90 - 'The Decay of the Angel' by Yukio Mishima

Please look to your left, dear reader (oh, alright, look to the left of this text; I don't care what you can see next to your laptop...). The lovely photo I took a few hours ago shows the complete 'The Sea of Fertility' tetralogy in all its wonderful glory (and, for some reason, in two different Vintage editions - that's the Book Depository for you). Today, about six months after finishing the first instalment, 'Spring Snow', I finally finished the fourth and final part, 'The Decay of the Angel'. Wow.

As our old acquaintance Shunsuke Honda nears the end of his life, he is looking back on how he has spent it and the events concerning the three doomed young people he has been involved with. One day, while walking on a Shizuoka beach, he comes across a look-out tower and, going inside for a look around, he meets a young man named Toru Yasunaga. Naturally, Honda sees an unusual birthmark under the young man's singlet and decides to adopt him, believing him to be the next incarnation of his friend, Kiyoaki Matsugae. But is Toru all he seems?

Toru certainly seems to be special (although for all the wrong reasons); he is egocentric, self-contained, cruel and possessed of an innate sense of his own worth in the world. While Honda seeks to mould the young man, playing with him to see if he (unlike his 'predecessors') can make it to his 21st birthday, Toru has his own ideas, slowly taking over control of the household and perverting events to his own ends. Within a few years, it is unclear who exactly is controlling whom...

In previous posts, I commented on the role of the seasons in the books, but I mainly focused on the background role of the seasons against the actions of the novel. However, the idea of seasons is, of course, a metaphor for the passing of Honda's years. 'The Decay of the Angel' marks the winter of Honda's existence, and it is (as is the case for many people) a harsh winter, full of bodily and mental frailty and atrophy. The title of this instalment of the series comes from a description in Buddhist lore of the passing of an angel: five signs of decay indicate the imminent death of an angel, including increased sweating from the armpits, a sudden shabbiness of attire and an inability to motivate oneself to move from the spot. By the end of the novel, Honda is not the only character in whom these signs can be seen...

The main intrigue of the book is the question of Toru's status: is he the reincarnation of the previous characters? While some of the signs are positive, there are some doubts: both Toru's date of birth and Ying Chan's exact time of death are uncertain, leaving the possibility that Toru was born too early. In addition, while Toru is certainly different (if by different you mean evil), is he really unique? Is he such a freak of nature that he is fated to die young?

As a novel in its own right, I doubt whether 'The Decay of the Angel' would quite cut it. It is far shorter than the first three books (perhaps because Mishima had something on his mind...), and the reader does get the feeling that the story, especially the mental conflict between Toru and Honda, could have been fleshed out more. However, as the denouement of the series as a whole, it works splendidly. With the doubts thrown up about Toru's status, Honda's whole existence is put under the microscope. Why has he spent so much of his life obsessing over Kiyoaki and his successors? Why has he become the cold, voyeuristic, secluded old man we see in this book?

The end gives us some of these answers but creates a whole host of others; on a visit to the Nara temple where Satoko, Kiyoaki's lover, shut herself away from the world, the dying Honda recreates Kiyoaki's painful pilgrimage of sixty years ago to obtain an audience with the abbess in an attempt to obtain some kind of truth or justification for all that has gone before. What actually confronts him... Well, you'll just have to read the book for yourself.

So what is it all about? Not a clue, but, in the countless rereadings this series will attract over the coming decades, I hope to get a glimpse of the ideas Mishima wove into his four-novel canvas. Reincarnation, the inevitable decay of earthly flesh (and society...), the recreation of the universe after every breath, every second, the nature of destiny, the lot of the unnatural or superhuman, the impossibility of sustaining perfect beauty in a less-than-perfect world... It cannot be described: it must be read.

Please do so.

79 - 'The Temple of Dawn' by Yukio Mishima

Well, we're three-quarters of the way through 'The Sea of Fertility' series; the end is in sight. Whether there's an answer in sight is another question altogether. 'The Temple of Dawn' is a very different book to its predecessors ('Spring Snow' and 'Runaway Horses'), not only in its settings but also in the focus on character and Buddhist theology. Let me explain further...

