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Fruits Basket, Volume 22

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Here is the last of my “quick” reviews for this week! Please enjoy it!

Fruits Basket, Vol. 22
By Natsuki Takaya
Published by Tokyopop

9781427806833
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With the level of drama that volume 21 of Fruits Basket provided, it was hard to imagine that the next volume could actually be stronger, but it is. Still barred from visiting Tohru in the hospital, Kyo decides to face down his own demons by visiting his father who rejected him so many years ago. It is a painful meeting and provides nothing even close to reconciliation, but Kyo is at least able to declare his determination to live regardless of carrying the cat’s curse. Meanwhile, Akito makes the decision to end the curse entirely, resulting in emotional scenes for everyone and Akito most of all.

This is an incredibly lovely volume with everyone’s hearts laid bare and by the end, when the true, heartbreaking story of the curse is being revealed (“…that the Cat’s wish was finally granted”), I had tears in my eyes. What’s especially skillful about Natsuki Takaya’s storytelling in this series is that she balances the romance and the supernatural story just right, ensuring that the reader is equally interested in the outcome of both, so that when the story really finds its conclusion it is satisfying on more than one level. Not only that, she manages to make each of the character’s personal arcs intensely compelling, even those of minor characters, so with all of these achieving their dramatic climax at once, the effect is really quite stunning. It’s impressive too that after all this time, the character whose story here is probably the most moving is Akito’s. “I don’t have to be ‘special’ anymore. I don’t have to be ‘God’ anymore,” she says just before her final goodbye, filled with both terror and relief. “I can just be… me. Right?” …

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Ultimate Venus, Vol. 4

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By Takako Shigematsu
Published by Go!Comi, 200 pp.
Rating: OT (16+)

At the end of the last volume, Yuzu had determined to foil her grandmother’s plan to force her into an engagement announcement at the wedding hall’s grand opening, and as volume four begins, she struggles for a way to follow through. Just as her plans are finally coming together, her bodyguard, Hassaku, figures out what’s going on and at first Yuzu worries that he’ll betray her plans out of loyalty to her grandmother. Thankfully he does not, and the plot works beautifully but this is not the end of Yuzu’s problems as her grandmother makes it clear that she will marry one of the three men chosen for her whether she likes it or not. After a painful rejection from Hassaku, Yuzu agrees to meet the other men, unaware that one of them would be her childhood friend Sudachi who has his own reasons for not wanting to be forced into an arranged marriage. Unfortunately, it seems inevitable that Yuzu will continue to cling to feelings for Hassaku, despite the fact that there are so many more interesting men around her.

After a fun start, this volume drags in the middle as Sudachi’s reluctant courtship begins. Still, there are some interesting moments, particularly with Masaya, the first of Yuzu’s so-called fiancés, and the book ends with a fairly troublesome misunderstanding that is sure to shake things up in the next volume. The premise of this story is startlingly similar to that of Kiyo Fijuwara’s Wild Ones, yet Ultimate Venus is so much more fun. Each of the characters is likable and idiosyncratic, and elements that feel tired and contrived in Wild Ones read as whimsical here.

Though this is far from the series’ strongest volume, it provides an opportunity for some nice character development and sets up some intriguing plot points as well. Ultimate Venus may not be a shojo masterpiece, but it continues to be a fresh, fun read.

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

They Were Eleven, Web Comics Weekend!

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Thanks to Brigid Alverson’s recent interview with Matt Thorn, I got inspired to read some Moto Hagio, beginning with her short science fiction manga from 1975, They Were Eleven. Last night I wrote up a review, which you can find below! I’m afraid my lack of background in manga shows terribly in this review, despite my ongoing quest to become more knowledgeable, so for further reading, I’d recommend going through Matt Thorn’s website, where he has many articles and resources chronicling the history of shojo manga, all of which are much smarter than anything I could write. My review, however, does include some nice images I scanned in from my copies of the manga so it’s worth checking out if you’ve never read it! They Were Eleven is unfortunately out of print here, but the Viz pamphlets can be picked up very reasonably on ebay, which is how I got them. Don’t even think about trying to get Four Shojo Stories, though, unless you’re a lot richer than I!

Over the next couple of days, I’ll be pretty much occupied at the New England Web Comics Weekend, which is conveniently located just a couple small towns over! My husband is a huge fan of webcomics, and I keep up on a number of them myself, so it should be an enjoyable event all around. There are quite a few interesting panels being presented, and you know I’ll be at the print vs. web discussion, right? :D I’ll try to report in at some point with any interesting news.

A million thanks to those who have chimed in with recommendations over at my Let’s Talk About Manhwa post! I’m so excited to find new things to read! Please stop by if you have anything further to add!

They Were Eleven by Moto Hagio Published by Viz Media

Sometime in the distant future, hopeful students from all over the galaxy gather for the difficult entrance exams at the elite Galactic University. For the final test, they are divided into computer-generated groups of ten students each and sent off to various locations where they must survive as a group for fifty-three days without pushing the provided emergency button, which immediately summons a rescue team, resulting in automatic failure of the entire group. One group is deposited on a derelict ship, devoid of engine power and filled with dangerous explosives, which they must safely maintain in orbit for the length of the test. As the group arrives on the ship, however, it becomes apparent that there are eleven students rather than the assigned ten, indicating that one of them must be an impostor. Potential disasters pile up quickly, including an unstable orbit and the presence of a deadly disease, and in the midst of it all the group begins to suspect Tada, a young Terran (Earth descendent) with intuitive powers and uncanny knowledge of the ship’s layout, of being the eleventh member.

