Discussion, Resources, Roundtables, & Reviews
Quick link! I have a review in today’s Manga Minis at Manga Recon for NETCOMICS’ Main Street in Elysium. It was hard for me to write a balanced review of this because I found it so distasteful. I think I did not succeed.
What I really want to talk about, though, is CLAMP’s Legal Drug. I know this is old hat for most of you, but I finally read it last night, and some thoughts popped to mind. …
By Masahiro Nikaidou
Published by NETCOMICS
Rating: 16+
Main Street in Elysium is a four-panel comic strip based on the idea that there is much humor to be found in women’s hatred of their in-laws. There are a few other running jokes (one, for instance, in which a pretty woman observes the mistreatment of a less pretty woman, each time confessing, “I’m glad I wasn’t born ugly”) but the vast majority of the strips concern women who hate their in-laws, often to the extent of becoming homicidal. One woman, for example, keeps her father-in-law outside in a doghouse. She serves him week-old leftovers or scraps from the garbage, and sometimes takes him out for walks on a leash, pointing out important landmarks like the funeral home and the cemetery. Another woman, Noriko, repeatedly attempts to murder her bedridden mother-in-law by means such as strangulation, poisoning, drowning, or pushing her wheelchair off a cliff.
This comic strip has won awards in Japan, but it’s difficult to reconcile that fact with its overwhelmingly mean-spirited tone. None of the in-laws appear to do anything to warrant their treatment. They accept their children’s abuse without complaint (though Noriko’s mother-in-law at least defends herself in order to stay alive), and seem to do little else outside of occasionally asking to go for a walk. There is some humor in the extreme politeness with which they address each other, as well as in the physical extremes to which the women will go in their attempts to do away with their hated relatives, but those jokes get old quickly, leaving the reader with a handful of characters who are just not very likable.
Nikaidou’s art is quirky, fun, and quite expressive at times. Unfortunately, the comic’s dark humor too often misses the mark.
Complimentary online access provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
By est em
Deux Press, 192 pp.
Rating: Mature (18+)
“Red Blinds the Foolish,” the title piece in est em’s latest collection of short manga published by Deux Press, follows the story of Rafita, an up-and-coming matador in Madrid, and Mauro, a man who works at the meatpacking house that butchers the bulls Rafita kills. Having spotted each other at the bullring, the two fall into a sexual relationship, kept casual at first by Rafita’s travel schedule and proclivity for one-night stands. As their relationship grows and Rafito finds himself missing Mauro more and more, he begins to have nightmares about killing Mauro instead of the bull, leading him to experience fear in the ring for the first time in his life. The story is rich with metaphor involving love and death, and its lazy, sensuous tone lends a dreamlike quality to the men’s time together while heightening the sense of danger both in and out of the ring.
Both characters are complex and emotionally guarded. Yet despite the incidental quality of their relationship, they somehow create a universe of two, existing for each other while remaining unaffected by their day-to-day surroundings and the people who inhabit them. Mauro attends to his work and Rafito to his lovers, all by rote. It is as though they are real only to each other.
There is some insight into this provided for Mauro, at least, in a short chapter following the main story called “Corpse of the Round Table.” In that story, Mauro is introduced as a young man who gives up law school to take the meatpacking job in order to pay off debts left to his family by his father. In the story, he describes playing at bullfighting with his grandfather and confides that he always played the part of the bull. “Playing dead is actually pretty fun,” he says. “Lying perfectly still and waiting for someone to say something to you.” The final panel suggests that it is Rafita he’s been waiting for, to finally wake him from the dead.
The only unfortunate thing about the title story is that it doesn’t last for the entire volume. The later stories are nice, certainly, but with the possible exception of the final short, “Lumiere” (about a young man taking dictation from a bedridden author), none of them offer quite the same depth or potential. After such a wonderfully strong and complex start, it is difficult not to be disappointed when the first story’s characters are abruptly abandoned in favor of new ones. That said, no matter the length of the story, est em is a true gem among yaoi authors, and it would be foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth.
One of the exceptional things about est em’s work is that it is not obviously written for women, which is to say that its storytelling, characterization, character design, and attitudes about homosexuality bear little resemblance to typical boys’ love manga. There are no pretty, androgynous schoolboys or meticulously groomed hosts in an est em manga. Nor will you find a lascivious seme or timid uke playing out heteronormative stereotypes to help young women feel more comfortable with sex.
