Dangerous Dreams
I was a consummate daydreamer when I was younger, fueled by a steady diet of speculative fiction and strictly enforced early bedtimes which left me with nothing else to do but imagine myself somewhere else other than awake in bed. My favourite fantasies were international spy with an array of high technology gadgets and fantasy warrior with enchanted greaves and vambraces. I would enter these worlds when I slept, transported through a tunnel in my room and an enchanted talisman respectively. These have diminished throughout the years, giving way to post-apocalyptic survival scenarios and delusions of becoming a writer.
Though more gratifying forms of entertainment and management of my own bedtime have largely supplanted the need for daydreams, I sometimes still resort to a nice reverie on the days when I don’t fall sleep immediately after lying down. As always, these have been nothing more than a sleeping aid, or something to fill otherwise empty time. Though my mind paints wonderfully, I’d still rather read it in a book, watch it in a movie, or view it in a manga.
For all of my teenage years (and in retrospect, only up until my teenage years), I spent a non-trivial amount of time reading manga. I’ve read them all, the old, the artsy, and the popular. I still regard manga as the best medium for stories of angst, bildungsroman, and settling disputes through physical combat in addition to being a very serviceable medium for humour, horror, and science fiction. With nothing to do during the lockdown, I’ve found some solace in reading manga, leaning towards mostly newer works since I felt that I’ve exhausted most of the classical cannon.
While perusing bestseller lists and recommendations, I started noticing a surge in popularity of a genre that I had previously dismissed as a niche subcategory: the isekai manga.
The basic trappings of the isekai genre aren’t worth much analysis: it’s simply any story that involves the protagonist stumbling into another world, parallel, virtual, or magical, and chronicles their adventures there. Consequently, it can be science fiction, fantasy, horror, or post-apocalyptic, but almost always speculative. In the Western tradition, it’s been largely fantastical, recalling works in the last couple of centuries like Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and The Chronicles of Narnia, though recently isekai derivative works like Tron have also cropped up in science fiction.
Within the context of manga/anime/visual novel, isekai has been well developed, from works with a larger impact on the cultural landscape like Innuyasha and Digimon, to works with more attention to story and art such as Spirited Away and Ima, Soko ni Iru Boku. These all employ a similar expository plot device to place a protagonist that the reader can relate to in a wildly speculative setting. Most references to the real world thereafter are removed until the protagonist returns, if they do at all.
Consequently, isekai has never caught my attention. At best, it was an interesting plot device to create an authentic and relatable protagonist, at worst it was lazy exposition. What has turned it into a genre then, are the wave of new works that leverage isekai not merely for exposition but for the allure of the story, placing the reader squarely within the shoes of the protagonist, and capitalizing on this fantasy fulfillment.
As far as I was aware, Sword Art Online, sometimes abbreviated to SAO, was the first to exploit this formula, with an anime inspired by the novels debuting in 2012. SAO features a present-day protagonist trapped in a video game that he must win to exit, or die trying. The protagonist starts off as a lone wolf who is superior to other players owing to his skill at video games and beta tester status. He eventually meets several friends, virtually marries a girl, and clears the game. The success of its original run spawned countless sequels and established market interest in the genre.
Though rudimentary, it’s par for the course to those familiar to shōnen troupes or the hero’s journey in general: boy (more often than not) goes on quest, boy meets friends (including, more often then not, a love interest), increases their abilities, defeats the final foe, and celebrates with his newfound allies.
One peculiarity of most new isekai works however, is that the protagonist starts as a nobody in present day society. They could be a salaryman, a neet, or simply an unremarkable middle-of-the-pack student, devoid of most identifying physical and personality traits, and usually male. When they become transported into the alternate world however, they become somebody. They are immediately and impressively superior to their peers, usually attributed to accumulated talent at video games when explained at all.
Though protagonists without special abilities are much preferred, like Han Solo, Ash Ketchum, or Frodo, there are at least equally as many protagonists who are born special: Luke was a Skywalker, Naruto had a nine-tailed fox sealed inside of him, and Aragon is heir of Isildur, King of Gondor. The difference is the element of sacrifice and travail within the journey of well-written stories. Despite whatever innate talents and abilities they may have, their success is predicated their hard work or values. This is what allows them to succeed where their fathers and forefathers with similar strengths have failed, and allows the story to impart inspiring lessons.
