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shojo

Jiu Jiu, Vol. 1

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My childhood bookshelves were filled with stories about wolves and the girls who loved them, so Jiu Jiu sounded like pure Kate Bait. Not only did Jiu Jiu feature wolves — two, to be exact — it also featured the kind of angry, conflicted heroine familiar to me from years of reading books like Sasha, My Friend. As an added bonus, Takamichi, the heroine, wasn’t just a frustrated teen adjusting to a new school and new classmates; she was a demon hunter who dispatched ghouls with the chilly efficiency of a robot, aided by Snow and Night.

But oh, the execution! Jiu Jiu is a riotously busy manga, with layouts that look more like a junior high school student’s scrapbook than a conscious ordering of panels. Author Touya Tobina draws cute wolf pups, but her command of human anatomy is poor; her characters’ rubbery limbs barely seem anchored to their torsos, resulting in odd pretzel configurations whenever they embrace or fight. Her use of screentone and pattern is similarly problematic: though the dark palette helps dramatize Takamichi’s inner turmoil, it also obscures many nicely observed moments, seldom allowing those images to stand alone, unadorned, for the reader to contemplate.

The other problem is the ever-present threat of romance. Snow and Night aren’t ordinary wolves; they’re shape-shifters who transform into handsome teenage boys. As much as they view Takamichi as their mother and mistress, there’s a strong whiff of eroticism in their interactions with her. Takamichi, of course, doesn’t yet perceive her pups’ romantic designs on her, though it doesn’t take a great leap of imagination to see that living with two attractive wolf-men might  invite emotional and physical entanglements beyond the occasional game of fetch. By placing so much emphasis on Snow and Night’s hotness, however, author Tobina seems to be laying the foundation for a much less interesting story, one in which the heroine must chose between two cute guys, rather than forge her own destiny.

Where Jiu Jiu redeems itself is in the individual characterizations. Takamichi, for example, reminded me a lot of how I was at sixteen: moody, isolated, and eager to mask my insecurities with belligerence and swagger. Her hot-and-cold relationship with Snow and Night also rings with truth, as she vacillates between nurturing them and sternly rejecting them, re-enacting her fraught relationship with her father in the process. Snow and Night, too, are a marked improvement on the standard-issue shojo prince. Yes, one is blonde and outgoing while the other is bespectacled and introspective, but both characters’ personalities betray their canine DNA; who but a dog would think a frisbee was the ideal birthday present for a human?

For all the skill with which these characters are realized, however, Jiu Jiu still frustrates more than it entertains. The author’s visually frenzied layouts and frequent recourse to emotional manipulation make volume one a bumpy ride, with too many unwarranted shifts between comedy and heart-tugging drama. (Does anything say “emotional manipulation” quite like the sight of a whimpering puppy?) I’m still clinging to the hope that Jiu Jiu will improve in future chapters, if for no other reason that I haven’t outgrown my love of stories about tough girls who run with wolves.

Review copy provided by VIZ Media LLC.

JIU JIU, VOL. 1 • BY TOUYA TOBINA • VIZ MEDIA • 200 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

Adventures in the Key of Shoujo: Sakura Hime, Vol. 2

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Sakura Hime: The Legend of Princess Sakura Volume 2 | By Arina Tanemura | Published by VIZ Media | Rated: T, Ages 13+

“Faint hearts never won fair maidens.”

This statement works in the case of both lead characters in Arina Tanemura’s Sakura Hime: The Legend of Princess Sakura. Aoba, a prince in the Japanese imperial court, is betrothed to Sakura, a princess of the moon (run with me here). But Sakura is now in danger of becoming a Youko (demon), and Aoba is charged with killing her. When last we left our leads, Sakura had to flee Aoba and his courtiers who were trying to kill her. After being betrayed by her retainer, Oumi, Sakura found sanctuary with Kohaku, a female ninja in the employ of Aoba’s family, and had finally confronted Aoba after being lured into a trap by him.

Well, things certainly have improved since last I wrote about this manga. A lot of the problems from the first volume have been addressed, if not corrected.

First up, the court intrigue hinted at now comes to the fore with not one or two but three groups with their own agendas working in the court. First is Aoba, who now is completely conflicted over his love for Sakura. She’s the enemy but she’s not at the same time. He has to kill her because of her exposure to the Youko. She is a demon so his course is clear. But when Lord Fujimarusaki (Aoba’s brother) offers a deal that allows Sakura to live in exchange for killing a local Youko that has been concerning the Togu (guy in charge) and his advisors, Aoba is stuck. Now that the reason for hating her has been put on hold, Aoba finds himself trying to fight his own brother for possession of her love.

Lord Fujimarusaki states his affection for Sakura both to her and to Aoba. But he also sees how important Sakura has become since Aoba rejected her. Suitors hoping for nothing more than political influence will try to gain her hand. So Fujimarusaki moves first. But is he doing this for noble reasons? Aoba doesn’t know, but doesn’t tip his hand.

Finally, an awesome new character has been introduced who has insiders in the Royal court working for them. This new character is definitively not human, has no trouble sacrificing others for the goal, and gets the cliffhanger moment at the end. Brilliant timing, and I hope this character will be staying around as more than just a villain of the week.

Poor Sakura’s position first gets better and then worse. After being betrayed by Oumi and then by Aoba, everything would be easier if she simply gave in and became a complete Youko. But her temperament (and I suspect her love for Aoba) is keeping her anchored, though I enjoy the fact that she, too, can’t get past either Aoba or his betrayal. They have a heated argument in this volume and you can see her wanting to tell him something—to tell him everything that she has in her heart and mind. But the fact is that he …I don’t know, has to be seen in a certain way with the court. Or perhaps she’s scared to tell him everything and risk losing him. Hmm, interesting bind to be in.

Also we finally learn why Oumi betrayed Sakura. On one hand, it’s predictable, and on the other it’s heartbreaking. Oumi isn’t strictly a bad person and she technically has good reasons for doing what she did. Still, no misguided person’s fall from grace stops at a single mistake, and sadly Oumi’s arc gets worse in tone. Sakura herself confronts the issue with Oumi at the same time, and Tanemura handles it well. If nothing else, the author seems to know where she’s going in this volume and sets up an excellent final act with tragedy, pathos, and heart.

My personal favourite moment in the volume comes when Sakura protects Aoba from a snake attack. Aoba thinks she did it for self-serving reasons but Sakura did it for the right reasons in her own mind. In doing so, it’s revealed that these near fatal wounds she receives are not as painless as people believe. When Aoba realises he’s hurt Sakura more than he imagined, he tries to console her as she sleeps. It’s a nice, poignant moment and it’s handled with care and no overload of emotion.

I think I’m still reading this story because of the setting in ancient Japan. This doesn’t allow for outward displays of affection, so everything is supposed to be low-key. Despite this, Tanemura lifts the constant downer material with great comedic spats between the characters. If they were in a modern setting, this story wouldn’t appeal all that much to me. It’s bubbly and effervescent but not overbearing. If I could single out anything, I’d say that there isn’t too much action going on for the most part. But not every apple has to be rosy red so I’m asking too much of the book. I’m still hanging in for a crack at volume three.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Vol. 1

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The opening pages of Puella Magi Madoka Magica suggest a dreary retread of Sailor Moon: Kyubey, a talking cat, appears before Madoka Kaname, a perky yet otherwise unremarkable school girl, and asks her, “Would you like to change destiny?” Our first clue that Puella has something nastier up its be-ribboned sleeve occurs midway through the first chapter, when transfer student Homura Akemi confronts Madoka with a dire, if cryptic, warning: “You should never consider ‘changing yourself’ in any way,” she tells Madoka. “If you choose not to heed my words, those things that you hold dear will all be lost.” Homura then attacks Kyubey, accusing him of using “dirty tactics” to persuade Madoka to make a contract with him.

