Anime Review: Kokurikozaka kara (From Up on Poppy Hill)

Miyazaki Goro's sophomore attempt at directing proves that he can stand apart from his legendary father, but perhaps he is still walking in the shadow of the behemoth Studio Ghibli. However, his recent work does not back down in its fight to earn a place in their legacy.

From Up on Poppy Hill gives us the standard we expect from a Ghibli film: beautiful art, consistent and vibrant animation complementing stories and characters with either a whole lot of heart or charm and sometimes both. However, while Miyazaki makes all the right steps, he has a long way to go to give us something that is clearly his, something that makes us say "That's a Goro film". While every Ghibli movie feels like a distinctly magical journey, this one never quite gets there. Yet where it's headed is nowhere bad at all.

Set in the post-war, pre-Olympics 1960s Japan, From Up on Poppy Hill successfully re-creates a time and place where the protagonists Umi and Shun meet and fall in love. Their hesitant romance does not come without life's complications. They meet for the first time twice; once, as Shun and Umi unknowingly communicate to one another through Umi's maritime flags, and again at school where daringly, Shun makes a bold and stupid move to save the school's clubhouse. There seems to be a shared destiny, as Shun travels on his father's tugboat every morning, seeing raised flags trying to find a lost soul, and as Umi reaches down into a pool to accept his hand as he emerges from a pool. However, they both come to learn that their paths have crossed even before their meeting. While their romance is sweet, shy at times and quiet, there is a secret between their families that forces them both to acknowledge and accept that they should not continue with one another. They cannot help but fall in love anyway.

Miyazaki portrays life's disruptions and joys with gentility. Even though the twists and turns are the subject of ridiculous soap operas, Miyazaki's respectful handling of the feelings and characters involved creates a different experience. What could be seen as trite, ends up as palpable, never overwrought drama. Although the way things neaten up happily by the end seems to be too easy a resolution. The secret involves an actually compelling issue that could have been explored further, but the safest neatest way is the route chosen.

Umi and Shun manage as likeable and sweet characters, though they don't exceed our expectations of them. The other supporting characters give life to the film and they all occupy a space that feels very much like it's theirs. Without them, there'd be no personality in the boarding house, school and town. Despite being worthwhile extras, they aren't memorable side characters (like the old woman from My Neighbour Totoro or the artist in the woods from Kiki's Delivery Service). The film resolves to let them be adequate, not exceptional.

As aforementioned, From Up on Poppy Hill has been Ghibli-stamped and approved for its visual quality. Despite having a montage sequence with still shots (which seems to be very much contrary to Studio Ghibli's reputation for painstaking detail and excellence), the entire film looks spectacular.While it does not boast the stunning scope of the Ghibli epics or the fantastical vision of the others or even the technical genius, it has the quiet, solid sensibilities of movies like Whisper of the Heart and Only Yesterday. In fact, this film might take you right back to Whisper of the Heart, Kondou Yoshifumi's great masterpiece. (Although Umi and Shun's romance does not hit the highs of Shizuku and Seiji's; perhaps due to Shizuku being such a strong, charismatic and compelling protagonist, while Umi is less powerful and effective as a lead). We remember from Only Yesterday the stagnant beautiful countryside, we remember from Whisper of the Heart the urban sprawl of a modern city, and in From Up on Poppy Hill, we find a Yokohama and its beautiful seaside in the midst of industrial growth and change.

The one place where From Up on Poppy Hill disappoints is its music. Ghibli films tend to boast timelessly powerful scores and soundtracks. The music here tries to invoke a sense of place and time. While this works marvelously in some cases (for instance, the use of Sakamoto Kyu's eternally lovely classic "Ue o Muite Arukou"), it misses in many others. Some tracks just seem to undo the overall atmosphere and the results are noticeable.

Miyazaki's vision is much more focussed for this film as compared to Tales from Earthsea, a project that from even its conception was problematic. From Up on Poppy Hill is more relaxed in tone, and perhaps this was Miyazaki's own stance to his film-making. What I said earlier about the characters can perhaps be said about the film itself: it is adequate, though not exceptional.

From Up on Poppy Hill is a definite must-watch for those disappointed with Miyazaki Goro. The film shows how much he has grown as a filmmaker. This is a satisfying little movie. Maybe his next attempt will give us something a bit more fulfilling. Certainly this taste has left us hungering for more from this director. You're certainly not going to watch this film condemning it for not being like his father's art and you won't watch it and think it's like his father's work either. It doesn't feel like a Hayao film or a Takahata film. It's not trying to be. Goro and Yonebayashi (director of Arrietty) have their work cut out for them to leave their signatures on their movies, but given time, perhaps their vision will become clearer.

In the meantime, Miyazaki Goro shall walk looking up.

Anime Review: Ookami Kodomo no Ame to Yuki (Wolf Children)

Ookami Kodomo no Ame to Yuki literally means "Wolf Children Ame and Yuki". What the film's title promises is accurate, but this is a secondary to what the film is actually about. This is a movie entirely about the enduring and triumphant nature of maternal love.

Teenage Hana is a hardworking girl putting herself through college. During a class, her eyes fall on a man who enthusiastically and diligently takes notes, but he has no textbooks and he disappears before roll is taken. Intrigued, she searches him out and learns that he sits through classes but doesn't attend the school. From what we see, he works with a moving company, delivering goods to houses. He comes to university and bums through classes to learn. Hana works at a laundromat to make ends meet, and meets him when her day is over. We never learn of this man's name, but he becomes Hana's world, and she, his. Then their worlds are joined then broadened with the births of their children.

To call this film a movie about "werewolves" is doing it a mighty injustice. To call it a spirited, charming and heart-rending look about family is more accurate. And while it is always about the "ookami no kodomo", it is carried by Hana's life. Hana does what she can to keep her children safe and alive. She removes them from the urbanised world and carries them deep into a rural village where they are free to develop and understand the other half of them.

The film can be divided into three clear arcs. The first finds Hana in love, developing a relationship. The second follows Hana's struggles to raise her young children who have special needs. The final one sees her settled while her children attempt to find their own places in the world. A recurring theme throughout each arc is that there is a reason to always keep smiling.

Ookami Kodomo is a film of change and self-discovery. Yuki begins the film feral and wild, easily embracing her lupine half while Ame, tearful and timid, is afraid of what it means to be part-wolf. As the years pass, Hana's resolve remains unwavering, but her children grow apart from her as children naturally do. With this growth, they also change. The film changes focus from Hana as the children grow older, giving us their insight and feelings about who they are. Yuki's desire to belong allows her to channel charisma into socialising with peers. Ame's introversion makes him steely and independent. Yuki wants to embrace her humanity while Ame wants to explore the animal. Ame and Yuki yearn for something more, just as their mother knows they would but is afraid to acknowledge.

