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Le Lac
Librarian's note: Alternate cover edition of ISBN 9782253036883.
« Le bonheur, pour le jeune Gimpei, c’était de suivre le chemin qui longe la rive, leurs deux silhouettes confondues reflétées dans le lac. Il marchait, regardait l’eau, et songeait que les deux reflets iraient jusqu’au bout du monde, embrassés pour l’éternité. Mais il fut bref, ce bonheur-là. »
Histoire d'une obsession, Le Lac retrace la quête d'une perfection irréalisable, d'une beauté hors de portée. Sans foyer, exclu de toute douceur humaine, seul avec son poids de péchés sur le coeur, Gimpei Momoï ne peut résister à la soif inextinguible qui le pousse, au long des rues, à s'attacher aux pas de belles inconnues, à les admirer de loin tandis qu'elles avancent, magnifiques et inaccessibles - car leur beauté n'est pas de ce monde mais participe d'un rêve. La réalité, symbolisée par ses propres pieds grotesquement difformes, poursuit Gimpei en tous lieux. Et c'est le caractère inconciliable de ces deux univers qui explique la texture déshumanisée, ambiguë, furtive de l'érotisme dont cette oeuvre est empreinte. Ce roman ne s'inscrit dans aucune forme traditionnelle. C'est une sorte de « happening », et en tout cas l'un des livres les plus modernes de conception et d'allure du grand Kawabata. De même que l'intérêt du héros peut, à tout moment, être éveillé par une inconnue croisée dans la rue, de même ici le passé surgit brutalement dans le présent, ou bien l'hallucination pulvérise le souvenir, ou encore la réalité crue jaillit lorsque le voile du songe et des fantasmes se déchire. Ceux qui, à la lecture de ses ouvrages précédents, imaginaient que tout n'était que délicatesse et demi-teintes chez l'auteur de Pays de neige et de La Danseuse d'Izu, seront sans doute surpris par la sensualité aiguë de certaines scènes et parle ton cruel du livre. Le Lac apparaît comme si singulier, si inhabituel, qu'il illumine d'un jour tout à fait nouveau l'ensemble de l'oeuvre de Yasunari Kawabata.
« Le bonheur, pour le jeune Gimpei, c’était de suivre le chemin qui longe la rive, leurs deux silhouettes confondues reflétées dans le lac. Il marchait, regardait l’eau, et songeait que les deux reflets iraient jusqu’au bout du monde, embrassés pour l’éternité. Mais il fut bref, ce bonheur-là. »
Histoire d'une obsession, Le Lac retrace la quête d'une perfection irréalisable, d'une beauté hors de portée. Sans foyer, exclu de toute douceur humaine, seul avec son poids de péchés sur le coeur, Gimpei Momoï ne peut résister à la soif inextinguible qui le pousse, au long des rues, à s'attacher aux pas de belles inconnues, à les admirer de loin tandis qu'elles avancent, magnifiques et inaccessibles - car leur beauté n'est pas de ce monde mais participe d'un rêve. La réalité, symbolisée par ses propres pieds grotesquement difformes, poursuit Gimpei en tous lieux. Et c'est le caractère inconciliable de ces deux univers qui explique la texture déshumanisée, ambiguë, furtive de l'érotisme dont cette oeuvre est empreinte. Ce roman ne s'inscrit dans aucune forme traditionnelle. C'est une sorte de « happening », et en tout cas l'un des livres les plus modernes de conception et d'allure du grand Kawabata. De même que l'intérêt du héros peut, à tout moment, être éveillé par une inconnue croisée dans la rue, de même ici le passé surgit brutalement dans le présent, ou bien l'hallucination pulvérise le souvenir, ou encore la réalité crue jaillit lorsque le voile du songe et des fantasmes se déchire. Ceux qui, à la lecture de ses ouvrages précédents, imaginaient que tout n'était que délicatesse et demi-teintes chez l'auteur de Pays de neige et de La Danseuse d'Izu, seront sans doute surpris par la sensualité aiguë de certaines scènes et parle ton cruel du livre. Le Lac apparaît comme si singulier, si inhabituel, qu'il illumine d'un jour tout à fait nouveau l'ensemble de l'oeuvre de Yasunari Kawabata.
125 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1954
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About the author
Yasunari Kawabata
430 books3,890 followersYasunari Kawabata (川端 康成) was a Japanese short story writer and novelist whose spare, lyrical, subtly-shaded prose works won him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968, the first Japanese author to receive the award. His works have enjoyed broad international appeal and are still widely read today.
Nobel Lecture: 1968
http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prize...
Nobel Lecture: 1968
http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prize...
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August 28, 2025
In search of beauty and of lost time
Once again I fell into the trap of not sticking to the books I had carefully selected to take on holiday, but instead opened the only book that I found at the place we stayed – a flimsy book, in a French translation, presumably short enough to be able to finish it during our short stay.
The title evoked a sense of beauty and of a depth beneath a calm surface that immediately gripped me, and discovering the name of the author made me even more thrilled to read it – Yasunari Kawabata (1899-1972), an author that came to my attention in 2009, through the opera of the Belgian composer Kris Defoort based on Kawabata’s 1961 novel House of the Sleeping Beauties. The strange beauty of that novel, its intriguing views on transience, time, ageing and death, the brothel to which young women go, agreeing to be sedated to sleep and in which their sleeping bodies as sources of beauty are serving as a life elixir and to rouse the memories of a dying old man like the dipping of Proust’s madeleine biscuit in a cup of tea, was the beginning of a journey towards more Japanese fiction of that period which so far hasn’t ended yet.
For all its flimsiness, it was a bewildering and unsettling experience. What Alessandro Baricco wrote on The house of Sleeping beauties – themes, style, effect on the reader - could as well be transposed to The Lake: It is rare in literature to feel such a profound and unbridgeable distance: one has the clear perception of a different civilisation, faithful to a taste and an idea of beauty whose parameters we do not know, nor even the most basic rules. A canon that does not belong to us. It is not just the slowness, or the taste for detail: it is precisely an idea of rhythm, elegance and distance that is beyond the reach of a Westerner. It takes patience and a lot of faith.
A mound rose gently to a grove of small pines, whose branches still bore the marks of careful pruning. The ginkgo trees along the road were tall, and their first tiny leaves were still not dense enough to hide the branches. The settling sun shone through the leaves in pale and darker shades, depending on the height of each leaf and the way it faced. The girl was bathed in fresh green light.
Rich in sensory imagery, the episodic narrative fluidly connects vignettes from the life of Gimpei Momoi, flowing back and forth from the wretched present to the dirty secrets of Gimpei’s past. Gimpei is a former schoolteacher with an irrepressible urge to pursue young girls, who in his eyes embody a purity and beauty that he chases in vain. His yearning is mixed with a profound sadness, also because in contrast he perceives himself as a hideous being, mirrored by his deformed ugly feet. Yet it are those same feet he uses as a bridge to connect to others and sate his desires, to stalk the girls, to draw their attention on him, to inspire pity by asking for a cure for a pretended unsavoury ailment, to deceive, a means to be to be touched and mollycoddled by the fine and elegant fingers of a masseuse in the bathhouse. Basking in the unattainable beauty epitomized by the girls, like in the house of the sleeping beauties, his ideal of beauty resuscitates memories of Gimpei’s childhood, who grew up near a lake – of his mother, his father who drowned himself in the lake, and of his cousin Yayoi – his first love.
It are haunting memories of loss and abandonment, conjuring up tormenting images and thoughts that blur before words can articulate them, like the ghosts that drink up the written kisses that don’t reach their destination in Kafka’s Letters to Milena.
But aren’t a baby’s feet always soft and lovely before it walks this earth? – like those of the cherubs surrounding the figure of Christ in religious paintings. All feet harden like Gimpei’s as they cross the swamps and rocks and thornbushes of this world.
The writing is luscious, the ugliness and squalor alternated with lyrical evocations of the beauty of nature, the oppressive darkness interrupted by and brightened by scenes set in a brilliant colour palette:
The girl was in the white sweater she had worn the day before, but she was wearing a dark red skirt instead of jeans and her shoes were better too. The white and ruby colors approached, floating amid the fresh green trees.
Contrasting beauty with ugliness, the light of fireflies with cruelty and coldness, Yasunari Kawabata’s grim novel was published in 1954, one year before Lolita. The Lake is as atmospheric and dreamlike as it is unsettling, dark and erotically charged, gauging the depths and twists of the writhing human psyche in the thralls of emotional isolation, obsession and death, offering more Beauty and Sadness to the reader who can stomach meeting a Japanese Humbert Humbert who is equally amoral, repulsive and miserable as Nabokov’s narrator.
Once again I fell into the trap of not sticking to the books I had carefully selected to take on holiday, but instead opened the only book that I found at the place we stayed – a flimsy book, in a French translation, presumably short enough to be able to finish it during our short stay.
The title evoked a sense of beauty and of a depth beneath a calm surface that immediately gripped me, and discovering the name of the author made me even more thrilled to read it – Yasunari Kawabata (1899-1972), an author that came to my attention in 2009, through the opera of the Belgian composer Kris Defoort based on Kawabata’s 1961 novel House of the Sleeping Beauties. The strange beauty of that novel, its intriguing views on transience, time, ageing and death, the brothel to which young women go, agreeing to be sedated to sleep and in which their sleeping bodies as sources of beauty are serving as a life elixir and to rouse the memories of a dying old man like the dipping of Proust’s madeleine biscuit in a cup of tea, was the beginning of a journey towards more Japanese fiction of that period which so far hasn’t ended yet.
For all its flimsiness, it was a bewildering and unsettling experience. What Alessandro Baricco wrote on The house of Sleeping beauties – themes, style, effect on the reader - could as well be transposed to The Lake: It is rare in literature to feel such a profound and unbridgeable distance: one has the clear perception of a different civilisation, faithful to a taste and an idea of beauty whose parameters we do not know, nor even the most basic rules. A canon that does not belong to us. It is not just the slowness, or the taste for detail: it is precisely an idea of rhythm, elegance and distance that is beyond the reach of a Westerner. It takes patience and a lot of faith.
A mound rose gently to a grove of small pines, whose branches still bore the marks of careful pruning. The ginkgo trees along the road were tall, and their first tiny leaves were still not dense enough to hide the branches. The settling sun shone through the leaves in pale and darker shades, depending on the height of each leaf and the way it faced. The girl was bathed in fresh green light.
Rich in sensory imagery, the episodic narrative fluidly connects vignettes from the life of Gimpei Momoi, flowing back and forth from the wretched present to the dirty secrets of Gimpei’s past. Gimpei is a former schoolteacher with an irrepressible urge to pursue young girls, who in his eyes embody a purity and beauty that he chases in vain. His yearning is mixed with a profound sadness, also because in contrast he perceives himself as a hideous being, mirrored by his deformed ugly feet. Yet it are those same feet he uses as a bridge to connect to others and sate his desires, to stalk the girls, to draw their attention on him, to inspire pity by asking for a cure for a pretended unsavoury ailment, to deceive, a means to be to be touched and mollycoddled by the fine and elegant fingers of a masseuse in the bathhouse. Basking in the unattainable beauty epitomized by the girls, like in the house of the sleeping beauties, his ideal of beauty resuscitates memories of Gimpei’s childhood, who grew up near a lake – of his mother, his father who drowned himself in the lake, and of his cousin Yayoi – his first love.
