Mutual vulnerability and finding their Otherside
As you may have understood with several reposts I just made, I am thinking about Otherside Picnic again.
To be fair, I never exactly stopped, notably since early September and my read of volume 8. But it is severely invading my thoughts again today, and each time it puts me into a trance-like state for a while. I am just coming off the reads of this reddit post (spoiler-free, and a very good way of selling you the series) and this excellent tumblr thoughts dump (spoilers for vol. 8) by Frythatrice. And since a specific momentous, game-changing chapter of the manga version (aaaaah) that I had been anticipating for a long while released just yesterday, it feels like this is the right moment to get back to my notes and write some more about this incredible book series.
Spoilers below for volume 8 of the Otherside Picnic novels.
Also, CW for mentions of sex.
Compared to my previous (very) long attempt on the topic, this essay has less of a thesis: I simply think that File 26 (currently the last chapter of this book series published in English) talks about opening up and intimacy in ways that blow my mind again, and again, and again. And I need to pour these overflowing thoughts and feelings on the page.
That File is impressive in so many ways. And moving. And hot. And exhilarating. And it puts me in a daze each time I open it again, because it does in extremely genuine ways things I have mostly witnessed in real life, and in any case never this strikingly in print form.
It shows vulnerability.
It shows vulnerability right from its opening: when Toriko allows Sorawo to enter her home.
By doing so, Sorawo quite literally enters Toriko's past. We had been getting information about it drop by drop, but now the pieces click together and become more than mentions in passing.
Surrounded by memories, Toriko talks about her moms. About her childhood. About her crushes that never ended well, about her sex ed, about growing up a bullied lesbian. About sex, and her needs. All this feels incredibly realistic, intimate, and makes Toriko so much more than the archetype she started as.
On her end, even if she doesn't know exactly how to respond to all that, Sorawo has grown enough to be aware of the sheer trust placed in her - notably as she bites back offhanded remarks about Satsuki or about Toriko's interest in sex. There is this atmosphere, this momentousness to their conversation that makes her realize that nothing should detract them from it. And of course, the narrative is also perfectly aware of that, as nothing does.
What is happening between them has, if you want to reuse a theme from volume 7, a stronger air than Otherside manifestations.
With this, they finally get the space to open up.
They never exactly did until now, and I would argue that all this was planned: all these frustrations in Files 14 or 16 of seeing possibly importantly intimate scenes happen, except they don't, and the Otherside meddles with them instead, were on purpose. Narratively, if such a moment of intimacy had happened without interruption earlier, it probably would have had devastating consequences on Sorawo and Toriko's relationship. It is admittedly a bit far-fetched, but in-universe, one could even make the argument that these Otherside interruptions were somehow brought about by Sorawo herself: she seeks an escape to her greatest fear, intimate relationships; and the Otherside is oh so happy to oblige with providing the distraction of other scares instead, that our protagonist knows how to handle. There is a frustrating timing to them that makes a lot of sense if you read them as a subconscious part of Sorawo's avoidance strategy.
And so, seeing Sorawo grow enough to ask for help, to face her emotions, to stand by what she feels, all the while taking this deep dive into Toriko's life and accepting it, is impressive beyond words. It could not have happened earlier, because Sorawo wasn't ready for - wasn't interested in - such a display of trust. But it can now. It does now.
In several ways, Toriko is literally haunted by her past. She is by Satsuki, clearly, until volume 3, and until most of this haunting actually starts targeting Sorawo's jealousy. But she is also by her family: her home, in every aspect, is a grave and a shrine to her moms.
These are core elements of Toriko's self, but there is also a collection of smaller ones, notably regarding her interest in sex and her sexuality. She does put on a somewhat confident face when talking about it to Sorawo, but even the latter understands how much courage it must have asked of her to tell all this.
It feels consequential, then, to see Toriko ask for a hug at her most vunerable point, and to see Sorawo accept her as she is. Their hug, so carefully staged narratively in front of a shelf full of eromangas in a way that is even pointed out by Sorawo herself in the narrative, is both an extreme examplification of Miyazawa's "yuri of absence" aesthetic, and a reflection of Sorawo's acceptance of each and every thing Toriko has trouble opening up about.
For the first time, Toriko tells it all. For the first time, Sorawo listens.
They accept each other. They really do.
Interestingly, this moment is not romantically or sexually charged for Sorawo as it is for Toriko. I have seen Sorawo described as a tsundere or a dense lesbian at times, but as it turns out, she really is not: for a long time, she has been genuinely uneasy and, as she says it herself, dissatisfied, by Toriko's unfiltered attraction and relentless attempts at throwing romance-y and sexual elements into their relationship. Her general disinterest is sincere, not some trope.
