Manga Bookshelf

Discussion, Resources, Roundtables, & Reviews

Katherine Dacey

Again!!, Vol. 1

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There are no second chances in life, but there are in manga — think A Distant Neighborhood, Erased, and orange. The latest entry in the second-chance sweepstakes is Again!!, a dramedy about Imamura Kinichirou, a loner who tumbles down a flight on stairs at his high school graduation and wakes up on the first day of freshman year. Doomed to repeat the worst three years of his life, Imamura impulsively signs up for the school’s ouendan, but quickly runs afoul of prickly captain Yoshiko Usami, whose dedication to the struggling club proves more deterrent than draw for would-be members.

Imamura isn’t the only time-traveler; joining him on his temporal odyssey is Akira Fujieda, a perky classmate who also tumbles down a flight of stairs at graduation. Unlike Imamura, Akira greets this development with enthusiasm, but her fond memories of high school make her too quick to assume that everything will unfold the same way twice: she propositions her not-yet-boyfriend too boldly (he turns her down) and dismisses a would-be friend’s taste in music. (“It’s too bad Cara Mana broke up so soon,” Akira declares. “It didn’t take me long to get sick of them, though, since all their songs sort of sound the same.”) Crushed by the double rejection, Akira becomes Imamura’s reluctant ally in the quest to restore the ouendan to its former glory.

Whether you cotton to Again!! depends on how you react to the principal characters. I found Usami’s fierce commitment to tradition exhausting; she bellows, belittles, complains, accuses, and sobs, but seems fundamentally unable to have a normal conversation. Her bluster is meant to suggest her sincerity and vulnerability, I think, but has the opposite effect, reducing her to a one-note character. More convincing is Imamura, who decides that a do-over isn’t as terrible as he’d imagined. (I particularly enjoyed his nonchalant turn at the board in his math class; his classmates’ reaction to his display of mathematical acumen is priceless.) Imamura even flirts with the possibility of a social life: when the girls’ cheer squad mobilizes against Usami, for example, Imamura conspires with Akira and Reo, a pretty classmate, to undermine the cheerleaders’ plan.

Akira, too, is a pleasant surprise, a busybody who’s suddenly relegated to the margins of freshman life. Though her sense of the school’s pecking order remains unchanged, she can’t resist the opportunity to advise the once-lowly Imamura on how best to manipulate the cheerleading squad — it’s her chance to demonstrate her expertise, and perhaps to reclaim her former Queen Bee status by engineering a major social coup. As one might expect, Akira gets the sauciest lines, but she also learns the hardest lesson of the three principal characters: serendipity plays as big a role in popularity as personality and looks.

Mitsurou Kubo’s art plays a vital role in helping us understand Imamura and Akira’s predicament. In the first two chapters, Kubo does an excellent job of distinguishing past from present with subtle details: Imamura’s mom, for example, is a little plumper, while Akira is shorter and less physically developed. (Akira realizes something is amiss when she realizes that her breasts are smaller.) Equally impressive is the care with which Kubo reconstructs the same sequence of events that precede the time jump, showing us Imamura’s memories of the day and then Akira’s. Here again, it’s the little details — a snippet of conversation, a minor change in hairstyle — that convey whose perspective is represented, and how that character’s personality influences what we’re seeing and hearing.

Kubo’s facial drawings show the same degree of meticulousness as her handling of the time travel sequences. Her reaction shots do more than just capture a character’s immediate response to a new development; they convey the emotions and experiences that underlie that reaction. Consider this split-screen image of Imamura:

This panel appears at the end of chapter one, as Imamura stands at a temporal and figurative crossroads: he can change his future by joining the ouendan, or recede into the background and be a loner once again. Imamura’s furrowed, sweaty brow and crestfallen expression capture his sense of helplessness; he has the look of someone who’s actively reliving a terrible experience moment by moment, contemplating the real possibility that nothing will change the second time around.

It’s this level of nuance that makes Again!! worth reading, even when the plot mechanics are creaky and the characters too strident. Watching Imamura forge new connections on his own terms is both funny and poignant, a reminder that we always have the potential to change our destiny, even when it seems preordained. I’m curious to see how Imamura and Akira grow and change, and how their behavior influences the future. Count me in for volume two.