The story carefully and gently handles the fantasy so that it never overwhelms the film. There are no transformation hijinks or forced comedy or drama. The film treats the wolf children naturally. They seamlessly transform into their wolf-forms and out again. Some of the greatest scenes animated in the movie are these transformations as they move in and out of their dual identities.

The animation for the most part is fluid, with beautiful art painting a lovely countryside and the wilderness. Sometimes the film suffers from poorly chosen CGI effects, repeated animation and disproportionate character models, but this does not take away from the movie's overall beauty. Hana and the children's country home is clearly inspired by the 1988 classic My Neighbour Totoro, even down to Yuki's exuberant exploration of the broken down shed and the wild grass growing everywhere. Adding to the atmosphere of the film is a well-thought out score which knows precisely what type of music fits a mood. Sometimes, especially in the beginning and ending of the film, it can be a little heavy-handed with its emotional outbursts, but largely, it works and it makes itself invaluable to the film's impact. The voice-acting for the movie is one of its strongest aspects. Having child actors to play Yuki and Ame's characters in their toddler stages was a wise choice, as their earnest delivery of their lines makes the characters more genuine and loveable.

Ookami Kodomo's characters are the major reason that any viewer will become easily involved. Hana is one of the most inspirational characters ever to be given life through animation. Her love for her family is apparent. If anything, I'm pretty sure some of this film's audience is going to feel a pang of affection for their own mothers. She dutifully cares for them in ways that are admirable and it is her unbreakable spirit and positive disposition that makes her noteworthy. She is a strong woman and an even stronger mother. The mysterious man who she loves doesn't have the chance to be developed but it is this shroud around him that works to his character's benefit. We care for him through Hana's affections; in one particularly jarring scene, we understand what he means to her and this breaks our heart more than he himself ever would.

Yuki and Ame carry the film in places their mother cannot. While her hopes and fears for them are palpable, it is their experience of hope and of fear that makes these feelings more acute. Yuki's voice takes us through the entire film with its steady narration, and her character grows from precocious and brave child to a young girl who unfortunately knows what it means to be afraid. Ame's behaviour becomes a bit frustrating in the end of the film, but to understand him in the context of an animal, it makes perfect sense. He is a wolf.

The rest of the cast is made up of extremely likeable characters, including the old man who looks after Hana when she moves to the village and Souhei, a boy who crosses paths with Yuki. Even non-speaking, non-human characters like the caged wolf whose pain Ame senses and the wild fox whose freedom Ame respects are indispensable.

While the film's imperfections are honestly very few, they add up enough to have it stop just short of being a masterpiece. With some tighter editing of the story, cleaner and consistent art and animation, more precise handling of the characters, and a more memorable soundtrack, it easily would have been a masterwork of anime. As it is, it is still essential viewing for anyone interested in a movie that looks at growing up and raising a family. It is a mature, insightful and often painful reflection of how deeply we feel about those we love and inevitably have to let go of.

Anime Review: Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan)

If there was ever an anime experience that would leave you needing therapy, marathon-watching Shingeki no Kyojin is it. Perhaps this is the best way to watch this series; by the end, you'd be so emotionally exhausted and mangled, you'll know what total despair is like. Not since Berserk have I seen an anime capable of utterly destroying... hope. Yet in spite of its soul-crushing hopelessness, Shingeki no Kyojin is entirely about hope. Without it, mankind would have nothing.

In this world, giants roam the land. These "titans" (as it's been anglicised) prey on human beings. They are brutal, violent and unstoppable. Their arrival is as mysterious as their motives. They do not eat to live. They do not eat anything else. They consume human beings and vomit them out. Humans have become worse than livestock on the food chain. At least sheep or cows are eaten for a reason. There is no discernible purpose for why the titans eat humans. They just do, and living with this fear and confusion behind the giant walls of the last known stronghold is the dwindled population of all of humanity. They've been able to keep the titans out for over a hundred years. Life in a cage, but life nonetheless.

Shingeki no Kyojin begins with the protagonist Eren Jaeger questioning whether this kind of life is worth it. Freedom does not mean breathing boxed in, awaiting death. That's not life and he vows to use whatever power he has to fight the titans. With him is Mikasa, a girl adopted by his family, and his friend Armin. While Eren is strong-willed and rash, Mikasa is calculated and fierce and Armin is thoughtful and soft-hearted; the trio play off one another's strengths and weaknesses in order to survive. And this anime becomes a war for survival.

Eren makes for a dependable protagonist. He carries the series well, despite having some "shounen hero" tendencies but perhaps his enthusiasm is necessary in a world where people drop their swords and flee in the face of danger or who opt to police within the safe walls of the rich inner cities. However, Mikasa is probably the show's great hero. Powerful, naturally gifted and determined, she carries Eren whenever he falls. As he is her only family, she is terribly protective of him. She lives entirely for him, and this may seem to be the only detriment to her character, but her loyalty to him is understandable when you learn of their past. Armin will be nobody's favourite off the bat. Wimpy, small and unable to fight, he has developed his intellect instead. The other characters are well-crafted and have distinct personalities (though they are just as many "Who's that again?" ones as well). Some of the stand-outs are Levi, a very short, extremely experienced and talented captain, Sasha, a girl who seems to gladly choose getting punched in the face by her superiors if it means she can get a potato, Annie, who like Mikasa is very strong and capable, and Jean, a spoiled and cowardly soldier who eventually becomes someone whose growth you can possibly be proud of. It's easy to like them... but maybe it's not entirely wise.

One of Shingeki no Kyojin's characteristics is that nothing and nobody is safe. It is not afraid of itself. It does not shy away from brutalising its audience or characters because honestly, this is a horrible place and time to be alive. It constantly reminds you of human mortality and fragility. Some people might tell you "don't get attached to anyone". Sound advice, but you won't take it. The characters in this series are constructed so well that you will root for them as they pick up their swords and then cry out in disbelieving grief as you see them crushed like a mosquito. Blood and then silence. It's not entirely right to say "nobody is safe" as plot-immortality applies to certain characters and that is quite evident. Although the anime is going to make you doubt yourself.

Gone are the anime physics where someone can go flying into a wall and can get up without a scratch. If someone flies into a wall in this anime, that's it. Game over, man. Game over. This is no anime for children; it is a complete bloodbath. It is not afraid to show you crushed limbs, torn-away faces, stinking, steaming bones, people's necks being snapped like chickens. It doesn't shy away from letting you hear screams of people facing their last moment on earth.

