37 pages • 1 hour read
Snow Country
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Character Analysis
Shimamura
Shimamura is one of Snow Country’s two protagonists and is an antihero. A wealthy man from Tokyo who has a wife and children at home, he intermittently travels to an onsen town in snow country in search of pleasure. This selfish, duty-shirking way of existing subverts all heroic expectations; he is not honest with himself or others, empathetic, or on a journey with attainable goals. Instead, he goes wherever he wants, doing whatever pleases him, because he is wealthy enough to do so. Komako passive-aggressively remarks on his exorbitant funds more than once: “With you it’s not a question of money, is it? Have you always had so much to spend?” (80-81). Even though Shimamura rarely thinks of his wealth, it is a key component in how others perceive him, and it establishes a power dynamic between him and the people of snow country that he is unaware of. In his quest to find the chijimi artisans, Shimamura also unthinkingly wields his privilege, asking a storekeeper about some local Buddhist nuns: “What do they do with themselves, do you suppose, shut up together through the snows? Maybe we could set them to making Chijimi” (159). Many assumptions are inherent to his words: First, that the nuns have nothing worthwhile to do with their time; second, that they should be available to make chijimi linen, a luxury product for men like him; and third, that he is entitled to demand that they do that work. The wan smile offered by the shopkeeper in response reflects just how out of touch Shimamura is.
Indeed, “out of touch,” might be Shimamura’s defining characteristic. This is never clearer than during the novel’s dramatic final scene when he is unable to stay present as Yoko lies dying before him. He describes the unconscious body as follows: “He saw the figure as a phantasm from an unreal world. That stiff figure, flung out into the air, became soft and pliant. With a doll-like passiveness, and the freedom of the lifeless, it seemed to hold both life and death in abeyance” (173). Here, in the most pressing real-world situation of the entire story, he still manages to romanticize and fetishize reality to the point of it being unrecognizable. Rather than a burnt corpse, he sees a liberated, sensual doll. The extreme insensitivity of such an image speaks to how fundamental his instinct to objectify women is, supporting the translator’s assertion that he is “incapable of love.” Whether or not Shimamura loves the women he lusts after is a key question posed by the story, and like many of the questions posed in the book, Kawabata does not provide a clear answer. At the same time that Shimamura objectifies these women, he also seems to long for them romantically, seeking them out in snow country on three occasions. This is the motivational enigma that lies at the heart of Snow Country.
Komako
Komako is the novel’s second protagonist and Shimamura’s primary romantic interest. Unlike Shimamura, who is unfettered in all regards, Komako is defined by her responsibilities. As a geisha, she is compelled to maintain her relationship with Shimamura for financial and professional reasons, even as she anticipates that things will not end well. Observing her one day as she tries to convince him to return to Tokyo, Shimamura asks himself, “Was it sorrow at finding herself about to sink into too deep a relationship with a traveler? Or at having to keep herself under control at so dear a moment?” (78). For practical reasons, her attachment to Shimamura is unideal, but those same practical reasons prevent her from leaving the situation as Shimamura suspects that she might want to. This is the key difference between Komako and Shimamura regarding their affair; whereas Shimamura has all the choices in the world, Komako is boxed in.
Unsurprisingly, Komako’s internal struggle and lack of agency in the romance lead her to behave oddly. She is consistently passive-aggressive toward Shimamura, likely because she feels unable to engage in open conflict with him due to the financial power he wields over her and the expectation that, as a geisha, her manners should be impeccable. These passive-aggressive comments, however, also characterize Komako as someone who is paying more attention than Shimamura gives her credit for. Her biting remark to Shimamura about Yoko—“I suppose you like her sort of eyes” (133)—reveals that she has discerned the source of Shimamura’s infatuation with Yoko, even though she was not present on the train and Shimamura has said nothing about Yoko’s eyes to her. In moments like this one, it seems that Komako knows Shimamura better than he knows himself. As always, paying close attention to subtext is the key to understanding Kawabata’s subtle characterization through dialogue.
Unlike Shimamura, who remains almost entirely unchanged by the end of the novel, Komako is a dynamic character. At one point, Shimamura considers that “[h]e had come three times in less than two years, and on each new visit he had found Komako’s life changed” (104). By virtue of her unstable living conditions, Komako must adapt constantly, facilitating her character development. Even within the span of one conversation, her thoughts and feelings can change dramatically and then change back again. She alternates between wanting Shimamura to stay and wanting him to go, appearing simultaneously confident and insecure. This dynamism is, unsurprisingly, extremely confusing to Shimamura, who can never understand why she behaves the way that she does. Komako’s internal conflicts bubble to the surface in these moments, revealing the truly impossible decisions required in her circumstances. In the end, the decisions that she makes to survive are never revealed by Kawabata, but this conflict sits at the heart of the story and drives it forward.
Yoko
Yoko is Shimamura’s second love interest and Komako’s romantic rival. She is the most elusive character in Kawabata’s minimal cast since she makes fewer appearances throughout the story, and her descriptions are filtered heavily through Shimamura’s lustful perception of her. Despite the ways her characterization is distorted by Shimamura, there are some key facts about Yoko that Kawabata provides readers with: She lives in the same house as Komako but is not a geisha, her young brother works for the railway, and she does not get along well with Komako. The reasons for this tension are never revealed, although it is suggested that Yoko and Komako competed for Yukio’s love in the past.
Outside of these basic pieces of information, Yoko is directly characterized by Shimamura’s thoughts about her. He describes her gaze as “burning just in front of his forehead. It was cold as a very distant light” (57). In descriptions such as this one, it is evident that Shimamura finds her cold, aloof demeanor alluring in its inscrutability. Other characters, however, find the same demeanor off-putting. Komako alternates between calling Yoko “strange,” and “crazy” throughout the book, and the last few lines of the book consist of Komako exclaiming that Yoko is “crazy” as she clings to her unconscious body. These two polarized perspectives on the same character make room for a more neutral interpretation; the truth of Yoko’s character lies somewhere in between what Shimamura and Komako think of her.
There are very few scenes where Yoko is able to characterize herself. One of the most extended of these episodes is the conversation she has with Shimamura while delivering Komako’s notes to him at the inn. In one of the novel’s more illuminating moments, she reveals to Shimamura that although she previously worked as a nurse in Tokyo, she will never be able to do the job again after taking care of Yukio: “There has only been one man I could possibly nurse” (137-38). Statements such as these, in addition to Komako’s observation that Yoko rarely leaves the cemetery since Yukio’s death, allude to the depth of her mourning. Though the details of her emotional experience remain obscure, neither Shimamura nor Komako treat her with the sensitivity demanded by her circumstances.
Yoko is also characterized through small details like her love for her brother, after whom she asks with affection during the book’s opening scene. Neither Komako nor Shimamura are motivated by familial love as she is; Komako’s family is never described, and Shimamura is more than willing to abandon his wife and children on a regular basis. In contrast, Yoko longs to hear news about her brother, even as his job with the railway carries him away from their hometown. Yoko’s capacity for love, as illustrated by the way she treats both Yukio and her brother, suggests that she is a far more accessible character than either Komako or Shimamura thinks.
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By Yasunari Kawabata
