Snow Falling on Cedars

by David Guterson

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Snow Falling on Cedars

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SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS is an impressive first novel. On their small island in Puget Sound, Guterson’s strawberry farmers, his fishermen and their wives, and his protagonist, a newspaper editor, would seem to be insulated from the turmoil of the mainland. When the body of Carl Heine, Jr., is found dragging behind his boat, however, old prejudices surface. Less than a decade after World War II, it is only too easy to look for villains within the Japanese American community. Since everyone knows that he has never become reconciled to the Heine family’s seizure of land his father had bought, Kabuo Miyomoto is arrested for murder. It is his trial which provides the framework for the novel.

While most of the islanders base their belief in Kabuo’s guilt or innocence on their own ethnic backgrounds, the newspaperman Ishmael Chambers cannot help hoping for a conviction for selfish reasons. For years, he has been in love with Hatsue Miyomoto, Kabuo’s wife, and Ishmael cannot help fantasizing about his chances if Kabuo disappears from her life. When Ishmael comes into possession of information that will clear Kabuo, he is tempted to suppress it. Nevertheless, Hatsue’s nobility and his own conscience force Ishmael to abandon his habitual cynicism, and he does the right thing, thus saving not only Kabuo but also himself. SNOW FALLING ON CEDARS is a novel which is often lyrical, always convincing, and above all, solidly based on the author’s knowledge of human nature, both at its worst and, happily, at its best.

Sources for Further Study

Booklist. XC, August, 1994, p. 2022.

The Christian Science Monitor. September 23, 1994, p. 12.

Commonweal. CXXI, December 2, 1994, p. 28.

Hungry Mind Review. LXXXVI, Fall, 1994, p. 30.

Library Journal. CXIX, August, 1994, p. 129.

Los Angeles Times. September 19, 1994, p. E4.

The New York Times Book Review. XCIX, October 16, 1994, p. 12.

Publishers Weekly. CCXLI, August 1, 1994, p. 70.

Time. CXLIV, September 26, 1994, p. 79.

The Washington Post Book World. XXIV, October 16, 1994, p. 8.

Snow Falling on Cedars

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David Guterson’s first novel is set on a fictional island in Puget Sound not unlike the one on which he lives with his family. In countless details, ranging from the intricacies of salmon-netting, boat handling, and the culture of strawberries, to the proper way to harvest geoduck clams, the author reveals his precise knowledge of his environment. Snow Falling on Cedars should not be classified, however, as merely an interesting piece of local color, nor even as a period study tracing the growth of anti-Japanese sentiment on the West Coast after the United States was attacked by Japan and plunged into World War II. Within the context of a murder trial almost a decade after that war, Guterson’s small island becomes a stage on which is enacted a universal drama, the battle between suspicion and hatred on one hand, and trust, compassion, tolerance, and love on the other.

As the courtroom drama unfolds, it becomes clear why Kabuo Miyomoto, a Japanese American fisherman, is suspected of murder. When Carl Heine, Jr., was found dead, entangled in the nets of his fishing boat, and then when the medical examiner discovered that Carl had received a blow to the skull before he died, the sheriff began to look for the conventional triad, motive, means, and opportunity. Kabuo had all of them. Like the other fishermen, he had been alone on his boat on the night of Carl’s death, and thus he had no alibi. There was also circumstantial evidence suggesting that, despite his initial denial, Kabuo had in fact spent some time on Carl’s boat that night, presumably lending him a battery. As for a motive, of all the men on the...

(This entire section contains 1966 words.)

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island, Kabuo had the most obvious reason to dislike Carl. Before the war, the dead man’s father, Carl Heine, Sr., had sold Kabuo Miyomoto’s father seven acres of good strawberry land. After her husband died, his greedy widow, Etta, took advantage of the fact that the Miyomotos were waiting out the war in an internment camp and resold the land at a higher price. When Carl, Jr., backed his mother, Kabuo made no secret of his animosity. To the sheriff, it looked like a clear-cut case of murder, and he felt justified in arresting Kabuo as the man who had committed the crime.

On one level, the novel is simply an account of Kabuo’s trial. There seems to be no question as to the outcome, for every witness who testifies seems to make the case against Kabuo even stronger. His good character is not enough to save him. Ironically, the fact that, like so many other Americans of Japanese descent, Kabuo volunteered to serve his country during the war does not help; instead, the testimony of his former sergeant as to Kabuo’s skill in kendo explains how a man so much smaller could overpower the large and powerful Carl. Perhaps most damning of all is Kabuo’s demeanor in the courtroom. While the evidence is being presented, he sits impassive, as if he is unmoved by Carl’s death, by the grief of his widow and his mother, and by the accusation that has been brought against him. To everyone in the courtroom except his wife, Kabuo has the look of a guilty man.

Until the last few pages of the book, there is no hint that Kabuo can possibly be acquitted; therefore, although as a devoted family man and a courageous war veteran he is shown sympathetically, there is no buildup of suspense as the trial progresses. The real action takes place within the three major characters, who, as they examine their past lives, serve as their own judges and juries in matters of moral guilt and innocence.

Certainly one reason that Kabuo makes such a poor impression on his jury is that they misread his impassivity as a lack of feeling; unfortunately, with their very different backgrounds, they are unaware that Japanese American parents train their children to respond to adversity by maintaining at least the appearance of composure. The jurors are right, however, in reading guilt in the defendant’s face. During the long period of imprisonment before his trial, Kabuo spent a great deal of time thinking about his wartime experiences, and he concluded that at heart he is as enthusiastic a killer as the mad samurai from whom he is descended. Kabuo feels guilty, not because of anything he has done, but because of what he believes himself to be. Therefore he finds it impossible to look innocent in the courtroom; he is so conscious of another sort of guilt that he cannot fight what he knows is a false accusation. It is almost as if in permitting himself to be convicted of a crime he did not commit, Kabuo will somehow receive expiation for his own nature.

Like Kabuo, Ishmael Chambers, the local newspaperman, has nightmarish recollections of his wartime experiences, but Ishmael has never really faced himself. Instead, he looks at his empty sleeve and indulges in self-pity, or he barricades himself with cynicism. One might think his lack of compassion is another result of the war, but as Ishmael’s mother says, it seems to run in the family. Like his late father, Ishmael loves humanity but finds it difficult to like individuals. Perhaps Ishmael’s problem is that he is so preoccupied with himself. As he sits in the courtroom covering the trial, for example, he does not empathize with the defendant’s wife, Hatsue Imada Miyomoto, as she sees the father of her children being tried for murder. Instead, when he looks at her, Ishmael can only remember Hatsue’s rejection of him and, at least subconsciously, blame her for blighting his life. Ishmael has never accepted the fact that Hatsue does not love him; he has never married, never made a real life for himself. Now he has begun to fantasize about the future. With Kabuo out of the way, he thinks, perhaps he could have Hatsue at last.

