I’m about two years too late for sharing my thoughts on Bioshock, but the fact that people are still writing about it, and since Hydroponic wrote an impressive blog on it all ready, my words can hardly add anything new to the long conversation on Bioshock. But that perhaps points to Bioshock’s long-enduring importance; the fact that anyone continues to talk or write about it means the game is a hallmark in the history of video games. If your work still make tongues wag–even when they have nothing positive to say–you have found a place in the canon like Shakespeare or Milton. Bioshock is part of a long list of works that reveal the frailty of humanity, that if we are left to our own devices, our minds inhibited to do as it pleased, we would all be dead. Great energy is spent to build civilizations, and they have considerable success until the wrong ideas populate the minds of a few leaders, and the civilization falls–replaced by another one. The cycle continues.

Besides the dystopian theme of Bioshock, there is the issue of freewill. Jack works his way through the dangerous corridors of Rapture, led by Atlas who, it seems, is the only ally and sane person in the entire city. Like Virgil in Dante’s Inferno, Atlas guides Jack from one level of Hell to another. He practically holds Jack’s hands. To the gamer, you think this is fine–it’s expected to have some kind of instruction so you can reach the end of the game. It’s only natural. But I do not find it so simple: in most games, you can detach yourself from the characters and story. You are separated from each other, or, I should say that the definition of player and fictional character is well-defined. You maybe Vaan in Final Fantast 12, but you are not Vaan. It’s still his story and not yours. The gamer is an interactive observer. The gamer follows the character from one plot point to the next. In Bioshock, I can’t separate myself from Jack. At first, I thought I was separate from him–I’m just playing another video game. And then I finally meet Andrew Ryan, the founder of Rapture. He’s brutal, paranoid, insane–although I did enjoy the voice acting.Neverthless, I froze when I heard that all of Jack’s actions was not done freely but by mind control.

Would you kindly . . .

“Men choose; slaves obey.”

The line between gamer and fictional video game character was swept away. It made me wonder, “What is the difference from doing what you are told and doing what you’re told to do? All of these games put us on a linear path in some way or another. Do whatever you please in Oblivion . . . supposedly. Only within the confines of the world itself, withing the boundaries the developers have created. Grand Theft Auto prides itself in sandbox worlds, but you are still stuck on a linear story. You’re only freedom is to choose when you want to complete a mission. For a moment I felt like a slave to Bioshock. I’m kinda like a slave to all of these games. “Kill this guy . . .” “Okay”. “Now, run to that bunker.” “Very well.” I felt like someone really did have keys, codes, and locks implemented in my head.

And then I meet Dr. Tenenbaum. The mind control is over, but I still have to rid myself of it completely. I’m following her orders, now: is that mind control or choice? Maybe she’s using me to take Rapture. And then I returned to my normal definition of gamer and fictional character. The game isn’t about me; I’m not under mind control, Jack. I’m just interactively observing. The story unfolds for him and me, but, if the character were real, the story means more to him. What I need to take from Bioshock is the weakness of humanity, our flaws and the nearly impossible odds of creating “a future where our children can live on a clean Earth” (stupid, hackneyed idea. Everyone says that and look what they do instead. I digress). The game did what few games can do. It removed the television and 360 and controller, and, for a moment, made me feel like I was actually Jack. It made me question my actions throughout the entire game. Most of the time, being outside of the story, I would say, “Sucks to be that character.” I said “Sucks to be me.”

“Men choose; slaves obey.” That’s a weird saying for my cognitive tastes. Where there is choice, there is adhereance. If you decided to have a cherry coke, you are obeying some inclination in yourself that you are set for a cherry coke.

Men choose and obey . . . and disobey to obey a better option.

But the saying should be taken within its context and realize what Ryan really meant was that people under mind control are slaves. They don’t have a choice.

Still . . . I like my rewriting of the saying.

Last week I decided to spend some of my limited funds on Fable II. I won’t say too much about the game, for much has already been said. I enjoyed the game very much, despite the glitches and the annoying, ever present loading screens. But I was more disappointed with the ending of Fable II. Being familiar with JRPGs, I expected a more dramatic and challenging ending to the game. Lucien, I thought, will bust out with all sorts of powers. He should really jack me up. I was afraid of facing him. But I experienced a discrepant event–the ending left me confused, off balance, and unfulfilled. I encountered a dream, and then returned to reality. All the world was bright as the evil Lucien drained energy from the other Heroes. This is it, I thought. The final battle.

I use a music box to save the Heroes.

I cut Lucien once to beat the game.

That’s it. No grand battle that goes on for fifteen hours. No beating heart or beads of sweat running down my skin from the intensity of my mortal enemy. I simple cut and it was over. Where was the challenge? Where was the fear?

I have noticed a new trend in the gaming world, a certain disdain toward JRPGs. Perhaps the disdain has been around for years, but I am only old enough now to see it. It’s similar to how a boy who dislikes girls, suddenly has an affinity for them. Some grow weary of the level grinding (years ago, I called it “leveling up some more”) the random battles are monotonous and so on. I actually enjoyed level grinding in Final Fantasy. I still do in Final Fantasy 12. The end justifies the means; after all, there is a strong sense of accomplishment when I take my character all the way to level 99 and gaining every single spell and ultimate weapon. I know many gamers pride themselves in gaining Achievements (I know my older brother does). What is the difference? Some wrote the activities were annoying: maybe they don’t have the patience to play. After each battle, the numbers stake on top of each other, the tiny pink meter grows and grows, coming closer to the end of the . . . meter box. Ah, progress. Like the progress of school. Or the progress of a relationship. I say Monotony means failure to see that you are going somewhere.

