Hara & Ishikawa Lab. is a group specializing in materials, surfaces, chemistry and catalysis

As the years go by, my memory keeps getting fuzzier—I forget a lot of the fun things I thought were cool. So I decided to start keeping a little memo series! Even should I lose my memory, perhaps reading this memorandum will allow me to recall it once more.

Episode 11 Rugrats


This time, it’s Rugrats!

Believe it or not, babies actually understand human language — and they even talk to each other! Up until around age three, kids can still understand “baby talk,” so they’re basically bilingual — fluent in both Adult and Goo-Goo-Gaa-Gaa. Rugrats is an American cartoon built entirely on this hilarious premise.

Of course, these tiny tots don’t have much life experience, so whenever they try to interpret grown-up language, it often goes spectacularly wrong. One minute someone’s talking about “having a baby shower,” and the next the babies are literally preparing an indoor storm. But somehow, through a mix of courage, creativity, and friendship, they always save the day — and their diapers.

The show is often filmed from a baby’s eye view, and honestly, it’s impressive how well it captures that world. Who among us doesn’t remember when the dining table looked like Mount Everest, and the family dog seemed like a woolly mammoth? Rugrats brings back that sense of wonder right from the opening sequence.

Each character has a distinct charm that grows on you episode by episode. There’s Tommy, the brave little leader in diapers — the youngest, yet the heart of the group. His appearance might seem a bit unusual to those used to Japanese anime style, but before you know it, he’s irresistibly cute. His cousin Chuckie, a bit older and battling allergies, adds depth and empathy to the story. This kind of emotional detail is what makes American animation so memorable — you end up caring deeply about these characters without even realizing it.

One unforgettable scene shows Tommy standing all alone in the middle of the schoolyard at noon — and from his tiny perspective, it feels like he’s stranded in a vast desert of despair. It’s surprisingly powerful for a cartoon about crawling humans.

And then there’s the scene where Tommy’s parents prepare a nine-branched menorah.
This is a sacred symbol in Jewish tradition, used during Hanukkah to commemorate the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days. For Japanese viewers, the meaning may not be immediately clear, but for Western audiences, this single moment speaks volumes about the family’s cultural and spiritual identity.

So yes — Rugrats is a comedy about baby chaos, but maybe… just maybe… it carries a deeper message about growing up, belonging, and understanding the world — one diaper change at a time.

Episode 10 Sara Paretsky's V. I. Warshawski
When it comes to hard-boiled women, the first person who comes to my mind is V. I. Warshawski.

If I were asked to name hard-boiled women, I might list Grand Duchess Sofia, Caterina Sforza, and Tomoe Gozen—but their ways of life are almost otherworldly. Compared with them, the fictional V. I. Warshawski feels far more real, as if she were a living, breathing person.

V. I. Warshawski, created by Sara Paretsky, is a former lawyer and a divorced private investigator. When she is hired to look into a case, she often finds herself entangled in outrageous crimes and murders, ultimately confronting the culprits head-on. Armed with a pistol, tall, and trained in karate, she is no stranger to danger—but she frequently ends up battered and half-dead. Even so, she never bends her principles; she always rises again to face evil, and that indomitable spirit has won her the admiration of countless readers.

Some may say, “Well, that proves she’s fictional after all.” But it is precisely Paretsky’s vivid portrayal that makes V. I. Warshawski seem so real. She enjoys cooking, she’s perfectly capable of doing housework—but she’s terrible at keeping things tidy. After a day of grueling investigations and violent confrontations, she returns home exhausted, sighs at the sight of the clothes and clutter scattered around her room, and carries on. She gets disheartened after scoldings from an ex-boyfriend or her father’s old friends.

At first glance, V. I. may seem like a brash, unapproachable, hard-boiled detective—but through such intimate details, she becomes someone you simply cannot dislike.

Episode 9 Runer Jonsson's Vicke Viking
This time, I would like to introduce Vicke Viking (Vicky the Viking), written by Runer Jonsson, a story that had a great influence on One Piece’s creator during his childhood.

