Back to henyome's Profile henyome's Profile

The Bystander Effect, when an individual fails to react appropriately to an emergency situation because of the presence of other people. This is the overlooked basis of Erased, which points out that Satoru's own apathy toward the people around him when he was a child as being the cause to his situation in the present. The "present" being one in which someone close to him has been brutally murdered, and he is now considered the likely suspect by authorities.

This apathy is not something exclusive to Satoru, it is a common in most people. Even when we see something that we consider alarming, we often overlook ... it in hopes that someone else will do something about it first. We don't want to break social norms or risk consequences of going out of our way. So while Satoru is our protagonist, it isn't about his negligence specifically but about how in classroom full of people, when the signs were all there that someone needed help, no one outstretched their hand.

Erased is not alone about Satoru and his group of friends learning that their actions, no matter how small, have far reaching consequences that can be positive ones. It is also about child abuse and how the system is setup in such a way that children often can't get the help that they need even when authorities are alerted. This series isn't content to be entertainment; it's a social commentary on how small acts of kindness and inclusion can save lives.

Most people reviewing and watching seem to misconstrue this for a whodunnit suspense series, but this isn't Scooby Doo. Erased is not asking you to search for the culprit, which is why the "big reveal" left many dissatisfied. It puts the victims in the spotlight where the media has taught us to ignore their stories. We learn about Kayo, we watch her bond with Satoru and we come to care about her. For us and for Satoru, it is no longer about saving the present where he is 29 years old; it is about saving the past where a person in front of him that he has come to care about is in very real danger of being a victim. The reveal is meant to have impact because of what it does to Satoru, not because it's supposed to be a shock to the viewer.

The story of Erased is not one that is particularly new and inventive with its mechanics, we have seen time travel in many series before that have scored high ratings. Its creativity lies in its presentation of the material. The series presents itself as a gripping mystery, building suspense and momentum every episode. We begin with a murder in the first episode that reels in the viewer. From there, the pacing in each episode is such that the tension just continues to build and we end almost every one with a cliffhanger that keeps the viewer wanting to watch more.

While the emphasis is not intended to be on the revelation of the Big Bad, Erased does do quite a clever job of misleading the viewer into thinking so and becoming invested. This deception has to be intentional, because were it not, then Erased would be one of the worst murder mysteries in the history of anime. Given how well it portrays child abuse and stresses the message of believing in and supporting other people, it seems difficult to think the author simply got lazy with the mystery of the series.

That said, the explanations provided for the villain's motive feel insubstantial as a viewer. This could be intentional on part of the anime creators because, ultimately, truly evil people do not have "motives." Their minds work on a different level than most peoples and their actions tend to be incomprehensible to us. That said, they still have their own rationale that they are working with and while we may not understand it, it is something we can analyze. In the manga this was detailed better than the anime, and its absence is felt even if one could argue that there wasn't enough time to add it in.

Erased has a symbolic opening and ending, although the depth of meaning of both of these songs may be lost on an English-only speaking audience. I would recommend looking up translations of these lyrics because it may give you a better appreciation for how well they set the tone of the series. The opening especially encompasses Satoru's conflicting emotions, particularly his guilt and frustration at not realizing what he had around him until it was already gone.

The series has appropriate music to the set the tone for each scene. It knows when to cut the music because sometimes silence can carry enough impact on its own. That said, on the whole, the soundtrack isn't particularly memorable outside of its opening and closing.

The voice cast features primarily experienced seiyuu that support two new rookies, both of whom voice Satoru. Mitsushima Shinnosuke voices an older Satoru while Tsuchiya Tao voices his younger self. The two of them do an amazing job for being put in such a demanding role. While there are moments where their lack of experience shows, it rarely detracts from the emotion and depth of the character they portray.

The animation for Erased is superb, because the director purposefully tailored the characters to look much softer in comparison to their manga counterparts. The lines are not as sharp, because he wanted to give a more inviting atmosphere to the viewer especially seeing the children on screen. This was the perfect choice because it really immerses the viewer in the world and invites a positive, naive perception that falls in line with how the children see the world. The added effect of the video reel borders in the flashback give an added distinct feel to how Satoru views the world, specifically in regards to his "revivals." All throughout the anime there are small details like these that go unnoticed by the viewer because they are added in so seamlessly.

