“You know, that girl simply left without ever turning to look back, but I could see her profile. And she was just like all of the cave raiders I’ve seen. That eye I saw was full of longing. And then, I remembered what it was I wanted to be one day.”

-Riko on meeting Mitty, Made in Abyss, Episode 13

When we first meet her, Riko is bored.

Cave raiding still excites her, but she’s already looking into her own future to a time when she won’t be stuck on the first layer, combing through graves that have already been dug up by countless red whistle trainees for run-of-the-mill artifacts. Initially presented as part of a larger vertical society where the delvers give back to the community in the form of artifacts or new Abyss discoveries, cave raiding first appears to be a societal contribution first.

Yet, from the moment she appears in the series’ first episode, Riko’s desire is far more selfish. She admits to hoarding the Star Compass because its value as an artifact that guides its user towards the truth of the Abyss is more important to her personal goals. She is rarely in the present, talking instead of a far-off time when she’s a white whistle like her mother, Lyza.

Riko looks into the Abyss and sees her mother. Riko looks into the Abyss and sees endless opportunity and possibility. Riko looks into the Abyss and sees her own insatiable curiosity, the inevitable pull that every human has towards something.

Later, Ozen will reframe this for Riko, describing this pull as a biological impulse due to the circumstances of Riko’s birth (and death), yet Made in Abyss returns to this question of why Riko wants to journey into the Abyss time and time again. It holds up Riko’s desires like Riko once looked at the Star Compass, showing that regardless of reason, they always point to the Abyss. Regardless of reason, we will seek out answers to questions we don’t understand and problems we cannot solve.

Made in Abyss is reminiscent of many timeless, classic stories. The basic Hero’s Journey structure is applicable. Riko’s discoveries first recalled Stephen Vincent Benét’s By the Waters of Babylon, a post-apocalyptic tale of a boy who realizes that his gods are mere men. This piece of information reshapes his entire worldview, and the burden of such knowledge within his own society. It ends with the sentiment of, “We must build again.” Despite the fact that it was likely building, advancing, that caused their previous society to crumble, John pushes forward. Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy follows one man’s journey through hell, purgatory, and finally heaven in an exploration of Christian theology and realization of god’s love and forgiveness. It has been described as a soul’s journey towards the divine, or god.

Ozen compares the Abyss to a god. Humans of Orth — and presumably other societies within their world — might not believe in god, but they certainly believe in the mysteries of the Abyss. This is why Reg isn’t listed as a relic. His very mechanics would shake that faith and belief in the Abyss. Accompanying cave raiders is the creeping threat of the curse of the Abyss, that only affects them on the ascent. As Ozen says, their entire value structure and society could crumble if it were well-known that a being like Reg exists: one who can easily ascend at will, defying the laws of the Abyss, one that exists outside of god, so to speak.

It’s no wonder that Made in Abyss‘ final episode deals not only in a continuation of Riko’s journey and her awakening — or return — but also the death of Mitty. Through Bondrewd’s experiments, Mitty has been given immortality that she never wanted. Like Riko, Mitty’s only god was the Abyss. It’s fitting that Mitty is the one who guides Riko back to life and her purpose after Riko loses all sense of self.

In regaining her purpose and restarting her journey, Riko also sends a message to the surface. This too is an ascent. Since she is physically unable to ascend Riko releases an information balloon skyward, in the hope that it will reach her friends on the surface. Scenes of the balloon traveling upward, meeting Marulk and Ozen at the Seeker Camp, passing by numerous creatures or places that Riko saw and visited, give her return more depth than physically ascending to the surface (defying the logic of the Abyss) ever could. These are interspersed with scenes of Riko, Reg, and Nanachi’s preparations to descend further. As they prepare, the balloon passes through another layer before it reaches Nat in the very place that Riko discovered Reg. And petals of eternal fortune flowers scatter across Orth following the arrival of Riko’s balloon, just like they did on Lyza’s resurrection day, heralding the return of Riko.

“We aren’t singing so we can be used by you!”

-Touma Amagase to President Kuroi (flashback), The Idolm@ster: SideM, Episode 00

A minute into the pre-premiere episode of The Idolm@ster: SideM, I wondered why the venue pictured was so small. The three-man group of Jupiter is a well-known Idolm@ster commodity, after all. Presumably, they’re not even the stars of the SideM anime.

Instead, Jupiter are the end goal at the proverbial finish line for SideM‘s burgeoning trainees. These young men should be filling arenas like 765 Productions do later in this episode — or at least larger concert venues like the one in The Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls‘ “Onegai Cinderella” performance — not performing in a hole-in-the-wall place that looks to be slightly larger than the average bar.

Another minute later, I quickly realized that the venue’s comparatively small size was the point of the entire opening. 

Each premiere of an Idolm@ster anime frames a goal or a promise for the entirety of the show. These episodes also tend to be somewhat separate from a standard episode in the series. Episode of Jupiter advertises itself as a prologue for SideM. The first Idolm@ster anime filmed the entirety of the episode as a documentary-style extra, something that would be included in a limited edition repackage or release. Cinderella Girls has the most standard first episode, but it too stands out from the rest as the awkward Producer in question attempts to assemble his unlikely lineup.

The title variations are interesting from premiere to premiere. The Idolm@ster opts for bold white text on a black background. This not only reinforces the documentary-style look of the episode — text in between scenes is shown similarly — but stands out on its own: THE IDOLM@STER. It’s simple, to-the-point, and makes for both a stronger introduction or familiar greeting — depending one’s familiarity with the franchise — than the franchise’s signature title, which later appears with the opening song “Ready!!!” in the series’ second episode.

Cinderella Girls, despite having it’s own large cast and and game fanbase, is still piggybacking on the popularity of the original Idolm@ster anime and game. Following “Onegai Cinderella,” the first episode of Cinderella Girls relies on that franchise familiarity by using the standard Idolm@ster stylings for its title.

SideM‘s Episode of Jupiter splits the difference. The title is an inverse of the original white on black Idolm@ster anime series title card with a few more sparkles. This isn’t the first time that Jupiter will be presented in relation to 765 Productions in this episode — the girls make several advertising appearances along with a Haruka Amami cameo — which acts to bridge the gap between the last time we saw Jupiter and now.

In addition to establishing a certain relationship with the Idolm@ster franchise as a whole — there’s a great meta post here on the staff behind SideM and prior anim@s endeavors — each Idolm@ster premiere establishes a different relationship between the idols themselves and where they’re at in the business of being an idol.

The Idolm@ster kicks off with a documentary on the less-popular 765 Production and makes the promise that, by the end of the series, they’ll become top idols. Cinderella Girls begins with even less-popular rookies, or girls who weren’t even planning on becoming idols, that are recruited by the comparatively massive 346 Production’s Cinderella Project. The agency already has a group of successful idols, who are pictured on billboards and train station advertisements as the eventual Cinderella Girls pass by.

Yet Jupiter, the subject of SideM‘s prologue, are already successful idols. When Jupiter look up at a large broadcast advertisement of 765Pro or see a flyer for their arena live, the three boys already have the popularity to be in that same position, unlike the various Cinderella Girls who are looking up from the ground at what still seems like a dream. The only reason that Jupiter aren’t in the same position as Haruka and company is that Jupiter lack resources due to their departure from 961 Productions.

In SideM it’s the production company itself, 315 Productions, that’s completely new and inexperienced. Although Cinderella Girls dealt more with the business side of idols than The Idolm@ster, SideM‘s Episode of Jupiter discusses small details, quickly painting a picture of Jupiter’s inability to deal with their popularity on their own. When the boys inevitably pick 315Pro, it’s a decision that frames their talent, stage experience, and idealism perfectly. Episode of Jupiter purposefully plays with these ideas, to make an introduction that’s altogether nostalgic and something wholly its own.

It’s rare to find a series that focuses on fashion beyond a unified aesthetic and looks at current trends, especially when it comes to the ephemeral nature of Japanese street fashion. However, URAHARA, despite a few flaws in visual direction and dialogue, tackles just that in a way that, even if unintended, is interesting in context of the current Tokyo street fashion climate.

With this post, I’d also like to announce my return to the Crunchyroll features team. You can find my first post on URAHARA and the current climate of Harajuku street fashion here.

Like last year when I blogged Orange and Kiznaiver, I won’t be putting up posts here announcing my Crunchyroll articles, unless I receive overwhelming feedback requesting this.

Thank you!

The ink is still drying on Chise Hatori’s signature when the above line appears across the cityscape: April showers bring May flowers. Given Chise’s initial mental state in the opening moments of The Ancient Magus’ Bride, the proverb is obvious. Before reaching the point where she signs that contract, Chise has seen and lived through some horrifying things. This is her turning point.

The Ancient Magus’ Bride also uses flower language liberally throughout its first episode to set the mood, giving small hints and insight into Chise’s circumstances.