The third book of the series begins in 1940 in Bangkok, where our old friend, Shigekuni Honda, is working on behalf of a Japanese trading company. Either side of a mystical trip to India (where he visits a couple of the locations described in 'A Suitable Boy' - only a decade or so earlier!), Honda is taken to meet a Thai Princess, the daughter of one of the Princes he knew during his school days. Of course, it's not as simple as all that; you see, Princess Chantrapa, or 'Ying Chan', claims to be the reincarnation of a Japanese man...

After his return to Japan (and glossing nicely over the war years), Honda is disturbed in his relaxed and successful life by a further encounter with Ying Chan, now a seductive nineteen-year-old exchange student who has forgotten about her youthful claims of former lives. He struggles to balance two counteracting emotions in his life: his desire for the young woman's body and his belief in reincarnation coupled with his link to Kiyoake and Isao. Is Ying Chan really who she once claimed to be?

As mentioned, one of the major differences in this book is the focus on Honda. Where, in the first two parts, he was the foil to Kiyoaki and Isao and a sort of entry point for the reader, in 'The Temple of Dawn' he is drawn out as a major character, and the results are not always flattering. His success in his work has allowed him to indulge in his hobby of reading Buddhist tracts, and a later stroke of fortune enables him to retreat into his private world. However, the more he steps back into his cocoon, the more his energies start to go in other directions. We are told of (and shown) his penchant for voyeurism, and his pursuit of the young Thai princess, while starting innocently enough, becomes increasingly desperate as the novel progresses.

The timescale of the story, stretching from 1940 to 1953 (with a postscript in 1967), also contributes to the change Mishima makes his subject undergo. His financial success seems inversely linked to his physical appearance; as Honda passes through the autumn of his life, we are exposed to his growing stomach, his shrinking muscles, his troublesome teeth. In this context, the nubile, lithe, tanned body of his obsession stands out all the more.

Honda's obsession is all the more consuming as it is linked to his past. He swings between his lust and his desire to find out whether or not Ying Chan is the reincarnation of his friends. In fact, this fact is to be the deciding factor in his decision as to whether or not to sleep with the Princess (a decision which is not really his to make).

It is a little unfair to compare 'The Temple of Dawn' with the first two books, but I never claimed to be fair. This book does not have the poetic beauty of 'Spring Snow' or the fiery anger and passion of 'Runaway Horses', and there are some issues with the story. As you will read in any review of this book, the long section on reincarnation tends to stop the reader dead in their tracks; the theological discussions act like a giant pool of quicksand, sucking the reader down and draining them of their reading energy. Yes, reincarnation is the central theme of the tetralogy, but a quick summary here and there would have sufficed...

Once past this (looooooong) discussion, however, the story does pick up, Once you realise that Honda is the star of the show and that Ying Chan is merely the foil for his character development, the book becomes much more enjoyable. We experience with him the frustrations of his life and his regrets for the conventional way he has lived it so far. Unlike Kiyoaki and Isao, his actions are not underpinned by the beauty and dynamism of youth, and, therefore, seem tawdry and out of place. Nevertheless, the reader stays with him to the fiery and (in some ways) unexpected crescendo, an ending which sets up the final part of the series. And, of course, Mishima's life. Drop by in December for the conclusion...

67 - 'Runaway Horses' by Yukio Mishima

Music and literature have always been entwined in my head, even before I started listening to my i-Pod on the train while reading to drown out the obnoxious schoolkids and depressingly loud bogans in the vicinity. I still remember listening to certain CDs (actually, probably tapes) while perusing serious (Dürrenmatt's 'Der Besuch der Alten Dame' to the accompaniment of REM's 'Automatic for the People') and not-so-serious (some Pern dragon books with a background of 'ABBA Gold') literature, so it will come as no surprise to learn that, even during this year's blogfest, certain songs have been going around in my head.

As mentioned in an earlier post, Franz Ferdinand released 'Ulysses' at a very inopportune time for me, and Haruki Murakami's 'Sputnik Sweetheart' will forever inspire a chorus of Doves' 'Satellites' inside my tiny brain. Even in the last two reviews, 'Wuthering Heights' and 'Molly Malone' have come up (not completely logically, but when did that ever stop me?). The point is, as someone who grew up in the eighties, what chance did I have of keeping my head free of music when reading a book entitled 'Runaway Horses'?

