Good Writing Matters: The Promised Neverland

I am super excited that season 2 of The Promised Neverland has just dropped, partly because my wife hasn’t read the manga so I can’t talk to her about the series without spoiling anything, and because I think this series has some of the best construction of tension that I’ve ever seen.

So, for anyone who hasn’t heard of it, The Promised Neverland is a horror series written by Kaiu Shirai, which as I’ve mentioned has just received a screen adaption. Without giving away any spoilers, the opening setup is this: Emma, Ray and Norman are children living at an orphanage out in the middle of a forest, waiting for their 12^th birthday when all orphans are adopted out. Emma, curious as to her classmate’s new adoptive family, sneaks out to watch the handover – only to see her friend brutally die.  That’s right folks, the orphans are killed on their 12^th birthday. To make matters worse, the orphanage matron Isabella, called “Mom” by the children, knows that Emma has discovered the secret.

What follows is a beautifully written slow-burn tension as Emma, Ray and Norman approach their 12^th birthday, quietly trying to plot an escape for themselves and the rest of the orphan children. Meanwhile, Isabella keeps quietly manipulating things to block their attempts.

Here is where Good Writing Matters. Emma, a fantastic heroine, can’t risk exposing the secret to the everyone lest they all get killed. Isabella, a surprisingly sympathetic villain, also has to keep her role hidden from the remaining orphans. What follows are seemingly calm conversations over dinner or in front of the other children, where Emma knows what’s really going on, and Isabella knows that Emma knows – but they both agree not to have it out, at least until one of them drops a hint to let the other know that they have just undid their opponent’s latest ploy, and so the stakes get raised again, higher and higher as the deadline approaches.  

Do you see what the author is doing here?

This is story writing where there the protagonist and antagonist have personal connection, urgency, and slowly rising stakes that can’t be openly resolved. This is different to the tension I wrote about in the X-Files episode Drive. The slowly coiling fear isn’t just created by the approaching deadline of the orphan’s 12^th birthday: it’s created by the fact that at any moment, absolutely any moment at all, someone will break and their side’s whole plan will fall apart. This is an almost perfect Sword of Damocles – death is hanging by a thread right above you, and it will fall. Any. Moment. Now.

Again, no spoilers for how this resolves, but if you get the chance, read the original series or tune in for the animated adaption. Until then, I’ll see you later in the week with more original content!