Snow: A Novel
3.5/5
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About this ebook
Haiku
and snow.
It is April 1884 and Yuko Akita has reached his seventeenth birthday on the Island of Hokkaid in the North of Japan. The time has come to choose his vocation, warrior or monk, but against the wishes of his father, Yuko settles on a third option: he will be a poet. Yuko begins to write the seventeen-syllable poems we know as haiku--all celebrating the beauty of snow, his one great subject.
One day, the Imperial Poet arrives from the Emperor's court. He has heard about the beauty of Yuko's poems and has come to meet the young poet himself. While agreeing the poems have a music all their own, the Imperial Poet notes that lacking color, Yuko's poems are destined to remain invisible to the world. If the young poet is to learn color, he must study with the great artist Soseki in the south of Japan.
Yuko sets off on a treacherous journey across the whole of Japan. Cold, hungry, and exhausted, he encounters a vision that will forever change his life. It is a woman, frozen in the ice. With pale gold hair, ice blue eyes and a face as white as snow, the dead beauty will obsess Yuko. Who was she? How did she come to meet her death in the depths of his beloved snow?
Arriving at Soseki's door, Yuko is shocked to discover that the great master of color is blind. He will gradullay come to learn that color is not something outside of us, but within us. He will also learn about his master's Samurai past...and Soseki's link to the woman in the snow. It is a beautiful love story which will have its echo in Yuko's own as he finds his own, living, daughter of snow....
With stunning visual images created out of minimalist prose, Snow is as delicate and inspiring as the haiku poetry it celebrates and emulates. A swift and refreshing read, the novel treats readers to a gorgeous love story while gently floating ideas such as what is the nature of art and perception? What is the place of passion in art and in life? Highly romantic and gracefully written, Snow is destined to become a cult classic.
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Reviews for Snow
84 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Yuko Akita had two passions. Haiku. And snow.Yuko is a poet who loves snow and writes Haiku poetry only about snow. The Poet of the Imperial Court thinks Yuko has great potential but thinks his poetry needs more color. He then sends him on a journey to a blind poetry master named Soseki where Yuko will not only learn about poetry, but also about love.I really loved aspects of this book and the language is lyrical, but parts of it just didn’t sit right with me. It takes only an hour or two to read, though, so I do recommend it as something different from the usual that is not too time-consuming.1999, 100 pp., translated from the FrenchRating: 3.5/5
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Minimalist French novel about minimalist Japanese writers. Light and appealing.
Book preview
Snow - Maxence Fermine
I
1
Yuko Akita had two passions.
Haiku.
And snow.
A haiku is a Japanese poem. It has three lines. And only seventeen syllables. No more, no less.
Snow is a poem. A poem that falls from the clouds in delicate white flakes.
A poem that comes from the sky.
It has a name. A name of dazzling whiteness.
Snow.
2
Winter wind
—a monk, walking
in the wood
ISSA
Yuko’s father was a Shinto monk. He lived on the island of Hokkaido, in the north of Japan, where the winter was long and hard. He had taught his son the importance of faith, respect for the power of the elements, and a love of nature. He also taught him the art of writing haiku.
One day, in the month of April 1884, Yuko reached his seventeenth birthday. In Kyushu, in the south of Japan, the first cherry trees were beginning to bloom. In the north, the sea was still frozen.
His boyhood was nearing its end. The time had come for him to choose a vocation. For generations now, the Akita family had either entered the religious life or the army. But Yuko had no desire for either.
On the morning of his birthday, Yuko and his father were walking along by the river, Father,
he said, I want to become a poet.
The monk wrinkled his brow in a way that was barely perceptible and yet revealed a deep disappointment. The sun was reflected in the ripples of the water. A moon-fish glided past the birch trees and disappeared under the wooden bridge.
Poetry is not a profession. It is a way of passing the time. Poems are like water. Like this river.
Yuko lowered his gaze to the quiet, flowing water. Then he turned towards his father and said:
That is just what I want to do. To learn to watch the passing of time.
3
Frozen in the night
the water-jar cracks
wakes me
BASHÔ
What is poetry?
asked the monk.
It is a mystery,
answered Yuko.
One morning, a water-jar cracks. A drop of poetry forms in the mind. Its beauty touches the soul. It is the moment of saying what cannot be said, of making a journey without taking a step. It is the moment of becoming a poet.
Do not break the silence. Just watch, and write. A few words. Seventeen syllables. A haiku.
One morning, something wakes us. It is time. Time to withdraw from the world. Time to look afresh at this life, passing.
4
The first cicada!
he said,
and pissed
ISSA
Months passed. In the summer of 1884, Yuko wrote seventy-seven haiku. Each as beautiful as the one before.
One morning of pale sun, a butterfly alighted on his shoulder and left a tracery of stars that the rain of June washed away.
Sometimes, during the hours of the siesta, he went to listen to the singing of the