A review by emsemsems
Beautiful Star by Yukio Mishima

2.0

'All healthy human beings live according to the same song: Ah, I want to die. But in the end, I won’t. This is the human song of life sung everywhere all the time. By the lathe in the small workshop, in the shade of white sheets fluttering on the line, in the crowded trains as they come and go, in the backstreets dotted with puddles.'

Not sure when this was written, I will simply assume that it's one of his earlier work, because his ideas are all over the place. Structurally, also a mess. Chaotic, but somehow works for the 'plot'. But despite the chaos, there is some beauty to be found. This is definitely my least favourite Mishima, but I can't say it was badly written. Just very rushed, very angsty, and just not well composed like his other novels. There are some bits in here that remind me of why I'm afraid of loving Mishima too much, because I don't believe/agree with a lot of his (mostly political) ideas. He plays with that a lot in this book, and not very well. Drags a bit, and the narrative tone lacks control (which could be frustrating to read; and it was for me). The ending, loose, and rushed. I kept thinking I'd rather try read [b:新世界より Shinsekai Yori |7171561|新世界より Shinsekai Yori |Yusuke Kishi|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1356897905l/7171561._SY75_.jpg|7588514] (great anime; and/but I need to read the novel properly again) since they both deal with very similar themes. Different beasts, but same concept/conflict. Full RTC later.

''Have you never considered how disappointed humans must have been when they directly confronted the simple conditions of human existence, when they became aware that all they needed to survive was bread? They must have been the first humans on Earth to contemplate suicide. Imagine a man who, after some sad incident, determines to kill himself tomorrow. Today, with some hesitation, he eats his bread. After much thought, he postpones suicide until the day after next. The next day, too, he eats bread in some trepidation. He keeps delaying things day after day, and every day he eats his bread … One particular day, he suddenly realizes that he can live an aimless and meaningless life on bread alone. He is alive right now, and it is all thanks to bread. There is no greater truth than that. He is seized by a terrifying despair, but his despair will never be resolved through suicide. After all, he is not in despair about being alive, which is the usual cause of suicide, but despair about life itself. Increasingly, despair is what sustains him.

'He has to make something out of this despair. He needs to replace suicide with something unique in order to take his revenge on cool-headed political knowledge. He comes up with the idea of surreptitiously creating pointless wind-holes in his body without letting on to the politicians. All sorts of meaning spill out of the holes. Only the consumption of bread continues unabated. The eternal search for the next piece of bread, and the next, and the next. The political rulers themselves may not know it, but they are duty bound to keep the people supplied with bread in order to guarantee the meaninglessness of their existence...'