The Artificial Restoration of Agency through Sex and Technology in Neon Genesis Evangelion

Katherine Savoy, University of Victoria [About | Email]

Volume 14, Issue 3 (Discussion paper 8 in 2014). First published in ejcjs on 23 December 2014.


{In this article, I will discuss the origin and limiting factors of identity in the series Neon Genesis Evangelion and the relationship between the individual and the community. I will examine the process of outsourcing one’s identity and, in doing so, relinquishing agency and responsibility. To elaborate on these points I will dissect the show’s patriarchal structure, looking first at the role of women and then sexuality as it applies to the struggle between free-will and imposed external regulation. I will follow the growth of identity through the presence of technology, and question the assumed binaries between man and machine as well as how the series challenges such concepts. Finally, I will look at denial as the internal control of identity, contrasting with the use of self-awareness for social domination within the community.

Keywords: Gender, Neon Genesis Evangelion, technology, identity, power.

Agency and responsibility in Neon Genesis Evangelion are granted to those striving to discover and maintain their identity by external sources, causing conflict between community-stemmed ideals and the preconceptionof the self. This discrepancy begets a false sense of both power and unity within the given military hierarchy. Gender is the dominant element of the self controlled by the community, realising the patriarchy in the system; the tools to maintain this are the sexualisation of women and the over-use of technology. Throughout the twenty-six episode animated series, the core characters of Evangelion struggle with the conventions and paths laid out for them by their select community, each of them piecing together their broken identities as they develop alongside one another. The prominent themes of identity in the series include the treatment and placement of women, the use of technology, and the characters’ performance within the battle between acknowledgement and denial or awareness and manipulation.

This animated series displays elements of a few overlapping genres: shounen (boy’s), mecha, science fiction, and action. Set in a post-apocalyptic future, Evangelion throws the protagonist Ikari Shinji, a fourteen year old with no background in being a hero, into the role of the sole saviour, and he is made to pilot a giant anthropomorphic robot against the incoming alien threat. The boy himself has no obvious merit to make him stand out from the crowd, facilitating the audience’s entrance into an attractive, though arbitrary, and available fantasy. Commonalities that appear within these genres include dangerous battle scenes in which the hero fights to defend a moral high-ground; displays of strength and superiority; excessively intricate technological explanations for weapons and instruments; and a strong division of roles between the two sexes. Often women are cast in animated series as either reserved, supporting characters, following what we may describe as a ‘traditional,’ feminine pattern of thought, or as a new-aged girl-with-attitude, who more often fails at her tasks than not, and is constantly ridiculed by the men of the various series (Kincaid 7 July 2013). In both cases the female characters devolve quickly into love interests and devil’s advocates, offering character foils for the protagonist. Evangelion plays with its own genres to make specific social commentary on the relationships between women and men, technology and freedom, and the commandeered fate of an individual within his or her community. Appearing at first as a standard portrayal of a shounen heroic venture, the anime uses its innocent and anticipated, conventional visuals to demonstrate its social critique through a twisting deconstruction of genre. Despite the young age of the main protagonists, this anime is in no way aimed at children; the gruesome and mature content in the later episodes is a tool used to further the series’ societal analysis and critique.

Women: Rank and Disregard

Going against common conventions of the anime’s ostensible genres, women are consistently the most resourceful and intelligent characters in Evangelion. Trusted with limited or prestigious knowledge or access, they are put into high ranking positions within the NERV headquarters and serve the operation as scientists and pilots alike. The critique of gender roles explicitly carries much farther than that, as “the style and content of the genre can be read as either reinforcing gender norms or fundamentally challenging them” (Alexy 71). This series accepts the latter point, displaying women with the assumed sexual and subservient visuals of the genre—including revealing uniforms and standing physically below their all-male superiors—while promoting their roles and responsibilities within a select hierarchy. In Evangelion, the audience is exposed to both sides of the equation, making a pertinent and moving argument within this juxtaposition. Despite their apparent equality in the workplace, women are treated as second-class citizens in the military and social hierarchy of the NERV contingency organisation. NERV itself was brought about as a response to contact with an alien force, dubbed “Angels,” that left Earth in the post-apocalyptic condition that forms the starting point of the anime. While humanity had only dealt with a single Angel, the world powers feared another incursion, creating precautionary systems to shield Earth against this mysterious and unpredictable foe—hence NERV’s creation of fighting machines, the Evas.