As in her earlier short story collection, Seduce Me After the Show, the men in Red Blinds the Foolish are stunningly real and absolutely male. Est em portrays real-life adult men in various stages of their lives—working, living, lusting, loving, entering new relationships or discovering new things about existing ones. Unlike most yaoi manga, though relationships are the focus, these stories don’t read as romance for its own sake. These men may sleep together and sometimes even fall in love, but their relationships with each other both in and out of bed are, above all, revealing of who they are and who they will be. The sex is the means rather than the end, and that makes good storytelling.
This time around, Deux has done readers a favor by hiring Matt Thorn to translate and adapt the entire book from the beginning, avoiding the instances of overly sparse, confusing dialogue that plagued some of the stories in Seduce Me After the Show. The book retains est em’s restrained style and her inclination to let the art tell the story, but it is much more consistently coherent. As with Seduce Me After the Show, est em’s art, full of sketchy lines alongside striking black, is reproduced cleanly and with care.
Despite the relative weakness of the later stories in the volume, Red Blinds the Foolish is an extremely thoughtful and engaging read that should appeal easily both to seasoned yaoi fans and to mature readers who simply enjoy good story.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
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.
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.
First things first, Monday means manga minis at Manga Recon, and I have one review there, for the second volume of Lay Mitsuki’s Yggdrasil from publisher Go!Comi. It’s one of those titles that could end up being incredibly good and packed with meaning, but it’s hard to tell at this point. Now on to the main topic.
Something I chose for a quick read yesterday evening, was volume 1 of Matsuri Hino’s Captive Hearts, a collection of three manga short stories (the first of which I believe will be continued) about love, or more accurately, obsession. I dug into Captive Hearts without having read anything about it, though if I’d actually paid attention to the cover art, which features a couple donned in wedding attire and chains, I might have been less surprised about the content. …
By Lay Mutsuki
Go!Comi, 200 pp.
Rating: OT (16+)
Student Koki Tachibana is a high-level player in the massively popular online roleplaying game, Yggdrasil. All the game’s most popular players are permitted to create a second “avatar” with which to play the game without being bothered by fans. Having retired his original avatar, Phantom, Koki is content pursuing low-level quests with childhood friend Haruna, until someone else hacks into Phantom’s account and turns up in the game.
In the second volume, strange programming glitches are springing up game-wide. The game company challenges players to discover the origin of the bugs, and Koki logs in as Phantom to accept the challenge. As he does, he’s approached by superstar songstress avatar, Teal, who unknowingly reveals herself as the player behind Aoi, a low-level avatar who is a regular on quests with Koki and Haruna.
Because most of the story’s menace exists in a world that is fictional even within the story, the “dangerous” world of Yggdrasil never feels quite real despite the characters’ devotion to the game. Yggdrasil is at its strongest when it focuses on the characters’ “real life” identities and relationships, and how those are affected by the avatars they play. Haruna’s growing crush on Koki, glimpses of the real-life girl behind Teal, and even the game company’s behind-the-scenes politicking are all more emotionally engaging than anything that happens regarding the game itself.
The art has a sketchy style that makes action sequences difficult to follow, but also lends an otherworldly quality to the characters’ online lives that is quite effective. The game’s fantasy element allows mangaka Lay Mutsuki to play with looks from multiple eras in a fun, attractive way, though the story’s “real life” sections could benefit from a simpler style.
Only in its second volume, Yggdrasil‘s potential has just begun to be tapped. It will be interesting to see where the series goes from here.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
By Nanae Chrono
Published by TOKYOPOP, 192 pp.
Rating: T (13+)
Kokonose Mutsu is the “ninth successor” of a family of ogres who, according to legend, were long ago banished from their home island by a young hero named Momotaro. This tale, passed from generation to generation in the Mutsu family, describes how, with the help of his three companions (a dog, a monkey, and a pheasant), Momotaro defeated the ogres, claiming back the treasure stolen from his people. The “treasure” as Kokonose understands it is actually the island itself, and as Momo Tama begins, Kokonose is infiltrating an island-bound ship on a mission to reclaim his family’s home. The ship, as it turns out, is filled with a diverse group of “students” who have been plucked from their lives without explanation. They are being transported to the island’s military school where they will be taught by a group of eccentric instructors (including the descendants of the original Momotaro and his companions) to defeat the ogres who still remain.
