Conversations like #MeToo are emphasizing an important point: we need to believe survivors. That doesn’t mean we throw away due process, but it does mean that society needs to stop treating sexual assault and harassment victims with doubt and suspicion. It also means challenging victim-blaming, the attitude that victims “asked for it” because of what they did or wore, their past sexual history, and so on. It’s worthwhile to take stock of whether the fiction we consume promotes trust and respect for survivors. This article examines three narratives from recent anime about real or alleged sexual harassment and assault.
There have been many adaptations of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. Some have tried to simplify the story to make it easier to fit into a constrained time limit, while others were so faithful to the plot that the spirit is entirely lost. Gankutsuou, by contrast, is arguably the best adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo while also being its own original story.
It’s evident that the creative team behind this series had a lot of love for the source material that they were able to capture the nuances of what made the book a compelling drama to read. Unlike the previous adaptations of the book, which overwhelmingly cast white actors for all the roles, the anime makes a point of depicting the main characters as people of color, specifically brown characters.
Recovery of an MMO Junkie is a bit of a misleading title. Looking at this romantic comedy by name and genre alone, it seems at first to be about its geeky protagonist, Morioka Moriko, getting pried away from her addiction to online games and finding happiness (and perhaps some good ol’ romance) in the real world. Instead, MMO Junkie gives us a story about finding happiness and fulfillment through online games, using their safe zone of community and anonymity as a foothold to regain emotional confidence. More importantly, it gives us Moriko herself, a complex, flawed, and likable female protagonist who provides valuable representation for adult women with geeky interests, as well as a moving personal story about anxiety and recovery.
Land of the Lustrous has proven to be a sleeper hit of the Fall 2017 season, with its beautiful melding of CG and traditional art, creative direction, likable characters, and penchant for cliffhangers. It also made minor waves by deciding to refer to almost the entire cast with neutral “they/them” pronouns. In an industry that has historically elected to choose binary pronouns for characters who aren’t gendered or are gendered ambiguously in the original text, this marks a small but important—and most crucially, conscious—shift.
In the manga REAL, Takehiko Inoue uses three similarly aged young men—Tomomi Nomiya, Togawa Kiyoharu, and Hisonobu Takahashi—to portray different aspects of physical disability. In using the perspectives of an able-bodied survivor, someone who has been disabled for a number of years, and someone who is faced with becoming disabled, Inoue captures many of the complexities and stigmas of physical disability. By looking at these characters and their interplay, we can delve further into some of the ways Real succeeds and fails at portraying disability.
Although The Ancient Magus’ Bride is serialized in a shounen magazine in Japan, it bears a lot of parallels to the supernatural romance fantasies you commonly see in shoujo, particularly in its focus on the emotional life and development of the young female protagonist.
I was in middle school when I first got ahold of Volume 1 of Masumi Tsuda’s Kareshi Kanojo no Jijou, often shortened to Kare Kano and released in English as His and Her Circumstances (or Kare Kano: His and Her Circumstances for the manga). The award-winning series details the lives of two outwardly “perfect” honor students, Yukino Miyazawa and Soichiro Arima, as they accidentally uncover one another’s imperfections, fall in love, and agree to be true to themselves.
A memorable scene from Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket highlights the horrors of war: after much damage to the town, paramedics pull a female pilot out of a wrecked Gundam surrounded by debris. Our protagonist, a young boy named Al, is shocked, pupils as dilated as can be. To him, this female pilot occupies a very different sphere: a domestic one. In fact, she’s his old babysitter.
For many years and through countless delays, Persona 5 was my most anticipated game of the year. Persona 4 was an amazing starting point for the Persona series’ examining of real-life issues, and Persona 5’s concept of being a slave to society and needing to break free resonated with me on many levels.
San, the titular Princess Mononoke, is a force of nature, uncompromising and undaunted by violence. Raised in nature, she sought to become its hand of vengeance against humanity. A young woman pursuing her own goals against ignorance and petty enmity is a typical (albeit early) example of Hayao Miyazaki’s dedication to well-rounded female characters.
In FLIP FLAPPERS, Cocona and Papika’s trips to Pure Illusion serve as both a genre homage and a character exploration, often touching on themes of coming-of-age and the complicated business of sexual maturation. As part of this trend, Episode Five, “Pure Echo,” develops and explores our heroes and the trials of adolescence by throwing them into a world that combines Class S, a genre of sweet yuri romance, with horror. Now, what in the world could that strange combination be trying to tell us?
