Series that focus on queer adult characters open the door to a storytelling niche that’s still relatively underrepresented despite the rich narrative potential it offers: the post-adolescence queer coming-of-age story. Or, in other words, the gay quarter-life crisis.
We were able to sit down with Aiba for a gregarious and sadly brief conversation to discuss writing relationship dynamics, greater awareness of LGBTQ+ issues, and her latest work.
The dichotomy of Hibari as both a progressive trans narrative and an ignorant product of its time showcases Japan’s complicated relationship with trans women and other marginalized groups.
As yuri continues to get queerer, the existence of trans people in these stories would be one way to provide validation for trans readers in their gender and sexuality while also helping cis people understand and internalize our long standing place in the sapphic community. Yuri works featuring trans characters do exist, though their history is complex and they remain relatively few.
The story of Alpha Hatsuseno, an android girl in a collapsed world, serves as an allegory for what many transgender people went through during the pandemic. In the solitude and desolation of COVID-19, cut off from the pressures and expectations of society, there was a silent wave of transgender people coming to the realization that they no longer needed to pretend to be someone they were not, beginning their transitions in the midst of death, despair, and loneliness.
Despite the lack of a love story between the protagonists, however, Buddy Daddies can still be read as a queer series. While queer relationships in mainstream media are often defined by romantic and sexual attraction, Buddy Daddies stands out because it examines queerplatonic relationships, which is rarely depicted even in LGBTQIA+ storytelling.
We spoke with Watari about his wonderful trash girl heroine Chitose, adapting The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady, and his future plans.
As I took in each new part and new Jojo, I became increasingly invested in the story and characters, and when Stone Ocean was finally adapted, Jolyne was everything I’d hoped for and then some; however, because the source manga has been around since the late 1980’s, some parts, particularly early on, haven’t exactly aged well. It’s too big a franchise to cover in every detail here, but its biggest issues feel worth discussing alongside its strengths.
Classic shoujo has a hard time being exported, especially in the Anglophone sphere, and in pop culture discussions it’s generally been reduced to a subpar category of comics when compared to the high-praise shounen manga are known to receive. However, her value as a multifaceted artist and storyteller should be valued as much as other prominent authors from the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Yuri and the wider GL community has an increasing reach that seems to be growing each year, and it’s worth examining the ways in which the increased variety of yuri stories are representing different kinds of love and relationships. Love can be so many different things, after all, and it’s gratifying when fiction reflects that—not to mention how it opens new possibilities for storytelling and discussions of relationship dynamics.
Dee, Alex, and Cy return to their discussion of asexual and aromantic coding, and dive deep into the works of Uta Isaki!
Yuri’s assault on Ringo is emblematic of how the tensions and arguable flaws in Penguindrum point to larger tensions and unresolved questions in our movements for transformative justice, abolition, and queer liberation.
Dee, Alex, and Cy discuss asexual and aromantic coded characters and several new manga with explicit ace and/or aro leads.
Japanese blogger Honeshabri breaks down laws regarding the stipulations trans people face in changing their gender markers in Japan.
Otherside Picnic makes a wonderful addition to the canon by centering queer love and examining how survivors of abusive relationships can heal from their pain and trauma in order to move onto healthier relationships.
After an initial viewing of Macross Frontier, most viewers would comment on a handful of topics. Not limited to, but including: the series’ back-to-basics approach reminiscent of the original 1982 Macross, its tendency to adhere a bit too closely to then-current trends, and unending talk of how awful Alto is. However, on a recent rewatch, a new thought clicked with me: what if Alto was fighting with some intense dysphoria?
This show makes me laugh, it makes me cry, but more than anything, it makes me hope. It makes me hope that no matter how bad things get, there will always be a second chance waiting just around the corner. Even two decades after the original manga began publishing, it shines just as brightly. But I’m not here to talk about how much I love Fruits Basket. Today, I’m here to explore one of its most under-discussed problems: its portrayal of queerness.
Amidst of a lot of bad news in summer 2022, one thing trans people found to celebrate was the transition of Brisket—or rather Bridget, an iconic video game character with a fraught history (in the games and in the real world) who came out as trans. But there’s a lot more to this story than many are fully aware of, and the character who defined an archetype so powerful it became a gender identity deserves to have her whole story told.
Particularly in how it integrates canonical queerness and themes of gender identity within the text, D4DJ manages to go places that very few franchises in its peer group manage to do.
Between my feelings about the ending of the third game, the drama surrounding its production, and the series’ long-standing controversies, I just felt drained as I watched Bayonetta 3’s credits roll. Which sucks, because the previous two games left me feeling nothing but energized and wanting to be a bolder, braver version of myself.
