Status
Available
Call number
Genres
Publication
Vintage (1994), Paperback, 192 pages
Description
A band of savage thirteen-year-old boys reject the adult world as illusory, hypocritical, and sentimental, and train themselves in a brutal callousness they call 'objectivity'. When the mother of one of them begins an affair with a ship's officer, he and his friends idealise the man at first; but it is not long before they conclude that he is in fact soft and romantic. They regard this disallusionment as an act of betrayal on his part - and the retribution is deliberate and horrifying.
Media reviews
"Both novels have their brilliant moments, and both fall short of sustained brilliance."
User reviews
LibraryThing member Meredy
Six-word review: Disturbing things happen in beautiful prose.
Six by six:
Noboru and his droogs administer retribution.
Wayward boy punishes his mother's lover.
Beauty and horror fondle each other.
Adolescent's fallen hero meets cold-blooded Zen.
Young gods callously abjure conventional morality.
Death
Six by six:
Noboru and his droogs administer retribution.
Wayward boy punishes his mother's lover.
Beauty and horror fondle each other.
Adolescent's fallen hero meets cold-blooded Zen.
Young gods callously abjure conventional morality.
Death
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goes whoring in child's guise. Show Less
LibraryThing member deebee1
This novel has a deceptively simple storyline but is full of parallelisms, a chilling tale that invokes some disturbing themes. A 13-year old boy, his beautiful widowed mother, and a sailor. The boy is devoted to his loving mother and seems to have normal interests for a boy his age -- swimming,
The mother meets the sailor and they become lovers. The boy, from the beginning, looks up to him as the epitome of the hero their group aspired to -- strong, daring, valiant, glorious, terrifying, rough, in short, macho as macho can be. There is a gradual disillusionment when the sailor and his mother decides to marry and he stays ashore for good. This is the ultimate betrayal -- for once he ties himself to land and the institutions of adulthood, his weak, feminine side now dominates him. He is essentially condemned, his perfection soiled. This the group can never except, so they must do something about it.
There are strong symbolisms apparent between these main characters, the tension between imperial and modern Japan, and Mishima himself. The prose is stark compared to his other novels, yet Mishima effectively lets us explore the pathology of misplaced idealism. He is very good in doing that.
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sailing, the sea. Unbeknownst to her, he belongs to a small group of highly intelligent students eager to live out the ideals of their so-called life philosophy, "objectivity", where they denounce emotions and sentimentality. It is no mere innocent childish rebellion against adults, they reject adulthood as illusory and hypocritical. They believe themselves to have the moral right to free the world of "romanticism" -- a kind of exaggerated nihilism, even fanaticism where violence and brutality are mere instruments to be wielded whenever necessary. A spy-hole where he peeps at his mother at night, and a savage dissection of a cat are merely two tests in emotion control. The mother meets the sailor and they become lovers. The boy, from the beginning, looks up to him as the epitome of the hero their group aspired to -- strong, daring, valiant, glorious, terrifying, rough, in short, macho as macho can be. There is a gradual disillusionment when the sailor and his mother decides to marry and he stays ashore for good. This is the ultimate betrayal -- for once he ties himself to land and the institutions of adulthood, his weak, feminine side now dominates him. He is essentially condemned, his perfection soiled. This the group can never except, so they must do something about it.
There are strong symbolisms apparent between these main characters, the tension between imperial and modern Japan, and Mishima himself. The prose is stark compared to his other novels, yet Mishima effectively lets us explore the pathology of misplaced idealism. He is very good in doing that.
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LibraryThing member TheAmpersand
The beauty of "The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea" is, to my mind, beyond dispute. While most of the Japanese literature I've read has struck me as somewhat spare, "The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea" is sensual, full of poetic, often counterintuitive descriptive phrases and
My problems with "Sailor" begin and end with its author and some of the political thinking that seems to have gone in to its writing. How, exactly, do we consider a beautiful work of art crafted by a draft-dodging, sexually repressed ultranationalist who committed ritual suicide after attempting to overthrow the Japanese government? There's a part of me that wants to claim that Mishima's political opinions and activities are irrelevant to our enjoyment of his work. After all, many readers have forgiven Pound, Yeats, and Lawrence their dalliances with fascism; their work seems to have survived their politics. However, it's difficult to deny that Mishima's opinions – his distrust of women, his dislike of foreign customs and bourgeois capitalism, his obsession with death and masculinity – permeate every sentence of "Sailor." His apparent sympathy with the aggressors who perpetrate the murder that closes the book is, in the context of his biography, particularly troubling. Seen in the best possible light, this book is an arresting portrait of a singular and brutal worldview and its characters' attitudes are necessary elements in a unified, and ultimately satisfying, whole. Understandably, some readers will find themselves unable to separate Mishima's aesthetics from his politics and will consider this novel the product of a troubled, and perhaps vicious, mind. Dear reader, the only way to find out which of these two camps you will fall into, or at least near, is to read this remarkable, if disturbing, little book for yourself.