For all the praise I have delivered to multiple facets on the series, my enjoyment if probably less than I would rate any other category. It isn't to say that I didn't love the series on the whole because I did. However, like everyone else, although I could appreciate the reason why the focus was not on the unveiling of the antagonist, the series setup my expectations for it. I went in and was reeled in again and again every week, waiting for the inevitable twist that I trusted the show to deliver. It was predictable and fell short, and whether that was purposeful or not, I walk away feeling a little betrayed by the expectations the show setup for me.

That said, I still really appreciate the depth that Erased brought with its plot and with its characters. It masqueraded as one thing only to surprise us and be something entirely different. At the end, the message was something that was so obvious that most of us probably missed it. At any point in our lives we may see someone in need of help, and without thinking we may dismiss the option to give that person a hand on the basis that surely someone else will help them. The problem with that thinking is that other people will fall into the same line of thinking. Then who will help those in need? So ultimately, it's about paying more attention to small interactions that could change another person's life. Erased reminds us that both small and large acts of kindness can be the difference in saving someone's life.

Everyone has something in life they wish they could do differently. For Takamiya Naho it wasn’t one thing, but rather a series of events: poor choices, lack of communication and the inability to understand, that caused the loss of the most important person in her life. Her future self decides to send a letter, ten years into the past when she was in high school—warning herself not to make the same mistakes.

Orange is an unusual shoujo in that it tackles the heavy topic of suicide without glossing it over; it paints the ugly truth by pulling the reader through the dark cloud of depression. ... It allows us to see how one person, isolated in the confines of their own mind, could fall victim to self-loathing and guilt to the point of being desperate enough to bring it all to an end. Yet it also colors a vibrant picture of how people survive in the wake of loss when someone precious to them makes that heavy a decision—it is filled with grief, blame, and an ache that will never dissipate no matter the passage of time.

The plot is masterful in presenting an intriguing premise that leaves as many questions as it does answers, and the anticipation only builds through the climax of the story. It doesn’t falter on explaining the mechanics of “time-traveling letters” and how this operates with multiple universes and time paradoxes. Although the explanations are rather brief in that respect, Takano doesn’t leave the reader hanging and gives just enough to be informative and conclusive without being excessively boring. She rewards us with a conclusive ending that gives us an additional tidbit of wisdom, saving someone in the throes of depression who is suicidal isn’t just about keeping them from ending it. It’s about healing them, helping them, and simply being there.

In the characters we find the biggest strength of the series, because Takano puts so much effort in making the main cast relatable and multi-faceted. Naho is shy, reserved, but ultimately sweet, driven initially by the letters forewarning her of the regrets day-by-day, however she quickly becomes emotionally attached to Kakeru because of the present. She isn’t simply motivated to eradicate whatever her future self is lamenting, she wants to save her future because she loves the present Kakeru. Yet Naho is deeply flawed as evidenced by how narrow-sighted she is at times, because she focuses more on the letters and saving Kakeru at times rather than how he feels in the present. She grows greatly from the start where her only aim is saving him, to actually trying to understand (read: empathize) and support him.

Kakeru is initially a little distant to us, more of an enigma than someone we can sympathize with. This is actually a positive, because Takano builds our attachment to him through the supporting cast and Naho, which means there is more of an emotional punch when she finally introduces Kakeru’s point of view and illuminates his inner struggle. This ultimately means a bigger payoff at the conclusion of the series, but additionally gives him greater character development from beginning to end. The change in his friends around him, however radical, does not alter the fact that Kakeru is ultimately very depressed. He has every reason to be, and while having friends around him certainly helps, it isn’t a miracle cure. Takano doesn’t make depression simplistic or boil it down – the fact is that just being there won’t magically change a person. It does, however, have an effect and in that way her message is successful.

It would be enough to talk about the main two, but not mentioning the supporting cast would be a disservice. Much of the development between Naho and Kakeru would be impossible without their support, and they are not without their struggles and flaws, trying to save Kakeru while feeling the conflict of changing the future that she is supposed to have. It only serves to make them more human and more endearing, and it makes the reader more invested in their journey as a group.

Takano is known for her clean art and gorgeous character designs, but even more here she paints in the smallest details in each panel. Rather than narrating emotions as some mangaka do, Takano focuses more on displaying them through the characters’ expressions and actual dialogue exchanges. This ultimately means she conveys her message more convincingly and immerses us more than other shoujo authors that preoccupy themselves with trying to submerge us in the main character’s point-of-view. Takano is more interested in her reader being invested in everyone rather than in any one single part of her story.

