One of the miracles of shounen manga is the fact that they can be about anything. It’s one thing to make a shounen series for every sport on the planet – the eroge scene can compete in that regard – but it’s no new discovery that shounen extends far beyond its traditional premises, arguably a bit too far. You could probably dig up a shounen about Gunpla building or babysitting and they’d still be as over-the-top as the rest of the genre, and proud of it.

Following this train of thought, it took me a while before I started looking at Liar Game as, quite simply, a shounen about Game Theory.

Now, before you start arguing semantics, I realize that Liar Game is more seinen than shounen. I’m not familiar with Shinobu Kaitani’s other works (aside from One Outs which I technically still haven’t seen), but his work doesn’t appear to be targeted at teenagers. Still, regardless of the demographic, Liar Game has more than enough unsubtle cliffhangers and an overpowered protagonist (with a dark past!) for it to be comparable with other shounen manga.

My second disclaimer is that I am not a mathematician or economist, and my would-be field of study has almost nothing to do with the contents of the Wikipedia page for game theory. However, I don’t believe a person needs to understand game theory to enjoy Liar Game any more than they need to understand baseball to enjoy Taisho Yakyuu Musume. Still, what follows is mostly un-academic conjecture, so be warned.

- – -

If you’ve read any of Liar Game – a story about a legendary noble con man participating in a mysterious competition with the goal of finding the world’s greatest liar – you’d know that the games are the single most important aspect of it. Each of Liar Game’s games are deconstructed, analyzed, and eventually mastered by each of the participants by the time the competition ends. Each game provides a different environment for competition, like a shounen protagonist obtaining a new weapon or ability and testing his might against a powered-up villain. Much like Death Note and even Kaminomi, Liar Game‘s battles are fought entirely with the mind. Unlike the aforementioned titles, however, its battles are fought in familiar territory.

By “familiar territory” I mean that Liar Game uses variants of games that already exist in the real world, like Poker and Musical Chairs, and generally solves them with pre-existing concepts like these. The logic of the story is based on concepts that exist for the purpose of mathematically analyzing seemingly luck-based games and finding rational solutions to them. I imagine that this is how games like Poker can be played professionally. Liar Game writes its “battles” by combining these concepts with a bit of psychology (since the majority of the characters are not very good liars), and it reveals its solutions to the reader in reverse. I’m sure than Kaitani already knows the results of each game before he begins writing, otherwise that would lead to some very awkward plot twists, but the information is revealed to the reader through the slow and detailed deductive process that the characters go through.

One of the many elaborate charts used to help the reader keep track of the developments.

The most appealing part of the story for me is the fact that I love the concept of game theory. Math is certainly not my strong point, but the basic idea of game theory can be applied in a non-academic sense to all sorts of competitions, ranging from chess to video games. The nature of competitions against other human beings means that there are a limited number of options, some of which are more profitable than others. The purpose of studying a game is to determine which option your opponent will choose and select the option that best reacts to this and puts you at the advantage. I think the math equations enter the picture in order to calculate the probability of different options being chosen, which would be based on countless variables. That’s what makes it so exciting!

I don’t want to go off on too much of a tangent, but some of Liar Game‘s concepts can be seen in everyday competitions. If you’re familiar with video games, think about the concept of mindgames in fighting games. In general, it’s impossible to deal damage to an opponent in a professional fighting game match by walking up to your enemy and executing a standard combo because they’ll simply block it. The psychological aspect is important because you need to trick your opponent before you can even land a hit, leading into the combo. When your opponent blocks an attack, do you follow up with an overhead? Do you continue the string with another attack? Do you pause and go for a throw? Both players cycle through those options in their mind, like a rock-paper-scissors match; and like a rock-paper-scissors match, it continues until one player wins and one loses. Since Liar Game revolves so heavily on forming and breaking alliances, it’s almost reminiscent of the reality show Survivor in that the players have to simultaneously make bonds of trust with others while making preparations to assure that they’re the last person standing. Betrayal might be tempting, but you can’t very well expect your victims to help you in the next round.

You’ll be hearing that claim a lot.

I don’t want to give the mistaken impression that Liar Game is a deep and complex series; in a lot of ways, it’s still a standard suspense story with typical shounen elements hidden behind a very unique premise. Sometimes the characters can be annoying – particularly a certain naive heroine – and Akiyama is overpowered to the point that you can always assume that he is never cornered. Ever. I’m sure there’s a TV Tropes page for this.

However, I don’t think that Liar Game’s depth is meant to be in its story or characters – its true depth lies in its combat. The battles in the Liar Game are very well thought out, and it’s always a pleasure to see how the simplest games can be broken down and analyzed to the point that the meta game feels as complex as a warlord’s conquest while the basic rules are as simple as a children’s board game.

This is the true appeal of Liar Game for me: it’s a dramatic, over-the-top shounen about mature, intelligent adults playing musical chairs, and it’s awesome. The only way it could get better is if they decide to play rock-paper-scissors in the next round.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

It’s difficult to not talk about Jun Maeda’s Angel Beats. Despite coming from a writer whose most famous works target a relatively niche audience, it’s a fact that Angel Beats is a high-quality production, likely high-budget as well, and it’s earned the attention of most of anime fandom – for better or worse. The show may not have topped Key’s visual novel adaptations in terms of popularity or praise, but it marks an interesting departure from Maeda’s traditional style while staying true to the sentimental storytelling that makes Key what it is. It goes without saying that I’m a fan, but I believe that Angel Beats is particularly noteworthy: not because it trumps the nakige classics, but because it’s a solid drama that helped me identify an aspect of Key’s appeal that I was unable to isolate during the various visual novel adaptations.

To start, I should mention that Angel Beats does a decent job of differentiating itself from its genre by actually having fun with itself. The comedy, while theoretically hit-or-miss, was almost always a hit in my case. Most of the comic relief revolves around the characters’ unusual quirks, sometimes to the point that it treads on parody territory. Comedy certainly isn’t essential to a story like this, but it helps the viewer relax in what would otherwise be a fairly depressing situation, and it explores the group’s personalities without slowing down the pace. It could be jarring to switch between comedy and drama like Angel Beats does but the transitions work for the most part.

As for the show’s technical merits, there’s not much to say other than that the presentation is spectacular. Specifically, Maeda’s background music is astounding, and there’s at least one track that’s making me look forward to the OST more than I’ve ever looked forward to an OST. Wikipedia points out that he was aiming for a minimalist style, which certainly explains the melody-less piano and percussion that accompanies quite a few scenes. Overall, the music stands out as much in Angel Beats as it does in the rest of Key’s adaptations, and some of the piano melodies are just as tearjerking as Nagisa, and maybe even Last Regrets.

Visually, I have nothing to say about P.A. Works other than the fact that the show looks as good as ef, except the beauty is detailed rather than abstract. Everything from the first episode’s GirlDeMo concert to the gymnasium floor make the show look more like a film than a TV series, and the traditional Key aesthetics of dramatic and surreal lighting pervade most of the important scenes. The animation is usually above-average, and it seems to have a good sense of the feeling of each scene. It’s hard to find specific examples of this, but in my memory, I can distinctly see Kanade’s hair blowing softly in the breeze and contrast it with the ferocity of the bullets bouncing off her shield during the fight in the first episode. Most of the important scenes got me thinking that I was watching something that looks far better than your average TV anime. Altogether, it’s prettier than True Tears.

At any rate, Angel Beats might be superficially beautiful, but it’s the familiar emotionally charged story that truly got me. Jun Maeda’s story works on two levels for me: it’s a (melo)dramatic tale of pursuing fulfillment in one’s life, even in death, but it’s also a noticeable departure from the type of work that earned Key its unofficial English slogan.

It’s obvious from watching the show that the universe of Angel Beats is simply Maeda’s version of purgatory. The souls of children whose lives were stolen unjustly, be it through human crime or unfortunate accidents, gather together in paradise to heal their wounds and pass on. The show seems to interpret “passing on” as reincarnation rather than true death, but it hardly matters since the memories have to disappear in the process. As Yuri said, humans have no choice but to accept the realities of their lives, no matter how unfair or unjust they may be. Willfully choosing to abandon one’s memories in favour of a more pleasant existence would be the same as throwing away one’s own life. The purpose of this purgatorial high school is to graduate, but at what cost?

At least, this is the conflict that Yuri is faced with, and it’s the central problem that the characters have to overcome. On one hand we have the optimistic theory of living in paradise to heal the wounds of a painful life, almost as a way to make up for the unfair lives that they lived up until then. On the other hand, the story questions the authenticity of this happiness, stating that it’s effectively just an illusion. Yuri’s confrontation with the Angel Player program – easily the most dramatic scene in the show – summarizes this conflict in a catharsis of gunpowder. The program exists to stop love from blossoming in the afterlife; by doing so, players will be forced to live out their dreams in paradise and eventually pass on. However, while Yuri realized that accepting the paradise as it is and allowing herself to disappear would be a shallow way to end her life, she also couldn’t bring herself to accept her initial desire of destroying God and avenging her family. Gaining control of Angel Player would perhaps allow her to come to terms with her unfair life, but she would be sacrificing the happiness that she built in her present life in the process.

