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A review by huerca_armada
Runaway Horses by Yukio Mishima
3.0
The second installment of Mishima's Sea of Fertility series, Runaway Horses finds itself set in the tumultuous period of 1930s Japan. Against the backdrop of political violence, nationalist plots, and the economic upheavals of the stock market crash, the reader is plunged into the fanatical world of Isao Iinuma, son of Shigeyuki Iinuma from the preceding Spring Snow and the reincarnation of the late Kiyoaki Matsugae.
From the very outset of the novel, as Spring Snow's deuteragonist Shigekuni Honda considers from his judge's office the prison across the yard where an execution is taking place, it is clear that Runaway Horses will be a novel about death. Its unsurprising, given Mishima's own admittance to his own eventual suicide after the Sea of Fertility was concluded. Yet even still, it drips from every page. At one pole sits Honda -- grappling with the reincarnation of his old childhood friend, and how he envies Kiyoaki's death for the burst of intense passion that sees his legacy obliterated by the march of time while Honda must still participate in it, consigned to whatever those in the future define as the legacy of his era. At the other pole sits Isao -- utterly committed to his ruthless nationalism and unwavering monarchism, obsessed with the perfect gallant death like his heroes as outlined in the book-within-a-book to the point that it wraps around and becomes his only reason for living.
While those two characters outline Mishima's more philosophical and personal struggles with death, aging, and historical legacy, Runaway Horses also directs an open critique at a contemporary Japan. While Mishima does not touch on it as openly as his main themes, the fact of Japan's economic tenuousness, mirroring of Western styles in a desperate attempt to be subsumed into a Western identity while categorically denied it by diplomacy and treaty texture the background. It is a piercing, frustrating accounting of a country that struggles with a rich history imbued in a host of characters -- yet these very same characters have no qualms about the commercialization of those very things (or of their own rank, national chauvinism).
While Runaway Horses takes a darker path in comparison to Spring Snow, it does have a host of misses in comparison. The middle arc of the book suffers from a significantly slower pace that drags for far too long, despite only a marginally longer length. Ironically, despite a setting that should have hooked me harder, I am left feeling a little deflated by the ending and how abruptly it rushes to conclusion. Compared to Spring Snow's protagonist's pathos, Isao comes across as more of a flat character who is consumed only with those previously outlined desires. Little wonder, then, that I'm hopeful for the next installment and what that may bring.
Still worthwhile reading for those who intend to finish the series; and some may even find it more insightful than I have found it to be. Mishima's writing remains profoundly imaginative in creating the world around the characters, even while his plot struggles to grind forward at certain points.
From the very outset of the novel, as Spring Snow's deuteragonist Shigekuni Honda considers from his judge's office the prison across the yard where an execution is taking place, it is clear that Runaway Horses will be a novel about death. Its unsurprising, given Mishima's own admittance to his own eventual suicide after the Sea of Fertility was concluded. Yet even still, it drips from every page. At one pole sits Honda -- grappling with the reincarnation of his old childhood friend, and how he envies Kiyoaki's death for the burst of intense passion that sees his legacy obliterated by the march of time while Honda must still participate in it, consigned to whatever those in the future define as the legacy of his era. At the other pole sits Isao -- utterly committed to his ruthless nationalism and unwavering monarchism, obsessed with the perfect gallant death like his heroes as outlined in the book-within-a-book to the point that it wraps around and becomes his only reason for living.
While those two characters outline Mishima's more philosophical and personal struggles with death, aging, and historical legacy, Runaway Horses also directs an open critique at a contemporary Japan. While Mishima does not touch on it as openly as his main themes, the fact of Japan's economic tenuousness, mirroring of Western styles in a desperate attempt to be subsumed into a Western identity while categorically denied it by diplomacy and treaty texture the background. It is a piercing, frustrating accounting of a country that struggles with a rich history imbued in a host of characters -- yet these very same characters have no qualms about the commercialization of those very things (or of their own rank, national chauvinism).
While Runaway Horses takes a darker path in comparison to Spring Snow, it does have a host of misses in comparison. The middle arc of the book suffers from a significantly slower pace that drags for far too long, despite only a marginally longer length. Ironically, despite a setting that should have hooked me harder, I am left feeling a little deflated by the ending and how abruptly it rushes to conclusion. Compared to Spring Snow's protagonist's pathos, Isao comes across as more of a flat character who is consumed only with those previously outlined desires. Little wonder, then, that I'm hopeful for the next installment and what that may bring.
Still worthwhile reading for those who intend to finish the series; and some may even find it more insightful than I have found it to be. Mishima's writing remains profoundly imaginative in creating the world around the characters, even while his plot struggles to grind forward at certain points.