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Miss Pym Disposes by Josephine Tey: B

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From the back cover:
Leys Physical Training College was famous for its excellent discipline and Miss Lucy Pym was pleased and flattered to be invited to give a psychology lecture there. But she had to admit that the health and vibrant beauty of the students made her feel just a little inadequate. Then there was a nasty accident—and suddenly Miss Pym was forced to apply her agile intellect to the unpleasant fact that among all those impressively healthy bodies someone had a very sick mind…

Review:
Miss Lucy Pym, after receiving a legacy from a relative, has retired from her life of teaching and become somewhat of a lay expert on psychology. Having written a surprisingly successful book on the topic, she’s been regularly giving lectures. One of Lucy’s former schoolmates, now principal of Leys Physical Training College, invites Lucy to come and speak to her students. The first two-thirds of the book is Lucy getting to know the students and the staff, and sets up the “nasty accident” that is to come.

Like The Franchise Affair before it, Miss Pym Disposes begins quite charmingly but becomes rather improbable toward the end. The book is almost wholly populated by female characters, and to see a lot of girls bustling about, learning medical skills as well as honing their own physical prowess reminded me a bit of the Sue Barton series of books. Some mildly racist attitudes and comments mar this section, and Lucy’s waffling over what to do about a cheating student gets a bit annoying, but overall it’s pleasant fun.

After a certain point, the outcome becomes a bit predictable. The cheating student is undeservedly given a prime post at a distinguished girls’ school that everyone had assumed would go to another girl, and is eventually mortally injured by a bit of gymnastic equipment. I found it quite easy to peg the culprit, despite Tey’s attempts at subterfuge. The improbable elements begin with what Miss Pym, a “feeble waverer,” does with an important bit of evidence, and also the too-convenient testimony of a couple of nearby residents at the inquest.

Overall, I liked this less well than The Franchise Affair and found it to have some of the problems I noted in the first two Inspector Grant books (racism, convenient plot developments). It was, however, written earlier, so I remain optimistic. I’ve now read four of Tey’s eight mysteries, and still plan to complete the lot.

Enjoy Everything

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We’re snowed in again (sigh) but I was prepared at least, and brought work home with me yesterday. After a long morning of work, I thought I’d take a break. Probably I should have worked on the review I have due this week, but instead, I finally picked up volume 5 of Yotsuba&!, which I’d been holding off on since it’s the last one until forever (or something like that).

I swear, there is nothing that can make a person happier than a volume of Yotsuba&! There is truly nothing more delightful in this world.

And so I present a List of Awesomeness in Yotusba&! Volume 5: …

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Links: manga, music, and nostalgia

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Oh Monday. How I wish you were Friday. I have one review in today’s Manga Minis at Manga Recon, for volumes 2 & 3 of Go!Comi’s Ultimate Venus. It is a silly, silly series that I enjoyed quite a bit more than expected. This initially led to a rambling post musing on the futility of assigning grades in reviews, but it sort of pushed itself into a corner so I’ve given it up for now. Instead, here are a few random links to things I’ve enjoyed recently:

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Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler: A-

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From the back cover:
Lauren Olamina’s love is divided among her young daughter, her community, and the revelation that led Lauren to found a new faith that teaches “God is Change.” But in the wake of environmental and economic chaos, the U.S. government turns a blind eye to violent bigots who consider the mere existence of a black female leader a threat. And soon Lauren must either sacrifice her child and her followers—or forsake the religion that can transform human destiny.

Review:
Parable of the Talents picks up five years after the end of Parable of the Sower. Lauren has successfully established an Earthseed community named Acorn, home to about sixty people. They’re self-sufficient and doing well until a well-organized group of crusading Christians arrives to wipe out their heathen ways. Acorn gets turned into Camp Christian, its members enslaved, and its children (including Lauren’s newborn daughter) “rescued” and given to Christian families. The rest of the novel chronicles Lauren’s attempts to find her daughter while trying to ensure that Earthseed succeeds.

