rung động? "Tiếng triều dâng" chính là một cuốn sách như vậy. Hồn nhiên, trong sáng, hồn hậu. Lần đầu trái tim biết thổn thức, cậu trai làng chài cứ nghĩ rằng mình đã bị bệnh mất rồi, chẳng hay biết rằng mình đã yêu. Vô vàn những đoạn tả về những cuộc hẹn bí mật của đôi trẻ, về những cảm xúc lúc mới yêu đọc mà thấy đáng yêu vô cùng.
Sau khi đọc xong "Tiếng triều dâng" mình quyết định sẽ tiếp tục đọc các cuốn khác của Mishima vì cảm thấy rất hợp với văn phong của ông. Một số tác phẩm đã được dịch bạn có thể tham khảo: Khát vọng yêu đương, Chết giữa mùa hè. Hy vọng bạn cũng thích cuốn sách mát lành này giống mình ^^
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Đã chuẩn bị tinh thần để đọc một tác giả nổi tiếng của VH Nhật, một người cuối cùng đã tự kết liễu cuộc đời mình, mình bất ngờ vì cuốn sách đầu tiên của Mishima mà mình đọc lại là một cuốn sách đứng riêng một chỗ so với hầu hết các tp khác của ông.
Cuốn sách thơm mùi mằn mặn của biệt, mát lành cảm giác của những cơn gió thổi từ biển, ầm ì tiếng sóng xô, và trong trẻo làm sao xúc cảm yêu đương của thanh xuân.
Ngôn từ của Mishima rất đẹp. "Tiếng triều dâng" đem lại cảm giác dễ chịu thoải mái mỗi khi tác giả tự do thả bút để tả cảnh hòn đảo xinh đẹp sát bờ biển.
Sẽ update một chiếc review tử tế sau (hoặc không) 😁
Updated review 16/3/2021
Dù đã chuẩn bị tinh thần cho một cuốn tiểu thuyết được viết bởi cái tên đình đám nhất thế kỷ 20 trong làng văn học Nhật Bản, một người cuối cùng đã chọn cái kết như một võ sĩ đạo, "Tiếng triều dâng" lại làm cho mình cảm thấy bất ngờ vì sự trong trẻo và mát lành của cuốn sách.
"Tiếng triều dâng" mang trong mình hình ảnh của một cô đảo hậu thế chiến II với muôn vàn cảnh đẹp trải dài trước mắt. Đã lâu rồi mình chưa đọc một cuốn sách đem lại cảm giác dễ chịu như thế, giống như được đứng trước khung cảnh thiên nhiên hoang sơ ấy, cảm nhận được mùi mằn mặn và những cơn gió lồng lộng từ biển thổi vào.
Đọc một cuốn sách thiên về tả thiên nhiên quả thực rất khó thấy hay. Hoặc là bạn phải thật sự thân thuộc với khung cảnh được nhắc đến, hoặc là tác giả phải thật sự có tài. "Tiếng triều dâng" có được cả hai điều ấy. Những câu chữ của Mishima vừa gần gụi, lại vừa rất gợi tả, dù dung lượng của những phần tả cảnh chiếm phần lớn cuốn sách, mình không gặp quá nhiều trở ngại hay chán nản khi thưởng thức những phân đoạn đó.
Nói đơn giản hơn một chút, thì hậu vị của "Tiếng triều dâng" chính là cảm giác mát lành của gió biển hoang sơ, của sự yên ả nơi núi rừng biển cả.
Cuốn tiểu thuyết này được Mishima sáng tác dựa trên cảm hứng từ chuyến đi Hy Lạp của ông. Ông say đắm vào quang cảnh của đất nước ấy, say mê thần thoại Daphnis và Chloe để rồi tạo nên một "Tiếng Triều Dâng" vừa mang nét đẹp của Hy Lạp với hàng trăm bậc thang đá nơi quay đầu lại là toàn bộ quang cảnh biển núi trải ra trước mắt, vừa mang sắc hương của một Nhật Bản hậu chiến hoang sơ hồn hậu.
