The cover of Witch Hat Atelier’s seventh volume sees Coco journeying forth with lantern in hand, charting the unknown while looking nervously over her shoulder. She has been integrated into this world so quickly it’s almost dizzying, and her magical future looks bright, but it is natural at times to feel out of sorts or floundering when you’re on a journey of discovery. Coco’s earnest desire to expand her understanding is perhaps the single greatest quality a would-be artist or craftsman can possess; for after all, the essence of the seeker is not mastery, but curiosity. Granted, endless curiosity can gradually foment endless ambition, and when your urge to know more outstrips your understanding of what you have already gained, tragedy can easily result.
Not much risk of that for Shirahama, though. There is a profound intentionality in the flow of panels opening this volume, as we are introduced to Qifrey and Olruggio as young students sheltering from a storm. The tall first panel, which extends further than any of the others, acts as a bulwark establishing their privacy, while also setting a slow initial pacing for approaching the page. A long vertical panel inherently fosters measured pacing, because it cannot easily be taken in all at once; the eye must journey from top to bottom, taking in detail, reading for texture rather than just information. Additionally, this panel is matched by another across from it, the pair serving to bookend this small memory, in keeping with Shirahama’s general fondness for presenting moments and memories as stories unto themselves (which in turn reflects how we tend to editorialize and furnish stories of our own lives, if only in memory).
Then there are the two panels of rain falling, their repetition creating a sense of intensity and perception of time’s passage – the rain pours heavily, and continues from moment to moment. Suspended over the larger panel detailing the two boys’ sanctuary, these panels work as a sort of collage, challenging normal perspective in order to create a sense of the rain actively beating down on their shelter. One of comic art’s signature strengths as a storytelling medium is its ability to depict time visually, either through the progression of a panel (for every conversation in a manga panel is not just one moment, but a series of them, all the moments necessary for those words to be said), or through the juxtaposition of multiple simultaneous moments – like here, where the comfort of their firelit cave and the downpour above are realized as simultaneous facets of this moment in time.
And then there is the final row, which engages in a trick Shirahama frequently employs – giving the characters a tangible, physical relationship with the panels around them. Huddled up against that long vertical panel, with his limbs pulled in and coat actually pushing beyond the panel’s boundaries, it appears as if Qifrey is actually leaning against the establishing panel for support. In contrast, Olruggio sits alone, posture open, isolated in the most open, shadowed corner of the composition. A story of their relative personalities and comfort levels told purely through posture and paneling.
“Water is the worst,” the young Qifrey gripes. “Too much can kill you. Too little can kill you.” Olruggio replies that their fire is the same way, and not to fear – “if something is scary, I say, embrace it!” But when does noble curiosity transition to heedless ambition? Isn’t it right to be afraid of some things, rather than perpetually challenging that which is powerful or poorly understood? When it comes to black magic, we are right to be scared, and likely right to avoid it. So where is the line, then, between courageous curiosity and foolhardiness? Is such a line only something we can draw in retrospect, when the bravest among us have stepped too far forward to ever be recovered?
Perhaps even the asking of such a question implies we have gone too far, that ambition has so fully outstripped understanding we can no longer even comprehend if what we are doing is dangerous. Because we certainly can’t abandon ambition, or curiosity – these are the building blocks of creation and mastery. We are provided an immediate example of this as Qifrey wakes to find himself attended by an “ever-flowing icepack,” an in-progress invention of Coco’s that still doesn’t quite work.
As we have come to understand, it is not the fact that Coco came up with such an idea that makes her a true craftsman; it is that she has promised to keep at it, greeting initial failures with a positive spirit and a determination to make it work. It is not inspiration that defines the artist, it is iteration – a willingness to put pen to paper time and again, bashing your head against your own limitations, determined to create something even better than what you initially imagined. If artists and craftsmen knew some secret that made creation easy for them, they would not get as attached as they do to their creations. The actual secret is that there is no secret beyond the accumulation of hours of practice, which will eventually make some things easier, while also revealing new avenues of experience and mastery that are yet untraveled. Mastering a craft is a lot like going on an endless hike; you don’t expect to reach an immediate finish line, you’re marching forward mostly so you can see the scenery even further ahead.
