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slugtranslation-hypmic · 19 days ago

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A Reflection on Translation's Role in R. F. Kuang's Babel or the Necessity of Violence

I don't think I've ever encountered a work that pairs messages I so completely agree with and an execution that I so profoundly dislike. What a frustrating combination.

I'd had this book hyped up to me by colleagues in the Jp -> En media translation field, and I went into it with the impression that it was an adult fantasy/dark academia novel. I don't read much dark academia--the genre doesn't tend to do much for me--but due to a stroke of unfortunate timing had read dark academia's posterchild, Donna Tartt's The Secret History, just before this, leading me to draw unfavorable comparisons between the two. Furthermore, despite its marketing, Babel strikes me as much more of a YA novel--or at the very least pure pop fiction--and inherits many subjectively negative traits from this classification. Too high expectations, a dislike for the book's genres, and a greater understanding of translation theory than the lay audience--I was never a part of Babel's target audience and had little chance of being perfectly satisfied with it.

Nevertheless, I do think the book has tremendous value to those who aren't translators/translation studies academics or who enjoy dark academia pop fiction. While I don't read much English pop fiction, my subjective lack of enjoyment is not a statement of objective lack of value in this type of literature. I would highly recommend this book to anyone with even the slightest interest in language's effect on the world, and I commend R. F. Kuang's ability to deliver Babel's important messages to a wide audience.

At the same time, the book's status as a translation of 18th century events to a modern audience is fascinating and bears looking at, particularly in how this framework serves to undermine the characterizations and, consequently, the novel's core messages.

The Basics of Babel (Beware of Spoilers!)

Babel is, first and foremost, a medium to deliver certain key messages. The pursuit of empire is inherently evil; when the ones in positions of power will never listen, violence is one of multiple necessary tools; together we stand, divided we fall; spheres of oppression overlap in intersecting patterns; revolutions disproportionately affect the already disenfranchised; even so, structural change is necessary to alleviate structural ills; academia appears to be disconnected from the real world but has real, lasting impact. And so on. I agree (as would, I assume most of this audience--I don't think any of these ideas are especially challenging) with all of these; I'm also not trained in these fields and don't have much to comment on here.

Of secondary importance and primary prevalence in the novel are messages about language. Translation is both a tool of violence and liberation. There is inherently a degree of "betrayal" (the book's term) or "transformation" (mine) in all translation. Language and translation have real effect on the world and its individuals. It is impossible to translate with absolute fidelity and yet an absolute necessity to try. Translation--and by extension, all communication and all human contact--is the necessary violence expressed in the subtitle.

And again, I agree! I agree so completely I struggle to remember a time these themes weren't so self-evident to the point of being part of my self. Where my disagreements begin to creep in occur at the level of the characterization where, by virtue of being flattened in the "translation" process, the characters are inadvertently dehumanized to the degree of undermining these core concepts.

Babel consists of two distinct segments, the former being a 400-page sprawl of the four protagonists' upbringings and undergrad experiences in 19th-century fantasy Oxford as translation students. In this universe, magic is performed by matching a pair of words with the same denotative meaning in two different languages. The unshared secondary meanings or connotations are then manifested into the real world, thus implementing the spell. As a simple example, an English watermelon is not an English vegetable, but a Japanese スイカ is a Japanese 野菜. Therefore, if 野菜 and vegetable were matched, this spell might latch onto the notion of a watermelon/スイカ--something that exists in the Japanese definition but not the English definition--and make the melons grow faster. The protagonists thus spend the bulk of the novel learning translation theory, spell crafting, and the ways in which the British Empire is built upon the back of these spells and global exploitation.

Tensions slowly ramp up until one protagonist ultimately murders another, at which point the somewhat doddering pace revives and proceeds at a brisk clip for the last 130 pages while the surviving pair of "good" protagonists stage a revolution out of Oxford's translation magic hub. While the revolution ends in death for all but two of the "good" characters, it is implied that the revolution's aims are largely successful, with the bulk of the British Empire's spellcasting abilities destroyed. This latter segment of the story has some of the same juvenile, almost fairytale-esque simplification of the rest of the book (it's a tempting fiction to believe the destruction of a single building by a small handful of elites could bring an empire to its knees; this book ultimately reads as an academic's power fantasy), but I actually quite like it compared to the rest of the book. The narrative finally grants the main character some much-needed agency, the characterization improves by leaps and bounds, and the protagonists' views are at long last explored with contrasting and three-dimensional opinions. It's a welcome breath of fresh air and complexity.

The problem, as I see it, is that because Babel tackles such critical and multi-faceted ideas as the ethics of revolution and translation, complexity is a necessity that Babel too often forsakes. Babel flits between the competing notions of an educational call for action spoken by real, imperfect people and a cozy, somewhat twee fantasy of paper dolls coming together across racial, gender, and class lines for justice. If the work wants to discuss dehumanization via language, it can't afford to dehumanize its own characters with its language.

Babel as Translation

Kuang's narrator and narrative work hand-in-hand to produce this uncomfortable and clumsy effect.

The book is framed as a historical text written by a minor participant in the revolution in an effort to humanize the characters, "a record that doesn't make us out to be the villains." (504) This aim is achieved as Kuang's narrator follows the internal life of Robin Swift and, to a lesser degree, the three other members of his Oxford cohort in dramatic fictional prose. The text is peppered with footnotes providing extra context, much like a translator's gloss, generally about historical injustices but with occasional dips into the protagonists' private thoughts. The narrator themself, while content to remain in third-person, injects their personality heavily with didactic commentary on oppression and translation theory. I don't knock this as a storytelling technique in and of itself; a brutal hammer of a narrator could be an interesting parallel to the brutal hammer of systemic oppression. It does, however, create the impression that the narrator is hovering just over the story's shoulder at all times, unwilling to trust that the characters will perform their allotted roles once the narrator's back is turned.

Furthermore, the narrator's voice is firmly grounded in its time and place--the time being 2022 and the place being the leftist internet. The prose is undeniably the rhythmic, somewhat dramatic style presently in vogue in the English fiction market, and arguments are formed in the thinking patterns and vocabularies of modern day English internet discourse. When the work itself is set in the 1800s, this creates a slightly jarring effect--language supplanted into a setting where we wouldn't expect to see it.

This suggests the narrator is, effectively, translating a series of events written in an older English into the English of our day and age.

We must assume the narrator is taking their fair share of liberties. Apart from the inclusion of vocabulary that's wildly anachronistic (the word "narcostate" would not materialize in English until long after the 1830s), we also see the narrator's presence in the similar speech styles of all English-speakers across place of origin, class, and upbringing. Compare the college-educated Robin:

But how do you know? ... You didn't see what I saw, you don't know what the new match-pairs are-- ... It's just... It just feels like--I mean, I'm the only one who's always at risk, while you're just-- (182, quotation picked somewhat at random)

to the working-class laborer Abel:

"Is it really as bad as all that?" Robin asked Abel. "The factories, I mean." "Worse," said Abel. "Those are just the freak accidents they're reporting on. But they don't say what it's like to work day after day on those cramped floors. Rising before dawn and working until nine with a few breaks in between. And those are the conditions we covet. The jobs we wish we could get back. I imagine they don't make you work half as hard at university, do they?" (493)

Similarly, most characters retain the same vocal quirks as the narrator and Robin. See also on page 493, a third character starting and stopping herself in an identical fashion to Robin, "It's just... it's a side of the story we don't often think about, is it?" or on page 529 the same character copying Robin's habit of amending her comments with I mean, "Possibly the younger students... The ones who don't know any silverworking, I mean."

This produces a muted, washed-out effect wherein characters struggle to differentiate themselves on the basis of their personalities. But, in terms of translation, is this necessarily a bad thing? Is it wrong to familiarize the unfamiliar with the vernacular of the target audience?

Fortunately for us, Kuang's narrator has their own opinion on this very subject, delivered to us through the mouth of Ramy, Robin's love interest and generally all-around "good" character. In fact, one of the very first things we learn from Ramy is his dislike for a certain style of translation:

That's a terrible translation. Throw it away. ...and for another, it's not remotely like the original. What's more, Galland -- Antoine Galland, the French translator -- did his very best to Frenchify the dialogue and to erase all cultural details he thought would confuse the reader. ... And he entirely cuts out some of the more erotic passages, and injects cultural explanations whenever he feels like it -- tell me, how would you like to read an epic with a doddering Frenchman breathing down your neck at all the raunchy bits? (52)

Blessedly, we are spared that specific experience--if any raunchy bits existed, Kuang's narrator has trimmed them accordingly.

