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A review by deep_in_the_reads
Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima
4.0
Confessions of a Mask is an examination of masculine gender performativity in wartime Japan. It centers around Kochan as he examines his own sexuality and the ways that it isolates him from society. Yukio Mishima writes in a richly poetic way comparable to Herman Melville, making heavy use of allusion and metaphor to allude to living as a closeted gay man in a hyper-masculine culture. For example, Mishima uses the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, as well as Kabuki theatre, as metaphors for being closeted. I couldn’t help but feel drawn into his narrative of isolation and attempts to conform to society’s constricting mould.
There’s also a frank strangeness to Confessions of a Mask that’s right up my alley—rather than presenting a sanitized, overly-sentimental portrayal of homosexuality, Kochan has a slew of niche fetishes that makes for pretty bizarre reading. Though even here, his fetish for blood and death could be seen as symbolic of the martyr complex that was drilled into the heads of military-age men at the time, and the obscene violence that Japan perpetrated against other Asian nations during the war.
Because of censorship laws at the time, the intent of many scenes is buried in euphemistic language. Additionally, Kochan’s self-examination is analytical and mostly comes across as cold and calculating rather than passionate. As a result, he is sometimes hard to emotionally connect with, and some of the long philosophical passages are a bit cumbersome to read. The dated translation of my copy (done by Meredith Weatherby, 1958) is probably somewhat to blame. The second quarter of the book particularly dragged, but once the character Sonoko is introduced around the halfway mark, things pick up again.
I encourage anyone who reads this to take their time and think about the scenes they are presented with. Initially, I found the ending disappointing, but the whole meaning of it changes if you read between the lines. Though Confessions of a Mask is not nearly as emotionally-gripping as I had hoped, it’s easy to see why this is considered a gem of early gay literature in Japan.
There’s also a frank strangeness to Confessions of a Mask that’s right up my alley—rather than presenting a sanitized, overly-sentimental portrayal of homosexuality, Kochan has a slew of niche fetishes that makes for pretty bizarre reading. Though even here, his fetish for blood and death could be seen as symbolic of the martyr complex that was drilled into the heads of military-age men at the time, and the obscene violence that Japan perpetrated against other Asian nations during the war.
Because of censorship laws at the time, the intent of many scenes is buried in euphemistic language. Additionally, Kochan’s self-examination is analytical and mostly comes across as cold and calculating rather than passionate. As a result, he is sometimes hard to emotionally connect with, and some of the long philosophical passages are a bit cumbersome to read. The dated translation of my copy (done by Meredith Weatherby, 1958) is probably somewhat to blame. The second quarter of the book particularly dragged, but once the character Sonoko is introduced around the halfway mark, things pick up again.
I encourage anyone who reads this to take their time and think about the scenes they are presented with. Initially, I found the ending disappointing, but the whole meaning of it changes if you read between the lines. Though Confessions of a Mask is not nearly as emotionally-gripping as I had hoped, it’s easy to see why this is considered a gem of early gay literature in Japan.