With the ship’s mechanical problems and deadly health threat driving things forward, it is young Tada’s story that takes focus, as he struggles to understand his relationship with the decrepit ship while also attempting to clear himself of the other students’ rapidly-mounting suspicion. Despite the fact that his intuition saves the group early on, it also becomes the greatest point of contention amongst the group, and as more about Tada’s own history comes to light, each revelation seems to point more clearly to his potential guilt.

They Were Eleven ran over three issues in the Japanese magazine Shojo Comic in 1975. It was written and drawn by pioneering mangaka Moto Hagio, one of the famous “Year 24 Group” of female manga artists who revolutionized shojo manga, which up to that point had been mainly written by men. In the U.S. it was released in four “flipped” pamphlet-style issues from Viz Media in 1995, as well as in the compilation, Four Shojo Stories, both of which are now out of print (though the pamphlets are easily found on ebay). Lovingly adapted by Matt Thorn, They Were Eleven is an intriguing science fiction comic, featuring several of Hagio’s most prevalent themes, including childhood trauma and gender identification.

Two of the characters in the story are species whose gender is not determined until adulthood. One of these, Frol, who is decidedly feminine in appearance (referred to hereafter as “her” and “she”), is taking the test because she will be allowed to become male if she passes, a privilege otherwise only granted to a family’s oldest child. On Frol’s planet, “men govern and women work,” and becoming a woman would mean relinquishing all autonomy and joining the harem of the neighboring lord (eighteen years her senior), so it is understandable why she would want to instead take advantage of her society’s male privilege and collect a harem of her own. Still, it’s a little bit jarring that when the story finally reaches a point where it becomes clear that they may very well not pass the test, the only other alternative presented to Frol is for her to leave her own people, become a woman, and marry someone else. The fact that in every scenario her future as a woman leads directly to marriage is not a fantastic message for today’s young girls (nor is the fact that Frol, the story’s only obviously “feminine” character, is depicted as capricious and “simple”) and it is this that dates the series more than anything else.

That said, in the midst of today’s shojo offerings, it is refreshing to read a comic for girls in which a science fiction/mystery plot so markedly overshadows the story’s minimal romance. The atmosphere of the story is extremely tense throughout, and the level of complexity packed into four short issues is seriously impressive.

One of the most interesting aspects of the story is the various backgrounds of the students on the voyage, and what brings each of them to Galactic University. One student is the newly-crowned king of his planet-nation, who is taking the exam only to test his own abilities with no intention whatsoever of entering the university. Another is a half-cyborg, whose body was created to test out a potential cure for his planet’s deadly disease–one which kills every person on the planet by the age of thirty. Tada, whose parents both died when he was very young, seeks to make a way for himself out of the care of the Elder who adopted him. Each of the students has a rich backstory, some of which are only hinted at in this very short series, and each has his own personal determination to pass the final test. As the ship’s trajectory pulls them further towards certain death, it is the prospect of failure that terrifies and energizes most of these students rather than the growing risk to their lives, pushing the stakes to a place much higher than mere survival.

What is difficult to appreciate now is just how revolutionary Hagio’s art (and that of the others in the Year 24 Group) was at the time, as she eschewed the standard rectangle panel layouts of the day for innovative designs that were as vital to the tone and emotion of the story as the characters’ dialogue and facial expressions. This kind of drawing is common today, not just in shojo manga, and it’s difficult to imagine otherwise. Perhaps what is easier to note is that the art itself does not seem at all dated, and that alone is quite telling.

Something this manga brings to mind is the question of how much significance there is today in Japanese demographic categories, at least when importing manga to the west. In the case of They Were Eleven, for instance, it is difficult to determine just who wouldn’t be interested in the story in terms of gender demographics. Its science fiction setting, mystery plot, and even the very small glimmer of romance seem very much in line with works enjoyed by girls, boys, women, and men alike, and even for western comics fans only the characters’ oversized eyes are evidence of anything stereotypically Japanese. Reminiscent of the short stories of Ray Bradbury or Zenna Henderson, this comic uses the thrilling mysteries of space fantasy to provide food for thought about humanity and how we relate to and survive with each other.

For a glimpse into classic manga that is fast-paced, wrought with tension, emotionally compelling, and a pleasure to look at, Moto Hagio’s They Were Eleven offers the perfect, bite-sized package.

Bleach, Vol. 26

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By Tito Kubo
Viz Media, 216 pp.
Rating: Teen

At the end of volume 25, after discovering former soul reaper Aizen’s true objective, tenth division captain Hitsugaya was asked to stay behind for someone who was waiting to speak with him. That person turns out to be his childhood friend, Momo Hinamori, and volume 26 begins with a quietly horrifying scene in which she begs Hitsugaya not to kill Aizen, certain that he must have had good reason for his murderous acts. As short and simple as this scene is, it starts things off very effectively, setting a tone of tense anticipation that continues throughout the volume.

Though this volume’s big drama is saved for the end, its middle chapters provide some rich moments, particularly concerning Orihime, who is told very bluntly by Kisuke Urahara that her combat abilities are too weak for her to play a role in the upcoming battle with Aizen, and that she’d do best to stay out of the way. Orihime has long provided the heart of this series and here, poised on the brink of discovering her true worth, she shines, lending a much-needed warmth to the grim battle preparations that make up much of the volume. Rukia, too, plays a very poignant role here, making the series’ primary female characters the real stars of this volume.

