His isolation likely led to his future fascinations and fantasies of death, violence, and same-sex sex. Kochan is homosexual, [1] and in the context of Imperial Japan he struggles to keep it to himself. In the early portion of the novel, Kochan does not yet openly admit that he is attracted to men, but indeed professes that he admires masculinity and strength while having no interest in women. This includes an admiration for Roman sculptures and statues of men in dynamic physical positions. Some have argued that the admiration of masculinity is autobiographical of Mishima, himself having worked hard through a naturally weak body to become a superbly fit body builder and male model.

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The air grew heavier as the blood soared; the sensuality insect crawled with an unprecedented ardor blinding the intoxication that arose from a monstrous swell.

The naked flesh bled to the wraith of arrows and while tranquility festooned youthful fragrance, the insect stirred a storm that thundered as cloudy-white patches filled the empty spaces. The musty smell of the ejaculated sperm mingled with the stale cigarette stink that dangled between the tender lips of an eight-year old squatting on the broken stairs, smoking the discarded stub wondering if she could touch the voluptuous breasts of the woman who smiled at her.

A topless Barbie lay besides, the naked breasts of a doll immersed in nicotine fumes. Upstairs, a man admired the lacy lingerie beneath his striped shirt and the adored swell of the breasts hid under the layers of a tightly woven bandage far from the reach of the little girl. A worn sponge was being a dutiful servant to the slapping fingers; white mist covering a bare face.

Puberty brings lust; maturity bestows love. Love is a shapeless sensation that at times normalizes irrationalities. Love has always been an anomalous creature; sensuality flooding sanity into passionate disorders. If so, then why are we adamant to categorize this amorphous divinity with standardize regularities?

Who decides its normality stance? We, the so called societal gurus ; prisoners of our very own sins. How would I feel if I were a normal person? Masturbating to the vision of a young male teacher and not to the thought of a naked woman, made Kochan question the legitimate normality of his pubescence.

Mishima keeps homosexuality afloat in the stormy waters of social mores. The idea of being a stranger in a crude savage land seemed more plausible for an unflustered life. The desire of an impassive kiss from a woman; the desperate need for an embryonic feeling of heterosexuality.

The prose made me furious at times, to glimpse a world ridden with hypocrisies of insecure minds. A world where rape, incest is placed on a identical immoral dais as homosexuality is certainly a malignant society. A man should not be made to feel guilty if his heart craves the touch of another man. A woman should not be ostracized for loving another woman. Love is a warm shadow where we find refuge from our own wars. So, how dare the heterosexuality elites try to shackle a shadow? Why demean the animals when we bestow the same courtesy to our fellow members?

Death being the only rescue. Right from his childhood, Kochan had an affinity to grief with death being the ultimate seducer of his sensualities. It was as if fate had made him fond of the sinister dwellings of death; a sort of an admonition of his burdensome future. At times, death becomes the ultimate escapism; a respite to his chaotic predicaments and then there are moments when the thought of death compels him Kochan to ponder on the possibilities of an honorable life.

The salient features of the ongoing Japanese war further enhance the foundation of death. Death becomes a coveted symbol of equality, demolishing societal discrepancies and at the same time a harbinger with a prejudicial mask.

In order to validate the significance of our own lives and its choices, we condemned the lives of others and curse their preferences. In a peculiar way, the onset of the war brings a solace to Kochan with the hope of an annihilation of his secret life. Whereas, the restitution of a peaceful aftermath evokes a personal conflict that Kochan would have to face in on a daily basis.

Mishima gives an enlightening inference of how assorted masquerades of life are vanished when humanity dwells at the gates of death. Before their eyes they has seen human relationships, love and hatreds,, reason, property, all go up in flame At the time, like the crew of a wrecked ship, they have found themselves in a situation where it was permissible to kill one person in order that another might live In order to save a life it was permissible to kill another.

It is not surprising to spot the element of death taking the centre stage at many instances. War, being the perfect example of fading allure of death. The seducer being deceived by it own seduction. In Seppuku , a suicide ritual also exercised by the author himself; the samurais embellished their faces with subtle make-up before succumbing to the self-inserted sword.

The samurais ached that their death would restore the very same honor and beauty that life had stolen from them.

Given that, this book is also perceived as a semi-autobiographical sketch of Mishima , one can notice glimpses of Kabuki ; a theatrical art that Mishima often viewed as a child along with his grandmother.

The decorated mask-like visage being a significant representation of this ancient Japanese art. It viciously smiles in nostalgic moments of twelve year boy masturbating to the standing picture of St. Sebastian and the nascent obsession of an eight year old girl. It howls as it hypnotizes the soul into a mass of self-deceit in a machine of falsehood.

Similarly, as the ownership of a travel is lost with its commencement, the journey of mask becomes a reckless place for riots and revolutions. I was fed up with myself and all for my chastity was ruining my body. Even if it was to be pure masquerade and not my life at all, still the time had come when I must make a start , must drag my heavy feet forward Be Strong!!


Confessions Of A Mask



Confessions of a Mask






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