2470: The Not-Games

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There seems to be a perpetual struggle in the world of video game enthusiasts to define exactly what is and is not a game.

At the head of this nontroversy is Fullbright Studios’ Gone Home, a first-person interactive story where you walk around a house sans its inhabitants, piecing together a number of different plot threads scattered around the place, some of which are more explicit than others — and some of which are handled better than others. I liked Gone Home, but I felt like its “main” story — the one that lets you “finish” the game when you reach its ultimately rather mundane conclusion, despite what it has built you up to expect — was by far its weakest aspect, with much more interesting things going on through the “unspoken” stories: the bottle of whiskey hidden on top of a bookcase; the condoms in a drawer; the documents lying around the place.

To some people, Gone Home isn’t a game, much as similar games in the genre that has become semi-derisively known as “walking simulator” aren’t considered games either. Dear Esther, The Stanley Parable, Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture, and others like them: all too many people are far too hung up on the rather dull question of whether or not they are actually a game rather than unpacking the dense, interesting narratives that each of these experiences feature.

For some reason, visual novels appear to largely escape this sort of discussion, despite being less interactive than a walking simulator. In your average visual novel, you click through reams of text for hours and hours and hours and occasionally make a choice. In a particular subset of the visual novel called the kinetic novel, you don’t even make any choices: you just read and read and read, and then it’s over with you not having actually done anything.

Even these almost entirely non-interactive affairs don’t seem to get lambasted in the same way as Gone Home and its ilk, though, despite arguably being less of a “game” than something that has a 3D engine, WSAD movement controls and mouselook. In fact, even some of the most well-regarded games in the genre — The Fruit of Grisaia is the most prominent that springs to mind — only have maybe one or two meaningful choices to make in the whole game, with each acting as a fairly transparent means of setting a flag as to which character’s route you’re going to follow, and whether your get their Good or Bad ending.

I wonder why this is? Is it subject matter? No, I don’t think so, because while, say, Gone Home has its narrow-minded detractors for being “progressive” — I think the statute of limitations is probably up on it by now and we can say its main story is actually about a young lesbian couple running away together — there are certainly plenty of well-regarded visual novels out there that deal sensitively with homosexuality, both male-male and female-female.

Is it about artistic intent and the overall “honesty” of the work? Perhaps. Titles such as Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture often draw ire for being “pretentious” and, while I enjoyed all of the titles I’ve mentioned thus far, it’s kind of hard to argue with that label. Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture in particular feels very much like a case of “let’s make this as arty and confusing as possible” before kind of running out of steam in its final moments and getting just a bit too silly and implausible. Dear Esther suffers from a similar problem, deliberately mixing a number of different narratives together — with some randomisation in the mix, too — to try and obfuscate what the whole damn thing is actually about for as long as possible. The Stanley Parable, meanwhile, completely runs with this and knows exactly what it is doing, laughing along with the player at every opportunity, too.

Contrast with a visual novel, such as the one I’m currently reading/playing: Supipara, by minori. Supipara is a kinetic novel: there are no choices whatsoever. Yet it’s charming, compelling and addictive purely by virtue of its beautiful presentation, likeable and mysterious characters and intriguing premise that blends the mundanity of a slice-of-life tale with elements of the supernatural.

At no point does Supipara let any part of itself run away or overwhelm the rest of it. Its supernatural elements are incorporated honestly and without attempts to obfuscate or explain them away as quickly as possible, hoping we won’t notice — Life is Strange, I’m looking at you. It just is what it is, and it invites you to judge it on that basis. There’s no need to critically analyse it just to understand what the fuck happened in it — though this isn’t to say there isn’t value in applying some literary theory to unpack the various subtexts and themes in it — and thus it can be enjoyed on a number of different levels without Dear Esther’s implicit suggestion that “you must be this smart to enjoy this ride”.

I don’t have an answer to the question “is [x] actually a game?” because your definition of “game” will doubtless be different from mine. Ultimately it doesn’t really matter, anyway; the only thing you should be asking yourself when engaging with a piece of interactive entertainment — regardless of how interactive — is, quite simply, “is this a good use of my time?” If yes, great. If no, maybe put it down and try something else instead, while acknowledging the fact that some people might enjoy it more than you. There’s really no need for the bitter arguments that have ensued since technology has allowed developers to get a bit more “artsy” with their creations.

Supipara is great, by the way. I’m going to do a full write-up on MoeGamer in the near future once I’ve read the whole thing, but for now I’ll say it’s one of the most beautifully presented visual novels I’ve ever seen, has a compelling, if low-key story, and some grade-A waifus. And what more, really, do you need to have a good time of an evening?

2106: Sex and Games Make Sexy Games…?