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startling, memorable imagery. In addition to the obvious political themes that I'll discuss below, I also sense that this novel is attempting to work through some of the psychological fallout from the atomic attacks that ended the Second World War. Mishima's description of his young characters playing in military graveyards an abandoned packing crates perfectly conveys the feelings of paental abandonment, deracination, and hopelessness that they express throughout the novel. "The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea" will probably find a receptive audience among those readers whose taste runs toward the gloomy and eschatological, and its precisely sketched characters and straight-line plot convey a full-bore intensity that few writers would even attempt. It's dark, bloody, sexual, merciless, and it makes it home in a particularly twisted corner of the human heart where few authors have dared venture before or since. My problems with "Sailor" begin and end with its author and some of the political thinking that seems to have gone in to its writing. How, exactly, do we consider a beautiful work of art crafted by a draft-dodging, sexually repressed ultranationalist who committed ritual suicide after attempting to overthrow the Japanese government? There's a part of me that wants to claim that Mishima's political opinions and activities are irrelevant to our enjoyment of his work. After all, many readers have forgiven Pound, Yeats, and Lawrence their dalliances with fascism; their work seems to have survived their politics. However, it's difficult to deny that Mishima's opinions – his distrust of women, his dislike of foreign customs and bourgeois capitalism, his obsession with death and masculinity – permeate every sentence of "Sailor." His apparent sympathy with the aggressors who perpetrate the murder that closes the book is, in the context of his biography, particularly troubling. Seen in the best possible light, this book is an arresting portrait of a singular and brutal worldview and its characters' attitudes are necessary elements in a unified, and ultimately satisfying, whole. Understandably, some readers will find themselves unable to separate Mishima's aesthetics from his politics and will consider this novel the product of a troubled, and perhaps vicious, mind. Dear reader, the only way to find out which of these two camps you will fall into, or at least near, is to read this remarkable, if disturbing, little book for yourself.
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LibraryThing member inklingsfan47
Scary? This book has terrifying power and more-than-enough-of-a glimpse into the world and mind of... the utterly damned. It's evil; it's raw; it's passionate. A book for anyone who loves the analyzing of 'destructive personalities' and wishes to be scared straight. Seriously. Mishima is
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astonishing and perfect and dreadful and chances are you won't put this down till you finish. Show Less
LibraryThing member anjijanekelly
A humble and much contested opinion - but to me this is Mishima's best. Delicately written, swimming in feeling and a hazy atmosphere of remembrance. The story is simple and consise and can be read by anyone. This book, along with Cofessions of a Mask will provide the perfect introduction to this
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writers work, arguably the most important modern Japanese writer, along with Endo and Soseki. Show Less
LibraryThing member poetontheone
Mishima's acclaimed short novel tells of a disaffected youth who idealizes a sailor for his strong, noble character and then begins to loathe him when the sailor reserves himself to normal life. It is both a portrait of youthful distress as well as the sailor's yearning for glory through the
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transformative power of death, a recurring them in Mishima's oeuvre. Not quite as staggering as Spring Snow, but still a powerful and quintessential work that would be a fine, accessible introduction to the writings of this phenomenal author. Show Less
LibraryThing member BayardUS
In Lolita, Nabokov pulls a neat literary trick when he makes the main character a well-spoken scumbag. Despite his ostensible role as the protagonist, and his ability to manipulate the story as its narrator, Humbert Humbert is a villain through and through, and a reader who pays attention can't
The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea likewise gives us a pair of characters portrayed at various points as sympathetic protagonists, but who the discerning reader will identify as emotionally stunted with a warped worldview and thought process. Ryuji and Noboru are a sailor and a young boy who, despite their lack of accomplishments, see themselves as apart from society and superior to it. The rest of the human race are mostly just unthinking sheep, but Ryuji and Noboru know that their ambition places them on a higher level. This unjustified and unhealthy perspective ends badly for both of them.
Here's the difference between Mishima and Nabokov: it's far from clear to me whether Mishima is intentionally trying to manipulate his readers in to sympathizing with ultimately disgusting characters, or if he genuinely thinks that the mindsets of Ryuji and Noboru are sympathetic. Mishima, after all, had a pretty strange view of the world, one that ultimately culminated in his theatrical suicide (his call for ultranationalism seemingly a pretext by which to achieve the type of death he craved). The character of Fusako, for instance, is given little depth and does little to refute the views of Noboru and Ryuji that most people are uncritical and without grand thoughts or lofty ambitions. If Mishima wrote this book as a criticism or warning against these feelings of aloofness and superiority that Ryuji and Noboru hold, then that's good, although I didn't think the rest of the work elevated the book beyond that. If, alternatively, Mishima presented these two characters with those thoughts because they mirrored his own thinking, or because he thought those attitudes worth sympathizing with... well, let's just say it's always a good idea to be critical of not only the text itself but of the author's work as a whole as well. I'll have to read something else by Mishima to see if this thread recurs elsewhere in his work.
