Yukio Mishima, a master of aesthetic literature

“Creating beautiful works and becoming beautiful myself
“I found that we held ourselves to the same ethical standards.”

From his debut work to his last masterpiece, Yukio Mishima personally selected and
The essence of Mishima's short stories, completed through precise translation over ten years.

☆The largest collection of short stories, including 22 translated for the first time in Korea!☆

Yukio Mishima, a master of Japanese aesthetic literature, has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature for many years and has garnered worldwide attention.
His works, which had been neglected in Korea due to his right-wing tendencies in his later years, are being re-examined in celebration of the 100th anniversary of his birth.
Although his major works, such as 『The Temple of the Golden Pavilion』, 『Confession of a Mask』, and the "Sea of ​​Abundance" series, were translated and introduced, he was a star of the literary world of his time who enjoyed popular popularity by demonstrating his writing skills in entertainment novels that focused on interesting plot developments.
In modern literature, the short story collection 『Mishima Yukio』, which condenses the diverse spectrum of this author who has freely crossed genres, is presented as the forty-first volume of the "Modern Literature World Literature Short Story Collection."


Yukio Mishima published a lot of short stories throughout his 20s and early to mid 30s, including "Forest in Full Bloom," which made his pen name known when he published it in a doujinshi magazine at the age of 16, and "Tobacco," which marked his official literary debut at the age of 21 upon the recommendation of Yasunari Kawabata, "Death in Midsummer," which induces immersion from the very beginning with a tragic incident that sweeps through the story, and "Patriotism," which caused shock and controversy by depicting a seppuku (self-mutilation).
He left behind a whopping 144 short stories before his death at the age of 45 in 1970. This collection of short stories is the answer for readers who are wondering which of his numerous works to read first.


This book, which contains a total of 24 short stories in two volumes of charity short story collections published in 1968 and 1970, is a compilation of works that Yukio Mishima himself considered to be of a high level of completion. At the end of the book, there is a commentary written by Mishima himself at the time of publication, allowing readers to check out his self-evaluation of the works and the starting points of his creation.
As the majority of the works are being introduced to Korea for the first time, translator Yang Yun-ok, a master of Japanese literature translation, has spent a long time restoring the precise and beautiful style.

He is sometimes accepted as an adult, and sometimes as a child.
Is it because he lacks something certain?
No, I think there is something definite about boyhood that is hard to find in any other period, and he is desperate to give it a name.
That's growth.
He finally gives it a name.
Success reassures him and boosts his self-esteem.
But when a name is given, in an instant that certain something changes into something different from what it would have been if it had not been given a name.
Moreover, he doesn't even realize that it is so.
That is, he became an adult.
- Childhood is a tightly sealed box that is treasured.
The boy tries to open it somehow.
The lid is open.
There is nothing inside.
There he realizes.
'This is how a treasure chest is always empty.' From that moment on, he begins to value the theorem he had established more.
In other words, he has 'become an adult'.
But was the box really empty?
As soon as I opened the lid, I wondered if something important, invisible, had escaped.

--- From "Cigarettes"

As I was waiting at S Station, a bright apricot-colored umbrella approached me from the suburban tram platform.
Even though the two of them were sharing an umbrella (they didn't seem to notice me standing on the side of the road yet), the rain wasn't that heavy, but they were so close together that our cheeks were almost touching.
It was impossible to tell whose hair it was.
Far from being jealous, the sight captivated me to the point where I forgot that I was waiting for my first secret meeting with Michiko.
It was something close to the impression of pure pleasure.
Even though they were so close together, it seemed like one umbrella was too much. As they got closer, Haruko's hands, holding the agate-colored umbrella handle, became white and wet with rainwater, giving off a cold, alluring charm.
The sight of two beautiful women's faces, bathed in the light of the bright apricot-colored cloth beneath the umbrella, shuffling about as if they were about to burst out, gave the impression of a bountiful basket of fruit.