To anyone who enjoys suspense, romance, and a heartfelt story, this is the first title I would recommend. Takano has out done herself and surpassed her past works to leave us with something that is ultimately memorable—because any manga that a reader can walk away from, feeling as though they have learned something that will stick with them forever, is phenomenal. Any manga that can touch you in a way no other has is a classic. A manga that can do both? Now that’s a masterpiece.

This series is essentially what you would expect to be the end product of 12 directors and script writers playing telephone together with each episode, which would mean no overarching consistency, lack of cohesion and continuity between episodes, little to no character development, and a poor narrative. Alas, although it has turned out like a poorly written fanfiction, Tokyo Ghoul √A does not suffer from its staff playing games in its production. It's just a lackluster adaptation on all fronts, even without comparisons to its source material.

The plot is the biggest pitfall here, due to lack of clear direction and explanation. Even ignoring that ... the adaptation left out pivotal details from the manga, looking at it as a standalone, it still falls flat on its face because it leaves the viewer in a constant state of confusion. Questions arise from the very first episode and we expect them to be answered, they never are. We are left like outsiders looking in through a pane of glass, excluded from a narrative that should be feeding us something but instead we are left to guess. Why are things happening? Why are characters doing what they are doing? What are their motivations? We are given such limited information because the pacing is so rushed and for lack of ability to expound on the plot, the writers simply gave us bland fighting scenes.

Although we grew to love and enjoy the characters in the first season where they were given some room for development, here we are suffocated by a narrative that refuses to allow us to reconnect with them. Kaneki receives no more development from the end of the first season than by the end of this season; we feel as disassociated from himself as he does – as he struggles with himself, we struggle to understand what is even going on with him because we have nothing to clue us in. It’s one great question mark. Touka is perhaps the only character whose actions, thoughts, and frustrations we can truly sympathize with because she receives enough lines and screen time to convey them. There were even several compelling scenes with Ayato, but ultimately these things amount to little when the plot can’t deliver.

Perhaps the strongest point of this season is the animation, although I would argue that it’s not particularly spectacular. The animation is essentially acceptable which means that it is neither strong nor weak, but because it is average, it’s probably the best part of the series. It seems the majority of the attention was paid to the fight scenes and everything else is rather bland—and that’s giving some leniency for the fighting scenes which themselves waver between interesting to drawn out and boring.

Even the sound is average at best. The tone of the opening scarcely matches the overarching themes of the season, which is a grand disappointment in light of how amazing the opening was for the first season. That comparison aside, the opening animation is just outright disappointing and elicits none of the excitement that we should be experiencing. It accompanies a song that doesn’t set the mood for the rest of the episode, by and large considering the majority of the series includes fighting, and the rest of the soundtrack occasionally sets the generally atmosphere but there is never anything particularly impressive or noticeable about any of it. Only the ending stands out as actually decent and fitting for the series.

For all the complaints above about the end product, I wouldn’t be giving this even a mediocre rating if it hadn’t had some redeeming qualities. One of them was a solid premise and good potential—it may have not fulfilled that, but it did a decent job setting up plot points it just lacked on fulfilling them. It also has a solid cast, though not fully utilized as they should have been and not developed as they should have been, it has a good range of characters. On top of this, it does have an exciting and suspenseful final arc, though not as compelling as it promised to be, still manages to captivate interest.

To summarize, this season was poorly executed on all fronts and a great disappointment. If you enjoyed it and have not read the manga, I highly recommend it as it further develops the empty husk that is the anime series. If you are wondering whether or not you should watch it, then I would say it’s a coin toss—you exchange your time for some minor moments of sincerity and animated battle scenes some of which are exciting others mediocre.

What would you do if you lost everything to the one person you thought you cared about the most? Trust is easily extended when you live a sheltered life, and it makes the betrayal all that much more bitter of a pill to swallow. Yet it is not revenge that spurs on our heroine ultimately – for the line between love and hate is thin and the subsequent balancing act is, in the end, a chaotic mess of feelings too tangled and difficult to boil down to one simple word.

Rare is the series that introduces a seemingly weak and sheltered female lead, who undergoes great ... tragedy only to come out fierce and respectable at the end after the most well-paced development I have had the pleasure of viewing. Were that not enough, we are also blessed with a delightful supporting cast of varied and sometimes unexpected characters. While it’s not without some flaws, Yona is absolutely amazing as a historical shoujo series.