In reality, the catharsis that Yuri and the others desire isn’t something that can be found through shallow goals or illusions of happiness – it’s something that they have to find for themselves, as they experience the love that they never felt in the real world and eventually allow themselves to pass on. She concludes this proclamation by blasting a hole through the system that limits love for the sake of preventing the weak-willed from being sucked into an eternal existence. Ultimately, the ability for the dead to find their resolution and pass on is more important than any fail-safe.

The sheer importance of the scene makes me wonder if there was any intentional symbolism, though it’s always hard to separate thematic motifs from stylistic ones. The sight of Yuri tearing through Angel Player’s mountain of hearts is almost ironic since she was in fact freeing the hearts of the players from control. Perhaps that was the very intention of the scene: freeing the players’ hearts from the programmer’s computer system that branches across the entire world. Either way, it’s a stunning visual motif that packs the dramatic punch that the scene needs. Yuri’s reference to her own tragic past as she pulls the trigger is easily the show’s most triumphant moment.

Of course, if the second-last episode contains the most triumphant moment, it’s only fitting that the last episode overshadows it with the most heartbreaking moment. Kanade’s final revelation ties in all sorts of things, and not just in terms of the obvious thematic resolution. For one, the name of the show starts making sense. I recall hearing someone joke that the name “Angel Beats” could be taken literally because much of the story revolves around literally beating up an angel. It’s impossible to know until the end, but the “beats” refers to Kanade’s heart. The symbol is enforced by the name of the OP (My Soul, Your Beats) and the repeated use of the cardiograph imagery in the OP and the eyecatch. Of course, no amount of clever imagery can overshadow the romantic symbol of Otonashi’s and Kande’s hearts being eternally connected – literally.

Angel Beats is the kind of show that people would praise for being deep and thought-provoking if it were directed by Mamoru Oshii or adapted from a Yoshitoshi ABe manga. Since this is not the case and the story is more likely to appeal to a completely different crowd, it’s worth mentioning that Angel Beats lacks some of the hallmarks of the Key tradition that viewers are familiar with – specifically, the theme of tragic romance. The romance in Angel Beats is implicit at best, and it only shows itself when it’s needed to jerk the tears. Compare this to shows like Clannad and Kanon where, even though there are general themes about life that guide the story along its course, everything revolves around the main romantic relationship. The amazing thing about Angel Beats is that it didn’t occur to me until the very end that I was watching a Key anime without romance. In other words, Maeda managed to hook me on a tragic love story without the love story.

This is what led me to the realization that Clannad ~After Story~ should have led me to, but couldn’t because of my own bias toward Tomoya and Nagisa. The nakige “sad girls in snow” style of storytelling may be Key’s strong point if you want to pigeonhole their style into a genre or structure, but as Angel Beats proves, Maeda’s true strength is his sentimental storytelling, not his ability to write romance. Angel Beats possesses all of the distinctive Key styles that make fans cry at the end while writing 1000+ word blog posts, but the actual storyline is noticeably different from the rest of Maeda’s work. It’s like Clannad without the romance. Angel Beats is really about the challenge of finding fulfillment in an unfair world, something that could be portrayed as dark and bleak or vague and pretentious or even satirical, but it’s told in such a dramatic, tear-jerking manner that it’s just as painful as Ayu’s last goodbye in Kanon. Of course I wouldn’t want to see Jun Maeda and his colleagues drift away from the romantic stories that they’re known for telling, but Angel Beats made me realize conclusively that it’s the dramatic, sentimental storytelling that makes Key what it is, not the love-it-or-hate-it clichés of sad girls in snow and magical AIDS.

Having said that, it’s important to remember that Angel Beats tells a spectacular story on its own, regardless of its relation to the rest of Key’s tearjerkers. The theme may be simple – no life is worthless, all lives can find their own fulfillment – but it’s told in a way that isn’t often seen in anime. The afterlife setting may not be as unique as it should be, but the concept of a paradise-like purgatory that exists to quell life’s unfair pains – the very same pains that the characters of Key’s other games have to suffer through! – is both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

Ultimately, nothing can sum up my feelings on the show like Kanade’s last goodbye. Otonashi remembers what it means to live, then watches his happiness slip through his fingers once more… and at some point, he closes his eyes and accepts the true happiness that his life has given him, the happiness that shines through any amount of pain. It’s bittersweet, heartbreaking, and uplifting. It’s Key, and I love it.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

You’ve probably heard of Megatokyo – the American 4-panel webcomic that evolved into a published manga series both in the English-speaking world and in Japan. I wasn’t around for its birth and rise to fame so I can’t comment specifically on the history, but Fred Gallagher already said that the story was never expected or intended to turn into what it is today (not unlike the history of 4chan). Despite the fact that Megatokyo‘s decade-long history comes with its fair share of awkward pacing and different visual styles, it’s more or less a mandatory read for OEL manga fans and people who enjoy meta anime like Genshiken.

The interesting thing about Megatokyo is that its plot can hardly stand on its own: without any cultural awareness on the reader’s part, the story is flat-out illogical. Luckily, this also means that it provides a surprisingly engrossing experience for readers who can relate to the protagonists and their bizarre journey through the zombie hordes and love triangles of Tokyo. There’s a reason why I like Megatokyo as much as I do, a reason why it trumps all of Japan’s anime-about-anime-fans in my eyes – its secret lies in the fact that the meta concepts are woven into nearly every aspect of the plot.

- – - – -

Let me start with the big one: Piro and Kimiko. Piro is fairly similar to every other “otaku” protagonist in anime, and he probably has a thing or two in common with most of Megatokyo‘s readers. For a main character, we don’t know much about him other than the fact that he lacks self-confidence. Normally, a story like this would develop in your typical boring but realistic manner – the protagonist is forced into a social lifestyle at school or work, he grows closer to his peers, the plot pushes a decision onto him, and before you know it, he’s kicking reason to the curb to fight for his love. You could say that Piro is headed in this direction, albeit slowly, but his development is different. His character might be generic, but seeing the world through his eyes is more intriguing than seeing it through a similar protagonist’s eyes because he can act as a reflection of the reader.

Just look at his relationship with Kimiko: it’s generic and uninspired on the surface, but it hits an entirely new level of kyaa~ if you can relate to him, or at least if you can understand him. Remember his first encounter with her? He had enough willpower to raise a flag, but not enough confidence to believe that it would lead anywhere. It’s one thing to write a story about a guy with no confidence, but it’s another thing entirely to do it with Megatokyo‘s specific references and familiar thought processes. Any boring lead can be just like Piro on the surface, but only in a meta story like Megatokyo can they come to life through familiar scenes like this and this. Like a good shoujo protagonist, he draws a link between himself and the reader’s own experience; he’s at once a character and a mirror.

The meta becomes even more interesting when things start moving forward between him and Kimiko. Remember the rejection? Piro is easily shot down, just like the countless anonymous readers that he represents. He’s either hesitant or cynical when it comes to a lot of things, which is easy to frown upon until you realize just how close to home his story hits. And let’s not forget that Piro is Fred, to some extent: the character was initially based off of the writer, so I’m sure he used some of his life experiences to forge Piro’s insecurities, in the same way that all writers exist in their characters to some degree.

Most of his ongoing struggles with Kimiko deal with something painfully familiar to visual novel fans: romantic fantasies. On Piro’s side, he has to overcome the ubiquitous fear of rejection while fighting off his own unrealistic fantasies. Is he deluding himself into expecting Kimiko to be something she can’t be? On the flip side, Kimiko faces the problem from the opposite end: she has idealistic views toward her future role as a living fantasy, but she also has to accept the fact that she isn’t a fantasy, and her fans can’t fulfill their own desires without defiling the fantasy that she creates. It’s sad but true; fantasies are enjoyed and consumed at the cost of their creator. One can’t blame her for being jaded. She sympathizes with her fans’ lack of confidence, but do they have the right to abuse her role as a public fantasy for their own personal pleasure? Her position in her career aims to create a tangible, real-world fantasy for fans to cling to for emotional support, but if the fantasy is only a false side of her, where does that leave her?

You can see what I mean about the meta being woven into the plot – the characters’ conflicts are tied to some of the most profound challenges that anime fans face. The PiroxKimiko portion of the story doubles as a fair, unbiased lecture on the concept of fantasy and wish fulfillment in anime fandom, except the lecture has no moral and no conclusion. It’s a mess of unfulfilled feelings, just like any good romance manga, and that’s what I love about it. The meta transforms their story from a mediocre sob-fest into an emotional and occasionally thought-provoking exploration of romantic fantasies in otaku culture.

I realized long ago that Megatokyo is recommended reading for all Western anime fans, but it never occurred to me that it might be mandatory reading for Key fans.

Miho’s arc, especially with some revelations from the recent chapter 10, is as relevant to visual novel fans as Piro’s quest to gain confidence and Kimiko’s struggle to express her own emotions and come to terms with her role as a false fantasy. Fred is actually the creator of that good old Key phrase, and Kimiko’s company “Lockart” is an obvious reference to the infamous nakige developers. Needless to say, I knew I had to go over this in my post as soon as I read that strip.

