otaku culture – Contemporary Japanese Literature

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, originally published in 2003, is a sci-fi romantic comedy about a quirky afterschool club. It’s also one of the most influential light novels from the heyday of otaku culture. Although I can’t say that all of its humor has aged well, it’s a quick and fun read, and there’s a good reason why it’s still in print.

Kyon is an average high school boy who’s assigned to the same homeroom as Haruhi Suzumiya, a beautiful girl who has a reputation for being weird. True to everyone’s expectations, she marches into the first day of class and introduces herself with the declaration that she’s not interested in speaking to anyone who isn’t an alien, an esper, or a time traveler. When Kyon tries to strike up a conversation with Haruhi, he gets roped into joining the SOS Brigade, an afterschool club that Haruhi has created to research supernatural phenomena.

The plot twist is that, with the exception of Kyon, every member of the SOS Brigade is indeed an alien, an esper, or a time traveler. They gradually reveal themselves to Kyon, insisting that they’re posing as high school students in order to observe Haruhi, who unknowingly has extraordinary powers capable of restructuring the universe. If Haruhi becomes bored with the current universe, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that she might inadvertently destroy it. It’s therefore imperative that Haruhi remains entertained and blissfully unaware of her power.

As you might imagine, this scenario has a number of unsettling implications. Is everyone in the story merely a figment of Haruhi’s imagination? Does anyone in the universe she created have free will? If Haruhi created “this” universe, what happened to the universe where aliens, espers, and time travelers don’t exist?

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya goes right to the edge of these darker implications but ultimately backs off in favor of light comedy and mild teenage romance, a tonal balance that undoubtedly contributed to its popularity.

This light novel was adapted into an anime that aired in the Winter 2006/07 season. I admit that I’ve never watched it from start to finish, but the show was ubiquitous in Japanese pop culture fandom communities for years. The ending theme, “Hare Hare Yukai,” became a meme that spawned countless flash mobs of cosplayers recreating the iconic dance at anime conventions.

Due to its prominent place in mid-2000s otaku culture, I was considering including The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya on the syllabus of a college class about Japanese science fiction and fantasy. I think it would be a good choice, but I’m still undecided. My hesitation is mainly due to the fact that one of the early chapters includes light elements of goofy sexual comedy that made sense in the cultural atmosphere at the time but might read a bit differently today.

To give an example, in order to blackmail the members of the computer club into giving her a PC, Haruhi takes someone’s hand and places it on the breast of one of the female SOS Brigade members before asking Kyon to take a photo. To me, this scene reads as the sort of stupid but harmless fantasy that might appeal to the book’s target readership of teenage boys, but I understand how it might be interpreted as sexual harassment (because, undeniably, it is).

Still, light novels are filled with this sort of thing, and I tend to think that The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya is on the “unproblematic” end of the spectrum. To be fair, it’s not anything worse than what’s in most Haruki Murakami novels.

I don’t read many light novels these days, but I enjoyed The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. The pace is brisk, the writing is snappy, and the story offers a nice treatment of its speculative worldbuilding without getting too deeply into the weeds of hard science fiction. Looking back on this book from twenty years in the future, I found myself waning a bit nostalgic for an earlier (and, I think, more lighthearted) era of otaku culture. The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya is an interesting cultural artifact, but it’s also a fun story that I’d recommend to anyone who hasn’t yet encountered its particular flavor of high school comedy.

Title: 蹴りたい背中
English Title: “The Back I’d Like To Kick”
Author: 綿矢りさ (Wataya Risa)
Publication Year: 2003 (Japan)
Pages: 140

Wataya Risa made waves in 2001 when she became the youngest writer to win the Bungei Prize (文藝賞), a prestigious award managed by the literary magazine Bungei. She won the award for her debut novel Install (インストール), written while she was a senior in high school. After graduating from high school, Wataya entered Waseda University and began work on her second novel, Keritai Senaka. This novel would win her the Akutagawa Prize (芥川賞), the single most prestigious literary award in Japan. At the age of nineteen, Wataya became the youngest author ever to receive this award.

So, what’s all the fuss about? In a market dominated by pop fad writers like Yoshimoto Banana and Yamada Amy, it’s easy to be skeptical. You’ll have to take my word for it, though, when I say that Wataya is the real deal. Her prose reflects the background and personality of her high school aged narrator while still managing to maintain a definite literary tone. Her descriptions of people and places are vivid and artistic, and her introspective examination of memory and interpersonal dynamics are sure to resonate with anyone who’s old and yet young enough to be able to look back on high school with both bitterness and nostalgia.

The novel’s plot centers around the lone wolf narrator Hachi, her changing relationship with her best friend Kinuyo, and her developing relationship with a strange boy named Ninagawa. Hachi and Kinuyo have just graduated from middle school, and Hachi is disappointed that Kinuyo has become popular with a new group of friends in high school. Left to her own devices, Hachi is drawn to Ninagawa, a fellow outcast who steadfastly refuses to have anything to do with other people. When Hachi mentions that she’s met the fashion model with whom Ninagawa is obsessed, he latches on to her, and she finds herself introduced to his strange otaku fantasy world, which ultimately provides a means for her to re-affirm her relationship with Kinuyo.

Although it’s debatable whose back Hachi wants to kick, the back that she does kick (twice) belongs to Ninagawa. Don’t let yourself think for one second, however, that this book is about a high school romance between the two. The somewhat twisted relationship between the them is exquisitely complicated and yet imminently understandable, even if you can’t quite put your finger on why. One of the main appeals of this novel, in fact, is the challenge of decoding Hachi’s feelings towards Ninagawa. Perhaps the other main appeal is trying to understand one’s own feelings, as the reader, concerning Hachi (and, by extension, oneself at her age).

Unfortunately, this novel has yet to be translated. For those of you studying Japanese, however, you will be pleased to find that Wataya’s prose is very accessible. The book can easily be finished in three or four sittings. If you’ve been looking for a book to serve as a gateway into Japanese literature, please allow me to recommend Keritai Senaka.