But it's not the violence alone that will sock you hard ones to the stomach -- it's the story itself. The concepts behind what is presented and also actual events will have you reeling. The second arc of this anime more or less will have you screaming "NO, IT CAN'T BE". Because you simply don't want to believe what you're seeing or who it involves. The entire series will have you holding your head wondering what is going on. The characters themselves don't really know, and you share that confusion with them. Shingeki no Kyojin's story is by far one of the most creative and well-crafted in modern anime history. It has the right tone, focus and content. It develops surprisingly at every turn. This is an anime you cannot necessarily lay out a trajectory for in terms of what is going to happen. You take every episode like it is tomorrow -- you ultimately cannot know what can or will happen.

Visually, it boasts some finely animated fight scenes, especially when the soldiers use their gear to go "flying" through the city. This gear is pretty inventive and can be likened to Spider-Man's web-slinging. The soldiers train to be agile and precise using this gear as it catapults them through the air. The best users of this know how to manoeuvre throughout a city block, across a titan's back or across the sky as though it were their first nature. The animation makes sure to keep you on your toes during action scenes, angling shots to keep momentum or knowing just how close to do a close-up for the best effect. The dark lines and general colourlessness of the art style keeps with the tone of the overall series. However, you can see where budgetary shortcuts were had, and while nothing to deter from the series, it is not quite perfect. Music-wise, the sound builds on the horror and the dramatic tension, and while some tracks are certainly recognisable as you watch on, they aren't entirely memorable.

Shingeki no Kyojin is all about experiencing it. You can have time later to think about what's happening or to theorise, but there is no time for that in the midst of watching. There are only held breaths, churning stomachs, wide eyes and feelings of absolute horror. There are times when humanity seems to be getting somewhere, where you think, okay, there's a chance now. Hope. It exists somewhere, as small as it might be, hidden in the depths of crushing losses and corpses and city rubble. It's there, and that's what Eren and his friends will give their lives to find.

Manga Review - Octave

A little attention goes a long way.

We want to be noticed. Some more than others. Whether it's desiring to be a national sensation or wishing that the girl at the laundromat would remember a shared handshake, that recognition does something. Keep that in mind during a reading of Octave.

Existing somewhere in the cracks of Tokyo's urban oblivion is Miyashita Yukino, a teenager who has dropped out of high school and works as an office assistant at a talent agency. There's probably nothing more that can cement you as a faceless nothing than having menial grunt work in a big, big city. But it stings a lot more when there was a time you used to be somebody. For Yukino's past reminds her of that faint glow of somewhat-stardom. At sixteen she made a pop album with some other girls (basically one of those many girl-bands that Japan churns out and they matter for a year or two and then they're ground into obscurity). The band wasn't particularly successful and so they were dismantled. Having known what it's like to have everyone's attention and becoming an absolute nobody is enough to mess with anyone, far less an eighteen-year-old living on her own with a rather jaded world view. But loneliness, as Akiyama Haru sharply details in her work, can bring people together.

Despite lacking in visual impressiveness, Octave takes readers on a very real journey of palpable, recognisable emotions. In one of those "of all the laundromats in all of Tokyo" coincidences, Yukino happens to meet a woman who will change her life. It's not a stretch to say that she actually helps Yukino HAVE a life, one outside of the memory of past failures. Yukino meets a present and a future. This woman is Setsuko: older, rational and very cool. She sees in Yukino someone who wants just a bit of attention, and she gives it to her. What starts off as a one-night stand becomes a very hard lesson in life and love. Sometimes things just get fucked up -- there's no soft or pretty way to put that. But what matters is how much you're willing to pay some mind and put aside some pride in order to make things work. Octave might give you the lesson of a lifetime when it comes to relationships.

During the course of this manga, we follow Yukino's highs and very low lows over the next year and some. This is not about her rise out of the ashes or rise to back to stardom. Octave doesn't do that to us or Yukino. It's about making her realise that life is worthwhile even when all you can afford is a ramen dinner. That it's worth more to have one person love you than have a filled-out stadium of adoring fans. It's understanding that you need to take care of yourself. Octave is about self-acceptance just as much as it is about accepting others. Yukino's growth is slow, often infuriating. But when she's able to smile at the idea of tomorrow, that's when you know, with relief and even with pride, yes -- she's done it. She's grown up.

Yukino's development takes centre stage, but Setsuko's evolution from just the object of affection to an extremely strong, complex character deserves a spotlight. Setsuko starts off reliably as the "cool older woman" who seems to have everything together and knows what she wants. And in a way, yes, she is always that. But she's not just that. She can be wounded as much as anyone else.With very little to care about and certainly nobody to think twice about, Setsuko got by making music and just going through the days. That changes when she meets Yukino. She experiences everything she doesn't want to; worry, betrayal, fear and heartbreak. But in that same breath, she also experiences what it's like to turn to your side and see a smile meant only for you.

The rest of cast is made up of Setsuko's kind-hearted but strange twin brother, a quiet, nice chef, and women who are big parts of Yukino's past and present life. These characters do well for support, and give us more perspective into the leads and their personalities. They don't take up much of the story, but without them, there'd be no Octave as this series is entirely about human interaction. We're often lost in Yukino's thoughts, and it's important to observe that most of the story is told from her understanding of the world. It's absolutely biased and flawed. Men appear to be monstrous at times, but that's not commentary on them; it's more so a very telling piece of information about the way Yukino perceives them. Because there are good men as there are bad ones, and good women as there aren't as well. We occasionally get the point of view of other characters, and this supplements how much of this manga is a reflective presentation of Yukino's experiences.

While the melodrama might be enough to make you want to slap Yukino to her senses, it's nice to remind readers that this is an eighteen-year-old with very little knowledge of the world to draw on. She'll make terrible, stupid mistakes. But the ending beauty of this is watching her own up to these and ask for forgiveness and try to move on.

It's easy to wallow in misery. It's hell and a half to try to accept your life. And Yukino comes to know, through a lot of things, that she can only be happy through that acceptance. Now isn't that a grown-up thing to do?

Original review (2012):

There is a scene in Octave where one character, looking at a group of carefree teenagers, turns to the protagonist and says that he thinks she should be a part of that.

It's a rather fleeting moment in the series, perhaps not even a lingering one for most readers, but it is one that freezes time for Yukino as she realises just how quickly her life has slipped her by. She seems to have gone through an entire lifetime and skipped out many of the details of growing up "normally". After all, who can have a normal shift from childhood to adulthood when the last years of youth was spent not in school but on the stage?

Trying to sort out her mess of a life is Yukino, an eighteen-year-old high-school drop-out and a full-time employee at a talent agency (where she undoubtedly brews coffee, runs errands, takes out the trash, files and does other menial tasks). She lives alone in that fabled single-room apartment where all dreams go to die in the big city. And the story begins with Yukino mourning and burying hers. Her fifteen minutes was something more akin to five; her girl pop band never really took off and faded away into the recesses of the internet and old magazines.

