Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson

I think this is one of the loveliest books I have ever read. I was so fortunate last year to wander into my local Waterstones when they had decided to display the newly released Bloomsbury Modern Classics series. I was attracted to the aqua-blues in this beautiful cover design like something shiny at the bottom of the sea, and, on reading the first few pages, I knew it would need to come home with me.

I don’t know what it is about books which are set near the sea, on the sea, by the coast, or, concern themselves with fishing, sailing, lighthouses, pirates, and other sea creatures, but I always find them so enjoyable; Olive Kitteridge, Jamaican Inn, In the Heart of the Sea, The Loney, The Shipping News, are among those filling up my bookshelves devoted to maritime literature.

I think it is the mysterious language authors use to create their seascapes, a palette of folklore and boatspeak, mainly made up of knots and ropes, the almost witchlike signs and signals found in the weather to aid sea-navigation, all which holds certain foreign properties for any land-dweller.

David Guterson’s Snow Falling on Cedars is part of this world. In the fictional island of San Piedro Guterson creates an eco-literary landscape which his characters spawn from. Water feeds the novel, the salmon gill-netters, the juice of the strawberries farmed inland, the rain that forces a young boy and girl to take shelter under a cedar tree, the snow that settles outside the town’s courthouse during a murder case. Land is also a preoccupation and planted in it are questions of nationality and ownership.

Keeping the literary analysis aside, (although this book would be a dream for any budding Literature student), this book offers a romance, a peep into Japanese heritage, a veer into crime-fiction; including forensics and downtrodden local cops, the delights found in American Literature, including a To Kill a Mocking Bird- type court case, the printing cogs of the island’s newspaper, a delve into lighthouse archives, a harrowing description of the Pacific campaign during WWII and above all a celebration of rural life.

There are passages which are so beautiful I feel compelled to take up cross-stitching, print making or calligraphy so that I can project them on my wall at home. Look at how Guterston takes describing snow to another level:

It swirled like some icy fog, like the breath of ghosts, up and down Amity Harbor’s streets – powdery dust devils, frosted puffs of ivory cloud, spiraling tendrils of white smoke. 

The book was written over a ten-year period, while Guterson was working a teacher in Canada, a fact which I discovered while reading the book. In the Acknowledgements he gives thanks to a gardening columnist, presumably in his local circular, who he likely consulted when creating the chinaberries and mulberry trees, and other lush foliage which grow out of the pages of Snow Falling on Cedars.

I am not ashamed to admit this book made me sob my heart out at one point. It really is that beautiful. And because of this and many other reasons I have tried to relate in this rambling review, it has now a top spot in my “to-be-reread” pile.