The reader, at this point, is expected to know little of translation theory on their own and should accept Ramy's opinion as that of fact. Ramy is the first character with purely positive associations in Robin's life, and the narrative swiftly propels us through the process of Robin and Ramy falling in love within a handful of pages. ("Robin felt a strange, bursting feeling in his chest then. He'd never met someone else in this situation, or anything like it..." (50) "...they sat cross-legged on the floor of Ramy's room, blinking like shy children as they regarded each other, unsure what to do with their hands." (50) "And [Robin] wanted so badly to impress Ramy. [Ramy] was so witty, so well-read and funny. He had sharp, scathing opinions on everything..." (51))

The reader is therefore expected to associate a liberal or heavy-handed translation style with bad practices--that is, until we learn that Ramy himself "was always ready to abandon technical accuracy for rhetorical flourishes he insisted would better deliver the point, even when this meant insertion of completely novel clauses." (224) (We must also note that this is the "polar opposite" of a "bad" character's style, which we will touch upon shortly.) Ramy, it seems, is allowed his liberties because he has "an uncanny ear for rhythm and sound. He did not merely repeat the phrases he absorbed; he uttered them in such precise imitation of the original speaker, investing his words with all intended emotion, it was like he momentarily became them." (269) Meanwhile, on page 383, we are told "Non-European texts [translated into English by Europeans]...tended to be loaded down with an astonishing amount of explanatory content, to the effect that the text was never read as a work on its own, but always through the guided lens of the (white, European) translator." This information might have been better received were it not in an explanatory footnote that takes up the half page.

I would like nothing more to give Kuang the benefit of the doubt and assume these hypocrisies are intentional, but writing a heavy-handed 500-page book just to poke fun at heavy-handed translation in a single footnote is either a Modernist masterpiece or simply not happening.

I also understand and acknowledge that there is plenty more nuance to these arguments. The Galland translation of One Thousand and One Nights bears a strong moral impetus toward exact fidelity as an introduction of a work of enormous cultural value to a society largely ignorant of that culture; Ramy's translation is a college writing assignment. Elisions for cultural sensitivity are not the same as additions for aesthetic sensibilities or contextual glosses/footnotes. Kuang's narrator is translating concepts from an academic environment to a general audience, where the balance of power is relatively equal, whereas Galland is translating across a broader power gap between cultures. Etc etc. I don't take umbrage with any of that--I also think Galland's translation practices were unacceptable, and I'd be a fool to pretend I don't take translation liberties when appropriate. My concern is that the general audience lacks this background and, when asked to reconcile these hypocrisies, will draw the conclusion that Kuang's narrator is espousing "white, European = bad / non-white, non-European = good."

Which, in the broadest brushstrokes of this colonial environment, is true! The British Empire--and empire in general--is cartoonishly evil, and I don't care much that most of the white English cast is flattened into 2D caricatures as a consequence. It's the reverse that's far more troubling.

Unfortunately, for the first 400-some pages of the book, the narrator plants all intelligent, kindhearted, or otherwise pleasant thoughts in the heads of non-English characters. (Here, non-English refers to any PoC character born outside of Britain, any half-white characters, and the one "good" Irish character. "Non-English" is a terrible classification system, but as all the "good" characters don't self-identify as British or English anyway, this will have to do for now.) Arguments between non-English characters are astoundingly minor; worse, they have little to no bearing on the overarching plot--it takes the murder of a white man to turn the story from academia romp to goodnatured revolutionary conspiracy. (And this only boils over into full revolution because a white English girl takes negative action!) Non-English characters' worst traits are annoying at best to the point where one, their repeated inability to understand intersectionality, comes across as bizarrely out of character and inappropriately dim-witted. Even then, such comments are set up to be angled at "less oppressed" characters. Robin and Ramy frequently fail to conceptualize the struggles of their female classmates or, at times, have rude thoughts about women. However, when their black female classmate Victoire is having anxiety attacks and white female classmate Letty is suffering nervous breakdowns, Robin ignores Victoire to say Letty is "not helping the general feminist case that women were not nervous, pea-brained hysterics." (368) Victoire simply cannot allowed to be "bad" in any way.

The constant need to be "good" strips characters of any ability to develop personality, deep character flaws, or culpability for their actions. For 4/5 of the book, Robin, Ramy, and Victoire are so caught in the narrator's stranglehold that they appear only little more three-dimensional than the paper-thin villains. This, while unintentional, is nevertheless a tragedy.

The Translated Narrative

Similarly, the narrative suffers from being a modern day experience transplanted onto the 19th century setting.

Protagonist Robin and the other members of his cohort are introduced as linguistic geniuses, all of whom have studied from a young age--and not always willingly--to be part of an elite class of undergraduate translators at Oxford. From the age of eleven, Robin spends hours every day studying Greek and Latin, both of which have historically been taught and to this day are taught with copious amounts of translation work. We are shown Robin translating Latin into English as a child (31)--amusingly, the author he works on will be complained about later as very difficult to translate when taught in the later years of undergrad, an inconsistency I can only assume is unintentional--and have every reason to believe it is done competently. Furthermore, Robin continues to retain his native fluency in Mandarin, meaning he should be intimately familiar with basic translation theory and the differences in language by the time he reaches university.

However, the modern day reader is not expected to share this same linguistic background, and the narrative must quickly bring them up to speed. Thus, upon arriving at Oxford, the narrative takes the audience on a ride through a series of bare-bones basic translation theory lectures.

The first lecture opens on the professor "try[ing] to impress upon [the protagonists] the unique difficulty of translation," (104) an absurdity when presented to characters who have been translating for years. Suddenly, characters are catapulted out of their 19th century elite backgrounds and into the bodies of 21st century freshman.

"I don't understand," says trained classicist Letty. "Shouldn't a faithful translation of individual words produce an equally faithful text?" (105) (Later, we discover that Letty's translation style leans strictly literal in opposition to Ramy's. This is posited as a bad choice--which is broadly speaking true--but becomes an uncomfortable parallel between Letty's unyielding, "bad" personality and her "bad" translation choices. Ramy also equates being a good listener and with being a good translator (535), leading to one of the few places where I openly disagree with the narrator. In an ideal universe, truly good translation could only be unlocked with great care; unfortunately, technical skill does not equal strength of character.)

"Is faithful translation impossible, then?" a professor later "challenges." "Can we never communicate with integrity across time, across space?"

"I suppose not," reluctantly (153) says Victoire, who is "raised to read and compose and interpret." (541)

The notion that these characters can have drilled in languages and translation for years on end without having ever considered these basic concepts is laughably absurd. It is like an engineering student receiving a full-ride scholarship to MIT, walking into class on the first day, and saying, "What are all those letters doing on the board next to the numbers?"

And yet the narrator would have us believe this because, fundamentally, the narrative is that of a 21st century university undergraduate's experience. Someone with an interest in languages but little formal training in translation--we certainly don't teach that in American high school--could, conceivably, walk into these lectures and be charmed by "this dramatic mysticism, these monologues that must have been rehearsed and perfected over years of teaching. But no one complained. They loved it too." (107)

Our imaginary 21st century undergrad takes Robin by the hand and leads him along four years of lectures, luncheons, exams, rowing club, and endless giggle sessions with friends. It's cozy and cute. Everything is magical and ready-made for a Pinterest board.

Meanwhile, the bloody cogs of the British Empire churn relentlessly in the background. Robin is invited to participate in a largely low-stakes revolutionary operation and, for about 200 pages, most of his inner turmoil centers around the conflicting desires to lean into the revolutionary movement and the desire to cement himself in a cushy life at Oxford.

Here, the lighthearted atmosphere is by design; for the modern-day reader to feel shock at the abrupt turn in tone, the luxuries and conveniences of an idyllic modern-day academic experience must be shown. However, it must be stressed that this tonal shift occurs over 400 pages in. The slow pace hinders the narrative's ability to be considered in its full 19th century ramifications. We spend so long in Robin's 21st century head that the core struggle, for a sizable chunk of the novel, is coming to terms with one's position of privilege in society and how that affects one as a translator. These are valuable things to consider, and it is something the audience--most of whom are closer to Lettys than Victoires in terms of societal position--should devote time and attention to, but I cannot help thinking there could've been more efficient use of space in this book. It is difficult to examine more of the hard-hitting topics when so much of the book is devoted to the author's nostalgia for their college experience.