I penned a lengthy article about The Fruit of Grisaia for my good buddy Matt Sainsbury over at Digitally Downloaded, and it was published today. Please go and read it (it’s spoiler-free!); I was really pleased with how it came out.

In the piece, I noted that I believe the 18+ version of The Fruit of Grisaia to be the definitive version, and I stand by this statement, even with the all-ages version on Steam incorporating a few new scenes from the (also all-ages) Vita version to make up for the lack of rude bits. The story is mature and adult, after all, sex aside, so there’s really no reason to read a version that is neutered in any way when a version more true to the writers’ original vision exists.

This prompted an interesting discussion on Twitter after the fact, not directly related to Grisaia, but to sexual content in games and visual novels in general. We’re still in a situation where a visual novel featuring explicit sexual activity — such as Grisaia, or numerous others like it — isn’t able to be featured on high-profile storefronts like Steam on PC, the PlayStation Store on PS3, PS4 and Vita, and the Xbox Live Marketplace on Microsoft platforms. And I’m not talking about nukige (the visual novel equivalent of a “gonzo” porn movie, where the sexual content is pretty much the sole reason for its existence) — I’m talking about eroge, which are visual novels that incorporate sexual content as part of their narrative.

The Fruit of Grisaia features a number of scenes where the sexually explicit situations are integral to the overall narrative. I won’t give specifics to protect those who intend to read it against spoilers, but suffice to say that in each and every case, the sex scenes serve a purpose, whether it’s to reflect the deepening relationship between the protagonist and the heroines, to provide a tragic juxtaposition between pathos and eroticism, or simply to demonstrate another aspect of the characters’ personalities. In Amane’s route in particular, the sex scenes are very much front-loaded towards the start of her individual path, with the remainder exploring exactly why she is, in her own words, such a slut. And boy does she have some interesting and compelling reasons. But I digress.

The unfortunate thing with this topic is that there’s a curious double-standard applied between Western and Eastern publishers in particular. Western publishers such as Rockstar and CD Projekt can get away with depicting explicit sex acts in their games such as Grand Theft Auto and The Witcher, but if a Japanese game dares to show a little skin, it makes the collected prudes of the world clutch at their pearl necklaces (not that kind of pearl necklace) and faint onto their chaise-longues. At best, we get “minor edits” to cover things up and make things a bit less explicitly sexual — Dungeon Travelers 2 on Vita, for example, had an image that depicted a monster girl apparently fellating a ghost changed so that she was just writhing around a bit instead — while at worst we end up with butchered “all-ages” releases cutting out entire scenes.

All-ages releases aren’t always bad if they’re done well, of course; one of my favourite visual novels, Aselia the Eternal, began life as an eroge but subsequently got expanded to such a degree in its all-ages console format (which was subsequently backported to PC, and this was the version that got localised) that the non-dirty version is now considered to be the definitive way to enjoy that particular tale. But there are cases such as The Fruit of Grisaia where I simply can’t imagine them quite working in the same way without the erotic scenes.

The discussion on Twitter turned to localisation specialists Sekai Project, who Kickstarted the Grisaia trilogy and were originally intending to only bring us an all-ages release. After considerable feedback from fans, they eventually relented and agreed to publish a localised 18+ version of Grisaia via their Denpasoft imprint, even going so far as to allow Kickstarter pledges (like me!) to upgrade their donation and get digital copies of the 18+ versions as well as the physical, packaged and digital Steam releases of the all-ages versions.

In my experience so far, Sekai Project know their craft and they understand the art form that is the visual novel. They recognise that eroticism is an important part of many of these works, hence the existence of Denpasoft in the first place. But the concerning thing for some people is that the 18+ releases don’t seem to get much attention, even from Sekai Project themselves. Denpasoft’s website is a pretty bare-bones affair, and its Twitter account isn’t particularly active, whereas Sekai Project is always tweeting about something or other, launching new Kickstarters and generally enthusing about their work — and with good reason.

Why, though, are the 18+ releases dirty little secrets rather than celebrated and promoted alongside the all-ages versions? I don’t have a definitive answer for that, only theories, but I wonder how close to the mark I am.

In short, Sekai Project as a brand is keen to promote the Japanese visual novel as a valid art form and type of game to be celebrated by as many people as possible. Their keenness to get their work on Steam shows a keenness to get these titles in front of as many people as possible, since Steam is an enormous market to tap into. Unfortunately, Steam doesn’t allow adult content — aside from the aforementioned exceptions for Western games — and so any originally 18+ visual novels that come to steam will have been necessarily neutered. Sometimes there are fan patches available to restore the cut content, though in situations like The Fruit of Grisaia, the all-ages and 18+ versions are completely different base games — the 18+ version is based on the PC original, the all-ages version on the Vita version — and cannot be easily patched.