Though he initially represents himself as just another of the group, Kokonose does not attempt to keep his mission secret for long, and his identity is revealed in spectacular fashion at a dinner held to greet new students. Surprisingly, he is permitted to remain as a student at the school despite the fact that he has openly declared his intention to overthrow the current Momotaro. As Kokonose and the other students prepare to begin their training and the volume winds to a close, it becomes increasingly clear that both the island and its inhabitants are hiding some very dangerous and powerful secrets.
In typical manga fashion, Momo Tama hits the ground running, but the minimal exposition is not quite enough to carry it, and it takes quite a while for things to solidify enough to make sense. The second half of the book is much easier to follow, however, and though the end of the volume leaves a great deal unexplained, the stage is effectively set to draw readers into the next installment.
Interestingly, the promotional material for the volume highlights the series’ comedy, describing it as, “…the hilarious adventures of a boy who just might make you die laughing!” While there is plenty of humor to be found in Momo Tama, what has been presented so far suggests that it has much more to offer than laughs. The first volume introduces an intriguing mix of fantasy, action, suspense, and genuine whimsy that is really quite delightful once it finally begins to come together.
The legend passed down by both the Mutsu clan and Momotaro’s menagerie is notably short on detail, but what is there is tantalizingly odd. Besides the fact that Momotaro’s “army” apparently consisted of three fairly small animals (whose descendants, by the way, are inexplicably human), the story also tells us that Momotaro was a foundling born from a peach, and that he recruited his tiny army by offering them sweet dumplings cooked up by his adoptive mother.
The present-day story is not any less idiosyncratic, but quite a bit more sinister. Alongside the goofy premise (and a predilection for bunnies) exists a steady sense of true danger. For example, there is a moment tucked into the middle of a silly dorm scene near the end of the volume in which a second-year student confides that the island is “serious trouble” and that some of the new students will undoubtedly be killed. This short scene is actually quite chilling and there are moments like that throughout the volume, ensuring that the story never falls too far into pure fancy.
This is not to suggest that TOKYOPOP’s promotional material is wrong. Kokonose, though only nine years old, speaks in a pompous, excessively cerebral manner reminiscent of Brain, the lab mouse bent on world domination in Warner Brothers’ Animaniacs cartoons. Both his self-important behavior and his absurdly oversized clothing are obviously meant to provide humor (and they do), yet he is presented so honestly in all his ridiculousness that he somehow manages to exude a kind of dignity. He is arrogant, manipulative, kind when it is least expected, and occasionally struck with a childlike wonder that belies his grown-up rhetoric.
What promises to be the real charm of Momo Tama, however, is its supporting characters, particularly the “dog,” Kouichirou Yamato, whose exuberant sincerity fills the page with sunshine, and the likable nerd, Mamoru Kashii, whom Kokonose latches on to early on in the story. With so much going on, these characters’ stories have barely begun, but mangaka Nanae Chrono defines them masterfully from the start, surrounding the over-the-top Kokonose with a rich set of more nuanced players to interact with.
Chrono’s art is crisp and attractive with just the right amount of detail, able to portray both the real and the ridiculous with ease. Here, too, the characters are particularly well-defined, which is a great asset in a story with as many characters as this one has.
Despite a somewhat confusing start, Momo Tama‘s first volume ends strong, and with its fun cast of characters and intriguing setup, it looks to be a series worth following.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
By Satoru Takamiya
Viz, 200 pp.
Rating: Teen
The only things that terrify schoolgirl Mikuzu Sudou more than boys are ghosts and monsters (also known as oni). This is an unfortunate fact, since they are especially drawn to her and, unlike most humans, she can see them. Fortunately, she meets up with Seto, a cross-dressing exorcist with a deep appreciation for cake, and his companion, Kagari, a vampire who can transform into a wolf. Seto provides protection from the monsters, Mikuzu provides the cake, and a winning team is born! Things are never as simple as that, of course, and as the three work together as exorcists-for-hire, we learn more about the individual challenges and frailties that complicate the relationships between them.
