I remember being lent a few volumes of Marmalade Boy back in high school. I remember quitting it because the characters made me furious for some reason. If you ask me about Marmalade Boy now, my response, in spite of the rage it was apparently able to inspire, would just be “eh, I read a little of it way back when and didn’t like it.” Rage is a valuable commodity, and for me to harbor it against a work of fiction for years seems like a waste when I have so much political rage to nurse.
But sometimes, I make exceptions. Sometimes, a friend with good taste in books but a tendency towards horrible manga decisions hands me five volumes of pure exception. And that hatred lurks within me, waiting to be released.
Internet, let me tell you how deeply I loathe Sakurakoji Kanoko’s Black Bird. My hatred has the depth of the Japan Trench.
content warning: discussion of abuse, sexual assault, violence, and the 100% misogynistic content that women reared in a misogynistic society sometimes inflict on girls