Futatabi is a story I find remarkably interesting, though not quite because of anything that the story itself is doing. It’s easy to forget that, at one point, the famous Miura Kentarou (1966-2021) was just like any other mangaka – trying to make his way into the industry and establish himself as an author and artist worth paying attention to. He was essentially crossing over the boundary and into a world that did not recognize him, nor that he himself had quite recognized, either. For that reason, it’s perhaps no surprise that one of his earliest officially published works would be rather restrained in its range and affect, yet nevertheless show the incredible potential that would later color his magnum opus Berserk. And it all starts with someone named Venus moving over craggy mountains, gazing at the expanse of a new world before her eyes. She has crossed a boundary herself.
Science-fiction is rather fascinated by the concept of boundaries. Whether it be messing with the boundary between man and machine, Earth and the cosmos, or even the notion of “stepping outside” that which we comfortably know, pushing the limits of our understanding of the universe is the stuff of discovery. These discoveries don’t even need to be at the global or societal level; sometimes, changing the life of a person is all that is necessary. But in the supposed security that boundaries provide, they likewise restrain and withhold those same possibilities from being revealed. It’s within Venus’s realizing that she has indeed, seemingly, stumbled upon a new world that sets in motion the actions that will determine both her and Rick’s new, discoverable futures. Bound together by feelings and confusions that they cannot quite make heads-or-tails of, they nevertheless allow themselves to be thrust into the impregnable boundary that contains their world physically and emotionally. They have tasted, albeit briefly, what lies beyond, and once the door is opened, you cannot simply close it. There is an underlying attraction fueled by their simultaneous perplexity and comfort for the other in the face of a stagnant or miserable world, an interplay that Miura would darkly tinker with further in another one-shot later that same year, NOA, along with Berserk.
Miura’s earliest venture though can only go so far. In truth, and likely because of its short, fifty-some pages duration and original publication in Weekly Shonen Magazine back in 1985, Futatabi doesn’t necessarily have anything within it structurally that would move beyond what might be considered rather ordinary science-fiction fare. The decisions and revelations within come quickly and sometimes rather limply, each given their intrigue primarily by virtue of the main conceit holding them up rather than anything particular that Miura was doing with it. Certain details are withheld until the absolute last possible second, perhaps in an effort to give some of the circumstances a rhyme and reason when it’s not quite needed, and some of the most-fascinating—if not also societally taboo—aspects of the main idea are never explored.
But, perhaps, that’s fine. Everyone, even the ones we regard as masters of their craft, had to start somewhere. In that sense, Futatabi is kind of lovely in its simplicity and as an artifact of who Miura used to be; it’s a manga that is not rewriting the rules anytime soon (nor did it at the time of its release), but through its characters interacting and taking their daring steps despite the wall that surrounds them, Miura was doing the same. It is, after all, the only way to see what is truly out there.
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