To say that this series is about a small-town nobody with big ideas of a life in the city with glitz and glamour is unfair and shallow. Though it might just be thought of as that. It seems like the typical Hollywood tale of broken dreams for the aspiring and ambitious seeking fame. A star can't be born everyday. It's a sour lesson, and Yukino has to learn it. It wouldn't be right to say it's about another failed show biz story and of the girl who is trying to build a life beyond that. There is a concept that appears in the movie Inception, where an idea is said to be the seed of something that grows to define a person. Yukino wants to be recognised, and this simple little idea transforms itself and her. Knowing her past is not just arbitrary details. Her memories of childhood and even a simple scene in her family home reveals much. She is the eldest daughter in a house full of family; younger siblings, old grandparents, working class parents. And there is the girl with the pretty dress, taunting her memories, running far ahead of her. She doesn't want to be buried under people or dowdy clothes. She tries to become a star, she attempts to find love, she searches for people who validate her. Her simple little desire comes to define her, and it's the slow recognition of that as being the poison in her life and trying to cure it is Octave's deeper purpose.

Octave is one of those rare manga series that comes out every so often and doesn't nearly get the kind of attention it deserves. It's quite the coming of age story without certain elements of it-- our main character has already come of age. But she hasn't nearly grown up enough. Now an adult, she has to roughly transition into maturity. This series is one that works with pure emotion; it's not an intellectual manga, but it is one that thoroughly stimulates thought about human feelings and behaviour. It documents the basic emotions of wanting to be accepted and loved and turns it into Yukino's story and life. And both these things are just terribly complex. At some point you may even find yourself angry or sick of certain events or individuals in Octave, and the reason why is that they are just so flawed and terribly lost like we are in the real world.

Octave's cast is a small, personal one. The manga primarily follows Yukino, though some chapters are dedicated to let us into the mind and perspective of Setsuko, whose mysterious appeal as the "beautiful stranger" type is stripped away to reveal a very complex person. And this is where it begins-- with a lonely Yukino being undeniably attracted to and easily seduced by Setsuko after meeting her in a laundromat. A simple moment, exchange of handshakes, but there's an electricity that Yukino can't deny. Setsuko doesn't just help in Yukino losing her virginity but also gaining the chance to begin changing her life.

While many might be consumed with seeing Setsuko as the catalyst for Yukino's self-improvement and willingness to become a better woman, leaving her girlishness behind, a lot of brilliant and subtle character growth would be missed if a reader doesn't see what's happening to Setsuko as well. A relationship can't be anything without two people, and both are affected. Setsuko seems to have everything together; she's five years older, has a job, lives in a decent apartment, knows what she's doing. At least, that's what we see from Yukino's point-of-view, and mistakenly to Yukino, Setsuko has everything figured out. This entire manga is about people trying to get their lives sorted out or even try to begin that process; nobody has anything under control. Everyone has a plan or goal or hope.

The occasional shifts to Setsuko's perspective allow us to see that she isn't all that cool and collected as Yukino thinks. Here is a woman who lives with no real goal. She makes her music, sells it, is content living above the laundromat her twin brother runs and has no interest in relationships. But meeting Yukino changes her entire life-- something as I said would be missed if people aren't paying attention. With Yukino in her life, she has instability and uncertainty, but even that's not a bad thing. Now she seems to be actually living. With Yukino, she has new goals, new dreams. She wants to build a life with this girl, and it's something else to watch Setsuko come to terms with the fact that Yukino has to grow up before she can grow with her.

Other characters include the aforementioned twin brother, Mari, who provides light comic relief to the series. He is a young man with a bright disposition and lots of ideas. A criticism that Octave garners is its portrayal of men as sleazy or sex-hungry or bastards as many of the male characters in the series aren't portrayed in the best light. However, it is to be acknowledged that much of the shadiness is from Yukino. This story is told from her perspective, and it's her ideas we are privy to and it's the way she sees men that we in turn have to see the men. So when she understands there are nice guys like Mari or his friend Ogawa and not just jerks like her boss, she begins to relax her outlook. The rest of the cast consists of women who are important to Yukino, including her close-minded but concerned best friend from her small town Kamo; Mika, who becomes everything Yukino couldn't be and is the subject of envy that Yukino later understands is unwarranted since Mika has a drive she never did; and Shiori, a model who is Yukino's age who is a trial and temptation.

Octave is a rather unique manga in many rights. Saying that it's a must-read for yuri fans seems imperative. This is exactly the kind of mature, slightly grimy but very heavy and meaningful story that the genre needed to grow up in this modern world. But calling this title reading for only yuri fans is limiting; this is one of the finest manga that can be offered to fans of seinen, drama or grown-up manga on the whole. If someone ever says that Octave is a story of a person struggling with their sexual identity, they're absolutely wrong. It's about people struggling with their identities on the whole. That seems the sort of thing that we can all really relate to.

What makes Octave even more special is that by the end, there is no solution. Yukino's financial woes are not all sorted out. She does not become a pop star in some ridiculous twist of fate. She doesn't even know what will become of her and her girlfriend. But there are things to note closely about the kind of things the story closes and does leave us with.

We know that Yukino will survive. She can make it, because she knows there is no "finishing". There is a goal, and then there are the ones after that. Life is about leaving, going, finding, keeping, breaking, creating, and changing. There will be bumps ahead. Nothing is a sure thing, not even Setsuko. But she can smile knowing that as things are, she has the love, support and promise from her girlfriend of sharing their lives in this relationship. Whatever becomes of it, they accept. And Yukino accepts, which is the most important thing. That seed of needing to be recognised has grown fully and consumed her. Yukino sees it, and she does the most important thing-- she recognises herself. So now it's time for that idea to wither and for new ones to take root.

There's no silver lining in the sky. There is just the reassurance that forwards, upwards, heaven-wards is where Yukino will now always try to turn her eyes.

Anime Review - Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu (2009)

  How terrifying is it to know that tomorrow, you won't remember today? Or that you don't actually have a tomorrow... because tomorrow is last week. And that this week is last week as much as it is next week. It's enough to make modern Western philosophy implode. Didn't T.S. Eliot have a poem or four about this?

This is one of the issues that comes up in Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu (2009). Assuming you didn't just throw a remote at the TV/mouse at the monitor in frustration and said "To hell with this shit."

Retrospect is quite a thing, especially when fans are left to compare a follow-up series to an original that was an undeniable cultural explosion. The first run of Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu pretty much shook the anime scene so strongly that even today, smatterings of people can still be found at cons dancing to "Hare Hare Yukai". A pretty influential series, especially considering that it basically cemented the dry, sarcastic everyman as a staple lead for self-reflective otaku-centric anime for years afterwards and that Haruhi-ism actually is a thing.

But that aside, it seemed pretty much a guaranteed hit for Kyoto Animation, doing a sequel to a juggernaut in the midst of several critical and commercial darlings (Clannad and ~After Story~, K-ON). Franchising seems like the best thing to do, and how could you possibly go wrong with Haruhi? Oh ho ho.

