Emotional Continuity in Anime

What does it mean for a work of fiction to feel “realistic?” It’s a question I return to over and over because of how subjective the answer can be. The more I’ve thought about different possible takes, however, the more I’ve found that I resonate strongly with something I call “emotional continuity,” and it informs which series I view most positively.

Broadly speaking, there are many types of continuity in storytelling. There’s the simple that the events of the past should inform the events of the future. A character who loses an arm in episode 1 of a show shouldn’t get it back with no explanation in episode 10. Then there’s capital “C” continuity, like what American superhero comics often deal in, where all the individual parts ideally look together to form a consistent universe and timeline across multiple different series. “Emotional continuity” isn’t nearly so complex. Instead, I define it as simply when events that should affect a given character emotionally result in an appropriate response, and that this character remembers this feeling on some level. Those reactions and memories don’t have to be “sensible,” and they don’t have to result in a “character arc,” though both are possibilities. They simply have to feel consistent with the character and their way of being, and then leave a mark on that character.

One work I’ve debated with others about realism (and by extension show quality, though the two are not necessarily related) is the anime Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans. Whereas others saw the character actions as making little sense and thus stunting the overall story, I felt the opposite. I came to strongly understand each character’s motivations, especially in the core cast, and to see how early events both happy and tragic would inform the general trajectory of their approaches to life.

Another anime that I’ve argued about is Kill la Kill, specifically in regards to the idea that the heroine, Ryuko, is a strong main character even though she didn’t receive much “character development.” The big sticking point for detractors is that she doesn’t really change significantly throughout the series or learn any personal lessons. However, I find that even if she doesn’t transform dramatically, she conveys a strong sense of “emotional continuity” based in her anger, her stubbornness, and her desire to right wrongs. Even if she’s still the same rage-filled Ryuko by the end, it’s impossible to say that the events of the series don’t affect her emotionally or inform her friendships, battles, and decisions.

I realized that “emotional continuity” also greatly informs my utter fondness for the series Heartcatch Precure! and might even explain why the series is often seen as the best of the Precure franchise or somewhat overrated. Years ago, a blogger named Scamp tried to watch through as much Precure as he could, but ended up dropping every show, including Heartcatch. His reason was that nothing ever seemed to happen for the most part, and that dramatic, story-changing moments came too abruptly. This surprised me, because I felt the total opposite—that the show built up to every significant plot point like a skilled architect oversaw the construction. I even wrote a response. In hindsight, while I used the phrase “emotional logic,” i.e. reasoning through feelings, to describe what I saw, what I was actually highlighting was emotional continuity.

Moonlight…in suffering loss…felt wracked with guilt, giving up her role as protector. The task to defend the world had been passed onto a new generation…and as they collected the Heart Seeds, they laid the groundwork for Moonlight to redeem herself, to learn from her mistakes while also forgiving herself…. Although Cure Moonlight’s return is telegraphed to a degree, for me it built anticipation … I felt satisfied that the show had reached a strong emotional point with a solid expression of how the feelings of each character, especially Moonlight, defined their actions.

Rarely in fiction is anything utterly devoid of emotional continuity, but the best series make you feel as if they care about what’s happened to their characters. Something that has had issues with maintaining this continuity in recent years was World Wrestling Entertainment, and that seems to be finally turned around in the past couple years. While there are general structural issues with how WWE presents itself that go beyond emotional continuity, it’s telling that fans had very little faith in their favorites wrestlers being recognizable beyond a basic template. Continuity is played fast and loose in general, and the highly physical nature of their format means injuries and other unpredictable elements can gum up the best laid plans, but there’s a persistent sense that what a given wrestler does or says one week should actually matter the next.

Do you find emotional continuity to be important? If so, how much is it a priority for you? I’m curious to see how others feel.

Frieren, Ikari Shinji, and Lost Love

Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End is simply one of the finest fantasy series I’ve ever seen, on par with Witch Hat Atelier. From its premise, to its intriguing world-building, to its endearing cast of characters, Frieren is like an oasis in a desert of flimsily conceived genre works. Among its many strengths, one thing that I find most compelling is the way it portrays how different races perceive time differently. This is especially the case with the titular heroine, Frieren.

