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Kokoro
Hailed by The New Yorker as "rich in understanding and insight," Kokoro—"the heart of things"—is the work of one of Japan's most popular authors. This thought-provoking trilogy of stories explores the very essence of loneliness and stands as a stirring introduction to modern Japanese literature.
248 pages, Paperback
First published August 11, 1914
About the author
Natsume Sōseki
680 books2,758 followersNatsume Sōseki (夏目 漱石), born Natsume Kinnosuke (夏目 金之助), was a Japanese novelist. He is best known for his novels Kokoro, Botchan, I Am a Cat and his unfinished work Light and Darkness. He was also a scholar of British literature and composer of haiku, kanshi, and fairy tales. From 1984 until 2004, his portrait appeared on the front of the Japanese 1000 yen note. In Japan, he is often considered the greatest writer in modern Japanese history. He has had a profound effect on almost all important Japanese writers since.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 3,286 reviews
June 29, 2020
The main character is a young man, a college student, who meets an older man at a beach resort. Over time he develops a strong admiration for him, visiting at his home and calling him Sensei. The interesting thing about the “wise” old man is that he does nothing. He seems to be a scholar but doesn’t read or write, he just “hangs out.”
Sensei has no real friends other than the young man. His only activity is making a monthly visit a grave at a local cemetery. Who that deceased person is becomes the key to the story. But he promises the young man that he will tell him the story when the time is right. He warns the young man that when he hears his story his admiration of the old man will turn to disdain and disillusionment. That’s the first chapter of the story.
The second part of the story focuses on the young man’s home life. Years go by as the young man graduates from college. Despite his mother’s urgings and dying father’s pleas for him to get a job, the young man seems to want to emulate his sensei and do nothing. He turns down his family’s urgings to settle down and marry a cousin. He does nothing.
Meanwhile traumatic events have happened in Japan. The last Meiji emperor died (1912) and his right-hand military man General Nogi Maresuke commits ritual suicide. It’s the end of Old Japan and the start of the new.
Part three, about half of the book, is Sensei’s story told in a long testament written to the young man. It’s story of Sensei’s youth, love, a love triangle, and suicide.
A good story, although I thought Sensei’s story was a bit dragged out. It’s fascinating to get into the minds of these men in early 1900’s in Japan and see the workings of a culture so strange to modern-day outlooks and values.
I read one other work by this author (1867-1916), Botchan, about a schoolboy, which is totally different in outlook and style. Botchan, written with a lot of humor and sarcasm is so different, it’s hard to believe they were by the same author. Wikipedia tells us that many consider him Japan’s greatest writer. Haruki Murakami said Soseki was his favorite author. (One of Soseki’s best-known works is I am a Cat – perhaps that’s where Murakami got his cat addiction from? LOL)
Photo of Emperor Meiji from britannica.com
Schoolchildren in the early 1900's from alamy.com
The author honored on a 1000 yen note from wikipedia
Sensei has no real friends other than the young man. His only activity is making a monthly visit a grave at a local cemetery. Who that deceased person is becomes the key to the story. But he promises the young man that he will tell him the story when the time is right. He warns the young man that when he hears his story his admiration of the old man will turn to disdain and disillusionment. That’s the first chapter of the story.
The second part of the story focuses on the young man’s home life. Years go by as the young man graduates from college. Despite his mother’s urgings and dying father’s pleas for him to get a job, the young man seems to want to emulate his sensei and do nothing. He turns down his family’s urgings to settle down and marry a cousin. He does nothing.
Meanwhile traumatic events have happened in Japan. The last Meiji emperor died (1912) and his right-hand military man General Nogi Maresuke commits ritual suicide. It’s the end of Old Japan and the start of the new.
Part three, about half of the book, is Sensei’s story told in a long testament written to the young man. It’s story of Sensei’s youth, love, a love triangle, and suicide.
A good story, although I thought Sensei’s story was a bit dragged out. It’s fascinating to get into the minds of these men in early 1900’s in Japan and see the workings of a culture so strange to modern-day outlooks and values.
I read one other work by this author (1867-1916), Botchan, about a schoolboy, which is totally different in outlook and style. Botchan, written with a lot of humor and sarcasm is so different, it’s hard to believe they were by the same author. Wikipedia tells us that many consider him Japan’s greatest writer. Haruki Murakami said Soseki was his favorite author. (One of Soseki’s best-known works is I am a Cat – perhaps that’s where Murakami got his cat addiction from? LOL)
Photo of Emperor Meiji from britannica.com
Schoolchildren in the early 1900's from alamy.com
The author honored on a 1000 yen note from wikipedia
![Profile Image for [P].](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/users/1486240560i/40516522._UY200_CR13,0,200,200_.jpg)
June 29, 2015
A few years ago I had arranged to meet up with a girl I was loosely dating. I liked her a lot, but as she is a DJ, who works late nights, seeing each other was not easy. I had agreed to go to the club she was playing at that night and wait for her to finish, which would be something like 3am. As I didn’t want to spend the entire night stood at the side of the DJ booth waiting for her I asked my brother if he wanted to join me. I explained why I wanted to go out, I assured him that I would be free most of the night until 3am, and offered to pay for all his drinks. He agreed, and so we got ready and left our apartment around 9pm, to have a few drinks before we made our way to the club. However, in the first pub I noticed that my brother was spending a lot of time on his phone. When we had finished our drinks, I asked if he wanted another, and at this point he declined and started to groan theatrically, holding his stomach. He told me that he needed to go outside for some air. It was clear to me that he was playacting, so I offered to accompany him. He was not best pleased.
Outside, he kept taking exaggerated breaths as though he was going to be sick, and, as I wasn’t taking the hint, eventually he told me he was so ill he needed to go home. I said that was fine, but pointed out that I didn’t believe him and that if he was faking an illness to go off and meet some friend[s] I wouldn’t easily forgive him. He maintained that he was very unwell and therefore I let him leave. I stayed in the bar for a while, had another drink, and then, after texting my girl to say I might be late or not make it at all, decided to go home and see if my brother was ok. Of course, the apartment was empty. By this stage, I was so disgusted and tired of the whole situation I decided not to go out again. Then, in the early hours of the morning my brother rolled in, extremely inebriated. He had, as I suspected, left me to go and meet up with some friends. Our relationship hasn’t been the same since. Call it an overreaction if you like, but I can’t tolerate deceitfulness.
It is possibly unfair, and an exaggeration, but I see my brother as a kind of poster boy for the modern age [the above anecdote is only one example out of thousands]. My generation has been raised to believe that you are important, that what you want is what really matters; we are encouraged to indulge ourselves, to choose ourselves if ever faced with a two courses of action, one of which will benefit someone else and one that will benefit the great me. Qualities like honour, sacrifice, duty etc are becoming increasingly rare. Of course, I am not perfect in this regard, I am not completely selfless, but I am not absolutely self-interested either. I believe that it is important to have integrity, and to be able to see outside of oneself. Unfortunately, I see less and less of this with each new generation.
These concerns of mine are, I believe, one reason why Japanese literature resonates with me so much, as a sizable number of their most acclaimed authors, including the one under review here, wrote extensively about the tension between modern and traditional values, attitudes and behaviour. Indeed, the protagonists in Natsume Soseki’s best novels are usually indolent and self-obsessed young men who find themselves at odds with their parents and the disappearing or declining ‘old’ ways of life. This is certainly true of his most famous work, Kokoro, whose title can be roughly translated as 'heart.' That title has a two-fold significance: heart as in love, which plays an important role in the text, and the heart of the matter. The matter being what we have been discussing, i.e. the changing face of Japan.
The novel is split into three sections, the first of which centres on the relationship between an older man, Sensei, and a young student who narrates the action. The student, whose name is never revealed, is away from his family, first at college and then at university in Tokyo. Like Daisuke in Soseki’s And Then, he is the archetypal modern Japanese. He is introverted, bored and unmotivated; he does study for his diploma, but leaves it until the last minute and doesn’t appear to value it, when he has been awarded it, in the way that his parents do. I call these protagonists of Soseki’s superfluous men because they have no direction, no goal towards which they are striving. The student, like many of us, goes to university, not with a career in mind, or even to learn, but because it is something to do. In fact, he values Sensei – whose acquaintance he makes almost by stalking him – more than his lectures or books.
Sensei is a kind of misanthrope, who has withdrawn from a world “so full of freedom, independence, and our own egoistical selves.” The closest word to Sensei, in meaning, in English is teacher; it is someone who is respected and knowledgeable. It is the young man who gives him this title, and so it is clear that the student is looking for guidance [although Sensei himself says that the boy is lonely and looking for love]. In this way, perhaps Soseki is saying that young people, living in times where morality and values are less certain, where freedom is almost absolute, need help or direction. It is, I think, the case that the more freedom one has the more lost or confused one can feel, that freedom is actually something that we find very difficult to cope with [this is, in fact, the clichéd modern dilemma]. In light of all this, it is not difficult to see the older man as having a symbolic function in the novel; he is, in this scenario, representative of the old or traditional world. Yet, while that might be true to a certain extent, his character is more complex than it appears to be initially.
As one progresses through the opening section, it becomes clear that Sensei is harbouring a secret, that something happened to him long ago to make him the way that he is. One would expect that this revelation [which comes in the final section] would involve him being mistreated, would involve some confrontation with the modern, selfish, dishonourable approach to life. And that is, at least partly, the case. As a young man Sensei was cheated out of his inheritance by his uncle after the death of his parents. As with Balzac, money, or more specifically a lack of it, plays a major part in Soseki’s novels [the idea of being relieved of an inheritance comes up again in The Gate]. Is Soseki saying that an obsession with money is a disease particular to the new Japan? Perhaps, although I think he was making a point about how there are no truly good or bad people, that our values are reliant upon circumstances, that, for example, if you have the opportunity to steal then you will. We return again to the idea of freedom. I don’t know enough about Japanese history, but maybe it is the case that prior to the Meiji era [when the novel is set] there was a strict moral prescriptivism that prevented these kinds of acts.
In any case, if this was all that had happened to Sensei then his character would not be particularly engaging. What makes him fascinating is that he, in a sense, embodies the conflict that Soseki was writing about, because he himself does something that is considered dishonourable. I won’t go into details about what exactly that is, but it is certainly something that these days would likely barely raise an eyebrow. Sensei, however, is severely damaged by it, to the extent that it dominates, and ruins, his life. This is the sense of honour that we have previously touched upon, which is for us, and for Soseki’s modern Japan, disappearing. Yes, Sensei does wrong, but he feels overwhelmingly guilty about it, and, ultimately, he takes his own life [not much of a spoiler as we know Sensei is dead within a few pages of the book], as a way of atoning for his behaviour. There is something about the Japanese idea of honour suicide that I find extraordinarily attractive. I wouldn’t be party to it myself, but to give up your life as a way of trying to make amends is very powerful. One could see Sensei, then, as someone who is both modern and traditional; he errs in a way that is consistent with the outlook of Soseki’s contemporary Japan – i.e. he is prepared to tread on someone else to get what he wants, is prepared to exercise his freedom – but responds to this dishonourable act in a way that is consistent with the Samurai code; it is, in effect, an act of nobility that is out of step with the times.
[General Akashi Gidayu preparing to commit seppuku]
Outside of all this modern vs traditional stuff, Soseki touches upon other [albeit related] themes. One is that of the city and the provinces. The student’s parents live in a village, and one is, somewhat ungenerously, given the impression that village life is old-fashioned, even backward. As for the parents, they note immediately that Tokyo has had an effect upon their returning son. Yet, even here, the provincial is, essentially, a symbol of the traditional, from which the student is trying to escape. Likewise, death, which plays a major role in Kokoro, and the tension between generations, could both be seen to suggest change or the ending of an era. Finally, what of love? I wrote earlier that it is central to the novel, but have as yet said very little about it. Partly that is to do with spoilers, but it is also because I am not sure how it relates to Soseki’s most obvious preoccupations. In his three greatest novels – Kokoro, The Gate and And Then - love could be said to be both a blessing and a curse. Indeed, in my favourite line, Sensei asks the student “do you know what it feels like to be tied down by long, black hair?” Is he saying that love in the modern age is also problematic, confusing, and difficult? If so, I guess he got that right too.
Outside, he kept taking exaggerated breaths as though he was going to be sick, and, as I wasn’t taking the hint, eventually he told me he was so ill he needed to go home. I said that was fine, but pointed out that I didn’t believe him and that if he was faking an illness to go off and meet some friend[s] I wouldn’t easily forgive him. He maintained that he was very unwell and therefore I let him leave. I stayed in the bar for a while, had another drink, and then, after texting my girl to say I might be late or not make it at all, decided to go home and see if my brother was ok. Of course, the apartment was empty. By this stage, I was so disgusted and tired of the whole situation I decided not to go out again. Then, in the early hours of the morning my brother rolled in, extremely inebriated. He had, as I suspected, left me to go and meet up with some friends. Our relationship hasn’t been the same since. Call it an overreaction if you like, but I can’t tolerate deceitfulness.
It is possibly unfair, and an exaggeration, but I see my brother as a kind of poster boy for the modern age [the above anecdote is only one example out of thousands]. My generation has been raised to believe that you are important, that what you want is what really matters; we are encouraged to indulge ourselves, to choose ourselves if ever faced with a two courses of action, one of which will benefit someone else and one that will benefit the great me. Qualities like honour, sacrifice, duty etc are becoming increasingly rare. Of course, I am not perfect in this regard, I am not completely selfless, but I am not absolutely self-interested either. I believe that it is important to have integrity, and to be able to see outside of oneself. Unfortunately, I see less and less of this with each new generation.
“No matter how full one’s head might be with the image of greatness, one was useless, I found out, unless one was a worthy man first.”
These concerns of mine are, I believe, one reason why Japanese literature resonates with me so much, as a sizable number of their most acclaimed authors, including the one under review here, wrote extensively about the tension between modern and traditional values, attitudes and behaviour. Indeed, the protagonists in Natsume Soseki’s best novels are usually indolent and self-obsessed young men who find themselves at odds with their parents and the disappearing or declining ‘old’ ways of life. This is certainly true of his most famous work, Kokoro, whose title can be roughly translated as 'heart.' That title has a two-fold significance: heart as in love, which plays an important role in the text, and the heart of the matter. The matter being what we have been discussing, i.e. the changing face of Japan.
The novel is split into three sections, the first of which centres on the relationship between an older man, Sensei, and a young student who narrates the action. The student, whose name is never revealed, is away from his family, first at college and then at university in Tokyo. Like Daisuke in Soseki’s And Then, he is the archetypal modern Japanese. He is introverted, bored and unmotivated; he does study for his diploma, but leaves it until the last minute and doesn’t appear to value it, when he has been awarded it, in the way that his parents do. I call these protagonists of Soseki’s superfluous men because they have no direction, no goal towards which they are striving. The student, like many of us, goes to university, not with a career in mind, or even to learn, but because it is something to do. In fact, he values Sensei – whose acquaintance he makes almost by stalking him – more than his lectures or books.
Sensei is a kind of misanthrope, who has withdrawn from a world “so full of freedom, independence, and our own egoistical selves.” The closest word to Sensei, in meaning, in English is teacher; it is someone who is respected and knowledgeable. It is the young man who gives him this title, and so it is clear that the student is looking for guidance [although Sensei himself says that the boy is lonely and looking for love]. In this way, perhaps Soseki is saying that young people, living in times where morality and values are less certain, where freedom is almost absolute, need help or direction. It is, I think, the case that the more freedom one has the more lost or confused one can feel, that freedom is actually something that we find very difficult to cope with [this is, in fact, the clichéd modern dilemma]. In light of all this, it is not difficult to see the older man as having a symbolic function in the novel; he is, in this scenario, representative of the old or traditional world. Yet, while that might be true to a certain extent, his character is more complex than it appears to be initially.
As one progresses through the opening section, it becomes clear that Sensei is harbouring a secret, that something happened to him long ago to make him the way that he is. One would expect that this revelation [which comes in the final section] would involve him being mistreated, would involve some confrontation with the modern, selfish, dishonourable approach to life. And that is, at least partly, the case. As a young man Sensei was cheated out of his inheritance by his uncle after the death of his parents. As with Balzac, money, or more specifically a lack of it, plays a major part in Soseki’s novels [the idea of being relieved of an inheritance comes up again in The Gate]. Is Soseki saying that an obsession with money is a disease particular to the new Japan? Perhaps, although I think he was making a point about how there are no truly good or bad people, that our values are reliant upon circumstances, that, for example, if you have the opportunity to steal then you will. We return again to the idea of freedom. I don’t know enough about Japanese history, but maybe it is the case that prior to the Meiji era [when the novel is set] there was a strict moral prescriptivism that prevented these kinds of acts.
