Chainsaw Man commences with a grim litany of prices paid, as our hero Denji recounts all the body parts and organs he’s sold to winnow down his overwhelming debt. Having hacked off all expendable kidneys, eyes, and testicles, he announces he’s reduced his debt to a mere thirty-eight million yen. It’s not a price he could reasonably pay, not a price he expects to pay with all the fruit of his desperate labor. It is a death sentence, executed by way of a thousand financial cuts, and it will follow him until the day he finally gives up.

Denji’s position stands in sharp contrast to the usual Shonen Jump model. “Friendship, effort, and victory” are the values that define the majority of their catalog, offering hope and encouragement to any young reader who’s eager to make their mark on the world. These values can be expressed in a variety of ways, but all of them embody a certain spirit of optimism – that differences can be overcome, that effort will reap dividends, and that victory is always within our grasp. In Chainsaw Man’s chain-toothed hands, these values are perverted and defined as ridiculous, rationalizations too unrealistic to even offer false hope. This is because Chainsaw Man does not take place in Shonen World – it takes place in our world, with all its faults and injustices.

Sure, there are supernatural devils in this world, but Denji does not fight devils because they exist. He fights them because he’s broke, and he’s in debt, and risking his life through devil extermination is the only way he can possibly stay ahead of his interest. Like so many members of his generation, Denji is suffering under economic pressure entirely outside of his control; in his case, due to the mafia debts left by his absent parents. But the specifics aren’t important – gambling arrears and sneering collectors could take the place of any financial albatross, any portion of the legacy a generation uninterested in their successors’ wellbeing has left on this sweltering hell of a planet.

Chainsaw Man’s bluntness of political perspective further sets it apart within the Jump catalog. Most of its contemporaries forego direct commentary on our world, at best offering vague metaphors like One Piece’s general distrust of tyranny. Such stories are designed to make their readers feel significant and powerful, while Chainsaw Man roars out the gate with an emphatic “in the world you actually inhabit, you will never ever escape the oppression of capitalism.” No act of translation or interpretation is necessary to apply Denji’s misfortune to our world; everything he suffers under is here as well, choking the life out of all of us.

Even when Denji achieves victory over a devil, his theoretical payout is all consumed by debts, leading him with just a slice of bread to take home. There is no sense of elation or victory in this practice – just the steady, sad reminder that nothing you accomplish will ever allow you to transcend your conditions. Within three pages, Chainsaw Man convincingly evokes the exhausting grind that is the fundamental condition of modern living; rather than tell kids “aim high and pursue your dreams,” it assures that their dreams will always be out of reach, and that they ought to get used to disappointment and debt servitude right this instant.

In true Chainsaw Man fashion, that takeaway isn’t an act of interpretation or embellishment: Denji himself announces it, mournfully griping that he wishes “they’d at least let him dream.” Poverty creates barriers ranging from a denial of social mobility to a lack of basic health care, and Denji frequently weighs the perpetual effort of living against the peaceful escape of death. His employer makes the tenuousness of Denji’s situation even clearer, stating that “if Denji ever quits or disobeys orders, he’ll be put down as a devil.” We are allowed to live so long as we produce useful labor, and then we are put down – an eventuality that may come at any time, spurred on by health complications, car troubles, or any other mundane catastrophe. Far from the inspiring call of “no mountain is too high for our hero to climb,” Chainsaw Man’s ethos seems more like “no injustice is too small to potentially destroy our hero’s life.”

Mangaka Tatsuki Fujimoto mines comedy that’s equal parts bleak and hilarious out of Denji’s appraisal of his situation. Trapped in a world where genuine success is a fantasy, Denji contents himself with desires like “it’d be nice to have a friend” or “I want to hug a girl before I die.” The impoverished nature of his desires reflects the low ceiling of his world, entwining with his boyish romanticism to further emphasize how young and inexperienced he is to already feel this demoralized. It’s a sentiment that’s gaining traction across youth media, echoed in moments like Weathering with You’s cry of “please God, don’t give us anything more, and please don’t take anything else away.” We cannot imagine a god who is actively supporting us – all we can hope for is that our malevolent overseer ignores us for a time.