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help but be disgusted by him. There are readers who come out of Lolita thinking Humbert Humbert a sympathetic man, or even the hero of the story, but those are the readers who can't think critically, who the book was obviously wasted on. Though I didn't love that book, Nabokov's manipulation of the reader (combined with his impressive prose) makes Lolita an interesting read.The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea likewise gives us a pair of characters portrayed at various points as sympathetic protagonists, but who the discerning reader will identify as emotionally stunted with a warped worldview and thought process. Ryuji and Noboru are a sailor and a young boy who, despite their lack of accomplishments, see themselves as apart from society and superior to it. The rest of the human race are mostly just unthinking sheep, but Ryuji and Noboru know that their ambition places them on a higher level. This unjustified and unhealthy perspective ends badly for both of them.
Here's the difference between Mishima and Nabokov: it's far from clear to me whether Mishima is intentionally trying to manipulate his readers in to sympathizing with ultimately disgusting characters, or if he genuinely thinks that the mindsets of Ryuji and Noboru are sympathetic. Mishima, after all, had a pretty strange view of the world, one that ultimately culminated in his theatrical suicide (his call for ultranationalism seemingly a pretext by which to achieve the type of death he craved). The character of Fusako, for instance, is given little depth and does little to refute the views of Noboru and Ryuji that most people are uncritical and without grand thoughts or lofty ambitions. If Mishima wrote this book as a criticism or warning against these feelings of aloofness and superiority that Ryuji and Noboru hold, then that's good, although I didn't think the rest of the work elevated the book beyond that. If, alternatively, Mishima presented these two characters with those thoughts because they mirrored his own thinking, or because he thought those attitudes worth sympathizing with... well, let's just say it's always a good idea to be critical of not only the text itself but of the author's work as a whole as well. I'll have to read something else by Mishima to see if this thread recurs elsewhere in his work.
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LibraryThing member HearTheWindSing
I had a slightly different review in mind until I read a little bit about Mishima's life. In light of what Mishima did to himself, I am not really sure what to make of The Sailor Who.... While it is dark, reading it I knew it was only a story. But knowing that this darkness could have emanated from
Fuskao, Noboru's mother, represents westernization; which Mishima despised. Noboru, a 13 year old, is more in the favor of traditional Japan. Ryuji, the sailor, dreams of a heroic death and glory, which makes Noboru worship him. Ryuji's dreams represent Mishima's own political thoughts on achieving glory for his country. When Ryuji abandons all such thoughts of heroism, Noboru reacts violently. The question is, how much of Noboru's psychology reflects Mishima's own mind. That Noboru's vileness goes unchallenged and unpunished hints towards there being some parallels.
I know The Sailor Who... was written seven years before Mishima committed ritual suicide. Also I shouldn't be drawing any conclusions based on reading a short work of fiction and one wikipedia article. But I find it difficult to view the ideas in the book and Mishima's life separately.
The gracefulness of the writing stands very much in contrast with the ominous content. His writing is very lyrical. The scene descriptions are vivid, very much like painting with words. Sunlight dances on the pages giving everything a different kind of glow. He infuses some beauty even in cringe-worthy scenes.
In the second half of the book, when story begins to take a dark turn, there is a change in the tone of the writing as well. While poetic descriptions are not completely abandoned, there are fewer of those. On approaching the ending, the story, however, seems to drag for a bit, largely because I could see what was going to happen a long way ahead. I was expecting it to generate a sense of foreboding, but that was lost.
The biggest strength of the book, in my eyes, is the treatment of Noboru's psychology. Mishima provides some perspective on a character I can never hope to understand too well. Once I can digest how disturbed a child Noboru already is, the rest will perhaps be somewhat acceptable. After all, misguided beliefs and fanatsies are not that uncommon among teenagers. Noboru's disenchantment with his hero serves as a cue that makes him lash out, turning his beliefs into something more sinister and real.
Not only Noboru, the other characters are not very relatable either. This is more like a mere peek into a world completely alien to me. Also I can't really expect to be able to view anything with the same eyes as Mishima did. I am ok with that, I think.
While characters are not fully fleshed out, Ryuji and Noboru have enough going on to let us see who they are. Fuskao, the only major female character, on the other hand was completely dis-appointing. She is introduced to us as Noboru's mother and Ryuji's love-interest, and that's about it. Other than playing these assigned roles, anything like a personality is non-existent. She does run a business of her own, but the only role she seems to play there is to buy stuff and the intricacies of the business are handled by her male associate. There is just one chapter where, of these three main characters, only Fusako makes an appearance. And she uses this stage-time to discuss her prospective husband with another woman. Isn't that what chick-lit is for?! If you are drawing a female character who is a single mother running a business of her own, why not let her have at least one original, smart thought? Why can't she be feminine, and not be hollow at the same time?
Apart from a complaint or two, I do think highly of The Sailor Who... for the most part. It is written economically, but there is lot to chew upon.
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Mishima's personal thoughts makes it extremely unnerving.Fuskao, Noboru's mother, represents westernization; which Mishima despised. Noboru, a 13 year old, is more in the favor of traditional Japan. Ryuji, the sailor, dreams of a heroic death and glory, which makes Noboru worship him. Ryuji's dreams represent Mishima's own political thoughts on achieving glory for his country. When Ryuji abandons all such thoughts of heroism, Noboru reacts violently. The question is, how much of Noboru's psychology reflects Mishima's own mind. That Noboru's vileness goes unchallenged and unpunished hints towards there being some parallels.