A long-lived elf mage, Frieren was originally a member of the small party that managed to defeat the demon lord after a decade of adventure. Shortly after their victory, she and her allies are invited to live in the royal capital, but she leaves for a “short” while to continue her pursuit of weird and obscure spells. By the time she returns (50 years later), their young and handsome leader, the vaunted hero Himmel, is old and gray. At his funeral, Frieren deeply regrets having been his companion for “only” 10 years—what others would consider a long and life-defining era instead barely existed for her.

Later episodes reinforce just how much of a drop in the bucket the 10-year quest was for Frieren. Against Aura the Guillotine, a mighty and feared demon, all other adventurers would do everything in their power to eliminate her for the danger she posed. Yet, Frieren held back so that she could deceive Aura for 80 years before dropping the hammer in the modern day. This truly gives a sense of how differently Frieren sees everything as an elf many centuries old, but also just how impactful Himmel was to her.

In thinking about Himmel’s influence, another anime character came to mind: Ikari Shinji from Evangelion. Specifically, his relationship with Nagisa Kaworu at the end of the TV series holds some parallels.

Kaworu shows up in Episode 24 of Neon Genesis Evangelion, and he makes an incredible impact on Shinji. Their immediate friendship is a salve for the emotionally wounded Shinji, who opens up to Kaworu. However, by the end of the episode, Kaworu is dead. This relationship lasted only half an hour of runtime, and less than a week in-story. Nevertheless, this brief love (be it platonic or romantic) is powerful indeed.

The way Frieren sees her time with Himmel is not unlike how Shinji views his few days with Kaworu. It was there, it was magical, and it was gone just like that. It’s beautiful yet heart-rending, and these couple of details really showcase how amazing Frieren the series is as a whole.

Best Anime Characters of 2023

BEST MALE CHARACTER

Pluto (Pluto)

In a series full of excellent characters who are each a master class in storytelling, the one who stands out to me the most is Pluto himself.

The main antagonistic force in his series, Pluto is presented in myriad ways over the course of the story. First, he’s known only by the aftermath of his destructive powers. Then, we see glimpses of him within mighty whirlwinds, like a monster straight out of a suspenseful horror film. But then more facets of Pluto are revealed that show him to be far more complex and conflicted than what we’re initially led to believe. 

He barely gets any screen time in the grand scheme of things, but by the time everything comes to a head, it’s amazing that what stands before us is the same being as the enigmatic harbinger of death from Episode 1. The most seemingly inhuman of robots turns out to be among the most human of all.

BEST FEMALE CHARACTER

Suletta Mercury (Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury)

After decades, we finally have our first true female Gundam protagonist. While there have been predecessors of sorts, like Fumina in Build Fighters TRY and Christina Mackenzie in War in the Pocket, Suletta is both the Gundam pilot and the heroine in a main Gundam anime. 

Being such a major milestone is a pretty big deal in itself. However, what we also have in Suletta is an incredibly interesting main character whose story and growth anchor her series—all while being incredibly unique among Gundam heroes. She begins the series as a sheltered girl whose anxiousness and constant second-guessing are endearing and hint at her eventual development. Thrust into unfamiliar environments and forced to confront difficult questions about who she is and where she came from, Suletta gradually grows into her own person, struggling and breaking free of the shackles imposed on her by others, including her own mother. 
Suletta might not even be my favorite character in Witch from Mercury, but her significance to Gundam and anime, combined with the brilliant job the creators and the actor have done to bring Suletta to life makes her the best in my eyes. She is so very human, and the way she is shaped by—and, in turn, shapes—her world resonates emotionally.

BEST MAGICAL BOY

Yuunagi Tsubasa (Soarin’ Sky Precure)

Precure is a magical girl franchise, so it generally makes sense that each series would feature girls as the heroes, with male characters occupying supporting roles. And over the years, there would be dalliances with the possibility that boys could be magical in their own ways, whether by utilizing different abilities (Black Pepper, Rio), through imagination and gags (Cure Fire, Cure Gorilla), or as one-offs (Cure Infini). But in Soarin’ Sky Precure, an anime that’s all about defying the trends off its predecessors, Yuunagi Tsubasa stands proud as the first true male Precure.

