Idk why it took me so long to finish the english translation but I finally just did... and man, I'm starting to believe that all of these games are equally good and that I'm just nitpicking when deciding which ones I like more. I don't like it as much as 1, sure, but it's still basically a perfect game that leaves a very similar impact. I'm just so, so glad it has an english translation now. Humanity needs these games.
To be honest, I didn't exactly come in with my arms wide open. The fears of a formally continuist sequel of something that was very expressive because its own peculiar use of its forms increased shortly after starting. A setting to choose how long you want the day to be, collectibles around the map, a character that tells you where to see the events of each day, afraid of giving you back freedom in a larger world, overall details that seem treated with less care and a feeling of experiencing the same but worse. It's a shame that every time the game tries to awkwardly recall the intentions of its predecessor, it pales considerably (one clear instance: the previously essential narrator is now dispensable in the few arbitrary moments it appears).
Luckily, it takes just a few days to see that the direction taken is right. The facts that the protagonist's father never appears, that the plot of the future sibling remains in the background, or that the reminiscing aspect of the tale is anecdotic are no coincidence. The form, weighed down by losing part of its meaning, becomes a perfect vehicle to explore a more passive exploration of the surrounding drama.
Here Boku does not so much embody a reflexive portrait of childhood and growth, as he is more a supporting device for the rest of the cast. Accordingly, the most dramatically charged plots revolve less around Boku's family and more around the neighbors and visitors. These take advantage of the kid's innocent and outsider approach to deal with a common yet always specific issue: yearn. Yearn because of the distance between mother and daughter, between father and son, between lovers, between Earth and outer space, between past and present and future, between the world of humans and the one that is not ours, between life and what lies beyond. And the fears that all of these yearnings may never be answered.
That most of the conflicts end up in an open ended bittersweet quiet note resonates with the setting of the small coastal village. A place to get away from and to be taken away from the world. The ever-present sound of the waves, which inevitably move these desires in the tide just as the moon changes phase in the last shot of each day.
It’s not that Boku's appearance solves all these yearnings, but his mere interest in observing the world around him and serving as a confessional escape mechanism at least alleviates the pain. The game takes a passive stance where listening to one another is the greatest act of kindness, where what little evil appears to exist in the world has nothing but a noble and melancholic origin. Who knows what the future may hold, what to do but to hope for the best and reach for our hands within the tide.
Luckily, it takes just a few days to see that the direction taken is right. The facts that the protagonist's father never appears, that the plot of the future sibling remains in the background, or that the reminiscing aspect of the tale is anecdotic are no coincidence. The form, weighed down by losing part of its meaning, becomes a perfect vehicle to explore a more passive exploration of the surrounding drama.
Here Boku does not so much embody a reflexive portrait of childhood and growth, as he is more a supporting device for the rest of the cast. Accordingly, the most dramatically charged plots revolve less around Boku's family and more around the neighbors and visitors. These take advantage of the kid's innocent and outsider approach to deal with a common yet always specific issue: yearn. Yearn because of the distance between mother and daughter, between father and son, between lovers, between Earth and outer space, between past and present and future, between the world of humans and the one that is not ours, between life and what lies beyond. And the fears that all of these yearnings may never be answered.
That most of the conflicts end up in an open ended bittersweet quiet note resonates with the setting of the small coastal village. A place to get away from and to be taken away from the world. The ever-present sound of the waves, which inevitably move these desires in the tide just as the moon changes phase in the last shot of each day.
It’s not that Boku's appearance solves all these yearnings, but his mere interest in observing the world around him and serving as a confessional escape mechanism at least alleviates the pain. The game takes a passive stance where listening to one another is the greatest act of kindness, where what little evil appears to exist in the world has nothing but a noble and melancholic origin. Who knows what the future may hold, what to do but to hope for the best and reach for our hands within the tide.
Once again I'm thrown into a fictional summer that's just long enough that I miss it when it ends, but not so long that I ever wished it ended sooner.
Boku no Natsuyasumi's main success was being a game that could make you cry without a single tragedy: the heartrending part of that game was saying goodbye. Throughout the entire game one's own nostalgic recollections of childhood come to overlap with the game itself, and by the end of it events that happened maybe two hours ago, feel like part of some precious memory. It's a trick that really only works once, so I was a bit worried about the sequels lacking impact.
