Ryunosuke’s Transition: Helen Chazan Reflects on Rumiko Takahashi’s URUSEI YATSURA

Urusei Yatsura is a difficult comic for me to write about. I have attempted many times this past year to write an essay about the series and have halted, finding my ideas too complex in scope to put into words coherently. In part, there is the simple challenge of writing about a lengthy, episodic comedy serial – if I speak generally, I say little to nothing about the work and end up talking around it, but if I go for granular specificity I either end up with a chapter recap or a byzantine tapestry of details which only I can unravel. There is also the matter of this being one of those few and fortunate manga which received an anime adaptation as idiosyncratic and unique as the source material; my relationship to one work becomes difficult to untangle from the other. Ultimately, the trouble is that I am a fan of Urusei Yatsura — I feel this series on a deep, embarrassingly passionate level. I indulge in ephemera of the franchise with an emotional intensity which many would reserve for their religion, or their ponies. My apartment is decorated with plushies of Lum and Ten, I have imported fan magazines and vinyl records. Lum and her friends are real to me; I have a relationship to them, and I do not like writing essays about relationships to pop culture icons.

It was probably never Rumiko Takahashi’s intention to create a gift to trans lesbians when she set out to create a long-running sci-fi comedy for Shonen Sunday, but that’s what Urusei Yatsura has been for me. I began reading about a year before I transitioned, and, in an odd way that I find difficult to talk about without exaggerating, I found through the manga a myriad of beautiful examples of how many different ways that a woman can be. The girls in Urusei Yatsura are powerful, cute, bitchy, playful; Lum is utterly unstoppable but she has interiority; everyone wears a million different great outfits and expresses anger, frustration, joy, and confusion in an endlessly moving cycle of comedic action.

In an essay recently translated by Jon Holt and Teppei Fukuda in The Comics Journal, critic Natsume Fusanosuke opines that “For Takahashi, gender is something like a softball which can be squeezed into the shape of gourd that has both a male end and a female end.” Urusei Yatsura, I feel, explores the female end of the gourd. The manga plays with a spectrum of expressions, emotions, tones, styles that girls can have, an almost psychedelic range that transcends what boy’s and girl’s comics had ever shown before. The gender trouble of Urusei Yatsura is one where butch and femme, cute and sexy, demure and aggressive endlessly transgress on each other in a bubbling cauldron of identity and possibility. A shy girl throws a desk, an alien goddess cozies up to a sleazy delinquent. As I set out on my own gender journey, I was (and still am) exploring my (trans) womanhood, but also declaring it. Like the girls in Urusei Yatsura, I am as proud as I am confused, uncertain, exploring, still growing, and changing. So it’s potent stuff for me in addition to great fun.

In Urusei Yatsura I can find and construct allegories of my own experiences. Some of these are flimsy, a few might actually be offensive, some are very precious to me, but I will spare you. This isn’t exactly anything special. Even a little bit of time on social media will inform you that trans people spend a great deal of time excavating metaphors for their lived experiences from pop culture and stories that they connect to. In part, this might be because we largely lack a popular culture of our own, “trans representation” that does exist often seems only to serve our so-called allies’ malformed misreading of our lives. It is also simply intuitive, to find some part of us in stories, characters, and imagery and tell our stories through those pieces. On some level there is also an awareness that some of these stories may have been intentionally trans, an auteur may in fact be closeted just like we were; The Matrix is a notable example of a time that this was actually proven to be the case. And yes, very often these readings are a form of conspicuous consumerism, little more than self-branding and potentially embedding toxic capitalist messages into our very identities, but I will not moralize on this, not here anyway. Tedious people may call these “counter readings”, but I, for one, despise this term. If the meaning is there, if you or I found it there, how is this inherently “counter” to the text? But I digress.

All of this said, Urusei Yatsura is not in any way trans art or a transfeminine work, but my trans femininity informs my relationship to the work. I have excavated my own trans womanhood from its pages, interpolated my gender in the gutters between panels.


What happens when fifteen volumes (eight in the Viz omnibuses) deep into the series, I am introduced to a new character, a girl who has been raised to live as a boy, who knows that she is a woman, longs to wear women’s clothes, and very literally fights for an opportunity to present as feminine?