Miho’s role in the story explores the concept of fantasy from yet another angle. Much like Kimiko, she’s a real human being trapped behind a fantasy – her duty is to make people love her, but in reality, people only love the fantasy that she portrays. Miho’s “sick moe” allure only works in the world of fiction; fans fall for the experience they feel when they protect characters like her from their tragic fate, but no one falls for the “real” Miho. She’s the exact opposite of doujin fodder: she’s the fuel behind an endless supply of false emotions, pathos porn. Her story is literally about a tool for emotional gratification seeking confidence in itself.

Miho’s arc is intriguing because it slices through the nakige subgenre. Every Key fan knows that Fred’s description is accurate, just as we all know that his description of the role that idols play in the fantasies of fans is painfully true. Miho hits the nail on the head when it comes to the allure of “sad girls in snow”, and as her story continues, I expect to see more development that explores the issue from her perspective. We already know the appeal of her character type, but what does it mean for her? How would a potential love interest approach her? I’d like nothing more than to see a chapter about a love interest struggling to differentiate between his feelings for her and his superficial feelings for her archetype.

Sad Kimiko in snow.

The amount of meta in Megatokyo is endless. Certainly, it works in comedic situations, just like every other anime-about-anime, but it’s doubly effective here because it’s intrinsically tied to the story. There are thought-provoking lines (last panel) where you least expect them, and each arc deals with something painfully familiar to the audience. Piro’s sad girl drawings acting as a reflection of himself? MMO relationships that leave behind lasting wounds? Sign me up.

The best part of it is that, for a completely implausible story, the characters are almost perfectly realistic. When you view his actions as exaggerations, Largo acts exactly like a typical hardcore gamer with zero interest in relationships and common sense, which makes his dialogue with Erika that much more believable. Ping is literally a robot who exists for the emotional pleasure of dating sim players, but as she enters school and befriends humans, she faces the inevitable problem – her existence as a fantasy hinders her relationships with other people. Even though Piro and Kimiko might seem like a fantasy that can only occur in manga – which is true, to some extent – she doesn’t hesitate to shatter whatever delusions the reader might have about her being a perfect haremette for their self-insert. She’s self-aware, the rest of the cast is self-aware, and Gallagher is self-aware. He knows what he’s writing, and he’s writing it well.

At the end of the day, I suppose that’s the only secret of Megatokyo. It’s written by a person who knows how to converge the meta issues of fandom with a generic anime plot, resulting in the most emotionally moving story about geeks being geeks that I’ve ever read.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

[sayori]

If you’ve played any Touhou games other than the 2D fighters, you probably know that ZUN isn’t the world’s best artist. However, as most Touhou fanartists have realized, beneath the technically flawed character portraits lies a wealth of creative, memorable, if not gimmicky character designs. I’m sure we can all think of one character off the top of our heads whose design stands out from the rest, a character who would instantly catch our eye while scrolling through the picture collection. Every game has one of them; frankly, every game has lots of them.

One aspect of ZUN’s character designs that I find interesting is the fact that they occasionally tie into the story and the character’s personality. Sometimes this takes the form of a visual motif; a distinguishing trait, be it an article of clothing or a story-related magical power, that’s always capitalized upon in fanart, and sometimes even in-game. Amazingly, the danmaku that the player struggles to dodge can be more than just a mess of shape and colour! Be it through clothing or hair colour or magical vampire wings and frog-eyed hats, here are a few characters whose designs are slightly more than meets the eye.

(Since all fanartists portray characters slightly differently, it might help to click on the links in the characters’ names to see their official art on Touhou Wiki)

[azuma syoujuan]

Yuyuko Saigyouji, the ghost princess. Being one of the main characters of the strangely popular Perfect Cherry Blossom, Yuyuko is probably one of the most recognizable bosses in the series. She’s also one of the most memorable.

There are two words that come to mind when I see Yuyuko: “Japan” and “Pink”. Clearly, her character design is very Japanese, complete with the kimono and hitaikakushi. There are some frills here and there and a pair of ribbons on her shoes, but it’s probably not enough to qualify as wa-loli. For the most part, she keeps with the general “eastern” theme of Touhou’s shrine maidens and moon princesses.

Yuyuko is also very pink. Considering her role in the story, it’s natural that the cherry blossoms would be her main motif, enforcing the Japanese aura surrounding her. Most fanart portrays her with either cherry blossoms or butterflies, matching with her hair colour and complementing her light blue clothing. You can even see these colours in some of her spellcards, although the background takes a darker purple tone to make the battle feel more tense. A Japanese-style fan also floats behind her during some of her non-spellcard attacks, much like the one that she’s occasionally portrayed with in fan works.

Incidentally, the white, wispy butterflies drawn in some fanart are likely a reference to this spellcard, although I don’t believe they have much to do with her otherwise.

[yukitarou/yuuki tatsuya]

Fujiwara no Mokou is supposed to be a human, but you wouldn’t think so if you fought her in Imperishable Night’s Extra stage. Thanks to her immortality in Touhou canon and her ability to control fire, Mokou feels more like a phoenix than anything else.

Despite the fact that her story describes her only as an immortal human with power over fire, Mokou has taken on a unique role in fanon. Indeed, much of her fanart portrays her with her element of choice, but it also portrays her as a bit of a tomboy – or in some cases, a flat-out manly shounen protagonist. It’s hard to imagine what pants and suspenders can do to a 2D girl’s image! Of course, she plays the role of Kaguya’s enemy in the story, and being a powerful opponent, it’s natural that fans see her as more cool than cute. Perhaps that’s why it’s so fun to draw her as a tsundere.

In the game, ZUN maintains Mokou’s “cool” image, enforced with the burning hot passion of her 1300-year life. Most of her spellcards are red in some way, contrasting with the deep blue background, and many of them make use of her fire motif. The phoenix symbol appears in the background in a handful of patterns, so it isn’t a fanon invention.

Finally, note that Mokou doesn’t appear to be very feminine to begin with. Aside from the obligatory hair ribbon, she possesses none of ZUN’s signature silly hats and frilly dresses. It’s a wise character design decision because she looks more or less like she acts.

[scarlet]

Last but not least is Koishi Komeiji, Hartmann‘s beloved youkai girl. (Worst pairing ever or worst pairing ever?)

Much the opposite of her older sister, Koishi is an energetic youkai who has a bit too much fun with her ability to manipulate the subconscious. Her Third Eye is symbolic of her special ability, possibly a reference to the mythological background, and it’s literally woven into her character design in the most creative way. Just like Satori, Koishi’s eye is like a long, winding ribbon that circles her body; I wouldn’t be surprised if it took a few playthroughs for everyone to figure out just what the thing is. For something so unusual, it looks perfectly natural on her.

The most important aspect of Koishi’s character design is her heart motif. The hearts are likely a reference to her ability to read the “hearts” of others, considering that they can also be seen on Satori‘s character portrait, but they only play a role in Koishi’s spellcards. From a stylistic point of view, they do a good job of reminding the player that they’re up against one of ZUN’s signature playful loli characters with more bullet patterns than can ever be healthy. A couple of her attacks make use of the hearts in a manner that would feel comical if they weren’t filling the screen with impending doom. The hearts are also woven into her portrait – take a look at her shoes and the shape of the Third Eye’s cord near her shoulder.

Lastly, Koishi is adorned with all of the necessary light, effeminate clothing and gimmicky hats to make her popular with the male fans – and, frankly, to make her a solid target for doujins. Koishi looks just as cute and cuddly as her sister, but her difference in personality speaks through her beaming smile.

- – -

As you can see, there’s a bit more to the Touhou characters than meets the eye. Even in terms of pure visuals, some of the characters have obscure references and motifs in their attire that hint at their personalities and their role in the story. Of course, many of the characters are simply drawn to look good, but there are some unquestionable trends in fanart that led me to some important realizations about the original designs.

Having said that, ZUN will never be the greatest artist in terms of technical details – all of his talent appears to have gone toward music. However, his creativity is astounding, and you’d be surprised to see how well thought out your favourite characters’ designs might be. The next time you look for fanart or challenge a boss to a battle of danmaku, stop and think about what your eyes are seeing – you never know what clever secrets you might uncover.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

Ryukishi07′s Umineko no Naku Koro ni has been the talk of the internet for at least a year. With spoilers flying left right and center, there aren’t many anime fans who haven’t at least heard of Battler Ushiromiya’s series of chess games against the witch named Beatrice. I wrote about the first episode when I read it, but having finally completed and digested the first complete game, I think it’s time to revisit my old theories and provide a new assessment of what the story is about and where it’s headed. Brace yourselves; Rokkenjima does not follow the laws of the rest of the world.

(This post contains spoilers from episodes 1-4 of the visual novel)

[jiemaowanwan]

Two things come to mind when I hear the word “umineko” (amusingly, neither of them are “seagulls”). When I see fanart featuring Beatrice’s golden butterfly motif, when I hear dreamenddischarger and hope, I think of these two things: meta mystery and Maria Ushiromiya’s torn stuffed animal. I’m going to start with the former.