I know The Sailor Who... was written seven years before Mishima committed ritual suicide. Also I shouldn't be drawing any conclusions based on reading a short work of fiction and one wikipedia article. But I find it difficult to view the ideas in the book and Mishima's life separately.
The gracefulness of the writing stands very much in contrast with the ominous content. His writing is very lyrical. The scene descriptions are vivid, very much like painting with words. Sunlight dances on the pages giving everything a different kind of glow. He infuses some beauty even in cringe-worthy scenes.
In the second half of the book, when story begins to take a dark turn, there is a change in the tone of the writing as well. While poetic descriptions are not completely abandoned, there are fewer of those. On approaching the ending, the story, however, seems to drag for a bit, largely because I could see what was going to happen a long way ahead. I was expecting it to generate a sense of foreboding, but that was lost.
The biggest strength of the book, in my eyes, is the treatment of Noboru's psychology. Mishima provides some perspective on a character I can never hope to understand too well. Once I can digest how disturbed a child Noboru already is, the rest will perhaps be somewhat acceptable. After all, misguided beliefs and fanatsies are not that uncommon among teenagers. Noboru's disenchantment with his hero serves as a cue that makes him lash out, turning his beliefs into something more sinister and real.
Not only Noboru, the other characters are not very relatable either. This is more like a mere peek into a world completely alien to me. Also I can't really expect to be able to view anything with the same eyes as Mishima did. I am ok with that, I think.
While characters are not fully fleshed out, Ryuji and Noboru have enough going on to let us see who they are. Fuskao, the only major female character, on the other hand was completely dis-appointing. She is introduced to us as Noboru's mother and Ryuji's love-interest, and that's about it. Other than playing these assigned roles, anything like a personality is non-existent. She does run a business of her own, but the only role she seems to play there is to buy stuff and the intricacies of the business are handled by her male associate. There is just one chapter where, of these three main characters, only Fusako makes an appearance. And she uses this stage-time to discuss her prospective husband with another woman. Isn't that what chick-lit is for?! If you are drawing a female character who is a single mother running a business of her own, why not let her have at least one original, smart thought? Why can't she be feminine, and not be hollow at the same time?
Apart from a complaint or two, I do think highly of The Sailor Who... for the most part. It is written economically, but there is lot to chew upon.
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LibraryThing member abirdman
Highly charged novel by a highly charged novelist. This is my favorite Mishima, perhaps because of the translation. Was made into a fine movie starring Kris Kristofferson and Sarah Miles.
LibraryThing member shawjonathan
Yukio Mishima committed ritual suicide when I was 23. This, along with his extreme right-wing politics and his reported preoccupation with body-building somehow disturbed me. How could someone who was acclaimed as a great writer, a runner-up for the Nobel Prize for Literature, get things so
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bizarrely wrong? (I was 23, OK?) Without all that foreknowledge I might have thought this was a finely executed exercise in genre horror. It's certainly well written, capturing beautifully the way people -- adults and children, men and women -- misunderstand each other's silences. But it's not an exercise. In this narrative the writer is fairly evidently struggling with his membership of a death-cult for one: mad, repulsive, deeply horrible, but in the end (for him, apparently) irresistible. It strikes me as being an adult version of the drawings young Mary Bell did in the days before she murdered that little boy: a cry for help. Like Mary's, it went unheard. Show Less
LibraryThing member roulette.russe
One of the most touching books I ever read!
My favourite Japanese classic!
My favourite Japanese classic!
LibraryThing member cestovatela
When Noboru is 13 years old, his mother suddenly decides to remarry. Her new husband, once a sailor whom Noboru idolized, proves disappointing after he gives up his seafaring career to remain at home with his new family. Soon Noboru draws up a list of "charges" against his stepfather and hatches an
Writing style is one of Yukio Mishima's strong points. Not a word of his prose is unnecessary and he knows *exactly* how much language is needed to create a vivid portrait in his reader's mind. He also balances point of view well, shifting fluidly between characters to develop a 3-dimensional story. Noboru himself is a well-done character, brimming over with anger and adult ideas and yet so clearly still a child.
The trouble with this book is the plot. The leader of Noboru's circle of friends is a budding young sociopath prone to over-the-top monologues. The revenge scheme they dream up leads to one of the most disturbing endings I've ever read, but it seemed illogical and out of place. I can't see what value it had beyond sensationalism. Overall, I thought this was like an exceptionally well-polished Stephen King story than a true work of literature.
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elaborate plot for revenge.Writing style is one of Yukio Mishima's strong points. Not a word of his prose is unnecessary and he knows *exactly* how much language is needed to create a vivid portrait in his reader's mind. He also balances point of view well, shifting fluidly between characters to develop a 3-dimensional story. Noboru himself is a well-done character, brimming over with anger and adult ideas and yet so clearly still a child.