Though all the trappings of a traditional magical girl manga are in place — the costume changes, the cute familiars, the teamwork — Puella charts a darker, more violent course than other translated examples of the genre. Homura and Madoka operate in a world where magical girls routinely die; though their powers are formidable, magical girls are worked to the point of emotional and physical exhaustion. Moreover, their contracts are signed under duress; Kyubey frequently appeals to girls in desperate circumstances, using their vulnerability as leverage. (In exchange for battling witches, he explains to Madoka, “I fulfill one wish. Any wish you want!”)

In short, Puella manages to have its cake and eat it, too, faithfully adhering to the genre’s conventions while offering an explicit critique of its underlying message of courage and selflessness. The story is the antithesis of a wish-fulfillment fantasy: the powers that Kyubey bestows come with responsibilities that are too difficult for a young, inexperienced person to bear. Throughout the manga, we see examples of magical girls who have become competitive or embittered by their experiences, at risk of becoming witches themselves. We also meet girls who regret the haste with which they made their contracts, as their wishes were fulfilled at the expense of friends and family members.

As sharp as Puella‘s genre critique may be, the artwork is a disappointment. The character designs are faithful to the original anime, but the magical elements look smudgy on the page, the product of too much dark grey screentone. The anime’s surreal fight sequences have lost their visual punch as well. Creatures that looked strange and menacing in color have been defanged, reduced to cute video game monsters floating above the picture plane.

Most of the fight scenes have been compressed into a few pages, further curtailing their impact; we barely have time to register who the opponents are before one of the magical girls has eliminated the threat. As a result, the volume’s climatic scene lacks emotional resonance. Though the characters have repeatedly discussed how dangerous their vocation is, the fight is so fleeting and impressionistic that the stakes seem too low to yield such a devastating outcome.

If the artwork lacks the personality of a Magic Knight Rayearth or Cardcaptor Sakura, however, the actual story is on par with the best translated examples of the magical girl manga. Like the aforementioned CLAMP titles, Puella Magi Madoka Magica treats the magical girl as a character worthy of complexity and genuine interiority; the Puella girls may engage in magical combat, but they’re painfully aware that saving the world can be an ugly business — even if they’re wearing smart costumes.

Review copy provided by Yen Press.

PUELLA MAGI MADOKA MAGICA, VOL. 1 • STORY BY MAGICA QUARTET, ART BY HANOKAGE • YEN PRESS • 144 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Vol. 1

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The opening pages of Puella Magi Madoka Magica suggest a dreary retread of Sailor Moon: Kyubey, a talking cat, appears before Madoka Kaname, a perky yet otherwise unremarkable school girl, and asks her, “Would you like to change destiny?” Our first clue that Puella has something nastier up its be-ribboned sleeve occurs midway through the first chapter, when transfer student Homura Akemi confronts Madoka with a dire, if cryptic, warning: “You should never consider ‘changing yourself’ in any way,” she tells Madoka. “If you choose not to heed my words, those things that you hold dear will all be lost.” Homura then attacks Kyubey, accusing him of using “dirty tactics” to persuade Madoka to make a contract with him.

Though all the trappings of a traditional magical girl manga are in place — the costume changes, the cute familiars, the teamwork — Puella charts a darker, more violent course than other translated examples of the genre. Homura and Madoka operate in a world where magical girls routinely die; though their powers are formidable, magical girls are worked to the point of emotional and physical exhaustion. Moreover, their contracts are signed under duress; Kyubey frequently appeals to girls in desperate circumstances, using their vulnerability as leverage. (In exchange for battling witches, he explains to Madoka, “I fulfill one wish. Any wish you want!”)

In short, Puella manages to have its cake and eat it, too, faithfully adhering to the genre’s conventions while offering an explicit critique of its underlying message of courage and selflessness. The story is the antithesis of a wish-fulfillment fantasy: the powers that Kyubey bestows come with responsibilities that are too difficult for a young, inexperienced person to bear. Throughout the manga, we see examples of magical girls who have become competitive or embittered by their experiences, at risk of becoming witches themselves. We also meet girls who regret the haste with which they made their contracts, as their wishes were fulfilled at the expense of friends and family members.

As sharp as Puella‘s genre critique may be, the artwork is a disappointment. The character designs are faithful to the original anime, but the magical elements look smudgy on the page, the product of too much dark grey screentone. The anime’s surreal fight sequences have lost their visual punch as well. Creatures that looked strange and menacing in color have been defanged, reduced to cute video game monsters floating above the picture plane.

Most of the fight scenes have been compressed into a few pages, further curtailing their impact; we barely have time to register who the opponents are before one of the magical girls has eliminated the threat. As a result, the volume’s climatic scene lacks emotional resonance. Though the characters have repeatedly discussed how dangerous their vocation is, the fight is so fleeting and impressionistic that the stakes seem too low to yield such a devastating outcome.

If the artwork lacks the personality of a Magic Knight Rayearth or Cardcaptor Sakura, however, the actual story is on par with the best translated examples of the magical girl manga. Like the aforementioned CLAMP titles, Puella Magi Madoka Magica treats the magical girl as a character worthy of complexity and genuine interiority; the Puella girls may engage in magical combat, but they’re painfully aware that saving the world can be an ugly business — even if they’re wearing smart costumes.

Review copy provided by Yen Press.

PUELLA MAGI MADOKA MAGICA, VOL. 1 • STORY BY MAGICA QUARTET, ART BY HANOKAGE • YEN PRESS • 144 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

Adventures in the Key of Shoujo: Sailor Moon Vol. 4

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Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 4 | By Naoko Takeuchi | Published by Kodansha Comics USA | Rated: T, Ages 13+

After my aggravation over volume 3, in this volume, things start taking on a more serious angle with the remains of the team trying to make sense of new villains (Black Moon), and the kidnappings of Sailors Mars and Mercury. Chibiusa’s backstory begins to be fleshed out and Usagi starts to buckle under the stress of having all her friends snatched away from her. I was really frustrated by the previous story’s lack of tension despite all the danger they were in, but Takeuchi re-applies the pressure by bringing more people in on the fact that the Sailor Senshi are missing. So now things are moving faster, and this is better for the narrative in my humble opinion.

I find that despite Usagi discovering her royal lineage, she proves she’s still a teenager with her jealousy over Chibiusa hanging out with Mamoru so much. But as we learn more about Chibiusa, we discover that Usagi and she are more alike than they realize. Turns out Chibiusa and Usagi are related to each other and Chibiusa is from the thirtieth century. Using the two girls as a sounding board, I often wonder what would happen if I met my future descendants. Would I have anything in common with them? Or more importantly, if they were in trouble, would I fight for them? It’s interesting to speculate, especially since I had previously derided Usagi’s somewhat childish behaviour towards Chibiusa. Does this completely absolve Usagi? No, she can still go over her boundaries into somewhat irrational territory but I’ll give her a pass from now on, within reason.

A little window gets opened in relation to Sailor Jupiter. Since she was introduced, I haven’t seen sight nor hair of the poor girl, except when she’s needed to defeat evil, blah, blah, blah. But I get an teeny tiny window into her thoughts and how important the others have become to her, and she then perfectly articulates why the rest of the girls and Mamoru don’t look (on the surface at least) to be all that concerned about their missing comrades. Also, we see her and Motoki have a tender, quiet moment only to have it snatched away without Motoki knowing it’s happened. Is this a comment on the attrition of war and its effect on its soldiers? It would be interesting if I could confirm this. The manga runs its usual wire-thin line between tragedy and comedy, so all bets are off in this volume as to where Takeuchi takes this.