The story is told in excerpts from Lauren’s journals, as well from writings of her husband and brother. These selections were chosen by Lauren’s now-adult daughter, who introduces each segment while gradually providing more information about her own life. The daughter finds a lot of fault in Lauren’s actions, especially Lauren’s refusal to heed her husband’s request that they move and raise their child in a more established community. Feeling like she always came second to Earthseed, the daughter is resentful.

I love that we get not only Lauren’s first person explanation of her actions and motivations but also a dissenting voice, critical of the protagonist’s flaws and failings. There’s a great line where the daughter says that if her mother had created Acorn, peaceful haven for the homeless and desperate, but not Earthseed, she would’ve been able to find her a wholly admirable person. I’ve not seen this kind of framework before—protagonist’s story interspersed with unstinting criticism of protagonist. It’s interesting and I admire it a lot.

There are a few things that bug me a little, though. The cultish creepiness of Earthseed is more apparent, now, with established rituals, ceremonies, and hymns, but this is balanced by the daughter’s obvious disdain for the movement. Also, it seems that every Christian man (and practically every man, period) is a hypocrite, molester, or sadist. The ending is also rather rushed, but nonetheless ends on a very satisfying note.

Dark, grim, and fascinating, this duology has been a very good read. I recommend it.

Ultimate Venus, Vols. 2-3

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By Takako Shigematsu
Published by Go!Comi
Rating: OT (16+)

At the end of volume one, Yuzu was left wondering why she’d been saved by her chief rival for the Shirayuki fortune, Iyo Hayashibara. As volume two begins, she and her bodyguard, Hassaku, head to the Hayashibara estate to confront Iyo, and instead find out that he is actually the body double for the real Hayashibara heir who is none other than Yuzu’s close friend, Haruka. Iyo is beaten and tossed out for his betrayal, and is later hired by Hassaku to act as a second bodyguard for Yuzu. Meanwhile, Yuzu realizes that she is in love with Hassuku, though he is careful to keep her at a distance. Things are further complicated in volume three by the introduction of a young filmmaker, Masaya, to whom Yuzu discovers she has been promised in marriage.

Though little more than a silly soap opera on the surface, Ultimate Venus offers some surprisingly rich moments. Yuzu’s private display of grief after discovering that Haruka’s friendship with her was a sham is truthful and touching, as is her distress when she is fooled into believing that Iyo has taken a bullet for her. The story’s constructs are melodramatic and packed with cliché, but underneath it all is a real story of a real girl growing up and discovering what’s important to her. In volume three, once Yuzu decides to be honest about her feelings for Hassaku, she finally begins to show some real confidence in her own strength of heart. Another treat in these volumes is the further development of Iyo’s character, which reveals him to be an unusually perceptive and complex young man.

Volume three ends on a rather dramatic note, as Yuzu determines to stand up to her grandmother, Mitsuko, and refuse the arranged marriage, promising more drama as well as more “screen time” for the stylish, sagacious Mitsuko, whose appearances were notably few in these volumes. Fortunately, with Yuzu’s growing confidence and resolve, Mitsuko is no longer the only strong woman in the series, a trend that will hopefully continue! It is the strength of Shigematu’s characters that allows this series rise above its superficial premise to deliver some genuine insight along with the fun.

Review copies provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.

The Blade of the Courtesans

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By Keiichiro Ryu
Vertical, 304 pp.

Matsunaga Seiichiro is a master swordsman, trained by the legendary Miyamoto Mushashi, who has spent his entire young life in the mountains of Higo province cut off from the rest of the world. At the age of 26, as directed by his now-deceased master, Seiichiro leaves the mountains with nothing but his sword and a letter of introduction and finds himself in Edo’s pleasure quarter, Yoshiwara. When he discovers that the man to whom the letter is addressed is no longer living, Seiichiro is momentarily lost, but he soon finds some purpose in defending those in the quarter against the Yagyu clan, a fearsome group of ninjas who are loyal to the shogun. Not everyone is as they seem and as the story goes on, much is revealed about both the society Seiichiro has wandered into as well as his own personal heritage.

