Review: The Sound of Waves

The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Mishima must have been uncharacteristically cheerful when he wrote this delightful short novel about a fishing island in 1950s Japan.

Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. The girl's father thinks he has no prospects and prohibits her from meeting the boy. The boy proves himself a hero, and the father gives his blessing—the end.

Shinji has just turned 18, and other than his daily work on a fishing vessel, he has never left town. He falls innocently for the new girl in town, Hatsue, and his interest in her sparks the gossip of their tight-knit community fueled by the jealousy of his peers.

Fourteen hundred people live on Song Island, Uta-Jima, within its three-mile coastal universe. The island is steeped in ancient myths and appears to have escaped much of the effects of war and industrialization, with its residents living their lives as if the Meiji Restoration had never happened. The women swim bare-chested for abalone, and the men venture out to collect octopus and squid from their designated fishing grounds, occasionally trawling illicitly for other fish.

Mishima’s detailed yet uncomplicated prose immerses us in the salt-soaked fishing ropes and octopus pots and takes us through the lush undergrowth of the island to its few viewing points. The writing here is more straightforward than in the Meiji and Taisho-set Spring Snow, and the love story is thankfully not as doomed. There is only a fleeting reference to suicide, a hallmark of Mishima’s writing and life.

Shinji's character, with his simple desires and a keen sense of duty, reflects the island itself—pure, unspoiled, and steadfast in its purpose. His relationship with Hatsue is one of semi-innocence and genuine affection, contrasting with the more cynical and materialistic world emerging beyond the island. The soft struggle against gossip adds depth to the narrative, subtly exploring honour, purity, and tradition.

The setting of Uta-Jima plays a crucial role in the novel, almost becoming a character. Mishima’s portrayal of the island’s timelessness and the residents’ connection to the sea highlights a way of life that is rapidly disappearing in post-war Japan. The novel hints briefly at the encroachment of modernity and even acknowledges the inevitability of change, with a peddler's plastic bag being more prized than the material to make a kimono.

The love story’s resolution, with Shinji’s heroic deeds winning over Hatsue’s father, might seem conventional, but it feels earned. It’s a rare optimistic note in Mishima’s oeuvre, offering a glimpse of hope and continuity amidst the inevitable passage of time.

I was transported to Song Island, an innocent escape from the modern world, and appreciated the simplicity and purity of both the setting and the story.

I liked the book and gave it four stars.

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