033: Seabed
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A yuri mystery novel, Seabed has no choices or alternative routes to explore. You simply read it from front to back, like a conventional novel. And despite that, it remains constantly engaging, with a structure that feels more interactive than many of its contemporaries that lean more heavily on the genre’s adventure game aspects. There’s a real literary quality to Seabed, not only in its prose, but how it asks you to piece together the story.
Told non-linearly, it builds up the relationship between Sachiko and Takako, with various vignettes from childhood to their adult lives together. We get to see them work together, travel the world, and deepen their affections, before finally reaching the revelation that here, in the present, Takako has disappeared and Sachiko has been hallucinating her presence.
The how and why is left unclear. Whether it was a simple breakup or Takako going missing during a trip, it calls into question exactly what happened and when, and gives an uneasy tension to past interactions, with each flashback heavy with the idea that this might be when Takako disappears. Layering the mystery are the “Tips”, parallel stories accessed from the main menu, with everything from small character moments to disappearing rooms and unsettling hospital visits. You’re never given a sense of where these fit into the timeline, leaving them spinning in your mind as you try to find where it fits into the ongoing mystery.
The final revelations ended up mixed for me, but the process of unraveling the story kept it satisfying regardless. The heart of the story is the various relationships between the different women, and the complex emotional stakes that define them. Gorgeous prose describes each scene, and when we arrive at the mansion, the main location the story finally centers on, there’s a tangible sense of place that made me feel as if I’d walked its grounds myself.
Even as I eased into a certain intimacy with the mansion and its characters, the structure of the story kept the boundaries of its world uncertain and intangible. The warmth of conversation at a Christmas party, or in a bath room filled with colorful fruit toys gave way to intimidating mountain landscapes and tunnel paths filled with dreamlike terror. Seabad often lulls you into comfort, followed by a violent reminder of the story’s stakes and why its characters can’t afford to settle into a peaceful routine.
It's a bittersweet story, washed in melancholy, but it never falls into the trap of becoming a gay tragedy. We get to see an entire lifetime between Sachiko and Takako, with the non-linear structure continuing to deliver tender moments between them long after Takako's mysterious disappearance. We see what their lives look like after their separation, how they deal with it, and the new connections they form.
If there’s one indulgence, it’s the classic visual novel trope of lavish food descriptions and detours into the author’s pet subject matters. Thankfully these detours are as interesting as the main story itself, with architectural history lessons, travel blog stylings, and conversations on delicate pastries and the astounding size of American portions. None ever go on too long, and each one of them feels as if it has a purpose in the story.
In contrast to the maturity of the prose, there’s an almost amateurish quality to the art. Portraits are all ever so slightly off, with the occasional odd anatomy and posing, and fabric has a tendency to be suctioned tightly between every character’s legs. Backgrounds have a sort of mixed media approach, with a scene receiving either fully rendered 3D artwork, complete with variations for atmosphere and time of day, filtered photographs, or some combination of either with illustrations layered on top.
You can tell where the artist’s strengths lie, with the 3D backgrounds rendered with such care I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they had a day job at an architectural firm or something similar during development. The portraits can sometimes come off a bit goofy, but the sincerity behind them comes across, and there are some beautiful, intimate scenes that aren’t any less effective for it. An intense care has been put into the presentation, and alongside Seabed’s effective use of color and soundtrack, there’s rarely a moment that fails to hit, regardless of the resources or skills the team had at their disposal.
As I read Seabed, I kept getting lost in the pull of its gravity. Seabed flows between the personal, psychological and even supernatural boundaries of mystery. It has the warmth of a friendly, lighthearted hangout that provides a reprieve from a life of emotional turmoil. As the stakes build, characters consider what it is they need to let go of, and what they desperately want to hang on as the waves of time erode their memories. Seabed is a mystery not about the cold hard facts of reality, but what the emotional consequences of each event are for its characters.
When the story wrapped up, I found myself wishing for more time with the characters. I wanted to see their desires fulfilled, to get one more interaction between them, one more conversation I hoped would allow me to let go of them. Goodbyes often leave us carrying the words left unsaid, hoping that the few words we can get out can express those silent feelings. Seabed captures those feelings--those feelings of a lifetime spent with the one you care about, of goodbyes that never end, and yet are never long enough, and of the memories you’re left to cherish--or forget--when it’s all over.
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