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The Anti-Storytelling of Haruhi Suzumiya

Subverting expectations by telling a story instead of setting out genre signifiers.

The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzumiya is one of those works that landed at exactly the right time. The premise is that a Japanese teenage girl named Haruhi Suzumiya starts a high school club investigating the paranormal; unbeknownst to her, all but one of the club members is actually, secretly, a paranormal phenomenon in some way. One is a time traveller, one is a psychic (or ‘ESPer’, the preferred term in anime), and one is the avatar of a computer consciousness, and she herself (again, without her knowledge) has a mysterious and vaguely defined ability to warp reality itself. This premise, while maybe a tad overstuffed, is fairly typical not just for anime but for children’s television worldwide.

What makes it special is the execution. I came to the show the same way a lot of people did – through TV Tropes – with the show landing in 2006, two years after the site’s launch and right in the start of its heyday. Haruhi Suzumiya is a show that rewards a deep knowledge of tropes and cliches, not just because it references things you’ve seen, but because it uses those cliches in an intellectually rewarding way. In essence, it understands how those cliches work and uses them like grammar to tell something totally new.

For starters, Haruhi isn’t actually our viewpoint protagonist. The first ‘real’ episode (I’ll explain that in a minute) starts with a young man nicknamed Kyon. As he goes to school, he narrates how he used to believe in Santa Claus as a kid but grew older and disenchanted, and uses this as a metaphor for growing up in general and becoming an adult by putting away childish things. He then meets a mysterious, brooding young woman named Haruhi; he’s intrigued by how she wears her hair differently depending on the day of the week, and eventually strikes up a conversation with her.

Kyon tends to narrate in ways that would indicate very long pauses in the conversation (or at least a wandering mind outside of conversation), and the show uses that to build some ridiculous montages.

This turns into daily conversations before class, and eventually she picks up on something he remarks and decides to start a high school club investigating the paranormal, pulling in three random people alongside Kyon. Now, again, this sounds all fairly straightforward, but the show is already presenting it in a very strange way. Much of the episode is Kyon’s narration, and he quickly proves himself one of those very charming cynics; he’s aloof, but he’s curious, thoughtful, insightful about others, and inclined to use those insights to make people comfortable.

This is combined with a ludicrously hyperkinetic style that a) is pushed at points into parody and b) at ironic odds with the low stakes. Kyon tends to narrate in ways that would indicate very long pauses in the conversation (or at least a wandering mind outside of conversation), and the show uses that to build some ridiculous montages. One thing that always struck me about the show was how often it combined incredibly upbeat and fast music with incredibly slow editing and long takes, and the crew find some strange angles to look at Kyon’s face as he internally reacts to things.

When the premise starts, the show gets even weirder. The next three subsequent episodes are each other member of the club individually coming to Kyon and informing them that actually, they’re a representative of a paranormal group sent to keep an eye on Haruhi because she has a cluster of some kind of power around her that allows her control over reality. Individually, each of these episodes is fairly straightforward; the fact that you get three of them in a row with exactly the same structure is bizarre (Kyon even comments when he gets to the third iteration).

Haruhi Suzumiya is a particularly spectacular example of postmodernism, and specifically the intellectual pleasures of subverting the audience’s expectations – even denying what they think they want.

This is where you get to what appears to be the meat of the show and is, definitively, what drew people’s attention, even if they couldn’t put why into words. Haruhi Suzumiya is a particularly spectacular example of postmodernism, and specifically the intellectual pleasures of subverting the audience’s expectations – even denying what they think they want. Having three structurally identical episodes in a row is weird and tedious; they do everything possible to make that choice interesting, but it naturally draws attention to itself and it naturally makes the audience ask: why would they make that choice?

This is what I mean about the show being in the right place at the right time. Anime fans of that exact generation and at that exact point were beginning to recognize that stories are constructed, and have recurring patterns and cliches that can be used and put together. If you do something like that now, audiences in general are both too sophisticated to be impressed by storytelling tricks and too incurious to explore ambiguous questions; at the time of writing, a lot of people are complaining that youth audiences have puritan tendencies in their criticism. I think this is overstating the problem, but it does exist – audiences in the late 00’s tended to be a lot more playful.