Sekai Project, as a brand keen to get their stuff noticed, is probably aware of the way the games press has been in the last few years with regard to anything even remotely sexual. As such, their apparent unwillingness to promote the explicitly sexual versions of their games is probably less to do with them being “ashamed” of the content itself, and more an attempt to enjoy a quiet life without enraging the massed heavenly hosts of Anita Sarkeesian’s 43rd Puritan Squadron (Polygon Division). Can you imagine what those narrow-minded, sex-negative fun vacuums would make of your average visual novel sex scene? It wouldn’t be pretty. Fuck Anita Sarkeesian, and fuck what she has done to intellectual discourse about games as art. (I’m aware it’s not entirely her fault, of course, but the members of the press who endlessly bleat on about feminism and the like are pretty much following her cultish teachings to the letter.)

I’m not saying that all visual novels have to have sex in them to be good, of course. But sex is an important part of art, which visual novels are, and sex is also an important part of relationships, which visual novels tend to depict with a strong degree of intimacy. Sex is a basic fact of life, of humanity, and the fact that there are so many roadblocks to exploring it effectively in video games and visual novels is kind of sad, really; thankfully, we’re not (yet) in a situation where publishers like JAST, MangaGamer and Sekai Project are giving up on publishing erotic content in the West completely, but we’re also sure as hell not (yet) in a situation where a mainstream press site would be able to publish something about a work of The Fruit of Grisaia’s ilk without getting a massive hate-boner and then spunking vitriol all over the page, completely missing the point of the “controversial” content in the process; I vividly remember just mentioning Kana Little Sister in one piece on USgamer, and getting attacked by one particularly puritanical reader for “promoting a pedophilic incest simulator”.

It’s difficult to know how this situation can be improved — or even if it needs to be improved. Could there be scope for a Steam-esque platform that allows adult games to be released and promoted, rather than relying on Web stores that many people have understandable hesitancy trusting? I wonder. In the meantime, I’ll keep banging my drum about the most interesting, compelling eroge — and, hell, nukige, since there’s plenty of interesting stuff there, too — and hope that at least a few people will listen.

2103: Amane, the Girl Who Learned to Say Thank You

I finished Amane’s route in The Fruit of Grisaia tonight, bringing my time with this absolutely incredible visual novel to a close, and frankly I’m a bit of an emotional wreck right now, but I will do my best to try and collect my thoughts and post something reasonably meaningful.

One thing I will say before I jump into spoiler territory after the “More” tag is that I’m really glad I saved Amane’s route for last. Not just because she was immediately my favourite girl — and still is after playing through her route — but because her route acts as a rather wonderful way to wrap up the entire experience. Her good ending is particularly “conclusive”, and as the last thing I saw in the whole work, it feels like I’ve had a great sense of closure — although, as always with this sort of thing, I’m going to miss these characters very much. At least I have two more games in the series to look forward to!

All right. Let’s get spoilery.

Continue reading “2103: Amane, the Girl Who Learned to Say Thank You” →

2098: Makina, the Girl in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

I finished Makina’s route in The Fruit of Grisaia at last. It’s a long route with a noticeably different tone to the previous three I’ve completed, but it was just as enjoyable.

Spoilers ahead, so I’ll put the rest behind a More tag for the convenience of those browsing my front page.

Continue reading “2098: Makina, the Girl in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time” →

2076: Sachi and the Maid’s Burden

Finished Sachi’s route in The Fruit of Grisaia last night. Once again, this route proves to be significantly different in tone and theme than the others I’ve seen so far (Michiru’s and Yumiko’s) — it also felt like it was a bit longer, for reasons I’ll get into later.

As ever, this post will contain extensive spoilers for Sachi’s route in The Fruit of Grisaia. As such, if you want to avoid being spoiled, don’t read! Here’s a More tag to prevent accidental spoilage from my front page…

Continue reading “2076: Sachi and the Maid’s Burden” →

2070: Michiru, the Girl in the Box

Finished Michiru’s route in The Fruit of Grisaia today, and my goodness is there a lot to process.

It doubtless goes without saying, but major spoilers for Michiru’s route ahead. I’ll put in a “More” tag for those who care about such things. Hit the jump for the full story.

Continue reading “2070: Michiru, the Girl in the Box” →

2068: Personality is Like a Cube

“Personality starts off like a cube,” says The Fruit of Grisaia’s protagonist Yuuji in Yumiko’s route. “When we’re young, we clumsily bump our corners against other people in the form of childish conflicts. Eventually, our sharp edges are worn away to leave something more like a sphere. That’s more or less what people are describing when they say someone’s ‘softened’.