Ryunosuke Fujinami works at a beachside cafe, a failing tourist attraction, the family business. Ryunosuke’s father is a single parent eager to raise a good, manly son to inherit and rescue his business. Ryunosuke, however, cannot conform to this expectation on a basic spiritual level – she is his daughter and has no desire to be her father’s son, let alone to inherit his business. Her adolescent chest bound up in a tight weave of bandages, Ryunosuke’s father withholds all indicators of femininity from her, to the point of teaching her elaborate lies about the world. However, the appeal of womanhood and its conventional trappings – dresses, makeup, bras, dates – only becomes more powerfully compelling to Ryunosuke. Her father’s daughter, trapped in a ludicrous world of imposed and ineffective “male” socialization, she battles her paternal nemesis to achieve her dreams of wearing women’s clothes and being the woman that she self-evidently already is.

Ryunosuke has been raised within a world of her father’s creation – often the comedy is not so much about her “gender-bending” presentation as it is about her confusion about the very basics of being in the world and her strain to overcome the grip of her controlling parent. She is introduced performing a bizarre daily ritual with her father of cursing the ocean for failing to provide stable business year-round; by the next chapter, her father allows her to attend the high school in Tomobiki (after fisticuffs) under the condition that he literally move into the school as well along with his humble tourist shop. Her life is an endless tug of war with her father, always a few meters away, ready to interrupt a moment of budding womanhood with a flying kick to the jaw or to wave a sailor suit as a reward for victory in one-on-one combat. These passionate martial arts circuses might be called macho were she not so clearly butch, and were her father not so clearly ridiculous. Nonetheless, Ryunosuke wins many suitors among the girls of Tomobiki high.

Frequently, Ryunosuke is mistaken for a man, but the joke is not so much that she is a man-like woman but that she is clearly and immediately superior to all men who exist in Urusei Yatsura, the lot of which are slobbering lecherous fools. A failed attempt to transform Ryunosuke into a man by a group of space crows (long story) unwittingly swaps the sex of pervert protagonist Ataru, an interlude that (very) briefly implies he might be happier and kinder as a girl. Ryunosuke does not understand that girls are attracted to her – in an incredible chapter, Lum’s rival Ran asks Ryunosuke on a date (in order to make Lum jealous, of course) which Ryunosuke accepts under the impression that she is being given the opportunity to learn how to act more like a lady. She picks up feminine etiquette from watching Ran’s every movement carefully; what Ran sees is a chivalrous and handsome man, gazing on her, intent on seducing her. The gap in context ultimately leaves Ran an ignorantly budding sapphic and Ryunosuke even more confused about the basics of womanhood; the basics which she merely fails to grasp being that there are none. The opportunity to become a woman is simply to shout, loudly and truly, that you are one. The next step is to live as one. She has already achieved that first step, but her voice is squashed down, by her father’s opposition, by the confusion of others, by the assumption that she has to do more first before she can just be herself alongside some very real roadblocks to her doing just that. And so, she fights, as a girl wondering what it would be like to be a girl, wondering if she will ever understand girls enough to be one, if she will be strong enough to tear away a shred of femininity from the hands of her patriarch in a battle that doesn’t make any sense and truly shouldn’t be necessary.

This isn’t a trans narrative, nor is it an “allegory.” It’s a gag, a running joke, with the deep characterization, escalating stakes, and keen insights Takahashi brings to such things. It’s a gag imagining a ludicrous origin story for the existence of tomboys. There is also perhaps some play on the beloved women disguised as men of year 24 group shojo manga, themselves inspired by the female drag of Takarazuka. Rather than the girl disguised as a boy being a glittering Lady Oscar, a variation on the idealized young man of girl’s romance, Takahashi’s girl prince is a rough and tumble athletic outsider, the archetypical young man of shonen sports manga. Integrating clashing motifs from prior shonen and shojo manga, Takahashi prods at the diversity of young women’s experiences largely ignored by both genres in a series nominally for teenage boys. This potentially transgressive yet very commercial and nerdy gender play is a continuous preoccupation of Takahashi’s work, as is the conflict between youth and overbearing elders – this is what Takahashi does.

Read as a direct allegory or analogy for real gender nonconformity, Urusei Yatsura and Ryunosuke might immediately appear heteronormative, bioessentialist, and cissexist. And yet, there are aspects of this character and her struggle that, in my life and the lives of many trans women I’ve known, are almost literally real. I have always been a woman for as long as one could be considered to have a gender, but I didn’t always know that. Well into my adolescence I didn’t know that being the kind of woman I am was possible or permissible, because nobody told me, and the first impressions I was given of the womanhood that is mine were misleading, hurtful lies designed to keep me from claiming it was mine. When I knew that I was a woman, I was willing to fight to live as one, but what I didn’t know was that I didn’t have to fight to become who I am. I didn’t need to survive hardships or become a warrior to be the woman I already was. That was something other people decided for me. Maybe it’s selfish and blinkered to see myself in a character, but I see a little bit of myself in Ryunosuke. I see a little bit of so many wonderful people in my life who have fought the ridiculous, turbulent endless fight for permission to express their gender and become who they already are.

