Contemplation of a Song and the Blog's Progress

"The Dalai Lama of the mic" is among the most curious statements made in "The Next Movement" by the Roots, asserting a rap spirituality. However, one must wonder how can rap (okay, hip hop) music be spiritual? Well, this is not necessary faith as a religion, but faith in the working of the world and aspiring to push it back into the right direction. The Dalai Lama as a figure - at least the current one - emphasizes creating balance and moving beyond anger and sadness towards enlightenment, which would indicate something of a peaceful revolt against the status quo. "The Next Movement" is appropriately a busy song, purveying sonic fullness with a barrage of lyrics- the current state of affairs is thus something to move on from. At the same time, the song provides a self-disruption where holes are created within the structure, creating a slightly disorienting feeling. However, the vocals urgently rally the listener in favor of this next movement, co-opting the disruption into a powerful force. Electric piano, percussion, and choral singing complement this effort. "The Next Movement" undoes the status quo without causing the entire structure to unravel.

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Updates, updates, updates....w.r.t an update to the update...

To be honest, I had meant to post more often in July but I think that some of the new posts I had intended will require more effort. I hope to work on the No Longer Human post with a friend and provide some other posts in August. Preventing this blog from becoming stagnant has become a goal yet perhaps I grasp onto it too tightly getting anxious, trying to create too many posts when fact of matter I should limit myself pursuing simpler approaches to enhancing the blog run on sentence much? Soon, an Electr-O-Pura review, and soon notes finally taken on the album, and soon a review.

Red Ribbon

 I wanted to explore a different style of writing poems. Below is a poem about Chitoge Kirisaki from Nisekoi.

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A tattered red ribbon,
an echo of childhood,
perched atop radiant blonde hair.

Like a lake facing a breeze,
her heart quivers,
uncertain of the path to self-discovery.

Submerged,
the slight disturbances ensnare
interacting desires and woes.

A tattered red ribbon
swaying at the wind’s urging,
as her essence quivered.

The First One-Off

These one-off posts will focus on three works of art (no specific medium) by way of a brief review or sketch of an idea. One idea per work of art, and then a final concluding paragraph – I intend to arrange a one-off post so that there is a general, overarching theme. In the ending I will tie the three works of art together loosely. I hope that these short posts can help me out when I aim to return to works of art to write longer posts. I will likely pick three works of art that I recently consumed, with emphasis on the ones I like the most. I hope this format is not confusing but rather adds some helpful diversity to my posts.

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1.      Wolf Children

Today I read the manga adaptation of Wolf Children, a film directed by Mamoru Hosoda. He directed The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, one of my favorite movies, so I had high hopes for this film (and the manga). Wolf Children has wonky pacing as a film but the ideas are fresh and original, allowing them to penetrate deeply into the psyche. The movie and manga both hit rather hard emotionally because the characters face such adversity. In one scene, Yuki, in a very loud and tearful manner, repeatedly exclaims “I’m sorry” to her mother; her serious intent is reflected in her repetition. Reading the manga helped me clarify and re-process the material underlying the film, allowing me to more fully appreciate the story. Both are beautiful. The manga has gargantuan yet lovely images of mountains, and other scenery, and the characters, allowing the viewer to focus on them. The film was, however, faster and had these sweeping cinematographic shots.  One scene exuberantly keeps pace with Ame, Yuki, and Hana as they run across the fresh snow; the frame shakes along with the characters as they continue, giving a realistic effect that lets the viewer keep up with the moving frame. The framing, animation, and landscapes combined create a visually impressive film.

Asides from that which I usually enjoy, I really respected how the film explored Hana as a single mother. Usually, in art, the family is typically nuclear – though it tends to be dysfunctional, this approach affirms what a “normal” family is supposed to be. However, here the family is a single parent household yet they are not depicted as fragmented. Wolf Children is unique and simultaneously plausible, creating an endearing depiction. Seeing their father pass way adds to this effect since we as viewers can understand their struggle – we cannot attach the typical stigma against single mothers.  Hana is a single human mother and she now must raise Ame and Yuki – Wolf Children – on her own. The children share dual identities as wolves and humans, making them fundamentally separate from Hana. Despite this barrier, Hana never gives up – she does what is best for her children even as they struggle with their self-conception. The ability for Hosoda to portray this family as strong - even as they drift apart based on their perceived abilities – is admirable.

