The second major work which Kawabata published in his mid-twenties, The Dancing Girl of Izu (lzu no odoriko, 1926) seems, initially, to form a striking contrast with the first. One might be tempted to surmise that, having relieved himself of the burden of his unfortunate childhood by writing his 'song of experience', the young author now felt free to give vent to his natural youthful exuberance by writing a joyful 'song of innocence'. His new-found 'liberation' seems to be made clear by the very setting of this second work; in contrast to the dark, closed, static environment of his grandfather's house, which naturally evokes feelings of claustrophobia and paralysis, we now have the bright, open, ever-changing landscape of the beautiful southern Izu peninsula, which naturally suggests an uninhibited freedom and movement. Also there is, of course, the even starker contrast between the two central characters with whom the protagonist comes into contact: in the Diary, a physically repulsive old man whose constant demands drive the boy to rebellion; in Izu, a beautiful girl who seems eager to serve the young man in any way she can. It is as if the protagonist of the Diary, in one of his darkest moments, had fallen asleep and dreamt the compensatory dream of Izu.