Reviews

3.75 stars. The beauty of this novella is in its implications. This is my first time reading one of Mishima’s works, and I’m so impressed by his ability to establish such a weighted, introspective piece in just 75 pages.

Although it was published in 1960, Star holds up as a contemporary portrait of existence and death; nihilistic prose that reveals the blight of stardom on the human psyche. Beyond that, it reflects on the precarious relationship between perception and existence—fiction and reality—how the way we perceive ourselves and our perception of how others perceive us moulds us as beings, as actors.

The context behind this short story adds another dimension to it entirely. Like his protagonist Rikio, Mishima was an actor in the yakuza film, Afraid to Die, a fact that transforms this book into something autobiographical and deeply personal. The irony of the film’s title is just another haunting fact when Rikio—and by extension—Mishima’s preoccupation with death and suicide is considered. It seemed as if suicide subtly pervaded the corners of this book, becoming inescapable and ultimately inevitable.

In this novel suicide becomes an act, and the act of suicide is viewed as something powerful. An actress attempts to end her life, and Rikio is entranced by the way her body performs while she is resuscitated. It is authentic and real, and it morphs into a performance.

“I wanted to study her, to watch her do it all over again. She had managed to attain the sublime state that actors always dream of.”

Rikio’s constant preoccupation with his image as a young star plagued by the constant scrutiny of stardom was such an important motif. Actor was his job title, but his entire disposition seemed to be an act in itself.

A figurative yet very literal mask tethered him to the boundary of reality and fiction, allowing him to carefully orchestrate his image and influence the way others perceived him. It was obsessive, the way Rikio’s polarising self-reflection always returned to his existence as something perceived—an image of the self coloured by idolisation.

“For a star, being seen is everything. But the powers that be are well aware that being seen is no more than a symptom of the gaze. They know that the reality everyone thinks they see and feel draws from the spring of artifice that you and I are guarding. To keep the public pacified, the spring must always be shielded from the world by masks. And these masks are worn by stars.”

Although Rikio relished in his fame, he was even more tormented by its brutality, seeking solace in the paradox of control that fiction awarded him. The theme of one’s image even permeated his relationship with Kayo, which like his true self was hidden behind a coordinated disguise. Fused into the themes of beauty, existence, death and artifice is perverse desire that is both amplified by and bows to Mishima’s convictions. Rikio’s relationship with Kayo was underpinned by so much psychosexual significance, and Kayo herself was such an interesting character. Like her secret lover, Kayo also donned a mask through which she manipulated her image. It seemed to me that this factor is what made them work as a couple, as they both understood the gravity of procuring the mask to obscure their true selves.

“We were different people, and there was nothing remotely natural or even plausible in our partnership, but operating contrary to expectations and remaining ever-conscious of the act gave both of us a mainline to euphoria.”

Star is a stunning introduction to Mishima’s legacy, and I’m lucky that I picked it up without knowing that it was his first work. Intertwined with an infatuation with beauty and death, this piece offers not only a critique on celebrity culture but an invaluable psychological and philosophical insight into the human condition.

(I’m in between giving this 3.75 or 4 stars)

emsemsems's review against another edition

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5.0

“Do you want to be human now like everybody else? Stop being so predictable. The real world can’t wait for you to die.”

My very first Mishima – and it messed my head up like a surprise hit from a baby Glock, and for a whole week I toyed with the phantom bullet from this sublime experience – so ‘shook’, but so satisfied. So much so that I gave it a quick second read just before typing this review. I rated it a 4-star the first time I read it, but an impulsive second reading bumped it up to a 4.5. Most readers tend to describe Mishima/his work as either too ‘mad’ and/ too much of everything. But I think of him an art ho setting his own life on fire, and then living as intensely as one possibly can; living in the wrong time period, and I love him for all that.