Set at the beginning of the Edo period, The Blade of the Courtesans is painstakingly woven into the fabric of history. Keiichiro Ryu’s characters stand alongside well-known historical figures and the author obviously has an extensive knowledge and deep love of the period. Unfortunately, this attention to history is also responsible for one of the book’s greatest flaws. Ryu frequently pauses the story to explain terminology or expound on historical fact, which, while interesting, breaks the flow of the narrative to a nearly fatal point. These pauses increase as the book goes on, pulling the reader out of the story for pages at a time to offer detailed explanations of its historical context, most of which have only minimal impact on the plot. At times, Ryu instead uses his characters to deliver this information, which is just as clumsy and almost as distracting.

Also clumsy is the novel’s narrative mode, which spells out far too much of each character’s thoughts and feelings, saving the author from having to figure out how to reveal these things organically through action and dialogue. Some of this may be due to the difficulty in translation, but the result in English just reads as lazy writing. As with the huge chunks of historical background, what Ryu really reveals here is his lack of skill as a novelist.

The story itself is a strange, meandering thing, sometimes appearing to have gotten a bit lost, much like its protagonist. It is strongest in the beginning, before becoming too deeply mired in the long historical passages. Though it does gain some momentum just before the end, the conclusion feels quite rushed, as major characters are shunted quickly to the side with very little explanation.

For all its awkwardness, however, The Blade of the Courtesans has some truly stirring moments. Early on, one character delivers a sudden, fiery speech to Seiichiro as they lay on a rooftop, proclaiming, “Living ought to be something more magnificent. It’s so fantastic that just thinking about it makes you sigh, makes your blood rush. But if it’s like this… if that’s all it is, then I’ll cast it all aside. Any time, I’m ready to die!” It is in moments like this that Ryu is at his strongest, letting his passion run out over the page. He lends his passion to several of the supporting characters and even occasionally to the dully-virtuous Seiichiro, particularly in his encounters with elite courtesan, Takao, and in his art with the sword.

Unfortunately, some of that passion is marred by philosophies and biases that, while doubtlessly appropriate to the time period, are difficult not to find offensive today. Much of the novel’s philosophical emphasis is placed on the lifestyle and beliefs of the Kugutsu clan, a nomadic group of wandering puppeteers, who call themselves “companions of the way.” The Kugutsu pride themselves on their lack of worldly entanglements, and particularly on the strength and autonomy of their women, from whom many of the Yoshiwara courtesans were descended. It is difficult, however, to swallow a vision of female empowerment in which a woman’s liberty is measured only by the number of men she will share her bed with. The story constantly describes the power of women in the Yoshiwara society, yet in the midst of an impassioned explanation of how the women are able to come to Yoshiwara to “rinse away their origins” and escape from the persecution of their clans, it is revealed that they are indentured to the various houses in the pleasure quarter (all owned by men) until their 28th birthday, at which time they may choose to get married or to remain courtesans for the rest of their lives. That these women, shackled to a system that values them only for their skills in lovemaking, are held up as the pinnacle of female beauty and sovereignty is inexpressibly sad.

Though The Blade of the Courtesans offers a level of historical detail that anyone with an interest in Japanese culture would find genuinely fascinating, its difficulties as a fictional narrative are many, rendering it an ultimately unsatisfying read.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.

A few links on a sick day

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I’m battling illness and stabbing blindly at a difficult review, so just a little link-blogging from me today!

First of all, I keep re-reading Ed Sizemore’s review of Naoki Urasawa’s 20th Century Boys and find myself desperately wanting to read the manga. This has shot straight to the top of my to-buy list. Ed’s reviews are always very much from the heart, and it’s obvious how much he enjoyed this manga. Example number 100,000,347 of How Reviews Sell Manga.

Speaking of reviews selling manga, check out Michelle’s recent review of classic shojo manga A,A’. Made me want to buy that too!

At Manga Recon’s recent roundtable, the bunch of us talked about our hopes and fears for film adaptations of manga. I piped up in favor of adapting shorter, less-popular series that could grab someone other than the usual action flick crowd. Not that I expect that will ever, ever happen.