“Moderate collisions with others help us mature. But when those first impacts are too strong, they can have a different effect: instead of losing our corners little by little, we splinter in strange, harsh ways, warping into crooked shapes. Once crooked, it’s hard to become a sphere. Even as the people around them mellow, their sharpness only grows harsher, and everyone who approaches ends up getting hurt.”

I immediately liked this analogy when it first scrolled across my screen following Yumiko’s revelations about her past. And, not for the first time, I found the writing in a visual novel resonating with me somewhat. While I’m in no way comparing my life situation to the struggles Yuuji and Yumiko have to deal with in The Fruit of Grisaia — struggles which I won’t discuss specifically here, for those who are interested in reading it and wanting to avoid spoilers — I could certainly relate to a lot of the sentiments involved.

Most recently, I’ve been becoming conscious of how I’ve “softened” somewhat in the last few… months, maybe? My own personal struggles over the last five years — and even earlier than that, to a lesser degree, if I’m completely honest — have certainly chipped away at my original “cube”, and there have been more than a few crooked splinters here and there that make me into a not-exactly perfect specimen of normalcy. But then, who is “normal” anyway?

Some of those sharp edges feel like they’re wearing away a little bit, though, after a long time. I contemplate my new part-time work in retail and realise that I’m actually quite enjoying interacting with other people, both colleagues and customers alike, even despite my long-standing struggle with social anxiety. I contemplate my fight against my once-constantly rising weight, and how I’ve scored a resounding victory over it so far by shedding just under five stone since February of this year. I can look in the mirror now and not hate myself; I can speak to other people now and not worry that they hate me.

In other areas, there are still sharp corners and splinters, though, preventing me from becoming that perfect “sphere”. I still harbour a considerable degree of resentment towards people who have done unpleasant things or treated me unfairly in the past, and I just can’t seem to let go of those feelings. There are nights when I can’t get to sleep because my mind insists on replaying some of my most upsetting memories over and over again — sometimes with slight variations depicting how I wish I’d acted, sometimes unfolding exactly as they did in reality — and this makes it clear that I’m still rather more “crooked” than I’d like to be.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be that perfect “sphere”; by this point, I feel like I’ve “splintered in strange, harsh ways” so many times that it probably won’t ever happen, but I can at least try to round off as many corners as I can and make the best of things, one day at a time.

2067: Yumiko

Spoilers for not-quite-all of Yumiko’s route of The Fruit of Grisaia ahead!

When we’re first introduced to Sakaki Yumiko in the common route of The Fruit of Grisaia, it’s clear that she is both troubled and likely to be trouble for Yuuji. When Yuuji first tries to introduce himself to her, she initially tries to ignore him, and subsequently tries to slap him when he persists. This eventually escalates into her lashing out at him with a box cutter whenever she sees him, a fact which Yuuji’s fellow students just shrug off as being “something she does”, because they’ve all been through it too. Yuuji, being a certified badass, shrugs off Yumiko’s attacks without injury easily, and eventually they stop altogether, though she still proves herself to be a prickly individual who is generally unwilling to interact with others.

Except it’s not that simple. Throughout the common route, Yumiko can often be found lurking on the periphery of the rest of the group’s social activities; they’re all aware of her and take care not to exclude her, but they also don’t try to force her to participate in anything. It’s clear that even if she doesn’t show it on her face or through her behaviour, she finds comfort in being around people who care for her and are considerate of her feelings. Even the foul-mouthed Makina proves herself to be enormously perceptive of Yumiko’s personality traits, accurately “reading her thoughts” in one particularly memorable scene.

In the common route, we’re given a teaser of what has made Yumiko as withdrawn, sullen and prone to lashing out as she is — it’s clearly to do with her father. Upon returning from a shopping trip to the town, a number of the group report a suspicious-looking black car outside the station, though those who have been at the school longer know that this is a sign that Yumiko’s father is coming to inspect the school, which it seems he financed and had built. Yumiko, meanwhile, refuses to see her father, instead preferring to watch his cursory inspection of the school grounds from the dormitory rooftop; it’s clear that he’s not really inspecting anything, but is instead hoping that he might be able to get through to his daughter.

When Yumiko’s route proper starts, we’re given a bit more information about Yumiko’s father, who has already been suggested to be a not very nice person. Indeed, early in Yumiko’s route, we’re given a third-person scene (i.e. protagonist Yuuji isn’t present for it) in which we see Yuuji’s handler JB and Yumiko’s father discussing how they might get Yumiko to come back to her family and be prepared to take over the family railway business. Yumiko, until now, has been having none of this, of course, and so her father resorts to desperate measures, requesting that JB assign Yuuji to bodyguard duty for Yumiko and then arranging for her to be attacked and abducted. What he didn’t count on is that Yuuji is more than capable of taking care of a few hired thugs, particularly as they had been specifically instructed not to actually harm Yumiko — at least initially.

