Review of Early Light by Osamu Dazai

Three stories from the best era of Japanese fiction in my opinion.

These three longer stories, “Early Light,” “One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji,” and “Villon’s Wife” are a good introduction to Dazai. Two of them are contained in the new volume entitled “Self-Portraits.” His stories are often called autobiographical. Most of his first person protagonists are alcoholic writers. This kind of character is a tired cliche in English literature, but in Japanese literature, set against the poverty of mid-war Japan air raids, it still comes off today as a viable lens through which to observe human nature. When compared to authors like Soseki, Tanizaki, and Akutagawa, or Dazai’s contemporaries Ibuse and Haruo Sato, Dazai’s work possesses a rebellious uncaring honesty, and more straightforward descriptions. He lacks the political slant or aesthetic refinement of Mishima, but his writing is closest to Naoya Shiga and Mori Ogai in its bland evocation of human indignities. They are extremely self-centered. It is as if the author is saying it is too much effort to feed oneself, to act like a decent human being, and so he would rather continue acting like an inconsiderate slob until the day he dies.
His stories have always been immersive and grounded, memorable and affecting.
In “Early Light,” the protagonist must navigate his problems during a bombing. In all three stories he comes off as a burden on other people, a grown man who cannot survive in society without other people apologizing for his behavior at every turn. The heartbreaking component is that these characters weave their flaws into literature and communicate the pain of living and the unrealistic expectations of society without changing their own ways, as actors and authors of their own tragedies. One can only imagine the strict conduct of Japanese men at this time, and how ashamed he must have felt being unfit for the honors of war or the demands of polite society, thereby consigning himself to the lowest existence, drinking away the pennies of his subsistence.
Dazai also seems to have lived as if each day were his last, and was called a decadent, irresponsible deviant by the likes of Kawabata. His novels No Longer Human and Setting Sun possess unmistakeable power. His short stories are condensed versions of the scenarios expounded in the novels. Stories of profligate wastoids who nonetheless believe they have something to offer the world.
In “One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji,” the protagonist becomes obsessed with the iconic mountain, as if he were insulted by its fame and his own deplorable reputation. The mountain can do no wrong. It is constantly praised while he must suffer its continued success in his abject misery. Dazai has the talent to take inelegant people and construct ephemeral, lovely stories through the precision of his prose.
“In Villon’s Wife,” the female main character must deal with her Dazai-like husband as he ruins their life, adding stealing to his list of sins.
Dazai’s work has timeless value and appeal, essential to any reader wearied of the trite and polite novels of the aristocracy.