On Relationships in Genshiken

Genshiken walks a dangerous line by having almost all of its members end up in romantic relationships throughout the course of its run. I have seen the occasional criticism from both English-reading and Japanese-reading people that perhaps the tale of Ogiue is too idealistic, and that at that point Genshiken moved from being a realistic portrayal of otaku to being a sort of wish fulfillment for otaku. While I think that there is a good deal of optimism within Genshiken, I don’t think it’s unrealistic for these incredibly hardcore otaku who comprise Genshiken to have boyfriends and girlfriends, for one important reason: All of them put effort either before or during their relationships.

Saki and Kohsaka are the most normal couple by far, but Saki’s acceptance of otaku has largely to do with her interaction with Kohsaka. They got together fairly simply, and largely due to physical attraction, but the fact that they stayed together through 4 years and their interactions when on-panel show that a lot of progress is made that we are not immediately aware of as readers.

Tanaka and Ohno, even disregarding the anime’s interpretation of how they got together, have a relationship that was fostered through continuous friendship and time spent together. Tanaka not only has good qualities about him, but he has shown these good qualities to Ohno.

And finally Sasahara and Ogiue. While I understand very well the difficulty of a relationship with someone who is into primarily boys’ love, I also understand that Sasahara and Ogiue make a concerted effort to understand and support each other. The entire build up to Sasahara alone with Ogiue in her room was made up of sweat and tears and painful amounts of soul-bearing. And even after that, they know that a relationship isn’t that easy, but to them it’s well worth it.

Otaku being in relationships with attractive individuals isn’t unrealistic, but being in relationships without putting forth any effort IS unrealistic. I’m not saying that romantic relationships are a must for otaku, but then again I am. Otaku are people too, after all.

Why I Like Ogiue, Part 1

I think perhaps it is time I talk more specifically about Ogiue. I mean, I’ve talked about Ogiue in the past before (in case you haven’t noticed), but now is the time to begin discussing the topic of WHY I like Ogiue. I’m referring to this as Part 1 because it’s inevitable that I’ll have more posts on this topic. For Part 1, I am going to focus on my emotional response to Ogiue’s character.

I have always described Ogiue to people as possessing True Moe. Now, I know moe is hard to define, as is truth, but Ogiue is a character I care for deeply because I feel a connection to her plight, her interests, and her progress from self-hating fujoshi to fujoshi girlfriend. She speaks to anyone who has ever been concerned that their otaku nature excludes them from any sort of conceivable romantic relationship, and that includes me. We all have doubts as human beings, but Ogiue’s doubts are very similar to my doubts and to see her overcome them eventually, it’s inspiring, it’s life-affirming, and really, if it were possible, I would give her a hug whenever she needed one. She is someone to whom I can relate, but she is someone else entirely. She’s also a fictional character, but even though she’s not real, her concerns are realistic, and they affect me in such a way that she’s always somewhere either in the front or the back of my mind.

Ogiue is in my opinion the most beautiful and attractive character ever, and the reason why her presence hits me so hard with respect to sex appeal is that, while a lot of her physical and personality traits are things I’ve always liked, such as tomboyishness and having the hottest eyes ever, Ogiue also possesses many traits which I never realized I liked until I read Genshiken. Her harshness, her softness, the way she wraps her doubt in a facade of hate, her problems taking criticism, her tendency to let her imagination run away with her her spurts of creative energy, and yes, even her body type all make her incredibly attractive, but it’s not because of those traits that Ogiue is beautiful.

No, those traits are beautiful because Ogiue possesses them.

“Slice of Life” they say

This post is inspired by my recently having watched more of Kino’s Journey after a long delay of not-watching Kino’s Journey. Warning: Rambling ahead

I’ve realized how unusual it is that when I think of the term “Slice of Life,” my mind goes immediately to anime. It’s a genre I enjoy immensely, from Azuma Kiyohiko’s works to Haibane Renmei and beyond. You could even consider Genshiken to be “slice of life,” and much of Ogiue’s appeal comes from the small moments in her life. But then, why is it that “slice of life” is so associated with anime, instead of, for example, shows with live actors?

I’ve spoken to friends before about what it is that makes an anime feel like an anime, what differentiates it from other mediums, what makes us come back for more. I think in certain cases, it has to do with this sort of slice of life pacing that’s just not seen as often elsewhere. Of course, I’m not saying that all anime is slice of life, or that there are no slice of life shows outside of anime, but merely that there is a recurring trend that a good amount of people who like anime like it because of shows such as Haibane Renmei. Even if this genre of anime and manga doesn’t occur as often as I think it does, I don’t think anyone would fault me when I say that when it occurs, it leaves a big impression on its fans, perhaps more than even the most soulful of epic tales.