In my quest to understand what theories you could derive from Sailor Moon, I’m looking at the concept of Black Moon as villains. For the most part, the individuals fall into the Dark Kingdom’s mold of villainy for villainy’s sake. But the overarching idea behind them (and I’m trying to stay out of spoiler zones here) is they are rebelling against the established order. They don’t want to simply accept that this is how society has gone and they won’t agree with it. The problem for them is, like all rebellions, there’s nothing inherently wrong with not wanting to go with the rest of society, just that once you get out of talking and protesting about your ideals, you reach an impasse. You can either accept that change will take time and get into the trudge of eventually changing things, or you decide more drastic measures are required. Black Moon falls into the latter category. So they murdered and maimed their way to the top of Chibiusa’s world and now want to do the same to the present. So in this way, I would surmise, the lesson here is you can get what you want, the only thing you’ve got to do is not mind stepping on people to do it. It would be fantastic to think Takeuchi was trying to say something about the manga industry but I fear I’m grasping at straws here.

Another thing that pops up is the idea of pre-destiny. For those who do not know, predestiny is the idea that all the major events in your life were pre-ordained before you ever existed and continue after you’re gone. Two people suffer this problem: Chibiusa and Mamoru. Mamoru is in a brief (and I’m stumbling for the next word) spiritual conference with his dead lieutenants—the ones who were Queen Beryl’s resurrected minions but who later came to see the folly of their ways. He wonders why he was even reincarnated if he can’t protect Usagi. Was he fated to fail? No, say his lieutenants, because you’re here means that Usagi will be Queen and you King. While Mamoru begins to understand from that point on, it’s not decided or explained by the author whether Mamoru’s men know this truth about him because it is a truth or because they have advanced knowledge. Is it predestiny if it’s imparted by a person outside the need for a personal destiny? On Chibiusa’s side, was she always fated to find Usagi and the Sailor Senshi? Is the fact that she’s related to Usagi a deciding factor in her arrival in our present? Again, no answers, just concepts.

I have to say this volume has me thinking, rethinking and over-thinking the plot and concepts it brings with it. We haven’t even talked about the amount of pressure Usagi—that she alone finds herself under by the end of the volume. Things get very grim for our heroes—decidedly so. While I’m sure there’s an inner light or a new spell to call upon, I find myself hammering away at the cogs of the machine rather than the machine itself.

Hey, I’ve a homework assignment for all of you, if you’re interested. Can you tell me what part of Sailor Moon got you thinking beyond the page? What ideas or theories did it throw up? If not Sailor Moon, you can use any shoujo manga you like. I’ll print whatever you send me in next month’s Sailor Moon post. If your comment has spoilers for SM, then I’ll ask Melinda to post them for me so I don’t read them ^-^!

After my blood pressure problems with dealing with volume 3, I should be equally angry with this volume, but that one conversation with Sailor Jupiter took the wind right out of my sails. So is the series getting better for me? Certainly, and my initial hangups about the series (it’s too girly, the villains are wishy-washy) have largely evaporated due to Takeuchi’s layering of plot on plot, dialogue over dialogue as we start to see the whole thing start to coalesce into something close to a concept in motion. This series, despite the occasional landmine, continues to shine and hold my attention.

Manga Artifacts: Love Song

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Back in the 1990s, Matt Thorn labored hard to make Keiko Nishi a household name among American manga readers, translating six of her stories for VIZ. Two appeared in Four Shojo Stories alongside work by Moto Hagio and Shio Sato, and four appeared in a stand-alone volume called Love Song.

VIZ made a conscious effort to present Nishi’s work not just as comics, but as literature. Love Song boasted fancy endpapers — the kind you might find in the Everyman’s edition of Middlemarch — and a back cover blurb that defined shojo manga as “a literary genre of Japanese comics in which the relationships between characters are as meticulously crafted as the story’s action.” Lest the reader interpreted that statement to mean, “Here be romance comics,” the editor optimistically declared that shojo manga was “created by women for everyone!”

Though Nishi didn’t catch on with Western readers, it’s easy to see why Thorn championed her work: she’s a terrific, versatile storyteller, equally capable of writing light-hearted fantasies and character studies of deeply damaged people. Of the four stories that appear in Love Song, two are standouts: “Jewels of the Seaside,” a black comedy about three sisters who compete for the same man’s affection, with disastrous results, and “The Skin of Her Heart,” a sci-fi tale about a young woman torn between what she wants and what her mother wants for her. The other two stories — “Love Song” and “The Signal Goes Blink, Blink” — are also strong, if more conventional. “Love Song” focuses on an angry young woman who dominates her saintly boyfriend, while “The Signal Goes Blink, Blink” explores how fame transforms the life of a bullied teen.

Common to all four stories is a palpable sense of longing. The characters desperately seek human connection, but face genuine obstacles to their happiness. Yoshio Yamada, hero of “Signal,” is a perfect example: he’s the kind of small, quiet person whose shyness makes him a natural target for other kids’ scorn. (Even his own family detests him for his weakness.) When his newly discovered healing abilities land him television appearances, he worries what will happen if his powers fail him — not because he fears the stigma of being discredited, but because he fears being alone. “I’m afraid that if I lose this power, I’ll just go back to being a nobody again,” he tells his agent. “Are those people going to play with me? Will they come to school with me?”

The female protagonists of “Love Song” and “Skin of Her Heart” are also dissatisfied, though neither can fully articulate what they want. Saki, the heroine of “Love Song,” is perplexed by the intensity of her anger; though she readily admits that she was scarred by her first romantic experience, that alone cannot explain the cruel delight she takes in manipulating her current boyfriend. Lin-Lin, protagonist of “Skin,” also has difficulty pinpointing the source of her frustration, rejecting a suitor who could solve all of her financial and family problems. Only in the final pages of the story does she realize that moving to another space colony might change her life in ways that would help her “learn to open my heart to someone.”

Even the “Seaside” sisters are prisoners of their own desires. All three fancy their cousin Daniel, a handsome, polite young man, but each secretly worries that she compares unfavorably with her siblings. Their desperation is played for macabre laughs — poison factors into the narrative — but each sister’s pain and fear of rejection is very real; the punchline of the story is simultaneously amusing and horrifying, as we realize the true cost of their insecurities.

Nishi’s artwork is the perfect vehicle for such nuanced character studies, at times precise, elegant, and naturalistic, and at times loose and sketchy, with the white of the page playing an important role in underscoring the emotional distance between her characters. Her minimalist approach won’t be to every shojo fan’s liking, but she demonstrates that it’s perfectly possible to convey the interior lives of her characters without resorting to the kind of visual shorthands — flowers, sweatdrops, nosebleeds — that have been overused in contemporary shojo manga.

Readers wishing to track down a copy of Love Song should know that the title is officially out of print. (You won’t find it listed anywhere on the VIZ website.) Unlike Four Shojo Stories or A, A’, however, Love Song is still relatively easy to obtain through online retailers like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and eBay. Highly recommended.

Manga Artifacts is a monthly feature exploring older, out-of-print manga published in the 1980s and 1990s. For a fuller description of the series’ purpose, see the inaugural column.

LOVE SONG • BY KEIKO NISHI • VIZ • 208 pp. • NO RATING

Manga Artifacts: Love Song

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Back in the 1990s, Rachel Thorn labored hard to make Keiko Nishi a household name among American manga readers, translating six of her stories for VIZ. Two appeared in Four Shojo Stories alongside work by Moto Hagio and Shio Sato, and four appeared in a stand-alone volume called Love Song.

VIZ made a conscious effort to present Nishi’s work not just as comics, but as literature. Love Song boasted fancy endpapers — the kind you might find in the Everyman’s edition of Middlemarch — and a back cover blurb that defined shojo manga as “a literary genre of Japanese comics in which the relationships between characters are as meticulously crafted as the story’s action.” Lest the reader interpreted that statement to mean, “Here be romance comics,” the editor optimistically declared that shojo manga was “created by women for everyone!”