The intention of the organisation is to save humanity from annihilation and, while the self-serving desire to seek power is an apparent corruption in many working for this cause, there are clear examples of soldiers and scientists alike fighting for it genuinely. Even still, when lives are at stake and the future of the organisation precariously dangles, the higher-ups in the system are unwilling to accept criticism and assistance from a woman. The best example of this is episode seven, “A Human Work,” which follows two female scientists from the Tokyo-3 headquarters on whom the camera has thus far focuse. They are specifically brought to a conference to examine the development of their defence system and test-run a new prototype. When the head-scientist, Ritsuko, brings up major safety concerns, male attendants ignore her presumed prestige and competency, publicly mocking and ridiculing her. They focus specific attention on her gender as to why she could not be correct in such matters. Those in charge of the event blame her sex for what they consider her ‘overly emotional’ concerns, setting the role of a woman and how she should think beside her implied subservient position in the community. She is told by her coworker to give in to the inevitability of the patriarchal system; and yet it is this same woman who then proceeds to fix said safety concerns when danger arises, potentially saving thousands of lives by risking her own. This act of heroism does nothing to improve the place of women, and is forgotten as quickly as possible. Even after proving their use and forming personal connections, female officers are still treated as dolls in uniform.

The appearance of the women is also a key feature of their community’s control over their identity. Blatant and purposeful sexualisation of all women, including the young pilots, is apparent from their dress and aspects of the male-gaze which dominate their time on screen: a common theme that is especially prominent in the shounen genre. The women of the anime are “often cinematically positioned in relation to male characters through the employment of various shot-reverse-shot structures that conform perfectly to Hollywood cinema’s familiar inscription of the female body as it has been described by feminist film scholarship” (Silvio 65). This shows that the purpose of women is designed by and for the men around them, and restricts agency for the female cast through objectifying and devaluing their personal image. The male-gaze suggests that once a woman’s body is observed, her mind ceases to be.

Alexy argues that “representations of femininity within anime tend to construct women as other, desirable but not entirely human, or less agentive than male protagonists,” putting forth that women, as they create their image and identity, are devaluing their role in society as intellectuals (71). Within this awkward paradigm, the female’s role in Evangelion is further complicated by her perfectly accepted station once within her local work environment. Eden Lackner argues that the lack of respect or recognition for women’s work in certain social contexts may be a response to the growing presence of women taking on more masculine roles, as women perform acts of heroism and become more sexually prominent (127). To keep the femininity of women as something lesser and exploited, the men of the series ensure their voices are not heard, and the camera follows them as not much more than simple fan-service.

Sexualisation of women over the course of the series evolves drastically to play with the different elements of identity with which the individual characters struggle. This expands into a wide spectrum to include anything from the comic relief of a teenaged boy’s assumed fantasies and perversions, to the women’s serious mental issues of fixation and self-worth. From the first episode, Misato, the protagonist Ikari Shinji’s mentor figure, shows up in a short skirt and flaunts her body in front of him, often on purpose in order to tease him. She wanders around naked in the apartment they are made to share, showing that her comfort with her own body is only a tool to make the fourteen year old boy living with her comically shy and uncomfortable. This stems, too, from Shinji and the other pilots’ own problems with sexuality, which I will explore in further sections. However, Misato is presented as an object of sexual desire and openness, which leads her into personal conflict later in the show. Pursued by an old boyfriend after being assigned to the same project as he, she begins a staggering, introspective, and noncommittal journey into understanding her own wants as well as her rooted opinions of men from her childhood. Sexuality, even moreso than the act of sex, being forced upon a character is a strong theme in Evangelion; as Shinji struggles with the idea of sex and the women in his life, Misato has to ward off the inappropriate advances and harassments that make her confront what she really needs out of life and her personal relationships.

Technology: Invasive and Autonomous

There is a somewhat more stable meta-plot that accompanies the personal development of the characters’ identities. This is the overarching response to the return of the Angels, marking seventeen conflicts throughout the show. The tools on which NERV and all of humanity depend to defeat these alien creatures are the aforementioned Eva units, appearing as traditional mecha-genre giant robots, and performing in outlandish fight scenes over the shattering structures of the city below. However, the units themselves prove to be of a much more complicated nature, and show from fairly early on a capacity for self-governance and power. The Evas turn out to be a prototype hybrid between an evolved form of the first Angel, and the technology and power-armour that control them. In this sense, the suits themselves have life and autonomy that deserve a nod to their own identity, contained as they are.

