Taniguchi's work often resonates with the essence of old impressionistic writers. In his narratives, form, time, and direction take on their own distinct shapes; they seem to breathe independently. The world is reduced to sensory syllogisms where truth and fiction intertwine as extensions of one another. As a result, what truly matters is the continuity of perception and the exaltation of the senses, transforming into fleeting experiences embedded in some forgotten psychology. These are not presented as factual but as ephemeral moments offering glimpses into all that has been lost. These stories act as appendages of the self, serving to internalize the world and externalize the individual—solely predicated on perspective. What is seen, what is felt, and what "is" are all units crafted by an ever-changing reality, shifting not only in temporal space but also within the abstract confines of the mind. Perception indeed holds immense power.
No other work encapsulates this idea more than Taniguchi’s acclaimed manga "Haruka na Machi e," or otherwise known as "A Distant Neighborhood." It’s a piece that defies traditional form and structure while challenging linearity and time to deliver a compelling narrative accompanied by stunning artwork.
Before delving into the actual story, it's essential to mention Taniguchi’s artistry in this manga. Just as striking and thought-provoking as the story itself, the art is sublime. Taniguchi draws with a sense of realism and nostalgia—a style that perfectly complements this tale. His stories often feel like meditations or Zen-like introspections of the mind interacting with the world. The moments captured, coalesced, and digested by the senses and cognition are expressed poetically and with utmost clarity. Expressions, space, distance, textures, gradients, foregrounds, and backgrounds are crafted with an extraordinary degree of precision and artistry. The narrative is deeply rooted in the art, and it's often through the art and imagery that much of the progression unfolds.
The story begins deceptively simple: a 40-something everyday salaryman (Hiroshi Nakahara) takes the wrong train. He notices the scenery changing into something unknowingly nostalgic. Eventually, he finds himself in his childhood town.
Things have changed.
He too has changed.
The streets he once knew are unrecognizable. His old home and parent’s shop have vanished. Unsettled, he pays respect at his mother’s grave. He falls asleep and awakens strangely transported many decades into the past—when he was only 14.
Once again, the streets change. Once again, he changes.
From here, the story focuses on Hiroshi’s decisions to alter both his world and those who once inhabited it. Retaining all his knowledge and skills as an adult, he embarks on a second chance to redeem his past and perhaps his future. "Haruka na Machi e" confidently conveys the complex completeness of each emotion and conflict. Taniguchi masterfully controls the intricacies and depth, subtly revealing them through intuition and imagery. Hiroshi encounters the same interactions and events but attempts to modify them for better outcomes, whether finding love with the prettiest girl in school or aiding his frail mother. Yet, the focus is never on the meaning of these interactions or how they will alter Hiroshi’s life. The future has already unfolded. What’s crucial is Hiroshi’s inevitable realizations about himself and his place in the world. What lies hidden beyond this current timeline is a push for acceptance, achieved through understanding all that/those he could not and did not.
Thus, this is not an exhilarating time travel story. This is not a narrative fixated on altering the future. Time and history are living entities; dismissing their autonomy is out of the question. What "Haruka na Machi e" sublimely portrays is the opposite: despite the feigned ability to change things within a repeated microcosm, in the grand scheme of cosmic affairs, things will remain as they must. What matters is perception and how that perception evolves into awareness (and the ability to alter that as needed, to live, if not with contentment, then at least with acceptance).
The ideas about self-awareness and acceptance echo throughout the work. These arise from an ethos of a society designed to discourage individualistic fervors and the impact of such design on individuals questioning it through their existence. This is where the art truly shines. Much of the initial setup involves Hiroshi traversing his environment while recollecting and, subconsciously, lamenting. Taniguchi crafts the slivers of the past through elaborate, naturalistic settings as they were and as they are, bridging Hiroshi’s memories and emotions. Both are at risk but impeccably visualized through the transitioning realities Hiroshi experiences. It’s remarkable how each idea translates into an image, from sweeping scenery to colliding characters. Everything aligns to create an atmosphere that moves alongside fate, never rebelling against it but always affirming it.
Two pivotal events reinforce this established nature. First is the eventual breakup of Hiroshi and Tomoko, the prettiest girl in school. Second is his father’s abandonment. The most defining and personal event for Hiroshi seems to be his relationship with Tomoko. She was the prettiest girl in school and, in the original timeline, married a diplomat and moved abroad. During Hiroshi’s “redo,” he impresses her with his maturity and knowledge, and they start dating. Tomoko falls hard for Hiroshi, but gradually realizes she cannot understand him or his feelings. Their relationship is thoroughly developed, and despite her being smitten with him, she becomes increasingly upset and insecure due to her inability to connect. She runs away, ending that romance and any hope for finding love and fulfillment in his future family life.
