--- product_id: 4489801 title: "Confessions of a Mask" price: "€ 29.01" currency: EUR in_stock: true reviews_count: 8 url: https://www.desertcart.pt/products/4489801-confessions-of-a-mask store_origin: PT region: Portugal --- # Confessions of a Mask **Price:** € 29.01 **Availability:** ✅ In Stock ## Quick Answers - **What is this?** Confessions of a Mask - **How much does it cost?** € 29.01 with free shipping - **Is it available?** Yes, in stock and ready to ship - **Where can I buy it?** [www.desertcart.pt](https://www.desertcart.pt/products/4489801-confessions-of-a-mask) ## Best For - Customers looking for quality international products ## Why This Product - Free international shipping included - Worldwide delivery with tracking - 15-day hassle-free returns ## Description desertcart.com: Confessions of a Mask: 9780811201186: Yukio Mishima, Meredith Weatherby: Books Review: Exactly what I wanted - Good print, no damage, great book. Review: Blindingly brilliant - I'd put off my acquaintance with Yukio Mishima until assaying his tetrology, The Sea of Fertility in its first volume, Spring Snow, as translated into English by Michael Gallagher, who also translated the 2nd part of the tetrology, Runaway Horses. Hooked as I instantly was, I thought to proceed chronolgoically through Mishima's work. The earliest to arrive was Forbidden Colours as translated by Alfred H. Marks. I was astonished at the rawness of the prose compared to the opulence-in-verite I found in Spring Snow. I thought perhaps there'd been an evolution of style, perhaps beginning in a brash way and growing into a mature, more redolent and rapturous romance. Having just finished reading Meredith Weatherby's rendering into English of Yukio Mishima's first novel, Confessions of a Mask, I realize Marks was just a miserable translator. Where Forbidden Colours displayed, in Mark's translation, a more overt misogyny, a more cynically abrupt, pre-punk Spartan asceticism, Confessions of a Mask is infused with the most compelling invocations of young love in literature since Vladimir Nabokov's Ada, similarly narrated from an Empyrean seat of reason and resolution, of serenity and sagacity, insight. Even as our narrator internally confesses his 'inversion', his exclusively homoerotic and sometimes floridly sado-masochistic inner fantasy life, he is nonetheless completely open to revelatory intimacy of a non-gender-specific inception: "The pain I was feeling was crystal clear, but of such a unique and incomprehensible nature that I could not have explained it even if I had tried....I could only say that it was a pain like that of a person who waits one bright midday for the roar of the noon-gun and, when the time for the gun's sounding has passed in silence, tries to discover the waiting emptiness somewhere in the blue sky. His is the rending impatience of waiting for a longed-for thing that is overdue, the horrible doubt that it may never come after all." And, even though our introspective and utterly disclosive narrator shares with us his five-times-daily indulgence in his 'bad habit', still, the most disarmingly honest ejaculation is this one: "Sonoko lifted her grave eyes as though unconsciously asking someone for help. In the pupils of her eyes I discovered a beauty I had never seen before. They were deep, unblinking, fatalistic pupils, like fountains constantly singing with an outpouring of emotions. I was at a loss for words, as was always the case with she turned those eyes on me. Suddenly I reached to the ashtray across the table and ground out my half-smoked cigarette. As I did so the slender vase in the center of the table upset, soaking the table with water." Such an indelible, gender-neutral moment. Thirst For Love is next in the Mishima ouevre, but it's translated by the hapless Alfred H. Marks. I'm meanwhile being geek-shamed by famous writers and readers to continue on the Three-Body Problem trilogy. I say, life is too short. I'm sure Cixin Liu will ultimately be worth my time, but for now, my Mishima binge, especially as Meredith Weatherby's translation of The Sound Of Waves seems to be next in the Mishima queue, feels to me of more essential and immediate moment. Such moments of breathtaking insight and beauty as this premiere novel are rare. ## Technical Specifications | Specification | Value | |---------------|-------| | Best Sellers Rank | #117,083 in Books ( See Top 100 in Books ) #190 in LGBTQ+ Literary Fiction (Books) #1,181 in Coming of Age Fiction (Books) #6,652 in Literary Fiction (Books) | | Customer Reviews | 4.6 out of 5 stars 617 Reviews | ## Images ![Confessions of a Mask - Image 1](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/71j1JJG-KkL.jpg) ## Customer Reviews ### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Exactly what I wanted *by E***E on March 15, 2026* Good print, no damage, great book. ### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Blindingly brilliant *by C***Y on October 5, 2019* I'd put off my acquaintance with Yukio Mishima until assaying his tetrology, The Sea of Fertility in its first volume, Spring Snow, as translated into English by Michael Gallagher, who also translated the 2nd part of the tetrology, Runaway Horses. Hooked as I instantly was, I thought to proceed chronolgoically through Mishima's work. The earliest to arrive was Forbidden Colours as translated by Alfred H. Marks. I was astonished at the rawness of the prose compared to the opulence-in-verite I found in Spring Snow. I thought perhaps there'd been an evolution of style, perhaps beginning in a brash way and growing into a mature, more redolent and rapturous romance. Having just finished reading Meredith Weatherby's rendering into English of Yukio Mishima's first novel, Confessions of a Mask, I realize Marks was just a miserable translator. Where Forbidden Colours displayed, in Mark's translation, a more overt misogyny, a more cynically abrupt, pre-punk Spartan asceticism, Confessions of a Mask is infused with the most compelling invocations of young love in literature