Slice of Life, what does it mean? It means, basically, a story where “normal” life occurs, with less focus on dramatic events and more on the day to day occurrences to which we can relate. I’ve spoken a bit about moe before, and I don’t want to turn this into a moe essay, but I can’t help but feel that there is a corollation between the two. When watching a slice of life show, one desires to live the life of the characters, what tends to be a slow-paced life where the characters involve simply enjoy each passing day. In moe, the appeal is in the “weakness” of characters, the raw, emotional side which is different from stopping and smelling the roses, but also invokes a feeling of realism. If slice of life is “I want to live how they live,” then I think moe is “I feel how she feels.” And of course, the two can co-exist and are often together.

I wonder, then, if animation, as shown through the aesthetics we associate with anime, lends itself to the slice of life genre, much like how moe is associated with anime and manga. Characters tend to be pure and beautiful (though not necessarily attractive). They exist as (seemingly) simple characters leading (relatively) simple lives, no matter what the circumstances. They generally consist of flat colors with minimal shading and black outlines. Due to budget constraints, animation tends to not be very fluid, so still images and animation shortcuts are used, which may lead to slower-paced shows (though that is sometimes called “filler”).  All this may lead to why “Slice of Life” as a genre has attracted so many people to anime.

Or maybe I should just talk to Scrubs fans more often.

Crossing Gender-oriented Genres and Fan Reaction

I’ve been thinking about those works which cross the line between various genres of anime, particularly those which bridge the gap between “male-oriented” and “female-oriented” labels. Series like Saint Seiya and Cardcaptor Sakura manage to capture an audience beyond their main targets, while others such as Gundam Wing and Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha not only bridge the gap, they cross over and begin to set fire to the ropes.

I know I have some issues with Nanoha, and while I think it’s a fine series overall, it never completely shakes that feeling that yes, this is totally intended for guys like me who love Cardcaptor Sakura (though not in that way personally), and it is kind of creepy for doing so. I know Gundam Wing is often considered far more of a black sheep than G Gundam among male fans of the Gundam franchise, for the way it perhaps overly de-emphasizes aspects often associated with Gundam, never mind that the original series garnered more than a few female fans of Red Comet Char Aznable and his zany (dead) friend, Garma Zabi. It’s just interesting to see this negative reaction in both myself and others pertaining to certain series and our expectations of what a show should entail.

I wonder if it’d be possible for genres to swap almost completely.

Context context context

I’ve come to realize that a lot of what I would consider to be the best scenes in anime cannot stand alone, or at least have a difficult time doing so. They require prior knowledge of everything that has happened beforehand and to have proper empathy for the characters on-screen.

The best scenes are payoff, and this is often why when one shows their favorite anime scenes to someone unfamiliar with the show, it won’t have nearly the impact.

There are exceptions of course. My favorite being the following scene from Macross.

Misa: Your baby’s so cute! May I hold her?
Miria: I made this baby. If you want to hold a baby, go make your own.

I guess it’s better to say that dramatic moments are better with context.

“What is anime up to these days?” “Let’s find out!”

I think at some point, I stopped watching new anime purely because it lined up with my own sense of aesthetics and storytelling, and began watching it more so that I could see how anime is doing. I still enjoy it though, so don’t get the wrong idea.

I’ve found that few shows ever violate my standards of taste, and I think the reason is that I’m treating it less as entertainment and more as friends with whom I can keep up. “How are you doing, magical girl genre? Oh, you’re marketing to older men now! Ahahaha you crazy card.”

It’s a strange place to be.

Mangaka or MANGAKA? Artist or ARTIST?

I’ve recently been reading a book called Adult Manga which came out in 2000, which deals with various aspect of the world of manga during the 90s, including the otaku community and issues on censorship during that time.

One chapter is titled “Manga Editors and Unusable Artists,” and it talks about the increasingly creative roles that editors were taking during the 90s. On the topic of “unusable artists,” the chapter recounts various editors lamenting the situation that artists were in at the time. One mentioned that with manga becoming so commonplace, they had to take risks picking artists who were willing to be more experimental, but often times it seemed the artists didn’t have the enthusiasm to try something new. Another editor talks about how the current generation of manga artists aren’t really manga artists. He compares the previous generation of mangaka, and how they consisted of people who lived in and addressed issues of their time, with mangaka of today, who often seem completely disconnected from reality. In other words, they were just people who grew up just reading manga (a topic I discussed in a previous post). This same editor basically says that too many of the artists only know how to draw cute girls. The book then goes on to mention one particular artist who seemed so far removed from the public that he had to ask his editor for relevant story topics.