So no, we cannot simply abandon curiosity and ambition. But in the wake of his reckless actions regarding Coco, neither Olruggio nor Beldarut can fully trust Qifrey’s motives, or that he genuinely understands what he is doing. Is he truly just attempting to nurture her talent as his apprentice, or does he see her as the key to unlock a forbidden door, a clue to chase down the brimmed caps?
“No circumstances can justify use of an apprentice to her master’s own ends.” Beldarut’s words of warning resonate with the circumstances of their last trial – the master who saw his apprentice as a burden, and the psychological effect that relationship had on the apprentice in question. In Witch Hat Atelier, there is nothing so precious or magical as an inquisitive spirit – reduced to its purest essence, the soul of a craftsman is contained in curiosity, in the practice of seeing the magic around you and wishing to channel it, tame it, master it for yourself. The sacred job of a teacher is to foster that curiosity, nourish it and reward it however possible. If a teacher is instead exploiting their students to further their own aims, they are betraying the spirit of curiosity that is the guiding light of all artists and craftsmen.
We learn the source of Beldarut’s misgivings through the revelation of Qifrey’s origins, as a fellow Coco-like orphan of the brimmed hats. The image of him being excavated from the earth offers another lovely trick of paneling, as the reveal of his body is framed as the literal opening of his coffin. Shirahama is fond of ostentatious tricks of ornamentation and theatrical presentation, but she’s also willing to embrace diegetic paneling like this, where the world itself contributes to the paneling and shaping of the story. Like with Qifrey leaning against the bookend panel at the opening of this volume, all of these tricks emphasize the continuity between life and its presentation – how we draw magic and inspiration from the natural world around us, and how every rendition or depiction of these experiences is a work of creation in its own right, binding whatever “objective” reality exists with how our mind interpreted that reality. Beldarut saw the reveal of Qifrey as a strange new page in his life, and so it is captured here.
Given the commonality of their origins, Beldarut fears what Coco’s ambitions have in store for her, and challenges her very reason for becoming a mage. As much as she loves study, discovery, and creation, she is ultimately seeking a cure for her mother’s condition. If all such answers are forbidden, what is her reason for pursuing magic?
“That which cures any affliction can just as easily bestow it,” Beldarut gently offers, evoking both Qifrey’s initial words about water and the philosophy of Witch Hat Atelier more generally. Shirahama’s stories tows a hard line in terms of human endeavors, one I generally tend to agree with – that we are fundamentally incompatible with ultimate power, because our nature is to use that which we have at hand, and we could not collectively prevent ourselves from courting destruction with such abilities. Some portion of us will always facilitate the greatest havoc possible with the tools at hand, not simply because of malice, but because our ambitions always outstretch our abilities. That which is most noteworthy about humans, our striving for self-improvement and greater knowledge, is also what is most dangerous when put in the context of unlimited power.
In the modern world, it seems hard to dispute this fact. Within a century of the industrial revolution we have utterly poisoned the planet, and within a generation of the internet’s creation we have poisoned our minds, rendering ourselves largely incapable of separating truth from fiction. The only possible thing that can prevent the misuse of unlimited power is the absence of unlimited power, not the presence of safety precautions. If Qifrey believes the power of black magic can save his vision, he will pursue it – even though, as both Beldarut and the young alchemist Tartar have taught us, physical handicaps by and large cannot prevent us from making our mark, demonstrating our brilliance.
Frightened by Beldarut’s finality and uncertain of her master’s guidance, Coco flees towards the tower that contains all knowledge, and which might offer the cure to her mother’s conditions. Even as she runs, her idle thoughts demonstrate how easily power and convenience can become their own justification, how predisposed we are to gladly accepting the easy route. Even someone so kind and considerate as Coco will at least briefly consider the advantages that great power might offer her, for such an idle task as merely crossing a lake. She swiftly chastises herself for the thought, but the seed was already planted back when she saw that power in action – and can we safely assume that every single person who might acquire such power would be as judicious and considerate in its application as Coco? There is no limit to human ambition, and no certainty of foresight that might make our ambition compatible with such power.