AGAIN!!, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY MITSUROU KUBO • TRANSLATED BY ROSE PADGETT • KODANSHA COMICS • 208 pp. • RATED TEEN (13+)

The Promised Neverland, Vol. 2

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The first volume of The Promised Neverland was a masterclass in how to launch a series: the plotting was intricate but the brisk pacing and well-timed twists prevented an exposition-heavy story from sagging under the weight of its own ambition. Of necessity, volume two unfurls at a slower clip than the first, as the principal trio of Emma, Ray, and Norman work through the logistics of escaping Gracefield Manor, weighing the pros and cons of each element in their intricate plan. Kaiu Shirai also expands the cast to include other stakeholders, dedicating several chapters to Krone, Mother’s new subordinate, and Don and Gilda, two high-achieving students who haven’t yet learned the true purpose of Gracefield Manor.

These character moments are one of the great strengths of volume two. Krone, for example, turns out to be more resourceful than we might have guessed from her brief introduction in volume one; Shirai and Posuka Demizu use a woodland game of tag to reveal Krone’s formidable strength, speed, and cunning, establishing her as yet another major obstacle to escape. In other passages, Shirai peels away the outer layers of her principal characters, complicating the reader’s understanding of who they are, what motivates them to escape, and with whom their true allegiance lies — a necessary corrective to the first volume, which portrayed Emma, Ray, and Norman as just a little too smart, too capable, and too thoughtful to fully register as twelve-year-olds.

Volume two hits an occasional speed bump when characters discuss the escape plan. One overly deliberate scene, for example, finds Roy and Norman in full Scooby Doo mode, explaining how they figured out there was a mole among the residents. And volume two’s physical depiction of Krone is, frankly, uncomfortable, as some of her facial features have been exaggerated in ways that recall the iconography of blackface minstrelsy. Despite these lapses, The Promised Neverland remains suspenseful thanks, in no small part, to Demizu’s brief but horrific dream sequences; these suggestive images — a swirl of bodies, teeth, and monstrous eyes — provide a potent reminder of what’s at stake if the kids don’t escape Mother’s clutches.

The Promised Neverland, Vol. 2
Story by Kaiu Shirai, Art by Posuka Demizu
Translated by Satsuki Yamashita
VIZ Media; 192 pp.
Rated T, for Teen

Pick of the Week: We Got the Beat

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MICHELLE: There’s a lot that I’m getting this week. Ace of the Diamond, Haikyu!!, One-Punch Man… But, honestly, this week’s pick was preordained because one of my favorite series only comes out twice a year: Skip Beat!, I choose you!

KATE: I’m suffering from a manga hangover at the moment, since last week was EPIC. Is it OK to plug Again!! and Silver Spoon a second time? ‘Cuz there’s nothing coming out this week that makes me as happy of either of those debuts.

SEAN: My pick this week goes to a title I know nothing about except really good word of mouth. There was much happiness when Kaguya-sama: Love Is War was licensed, and I am excited to see why.

ASH: Like Kate, I’m still thrilled about last week’s debuts. I’m looking forward to catching up on some ongoing series this week, though, such as Frau Faust and Haikyu!!.

ANNA: Last week was great and this week is pretty good too! Like Michelle, I’m always thrilled when there is a new Skip Beat volume, so that is my pick!

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Venice

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Venice — one of the last projects Jiro Taniguchi completed before his death in 2017 — is perhaps the most beautiful work he produced, a paean not only to the great Italian city, but to his own superb command of light, color, and line. Rendered in watercolor and ink, Venice‘s subtle palette and expansive treatment of the page are reminiscent of Taniguchi’s Guardians of the Louvre, while its premise recalls The Walking Man, Furari, and The Solitary Gourmet, three manga in which an unnamed male character strolls through the thoroughfares and byways of a major city, stopping to admire a blossoming tree or duck into an unassuming noodle shop.

