Taiyo Matsumoto’s ZERO

I haven’t really ever watched boxing, and it’s exactly the kind of thing I can get by fine by disliking on principle. Of course I do also really like Raging Bull.

And in a way that’s a pity, because being a fan of a great film about something I don’t really get kind of obstructs my enjoying other fiction about boxing. In this case, the mythic boxer in Taiyo Matsumoto’s ZERO feels bit too much like the conscious product of the author’s take on the pugilistic ritual for comfort. Boxing has evident power as a symbolic tool, but when I know its uses as a symbol better than the sport itself, that somehow breaks the spell of art.

What ZERO does really well is evoke claustrophobia and the changed mental state of a fired-up fighter. The real world in Matsumoto’s black and white art is sketchy and pale, and it’s only in the ring that things truly coalesce. The intensity is terrific, and the pacing is clever too: the first half being full of minor incidents and quick bouts leading up to part two, a massive match which stretches out painfully.

So the artist is a real craftsman, and he’s at work matching this terrific fight of his to a story about a monomaniacal champion taking on his last opponent. He rolls along with the idea of the surrender to a trance-state which defines the great fighter, with the loneliness of one punch-drunk guy under bright lights in front of a crowd, and with the masochistic pact between people seeking glory through mutual destruction. Which is… nice, and which still didn’t move me all that much.

It seems to me like the really hard thing is to match those themes to a story without losing the momentum of the conflict, and Matsumoto nails that aspect pretty damn solidly. And really ZERO is a good and an interesting read. So I kind of have to look at myself to decide why a manga that’s so generally nifty doesn’t quite succeed in making that vital connexion. It’s a familiar feeling, although perhaps less so in anime/manga than in other cultural avenues - the strong work that, for all its merits doesn’t, well, doesn’t obliterate the present in the way that I can remember other strong fictions doing.

All of which makes writing a conclusion uncomfortable, coming from a position of respect and uncertainty. And so, in the tradition of those who can’t pull a perspective together, a list of Some Interesting Things in Taiyo Matsumoto’s ZERO.

1. There’s this place where the external idea of Japan meets national self-image. Probably my first encounter with Japan was with the idea of kamikaze pilots, this manic dedication which seemed to be echoed by samurai culture and businessman formalities. ZERO is about a Japanese dude who’s pathologically all about one thing, and it’s about how he’s a messed up bastard who strikes fear into foreign dudes. I imagine the history of Japanese boxing involves a lot of men of total dedication getting fucking battered. In Roberto Balano’s 2066 you see a Mexican champion get humbled, and this manga seemed to me an intriguing contrast between national perspectives. A Latin American writer talks about how they can’t produce worthwhile heavyweights. A Japanese writer talks about how their middleweight is an absolute beast. We never see a heavyweight boxer in ZERO, it’s a world dedicated to the purity of the protagonist’s dedication.
2. The play of death in the mind of Goshima is quietly very disturbing. His love of Toravis comes from this idea of the Mexican having killed someone. He seems pleasantly surprised that Toravis actually turns out to be stronger than him. For a guy who’s always remembering crushing that insect in his hand but who mainly just knocks men on their backs, there’s something actually evil in Goshima’s fixation on the idea of killing in the ring.
3. It’s obvious but it’s still important: not many women around this place. Even the younger boxer who stands for something more human is a touch on the monkish side.
4. The doctor is a real odd one. There’s some doubt as to whether he’s even a medical man. He’s probably the only guy who, visually, gets something close to the eeriness which marks out Goshima. He’s a good method for connecting us to the coach, and their dialogues are involving - and he also brings up this unsettling aspect of modern sports where individuals are mentally managed as the result of discussions held behind their backs. It is of course vital that the representative of science buys into the mystical aspects of Goshima.