So, has everyone been following the conversation about manga at Hooded Utilitarian? I’ve avoided dwelling on it too much, because I keep getting angry, but one point rings true. I haven’t ever been able to get deep into western comics, and one of the reasons, I think, is that I find them visually overwhelming. So aside from the inaccurate (and insulting) aspect of the argument that simple = simplistic, I think there is something to the fact that I am a manga reader at least in part because the art is easier for me to follow. That is not the only reason by far, nor is it the biggest reason (which is actually that I find the stories being told in manga much more to my taste), but it is definitely a factor.

ETA: Of course I realize now that most of what I just said there has already been said much more eloquently and with less vitriol by Brigid Alverson.

Okay, gotta go. Be sure to check out Deanna’s post from earlier today!

Thank you. Here, have some monsters.

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Thank you all for the warm reception to my introductory post! It was great to read the comments and discussions. Ed and Grace, I’ll definitely have to post my thoughts about Ranma ½ when I read more volumes. And Jun is definitely tempting me toward Boys Over Flowers. My library does not have Basara or One Thousand and One Nights so I’ll have to be on the lookout for used volumes.

I also have a question for everyone. I’m considering going to Sakuracon here in Seattle this April. It will be my first anime-con so I am interested to hear if you have any advice or opinions about this particular convention or anime-conventions in general.

As promised, I’ve returned to talk about Life Volumes 1-8, Canon, and Seimaden Volumes 1-10. Of the series I have started this year, there have been some standouts, like Life and Only the Ring Finger Knows (which I’m going to save for my next post). And then there are the series I just have to shrug my shoulders over and even find myself giggling about inappropriately, like Canon and Seimaden. Spoilers after the jump if you have not read these series
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A, A’ by Moto Hagio: B+

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Back in the late ’90s, Viz dabbled in this weird thing called “shojo manga” and released a few one-shot volumes. A, A’ (A, A Prime), a collection of science fiction stories, was among these, and (lamentably) represents the largest chunk of material from Moto Hagio available in this country. Hagio, along with many other women who were pioneers of shojo manga, was born in 1949. These women came to be known as the Year 24 Group, as 1949 was the 24th year of Japan’s Showa era. Exploring themes of sexuality and gender, many of their works are considered classics. Hagio’s contributions include some of the earliest boys’ love stories, like The Heart of Thomas, and Shogakukan Manga Award-winning story “They Were Eleven,” published by Viz in floppy comic format as well as in the hard-to-find Four Shojo Stories anthology.

The three stories in A, A’ also deal with themes of gender and identity, each involving a member of a genetically engineered race of people called “Unicorns.” In the title story (my favorite), a team of people is working to develop an icy planet. Because of the dangerous nature of their mission, each person’s genetic information was saved prior to their departure so that they can be cloned if they should die. Adelade Lee has just undergone that process, and has returned to her post with no memory of the past three years she spent there or the comrades who greet her so warmly. The original Adelade’s lover has a great deal of trouble adjusting to the clone, insisting that it isn’t really her, but growing confused nonetheless. I really like the resolution to this one and would’ve been happy to read more about these characters.

Instead, the other two stories feature Mori, a young man with telekinetic powers and a “kaleidoscope eye” that allows him to see the infrared spectrum, similar to what the Unicorns can see. In “4/4,” we meet Mori as a teenager who, along with other kids with special powers, is living on Io and training to control his abilities. Things aren’t going well until he meets Trill, a Unicorn who is the subject of a scientific experiment. The pair of them “resonate,” allowing Mori temporary access to more control and also eventually providing Trill with the ability to object to the experiments being performed upon her. This story is my second favorite, and I particularly like how Trill’s lack of emotional involvement is portrayed; there’s a great scene where Mori seizes and kisses her and she just sort of blankly endures it, like a doll.