When I read Ranma ½ during my first year of high school, I fell in love with Rumiko Takahashi’s signature expressive art. I loved her colorful cast just as much, always getting caught up in over-the-top situations. Like many people, I remember it fondly. Yet the older I get, the harder it is to ignore some of the most problematic aspects of the series, especially how it deals with femininity.
At first glance, A Certain Marriage by Ruri Kumashika is an attractive addition to the expanding collection of LGBT-oriented comics coming out of Japan. It tells the story of Saki Honjo, a Japanese woman who moved to Los Angeles to join her high school girlfriend Anna Abel, and their journey toward marriage. A bitter-sweet story, A Certain Marriage delves into the beauty of gay relationships and the discrimination LGBT people experience. The story, however, ultimately fails to delve into the challenges queer immigrants from Japan face living in America.
Sparse as it was, the Summer 2017 anime season did bring us a number of ambitious projects. Less discussed in my circles, however, was this little show called 18if—understandably so, given its often less-than-stellar animation and lack of an obvious narrative hook. The most distinctive thing about it is easily the production itself: each episode offers lesser-known creatives free reign over a largely self-contained story. Supervised by industry veteran Morimoto Koji (Magnetic Rose, Animatrix), 18if varies wildly from episode to episode in both writing and visual design, which is both a strength and debilitating weakness.
Given the sheer number of promising new titles as well as the limited nature of a premiere review, we’ve decided to try a new, informal “check-in” roundtable to talk about the currently airing shows and our thoughts three episodes into the season. Amelia, Dee, and Vrai got together to talk (and talk!) about the many shows in their queues and how they’re doing a few weeks into the Fall.
Ikuko Itoh’s Princess Tutu, which aired in Japan from August 2002 to May 2003, is a lesser-known yet widely praised addition to the mahou shoujo genre. The series pays tribute to various classic ballets and fairy tales, such as Swan Lake and The Nutcracker, while simultaneously weaving a new fairy tale-like story that upends gender roles and rejects the archetypal tragic narrative found in most ballet. In doing so, Princess Tutu embraces feminist ideals of individual freedom, rebellion against archaic tradition, and the construction of a new, more liberating society.
Ahh, Osamu Tezuka, the Godfather of Manga. Even if you haven’t read his work, you know he’s had a lasting impact on Japanese animation and comics. But Tezuka isn’t the only person who’s influenced the creation and development of these art forms. If there’s a Godfather of Manga, does that mean there’s a Godmother of Manga, too? There is, in fact—although she’s usually referred to as the “Grandmother of Manga” instead. Her name is Machiko Hasegawa, and she’s profoundly influenced animation and manga with her most popular work, The Wonderful World of Sazae-san.
Many fans of My Hero Academia love it for its twist on Western superhero tropes, presenting a world where those with “Quirks” (super powers) are no longer the quirky ones wearing weird, gaudy costumes, but have become the new normal. But when I watch these heroes-in-training attend U.A. High (the top hero high school) and compete in an elaborate sports competition that dwarfs the Olympics, I’m much more impressed with its commentary on the inequality sports competitions breed, particularly in regard to gender. SPOILERS: Discussion of events in My Hero Academia up through Episode 25.
Made in Abyss is frequently one of the most breathtaking shows of the season, juggling gorgeous cinematography and dark fairy tale elements with a grim but (thus far) not hopeless narrative. Unfortunately, it’s also a show whose flaws are all the more glaring in comparison to its moments of excellence. Discussing those flaws offers a unique challenge, however, as many of the show’s failings are cloaked beneath a layer of in-narrative justification; in other words, it makes sense on the surface as to why these things are happening in the plot. But no media exists in a vacuum, and justifying a trope doesn’t stop it from playing into broader harmful trends.
Kaze Hikaru is an exciting historical manga set in 1860s Japan shortly before the Meiji Restoration. The series follows teenage heroine Sei, who disguises herself as a boy in order to become a bushi—a samurai or warrior. I recently discovered this long-running, under-the-radar manga and was quickly sucked in, inspired by Sei’s determination to choose her own path and prove she’s capable of a dangerous role that society said women were unfit to have. The fact that Sei both succeeds in this role and gains supportive allies implicitly conveys the narrative’s approval of her “unfeminine” lifestyle.