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High low art, criticism, on artistic ambition:

Matthias,

Well, I think that the high art/low art opposition is something that is very Western in essence. Comics as a medium have struggled (in the US and in France) to receive cultural recognition, and has been met strong and outspoken detractors — Wertham comes to mind, but also somebody like Alain Finkelkraut in France. Japan has never had anything like that in relation to manga. There have been a few campaigns organized by the Japanese branch of the PTA in the 50s (like the “Campaign to Banish Bad Reading Matter”), but those fell on deaf ears. Manga were so popular that readers and publishers alike didn’t bother.

The arrest in 1989 of serial killer Miyazaki Tsutomu, who had raped and dismembered four pre-pubescent girls, tarnished manga’s image: Miyazaki’s apartment hosted a huge collection of anime, slasher movies and manga, and suddenly the media started worrying about all this. Yet, as the case evolved, it came to light that Miyazaki was a deeply troubled youth in a non-supportive family environment, and focus shifted towards the alienation felt by the otaku crowd, and not manga or anime per se. In the Shûkan Post, psychologist Okonoki Keigo then wrote: “The danger of a whole generation of youth who do no even experience primary two or three way relationship between themselves and their mother and father, and who cannot make the transition from a fantasy world of videos and manga to reality, is now extreme.”

This was followed by another attempt to ban comics in 1990 with “The Association to Protect Children from Comics,” which was backed by right-wing political groups, “But the total number of signatures they collected in their famous campaign [in 1990] is only equal to five one-hundredths of a percent of the population of Japan.” (as described here). While manga continued to be regarded as something positive, the otaku subculture caused some concern during over the following years, and it is only very recently (with the worldwide revalorization of nerd culture) that Akihabara has once again become a cool place to go. The Densha Otoko story in its numerous versions is a good example of the evolution of the perception of the less socially-favoured. Also note the buzz around the possibility that Aso Tarô, a manga fan, might become prime minister, or the fact that Japan has fully embraced the concept of “Japanese Gross National Cool” and the idea of a Soft Power, with manga and animation at the core of this cultural expansion.

Back to low and high art. The wide acceptance of manga as a valid entertainment form makes it harder to have a radical stance (like JC Menu’s in France, for instance) towards the medium and its potentialities. Moreover, the big publishers have put forward a wide range of publications, varying both in terms of target and circulation, that try and tap any available niche — including the more literary/ artistically ambitious: see Kôdansha’s Morning or Shôgakkan’s Ikki for this kind of experimental stuff. Both of course have accordingly low print runs (413.000 and 16.000 in 2007, respectively).

One thing that can be very frustrating, when discussing with Japanese author, is that very few seem to express any kind of active opinion regarding the medium and what they are trying to achieve with it. All the interviews I’ve seen or conducted, even with artists that do not fall into the mould (Shiriagari Kotobuki comes to mind, but also Tori Miki, Kaneko Atsushi or Mizuno Junko) end up with rather bland comments like “well, I do this because I like it.” I’m not saying they do not have an ambition or a project (usually, digging further yields at least some more information), but compared to what we expect of artists in the West, they are reluctant to express it.

I remember Frédéric Boilet introducing his “Manifeste de la nouvelle manga” in Tokyo, with Yamada Naito as the only Japanese author present, along with among Fabrice Neaud and David B. While Boilet was very outspoken regarding his relation to art (vs. work for hire, basically), and how he did not want to yield to editorial constraints, Yamada Naito’s reaction was typical: she didn’t agree with everything in the manifest, she had not been consulted about it in the first place anyway, and she didn’t quite adhere to all this, leading to an awkward moment. The divide was clear.

We have talked much about ambition, intentionality and the like, but this discussion about manga leads me to wonder: how much of this intentionality is real (something that would require a good knowledge of each author), and how much is perceived afterwards? And does one have a graphic novel, if the cohesion and autonomy only appear in retrospect?

Xavier

Osaka VS Tokyo:

Another thing about Japan, which I don’t think I’ve mentioned in the course of this conversation (esprit de l’escalier, quand tu nous tiens…). While the opposition between low and high art does not seem to be prominent in the history of manga, there is, however, the deep rivalry that has existed between Tokyo and Osaka. Prior to the Meiji restoration, Osaka was the “first city” in Japan, something that changed when Tokyo became the capital, and Osaka second. The tension between the keeper of the tradition (Osaka) and the cultural upstart (Tokyo), between the modern urbanite (Tokyo) and the provincial (Osaka), seems to have been reflected in the manga industry too: on the one hand, the big publishers with their weekly magazines that Tezuka (himself from Osaka) embraced and helped develop; and on the other, the akahon-kashibonya artists that were thriving in and around Osaka.

So building on this opposition, it’s no surprise that the Garo crowd, coming from the latter, opted to take the cultural higher ground, opposed to what they felt was low art — Tezuka’s story-manga, stemming from Tokyo. A good example of this is Tezuka’s own attempts at imitating the gekiga, of trying to emulate their style and ambition. That is, low vs. high art, not as an arts hierarchy, but as expression of regional/cultural opposition.

Xavier