The first flowers that appear prominently in The Ancient Magus’ Bride are these poppies from the opening sequence. They come in red (the most commonly-shown color), yellow, and white. In the west, poppies are often used in remembrance or as funeral offerings.

However, in Japan, the red poppy is a symbol of someone who is fun-loving, light-hearted, or lively. Red poppies can also indicated a deep, lifelong love between two people. Yellow poppies symbolize success, and white poppies often mean rejoicing or delight. Poppies of all three colors are shown in a close-up, before a larger scene places them in a field outside of Elias Ainsworth’s house. Chise may be at her lowest point as the series opens, but these poppies offer an optimistic future.

As Chise signs the contract, she is surrounded by a variety of flower paintings. Behind her are what appear to be poinsettias along with a wreath of yellow flowers. To her right is a painting of white lilies and smaller pink/purple flowers. In front of her is a field of what looks like lavender.

Poinsettias are most well-known for being a Christmas holiday plant that’s poisonous for most household pets and small children. In the west, they’re after the first United States Ambassador to Mexico, Joel Roberts Poinsett, who brought them north from their native Mexico. They come in red and white, and are a celebratory flower. The Aztecs used them as dyes in rituals, and the red poinsettia was a symbol of purity.

White lilies are a common funeral flower and also symbolize purity and chastity in Japan. They’ve come to mean a rebirth or renewal, which is why they appear so often at funerals. Finally, lavender means faithfulness and devotion. It is also associated with cleansing or spiritual healing and often used in aromatherapy as a calming scent.

Put together in this specific context, the flower language adds to our viewing unease, especially when the following scene shows Chise being sold at auction. This is effectively her death and rebirth. She signs away her life, without knowing her own future. This is somewhat celebrated — poinsettias, lilies — but since her future is unknown, it also appears as a death. The lavender showing up behind the man in front of her with the contract is a final hint that Chise is on the path to healing, despite the fact that we know very little of her past, and her immediate future is bleak.

While we’re learning of Chise’s powers, Elias tells her that she’s fortunate. Chise has flashbacks of misfortune brought on by her special abilities, including family that wouldn’t take her in, presumably because of her odd powers. In these memories, we see a small Chise with a fistful of daisy-like flowers that could be daisies or, more likely, aster flowers. Asters are used in remembrance, and when placed on a grave often carry a message of wishing that circumstances were different. This suits the tone of this scene very well, especially since they’re somewhat wilted in Chise’s hand while the hand of an undead spirit reaches up towards her. The fact that she’s at a funeral herself and surrounded by family, likely means that it was the funeral of a family member or friend.

Once at Elias’ home, we see the poppies again, along with gardens and fields of other flowers that are organized around his ivy-covered house. This begins with a rose garden, which includes arches of blue roses. The entire scene is oddly grounded by these surroundings, especially in contrast to how Elias used magic to transport himself and Chise to his home, but the blue roses stand out since they don’t occur naturally. Blue roses typically mean a interest in mystery and the unknown or supernatural — fitting considering the world that Chise is about to enter, and the powers that have followed her through childhood.

Anemone flowers come in a variety of colors, and resemble the vivid pink, purple, and magenta flowers that appear around a pair of robins in a cutaway scene-establishing shot. White anemones can symbolize sincerity or even death and ill will, but these purple and pink anemones have a different meaning of a connection with the fairies or the magical realm. Additionally, they can also symbolize protection against evil or anticipation of something that is about to happen, due to how they close up at night and unfurl in the morning.

Lastly, a pond with water lilies and irises is shown. In Japan, irises carry a message of good news or joy. White water lilies, much like their more grounded counterparts, symbolize a rebirth or renewal. Again, The Ancient Magus’ Bride is reiterating over and over through flower language that this is Chise’s rebirth into the magical world.

“So you like poppies, Chise?”

-Elias Ainsworth to Chise Hatori, The Ancient Magus’ Bride, Episode 2

It’s no coincidence that the flower most associated with Chise Hatori is the poppy. Last week, in The Ancient Magus’ Bride‘s first episode, poppies only cropped up in the opening sequence and later at a distance in Elias Ainsworth’s fields. Yet, they were the first flowers to be shown in a series that appears committed to using floriography or hanakotoba as a secondary narrative, running concurrently to Chise’s development.

Chise has lived with magic her entire life. Before Elias took her as an apprentice, magic only meant pain and suffering. The majority of flowers surrounding Chise in the series’ first episode all pointed to death and rebirth, including the ubiquitous poppy flower.

Due to the sedative properties of the opium poppy, poppy flowers have been symbols of eternal sleep or death since Ancient Greece. In Greek and Roman mythology, poppy flowers symbolize the netherworld itself and became offerings to the dead. Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae’s World War 1 poem “In Flanders Fields” immortalized the red poppy as a flower of remembrance for death. Remembrance Day, which celebrates the end of the first world war, is often casually called “Poppy Day” and citizens of the former British Commonwealth wear red poppy pins honoring the dead.

In a way, Chise has been brought to the netherworld and has been reborn. In an opening flashback, we see her looking out an airplane window on her flight from Japan. One of the proprietors at the auction house where she sells herself reiterates that Chise had said upon leaving that she didn’t care whether she lived or died. Despite this, there’s the tiniest glimmer of fight left in her. She doesn’t deal with pain well, she says.

Angelica Varley is introduced in this episode, and acts as a catalyst for Chise’s first bit of purposeful magic. Chise recalls a poppy field, which symbolizes her mother. It’s no coincidence that Angelica comes off as a motherly figure here — patting Chise on the head, telling her that her accidental field of crystal poppies is hardly Chise’s fault. Even before she hands Chise the crystal, the first thing Angelica gives Chise is a warm mug of tea. She asks after Chise’s well-being, and reprimands Elias for his weirdness. It’s Angelica, not Elias, that teaches Chise her first bit of magic, and the end result is a happy — or, at the very least, not sad — memory that Chise has of her mother, preserved in cool crystal.

“I’m not sure if I actually like them. It’s just something I remembered,” Chise says when Elias asks her if she likes poppies. She stumbles over Angelica’s simple task to think of her favorite flower because it’s not likely something she’s ever thought about. The poppies come to mind because at one point in time, Chise experienced a field of poppies with her mother. It’s a rare moment that Chise has with her mother that isn’t tainted with sorrow and loss.

This episode opens with Chise’s mother saying that she should have never given birth to Chise before jumping out a window and dying. Despite this, Chise also remembers experiencing the beauty of a field of poppies with her mother, a moment in time that appears alongside the emotional baggage that Chise carries.

When Chise was a child, she watched her mother kill herself. Chise believes that she is at fault for her mother’s death and this guilt is palpable throughout the episode, although somewhat eased by the happy memory of a poppy field and Elias’ words.

In the West, red poppies mean remembrance. In the East, they symbolize passionate love and success. In the West, white poppies mean a peaceful rest. In the East, they’re used for remembrance at funerals. The appearance of both in the poppy field of Chise’s memories hint at the complex emotions that remain following her mother’s suicide, and Chise’s own rebirth in the world of magic, which has already begun.

In sixth grade, I joined concert band. I was the only girl in the trombone section. There were only about five of us in total, including a kid from my elementary school, Ben. We were friendly acquaintances but not close friends. Ben was the funny kid, and as the funny kid, he thought it would be cool to gross out the rest of the band by waiting to release his spit valve until it was as full as he could make it. He would then release it on the floor in front of the section.

Spit has grossed me out ever since.

When Chito (Chii) pulls her hand out of Yuuri’s (Yuu) mouth in the first episode of Girls’ Last Tour, there is an audible pop. Yuu’s face stretches before releasing Chii’s hand and a trail of spit shines in the air. It’s a disgusting and funny scene to watch. Chii puts Yuu’s spit to good use — it allows her to pinpoint the direction of a breeze that eventually leads them out of the tunnel — but these slime trails of spit are also visceral reminders of Yuu and Chii’s existence.

Girls’ Last Tour is the story of two girls in a frozen, post-apocalyptic world. How their world came to be this way isn’t as important as showcasing the many ways in which these two girls are alive. 

This is shown frequently through cinematography, like the screenshot above. The two girls are placed against a looming backdrop of a dark building, an abandoned tunnel, or a dazzling white snowy landscape. They are made to be small, and are often the only moving thing present in the scene. In the example above it’s the fire, a symbol of life and survival, that becomes the moving object while Yuu and Chii are huddled around it for warmth.

Even more effective than the isolating cinematography is the physicality shown by both girls in a variety of ways. Chii and Yuu are often hugging or touching each other, with the more oblivious and whimsical Yuu initiating the majority of their skinship. This serves as a reminder that they, unlike everything else in their world, are human and have each other for company.