That is all part of why I find Wolf Children very compelling. The film can be emotional yet admirable, sincere while not completely morose – there is humanity wrapped inside the film and manga.

2.      Honey and Clover

The manga series of Honey and Clover was an emotional ride that I completed only recently. But its focus on an art school in Tokyo should seem removed from my experiences – I graduated in engineering, which is not similar in the slightest. However, the main characters in Honey and Clover spend a lot of time on projects – they question their identity as they question their progress. As a researcher I did much of the same thing, though I did not do an art project. I wondered if my thesis was artistic – if it was both clear but imbued with a distinctive voice that made it enjoyable to read. In that sense, I was metaphorically sculpting my knowledge into an aesthetically appealing form. I questioned the validity and creativity of my project, much like the art students questioned their senior projects.  The series focuses on characters getting older – Mayama graduates and gets a job, Yamada ends up back at the academy, and Takemoto and Hagu end up on the unusual path of adulthood too. Seeing these events unfold reminded me that I was now in the midst of adulthood. The Honey and Clover cast deals with many unusual tasks and they all fit being an adult – the manga painted the picture of adulthood for me. Now there was no turning back. And, as time passes, relationships fray.

3.      BoJack Horseman

Today I finished season 1 of BoJack Horseman, which is a Netflix Original show. In many ways, BoJack is simply a lonely person who has few friends, late in life – he is an extraordinarily disillusioned person. Though his path is unusual, he embodies the loneliness and sadness of adulthood. In another way, he is clearly adult: his love-life is so disjointed and no matter what he does, he cannot make up his mind or do anything beyond being half-hearted. He ends up wanting two different people romantically but both get torn from his grasp anyways, as if life has no concern for BoJack’s happiness. Adulthood is apparently loveless and lonely so it’s hard to accept that good things can happen. Therefore, one must try to make a difference, even if there’s this fear that you cannot do anything. BoJack is not a show about perseverance in the lofty, propagandist sense: it’s about never giving up on life itself, even if life refuses to be helpful.

4.      Conclusion

The theme is the adversity of adulthood – love is also  tense and my fail as part of adult life and you may lose touch with yourself and your friends. Ultimately, the passage of time is brutal – adulthood is thus very brutal. The struggle, hopefully, is worthwhile and gifts adults with wisdom and valuable experiences instead of sorrow over lost time. If things must be lost over time, then hopefully there is still something to be gained. Otherwise struggling and living as an adult would not be remotely worthwhile.

Nisekoi's My Fair Marika

Girl = Lady = Societally Desirable Image Befitting Role (1)

Equation 1 describes the conventional perception of what a girl ought to be like. Through literature and art, there are many instances of a girl – defined by persisting gender roles of the time period and culture – being pressured to change and become a lady, to become accepted by society. A famed example is Pygmalion[1] by George Bernard Shaw. Eliza Doolittle, a street girl with a myriad of signifiers of being among the working class, is taught how to dress, act, and speak like a proper English lady. The most piercing event in this play comes when Eliza, despite her grooming, begins speaking again like a street girl, revealing her true upbringing. This betrayal of expectation is both hilarious and poignant by shattering societal ideals of the “lady.” A person’s true nature goes beyond behavior and appearance crafted simply for society’s perspective, so ultimately Shaw is calling into question this whole idea of high English culture.

In the manga (and anime) Nisekoi[2], Marika Tachibana has a similar experience. But first, some background. As a child, Marika was a sickly child so she lived in the country to maintain her health. She managed to meet Raku and they played together. Then her father, a police chief, offered to arrange Marika’s marriage to Raku when they grew older: she became Raku’s betrothed. In Episode 14 of the anime, Marika is reunited with Raku after ten years after she transfers into his classroom; she immediately proceeds to immediately act overly familiar with him (Figure 1), taking him by surprise.

Figure 1. Depiction of Marika (brown-haired girl in flowery pink dress, right) hugging Raku (blue-haired boy, left) right after being introduced as a transfer student. Her acting overly familiar with Raku surprises the whole class, including Raku. Note that this image is of the Shaft adaptation of the Nisekoi manga and not the manga itself.

When Raku Ichijo says that he does not remember her as they hang out in the city, she becomes surprised (Figure 2).

Figure 2. Depiction of Marika’s utter shock to hear that Raku does not remember her in the slightest. In the anime, Raku specifically mentions that he has never met someone who speaks like Marika.