Yumiko is initially resistant to Yuuji guarding her, insisting that “it’s not as though [her] life’s anything worth protecting”, and that she “doesn’t particularly mind if someone does come for [her]”. The initial attack from her father’s men puts her somewhat on her guard, though, and from that point on she is less resistant to Yuuji’s efforts to protect her, and gradually softens towards him over time, eventually developing feelings for him because she’s come to rely on his protection — a feeling of safety and security that she’s never enjoyed before.

Yuuji, being a stubborn idiot prone to inadvertently annoying women with non-deliberate insensitive comments, of course, doesn’t notice that Yumiko has started to feel something for him — or refuses to admit that this might be a possibility, at least — but sticks beside her “because it’s [his] job”. When JB pulls him off the case at the request of Yumiko’s father, he is somewhat surprised to receive a direct request from Yumiko to continue working as her bodyguard in a private capacity.

On one excursion, the heavens open and Yuuji and Yumiko find themselves trapped under a bridge in a torrential downpour. Something doesn’t seem right about Yumiko’s behaviour to Yuuji, and it’s not long before things come to a head; a thunderclap and flash of lightning absolutely terrify Yumiko, who crumples into Yuuji’s arms in an uncharacteristic display of weakness, fragility and reliance on others. Having already come this far in showing her fragile side to Yuuji, she then relates the story of how she came to be the person she is today, and what she is doing at the mysterious school.

Yumiko’s mother was the daughter of a pair of struggling business owners. She married into the Sakaki family primarily for financial and political reasons, and bore Yumiko as the family’s only child. Being a girl, Yumiko was an immediate disappointment to the family, who had been hoping for a son and heir apparent, but Yumiko’s mother was much too weak to survive another pregnancy, and eventually succumbed to a debilitating psychological disorder that saw her and Yumiko retreat back to the countryside and her family home. She was hospitalised, and Yumiko was left to live with her grandparents, who resented her existence because she was a symbol of their failing business, and how they wouldn’t be able to rely on the support of the Sakaki family forever.

Yumiko tried to stay positive amid this bleak situation, but the youthful joy she once had at the simple sight of a passing dog eventually gave way to bitterness and resentment. Her only outlet was her neighbour, who had formerly been employed by her grandparents as a servant, but now continued to help them out for free. Yumiko was the only one to show her gratitude, and she resented her grandparents for taking advantage of her right up until her death — a feeling shared by her daughter and son-in-law.

Her hospitalised mother gradually comes to show an improvement, eventually reaching a point where it looks like she’s going to be discharged from hospital, but suffers a catastrophic relapse upon hearing the news that her husband — Yumiko’s father — had taken a mistress in her absence, and said mistress had borne him a son.

A year passes, and Yumiko’s bitterness grows, since her mother had relapsed so severely that she couldn’t even remember anything about her family. She had no-one to rely on, no-one to talk to, no friends, which is why when her father’s aides come to collect her from her grandparents’ house — bearing the offer “if you let me have Yumiko back, I’ll continue supporting your family and your business” — she jumps at the opportunity.

Initially resenting her father for the anguish he caused her and her mother, Yumiko eventually softens towards him as he appears to be making a genuine effort to reconnect with his daughter. It eventually transpires that he is only doing this because his illegitimate son died and his mistress abandoned him shortly afterwards, leaving Yumiko once again as the only potential heir to his business. Feeling a familiar, growing sense of rage at this, Yumiko is in a fragile mental state and is pushed over the edge when she overhears one of her classmates speaking untruths about her.

Prior to this, she had taken to expressing her anger through destruction. “The clicking of the blade emerging from its sheath,” she relates. “The sound of something once whole being severed apart. Those had become calming sounds to me. How wonderful would it be if I could slice away my femininity with a single box cutter? How wonderful would it be if I could sever my fate with the touch of a blade? How wonderful would it be if one movement of my hand could cut me free of all the troubles that coiled around me and choked the air from my lungs?”

The first thing she destroys is her long, black hair; an attempt to “slice away her femininity” and look more like a boy — a largely successful effort, though one that causes people to shy away from her even more than normal. Later, she destroys her artwork and the diary in which she had written down all the growing positive thoughts she had been feeling as she had mistakenly thought her father truly loved her.

And ultimately, the event which sees her totally severing her ties to her old life: she stabs her classmate, whom she had previously thought was a friend, but who had turned out to be just as much of a turncoat as everyone else in her life.

Yumiko escaped a criminal conviction for her violent outburst, because money can make anything go away, and her father knew that very well indeed. Knowing that the situation couldn’t continue in the way it had been, however, he offloads her onto Mihama Academy, where she meets Yuuji, and her life undergoes some considerable changes once again.