Though Nishi didn’t catch on with Western readers, it’s easy to see why Thorn championed her work: she’s a terrific, versatile storyteller, equally capable of writing light-hearted fantasies and character studies of deeply damaged people. Of the four stories that appear in Love Song, two are standouts: “Jewels of the Seaside,” a black comedy about three sisters who compete for the same man’s affection, with disastrous results, and “The Skin of Her Heart,” a sci-fi tale about a young woman torn between what she wants and what her mother wants for her. The other two stories — “Love Song” and “The Signal Goes Blink, Blink” — are also strong, if more conventional. “Love Song” focuses on an angry young woman who dominates her saintly boyfriend, while “The Signal Goes Blink, Blink” explores how fame transforms the life of a bullied teen.

Common to all four stories is a palpable sense of longing. The characters desperately seek human connection, but face genuine obstacles to their happiness. Yoshio Yamada, hero of “Signal,” is a perfect example: he’s the kind of small, quiet person whose shyness makes him a natural target for other kids’ scorn. (Even his own family detests him for his weakness.) When his newly discovered healing abilities land him television appearances, he worries what will happen if his powers fail him — not because he fears the stigma of being discredited, but because he fears being alone. “I’m afraid that if I lose this power, I’ll just go back to being a nobody again,” he tells his agent. “Are those people going to play with me? Will they come to school with me?”

The female protagonists of “Love Song” and “Skin of Her Heart” are also dissatisfied, though neither can fully articulate what they want. Saki, the heroine of “Love Song,” is perplexed by the intensity of her anger; though she readily admits that she was scarred by her first romantic experience, that alone cannot explain the cruel delight she takes in manipulating her current boyfriend. Lin-Lin, protagonist of “Skin,” also has difficulty pinpointing the source of her frustration, rejecting a suitor who could solve all of her financial and family problems. Only in the final pages of the story does she realize that moving to another space colony might change her life in ways that would help her “learn to open my heart to someone.”

Even the “Seaside” sisters are prisoners of their own desires. All three fancy their cousin Daniel, a handsome, polite young man, but each secretly worries that she compares unfavorably with her siblings. Their desperation is played for macabre laughs — poison factors into the narrative — but each sister’s pain and fear of rejection is very real; the punchline of the story is simultaneously amusing and horrifying, as we realize the true cost of their insecurities.

Nishi’s artwork is the perfect vehicle for such nuanced character studies, at times precise, elegant, and naturalistic, and at times loose and sketchy, with the white of the page playing an important role in underscoring the emotional distance between her characters. Her minimalist approach won’t be to every shojo fan’s liking, but she demonstrates that it’s perfectly possible to convey the interior lives of her characters without resorting to the kind of visual shorthands — flowers, sweatdrops, nosebleeds — that have been overused in contemporary shojo manga.

Readers wishing to track down a copy of Love Song should know that the title is officially out of print. (You won’t find it listed anywhere on the VIZ website.) Unlike Four Shojo Stories or A, A’, however, Love Song is still relatively easy to obtain through online retailers like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and eBay. Highly recommended.

Manga Artifacts is a monthly feature exploring older, out-of-print manga published in the 1980s and 1990s. For a fuller description of the series’ purpose, see the inaugural column.

LOVE SONG • BY KEIKO NISHI • VIZ • 208 pp. • NO RATING

Adventures in the Key of Shoujo: Sailor Moon Vol. 3

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Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 3 | By Naoko Takeuchi | Published by Kodansha Comics USA | Rated: T, Ages 13+

Escalation and dissipation could be the by-words of this volume of Sailor Moon and oh, Lordy, is it interesting! To illustrate my point, I use science, specifically stellar physics. In some stars, after a star has used up its fuel, which it burns through Hydrogen to produce a nuclear fusion reaction, it will start to bloat as the star fuses helium to carbon and oxygen. The pressure within this star has been building since fusion stopped and now it’s reached its breaking point. Solar layer upon layer will violently blow itself off until all that is left is a white dwarf, a smaller, brighter version of the original, full of its own mysteries.

It is this analogy that works for me in my attempt to explain the events of this volume. We have the conclusion of the fight with the Dark Kingdom. Queen Metalia and Queen Beryl (how many queens can you have?) are in the ascendant. The team is desperately trying to save Usagi from a brainwashed Mamoru, who has grabbed her in an attempt to get the Legendary Crystal. Their attempts cause the team to travel to the frozen wastes of the Arctic circle.

For her part, Usagi is trapped inside the Legendary Crystal. After sacrificing herself to free Mamoru, Usagi finds herself in possession of a newfound energy with which to defeat the rulers of the Dark Kingdom. I have to say I like how it’s resolved—not in a rush nor ponderous fashion, just somewhere in between. Takeuchi ties up most of the elements from this arc, sets them into motion for the next arc, all while allowing fans who’ve wanted a resolution to get it without going “OK, show’s over folks! Goodnight!”

Now, I have problems with the next arc’s beginning. We are introduced to the new villains, Black Moon, who’s plan is to… I don’t have a clue. (Really, the villains in this series sometimes give the appearance of “Bwa-ha-ha-ha! Champions of Justice, fear me, for I am…!” being villainous just for the sake of being villainous) During a battle with the Senshi, they kidnap Sailor Mars. And then don’t do anything remotely villainous with her. Or attack the team again. Wait, what? I don’t mind the idea of dissipation, it’s just that the team lose all momentum. Even with Mars missing, they don’t seem that pushed, at least in my mind. They even deflect questions in school as to where Mars is. Doesn’t this girl have friends or family outside of the Sailor Senshi? Has anyone filed an APB or what? Am I being too critical? Am I only one who feels that this kind of dissipation after such an epic fight is kind of a letdown? I understand that we have a change of pace after the Dark Kingdom’s “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” methodology but there’s no reason to suspect or even hint that the bad guys are mistreating Mars for their own purposes. At least, Beryl brainwashes Mamoru.

But the most glaring problem I have got is with Chibi-Usagi (or Chibiusa as she’s later to be know as). She’s a smaller version of Usagi who appears out of, literally, thin air, holding a gun (!) to Usagi’s head and demanding the Legendary Crystal from her. To top things off, she’s clingy towards Mamoru, brainwashes Usagi’s parents into letting her stay with them, has a magical key to something that nobody knows anything about. Luna says she’ll investigate but that she doesn’t suspect that Chibiusa is dangerous. Wait, what? Luna was intensely distrustful of Mamoru when he first appeared as Tuxedo Mask, and tried to stop Usagi from seeing him. But Chibiusa is just fine, no trouble. Oh, my brain hurts so badly. If Takeuchi’s plan was to confuse and annoy me, she’s been successful. Is this confusing to anyone else? What is the point of introducing a new adversary, knocking out a member of the team and then introducing a (frankly) baffling new character, inside half a tankoban? How does this help anyone? I am prepared to suspend judgement until I read the next volume but something has to give. I am starting to fray at the edges and I can only give so much leeway.

On a more positive note, the deranged second half also allows me to get some perspective on the overall view of the series. We’re nearly a quarter into the book’s run and we’re still no closer to even a hint at where the series is headed. I like this insofar as I can understand if Takeuchi wants to take time out to set up the next chess battle. Where I think the series’ strength lies is in the backstory. We now know that the Senshi and Mamoru are reincarnations of the People of the Moon and the Prince of Earth (Prince Endymion) respectively. But even after learning all that, we still don’t know their origins as Moon citizens (I never thought I would write that outside of a Gerry Anderson review). But the nicest part of the whole Moon Kingdom is when Usagi chooses to send all of them back to Earth instead of living on the now rebuilt Royal Castle grounds. They’ve got family who love them, back on Earth, so Usagi doesn’t want then to give that up. So it’s back to the only life they’ve known. It’s a nice touch, I like it.

It’s frustrating to read such excellent character development in one part and be baffled by another. I know Takeuchi isn’t doing it deliberately but I’m left asking why she makes her cast take on near insurmountable obstacles then act like total dopes the minute things hit easy street. And by the bye, things haven’t hit easy street because Sailor Mars is still missing!