“You seem to be under the impression that there is a special breed of bad humans. There is no such thing as a stereotype bad man in this world. Under normal conditions, everybody is more or less good, or, at least, ordinary. But tempt them, and they may suddenly change. That is what is so frightening about men.”
In any case, if this was all that had happened to Sensei then his character would not be particularly engaging. What makes him fascinating is that he, in a sense, embodies the conflict that Soseki was writing about, because he himself does something that is considered dishonourable. I won’t go into details about what exactly that is, but it is certainly something that these days would likely barely raise an eyebrow. Sensei, however, is severely damaged by it, to the extent that it dominates, and ruins, his life. This is the sense of honour that we have previously touched upon, which is for us, and for Soseki’s modern Japan, disappearing. Yes, Sensei does wrong, but he feels overwhelmingly guilty about it, and, ultimately, he takes his own life [not much of a spoiler as we know Sensei is dead within a few pages of the book], as a way of atoning for his behaviour. There is something about the Japanese idea of honour suicide that I find extraordinarily attractive. I wouldn’t be party to it myself, but to give up your life as a way of trying to make amends is very powerful. One could see Sensei, then, as someone who is both modern and traditional; he errs in a way that is consistent with the outlook of Soseki’s contemporary Japan – i.e. he is prepared to tread on someone else to get what he wants, is prepared to exercise his freedom – but responds to this dishonourable act in a way that is consistent with the Samurai code; it is, in effect, an act of nobility that is out of step with the times.
[General Akashi Gidayu preparing to commit seppuku]
Outside of all this modern vs traditional stuff, Soseki touches upon other [albeit related] themes. One is that of the city and the provinces. The student’s parents live in a village, and one is, somewhat ungenerously, given the impression that village life is old-fashioned, even backward. As for the parents, they note immediately that Tokyo has had an effect upon their returning son. Yet, even here, the provincial is, essentially, a symbol of the traditional, from which the student is trying to escape. Likewise, death, which plays a major role in Kokoro, and the tension between generations, could both be seen to suggest change or the ending of an era. Finally, what of love? I wrote earlier that it is central to the novel, but have as yet said very little about it. Partly that is to do with spoilers, but it is also because I am not sure how it relates to Soseki’s most obvious preoccupations. In his three greatest novels – Kokoro, The Gate and And Then - love could be said to be both a blessing and a curse. Indeed, in my favourite line, Sensei asks the student “do you know what it feels like to be tied down by long, black hair?” Is he saying that love in the modern age is also problematic, confusing, and difficult? If so, I guess he got that right too.
March 1, 2014
A languid, melancholic dream of a novel which pierces the heart of the reader with its quiet intensity.
Cautious in its narrative tread on the ground of contentious issues, delicate in its broaching of subjects like the indignity of death, sin and redemption, existentialist ennui, self-recrimination and misanthropy, 'Kokoro' is a masterful recounting of a tragedy which unfolds against the backdrop of the dying years of the Meiji era. As Emperor Meiji breathes his last taking along with him the anachronistic echoes of an obsolete way of life rigidly shackled by the conservatism of the isolationist years, a hesitant Japan steps into the welcoming embrace of modern day materialism while simultaneously waging an inner war with the self-denying Confucian ideologies of its past.
A mysterious and scholarly middle-aged man only referred to as 'Sensei' meets our young protagonist in a chance encounter and the unique mentor-protege bonding, that forms between them subsequently, brings an indescribable joy and solace to both. While 'Sensei' eventually summons the courage to confess to past wrongdoings in a letter to the young man he barely knows and attains a kind of salvation through a self-imposed exile from society, his unnamed protege learns to look past the horror and agony of slow bodily death and accept the natural order of things. A powerfully written spiritual inquiry into the corruption of the human soul, an elegant acknowledgement of the juxtaposition of mournful endings and optimistic beginnings and a testimony to the fragility of human lives.
Cautious in its narrative tread on the ground of contentious issues, delicate in its broaching of subjects like the indignity of death, sin and redemption, existentialist ennui, self-recrimination and misanthropy, 'Kokoro' is a masterful recounting of a tragedy which unfolds against the backdrop of the dying years of the Meiji era. As Emperor Meiji breathes his last taking along with him the anachronistic echoes of an obsolete way of life rigidly shackled by the conservatism of the isolationist years, a hesitant Japan steps into the welcoming embrace of modern day materialism while simultaneously waging an inner war with the self-denying Confucian ideologies of its past.
A mysterious and scholarly middle-aged man only referred to as 'Sensei' meets our young protagonist in a chance encounter and the unique mentor-protege bonding, that forms between them subsequently, brings an indescribable joy and solace to both. While 'Sensei' eventually summons the courage to confess to past wrongdoings in a letter to the young man he barely knows and attains a kind of salvation through a self-imposed exile from society, his unnamed protege learns to look past the horror and agony of slow bodily death and accept the natural order of things. A powerfully written spiritual inquiry into the corruption of the human soul, an elegant acknowledgement of the juxtaposition of mournful endings and optimistic beginnings and a testimony to the fragility of human lives.
March 30, 2024
Sometimes you feel the desire to know the all-time greatest different nationalities have created through history. In this case, a japanese classic.
This novel is divided into three parts of a same story, taking place during the Meiji reign, around the 1800s. The laborious life of an university student trying to graduate; his relationship with his countryside family and a delicately tragic situation with his father; and, lastly, his friendship with "Sensei", a kind of extremely well educated mentor, but with a painful past, and a very dark secret.
The three parts of the story slowly progresses and unfolds into an uncertain... ending.
This is not really one of my most endearing readings. This novel certainly left me with a very, VERY sour taste. But, on the other hand, it provided me with a lot of knowledge regarding japanese life and culture, at least during that time. And the terrible burdens of carrying an unspeakable... secret.
Still remaining, the movie (1955).
-----------------------------------------------
PERSONAL NOTE :
[1914] [248p] [Classics] [Conditional Recommendable]
-----------------------------------------------
A veces sentís el deseo de conocer las mejores obras que distintas nacionalidades han creado a largo de la historia. En este caso, un clásico japonés.
Esta novela consiste en tres partes de una misma historia, durante la época del reinado Meiji, a mediados de los 1800s. La vida trabajosa de un estudiante universitario tratando de recibirse, la relación con su familia campestre y una situación trágicamente delicada con su padre; y, por último, su amistad con "Sensei", una especie de mentor extremadamente culto, pero con un pasado doloroso, y un muy oscuro secreto.
Las tres partes de la historia se van desarrollando lentamente hasta llegar a un final... incierto.
Esta no fue una de mis lecturas más entrañables, ciertamente la novela me dejó un sabor muy MUY amargo. Pero, por otro lado, entregó muchos saberes sobre la vida y cultura japonesa, al menos durante esa época. Y los terribles efectos de sobrellevar un secreto... inconfesable.
Queda pendiente, la película (1955).
-----------------------------------------------
NOTA PERSONAL :
[1914] [248p] [Clásicos] [Recomendable Condicional]
-----------------------------------------------
This novel is divided into three parts of a same story, taking place during the Meiji reign, around the 1800s. The laborious life of an university student trying to graduate; his relationship with his countryside family and a delicately tragic situation with his father; and, lastly, his friendship with "Sensei", a kind of extremely well educated mentor, but with a painful past, and a very dark secret.
The three parts of the story slowly progresses and unfolds into an uncertain... ending.
This is not really one of my most endearing readings. This novel certainly left me with a very, VERY sour taste. But, on the other hand, it provided me with a lot of knowledge regarding japanese life and culture, at least during that time. And the terrible burdens of carrying an unspeakable... secret.
Still remaining, the movie (1955).
-----------------------------------------------
PERSONAL NOTE :
[1914] [248p] [Classics] [Conditional Recommendable]
-----------------------------------------------
A veces sentís el deseo de conocer las mejores obras que distintas nacionalidades han creado a largo de la historia. En este caso, un clásico japonés.
Esta novela consiste en tres partes de una misma historia, durante la época del reinado Meiji, a mediados de los 1800s. La vida trabajosa de un estudiante universitario tratando de recibirse, la relación con su familia campestre y una situación trágicamente delicada con su padre; y, por último, su amistad con "Sensei", una especie de mentor extremadamente culto, pero con un pasado doloroso, y un muy oscuro secreto.
Las tres partes de la historia se van desarrollando lentamente hasta llegar a un final... incierto.
Esta no fue una de mis lecturas más entrañables, ciertamente la novela me dejó un sabor muy MUY amargo. Pero, por otro lado, entregó muchos saberes sobre la vida y cultura japonesa, al menos durante esa época. Y los terribles efectos de sobrellevar un secreto... inconfesable.
Queda pendiente, la película (1955).
-----------------------------------------------
NOTA PERSONAL :
[1914] [248p] [Clásicos] [Recomendable Condicional]
-----------------------------------------------
May 27, 2019
"You see, loneliness is the price we have to pay for being born in this modern age, so full of freedom, independence, and our own egotistical selves."
The quote above sums up perfectly the main theme of this classic Japanese novel. The other one is guilt.
"There is no such thing as a stereotype bad man in this world. Under normal conditions, everybody is more or less good, or, at least, ordinary. But tempt them, and they may suddenly change. That is what is so frightening about men. One must always be on one's guard."
The young narrator meets Sensei while on vacation in Kamakura and from here begins a long odd friendship. I can see why this novel became a classic but I have to admit I wasn't that moved by the characters. I failed to see why Sensei was so admired by the narrator since we were not told about his merits. We only learn that he is withdrawn, misanthropic and that he is consumed by guild over a detail from his past. We are told that he is cultured and that the narrator and his mentor have elevated discussion but there is no proof of them in the novel.
I enjoyed the simplicity of the writing and its plot although I wished for a bit more in terms of depth.
The quote above sums up perfectly the main theme of this classic Japanese novel. The other one is guilt.
"There is no such thing as a stereotype bad man in this world. Under normal conditions, everybody is more or less good, or, at least, ordinary. But tempt them, and they may suddenly change. That is what is so frightening about men. One must always be on one's guard."
The young narrator meets Sensei while on vacation in Kamakura and from here begins a long odd friendship. I can see why this novel became a classic but I have to admit I wasn't that moved by the characters. I failed to see why Sensei was so admired by the narrator since we were not told about his merits. We only learn that he is withdrawn, misanthropic and that he is consumed by guild over a detail from his past. We are told that he is cultured and that the narrator and his mentor have elevated discussion but there is no proof of them in the novel.
I enjoyed the simplicity of the writing and its plot although I wished for a bit more in terms of depth.
September 13, 2019
I aspire to compose a review. This book richly deserves it.
***UPDATE: Three years later and no review, but my failing is now solved.
I highly recommend that you read my friend, Alex's, review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The key to Kokoro is knowing yourself as a reader and whether its charms are ones you'll appreciate or reject. Alex provides you the info you need to decide whether Kokoro and you will be a satisfying match.
***UPDATE: Three years later and no review, but my failing is now solved.
I highly recommend that you read my friend, Alex's, review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The key to Kokoro is knowing yourself as a reader and whether its charms are ones you'll appreciate or reject. Alex provides you the info you need to decide whether Kokoro and you will be a satisfying match.
May 30, 2023
A slow read on missed chances, morality and what it means to be a good person. Despite the short chapters I didn't find this an easy nor an enjoyable read. The characters are all very much self-centered, overly reflective and kind of whiny in my view
Floundering in indecision, I finally put off the question of what to do until the next day
I once quoted a tweet by Jada Pinkett Smith in a review:
Have the courage to say what you need in the moment. Most people aren’t mind readers.
Two things will happen: You’ll either get what you need or realize that the source you're asking doesn’t have the capacity to deliver. Both are gifts.
If the characters in Kokoro would have followed this advice the whole book wouldn't be there, so much of Natsume Sōseki his book is carried by unspoken words and people putting off decisions for fear of potential reactions.
Kokoro consists of three parts, firstly of a student growing enamored by a mysterious sensei (who says things like: Just remember that love is a sin. And it is also sacred, secondly the student visiting his home and dying father (the father I do like, he says things like: Since I’ll die I intend to eat tasty food) and thirdly the sensei divulging his secret to the student in a letter.
The book is divided in over a hundred short chapters, some of which individually do very little to further the plot. The two main characters are very introspective and analyze their every action, with often the result that no action at all is taken and nothing is said to the others in their environment. Both also seem einzelgangers with small social circles and we don't even know the nature of their studies.
Soseki does well in portraying the uncertainty of direction one can have in youth, with many paths still open. Also how parents put all their hopes and fears on their children, but can't really understand the world they live in, is well portrayed in especially the second part of the book. The narrator writing his thesis, which he experienced as very stressful, is also still very relatable. His main character thinks No time is as lonely as youth and in this story it is indeed youth that forms a person. Morality is definitely at the centre of the book and a sort of misanthropy that makes it hard for the characters to create a connection: It’s not you in particular I don’t trust. I don’t trust humanity.
Or even more eloquently: I prefer to put up with my present state of loneliness rather than suffer more loneliness later.
I feel that the whole structure, of people looking back at their lives, dulls the whole reading experience quite a bit.
The narrators are quite unsympathetic, looking down at rural people since they themselves are college educated. University education in this time is so rare that the emperor visits every graduation. A sentiment of "My parents generation is so different than mine, it isn’t as easy for me as it was for you" also comes back from both narrators.
But what most irked me was the lack of impulse both men have. In chapter 82 this is exemplified, with someone thinking to himself: He was oblivious, needless to say I did not inform him and then another introspected summary of what kind of problems would arise if he did tell the other person something.
The level of self censure and unspoken words is so high that at the surface/event level not much happens while underneath the characters are constantly calculating their respective positions to each other. Kokoro hence becomes a supremely tiring book in a way, and when events actually transpire it feels like it already happened a long time ago, and sentences like the one below just don't have much emotional impact anymore:
Now I understood that he had lost his way in a labyrinth between his ideals and reality, I felts with conviction that I could knock him down with a single blow.
Overall this was a frustrating reading experience and definitely a classic I expected much more from. The whole reflection on a changing Japan, glimpsed in the dying of the Meiji emperor, definitely had potential, but in the end this was quite a navel staring book of characters relatively privileged but just with too much time at their hands.
Floundering in indecision, I finally put off the question of what to do until the next day
I once quoted a tweet by Jada Pinkett Smith in a review:
Have the courage to say what you need in the moment. Most people aren’t mind readers.
Two things will happen: You’ll either get what you need or realize that the source you're asking doesn’t have the capacity to deliver. Both are gifts.
If the characters in Kokoro would have followed this advice the whole book wouldn't be there, so much of Natsume Sōseki his book is carried by unspoken words and people putting off decisions for fear of potential reactions.
Kokoro consists of three parts, firstly of a student growing enamored by a mysterious sensei (who says things like: Just remember that love is a sin. And it is also sacred, secondly the student visiting his home and dying father (the father I do like, he says things like: Since I’ll die I intend to eat tasty food) and thirdly the sensei divulging his secret to the student in a letter.
The book is divided in over a hundred short chapters, some of which individually do very little to further the plot. The two main characters are very introspective and analyze their every action, with often the result that no action at all is taken and nothing is said to the others in their environment. Both also seem einzelgangers with small social circles and we don't even know the nature of their studies.
Soseki does well in portraying the uncertainty of direction one can have in youth, with many paths still open. Also how parents put all their hopes and fears on their children, but can't really understand the world they live in, is well portrayed in especially the second part of the book. The narrator writing his thesis, which he experienced as very stressful, is also still very relatable. His main character thinks No time is as lonely as youth and in this story it is indeed youth that forms a person. Morality is definitely at the centre of the book and a sort of misanthropy that makes it hard for the characters to create a connection: It’s not you in particular I don’t trust. I don’t trust humanity.
Or even more eloquently: I prefer to put up with my present state of loneliness rather than suffer more loneliness later.
I feel that the whole structure, of people looking back at their lives, dulls the whole reading experience quite a bit.
The narrators are quite unsympathetic, looking down at rural people since they themselves are college educated. University education in this time is so rare that the emperor visits every graduation. A sentiment of "My parents generation is so different than mine, it isn’t as easy for me as it was for you" also comes back from both narrators.
But what most irked me was the lack of impulse both men have. In chapter 82 this is exemplified, with someone thinking to himself: He was oblivious, needless to say I did not inform him and then another introspected summary of what kind of problems would arise if he did tell the other person something.