Second and arguably the most significant event in Hiroshi’s redo is the unchanging occurrence of his father’s sudden departure. At some point in his 14th year, Hiroshi’s father abandons them, implicitly causing the early death of his mother. Reliving his life, Hiroshi comes to realize his premature understanding of his parents and their lives. He wants to save his family, protect his mother, and understand why his father abandoned his stable life and loving family. On the night his father is meant to leave, Hiroshi confronts him and demands an explanation. His father seeks something more; he longs to escape the looming existential dread and find something life-affirming. This poignantly captures the reasoning behind the time-skip and the internal truth haunting Hiroshi from the beginning.
He too suffers the same dread as his father. Forced into a life of unfulfillment, where neither his family nor job offers solace, he finds himself “escaping.” The time skip thus serves as a tool, one he fully embraces, to relive his teenage years where he had concrete goals and desires leading to happiness, regardless of their impermanence. This duality of change and stasis is heavily manipulated throughout the story but ultimately acts as tools for attaining the awareness needed to realize the limitations of self-imposed control and influence. And so, he unsurprisingly returns to his original timeline.
Once more, he changes.
Despite altering many events in his “redo,” things in the present remain as they were. Nothing is different. Tomoko is still married to the diplomat, living abroad. His wife and children are who they were before he left. Friends and family who were dead are still gone. He’s still a 48-year-old everyday salaryman with a heavy heart. Nothing changed, except now he’s fully self-aware. Nothing evolved except his perceptions and resolve. Ultimately, that’s what matters. After all,
Perception is powerful—it can and does change everything.
Now, here's my take on time travel stories. Most of them are decent, very few are exceptional, and others just try to capitalize on nostalgia or cram in too many concepts, ultimately ruining the story.
Haruka na Machi e is about a guy who gets transported back to his childhood. That's where the similarities with other time travel stories end.
Here, the focus isn't on the mechanics of time travel (though the protagonist is initially surprised) or on encountering his past self (he simply lives as his younger self). There's a touch of nostalgia throughout, but it never feels forced. The story delves into how his actions (as an adult in a child's body) impact his present, but more importantly, it's about how he comes to understand the emotions and decisions of the adults around him during his childhood—things that once puzzled him. There are parallels and reflections on his current life at the time of the teleportation, comparing it with his experiences as a child, making sense of events that shaped his life.
If you're still reading this review, you might be wondering if you should check it out.
I'd say yes, go for it.
Will you enjoy it? That depends on your age and experiences. I think it resonates more with people who have started working or have worked at some point in their lives—you'll likely appreciate it more. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it otherwise. Regardless, it's quite short and can be finished in one sitting, so give it a try and experience the story yourself :)
Popular Reviews
No other work encapsulates this idea more than Taniguchi’s acclaimed manga "Haruka na Machi e," or otherwise known as "A Distant Neighborhood." It’s a piece that defies traditional form and structure while challenging linearity and time to deliver a compelling narrative accompanied by stunning artwork.
Before delving into the actual story, it's essential to mention Taniguchi’s artistry in this manga. Just as striking and thought-provoking as the story itself, the art is sublime. Taniguchi draws with a sense of realism and nostalgia—a style that perfectly complements this tale. His stories often feel like meditations or Zen-like introspections of the mind interacting with the world. The moments captured, coalesced, and digested by the senses and cognition are expressed poetically and with utmost clarity. Expressions, space, distance, textures, gradients, foregrounds, and backgrounds are crafted with an extraordinary degree of precision and artistry. The narrative is deeply rooted in the art, and it's often through the art and imagery that much of the progression unfolds.
The story begins deceptively simple: a 40-something everyday salaryman (Hiroshi Nakahara) takes the wrong train. He notices the scenery changing into something unknowingly nostalgic. Eventually, he finds himself in his childhood town.
Things have changed.
He too has changed.
The streets he once knew are unrecognizable. His old home and parent’s shop have vanished. Unsettled, he pays respect at his mother’s grave. He falls asleep and awakens strangely transported many decades into the past—when he was only 14.
Once again, the streets change. Once again, he changes.
From here, the story focuses on Hiroshi’s decisions to alter both his world and those who once inhabited it. Retaining all his knowledge and skills as an adult, he embarks on a second chance to redeem his past and perhaps his future. "Haruka na Machi e" confidently conveys the complex completeness of each emotion and conflict. Taniguchi masterfully controls the intricacies and depth, subtly revealing them through intuition and imagery. Hiroshi encounters the same interactions and events but attempts to modify them for better outcomes, whether finding love with the prettiest girl in school or aiding his frail mother. Yet, the focus is never on the meaning of these interactions or how they will alter Hiroshi’s life. The future has already unfolded. What’s crucial is Hiroshi’s inevitable realizations about himself and his place in the world. What lies hidden beyond this current timeline is a push for acceptance, achieved through understanding all that/those he could not and did not.
