Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters (1985)
The life of an artist of passion is almost always tragic; more always than almost. It is inevitable, for it is only when art consumes you that you're able to create and project something greater than yourself. Which is why a lot of artists finds beauty and ultimate realisation in death, destruction and tragedy.
As I read about Mishima I got a glimpse into his thoughts, the internal work of his mind, the questions he harboured at heart, his quest for answers he fervently searched for and his expectations for a glorious purpose that would lead him to the greatness he had lived, time and again through his characters; through the fictitious men he carefully bestowed with his dreams and musings.
Growing up with his inhibiting grandmother, Mishima had found his solace to express and feel, confidently through art. His explored through and speculated on his thoughts through narrations. At the end of each tale he always found his way to destruction. And in it's in its manifestation; that culmination of confusion, that he's able to satisfactory end his tale.
There is such sorrow in Mishima's life. He could never really get a grip over his ever expanding and ambitious idea of greatness. His insistence to convert himself from a creator to being the creation himself and externalise the magic of his vision, led him to many a delusions. Imagine envisioning a feeling and spending your whole life trying to recreate that specific unattainable fulfilment in reality, unless it led to the destruction of self. But no one could tell Mishima otherwise. And I think it was not because he was unaware of it's futility, but because he didn't know how to act without. He wrote lives and carefully filled them with meaning and beautifully orchestrated purposes. The absence of the same in his own, was unacceptable to a creator like himself. Pages became limiting and the only way to continue, was to be consumed and let himself be the medium of his art. (contd)