Hatsue, too, remembers how happy she and Ishmael once were, first as childhood playmates, later as lovers. Nevertheless, she is more realistic than Ishmael. She recalls her gradual realization that no matter how idyllic life seemed in the hollow cedar tree where the lovers met, in the real world she could not reject everything she had been told, every response she had been trained to make, in fact, the very person that she was. Yet Hatsue did not reject Ishmael because of the difference in their backgrounds. One of her most vivid memories is her horror when at last the two had sexual intercourse. Despite her pleasure in the act, Hatsue was overcome by a moral revulsion; at that moment, she knew that she did not love Ishmael, and that for this reason, if for no other, she could not continue with their relationship. As far as the past is concerned, Hatsue’s conscience is clear. Nevertheless, as Kabuo’s conviction seems more and more certain, Hatsue is faced with another moral dilemma. Seemingly, her husband’s only hope is to obtain the support of Ishmael’s newspaper, but when Hatsue approaches Ishmael, she soon realizes that the surest way to get him on her side is to pretend to feelings for him that she does not have. Heroically, she refuses to do so. All she will do is to urge him to be fair.

What neither of them realizes at this moment is that Ishmael, too, will soon have to make a crucial choice. After he discovers evidence that explains how Carl met his death and completely clears Kabuo, Ishmael at first remains silent. Remembering his father, a man who did not much like people but devoted his life to helping them, Ishmael finally finds it impossible to commit so shameful an act. He, too, acts on the promptings of his conscience, and as a result he frees not only Kabuo but also himself.

While Snow Falling on Cedars is a story about moral choices, it also emphasizes how little control human beings have over their lives. As they put out to sea, the fishermen of San Piedro are all aware that, like Carl, they may not return alive. In their casual conversations, they mention the details of drownings and shipwrecks. Clearly, they hope that care may save their lives, but they also realize that the ocean has no conscience, and they may well be doomed by chance. In fact, they seem not unlike the salmon caught in their own nets; no matter how much they struggle, sooner or later they will die. It might seem that the landlubbers are safe. When a winter storm hits the island, however, normal activities are virtually halted. Even though the inhabitants survive, and the intrepid jurors do not quite freeze to death in their lodgings, the similarity is evident. As Guterson points out, a car buried in the snowy ditch bears a remarkable resemblance to a ship at the bottom of the ocean. His point is obvious: at sea or ashore, human beings are very nearly helpless before the power of nature.

There also is not much one individual can do when societies resolve upon cataclysmic conflict. Men like Ishmael Chambers had to go to war, and afterward they had to deal with their memories as best they could. Even Kabuo, who chose to volunteer, was driven to do so by his need to prove his patriotism. Similarly, no islander was involved in the shameful decision to send Japanese Americans to internment camps. Obviously, just as when a storm hits at sea or on land, in wartime or during a social upheaval, one human being has small control over the course of his or her life. Much depends on forces no single person can control; much depends on chance. As the author points out, even the fact that both of the two major ethnic groups on San Piedro just happen to be laconic by nature and habit has much to do with their inability to understand each other, and, therefore, with the Scandinavians’ willingness to believe the worst about anyone who is Japanese American.

When Ishmael asserts the mystery of life, he is clearly serving as the author’s spokesperson. What the author stresses throughout his novel, however, and what Ishmael finally realizes, is that there is a limited area of free will in human existence and that ultimately, nothing really matters except the morality of one’s decisions within that narrow range. Like the British novelist Joseph Conrad, himself a seaman, Guterson sees life as a series of tests. The fact that Kabuo, Hatsue, and finally Ishmael examine their own hearts and accept the responsibility for their own actions is far more important than their achieving or not achieving their heart’s desires. In contrast, no matter how heredity and environment may have influenced them, there is no excuse for the behavior of the islanders who turn on their long-time neighbors as soon as war is declared, exhibiting the spite and greed that are epitomized in Etta Heine.

Ironically, as Ishmael finally discovers, Carl’s death was the direct result of his mother’s influence. Taught to value possessions rather than people, Carl strove to save a mere object and lost his life. In contrast, one suspects that Ishmael, by relinquishing his dreams, can now begin to live.

Sources for Further Study

Booklist. XC, August, 1994, p. 2022.

The Christian Science Monitor. September 23, 1994, p. 12.

Commonweal. CXXI, December 2, 1994, p. 28.

Hungry Mind Review. LXXXVI, Fall, 1994, p. 30.

Library Journal. CXIX, August, 1994, p. 129.

Los Angeles Times. September 19, 1994, p. E4.

The New York Times Book Review. XCIX, October 16, 1994, p. 12.

Publishers Weekly. CCXLI, August 1, 1994, p. 70.

Time. CXLIV, September 26, 1994, p. 79.

The Washington Post Book World. XXIV, October 16, 1994, p. 8.

Historical Context

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The Internment of Japanese Americans
On the morning of December 7, 1941, the tranquil shores of Oahu in Hawaii were shattered by the thunderous assault of Japanese bombers on Pearl Harbor. This brazen attack on the heart of America's military instilled a wave of fear and uncertainty across the nation. Under mounting political pressure, President Franklin Roosevelt enacted Executive Order 9006 on February 19, 1942, compelling individuals of Japanese ancestry to relocate to internment camps. By March 31, Japanese Americans residing along the West Coast received their mandates to report for registration, with preparation time varying from a scant two days to two stressful weeks. In this rush, families faced the grim reality of parting with their possessions, often selling them for a fraction of their true value. Predators, including the government, seized upon this vulnerability. Nearly 2,000 internees were assured their vehicles would be safe, only for the military to later offer to purchase them below market value. Those who declined saw their vehicles commandeered for the war effort. A comprehensive study in 1983 revealed that the accumulated loss of property and income for Japanese Americans during this tumultuous era exceeded six billion dollars.