Heavy on characterization and plot development, this volume is a welcome respite for the battle-weary, as it anxiously works its way toward its cruel cliffhanger ending. The volume’s humorous moments work well too, especially a scene in which Yumichika and Rangiku argue about their zanpakuto, each unwilling to admit that the qualities they find most frustrating about them are actually the same as their own.

Though this volume offers very little action, its quiet warmth and tense anticipation make for a nicely satisfying read.

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

Wild Ones, Vol. 6

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By Kiyo Fujiwara
Viz, 208 pp.
Rating: Teen

After volume five’s focus on holidays and gift-giving between Sachie Wakamura and her Yakuza family, volume six begins with a new school year and the introduction of Sachie’s new teacher who turns out to be her childhood friend, Chi-chan. Unfortunately, Chi-chan has a long-standing grudge against Sachie (of which she is completely unaware) and begins a campaign of harassment with the intent of exposing her family history to the entire school. Fortunately, even Chi-chan is eventually won over by Sachie’s plucky sincerity, and becomes yet another ally by the end. Also in this volume, Sachie saves a man’s family restaurant from unscrupulous loan sharks, and it is this plot that allows further development of the volume’s real drama—the continuing romantic rivalry between Rakuto and Azuma. Not that the rivalry actually gets anywhere. Though Azuma comes very close to confessing his feelings to Sachie, in the end he chickens out, leaving things essentially unchanged.

Out of all the things that are maddening about this series—the unbelievable premise, the warm-fuzzy Yakuza guys, the lack of any actual crime—the most maddening by far is the near suspended animation of the story’s romantic plot. While it’s usually effective to keep romantic tension going for as long as possible, in this case, the romance is just not exciting or complicated enough to withstand the wait. Sachie loves Rakuto, Rakuto loves Sachie, and so it has been for the entire length of the series. Everybody knows this. Nobody appears to object besides Azuma, and even he is visibly frustrated by Rakuto’s persistent inaction. In a more complex story this kind of anticipation might be intoxicating, but here it just makes the drama feel forced and repetitive.

That said, the volume does have some warm moments. The characters grow, little by little, and the uncomfortable bond between Rakuto and Azuma is almost interesting enough to make up for the endless drudgery of the romantic plot. While this series remains decidedly mediocre, there is still some distant hope of it one day finding its spark.

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

NANA, Vol. 15

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By Ai Yazawa
Viz, 200 pp.
Rating: Mature

After Search’s cruel delivery of a suggestive photo of Ren and Riera at the end of volume fourteen, this volume opens with the fallout from that and Takumi’s brilliantly manipulative efforts to keep the photo out of the papers. Unfortunately, the ramifications of the photo run deeper than that and Nana and Ren’s relationship continues to unravel further. Hachi and Takumi finally get married (thanks to Takumi’s manipulations) and Yasu and Miu begin to solidify their relationship as well. All of this brings Nana’s abandonment issues to the fore as she watches the most important people in her life drifting further away from her. Shin, too, feels the effect of the Search incident as Reira, suddenly aware of how vulnerable her world is to scandal, suggests they stop seeing each other. The appearance of the Search photo highlights how fragile everyone’s world is and how far a single act of thoughtlessness or cruelty can reach.

The expressive genius of Ai Yazawa’s art is what really makes this volume shine, elevating what could easily be trite soap-opera to the realm of top-notch fiction. Her ability to use panel layouts and close-ups to get to the heart of her characters is unmatched. The art feeds the complexity of the characters, transforming them into something that almost feels more real than “real life.” It’s not the art alone, of course. Yazawa resists letting any character fall into pat categories like “good” or “evil,” giving full dimension to each of them and their rich, complicated, gray-shaded world. Even manipulative, controlling Takumi, who frames everything in terms of protecting own interests, is not a clear-cut villain any more than Nana and Hachi perfectly virtuous heroines.

There is an interesting scene early in the volume, where the folks at Search mull over the power that they wield, finally determining that if Ren and Nana break up because of what they print, then the breakup was “meant to be.” “The strength of their bond will be tested,” says one writer, determined to justify the paper’s actions as some kind of righteous social experiment. The lengths to which people will go to justify their own poor behavior is a fascinating (if horrifying) study, and it is this type of insight into humanity that makes Yazawa’s writing so powerful.

Though it is clear that much of the story’s real drama is yet to come, this is a strong volume in an exceptional series that continues to be both beautifully crafted and extremely compelling.

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

Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei, Vol. 1

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By Koji Kumeta
Del Rey, 192 pp.
Rating: OT (16+)

Schoolteacher Nozomu Itoshiki is pessimistic, depressed, and fed up with the world. He is first introduced attempting to hang himself from a cherry tree, where he is discovered by student Kafuka Fuura, who nearly kills him in the process of trying to pull him down. “What if I had died?” Nozomu exclaims, setting the tone for this whimsical black comedy from the start. Kafuka is the polar opposite of Nozomu, excessively optimistic to the point of delusion. Unable to believe that anyone could consider suicide on a beautiful spring day, she insists that Nozomu must have been trying to “make himself taller,” a practice she confesses her father took up often when faced with hard times. “At times, even mother would try to grow taller,” she says brightly, pushing Nozomu’s patience to the limit. Thus the two who never should have met, meet—the man who views everything negatively, and the girl who views everything positively.

Despite the inauspicious nature of their meeting, it seems that it was destined (or at least unavoidable), as Nozomu soon discovers that Kafuka is a student in his new class. The rest of the volume proceeds to introduce Nozomu’s other students one by one, each of whom is an extreme example of a dysfunctional stereotype—a stalker, a hikikomori (shut-in), an obsessive-compulsive, an abusive e-mailer, et cetera—most of whom develop some kind of fixation with their teacher. Though the premise could easily become mean-spirited, it never does, and each of the characters is presented with both humor and affection, the most poignant perhaps being Nami, the “ordinary” girl, whose only defining trait (much to her dismay) turns out to be that there is nothing really wrong with her at all.

