"Mine has been a life of much shame.
" This opening line sets the stage for the harrowing and
introspective journey through the life of Ōba Yōzō, as recounted in his three notebooks. From
his early years in a wealthy provincial family, Yōzō experiences a fundamental disconnect from
the world around him. He is unable to grasp the emotions and motivations of others, viewing
their interactions as a bewildering and often terrifying performance. This inherent alienation
fosters a deep-seated fear of human beings.
To navigate this incomprehensible social landscape, Yōzō instinctively adopts the role of a clown.
His constant buffoonery and self-deprecation become a shield, a way to deflect scrutiny and
elicit laughter, which he mistakes for acceptance. This carefully constructed facade prevents
anyone from truly seeing the profound unease and anguish that lies beneath. Even within his
own family, he feels like an outsider, observing their rituals and expectations with detached
bewilderment.
As Yōzō transitions to adolescence and moves to Tokyo for school, his sense of alienation
intensifies. He drifts through his studies, finding solace in art but struggling to form genuine
connections. He falls under the sway of Masao Horiki, a cynical and hedonistic classmate who
introduces him to a world of drinking, smoking, and casual encounters. This further isolates
Yōzō, pushing him towards self-destructive behaviors as he seeks temporary escape from his
inner turmoil.
His attempts at intimacy and connection are consistently fraught with misunderstanding and
pain. He enters into relationships with women, often out of a desperate need for validation or a
misguided sense of obligation, but these relationships inevitably crumble under the weight of
his emotional unavailability and self-loathing. A suicide pact with a bar hostess ends in tragedy,
leaving Yōzō burdened by immense guilt and further deepening his sense of being
fundamentally flawed.
His artistic pursuits offer a brief respite, a way to express the darkness he feels within, but even
this becomes tainted by his growing dependence on alcohol and drugs. He descends further
into addiction, his life becoming a chaotic spiral of self-neglect and despair. His inability to
conform to societal norms and his persistent feeling of being an imposter in the human world
lead to a mental breakdown and eventual confinement in a mental institution.
The final notebook entries depict a man utterly broken and resigned. Released from the
institution, he lives in increasing isolation, supported by a woman who pities him. He reflects on
his life with a chilling detachment, concluding that he has been "disqualified from being
human." The narrative ends not with a sense of resolution, but with a lingering feeling of
profound sadness and the unsettling question of what it truly means to be human in a world
that can feel inherently alienating.
No Longer Human delves into the darkest corners of the human psyche, exploring the
devastating consequences of feeling fundamentally different and the desperate measures one
might take to navigate a world that feels inherently hostile. Through Yōzō's brutally honest and
often disturbing confessions, Dazai crafts a powerful and unforgettable meditation on
alienation, identity, and the agonizing search for belonging.