What does change, however, what makes this work, is the vulnerability Toriko shows.
Faced with Toriko's genuine, continued interest in her; faced with her obvious care; faced with all the ways she opens up about her past... Sorawo receives all the emotions Toriko has for her, and she too feels enormous feelings in return. They are more diffuse than romantic attraction seems to be for everyone else. But there is an obvious interest, an obvious care; a "special kind of love", and of attraction too.
What fascinates me to no end is that it is sharing intimacy that actually gets Sorawo going (in more ways than one, but we'll get back to that). Notably, this gigantic display of vulnerability, this long conversation when we finally see Toriko bare her heart, is what makes Sorawo conscientize her own kind of love.
Similarly, a bit later, Sorawo comments how Toriko's "awkward lust for [her is] dazzling to behold", and-- I don't know. That moment has everything.
I think this is a part where the only thing I can do is quote the book, because everything is there, and I feel like that moment in particular nails something extraordinary.
I crossed the room and sat on the bed. Toriko’s bed. Then I looked up at Toriko.
Not knowing what to say, I just patted the spot beside me on the bed. Toriko wandered over and sat down next to me. It was the same position as we’d been in in the other bedroom, only we were about a hand’s width closer this time.
Toriko couldn’t bring herself to look at me. Honestly, I think the ability to suddenly find my composure at a time like this was one of the worst parts of my personality.
“Toriko... You really do want to do it with me?” I asked, eliciting a nod from Toriko.
“Is it something that’s really important to you?”
“Yeah... It’s important,” Toriko replied bashfully, and suddenly I found myself thinking how cute she was, and how dear she was to me.
It wasn’t a big deal—at least not to me, that is—but just how much had she agonized over it? Letting her imagination run wild and worrying about all sorts of things that she didn’t need to. Trying to be considerate of me, yet at the same time unable to overcome her own desire... Her internal turmoil was palpable. The awkward lust she had for me was dazzling to behold. The way Toriko was now, there was no way she could think of sex, romance, and love as separate things. They were part of one big thing, all mixed together, and directed at me. Her earnest feelings overwhelmed me—but, you know, it didn’t feel bad.
I feel like I had started to interpret that feeling of “I don’t dislike this” in a more positive way. There was no getting around the fact that there was a difference in intensity in the way we felt about each other, but I was thinking that, maybe, I didn’t need to feel bad about that or use it as an excuse.
It would take courage, of course, but I wet my lips—then made up my mind to say it.
“I-If...I say okay, what’re you going to do?”
Toriko covered her mouth as if she was about to cry. “Be happy...”
That part. That part...!
Truly, it heals something in me, as do all the ways Toriko stands up for her attraction while being deeply vulnerable about it, while this is awkwardly but wholly accepted by Sorawo.
As they talk more and more about it, Sorawo slowly lets go of the pressure of trying to reciprocate out of guilt. She embraces her fuzzy limits, her muted but existing interest, and Toriko's feelings; and together, they have sex for the first time.
I said it before, but I was completely caught by surprise by how naturally sex is addressed here. Throughout this whole File and more generally this book, there is a normalcy about sex as a topic - and notably about lesbian sex - that feels too scarce in fiction. Toriko is alternatively awkward and forthright about it, and this is simply... extremely real. It is in the way she answers Sorawo honestly, when the latter asks what would Toriko want from a relationship aside from a specific name. It is in the way she checks whether Sorawo is uncomfortable because they are both women. It is also in the way drawing eromanga was to Toriko's Mom something she valued and found joy in, and that she was proud of, while probably facing stigmatization about it. Toriko herself tries her best to push back against the idea that this topic - and her interest in it - is something shameful, and her efforts show.
Their failed first attempt at sex, their nakedness, and the soothing nonsexual physical intimacy of Sorawo comforting Toriko afterwards, are also extremely grounded and realistic elements; and it is wonderful to get to see the characters this vulnerable with each other.
And then, something else happens.
I have not enough words to do it justice, honestly. Seeing Toriko mention masturbation so casually is something already; but witnessing Sorawo's reaction, and being in her thoughts at her most intimate when her switch flips is incredible beyond words. This freaking succession of sentences, this whole shift of atmosphere to something erotic from her perspective, this sudden element of self-discovery clicking into place... Truly, seeing her finding her turn-on in first person is a literally eye-opening experience. I never expected I'd get this much insight into her psyche, ever. I have not recovered, and I think I will carry these gay thoughts to the grave.
There is something so hot and true to it that it literally short-circuited my brain, and I remember reading the rest of this experience in an altered state of mind, even more than the strange effect the whole File had had on me until then already.