Although this season only acts as a starting point for what is to come, it introduces our cast and it develops our heroine. One of the strongest points about the plot is that it begins with a bang – we first establish a background and we are quickly endeared to the characters before it successfully guts us with the promise our premise gave. Betrayal.

One of the weakest points of many series is that while our protagonist may be likeable and receive depth and development, our antagonist is lacking in all areas – not so for Su-won. While he may be easy to despise for his hand in essentially ruining Yona’s life, we quickly learn his motivation and while at first it may be easy to dismiss him as your stereotypical bad guy, episodes down the road clue us in to his real intentions.

The plot isn’t without its flaws; it follows the stereotypical pattern of our hero finding a “wiseman” who presents her with a mission which includes the collection of certain “items,” or in this case, the dragons. The backstory is not necessarily uninteresting but not entirely original either. In this way, Yona follows a lot of mythological stories as inspiration but that doesn’t make it unlikeable – in fact it’s because it follows a pattern we are used to that it grips us and carries us with it every step of the way.

Our cast is comprised primarily of Yona, Hak, Yun, and the four dragons. For Yona’s part, she makes the biggest impact as an initially “weak” (but come on the girl wants to handle weapons and stuff she has the makings for bad assery from the start) but most certainly sheltered princess. She grows quickly as the loss of her status and family, coupled with Su-won’s betrayal, takes a huge toll on her. Not to mention the wilderness which she is completely unaccustomed to, which requires her to eat food she may never have thought edible before, to sleep outside without proper shelter, and to deal with all sorts of wild animals and insects. She doesn’t deal with it flawlessly – she struggles, like a real human being, and she gradually recovers then proceed to fight tooth and nail.

Hak admittedly starts out as a fierce defender that initially makes decisions based on his aim to protect Yona, but eventually he grows to respect her strength and determination and defers to her judgment the majority of the time. He even softens a bit over time, but in the end he goes from just wanting to keep Yona alive to having a more vested interest in protecting the kingdom with her.

I won’t provide extraneous details about the rest of the cast; suffice to say that introductions are by and large the biggest priority for the series when it comes to the dragons so the time period for development for their characters is rather minimal. Granted they do certainly receive it as Yona’s presence impacts their lives, but I suspect additional development is in store for them in a coming season.

For the part of the animation, Yona is nothing if not consistent with a muted palette that at times is vibrant but always vivid in the detail of the characters and the landscape. Most enjoyable are the detailed character designs for each of them, thoroughly nuanced and symbolic. The action scenes are exciting, suspenseful and by and large, as realistic as one can expect for a fantasy series.

The sound is probably a bit more on the average front for the series, but is not necessarily a weakness. The initial opening fits the mood of the anime and the addition of lyrics halfway through makes it a catchy song that really foreshadows what is to come in the rest of the series and represents the development of our heroine. Although not particularly memorable, the insert songs match the general mood of the scenes that they accompany. All of the voice acting is solid, but as always the stars of the show are Saito Chiwa and Maeno Tomoaki who respectively as Yona and Hak really flesh out and bring their characters to life.

For all of my praise, I have to mention several drawbacks that bring down the rating a bit for this series. Make no mistake that it is stand-out, but its biggest issue is slow pacing near the beginning of the series. This can put off some potential viewership, but more than anything there are some episodes that just drag a bit. This happens at the beginning and at one point in the middle of the series. On the whole it’s fairly well-paced but it’s not perfect.

The other issue is that the series is advertised as romance – problem being, where is it? There is certainly romantic tension between characters but there is minimal development on that front even by the end of the series. If you are looking for a series about love, Yona focuses far more heavily on action and adventure – and it seems unfair to classify it as romance, as that’s only a peripheral aspect of the story.

Akatsuki no Yona is an incredible series that does so many things right that most are unable to – and it does it with an amazing female lead supported by an equally stellar cast of male characters. It proves that the shoujo/historical combination isn’t dead, can be successful and well-done, and ultimately it’s a heartfelt series manages to combine tragedy and comedy in an entertaining, colorful package.

Hers was a white lie built on a grain of truth that snowballed as one lie after the other piled up. At first it was only hers, but then it became something that the two of them shared together – like a secret, a world upon which no other could encroach. He may have been “Friend A,” and she “the girl that loves my best friend,” but they were masquerading around a truth that neither one could openly admit because ultimately, the truth was much more painful.