This work stands as a monumental classic of maritime adventure tales and has been loved around the world. It is such a famous story that it hardly needs an introduction, yet considering its historical background and lasting impact, it remains endlessly fascinating—so I would like to revisit it here. For overseas readers curious about the details of Vicke Viking, which greatly influenced the creator of One Piece, I suggest simply asking ChatGPT in your native language. Interestingly, the German–Japanese co-produced anime version was broadcast globally, yet—curiously enough—never aired in its country of origin, Sweden, though today they can enjoy the animation by Netflix. 

First, although Vikings are sometimes referred to as pirates, it would be more accurate to describe them as a brave and seafaring people. With their strong spirit of adventure, advanced navigation skills, sophisticated ships, and extraordinary physical endurance, they built trade routes stretching from Scandinavia to the Black Sea and Constantinople, even reaching the Mediterranean, Greenland, Iceland, and North America. When the Vicke the Viking series aired, I remember seeing an episode where Vicke and his crew landed in North America and interacted with the locals. As a child, I thought, “That can’t be true.” But I was wrong—thanks to the discovery of the L’Anse aux Meadows site in eastern Canada in 1960, long before the show aired, it was proven that Vikings were the first Europeans to reach the Americas—centuries before Columbus.

Incidentally, the term “Viking” doesn’t refer to a single group. They can be broadly divided into three: the Danes (Daner), the Norwegians (Norsemen), and the Swedes (Sveans). Our hero Vicke is most likely one of the Sveans from the author’s native Sweden—especially since the antagonists are Norwegian Vikings.

True to the quality expected of a German co-production, the anime characters were designed faithfully based on the original book’s illustrations. Vicke is a quiet, adorable boy of early-teen age or younger. Physically, he is weaker than other boys his age, but his strength lies in his mind—his intelligence, ingenuity, and ability to put his ideas into action. He is the only son of the Viking chieftain, loved and cherished by the adults. The fact that he alone wears a scale armor shows how precious he is to them. The adult Vikings, by contrast, are usually depicted in ordinary clothes—even in battle scenes. That might be an exaggeration, since in reality, even the bravest and strongest warriors wore chain mail during combat.

Vicke and his companions embark on adventures that span territories greater than those of the Roman Empire. They face formidable natural forces and powerful enemies. In desperate situations, Vicke—courageous but not strong—uses his wits and imagination to overcome crises alongside his companions. Vicke Viking follows the grand themes of “voyage,” “friendship,” “companionship,” and “adventure,” yet it would not exist without Vicke’s uniquely un-Viking-like charm. Perhaps such a story could only have been conceived by someone from a Viking nation.

Let me close by introducing one episode that I found especially interesting: the story in which Vicke and his crew punish Viking raiders attacking Britain. As depicted also in the film The Secret of Kells, Britain and Ireland suffered greatly from Viking invasions. Some people from those countries might be tempted to say, “Aren’t Vicke and his friends invaders too?” However, Runer Jonsson likely wrote this tale based on his belief that the Swedish Vikings (Sveans) did not raid Britain or Ireland. In fact, the Sveans are thought to have expanded southward through Russia across the Eurasian continent, rather than taking part in those western invasions. Those raids were mainly carried out by the Norsemen, which is why the Norwegian Vikings are portrayed as the villains in the story. Even in such details, one can sense the subtle dynamics between neighboring nations—and I find that quite delightful.

Episode 8 The Eastern Campaigns of Alexander

This time, let us turn to The Anabasis of Alexander — the chronicle of a young leader who built one of the greatest empires in human history. Though based on the records left by Alexander the Great’s own officer, this work is far more than a simple log of military conquests.

We have all heard stories of wise rulers who become tyrants, or of beloved leaders who, over time, grow estranged from those who once adored them. Many readers, upon finishing The Anabasis of Alexander, may find themselves reflecting on that very transformation.

Enraged by the repeated Persian invasions of Greece, the young commander Alexander resolved to unite the Greek world. He first eliminated those who stood in the way of unity—city-states that refused cooperation—and forged Greece into a single power. Even the Spartans, famed for their ferocity, could not resist his advance.

Then came his campaign eastward. Alexander swept across the Near East, tearing through territories long under Persian control. At Gaugamela, he devised the first recorded mobile encirclement strategy in history—defeating a Persian army of 250,000 with barely 50,000 men. That revolutionary tactic remains a foundation of modern military doctrine, still taught at war colleges around the world.

