“What we call evil is the instability inherent in all mankind which drives man outside and beyond himself toward an unfathomable something, exactly as though nature had bequeathed to our souls an ineradicable portion of instability from her store of ancient chaos.”- Stephan Zweig.The air grew heavier as the blood soared; the sensuality insect crawled with an unprecedented ardor blinding the intoxication that arose from a monstrous swell. The naked flesh bled to the wraith of arrows and while tranquility festooned youthful fragrance, the insect stirred a storm that thundered as cloudy-white patches filled the empty spaces. The musty smell of the ejaculated sperm mingled with the stale cigarette stink that dangled between the tender lips of an eight-year old squatting on the broken stairs, smoking the discarded stub wondering if she could touch the voluptuous breasts of the woman who smiled at her. A topless Barbie lay besides, the naked breasts of a doll immersed in nicotine fumes. Upstairs, a man admired the lacy lingerie beneath his striped shirt and the adored swell of the breasts hid under the layers of a tightly woven bandage far from the reach of the little girl. A worn sponge was being a dutiful servant to the slapping fingers; white mist covering a bare face.“Indeed of all kinds of decay in this world, decadent purity is the most malignant.”Lust, they say corrupts the purity of love. Puberty brings lust; maturity bestows love. Love is a shapeless sensation that at times normalizes irrationalities. Love has always been an anomalous creature; sensuality flooding sanity into passionate disorders. If so, then why are we adamant to categorize this amorphous divinity with standardize regularities? What is “normal love”? Who decides its normality stance? We, the so called societal gurus ; prisoners of our very own sins. ‘Confessions of a Mask’, is a convoluted mêlée of a remorseful conscience between the standardized societal normality and abnormalities.“How would I feel if I were another boy? How would I feel if I were a normal person?”Kochan keeps referring to himself as an abnormal person. For Kochan, the sensuality of a woman is equated to the same emotion that arises from viewing a “broom” or a “pencil”. He was fascinated with “tragic lives”; a feeling of nothingness that emerged from self-renunciation captivated Kochan. The night-soil man in his dark-blue trousers, the smell of sweat that reeks from the marching soldiers, Omi’s armpits filled with copious youthful hair, fishermen with their naked torsos; seductions that enhanced his puberty. Masturbating to the vision of a young male teacher and not to the thought of a naked woman, made Kochan question the legitimate normality of his pubescence. Mishima keeps homosexuality afloat in the stormy waters of social mores. In a homogeneous spiritual Japanese society, the existence of homosexuality was even more unimaginable than an actor’s factual face in a Kabuki theatre. The protagonist’s continuous struggle is heartbreaking to read, particularly, when in search for a normal life he imposes a Spartan-like self-discipline to evade the indulgence his “bad-habit” (masturbation) and his alter ego masquerading in a costume gala establishing a pre-amble to a counterfeit existence. The idea of being a stranger in a crude savage land seemed more plausible for an unflustered life. The commencing of a platonic love affair with Sonoko further propels Kochan’s remorseful conscience in a claustrophobic existence. The desire of an impassive kiss from a woman; the desperate need for an embryonic feeling of heterosexuality. The prose made me furious at times, to glimpse a world ridden with hypocrisies of insecure minds. A world where rape, incest is placed on a identical immoral dais as homosexuality is certainly a malignant society. A man should not be made to feel guilty if his heart craves the touch of another man. A woman should not be ostracized for loving another woman. Love is a warm shadow where we find refuge from our own wars. So, how dare the heterosexuality elites try to shackle a shadow? If, “normal love” only flourishes through the sole act of a viable reproduction, then what right do we have for pompous declarations of ‘man being the most evolved species’? Why demean the animals when we bestow the same courtesy to our fellow members? Why do we designate homosexuality as a ‘criminal with a death sentence?’ The red lacquer is meticulously spread over a snowy visage amid the cries of a featherless parrot chastised for flying with the robins. Death being the only rescue.