It are haunting memories of loss and abandonment, conjuring up tormenting images and thoughts that blur before words can articulate them, like the ghosts that drink up the written kisses that don’t reach their destination in Kafka’s Letters to Milena.
But aren’t a baby’s feet always soft and lovely before it walks this earth? – like those of the cherubs surrounding the figure of Christ in religious paintings. All feet harden like Gimpei’s as they cross the swamps and rocks and thornbushes of this world.
The writing is luscious, the ugliness and squalor alternated with lyrical evocations of the beauty of nature, the oppressive darkness interrupted by and brightened by scenes set in a brilliant colour palette:
The girl was in the white sweater she had worn the day before, but she was wearing a dark red skirt instead of jeans and her shoes were better too. The white and ruby colors approached, floating amid the fresh green trees.
Contrasting beauty with ugliness, the light of fireflies with cruelty and coldness, Yasunari Kawabata’s grim novel was published in 1954, one year before Lolita. The Lake is as atmospheric and dreamlike as it is unsettling, dark and erotically charged, gauging the depths and twists of the writhing human psyche in the thralls of emotional isolation, obsession and death, offering more Beauty and Sadness to the reader who can stomach meeting a Japanese Humbert Humbert who is equally amoral, repulsive and miserable as Nabokov’s narrator.
September 27, 2019
After reading and enjoying this author’s lyrical and understated writing in four other books I was surprised by this book’s tone – much harsher if I can use that term. The main character is a socially inept guy, age 34, a loner who stalks young women by following them and then trying to come on to them. But he’s so inept that his first topic of discussion often ends up being his severe athlete’s foot! That’s a way to get the women!
He had a job as a college lecturer, but he lost it precisely because of his harassment of women. He seems to be unable to control himself. He did have one long-term affair with a young woman at the college, but she broke that off and married someone else. He is angered by and jealous of other happy couples he sees.
One of the major incidents in the story is that of a purse with a lot of money that he picked up when a woman he was following either threw at him or tried to strike him with it. She ran into a store and he kept the purse, thinking he didn’t steal it if she threw it at him. The story shifts for a while to this woman and her elderly ‘sugar-daddy’ lover.
In a couple of ‘overly-coincidental’ coincidences it turns out that the main character had job ghost-writing speeches for this elderly man. Later he stalks a young girl whose boyfriend is the brother of the woman who owned the purse. But these coincidences just happen – they don’t really advance the story in any way that I could see.
The other works I’ve read by this author are The Sound of the Mountain, First Snow on Mount Fuji, Thousand Cranes and Snow Country. Kawabata was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968, the first Japanese author to receive the award. While it has good writing, it didn’t grab me the way his other stories did. I also note that of his dozen or so novels, The Lake is the least know of his works based on the number of GR ratings and reviews. A decent read but I can’t really say I recommend it as I do the other four.
Photo of Mount Fuji and Lake Kawaguchi from img.traveltriangle.com
Photo of the author from mutanteggplant.com
He had a job as a college lecturer, but he lost it precisely because of his harassment of women. He seems to be unable to control himself. He did have one long-term affair with a young woman at the college, but she broke that off and married someone else. He is angered by and jealous of other happy couples he sees.
One of the major incidents in the story is that of a purse with a lot of money that he picked up when a woman he was following either threw at him or tried to strike him with it. She ran into a store and he kept the purse, thinking he didn’t steal it if she threw it at him. The story shifts for a while to this woman and her elderly ‘sugar-daddy’ lover.
In a couple of ‘overly-coincidental’ coincidences it turns out that the main character had job ghost-writing speeches for this elderly man. Later he stalks a young girl whose boyfriend is the brother of the woman who owned the purse. But these coincidences just happen – they don’t really advance the story in any way that I could see.
The other works I’ve read by this author are The Sound of the Mountain, First Snow on Mount Fuji, Thousand Cranes and Snow Country. Kawabata was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968, the first Japanese author to receive the award. While it has good writing, it didn’t grab me the way his other stories did. I also note that of his dozen or so novels, The Lake is the least know of his works based on the number of GR ratings and reviews. A decent read but I can’t really say I recommend it as I do the other four.
Photo of Mount Fuji and Lake Kawaguchi from img.traveltriangle.com
Photo of the author from mutanteggplant.com
August 18, 2013
To the singing oars,
Jump the watery imp,
Moon-lit skies wake,
Tender palms aglow,
Lonely hearts to split,
Weeping willows below,
Cages with open doors,
Fireflies over the lake.
On a nearby tree, the screeching became louder with every passing minute. I knew it then, it was already past midnight. The bats were probably having a little party; for once their pairs of lustrous eyes were not being meticulously counted by a silly woman amid the flickering of the street light. I did not care about these nocturnal visitors; I was more fascinated with the valiant fireflies that nestled in monstrous human palms. The haiku of great poet Issa ran through my mind:-
Issa says:-
So quickly they join
the human goblins...
fireflies.
Tiny insects being chased by humongous strangers, trying to capture their splendor in a glass jar and as they glow in dark, gaze obsessively; till they glow no more. Behind the glass cage, as these fireflies flutter, radiating through their fears, smiles are painted as we take pleasure in their confined beauty. Is it then the beauty of our eyes that bestow upon the flies a claustrophobic existence, pleasing? What is it that drives human psyche to harbor a blinding compulsion of illicit beauty? Does a soul find an empty heart desirable? Do murderers find their hands beautiful? Does a sleeping man discover beauty in his nightmarish mind? Or, like Gimpei, is there a need to reveal ugliness of the body to rationalize the craving of a dream-like beauty?
“How many times in his youth had he told different lies because of his ugly feet?”....”Was the ugliness of a part of his body crying out, longing for beauty? Was it part of the divine plan that ugly feet chased beautiful women?..."
Gimpei likes to pursue strange, gorgeous ladies because similar to his athlete’s foot, the women keep coming in his path and never fade away. The surreal delicateness in a woman’s youth is ephemeral and Gimpei needs to embrace it by trailing his “angels” before he may misplace them forever. Gimpei followed the women to the theatre, the concert halls, in the school where he used to once teach, but with the exception of Hisako, he never stopped to talk to these strange pretty ladies as it would be the end of his hallucinatory paradise.
"One can’t stop and suddenly speak to a complete stranger, can one?......When it happens I could die of sadness. I feel somehow empty and drained...."
The glances of Gimpei’s memory are an ongoing charade of past and present; chronicling his lonesome and insufferable life. His stubbornness about not sharing secrets delineates the existential truth of secrets being the only personal and constant companion of a man in this transient world.
“Perfect awareness might exist in heaven or hell, but not in human world. If you have no secrets, it means that you don’t exist, that you are not living your life….. No human emotion can survive without them..."
See, this is why I love Kawabata, he speaks my genuine sentiments. Your secrets, your deepest scars belong only to you. You might lose an arm, you might lose loved ones, but you never lose your secrets. And when you become an open book, your life somehow amalgamates into someone else’s surreptitious world and you feel lost in their secrets, once again. Happiness sometimes perishes, but sorrows live on in the darkest corner of your heart.
Kawabata employs the ‘mono no aware’ concept, strongly. Similar to his Beauty and Sadness, he delineates the power of beauty that walks along the path of emptiness and lingering sadness.
The thought of her life savings being gone brought a momentary joy to Miyako; as if her life had avenged the ignominy of Arita’s hideous monetary compensation for Miyako’s lost youth, somehow restoring her dignity. The power of money came with the ugliness of being a mistress to an elderly man.
“The two hundred thousand yen was Miyako’s compensation for the loss of her youth-that brief flowering which she had wasted by giving her body to a half dead, gray haired old man.....When one loses the money one has saved, the very thought of saving is a bitter memory..."
By making a bizarre comparison of sucking his mistresses’ firm breasts to breast feeding in his mother’s warm arms, Arita found a respite for his nightmarish dreams. The loveliness of youthful breasts was marred by Arita’s despair of an unfulfilled motherly love.
“For only with a mother could the old man find peace of mind.”
The tranquility of a Turkish bath destroyed by Gimpei’s chaotic dreams, his arousing upheavals over his newly acquired obsession, the stillness of the lake disfigured by ghostly memories and his ever festering illusionary Athlete’s foot; made Gimpei fall even further in depths of self-loathing lies sinking in the “inky waves” of wretchedness.
“I want to follow them to the ends of the earth, but I can’t. The only way to chase a person that way is to kill him”.
Kawabata allows human emotions to escape the culpabilities through an abstract tunnel by entitling remorse to non-living objects. Hence, the reader can see Gimpei’s innate desire to pursue “angels” being weighed down by the guilt harboring in the inadequacies of his diseased feet. The frosty lake being the victim of Gimpei’s past and present regressions. The mono no aware concept reaches its climax with Gimpei questioning the compelling reality of one-sided love and Miyako experiencing a vague ecstasy when being followed by odd men. Here, we have a man who mixes the very purity of love with sinister passion and a woman who finds affection from her creepy followers; both these people sensing beauty from their repulsive occurrences.
Kawabata with precise erudition slips in the wabi-sabi theory of transience and imperfections.
“The world’s most beautiful is not always some towering green peak, but a vast, barren mound covered with volcanic ashes and rocks.”
To every beginning there is an unavoidable end. An attractive hand must accept the fate of someday being covered with nasty liver spots. To every thriving life there is death and to every beauty there is an awaiting decay. A clean existence is always muddled with clandestine stories. The beauty of prostitutes being robbed by the war, the infant for whom death would be a lucky escape, Gimpei’s women who would one day prefer being old rather than be stalked for their youth; Hisako momentary gifting Gimpei his first true happiness and the lake whose serene waters carry secrets of melancholic human corpses; are buried in the aesthetic core of impermanence.
Kawabata does not insist on liking Gimpei, Miyako, Arita,Hisako etc… ; he does not either seek sympathies for them . He yearns for the reader to perceive these actors for who they really are. Kawabata hopes that in order to avoid viewing flaws in the standing perfect picture, we stop squinting till our eyelids hurt. Even if the eyes are shut, the flaws still exists. The missed line, the shabby strokes, is what makes the painting comprehensible. Nothing last forever, nothing is faultless because perfection itself is a vibrant masquerade of imperfections. Let the night be dark without the radiance of fireflies, let the lake be silent even with floating scary images because some day the chase for a single firefly or the need for counting the eyes of screeching bats could be repulsive as a diseased foot. The advent of insanity.
“You fool! You fool!”
The ephemera of beauty and a prospect of leering blemish.
October 19, 2013
I’ll Find You
I’ve just read three Kawabata works in succession to try and appreciate the merits of this Nobel Prize Winner.
Based on one fairly distracted reading, I have to say that this was the weakest of the three novels.
I would probably rate it at three stars, possibly 3 ½, but I’ll increase it to four, because of the quality of the prose.
Less than Exquisite Fantasy
The prose is precise and economical, insofar as it describes external realities. It is as graceful and evocative as brush strokes or haiku.
The question is: what does it evoke?
The plot deals with two males in difficult personal situations, partly regarding women.
We see them from the outside. I question whether we see them from the inside. You could argue that we see the effect, without necessarily understanding or appreciating the cause.
The inner life of the characters is a matter of inference from their externalities. This could be an exciting literary achievement if Kawabata pulled it off. However, I have to question whether he did.
A Lie, Once Told, Never Vanishes, But Chases After Us
My judgement could be harsher because of the nature of the two protagonists: an older man who sleeps with two younger women on his domestic payroll, and a younger man who follows or stalks several school-aged girls over a number of years.
