Offered to Christ, through the hands of his mother.
This is our second guest article from Haki! Read his first post here.
Did you know that in Polish there is a word, ordynarny, which, of course, derives from ordinär, just like the English word ordinary? Of course not! It’s one of those multilingual traps – a false cognate – that may get you ridiculed, because in Polish the meaning is slightly different. It means, in a very specific way: vulgar, obscene, offensive.
Who would have thought that it would fit the characters of How to Become Ordinary so well! Although, we aren’t speaking about obvious obscenity, but rather an inner vulgarity or disorder.
First, summing up the series & my experience
I watched it in a rather unusual way. Starting in November of last year, I finished it more than half a year later, in May. Time itself changed, much like the theme of the series.
One has to give credit to the creators for the unique convention they presented us with. We begin with a series that seems to be about the beginning of life in the beloved setting of every slice-of-life anime: high school. The opening and ending themes make it clear that everything revolves around two characters: Jougorou Kobato and Yuki Osanai. From episodes about the mystery of making the perfect cocoa to searching for the best sweets, everything begins and proceeds innocently until the turning point of the first season: Osanai’s kidnapping.
The second season feels like a different world. From bright lights and summer trips to confectioneries, we move into episodes dominated by darkness, where many scenes take place late in the evening. The two main characters have ended their arrangement and pretend not to know each other. New characters appear. Yuki and Jougorou begin romantic relationships, and for a while Osanai’s boyfriend, Takahiko Urino, becomes the main character of the series.
We get an arc centered on finding the perpetrator behind a series of arsons—or perhaps, more accurately, on Urino’s desire to make a name for himself. As a young member of the journalism club, he attempts to become a star at school by creating an exceptional investigative series. He tries to catch the person responsible for the arsons occurring throughout the city, and fame and recognition do indeed come when the students become fascinated by the story.
After this comes Kobato’s unexpected accident—or rather, an attempt on his life. Then we enter a new arc: Kobato is in the hospital reflecting on the past, returning to a very similar incident in which both a school acquaintance and Osanai were struck by a car. Through flashbacks, we learn how the two met in middle school. We get a small amount of backstory, a quiet search for the culprit behind Kobato’s accident, and a return to the first investigation the protagonists undertook together regarding the accident from three years earlier.
Spoiling a little and summarizing a little, that is essentially what happens. And now that I am finished with it all, honestly, I have no idea what all these cases were for.
So, what’s the point of the series?
Certainly, they were there so that we could get to know the main characters and their surroundings. And perhaps understand why, in the first opening, their symbol became two wolves?
Whether Yuki’s name comes from happiness (幸) or snow (雪), we do not even know. But she is certainly cold. The entire series revolves around these two characters, and both of them live for their own benefit, not particularly open to the outside world.
Through all these investigations, we learn that Kobato’s main goal is gaining recognition among his peers and that he simply enjoys playing detective. We learn that Osanai’s main goal is simply pleasure and enjoyment, and in some sense self-validation as well, because more than once one of her secondary goals in the series becomes revenge. A very fitting symbol for her character is her weakness for sweets—in a way, that is what her life consists of: running from one sweet treat to another. From one feeling of pleasure to the next. Yet she does so in a very subtle manner.
So, what’s the point of this article?
My own goal isn’t to focus on the technical merits of the series, but rather on examining the intentions and character of the people portrayed within it. If I were to touch on those aspects, I would certainly praise the two beautifully crafted openings and endings. However, remaining with a somewhat rough criticism. As for the story itself, I still ask: what was the point?
The arson case ends with Urino’s failure, after which Osanai breaks up with him. Kobato and Osanai discover that his best friend was behind the arsons in order to fulfill his dream of gaining recognition at school.
The consequences? We know nothing. The continuation of the story? Urino disappears from the series. So does his friend. In fact, the entire journalism club disappears.
Kobato also had a girlfriend! This relationship was not explored nearly as much as Urino and Osanai’s. We simply see a lovey-dovey couple who seem to be enjoying themselves, yet there is a clear sense that something is not right between them. Some lack of understanding.
At one point, Jougorou discovers that she is dating several boys at the same time. The reaction? Essentially nothing. Do they discuss it later? They break up. Tokiko’s motivations? We do not know. Why did she enter the relationship? We do not know. The consequences? We know nothing.
The continuation of the story? Tokiko disappears from the series. Her other partners, acquaintances, and the entire situation disappear as well.
As a detective series, a great deal is left to the viewer! Yet to me it looks more like a collection of unfinished and underdeveloped plot threads. Something appears, something disappears. We often do not know why, and we almost never see the consequences.
Yuki and Jougorou do not change. Almost.
Kobato shows anger when he first learns about Osanai’s almost sadistic motivations near the end of the first season during the kidnapping case. In the final episode, he also expresses regret regarding a case in which he damaged the family relationships of an acquaintance who suffered an accident three years earlier (which is, by the way, an incredibly serious matter…).
We can see guilt in him. He says he was foolish. Osanai is capable of being moved when she sees Kobato’s suffering after the accident. She is grateful for the gesture that may have saved her life while potentially ending his, as he pushed her away so that the oncoming car would hit only him. But that is about it…
At this point, I find myself returning to reflections I have recently shared with various people. In different and unrelated conversations, the topic of the morality of fictional characters, the purpose of art, and the way it can help us become better people kept resurfacing.
Fairy tales are, of course, a good example, but they are often terribly simplistic. That is why they remain fairy tales. Unrealistic. Not of this world.
Certainly, an author can portray the filth of the world and the problems of human nature. After all, who among us does not defend his own life? A man will give all he has for his own life, right? Therefore, in Osanai’s emotional reaction, I see more respect for the tool that helped her survive than love for another person.
It took me a long time to watch the second season because I carried a sense of distaste throughout it. No one there is truly, openly vulgar. Vulgar in an obviously evil way. Yet we see many wolves in sheep’s clothing. People who do not think about a higher Good, but instead (and here I am looking especially at Osanai) are capable of manipulating justice so that it becomes recognition of themselves as victims, their satisfaction as the true good, and their revenge as a reasonable judgment.
And it ends… with many characters who were chewed up and spat out… or eaten and digested.
Kobato and Osanai move on, now heading to university, with a continuing desire to… we do not know. Their own pleasure? Progress?
The central theme from the title, which runs throughout the first season, was the desire to become ordinary. In a certain sense they achieved it—because if the intention of the series was to portray a society in which self-interest and pursuing one’s own satisfaction at all costs is the norm, even when it’s irrational, then it hit the mark perfectly!
And yet the distaste remains…
What was the point of these storylines?
What was the point of all those people around them?
The two protagonists are good examples of exceptionally intelligent individuals who use their minds in unhealthy ways.
And what remains after all of it? As in many lives: no lesson, no change. Life simply goes on.
This is also where I have a problem with the form of comics and novels in general—often, the desire to present as much as possible in the shortest space causes the fruit’s flesh to be lost, leaving us only with the surface layers.
Perhaps I would consider Shoushimin a valuable experience if we had learned the psychological history of the protagonists. What were their families like? What happened to them? What caused Yuki, in particular, to become such a self-centered, almost insensitive person who plays the role of a harmless petite girl? Where does so much anger and hostility within her come from?
We get only a single scene in her family home, where her mother appears. Just an ordinary, pleasant housewife at first glance. She learns about the kidnapping over the phone and then disappears from the series.
That is the impression I am left with: we were given a pair of damaged characters doing various things to make themselves feel better, but we are never told what brought them to that point or what their real motivations are.
That’s just… sad…
St. Justin Martyr, pray for us that we have selfless lives like you!
Leave a Reply