My first playthrough of this legendary Key novel since about a decade ago, and I'm happy to say that AIR still remains a beautiful, memorable experience that I'm very happy to have spent a few weeks coming back to. If Kanon was the game in which Maeda et al found their ground after departing from Tactics, AIR is the game which ensured that Key would remain a titanic presence within the visual novel sphere for years to come.
Fittingly, I suppose the word that might best define AIR is "breezy". Despite many titles that it would go on to influence tearing deep into melodrama and bombastic moments - some incredible, some misguided - AIR is remarkably quiet and distant for the entirety of its run. The dreamy, faraway summer haze that permeates AIR allows each story, each moment, to blend borders of days and times to create a very amorphous, congenial tone. Although they ultimately play lesser roles in the story as a whole, the stories of Minagi and Kano are enjoyable to simply exist in - and though certainly not quite as memorable or composed as the main scenario, their routes certainly contribute to the game's larger thematic structure and pathos.
Ultimately, though, Jun Maeda and Yūichi Suzumoto are the star penmen here - and the conclusive triad of Misuzu's route, the Summer arc, and the Air arc are the core of this work's thesis. AIR, ultimately, is about tackling our preconceptions of "futility" and the impossible, about how we process our own individuality and the hedgehog's dilemma, and about the liquidous construct of family. Minagi's route in particular sets up the pins for Maeda to strike through with the minimalist profundity that would define Clannad only four years later, and Suzumoto offers a very essential parable of the extent of love, sacrifice, and perseverance in Summer that no doubt allowed him to create his later masterpiece, Planetarian. Shinji Orito's score is textbook Key mastery, as well - very stark instrumentation that packs a punch when it's necessary; dreamy, glittering, gentle, and bittersweet. Again, AIR is breezy, and I can't say that much actually happens during this intangible, distant summer - but it's the mere existence of its cast and their drive to simply "be" that creates the emotional and personal statements that will keep you thinking about it, even when it's gone.
A distant memory, something you can hold close and just barely recall finer details. You might not remember the faces. You might not recall which days held what adventures. You might not even remember what you chose to say to her while you had the chance. Despite all that, it's a story that stuck with me for a decade, stuck hard enough to call me back to go through its motions, laugh, cry, think, and feel the things I did as a teenager - like it was the first time, even though I'd been here before. The story remains the same, no matter how much you change. Remember that girl and her story, even when you've grown apart, no matter how many years it's been since you last opened the cover and read. She is waiting, like she always has, in the air.
Fittingly, I suppose the word that might best define AIR is "breezy". Despite many titles that it would go on to influence tearing deep into melodrama and bombastic moments - some incredible, some misguided - AIR is remarkably quiet and distant for the entirety of its run. The dreamy, faraway summer haze that permeates AIR allows each story, each moment, to blend borders of days and times to create a very amorphous, congenial tone. Although they ultimately play lesser roles in the story as a whole, the stories of Minagi and Kano are enjoyable to simply exist in - and though certainly not quite as memorable or composed as the main scenario, their routes certainly contribute to the game's larger thematic structure and pathos.
Ultimately, though, Jun Maeda and Yūichi Suzumoto are the star penmen here - and the conclusive triad of Misuzu's route, the Summer arc, and the Air arc are the core of this work's thesis. AIR, ultimately, is about tackling our preconceptions of "futility" and the impossible, about how we process our own individuality and the hedgehog's dilemma, and about the liquidous construct of family. Minagi's route in particular sets up the pins for Maeda to strike through with the minimalist profundity that would define Clannad only four years later, and Suzumoto offers a very essential parable of the extent of love, sacrifice, and perseverance in Summer that no doubt allowed him to create his later masterpiece, Planetarian. Shinji Orito's score is textbook Key mastery, as well - very stark instrumentation that packs a punch when it's necessary; dreamy, glittering, gentle, and bittersweet. Again, AIR is breezy, and I can't say that much actually happens during this intangible, distant summer - but it's the mere existence of its cast and their drive to simply "be" that creates the emotional and personal statements that will keep you thinking about it, even when it's gone.
A distant memory, something you can hold close and just barely recall finer details. You might not remember the faces. You might not recall which days held what adventures. You might not even remember what you chose to say to her while you had the chance. Despite all that, it's a story that stuck with me for a decade, stuck hard enough to call me back to go through its motions, laugh, cry, think, and feel the things I did as a teenager - like it was the first time, even though I'd been here before. The story remains the same, no matter how much you change. Remember that girl and her story, even when you've grown apart, no matter how many years it's been since you last opened the cover and read. She is waiting, like she always has, in the air.