While all the suits are intended to be portrayed as questionably living beings, the protagonist’s Unit 01 is particularly well defined. Harbouring the soul of Ikari Shinji’s late mother, “the EVA is a clearly maternal entity in whose fluid embrace—it fills with liquid when the pilots enter—Shinji and his copilots can return to the womb” (Napier 429). This also ties to the armour’s dependence on a power source, and the various shifts of dominance when unplugged. Only able to last five minutes without a direct electrical source, the Evas are often detached during combat—endangering the life of the pilot. From Shinji’s first fight onwards, when he was stopped cold and wounded by an Angel, the suit he was in merged with him, and began to fight to protect him. This immersive, personal experience is heightened by the knowledge that the pilots of these suits control them as if they were their own bodies, and feel all the pain of the armour they wear. In the berserk mother-bear mode, the binaries between human and robot, mother and son, and control and helplessness all vanish as Shinji’s consciousness fuses with his mother, returned in the form of the Eva.

This merging hybridity of seemingly authentic matter and technology gaps the unknown world with the familiar. For Shinji, this integration with technology is much more immediate and pervasive in his otherwise free life. Starting off, the only reason Ikari Shinji is remotely involved in the plot is because he is compatible with, and therefore capable of piloting, Eva Unit 01: a driving fact he is well aware of. Shadowing his daily grind is the knowledge that without technology—or the impending end of the world, for that matter—his life is meaningless and no one will look his way. While he admits this dependency and motivation to himself near the end of the series, it is important to note that he does not have the self-esteem to seek gratification or acknowledgement from NERV or even the other pilots, especially in the beginning. In truth, the only reason he comes to Tokyo-3 is because he craves acceptance from his father, Gendo, who is the head of the Eva project. Shinji puts up with the constant monitoring, the gruesome virtual-reality training, a myriad of tests performed on him, and even risking his life for those who have only caused him agony, in order to please his cold-hearted father.

Through technology, Shinji strives to please the whims and wills of the society formed around him. It is his sole method of forming relationships with anyone, not just his father. His copilots only speak with him because he is able to pilot the Eva, and his classmates only stop hating him for taking the job after he saves them from an Angel attack. The elements which they associate with him are out of his control, entirely determined by his potential and his willingness to go along with what was laid out before his time. He rides on the accomplishments of his parents and the scientists at NERV, piloting for selfish reasons and failing to make human connections with anyone but his mentor. Misato gives him a chance because it is her job to do so, but she is also the only one to take pity on him, as she is presented as the most compassionate character in the show. The drive behind many of the characters developing the technology at NERV is often guilt of the community’s presence in one’s life. The anime strives to define “what it is to be human in relation to the machine, a machine that increasingly seems to dominate, to construct, and ultimately to interfere with the reality of human nature” (Napier 423). Ironically, the humans of the Evangelion universe are isolated and broken, while the technology itself is a living entity, given authentic soul in many cases, that grows and interacts with the presented world.

Acknowledgement and Denial: Internal Control of Identity

Dislocation between members of the community is a key aspect that influences and controls the individual characters: so much so that Shinji’s entire relationship with the new pilot, Asuka, revolves around their inability to sync up and fight side by side. Even after living, studying, and training together, they are still unable to cross the social barrier of their own personal issues. The development of self alongside the growth of one’s immediate community proves to be both a beneficial and malevolent advancement in the lives of the young pilots.

Because of the trauma in each character’s past, they are wary of external help and involvement in their community. Out of pride, fear of judgement, or inability to sympathise with others, the “characters make conscious decisions to retreat into their own fantasy worlds” (Napier 421). In the composition of the scenes, there is a recurring focus on thin doors, barriers, and line of sight as the pilots strive for distinction. This only helps them spiral down into self-obsession, rather than taking part in the community at large or distracting themselves with their merits. This leaves the main characters with two options: to acknowledge their faults, either to brood over them or strive to fix them, or to compartmentalise their emotions and motivations for their actions as a method of outsourcing developments in their identity to the blame of others. The children are not alone in this action, as many of the NERV operators hold resentment towards one another for internal reasons—especially Gendo, the head of the whole project—and make use of their responsibilities and their fatigue to block away their true feelings towards one another. Whereas in many narratives in this genre the fluidity of gender and roles is glossed over to highlight other points, conflicts of identity in Evangelion are very purposefully not considered or examined (Lackner 125).