The first chapter of the volume was intended as a stand-alone piece, and trips along quite lightly for a story about monsters. As the volume continues, however, things get serious fast. As it turns out, Seto dresses like a girl in memory of his sister, who was the real exorcist of the family. She died saving him from oni, and it is Seto’s intention to earn enough money to have a sex-change operation, after which he will find a way to transfer her soul into his living body, resurrecting her and ending his own existence. Kagari, who has been too long miserable in the loneliness of immortality, is devoted to Seto because he has promised to exorcize Kagari’s soul (effectively killing him) before he kills himself. Mikuzu, who is terrified of men, is able to work comfortably alongside Seto because he has the non-threatening appearance of a cute girl. She even falls in love with him, so of course she wants to keep him in this world as long as possible, which means she must work against his plans. All of this is complicated by the fact that Mikuzu is the only one who is able to communicate with the spirit of Seto’s dead sister.
The tale Satoru Takamiya has woven is complex, very poignant, and has no hope whatsoever of working successfully as a single volume. The plot as it stands makes very little sense. There are interesting (if not wholly original) ideas, but without exception, the execution is rushed, clumsy, and generally muddled. Nothing is resolved in a satisfying way, and everyone’s stories are left woefully unfinished. Yet despite the clunky storytelling, the characters’ personal journeys and their relationships with each other are maddeningly compelling. Takamiya’s ideas are far too ambitious for the time and space alloted (possibly also for her current level of skill), and she frequently loses the thread while trying to pull it together, but at the core of it all there is that deep, shining honesty that is the seed of all powerful fiction.
The art in Heaven’s Will is simple, yet expressive. The character’s facial expressions are extremely nuanced, allowing them to move from emotion to emotion with an unexpected genuineness and fluidity, the result of which can be quite moving. Seto’s look of embarrassment when he admits he likes cake, for example, provides a surprising glimpse of vulnerability in his character early on, without being at all melodramatic or cloying.
Although Heaven’s Will is deeply flawed, and not something that can be wholeheartedly recommended, there is much promise there of better things to come.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
Princess Ai: The Prism of Midnight Dawn, Vol. 1
Created by Courtney Love & Stuart “D.J. Milky” Levy
Story by Stuart “D.J. Milky” Levy
Written by Christine Boylan, Art by Misaho Kujiradou
TOKYOPOP, 192 pp.
Rating: OT (16+)
Set after the original Princess Ai series, this story begins back in Ai-land, where Princess Ai is performing in a “prism-cast” concert, simulcast to both Ai-land and Earth, thanks to the power of the magical and mysterious “Prism of Midnight Dawn.” Unfortunately, as the concert begins, the prism (along with prophet Sir Edwin See) is stolen away from Ai-land by a huge vulture, presumably taken to the other side. Princess Ai uses a second prism to transport herself and her bodyguards, the three Furies, back to Earth to rescue Sir Edwin and return the Prism of Midnight Dawn to Ai-land. All is not well on Earth, and Ai soon discovers that much of the population has become addicted to a substance called “Tank,” including her old flame, Kent Kawa Scott.
Like many sequels, Princess Ai: The Prism of Midnight Dawn feels more like merchandising than fiction. The plot and dialogue move along predictably in this first volume. There are a few moments that could be dramatic, if only they were a bit more hard-won. Kent too easily throws aside his Tank addiction in order to make a televised plea to recapture Ai’s heart, and Ai is quickly lured into a trap, leaving her captive at the end of the volume.
The volume contains onstage performances by both Ai and Kent’s band, The Rebel Paupers, but unlike in Ai Yazawa’s NANA, where music provides the soul of the story, here it works as a clunky plot device, with too much time being spent on watery lyrics like, “How far away is never, How soon yesterday. Tomorrow waits forever, And ever three more days.” That said, probably the most enjoyable piece of this volume is the attached Ai-Tunes CD, which offers up songs from various artists such as Skye (who provided the voice of Ai on TOKYOPOP’s Princess Ai Soundtrack) and California bands Divine Madness and Intercept.
