39 pages • 1 hour read
Kazuo IshiguroA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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“The English are fond of their idea that our race has an instinct for suicide, as if further explanations are unnecessary; for that was all they reported, that she was Japanese and that she had hung herself in her room.”
This passage at the outset of the novel alludes to the deep-seated cultural differences defining British-Japanese relations. Etsuko reveals the stereotypes about Japanese culture that are prevalent among the English, suggesting that people in England do not have an accurate understanding of Japanese culture. The reference to “an instinct for suicide” is a nod to several Japanese traditions that do, indeed, lead to suicide, like the traditional seppuku and WWII kamikaze soldiers. However, taking these instances of suicide out of context and concluding that there is some innate genetic tendency to seek death is a shallow and condescending attitude typical of how colonial powers think about non-Western cultures.
“The worst days were over by then. American soldiers were as numerous as ever—for there was fighting in Korea—but in Nagasaki, after what had gone before, those were days of calm and relief. The world had a feeling of change about it.”
This passage exemplifies the omission present in any discussions of WWII and the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Etsuko and her peers almost never directly mention the bombing, merely alluding to it as “the worst days” and “what had gone before.” These omissions speak to the difficulty of articulating something as atrocious as the atomic bomb and its devastating consequences for those left behind. The bombings are so traumatic that people are unable to talk or even think about them; it is as if there is an emptiness both physical and mental left behind.
“One wooden cottage had survived both the devastation of the war and the government bulldozers. I could see it from our window, standing alone at the end of that expanse of wasteground, practically on the edge of the river. It was the kind of cottage often seen in the countryside, with a tiled roof sloping almost to the ground. Often, during my empty moments, I would stand at my window gazing at it.”
Sachiko’s cottage is a symbol of the past. Its location links the cottage to the river and the wasteground, signaling its connection to death and destruction. Therefore, the cottage symbolizes that the past is dead or is unequivocally separated from Japan’s modernity as a result of the pervasive death caused by WWII. Alternatively, it could symbolize that living in the past is akin to death.
“‘I wouldn’t object, if that’s what you wish. I must say, your daughter seems quite young to be left on her own all day.’
‘How kind you are,’ Sachiko said again. Then she smiled once more. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’ll make a splendid mother.’”
This is one of the first conversations between the narrator and Sachiko. Etsuko presents herself as a concerned party, while Sachiko deflects by complimenting the other woman. Her comment, however, could also be perceived as a slight: Etsuko is not yet a mother and cannot possibly understand Sachiko’s behavior. Such a pronouncement also serves to mask the older woman’s deeply selfish behavior.
“And if in fact I did experience a curious feeling of unease at the time, it was probably nothing more than a simple response to Mariko’s manner.”
Throughout the course of the narrative, Etsuko does not discuss feelings or emotions. Therefore, her mention of “unease” in this passage stands in contrast to the rest of her narration and draws attention to the emotion. It never becomes clear why she feels unease because Sachiko and Mariko’s story remains unfinished. It is possible that Etsuko is simply projecting feelings onto her past self since Sachiko and Mariko are the ones connected to the idea of immigration, which the narrator blames for her daughter’s death.
“Mariko looked up at me again. ‘Not you,’ she said. ‘The other woman. The woman from across the river. She was here last night. While Mother was away.’
‘Last night? While your mother was away?’
‘She said she’d take me to her house, but I didn’t go with her. Because it was dark. She said we could take the lantern with us’—she gestured towards a lantern hung on the wall—‘but I didn’t go with her. Because it was dark.’”
The woman across the river is most likely a vision of the young mother who drowned her baby in the Tokyo canal and later committed suicide. The river serves as the boundary between the world of the living and the dead, so the woman is inviting Mariko to join her in death. In retrospect, this motif foreshadows Keiko’s suicide.
“‘Yes, of course.’ Mrs. Fujiwara kept looking into my face. ‘But I meant you looked a little—miserable.’
‘Miserable? I certainly don’t feel it. I’m just a little tired, but otherwise I’ve never been happier.’
“That’s good. You must keep your mind on happy things now. Your child. And the future.’
‘Yes, I will. Thinking about the child cheers me up.’”
This is a rare instance where the narrator mentions her emotions. However, what she feels and how she looks from the outside seem to be contradictory. It is possible that the older woman simply does not understand Etsuko, but it is likely that the younger woman is out of touch with her own emotions. She is insistent that she is happy, but her behavior described in other places does not support her claims.
“‘Etsuko, you must understand, there’s nothing I’m ashamed of. There’s nothing I want to hide from anyone. Please ask me anything you want, I’m not ashamed.’
‘I thought perhaps we should find your daughter first. We can talk later.’”
