Fictional love stories often start or end with a lie. This is understandable given the nature of the genre, which requires any adversarial acts to be either absurdly large (such as kidnapping, war, etc.) or insignificant enough to be a regular occurrence between the protagonists that assumes superlative importance. The White and Blue Between Us takes the second route; all of the young men’s decisions are influenced by the lie that Hozumi told his high school sweetheart Mishima seven years prior to the plot’s beginning.
The alleged falsehood was, as they frequently are, well-meaning. Having lived on one myself, I can attest to the fact that small islands, where Hozumi and Mishima grew up, are frequently locked off places. Hozumi wants to expand, but Mishima appears pleased to carry on his grandfather’s legacy as the lighthouse keeper. He informs Mishima that he was lying when he claimed to love him because he fears that their connection will hold them both back. After graduating, he leaves the island and doesn’t come back for seven years. He feels that by providing each of them the opportunity to grow, he has done the right thing, even if he has never moved on from or forgotten Mishima.
Unfortunately, the one thing he failed to account for was the fact that people are not required to respond in the manner you anticipate, and lying has serious repercussions. Hozumi has been in anguish, but he has been weighing that suffering against the understanding of why he behaved the way he did. To the best of Mishima’s knowledge, his cherished partner abruptly left him after declaring that he was never in love, and that kind of hurt doesn’t go away with time. This never occurred to Hozumi for some reason, and when he returns to his hometown from Tokyo after seven years, he is shocked to see that Mishima has not only stayed on the island, but has also sequestered himself in the lighthouse he tends, which is the exact reverse of how Hozumi had anticipated he would respond.
It’s not a horrible setup for romance. There are many lovers of the so-called “second chance romance” subgenre, and this one contains many of the hallmarks of that genre—chiefly, the fact that neither Hozumi nor Mishima has really moved on from their previous relationship. Mishima is unsure about how to respond when Hozumi unexpectedly reappears in his life because he feels as though he has been imprisoned in time, trapped at the exact moment when Hozumi dumped him. The betrayal is even more profound than it first seems because Hozumi was not only his first boyfriend but also his first friend, which only serves to worsen the situation. This is an idea with a lot of potential, and the book does a passable job of exploring it; but, the plot is limited to one volume. It really lacks the room to convey the depth of feeling that is necessary, especially for Mishima.
The White and Blue Between Us so seems like a surface-level narrative. Though there isn’t enough room to paint a whole picture, we are aware of the fundamental rhythms of their relationship, both in the past and the present. Although Hozumi’s motivation is known to us, it is not entirely clear. Mishima was similarly isolated as a child; why was he like this? Was his granddad to blame? What was his response to Hozumi’s treachery? Was it purely out of familial duty, or did he wish to take over the lighthouse? Each of these responses would significantly enhance the narrative and increase the satisfaction of the resolution. By all means, the novel isn’t horrible, but it could have been far better. That also applies to the artwork; while it’s not nasty or poorly done, it frequently feels like the perspective is incorrect and it’s a little odd around chins and faces. All of this results in a book that is just “good enough,” unable to completely break free from that label.
Despite all of its problems, this romance has a genuine warmth. The fact that they are able to reunite in the lighthouse serves as a fitting emblem because beacons are designed to keep sailors safe and direct them back to the harbor, and lighthouses serve as the boundary between land and sea. At the end of the day, their partnership serves as both of them’s safe haven and compass, guiding them towards a happy future. That makes it easier to overlook flaws in the narrative and artwork as well as the notion that there are still lighthouses in operation in 2018; the majority are automated these days. Not much more than a pleasant diversion from the outside world, this novel can be enjoyed.