We learn little about the internal psychology of the males, as we do in "Lolita". We don’t have that degree of information in order to make a judgement, whether positive or negative, about their conduct, except that they occasionally resort to lies.
There are suggestions that their conduct might have some explanation in their past – one has neuralgia, while the other has misshapen feet (which are described as "an ugliness" as was the birth mark in "Thousand Cranes") and his father died when he was very young. However, I find these causes unconvincing and less than exculpatory of sexual abuse.
I just didn’t find any useful analysis of the male gaze or desire. Nor did I see any realistic description of the impact of such conduct on the women concerned.
Instead, I suspect that the appeal of the novel when it was published in 1954 partly derived from the level of sexual explicitness (which by today’s standards is almost non-existent).
This explicitness and other sexual concerns continue to resonate in more recent Japanese fiction, especially that of Haruki Murakami.
I’ve just read three Kawabata works in succession to try and appreciate the merits of this Nobel Prize Winner.
Based on one fairly distracted reading, I have to say that this was the weakest of the three novels.
I would probably rate it at three stars, possibly 3 ½, but I’ll increase it to four, because of the quality of the prose.
Less than Exquisite Fantasy
The prose is precise and economical, insofar as it describes external realities. It is as graceful and evocative as brush strokes or haiku.
The question is: what does it evoke?
The plot deals with two males in difficult personal situations, partly regarding women.
We see them from the outside. I question whether we see them from the inside. You could argue that we see the effect, without necessarily understanding or appreciating the cause.
The inner life of the characters is a matter of inference from their externalities. This could be an exciting literary achievement if Kawabata pulled it off. However, I have to question whether he did.
A Lie, Once Told, Never Vanishes, But Chases After Us
My judgement could be harsher because of the nature of the two protagonists: an older man who sleeps with two younger women on his domestic payroll, and a younger man who follows or stalks several school-aged girls over a number of years.
We learn little about the internal psychology of the males, as we do in "Lolita". We don’t have that degree of information in order to make a judgement, whether positive or negative, about their conduct, except that they occasionally resort to lies.
There are suggestions that their conduct might have some explanation in their past – one has neuralgia, while the other has misshapen feet (which are described as "an ugliness" as was the birth mark in "Thousand Cranes") and his father died when he was very young. However, I find these causes unconvincing and less than exculpatory of sexual abuse.
I just didn’t find any useful analysis of the male gaze or desire. Nor did I see any realistic description of the impact of such conduct on the women concerned.
Instead, I suspect that the appeal of the novel when it was published in 1954 partly derived from the level of sexual explicitness (which by today’s standards is almost non-existent).
This explicitness and other sexual concerns continue to resonate in more recent Japanese fiction, especially that of Haruki Murakami.
August 23, 2023
هذه الرواية تبعث على الملل ، فلقد جاء السرد بطيئاً وإن كان ثمة خيط لامرئي واهي يربط بين شخصياتها ، ولكن سرعان ما ينفلت لتجد نفسك أمام هواجس شخص غريب الأطوار ، يقتفي أثر الفتيات المراهقات ، حبيساً لبحيرة جليدية من الوحدة ...
فليس هنالك أشد تعاسة ممن لا يعرف وجهته ولا إلى أين تقوده خطاه...، ولقد انتظرت طويلاً لعل تأت لحظة يتوثب فيها قلبه حباً ولكن عبثاً دون جدوى ، على ما يبدو أن مثل هؤلاء هم عاجزين عن الحب...😏
فليس هنالك أشد تعاسة ممن لا يعرف وجهته ولا إلى أين تقوده خطاه...، ولقد انتظرت طويلاً لعل تأت لحظة يتوثب فيها قلبه حباً ولكن عبثاً دون جدوى ، على ما يبدو أن مثل هؤلاء هم عاجزين عن الحب...😏
April 23, 2011
"Have you ever had that experience... a feeling of profound regret after passing some stranger in the street? I've had it often. I think to myself, 'What a delightful looking person!' or 'What a beautiful woman!' or 'I've never seen anyone quite as attractive as that before.' It happens when I'm just strolling around the streets, or sitting next to a stranger in the theatre or walking down the steps from a concert hall. But once they've gone, I know I'll probably never meet them again in my life... One can't stop and suddenly speak to a complete stranger, can one? Perhaps that's life, but when it happens I could die of sadness. I feel somehow drained and empty. I want to follow them to the ends of the earth, but I can't. The only way to chase a person that way is to kill him."
I love you, Kawabata. The Lake is my seventh Yasunari Kawabata (how long has it been? A month, if that) and the third on my favorites shelf ("rubber-ring" for my gotta have The Smiths reference. I will not let them run away from me). You can take my review with all the salt in the pacific ocean because for all the big time numbers The Lake crunched on me, I keep a distance of culture differences and times. Whatever the back of the box says isn't my box. My mood ring that's mysteriously stagnated on black is tinged with something else than beauty and country lines. Purple? Blue? Black and blue for the shit that beat the shit out of me? I'm just glad there are colors. It isn't those kinds of differences. I could chase down the person down the street and the measured space (ragged breathing. From the running?) between us wouldn't be about that. I wouldn't chase, though. I'd not chase. I'd make up a story if I didn't look for this feeling in a Kawabata.
The Lake is my kind of book. This is what I wish I could articulate what I want in my life (ahem books). I'm going to try like the little heart that could(n't) and anyone who reads this who has found this in the book lives of another might feel I am someone they can share it with. Really, why can't these kinds of books fly out at me whenever I enter a bookshop or library? (Or abandoned benches, beaches, green eggs and ham eateries, whatever.)
I find this in books because it isn't the attractive person that I look for, unlike Gimpei. I'm looking for what drives and what walks...
"Perhaps he had followed the woman because something inside her made her susceptible to being chased by him. They might be inhabitants of the same infernal world. He could see it from his own experience. He rejoiced at the thought that Miyako Mizuki might be like him, and bitterly regretted not having copied down her address.
Miyako must certainly have been frightened while she was being followed by Gimpei, but she might also have experienced a tingling pleasure, without recognizing its prescence. Can an entirely one-sided pleasure really exist in the human world? Had it not, perhaps, been like a drug addict's sensing out a fellow sufferer, that he should have made a special point of following Miyako when there were so many other pretty women walking about town?"
This! Kawabata, I really love you. Do books sense on the other sides of the pages? Are the eyes clinging to the words windows into the soul? Writers bleed out words and decades later someone picks it up and maybe a side by side reflection appears, allowing a donation of that too rich for my blood into my tired blood. It is really too bad that I don't know my own blood type. The point is that the suffering doesn't have to be exact science. Side by side! I've tried to make sense of this to me because I am pitiful enough to consider these mental round and rounds of mine to be my "life's work". The best Gimpei ever is gonna get is this realization that Miyako might've had it too. He's not the stereotypical only after the chase guy. He's down in the dumps and the acoustics in his trashcan don't reverberate honest reflections of his subjects. How could they? It couldn't transform him. The beauty coulda depressed me a whole fucking lot if Kawabata wasn't Kawabata. His books that aren't as purely amazing as this and The Sound of the Mountain were harder to hear above the day and out fray. Beauty. I can't see it. Transforming is a lost cause. I don't believe in redemption that way. Side by side! What good is vicarious when it doesn't have anything to do with you? If you imagine it hard enough does it come true?
"Was his habit of chasing after women related to this ugliness, since it was his feet that did the chasing? He was surprised at the thought. Was the ugliness of a part of his body crying out, longing for beauty? Was it part of the divine plan that ugly feet chased beautiful women?"
Not this. I know what the plot description says. I know what Gimpei says. I don't believe it. (This might be where smart goodreaders who have the ability to seperate the emotional might wanna ignore me.) It was so much more than the feet. Timelessness. Hope. The walking is GOING somewhere, not the getting. He doesn't GET anything. I know about what it means to look forward to something. Possibility can be a lot.
One of the women that he follows, Miyako, desperately watched the horizon of her own youth like it's the beach on the other side. She's probably in that proverbial boat with the seventy something man she's mistress to. The one you gotta decide if you're going to let them live and sacrafice yourself or not. Not making a choice they both are. The old man says he's had revenge taken on him for being old. Miyako misses the youth she still has. It's all too fucked up. Being followed makes her feel as if she is still going somewhere, I think. I love to read this and think to myself "This is what they are feeling" as if I was following them on the street and catching our mutal reflections in store windows. Unlike the old man, however, it isn't youth or beauty for sale. Miyako wants to see someone be happy. The envy hurts. Hurting is better than being in that proverbial boat with a dead man.
"Anyway, it's just a morbid fantasy, a cover for girlish weaknesses, to believe in the kind of intimate friendship where you share absolutely everything. Perfect awareness might exist in heaven or hell, but not in the human world. If you have no secrets from Miss Onda it means that you don't exist, that you're not living your own life."
When Gimpei was a teacher, he had an "affair" with a student, Hisako. Gimpei chased Hisako eternally. Hisako keeps running in place, I guess. I'm haunted by her because even though she got married, it is hard to chase her any further than we went with Gimpei.
The young girl in the bathhouse was almost forgotten to me when I "met" Gimpei's other loves. What is it with that word love? I don't know what other word to use. My ex told me many times that we English speakers used love for everything so that it no longer had any meaning. That made me self concious of ever using it at all. Well, I guess I don't know really a word for hoping to have found a dream in another. I don't use vocabulary any better than I use all of my brain or all of my heart. Adrenaline might make me run faster. The Lake isn't an adrenaline book. It's a round and round mental book and I want to take my time. Stop thinking me to death, Mariel! So, the bathhouse girl doesn't either. Gimpei makes her so shy with his ecstacy over her voice that she can only whisper.
"A lie, once told, never vanishes, but chases after us. Just as Gimpei followed women, so his lies trailed behind him. Perhaps it is the same with crime. A crime, once committed, pursues a person until he repeats it. Bad habits are like that. The first time Gimpei followed a woman led to the second, and so on..."
There are more...
"Gimpei felt shattered, heartbroken. Never again could he be the boy who had played with Yayoi or the teacher who had been in love with Hisako."
Machi, the young girl in the park with the shiba (I've long wanted a shiba. I have a virtual one in nintendodogs on nintendods! Useless Mariel information alert!) replaces the former loves with her younger beauty. I don't grasp purity like that. The two don't go side by side in my mind. Miyako's staring after the figure she felt was happy meant much, much more to me than Gimpei's beauty gravity.
"Though he felt nothing but self-loathing as they walked entangled up the street, he still had an urge to see her feet without rubber boots. Yet it seemed he could already see them- toes not simian like his own, but misshapen, with thick, brownish skin. When he pictured himself lying with the woman with their legs stretched out, Gimpei felt like vomiting."
It's stuck in my throat. I know that Gimpei's beauty is about his own ugliness... (A way to keep something that flies. The huge firefly he mistook for a star could be that love. In a cage, hooked on the back of Machi's dress.) But I wish it was more than reading the plot description and going "Oh, his ugly feet followed beauty". I kinda want to cut out Gimpei's reflection all together because if that is all he can see...
How can you get side by side when you're always running?
It is in the back of my mind that the point was that all along. But I've got it in me too to look for my own when living my life, and I stop in my tracks. And that was this book too because it has shared its blood with my own. What I'm looking for is more than beauty... I just gotta listen. Bind those fucking chicken feet. Dance on some hot coals. Fetishize. Something. Don't leave me behind!
