“Does pain go away and leave no trace, then?”

“You sometimes even feel sentimental for it.”

Thousand Cranes is a solid entry in Kawabata's oeuvre, which is to say it is a masterpiece by any other standard. You can read virtually anywhere online about how Kawabata is seemingly able to transpose poetry into prose and the simplistic beauty and economy of his language, so I won't get into that too much. Kawabata, and the novel itself, almost demands a novel-length critique as one reads it. That is how engaging the narrative is. It achieves what Hemingway coined as the "iceberg theory" (while having nothing to do with Hemingway) with seemingly effortless virtuosity.

Thousand Cranes is a simple-on-the-surface story of a man, Kikuji, stuck between two women -- this is really reducing the narrative for the sake of summary -- and seems doomed (from the reader's perspective) to repeat his father's fate. Kikuji's father had died several years before the story begins, but haunts the narrative, as his side-women both meet with Kikuji to present a young woman for him to marry (one of whom is the daughter of Kikuji's father's "main" side-woman -- it's a little complicated). For this reason, Kikuji is forced to accept his father's legacy to some extent; he is entangled in the lives of his women in a way that feels fateful. Yet, Kikuji is rather clueless to this, instead feeling a somewhat ambivalent mixture of respect and mild distaste for his father.

Instead, Kikuji has a very literal way of thinking about his marriage prospects to Fumiko, the daughter of Mrs. Ota, and Yukiko, a new prospect presented to him by Chikako, who carries with her decades of resentment from not being "chosen" by Kikuji's father. Needless to say, even if you aren't following all of these relationship dynamics, you can understand that people are living vicariously through others in this story, whether through choice or by fate. 

There are countless symbols, like Chikako's disgusting birthmark on her breast, and Yukiko's titular thousand cranes scarf, and Mrs. Ota's lipstick, etc. that one could spend ages writing about. What impressed me was the effortlessness of Kawabata's symbolism. Symbols, like those mentioned, naturally permeated the narrative. With unusual technique, Kawabata creates effective realism largely by the sheer volume of his symbols. Normally, symbolism might detract from realism as it is the tool with which a writer can most powerfully convey their point, however, Kawabata’s imagery is naturally intertwined with his symbols. Because his language has such powerful symbolism packed behind it, there isn’t a need for him to use such robust language to communicate his ideas. The choice of symbol accomplishes that. Therefore, the economy of his writing is not merely supported by his symbolism, but perhaps created by it.

I determined that Kikuji, like his father, is compulsive about entering inappropriate relationships. His father's vice was polygamy. His vice is the older woman Mrs. Ota. Like his father's flippant affairs, Kikuji's affair (with the same woman, no less) contains a dark undercurrent that clashes with both traditional values and commonly acknowledged moral standards. As far as his marriage to Fumiko (whom Kikuji perhaps loved; it's unclear because his affection for her seemed invariably associated with her mother), Kikuji was always a step behind. His final chance, which he of course squandered, was the night when Fumiko broke her mother's tea vessel. While his feelings caught up to him the next day, and he realized he loved Fumiko, it was too late as she suddenly disappears, possibly in death, following her mother's footsteps. Fumiko is destined to repeat her mother's fate as a dead woman who dies in unrequited love. Meanwhile, Kikuji is destined to repeat his father’s fate as a womanizer, presumably unsatisfied.