The nation established ten internment camps, often referred to as "concentration camps" though not designed with the intent of extermination found in Nazi Germany. The first of these was Manzanar, situated in Southern California. Throughout the war, these camps contained roughly 120,000 individuals. Life within their confines was anything but gentle; encased by barbed wire fences and under the vigilant gaze of armed guards, internees resided in cramped quarters. Dining and sanitary facilities were communal, stripping away any semblance of privacy. Upon their release, internees were provided with twenty-five dollars and a train ticket to facilitate their journey home.

The cultural impact of the internment camps was profound. The once-respected paternal figure within the family found his authority eroded. While some American-born Japanese strove to affirm their allegiance by joining the military, others renounced their citizenship entirely. For many, the journey from a Japanese identity to a Japanese-American one was marred by the betrayal by their own government.

It wasn’t until 1988 that President Ronald Reagan formally addressed this grave injustice, extending an apology along with $20,000 in reparations to each surviving internee as an attempt at amends.

Life in Puget Sound

The vibrant tapestry of life in Puget Sound during the era described in the novel was woven from the threads of farming and fishing. These vocations were not merely jobs but deeply ingrained ways of living. Farmers naturally gravitated towards their own, and fishermen formed their own quiet yet strong fraternity, each group understanding the nuances of their own world. As Guterson observes, fishermen were often solitary souls, bonded through their silent camaraderie and content with infrequent interactions.

In the mid-1900s, fishermen across the Pacific Northwest deployed gill nets to maximize their catch. These nets, draping down from vessels like ethereal curtains, ensnared fish by their gills in great abundance. However, as competition intensified, these nets expanded to such a scope that they inadvertently captured turtles, dolphins, and birds alongside fish. The efforts of environmental activists eventually led to the banning of these expansive nets, restricting their use today to illicit practices.

The lifestyle of farmers diverged from that of fishermen in several notable respects. Farmers enjoyed a more social existence, frequently organizing community gatherings, like the celebrated Strawberry Festival. Unlike the fishermen's wives who rarely partook in their husbands' work, the wives of farmers often engaged in the arduous labor of managing the land. The work schedules for these roles also varied significantly, with farmers rising with the dawn to fulfill the day's demands, while fishermen completed their endeavors as the sun painted the horizon, timed to the movements of their aquatic quarry.

Literary Style

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The Immersive Landscape

Critics and readers alike have marveled at Guterson's vivid portrayal of the settings within his novel. Having spent nearly his entire life in Washington, Guterson captures the landscapes with an extraordinary richness that tantalizes the senses. In chapter fourteen, we find Hatsue retreating into the heart of the cedar woods in search of solitude:

In spring, radiant beams of sunlight would pierce through the leafy ceiling, causing the forest's debris—twigs, seeds, needles, dust bark—to descend slowly, suspended in the dreamy air. But now, in the depths of February, the woods were cloaked in darkness. The trees appeared drenched and emanated a sharp scent of decay. Hatsue wandered deeper, where the stately cedars transitioned into firs adorned with lichen and moss. This place was as familiar to her as an old friend—the decaying cedars with their spongy cores, the fallen giants towering like houses, the uprooted stumps draped in vine maples, and the clusters of toadstools, ivy, salal, vanilla leaf, and the devil's club thriving in the damp hollows.

Guterson's mastery extends beyond creating lush imagery; he breathes life into his settings, animating them with motion and realism. In chapter eight, a tranquil scene transforms with the arrival of Ishmael and Hatsue:

Where the path met the shore, madrona trees leaned gracefully over the ebbing tide. With their slender forms and a palette of olive green, mahogany red, scarlet, and ash, they bore glossy leaves and velvet berries, casting shadows on the stones and muddied flats below. As Ishmael and Hatsue approached, a blue heron took flight, its feathers blending with the beach's muddy hues. It let out a single squawk and soared across Miller Bay, its elongated wings slicing through the air with grace, before settling atop a distant tree's barren crown.

In Guterson's hands, settings are not mere backdrops but storied entities, steeped in history and resonance. They feel like enduring presences, closely tied to the rhythms of life and the town's heritage. In the opening chapter, he writes, "A few wind-battered and dilapidated Victorian mansions, relics of a bygone era of seafaring optimism, emerged from the swirling snow on the town's sporadic hills. Beyond them, cedars wove a steep mat of undying green." In chapter six, reflecting on Carl Heine's home, Art muses:

It was exactly the kind of house Carl would construct, he thought—unpretentious, orderly, sternly respectable, unassuming yet uninviting. Rumor had it, from the church circles, that he intended to build a grand bungalow akin to the one his father had once erected on the family farm at Island Center.

This portrayal of Carl's home not only reveals aspects of Carl's character but also imbues the house with a sense of history, symbolizing Carl's unfulfilled dream of recreating his father's legacy.

The Omniscient Voice

Snow Falling on Cedars is a testament to the power of an omniscient narrator. This all-seeing voice seamlessly transitions through the innermost thoughts, memories, and emotions of each character, weaving them into the narrative fabric. Guterson's extensive research informs a nuanced portrayal of character experiences and expertise, covering topics from fishing to farming, young love, Ishmael's father's publishing ventures, wartime horrors, Japanese culture, the history of Amity Harbor, and even autopsies. Within the confines of the courtroom, the narrator intimately captures Nels Gudmundsson's arthritic discomfort while simultaneously relaying a witness's testimony with vivid recollections.

Diverging from mere third-person discourse, the omniscient narrator of Snow Falling on Cedars delves into the psyches of the characters, each perspective uniquely voiced. Hatsue's reflections differ markedly from Ishmael's, and these nuances allow readers to intimately acquaint with the characters. When Horace Whaley ruminates, he does so as a seasoned doctor and coroner, contrasting with Nels Gudmundsson's viewpoint as a tenacious attorney battling for justice. To maintain some detachment, the narrator often refers to characters by their full names, signifying an objective storytelling stance detached from personal connection.

When the narrative shifts into a character's mind, it transcends mere memory, immersing the reader in past events with clarity. This approach reveals a character's exact thoughts during pivotal moments. For example, in chapter two, as Art and Abel prepare to retrieve Carl's nets from his boat, Art anticipates the grim possibility of finding Carl's body entangled within. The narrator observes that Art was acutely aware of the risks that fishermen faced at sea: "It was woven into the very fabric of the place, and as sheriff, he knew this well. He understood the full implications of retrieving the net, something Abel Martinson did not."

Literary Techniques

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The Artistry of Guterson

Guterson crafts his narratives with an unmistakable flair. His command over parallelism sets him apart in the literary world. A visiting crime reporter, for instance, vividly recalls that "[T]he sight of Hatsue's face in profile elicited in him the smell of pine needles strewn in the courtyard outside the tearoom." Such is Guterson's mastery of lyrical elegance, painting scenes with a lush tapestry of sensory detail and meticulously chosen words.