Artwise, I still am impressed by Takeuchi and her ability to mix the sublime with the ordinary. Even if I don’t like Chibiusa, she’s an interesting character from a design point of view. She looks like a younger version of Usagi, naturally. But unlike more modern young characters in anime/manga, she’s not done from a fetish view. Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see, but it’s nice to see someone have a higher sense of decorum (God, when did I start sounding like my parents?). Also, I’m happy to report that I finally am starting to be able to tell the difference between the Senshi! Maybe it’s me becoming accustomed to Takeuchi’s art style or maybe it was the handy inside pages at the beginning of the manga telling us who everyone is. I think Sailor Venus and Sailor Jupiter gave me the most trouble as they have similar hairstyles. But it’s becoming clearer—I’m starting to learn the importance of sticking with a series and its inherent value of having names to the faces.

Sailor Moon is great but this volume was trying for me, more specifically the second half with its stop-start-stop plotting. But that’s the nature of the beast, it seems. I’m learning pacing structure within a multi-volume series (something I could never be bothered to do before) and also that for every step you take forward as a reader you must be prepared to take a few steps back, occasionally, (or a lot, if you’re a person who has ever read Stephanie Meyer) at the behest of the author. With a few gripes, minor ones given my overall enjoyment of the series, I will recommend to you, Sailor Moon Volume 3.

In some respects, a white dwarf’s life is more interesting then its previous one. As a normal star it’s only concern is keeping itself going. But as a white dwarf, it faces an eternity as it burns brightly. It will fade one day as all things do. But until it does it will be a shining beacon in space, drawing in people as they gaze at it in wonder.

The Earl & The Fairy, Vol. 1

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Meet Lydia Carlton: she’s a so-called “fairy doctor,” a healer who acts as an intermediary between the spirit and human worlds. The rapid advance of technology in Victorian England has made Lydia’s job obsolete; most people no longer seek magical remedies for their ailments, and view Lydia as a relic of a less enlightened time, someone who steadfastly clings to the belief that she can see and talk to these mischievous folk. Lydia knows better: not only are fairies real, but they continue to wreak havoc with humans, even in an age of railroads, telegraphs, and steam-powered ships.

Lydia’s predicament would make a swell basis for a manga, but her abilities are more a plot contrivance than a central element of the drama — at least in volume one of The Earl & The Fairy. The initial chapters focus on Lydia’s fraught relationship with Edgar Ashenbert, a dashing young man who claims to be descended from the Blue Knight, a legendary warrior. Edgar enlists kidnaps Lydia because he needs someone to help him find the Blue Knight’s sword, the location of which is inscribed on a coin that can only be read by a fairy doctor.

If you’ve read more than five or six shojo manga — or, for that matter, five or six Harlequin romances — you can guess what sort of chap Edgar is: he’s handsome, possessive, and smug, with a tender side that the heroine’s beauty and decency helps reveal. Lydia is a similarly predictable character: she’s feisty and conflicted, simultaneously drawn to and repelled by her captor. Lydia also happens to be one of the duller knives in the Shojo Beat drawer, placing her trust in anyone who approaches her; she’s kidnapped not once but twice in the very first chapter of the story.

For a grumpy old lady like me, stale, silly lead characters would usually be a deal-breaker. The lively supporting cast and lovely artwork, however, drew me into the story, even when Edgar and Lydia’s conversations inspired eyeball rolling and hair pulling. (In later chapters, Edgar narrates his tortured personal history in comic detail — it’s courtship by information dump.)

The best character in The Earl & The Fairy — so far, at least — is Nico, a magical being who assumes the form of a fussy talking cat. On one level, Nico is a standard animal sidekick, providing much-needed comic relief: in one running joke, for example, he bristles with indignation every time he’s served a bowl of milk. (He prefers wine.) On another level, however, Nico is a reader stand-in, giving voice to our frustration with Lydia’s naivete; in essence, it’s like watching a horror movie in which one of the characters says, “Don’t open that door, dude, the killer’s in there.” You don’t say.

Ermine and Raven, a sister-brother duo in Edgar’s employ, also add depth to the cast. Their backstory is pure manga: both were enslaved by a wicked “prince” working out of the sewers of an unnamed American city. After Edgar rescued them, Ermine and Raven became his most devoted servants, waiting on him hand and foot, defending him against enemies, and wooing Lydia on his behalf. To be sure, henchmen/servants are a standard manga type, but Ermine and Raven have enough idiosyncrasies to make them interesting; Ermine, in particular, is an unusual figure, a melancholy cross-dresser who seems caught between the male and female worlds.

The Earl & The Fairy‘s other saving grace is the artwork. The character designs are crisply executed; though none of the characters are especially distinguished looking, artist Ayuko draws elegant, well-proportioned figures that are pleasing to the eye. The settings are rendered with even greater care, capturing the technology and landscapes of mid-nineteenth century England in convincing detail. (Well, minus the ships: when viewed from a distance, they appear to be eighteenth-century sailing vessels, while their interiors suggest a Cunard ocean liner.) Ayuko pays similar attention to lighting; in several nocturnal scenes, she does a fine job of suggesting the meager, irregular quality of candlelight, using delicate crosshatching to mark the boundary between light and shadow.

If the parts of Earl are greater than the whole, it’s still an entertaining series. I don’t know if moody landscapes and talking cats are enough to justify my investment in all four volumes, but I’m certainly willing to read another before declaring this nice-looking romance a dud.

THE EARL & THE FAIRY, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY AYUKO, ORIGINAL CONCEPT BY MIZUE TANI • VIZ MEDIA • 186 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)

The Earl & The Fairy, Vol. 1

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Meet Lydia Carlton: she’s a so-called “fairy doctor,” a healer who acts as an intermediary between the spirit and human worlds. The rapid advance of technology in Victorian England has made Lydia’s job obsolete; most people no longer seek magical remedies for their ailments, and view Lydia as a relic of a less enlightened time, someone who steadfastly clings to the belief that she can see and talk to these mischievous folk. Lydia knows better: not only are fairies real, but they continue to wreak havoc with humans, even in an age of railroads, telegraphs, and steam-powered ships.

Lydia’s predicament would make a swell basis for a manga, but her abilities are more a plot contrivance than a central element of the drama — at least in volume one of The Earl & The Fairy. The initial chapters focus on Lydia’s fraught relationship with Edgar Ashenbert, a dashing young man who claims to be descended from the Blue Knight, a legendary warrior. Edgar enlists kidnaps Lydia because he needs someone to help him find the Blue Knight’s sword, the location of which is inscribed on a coin that can only be read by a fairy doctor.

If you’ve read more than five or six shojo manga — or, for that matter, five or six Harlequin romances — you can guess what sort of chap Edgar is: he’s handsome, possessive, and smug, with a tender side that the heroine’s beauty and decency helps reveal. Lydia is a similarly predictable character: she’s feisty and conflicted, simultaneously drawn to and repelled by her captor. Lydia also happens to be one of the duller knives in the Shojo Beat drawer, placing her trust in anyone who approaches her; she’s kidnapped not once but twice in the very first chapter of the story.

For a grumpy old lady like me, stale, silly lead characters would usually be a deal-breaker. The lively supporting cast and lovely artwork, however, drew me into the story, even when Edgar and Lydia’s conversations inspired eyeball rolling and hair pulling. (In later chapters, Edgar narrates his tortured personal history in comic detail — it’s courtship by information dump.)

The best character in The Earl & The Fairy — so far, at least — is Nico, a magical being who assumes the form of a fussy talking cat. On one level, Nico is a standard animal sidekick, providing much-needed comic relief: in one running joke, for example, he bristles with indignation every time he’s served a bowl of milk. (He prefers wine.) On another level, however, Nico is a reader stand-in, giving voice to our frustration with Lydia’s naivete; in essence, it’s like watching a horror movie in which one of the characters says, “Don’t open that door, dude, the killer’s in there.” You don’t say.