In anycase, what I mean is that the JRPG gave me a challenge and Fable II did not, as far as the main story is concerned, and all my years of playing JRPGs did not prepare me for the simple ending of Fable’s sequel. It was anticlimatic and yet . . . and yet, it was a nice change. I remember a similar disappoint I had with the ending of Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino. The movie had all the workings of a violent conclusion: a gang terrorizing the next door neighbors and the main character is a Korean War veteran. He knows violence. He’s killed people. It’s only right that he kills the gang. Every. Last. One. That is what the audience expects.

Then comes the discrepant event. Clint Eastwood stands before the gang and reaches into his jacket pocket, and, feeling that they are in danger, the gang blast Eastwood. Bullets riddle his body before the old man drops to the sidewalk. Eastwood did not put on steel boots and go to town. Instead, he sacrificed himself the only way he could. The gangsters are thrown in jail, forever. Eastwood has redeemed himself and some can even say that he is a hero. Drop curtain.

And there is the difference in experiencing a JRPG and Fable II. I can’t say that all Western RPGs are like Fable II; more than likely, they have climatic endings like Japanese rpgs, and that’s fine. I can safely say JRPGs will always have a dramatic ending involving a grand battle. But which is better: the ending you can predict, or the ending that is a discrepant event? I know, I’ve written D.E. many times, but there is a reason for that. I will explain later. But concentrate on the question. The predictable ending isn’t bad; it does lack the function of supplying the audience with a new experience, unless, I must emphasize, the ending the viewer predicts shocks him so bad that even he wishes that he’s wrong. And it is even more shocking when the viewer’s prediction is correct. In that case, a predictable ending is great.

I see now. The phrase “predicable ending” has always brought bad connotations to my mind: no one wants a predictable ending. But clearly, proponents who use the word leave out the state of the viewer’s mind. Is the viewer worried that they might be right? Will they be relieved in knowing that they are wrong, or feel worse? No, the ending you already know before seeing it is not entirely bad, but that is subject to how the individual feels about the ending they have predicted.

The unknowable ending is better for a host of reasons that anyone can think of. The mystery of not knowing what will happen to the lead character, the suspense of sitting on the edge of your seat. As they say in movie promotions: “The ending will blow you away!” Curious, that you must now accommodate your schema to the new experience you have encountered in reality. No amount of assimilation will save you.

I like accommodation myself; new experience is pleasing to my puny brain. I have a philosophy that the fantasy, the fiction, the fantastic are not mere tools for escapism, but a method to understand the human condition. They reminders of what life is. Fable II’s ending was just that.

I still wasn’t challenged.

Discrepant Event. Accommodation. Assimilation. Schema. These are words I must know for my Mid-Term Exam. Remembering is not Learning. Learning is taking new lessons and processing them. That usualy means that you must apply them. That is why I used D.E. so much. In case anyone wanted to know.

There are two kinds of people on Earth: the Scholar and the Common Man. Both view the same world, the same food, the same clothes, the same video games and what not, but they each take something different out of the objects they experience. The Scholar will read books and then try to analyze them, answering questions like “What is the author trying to say? How is this relative to the modern reader” and so on. The Common Man reads a book for enjoyment. Not to say he probably won’t get some meaning out of the story, but the meaning may not be as important to him. As a college student, I am asked to write long analyitic essays on stories: this semester my topic was the race issue by comparing and contrasting characters from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Passing and while I do not mind scouring the library tower in search of critical essays to support my thesis, I’d much rather read the two books, say that whether or not I liked them, and then move on. Academic writing builds our commication skills and teaches us to effectively present a coherent argument, but the real joy of life is sitting down and having a normal conversation with friends over pizza or while playing a video game. Leave the analyzing to the scholars.

Now it has come to my attention–first by Forwards Compatible and second from The Path For Art Games–that there is a similar disconnect within myself. The Scholar within me leapt in the air when I first heard Robert Epert declare games “artless”, and tried, in the spirit of the Scholar, to submit a coherent argument against it. It was crude and weak blog, comparing video games to movies, that both borrow techniques from one another as far as cutscenes are concerned. The Scholar vehemently thought this subject the most important of all controversial subjects, and one that had to be won. But the key to all of this rests in the truth of my reaction. The Games as Art topic stayed on my mind for two weeks and even in that time the topic came back to me only once or twice. I had written about it, argued with two of my friends about it and then it faded from my mind. I continued playing video games, citing how much fun they were to play, and not saying to myself “THIS IS ART, YOU BASTARD!” Really . . .

I feel something like this occurs in gamers’ minds. The Games As Art topic is a poignant subject, thought tired and tattered, but the importance of seeing games as such is perhaps not on our minds as one would like to think; just as I cared more about having fun, so, too, are the general public. I recall a classmate in high school saying she played Soul Caliber to get her anger out, and I once said that the real benefit and greatness of games is in friendship, not the thing itself. Who, I ask, are academic essays for? It is not for the general public. The Common People are not too interested in the current argument over the apparent racism of Mark Twin in Huck Finn. It is the scholars who find that important. The general reader wants to put a good image in his head, or, rather, get his head in the clouds. There are two different audiences who look at the same thing, and so there are two different artists who are creating something for entirely different audiences. That is the point the Kotaku article makes: I do not think the real argument is about Games as Art; in fact, I am more and more leaning toward the idea that the argument is minute, perhaps it does not exist. The real question is if a game can say more than it already has.

