Mystery/Suspense

License This! Kindaichi Shounen no Jikenbo by Amagi Seimaru & others

February 28, 2013 by Travis Anderson 9 Comments

Let’s just pretend I posted something in January. I certainly meant to! (I had a moment of panic just now thinking I wouldn’t even be able to get one in for February, since the site was down for me for a bit and tomorrow I won’t be home from work before the month’s over in MJ’s timezone, but I made it!)

This month’s request is actually a license rescue. I’m not sure if that makes it more or less likely than something that’s never been licensed before, but it does seem that quite a few things are being picked up for a second go-round, so I refuse to give up hope!

Kindaichi Shounen no Jikenbo, aka The Case Files of Young Kindaichi, aka The Kindaichi Case Files, is one of my very favorite manga of all time, possibly even my number one favorite. Last year saw its twentieth anniversary, and though I haven’t been reading it since the very beginning, it has been a very long time since I first fell in love with the series. (It’s weird to think that if Kindaichi actually aged, he would now be in his mid-thirties like me, rather than an eternal teenager!)

I can see why it would be a daunting project to tackle. The first series, consisting of twenty-seven volumes (with a total of nineteen cases awkwardly divided between the volumes), ran from 1992 to 1997 and was followed immediately by the second series, which consisted of ten volumes (seven cases, all either single or double-volume stories, which eliminated the problem of getting to the end of the book and finding yourself left hanging in the middle of a mystery) and ran until 2001. That was supposed to be the end of it, but (thankfully!) it ended up restarting in 2004 with what has been referred to as simply “the new series.” This series was also released with one case per volume (or divided into two volumes for some of the longer ones) and resulted in nine cases spread over fourteen volumes. Then in 2012 the formerly “new series” was rebranded as the 20th Anniversary Series, with three volumes having been released in that line so far with a fourth due in March (and annoyingly, they’ve gone back to the same format as the original series, rather than the more superior “one case per volume” format of the second and third series).

So that’s a total of fifty-four volumes (or thirty-seven cases) just in the main series, and it’s still on-going! Not to mention there are also six volumes of short stories and two volumes featuring Police Superintendent Akechi. And if you really want to be thorough, there are nine novels as well. (It’s also spawned four different drama series (the most recent of which just started airing a few weeks ago), as well as an anime.) That’s a lot of material to work with.

One thing I really like about Kindaichi (aside from the fact that they’re just good mysteries) is that people never kill for money or jealousy or petty stuff like that. It’s always revenge. Inevitably when Kindaichi reveals the killer, the killer will launch into a sob story about how the people they murdered wronged them (often those who were murdered turn out to be murderers themselves), and I’m not going to lie, I eat that sort of thing up with a spoon. Hearing the killer tell their story is probably my favorite part of the cases, though the reveal as to how they pulled it off comes a close second.

The first eighteen volumes were released by TokyoPop, but the series was dropped long before they went out of business. If it was dropped due to low sales, maybe another company would be hesitant to pick it up, but in that case a digital-only release might be the way to go. The translation and editing still requires some investment, but it’s not as risky as traditional publishing.

You might be wondering why we need another mystery series when there’s already Detective Conan, but apart from the fact that there can never be enough mysteries, Conan and Kindaichi are different types of series. Although both are murder mysteries, Kindaichi is much more realistic (well, as realistic as you can get when you’re talking about a high school boy who stumbles across murders wherever he goes) and serious compared to the Inspector Gadget-y hijinks of Conan.

Both for people who love Conan and are looking for more mystery manga, and those who want something different, Kindaichi is a good choice, and I hope that eventually it becomes available to more people.

Now You’re One of Us

August 3, 2011 by Katherine Dacey Leave a Comment

Noriko, the young heroine of Asa Nonami’s Now You’re One of Us, initially thinks she’s hit the marriage jackpot. Not only are her in-laws wealthy and well regarded by their neighbors, they’re also quick to embrace her as a member of the family. Her husband Kazuhito is handsome and utterly devoted; her mother-in-law Kimie, generous and uncritical; and her sister-in-law Ayano, solicitous to everyone in the household, including Kazuhito’s oddly child-like brother Takehami. Even the Shito matriarch, ninety-eight-year-old Ei, welcomes Noriko to the clan by declaring her the family’s “treasure” and “future.”

