In times of decay, there is a past seen in the distance when politicians could speak and preachers moved; teachers, explained and masters, inspired; when writers wrote marvelously and thinkers deeply thought; times when professors actually knew and excellence was as much admired as pursued; times when parents were parents and kids just kids. Back in the past of glittering years, painting was not only a form of expression but an universal mystery to catch; arts demanded sacrifice and the tyranny of vested networks had not developed yet. Of course, garbage always amounts in heaps, but in the gleaming times of splendor, rubbish was as much exposed as avoided.
In those modern times -rather than post-modern-, criminals filled the emptiness with endless reasons for vindication. It is as they tried hard to exceed purposedly. Crime was a rebellious spot in the cosmos, which only those who deserve it could occupy. The unworthy was just petty and pitiful. In opposition, in times of mediocrity, even evil loses quality.
The 13-year old kids who -seemingly- will disembowel Ryuji Tsukazaki are post-romantic but have a cause to fight. Their reasons fit well in a logical scheme and one reflects -why not?- whether, in wasted times, the most atrocious infants are actually the most able.
Listen to their discourse: "There is no such thing as a good father because the role itself is bad (...). They stand in the way of our progress while they try to burden us with their inferiority complexes, and their unrealized aspirations, and their resentments, and their ideals, and the weaknesses they've never told anyone about, and their sins, and their sweeter-than-honey dreams, and the maxims they've never had the courage to live by (...). They're suspicious of anything creative, anxious to whittle the world down into something puny they can handle. A father is a reality-concealing machine, a machine for dishing up lies to kids, and that isn't even the worst of it: secretly, he believes that he represents reality. Fathers are the flies of this world. They hover around our heads waiting for a chance, and when they see something rotten they buzz in and root in it (...)".
The night when Fusako tells Noboru that Ryuji will stay and that things will change, she significantly underlined that Ryuji will start being the Father Noboru needs, that "everything I have done is for you", that you can "call him Father". Her speech, un-intently, brought everything to collapse. To seal the covenant of destruction, Ryuji's first words were: "Then I won't call you Noboru anymore. From now on, it's Son". I have to say that I was not expecting this declaration from a woman like Fusako, but rather something of the sort: "This is what I want, what I need. Would you accept it, my dear? I can't tell you how much this matters to me. Whatever happens you will always be my Son, the Son I had with the Man I loved so much". But, perhaps, it is just me and not the character; perhaps, those were different times and the psychology and the culture and all were also different. Nevertheless, the stunning conversion of Ryuji in Father and the decision to further judge Noboru as an infant, set the spark that the demoniac structure of the kids' world needed to blow. It was a non-return point. Whether Mishima forced it a little to make the story consistent or not is a matter of discussion. After all, there is always a pinch of irrationality in the most exquisite rational (and criminal) mind, and a group of teenagers is no exception.
The consecration of the murder on the eve is brilliant: "I'm sure you all know where our duty lies. When a gear slips out of place it's our job to force it back into position. If we don't, order will turn to chaos. We all know that the world is empty and that the important thing, the only thing, is to try to maintain order in that emptiness". The development of this analogy between the empty mansion in which the chief boy lives without parents around most of time and the senseless and empty world is well-suited. The boy follows: "We are guards, and more than that because we also have executive power to insure that order is maintained".
Furthermore, the plan of the execution is cold as cold is the iron anchor Noboru sees his heart to be. And here the diabolic reasoning of the boys touches ground and flows into a pool of reality so, so painfully. Mishima tells that the chief took from his briefcase an ocher law book and uttered: "I want all of you to listen carefully: 'Penal Code, Article Fourteen - Acts of juveniles less than fourteen years of age are not punishable by law". And he read it again, louder, and had the book pass around. And he said (his upper lip curled, I see it!):
"This law is the adults' way of expressing the high hopes they have for us. But it also represents all the dreams they've never been able to make come true (...). They've been careless enough to allow us here, and only here, a glimpse of blue sky and absolute freedom (...). This law they've written is a kind of nursery tale, a pretty deadly tale (...). And in a way, it's understandable. After all, up to now we have been nursery kids, adorable, defenseless, innocent kids. But three of us here will be fourteen next month -myself, number one, and you, number three. And you other three will be fourteen in March. Just think about it a minute. This is our last chance! (...)".
At this point, the kid exulted in a disturbing shout, but quite familiar throughout history: "We must have blood! Human blood!". It seems that in the altar of their God of Order-in-the-Nihilism, animal sacrifices are not sufficient. "If we don't get it [human blood] this empty world will go pale and shrivel up. We must drain the sailor's fresh lifeblood and transfuse it to the dying universe, the dying sky, the dying forests, and the drawn, dying land". And he finished with the classic: Now! The time is come! "In another month they'll have finished clearing the land around our dry dock and then the place will fill up with people. Besides, we're almost fourteen".