Your Lie in April is a deceitfully masterful series that initially appears light-hearted and colorful, its palette boasting pastels ... that lend to the idea of it being another romantic comedy. Yet the moment we step past the disillusionment that it casts upon us by its false prefaces, we quickly realize that what we have immersed ourselves in is actually a tragedy in the making.

Tragic not because of a single element but because of all of its parts, and yet at the end of everything, this isn’t a series about tragedy. It is a series about learning to heal, learning to move on, and learning to accept the parts of ourselves that we’d rather pretend aren’t there. Part of that is accepting that sometimes we need a helping hand to take that first step. Part of it is learning to say goodbye when the time comes.

What is so compelling about the storyline is that it’s not merely an adventure into first love, it delves into the reality of post-traumatic stress disorder, childhood abuse, and chronic illness. It doesn’t paint any of these as artistic or tragically beautiful—they are horrible, they twist people, they ruin the best moments, and they have a long-lasting impact.

No one is completely black-and-white; everyone has their short-comings, fleshed out in full before our eyes. They have their hang-ups, their strengths, their struggles—and it’s in these characters that this series really takes off in full stride. It would be enough for them to be multifaceted with equal amounts of depth, but they take it a step further in painting the reality of youth.

Older anime fans may critically analyze the series as an unrealistic approach to young teenagers, but that pessimism overlooks the reality of what it was like for us to be that age. We were all that point when we found our first love, when we thought it was forever, when we poured our passion into something that ultimately would not come to fruition or last. That’s what being young is about—and that’s what Your Lie in April gives us.

Granted that it may veer a bit over-dramatic at times in its representation of youth; there are moments of symbolism or hyperbole so overt that the cheesiness makes you shift a little uncomfortably in your seat (but I promise it’s not enough to gag you). Given that this is, however, a rather common trope that runs in series with heavier themes, it’s not necessarily a huge setback for an otherwise solid series. In the end, it is intended to be a fictional representation that conveys more than just what can be summarized in a few sentences or less.

The sound is completely on point, and the soundtrack artfully matches the emotions intended to be represented in each scene. From the actual classical music to the opening and ending, everything fits in like a jigsaw puzzle to give a full, satisfying final piece. When the characters analyze someone’s playing as harsh, rigid, and stilted, we can hear this—whether we are knowledgeable about music or not. Your Lie in April conveys emotion to us not just visually but aurally as well.

The animation is wonderful with bright, vibrant colors that bring the characters fully to life. There is an amazing, visually perceivable transition for the characters as time passes, particularly in regards to Kaori as the series moves on. It occasionally has some stilted moments but nothing outrageously noticeable to detract from the overall quality.

Ultimately, Your Lie in April is a story that starts out of the gates moving a bit slowly, but the pace matches the tone of the series. Structurally, it is a solid story of youth that dramatizes some aspects but never distracts from the intended message. On top of its other strong points, it’s aurally and visually a joy to the senses – and to anyone appreciative of a series willing to realistically approach the conflict of childhood abuse and the resulting trauma in a positive way. It’s not without a few setbacks, but in the end, Your Lie in April fashions itself to be a stand-out romance series that reminds us that while some relationships may be transient and brief, some people will come into our lives at just the right time for just long enough to touch us in a way we never thought possible.

A desire for acceptance is something that most of us can relate to, and at times that can drive us to certain extremes. It's a premise that is not necessarily unique, but for a shoujo series it actually is. The cliched trope of a spineless heroine and her tsundere love interest is all too common. However this series provides us with a slight variant; our main character is a compulsive liar with a penchant for emotional punishment (read: she's a masochist) that happens to, in a series of poor decisions and bad judgment, land herself a two-faced jerk who is content to treat her like ... a dog.

Originality is not this anime's forte, per se, but it is successful as a romantic comedy because it is uncommon. The two main leads seem initially very unlikeable, but if you accept the fact that they mutually (consensually) engage in something of a sadomasochistic relationship—that neither one seems to want to disband even when given the chance—then the series provides some amusing comedy.