Umineko is very self-aware and it makes specific references to the murder mystery genre, but I no longer believe that its fantasy story propels its mystery elements. I believe the exact opposite. In a way, the mysteries of Umineko are like the battles and power levels of Fate/stay night: they’re certainly there, and they’re relevant enough for the fans to debate and the writer to elaborate on, but they’re not the “point”. Fate’s fantasy combat is a tool to add that extra dramatic punch to the story’s conflicts; Umineko’s duels of logic expose the hidden faces of Rokkenjima and provide opportunities for character interaction. Swords and magic are always fun; so are closed rooms and suspicious butlers. Why not use one of them as a setting for a story?

“Setting” might not be the correct word, but in essence, the mystery elements of Umineko provide context for the story, not the other way around. It took some time for me to wrap my mind around this concept, but it worked wonders once I did. After all, Umineko is not a flawless series – Ryukishi07 can be confusing, and his logic is often hit-or-miss, relying on abstract theories rather than practical evidence. It would take a couple of years of math or logic classes to figure out if the Devil’s Proof and Hempel’s Raven are being used properly and not being abused out of context, but since I’m not the most math-literate blogger in the ‘sphere, I’ll leave my opinion out of it.

Regardless, it’s a fact that Umineko relies on a lot of in-universe fantasy elements like the Red Truth to analyze its mysteries, often throwing off the reader in the process. When you add that to the fact that Beatrice can choose whether to admit defeat even if Battler is wrong and that it’s proven that the characters bear witness to magic during the story, even if there’s an alternate explanation, it’s hard to call it a murder mystery. Mystery requires a set of constant, absolute values to work, and nothing on Rokkenjima is absolute. Umineko doesn’t have a problem with retcon, but the facts are so firmly routed in fantasy rather than reality that countless fan theories can be wiped away at the writer’s whim.

This is why I view Battler’s duels against Beatrice as the combat in a fantasy visual novel rather than the logical deduction of a murder mystery protagonist. As a mystery, Umineko is still exciting, but it’s too whimsical and over-the-top to be effective. Instead, by using the murder mystery setting as a base, the characters’ relationships and conflicts are explored, shedding light on the true nature of magic – and by the end of episode 4, there’s no denying that there’s more to the story than the mystery of the murders.

[tena]

The topic of magic isn’t truly explored in Umineko until it’s taken out of the context of Rokkenjima and seen in the outside world – specifically, in the lives of Maria and Ange. Both girls learn an unusual type of “white magic” that helps them deal with the stress and pain of their daily lives, like the psychological hallucinations of an abused child. This contrasts with the “black magic” that’s introduced earlier on: Kinzo’s sacrificial ritual, the “witch” that possesses Rosa as she hits her daughter, the evil side of Eva’s sub-conscience. Maria’s and Ange’s experiences in Mariage Sorciere are the polar opposite of the careless Endless Magic that Beatrice and Beatrice Eva are shown to use. In the end, Ange’s battle against Kasumi and Beatrice Eva prove that her magic is indeed different from Beato’s magic.

Interestingly, the true nature of “white magic” is first mentioned at the beginning of the first game: philosophers throughout history have had different views on the elements that make up the world, but the one true unifying element is “love”. The element of love is a part of the Umineko mythos, and its power is literally shown in the barriers that protect some of the characters from magic, the power that George and Jessica fight with in episode 4, and finally in Ange’s battle against Eva. It could be said that love also plays a role in black magic, but there isn’t enough evidence yet. What we do know is that while Beatrice may be the only witch on the island, magic is not limited only to her.

The use of magic by ordinary humans begs the crucial question: how much of the story is absolute truth and how much is diluted, twisted truth? Umineko lacks a distinct, first-person narrator to properly play the unreliable narrator card, but the third-person view may be selectively truthful, leaving all sorts of twists hidden until Beatrice chooses to reveal them. The relationship between white magic and the characters’ lives, like Maria’s spells that beg for her mother’s love, are too explicit to be ignored. However, it’s impossible to know where to draw the line. How much of Maria’s magic is real and how much is only an illusion? Is all of her magic real, acting as a physical symbol of her desires? How do we know where Beatrice’s influence ends and the girl’s own daydreams begin?

In reality, the identity of magic is the crux of Umineko‘s plot, not the identity of Beatrice. The first half of the story ends in a dramatic flair, hammering the reader with at least one earth-shattering question, but the mysteries all skirt around the unifying question: what is magic? Battler has to continue to deny the concept of witches in order for the story to move forward, but even if the reader knows that – to some extent – magic is real, we don’t know what it is. Ryukishi07 has dropped some important points along the way, like the distinction between white and black magic and the use of “love” as the driving force behind magical power, but we still don’t know what magic is.

Meanwhile, the characters explore their own personal pains – the cruel politics of the Ushiromiya family, Ange’s isolation, Maria’s neglect – and in doing so, they shed light on the properties of magic and the role it plays in their lives. The story is tied to magic and vice versa – unlocking the secret behind one would cause the rest to fall into place. Therefore, as the plot thickens through the addition of new characters and factors that influence Battler’s duels of logic, the story also develops thematically. It’s interwoven in such a way that Battler cannot fight without the occurrence of a murder, and the murders always bring to light some distant truth or some memory of love or suffering that relates to that character’s experience with magic. Eva’s desire for revenge and domination separate from her body and become an entity of its own; Maria and Ange learn to use magic to bring happiness rather than destruction, in the face of a desolate future. I can’t even begin to guess how the truth behind Battler’s “sin” will relate to magic, but I’m confident that it’ll be even more significant than the parallels that we’ve already seen.

[vienri]

The most important aspect of Umineko to keep in mind is that Rokkenjima is an alternate universe. Just as it’s literally separated from the rest of the world due to the typhoon, it’s figuratively separated from the logic and laws that govern humanity. Until that logic returns with the cry of the seagulls, magic can exist, and witches can commit supernatural crimes. Utilizing this setting that blurs the line between fact and fiction, Ryukishi07 tells a story about that very concept: about the relationship between magic, a fantasy concept, and love, a human concept, and the role that fantasy plays in the very real and painful tragedies of the Ushiromiya family. Toss in a unique narrative structure that reveals information to the reader through alternate retellings of the same event, spice it up with some meta mystery and dramatic duels of abstract logic, and you get the story that has taken anime fandom by storm – and for good reason.

In the end, Umineko no Naku Koro ni still leaves us with many mysteries to be solved, and the core theme of the story remains ultimately indecipherable. However, with half of the story complete, the threads are starting to come together. The intricate character interactions, the long flashbacks, the romance, the painful backstories behind each family – all of these essential elements are tied together by the plot’s main question. Are murder and courage the result of magic and witches or love and hatred? Or are they two ways of saying the same thing?

But, as always, only one man in the world knows the truth – and we won’t hear that truth until the seagulls cry.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

In a word, True Tears is spectacular. It’s a well-crafted love story that doesn’t succumb to the common failings of its kind. Be it visual novel or shoujo manga adaptation, romance anime are often hit-or-miss, falling apart at the lack of realism or the unnecessary angst or the uninspired telling of a straightforward plot. It’s rare to find a story that, despite being fairly ordinary, hits every note with such eloquent accuracy. Rather than being a tear-jerker or a personal favourite for various subjective reasons, this is one of the first shows on my favourites list to earn its spot based on sheer competence.

Most bloggers have already written about True Tears and most fans have already settled into their opinions of it, but my second viewing gave me the insight I needed to understand why the show received the praise that it did. This is my attempt at examining the anime that made me remember that, from the viewer’s perspective, there is such thing as the perfect story.

Part 1: Exposition

Inside of me, you’ve always been crying. ‘I want to wipe away your tears’ is what I think, but I do not know what your soft, warm face will look like after the tears are wiped away.

True Tears sets its stage by cramming a lot of relevant information into a very small amount of screentime. The first line of the show reveals something important about the protagonist: he’s in love. Ironically, this bit of information isn’t as obvious as it should be since there are more than a few protagonists of self-proclaimed love stories who show very little emotional attachment until the plot demands it. The very first thing we learn about Shinichiro is that he’s dreaming about a girl that he’s too afraid to reach out to.

The emotional tension between Shinichiro and Hiromi is hinted at in a lot of ways, much less subtly as the series goes on. Even the seemingly generic fanservice scene in episode 1 unfolds differently than you’d expect it to, concluding with genuine embarrassment on Shinichiro’s part and an unreadable expression on Hiromi’s. The scene does more to reveal the tension in their pseudo brother-sister relationship than to reveal Hiromi’s striped panties, although it does both quite well.

Since most of the series is shot from Shinichiro’s perspective, he’s the first character whose heart becomes visible to the audience. He watches Hiromi from afar (sometimes literally); he mulls over the bathroom incident in private, wondering why she never opened herself up to his family, but he distracts himself by building a chicken-shaped tissue box while thinking about Noe. He was already confused about his feelings for Hiromi, but he couldn’t help thinking about the eccentric girl with the chickens who said that he couldn’t fly.