Nozomu is not exactly a misanthrope, though he does suspect most people of plotting to wrong him, and he bonds with his students in spite of himself, if sometimes in slightly disturbing ways. Yes, he tears down their aspirations, belittles them with low expectations, engages in blatant favoritism (“Hold it! Don’t bully the girl I’m favoring.”), abandons them in class, and occasionally evaluates them as potential candidates for double-suicide. Yet somehow, through the filter of Koji Kumeta’s dark humor, he manages to be charming and almost warm as he leads his small band of misfits down the road to despair. His students are delightful, each in her own way, but Nozomu is the unlikely touchstone who keeps things grounded, and during the chapter or two in which he plays truant, his absence is keenly felt. Fortunately, the humorous payoff when he finally returns to the page is well worth it.

The real secret to this manga’s success is that nothing is ever allowed to become too serious or biting. The humor is dry but never bitter, and though some of the jokes translate better into English than others, each leads deftly into the next, showing off Kumeta’s satirical prowess. Even the fan service is played for laughs, deliberately inserted into the most absurd situations. The humor is sharp but never cutting, and the juxtaposition of complex satire, silly puns, and simple sight gags ensures that the mood remains light throughout.

One of the best visual gags happens quite early on as the book introduces Matoi Tsunetsuki, a girl who obsessively stalks any guy she falls for. After becoming interested in her teacher (Nozomu) she begins following him. This causes the boy she was previously interested in to become jealous, and so he starts following her. Another girl who is interested in that boy notices, and starts stalking him, and so on, until there is finally a chain of stalkers, each following the last with minimal subtlety.

The art is nicely clear and deceptively simple. Most of the girls are so similar in design, they look like a single girl with interchangeable hair, though the level of individuality granted to them with just hairstyle and expression is pretty impressive. The overall design is more complex, filled with fantastic angles and fun backgrounds, all in a wonderfully crisp style that manages to be both detailed and clean at the same time.

The book is dense with obscure jokes and Japanese cultural references, painstakingly annotated by translator Joyce Aurino over a whopping twelve pages at the back of the book. With so much information provided, it is easy to fall into the habit of checking the endnotes obsessively while reading, but this is really not a good idea. With a few exceptions (and despite what must have been an incredibly difficult translation process), Aurino’s adaptation stands strongly on its own, and though the notes are very interesting and informative, the interruption of the reading experience is simply not worth it. In most cases the context itself is sufficient, at least for the first read-through, and the notes can be viewed as an enlightening bonus to be enjoyed afterwards. With multiple layers of satire at work, this is definitely a book worth re-reading, so there are plenty of opportunities to catch new jokes that may have slipped by on the first read or two.

It is probably safe to say that the success of Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei with any individual reader will depend entirely on whether or not that reader’s sense of humor meshes with Kumeta’s, and this question should be clearly answered by the end of the first chapter. If it’s not funny by then, it’s never going to be. But for those who are laughing by the end of the chapter, this book will provide a rare treat which, thanks to Del Rey, is about to become more common.

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

Tokyo Babylon (Full Series)

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Hi hi, sorry for all the silence the past couple of days. I’d made a rule for myself that I wasn’t allowed to spend time on a blog post until I’d finished my Tokyo Babylon review, and I finally have! (Reprinted below following the demise of the blog Comics Should Be Good, for which it was originally written.) It’s pretty image-heavy and probably looks more like one of my persuasion posts than a typical review, but I thought I’d do something a little special for the full series. I’m a tad nervous about my new place over there, so if you have the time, please check out my review and let me know what you think!

Look for a real blog post later on. I have lots of thoughts swirling through my brain, and no time to write them down! Soon!

Tokyo Babylon (Complete Series) by CLAMP Published by TOKYOPOP

Originally created in 1991 by all-female mangaka group CLAMP, Tokyo Babylon tells the story of Subaru, the thirteenth head of the Sumeragi clan, a family of onmyoji (spiritual mediums and sorcerers) who have protected Japan for hundreds of years. Just sixteen years old as the series begins, quiet and unassuming, he is already an experienced and powerful onmyoji. He shares an apartment in Tokyo with his worldly, outgoing twin sister, Hokuto, who dresses him up like a doll in her hand-picked fashions. The two have become friendly with a local veterinarian, Seishiro Sakurazuka, whose surname suggests he is related to an infamous clan of magical assassins. Despite this sinister connection, Seishiro is mild-mannered, kind, cheerfully protective of the twins and repeatedly claims to be in love with Subaru, which draws enthusiastic support from Hokuto but embarrasses Subaru terribly.

Despite a cynical opening chapter and the series’ occult premise, the story gets off to a fairly light start and it would be easy to dismiss it as stylish fluff. By the end of the first volume, however, darkness begins to push toward the surface in the form of an old memory that causes Subaru to suspect there may be more to Seishiro than what he claims. This uneasiness hovers in the background for much of the series (only manifesting fully in the final volume), but as it slowly seeps into the fabric of the story it highlights the peculiar depth and Shinto-influenced ideology that has long characterized CLAMP’s work.