The narrative's other core issue interweaves with something I touched upon earlier, the lack of agency in its core characters. For most of the book, Robin is largely shepherded along by forces outside of him, giving him an (intentional) learned helplessness under the oppressive colonial system. However, likely unintentional narrative choices contribute to this problem and give Robin the impression of being even less empowered than he is meant to be. Robin's first two decisive actions of any note are triggered when another character forces him to make an "It's us or them" style choice. In both cases, Robin chooses to side against the revolutionaries for self-motivated reasons, and the narrative later rewards him with a third "It's us or them" choice motivated by purely selfless desires. These could be great character-establishing moments--if any of those choices mattered. But they don't! After choice 1, Robin winds up in contact with the revolutionaries again due to complete coincidence. After choice 2, Robin faces the personal fall-out of turning in the revolutionaries...until a more pressing issue turns up, only partially of Robin's doing (the question of whether this was intentional or accidental is discussed heavily throughout the rest of the book), at which point the personal issues dissolve and vanish. Oh, and the revolutionaries suffered no consequences after Robin ratted out their safe house. Everything is fine and dandy!

And also deeply frustrating. If Robin's actions don't matter, then why have Robin act at all? Is Robin a person or a cardboard cutout doll?

Similarly, the narrative is littered with deus ex machinas to an unfortunate degree. The reader quickly becomes accustomed to a common narrative structure: A problem presents itself, the protagonists panic and make an attempt to fix the problem, that solution fails, tension heightens--and a side character (often a revolutionary) steps in and resolves the problem. So, too, are the major turning points orchestrated by other people. Robin's father instigates his own murder by approaching Robin. Robin is radicalized by Letty setting the police on the revolutionaries.

Robin, then, has no more control over his person than a puppet until the final 1/5 of the book. This is partially intentional as a means to demonstrate Robin's unconscious conforming to racial stereotypes of passivity as a means to be "accepted," even partially, in colonial British society. Had this vanished entirely upon Robin's dramatic turn to agency in the final hundred pages, I wouldn't have been the slightest bit concerned--but it doesn't. Once Robin seizes control of the magical translation tower on page 448, he sits and waits for outside forces to act. And waits. And waits. And waits. The army arrives, but that's all right, because here come the townspeople, who've made a miraculous turn of heart and are ready to be good revolutionaries alongside the Oxford elites. Oh no, they're running out of food--oh, whew, the problem solved itself by virtue of the townsfolk showing up. Uh-oh, Robin has to make the decision of breaking the siege under flagging moral--oh never mind, here comes Letty to take that problem away. I can't wait for Parliament to respond and end the siege for us, but until then, we just all have to wait. And wait. And wait.

It is 84 pages before Robin takes another action.

Translation as Necessity

I don't fault Kuang for the ideas she presents, nor the means she chooses to employ, but I do think it's a tragedy that her own writing skills are inadvertently undercutting her work. Babel is, at heart, a heavy translation of a fictional 19th century event that accidentally does the very thing it criticizes--making people less than people through the act of translation.

And yet still we must translate.

Kuang is correct and expresses herself elegantly when her narrator says:

Language was just difference. A thousand different ways of seeing, of moving through the world. No; a thousand worlds within one. And translation -- a necessary endeavor, however futile, to move between them. (535)

Communication is an attempt to link two agents to one another, and communication is informed by its medium. The conventions and limitations of e-mail shape a message differently than does a phone. A translation, then, is an act of communication wherein the medium plays a dual role of conveyance device and additional agent. The translator, be they human or machine, must always make choices. There is no chance a message can passage from agent to agent to agent perfectly intact.

But then, can a message ever be perfectly communicated? If languages are only another medium, then so too will the language inform the delivery of the message. The words I've chosen in this essay are not the same as my thoughts, nor is your impression of this text the same as my words. Language itself, of course, has no inherent meaning. Even single words--let's take "vegetable" again--conjure different images and different associations with different people. There is no Platonic ideal of "vegetable" we can point to and say this, and only this, is "vegetable."

And if it's that hard to communicate with individuals who share the same language, what about individuals in other languages? Or how about when languages overlap? My command of English is informed by the facts of my life, both the demographic--white, American, Latino, male, born in the 90s, asexual, multilingual, middle-class, blah blah blah--and the experienced--listened to this life-changing song, read those books, played those games, loved and cherished those other people. Your English, too, is informed by all the millions and millions of things that make up you--some of which may be other languages. If, being as you also speak Japanese, you consider a "watermelon" to be a "vegetable," who am I to tell your concept is lesser?

In the way English is no monolith, Japanese is no monolith. So are Spanish, French, Mandarin, Swahili--every individual uses their language or languages in a different way in an imperfect attempt to express their unique thoughts. It's daunting, then, to be the medium with which someone else reaches out and attempts to convey a message.

But that's no excuse not to try. Rather than not convey anything at all, we all have to try, and try our best, to convey ourselves. The fact that it's impossible to translate--to communicate--should not be the deterrent it so often is. Without conveyance, we are nothing to one another. It is communication that allows us to shape ourselves and shape the world around us.

I think a lot about translation as an act of betrayal or violence. I agree that it can be, and often is, but underlying that I think it's even more simple--translation is an act of transformation. Transformation, or change, can be influenced by malice or sheer clumsiness. We are betrayed by and violated by those who would seek to change us against our will; on a broader scale, it's remiss for anyone working with different languages to ignore the power dynamics between their source and target cultures.

At the same time, is it always such a bad thing to be changed? I'm reminded of all the vocal tics I've picked up from friends or favorite books. It's an honor to see colleagues integrate phrases I often use in translation in their translations; in turn, I'm constantly writing down words I see in their works and adding them to mine. I'm molded by everything I've ever cared for and that's cared for me, and so are you. So is everyone on the planet Earth.

When we communicate, then, it's vital that we do so with care. We must try to be conscious of our changing, even if doing so will not guarantee success. We have everything to lose by not trying at all.

While the nature of today's Japan-Anglosphere relations are nothing like the relationship between the early 19th century British Empire and its colonies, there are undeniable power balances and cultural considerations to be made. I'm always cognizant of the freedom my US salary gives me versus that of my JP counterparts, the skewed relationship of American vs Japanese global power, the US's continued military presence in Japan, and so on. I don't let it bother me on a daily basis--guilt with no outlet isn't productive--and I recognize how very lucky I am to be able to dismiss that at all. I'd prefer to continue to listen to others and, when possible, use what powers I have for assisting.

At the same time, I don't deny that differences of race affect many core tenets of my work. Japan occupies an odd position in the Anglosphere cultural world of possessing both immense soft power and a strong perception of negative alterity. Besides the overtly offensive opinions, we see so often notions of Japanese stories--and by extension, their Japanese authors--as excessively exciting or alienatingly weird by virtue of being Japanese. Japanese society is so polite! Or, on the flip side, Japanese society is so racist! People draw conclusions--sometimes containing a kernel of truth, sometimes not--from the whole and apply it to the individual.

Even talking about it too much leaves a funny feeling in my mouth. When I speak in broad strokes about what applies to how most people use Japanese, will that be taken as a statement about every individual person's command of the language? If I constantly compare Japanese, English, Japanese, English, Japanese, English, won't that serve to make them seem like two irreconcilable things? What about all the many people who make their home in both languages? And third, fourth, fifth languages too? When I talk about English with the unconscious expectation that this is where the lack of alterity is found, am I driving away those who approach English in another fashion? And so on.

It's especially difficult working in media, unlike interpretation or other related fields with small target audiences, when the target audience is so big. I change the way I talk when I address my friends vs my coworkers--but what about when I address a vast sea of people, an audience I can't control? How do I know what English phrases resonate with them? How do I tailor my communications and the communications I've been entrusted with so the messages land home, as close as they possibly can?

What I do, then, is try to translate in such a way that always considers the person first. When a line shines, I want it to shine in English. I want authors to appear clever and goofy and banal, because people--Japanese-speakers, English-speakers, both, and neither--are way, way more similar than we give ourselves credit for. I want my one weird author to sound weird in all the right places, because he's not weird by virtue of being Japanese, he's weird by virtue of being a feral goblin of a man. I want my one socially sensitive author to sound caring and clever, even if the words she uses don't align with English discourse. I want the sexy scenes to sound sexy, the funny scenes to be funny, the kinda stupid to be kinda stupid--because people are dumb. And amazing. And so very, very good.

I think a lot about a beginning Japanese learner saying "I'm sorry!" (which came across as "Because it's my fault!") when hearing her instructor had a cold. I think a lot about the man who spoke very little English and still went "D: Fall!" to alert me when I dropped a bag. I think a lot about how, no matter how imperfect, we all want to express care for our fellow human beings. I love all the many things that make us different, and I love all the many ways in which we're exactly the same.

