4.5 stars, for now.
This is my introduction to the works of giant of gekiga manga Yoshihiro Tatsumi. Unrelentingly bleak but always with a point. This is a short story collection mostly dealing with the collective psychology of Japan, particularly men’s, in the aftermath of WWII. When you go from the subject of a failed empire to a laborer in a US client state in the span of a lifetime, how do you make yourself — or anything else — matter?
The men of these stories drift through an existence where old narratives have been stripped of meaning. They grapple with a sense of national emasculation and defeat. The profound alienation of this new world is the context around these morally challenging stories.
A man struggles to find a satisfactory way to cheat on a wife he hates. He passes the time by gambling away the savings meant for his kids. When his impotence ruins even his dream of spiteful infidelity, he pisses on a decommissioned cannon — another useless phallus — and cries. It’s funny, but loaded with an elegiac poignance.
Not all stories are centered around men, though that is where it bends. One story for example concerns a trans woman in a small town that I thought was handled with surprising sensitivity given the time period. Another concerns a faithful woman working in a brothel to support her brutish convict husband; she liberates herself by finally cheating.
There’s not a clear way out of this world for most of these characters, and the stories bookending the collection express this idea of people living in hell. Tatsumi has a “whatever gets you through the night”attitude to morality. In “Click Click Click,” during the day a man is a good samaritan, giving free haircuts to kids in foster care. It all feels like an act to him. At night he’s consumed by his foot fetish, keeps a box of women’s shoes under his bed, pays prostitutes to step on him, fantasizes about getting trampled to death under a stampede of women’s footsteps. It’s his perverse obsession that keeps him separate from society that’s also his sole (ha) source of happiness.
Anguish is not ennobling — I’m thinking about “Sky Burial” where the proto-hikikomori character, living in a dump, so self-centered in his depression, is completely unaware his neighbor has been dead and rotting for three months just one room over. When taken in for questioning he says “I’m so preoccupied with getting my life back together… I can’t afford to think about others.” I’ve felt that depression-related narcissism before. He’s one with his overgrown, abandoned, pre-war building, vultures circling overhead. The cartoony figures of Tatsumi’s Japan inhabit ghettos and slums more filthy and honest than what readers’ were used to seeing at the time. That surprise, as the introduction to Good-Bye points out, is the shock of recognition.
I don’t think these elements come from a kind of misanthropy, not entirely at least. There is no promise of salvation for these characters; no deliverance from the separate personal hells they endure. There are only these spaces, some 40-odd pages in length each, where that loneliness and anguish is, for a moment, recognized.