Ermine and Raven, a sister-brother duo in Edgar’s employ, also add depth to the cast. Their backstory is pure manga: both were enslaved by a wicked “prince” working out of the sewers of an unnamed American city. After Edgar rescued them, Ermine and Raven became his most devoted servants, waiting on him hand and foot, defending him against enemies, and wooing Lydia on his behalf. To be sure, henchmen/servants are a standard manga type, but Ermine and Raven have enough idiosyncrasies to make them interesting; Ermine, in particular, is an unusual figure, a melancholy cross-dresser who seems caught between the male and female worlds.

The Earl & The Fairy‘s other saving grace is the artwork. The character designs are crisply executed; though none of the characters are especially distinguished looking, artist Ayuko draws elegant, well-proportioned figures that are pleasing to the eye. The settings are rendered with even greater care, capturing the technology and landscapes of mid-nineteenth century England in convincing detail. (Well, minus the ships: when viewed from a distance, they appear to be eighteenth-century sailing vessels, while their interiors suggest a Cunard ocean liner.) Ayuko pays similar attention to lighting; in several nocturnal scenes, she does a fine job of suggesting the meager, irregular quality of candlelight, using delicate crosshatching to mark the boundary between light and shadow.

If the parts of Earl are greater than the whole, it’s still an entertaining series. I don’t know if moody landscapes and talking cats are enough to justify my investment in all four volumes, but I’m certainly willing to read another before declaring this nice-looking romance a dud.

THE EARL & THE FAIRY, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY AYUKO, ORIGINAL CONCEPT BY MIZUE TANI • VIZ MEDIA • 186 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)

Adventures in the Key of Shoujo: Sailor Moon, Vol.2

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Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 2 | By Naoko Takeuchi | Published by Kodansha Comics USA | Rated: T, Ages 13+

“Pretty Guardian of Love and Justice in a Sailor Suit! Sailor Moon has arrived!!”

I would be lying if i said I haven’t been looking forward to this review. Specifically, because around fifty pages into this volume we are introduced (reintroduced?) to Sailor Venus, aka Minako Aino, the first Sailor Senshi. Her adventures are chronicled in two volumes of Codename: Sailor V. When she popped up, I had only started on the first volume of Sailor V, so on the advice of a friend, I stopped reading Sailor Moon until such time as I finished Sailor V. Well, I’m glad I did, but I would caution that you don’t need to do the same in order to enjoy the second volume of Sailor Moon. Returning to my original point, the reason I’m looking forward to this volume is that the team building is over, the villains are known, and now we are ready for the real fights to begin.

This volume explores the concept of pre-destiny, particularly in regards to the finding of the Princess and the Legendary Crystal. Turns out that our heroes have done this sort of work before. I will endeavour to explain without ripping the lid off the plot. Usagi finally understands why she’s been thinking the way that she has about Tuxedo Mask, and her worldview is shattered as a result. The team is in the middle of a battle with the Dark Kingdom’s latest flunky, Zoisite, when one of their allies is injured. This causes the Moon Kingdom’s Princess Serenity to appear at which time she displays an enormous amount of energy. When the dust has settled, the team is changed forever and only a trip to the moon with Luna’s and Artemis’ (Sailor Venus’ familiar) help will answer their questions. But even after that clarification, the team is still fighting above their weight. I like how they stay together inside and outside the battlefield. They might be reeling from the blows, but they’re still standing. I can’t help feeling that this is a different fight they face due to Sailor V’s warnings and her emphatic statement that this evil must be destroyed for good. This theory is backed up by what the team learns on the moon. It’s a lot to take in, but Takeuchi keeps things moving fast. About two-thirds into the book there’s a brief respite, but it’s short-lived.

Looking at this from a guy perspective, I would say that I feel for Usagi and Mamoru so badly. They are tentatively trying to find their way toward how they feel about one another, but their intertwined destines keep being thwarted. I get now why people used to say to me that I was too dismissive of the series. For me, as someone who likes to write creatively, I think I understand where Takeuchi might be going with this. The path to true love is never easy in real life, harder in the realm of fiction, and almost impossible when it involves the fate of the world in the balance. So is Mamoru and Usagi’s love doomed to the void? Possibly, but I think the idea behind this volume might be that true love cannot be stopped, merely diverted. Also, if I’m going for broke, I would say the idea behind the first volume would be that big things start with something small and/or you are not as unimportant as you believe yourself to be. But, returning to the story, Takeuchi seems to be saying in this volume that not only are the Senshi going to have to deal with setbacks but also, potentially, casualties as well.

I wonder, though, how meaningful it is for me to write about Sailor Moon, given that I’ve been aware of the title for ten plus years but never really got into it. I am trying to imagine how young girls (and indeed guys) reading this in Japan at the time might have felt. Add to that my differing cultural heritage and the gulf gets wider by the minute. But my quest is not in vain, I hope. Alexandre Dumas wrote more than 150 years ago of the value of friendship with comrades in arms, Gandhi wrote and spoke of the fact that tyrants, while invincible for a time, always fall, and a Canadian filmmaker once commented that there is no fate but what we make for ourselves. The Sailor Senshi face a difficult task but the battles they face are universal and common. They have happened before in reality and fiction, they are happening now, and they will happen again.

Nearly seventy years ago, my grandfather’s brother stood on the beaches of France. He was fighting in a foreign army for a cause he believed in. When the ramps dropped and his squad ran onto the beach, he did so knowing what was asked of him. At a critical moment, however, the enemy directed a heavy machine gun at his squad mates. Without any thought for himself, he stood and took the hail of bullets. I presume that afterwards his squad returned fire. As to how accurate that account is, I have to trust the report my grandfather’s family received. In Sailor Moon, Usagi stands in front of the enemy protecting Tuxedo and her friends and laying down a burst of energy at her opponent. She does so because the thought of losing her friends and the one she loves is too much to bear. It is there that she discovers her inner light and does what it is her heart requires—much like a soldier taking the brunt for his team because the thought of losing his friends and failing his loved ones is too much for him to bear.

It’s funny how 200 pages of printed paper with drawings and letters can stir things in you that you had never considered. The weaknesses of this volume, such as the massive amounts of exposition, the somewhat Jason and the Argonauts-esque level of “Kill! Kill! Kill them all!!” of Queen Beryl and the Dark Kingdom, and the fact we still haven’t seen much character development for the other girls can be negated by the fact this is (or feels like) the opening salvo for the war that’s coming. I suspect it will be fought with the population being unaware, and that makes me appreciate Takeuchi even more as a writer. To fight for people and have them know of your achievement is one thing. It is another to do so without the issuing or request of acknowledgement. The question I pose myself is: would I do the save if the situation called for it? Would you?

As I’ve said, I love the artwork and I can’t fault it. If these pages were pastels or watercolours, I would happily have them on my wall. Just as the first volume has a lot of serene moments this one does too, but now they are happening within the story-building moments and the action scenes. It’s a hard act to follow. The Internet continues to punish me for not discovering Sailor Moon sooner, as original art books by Takeuchi-sensei command higher than normal prices. Even if I weren’t broke, I would still be unable to afford some of them.

There aren’t as many liner notes from the translator this time around. I chalk this up to the pace of the story. Thanks for the crisp job, Kodansha. This volume maintains my high opinion of the series and moves into a new direction. If proof is required of my enjoyment of the series, I start volume three tonight and have ordered volumes four and five. So far my experiment at this shoujo malarkey seems to be working.

How to Draw Shojo Manga

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This slim how-to manual caters to the manga fan who wants to become an artist, but finds the technical aspects of comic creation daunting. “If you’ve ever flipped through a How to Draw Manga book in a bookstore, looked at the pages that explain character design and perspective and thought, ‘I have to learn all this hard stuff to be a manga artist?’ then you are exactly the person who we want to read this book,” the authors cheerfully assert.