What you end up getting is a series that, also in retrospect, seems a lot better than what the fan outcry was at the time it was airing. This "second season" should not be viewed as an entity onto itself. The episodes fall into place when you consider its role in the entire Haruhi chronology. It all makes perfect sense when you think of it as a whole. Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu showed off its brilliance the first time by experimenting and mastering plot. 2006 saw the first series air out of order, yet the entire narrative functioned perfectly. It challenged its viewers the first time around. This time it might seem like a trial. The Endless Eight arc as it is known is perhaps the best way to drip-torture someone without water.

It's summer, the last two weeks of vacation, and Kyon, Yuki, Mikuru and Koizumi are trapped in Haruhi's infinite time loop. Think less Groundhog Day, more deja vu. The characters have no idea what's happening to them save for Yuki (for obvious reasons). And so we, and they, are presented the same events ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

It's the same thing over and over. And over. Again and again. And again and again and again.

The episodes aren't entirely copy and paste of one another. Clothes change, maybe one time you'll see them at a store, another at the poolside. But the vacation is burned permanently into our minds and possibly their DNA at this point: pool, shopping, festival, bug-catching, part-time job. Every summer cliche in the book, really. So here is the reason for the outrage: what kind of cheap trick is this? There might be two camps about this situation. Either Kyoto Animation is laughing maniacally that they got away with this or (even beyond their control) the studio dared to show something deeper to its audience. In any case, what other franchise could do something like this? This is Nintendo-Revolution-surprise-Wii levels of throwing an audience and dedicated fanbase for a loop.

And so, if it's the latter and not some cheap cop-out, where is any depth in these pool-filled episodes of repetitious service? The aforementioned questions of time and existence and ignorance.

It's astounding to consider what a nightmare it is to have no tomorrow... and how much worse it is to not even KNOW that. Knowledge is what we crave, always. It's a terrible way to exist when one doesn't know. What about Yuki, for whom time "passes normally"? What is it like to observe eternity before you? Not bad questions or propositions, although they come at the expense of tearing your hair out.

The episodes outside Endless Eight come as relief. Some of these cover the troubled and joyless production of the supremely funny "Asahina Mikuru's Adventure" (which is easily one of the best and most creative episodes of anime ever produced). The high point of these episodes is what they propose: everyone is not what they seem. Wait, wasn't that in the first series? Yes. But here's the kicker: everyone is not what they seem... to Kyon. For instance, think for a moment that Mikuru's unbearable blubbering is act she's putting on to fool him. Really consider it. Huh.

But that leads to the most important questions people seem more inclined to ask: is this worth it? It depends.

Is it entertaining? Not in the slightest. Is it even good? Who even knows? To say it's horrendous is as right as saying that it's brilliant. It's not either one of those things yet it's not passable or average. What is this anime, then? It's Haruhi.

Original review (2012):

Years having passed since the airing of Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu (2009), we can take a look back as to what exactly this series did and didn't do, and why it was received the way it was back then. For many fans, a second season for the mammoth "Haruhi" franchise should have been a blessing, yet while the anime was on air many viewers wound up cursing. Most frustration came weekly with the eight-as-infinity arc ("Endless Eight"), and many Haruhi-ites blasted Kyoto Animation for what appeared to be clear abuse to the fandom and blatant exploitation. Dust has settled since then, and now may be a better time to consider this series critically.

This "second season" is not exactly even that. These episodes fit into the entire Haruhi anime in places so that when all 28 are viewed in chronological order, it all makes perfect sense. One thing that made Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu a fantastic series in the first place is its mastery with the concept of plot. Back in 2006, the entire anime series was aired out of order and yet the entire thing functioned to perfection. It counted on its viewers to keep up with it and so these later episodes may just feel like an intellectual insult. No longer does this anime choose to baffle and amaze us with clever use of plot; each arc that comprises this 2009 series transpires in order. Yet it is what these episodes are made of which provides the greatest challenge.

During the freshman summer of their school year, Kyon, Yuki, Mikuru and Koizumi find themselves stuck in Haruhi's infinite loop of the last two weeks of vacation. What occurs is entirely Groundhog Day but without the thing that made such a concept bearable to us viewers-- while Bill Murray's character remembers that he's repeating his day over ad infinitum, the cast here has no idea what is going on. The only ones with access to this information is the viewer (and Yuki for obvious reasons). So here we are confronted with eight episodes of the same thing again and again and again. The changes are minute but never within the dialogue or story. The only differences we observe are visual. Watching this in a marathon makes it hard to differentiate between these episodes-- maybe one time we don't see them at the store buying clothes. Maybe another time we see them swimming in the pool. But it remains the same to the point that their summer vacation can be memorised: pool, shopping, Bon festival, bug-catching, part-time job etc. Over and over and over.

It's easy to understand why this would drive anyone insane-- it's nearly torture. But then there's the much bigger dilemma with this scenario; why are the viewers the ones to suffer? While our patience wears thin and our grip on what is what becomes looser, the characters themselves live in this perpetual state, never going as nuts as we do. They discover over and over again what is going on and so they don't have the skin-clawing frustration of being stuck in a time loop. Except for one character, and she's programmed just to observe and not feel anything about her situation. Why does this happen? Is this a way to consider what it must be like to be completely oblivious in such a situation? How ultimately terrifying it might be to not even know that you should be afraid of a non-existent future? Is it about the unfathomable realisation that tomorrow you won't even remember today, and will return to ignorance? There were many better ways that KyoAni could have handled the Endless Eight arc to make it remarkable yet it never quite goes those places. It even could have showed us different aspects of the characters' days in the loop rather than the same reused settings over and over, yet it did not. Laziness? Money? Artistic vision? Who knows. What it does do is get under our skin. Sitting through every scene of every episode of Endless Eight should be rewarded, but with what? Or how?

The episode preceding Endless Eight also dabbles in concepts and configurations of time, but the remainder of the 2009 series opts to go even more supernatural and show more examples of Haruhi's power. The "Sigh" arc is focussed on the tense and joyless production of one of the funniest student-films ever made. Perhaps this was indeed intentional. Asahina Mikuru's Adventure can be considered one of the best episodes of anime period, and the production seemed to have been one that was light and fun. Yet the "Sigh" episodes reveal underscored and even unknown dramas within the SOS Brigade. The making-of was actually quite troubled and miserable for most involved. This arc also proposes the possibility that everyone is not quite what they seem not only to Haruhi and others, but to Kyon as well. While Mikuru's blubbering is nearly unbearable during the second season, we're confronted with the idea that perhaps she's faking it. Think about that for a minute.