Taniguchi makes an agreeable guide to Venice, frequently pausing to luxuriate in the very places that a visitor would find most charming: an outdoor marketplace filled with fruit and vegetable vendors, a moonlit promenade dotted with strolling couples, a faded but elegant hotel. Though Taniguchi renders these locations with the utmost precision, his most striking images are of canals and harbors. He captures the play of light on water with the same authority as a great maritime painter like Homer Winslow, using a watercolor palette of greens, blues, grays, blacks, and pinks to pinpoint the time of day and weather, as well as the tide — a small but potent reminder of Venice’s precarious relationship with the sea.

Though framed as a travelogue, Venice also explores similar thematic terrain as Taniguchi’s A Distant Neighborhood. Like the protagonist of Neighborhood, the Venetian wanderer is a middle-aged man making sense of his family’s past, a quest triggered by the discovery of a small lacquer box among his late mother’s possessions. A single image — a photo of a dapper Japanese couple feeding pigeons at the San Marco Piazza — leads him to Venice, where he retraces the couple’s steps. Taniguchi handles the mystery in an elegant fashion, eschewing pointed dialogue or voice-overs in favor of evocative imagery: a sepia-toned portrait of a family, a hand-drawn postcard of the Grand Canal. By focusing on these artifacts, Taniguchi provides just enough information for the reader to figure out who this young couple was without baldly explaining what drove them apart; only a brief inscription on the back of a postcard suggests the length and anguish of the couple’s separation.

These temporal shifts in the narrative are echoed in the way Taniguchi draws Venice itself. On several pages, for example, Taniguchi shows us familiar Venetian streetscapes as they looked in the 1930s, when the mystery couple lived there. On other pages, Taniguchi achieves a similar effect through the juxtaposition of the traditional with the modern: kayakers bob alongside gondoliers, floating past Renaissance merchants’ grand homes, while the mouth of the Canal de la Galeazze frames the arrival of a giant cruise ship. (In a nice touch, Taniguchi tracks the ocean liner’s stately progress over several panels, allowing us to appreciate its enormous size and sleek lines.) Even the most prosaic scenes emphasize the degree to which Venetians’ daily routines are shaped by its lengthy history; we see young children in baseball jackets sipping water from a fountain built in the 17th century and dog walkers chatting in the shadow of Venice’s great Campanille, unawed or unaware of these landmarks’ significance.

And while such sensuous images are fundamental to Venice‘s appeal, Taniguchi does more than recreate Venice’s great architecture; he conveys the rhythms and emotions of a journey, the experience of savoring new places while realizing in the moment that the place where you stand will be different the next time you visit. He evokes the curious sensation of déjà vu you experience in an unfamiliar city, as you see small elements of your own life reflected in the way that strangers live theirs. And he conveys the profound sense of discovery that comes from visiting a place that holds significance for a parent, lover, or friend, as you see the landscape through their eyes for the first time. That Taniguchi evokes these emotions primarily through the artful use of color and detail, rather than character development or dialogue, is testament to the depth of his artistry. Highly recommended.

For more insight into Venice, I encourage you to watch this brief video in which Taniguchi discusses the genesis of the story, and how he created some of the book’s most arresting images:

VENICE • BY JIRO TANIGUCHI • FANFARE/PONENT MON • NO RATING • 128 pp. 

Giant Spider & Me, Vol. 1

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Giant Spider & Me is a gentle fantasy that’s tinged with whimsy and rue. The story focuses on Nagi, a perky tween who lives by herself in a well-appointed cottage, awaiting the return of her father from a mysterious trip. In his absence, she’s proved remarkably self-sufficient, growing and foraging for her own food and preparing delicious meals for herself. Our first hint that something is amiss occurs early in chapter one, when she stumbles across a mastiff-sized spider in the woods. Their initial encounter doesn’t go well — Nagi is understandably terrified — but her apprehension soon gives way to a unique interspecies friendship when she discovers Asa (her name for the spider) shares her passion for pumpkin dumplings and leisurely picnics.