Erika is not your traditional shoujo heroine, she's actually a plucky, resilient lead who for reasons unbeknownst to most viewers, seems to enjoy Kyouya's treatment. When situations arise that would stereotypically end in an angst-filled fight between our couple, Erika maintains her usual headstrong, blind determination to win over her ice-hearted prince. She does actually develop as the series progresses, because initially his treatment of her does seem to bring her spirits down, yet she rather quickly begins to learn just how Kyouya works and how outwardly dishonest he is—and she adapts.

Kyouya is perhaps less impressive on the face of things, but the amusing reality is that he's not like your traditional tsundere love interest in that he doesn't have much in the way of redeeming qualities. He is, quite frankly, a jerk to Erika constantly and only occasionally showers her with some vague form of affection. But the series doesn't try too hard to redeem him—he has no sad backstory to fall on, as he says himself. His behavior is not entirely without cause, given the influence of his older sister. Being cynical and misanthropic seems to run in the family.

The supporting cast is entertaining albeit peripheral, and they receive minimal attention or development. That is a disappointing fact about the series, which was limited in how much screen time it could offer them given its short runtime. But for their part in the series, they did contribute to the development of the main couple and to the overall humor of their antics.

For the part of the plot, there is nothing original in the least—it is the traditional shoujo setup from the beginning until the end. What pulls it off in a unique way is the characters that are seemingly cliche but vary quite drastically from any traditional leads in a romance series. They carry the series where the plot might otherwise flop for not being terribly thought provoking or entertaining. It's the same old setup, but delivered in a way that can still rouse some amusement because the way everything plays out seems bland at first but the spice of the characters bring it some flavor.

In regards to the animation, the color palette is vibrant and charming. In comparison to the manga, it actually has adapted all of the character designs quite nicely and all of the scenes have at least done justice to or provided some improvement on their counterpart. Although it is like any other shoujo style, each design is unique and rather fitting giving each character's unique persona.

Unfortunately another weak area is perhaps the soundtrack. The opening is catchy and adorable, but during the course of the series there are a few scenes with background music that just seem utterly out of place in an almost comedic sense. In general, the series doesn't suffer too much in this category—at least not too noticeably, but it does lack the ability to match its own mood properly at certain moments.

Overall, the series has enough merits to warrant it being a good shoujo anime. Although this review may lead you to believe that the main characters are the most redeeming part of the series, it would be disingenuous to claim they aren't the least bit frustrating. If you have difficulty appreciating that they are more nuanced than they seem at first glance, then you will be hard pressed to find anything enjoyable about the series. This certainly is not for everyone, it's not about a sweet couple that fall in love gradually—it's about two characters who are so entirely human that they are flawed and utterly unlikeable, but as a result of which, happen to be highly entertaining together.

There is a sweet, succinct Korean word that sums up the core of this series: makjang. For the uninitiated, makjang is an element that infers the use of unbelievable, often extreme plot elements that are not limited to: incest, rape, adultery, and terminal illness. Korean dramas often utilize this to keep viewers in suspense, interested in the outcome of the storyline—and Winter Sonata is no stranger to venturing in this territory. If anything, it swathes itself in layers of these extremes, and yet despite sounding ridiculously unbelievable as a result, there is something addicting about the series.

The plot plays out like a melodrama; star-crossed lovers ... who want nothing more than to be wrapped in the embrace of one another while the whole world is seemingly against them. If that seems too reductive it's because it's quite honestly that simple. While there is nothing inherently impressive about the setup, the payoff is obvious because Winter Sonata was not an international hit without good reason.

This series knows how to lure you in with subtle appeal in the beginning, and while the setup isn't novel, it's refreshing in that it wastes no time in pairing our couple together from the outset. Winter Sonata is nothing if not efficient with its pacing, although it does begin to drag a bit near the end with supplemental material that seems to verge on being shoved in to drag on the episode count. Regardless, if you're concerned over whether or not the plot will catch you, if the synopsis has genuine appeal to you and you don't mind the makjang elements, then this series will catch you from the moment you start and you will be hooked. If you have difficulty buying into or enjoying some of the tropes that were mentioned above, then Winter Sonata will feel far too heavy, unbelievable, and clunky for you to enjoy.

A defining feature of the main quartet of the series is that they are all obsessed with something, and as a result they are riddled with flaws. That on the one hand means they carry some measure of depth but they are just as equally frustrating for it. Yu Jin pines after her only love to the exception of all else; it's as though it is humanly impossible for her to consider the consequences and repercussions of her single-minded obsession with one man. She would sacrifice anything and everything—her childhood friend, the mother that adores her—if that means she gets to be with the one person she wants to be with. Yu Jin is just one example, however, and when I say obsession I mean these individuals verge into the very extremes of the word.

