N. Mailer, The American version of the great I-novel

Yukio Mishima

The American version of the great I-novel

Yukio Mishima

N. Mailer, translated by Eiichi Yamanishi, 'Advertisement for Myself'

This book is divided into five parts, from the early works in Part I to the 'Prologue to the Longer Novel' at the end of Part V. The book is a collection of essays, short stories, and poems arranged in chronological order, and each work is preceded by a careful preface entitled "Advertisement for .........", which in Japanese terms should be called a miscellany. However, because of the originality of the weaving and the organic structure of the whole, reading it through gives the impression of having read a long work with a strange structure, and it has the power to create a coherent human image of Norman Mailer, as if one were reading his autobiography.

In the United States, it would be impossible for this book to be evaluated as a novel, but in Japan, I am not so sure, as Akira Kambayashi and others have argued that if you put serialize a collection of short stories, you end up with a long novel with "I" at its centre. In the Japanese way, it may be possible to read this as a major I-novel. The detailed description of the professional tribulations of the writer (in the final draft of the fourth "Advertisement for Myself," 'The Deer Park'), for example, would be familiar in Japan with private novels, but would be a rare and frank expression in the USA. It would be impossible to write a short review of this book, so I will only give partial remarks and general impressions.

In the first volume of the Japanese translation, the sentence "The first advertisement for myself" is particularly interesting. The anger at conformism, "We're being killed by the motherfuckers," is the leitmotif of the entire novel, and I can predict that it will become the common anger of all serious novelists in Japan in a few years' time, as the phenomenon of mass socialisation progresses.

Of the several short stories in the first volume, the second part, 'The Man Who Studied Yoga,' is worth reading. This is an extremely dense short story reminiscent of Sartre's 'Nausea' and 'The Roads to Freedom,' and is a portrait of a man called Sam, who is a poor individual in the midst of American conformism. The author's shrewdness and precision in illuminating Sam's inner life from all angles proves that he is an exceptional novelist. The second volume is even more interesting, with the hipster's alarming report and assertion of the contemporary American psyche in the fourth section. 'The Guardian God of MacDougall Lane' is a lovely short story, and the second part, 'The Beat,' is a fascinating and entertaining account of the state of the modern American psyche.

The Beatniks are also on the verge of being born in Japan. 'Expensive Commentary in the Living Room for Evaluative Talents' is a collection of frankly "appreciative reviews of contemporary American writers," but it also includes the following vignette, which would not be out of place in Japan: "A good novelist is a man who has no testicles." He has gone from being a woman writer to a man who will never be forgiven. I am sorry to be full of long quotations, but in a novel called 'The Time of Her Time,' which shows an affinity with Henry Miller, a woman turns to "me" and says: "I'm not a woman, I'm a man."

"You are a phallic narcissist." There is no more scathing and accurate critique of the book as a whole than the line "There is an element of sensuality missing from you," and it is interesting that the author himself seems to know this.

The overall impression is that the book is overwhelmingly interesting. The book is a fascinating story of a spirited man, spitting in all directions, thinking about becoming a president or a great novelist. Such a story cannot be boring.

But when I step back and think about it, no book has ever made me feel more alone. The image of a man so over-enthusiastic about himself is undeniable to the reader, the huge, silent, overwhelming anomaly behind him, and Norman Mailer makes every effort to make himself a "manly man." Despite his efforts, it is very difficult for self-talk to make a man manly. I hold him in high esteem as a very perceptive, even sensitive, novelist, and as a critic of civilisation who has the courage to take the lead in taking on the ills of the age. The much-maligned 'The Deer Park' was also a fine piece of work. It is for this reason that I regret that 'Advertisement for Myself,' while displaying all sincerity, has the pedantic tone of street perfumery. It is, of course, a pose he deliberately adopted. The "American" is a powerful figure in American society.

As an aside, I once met Mailer in New York and couldn't help but smile when he described his machine-gun-like speech as "high-pitched, sharp, very rapid... just like Hitler" (Page 141 of Vol. II).

Later, he kindly took the trouble to send me a clipping from the 'Village Voice,' which contained a scathing review of my collection of plays.

American version of the great I-novel N. Mailer, translated by Eiichi Yamanishi, "Advertisement for Myself" (first published in Asahi Journal, 17 February 1963).

American version of the great I-novel N. Mailer, "Advertisement for Bokuhajiru" (First published in My Itinerant Era, Kodansha, April 1963).