As twilight's azure glow clung to the horizon, he navigated away from the harbor, venturing into the expanse of open sea. From his station at the Islander's helm, he absorbed the gentle embrace of San Piedro Island's soft cedars, its undulating hills bathed in low-lying mist like strands of silk across its shores, the restless dance of whitecaps framing its edge. The moon had already begun its ascent behind the island, hovering above the grand bluff at Skiff Point—a crescent, vague and ghostly, mirroring the delicate threads of clouds meandering through the heavens.

Omniscience and Cinematic Narration

Guterson's skillful use of an omniscient narrator allows for fluid shifts between the perspectives of various characters, ensuring that the reader remains unruffled by these frequent transitions. The story itself defies singular narration; no one character holds the complete narrative. Instead, each must reveal their fragment of the truth. The result is a composite narrative that transcends simple holism. Guterson's cinematic approach enhances this effect, bringing us close as Nels Gudmundsson rigorously questions a witness, then pulling back to capture the broader courtroom scene during a morning recess. The courtroom is portrayed in its entirety, filled with characters whose actions and gestures define them. Amidst this, the spotlight lands on Ishmael Chambers, following him as he learns of the deceased, departs his hilltop newspaper office, and embarks on his investigation. We uncover how Ishmael, comfortable with leaving his office unlocked, and Carl Heine shared a high school past. Ishmael's high school years were marked by voracious reading, under the moral guidance of his father, the town's newspaper editor, instilling in him a legacy of ethical rigor. A sweeping narrative escorts the reader alongside Ishmael to the wharves and a gathering of fishermen, described poignantly as "lonely men and products of geography." Together with Ishmael, we witness these men being questioned by the sheriff.

The Mastery of Time

Guterson exhibits unparalleled dexterity in navigating time's passage. His storytelling, spanning three decades, deftly avoids the pitfalls of temporal distraction. Like a sorcerer, he enchants us, guiding us seamlessly through a temporal roller coaster. Flashbacks intertwine with flashbacks; Sheriff Moran, seated in the courtroom gallery, listens to the coroner, and remembers the moment he informed Susan Marie Heine of her husband's death. A smooth narrative unfolds, recounting his limited perspective during that poignant encounter, replete with his moment of hesitation outside the Heine residence and a vivid recollection of her at a church social the previous October. Inside the house, he contrasts her demeanor with that of the church event. Similarly, during his murder trial testimony, Kabuo Miyomoto recalls the night of Carl Heine's death, when he approached Carl's adrift boat. This memory spirals back to their childhood fishing adventures, leading into Kabuo's introspective musings. Guided by Guterson's narrative, the reader experiences this journey without a stumble, a jolt, or even the faintest quiver.

Ideas for Group Discussions

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In the vibrant tapestry of America, a pluralistic society demands that individuals of myriad races and hues coexist closely in both life and labor. Racial tensions often stem from our inability to truly "see" into our own hearts and those of others around us. The greatest gift of reflecting on our past ways of living is the insight it provides into how we ought to live today and in the days to come. At the heart of our political legacy lies our judicial system, a living entity that evolves with each revelation of our societal self-awareness. An intriguing topic for group dialogue is how Snow Falling on Cedars critiques race relations and the justice system of the 1950s.

Exploring Ancestral Footsteps

1. The narrative of Snow Falling on Cedars delves into the intricate dynamics of father-son relationships, pondering the notion that sons must tread the paths carved by their fathers. What legacies do sons inherit? Does this concept translate into the mother-daughter dynamic as well? In what ways do daughters in this story emulate their mothers?

Marital Dynamics

2. Ishmael Chambers reflects on a moment while reading The Scarlet Letter, considering that "the woman deserved better." Examine and contrast the unions of Kabuo and Hatsue Miyomoto with Carl and Susan Marie Heine. Is there genuine understanding between husbands and wives? Do the wives find a greater sense of ease in their circumstances? What factors, beyond experiences on the battlefield, influence this tension or harmony?

Questions of Guilt

3. Did you find any difficulty in accepting the notion of a premeditated murder having occurred?

The Influence of Race

4. What do you believe the verdict would have been had the accused not been Japanese? Frederick Wm. Zackel offers a perspective from Bowling Green State University. On what evidence do you base your opinion?

The Power of Lists

5. Guterson frequently employs the use of lists as catalogues. In what ways do these lists enhance or enrich the narrative? Provide examples that resonated with you.

The Mystery of the Dozen

6. The trial of Kabuo Miyomoto unfolds twelve years after the paths of Ishmael and Hatsue diverged. The jury comprises twelve individuals, a half-dozen travel on the 6:25 ferry, there are twelve toilets in the women's barracks at Manzanar, twelve pine boxes for strawberries, thirty-six landing crafts at Tarawa, an identical number of survivors from the first assault, twenty-four soldiers Ishmael organizes into his squad on the beach, his mother's twelve chickens, and a dozen or so streets obstructed by fallen power lines. Is this recurrence of the number twelve a mere stylistic choice by the author, or does it hold deeper, mystical significance?

Maternal Contrasts

7. Analyze the characters of Carl's mother, Etta Heine, and Hatsue's mother, Fujiko Imada. Both hail from "the Old Country." In what ways do they mirror each other? Where do their differences lie?

Paths to Redemption

8. Guterson posits that redemption can only be achieved by acknowledging one's dysfunction and embracing openness to the world. Do you concur with this perspective?

The Roots of Identity

9. According to Guterson, to what extent is our identity shaped by geography, and how much by our heritage?

Social Concerns

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Snow Falling On Cedars intertwines romance, mystery, and courtroom drama to weave a rich narrative tapestry. Through this unique blend, David Guterson reveals the devastating effects of social injustice on a quaint fishing village in Washington State, where individuals paid dearly for the color of their skin. Recognized with the 1995 PEN/Faulkner Award for fiction, this novel casts a revealing light on a dark chapter in America’s recent past, when Japanese-Americans—hardworking immigrants and their descendants yearning for the freedoms promised to all citizens—faced unjust persecution. The prejudice they endured before World War II escalated into national paranoia following the Pearl Harbor attack. Branded by their ethnicity, they were imprisoned in internment camps, stripped of their possessions, and even after the war’s end, peace and acceptance remained elusive. The novel illustrates how the toxic remnants of bias continued to tarnish community life long after the conflict's conclusion.

