Translated by Taylor Engel
223 pages
Published 2021 (English translation published 2022)
Read from November 5 to November 6
Rating: 4.5 out of 5
What are we even doing here?
Joy is inherently antifascist. We have to keep taking care of ourselves. Etc. etc. All important words, but in the moment, they feel like the tritest of truisms. I don’t feel the point of anything right now. I don’t feel much of anything beyond despair, rage, grief, fear. Futility.
That’s precisely what the fashies want. So I try to keep hope (and myself) alive. They voted knowing they won’t get anything tangible out of their dear leader beyond spite for the people they hate. So I try to spite them back, by living. By finding my own joy. But it’s so difficult, and I’m so tired.
I’ve been trying to distract myself from the horrifying outcome of the election, but it’s impossible. Focusing on even my favorite manga for more than a page or two at a time is a chore. Inevitably, I find myself crying, or numb, unable to concentrate.
What the fuck are we doing here?
Look at me, I read another volume of Delicious in Dungeon. Yay. Go me.
It’s an excellent installment in an excellent series. There are dungeon bunnies and necromancy and cooking and character development and foreboding tension in the plot. There’s heartbreak and a cliffhanger. Kui exceeds even her high standards for artwork and storytelling. I cried. The book is good.
But none of this feels important anymore. Not the reading, not the blogging. I’ve always maintained this blog for me — no one else reads it, aside from the fucking plagiarism bots that scrape every word left unprotected on this dying web. I keep going because I don’t know what else to do.
I keep going, because otherwise, I stop.
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