The Setting Sun

One of the major themes of Osamu Dazai’s The Setting Sun is the socioeconomic fall of aristocracy in Japan following World War II. The title itself reflects these core themes: when the Japanese write down the name of their home country in Kanji (one of its three alphabets), it  roughly means “land of the rising sun”. The Setting Sun is an allegory that the glory days of Japan have come to an end, specifically their ancient aristocracy and their old families, as well as Japanese culture. The comfortable

and narrator of The Setting Sun (1947, translated in 1956 by Donald Keene), can certainly be praised as a strong female character who overcomes economic collapse. However, Dazai places incredible focus on the psychological aspects of the fallen Japanese aristocracy through Kazuko, who has low self-esteem and a critical superego paired with a fear of intimacy at the beginning of the novel, but who eventually finds the will to struggle against her own mind.     The Setting Sun opens with Kazuko eating

Stone Carvers by Jane Urquhart. Although both texts explore the importance of a pastoral setting and the creation of an artistic

The central narrative of My Antonia could be a check upon the interests, and tho' in his fib Jim seldom says something directly concerning the concept of the past, the general tone of the novel is very unhappy. Jim’s motive for writing his story is to do to change some association between his gift as a high-powered any professional person and his nonexistent past on the NE grassland ; in re-creating that past, the novel represent each Jim’s retention and his feelings concerning his recollections

It was such a simple thing, yet it made my 16-year-old self feel so grown up. The sun had begun to set, and I couldn’t help but think that there could be no better evening; the colors of the setting sun looked like paint brushed across the cloudless sky, and the temperature was perfect. After spending what felt like hours circling downtown for a place to park, I finally found a spot in front

looking for any signs of a predator. The unusual, yet enjoyable scent of many unknown plants wafts over him, adding to the enjoyment of the scenery carried by the soft air that frequently would caress his skin and face. The broken rays of the summer sun stream down the boy’s skin, along with the eyes and ears of the many critters watching. After

Terry awoke to the loud pounding on the broken door of his cave. He swam outside to find nothing but the darkness of the sea at night. He slowly floated back into the safety of his small, frugal cave. The next morning, Terry swam outside only to find the large, green, daunting eel staring directly at Terry. The eel’s name was Hector. Terry had seen him before, swimming around the reef. Flashing his razor sharp teeth at anyone who came near him. Hector had confronted Terry and stated, “I am the

‘god made the village and mane made the town.’ It was now evening. The sun was going down. It looked like a large boll of fire. The cow boys were found moving home ward driving their cattle. Birds were seen returning to their nests by rows. The last rays of the setting sun fell on the green fields and produced an unforeseen sight. It filled my heart with great joy and excitement. I could enjoy the majesty of the setting sun and the pathos of darkness and patches of cloud floating in the sky were

No matter the time of day, or how hot the sun is, an alley is always dark and cold. No matter the amount of people on the street, an alley is always empty, it seems. An alley is the source of violence, nothing good has ever happened in an alley. Murder, theft, fights… they all happened in alleys. As Abigail stepped out of the alley, there was no sun to warm up her back; there was no instant increase in the rushed bustle of people. There was no change. Abigail’s entire world was an alley. She gripped

eagerly kicked back and forth, overjoyed that the long – awaited day had finally come. The pigeon, with little success, tried to let the egg out. The setting sun casted the trees in their virescent hues of early spring. Papery and delicate leaves sway to the rhythm of the wind. After some time, a thunderous noise reverberated over the serene setting and set the bomb alarms wailing. The uproar alarmed both her and her pigeon, forcing the pigeon to release her first egg onto the coop’s muddy floor and