The romance, as all compelling tales of love do, navigates a love triangle: two men vying for the heart of the same woman. The mystery unfolds with classic elements, featuring clues like a stopped wristwatch at 1:47 am and mooring lines as distinctive as fingerprints. The courtroom drama showcases facts that can be twisted to two opposing narratives, with lawyers unafraid to exploit racial tensions. Snow Falling On Cedars delves into themes of trust, interracial love, prejudice, American history, the immigrant experience, alienation, hatred, and divine intervention.

The narrative unravels a mystery and a puzzle waiting to be solved, echoing more of Agatha Christie’s intricate style than Sherlock Holmes’s logical deductions. San Piedro Island, where the story unfolds, embodies the secluded charm of an English manor. With a community of "five thousand damp souls," it remains insulated from the outside world, where any crime—especially murder—is a rare intrusion. Amity Harbor offers a refuge from the global tempests, where fishermen and strawberry farmers coexist in peaceful harmony.

The story's core revolves around enigmas. On the night of Carl Heine's death, Kabuo Miyomoto—who finds himself accused of murder—is out in the fog-enshrouded channel, alert to the diaphone of the lighthouse, a modern echo of the foghorn.

This sound conjured memories of blind nights at sea—lonely, known, hushed, and so melancholic it always left him hollow. Tonight was what old mariners called ghost time, with fog as thick and unmoving as buttermilk. A man could part such fog with his hands, dividing it into tendrils, only for them to languidly weave back together and vanish without a trace.

Kabuo fishes at night, adrift and blind in the fog. He knows he isn’t alone, aware of dozens of boats nearby. "There was nothing to do now but be patient." He encounters Carl Heine’s boat, "dead in the water, drifting." By morning, Carl Heine will be found ensnared in his net, drowned. Was this foul play?

Yet, beyond the surface mystery lies a deeper exploration of the sacred and ineffable. The towering cedars of San Piedro themselves speak of ancient secrets; "[A]s far back as (Hatsue) could recall, the silent forest held its mysteries." Snow Falling On Cedars probes the relationship between mysteries and the uninitiated. The fraternity of fishermen, for instance, places those outside their "priesthood" under suspicion. Acceptance into their circle requires an almost mystical passage. A flock of resting gulls might signal good fortune, while an upside-down hatch cover heralds storms. The sea, too, contains secrets that only these seasoned fishermen can discern, as Kabuo Miyomoto sensed "with his face near the sea’s surface, imagining he could smell the salmon running."

Silence, a mysterious ailment, seems to afflict every inhabitant of San Piedro. It begins in childhood. Once, while fishing as boys, Kabuo and Carl shared an ethereal moment. "Just after sunset, the phosphorescence beneath Carl’s oars inspired him to speak—a boy so moved by the world’s beauty, he couldn’t keep silent; 'Look at those colors,' he said. Even at twelve, Kabuo understood such words were uncharacteristic. Carl kept his feelings hidden, as did Kabuo, for different reasons. They shared more than Kabuo cared to acknowledge." Ironically, the adult Carl met his end in those very glowing waters.

San Piedro is Eden-like, though not tropical. Most of the year, this island off Washington State’s coast slumbers "in a torpid, soporific dream" with a winter bed of damp green moss. Life, like the island’s roads, moves slowly; disconnected from mainland troubles, both white and Japanese residents find solace in their perceived immunity to change. For eighteen-year-old Ishmael Chambers and his childhood love, Hatsue Imada, life unfolds predictably; they find solace in a secluded forest bower. "For nearly four years, within their cedar tree, he and Hatsue embraced with the dreamy contentment of young lovers." Ishmael believes they are destined to marry.

Yet in the stillness of life, chaos often finds its way in. The outside world breaches the borders with the ferocity of a storm. On the fateful date of December 7, 1941, the Japanese assault on Pearl Harbor upends all certainties, ushering in an era marked by transformation, isolation, and disgrace. War's initial casualty is reason itself. In the grip of wartime paranoia, simple events are woven into elaborate conspiracies; a reconnaissance pilot observes, "the Japanese strawberry fields on San Piedro Island were planted in rows point straight ahead toward the radio transmitter at the end of Agate Point. The rows of berry plants could guide Jap Zeros straight to their target easily." Wartime renders the persistent fields, as young Ishmael notes, "those fields have been there for thirty years," irrelevant. Fear knows no restraints; every report, even the fantastical tale of "a mysterious sea creature" with "a swanlike neck, the head of a polar bear and a cavernous mouth from which emerged puffs of steam," demands investigation. For the truly paranoid, the impossible becomes disturbingly conceivable.

Rising Tensions on San Piedro Island

Arthur Chambers, Ishmael's father, captures the island's turmoil in his editorial for the local newspaper, "If ever there was a community which faced a local emergency out of something over which it had no control, it is San Piedro Island this Monday morning, December 8, 1941." Racial fears swiftly surge, blanketing the island like an unforgiving winter. Chambers observes the festering of these fears into "a blind, hysterical hatred of all persons who trace their ancestry to Japan. That some of these persons happen to be American citizens, loyal to this country, with no binding tie to their ancestral land could all be swept aside by mob hysteria." This microcosm reflects the broader West Coast, where Americans of Japanese descent soon find themselves detained in camps, segregated from their fellow citizens. Indignities accumulate relentlessly, altering everything familiar. Chambers concludes his piece with a plea, "Let us so live in this trying time that when it is all over we islanders can look one another in the eye with the knowledge that we have behaved honorably and fairly." Unfortunately, this proves a hope unfulfilled. The island's wartime conduct, as Ishmael notes, feels "hard to believe," while for Hatsue, the racial animosity seems "unreal... it just isn't fair—it's not fair." She questions, "How could they do this, just like that? How did we get ourselves into this?" Hatsue, an American citizen born on free soil, finds her family plunged into a nightmare when the FBI arrests her father after discovering dynamite intended for clearing land. Trust evaporates as suspicion reigns, and her mother, Fujiko, admits, "These are difficult times . . . Nobody knows who they are now. Everything is cloudy and unclear." The Japanese community, under the weight of fear, must strive to remain unseen.

The events of the last two months should teach them something about the darkness in the hearts of the hajukin and the more general darkness that was part of living. To deny that there was this dark side to life would be like pretending that the cold of winter was somehow only a temporary illusion, a way station on the way to the higher 'reality' of long, warm, pleasant summers. But summer, it turned out, was no more real than the snow that melted in wintertime.

