Bodies of Writing: A Theological Reflection on "Violet Evergarden"
Introduction
Netflix and human dignity do not usually go hand in hand, but in the days of coronavirus-induced lockdown, I find myself logging into it in a desperate attempt to distract myself from the agitation and the boredom. In the “liturgy of spending an eternity finding something to watch” that ensues, I usually go to the anime section as my first port of call. Most anime offerings are shallow or crass, which makes the good ones stand out all the more. They not only provide magnificent artwork, storytelling and character development; they also give unexpected insights about the human condition, the virtues, and faith. Further still, watch an anime film or series attentively enough, and it could give a lens through which to peer into the depths of your very soul.
Violet Evergarden, Taichi Ishidate’s quiet and beautifully animated 13-episode adaptation of the steampunk light novel series by Kana Akatsuki, does all of these.
Synopsis
Violet Evergarden focuses on the titular character, who begins the series as a brutally efficient and emotionless former soldier. Following a devastating war, she struggles to transition back into civilian life in the fictional country of Leidenschaftlich, a name which translates directly from the German as “passionate”. As will become evident to the viewer, the country’s name will become a significant backdrop for the drama which will unfold for the series’ protagonist: for it seems that passion is the very thing that is absent in Violet.
Violet’s biography begins as an orphan with no known origin. She is found by a group of soldiers who attempt to rape her, but they quickly wind up dead by her violently efficient hands. A coldly aristocratic naval officer, Dietfried Bouganvillea, brings her back to the capital Leiden and, like a tourist coming back with a cheap souvenir, gifts the girl to his brother, Major Gilbert. Dietfried cynically advises Gilbert to just “treat her as a tool” and not become too attached to the silent and expressionless orphan. At the beginning of her biography, the orphan is denied, and devoid of, humanity. She knows and says nothing, save one thing: to be a soldier that kills and receives orders to kill. Set against the backdrop of war, this tool is the perfect gift, and her efficiency in stripping souls from their bodies, in one engagement after another, gives the girl her raison d’être.
At the same time, however, Gilbert is nothing like his brother and does not heed his advice. Instead, the Major treats the traumatised orphan as a person—an efficient superweapon, but a person nonetheless. Gilbert gives Violet a name, a place in his unit and, in what would drive the whole series, he gives her love. In a major battle, a bleeding and incapacitated Gilbert gives Violet her final order: “Live and be free”. Before he disappears from her sight and ours, Gilbert utters the words that will become Violet’s new raison d’être…
