UlasanAnime.com – This blog post, while not directly about Portal or 50 Cent despite a curious mention of a “nude crane kick,” delves into the nature of disposable entertainment, particularly within the realm of anime and light novels.
The author shares an ongoing endeavor of reading English-language light novels that have inspired anime adaptations, citing examples like Scrapped Princess, Full Metal Panic, and Twelve Kingdoms. They also express interest in exploring the reverse by reading books by Makoto Shinkai. This practice has led to a realization about a specific category of literature: “disposable light novels.”
Unlike serialized stories in magazines, these light novels strike the author as having little lasting value. Even popular works like Full Metal Panic, while not inherently bad, are likened to manga that lacks “keep value.” The analogy is drawn to recommending a movie as a “rental” rather than a must-see, implying a similar transient appeal. This disposable nature is compared to science fiction novels from the author’s youth, but on a much smaller scale, akin to a 20-minute TV show rather than a feature-length film.
This observation connects to a broader discussion about the anime industry’s challenges, particularly the direct-to-home-video distribution model prevalent in the US. The need to categorize anime as content worthy of permanent home collection, due to this distribution method, is highlighted. The author suggests that efforts to air anime on television and the availability through services like Netflix and Blockbuster were beneficial for American anime fans, and that cheaper, online distribution might mitigate some of the industry’s issues.
The author elaborates on the home video market’s growth post-1999, noting how American TV shows generated more revenue from DVD sales than initial broadcast rights. This success was driven by mainstream appeal and public interest, making purchases like a $20 season of “24” a more convenient option than time-shifting. Similarly, anime was bought due to its quality and the curiosity it sparked. While fads played a role, various external influences later made purchasing anime more challenging due to shifting retail and economic conditions.
The core point of this reflection is the distinction the author makes between media that is worth remembering years down the line and that which is not. In light of “timeless literary classics,” the author categorizes a significant portion of anime, manga, and similar media into the former group – those not worth remembering.
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This leads to a more critical question: why do some seemingly “nonsense” content sell while others don’t? The author ponders if it’s all a “lie,” with some lies being more palatable than others.
Perhaps, the author suggests, anime’s promises aren’t what we perceive them to be. It might not even be outright deception. Yet, people are drawn to new shows, regardless of quality, much like a “fat kid flocks to a cake store.” However, the cake is meant to be seen or eaten, not both, implying a disconnect between consumption and appreciation.
The issue, therefore, isn’t necessarily the abundance of “non-A” ranked shows, but rather how they are consumed. Light novels, for instance, are intended as casual reads for commutes, not as heirlooms for an antique book collection. While enjoying a B-rated show with friends on a Friday night is acceptable, marketing it beyond that scope could be considered a form of deception, or perhaps self-deception.
The author concludes by acknowledging that this sentiment might apply to many of their own favorite works. The “test of time” will reveal whether the “cake is a lie,” or if a revelation will lead to a change in consumption habits. In the meantime, the author intends to continue enjoying their “fake cake” as it is.
