Never cook again
this shit goes on for 19 volumes even though the plot literally finished midway, leaving half of it just being the same loop of somebody getting kidnapped, molested and then saved again. the sa is used purely as shock value. victims of sa (ash and yut lung specifically) are treated like garbage by the narrative--- being constantly fetishized for their exotic beauty and constantly reminding the readers that they are irrevocably tainted for being victims. yoshida does all of this to contrast to eiji's "purity," and her end message is that love is only good if it is not sexual, not intimate and not overt. she has this freaky idea of innocence and purity that gets dragged on and on and on.
every openly gay character in this is a pedophile. every woman in this gets raped or killed off instantly. all the characters get no development and exist either to provide strange fetishistic commentary on the seductiveness of ash (indirectly victim blaming him) and to add drama to the plot. ash has the most ridiculous amount of plot armour ever. hes beautiful and delicate but super strong and can fight 10 men at once and he never recieved a formal education but hes a genius with an iq of 200 and his only flaw is that everybody wants to rape him and he's too kind for his own good--- are you fucking serious??? you call that good character writing???
You’re really oversimplifying Banana Fish and kind of misrepresenting it. It’s not just a “loop of kidnappings and assaults” dragged out for 19 volumes. Yoshida wasn’t writing a comfort story—she was deliberately showing the cyclical, systemic nature of abuse, trauma, and exploitation. The repetition is the point: Ash and the others can’t escape that cycle because the structures around them (gangs, mafia, corruption, power hierarchies) keep pulling them back in.
The assaults aren’t just “shock value,” either. They’re a brutal look at how people in vulnerable positions—especially young boys—are exploited and dehumanized in real systems of power. Yoshida doesn’t fetishize Ash or Yut Lung; she shows how they’re forced into those roles by others, and how that trauma scars them. If anything, she critiques the way society objectifies survivors while denying them agency.
As for Eiji, the “purity” contrast isn’t about him being untainted—it’s about him representing a safe space, a kind of unconditional acceptance that Ash has never known. Their relationship isn’t “love is only good if it’s nonsexual.” It’s about intimacy, trust, and connection beyond physicality—because Ash never had the chance to experience love that wasn’t transactional, coercive, or violent. Eiji shows him another kind of love, and that’s what gives the story its emotional core.
And saying “every gay character is a pedophile” is just false. Yes, some abusers are men who desire boys, but those characters aren’t portrayed positively—they’re villains. That’s literally Yoshida exposing predatory behavior in powerful men. Similarly, the women who die aren’t “instantly killed for shock”; they’re victims of the same violent world the boys are trapped in, and their fates highlight the story’s critique of systemic brutality.
As for Ash’s character—he’s not just a “op genius fighter.” His strength, beauty, and intelligence are exaggerated, yes (it’s a shōjo manga from the 80s), but they’re narrative tools. His “plot armor” is undermined by the ending: no matter how smart or strong he is, he can’t outrun the systems stacked against him. His tragedy is that no amount of talent or resilience can erase trauma or guarantee survival.
So no—Banana Fish isn’t a shallow fetish drama. It’s a gritty, tragic exploration of trauma, exploitation, love, and how cycles of violence destroy people. If you only see it as “weird fetish writing,” you’re missing both the context and the purpose of the story.
This is a great response for my half assed explanation so I'm gonna explain what I mean better. Unfortunately, I think you're granting Yoshida way too much credit for her writing.
By shock value assaults, what I mean is Yoshida weaponises sexual assault to romanticise the suffering of her characters, showing major disregard for the sensitivity that is required when writing such a heavy topic. The narrative’s attitude towards assault is callous— when Ash is shown his own child pornography, when he’s assaulted repeatedly in prison, with Fox, and so forth— which isn’t to critique society’s apathy towards victims, but to emphasise Ash’s isolation.