Qifrey catches up to his student in the midst of a crisis of faith. For quite some time now, all she’s really been learning is that magic is terribly dangerous, and also that magic can’t actually do the things she most desires. So if it’s dangerous and not actually useful, what’s the point of pursuing this craft?
It’s an anxious moment for Coco, but actually a fairly common scenario as far as pursuing a craft is concerned. Having moved beyond the initial honeymoon period of seeing your craft as the essence of and answer to everything, you must then come to terms with its limitations, all the aspects of life it cannot help you with, in spite of all the painstaking effort you’ve put in. It’s a moment similar to the scene in Look Back when, after two years of endless, isolating effort, the heroine feels like she’s barely changed at all in contrast with her rival. The work itself must be your inspiration, your guide, your muse, rather than any secondary benefit you hope to extract from the work. But sometimes, even often, the work does not feel like enough.
Of course, the particularly fraught nature of magic adds a touch more urgency to this process. If the answer to Coco’s questions isn’t found within the accepted light of the craft, might she then reach out towards the darkness? Can she be trusted to limit her own ambition, when the answer to her life’s question might exist just beyond the boundary?
In response, Qifrey gently reorients her thinking back towards the process, the cycle, the actual fundamental nature of magical inquiry. There is no specific answer the tower holds for her, because it is not a specific answer she is seeking. She simply has a problem, and what you do when you have a problem is you work on it – you postulate, iterate, practice, reconsider, and start over again. “So long as you don’t stop imagining, you’ll be able to produce any number of new answers. That is the essence of magic.”
Coco does not need whatever specific answer she believes this tower might hold – she needs simply to hold tight to her curiosity and imagination, and keep pursuing the slow mastery of her craft. Answers are incidental; they appear time and again along the way, often answering questions you hadn’t actually asked, but nonetheless lending new insights to furnish your research and wandering. Continue seeking, continue imagining and considering and revising, and you will never run out of answers, never find yourself at a loss for what to do next, and never need to push beyond the righteous core of your cause into the darkness.
Their escape from this lake beast is an articulation of practice in action, emphasizing how the greatest wonders emerge from the simplest acts of repetition and mastery. It is not some incredibly complex rune that gets them to safety – it is Qifrey’s perfectly round circle and Coco’s perfectly straight line, the same line she was already mastering back when she worked at her mother’s assistant seamstress. We tangle ourselves into knots seeking distant wonders, imagining we might need all the dark power of the universe to move forward, but progress is held within the dedication to and mastery of such small, fundamental acts as these.
Still, in spite of Qifrey offering the right words at the right time, a question remains as to whether he truly believes them. His true ambitions are revealed through what he does next: leaving the choosing of their destination to Coco, as to whether she might charge forward to the tower or return back to the great hall. One could consider this offer an expression of his faith in her, but his phrasing reveals this opportunity as a trap. He’s not willing to force her into danger, but he wants to visit the tower as well, wants her to continue her journey – and thus he presents a false choice to her, where her only options are “stagnate or grow.” His own curiosity is a danger to both him and his student, and both of them may end up paying for it.
Fortunately, Coco is a better student than Qifrey is a master. Recognizing the trap, she chooses neither left nor right, but to fly straight ahead. She will neither abandon her dreams nor her teacher – she knows she’s not ready for the tower, but she also won’t leave Qifrey behind, understanding that she still has so much to learn from him.
In this decision, Coco is embodying one of the most essential qualities of a student – a powerful sense of humility, an understanding of all the things you don’t know, and an eagerness to find knowledgeable teachers who can provide such an understanding. There is no greater threat to self-improvement than a belief that you already know everything you need to; from attacks on educational institutions to distrust of expert opinions, much of self-defeating, reactionary philosophy is born from a belief that you already contain all necessary knowledge. Coco knows she has so much to learn, and that makes her powerful – not only does it protect her from egotistical, dangerous feats of ambition, it means the whole world of knowledge is open to her, precisely because she understands it as something she hasn’t acquired yet. Curiosity, humility, and empathy – the truest seeds of greatness.
This article was made possible by reader support. Thank you all for all that you do.