since Vladimir Nabokov's Ada, similarly narrated from an Empyrean seat of reason and resolution, of serenity and sagacity, insight. Even as our narrator internally confesses his 'inversion', his exclusively homoerotic and sometimes floridly sado-masochistic inner fantasy life, he is nonetheless completely open to revelatory intimacy of a non-gender-specific inception: "The pain I was feeling was crystal clear, but of such a unique and incomprehensible nature that I could not have explained it even if I had tried....I could only say that it was a pain like that of a person who waits one bright midday for the roar of the noon-gun and, when the time for the gun's sounding has passed in silence, tries to discover the waiting emptiness somewhere in the blue sky. His is the rending impatience of waiting for a longed-for thing that is overdue, the horrible doubt that it may never come after all." And, even though our introspective and utterly disclosive narrator shares with us his five-times-daily indulgence in his 'bad habit', still, the most disarmingly honest ejaculation is this one: "Sonoko lifted her grave eyes as though unconsciously asking someone for help. In the pupils of her eyes I discovered a beauty I had never seen before. They were deep, unblinking, fatalistic pupils, like fountains constantly singing with an outpouring of emotions. I was at a loss for words, as was always the case with she turned those eyes on me. Suddenly I reached to the ashtray across the table and ground out my half-smoked cigarette. As I did so the slender vase in the center of the table upset, soaking the table with water." Such an indelible, gender-neutral moment. Thirst For Love is next in the Mishima ouevre, but it's translated by the hapless Alfred H. Marks. I'm meanwhile being geek-shamed by famous writers and readers to continue on the Three-Body Problem trilogy. I say, life is too short. I'm sure Cixin Liu will ultimately be worth my time, but for now, my Mishima binge, especially as Meredith Weatherby's translation of The Sound Of Waves seems to be next in the Mishima queue, feels to me of more essential and immediate moment. Such moments of breathtaking insight and beauty as this premiere novel are rare. ### ⭐⭐⭐⭐ An important and mostly interesting historical novel, but all the self-examination can be trying *by H***S on January 20, 2020* In January 2020, the book discussion group at The LGBT Center in NYC had a thoughtful group discuss this book. Almost everyone liked it and commented about how well most of it is written although we were split on whether the long, strained "straight" chapter about his relationship with Sonoko was fascinating or boring. While the novel takes place in Japan, Mishima is awfully Westernized. (It's listed as a novel, not a memoir, but is clearly autobiographical.) He comes from a very wealthy and conservative family so he's thoroughly educated in European fairy tales. So much so that his first very explicit ejaculation occurs when he discovers a picture of Guido Reni's renaissance painting of St. Sebastian, which his father brought back from a trip to Italy. Mishima is full of romantic notions, including dying a glorious death during the current war. Most of us had not considered how Japan was bombed and suffered during WW II, which is a minor but re-occurring point in "Confessions...." But, of course, Mishima doesn't die a beautiful death (although he does eventually commit a spectacularly botched suicide). He is often strangely distant or detached, and builds a bubble around himself to protect himself from the war and the bombing of Tokyo, as well as from his burgeoning queerness. Mishima isn't damaged by the war or by his queer feelings but he struggles to incorporate both of them (along with his famous sado-masochism). He confronts an extreme feeling in his bubble, and then backs off, returning to his conservative feelings. He's indecisive, sometimes too full of self-examination, but makes choices. His cultural expectation of getting married guides much of the long chapter with Sunoko. I thought that the chapter was too long, too self-involved, but others appreciated the story and internal battle. Each of the four sections ends very strongly: (1) the drunken parade destroying his family's garden, (2) the cannibalistic fantasy (even if it is a juvenile fantasy) and recognition of "the mask" that he must use to separate himself from his peers, (3) the end of the war, and (4) finally the handsome men at the dance hall. This is a literary classic, the translation seems good, but every so often, sentences and thoughts don't make great sense. We have to wonder how much of this is the formal Japanese way of writing and description, or is just Mishima's way of thinking. It's definitely a nuclear-blast-bright snapshot of a single spectacular life in a very specific period. It uncovers a culture we don't know much about, reminds us of how others have had to live, and shows the distance we've traveled since 1948. Mishima's personal life story makes it more interesting but it's a historical document, fabulously well written at times, but mostly important as a historical novel. ## Frequently Bought Together - Confessions of a Mask - The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea - The Temple of the Golden Pavilion --- ## Why Shop on Desertcart? - 🛒 **Trusted by 1.3+ Million Shoppers** — Serving international shoppers since 2016 - 🌍 **Shop Globally** — Access 737+ million products across 21 categories - 💰 **No Hidden Fees** — All customs, duties, and taxes included in the price - 🔄 **15-Day Free Returns** — Hassle-free returns (30 days for PRO members) - 🔒 **Secure Payments** — Trusted payment options with buyer protection - ⭐ **TrustPilot Rated 4.5/5** — Based on 8,000+ happy customer reviews **Shop now:** [https://www.desertcart.pt/products/4489801-confessions-of-a-mask](https://www.desertcart.pt/products/4489801-confessions-of-a-mask) --- *Product available on Desertcart Portugal* *Store origin: PT* *Last updated: 2026-05-03*