I am writing my article in a sentimental way because I have just finished reading a wonderful work. You know, there’s a book you can’t put down, a song you can’t get enough of, music you can’t get out of your head, a series you can’t stop watching… I read it non-stop, I reviewed it, I didn’t want to waste any time and I finished it with a great appetite. The pleasure it gives is excellent, but there is also the end, it leaves you with a great void. I’m between the two at the moment. I had to write here to avoid being sucked into that emptiness.
Logo of Monster Manga by Naoki Urasawa
I read a manga called Monster. It is a masterpiece by Naoki Urasawa that contains elements of detective, crime, mystery, suspense, horror and psychology. It has 162 chapters. I don’t think I ever had a moment where I wasn’t waiting for the next chapter without wondering. It pulls you in so much that I cannot describe it. I think it must be difficult to create a work, especially when you mix other cultures and histories. I recommend you experience it.
Although I don’t think I have a particular commitment to manga art, I first encountered “Death Note” in 2011 when I started watching anime. It was a priceless feeling to experience a similar effect years later. The mystery they contain and the curiosity they leave in the reader/viewer is undeniable. Even if you put yourself in the shoes of the criminals or someone seeking justice, sometimes you can’t get the exact answers.
This work is like a seemingly simple puzzle that, as you work on it, you begin to see how difficult it is. Nevertheless, with a little curiosity and desire, you cannot turn away. You become part of the puzzle and find yourself in the whole. Sometimes you chase innocent people, sometimes you realise later that the piece you have placed does not belong there.
I wonder why: “Why all this effort?” I want to look at the question from two angles. “Why did the illustrator/author want to create such a work? Why is the reader/viewer so taken with it?” As an author candidate, I think my answer to this question should be in the eyes of the reader/viewer. My explanation may not be satisfactory, but I will try.
Before asking “why does one immerse oneself in a work”, I ask “why is one interested in any work”. Why does the impulse that underlies our ego draw us towards abstract and often fictional works? I suppose the simplest answer is to escape the stagnation of life as part of the cliché. Another dimension of pleasure: these artworks are a massage for your tiredness, an analgesic for your headache, a meditation for your mind. They have different effects and are often calming. They are wonderful. And I’m glad they exist.
I think as consumers we want to find them. Otherwise we turn away. But the presence of dozens of artefacts increases our portions, enlarges our stomachs over time, and turns us into an insatiable monster in a void, no matter how much we eat. But that is not the point. Let’s get to the other point.
“Why did the artist who produced the work want to go down this road?” I have already said that I cannot look at this from an artist’s point of view; I prefer to avoid that aspect as much as possible. Instead, I think we can answer by going back to our roots. Storytelling must be one of the oldest endeavours in the world. Perhaps we owe the emergence of voices to this desire. Then they went one step further and found it appropriate to illustrate their stories. It is such a strong impulse that drives us to do something that it would be a shame not to produce a work. It is almost a sin, a blasphemy and a sign of short-sightedness, a great embarrassment. Is that how the artist feels?
Think about it: how do children start talking? Humans (and probably most living things) are good at copying behaviour. They are experts at mimicry. It is a way of signalling to the person speaking that they understand, want to understand and can communicate with them. “Look, I can do that too!”
That raises another question for me: “Did you create these works for others or for your own personal satisfaction? I thought about this for a long time, and I am sure it is similar to the question “Is art for art’s sake or for man’s sake?”, which is another phrase taught in school. Since I have loved reading books and writing short stories since I was a child, this question has often crossed my mind. And when it came up in conversation, my answer was always “probably both”. I guess I was a bit clueless.
A writer/artist creates a work for personal fulfilment, but the hunger of our brain is not limited to ourselves and reaches out to others.
Coming back to the subject, I will continue by talking about myself. I have mentioned that although I have tried to reach all kinds of media, some have been more prominent. Books always took the lead. So I preferred to imitate the works I had consumed just like a baby. First I showed myself that I could do it, and then I thought I should convince others. That’s why I stopped asking the question. In my opinion, the person who produces the work always wants the opinion of others.