The Art of Silence and Perseverance

Hatsue and the Japanese community of San Piedro confront the necessity of resilience. "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 you from living honorably." Silence becomes their ally. "Still, you should learn to say nothing that will cause you regret. You should not say what is not in your heart—or what is only in your heart for a moment. But you know this—silence is better."

Love Amidst Turmoil

The young lovers Ishmael and Hatsue retreat to their secret haven within a hollowed cedar tree, seeking solace from the chaos. Ishmael offers comfort, and for a fleeting moment, their love seems a refuge. "She felt safe there, as though she were hibernating at the heart of the forest with time suspended and the world frozen—the temporary safety of a quiet way station one must leave in the morning." But unlike Ishmael, Hatsue perceives that their romantic sanctuary cannot erase the harsh reality of the world, and to believe otherwise is self-deception.

The Inescapable Reality of Internment

Mere weeks after the Pearl Harbor attack, the U.S. War Relocation Authority forcibly removes all "islanders of Japanese descent," exiling them to Manzanar's internment camp in California's arid high desert. This racial discrimination, sanctioned by the upper echelons of American governance, affects only those of Japanese descent despite the presence of German and Italian Americans. The repercussions ripple through San Piedro Island, even disrupting the high school baseball team. As Hatsue prepares to depart, the young lovers concoct plans to keep their connection alive through letters.

Guterson vividly depicts the desolation of the Manzanar internment camp, where swirling dust mingles with shame and despair. "Everyone wandered like ghosts beneath the guard towers with the mountains looming in either side of them." These individuals, wronged by their own nation, find their spirits haunted by the injustices endured. This haunting will linger on America's conscience for generations to come.

Ishmael pens a heartfelt letter to Hatsue, only to have it intercepted by her mother, Fujiko, a woman of resilience and fortitude. "She reminded herself to carry herself with dignity, regardless of the circumstances. It was a lesson she had lost in her early days in America, but rediscovered over time as a valuable inheritance from her grandmother in Kure. Giri was her grandmother's term for it—impossible to capture in English—it meant performing one's duties with silent and stoic grace. Fujiko leaned back, nurturing within herself the quiet dignity she would need to confront Hatsue." The confrontation is swift; "[Y]ou will not write again to this boy or accept his letters." Hatsue Imada's pivotal moment emerges at Manzanar when she chooses to wed Kabuo Miyomoto. Like Heraclitus, she has realized that "character is destiny. He would have to do what he must do, and she would have to do the same." In embracing this "war marriage," she fully dedicates herself to it.

The Changing Times

The war has indelibly transformed everyone, most notably the veterans like Ishmael Chambers and Carl Heine, who faced combat and took lives in the South Pacific. Post-war, Carl confides to Kabuo Miyomoto, "I have to warn you about that, chief. I'm not screwed together like I used to be. It isn't like it was before." Kabuo, also a veteran, had been granted leave from Manzanar's confines to join other Japanese-American soldiers in the U.S. Army's illustrious 442nd Regiment, where he fought and vanquished Germans in the European theater. A dozen years later, he finds himself scrutinizing his reflection in a hand mirror while imprisoned and on trial for the murder of Carl Heine, his childhood friend. "He could see how his face had once been a boy's face and how on top of this was laid the face of his war years—a face he was no longer surprised to see, though it had astonished him greatly in the beginning." Kabuo perceives these same transformations—"the disturbed empty reaches"—in other veterans too. "They did not so much seem to stare right through things as to stare past the present state of the world into a world that was permanently in the distance for them and at the same time more immediate than the present." Their eyes project—perhaps "reflect" is more fitting—the chilling, harsh events they have endured.

Trials and Tribulations

The trial of Kabuo Miyomoto for Carl Heine's murder commences exactly twelve years after the fateful attack on Pearl Harbor, twelve years since Ishmael and Hatsue parted ways, and twelve years since Carl and Kabuo were last united. The verdict hinges on the intricacies of the two fishermen's relationship; Carl's widow confesses it's never been clear "if Carl and Kabuo were friends or enemies."

Stoic dignity—serving as a shield, for that is indeed its role—proves inadequate. When Hatsue Miyomoto takes the stand as the first defense witness, she wears her composed demeanor like an armor. A reporter notes she possesses "the calm of a geisha," reminiscent of what he observed while living in Japan. "But inwardly Hatsue felt no serenity; her calm was a practiced disguise." She harbors a disquieting secret; "her husband, she knew, was a mystery to her, and had been ever since he'd returned from his days as a soldier nine years before." The central truth of her marriage was "that the war had elicited in him a persistent guilt that lay over his soul like a shadow." Nonetheless, she harbors no regrets as she reflects on their union. "She sat across from him at the kitchen table at three o'clock in the morning, while he stared in silence or talked or wept, and she took when she could a piece of his sorrow and stored it for him in her own heart. . ." The notion that the best we can offer another in their suffering is to remain by their side and "store in our own hearts" "a piece of their sorrow" may be Guterson's most poignant message.

The Weight of History

This trial—the first murder trial in twenty-eight years on the island—marks a momentous upheaval, shattering routine and expectations alike. The weather outside—a December tempest, the fiercest blizzard in two decades—mirrors the trial's gravity. As the trial unfolds, "[R]ain, the spirit of the place," is replaced by snow—silent, unyielding snow—that will dominate the landscape. Throughout the three days of the trial, snow blankets the island, the towering cedar forest, the paths beneath the cedar canopies, and the homes built "of worn cedar slats." Snow becomes a symbol of external disruption and chaos beyond anyone's control, transforming all in its path. For Kabuo's young son and other children, this snow is a first; for the young and untainted, snow represents a joyous occasion. For the island's adults, snow—like the war, like history, like personal tragedies—embodies all they have fought against, even as they succumb to its relentless force. By midday on the first day, "[W]hen they looked out into the whiteness of the world the wind flung it sharply into their narrowed eyes and foreshortened their view of everything." Those who lived through the war years, Guterson observes, likewise found their perspective narrowed.