P.s. All of the salt raining on the little girl with the umbrella! The Lake is a strangled kinda erotic. The there is no such thing as no strings attached sex. The boat with the dead man. Little mermaid loses her voice shyness.
I love you, Kawabata. The Lake is my seventh Yasunari Kawabata (how long has it been? A month, if that) and the third on my favorites shelf ("rubber-ring" for my gotta have The Smiths reference. I will not let them run away from me). You can take my review with all the salt in the pacific ocean because for all the big time numbers The Lake crunched on me, I keep a distance of culture differences and times. Whatever the back of the box says isn't my box. My mood ring that's mysteriously stagnated on black is tinged with something else than beauty and country lines. Purple? Blue? Black and blue for the shit that beat the shit out of me? I'm just glad there are colors. It isn't those kinds of differences. I could chase down the person down the street and the measured space (ragged breathing. From the running?) between us wouldn't be about that. I wouldn't chase, though. I'd not chase. I'd make up a story if I didn't look for this feeling in a Kawabata.
The Lake is my kind of book. This is what I wish I could articulate what I want in my life (ahem books). I'm going to try like the little heart that could(n't) and anyone who reads this who has found this in the book lives of another might feel I am someone they can share it with. Really, why can't these kinds of books fly out at me whenever I enter a bookshop or library? (Or abandoned benches, beaches, green eggs and ham eateries, whatever.)
I find this in books because it isn't the attractive person that I look for, unlike Gimpei. I'm looking for what drives and what walks...
"Perhaps he had followed the woman because something inside her made her susceptible to being chased by him. They might be inhabitants of the same infernal world. He could see it from his own experience. He rejoiced at the thought that Miyako Mizuki might be like him, and bitterly regretted not having copied down her address.
Miyako must certainly have been frightened while she was being followed by Gimpei, but she might also have experienced a tingling pleasure, without recognizing its prescence. Can an entirely one-sided pleasure really exist in the human world? Had it not, perhaps, been like a drug addict's sensing out a fellow sufferer, that he should have made a special point of following Miyako when there were so many other pretty women walking about town?"
This! Kawabata, I really love you. Do books sense on the other sides of the pages? Are the eyes clinging to the words windows into the soul? Writers bleed out words and decades later someone picks it up and maybe a side by side reflection appears, allowing a donation of that too rich for my blood into my tired blood. It is really too bad that I don't know my own blood type. The point is that the suffering doesn't have to be exact science. Side by side! I've tried to make sense of this to me because I am pitiful enough to consider these mental round and rounds of mine to be my "life's work". The best Gimpei ever is gonna get is this realization that Miyako might've had it too. He's not the stereotypical only after the chase guy. He's down in the dumps and the acoustics in his trashcan don't reverberate honest reflections of his subjects. How could they? It couldn't transform him. The beauty coulda depressed me a whole fucking lot if Kawabata wasn't Kawabata. His books that aren't as purely amazing as this and The Sound of the Mountain were harder to hear above the day and out fray. Beauty. I can't see it. Transforming is a lost cause. I don't believe in redemption that way. Side by side! What good is vicarious when it doesn't have anything to do with you? If you imagine it hard enough does it come true?
"Was his habit of chasing after women related to this ugliness, since it was his feet that did the chasing? He was surprised at the thought. Was the ugliness of a part of his body crying out, longing for beauty? Was it part of the divine plan that ugly feet chased beautiful women?"
Not this. I know what the plot description says. I know what Gimpei says. I don't believe it. (This might be where smart goodreaders who have the ability to seperate the emotional might wanna ignore me.) It was so much more than the feet. Timelessness. Hope. The walking is GOING somewhere, not the getting. He doesn't GET anything. I know about what it means to look forward to something. Possibility can be a lot.
One of the women that he follows, Miyako, desperately watched the horizon of her own youth like it's the beach on the other side. She's probably in that proverbial boat with the seventy something man she's mistress to. The one you gotta decide if you're going to let them live and sacrafice yourself or not. Not making a choice they both are. The old man says he's had revenge taken on him for being old. Miyako misses the youth she still has. It's all too fucked up. Being followed makes her feel as if she is still going somewhere, I think. I love to read this and think to myself "This is what they are feeling" as if I was following them on the street and catching our mutal reflections in store windows. Unlike the old man, however, it isn't youth or beauty for sale. Miyako wants to see someone be happy. The envy hurts. Hurting is better than being in that proverbial boat with a dead man.
"Anyway, it's just a morbid fantasy, a cover for girlish weaknesses, to believe in the kind of intimate friendship where you share absolutely everything. Perfect awareness might exist in heaven or hell, but not in the human world. If you have no secrets from Miss Onda it means that you don't exist, that you're not living your own life."
When Gimpei was a teacher, he had an "affair" with a student, Hisako. Gimpei chased Hisako eternally. Hisako keeps running in place, I guess. I'm haunted by her because even though she got married, it is hard to chase her any further than we went with Gimpei.
The young girl in the bathhouse was almost forgotten to me when I "met" Gimpei's other loves. What is it with that word love? I don't know what other word to use. My ex told me many times that we English speakers used love for everything so that it no longer had any meaning. That made me self concious of ever using it at all. Well, I guess I don't know really a word for hoping to have found a dream in another. I don't use vocabulary any better than I use all of my brain or all of my heart. Adrenaline might make me run faster. The Lake isn't an adrenaline book. It's a round and round mental book and I want to take my time. Stop thinking me to death, Mariel! So, the bathhouse girl doesn't either. Gimpei makes her so shy with his ecstacy over her voice that she can only whisper.
"A lie, once told, never vanishes, but chases after us. Just as Gimpei followed women, so his lies trailed behind him. Perhaps it is the same with crime. A crime, once committed, pursues a person until he repeats it. Bad habits are like that. The first time Gimpei followed a woman led to the second, and so on..."
There are more...
"Gimpei felt shattered, heartbroken. Never again could he be the boy who had played with Yayoi or the teacher who had been in love with Hisako."
Machi, the young girl in the park with the shiba (I've long wanted a shiba. I have a virtual one in nintendodogs on nintendods! Useless Mariel information alert!) replaces the former loves with her younger beauty. I don't grasp purity like that. The two don't go side by side in my mind. Miyako's staring after the figure she felt was happy meant much, much more to me than Gimpei's beauty gravity.
"Though he felt nothing but self-loathing as they walked entangled up the street, he still had an urge to see her feet without rubber boots. Yet it seemed he could already see them- toes not simian like his own, but misshapen, with thick, brownish skin. When he pictured himself lying with the woman with their legs stretched out, Gimpei felt like vomiting."
It's stuck in my throat. I know that Gimpei's beauty is about his own ugliness... (A way to keep something that flies. The huge firefly he mistook for a star could be that love. In a cage, hooked on the back of Machi's dress.) But I wish it was more than reading the plot description and going "Oh, his ugly feet followed beauty". I kinda want to cut out Gimpei's reflection all together because if that is all he can see...
How can you get side by side when you're always running?
It is in the back of my mind that the point was that all along. But I've got it in me too to look for my own when living my life, and I stop in my tracks. And that was this book too because it has shared its blood with my own. What I'm looking for is more than beauty... I just gotta listen. Bind those fucking chicken feet. Dance on some hot coals. Fetishize. Something. Don't leave me behind!
P.s. All of the salt raining on the little girl with the umbrella! The Lake is a strangled kinda erotic. The there is no such thing as no strings attached sex. The boat with the dead man. Little mermaid loses her voice shyness.
January 12, 2019
In un alternarsi di passato e presente, che si sfiorano, si toccano e a volte si sovrappongono, passiamo dall’immobilità del lago dell’infanzia, ritrovato a distanza di anni, a uno stagno affollato per una caccia alle lucciole, a una città del Giappone distrutto dalla guerra, tra le cui rovine, luci e rumori figure femminili si muovono come in un sogno.
Ginpei le segue, incapace di resistere, ossessionato dal fascino delle sconosciute che probabilmente non rivedrà più.
“Che creatura seducente, che splendida donna! In questo mondo non esiste nessun'altra che sia affascinante come lei." E poi lei si allontana e io non potrò mai più rivederla. D'altra parte non è lecito chiamare una sconosciuta, rivolgerle la parola. È dunque questa la vita?
In simili circostanze mi sento triste sino alla morte, sono colto da vertigini. Vorrei inseguirla sino ai con-fini del mondo, ma neppure questo è possibile. L'unico modo per farlo sarebbe ucciderla. ”
Lo sguardo si perde nei particolari, il candore della pelle, i lobi delle orecchie, un gesto improvviso, il modo di camminare. È il suo modo di sentirsi libero, risarcito delle delusioni della vita e dell’angoscia di un’infanzia funestata dalla morte del padre, ritrovato nel lago del suo paese natale. Amore e morte si uniscono nell’ossessione di Ginpei, come se la morte fosse l’unico modo per fermare il tempo e fissare la bellezza.
“Il solo delicato colore della carnagione che appariva tra i risvolti a scacchi rossi e le bianche scarpe di tela era sufficiente per opprimergli il cuore di una tristezza tale da desiderare di morire o di uccidere la ragazza.”
È una prosa sinuosa ed elegante, che dal grigiore di una quotidianità disperata ci guida attraverso la nebbia di un lago che nasconde l’infinito rivelando in una trama non lineare una storia insolita e profonda.
Ginpei le segue, incapace di resistere, ossessionato dal fascino delle sconosciute che probabilmente non rivedrà più.
“Che creatura seducente, che splendida donna! In questo mondo non esiste nessun'altra che sia affascinante come lei." E poi lei si allontana e io non potrò mai più rivederla. D'altra parte non è lecito chiamare una sconosciuta, rivolgerle la parola. È dunque questa la vita?
In simili circostanze mi sento triste sino alla morte, sono colto da vertigini. Vorrei inseguirla sino ai con-fini del mondo, ma neppure questo è possibile. L'unico modo per farlo sarebbe ucciderla. ”
Lo sguardo si perde nei particolari, il candore della pelle, i lobi delle orecchie, un gesto improvviso, il modo di camminare. È il suo modo di sentirsi libero, risarcito delle delusioni della vita e dell’angoscia di un’infanzia funestata dalla morte del padre, ritrovato nel lago del suo paese natale. Amore e morte si uniscono nell’ossessione di Ginpei, come se la morte fosse l’unico modo per fermare il tempo e fissare la bellezza.
“Il solo delicato colore della carnagione che appariva tra i risvolti a scacchi rossi e le bianche scarpe di tela era sufficiente per opprimergli il cuore di una tristezza tale da desiderare di morire o di uccidere la ragazza.”
È una prosa sinuosa ed elegante, che dal grigiore di una quotidianità disperata ci guida attraverso la nebbia di un lago che nasconde l’infinito rivelando in una trama non lineare una storia insolita e profonda.
March 13, 2020
Grotesque, hallucinatory and uncomfortable - 1.5 Stars
As he follows women, secrets follow him
Impressive in structure and contrasting themes, but I felt unengaged and uncomfortable reading this novella. Stealing, sexual relationships with a student, incestuous and semi-murderous thoughts; Yasunari Kawabata doesn’t even have to give Gimpei Momoi extraordinary ugly feet to make him revolting.
Later on our narrator even ponders of molesting a dog with a needle, just to get the blame on his niece and we have a scene of him abandoning his own child with a prostitute.