Thus, this is not an exhilarating time travel story. This is not a narrative fixated on altering the future. Time and history are living entities; dismissing their autonomy is out of the question. What "Haruka na Machi e" sublimely portrays is the opposite: despite the feigned ability to change things within a repeated microcosm, in the grand scheme of cosmic affairs, things will remain as they must. What matters is perception and how that perception evolves into awareness (and the ability to alter that as needed, to live, if not with contentment, then at least with acceptance).
The ideas about self-awareness and acceptance echo throughout the work. These arise from an ethos of a society designed to discourage individualistic fervors and the impact of such design on individuals questioning it through their existence. This is where the art truly shines. Much of the initial setup involves Hiroshi traversing his environment while recollecting and, subconsciously, lamenting. Taniguchi crafts the slivers of the past through elaborate, naturalistic settings as they were and as they are, bridging Hiroshi’s memories and emotions. Both are at risk but impeccably visualized through the transitioning realities Hiroshi experiences. It’s remarkable how each idea translates into an image, from sweeping scenery to colliding characters. Everything aligns to create an atmosphere that moves alongside fate, never rebelling against it but always affirming it.
Two pivotal events reinforce this established nature. First is the eventual breakup of Hiroshi and Tomoko, the prettiest girl in school. Second is his father’s abandonment. The most defining and personal event for Hiroshi seems to be his relationship with Tomoko. She was the prettiest girl in school and, in the original timeline, married a diplomat and moved abroad. During Hiroshi’s “redo,” he impresses her with his maturity and knowledge, and they start dating. Tomoko falls hard for Hiroshi, but gradually realizes she cannot understand him or his feelings. Their relationship is thoroughly developed, and despite her being smitten with him, she becomes increasingly upset and insecure due to her inability to connect. She runs away, ending that romance and any hope for finding love and fulfillment in his future family life.
Second and arguably the most significant event in Hiroshi’s redo is the unchanging occurrence of his father’s sudden departure. At some point in his 14th year, Hiroshi’s father abandons them, implicitly causing the early death of his mother. Reliving his life, Hiroshi comes to realize his premature understanding of his parents and their lives. He wants to save his family, protect his mother, and understand why his father abandoned his stable life and loving family. On the night his father is meant to leave, Hiroshi confronts him and demands an explanation. His father seeks something more; he longs to escape the looming existential dread and find something life-affirming. This poignantly captures the reasoning behind the time-skip and the internal truth haunting Hiroshi from the beginning.
He too suffers the same dread as his father. Forced into a life of unfulfillment, where neither his family nor job offers solace, he finds himself “escaping.” The time skip thus serves as a tool, one he fully embraces, to relive his teenage years where he had concrete goals and desires leading to happiness, regardless of their impermanence. This duality of change and stasis is heavily manipulated throughout the story but ultimately acts as tools for attaining the awareness needed to realize the limitations of self-imposed control and influence. And so, he unsurprisingly returns to his original timeline.
Once more, he changes.
Despite altering many events in his “redo,” things in the present remain as they were. Nothing is different. Tomoko is still married to the diplomat, living abroad. His wife and children are who they were before he left. Friends and family who were dead are still gone. He’s still a 48-year-old everyday salaryman with a heavy heart. Nothing changed, except now he’s fully self-aware. Nothing evolved except his perceptions and resolve. Ultimately, that’s what matters. After all,
Perception is powerful—it can and does change everything.
Haruka na Machi e is about a guy who gets transported back to his childhood. That's where the similarities with other time travel stories end.
Here, the focus isn't on the mechanics of time travel (though the protagonist is initially surprised) or on encountering his past self (he simply lives as his younger self). There's a touch of nostalgia throughout, but it never feels forced. The story delves into how his actions (as an adult in a child's body) impact his present, but more importantly, it's about how he comes to understand the emotions and decisions of the adults around him during his childhood—things that once puzzled him. There are parallels and reflections on his current life at the time of the teleportation, comparing it with his experiences as a child, making sense of events that shaped his life.
If you're still reading this review, you might be wondering if you should check it out.
I'd say yes, go for it.
Will you enjoy it? That depends on your age and experiences. I think it resonates more with people who have started working or have worked at some point in their lives—you'll likely appreciate it more. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it otherwise. Regardless, it's quite short and can be finished in one sitting, so give it a try and experience the story yourself :)
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