William2's Reviews > Spring Snow

Set near Tokyo in 1912. In Spring Snow Kiyoaki Matsugae is sent as a child be raised on the estate of a Count where he learns all the worst habits of a decadent court. He is slothful, he preens in the knowledge of his superior looks. When 18 years of age he is so self-involved—the familiar disaffectedness of many Mishima protagonists—that even when kissing the woman who loves him he thinks only of how he feels. He's an affected asshole who takes a conscious pleasure in cruelty.

This . . . was further proof of the hidden, savage essence of the elegance he had cultivated for so long. (p. 257)

Kioyaki's friend is the upstanding Shigekuni Honda. He adores Kiyoaki. A hard-working young man who loses himself in thoughts of the niceties of European Natural Law and the Laws of Manu, which at the time of the action, the author tells us, were the foundation of Indian law. He also has an abiding interest in historiography, particularly how he and his peers will be viewed by future generations. This dovetails with the theme of reincarnation which links the four books of The Sea of Fertility cycle.

The vast Matsugae estate is imposing. It is still the period of mourning for the late emperor who was called Meiji in life. So the cherry blossom festival as it turns out will be observed, though on a smaller scale than usual. An imperial prince attends with his wife and other visitors. Their route through the blossoms is girded by a red and white curtain, presumably for purposes of privacy. The Western house is filled with geishas. A platform for their cherry blossom dances is built in the garden. Later, there will be a banquet and a film shown based on a Dickens novel.

Amid it all Kiyoaki is adrift. Satoko is there in all her finery but it's somehow not enough. What is he waiting for? In thrall to his own beauty, his pride, Kiyoaki is at odds with himself, contradictory in his impulses. He is lost, no decisiveness—aside from a snowy rickshaw ride with Satoko, which was her idea—comes from him. His is a rapt passivity. Meanwhile, he stubbornly let's go of Satoko when she is courted by an imperial prince, and thinks good riddance.

Devoid of worry or annoyance, free of all anxiety, Kiyoaki at nineteen liked to see himself as a cold and supremely capable young man. He felt that he was now past some watershed in the course of his life. (p. 163)

But he isn't. Unable to read his own emotions, he takes grief for delight; his "strength of will," as he terms it, when tearing up a letter from Satoko unread, he begins to sense may be cowardice, for she is just about to marry the imperial prince. What a muddle he's in. Though an aristocrat he has known social isolation much of his life. Thus, his misreading of people and situations always in a manner that plays to his own falsely elevated sense of self worth.

Long ago he had resolved to recognize his emotions as his only guiding truth and to live his life accordingly, even if meant a deliberate aimlessness. That principle had now brought him to his present sinister feelings of joy, which seemed to be the brink of a racing plunging whirlpool. There seemed to be nothing left but to throw himself into it. (p. 177)

I won't go into Kiyoaki and Satoko's love affair or the novel's tragic denouement. Suffice it to say that Kiyoaki's comeuppance is quite a spectacle and Honda is there to puzzle over it. The book has a very long fuse. The last 200 pages are far better than the first 200. Despite this uneven start, this is the strongest Mishima novel I have ever read.