"'I'm greedier than anyone. I don't want some half-assed happiness. I don't need some partial warmth. I want a happiness that goes on forever. That's impossible, though! I don't know why it is, but in this world, some interference is sure to come. Important things break right away. I've been alive for twenty-two years, and I know at least this much. It doesn't matter what the thing is, but it will break. That's why, from the beginning, it's better not to need anything.'" (192)
I first read this novel in 2012, when I was 18, and thus younger than Satou himself. I never really had any aspirations of besting Satou in my own life, as if it's ever reasonable to compete against a fictional character, and I guess I can say with misaimed pride that fallen lower than him, even if maybe that isn't true (for one, I graduated college, but, in fairness, I did kinda want to drop out; I didn't know you could just stop attending, and thought there were hoops you needed jumping through in order to officially drop out...). The funniest thing today is that I am now 26, eight years older than when I first read the book, and four years older than Satou. Funnier still is that I'm somewhat legitimately a hikikomori, as I've been furloughed from my job for reasons relating to the COVID-19 hullabaloo, and have opted to waste my life with so-called "reemployment assistance" rather than waste my life with a temporary job while awaiting my return to my real job. Less funny, perhaps, is the ease with which it seems any Japanese can just pick up random, odd part-time jobs, which seems way more fun than what I'm (not) doing right now, and ultimately I would prefer to just dick about with various different micro-jobs than pretend to give a shit about a "career,"... but I digress.
There's always been this weird meme or something on 4chan's /a/ where posters would lament the lack of a girl like Misaki to swoop in and save them from their hikikomori ways. As if these posters didn't finish reading the novel or the manga or watching the anime. I might support some inappropriate idealization of a Misaki, but not for her hikikomori rehabilitation facade. If anything, it would be for her second contract, but even this would be a bit dishonest, as I might wax lyrically about being dissatisfied in life, but I always consider myself far superior psychically than anybody else ever, and so cannot in good conscience lie about being inferior to a theoretic Misaki-type. In the most rudimentary sense, it feels often (from a distance) "easier" to deal with people like Misaki than to wear my Totally Normal Human Being mask too tight in the company of "regular" folk. Basically, I stopped thinking too much about anything "important" when I was like 14 so I mostly just flop into whatever requires the least amount of effort. One needn't try with a Misaki-type, as crude as it is to say. In one sense, one needn't "try" to be a good person, but more significantly one needn't "try" to be adequately "human" at all. Really works well if one suffers the particular fantasies prone to frequent Dazai readers (bonus points: this novel subtly references ol' Osamu's magnum opus), in the backward sense of willfully disqualifying oneself from humanity versus the alleged imposition thrust upon Dazai's Yozo. I guess, having tired myself wanking through the above semi-misanthropic sentences, the superior of Misaki's contract is truly her third, the joint "hostage" pact, but maybe mostly because I recently finished watching FX's You're the Worst which ends kinda similarly. It does no one any good to compare himself to Satou, but to divorce myself from the text wouldn't erase many of my idiosyncrasies, and at the end of the day it's plainly true that I will forever be too much of a fuckin' edgelord to lapse into more "traditional" partnerships, maybe. I don't know, I think I'm just having fun writing dickish things right now....
The truth about this novel is kinda hard to say: it's not really that well-written, and I basically only enjoy it because unhappy things happen. It's been so long since I've first read it that I simply cannot remember my original thoughts on the prose. I recall I read this book around the time I first read H. Murakami's Norwegian Wood, but that doesn't really mean anything because I don't remember which I preferred between the two, or even if I ever compared them at all. Re-reading it more recently, it just feels like a straight-up "light novel," but I don't know if it truly is, or if it's meant to be a "real" novel (it's ultimately better-written than most LNs, but also mostly because it's not just puerile genre fiction). The biggest issue were the frequent exclamation points in Satou's italicized inner thoughts, which felt maybe juvenile. General description lacked prosaic Beauty, but I was once again "moved" by certain passages near the novel's end, during which Satou flexes his sad-boner (see: the passage quoted above). To get extremely reductive, as well as self-deprecative, I might be amused enough by an incredibly short story that simply goes: "The man considered being dead, but changed his mind." Such a thing is a bit of a catch-all "log line" applicable to many books I enjoy, for better or worse. The same could be used as summary for this novel. I like this novel. Perhaps I am easily amused by many things that equate to the same central premise. To pre-emptively combat any accusations, I think there's not so much truthfully a deeper meaning to this interest, so much as it's just that it appears it is easier to make unhappy Art than to make happy Art (a lot of things I like that aren't woefully depressing are actual capital-R Romanticism, though, in fairness, I like e.g. William Wordsworth because his poetic description of idyllic England is infinitely more lovely than shithole contemporary America, and all my love of post-Romantic Hermann Hesse novels is because his pre-War Germany seems nicer than hideous post-War urbanization in the New World...). I'm maybe getting ahead of myself drawing parenthetical comparison between NHK and "real" literature, but I feel I have good reasons, which, if not clear in this text, are at least somewhat clear within my skull.
Anyway, a curious point about the novel versus its anime and manga adaptations is that the novel has rather explicit drug use that really sets it apart from most Japanese media. I feel the original novel is otherwise a little lacking compared to its adaptations, simply because it runs by too fast and Yamazaki and Satou's high-school senpai feel underutilized. The senpai basically exists just to loosely foreshadow Misaki's own suicidal tendencies, as well as to provide some sense of foil in her ability to forge something resembling a "normal" life. Yamazaki basically exists to keep the visual-novel analogy alive so Satou can reference "flags" and their game's ending in the story's climax - nothing wrong with this per se, just the novel probably could have worked without it all, and maybe have felt less like a light-novel with fewer anime/game references, if Takimoto so chose. I miss the suicide island from the anime adaptation, as well as the senpai's hikikomori brother who acts as better foil for Satou and Yamazaki alike by at the very least being way uglier than either man. Accordingly, I think the adaptations are a bit nicer for having Yamazaki fly too close to the sun when dating the girl from his college. The jump to his arranged marriage in the novel's end just feels like all Yamazaki's problems were solved with pussy, which is kinda stupid to me, but I guess it's realistic enough since it's been true for other people. Having said all this, I did feel compelled to increase playback speed for a few episodes near the anime's end when I first watched it because it felt like so much "filler." I'm thus more excited to re-read the manga, which I remember enjoying the most out of all three takes on the story, despite feeling like it had even more content than the anime (I recall, at least, that the manga dipped into a lower nadir for its principal cast's emotional states, whereas the anime felt like it didn't want to get too "dark" until adapting the novel's climax).
A fun point about my personal history with this novel is that I paid like $60 for it in 2012 because it was out of print, only to find new copies on Right Stuf some years later for like $18. In the meantime, TokyoPop revived itself, so I will choose to believe the book was comi out of print in 2012 and only went back in production later on. To justify my purchase. Disregarding that I used Right Stuf in like 2017 or '18 to buy the few missing volumes of the manga adaptation.
I still feel like an asshole that I couldn't see the cover illustration as Yoshitoshi ABe until Wikipedia pointed it out to me some years back.