As Subaru performs his missions as an onmyoji, he encounters many sad or lonely people, some of them alive, some not. One early story, for instance, involves a childhood friend of Subaru’s who has fallen into a perpetual dream state in an effort to escape her traumatic waking life. Another features the ghost of a failed actress whose love-hate relationship with the city has kept her bound to the main observation deck of Tokyo Tower. In another, Subaru befriends an old man who has spent years of his life fulfilling a promise to his late wife, desperate to complete it so that he may finally join her.

In one particularly poignant story, Subaru encounters a woman who is determined to place a curse on the man who murdered her young daughter, Mai. Subaru urges the woman to abandon revenge both for her own sake and her daughter’s, and even calls upon Mai’s spirit so that she can tell her mother what she truly wishes her to do. However, instead of angelically entreating her mother to stop, Mai arrives crying in pain, begging her mother to avenge her, something which Subaru finds himself wholly unable to convey.

The primary message CLAMP drives home in Tokyo Babylon is that no person can ever truly understand another person’s pain, and that the kindest thing people can do for themselves and each other is to recognize and embrace that fact. Interestingly, the character who seems to understand this best is Subaru, though he is also the person who most often tries, as he strives desperately to ease others’ pain while generally ignoring his own. Despite his formidable spiritual powers, Subaru leads an oddly passive existence, dutifully fulfilling his calling as directed, though his personality is obviously ill-suited for the job. He works tirelessly and without complaint, his naturally compassionate nature allowing humanity’s darkest corners to erode his seemingly incorruptible heart.

Seishiro’s steady pursuit of teenaged Subaru alternates between being sweetly good-humored and intensely creepy, and for those who find the concept disturbing, be assured that the dramatic payoff is well worth it. As hinted early on, Seishiro is indeed more than he seems, though the full truth about him is not revealed until very late in the series. None of the primary characters in Tokyo Babylon is especially transparent or easily placed into manga stereotypes. Each is multi-layered and idiosyncratic, and each lends something unique to this quirky, shadowy tale.

Though Subaru and Seishiro tend to dominate the pages of most volumes, it is Hokuto who is the story’s unexpected gem. Fun and breezy, she initially seems interested in little besides in keeping Subaru dressed up in elaborately assembled outfits and nudging him toward Seishiro. As the story progresses, however, her real depth begins to show, and she eventually proves herself to be strong, compassionate, and kind of a bad-ass. It also becomes clear that her world is dominated by her devotion to her brother. “I wanted you to have something you would love so much, that you wouldn’t care what others thought,” she says to Subaru late in the series, as his world is unraveling around him. “Something you wouldn’t change your mind about. It didn’t matter what it was. I just wanted you to have something like that.”

Despite the series’ many strengths, Tokyo Babylon is far from perfect. Its episodic setup leaves too much room for unevenness and blunder, and it takes several volumes for CLAMP to successfully establish the story’s real tone, which means the series does not really come into its own until volume four. Still, getting there is well worth the effort, and not just because Tokyo Babylon is a great read (though it is). This series also provides an opportunity to delve into early incarnations of the themes and ideas that have come to define CLAMP’s diverse body of work. The selfishness of self-sacrifice, the murky quality of “good” and “evil,” the pain of loneliness, the necessity of wanting to exist–CLAMP uses Tokyo Babylon to explore these ideas to the full extent of their skills at the time, and everything that begins here is carried through their later work, one way or another. This is not to suggest that they are stealing from themselves or just repeating ideas (though they do like to reuse their characters). This is simply the natural evolution of ideas as they progress from one series to the next, finally reaching maturity in xxxHolic, a series which remains ongoing both here and in Japan.

With its beautiful, clean imagery and striking use of black, Tokyo Babylon is unmistakably CLAMP’s work, though again, it doesn’t show the maturity of their later work, or even X/1999 which began its run before Tokyo Babylon was completed. As early as this work is, however, the visual storytelling is extremely effective, with the same intuitive panel layouts and creative use of space that makes all of CLAMP’s work both a pleasure to look at and easy to read. The artwork shines in black and white, capturing perfectly the stark drama and lurking melancholy of the series, and the story’s seven volumes feel truly epic, largely on the strength of its visuals.

TOKYOPOP’s English language editions, released between 2004 and 2005, are very nicely done, with crisply reproduced artwork and fold-out color pages at the beginning of most volumes. This series, like much of CLAMP’s work, is unmistakably Japanese, deeply tied to its Tokyo setting and to Japanese culture in general. TOKYOPOP preserves this by retaining honorifics and sound-effects (with translations in the back), using Japanese name order (surname first), and keeping as many Japanese terms and cultural references as possible within the translation. The detailed glossaries at the back of each volume provide context and explanation for western readers.

For fans of CLAMP’s newer work, Tokyo Babylon provides a glimpse into the group’s past which will be both compelling and familiar. For new readers, it is a great introduction to the CLAMP universe, in all its complex beauty.

North Korea Kidnapped My Daughter

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By Sakie Yokota
Vertical, 192 pp.

In 1977, middle school student Megumi Yokota disappeared on her way home from school in the coastal city of Niigata, Japan. Despite massive efforts on the part of the community and the local police, Megumi’s disappearance was never solved. It was years later that Megumi’s parents finally received information leading them to believe that she, like several other Japanese citizens known of at the time, had been abducted by North Korean agents. It was not until 2002 that North Korea officially admitted to the abductions, but question remains over whether or not Megumi is still alive, leaving her family without resolution or relief.

Written by Megumi’s mother, Sakie Yokota, North Korea Kidnapped My Daughter is by no means a highly polished work of nonfiction. As a writer, Yokota tends to dwell too much on details while letting some of the larger questions out of her grasp, and the last few chapters start to feel repetitive as she reaches for an ending that does not exist. What this book definitely is, however, is a stunningly moving story of loss and a life lived in perpetual uncertainty.