Their blobby character designs are also perfect for squishing and stretching across a screen, and Girls’ Last Tour takes full advantage of this. Much of the physical comedy in the series comes from the rubbery quality of Chii and Yuu’s character designs, which stand out against the mechanical ruins in their post-apocalyptic backdrop. Only Chii and Yuu are, for lack of a better term, squishy, which separates them from their cold environment.

It’s not often that Yuu and Chii aren’t touching, even if that means they’re bickering or arguing with each other. Girls’ Last Tour uses physical comedy frequently as another reminder that Yuu and Chii are human. When something moves in the background, like a drop of water or a puff of steam to denote something of a different temperature, it’s often slow and steady. Chii and Yuu move erratically in comparison, especially when they’re fighting. While pillow shots like a rock hitting another rock in a stream, or steam rising from the girls’ makeshift bath also have movement, they lack the visceral nature that Chii and Yuu have due to their human bodies and fleshy composition.

Interactions in Girls’ Last Tour aren’t limited to Chii and Yuu hugging or fighting each other. The series also makes a distinction between the girls and their physical interactions with objects they come across, which further separates them as human from the world, or even other living things. In the second episode, the girls take a bath. Chii is shown dipping her toe into the hot water, with the typical reaction of pulling back at the heat. Later, she pokes a dead fish. The fish is similar in makeup to the girls, but in both cases, only Chii is moving while she interacts and reacts to whatever is in front of her.

When Chii and Yuu meet Kanazawa unexpectedly in Episode 3, he is introduced with a choking cough and stuttering, guttural sounds, setting him apart from the crash of a nearby building explosion. Kanazawa nearly jumps off of an elevator after his falling maps, and is hauled up by the girls, yet another example that all three of them are alive, despite the fact that Kanazawa tells them to let him fall. The episode then skips ahead to after the girls fix the rail and have made it to the top of the pillar.

What’s important here isn’t how they fixed it or the mechanics of the elevator, but that they saved Kanazawa and reached their destination. At the end of it all, the three share a meal of rations and enjoy the view. Girls’ Last Tour uses both audio — coughing, spit popping, splashing in a stream, grunts of exertion during physical labor — and video to separate people from things, reiterating Chii and Yuu’s humanity in a sparse world.

Like most things in Devilman Crybaby, its use of flowers is not subtle.

By nature, snapdragons are deceptive flowers. Their common name of snapdragon comes from the fact that the flowers look like small dragon heads that open their “mouths” when squeezed. When I was younger, my friends and I would play a game where we would squeeze snapdragon flowers, opening them. The first person to find a bug in theirs lost. One time, my friend was stung by a small bee.

Miki (Miko) Kawamoto is a conflicted character. She resents Miki Makimura for her beauty and sprinting talent. As she tells Miki towards the end of the series, “I was always the best, but you took that away.” Miki Makimura was so good that she was able to keep her name, while Miki Kawamoto was relegated to Miko, a nickname that continuously reminds her of second place. Even after becoming a devilman, Miko is unable to best Miki. She is never given the opportunity.

However, Miko also loves Miki. Towards the end of the series, she breaks down crying while confessing. Miki cheekily says that she already knew, and Miko admits that she didn’t know herself until that moment. The series shows this explicitly — Miko masturbating in her bedroom to Miki — but also shows that Miko isn’t ready to deal with these feelings. Miko’s inadequacy, fear, and jealousy are what she outwardly expresses for the majority of the series. When she first becomes a devilman, Miko becomes singularly obsessed with beating Miki to the exclusion of all else.

Devilman Crybaby surrounds Miko with colorful snapdragon flowers, in vivid reds, pinks, and yellows. They grow in planters around Miko’s apartment and she is shown frequently watering them. We later learn from rapper Mayuta that Miko planted these flowers herself and has been tending to them ever since.

These snapdragons, that come from Miko, tie into her conflicted nature. Known for both deviousness and graciousness, snapdragons have several incompatible meanings, which has also given them the additional meaning that everything is not as it seems. In Victorian-era flower language, the message of a snapdragon flower changed depending on the flowers with which it was paired. Miko loves and hates Miki.

In the moments where Miko loses herself the most, the snapdragons also transform to small skulls on stalks. Devilman Crybaby is not subtle, and uses snapdragons to express Miko’s dueling emotions — which can then be applied to humanity as a whole within the series. It’s important that Miko ultimately swallows her pride and confesses to Miki. After all of her focused obsession, self-hatred, and jealousy, Miko still finds it in her heart to express love.

Although snapdragons are specifically tied to the story of Miko, they also appear in front of Silene and Kaim while they’re trying to track down Amon/Akira. Silene and Kaim are also devious and not what they seem to Akira due to his perception of demon and human. Kaim’s love of Silene and Silene’s feelings towards both Kaim and Amon become more of a focal point in Devilman Crybaby than Go Nagai’s original Devilman manga, and their interpersonal relationships a more complex backdrop for how Akira perceives demon, human, and devilman.

Silene is also pictured in front of a small planter of poinsettia flowers when trying to seduce Akira, who she only sees as her lost love Amon. Poinsettia flowers were representative of purity in Aztec culture, and became popular Christmas holiday gifts in the United States. In Christian tradition, the red leaves symbolize the blood of Jesus Christ, while the white flowers represent his purity.

As Ryo Asuka/Satan says, demons are pure in a way, and red poinsettias tie into Silene’s purity, although perhaps not in the way that Ryo thinks, given his own realization and love for Akira in the series finale.

Outside of the gift of a red rose — which has been commercialized and commodified extensively — there are few flowers today whose meanings are widely recognized outside of hobbyist circles or florists. Now, the language of flowers, or floriography, has primarily been relegated to a secondary visual language used (both deftly and clumsily) in art.

In Victorian England, myriad factors led to the development of flowers as a way to send emotionally-charged messages meaning everything from love to sexual desire to hatred. The Victorian Era was one of industrial progress, leading to a rising middle class and more widely-available leisure activities. Victorian morality is commonly described as draconian or puritanical. The reality is a bit more complex. For example, alongside the rise of the novel came the rise of erotica and the expression of sexual desire in written letters. Floriography accompanied this. Through flowers, people could send coded messages to each other — some that they could even wear as fashion accessories — that said what they could not speak aloud due to the morality of the time. As western floriography developed through the Victorian era, so did the varied meanings that could be expressed. One flower could mean something when paired with another flower, and carry an opposing meaning when paired with a different flower. Floriography and the written word also merged together well, with novels of the time period referencing flower language with the expectation that readers would parse their meanings.

Violet Evergarden plays with a Victorian aesthetic and steampunk-like anachronism (which is why discussing Victorian floriography is more appropriate in this case than the iconography or different meanings of Japanese hanakotoba, prevalent in other anime).

There’s little in Violet Evergarden suggesting that director Taichi Ishidate is as concerned with a direct approach to floriography in this series as his compatriot Naoko Yamada was for her film adaptation of A Silent Voice. In that film, Yamada wields the language of flowers as communication tool, providing precise emotional commentary through visuals, emphasizing Shoko Nishimiya’s deafness. Based on this premiere, it’s doubtful that we’ll see similarly coded messages in Violet Evergarden. Establishing and pillow shots are not often reserved for flowers, and instead revel in the lavishness of the production itself. The one notable exception is the pink rose tea that Violet spills, unused to her new lack of dexterity.

Yet flowers and floral iconography are consistently present through this first episode of Violet Evergarden, in line with the Victorian aesthetic. A rise in flower conservatories also accompanied the rise of wealth in the Victorian era, which allowed a greater number of imported, non-native flowers to the region. The city of Leiden that houses Violet’s new workplace of CH postal company is drenched in tropical flora, resembling a British colony more than the British Isles. Flowers are abundant and easily accessible, with potted arrangements decorating every interior room and most building exteriors.

There’s also the matter of Violet’s name. The general meaning of a violet is modesty, but Victorian flower language offered further precision by color: a white violet carries a meaning of innocence, while a purple one meant that the giver was preoccupied with thoughts of love. Whether her full name of Violet Evergarden means a font of continuing modesty and love remains to be seen, but even the name itself has some significance.

In a series like Violet Evergarden that focuses on letter-writing and the written word to convey feelings, it makes sense for flowers to take more of a background role. Given the sumptuous animation that gives the straightforward narrative the feeling of a high-budget film, flowers here help set tone and recall the Victorian time period. Violet’s emotional journey is more likely to be expressed through writing letters, while flowers provide a backdrop and context that make transcription and the written word all the more important.

Darling in the Franxx is not a subtle series. Child pilots take on the roles of either a pistil (female pilot) or stamen (male pilot) named after the reproductive parts of a flower. They are paired off and each assigned a FRANXX robot, named after various flowers. Their home is called Mistilteinn, which means “mistletoe.” They are called parasites.