This passage affirms Sachiko’s selfishness. While her daughter is missing, all she cares about is talking about her own emotional well-being and reaffirming her choices. In this scene, Etsuko demonstrates more maternal feeling than the older woman. It also serves Etsuko’s purposes as a narrator to present herself as a reliable, compassionate woman, although we later see her act with callousness toward Mariko, contradicting her presentation here.
“Along the river the air was full of insects. We walked in silence, towards the small wooden bridge further downstream. Beyond it, on the opposite bank, were the woods Sachiko had mentioned earlier.
We were crossing the bridge, when Sachiko turned to me and said rapidly: ‘We went to a bar in the end. We were going to go to the cinema, to a film with Gary Cooper, but there was a long queue. The town was very crowded and a lot of people were drunk. We went to a bar in the end and they gave us a little room to ourselves.’”
The significance of this passage is the conversation’s location. Sachiko tells Etsuko of her affair with Frank while on the bridge, the symbolic connection between life and death. This suggests that Sachiko’s decision to go to a bar instead of the cinema is leading her down a path toward destruction. One possible explanation is that going to watch a film would be considered a date was therefore respectable, whereas going to a bar and having sex immediately places Sachiko in the role of an “easy” woman. Frank’s treatment of her seems to confirm such an interpretation. He does not treat her well and is happy to let her live in poor conditions.
“Mariko had been lying in a puddle and one side of her short dress was soaked in dark water. The blood was coming from a wound on the inside of her thigh.”
This is one of the more unsettling scenes in the novel. The way Mariko is lying down and the blood on the inside of her thighs bring to mind the possibility of sexual assault. However, Etsuko does not mention or even imply this possibility, and her acceptance of the events as straightforward seems to steer the reader away from such an interpretation. Her ignorance, intentional or accidental, is one of the reader’s early indications of her unreliability as a narrator.
“Sachiko sighed impatiently. ‘Really, Etsuko, did you think I hadn’t considered all this? Did you suppose I would decide to leave the country without having first given the most careful consideration to my daughter’s welfare?’
‘Naturally,’ I said, ‘you’d give it the most careful consideration.’
‘My daughter’s welfare is of the utmost importance to me, Etsuko. I wouldn’t make any decision that jeopardized her future. I’ve given the whole matter much consideration, and I’ve discussed it with Frank. I assure you, Mariko will be fine. There’ll be no problems.’”
This conversation exemplifies Sachiko’s modus operandi: She uses her daughter’s well-being as an excuse to pursue her own dreams. In this instance, she believes Frank will take her to America, so she uses Mariko’s happiness as a pretext for her plan. Yet when Frank later disappears, she uses almost the exact same words to argue that staying at her relative’s house would be better for the girl. Finally, when Frank appears again, Sachiko changes her mind for the third time and uses similar phrases to once again claim that going to America will be the best option for Mariko. Paradoxically, the way Sachiko repeats certain phrases instills doubts in Etsuko and the reader, and it seems she is trying to convince not only Etsuko, but herself. However, she is an intelligent woman, which leads the reader to assume that Sachiko is aware of how difficult or problematic immigration could be. She might not actually believe that life will be better in America, but she is desperate, and immigration is the only hope that keeps her going.
“‘A friend of mine’s just had a baby,’ Niki said. ‘She’s really pleased. I can’t think why. Horrible screaming thing she’s produced.’”
In contrast to Etsuko and her Japanese acquaintances’ preoccupation with having healthy children and being good mothers, Niki rejects procreation as the ultimate achievement of womanhood. This difference in opinion could be the result of a generational gap, although some of Niki’s friends do choose to have children. Niki’s attitude more likely is a reaction to, and against, her mother’s experience. Not having experienced any deeply traumatic events, such as a war or the atomic bombing, Niki cannot truly understand the desire to create new life, nor does she understand the cultural demands set on women in Japanese society.
“I have found myself continually bringing to mind that picture—of my daughter hanging in her room for days on end. The horror of that image has never diminished, but it has long ceased to be a morbid matter; as with a wound on one’s own body, it is possible to develop an intimacy with the most disturbing of things.”
Etsuko imagines this scene, rather than witnessing it, which installs some distance between the reader and the event, but it is still a disturbing picture. The fact that she has not seen her daughter’s body makes what she imagines even more terrible than the reality. The imagery of Keiko hanging from her ceiling is one Etsuko echoes or mirrors frequently throughout her narration: Etsuko’s dream in which a young girl is hanging from the swing; walking down the riverbank and becoming tangled up in a rope; and the hanged girl she hears about during her pregnancy.
