Snow Falling on Cedars

“Like most people, Horace felt the need not merely to know but to envision clearly whatever had happened; furthermore, it was his obligation to envision it clearly so that in the official register of Island Country deaths the truth, however painful, might be permanently inscribed. Carl Heine’s dark struggle, [… was] recorded or not recorded, in the slab of flesh that lay on Horace Whaley’s examination table. It was his duty to find out the truth.”

As the coroner responsible for conducting the autopsy, Horace Whaley is in a unique position to bring objectivity to the trial that others cannot. The information he provides can either lend credibility to the murder charge or aid in exonerating Kabuo. His thoughts, too, underscore the theme of truth, implying that Heine’s cause of death is a matter of fact, not opinion, and thus free of bias.

“In the back of Judge Lew Fielding’s courtroom sat twenty-four islanders of Japanese ancestry, dressed in the clothes they reserved for formal occasions. No law compelled them to take only these rear seats. They had done so instead because San Piedro required it of them without calling it a law.”

Here, the racial tensions between the island’s white community and Japanese American community are introduced. The social “law” that insinuates that those of Japanese heritage are inferior strongly impacts the lives of these citizens. This trope foreshadows the importance that race will play in Kabuo’s trial, establishing this central theme.

“[Kabuo’s] face had been molded by his experiences as a soldier, and he appeared to the world seized up inside precisely because this was how he felt. It was possible for him all these years later to think of the German boy dying on the hillside and to feel his own heart pound as it had as he squatted against the tree, drinking from his canteen, his ears ringing, his legs trembling. What could he say to people on San Piedro to explain the coldness he projected?”

Throughout the novel, Kabuo is often described as conveying a look of aloofness, coldness, and meanness, which are regarded by many as proof that he is guilty of killing Carl Heine. Indeed, Carl Heine’s mother will later insist Kabuo gives her dirty looks. Here, however, Kabuo acknowledges to himself that he comes across this way to others, but it is not coldness, but rather his sadness and pain at the harm he caused during war time that is behind his countenance. This echoes Ishmael’s repeated insistence that Hatsue, too, is inscrutable. The racial biases of the town make it difficult for white residents to understand the emotions that play out on the faces of the Japanese American characters.

“The death penalty, Kabuo said to himself. He was a Buddhist and believed in the laws of karma, so it made sense to him that he might pay for his war murders: everything comes back to you, nothing is accidental. The fear of death grew in him. He thought of Hatsue and of his children, and it seemed to him he must be exiled from them—because he felt for them so much love—in order to pay his debts to the dead he had left on the ground in Italy.”

The guilt and sadness Kabuo experiences over the lives he had to take in active combat lend credibility to his innocence in the death of Carl Heine. Were he a merciless killer, he would not feel this kind of empathy over the deaths of his enemies. Kabuo believes he has committed wrongs that violate his religious beliefs and fears that he will be required to repay these wrongs through the end of his own life.

“It had been, [Kabuo] saw now, a war marriage, hurried into because there was no choice and because both of them felt the rightness of it. They had not known each other more than a few months, though he had always admired her from a distance, and it seemed to him, when he thought about it, that their marriage had been meant to happen. His parents approved, and hers approved, and he was happy to leave for the war in the knowledge that she was waiting for him and would be there when he returned.”

Though Kabuo and Hatsue’s marriage is not technically an arranged one in the sense that Fujiko’s was, it has echoes of being so. The two marry somewhat out of necessity because of the war, and, importantly, they share the same Japanese heritage and ethnicity. Kabuo’s note that all of their parents approve is in keeping with the theme of Parental Expectations and Family Legacy. Interestingly, Kabuo suggests that their marriage was pre-destined, which is how Ishmael repeatedly feels about his own relationship with Hatsue.

“Sometimes, when [Kabuo] felt his anger rising because he had lost his family’s strawberry land, he gathered it up into the pit of his gut and stood in the yard with his kendo stick rehearsing the black choreography of his art. He saw only darkness after the war, in the world and in his own soul, everywhere but in the smell of strawberries, in the good scent of his wife and of his three children, a boy and two girls, three gifts. He felt he did not deserve for a moment this happiness his family brought to him, so that late at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he imagined that he would write them a note explicating his sin completely. He would leave them and go to suffer alone, and his unhappiness would overwhelm his anger. The violence might at last die out of him and set him free to contemplate his destiny and his next life on the Great Wheel.”

In part, this quote lends credibility to Kabuo’s being guilty of murdering Carl Heine. It speaks of not only motivation for murder but suggests Kabuo’s angry demeanor makes him capable of it. However, the quote also suggests that the darkness within Kabuo stems from guilt at the harm he caused during wartime. In this respect, Kabuo is remorseful for having killed and therefore would be unlikely to kill once again.