“It was in death that I discovered my real ‘life’s aim’....”The gory images of mutilation and blood filled hallucinations had always ravaged Kochan’s mind. Right from his childhood, Kochan had an affinity to grief with death being the ultimate seducer of his sensualities. It was as if fate had made him fond of the sinister dwellings of death; a sort of an admonition of his burdensome future. Death plays a dual role in Kochan’s clandestine existences. At times, death becomes the ultimate escapism; a respite to his chaotic predicaments and then there are moments when the thought of death compels him (Kochan) to ponder on the possibilities of an honorable life. Similar to the face of a Kabuki actor that metamorphoses with each dab of paint into a supernatural being, the snippets of death from Kochan’s empathetic soul transcends death to be the pinnacle of eroticism.The salient features of the ongoing Japanese war further enhance the foundation of death. Death becomes a coveted symbol of equality, demolishing societal discrepancies and at the same time a harbinger with a prejudicial mask.“With the beginning of the war a wave of hypocritical stoicism swept the entire country”.... “The condition they has faced and fought against there --- that of a life for a life had probably been the most universal and elemental that mankind ever encounters.....”“Life for a life”; the Hammurabian ethics that rule the entire system of a war, exemplifies the sadistic hypocrisy that thrives in the human society. In order to validate the significance of our own lives and its choices, we condemned the lives of others and curse their preferences. Mishima compares the absurdities of the war with Kochan’s dissolute commotions. In a peculiar way, the onset of the war brings a solace to Kochan with the hope of an annihilation of his secret life. Whereas, the restitution of a peaceful aftermath evokes a personal conflict that Kochan would have to face in on a daily basis. Mishima gives an enlightening inference of how assorted masquerades of life are vanished when humanity dwells at the gates of death. “In the fire, these miserable ones had witnessed the total destruction of every evidence that they existed as human beings. Before their eyes they has seen human relationships, love and hatreds,, reason, property, all go up in flame....”Although war might bring the annihilation of human prejudices with life then becoming the utmost valuable thing, yet, the very origin of war lies in festering prejudices and sadistic verdicts.“And at times it had not been the flames against which they fought, but against human relationships, against love and hatreds, against reason, against property. At the time, like the crew of a wrecked ship, they have found themselves in a situation where it was permissible to kill one person in order that another might live...."War had become an identical apologetic entity of auto-hypnosis and self-deceit that Kochan himself had metamorphosed into. In order to save a life it was permissible to kill another. In order to keep a façade of “normality” it became permissible to obliterate the true-self.It is not surprising to spot the element of death taking the centre stage at many instances. Being, Kawabata’s protégé, Mishima employs similar philosophies seen in Kawabata’s prestigious works – Beauty in death and its opulence lost in its own excessiveness. War, being the perfect example of fading allure of death. The seducer being deceived by it own seduction. In Seppuku, a suicide ritual also exercised by the author himself; the samurais embellished their faces with subtle make-up before succumbing to the self-inserted sword. The samurais ached that their death would restore the very same honor and beauty that life had stolen from them. Given that, this book is also perceived as a semi-autobiographical sketch of Mishima , one can notice glimpses of Kabuki ; a theatrical art that Mishima often viewed as a child along with his grandmother. The decorated mask-like visage being a significant representation of this ancient Japanese art.“Everyone says life is a stage....”The freshly sculpted mask stares ardently into the mirror. It viciously smiles in nostalgic moments of twelve year boy masturbating to the standing picture of St. Sebastian and the nascent obsession of an eight year old girl. It howls as it hypnotizes the soul into a mass of self-deceit in a machine of falsehood. Similarly, as the ownership of a travel is lost with its commencement, the journey of mask becomes a reckless place for riots and revolutions.“Why is it wrong for me to stay just the way I am now? I was fed up with myself and all for my chastity was ruining my body. I had thought that with earnestness”...... “I was feeling the urge to begin living my true life. Even if it was to be pure masquerade and not my life at all, still the time had come when I must make a start , must drag my heavy feet forward.....”...Be Strong!!”At the end of the day, the mask had cursed the face.