“‘The Americans, they never understood the way things were in Japan. Not for one moment have they understood. Their ways may be fine for Americans, but in Japan things are different, very different.’ Ogata-San sighed again. ‘Discipline, loyalty, such things held Japan together once. That may sound fanciful, but it’s true. People were bound by a sense of duty. Towards one’s family, towards superiors, towards the country. But now instead there’s all this talk of democracy. You hear it whenever people want to be selfish, whenever they want to forget obligations.’”
This is an important passage that outlines the tensions between traditional Japanese culture and the new Western ways introduced after WWII. While the old way of life could be co-opted for political reasons and people’s beliefs were used against them by the country’s leaders, democracy is also an imperfect system. The difference between self-assertion and selfishness is often subjective, and the belief in individualism can also be abused for personal gain. Furthermore, accepting a more egalitarian system would eventually curtail male privilege, something that Ogata-san or Jiro and his colleagues would see as a negative development.
“‘That may be a pity, admittedly. But then I remember some odd things from my schooldays. I remember being taught all about how Japan was created by the gods, for instance. How we as a nation were divine and supreme. We had to memorize the text book word for word. Some things aren’t such a loss, perhaps.’”
Jiro avoids confrontation and wants to circumvent an argument with his father, but he cannot go against his consciousness and pretend that the old education system was better than the new one. As someone shaped by pre-WWII culture but lives in the post-war period, Jiro can assess the situation more objectively than his father. Renewed business relations with other nations and rapid globalization expose Japanese people to other cultures and worldviews, something that was quite limited prior to WWII, further impacting Jiro’s perspective.
“We devoted ourselves to ensuring that proper qualities were handed down, that children grew up with the correct attitude to their country, to their fellows. There was a spirit in Japan once, it bound us all together. Just imagine what it must be like being a young boy today. He’s taught no values at school—except perhaps that he should selfishly demand whatever he wants out of life. He goes home and finds his parents fighting because his mother refuses to vote for his father’s party. What a state of affairs.”
Ogata-san dedicated his life to educating the young and, thus, maintaining the pre war status quo. Admitting that the old system was wrong, or at least flawed, would mean accepting that his life’s work is meaningless. That would be a very difficult prospect for someone who is retired and can no longer contribute to society or change anything. This passage also reveals someone we consider to be kind and generous can support ideas and values with which we do not agree.
“There was a canal at the end and the woman was kneeling there, up to her elbows in water. A young woman, very thin. I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw her. You see, Etsuko, she turned round and smiled at Mariko. I knew something was wrong and Mariko must have done too because she stopped running. At first I thought the woman was blind, she had that kind of look, her eyes didn’t seem to actually see anything. Well, she brought her arms out of the canal and showed us what she’d been holding under the water. It was a baby.”
This is a particularly disturbing moment in the novel. Sachiko and Mariko witness a young mother drowning her baby in a Tokyo canal. As Sachiko shares this story, it is meant to account for Mariko’s strange behavior, a rare instance of indicating the impact of trauma. This scene also highlights the connection between running water and death and presents the reader with the most shocking demonstration of the troubled relationship between mothers and daughters with a scenario in which a mother is directly responsible for her child’s death.
“‘Why have you got that?’
‘I told you, it’s nothing. It just caught on to my foot.’ I took a step closer. ‘Why are you doing that, Mariko?’
‘Doing what?’
‘You were making a strange face just now.’
‘I wasn’t making a strange face. Why have you got the rope?’
‘You were making a strange face. It was a very strange face.’
‘Why have you got the rope?’
I watched her for a moment. Signs of fear were appearing on her face.”
This is one of the more enigmatic passages in the novel. Etsuko becomes tangled in a rope, which immediately brings to mind her dream of the hanging girl, as well as Keiko’s suicide. By association, the strange face Mariko makes, as well as her fear, could be a disturbing allusion to the way people who die from suffocation look like. It could also indicate her own fear around motherly figures wielding tools of constriction, since her own mother emotionally constricts the girl. Since Etsuko is the one holding the rope, this might represent her perception that she is ultimately responsible for Keiko’s death because she took her away from Japan. Because Mariko is Keiko’s double, her fear could represent Keiko’s fear of death and immigration.
“‘In fact, I realized something else this morning,’ I said. ‘Something else about the dream.’
My daughter did not seem to hear.
‘You see,’ I said, ‘the little girl isn’t on a swing at all. It seemed like that at first. But it’s not a swing she’s on.’”
This passage is central in connecting the themes of suicide, hanging, and ropes. Etsuko hints that the girl in her dream is dead and hanging, alluding to Keiko’s suicide. Since she says in an earlier conversation that the child in the dream might be Mariko or even Keiko, this scene serves to strengthen the suspicion that Mariko and Keiko are somehow related. Finally, the dream also connects to Etsuko’s memory of the series of child murders, which culminated in a hanged girl.
