Not sure how I liked this ending. I loved the parts about the sea, but I was expecting a different ending. Keep in mind he finished this book the day before he killed himself. In my opinion, that makes this book even harder to rate. ( )

I think about life, and I think about death...and then I think some more, and now I prefer neither over the other. Human existence is absurdly comedic, and painfully miniscule simultaneously. There is no such thing as a heroic death nowadays.... ( )

This wraps up the tetralogy, that much is clear. A fourth manifestation of Honda's object of fascination... we do get a good peek at the character of Toru, a chapter of the writings of his diary for example. The whole thing certainly has a kind of nihilistic flavor. Beauty and death. Everybody seems to treat each other as a pawn on their chess board. Maybe the whole thing is a tale of what can happen when Buddhism meets the modern world. It'd be interesting to construct a similar narrative, but about Westerners confronting Buddhism. Of course Buddhism has hardly imposed itself in the Western world. but still, in little pockets, it might be possible. Nova Scotia maybe. Perhaps Kerouac could be the counter narrative.

Yeah this whole thing is just dripping with sensuality of all dimensions. It's got so many competing layers of meaning, a tangled mat of seaweed washed up on the rocks and rotting. ( )

Oi! A complex fourth novel in the "Sea of Fertility" tetralogy has my head spinning. Mishima's prose is lyrical and mystical and evocative. The themes of reincarnation, cultural and personal decay, and coming to terms with death continue from the previous novels. The protagonist, Honda, believes he has found yet another reincarnation of his friend, Mitsugae. Then good and evil battle each other until the entire plot twists and throws all beliefs into question. Is the title a reference to each of us being angels who decay with time? Are all of us fallen angels? The reader I is left with all the existential, philosophical questions unanswered. Somehow it all works. ( )

"There is nothing in the least special about you. I guarantee you a long life. You have not been chosen by the gods, you will never be at one with your acts, you do not have in you the green light to flash like young lightning with the speed of the gods and destroy yourself. All you have is a certain premature senility. Your life will be suited for coupon-clipping. Nothing more."

--The Decay of the Angel by Yukio Mishima

Holy Krakatoa, that's some stiff medicine, Mishima. Or poison. While not my favorite book of the tetralogy, it is a worthy culmination. A slow rotting and realization over time. Maybe quick self-destruction should be left to those with passion and the acrid bite from years by acid at the bottom of the throat. ( )