Apr 2, 2022
The art is absolutely beautiful in this manga. Not only does it capture the intricate geography of Hiroshima, but it also captures the intricacies of the LGBTQI+ community as well. The complexity of existing, coming out, and living as a person of that group is never as two-dimensional as so often media tries to make it seem. It is expertly portrayed in Shimanami Tasogare, which is especially refreshing, considering that the vast majority of “gay” manga seeks to fetishize and demean its subjects by sexualizing them through the gaze of lascivious heterosexuals.
Tasuku-kun is himself a deeply flawed character and goes through various stages of
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trying to come to terms with himself and those around him. He learns that sometimes-pushing people into doing things that they aren’t ready for isn’t necessarily caring for them. From there, he tries to explore the idea embodied in the axiom “silence is golden,” deciding whether it is really worthwhile stirring the pot. The author’s position on this axiom is equally as unclear, as there are various contexts in which we see that it can be both selfless and self-serving to do so. In the face of explicit homophobia, it may be more appropriate to speak-up and be an ally. For someone who is simply trying to live “normally” in their day-to-day, pity can be almost cruel. Ultimately, wrestling with the axiom of “silence is golden,” Tasuku-kun comes to the realization that however painful stirring the pot may be sometimes, silence demands to be broken. The memories and land that we share with one another demand it.
We are also given a character who is clearly at odds with themselves over their sexuality, the typical repressed homosexual. Ironically, in them is perhaps the most pitiable creature. One could juxtapose them against another character, Utsumi-kun, who is relatively at ease with themselves, but for the misguided pity of others. The repressed homosexual becomes increasingly erratic and uneasy as a result of their inner conflict. It was with their character that Someone-san, the owner of the local drop-in center and a sort of detached confident for the characters, really became interesting to me.
Someone-san is almost like a mirror, and less of an actual character in their own right. Nearing the end of the story, they do become more defined, but even then, they remain intangible in so many respects. Initially any question that is posed to them gets turned around back on the asker, and at the very best they offer ‘possibilities’ instead of concrete answers. While Someone-san does have their own identity, I think in many respects their character comes to represent the ephemeral concept of identity. Through them the reader is supposed to try and address what purpose and role identity really has to a person. Tasuku’s sexuality is only one aspect of who he is, yet it is part of structure that would not be complete without it. There aren’t any straight forward answers provided in this, however I think that we are given a sense that identity is both unknowable, even by its owner, and impossible to discard.
The various story threads come to a satisfying resolution in the end, though we are reminded of the ever-present encroachment of society's hatred. In one sense, we are given a joyful ending with the celebration of a couple's love. In another, we are given a sorrowful one with the resolution of another couple's love. And finally, we are given the youthful possibility of a blossoming love. In the face of hatred and pain, all any of us can do is stand tall and remember that our heart's, no matter how bruised, are right to find peace in the love we feel. Anyone who tries to say differently is mistaken. I sincerely wish there were more manga like Shimanami Tasogare. A great, great manga.
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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