Shortly after Noriko arrives at the Shitos’ Tokyo home, a strange, slightly disheveled neighbor approaches her while she works in the garden. Though Kimie is quick to dismiss him as a troubled tenant who’s fallen on hard times, Noriko can’t shake the feeling that the neighbor was about to divulge something damning — a feeling intensified by his mysterious death in a fire several days later. The Shitos’ oddly muted, impersonal response to his death further arouses Noriko’s suspicion, as do the family’s clandestine midnight meetings. Though the Shitos offer reasonable, measured responses to Noriko’s inquiries, she begins wondering if the Shitos run an illicit business… or worse.

Thanks to a fluid translation by Michael and Mitsuko Valek, Asa Nonami’s simple, unfussy prose draws the reader into Noriko’s insular world, showing us how a simple girl from a working class family is lured into the Shitos’ web. In this passage, for example, Nonami reveals Kazuhito to be a deft manipulator, appealing to Noriko’s vanity by suggesting that Ei’s endorsement carries special significance:

“Great Granny’s been watching people for ninety-eight years — she can see through them at a glance, so lots of people in the neighborhood come to ask her for advice.” He explained how delighted he was that Great Granny had taken a liking to her; it showed that he hadn’t been blinded by attraction. He felt like the luckiest man in the world for having found someone of whom his family approved.

Unfortunately, Nonami is never content to let a passage like this one stand alone; she feels compelled to explain how Kazuhito’s words swayed Noriko by telling us exactly what Noriko is thinking at the moment he gives this speech. The obviousness of Noriko’s interior monologues is especially frustrating; Nonami does a competent job of revealing her characters’ motivations and feelings through their actions without resorting to such editorial interventions.

The other drawback to Nonami’s storytelling is that she begins telegraphing the ending just a few chapters into the book. Savvier readers will quickly figure out what the Shitos’ secret is — and it’s a doozy — though they probably won’t mind wading through another hundred pages to have their ickiest suspicions confirmed, especially since Nonami manages a few surprises in the final pages.

The bottom line: Now You’re One of Us is an entertaining, atmospheric potboiler that’s probably best read in the privacy of one’s own home.

This review originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 2/8/08.

NOW YOU’RE ONE OF US • BY ASA NONAMI, TRANSLATED BY MICHAEL AND MITSUKO VALEK • VERTICAL, INC. • 240 pp.

Review Redux: Gosick, Vol. 1

May 5, 2011 by Katherine Dacey 16 Comments

American publishers have been trying to market light novels to manga fans for close to a decade, with mixed results. Though Dark Horse’s Vampire Hunter D books have sold more than 300,000 units, few other companies can claim similar success with light novels. TOKYOPOP, for example, launched its Pop Fiction imprint in 2006 with several high-profile series, among them The Twelve Kingdoms and Trinity Blood, but poor sales doomed the line to obscurity; by the time TOKYOPOP announced that it would be shuttering its North American publishing operation, it had scrapped its Pop Fiction imprint and drastically curtailed its light novel production.

Part of the problem was logistics: light novels pose a unique problem for retailers, who must decide whether the books should be shelved with graphic novels — where manga fans are more likely to find them — or with science fiction and fantasy books — where a broader readership might discover them. And part of the problem was quality: many of the light novels TOKYOPOP published were poor-to-middling, rendered in flat, functional prose that conveyed little of the energy or imagination of the best manga TOKYOPOP licensed. There were some genuine stand-outs in the Pop Fiction catalog, however, among them Kino’s Journey, a wistful travelogue about a young woman who wanders the globe on a talking motorcycle; Welcome to the NHK, a rude, hilarious expose on Japan’s hikokimori subculture; and Gosick, an old-fashioned murder mystery that’s equal parts Arthur Conan Doyle and Scooby Doo.

