(originally a thread on my twitter, accompanied with manga panels that i'm too lazy to dig through so i'm just ctrl+c ctrl+v to add to my archive of writing)

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the realism of beastars

beastars is a series that strikes me with its worldbuilding — done through animal dynamics and how it explores characters’ struggles in such a human way. it situates us in the manifestation of all the things that govern animal society and in the internal struggles of a boy.

something that still draws me into the series is how in-depth it goes into the intricacies of the school cafeteria: how it not only tells us that eating meat is a felony, but also draws the distinctions between carnivore and herbivore breakfast menus, how seats are separated by species, and so forth. i really appreciate looking at how easy it must be for larger animals to harm the smaller ones — even if by accident — and how they still must coexist in this imagined civilized animal society.

but what of life beyond cherryton academy? we see the details of conforming infrastructure, the policies of flying licenses, the co-existence of predator and prey. must these kids come to graduate into adulthood and immediately know their place and live without the daily struggle of being whatever categories they fall into? once they turn away from the small bubble of academia, can they learn to be just like these adults in this seemingly harmonious utopia?

beastars does not shy away from the sinister; this is in fact not a perfect society. with rules comes the need to escape and with humanity comes the expectation of vice. every detail of this series and its world is woven with consideration — for the adults, to survive in a city that still looks harshly at predators under the pretense of peace is to feed your violent and raw urges of consumption and the natural order. it is the existence of a back alley market, where all the illegal is hidden behind necessity, power dynamics, the bounds of life and death. it is liberty and escapism; this is why everything is okay, this is why everyone is happy. but is this right? do we look in horror because of the gritty and harrowing images itagaki paints or because we follow the psyche of a young, naive, and righteous grey wolf? who are we to define what the circle of life ought to be? who are we to question it?

itagaki invites us to think about our world, this world, in ways we never imagined to do so. do all prey live with a looming fear of being killed and eaten? in this society where the back alley seems almost necessary, exploitation is not limited to those in power. i love how even with the prey-predator dichotomy, beastars continues to raise questions about our expectations. vice and our notions on eating to mask in society are not products solely of the back alley. the truth is shown in our inherent desires for a place of defiance and non-conformity. beyond the back alley, there are cafes with underground and executive parties; our expectations on heterosexuality and homogeneity are tossed along with what it is means to be an animal, what it means to be a functioning member of society.

in all the nuances of survival and function, there are still so many smaller details and issues specific to animals: the insecurity of mediocre egg sandwiches or buying patterned clothes — beastars is all the things we’ve never thought about and we’ve never had to think about.

it is so easy to make a story of anthropomorphic animals be a digestible allegory of race [and while this topic is so much larger and needs expansion beyond questioning our inherent biases] itagaki deeply understands her goals: this is not a world so easily comparable to our own.

it is nuanced in the way we have never sought out to look at the circle of life so closely before: how might our characters — animals — be subjected to and tackle themes of love, of lust, of hunger, and all its intersections? how must they overlap to truly be realistic? in other words, while we are given so much about the inner workings of what makes up animal society, what makes up an animal? what makes up legoshi’s character — in all his humanity and internal conflict?

we follow him as he tackles the line of identity and who he is, who he ought to be, and the values he should have. we look at the humanity of a boy, who simply wants to learn more about himself through others. he is a perfect vessel for dissecting this world and how it is so much more than cafeteria lines and back alley markets; legoshi has the inability to hurt and reject despite his disposition and despite the threat others pose to him. how can he truly deny those around him with words of pseudo-justice? how can he dare to follow the confines of what this society deems right when he is constantly fighting the same monster that dwells in other predators and tells them to eat and consume and kill? how can he say drinking this blood or eating this finger is wrong when he can’t stop himself from salivating? how can he say this and be torn between his romantic feelings of love and the desire to succumb to his nature as a carnivore? to his instincts?

these are the things i’ve never once thought to question; these are the things that i find humanity in amidst a story about beasts.

we are standing at the intersection of romance, desire, hunger, hatred, and nature. the thing is: beastars builds upon the things we know as the human experience (the back-and-forths of feeling) but transforms them in a way that is neither human nor animal.

what are the things he truly stands for? is his biggest aim that of co-existence? how do you combat your own life with knowledge and internalized hatred? how can love manifest through scales, spots, and all the things we try to hide?

and ultimately, are the questions beastars proposes answered?