It’s funny, but often the hardest things to criticize are those which are simply Nice. Not wildly ambitious in their formal construction, not instructive or at least humorous in their variable failings, but simply a very pleasant time with some likable characters. So it goes for A Tropical Fish Yearns For Snow, whose first volume charmed me utterly, while also leaving me with little to offer beyond an earnest “I just think they’re neat.” But I will try my best to explicate that feeling a little more, as we explore this gentle and charming love story.
Tropical Fish’s inherently fluffy nature comes through without words, baked into the fundamentals of its visual design. Characters possess a sort of natural buoyancy and roundness of form that calls to mind Yoshitoki Oima’s work, here situated within a seaside environment that sprawls outwards like an old dog at rest, your quintessential sleepy small town. The paneling is sparse and graceful throughout – panels flow gently into each other, with plenty of negative space to avoid any harsh collisions. The pages themselves provide space to collect your thoughts, to linger over past events; there is no rush in this world, save the excitement the characters bring to it.
Our first of those characters is Konatsu Amano, a girl who recently transferred to this quiet town from Tokyo. Though she tells her overseas father that she’s fine with this situation, her smile is clearly forced, and the true loneliness of her situation comes through clearly in her visual isolation within the classroom. This is the lot of the transfer student – you enter into a complete and thriving ecosystem with its own cultures and customs, and attempt to catch up on friendships and social cliques when you possess none of the common experiences that define them. Some people take to this challenge with gusto, painting their new school in their own colors, but other people need someone who is willing to extend a hand, and meet them at their own comfort level.
Enter our second heroine, Honami Koyuki. Though she has lived in this town all her life, she too is lonely, and feels isolated from her peers. Rather than Konatsu’s situation of lacking any connection with these students, Honami suffers from a false connection – perceiving her quiet insecurity as fastidiousness and grace, they see her as too superior and straight-laced to embrace the simple pleasures of high school. Even the boys who idolize her just see what they want to see, a “seriousness and kindness” that doesn’t actually reflect her identity. Honami wants to be understood, not worshiped, particularly if it’s not even the real her that’s infatuating them.
Given this, a new arrival like Konatsu, lacking any preconceptions regarding Honami’s true nature, is actually the perfect person to reach her. The two meet via a characteristically awkward exchange, with Konatsu stumbling across Honami’s monthly aquarium exhibit as she walks into town. Honami greets her with an abrupt “do you like salamanders,” which Konatsu would likely have registered as a weird question if she weren’t preoccupied with ‘whoa, girl hot.’ Instead, she offers a blunt and distinctive reply: “what’s to like? The tank is empty, so it’s just weird!”
Through this immediate friction, Tropical Fish sparks a character rapport that will blaze merrily all through their ensuing interactions, ensuring both Konatsu and Honami feel like distinctive and complementary characters. Their affection is not one of distant longing and arbitrary ardor; they bump and jostle through conversations with a clear lack of verbal coordination, discovering new things about each other with every step. Where Honami’s other classmates see effortless grace, Konatsu recognizes a dork who doesn’t know how to express herself. And when Honami attempts to retreat into that comfortable distance, Konatsu stops her immediately, saying the words she wished she could offer herself: “you don’t have to grin and bear it.”
Although it soon becomes clear that our titular fish is Konatsu, and the snow she yearns for is Honami’s wintery heart, this volume’s most persistent visual motif is that of the cloud salamander, that goofy creature that so affronted Konatsu with its unsociable ways. Honami’s connection to this creature is made clear through a story read in class, about a salamander who states “the colder it gets, the lonelier I feel.” From there, the salamander becomes a persistent companion to Konatsu, popping up to offer advice and complimenting Tropical Fish’s many delightful amphibious and sea creatures.
That salamander at least knows how it feels; in contrast, when Konatsu later equates Honami to the salamander, Honami falsely assumes this is a nod to their mutual stubbornness. In truth, Konatsu is referring to Honami’s shy and lonely nature, a nature she herself doesn’t fully understand. We can find comfortable lives even within a larger loneliness; after a while, the loneliness of a solitary routine might not even actively register. It often takes a reminder of what life can be like to shake us out of these comforting caves, and challenge us to find genuine happiness.
Konatsu provides that reminder for Honami, dazzling her time and again with her energy, peculiarity, and willingness to break through Honami’s defenses. One of the great joys of Tropical Fish comes from Konatsu and Honami’s mismatched levels of self-awareness. When Konatsu is lonely, she thinks “I wish I weren’t so lonely” – when she’s infatuated, she thinks “oh wow, I’m super infatuated.” In contrast, Honami’s response to basically any non-standard emotion is to blush red and lose track of her thoughts, maintaining a perpetual ignorance of her own feelings. Their distinct ways of processing (or not processing) their emotions often leads them to believe they are far more different than they truly are – and for both of them, the fear of coming on too strong with someone who’s clearly just as head-over-heels as they are provides some savory dramatic irony for us in the audience.
Though each of our leads are trapped in aquariums of their own design, their procession of fond interactions steadily unlocks these emotional cages. Neither of these heroines are individually confident, but they bring confidence to each other: Konatsu through her insistence that Honami express her true feelings, and Honami through her offering of a sanctuary and home within this unfamiliar world. Like the furtive sea creatures they cherish, Konatsu and Honami move slowly and with delicacy, reaching out their hands towards an awkward but earnest connection. Like a smile from a salamander, like a quiet dock on a warm afternoon, some stories invite themselves into your heart and nestle down for warmth. The space shared by these two is a warm spot indeed.
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