“[Fujiko] predicted that the war with Japan would force her daughters to decide who they were and then to become more Japanese. Wasn’t it true that the hakujin didn’t really want them in their country? There were rumors that all the Japanese on the coast were going to be forced to leave. There was no point in trying to conceal anything or in trying to pretend they were not Japanese—the hakujin could see it in their faces; they were going to have to accept this. They were Japanese girls in America during a time when America was fighting a war with Japan—did any of them want to deny it? The trick was to live here without hating yourself because all around you was hatred. The trick was to refuse to allow your pain to prevent from living honorably.”

Hatsue’s mother is keenly aware of the racism that the US war against Japan brings. Knowing that race is in part a biological construct, it is impossible for those of Japanese descent, therefore, to “blend in” as “true Americans.” Fujiko wants to teach her daughters to preserve their dignity and sense of self worth despite the racism they will inevitably face.

“[Fujiko] reminded herself to behave with dignity no matter what the circumstances. It was a lesson she’d forgotten in her early days in America, but with time she had rediscovered it as something worthy passed down from her grandmother in Kure. Giri was her grandmother’s word for it—it could not be precisely translated into English—and it meant doing what one had to do quietly and with an entirely stoic demeanor. Fujiko sat back and cultivated in herself the spirit of quiet dignity that would be necessary in confronting Hatsue.”

Fujiko’s love for her daughter is apparent, despite her anger. She wants the best for Hatsue and holds a belief that this means marriage to a Japanese man. Fujiko’s referencing the teachings of her grandmother speaks to the theme of parental expectations and familial legacy: She has learned valuable knowledge from her elder family members and uses it to dictate the raising of her own children.

“‘I’m done with him,’ said Hatsue. ‘We were children together, we played on the beach, and it turned out to be something bigger. But he isn’t the husband for me, Mother. I’ve known that all along. Anyway, I wrote him, I said that whenever we were together it seemed like something was wrong. I always knew, deep inside, it was wrong.’”

Hatsue had stressed to Ishmael that she believed their relationship to be wrong because Ishmael is not Japanese. Parental approval (in keeping with the novel’s theme) is important for Hatsue, and she understands that to obtain this, she must marry someone who is Japanese, not white. Her admitting this to her mother shows that, for Hatsue, achieving cultural expectations is more important to her than personal happiness.

“From his point of view as an expert in the ancient Japanese art of stick fighting, Sergeant Maples could say with certainty that the defendant was eminently capable of killing a man far larger than himself with a fishing gaff. In fact, there were few men known to him who could ably defend themselves against such an attack by Kabuo Miyamoto—certainly a man with no training in kendo had little chance of warding him off.”

Sergeant Maple’s testimony proves detrimental to Kabuo’s case. His expertise in hand-to-hand combat makes him reliable to the jurors. This testimony, coupled with the blood found on the gaff that matches Carl Heine’s type, will be difficult evidence for the defense to overcome.

“Alvin Hooks, the prosecutor, knew well the value of Susan Marie Heine […] —he would finish matters by presenting the wife of the murdered man, a woman who had already done much good merely sitting in the gallery were the jurors could view her. The men especially would not wish to betray such a woman with a not-guilty verdict at the end of the things. She would persuade them not precisely with what she had to say but with the entirety of who she was.”

Hooks deliberately appeals to pathos by calling Susan Marie to the stand. He is certain that all jury members will be unable to help but feel sympathy toward her. He is counting on this sympathy—possibly even more so than the words of the witness’s testimony—to sway jurors to convict Kabuo.

“It had never been clear to [Susan Marie] if Carl and Kabuo were friends or enemies. This was the first time she had seen them together, and it seemed to her—it was her impression—that there remained some measure of kind feelings between them, that after all this time they held inside at least the memory of their friendship. But there was no way, truly, of telling. It could be that their cordiality and handshaking had been nothing but stiff formality, that underneath they hated each other.”

Though Prosecutor Hooks is certain that Susan Marie Heine will support his assertion that Kabuo killed her husband, Susan Marie’s inner thoughts indicate otherwise. Just as Ishmael speaks of being unable to read Hatsue’s inner feelings, so too is Susan Marie unable to discern how her husband feels about Kabuo. Her noting that the men are neither definitively friends nor enemies fits with the Racism and Enemies theme. The childhood friendship between the two has been complicated by the war and the subsequent prejudices against Japanese people it instills in many Americans.

“In the hearts of [Ishmael’s] fellow islanders, though, weather of this sort overwhelmed absolutely everything, so that even when a man stood trial for his life it was no doubt the destruction of docks and bulkheads, the trees fallen on homes, the burst pipes, the stranded cars, that would most interest San Piedro’s citizens. […] On the other hand, the trial of Kabuo Miyamoto was the first island murder trial I twenty-eight years—Ishmael had looked it up in back issues of the Review—and unlike the storm was a human affair, stood squarely in the arena of human responsibility, was no mere accident of wind and sea but instead a thing humans could make sense of. Its progress, its impact, its outcome, its meaning—these were in the hands of people.”

