This blog is run by Homura Akemi and Madoka Kaname and you can ask us anything!! If you one to direct a question at only one of us you can do that aswell
i saw a post the other day that mentioned homura having a savior complex, and, while i can kind of understand how someone might come to that conclusion,,,, i dont think that’s the right reading of her character really at all.
the idea that homura does everything she does so she can feel better about herself or so madoka will like her is one that’s been around for a while, but it is undeniably false. because the thing is, even when she’s trying to save madoka, never once in the entire series does homura feel “better” about herself. homura hates herself more than anyone else ever could, and it’s something that’s only made worse and worse as she goes back in time. the only times homura has ever shown to feel any kind of true security was when she was with madoka.
but in every timeline where madoka sacrifices herself to let homura live, homura is of the belief that she is not deserving of it. that she is not deserving of the love and the compassion madoka unconditionally offers her. and that no matter what she could do, nothing would ever be enough to make it up to her. but she still chooses to try. because she loves madoka. because she doesn’t want her to have to fight or suffer ever again in any timeline.
she isn’t looking for madoka’s gratitude. she’s not looking for her friendship, or love, or anything at all from madoka. in rebellion she states that madoka may very well hate her if she knew what she’d done, and how she could become her enemy if that were the case. and yet she accepts that fate. because to homura, the only thing that matters is that her very best friends are safe and happy.
Admittedly I’m not an anime aficionado or anywhere close, and I haven’t finished as many shows as other people, but something that strikes me about Madoka is how it calls “objectively good” (or rather, highly valued “pure”) qualities into question.
Throughout the show, characters constantly are sacrificing themselves for the greater good, and face the destructive nature of it. Should self-sacrifice be expected, and to what extent? Is it truly worth it? Is it such a “pure” quality that society revers it as?
And the strong, binding and “pure” quality of love, and how it can come hand-in-hand with self‐sacrifice and be a destructive force in of itself.
Madoka isn’t just a dark, moody twist on what we usually expect of the magical girl canon, but an exploration of what we regard as the pinnacle of good, and how it can strip people away of their happiness and autonomy.
Putting self-sacrifice on a pedestal can lead to shame for wanting self-care and personal happiness, and amplify the guilt of natural intrusive and negative thoughts. Love for someone *above all else* can do the same, and hold the significant other(s) hostage, as well as the lover themself.
Madoka Magica doesn’t denounce love and self-sacrifice per se, but rather it shows the consequences of pursuing absolute “purity” to the extreme.
This is made more complicated by the fact that these “pure qualities” are prevalent expectations forced onto magical girls, and the moment these impossible burdens become too much, they fall into despair and self-hate, and are punished by becoming “monsters” for ever falling short of “being pure”.
Tldr, Madoka Magica is a brilliant show not because of its edginess, but because it questions our expectations of “goodness” and asks us, at what cost? Is it worth it? And as Rebellion shows us, there are no easy answers.
