The Sound of Waves - Yukio Mishima

The Sound of Waves is a love story between two teenagers in 1950s rural Japan, set on a small island off the coast. On the surface, it’s simple: a poor boy, a rich girl, an island community, and a relationship that has to fight against class, reputation, and tradition. But what makes this book work is not the plot — it’s the moral world Mishima builds around it.

The story follows Shinji, who might be one of the most genuinely good protagonists I’ve read in a while. He’s stoic, physically strong, hardworking, and extremely innocent — almost to a fault. At the same time, he’s a hopeless romantic. His journey isn’t just about marrying Hatsue; it’s about proving (mostly to himself) that he’s worthy of love. Shinji doesn’t scheme, manipulate, or rebel loudly. He just keeps doing the right thing, even when it hurts him. That consistency is the core of the novel.

Hatsue, on the other hand, is interesting because she feels both central and underexplored. She has clear morals, goals, and moments of courage, especially later in the book, but emotionally she often feels distant. A lot of her presence comes through how others see her rather than how she fully acts. That said, when she does make choices — especially against her father’s will — those moments matter.

One thing I really appreciated, and that people often overlook, is the role of religion and spirituality. Shrines, prayers, dreams, and gods quietly shape the characters’ decisions. Shinji fears being punished even for wanting love. Hatsue dreams of divine guidance. This spiritual layer reinforces how innocent and pre-modern this moral world feels.

At the same time, Mishima’s presence as an author is impossible to ignore. Knowing his background, it’s hard not to read the heavy spirituality and idealized heterosexual purity as a form of distance or projection. This becomes even more noticeable when the book spends an absurd amount of time describing women’s bodies — especially breasts — to the point where it feels excessive and uncomfortable. It doesn’t ruin the book, but it does say something about the author.

Overall, The Sound of Waves is a calm, nostalgic, sometimes frustrating, but ultimately rewarding read. It’s not perfect, and it’s definitely not subtle about everything — but its sincerity carries it through.

I’d recommend it to anyone who wants a quiet romance grounded in morality, nature, and character rather than drama. And while it’s considered one of Mishima’s lighter works, it still leaves you thinking long after the last page.