If Yoshida was trying to comment on the lack of respect towards victims, she would have the benevolent characters comment upon it, or otherwise demonstrate some sort of narrative disdain. This doesn’t happen— after Ash is assaulted in prison, Max makes a glib joke about bananas, and Eiji never broaches the topic of Ash’s trauma with him. The narrative also does not usually place any significance on Ash’s emotional state following his assault, but rather directs us to praise his ingenuity in being able to manipulate his assault into a situation that benefits him. Both of these examples essentially sidestep the aftermath of such a serious, significant event, brushing it off as inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. If the characters that act as “voices of reason” and the narrative itself ignores this, then its evident Yoshida does not take the aftermath of assault seriously at all.
Instead, Ash’s repeated experience of sexual assault isolates him. The one moment that the narrative shows us Ash’s emotional state following sexual assault is when he’s saved from Fox. Even though Eiji comforts him, the lack of verbal affirmation implies that even Eiji isn’t able to fully reach him. This is also reinforced when Ash and Eiji argue, and Eiji says that Ash will never be able to understand him. There’s an irreconcilable difference between them as a result of Ash’s past, i.e. his sexual trauma. And on a surface level, this seems obvious— after all, evidently the mental state of a victim and of someone who has never experienced it will evidently be different. But this isolation is compounded with jungle and animal imagery (such as when Ash uses the image of the leopard on Mt. Kilimanjaro), portraying his distance as something exotic. This same animal imagery is used in demonstrating Ash’s eroticness and seductiveness, by supporting and antagonising cast alike, resulting in all depictions of Ash’s isolation being tied to his seductiveness and his exotic sexual appeal. The result— Ash’s trauma is othered, made incomprehensible, impenetrable and strangely romantic by the characters and audience alike.
His death exemplifies this. It suggests that victims of sexual assault are permanently tainted and altered by their experiences, unable to communicate with others or reintegrate themselves into society after what has occurred. By killing him off, Yoshida demonstrates that Ash will forever be condemned to his abusive past, unable to escape or move on from it. I’m pretty sure there’s an interview somewhere where Yoshida says his death is “what he deserves,” which is undeniably victim blaming, and reinforces that romantic isolation of Ash she strikes up throughout her narrative. This conclusion is so incredibly insensitive and callous that even if all prior instances of Ash’s sexual assault was handled with respect and sensitivity, this moment would completely override it. And even if this ending could somehow be interpreted to have another meaning, the fact that she kills off Yut Lung in a side story reinforces all her previous messaging. She concludes that sexual assault survivors are essentially better off dead because they are fatally changed by their assault.
And as much as I wish that the exotic, wildcat imagery she uses is a critique of objectification, what I’ve said prior still holds. If it were critical, we would see the narrative and/or the good guys oppose its usage. Everyone participates in calling Ash exotic at some point in the manga, exemplifying his aforementioned otherness. There are perhaps a billion wildcats drawn throughout the manga to liken Ash to. Yoshida doesn’t critique his sexualisation; she actively participates in it. She makes him appear “inherently sexual” to the surrounding cast.
And everything you’ve said about sexuality can be true at the same time what I’m saying is also true. In fact, I feel like you’ve just reinforced my point. If all villains are overtly homosexual, and all depictions of homosexual intercourse are violent, coercive or transactional, then homosexuality is villainized. Ash and Eiji’s nonsexual relationship being the only “pure” connection on the show means that homosexuality is villainized and purity is exemplified. Yoshida also indignantly denied that Ash and Eiji were gay, but insisted they had a love that transcended labels. That’s homophobic, regardless of what you label Ash and Eiji as.
There’s undeniably a misogynistic and racialised aspect to this aspect. Firstly, shojo as a genre is terrified of active female sexuality. Yaoi borrows from this— the word for “uke” literally means to be attacked, denying the bottom any sort of agency and implying a degree of nonconsensual activity. This is all to say that shojo stigmatises sexuality as dangerous, unnatural and corruptive to femininity, and yaoi, being essentially an explicit offshoot of shojo, marries a fear of sexuality and the arousal from sex to create romantic noncon. Yuri, on the other hand, is usually devoid of sex, and focuses on emotional connection, implying that sexlessness is the epitome of femininity.