Thuộc dạng tiểu thuyết coming-of-ages (dạng tiểu thuyết thường kể về một thanh thiếu niên và những chuyện xảy ra xung quanh cuộc sống của họ: chuyện tình cảm, cảm xúc cận kề ngưỡng cửa trưởng thành, ...), "Tiếng triều dâng" kể về Shinji - một chàng ngư dân mười tám tuổi, khỏe khoắn và vô tư, lần đầu trải nghiệm những rung động đầu đời với Hatsue - cô gái xinh đẹp con một nhà có điều kiện của đảo. Chuyện tình cảm bị ngăn trở bởi đôi trẻ không môn đăng hộ đối. Típ truyện rất quen thuộc và thật ra tình tiết không có gì mới, vì thế đừng trông chờ cuốn sách sẽ có nhiều tình tiết lắt léo và gay cấn nhé.
Bạn có còn nhớ được lần đầu tiên trái tim mình biết rung động? "Tiếng triều dâng" chính là một cuốn sách như vậy. Hồn nhiên, trong sáng, hồn hậu. Lần đầu trái tim biết thổn thức, cậu trai làng chài cứ nghĩ rằng mình đã bị bệnh mất rồi, chẳng hay biết rằng mình đã yêu. Vô vàn những đoạn tả về những cuộc hẹn bí mật của đôi trẻ, về những cảm xúc lúc mới yêu đọc mà thấy đáng yêu vô cùng.
Sau khi đọc xong "Tiếng triều dâng" mình quyết định sẽ tiếp tục đọc các cuốn khác của Mishima vì cảm thấy rất hợp với văn phong của ông. Một số tác phẩm đã được dịch bạn có thể tham khảo: Khát vọng yêu đương, Chết giữa mùa hè. Hy vọng bạn cũng thích cuốn sách mát lành này giống mình ^^
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Đã chuẩn bị tinh thần để đọc một tác giả nổi tiếng của VH Nhật, một người cuối cùng đã tự kết liễu cuộc đời mình, mình bất ngờ vì cuốn sách đầu tiên của Mishima mà mình đọc lại là một cuốn sách đứng riêng một chỗ so với hầu hết các tp khác của ông.
Cuốn sách thơm mùi mằn mặn của biệt, mát lành cảm giác của những cơn gió thổi từ biển, ầm ì tiếng sóng xô, và trong trẻo làm sao xúc cảm yêu đương của thanh xuân.
Ngôn từ của Mishima rất đẹp. "Tiếng triều dâng" đem lại cảm giác dễ chịu thoải mái mỗi khi tác giả tự do thả bút để tả cảnh hòn đảo xinh đẹp sát bờ biển.
Sẽ update một chiếc review tử tế sau (hoặc không) 😁
September 7, 2016
Λατρεύω τους περισσότερους κώδικες τιμής των λαών της ανα��ολής κι έτσι το βιβλίο ήταν όπως περίπου το περίμενα. Η μόνη παρατήρηση είναι ότι σε αρκετά σημεία νομίζω είχε πρόβλημα η μετάφραση. Ενιωθα ότι ο μεταφραστής απλά μετάφρασε κάπ��ιες προτάσεις από τα ιαπωνικά τελείως στεγνά, χωρίς να γίνεται και εννοιολογική μεταφορά. Δεν είμαι ειδική οπότε μην το πάρετε τοις μετρητοίς. Συνολικά το προτείνω για την διαφορετικότητά του.
July 30, 2018
diğer kitaplarından farklı görülse de Mişima derinliğinin buram buram hissedildiği bir kitaptı yine. Pastoral romantik bir anlatımla devam ederken bir de bakmışsınız bölüm sonunda sizi öyle bir tasvir karşılamış ki allak bullak olmuşsunuz.
Mişima anlatımı ile edebiyata, anlattığı olaylara kesinlikle boyut kazandıran bir yazar. Daha romantik bir yapıya sahip bu kitabında da o derinliği görmek mümkün.
Mişima anlatımı ile edebiyata, anlattığı olaylara kesinlikle boyut kazandıran bir yazar. Daha romantik bir yapıya sahip bu kitabında da o derinliği görmek mümkün.