The book begins with the Yokota family’s move from Hiroshima to Niigata, chronicling Megumi’s disappearance and its aftermath, and ending with a heartwrenching appeal to the Japanese government for help. Interestingly, what is most touching about this story is not how Megumi’s fate was tragically altered at the hands of North Korean agents, but rather how her disappearance affected her mother’s life and the life of her family. Stories of missing children are shockingly common in the news today, and of course they capture the hearts of all who hear about them. What it is easy to forget, however, when the trails of evidence have gone cold and the stories have faded from the headlines, is how every day forward is forever changed for those left behind. That Megumi’s life was ruthlessly hijacked is undeniable, but so, too, was her mother’s, whose years since the abduction have been under the control of the North Korean government just as surely as Megumi’s.

Yokota’s memories of her daughter contain the kind of intense detail that can only exist when something has been thought through and examined thousands of times over, and it is easy to imagine her determination to hang on to each tiny bit of memory, knowing that there may be no more. Yokota’s carefully kind tone toward anyone who has ever been involved in Megumi’s case is both moving and somehow painful, as is her painstaking effort to thank every person who has ever helped her or sent her hopeful wishes for Megumi’s return. Her campaign to retrieve her daughter, unwavering even in the face of government resistance, is truly inspirational. Still, what inspires the deepest heartache and outrage in the reader is the loss of Yokota’s own life to a potentially hopeless search. That neither the Japanese government nor anyone else has been able to bring about the return of Megumi or at least determine some clear resolution regarding her fate is maddening, as is Yokota’s powerlessness in the situation.

If there is one unfortunate thing about this memoir, it is that it was originally published in 1999, before North Korea’s admission to the kidnapping, which means much of the information now known about Megumi’s case was not addressed in her mother’s writings. To help bring things up-to-date, Vertical has added a brief note and a multi-page timeline at the end of the book, which includes things like the discovery of Megumi’s marriage in North Korea, and the North Korean government’s claim regarding her supposed death, but the timeline is awkward to follow, and without Yokota’s voice, the information feels empty.

Regardless of its few shortcomings as a written work, North Korea Kidnapped My Daughter is an extremely moving and heartbreaking story that deserves great attention from readers.

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

Mushishi, Vol. 6

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I have a cool announcement! About a month ago, Brian Cronin at Comics Should Be Good (home of Danielle Leigh and sometimes host to Michelle Smith) asked me if I’d like to be an occasional contributor to the site, like Michelle. I jumped up and down in an undignified manner and said I would like to very much. Today my first contribution has been posted! Behold my review for Mushishi, volume 6 (reprinted here after the demise of CSBG) which will be a part of my new, occasional series, “Tokidoki Daylight” (meaning “sporadic daylight,” TokiDay for short). Many thanks to Michelle and Grace for helping me decide on the name. I’m pretty thrilled to have been offered this opportunity, as I’m sure you can imagine. So go on over and see! :D

Mushishi, Vol. 6 By Yuki Urushibara

Published by Del Rey Manga

Called “verdancy” or “the green things” by some, mushi are primordial beings close to the original forms of life. They live in every corner of the world, in many different forms, though few humans are ever able to perceive them. Some who can see mushi learn to make a living by it. These people are called “mushishi.”

Mushishi chronicles the experiences of a traveling mushishi named Ginko, who has wandered alone for most of his life, studying and working with different kinds of mushi. Because mushi are so far removed from human life, both mushi and humans frequently affect each other in unintended (often devastating) ways. Mushishi seek out places in which coexistence has turned to conflict, and use their study of mushi to restore balance to the human world. What is unique about Ginko is that unlike most mushishi, he attempts to do so without killing mushi.

Volume six begins with one of the most poignant stories of the series so far. “Heaven’s Thread” tells the tale of a young woman named Fuki, who disappears after grabbing onto a string she finds hanging from the sky. Ginko discovers her lost in the mountains and returns Fuki to her village, where she is greeted with hostility by everyone except Seijiro, who wishes to make Fuki his wife. Because of Fuki’s experience, she has taken on mushi attributes herself, which could cause her to float away again at any time. Ginko is able to treat her with medicine, but most importantly, she must want to be human again, a task entrusted to Seijiro.

What’s extraordinary about Mushishi is the way in which mangaka Yuki Urushibara uses stories of non-human entities to more deeply explore the complexity and inconsistency of humanity. Though Fuki’s condition is caused by interaction with mushi, she is dependent on Seijiro’s human feelings and actions for her existence. This juxtaposition of simple, survival-driven mushi alongside complicated, egotistical humanity makes it clear just how unreliable humans can be.

Other stories in this volume include those of a mushi whose faint cry foretells natural disaster, a man whose infection by mushi gives him the ability to control other animals, a boy who lives in an eternal snow shower, and a man whose family’s famous sake is astonishingly similar to Kôki, the essence of life. Yet, despite the stories’ supernatural premise, with Ginko at the center, humanity is always at the fore.

As a person who naturally attracts mushi, Ginko’s can’t live with other humans without eventually causing them harm, so he must remain on the move, never allowing himself to get attached to other people or to truly become one of them. This is Ginko’s great tragedy, for despite the fact that he shares at least as much in common with mushi as he does with other humans, he is deeply bound to his own humanity. It is his humanity, with all its inherent chaos and contradiction, that guides him on his journey and makes his story interesting. Perpetually faced with the question of whether/how to sacrifice mushi for the sake of humans, Ginko struggles constantly with his choices, never knowing for sure if he is doing the right thing.