In spite of this fatalistic backdrop, it’s actually quite easy to laugh alongside Denji, in part because he’s such a simple and straightforward guy. Denji wants food, Denji likes boobs, Denji thinks it’d be swell to touch a girl; his desires are basic verging on animalistic, a natural result of his socially impoverished childhood. This mundanity of characterization is crucial – Denji is never portrayed as some paragon of virtue, the “noble hero” who by their effort and greatness rises above their station. Such a character would play into the libertarian-leaning “effort and suitability will always bring you success” ethos of other adolescent fantasies, and more importantly, Denji being such a grubby everyman better emphasizes how everyone deserves comfort and dignity, regardless of whether you believe their attitude has “earned” them such treatment. Do people have to impress you with their greatness to deserve safety or respect?

And why would Denji be a paragon of virtue and right-thinking, anyway? He’s never had a chance to go to school and make friends, never known the unconditional love of family, and has had to scrape for every single advantage in life. While his new partner Aki tut-tuts him about the “righteous cause” of devil hunting, Denji is here to survive, with no higher aspirations beyond what his impoverished imagination can fathom. Denji kicks people in the balls because if he didn’t they’d stab him in the throat, and that would be the end of it.

Denji has no wiggle room for play-acting righteousness, or putting on the noble airs of his genre compatriots. His unconditional ferocity in pursuing his goals reflects the desperation of his conditions; first must come survival today, then survival tomorrow, then perhaps we can consider moral philosophy. It’s a spirit that echoes one of Parasite’s most essential scenes, wherein a poor family that has come to nest within the house of a rich family reflects on how “smooth and kind” rich people are, how unwrinkled they are by the desperate struggle of staying afloat. Only the people who have been treated well by society have the privilege of affecting righteousness – those who are just scraping by must grasp for every possible advantage, all while suffering the condemnation of not doing things the “right” or “just” way.

You might think all this bleak social commentary would make for a somber or depressing read, but I actually found great comfort in Chainsaw Man’s bracing appraisal of our cultural moment. Though it’s meant to be motivational, Jump’s relentless mantra of “you can do it if you try hard enough” naturally implies that if you don’t make it, it was because you didn’t put in enough effort. Chainsaw Man dispenses with that framing from the start; if you survive in this world, it’s because you’re very lucky, not because your efforts reaped appropriate rewards. The game is rigged, so exploit every angle you can find, and pay no heed to those who condemn you for it.

I don’t think I’m alone in finding this perspective heartening. Though it breaks every rule of Shonen Jump storytelling, Chainsaw Man has nonetheless become a global hit, with a sumptuously animated adaptation soon to arrive. You could put this down to Fujimoto’s excellent art, humor, and storytelling (and all those undoubtedly play a part), but I’d like to believe that young readers are growing tired of believing in fantasies that don’t come true, and no longer desire honeyed words regarding effort or victory. Perhaps the next generation has come to understand the true situation here, and they are angry as fuck, and they want stories that voice that anger. Perhaps they want to know they’re alright through being told no one is alright, that we’re all scrappy young messes clawing at each other over a brass ring that might not even exist. Perhaps they want to bite and scream like Chainsaw Man’s leads, and bellow with a full voice that I am here, and I will not be denied

Thinking of my fellow readers makes it all the more heartening to see Denji and Power scream and strive, backstabbing each other and disabusing themselves of blame and generally being brutish, desperate, uncivilized survivors. The raw ferocity of their personalities matches the ferocity of Chainsaw Man’s art and ethos; it is the roar of a caged beast, inhibited by society’s chains only so long as it chooses to respect them. It is a rallying cry for all the abused and ignored and disaffected, urging them to embrace their vitality and assert their worth without apology or regret. There may not be a better future coming, but at least we can kick the present right in the balls.

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