One would expect a book called The Poet Empress to prioritize female characters (or at least the eponymous empress!) and poetry, but this book takes the bold stance of not doing that. Wei isn't even the main character of her own story, she's the framing device for a hackneyed "two princes battling for the throne" story, and nearly every poem in the book (including the most important poem that the entire book is building up to!) is summarized rather than written out. Everything is over-explained like you might not get it, but it really is simple, like court intrigue for babies. Characters may lie, but only once, and from then on they always tell the truth. There's one of those "you're going to die so I'll tell you my entire plan" villain monologues. A very juvenile - and dare I say misogynistic - understanding of violence. I can't say much about how much the ending annoyed me without spoilers, but it involves a character we essentially know nothing about because it's the only way to trick the reader into thinking the ending is good.

I’m afraid this is going to be a “hear me out” type of review, which probably means it’s also going to be a long one. In all honesty, I came into this novel expecting not to like it. I was prepared for a depressing, dry, “man wallowing in self-pity” type of novel and, although all of those expectations were partially correct, this book still ended up surprising me in a lot of ways.

I will start with a bit of context, because I believe that cultural context is always important when interpreting works of literature. Our interpretation of experiences and the frameworks through which we see life are contingent on our cultural context, and I think coming into this novel with some understanding of the context Dazai wrote it in is essential to understand it.

This novel is part of the “I-novel” (私小説) literary genre, a genre that can only be understood through Japanese history. In the “I-novel”, authors use fiction to talk about their own personal experiences in a confessional tone. Despite events being fictionalised, “I-novels” focus on authors’ real feelings and struggles, while also serving as a way to highlight specific aspects of society that the they want to grapple with. This genre has its origin in turbulent times in Japanese history: the forced opening of Japan’s borders, cultural Westernisation, militarisation and imperialism… In other words, it was a response to shifts in Japanese identity and rapid societal change that were mostly outside of the control of ordinary Japanese people.

In No Longer Human, Japan is going through one of those periods of rapid change that requires a rearticulation of Japanese identity. World War II has been lost, Japan’s heinous war crimes and savage imperialism have have been forcibly ended, the country is in shambles and can’t resist further Westernisation and US influence. Our protagonist, Yozo, is living in a society still ruled by strict expectations of conformity and obedience, but that is fracturing under pressure. Yozo only has this cultural language to express himself in, a language that doesn’t match who he really is and can’t quite convey the complexities and the depths of his lived experience. But still, he decides to sit down and try anyway, to write about all the pain he has both experienced and witnessed (rigid social expectations, dehumanisation, war) in a society that sees responding to that pain as a form of weakness and even madness.

At this point in the review, I have to be honest. I 100% think that Yozo, as he describes himself and his experiences in this novel, is autistic, and so I can’t help but relate to him on that level. His deep feelings of isolation, his problems with socialising, with being human, with just existing in a society that is actively hostile towards him… These are all feelings that are very familiar to me, and so I couldn’t help but empathise with Yozo. It’s not possible to grow up autistic in a context that lacks understanding of your neurotype, punishes autistic behavior, and is full of complex unspoken social rules, and not be traumatised by it. And Yozo is not only autistic and heavily masking, but he is also dealing with the trauma of being repeatedly sexually assaulted as a child. So, he doesn’t get a great start in life. And, with all that baggage and no help in understanding himself and his experiences from any lens other than that of guilt and shame, it all goes downhill from there for him.

Unfortunately, for someone who can relate to Yozo’s state of mind as he enters adolescence and then adulthood, his “downfall” is not surprising, nor did I find the decisions he makes shocking. I thankfully have managed to not fall into substance addiction by a combination of sheer luck and genetics, but the same can not be said for other neurodivergent people in my family. It’s a tale as old as time: display autistic traits → be rejected or harmed by others because of it → start masking and live in fear of being “found out”→ lose yourself + gain a depression and anxiety disorder in the process (yay!)→ fall into addiction to cope with both your feelings and the pressures of socialising and forcing yourself to live a neurotypical life. This is the path Yozo finds himself in very early in his life; a path that, with no understanding of why he doesn’t feel human, of why there’s this deep well of loneliness and anxiety inside him that he can’t seem to fill, he can’t escape.

This is a novel about trauma, addiction, self-destruction, fear, suffering, and the monsters we can become when we can’t find a way to stop the pain. It’s the story of someone who can’t accept the cruelty and the greyness of a world run by greed, competition and power, but who also has no framework to articulate those feelings, nor anyone else who seems to see how bleak of a world we have created for ourselves. Yozo lives in a society that, once it deems someone as “insane” and in need of psychological assistance, it also deems that person as no longer human. I thought all of those feelings, and the struggle of it all, were expressed very directly in this novel, with no sugar-coating. Yozo becomes a horrible person in a horrible society that has failed him from day one, and despite his many blatant flaws, I couldn’t help but feel for him.

Let me end this review by saying that this book won’t be for everyone. There’s some awful content in here, being inside Yozo’s mind is no fun, and he does also embody the deeply misogynistic and ableist ideology of his time. I could read this novel in the context it was written in and, also because of my own personal experiences, deeply relate to Yozo and find this account of his (i.e. Dazai’s) life valuable and touching. However, this is a very uncomfortable read at times, and so if you find the misogyny or the content to be too much, it’s perfectly fine to put this novel down and go read something else. You don’t have to suffer through it. My positive review is not an endorsement but rather a reflection of my own personal experience of this novel.

There are more aspects of this novel that I would like to discuss, but given that this review is already way too long, I think I’m going to let the book sit and come back to the forum with more thoughts once I’ve processed it all. Now I shall go pick up some lighter, happier reads to remind myself that there are also good things in life... And if you made it this far, thank you for reading my review to the end!