Following on the previous post on Natsume Soseki, today sees the appearance of another pioneer of literature, Dazai Osamu, whose flame burned and fluttered and went out at an early age (from a supposed suicide). His writing was, like F. Scott Fitzgerald's, something that helped me get through my late teen years, but to read it nowadays (as I did when I reread "The Setting Sun" after twenty plus years), something has surely changed- not the writing but myself.
Nonetheless, I am still very much interested in the former material possessions of people I am interested in, as if they somehow are the key to the magic itself (though they usually are not)
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| the author. |
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| what he left behind. |
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| where he met his end and the poem for his wife. |
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