One unique aspect of the series is the animation, which is decidedly different from many of its likeness (read: shoujo). It's a more realistic style that matches perfectly with the essence of the series. It's not flawless, but it has an undeniable quaint charm to it. For those unaccustomed to variant styles of animation and more adapted to the mainstream, it may be an adjustment with Winter Sonata—but once you sit through a few episodes, you quickly grow to appreciate how unique the art is.

Sound is perhaps one of the biggest redeeming qualities of the series, as its opening is absolutely enchanting and perfectly describes the emotions of our main couple as they struggle to reconcile the past and the present. It is an added bonus that Winter Sonata stands out as especially unique because it's one of the very few Korean dubbed animations. The soundtrack helps set the mood, and the voice acting is done by the original cast of the drama. While that might not mean much to original viewers, its still an incredible enjoyment to watch on account of how talented the actors are at infusing emotion in each scene.

Although I am a huge Korean drama enthusiast, and therefore accustomed to the manner of cliches and tropes—many of which are utilized in Winter Sonata, I have never viewed the original series. That said, I think the animated series pays a great tribute to the original. It is very entertaining with a suspenseful edge that has you waiting on pins and needles at the end of each episode as we are thrown yet another wrench in the fate between Yu Jin and Joon Sang. As much as I can laud the series with praise for being as enjoyable as it is, however, it is greatly riddled with flaws and not without cumbersome material that does tend to drag with a longer episode count. The quick, snappy pacing is a wonderful bonus as the material of the original had to be somewhat compressed—but that also means the emotional, poignant scenes tend to rush by too quickly and leave us unsatiated rather than appreciative of the true weight of the tragedy occuring on screen.

The characters themselves are almost poetic in their anguish at least until we realize how ridiculously selfish they are being in their individual obsessions with little regard for any of the people around them. How the plot essentially boils down, at the end, to one person's obstinate mistake—and that is perhaps the most frustrating realization in the finale. It does little to reassure that the episodes of suspense were well-deserved.

Having said all of this, Winter Sonata is indeed a unique series that warrants some measure of positive acclaim and praise for what it does accomplish. However, it is not a flawless series deserving of quite as much hype as it seems to have garnered with a small base of users. Perhaps it is something that has flown under too many people's radars—because as a love story, it is sickeningly addictive in the worst way possible and enjoyable as a result of that. In a way, it's almost like a cautionary tale because it displays the worst traits of human nature—a willingness to sacrifice everything in a single-minded, self-centered attempt to achieve self-satisfaction.

Love is complicated.

That probably seems like the most generic line one can say, but most shoujo manga portray love with a pink lens that colors it as sunshine and rainbows. Reality as we know it is that love can be unrequited and bittersweet sometimes. And sometimes what we think is love may just be fondness or obsession. This series takes a unique approach to that, but its real reward is that it gives the reader the ending that they (and the characters) deserve.

Someone perusing for a quick read will see the synopsis and pass this manga over for having a cliché premise. It's true that ... there isn't anything particularly original about the plot, but it is the execution of it that makes Tonari no Atashi a rewarding read.

The characters give the initial impression of being simplistic, but the mangaka does a thorough job of gradually adding different facets to each one of them. The relationships between them are layered with numerous conflicts. And while it's not particularly psychological, it will get you thinking. Love isn't just about having certain feelings for a person, a key part of it is timing and effort. Sometimes, even if feelings are mutual, missed timing will eliminate the possibility of a relationship ever existing between two people. This series carries a certain message to it: say what you want to say in the moment, because if you pass it up, you will regret later when the opportunity has passed.

This series is not without its frustrations. The slow pacing at the beginning and the way our protagonist pines after Kyousuke blindly might have you thinking that this is going to go like every other manga of this genre before it. Patience is required to see it through, because it does do a bit of running around in circles around the same problem. But it does eventually find its wings and take flight after the halfway mark.

One of its biggest pros is that it explores the four main characters thoroughly enough that you come to the end with a begrudging acceptance for each of them. Even if you aren't a fan of Yuiko and how vindictive she can be throughout, she has her moments where it's hard not to sympathize with her. No one is completely unlikeable or irredeemable.