What inoculates Giant Spider & Me from a terminal case of the cutes is the specificity of Kikori Morino’s vision. On a superficial level, Giant Spider & Me is a culinary manga that walks the reader through the process of making turnip soup and miso ratatouille while conveying the joy of sharing food with others. (And yes, recipes appear at the end of each chapter.) On a deeper level, however, Giant Spider & Me is a thoughtful reflection on what it means to share your home with an intelligent creature, recognizing the pleasures of such an arrangement while acknowledging the communication gap between species. Asa proves a lively and willful guest in Nagi’s house, scaling walls and punching a hole in the roof in its quest for greater freedom — a detail that frustrated cat owners will appreciate.

The other secret to Morino’s success is her artwork, which strikes an elegant balance between clarity and detail. She never explains what caused the apocalypse of the title, but hints at its devastation with small but important clues: a partially submerged city, a vigilante in a gas mask and military-issue poncho. Morino applies that same mixture of restraint and exactitude to her character designs; Asa is both menacing and cute, an eight-eyed, eight-legged creature whose terrible mandibles are balanced by a feather-soft abdomen and a puppy-like demeanor. By emphasizing Asa’s duality as pet and monster, Morino helps us see Asa as Nagi does while also helping us understand why other survivors take a dimmer view of Asa. Something tells me I might need a tissue or two before the series finishes its run. Recommended.

Giant Spider & Me: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale, Vol. 1
Story & Art by Kikori Morino
Translation by Adrienne Beck; Adaptation by Ysabet Reinhardt MacFarlane
Seven Seas, 180 pp.
Rating: Teen

Pick of the Week: At Last, Farming Manga!

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SEAN: My pick this week is Silver Spoon Again!!, a touching story of a young man who dies from overworking himself as an agriculture student in Hokkaido, but is given the opportunity to go back and live his life again, and becomes an ouendan cheerleader for the school’s equestrian squad.

MICHELLE: Ha! I am behind that pick 100%!

KATE: I’m on Team Silver Spoon this week, but for selfish reasons: I’m hoping that Silver Spoon will be such a hit that Yen Press will rescue Hiromu Arakawa’s Hyakusho Kizuko and offer it in a snazzy print edition. JManga released the first volume in 2012 before folding up its tent, and I’ve always felt it deserved a second chance with American readers. Here’s a link to my original review; it has 100% more cow manure jokes than Fullmetal Alchemist.

MJ: I have been hoping for Silver Spoon so much for so long, that has to be my pick! Hiromu Arakawa is a manga goddess and I am always on her team. And hey, I will also get behind Kate’s argument. More Arakawa is always better!

MICHELLE: I’ll get behind it, too. There are definitely several JManga titles that I wish could find new homes.

ANNA: I’m also looking forward to Silver Spoon. I always feel like throwing a party whenever a manga I thought would never be available here gets released in translation.

ASH: Like everyone else here, Again!! and Silver Spoon are definitely at the top of my list this week. I’ve been waiting to read Silver Spoon longer, so I guess that’ll be my official pick, but I’m looking forward to the debut of both series a great deal.

Pick of the Week: Fish, Spiders and Distant Stars

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MICHELLE: By now, it probably goes without saying that I will definitely be getting the new volume of Chihayafuru, so I will instead pick Voices of a Distant Star. I never read it the first time around, but I remember MJreally loved it. The your name. movie made me cry buckets, so I bet I will probably love this story, too.

SEAN: I’m definitely picking up Voices, but my pick this week goes to Giant Spider & Me. A combination of food manga, sweet slice of life, and post-apocalyptic survival, it feels like every new trend we’ve had brought into one title.

KATE: I’m exited about the return of Voices of a Distant Star, and charmed by the idea of a slice-of-life story about a girl and her giant spider, but my must-read manga this week is Fukushima Devil Fish, a collection of short stories by Susumu Katsumata. And yes, the Fukushima of the title refers to the nuclear plant that experienced a partial meltdown after the 2011 Tohoku earthquake; according to publisher Breakdown Press, the anthology includes “two stories from the 1980s on the subject of ‘nuclear gypsies,’ the men who labor under oppressive conditions to maintain Japan’s fleet of nuclear power plants.”

ASH: I’m certainly curious about Giant Spider & Me since learning that it is in fact a food manga but, like Kate, Fukushima Devil Fish is what takes priority for me this week.

