“By changing your viewpoint just a bit, you can see familiar things in a whole new light. It happens a lot. And really works.”

I’ve no idea what’s up with the current fad for live-action adaptations of anime and manga these days, although I’m pretty excited about the feature-length effort of Solanin. The thing is, it’s so easy for me to imagine how well Inio Asano’s graphic novels can make the jump from paper to big screen since he has such a keen eye for scene composition and, to coin a hackneyed phrase, a finger on the pulse on what makes ordinary ‘real life’ people tick. He captures snapshots of everyday life events with the flair of a skilled photographer; What a Wonderful World! pre-dates it by several years but the intentions, and end results, are similar.

I have to admit though that WaWW feels like a rough draft of that because these same ideas and narrative techniques are present, but in a more fragmented and scattershot form. The kids in a rock band are growing up and adjusting to adult responsibilities while simultaneously leaving the carefree days behind; friends deal with the loss of one of their number while questioning where their own lives are heading; couples meet, live together, fight and reconcile. The signature style, that of a sensitive and quirky narrative approach reminiscent of Haruki Murakami told through grittily realistic artwork similar to that of Hiroki Endo, is quintessential Asano.

Because the story arcs are contained within their own chapters there isn’t room to develop them as far as those of Solanin so even the most powerful subplots are unable to gain much momentum. That’s not to say they aren’t moving – some had me laughing out loud (which gave me one or two funny looks from other occupants of the staff room) and some had me fighting back the tears (likewise, probably) – but I can only wonder how they could’ve panned out if given the opportunity.

This was I think intentional. This artist’s eye – as much like a filmmaker’s camera as images on a printed page  – studies the trials and absurdities long enough to give a grasp of what it means, then moves swiftly on to the next. They’re connected in that the events are occuring in the same town around the same time, but the overall impression is that of a whistle-stop guided tour through the worldview; read in quick succession, it certainly felt that way to me.

Some of the chapters really hit you during their short duration  – Syrup is concerned with an eccentric guy with a cough mixure addiction, but it’s only after a startling and tragic finale that we, and the characters, learn anything about what sort of person he really is. Another highlights the traumatic effects of schoolyard bullying, but goes further in examining the factors of cause and effect equally. My favourites are the romantic drama segments and those that deal with the trials of young adults looking for their place in the world. Asano never offers answers; rather, he merely sets out the situations and feelings but with exquisite, sometimes painful, clarity and leaves the reader to draw the conclusions.

Others didn’t really say much to me though. They were disposable in that the effect they left on me was short-lived and they didn’t stick in my mind like some of the others did. Perhaps this was an experiment on Asano’s part for later works such as Solanin or his mind-bending Nijigahara Holograph, or perhaps it was an attempt to get as broad an exhibition of the story’s general concepts as possible. These throwaway chapters often just show the nature of the state of affairs, and that’s it. They do however succeed in stirring up memories and emotions from the reader’s own life experiences in a way that’s almost Shinkai-esque.

Even the story arcs that don’t really *go* anywhere, or are merely absurd and surreal, offer little nuggets of truth about life in today’s world and draw a bit of beauty or profundity from simple, everyday things. Judging by his age I’m assuming Asano’s childhood was spent in Japan’s 1980s economic boom then he witnessed the more recent upheavals of the 90s as a young adult and struggling artist. His most striking hallmark then is that his stories have an autobiographical feel, which gives the dramatic moments much more weight than they would otherwise have.

In this uncertain age when people feel isolated and anxious about what the future will bring, it’s well nigh impossible to make sense of anything; a good place to start I guess is what’s right under your nose: family, friends and the town you live in. The locality of the town in What a Wonderful World has a few weird and wonderful elements to it but the majority is, from a distance, dull and ordinary. The skill in this manga is pulling meaning out of these ordinary moments, getting inside the heads of the people and making you identify with and care about them. In a rare moment of lucidity, the eccentric Syrup guy sums it all up: “there isn’t a right or wrong way to live your life.”