Shinichiro unwittingly finds himself at the center of the love triangle, but his character is believable. His hesitation isn’t the result of poor writing or awkward pacing – it’s the result of his own reasonable feelings as victim of a complicated web of emotions.

Since then, I’ve been unable to cry. Grandma took my tears with her.

The line above is from episode 4, but Noe’s memorable statement that she “lost her tears” at the end of the first episode is probably the most well-recognized quote in the show. That said, most of her character revolves around her own thematic motif, the two chickens – the tears are only there to tie her in with the rest of the cast.

Noe’s eccentricity is established as early as possible. As if her encounter with Shinichiro weren’t unusual enough, there are some visual hints of her unique character in the random shots of her rather memorable boots and her even more unusual song about the cockroach. It takes about a minute to identify her as a strange person.

Unlike Shinichiro’s see-through attempt at hiding his feelings for Hiromi, Noe is a bit more difficult to understand if you’re watching the show for the first time. Her story revolves around the chicken motif: Raigomaru, the chicken that wanted to fly, and Jibeta, the chicken that couldn’t fly. When Raigomaru died, Noe’s attachment to it shifted to Shinichiro, as symbolized by the chicken seeds that she repeatedly sends him. Shinichiro became Raigomaru’s replacement. Amusingly, she really does treat him like a chicken during the early episodes, and like a child, she doesn’t realize that she’s slowly starting to fall for him.

Do you hate snow? I once liked it, but now I hate it.

Hiromi’s character is a bit easier to understand in retrospect because the viewer doesn’t have to wade through her mixed signals. Indeed, I can see why her actions would seem ambiguous if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but it’s interesting to see how many minor hints are dropped early on. The most dramatic one I can think of occurs at the end of episode 3 when Shinichiro overhears her lying to her friend about being interested in Noe’s brother, Jun. It’s a cruel display of dramatic irony because the viewer already knows that Shinichiro and Hiromi are concealing their feelings from one another, but a simple misunderstanding leads both of them off into a downward spiral of denial.

I can’t remember my first viewing of the show clearly enough to specify the moment that the viewer should realize that Hiromi liked Shinichiro all along, but her most revelatory scene is probably the one in episode 5, when Shinichiro enters her room for the first time. The conversation is first shown from his perspective, focusing on his confusion as he’s pushed away for no apparent reason, but the scene is repeated later from Hiromi’s perspective, adding her internal narration above the dialogue. As her narration explains, her only reason for pushing him away was because he was more caught up in her false interest in Jun that in the fact that he had entered her room for the first time.

Once this moment passes, there’s no denying that Hiromi wants Shinichiro to wipe her tears, but he’s left to assume that she’s pushing him away. Only the viewer understands this cruel irony.

Part 2: Development

[HappyGoLucky]

The major transition in True Tears occurs as Shinichiro gets over his perceived rejection by Hiromi and realizes his feelings for Noe. I didn’t write “feelings” in quotations because I don’t think that he was mistaken – since the beginning of the series, his actions reveal that Noe’s eccentricity had always been on his mind, and she acts as an escape for his problems with Hiromi. His feelings for her are displaced, to some degree, but the ending proves that they aren’t false.

Noe’s effect on his subconscious mind is revealed as early as the first episode, but the scene that stands out the most in my eyes is from his picture book in episode 3. He begins drawing while thinking about Hiromi, but as the symbolic snow begins to fall, it turns into Raigomaru’s red chicken feed. It almost literally shows Noe intruding on his daydream world with him and Hiromi.

Although Noe made her impact near the beginning of the show, Shinichiro’s heart didn’t start to waver until he believed that Hiromi was out of his grasp. At the beginning of episode 4, after she talks to him about her “feelings” for Jun, his personal dream world reveals that the Hiromi he once knew is dying. The Hiromi in reality is not the Hiromi who was “always smiling like a flower,” the one that he thought he knew. His private world drifted even further apart from reality. Later in that episode, Noe is visualized as an angel in his mind, standing in a snow-filled world without any sign of Hiromi’s tears.

Of course, the final blow is Hiromi’s infamous confession in episode 6. The half-way point of the series ends with the revelation that Hiromi and Shinichiro are siblings, and the final scene with Shinichiro’s belt around Noe’s waist hints at her upcoming role.

[moso]

As per the laws of romance fiction, there is no such thing as the perfect couple until the last half of the last episode. Noe brings the breeze of change to the story as Shinichiro (and Raigomaru) prepare themselves to fly into the sky, with Reflectia playing gloriously in the background. Unfortunately, it’s only a matter of time before the illusion shatters and Noe realizes that the person in Shinichiro’s heart is Yuasa Hiromi.

From here on out, there are many scenes that illustrate the chaos in the main characters’ hearts – Shinichiro’s decision to make Raigomaru the cowardly chicken who was too afraid to fly, Noe’s pitiful attempt at finding the physical record of her relationship with Shinichiro buried under the pile of snow. There’s more evidence than I can ever link to, and it’s all put together masterfully, so I’ll move on to the most important part – the conclusion.

Part 3: Conclusion

Shinichiro, you can fly. You just don’t know it yourself. But… this isn’t the place where you take flight.

Noe’s breakup with Shinichiro is the first step toward revealing the truth behind the chicken motif. As stated in episode 11, Noe wanted to “fly away” from her problems in life. Just like chickens, however, humans are bound to the ground.

I believe that all of Noe’s mentions of Raigomaru and his desire to fly are simply her own way of describing happiness. Flying means accomplishing the impossible and escaping from sorrow; remaining on the ground means the opposite. When Raigomaru died and Noe became attached to Shinichiro, she began to believe that he could fly, and told him to keep looking at the sky. When she broke up with him after realizing that he still loved Hiromi, she said that he could find happiness and escape sorrow, but not with her. The heartbroken Noe at the end of episode 11 is just like Jibeta: a chicken who can never fly. She tried to fly eventually, but as Jibeta proved, it could never work.

Meanwhile, the other half of the chicken motif is developed when Shinichiro laments his own hesitation and indecisiveness. “Raigomaru was just a regular bird in the crowd of cowardly chickens,” as he said. Noe played the role of Jibeta, stuck to the ground, and Shinichiro became a version of Raigomaru that was too afraid to fly.

In the end, the final page of the book is scrapped as Shinichiro confronts Noe one last time. Raigomaru gets to rewrite his own conclusion. When Noe realizes that Shinichiro believes that she can fly too, they both end their short-lived romance in one of the most heart-rending scenes in the show.

Minutes later, Shinichiro leaps off of the cliff and flaps his wings. He flies triumphantly.

People can really obtain tears from those most important to them. If you think about the people most important to you, the tears will flood out.

With the chickens out of the way, only one question remains: what are “true” tears? The only explicit hint in the show is in Noe’s backstory. She was introduced as the girl who couldn’t cry. When her grandmother died and she lost her ability to feel sadness, she had to collect the tears of someone important to her in order to reclaim her own tears. Only those “true” tears could help her regain the right to cry.

In other words, she had to learn the true meaning behind tears: that tears are only meaningful when they genuinely reflect the feelings in one’s heart.

Hiromi is the first to cry her true tears. She spends much of the story lying to herself about her feelings and avoiding her conflict with Shinichiro’s mother. Her decision in the second-last episode to proudly proclaim her love for Shinichiro and tell Noe to back down is her final act in the play – with that, she overcomes her fear and places her faith in Shinichiro.

Shinichiro is the next character to shed his true tears when he says goodbye to Noe in the last episode. His tears are bittersweet because he’s simultaneously announcing the beginning of his relationship with Hiromi and the end of his love for Noe.

Noe is the last character to receive any kind of closure, waiting until the credits to shed her tears. She looks at Jibeta, the chicken who chose not to fly; she turns to the physical remainder of her relationship with Shinichiro; and with her head held high, she cries her true tears.

In reality, the true tears play a similar role to Raigomaru’s flight. When each of the main characters sheds their true tears, they break free of whatever barriers were holding them back and offer their hearts to the person their tears are being shed for. It can be seen as a visual representation of love in that the tears are only shed when the character comes clean with themselves and expresses their feelings without holding back. Whether this means overcoming an obstacle, facing the truth, or finding closure, the tears mark the moment that the clouds part and the character accepts all of their joy and misfortune.

Win or lose, true tears can only be found when the person breaks free of their tangled web of feelings and lays their heart bare. Rather than focusing on the outcome, true tears – and True Tears – is about finding the strength to look oneself in the mirror and challenge love head on.