“Just as evil never dies, neither does the sentimental. Like suckerfish clinging to the belly of a shark, threads of permanence cling to the underbelly of all formulaic poetry. It comes as a false shadow, the refuse of originality, the body dragged around by genius. It’s the light that flashes from a tin roof with a tawdry grace. A tragic swiftness only the superficial can possess. That elaborate beauty and pathos offered only by an undiscerning soul. A crude confession, like a sunset that backlights clumsy silhouettes. I love any story guarded by these principles, with this poetry at its core.”

In this short but rich novella, he achieved what Murakami was trying too hard to do in his latest short story collection, [b:First Person Singular: Stories|54614599|First Person Singular Stories|Haruki Murakami|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1596716987l/54614599._SY75_.jpg|85211596] (in particular, his story, ‘Carnaval’ – which I had enjoyed then (my review) , but it is hard to make a fair comparison simply because Mishima is very definitely on a whole other league when it comes to writing about aesthetics, desire, sex and the sublime). Mishima reminds me of Bataille (one of my favourite writers; also Bjork’s – for the experimental/bizarre ‘psychosexual perversion’ which she borrows and uses in her music – CM ) – all that death and sex? Yes, but make it sublime, and poetic as fuck.

“It was as if the overdose was not about her death at all, but the death of the woman who had been so rigid during the test run… the thin layer of muscle under her skin convulsed. A ribbon of blood dribbled from the needle. Her voice grew shriller still. The yells were real. She gritted her clean, straight teeth. All eyes were on Yuri! Her expression was shameless, every inch of her exposed. But with her return to consciousness, she found herself back in the disgraces of this bright and garish world.”

The protagonist is a young actor in his prime. It’s easy to think of him as a ‘psychopath’ like the protagonist in [b:American Psycho|24310258|American Psycho|Bret Easton Ellis|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1420488921l/24310258._SY75_.jpg|2270060] (which I've started to roll my eyes at now that I’ve come across more and more books/characters who are written much better). But he’s much more than that; he’s so ordinary – almost too ordinary (without his ‘fame’) except his impulses and thoughts are raw, unfiltered and amplified a thousand times more. Mishima’s exploration of social classes, societal discontents, and the absurdity of ‘stardom’ in this novella is done so brilliantly. I’ve yet to read [b:Astral Season, Beastly Season|55256510|Astral Season, Beastly Season|Tahi Saihate|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1605781375l/55256510._SY75_.jpg|86164519] by Tahi Saihate (which I believe tread on very similar themes), but I imagine I’ll be making a close comparison when I catch up with Saihate’s. The structure of the novella/plot is fascinating and extremely well done. Not only does Mishima explore about the light/darkness of ‘stardom’ but also the invisible masks that the actors/people put on every day for different roles – at work but also in real life – and how it is inevitable for the lines overlap and blur.

“That night, back in my bedroom, Kayo did something awful that the average person would never allow. But I was fine with it and did more than just allow it… Every move she makes is resolute, a vow to resist the pull of tragedy, to poke fun at every situation, no matter how painful or grave, like someone flicking a watermelon to hear the sound it makes before they buy it. Her laughter was potent enough to scorch the grass for miles around, to putrefy a field of ripe red strawberries.”

The protagonist and his assistant, Kayo fucks one another every now and then (not a spoiler as it is revealed very early on) for cheap entertain, but minor transgressions to/from their ‘roles’ in the novella make one wonder if this is just an ‘aesthetic’ or if it is some kind of twisted ‘love’ (in the conventional sense of the word). This is made even less clear by the ‘cinematic’, and vibrant the descriptions/scenes/writing is – think of the films by Wong Kar-Wai/Hou Hsiao-Hsien, but with entirely different scripts – playing with complex romantic notions of sheer existence (and otherwise)? In the excerpt above, the protagonist and Kayo fucks each other while thinking about his fan’s suicide attempt – like as if they’re just getting off on the concept of their own influence/‘power’. He views the fan’s suicide attempt as a performance – for aesthetics’ sake, and then Kayo performs part of the act (mocking his fan for her own pleasure) which turns into a source of pleasure for the both of them. Isn’t it all a performance then, an act? All actors, on different stages. Who is to say which one’s more valuable/more meaningful? As long as we experience ‘the sublime’ – then the job’s done, ain’t it? Is it just art then; and/but it eventually just trickles into the bottomless sea of ethics and morality, doesn’t it? Mishima explores this further in his non-fiction writing in [b:Sun & Steel|96592|Sun & Steel|Yukio Mishima|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1423022029l/96592._SY75_.jpg|60997].