February 16, 2020
"... yüreğine birden gece inivermişti sanki."
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February 7, 2019
”Le zanzare sono terribili.”
“Ma ce ne sono?”
Che magnifica storia, scritta in modo impeccabile. Amore a prima vista, amore a prima lettura. Un’immersione nel mondo del sale e dei fiori di ciliegio, con il mare come protagonista insieme ai due giovani innamorati. Una narrazione bella, ricca, che prende e trascina. Una storia semplice, ma raccontata in modo magistrale. Magnifico.
“Ma ce ne sono?”
Che magnifica storia, scritta in modo impeccabile. Amore a prima vista, amore a prima lettura. Un’immersione nel mondo del sale e dei fiori di ciliegio, con il mare come protagonista insieme ai due giovani innamorati. Una narrazione bella, ricca, che prende e trascina. Una storia semplice, ma raccontata in modo magistrale. Magnifico.
March 31, 2018
Mişima’dan okuduğum ikinci kitap bu. İlki olan Denizi Yitiren Denizci’den bir tık daha aşağıda bu romanı ama tad vermesi aynı seviyede. Jack London’nın Japon ikizi gibi geliyor bana. Gerçekçilik, doğa sevgisi, şiddeti aktarmada ki zarafet, tanım zenginliği ve sürükleyici bir kurgu ikisinin ortak yönleri. Sıra Dörtleme’sinde artık.
September 3, 2021
El rumor del oleaje es una novela corta catalogada como romántica y publicada en 1954. Siendo mi único referente, pero teniendo en cuenta lo que sabía de Yukio Mishima, esta es una historia singular dentro de su obra.
La historia tiene lugar en la isla de Utajima, y cuenta el amor entre Shinji, un joven pescador, y Hatsue, la hija del señor Teru, el hombre más adinerado y respetado del lugar. Aun así, si de mi dependiera no la catalogaría propiamente como una novela romántica; para mí, esta novela de Mishima habla de la existencia, la sociedad y los valores, y el amor es el soporte que utiliza para hacerlo.
En cuanto a la existencia, el autor la dibuja con el mar y los habitantes de la isla, representados por Shinji. Shinji, ese muchacho que no ha cumplido la mayoría de edad, es un pescador con una vida tranquila y rutinaria que trabaja para su sustento y el de su familia. Así, sin palabras ni literalidad, el autor me indujo a crear una imagen donde alguien simplemente está sentado a la orilla del mar, escuchando el viento y viendo cómo las olas que invaden la arena son caricias extensas y lentas o tímidas y cortas. Pero también hay olas violentas, porque el mar es la vida que sacude, que despierta, que obliga a vivirla, a poseerla, porque el ser humano no es una isla.
Utajima es una isla boscosa y rocosa. La sociedad de la que habla Mishima, corresponde a una comunidad pequeña donde se diferencian clases según su capacidad económica y la integran dueños de embarcaciones, pescadores y buceadoras. Los pescadores lo son casi por naturaleza y pescan sobre todo pulpo; mientras, que las mujeres buceadoras recogen caracoles marinos y algas. En este sentido el autor también describe aspectos de la vida cotidiana, como el vestuario, la cocina, las costumbres y la religiosidad.
No obstante, en Utajima también hay envidia, trampa, mentira, chismes y, obstáculos (sin llegar al melodrama) que impiden el amor entre los dos protagonistas, los cuales, finalmente son vencidos por la honestidad, el trabajo duro, la fidelidad, la espera, el amor y la fe.
El rumor del oleaje, es un manifiesto de fe en la sociedad y la ética, y, una oda a la vida del ser humano como una expresión de máxima belleza. El resultado son una prosa tranquila, austera y contemplativa, y una historia encantadora y luminosa.
La historia tiene lugar en la isla de Utajima, y cuenta el amor entre Shinji, un joven pescador, y Hatsue, la hija del señor Teru, el hombre más adinerado y respetado del lugar. Aun así, si de mi dependiera no la catalogaría propiamente como una novela romántica; para mí, esta novela de Mishima habla de la existencia, la sociedad y los valores, y el amor es el soporte que utiliza para hacerlo.