Surely this anime is not what anyone expected and I guess that's just it being "Haruhi" by doing so. Other things remain familiar and solid; the characterisation (Kyon's snarky disposition, Yuki's impenetrable depths, Mikuru's hopeless and exploitable misfortune, and Koizumi's untrustworthy calmness) and good production values. The anime does use its animation and art to say things without words, such as Kyon and Koizumi's minute bodily movements or even Haruhi testing her hair in a ponytail when she thinks nobody is around. Unfortunately, the music doesn't give us another "Hare Hare Yukai" but then really, can we expect another? Should we want another? Perhaps we would have liked it that 2009 be like 2006, but then if it was, would it really be a Haruhi anime-- one defying conventions and expectations. In the years following, there have been many anime that used that Haruhi formula that was, during its time, fresh and new and exciting. In 2009, could it be what it used to be and still be all those things? Honestly, can you ask anyone if they've seen more than one anime do the same episode eight times in a row? I doubt so.

In the end we wonder: what exactly is Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu (2009)? What did it do for both the franchise and the anime medium? Was it merely a way to stick it to the die-hard fans? Was it a studio's way to use little imagination to make big money? Or was it trying to be different. To show move and affect the audience in unexpected ways. To elicit emotions out of a complacent viewer who expects to be rewarded and instead is challenged. And yet after watching the series, it's still hard to really say what it is or does. But it's amazing how the angry cries, when dissipated, leaves a silence in which one can observe something with closer attention. We do tend to hear noise easily.

Anime Review - Aoi Hana (Sweet Blue Flowers)

It's true enough when they say that you never forget your first love. There are those lucky enough that the memory is nothing more than that, just a hazy recollection, a fond vagueness. For some, first loves are pangs, barely perceptible; the heart has forgotten how to beat to that rhythm. And then for some, a first love is as soft and fragile as a little flower.

This is the wealth presented in Aoi Hana, an anime adaptation of Shimura Takako's utterly genius manga series. The development of the manga is akin to watching a book read itself, learning and discovering things, and then reflecting that in its own progress. The anime does not get to reach this stage, as unfortunately it did not get the audience or attention it needed for another season. But to pass this series up is to deny yourself a great piece of literature in motion.

Manjoume Fumi moves back to her first hometown after ten years. Can you even call it her hometown? Wouldn't the place where she spent most of her life be considered "home"? It seems relative. Home for her is where her heart resides, where her mind wanders, where her bones grow. And it seems that that place has always been Kamakura. At home, there is Okudaira Akira, a best friend and first love.

Aoi Hana covers a few volumes of the manga series; the anime manages to capture the early stirrings of many things to come. It tries to come full circle right where some may say the manga is actually "beginning". Does it work? It really does.

With J.C. Staff's beautiful, clean artwork and a gentle acoustic-driven score, we are taken into the quiet town of Kamakura where even quieter dramas unfold. The minute troubles of everyday life tick away during the days, and the big problems end up as landmark moments in lives as they tend to do. The anime primarily focuses on the rekindled friendship between Fumi and Akira, and it extends to the interactions that these two have with others, including relatives, friends and lovers. Fumi goes to school at Matsuoka while Akira attends Fujigaya; the story unfolds giving us humorous, sweet, bitter moments of teenage lives.

Friendship seems natural and easy. It helps when Fumi is nothing but a sweet, gentle, though firmly resolved young woman. It's easy to love Akira's earnest soul. Here we have a series that suspends our expectations for the protagonists. Do they fall in love? Is this even about their love? In every way, yes. It's always been. Is there romance between them? That's for you to decide, as Aoi Hana respects Fumi and Akira's friendship and overall relationship enough to develop naturally, be it as best friends or as something other.

Throughout the anime, we meet other people whose presence give this show the warmth and life. This is a world populated with good people. That is one of the most important things to note about the characters in this series. Whereas other dramas will proceed to insert the most despicable villains, Aoi Hana has truly decent folk. Their intentions may be selfish, awful, manipulative and downright hurtful at times, and yet we can't ever fail to recognise that their hearts are good. Their flaws, as painful as they may be to themselves and others, can't ever take that away.

Two of the most complicated souls in this anime are Sugimoto Yasuko and Ikumi Kyouko. Sugimoto is a charming upperclassman that Fumi eventually dates; Kyouko is Akira's classmate. While it seems that they come into the story because of our protagonists, their tales are strong enough on their own. There is a parallel running between the two and the Wuthering Heights play which they perform; everything is embers, burning low, hiding somewhere in between polite smiles or bratty scowls. Who are these two girls who understand one another better than anyone else? What is this hopeless love that surrounds them both? Unrequited and mocked, one-sided and unfortunate. And yet there is love.

That is not to say these two overshadow Fumi and Akira in terms of the best characters that the anime offers. Everyone is rendered with respect and careful attention. Even the comic trio, Yassan, Pon-chan and Mogi, are downright lovable. Kyouko's cousin Kou is another individual who appears for brief segments in the series, but his small smiles tell us so much; he accepts his losses with dignity and strong shoulders.

And then we always go back to Fumi and Akira. Fumi, in spite of her crybaby ways, shows promise that someday she'll become a person whose tears show strength, not weakness. Akira's understanding of the people around her reveal that life is just budding for this girl; she has not yet begun maturing and in a way, this makes her the perfect ear and observer for messy situations. There is just a fierce magnificence about her as she takes care of things or sees how they work. If maturity means masking everything, then perhaps Akira's way of life should be given some consideration.

By the end of Aoi Hana, what you will have witnessed is one of the greatest contributions to yuri as well as the genres of slice of life and drama. It has intelligent characters with great depth, a solid story with strong development and not to mention, there's that rather pretty art framing everything. The concern at the end of it is not who gets together or what situations are resolved. At the end of it, we're left to chase after the meaning of a blue flower.

Sometimes love isn't enough. Other times it's more than you ever expect. Sometimes it disappoints us. And then there are moments when it doesn't let us down. But for now, it's a quiet little beat, drumming to a once-forgotten, now-remembered rhythm. Something carried in the wind, caught and preserved between the pages of an old photo album.

Original review (2009):

Do you remember your first love?

This is a question posed numerous times and is delicately answered in various ways throughout Aoi Hana. Sometimes we can remember but do not want to, and sometimes it escapes us despite truly wanting to know.

Aoi Hana is an anime that follows many firsts. Manjoume Fumi moves back to her old home town without any enthusiasm and starts her life as a high school freshman. She fatefully meets the best friend of her youth who she had almost forgotten, Okudaira Akira, and from there, the two girls rekindle their friendship and go through the trials that teenage girls face at that age. The anime primarily focusses on Fumi's perspective and the many bridges she crosses at that confusing and bittersweet time in her life.

Mostly we witness a coming of age and coming out story, and the way these two best friends support and stand by one another through the toughest of times. How do you tell your best friend a secret that's eating you up inside? How do you handle hearing a secret from your best friend that might make you think differently of them? Fortunately for us viewers, Aoi Hana features a story of growth and deep understanding with a cast of characters who are lovely, kind and wonderful people. This anime does not rely on fireworks and theatrics; it uses single actions and understatement to get its messages across.