            Ryunosuke Fujinami, like me, is a girl burdened by the misfortune of having been assigned male at birth. The assignment of masculinity was not imposed upon her by her body or by any form of “biological” sexual dimorphism but by her father, who raised her in isolation, sheltered from any direct experience of normative femininity in her childhood, under a strict regimen of masculinity peppered with the occasional selfish lie. Ryunosuke grew up unaware that treats like chocolate and cake were delicious, but, despite the distortion she was raised within, she knows that she is a girl. Her conviction in her femininity is as fierce as her feminine form is obviously apparent, she is furious about the denial of her girlhood and longs for dresses, skirts, bras, lipstick, and etiquette. Nonetheless, she presents as a brash tomboy, brawling and cussing on the rough and tumble path her father set out for her.

Ryunosuke is a woman. She was born a woman, she lives as a woman. But she has been forced by her father to live as a man, to conceal her femininity, and perform masculinity. She is not, however, “socialized male” in any sense — she knows that she is a woman and is pained by her obstructions to present as such. Her desire to wear the girl’s high school uniform is not a perversion but an earnest longing to be allowed, accepted into a space where she can be seen and accepted as who she really is, who she knows she is. It would be reasonable for her to ignore her father, to simply go out and wear dresses. She can live as a woman regardless of what her father thinks, what clothes she wears, what vocabulary she speaks. Everyone already sees her as a woman. Yet the boundary to that life, the life where she gets to just be her gender without doubts, without conflict, seems always just out of reach. Her confusion towards aspects of femininity is comedic but completely understandable, the humor rooted in the specific peculiarities of her struggle to approach something so mundane as wearing women’s clothes as a woman. Likewise, her strength and brazen temper do not offer proof that she “is a man,” but reflect her absurdly unfair upbringing while underscoring the most important lesson that Urusei Yatsura has to offer readers young and old: that women can, in fact, be strong, can do anything just as well as any man, can be whoever they want to be, and can stand up to anyone who tells them otherwise.

Urusei Yatsura never resolves conflicts. Love triangles and miscommunicated romance are like an endless curse; unfulfilled wishes are abruptly averted. Parents, teachers, elders never seem able to truly leave the kids alone, not for long. But everyone has power. Everyone has a presence, personality that cannot be repressed. All girls can demolish a building single-handedly if they are angry enough. Ataru Moroboshi, the epitome of a confused lecherous teenage boy, can recover from a beating doled out by any enraged lady forever. Ryunosuke is never going to wear a bra or a dress, not for long. Her father will always be somewhere close behind, ready to fight his “son.” She will never know herself enough to learn what she wants because Takahashi and her editors did not create a franchise where that can occur. For better or worse, it’s an eternal summer. The path of Ryunosuke’s gender journey stretches out as an endless beginning. But, nonetheless, she is a woman. She knows she is a woman, she is seen by all her friends as a woman, and she can scream that she’s a girl while punching someone so hard that the force of the blow sends them flying into the stratosphere. Her knowledge and her power tell a story about gender that doesn’t need an ending. It’s a story about transition, about knowing and not knowing, standing up for yourself and retreating, being understood and being misunderstood. And, for many of us, her story is true. Her transition is one that I lived through. I have met Ryunosuke and she is a trans woman, maybe every trans woman I’ve ever known. I bought her dresses.

SOLRAD is made possible by the generous donations of readers like you. Support our Patreon campaign, or make a tax-deductible donation to our publisher, Fieldmouse Press, today.

Related Posts

Predation, Protection, Contracts, & Contact: Isabelle Ryan Reviews LET’S GO KARAOKE! by Yama Wayama

Isabelle Ryan returns to SOLRAD with a review of Yama Wayama's LET'S GO KARAOKE!, published by Yen Press in 2022.


Today we feature the fourth installment of COMICS GRIDLOCK - Helen Chazan's capsule review column at SOLRAD - this time it's reviews of manga paperbacks Helen has read while waiting for something.