Princess Ai: The Prism of Midnight Dawn‘s first volume is prettily packaged and presented, with attractive art and fashions, and may offer fans of the original series more of what drew them there in the first place. On its own, however, it lacks any real drama or substance to bring in new readers.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
There is little that fills my heart with such joy as a new volume of NANA, though the story itself has gotten pretty troubling. From the back cover:
As Blast gears up for their major label debut, their fan club starts mobilizing. Led by the chic Shion, these ladies are serious fans who won’t let anyone mess with their band. But the fan club has it out for Misato, a maverick fan who has gotten too close to Nana. What will they say when they find out Misato is applying for a job with Blast?!
I find it hilarious that this is what they’ve chosen to talk about on the back cover of this volume, for though this certainly something that happens (sort of) in volume 14, it is so far from being the real drama, it’s almost funny. Real spoilers after the jump. …
By Takane Yonetani
Luv Luv Press, 224 pp.
Rating: Mature (18+)
College sophomore Ayame is dating Koichi, who is a cop. They have a loving relationship and a very active sex life, which would be even more active if only Kiochi’s work did not constantly interrupt them in bed. Kiochi worries about protecting Ayame, and Ayame worries about Koichi’s safety on the job. Various people come into their lives to keep the story going (criminals, family members, and so on), but the plot is not much more than a vehicle to move from one sex scene to the next. Still, the volume is readable and provides some sweet, if clichéd, moments.
Both of the main characters fulfill the roles set up for them by their gender stereotypes, but with a bit of slack that makes them more likable than they might be otherwise. Koichi is very protective and possessive of Ayame, though warmer and more nuanced than that would suggest. He also appears to be a generous lover, more often than not. Ayame is using college primarily as a time-killer until she is able to get married, but she displays more independence than might be expected. Both are good, kind people who always do the right thing and never stay angry, leaving the other characters who turn up with the job of providing any necessary conflict.
The art is pleasant, though not especially distinctive, and some of the explicit sex scenes become vague in places.
Despite its warm characters and serviceable storytelling, Make Love & Peace never rises above its genre to become anything more than mundane romance.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally pubished at PopCultureShock.
Fruits Basket, Vol. 21
By Natsuki Takaya
Published byTokyopop
Rated Teen (13+)
With only two volumes yet to go, the English language release of Fruits Basket is nearing its close, and as the story races forward, emotions run high all around. At the end of volume 20, Tohru attempted to confess her love to Kyo, but was cut off by Kyo’s stunning confession that he felt responsible for the death of her mother. She finally gets to voice her feelings in the opening chapter of this volume, but not before Kyo finishes his own painful story, ultimately leaving her in tears. Things continue to go horribly wrong, leading to an ugly confrontation between Akito and Tohru, and another later between Yuki and Kyo.
If you’re like me, you’ll need a box of tissues handy to make it through the first few chapters, in which even a raving, knife-wielding Akito manages to somehow evoke sympathy. The most touching scene, though, may be in the final chapter when after all the noisy drama of the rest of the volume, Yuki finds a cozy resting spot on his own personal journey with quiet student council secretary Machi.
Mangaka Natsuki Takaya’s practice of using only the most subtle visual cues (if any) to indicate who is speaking can be irritating, but in this case, forcing the reader to deliberate carefully over each fragment of text only encourages a deeper read, allowing for greater absorption of this volume’s intense emotional content. Each panel is rich with complex history and feeling between characters, presented in the deceptively simple manner that characterizes this series overall.
As always, much of Takaya’s ability to make palatable the selfishness and cruelty her characters often display can be credited to the refreshingly genuine quality of her protagonist. Few of us can claim to see the world through eyes as open, joyful, and compassionate as Tohru Honda’s, but the great appeal of Fruits Basket is in that it manages to make us believe we can, at least for an hour or so.
Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
Hitohira, Vol. 1
By Idumi Kirihara
Aurora Publishing, 192 pp.
Rating: T (13+)
Hitohira is the story of a painfully shy high school freshman, Mugi Asai, who becomes invariably tongue-tied when faced with speaking in front of other people, though she otherwise possesses an unusually powerful voice. Having let out her true voice in her excitement over being accepted to the Kumataka Art Academy, Mugi is discovered and pursued by the director of the school’s theater club, who later coerces her to join. Mugi soon learns that the club she has joined is not, in fact, the school’s official theater club, but rather the tiny “Theater Research Group” which is struggling for survival. Though she quickly realizes her mistake in joining a club dedicated to public performance, without Mugi, the club does not have enough members to continue, so she ultimately gives in to peer pressure and remains in the club.
