Once you've read a couple of books by Yukio Mishima, it is inevitable that you will be filled with an insatiable desire to learn about the man and try to understand what on earth possessed him to write the way he did. Well, no one knows for sure, but John Nathan has a pretty good idea, and so Mishima: A Biography is the perfect place to start. Be advised that answers don't come easily. Nathan is a Westerner, after all, trying to research a uniquely Japanese and particularly complicated figure, and so some important things will clearly elude him, either lost in some forsaken archive or concealed from him by Mishima's family. However, among Westerners, Nathan is probably the most qualified of all of them to undertake this sort of task - he was a friend of Mishima's for a time, and actually translated some of his works. He doesn't undermine his credibility with gushing praise or half-baked theorizing - for the most part, he does stick to the facts, and the facts do seem to illustrate the conclusions he draws. And what a slew of facts there is! I tore through this book, hungrily devouring episode after episode of the life of an exceptional, charismatic man who, at least for a time, lived life exactly the way he wanted to.

However, I wanted to gain insight into the relevance Mishima's works had to his life, and while I gained some, it wasn't as much as I had hoped to gain. Nathan's reluctance to waste his and your time with unsubstantiated notions is admirable, but unfortunately he often neglects Mishima's literature in his biography. This is a shame, since when he does talk about the books, he provides invaluable insight - for example, in an excellent section, he identifies Mishima's novel Kyoko's House as one of his key works, making me howl with rage at the fact that this novel is just about the only one of his key works to stay untranslated (even Mishima's flawed bid for the Nobel Prize, Silk and Insight, has been released in English!). His discussion of Mishima's very early (also untranslated) work is equally useful, and from him I learned of the existence of such works by Mishima as Death of a Man and the critically acclaimed filmed version of "Patriotism". However, just when it really counts, he stops talking about literature altogether - though he correctly identifies the Sea of Fertility tetralogy as Mishima's masterpiece, he doesn't talk about it at all! There's not even the briefest of plot summaries, just a quick mention that the last volume of the tetralogy was "rushed." I found myself pining for Henri Troyat's frighteningly extensive biographies of great writers, with their equal emphasis on both life and works.

But there's not much of a market for Mishima biographies in the West, and Nathan's book remains a very good effort. If you're as intrigued by Mishima as I am, I urge you to purchase this book. Just don't expect all your questions to be answered.

A wonderful, detailed, intimate look at Mishima. This biography made me want to reread his books so I could get another angle on them.

Prof. John Nathan, the first American to graduate from the prestigious Tokyo University, offers his insight and brilliant observations based on his extensive research and personal accounts of his interaction with the enigmatic Japanese author. This book is a much more coherent account of the psyche of the tortured soul than any other biography published about him simply because he is able to position himself into finding information about Mishima's secretive past by interviewing Mishima's associates using his close ties with the inner circles of Japanese culture. A must read for people who are interested in understanding the darker and the one of the most spectacularly secretive side of Japanese literature.

Every author should write at least one of these books of personal reflection. This is not the only place you can get a glimpse of the inner workings of Mishima's mind ("Confessions of a Mask" and "Patriotism" are good examples).

Of course, this is assuming the book accurately reflects the author's views. If you have read Mishima biographies such as Stokes' "Life and Death of Yukio Mishima" you might agree that "Sun and Steel" is a true reflection of the author's feelings. Otherwise, you might not have a good frame of reference.

It's a good idea not to make this the first of Mishima's works that you read (the aforementioned biography and "Confessions of A Mask" are suitable prerequisites). However, it is an interesting work in its own right.

My main reason for not giving this book 5 stars is that I was longing for more depth into his character than could be provided in so short a work; but maybe that's just because of my fascination with the author's life.

In Sun and Steel, Yukio Mishima, one of Japan's most important writers, offers an intimate look at how he reconciled his life with the creative process.

From the outset, it is clear that Mishima advocated an "active" creativity and that he held in contempt those who used words to convey experiences yet denied their own heroic capabilities.

For Mishima, art, action and creativity had to embrace the tragic. To be a hero meant sacrifice of the highest order and suffering life's strangest and most difficult problems. "He who dabbles in words can create tragedy, wrote Mishima, "but cannot participate in it."

Mishima begins Sun and Steel by telling us that, for much of his life, he held an unnatural view of the world, due to the fact that his awareness of words preceded his awareness of his body. This isolated him, he says, and he spent much time at his bedroom window simply watching the world go by.