I have been puzzled by the phrase “take games seriously”. I cannot decipher the meaning. If the talking heads mean “Games aren’t just for kids” that has already been established. We think this perception is false but only according to what we read in magazines and hear on the news. It is the experts and the reporters and politicians who say games are geared for children; it is the Common People who say they are not, and if I had to decide who has Common Sense and who has Common Nonsense, I say it is the Common People with a greater understanding of the world they live in.

One of my favorite bloggers proposes that gamers do not know what they want. I was once sure that they do know what they want; but I do not anymore. I am puzzled by what these Games as Are proponents want just as I wonder what “games are serious” proponents want. If they want art games–that is, games that say something or do something from what others are used to–it is there. But if they want that to become mainstream, I advize against that. What should actually be asked for are avant garde games. They are games separate from what’s popular, from what’s “in”. These are the games that challenge conventional notions, break out of the norm, stutter the mind and shock the soul. But do not ask for Art Games to be mainstream; do not ask that they become popular, because the moment they become popular is the moment they become the ‘same old thing” and then a new rebellion will spark. It will be a call for something new from video games.

To bring home my point, I submit this excerpt from Donal Richie’s essay “Japanese Avant Garde Theatre”: “If it is the nature of avant-garde to scandalize society, it is the nature of society to ‘civilize’ the avant garde. Mainly this is accomplished, in Japan as elsewhere, through commercialization. When a large department store combine discovered that the avant garde sold and that a number of the young would buy, one of the results was a Juro Kara spectacle called The Shitaya-Mannen-cho Story . . . Here criticism turned to fun and dissidence to entertainment. The entire expensive production was very slickly directed (not by Kara) and was a sell out success. It was also the end of Kara as an avant garde dramatist.”

If Art is appealing, than it is the Design that makes it so. In a word, Design is Art, which Appeals. There is a design in everything we create, and we do it to appeal to the senses and emotions. That is why stove manufactorers call in pyschologist to judge the best way to design the aisles of the stove. They don’t want to confuse the consumer; that is why we put bright pictures on websites and blogs, and though we know it is wrong to judge a book by it’s cover, the cover is the first thing that is appealing to the eye. The title, the cover. Looks interesting. I’ll pick up the book and read the summary. Even the words I have chosen to convey my thought (called diction) were used to get your attention. The words are not too big I hope; this blog is not too long, I hope. I hope the pictures I used are not too bright. This is business, for the publisher looking to get money and for the artist only trying to say something.  At the bottom of the things we wear and eat, the shows and movies we watch, to the commerials we see on t.v. and in newspapers, the GameStop stores, the cars and traffic lights and signs . . . The colors, the shape and size of words . . . they are all designed to gain our attention. And it must be the right amount. The goal of advertising is to wake us up; but some only kill the nerve.

The career of an artist can be characterized best by a seed; once it is planted there is a chance that it will sprout and blossom into a fruit tree, or, with any luck at all, an entire forest. In some cases, if not many cases, the seed fails to grow–it hardens and dies in the dry soil. And the fault of this tragic moment can be set on the artist who should have fed his seed with care instead of abusing it with whatever crude ideas they thought worth implementing. Other times, it is the artist who does everything right; but it is the audience who does everything wrong, in the sense they did not give the artist and his seed enough personal attention to recognize their greatness.

Galerians is one of those seeds that was neglected by its developers and gamers. Had it been sprinkled with creativity from her creators paved with astonding attention from gamers it would have spawned at least a proper trilogy. Galerians is a psychic survival horror game released in 2000 for the Playstation One. Back then, the survival horror genre was dominated by Resident Evil and Silent Hill, and they pretty much dominate the genre now. Anywho, it only made sense for the developer Crave to combine the controls and fixed camera angles of Resident Evil with the the eerie and distrubing atmosphere of Silent Hill. If anyone ever thought of combining the two franchises together to create a single game Galerians was it yet the game managed to remain distinct from both of its influences. The real brilliance of the game was that it did away with guns and replaced it with the psychic mind. It did away with grotesque monsters and replaced them with depraved human beings and other powerful psychics. In this way Galerians was making a solid statement, that the greatest weapon in the world is the human mind, and that the real monsters are not zombies, or a pair of legs crawling about the floor, or an indescribable creature. The real monsters are people, the next door neighbor, the guy standing at the cash register, even a roommate or a spouse.

But there is one more element added to the combat of the game that makes it controversial: Drugs. More specifically, PPECs or Psychic Power Enhancement Chemicals. What is awesome but at the same time distrubing is the fact that Rion Steiner, a 14 year-old experiment suffering from amnesia, increases his psychic powers by injecting drugs into his neck. No doubt, Rion gets a fantastic high from the drugs that allow him to set his foes on fire and blast them into oblivion. But enemies never drop items when they die, drugs and recovery pills (yeah, Rion also takes pills to heal himself. Nothing like popping a pill while injecting strange drugs in your vains! A deadly combination) are scarce, so items must be conserved and fights should be avoided as much as possible. And to add to the difficulty of Galerians, the drugs Rion takes has a dangerous side effect. If he takes too many drugs, he’ll eventually fall into a hypnotic state. Consider this the World’s Ultimate High called shortening where Rion continuously assaults enemies wih a psychic burst that kills them instantly. Even shortening can result in Rion’s death if he does not take the proper ‘medicine’. Thus, not only are his enemies obstacles, but Rion must also battle himself and his addiction.

