If approached from the standpoint of biographical literary criticism, Berserk gives 
one pause. What in the life of the author, Kentaro Miura, could possibly have inspired 
such a gruesome, thoroughly depressing, yet strangely stolid and reassuring tale? God 
forbid that he himself ever suffered any of the various trials and tribulations that he puts 
his characters through, at least literally (since, because the tale takes place during a 
medieval time period which no longer exists, in form or in mindset, today). Perhaps a 
particularly vivid dream, or a long period of depression (which, for all we know, could still 
be continuing today) expressed in the form of a meticulously researched (at least to some 
extent; the comic is far too regimented and authentic in feel to have simply sprung, full 
fledged, from the mind of the author), excruciatingly detailed, yet somehow reliable and 
consistently characterized story. 
      Speculation, then, could assume that perhaps the author suffered some period of 
intense mental trauma during his college years (as that is when he started the story, in its 
original format), which he then transferred to manga as a style of expression. This would 
be much more viable in Japan than here since manga are taken more seriously than their 
American counterpart, comic books, are here. (Even Hokusai, the celebrated Japanese 
artist and painter, has his work recorded in some manga editions.) Presumably, as time 
progressed and the author became more proficient in the format, the story caught on and 
fan desire had some bearing on the continuation of the tale. The way the story is laid out 
and executed is methodical, almost cinematic or storyboard-like in appearance, and 
extremely easy to understand in general. Even with a limited or nonexistent knowledge of 
the Japanese language, it is possible to glean the basic story, the demeanor of most of the 
characters, and the progress of events simply from looking at the superbly rendered 
illustrations. The story one gets from such a perusal is already captivating and compelling, 
especially once the story goes beyond collection number 13, but when one is able to read 
and understand the Japanese well (or obtain one of the excellent free translations available 
on the internet), the story gains entire new dimensions. Although, at first glance, one 
might dismiss the tale simply for its often graphic and gruesome nature (not, however an 
altogether uncommon occurrence in manga; Japanese sensibilities toward such things, 
apparently, are much more relaxed than relatively prudent Americans. Still, Berserk 
appears in a young adult magazine and, even in Japan, is generally recognized as a story a 
bit too violent for children.), a second, closer reading exposes a complex and potentially 
confusing study of human destiny, fate, the idea of God and what that might mean, 
violence and its effect n both the victim and the perpetrator, and a larger picture of a 
deteriorating society and political system and the effect this has on all the players involved. 
There is also to be found a believable love story and an interesting study of what 
friendship really is. 
      At the center of it all is the main character, a young man named Gatsu (often 
translated Guts in American translations, and not without reason – this character’s bravery 
is unquestionable.) Gatsu is an interesting figure, a man whom bad luck seems to follow 
relentlessly. By bad luck I do not mean the kind involving losing money on the lottery or 
gambling debts, but the terrible effect his very presence seems to have on the lives of 
everyone around him. He is born, the introduction to his life tells us, under a bad star, so 
to speak – from the last convulsions of a hanged woman’s womb. He is found by a roving 
band of mercenaries, who are about to leave him to die when the sister of a prominent 
member of the band decides that she wants to keep him. Unfortunately, she dies soon 
afterwards of the plague, an occurrence which is blamed on Gatsu because he is seen as 
bringing bad luck due to being born from a dead woman. From this time on, Gatsu falls 
under the care and tutelage of the dead woman’s brother, Gambino. As war is the only 
thing Gambino knows, his bread and butter, he teaches Gatsu how to fight. Gatsu happens 
to pick a sword as big as himself to train and fight with, and soon he is fighting alongside 
the band in battle. Unfortunately, although Gambino comes to represent a father figure to 
Gatsu, he is a mercenary first and foremost, and allows a horribly traumatizing experience 
on the boy. Soon afterwards, Gambino is wounded in battle and, unable to fight, goes 
insane, taking out his frustrations on the bay and finally attempting to kill him. Gatsu kills 
Gambino in self defense, then is cast out on his own after being chased from the camp by 
Gambino’s comrades, who assume that, being the devil child that he is, Gatsu had been 
planning this all along. 
      On his own, Gatsu continues the mercenary life, becoming a better and stronger 
swordsman until he meets the first man to best him, a young man of 15 named Griffith. 
Griffith’s ambitions entail overthrowing all the governments of the area and the time and 
ruling the world himself. He is willing to sacrifice absolutely anything to achieve this goal 
(just how much becomes evident by issue 12), but his charisma and strength intrigue Gatsu 
to the point where he agrees to join Griffith’s army, a group known as the Band of the 
Hawk. For the next few years, the band fights battle after battle, almost never being 
defeated, on their way to achieving Griffiths’ goals. Along the way Griffith and Gatsu 
become close friends, eventually competing (in a manner of speaking) for the affections of 
the only female member of the Band of the Hawk, Caska. Caska was a little girl, about to 
be raped by a lecherous nobleman, whom Griffith gave the choice of death or life by the 
sword. She chose the sword, and has fought by Griffiths’ side ever since. Initially 
threatened by Gatsu, she eventually comes to accept, and eventually love him. 
Unfortunately, just as always seems to happen to Gatsu, just when things seem to be going 
well, both he and Griffith realize that they have lost sight of their dreams. Gatsu decides to 
leave the Band of the Hawk, and Griffith, lost, gets himself caught and tortured, leaving 
the remnants of the Band of the Hawk to a life of being hunted by mercenaries like them. 
A couple of years later Gatsu returns, having heard of the Band’s plight, and spearheads a 
rescue mission to save Griffith. Tortured incessantly for years, Griffith’s body is a wreck; 
it does not seem as though he will be able to pursue anything at all from then on. 