The level of self censure and unspoken words is so high that at the surface/event level not much happens while underneath the characters are constantly calculating their respective positions to each other. Kokoro hence becomes a supremely tiring book in a way, and when events actually transpire it feels like it already happened a long time ago, and sentences like the one below just don't have much emotional impact anymore:
Now I understood that he had lost his way in a labyrinth between his ideals and reality, I felts with conviction that I could knock him down with a single blow.
Overall this was a frustrating reading experience and definitely a classic I expected much more from. The whole reflection on a changing Japan, glimpsed in the dying of the Meiji emperor, definitely had potential, but in the end this was quite a navel staring book of characters relatively privileged but just with too much time at their hands.
September 25, 2018
Beautiful classic Japanese story.....
This is a quiet introspective book that was first published in 1996.
They say great books are timeless - and it’s certainly true with “Kokoro”....( which means *Heart* in Japanese).
I paid $1.19 for the Kindle download....and I kid you not...this thin book ( 248 paperback pages), was very hard to pull away from.
Was it moving? Powerful? Thought- Provoking? emotional? I’m pulling at straws trying to see if it’s possible if can covey one word that best describes this book....so far....I’m failing here.... but I promise to come back if a word comes to me that feels ‘right’.
A few things I can tell you ...( but please be aware I’m mostly taking a sabbatical from writing reviews for awhile)....yet this is a book I would have enjoyed reading with a few buddies with the intention of having a lengthy discussion.
I mention this because I honestly think this is a great choice book to do that with.
At the start of this story, an unnamed narrator wants to be friends with Sensei. Sensei is older than the unnamed university student and Sensei doesn’t encourage their friendship. Sensei is suffering from a secret guilt - but we don’t learn about this until much later in the book.
We meet several characters- ( which are important to this story too), but primarily the focus is the relationship between the above two men.
I felt so sad ....achingly sad at the end. It’s a sad story ....BUT BREATHTAKING BEAUTIFUL.
The other day .... somebody said to me, “loneliness is the new cancer”. Honestly- I hate everything about that phrase....I mean ‘hate’ it....yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it either. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?
This story reaches deep inside the heart of loneliness .....but not from pity....
I must read this book again.... so much to think about - easy reading - but MUCH TO TAKE IN!!!
This is a quiet introspective book that was first published in 1996.
They say great books are timeless - and it’s certainly true with “Kokoro”....( which means *Heart* in Japanese).
I paid $1.19 for the Kindle download....and I kid you not...this thin book ( 248 paperback pages), was very hard to pull away from.
Was it moving? Powerful? Thought- Provoking? emotional? I’m pulling at straws trying to see if it’s possible if can covey one word that best describes this book....so far....I’m failing here.... but I promise to come back if a word comes to me that feels ‘right’.
A few things I can tell you ...( but please be aware I’m mostly taking a sabbatical from writing reviews for awhile)....yet this is a book I would have enjoyed reading with a few buddies with the intention of having a lengthy discussion.
I mention this because I honestly think this is a great choice book to do that with.
At the start of this story, an unnamed narrator wants to be friends with Sensei. Sensei is older than the unnamed university student and Sensei doesn’t encourage their friendship. Sensei is suffering from a secret guilt - but we don’t learn about this until much later in the book.
We meet several characters- ( which are important to this story too), but primarily the focus is the relationship between the above two men.
I felt so sad ....achingly sad at the end. It’s a sad story ....BUT BREATHTAKING BEAUTIFUL.
The other day .... somebody said to me, “loneliness is the new cancer”. Honestly- I hate everything about that phrase....I mean ‘hate’ it....yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it either. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?
This story reaches deep inside the heart of loneliness .....but not from pity....
I must read this book again.... so much to think about - easy reading - but MUCH TO TAKE IN!!!
September 21, 2020
It's not that you've done something wrong! It's that you haven't done anything. The critical moment in this book will seem so familiar to you: you've not done something like it hundreds of times, or realized you were in danger of not doing it. A conversation must be had. You gotta break up with someone, or tell them you're in love with them. It's scary. You don't do it. These moments don't usually become crucial turning points in your life. You just move on, maybe a few degrees less happy than you might have been.
But this is what Soseki is getting into, in this landmark Japanese novel from 1914. What if that was the crucial moment? What if it changed everything? He says all this in one of those "Just thought I'd explain a few things" 80-page letters that only happen in books. In real life it would stop mid-sentence on page two as the recipient lost interest. The letter is to his protege, and what even is he proteging? Like, what do any of these people do? They do nothing. They're "scholars," which, true, is a thing people legitimately used to say, but not because it wasn't bullshit.
Listen, these are a lot of awfully strong feelings these men are having about each other and not the woman, who's barely a character at all. When the student hears that Sensei is in trouble, he How gay is it? I can't really get a read on it. Some online research indicates that no one else can either but I'm definitely not the first person to ask the question.
Soseki was the first great novelist of the Meiji Restoration, when Japan sortof opened up to the world and a new era of Japanese novels began. Kokoro is a subtle, anguished book. It opens up this whole aching underground river of memories for me - things I could have said, or said sooner, or said better. The one (sentence) that got away. Are there things you should be saying right now to someone? I'm seriously asking! I'm nosy! Tell me about your buried angst! And then maybe go have that talk with that person, before everyone ends up dead.
But this is what Soseki is getting into, in this landmark Japanese novel from 1914. What if that was the crucial moment? What if it changed everything? He says all this in one of those "Just thought I'd explain a few things" 80-page letters that only happen in books. In real life it would stop mid-sentence on page two as the recipient lost interest. The letter is to his protege, and what even is he proteging? Like, what do any of these people do? They do nothing. They're "scholars," which, true, is a thing people legitimately used to say, but not because it wasn't bullshit.
Listen, these are a lot of awfully strong feelings these men are having about each other and not the woman, who's barely a character at all. When the student hears that Sensei is in trouble, he How gay is it? I can't really get a read on it. Some online research indicates that no one else can either but I'm definitely not the first person to ask the question.
Soseki was the first great novelist of the Meiji Restoration, when Japan sortof opened up to the world and a new era of Japanese novels began. Kokoro is a subtle, anguished book. It opens up this whole aching underground river of memories for me - things I could have said, or said sooner, or said better. The one (sentence) that got away. Are there things you should be saying right now to someone? I'm seriously asking! I'm nosy! Tell me about your buried angst! And then maybe go have that talk with that person, before everyone ends up dead.
Read
August 15, 2020------------------VIDEO REVIEW------------------
I did a full video review on this book, including some background information on Natsume and the cultural and historical context of the book.
19/4/20
Read this for my diverse classics book club. Really enjoyed it!
You can find me on
Youtube | Instagram | Twitter | Tumblr | Website
I did a full video review on this book, including some background information on Natsume and the cultural and historical context of the book.
19/4/20
Read this for my diverse classics book club. Really enjoyed it!
You can find me on
Youtube | Instagram | Twitter | Tumblr | Website
August 20, 2019
“Kokoro” is about a respectable man’s account of his life before he makes a great decision. An unusual book which I really enjoyed, and I would recommend it to readers who do not mind their stories sprinkled with an air of sadness throughout.
You certainly don't need to know anything about Japan or Japanese culture to appreciate, and get something profound from this work. Like so many great works of fiction, it appeals to the human in everyone, and asks those questions every human struggles with, about life and death, and the ups and downs of life.
The novel uses concrete character symbolism to depict the tension between tradition and modernity during the Meiji era. Throughout the book, Natsume Soseki illustrates Sensei’s connection to the spirit of the era, the narrator’s relationship to modernity, and his father’s resemblance to traditional Japanese culture. Many Japanese people at the time were conflicted between accepting modernity and preserving traditional Japanese values. Soseki beautifully depicts a young man’s transitional period after college to the Meiji era itself: a time that separated pre-modern Japan and modern Japan.
The story tackles difficult issues and does so with beauty and grace. Interesting to see that issues of coping with family and finding ways to connect with others isn't just a modern day problem. The book’s pace is slow at first, and you will question where the narrative leads to, but once you get into the second part and truly understand the literature-- you will understand the importance of this book in terms of educating humanity and morality. A story about man, I would say, and the struggles with pride and dignity. This novel is a classic by no mystery.
You certainly don't need to know anything about Japan or Japanese culture to appreciate, and get something profound from this work. Like so many great works of fiction, it appeals to the human in everyone, and asks those questions every human struggles with, about life and death, and the ups and downs of life.
The novel uses concrete character symbolism to depict the tension between tradition and modernity during the Meiji era. Throughout the book, Natsume Soseki illustrates Sensei’s connection to the spirit of the era, the narrator’s relationship to modernity, and his father’s resemblance to traditional Japanese culture. Many Japanese people at the time were conflicted between accepting modernity and preserving traditional Japanese values. Soseki beautifully depicts a young man’s transitional period after college to the Meiji era itself: a time that separated pre-modern Japan and modern Japan.
The story tackles difficult issues and does so with beauty and grace. Interesting to see that issues of coping with family and finding ways to connect with others isn't just a modern day problem. The book’s pace is slow at first, and you will question where the narrative leads to, but once you get into the second part and truly understand the literature-- you will understand the importance of this book in terms of educating humanity and morality. A story about man, I would say, and the struggles with pride and dignity. This novel is a classic by no mystery.
July 13, 2018
"I believe you don't really become a finer person just by reading lots of books"
I know a lot of Westerners are obsessed with the East and our civilization, finding its mysterious inconclusiveness attractive in opposition to the somewhat dogmatic West. Nonetheless, it is one thing to be an outside admirer and another thing to have that blood in your vein. Kokoro is a novel of frustration, fragility, distrust, terror, and hopelessness of the blood the East has in it vein, a reflection on the superficial nature of our race hiding behind the appearance of moral grandness. Like in the story passed on through generations, those ascetic heroes who lashed themselves apparently for the sake of spiritual attainment, it is actually the cruelty, foolishness, vanity, and all kinds of superficial forces that drive the hustle and bustle of the shallow yet restless Eastern soul. I can sense the chill and frustration in Soseki's gentle description of how the Eastern souls are led astray to extremity, epitomized by those individuals who consciously or unconsciously, willingly or unwilling followed Emperor Meji to death.
Indeed we don't become a finer person by reading books, by devoting ourselves to a certain occupation, by following any trajectory to its end, as long as the sin in our nature is still sweeping upon our heart and soul. This is the frustrating message that Soseki sends to me.
I know a lot of Westerners are obsessed with the East and our civilization, finding its mysterious inconclusiveness attractive in opposition to the somewhat dogmatic West. Nonetheless, it is one thing to be an outside admirer and another thing to have that blood in your vein. Kokoro is a novel of frustration, fragility, distrust, terror, and hopelessness of the blood the East has in it vein, a reflection on the superficial nature of our race hiding behind the appearance of moral grandness. Like in the story passed on through generations, those ascetic heroes who lashed themselves apparently for the sake of spiritual attainment, it is actually the cruelty, foolishness, vanity, and all kinds of superficial forces that drive the hustle and bustle of the shallow yet restless Eastern soul. I can sense the chill and frustration in Soseki's gentle description of how the Eastern souls are led astray to extremity, epitomized by those individuals who consciously or unconsciously, willingly or unwilling followed Emperor Meji to death.
Indeed we don't become a finer person by reading books, by devoting ourselves to a certain occupation, by following any trajectory to its end, as long as the sin in our nature is still sweeping upon our heart and soul. This is the frustrating message that Soseki sends to me.
November 5, 2021
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Ne postoji nikakav kalup za loše ljude. Pod normalnim okolnostima, svi su ljudi dobri. Ili makar obični. Strašno je to što se ti isti ljudi, u iskušenju, pretvaraju u hulje. Zato treba stalno biti oprezan.
Da li japansku književnost (ako ja uopšte išta znam o njoj) u većini odlikuju mrak, mistika i duboka melanholija ili je to produkt nečega drugog. Da li ima vedrine i razgaljenosti u njoj, ili su prosto te odlike njen sastavni dio i put ka medu spoznaje. Šta znači rečenica ,,Dok budeš čitao ovo pismo možda me više neće biti.” Jer sam isto ovo uočio i kod Jasušia Inoue, a ni Mišima nije izuzetak. Kakogod, ova priča se tiče svakoga i zbog toga sa sobom nosi trajnu vrijedost. Roman pruža prizore agonije koju susrećemo u stvarnom životu i dočarava oskudicu načela i duhovog napora savremenog čovjeka koji je sve izolovaniji u šarenoj gomili svijeta.
Priča romana je smještena za vrijeme japanskog cara Meiđia te zahvata svršetak njegove vladavine. Roman “Duša” čine tri dijela. Prvi dio nas postepeno upoznaje sa mladim studentom ujedno i pripovijedačem i Sensei-Učiteljem (Sensei – japanska riječ koja služi za obraćanje starijoj osobi iz uvažavanja). Učitelj je tih, tajnovit i skoro da ne progovara. Drugi dio, po meni i najbolniji, opisuje stanje oca na samrti kao i članove porodice, prije svega brata i majke. Soseki je uporan, pa će tako vući život svoga junaka makar i u obliku testamenta ne bi li konačno otkrio čitaocu one sumnje od ranije i time završio roman. Jer kada se sve otkrije roman se završava. U trećem dijelu imamo Učiteljevo ispovijedanje, prevaru oko nasljeđa, izdaju i osjećaj krivice. Priča se odvija retrospektivno, ali Soseki svojim divnim opisima i dijalozima stvara utisak da radnja teče u sadašnjem vremenu, što možda kod čitaoca sa manje pažnje može da stvara bunilo. Pisac se hvata u koštac sa temom otuđenosti, prirodne smrti i samoubistva. Ko sam ja i šta je moj istinski cilj? Njegov Učitelj umnogome podsjeća na Oblomova, primjerice i jedan i drugi ne moraju da rade da bi imali za hranu; takođe se može povući paralela oko tihog ali sigurnog urušavanja gazdinstva i monarhije što je kod Gončarova bilo jedno od glavnih tema. Nacume Soseki istražuje unutrašnji život svojih likova koji oni proživljavaju, koji svoje stanište iz sela (domaćinstva) pronalaze u gradovima te njihovo prihvatanje i snalaženje u istim. Kako i Soseki na jednom mjestu piše: ,,Kad čovjek šalje djecu u škole, to ima i dobrih i loših strana. Jer, kada završe škole, djeca više uopšte ne dolaze kući. Tako ispada da ih je školovao da bi ih udaljio od sebe.”
Ne postoji nikakav kalup za loše ljude. Pod normalnim okolnostima, svi su ljudi dobri. Ili makar obični. Strašno je to što se ti isti ljudi, u iskušenju, pretvaraju u hulje. Zato treba stalno biti oprezan.
Da li japansku književnost (ako ja uopšte išta znam o njoj) u većini odlikuju mrak, mistika i duboka melanholija ili je to produkt nečega drugog. Da li ima vedrine i razgaljenosti u njoj, ili su prosto te odlike njen sastavni dio i put ka medu spoznaje. Šta znači rečenica ,,Dok budeš čitao ovo pismo možda me više neće biti.” Jer sam isto ovo uočio i kod Jasušia Inoue, a ni Mišima nije izuzetak. Kakogod, ova priča se tiče svakoga i zbog toga sa sobom nosi trajnu vrijedost. Roman pruža prizore agonije koju susrećemo u stvarnom životu i dočarava oskudicu načela i duhovog napora savremenog čovjeka koji je sve izolovaniji u šarenoj gomili svijeta.
Priča romana je smještena za vrijeme japanskog cara Meiđia te zahvata svršetak njegove vladavine. Roman “Duša” čine tri dijela. Prvi dio nas postepeno upoznaje sa mladim studentom ujedno i pripovijedačem i Sensei-Učiteljem (Sensei – japanska riječ koja služi za obraćanje starijoj osobi iz uvažavanja). Učitelj je tih, tajnovit i skoro da ne progovara. Drugi dio, po meni i najbolniji, opisuje stanje oca na samrti kao i članove porodice, prije svega brata i majke. Soseki je uporan, pa će tako vući život svoga junaka makar i u obliku testamenta ne bi li konačno otkrio čitaocu one sumnje od ranije i time završio roman. Jer kada se sve otkrije roman se završava. U trećem dijelu imamo Učiteljevo ispovijedanje, prevaru oko nasljeđa, izdaju i osjećaj krivice. Priča se odvija retrospektivno, ali Soseki svojim divnim opisima i dijalozima stvara utisak da radnja teče u sadašnjem vremenu, što možda kod čitaoca sa manje pažnje može da stvara bunilo. Pisac se hvata u koštac sa temom otuđenosti, prirodne smrti i samoubistva. Ko sam ja i šta je moj istinski cilj? Njegov Učitelj umnogome podsjeća na Oblomova, primjerice i jedan i drugi ne moraju da rade da bi imali za hranu; takođe se može povući paralela oko tihog ali sigurnog urušavanja gazdinstva i monarhije što je kod Gončarova bilo jedno od glavnih tema. Nacume Soseki istražuje unutrašnji život svojih likova koji oni proživljavaju, koji svoje stanište iz sela (domaćinstva) pronalaze u gradovima te njihovo prihvatanje i snalaženje u istim. Kako i Soseki na jednom mjestu piše: ,,Kad čovjek šalje djecu u škole, to ima i dobrih i loših strana. Jer, kada završe škole, djeca više uopšte ne dolaze kući. Tako ispada da ih je školovao da bi ih udaljio od sebe.”
