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Our Assessment:
B+ : grim but effective wallow in self-loathing See our review for fuller assessment.
(*: review of Donald Keene's earlier translation, No Longer Human) From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
A Shameful Life is a new translation, by Mark Gibeau, of Dazai's 人間失格, long familiar to English speaking audiences in Donald Keene's (still in print) 1958 translation, No Longer Human.
Never in my life have I seen a child with such a peculiar expression.(Compare that to Keene's approach: I have never seen a child with such an unaccountable expression.The journals then get right to the point: Yōzō's opening words are: "I have lived a shameful life", with the rest then an account of it, more or less focused on the three stages of his life as seen in the three photographs. From the first, Yōzō admits to a disconnect with 'human life', in all its manifestations. Sickly and fearful, he manages to fit in at school by taking on the part of the clown, which he proves fairly adept at. Behind the face of the clown, he is all misery, however -- and burdened by having been: "violated and exposed to the most desolate things by our maids and servants". Sent off to live with a relative when he goes to middle school, Yōzō befriends a boy who seems to be able to see through art least part of him, Takeichi. Takeichi predicts success for Yōzō in certain areas: "I bet girls will fall for you", he suggests, and, recognizing Yōzō's talent drawing and painting: "You'll be a famous artist someday". Takeichi isn't wrong about how Yōzō appeals to women -- they're drawn to him, regardless of how he acts -- but Yōzō sees this quality he seems to have as a curse, not a blessing: he never gets over: "the anxiety of being loved". As to his art: powerful it may be, but: "So dark and gloomy were these paintings that even I shrank from them". Yōzō would prefer to go to art school but of course can't stand up to his father and is enrolled in school in Tokyo "with the aim of making me a government official". He barely goes to class -- though he's sharp enough to pass his exams -- and instead leads a lazy and then increasingly dissolute life, helped along in this by new, older artist-friend Horiki. He also joins a Communist circle ("I think they called it the 'R-S' but my memory is vague") and becomes active in it, drawn to the illicit even as he is mystified and unconvinced by their activities. Marxist theory seems like simple common sense to him -- but, so he believes, doesn't get at the essence: It was true enough, but there is more to the human soul than just that. There is also something incomprehensible, something terrifying. Desire is too weak a word for it, as is vanity. Even if we combine Eros and desire it's still not quite enough. I'm not sure what it is, but I am certain that the foundation of human society is not economics. It's something more, with the uncanny air of a strange and scary folk tale. Living in abject terror of that strange folk tale as I did, I was able to accept theories of materialism as easily as I accepted the fact that water runs downhill, but these theories did not liberate me from my dread of humansThe second journal culminates in Yōzō participating in a love-suicide pact, in which: "The woman died. I alone was saved". There's a great deal of attention heaped on Yōzō surrounding it -- adoring women wishing him well; the media; the police (as he is arrested for assisting suicide) --, attention that he of course struggles with. The third journal begins with him holed up in a house his family have arranged for him to live in, watched over to keep him out of sight and trouble. He eventually escapes from this -- abetted by Horiki -- and falls in with Shizuko, a woman who works at a magazine and eventually arranges for him to draw cartoons for it. Yōzō becomes a kept man, watching over Shizuko's five-year-old daughter and then working on his cartoons; living with the generous Shizuko allows for an instant family -- but Yōzō can't handle it. Eventually, he finds another completely devoted woman to live with, Yoshiko -- a sweet soul who turns out to be too trusting. After initially giving up drink and briefly: "turning into something that resembled a human being" Yōzō soon again and again goes to dissolute extremes of drinking and then eventually drug-use, the breaking point having come with Yoshiko's own too-trusting fall. In his last desperation, he turns to his family again; there's no real salvation for him but, separated from the world he had sunk into -- both the tempter Horiki and the loving Yoshiko --, he can wallow in his self-loathing without dragging others along with him. Seeing what he's been reduced to, he realizes: "I had, utterly and completely, ceased to be human". The conclusion is set some three years later, the still only twenty-seven-year-old Yōzō living in distant, decayed isolation, attended to only by a hostile servant, no hope or future yet regained, still sunk in his own endless misery. The narrator's presumption then, in the Epilogue, is that Yōzō has likely died by now, at least a decade later, but he makes no great effort to find out. The three journals stand well enough as a document of a broken man; there could be no happy end, regardless. Yōzō's experiences, down to the Communist-sympathizing and the suicide-attempts, apparently closely mirror Dazai's own -- differing only in their endings, as Dazai was a suicide, killing himself shortly before A Shameful Life first appeared in print. It's hard to conceive of a more miserable protagonist. A Shameful Life is a grim tale of self-destructive behavior, its main character so filled with fear and caught up in loathing himself that he can't embrace, except for the briefest moments, the opportunities for normality that present themselves. Women who are completely devoted to him are willing to look past his bad habits -- which only seems to drive him further into them -- while his artistic talent should allow him some success if he properly dedicated himself to it (as even his hasty cartoons earn him a surprising amount of money). But he can't escape his essence: "Know thyself. Know they terrifying, strange, wily, villainous, crone-like self !" he thinks -- and he can't move beyond this certainty of who he thinks he is, the lowest of the low, unworthy of any happiness. A Shameful Life is dark and almost horribly grim, all wrapped in shame -- made bearable in part only by Yōzō not lingering too long on much of this, as the novel does skip along fairly quickly across his many stations of misery (and those very few bright spots). It is a novel of recognizing the self -- but the self here is such a devastated one, from its very beginnings, that it can see no way to improvement or salvation: Yōzō just ties himself ever more in these knots of his own making. It's not pleasant reading, but it certainly is powerful, and it is a fascinating psychological portrait, of someone trying (or rather, constantly failing) to come to terms with a self they find unbearable. - M.A.Orthofer, 23 November 2018 - Return to top of the page - A Shameful Life:
- Return to top of the page - Japanese author Dazai Osamu (太宰 治; actually Tsushima Shūji (津島修治)) lived 1909 to 1948. - Return to top of the page -
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