"Words," says Mishima, "are a medium that reduces the world to an abstraction...and in their power to corrode reality inevitably lurks the danger that the words will be corroded, too."

Mishima explains how he attempted to overcome this "corrosive function of words" with physical discipline of the body. Because his early years were suffused with words, as an adult, he seeks balance in life with a preoccupation with the physical. His body, he says, came to be a metaphor of the human condition and allowed him to directly experience the tragic in life.

Life, says, Mishima, can be intellectualized, but the only thing that imposes dignity on life is the element of mortality that lies within. Here we have the key to both Mishima's writing and his own life and death.

As Mishima continues to impose a rigorous discipline over both his mind and body, he comes to realize that the mind and body are truly inseparable. "I was driven to the conclusion that the 'I' in question corresponded precisely with that physical space that I occupied."

In taking up the practice of Kendo, Mishima comes to the realization that he desires neither victory nor defeat unless he also has conflict. The battle is emphasized, not the goal.

Anyone can conquer what lies beneath him, says Mishima, and it is the process of overcoming higher and higher obstacles that brings one into the sphere of the tragic.

Mishima finally comes to the conclusion that, "The most appropriate type of daily life...was a day-to-day world destruction." Mishima had thus become a nihilist, a hero who could look death in the eye and choose to act anyway.

Although seemingly severe and extreme in outlook, Sun and Steel reveals Mishima to be a man who advocated moderation instead. His desire to create is balanced with a desire to nothingness; he lives his life in an area that is inaccessible to words or action alone.

Those who have read Mishima's fiction and found it inaccessible will benefit greatly by reading Sun and Steel. Those who have read and enjoyed his words will, with Sun and Steel, arrive at a deeper and fuller understanding of this complex and fascinating man.

Had we only been able to read these words prior to November 1970, we might have been able to both understand and appreciate the circumstances surrounding Mixhima's tragically heroic death. It is still not too late.

This author gives you his very self, unadorned, and he is breathtaking. The most stunningly powerful book I have ever read. His work is an inspiration. This is my first encounter with Mishima, but it will not be my last.

This a great collection to get a sense of Mishima's imaginative spectrum of characters and themes. Death and the adolescent psyche are common themes.

Acts Of Worship: Seven Stories is an anthology of short stories by the internationally famous Japanese author Yukio Mishima, who is perhaps most notorious for his dramatic ritual suicide in 1970. Flawlessly translated into English by John Bester, the short stories include: Fountains in the Rain; Raisin Bread; Sword; Sea and Sunset; Cigarette; Martyrdom; and the title piece, Act of Worship, and bespeak the rigid mentality of one born and rigorously raised in the traditions of the samurai caste, long after the era of the samurai. Written with biting insight, sharp ruthlessness and a keen eye for just how much (or how little) human life is worth, Acts Of Worship documents Yukio Mishima as having been an undeniably strong and articulate voice in Japan's modern literary tradition.

Gran novela de Mishima, que navega por la teoría sicológica de un caso real de frigidez femenina en el japón de la década de los sesentas. Investigación exhaustiva en el campo del simbolismo siquiátrico. Recreación de personajes con veracidad y claridad. Transcripción de los hechos de una manera real y detallada. Un trabajo excelente por parte de Mishima.

ES UN EXCELENTE LIBRO, MERECE LA PENA LEERLO.. SUGESTION, AMOR, SENSUALIDAD E HISTORIA

While Spring Snow remains my favourite book in this amazing series, The Decay of the Angel is the most... elusive. Mishima's message decays right along side his characters, and that in itself is a work of great artistry. To introduce us to interesting, well realized characters and to slowly over the course of four books degrade them and pull them out of the realm of literature into a kind of near-tabloid reality is as cunning as it is disturbing. This book has a lot going for it and it has a strong message, but what exactly that message is remains to be seen.

Trivia fact: After mailing the manuscript for this book Mishima led a failed nationalist uprising and comitted ritual seppuku following his failure. (Or maybe just to save himself having to asnwer: "what does this mean?!"

"See just the trees, but not the forest" is an old Chinese saying, meaning to comprehend, and thus evaluate, things only from partial angles and views. To assess/critic, even compare any one of the 4 "Sea of Fertility" novels is to do just that. The 4 novels are all part of a grand design in a way very much like 4 movements from a symphony. Yes each novel stands on its own as a great literature accomplishment, but so does each movement of any symphony by Beethoven or Mahler. Now, I am not a write or a literature critic in any shape or form, but I have read the complete "Sea of Fertility" twice before, and am onto "Runaway Horses" for the third time now. Just want to remind every one that, these novels are not meant to be read individually.