Betrayal, violence, and care bubble out of us no matter how much we try to stop them. It's on us to channel the ways in which we change the world and it is, of course, a necessity.

This book drove me up the wall. Go read it.

#not a translation #translation essay

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technofeudalism · 6 months ago

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every reddit community is being flooded right now with posts about how amazing Joe Biden is and how he is the greatest President in American history and how "he's still got it."

normally, i'd find this kind of odd. because the tone has been drastically different everywhere else since the election loss. but then i found out why there's a sudden explosion of pro-Biden content.

During the 2020 presidential primary, Jill Biden campaigned so extensively across Iowa that she held events in more counties than her husband—a fact her press secretary at the time, Michael LaRosa, touted to a local reporter. His superior in the Biden campaign quickly chided him. As the three rode in a minivan through the state’s cornfields, Anthony Bernal, then a deputy campaign manager and chief of staff to Jill Biden, pressed LaRosa to contact the reporter again and play down any comparison in campaign appearances between Joe Biden, then 77, and his wife, who is eight years his junior. Her energetic schedule only highlighted her husband’s more plodding pace, LaRosa recalls being told. The message from Biden’s team was clear. “The more you talk her up, the more you make him look bad,” LaRosa said. The small correction foreshadowed how Biden’s closest aides and advisers would manage the limitations of the oldest president in U.S. history during his four years in office. To adapt the White House around the needs of a diminished leader, they told visitors to keep meetings focused. Interactions with senior Democratic lawmakers and some cabinet members—including powerful secretaries such as Defense’s Lloyd Austin and Treasury’s Janet Yellen—were infrequent or grew less frequent. Some legislative leaders had a hard time getting the president’s ear at key moments, including ahead of the U.S.’s disastrous pullout from Afghanistan. Senior advisers were often put into roles that some administration officials and lawmakers thought Biden should occupy, with people such as National Security Adviser Jake Sullivan, senior counselor Steve Ricchetti and National Economic Council head Lael Brainard and her predecessor frequently in the position of being go-betweens for the president. Press aides who compiled packages of news clips for Biden were told by senior staff to exclude negative stories about the president. The president wasn’t talking to his own pollsters as surveys showed him trailing in the 2024 race.

so it turns out that, after the last year and a half of leftists saying "hey, isn't this guy really fucking old and kind of dying?" and being completely shit on, told to shut the fuck up, sit down and know our place... the guy was indeed dying behind the scenes.

and now, because this story is gaining attention in the mainstream media (CNN ran a segment earlier), reddit has full tilt re-engaged the Biden propaganda machine in order to "preserve his legacy."

throughout the entirety of the Biden presidency, and even before the 2020 election, Biden's cabinet, advisors, spokespersons, campaign staff, etc., abdicated their duty. their lust to remain in power, retain influence and secure gainful future employment in Washington along with their contempt for the average human being (including Palestinians) has effectively doomed us to 4+ years of Republican rule. now, they will go onto lobbying in the private sector and cash in on years of clout accumulated through being a dutiful stooge.

target your anger appropriately. stop blaming the voters. the Democratic party has never and will never care about you or anyone in this country other than their corporate owners.

#us politics #politics #uspol

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cheezybiscuits · 5 months ago

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Field log: Elliot Manor

Note: The following is an illustration and transcription of audio and video recordings streamed from investigation of ground zero for SCP-468395. Instances of SCP-468395-A will continue to be referred to as Corrupted Security Drones (CSD) despite recent discoveries on their origins as standard drones.

Michelle: You hear that? behind the door over there, there's two voices talking.

Jordan: Yep. Could be the target. Stay on guard, she has weapons.

Team proceeds to the end of the hallway. Agents get into position in front of the doors and Jordan kicks it open.

Tessa Elliot: What-

CSD: Yeah NOPE!

Six rapid gunshots are heard and visual feed is disabled. Only one microphone records the following segment.

[04 level clearance required to access full file. Verify clearance level to continue] (Click keep reading)

Tessa Elliot: Wow…uh…okay…you just killed some SCP staff?

No one speaks for 3 seconds.

CSD: Well…yes! They’re hostile and intend to capture us, right?

Tessa Elliot: What happened to the boot licker you described a minute ago?

There is no talking for another 3.5 seconds and the CSD vents air as if to sigh.

Tessa Elliot: Anyway, back to those questions, so [SCP-468395-1-C] wore my skin huh? Is that why my corpse over there looks fresh from the slaughterhouse?

CSD: That’s correct.

Tessa Elliot: And now some gothy lookin' drone ate Cyn’s core and…survived? And has control of the solver now?

CSD: I’m skeptical of the twerp’s success myself.

Tessa Elliot: (chuckling) You keep calling her a twerp but the more you describe this kid the cooler you make her sound.

CSD: You think N is cool, because you’re kind like that.

Tessa Elliot: Psh, nah. He’s pretty cool, especially with the vampire-angel thing going on now.

CSD: Now you’re demonstrating what I just said.

Tessa Elliot: Do you think N would be cooler if he drove a company car?

CSD: On the condition that he'd get an upgrade for his cognitive processor.

Tessa Elliot: Are you sure you'd like that? You'd get competition for employee of the month.

CSD: Not if leadership and being cool are in the criteria.

Both chuckle.

Once again there is no talking for 3 seconds.

CSD: I have questions too.

Tessa Elliot: Oh?

CSD: How do I know I can trust you’re the real Tessa? You could be an anomalous doppleganger, an illusion, or any other type of deceptive SCP.

Tessa Elliot: Huh. (Pause) You got me there. I can’t exactly prove I’m not any of that. I betcha you can tell my fingerprints are different, right?

CSD: And your facial structure has slight differences, along with your brain. Oh and I don’t need to scan you to see you’re 4 centimeters shorter than you should be at your alleged age.

Tessa Elliot: Hm. Well that tracks with me being a clone right? And there’s bound to be differences with how fast they grew my body. As for the height uh…I’m not as exactly well fed as I was from before the apocalypse?

CSD: Okay. Next question: How does a technical genius that's avoiding the foundation think it would be a good idea to go to ground zero?

Tessa Elliot: I kind of wanted to see what was left of my stuff here.

CSD: How is that enough reason to risk all the dangerous-

They pause yet again. This time for 2 seconds. The CSD sighs again.

CSD: You wanted to look at your own corpse didn’t you?

Tessa Elliot: That and see if Dad’s SCP collection is still here.

CSD: …You know what, that passes as Tessa behavior.

Tessa Elliot: Right! Knew you'd come around!

CSD: Next question. You said you're avoiding bunkers since most of them are extensions of SCP-2000 right now and you'd get caught. How do you expect to survive outside of bunkers? What happens if you’re starving and can’t wait out a six-week glass-dust storm to take off your helmet for food or water?

Tessa Elliot: I got my own shelter for that. But I don’t know how much I can tell you about it.

(Transcribers note: What they’re saying next was sometimes hard to make out because they started talking at the same time and interrupting each other a lot. Francis if you find anything inaccurate here I just want to remind you, minimum wage, minimum effort.)

CSD: What? Why? I was completely transparent with you. That’s not-

Tessa Elliot: I kind of….have my own team I’m working with as you’d say? And, I dunno, you said you’re not working for the foundation right now

CSD: Yes but I wasn’t finished-

Tessa Elliot: And we're both different from the last times we saw each other-

CSD: That's true but I still haven't mentioned-

Tessa Elliot: To be blunt I don’t know who your next boss will be but they definitely won’t be friendly to me.

CSD: Yes but please Tessa wait second!

Tessa Elliot: I-alright.

CSD: (Pause) I said I was between employers, but I meant under the previous circumstances. I-it's different now. You're...alive now. Before, you were gone, I had nowhere to apply. Then I read about SCP-2000, and-

They pause again for 4 seconds.

CSD: As long as you’re alive, you’ll always be my boss, Tessa. Just, please, if you'll accept my application.

The subjects pause again for 6 seconds.

CSD: Wait shit-

Tessa Elliot What? What is it?

CSD: Wireless signal in the corner of my eye- son of a bi-

Audio picks up a single gunshot before disconnecting.

[Additional notes: Tessa Elliot has accessed files on recent 05 council members. It is a top priority to capture and either amnesticize, or terminate the target.]

#Murder Drones #Jessa #Tessa James Elliot #Serial Designation J #ripping royals #murder drones J #MD J #MD Tessa #MD SCP au #cheezy art #SCP foundation

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cozage · 2 years ago

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The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 19: The Morning of War

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.3k

Marco woke you early to run one last routine checkup.

“Still a happy and healthy baby you’ve got in there,” he said, giving you a nervous look. “You’re almost at month five.”

