Fiction that posits itself as ‘truth’ has always drawn a strong scepticism from me. How can something that’s not only reliant on authorial interpretation in the first instance but concurrently obliged to uphold storytelling conventions (characters, plot structure etc.) to be appealing assume status as ‘fact’? Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure Dickens’ work has a resonant ‘truthfulness’ that correlates with other representations of the time period. And James Joyce’s Dubliners, a set of short stories that articulate a melancholy permeating daily life in the Irish city, happens to be a favourite of mine. But the point I stress when dealing with fictions that either comprise the ‘realist’ movement of storytelling or function as proposed social commentary is that it is a representation, not the representation. A whole nexus of experience makes up the public consciousness of a place and/or population; not every voice can be accounted for in the one story.
That’s not to suggest that fiction can’t be ‘accurate’ or ‘persuasive’. In the case of Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s “Hell” – a harrowing examination of the Hiroshima bombing in 1945 and its subsequent exploitation across political and professional realms – the question of ‘accuracy’ is impossible for me to answer but the starkly evident research enveloping the narrative hints of an informed perspective; one that troubles the nerves with its drab depictions. Along with the other bleak tales in the collection Good-Bye, which brings together several of Tatsumi’s ‘manga’ short stories dating from 1971 to 1972, “Hell” details an existence that is unrelentingly dreary and doesn’t cater towards readers who stubbornly cling to optimistic ‘happy endings’.
It’s interesting to note an author’s textual strategies in constructing ‘authenticity’. Tatsumi utilises famous landmarks and faces in “Hell” to construe his story as ‘truthful’. The placement of identifiable buildings / locales in his stories is a recurring technique throughout Tatsumi’s Good-Bye; even to the point of becoming central to the plot a la “Just a Man”. In “Hell” the Hiroshima Peace Memorial – pictured in the artwork and the photo above – becomes an overbearing, haunting motif pursuing the protagonist. Its silhouette is always present during Mr. Koyanagi’s darkest moments. In this sense the imagery acquires further meaning: on one hand it consolidates Tatsumi’s attempted ‘realism’; on the other hand the building’s symbolic baggage as a memorial for Hiroshima is drawn upon, suggesting it’s ever-present in the lives of the Japanese. There’s a precision felt in the ‘real’ locations, such as the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, depicted that sticks out from the other scenery. They acquire salience, attracting the eye to them and the meaning(s) they contain. Detail, as emphasis, appears to be a significant tool in Tatsumi’s repertoire, additionally perceived in the contrast between the cartoon-y characters and Prime Minister Sato’s realistic likeness. This helps to highlight one of the concerns underlying “Hell”; the political exploitation of the Hiroshima bombing. It’s very clear who is implicated in it too...
What’s remarkable about Tatsumi’s attempt to document via realism is the research that bolsters such intention. The devastation of Hiroshima is grimly depicted: charred corpses, hideously burnt victims, black rain, shadow burns etc. Tatsumi has investigated the physical effects of the bombing excessively in order to envelop his character’s experience in ‘fact’; another strategy in accruing ‘authenticity’. He even directly references the infamous shadow burn on the steps of Sumitomo Bank (photographed above). Working with shades of grey, black and white he still manages to craft a disturbing, graphic visual account. He even lingers on this subject matter for a few pages, literally having Mr. Koyanagi tour the apocalyptic wreckage, before returning to furthering the plot. This highlights an appreciated dedication to his work, particularly the social commentary, beyond simply telling a great story.
There is a profound ambiguity that penetrates “Hell”. The proliferation of dual meanings, without cementing one or the other as ‘truth’, builds magnificently towards the final, overwhelming moment. At one point, looking over Hiroshima’s rubble at sunset, Mr. Koyanagi expresses this running theme of duality: “The stench of hundreds of thousands of corpses drifted by ... but the sunset was unbelievably beautiful.” The symbol of Hiroshima’s destruction is, paradoxically, rendered both ‘horrid’ and ‘beautiful’. This theme becomes enmeshed in the plot: Mr. Koyanagi, having discovered the remarkable shadow burn of a son giving his mother a backrub, sells its photograph to the media. However the stunning revelation is that this morbid symbol is actually the last evidence of a murder scene. What has been circulated as a symbol of peace, of compassion and devotion now, concurrently, becomes a symbol of murder and greed; a transition further enhanced by Mr Koyanagi’s consequent actions. He murders the only man who knows of its ‘real’ meaning. But it’s never clear whether Koyanagi is motivated by professional greed – to safeguard his reputation and employment – or to keep the public’s faith in the symbol’s positive meaning. At numerous times Koyanagi hints at pride in his newfound status, even to the point of alleviating his guilt at using the death of others for financial gain. Conversely, after finding out the less benign meaning in the photograph, a bunch of citizens approach Koyanagi to thank him for the hope his photograph has brought the Japanese people. At this point he begins to contemplate murder; the greater good seemingly being the driving reason. But, moments before lifting the rock to pummel his enemy, another reference to the professional gain he stands to lose occurs. It’s never truly clear what motivates him in the end. And likewise all the dual meanings filtering through the plot are never confirmed satisfactorily either way. The only certainty to emerge through the dreariness is Mr. Koyanagi’s capacity for murder. What a bleak, bleak tale.
My ambition with this analysis/review of Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s “Hell” is not to encourage scrutiny of it, or any other text, that attempts to contribute understanding to existences and experiences of real places, real people, real events. Whilst I maintain that a degree of scepticism is essential, underpinned by the knowledge that texts are artificial constructions guided by subjective viewpoints and textual obligations to manifest widespread appeal, that doesn’t nullify the compelling and shocking argument that Tatsumi puts forth. In identifying Tatsumi’s techniques in brewing ‘authenticity’ I’m not hoping to undermine the validity of his claims; how can I? Instead I’m hoping to present awareness of those very same masterful techniques that work together to craft a captivating, poignant vision. This is a masterpiece, and one of the best ‘comics’ I’ve ever had the pleasure to read. I enthusiastically encourage others to buy Tatsumi’s Good-Bye collection.
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