ANNA: There’s a ton of great manga coming out this week, but I’m most interested in Voices of a Distant Star, since I wasn’t able to catch it the first time it was released.

Takane & Hana, Vol. 1

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The opening pages of Takane & Hana offer a uniquely Japanese twist on the meet cute: the couple in question are set up by a marriage broker who thinks she’s introducing a twenty-three year old beauty to a twenty-six-year-old bachelor. The bride-to-be, however, is a sixteen-year-old high school student who’s posing as her older sister — don’t ask — while the potential groom is an impossibly handsome jerk who’s angry that his family is pressuring him to settle down. Guess what happens next? If you said, “Opposites attract!”, you wouldn’t be wrong, though the course of true love hits a few potholes along the way.

I’m of two minds about Takane & Hana. My fifteen-year-old self adores Hana for being so smart and sassy, the kind of girl who says devastatingly true things and still manages to stay in other people’s good graces. My forty-five-year-old self, however, feels uncomfortable with the ten-year age gap between its lead characters. While Yuki Shiwasu cheerfully acknowledges the troubling power dynamic between Takane and Hana, she wants to eat her cake and have it, too: Hana’s incisive comments are supposed to level the playing field with the older, more experienced Takane, making it OK for the two to flirt, date, and kiss. At the end of the day, however, the economic and educational gulf between Hana and Takane still seems vast, making Takane seem like a predatory creep for preferring the company of a mature sixteen-year-old over a woman his age.

I know, I know: I’m humorless. A killjoy. A big ol’ capital-F feminist. But in a moment when we’re having serious conversations about power and consent, I’m having difficulty getting caught up in Takane and Hana’s romantic shenanigans, however much Hana sounds like a teenaged Rosalind Russell, or how wonderfully elastic Takane and Hana’s faces may be. Takane & Hana is unquestionably someone’s guilty pleasure — just not mine.

Takane & Hana, Vol. 1
Story and Art by Yuki Shiwasu
Adaptation by Ysabet Reinhardt MacFarlane
VIZ Media, 200 pp.
Rated T, for Teens

Baccano!, Vol. 1

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There are two things you need to know before you read this review. First, I’m a ride-or-die Godfather II fan, the kind of person who’s obsessively watched Robert DeNiro’s performance as the young Don Corleone more times than I can count. Second, I am not a Light Novel Person, despite my repeated efforts to embrace the format.

I disclose this information because Baccano! is a manga adaptation of a light novel series set in Prohibition-era New York, where rival families — one from Sicily, one from Naples — run guns, booze, and card games. That meant there was a 50% chance I’d love this series, since the premise screams “Manga Godfather!”, and a 50% chance I’d hate Baccano!, since the manga was conceived as a tie-in product for the novels’ hardcore fans. What I didn’t expect, however, was just how inept the adaptation would be; I assumed that my objections would be to content or characterization, not a sloppy, hole-filled (holy?) narrative. Shinta Fujimoto’s storytelling, however, is serviceable at best and amateurish at worst, cramming too many events and characters into volume one. The result is a jumbled mess of introductions, reunions, and exposition masquerading as conversation; I spent as much time backtracking two or three pages as I did moving forward, relying on the Wikipedia to demystify poorly explained plot twists, not the least of which is that some characters are immortal. 

Superficially, the artwork seems more polished than the narrative, but a close examination reveals just how perfunctory Fujimoto and Katsumi Enami’s character designs really are. The Martillos and Gandors are so blandly drawn that nothing about them reveals about the characters’ ethnicity, social standing, or profession, let alone the time period in which the story unfolds. The same is true for the physical environment. A few establishing shots depict fire escapes and brick buildings, but Fujimoto seldom provides much in the way of period detail, nor does he convey just how densely settled Little Italy was in the 1920s.