There are a few underlying lessons hidden in the game. The depravity human beings are capable of by experimenting on children and giving them illicit, psychic drugs that Rion is addicted to and eventually leads to his downfall, and a dark atmosphere accompanied with oddball people, especially in the hotel. Although the hotel is more like an insane asylum than a place for sleeping or the other kind of “sleeping”. Rion can search different rooms with his mind and discover a few shady characters. A prostitute who hates men, a drug peddler who sees the wasted expression on Rion’s face and so tempts the boy with drugs. Another room holds a man planning to blow up the city. This part of the game makes you think about fellow tenants whenever you stay at a hotel. Who knows what they’re doing in those rooms?

Some have compared Galerians with Resident Evil, but the comparison isn’t adequate. It looks like a Resident Evil knock-off only because of the fixed camera angles and controls. Galerians is no Resident Evil. It’s not a Silent Hill either. It’s both games and yet at the same time different from them both. I myself rented this game 7 years ago when I was just 13. I had played Resident Evil 2 a thousand times by then, and I never got the feeling I was a playing Resident Evil. I thought Galerians was something original, different. My only gripe with Galerians is that it’s too short. Consider this: the game has three discs. What survival horror game has three discs? Resident Evil 2 had 2 discs, but both Leon and Claire’s walkthroughs were similar. So technically, Resident Evil 2 more like had one disc. Anywho, when you see a game with three discs you expect an epic tale like in a JRPG. But not so with Galerians. I rented the game, as I said before, from Blockbuster for 7 days, and I beat the game within that time period. Disappointing, but still an enjoyable game. Galerians is perhaps the only retro game that I really, really want to play RIGHT now.

Its flaws are minor (camera angles, limited combat) and while it may not look beautiful (why must we put so much importance in graphics?), Galerians should have been treated better. It should have started a new franchise, at least, as I have mentioned, a trilogy. It did have something like a trilogy however. Galerians: Ash, a sequel to the original, was released for the Playstation 2, but it failed to live up to the first, and in 2004, the original Galerians was translated into a movie. Polygon Magic had a rare gem on their hands. It looked like Akira, that popular animated movie from the late 80s, but twisted it around with drugs and screwed up characters. Galerians could have been a foundation for greater things, perhaps, even, great enough to challenge Resident Evil and Silent Hill. What would Galerians be now if it were given its just fruits? It does not matter now. What matters is what it is today: it fell by the wayside, neglected, forgotten, a bargin bin. Treasure among Garbage, a Diamond in Coal. A seed that never grew.

This wall of text (isn’t that what people call long blogs these days) is more about my thoughts on Kenshin’s character and less about the actualy manga. For reference, this essay is based on the first three volumes of Rurouni Kenshin, so it’s not a complete sketch of his character. I’m excited the Viz Media is releasing manga that has three volumes in one book. It’s worth my money! The general thesis of this writing is that Kenshin is a role model, because God knows we need them today.

When I was a child I had a fascination with castles, knights, and swords; I would take printer paper and construct model castles only to take them down in an epic siege with my Legos, under the notion that battles were more romantic than marriage itself. I have greater respect for marriage now, although I don’t care for it (loving the single life), but I still love battles, and if there is anything worth fighting with is a katana. I like swords over guns. You can’t talk about different fighting styles with a gun. It’s all about pointing and pulling the trigger, but swordsmanship, like martial arts, is about moving, whisking the blade this way and that to discipline the mind and body. The sword is the samurai’s soul; the gun is only a friend. The sword is patiently sculpted; the gun is rudely manufactored. And while I am all for the right to bear arms, I am happier with my right to own a katana.

Now when Nobuhiro Watsuki uses his katana, no one can mistake his unique stlye of fighting, or I should say, to escape the metaphor, his unique art style in Rurouni Kenshin. He does not swing his brush about the page carelessly, as if he were a drunk swinging at distorted shadows–every line is planned and every line is necessary. To even leave out a small dot would ruin a single panel, if not the enire page. In short, everything falls into place. When you read the conversations between characters, there is an unshakeable feeling that Watsuki took his time drawing the scenes, just as the conversations themselves are softly spoken. But then come the fiery action scenes and that is when you understand that as the sword fights come swift like an arrow, so too is Watsuki’s brush. He frantically draws the major blows, and then as soon as the fight ends, the artist reverts to light penstrokes, slow and easy at a snail’s pace. It is going from a sunny day to a violent storm and then back to a clear day. It is eating breakfast on calm ground and suddenly being tossed out of your chair by an earthquake; only later returning to a calm again. That is why I say Watsuki wields a katana and holds a certain fighting style. Again, I must say that he comes forward, making you think you know he’s next move just as the artist unexpectedly strikes your eyes with a visual shock.

