Captivating Grief and Memory: A Review of Goodbye, Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto
Browsing through Libby continues to reward me with unexpected treasures, even if it means I’ve been neglecting the books I actually own. My latest find, Goodbye, Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto, caught me completely off guard—in the best way possible.
I’ll admit, this isn’t the type of manga I’d usually pick up. The cover gave off a vibe that suggested horror, and while I’m open to most genres, it’s not the first one I gravitate toward. To my surprise, Goodbye, Eri turned out to be far from horror and something else entirely: a deeply moving and darkly introspective story.
The premise is simple, yet gripping. Yuta’s terminally ill mother asks him to film every moment of her life until her death. After she passes, Yuta, becomes overwhelmed by negativity and ultimately goes to the roof of a hospital with the intent to end his own life. There, he meets Eri, a girl who unexpectedly drags him into a new project—making another film.
When I first started reading, I was skeptical. Not because I doubted Fujimoto’s storytelling, but because of my recent experience with Chainsaw Man. While that series is bold and boundary-pushing, it leans heavily into themes of eroticism, which had me wondering if Goodbye, Eri would follow a similar path. I couldn’t have been more wrong. This story was, at its heart, profoundly human—easily one of the best reads to kick off 2025.
The narrative defies easy labels like “tender” or “heartwarming.” How could it be, when Yuta’s mother tasks her middle-school-aged son with filming her slow decline? It’s a request that feels both deeply insensitive and oddly thoughtful—an attempt to remain with him even after her death, albeit in a way that’s undeniably traumatic.
What truly stood out to me was Fujimoto’s masterful use of the medium. His portrayal of video footage—movement captured within the stillness of manga panels—was extraordinary. It’s hard to overstate how immersive this technique felt, almost as though you were watching the story unfold rather than reading it. I couldn’t stop raving about it to my fiancé, marveling at how brilliantly it conveyed the essence of filming.
The art itself is sharp and distinct, with crisp lines that perfectly complement the dynamic flow of the story. Fujimoto’s ability to balance empty spaces, atmospheric elements, and the subtle details of a character’s surroundings creates an experience that feels natural yet emotionally charged.
At its core, Goodbye, Eri is about love, loss, connection, and—most importantly—remembrance. Fujimoto explores how we choose to see and remember the people we’ve lost. Despite their flaws or the ways others might define them, we hold onto the version that matters most to us. That’s the heart of this story, and it’s what makes it so unforgettable.
What stories have made you reflect on the way we remember and connect with others? Or perhaps a piece of writing or media that has captivated you lately? If you’ve read Goodbye, Eri, I’d love to hear your thoughts—did it leave you as moved as it did me?