Mistletoe is a hemiparasitic plant that draws nutrients from its host. It is an angiosperm (flowering plant with seeds enclosed in an ovary, as compared with a gymnosperm which has seeds not enclosed in an ovary like a pinecone) that produces berries for means of reproduction. In western tradition, mistletoe is hung during the Christmas holiday and couples that pass underneath it together are expected to kiss. Mistletoes are said to represent romance, fertility, and reproduction.

Again, Darling in the Franxx is not subtle. Heteronormativity is forced — and the series hints that Hiro’s timid personality wasn’t masculine enough for the stamen role — with children put into pairs of the opposite sex in order to pilot robots together. There are too many floral references for this to be a series of coincidences, but it’s up to the series itself to say something about them, otherwise they’ll remain interesting but fairly meaningless trappings.

Hiro and Zero-two pilot the Strelitzia, which is named after the bird of paradise flower. A native plant of South Africa, the bird of paradise flower’s name unsurprisingly comes from the bird of paradise itself since it is brightly-colored like its namesake. It carries a meaning of joyfulness and paradise. This is in contrast to Hiro’s internal monologue of of the jian bird, which he says shares its wings — a direct reference to the fact that he failed out of his piloting program. However, when he pairs with Zero-two, the two seem to be complementary partners. Her hot-blooded nature makes up for his lack of it, and his more demure attitude makes up for her harshness. In other words, Zero-two’s non-conforming pistil — she is called an “ugly sight” and a monster by one of their overseers for devouring her partner — is perfect for Hiro’s untraditional stamen.

All other robots in Darling in the Franxx are named after flowers as well. Delphinium, or larkspur, has a meaning of protection and also ambition of reaching one’s goals. Argentea refers to celosia or plumed coxcomb, meaning affection or silliness. Genista, which calls to mind a “broom” shrub or lupine can hint at creativity and imagination. Lastly, Chlorophytum is a common spider plant, which also carries a meaning of protection.

The Victorian-era trappings of Violet Evergarden are no accident. Victorian Great Britain has, retroactively, become a divergence point in fiction where, if industry had advanced along this particular timeline rather than another, things would have been different. This, along with rich aesthetic trappings that accompany any economic boom in history, make it a much-desired setting, begetting the entire steampunk genre.

A key factor to keep in mind when evaluating steampunk as a fiction genre is the boom of 19th-century novelists — and the novel as a leisure activity in and of itself — that accompanied the Industrial Revolution. Charles Dickens, the Brontë sisters, William Thackeray, and Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot) are all products of this time period. After them came Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, and the scientific romance (later called scientific fiction, or sci-fi). Many works that are considered great or integral to understanding the development of western culture were written in or around the time of Queen Victoria. Since they are taught so often in schools, it’s easy to see how aspiring writers would want to take elements of these lush environments and somehow port them into a more modern era.

Not everyone can write in Violet Evergarden. This is an understated but important aspect of where Victorian culture and the novel frame the series’ narrative. It creates a barrier between those who can write, or even have access to someone writing for them, and those who cannot.

In the world of Violet Evergarden, Auto Memoir Dolls are tasked with writing everything from addresses to deeply personal and emotional letters. Although the word “doll” brings up images of a lifeless husk, Auto Memoir Dolls are expected to deftly translate human subtext. They are a tool for another human being to use, but also require human qualities like empathy and understanding in order to do their job well. Cattleya Baudelaire is the premier example of this.

Interpreting subtext as a person who hasn’t been raised to be an emotionless child soldier is already difficult. However, in the same episode that Violet is (rightfully) admonished for her direct letter that spits out a woman’s text at verbatim onto a page, we also see Erica Brown — who presumably does not have a similar background to Violet and showcases both sympathy and empathy towards her in this episode — struggling with her own ability to translate emotions into words on a page.

What does this have to do with the Victorian era again? Everything.

Of the high-profile novelists listed at the beginning of this post, four are women: Anne, Charlotte, and Emily Brontë and Mary Anne Evans. All of them first published their works under male pseudonyms in order to be taken seriously. Charles Dickens, one of the most prolific and popular writers of the era was also one of its loudest social critics. In his novels, he skewered the rising middle class for their dismissal of poverty, and challenged increasing stratification between economic classes. Thackeray also attacked high society in works like Vanity Fair. With the written word more accessible than ever, novels reached a fairly wide audience while also providing important social commentary. The subtext of these novels, and sometimes direct text, were important in communicating dissatisfaction with many of the Industrial Revolution’s byproducts as well as oft-oppressive morality and social mores.

When Violet calls her typewriter a weapon, Cattleya simply smiles and says that you could say it’s a weapon that allows working women to “fight” in their society. Again, the Victorian era was a time period of subtext, with more avenues than before to express one’s true feelings without saying them outright.

There is already subtext in Violet’s actions that we as viewers interpret immediately while she remains in the dark regarding her own feelings. Her first thought upon receiving a typewriter is to write her former commanding officer to let him know of her new assignment as an Auto Memoir Doll. We know that Violet’s letter is likely as dry and direct as the one she later writes for the woman who returns, irate and sad, because Violet couldn’t discern her true feelings. Yet, we also know that Violet’s status report to Major Gilbert Bougainvillea is her way of expressing that she cares for him deeply. We can already read the subtext that Violet cannot.

Lastly, if we’re meant to read between the lines in Violet Evergarden, Claudia Hodgins words towards the end of the episode are of particular note. He refuses to state outright that Gilbert is dead not only when he’s speaking to Violet, but to Cattleya. Claudia has multiple reasons to want to keep the truth from Violet, as she’s still learning to be a person. However, even with Cattleya, who appears as some sort of confidant for him, Claudia says, “He’s never coming back” either relying on her to read the subtext that Gilbert is actually dead, or hinting at another emotional or physical state that’s difficult to explain.

On premise alone, After the Rain is a contentious series. Following a potential budding romance between 17 year-old former track star Akira Tachibana and her 45 year-old divorced boss, nearly every discussion of After the Rain is prefaced with the admission that this show won’t be for everyone. It’s a series that’s approached with varying amounts of faith, with good reason.

Kondo’s reaction and response to Akira’s repeated romantic confession at the end of Episode 3 leaves much to be desired, but is still toeing that very fine line — albeit less deftly than in previous episodes — rather than crossing it outright. With so much talk around what the series is doing, or hasn’t done yet, I want to draw attention to an example of a similar situation handled near-perfectly, with sincerity and genuine attraction from both parties: the relationship between Audrey Horne and Dale Cooper in Twin Peaks.

Despite Akira’s blunt nature, I highly doubt we’ll see her climbing into Kondo’s bed naked and waiting for him. After many flirtatious encounters, this is what Audrey does to Coop, making her feelings as direct as possible.

At first glance, Akira and Audrey have little in common. Audrey is the daughter of the Twin Peaks real estate mogul Benjamin Horne who owns, among other things, The Great Northern Lodge where Coop is staying. The series immediately establishes that she’s rich, somewhat sheltered, and completely bored. One of Audrey’s opening scenes show her mischievously pouring coffee over the hotel concierge desk. The next moment, she’s ruining business deal for her father by giving potential buyers the impression that Twin Peaks is dangerous (and it is, just not in the way that she leads on). This costs him millions of dollars, leading to a stunted argument between her and her father that reveals the distance between them.

Not only is Coop dashing, genuine, and undeniably attracted to her, but he listens to her. It’s natural that Audrey would become infatuated with Coop and that this infatuation would drive her to over-the-top actions like infiltrating a brothel on her own.

“You’re beautiful, intelligent, desirable— but what you need right now, more than anything, is a friend.”

-Special Agent Dale Cooper to Audrey Horne, Twin Peaks

Whether it was Coop’s actor, Kyle MacLachlan, shooting down a possible Coop/Audrey relationship or the influence of his then-girlfriend Lara Flynn Boyle (who played Twin Peaks‘ Donna Hayward) Coop let’s Audrey down gently but firmly. He does so in a way that’s the most painful in that moment — affirming his attraction to her and concern for her safety — but leaves no room for error. He is rejecting her outright as a romantic partner, but confirming their friendship.

The ages of Coop (35) and Audrey (18) are closer than Kondo (45) and Akira (17), but there is still a noticeable gap in both age and life experience. When Coop first introduces himself to Audrey, he is visibly struck by her beauty but doesn’t respond to her advances and introduces himself as an FBI special agent first. Kondo is not only divorced with a son, but he also becomes Akira’s boss after she begins working in his family restaurant.

In both series, there’s an emphasis on Akira and Audrey’s outsider status with their peers, isolating them from young men their age. Audrey wasn’t popular like Laura Palmer, and early conversations with Donna Hayward have no animosity but also showed that Audrey didn’t let many people in and was generally considered a bit odd. Even after Coop’s rejection, Audrey is then involved with John Justice Wheeler, a young business associate of her father’s, continuing the theme of looking for a romantic partner outside of her high school and her town. After the Rain presents Akira as someone who separates herself from her peers. Again, they don’t dislike her, but the series is quick to note that Akira doesn’t fit in, especially after she lost the one thing providing her direction: her ability to run track.