Described as a “modern twist on Holmes and Watson,” Gosick adheres to a tried-and-true formula in which a cold but brilliant detective is paired with a sincere but slightly dim sidekick who’s always a few clues behind the audience. In the case of Gosick, the Holmes stand-in is Victorique, the resident eccentric at the Saint Marguerite Academy in Sauville (a fictional European country, just in case you were about to visit the Wikipedia), while the Watson surrogate is Kazuya Kujo, the school’s sole Japanese student. Victorique is a little less degenerate than Conan Doyle’s greatest creation, favoring a pipe over a glass of absinthe; nonetheless, she shares Holmes’s contempt for small minds, superstitions, and emotionally driven decision-making. Her reputation for deductive reasoning leads the nearby town’s pretty-boy inspector to seek her advice whenever there’s a murder – which, given the size and geographical remoteness of the town, occurs with rather alarming frequency.

In the course of investigating a fortune teller’s death, Victorique and Kazuya board the Queen Berry, a ship which supposedly sank ten years earlier with a cargo of murdered children. The two endure a night of extreme violence and seemingly supernatural events as they comb the ship for clues about the old woman’s past. These scenes play like Ten Little Indians crossed with Battle Royale: the ship’s other passengers visit horrific deaths on one another, usually with sharp objects or booby traps. Interspersed with the carnage – which, despite my description, is pretty tame – are numerous conversations in which Victorique patiently debunks the notion that the Queen Berry is haunted, culminating in the kind of “if it wasn’t for those meddling kids I would have had my revenge!” ending familiar to Scooby Doo fans.

What sets Gosick apart from most of the light novels I’ve read — admittedly, a small and unscientific sampling — is the prose. As Carlo Santos noted in his review of volume one, “we get real paragraphs and sentences, with a good mix of description, dialogue and action to keep the story moving” instead of the “clipped, telegraphic sentences” characteristic of the Code Geass and Full Metal Panic novels. To be sure, no one will confuse Gosick with the stark lyricism of Snow Country or the biting snarl of Kamikaze Girls, but the prose is adequate to the task at hand. Aside from a few fussy and oft-repeated details about the characters’ appearance, most of the description focuses on the setting and the elaborate death-traps aboard the Queen Berry, keeping the readers’ attention squarely focused on the mayhem.

The plot may disappoint some contemporary mystery buffs; if you’re an ardent fan of Alexander McCall Smith or Tony Hillerman, you may find Gosick‘s parlor-room denouement too pat and old-fashioned to be genuinely satisfying. Readers who enjoyed Case Closed, The Kindachi Case Files, and Higurashi When They Cry, however, will find Gosick‘s exaggerated characters, Baroque murders, and slick illustrations right in their wheelhouse.

This is an expanded version of a review that originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 4/8/08.

GOSISCK, VOL. 1 • STORY BY KAZUKI SAKURABA, ART BY HINAKO HIRATA • TOKYOPOP • 192 pp.

Amnesia Labyrinth, Vol. 1

February 8, 2011 by Katherine Dacey 6 Comments

In public, Souji Kushiki leads a charmed life: he’s wealthy and handsome, popular with girls, smarter than his classmates, and faster than anyone on the track team. In private, Souji lives under a dark cloud: his older brother disappeared, a possible victim of foul play, while his sisters paw and flirt with him like Aphrodite and Hera competing for Paris’ affections. Souji’s private and public lives collide when a family emergency requires him to return home from boarding school. Souji’s new school turns out to be Murder High: the school’s top student, best athlete, and council president have all been brutally killed, and the evidence suggests that someone in the Kushiki household is responsible.

For a manga that features incest, murder, and at least one character with a split personality, Amnesia Labyrinth is awfully dull, plodding from scene to scene with little sense of urgency. Part of the problem lies with the source material; as writer Nagaru Tanigawa explains in the afterword to volume one, Amnesia Labyrinth was “based on a story that, while it didn’t have enough to become a full-fledged novel, had been kicking around in my head for years.” He admitted that he had to “dismantle” his original idea and “reinvent the characters”; small wonder that the published version was, by his own admission, filled with “lazy, phantom passages,” vestiges of an earlier story idea.