December 6, 2016
I have mentioned elsewhere that the later Soseki books tend to be darker and more melancholic not to say extremely pessimistic and Kokoro definitely fits this mold. I am NOT taking anything away from the gorgeous language and descriptions here nor the intimate conversations primarily by writing between the protagonist and his Sensei, but it is not something to read if you are down in the dumps. The narrative devices are original even for Soseki and his mastery of character and betrayal of emotion is unsurpassed here. A must read especially if you have already appreciated the lighter, younger, more optimistic yet always cynical Soseki of Bothan and I am a Cat.
May 27, 2023
وقتی شما ماشین سمند دارید، همه جا را پر از این ماشین میبینید و برعکس وقتی پژو دار شدید دیگر سمند نمیبینید و فقط پژو به چشمتان میآید!
به این پدیده اثر پارامنزیا یا اختلال حافظهی تکرار پنداری میگویند.
مثال رفتاری و روانی آن هم اینکه وقتی دو نفر از هم جدا میشوند، هر جا میروند، آثاری از طرف مقابل میبینند و مثل اینکه تمام دنیا پر از آثار فرد مقابل شده است!
(با سپاس از عارفه، همخوان خفن حرامیان)
اجازه بدید من این پدیده رو به دنبال کردن یا برخورد کردن با تم های تکراری مشابه در کتاب ها، وقتی موضوعی به شدت ذهنمون رو درگیر کرده، تعمیم بدم.
فکر کنم به همین خاطره که اخیرا توی تمام کتاب هایی که میخونم یا میشنوم، مثل رمان کوکورو، و فیلم هایی که میبینم، حس میکنم تم مرگ تکرار میشه و برجسته شده و ازش خلاصی ندارم.
این رمان هم مرگ و خودکشی داره، اونم از نوع جذاب ژاپنیش. غیر از «سپوکو»، خودکشی سنتی به روش ژاپنی های خونسرد، توی این کتاب نوع جالبی از خودکشی رو دیدم به اسم «جونشی» که ظاهراً خودکشی بخاطر وفاداریه و توسط کسانی انجام میشه که عشق شون یا کسی که بهش خیلی علاقه یا ارادت داشتن رو از دست میدن. یجور خودکشی دیگه هم خوندم که بنظرم خیلی اگزیستانسیالیستی اومد و اینجوریه که طرف در پاسخ به احساس گناهش، البته بیشتر شرمساری، دست از زندگی کردن میکشه و منفعل میشه.
اما بعد خوندن توصیفات مختصر نویسنده از صحنه خودکشی آقای ک، به این فکر کردم که چی میشه اگه بقایای خودکشی آدم تبدیل به اثر هنری بشه؟ اگه یکنفر بخواد با مرگ خودش اثر هنری خلق کنه چه تفاوتی با خلق اثر هنری توسط آدم زنده داره؟ و آیا کسی حاضره تابلو یا بومی رو بخره که خون کسی که شاهرگ خودشو بریده روش شتگ زده؟
صادقانه بگم که این کتاب رو به این خاطر خوندم که از روی عنوان گوگولیش فکر کردم یک رمان فانتزی یا درام تینیجری عه. حقیقتا به کوکورو نمیاد یک داستان نمادین بزرگسالان باشه که تقابل سنت و مدرنیته رو بین دونسل از مردم ژاپن سال های ۱۸۰۰ میلادی به تصویر بکشه و چالش های اخلاقی مختص ژاپنی ها رو نمایش بده (که البته بنظر من خیلی هم جالب و قدرتمند نیومد). برای اینجور رمان همون اسم های زوال بشری و راشومون و زن در ریگ روان مناسب ترن. کوکورو به معنی قلب، باید اسم یک دختر ژاپنی ۱۶ ساله درگیر مثلث عشقی باشه که شبا با گربه هاش درد دل میکنه.
به این پدیده اثر پارامنزیا یا اختلال حافظهی تکرار پنداری میگویند.
مثال رفتاری و روانی آن هم اینکه وقتی دو نفر از هم جدا میشوند، هر جا میروند، آثاری از طرف مقابل میبینند و مثل اینکه تمام دنیا پر از آثار فرد مقابل شده است!
(با سپاس از عارفه، همخوان خفن حرامیان)
اجازه بدید من این پدیده رو به دنبال کردن یا برخورد کردن با تم های تکراری مشابه در کتاب ها، وقتی موضوعی به شدت ذهنمون رو درگیر کرده، تعمیم بدم.
فکر کنم به همین خاطره که اخیرا توی تمام کتاب هایی که میخونم یا میشنوم، مثل رمان کوکورو، و فیلم هایی که میبینم، حس میکنم تم مرگ تکرار میشه و برجسته شده و ازش خلاصی ندارم.
این رمان هم مرگ و خودکشی داره، اونم از نوع جذاب ژاپنیش. غیر از «سپوکو»، خودکشی سنتی به روش ژاپنی های خونسرد، توی این کتاب نوع جالبی از خودکشی رو دیدم به اسم «جونشی» که ظاهراً خودکشی بخاطر وفاداریه و توسط کسانی انجام میشه که عشق شون یا کسی که بهش خیلی علاقه یا ارادت داشتن رو از دست میدن. یجور خودکشی دیگه هم خوندم که بنظرم خیلی اگزیستانسیالیستی اومد و اینجوریه که طرف در پاسخ به احساس گناهش، البته بیشتر شرمساری، دست از زندگی کردن میکشه و منفعل میشه.
اما بعد خوندن توصیفات مختصر نویسنده از صحنه خودکشی آقای ک، به این فکر کردم که چی میشه اگه بقایای خودکشی آدم تبدیل به اثر هنری بشه؟ اگه یکنفر بخواد با مرگ خودش اثر هنری خلق کنه چه تفاوتی با خلق اثر هنری توسط آدم زنده داره؟ و آیا کسی حاضره تابلو یا بومی رو بخره که خون کسی که شاهرگ خودشو بریده روش شتگ زده؟
صادقانه بگم که این کتاب رو به این خاطر خوندم که از روی عنوان گوگولیش فکر کردم یک رمان فانتزی یا درام تینیجری عه. حقیقتا به کوکورو نمیاد یک داستان نمادین بزرگسالان باشه که تقابل سنت و مدرنیته رو بین دونسل از مردم ژاپن سال های ۱۸۰۰ میلادی به تصویر بکشه و چالش های اخلاقی مختص ژاپنی ها رو نمایش بده (که البته بنظر من خیلی هم جالب و قدرتمند نیومد). برای اینجور رمان همون اسم های زوال بشری و راشومون و زن در ریگ روان مناسب ترن. کوکورو به معنی قلب، باید اسم یک دختر ژاپنی ۱۶ ساله درگیر مثلث عشقی باشه که شبا با گربه هاش درد دل میکنه.
November 12, 2022
Kokoro es una novela sobre la amistad. Es una historia que bucea en temas como los celos, el sentido del deber, la culpa y el peso que los errores tienen en nuestro presente.
"Las palabras no son solo vibraciones en el aire. Tienen más poder que eso, pueden agitar con fuerza el corazón de los hombres y sacudirlos."
"Las palabras no son solo vibraciones en el aire. Tienen más poder que eso, pueden agitar con fuerza el corazón de los hombres y sacudirlos."
February 13, 2021
This Japanese classic by literary superhero Natsume Soseki is not easy to access for a Westerner of the 21st century, as it subtly deals with perceptions of silence, guilt and loyalty that are deeply connected to Japanese culture. The novel has three parts: The first two are presented through the perspective of a young student who is adrift in his life and looking for direction which he hopes to receive from an older man whom he calls Sensei. The narrator is in a state of transition: He moved to Tokyo from the countryside and is now ashamed of his roots, he wonders what he should do with his life after graduation, and his father is terminally ill. At the same time, history is hard at work: The Meji era ends as the Emperor dies, and General Nogi Maresuke kills himself on the day of his master's funeral - out of loyalty and because of an old guilt that has tortured him for years.
In this general turmoil, the narrator turns to the enigmatic Sensei, a reclusive man who seems to have no real occupation, but strong opinions on traditional values. Sensei is married with no children and regularly visits the grave of an old friend without giving away what their connection was. When the narrator travels home to be with his dying father, he receives a confessional letter from Sensei - and that letter makes for the whole second half of the book.
Of course Sensei, like General Nogi Maresuke, was plagued by a feeling of guilt connected to his dead friend, and his reclusive lifestyle was a way of self-punishment. Sensei sees himself as a product of the Meji era, a living relict after the death of the Emperor - but is he, though? And that's what makes this text interesting: Of course it deals with questions of changing customs and mores, with tradition and modernity, but it also shows how the narrator and Sensei (two unreliable perspectives!) use these factors to rationalize behaviors that might have completely different roots. What really attracts the narrator to Sensei? Did Sensei really fail his friend because he has also been failed before? What is morality, what responsibilty?
A great classic by Haruki Murakami's favorite author, complex and deep, but rendered in a quiet, clear language.
In this general turmoil, the narrator turns to the enigmatic Sensei, a reclusive man who seems to have no real occupation, but strong opinions on traditional values. Sensei is married with no children and regularly visits the grave of an old friend without giving away what their connection was. When the narrator travels home to be with his dying father, he receives a confessional letter from Sensei - and that letter makes for the whole second half of the book.
Of course Sensei, like General Nogi Maresuke, was plagued by a feeling of guilt connected to his dead friend, and his reclusive lifestyle was a way of self-punishment. Sensei sees himself as a product of the Meji era, a living relict after the death of the Emperor - but is he, though? And that's what makes this text interesting: Of course it deals with questions of changing customs and mores, with tradition and modernity, but it also shows how the narrator and Sensei (two unreliable perspectives!) use these factors to rationalize behaviors that might have completely different roots. What really attracts the narrator to Sensei? Did Sensei really fail his friend because he has also been failed before? What is morality, what responsibilty?
A great classic by Haruki Murakami's favorite author, complex and deep, but rendered in a quiet, clear language.
July 6, 2016
Introduction
About the Title
Acknowledgments
Suggestions for Further Reading
--Kokoro
Notes
About the Title
Acknowledgments
Suggestions for Further Reading
--Kokoro
Notes
May 3, 2021
I have been doing a bit more research into Japanese culture. Slowly, bit by bit, I am finding that my appreciation for the works that I read is increasing as well. Kokoro is perhaps Soseki’s best-known novel. The idle pace at which I felt it moved at times drove me to look deeper into why I am drawn to Japanese literature. Here is what I came up with:
I was raised in Canada, but my Persian background meant that I had access to the collectivistic way of thinking native to the region. Persian culture is, in many ways, eerily similar to Japanese culture. You will find me complaining about the lack of emotional satisfaction in Japanese literature quite often. My previous reviews show puzzlement, uncertainty. The truth is that this is more of a reflection of my individualistic sense of self, where I place myself and my emotions and mental health and overall wellbeing above almost everything else in life. However, although dormant, my collectivistic sense of self is still there. I am well acquainted with it. It comes through in specific situation.
Of course I understand the taciturn nature of Japanese culture. It is, in a way, similar to Persian culture. Importantly, we share a specific way of interpersonal cultural interaction which the Japanese call Ba no kuuki wo yomu (場の空気を読む). It means “understanding the situation without words” or “sensing someone’s feelings”. The Wikipedia article for this term is a 2-minute read, and it is my main source for the topic. Japanese and Persian people are both well-versed in this art, this type of being. Being collectivistic cultures, we value the collective harmony of the community more than our own needs, often to our detriment. This is why you won’t hear Persians of generations gone speaking out about quite serious ailments. It is why older Japanese citizens will reminisce about pivotal moments in their lives where they passed up an opportunity to improve socially and financially, because the moment “did not call for their intervention”. These are hypotheticals, of course, but I am sure that the reality of the situation can be even more severe. The point is, I get it. I truly do. It is the same reason why I have often felt that I can “read the air” around someone more acutely than my other friends. I guess it is why I study psychology.
Soseki’s achievement in Kokoro is the embodiment of Ba no kuuki wo yomu. As my edition’s translator, Meredith McKinney, points out in the introduction, the title can be translated and explained as “the thinking and feeling heart”. There is a cognitive aspect to it as well, but it refers to the holistic sense of thoughts and feelings in a compact package. The book is a story of the tender relationship between our nameless narrator (the classic “I-novel”) and an older gentleman whom he befriends, called simply “Sensei”. There is something about Sensei. He is a bit too reserved, a bit too prone to thinking quietly. He has got a touch of the misanthrope in him, and his story is mysterious. As the story progresses, the narrator attempts to navigate the feeling in the air, the allowed and the forbidden, in order to learn what this mystery is. There also exists the tension between the so-called “older generation” of Japan, stuck in the Meiji period, and the new generation of Japan, that of the narrator. This new generation embraces the West and its love for progress, but the older generation rues the loss of the idyllic, landscape existence of old Japan.
This is a delicate book. It will reward rereads. Second and third reads may reveal the wells of emotion that lay beneath each character’s quiet resolve.
I was raised in Canada, but my Persian background meant that I had access to the collectivistic way of thinking native to the region. Persian culture is, in many ways, eerily similar to Japanese culture. You will find me complaining about the lack of emotional satisfaction in Japanese literature quite often. My previous reviews show puzzlement, uncertainty. The truth is that this is more of a reflection of my individualistic sense of self, where I place myself and my emotions and mental health and overall wellbeing above almost everything else in life. However, although dormant, my collectivistic sense of self is still there. I am well acquainted with it. It comes through in specific situation.
Of course I understand the taciturn nature of Japanese culture. It is, in a way, similar to Persian culture. Importantly, we share a specific way of interpersonal cultural interaction which the Japanese call Ba no kuuki wo yomu (場の空気を読む). It means “understanding the situation without words” or “sensing someone’s feelings”. The Wikipedia article for this term is a 2-minute read, and it is my main source for the topic. Japanese and Persian people are both well-versed in this art, this type of being. Being collectivistic cultures, we value the collective harmony of the community more than our own needs, often to our detriment. This is why you won’t hear Persians of generations gone speaking out about quite serious ailments. It is why older Japanese citizens will reminisce about pivotal moments in their lives where they passed up an opportunity to improve socially and financially, because the moment “did not call for their intervention”. These are hypotheticals, of course, but I am sure that the reality of the situation can be even more severe. The point is, I get it. I truly do. It is the same reason why I have often felt that I can “read the air” around someone more acutely than my other friends. I guess it is why I study psychology.
Soseki’s achievement in Kokoro is the embodiment of Ba no kuuki wo yomu. As my edition’s translator, Meredith McKinney, points out in the introduction, the title can be translated and explained as “the thinking and feeling heart”. There is a cognitive aspect to it as well, but it refers to the holistic sense of thoughts and feelings in a compact package. The book is a story of the tender relationship between our nameless narrator (the classic “I-novel”) and an older gentleman whom he befriends, called simply “Sensei”. There is something about Sensei. He is a bit too reserved, a bit too prone to thinking quietly. He has got a touch of the misanthrope in him, and his story is mysterious. As the story progresses, the narrator attempts to navigate the feeling in the air, the allowed and the forbidden, in order to learn what this mystery is. There also exists the tension between the so-called “older generation” of Japan, stuck in the Meiji period, and the new generation of Japan, that of the narrator. This new generation embraces the West and its love for progress, but the older generation rues the loss of the idyllic, landscape existence of old Japan.
This is a delicate book. It will reward rereads. Second and third reads may reveal the wells of emotion that lay beneath each character’s quiet resolve.
July 24, 2020
Hay expresiones que no tienen equivalente exacto en otros idiomas, así que debemos resignarnos a uno aproximado. Esto ocurre con frecuencia con términos japoneses, Kokoro es uno de ellos. El prólogo nos anticipa que un significado cercano en español sería corazón, corazón de las cosas o espíritu. Que nombre tan acertado eligió el autor, y no solo por la belleza sonora de la expresión, sino también porque resume la esencia del libro.