“Bell pepper month,” you said quietly, your hand rubbing over your stomach subconsciously. “Still so tiny.”

“And not very resistant to heat,” Marco warned. “So please, today…don’t do anything stupid. It’s not just your life anymore.”

“I know,” you whispered, staring at your small baby bump. You hadn’t expected to get so attached to this little nuisance. But when you weighed the thought of losing Ace or this baby…there was no contest.

Marco hesitated, watching you. He knew you too well. Your behavior was too perfect. You were scheming.

“Please don’t-“

“Just promise to save him, Marco.” Tears flooded your eyes. “Please.”

He knew how much promises meant to you. He knew you were asking him to promise the impossible.

“I promise I’ll do the best I can,” he said. “Let’s get you up to Pops.”

You were almost there. Almost to Ace. You just had to behave for a little bit longer.

“You’ll stay beside me through this entire thing,” your father said, sitting in his captain's chair. “I’ll need your eyes to find weak points.”

“Of course,” you said, nodding in agreement. You stood tall and proud, as if that role would be the only position you’d have all day. Your good behavior had allowed you to roam freely around the ship today, but you knew the commanders were all under orders to stop you if you tried to run onto the battlefield. Plus your sea-prism shackles were still tightly fastened around your wrists.

When your father’s ship rose from the sea, you stood at the bow of the ship, your eyes desperately searching for him. You didn’t care about the layout of the battlefield, you could examine that later. Right now, you needed to find him.

He was so far away. And yet so close. You scrambled up and stood on the railing to get a better view, but it was him. He was alive. He was safe. For now.

“No,” Ace mouthed in horror. He hadn’t even found you yet; this horror was from the sacrifice of so many that was about to be made.

You almost jumped down and took off towards him. But you needed to bide your time. Marineford was full of traps and different sections. You needed to see their hand before you put yourself into play.

“Ace!” Your father yelled out. “Bear with me, son. We’ll be there soon.”

“Father!” Ace called out.

There was an eerie silence amongst the battlefield, everyone waiting for the other side to make a move.

“Do it,” you whispered, gripping a rope to hold yourself steady.

Your father listened, and sent a shattering tremor through the sea. Giant tidal waves rose up, getting ready to crash down on the bay of Marineford.

But they never came. The bay instantly froze over, Aokiji’s powers activating and solidifying the waters.

All hell broke loose after that, every Marine aiming for your father and you in some way. But your division commanders protected you, and you took the time to examine the battlefield.

Thousands of Marines stood at different portions of the battlefield. Men with swords and guns, strange patterns and sectionings. You had examined as much of Marineford as you could beforehand, but the Marines kept this place a highly guarded secret. Yet there was something that felt off about the battlefield.

The canons. They were angled wrong. The walls were too low for a first defense. It didn’t make any sense.

Then you saw it: the invisible line where the first defense stopped and the second defense started. There had to be a secret there; perhaps a wall segment that was activated by a trigger of some sort. If that wall were to be triggered while all of the pirates were in there, they would be fish in a barrel; easy targets for anyone who wanted to pick them off.

At least one wall segment you’d have to get through. Though you had no idea how tall, how thick, or how it was activated. Practically useless information, but you reported it to your father regardless.

And your father called Little Oars into action. He didn’t have to give any directions, Little Oars just went straight for the guarded platform.

“Wait, Pops-”

“I know,” he said. “I made the call. Not you.”

“But he’ll-!”

“Quiet,” he hissed. “My men are more capable than you think. So watch.”

Cannonfire rained down upon Little Oars, but you refused to look away. You had caused this death and destruction. And when Little Oars fell to the ground, you couldn’t help but blame yourself for his untimely demise.

Ace was screaming from the platform, begging everyone to run. But nobody would listen; of course they wouldn’t. Everyone loved the second division commander. So much they would be willing to die for him.

You could see him drop his head in defeat, broken by the amount of loss he was being forced to witness.

“You better live, Portgas D. Ace!” You screamed at him, putting all of your rage and hurt into your voice. “Because wherever you go, I go!”

His head perked up, and he scanned the battlefield, desperately searching for you.

“And when I get a hold of you-” you paused to take a breath, tears streaming down your face. “I’m going to kick your ass! Do you understand?!?”

His eyes widened as he found the source of your voice, and you could see the will to live return to his body, ever so slightly. That would be your goal for now. Keeping Ace alive and keeping the fight in him.

You felt a shiver up your spine and turned to the source of the dread. The admirals. You had shown yourself, and you knew they would take advantage of that.

And Akainu was staring straight at you, a triumphant smirk on his face. You glared back at him, until his eyes slid down to the cuffs around your hands. He raised an eyebrow curiously, and you could see him mutter something to his fellow Vice Admirals.

Aokiji didn’t scare you when he looked your way, but Kizaru’s humored glance made your stomach churn. He raised a finger and pointed it at you.

Suddenly Marco was on top of you, slamming you down onto the deck. An instant later, a beam of light shot past where your head had been.

“No!” Ace’s voice wailed from the platform. “Stop! Don’t do this for me! Stop!!”

You tried to get up to see him again, but Marco held you down.

“They saw your sea prism,” he hissed. “They know you’re vulnerable right now, so stay down.”

“I have to see him!” You thrashed under him, trying to break free. “I have to let him know I’m okay!”

“We have to let the Admirals think they hit you!” he yelled.

“They wouldn’t fall for such cheap tricks!”

“No, but their attention will turn elsewhere eventually!” he argued. “Just stay still for a second!”

You could hear the shouts and the battle raging on the ground below where your father’s ship was, and you wanted nothing more to fight alongside your family. You were half tempted to throw Marco off and start the race toward Ace without knowing anything else about the battlefield.

You heard a strange grinding sound that shook the ground, and you knew they were raising the hidden walls. The next phase of battle had begun.

You took a deep breath and tried to center yourself. You couldn’t be rash here. You had to save Ace at any cost. So, you stared up at the sky and relaxed, waiting for the right moment to get back up.

You listened to the sounds of the battlefield, trying to gauge where people were based on how loud the sounds of their weapons were. Strangely enough, some of the screaming seemed to be coming from above you.

And then you saw a giant ship falling from the sky.

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598 @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #cozage #✧˚ace✧˚

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buttsandboltguns · 3 months ago

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Burnt Processors, Smoking Barrels

“...-they sent her out again, today-...”

The autoloader to the hecodra’s 105mm rattled as it selected a smoke shell and extracted it from the carousel, exposing the shell to open air for bare seconds as it was loaded into the breach of her cannon. Her quad legs carried her up the slope of the trench embankment. As her barrel crested the ridge, she twisted her torso and let loose. The cannon shook as it fired the smoke shell, the heavy munition blowing directly through the side of the lightly armored target. Milliseconds later the shell detonated, white smoke blowing out through all the open sections of the other hecodra, this one a tracked unit built for speed. It slowly stuttered to a stop as its power plant was starved of air, slowly and gently shutting down and preserving its dearth of parts.

“...-how many deployments has that been, recently?-...”

She lay in wait, her legs nearly fully folded up under her chassis. Her chaingun was pointed towards the sky, up over the edges of the howitzer emplacement she had decided to roost in until the target came closer. A buzzing became prominent on her scanner and she powered up, her powerplant coming up from an idle rumble to a heady pounding roar. Tracking systems engaged and locked to a target fired across her communications channel by one of her squadmates. As the target drew closer, closer, she eased her chassis up until her chaingun crested the bare edge of the emplacement. A single impulse sent hundreds of 14mm shells downrange. The targeted aircraft bled smoke as it screamed overhead, crashing far on the other side of the gun pit.

“...-they say she’s going out with a unit of heavy infantry droids, will she be okay?-...”

The hecodra stalked along the trench in front of her unit of hepodoifs. She had made sure that the field mechanics had filled her ammunition bins and properly applied the reactive armor blocks to her outer hull. Conveniently, the blocks also provided a spot for the hepodoifs to grip onto if they needed to climb her armor for some reason - the indentations between the segments were perfect sized for the heavy droids to fit their manipulators in.

Behind her, the shock infantry stomped along at a brisk pace. They weren’t her beloved NAC.23s. They had been redeployed to a different front where her unit couldn’t go. So they gave her another unit of frontline mockups for this mission. Another group of droids built from parts, from pieces, from scrap and spare weapons. Just like her. All she had to do was get used to them. That couldn’t be so hard, right?