The trouble with this book is the plot. The leader of Noboru's circle of friends is a budding young sociopath prone to over-the-top monologues. The revenge scheme they dream up leads to one of the most disturbing endings I've ever read, but it seemed illogical and out of place. I can't see what value it had beyond sensationalism. Overall, I thought this was like an exceptionally well-polished Stephen King story than a true work of literature.
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LibraryThing member whitewavedarling
Poetic and surprising, this is a quick-moving tale full of both beauty and darkness. Stylistically, the author's change in style between parts one and two is perfect, and the narrative itself is one which may well stay with you. I read it in one sitting, and I imagine many other readers do as well.
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Simply, I would indeed recommend this to mature readers--the prose is gorgeous, the narrative entertaining and powerful. Show Less
LibraryThing member edwinbcn
I do not read a lot in translation, but there is no other way to get to Yukio Mishima. The elegant prose, and beauty of the life style is contrasted with the horror of a cruel murder. Trust versus distrust, strength against cunning, young versus old, many against one.
LibraryThing member thorold
Beautiful, but rather gruesome miniature. Symbolism that needs as much unpacking as a box of Japanese cookies, and it's still anyone's guess when you've got it unwrapped whether it will be sweet or taste of fish.
0.5 on the Kate Atkinson dead dog scale.
0.5 on the Kate Atkinson dead dog scale.
LibraryThing member soylentgreen23
A boy watches his mother "romance" a sailor she has met, looking to replace the boy's father, who is gone. He watches in silence, letting it disgust and excite him. And what does that say about the reader?
"The Sailor Who..." has one of the most twisted and sickening endings to a book I have ever
"The Sailor Who..." has one of the most twisted and sickening endings to a book I have ever
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read, and I should think that it explains why such a high proportion of those LTers to have read it have reviewed it too. It's a quick read, and best approached during daylight hours. Show Less
LibraryThing member Berly
This is a very short read, but don't let that fool you. It is deeply disturbing, haunting. It has impact. Noboru is the 13-year-old Japanese son of a widowed mother. He wildly loves the sea and when his mother falls for a sailor, he things his world is perfect. But Ryuji, the sailor, quickly
Mishima, the author, was an interesting man. Many of his personal views on sexuality, masculinity, secrecy and isolation find their way into this book.
I am still not sure how to rate this one. Do I reward something that I really didn't like, that in fact creeped me out? On the other hand, I know it will stay with me for a long time. I certainly reacted to it viscerally. Hmmmm....
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plummets from favor. None of the characters are particularly, or even slightly, loveable, and the story hurtles to an unhappy ending (hence the title), but as a reader, you have to read on hoping for the how and the why. Mishima, the author, was an interesting man. Many of his personal views on sexuality, masculinity, secrecy and isolation find their way into this book.
I am still not sure how to rate this one. Do I reward something that I really didn't like, that in fact creeped me out? On the other hand, I know it will stay with me for a long time. I certainly reacted to it viscerally. Hmmmm....
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LibraryThing member JimmyChanga
This book scared me and gave me nightmares. Also, it confused me because part of it sounded like bad erotica and parts of it sounded like good dark writing. It was all pretty predictable but in that awful-car-wreck sort of way, you can't look away even though it disgusts you. I'm glad he didn't
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spell out the last scene. It's enough to imagine it. Show Less
LibraryThing member figre
Ah, how sad a reader’s dashed expectations. I started with great expectations for this novel. More and more I find myself attracted to Japanese authors – a certain insight and preciseness I do not see in other writing. (It all started with Murakami – how could I go wrong.) In addition, I had
And I think it was because of the height my expectations had reached that I wound up feeling “Meh” when it was all said and done. The story is told in two parts – Summer and Winter. In Summer, a sailor and a widow meet, partially because of the widow’s son. The son has great expectations for the sailor – the son loves the sea. But the sailor is not quite living up to the son’s expectations. And those expectations are completely dashed in the second section when the sailor comes back to stay.
And the son is a strange one not to be trifled with – a thirteen-year old who is friends with a group that comes straight out of an evil place we all fear. Morals are of no use to them. Great things will be theirs if they can only eliminate all feeling. The coming clash becomes self-evident.
The writing is good. The perspectives change between the three in a way that enlightens without confusing. And, in spite of the opportunity for each to turn into a cliché, they become their own people. I will say that, at the outset, the love story between the sailor and widow was starting to feel a bit trite, but then the son’s story comes in and is the perfect antithesis to what has come before.
All kind words. So why am I not raving about the book? Maybe it is all expectation. I expected to be transported, and was only told a story. And the conclusion of that story seemed so evident that I didn’t care when I got there. And the message (if I understand the message) just didn’t add that much.
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heard good things about this book.And I think it was because of the height my expectations had reached that I wound up feeling “Meh” when it was all said and done. The story is told in two parts – Summer and Winter. In Summer, a sailor and a widow meet, partially because of the widow’s son. The son has great expectations for the sailor – the son loves the sea. But the sailor is not quite living up to the son’s expectations. And those expectations are completely dashed in the second section when the sailor comes back to stay.
