It's hard enough losing one's friends, now imagine constantly losing the same one and finding him or her again, except that you're much older, they're the same age as when you last saw them and they don't even recognize you. And you're going to lose them again, despite your best efforts. And chances are, it won't even matter. This is the stuff of high emotional tragedy, fraught with urgency and a sense of desperation.
Yet, it's not even the real story of what Mishima is trying to tell here.
Anyone who has read this far into the series knows the basic premise. Former judge and now lawyer Honda keeps running into his doomed friend Kiyoaki, who has an intensely beautiful soul that burns out all too quickly, snuffed out like a flower that shames the grey winter around it, too brilliant to survive before it calls attention to all that is numb around it. He met him again as Isao, a young man who believed in Japan so intensely that his plan to throw the government into chaos could only end in one way, even after Honda had expected him to be saved.
Now we're years later and Honda, now a successful lawyer, happens to hear about a princess in Thailand who claims to be a young Japanese boy (reminding him of the last words Isao said in his presence (although "Runaway Horses" comments that the words were too indistinct to hear clearly, I guess he pieced it together later)). He makes arrangements to meet the child who immediately seems to recognize him and wants to be taken back to Japan. And from there begins an obsession with her life, and maybe the lives beyond lives, that will consume the rest of the novel and years of barely noticed history.
This is the first time we don't really meet Ying Chan, the newest incarnation of his old friend. Unlike the times before where the other two people were in effect the main characters in how we got buried deep in their emotions and how the plot of the book was driven by their actions, we only see her through the lens of Honda and even then only scarcely. Instead she exists in his thoughts, his fantasies, his wishes and desires but her actual appearances in the book are scant, often separated by years and open to an interpretation beyond how Honda is interpreting them. In fact, once she is no longer a young child she barely remembers telling Honda how she used to be his friend and at that point a tug of war begins between his desire to understand his friend better and his desire for Ying Chan, and how one impacts the other. Mishima takes an aspect of the novel I wasn't a fan of at first (Ying Chan basically coming out and saying "Hey, I used to know you" seemed too obvious for what had previously been a mystical and mysterious thing, taking some of the magic out of it) and manages to work his way out of it by wrapping the proceedings in so many psychological layers that teasing them all out becomes a full time job.
Honda has distinguished himself by being more or less an interested bystander in the previous two books and now given the chance to take center stage, he does what we expect and becomes something interesting, a bystander as lead character. He becomes no more active than he was before, drifting through life and observing, all the while become increasingly interested in the thoughts that exist inside his own head, even while painfully realizing that he's far from the most fascinating person who ever lived. As we go through the years of his life, we find that he does well simply by showing up every day and a bit of luck but he's not extraordinary by any means, and its a burden that weighs down on him. He becomes rich and successful but begins to feel that its a bit empty because he hasn't really lived for the experience, he's plodding through and killing time, but what does that mean? Is life about being comfortable if the best you can hope for is not to feel any wide swings of emotions between birth and the time your heart finally stops? He drifts through life without leaving a mark and unlike most of us, he's both acutely and intensely aware of that, how hollow his life seems and how he'll dissipate while barely leaving a stain when he dies. And even as he's not okay with that, the question remains: does he really want to bother to change it? After all, being rich is kind of nice too.
What strikes me with this volume is how little it's tied to the history of Japan. The first two novels felt bound to their eras, an evocation as much as a character study, how times shape the person even as a person tries to shape the time. Here history has no effect on Honda, even as Japan undergoes one of the most significant periods of its history, a little thing called World War Two. The aggression before the war officially begins is barely noticed by Honda and even the years of the war pass by without barely a comment as to the impact or the emotional climate at the time. It hardly affects him and in doing drives us further into his mind, as we track his obsessions and his fascinations and the tiniest details of his mediocrity. As a study of someone who is so ordinary that its often painful, its brilliant.
But he does make you work for it. Good chunks of the novel are devoted to Honda studying the various aspects of Buddhism and these sections can go on for a while, often coming across as fairly dry, academic without being driven, like homework Mishima had to do in order to understand his own novel better, with the attitude of "I had to look this all up so now I'm going to make you read it." They often disrupt the flow of what until that is like the epitome of an ambient techno song, beatless while still being in constant motion. You wouldn't think that inserting more lack of plot into an essentially plotless novel would do that but you can't gain an appreciation for how delicate a balancing act he's doing and how well its working until the Buddhism sections arrive and nearly throw that balance off.
Even plotless it still has its concerns, mostly mortality and aging and there are a number of passages poetically depicting Honda realizing that he's getting older and that he's very much the opposite of a fine wine, despite his success in life. At times it feels like a concern of Mishima's as well and while you never want to read into an author through his work, his suicide after the next novel starts to hover this, the meditations on death and the long slow slide into it becoming almost oppressive. Faced with proof that reincarnation exists, Honda realizes that knowledge means nothing and is only the first step to the better question, what does it mean? Its not one he's capable of answering and even while he constructs elaborate attempts to see Ying Chan naked so he can spot the telltale three moles on her side, you wonder if his reasons for doing this aren't quite what they saw they are. A professional voyeur of sorts, it seems that he'd be willing to stand aside and dispassionately watch his own demise.
In the course, you may wonder what all the point of this is. And then, suddenly, you do. If you've ever read James Joyce's "The Dead", you may get the same feeling, where the story trots along pleasantly enough until they leave and the party and needle without warning hits "awesome". Mishima neatly pulls off the same trick, as a house party at the end kicks the poetic intensity up a notch and the glacial pace seems utterly too fast as all the layers are simultaneously stripped away and becomes smothering all at once. Its as if this is where the heart of the story ultimately lay and the rest was all preamble. It comes together and crashes while Honda stands there and watches it, then goes on with his life as usual. When the tragedy arrives, its almost offhand and detached, as if the story is clearing up old business. But maybe it doesn't matter, like Honda maybe we've already seen what all we need to see in a revelation that is both comforting and terrifying: we will perhaps always be less than we are, but we will be forever.