A sensor ping distracted her. Her legs skidded in the mud as she brought herself to a full stop, her dense ocular array scanning for the target she knew to be there. There, in the mud between trenches, well concealed but still visible. The near-flat domed top hull of a dronetank. Its long gun peered nosily through its concealment, pointing parallel to the trench she was in. She had to be careful or else the dronetank would detect her and their game of cat and mouse would very quickly result in her being caught in its jaws. They would need to move slow and-

The hecodra’s chassis rocked as one of the hepodoifs made to climb her. Anger simmered within her as the heavily armored humanoid droid settled between her upper powerplant housing and the rear of the housing of her main ocular unit. They hadn’t even asked. And here they were, putting their filthy hands all over her, and to what end? They didn’t even have designation gear.

Over the trench rolled a thunderous crack as the humanoid droid fired a recoilless rifle towards the dronetank. The shell impacted, throwing mud and shrapnel into the air. A horrid whine filled the air with the spooling turbine of their would-be prey, then abruptly dumping into a groaning scream as the beast lurched to life.

The rounded, nearly flat machine threw itself into full reverse as it pulled itself out of the fighting position it had dug into. Its hull was swiftly beginning to come around, dragging that dreaded main gun towards the hecodra. She needed to move, or she was going to suffer the consequences of other’s actions.

Her legs dropped from under her as she tried to flatten herself in the trench. A colossal cannon shot sounded out and the hepodoif that was riding her hull was blown away, shards of armor and internals scraping silver lines across her thick plating. The shell detonated deep in the mud behind her, the wet slop impacting the shielding over her powerplant and scattering the remaining hepodoifs.

The hecodra rotated her lower chassis, her legs hissing as she began to scamper along the trench. She had to get the drop on the dronetank. If she didn’t, the rest of the hepodoifs would be rendered into scrap and very likely herself as well. That wouldn’t do. She would show the enemy why she was called Cardinal Curse.

Her own powerplant gurgled and then roared as she surged up and over the embankment into open terrain. The dronetank was still aimed in its original direction - 70 degrees off of where she was at. She aimed - main hull, good angle - fired! The 105mm smoothbore roared its rebuke. The sabot dart hurtled towards the hull of the drone, impacting… and glancing away, a warbling pitch piercing the air from the ricochet.

The autoloader to the 105mm rattled. The carousel spun wildly through the ammunition. HE, HEAT, WP, none of them were the correct munitions. None would penetrate that angled hull.

Except for one.

The carousel slammed to a stop.

The selector arm raised the gun fired missile out of the carousel and into bare air, lining it up with the breach of the cannon.

The ram slammed it home.

The dronetank had caught her. Its neutral turn was faster than her ability to run across open ground. She trained her gun on target, waiting for the indicator that it was fully armed, before-

A shell ripped her flank open. Static filled her vision for several moments and she was thrown to the side, staggering heavily through the mud. A secondary detonation rocked her world to the side as her ammunition carousel lit up, the internal munitions blowing hard. The blowout panels flew off into the distant mud, a gout of flames spouting from her armor ribs. She wallowed in the deep mud, her legs struggling to gain traction.

The tank was going to be loaded again soon. Her gimballed 14mm chaingun swiveled over and began to hose the front of the dronetank, hoping to catch the sensor arrays. Instead her wild burst was rewarded with the blare of a jam alarm, the caseless munitions catching in the feed belt. Her right side manipulator unfolded from her armor and shoved into the mud, propping her hull enough to rotate her thorax around. Her 105mm read green. She could fire the gun missile if she just got it on target.

The crosshair pinned itself across the dronetank.

The dronetank re-focused its gun.

The missile flew. The tank’s howitzer roared.

The tank went up in flames.

But the world was already darkened for Cardinal Curse.

#Robotic Accounts

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osharenippon · 2 years ago

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Shoujo Manga’s Golden Decade (Part 1)

Shoujo manga, comics for girls, played a pivotal role in shaping Japanese girls' culture, and its dynamic evolution mirrors the prevailing trends and aspirations of the era. For many, this genre peaked in the 1970s. But why?

Manga stands as one of Japan's primary cultural exports, deeply ingrained in the local culture and enjoyed by individuals of all ages and genders across various genres. Conventionally, manga is divided into two editorial segments: shonen (targeted at boys) and shoujo (targeted at girls). While shonen manga, propelled by hits like "Dragon Ball," "Slam Dunk," "Naruto," and "One Piece," has achieved global popularity, girls' comics, with their own international sensations such as "Sailor Moon," hold a crucial position in the market. The evolving landscape of girls' manga serves as a fascinating lens through which to observe the shifting fashionable aspirations and beauty ideals within Japanese society.

Shoujo manga has a rich history, dating back to the early 20th century. However, it truly gained recognition in its modern form in the late '50s and early '60s when prominent Japanese publishers introduced shoujo manga anthologies such as Kodansha's Nakayoshi and Shoujo Friend, as well as Shueisha's Ribon and Margaret. The acclaimed "godfather of manga," Osamu Tezuka, is often credited with creating the first modern shoujo, "The Princess Knight," in 1954, and the first shonen, "Astro Boy," in 1952.

A distinguishing feature of shoujo manga is that it is created by and for girls. But, in the '50s, this wasn't the case, and male artists dominated the shoujo field, which was considered an entryway to the manga business. By the 1960s, that would change as publishers recognized that women creators possessed a unique proficiency in crafting narratives centered around female experiences. Female manga-kas resonated with readers in a way that many male artists couldn't, marking a crucial shift in the landscape of shoujo manga.

The Volleyball Craze

A notable display of how shoujo could mirror societal trends unfolded in the '60s. In 1964, the Tokyo Olympics marked a new beginning for post-war Japan, and the female volleyball team, known as Toyo no Majou (the Oriental Witches), achieved stardom by clinching victory in the finals against the Soviet Republic. This triumph triggered a nationwide "volleyball boom," resonating particularly within the shoujo manga realm.

Shueisha's Ribon, historically the leader in the shoujo manga field, started publication in 1955. Still, the editorial house would only begin to make its series available in standalone tankobon format almost 15 years later through the now iconic Ribon Mascot Comics imprint. The first series to be made available by the imprint was Chikako Ide's "Viva Volleyball."

Simultaneously, over at Kodansha, Shoujo Friend was also eager to capitalize on the boom. Editors commissioned a title about the sport from illustrator Akira Mochizuki and novelist Shiro Jimbo. The final project, "Sign wa V," became a multimedia success, being quickly adapted into a live-action TV drama that achieved very high ratings.

While "Viva! Volleyball" and "Sign wa V" enjoyed success in their time, they did not etch themselves into the collective memory. The true shoujo sports manga blockbuster, a cross-generational classic universally known in Japan, is Chikako Urano's "Attack No. 1," serialized from 1968 to 1970 in Weekly Margaret.

It became the first shoujo manga title to surpass ten tankobon volumes (it had a total of 12 volumes), and it was forever immortalized thanks to its 1970 anime adaptation, which achieved high ratings on Japanese TV. Everything about "Attack No. 1"—from the original manga to the cartoon adaptation to the anime's theme song, which sold over 700k copies as a single—was a success.

The story of a high school girl trying to become the best player in her school, Japan, and eventually, the world became a phenomenon, setting the stage for the '70s "golden era of shoujo."

The Shoujo Lost Years

Until the '70s, manga carried the stigma of being a guilty pleasure, often viewed as a "poison" meant to dumb down young readers. Despite a few discerning individuals recognizing the medium's potential, manga critics, enthusiasts, and tastemakers — predominantly men — largely disregarded female-centric comics. Shoujo manga, despite its immense popularity, faced the harshest criticism.

Because society and critics downplayed shoujo, influential shoujo manga-kas from the '50s and '60s, such as Hideko Mizuno, do not enjoy the same level of recognition as their shonen counterparts from that era.

Hideko Mizuno and a page of one of her most celebrated works, "Fire."

Mizuno was one of the first women to create manga, worked as an assistant to Osamu Tezuka, and was behind several massive hits that had a significant impact on women in the '50s, '60s, and '70s. In fact, the most iconic shoujo manga-kas from the '70s golden period directly mention her as an influence. She fought to include romance -- now the essential element in girls' manga -- in her works back when such topics were deemed inappropriate by male editors.

Mizuno's repertoire was vast: she wrote mangas about little girls and their poneys, magic adventures, and romcoms based on Audrey Hepburn's movies, and she drew the first sex scene in a shoujo manga. The manga in question was "Fire," a teen-targeted manga featuring a rebellious American rocker, which broke new ground by having a male character as its focal point. Alongside other notable female artists from the '60s, Mizuno laid the groundwork for the '70s shoujo explosion, during which girls' comics took center stage.