Driven by a dream to reach the far eastern shores of Eurasia, Alexander continued his conquests through Western Asia and into India. Yet there, the fatigue and disillusionment of his Greek soldiers finally overcame him. Forced to abandon his march east, he returned to Babylon, where he soon died—only thirty-two years old. One cannot help but wonder: had his men not rebelled, might he have reached the eastern edge of China—or even Japan?

This is the story preserved in The Anabasis of Alexander. The original record, written by his general Ptolemy—founder of the Ptolemaic dynasty of Egypt—was later compiled and restructured by Ἀρριανός, granting the work immense historical value. (Incidentally, Ptolemy’s descendant was none other than Cleopatra VII.) Sadly, the original History of Alexander the Great was lost when the Great Library of Alexandria burned—a fire ignited, ironically, during the civil war between Cleopatra and her brother, in which Julius Caesar, her ally, played a fateful role. History, it seems, delights in such tangled ironies.

Yet the worth of The Anabasis lies not only in its historical precision. It captures, with striking clarity, the emotional and moral transformation of Alexander himself—his arguments with subordinates, the defection of lifelong companions, and his increasingly volatile responses to dissent.

As the commander of the Greeks, Alexander led not as a distant monarch but as a comrade. He called his soldiers “friends.” When the defeated Persian king Darius III fled the battlefield, leaving his wife and family behind, Alexander treated them with respect and dignity. One anecdote tells of Darius’s queen mistakenly thanking an older general, believing him to be Alexander. When she realized her mistake and blushed with embarrassment, Alexander laughed and reassured her, “Think nothing of it.” Moments like these reveal the charm of a leader once tutored by Aristotle himself.

But tragedy arose from the clash between East and West. In Greek thought, gods and men were separate; even the children of gods were still human, and no living man was worshiped as divine. The East, however, followed different customs—men knelt before kings, seeing them as gods. Midway through The Anabasis, this cultural divide becomes painfully clear. “The defeated people,” Ἀρριανός writes bitterly, “fell to their knees and worshiped Alexander.” And Alexander, growing accustomed to such reverence, began to demand the same from his Greek companions. From that moment, quarrels multiplied, blood was spilled, and plots to assassinate the king emerged.

The book mentions the infamous sack of Persepolis only in passing: “After the burning of Persepolis, the army marched on.” Such restraint in description chills the reader more than any detailed account could. Thereafter came the Indian campaign, the mutinous soldiers, the reluctant return, and the inevitable death of the conqueror. Somehow, all of it feels tragically preordained.

The Anabasis of Alexander is, without question, a masterpiece. The exhaustion one feels upon finishing it may well be proof that Alexander III—conqueror, visionary, and flawed human being—was, after all, only a man.

Episode 7 Alf Prøysen’s Mrs. Pepperpot

This time, I would like to introduce Alf Prøysen’s Mrs. Pepperpot — a fairy tale that many Japanese readers know under the title “Mrs. Spoon.” The modern Norwegian title is Teskjekjerringa, so the Japanese translation is in fact quite accurate.
It is not often that Japanese readers have a chance to encounter Norwegian literature. However, Mrs. Pepperpot once gained worldwide fame, and thanks to that, Japanese children, too, were fortunate enough to enjoy it. In recent years, the story has become less familiar, which is precisely why I would like to reintroduce it here.
In the tale, this remarkable old lady suddenly shrinks without any warning or reason and gains the ability to talk with animals. Since she eventually returns to her normal size, she remains calm, thinking of it only as an inconvenience — “Now I can’t do the housework.” Yet in that state, she boldly faces and resolves all sorts of problems, either on her own or together with animals. That is the indomitable Mrs. Pepperpot.
There is someone who understands and helps her—a “mysterious girl who lives near the forest.” Throughout the entire story, the girl’s true identity is never revealed. If you were to ask Alf about her, he might simply smile and say, “Just as you imagine.” Incidentally, when this story was adapted into an animated series by Japan’s national broadcaster, the girl appeared as a semi-regular character. Yet even in the anime, her true nature was never disclosed.
This fairy tale offers few of the usual moral lessons; instead, it captivates the reader with the sheer delight of the old lady’s adventures. It is a story that speaks directly to the child’s heart, pure and unadorned.
Born into humble circumstances, Alf Prøysen went on to achieve great success as both a writer and a singer-songwriter, yet he never distanced himself from ordinary people. I have recorded this note in the hope that readers will come to know and appreciate Norway’s beloved Alf Prøysen through Mrs. Pepperpot.

