The Last Myth: The Mystery of the Poet's Suicide

Author: Mao Jian
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-12-01
Features: "This may be the final rest stop where the poet composed his life's symphony, or perhaps the final ending he wrote for his life story, or maybe the period the poet drew for his myth of termination, or perhaps the final enigma left for the living, one that can never be deciphered." The opening of The Final Myth: The Mystery of the Poet's Suicide poses a question of the century: What is a poet? Amidst confusion and indulgence, how can one face the "eyes of the dying" without losing one's rational life coordinates? The exploration of death has always been perilous. We have remained silent, fearing that a prophecy might come true, fearing that the vast black wings might touch us unexpectedly, freezing our hearts into hard crystal in an instant. We all know death is inevitable. We close our eyes, but poets choose to keep them open, passing through that one-way door between light and darkness. The author of this book, Mao Jian, is brave. He removes his hand from his eyes and attempts to "touch life, interpret a different kind of existence." He begins by examining the views on death from Eastern and Western poets, then traces the themes of death and suicide in literary works, analyzes the social psychological and personal inner motivations behind poets' suicides, and ultimately tries to unravel the "not the answer to the mystery" from the unique perspective of mythic thinking. Falling cherry blossoms and the "Lost Garden," the cloth-clad figures of the "Wheat Field" and the hopeless laments, the "Black Snow" and the "Red Medusa"—the poets completed their final creations through self-sacrifice, which was both a final letting go and a final embrace, an eternal descent and a complete liberation. Life is a fairy tale, a metaphor. It's easy to find a hazy, dreamlike happiness in a drunken, oblivious state, but the best thing is still to "wake up," even if the light blinds your eyes the moment you open them. Still, Rilke said it best: "What victory is there? To persevere means everything!"