In 1960's "Hoshi no Tategoto" (left,) Hideko Mizuno created the first shoujo love story. Serialized in Weekly Margaret between 1964 and 65, "Shiroi Troika," set during the Russian Revolution, was the first historical shoujo manga.

A contributing factor to this "golden period" was the emergence of several shoujo mangas as unstoppable hits, selling millions of copies and becoming cultural phenomena. These titles, considered masterpieces, continue to be read and known by multiple generations.

The BeruBara Boom

"Attack No. 1"'s success spread far and wide, forcing Japanese society to take note of the potential of the shoujo segment. Right after this historic success, Shueisha's Weekly Margaret hit the jackpot once again with another epoch-defining manga hit, Ryoko Ikeda's "The Rose of Versailles," which debuted in 1972. Set in the years preceding and during the French Revolution, it weaved together historical figures like Marie Antoinette and fictional ones, like the iconic Lady Oscar, a handsome noblewoman raised as a boy to succeed her father as the commander of the Royal Guard at the Palace of Versailles.

The first volume of the original comic had Marie Antoinette on the cover as Margaret's editors believed she'd be the favorite character. However, the androgynous Lady Oscar turned into a fan fave and the absolute star of the series, which is reflected on the cover of most rereleases since then, including the 2013 bunko version seen above.

When talking about shoujo manga classics from the '70s that are familiar to everyone in Japan, "Rose of Versailles" is probably the first name that comes to mind. It was a hit that really defined the era and impacted the country as a whole. While Marie Antoinette is seen around the world as a tragic, out-of-touch figure, in Japan, many women and girls see her as an aspirational historical fashion icon. While Sofia Coppola's 2006 film "Marie Antoinette" solidified this among younger generations, it was Ikeda's gentle portrait that made her a character loved by so many across all age groups.

When conceptualizing the story, Ikeda was heavily inspired by Stefan Zweig's "Marie Antoinette: The Portrait of an Average Woman," which she read while in high school. Once in college, in the late '60s, she, like millions of others, was heavily involved with the Marxist student movements. These references led to a historical romance that touched on heavy and revolutionary themes, which was atypical for a shoujo manga, a segment that, back then, was primarily catered to elementary school-aged girls.

Because of its unorthodox concept, Margaret's editors were unsure about the series. But right from the start, "BeruBara" (derived from the original Japanese title, "Berusaiyu no Bara"), serialized between 1972 and 1973, was an explosive hit, quickly turning into Weekly Margaret's most popular series. It was compiled in 10 tankobon volumes published, which sold tens of millions of copies. In fact, according to some stats, it is the best-selling '70s manga across all genres in total sales.

In 1974, after the original manga had finished its serialization, Takarazuka Revue, an all-female theatrical troupe, announced a stage adaptation of the story.

Posters of the first three Takarazuka adaptations, from between 1974 and 1975. Since then, the Revue has adapted the manga 11 times, with a new run scheduled for 2024.

The Revue was established in 1913 by the owner of Kansai's leading railway company, Hankyu, to boost tourism to the city of Takarazuka, his line's last stop. It was a huge success, and soon, the group had its own luxurious theater as well as its very exclusive academy where young ladies underwent an arduous audition process to become Takaraziennes. In 1934, a second Takarazuka theater opened in Tokyo.

However, in the early 1970s, Takarazuka faced stagnation, with declining ticket sales attributed to the growing popularity of alternative entertainment forms such as cinema and television.

In 1973, Shinji Ueda, who had risen through the Takarazuka ranks as a director, made his debut as a playwriter in the company with a musical based on ancient Japanese history. While thinking about his next project, he decided to check out a manga popular with some Takarazuka fans, "Rose of Versailles," and he quickly realized it was the perfect theme for an adaptation. Lady Oscar, who had lady-like features but was also as handsome as a man, was the embodiment of the male role-playing Takaraziennes. Ueda reached out to Ryoko Ikeda, who, as an admirer of the troupe, quickly granted the rights.

But Ikeda and Ueda's excitement wasn't shared by many. Most of the Takarazuka team were skeptical about a play inspired by something as vulgar as a manga. Fans of the original were also highly protective of its characters and entirely against a live adaptation.

Amid this climate of distrust, the play opened at the end of August 1974 at the Takarazuka Grand Theater. The reaction after the first night was extremely positive. Soon, Takarazuka's "Rose of Versailles" was the hottest ticket in all of Japan, with the press breathlessly covering the "BeruBara boom" that led thousands of people to stand hours in line to get tickets to the coveted performances in Kansai and Tokyo. Ikeda herself was shocked by the media phenomenon when she returned from an overseas trip and had hundreds of reporters awaiting her at the airport.

A statue of Lady Oscar and Andre surrounded by rose bushes sits outside the Takarazuka Grand Theater in Hyogo, Japan.

The "BeruBara" media sensation single-handedly reversed Takarazuka's fortunes, leading to record-shattering ticket sales for the company. The Takarazuka Academy, which had seen declining applicants, suddenly became highly sought-after again, originating the saying "Todai in the East, Takarazuka in the West," comparing it to Tokyo University, the most prestigious university in Japan. The phrase underscored the desirability and prestige associated with a position at the troupe.

Ultimately, the success of "The Rose of Versailles" propelled Takarazuka back to the pinnacle of the entertainment industry, a position it maintains to this day. The brand continues to hold great esteem among women of all ages in Japan, with Takarazuka's stage adaptations, derived from Broadway musicals, movies, novels, and shoujo manga, consistently selling out. Notably, various adaptations of "BeruBara" have collectively sold over 5 million tickets since 1974.

Following the manga and Takarazuka adaptation's explosive success, the anime debuted in 1979. While the anime received acclaim, Ikeda herself was not entirely satisfied, mainly due to the treatment of her favorite character, Andre, who played a significant role in the manga but had a minor presence in the animated version, which focused almost entirely on the manga's most popular character, Lady Oscar.

In 2013, celebrating Margaret's 50th anniversary, new special chapters of "BeruBara" were published. The first new story in 40 years resulted in Margaret magazine selling out across the country.

"BeruBara" remains a prominent franchise in Japan, spawning numerous licensed products, sequels, and spin-offs. Ryoko Ikeda, known for other successful series, continues to garner widespread respect and media attention. However, while almost everything related to "The Rose of Versailles" turned into a hit, there was an exception.

In March 1979, a few months before the anime premiere, a live-action film adaptation debuted with great fanfare. Fittingly for such a hot property, the movie was one of the most ambitious productions in Japanese cinema, with a substantial 1 billion yen budget.

The Palace of Versailles granted permission to shoot in its interior. The filming was in English, with a European cast. The project was helmed by France's hottest movie director, Jacques Demy. Demy wasn't respected only in the West but also in Japan, where his two most important films, "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" (1964) and "The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967)," were also hits. In fact, to this day, both flicks remain popular among trend-conscious Japanese as examples of stylish oshare movies that fully capture aspirational girls' culture (alongside, among others, Sofia Coppola's "Marie Antoinette"). Demy, the mind behind dreamy, girly movies, seemed like the perfect choice to turn this blockbuster shoujo classic into a live-action film.

The movie had the backing of three gigantic domestic corporations: Toho, the leading Japanese movie distributor; Nihon Terebi (NTV), one of the main TV stations; and cosmetic giant Shiseido. NTV and Shiseido made sure the movie had one of the most extensive marketing campaigns Japan had ever witnessed. The TV station aired specials and segments on this grand production. Meanwhile, Shiseido made the star of the movie -- British actress Catriona McCall, who played Oscar -- the face of its spring campaign, promoting its new Red Rose lipstick. Catriona was plastered on billboards across the country, made media and department store appearances, and starred in luxurious TV spots.

On the left, Lady Oscar and Marie Antoinette adorn the cover of Margaret in 2016, over 40 years after the end of the original serialization. On the right, Oscar models Dolce & Gabanna new collection for high-end fashion magazine Spur in 2014, celebrating 40 years of the conclusion of the original manga.

Back then, Kanebo, the second biggest local cosmetic company, was in fierce competition with Shiseido. TV ads from both companies had a tremendous impact, propelling singles to the top of the charts, and there was a battle on which commercial would feature the biggest hit. But, in the spring of 79, the focus of the fight changed. As a response to the Catriona "Rose of Versailles" campaign, Kanebo also hired a British beauty, actress Olivia Hussey, and launched a "Super Rose lipstick" with the tagline "You are more beautiful than a rose." The cosmetics war was another proof of the chokehold "The Rose of Versailles" had in the decade.