A book can be a doorway into another human heart - that is the power of reading. The price of entry however is sometimes high - what we find can be so disturbing that we question if we really want to go there, even for a visit. Confessions of a Mask takes us to some dark places. We all have masks, of course. Living without any form of protection would be living with an open skin. But our masks are usually light, easily taken off or exchanged as need be.This mask is made of stone.The title seems to imply a promise - "all will be revealed" - because after all, it is the mask who is confessing. Well, this exposé is more apparent than real. Written under a pseudonym, Yukio Mishima, we are given what seems to be a story about a youth named Kochan. But surely it is the secret memories, feelings, and pain of one sad little Kimitake Hiraoka. Yes, it is told in a disarmingly simple style that can be easily breezed through, however you'll want to pause, reflect, study it - a careful reading is very enlightening. And yes, there is violent homo-eroticism in Confessions. That, I think, is a mask within masks. Obsession with death - the painful knowledge of the impermanence of life, and the need to control it, - is the true face underneath the mask. This is a person with a very strong death drive - i.e., a desire to take power from death. The one way to do that is to exit life on one's own terms. And also there's the desire to control beauty - and the strongest power over beauty, like life, is to destroy it."For many years I claimed I could remember things seen at the time of my own birth." This is an opening sentence packed with meaning. There is some ambiguity in the word 'claimed'. There is the very stubbornness of the claim. And as it turns out, there is the imagination, that, like the Little Prince, or David Copperfield, is larger than the grownups around him can handle. Kochan was an "unchildlike child".His childhood was largely spent in his grandmother's sickroom. She was from a Samurai family, and she implants pride and purpose in him. He obsesses over books, pictures - and on one in particular, of a beautiful knight. When he found out that it was Jeanne D'Arc not a man, why did that knock him flat? …the sweet fantasies I had cherished concerning his death were now gone. When he was about 12 years old, and a certain 'toy' made its wishes known to him. It raised its head toward death and pools of blood and muscular flesh. There's another image he obsesses over, St. Sebastian and he develops a strong attraction to a boy named Omi. His fantasies go beyond mere sexual attraction. In his mind he invents "a murder theatre" (in one scenario, a student is violently murdered, put on a table at a banquet, and then "I thrust the fork upright into the heart. A fountain of blood struck me full in the face. Holding the knife in my right hand, I began carving the flesh of the breast, gently, thinly at first…"). He becomes "disgusted with my true self" and "feeling the urge to begin living". But how?To begin living my true life…even if it was to be pure masquerade and not my life…The price of that decision, at least in part, is paid by the author himself: in 1970, at the age of 45, the real flesh and blood Mishima took a knife, sliced open his stomach, and, as required by the rite of seppuku, was decapitated.His ideal was 'bunbu ryodo', the way of the pen and the sword. He believed they could join only at the moment of death. We know what he did with the 'sword' - here is what he could do with the pen: [at a train station after an air raid]As we went along the passageway we did not receive even so much as a reproachful glance. We were ignored. Our very existence was obliterated by the fact that we had not shared in their misery; for them, we were nothing more than shadows.In spite of this scene something caught fire within me. I was emboldened and strengthened by the parade of misery passing before my eyes. I was experiencing the same excitement that a revolution causes. In the fire these miserable ones had witnessed the total destruction of every evidence that they existed as human beings. Before their eyes they had seen human relationships, loves and hatreds, reason, property, all go up in flame. And at the time it had not been the flames against which they fought, but against human relationships, against loves and hatreds, against reason, against property. At the time, like the crew of a wrecked ship, they had found themselves in a situation where it was permissible to kill one person in order that another might live. A man who died trying to rescue his sweetheart was killed, not by the flames, but by his sweetheart; and it was none other than the child who murdered its own mother when she was trying to save it. The condition they had faced and fought against there--that of a life for a life--had probably been the most universal and elemental that mankind ever encounters. Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima
What do You think about Confessions Of A Mask (1998)?