Trauma, Identity, Gender, and Performance: Isabelle Ryan Reviews BOY MEETS MARIA by PEYO

Isabelle Ryan joins SOLRAD today for a review of BOY MEETS MARIA by PEYO, published by Seven Seas Entertainment in 2021.
5 Responses
  1. I teared up reading this essay. It means so much to know there are other queer and trans folk who see in Urusei Yatsura the wonderful freedom and variety of womanhood and how to be a woman that drew me into the series as a kid and has held a tight grasp on my heart and mind ever since.

    Ryunosuke is a character that means a lot to me, increasingly so the more time I’ve spent revisiting and dwelling in her stories. When I reread her introduction chapters in the new Viz edition for the first time, I found myself in her frustrations, venting to her dad and the world for messing up her understanding of herself and feeling caught between two worlds she feels she can’t comfortably fit into. I cried understanding her earnest desire to simply be seen as the woman she knows she is, but feels she needs to prove by adopting traditionally feminine signifiers, even when she realizes she may not actually like or understand some of those things. Ryunosuke knows she’s a woman, no matter what her father tries to gaslight her to believe, and just wants the freedom to express her own sense of femininity, stifled by a father who refuses to see his child as anyone but the son he wanted to raise.

    You so beautifully put into words how and why Ryunosuke’s character resonates with my own sense of dysphoria and yearning for freedom in my gender expression and identity. I’m almost envious at how precisely and poignantly you articulated how Ryunosuke’s experiences resonate so really and viscerally in such a genuinely sincere and compelling way even though the concept of her character and conflict may not have been thought of as much more than just a joke. That even though there’ll never be a conclusion or catharsis to her arc, that she’ll keep fighting for her right to be seen how she feels, and the comfort that’s found in her strength and journey.

    I resonate so much with your frustrations about having so many feelings about the series that it’s hard and challenging to put them into a coherent essay. Urusei Yatsura is my favorite series ever and I’ve tried so many times to write about everything that compels me to it that I’ve found beneath the surface of the gags (as well as the artistry of the gags themselves), but there’s so much there that I don’t know where to even start, comfortably retreating into simply talking about the series at length on my Urusei Yatsura-focused podcast Lum Squad instead. But your piece makes me want to finally reach into my own heart and pull out all my messy feelings about Ryunosuke and this series and what it means to be and my own life’s journey.

    I really appreciate your perspective on Takahashi’s stories. She is my favorite mangaka and I always find myself retreating to the Rumic World for comfort, and your pieces on UY and MI and MS have put into words how I feel about her stories and characters better than I’ve been able to myself so far, but encourage me to try. Would very much enjoy reading more pieces on your perspective on Takahashi’s works in the future. Thank you.

  2. Violets West

    I completely agree with the above commenter and your article. I am also a fan of the series, to sum a a complicated, nuanced and varied relationships to it in it’s various incarnations. But UY, especially the manga and ESPECIALLY especially Ryuunosuke’s character have always been important to me. Thank you so much for writing such an eloquent piece on a complicated character. You put into words all my feelings about her so well from every angle. Incredibly well said.

  3. […] The “Urusei Yatsura” anime has always been a show of two parts. The first stems from the appeal of the source material. “Urusei Yatsura” is an early work by Rumiko Takahashi, and lacks the polish distinguishing later successes like “Maison Ikkoku” and “Mermaid Saga.” Even so, the series has plenty to recommend it. According to Matteo Watzky in his piece “Understanding Urusei Yatsura,” it was Rumiko Takahashi who brought romance from the pages of Japanese girls comics (shojo manga, like “Fruits Basket”) to boy’s comics (shonen manga, like “Fullmetal Alchemist”). Lum was an appealing character who won over an emerging audience of male fans that adored cute and innocent girls (including Nausicaa from a certain Miyazaki’s “Valley of the Wind”). Lum also throws a spanner into an otherwise straightforward cishet teen boy sex fantasy. She’s an all-powerful force of chaos that steals the show from the perpetually frustrated “protagonist” Ataru. The series skewers traditional values, grounds myth in the absurd everyday, and even plays with gender norms. […]

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Subscribe to the SOLRAD Newsletter

February 2023


SOLRAD is a production of Fieldmouse Press; all works are copyright © their respective authors.

Fieldmouse Press is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit  publisher of comics, criticism, interviews, and essays. Find out more about us here.

Fieldmouse Press is supported by readers like you. Donations are tax-deductible. Support us with a one-time or recurring donation here.