And no character is more of a reflection on Watsuki’s style than Himura Kenshin, the wandering samurai. Reading the first few pages may prompt one to call him clumsy; perhaps even a fool, but you would be a fool to call Kenshin a clumsy fool. He is Hitokiri Battosai: the Manslayer. And as you can imagine, he slaughtered men to usher in the Meiji Period. And this say something about Kenshin’s character in the new Age of Law. The new period prides itelf in banning swords, and it seems at every term the police are set on taking his sword away. But it is not Kenshin who abuses his sword; it is the men who legally own a sword, men like the Police Sword Corps. In fact, the first three volumes of Rurouni Kenshin is about a samurai who knows when to use a sword fighting men who do not know when to use a sword. That is the difference, I think, between banning swords and banning men with bad ideas about swords. The Meiji Authority is wrong for thinking that less swords equals more peace; the new government should hire officers with a philosophy more like Kenshin’s. Now the chief of police sees that character is vital after watching the wandering samurai defeat the corrupted Police Sword Corp. “I won’t pursue this”, he says. “After that hoax I thought that Hitokiri Battosai was a dangerous figure. But now . . . now I know the truth is different.” If Kenshin is good, why take his sword? (that says something about gun control today, but that’s a different story)

“And a sword worn openly is safer than concealed.”

Himura Kenshin always has sympathy and respect for his opponents; he gives them a chance to talk thing out, and usually they don’t want to and so they cross blades. But even in a heated battle Kenshin gives his enemies their right to fairness. He knows that the Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryu style is used only to kill, so the blade is turned upside down. It is the symbol of Kenshin’s mission to never take a live, and it is the symbol of changing lives. No doubt, Kenshin beats people to a pulp but also bashes their bad ideas to pieces. In short, if Kenshin were to defeat you, you’d walk away quite bruised and, as an added bonus, thinking clearly about life. Fighting Kenshin is a lesson in how one should live; you have only to ask Sanosuke, the Fighting Merchant.

Himura is not an angel; he is not a man redeemed, but a man being redeemed from slaughtering thousands of people. The samurai may seek to protect the people he cares about yet he still walks with a shadow looming over him, the shadow of the Manslayer. Kenshin may want to save lives but it is something of a struggle with, as the phrase goes, the dark side. We can relate to him on this note, for we all struggle with a dark side, the side that concentrates on doing wrong. Perhaps the only thing that keeps him from turning into the Hitokiri are his friends. It is truly fascinating to realize how the two periods Bakumashu and Meiji reflect in Kenshin’s character. The Manslayer was suitable to usher in a revolution. The revolution succeeded and peace settled in, and at this period a rurouni, not the Hitokiri, is suitable for the age of peace.

As such, Kenshin has no care for fame or even the legend of Hitokiri Battosai unlike other swordsman. In a word, it is a minor title not to be respected or held hight on a pedestal. And it is only fitting that Kenshin calls himself “This one”. This one to some minds is a strange reference perhaps because we are not used to humility. Kenshin is the Hitokiri but it is nothing to flaunt about. If he had his way, the merchant of death, the killer that slashed in a revolution, would have only a brief mention in history books. To be fair, the fact that Kenshin was a Manslayer can only have its place in this essay for a brief moment.

Is Kenshin a hero? We should not call him that because he would not accept the title, althought he deserves the recognition. It is better to call him by the title Rurouni, a man without a destination. I want to say that he is a role model; I want to say he is a better role model than all the famous actors and actresses of our own age, but we can’t. We must not. Kenshin is far too humble for that. We can admire him for being everything that is common to all people: a man who wants only to live and do what is right, to protect others when danger enters his circle of friends. We must not only like him for his comedy (and there’s a lot to be said about that) but also for his humility and simplicity. And even more for being a Romantic, and not in the sense of love or the old, tired views of the Romantic authors in the 19th century. We should admire him because, as Watsuki explains, “There can be romance not only in saving someone who’s being hurt, but in saving someone before they’re hurt.”

smashbro suggested that I devote an entire month to hentai and I said I’d have to use a lot of sexual innuendos to get away with it. In a way, I kinda sorta took his joke seriously. This writing is not explict, at least, I don’t think so, but some level of warning needs to be made as it addresses a controversial topic. Nevertheless, it is an important topic. Here’s the link to the story: article

There is a story the runs throughout the manga world and I wish it were a parable, or a fable, or a legend; but it is a strange, significant fact. Mr. Christopher Handley is a real figure and his case will be held in a real courthouse. The law has an obvious effect on people, that whatever is done in the dark is certain to come to light. But there is nothing bright about this case; while the charges are clear and the sentence is even clearer, everyone in the courthouse will be walking through fog.

The story begins with a simple package from Japan ordered by a manga fan named Christopher Handley. The other main character of this story is a Postal Inspector, respected for his trade and dignity, who somehow concludes that the contents of Mr. Handley’s package is obscene and contacts local law enforcement agencies and the FBI, but no one tells Handley that there is something wrong with his package; he merely takes his mail and returns home, unaware that the police are following him home. I suppose anyone can figure out how all this ends: the police arrest Handley, and confiscate his collection of manga–all 1200 volumes–along with seven computers. The story so far ends with this remark: Handley is facing the charge “possession of obscene visual representations of the sexual abuse of children” and can be sent to prison for 20 years for his dastardly deed. In the manga world, we say, more specifically, that Handley has been arrested for possessing lolicon and yaoi manga. Now when someone leaps like a frog at the idea of violence and sex in a certain product, they usually attack the publisher and developer. We can look to the Hot Coffee Scandal as an example. But this the first time that the hammer of the law falls on the head of a consumer, and, what’s more, this is not the first time a comic book features the sexual abuse of children. Lost Girls, a comic written by Alan Moore comes to mind, and while there was a controversy over the comic, it did not bring up lawsuits. Next month, a grand jury must decide if the materials Handley possesses are obscene or has artistic value.

