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A review by booksums
Star by Yukio Mishima
3.75
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)
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)