Sadly, Belinda Carlisle did not follow the example set by Kate Bush, and her song has no connection with the second of Yukio Mishima's four 'The Sea of Fertility' novels (and has absolutely no mention of seppuku that I'm aware of). Disappointingly, the book has absolutely nothing to do with horses, errant or not, instead reintroducing us to Shigekuni Honda, one of the major characters of 'Spring Snow', who, in the eighteen years separating the two novels, has become a high court judge. During a business trip to a kendo tournament held at a sacred shinto shrine (the kind of business trip I am rarely asked to go on), a young swordsman catches his eye, and his solid, successful life, eighteen years in the making, again becomes caught up in a turbulent whirlwind of intrigue and emotion.

The young Isao Iinuma, the son of the retainer of the first novel's main protagonist, Kiyoake Matsugae, is a young man filled with a longing to reverse the trend of the past decades of foreign-influenced rule. Through a short book relating the (true) exploits of a group of samurai loyal to the emperor, 'The League of the Divine Wind', Isao discovers something worth living, fighting and dying for. His natural energy and his incredible passion attract a group of like-minded students, and together they plan an incredible assault on the pillars of the modern Japanese economy, which they consider to be a corrupt betrayal of the true Japanese spirit.

Where the first book was littered throughout with references to spring flowers, delicate colours and the first stirrings of cherry blossoms, the role of nature and the seasons is very different here. Several important scenes are carried out in the scorching summer sun: Isao's first appearance in the kendo tournament; a parade of soldiers on a visit to the army barracks; the first meeting of the new league. In all these scenes, Isao soaks up the sun, using the energy of the Emperor (the 'Sun God') to fuel his resolve, the intensity of the sunlight only matched by the strength of Isao's faith in his beliefs.

The theme of reincarnation hinted at in 'Spring Snow' is again central to 'Runaway Horses' with Honda gradually beoming convinced of the reality of his friend's rebirth. From Isao's natural grace to his fulfilment of one of the dreams in the diary Honda has inherited, the lawyer sees the return of a character he thought was lost, with a scene from one of those dreams becoming reality. Ironically, one of Isao's dreams, later on in the book, appears to point to the direction of the third book of the tetralogy (but let's not go there today...).

'Runaway Horses', like its predecessor, is a wonderful book to read, although very different in its style. Where 'Spring Snow' was feminine and graceful, conforming more to the kind of Japanese novel most of us are accustomed to read, this novel is more masculine, dangerous and urgent. It is easy to see how the events of this story, set in 1932/3, could lead to Japan's aggression in East Asia, the attack on Pearl Harbor and the brutality of the Pacific War. The passion of aggressive young men, who eventually won the support of the army, allied to a blinding belief in the divinity of the Emperor and the superiority of their homeland, was one of the causes of some of the cruellest behaviour of the Second World War.

However, when reading of the exploits of the original 'League of the Divine Wind' and their utter disregard for their lives when called upon to purify their country, it is another conflict which comes to mind. Just as the samurai did not hesitate to attack the supposed enemy, even in the face of insuperable odds, with the prospect of almost certain death clearly in view, so too have fundamentalist 'freedom fighters' waged war on enemies of their religion. The stories of the suicide bombers of Iraq and Afghanistan, if told sympathetically, would probably differ little in the essentials from the description given by Mishima in the mini-novel inside his book. Not convinced? Try looking up the Japanese for 'divine wind'; ever heard of the word 'kamikaze'...

I did intend to finish here, but there are two more things to say. Firstly, I'm looking forward to the next installment of the tetralogy (off to the book depository again next week!). And finally, I believe the last word really should go to Belinda:

"Whoa-oh, Runaway Horses, whoah-oh, take us through the night,...

You and I on Runaway horses, Ooh-ooh, baby hold on tight..."

55 - 'Spring Snow' by Yukio Mishima

There's something about Japanese writers. They have such an elegant way with words and paint amazing pictures with their prose, sweeping the reader into a world of the author's making, making them see what the writer sees in his imagination, setting a measured yet engrossing pace (either that, or they all have really, really good translators). And among these writers, one of the masters of the art is Yukio Mishima; and 'Spring Snow' must be among his best works.