By contrast, the modern isekai employs a relatable protagonist to start, onto which the reader can project themselves. After the exposition, the protagonist/reader starts becoming powerful, not because of decisions made or lessons learned, but because of innate talents or video game ability. Though there are physical pains and consequences, choices do not usually result in hard compromises with a loss on either side. This way, the protagonist/reader isn’t only the Chosen One, but also incorruptible and invincible.
Though these manga would generally read about as well as a Superman comic, their readers aren’t bored by the existence of a Kryptonian-American paradigm because the readers are Superman. They just need to be trapped in a video game, sucked back to the feudal ages maintaining their modern knowledge, or transported into a fantasy world where only they can save the Precious Pearl Princess from the Dastardly Demon Duke. Well, who wouldn’t want to read about that?
This already lacking isekai genre is now being replicated in Korean manhwa, and to a lesser extent Chinese manhua, replacing character trait progression arcs with character power development arcs. Though the world-building and art are satisfactory, the plot and character development are often more than inadequate and uninspired: they’re usually completely missing.
These comics, for lack of an overarching term, are selling their audiences simple fantasy fulfillment. Escapism, no better than schoolboy daydreams or my childhood fantasies, from a mundane life to one that triggers some primitive satisfaction. Though I’m too pretentious to let myself enjoy this sort of entertainment, I’m not deriding those that do. But the intriguing theme hidden in this is why people relish these comics.
It doesn’t take a psychologist to draw the conclusion that it’s because readers desperately crave something different from their existence, which they view as both invariable and unpleasant. These comics are a panacea from their reality, an alternate reality where they can obtain the status that they know they deserve, as well as meaningful relationships with people, both romantic and platonic.
Though admittedly a tad euro/americentric, this interpretation is supported by the provenance of these comics: pioneered in Japan, the first to be industrialized and populated by overworked salarymen, followed by Korea and China, teeming with youth who have been brought up since birth to value stability and conformity, essential survival traits in previous generations. These children have grown into unhappy adults, or haven’t grown at all. The concern then, is that isekai is going west.
As mentioned earlier, Asia doesn’t have a claims to the isekai genre. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia independently developed its own version, called “popadantsy”, originating from the word “попасть”, meaning “to walk into”. The Russia variation focuses on alternate realities where the everyman protagonist helps the Soviets win the Cold War, or stumbles into a paradise where the Soviets have already won the Cold War. Doesn’t take an anthropologist to figure that one out either. But in equal measure to the fun I derive from analyzing why other societies need this sort of relief, I develop alarm to see an appetite for pulpy escapism permeate the society I live in.
Ready Player One was published in 2011, and features a protagonist whose skill at a global virtual reality game and encyclopedic knowledge of 80s pop culture suddenly becomes useful when it becomes the game’s reins would be handed to the one who could effectively ‘win’ it. Our featureless protagonist/reader turns richer than Bezos and gets a girlfriend in the process.
It was easy to dismiss this as a niche revenge-of-the-nerds fantasy, except it was a New York Times bestseller. And if anointment by the tastemakers of mass media weren’t enough, it was also the second-highest grossing non-franchise movie of 2018, right after Bohemian Rhapsody. Granted, there were a lot of franchise films above it, and Spielberg did a passable job, but the similarities between Ready Player One and isekai comics are concerning, especially as isekai moves from fringe Asian geek culture to mainstream Western culture.
In December 2020, Netflix premiered Alice in Borderland, a live action adaptation of a an isekai manga, while simultaneously announcing a live action adaption of another isekai classic, Yu Yu Hakusho. These are produced with a Japanese cast, but like most Netflix content, will be available in as many countries as there are people who are willing to read subtitles.
Is this a portent of something more sinister at play? Are today’s youth deeply unsettled by the lack of opportunity and mobility in society? Hopefully it’s all just armchair psychology on my part, or a poorly formed critical opinion. After all, I daydreamt all the time when I was younger and I’m still here, mostly optimistic about the future. Most daydreams and fantasies are harmless, sometimes even benign, imagining a better world is the first step to making one. However, wishing to be whisked off this world, and placed in a better one without any effort is not only futile, it’s damning.
