Received and multiplied
And so when this letter reaches you, it’s already my seventh attempt to recount how an anime with acute psychological themes caused a storm in my inner world. Aoi Bungaku Series, on paper, is a twelve-episode anime featuring adaptations inspired by six short stories from Japanese literature, but in honesty, just the first story alone led me to a string of sleepless nights.
I discovered this anime the same way I’ve chosen films to watch in recent years: by chance while browsing Pinterest. There, a stunning polaroid poster caught my eye. A slender painter with a noose around his neck reaching out to a black, inhuman monster, who is coming to life from within the canvas. The painting was done with messy watercolors. A dazzling yellow light shone directly on the painter and the demon; I didn’t know what it meant, but I was hooked.
The poster signaled to me that this show dealt with depression, and being sensitive as I am, I prepared myself mentally before watching. It was insufficient, as it turned out. Psychological distress is persistent; it keeps recurring even when you think your life is going well. And sometimes, it’s very simple for the monster — the embodiment of mental illness — to find its way back to you. Loosely adapted from Dazai Osamu‘s novel No Longer Human, and also inspired by the author’s own life, the first four episodes of the Aoi Bungaku Series explored a young artist’s life through his fleeting romances with women and his enduring relationship with the demon within. I saw quite a lot of myself reflected in it. And although I was no longer in the same dark place as the protagonist, I felt very clearly the presence of my own black monster sitting in my lap, watching the show with a heavy heart. We had silent conversations throughout the film, and continued through bedtime, until the mornings of many days afterward.
The later pieces in the show didn’t haunt me as much as No Longer Human, but they were still weighty enough to prolong my white nights. Ah! That look! I can see you’re giving me that look, follow by a fantastic question whether there is anything worth loosing sleep for. I am, and forever will be, grateful that you care about my health like that. But it’s something that can’t be helped, I’m afraid. I’ve always been sensitive to these kinds of signals, and with age, insomnia is more of a frequent company than an occasional guest.
The truth is, I had been staying away from stories like these, knowing full well how easily I was influenced. Maybe I was not cut for this, I thought. But I see now that avoiding discomfort only intensified my belief that something was missing. Human heart needs pain to learn about happiness, and through suffering one can find contentment.
Did I find contentment after spending so long tossing and turning in bed? Sort of. Because this isn’t the kind of sleeplessness I get from running away from the monster, but rather we have so much to mend, and that requires time.
And for the series, I’m glad I watched it. Six adapted stories; the content itself is evocative, but the way studio Madhouse tells those stories makes it even easier for them to earn a rightful place in your heart.