Snow Falling on Cedars: Chapter 31 Summary & Analysis

Ishmael drives through the snow to his mother’s house. The power is still out there. She’s reading in the kitchen when he arrives. She remarks on how old she’s getting. She feeds her son soup and Ishmael tells her the jury hadn’t reached a verdict that night. His mother laments the jury’s prejudice that will likely inform their decision. She hopes Ishmael will write an editorial condemning their hatred. Ishmael again feels Milholland’s notes in his pocket.

The power comes on at 8:00 p.m. and Ishmael turns off lights and turns on heaters. He sits in the house to listen for pipes thawing. His mother goes to bed and Ishmael sits in his father’s study, looking over his father’s books. There are a lot of virtuous, philosophizing volumes on the shelf—Thoreau, Rousseau, Emerson, and Plato, to name a few. There are also some books on gardening and nature. Ishmael remembers how his father loved to garden. He recalls his father tending, carefully, to his fruit trees. He also painted and built his own desk (at which Ishmael now sits).

Ishmael continues to reflect on his father’s life and legacy. Arthur had gone into the logging profession backed by thoughts of grandeur, but he’d outgrown these notions over the course of time. He’d then turned to reading and education, saved up his money, and started the San Piedro Review. He built his own house. He wrote about the big, sensational stories, but also wasn’t too big for the tedious: for the “garden club features, school board reports, horse show notices.”

Arthur was meticulous in everything he did, and he acknowledged the gray areas of life. This was important, especially, on an island, where “surrounding waters […] imposed upon islanders certain duties and conditions foreign to mainlanders.” Arthur had known that living on an island prevents one from “blending into an anonymous background.” Living on an island forced one “by the very [isolated] nature of their landscape” to be wary of what they showed to others. For this reason, many islanders turned inward, to silence, “in fear of opening up.” Arthur hated this about islanders, but also loved it. As Ishmael sits in his father’s chair, he realizes that he shares this ambivalence—that he is “his father’s son.”

Ishmael recalls when he’d gone with his father to cover the Strawberry Festival. It was a beautiful, picturesque day. His father took a picture of Mr. Fukida’s impressive display of strawberries. Arthur and Mr. Fukida made small talk about their children, and Arthur said he has “high hopes for [Ishmael].” Fukida agreed: “Oh, yes. […] We believe his heart is strong, like his father’s.”

Ishmael stops reminiscing. He leaves his father’s study and walks upstairs to his old bedroom. He returns to the farewell letter Hatsue sent him so many years before. He focuses on the last lines: “I wish you the very best, Ishmael. Your heart is large and you are gentle and kind, and I know you will do great things in the world […]. I am going to move on with my life as best I can, and I hope you will too.” Ishmael realizes how the war and his arm and everything have “made his heart smaller,” and that he’s not moved on with his life. He sees that the admirable qualities he used to possess—the reasons that Hatsue used to loved him—are no longer a part of him.

Ishmael puts the letter away. He puts on his coat. He sees Helen sleeping, observes her wrinkles, and thinks about how much he will miss her when she dies. Ishmael walks through the woods to the Imadas’ house. He sits with Hatsue and her parents and shows them Milholland’s notes. He explains the notes’ significance and why he’s finally come to talk with Hatsue.