Tsubasa is a bird who cannot fly—his species, native to a magical fantasy land, sacrificed the natural ability for greater intelligence. But rather than give up on the possibility, he used his smarts to study and follow in the footsteps of the Wright Brothers. And when he gains the magic to travel the skies as a Precure, he utilizes his knowledge of physics and aerodynamics to aid in battle. The way Tsubasa takes advantage of his strengths and refuses to let his weaknesses limit him is inspirational.

I think a special shout-out has to be given to Cure Wing’s design, as it does a great job of feeling boyish while matching the general Precure aesthetic. It threads a very fine line indeed. 

FINAL THOUGHTS

This year’s characters represent long overdue achievements. Pluto is the antagonist of a work for an anime adaptation for a manga from 20 years ago. Suletta and Tsubasa, in turn, have shattered gender norms of their respective decades-old mega franchises. They’re also anything but one-dimensional—especially Pluto and Suletta, who come out of their respective works very different from how they began. The pioneering aspect of these characters indicate a slow but steady march of progress that I hope won’t be the high point, but the beginning of greater things.

Kio Shimoku Twitter Highlights December 2023

A round of tweets by Kio Shimoku to end the year, including a special illustration of Ogiue!

Kio wishes the manga author Hayamira Senjin a happy 52nd birthday.

In regards to Not-Sasahara, Kio mentions that he seems to be weak to girls with talent.

Halfway through Elden Ring. Kio thinks the game is amazing because when you first start out, becoming the Elden Lord seems unthinkable, but as you progress, the notion starts to feel real.

Kio watched his DVD copy of a How Do You Like Wednesday special that was filmed in the US.

Kio looks forward to the live-action version of his 18+ doujinshi.

Kio is impressed that the two women who will be playing the characters in that adaptation are so beautiful.

With his work for Rakuen magazine out of the way, Kio concentrates on trying to finish his ero manga manuscript. He originally wanted to get it done and ready to sell by the end of the year.

Kio went walking with his tortoise in the park, but the wind was strong and cold.

Each time Kio watches Gothicmade, it gets more interesting. He particularly likes the scene where the Kaiserin is activated.

Showing some The Five Star Stories model kits he built.

Kio admiring the Five Star Stories work of renowned modeler Tani Akira.

Kio mentions owning the manga Great Curve by Hinirasu Kanta.

Kio finally finished the manuscript for his next erotic work, and it turned out to be a whopping 134 pages. Someone likens his output to Ogiue’s, which Kio denies.

The illustrator Yagumo Kengou had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance due to poor physical condition. Kio asks Yagumo to show some self-love.

Whenever Kio listens to the boss music from the Elden Ring soundtrack, he feels like he makes good progress while working on manga. He’s also 50% through the story but hasn’t fought a lot of the second-half bosses yet.

Kio saw the Japanese animated film The Imaginary, which exceeded his expectations. He couldn’t help but view Rudger and Tot through the eyes of a parent.

There are some surprises with Rudger’s voice, as the character seems to change gender in the movie. [Note: I’m not familiar with the film myself]

Another attempt to walk the tortoise, despite the cold weather.

Kio drew a small comic about being at the recording session for the It’s All Your Fault, Sensei adult video. NSFW.

Kio talks about the fact that he’s been using Twitter for a few years now, and if it were to go away, he’d probably return to having no internet presence. He also calls “X” a stranger/kid he doesn’t know.

Kio bought a copy of It’s All Your Fault, Sensei. While he normally skips straight to the action, this time, he watched the whole thing and enjoyed it.

He mentions that there are certain limitations to showing internal climaxes in live-action stuff compared to manga.

A promotional drawing of the above.

A drawing of Ogiue agreeing to a ridiculous request to wear a Santa outfit [Merry Christmas to meeee.]

Kio was having some trouble installing Clip Studio Paint and getting his tablet to work on his new computer.

The Kuma Miko manga is ending, and Kio gives his thoughts. It’s a series where after every chapter is over, he feels a need to express something difficult to say. He’s not sure how he’s going to feel after it concludes, given how many laughs he’s gotten out of the series.