Then she flies into a fit (Figure 3):
“I know you ain’t tellin’ me you done totally forgot me. I been carryin’ ‘round memories of you fer ten years […]And you’re tellin’ me you done totally forgot me?! […] Rakky, you told me you liked long hair so I grew my hair long an’ learned to talk all-proper like!! I worked so hard at it but now you’re tellin’ me you done totally forgot me?!”  (Spoken by Marika Tachibana in Volume 5 of the Nisekoi manga; an adapted version of this scene appears in the anime[3] based on the manga)

Figure 3. Depiction of Marika when she becomes furious that Raku had forgotten her. Note that this image is from the anime and does not appear in the manga.

Figure 4. Depiction of Marika growing embarrassed following her outburst where she reveals her country accent.

During this rant, her voice shifts dramatically to a country accent – in short, Marika is revealed to have altered her speech and grown her hair out in order to become what she thought Raku would want. In short, a lady. This scene therefore recalls Pygmalion as Marika channels her true mannerisms beyond her projections of ladyness. Due to her outburst, Raku realizes that he knows her – Marika’s transformation had caught him off guard. From here, Marika strives to change from a sickly girl with an accent into a lady. Reflecting on her outburst, she grows embarrassed (Figure 4). Now that Raku remembers, Marika beseeches him to never forget again.

The question remains: Is Marika’s behavior detrimental to her self worth? Clearly, her desire to please Raku represents an attempt to become a lady within his perspective, which seems self-defeating. She gets longer hair per his preferences and changes her speaking style just to be with him. However, this seems a bit cynical for love: she should not change herself in this effort to win over Raku because that places her squarely as more of an object than human. For love, she should allow Raku to love her the way she is. In this sense, Marika is clearly disempowering herself. However, at the same time, she displays agency by changing her appearance and behavior – by now means any easy task – through sheer willpower. Though Marika changed for Raku, she maintains a dominant approach that is on her own terms, affirming this idea of agency. Agency vs changing exclusively for love – answering the posed question requires a balancing of the two sides. Marika is a determined person so she should get the benefit of the doubt. Her self worth seems intact and perhaps improved – after all she was simply a sickly girl in her young age. The answer is therefore not straightforward: Marika is empowering herself, though she risks losing her meaning if her motivation falters. 

References
Nisekoi. Dir. Akiyuki Shinbo. Perf. Kana Asumi and Kana Hanazawa. Shaft Animation, 2014. Anime. 
Komi, Naoshi. Nisekoi. Weekly Shonen Jump. Manga.
Shaw, George Bernard. Pygmalion. 1912. Play. 

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[1] Takes place in England during the early 1900s. It focuses on London in particular. This play is considered a classic work and a satire of the stiffness of high British culture.

[2] This manga (and anime) takes place in modern day Japan.

[3] A twenty-episode first season of the show, which contains the aforementioned scene, was created by Shaft Animation. Marika Tachibana is voiced by Kana Asumi in the anime adaptation.

Yama's Messenger Part III: Shinsekai Yori

A village amongst a group of villages, controlled by some of the last humans in Japan. Following years of warfare amongst humans – between normal humans and special humans who have magical powers called Cantus - has led to a unique societal restructuring. Against this backdrop is From the New World. The violence of old is implied to be nuclear in nature, leading to a drastic decrease in the global human population. Therefore, this show represents a perceived post-nuclear world: at the hand of humanity’s desire for improved weaponry would the world be irreparably harmed. Thus, the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the destruction of the Fukushima power plant are implied in this new world in which sits the village. A group of Cantus wielders live in this village, aiming to maintain societal stability following the years of turbulence. To this end, the children are brainwashed into blindly accepting societal values, favoring stability over individuality. This society in many ways reflects traditional Japanese culture in that harmony is held up so highly, seemingly reinforced by the nuclear threat.

Favoring a subtle response, the village elders identify children who could pose a problem and mark them for extermination, which is carried out by the engineered Tainted Cats[1]. The Board of Education in the village is the task force in charge of this effort. Obviously, these efforts enhance stability somehow. However, these policies are guided by very specific fears[2]. One possibility is a Karmic Demon, describing a person who leaks Cantus unconsciously[3] – this state is itself akin to nuclear materials releasing radiation. These so-called Karmic Demons, however, can at least be defeated relatively easily by the stable Cantus users.