And the son is a strange one not to be trifled with – a thirteen-year old who is friends with a group that comes straight out of an evil place we all fear. Morals are of no use to them. Great things will be theirs if they can only eliminate all feeling. The coming clash becomes self-evident.
The writing is good. The perspectives change between the three in a way that enlightens without confusing. And, in spite of the opportunity for each to turn into a cliché, they become their own people. I will say that, at the outset, the love story between the sailor and widow was starting to feel a bit trite, but then the son’s story comes in and is the perfect antithesis to what has come before.
All kind words. So why am I not raving about the book? Maybe it is all expectation. I expected to be transported, and was only told a story. And the conclusion of that story seemed so evident that I didn’t care when I got there. And the message (if I understand the message) just didn’t add that much.
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LibraryThing member mirikayla
I am actually not at all sure that I do want to read this, given that it sounds just like Lord of the Flies. But I am curious.
LibraryThing member antao
(Original Review, 1981-04-24)
“They performed in silence. He trembled a little out of vanity, as when he had first scaled the mast. The woman’s lower body, like a hibernating animal half asleep, moved lethargically under the quilts; he sensed the stars of night tilting dangerously at the top of
In “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea” by Yukio Mishima.
I've read many scary books with frightening stories before and since, but they don't disturbed me the way this book did. The book was disturbing in a completely different way - it felt as if it was talking about me, saying something that's scary yet true about me. I read it when I was just a couple of years older than the boy in the book, and was probably a somewhat disturbed teenager, with disturbing thoughts. It felt like someone was looking into my head and saw what's going on in my mind, and revealing my own private fears and fantasies. What went on with the boy felt like something very real, and I've no doubt that Mishima was also describing something that's deep in his psyche. I have read books by Western writers, but never have I read anything that felt so psychologically true, suggesting perhaps at a deep level, there is something profoundly different between a particular kind of person like me (or Mishima) who is from the East, and someone from the West. This sounds like a contentious statement, but I don't know if others get disturbed by the book the way I was.
Actually disagree that it's only literature where we feel that art is the same as eating vegetables (that it's worthy and healthy but not enjoyable (and yes, I know vegetables can be enjoyable, run with me). There's a similar feeling in film, where if something's enjoyable it's instinctively considered 'lesser' - just see the way genre films, etc., are completely overlooked at the Oscars. Tellingly, unless they're horror... Whereas 'artier' films are given more leeway for being boring or bad if they're somehow worthy. In fact, there's a general Puritanical vibe across society that enjoying yourself is inherently frivolous, and actually can't be deep and meaningful. Having fun, or joy, is looked down on as inferior...whereas surely the best things can be both. Mishima is both highbrow and highly enjoyable.
“They performed in silence. He trembled a little out of vanity, as when he had first scaled the mast. The woman’s lower body, like a hibernating animal half asleep, moved lethargically under the quilts; he sensed the stars of night tilting dangerously at the top of
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the mast. The stars slanted into the south, swung to the north, wheeled, whirled into the east, and seemed finally to be impaled on the tip of the mast. By the time he realized this was a woman, it was done...”In “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea” by Yukio Mishima.
I've read many scary books with frightening stories before and since, but they don't disturbed me the way this book did. The book was disturbing in a completely different way - it felt as if it was talking about me, saying something that's scary yet true about me. I read it when I was just a couple of years older than the boy in the book, and was probably a somewhat disturbed teenager, with disturbing thoughts. It felt like someone was looking into my head and saw what's going on in my mind, and revealing my own private fears and fantasies. What went on with the boy felt like something very real, and I've no doubt that Mishima was also describing something that's deep in his psyche. I have read books by Western writers, but never have I read anything that felt so psychologically true, suggesting perhaps at a deep level, there is something profoundly different between a particular kind of person like me (or Mishima) who is from the East, and someone from the West. This sounds like a contentious statement, but I don't know if others get disturbed by the book the way I was.
Actually disagree that it's only literature where we feel that art is the same as eating vegetables (that it's worthy and healthy but not enjoyable (and yes, I know vegetables can be enjoyable, run with me). There's a similar feeling in film, where if something's enjoyable it's instinctively considered 'lesser' - just see the way genre films, etc., are completely overlooked at the Oscars. Tellingly, unless they're horror... Whereas 'artier' films are given more leeway for being boring or bad if they're somehow worthy. In fact, there's a general Puritanical vibe across society that enjoying yourself is inherently frivolous, and actually can't be deep and meaningful. Having fun, or joy, is looked down on as inferior...whereas surely the best things can be both. Mishima is both highbrow and highly enjoyable.
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LibraryThing member starbox
A very dark tale, but one which soon has the reader utterly hooked. Noburu is the 13 year old son of a successful - widowed- businesswoman. Highly intelligent, a member of a gang of similarly minded boys, and something of a trial to his mother. When she locks him in his room, he comes across a hole
When she begins an affair with a sailor on shore-leave, the reader immediately sees a huge similarity between the two males. Both have vague ideas of their own future glory, superiority to the rest of the world. The sailor: "If there were times when he felt he was worthless, there were others when something like the magnificence of the sunset over Manila Bay sent its radiant fire through him and he knew that he had been chosen to tower above other men".