This book is the concluding part to the Sea of Fertility quartet by Mishima--generally considered his magnum opus. As an individual book it is inferior in characterisation, plot strength and beauty of expression than Spring Snow and the third book but better than Runaway Horses (book 2). However the ending is so stunning and original that it leaves one mentally exhausted and yet thrilled. The ending turns the whole story so far (from Book 1) on its head and for that reason I will not disclose it. Suffice it to say that of all the books I have read this has the most unexpected and mind-bending ending. I was left in awe! In conclusion it is a fitting ending to a most brilliant quartet of novels for those readers who want more from their novels than just a story. This quartet deals with the most important ideas of human existence and is very challenging yet what makes it unique is Mishima's magical, poetic, and mesmerising control of language and diction. Engaging, thrilling, difficult, philosophical, beautiful, brilliant.
(The quartet as a whole is 5 stars, this book on its own I would give 4 stars.)

Spring Snow, the first novel in the Sea of Fertility cycle, is one of the best books ever written. Not only is it a book that everyone should read, it is a book that everyone should own a hardcover copy of. Runaway Horses, the second novel in the cycle, is nowhere near the level of Spring Snow. Oh, Mishima is still a great writer; his style is impeccable, and his poetic descriptions are still to die for. It's the premise of the book that I'm not too fond of. Succinctly, it's about a nationalist fanatic who hatches a plot to "purify" Japan of bad influences. It's not as frightening as it sounds, but it is pretty bad. Now, it's not that Mishima necessarily approved of the means his character Isao would adopt in this book, but a _lot_ of praise is lavished upon the "purity" of Isao's ideals. And this I completely disagreed with. The "purity" of Isao's ideals boils down to a death wish and a fanatical desire to kill himself in a glamorous fashion. Isao is not acting for the sake of Japan because he does not know Japan - he has lived all his life generally sheltered from the grim reality that he talks about (sheltered, as it turns out, due to the money of the corrupt people that he hates), and he is not at all in contact with the Japanese people. He's in love with an illusion, an ideal out of a book. Mishima doesn't quite present him as an object of worship, but he does make it clear that Isao is to be admired. He even links Isao to Spring Snow by presenting the recurring assertion that Isao is a reincarnation of that novel's protagonist, Kiyoaki. This I greatly resent. Kiyoaki's passion was disturbingly beautiful, the noblest and most selfless that is possible on earth. Isao's passion is just disturbing, period. For instance, Isao is fixed upon the idea of killing one Busuke Kurahara, a rich capitalist who is in his view responsible for all the evils in Japan. But Mishima very conspicuously does not corroborate this view; Kurahara only appears at length in only one scene, and there he hardly comes across as someone deserving of Isao's (or the reader's) vicious hatred. Things like that come up from time to time, and are so obvious that one might think they're deliberately there, that Mishima does not really lend his approval to his character. Bit of a mental puzzle, that one.

Those of you who may be expecting the sensuous descriptions from Spring Snow to return in Runaway Horses will be mightily disappointed. There are only a few appearances by _any_ women in this manly book, and most of them are by Isao's friend Makiko. However, these few scattered parts are truly great, truly on the level of Spring Snow. For instance: "The woman's face floating in its dark seclusion, no name yet attached to it, had the character of a mysterious, lovely apparition. It was like the scent of the fragrant olive which, as one walks along a path at night, tells of the blossoms before one sees them. . . . Because of her hidden name, because of the agreement not to speak that name, she was transmuted into a marvelous essence, like a moonflower, its supporting vine invisible, floating high up in the darkness." (207) Yes. Oh yes indeed.

Of course, any book would seem a bit anemic after Spring Snow. And make no mistake: I do not at all wish that he had written Spring Snow II (since that wouldn't have been at all good) instead of this. But Runaway Horses, or at least a large part of it, leaves me cold, and that's that. It certainly has its good parts - for instance, the thread about Honda's life (remember Honda? he was Kiyoaki's best friend in Spring Snow) and its development was enthralling, and I wished that Mishima had bothered to develop it more instead of gushing with praise for Isao. Even in the end, when Honda plays an important role, he is in fact largely relegated to the background, prominence being given to Isao's speech about his utterly undefined, abstract and impenetrable ideals. I'd also have liked to learn more about Lieutenant Hori, or Isao's mother Mine, or anyone at all other than Isao, really, but that wasn't happening. And Isao does not change; he basically remains the exact same person throughout the book. Keep in mind that Mishima does not necessarily approve of him - there is a _lot_ of ambiguity as to this - but the fact remains that most of the book is spent on Isao. I'm still glad I read Runaway Horses, but it has somewhat tempered my enthusiasm to read the remaining two books of the tetralogy. You should probably read it too, but you won't be likely to come back to it too often.