I found this to be extremely relevant to my own situation, as I am both an artist and an otaku, and I know how easy it is to fall into the trap of just wanting to draw cute girls and just ignoring the real world and sticking with anime and manga. For me, it is a struggle to appeal to others and to express myself, as often times the art in which I am most invested is not the most aesthetically pleasing, at least in terms of moe qualities and the like. Reading the chapter on unusable artists has refocused my attention, and I realize that I must at least take the occasional look into the real world before I can progress artistically. I also need to improve my ability to draw cute girls as well, but the former must come before the latter if I dare to try and make a difference with my art.

That said, I’m still an otaku and I’ll still be making incredibly dorkish posts just like this.

Thrice-Removed from Reality: Anime in the Current Age

The anime we see today is the product of a generation which grew up watching anime produced by people who grew up reading manga. We are twice removed from reality.

Hayao Miyazaki has lamented before that people spend too much time watching anime, stating that if you have time to watch Totoro 100 times, that time should have been spent actually being in nature. Similarly in the field of video games, Shigeru Miyamoto is well known for taking inspiration from various times in his life in making some of his classics. The Legend of Zelda is based on Miyamoto’s exploration of the caves and forests around his childhood home, and Pikmin is based upon his gardening in his current adult life. Both men have produced great works, and both emphasize that one should not be too disconnected from reality.

At the same time, however, much of the progress in the history of the arts has been in the form of response to previous works. Impressionism led to Post-Impressionism led to Cubism and so on and so forth. There is nothing necessarily wrong with making art in response to art, and thusly there is nothing necessarily wrong with making anime in response to anime. If anime and manga are such a part of Japan’s culture and increasingly world culture, then doesn’t it too become a part of reality?

What is perhaps most interesting to me then, are the works which exist in the world of otaku but manage to push the content back into reality. Genshiken is probably my favorite example of this. Genshiken is initially devoted to introducing the reader to the world of otaku. Once the reader is firmly entrenched in the trappings of otakudom however, the series changes to being about pushing otaku into the real world, as time passes, graduations occur, and the characters have to confront their relationships with others. Moe itself, I think, has origins in subtly nudging otaku towards reality, with the complex emotions brought on by games such as Kanon and Air.

The problem, as I see it, is that while much of the anime made today is a reaction to anime made in the past, it often does not any sort of concerted effort to look deeply into the anime of the past. References are made, homage is given, but criticism is lacking. Not every title is like this, and even among the ones that do fall into this category, you will find many shows that I am fond of. If an anime is going to be twice or even thrice-removed from reality however, it does no good for the viewer or the creator to be ignorant of this.

Anime and Manga without Characters: A Thought Exercise

First, take an anime. It can be anything.

Now, here’s the stipulation: Remove all the characters.

Too far?

Okay, try this. Remove all visual evidence of the characters. Have them off-screen at all times. Get rid of all photographs or visual indicators as to their actual appearance.

Oh, and just to be safe, have the language dubbed into let’s say…Latin.

Can you still call it “anime?”

What I’m trying to promote here with this little exercise is getting you to think about to what extent we define the “anime” style based on the characters, most likely human or humanoid characters. I know that the concept of “anime-style” visuals is in itself a shaky topic, and that there is a ton of variety already. However, at this point I don’t want to address the notion of putting anime characters in a western story, or putting western animation characters into an anime and seeing what happens. I’m saving that for another day, perhaps.

Anime and manga fans, myself included, frequently talk about how there’s more to the stuff than just big eyes, small mouths, the stereotypical fare. Tokyopop, in its efforts to distinguish its Rising Stars of Manga books, lists a number of literary devices and visual cues such as certain types of panel layouts. Scott McCloud in his “Comics” series of informational comic books says something similar.

It’s easy to say all this, but when I actually try my above exercise, removing all visual character evidence from an anime, I’m not sure what to think. Sure we can say that even if you don’t see them, there are certain aspects of anime that stand out, such as slow-paced slice-of-life shows, but that doesn’t apply to every work we see.

Here’s another one: A number of light novels written, Suzumiya Haruhi probably being the most famous at this point, are displayed with anime-style characters on their covers and in the illustrations in between. They are clearly meant to give the reader the impression that the characters are to be thought of as existing in that style.

Now remove those illustrations. Pretend they never existed.

Do you still see them as anime characters?

I believe, in the case of something like Haruhi, that it remains, based particularly on the character types. The tsundere character type that is Haruhi is tied to anime as a whole. I have to admit though, that I’m not sure how effectively I can pretend those visual never existed. It’s not easy, I know that.

There’s also the fact that I am an anime fan. I wonder how this work with someone who wasn’t as involved and interested in anime as I am. Maybe I’ll try it out with someone normal.

This brings up another question, though. If indeed there are certain factors, beyond visuals, which distinguish anime and manga, is this a limitation on their storytelling abilities?