There is also the sense from both young women that their attraction to Kondo or Coop is genuine but also spurred on by other factors in their lives. Audrey finds purpose in helping Coop, and this later channels what was a rebellious streak against her father into shrewd business acumen and activism. Their relationship also improves by the end of the initial series. Akira falls for Kondo when he offers her a cup of coffee during a rainstorm. At that time, Akira is at her lowest point post-injury and even in the present time of After the Rain, is nowhere near getting over how the injury has brought her life to a halt. Her feelings for Kondo are as real as anything else, but he’s also a substitute for repressing her emotions regarding her injury.

Akira’s thoughts are noticeably barred from us as an audience. After the Rain makes her feelings clear through cinematography, not inner monologues. This paints a picture of Akira as someone who is unaware of how she’s trying to fill the void left from the track team with feelings of attraction towards an older figure who showed her kindness. By contrast, Kondo’s thoughts are clear, showing the difference between the awkward, purposefully daft personality he uses to try to keep Akira at arm’s length, and his true feelings which are more muddied. He indulges himself in thinking of how the situation would be different if he was younger yet, unlike Coop, his insecurities keep him from properly rejecting Akira like he should.

Again, it’s difficult to talk about After the Rain without caveats as the series edges ever closer to that line. However, the emotions from both Akira and Kondo are worth examining, and Twin Peaks provides an excellent blueprint of how that exploration can be handled with care and sincerity.

From the Roman name, Aemilia, latin word aemulus meaning rival. Industrious, hard-working, stubborn, obstinate.

When I first looked up my given name, I found something similar to the etymology and list of adjectives above. Yet, none of these explained why my parents decided to name me Emily. After all, they had no way of knowing that this ugly, squalling baby would be a diligent worker, at all stubborn, or competitive in any way. (I assert that I am some, if not all of these things at times.) So, I was named after my great-grandmother whom I never knew. My mother was close with her despite speaking no Italian — my great-grandmother was from Sicily — and my great-grandmother speaking little to no English.

In Episode 4 of Violet Evergarden, we are introduced to Iris Cannary’s family. Iris isn’t estranged from her parents, but she hasn’t been honest with them since moving from her countryside hometown of Kazaly to the city of Leiden. After reconciling with her family thanks to a letter that Violet ghostwrites for Iris, Iris is given a bouquet of her floral namesake and later explains to Violet that her parents named her “Iris” for the fields of blue iris flowers that grow near Kazaly.

Initially from the Greek goddess Iris, the iris flower has a multitude of meanings. The most prominent ones are of valor, royalty, wisdom, and hope. Blue irises, like the ones in the fields that Iris shows Violet, are said to symbolize hope and faith. In Japanese hanakotoba, the iris flower represents good news or a message of loyalty. Iris Cannary the character, like many people in Violet Evergarden, isn’t prone to expressing exactly what she thinks in words, and puts on airs of bluster and arrogance to cover up her own insecurities. Her parents don’t actually help with this, initially imposing what they believe to be best for her rather than listening to what she wants. It’s a similar message to Episode 2’s focus on Erica Brown: Violet isn’t the only one who struggles with words.

However, seeing Iris with her family — even locked in a disagreement — it’s easy to see her love and loyalty for them. More literally, for her parents, Iris herself is a message of good news and hope, even after she makes it abundantly clear that what she wants from life is not the same as what they want for her.

Upon seeing the field of irises, Violet remembers when she received her own name from Major Gilbert Bougainvillea. At that point in time, Violet was more of a shell than a human — which makes the major more of a parental figure than anything else, in turn, making his romantic intentions slightly more uncomfortable — and he gives her the name “violet” thanks in large part to the scenery.

The timely appearance of a small violet flower (Violet herself) framed against a cannon wheel (the ongoing war) is a bit on-the-nose, but Violet Evergarden is the type of series that enjoys grand, romantic gestures even as it plays with more subtle messages than words, like flower language.

Like Iris’ parents or my own parents, there are reasons beyond what the flower itself means to the gift of the name. Iris’ father and mother thought that the blooming irises that accompanied the birth of their daughter were pretty. The major saw a violet flower and decided to give that name to Violet. Although he may not have known the message of a violet — in Victorian flower language, thoughts occupied with love, or Japanese hanakotoba, honesty — he told her that she will become a person as beautiful as her namesake. This thought fades into the title of the episode: “You won’t be a tool, but a person worthy of that name.”

Iris and Violet aren’t alone in being named after flowers. All of the Auto Memoir Dolls at the CH Postal Company have floral names with specific meanings. Erica is derived from the Norse name Erik, but is also the latin word for the heather flower (ericaceae) which carries a meaning of luck and protection. Cattleya is a type of orchid named after botanist William Cattley. In Victorian flower language, orchids symbolized luxury and cattleya orchids more specifically meant a mature, motherly charm.

The fourth episode of After the Rain ends with two movie pamphlets. They’re both from the same movie. They’re also from two different circumstances to Akira Tachibana. The first time, her attendance was coerced. The second time, it was freely given.

Yet she cannot tell the pamphlets apart.

She laments that they’re “Definitely not the same” but with her personal context removed, they’re identical.

Akira goes on two dates in Episode 4: one with coworker Ryosuke Kase and a second with her manager, and object of her affection, Masami Kondo. We are never privy to Tachibana’s thoughts, yet After the Rain speaks volumes about her emotional state through music cues and cinematography. Arguably, they say more than she herself would, were we privy to her thoughts, because she isn’t honest with herself and how her professed romantic feelings for her 45 year-old manager are intrinsically tied to her post-injury depression.

Both dates have the same meeting place, zombie movie, and tea shop. They each end with a phone call and one person leaving a situation that makes them awkward. After the Rain presents these dates side-by-side, shot-for-shot, and leave the takeaways from the comparison up to us, the audience.

There are the more obvious cues, like Akira’s outfit and demeanor. She wears a sundress, matching open-toed sandals, and tries out a new hairstyle for Kondo. With Kase, she makes a point to change out of her school uniform into jeans, a t-shirt, and flip flops. She slouches, visibly pulling away from Kase, and her eyes are always turned away from him. With Kondo, she leans towards him and is always watching.

The color palette is noticeably brighter during Akira’s date with Kondo, a reflection of the weather outside which also ties into the mood of each date. While using paneling during both train station meetings, After the Rain pays close attention to who reaches out first, or breaks their plane — in the first date it’s Kase asking her if she went home to get changed, and in the second it’s Akira nervously touching her new hairstyle.

When it comes time to walk to the movie, Kase and Akira are treated to a long, awkward walk across a bridge. Kase’s feet are shown, sharply turning to walk, but Akira’s do not follow. Kondo’s feet are similarly shown, but Akira’s foot immediately steps into the same space after Kondo. It then cuts directly to the movie.

From Akira’s date with Kase to Akira’s date with Kondo, the seating arrangements are visually reversed. The person more uncomfortable with the situation is placed to left (from our perspective) while the person who proposed the date is on the right. There are other visual cues, like the location of the movie theater seat armrest or Kondo’s flashbacks in 4:3 aspect ratio, that inform us of each person’s perspective.

An obvious goal of this visual presentation is to show us how different these dates are to Akira. Yet, I’d argue that the primary goal of After the Rain‘s cinematography is to show us how similar they are, like the movie pamphlets that Akira agonizes over at the end of the episode.

Throughout Episode 4, whether Akira is with Kase or Kondo, lines are visibly drawn between her and whoever is around her. After the Rain uses natural paneling at the beginning of both dates, where Akira is placed in a completely different space than her date, who is up against a wall in the train station. Above, we see Akira placed in front of a different door than both men. Despite the fact that myriad visual cues have shown her discomfort (with Kase) or eagerness (with Kondo), the end result is the same: After the Rain visually separates her from both of them.

The series additionally focuses on foot placement, using scenery and focus to again isolate Akira. Showing Akira’s feet is already a constant reminder of her injury, since her scar is prominently displayed on her right foot. Whether Akira is walking towards Kondo or away from Kase, there are always lines separating the two.

At the end of their awkward date, Akira sees off Kondo at the train station. This is the one time that she is shown to cross a physical barrier — the yellow line designating the entrance to the train — and it only occurs in a daydream, which is important given Akira’s straightforward personality when it comes to everything else. In actuality, she stays behind the yellow line before turning to walk away. A person exiting the train immediately steps over that line with ease.

Despite Zero-two’s reputation, Darling in the Franxx drops a lot of hints that she generally plays by the rules. Dr. Franxx calls her “high maintenance” in the series’ first episode, yet the implication is that she presses her handlers rather than defying them. Zero-two repeatedly pushes her boundaries, but doesn’t cross them until this episode. When they told her to pilot with Mitsuru, she did. When they come to take her away in the middle of Hiro’s plea to sortie with the Strelitzia, she says her goodbyes and leaves. Only Hiro’s impassioned speech — rivaling the most melodramatic of airport scenes in a romantic comedy or drama — leads her to fully defy orders.