When Yuuji ends up injured in the line of duty protecting her, Yumiko is wracked with guilt, not just at the trouble she’s embroiled Yuuji in, but at how much she’s hurt her other classmates too. This guilt eventually manifests itself in her deliberately allowing herself to be taken away by her fathers men and capitulating to whatever demands he might have — which turn out to be her attendance at a school in America, far away from anywhere she could possibly become a problem.

Yumiko’s father doesn’t count on Yuuji’s stubbornness, though; spurred into action by a text message from Yumiko apologising for a situation that is in no way her fault, he eventually rescues her following a dramatic chase, and the two of them begin a life on the run, during which period they both eventually manage to admit their feelings for one another — though it takes Yumiko essentially sexually assaulting Yuuji in the middle of the night to spur the latter into action and contemplate that she might actually possibly maybe be interested in him.

Yumiko and Yuuji making love for the first time — and, for that matter, the subsequent time, during which she admits that she “doesn’t dislike” playing a submissive, masochistic role — is a turning point for Yumiko in particular, and to a lesser extent for Yuuji. Yuuji reveals that he has some sexual experience thanks to sex workers that were laid on for him in a previous assignment, but comes to realise that sexual intimacy with someone you truly care about is on a whole other level of pleasure. Yumiko, meanwhile, allows this ultimate expression of intimacy as a means of demonstrating that she trusts Yuuji absolutely; the pair of them continually push the boundaries with each other to see how far they will each go, and it turns out that they both feel absolutely comfortable with one another after all the time they have spent together.

Yumiko’s growth is pretty touching to see, but tragic at the same time. On more than one occasion, she ponders whether it’s acceptable for her to be happy, or whether she “deserves” it. Yuuji has to admonish her several times for apologising when it’s not necessary, though she does the same for him too; eventually the two settle into a pattern of gratitude for one another, neither of them quite sure how to deal with having been alone for so long and now having another person to take into consideration.

I haven’t quite finished Yumiko’s route as yet, but I’m excited to see how it concludes. There’s been plenty of drama and touching, emotional moments so far, and the whole thing is clearly building towards what I hope will be a satisfying final confrontation with her father. I’ll just have to wait and see how that pans out!

2066: Reflections on Grisaia’s Common Route

I’ve finally reached the end of the rather lengthy common route in The Fruit of Grisaia, and so it’s on to the unique routes for each of the main cast members. I’ve decided to explore them in the order Yumiko > Michiru > Sachi > Makina > Amane so as to save my favourite heroine for last, but this also apparently works out quite well narrative-wise, since Makina and Amane’s routes sound as if they are more important with regard to the series’ overall continuity.

I’ve already started on Yumiko’s route, but haven’t read enough to be able to comment on it with any particular authority as yet, so I will save that for another time. Instead, I wanted to reflect a little on the common route, since it was very enjoyable in its own right.

The Fruit of Grisaia’s common route is actually more of a collection of short stories loosely organised into chronological order to allow for references to past events and a certain degree of character growth as the chapters proceed. By the time you reach the decision points that determine which unique route you’ll be proceeding down, you’ll have a pretty firm understanding of all the characters on at least a superficial level, plus astute observers will have picked up a few hints as to what their own personal stories will be all about.

Aside from the overall development, though, each chapter of Grisaia is pretty much a self-contained story in its own right. They open with protagonist Yuuji delivering some philosophical narration about the situation, then the scene itself unfolding, then Yuuji wrapping things up with some conclusions from his own perspective. It’s a structure that works well, and it keeps things moving along; none of the chapters feel like they particularly drag, even though there’s not a lot of “action” in the whole common route, and the tone bounces around between comedic, romantic, dramatic and tragic between different chapters, giving you a chance to see all of the characters respond to various situations and understand them as people rather than archetypes.

And that’s quite a key point, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts on the subject: none of the characters in Grisaia quite conform to the stereotypes you’re clearly supposed to think of when you first see them. Amane’s onee-san act is stymied by her Kansai coarseness; Makina’s loli appearance belies a foul mouth that would make the dirtiest of dirty old men blush; Sachi’s compliant nature and habitually calm tone of voice makes it all the more surprising when she comes out with a surprisingly cutting remark; Michiru is fully aware of the fact that her tsundere personality is a deliberate act, as is everyone else; and Yumiko… well, of the lot of them, she, so far, appears to have so far been the one who conforms most to her stereotype, but she’s also the character whom Yuuji has had the most difficulty connecting, so I don’t doubt we’ll learn more about her in her unique route.