- – -

[よしづねなお]

At the beginning of this post, I said that True Tears impressed me objectively as well as subjectively. I linked to as many screencaps and specific references as I could, but there are countless examples of clever shots and effective writing scattered throughout the show. When you look for it, you can see that almost every scene, every expression, every line of dialogue is deliberate. The scenes mentioned in this post are only the ones that I found to be the most effective or moving – in reality, every minute of the series is about something, and the spectacular sense of pacing and development is what makes True Tears stand above the rest. The story is masterfully woven, the motifs are visible without being too explicit, and the characters are deep enough to warrant the viewers’ tears when they witness the cast’s true tears. There is no such thing as the perfect work of fiction, but to me, True Tears did everything right and nothing wrong.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that the story of the girl who lost her tears and the love triangle that developed around her is one that I will never forget. Perhaps it’s time for me to cry my own tears since it might be years before another show balances  its story, atmosphere, and symbolism into such an evocative work of surreal, bittersweet romance.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

Touhou fandom is a vast, vast entity. A while ago I jotted down some tips for beginners who fear the difficulty of the game series, but as important as bullet dodging is, the franchise extends far beyond the gameplay. I’ve learned a lot about Touhou over the last few months, dedicating countless hours to filling up my doujin music library and saving new fanart. I spent some time on the ever-helpful wiki, too, trying to piece together some of the more obscure tidbits of storyline information.

As my travels through Gensokyo continued, I stumbled upon something quite interesting: Touhou sheet music. With a bit of help (thanks, Matthew), I was able to track down the sheet music of some of my favourite songs in the series. I’m no expert on music theory, but with a visual transcription of the songs to help me, I think I can dig up some interesting facts. Maybe you can to.

(I would have embedded the videos but Nico Nico doesn’t allow it. So it goes.)

- – -

神さびた古戦場　～ Suwa Foughten Field

- – -

First off we have 神さびた古戦場　～ Suwa Foughten Field, the battle theme of Kanako Yasaka, final boss of Mountain of Faith. The introduction works its magic by using the bass line to accent different notes in the melody, but it’s only a bit of foreshadowing of what’s to come.

For me, the most memorable part of the song starts at 0:13 and ends at 0:25. The rhythm couldn’t be more basic, but the intervals create a mysterious mood. Most, if not all of the intervals here are a full octave, meaning that there should be no harmony or dissonance if the notes were played simultaneously. Somehow, the quick octave jumps create a catchy and altogether alluring melody, as anyone who played the game can attest to.

Also note that the bass line helps keep the melody interesting  during this portion of the song. Rhythmically, I believe two of the six notes in the two-bar pattern fall on the offbeat, which contrasts with the melody in which the notes follow a steady rhythm. There is also probably something about the chords that create the sense of foreboding that accompanies the piece, but that’s beyond the limit of my knowledge.

At any rate, the atmosphere continues to darken into 0:36 through the use of the bass line’s rhythm. From 0:36-0:53 the melody leaves the spotlight, which is fitting since this is supposed to be background music. All I know about 3/4 time is its association with the waltz, but it seems to help move the song forward in this case. The rhythms become simple again (without the offbeat shots from earlier on), and there is little change in the section until it ends at 0:53. The melody moves in fairly simple intervals, either marching upward/downward or jumping a fifth, and the second and third beats are accented by the lower notes. Eventually, the left hand’s notes are replaced entirely with eighth notes to lead into the main melody.

From here, the song pretty much enters repeat mode, but ZUN uses some interesting tricks to keep it from feeling repetitive. For example, this repeat of the main melody (0:53-1:15) eliminates the strong rhythm of the bass and replaces is with moving eighth notes that match the right hand. I don’t think there is any intentional dissonance here: the song simply moves forward as the battle progresses. A little alternation of the melody starts at around 1:30, with mostly the same intervals in a different key signature. Again, the main melody is repeated at 2:15 with six flats in the key signature, making it sound noticeably darker, but it remains more or less the same. Being a piece of background music, it eventually loops around at the end.

- – -

霊知の太陽信仰　～ Nuclear Fusion

- – -

The next song is 霊知の太陽信仰　～ Nuclear Fusion, the theme of the last boss of Subterranean Animism. The most notable aspect of the song is the unusual rhythm of the melody. The basic tune is explicit enough that you could listen to it a couple of times and hum the melody accurately.

As with Kanako’s theme, this song creates an ominous introduction by accenting the eighth note pattern on the right hand with well-placed quarter notes and eighth notes in the bass. Unlike the previous song, the melody here accents itself. Instead of following a standard pattern of two or four eighth notes moving in the same direction, the eight notes move downward three at a time. This feels unnatural in 4/4 or 2/2 time, and it’s accented by the bass notes that match it.

Of course, the song doesn’t really begin until 0:26, when the distinctive melody strikes. Unlike many of ZUN’s songs, there are some noticeable rests in this piece, scattered throughout the first few bars of the section. The melody has some natural punches in it that fall on the offbeats, and the little sixteenth note flourishes are more a part of the tune and less a stylistic run. As opposed to drowning the player’s ears with steady eight note runs and eloquent intervals, this melody strikes the listener almost violently. It paints an image of a duel within the depths of hell, as opposed to, say, Yuyuko Saigyouji’s butterfly and cherry blossom motif.

There’s an attractive little interlude at 0:48 that stands out in this piano rendition. Incidentally, there’s a key change later in the song to add more variety (Eb major to Bb major), but it’s not as obvious as in the previous song since it’s only a difference of one flat.

- – -

U.N.オーエンは彼女なのか？

- – -

The last song I chose was the iconic U.N.オーエンは彼女なのか？, theme of Flandre Scarlet. Despite (or perhaps because of) the song’s catchiness, it’s actually quite straightforward. The entire introduction (up to 0:17) is about the sixteenth note downward runs followed by the three dotted eighth notes. For some reason, all of the notes in the runs are the same distance apart: 1-3-6. The tonic note (Db, same as the key signature) is followed by a third (mediant) and sixth (submediant). There is probably some secret meaning behind this that I don’t understand, but anyway, the result is a quick and exciting piano intro with a hint of evil reflected in the key signature. It suits Flandre’s character perfectly.

Interestingly, the main melody (0:30) is made up entirely of quarter and eighth notes, with no obvious intentional rhythmic or tonic changes. There are still almost no accidentals, and the tune happily repeats itself for about 20 seconds. There are a lot of powerful perfect fourths and fifths, but there’s almost nothing to comment on in terms of technical detail. The fact that the melody is as recognizable as it is makes me wonder how something so technically simple could be so appealing.

The next portion (0:55) makes good use of the triplet, one of my favourite rhythmic tools. The intervals here aren’t a cut-and-paste from the introduction, but they’re similar enough to invoke the same feeling. The key changes for this section before returning to the five flats as the song repeats itself.

- – -

Surprisingly, this fairly surface-deep analysis of only a few songs has given me quite a bit of insight into ZUN’s skills as a composer. The main point I found was that his songs rely entirely on the melody. All of the well-known final boss and extra boss themes have very distinctive tunes, and they’re catchy without being technically complex. As you can see, the songs still sound great when transcribed onto a single piano track, so he doesn’t rely on any sort of complex instrumental layering. Likewise, the rhythms aren’t overly detailed, and there aren’t any Broadway-style seemingly random key changes. This complements the fact that there are so many amateur remixes of his songs: much like his artwork, the basic concept is what makes ZUN’s music shine, allowing for countless re-interpretations using the same distinctive melody.

With this insight, I have to wonder where he gets his ideas for new music. Despite what I said about the lack of technical detail, every Touhou fan knows that ZUN’s music is incredible, and it works both as BGM and as stand-alone music. Above all, it just goes to show that the most aurally appealing piano runs and screaming synths might look incredibly simple when written out on paper, even if they’re heart-poundingly intense when you’re trying to capture Virtue of Wind God on Lunatic.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

P.S. My knowledge of music is limited to what my teacher decides to teach us at school, so feel free to point out any mistakes.

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

I missed a lot of the buzz surrounding Gurren Lagann when it first aired. I knew about the drills and the dramatic quotes and episode 8, but that was it. It seemed like one of those shows that my friend was always talking about: big, colourful robots that fuse together and punch the lights out of other big, colourful robots. To be honest, I expected to hear cheesy brass-filled BGM when I finally watched it, and I was more focused on how over-the-top it was instead of on the story it was trying to tell.

Of course, it’s a bit late to be talking about a series as popular as this, but the pair of summary movies allowed me to see the story in a different light. It’s interesting to see how much sense it all makes when you’re not caught up with Kamina’s manliness and Yoko’s breasts. In fact, when I witnessed the epic conclusion for the second time, something clicked in my head that hadn’t clicked before.

I don’t want to force my own reading of the story onto seasoned super robot fans since I’m anything but that, but when I thought about the style and tone that surrounds popular classic mecha shows like Giant Robo, I latched onto an idea that I’ll never be able to let go of.

Let me start with this: what is the super robot genre about? This is just a theory on my part, but I think it’s about passion. It’s about the emotions and sentiments that are associated with the term “GAR,” though they have existed long before the meme was born. Manliness is a legitimate way of interpreting the over-dramatic characters and idealistic passion, but it’s also a tad shallow. Passion can run a lot deeper than mere heroism. Some shounen/seinen series deal with coming-of-age and others star a scarred protagonist with a tragic past, but one element remains constant: the hero possesses the idealistic passion and desire to win at all costs, and the sheer force of his passion leads him to victory against all odds.