His lazy world-building is most evident in chapters two and three, when Firo Prochainezo, a foot soldier in the Martillo Camorra, tracks an assassin through the tumult of the San Gennaro Festival in much the same fashion as Don Corleone pursues Don Fanucci in The Godfather II. In Coppola’s hands, these scenes are bursting with the activity of brass bands and puppeteers re-enacting San Gennaro’s martyrdom, a vibrant pageant of Sicilian Catholic tradition. In Fujimoto’s version, however, the festival looks about as exciting as a high school pep band rehearsal, with a few token shots of musicians and festival goers. Worse still, Fujimoto has difficulty making these scenes an organic part of the story, inserting them into a potentially suspenseful cat-and-mouse game that unfolds in the alleyways of … well, it’s supposed to be Little Italy, but honestly, it looks as much like Sesame Street as any real city.

About the best I can say for Baccano! is that it clocks in at a mere 160 pages; anything longer would seem as eternal as the characters themselves. I know I’m not the intended audience for this manga, but the series’ die-hard fans — those who read the novels and watched the anime — surely deserve a more artful tie-in than this disastro totale.

BACCANO!, VOL. 1 • ORIGINAL STORY BY RYOHGO NARITA, ART BY SHINTA FUJIMOTO, CHARACTER DESIGN BY KATSUMI ENAMI • TRANSLATION BY TAYLOR ENGEL • YEN PRESS • 160 pp. • RATED T, FOR TEEN (LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE)

Pick of the Week: Happiness Will Prevail

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SEAN: My pick this week is the 15th volume of Haganai: I Don’t Have Many Friends. It’s been 15 months since the last volume, where we saw Kodaka finally getting the ever-loving crap kicked out of him for his feigned obliviousness. Will this actually shake up the harem, though? I want to find out. Or at least see him get pounded again.

KATE: Any week that sees the release of a new Descending Stories is a good week in my book, but I’m also stoked for Theory of Happiness, a sequel to one of 2017’s most pleasant surprises: I Hear the Sunspot. It wasn’t as dramatic or splashy as some of 2017’s best books, but it won a place in my heart for its sensitive portrayal of male friendship — something we don’t see often enough in our popular culture.

ANNA: I agree with Kate, I Hear the Sunspot was such a wonderful surprise. Theory of Happiness is my pick of the week, I’m eager to find out what happens next with this series.

MICHELLE: I haven’t yet managed to read I Hear the Sunspot, so while I’m sure its sequel will be great, I’ll cast my vote for the fifth volume of Descending Stories, one series I have finally managed to read and am enjoying quite a bit.

ASH: I’ll definitely be reading the latest volume of Descending Stories, but this week my heart (and my pick) belongs to Theory of Happiness. I loved I Hear the Sunspot and have been looking forward to its sequel from the moment I learned that it existed.

MJ: Theory of Happiness! Theory of Happiness! Theory of Happiness! I’m not sure what else to say.

Pick of the Week: Return to Neverland

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MICHELLE: I will definitely be picking up the tenth Yona of the Dawn, and Takane & Hana is intriguing too, but having been positively stunned by the awesome that is Promised Neverland, I must pick the second volume of that series. I literally made an entry on my calendar to remind me.

SEAN: I honestly am torn. I enjoyed Takane & Hana so much – it’s exactly the sort of manga I love. But The Promised Neverland was so good last time and feels like the more IMPORTANT manga out this week. Really, get both. Don’t try to choose. (It helps that they’re nothing alike.)

KATE: I vote for volume two of The Promised Neverland. ‘Nuff said!

ASH: Like everyone else so far, the next volume of The Promised Neverland is certainly high on my list. However, I’m pretty excited to read the psychological thriller Perfect Blue, too. Even if it wasn’t the basis of Satoshi Kon’s striking film, the novel sounds like it should be something right up my alley.

MJ: Since I am the big loser who hasn’t actually read the first volume of The Promised Neverland, I will go ahead and indulge my interest in Takane & Hana, which has lured me in with a combination of its source magazine and its spunky-looking heroine. Shoujo, I am in your corner this week!

ANNA: I enjoyed the first volume The Promised Neverland and I’m intrigued by Takane & Hana, but the title that thrills my heart is Yona of the Dawn . It just keeps getting better and better, and at 10 volumes in has built up an extended cast of characters that I’m rooting for.