Kio realizes he’s been mixing up the Bastole and the Botune Aura Battlers from Dunbine, despite having both model kits as a kid. He’s not the only one either.

Walking the tortoise again on a warmer day.

The Role of Unique Voices in VTubing, K-Pop, and More

“Is it more important to me for a group song to sound good or have distinct voices?”

This is something that’s been on my mind lately as I’ve been exploring my own feelings about music- and idol-adjacent worlds.

I have an odd relationship with K-Pop. I think it can be good, but it’s also definitely not my preference generally, and as someone who seeks to be open-minded, I keep resisting the urge to write off huge swathes of it. The last thing I want to be is dismissive, so I listen and listen, but it just never seems to fully click. Even with songs that I enjoy, something bothers me in the back of my head. Also confusing is that I seem to end up enjoying songs inspired by K-Pop more than K-Pop itself. Case in point: “Dark Breath” by hololive VTuber La+ Darknesss. That includes both the song itself and the accompanying dance (which I know is part of the appeal of K-Pop).

Speaking of, La+ has been crossing over in all sorts of places: notably performing with non-hololive VTubers, doing covers of songs by the League of Legends K-Pop-style group K/DA (alongside her fellow hololive members) for Riot Games One, and being one of two VTuber ambassadors for the very first The iDOLM@STER/Love Live joint concert. 

And here, despite the hololive performances of “POP/STARS” and “Baddest” being less polished, I also enjoy them more than the originals. I don’t think it’s merely because I know the VTubers, so I’ve been doing a good deal of listening to K/DA for the first time, and revisiting Love Live! in between VTuber songs.

Different franchises and media projects have their own priorities. Love Live! and The iDOLM@STER are both just as much about voice acting as they are music, and being able to easily distinguish between individuals based on how they sound is a big part of helping each character/performer to garner their own fandoms. 

For example, I don’t think you need to have any familiarity with Love Live! to notice that “Cutie Panther” features three very distinct voices. The differences can be exaggerated, but they’re present nevertheless.

Similarly, the start of ReGLOSS’s “Shunkan Heartbeat” has each of the five hololive members singing a part of the beginning by themselves, and it’s because the song is as much an introduction of them as five distinct entities (each with their own Youtube channel). That’s part of the VTuber business model. 

This is not to say that songs need distinct voices to be good, and there’s plenty of music with easily differentiated voices that is lacking in other ways, including within those voice-acting/VTuber/idol domain. But when I listen to Blackpink, for instance, I find it is nowhere near as easy to tell the singers apart. It might just be a lack of familiarity on my part, but I also feel that it might not even be the fault of the singers themselves. After all, if you picked three random people out of a room and told them to all sing, there’s a good chance they’d all sound different from one another, even if they weren’t good.

The culprit, I believe, could be how K-Pop is produced. That industry seems to be built on projecting images of perfection, and the result is that everyone sounds flawless. However, this has the drawback of also removing the quirks in people’s voices and by extension their individuality. And even with K/DA, I feel that their songs do a relatively better job of keeping these qualities, perhaps because the source material was a game with over 150 unique playable characters.

Which is to say: 1) While I don’t think distinct voices can be the only thing a song has, nor a lack of such a quality to be a deal breaker, I think it can add a lot to a song. 2) I think part of the reason K-Pop feels so overproduced to me is because of the way it seems to hone and chisel the music to such an extent as to wipe out those interestingly unique qualities that singers possess. 

And all this leads me down another rabbit hole, which is thinking about the different roles a singer can have when it comes to music. Does the song serve them, or do they serve the song? Are they the centerpiece, or part of a greater sound? With idols, is it that the quality of music is less important than its ability to emotionally connect the fans to the idols? I feel like there are endless possibilities, and perhaps that how much we as listeners and audiences prioritize certain elements is what shapes our tastes.

Urasawa’s Pluto Was a Long Time Coming

It’s rare that a manga gets adapted into anime as perfectly as Pluto on Netflix. The art and animation: almost as if Urasawa Naoki drew everything himself. The pacing: eight hour-ish episodes, one for every volume of the manga. This is something that might have been unthinkable 15 or even 10 years ago, but they actually pulled it off.