Eiji is the most feminine-aligned character in the manga, embodying stereotypically feminine virtues of being kind, soft spoken, empathetic and emotional. Ash is also feminine because he’s described as being such, with a pretty face and skinny build. Also, his objectification is usually the space a woman would (unfortunately) occupy, making him a proxy of womanhood. Their relationship being devoid of sex can be read as exemplifying the disdain towards feminine sexuality in general. It shows how femininity is plagued by sex (by Ash’s otherness) and naturally inclines itself towards virginity.
It's racialised because it plays on the trope of Japanese people being innocent and unassuming. Eiji is literally likened to being like an elementary schooler in his first introduction, and is bewildered and embarrassed by sexual innuendo throughout the manga. This depiction of him is juxtaposed to the filth and overt sexuality (which is once again, entirely nonconsensual) of the western world, which is demonstrated to only cause pain, suffering and isolation. Eiji imports his Japanese purity and enables Ash to get a taste of it, but, as Ash is trapped in his own world, is unable to fully participate in it. This feels pretty much like Japanese exceptionalism, especially with how New York is two-dimensionally evil and Japan is so great and wonderful in comparison to it. And this isn’t even touching the disrespect Yoshida shows towards black and chinese characters. I’m not asking for perfect representation, but she manages to be incredibly racist even for her time period.
All this is to say is that Banana Fish treats sexual assault victims like shit, fetishizes them, and then denies them the ability to process and heal. She confines them forevermore into their systems of abuse simply because she doesn't believe they are capable of growth. She’s also racist, sexist and homophobic, amazingly in a manga that is set abroad and is about a gay relationship. Also, her art is fucking ugly and she’s crippled by same face syndrome.
All of the analysis you’ve provided comes from a western and modern understanding of how narratives should treat sexual assault and victims. Yoshida was not writing in the context of either of these. She was writing shojo manga and borrowed a bit from yaoi tropes. Both of these genres tend to romanticise taboo, non-consent, and emotional suffering. Both aren’t exactly known for their tact when dealing with heavy subject matter. If you’re writing in either of these genres and wanting to break from their typical messaging on these themes, you need to make it explicit. Yoshida does not do this at all.
Sorry for the essay, but I hope this makes what I was saying more clear.
As for the setting, I feel like there isn't enough care and thought put into it for it to be a convincing critique on "real systems of power." Its terribly stereotypical: evil gangs filled with evil pedophiles who have every corrupt member of government in their lap, who are all also pedophilic. At times it is so improbable and ridiculous that it just detaches the audience from what is going on instead of trying to convey any sort of criticism on institutionalised abuse. Also, there's no conclusion we need to be getting from it. There's stuff about drugs, war and the neglect of veterans, there's corruption and pedophilia, there's imperialism, and it all amounts to nothing. These massive themes are reduced to being a mere backdrop for Ash and Eiji's relationship. It's evident that all of this violence exists to produce emotional responses rather than to have any meaning on its own. So when women are raped and killed in the plot, it's more like the violence exists as an excuse to rape and kill them, rather than they are raped and killed because of the violent system.
I hear you, and honestly—you’re not wrong about some of what you’re pointing out. Yoshida definitely has a messy, outdated, and at times downright harmful way of handling sexual assault, race, and gender. I don’t think anyone reading Banana Fish today with a modern lens can deny that. The way she leans on rape as a narrative device, the animalistic/exotic imagery tied to Ash, and her own comments about his death being “what he deserves” all show that her personal perspective on victimhood is flawed. And yes, the homophobia and misogyny baked into both shōjo and yaoi conventions of the time bleed heavily into her storytelling. On that level, your critique makes sense.
But where I think your reading goes too far is in assuming that all of this amounts to Yoshida “romanticizing” or “fetishizing” trauma and saying survivors are better off dead. That’s a very flattened interpretation of a story that’s messy, layered, and absolutely a product of its time and genre.