Raging Storm

By the time the third day dawned, the tempest had reached a furious crescendo, silencing "the noise of living things" completely. The blizzard spun wildly out of control, causing a flurry of accidents and leaving numerous individuals injured. Emergency supplies vanished from the shelves. "It seemed improbably that a wind should blow so consistently for days on end. It made them irritable and impatient. The snow was one thing, falling as it did, but the whine of the storm, the stinging force of it against their faces—everyone wished unconsciously that it would come to an end and grant them peace." The judge solemnly addressed the jury, "The storm is beyond our control, but the outcome of this trial is not." As the legal proceedings came to a halt, overwhelmed by the storm's dominion over their lives, the inhabitants of the island found themselves at the mercy of nature's wrath. Amid the chaos ravaging Amity Harbor and San Piedro Island, Ishmael surveyed the wreckage, momentarily transported back to Tarawa atoll—a grim remembrance of the battlefield where he lost his arm. The relentless snow symbolized those uncontrollable forces that dictated human existence. Ishmael Chambers, in his solitude, lamented how "Hatsue had been taken from his life by history, because history was whimsical and immune to private yearnings."

The Dilemma of Truth

Unknowingly, Ishmael stumbled upon the key to Kabuo's freedom. "The truth now lay in Ishmael's own pocket and he did not know what to do with it... What he felt was the chilly recklessness that had come to waylay his heart." In this moment of reckoning, he was compelled to draw upon unconventional resources—his father's guiding presence being paramount—to determine his course of action. Answers awaited him in the hollow of the cedar tree. But his journey also required a deep search within his own hollow heart, at the very core of Snow Falling On Cedars.

Lessons from the Past

Ishmael Chambers visited his mother, seeking wisdom. She "had gone cold" after Arthur, her husband, passed away; "her grief for him was fixed." Yet over time, she learned to embrace life with "the calm ease of one who feels there is certainly such a thing as grace." In contrast, Ishmael felt an emptiness in that kitchen, "the one warm place in all the world," a void carved by the scars of adulthood. His mother attributed this numbness to the war, stating, "You went numb. And you stayed numb." Besieged by self-pity, Ishmael could only plead for his mother's guidance towards happiness. Her advice was straightforward: "[H]ere's what you should do about being unhappy—you should get married and have some children." The next morning, he discovered a frozen egg in his mother's chicken coop, pondering if his heart was as frozen, as lifeless.

Reflections and Realizations

Ishmael's visit to his mother rekindled memories of his youth and his father, including the sorrowful recollection of not being present at his father's deathbed. He remembered Masato Nagaishi, representing San Piedro Island's Japanese-American community, offering condolences. "We have always had great respect for him as a newspaperman and as a neighbor, a man of great fairness and compassion for others, a friend to us and to all people." That tribute extended to Ishmael himself, with Nagaishi stating, "We know you will follow in your father's footsteps."

During his time at his mother's house, Ishmael unearthed childhood remnants, among them Hatsue's farewell letter penned at Manzanar. As he reread her words, "I don't love you, Ishmael," she confessed, "I can think of no more honest way to say it. From the very beginning, when we were little children, it seemed to me something was wrong... When we met that last time in the cedar tree and I felt your body move against mine, I knew with certainty that everything was wrong... I am not yours anymore." The letter concluded with Hatsue Imada acknowledging, "Your heart is large." Ishmael revisited his post-war experiences, recognizing how anger, unhappiness, loneliness, and selfishness had shaped him. Yet these recollections failed to liberate him; instead, they intensified the chill within his heart. He envisioned a future where Hatsue Miyomoto would "make her beholden to him... and she will have no choice but to listen" to him. Simultaneously, he recognized that his evidence could liberate Kabuo, though he feared becoming an outcast, questioning, "how was he to leave his passion behind when it went on living its own independent life, as tangible as the phantom limb he'd refused for so long to have denervated?"

Compare and Contrast

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1954: The echoes of war resonate deeply in the lives of veterans who have returned to the quiet shores of home. Regions with a significant Japanese-American community still grapple with the unrest of weaving these citizens back into the tapestry of daily life after their time in internment camps.

Today: Though the shadows of wartime memories hold enduring significance for World War II veterans, for the wider public, these reflections emerge most vividly around Veteran's Day and on anniversaries marking key historical events of the war.

1954: The aftermath of World War II leaves behind a trail of unease and suspicion towards the Japanese. As Japanese Americans make their way back from internment, they confront biases that were not previously present, navigating a landscape altered by conflict.

Today: While prejudice touches many minority and ethnic groups, the lingering effects of World War II seldom serve as the root cause for any biases directed towards Japanese Americans.

1954: Many Japanese Americans forge a connection to their heritage through spirituality, embracing meditation. This practice not only cultivates a deep state of relaxation and focus but also often unveils profound insights and fosters tranquility amid life's turbulence.

Today: Across the nation, Americans from diverse ethnic and religious backgrounds have embraced meditation as part of their routine. Despite the varied approaches to meditation, the aspirations remain universal: achieving relaxation, enhancing concentration, gaining insight, and nurturing a serene inner peace.

Literary Precedents

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Influences and Inspirations

Guterson openly acknowledges that his primary muse was Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird (1954; see separate entry). He mirrored its structure and echoed its thematic concerns. As he puts it, "two separate stories become one," as Ishmael Chambers' journey intertwines with the broader narrative of the community.

Literary Allusions

From the outset, Ishmael Chambers reflects on the classic literary works that shaped his identity, including Moby Dick by Herman Melville (1851), The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (1884; see separate entry), and The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne (1851; see separate entry). Astute readers might deduce that Guterson's mention of these works suggests we should draw parallels between their themes and those within his novel. Like Ishmael from Moby Dick, Ishmael Chambers is an outsider in a maritime community, seeking self-discovery. Huckleberry Finn grapples with confronting personal and societal racial biases, while The Scarlet Letter portrays a woman's endurance amidst communal frenzy.

The Elements of Romance

Snow Falling On Cedars seems to encapsulate the essence of a classic romance, a form that has enchanted Western literature for centuries. The German term "Liebspaar" captures the heart of the affair between two young lovers separated by war, embarking on personal odysseys until fate reunites them. Amidst lawlessness and chaos, love's tender allure persists. In these tales, obstacles must be overcome to prove the depth of love, where virtues like chastity and fidelity eventually triumph, often involving themes of "presumed death" or scheintod. Complex plots twist under the influence of Chance, not Choice, with identities often hidden or mistaken. The style is elegantly woven, inviting readers into a realm where love conquers all. This narrative skips the mundane, delivering pure escapism and fulfilled wishes, culminating in joyous conclusions.

Romantic tales vary widely, though the Arthurian legends, particularly those of Lancelot and Tristam, are seminal. The Breton and Carolinian cycles have also birthed unforgettable romances, enriched by folklore, mythology, and tales of outlaws.