The introduction is a little disingenuous, however, as the book assumes a level of artistic fluency on the part of the reader that isn’t reflected in that warmly inviting statement. No novice could use the passages on anatomy or perspective to learn either of these essential drafting skills; the authors don’t break down the process of sketching a body or a three-dimensional space into enough discrete steps for a newcomer to recreate the examples in the book. The same is true for their advice on tools; though the authors provide a detailed catalog of pens, nibs, erasers, templates, blades, and brushes favored by professional artists, the information about how to use these tools presumes that the reader has worked with similar implements.

What How to Draw Shojo Manga does well, however, is introduce novices to the concepts associated with creating sequential art. The authors review the basics, explaining the various types of camera angles and shots, and when they’re most effective; discussing the underlying philosophy behind character designs; and showing how an artist takes a script from words to storyboards to finished product. The book also includes an appendix with practical information about submitting work to contests — obviously less applicable to American readers — as well as strategies for handling criticism; in a thoughtful touch, the authors critique a short story (included in full in the book) so that readers can better appreciate the substance of the editorial comments. Whenever possible, the authors use examples from actual manga to underscore points about character design and layouts; sharp-eyed fans will recognize works from such Hakusensha magazines as Lala, Melody, and Hana to Yume.

The bottom line: How to Draw Shojo Manga won’t turn a greenhorn into Arina Tanemura, but it will help her identify areas of weakness (e.g. poor drafting skills) and provide her with the vocabulary to discuss — and learn more about — the creative process.

Editor’s note: This review was originally included in a Short Takes column from November 2010. When I reorganized my site in January 2012, I created a category for instruction manuals (How to Draw Manga) and decided that this review would be better suited as a stand-alone piece. Look for more how-to reviews in the coming months!

HOW TO DRAW SHOJO MANGA • WRITTEN BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF HANA TO YUME, BESSATSU HANE TO YUME, LALA, AND MELODY MAGAZINES • TOKYOPOP • 176 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)

How to Draw Shojo Manga

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This slim how-to manual caters to the manga fan who wants to become an artist, but finds the technical aspects of comic creation daunting. “If you’ve ever flipped through a How to Draw Manga book in a bookstore, looked at the pages that explain character design and perspective and thought, ‘I have to learn all this hard stuff to be a manga artist?’ then you are exactly the person who we want to read this book,” the authors cheerfully assert.

The introduction is a little disingenuous, however, as the book assumes a level of artistic fluency on the part of the reader that isn’t reflected in that warmly inviting statement. No novice could use the passages on anatomy or perspective to learn either of these essential drafting skills; the authors don’t break down the process of sketching a body or a three-dimensional space into enough discrete steps for a newcomer to recreate the examples in the book. The same is true for their advice on tools; though the authors provide a detailed catalog of pens, nibs, erasers, templates, blades, and brushes favored by professional artists, the information about how to use these tools presumes that the reader has worked with similar implements.

What How to Draw Shojo Manga does well, however, is introduce novices to the concepts associated with creating sequential art. The authors review the basics, explaining the various types of camera angles and shots, and when they’re most effective; discussing the underlying philosophy behind character designs; and showing how an artist takes a script from words to storyboards to finished product. The book also includes an appendix with practical information about submitting work to contests — obviously less applicable to American readers — as well as strategies for handling criticism; in a thoughtful touch, the authors critique a short story (included in full in the book) so that readers can better appreciate the substance of the editorial comments. Whenever possible, the authors use examples from actual manga to underscore points about character design and layouts; sharp-eyed fans will recognize works from such Hakusensha magazines as Lala, Melody, and Hana to Yume.

The bottom line: How to Draw Shojo Manga won’t turn a greenhorn into Arina Tanemura, but it will help her identify areas of weakness (e.g. poor drafting skills) and provide her with the vocabulary to discuss — and learn more about — the creative process.

Editor’s note: This review was originally included in a Short Takes column from November 2010. When I reorganized my site in January 2012, I created a category for instruction manuals (How to Draw Manga) and decided that this review would be better suited as a stand-alone piece. Look for more how-to reviews in the coming months!

HOW TO DRAW SHOJO MANGA • WRITTEN BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF HANA TO YUME, BESSATSU HANE TO YUME, LALA, AND MELODY MAGAZINES • TOKYOPOP • 176 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)

Adventures in the Key of Shoujo: Sailor Moon, Vol.1

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Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 1 | By Naoko Takeuchi | Published by Kodansha Comics USA | Rated: T, Ages 13+

“I’m… the pretty guardian in a sailor suit! Guardian of love and justice! Sailor Moon!”

Working on a simple premise… (Follow my logic, would you?) If you took a squad of girls, magical powers, tokusatsu-style fighting, and a viciously unassuming story arc and threw them into a blender, what would you get? My-Hime, that’s what. But before My-Hime—before all that—there was Sailor Moon, an archetypal series that influenced the entire genre of magical girls within manga and anime. To this day, Fred Patten states that it introduced the idea of the magical girl team into the medium’s subconscious. The brainchild of artist Naoko Takeuchi, the sheer weight of its importance leans heavily on everything that came after it.

Simply put, the Great Ruler of the Dark Kingdom wants energy leeched from humans and the Legendary Silver Crystal that goes with it. With that, they can rule the world. All that stands between them and success is a small, black cat called Luna (who can talk and has a mark on her head in the shape of a crescent moon) and a team of fourteen-year-old girls who wear exaggerated versions of Japanese school sailor outfits and have magical powers, and whose code names are taken from the names of the planets in the solar system. Leading the team is a complete klutz named Usagi Tsukino who takes on the persona of Sailor Moon. Also into the mix goes Tuxedo Mask, a young man who dresses in a gentleman’s evening attire and wears (you guessed it) a mask. He likes to help Sailor Moon, but he has his own reasons as well. The girls are soldiers (or senshi) in a war against the enemies of love, truth and justice. And so the board is set, the players are moving, and the game can begin.

So why has it taken this long to write the review, seeing as I received the manga over two weeks ago? I think it’s the awe in which the series is held. Sailor Moon has a fanbase that rivals even Dragonball or Evangelion. Dragonball is an interesting title to compare, in terms of its Western audience. For the most part, the perception is that Dragonball found a large male audience and Sailor Moon, a large female audience. I say “perception” because market analysis can only tell you so much. But it’s unfair to label Sailor Moon as Dragonball for girls, as I once did. The two series are worlds apart in their execution, tone and setting. Yet, I cannot discount the idea that each gender can find something in both stories that resonates with them.

My failing was that I decided that girls could like Dragonball but boys couldn’t like Sailor Moon, because there was nothing there for them to latch onto. I think what set me on that foolish path was the God-awful treatment that Sailor Moon received at the hands of DIC Entertainment when the animated version of the story came to European English-speaking shores. DIC made it sound like the most girly of enterprises (something no self-respecting angsty teenager would be caught dead liking), where the girls were all airheads and the villains were dead simple. The show was never going to attract a boy who had grown up with He-Man. It was not going to happen for me. And so, I ignored it.

But the fanbase, as I’ve said, is relentless. Every time you look at cosplayers, someone is dressed as Sailor Moon. So I would speak with people who talked about the story as if it was manna from Heaven. They ranged from cosplayers who said the series was their gateway into anime, to those who had been reading the manga since the 1990s TOKYOPOP editions. Interestingly, the anime breaking into North America is credited by many as the event that destroyed the grip the male, 15-25 demographic had on driving anime sales in America since the 1980s. Today, the market leans more heavily toward female fans than male fans of anime, manga, and J-Culture, so it’s a testament to the series that it had and still has that effect on the fans.