The notion of actions caused by human hands versus those caused by nature (and, thus, beyond the control of humans) is Ishmael’s way of contrasting two of the novel’s important conflicts: the snowstorm and the murder of Carl Heine. His contrasting of the two suggests he feels the death of Carl Heine could have been avoided. Importantly, his description of the trial as “no mere accident of wind and sea” will prove ironic in retrospect when Ishmael learns that this is precisely the cause of Carl Heine’s death.

“[Ishmael] passed Ole Jurgensen’s house, where white wood smoke furled from the chimney and disappeared on the wind—Ole, apparently, was keeping warm. The snowfall obliterated the borders between the fields and made Kabuo’s long-cherished seven acres indistinguishable from the land that surrounded them. All human claims to the landscape were superseded, made null and void by the snow. The world was one world, and the notion that a man might kill another over some small patch of it did not make sense—though Ishmael knew that such things happened. He had been to war, after all.”

In keeping with the symbolism of the snow, Ishmael recognizes the way that the snow’s obscuring of objects can, in some cases, be beneficial. The notion that the snow blurs the boundaries between the seven acres and the rest of the land, thus removing them, contrasts the way in which some of the citizens seek to maintain the differences and distinctions between the white citizens and the Japanese Americans. In the way that the snow makes all the land equal, so too, Ishmael knows, all people are the same at their core.

“[The report] was as good as lost forever, it seemed to Ishmael, and no one knew the truth of the matter: that on the night Carl Heine had drowned, stopping his watch at 1:47, a freighter plowed through Ship Channel Bank at 1:42—just five minutes earlier—no doubt throwing before it a wall of water big enough to founder a small gillnetting boat and toss even a big man overboard. Or rather one person, he himself, knew the truth. That was the heart of it.”

When Ishmael unearths solid proof that Carl Heine’s death was indeed accidental, he is then faced with an important decision: whether or not to reveal the document to the judge. Doing so will lend support—arguably strong proof—to Kabuo’s innocence. That it is Ishmael that holds this truth is symbolic—as a journalist, his job is to prevent the truth objectively and to uncover facts. Ishmael is aware of this, yet the decision of whether to reveal the report will weigh heavily on him due to his past relationship with Hatsue and his lingering hostilities following the war.

“‘It’s a shame,’ said [Ishmael’s] mother. ‘I have to think it’s a travesty. That they arrested him because he’s Japanese. […]

‘I’ve covered every minute [of the trial],’ Ishmael answered. And he felt himself growing cold now, and the depth of his coldness was not a surprise, and he closed his hand around Milholland’s notes.

‘I have to think he’s guilty,’ lied Ishmael. ‘The evidence is very solidly against him—the prosecutor has a good case.’”

Ishmael intentionally lies to his mother, leading her to believe that Kabuo should be found guilty. Ishmael’s reason for lying is open for interpretation; arguably, he may believe that the relationship with Hatsue can be rekindled if Kabuo is to be imprisoned for life. Importantly, Ishmael’s mother recognizes the prejudice and hatred behind the indictment of Kabuo. Here, she voices what has been hinted at throughout the novel, underscoring the theme of Racism and Enemies.

“Yes, [Ishmael] decided, he would write the article Hatsue wanted him to write in the pages of the San Piedro Review. It was perhaps not the manner in which his father would proceed, but so be it: he was not his father. His father, of course, would have gone hours earlier directly to Lew Fielding, in order to show him the Coast Guard shipping lane records for the night of September 15. But not Ishmael, not now—no. Those records would stay in his pocket. Tomorrow he would write the article she wanted him to write, in order to make her beholden to him, and then in the trial’s aftermath he would speak with her as one who had taken her side and she would have no choice but to listen. That was the way, that was the method.”

This quote exemplifies the theme of Justice and Truth Seeking as Ishmael wrestles with whether to reveal the truth of Carl Heine’s death. Here, his motivations for helping Hatsue by asserting Kabuo’s innocence are selfish ones. Ishmael does not reveal the truth out of a sense of moral duty, but in hopes of obtaining Hatsue’s loyalty and, likely, rekindling their past relationship. Ishmael focuses on his own gains here, rather than on the greater good, but this motivation will shift by the novel’s close.

“Hatsue found that she was married to a war veteran and that this was the crucial fact of her marriage; the war had elicited in [Kabuo] a persistent guilt that lay over his soul like a shadow. For her this meant loving him in a manner she hadn’t anticipated before he’d left for the war. There was nothing of charity in it and she did not step lightly around his heart or indulge his sorrow or his whims. Instead, she brought herself to his sorrow completely, not to console him, but to give him time to become himself again. Without regrets she honored the obligation she felt to him and was happy to efface herself. This gave her life a shape and a meaning that were larger than her dream of farming strawberries from island soil, and at the same time giving herself over to wounds was both disturbing and rewarding.”

