The Saga of Dazai Osamu: A Critical Study with Translations

by Phyllis I. Lyons (Author, Translator), Osamu Dazai

In Japan, Dazai Osamu (1909-1948) is one of the most famous of all modern writers, known not only for his writings but for his tumultuous life, which included expulsion from a wealthy family, complicated involvements with many women, and several suicide attempts, the last of which was successful. Dazai succeeded in transforming the actual events of his life into deceptively simple and emotionally intense stories, and he was somehow able to make his own pain and confusion intimate to the experience of his readers. The discussion of Dazai is in two parts. Part I examines Dazai's life and some of the psychological problems that persistently haunted him. Part II studies his many autobiographical stories and novels, which are seen as belonging to one long, continuing narrative. The book concludes with translations of five of Dazai's most moving and emotionally expressive short stories, each a significant view of Dazai at a different point in his life, and a nonfiction novel, Tsugaru, about Dazai's return as an adult to his childhood home. These translations won the 1983 Friendship Fund Japanese Literary Translation Award, administered by the Japan Society for the Japan-United States Friendship Commission. By tracing the course of Dazai's tortured life and analyzing the distinctive qualities of his autobiographical writings, this study offers the Western reader a unique insight into Japanese society and culture.<

Genres: Nonfiction, Japanese Literature, Japan, Biography

410 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1985

Reviews

[Diana Trăncău · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Beauty is not something that can be felt when it is pointed out; it is something you discover.”

“Homesickness is the disease of those who have no home.”

“Art cannot command; the moment it acquires power to command, it dies.”

“I was a flower petal about to fall. I trembled and quivered at the slightest breeze; at the slightest insult, I writhed about and considered dying.”

“Whenever I felt lonely like that, I would go out to a bookstore. Now too I ran to one nearby. Just the sight of the spines of those masses of books lined up there banished my melancholy in an amazing way.”

[Tobi ﾄﾋﾞ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dazai Osamu’s stories often serve as reflections of his internal struggle with identity, belonging, and alienation. Furusato, which traditionally evokes nostalgia and a sense of stability, becomes an emotionally fraught symbol in his works. Furusato represents not only an idealised past but also a painful confrontation with failure and the impossibility of returning to an imagined origin. Usually I try to examine these works through psychoanalysis, postmodernism, and nihilism to understand Dazai’s portrayal of the fragmented self, which seems to be a theme that resonates with the human experience of alienation in a rapidly changing modern world.

In Dazai’s works, furusato emerges as both a place of belonging and an emotional trap. Dazai reflects on his inability to reconnect with his hometown, stating: “No feeling of pride in my homeland arose then. All I felt was terrible, constricting pain.” His wife finds the Tsugaru plain beautiful, but Dazai cannot share her feelings. He feels disconnected and unable to take pride in his homeland, contrasting it with the happiness he felt during his previous visit. The very place that should bring comfort becomes a source of estrangement, with Dazai’s childhood memories coloured by distance and isolation. Instead of offering solace, furusato is an ambiguous symbol that evokes both a longing for connection and the realisation of its unattainability.

This portrayal of furusato can be interpreted as reflecting a postmodern crisis of identity, where the idealised concept of 'home' becomes a source of emotional conflict rather than comfort. For Dazai, furusato seems to be not simply a place of nostalgia or warmth—it becomes a site of unresolved tensions and expectations. The protagonist’s struggles to reconcile his emotional debts illustrate the impossibility of finding a true sense of belonging. He laments, “I realise that there's probably no possible way, from now until the day I die, for me to pay back the great debts of obligation I owe.” The narrator feels an overwhelming emotional debt to Mr. Nakabata, who supported him during key moments in his life, yet he believes he will never be able to repay this debt, which contributes to his sense of inadequacy and alienation. The narrator’s discomfort when Mr. Nakabata calls out to him in public, and his subsequent urge to flee, reflects his difficulty in embracing relationships and feeling a sense of belonging, even with those who care for him. This sense of indebtedness, both financial and emotional, mirrors the modern experience of estrangement, where individuals, under the pressures of capitalist expectations, find it difficult to reconnect with their past or identity—or, essentially, reality.

The furusato motif ties into Dazai’s exploration of a fragmented, unstable identity. His characters are caught between multiple roles imposed by family and society, embodying the view that identity is constructed through external pressures rather than originating from an inherent self. His more famous works illustrate this crisis, portraying a sense of self that is constantly shifting, shaped by others' expectations.

