Kurumi and Ruriko are friends. They have decided to be married even though neither of them feel romantically inclined toward one another. They come up with rules to follow to preserve their relationship and immediately those rules feel strained in I Married My Female Friend, Volume 1.
“Or so they think…” weighs heavily in every scene in which they monologue about their feelings of friendship for one another. Kurumi is a free spirit, but on a solo trip she keeps thinking about Ruriko. Ruriko is glad to let her wife roam, but her mind is always on what would make her happy.
They negotiate boundaries. When Kurumi messes up the garbage Ruriko redistributes the labor more sensibly. When Ruriko doesn’t tell Kurumi about how sick she is feeling, until she has to be rushed to the hospital, they find themselves discussing what will make “them” work. For that…and for the moment, Kurumi comes running into the hospital asking to see her wife, left me feeling happy, with a coda of “been there.” Very happy, because it’s still new and exciting to see women identifying themselves as wives, and I don’t see it becoming less wonderful as time goes on.
The one thing that feels different from Usui-sensei’s other “couple figures it out” series, Doughnuts Under A Crescent Moon, is that from the beginning, there’s a very distinct sense that, while Ruriko says she’s only gto feelings of friendship for Kurumi and Kurumi does not seem to have any romantic feelings for Ruriko, there’s an overwhelming sense that that is where we’re heading.
I have been thinking a lot about platonic intimacy between women…and I have always been an advocate for a legal partnership that is not meant as an indication of a romantic pairing. Why shouldn’t friends just be able to designate one another as “family?” Of course, with same-sex marriage in some countries, we’re a little closer to that, but I cannot designate my dear friends who are married to each other, as members of my family, in case of emergency or need. That has never made sense to me. Why shouldn’t people who live together and share household requirements just be able to be seen as a “family” legally? This first volume skirts this issue, as Kurumi and Ruriko balance what their friendship means to them and what their marriage means.
This series is less of a personal journey into sexuality and identity than Doughnuts, but is, perhaps, more of a journey into social identity. It’s also quite goofy at times, which is fun.
The folks at Seven Seas brought us a wonderfully clean adaptation, with retouched sound effects (yay! whoo! It looks great! Thank you Aly Villanueva and Seven Seas for allowing Aly to do that.) Avery Hurtley’s translation does a great job of giving Kurumi and Ruriko their own voices. I care deeply about that kind of thing, especially for a manga in which these two voices are most of what carries the story. The cover, which is a straight-up gloss looks great, thanks cover designer M.A. Lewife.
Ratings:
Art – 8
Story – 8
Characters – 8
Service – 0
Yuri – 6
Overall – 8, with loads of potential
This is not the deepest book about queer identity (the issue of same-sex marriage is handwaved away as “it’s legal now”) we’ve seen in 2023, but it doesn’t need to be. Sometimes, all we need is a gag about a roaside radish.
Thanks very much to Seven Seas for the review copy…I had bought myself the print volume first, but I appreciate the thought!
This story begins in the 19th century with a figure whose name, at least, almost every woman of my generation knew…
“From 1997 until May 31, 2004, General Mills sponsored and syndicated the first 82 episodes of the original 