Those “phantom passages” crop up repeatedly throughout the manga, especially when Souji interacts with his sisters. In one excruciatingly pointless scene, Souji watches younger sis Harumi eat a popsicle, a wordless moment that serves no dramatic purpose other than to reinforce the idea that Harumi is more demure than sibling rivals Youko and Saki. Other scenes go on too long; in chapter one, for example, Tanigawa makes one of his female characters recite Souji’s entire CV in comic detail. (“Your grades… they’re among the top in the nation,” Sasai declares. “You put everyone to shame on Sports Day. You weren’t even on the track team, but you still cleaned up in the races.”)

That expository soliloquy points to one of Amnesia Labyrinth‘s other problems: Souji. Though we learn a lot about him from other characters, we never see Souji do anything that warrants their high esteem; it’s hard to imagine why his three sisters are so keen to bed him, as he seems like a rather ordinary teen, passive in attitude and behavior. The only moments in which we get a glimpse of his true personality are when he interacts with Sasai, a pushy classmate from his new school. She teases and flatters Souji, trying to provoke a response, and when that strategy fails, engages him in a semi-philosophical conversation about death. Their conversation might be trivial from an adult point of view, but from a teenage perspective, it feels right, two young people trying to make a terrible abstraction seem less scary.

Souji’s sisters are equally problematic. They’re a harem of types, rather than three distinctive characters: Youko, Souji’s full sister, is crazy and wears a kimono; Harumi, Souji’s stepsister, is the embodiment of moe, blushing and stammering around Souji; and Saki, Souji’s half sister, is a fetish object, cheerfully trading a maid’s outfit for a school uniform. The girls’ sexual aggression isn’t beyond the realm of possibility; one might plausibly infer that their gamesmanship and flirtation are an attempt to establish a pecking order. But the scenes lack emotion or context, registering more as cheap titillation — hey, Souji’s such a stud that even his sisters want him! — than an essential element of the plot.

The one bright spot in this otherwise lackluster affair is the art. Using clean, precise linework, Natsumi Kohane renders each setting in careful detail, drawing a sharp distinction between the Kushiki’s isolated rural home and the school’s bustling urban neighborhood. There’s a lovely — if unnecessary — sequence of panels showing us what kind of flowers grow in the Kushiki’s garden, thus establishing the time of year and suggesting the home’s claustrophobic, hothouse atmosphere. (It’s a bit like finding a tribute to Kazuo Miyagawa’s cinematography embedded in a Vin Diesel flick.) Even the fanservice is handled tastefully; the female characters have plausible, pleasing body shapes that demonstrate a firm grasp of basic anatomy. There’s some brief nudity, but we’re spared the panty shots and boob collisions typical of harem manga.

I’m hesitant to pan Amnesia Labyrinth, as I know I’m not its target audience. Souji is clearly intended to be a surrogate for teenage boys who fantasize about being brilliant, athletic, and irresistible to girls without the slightest effort. For readers outside this demographic, however, the series’ main draw — the mystery — is too underdeveloped to be interesting, and the characterizations too thin to inspire sympathy for or identification with any of the cast.

Review copy provided by Seven Seas. Volume one will be released on February 28, 2011.

AMNESIA LABYRINTH, VOL. 1 • STORY BY NAGARU TANIGAWA, ART BY NATSUMI KOHANE, CHARACTER DESIGNS BY HINATA TAKEDA • SEVEN SEAS • 194 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

The Cat in the Coffin

June 22, 2009 by Katherine Dacey

catcoffincover The year is 1955. Twenty-year-old Masayo, an aspiring painter from Hakodate, apprentices herself to Goro Kawabuko, a handsome widower who teaches at a Tokyo art college. In exchange for a weekly lesson, Masayo agrees to keep house for Goro and tutor his daughter Momoko, a strange, withdrawn child whose only companion is a regal white cat named Lala.

Masayo, who comes from a humble background, finds the Kawabuko household enchanting. Or, more accurately, she finds Goro enchanting. Goro epitomizes urban chic, hosting lavish parties, listening to jazz, and wearing the latest Western fashions. Realizing that Goro is beyond her reach, Masayo instead focuses on Momoko; if she can gain the girl’s confidance, perhaps she’ll have a claim on Goro’s heart as well. Masayo must first demonstrate her affinity for Lala, however, as the cat exerts an almost maternal power over Momoko, responding to her mistress’ quicksilver moods with an emotional intelligence that borders on human.

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