Ikari Shinji, while being the plainest and most open character, holds the most back from himself. Even though he fights against the Angels, it is only “with the greatest reluctance and after a display of temper, fear, and vulnerability that seems less than conventionally heroic” (Napier 425). While he claims it is to save humanity, even his altruistic side is born from his cowardice in that he only chooses to pilot the first time knowing that if he didn’t all of NERV would see him force a wounded pilot to die trying to protect the world in his stead. There is more to Shinji’s struggles than his motivations for the Angel fights; as seen before, the overarching plot acts alongside the personal development of the character’s identity. Against his will, Shinji is made to think about and be exposed to sexual conduct and attraction. Between Asuka’s paranoia that he is watching her, Rei’s disregard for her own body, and Misato and her ex’s casual openness regarding sexuality, Shinji is constantly bombarded with images and thoughts beyond his comfort. This becomes a larger internal issue of debate when the series introduces the male character Kaworu, and Shinji quickly develops feelings for him. Clear signs of becoming flustered, blushing, and constantly watching him and staying at his side suggest that Shinji feels more than platonically for the boy. His feeling appears to be reciprocated soon after their meeting: when the two of them go to bathe together, Kaworu gives a speech on accepting affection, and holds the flushed Shinji’s hand. He then confesses his feelings for Shinji, but Shinji does not answer in like form until after the boy’s death.

For the first time, Shinji grows close to someone on his own volition and starts to grow more comfortable with himself, even though he might not yet have noticed or acknowledged this. In a crushing turn of events, however, Kaworu turns out to be the last Angel in human form—although less hostile than those before him. Even so, Shinji willingly kills his friend, backed and observed as always by the NERV headquarters. Ikari Shinji’s developing sexuality throughout the series is a fundamental part of his growth but also the unspoken climax of his development in the series, as his identity shifts in response to it. Destroying Kaworu can easily be seen as a metaphor for Shinji’s denial as he shuns the concepts of friendship, trust, and sexuality.

Awareness of the Simulation: Personae, Manipulation, Dominance

Earlier on in the discussion of the woman’s place at work, I alluded to their accepted role in the scientific world without the respect or acknowledgement that came with it from the men. The computers present in NERV are largely to blame for this, as within their work women can be masked by the over-use of technology as simply one member of the otherwise homogenous group, only to be released into a world that sees them solely as objects. Unlike the men, though, the women do not depend on technology outside of their work, perhaps encouraging this unequal point of view. Early on, there is an episode in which all of the power in Tokyo-3, including in the NERV headquarters, is disconnected. The women take initiative, often explicitly against orders, to retake the base and protect the city from the incoming Angel. Time and time again, they are presented as capable enough to save the day and not get in trouble, but are not valued in the next situation as an agency or voice of reason. Women are aware of their role in society and the power they can stretch within given contexts.

The women prove to be skilled in manipulating social situations, largely through their universal awareness of their own sexuality. All of the women in Evangelion—excluding Rei, who is proven truly to be an exception from the category—are introspective on the matter of their sexuality and most of them give at least one soliloquy or rant on the topic. Most importantly, though, Misato and Asuka are aware of it as a weakness, and are careful to manipulate their encounters with men to be cautious of this. They go beyond the standard public face and create and uphold a conscious identity for their coworkers and romantic interests to see (Kincaid 7 July 2013). The superficial restraint and submission to the patriarchy in response to the male-gaze is specifically crafted to protect their developing identity from interacting with external forces or maturing too quickly. The protagonist is one of the few men mindful of the women’s sexual self-awareness, and he is tormented by it each time the concept arises in his thoughts.

Shinji’s gender forces social rules upon him as well, in many ways more explicitly than in the treatment of women. Countless times throughout the series, from each demographic present—although mostly from the women—Shinji’s actions are judged beside his sex as if he has failed to commit to his manhood, or is unable to live up to his gender’s strength. Most often from his partner Asuka, the line “you’re a man, aren’t you?” is shouted at the boy as he vacillates over anything as small as making dinner to something as significant as continuing on as a pilot. This is a kind of enforced character development, which each of the characters in the series desperately try to avoid through isolation and hostility. However, for both men and women, the community’s will defeats the personal preconception of gender and sex.