En cuanto a la existencia, el autor la dibuja con el mar y los habitantes de la isla, representados por Shinji. Shinji, ese muchacho que no ha cumplido la mayoría de edad, es un pescador con una vida tranquila y rutinaria que trabaja para su sustento y el de su familia. Así, sin palabras ni literalidad, el autor me indujo a crear una imagen donde alguien simplemente está sentado a la orilla del mar, escuchando el viento y viendo cómo las olas que invaden la arena son caricias extensas y lentas o tímidas y cortas. Pero también hay olas violentas, porque el mar es la vida que sacude, que despierta, que obliga a vivirla, a poseerla, porque el ser humano no es una isla.
Utajima es una isla boscosa y rocosa. La sociedad de la que habla Mishima, corresponde a una comunidad pequeña donde se diferencian clases según su capacidad económica y la integran dueños de embarcaciones, pescadores y buceadoras. Los pescadores lo son casi por naturaleza y pescan sobre todo pulpo; mientras, que las mujeres buceadoras recogen caracoles marinos y algas. En este sentido el autor también describe aspectos de la vida cotidiana, como el vestuario, la cocina, las costumbres y la religiosidad.
No obstante, en Utajima también hay envidia, trampa, mentira, chismes y, obstáculos (sin llegar al melodrama) que impiden el amor entre los dos protagonistas, los cuales, finalmente son vencidos por la honestidad, el trabajo duro, la fidelidad, la espera, el amor y la fe.
El rumor del oleaje, es un manifiesto de fe en la sociedad y la ética, y, una oda a la vida del ser humano como una expresión de máxima belleza. El resultado son una prosa tranquila, austera y contemplativa, y una historia encantadora y luminosa.
October 25, 2021
‘At this moment the storm suddenly planted its feet wide and firmly outside the windows. All along, the wind and rain had been raging madly around the ruins with the same force as now, but in this instant the boy and girl realized the certainty of the storm’s existence, realized that directly beneath the high windows the wide Pacific was shaking with everlasting frenzy.’
As good as a romantic, coming-of-age story gets. Often deliciously eccentric despite the old-fashioned, run-of-the-mill love-story at its core. A solid 4 and a ½ star. So brilliantly composed that I’m sure it would have made Shakespeare cower like a cocker spaniel on a stormy day (Romeo & Juliet is embarrassingly weak compared to Mishima’s novel). Mishima’s play with a simple, overused plot done much too well – beautiful in every way. Stunning characterisation as usual; I’d go as far as to say that Mishima’s too good at this. His astonishingly androgynous insight of his characters’ psyche/inner lives is extraordinary, and surely a very admirable feat. Full of brilliant subplots – sublime seaside landscapes and shrines. I especially love the brief sequence of the women-divers basking in the sunshine talking about tits as if they were humble plums; and then competitively collect abalone from the seabed/ocean floors. I don’t know much about the Japanese tradition of such activities, but it certainly reminded me of ‘haenyo’ (sea women), the women-divers of Jeju in South Korea. It was a very endearing and enchanting chapter, and I was fully mesmerised by it.
‘The sand held in the arms of these crags was pure white. Atop the cliff facing the sea to the left the flowers called beach-cotton were in full bloom; their blossoms were not those of the season’s end, looking like disheveled sleepers, but were vividly white petals, sensuous and leek-like, brandished against the cobalt sky.’
‘The mother knew nothing about cooking. She served their fish either in raw slices—sometimes vinegared—or else simply grilled or boiled—head, tail, bones, and all. And as she never washed the fish properly, they often found their teeth chewing on sand and grit as well as fish. Shinji waited hopefully during their meal for his mother to say something about the strange girl. But if his mother was not one for complaining, neither was she given to idle gossip.’
A feel-good novel for sure, even though I’m not so sure about the concluding lines of the novel. Call me anal and whatnots but those were the reason why I retracted half a star from my rating of the book. Also, I’m not surprised about this being one of his earlier novels. You’ll know why I’d say such a thing if you’ve read a bunch of Mishimas. Regardless, still a terrifically well-written one. I absolutely love the setting of the novel – how vibrant and alive Mishima had made ‘nature’ look in the novel is just glorious. I seriously do think that every novel he’s written (or at least the ones I’ve been lucky enough to read) is some kind of grand homage to ‘nature’. No one (except perhaps Virginia Woolf) can ever do/have ever done ‘nature’ so respectfully and gloriously as Mishima can/did.
