The modern setting, full of current events, social norms, contemporary trends, and identifiable figures, can be tiring and upsetting for mangaka and readers alike. To intake a piece of fiction that repurposes the same talking points you see on social media or news outlets can feel exhausting. A diversion from reality, at least in terms of setting, might be enough space to allow the reader to process a manga’s themes, messages, or appeal.
Fantasy and sci-fi settings are the go-to options when making worlds that can share parallels to ours, but still suspend the reader’s belief enough to make it open to interpretation. While those are good settings with their own core strengths, nothing is as engaging to me as the historical setting. Places in the world are viewed in different contexts due to the time period. Chie Shinohara has two different manga set in the same geological region of Asia Minor. However, they are drastically different. One is full of chariots and bronze weaponry, while the other adorns kaftans and turbans. A mangaka can create dozens of stories while never leaving a region or a country. This way, the mangaka’s body of work can tell a metanarrative on history and culture.
As these settings are real, the cultures and events in them are predetermined. Even if the narrative takes on a revisionist stance, it must confront certain events to get there. In this sense, the setting is a character on its own. Failure to maximize on its potential degrades the overall feeling of the series. Kimetsu no Yaiba wears the aura of Taisho period Japan, but is completely uninvolved in every other way. The manga does not touch on Japan’s involvement in World War I, the Great Kanto earthquake, the undercurrent of militarism, and the economic collapse that was brutal for rural Japan.
In its defense, the manga is much more invested in the supernatural and action elements of its story, but manga like Palace Meidi show that a historical setting can be balanced with other genres. The manga is firmly a forbidden romance between the crowned prince of Japan and her chamberlain. Set right after the death of Emperor Meiji, it is clear that this story is an alternative retelling of the Taisho period. While it is absent of the political turmoil within the parliament, the period still leaves a lasting mark on the story through the Great Kanto earthquake.
Moments like this make the manga feel more tactile. There is a connection between its characters and the land they are on. This call and response is present in many of the great historical manga in the medium. Rose of Versailles has the downfall of the French monarchy, Vinland Saga has the Viking raids and the ascension of Canute the Great, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run has the American Civil War. These events dictate the direction of the plot and the progression of its characters.
Even historical manga that are divorced from the Great Man theory approach entrench themselves in the time period by intensely focusing on a culture. The posterchild for this approach has to be Kaoru Mori’s masterwork, Otoyomegatari. She highlights many of the distinct people groups within Central Asia, as well as giving some spotlight to 19th Century Turkey. In the manga, readers can see the traditions of different societies, their tapestries and artwork, their food, their relationships with neighboring villages, and what that all means to the people.
This is the same approach that Ichimon Izumi’s Blissful Land uses, albeit to a lesser degree. The culture, the land, and the time period are central elements to their stories. It enhances the overall work, while giving the reader better appreciation for people and history across the world. Its current day appeal may not be as strong as fantasy or sci-fi. Readerships for works like Berserk, Akira, Dragon Ball, and countless other manga will eclipse it, but there is something profound in connecting with a historical setting.
For a reader to tap into the world, it is almost as if they can plunge their arms into a time before them. That they are connected to the Hannibal who marched elephants through the Alps, connected to the French citizens screaming for revolution, connected to the Guan Yu who swung his guandao at Lu Bu, and connected to a Victorian maid who discovers love. In those moments, the distinctions between fiction and the past blur away. The specificity of the setting makes it more real, and paradoxically, more universal.
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