Though much of the first volume is spent introducing the characters and their relationships with each other, it is clear where the story is headed. Mugi’s involvement in the theater club will help her overcome her fears and become the confident young woman she has the potential to be. Nono, the club’s director, tells Mugi very earnestly that she believes that one day Mugi will look back and be glad that she joined the theater club. Mugi certainly has not reached that point by the end of the first volume, but she does enjoy the other members of the club (especially Nono), and it’s obvious that she’s taken a first step toward defeating her social anxiety. The other major plot point we’re introduced to in this volume is Nono’s struggle with vocal chord paralysis, which threatens her future as an actress. It is Nono’s decision to keep acting in the face of her ailment that was responsible for the split between the members of the Theater Research Group and the school’s official theater club, which is headed up by Nono’s former best friend, Mirei.
Despite the characters’ proclaimed devotion to theater, Hitohira does not delve into the subject with much passion, or even much apparent knowledge. One of the things that drives Mugi forward is her desire to understand why Nono and the others love theater as they do. She ponders often over the “magic” of theater, wishing that she could experience it herself. It will be interesting to see whether, over the course of the series, Idumi Kirihara can effectively portray that magic, both to Mugi and the reader, but for now, theater in Hitohira feels more like cold theory. It almost seems, at times, as if Kirihara is avoiding the subject. For instance, much is made of the Theater Research Group’s brutal rehearsal schedule, but though there are a few chapters in which the club members are seen practicing physical exercises or improvisation, very little is shown of the rehearsals for their first play of the year, which makes its performance midway through the volume seem very much out-of-the-blue.
That said, the story’s lack of onstage drama is more than made up for offstage. Relationships are key in this character-driven series, and there are plenty of them to explore. The dynamic within the Theater Research Group is quite interesting. Club members follow Nono’s direction without question, despite her often harsh demands. Their loyalty seems to be due, at least in part, to events surrounding their split from the main theater group, but only a few details of that are revealed in this volume. The most compelling relationships in the story, however, are between Mugi and Nono (who have an obvious rapport, including a bit of a girl crush on Mugi’s part), and Nono and former friend Mirei. Despite their falling-out, Mirei clearly still cares for Nono a great deal, and at one point, after realizing that Nono and Mugi are becoming close, asks Mugi to “please take good care of her.”
The relationships make Hitohira intriguing, but the first volume drags in places and feels fragmented in others, as though bits of chapters were torn out of the book. Mugi’s first appearance onstage comes up with little warning, and then is barely spoken of again afterward. In another chapter, the two rival theater clubs make a bet regarding the mid-term scores of the Theater Research Group members. Just as the scores are posted, one of the members takes off with the score sheet, leading to a half-hearted chase, after which the matter is dropped completely. That chapter is a misstep all around, as the series’ earnest tone doesn’t lend itself well to spirited tales of student hijinks, and Kirihara isn’t particularly strong with humor (further demonstrated by the flat omake pages at the end of the volume).
Aurora Publishing is marketing Hitohira as shojo, despite the fact that it runs in seinen magazine Comic High! in Japan, which is a somewhat confusing move. Though Mugi’s personal journey could certainly be relatable for many shy young girls, the moe fan service is pretty blatant, and definitely geared toward male readers. There’s nothing extremely offensive to girls in Hitohira (though it is a bit distressing that the protagonist’s vision of a “confident” female is a cheerleader) but this classification is definitely misleading. Fan service aside, Kirihara’s art is pleasant (if a bit plain), though some of the girls look so much alike, they can only really be distinguished by the style of their hair.
Hitohira has some nice moments and strong chemistry between characters, but the storytelling is too uneven to be truly compelling. Perhaps a stronger second volume (due out December 29th) will give the series more solid footing.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.
