Orb: On the Movements of the Earth is a manga set in the 15th century, wherein a boy, Rafal, is persecuted and interrogated by the Catholic Church (here censored as the C-- Church, so perhaps the resemblance is incidental) as a heretic for theorizing about heliocentrism. Rafal is pragmatic, but for the first time in his life, can't seem to operate in his own best interests. The truth looks so much bigger now. In the end, he stands by his values in the face of pressure from Nowak, a C-- Inquisitor, and is put to death. Thus ends Book 1.
Each subsequent Book concerns itself with yet another astronomer—yet another heretic—who picks up Rafal's work where he left off, and fights to ensure that future scholars possess the same tools to discover the truth of the universe. It's a tale of perseverance in the face of oppression, and the censorship of scientific inquiry. It's also, it seems, a tale of coincidence. Over and over, Nowak peers his head and points his finger in these intertwining stories. And over and over, the truth survives, even as its pursuers perish one by one. You can feel Uoto's hand moving the characters toward each plot beat, but it's never overbearing. It gives the impression that these encounters were written in the stars.
If the harsh treatment of heliocentrists seems unrealistic to you, you're not off-base. Uoto is well aware that the circumstances of heliocentrists in the 1400s were not nearly so bleak, but seems content to toy with the misconception. The redaction of the name of the Catholic Church and associated concepts nods to this. Especially in the final chapters, it's a story that blurs the line between the genres of alternate history and historical fiction. Taken all together, the manga reads like a heavy-handed metaphor for authoritarian forces at large. The murders of these heliocentrists didn't really happen, but the censorship and destruction of history are all too real, as are those who struggle against it, those who are brutalized by it.
Despite the lofty ideas he's working with, Uoto is cautious not to veer the manga into melodrama. Each protagonist is a martyr, in a sense, but he doesn't lionize them. They all have a realistic set of flaws; many are self-centered, making them near-perfect foils for the geocentrists they're in contention with.
Our favorite character, Draka, is a brilliant thinker, but with a streak of avarice. She only seeks the scientific specifics of the sun's circumstance so as to secure a credible cushion of cash for herself. In one scene, she invents capitalism from base principles. It's completely absurd. And oh so compelling.
The texture provided to these characters lends itself to a cast that feels grounded and dynamic. Their responses to the ever-present boot of the church are engaging and exciting. Almost always, in the end, they are also stressful and heartbreaking.
In the manga's final act, Rafal's story is seemingly bookended, and even his pursuit of logic is given a big asterisk. It's a clever bit of narrative sleight of hand that forces the reader to question the reliability of every story they've read. No matter how you shake it, something feels off. It's a challenge, perhaps, or a reminder to question what you're being presented with.
In describing Uoto's visual style here, we'd like to use the word "cinematic." The paneling is simple, square, and heavy, often either focusing on close-ups of the characters speaking or fast-paced action. Each "shot" feels like it has weight, though there are some especially brutal or breathtaking ones, many of which are predictably fixated on the night sky. We lost count of how many times we mumbled "Jesus fucking Christ" (what blasphemy!) upon finding a page that particularly struck us.
Orb is an unconventional historical fiction with a tight plot that had us on the edge of our seat almost constantly. Its world is surprisingly ruthless, but its characters stand in triumph with hope and passion despite this. We'll certainly remember it for a long time.