Simplicity can work really well, and for an anime focussed on storytelling and characterisation, the art style of Aoi Hana proves suitable. The artwork and animation vacillates between being absolutely excellent to very inconsistent, but the one constant is the magnificent art direction. The minutest detail in a character's action (such as lightly thumbing the handle of a tea cup) or the slow, deliberate, and very subtle curling of a hand into a fist are illustrated. So small, so tiny are these actions, yet they contribute more to the story and reveal the inner tribulations of a character more than a litre of tears or ten minutes of hysterics could ever do.

The lighting is absolutely spectacular; sunlight filtering through a canopy of trees, splaying across skin, or gleaming through glass are some examples of the intricate and painstaking details given to this aspect. However, the character art suffers sometimes from lazy work and it shows, making the presentation less than perfect and sometimes really unacceptable. Despite this, the visual significance of certain close-ups, the controlled, contained actions, the almost unnoticeable movements that speak volumes more than words could, and the truly beautiful watercolour setting of the seaside town in which the story is set provide some quietly breath-taking sights. The soft palette and hand-painted backgrounds give this anime the look of gentility and peacefulness, making it very easy on the eyes.

The sound for this series is soft and acoustic, keeping in tone with the atmosphere and mood. The problem with a soundtrack so soothing is that it sometimes does not leave a lasting impression. The OP theme song truly is magnificent, providing a mature vocalisation rather than ear worm J Pop; 'Aoi Hana' by Kukikodan is a vocally driven, piano and guitar accentuated song that perfectly captures the spirit of the slice of life aspect of this series.

The voice acting may be hit or miss for a lot of listeners. Fumi's light, feminine voice and Akira's raspy though high-pitched voice may be considered entirely appropriate or annoying depending on the audience. This anime also has veterans like Horie Yui (voicing a character type to which she is not used, but she pulls it off well), and Noto Mamiko and Nakahara Mai taking back seats rather than leading. Surprisingly, these lead seiyuu show they can pull off supporting roles extremely well, bringing something a little different than what they usually do than when they voice main characters.

Aoi Hana has successfully utilised both the visuals and dialogue to develop and express the growth and personality of the characters. The characters prove to have chemistry and maturity to them that so many school dramas lack. There is nothing loud or blatant about their interactions. Their conversations are heavy with double meaning, clever quips, deep insight and the expectant youthful naivete that personify teenagers. Aoi Hana never treats the characters' ignorance as something exploitative, but uses it as a means for them to look within themselves and develop gradually. The conflict of growing up is accurately presented by these girls.

Surely some of the issues such as sexual orientation and arranged marriages will not be common for everyone, but the other important themes presented are things anyone growing up would understand: forming friendships, dating, jealousy, self-denial and self-acceptance, and emotional responsibilities to yourself and to others. The characters each have the sensibilities and rationalities of girls their age (mind you, intelligent girls their age), and it is utterly refreshing to see an anime not where irritating fools fall in love, but where deserving characters form fulfilling and plausible relationships whether they are healthy or not.

While the protagonists Fumi and Akira appear to be standard archetypes, as the plot unfolds, they show us that they are so much more than that and rise above our pre-conceived notions of them. Fumi is not just a shy crybaby; she is extremely sensible albeit emotional. Her inner fortitude is utterly inspiring at moments without her seeming like pillar of strength--she is a fragile person, after all. She does not cry because she is weak and wants to complain. She cries because she accepts the inevitability of life, and knows that it makes no sense mulling over these problems and wishing for something else--life will continue, and so she must as well. Is it wrong to let someone who accepts her problems cry a little over them? Not at all. Akira is not just energetic and supportive, but she is also perceptive and naive. In fact, while she starts off as the typical Messianic character, we come to understand that Akira cannot help but insert herself into people's lives. While she tries not to meddle, her overwhelming desire to protect her friends overrides her rational side, but she does not act rashly or stupidly. Also, despite appearing to be inexperienced in life and love, Akira proves to be the most understanding and astute character of the lot.

The most important relationship in this anime is shared between Fumi and Akira. Whether it be instantly forgetting about her much-searched after crayons to run to Fumi's aid or absent-mindedly banging her knees against a table to rush to her friend's side and comfort her, Aoi Hana skilfully shows us that not only words are necessary to express how much Akira cares for Fumi. And it is all too clear to us just how important Akira is to Fumi. The depiction of such a wonderful friendship is actually quite warming.

Aoi Hana's second group of protagonists consists of Sugimoto Yasuko, a dashing older student with an understated though evident charm (and a mean, selfish side that people are not aware of), and Ikumi Kyoko, a headstrong, stubborn though graceful girl who seems to forget her pride when it comes to matters of the heart. Some of the anime's best scenes take place between Yasuko and Kyoko, and the most mature and brutally honest conversations occur between them as well; they have smart and clever discussions without ever once sounding unrealistically wiser beyond their years. The comic trio Pon-chan, Yassan and Mogi, and Akira's extremely over-protective brother Shinobu provide humour to the anime. And there is the utterly sympathetic Kou, Kyoko's fiancé, who is quietly determined to get Kyoko to return his feelings.

Aoi Hana is all about subtlety and graceful presentation; you get drama without melodrama and romance without sap. This is an anime made for those who can sit back and just let the story and the characters soak into their bones. It is something to mull over lightly with some tea. You will not get tense drama, but you will get reasonable drama. You will not get fairy tale romances here. You will get real ones. The characters will not snap and change--they will grow, and you will witness that slow and satisfying growth. If excitement is what you enjoy, then you will not enjoy this anime. This is not an anime about grandeur. It is about the quiet aspects of life and love. And of course, of all those first times that one can possibly experience.

A first love is always the one you hold closest to your memories and you think of it fondly, sometimes painfully. Aoi Hana reflects on the first loves that have come and gone, first loves that are yet to happen, and long time loves that are preserved safely like a fragile memory of sweet blue flowers in our hearts.

Manga Review - Aoi Hana (Sweet Blue Flowers)

It proves difficult to write about something which has been a part of a life; each moment became a memory, every volume, a mark of another year having passed.

Perhaps I'm the worst person to talk about Aoi Hana. Having begun publishing in 2004, it was a manga with which I've grown up. It covers in its almost decade-long lifespan three solid years of the lives of two teenagers, Manjoume Fumi and Okudaira Akira. Or perhaps we can say it shows even more, decades of their lives, ranging from early childhood to early adulthood.

