Sanshiro
Wonderful depiction of a time gone by, though the events, interactions and emotion are no less resonant, i feel, now than in the time of writing. The feelings of nostalgia, however, were inevitable. There was no sense that the story had been left unfinished. It was not an end of a life but rather an end of a line of things, an extended train of thought. Protrayed throughout was the tragedy of time slowing the ebbing of hope and the heart of a single thread of things.
The tones. An overarching tone was of nature’s transcendence over men. Of its’s intangible complexity. Illness, weather, the procession of days, nights, seasons, years. To seek control is foolishness. Harmony was the goal. Has it changed now in the modern era? The more we get closer to solving what seemed to be beyond comphrehension, we are presented with something greater in complexity, magnificence. Whether this will end, perhaps because of a limit on what we can know or what there is to know about the nature of this world and its inhabitants.
Society had the same transcendence over the characters in the book, albeit to a lesser effect. There were, however, ways to effectively escape society but it required a force of passion and thought. The slam of Nonomiya on the newspaper and its unstoppable effects was a prime example. Nonomiya’s nonchalance was acceptance. Perhaps even Mineko’s marriage could have been result of this. It appeared that the action to marry was forced unto her. There were also characters who attempted to be free from society’s workings, providing the contrasts that make this book so dear. The physicist who looked himself away in the basement. Yoshiko proudly proclaiming no man is right for her yet. Yogiro with his lovable and incredible nonchalance and resistance towards just about everything.
The melody and lyrics. The uncertainty that pervaded Sanshiro’s and Minkeo’s love. Perhaps the love was uncertain. But i like to think that the demands of love were too much for these young minds. One of the most insightful analogies was made through the telling of this thread. The painting being the traditional woman; the poem the traditional man. When in reality they were just stray sheep. That they were forced into the painting and poem was perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.
What happend to the west vs. east conflict? Seemed to end up as a circle jerk that the characters chose to mostly ignore. One must find himself through himself. Not through the marked paths that society displayed. Perhaps one’s path will match one taken by someone before, but despite all likelihood, diverge in the most subtle and significant of ways.
ikeepfindingmyselfintrunks 