Peppered throughout the common route’s short stories are little hints and clues about the cast’s histories, though nothing is quite made explicit until towards the end of the common route, and even then there are still a lot of mysteries. Who is Yuuji, for example? What is his mysterious “job” that he keeps referring to? What is his connection with the school and its principal? Yuuji represents probably the most intriguing mystery of the lot, but the other cast members all clearly have their own skeletons in the closet, too.

But because those skeletons are all rather personal to the individual characters, they’re left to be explored in their personal routes, leaving the common route free to let its hair down a bit and indulge in some light-heartedness such as the obligatory “beach episode” (which features a hilariously filthy scene between Sachi and Michiru) as well as everyday happenings around the school that give us an ideal of who these characters are and how they relate to one another. It’s a close-knit bunch that starts to feel rather like family after a while — an observation that several characters comment on a few times.

So far, then, the common route has thoroughly enraptured me in the world of The Fruit of Grisaia and smitten me with its characters — all of them, too, which is nice; usually in this sort of setup there’s at least one cast member that, even if I don’t actively dislike them, I feel as if I like less than the others — and I’m very much looking forward to seeing how their stories unfold. And, from there, the fact that there are two sequels to look forward to at some point down the road makes me very happy indeed.

2060: A Fruitful Relationship: More Grisaia Impressions

In an effort to steer away from three solid days of ranting about games journalism, I asked my followers on Twitter for some suggestions of things to write about, and got a few nice ideas, so I’ll be making use of those over the next few days.

I thought I’d start with a request from my friend Mr Michael Cunningham, who wanted to hear a bit more about The Fruit of Grisaia, the visual novel I’m currently reading, and which I gave some first impressions of here.

So far, I believe I’m still in the “common” route of Grisaia, since I’ve only made a single choice so far, and that didn’t come until after a considerable number of hours of reading. The lack of interaction hasn’t been a problem, though; the early hours of Grisaia are clearly intended as a means of helping you get to know the characters and the context in which they find themselves, and the distinctly leisurely pace at which the early hours of your typical visual novel such as Grisaia unfolds allows it to dangle some truly tantalising mysteries in front of you, mostly with regard to the backgrounds of the characters and what has actually brought them all together.

Even the basic concept of Grisaia is still a slight mystery to me at this juncture. Although the early hours have been relatively typical high school slice-of-life so far, there’s clearly something more going on. From the protagonist’s frequent references to his mysterious “job” and use of military terminology and tactics to the unpredictable, trope-subverting nature of all the heroines, nothing seems quite “right” in Grisaia’s world, and that’s what makes it so intriguing. The fact that the school which they all attend has no-one but them in it — making for a student body of just six people — is perhaps the biggest mystery: why are they all there? What has pulled them out of “normal” life? What is the school for?

Amane initially appears to be the most “normal” of the cast. She likes to play the role of the older sister, and does so with great enthusiasm, particularly when it comes to protagonist Yuuji. Yuuji is initially resistant to her advances but eventually allows her to indulge a little for the sake of having a marginally quieter life, because even when she’s getting what she wants, Amane is forthright, frank, open and honest about everything — arguably to a fault.

She’s also seemingly very much at ease with herself as a woman, happily stripping off and getting changed in front of other people (including Yuuji) and wearing clothes that emphasise her curves. She’s also rather sexually aggressive towards Yuuji even as they’re first getting to know one another, often grabbing him and pressing herself against him, and on one memorable occasion, sneaking into his room while she thinks he’s out and inhaling his scent from his clothes and his bed; Yuuji catches her just before she starts masturbating.

I’m not quite sure what to make of Amane yet. I certainly like her a great deal, but I have a feeling that her forthrightness may, in fact, be compensating for something. Exactly what, I couldn’t say just yet, but I’m pretty convinced that there is more to Amane than meets the eye.

Makina is brilliant. Initially presented as the dimwitted loli of the group, it takes a little time for Makina to take to Yuuji, but they eventually bond, much to the surprise of Amane, from whom Makina is otherwise almost inseparable. It transpires that Makina is far less stupid than she likes to make out, and that she may well be putting on an act for her own mysterious reasons.

This doesn’t mean that she’s entirely “normal”, though. Her impressive ability to take mental photographs of books she’s reading and instantly recall information from them — albeit only in black and white — reminds Yuuji of his deceased sister, who had a similar ability. Perhaps not coincidentally, Makina quickly starts calling Yuuji “Onii-chan”, despite his resistance; much like he softens towards Amane somewhat, so too does he eventually just let Makina continue along in her own bizarre little world.

Perhaps the most amusing and intriguing thing about Makina is the way she talks. Far from being stereotypically cute and shy, Makina is foul-mouthed and frequently comes out with things you’d expect a dirty old man to say. Amane occasionally admonishes her for this, but since she occasionally slips into her own Kansai region colloquialisms, she doesn’t really have a leg to stand on in this instance.

