Dandadan: Grounding in Human Emotion
No matter how 'out there' you get, solidify things 'in here.'
Preface!
How I feel about DandaDan can only be replicated by how I feel about Wind Breaker. Like an old friend, always there for you when you want to pick it up again. I do not keep up with either series chapter by chapter, I just find my way back to them after a time, when I know what I want and they are the only things that can provide it.
Both also have an unequivocal ability to stay stuck in my head. One reason I haven’t gone back to continue reading Zom100 or Frieren is because I… don’t remember what had been happening.
For whatever reason, Wind Breaker and DandaDan are always fresh in my brain. I can go back and pick up where I left off months ago and still feel grounded.
Pretty cool, I know.
Preface over.
Perhaps the worst piece of writing advice ever given — and still given to this day — is to only write about what you know. As if you have no right to write about anything outside of that relatively limited window. Which means that fantasy and science fiction would be much more limited, horror would be much less imaginative, and kids books would only be written by kids.
Now, to be fair, I understand the notion of this advice. Don’t write about building a rocket if you don’t know how to build a rocket, and are just making it up as you go. But! If you’re building a rocket in a science fiction world where the propulsion system is powered by cow farts, then more power to you. Who cares if scientifically that doesn’t make sense.
DandaDan, in case you didn’t know, is incredibly ‘out there.’ Not just in terms of subject matter — aliens and ghosts — but in terms of ridiculousness and humor. It’s bonkers. In all the good ways. So how is it then that it still resonates across a wide swath of readership?
Thanks for asking. Allow me to answer.
Before we get into DandaDan, here’s what you need to know.
Okarun is obsessed with ghosts. Momo is obsessed with aliens. They form an unlikely bond that expands to new friends and acquaintances—some human, some not—as the battle against numerous supernatural factions and entities intensify and force our heroic ensemble to band together and lean on each other in the name of protecting humanity. Yes, it is as silly as it sounds, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t heartwarming too.
And that’s all you need to know.
Going back to that writing advice—write what you know—Yukinobu Tatsu circumvents my primary beef with such advice in DandaDan. How much can Tatsu actually know about intergalactic war, predatory ghosts and perverted aliens? Not much. But they don’t need know that much, because no matter what happens in DandaDan, no matter how outlandish or far-fetched, it’s all grounded in authentic human emotion.
Which is something we all know, though some more than others.
When Okarun is feeling the stress of Momo potentially liking another guy, we feel that. When Sakata wants to be accepted despite his weirdness, we get that. When crab-headed Peeny-Weeny, also known as Mr. Mantis Shrimp, wants to protect his son, we empathize. Not because we know what it’s like to be a human-sized, crab-headed mantis shrimp named Peeny Weeny, but because we understand what it is to love someone else. To want to protect them.
Let’s look at a specific scene so I can stop speaking in generalities. And this is from a fairly recent chapter, so spoiler warning, it’s chapter 159. Momo and Okarun are trapped in the cursed trunk as pawns in a little game. Outside of this cursed trunk, their friends are trying to get them and everyone else trapped out of the trunk.
So here’s what happens in the pivotal scene seen here:
Class rep has been transformed into a singing idol and her song is lifting all the trapped people out of the trunk. But Momo is trapped, so Okarun, as he’s floating away, holds onto her.
This is utterly ridiculous in premise. Okarun is being pulled out of a board game by Class rep singing a song but Momo is stuck in the game because she ate food from the game world.
That’s not relatable at all.
But when Okarun looks at Momo and finally says he loves her… as he’s drifting off into the sky? That hits. We feel that. Not just in the moment, but as a culmination of all their romantic tension through the previous 150+ chapters. It hits.
Suddenly we can feel this scene because it is firmly grounded in human emotion, even if Okarun is not grounded on the actual ground. It doesn’t matter what’s happening outside of this moment between Okarun and Momo, and to make that even more poignant, Tatsu-sensei puts all focus on them. Everything else, the context of the situation, does not matter so he doesn’t show it. All that matters is the human emotion right in front of us.
This rings true across all of storytelling. No matter what is happening, no matter how unrelatable, if it’s grounded in authentic human emotion, you’ve done your part. I’d wager most of us don’t have experience carrying a weapon of mass destruction across half the known world to drop it in its foundry volcano and stop an evil lord once and for all.
Maybe some of you have that experience, but not me.
And yet, when Frodo and Sam can’t remember the taste of strawberries, or the feel of grass? That hits. Hard. When Sam wagers that he would have married Rosie Cotton? We get that. And suddenly that outlandish and epic quest to destroy the One Ring is contextualized in a way that’s so important to achieve. Because no matter the struggle, the way we react to it as humans is similar.
It may not look the same on paper, but dealing with a coworker who is overbearing and unnecessarily cruel for the sake of a power trip and having to stop an evil wizard who used to be a member of your esteemed order have very similar emotional takeaways—frustration, disappointment, a need for inspired growth and action.
DandaDan’s ridiculous adventures, some of which literally bend your brain, like when Vamola is involved in an intergalactic conflict and on the front lines, fighting evil aliens and robots with her group of badass grannies, have the same takeaway. Sure, Vamola is shooting lasers at Godzilla lookalikes, but underneath that, she’s fighting for her people, for the only family she’s ever known, and beneath that, the simplicity of knowing what it feels like to care for someone.
There are six basic human emotions: Happiness, sadness, fear, disgust, anger and surprise. That’s it, just six. We’ve all experienced all of them. Count on it. So if every action and response have a grounding in one of these six emotions, congratulations, you’ve written about what you know, and your readers will relate whether they’ve fought hordes of aliens alongside their grandmother or not.
There have been countless times during writing workshops or industry panels that I hear the same question from teachers, agents, editors, etc. That question is—but how does [character name] feel about that?
How does Frodo feel about being stranded in Morder, surrounded by lava? How does Harry Potter feel to be playing dead in the arms of a fuzzy giant? How does Scooby Doo feel as he runs away from the Ghost of Captain Cutler? Convey the feelings properly, and the action becomes exponentially more meaningful.
What your characters experience is really just a small piece of the puzzle, because their experiences are unique to them and, by extension, to you. You’re not going to win over that many readers by having a character that piloted a two-person spacecraft to Neptune with his robot best friend that he had to leave behind on the moon of Triton.
You will win over readers by having a character who experiences loss and conveys it in such a grounded, human way that readers know what that feels like.
And that’s what DandaDan specializes in. Not in relatable plot points, but in relatable emotional beats.
I wrote not long ago about how I don’t actively seek out romantic stories. And again, I’m not anti-romance, but it’s not a primary drive when I seek out a new story. It’s also a story element that’s easy to do wrong. So when I started to get inquisitive in terms of why DandaDan’s romance elements were so appealing to me, I found the answer quite simple—because they’re the most relatable. They’re a vital piece of the story that feeds into the overall push.
It’s straight-up inspiring to see Okarun building out his friendships, gaining confidence in himself and trusting in his loved ones and in himself. It doesn’t matter that it takes numerous fights with supernatural entities to get him there.
I also dislike the 'write what you know' advice, because, like most pithy one liners, it's an over-simplification. But, 'write what you've felt' is much better. I think that's what I instinctively try to do anyway in my own work, but I've never had anyone articulate it in such a helpful way before, so thanks for putting that concept in my brain!
This is an EXCELLENT read! Always amazed at your writing abilities :)