Word: mishima
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...Yukio Mishima had just about run out of challenge. He had produced 20 novels, 33 plays, a travel book, more than 80 short stories, and countless essays. He was a major contender for the 1968 Nobel Prize for Literature that went to his countryman. Novelist Yasunari Kawabata. He sang on the stage, produced, directed and acted in movies. Often called "Japan's Hemingway" because of his love for physical contest and the outdoor life, he lifted weights and became proficient at karate and kendo, the ancient swordfighting game once practiced by the samurai warriors. He was a perfectionist...
Drained and Exhausted. Early one morning last week, Mishima turned in to his publisher the final portion of his quartet of novels, The Sea of Fertility. Named after one of the moon's cold, empty seas, the quartet describes the conflicts of Japan's hereditary aristocracy and the nouveau riche from 1912 to 1970, and portrays the barrenness that Mishima saw in contemporary life. In a letter written on Nov. 17 to Harold Strauss, his editor at Knopf in New York, Mishima said: "In it I have put everything I felt and thought about life and the world...
...terest in their heritage. Housewives flock to schools to learn origami (paper folding), flower arrangement and the ancient tea ceremony just as unmarried girls fill charm and beauty schools. More flags are out on holidays, and the man's formal kimono is making a modest comeback. Novelist Yukio Mishima (Forbidden Colors) has formed his own private army of 100 men to help restore discipline, patriotism and pride in young Japanese. But many artists are exceptions to the growing preoccupation with Japanese identity. They consider their work to be their passports. Says Novelist (The Ruined Map) Kobo Abe: "We have nothing...
FORBIDDEN COLORS, by Yukio Mishima. A diabolic story of a staggeringly handsome young homosexual who systematically attracts and frustrates women, cunningly told by an author who is Japan's answer to Papa-san Hemingway...
Over the Shoulders. At times, Mishima's single-pattern plot seems to glide in slow, repetitive cycles, freezing faces in glaring expressions like kabuki actors: frenzied passion, cross-eyed frustration. Still, what keeps the novel from being another existentialist dead end is the presence of the author. It is finally not the hang-ups of his characters but the questions Mishima asks about them that fascinate-including the ultimate, curiously Japanese question that his novel tests for itself: Can obsession with death, pushed to an extreme, result in some absolute awareness of life...