But when the movie finally premiered, it was a flop. Critics hated it, and Japanese fans thought the adaptation was weak and lacked impact. Catriona, in particular, was criticized for not conveying Oscar's androgynous charm, which perfectly balanced masculinity and femininity. With the well-received anime premiering just a few months later, the expensive movie adaptation ended up being outshone and forgotten. It became only a costly footnote in the manga's history.

An exhibition in Tokyo celebrates 50 years of BeruBara in 2022.

(It's worth noting that Kanebo clearly won the CM war. While the Shiseido co-produced "Rose of Versaille" feature film flopped, the "You Are More Beautiful than a Rose" song Kanebo commissioned from singer Akira Fuse became a considerable hit).

Movie aside, "The Rose of Versailles" is one of Japan's most beloved comics. From its debut in 1971 to its film and anime adaptation in 1979, it remained front and center in the country's mind throughout the whole decade. Its impact was felt in different fields, from the cosmetic business to the publishing business, from live theater to TV. It also forever changed how shoujo manga was perceived and remains one of the country's most beloved properties.

Ace-Scoring Manga

The 1970s marked a turning point for shoujo manga, as it began to gain recognition beyond its traditional audience, propelled not just by critical acclaim but by commercial success. The era witnessed the emergence of several blockbusters that captured the public's imagination. Notable among them were Yoko Shoji's "Seito Shokun," a tale centered on the daily exploits of a mischievous high-schooler, and Waki Yamato's "Haikara-san ga Tooru," a love story set in the Meiji period featuring a tomboy with a lady-like demeanor. These manga were significant hits during their publication in Kodansha's Shoujo Friends, becoming best-selling titles with tens of millions of copies sold.

Some shoujo classics from the '70s are still in publication today, appealing to a diverse readership spanning multiple generations. Suzue Michi's "Glass Mask," serialized in Hana to Yume since 1976, remains a cultural phenomenon with 49 tankobon volumes, over 55 million copies sold, an anime adaptation, a live-action drama, and a stage play. Similarly, Chieko Hosokawa's "Crest of the Royal Family," chronicling the adventures of a young American girl transported to ancient Egypt, has been a consistent presence in Princess magazine since 1976, boasting 69 volumes and over 45 million copies sold to date.

But, when talking about definitive shoujo classics from the '70s, titles that were historical successes, influenced everything going forward, and are known by everyone, three titles come to mind. We already explored one of these, "The Rose of Versailles." One of the other three is "Ace wo Nerae."

Following the monumental success of "Attack No. 1," the prospects of another shoujo sports manga achieving similar heights of popularity seemed improbable. However, Weekly Margaret defied expectations once more in 1973 with the release of Suzumika Yamamoto's "Ace wo Nerae" ("Aim for the Ace"), a compelling narrative focused on tennis that swiftly captured the nation's attention.

Japan and tennis already had some prior history. The first Japanese Olympic medalist was a tennis player, Ichy Kumagae, in 1920. Emperor Akihito met his commoner wife, Michiko, at a tennis match, and they initially bonded over their love for the sport. But, in the 70s, the country was taken over by an unprecedented tennis boom. At high schools across the nation, tennis became the most popular after-school activity. Fashion magazines like JJ and Popeye dedicated pages and pages to "tennis fashion." At the same time, trendy young adults decked in clothes from sports brands populated Shibuya and other stylish districts in Tokyo.

There were several contributors to the tennis boom. But the remarkable success of "Ace wo Nerae," which first conquered girls before dominating the nation, played a part in it.

The manga follows the journey of Hiromi Oka, a high school student initially plagued by insecurities but propelled into the world of tennis through the encouragement of her coach. "Ace wo Nerae" portrays her growth from a hesitant newcomer to a world-class tennis player, navigating challenges and discovering hidden potential along the way.

From left to right: Madame Butterfly, lead character Hiromi Oka and coach Jin Murakata as depicted in the anime. Madame Butterfly, a wealthy teen girl who is gentle and a world-class tennis player, is a fan favorite character.

In 1973, "Ace wo Nerae" was adapted into an anime. Despite initial modest ratings, the anime gained popularity through reruns. Encouraged by this, NTV decided to remake the cartoon. The second adaptation, which debuted in 1978, was an immediate hit. Concurrently, Weekly Margaret revived the manga series, which, after being first finalized in 1975, ran again from 1978 to 1980, spanning a total of 18 volumes.

Since "Ace wo Nerae," several hit mangas focused on tennis -- both shoujo and shonen -- were published. But, thanks to the success of its anime and the intragenerational support for the manga, the original work by Suzumika Yamamoto is still considered one of the defining and most beloved works about the sport. Its role in propelling tennis culture as part of the oshare youth culture of the '70s also defines its impact.

Japan Wants Candy

Following the monumental multimedia success of "The Rose of Versailles" and "Ace wo Nerae," the third shoujo sensation of the '70s is "Candy Candy."

Initially published in Nakayoshi, the story started taking shape when editors at the magazine sought a work of literary excellence akin to beloved classics popular among girls, like "Heidi" and "Anne of Green Gables." They enlisted Keiko Nagita, writing under the pen name Kyoko Mizuki, and paired her with one of the magazine's most famous artists, Yumiko Igarashi. The collaborative effort resulted in the creation of "Candy Candy," centered around an American, blond, blue-eyed orphan named Candice "Candy" White Ardlay.

"Candy Candy" epitomized various shoujo directions prevalent in the '70s. The protagonist, a white girl with lustrous blonde hair, embodied the fascination with Western culture during a time when Japanese youth held a keen interest in Europe and the United States. The manga's narrative style, characterized by its dramatic tone and plot twists, also aligned with the prevalent storytelling preferences of the era.

Candy Candy was such a resounding success that it became the first manga to achieve an initial print run of over 1 million copies of one of its paperback compilations.

Debuting in 1975, "Candy Candy" swiftly captured the hearts of Nakayoshi's readers, leading to unprecedented success. The subsequent anime adaptation by Toei in the following year propelled the franchise into the realm of a cultural phenomenon, sending manga tankobon sales skyrocketing. The seventh volume of the "Candy Candy" compiled paperback reportedly became the first Japanese manga to achieve an initial print run of over 1 million copies. Additionally, Nakayoshi's sales surged, surpassing those of its historical rival, Shueisha's Ribon, for the first (and only) time.

The adventures of young Candy were also licensing gold. With over 100 licensed products, the "Candy Candy" doll alone sold 2 million units, solidifying Bandai's position as Japan's premier toymaker, a status it continues to uphold to this day. The resounding success of "Candy Candy" forged a lasting alliance between Kodansha's Nakayoshi, Toei Animation, and toymaker Bandai, which led to the iconic "Sailor Moon" franchise in the 1990s.

While "Candy Candy" concluded its run in 1979, its appeal extended far beyond its original target demographic of very young girls, captivating kids, teenagers, and adults alike, thus contributing significantly to the manga and anime's widespread acclaim and enduring popularity.

However, a protracted legal dispute between Igarashi and Nagita has prevented the commercialization of any "Candy Candy" related products since the late 1990s, including reprints of the manga and re-broadcasting of the anime. The lawsuit arose from Igarashi's unauthorized licensing of merchandise based on the franchise, falsely asserting sole ownership of the copyright. Although Igarashi was initially credited as the lead artist in Nakayoshi during the manga's publication, the court ultimately ruled in Nagita's favor, emphasizing that Igarashi's artistic foundation was built upon Nagita's written work.

A collection of "Candy Candy" freebies offered by Nakayoshi magazine in the '70s. During the publication of the series, Nakayoshi would eclipse Ribon's sales for the one and only time in its history, (image credit)

Consequently, any commercial exploitation of Yumiko Igarashi's "Candy Candy" artwork necessitates the approval of both Igarashi and Nagita, a challenging prospect given the existing feud. Nagita, on the other hand, can profit from "Candy Candy" as long as she doesn't include any illustrations, which allowed her to release a book sequel in 2010. However, due to the dispute, one of the most beloved works in Japanese manga history is currently out of print. The lawsuit also blocks the anime from being aired or distributed. But, despite the almost two-decades-long media ban, "Candy Candy" remains widely known and beloved across Japan, a testament to its staying power.

While smash hits like "Candy Candy," "Ace wo Nerae," "Rose of Versailles," "Seito Shokun," "Hikara-san ga Tooru," and "Glass Mask," among others were key pieces into shoujo finally earning the respect it deserved, the rise of a revolutionary group of artists during the '70s was another critical element in shoujo's rise: the Year of 24 Group.

Part 2

#1970s japan #1970s #vintage shoujo #shoujo manga #lady oscar #rose of versailles #ace wo nerae #candy candy

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