Lo espiritual y la contemplación solemos asociarlos al mundo oriental, y Natsume logra sumergimos con facilidad admirable en ese universo de silencios, lentitud y calma. Lo dibuja y transmite de tal manera que el lector vive gran parte del relato con sensación de sosiego y placer. Este es sin duda su mayor mérito.
El argumento es sencillo y se desarrolla en tres partes. En la primera un joven universitario teje una amistad con un hombre de mediana edad y le llama Sensei, la amistad transcurre de manera curiosa y con muchas reservas por parte de Sensei. En la segunda parte la amistad persiste pero el joven se ve enfrentado a decisiones vitales y pérdidas. Finalmente, Sensei revela mediante una carta la historia que había guardado para sí y nos encontramos con un relato de dolor, culpa y arrepentimiento.
Más allá de amistad narrada de manera tan especial y sutil, Kokoro nos habla también del choque cultural que supuso la apertura a occidente después de muchos años de aislamiento. Cambios en escalas de valores que profundizaron la brecha generacional. Sin embargo, detrás de esas diferencias occidente- oriente el relato también revela que hay en común más de lo que un observador superficial podría concluir. Son las pasiones y vilezas ese hilo conductor común a toda la humanidad: los celos, la ambición y la avaricia parece eximir a pocos individuos. Estas reflexiones fundamentan la actitud de muchos misántropos, concretamente de Sensei, cuya experiencia lo conduce a una intensa aversión hacia la humanidad, por lo tanto, hacia sí mismo.
Emerge la culpa como eso denso que ensombrece el relato, la carga por el daño irreparable y por la flaqueza de espíritu. Pero los códigos morales solo tienen real sentido si son producto de la experiencia y no de un ejercicio intelectual, Sensei ha fundamentado su moral después de transitar el camino; el joven narrador deberá hacer lo mismo y andar el suyo. De eso va la historia, y está contada con tal sensibilidad que no deja indiferente, al finalizarla queda una bella disposición de espíritu.
Lo espiritual y la contemplación solemos asociarlos al mundo oriental, y Natsume logra sumergimos con facilidad admirable en ese universo de silencios, lentitud y calma. Lo dibuja y transmite de tal manera que el lector vive gran parte del relato con sensación de sosiego y placer. Este es sin duda su mayor mérito.
El argumento es sencillo y se desarrolla en tres partes. En la primera un joven universitario teje una amistad con un hombre de mediana edad y le llama Sensei, la amistad transcurre de manera curiosa y con muchas reservas por parte de Sensei. En la segunda parte la amistad persiste pero el joven se ve enfrentado a decisiones vitales y pérdidas. Finalmente, Sensei revela mediante una carta la historia que había guardado para sí y nos encontramos con un relato de dolor, culpa y arrepentimiento.
Más allá de amistad narrada de manera tan especial y sutil, Kokoro nos habla también del choque cultural que supuso la apertura a occidente después de muchos años de aislamiento. Cambios en escalas de valores que profundizaron la brecha generacional. Sin embargo, detrás de esas diferencias occidente- oriente el relato también revela que hay en común más de lo que un observador superficial podría concluir. Son las pasiones y vilezas ese hilo conductor común a toda la humanidad: los celos, la ambición y la avaricia parece eximir a pocos individuos. Estas reflexiones fundamentan la actitud de muchos misántropos, concretamente de Sensei, cuya experiencia lo conduce a una intensa aversión hacia la humanidad, por lo tanto, hacia sí mismo.
Emerge la culpa como eso denso que ensombrece el relato, la carga por el daño irreparable y por la flaqueza de espíritu. Pero los códigos morales solo tienen real sentido si son producto de la experiencia y no de un ejercicio intelectual, Sensei ha fundamentado su moral después de transitar el camino; el joven narrador deberá hacer lo mismo y andar el suyo. De eso va la historia, y está contada con tal sensibilidad que no deja indiferente, al finalizarla queda una bella disposición de espíritu.
December 2, 2022
وقتی رفتم سراغ این کتاب اصلا توقع نداشتم این چنین منو جذب کنه
از همون خطوط اول کتاب نویسنده چنان من رو با خودش توی این داستان با خودش کشوند که کمتر زمانی پیش میاد که کتابی اینقدر من رو مجذوب خودش کنه.
داستان درباره پسری دانشجو است که به سفری برای استراحت میره و در این سفر با شخصی که در داستان با نام سنسی (استاد) معرفی شده آشنا میشه و شخصیت اصلی ما در پی کاوش شخصیت معمایی سنسی هست.
سنسی مردی مسن، دارای همسری خوب و زندگی نسبتا مرفه است. ولی کسی چه میدونه که در پی قلب آدمی چه چیزی نهفته؟
درباره داستان چیز زیادی نباید بگم چون هرگونه اشارع
ای باعث میشه داستان لو بره و شاید اون لذت رو نداشته باشه برای کسی که این کتاب رو نخونده
قلم نویسنده واقعا عالی بود
ناتسومه سوسهکی نویسنده عصر میجی (سال هایی که ژاپن به کشوری مدرت تبدیل شد) میباشد
نویسندهای که تغییر سنت ها رو دیده و در این اثر هم شما شاهد این موضوع، هرچند در حد اشارات کم هستید
موضوعات جالبی هم توی این کتاب مطرح شده بود، بخش دوم کتاب که به خانواده و چگونگی روابط بین اعضای آن پرداخته بود زیبا بود.
کتاب با مرگ هم خوب دست و پنجه نرم میکنه و میشه گفت مرگ و معنای انسان هدف اصلی نویسنده در این کتابه.
در خصوص سنت های ژاپنی هم هنگام خوندن ناخوداگاه با سنت های خودمون مقایسه میکردم و گاها نزدیکی هایی بین سنت ها مدیدیم و بعضی وقتا چه دور بود این رفتار ها و عادت ها.
واقعا کتاب خوبی بود میشه گفت خیلی وقت بود داستانی اینقدر بهم نچسبیده بود
از همون خطوط اول کتاب نویسنده چنان من رو با خودش توی این داستان با خودش کشوند که کمتر زمانی پیش میاد که کتابی اینقدر من رو مجذوب خودش کنه.
داستان درباره پسری دانشجو است که به سفری برای استراحت میره و در این سفر با شخصی که در داستان با نام سنسی (استاد) معرفی شده آشنا میشه و شخصیت اصلی ما در پی کاوش شخصیت معمایی سنسی هست.
سنسی مردی مسن، دارای همسری خوب و زندگی نسبتا مرفه است. ولی کسی چه میدونه که در پی قلب آدمی چه چیزی نهفته؟
درباره داستان چیز زیادی نباید بگم چون هرگونه اشارع
ای باعث میشه داستان لو بره و شاید اون لذت رو نداشته باشه برای کسی که این کتاب رو نخونده
قلم نویسنده واقعا عالی بود
ناتسومه سوسهکی نویسنده عصر میجی (سال هایی که ژاپن به کشوری مدرت تبدیل شد) میباشد
نویسندهای که تغییر سنت ها رو دیده و در این اثر هم شما شاهد این موضوع، هرچند در حد اشارات کم هستید
موضوعات جالبی هم توی این کتاب مطرح شده بود، بخش دوم کتاب که به خانواده و چگونگی روابط بین اعضای آن پرداخته بود زیبا بود.
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December 10, 2023
Структура романа подчинена логике выпуска коротких глав в газете «Асахи», так многие книги издавались – у Бальзака, Дюма и многих других писателей. Вообще, это гениальная идея увеличить количество читателей, сделать из элитарного занятия – массовым. В теории и сейчас такой формат был бы жизнеспособен, даже в электронной форме, например, на новостных сайтах. Формат газетных публикаций требовал заинтриговать читателя с самого начала, а что может зацепить внимание, как не тайна? Композиционно это - роман в романе.
В первой части мы узнаем Студента (рассказчика) и пожилого человека, с которым тот подружился, и которого он называл Учителем. Во второй части мы видим рассказчика в кругу его семьи у одра умирающего отца, совпадающей по времени со смертью императора Мэйдзи, который составил целую эпоху в истории Японии, и драматичной смерти его верного генерала Ноги.
Третья часть – это письмо Учителя, раскрывающая его тайны. Очевидно, что и Учитель, и отец студента, и в особенности К. символизируют уход эпохи Мэйдзи, в то время как Студент – новую эпоху. «Теперь я хочу сам разбить своё собственное сердце и брызнуть на ваше ли��о его кровью. Я доволен буду уже тем, что в тот момент, когда остановится его биение во мне, в вашей груди зародится новая жизнь.»
С самого начала романа немало странностей и загадок в поведении Учителя: довольно нелегко подружиться людям разных поколений, притом несвязанных учебой и преподаванием, например, или общими интересами. Но Студент добивается дружбы и расположения Учителя. Чему учил его Учитель? На первый взгляд ничему, разве что обсуждал с ним книги, идеи и дал совет вступить во владение наследством до смерти отца. «Беседы с ним приносили мне гораздо больше пользы, чем все лекции в университете. Мысли учителя были мне интереснее, чем все идеи профессоров.» Но их духовная связь была несомненно, ибо исповедался и покаялся перед своим самоубийством Учитель именно перед ним. Поведение сэнсэя было странным и в том, что он раз в месяц посещал могилу друга, но никому не позволял сопровождать себя. Будучи образованным, полным идей, Учитель отгородился от мира, размышляя в одиночестве. Жена Учителя характеризует: «Ему как будто хочется что-нибудь делать. Только он не может...», добавив, что когда он был молод, он не был таким. Для Студента были непонятны некоторые воззрения Учителя: «…любовь — зло. Понял? Зло, но вместе с тем — вещь священная...». Добавляло странности и отношения с женой. Очевидно, что он относился к ней с нежностью и, по-видимому, любил, но его жена странно характеризовала их отношения и отношение мужа к миру, к людям: «Учитель ваш не любит этот мир. В последнее время он стал не любить скорее не мир, но людей. Я — одна из людской массы. Поэтому может ли он меня любить?»
Письмо Учителя постепенно раскрывает все эти странности и тайны. Учитель описывает себя как человека, рано потерявшего отца и мать, «…с тех лет у меня появилась привычка осмысливать вещи, разглядывать всё вокруг себя….Это моё свойство, распространяясь в этическом смысле на действия и поведение отдельных людей, мне думается, и привело к тому, что я стал впоследствии всё более и более сомневаться в добродетели других. И знайте, что именно это, несомненно, и увеличило ощущение тоски и страдани��.» Он был обкраден собственным дядей, и это открывает причину его денежных советов молодому другу. Но он не только потерял состояние, он потерял веру в людей. Вначале он не говорит прямо о том, что влюбился в дочь вдовы, у которой жил. Но «… все предположения мигом исчезли в тот самый момент, когда я увидел её. В меня проник аромат женщины, которого я до сих пор и не представлял себе.» говорит о любви с первого взгляда исчерпывающе. Далее он осознает свое чувство: «Я питал к ней любовь, близкую к вере. Вам, может быть, покажется странным, почему я прилагаю к моло��ой девушке слова, употребляющиеся только в религии, но я и теперь в этом твёрдо убеждён. Я твёрдо убеждён в том, что настоящая любовь не так уж далека от религиозного чувства. Когда я смотрел на лицо девушки, у меня создавалось чувство, будто я сам становлюсь красивее. Когда я думал об этой девушке, меня тотчас же охватывало возвышенное настроение. Если у той непостижимой вещи, что зовётся любовью, существуют два конца, то на её верхнем конце действует священное чувство, на нижнем же — половое влечение. Моя любовь, несомненно, пребывала на верхнем конце. Разумеется, я, как всякий человек, не мог освободиться от плоти. Но глаза мои, взирающие на эту девушку, сердце моё, раздумывающее об этой девушке, совершенно лишены были этого запаха плоти.» Он подозревает мать девушки в интриганстве, из-за того, как его обманул дядя, пытаясь, женить на своей дочери, и мучается, зачем ему остерегаться матери, если он любит дочь. Он сам привел своего земляка и сокурсника К. в дом, желая ему помочь материально. К. был похож на священника, но по стойкости в долге, чести и силе воли, а лучше сказать духа, он походил на самурая. К. олицетворял собой эпоху Мэйдзи – стремление к учености, укреплению духа и чувство долга. Чтобы слишком много не рассказывать, я не буду углубляться в сюжетные детали, хотя они тоже заслуживают отдельного разбора.
«Все время я глубоко чувствовал весь человеческий грех. Чувство это каждый месяц приводило меня на могилу К. Чувство это заставило меня ухаживать за больной матерью жены. И это же чувство приказывало мне обращаться нежно с женой. Под влиянием этого же чувства мне хотелось, чтобы меня бичевали люди неизвестные мне, стоящие у дорог. Идя так шаг за шагом по этому пути, я приходил к заключению, что вместо того, чтобы тебя бичевали другие, следует бичевать себя самому. Потом возникла и та мысль, что вместо такого самобичевания следовало бы себя просто убить. Не будучи в состоянии что-либо сделать, я решил пока жить, но со стремлением умереть.» Смерть генерала Ноги явилась толчком для перехода стремления умереть в решимость. «Так же, как я хорошенько не понимал причины смерти Ноги, точно так же и для вас, может быть, будут неясны причины моего самоубийства. Если это будет так, делать нечего: очевидно, дело здесь в различии людей разных эпох. А может быть, тут всё дело в различии прирождённых свойств каждого отдельного человека.»
Нелегко понять действия героя, но эти две цитаты говорят о том, что человеческая жизнь хрупка, но честь ставится выше любви, и любовь должна достигаться в честной борьбе, а также подтверждает мнение, что роман является оплакиванием эпохи Мэйдзи.
Русское название романа - «Сердце», тогда как иностранные издания так и называются «Kokoro». Попробуйте сделать поиск в интернете «Кокоро, как понятие» или как философское понятие. Это слово нельзя перевести просто, как «сердце». Поэтому в очередной раз название русского издания «Сердце» существенно упрощает и меняет смысл романа. Я не перестаю удивляться этому феномену. Если с романом Хемингуэя «The Sun Also Rises», названным в русском издании «Фиестой», понятно - есть отговорка, что перевод был в Советское время, и переименование романа было по неведомым идеологическим причинам (если так, то почему весь роман был допущен до советского читателя?), то изменение названия "Неповторимое обаяние Лолы Валери Штайн" в то время как точный перевод с оригинального названия "Восхищение Лолы Валери Штайн", абсолютно непонятно. Поэтому читая переводную литературу на русском языке, на всякий случай, нужно проверять оригинальное название, в котором и заключается смысл произведения.
Я не специалист по японскому языку или философии, просто мне нужно разобраться, что я читаю. Вот что я нашла по понятию «Кокоро», пишу кратко, просто чтобы заинтересовать читателя этой рецензии на дальнейший поиск, потому что это очень широкое понятие. Это слово не имеет однозначного толкования в русском языке (и скорее всего, в европейских языках тоже). Это и «сердце», и «душа», и «сознание» и «центр, сердцевина», «разум, воля, чувства, соединенные вместе». Кокоро – это некая суть, жизненный центр, предельная выраженность чего-либо, сознание и чувство. Кокоро нельзя рассматривать без концепта взаимосвязанности Тама, Иноти и Кокоро. «Тама» - душа, дух, концентрация духовной энергии, которая является источником жизни, Тама присуща всей природе, поскольку она рождена, а не сотворена божественной парой. У человека, кроме свободной души Тама имеется и телесная душа Иноти. Но вот, что я нашла на одном из русскоязычных сайтов, посвященных Японии: «В современном японском языке «иноти» имеет четыре основных значения. Первое значение – это мистическая сила или энергия, которая поддерживает жизнь в людях и животных. Например, существует такое выражение, как «омыть чьё-то иноти» (命の洗濯 иноти но сэнтаку), что значит восстановить силы, благодаря которой мы живем; «на высоте иноти» (命の盛り иноти но сакари), означающее пик жизни существа, а ещё «сжечь чьё-то иноти» (命が燃え尽きる иноти га моэцукиру), это выражение, означающее сжечь/растратить жизненную энергию (и умереть)… Второе значение отмечает период между жизнью и смертью: иными словами. Есть некоторые выражения, относящиеся к смерти: «потерять иноти» (命を失う иноти о усинау)… Третье значение – это самая важная часть чего-либо. Например, «забрать чье-то иноти» не значит убить кого-то, а забрать самое важное и необходимое качество. Для танцора самое важное — это телодвижения, а для канарейки красивый голос…. Последнее значение слова – это вечная жизнь. Фраза «вечное иноти» можно найти в религиозных текстах, написанных на японском языке.»