‘The flatheads fell to the blood-smeared deck, their white bellies gleaming. The black, wet bodies of the soles, their little eyes sunk deep in folds of wrinkles, reflected the blue of the sky.
Lunchtime came. Jukichi dressed the flatheads on the engine-room hatch and cut them into slices. They divided the raw slices onto the lids of their aluminum lunchboxes and poured soy sauce over them from a small bottle. Then they took up the boxes, filled with a mixture of boiled rice and barley and, stuffed into one corner, a few slices of pickled radish. The boat they entrusted to the gentle swell.’
Personally, I found the translation slightly unsatisfactory, but it wasn’t so displeasing that I had to stop reading the novel. I think the translator, Weatherby had tried too hard to mimic the Japanese syntax/grammar, and/but that doesn’t translate well in English. It made it all seem a bit jumbled and disconcerting/off-putting. I had to read a few sentences several times to fully ‘get’ the gist of that that was being conveyed. Some of the translation issues were dialogue-based, and some were of descriptive writing. The odd, inconsistently formed dialogues were less of an issue (because of my basic fluency of conversational Japanese I could instantly clock what Weatherby was trying to achieve/do; to be more specific – I did an automatic reverse-translation in my mind and ‘understood’ the text in Japanese), but the longer, more descriptive sentences bothered me because it disrupted the flow of the novel. A less of a mess, and fuller RTC.
‘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.’
“The sea, ebbing and flowing in the shaft at the eastern end of the cave, roared fiercely as it dashed against the rocks. The sound of the surging waves was completely different from that to which they were accustomed outside. It was a seething sound that echoed off the limestone walls of the cavern, the reverberations overlapping each other until the entire cave was aroar and seemed to be pitching and swaying. Shudderingly they recalled the legend that between the sixteenth and eighteenth days of the sixth moon seven pure-white sharks were supposed to appear out of nowhere within that shaft to the sea.”
‘The villagers listened spellbound to the mistress’s eloquence, some of them comparing her unfavourably with their own taciturn women and feeling a meddlesome sort of sympathy for the lighthouse-keeper. But he himself had great respect for his wife’s learning.’
‘The night sky was filled with stars and, as for clouds, there was only a low bank stretching across the horizon in the direction of the Chita Peninsula, through which soundless lightning ran from time to time. Nor was the sound of the waves strong, but coming regularly and peacefully, as though the sea were breathing in healthy slumber.’
August 26, 2020
معمولاً مخالف خوندن ترجمۀ دست دوم هستم؛ یعنی ترجمه ای که از زبان اصلی انجام نشده باشه و از روی یه ترجمه انجام شده باشه.
و خب این کتاب هم همین بود؛ در واقع از روی ترجمۀ انگلیسی به فارسی برگردانده شده و نه از روی اصل ژاپنی.
ولی خب چند مورد بود که من رو ترغیب کرد این نقص رو ندید بگیرم:
اول اینکه بدجوری عاشق فضا و فرهنگ و ادبیات و رمان ژاپن هستم و حال و هوای ژاپنی رو بعد از خوندن رمان «سرزمین برف» و دیدن اَنیمۀ «شهر ارواح» خیلی دوست دارم.
دو اینکه این رمان اسم خیلی قشنگ و شاعرانه ای داره که مدتها ذهنم رو به خودش مشغول کرده بود و مدام از خودم میپرسیدم موضوع یه رمانی با اسمی به این زیبایی چی میتونه باشه؟
و در آخر اینکه بعد از خوندن دو تا رمان دیگه از یوکیو میشیما کنجکاو کارهاش بودم؛ اصولاً یه ویژگی میشیما اینه که در هر اثرش یه حرفی برای گفتن داره.
