Temple of Dawn

Whew! What an exciting conclusion! Almost makes me forget all the tedious, redundant speculations/reflections of the our wretched, middle-aged, middle-class hero.
I'd like to see a statistical study of Mishima novels -- how many times the word 'death' is used -- and just as Eskimos have 20 different words for 'snow' -- I would guess that Japanese has multiple words that English translates as 'contempt'

Is it any wonder suicide is so popular in that culture of death and loathing ?

There seems to be -- what I guess -- is an accurate presentation of the Yuishiki school of Mahayana Buddhism -- where "the world is presented in the form of a waterfall - that lives and dies every moment -- it's continuity being what is called "alaya consciousness" -- that flows eternally -" in order to make the world exist" -- "so that man may find enlightenment."

It's an idea that gets repeated again -- and again --- and again --- to the utter fascination of the writer and his hero --- and the utter boredom of the reader. (a feeling I share with Kat Craft -- who loaned me these novels in the first place)

But then --- there are these moments of sheer thrill -- where the story picks up and races downhill at breakneck speed -- with each detail and point-of-view perfectly chosen and connected to on-going motifs -- and I admit -- that I found nothing so thrilling as joining the author and his hero as all three of us carefully removed the law books from the shelf in his study, and looked through that little (carefully planned) peep-hole in the wall to watch the bizarre erotic behavior in the adjoining bedroom -- my "eyes" straining -- along with that other middle-aged voyeur -- to see the convulsing flesh in the dim light against the far wall.

What's absent here are the social ideals that inform European novels -- and the idea of growth and maturity of people and social institutions. But there's also something missing from Mishima's Buddhism: compassion -- so rather than developing interest in the variety of human destinies (as Cao did in 'Red Chamber) -- Mishima only has contempt for everyone -- and his world shrinks so that none of the characters in his novels feel real -- other than himself: the great arrogant, but pathetic,
contemplator/artist/voyeur.

And yet ---- yes, I am dying to read the final installment in the tetralogy -- the last thing he wrote before plunging the knife deep into his own abdomen, and spilling his guts on the freshly polished floor.

I guess I'm as a bad a voyeur as he was.

One last thing: I just realized that, other than the protagonist, this novel is peopled more with women than men - reversing the trend of the previous two novels. The protagonist has no male friends - but he does have a wife, the conspiratory neighbor, and that poor Thai girl he's continually pursuing. The time spent with other males in the story is mercifully brief: they are so loathsome (the artsy Bangkok guide, the creepy intellectual, the brutish nephew).