This analysis will cover specific details about Nijigahara Holograph, meaning: if you have not read the manga, it would be advisable to abstain from reading this review to avoid spoiling vital information.

A critical work to be familiar with while reading Nijigahara Holograph is the book of Zhuangzi (considered a foundational text of Daoism), by Master Zhuang. One of the key concepts that is taught through this work is the idea of spontaneity, and how we should eschew from artificial distinctions (i.e. good versus evil, beauty versus ugliness, and usefulness versus uselessness). In creating these dichotomies, we remove ourselves from the natural flow of the universe — which, obviously, existed long before human cognition — thus, diminishing our chances of achieving ultimate happiness. In essence, like the “butterflies that have been pulled apart by fate,” we, as humans, have deliberately pulled ourselves apart as a species, neglecting the features that make us “one.”

The ubiquity of physical and mental anguish in Nijigahara Holograph accurately reflects the adversities of the real world. It reminds us of the iniquitous thoughts/tendencies that reside within all of us, waiting to be provoked with the necessary force. Unlike typical manga, Asano’s artwork immerses the reader into the cold reality of his fictional world, instilling palatable trepidation that is not easily consummated within the medium. We, as a public, hear about egregious stories in the news every day, but through some psychological mechanism within ourselves, we tend to overlook these abhorrent behaviors to maintain our own perceived happiness in this indifferent existence. Through his keen understanding of the human condition, Asano forces the reader to confront these abominable dilemmas without prior warning, clarifying the odious nature of the human species. Primal emotions (lust, anger, jealousy) serve as the impetus for much of the turmoil for our protagonists, reminding us, impertinently, how rudimentary we truly are.

The non-linear story, along with the constant transition between past and present events gives us insight into the relationship between time and reality. We tend to believe in the thermodynamic principle of the arrow of time, in which all events assume a “one-way direction” or “asymmetry” of time. But this, ostensibly, pertains to the known physical world, how does this scientific theory apply to entities of unknown mass or origin? I am speaking, of course, about human thoughts and dreams. Accept it or not, we view the world through the prism of our own experiences. We then use said experiences to construct a view of the world that we deem to be “real.” Since the concept of human thought and dreams are malleable entities, they have the ability to distort the perception of time itself. Establishing a reality that is indistinguishable from what we call the “real world,” obfuscating certain events, and giving us the opportunity to access them through our unconscious will; however, most dream-like events, are seldom pleasant. Perhaps the rigors of our ancestors having to survive in the wild for thousands of years imbued a biological tendency for us to remain in a perpetual state of fear, always reminding ourselves of the harshness of this existence. This may be why our minds latch onto the negative experiences of our lives to produce nightmares that haunt us time and time again. Similar to the physical scars Kyoko obscured through plastic surgery, the mental scars of each character cannot be forgotten, for as long as they possess the memories, the anxiety remains. Unlike prosaic manga characters, these psychological hindrances obstruct their forward progression, trapping them into a cyclical torture of the mind. The resulting physical catharsis is not desirable, nor justified; however, it is genuine to the human condition.

The prototypical protagonist/antagonist paradigm that is pervasive in the manga industry, does not apply to this work. Asano, most likely, wanted the reader to take a Daoist perspective to the character’s actions, understanding how artificial distinctions (like Narumi’s “ugliness”) clear the path towards cruel insults, limiting our potential of becoming one as a species. Each character portrays a certain level of malevolence, and it is not our job to find endearing qualities about them — giving “justification” for their actions — rather, we must understand how fragile their rationality is under complex situations. Take Kyoko Sakaki, for example, she exhibits a, seemingly, well-ground character with a calm demeanor and lax personality. On the day of her divorce, however, she confesses to a malignant emotional strain from her past efforts in thwarting a man from raping one of her students (resulting in a forfeiture of her own eye). Due to the inattentiveness of her soon to be divorced husband, Kyoko, placidly, threatens to kill him and the children. This gender dichotomy, in which a woman is prohibited from expressing rage — or else, she is viewed as being recalcitrant — and a man is permitted to feel angry, as evidenced by the bruises on the children’s arms, captures a pressing issue social issue that, along with subservient marriages, leads to a significant amount of depression and suicide. Furthermore, it hinders one’s ability to maintain a sense of presence, as Kyoko laments her past “careless actions,” she overlooks her role as a mother, and the future repercussions it will have on her children. On the surface, it seems absurd to compare her actions to say, Amahiko’s foster mother, but the omission of a parent’s compassion can be just as damaging as direct insults.

Speaking of blatant child abuse, Amahiko Suzuki, a socially withdrawn adolescent, experiences his maltreatment through verbal attacks from his uncaring foster mother. This frail family dynamic leaves Amahiko feeling depressed, and emotionally ill-equipped to cultivate strong bonds with his fellow classmates. In fact, he considers his botched suicide attempt — jumping off the roof at his old school — as the antithesis of a “clean break.” This hearken’s back to the spontaneity of life, and how through our constant attempts to manipulate the world around us, we distance ourselves from the natural flow of things. This does not imply that a predetermined purpose exists, but rather, as Asano put it: “every human being has their role in life.” But to fulfill that role, it is crucial to liberate oneself from past events, past arbitrary prejudices, and past the illusory divide we create through our incessant need to categorize things (consciously or unconsciously). Only then can we filter through the “bad” experiences of our lives to identify the “good” opportunities that lie in front of us — in Amahiko’s case, Narumi’s openness to friendship.

Nothing is spelled out in clear or unambiguous terms, yet the journey endeavored by those who seek to clarify the hidden “meanings” behind the mangaka’s intent, will undoubtedly be rewarded with enhanced mental acuity. Enjoy.