Episode 6 Things That Make One Envious

While I was taking shelter from the rain, a group of high school students next to me was having the time of their lives. And get this—they were laughing over a joke based on Makura no Sōshi (“The Pillow Book”), specifically the essay called Things That Make One Envious. I mean… wow. That’s next-level nerdy.

The Pillow Book is an essay written around the year 1000 by Sei Shōnagon, a legendary lady-in-waiting to the Empress and later hailed as one of Japan’s “Immortal Poets.” It’s such a cornerstone of classical literature that Japanese high school students almost always encounter it in their textbooks. But here’s the thing: the text isn’t exactly “light reading.” The grammar is ancient, the vocabulary is tricky, and it’s basically like deciphering Shakespeare while juggling kanji flashcards. And yet, these kids are cracking up over it. Either they’re geniuses—or their teacher is.

The essay Things That Make One Envious describes Sei Shōnagon’s personal pilgrimage to Kyoto’s Fushimi Inari Shrine, famous for its endless rows of bright red torii gates. Even though she was part of the imperial court, her rank was low enough that she had to go on foot. Poor woman had no stamina whatsoever—palace life doesn’t exactly build leg muscles. She trudged out before dawn, walked over five miles to reach the foot of the mountain, and then started climbing toward the shrine at the summit. Of course, faster people kept overtaking her. Exhausted and tearful, she muttered, “Why on earth did I pick such a blazing hot day to come?” Suddenly, everyone else looked unbearably enviable.

And here I am, chuckling at the thought: over a thousand years later, in a crowded shrine or a crowded classroom, Sei Shōnagon still feels so… relatable.
To finish, let me quote the famous opening lines of her essay, the ones every Japanese student knows: “Haru ha Akebono….” Even in English, her murmurs sound beautiful.

“In spring, the dawn — when the slowly paling mountain rim is tinged with red, and wisps of faintly crimson-purple cloud float in the sky.” (Meredith McKinney 2006)

Episode 5 "HEY ARNOLD!"

Today I’d like to introduce Hey Arnold!—and especially Season 1, Episode 18, “Arnold’s Christmas.” In my opinion, this episode is one of America’s greatest treasures, a heartwarming masterpiece that deserves to be celebrated worldwide.

Back when I was a postdoc at Penn State, I’d often come home in the evening, turn on the TV, and there it was: Nickelodeon’s cartoon Hey Arnold! At first glance, the art style screams comedy—Arnold and his quirky friends constantly stumble into trouble, get dragged into more trouble, and somehow manage to solve it all.

But what really impressed me was the depth of the characters. Arnold is a genuinely kind and honest kid, but he carries a heavy backstory—his parents are missing, and he lives with his eccentric but lovable grandparents, who run a boarding house. His best friend Gerald is the definition of loyalty, always sticking by him no matter what. And then there’s Helga, the queen of “tsundere” before the word even existed! (Fun fact: “tsundere” only entered Japanese media vocabulary around 2005–2006, yet Hey Arnold!—which debuted in 1996—was already giving us Helga, the ultimate prototype. That’s groundbreaking!)

Now, every episode is fun, but “Arnold’s Christmas” is something else. It’s even recognized on Wikipedia as a classic. The story centers on Mr. Hyunh, a Vietnamese immigrant living in Arnold’s building, who was separated from his young daughter during the war. Arnold, together with Gerald, decides that the best Christmas gift he can give Mr. Hyunh is the chance to reunite with her. The premise was so heavy that production itself was difficult—but thanks to the creators’ persistence, the episode was released and instantly became an unforgettable masterpiece.

Of course, the reunion plot is deeply moving on its own. But the moment that elevates this episode to greatness is Helga’s final line. With that one act, the story ascends to a level I would compare to Violet Evergarden’s legendary Episode 10, “A Loved One Will Always Watch Over You.”

Growing up in Japan, I knew Christmas mostly as a time for gifts, but without the same deep cultural weight it carries in the West. That’s why I found it so powerful: Arnold and Gerald are overjoyed just to give Mr. Hyunh the gift of reunion, and Helga—well, she quietly gives them the greatest gift of all. That mix of comedy, kindness, and sacrifice? Absolutely cool.

