- Posted by Ed Sizemore on September 21, 2009 at 12:08 pm
- Category: Books and Prose
- CREDITS: by Hiroki Azuma; translated by Jonathan E. Abel & Shion Kono
- PUBLISHER: University of Minnesota Press; $17.95 US
Review by Ed Sizemore
Published in Japan in 2001, Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals became a bestseller. Hiroki Azuma reshaped both academic studies of otaku culture and how otaku understood themselves. The book is finally available in English, allowing American fans and scholars access to this highly influential work.
Otaku is the term used for devoted Japanese fans of anime, manga, and video games. The otaku culture in Japan is similar to the comic book fan culture in the U.S. Otaku are not simply consumers but collectors and enthusiasts. They purchase related merchandise items like figures, posters, jewelry, clothing, etc. They publish fan magazines, set up internet sites dedicated to their favorite series, and write fan fiction. In 2007, the otaku market represented approximately 1.7 billion dollars in sales (p. xv).
Let me begin with a minor translation quibble. In this book, Western and Japanese persons are mentioned. For the Japanese names, the translators have preserved the Japanese order of family name first, given name second. This makes for awkward reading, especially when Western and Japanese names appear in the same paragraph or worse, the same sentence. I can’t find any place in the book where the translators make this clear to the reader. Given this is a translated work, it would be wise to stick with Western name order for all persons to avoid any confusion.
Obviously, such a short review can’t explore or convey the complex arguments that Azuma lays out in his book. So I’ll focus on the central theme by looking at what Azuma means by database and animal. Specifically, Azuma shows how the current generation (born 1980 and after) consumer patterns embody the postmodern worldview (pp. 6,7).
Postmodern Fan Culture
The characteristic of postmodernity most important to Azuma is the loss of grand narratives (pp. 26-29). The hallmark of modernity was the belief that the deep structure of reality could be described in one coherent theory/philosophy. Examples of these grand narratives include Christianity, rationality, humanism, or nationalism. Postmodern criticism has shown either a given narrative is fundamentally flawed in itself, or it doesn’t have the explanatory power or scope that its advocates claimed. Instead, postmodernity has shown that the deep structure of reality is fragmentary and can’t be reduced to one unified theory. At best, we can form small narratives that give us a perspective on a portion of that deeper layer. Azuma prefers to call the fragmentary deep layer of reality the database of reality.
Let’s relate this back to otaku culture. Here, I’ll use examples more familiar to a U.S. audience. An example of modern fan culture would be that based around Star Wars. This was a series that took place within a universe with an elaborately developed backstory. The movies, books, and characters all participate and have a place in this grand narrative. So when we look at Luke Skywalker, we see him as part of a greater whole.
Postmodern fan culture is best seen through the original Aeon Flux series. Those who remember the original five shorts from MTV’s Liquid Television will remember each short ending with Aeon’s violent death. The next short would pick up as if Aeon had survived. The focus in this series is not some epic drama, but on the character Aeon and her current mission. We aren’t given many details about the world she lives in. There was no grand narrative to the original series, just the small narratives of each episode.
Human vs. Animal Culture
The second major concept in Azuma’s book is how this loss of grand narrative affects the nature of who we are. Under modernity, the fundamental characteristic of being human is a desire and quest for meaning. Humans can’t take reality as is; they believe there is something more to the world we live in. By contrast, animals don’t desire deeper meaning. The only thing an animal seeks is to have its needs met. The move from modernity to postmodernity means that homo sapiens are throwing off the artifice of humanness and returning to our animal roots (pg. 67).
Azuma postulates that contemporary otaku culture is thoroughly postmodern in nature. Consumers are no longer looking for grand narratives; they simply want characters that satisfy their criteria of traits. Companies no longer start with a story and then develop characters to fit the story. Instead, you now have a consumer database of desired characteristics (pp. 39-44). Companies cull from this database the appropriate number of traits to form a character, then build a story for the character and develop related merchandise. Some companies, like Pinky Street or Hot Wheels, don’t even bother with story. They simply develop character/product lines that will appeal to otaku needs.
Let’s return to our examples from above. A Star Wars fan purchases merchandise as a way to participate in the grand narrative of that universe. You can’t own the Star Wars story, but you can buy a book or figure and in that way own something representative of the epic story. Here, you are being a human consumer. It’s the Star Wars narrative that motivates your purchase and gives meaning to the products you own.
However, you can only purchase Aeon Flux products as an animal. There’s no grand narrative that motivates you; it’s the character herself. Aeon has traits that you find attractive. Perhaps you admire her beauty, the fact she’s a spy, or her proficiency with weapons. You might then go on to buy similar characters, like other female spy characters or other brunette women proficient with guns. You’re purchasing figures/products because of a desire for characters of a certain type regardless of what series they appear in or if they are even part of a series.
Finally, Azuma sees otaku culture as being reflective of Japanese consumerism in general. Because of the unique nature of otaku culture, it’s easier to analyze their consumption patterns and the ideology behind those trends. Once you’ve extracted the philosophical model, then you can apply it to other subcultures and general Japanese culture.
What makes Azuma’s argument so persuasive is his knowledge of otaku culture. He understands otaku history. Furthermore, he has an expansive knowledge of anime shows, manga series, video games, and popular characters. He weaves into his argument illustrations drawn from such diverse knowledge. His analyses of Saber Marionette J (pp. 22,23), Di Gi Charat (pp. 39-47), the art of Takashi Murakmi (pp. 63-66), and novel games (pp. 75-86) are amazing. It feels like Azuma’s argument is built on thoughtful observation of and participation in otaku culture and not him trying to force otaku culture into a pre-existing philosophical mold. It’s a brilliant demonstration of how even ‘low culture’ has depth and layers.
Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals is a thought-provoking book. It’s dense at parts because of the complexity of the thought and not because the use of academic jargon. Azuma’s prose is lively and meant to reflect the writing more typical of journalists than scholars. The translators have done an excellent of preserving these qualities of the original.
Application to U.S. Superhero Fans
What amazed me was how relevant Azuma’s discussion is to modern US superhero fans. In fact, you can argue that DC and Marvel pioneered postmodern consumerism. The way both companies have handled their characters over the decades have conditioned fans to follow a character through changing writers, artists, storylines, powers, origin stories, and universe crises. It’s not uncommon to hear fans discuss their love for a character but their dislike for a particular story arc or the way the current creative team is handling the character.
DC has gone even one step further in that there are multiple coexisting narratives or continuities for a character. For example, look at Batman. There are at least four continuities that a fan can choose to follow. First, there is the narrative found in the comic books. Second, there is the continuity of the animated series from the 1990s. Third, the storyline of the live action films. Finally, the narrative of the current animated series. So a fan of Batman can now choose which continuity they find the most likeable and follow that narrative to the exclusion of the others. You can’t get a more perfect example of Azuma’s database animal consumerism where the character is what matters most, not the narrative.
For those looking to understand otaku culture or Japanese scholarship of otaku culture, this is a must read. Given the similarities between otaku culture and U.S. comic book fan culture, it also offers fresh insight there, too. It’s not a easy read, but it’s worth the effort. I would like to see University of Minnesota Press follow up with more of Azuma’s works. My hope is that American comic scholars will read and react to this book in their writings. Having this book in English provides a great opportunity for cross-cultural communication among scholars to promote a deeper, more nuanced understanding of fan culture universally.
(A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.)