This is a fundamental creative conceit of the show: teasing and denying audiences genre expectations. It’s not that we never see fun shit; indeed, every episode is about some wacky genre element, with one of my favourites being a reveal that a side character was also an avatar of a big computer consciousness and she gets into a battle with our avatar of a big computer consciousness over trying to kill Kyon. But the central risks of a) ever finding out what the actual deal is with Haruhi’s ‘powers’ and b) Haruhi learning she’s the centre of three different conspiracies are constantly teased and never fulfilled.

The ultimate joke of the show is that genre stuff doesn’t move forward, will never move forward, and fuck you for wanting that.

In a way, this is a pleasure too. Again, it’s intellectual stimulation; one’s creativity goes into overdrive trying to reconcile all these details we’re given and mysteries that are never solved. One very common approach to storytelling by genre nerds is what’s known in Warhammer 40k circles as ‘no story, only lore’. That is to say, there are genre nerds who are in it purely to learn more details about the fictional worlds they want to occupy; more information, more facts to organise into wikis and lorebooks and whatever. Bad genre fiction often exists entirely to serve this purpose.

The genius of Haruhi Suzumiya is how it subverts that expectation continuously and shamelessly while delivering on the actual basics of good storytelling. The ultimate joke of the show is that genre stuff doesn’t move forward, will never move forward, and fuck you for wanting that, but the characters constantly make tiny, almost banal decisions that  drastically change their real relationships and emotions. The story of Haruhi Suzumiya is not some special girl at the centre of a massive conspiracy, it’s a teenage boy making some friends and getting re-enchanted with the world.

The funny thing is that the characters themselves are just as much puzzles as their world is, and the funny thing about Kyon in particular is that, as much as he seems to share every single inner thought he has with the audience, not only is he holding things back from us, he’s probably, maybe lying to himself. At the beginning, he tells us he’s pretty comfortable letting go of the childish stories he grew up with, and he repeatedly complains about Haruhi’s schemes and how irritating he finds her, but he also never walks away and, indeed, often seems to find the actual work fun.

Haruhi’s actions are explicitly her trying to run away from despair and make life magical and more interesting.

There’s one notable point early on where Haruhi schemes (extremely unethically) to get the club a new computer and website, and Kyon diligently sets it up, remarking to himself that actually it was a pretty fun process. Kyon does have a few friends before he meets Haruhi, but he also comes off as bored and frustrated with life; he doesn’t seem to have any hobbies or interests outside the club, which strikes me as a deliberate choice. And his journey is one of becoming attached to the other club members; one of the big moments in the show is when Haruhi performs at a school festival in an elaborately staged setpiece, and we see Kyon appearing to watch with total disinterest before tapping his finger to the beat.

Haruhi, similarly, has more depth than she appears. Her personality is incredibly brash to the point of entitlement and sometimes to the point of sociopathy (one gag is her repeatedly sexually assaulting the cute girl in the club, one that I admit I always found uncomfortable, although the fact that everyone around her reacts realistically made it really funny to me). The side effect to the main conceit is that she’s always loudly insisting on the existence of aliens and ESPers and such despite never having even a hint of proof.

One of the other big setpieces is when Haruhi and Kyon are walking down the street, and Haruhi explains to Kyon in a simple, long, and elaborately underlined monologue why she does what she does: she grew up thinking she was special and interesting, but realised one day that there are so many people in the world that she could, legitimately, be lost within them. That is to say, Haruhi’s actions are explicitly her trying to run away from despair and make life magical and more interesting.

But it’s also relationships that make our lives and art lasting.

This is where the show’s intellectual preoccupations and story come together. The genre stuff is fun; the clever tricks and mashups across genres reinvigorated them and made them feel fresh at the time. Ironically, while I think the pranks hold up now, a new work couldn’t really do them; the novelty is gone forever. Lately I’ve found myself more re-enchanted with fiction and cliches and tropes and shit, mainly because I’m continuing to search outside my usual faves and contextualizing them within a larger context. But it’s also relationships that make our lives and art lasting. It’s the friendship between Haruhi and Kyon that makes this show worth watching.

Oddly, this all comes together in the last episode of the first season. The premise is that the weather has gotten cold, so Haruhi sends Kyon out to pick up a heater she bought; the joke is that without Kyon there, things are really boring. Haruhi jumps from one idea to the next without any of Kyon’s focus to force her to think any of them through; the characters read and sit; Kyon himself has nothing to observe and nothing to think about. He gets back with the heater, and everyone is happy, because now they have something to do.

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