Soredemo Machi wa Mawatteiru
SoreMachi: And Yet the Town Moves

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There's only a couple of comedy manga that really captured the feel of "comedy". In terms of manga related to the genre of comedy, you are most likely to think about simple fresh comedy that doesn't get lost in translations like Azumanga Daioh or the rarely story-based comedy like Gintama, that is somehow able to be funny through all the translations' problem. So what's my point? Thing is, SoreMachi never comes up in any of the conversation, even though I argue it was also of the great comedy manga of its time.

When you start reading, you won't expect nor get any continuous story. From ... the very start, the author decided that each SoreMachi chapters will differ in point of time; there will be chapters that happens after the next chapter and vice versa. Sure, the character is interesting at best, but that's the main appeal of comedy. If you don't get goofy, fun, enjoyable character; you can't call it good comedy. Halfhearted written characters will go down the drain as something that merely exists and nobody will even care about them. SoreMachi is exactly that. You exactly get your goofy, weird, and colorful characters. When you're reading, maybe you see the random plot as something generic or nothing special, but somehow you just want to keep reading. You read, you read, you read, and the character is able to pull you towards them, getting you to turn each page and force your straight lips to bend on its own. I rarely get the feeling where you just want to read more, but have to hold back because you don't want this feeling to end.

The best slice-of-life makes you feel the emotion of the characters, and with such absurd moments happening in between chapters; you can still feel those emotions. Friendship and character interactions are all fleshed out, delivered in a warm way and never really devolves into something drama-like, heavy, or forced.

Unfortunately, in the last volume, Ishiguro-sensei somehow forgot that Hotori's attachment to her town is the main focus of the entire series. The thing with Futaba was sweet and heartwarming, but I have to admit the half-assed ending could've been turned into something special. Well, it's a comedy manga after all! Nothing you can do about it!

It's a light-hearted comedy with joyful and characters written by someone that is enthusiastic about his work, you don't get those in this day and age. Read SoreMachi and you will not regret it. Read it.

Soremachi is a manga I find myself coming back to every few years. Why? It's a comedic slice of life told in non-linear format, jumping all over Hotori's 3-year high school timeline, but that doesn't sound particularly interesting. However upon each re-read, I am drawn in by the richness of the world that is Soremachi, and hypnotized by the unique storytelling. I would say the manga hits the ground running, but the episodic plots never get exciting enough to be called fast-paced. Instead, what I mean is that due to the non-linear structure, Ishiguro wastes no time with introductions and starts as if we already ... have several volumes worth of familiarity with the characters. In lieu of standard introductions, we jump immediately to their character-defining episode. Instead of waiting for another opportunity to return and develop a side character further, we skip the predictable formalities and right to the funny -and believable- tomfoolery they engage in with Hotori. Although this feels like cheating, it works, in no small part thanks to the copious omake in between chapters, adding humorous context, continuity to character personalities, giving closure, and greasing the clutch as gears are shifted. Ishiguro goes above and beyond with the extras, adding classroom roster lists, made up alien language substitution ciphers, character trivia and notes, effortlessly immersing readers with lore and revealing how much of Soremachi was pre-developed from the start. Much like Hotori's persona, Soremachi is so charming and charismatic that it eases in right next to you without you realizing. Coupled with the non-linear episodes, reading it is like getting cozy while listening to a family friend regale you with stories from their childhood. The stories are frankly, forgettable, but they are associated with warm feelings and this demerit actually becomes a merit when you want to read it again.

Hotori's appetite for mystery provides ample opportunity for episodes to be told, excuses the supernatural, spooky events, and also ties together running plot lines spanning the first to the last volume. It's a great fit all around, and sets the bar for how ambitious the story is to be. The overarching "concern," if we can call it that, of Soremachi is how Hotori will turn out, being a klutz who worries everyone around her. However, due to the described structure, it's not a coming-of-age story. Instead, what we get is a medley of situations when Hotori is the fool, when she is competent and mature, and a majority of when she's in between the two. It's not clear how she changes- she just gradually reduces the number of really dumb mistakes she makes, like chopping up a gifted $1000 fountain pen because she wanted to attach a magnifying glass to a pen. This approach makes resolution a bit boring, but the upside to this is that Soremachi doesn't overstay its welcome and can afford to dedicate the entire last volume, 16, as an epilogue for all its secondary characters, something exceedingly rare. As mentioned, Soremachi's pacing is deliberate and reassuringly consistent, so even the epilogues feel natural, everyday, and merely good notes to end on. Overall the manga's value proposition offers moderate highs and virtually no lows, and so if this kind of story is up your alley, then you get to enjoy a singularly smooth ride beginning to end.