I hear this episode is already well-known in the U.S., but honestly—it deserves to be celebrated everywhere. It’s not just a cartoon episode; it’s one of those rare works that proves animation can touch the heart as deeply as any great drama.

Episode 4-3　Gaius Iulius Caesar "The Gallic War"3

The Gallic War is also the record of Caesar, who ranged freely across Western Europe. First, in Switzerland, Caesar resolved a conflict that had begun as a refugee problem. Next, he fought a great war in Belgium, then suppressed a maritime conflict on the Atlantic coast, crossed the Rhine, and sought to intimidate the Germanic tribes. To swim or sail across the Rhine was, in Caesar’s view, beneath the dignity of civilized Romans. Instead, by a curious logic that “Romans should build a bridge and march proudly across into Germanic lands,” he had an enormous bridge constructed across the wide Rhine. Satisfied with this feat, he exulted, certain that “the Germans must be trembling.

Afterward, he crossed the sea and landed in Britain, engaging in battles with the Britons. During the Second World War, British Prime Minister Churchill declared that with Caesar’s landing, the history of Britain had begun. From these British campaigns onward, the grand spectacle—replete with countless infantry battles, cavalry charges, chariot clashes, and naval engagements, rivaling the scale of The Lord of the Rings—moved toward the great Gallic revolt and its climactic finale, the “Battle of Alesia.” There, the Romans besieged the fortified city of Alesia, where the Gallic leader Vercingetorix had taken refuge, only to find themselves besieged in turn by the Gallic relief forces. This became the first large-scale double-envelopment battle in history, and it was Caesar who triumphed, holding off enemies to his front and rear alike. The account of the battle closes with a single, stark line: “Vercingetorix voluntarily gave himself up.” And Caesar’s own Commentaries on the Gallic War ends in the same subdued tone: “Upon learning of the year’s victories, Rome decreed twenty days of thanksgiving to the gods.

With this account, as if it were a grand work of fiction, we close our introduction to Caesar’s Gallic War. In the end, Caesar was assassinated, and his body was cremated on the banks of the Tiber. As the flames died down and the mourners moved to gather his ashes, a sudden, violent downpour scattered them into the Tiber, washing them away. Was he truly a man?

Episode 4-2　Gaius Iulius Caesar "The Gallic War"2
The Gallic War is, at its core, a series of reports Caesar submitted to the Roman Senate. For this reason, he refers to himself in the third person, adopting a style such as “Caesar judged that—” or “Caesar attacked—.” It was an unsettled age: the Celts and the Germanic tribes were striking at Roman territory and at allied cities across western Gaul. To stabilize the region, the Senate dispatched Caesar. Thus, as in modern times, it was his duty to deliver an annual report.

The default form of The Gallic War is that of a clear and orderly record: an overview of the state of Western Europe, the causes of each disturbance, the strategy and movement of the legions, descriptions of the battlefield, preparations for combat, the battle itself, and the aftermath—each rendered with an exceptional, objective style. The accounts of terrain, fortifications, and siege equipment read almost like an academic paper: dispassionate, yet detailed. But when the battles begin, the narrative comes alive. “Caesar, seizing a shield from one of his own men, raised it and ran to the front line, calling out the names of the centurions.” Soldiers cheer as two rival centurions, competing for glory, narrowly escape disaster by joining forces. A reckless unit, overconfident and nearly annihilated, is rescued by Caesar—who both commends their courage and sternly rebukes their arrogance before leading them once more into battle. Such breathless passages draw the reader in so completely that one forgets the passage of time, until suddenly the fighting is over.

From time to time, special digressions appear: cultural and social observations comparing Gaul and Germania, or even scientific notes such as measurements of the length of a day on the island of Britain.

Ever calculating, Caesar knew his reports would reach the ears of the Roman people, and so he wove into them elegant strands of self-praise. They are too numerous to list, but let one example suffice: “The Senate, in recognition of Caesar’s achievements, decreed a public thanksgiving (supplicatio) of fifteen days (the longest such observance until then had been only seven days, in honor of his rival Pompey).” What Caesar truly wished to emphasize, of course, was the parenthetical—the contrast with Pompey. Yet, disdaining crude boasting, he left the comparison unwritten. On this point, I find myself in agreement with the historian Nanami Shiono.

