REALISM IN MEDIA (OR, AT LEAST IN ASANO INIO'S WORKS)

[insert some pretentious quote that says a lot about society or something]

When it comes to author Asano Inio’s works, Oyasumi Punpun is the exception, rather than the rule, in terms of my personal thoughts regarding it. First, though, I should preface this by saying that I consider Asano a brilliant artist due to his keen attention to detail. His artstyle is thus wholly unique, being extremely realistic while keeping a tinge of cartoonish flair. To sing his praises as I just have, though, is frankly unnecessary. With few exceptions, his work receives overwhelmingly great praise. Part of this likely has to do with how Asano’s visual tendencies also translate to his storytelling. The majority of Asano Inio’s works employ far greater attempts to adhere to sobering realities which stand in opposition to the majority of manga and otakugeared media, which are often fantastical works of semi-indulgence. With the majority of his work focusing on the idea that reality is far more grim than the candy-colored cartoons proliferating otaku culture, I could be tempted to say that Asano Inio is a valuable antithesis to indulgent media in the same way that one could perhaps refer to Anno Hideaki or Tomino Yoshiyuki.

However, my biggest issues with the majority of Asano Inio’s works come with how they seemingly don’t convey meaningful commentary or unique character arcs. While it is great to imply realistic ideas within narratives, I find that a good deal of Asano’s non-Punpun work falls into the trap of replacing proper structure and interesting themes with realism. Put simply, none of his work (again, sans Punpun) seems to have a point. Often, such as in Subarashii Sekai, Nijigahara Holograph, or Solanin, Asano Inio ends his works with characters in a state of hopelessness. Said hopelessness is either the result of societies being flawed in construction, or the inherent evil present in the individuals populating these manga’s casts. Yet, while these series are far from terrible and are rather refreshing from the status quo, Asano Inio often seems unwilling or incapable to present a thematic message in accompaniment with the misery in his narratives. There is very little actually stated beyond the increasingly stale idea of the struggles of being an adult in contemporary society, a theme which a large amount of Western media already touches upon more meaningfully.

I have often heard fans of Asano Inio defend this under a justification that the lack of meaning in human existence is in of itself the meaning of the aforementioned works. This argument makes little sense to me, however, as the general structure of narrative across various cultures and in the history of human existence points towards the fact that narrative as a social vehicle has value in its ability to convey ideas. In my eyes, then, stories generally need structure and pacing, ebbs and flows, in order to be considered as such. That’s what has given narrative such power over human existence. Obviously, narratives with relatable struggles can imply certain messages, but realism really only is a flourishing that makes a structured narrative more brilliant than it might have been prior. Stories all need a point. Thus, this defense of Asano Inio feels rather unimportant when discussing his works in the context of storytelling.

Seemingly, these complaints of mine are well addressed in Asano Inio’s Oyasumi Punpun, which I consider one of my favorite manga of all time. A perfect representation of Asano’s visual and narrative styles, Punpun mixes realistic human struggles with bizarre side storylines of outlandish cults just as smoothly as it has a semi-anthropomorphic duck representing its titular protagonist in an otherwise realistic world. In a narrative showing the worst the world can offer, whether it be addiction, adultery, suicided, or a dozen other concepts of similar nature, Punpun also features a side character named Ass Hamburger. More importantly, though, Punpun feels meaningful beyond its somewhat surrealist depiction of an otherwise dour reality. There is a point to the suffering that the titular Onodera Punpun encounters in his life beyond the hackneyed “this story is depressing because life is depressing”. In fact, while not terribly divergent from the conclusions of other Asano works, Punpun still manages to end with a somewhat uplifting message.

A part of this could be due to Oyasumi Punpun’s extended length in comparison to, say, Subarashii Sekai, Nijigahara Holograph, or Solanin. It has the chance to elaborate on its ideas because the audience sees the progression of Punpun’s life. As opposed to the majority of Asano Inio’s previous works, which begin with their protagonists at their rock bottom, Punpun starts early in its protagonist’s life. What ensues, then, feels truly tragic given how minor flaws in a young Onodera Punpun develop into greater and greater achilles heels as he comes of age. That phrase, coming of age, actually describes the point of Punpun rather well. The series seems keen on depicting the maturation of an individual in a (somewhat) modern age, with all the trials and tribulations along the way. And yet, while the series is a downfall of sorts, it features a surprising amount of levity with its aforementioned juvenile comedic relief, coupled with a rather dark sense of humor to accompany its rather dark tones. This is not to say that Punpun is immaculate, as plenty of it is extremely disturbing in its portrayal of certain subject matter. However, I wouldn’t deem much of its narrative as being in poor taste, or trivial, as plot points feel like they flow into each other rather organically. All of this amounts to Punpun being a rather poignant work. All of its ideas actually form a rather cohesive understanding that its author attempts to convey.

If I were to pinpoint the message within Punpun that particularly resonated the most with me, it’d likely be its take on nostalgia. Rather than the rose-tinted understanding of nostalgia that listening to American millennials talk about Pokémon Red and Blue might entail, Oyasumi Punpun has a nuanced approach. Its characters confide in nostalgia as a simpler time, yet their escape back to their childhood conceptions of the world read more horrifying than sentimental. Both Onodera Punpun, and his childhood love interest, Tanaka Aiko, utilize nostalgia to cope with their dour realities. They find solace in each other as adults partially because the idea of each other they’ve built up is far more powerful than what each other actually has become. The realization that Aiko comes to, prior to and resulting in her suicide, is particularly valuable to this dynamic. Punpun’s idea of nostalgia, like its other themes, then, all play into its core idea that living in the present is far more difficult in comparison to escape, whether figurative via nostalgia, or literal, by way of suicide. In this particular context, as well as every other context Punpun explores life in, it brilliantly imbues realism with purpose in spite of itself. It is perhaps the pinnacle of Asano Inio’s style of writing, overcoming the flaws inherent to a narrative solely focused on being realistic, and delivering themes that are not only meaningful, but rarely seen in visual media.