I imagine the grand jury will have some discussion on what is obscene and what is of artistic value, and the words have a controversy of their own. But I’m not a student of law or a student of art, therefore I will not say anything about the words obscene and art and how to define them. I will say plainly how I would approach this case if I were a member of the grand jury. If I were a jurist, a simple-minded commoner who is not an expert in anything, but more of a person who thinks in general, I would first ask for the Japanse law on obscenity. Some would object to the idea because we are not in a Japanese courtroom; we are in an American courtroom. We should look at the American law. But the point of looking at the Japanese law is to see how it influences the manga artists’ work. Now the rule in Japan goes like this: artists cannot show panels that has pubic hair or the reproductive organs. That is the rule and a very strict one at that. Meanwhile, male characters in anime and manga are often androgynous. Now, take the rule of no pubic hair and take the common appearance of anime characters and you have a case of mistaken identity. No one in manga or anime is actually who they say they are. Take Haku from Naruto as an example. When I first saw Haku I thought he was a girl. He looked like girl and the English voice actor sounded like a girl with a deep voice yet all the other characters around Haku identified her as a male even though he looks like a female.

Now that is a pretty pickle. If characters in anime seem to be something but are actually not that something, how, then, can anyone be sure that the manga Handley carries features child abuse? No body knows for sure, I imagine. Sure, they are child-like, but are they children? I would ask for the artist’s view on his work before I begin looking at my own view. What I mean is context. The first step to interpreting any literature is context. When was it written? What was the point the artist was trying to make? It is odd to interpret a 5th Century story from a 21st Century viewpoint; the entire analysis falls apart. The best thing to do is first interpret a 5th Century story from the 5th Century viewpoint.

I said before that I would avoid talking about how to define artistic value. But I see know, that I have no choice. If something is considered obscene it is not protected under the First Amendment. Then the discussion will go as deep as that, than. I have not seen the manga Handley has; but as I can say this, in general, and not to any specific case: it is one thing to have a story that features violence, and it is another thing to have a story that features needless violence. My standard begins on that point. If a the work has violence and sex that is of value to the narrative, than the work would be one step closer to being art; if it just has violence and sex just to spice up a story that is already terrible, than it’s not of artistic value. When you write, every word must tell; there cannot be unnecessary words. Same thing applies for the illustrator. Every panel should be necessary to the overall work. If not, omit needless drawings. Of course, things are not as simple as that, I don’t think, but the simple things have always been the foundation for more complex situations.

But suppose the author of the manga says the person is an adult, but they look like a child, implying that a minor is involved even though its not really a minor. Is that justification for prison time, even if the material is just a drawing?

I say this case is less about the imagination of an artist and those who read his work, and more about the real world problems America is facing. I imagine Handley, if convicted, will be registered as a sex offender, advised to stay away from playgrounds and schools. This matter says something about the differences between Japan and the United States. In Japan, pornographic material is out in the open yet the country continues to have one of the lowest crime rates in the world. You can walk around Tokyo at 2 in the morning and not worry about being mugged. In the United States, the dirty magazine is in hidden but sexual abuse is a huge problem. I have read that while otaku may possess anime and manga characters as sexual objects, they in the real world live normal sexual lives. In a word, the fantasy does not manifest itself in reality.Of course, all that I have said is taken from a legal standpoint; if I were to throw in my own convictons, well, I’d be saying something else. I have tried, perhaps in vain, to say that the people involved in the case will have some trouble defining the words obscene and artistic value. And that is what I mean by walking through fog.

Most of this essay comes from a personal perspective. What I call the American Vision is based on what I experienced as a child and what I experience now just as with what I call the Japanese Vision. In addition, this essay is based on what I have read and seen. The chief materials I use is JapanAmerica by Roland Kelts and Robot Ghost and Wired Dreams, a collection of essays that examine Japanese Science Fiction.

I became an amateur journalist this school year to test my writing skills, and, more important, to test my social skills by meeting new people. One of the first people I met was a fellow journalist and something of an anime fan, who, on a frigid, rainy November afternoon, recognized anime’s importance. We began by agreeing that the best stories were the ones that included a philosophical lesson, and when I mentioned Code Geass, my friend noted that he preferred anime to American cartoons, because Japanese animation presented a more complex narrative, occupied by complex characters, taking on philosophical conundrums. I realized what he was saying. The difference between American animation and Japanese animation is not a matter of what shape the characters have; the difference is a matter of vision.

As the twenty-first century rolls on, I would not be surprised if anime becomes an essential part of the future generation’s childhood. They’ll be “born into anime” so to speak, not to say that anime will take over America televisions, although it might consume the mind’s of today’s parents, which may mean they will introduce anime to their children. But if you take someone like me, or anyone older than myself, you will realize that we experienced the transition from the American Vision of Cartoons to the Japanese Vision of Cartoons. What I mean is this: when I was growing up in the 90s, the most popular cartoons for me to watch were the ones you see in the 70s and 80s. In fact, I remember Cartoon Network showing Scooby-Doo on Wednesday night from 7 to 8, I remember getting drunk off Jonny Quest and the slapstick comedy of the Looney Tunes. Pirates of Dark Water taught me the words “Mingamelon” and “Noy Jitat!”. In those times, The Jetsons and The Flinstones were total opposites, taking place in the future and the other in the stone age, respectively, but always delivery humor. I think Jonny Quest was the most bold cartoon, removing fantasy and having a more realistic approach to drama and narrative. Rocko’s Modern Life was modern, indeed, in the sense it made sexual innuendos I never caught as a 10 year-old. To get an idea of my history, you have only to watch Boomerang.