When you look back at Gurren Lagann with all of the spoilers in place, a handful of symbols make themselves visible. The most notable one is the drill, which was explained at some point in the story. Simon and Kamina use their drills to drill past anything and everything. It represents their unbreakable passion. Do the impossible, see the invisible… right? And there’s no need to explain what ROW ROW FIGHT DA POWAH is supposed to mean.

The so-called “spiral” power of humanity is also a reference to the drill symbol and its implications. The spiral is a motif in the story and a very relevant plot device. Spiral power is literally the strength of humanity: it represents the undying will of the human race to live. As humans evolved biologically and as society developed uncontrollably, civilization was split into the “spirals” and “anti-spirals”. The anti-spirals sealed away the spirals, repressing their growth, because they knew that growth would eventually lead to their demise.

And as you well know, the anti-spirals are the main villains of the story.

The implications are obvious. Simon’s spiral power is symbolic of his desire; of humanity’s desire. Spiral power touches the untouchable and breaks the unbreakable. Even if, as sci-fi novelists persistently remind us, the development of the human race will eventually lead to its demise, nothing justifies the erasure of life. Live life to its fullest, meet your challenges head on, and have no regrets – these are the basic sentiments behind the super robot genre and shounen anime as a whole. Gurren Lagann isn’t just manly: it’s figuratively and literally a showcase of the passionate idealism that defines its genre.

When I came to this realization, I knew that the series would never be the same. It had always been an exciting experience, well worthy of a high grade on MAL, but I couldn’t attach any meaning to it. I labeled it as nothing more than a revival of the classic super robot genre without searching for more. In reality, the show’s symbols and motifs are well thought out, if not a little obvious. The story makes sense thematically, and it’s an incredible visualization of everything that it stands for. Believing in the you who believes in me; saving the world with the magical power of who the hell do you think WE are?! It pierces the heavens with its unyielding passion to see what lies beyond, just because it can.

And let’s not forget that it’s epic.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

Fiction would be in a sad state if jargon did not exist. In this case, I’m not referring to the fan-made terminology used in reference to various bodies of fiction: I’m talking about the jargon used within fiction, the internal laws that most fantasy and sci-fi stories rely on.

lelangir‘s recent post on the matter makes for an enlightening read, exploring the role of mechanics in a story’s narrative structure. There’s no doubt that the internal mechanics of fictional worlds can be more than just feigned depth – speculative fiction would have a hard time speculating if it couldn’t act independently of the laws of common sense. As lelangir notes, consistency is more important than plausibility: it’s foolish to expect realism from Lord of the Rings, but a story that is consistent with itself lends the structure and framework needed to build whatever needs to be built around it.

Having said that, there are more than a few pitfalls to the elaborate universes created by writers of fiction, and they extend far beyond the issue of plot holes. The creation of a universe is not only a challenge in terms of maintaining consistency, but it also requires enough context within the plot for the viewer to see the relationship between the mechanics and the story’s intention.

Part of my fuel to write this post came from wildarmsheero‘s recent review of Kara no Kyoukai. Though he praised the film series for the reasons that it deserves to be praised for, he also articulated some of the frustrations I’ve had with Kinoko Nasu since the beginning of my fandom. If you’ve read my Fate/stay night posts, you’d know that I’m a fan – I currently consider it to be my favourite visual novel, above the tragic Narcissu and pseudo-logic of Umineko no Naku Koro ni. However, saying that I am a fan of F/SN is quite different from proclaiming my fandom of Nasu.

To start with the negatives, I don’t care much for the Nasuverse. I’m not sure how many words are collectively written on the Type-Moon wiki, but between that and the endless debates on forums like Beast’s Lair, I wouldn’t blame a foreign life form for thinking that Servants and True Ancestors are real. There is a certain level of disbelief that must be suspended to enjoy any work of speculative fiction, but there’s a far deeper level required to debate the intricacies of the writer’s mind. Frankly, I can only say that the Nasuverse is hit-or-miss, because I have never felt even a tenth of the enthusiasm displayed by the self-proclaimed Type-Moon fans toward the jargon and mechanics of their world.

However, as I stated above (and in several thousand words in my older posts), I truly and honestly enjoy everything that Kinoko Nasu writes.

This leads me to the key word of the post title: context. What is the significance of context in fiction? In school, classic literature is always studied from multiple perspectives. I can’t imagine studying To Kill a Mockingbird in high school without having to answer a question on the political and cultural climate of America during that time period. Of course, context can also be purely in-universe, referring to the significance of, say, an obscure character or item as a symbol in the overarching plot. Without context, some of the more surreal and all-around vague stories seem like nothing more than abstract art – but with it, the viewer can start making links and tying the threads.

From that perspective, I believe that context is absolutely essential in the success of an internal universe. Unfortunately for the writers, giving context to a body of rules or laws goes beyond simply explaining them: it requires links to be made between the universe and the story. These links can be implicit or explicit – Type-Moon is usually somewhere in between – but the links have to be there.Without drawing parallels between the universe and the story, what point is there in memorizing the laws of a universe that doesn’t exist? Anyone can ramble on about a made-up world, and with enough effort, anyone can fill the holes and make that world consistent with itself – but would anyone be interested?

I know I wouldn’t be. When there is no relationship between the mechanics of a universe and the plot of a fictional work, the universe loses its meaning. If mechanics are a key part of the narrative structure, then the decontextualized infodumps of poorly crafted sci-fi are the equivalent of building a foundation without adorning it with anything more than a series of metal pillars and layers of brick.

A chart of the Nasuverse [full size]

By this point, no evidence can be provided outside of personal opinions, but I have had many positive and negative experiences of my own with fictional universes. Shakugan no Shana, for instance, was a thoroughly enjoyable moe rom-com, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about the mechanics. To Aru Majutsu no Index received the same criticism, though to a greater extent. I would not call either show bad, but to put it simply, the inner workings of their worlds has very little to do with the intent of their stories. In Fate‘s case, magic can be as much of a symbol as it is a means of writing exciting action scenes, and UBW is infamous for its use of Nasuverse ramblings as much more than just that. While there is always some extra fluff in Type-Moon stories, the real gibberish only enters the picture when you scour the wiki and talk to the fans – the games are kept reasonably dense, and a fair amount of the jargon is purposeful.

In conclusion, the obvious fact is that jargon and mechanics can be used for good or bad. While some might enjoy the challenge of deciphering a fictional universe as much as scientists enjoy deciphering our own, I have yet to derive any enjoyment from laws without purpose. If the rules of a universe are set up as the backbone of an elaborate fantasy epic, then so be it – but nothing is more tedious than reading through infodump after infodump with no visible connection to the story other than to act as a red herring and divert attention from the plot’s lack of depth.

However, while fictional universes can be eye-rollingly frustrating at worst, they can also be essential to the story that the writer is trying to tell. If internal mechanics are structural, they are useless on their own – but when given context by tying them to a story, they become an irreplaceable backbone that could not have been created without letting creativity trump realism and running wild with abstract ideas. This is the inherent challenge of writing blindly within one’s own universe.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.

If there’s one thing I can comfortably say about Fate/stay night, it’s that it’s been quite a ride. At almost 100 hours, my save file is 100% complete, leaving behind an aftertaste that is surprisingly bittersweet. For a story that initially appeared to be about gender-swapped heroes and awkward mana-charging metaphors, I can only say that I’m utterly impressed at how F/SN grows out of its shell and reaches both the mind and the heart.

Interestingly, there are also some elements of the game that are only obvious – or at least more visible – in hindsight. While it will always be a fantasy story at its core, the supernatural plot devices serve far more purpose than to simply feign depth with Nasuverse jargon. Looking closely (but not too closely), it’s easy to see the multiple levels of symbols and motifs that are scattered across the story, even if the plot doesn’t depend on them. Luckily for us, Nasu’s writing is fairly self-explanatory, and the various soliloquies and interludes, in addition to the surprisingly helpful afterword, help shed light on the “true” meaning of the game.

Sadly, it’s in the nature of posts like these to be purely conjecture, but while I don’t think that there is any black-and-white lens to view Fate/stay night through, I’ll do what I can to piece together the clues of this 800,000 word epic.

I’ll begin with a thesis statement of sorts: Fate/stay night is a fantasy story about the concept of heroism as applied in a modern context. Regardless of what anyone might say about symbolism, I don’t think the concept of “heroes” is a symbol for anything. In fact, I believe it’s quite the opposite: all of the elements of the story, from the concept of the Heroic Spirits to Emiya Shirou’s own ideals, point toward heroism being the main theme. The story explores what it means to be a hero by making the past meet the present, and by placing the protagonist in increasingly difficult situations that force him to abandon his romanticized vision of heroes.

The Holy Grail War

The Holy Grail War, being the central trigger of the story, is thankfully not difficult to understand. Forgetting about the intricacies of the Nasuverse, the war is effectively a battle between heroic spirits from the past. Now, why would the writer use heroes who exist in the real world and risk slipping up in front of a mythology buff? Simple: because the story is all about heroes.