(spoiler alert) But the initial aura with which the child imbues the man - first and foremost an adventurer, ready to leave his woman and head back out to sea when his leave concludes - soon evaporates as he moves into the role of husband, father and landlubber. And the sailor, too, seems to be starting to feel emasculated by his choices: "it was time to realize that no specially tailored glory was waiting for him."
Encouraged by his cronies in the gang- alternately mocking and accusatory: "Fathers are the flies of this world...there's nothing they won't do to contaminate our freedom and our ability", and by the chief's observation that "Acts of juveniles less than fourteen years of age are not punishable by law...three of us here will be fourteen next month...this is our last chance!" things seem to be moving in a dangerous direction...Could the chief's statement that there "was only one way to make him a hero again" be the way to go?
The author committed ritual suicide a few years after publication of this novel, and it certainly seems the product of a weird mindset, yet one able to communicate - compulsively- with his readers.
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in the wall, a means to spy on her secretly...When she begins an affair with a sailor on shore-leave, the reader immediately sees a huge similarity between the two males. Both have vague ideas of their own future glory, superiority to the rest of the world. The sailor: "If there were times when he felt he was worthless, there were others when something like the magnificence of the sunset over Manila Bay sent its radiant fire through him and he knew that he had been chosen to tower above other men".
(spoiler alert) But the initial aura with which the child imbues the man - first and foremost an adventurer, ready to leave his woman and head back out to sea when his leave concludes - soon evaporates as he moves into the role of husband, father and landlubber. And the sailor, too, seems to be starting to feel emasculated by his choices: "it was time to realize that no specially tailored glory was waiting for him."
Encouraged by his cronies in the gang- alternately mocking and accusatory: "Fathers are the flies of this world...there's nothing they won't do to contaminate our freedom and our ability", and by the chief's observation that "Acts of juveniles less than fourteen years of age are not punishable by law...three of us here will be fourteen next month...this is our last chance!" things seem to be moving in a dangerous direction...Could the chief's statement that there "was only one way to make him a hero again" be the way to go?
The author committed ritual suicide a few years after publication of this novel, and it certainly seems the product of a weird mindset, yet one able to communicate - compulsively- with his readers.
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LibraryThing member AlisonY
This author and novella came to my via the Bowie 100 Books List and was a definite hit for me.
A young Japanese boy is confused when his widowed mother takes up with a sailor on a couple of days leave in port, but enchanted with boats and the sea this confusion turns to wonderment and idealisation
As with many Japanese novels, there is a wonderful sense of dark foreboding and yet space and spareness in Mishima's writing. Time feels slowed down and the atmosphere is electric, with what is unsaid feeling almost more compelling than what is said, and the extremes of nature - especially the oppressive heat of the summer section - adding to the intoxicating atmosphere.
I would have loved for this short novella to have taken us a little further into the story, yet also respect the point at which Mishima leaves the tale with the reader.
Recommended if you enjoy Japanese literature, but warning - it contains vivid description of animal cruelty in one part, so this Lord of the Flies flavour of story may not be for everyone.
4 stars - a wonderfully dark and evocative tale
A young Japanese boy is confused when his widowed mother takes up with a sailor on a couple of days leave in port, but enchanted with boats and the sea this confusion turns to wonderment and idealisation
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by the time the man returns to sea. When the sailor returns to the boy's mother after six months away at sea, circumstances change and he quickly falls from the pedestal the boy had precariously placed him on. With this fall from grace comes terrible consequences as the boy summons the savage group of boys he is part of for retribution.As with many Japanese novels, there is a wonderful sense of dark foreboding and yet space and spareness in Mishima's writing. Time feels slowed down and the atmosphere is electric, with what is unsaid feeling almost more compelling than what is said, and the extremes of nature - especially the oppressive heat of the summer section - adding to the intoxicating atmosphere.
I would have loved for this short novella to have taken us a little further into the story, yet also respect the point at which Mishima leaves the tale with the reader.
Recommended if you enjoy Japanese literature, but warning - it contains vivid description of animal cruelty in one part, so this Lord of the Flies flavour of story may not be for everyone.
4 stars - a wonderfully dark and evocative tale
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LibraryThing member lethalmauve
Disturbing and dreary, Yukio Mishima’s The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea throbs with anger. As turbulent as the waves that hit the rock by a cliff in a stormy night, every slap of seawater intensifies, the debris fall then drown, until it calms with a brief gentleness only to pick up
Thirteen-year old Noburo is a member of a teen gang driven by radical nihilistic convictions. Cold-blooded acts of violence, unending brain conditioning by peers in competitive and complicit huddles, and almost an irrationally intense hatred are intensified by an arrival of an intruder in his seemingly ordinary home life. This intruder is a sailor who ultimately falls in love with Noburo’s widowed mother. As the months come and go and the seasons change, what seems to be an Oedipal element that rusts Noburo’s relationship with both his mother and her lover, a deeper internal revolt against this relationship stems from the problematic structure and system of society; school as one of its smallest unit is an example of confining children, stifling their freedom, disciplining them akin to robots. When they turn into adults they lose the essence of innocence, imagination, and continue to let themselves be eaten by this system; blindly; willingly; and this, unfortunately emanates from his mother’s lover. The gang’s convictions then becomes more rigid and there may only be one solution.