The American cartoons I watched were manifestations of the Western notion that cartoons are for children; they should be comedic, and if there is drama, there should be minimal violence and a clear definition of good and evil, and, of course, there is a happy ending: the good guy gets the girl (sometimes), and good triumphs over evil. The American Vision is often positive and can garner individualism. There is no real tragedy. Wile E. Coyote  can be blown to pieces, but he often finds away to put himself back together, new and ready to try to capture the Roadrunner again. Can you imagine drama between Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the level and scale of Neon Genesis Evangelion? Bizarre. I think the American Vision can be at times, one-dimensional, simple, and absolute. And that, is of course not a problem; a positive cartoon is exactly what I expect to come from a show made for children. The last thing anyone would want is a cartoon glorifying violence, sex, and drugs. What my point is that the vision has not expanded cartoon’s audience. This is made known best in the flak comic books and video games recieve from politicians and some parents. One word that often appears in their complaints is “children”. Some say (I speak generall) some say that children can’t be exposed to this when the product does not cater to children, but to teenagers or adults, clearly explained in the label on the cover. I say that animation can make commentary on other things. I think we see it in comics, but the American Vision gives the positive side of the world, and this is what to expect from a country that has not experience an atomic bomb.

Neon Genesis Evangelion explores psychoanalytic theory and philosophy, and exhibits religious symbolism; kinda sophisticated for a cartoon, yes?

 I mean, if danger is at your doorstep, a danger that shakes up the established notions of the world, who knows what vision you’ll produce. I have read that anime would not be what it is today had not the atomic bombs descended on Japan. If that is what created the Japanese Vision, than let it be so. Post-apocalyptic settings, characters who are neither good nor evil, but a mix of both, psychological issues, conformity to group thought (“What’s true for the group is true for the individual.”) Anime has a wider perspective of the world. One of the first anime I remember seeing is Sailor Moon, which was bizarre to me yet it was exciting . . . for a show for girls. Dragonball Z in 1997 shocked me with its violence. I never thought someone could be hit so hard, make it look so painful but at the same time feel so good.

My mother was shocked herself by the contents of DBZ, and she advised me not to watch it–I continued watching it, regardless, because it was awesome. What American cartoon has the violence of Dragonball? Anime seems to tell the truth about the world: Gundam Wing taught its audience a lesson in militarism, Neon Genesis Evangelion stated without apology that while heroes fight to save the world, they must also fight to regain their sanity, since most of the characters have serious psychological issues from the very beginning of the show. Death Note, in the meantime, raises a social issue: Light Yagumi is given a notebook in which he write the name of anyone he pleases, and within a certain amount time, they die. Light begins a mission to kill criminals. Is that moral? L, a brilliant detective, doesn’t think so. I’m also shocked that you can create an anime about tennis, or, if you want to immerse yourself in Japanese board games, you can watch Hikaru No Go, an anime about Go.

I think I like anime more than American anime because its depth of presentation, narrative, plot, and characters. Anime has a more realistic feel behind the exaggerated eyes and breasts. The main reason anime is appealing, is because I’ve visited the American Vision, and it lacks the power to tear apart my sensibilities, it doesn’t challenge my creative power, to go further in my thinking and writing. In fact, whenever I start writing a story, I imagine everything as anime. The American Vision is simple, direct; the Japanese Vision complex, shocking, and beautiful. Nothing is left untouched and nothing is left alone to absolutes, but a gray pictures. Anime is a culture shock to the American mind.

I don’t mean here that American animation is bad; it’s actually quite good. I enjoy American cartoons as much as I enjoy anime. Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends is fantastic. Ben 10 Alien Force is one of the best shows Cartoon Network has. Family Guy, AquaTeen Hungerforce. You get what I mean. And, while I may put anime on a pedestal, the Japanese medium is not devoid of its faults. But the American animation must be respected. After all, Osamu Tezuka, the Father of Anime and Manga (is that right?) was greatly influence by Walt Disney. I think my friend was not asking for a change in the presentation and style of American animation–there are qualities that they need to make them distinctly American. I think what he asked for is a change in storytelling, and character development. There should be, if not already, an story that breaks our conscience and realize the avenues that can be explored in animation. The world is round; our creativity should be, too.

I’ve started writing essays in black composition notebooks. I plan to share some here, although there aren’t many people to share them with. But there’s a chance, so I’m sure it won’t be a wasted effort.