In volume six, Ginko’s frustration with the choices made by people who are able to have what he can’t is palpable. Seijiro’s inability to accept Fuki in her half-mushi state, a man’s reluctance to give up a destructive power, another man’s inability to forgive even for the sake of his own daughter–all these people alienating themselves and others by choice is understandably maddening to someone who must remain alone against his will. It is in these moments, however, when Ginko’s own feelings emerge unbidden, that he is most effective in his calling.

Mushishi‘s setting in rural Japan, somewhere between the Edo and Meiji eras, gives the series a simple, naturalistic feel, with the otherworldly quality of the mushi laid over it like a sheer film. Urushibara’s artwork reflects this sensibility perfectly, with its sketchy landscapes and simply dressed characters. Ginko, like the mushi, exists as a specter in the human landscape, in his modern, western clothing that somehow attracts no notice from anyone around him.

Though Del Rey’s production of Mushishi is top-notch overall, the greatest service they have done to this series is their choice of William Flanagan as translator. This means that not only is the story’s English dialogue exceptionally coherent, expressive and rife with subtlety, but that each volume contains Flanagan’s extensive notes in the back, giving the reader further insight into both the intricacies of the Japanese language and the author’s choices.

With its episodic nature, it is possible to pick up any volume of Mushishi as an introduction to the series, and volume six offers several very strong stories that could be easily enjoyed even without a deeper understanding of the universe as a whole. For those seeking a richer experience, each of the first six volumes is highly recommendable. In either case, Urushibara’s world is a unique and fascinating place which provides an immensely satisfying read.

The Magic Touch, Vol. 1

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magictouch1By Izumi Tsubaki
Viz, 208 pp.
Rating: T+ (Older Teen)

Chiaki Togu is a shy, quiet high school girl and an enthusiastic member of her school’s massage club, the Massage Research Society. Recently, she has become infatuated by the back of a male student she sees on the bus every morning whose tsubo (acupuncture points) cry out to her for massage. Unfortunately, the back belongs to Yosuke Moriizumi, the most popular boy in school. Though initially refusing Chiaki’s request to massage him, Yosuke eventually agrees to allow it, but only if Chiaki is able to make him fall in love with her. What Chiaki doesn’t know is that Yosuke’s real plan is to make her fall in love with him so that he can dump her, thus avenging his younger brother whose heart he believes was broken by Chiaki. What Yosuke doesn’t know is that the girl who really broke her brother’s heart was Chiaki’s twin sister, Sayaka, who has a habit of taking boys for all they’re worth and leaving Chiaki as the scapegoat.

The story works well enough, and the focus on massage is definitely something new, but what’s odd about The Magic Touch is that it continuously presents plot points that seem intended to provide conflict or suspense which are then resolved with little or no difficulty at all. For instance, Yosuke’s status as the owner of the alluring back is set up as a big mystery, only to be revealed just several pages into the volume. The mistaken-identity issue driving Yosuke’s intentions toward Chiaki is resolved less than halfway through the volume, with Yosuke immediately seeing through Sayaka’s sleazy maneuvers. And the arrangement between Yosuke and Chiaki, which initially appears to be the main point of the entire series, is over very quickly as Yosuke sincerely declares his love just a few chapters in. On one hand, all this makes the story less predictable than might be expected, but on the other, it’s difficult to see where it has left to go with all its major conflicts resolved so early on.

One of the highlights of The Magic Touch is a mid-volume side story, “Teach Me, Prince,” in which an older member of the massage club, Takeshi (who is actually Chiaki’s brother), asks first-year Yuna to teach him how to court a girl. This story actually is pretty predictable, but it’s funny and fun, and possibly more romantic than the primary story in some ways. Takeshi and Yuna are also two of the most interesting characters in the book, overshadowing some of the leads. Yosuke is clever and good-looking, but doesn’t really start to show any character until late in the volume. Sayaka is ludicrously cruel, to the point of being unbelievable. Fortunately, the most interesting character is the heroine, Chiaki, whose obsession with massage is responsible for the best moment in the entire manga, in which she takes down a group of Sayaka’s thugs, declaring, “Tsubo points don’t always make people feel better.”

Izumi Tsubaki’s art is serviceable, but nothing special. None of her characters are visually distinctive (though they all look pleasant) and the panel layouts are occasionally awkward. Her best moments are humorous ones, which may explain why Yuna (who is mainly utilized in those moments) is drawn more expressively than most of the other characters. A note from the author reveals that this is her first manga, so perhaps the next volume will offer more both visually and otherwise.

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

Fushigi Yûgi: Genbu Kaiden, Vol. 7

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By Yuu Watase
Viz, 210 pp.
Rating: T+ (Older Teen)

Set as a prequel to Yuu Watase’s classic shojo series, Fushigi Yûgi: Genbu Kaiden follows the story of the first priestess of the Fushigi Yûgi universe, Takiko Okuda. When Takiko’s long-absent father returns home too late to save her dying mother, Takiko is determined to tear her father away from the work that alienated him from his family—the translation of a Chinese text, “The Universe of the Four Gods.” As she attempts to destroy the book, she is instead sucked into its story, where she becomes the Priestess of Genbu, who must bring together the seven celestial warriors to save the new world she has become a part of. Feeling rejected by those she left behind, Takiko quickly embraces her new destiny, discovering both her own strengths and a place for herself in a world where she feels truly needed for the first time in her life.