As it turns out, there was no need to worry; being able to observe how my own memories started to work against me as the story went on made up for whatever was lost, although I don't think I lost anything. Sure, the first game's ending left more of an impression on me, but I think Two as a whole will probably stick with me longer. For me, being completely aware of what the story was trying to do, removed any doubt on whether it earned its emotional moments or not, and let me appreciate the subtler moments of the game more.
Now to get to Three in 2025...
Simon not smoking weed is a plot hole.
Boku no Natsuyasumi's main success was being a game that could make you cry without a single tragedy: the heartrending part of that game was saying goodbye. Throughout the entire game one's own nostalgic recollections of childhood come to overlap with the game itself, and by the end of it events that happened maybe two hours ago, feel like part of some precious memory. It's a trick that really only works once, so I was a bit worried about the sequels lacking impact.
As it turns out, there was no need to worry; being able to observe how my own memories started to work against me as the story went on made up for whatever was lost, although I don't think I lost anything. Sure, the first game's ending left more of an impression on me, but I think Two as a whole will probably stick with me longer. For me, being completely aware of what the story was trying to do, removed any doubt on whether it earned its emotional moments or not, and let me appreciate the subtler moments of the game more.
Now to get to Three in 2025...
Simon not smoking weed is a plot hole.
Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 is a life affirming work of art. I went into this one well aware of its structure, that it took place across the month of August, and during that time you could relax and enjoy the small town you were placed into in whatever way you wanted. Due to this structure and my on-going journey of practicing mindfulness with respect to video games, I only allowed myself to play a maximum of 3 in game days per 1 actual day, and with the extra stipulation that I had to concentrate solely on the game. This may sound a bit silly, though as someone who pretty much always watches YouTube on a second monitor, or listens to podcasts while playing video games, this represented a very intentional exercise for me in order to appreciate what I was engaging with, and maybe fix my fucked up attention span in some way. From everything I knew, this was a game particularly well suited to this task as well, because I really wanted to soak up every little drop of the atmosphere and dialog that I could.
In the end I think this approach to playing Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 was extremely successful for me. I hung out on each screen, taking it all in. I turned over the character interactions, both slight and large, in my head during the forced gap between play sessions, allowing myself to develop a real sense of knowing these people on an intimate level. What would Uncle Genta be doing tomorrow? Would he still be struggling with the loss of his old profession, or did he have a revelation that lead him down a different path? Due to the nature of my play sessions and the nature of the ongoing lives of the cast, I sometimes wouldn't see someone in game for several real life days at a time, causing myself to legitimately miss them and wonder what they're getting up to. These small somber moments of longing to see them again couldn't have prepared me for the great sadness and emptiness brought about by the sudden ending, which drilled home just how much I cared each and every one of them, and the fact that I'd likely never see them again.
That is to say, at least not without spinning up another save file, which just feels wrong to me. No one should ever get to know every facet of every person in their lives, there's a certain beauty in knowing that you can't possibly know everyone's experience holistically. People fade in and out of our lives, only appearing briefly to give an update on themselves from their own perception. This game represents a series of those brief encounters, wrapped up in an experience that is brief in and of itself, even when I intentionally stretch it out over a longer period of time, as though trying to get the most out of my own similarly brief windows in time. There is no going back to summer vacation, there is no going back to 1975, there is no going back to Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 for me, and I've made my peace with that.
In the end I think this approach to playing Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 was extremely successful for me. I hung out on each screen, taking it all in. I turned over the character interactions, both slight and large, in my head during the forced gap between play sessions, allowing myself to develop a real sense of knowing these people on an intimate level. What would Uncle Genta be doing tomorrow? Would he still be struggling with the loss of his old profession, or did he have a revelation that lead him down a different path? Due to the nature of my play sessions and the nature of the ongoing lives of the cast, I sometimes wouldn't see someone in game for several real life days at a time, causing myself to legitimately miss them and wonder what they're getting up to. These small somber moments of longing to see them again couldn't have prepared me for the great sadness and emptiness brought about by the sudden ending, which drilled home just how much I cared each and every one of them, and the fact that I'd likely never see them again.
That is to say, at least not without spinning up another save file, which just feels wrong to me. No one should ever get to know every facet of every person in their lives, there's a certain beauty in knowing that you can't possibly know everyone's experience holistically. People fade in and out of our lives, only appearing briefly to give an update on themselves from their own perception. This game represents a series of those brief encounters, wrapped up in an experience that is brief in and of itself, even when I intentionally stretch it out over a longer period of time, as though trying to get the most out of my own similarly brief windows in time. There is no going back to summer vacation, there is no going back to 1975, there is no going back to Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 for me, and I've made my peace with that.