“The farmer’s daughters in the fan clubs were always asking me, “What’s it like to be a star?” It amazed me how these clubs managed to attract so many ugly girls. Sometimes they even had cripples. You’d have a real hard time going out on the street and rounding up a group of girls that ugly. All I’m saying is they could carry on about their own dreams all they wanted, but there was no way I could tell them how it felt to live inside one.”

“Staring off into space, her plump arms bare, she drew shapes on the tatami with her fingers and practiced her one line to herself over and over. I hate witnessing ambition, even in a woman. I had to look away.”

The characterisation in this novella is absolutely stunning – esp. with the protagonist – complicated art ho with shit tons of ‘clout’. Even though he is satisfied/at ease with the company/presence of Kayo who he thinks of as ‘ugly’, he thinks of his fans and co-workers in a very different light (but describing them with a similar sense of ‘ugliness’). This is where I was convinced that Murakami lost his touch/control in his short story (where he attempts to explore ‘aesthetics’/the sublime), ‘Carnaval’, while Mishima absolutely killed it in this novella – with so much precision and elegance. He’s a lot like Bataille, except a lot more elegant, and meticulous in his writing/style. Every sentence in the novella is beautifully written, and very obviously intentional. He allows room for self-contradiction and more (when it comes to ‘aesthetics’) which may make for a frustrating read for some, but I enjoyed the complexity of it all. It makes it more ‘real’, but also gives more sides to the character.

“I was once more overtaken by a deep fatigue; my thoughts returned to death. If I was going to die, now would be as good a time as any. Rather than a death cushioned by pleasure, I would die embracing a despicable filth. Cheek in the gutter, curled up against the corpse of a stray cat.”

The protagonist’s relationship with death/suicide is an interesting one that (if one decides to overthink it) reminds one of Mishima’s own suicide. The protagonist thinks too much about it instead of just doing it – in an impulsive, casual way. He drags it – on and on – wanting it to be perfect and aesthetically on point/tailored to his taste. It’s not just the existential dread that nudges him to think about death/suicide, but also his boredom (as an entertainer), since the thirst for entertainment is insatiable (consumerist society, and etc). The inevitable sense of being an ‘outsider’ as a ‘star’/actor encourages his dissociation. He feels zero responsibility and little interest/affection for the ‘real world’/ordinary people, yet he is repulsed by the higher society. And amidst all of that slow and quiet chaos, the only thing that keeps him afloat is his half-arsed, convenient relationship with Kayo. The novella ends with a cheap and gaudy expression – a greeting-card declaration of ‘love’; and fades out preserving the protagonist’s youth and fame. Even if you’re not in the mood for its darker/deeper layers, it’s still undeniable a beautiful work of art on the surface. I’m still in so much awe of the writing, and I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to read a Mishima. One down, and surely many more to go.

“If you saw a woman drowning in the water, would you make sure she was beautiful before diving in to save her?”

For a multi-sensory experience, these three songs can enhance the vibe/mood of the novella (in this exact order, and on repeat if you wish):
Bucku Bucku – MFBTY
Suicide – Paul McCartney
Power – Greta Isaac

“Real love always plays out at a distance.”

matt717's review

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dark reflective fast-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? No
Loveable characters? No
Diverse cast of characters? No
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.0

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