Like standing next to a hot oven after coming in from a cold, damp day, SoreMachi: And Yet The Town Moves is soothing wonder. It's a timeless must-read manga that deserves far better than it has gotten in the west.

While many slice of life manga fixate themselves on the daily routine of ordinary people, SoreMachi concerns itself with the extraordinary—and maintains an obsession not just with relationships, but with the invisible glue that binds together the balance of human interaction.

SoreMachi features an ensemble cast, that gradually unfurls itself as the chapters go by. Friends, townsfolk, teachers—not to mention a dash of the supernatural—fill the world, ... beautifully realized by the talented Masakazu Ishiguro ("Heavenly Delusion"). At the center of its ambitious cast is the lovable Hotori Arashiyama, who is clutzy and airheaded—but never stupid—and movingly ambitious. Impressively, both in design and personality, every character is amazingly distinct. Ishiguro draws round faces with big expressions, bigger mouths and even bigger hearts. Love triangles form, friendships falter, and the town changes at the whim of its residents.

Seeping through the lines of the comic cell borders is an occasional air of mystery and unknown. One chapter involves a ray-gun from an alien civilization; another tackles the the misadventures of a character's pursuit of a mystery sweet left behind by a time traveler from the future. Ishiguro portrays these themes with a dreamlike quality that challenges the reality and canon of the world he creates. It's left ambiguous whether such events really occurred, and the lines between truth and fiction within its word are frequently left blurry. Perhaps it's all just in Hotori's head? Or perhaps that's what *they* want you to think...

Time is both the least and most important element of SoreMachi. While there is a canonical timeline of events, the manga is presented achronologically. Chapters flow continuously into the next at times, while others cut back and forth across the story. In one chapter, Hotori has a haircut go wrong, leading to her cutting her hair short; a moment whose butterfly effect ripples through the space-time (by which, I mean, paper) of the rest of the manga. The progression in SoreMachi, then, doesn't necessarily materialize within the characters so much as it does in the understanding the reader has *of* the characters and the relations between them. Is Hotori a better person at the end of everything? Sure. Does Kon open up as the manga progresses? Absolutely. But the true genius here is the way in which it compels the reader to understand and appreciate different people, their perspectives, what makes them tick, their mannerisms and worldviews. In a polarizing age where hate dominates so much of human discourse, this resonated with me in a profound way.

This ties into Ishiguro's remarks in the afterword of the first volume. In it, he talks about how through his work he aimed to write a "textbook on communication," with the manga is largely based on his own experiences moving to a new part of Tokyo. After just ten chapters, SoreMachi earns the right to call itself a textbook, but perhaps more fascinatingly stays consistently relevant a hundred chapters later—which is over ten years in publishing time. Being released over the epoch (2005-2016) of society's digital upheaval, I found myself in awe at how I never felt it dated like so many of its contemporaries. I feel like this is a work you could read at any age and get something different out of it. In this regard, it's less of a textbook and more of a bible.

SoreMachi ends just as thoughtfully as it begins. It leaves you little empty. It makes you smile a little. It makes you cry a little. It's not overly conclusive, necessarily dramatic, or overwhelmingly loud even. But it's there, and those last few pages will live with me for a long time.

In summary: Rarely a page was turned without me having to correct the smile that had formed between each of my ears to ward off strange looks from others in public. In a way, I think that element of wariness about people judging me for a smile sort of represents this manga perfectly; it's confusing underappreciation in the west could be attributed to poor luck with licensors, but ultimately I think it's case of people rolling their eyes.

Whether just a hundred or a billion people have read SoreMachi, though, doesn't ultimately matter; the manga is brilliant all the same. It's a cult classic, just without the cult. Even so, the town moves—and I hope the passage of time treats these words as kindly as it has to Ishiguro's quiet masterpiece. Maid-o.