The seduction of self-affirmation is infinitely dangerous.
And the prickling unease that claws its way through the brokenhearted? One often mistakes it for a twinkling of presumption or insight. Such is the case for Tabata Kaede, closing out his final year of university studies by sprinting the final stretch of lazy afternoon classes, the blues of working part-time at a local drug store, and surviving the drudgery of job hunting. Such is the case for Tabata-san. Unless, of course, the man should parlay that twinkling of presumption into an earnest aggrievance; that is, revenge.
I AM BLUE, IN PAIN, AND FRAGILE is a slow-moving novel of middling intrigue until the climax. Sadly and truly, very little of substance occurs in the novel's first 225 pages. Tabata laments the loss of his best friend, a wily and hyper-social young woman he often describes as "vexing" because of her boundless optimism. Akiyoshi Hisano, his friend, delighted in asking awkward questions during lectures and professing world betterment to be the grandest of aspirations. Akiyoshi was, in a word, an idealist. So then, what changed?
Tabata and Akiyoshi only became friends through their mutual awkwardness. At some point in their freshman year, they founded a university club, Moai, to represent their embrace of the different, the unique, the cultural, and the idealistic. But disillusionment came fast for these two. The club grew, the pair drifted apart, and the personal philosophies to which both Tabata and Akiyoshi held at their cores forced the young adults to make several difficult decisions.
Regrettably, this novel is only passingly about the conflicts that arose as a result of those philosophical complications. A story about agency, about college students' difficult and urgent scuffling with the adult world's philosophies would, perhaps, make for a good read. I AM BLUE, IN PAIN, AND FRAGILE, in contrast, is about a lazy braggart who redefines his cowardice as a means of exhaling his emotional debts onto others. Does Tabata's sophistry catch up with him? Absolutely. That's probably the best part of the novel. But everything that happens before then? Readers will surely fall asleep.
The narrator, Tabata, schemes to sow chaos among the affairs of modern day Moai, a club no longer dedicated to culture and questions, but instead a club turned farm system for obsequious business-types. He feels bitter and betrayed by his cohorts. Nobody chases their dreams anymore. Nobody is eager to make a difference in the world. Students no longer visit museums and watch documentaries; they hold mock interview sessions and exchange business cards with dull-faced professionals.
The novel's solution to Tabata's feeling of betrayal is circuitous and uninteresting. How indeed does one disband a club one doesn't belong to, and with only a few months until graduation? And why go through the effort? Are Tabata's wounds really so deep and untreated? These practical storytelling questions never get in the way of this bland tale of pseudo-revenge. Tabata attempts a handful of awkward blackmail schemes, and he fails, rather oddly, to fully convince his few friends to join a cause for which even he has reservations. Again, I AM BLUE, IN PAIN, AND FRAGILE isn't a discussion of the moral peculiarities best suited to ignorant young adults breaking into the wider world; it's a novel about one man's petty need to validate his emotional listlessness, and in doing so, identifies and reifies the listlessness of others.
The narrator engages his best friend, Tousuke, whose charm masks an ardent ache for personal intimacy. The narrator engages his coworker, Kawahara, a casual kouhai of his, whose severe look belies an astonishingly casual, even childlike disposition. The overwhelming averageness of these and other characters frame Tabata as fool for believing his grievance is worth grieving, and an even bigger fool for attempting to pull others into the wake of his manufactured indignation.
For readers bored to tears in tracking the mumblings of a student whose loneliness seeps into everything, they'll be delighted to know the confrontation that comprises the novel's climax is exquisite. The novel's climax is a 21-page argument, and while the scene doesn't quite make up for the passive plotting of the prior 200 pages, it does serve as an excellent case example for other storytellers in how to pen a scene that demands attention and thus defines the book on the whole.
The argument scene itself possesses all of the highs, lows, gaffs, and screams native to exhaustive blow-up shouting matches. For all of the book's chronicling of average, human failings, the climax-argument is a fine literary example of what happens when these failings all come to a head.
Tabata articulates, with unexceptional believability, his personal tenet of non-interference, of being so hopelessly agreeable that conflict is the farthest thing from people's mind. Akiyoshi herself confides that pursuing one's goals, no matter how idealistic, should take precedent. But what neither of them realize until it's too late, is that being overly agreeable leaves little room for individuality and that being an optimist often leaves one under the boot of realism sooner rather than later. I AM BLUE, IN PAIN, AND FRAGILE exposes the consequences of unimpeded self-affirmation, either internally or externally, to be a grotesque and painful emptiness tended to by illusory necessities.