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117 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1915
But at times when my mind is at work, my mood varies a little. Small though my world remains, things occur within its narrow confines and then, from time to time, on this side of the glass that separates my insignificant self from the great wide world, I receive visits. . . . (pp. 3-4)
To set my mind at rest I showed these photographs to the four or five people who came to visit me. They all thought, as I did myself, that it was a "manufactured" smile.
Since the day I was born I have had to smile in public several times without having the least desire to do so. Perhaps the photographer had thus taken revenge on me for my deception.
It is true that he was good enough to send me these photographs in which I exhibited a bitter and disagreeable smile. But I never received the magazine in which they were supposed to appear. (p. 8)
When one had walked around the establishment and continued for some fifty meters one could see a little farther up the door to the Seikanji temple. Behind this door, painted red, was a dense bamboo grove completely blocking the view from the street. But the sound of bell right at the back, ringing night and day, still echoes in my ears. It was particularly the sound of the bell -- ding -dong! -- continuing from the mists of autumn to the squalls of winter that brought cold to the heart of the little boy that I was, as if to fill it with an icy sadness forever. (p. 56)
Besides, what I have written is not a confession. I suppose I have disclosed only the brighter side of my sins if they can be so described. To certain readers this may be unwelcome. But now, indifferent to this mention, I look around me, view Humanity in general, and smile. It is the same look that I bestow on the trifles that I have written hitherto; with a feeling that they come from someone else, I continue smiling. (pp. 116-7)
Above all, there is the introspective voice of Sōseki’s narrator as he reflects on his world. Reminders of death and dying abound. Friends and relatives are gone, yet he remains a bemused observer, a reluctant survivor. The mind itself seems incapable of retrieving anything more than scraps of the past, much less grasping the totality of things. People do strange things, hurtful things, and one can do little to improve upon the human condition.
But the world inside the glass doors is by no means one of unremitting gloom and self-pity. Rather, it is precisely inside these glass door where one can find solace, peace of mind, a safe haven.
[…]
“Now that tranquility has returned to the house and to my heart, I shall open the window wide and finish off this piece of writing, taking pleasure in my task and enfolded in the calm light of Spring. And then I intend to have a nap on the veranda, my cheek resting on my hand.”