Confessions of a Mask is Yukio Mishima’s second novel which is thought to be heavily biographical and gained him recognition as brilliant young writer. The story centers on Kochan, a boy growing up in Imperial Japan during WWII. From a young age he realizes he is a homosexual yet forces himself to pass as a heterosexual in the Right-wing militaristic society. Kochan has a perverse fascination with death. From a young age he fantasizes about how he will die. As he becomes a young adult these fantasies take on a darkly erotic tone that interweaves death and sexuality. The struggle of fighting his true nature results in a deeply agitated state of mind which Mishima conveys masterfully. The majority of the story plays out in the backdrop of Japan’s final years before the atomic bombs lead to the unconditional surrender.This is a heavily psychological book that is concerned with death, eroticism, polite society, emotional secretiveness, and inner conflict. The story is told as a thoroughly written confession in the form of a long letter. The strong emphasis on isolation and use of interior monologue reminded me of J.D Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. Mishima’s exploration of human sexuality and isolation is tuned at a fever pitch that many writers have never reached in their works. There are a few memorable statements about the absurdity of war, yet I would not say there is an anti-war theme. The anxiety of war is presented clearly in lives of all the characters involved.I recommend this book to anyone interested in books that push the limits of literature and societal norms. This book is definitely not an easy going read. It is a disturbing novel that will agitate even seasoned readers. Mishima’s use of language is impressive. Each word is carefully selected to create a written style that is direct, profound, and confronts the reader unwaveringly. This is the fifth book I’ve read from Mishima and I have yet to read anything that hasn’t left a lasting imprint in my mind. I would go as far to say that a person could choose any of Mishima’s works, blind folded, with perfect confidence of selecting a literary treasure.
—Ismael Galvan
اول لقاء لي بالأدب الياباني و الأسيوي عموما بالتالي أول رواية أقرأها ليوكيو ميشيما ...كل ما عرفته على هذا الكاتب أنه انتحر بطريقة رومنطقية و لأني لا أحب المنتحرين لم أرغب قي قراءة المزيد عنه...و بالصدفة أقرأ له اعترافات قناع و هي سيرة ذاتية للكاتب منذ ولادته لفترة الشباب اي بعد نهاية الحرب العالمية الثانية بقليل سيرة بداها بأول رؤية له للشمس لتستمر السيرة في ضباب كثيف من نقد ذاته و محاولة فهم المحيط حوله و ايجاد مكان له وسط كل هذا الرواية جدل بين يوكيو و رغباته الجسدية و رغبة مستمية في العنف تجلت في صور و احلام لم تبرح مخيل الكاتب لا اعرف لما تذكرت رواية غرسيا ماركيز وقائع موت معلن ربما لأن السيرة تذكر بوضوح غريب أن مآل ميشيما الموت عاجلا وسيتولى الأمر بنفسه ..ربما الكاتب أراد اسقاط ما بكتابة هذه السيرة ربما اراد نقد اليابان المعاصرة من خلال ذاته الضعيفة و الواهنة التي تعرضت لظغوط كثيرة ففضل البقاء خلف قناع على أن يفضح ضعفه و رغبته الشاذة...على العموم أكره المنتحرين و أكره من يرتبط بالموت بشكل رومانسي فالموت ليس فيه أي شيء رومانسي فهو نهاية لابد منها و علينا أن نقبلها في حينها بالتالي سأمنح ثلاث نجمات للأسلوب وطريقة السرد و الصور الشعرية في النص و لا أظن أني سأعود لميشيما قريبا قراءة ممتعة
—ايمان
this novel is unusual ,shocking ,very strange....i feel sympathy for this tragic protagonist Kochan and all his mixed feelings and struggle against himself,and his own emotions being torned between his desire to be straight and his true feelings...hisfascinations and fantasies of death ,his self confidence that seems nearly in existent because of his naturally weak body ....his Questionable love to Sonoko ,he being Jealous from her that she could have such pure and true love that he simply cant give to any woman ...the sense of victory that he had when he felt he could seduce a woman....very miserable soul....
—Hend