Dazai recalls being raised primarily by his aunt rather than his parents, noting, “I couldn't get close to my mother... I was nursed by a wet nurse and brought up in my aunt's arms, so I didn't really know my mother until I was in second or third grade.” This detachment from his parents indicates an upbringing lacking stability and consistent parental attachment, leaving him emotionally isolated and contributing to a fragmented sense of identity. The absence of a maternal bond created insecurity, fueling Dazai’s lifelong struggle with his own identity. This struggle manifested in his constant need to portray himself as “a wonderfully good child,” highlighting his inability to find an authentic identity. Instead, he shaped his behaviour based on external validation rather than genuine self-awareness. His identity was thus continuously mediated by others’ perceptions, akin to seeing oneself only through a mirror held by those around you. For Dazai, his sense of self was shaped both by his family's perception and his fragmented memories, preventing him from forming a stable or cohesive identity.

This misrecognition of self is evident as Dazai’s character struggles to reconcile who he is with who his family expects him to be. His return home is not a journey toward belonging but a confrontation with his failures, an acknowledgment of the disjunction between the idealised self his family envisions and the broken self he feels he has become. The furusato is not a nurturing space but a mirror that reflects his fractured sense of identity.

A psychoanalytic lens can offer insight into Dazai’s alienation and avoidance of emotional confrontation. Dazai describes a vivid dream in which his aunt leaves him, blocking the gate as she whispers fiercely, “I hate you!” He recalls desperately pressing his cheek to her breast, sobbing and pleading, “No, don’t, please don’t!” This dream reflects his deep-seated fear of abandonment, a fear rooted in his childhood, where his aunt was his primary caregiver in the absence of his parents. The imagery of being physically close yet emotionally rejected suggests an unfulfilled need for attachment, leaving Dazai with a sense of rejection that surfaces in such painful dreams. This emotional void contributes to the ongoing feelings of isolation and detachment that Dazai struggles with throughout his life.

Dazai's avoidance of emotional intimacy also becomes evident as his growing distance (this time, though, perhaps even more physically) from his family deepens the emotional gap that always existed. This emotional repression contributes to his sense of chronic depression and mistrust in others, as repressed emotions resurface destructively. By keeping himself at a distance from others, Dazai attempts to shield himself from the pain of potential rejection or failure, yet this very avoidance only reinforces his isolation, trapping him in a cycle of alienation and despair. His struggles to form or maintain meaningful connections ultimately reflect an avoidant response to a life marked by emotional instability and fragmented relationships.

The concept of furusato is not only a reflection of Dazai’s personal nostalgia but also serves as a critique of the impact of modern capitalism on traditional family structures. Dazai’s disintegration of his relationship with his family mirrors the broader societal disintegration caused by modernisation. As Japan modernised, traditional family roles began to shift, and the pressures of capitalist success overshadowed the emotional bonds that once defined familial relationships. Traditional family hierarchies in Japan, particularly within the ie system, emphasised collective responsibility and clearly defined roles for each family member. In Dazai’s family, which was large, wealthy, and held social prominence, these expectations were particularly pronounced. As the youngest son, Dazai was not directly burdened with the responsibility of becoming the family head, but he still felt the immense pressure to uphold the family’s reputation and adhere to the rigid expectations of success set by his lineage. His father, a prominent politician and landowner, embodied the ie values of authority and duty, which often left little room for nurturing close emotional bonds.

Even in rural, affluent families like Dazai’s, the effects of modernisation and capitalist pressures began to change these traditional dynamics. The emphasis on economic success and individual ambition, largely influenced by Japan's rapid modernisation and Westernisation, eroded the collective values of the ie. The pursuit of wealth and status increasingly overshadowed the emotional ties and familial solidarity that were once central to Japanese family life. For Dazai, the disconnection he felt was both personal and symbolic of broader societal changes—his family’s focus on maintaining wealth and status mirrored the shift in Japanese society as a whole, where the pressures of capitalist success began to displace the emotional foundations of traditional family structures.

The disconnect between the demands of his family’s social position and his own feelings of inadequacy deepened his sense of alienation, highlighting the disintegration of emotional bonds amid the pressures of modernisation. The burden of meeting these expectations contributes to Dazai’s sense of worthlessness, and his inability to conform becomes a broader metaphor for societal pressures. His longing for furusato is both a personal and collective experience—a manifestation of the human desire for belonging in a world that prioritises material achievements over emotional connections.

Dazai’s narrative blurs the lines between memory and fabrication, reflecting his fractured psyche and depressive mindset. He recalls moments from his childhood, such as the time spent with his aunt and siblings, but the memories are often marked by loneliness and fear rather than warmth. Dazai writes: “I watched it from the shoulders of some man I didn’t know... I started to grow more and more lonely and frightened, and then I started crying for my aunt.” The selective nature of his memories, where moments of failure and fear are vividly retained, is symptomatic of his depression. His recollections are coloured by regret and self-loathing, contributing to his inability to find stability or hope in the present.