You argue that Yoshida uses SA as shock value and doesn’t let Ash process it. That’s partly true—the manga rarely pauses to give us quiet, drawn-out scenes of healing. But it’s not accurate to say the narrative “doesn’t care.” Ash’s trauma does matter—deeply—but Yoshida presents it through the lens of action-drama pacing, where events stack relentlessly, preventing him from ever having the luxury of openly confronting what he’s endured. That in itself is part of the tragedy: victims in real cycles of exploitation often don’t get the safe space or support to “work through it.” The silence of characters like Max or Eiji isn’t necessarily endorsement—it reflects the real discomfort people have in addressing trauma. Yoshida’s not handling it sensitively, but she’s also not pretending it’s not devastating Ash.
The wildcat imagery and constant objectification of Ash are uncomfortable, I agree. But again, this isn’t just Yoshida being a creep—this is her illustrating how predators and systems of power consume him, reduce him to an object. Yes, she fails to frame it in a more critical way (everyone participates instead of condemning it), but the throughline is still there: Ash is trapped in a role he can’t escape. The fact that it makes readers uneasy is actually proof it’s working—because we’re forced to see how he’s perceived by others, not who he actually is.
Ash’s death is brutal, and Yoshida’s own comments about it make her look callous. But the story itself doesn’t present it as punishment. It’s not “he deserved this because he was tainted.” It’s “no matter how strong, smart, or beautiful, no one can escape a system this cruel.” His death devastates Eiji and the reader precisely because it’s unfair. If Yoshida wanted us to see him as ruined beyond saving, she wouldn’t have spent 19 volumes showing us his tenderness, his desire for freedom, and his humanity. His death is the final tragedy of a boy who should have lived, not an endorsement of victim-blaming.
You’re right that the villains are coded as predatory, and Yoshida openly denied Ash/Eiji’s relationship as “gay.” That’s homophobic by today’s standards. But to reduce the manga to “homosexuality is villainized” misses why Banana Fish resonated with queer readers. Ash and Eiji’s bond—whether you label it gay, queer, or just transcendent love—is radical for its time. In the late ’80s, depicting two male characters in a tender, life-defining love that wasn’t a punchline or side plot was huge. Yoshida was still bound by shōjo/yaoi conventions, but she carved out space for a relationship that broke those molds in ways that mattered to readers who had no mainstream representation.
You’re right again: the stereotypes about Black, Chinese, and female characters haven’t aged well. That’s Yoshida reflecting both ignorance and the biases of the genres she worked within. But dismissing the entire critique of power structures as “just a backdrop” is unfair. Yes, the corruption and gangs are melodramatic—but they’re also a way for Yoshida to stage the systemic exploitation of children, veterans, and marginalized groups. It’s not subtle, but it’s also not meaningless. The fact that you can trace threads of imperialism, state corruption, and cycles of violence throughout shows that those themes are there, even if they’re filtered through sensationalist shōjo storytelling.
My point is, you’re not wrong that Yoshida mishandles a lot. She’s steeped in genre conventions that sexualize suffering, she fails to give victims space to heal, and she perpetuates stereotypes. But reducing Banana Fish to “fetishistic garbage” ignores the parts that do land: the heartbreaking humanity of Ash, the radical tenderness between him and Eiji, and the way Yoshida exposed topics like child exploitation, systemic violence, and trauma to a demographic that almost never saw them addressed.
Banana Fish is contradictory. It’s flawed and groundbreaking, cruel and tender, exploitative and empathetic—all at once. To read it only as a fetishized tragedy is to miss why it still matters, decades later, to so many readers who found in it something real, even in its messiness.
I really do appreciate you explaining what you think more clearly. For me, banana fish has a soft spot in my heart and is probably my all time favorite manga so I may be a bit biased. That aside, I still acknowledge the fact that is isn't everybody's cup of tea. The point of my response isn't to dramatically change your view and make you love banana fish, it's more about me trying to explain it's message and story from my pov and perhaps make you understand it a bit better.
the plot and the character writing in this was genuine ass