When we switch from perspective to a young woman, with whom Gimpei had a chance encounter, this felt as a relieve. She apparently attracts men that follow her around on the streets, which according to her much older lover is her fault, a stark contrast with Gimpei his ugliness and repulsiveness.
In this part of The Lake many characters who don’t really come into focus at all are introduced, while everyone seems to know everyone else. Kawabata gives us hardly anything in terms of introduction or characteristics to keep track of all the characters.
Despite it being a rather unsympathetic book, the escape out of window of Gimpei, and how he gets rid of a friend of his love interest by shoving her into a taxi were great, filmic scènes, showing the storytelling talents of Kawabata.
In the end however The Lake felt both very cerebral and also viscerally repulsive. For me this was not an easy or compelling read. In terms of fever dream feeling I can compare this book most to Solaris of Stanisław Lem, but then without the sci-fi (but definitely including the cliche treatment of the women in the story).
As he follows women, secrets follow him
Impressive in structure and contrasting themes, but I felt unengaged and uncomfortable reading this novella. Stealing, sexual relationships with a student, incestuous and semi-murderous thoughts; Yasunari Kawabata doesn’t even have to give Gimpei Momoi extraordinary ugly feet to make him revolting.
Later on our narrator even ponders of molesting a dog with a needle, just to get the blame on his niece and we have a scene of him abandoning his own child with a prostitute.
When we switch from perspective to a young woman, with whom Gimpei had a chance encounter, this felt as a relieve. She apparently attracts men that follow her around on the streets, which according to her much older lover is her fault, a stark contrast with Gimpei his ugliness and repulsiveness.
In this part of The Lake many characters who don’t really come into focus at all are introduced, while everyone seems to know everyone else. Kawabata gives us hardly anything in terms of introduction or characteristics to keep track of all the characters.
Despite it being a rather unsympathetic book, the escape out of window of Gimpei, and how he gets rid of a friend of his love interest by shoving her into a taxi were great, filmic scènes, showing the storytelling talents of Kawabata.
In the end however The Lake felt both very cerebral and also viscerally repulsive. For me this was not an easy or compelling read. In terms of fever dream feeling I can compare this book most to Solaris of Stanisław Lem, but then without the sci-fi (but definitely including the cliche treatment of the women in the story).
December 19, 2017
Kawabata, Nobel Edebiyat Ödülünü Japonya'ya götüren ilk yazar olma özelliğiyle, Japon edebiyatının en 'vitrin' isimlerinden birisidir. 1968'de ödülü kazandığında, ilk kez Japon edebiyatına karşı dünyada bir merak oluşmuş, akabinde de yavaş yavaş başka dillere çeviriler başlamıştır. Keza Japon Edebiyatından Türkçeye de, ilk kez bu dönemde kitap çevrilmiştir; bu da Kawabata'nın bir eseridir. O zamandan günümüze değin -şuan baskısı bulunamasa bile- Kawabata'nın bir çok eseri (ne yazık ki bir tanesi hariç hepsi batı dillerinden) Türkçeye çevrildi. Bunlar arasında en az ilgi göreni ise Can Yayınları'nın bastığı bu eserdir. Dünyada da Kawabata hayranlarını ikiye bölen bir roman olduğunu bildiğimden, okumak için inanılmaz bir istek içerisindeydim. Yorucu çabalar sonunda esere ulaşmak mümkün oldu da okuyabildim.
Bildiğimiz Kawabata'dan çok, farklı bir yazarın elinden çıkmış gibi eser. Mishima'dan alışık olduğumuz bir edebiyatın izlerini görmek mümkün. Başkarakter Gimpei Momoi
üzerinden, doğrusal olmayan, sıçramalarla sürüp giden, lirizmden uzak, tekinsiz bir öykü sunmuş usta yazar. Lirizmden uzak bir Kawabata nasıl olur demeyin, oluyormuş valla, bende şaşırdım:)
Diğer yandan yakın zamanda çevrilen 'Altın Köşk Tapınağı'nda Mishima'nın delice işlediği güzellik kavramı, benzer bir bakış açısıyla burada da kendine yer bulmuş. Mishima ne kadar göstere göstere ve sert bir şekilde çiziyorsa resmi, Kawabata'da o kadar sessiz ve alttan altta göstermeyi tercih etmiş. Çok kötü bir çeviri olmasına rağmen, Kawabata'nın orijinalliğine şaşmamak mümkün değil.
İyi okumalar.
7.5/10
Bildiğimiz Kawabata'dan çok, farklı bir yazarın elinden çıkmış gibi eser. Mishima'dan alışık olduğumuz bir edebiyatın izlerini görmek mümkün. Başkarakter Gimpei Momoi
üzerinden, doğrusal olmayan, sıçramalarla sürüp giden, lirizmden uzak, tekinsiz bir öykü sunmuş usta yazar. Lirizmden uzak bir Kawabata nasıl olur demeyin, oluyormuş valla, bende şaşırdım:)
Diğer yandan yakın zamanda çevrilen 'Altın Köşk Tapınağı'nda Mishima'nın delice işlediği güzellik kavramı, benzer bir bakış açısıyla burada da kendine yer bulmuş. Mishima ne kadar göstere göstere ve sert bir şekilde çiziyorsa resmi, Kawabata'da o kadar sessiz ve alttan altta göstermeyi tercih etmiş. Çok kötü bir çeviri olmasına rağmen, Kawabata'nın orijinalliğine şaşmamak mümkün değil.
İyi okumalar.
7.5/10
December 10, 2017
takıntılı şiirsel ütopik ama gerçek. klasik bir Kawabata
June 29, 2017
Μέσα από διάφορες ερωτικές ιστορίες του πρώην καθηγητή Τζινμπεϊ γίνεται ένα βαθύ ψυχογράφημα του χαρακτήρα του, ενώ ταυτόχρονα βλέπουμε μικρές στιγμές των ζωών που αυτός με κάποιον τρόπο επηρέασε. Η πρόζα του συγγραφέα μου άρεσε πάρα πολύ, έχει κάτι νοσταλγικό / μελαγχολικό και για αυτό θα διάβαζα ευχάριστα κάτι άλλο δικό του. Ήμουν πιο κοντά στο 3.5/5.
April 3, 2016
Mỗi nhà văn hay có một vài chủ đề ưa thích, trở đi trở lại. Với Kawabata đó là ám ảnh về cái đẹp.
Hồ là câu chuyện về Gimpei, một người đàn ông kỳ quái, bị ảm ánh bởi vẻ đẹp của những cô gái, đồng thời, mang trong người mặc cảm về cái xấu. Ám ảnh làm cho anh ta trở nên kỳ quái, thậm chi bệnh hoạn, nhưng tận cùng trong anh ta là một tâm hồn cô đơn và dễ bị tổn thương. Có lẽ phần nào Gimpei cũng là hình ảnh nước Nhật thời hậu chiến.
Văn của Kawabata bảng lảng như mặt hồ đầy sương khói, mang vẻ khó nắm bắt đặc trưng.
Nhã Nam chọn được một cái bìa thật hợp cho cuốn sách.
Hồ là câu chuyện về Gimpei, một người đàn ông kỳ quái, bị ảm ánh bởi vẻ đẹp của những cô gái, đồng thời, mang trong người mặc cảm về cái xấu. Ám ảnh làm cho anh ta trở nên kỳ quái, thậm chi bệnh hoạn, nhưng tận cùng trong anh ta là một tâm hồn cô đơn và dễ bị tổn thương. Có lẽ phần nào Gimpei cũng là hình ảnh nước Nhật thời hậu chiến.
Văn của Kawabata bảng lảng như mặt hồ đầy sương khói, mang vẻ khó nắm bắt đặc trưng.
Nhã Nam chọn được một cái bìa thật hợp cho cuốn sách.
May 31, 2016
Một cuốn sách đẹp để đọc trong một ngày âm u như hôm nay. Kawabata miêu tả về cái đẹp, dục tính và sự ám ảnh tràn ngập nỗi buồn và lãng đãng như mặt hồ mù sương.
Nỗi ám ảnh về cái đẹp, về mặc cảm của sự thiếu hoàn hảo, ám ảnh vì quá khứ không trọn vẹn hay sự chối từ , những ám ảnh ấy tạo thành những ảo ảnh ngăn cách họ với thế giới và cả hạnh phúc mà họ chẳng thể nào đạt tới.
Nỗi ám ảnh về cái đẹp, về mặc cảm của sự thiếu hoàn hảo, ám ảnh vì quá khứ không trọn vẹn hay sự chối từ , những ám ảnh ấy tạo thành những ảo ảnh ngăn cách họ với thế giới và cả hạnh phúc mà họ chẳng thể nào đạt tới.
March 17, 2025
Dacă ar mai fi trăit scriitorul japonez Yasnuri Kawabat devenea cu siguranță un rival a lui Haruki Murakami, un pic cam încâlcită la început , cartea devine surprinzătoare pas cu pas cu cât murmurul lacului care ascunde o moarte în adâncuri și obsesia maniacală a protagonistului în a urmări fete tinere pe stradă cu o intenție morbidă se împletesc și se dezmint , nimeni nu știe ce ascunde ungherele încâlcite ale minții unui psihopat solitar urmărit ani la rând de fantoma tatălui său de pe malul unui lac părăsit...
November 6, 2016
Yukio Mishima từng gọi Yasunari Kawabata là kẻ lữ hành miên viễn. Kawabata cũng tâm sự vốn là trẻ mồ côi không một chốn gọi là nhà, ông luôn khao khát được lang thang vô định một cách buồn bã. Bởi thế rất nhiều tác phẩm của nhà văn Nhật đầu tiên đạt giải Nobel năm 1968 này mô tả những cuộc trôi dạt mà câu mở đầu trở thành nỗi ám ảnh khi mở ra một không gian mới nơi những phiêu lưu, bất định, mới mẻ, chờ sẵn các nhân vật. Đó là chiếc tàu ra khỏi đường hầm dài dẫn vào “Xứ Tuyết” hay cơn mưa sầm sập đổ xuống con đường du lịch của nhân vật trong “Vũ Nữ Izu,” hay Gimpei Momoi vừa đặt chân đến Karuizawa cuối mùa hạ trong “Hồ.” Ở tiểu thuyết ngắn “Hồ,” người đọc bắt gặp cả hai hành trình, một ngoài hiện thực của Gimpei, một ở trong hồi ức của y bởi Gimpei kéo lê thân xác qua hết đoạn đường này tới đoạn đường khác, là một kẻ xê dịch, kẻ bị mất chỗ ở trong tâm trí cũng như cuộc đời. Trạng thái xê dịch của Gimpei, được dựng lại qua những lần bám đuôi phụ nữ, vừa đóng vai trò như thú vui của nhân vật, đồng thời là lối thoát, cho một cá nhân què quặt về mặt tâm hồn lẫn thể xác.