Episode 4-1　Gaius Iulius Caesar "The Gallic War"

Episode 4 features The Gallic War, written by Gaius Iulius Caesar (BC 100-BC 44), commonly known as Julius Caesar. It is the story of a superman overflowing with human charm, conveyed through the reports he sent to the Roman Senate.
The author of The Gallic War, Caesar himself, was a man of inexhaustible fascination. Nanami Shiono devoted two full volumes to him in her monumental fifteen-volume series The Story of the Romans, which traces the twelve centuries of Rome’s rise and fall. The boy who once rode a horse bareback down the slopes of Rome with his arms folded behind his head would later distinguish himself brilliantly in many fields.

Debt: Caesar taught us that when one’s debts become overwhelmingly large, the debtor effectively turns into an indispensable asset for the creditors. Before he departed for a foreign posting, a throng of creditors besieged him, blocking his departure until he repaid them. The one who calmed the creditors was none other than Crassus, the man to whom Caesar owed the greatest sum.

Romantic Affairs: Many senators’ wives were Caesar’s mistresses. Since this fact was publicly known, it seems not to have been regarded as adultery. Remarkably, though he had many mistresses, none are recorded to have resented him. The absence of any scandal with the celebrated beauty of the age suggests that Caesar was not a man who pursued every beautiful woman he encountered. Notably, the mother of Brutus—who would later assassinate Caesar—was among his mistresses. One wonders what feelings passed through her mind when she heard of his death.

Politics and Institutions: Caesar managed to pass the volatile agrarian law—long a source of turmoil, bloodshed, and regime change in Rome—through a form of bipartisan agreement. He introduced the Julian calendar of 365 days with a leap year every four years. He ordered the immediate publication of Senate proceedings, which had previously been decided behind closed doors. He also laid down laws governing public officials.

Commerce: Quite impressive. Somehow, Caesar shifted from being a debtor to becoming a creditor. At his triumphal procession, his legionaries erupted in a comical chant: “Romans, lock your doors, guard your purses if you have no money!” In triumphs, it was customary for soldiers to mock the general to prevent the gods from becoming jealous of his glory. At one point, Caesar protested, “Isn’t this too cruel?” But his devoted soldiers dismissed his complaint, claiming it was their rightful prerogative.


War: Caesar was not an undefeated general. He lost when circumstances dictated. Yet no matter how dire the situation, at the decisive moment he always found a way to win. At Pharsalus, though outnumbered, he defeated the “double envelopment” tactic—first invented by Alexander the Great, rediscovered by Hannibal, and perfected by Scipio—revealing his genius.

Literature: Before Caesar, Latin was considered rough-hewn compared to Greek, and the upper classes and scholars often preferred to write in Greek. Caesar, however, achieved in Latin an extraordinary blend of objective and concise narrative, vivid descriptive power, and subtle political intent. This is The Gallic War. Remarkably, even more than two thousand years later, this work continues to be reprinted across the world. To fulfill not only the roles of general and statesman but also the dreams of every writer—this was Caesar, the superhuman.

Episode 3:Haruomi Tomotsuka "Dara-san in the Reiwa Era (令和のダラさん)"


People sometimes ask me, “Do university professors actually read manga?” Of course we do! The only problem is, I don’t visit bookstores as often as I used to, and when I do, the manga shelves are wrapped up tighter than a bank vault in plastic covers. You can’t peek inside. Even with e-books, the “free preview” usually ends just before the story gets good. Under these tragic circumstances, stumbling upon a manga I truly enjoy feels like winning the lottery.

That’s why I was thrilled to discover Dara-san in The Reiwa Era (令和のダラさん) by Haruomi Tomotsuka-sensei. It’s the tale of a shrine maiden who fights a monstrous serpent—only to be tricked by the villagers she’s protecting, lose her life, and come back as the very snake monster she once battled (KanKanDara(姦姦蛇螺)) . Yeah, cheerful stuff. Needless to say, I felt a lingering sadness reading about her fate. Zero happy endings in sight.

