Life and work of Shūzō Oshimi

The Nail Sticking Out

Shūzō Oshimi as a child. 
[Image taken from the Manben NEO documentary.]

   The saying “the nail that stands up is hammered down” is very popular in Japan. This mantra speaks of the nipponic need to conform to rules, to prevent dissenting voices from threatening to harm society as a whole. Children are educated to consider other people’s feelings more than their own, and to repress any thoughts and actions that go against the flow of the group. People who think ‘outside the box’ are not respected, so much as seen as a nuisance, and are either pressured to change or are thrown to the sidelines. 

   Born in 1981 (funny year, that one), Shūzō Oshimi grew up in the Gunma Prefecture, surrounded by Art, Literature, and an uneasy sense of alienating entrapment. Stifled by a troublesome relationship with his parents, and plagued by a stammering problem, he began drawing manga form by the tender age of 6, but the small rural town, surrounded by mountains, made the boy feel strikingly suffocated. In the Manben documentary, the author said: “in the sixth grade, I started drawing a manga about a school teacher. And that was to show my friends. And then I learned of the excitement of showing others. In my 6th grade graduation essay, I wrote: ‘I will become a manga artist’.” He felt like the proverbial nail sticking out, afraid of being hammered down by the will of society. During his second year of Junior high school, he developed a stammer, which led him to stop drawing and Isolate himself. He didn’t talk to anybody during his first high school year, and only started drawing again after reading Naoki Yamamoto’s work at the University. Wanting to escape the unbearable weight of conformity, he did the only thing a maverick like him could do to gain respect: he went to Tokyo to make a name for himself. He officially debuted at 21. 

Early drawings. 
[Image taken from the Manben NEO documentary.]

   Twelve successful mangas and the Tetsuya Chiba Award later, and you have one of the most influential mangakas alive. He’s cited next to industry giants like Kazuo Umezu, Hitoshi Iwaaki, and Junji Ito. However, Shūzō Oshimi stands apart from all these names due to the themes he explores, and his unique art style; he has carved his own path in the manga business by specializing in slice-of-life stories with psychological horror elements, written for both teenagers and adults. 

   After reading five of his works, certain patterns emerge: young protagonists on the onset of adolescence – the most delicate time in a person’s life – just when the constructions of childhood begin to give way to the maturity of adult life. These protagonists barely have a sense of identity, and are forcefully confronted by situations that make them question everything they believe in. The narratives are emotionally raw and profoundly disturbing. Oshimi exposes the lives of his young protagonists as if it were a caterpillar entering its cocoon – a privileged view of this chilling metamorphosis. The author spins a complex web of eccentric and impulsive characters going through parallel moments of pubescent disorientation.

Blood Ties

   Adolescence is not the only pattern that pervades these stories. The relationships the protagonists form with their peers, as well as their respective families, is emphasized. A microcosm of human existence that starts within the blood family and spirals outwards, as the protagonist’s world gets bigger and more chaotic. The author brings different types of families across his works: some of them warm and supportive, others cold and aloof. 

   In The Flowers of Evil, the parents are not necessarily aloof, but simply incapable of guiding their only son Takao through this phase of turbulent and confusing emotions. The manga shows us a mother who is perpetually worried about her son growing up as a good person, and a father who is a big believer in the mantra “boys will be boys”. Most importantly, the father is the one who nurtured the boy’s interest in Literature, albeit through a book not for his age – Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire. And that may very well be the crux of the story: even though the father encouraged his son to read the book, he was not there to guide him through the intricacies of its adult themes, leaving the boy with equal amounts of fascination and disorientation. The parenting style involves a lot of self-guilt from the parents (who feel like they didn’t do a good job with their son) and them blaming Takao for his bad actions (they shame him a lot when he commits acts of vandalism).

The Flowers of Evil / © 2009, Shūzō Oshimi / Kodansha

   Of all the stories I’ve read, Shino Can’t Say Her Name is the most peculiar. Not only due to the length of the story, but also due to the fact that Shino’s disability is so visible to everyone around her, giving her a profound reason to be ostracized by adults and teenagers alike. Like a lot of Oshimi’s stories, this girl has something in common with the author: she’s extremely shy and suffers from dysphemia (stuttering). In spite of this, she makes friends with a girl at school that loves to play music, and the two of them form a group. What’s most impressive to me about this short story is that Shino’s mother (a figure without a face, or much of an appearance throughout the manga) knows exactly what’s going on with her daughter, and actively tries to help her out with her stuttering. She’s well aware that she cannot help her daughter herself, that she doesn’t know how to cure her speech impediment, but she tries to convince Shino to seek treatment. Shino refuses her help, and refuses to get help from anybody else, but it’s fascinating to see this dynamic taking place, just because it’s so different from what I’m used to in any manga by Shūzō Oshimi.

Shino Can't Say Her Name / © 2011, Shūzō Oshimi / Ohta Publishing

   The parents of Mari Yoshizaki seem perfectly normal in the first couple of chapters of Inside Mari. As the story advances, we learn that Mari’s father is mostly absent and doesn’t provide any source of comfort for his daughter. Her mother is a cold, distant woman, unwilling to fulfill Mari’s emotional needs, seeing her only as an extension of her own desires. Still, all the emotional damage that the mother inflicts on her daughter appears to be unintentional. Eriko Yoshizaki seems to be the prototype that the author was chiseling and would be using later on Blood On The Tracks. Inside Mari displays the very important topic of the immediate family being the main contributors for an emotional breakdown in the protagonist’s psyche, but Oshimi doesn’t focus heavily on the dynamic between mother and daughter. Still, this manga is a complete 180º twist from the previous one.

Inside Mari / © 2012, Shūzō Oshimi / Futabasha

   Happiness is very diverse when it comes to the portrayal of families. The protagonist, Makoto Okazaki, lives with his older brother and his parents, and their relationship is, dare I say it, idyllic (by Oshimi standards, at least). Despite his tragic fate and subsequent separation from his family, his bond with his mother, and their love for each other, never wavers. On the opposite end of the spectrum stands Yūki Ono. His family situation is unbearable. The absence of a loving family structure left him wishing he had never been born at all. His mother is the prime example of a woman devoid of any maternal instinct – especially if compared to Makoto’s mother – simply preoccupied with her own whims, to pay any attention or provide any love and guidance to her son. The father is not even seen in the manga, and he’s described as being absent all the time.

Happiness / © 2015, Shūzō Oshimi / Kodansha

Introduction

Index

Analysis of Chi no Wadachi