Поэтому Кокоро – это не просто сердце, это синкретичное понятие, соединяющее и чувства, и разум, и душу. Лучше его не переводить, а позволить читателю доискиваться до истины, познавать японскую культуру.
В первой части мы узнаем Студента (рассказчика) и пожилого человека, с которым тот подружился, и которого он называл Учителем. Во второй части мы видим рассказчика в кругу его семьи у одра умирающего отца, совпадающей по времени со смертью императора Мэйдзи, который составил целую эпоху в истории Японии, и драматичной смерти его верного генерала Ноги.
Третья часть – это письмо Учителя, раскрывающая его тайны. Очевидно, что и Учитель, и отец студента, и в особенности К. символизируют уход эпохи Мэйдзи, в то время как Студент – новую эпоху. «Теперь я хочу сам разбить своё собственное сердце и брызнуть на ваше ли��о его кровью. Я доволен буду уже тем, что в тот момент, когда остановится его биение во мне, в вашей груди зародится новая жизнь.»
С самого начала романа немало странностей и загадок в поведении Учителя: довольно нелегко подружиться людям разных поколений, притом несвязанных учебой и преподаванием, например, или общими интересами. Но Студент добивается дружбы и расположения Учителя. Чему учил его Учитель? На первый взгляд ничему, разве что обсуждал с ним книги, идеи и дал совет вступить во владение наследством до смерти отца. «Беседы с ним приносили мне гораздо больше пользы, чем все лекции в университете. Мысли учителя были мне интереснее, чем все идеи профессоров.» Но их духовная связь была несомненно, ибо исповедался и покаялся перед своим самоубийством Учитель именно перед ним. Поведение сэнсэя было странным и в том, что он раз в месяц посещал могилу друга, но никому не позволял сопровождать себя. Будучи образованным, полным идей, Учитель отгородился от мира, размышляя в одиночестве. Жена Учителя характеризует: «Ему как будто хочется что-нибудь делать. Только он не может...», добавив, что когда он был молод, он не был таким. Для Студента были непонятны некоторые воззрения Учителя: «…любовь — зло. Понял? Зло, но вместе с тем — вещь священная...». Добавляло странности и отношения с женой. Очевидно, что он относился к ней с нежностью и, по-видимому, любил, но его жена странно характеризовала их отношения и отношение мужа к миру, к людям: «Учитель ваш не любит этот мир. В последнее время он стал не любить скорее не мир, но людей. Я — одна из людской массы. Поэтому может ли он меня любить?»
Письмо Учителя постепенно раскрывает все эти странности и тайны. Учитель описывает себя как человека, рано потерявшего отца и мать, «…с тех лет у меня появилась привычка осмысливать вещи, разглядывать всё вокруг себя….Это моё свойство, распространяясь в этическом смысле на действия и поведение отдельных людей, мне думается, и привело к тому, что я стал впоследствии всё более и более сомневаться в добродетели других. И знайте, что именно это, несомненно, и увеличило ощущение тоски и страдани��.» Он был обкраден собственным дядей, и это открывает причину его денежных советов молодому другу. Но он не только потерял состояние, он потерял веру в людей. Вначале он не говорит прямо о том, что влюбился в дочь вдовы, у которой жил. Но «… все предположения мигом исчезли в тот самый момент, когда я увидел её. В меня проник аромат женщины, которого я до сих пор и не представлял себе.» говорит о любви с первого взгляда исчерпывающе. Далее он осознает свое чувство: «Я питал к ней любовь, близкую к вере. Вам, может быть, покажется странным, почему я прилагаю к моло��ой девушке слова, употребляющиеся только в религии, но я и теперь в этом твёрдо убеждён. Я твёрдо убеждён в том, что настоящая любовь не так уж далека от религиозного чувства. Когда я смотрел на лицо девушки, у меня создавалось чувство, будто я сам становлюсь красивее. Когда я думал об этой девушке, меня тотчас же охватывало возвышенное настроение. Если у той непостижимой вещи, что зовётся любовью, существуют два конца, то на её верхнем конце действует священное чувство, на нижнем же — половое влечение. Моя любовь, несомненно, пребывала на верхнем конце. Разумеется, я, как всякий человек, не мог освободиться от плоти. Но глаза мои, взирающие на эту девушку, сердце моё, раздумывающее об этой девушке, совершенно лишены были этого запаха плоти.» Он подозревает мать девушки в интриганстве, из-за того, как его обманул дядя, пытаясь, женить на своей дочери, и мучается, зачем ему остерегаться матери, если он любит дочь. Он сам привел своего земляка и сокурсника К. в дом, желая ему помочь материально. К. был похож на священника, но по стойкости в долге, чести и силе воли, а лучше сказать духа, он походил на самурая. К. олицетворял собой эпоху Мэйдзи – стремление к учености, укреплению духа и чувство долга. Чтобы слишком много не рассказывать, я не буду углубляться в сюжетные детали, хотя они тоже заслуживают отдельного разбора.
«Все время я глубоко чувствовал весь человеческий грех. Чувство это каждый месяц приводило меня на могилу К. Чувство это заставило меня ухаживать за больной матерью жены. И это же чувство приказывало мне обращаться нежно с женой. Под влиянием этого же чувства мне хотелось, чтобы меня бичевали люди неизвестные мне, стоящие у дорог. Идя так шаг за шагом по этому пути, я приходил к заключению, что вместо того, чтобы тебя бичевали другие, следует бичевать себя самому. Потом возникла и та мысль, что вместо такого самобичевания следовало бы себя просто убить. Не будучи в состоянии что-либо сделать, я решил пока жить, но со стремлением умереть.» Смерть генерала Ноги явилась толчком для перехода стремления умереть в решимость. «Так же, как я хорошенько не понимал причины смерти Ноги, точно так же и для вас, может быть, будут неясны причины моего самоубийства. Если это будет так, делать нечего: очевидно, дело здесь в различии людей разных эпох. А может быть, тут всё дело в различии прирождённых свойств каждого отдельного человека.»
Нелегко понять действия героя, но эти две цитаты говорят о том, что человеческая жизнь хрупка, но честь ставится выше любви, и любовь должна достигаться в честной борьбе, а также подтверждает мнение, что роман является оплакиванием эпохи Мэйдзи.
Русское название романа - «Сердце», тогда как иностранные издания так и называются «Kokoro». Попробуйте сделать поиск в интернете «Кокоро, как понятие» или как философское понятие. Это слово нельзя перевести просто, как «сердце». Поэтому в очередной раз название русского издания «Сердце» существенно упрощает и меняет смысл романа. Я не перестаю удивляться этому феномену. Если с романом Хемингуэя «The Sun Also Rises», названным в русском издании «Фиестой», понятно - есть отговорка, что перевод был в Советское время, и переименование романа было по неведомым идеологическим причинам (если так, то почему весь роман был допущен до советского читателя?), то изменение названия "Неповторимое обаяние Лолы Валери Штайн" в то время как точный перевод с оригинального названия "Восхищение Лолы Валери Штайн", абсолютно непонятно. Поэтому читая переводную литературу на русском языке, на всякий случай, нужно проверять оригинальное название, в котором и заключается смысл произведения.
Я не специалист по японскому языку или философии, просто мне нужно разобраться, что я читаю. Вот что я нашла по понятию «Кокоро», пишу кратко, просто чтобы заинтересовать читателя этой рецензии на дальнейший поиск, потому что это очень широкое понятие. Это слово не имеет однозначного толкования в русском языке (и скорее всего, в европейских языках тоже). Это и «сердце», и «душа», и «сознание» и «центр, сердцевина», «разум, воля, чувства, соединенные вместе». Кокоро – это некая суть, жизненный центр, предельная выраженность чего-либо, сознание и чувство. Кокоро нельзя рассматривать без концепта взаимосвязанности Тама, Иноти и Кокоро. «Тама» - душа, дух, концентрация духовной энергии, которая является источником жизни, Тама присуща всей природе, поскольку она рождена, а не сотворена божественной парой. У человека, кроме свободной души Тама имеется и телесная душа Иноти. Но вот, что я нашла на одном из русскоязычных сайтов, посвященных Японии: «В современном японском языке «иноти» имеет четыре основных значения. Первое значение – это мистическая сила или энергия, которая поддерживает жизнь в людях и животных. Например, существует такое выражение, как «омыть чьё-то иноти» (命の洗濯 иноти но сэнтаку), что значит восстановить силы, благодаря которой мы живем; «на высоте иноти» (命の盛り иноти но сакари), означающее пик жизни существа, а ещё «сжечь чьё-то иноти» (命が燃え尽きる иноти га моэцукиру), это выражение, означающее сжечь/растратить жизненную энергию (и умереть)… Второе значение отмечает период между жизнью и смертью: иными словами. Есть некоторые выражения, относящиеся к смерти: «потерять иноти» (命を失う иноти о усинау)… Третье значение – это самая важная часть чего-либо. Например, «забрать чье-то иноти» не значит убить кого-то, а забрать самое важное и необходимое качество. Для танцора самое важное — это телодвижения, а для канарейки красивый голос…. Последнее значение слова – это вечная жизнь. Фраза «вечное иноти» можно найти в религиозных текстах, написанных на японском языке.»
Поэтому Кокоро – это не просто сердце, это синкретичное понятие, соединяющее и чувства, и разум, и душу. Лучше его не переводить, а позволить читателю доискиваться до истины, познавать японскую культуру.
October 17, 2020
Tedious. Dripping with pathos. Overburdened with details. Self-scrutinizing to a fault. Started well enough, then tied itself up into a knot ball and began rolling downhill, never to stop.
I love introspective novels, usually. The writing in this case remained delicious and kept me going, but by the end I cared about no one in this book. Not a single soul.
For tales of old-school Japan, give me Tanizaki, Kawabata, Yoshikawa or Mishima over this, any day.
I love introspective novels, usually. The writing in this case remained delicious and kept me going, but by the end I cared about no one in this book. Not a single soul.
For tales of old-school Japan, give me Tanizaki, Kawabata, Yoshikawa or Mishima over this, any day.
December 6, 2016
My book club buddy made us all read it because he was dating a Japanese girl and wanted to learn more about her culture (I hope one day someone reads Prus for me, that would be real love). Anyway, they've been married for a while now, so that should give you an idea how behind I am with my reviews.
After all the melodrama of the Western literature, reading Kokoro was a refreshing experience of emotional restraint. It's an absolute classic, written in 1914, the end of Meiji era when Japan was going through somewhat tumultuous cultural changes after centuries of isolation.
All the reviews will tell you that 'Kokoro' means the metaphorical heart, the feeling, the heart of things. It's an apt title even if all those things remain unsaid, ambiguous and floating. Despite its delicate nature this book is really about a cultural clash of the Zen Buddhist values of calm observation and passionless life and the brave new world of obsessive individualism courtesy of the Western Civilisation. You can find the traces of the Western literature (so beloved by Soseki) in a certain despair and hopelessness that often characterises Victorian novels. However, the drama is missing, the passion if it exists is under a lock and key, so in its heart (see, what I did there?) it is definitely a Japanese novel.
The book opens with the narrator, a young student, observing an older man (henceforth called Sensei) bathing in the sea. I can't be the only one detecting some homoerotic undertones in the obsessive admiration that the narrator develops on spot. I mean, I probably think about sex too much, but come on! All that stuff about wind drying wet naked bodies. Come on!
What follows is a story of a baffling friendship between the two, where nothing of consequence is ever said. Ironically, the most important theme of the book is loneliness, the kind that can never be escaped, the kind that's the price that needs to be paid for the indulgence of choosing self over a group.
Kokoro fixates on the guilt and penance but somehow neglects to mention that the kind of penance chosen by Sensei is the one that punishes unfairly everyone around him too; it's the most self-involved kind of punishment. I fail to see anything noble about it.
So should you read this book? Do you care for occasionally exhausting existential ennui and a reminder that we are all alone inside our own heads, forever? If so, then yes, by all means.
After all the melodrama of the Western literature, reading Kokoro was a refreshing experience of emotional restraint. It's an absolute classic, written in 1914, the end of Meiji era when Japan was going through somewhat tumultuous cultural changes after centuries of isolation.
All the reviews will tell you that 'Kokoro' means the metaphorical heart, the feeling, the heart of things. It's an apt title even if all those things remain unsaid, ambiguous and floating. Despite its delicate nature this book is really about a cultural clash of the Zen Buddhist values of calm observation and passionless life and the brave new world of obsessive individualism courtesy of the Western Civilisation. You can find the traces of the Western literature (so beloved by Soseki) in a certain despair and hopelessness that often characterises Victorian novels. However, the drama is missing, the passion if it exists is under a lock and key, so in its heart (see, what I did there?) it is definitely a Japanese novel.
The book opens with the narrator, a young student, observing an older man (henceforth called Sensei) bathing in the sea. I can't be the only one detecting some homoerotic undertones in the obsessive admiration that the narrator develops on spot. I mean, I probably think about sex too much, but come on! All that stuff about wind drying wet naked bodies. Come on!
What follows is a story of a baffling friendship between the two, where nothing of consequence is ever said. Ironically, the most important theme of the book is loneliness, the kind that can never be escaped, the kind that's the price that needs to be paid for the indulgence of choosing self over a group.
Kokoro fixates on the guilt and penance but somehow neglects to mention that the kind of penance chosen by Sensei is the one that punishes unfairly everyone around him too; it's the most self-involved kind of punishment. I fail to see anything noble about it.
So should you read this book? Do you care for occasionally exhausting existential ennui and a reminder that we are all alone inside our own heads, forever? If so, then yes, by all means.
April 22, 2011
Kokoro translates to "the heart of things". I only know this because the translator's forward said it was so. I need a translator, from my heart's mind to yours (anyone?)... I am afraid that I will wander around in the dark mental spaces again. Gray shades of life experiences and emotional (not necessarily reality) experiences. Who could pick up on the undertones and relevances? I'm truly afraid that worse than making no sense, I'll be sitting at the feet (Muppet babies feet? Peanuts gang feet? Warbled voices of unknowable adult world? Something like that) in my open mouthed admiration again. In affection? Most definitely. This affection kept my heart in my mouth when reading Kokoro. That is mine! (Does anyone in my life ever understand that about me? I only hope... It feels wretched when I don't make sense. It is hopeless when I reflect cold.) It's a lonely and reserved affection. I AM going to make no sense again. I related tight rope walking style once again to the great divide in humanity and loneliness. The young student who sees in his Sensei a value of life experiences (damn it it is much, much more than that to him. A lifeline? A tugged line across various life shit. The best part is not holding it alone). Sensei who has willfully lived as dead for a long time from a past betrayal to himself and his friend (he deliberately severed another tugged line, in a sense. Over a girl. Try to make real book sense for a change, Mariel!). Willfully, not willingly. The resolve earlier made would have spared (not saved) him from a lifetime of suspended mental hell. Loneliness. The worst kind because company couldn't change the fact that your own company is unendurable. Not his student's (well, of a sort) affection in loneliness. Kokoro hit me hard because, well, I'm in both of those times all of my time. I believe in this "heart of things" because it is that watching and reaching out affection of lonely connections of the student to the sensei... The not being pushed away, no matter the pushing, future and life shit that could just at the wrong twist of fate and time break the tenous hold. Lines are so damned hard to keep up. I really didn't expect to read this love behind all of this. (I needed it. It'd have been a MUST read if I'd known.) Now I wish I could ever be as sure as the student that these feelings and experiences give the good kind of heavy weight on the balance of that damned tight rope of depression and doubts... I have the affection... I don't have the surety. Sensei? Anyone?
Here are some passages that I marked off for myself.
"The memory that you once sat at my feet will begin to haunt you and, in bitterness and shame, you will want to degrade me. I do not want your admiration now, because I do not want your insults in the future. I bear with my loneliness now, in order to avoid greater loneliness in the years ahead. You see, loneliness is the price we have to pay for being born in this modern age, so full of freedom, independence, and our own egotistical selves."
But the fire behind the cold heart walls! Even I've got 'em...
"I was once deceived," Sensei said. "Moreover, I was deceived by own blood relations. I shall never forget this. When my father was alive, they behaved like decent people. But as soon as he died they turned into scroundrels. The effect of the injury that they did me in my youth is with me still. It will be with me, I suppose, until I die. What they did to me I shall remember so long as I live. But I have never taken my revenge on them. When I think about it, I have done something much worse than that. I have come to hate not only them, but the human race in general. That is quite enough, I think."
Not even words of consolation came to my lips.
I didn't think what his Uncle and family did stealing his inheritance was as shocking as all that. It was his own betrayal that killed. I don't care what Sensei says.