But then comes the modern-day horror-comedy spin: Reiwa no Dara-san reimagines this ex-miko monster living among us today. Sure, a few evil humans show up, but they’re rare. Even the descendants of those treacherous villagers appear—yet now, everyone surrounding her turns out to be absurdly kindhearted, almost suspiciously so. Admittedly, some look shady with menacing glares… but don’t worry, they’re all sweethearts at heart. And according to Tomotsuka-sensei, this is a “beautiful-girl manga, drawn by a beautiful girl, starring only beautiful girls.” ????

Anyway, I personally feel relieved that through this work, even Kankandara is finally saved.


Episode 2: Anne McCaffreey "The Ship Who Sang"

Anne McCaffrey’s The Ship Who Sang is set in an era when interstellar travel is commonplace. In this world, parents of newborns with severe disabilities that make natural life impossible can choose to let them live on as cyborgs. Protected within a thick titanium shell, these infants grow up normally, connected through terminals to sensors and actuators that allow them to develop just like healthy children. For this reason, they are called Shell Person. Interestingly, Shell Person tend to view non-cyborgs as “slightly inconvenient folk.”

Helva, one such Shell Person, is a teenager who, thanks to her extraordinary abilities and aptitude, chooses to operate as a starship for the interstellar federated state. These starships are run as a two-person team: the Shell Person serves as the “Brain,” while the human partner provides the “Brawn.” Such vessels are therefore known as Brain-Brawn ships, or 2Bs. Helva quickly falls in love at first sight with a mischievous young astronaut named Jennan, who becomes her Brawn, and together they set out across the stars.

Helva loves to sing as she roams the galaxy, but many who intercept her songs mock her as a strange “singing ship.” When she grows disheartened, Jennan reassures her: “It’s beautiful. Don’t ever stop.” And when the two of them singlehandedly defeat a band of space pirates, the ridicule turns to admiration. Yet just as everything seems to be going well, tragedy strikes: during a refugee transport mission, Helva loses Jennan before her very eyes.

At this point, some may think I am giving away spoilers. Rest assured—this is only the introduction. To help her overcome her grief, the interstellar federation assigns Helva various temporary Brawns and a succession of missions. This is not cold-hearted policy but rather an act of kindness. Though she grumbles, Helva works with her Brawns, struggling alongside them and carrying out her duties with determination. Through many incidents, encounters, and farewells, she grows stronger.

What strikes me after finishing the novel is that it is, at heart, a pure love story of a working woman, with science fiction providing a stage and details that give the tale breadth and depth. It is one of those works that allows you to feel genuine satisfaction at the happy ending, thinking, “I’m truly glad.”

What is astonishing is how fresh the novel feels, even though it was written between 1961 and 1969. Some may argue that science fiction is naturally timeless, but even the works of great masters often reflect the era in which they were composed. In The Ship Who Sang, however, there is little, if any, sense of such period-bound elements. The saying “a masterpiece never fades” seems perfectly suited to this novel.

The Ship Who Sang is thought to have had a major influence on Japanese manga, anime, and light novels—especially in shaping the archetype of the heroine with a mechanical body. Since its publication, works with similar premises have become commonplace.

One final note: Helva’s code name is The ship who sings, while the title of the novel is The Ship Who Sang. Even in this small detail, one can sense the author’s refined sensibility. Truly, this work deserves to be counted among the proud achievements of American literature.

Episode 1 H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)

H. P. Lovecraft is a name known to nearly all who once passed through the so-called “adolescent delusion” of youthful fascination with the dark and the arcane. In a letter to a friend, he once wrote: “To me, creatures such as Frankenstein or the werewolf do not seem truly frightening.”
Upon reading Lovecraft’s works, one recognizes him as a pioneer and a genius who revealed how terrifying it can be to refrain from rendering the object of fear in concrete form. His legacy resonates in the dread conveyed by the film The Blair Witch Project and the novel Ring.
A prolific correspondent, he also confessed to a friend in another letter: “I love to travel. Yet when I have money, my health fails me; and when my health is strong, I have no money. Thus I cannot enjoy the journeys I so desire.”
Lovecraft passed away in obscurity and hardship. Yet today, his writings are read by countless people across the world, and games inspired by his works are released almost every year. This enduring legacy may be regarded as his ultimate solace.