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
In those modern times -rather than post-modern-, criminals filled the emptiness with endless reasons for vindication. It is as they tried hard to exceed purposedly. Crime was a rebellious spot in the cosmos, which only those who deserve it could occupy. The unworthy was just petty and pitiful. In opposition, in times of mediocrity, even evil loses quality.
The 13-year old kids who -seemingly- will disembowel Ryuji Tsukazaki are post-romantic but have a cause to fight. Their reasons fit well in a logical scheme and one reflects -why not?- whether, in wasted times, the most atrocious infants are actually the most able.
Listen to their discourse: "There is no such thing as a good father because the role itself is bad (...). They stand in the way of our progress while they try to burden us with their inferiority complexes, and their unrealized aspirations, and their resentments, and their ideals, and the weaknesses they've never told anyone about, and their sins, and their sweeter-than-honey dreams, and the maxims they've never had the courage to live by (...). They're suspicious of anything creative, anxious to whittle the world down into something puny they can handle. A father is a reality-concealing machine, a machine for dishing up lies to kids, and that isn't even the worst of it: secretly, he believes that he represents reality. Fathers are the flies of this world. They hover around our heads waiting for a chance, and when they see something rotten they buzz in and root in it (...)".
The night when Fusako tells Noboru that Ryuji will stay and that things will change, she significantly underlined that Ryuji will start being the Father Noboru needs, that "everything I have done is for you", that you can "call him Father". Her speech, un-intently, brought everything to collapse. To seal the covenant of destruction, Ryuji's first words were: "Then I won't call you Noboru anymore. From now on, it's Son". I have to say that I was not expecting this declaration from a woman like Fusako, but rather something of the sort: "This is what I want, what I need. Would you accept it, my dear? I can't tell you how much this matters to me. Whatever happens you will always be my Son, the Son I had with the Man I loved so much". But, perhaps, it is just me and not the character; perhaps, those were different times and the psychology and the culture and all were also different. Nevertheless, the stunning conversion of Ryuji in Father and the decision to further judge Noboru as an infant, set the spark that the demoniac structure of the kids' world needed to blow. It was a non-return point. Whether Mishima forced it a little to make the story consistent or not is a matter of discussion. After all, there is always a pinch of irrationality in the most exquisite rational (and criminal) mind, and a group of teenagers is no exception.
The consecration of the murder on the eve is brilliant: "I'm sure you all know where our duty lies. When a gear slips out of place it's our job to force it back into position. If we don't, order will turn to chaos. We all know that the world is empty and that the important thing, the only thing, is to try to maintain order in that emptiness". The development of this analogy between the empty mansion in which the chief boy lives without parents around most of time and the senseless and empty world is well-suited. The boy follows: "We are guards, and more than that because we also have executive power to insure that order is maintained".
Furthermore, the plan of the execution is cold as cold is the iron anchor Noboru sees his heart to be. And here the diabolic reasoning of the boys touches ground and flows into a pool of reality so, so painfully. Mishima tells that the chief took from his briefcase an ocher law book and uttered: "I want all of you to listen carefully: 'Penal Code, Article Fourteen - Acts of juveniles less than fourteen years of age are not punishable by law". And he read it again, louder, and had the book pass around. And he said (his upper lip curled, I see it!):
"This law is the adults' way of expressing the high hopes they have for us. But it also represents all the dreams they've never been able to make come true (...). They've been careless enough to allow us here, and only here, a glimpse of blue sky and absolute freedom (...). This law they've written is a kind of nursery tale, a pretty deadly tale (...). And in a way, it's understandable. After all, up to now we have been nursery kids, adorable, defenseless, innocent kids. But three of us here will be fourteen next month -myself, number one, and you, number three. And you other three will be fourteen in March. Just think about it a minute. This is our last chance! (...)".
At this point, the kid exulted in a disturbing shout, but quite familiar throughout history: "We must have blood! Human blood!". It seems that in the altar of their God of Order-in-the-Nihilism, animal sacrifices are not sufficient. "If we don't get it [human blood] this empty world will go pale and shrivel up. We must drain the sailor's fresh lifeblood and transfuse it to the dying universe, the dying sky, the dying forests, and the drawn, dying land". And he finished with the classic: Now! The time is come! "In another month they'll have finished clearing the land around our dry dock and then the place will fill up with people. Besides, we're almost fourteen".
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
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