Mishima is undoubtedly a fine writer. His technique and style are amazing. He can even make a two page description of kimono fabric interesting to an NFL linebacker! Many will certainly question the motivation of his writing (a return to samurai codes [Bushido], restoration of emperor, expelling all things western from Japan, etc.), but they cannot deny the accurate portrait Mishima paints of a mid-20th century Japan that is straddling the lines between traditional culture (buddhism/shinto/etc.) and western industrialization. Mishima takes a grand-scale problem and puts it into a specific setting. Obviously readers that have an understanding of the greater context of Japanese history from the mid-20th century will appreciate this novel more. I do think, however, that even someone that couldn't point to Japan on a map, but likes good writing and story-telling will be able to appreciate the book on those merits alone. While not as enjoyable as the first installment of the "Sea of Fertility" tetrology, it is an enjoyable book.

"See just the trees, but not the forest" is an old Chinese saying, meaning to comprehend, and thus evaluate, things only from partial angles and views. To assess/critic, even compare any one of the 4 "Sea of Fertility" novels is to do just that. The 4 novels are all part of a grand design in a way very much like 4 movements from a symphony. Yes each novel stands on its own as a great literature accomplishment, but so does each movement of any symphony by Beethoven or Mahler. Now, I am not a write or a literature critic in any shape or form, but I have read the complete "Sea of Fertility" twice before, and am onto "Runaway Horses" for the third time now. Just want to remind every one that, these novels are not meant to be read individually.

Excellent book! One can literately feel the sea breeze and the sunshine coming out of this book. One strenght of this book is that unlike Yukio Mishima's other deeply philosophical works, this book is very accessible to everyone. Read it first for the fairy tale like love story, that can easily be done in 2 days. Then read it a second time to appreceiate it's literary value -- the simple but lively characterazation, the beautiful yet realistic protray of the island landscape/seascape.

In a more subtle philosophical note, this book express Mishima's believe in the traditional Japanese values. Live simple, work hard, harmonize with nature, trust others, be self-reliance, be courageous; these are the strenght that gule the island people together and made them prosper.

I was assigned to read this book for school and did not expect to enjoy it. Well, I was pleasantly surprised. Not only did I find the setting both sweet and unique, the characters were captivating and very well developed. After all, it's not everyday that one gets to see inside the life of a young Japanese boy as he falls head-over-heals in love with a strange girl he knows almost nothing about. When I finished the book, I immediately re-read all of the parts concerning Shinji's feelings, thoughts, etc. toward Hatsue. (I especially liked how Shinji and Hatsue keep on "running into" each other and planning to do so again!) Yukio Mishima lovingly weaves a tale which describes the feelings and emotions of a naive young couple as they discover what it is to be in love. If you like a rewarding and beautifully written romance story, this book is for you!

When I picked up this book, the book jacket said something like "And so, Mr. Mishima uses a simple setting of a fishing village to create an unforgettable love scene of amazing tenderness and purity." I remember being skeptical about this, thinking "Tenderness? In this century? Pshaw! This Mr. Mishima must be full of it." And I've never been happier to be wrong.

The Sound of Waves is not a multi-faceted epochal genre-shattering masterpiece. And it's all the better for it. It's an extremely simple love story set in a remote Japanese island where the people work all their lives fishing and/or diving for pearls. And it's beautiful. The book jacket was right on. Hatsue is portrayed with such amazing tenderness and sympathy on the author's part that she becomes a human being, but she's not the only one. The "ugly girl" who falls in love with Shinji is also an amazingly real person. As is Shinji's mother, as is almost everybody else. It's incredibly refreshing to finally read an author who eschews all that arty "deep complex psyche" crud for the sake of such simple, yet unmistakably _human_ characterization.

Sometimes the language seems a little clunky - this is entirely the fault of the translation. I imagine it must sound even more beautiful in the original Japanese. (And the translation is no great impediment - come on, this book _is_ extremely short.) In short, this is why humanity invented writing - so authors like Mishima could write books like The Sound of Waves. Now, I've only read three of his works, so it's theoretically possible that he has surpassed The Sound of Waves somewhere else, but I doubt it. Remarkable.