Relationships as a whole, and the varying definitions thereof, are at the core of Neon Genesis Evangelion. Misato constantly struggles against her ex’s advances, while searching through her feelings towards both him and the organisation he eventually betrays. Shinji’s entire reason for fighting in the war is to receive even the slightest acknowledgement from his father, who had left him for work when he was but a small child. Furthermore, the pilot of Unit 02, the fourteen year old Asuka Langley, is obsessed with her place in other people’s lives as an adult, and is constantly checking whether her copilots or her bosses are thinking of her sexually. This lack of certainty initially comes off as a comedic overreaction to the presence of men in potentially compromising situations, but evolves into a much more deep-rooted issue that has become her very purpose in life. In many Japanese anime, “female characters can be seen to become more desirable precisely because they appear unaware of their desirability or sexuality” (Alexy 72). By the end of the series, Asuka has thrown herself at Misato’s ex-boyfriend Kaji, a man who has proven to be very interested in sexual intercourse with women, and been more than rejected—she was ignored. As if she had not said anything, Kaji glosses over all of her attempts to make a woman out of herself, treating her more like a daughter than an object of the male-gaze. With her rash and broken attempts to be seen as an active sexual adult, the men around her see her as less appealing, casting her off as a desperate child who does not understand the nature of sexuality. Ironically, the camera still follows her often provocative presentation of self in the presence of Shinji, because to him she truly is a woman. To the rest of the world, though, Asuka is seen as a shattered girl: something to cast aside.


Each of the character’s delusions are shattered in the last couple of episodes, in which the plot is abandoned for intense interrogation and analysis of the characters’ individual identities. The depth of the anime reveals its “explicit obsession with apocalypse and the question of salvation” (Napier 424). Shinji is made to confess that he only pilots the Eva to achieve self worth, which comes from his resented father. Asuka loses her sense of self and resolve when she fails to pilot her Eva. She had lost all else when her mother tried to kill her, so she channels a constant persona of being the best woman and pilot around. Asuka clings to the concept that if she replicates the truth well enough, there will be no difference between reality and her goals (Baudrillard 410). Since she failed at being a daughter and a child, she moved on: if that façade were to be broken, that would be the end of all she had.

Shinji’s helplessness and self-critique hit full force as he responds to the demands of his community without answers or confidence. His role was decided on before the series had even begun, though, as seen in the lyrics of the opening song, Yoko Takahashi’s “A Cruel Angel’s Thesis.” They refer to a young boy becoming a legend, and the awareness and acceptance of his role. Focusing on innocence and inevitability, the song carries many of the important themes that appear in the series. The lyrics play with the term destiny, showing the struggle between what the boy is searching for and what is expected to come of him. In the video for the opening, Shinji is seen in mundane environments juxtaposed against his duty to fight in the EVA suits: and all the while naked silhouettes of his mentor are set around him, prominent and disjointed.

The series Neon Genesis Evangelion conflates sexuality with gender as a hegemonic force. The titles, accusations, and presumptions of the characters make for a heated battle of both sexual defiance and contest. The military system of rank instills obediencein the characters, while the patriarchal dominance abandons stated rules and logic to objectify and ridicule women. The relationships between the characters, and the acknowledgement thereof, are key to the development and display of the individuals’ identities. All of these elements help to shape and control the characters of Neon Genesis Evangelion, as the community and the self interact to produce both conflict and progress.

The recognition of community in Japan, through a shared consciousness of a national identity, begets a more integrated and dependent relationship between the internal and external forces that shape an individual. Neon Genesis Evangelion argues that the institutionalisation of community via a military hierarchy, or simply a lack of choice for the common citizens, will lead to the commandeering of the fates of individuals. Set in a post-apocalyptic world, civilians are made to bow to the higher powers that might protect them from unknown threats. In this context, those working for the leading force have their identity merged with that of the patriarch and its goals. This surpasses the modern notion that “Japanese gender roles revolve around their vertical society where someone’s identity is a part of their group identity” (Kincaid 7 July 2013). Rather than the community being an element of a person’s identity, it becomes their entirety: as if they can exist solely as a tool, dehumanised and without alternative purpose.