مهم ترین نکتۀ خوب این رمان برای من توصیفهای به شدت جذاب و خواندنیش از یه جزیره در ژاپن بود؛ توصیف هایی که از دریا و جنگل و دهکده و صدای پرنده ها و آوای امواج و رو و شب و خورشید و آدمها میکرد، به شدت جذاب بود و آدم رو با خودش میبرد به جزیره های دور دست ژاپن با طوفان های وحشی و آرامش های پس از طوفان خلسه آور؛ یعنی اگه دنبال کتابی هستین که شما رو از ا��نجا و اکنون دور کنه، این کتاب بهتریییییییییین گزینه س.
نکتۀ مثبت دیگه ش شخصیت پردازی قوی ش بود. کلا یوکیو میشیما این توان رو داری که شخصیت های خصیصه نما و منحصر به فرد خلق میکنه. هر شخصیت ویژگی های مخصوص به خودش رو داره و شبیه هیچ کس دیگه ای نیست.
به نظرم نکتۀ منفی خاصی نداشت. و توصیه ش میکنم.
پی نوشت: بالای هجده سال زیاد داشت، یعنی در این حد که تقریباً دو سه صفحه رو اختصاصی به توصیف سینۀ زنان غواص اختصاص داده بود. با این حال احتمالاً حذفیاتی داشته در ارشاد.
و خب این کتاب هم همین بود؛ در واقع از روی ترجمۀ انگلیسی به فارسی برگردانده شده و نه از روی اصل ژاپنی.
ولی خب چند مورد بود که من رو ترغیب کرد این نقص رو ندید بگیرم:
اول اینکه بدجوری عاشق فضا و فرهنگ و ادبیات و رمان ژاپن هستم و حال و هوای ژاپنی رو بعد از خوندن رمان «سرزمین برف» و دیدن اَنیمۀ «شهر ارواح» خیلی دوست دارم.
دو اینکه این رمان اسم خیلی قشنگ و شاعرانه ای داره که مدتها ذهنم رو به خودش مشغول کرده بود و مدام از خودم میپرسیدم موضوع یه رمانی با اسمی به این زیبایی چی میتونه باشه؟
و در آخر اینکه بعد از خوندن دو تا رمان دیگه از یوکیو میشیما کنجکاو کارهاش بودم؛ اصولاً یه ویژگی میشیما اینه که در هر اثرش یه حرفی برای گفتن داره.
مهم ترین نکتۀ خوب این رمان برای من توصیفهای به شدت جذاب و خواندنیش از یه جزیره در ژاپن بود؛ توصیف هایی که از دریا و جنگل و دهکده و صدای پرنده ها و آوای امواج و رو و شب و خورشید و آدمها میکرد، به شدت جذاب بود و آدم رو با خودش میبرد به جزیره های دور دست ژاپن با طوفان های وحشی و آرامش های پس از طوفان خلسه آور؛ یعنی اگه دنبال کتابی هستین که شما رو از ا��نجا و اکنون دور کنه، این کتاب بهتریییییییییین گزینه س.
نکتۀ مثبت دیگه ش شخصیت پردازی قوی ش بود. کلا یوکیو میشیما این توان رو داری که شخصیت های خصیصه نما و منحصر به فرد خلق میکنه. هر شخصیت ویژگی های مخصوص به خودش رو داره و شبیه هیچ کس دیگه ای نیست.
به نظرم نکتۀ منفی خاصی نداشت. و توصیه ش میکنم.
پی نوشت: بالای هجده سال زیاد داشت، یعنی در این حد که تقریباً دو سه صفحه رو اختصاصی به توصیف سینۀ زنان غواص اختصاص داده بود. با این حال احتمالاً حذفیاتی داشته در ارشاد.
January 15, 2019
Há décadas que não lia um livro de Y. Mishima. Graças ao Bookcrossing, relembrei como gosto deste autor: a prosa limpa, que se traduz em imagens concretas e claras, sem rodeios nem artifícios. De alguma forma, faz-me lembrar Hemingway, outro autor que lia muito nessa mesma época. Uma pena que tenha acabado tão prematuramente com a sua vida. Felizmente, ainda me restam uns quantos livros seus por ler.
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