A humble rock is at the center of this transmigratory tale of two souls who take the form of penguins, otters, crows, and more as they learn about the value of culture, the beauty of play in the face of capitalist pressure to produce and reproduce, and the power of love in the face of total annihilation.

Before You Go Extinct is written by Takashi Ushiroyato and drawn by Kanato Abiko. English translation by Yuki Tejima. Lettered by Eve Grandt. Published by Vertical Comics (October 7, 2025).

Kevin Cormack
Rating:

Shinzo Abe has a lot to answer for. The former Japanese Prime Minister's pronatalist stance when confronted by his country's rapidly ageing populace is perhaps the only aspect of his political policies known by non-Japanese people, leading to worldwide proliferation of “have sex/get married” memes featuring his face. It seems obvious that neither writer nor artist of bonkers funny/depressing animal manga Before You Go Extinct are Shinzo Abe fans, as this single volume is a bleak, heavy-handed screed that revels in the pointlessness of existence, and while offering vague temporary succour, ultimately rings hollow.

Each of the loosely linked chapters centers on a duo of animals from different species, each imminently approaching extinction. It's heavily implied that each duo is a reincarnation of the previous chapters' leads, and all deal slightly differently with the inevitable ennui that precedes ultimate destruction. From the very first chapter, where one psychotic penguin wishes to “save” all of his fellow penguins from a protracted extinction by murdering them all first, it's clear this isn't going to be a light and fluffy read.

It's not all nihilism, doom, and gloom, thankfully. The authors make good points about stepping back from the rat race, from reproducing thoughtlessly, from untrammelled capitalism, and the way it makes us cogs in a machine designed to drain our vitality. The simple joy of recreation and play is held up as an example of how we might find enjoyment in an ultimately meaningless, hopeless universe where we're all going to die anyway, so why bother having children?

Such bleakness rubs me the wrong way, as a man blessed to be married, a father of three wonderful children. Yes, I worry about the world they've been born into, and I worry for their futures, as is common to the vast majority of good parents. I also realize that parenting isn't for everyone, and no one should be obliged to bring children into the world, but I do worry about the health of a society that values such unsettling anti-natalist rhetoric. That's a society ready not only to become extinct, but to actively commit suicide. While I appreciate the philosophical discussion prompted by Before You Go Extinct, despite its valid criticisms of society, apart from advocating mindless distraction, it offers no other solutions. Perhaps that's entirely the point, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Before You Go Extinct is a rough, painful read: a stark look at the futility of tradition in a world that's ending, about finding meaning in meaningless things. And it's all told by cute little animals, all of which are actually facing extinction in real life (penguins, Hawai'ian crows, otters, and so on). At the center of all these stories is an egg-shaped stone. It's not magic or anything, it's just a neat little rock. It's heavy. It's granite. It's plain. And yet, this rock is what gives purpose to so many as they stare at the sunset of their way of life.

Beyond the cutesy art style, Before You Go Extinct asks hard questions about how to live in the face of futility. Is there more to life than just having kids and perpetuating the status quo? What if that isn't even an option for anyone? Maybe the rat-race of living with is better, in the long run. But what's to be said about finding your own joy, your own meaning in things? Even if life is just a march to the grave, there are things we leave behind—priceless things that will grant someone their own comforting meaning in life even if it's just a plain rock.

Before You Go Extinct's artwork is cute, with its cartoonish animals pulling out machine guns or living domestic lives alongside their natural habits like bellowing or tapping scallops with rocks. But it all belies this quiet urgency to live, above all else. Maybe it won't help you find your meaning. Maybe it'll be too saccharine, too heavy-handed for you at this moment. But you will think back to that penguin and his neat rock—and maybe that will help you find the thing that brings you comfort—strongly recommended.