Her defiance still shocks her handlers, another indication that she had begrudgingly followed the rules until now. Before meeting Hiro, and even after piloting Strelitzia with him in the first episode, Zero-two knows that she’s seemingly destined to be a statistic and tells Hiro as much. She doesn’t need a name, when her name won’t matter after death. She’s a special entity, but only for fighting klaxosaurs. In that same scene, Zero-two perches above the plantation scenery and asks Hiro to escape with her. “I can get you out of here,” she says. After a series of impressive acrobatics, she takes it back with a, “Just kidding.”

Strelitzia is paradise, for both of them. It allows Hiro to fly. It allows Zero-two to be truly connected to another being for the first time in her life.

However, it wasn’t always paradise for Zero-two.

Darling in the Franxx uses a lot of flower meanings and floral names to frame Zero-two and Hiro’s relationship. Their robot — Zero-two’s robot — is called Strelitzia after the bird-of-paradise flower, named after the bird-of-paradise. Known for their flashy mating dances, these birds have colorful plumage that differs from species to species. The flower is similarly bright and eye-catching and Darling in the Franxx incorporates this into Strelitzia‘s robot design.

The bird-of-paradise flower not only carries a meaning of joyfulness or paradise, but sends a message of faithfulness, optimism, and freedom (due to the flowers resembling a bird in flight).

Before meeting Hiro, Zero-two effectively pilots Strelitzia alone. When Hiro first sees the robot in Episode 1, he mistakes it for another klaxosaur because it takes on the form of an animal rather than a humanoid robot. It only becomes a bird-of-paradise when Zero-two pulls him and the two pilot it together.

Episode 4 of Darling in the Franxx is romantic, especially against the bleak backdrop of kids forced into specific pairings seemingly without much thought given to personality compatibility. Watching Zero-two and Hiro waltz their way through security checkpoints en route to defying orders and piloting Strelitzia together is irresistibly charming. They’re still presumably working within the system, heading off to fight klaxosaurs for “Papa” and the adults. As Zero-two says when initially proposing their escape in Episode 3, every plantation layout is the same. “I can get you out of here, darling” doesn’t necessarily mean physically leaving the plantation or Hiro’s unit at all, at least for now.

Simply by piloting together, they’re escaping to paradise.

From Episode 1, Violet Evergarden has relished in Victorian-era trappings. Its concern with flower language, and Victorian floriography began in earnest during Episode 2 thanks to Haruka Fujita’s careful direction and continued through Episode 4 with Iris Cannary talking about the iris fields near her childhood home that became her namesake.

In the series’ fifth episode, we see floral messages put into literal action through Naoko Yamada’s storyboards. Yamada previously employed floriography as another, unspoken form of communication throughout the film A Silent Voice. In her episode of Violet Evergarden, flowers are exchanged along with love letters between the heads of two kingdoms. Each kingdom is also represented by a specific flower.

Charlotte Abelfreyja Drossel is the princess of Drossel, the White Camellia Kingdom. The flower is everywhere around Charlotte, from her crown, to carvings on her doors, to her wallpaper, to her gardens, to strategically-placed decor in her room like a tower of macrons, to fresh camellias scattered at her feet and on her person wherever she goes. Without beginning to delve into the various outside meanings of camellias themselves, to Charlotte, they already represent her duty as a princess to her kingdom, including her upcoming marriage.

At times, they smother her. She repeatedly takes off her camellia crown when she wants to be honest or is struggling with the weight of responsibility. In all of these instances, camellias are still present, in vases like the image above, or on her person and in looming garden shrubs.

Camellias take on a variety of different meanings for Charlotte throughout the episode which is in line with how flowers were used throughout the Victorian era. Flowers were given as gifts to convey a message that could not be expressed publicly in words, and meanings changed depending on who was receiving the gift and with what other flowers or objects it was given.

Violet’s task in this episode is to aid Charlotte in a longstanding Drossel tradition of writing public love letters to her affianced — in her case, this means Prince Damian Baldur Flugel of the Flugel Kingdom. The first letter is appropriately flowery (mind the pun) including mentions of the flowers and the moon as required, but to Charlotte they mean nothing. Her response from Prince Damian is equally verbose and cold, leading Charlotte to confide in Violet that what she wants, more than anything, is to genuinely express her feelings and know Damian’s true feelings in return.

The series only begins to show flowers exchanged with the letters once both parties drop their ghostwriters — Violet for Charlotte and Cattleya Baudelaire for Damian — and begin writing to each other in their own, less-embellished words. The kingdom of Flugel is represented by a red rose, while Drossel is represented by the aforementioned white camellia.

The Victorian message of a white camellia can mean anything from “you’re adorable” when given as a gift, to a representation of purity, love between a mother and child, and luck. Charlotte is only fourteen, yet shoulders the burden of representing her kingdom as well as her own feelings throughout these exchanges. In Japanese hanakotoba, a white camellia means waiting, an appropriate message to Damian, whom she met when she was only ten years-old.

A red rose, now a near-universal symbol for love and passion, meant both love and respect in Victorian flower language. This is again appropriate for Damian, who gained a unique respect for Charlotte as a child for wanting to escape her own birthday party, and later comes to her with an in-person proposal after she challenges him in a letter, chiding him for looking down on her.

There’s a sense throughout that both are fighting back against certain social expectations despite the fact that both are entering a mutually-beneficial political arrangement, especially since these letters are still being read aloud to each kingdom’s citizens. At first, the peanut gallery is confused at the lack of prose between the two, but quickly becomes enthralled with Charlotte and Damian’s awkward love story, yelling advice at their newspapers. There’s a sense that this simply isn’t done in the world of Violet Evergarden, especially with both auto memoir dolls taking a backseat role, encouraging their charges without writing for them directly. Again, this is another nod to Victorian-era communication, where certain things just were not said aloud due to their impropriety. In Charlotte and Damian’s case, kingdoms are on the line.

Returning to the white camellia, there’s a secondary narrative in this episode that involves Charlotte and her maid, Alberta. Alberta has watched over Charlotte since she was a baby, and has become a mother to the princess. The white camellia also represents a love between a mother and child. This makes Alberta’s parting gift of a camellia flower in Charlotte’s hair — something she has likely done countless times throughout Charlotte’s life — to complete her wedding outfit all the more affecting.

The chrysanthemum and cherry blossom are both national flowers of Japan. They’re also the names of the two plantations that “kiss” in Episode 5 of Darling in the Franxx, bringing two teams of parasites together.

Plantation 26 (chrysanthemum)

The parasites of Plantation 26 — one outburst at Zero-two aside — are stately and calm. They also occupy a unique position in the series, since they know a lot more about the world of Darling in the Franxx than both us as an audience and the members of Plantation 13. Despite this, they aren’t forthcoming with said information, although it seems to be more out of caring than spite. There’s the sense that the chrysanthemum parasites don’t want to spoil what the members of Plantation 13 do have — given names, unique franxx, blissful ignorance — despite not understanding them. “You guys are really unusual,” Plantation 26’s leader says. “Your franxx designs are all over the place, and you refer to each other as nicknames instead of codes. What’s the point of that?”

Yellow chrysanthemums are imperial flowers in Japanese hanakotoba. They represent the imperial family of Japan, whose seat — position of power, not physical seat — is called The Chrysanthemum Throne and a 16-petal chrysanthemum blossom is the royal seal, used in formal documentation. More than the ubiquitous cherry blossom, the chrysanthemum is the flower of Japan. The unfolding of a chrysanthemum flower is also said to represent perfection and is also used in some forms of meditation.

A flower of autumn, white chrysanthemums are important funeral flowers in Japanese culture. Red chrysanthemums are gifts for the person you love. Because there are so many varieties and colors of chrysanthemums, their meanings span the cycle of birth and new beginnings to death.

This is appropriate for Plantation 26, whose parasites have the same morbid acceptance of their situation as Zero-two. Why have individual franxx when uniform allows for easier fighting? Why give each other nicknames when you’re bound to die?

Plantation 13 (cerasus)

Cerasus comes from prunus cerasus, which is the edible sour cherry. Unlike sweet cherry varieties, sour cherries are capable of self-pollenization — they are basically self-fertile. Against the backdrop of genetics, floral reproduction, and even mistletoes, (which are not only a kissing plant but were used by Charles Darwin in his Origin of Species as an example of the struggle of survival) the fact that Plantation 13 is named for this specific variety of cherry is not a coincidence.