Still, I’m confused about Sailor Moon. Mostly because I cannot figure out where Takeuchi is going with it in this first volume, or indeed if she’s got some kind of plan going even here in the opening act. On the surface, Usagi is a airhead more concerned with being a girly girl, hanging out with her friends, and playing video games at the local arcade than entertaining the notion that she should be doing anything to save the world. Even when she accepts being Sailor Moon, she still doesn’t want to be put into scary situations by Luna. It makes for a nice intro to the character for whom we will ostensibly be rooting for the next however many volumes. The spoken-diary entries that Usagi has are something to behold. She tells us every single time a new chapter starts who she is, where she is from, what recently happened, and what is happening now. I know that this is because of the fact that Sailor Moon was serialized in Nakayoshi Magazine—to keep new readers in the loop, Takeuchi wrote those in—but the aftereffect is that Usagi comes across as even more bubbly, and this is a good thing.

The tone of the fight that the Sailors are in and the opposition that the author sets is one of innocence that can only be derived from a teenager’s perspective. When I was 14, the people who had it in for me in school wanted to beat me up and throw water over me, but they didn’t want me dead. For all the Dark Kingdom’s mwah-ha-ha-ha and general evilness, I cannot take them seriously. They are defeated by a dunderhead every single time. Then the dunderhead gets her own team of crack commandos and the bad guys get trounced, again and again, by a bunch of fourteen-year-olds who only got their powers recently. Even when they are vanquished, the villains treat it like “Bah! Another setback!”

Some people would argue that Sailor Moon has a lot of evidence of plot conveniences for the sake of convenience; I counter the argument because the same evidence is rather exculpatory in nature. To explain, while I want to say that the whole “You are destined to become a team of magical fighting girls!” thing is a little too convenient, the truth is that’s how all good quest stories start and since I don’t really have a problem with them, I don’t have a really big problem with Sailor Moon doing it, either. So the girls are destined to be a team of superheroes not because they were destined to be so, but because Luna had been keeping an eye on all of them. The same can be said for the items that the senshi use to defeat the forces of darkness. Usagi, we have established, plays video games at the arcade. She gets prizes every time she gets a high score. These items look very suspicious and don’t look like the usual tat, if you get my meaning. However, throughout this smoke-and-mirrors routine I can see a kind of epic gathering of heroes (the girls being recruited) and figures of cruelty and infamy (Dark Kingdom’s minions) moving around and cannot wait to see what happens next.

Artwork-wise, I cannot say enough good things about it. From Usagi’s transformation sequence to Luna’s little interstitial at the start of one of the chapters telling us who’s in the team, its biographical details and any allies and enemies, the art is really sweet and genuine to look at. Graceful and elegant, it still has its quick thumbnail drawings of our heroes and heroines to speed us through a page. There are real examples in the pages that Takeuchi is using mise-en-scène* to build a colorful and coherent stage that her actors are moving around. The whirling fog that surrounds our heroes when the enemy has the upper hand or when the senshi reveal to the villain (and, by extension, the audience) their power and become light-filled are but two such examples. The moments of tranquility when Tuxedo Mask dances with and around Sailor Moon are wonderful. Even as a battle-hardened, knowledgeable young man of 30, I can understand the feeling of falling for someone and feeling like the whole world stopped for that moment. Takeuchi gives her leads a distinctive look and you’d never confuse one Sailor Senshi for another, even in their uniforms. Plus, she never makes the fact that they dress in sailor outfits into something crass. With the supporting cast it’s a little more difficult to keep an eye on who’s who but I don’t mind that so much at this point, as they don’t contribute much.

It’s interesting, both in terms of storytelling and, of course, artwork, to see the different types of girls who get recruited into being Sailor Senshi become staples of magical girl stereotypes. There’s the ditzy girl, the smart girl, and the girl who works at the shrine. I don’t doubt that I’ll see even more types emerge as the series goes on. While Sailor Moon didn’t invent these types for the most part, it perfected them. The chief bad guys are also designed this way: they have been around before but never in this context and setting. The more I reread this volume, the more I wonder if I’ve been wrong about a great number of shows and manga that I’ve passed by simply by having a prejudiced opinion. As an aside, the translation by William Flanagan is spot-on and I’m, as always, grateful for the liner notes at the back to make sense of the nuances within Japanese culture.

Ultimately, Sailor Moon works because you get swept up by the story. The idea of battling evil-doers over rooftops or in exotic locations with brave allies and with nothing more than the power you have inside of you is something we know from when we were little and read fairy tales. Later we dismiss such stories as mere whimsy. Usagi and her friends are living in a fairy tale and I can and will wholeheartedly continue to embrace this whimsy for as long as it lasts.

* Mise-en-scène is a French term which literally means “placing on stage” and refers to the art of placing elements (actors, props, sets, lighting) in front of the viewer in order to immerse them in the story. Where the actors are placed within a scene and how they move in the scene are also elements within mise-en-scène.

Review copy bought by reviewer

A Devil and Her Love Song, Vol. 1

by

Maria Kawai, heroine of A Devil and Her Love Song, is a cool customer. Not only is she beautiful, talented, and smart, she’s also tough — so tough, in fact, that she was expelled from a hoity-toity Catholic school for beating up a teacher. Her blunt demeanor further cements her bad-girl impression; within minutes of enrolling at a new high school, she antagonizes all the girls in her class with a few sharp observations about their behavior. Only two boys — Yusuke, a cheerful, popular student who avoids conflict at all costs, and Shin, a moody outsider — try defending Maria from her peers’ nasty comments and pranks.

So far, so good: Maria is spiky and complicated, a truth-teller who lacks the ability to censor herself, even though she’s aware of the potential consequences of speaking her mind. Throughout volume one, there are some wonderful comic moments as Maria struggles to put a “lovely spin” — Yusuke’s term — on her acid comments. Alas, Maria’s sideways head-tilt and doe-eyed gaze look more sinister than cute; not since Kazuo Umezu’s Scary Book has a manga-ka made a doll-like character look so thoroughly menacing, even when superimposed atop a backdrop of flowers and sparkles.

Having created such a vivid character, however, Miyoshi Tomori isn’t sure where to go with the story. In several scenes, Maria does things that contradict what we know about her: would someone as perceptive as Maria willingly attend a party hosted by the class mean girls, especially after they’d harassed her on a daily basis? And why would someone as outspoken as Maria refrain from pointing out her teacher’s judgmental behavior — especially when it’s plainly obvious to both the characters in the story and the reader? These kind of abrupt reversals might make sense if we knew more about Maria’s past, but at this stage in the story, they feel more like authorial floundering than a conscious revelation of character.

From time to time, however, Tomori convincingly hints at Maria’s softer side. Midway through volume one, for example, Maria makes tentative overtures towards Tomoya “Nippachi” Kohsaka, a fellow bullying victim. (“Nippachi” means “twenty-eight,” and is a mean-spirited reference to Tomoya’s poor academic performance.) That scene is both sad and real; anyone who’s ever seen two ostracized kids turn their classmates’ scorn on one another will immediately appreciate the dynamic between Maria and Nippachi. Maria’s exchanges with Shin, too, reveal a different side of her personality; though the pair frequently engage in the kind of rapid, antagonistic banter that’s de rigeur for romantic comedies, their quieter conversations suggest a grudging mutual respect.

Maria’s interactions with Nippachi and Shin fill me with hope that A Devil and Her Love Song will find its footing in later chapters. If Tomori can find a way to reveal Maria’s fundamental decency without compromising her heroine’s tart, outspoken personality, A Devil and Her Love Song will be a welcome addition to the Shojo Beat catalog, an all-too-rare example of a story in which the heroine isn’t the least bit concerned with being nice or popular. If Tomori can’t, Devil runs the risk of devolving into a YA Taming of the Shrew, with Shin (or, perhaps, Yosuke) playing Petruchio to Maria’s Katherina.

Review copy provided by VIZ Media, LLC. Volume one will be released February 7, 2011.

A DEVIL AND HER LOVE SONG, VOL. 1 • BY MIYOSHI TOMORI • VIZ MEDIA • 200 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)