In critique of the gender roles and imagery of Japanese pop culture,Evangelion focuses on the visual sexualisation of women as a representation of men’s sexual desires. In doing so, the series argues that this does well to teach women what they are, while this issue remains a separate entity from the men themselves. The obsessive concern over sexual content by Evangelion’s women makes the claim that it is their responsibility to worry over it and yet, conversely, the men’s casual attitude is a reflection that male figures in society do not consider this consequence when sexualising women. The purposeful use of the male-gaze and sympathetic monologues in Neon Genesis Evangelion argue an idea of the incidental control and manipulation through sex and gender that is present in society.

The series also suggests that a woman’s gender colours all she has done, whereas a man’s determines what he should do. This reflects the shifting gender dynamics in contemporary Japan, bringing to light the stigma present when a woman replaces a man in his previously secured role. The man is meant to be the arbitrary hero of the tale, and each of those at the top of the system controlling the fate of humanity are indeed men. The idea presented and abused in the series is that men have to work hard enough so that they don’t have to depend upon women, and the best way Evangelion works against this is by having the women sweep in to save the day when the men grow corrupt. This struggle for gender equality in professional environments and roles in society is present in most elements of the series.

The future proposed by Evangelion is one of elaborate technology within mundane, everyday life. With many of the civilians evacuated from Tokyo-3, the series can focus on the high-tech workplace of the NERV headquarters: presenting it as the norm within the given context. As previously mentioned when examining women in their work, the technology necessary for NERV to run is parenthetically masking the identities of the workers controlling it. In this way, technology is offering its master anonymity and equality; however, it also obscures what deserves pride, leaving the women of NERV ignored, once they become identifiable. The series finds much positivity in technology: providing jobs and instruments for those capable, it furthers the betterment of the world. It also changes the world, fulfilling old roles and causing new problems. As a constantly evolving instrument, it alters the structure of the society around it.

The series points to human flaws, of desires and desperation as well as betrayal and selfishness. It shows humans who couldn’t protect themselves, and those who put profit and pride before all else—regardless of the dangers present. Conversely, the EVA units are beings of protection, unity, and obedience. They are shown as not only something that is beneficial to the community, but also as something that, as a group, humanity can repair and improve.

Technology, then, is put forth as an alternative to corruption. Evangelion over-dramatises a world integrated with technology to suggest what will come after the age of humanity if it does not improve itself. However, the show warns that even if humanity depends upon technology to the extent that it becomes one with it, it will only act as a temporary and superficial fix. Neon Genesis Evangelion argues that humans need to better their morals and awareness of themselves and their community in order to improve the future. Supplementing trust and morality with machinery is not an appropriate role for the instruments of the future. This, too, applies to the success of society at large; the healthiest community is one that is made up of consenting and sympathetic individuals, not one that has become a single entity with a corrupt head.


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Anno, Hideaki, and Yoji Enokido. “A Human Work.” Neon Genesis Evangelion. Dir. Keiichi Sugiyama. Fuji TV, Animax. 15 Nov. 1995. Television.

Anno, Hideaki, and Akio Satsukawa. “The Beginning and the End, or ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’” Neon Genesis Evangelion. Dir. Shoichi Masuo. Fuji TV, Animax. 13 Nov. 1996. Television.

Baudrillard, Jean. “The Precession of Simulacra.” Cultural Theory and Popular Culture: A Reader. Ed. John Storey. 4th ed. Athens: University of Georgia, 1998. 409-15. Print.

Kincaid, Chris. “A Look at Gender Expectations in Japanese Society.” JapanPowered. N.p., 7 July 2013. Web. 26 March 2014.

Lackner, Eden Lee. “Anime and Manga.” Ed. Robin Anne Reid. Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 2009. 123-34. Print.

Napier, Susan J. “When the Machines Stop: Fantasy, Reality, and Terminal Identity in Neon Genesis Evangelion and Serial Experiments Lain.” Science Fiction Studies 29.3 (2002): 418-35. JSTOR. Web. 26 March 2014.

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About the Author

Katherine Savoy is studying Pacific and Asian Studies for her undergraduate degree at the University of Victoria. The department originally appealed to her with an opportunity to explore such a vast array of people and their religions, philosophies, and histories. Focusing her studies on Japan, she wishes to delve further into the relationship between the ideological systems of traditional Japan and the contemporary popular culture Japan now shares globally.

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