"It would appear that you are unable to distinguish between my ideas at present and the events of my past. I am not much of a thinker, but the few ideas that I do have, I have no wish to hide from others. I have no reason to. But if you are suggesting that I should tell you all about my past- well, that's another matter entirely."
"I do not agree with you. I value your opinions because they are the results of your experience. Your opinions would be worthless otherwise. They would be like soulless dolls."
I saved this for myself because I have long felt such remorse (close to shame) the times I've opened up about stuff. Like I had no right to. (Why am I admitting this? Because this book is more urgent to me than I was led to believe on amazon.com reviews. It's not a predecessor of No Longer Human. It's behind loneliness built up walls affection. Like weeds!)
"It is possible that, in a sense, I deserved his contempt. His point of view of everything was much loftier than mine. I do not deny this. But when the loftiness is merely in one's point of view, then one is hopelessly handicapped as a human being. I decided that what he needed, above all else, was humanizing. No matter how full one's head might be with the image of greatness, one was useless, I found out, unless one was a worthy man first."
Sensei may not have believed it but... Loftiness? What the hell is that good for? I get nosebleeds from looking up at that...
"Time and time again, I wondered what had caused K to commit suicide. At first, I was inclined to think that it was disappointment in love. I could think of nothing but love then, and quite naturally I accepted without question the first simple and straightforward explanation that came to my mind. Later, however, when I could think more objectively, I began to wonder whether my explanation had not been too simple. I asked myself, "Was it perhaps because his ideals clashed with reality that he killed himself?" But I could not convince myself that K had chosen death for such a reason. Finally, I became aware of the possibility that K had experienced loneliness as terrible as mine, and wishing to escape quickly from it, had killed himself. Once more, fear gripped my heart. From then on, like a gust of winter wind, the premonition that I was treading the same path as K had done would rush at me from time to time, and chill me to the bone."
I don't want to be Sensei. Whatever happened with K, that doesn't twist up his other lines. I would want to burn fires for him too.
"Then, at the height of the summer, Emperor Meiji passed away. I felt as though the spirit of the Meiji era had begun with the Emperor and had ended with him. I was overcome with the feeling that I and the others, who had been brought up in that era, were now left behind to live as anachronisms. I told my wife so. She laughed and refused to take me seriously. Then she said a curious thing, albeit in jest: "Well then, junshi is the solution to your problem." (Junshi means "following one's lord to the grave.")
Oh fuck that. There is no such fucking thing. There is no hope at all if that is true.
Here are some passages that I marked off for myself.
"The memory that you once sat at my feet will begin to haunt you and, in bitterness and shame, you will want to degrade me. I do not want your admiration now, because I do not want your insults in the future. I bear with my loneliness now, in order to avoid greater loneliness in the years ahead. You see, loneliness is the price we have to pay for being born in this modern age, so full of freedom, independence, and our own egotistical selves."
But the fire behind the cold heart walls! Even I've got 'em...
"I was once deceived," Sensei said. "Moreover, I was deceived by own blood relations. I shall never forget this. When my father was alive, they behaved like decent people. But as soon as he died they turned into scroundrels. The effect of the injury that they did me in my youth is with me still. It will be with me, I suppose, until I die. What they did to me I shall remember so long as I live. But I have never taken my revenge on them. When I think about it, I have done something much worse than that. I have come to hate not only them, but the human race in general. That is quite enough, I think."
Not even words of consolation came to my lips.
I didn't think what his Uncle and family did stealing his inheritance was as shocking as all that. It was his own betrayal that killed. I don't care what Sensei says.
"It would appear that you are unable to distinguish between my ideas at present and the events of my past. I am not much of a thinker, but the few ideas that I do have, I have no wish to hide from others. I have no reason to. But if you are suggesting that I should tell you all about my past- well, that's another matter entirely."
"I do not agree with you. I value your opinions because they are the results of your experience. Your opinions would be worthless otherwise. They would be like soulless dolls."
I saved this for myself because I have long felt such remorse (close to shame) the times I've opened up about stuff. Like I had no right to. (Why am I admitting this? Because this book is more urgent to me than I was led to believe on amazon.com reviews. It's not a predecessor of No Longer Human. It's behind loneliness built up walls affection. Like weeds!)
"It is possible that, in a sense, I deserved his contempt. His point of view of everything was much loftier than mine. I do not deny this. But when the loftiness is merely in one's point of view, then one is hopelessly handicapped as a human being. I decided that what he needed, above all else, was humanizing. No matter how full one's head might be with the image of greatness, one was useless, I found out, unless one was a worthy man first."
Sensei may not have believed it but... Loftiness? What the hell is that good for? I get nosebleeds from looking up at that...
"Time and time again, I wondered what had caused K to commit suicide. At first, I was inclined to think that it was disappointment in love. I could think of nothing but love then, and quite naturally I accepted without question the first simple and straightforward explanation that came to my mind. Later, however, when I could think more objectively, I began to wonder whether my explanation had not been too simple. I asked myself, "Was it perhaps because his ideals clashed with reality that he killed himself?" But I could not convince myself that K had chosen death for such a reason. Finally, I became aware of the possibility that K had experienced loneliness as terrible as mine, and wishing to escape quickly from it, had killed himself. Once more, fear gripped my heart. From then on, like a gust of winter wind, the premonition that I was treading the same path as K had done would rush at me from time to time, and chill me to the bone."
I don't want to be Sensei. Whatever happened with K, that doesn't twist up his other lines. I would want to burn fires for him too.
"Then, at the height of the summer, Emperor Meiji passed away. I felt as though the spirit of the Meiji era had begun with the Emperor and had ended with him. I was overcome with the feeling that I and the others, who had been brought up in that era, were now left behind to live as anachronisms. I told my wife so. She laughed and refused to take me seriously. Then she said a curious thing, albeit in jest: "Well then, junshi is the solution to your problem." (Junshi means "following one's lord to the grave.")
Oh fuck that. There is no such fucking thing. There is no hope at all if that is true.
March 17, 2024
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2022...
"-¿Le importaría que lo visitase en alguna ocasión?
-Está bien -me respondió él, tímidamente.
Nuestra relación ya había alcanzado por entonces, creía yo, cierto grado de familiaridad y confieso que habría esperado de él una respuesta más cálida. Su parca contestación tuvo el efecto de herir en cierto modo mi autoestima.
Sensei me decepcionaba a menudo con su comportamiento tan distante."
Esta es una de esas novelas que llegan inesperadamente, casi sin planearlo, se cuelan arriba de la pila, y poco a poco se va desvelando como una obra que parece una de esas cajas rusas: en un principio discreta, pausada, y cuando te quieres dar cuenta, te has bebido media novela y se ha revelado un texto que impacta no solo por todos los temas que toca, sino por la forma en que el autor conduce al lector. Es el talento de Soseki, que bajo un aire de “aparentemente no pasa nada” van bullendo una cantidad de emociones y de temas que explosionan en la última parte de la novela. Tengo que confesar que ya lo intenté antes con Soseki con la novela del gato y no pude conectar, sin embargo, con Kokoro he entendido perfectamente lo que significa que un autor conduzca al lector hacia un final inesperado, no tanto por lo que pasa, sino por las emociones que consigue desvelar.
"Puede que solo repita algo obvio, pero estoy convencido de que entre un hombre y una mujer que han mantenido estrecho contacto desde niños, es imposible que surja esa frescura, ese estímulo esencial que es la semilla del amor. Igual que la primera vez que se huele el incienso o se saborea el primer sake, el impulso del amor debe nacer en un momento clave. Si se deja pasar ese instante..."
Ante todo veo Kokoro como la historia de la amistad entre dos hombres, una amistad en dos lineas de tiempo diferentes, en el centro del cual siempre está el personaje protagonista, al que el estudiante llamará Sensei, así que se puede decir que uno de los grandes temas que aquí se exploran es el tema de la amistad, con todo lo que esto implica, sumemos a esto el tema de la confianza, el egoísmo y la culpa. El narrador, un personaje sin nombre observa un día a un hombre en una playa, fuerza un encuentro y a partir de ahí surge una amistad más en la linea de maestro y pupilo. Es una amistad basada sobre todo en la admiración que este estudiante siente por el Sensei, quizá la relación idealizada que le hubiera gustado tener con su propio padre porque el sensei es un hombre seguro de sí mismo y de sus ideas, con un cierto cinísmo y hartazgo por la vida que completan esta imagen medio mítica que el estudiante tiene de este hombre, del que tampoco conocemos su nombre, solo el de maestro, sensei. A partir de aquí sabremos que el padre del estudiante está muy enfermo, sabremos que el sensei vive con su mujer apartado del mundo y sabremos que hay un misterio en torno a su vida, que no se desvela pero que es una especie de hierro candente a lo largo de toda la novela. Un misterio que está ahi, que puede de alguna forma clarificar porque el sensei siente ese desprecio por relacionarse, porque huye de las emociones y porque quiere aislarse del mundo.
La forma en que Soseki reflexiona sobre el ser humano, la soledad y el conflicto interno por un pasado que resulta imperfecto se va desplegando como un abanico hasta que el lector tiene una visión completa de los personajes centrales. El contexto histórico de la novela es esencial porque la historia que transcurre en pleno 1914, justo al final de la era Meiji con el fin del antiguo Japón, y justo cuando este país después de siglos de cerrazón se abría al mundo y a la modernidad en los principios de la era Taisho (un trauma social e histórico innegable para muchos que se negaban a abandonar ese viejo mundo), con lo cual este momento histórico influirá profundamente a sus personajes centrales y afectará a sus decisiones futuras. Y este contexto histórico está perfectamente reflejado en el estudiante, con la apertura, y en contraposición, con el sensei, que siente que estos nuevos cambios supondrán para él un desgaste todavía mayor del que lleva a cuestas: su actitud ascética, errática, que lucha en contra de cualquier emoción es el fiel reflejo de la era Meiji que estaba dando los últimos coletazos.
"De vez en cuando una extraña oscuridad nublaba su gesto, como la sombra de un pájaro en pleno vuelo proyectada sobre una ventana, que tan pronto como aparece se desvanece
(...)
Durante un instante, tuve la impresión de que el cálido pulso de mi sangre desaparecía, como si mi corazón hubiera dejado de latir por un instante. Sin embargo, enseguida recuperó su ritmo pausado de siempre. "
Lo que más me interesa de esta novela es la forma en la que Soseki nos prepara para enfrentarnos a la última parte: las dos primeras partes, pueden parecer lentas, pero son esenciales para que se desarrollen unos personajes, sobre todo el del sensei, y podamos conocerlos cuando llegue esta última parte. El estudiante que ha estado durante los dos primeros tercios completamente hechizado por lo enigmático y por el misterio que rodea al sensei, se encuentra en el último tercio, al igual que el lector, perfectamente preparado y expectante por la resolución final. Una resolución final de la que no voy a dar ninguna pista pero que tengo que decir que me fascinó como pocas novelas he leído últimamente
El significado de kokoro se podría decir que es el de corazón, mente, alma, espiritú, pensamiento... pero es un concepto más amplio que se puede resumir como el corazón de las cosas, de una cierta atmósfera relacionándola con esta esencia de las cosas y eso es principalmente lo que explora aquí Soseki: la esencia del ser humano, la intímidad que se produce en ciertas relaciones humanas, la complejidad de ciertas decisiones a lo largo de la vida, las consecuencias, y por otra parte, Soseki hace una exploración mayúscula del amor, de la culpa y de la traición. Una novela que me ha pillado por sorpresa, y quizá estas sean las mejores novelas, las inesperadamente perfectas. La traducción es de Yoko Ogihara y Fernando Cordobés.
"Es por eso que trato de esquivar esa admiración que sientes por mí, para protegerme de tu futuro desdén. Prefiero quedarme como estoy, sufrir mi soledad ahora en lugar de soportar algo peor más adelante. A nosotros que he.os nacido en esta época de libertad e independencia, no nos queda más remedio que soportar esa soledad."
Kokoro, 1955, Kon Ichikawa
"-¿Le importaría que lo visitase en alguna ocasión?
-Está bien -me respondió él, tímidamente.
Nuestra relación ya había alcanzado por entonces, creía yo, cierto grado de familiaridad y confieso que habría esperado de él una respuesta más cálida. Su parca contestación tuvo el efecto de herir en cierto modo mi autoestima.
Sensei me decepcionaba a menudo con su comportamiento tan distante."
Esta es una de esas novelas que llegan inesperadamente, casi sin planearlo, se cuelan arriba de la pila, y poco a poco se va desvelando como una obra que parece una de esas cajas rusas: en un principio discreta, pausada, y cuando te quieres dar cuenta, te has bebido media novela y se ha revelado un texto que impacta no solo por todos los temas que toca, sino por la forma en que el autor conduce al lector. Es el talento de Soseki, que bajo un aire de “aparentemente no pasa nada” van bullendo una cantidad de emociones y de temas que explosionan en la última parte de la novela. Tengo que confesar que ya lo intenté antes con Soseki con la novela del gato y no pude conectar, sin embargo, con Kokoro he entendido perfectamente lo que significa que un autor conduzca al lector hacia un final inesperado, no tanto por lo que pasa, sino por las emociones que consigue desvelar.
"Puede que solo repita algo obvio, pero estoy convencido de que entre un hombre y una mujer que han mantenido estrecho contacto desde niños, es imposible que surja esa frescura, ese estímulo esencial que es la semilla del amor. Igual que la primera vez que se huele el incienso o se saborea el primer sake, el impulso del amor debe nacer en un momento clave. Si se deja pasar ese instante..."
Ante todo veo Kokoro como la historia de la amistad entre dos hombres, una amistad en dos lineas de tiempo diferentes, en el centro del cual siempre está el personaje protagonista, al que el estudiante llamará Sensei, así que se puede decir que uno de los grandes temas que aquí se exploran es el tema de la amistad, con todo lo que esto implica, sumemos a esto el tema de la confianza, el egoísmo y la culpa. El narrador, un personaje sin nombre observa un día a un hombre en una playa, fuerza un encuentro y a partir de ahí surge una amistad más en la linea de maestro y pupilo. Es una amistad basada sobre todo en la admiración que este estudiante siente por el Sensei, quizá la relación idealizada que le hubiera gustado tener con su propio padre porque el sensei es un hombre seguro de sí mismo y de sus ideas, con un cierto cinísmo y hartazgo por la vida que completan esta imagen medio mítica que el estudiante tiene de este hombre, del que tampoco conocemos su nombre, solo el de maestro, sensei. A partir de aquí sabremos que el padre del estudiante está muy enfermo, sabremos que el sensei vive con su mujer apartado del mundo y sabremos que hay un misterio en torno a su vida, que no se desvela pero que es una especie de hierro candente a lo largo de toda la novela. Un misterio que está ahi, que puede de alguna forma clarificar porque el sensei siente ese desprecio por relacionarse, porque huye de las emociones y porque quiere aislarse del mundo.
La forma en que Soseki reflexiona sobre el ser humano, la soledad y el conflicto interno por un pasado que resulta imperfecto se va desplegando como un abanico hasta que el lector tiene una visión completa de los personajes centrales. El contexto histórico de la novela es esencial porque la historia que transcurre en pleno 1914, justo al final de la era Meiji con el fin del antiguo Japón, y justo cuando este país después de siglos de cerrazón se abría al mundo y a la modernidad en los principios de la era Taisho (un trauma social e histórico innegable para muchos que se negaban a abandonar ese viejo mundo), con lo cual este momento histórico influirá profundamente a sus personajes centrales y afectará a sus decisiones futuras. Y este contexto histórico está perfectamente reflejado en el estudiante, con la apertura, y en contraposición, con el sensei, que siente que estos nuevos cambios supondrán para él un desgaste todavía mayor del que lleva a cuestas: su actitud ascética, errática, que lucha en contra de cualquier emoción es el fiel reflejo de la era Meiji que estaba dando los últimos coletazos.
"De vez en cuando una extraña oscuridad nublaba su gesto, como la sombra de un pájaro en pleno vuelo proyectada sobre una ventana, que tan pronto como aparece se desvanece
(...)