Thirst For Love was only Mishima's second novel, and it shows. It could probably have been made into something great, but the author was either too hasty to finish it or simply didn't know what to do. Despite its great title, it's somewhat of a disappointment. I figure it was an attempt at writing an anti-romance, some kind of complete inversion of the concept of the love story. Well, it wasn't a success. The first half of the book is mired in scenes that don't go anywhere (such as the grotesque flashback where Etsuko's husband dies - did we really need that? why was it included?), and this makes the developments of the second half a bit of a shock. It seemed rather sudden how Etsuko's mild interest in the gardener Saburo turned into complete obsession. Certain aspects of the book sorely needed more attention from the author - Yakichi's attitude toward Etsuko could have been turned into something involving, but ends up being a mere tangent, a check mark on the laundry list of plot points. Had Mishima further developed the backstory of the family, we might have understood what lay behind the enmity between its various members, but it went almost completely unexplained, and said members end up coming across as spiteful for no reason. On the other hand, there are plot lines that are completely pointless and blatantly fabricated and yet are for some reason drawn out to great length - namely, the utterly inane subplot with the socks Etsuko buys.

Admittedly, the bit about the festival conveys the appropriate feeling of frenzy. Also, Mishima does a fine job of showing the dichotomy between the overly sensitive, wounded Etsuko and the utterly uncaring, "light man" Saburo. But these are small parts; the whole just isn't all that good. And let's not even get started on the deliberately "shocking" ending, which goes completely against what little character development Mishima bothered to put in. I got the feeling that he simply didn't know how to end the story, and so took the first way out that occurred to him; it would have been better if he had given it a little more thought. In fact, that can be said of just about everything in this book apart from the title. Feel free to skip it and go straight to the masterpiece The Sound Of Waves.

Mishima is a fascinating and intoxicating author to me, but I felt a little disappointed with Thirst for Love after having read the Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea. It seems less focused somehow; I found certain segments a bit dull and the end somewhat dissatisfying (not just because it wasn't "happy.") But, those are just the cons -- I still think this is quite a book. Etsuko's psychology is fascinating, and there are some great moments. Quality, unconventional stuff.

the guy below doesnt know what he is talking about, he didnt understand anything

Mishima's "The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea" is a beautifully written, picturesque short novel about idealism and the conflict between compassion and dispassion. The main character is Noboru, a bright, fatherless 13-year-old boy who hangs out with a few of his schoolmates in a sort of gang. The "chief" of the gang, who thinks far beyond the level of a typical 13-year-old, is the gang's philosophical guide and leader. The chief believes that life is merely a result of the chaos of existence; that society is useless; that fathers, as procreators of society, are condescending and deceitful; and that school is a simulation of the society of adults and therefore is useless as well. He instructs Noboru to perform a morbid rite of passage, the purpose of which seems to be to demonstrate that there is nothing mystical about life; living beings are made up of nothing more than earthly materials and mechanical components, so destroying a living being is no different than breaking a machine.

A sailor at sea lives far away from the foolishness of land-based society, so it's no wonder that Noboru develops an admiration for Ryuji, the sailor who becomes romantically involved with Noboru's mother, Fusako. Noboru is so interested in the sea and ships -- symbols of rugged individualism and the rejection of society -- that his knowledge of the subject rivals Ryuji's. However, when Ryuji decides to give up the sailor's life to marry Fusako and become her business partner, Noboru is disillusioned and wonders if Ryuji is just like all the fathers that the chief berates. As Ryuji starts to metamorphose from Noboru's image of the tough sailor into a sentimental, lenient society dweller, Noboru angrily compiles a list of Ryuji's "infractions". When the chief of Noboru's gang reviews this list, he decides that Ryuji must suffer the consequences. The last chapter of the book is somewhat reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado" in the way the gang leads Ryuji unsuspectingly to his doom.

When the chief tells Noboru that there are no heroes in the world, Noboru listens but wants to believe that there truly are; he wants to find a heroic ideal in the sailor his mother has just met. The novel illustrates this problem with idealism: We create imaginary heroes because when we try to identify real-life ones, we are inevitably disappointed by their human fallibility.

