Of all the truth-is-weird manga to flit among Japanese publishers over the past decade, PRINCESS JELLYFISH is a clever work of metafiction whose time-capsule feel engenders as much respectful humor as it does eyebrow-raising nostalgia. It is an acquired taste: crossdressing, otaku privilege, filial apathy, culture-driven depression. PRINCESS JELLYFISH, for being so simply and shallowly written, nevertheless offers readers plenty to dwell on as they peer through the windows of a twenty-first century "nunnery."
The nunnery, of course, is just an urban apartment building scheduled for demolition by the nouveau riche. The tenants, of course, are an eccentric band of twenty- and thirtysomething jobless fujoshi. And given this premise, the narrative's conflicts (and humor) are obvious from the get-go. Fortunately, this manga's obviousness isn't its biggest draw. The manga's biggest draw is its knack for weaving the unexpected into the purportedly obvious, often suggesting that what was once unexpected has been, in truth, sitting there all along.
Tsukimi Kurashita is a jellyfish otaku. She is brutally antisocial, has unkempt but braided hair, blocky glasses, hilariously furry eyebrows, and she prioritizes wearing sweatpants every day. She is, by all accounts, not an appealing person. Except, she is. Because, sticking to manga-ka Higashimura's story model, although Tsukimi's obsession with jellies is obvious, this quirky behavior is not the character's draw . . . Tsukimi's draw rests in what lies beneath the surface: she's a talented illustrator, she's emotionally vulnerable/available, and she knows her fears and is capable, with patience, of holding them at bay.
In this way, PRINCESS JELLYFISH is a character study. Tsukimi and her friends hit a brick wall when the uber-fab Kuranosuke Koibuchi, a fashion maven and impeccably skilled crossdresser, lands on their doorstep. How do the girls of the nunnery respond to someone socially mobile, fashion conscious, and searching out friendship that isn't exclusively based on what's clever and cool?
Kuranosuke, the stepson of a former politician, longs to make a connection with somebody. He's fiercely intelligent and fiercely social, but he hates politics and has his sights set on what pleases him most: fashion. The fact that Kuranosuke's only blood family, his mother, is absent (deceased or exiled, the answer isn't clear), further reinforces the young man's insistence that he stick around the nunnery not merely to keep giving these sad otaku ladies makeovers, but rather, because Tsukimi and her pals have genuine interests that legitimize them as individuals. For this crossdresser, it's easy to get caught up in the chaos of the popular and the coquettish. But what happens to Kuranosuke after the sun comes up, he's all alone, and there's nobody for him to talk to?
Higashimura's writing is simple and her art is indicative of a very steady and experienced hand. This combination makes PRINCESS JELLYFISH a very in-the-moment kind of read. Admittedly, the story of a group of needy nerd girls awaiting their doom, as land sharks circle their property, is fairly unoriginal. But on the plus side, the integration of Kuranosuke, as well as his older brother, Shu, lifts the story's drama by sprinkling in a dash of rivalry and a pinch of awkward, virgin humor.
All told, one should not jump into this manga searching for side-splitting comedy, nor should they hit its pages in search of an intricately layered, explosion of romance. Enjoying PRINCESS JELLYFISH requires measured expectations; the manga, at its core, is a simple, funny, and likeable story about one girl, her jellyfish, and what it means to believe in yourself.