The Voices of a Distant Star
Adapted by Mizu Sahara
Original concept by Makoto Shinkai
Published by TOKYOPOP
Rated T (13+)
Based on Makoto Shinkai’s short film, The Voices of a Distant Star is a story of two young people separated by space and, more importantly, time. As the people of Earth carry on an intergalactic war with a technologically advanced alien race, fifteen-year-old Mikako is called into service on the U.N. spacecraft, Lysithea. She leaves behind her childhood friend, Noboru, just before they would have entered high school together, and right at the age when their friendship is on the brink of deepening into something more. Their sole means of communication is low-priority electronic mail using their cell phones, and as Mikako travels light years away the time it takes for their messages to be delivered increases, reaching over eight years for a single delivery before the story’s end.
Over the course of the story, Noboru grows to adulthood on his own while Mikako remains a teenager, her middle-school days barely behind her. As Mikako’s messages begin to arrive farther and farther apart, Noboru first tries to free himself from his doomed attachment, but he eventually abandons this in favor of working toward an opportunity to join the rescue party being sent out after Mikako’s ship, in hopes of reuniting with her.
Voices of a Distant Star was Makoto Shinkai’s first work released after his award-winning five-minute short, She and Her Cat. Created entirely on his home computer, it was completed in 2002. Its themes of loneliness and separation, revisited often in his later work, are perhaps most stunningly portrayed in this short film. While the film was focused tightly, even narrowly, on the two main characters, for the manga adaptation Mizu Sahara adds some additional context to each of their lives, introducing us to two shipmates of Mikako’s, as well as some friends (and even a short-lived girlfriend) of Noboru’s back on Earth.
The effect of this is twofold. On one hand, it is gratifying to see Mikako discovering kindred spirits on her journey. On the other hand, it becomes even more clear just how cruel the situation is. Both are affected, but especially Noboru, who is so firmly attached to Mikako that he is unable to connect with anyone in his present life, which, unlike Mikako’s, is rapidly passing him by. At one point in the manga, after more than a year with no messages from Mikako, Noboru begins to form an attraction to a girl in his class, but just as he might have finally broken free and allowed himself to live in the present (his present), a message finally arrives. This is incredibly romantic from a certain point of view, of course, but from another it is simply horrifying, demonstrating clearly just how destructive and hurtful a relationship like this might be. It is also good storytelling, and it’s impressive that a manga adaptation of such a moving film is able to achieve even greater effect here than the original. The idea that two people, each acting out of sincere love for the other, can still end up hurting one another terribly is one of those unfortunate truths of life that most people would prefer to ignore. Mizu Sahara makes that impossible here.
One difference in the adaptation that is less effective is the way Sahara handles the ending. In the film, the futures of both Noboru and Mikako are left unresolved, with Mikako fighting to save her comrades, and Noboru heading off to unspecified Armada duty. There is hope that they might meet again one day, reinforced by a vision Mikako has just before her squadron falls under attack, but both characters seem to have come to terms with the uncertainty of that hope. The manga, however, works very hard to bring them back together, sending Noboru off on a mission to rescue the survivors of Mikako’s last battle. The film ends with Mikako and Noboru, light years apart, each sending the same mental message to each other, “I am here,” to which the manga adds, “… Because we are destined to meet again.”
Again, this is a very romantic notion, but not as powerful, or even as conclusive as the open ending of the film. There was a kind of comfort in knowing that both characters had finally embraced their own lives and come to a place where simply understanding that the other was out there was enough, at least for the moment. In pandering to the reader’s (and perhaps her own) desire to bring the characters back together, Mizu Sahara has created an ending that is weaker and less satisfying.
That said, the manga is absolutely beautiful. The art is nicely detailed and very expressive, and the panel layouts, including the placement and style of dialogue and narrative text, make the story visually interesting and easy to follow. The additional material adds more layers to the relationship between the two main characters, like the scenario in which Noboru attempts to repair a favorite hair clip of Mikako’s, forced finally into giving up and buying her a new one to hide his failure. There is an extremely touching moment later where he admits this to Mikako (which of course, she’s known all along) that is very nicely written. Sahara also spends more time exploring both Mikako’s and Noboru’s feelings about Mikako’s appointment to the Lysithea, which is very revealing for both characters.
Regardless of the manga’s differences from its source material (both weak and strong), as a standalone piece, Mizu Sahara’s The Voices of a Distant Star is ultimately successful in telling a thoughtful, heart-wrenching story that is both visually and narratively appealing.
Review originally published at PopCultureShock.