(It is fascinating to know that I was not the only one to experience this; Frythatrice above in their post calls this specific turning point "the best string of letters and symbols [they have] ever seen in [their] life" and I can't overstate how true this is.)
It is a funny thing, actually, because there is something extremely meta about this. Two months later, I am still incapable of re-reading the scene that follows in its entirety yet, only by bits and glimpses; else I think it will put me in a strange and incoherent state again, just like trying to grasp an Otherside entity in its entirety - which the scene is all about. And, I don't know, but the fact that the book makes me experience that directly is an incredible feat that leaves me in awe of Miyazawa's writing skills.
This may be the best moment to mention how impressed I was when rereading the author's seminal interview Yuri made me human. A lot of ideas Miyazawa mentions there bloom organically in Otherside Picnic, and among them is a distinct feeling I had while reading this sexual and intimate scene between the two leads: "is it really ok for me to have access to that?"
After being in Sorawo's head for so long, there is a reality to this scene that makes having these many details on Sorawo and Toriko's relationship feel almost... voyeuristic. It is incredible in so many ways, and I am absurdly glad I get to; but in some sense, witnessing them finding their Otherside feels almost too much, like something you almost wish for them to enjoy without your intervention. It feels like seeing something you should not see, which is exactly the point, actually.
And the most impressive thing is probably that Miyazawa understands that perfectly, and probably aimed for a similar feeling. See, for instance, these words of his from the same interview:
"Talking about a specific direction, I think there is a quite a difference in perception growing between people who follow Virtual YouTuber yuri and those who don't. Virtual YouTubers put yuri-like relationships between real people on display. Unlike yuri between completely fictional characters, you start to get this feeling, "should I really be allowed to watch this?". Like, the relationships we get to see are indeed wonderful, but shouldn't they normally unfold somewhere far away from any peeping eyes...?"
"Rather... You get this feeling that you want them to happily spend time where nobody's eyes can follow, without any regards to ourselves. [...] You get anxious that our observation has an effect on its targets, or rather, when you happily chatter about two women getting along with each, "this is yuri, ain't it", you get a sense of guilt for selfishly categorizing other people's relationship."
I am rereading this and I-- I mean-- This is exactly what happens in this end of File 26, in some sense.
The feeling that I get to see something so intimate, with that lull in the blue storm, that I almost shouldn't be allowed to see it.
AND, as the meta cherry on top, this is exactly what the Otherside is about. Things that alter your state of mind and that you cannot grasp without categorizing and reducing, things that you shouldn't see.
Somehow, intimacy, profound intimacy, is like the Otherside. Sorawo and Toriko's relationship, their utmost vulnerability, is just like the Otherside - no wonder witnessing it caused a similar effect on me. And so, it makes perfect sense for their apotheosis to textually turn into its own way of accessing the Otherside, too.
This is the part where I struggle to articulate how brilliant this all is. Once again, the fact that Miyazawa managed to elicit all that through his writing, to cause this level of thematic resonance between the horror and the relationship parts of his story, to create this intricate and organic an interface between them, is something I feel in an altered state just talking about.
The Otherside has been in turn that dangerous, special place tailor-made for Sorawo and Toriko to bond, like a suspension bridge; that strange medium allowing them to face their traumas and abuse together; that permanent alteration of their bodies like a way of marking them as outcasts from the rest of society; that manifestation of "madness" as a mirror to how they function in ways different and alien to anybody else anyway. Now, it is a literal manifestation of their wants - touching, seeing - and of their fears - proximity, vulnerability. It is the embodiment of their more general fear of hurting each other, without ever fearing much getting hurt themselves.
By embracing this, by taking this risk together, they find a common channel of communication, a common form, a common word - Nue.
By embracing this, they enter an Otherside where they have nothing to fear except each other; and at last, they don't.
They enter their Otherside; and somehow, both inside and outside the narrative, we do in tow.
In the end, the air of their 80-page-long conversation is not just stronger than Otherside manifestations. It is so strong it allows them to reclaim the Otherside for themselves.
And this scene is erotic, and intimate, and weird, and joyful, and slightly scary; and it is, both textually and metaphorically, single-handedly the best example of mutual vulnerability I have ever read.
The book ends, twice, with the suspension bridge metaphor, itself reclaimed from its original meaning; with diving into the unknown, the indistinct together; with being the indistinct together; with finding each other beyond fear and beyond words.
It is ridiculously bold, and unbelievably beautiful.
That's all I wanted to say about this for today, I think. I tried and cut out other potential tangents, which may or may not be for another time.
Also, some parts here may have been mostly me spinning my wheels; so thank you for indulging me.
As closure, take this funniest silly little fact: "nue" in French, though pronounced differently, is just the feminine form of the word "naked". Make of that what you will.