“I spent many moments—as I was to do throughout succeeding years—gazing emptily at the view from my apartment window. On clearer days, I could see far beyond the trees on the opposite bank of the river, a pale outline of hills visible against the clouds. It was not an unpleasant view, and on occasions it brought me a rare sense of relief from the emptiness of those long afternoons I spent in that apartment.”
This passage contains an allusion to the novel’s title. The view of the outline of hills beyond the river is a poetic element, contrasted to the wasteland immediately beneath Etsuko’s windows. That the beautiful view is on the river’s other side suggests it is associated with a different world. It could be death or the underworld, a representation of the narrator’s dream of a better life, or her desire to escape her empty and meaningless life that was devasted by the atomic bomb.
“‘You wouldn’t think anything had ever happened here, would you? Everything looks so full of life. But all that area down here’—I waved my hand at the view below us—‘all that area was so badly hit when the bomb fell. But look at it now.’”
This is the only place in the novel where the atomic bomb is mentioned directly. Etsuko juxtaposes the total destruction caused by the bomb with the renewed life in the harbor. Her comment also reflects social attitudes: In Japan, most people try very hard to forget their losses and do not talk about the family members who died. On the one hand, this attitude is helpful to move forward and find new purpose in life; on the other, suppressing grief and assuming normalcy leads to deep-seated unhappiness.
“‘In your day, children in Japan were taught terrible things. They were taught lies of the most damaging kind. Worst of all, they were taught not to see, not to question. And that’s why the country was plunged into the most evil disaster in her entire history.’
‘We may have lost the war,’ Ogata-San interrupted, ‘but that’s no reason to ape the ways of the enemy. We lost the war because we didn’t have enough guns and tanks, not because our people were cowardly, not because our society was shallow.’”
This passage expresses the polemic between the traditionalists and the modernists. Shigeo still respects Ogata-san on a personal level, but he disagrees with the ideas supported by the older generation. According to younger people like Shigeo, unquestioning obedience and loyalty are not necessarily beneficial for their society, as they can lead to terrible outcomes, such as WWII. The older generation, in contrast, remains unable to understand there are flaws in the ideology they maintain.
“‘You’re not to speak like that,’ I said, angrily. We stared at each other for a moment, then she looked back down at her hands.
‘You mustn’t speak like that,’ I said, more calmly. ‘He’s very fond of you, and he’ll be just like a new father. Everything will turn out well, I promise.’
The child said nothing. I sighed again.
‘In any case,’ I went on, ‘if you don’t like it over there, we can always come back.’”
The conversation between the narrator and the girl upholds the theme of doubling, this time with an obvious merging of the two storylines. When the narrator shifts from “you” to “we,” she also shifts the conversation from Mariko and Sachiko to herself and Keiko. She superimposes a conversation she had with Keiko onto a scene with Mariko. The switch in point of view is the most mysterious and arresting element in the novel. It raises the question of whether Sachiko and Mariko exist at all or if they are simply doubles of Etsuko and Keiko.
“‘Why are you holding it?’
‘I told you. It caught around my foot. What’s wrong with you?’ I gave a short laugh. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not going to hurt you.’
Without taking her eyes from me, she rose slowly to her feet.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ I repeated.”
It is unclear whether Etsuko is remembering talking to Mariko or if this scene is about Keiko. When Etsuko uses the word “hurt,” it further implies her own feelings of guilt. While Etsuko might not have killed Keiko intentionally or measurably, she feels that forcing her to immigrate ultimately led to her suicide. This is why she might identify with the young woman drowning her baby or with Sachiko killing the kittens. The rope that tangles around her foot is, symbolically, the rope that kills her daughter; her decision to immigrate is what hurt her older daughter and eventually led to Keiko’s death.
“‘Oh, there was nothing special about it. I was just remembering it, that’s all. Keiko was happy that day. We rode on the cable-cars.’ I gave a laugh and turned to Niki. ‘No, there was nothing special about it. It’s just a happy memory, that’s all.’”
This is another moment that subverts the narrator’s recollections. Since she mentions several times being happy while recollecting the trip to the harbor with Sachiko and Mariko earlier in the novel, it is possible that Etsuko is unconsciously revealing that Sachiko and Mariko are figments of her imagination. The preceding episodes in which she and Sachiko align while talking about immigration support this supposition. Alternatively, Etsuko might simply be conflating Mariko and Keiko and trying to distance herself from painful memories of Keiko’s childhood.
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By Kazuo Ishiguro