However, one even more terrifying possibility threatens this society: the existence of a Fiend who attacks other humans. Because in this society humans cannot directly use Cantus to fight humans[4], the ability to do so represents a fissure in that which binds them together. Therefore, the Fiend is far too difficult to defeat: it can kill humans but cannot be itself killed by Cantus. The Fiend is capable of shattering such a society built around stability as a result. In that sense, this phenomenon represents a very Japanese fear of being destroyed from within, as reflected by their emphasis on harmony. It ties into the similar depictions in Akira and Elfen Lied – naturally, From the New World similarly employs gore and violence to depict the sheer power of superhumans when allowed to roam unrestrained. The remainder of this essay will focus on the Fiend (prominent in eps 18-25 or so of the show) as she relates to Japanese culture and mass murder.

 

Figure 1. Distant view of the Fiend. (Presumably) human corpses are being levitated due to the Fiend's powers.

Figure 2. Close view of the Fiend. She is a red-haired human girl of around age ten. This expression does not betray her violent capabilities.

Saki and Satoru, two characters who grew up in the village, are among the remaining defenders left to fight the humanoid Monster Rats[5]. After years of oppression by the humans, the Monster Rats under the leadership of Yakomaru[6] are revolting. The humans quickly abandon their childishly simple hubris as their casualties mount, crushing the supposedly safe society that the Cantus users had built. Because the Monster Rats are themselves not strong, they surely have an ace. With rising tensions, Saki and Satoru travel to the abandoned hospital, now a place of grime and darkness; on their way, they discover humans wrapped up and strung from the ceiling. 

Figure 3. Partial depiction of wrapped up patients. Satoru (left) and Saki (right) are examining these patients to see if there are survivors.

Talking to one of the few remaining patient survivors reveals that “she” is on the loose. Making their way out, Saki and Satoru barely escape “her” through a tense act of deception as they drifted down in the river in a canoe. So close they hear a fierce banshee shriek – it is the Fiend, capable of unnerving the sturdiest warrior – and feel the disruption of society as a physical existence. Saki, as they try to keep apace, thinks back on the Board of Education’s policies: as a child she had resented them but now she saw why they were in place. The worst fears of this society are being realized through the Fiend’s path of destruction.

As if driving home this point, upon their return to the village, the village tower is split into large chunks and the most powerful human, the leader, is killed by the Fiend violently, despite his best efforts to slay her with a barrage of stones. After slaying him “she” breathes heavily, only slightly deterred. In this moment, she truly is the Monster Rat “Messiah,” a being who perfectly represents the nuclear superhuman.

Nameless – she is either “her” or “Messiah” or “The Fiend.” Never a true name or something to present her humanity. As I call her, she is always “The Fiend.” Thus, she is cast as not human, similar to the superhumans in Akira and Elfen Lied[7]. However, she is indisputably a pre-adolescent/adolescent human girl, born to human parents. (She was raised by Monster Rats, though, after being orphaned at a young age.)  There is a degree of cognitive dissonance that can only be resolved with this logic: she is considered subhuman in a human form, which matches eerily well with theories on systematic oppression. This link is indirect – after all, in this case the Fiend is technically the oppressor and murdered. However, her falling out of the norm itself, removed of her hand in violence, results in her dehumanization. As stated earlier, being known as a murderer creates additional adverse effects.

Known for her ability to make vocalizations other than shrieked yells, the Fiend is thus cast inhuman – if anything she bears resemblance to how an autistic child is seen. Thus, she fits the social model of disability rather well - the Fiend is seen as having the inability to talk or have human emotions, which means that she is viewed as a monster to slay rather than a human to understand. In the show, Satoru gets angry and worried whenever Saki questions if “she” is really a Fiend, suggesting how ingrained this idea is. Society values a normed approach to expression of emotions, which places the Fiend starkly outside of it. Therefore, the characters’ perception that she is not human allows for painting her as both a murderer with no value for life and as someone who disrespects humanity – however, a murderer belonging to a normed state is seen as more human, generally. Therefore, the only solution to dealing with the Fiend is to outright destroy her in a ballistic effort, reminiscent of the United States’ attempts to bring the Japanese nation to its knees during WWII. The masses slain by her add their corpses to this argument. These depictions create an image of someone who become no longer human and was able to destroy societal stability. For this reason, the latter half of the show is drenched with a claustrophobic and tense atmosphere, displaying strong horror influences: The Fiend is a beast.