Throughout his life, however, Griffith has been shepherded somewhat through his trial and 
tribulations by a small, forgotten trinket called the Egg of Kings, which serves as a kind of 
interdimensional alarm that calls the gods of the world, four beings of immense power 
collectively called God’s Hand, when the bearer’s pain and anguish is great enough. When 
summoned, the God’s Hand offer the caller a boon of power, with the proviso that the 
petitioner sacrifices something of great value to themselves. In the escape attempt, Griffith 
accidentally (or is it? We are not really assured either way by the author) calls the God 
Hand, who offer him this pact, knowing his desires and dreams burn unfulfilled within him, 
and that he will be unable to meet his destiny trapped within the wreck his body has 
become. Griffith accepts, willing to pay the price of the lives of every single member of the 
Band of the Hawk. No one but Gatsu sees this exchange, and in an instant his feelings 
toward Griffiths change from friendship to bitter enmity. All the members of the Band are 
branded with a mystical mark of sacrifice, marking them to be devoured by the demonic 
minions of the God’s Hand. Gatsu, Caska and a young boy named Rickert survive, three 
of hundreds, and Gatsu and Caska, having marked, are chased relentlessly by demonic 
beings eager to collect on what the mark signifies. Gatsu’s mission from then on is only to 
protect Caska, and to find and destroy Griffith, who has moved on to another plane of 
existence and become a god himself, the fifth member of the God’s Hand. Years later, 
Gatsu has become known as the Black Swordsman, a hardened, feared and extremely 
skilled and dangerous wanderer who heralds death wherever he goes. In the meantime, the 
political situation has worsened considerably, to the point where the established rulership 
is falling apart and the time is ripe for a new leader to save the people from the various 
plagues and demons that prey upon them. 
      In general, the story seems very concerned with the idea of destiny and the 
inexorable nature of time and fate. Nothing can save Gatsu or those around him from the 
bad luck that seems to follow him. Despite this, he is a good protagonist, because no 
matter what befalls him or those he loves (and they are few), he never gives up. He is able 
to focus on both his goals and eventual destiny, as well as do his best to protect those he 
cares for. I call him a protagonist, however, because the book also seems to broach the 
question of the abyss. Gatsu has stared into the abyss for most of his life, and it is small 
wonder that many times, especially in the latter stages of the book, he resembles the 
monsters he destroys. Indeed, his berserk rage (which saves his life many times) is 
depicted as a separate entity that dwells within him, a beast that threatens to overtake him 
and relieve him of his humanity if given the chance. So his battle is not only without, but 
within as well. His constant, relentless pursuit of greater and greater strength and skill 
have led him to somewhat detest those who are weak and cannot defend themselves, since 
his life forced him into circumstances where he had no choice but to take care of his own, 
but at the same time he is escorting Caska, who has been reduced to a childlike mental 
state by a horribly traumatizing event of her own, and must protect her. This creates a 
conflict within him that is slowly tearing him apart mentally, but he cannot let go of his 
quest to destroy Griffith. It’s interesting that the Protagonist in this book wears black, 
while the ostensible villain, Griffith, is portrayed as almost angelic. The book seems to shy 
away from value judgments, however; it’s up to the reader to decide who they feel is right 
and wrong. As far as the author is concerned, it seems Gatsu and Griffith are simply two 
men with conflicting loyalties and agendas; their destinies are at odds. How much control, 
we wonder, does Gatsu really have over his life? What is the endless battle preparing him 
for? And does he ever have a prayer of defeating the now godlike Griffith? The story is a 
soap opera, moral play, and metaphysical study of humanity all in one. Gatsu’s tale bears 
striking resemblance, although admittedly extreme, to the general arc of life: struggle, 
violent or otherwise, conflict, uncontrollable things, “luck” or destiny, such as it is, and the 
idea of God. What is he? In this story, God is an Idea, the accumulated ideas of the 
hundreds of billions of hapless human beings that have existed on this (or at least 
Berserk’s) world and begged and prayed for an answer, a reason for their endless, 
pointless suffering. If one had to call this god something, it would be evil, but only as a 
relative term. Idea exists to provide the suffering, trials and tribulations that will propel 
those few worthy humans to their greatest heights, and through them the greatest heights 
humanity can attain. Those that attempt to control their own destinies, it seems, must 
suffer through hell with no guarantee of achieving their goals. Looking at the real world, it 
becomes evident that battle is the place where humanity has made its greatest scientific 
leaps. Progress is often christened in the name of war. More than a few of the characters 
in this book display terrifying physical prowess as a matter of course, but they are often 
obstacles that must be overcome in order for the major characters to reach their next level. 
As the book progresses, however, Gatsu’s and Griffith’s major battles are often with 
themselves. What titanic struggles this author must have undergone to bring this book to 
fruition, I’ll probably never know. But the book it self, as well as the art, the story, and 
probably the author himself, have only gotten better over time. Berserk, then, seems to 
exist, at least in art, to prove its own point. 
      The berserker, contrary to popular belief, was not just some wild, insane killer. 
During Nordic times, he or she (but most usually he) was a fighter who was so skilled in 
battle that the necessary actions and reactions came naturally and reflexively enough that 
they could abandon themselves to the state that otherwise would simply be insane, 
unfocused rage, taking advantage of the heightened senses, strength, speed and power 
afforded (apparently) by the adrenaline. It was somewhat equivalent to “the zone” that 
many athletes today use in a decidedly less violent fashion. A sign of the times?