The parasites of Plantation 13 learn from 26 that they are an experimental test group. They have been given a modicum of individuality — both in their nicknames and their mech designs — that other plantations don’t have. Zero-two’s presence in their squad only exacerbates this — she is already a solitary individual and she ignores social rules. Although it’s a bit too on-the-nose, Zero-two initiates mixing between the young men and women of Plantation 13 at mealtimes due to her refusal to separate from Hiro. She drips honey over everything. Zero-two is the great pollinator of Plantation 13 and it’s also no coincidence that we see more co-mingling in this episode between individuals in Plantation 13, even if it’s rejected, like Mitsuru and Kokoro.

As the other flower of Japan, cherry blossom flowers (usually the Japanese cherry, prunus serrulata, but this also refers to all cherry varieties) symbolize spring, much like the chrysanthemum symbolizes autumn. Cherry blossoms are said to resemble the transient nature of all things, and encourage viewers to contemplate beauty and the ephemerality of youth.

Although the Plantation 13 parasites have been given more leeway socially, they are still bound by the same system. When Zorome asks whether anyone in Plantation 26 has become an adult, the confusion is palpable. No one becomes an adult. Yet, Zorome doesn’t know this yet. In this same episode we also see Hiro contemplating his own death. Darling in the Franxx has made it clear that Hiro isn’t likely to die on his third piloting like Zero-two’s previous partners, but Hiro isn’t privy to this information. Given his condition, it makes sense that he’s operating under the assumption that he will die in this next fight, but he accepts that as a tradeoff for being able to fly.

Of all gems, Diamond (Dia) is the most visibly treasured by their peers. This is thanks, in large part, to Dia’s beauty, but Dia also has a sincere, genuinely nice personality that’s difficult to defy. Even when the most irreverent of all the gems, Phosphophyllite (Phos), jokes that Dia is too blinding, this is later followed up with a statement that Dia doesn’t have to change, their kindness is enough.

By examining the daily life of humanoid gems, Land of the Lustrous muses on the meaning of a life, survival, living, and purpose. No individual story is as heartbreaking or as complete as Dia’s journey by series end, giving ample fodder for discussion.

If the statement that Dia’s “kindness is enough” sounds familiar, it’s because it echoes what Master Kongou says about Cinnabar: “just living is enough.” Neither Cinnabar nor Dia are willing to accept this. Cinnabar desperately wants to be closer to the other gems, but creates a meaningless job and stubbornly continues a forced isolation. Dia wants to be as strong as their combat partner, Bort.

To Dia, Bort is perfection. Dia’s insecurities are exacerbated by the fact that Bort by nature is more physically perfect, despite the fact that both gems are diamonds and a 10 on the Mohs hardness scale. Roles and physical makeup of the gems are absolute (save Phos later in the series). Where Dia is treasured for being beautiful, Bort is who the gems call above all others in a fight.

This places Dia and Phos in similar positions, even if neither realizes it because they’re too busy envying the other. Arguably, Phos is just as treasured as Dia. As the youngest of the gems, Phos receives a lot of teasing and harsh words (most of which are deserved given Phos’ laziness) but no one hesitates to search for Phos or protect them in the face of danger. Phos begins the series wanting to fight, because they feel it’s the objectively “best” job. Dia begins the series wanting to change because of their inferiority complex.

Only one of them actually changes.

In Land of the Lustrous‘ third episode, Phos spends an episode “transformed” into a snail. A precursor to the gem’s future physical transformations, it’s not actually a transformation at all. The snail is Ventricosus, king of her people, the Admirabilis. Dia rushes from gem to gem, ferrying Ventricosus with them all while insisting that the expressive snail is Phos itself despite the fact that such a transformation would be impossible.

“Say, you turning out like this, it had nothing to do with that advice I gave you . . . did it?”

-Dia to “Phos,” Land of the Lustrous, Episode 3

Dia’s actions and insistence that the snail is Phos could easily be written off as another example of Dia’s kind nature. Yet this would ignore another facet of Dia’s personality that is just as important: their faith. The idea that Phos could transform from a gem into an organic creature is ludicrous — as Cinnabar points out after Dia dragged the snail around all day — but Dia desperately wants to believe that such a transformation is possible.

When Phos begins the job search for Cinnabar, Dia is one of the first gems Phos consults due to Dia’s own search for new fighting techniques. There aren’t a lot of “new” things that appear in the life of a gem, and each gem is sorted into the job that suits them best. Rutile is the doctor. Jade is the secretary. Red Beryl is the costume designer. Since gems are immortal and unchanging, Land of the Lustrous implies that these jobs are for life. Phos is given the job of compiling an encyclopedia but rejects this and wants to fight, despite their laziness and physical weakness (Phos is only a 3.5 on the Mohs scale).

Dia is a fighter but not the best fighter.

“Why not start from changing from within? You could try doing things you don’t normally do.”

Dia to Phos, Land of the Lustrous, Episode 2

When Dia believes Phos to be transformed into a snail, they despair at the fact that Phos took the above advice to heart. Yet, the reason why Dia believes in Phos’ metamorphosis so easily is because they also want it to be possible. Of all the gems aside from outliers like Phos and Cinnabar, only Dia even mentions change as something that’s achievable for a gem. Phos does change eventually — first when they lose their legs and again when they lose their arms — fulfilling Dia’s own wish. This affects Dia directly when Bort asks Phos to pair up, inadvertently discarding Dia.

“Bort is never wrong. And always, always makes the right choice. Sometimes, I almost hate it.”

-Dia, Land of the Lustrous, Episode 10

Dia accepts Phos taking their place almost immediately, going as far to say that it’s their fault for suggesting that Phos change. Later, Dia states that Bort is never wrong and always right, giving the other gems a small glimpse at Dia’s feelings of self-loathing and inadequacy. Yet, in that same episode, Bort makes a series of poor decisions that unintentionally lead a dangerous new type of lunarian directly to Dia, putting Dia into a horror-movie like chase sequence in the gem’s own base. The idea that Bort is infallible comes from the fact that they are undeniably the strongest fighter, but it’s also a reflection of how Dia sees Bort, compounded by the fact that since the gems cannot change, a rigid stratification exists in their society.

At the end of the episode, both Dia and Bort realize the error of their respective ways. Dia’s personal story comes to a close when they accept that Bort loves them and they express their love to Bort. In turn, Bort’s superior fighting ability is put to good use with a rotation of partners so that Bort can teach each gem how to improve their strength in a way that fits their physical aptitude and limitations. It’s a lesson that no one, not even the strongest gem, is flawless. Dia does undergo a change from within after all, it’s just not reflected in their physical appearance.

#IFollowEveryoneWhoFollowsMe

Child actress Yuzuki Shiraishi chooses this hashtag for her Instagram post that depicts a fairly candid shot of her stepping away from an older woman splashing water and onto a cat. The woman is Shirase Kobuchizawa’s grandmother. Yuzuki is on her way to request that Shirase take over her job as “high school girl reporter” along for the ride in the Challenge for the Antarctic expedition.

A well-known actress who according to Mari Tamaki’s (Kimari) internet research has 38,000 followers, Yuzuki shouldn’t have to beg for followers in a hashtag. It doesn’t matter that her idol debut was with a horrendously-titled song, “The Follow-backs Don’t Stop,” there’s no world where someone as popular as Yuzuki should be begging for followers, never mind promising to follow them back, which is often seen as social media suicide. Yet she does, in this post that only has two likes, two reblogs, and zero comments, less engagement than I received last night for random musings about Madeline L’Engle’s A Wind in the Door.

The image doubles as A Place Further Than the Universe‘s third episode introduction, an episode where Yuzuki will later learn that she has made friends without having to try — also that having friends doesn’t mean that said friends will be the sycophants she’s used to, which is actually a very good thing. #IFollowEveryoneWhoFollowsMe might be Yuzuki’s #brand, but it doubles as a reflection of her personal insecurities, distain for certain aspects of her job, and desperate desire to have real friends. Yuzuki opens the episode by trying to pass off her job to the ill-equipped Shirase in order to lead a more normal high school life with her classmates. She ends the episode with three new friends — Hinata Miyake, Kimari, and Shirase — and a promise to go to Antarctica together.

A Place Further Than the Universe director Atsuko Ishizuka is no stranger to pointed visual trappings and unique color filters. She’s used a myriad of clever visual tricks in her previous series — most recently Hanayamata, No Game No Life, and Price of Stride: Alternative. This also isn’t the first anime to use SNS/Instagram to focus on themes of ephemerality and time. Sayo Yamamoto framed the entirety of Yuri!!! On Ice through social media, both in the series ending sequence and later in a major plot twist that recontextualizes the entire show.

Although Instagram isn’t the most prevalent social media platform in Japan, it’s the one with the highest growth rate over the past year or so. It’s easy to see why Kimari and company would choose this microblogging platform to document their daily lives as well as their trip to Antarctica — in fact, once they partner with Yuzuki and her project, it’s part of their job. Ishizuka uses this to focus on certain thematic elements in each episode while also poking fun at her characters.