Dazai’s struggle is not just geographical but existential; returning home forces him to confront the gap between the person his family expects him to be and the person he feels he has become. Furusato becomes a symbol of unattainable comfort, and a place that represents not belonging, but alienation. This inability to reconcile with furusato reflects a postmodern crisis of belonging and identity, where the past is irretrievably lost and the self remains fragmented.

Ultimately, Dazai’s works present a deep reflection on the struggle for identity in a world that offers little stability. His characters’ ongoing sense of alienation, shaped by familial neglect, societal expectations, and modern disintegration, reveals the impossibility of ever truly returning home (emotionally or otherwise). Furusato, once a source of life and connection, becomes a cold reminder of what cannot be reclaimed, underscoring the fragmented, socially constructed, and ultimately elusive nature of identity itself.

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Dazai Osamu’s ability to blur the lines between autobiography and fiction is something that continues to fascinate me. It’s often difficult to distinguish between Dazai’s personal experiences and the fictional worlds he creates. His narratives, frequently populated by unnamed characters, seem to reflect the same uncertainty he might have felt about his own identity. The protagonist's hyper self-consciousness in "Recollections," constantly swinging between narcissism and inferiority, makes Dazai's own sense of self feel fluid and elusive. This leaves me wondering if he, too, struggled to differentiate between his true self and the personas he created in his writing. Whether this ambiguity was a conscious decision or something that naturally emerged from his internal struggles is hard to say, but as readers, we are drawn into the same blurred boundary between reality and imagination.

What stands out about Dazai’s life is how his struggles with addiction, chronic depression, and dissociation seem to have made him feel disconnected from himself. It's almost as if, at times, Dazai saw himself as a passive observer of his own life, like a character in a story he couldn't fully control. His battles with addiction to painkillers and alcohol might have intensified this feeling, making him more like a spectator than an active participant. This chronic sense of dissociation could explain why his narratives feel so fragmented, as if, even he couldn't always grasp the reality of his own experiences. Perhaps Dazai saw himself both as the observer and the observed, unable to fully understand who he was. This internal conflict might be why his narratives feel so fragmented, and why the reader shares in that sense of disorientation.

Dazai’s idealization of Akutagawa Ryūnosuke seems to have deeply influenced his sense of identity, and this admiration likely went beyond mere respect. It feels as though Dazai was so captivated by Akutagawa that he began to absorb aspects of his persona into his own. I've been thinking about how strongly identifying with a role model can blur the lines between admiration and losing a sense of one's own identity. In Dazai’s case, this may have contributed to a weakening of his sense of self, as he tried to emulate Akutagawa’s life and literary style. It seems like his intense admiration for Akutagawa created an unattainable ideal for Dazai, deepening his feelings of inadequacy and alienation.

This dynamic is particularly evident in his earlier works, where Dazai's writing carries a strong influence from Akutagawa. The themes of self-deprecation and alienation, along with his confessional tone, suggest a deep connection to Akutagawa's literary style. This intense admiration might have created an unattainable ideal for Dazai—a version of himself that he could never fully realize. The gap between who he was and who he aspired to be may have only deepened his feelings of inadequacy and alienation, especially in his early career, where his writing reflects the struggle to live up to this impossible standard.

Another fascinating aspect of Dazai's life is his discomfort and guilt about his upper-class background. Toward the end of his life, he seemed to reject not only his present self but also his past, including the privileges he once had but perhaps didn't fully appreciate at the time. This ambivalence toward his family and his social status is reflected in his works. His rejection of his past adds another layer to his fragmented identity, as he distances himself from the person he used to be.

Moreover, Dazai's complex relationship with nostalgia further complicates his sense of self. His works often portray nostalgia not as a comforting retreat into the past but as a source of pain and disillusionment. Returning to his furusato, or hometown, in stories like "Hometown" and "Going Home," Dazai's characters confront the stark reality that the past they longed for no longer exists—or perhaps never did. The idealized memories clash with the present, intensifying feelings of alienation.

This dissonance reflects the idea that nostalgia, while it might offer a temporary escape from the difficulties of the present, can also prevent individuals from fully engaging with their current lives or addressing the issues they face. In Dazai's case, his longing for an unattainable past seems to trap him in a cycle of disappointment and embarrassment, deepening his internal turmoil. Even when his characters attempt to reconnect with their roots, they often find that those connections have eroded over time, leaving them feeling more isolated than before.

Reading Dazai's works feels akin to experiencing his internal struggles firsthand. The uncertainty and ambiguity in his narratives reflect his own confusion about his identity. As readers, we navigate the same blurred lines between reality and fiction, which might mirror how Dazai perceived his own life. It's almost as if he saw himself as a character in his stories—sometimes in control, other times acting without his conscious permission.