Seeking to kill the Fiend, Saki and Satoru head to the lethal wasteland of Tokyo in pursuit of the bactericidal weapon called the Psychobuster – they were followed by Yakomaru and his prized pupil the Fiend, setting the stage for a showdown. The Psychobuster, however, is strongly reminiscent of biological warfare – it is akin to the sarin gas attack – and therefore is not a weapon that can be used lightly. 

Figure 4.  Depiction of the Psychobuster weapon and its cover (unsheathed).

The weapon must be used on a foe deemed beyond humanity, which raises morality questions about its usage. Seeing the Fiend, Satoru dispatched the Psychobuster to the concern of Saki. However, Saki, who realized that the Fiend is indeed truly a human, stops the poison gas emitted with a burst of flames; this act protects all three of them.  This act reaffirms the Fiend’s humanity and acts against punishing a murderer with a cruel and gruesome death: one does not dispatch a human with a slow and painful death unless that person’s humanity is deemed lessened. Typically this happens when a murderer is perceived to fall outside of normed social identities – a non-normed figure like the Fiend is more likely to be considered an inhuman monster and therefore target for an inhumane death.

After a drawn out battle, the Fiend is defeated in a clever manner. Kiroumaru[8], a Monster Rat aiding Saki and Satoru, feigns being a human and allows the Fiend to mortally wound him; then he reveals himself to be a Monster Rat, to the horror of the Fiend. (The Fiend’s death feedback applies only to Monster Rats and not humans because she was raised by the former. She does not, as a result, see humans as “human.”) 

 

Figure 5. Depiction of Kiroumaru from the back after he is both mortally wounded by the Fiend and has removed his bandages, revealing that he is a Monster Rat. Now the Fiend realizes that she has killed a fellow Monster Rat and begins to feel death feedback. 

Figure 6. The Fiend's shock and apprehension upon feeling the death feedback and seeing Kiroumaru collapse. 

 

Figure 7. The Fiend screaming in pain and subsequently clutching her chest as she begins to die. Moments later, she collapses as a corpse.

Clutching her chest while gasping in agony, she collapses onto the ground. This final scene reveals that, though she acts very different from the normed state and killed many people, she is human. Through this sequence, the murderer is not simply a being who has a thirst for blood but someone who was influenced into this role: this suggests that the destruction is altogether more horrific, which is why the murderer is usually cast as inhuman. The show, through offering her a comparatively peaceful and arguably more human death, suggests that even mass killers have to be offered humanity, even in their punishment. Society, however, tends to become focused on the persecution of attacks on its stability rather than on concerning itself over a fair punishment. In many respects, how society deals with murder should thus be considered.

 

Figure 8. Yakomaru standing next to the corpse of his pupil the Fiend. As of this point, he has accepted utter defeat.

Throughout much of From the New World, the Fiend is seen through her grunting and other non-verbal vocalizations, casting her as beastly. The viewer witnesses many scenes of absolute carnage at her hands. However, as the killings continue, the Fiend becomes more and more human through Saki’s eyes. And, ultimately, as she collapses onto the ground, she is fully revealed to be human in her ability to feel and react, revealing that the initial depictions of the Fiend as monstrous are simplistic. In these final moments, “she” is revealed to be far beyond simply a cruel murderer. One could argue that she was groomed for a role where she would eventually be a sacrifice by Yakomaru and that she was doomed from the start. In this sense, the Fiend was transformed from a living being into a tool to be used, reflecting dehumanization. Thus, she represents a fascinating but lachrymose view of mass murder as complex and not simply a barbaric act.  

References

Shinsekai Yori. Dir. Masashi Ishihama Perf. Kana Hanazawa and Risa Taneda. A-1 Pictures, 2012-2013. Anime. 

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[1] In this respect, the show still features some elements such as genetic engineering that are currently being used.

[2] These fears can be directed towards fears regarding the effects of radiation and sources of radiation (i.e. atomic bombs).

[3] Stable Cantus users can stop the leakage of Cantus so most people do not enter this state.

[4] Stable Cantus users have a death feedback – using Cantus on other Cantus users results in death through an influenced physiological pattern.

[5] The Monster Rats are a race that looks like a mixture between humans and mole rats; they are considered inferior to the Cantus users and were used as slaves prior to the revolt. This revolt is one of the major plot developments in the latter half of the show.

[6] He claims himself as a revolutionary leader of the Monster Rats to overthrow the humans.

[7] These characters are designated by number and are rarely called by their given names.

[8] This character has particular plot significance for a variety of reasons but he plays a major role in defeating the Fiend. 


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This post is part three of three.