Writing copycat stories became less and less satisfying. I wanted to see if I could write on my own. Of course you want to be more original. But when I realised how difficult it was, I was afraid of books and writing. But they were so attractive that I couldn’t stay away. At least this time I was a more conscious person. I should have read more before I started writing. Maybe I didn’t want to run, but crawling seemed too difficult.
I realised that time was the pivot. I read, I put some of them aside, sometimes I forced myself. There were dozens of works that I didn’t understand and that I barely finished. There are books that I read over and over again, sometimes it feels strange when I think about it. Because even though I suspected that they would make me feel different after years, they deceived me every time I read them. Because they were “memories etched in the mind”. They were in my nostalgia box with all their weight. They kept their place like the smell of that unique home-cooked meal you had as a child.
I told you, time was a mainstay. But I felt I was moving forward. “Look, I’ve grown up, I can walk on my own now. We certainly remember those moments. Feeling grown up.
As the years went by, I looked back at the dozens of books I had read. They were endless. How many more than the ones I had read were waiting for me? In those moments your perspective expands, growing and developing were not the same thing. So I waited for years, with the damned insecurity my genes gave me, for one particular idea. I watched it grow into other forms. It was as if another creature was being born, as I thought it would be. Even as it took shape, it was renewed with another addition. I lowered my expectations, realised how difficult it was to be completely original, tried to get rid of my fixity, diversified the works I read and then proceeded to place them in the genre I wanted.
How many years has it been? It’s been at least a decade since the idea was in its early stages. And at least another five or six years since I started sketching it. So why couldn’t I create my own work? I was back to the question: “For myself or for others?” Interestingly, this time the question took a different form. “How good should the work I create for myself be?”
Is the monster the work itself or our egos? What makes us wait so long to produce something? Is it the fear that we can’t present a good whole? I think this has been my answer for years. It took me at least a year and a half to write the first paragraph of the book I was writing, and by the time I wrote it I had eighty pages of drafts. What was I afraid of? Was my priority to please others? With these thoughts in my head, after my brief start, I resented books again. I hadn’t read them for a whole year, except for one or two. If I did, I could go back to my book, but I didn’t want to, I guess. I was afraid to face the monster.
Perhaps it’s best to find a remedy. There are hundreds of other works waiting for us in a stream of life. It might be good to look at them and not disturb “its“ sleep. I have tried this. Apart from books, films and TV series were not the works that interested me. Music, on the other hand, gave me temporary pleasure. I turned to manga, enjoyed it, softened it, put aside the ones I didn’t like, weeded them out and sometimes encountered the miracles.
I finally realised something. It’s a journey. The road is not always paved with asphalt. Sometimes there are potholes, sometimes there are bumps, sometimes there are excavations, sometimes there is rubbish… Sometimes there are roads with the scent of spring flowers, children running alongside, reassuring, well-maintained roads. This journey was like life itself.
To create a work is to put something of your life into it. It can’t always be good, you have to get used to a turbulent life. I’m not sure, but I think I’m getting better. I feel ready to run.
That’s why I’ve been working on it more than ever in the last year or two. I decided to build a part of my life over time. Yes, some habits do not change, the permanence of personality is understandable. It means that I don’t have a great work. But that is not a problem. I have continued to write with that in mind. Many characters have entered my story along the way. Some of them were good, some of them were insiders, some of them were friends, some of them were evil and some of them were insignificant people I never wanted to see again. Just like my life.
I’m on a break again and I’m not worried about it anymore. I’m writing it for myself and then I want my friends to read it. I want to give a piece of myself to the world. I want to formalise things. I don’t want it to be perfect, I want it to be like me. I want to shake hands with this monster, I want to be friends. More importantly, I want it to know that I’m not its monster either.
That’s what Monster reminded me of. It made me question myself. It was a periodic answer to the questions “Why do we create works, how can we do them, why should we do them, what are the things that hold us back and why are they humane?