Hatsue remains committed to her marriage out of a sense of duty and obligation, putting Kabuo at the forefront in a manner that is in keeping with her culture’s practices. Yet, in a manner similar to the way her mother once forced her to end the relationship with Ishmael, Hatsue does not spare Kabuo’s feelings. Hers is a unique and complicated type of dedication that she once again displays while Kabuo is on trial.

“The truth now lay in Ishmael’s own pocket and he did not know what to do with it. He did not know how to conduct himself and the recklessness he felt about everything was as foreign to him as the sea foam breaking over the snowy boats and over the pilings of Amity Harbor docks now swamped and under water. There was no answer to any of it—not in the boats lying on their sides, not in the white fir defeated by the snow or in the downed branches of the cedars. What he felt was the chilly recklessness that had come to waylay his heart.”

Here, again, Ishmael wrestles with whether to reveal the truth of Carl Heine’s death. Doing so will exonerate Kabuo, and Ishmael seems to know that this is the moral action that he should take. However, his personal bitterness toward the way Hatsue has treated him gets the better of Ishmael at times. His dilemma creates an added layer of tension in the novel’s plot.

“[Arthur Chambers] had recognized limits and the grayness of the world, which is what endeared him to island life, limited as it was by surrounding waters, which imposed upon islanders certain duties and conditions foreign to mainlanders. And enemy on an island is an enemy forever, he’d been fond of reminding his son. There was no blending into an anonymous background, no neighboring society to shift toward. Islanders were required, by the very nature of their landscape, to watch their step moment by moment.”

Ishmael recalls his father in an effort to determine what his father would have done were he in possession of the Coast Guard report as Ishmael is. In thinking of his father, Ishmael recognizes a kind of respect his father harbored for the island itself and a keen knowledge of the unique workings of the community that the island accommodates. The mention of enemies harkens to the circumstances of the Japanese Americans and the tension between Carl Heine and Kabuo Miyamoto.

“But the war, his arm, the course of things—it had all made his heart much smaller. He had not moved on at all. He had not done anything great in the world but had instead reported on road-paving projects, garden club meetings, school athletes. He had coasted along for years now, filling the pages of his newspaper with words, burying himself in whatever was safe, typesetting the ferry schedule and the tide table and the classified advertisements. So perhaps that was what [Hatsue’s] eyes meant now on those rare occasions when she looked at him—he’d shrunk so thoroughly in her estimation, not lived up to who he was. He read her letter another time and understood that she had once admired him, there was something in him she was grateful for even if she could not love him. That was a part of himself he’d lost over the years, that was the part that was gone.”

The trial of Kabuo provides Ishmael with an opportunity to reflect upon his past and to take stock in the person he has become. Reencountering Hatsue not only forces him to reconcile his feelings for her, but it also forces him to examine the ways in which he is disappointed with the direction his life has taken. This disappointment, however, will show signs of shifting in the novel’s final chapter as Ishmael appears to reach a kind of solace in his role as a newspaper reporter.

“The silence of the world roared steadily in his ears while he came to recognize that he did not belong here, he had no place in the tree any longer. Some much younger people should find this tree, hold to it tightly as their deepest secret, as he and Hatsue had. For them it might stave off what he could not help by see with clarity: that the world was silent and cold and bare and that in this lay its terrible beauty.”

In discovering that he no longer feels any connection to Hatsue or their past via the cedar tree where they once kissed, Ishmael is able to move on from his heartbreak and release, at last, any hope he has held out that their relationship may be rekindled. The sadness, it seems, still remains in some form, but Ishmael recognizes that such difficult emotions are a central part of the human experience.

“Maybe it had seemed to Kabuo Miyamoto, alone on the sea shortly afterward, a fortuitous thing to have come across Carl Heine in circumstances such as these. Perhaps it had seemed just the sort of luck he’d long thought he needed. His dream, after all, was close to him now, so close that while he fished, he must have imagined it: his strawberry land, the fragrance of fruit, the folds of the fields, the early-summer ripening, his children, Hatsue, his happiness. Oldest son of the Moyamotos, great-grandson of a samurai, and the first of his lineage to become an American in name, place, and heart, he had not given up on being who he was; he had not given up on his family’s land or the claim they had to it by all that was right, the human claim that was bigger than hate or war or any smallness or enmity.”

Imagining the scene on the water from Kabuo’s perspective offers a rare glimpse into his thoughts, which are generally difficult to discern for most people. Here, he is a dedicated and prideful family member intent on preserving his family legacy and establishing his place in the larger American Dream. The notion of land not belonging to any single human echoes the observation Ishmael makes during the storm when the snow obscures the boundaries between the land.