Reblogged from soniaadarmes
Reblogged from soniaadarmes
“If there is something you wish to protect, take up that sword!”
But there is one other thing more precious to a man beyond all else. Something one pursues for one’s own sake and not for that of any other. A dream. Some dream of ruling the world, dedicating their entire life to forging the perfect sword. While some can be pursued alone, some are like storms, blowing apart hundreds or thousands of other dreams as they go.
A dream can fortify a man’s life, or it can bring suffering upon it. A dream can make a man feel alive, or it can kill him instead. Even if a man is abandoned by that dream, part of it will remain smouldering in his heart. Every man has envisioned his life in this way, at least once.
A life as a martyr to his dream, his God. To simply exist just because one’s been born is the sort of notion that I hate. I can’t stand it.
Just this look on Griffith’s face. It’s the first time we feel his sense of superiority.
When Julius slaps him for being impudent enough to touch Midland’s princess, he merely apologies and catches Julius with this silent stare, blood trickling from his mouth.
It wouldn’t be surprising if Guts were arrogant, but he isn’t. Casca can’t work out how to deal with him, and resents his rapport with Griffith. Even still, she’s willing to admit when she’s wrong.
Guts is so messed up and misanthropic because of Gambino.
All those years ago, this was the moment I fell for Berserk. Pippin drags Guts off to the party, as the song, Earth, plays for the first time.
Reblogged from ghostlightning
Bonfire of dreams
Ambition is a subject I find fascinating, especially in anime.
Ambitious characters are often portrayed as attractive, but cold, and willing to cut adrift their friends if it means getting closer to the end goal; ambition always requires a sacrifice, and the greater the ambition, the greater the sacrifice. In Berserk, Griffith is the embodiment of ambition. He craves power; his dream is to be the King of his country. He began life as a lowly peasant, but gradually climbs his way to the top. If you want something bad enough, you’ll do anything to get it; Griffith even goes so far as to prostitute his own flesh in order to accrue enough wealth to keep moving upwards; the White Hawk, as he’s known, ascends. The thing about Griffith, though, is that he becomes a villain. The hero of Berserk is Guts.
Guts has no ambition. If Griffith were the wind, then Guts would be the stone. A stone is good for smashing things, but that’s it. Most stones are happy being just that, but at some point, years after first meeting him, Guts realizes he wants to be more. Casca explains that everyone carries within them a flame, but where most are small and flickering, Griffith’s is an inferno, and by joining with his, one can at least stop to warm themselves by the fire. She calls it a “bonfire of dreams.”
These people are essentially giving themselves to Griffith, like feathers carried by the wind. They cannot control the direction it blows, but they can at least fly. That is what it means to be a sacrifice; you are relinquishing control of your destiny; handing it another. I’ve always had trouble seeing Griffith as a true villain; he’s ambitious is all, a person with the conviction to follow through. Guts steps out of Griffith’s influence because he wants to be his own man; to find his own purpose in life, but others are quite content to remain his subordinates.
Berserk ponders the existentialist questions we face everyday, questions that become only more pertinent as time goes on, as you step into your office at work, or you classroom at college, or where ever; the question is, do you have control of your life? Or are you merely being carried by the wind?