Unfortunately, I didn’t like the last story, “X + Y,” very much. There’s a conference being held on Mars to discuss plans to improve its conditions, and the team sent from Earth to take part includes a male unicorn named Tacto. On Mars, he meets Mori, four years older now, who becomes obsessed with Tacto. I understand that back when this was written, it was probably a stunning thing for one guy to confess his love to another, but in “X + Y” it all seems far too rushed to me and I never understood why Mori feels that way. He also gets on my nerves by behaving very stupidly when he and Tacto are out riding a space scooter on a ring of Saturn (really!), resulting in a life-threatening accident. The Mars theories don’t make much sense, nor does a subplot about Tacto’s chromosomes. Hagio tries to interject some humor into this tale, mostly by having Tacto (who refers to himself in the third person) say random things like, “Tacto likes pudding.” It’s cute, but not enough to improve my opinion of the story.

To modern eyes, Hagio’s artwork will surely look old-fashioned. Drawn between 1981 and 1984, it features some interesting fashions (particularly for Adelade) and a male romantic lead with a flowing mane of curly hair. There’s a lot of variety in the page layouts, and more than one image of characters superimposed over moons, stars, and other celestial bodies. I may mock it a bit, but I do genuinely like it; it’s nice to read something that doesn’t look like anything else.

For the title story alone, A, A’ is worth picking up. I can’t remember how much I paid for my copy, but I don’t think it was much. There are ten copies listed on Amazon right now so it shouldn’t be hard to find.

Review originally published at Manga Recon.

The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey: A-

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Book description
The Franchise Affair resembles some of the best work of Poe in its introduction of an apparently inhuman evil in an otherwise sedate country setting. Robert Blair, a lawyer who prides himself on his ability to avoid work of any significance, is interrupted one evening by a phone call from Marion Sharpe. Ms. Sharpe and her mother live in a run-down estate known as the Franchise, and their lives drew little attention until Betty Kane charged them with an unthinkable crime. Ms. Kane, having disappeared for a month, now says that she was held captive in the attic of the Franchise during her entire absence.

While her story seems absurd, her recollection of minute details about the interior of the house sway even Scotland Yard. Blair—chosen by Ms. Sharpe for her defense because, as she says, he is “someone of my own sort”—must dust off his neurons and undertake some serious sleuthing if his client is to beat these serious charges. As with all fine mysteries, one has the sense of being in a sea of clues with a solution just out of reach.

Review:
After reading the first two Inspector Grant mysteries, I had trouble believing that the same author could produce The Daughter of Time, which I’ve heard referred to as a classic of the mystery genre. I am happy to say that The Franchise Affair has cured me of my doubts. While not perfect, it is still so much better than its predecessors that I am heartened.

Told from the point of view of humble country lawyer Robert Blair, The Franchise Affair is unusual in a couple of ways. For one, the crime in question is not murder. An innocent-looking schoolgirl accuses a couple of solitary women of holding her captive, and it’s up to Blair to investigate and help mount a defense. Also, Inspector Grant barely appears. As the book is at least nominally classed as an entry in the Inspector Grant series, I find it a bit odd that the one I like best so far features the title detective so little.

The Franchise Affair is full of likable characters. Blair has grown tired of his quiet, easy life, and is unexpectedly stimulated by the Sharpes’ case. He also grows very much to like the younger Miss Sharpe, an independent, warm, and witty woman. I am kind of a sucker for middle-aged romance, so I enjoyed how he went from thinking of her as Miss Sharpe, to Marion, and then to how he would do this or that once he had married her. Especially great are all of the qualities he likes her for, and that she isn’t forced to compromise on those qualities in the end. She also has a fun, feisty mother who proves a dab hand at giving betting tips for horse racing.

I also like the writing style. At times, it feels surprisingly modern for something written in 1948. It’s full of amusing turns of phrase and a gently ironic tone. I snickered several times, the first occasion being the third sentence, which was a good sign.

The end is not quite as good as the rest, as some improbable and very dramatic events occur. The way the trial plays out also seems a bit… unorthodox to me. It was around this point where I began to be reminded of watching an old movie, so I was compelled to look it up and, sure enough, this novel was made into a movie in 1951. Interesting factoid for Doctor Who fans: one of the workers at the garage where Blair keeps his car was played by Patrick Troughton.

On the whole, I found The Franchise Affair to be charming and enjoyable. Because of its nature, it would work quite well as a stand-alone, but has also restored my hopes for the quality of the others in the series.