Gimpei Momoi vốn là một giáo viên nay đã bị đuổi việc vì quan hệ tình cảm với học trò của mình nay trên đường lẩn trốn vì một tội nào đó không rõ. Truyện mở đầu bằng chi tiết y vào một nhà tắm Thổ và khi được cô gái phục vụ với giọng nói như thiên thần mát xa, bao ký ức xa xăm chợt quay về, tràn ngập dòng tự sự. “Hồ” được kể bằng kỹ thuật xáo trộn thời gian nơi mọi ký ức được đẩy đưa theo những kích thích của hiện tại, tạo thành một dòng tâm tưởng. Kỹ thuật liên tưởng tự do khiến trần thuật phân thành các mảnh nhỏ, tan vỡ theo ký ức và đột ngột chuyển cảnh không theo quy luật nào ngoại trừ quy luật của trí nhớ và liên tưởng. Chẳng hạn, hồi ức Gimpei bị kích nhờ một cú đập vào mặt thế là ký ức bị quật vào mặt bởi cái túi tiền của một phụ nữ đưa người đọc tới một miền không gian khác. Cứ như vậy các ký ức luân chuyển, đan cài, chao đi chao lại giữa các thời giúp người đọc hình dung ra cuộc đời của Gimpei qua các lát cắt: người cha chết đuối ở hồ và tuổi thơ ở ngôi làng không tên với đứa em học vừa xinh xắn vừa ác độc, ký ức về cô gái điếm đã đẻ con cho y rồi y vứt bỏ ngoài đường, những cô gái y bám đuôi ngoài đường. Kawabata đã phát triển nhuần nhuyễn những ảnh hưởng của chủ nghĩa hiện đại, nơi ông bị ảnh hưởng lớn bởi James Joyce cũng như Virginia Woolf, khi dùng thủ pháp dòng ý thức, để khắc họa những ẩn ức, đen tối và thảm hại, những mộng tưởng, trong tâm trí Gimpei. Những phát xộc của ký ức ở Gimpei, rất gần với những lần viếng thăm trong quá khứ, một thủ pháp Kawabata đã thành thục trong “Tiếng rền của núi” qua nhân vật ông lão Shigo.
Xem toàn bộ review: https://www.facebook.com/phianhaz/pos...
Gimpei Momoi vốn là một giáo viên nay đã bị đuổi việc vì quan hệ tình cảm với học trò của mình nay trên đường lẩn trốn vì một tội nào đó không rõ. Truyện mở đầu bằng chi tiết y vào một nhà tắm Thổ và khi được cô gái phục vụ với giọng nói như thiên thần mát xa, bao ký ức xa xăm chợt quay về, tràn ngập dòng tự sự. “Hồ” được kể bằng kỹ thuật xáo trộn thời gian nơi mọi ký ức được đẩy đưa theo những kích thích của hiện tại, tạo thành một dòng tâm tưởng. Kỹ thuật liên tưởng tự do khiến trần thuật phân thành các mảnh nhỏ, tan vỡ theo ký ức và đột ngột chuyển cảnh không theo quy luật nào ngoại trừ quy luật của trí nhớ và liên tưởng. Chẳng hạn, hồi ức Gimpei bị kích nhờ một cú đập vào mặt thế là ký ức bị quật vào mặt bởi cái túi tiền của một phụ nữ đưa người đọc tới một miền không gian khác. Cứ như vậy các ký ức luân chuyển, đan cài, chao đi chao lại giữa các thời giúp người đọc hình dung ra cuộc đời của Gimpei qua các lát cắt: người cha chết đuối ở hồ và tuổi thơ ở ngôi làng không tên với đứa em học vừa xinh xắn vừa ác độc, ký ức về cô gái điếm đã đẻ con cho y rồi y vứt bỏ ngoài đường, những cô gái y bám đuôi ngoài đường. Kawabata đã phát triển nhuần nhuyễn những ảnh hưởng của chủ nghĩa hiện đại, nơi ông bị ảnh hưởng lớn bởi James Joyce cũng như Virginia Woolf, khi dùng thủ pháp dòng ý thức, để khắc họa những ẩn ức, đen tối và thảm hại, những mộng tưởng, trong tâm trí Gimpei. Những phát xộc của ký ức ở Gimpei, rất gần với những lần viếng thăm trong quá khứ, một thủ pháp Kawabata đã thành thục trong “Tiếng rền của núi” qua nhân vật ông lão Shigo.
Xem toàn bộ review: https://www.facebook.com/phianhaz/pos...
April 28, 2023
"إذا لم يكن لديك أسرار ، فهذا يعني أنك غير موجود، وأنك لا تعيش حياتك. لا يمكن لأي عاطفة بشرية أن تعيش بدونها".
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تدور أحداث هذه الرواية, عن رجل وحيد مليئ بالعقد النفسية والوجدانية.
يبحث عن الجمال المثالي, ليعوض النقص الذي فيه.
ولكن الشيء الذي لطالما بحث عنه, وفعل كل شيء ليصل إليه. حصل عليه في النهاية, ولكن ليس بالشكل الذي كان يرغب به.
والسبب أنه كان ضائعاً في سرابه الخاص, في الماضي السحيق, في البحيرة التي فقد بها طفولته وبرائته.
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كان هذا لقائي الثاني مع الكاتب "ياسوناري كواباتا" وكان هنالك طابع واضح يغلف الكتابين.
وهو مطاردة رجل غريب الأطوار الى الفتيات الجميلات.
والصراع النفسي الداخلي، لذكريات الماضي، وضياع الحاضر.
وأيضًا البحث المستمر عن شيء غير موجود في الواقع.
على الرغم من وجود بعض الشخصيات الثانوية في الرواية, الا أننا لم نجد نهاية مرضيه لأحدها.
كأن جميع القصص أنتهت فجأة, أو هنالك فصل آخر تعمد الكاتب أن لايكتبه.
من المعروف ان الأدب الياباني يمتلك لغة شفافة وشاعرية للغاية, ولكن اذا كانت الترجمة سيئة وغير مناسبة يتحول الكتاب الى سرد ممل, غير واضح. تسير فيه وكأنك ضائع لاتعرف ماذا تقرأ والى أين سوف تصل.
وهكذا شعرت للأسف, الترجمة لم تكن بالمستوى المطلوب, وعندما قارنت بعض الحوارات مع النسخة الأنجليزية, كان الفرق شاسعاً للغاية. وهذا أدى الى ظلم الرواية بشكل كبير.
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"-أنني أهبط يوماً بعد يوم.
= سوف أبحث عنك, وسوف أجدك, حتى لو بحثت عنك في أعماق الجحيم."
.
تدور أحداث هذه الرواية, عن رجل وحيد مليئ بالعقد النفسية والوجدانية.
يبحث عن الجمال المثالي, ليعوض النقص الذي فيه.
ولكن الشيء الذي لطالما بحث عنه, وفعل كل شيء ليصل إليه. حصل عليه في النهاية, ولكن ليس بالشكل الذي كان يرغب به.
والسبب أنه كان ضائعاً في سرابه الخاص, في الماضي السحيق, في البحيرة التي فقد بها طفولته وبرائته.
.
كان هذا لقائي الثاني مع الكاتب "ياسوناري كواباتا" وكان هنالك طابع واضح يغلف الكتابين.
وهو مطاردة رجل غريب الأطوار الى الفتيات الجميلات.
والصراع النفسي الداخلي، لذكريات الماضي، وضياع الحاضر.
وأيضًا البحث المستمر عن شيء غير موجود في الواقع.
على الرغم من وجود بعض الشخصيات الثانوية في الرواية, الا أننا لم نجد نهاية مرضيه لأحدها.
كأن جميع القصص أنتهت فجأة, أو هنالك فصل آخر تعمد الكاتب أن لايكتبه.
من المعروف ان الأدب الياباني يمتلك لغة شفافة وشاعرية للغاية, ولكن اذا كانت الترجمة سيئة وغير مناسبة يتحول الكتاب الى سرد ممل, غير واضح. تسير فيه وكأنك ضائع لاتعرف ماذا تقرأ والى أين سوف تصل.
وهكذا شعرت للأسف, الترجمة لم تكن بالمستوى المطلوب, وعندما قارنت بعض الحوارات مع النسخة الأنجليزية, كان الفرق شاسعاً للغاية. وهذا أدى الى ظلم الرواية بشكل كبير.
.
"-أنني أهبط يوماً بعد يوم.
= سوف أبحث عنك, وسوف أجدك, حتى لو بحثت عنك في أعماق الجحيم."
December 30, 2011
Wow, that was dark.
None of Kawbata's books that I've read so far have been what you'd call light-hearted. But it felt to me as if this one plumbed depths of the human spirit that even Kawabata didn't usually descend to in his fiction.
The technique of this novel plays around with linear narrative, giving us the whole picture of a sad, twisted man's life and psyche in bits and pieces, saving some crucial revelations for the very end while circling around motifs whose meaning is only gradually elucidated.
I was impressed by the way Kawabata digressed from the main thread - the story of a man who is obsessed with following attractive women he sees on the street - to several other character-stories that intersect with the main story and with each other.
The end result is somehow fragmented and panoramic at the same time; a strange kind of double vision that seems to parallel the main character's mental and physical wanderings between past, present and multiple objects of obsession. The other novel by Kawabata that comes closest to this for the sheer power of its vision of human nature twisted into jagged, fatal shapes was Beauty And Sadness.
None of Kawbata's books that I've read so far have been what you'd call light-hearted. But it felt to me as if this one plumbed depths of the human spirit that even Kawabata didn't usually descend to in his fiction.
The technique of this novel plays around with linear narrative, giving us the whole picture of a sad, twisted man's life and psyche in bits and pieces, saving some crucial revelations for the very end while circling around motifs whose meaning is only gradually elucidated.
I was impressed by the way Kawabata digressed from the main thread - the story of a man who is obsessed with following attractive women he sees on the street - to several other character-stories that intersect with the main story and with each other.
The end result is somehow fragmented and panoramic at the same time; a strange kind of double vision that seems to parallel the main character's mental and physical wanderings between past, present and multiple objects of obsession. The other novel by Kawabata that comes closest to this for the sheer power of its vision of human nature twisted into jagged, fatal shapes was Beauty And Sadness.
April 26, 2016
"Hồ" viết về nỗi buồn mênh mông của kẻ suốt đời khao khát cái đẹp - một khao khát vượt trên nhục dục tuy có bao gồm nhục dục - trong khi bản thân mình, ít nhất là về mặt thể xác, hoàn toàn đối lập với cái đẹp. Càng bị ám ảnh bởi sự xấu xí của thể xác mình, gã đàn ông trong truyện, một cách vô thức, càng bất an - như thể sợ rằng sự xấu xí về thể xác của y cũng sẽ ám sang và làm xấu xí cả linh hồn y -. và, càng bất an, y càng khổ sở bám lẵng nhẵng theo cái đẹp - những cô gái đẹp mà với y là hiện thân của cái đẹp -, một cách thảm hại, một cách vô vọng, như một con chó đói, bệnh, cùng đường.
Đó là thảm trạng của một số người - của một bộ phận nhân loại: mãi mãi vươn tới một sự toàn hảo, sự toàn hảo mà họ mãi mãi bị cách ngăn.
Đó là thảm trạng của một số người - của một bộ phận nhân loại: mãi mãi vươn tới một sự toàn hảo, sự toàn hảo mà họ mãi mãi bị cách ngăn.
October 5, 2017
Σαφώς κατώτερο σε σχέση με το αριστουργηματικό "Η χώρα του χιονιού", αλλά και το εντυπωσιακό "Το σπίτι των κοιμισμένων κοριτσιών". Εντούτοις, αυτή η μικρή νουβέλα…όζει Kawabata στυλιστικά και θεματολογικά. Τελικά, κάτι σάπιο υπάρχει στο Βασίλειο της Ιαπωνίας. Ο έρωτας δεν είναι ποτέ απλή υπόθεση, όποτε η φαντασίωση, η ενοχή και ο ψυχικός ακρωτηριασμός μετουσιώνονται σε Τέχνη.
