The recently translated visual novel SeaBed (VNDB|MangaGamer|Steam) caught my eye because it seemed like it would address a lot of themes I don’t
see very often in this medium—namely, mental health issues in an everyday
context and the loss of a long-term relationship, seen through the eyes of
adult lesbian protagonists. What I didn’t expect, however, was how much SeaBed would also diverge from typical narrative conventions regarding dramatic structure. Since I finished reading it, I’ve been trying to figure out how I felt about it all, and whether its plotline was unnecessarily confusing or whether I simply wasn’t interpreting it properly. Much like many of the questions raised in SeaBed, I don’t think I have a straightforward answer to that. What I do have is a long rambling contemplation about it. Enjoy. I’ll avoid any big spoilers in the first half, and indicate when they’re coming up later.

Just because your title is metaphorical doesn’t mean you should miss an opportunity to put your leads in bikinis.

SeaBed alternates between the perspectives of three narrators: Sachiko, Narasaki, and Takako. Sachiko is a young graphic designer plagued by hallucinations of her missing girlfriend, Takako; she goes to Narasaki, an old friend who has now become a psychiatrist, for help. For much of the story, Sachiko and Narasaki are both on vacation at the same nearly vacant hotel in the Japanese countryside. Meanwhile, we also see Takako in a “sanatorium,” where she’s in treatment for some kind of memory issue that has left her with only vague recollections of her life with Sachiko. Descriptions of the three women’s day-to-day lives blend with memories and dreams into a unique and strange reading experience.

Excruciatingly detailed descriptions of the three women’s day-to-day lives, that is.

I’m not sure the mixture of slice-of-life and mystery worked very well, although the problem may lie more with my reading of it than with the writing. I might have appreciated SeaBed more if, from the beginning, I approached it the way you might a more abstract text: accept the weirdness and think about what that weirdness might mean on a deeper, symbolic level. Instead, I approached SeaBed like a mystery, constantly looking for concrete explanations that just weren’t there. Scenes in which Takako relaxes and chats with her friends at the sanatorium, for instance, were frustrating to me. I was unable to grow attached to the characters the way you normally would through well-written slice-of-life segments, because I had so many questions about who these characters were, where and when these scenes were taking place, and whether their narrators were reliable, that I was barely paying attention to what was happening in the moment. But maybe if I had been less caught up with theorizing and searching for answers, and had just slowed down and enjoyed the ride, I would have appreciated the writing a lot more.

This scene of Christmas at the sanatorium, for instance, could have been really cute if I was reading it right.

But I’m also not sure if my inaccurate expectations are totally my fault. The
description on the localization’s website describes SeaBed as a “mystery visual novel,” and also makes it sound like Sachiko’s hallucinations are the story’s focus. I was especially interested in reading a story about a functioning adult trying to manage mental health issues. And it is about that for a while—the first quarter of the story is fairly straightforward as it follows Sachiko and Narasaki trying to work through which of Sachiko’s memories of Takako are accurate. Aside from a sometimes excessively slow pace, I was enjoying the way the story was going at that point. It was pretty much what I had hoped for. But then the prologue ended, and the perspectives started switching, and I stopped really understanding what I was supposed to be getting out of this VN. Spoilers in the continuation of my thoughts below:

This analysis of the source and nature of Sachiko’s problems might have been my favourite part.

My confusion about where the story was going and how I was supposed to interpret it never dissipated, and I was completely surprised by the supernatural turn it took in the end. Maybe that’s my own error; after all, Narasaki does tell you at the end of the prologue that Takako is dead. But since right after that you start seeing scenes from Takako’s perspective, I don’t think many readers would immediately conclude, “I guess this is the afterlife.” My thought process was more like, “I guess either this is a flashback, or Takako isn’t really dead. And if she isn’t really dead, why did Narasaki say she was? Is Narasaki wrong, or lying?” I was searching for answers to those questions the whole time. One of the theories I came up with was that, much like a particular film I really enjoy, Sachiko and Takako had actually chosen to forget each other intentionally, and Narasaki was trying to keep them apart in accordance with their wishes. I’m not sure if the VN expects its readers to just take Narasaki’s statement that Takako is dead at face value. I certainly might have appreciated the story more if I did, but I also suspect a lot of other readers wouldn’t. I’d be interested to know what other people think.

I felt like the VN was just mocking me at this point. “Haha, I bet you’re coming up with dumb theories about how two people are really the same person and stuff like that, aren’t you?”

I find it hard to pass judgement on SeaBed, because while I’m not sure if I’d say I really enjoyed reading it, I think a lot of the problem was that I couldn’t let go of my own inaccurate expectations of it. I’d like to reread it sometime, knowing the direction that it takes, and try to figure out how much of that was my fault, and how much of it—if any—was the writing’s failure to guide readers in the right direction. Does the strangeness and ambiguity of the story make it too easy for readers to interpret it totally wrongly, or was I just missing hints and clues because I was stubbornly clinging to the wrong idea about what kind of VN it was? I think SeaBed might contain some good lessons for me as both a writer and a reader, about how to prevent readers from being disappointed when a story changes direction, but also about how to shed my preconceptions as a reader and just see where the story takes me. I might recommend SeaBed to others who’d be interested in that kind of learning experience. But I’m not sure I’d recommend it as a fun read.