A sane and thinking man ( calling himself a Secular Christian) once commented to me that he thought Jesus was a great moral teacher. I suppose he thought his idea remarkable and clever while I did not find it the least bit clever and quite unremarkable. There is always some idea floating in some minds that Jesus was not who the apostles and Christians say He was. More than likely, Christ did not exist, is one objection. He resembles the corn myths, and they always say something about a god dying and rising again.  If myths are perversions of the one true God, then I expect every culture to say something about a dying and rising god–not because they are myths, but they suggest a dim dream. I expect imitations on God, which is why gods and goddesses fill the skies, all of them doing something that God can do Himself. Further, the story of Jesus is dramatically different from every other story. In myths, gods are dying each year to mark the harvest or fertility. In other words, the paganism before Christ is nature-worship. The stories have less to do with divine beings, and more with the well-being of the people. Christ, on the flip side, says nothing about corn or harvesting. He does not die and rise every year–Jesus dies only once and resurrects only once, this to save sinners. He is more about spirituality than naturality. There is still one more difference between the Pagan Christ and the Christ: history says something about Christ and almost nothing about the Pagan Christs. Adonis dies and resurrects in an unknown time at an unknown place. Christ arrives in the First Century, the location is Palestine, the executor is a Roman magistrate. It is all specific and concrete and not abstract. I think the first idea is too simple to be true. The reasoning is against it.

The other idea that my Secular Christian suggest is nonsense is as well. A merely human Jesus, a moral teacher is bad thinking. 90% of the Gospels must be thrown it then: No healing of the sick, no feeding five thousand or turning water into wine. There never was a virgin birth or an Annuciation of Mary. Jesus died and that is all. But what I do not understand is how He could live without sinning. Surely, that is what God wanted throughout the Old Testament–someone who could do His will, who is perfect and just. Further, if Jesus was a mere man, than Paul is right: we are in our sins and the Christian’s faith is in vain. If Jesus was a moral teacher, why can we not fall any moral teacher? If morality is need for Heaven, why not follow Martin Luther King, Jr. Why cannot I not be my own moral teacher? The Secular Christian, I recall, was stuck on Christ’s suffering and death. How beautiful! he thought. He had sympathy for his enemies! But he did not know what to think about Jesus’ resurrection, and yet he called himself a Christian. Nonsense . . . The man needs a lesson on history, that the apostles converted Jews and Greeks based on one simple idea: Christi died and resurrect and is with His Father. They did not convert people on Jesus being a moral teacher–He and the apostles did not leave that open to suggestion. It is even more interesting that all the other great moral teachers never identified themselves as God. They were not so stupid as to say that. It would be the first thing to come out of their mouths. Jesus is different–this moral teacher goes about calling Himself God. He says with power and authority, “I and my Father are one” and to the Jews He says, “Before Abraham was, I am.” What is remarkable about the Gospels is that they came after the Apostles’ mission. Each Gospel is out to prove something to skeptics and to strengthen Christians’ belief. They are like a massive campaign to answer objects. John proves Christ’s divinity, Matthew shows He was the Messiah to Jewish people, Mark to the Gentiles. Too many questions are raised when we suppose as a mere human.

But the list of ideas go on, and none of the ideas are new. I first came across the idea of Personal Jesus in The Screwtape Letters, written in the 1940s. I was surprised to find the same idea presented by G.K. Chesterton, some forty years before. First, Jesus is a myth, then He is real, but a man. Another idea is that Christ was a Socialist and another idea is that He is a Pacifist. One thinks Christ was a Marxist, and just last year on the radio, a teacher claimed that Jesus was a vegatarian. His claim did not surprise me for the teacher was a vegan himself! I realize now that people do not create these Christs because they seriously believe it; They say Christ is a Marxist and or a Pacifist because it supports their own belief. They use Christ to help their agenda. These ideas on Christ, I think, are half-truths and half-truths usually fall apart.

Statement 1: “Theists will say “well we ARE given free will.”  That’s rubbish.  If I put a gun to your head and told you to donate 15% of every paycheck to charity or I’d blow your brains out you’d have about as much “free will” as a theist.  Be a “good”, unquestioning believer or face eternal damnation.  Decisions, decisions.  Oh, did I mention we pose this choice to young children who have neither the faculty nor the experience to make such a decision?”

Objection: I’d say to be a questioning believer. I mean, that is the best way to learn about Christianity. It is the best way to learn about anything. In fact, that is the very reason why there is such a thing as an apologist; there is such a thing as a priest; there is such a thing as a Church; there is such a thing as a doctrine. In my own, short life I have read a great deal of good answers to my questions. Children are curious, and it would be a vain thing to deny a child their curiosity; that is the only way they will ever learn.  Second, who is “we”? I thought the man was an atheist. I’m sure he means “Christians”. If I were put in the position, where a gun is put to my head, I would still have a choice: die or pay. Either way, someone is paying.

Statement 2: “Holier-than-thou theists have a tendency of looking down their nose at atheists as immoral heathens.”

Objection: The Christian is meant to be humble. They say “I am not holier than thou” to everyone else and say to God, “Lord, make me holy.” If they were holier than thou, they would not be Christian.

Statement 3: “Dawkins did an excellent job of conveying and proving the fact that a moral compass is independent of faith, but again, I’ll address that another time”

Objection: One does not need a scientist to state that morality does not rely on religion; it’s common sense, or perhaps it is now uncommon sense.

Statement 4: “I’m not just picking on Christianity, other religions are just as closed minded and “sure” of themselves and would never think that they could be wrong.”

Ojection: What is meant by closed-minded? The point of the mind is to come to a conclusion about ideas. One is open-minded in the sense they are willing to listen to an idea, and than, by coming to a conclusion on the idea, they close their mind. I have never heard of anyone walking down the street with their mouth open all the time in hope to catch food but never chew and swallow. One would think them odd for doing so. As such, the Christian is sure because more than likely they have looked at every other choice and noticed that only idea this like life is Christianity.