The Secret Haven

The cedar tree hollow where Hatsue and Ishmael shared their youth mirrors the Nymphs' Cave from the romance Daphnis and Chloe, as well as numerous Tristam and Iseult stories and other renowned works. These secret gardens, caves, or floral bowers are traditional romantic settings, often featuring flowing springs or fountains. This locus amoenus evokes lovers' retreats beneath the trees. The cedar forest aligns with the rich tapestry of romantic lore. Since ancient times, romances have carried vegetative symbolism, from herbal remedies to intertwining vines, as in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.

Parallels with Existentialism

Guterson echoes themes from Albert Camus' The Stranger (1946; see separate entry). Like Camus' protagonist Mersault, who, blinded by sunlight, commits an irrevocable act, Kabuo experiences the night of Carl Heine's death as a vivid, dreamlike sequence shrouded in fog and silence. Though their contexts differ, the emotional intensity remains. Mersault's stoicism at his mother's funeral marks him as suspect to his community, just as Kabuo Miyomoto's reserved dignity becomes a liability during his trial. Gradually, Kabuo grasps the gravity of his misjudgment.

Kabuo felt his detachment from the world was self-evident, believing the judge, jury, and audience would recognize the "war veteran who had sacrificed his peace for theirs." Yet, upon reflection, his demeanor seemed defiant. He had remained unresponsive, concealing the turmoil within from the jurors.

Symbolism and Resonance

Franz Kafka famously said that a book should serve as an axe to break the ice of frozen hearts, a sentiment that resonates with the themes and characters of Snow Falling On Cedars.

The title Snow Falling On Cedars conjures the elegance of traditional Japanese poetry, akin to the haiku—a poem of seventeen syllables arranged in three lines. Its power lies not in formal structure or apparent meaning but in its resonance and what remains unspoken. The reader's imagination connects the imagery, transforming the reader into an artist. Guterson, versed in Eastern philosophies, imbued Hatsue with the same tranquility found within a haiku.

Adaptations

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Snow Falling On Cedars made its graceful debut on two audio cassettes courtesy of Random House Audiobooks in the year 1995. Transforming into a sweeping cinematic experience, it became a major motion picture brought to life by Universal Pictures in 1998. The screenplay, a collaborative effort, was co-authored by Guterson and Ronald Bass, under the adept direction of Scott Hicks.

Media Adaptations

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Snow Falling on Cedars found its way into the audio landscape in 1998, thanks to Random House's adaptation. The abridged rendition unfolds through the evocative voice of B. D. Wong, while the unabridged version captures the listener's imagination with Peter Marinker's narration.

Film Adaptation

The transformation of the novel into a motion picture came to life in 1999 under the auspices of Universal Pictures. Under the deft direction of Scott Hicks, the cinematic creation garnered acclaim, featuring Ethan Hawke as the introspective Ishmael and Youki Kudoh as the enigmatic Hatsue. Not only did the film receive an Oscar nod for Best Cinematography, but it also earned nominations from the American Society of Cinematographers, alongside Golden Satellite Award nominations for Best Cinematography, Best Actress, and Best Picture. The film's stunning visual storytelling was celebrated with numerous awards from critics' groups across cities and states for Best Cinematography.

Bibliography and Further Reading

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Sources
"David Guterson," in Contemporary Authors Online, The Gale Group, 2000.

"David Guterson," in Contemporary Literary Criticism, The Gale Group, 2001.

"David Guterson," in People Weekly, Vol. 45, No. 18, May 6, 1996, p. 132.

Dodge, David, "Snow Falling on Cedars," in Booklist, Vol. 90, No. 22, August 1994, p. 2022.

Graham, Philip, "In the Country of David Guterson," in Chicago Tribune, June 30, 1996.

Harris, Michael, "Sometimes, Even Good People Must Co-exist with Evil," in Los Angeles Times, September 19, 1994, p. E4.

Hubbard, Kim, "Out of the Woods: A Surprise Bestseller, Snow Falling on Cedars, Puts Novelist David Guterson on the Map," in People Weekly, Vol. 45, No. 9, March 4, 1996, pp. 89-90.

"The Internment of Japanese Americans (1940s)," in American Decades CD-ROM, Gale Research, 1998.

Jones, Malcom, Jr., "Snow on Top, a Literary First Novel Is This Season's Sleeper Success Story," in Newsweek, Vol. 126, No. 25, December 18, 1995, p. 72.

Kenney, Susan, "Their Fellow Americans," in New York Times Book Review, October 16, 1994, pp. 12-13.

"Manzanar Relocation Center," in DISCovering Multicultural America, Gale Research, 1996.

Nathan, Paul, "It Can Still Happen," in Publishers Weekly, Vol. 243, No. 50, December 9, 1996, p. 18.

Pate, Nancy, "Murder Unveils an Island's Secrets," in Chicago Tribune, January 12, 1995.

"Roosevelt Approves Internment of Japanese Americans, February 19, 1942," in DISCovering World History, Gale Research, 1997.

Further Reading
Brokaw, Tom, The Greatest Generation, Random House, 1998.
Brokaw recounts the firsthand experiences of World War II veterans and the women they left behind. The range of experiences and sentiments captured in this book are educational, moving, and inspiring. Also look for the video documentary featuring Brokaw's interviewees.

Guterson, David, East of the Mountains, Harcourt Brace, 2000.
This second novel by Guterson is about a widower in Seattle who discovers that he is dying of cancer. He decides to drive to the Cascades to take his life, but his plans are thwarted, and he begins reflecting on his life.

Houston, Jeanette, Farewell to Manzanar, Houghton Mifflin, 1973.
Houston's story of a young girl subjected to life in the internment camp of Manzanar is frequently recommended for its historical accuracy and its sensitive portrayal of one girl's experience. Although it is appropriate for nine- to twelve-year-old readers, this book is also appreciated by older students and adults.

Mantell, Suzanne, "The Rise of Snow," in Publishers Weekly, Vol. 242, No. 51, December 18, 1995, pp. 21-22.
Mantell traces the unusual publishing history of Snow Falling on Cedars, including information about Guterson's history with his agent and editors' reactions to the novel. The article also explores theories as to why the novel became such a runaway paperback bestseller.

Mathews, Linda, "Amid the Cedars, Serenity and Success," in New York Times, February 29, 1996, pp. C1, C4.
Mathews's article includes an overview of the book and its influences and information about the author and his workspace. She also writes about how the success of Snow Falling on Cedars has (and has not) affected the author's life.

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