I don’t really buy the almost excessive, subjectively unreasonable brutality of this novel most particularly with animals. The teenagers can be irritating and whiny which of course is how most of them are in real life but I at least expected a strong introspection to accompany their convictions. Beyond this flaw, there is an interesting bit about Japanese juvenile laws that turn some tables around. If not for a certain paragraph I would have rated this lower and it was, I think, the saving grace of Mishima’s too bitter and acidic The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea: “There is no such thing as a good father because the role itself is bad. Strict fathers, soft fathers, nice moderate fathers—one's as bad as another. They stand in the way of our progress while they try to burden us with their inferiority complexes, and their unrealized aspirations, and their resentments, and their ideals, and the weaknesses they've never told anyone about, and their sins, and their sweeter-than-honey dreams, and the maxims they've never had the courage to live by—they'd like to unload all that silly crap on us, all of it!“
I look forward to reading more of his works particularly Forbidden Colours. And after a lot of reading, he also had an intriguing life and controversial death that made this novel all the more horrifying.
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again.Thirteen-year old Noburo is a member of a teen gang driven by radical nihilistic convictions. Cold-blooded acts of violence, unending brain conditioning by peers in competitive and complicit huddles, and almost an irrationally intense hatred are intensified by an arrival of an intruder in his seemingly ordinary home life. This intruder is a sailor who ultimately falls in love with Noburo’s widowed mother. As the months come and go and the seasons change, what seems to be an Oedipal element that rusts Noburo’s relationship with both his mother and her lover, a deeper internal revolt against this relationship stems from the problematic structure and system of society; school as one of its smallest unit is an example of confining children, stifling their freedom, disciplining them akin to robots. When they turn into adults they lose the essence of innocence, imagination, and continue to let themselves be eaten by this system; blindly; willingly; and this, unfortunately emanates from his mother’s lover. The gang’s convictions then becomes more rigid and there may only be one solution.
I don’t really buy the almost excessive, subjectively unreasonable brutality of this novel most particularly with animals. The teenagers can be irritating and whiny which of course is how most of them are in real life but I at least expected a strong introspection to accompany their convictions. Beyond this flaw, there is an interesting bit about Japanese juvenile laws that turn some tables around. If not for a certain paragraph I would have rated this lower and it was, I think, the saving grace of Mishima’s too bitter and acidic The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea: “There is no such thing as a good father because the role itself is bad. Strict fathers, soft fathers, nice moderate fathers—one's as bad as another. They stand in the way of our progress while they try to burden us with their inferiority complexes, and their unrealized aspirations, and their resentments, and their ideals, and the weaknesses they've never told anyone about, and their sins, and their sweeter-than-honey dreams, and the maxims they've never had the courage to live by—they'd like to unload all that silly crap on us, all of it!“
I look forward to reading more of his works particularly Forbidden Colours. And after a lot of reading, he also had an intriguing life and controversial death that made this novel all the more horrifying.
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LibraryThing member greeniezona
My first read for #januaryinjapan. I'd been meaning to read some more Mishima for a while now — ever since reading and loving [book:Spring Snow|62793] — and this challenge gave me the perfect reason to do so.
I so enjoy Mishima's style of writing — somehow spare and yet poetic all at once.
BUT. Like I said, the atmosphere of Mishima's writing is so magnetic. As are his themes of masculinity, identity, and purpose. His books exist in that transitory space of Japan after WWII, as it was being opened to the West, and the tension between those two cultures. And specifically in this book, add a group of highly intelligent teenage boys under the sway of a budding psychopath.
This dark little book, while upsetting, is quite compelling. An enthralling read.
I so enjoy Mishima's style of writing — somehow spare and yet poetic all at once.
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That said, no one warned me that perhaps as the mother of a fourteen-year-old son, this book might be extra troubling. It really was. This is not a fun or light or easy book to read. There were two parts that were troubling enough that I almost stopped reading. By the way, if you are thinking of reading this book, content warnings for voyeurism, animal abuse, and violence.BUT. Like I said, the atmosphere of Mishima's writing is so magnetic. As are his themes of masculinity, identity, and purpose. His books exist in that transitory space of Japan after WWII, as it was being opened to the West, and the tension between those two cultures. And specifically in this book, add a group of highly intelligent teenage boys under the sway of a budding psychopath.
This dark little book, while upsetting, is quite compelling. An enthralling read.
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Awards
David Bowie's Top 100 (1963)
Language
Original publication date
1963 (original Japanese)
1965 (English: Nathan)
Physical description
192 p.; 5.24 inches
ISBN
0679750150 / 9780679750154