In this novel, set in 1912-13, Mishima lays out a tragic love affair between Kiyoaki Matsugae, the son of a well-to-do family, and Satoko Ayakura, the daughter of members of the Japanese aristocracy. Through Kiyoaki's stubbornness and Satoko's teasing of the younger boy, the pair circle each other without penetrating the layers of reserve until Satoko has already been promised in marriage; the subsequent events lead them into a downward spiral resulting in their disappearance, in different ways, from Tokyo society.

That's basically it - 400 pages of star-crossed lovers. What makes it more than just a Mills and Boon romance, however, is Mishima's ability to paint the background of the story, and the principal actors, with such vividness that they seem to burst into technicolour in your mind (actually, technicolour would be too bright and garish - let's say watercolours instead). The Japanese are fond of reminding foreigners about their four seasons (and can be confused when those same foreigners seem particularly underwhelmed by this astounding piece of information), but it is true that the country does mark its seasons very distinctly, something that Mishima draws out in this book. From the famed cherry blossoms of spring, through the typhoon season to the sprouting greenery of a humid summer, the seasons march on with the multi-coloured mountains of Maple trees in the autumn giving way to the bare trees and swirling snow of winter and early spring (which, as you would guess from the title, marks some important events in the novel).

As well as being able to describe the natural world, Mishima is extremely adept at portraying the state of Japanese society at the time, just half-a-century after the forced end to the country's self-imposed seclusion (and only a few years after Japan became the first Asian country to defeat a major European power in battle in the Russo-Japanese war). Houses now have Japanese and Western rooms; students smoke cigarettes; the upper classes provide private screenings of the latest western films or play recordings of classical music. Despite this superficial move towards westernisation though, the traditional culture remains almost untouched. We are treated to views of private ceremonies celebrating traditional holidays, cherry-blossom-viewing parties and New Year's imperial poetry competitions; let us not forget that the Emperor was still regarded as a god at this time.

This shift from Japanese to Western cultures has also not extended to the morals the characters display over the course of the story. While the Christian west is motivated by guilt and may be prevented from acting by the thought that they are doing wrong, Asian cultures can be motivated more by shame and the possibility of people outside the family group finding out their secrets. Of course, as long as everyone keeps their silence, this will not happen, and everyone is happy. This behaviour, so contrary to many western beliefs (although strangely similar to the way the English upper classes often deal with scandals...), allows Kiyoaki and Satoko to continue with their affair, and helps the two families to cover it up once they have discovered the truth.

The third major character of the book, Kiyoaki's friend Shunsuke Honda, is also part of the web of cover ups and intrigues. Very different from his effete and uninterested friend, Honda, a hard-working student and future lawyer, is happy to be of service to Kiyoaki in his adventures, helping him several times to arrange illicit rendez-vous with Satoko. Eventually though, his conscience starts to prick him, and he has to face up to a dilemma familiar to anyone who has been asked to help a friend do things which they really shouldn't have: does he do what his friend wants, or what his friend actually needs? Honda's response to this problem shapes the way the plot eventually unfolds.

What really differentiates the book from similar western novels, however, is its central theme of Buddhism and, in particular, reincarnation. Throughout the tale, we see references to the religion, often in the shape of the Thai princes who have come to Japan to broaden their horizons (which mainly seems to consist of smoking and messing around with local girls). Honda's discussions about the nature of reincarnation with the princes and his study of Buddhism-based ancient Asian law lead us nicely through the ideas which will be explored later on, namely is it really reincarnation if the reborn soul is unaware of past lives?

And now, dear reader, I can hear you asking yourself 'Later on? What's he talking about?', and, yes, it may seem a little odd until you hear that 'Spring Snow' is merely the first in Mishima's quadrilogy of books making up 'The Sea of Fertility' cycle. Before his untimely death (which I mentioned briefly in my earlier post on 'Forbidden Colours'), Mishima wrote one last set of novels, with (as far as I'm aware) the theme of reincarnation at the heart of them. What does that mean? That after finishing a truly wonderful book, I'm still only a quarter of the way through the story. Now that's something to be very happy about.