The title of each episode is introduced by a social media post identifying one or more of the main characters doing something fun, training, or working on the ship. It’s an evolved form of photo booth purikura, where the girls add the episode title and doodles of penguins in the margins (this is also present in the series’ ending, drawings appear next to the characters). Every post has more to it than meets the eye, and ties into dramatic elements or themes of the show.

In the image above, Kimari is having tea with her best friend, Megumi Takahashi. In most of the series’ social media posts, a looping animation occurs and this one seems no different. Kimari continues to put sugar in her tea multiple times in what appears to be a similar animation loop. Only right before the image cuts to the show does Megumi’s arm reach out and stop Kimari from adding more. A Place Further Than the Universe uses this simple image to explain the dynamics of Kimari and Megumi’s relationship — one that will be challenged in this episode and is ultimately left ambiguous due to Kimari’s departure. Kimari overly-relied on Megumi in the past which led to a toxic co-dependency. Megumi enjoyed the fact that Kimari relied on her so much and Kimari used Megumi’s friendship as a crutch to not move forward in life. The Antarctica trip, and Kimari’s new friend group, break this cycle, leading to a rift between the two that isn’t wholly resolved before Kimari leaves.

A Place Further Than the Universe isn’t a comedic slice-of-life series as much as it is a coming-of-age drama that also manages to hit comedic beat after beat to lighten the mood. Ishizuka’s masterful attention to detail, especially in these social media posts, adds both comic relief and melancholy transience to what is ultimately looking like a story about Shirase coming to terms with her mother’s death. After all, it takes a talent like Ishizuka to turn an episode titled, “The Follow-backs Don’t Stop” into a poignant reflection on friendship.

Whether working directly with the language of flowers through naming schemes of the series’ mechs or framing its narrative with floral genetics and reproduction, Darling in the Franxx has never hidden its floral influences. It’s also not a subtle show, so when the entirety of Episode 8 is framed by Kokoro talking specifically about floriography — the flowers used for the robot names have always been present in the Plantation 13 gardens — the series is effectively painting a gigantic arrow that says “pay attention” pointed at flowers used within the show.

This is punctuated by an ending sequence that resembles Kiznaiver‘s, assigning a flower to each of the women in Darling in the Franxx. There are a lot of similarities between Kiznaiver and Darling in the Franxx — I’m personally inclined towards Kiznaiver since I think people generally have more trouble fumbling through empathy towards each other than sex — floriography being one of them. Where Kiznaiver used flowers as another frame of reference, dropping hints at the individual pasts of its female characters, Darling in the Franxx uses them unsubtly as possible, going as far to include this small shot at the beginning of this latest ending sequence, again telling us to pay attention.

In case you hadn’t caught on due to her blushes around Ichigo, Ikuno is far more into her team leader than any other parasite in Plantation 13. Ikuno and Mitsuru have always had synchronization issues, and a large reason for this is that Ikuno is not attracted to Mitsuru sexually in any way. According to the way Darling in the Franxx frames her, Ikuno is likely not into men at all.

Last week, Ikuno held up a notebook and gestured directly at Ichigo during a conversation. The conversation itself isn’t important, but the visual placement of the notebook, which is decorated with white lilies, couldn’t have been more obvious. The use of white lilies as a symbol for yuri relationships are well-documented in anime. White lilies (shirayuri) represent lesbian love, purity, and chastity. If Ikuno had been assigned any flower other than the white lily in this ending sequence, I would have been surprised.

Zero-two is framed by white daisies, which are also shown earlier in the ending sequence, held by all of the young women. Daisies are said to represent a childlike innocence and hope. In Japanese hanakotoba, they symbolize faith. As a legendary pistil and special project of the elders, Zero-two has a lot more insight into how the world works — she is the one who tells the Plantation 13 parasites that they will die — but also visibly longs to be a normal adolescent. She is full of childlike innocence and vacillates between dispensing knowledge to Plantation 13 while opening up emotionally to Hiro.

In a way, Zero-two is the most innocent of them all, despite having a greater awareness of the world and what is at stake. Since she’s been treated as either a monstrous pariah or an ideal specimen, her interactions with Plantation 13 are seemingly her first attempts at being human, and she says as much to Hiro in this episode.

The crepe-like quality of Kokoro’s flowers leads me to believe that she’s likely framed by white poppies. White poppy flowers were most recently featured in The Ancient Magus’ Bride, and are commonly used at funeral or memorials for remembrance. A white poppy can also mean rejoice, or celebration. We don’t yet know a lot about Kokoro outside of her curiosity towards flowers, but she seems like a joyful person who appreciates a lot of details that are lost on other parasites.

Miku is framed by a white anemone flower. A white anemone can mean death, bad luck, or a forsaken relationship, but it can also symbolize sincerity. Miku has difficulty being sincere, especially with her partner Zorome, who struggles with the same thing. She often says the opposite of what she truly means, or goes about hinting at what she wants in a passive-aggressive way. Underneath this veneer, Miku is a remarkably sincere individual who not only cares for Zorome but also the entirety of Plantation 13.

Of all of the flowers in this ending, Ichigo’s were the most difficult to identify. The first thing that came to mind was a white poinsettia but the petals are far too close (and actually petals, not leaves). I then skipped to gardenia (secret love) and have hesitantly settled on a jasmine flower. Jasmine comes from the Persian yasmin, meaning gift from god. Jasmine can have many, sometimes conflicting, meanings but in Japanese hanakotoba it primarily symbolizes grace and friendliness.

As the team leader, Ichigo tasks herself with being as graceful as possible at all times, even in defeat. If this flower is a gardenia, then a secret love, or crush applies towards her feelings towards Hiro.

At Arashigaoka Academy, blending in is not only a way of live, it’s introduced as the only way to survive. While the body count rises in Yuri Kuma Arashi, so do the cries from various young women in the series to uphold the status quo at all costs. Sumika Izumino is announced as the first casualty within the scope of the series and all her classmates can say about her rumored death is that it was her fault for going out alone. Friends are necessary for survival. The Wall of Severance is constantly being rebuilt to keep the bears, the others, out. The Invisible Storm consumes those who don’t follow the status quo and stay within the lines.

Blend in completely. Be invisible. Those who cannot read the atmosphere are evils inevitably sought after, found, and obliterated by the Invisible Storm.

For people who are supposed to make a homogeneous background pattern, thereby becoming invisible, these young women — lily and bear alike — are oddly conspicuous individuals.

Arashigaoka students are frequently presented next to patterns or as patterns themselves. Most are taken from various horror films including Suspiria and The Shining, which inform Arashigaoka’s red-patterned fleur-de-lis wallpaper and the bear-paw-and-honeycomb pattern of the Wall of Severance respectively. The emblem of the school is an M.C. Escher-inspired design of lilies transforming into birds.

Patterns are further reinforced by the placement of the Arashigaoka women, who often become an M.C. Escher-like tessellation pattern themselves, especially when positioned neatly at their desks, allowing the negative space equal visibility to the students when we parse the entire image. In a standard tessellation pattern, the negative space and the young women would be as similar as possible. Yet, Yuri Kuma Arashi purposefully ensures that certain students stand out, thanks to their hairstyles, posture, uniform differences, or accessories. Their function as members of the Invisible Storm is to blend in, but to us, the audience, they’re meant to stand out.

Every student that stands out from the pattern dramatically becomes a leader of the Invisible Storm, a bear, or both at one point in the series or another. It’s natural that Kureha Tsubaki and Sumika both stand out — they’re the series’ first couple and are attacked for their relationship — as well as the two bears Lulu Yurigasaki and Ginko Yurishiro, who both have differently-colored uniforms than the rest of the students. However, those within the pattern who aren’t in the process of being excluded by the rest, like Konomi Yurikawa, Mitsuko Yurizono, Kaoru Harishima, and Katyusha Akae, are immediately visible and memorable. Even the last known leader of the Invisible Storm, Choko Oki, is shown in the series’ first episode as part of the pattern, easily-recognizable due to her large pink butterfly hair clip. Those who do not end up leading the Invisible Storm still are somewhat different from each other, through visual quirks as simple as sock style or uniform tie color.

Yuri Kuma Arashi also makes it a point to give some of the eventual leaders lines and a title with their name on it while they’re waxing poetic about how they must stay together to survive in Episode 1. This removes them from the group well before the viewing audience is made aware of how the Invisible Storm voting system works and who runs it.

It’s no coincidence that all of them end up transforming into bears, or are eaten by bears. Yuri Kuma Arashi makes it clear that queerness is not limited to those who are excluded, like Kureha, or identified (outed) as bears, like Lulu and Ginko. The lines dividing bear and not bear are purposefully muddied — even the physical ones that can be seen all around the city are not uniform and are always under construction. By making these young women immediately identifiable in a pattern despite their claim to invisibility, Yuri Kuma Arashi further underlines the futility of their resistance to the love shown by Kureha and Ginko.

They’re already visible.