Umbrella Analysis a Subjective Analysis

Umbrella Analysis

A Subjective Analysis of 'The Umbrella'

Yasunari Kawabata's "The Umbrella" seems at first glance like a simple narrative in the boy-meets-girl genre -- yet it is so much more. It is a piece of short prose that bubbles with a sense of nostalgia and what-might-have-been, transforming the every day prosaic world into something extraordinary. It is also a tribute to the innocence of childhood, the sadness of separation, the convention of romance, the meaning of adulthood, and the expression of love. Its tone is gentle, yet deeply ironic. Nature is the theme of Kawabata's "The Umbrella." This paper will explore it.

If April is the cruelest month, spring is the cruelest season -- and it is the season in which Kawabata's short prose tale begins. Like "The Wasteland," a poem of fragments and memories, "The Umbrella" is one fragment from time -- as though one memory from Kawabata's past. It begins in medius res with the boy wielding his umbrella uncertainly, not so much because it is drizzling, but because he wants to "hide his shyness" (103). He is saying goodbye to the girl, for his father is being transferred. The boy and the girl walk to have their photograph taken so that they can remember one another. Unlike "The Wasteland," which broods over the meaninglessness of actions in modern existence, "The Umbrella" remembers the significance of simple actions such as two children having their picture taken together -- why? -- because the action signifies a bond of affection that is limited in space and time -- and yet full of meaning.

It is the fact that the action is so full of meaning that the boy feels shy -- for there is an ambiguous sense in the air -- as ambiguous as the weather. Can the action capture like the photograph the real affection and allow the boy and girl to keep it and grow old with it? Neither the boy nor the girl knows the answer to this question yet. The girl equally attune to their affection is unaware that it is even raining. In fact, Kawabata tells us it is not even really raining -- it is only a fine misting -- and the girl's ironic question, "Oh, is it raining?" only serves to keep the two apart. The boy does not fully give the girl the umbrella, nor does she fully take it. He wants to have them both under it, and she wants to place her hand upon his and hold it with him -- but she is just as shy as he. The commemoration of their affection has not yet taken place; they do not touch; the umbrella only covers half of each of them.

Once they are photographed, however, their relationship is changed, and the umbrella which begins as a symbol of protection -- protecting the boy from his shyness and from the rain -- becomes a symbol of unity -- uniting the boy and the girl together beneath it.

How does this happen? Through a single incident, the simplest of dialogue and the verisimilitude of the narrative, an epiphany is granted to the children. Ironically, they cease to feel like children once the epiphany is granted.

The incident, of course, is the photograph. It is the moment when the boy overcomes his awkwardness to actually touch the girl's shoulder. The real affection is made manifest through this one tiny action. The dialogue is even simpler. The photographer wants to take another photo. The boy asks, "What about your hair?" The girl happily runs off to fix her hair. His question shows solicitude and also generosity -- for he senses that she is too shy to fix her hair before them, and he shows her a kindness by allowing her a moment to put it up. She in turn appreciates the gesture. How she appreciates it is manifested when they leave the photographer. The girl takes the umbrella. The eyes of the boy and girl meet. The exchange of affections is complete -- now what?

The answer to this question is what takes them from childhood to maturity, and it is found in the symbol of the umbrella.

The umbrella is a symbol of protection. It begins in the boy's hands and ends in the girl's. At first he is reluctant to share it with her, though he wants to -- his shyness does not allow him to be so bold. She simply wants to share in the holding of the umbrella with him -- because it is his and he is holding it. By the end of the story, she is holding the umbrella, and she cannot bring herself to return it. Her taking it suggests to the boy that now they are united -- she can share in the protection the umbrella affords against the weather. In this sense, the umbrella becomes a symbol of marriage -- which is a kind of institution that offers protection to two people against the inclemency of time and space. Her nature causes her to want to be close to the boy -- to support him in a sense. His nature causes him to want to provide for her and also to draw her near. Their shy natures prevented them from doing so, but Fate, in a sense, prompted them to act out their affection by forcing them apart. Unfortunately, it is too late for their affections to amount to anything -- for how can they build on them if they are apart? Yet because the affection is real and strong, they make a memento of it -- and in doing so they overcome their shyness. He touches her. She takes the umbrella.

But the story is not over. As they walk homeward, he cannot bring himself to offer to hold the umbrella. His shyness returns -- despite his earlier solicitude. Her boldness in taking the umbrella is actually a sign that she belongs to him. The act is a natural one -- and in a sense they do belong to one another now. The boy has imagined embracing her naked after touching her. And she has accepted his solicitude and now sees his umbrella as her own.

What does all of this mean?

Nature is part of the theme of "The Umbrella." Nature literally announces its presence in the very beginning of the story by raining down upon the children and watching what will happen when the two meet. It is only a moment that we are given to view their relationship -- barely a glimpse -- but in that glimpse we are reminded that nature is always changing us, and that we too are impermanent creatures. This idea is ironically expressed through the action of the photographer who steals a snapshot of the two together, trapping them in a moment of time as they themselves move forward in time -- and on a new path that was not open to them before: a path of adulthood.