In volume six, the fearsome Hagus was revealed to be one-half of the final celestial warrior, Urumiya. Hoping to save Uruki from being murdered by Hagus’ hand, Takiko vowed to rescue his twin brother, Teg (Urumiya’s other half), who has been kept captive his whole life by Uruki’s father, King Temdan. In this volume, Takiko and Uruki’s vassal, Soren, must escape Hagus and King Temdan’s troops, while the warriors face down fire, bandits, and the Qu-Dong army. Everyone seems doomed to be apart from those most important to them, including poor little stone warrior Namame whose head is still separated from his body. Takiko and her warriors are eventually reunited, but only after one of their group makes a horrifying sacrifice.

This is an intensely emotional volume that shows off all the best elements of this series. The chapters are action-packed, but none of it is remotely superfluous. Every moment is meaningful, and there is not a single unnecessary word or gesture in the entire volume. Up until now, the story had been a well-written adventure and a satisfying romance, but this volume really demonstrates the maturity of Watase’s writing at this point in her career. The intensity of the relationships feels natural and well earned, and even the less-developed characters are rich enough at this point to carry off some deeply emotional moments.

Visually, this volume is especially strong as well. The battle scenes achieve a clarity that was lacking in some of the earlier volumes, and the faces and body language of Watase’s characters are more expressive than ever. It is a testament to Watase’s strengths as a visual storyteller that even the expression on the face of a character who is literally made of stone is enough to bring tears to the eyes.

With its strong, compassionate heroine and eclectic cast of supporting characters, Fushigi Yûgi: Genbu Kaiden brings the best elements of the world of Fushigi Yûgi to a new generation of manga fans.

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

Castle of Dreams

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By Masami Tsuda
Published by TOKYOPOP, 352 pp.
Rating: T (13+)

Castle of Dreams is a double-length anthology of short manga stories by Masami Tsuda, best known for the long-running shojo series, Kare Kano. TOKYOPOP’s single volume combines two anthologies that were published four years apart in Japan, and the two volumes read as very distinct entities.

The first three stories are fairy tales of a sort, one of which is actually set in the universe of Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Little Mermaid.” In each of these, the protagonist is eventually driven to call upon a sorcerer who grants wishes—a fairly common fairy tale convention. What makes these stories different from most is that the sorcerer is not necessarily a neutral player. He displays an unusual connection to the human world, and even quite a bit of compassion for it, lending an unexpected warmth to typically sinister settings without sanitizing the stories or dumbing them down.

In the second of these tales, for instance, the sorcerer grants a young woman’s wish to erase the day in which she met the man who would ultimately be the ruin of her people. When it becomes clear that their meeting and falling in love is unavoidable no matter how many days the woman might erase, the sorcerer resolves to set her free from her fate, simply because he granted the wish of the original Little Mermaid (from whom she is descended), and feels responsible for her plight. In the third story (the standout of the bunch), the sorcerer actually becomes imprisoned in his own spell, which has been overtaken by a young pageboy’s wish to escape the class constraints of his society and enter his own private world where he may be allowed to live happily with his nobleman half-brother. In this case, the sorcerer is as much at the mercy of the wish as the boy is, yet he still appears more concerned for the boy’s fate than this own. These stories are not extraordinary by any means, but they are fresh and familiar all at once, and have a lovely otherworldly quality as all good fairy tales should.

The second group of stories consists of four short romances. The first of these, “The Room Where an Angel Lives,” is a wistful tale of a young orphan boy and a lost little girl clinging desperately to each other in the slums of England’s industrial revolution. The two are eventually separated, sending the girl back to her family and the boy down a path of bitter ambition. Though this story is surely the weakest of the bunch, it evokes a real sense of the period and sets the tone well for the bittersweet collection to follow.

All the rest are modern-day teenage romances, though with none of the formulaic sameness that might suggest. The stories’ female protagonists in particular are wonderfully quirky and well-defined, particularly Chisato in “Awkward Relationship,” who prefers books to boys, and Kyouko in “Because I Have You,” who is tortured by volleyball. All of these young women are complicated but relatable, and Tsuda balances romance with humor easily, rarely succumbing to the lure of melodrama or fluff. The most unusual of the stories is “I Won’t Go,” in which the heroine, Tami, finds herself in love with two different boys, one whose similar background enables him to understand her most painful feelings, and another whose warm heart rescued her from those feelings at a crucial time in her life. Tami’s struggle with her emotional duality is written with a surprising amount of insight, especially considering the length of the story, and where she lands in the end is nicely surprising. Not all the romance ends happily, but in each instance, the protagonist has learned something important about herself and her world.

The greatest strength of this book, however, is the depth and complexity of emotion portrayed, making each relationship feel both very real and completely unique. It is a common pitfall for writers of romance to decline into writing the same romance over and over, and Tsuda never falls into that trap. What this really indicates is that Tsuda is not writing romance to play out her own fantasies, but rather to explore how people are shaped by love and attraction as they move through life, and the result is much more satisfying for the reader than pure wish-fulfillment fantasy could ever be. Even in the initial fairy tales, which are clearly fantasy, love is the catalyst in the character’s stories, but it is also what brings them down to earth.

The quality of Tsuda’s art varies over the course of the book, and the panel layouts of some stories are easier to follow than others, but in all cases, the characters are well-drawn and distinct, with faces that come to life on the page. The fantasy settings of the initial trilogy are quite lush—stunningly beautiful in spots—and form a visually cohesive whole, while the later romances provide a more eclectic look.

Though few of the stories in Castle of Dreams are truly remarkable, the volume as a whole offers a mixed bouquet of human feeling, with just enough color and delicacy to please.

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