Pluto is a dramatic reimagining of a story from Tetsuwan Atom (or Astro Boy) called “The Greatest Robot on Earth,” changed to be equal parts speculative political fiction, introspective examination, murder mystery, and monster thriller. The story takes place in a world where robots have achieved greater rights as fully autonomous beings, but prejudices still persist. When a Swiss robot named Montblanc is murdered, everyone is shocked: As not only one of the most beloved robots in existence, but also one of the 7 most powerful, taking him out would not have been an easy task. Another one of the greatest robots, the Europol detective Gesicht, is assigned to the case, which takes him around the world to discover the truth—not only about the case, but also about himself and the moral/social/ethical conundrums among humanity and robotkind.

One of my favorite things about Pluto is the way “Pluto” is presented to the audience. At first, there are only hints and flashes, and over time, more gets revealed. However, by the time we have a fuller picture, the context changes how we perceive the threat, and causes all the philosophical challenges to become even greater. 

Netflix hides its numbers, so there’s no telling how successful Pluto has been. Even so, I can’t help but remember when another Urasawa Naoki series, Monster, aired on the Syfy Network in 2009. At the time, the US was clearly not in a position to accept that kind of mature animation, despite the fact that his work should have been perfect for cable television. Over a decade later, however, anime has become more mainstream, and viewers are more accustomed to a greater range of visual styles. I think, or at least I hope, that we’re ready now.

Pluto is a prestige title, and very deservedly so. It’s generally well animated, has great writing and characters, tells a compelling story, raises a lot of poignant questions, and is just filled with complex emotions, all done in a way that feels both pulpy and sophisticated. I highly recommend that everyone check it out, whether by watching the anime or reading the original manga. It’s my favorite of Urasawa’s work, and I hope as many people as possible seek it out.

The Apothecary Diaries Opening Reminds Me of Something

I watched the first episode of The Apothecary Diaries, and the opening is very reminiscent of a different and much older anime: The 1984 Glass Mask TV series.

Here is that intro:

And here is Glass Mask:

Between the heavy focus on the main heroines, the black background, and even the head movements, I can’t help but see similarities between protagonists Maomao and Kitajima Maya, respectively.

It might just be a coincidence that they’re similar, but I’d love to know if any inspiration was taken.

The Unbearable Weight of the Past: Space Battleship Yamato 2202

I consider Space Battleship Yamato 2199 to be perhaps the best franchise remake ever. Outside of legacy and possibly 2D vs. 3D animation preference for battles, it improves on the original Space Battleship Yamato in virtually every way. A more interesting and diverse cast of characters, greater complexity in the politics and messages, and a more cohesive narrative all come together with the benefit of decades of hindsight.

Space Battleship 2202 is the direct sequel, and is based on the second TV series, Space Battleship Yamato 2. It centers around the battle against a massive militaristic force from beyond the stars: the highly destructive Gatlantis, also known as the White Comet Empire. Per the title, it takes place three years after the Yamato’s desperate and harrowing voyage to the far-off planet Iscandar to obtain a technology that could restore the Earth’s environment. 

Unlike with 2199, I have never seen the Yamato 2, and thus have no direct comparison for what 2202 adds to the story outside of what I can read online. As I started (or rather restarted) 2202, I had my worries. It had been around 10 years since I watched 2199, and due to numerous major world events, my philosophical beliefs have changed in various ways. Given that the series is literally about a gigantic Japanese battleship fighting aliens, might it carry some questionable ideas that I’d notice more easily now? As I kept watching, however, I found that 2202 assuaged these fears. Every time there was something that made me raise a proverbial eyebrow, the series would approach a topic with nuance, give no easy answers, but also criticize outdated ideas about things like race and gender.