Again, I wouldn’t like to conjecture what brought Makina to Mihama Academy in the first place, but it’s clear that something traumatic happened in her past; so far, however, the conversation has always been steered away from it any time it looks like getting into dangerous territory.

In contrast to Makina’s front of stupidity, Michiru actually does appear to be pretty dimwitted. Obsessed with the tsundere character trope to a fault, Michiru deliberately tries to act as stereotypical as possible, but in the process frequently breaks character in order to seek the approval of others — and, to a certain degree, herself — on how well she’s doing at playing the spoiled princess.

In keeping with the other characters, though, there’s seemingly a lot more to Michiru than meets the eye. As time progresses, whenever she is alone with Yuuji, she seems to want to open up to him somewhat. In some instances, she drops the tsundere act completely and attempts to have a serious conversation, though her inability to articulate herself in anything more than the most simple terms sometimes means she finds it challenging to get across quite what she wants to say.

Michiru is clearly struggling with depression — perhaps as a result of a condition or illness she has. Her adoption of the tsundere personality is a coping mechanism designed to hide any outward signs of her pain and suffering; by being deliberately aggressive and contrary about everything, she puts up a formidable barrier around the truth that lies in her heart, though, of course, I’m sure by the end of her own narrative route we’ll get to the bottom of exactly what is bothering her so much. She is the butt of a considerable number of jokes throughout the common route, but I have the distinct feeling she’s going to end up being one of the most sympathetic characters.

Sachi (right) is something of an enigma. Sweet, innocent and largely emotionless to a fault, something in Sachi’s past has caused her to become someone who takes everything she hears absolutely literally. This means that a joke about how she should wear a maid costume all the time because of all the hard work she does for others means that she now wears a maid costume whenever she’s not in her school uniform; it means that someone requesting “the freshest milk possible” sees her catching a train out to the countryside to go and milk a cow.

Sachi’s initial impression is that she’s a thoroughly nice and considerate person, but there’s something else at work. Occasionally — particularly when she’s dealing with Michiru — some uncharacteristically hurtful, acidic comments will come out of her mouth. There’s evidently some bitterness festering beneath the surface, though for the most part, she simply refuses to talk about it and quickly puts her façade of being the perfect maid back up.

The other thing about Sachi is that her tendency to take things literally means that she has absolutely no sense of shame or propriety whatsoever. When Yuuji jokes with her about the power a glimpse of lingerie has over men, she turns up to school the next day in nothing but lacy undies, stockings and suspenders. When she and Yuuji are cleaning the dormitory bathroom together, she falls over and gets her maid costume wet, then subsequently decides that the appropriate thing to do — after another joke from Yuuji — is to take it off, attach it to her mop (“to cover more ground”) and continue the rest of the cleaning job in her underwear. I anticipate that this aspect of her character in particular will cause more than a few awkward situations by the conclusion.

Finally, Yumiko is the most obviously fucked up of the main cast. Initially refusing to even speak to Yuuji, instead preferring to first of all slap him when he approaches her, and subsequently attack him with a box cutter at every opportunity, the barriers around Yumiko’s heart are nigh-impenetrable, it seems, but Yuuji’s ability to shrug most awkward situations off — perhaps due to his own background, which he hints at regularly throughout the common route without explicitly explaining it — means that he takes her violence and anger in his stride. He eventually manages to get through to her enough to be able to speak to her and subsequently have an honest conversation with her, even spending some time with her alone without her trying to attack him.

Yumiko’s basic character trope is that of the perpetually grumpy “student council president” type, but rather than being a blushing, awkward individual beneath the façade, it’s clear that her outward grumpiness is a sign of outright rage and bitterness bubbling beneath the surface. She is, so far as I’ve read at least, the biggest mystery among the main cast — both to me and to the rest of the cast, too. She keeps herself to herself, and no-one seems to know anything about her history. No-one even seems to know where she’s going or what she’s doing at the weekends when she sneaks out of the dormitory in the early hours of the morning carrying a tote bag full of “wooden objects”. I’m looking forward to finding out more about her.

That’s what I know so far, then. They’re an interesting bunch of characters, to be sure, and I’m really looking forward to each of their routes to discover exactly what makes them tick and what has brought them to the strange circumstances in which they find themselves. I sense it’s going to be a long road to find out, but up until this point, it’s been a compelling and intriguing ride with a ton of tantalisingly unanswered questions.

Number one visual novel of all time? I couldn’t say with confidence as yet. But it’s certainly one of the most immediately compelling, well-written — and well-localised — ones I’ve read for quite some time, and if you have the slightest interest in the medium, I’d encourage you to support it.