When setting out on a new creative endeavor, you’re likely to start asking “why” almost immediately. However, that’ll be far from the last time you’ll ever pose that one-word question. The “why” of it all serves as the opening act to Kazuto Mihara‘s The World Is Dancing—a fictionalized retelling of Zeami Motokiyo’s (known as “Oniyasha” in his youth) artistic exploits while under the patronage of Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. For those not up on their theatre history, you might be wondering: Who’s Zeami Motokiyo? He’s the most celebrated actor and playwright of one of the oldest performance arts in recorded history—Noh.
For more details on Zeami’s massive contributions to Noh and the art itself, I’d highly recommend checking out Marcille Donato’s recent look into the history behind the series. Additionally, if you’re looking for any more insights into the art form, the end of each volume is packed with essays from series historical advisor, Katsuyuki Shimizu, and veteran Noh actor Kōhei Kawaguchi. As for myself, I first heard of the legendary performer back in my college days. This was while I was knee-deep in the middle of a dense theatre history course…for the second time.
A few months after finally passing that class, I found myself among a crowd of theatre workers huddled around a veteran craftsman. He’d just placed a block of hinoki (Japanese cypress) in a jig between his feet and started carving out the rough shapes of a Noh mask. Flash-forward a decade or so, and I’m taken aback by just how much The World Is Dancing reminded me of my time around the theatre. We might be many centuries removed from Noh’s heyday, but the exploration of one’s craft, constant clashing of egos, camaraderie among fellow theatre workers, and the desire to deeply affect an audience are still present in performance art today.
The first volume opens on the aforementioned one-word question, specifically “Why? Why should I care about dancing?” Oniyasha’s been brought up with dance, song, and performance as a given. It’s simply the thing he does because his dad and the troupe do it—Oniyasha receives no joy or exhilaration from taking part in the performance. However, that status quo begins to change when he encounters a destitute dancer who’s taken up sex work to survive. While watching her perform, Oniyasha starts to see how dance can capture the hearts and minds of an audience. But at the same time, the seed of another question gestates in his mind: “What is good?”
For any writer, performer, or creative in general, trying to figure out exactly what constitutes “good art” is maddening. Does “good” mean that their work is a crowd-pleaser? Are they deeply talented? Or that they’ve worked hard? Could be all that or none of it at all. To earn my theatre degree, I penned and performed a one-man show. The whole experience was marked by thoughts of “This has to be good.” Well, it didn’t help that the initial reaction from some of my professors was a touch on the tepid side. Was my road to opening night a bit ramshackle and haphazard? You bet! However, the fact that I did it and that at least one person connected with it was enough for me. Perhaps the “good” in my little play was that it gave me the confidence to pick up writing later on, with my thought being, “If I can write a play, I can write about this anime series from thirty years ago.”
Over the course of these six volumes, I saw Oniyasha go through this exact same process time and time again. During his first big performance before the Shogun, the kid flubs up his dance steps something fierce while succumbing to a bit of nerves, but he uses that experience to make the next show something special. Then, once he’s under the Shogun’s patronage, Oniyasha clashes right up against his own tendencies to work outside the box while always being a touch underprepared for whatever he’s about to do. However, he’s using those mishaps to move toward creating art that could resonate with audiences.
Meanwhile, the Shogun is betting on that resonance as a method of unifying the people. At one point, he admits that he can’t immediately tell if Oniyasha’s dancing is any good, but he knows there’s a power behind it. There’s no denying that art has been warped to suit the whims of those in power throughout history, but putting art before people who actually know its value and can appreciate it enriches their lives in ways that benefit society as a whole. With that in mind, it’s no small wonder that many nations have grants to support the arts in their country. It’s not only for potential business opportunities, but also to enhance lives again.
Now, while enriching the soul is like nothing else, it doesn’t exactly enrich the wallet. Unfortunately, there’s the whole intersection of class, commerce, and art that always pops up among creatives. In Oniyasha’s case, he’s retained by the Shogun for his services, but that’s not the case for most of his contemporaries. In one of the series’ wonderful little informational asides, it is explained that performers of the era enjoyed something of a malleable social status.
Since they were entertainers, these talents appeared before the nobility with great esteem bestowed upon them, but they could also freely mingle with farmers and peasantry out in the country. The latter was apparently a common occurrence since most troupes made their money through touring alongside the occasional special invitation sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It isn’t too far off the relationship between touring musical productions and their “home” shows on Broadway. Regardless of the location, artists need to get paid for their services because people have to eat. I’m thrilled to see that The World Is Dancing is crystal clear about this from the jump.
Here’s another question: How does art actually evolve? Even with traditions in place, performance art is rarely ever static. Old shows are still performed, but there’s always going to be a new spin or reading on the material when the script falls into new hands. Oniyasha even rewrites a few of these scripts and adjusts the performances to keep it with the times. Again, art isn’t static; it’s always evolving.
There’s talk of art forms and memories disappearing, but they still persist in some way—be it a new performance of that work, those aforementioned tweaks, or an entirely new art that takes inspiration from old traditions. Take masks for example. The masks of Noh and its predecessor arts were meant to portray static, larger-than-life characters, with the actors taking on the physicality and characteristics of the mask they donned. A modern analogy to these performers is the suit actors who portray your Ultraman, Kamen Riders, and Sentai Warriors… Like their predecessors, these armored heroes are all actors who have to contort themselves to the constricting masks and attire tied to their characters.
Another element in that evolution is rivalry! A good rival can push a creative person to the next step, as demonstrated by the prolonged clash between Oniyasha and Zenjiro. Coming from fierce dismissal of one’s art form and defeat, to trading blows, and eventually collaborating together, they push each other to make their art better! It isn’t always a friendly rivalry, but that bit of fiction pushes them in a way most others wouldn’t. No art is possible without friction. Not even this review.
In addition to Mihara’s endlessly expressive characters and spellbinding visuals, his storytelling is bolstered by gobsmackingly great localization. As this tale is steeped in Japanese history, there’s a lot of context to explain to the reader, and quite a bit of it is laid out at the start of each volume—the players involved, terms to remember, and a splash of the history. Over the course of the series, the occasional translation note is peppered in alongside a wonderful expanded notes section at the end of each volume.
Some readers might not be crazy about seeing these notes in their manga, but The World Is Dancing is centered on traditions and cultural contexts that most Western readers are unlikely to know unless they’ve studied them beforehand. Seriously, translator Megan Turner and editor Sage Einarsen do a masterful job of wrangling an incredible amount of key information while keeping the series a page-turner. Meanwhile, Dietrich Premier‘s lettering keeps the proceedings refreshingly grounded throughout the series run, but is keen at elevating the emotions to a fever pitch whenever someone takes the stage.
Reading through The World Is Dancing reminded me of why I pursued a creative career. It’s the thrill of making connections between history, art, and my own experiences, then sharing with the world in whatever form or reasoning best suits me. Be it in prose, onstage, for work, for pleasure, or just because I could. The series had me remembering that last one specifially—which can be an easy thread to lose when you’re knee deep in the day-to-day of a creative job.. But then again, I doubt I’d be any closer to figuring out what “good” art is if I haven’t rolled with the punches that’ve been thrown at me along the way..
