Kokoro by Natsume Soseki, translated by Edwin McClellan

Published by Charles E Tuttle Company 
Copyright 1957

KOKORO is a quiet story about the state of the human heart. What lies within its walls. The unfortunate things of the past that hover over us. The rusts that build within the heart that slowly eat out whatever life has left.

Sensei, the protagonist of the story, unfolds his past through a letter to the unnamed narrator. The past which determined his current state of being.

The story reminded me how people behave differently in different circumstances. 

"Under normal conditions, everybody is more or less good, or at least ordinary. But tempt them and they may suddenly change."

And though some actions are made in vain, 

"who are we to judge the needs of another man's heart."

The beauty of the story is evasive like that of sensei’s character.  I think this is so because more than beauty, the book offers moral principles. 

Kokoro is a quiet story that requires a quiet mind.

In the first few pages, I read on with a cluttered mind and so I found myself putting the book down from time to time. I guess I was waiting for “something, anything” to happen that I could not care less for the ambient storytelling. But as my mind quieted down, the lure of the story unraveled before me and captivated me thus I came into a decision that this is one of my favorites in Japanese literature.

One of the things that I love in the story is the historical facts that helped me understand the mood of certain scenes. Some of them include:

• The death of Emperor Meiji

• The suicide of Captain Nogi right after Emperor Meiji died

• Postponement of suicide of the artist Watanabe Kanzan

"On the night of the Imperial Funeral I sat in my study and listened to the booming of the cannon. To me, it sounded like the last lament for the passing of an age."  

That line is so powerful. It was cited in the foreword (from last pages of the story) which set the tone for the whole novel. It reminded me of the 21-gun salute given to my grandfather when he died. The sound of each shot boomed into the sky as if it was meant to break the seal in my heart that kept all the sadness ebbing inside. It was then that I realized my childhood has passed. I realized that when elders die so does youth of those who were left to mourn.

So much sorrow in the phrase "last lament for the passing of an age". And then I thought, if there is more sorrowful than that, perhaps it would be weight of Sensei's heart which I could translate into a "persistent lamentation  for the unpassing shadow."