Jan. 7th, 2021
In Snow Falling on Cedars, by David Guterson, the environment is directly connected to Hatsue and Ishmael’s derailed love affair. Hatsue, a Japanese American, fears the repercussions of her relationship with a white boy—a relationship unacceptable to her Japanese parents deeply rooted in tradition. When speaking with her mother about the differences between their own culture and that of the Anglos in their community, Fujiko says:
That is the fundamental difference Hatuse. We bend our heads, we bow and are silent, because we understand that by ourselves, alone, we are nothing at all, dust in a strong wind, while the hakujin believes his aloneness is everything, his separateness is the foundation of his existence. He seeks and grasps for his separateness, while we seek union with the greater life—you must see that these are distinct paths we are traveling, Hatsue, the hakujin and we Japanese.
Fujiko argues in favor of Buddist ideology—the intrinsic connection between their people and the earth. She questions how Hatsue could fraternize with people who clearly hold such opposing values and believe they are above nature. Ultimately, however, both Hatsue and Ishmael, are intrinsically connected to their environment.
When they are together inside the hollowed-out cedar tree, nature embraces them both literally and metaphorically:
…what was love if it wasn’t the instinct she felt to be on the moss inside the cedar tree with this boy she had always known? He was the boy of this place, of these woods, these beaches, the boy who smelled like this forest. If identity was geography instead of blood—if living in a place was what really mattered—then Ishmael was a part of her, inside of her, as much as anything Japanese.
Hatsue’s sensory connection to Ishmael, and their unified bond to their environment seems like the very epitome of the Buddist concept that seeks “union with the Great Life,” despite the fact that Ishmael is not Japanese. Ultimately, however, Hatsue and Ishmael are separated, and, in turn, their respective environments deteriorate.
Hatsue, interned at Manzanar, is covered in the dust blowing in from the Mojave desert: “That night dust and yellow sand blew through the knotholes in the walls and floor.”
Similarly, Ishmael, convalescing in a military hospital is surrounded by death: “…the smell from the open window was of dying leaves and of rain in the dirt and turned fields…”
The environment, so sweet smelling and wholesome when Hatsue and Ishmael were together, has now corroded.