The biggest example of the show taking on topics smartly is in its handling of the Wave Motion Gun, the ultra-powerful signature cannon of the Yamato that is capable of devastating entire planets. At the end of 2199, the crew of the Yamato made a promise to Starsha of Iscandar to never use it again. However, the greater Earth forces see things differently, and are revealed to have been building more vessels with Wave Motion Guns. And while the protagonist, Kodai Susumu, believes strongly in their promise to Starsha, keeping it in the face of an overwhelming enemy becomes increasingly difficult—especially when the lives of his allies and their loved ones are at risk. 2022 portrays the fact that this dilemma is anything but black and white, while also pointing out that even if such decisions can be justified, it can still take a mental and emotional toll on those who have to make them.

I also had concerns that Gatlantis, an alien civilization for whom the word “surrender” literally does not exist, might be portrayed as savage barbarians. But when they’re revealed to originally be created as pretty much military livestock—soldiers thrown on the battlefield to keep their masters safe—it’s clear that the Gatlanteans are themselves part of a cycle of victimhood and exploitation that has robbed them of their humanity. And far from treating this as the problems of others, 2202 also shows how the Earth is very capable of making the same terrible moves when they begin developing AI-powered armed forces.

And then, when the show tries to give more background on Desler, the former supreme leader of Gamilas and the main antagonist of 2199, I was worried that it might fall into the trap of redeeming an imperialist dictator just because he had a tragic past. Yet even here, 2202 avoids that pitfall. While we already knew from 2199 that the Gamilas homeworld was dying, we learn that based on the highly racist Gamilan culture (where the pure-blooded rule society under the assumption of inherent superiority), Desler made the decision to become a conquering force for a significant reason: he believed it was the only way his people would accept finding and migrating to another planet. It does not absolve Desler of his crimes, but it has parallels with Susumu’s struggles with whether to use the Wave Motion Gun.

My only complaint about the series is a very biased one: There wasn’t enough Niimi Kaoru, the bespectacled science officer from 2199. She makes a few appearances but is mostly a non-factor, aside from being a small part of a later plot point involving a special battleship and a weird plan to prioritize childbearing women in case of an emergency. Here as well, I was concerned 2022 might be pushing some sexist agenda about the importance of women as mothers, but even that panned out better than I feared.

Space Battleship Yamato 2202 ultimately ends up being a narrative centered around difficult ultimatums. At the same time, however, it also questions why sentient civilizations (whether terrestrial or otherwise) keep putting themselves in situations where people have to make such soul-crushing decisions—might the root causes be matters more systemic? Could something not be done about that instead? Much tragedy could be avoided if we cherished one another’s humanity.

MF Ghost and the Passage of Time

One of the Fall 2023 anime I had been anticipating was MF Ghost, a sequel of sorts to the famous downhill street racing series Initial D. While I’ve never been a car person, I could never deny the excitement the series brought me, nor the clear influence Initial D has had on car culture in Japan and abroad. But MF Ghost takes place in a speculative(ish) future, and the differences between it and its predecessor remind me of just how much technology has changed in that time.

MF Ghost is set in a time when environmental concerns (including volcanic eruptions in Japan) have made it so that most motor vehicles are electric and self-driven, and the only traditional cars are used purely for sport—particularly a legalized version of street racing known as MFG. It has fans worldwide, who can watch thanks to drones streaming live feeds, and it features cars from around the world rather than just Japan.

The drones following the cars, and the fact that everyone watches remotely, highlights the fact that a very visible aspect of Initial D is not present in MF Ghost: the crowds of onlookers watching the races in person. While there might be technical reasons for this (perhaps the author just didn’t want to draw them), I think it also draws a huge contrast with Initial D because of the latter’s time frame. In other words, when Initial D debuted in 1995, cell phones were still a pretty rare sight, let alone phones that could display video (that wouldn’t come for another four of five years). Sure, one other big factor is that the racing in Initial D was technically illegal and would never have big broadcasts regardless of technology levels, but the in-universe gallery for these mountain races wouldn’t even have the opportunity to be a live audience in any reasonable way.

Plot-wise, Initial D starts in the 1990s and ends only a year or two after the start, so all the tech remains of that era despite the fact that the manga ended in 2013. As a result, the jump to MF Ghost represents over 20 years of change at the very least. It’s wild to think about.