--- From "Haruko"

Mutsuo, the troublemaker, burst into tears.
Mutsuo was an only child, just over a year old, who had been abandoned by his mistress as if she had forgotten something at this age.
'Mankine' is a newly opened store.
As a result of the couple moving into the store with an employee without a separate residence, there was no way to deal with the baby's crying on a busy day like today.
The landlady called Miyo, who was watching the child, and told her to play outside until it got dark.
He also gave me some pocket money.
Miyo is sixteen years old.
He was so small that he looked like he was only about fourteen years old.
She was born in Choshi and adopted by her uncle and his wife in Tokyo. However, when her uncle passed away, the family was having a hard time financially, so she went to work as a childminder for 'Mankine'.
(…) Miyo felt the baby getting heavier every day.
The belt on my shoulder is getting tighter day by day.
It was terrifying to think how much heavier it would become in the future.
He was a cute baby when you looked at him while he was on your lap, but he was a completely different being when you carried him on your back.
Instead of being able to forget about the child on her back and think about something else, Miyo felt like the 'weight' of whatever she thought about was mixing into her thoughts.
--- From "Rikyu's Pine Tree"

The three children were tired of building sand castles.
I started running, erasing the traces on the sand with my feet.
Seeing that, Yasue woke up from the comfortable world he had been in.
I jumped up from my seat and ran after the children.
But the children did not do anything dangerous.
I was afraid of the roar of the waves.
Where the waves crashed and surged back, shallow, gentle eddies always swirled in the opposite direction.
Kiyoo and Keiko stood still, their eyes sparkling with the fun of holding hands and standing in water that reached their chests, resisting the force of the water flowing in and out around them, and the force of the sand flowing out around the soles of their feet.
“Look at this, it looks like someone is pulling it.”
That's what the little brother said.
Yasue approached him and advised him not to go any deeper.
He pointed to Katsuo, who was left alone at the water's edge, and told him not to leave his younger brother behind and to come out and play with him.
Kiyoo and Keiko didn't listen.
We held hands and smiled at each other, feeling some secret pleasure underwater as the sand flowed away, leaving behind the soles of our feet.
Yasue was really afraid of the sun.
She looked at her shoulders and saw her breasts exposed above her swimsuit.
That white skin reminded me of the snow in my hometown.
I gently touched the chest of my swimsuit with my fingertips and smiled at the warmth.
Yasue saw that her nails were a little long and had black sand on them, so she thought that she would have to cut them when she got back today.
There was no sign of Kiyoo and Keiko.
I thought he had already left.

When I looked back towards the land, I saw Katsuo standing alone.
Katsuo was pointing this way and his face was distorted with a strange expression.

Yasue's heart suddenly started pounding.
I saw the water in the basin.
The water began to recede again, and a small, grayish-white body was seen floating in the foam about two meters ahead.
Kiyoo's tiny navy blue pants caught my eye.

Yasue's heart pounded even harder.
He ran towards them without saying a word, with an expression like that of a pursuer.
Then, unexpectedly, a wave came closer without breaking and blocked her path, collapsing before her eyes.
And then he hit her chest straight in the face.
Yasue fell into the waves.

--- From "Death in Midsummer"

Jukichi, Jataro, Mosuke, Satsuo, and Nogoro are exceptionally cheerful students.
All five of them are tall, large, with very rough voices, and are great lazy bums who have never attended school.
All five of them were members of the rowing club, and the atmosphere during the training camp carried over to their daily lives.
Find a regular family boarding house with a 20-tatami room, and live together by sharing the cost of that room.
This room in the boarding house is said to have been built as an extension to her deceased husband, who was worried that a regular room would not fit him as he had grown over time due to elephantiasis.
The five students competitively slept in in the mornings and spent their days and nights in discipline, sleeping in their bedding.

--- From "Egg"

Sanogawa Mangiku is a rare onnagata actor these days.
In other words, he is a person who cannot do both tachiyaku and tachiyaku skillfully.
It's bright but gloomy, and the various acting lines are extremely delicate.
She is a person who never expresses strength, authority, patience, courage, wisdom, or strong resistance without passing through the single gateway of feminine expression.
It is a talent that knows how to filter all human emotions into feminine expressions.
That's what a real onnagata is, but it's really hard to find such actors these days.
That is the tone of a special, delicate and ingenious instrument, not something that can be obtained by putting a mute on an ordinary instrument.
It's something that can't be achieved by just blindly imitating women.