January 20, 2013
In my head, Kawabata is the kindly, elegant grandfather of J. fiction, writing novels about the light falling across scrolls in tokonoma alcoves.
But then I pick up a book and remember "Oh, yes. 'Japanese mental' didn't start with Mishima or Oe."
"The Lake": Do you remember Patrick Swayze's character sobbing in his "kiddie-porn dungeon" at the end of "Donnie Darko"? This is the Japanese literary equivalent of those two seconds of American cinema.
Certainly with his later works that were serialised in journals, there was some rewriting by others. Kawabata could get confused by the sleeping pills. He would then revise for publication as a novel. It would have been useful to have had an introduction to my edition of "The Lake" with a bit of information on how this may have influenced the development of the story.
...I forgot... one of the characters was reading The Devil in the Flesh!
But then I pick up a book and remember "Oh, yes. 'Japanese mental' didn't start with Mishima or Oe."
"The Lake": Do you remember Patrick Swayze's character sobbing in his "kiddie-porn dungeon" at the end of "Donnie Darko"? This is the Japanese literary equivalent of those two seconds of American cinema.
Certainly with his later works that were serialised in journals, there was some rewriting by others. Kawabata could get confused by the sleeping pills. He would then revise for publication as a novel. It would have been useful to have had an introduction to my edition of "The Lake" with a bit of information on how this may have influenced the development of the story.
...I forgot... one of the characters was reading The Devil in the Flesh!
May 11, 2019
A musing on beauty and ugliness - something the Japs are obsessed by.
Imagine a perv with deformed feet, having his bunions caressed by
A geisha in elegant dress; well that’s what this book is like.
If you like such, then give it a read; if you don’t, then be on your bike.
Imagine a perv with deformed feet, having his bunions caressed by
A geisha in elegant dress; well that’s what this book is like.
If you like such, then give it a read; if you don’t, then be on your bike.
October 3, 2022
Ένας κεντρικός ήρωας και παρενθετικές ιστορίες ανθρώπων που συνδέονται μαζί του. Κάποιοι υπήρξαν κομμάτι της ζωής, με κάποιους συναντήθηκε ελάχιστα, κάποιοι άλλοι ήταν ονειρικές εκδοχές της πραγματικότητας.
Ο Τζιμπέι ζει τη ζωή του κουβαλώντας μέσα του τη λίμνη των παιδικών του χρόνων. Εκεί που ο πατέρας του αυτοκτόνησε, εκεί που έπαιζε με την ξαδέρφη του, εκεί που εκστασιασμένος παρακολούθησε δύο όμορφες κοπέλες να καθρεφτίζονται στα νερά της.
Στην εσωτερική του λίμνη βυθίζεται μετά από κάθε στιγμή συναισθηματικής έντασης. Κάθε φορά που παρασύρεται από την ομορφιά και δεν μπορεί να αντισταθεί, κάθε φορά που ακολουθεί κορίτσια στο δρόμο, κάθε φορά που ερωτεύεται την αγνότητα τους.
Στη λίμνη αυτή επιστρέφει κάθε φορά που αντικρίζει τα κακοσχηματισμένα πόδια του, την ασχήμια που κληρονόμησε από τον πατέρα του. Το δίπολο της δυστυχίας του, η ομορφιά γύρω του και η ασχήμια πάνω του. Κυριευμένος από αυτή του την εμμονή παραδίνεται, κάθε λογική υποχωρεί ενώ αναδύονται μνήμες.
Αλληλένδετες ιστορίες σε μη γραμμική αφήγηση, συνδέονται δίνοντας την αίσθηση της νοηματικής συνάφειας στην δόμηση των χαρακτήρων.
Ο Καβαμπάτα μέσω του αυτοσαρκασμού των ηρώων του ενισχύει τις ψυχικές μεταπτώσεις τους, μεγενθύνει τα αδιέξοδα τους, φωτίζει αδρά τα σκοτάδια τους. Παγιδευμένοι είτε στο εφήμερο είτε στην επιδίωξη της ομορφιάς και της νεότητας, λαχταρούν τη ζωή. Η ιστορία της Μιγιάκο με τον ηλικιωμένο Αρίτα κινείται στην ίδια θεματική με το έργο του Καβαμπάτα "Το σπίτι των κοιμισμένων κοριτσιών".
Η αφήγηση του μεταβάλλεται σε ένταση από ήρεμη επιφάνεια μιας λίμνης σε ορμητικό κύμα ωκεανού.
Ο χρόνος είναι μια συνεχής μετακίνηση από το παρόν στο παρελθόν.
Η εμμονή με την ομορφιά είναι η προσπάθεια διαφυγής από την παραμορφωμένη πραγματικότητα, οι παραισθήσεις λειτουργούν ως ένας μηχανισμός άμυνας ενός διαταραγμένου νου.
Ο Τζιμπέι ζει τη ζωή του κουβαλώντας μέσα του τη λίμνη των παιδικών του χρόνων. Εκεί που ο πατέρας του αυτοκτόνησε, εκεί που έπαιζε με την ξαδέρφη του, εκεί που εκστασιασμένος παρακολούθησε δύο όμορφες κοπέλες να καθρεφτίζονται στα νερά της.
Στην εσωτερική του λίμνη βυθίζεται μετά από κάθε στιγμή συναισθηματικής έντασης. Κάθε φορά που παρασύρεται από την ομορφιά και δεν μπορεί να αντισταθεί, κάθε φορά που ακολουθεί κορίτσια στο δρόμο, κάθε φορά που ερωτεύεται την αγνότητα τους.
Στη λίμνη αυτή επιστρέφει κάθε φορά που αντικρίζει τα κακοσχηματισμένα πόδια του, την ασχήμια που κληρονόμησε από τον πατέρα του. Το δίπολο της δυστυχίας του, η ομορφιά γύρω του και η ασχήμια πάνω του. Κυριευμένος από αυτή του την εμμονή παραδίνεται, κάθε λογική υποχωρεί ενώ αναδύονται μνήμες.
Αλληλένδετες ιστορίες σε μη γραμμική αφήγηση, συνδέονται δίνοντας την αίσθηση της νοηματικής συνάφειας στην δόμηση των χαρακτήρων.
Ο Καβαμπάτα μέσω του αυτοσαρκασμού των ηρώων του ενισχύει τις ψυχικές μεταπτώσεις τους, μεγενθύνει τα αδιέξοδα τους, φωτίζει αδρά τα σκοτάδια τους. Παγιδευμένοι είτε στο εφήμερο είτε στην επιδίωξη της ομορφιάς και της νεότητας, λαχταρούν τη ζωή. Η ιστορία της Μιγιάκο με τον ηλικιωμένο Αρίτα κινείται στην ίδια θεματική με το έργο του Καβαμπάτα "Το σπίτι των κοιμισμένων κοριτσιών".
Η αφήγηση του μεταβάλλεται σε ένταση από ήρεμη επιφάνεια μιας λίμνης σε ορμητικό κύμα ωκεανού.
Ο χρόνος είναι μια συνεχής μετακίνηση από το παρόν στο παρελθόν.
Η εμμονή με την ομορφιά είναι η προσπάθεια διαφυγής από την παραμορφωμένη πραγματικότητα, οι παραισθήσεις λειτουργούν ως ένας μηχανισμός άμυνας ενός διαταραγμένου νου.
March 19, 2013
The Lake is the second book of Nobel laureate Kawabata that I have read. Unlike the House of the Sleeping Beauties and Other Stories, which I thought to be a remarkable text particularly the title story, The Lake came across as a frustrating work in terms of style.
Briefly, it is the story of a homeless stalker, Gimpei, who follows certain women that he finds posses a certain quality of beauty. What we know of Gimpei is that he was a former school teacher until he stalked one of his students, and that he had committed some ambiguous crime in the past.
The first few pages engaged me fully with the bathhouse scene where Gimpei is describing the beauty of the bath girl attending him:
- 'When he got out of the bath, the woman washed him all over. Squatting down at his feet she even washed in between his tows with her girlish fingers. He looked down at her head. Her hair was cut to a little below the nape of the neck and hung straight and loose, in the intimate way women left their hair after washing it.'
This level of detail and attention to the minute is what I loved about House of the Sleeping Beauties. In this novel, such descriptive attention is spread throughout the novel, especially with the introduction of each of the women Gimpei obsesses over. This snippet is of his latest 'victim' who preoccupies him from the middle to the end of the novel:
- 'She wore her jeans a little short, and her fair skin peeped out above her canvas shoes. Her hair was tied back loosely in a ponytail, revealing the long, delicate curve of her neck. Her shoulders were pulled forward by the dog tugging at the rope.'
Descriptive prowess aside, the style of this novel is free association. It is in this technique that my interest waned. There is a consistent shift in time between the present and the past where Gimpei himself is experiencing episodes of free association and I, the reader, am taken along with these threads of thought. There is, of course, nothing wrong with this, stylistically. If anything, it is certainly a hard technique to execute with accomplishment as does Kawabata here.
Kawabata sets up each present scene vividly, with attention to detail and a tantalizing description of a woman. My disappointment lies in having these scenes fractured by jumping back to an association Gimpei connects randomly with. Thus jarring me out of the seductive prose with a new path to follow.
Take, for example, the bathhouse scene, where between the present - Gimpei being attended by the bath house girl - Kawabata uses the word slap to evoke a memory in Gimpei from the past that will describe a parallel event:
- 'While massaging his chest, she pushed her breasts forward and he closed his eyes, not knowing where to put his hands. If he stretched his arms along his body he might touch her. He thought he would be slapped on the face if so much as a fingertip brushed against her. And he could actually feel the shock of being slapped. In sudden terror he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to move. They had been hit very hard. He thought he might cry, but no tears came, and his eyes ached as though they had been pricked with a hot needle.
It was not the girl's palm but a blue leather handbag that hit Gimpei's face. He hadn't known at the time it was a handbag, but after feeling the blow he found a bag lying at his feet.'
My criticism aside, I do praise Kawabata for capturing a character's thought processes so well. After all, free association is a natural process most of us engage in unconsciously. Kawabata captures the subtleness brilliantly as you can see in the last example above, it took several lines of describing Gimpei's emotional state after the first occurrence of the word slap before his thoughts drifted to the memory evoked by it.
I do think rereading The Lake will offer more pleasure. I can then focus on the details and the prose, since I now know the story.
Briefly, it is the story of a homeless stalker, Gimpei, who follows certain women that he finds posses a certain quality of beauty. What we know of Gimpei is that he was a former school teacher until he stalked one of his students, and that he had committed some ambiguous crime in the past.
The first few pages engaged me fully with the bathhouse scene where Gimpei is describing the beauty of the bath girl attending him:
- 'When he got out of the bath, the woman washed him all over. Squatting down at his feet she even washed in between his tows with her girlish fingers. He looked down at her head. Her hair was cut to a little below the nape of the neck and hung straight and loose, in the intimate way women left their hair after washing it.'
This level of detail and attention to the minute is what I loved about House of the Sleeping Beauties. In this novel, such descriptive attention is spread throughout the novel, especially with the introduction of each of the women Gimpei obsesses over. This snippet is of his latest 'victim' who preoccupies him from the middle to the end of the novel:
- 'She wore her jeans a little short, and her fair skin peeped out above her canvas shoes. Her hair was tied back loosely in a ponytail, revealing the long, delicate curve of her neck. Her shoulders were pulled forward by the dog tugging at the rope.'