Durante un instante, tuve la impresión de que el cálido pulso de mi sangre desaparecía, como si mi corazón hubiera dejado de latir por un instante. Sin embargo, enseguida recuperó su ritmo pausado de siempre. "
Lo que más me interesa de esta novela es la forma en la que Soseki nos prepara para enfrentarnos a la última parte: las dos primeras partes, pueden parecer lentas, pero son esenciales para que se desarrollen unos personajes, sobre todo el del sensei, y podamos conocerlos cuando llegue esta última parte. El estudiante que ha estado durante los dos primeros tercios completamente hechizado por lo enigmático y por el misterio que rodea al sensei, se encuentra en el último tercio, al igual que el lector, perfectamente preparado y expectante por la resolución final. Una resolución final de la que no voy a dar ninguna pista pero que tengo que decir que me fascinó como pocas novelas he leído últimamente
El significado de kokoro se podría decir que es el de corazón, mente, alma, espiritú, pensamiento... pero es un concepto más amplio que se puede resumir como el corazón de las cosas, de una cierta atmósfera relacionándola con esta esencia de las cosas y eso es principalmente lo que explora aquí Soseki: la esencia del ser humano, la intímidad que se produce en ciertas relaciones humanas, la complejidad de ciertas decisiones a lo largo de la vida, las consecuencias, y por otra parte, Soseki hace una exploración mayúscula del amor, de la culpa y de la traición. Una novela que me ha pillado por sorpresa, y quizá estas sean las mejores novelas, las inesperadamente perfectas. La traducción es de Yoko Ogihara y Fernando Cordobés.
"Es por eso que trato de esquivar esa admiración que sientes por mí, para protegerme de tu futuro desdén. Prefiero quedarme como estoy, sufrir mi soledad ahora en lugar de soportar algo peor más adelante. A nosotros que he.os nacido en esta época de libertad e independencia, no nos queda más remedio que soportar esa soledad."
Kokoro, 1955, Kon Ichikawa
February 11, 2021
Kokoro is the title of this Japanese classic published in 1914 by Natsume Soseki. It is also a Japanese word meaning “the heart of a thing”, or in other words the essence or the core of whatever it is one is talking about, maybe a person or perhaps a concept. It is good to keep this in mind as you read the book. If the word intrigues you, I think you will also like the book. The book leads you on a search for understanding of the central character.
The story spreads over several years, starting around 1910, in Kamakura, Japan. The setting moves to Tokyo and to provincial life in the countryside. It is told in three parts, All three in the first person narrative. In Kamakura a student meets and becomes friends with an older man whom he calls Sensei (teacher). Earlier experiences in his life have shaped Sensei to the man he has become. The book is a search to understand the sensei.
The student tells the first two parts. Sensei speaks in the last, through a letter addressed to the younger man. There is no two ways about it, this is a story told rather than shown. Warning signs flash; you shouldn’t tell a story this way, the rules say! Nevertheless, it works—very well!
The younger and the older man become friends, and yet there remains a distance between them. Sensei’s life holds a secret. It is built on a secret, a secret that cannot be revealed. As the two grow closer, the sensei says he will one day explain. That secret is explained in the letter.
The reader’s curiosity grows. The reader wants to know what has happened in the life of the sensei to make him say the things he says and act as he does. Suspense mounts as you try and figure out what has happened. Before all is made clear, you are guessing. You begin to have an inkling of what is going on. You think you understand. You hold your breath and wait and see if your guess is right.
What is delivered is a topnotch character study.
The story’s theme circles around guilt. If you achieve what you are going after by the wrong means, is it any longer worth having? Dislike of others can be caused by a dislike of one’s self. Living a life built on a secret is lonely. How does one change this? What are the possible means of escape?
The edition I listened to is translated by and has a short informative introduction by Edwin McClellan. Therein is explained the meaning of the word Kokoro. The translation flows smoothly, naturally. The prose is straightforward, clear and simple, never convoluted nor complicated.
This story is told, rather than shown. It shouldn’t work, but it does. With a good author, even good rules can be broken.
Matt Shea narrates the audiobook. He reads in an even tone. This fits well as one’s curiosity grows and tension mounts. Heavy dramatization would work less well. There are sections he reads too quickly. Some words are hard to decipher. I have given the narration three stars—it’s good, but not exceptional.
The story spreads over several years, starting around 1910, in Kamakura, Japan. The setting moves to Tokyo and to provincial life in the countryside. It is told in three parts, All three in the first person narrative. In Kamakura a student meets and becomes friends with an older man whom he calls Sensei (teacher). Earlier experiences in his life have shaped Sensei to the man he has become. The book is a search to understand the sensei.
The student tells the first two parts. Sensei speaks in the last, through a letter addressed to the younger man. There is no two ways about it, this is a story told rather than shown. Warning signs flash; you shouldn’t tell a story this way, the rules say! Nevertheless, it works—very well!
The younger and the older man become friends, and yet there remains a distance between them. Sensei’s life holds a secret. It is built on a secret, a secret that cannot be revealed. As the two grow closer, the sensei says he will one day explain. That secret is explained in the letter.
The reader’s curiosity grows. The reader wants to know what has happened in the life of the sensei to make him say the things he says and act as he does. Suspense mounts as you try and figure out what has happened. Before all is made clear, you are guessing. You begin to have an inkling of what is going on. You think you understand. You hold your breath and wait and see if your guess is right.
What is delivered is a topnotch character study.
The story’s theme circles around guilt. If you achieve what you are going after by the wrong means, is it any longer worth having? Dislike of others can be caused by a dislike of one’s self. Living a life built on a secret is lonely. How does one change this? What are the possible means of escape?
The edition I listened to is translated by and has a short informative introduction by Edwin McClellan. Therein is explained the meaning of the word Kokoro. The translation flows smoothly, naturally. The prose is straightforward, clear and simple, never convoluted nor complicated.
This story is told, rather than shown. It shouldn’t work, but it does. With a good author, even good rules can be broken.
Matt Shea narrates the audiobook. He reads in an even tone. This fits well as one’s curiosity grows and tension mounts. Heavy dramatization would work less well. There are sections he reads too quickly. Some words are hard to decipher. I have given the narration three stars—it’s good, but not exceptional.
January 17, 2022
“My morality is probably very different from that of young people today. But different though it may be, it is my own. It is not some rented clothing I have borrowed to suit the moment. This is why I believe it will be of some use to you, a young man just starting out in life.”
After leaving his family home in the countryside to attend university in the bustling city of Tokyo, the young narrator of this novel is lonely and uninspired until he encounters an older gentleman whom he refers to as ‘Sensei’ (teacher). Sensei, who the protagonist from the offset describes as unapproachable and aloof, piques the curiosity of the young fellow and begrudgingly accepts the new youthful presence in his life. It seems unclear as to what drew the narrator to Sensei in the first instance; Sensei’s apathetic, dispassionate nature paired with his lack of vocation and intense antipathy towards the human race, makes him a bitter and off-putting presence. To the young narrator, however, Sensei—and his secrets—inexplicably draws the narrator, and the reader, in.
The book is split into three parts. The first two are written from the perspective of the student, largely describing his infatuation and regular interactions with Sensei, his studies and correspondence with his family back in the village, and last third is a letter from Sensei to his young companion, explaining the secret behind his unusual social etiquette.
Timeless and evocative, Kokoro (Japanese for “the heart of things”) is a novel that chiefly explores change and the tension that manifests from change. This is likely due to the fact that the novel itself was written in 1914, just after the end of Japan’s Meiji era (1868-1912) which was a marker of great sociological, technological and industrial change. As with any nation undergoing modernisation, there manifests a conflict between the old/traditional way of life and the ‘modern’ way of life, both of which often have contrasting, contradictory values. Sōseki perfectly captures this dichotomy by exemplifying the rising tension between old and new through the interactions of his characters both with each other and the world around them.
The narrator, a young independent man, presents an almost feverish eagerness to understand the antisocial figure whom he went out of his way to befriend.
“Sensei was, in a word, still opaque to me. I could not rest until I had moved beyond this state and entered a place of clarity. Any break in relations with him would cause me anguish.”
The tension between old and new is depicted largely through the narrator’s interactions with both his elders and his environment. The narrator, now accustomed to the modern life in Tokyo, finds simple village life at odds with his progressive views and individualistic mentality. Sōseki continuously prompts the reader to pause and reflect on how such a change can be brought about in such a short space of time—are our preferences and values shaped by our environment or are they innate, with a change in environment being the very thing that brings to surface those innate values and beliefs?
The prose was simple, descriptive and remarkable. I was impressed by both the beauty of the translation and the beauty of the story itself. Translations rarely do justice to a work in its original language, but I feel as though this got very close to reflecting the author’s original story and the nature of the characters.
Emotions such as guilt, loss and regret are presented in such a way that the reader is readily able to put him or herself in the character’s shoes and experience the burdens of a past life. I found myself deeply sympathetic with the outcome of the story and it drove home the the importance of opening up to others.
Side note near the end the Qur’an is mentioned which I wasn’t expecting at all lol.
After leaving his family home in the countryside to attend university in the bustling city of Tokyo, the young narrator of this novel is lonely and uninspired until he encounters an older gentleman whom he refers to as ‘Sensei’ (teacher). Sensei, who the protagonist from the offset describes as unapproachable and aloof, piques the curiosity of the young fellow and begrudgingly accepts the new youthful presence in his life. It seems unclear as to what drew the narrator to Sensei in the first instance; Sensei’s apathetic, dispassionate nature paired with his lack of vocation and intense antipathy towards the human race, makes him a bitter and off-putting presence. To the young narrator, however, Sensei—and his secrets—inexplicably draws the narrator, and the reader, in.
The book is split into three parts. The first two are written from the perspective of the student, largely describing his infatuation and regular interactions with Sensei, his studies and correspondence with his family back in the village, and last third is a letter from Sensei to his young companion, explaining the secret behind his unusual social etiquette.
Timeless and evocative, Kokoro (Japanese for “the heart of things”) is a novel that chiefly explores change and the tension that manifests from change. This is likely due to the fact that the novel itself was written in 1914, just after the end of Japan’s Meiji era (1868-1912) which was a marker of great sociological, technological and industrial change. As with any nation undergoing modernisation, there manifests a conflict between the old/traditional way of life and the ‘modern’ way of life, both of which often have contrasting, contradictory values. Sōseki perfectly captures this dichotomy by exemplifying the rising tension between old and new through the interactions of his characters both with each other and the world around them.
The narrator, a young independent man, presents an almost feverish eagerness to understand the antisocial figure whom he went out of his way to befriend.
“Sensei was, in a word, still opaque to me. I could not rest until I had moved beyond this state and entered a place of clarity. Any break in relations with him would cause me anguish.”
The tension between old and new is depicted largely through the narrator’s interactions with both his elders and his environment. The narrator, now accustomed to the modern life in Tokyo, finds simple village life at odds with his progressive views and individualistic mentality. Sōseki continuously prompts the reader to pause and reflect on how such a change can be brought about in such a short space of time—are our preferences and values shaped by our environment or are they innate, with a change in environment being the very thing that brings to surface those innate values and beliefs?
The prose was simple, descriptive and remarkable. I was impressed by both the beauty of the translation and the beauty of the story itself. Translations rarely do justice to a work in its original language, but I feel as though this got very close to reflecting the author’s original story and the nature of the characters.
Emotions such as guilt, loss and regret are presented in such a way that the reader is readily able to put him or herself in the character’s shoes and experience the burdens of a past life. I found myself deeply sympathetic with the outcome of the story and it drove home the the importance of opening up to others.
Side note near the end the Qur’an is mentioned which I wasn’t expecting at all lol.
March 11, 2017
As with many 'classic' Japanese novels, 'Kokoro' is a rumination on changing mores. Japan went through many culture shaking changes between the time in 1853 that U.S. Navy Commander and erstwhile 'diplomat' threatened Tokyo with bombardment if Japan did not enter into diplomatic discussions and the post-WWII period.
I found this book to be both fascinating and frustrating as it carries the reader over various times of change. Indeed, I often found myself to be quite upset at the characters as they all seemed to be either stumbling about in indecision or simply to be making bad decisions. But then, this can be seen as the skill of the writer as he takes me into his characters' world and makes me care, makes me want to shout out, "Stop prevaricating. Do it." But I do not shout out. The character stumbles again. And I'm frustrated again.
Values are something we all grow up with. We learn our basic values like we learn our first language, from the society around us. The difference is that we can learn another language without distorting the first one. Trying to shift values is often quite painful as we must either leave behind what is most central to us or isolate ourselves in a past which continues to unfold.
Author Natsume Sōseki poises the reader perfectly on the cusp of change between the young narrator and his older "Sensei", the man he chooses as his master to teach him. The older man struggles with his values and his guilt while the younger looks only for answers, clumsily pushing his way into the other's life.
Sōseki's skill is clearly shown in that neither man falls clearly into a stereotypical role. Indeed, each has to deal with the changing values in his own life, forever being faced with dilemmas of his own.
At the end, I found myself a bit adrift as I was left with actions of the two main characters with which I was not comfortable and whose final outcomes I will never know. That strikes me as being very life like.
A good book for a thoughtful reader.
I found this book to be both fascinating and frustrating as it carries the reader over various times of change. Indeed, I often found myself to be quite upset at the characters as they all seemed to be either stumbling about in indecision or simply to be making bad decisions. But then, this can be seen as the skill of the writer as he takes me into his characters' world and makes me care, makes me want to shout out, "Stop prevaricating. Do it." But I do not shout out. The character stumbles again. And I'm frustrated again.
Values are something we all grow up with. We learn our basic values like we learn our first language, from the society around us. The difference is that we can learn another language without distorting the first one. Trying to shift values is often quite painful as we must either leave behind what is most central to us or isolate ourselves in a past which continues to unfold.
Author Natsume Sōseki poises the reader perfectly on the cusp of change between the young narrator and his older "Sensei", the man he chooses as his master to teach him. The older man struggles with his values and his guilt while the younger looks only for answers, clumsily pushing his way into the other's life.
Sōseki's skill is clearly shown in that neither man falls clearly into a stereotypical role. Indeed, each has to deal with the changing values in his own life, forever being faced with dilemmas of his own.
At the end, I found myself a bit adrift as I was left with actions of the two main characters with which I was not comfortable and whose final outcomes I will never know. That strikes me as being very life like.
A good book for a thoughtful reader.
May 21, 2018
La sconfitta
"Con malizia ho conseguito la vittoria ; ma, come uomo, sono stato sconfitto".
Scritto nel 1914, due anni prima della morte dell'autore, grandissimo scrittore giapponese, N. Soseki.
La vicenda si svolge nel '12. Due i protagonisti : uno studente universitario e un più maturo signore, enigmatico e un po' inquietante, un uomo colto che vive di rendita, in modo agiato ma non propriamente ricco, insieme alla bellissima moglie.
Il ragazzo, colpito dall'intelligenza e dalla cultura di questo, lo chiama "Maestro".
Con rigorosa scansione temporale, periodicamente l'uomo s'incammina per una mesta passeggiata verso il cimitero ; evidentemente c'è un sepolcro che pare celare, "nell'umida oscurità della fossa, un qualche profondo segreto", e fin dall'inizio traspare nell'autunnale "sontuoso sfiorire della natura".
Il Maestro porta in sé un desolato pessimismo avvolto nel mistero : "Non è questione di quello che penso. E' piuttosto quello che ho fatto in passato che mi ha condotto in tale cupo abisso".
La vicenda tende a svelare sempre più l'enigma, finché la storia non emergerà in tutta la sua chiarezza.
La scrittura di Soseki è bellissima, poeticamente lucida, capace di indagare con sobrietà, lungo il dipanarsi di questo romanzo a sfondo giallo, le lunghe ombre scure via via sempre più percepibili, che tengono in pegno come castigo una vita intera.
"Con malizia ho conseguito la vittoria ; ma, come uomo, sono stato sconfitto".
Scritto nel 1914, due anni prima della morte dell'autore, grandissimo scrittore giapponese, N. Soseki.
La vicenda si svolge nel '12. Due i protagonisti : uno studente universitario e un più maturo signore, enigmatico e un po' inquietante, un uomo colto che vive di rendita, in modo agiato ma non propriamente ricco, insieme alla bellissima moglie.
Il ragazzo, colpito dall'intelligenza e dalla cultura di questo, lo chiama "Maestro".
Con rigorosa scansione temporale, periodicamente l'uomo s'incammina per una mesta passeggiata verso il cimitero ; evidentemente c'è un sepolcro che pare celare, "nell'umida oscurità della fossa, un qualche profondo segreto", e fin dall'inizio traspare nell'autunnale "sontuoso sfiorire della natura".
Il Maestro porta in sé un desolato pessimismo avvolto nel mistero : "Non è questione di quello che penso. E' piuttosto quello che ho fatto in passato che mi ha condotto in tale cupo abisso".
La vicenda tende a svelare sempre più l'enigma, finché la storia non emergerà in tutta la sua chiarezza.
La scrittura di Soseki è bellissima, poeticamente lucida, capace di indagare con sobrietà, lungo il dipanarsi di questo romanzo a sfondo giallo, le lunghe ombre scure via via sempre più percepibili, che tengono in pegno come castigo una vita intera.
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