--- From "Onnagata"

“I just received my guard shift order and was allowed to go home tonight.
Tomorrow morning, I'll definitely be going out to subdue those guys.
“I can’t possibly do something like that, Reiko.”
Reiko sat up straight and lowered her gaze.
I knew it beforehand, but my husband had already mentioned one thing: death.
The lieutenant's mind was already made up.
Every word supports death, and language reveals its unwavering power to make that dark and solid argument.
The lieutenant spoke as if he was thinking about it, but there was no hesitation in it.
But in the silence between them, there was a refreshing coolness like the water of a valley flowing from melting snow.
After two long days of agony, the lieutenant finally felt peace when he saw his beautiful wife's face at home.
Because I knew that my wife had guessed my intentions without me having to say anything.
“I have something to tell you.” The lieutenant opened his clear, firm eyes wide despite repeated sleeplessness and looked straight into his wife’s eyes for the first time.
“I decided to commit seppuku tonight.”
There was no sign of hesitation in Reiko's eyes.
Those round eyes revealed a liveliness like the sound of a strong bell.
And he said this.
“I was prepared for it.
“I want to be with you too.”
The lieutenant felt overwhelmed by the power of those eyes.
The words came out so smoothly as if it were a joke, and I was bewildered at how such a serious permission could be expressed so lightly.
“Okay, let’s do it together.
I just want you to watch me commit seppuku.
“You understand?”
After speaking, a sudden sense of liberation welled up in both of their hearts.
Reiko's heart was touched by her husband's great trust.
As a lieutenant, no matter what happened, he could not fail to die.
To do that, you need someone to watch over you.
The first trust was that he had chosen his wife there.
The second, even greater trust was that, although they had promised to die together, he did not let his wife die first, but left her death to a future time when he could no longer confirm it himself.
If the lieutenant had been a suspicious husband, he would have chosen to kill his wife first, as was the common practice in double suicide.
--- From "Patriotism"

Following Hyminal's instructions, the three began drinking together.
Hyminal took a can of beer and a Coca-Cola out of a paper bag on the desk and placed them on the floor.
He and Kiko drank beer and Peter drank Coca-Cola.
They quickly got drunk, and even Peter got drunk on a can of Coke.
If I thought about getting drunk, I could get drunk right away.
What would it be like for a paratrooper to suddenly step into an empty space?
Like it or not, that's how they've lived.
“Let’s play this game.
You designate me as something.
Then I will immediately become the thing you named.
Then I'll name the object again."
Hyminal spoke in a tone that had become even more sluggish as he became drunk.
Peter, with his natural quick wit, pointed his manicured fingers at him and said:
"refrigerator!"
“Okay, ham!”
Hyminal pointed to Kiko.
“Peter is… a mixer.”
- Hyminal sat down with his legs crossed and made a gesture of opening the door in front of his chest.
The refrigerator door opened, and a sudden blast of cold air blew out, revealing an empty rib shelf as a frozen light bulb flickered on Hyminal's chest.
Kiko became a salty ham.
She became a peach-colored flesh, more naked than naked, and flexibly crawled from Hyminal's lap to his chest, clinging to him.
"widely!"
Hyminal closed the door between his two arms.
Peter was trying to create a beautiful and fantastically colored juice by putting various fruits and vegetables in his head, shaking his whole body and spinning it several times.
“Wouldn’t it be good to add eggs too? They’re nutritious.”
He deftly cracked an invisible egg over his head.
one.
Another one.

- The three of them laughed and shook each other's shoulders.
But the echo of the wall, so prominent, stopped the laughter in its tracks.

--- From "The Moon"

I feel like I've already become estranged from the literary genre of short stories, to the point where I'm publishing a charity collection of short stories in paperback format.
However, this does not mean that the production of short stories has begun to be regulated, as if shortening the working hours of a silk factory, in accordance with the modern journalism trend called the decline of short stories.
Naturally, I became more and more interested in producing short films.
And I think that the joys and sorrows I poured into poetry and short stories during my childhood have, as the years have passed, flowed into plays for the former and novels for the latter.
In any case, it is evidence that I have pushed myself toward more structured, more versatile, and more patient work, and it also shows that I need the stimulation and tension of a larger project.
I think this has to do with my gradual transition from an aphoristic style to a more systematic way of thinking.
When describing an idea in a work, I began to prefer a slow and deliberate way of making it persuasive, and I avoided using harsh language.
It would be nice to hear that it is a mature thought, but it corresponds to the fact that the hasty but quick-witted associations have withered with age.
In other words, the equipment was changed from light cavalry to heavy cavalry.
Therefore, the works included in this book are from my days as a light cavalryman.
Although this is said in general terms, there are works that are purely light cavalry in themselves, while there are also works that hide the transition to heavy cavalry deeply within and were written solely for the purpose of training.

--- From "Author's Commentary 1"