I referred to MF Ghost as “speculative,” and I meant it in a fairly tongue-in-cheek way. “What if the future had cool races using known car brands like Toyota and Ferrari” isn’t exactly the height of creative imagination or science fiction. However, there is one aspect of MF Ghost as a story set in the future that warms my heart. In Initial D, the character Takahashi Ryosuke (adversary turned mentor to the protagonist, Fujiwara Takumi) loves street racing more than circuit racing because of how unpredictable it can be and how there are elements beyond the drivers’ control. Now, the same mountain racing that was relegated to a select few enthusiasts has become a household name. Isn’t that grand?

Attack on Titan: The Final Conclusive Ending Denouement

“Why I Like Eren Jaeger.” That’s the title of a post I wrote 10 years ago. 

A lot of things sure have happened since then.

The anime Attack on Titan recently concluded after what seemed like an eternity, and we the viewers have been left to interpret Eren in his entirety, from the hotheaded protagonist he was at the beginning to the apocalyptic villain he becomes by the end. Given all that has transpired, not least of which includes mass genocide, can I still say that I “like” Eren?

WARNING: SPOILERS OF THE END OF ATTACK ON TITAN AHEAD

Obviously, I can’t condone genocide no matter how it might have come from a place of wanting to protect his friends, or even if the alternative was a different form of genocide. But the reasons I was fond of Eren as a character ten years ago had little to do with anything like moral and ethical values or good decision-making. Instead, it was because he’s a deeply flawed character with some genuinely positive traits—namely his ability to motivate others through the sheer force of his ceaseless drive to press ahead. 

In 2013, this is what I had to say:

I see Eren as the kind of guy who makes people better than him feel worse for not accomplishing as much…. This is mainly what drives his relationship with Jean, as Jean is clearly smarter, wiser, and comparable in physical ability to Eren, but lacks his ability to throw himself into danger. On the other hand, Eren’s narrow-mindedness is the reason he can’t accomplish everything on his own, and…if he were a leader of men…he would probably send them all to their deaths just by being himself….

The result is that the Scout Regiment (or Survey Corps), a group infamous for being full of eccentrics with death wishes, gains and benefits from one of the most rational and reasonable individuals. At the same time, it means Eren has always been someone who needs others to keep him from being a living train wreck.

This is not a defense of Eren but an understanding of his relationships and the effects he has on people who are better than him. He inspires others to do what they thought impossible or inconceivable. Nowhere is this more relevant than with his closest friends, Armin and Mikasa. He pushes them to achieve greater heights through the example of his will, and this remains true even as Eren turns them against himself.

Eren, Mikasa, and Armin are parts of a whole, and it’s a relationship that persists even in opposition. I think that Eren purposely pushes his friends away because he knows they have what it takes to stop him. Similar to Dr. Manhattan in Watchmen, Eren becomes able to move in four dimensions, and this ironically makes him unable to challenge fate. But Mikasa and Armin are not beholden to such cursed omniscience, and they ultimately defeat him and help remove the titan ability from the entire world.

Mikasa killing Eren is not only one of the most powerful scenes of the finale, but a key moment in the series as a whole. The presence of titans in their world for 2000 years is because Ymir, the Founding Titan, is trapped by her undying and contradictory love for King Fritz, her longtime master and abuser. Despite knowing how much Fritz saw Ymir as nothing more than property, her feelings keep her loyal out of a desperate need for human connection. Seeing Mikasa behead the love of her life for the sake of the world shows Ymir that it’s possible to break the mental and emotional chains binding her. And all of it comes back to what made Mikasa fall for Eren in the first place, back when they were children: When others would have said to run, Eren implored her to fight. He pushes others to not give up, even if it means he himself becomes the enemy. 

So the answer is yes: I still like Eren Jaeger for the mess that he is. I can’t support the consequences of his actions, but the story of Attack on Titan is very much about the ugliness of humanity, and in many ways, Eren exhibits some of its worst qualities. However, much like how there are glimmers of hope that flicker in and out amid despair, he casts a light on others and gives them power, however great or small, to do more—even as he himself is subsumed by darkness. Ultimately, he ends up being a unique protagonist turned antagonist, a child given far too much responsibility and burden, a cautionary tale of why you don’t have to automatically cheer for someone just because they’re the main hero, and a figure remarkably complex because of his profound limitations.