Descriptive prowess aside, the style of this novel is free association. It is in this technique that my interest waned. There is a consistent shift in time between the present and the past where Gimpei himself is experiencing episodes of free association and I, the reader, am taken along with these threads of thought. There is, of course, nothing wrong with this, stylistically. If anything, it is certainly a hard technique to execute with accomplishment as does Kawabata here.
Kawabata sets up each present scene vividly, with attention to detail and a tantalizing description of a woman. My disappointment lies in having these scenes fractured by jumping back to an association Gimpei connects randomly with. Thus jarring me out of the seductive prose with a new path to follow.
Take, for example, the bathhouse scene, where between the present - Gimpei being attended by the bath house girl - Kawabata uses the word slap to evoke a memory in Gimpei from the past that will describe a parallel event:
- 'While massaging his chest, she pushed her breasts forward and he closed his eyes, not knowing where to put his hands. If he stretched his arms along his body he might touch her. He thought he would be slapped on the face if so much as a fingertip brushed against her. And he could actually feel the shock of being slapped. In sudden terror he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to move. They had been hit very hard. He thought he might cry, but no tears came, and his eyes ached as though they had been pricked with a hot needle.
It was not the girl's palm but a blue leather handbag that hit Gimpei's face. He hadn't known at the time it was a handbag, but after feeling the blow he found a bag lying at his feet.'
My criticism aside, I do praise Kawabata for capturing a character's thought processes so well. After all, free association is a natural process most of us engage in unconsciously. Kawabata captures the subtleness brilliantly as you can see in the last example above, it took several lines of describing Gimpei's emotional state after the first occurrence of the word slap before his thoughts drifted to the memory evoked by it.
I do think rereading The Lake will offer more pleasure. I can then focus on the details and the prose, since I now know the story.
November 29, 2016
Thoạt đầu cứ nghĩ đây là một cuốn sách dễ đọc . Mặc dù ngay bìa đề là Nobel văn chương 1968 . Vẫn là chẳng có cuốn nào đoạt Nobel mà lại dễ đọc cả . Nói gọn thì Hồ có thể diễn tả bằng ba từ : ĐẸP. BUỒN . CAY ĐẮNG .
Gimpei , nhân vật chính của Hồ là người bị ám ảnh bởi cái đẹp và biểu hiện của nỗi ám ảnh đó là hành vi bám theo các cô gái đẹp có khi là không quen biết .
" Em đã bao giờ bắt gặp cảm giác đó chưa ? Cái cảm giác : Ôi! Thật tiếc , chỉ một lần lướt qua nhau rồi mãi mãi cách xa... [...]... Muốn bám theo người ấy đến cùng trời mà không được . Bởi nếu muốn bám theo đến cùng trời , thì chỉ còn cách giết chết người ấy mà thôi."
Nghe bệnh thật , nhưng mà từ sau H.H , thì chả nhân vật nào đủ bệnh với mình cả . :)) . Mình thấy đồng cảm sâu sắc thôi . Buồn nữa . Gimpei xét cho cùng là một kẻ mê cuồng ám ảnh vẻ đẹp thiếu nữ ( Mình cũng vậy nên mình hiểu mà =))) ) cộng thêm nỗi mặc cảm tự ti về sự xấu xí của bản thân nên thành ra như vậy . Mình thấy tội nghiệp hắn . Đọc cuốn này như đi bộ trong màn sương mờ ảo bên mặt hồ . Một cảm giác mờ ảo , mông lung , đẹp đến ám ảnh , hoang mang . Các ký ức của Gimpei đan cài vào nhau như những mảng mực nhiều sắc độ loang ra trên mặt hồ làm cuốn sách có vẻ dài hơn so với độ dài thực , nhưng mà mình thích kết cấu như vậy .
Cuốn này đọc trong một ngày lạnh lạnh như này buồn lắm . Cái cô đơn của Gimpei nó như thấm cả vào tim í . Thế mới thích >"< . Càng nghĩ càng thấy tội nghiệp cho Gimpei , cảm thấy hắn như vô hình giữa cuộc đời này vậy . Có một mối tình đẹp với cô học trò nhỏ Hisako thì ngắn chẳng tày gang . Đến đoạn cuối tưởng chừng được ấm lòng hơn kiểu Chí Phèo Thị Nở thì chỉ thấy dội lại một dư vị đắng ngắt . Dù có thế nào thì Gimpei cũng thà làm một kẻ xấu xí bám theo cái đẹp đến cùng trời còn hơn tìm hơi ấm bên một kẻ xấu xí như mình . Không nén nổi một tiếng thở dài .
Gimpei , nhân vật chính của Hồ là người bị ám ảnh bởi cái đẹp và biểu hiện của nỗi ám ảnh đó là hành vi bám theo các cô gái đẹp có khi là không quen biết .
" Em đã bao giờ bắt gặp cảm giác đó chưa ? Cái cảm giác : Ôi! Thật tiếc , chỉ một lần lướt qua nhau rồi mãi mãi cách xa... [...]... Muốn bám theo người ấy đến cùng trời mà không được . Bởi nếu muốn bám theo đến cùng trời , thì chỉ còn cách giết chết người ấy mà thôi."
Nghe bệnh thật , nhưng mà từ sau H.H , thì chả nhân vật nào đủ bệnh với mình cả . :)) . Mình thấy đồng cảm sâu sắc thôi . Buồn nữa . Gimpei xét cho cùng là một kẻ mê cuồng ám ảnh vẻ đẹp thiếu nữ ( Mình cũng vậy nên mình hiểu mà =))) ) cộng thêm nỗi mặc cảm tự ti về sự xấu xí của bản thân nên thành ra như vậy . Mình thấy tội nghiệp hắn . Đọc cuốn này như đi bộ trong màn sương mờ ảo bên mặt hồ . Một cảm giác mờ ảo , mông lung , đẹp đến ám ảnh , hoang mang . Các ký ức của Gimpei đan cài vào nhau như những mảng mực nhiều sắc độ loang ra trên mặt hồ làm cuốn sách có vẻ dài hơn so với độ dài thực , nhưng mà mình thích kết cấu như vậy .
Cuốn này đọc trong một ngày lạnh lạnh như này buồn lắm . Cái cô đơn của Gimpei nó như thấm cả vào tim í . Thế mới thích >"< . Càng nghĩ càng thấy tội nghiệp cho Gimpei , cảm thấy hắn như vô hình giữa cuộc đời này vậy . Có một mối tình đẹp với cô học trò nhỏ Hisako thì ngắn chẳng tày gang . Đến đoạn cuối tưởng chừng được ấm lòng hơn kiểu Chí Phèo Thị Nở thì chỉ thấy dội lại một dư vị đắng ngắt . Dù có thế nào thì Gimpei cũng thà làm một kẻ xấu xí bám theo cái đẹp đến cùng trời còn hơn tìm hơi ấm bên một kẻ xấu xí như mình . Không nén nổi một tiếng thở dài .
May 3, 2016
1. Nói chung không thích bằng những cuốn của Kawabata mình đã đọc.
2. Kawabata không viết cuốn này năm 2054. Nhã Nam có một sai lầm ngớ ngẩn ở trang 2.
3. Có cách nào nói bookaholic đừng đóng tên trang web lên bìa sách nữa không? Bookaholic không liên quan gì tới cuốn sách này hết. Cái công add sách lên goodreads cũng không đủ lớn tới mức phải để lại dấu ấn đâu. Các bạn khác có add sách cũng nên chọn bìa nguyên mẫu giùm nhen!
2. Kawabata không viết cuốn này năm 2054. Nhã Nam có một sai lầm ngớ ngẩn ở trang 2.
3. Có cách nào nói bookaholic đừng đóng tên trang web lên bìa sách nữa không? Bookaholic không liên quan gì tới cuốn sách này hết. Cái công add sách lên goodreads cũng không đủ lớn tới mức phải để lại dấu ấn đâu. Các bạn khác có add sách cũng nên chọn bìa nguyên mẫu giùm nhen!
November 27, 2018
مملة. لا أعرف كيف فازت بجائزة نوبل للآداب. لا أعرف المغزى من القصة أو الرسالة التي يريد الكاتب إيصالها. الشخصيات غير مثيرة للاهتمام والخط الزمني عشوائي بشكل كبير يدعو للضجر. ربما الترجمة لم تخدم القصة لكن تبقى.. مملة. للغاية.
November 20, 2020
Một áng văn chương quá ma mị, nhân vật của Kawabata luôn đầy khắc khoải nhưng trong tác phẩm này nó là sự dằn vặt, ám ảnh của một con người mất hết những chỗ dựa cuộc đời, chỉ còn một điểm neo duy nhất về tâm linh là cái hồ (nơi cha mình bị giết).
Dòng thời gian về cuộc đời của nhân vật chính được sắp xếp không theo thứ tự, giống như lâu đài ký ức vậy, khi gặp sự vật, sự việc nào đó thì sự liên tưởng tự động lôi cái ký ức ấy đội mồ sống dậy.
Dòng thời gian về cuộc đời của nhân vật chính được sắp xếp không theo thứ tự, giống như lâu đài ký ức vậy, khi gặp sự vật, sự việc nào đó thì sự liên tưởng tự động lôi cái ký ức ấy đội mồ sống dậy.
July 15, 2025
A creepy, unpleasant narrative that I felt should be retitled “Monkey Feet”. Much rumination dwells on the perceived ugliness of his own feet.
The narrative flow is subtly clever: a glimpse of a window reminds the narrator of the Lake, and off we go to memory-land.
This is the first time reading Kawabata that I was also prompted to think about Mishima and his preoccupations — such as the cruelty and jealousy of older men in Forbidden Colors.
There is also a disquieting strain of ageism here; girls peak at age 16 or 17 and thereafter become unattractive. Beauty it seems is only expressed by girls and very young innocent women — the uglier the man the more he must seek a purer beauty.
So much content is unappealing. And yet the novel is a minor classic in world literature— a gross example of both Japanese delicacy and a total lack of prudishness.
The narrative flow is subtly clever: a glimpse of a window reminds the narrator of the Lake, and off we go to memory-land.
This is the first time reading Kawabata that I was also prompted to think about Mishima and his preoccupations — such as the cruelty and jealousy of older men in Forbidden Colors.
There is also a disquieting strain of ageism here; girls peak at age 16 or 17 and thereafter become unattractive. Beauty it seems is only expressed by girls and very young innocent women — the uglier the man the more he must seek a purer beauty.
So much content is unappealing. And yet the novel is a minor classic in world literature— a gross example of both Japanese delicacy and a total lack of prudishness.
January 26, 2020
A strange, strange book. Visceral. Affecting. Dark. Brooding. This was my first Kawabata book, and I always thought I would start with ‘Snow Country’. Somehow, I picked this up by chance while browsing through my favorite bookstore. A slim novel, you are taken deep into the mind of a stalker with a series of intersecting characters who make their way in and out of his life. Humans. And our minds.
August 5, 2020
Of interest is the way voyeuristic episodes, sexual interactions, and perverse fantasies are narrated beautifully and with nostalgia as if they were the most natural thing in the world. This book is a disturbing yet poetically rendered short novel about the fantasies of a dirty old man and the twisted lives of those around him, all symbolized by the stagnant lake that fails to move forward.
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