Mr. Hiraoka Kimitake

Last year I taught a Survey of Japanese Literature, which was a selection of excerpts of modern Japanese novels in translation. I felt that the course should begin with Soseki, as the first 'modern' of significant exposure. When choosing content for a 13 week course, with a different author's work each week, there is invariably an author or work of major standing that will be omitted.

I made a deliberate choice, however to include Mishima. I have to admit to Mishima being my first exposure to Japanese literature, the first name I recall, having heard a rather revealing radio program when I was in Year Seven, the content of which was a little over my head, but not outside the realm of 'almost understanding'. Although perhaps the first book of Japanese literature I read was Kawabata's Snow Country, it was Mishima who intrigued me the most. The novel of his that I chose for the course was Confessions of a Mask, and I deliberately singled out the 'ickiest' pieces. This was for second year students. The homoerotic, youthful lusting. The blood and the violence. In that particular lecture, (the lectures were more of an informal, roundtable discussion between a lecturer - me - and ten students), the material presented was certainly confronting, the suicide could not be avoided, and his sexulaity could not be dismissed. I certainly took this second year students way out of their comfort zones, away from the safe compacency of early adulthood. A lot of discussion was generated in the lecture, which was one outcome I was particularly pleased with. The greatest outcome was yet to come. It emerged several weeks later that one of the male students had taken it upon himself to read Forbidden Colours, an even more distasteful novel than Confessions of a Mask, and then to turn around and read The Sea of Fertility, Mishima's tetralogy. It gave this enquiring student a more rounded view of the writer and an appreciation for the talent and emotion in Mishima's writing. He still did not particularly like Mishima, as many of the themes in Mishima's novels were distasteful, but he understood Mishima much better. This was a Murakami Haruki reader, too.

In my mind, this was an unqualified success.

For the final lecture, used to the intimate, informal setting of the class, most time was devoted to an evaluation of the course, and a relaxed discussion on Japanese literature. The two hour lecture had come to an end, it was time for lunch, and yet, we were quite comfortable sitting around, chatting, letting the discussion continue.

I was fortunate.