It is this time difference that makes this series hard for me to talk about. I began reading as a teenager myself, feeling the very same as Fumi, the main voice of the series. As she experienced her first loves, first heartbreak and other emotions, I grew kinship with her. But as years wore on, I eventually, inevitably found adulthood, while the characters (formerly voices of my own youth) became people I could observe through my own life experiences. Their mistakes, misgivings and apprehensions which were things once eliciting acute vicarious sympathy and empathy, then brought out of me, "There, there. It will be all right." It became almost painfully nostalgic. Warm, familiar, past.

As Shimura began to detail a year of fiction across years of reality, the experience of Aoi Hana changed. The manga itself changed. Rarely does the narrative and the point-of-view of an artist mature. Art evolves, of course. But the voice of the characters, the way their stories are told hardly changes. Yet with Shimura, it's almost as though you can see over time how her own artistry developed. Sometimes the blackest of panels had more to say with a single, stark white line of text than a full-blown page, busy with drawings and images. Aoi Hana's character designs sometimes suffered from inconsistent, seemingly lazy production, but its overall beauty compensates for any drops in quality. And any time the art layered the complexity of the story... you'll forgive and forget. Genius might be the only appropriate word for whenever Shimura does right by her trade.

Aoi Hana begins as a simple, soft manga about high school life with two best friends. By the end of the series, it's a cryptic, heavy, often-confusing observation of human relationships. This is not a bad thing. As the chapters became shorter, the dialogue became poetry. The art itself turned into a kind of prose propelling everything forward, rich in its unspoken role in storytelling. Shimura's handling of the series in its later stages would undoubtedly frustrate readers. But these pages are meant to be poured over again and again. Panels are designed to consider all the content and infrastructure. Words are meant to be deciphered. Her dialogue becomes as impenetrable and difficult to comprehend as the hardest human emotion, as the most unknown and mysterious feeling.

The beginning seems weak, as does the ending. Where is the start of this? Where is the closure? This was something I'd pondered for many years. Just where would Shimura go with this? There is a formula. Every year, new characters, new school play, new relationships. Life at that age plays out like an equation, anyway. What difference is there? Personal experiences may be the thing. This is what Aoi Hana is all about.

We follow Fumi, named the crybaby of the story and her energetic,"spunky" best friend Akira as they meet years after being separated. What plays out is a friendship that picks up where it left off. And then... something more. The beauty of Aoi Hana resides in the respect it pays to the complexity of our relationships with one another. Love is not taken for granted... even when it's taken for granted. It is a powerful beast of a thing, making everything as beautiful as a fabled blue flower or as ugly as ourselves at our most disappointing. The strength of Aoi Hana is its cast of wonderful characters.

Fumi and Akira could be studied from start to finish. Akira especially ends up being one of the most complex characters in the series even though she seems to be the most straightforward. The later volumes slowly gives us more of her side of things. Very soon, what began as a story from mostly Fumi's perspective, closes with Akira's. This is really about these two girls, women, children -- every part of them. We're given glimpses, at times, as to what they think or feel though you may find yourself reaching out, clawing for more when we're left as mystified by events or actions just as they are. Fumi's development perhaps seems the most obvious and rewarding. She grows from an insecure 16 year old to a mature woman in her twenties, who, sweetly, can be undone with innocent words of a 6 year old. Akira is our champion, the direct voice of simple justice, though this makes her the most naive person in the entire series at the start. Adolescence leaves her as her change into a woman is less pronounced and noticeable but present all the same.

The manga does not shy away from recognising that love and sex are part of adolescence and adulthood. The response to each marks a different stage for the characters, main and supporting. For Fumi, it's about finding balance. Akira's own sexual development as a girl growing into woman is done powerfully, with simple images or pieces of text.

Both these girls do well as they grow up. It may take you several readings to notice just when Fumi stops crying over nothing or when Akira lets go of her childish things, but when it happens, there is nothing more rewarding or amazing. These are two magnificent leads, characters you want to hang out with or crush into tight, tight hugs.

The supporting cast is vast and without keeping up, can be overwhelming. Some of the major players are the Sugimoto sisters, women ranging in ages, attitudes, tastes and philosophies. There is also the trio from Matsuoka, Fumi's friends Mogi, Yassan and Pon-chan, fantastic comic relief at times and also truly good schoolmates and companions. Later on we get Haruka, a feisty underclassman whose sister, Orie, is in a relationship with another woman, Hinako, a teacher at her and Akira's school. Sounds like a lot to remember, doesn't it? Throw in Ueda, who is the greatest side character in the entire series, funny, quiet and supremely mature, you have a cast consisting of lovely and lovingly-rendered characters. Some have argued that these side characters are useless and distracting, but they are far from that. Each one of them does something for the series, even in unnoticeable ways.

Hinako and Orie for instance offer hope. They are in a relationship that has lasted beyond high school sighs and touches and has become a fulfilling, long-lasting life for two people. This is something Fumi needs to see, as a girl whose heart was made to love somebody. This is something that Haruka has to experience, as life doesn't turn out the way it normally does. Sometimes you find out from yellowing letters in a shoebox that your sister is gay. What can you do other than, years later, accept that there might be an offbeat wedding some day? Even Fumi's cousin, Chizu, is written so well that a seemingly monstrous act of betrayal ends up being heart-breaking commentary about living to fulfil other people's expectations.

But having said all this about the supporting cast, there is one person that needs special attention as she exists between the roles of protagonist and supporting character. This is Kyouko, a girl whose private desperation to be something better than herself exists in fascinating contrast of her refined public demeanour. She's a classic beauty and has the admiration of everyone around her for being more mature and worldly. Kyouko's past and personal life beg to differ. She tries to find answers without ever daring to face the questions, but her brilliance is her own self-reflection. She's a smart girl -- she knows she can assess her personality and pinpoint the flaws. She just chooses sometimes to ignore them or to give in to them. To read of characters who innately know they are capable of being better than their worst, who are able to know themselves, is an utmost pleasure.

And that's what Shimura gives us. Terribly, brilliantly complicated characters. Words and pictures to mull over. With tea, no tea, sometimes with a hand in your hair, sometimes with pages being flipped backwards instead of forwards, during chilly nights or warm ones, like the ones the girls undoubtedly sleep through in Kamakura.

Kamakura is alive in this manga. The series opens and closes with this town, and as it provides a physical setting, it gives the entire series  more context than just a landscape could offer. A beautiful seaside town, nothing out of the ordinary or terrible. The drama is as noisy as the place itself -- not at all. It is all life and beauty every day even in the midst of confusion, anger and pain.

And isn't that right?

It was with a heavy heart I said goodbye to these characters and this story. The ending itself might seem to be a let-down because...  where is it? A lot of people are going to be left surely disappointed, with no answers to their questions: What becomes of Fumi and Akira? Everyone else's story gets wrapped up. What could Shimura be thinking, ending with the beginning?

Why didn't their story end?

Isn't it clear?

It doesn't.