Right off the bat, the viewer begins to question the true identity of each of the Servants, analyzing their appearance and technique. The detailed descriptions given to each Servant, not to mention the RPG-esque status screens that get updated as you play, are proof of the fact that Nasu takes his heroes seriously. He wants the legendary heroes to play a role in the story; he wants the viewer to look back on Fate route and realize that King Arthur faced off against Hercules and won. It’s a dream come true for some – and though it was never said out loud, it draws a parallel between these legendary heroes and the Superhero that Shirou wants to become.

As for the Master-Servant relationship, I’m not sure if there’s anything specific to point out. For the purpose of flow and structure, some of the Masters feel “suited” to the servants that they receive, but I doubt any of this matters in the grand scheme of things. However, it’s interesting to learn that Servants are affected by the world’s perception of them. While they can’t automatically become Heroic Spirits without accomplishing something heroic, it seems as though they “live on” in the world based on the perception of the people around them.

Without a doubt, the most notable example is Avenger. As far as I know, he was never a “real” heroic spirit, but he was still brought into the war and considered an anti-hero because of the village’s perception of him. They decided that he was evil, so he became evil. What does this say about heroes in history? Since most heroes only exist in myth in the real world, does this mean that their legendary deeds are only what we make of them? The Fate/stay night world gives heroes a concrete reward based on their achievements, but even so, they’re impacted by the impression they made while they were alive. Perhaps heroes are only what humanity makes of them?

Kotomine and Kiritsugu

In order to move into the present day, the viewer must first understand a thing or two about the Holy Grail and the Heroic Spirits. I believe that this is why Fate route can seem almost unimportant, thematically speaking, when compared to the others. Much of it is exposition: and I firmly believe that getting the viewer used to thinking in terms of legendary heroes and Superheroes is key to their enjoyment and understanding of the game.

Anyway, moving into the present day, we have the issue that Shirou struggles with: do Superheroes exist? Can a hero become strong enough to save everyone and sacrifice no one? Emiya Kiritsugu is much the same, throwing away his humanity in the name of his ideal. On the opposite end, of course, is Kotomine Kirei, who was broken from the moment he was born. Psychologically realistic or not, we know for a fact that Kirei was born without emotions, and that he never had the chance to live like the rest of the world.

Neither of these two men are directly related to the concept of heroism, but they can both be compared and contrasted with Shirou. In other words, I don’t think it was a coincidence that Kirei was effectively the “last boss” of the game.

As we know, Kiritsugu was Shirou’s mentor and father. Shirou’s ideals stemmed largely from this man’s beliefs. But on the flip side, we have Kirei, who tried to be “good” before realizing that he was inherently “bad.” Such black-and-white phrasing might seem inappropriate, but it applies to his character disturbingly well. Interestingly, Kirei stated that he hated Kiritsugu because he threw away the one thing that he could never have. On one hand, a man whose entire life was devoted to becoming human – and on the other hand, a man whose entire life was devoted to shedding his humanity and becoming a Superhero.

Unfortunately, their battle ended tragically all around, and the lack of a conclusion stops it from acting as a significant symbol. However, there is no denying the irony in their animosity. Kiritsugu wanted to give up his life for his dream, and Kirei’s dream was to have a human life. In a bitter twist of fate, their roles are reversed for the game’s final battle: Shirou gave up his dream and was fighting for the happiness of the people around him, while Kirei’s soulless body was devoted only to accomplishing a goal for the sake of his own curiosity.

Looking back, what does the rivalry between Kiritsugu and Kotomine say about heroism? It’s a bit of a stretch, but it hints at the truth that Shirou eventually discovers for himself: the fulfillment of a dream and the fulfillment of one’s own happiness are mutually exclusive.

Strengthening and Projecting

With the past out of the way, the attention is now focused on Shirou, the protagonist whose growth the story revolves around.

This is where the symbolism gets a little fuzzy, because we’re no longer dealing with a clash between ideals. Instead, these are the sort of subtle parallels that one must decode when studying a novel for school – the only difference being that classic literature has an answer key on Wikipedia.

My take on Shirou’s abilities as a magus is that they’re almost entirely symbolic, and that they’re not meant to be taken at face value. The other Masters and Servants seem to use magic as part of the story to make the battles more interesting, but when it comes to Shirou, I can’t help but feel that his growth as a magus is Nasu’s clever way of spelling out his development as a character.

Before the Beginning

In the beginning, Shirou was dedicated but naïve. This goes for both his magic and his ideals. He knew he wanted to be a Superhero, but he didn’t know how – so he trained. He trained in every way he could, trying even when he knew he’d fail. He didn’t know if he’d ever become like his master, but he wanted to try anyway. Likewise, as he practiced using magic, he pushed himself to the brink of death as an everyday exercise, but he never gave it much mind. He had no self-esteem, no interest or intention of finding the safest and most efficient solution. All he knew was that he had a goal somewhere in his mind, and that he couldn’t accomplish that goal if he didn’t act.

Fate

As Shirou trains with Rin and begins fighting in the first route, the topic of Strengthening comes up. At first glance, the idea of analyzing something that already exists and converting it into something powerful seems quite a bit above Shirou’s level. After all, he’s not like the alchemists of FMA: he can’t transform things at his own discretion. When viewed from another angle, however, we can see that Shirou has always been “strengthening” something that was already there. His ideals from his “rebirth” 10 years ago are the most important thing to him, outshining all other rational goals or feelings. Instead of stepping back and analyzing the problem logically, he simply “strengthens” what he already knows, finds the pros and cons of each individual situation, and comes up with a solution. Just as he can turn a wooden stick into a sword, he steels his childish ideals and fights for them with all his might. However, his wooden stick is ultimately little more than a stick.

Unlimited Blade Works

In UBW, Shirou discovers that his true skill is not “strengthening”, but “projection.” The Unlimited Blade Works imagery comes in very handy here, in addition to a few repeated phrases in the narration. It was mentioned several times that Shirou’s ability is to “project” his mind into the real world, making his thoughts a reality. He is forced to imitate things that he has already seen, but at the same time, his copies and born from his own strength. They’re not “borrowed” like his strengthened weapons. If you have any doubts, just think about Archer’s Noble Phantasm: it’s literally a manifestation of his mind in the real world.

Following that logic, it’s easy to see that Shirou’s projection in UBW parallels his own ideals in the route. Instead of merely reinforcing the ideas he had on his own, he’s now stubbornly projecting them into the real world, forcing them to do their work. When we see what Shirou’s world becomes in the future, we realize that his whole life is, indeed, “unlimited blade works.” His life revolves around his battle to become a hero, and his strongest weapon is a literal visualization of his struggle. By projecting his desire into the real world, he’s able to force his ideals on the world around him and become a Heroic Spirit.

Heavens Feel

Finally, in Heavens Feel, Shirou never gains the ability to project and he spends little time training with his strengthening. The only combat he takes part in is with Archer’s borrowed arm… and we know what effect that had on him.

By now it should be self-explanatory, but to spell it out, Archer’s arm hurt him because HF’s Emiya Shirou was a completely different person. His whole life was not “unlimited blade works” – his life was “Matou Sakura.”

In other words, the ability to project his mind into the world became useless because the blacksmith’s wasteland was no longer a reality. Instead, it contradicted his very existence, punishing him for betraying himself. In an interesting twist, however, Shirou was only able to emerge victorious because of Archer’s arm. He suffered with the arm until the very end, using it to create the reality that he truly wanted – and by a tricky Nasuverse loophole, he was brought back to life as a completely new person. The Emiya Shirou who had to bear the betrayal of himself was already dead, and his “unlimited blade works” was no more. The new Shirou was Sakura’s Shirou.

- – -

In retrospect, it’s incredible to think about how many subtle clues are hidden in the seemingly generic RPG tropes. Magic can just be magic, but in some cases, it’s as much of a symbol as it is a weapon. Of course, it goes without saying that this is all conjecture, and that I’m no more qualified to speculate than you. However, with the aid of the afterword (and a few good posts), I feel confident in my own understanding of the story.

Ultimately, Shirou’s tale brings the concept of Heroism back to the forefront, after being lost in the thousands of years of history and the battle 10 years ago. What does it truly mean to be a hero? When you cast aside the myth and magic, the religion and faith, the respect and fear, what is the definition of a hero? If Hercules and King Arthur and Gilgamesh were alive today, who would they be, and what would they do? Emiya Shirou’s mental dilemma proves that heroism is not as black-and-white as our ancestors wished it to be, and he forces us to realize that only in the fantasy worlds of fiction can we save everyone while sacrificing no one.

In Fate/stay night, the would-be hero of our generation ultimately decides to live contently with his lover. As the game’s afterword states, this is not the only option, but simply one of them. The Shirou of one timeline decided to sacrifice his selfless dream to find happiness for himself and the people around him, but this does not mean that “true” heroes are no more. As the game illustrates, heroes like Archer can still exist in the world, sacrificing themselves in the name of others – but there is no question that a Heroic dream can only be accomplished by paying a Heroic price.

~ ETERNAL
つづく

©2010 Memories of Eternity. All Rights Reserved.