Written by Yukio Mishima and translated by John Nathan, this fictional story captures the tranquility of love and the harshness of reality. Split into two sections, summer and winter, this book combines the genres of love and horror to produce what is in the end a frightening and tragic tale of human brutality. Through the characters of Noboru, Fusako and Ryuji we are able to experience three very different perspectives on life. Noboru is a thirteen-year-old highly intelligent boy who in collaboration with his friends has chosen to reject the adult world. Fusako is Noboru's mother who is widowed and manages an elite family business. She is an idealist who dreams of perfection in a crystalline world. Ryuji, the sailor who literally falls from grace, falls in love with Fusako and gives up his life as a sailor in order to become the perfect husband and father. Together these three create a perfectly imperfect family. I thoroughly enjoyed this book for it's unique perspective and would definitely recommend it to others.

This perfectly crafted novel seems more relevent today than ever. Mishima's prose, in a gorgeous translation by John Nathan, is rich, multi-layered, and next to flawless; those who consider it "overwritten" forget what its subject is. This is the only novel I've read that captures so well a certain, dangerous passage of adolescence, and its myopic visions of purity and strength. Mishima's children have sublimated their teenage disgust for the adult world into an ideal: a cold, terrifying one. The stark, flame-like prose, with its deep colors, is the perfect expression of their world and its extremes (and the yin-yang is a pretty good symbol for those black-and-white years). At the same time, Mishima toys with the youths' ideals, shows how a cold ideology can mask a furious pettiness, even sexual perversion. The book is a true tragedy, a complex but absolute collision between two minds, two worlds; and Mishima brings all his usual shadings and ambivalence to the characters, so the bizarre events follow with logic and chilling conviction. And the book is also much more than this; it bears many revisits. I envy those who will be reading it for the first time.

The major point of discussion for reviewers of this book and of John Nathan's biography of Mishima seems to be "Which one is better?" Personally, I'd say neither. For those who were somewhat dissatisfied with the way Nathan glossed over certain things (like, oh, The Sea of Fertility), Scott-Stokes' book has a greater volume of information and a more consistent analysis of Mishima's literature. For instance, I don't recall Nathan having even mentioned Ba-ra-kei (which I intend to procure sometime in the future, now that I know of its existence) in passing; Scott-Stokes, on the other hand, includes it in the appropriate section of Mishima's life (there are four: Literature, Drama, Body and Action). Scott-Stokes also has the better analysis of Mishima's plays, with more quotes and a lengthier discussion.

However, as a whole I think I liked Nathan's work more. I really did not get why Scott-Stokes included the "dramatization" of the Mishima Incident (as the first scene, no less); it's bewilderingly out of place, though I admit that it does provide a good hook to lead into the rest of the book with. But that's emblematic of a larger problem; Scott-Stokes gives himself much greater license than Nathan did to theorize about Mishima's motivations and inner thoughts, and like all canonical examples of dubious reportage, his theories cite anonymous sources. Nor did I particularly appreciate his cavalier dismissal of a rather large part of Mishima's literature as subpar - in fact, unlike Nathan, he really doesn't even come across as an avid reader of Mishima, which would be fine if not for the fact that he decided to be the man's biographer.

If you're interested in Mishima, you're inevitably going to read this, but I recommend reading Nathan's biography first. This will arm you with a good bit of knowledge in advance, and will help you navigate through Scott-Stokes' "original" structure (his book starts with the last day of Mishima's life, then covers his childhood and then branches out into four directions). Scott-Stokes' book, then, will serve as a complement, filling in certain gaps.

Earlier this year, I came across works of Mishima in the used book section of my local book store. When I read that Mishima had committed seppuku and had an "army of young men," I became intrigued about him. I purchased this book and the biography written by John Nathan. I found both books informative and while both covered essentially the same ground, each had items missing in the other. I do not consider one superior to the other, although Scott-Stokes' opening chapter, which details the day of Mishima's death, is riveting stuff. Scott-Stokes, as a journalist, is better at representing Mishima's life in the context of the Japan he lived in, while Nathan, a teacher/writer, is better at interpreting the author's works. Neither can fully explain why Mishima did what he did at the end of his life, but each does his best to give insight into this complex man. It is gracious of Nathan to admit, in the foreword to the newest printing of his biography, that he now understands Mishima better than he did when he wrote the book. Having read both biographies, I know what he means.

This was a very well written book, it really helps that the author really knew Mishima, in attempting to understand this strange but intelligent man. The references to Mishima's works throughout is also a nice touch, showing how his work was influenced at times by his mental state. Very interesting man.