The art is adorable, crisp, and clean, but it's not particularly stand-out or creative. In this area, the manga receives average marks for what it is—a bit bland and traditional but nevertheless easy to read and enjoyable.

Although it verges on averages on many points, Tonari no Atashi scales above the rest by at least a hair on account of its solid execution and rewarding conclusion. It's not the most exceptional, life-altering manga with stellar characterization and plot twists, but it delivers more than what it promises in its premise and that's enough to make it well worth the time spent.

On the surface this seems like your typical high school vampire romance—and make no mistake, it is true to its shoujo nature, but the execution of the plot is utterly flawless. Orange Marmalade plays out like a simple but effective allegory, dealing with the unfair treatment and oppression of vampires, who have now turned to pig blood rather than human blood to try to acclimate and adjust to modern human society. Despite their efforts and a three-hundred year peace treaty, vampires have been forced to hide their true nature lest they face discrimination and harassment by their human neighbors.

What is so exceptional about this series ... is the characters and how much development they receive. In the beginning, Ma-Ri is jaded and cynical. She is accustomed to her family's constant moving as a result of their nature being discovered, so moving schools is nothing new to her—and having friends is almost a foreign notion given her past experiences. Yet throughout the series she not only makes friends, but comes to trust and rely upon them as well. Soon, rather than doubting the humans and wondering if they can ever live peacefully together, she starts to desperately believe and want that to be the case—contrary to her initial apathetic and apprehensive nature.

Jae-Min and the supporting cast receive their own measure of fleshed out back stories and development through the course of the series. Even the antagonists are given a dose of humanism, wavering from completely incapable of inducing sympathy to relatable characters with legitimate motives for their actions.

Their realism comes through the fact that they all make mistakes and poor decisions that result in severe repercussions. It is their own actions that produce their suffering—and it gives the impression that everyone has some measure of control over their own misery.

The plot itself does a good job of keeping some suspense, introducing new supporting characters, new obstacles, and culminating to an exciting final climax that is satisfactorily resolved by the end. It's simplistic in its premise and the introduction of it, but the way the story moves through each arc is at just the right pacing to let everything sink in before introducing something novel to reel you back in.

The color palette for the art, the shading, the expressions, everything is rich with the appropriate emotion and tone for the characters and the story. Each panel is clean and clear, a unique experience especially for most people reading shoujo as its in webtoon format and flows perfectly.

Despite being conventional with many of its elements, Orange Marmalade manages to pull everything together in a way that most of its peers are unable to. In every category possible it exceeds expectations, and while it may not be a masterpiece, it comes awfully close.

Living in a love hotel doesn't give other people the best impression of you, especially when your aspirations are to succeed the management of that hotel. But it's not until the gay AV director, Togame, enters the scene that things become especially problematic for Yorozu. Watching Togame hang around his younger brother Satoru, he decides to take advantage of an opportunity and manipulates Togame into keeping his distance from Satoru. But Yorozu may have bit off a little more than he can chew.

Although the premise may seem a little extraordinary, Castle Mango is a delightful because it makes itself so realistic and believable. The romantic ... development is subtle and sweet, and along the way it develops the main characters, explores them, and fleshes out their backgrounds. For how short it is, it manages to use each scene effectively. The only disservice it does to itself is its length—the ending felt like it came too soon when everything prior had been properly paced. That said, it's worth every moment spent reading it.

Yorozu is a peculiar person who might be described by relatives as unfriendly, unapproachable, and uncooperative. In comparison his brother is cheerful, easy-going and light-hearted. The appreciation and almost preferential treatment that Satoru receives gives Yorozu a particular complex about himself, as well as the mistaken belief that everyone prefers Satoru over him. This has made him stubbornly independent and unwilling to rely on others.

Togame, in comparison, seems cold and distant at first, yet he has a gentle kindness about him. Contrary to Yorozu's initial impression, he's actually quite discerning about other people and his motives for approaching Satoru are far less conspicuous and shady than it might at first seem.

The development of the two as separate characters, as well as the romantic development between the two is so satisfying. Castle Mango recycles typical tropes and uses them innovatively as motivation for the characters to learn some lessons that they desperately need—communicating effectively with other people, relying upon other people, and cherishing that which is important to you.

Although not the masterpiece it could have perhaps been, had it been lengthened enough to provide a more satisfactory ending between the two after such incredible build-up, Castle Mango stands as something of a diamond in the rough in yaoi genre.