Pick of the Week: Predictable Yet Welcome

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SEAN: Some interesting stuff out this week, both in manga and light novels. I will be predictable, though, in choosing the first Baccano! manga. I read this when it came out as chapters digitally, and am greatly looking forward to seeing it in print. Plus, content that wasn’t in the novels!

MICHELLE: I will be predictable by expressing my anticipation for another installment of Giant Killing, but I’m awarding my official pick to the ninth and final Full-Time Wife Escapist. I’ve enjoyed this series very much!

KATE: I second Sean’s pick of Baccano!, since I am obsessed with the flashback scenes in The Godfather Part II and will watch or read anything that reminds me of them. I realize that Baccano! is even MORE over the top than anything Mario Puzo ever wrote, but I think that’s actually a good thing. It’s an offer I can’t refuse!

ASH: With the promise of a little bit of yuri, a little bit of boys’ love, and a whole lot of complicated relationships, the debut of Nameless Asterism is the release I’m most curious about this week!

Children of the Whales, Vols. 1-2

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Children of the Whales suffers from the same problem as many prestige television shows: it boasts a thought-provoking premise, compelling lead characters, and sophisticated visuals, but is such a relentlessly downbeat experience that you’d be forgiven for abandoning ship after a few chapters.

The story unfolds aboard the Mud Whale, a sentient vessel. Its 513 inhabitants have been exiled from their homeland for over 90 years, drifting across a vast ocean of sand punctuated only by the occasional island or abandoned boat. Fourteen-year-old Chakuro is the community’s archivist, tasked with recording births and deaths, strange encounters, and changes in the Mud Whale’s leadership, events he catalogs with almost fanatical devotion. Making his job more bittersweet is the discrepancy between the “marked” residents, whose ability to wield magic (or “thymia,” in the series’ parlance) dooms them to a short lifespan, and the unmarked residents, whose normal lifespans have forced them into the role of caretakers and governors.

To stave off despair, the Mud Whale’s residents eschew emotional display — a point reinforced in the earliest pages of volume one, when Chakuro sheds a tear at a 29-year-old woman’s funeral. Immediately, his peers enjoin him not to weep, lest “the souls at the bottom of the sea cry out for you.” It’s a simple but effective scene, one that reminds us that the Mud Whale’s inhabitants are caught between the real prospect of extinction and the uncertain possibility of survival; only their fierce commitment to living in the present moment preserves their tenuous existence.

While scavenging for supplies on a seemingly deserted island, Chakuro stumbles across a blank-faced girl about his own age. She attacks him with swords and sorcery, only to collapse, unconscious, from the effort of casting a spell. Chakuro is frightened but intrigued, and brings Lykos back to the Mud Whale where he learns her true identity: she’s an apatheia, an emotionless soldier. “Emotions will destroy the world,” she informs Chakuro. “The outside world you want to know so badly about is ruled by people deficient in feeling, using apatheias who have no heart to fight a war without end.”

The next major plot development — a surprise attack — delivers the series’ first truly grim moments, as the Mud Whale’s inhabitants are beaten, impaled, and gunned down by unknown assailants. Though Chakuro and Lykos have been fleshed out enough to earn the reader’s pity, the sheer size of the cast and the suddenness of the ambush blunt the impact of the carnage; we can see that Chakuro is devastated by the loss of his childhood friend Sami, but Sami is such a stock character — innocent, impetuous, infatuated with Chakuro — that her gruesome death registers as a manipulative attempt to illustrate the truth of Lykos’ earlier comments about the outside world. That same kind of heavy-handed editorializing extends to the villains’ physical appearance as well. They look like Juggalos in chain mail, sporting maniacal grins that scream, “Sadists ahoy!”, a point underscored in the gleeful way in which they violate corpses and taunt sobbing victims.

The most frustrating thing about these frenetic chapters is that they seem fundamentally at odds with the deliberate pacing and meticulous world-building in volume one. In these introductory pages, Umeda maps every nook and cranny of the Mud Whale, creating an environment as imposing and intimate as Hayao Miyazaki’s Laputa. She approaches her character designs with same patience and care, bestowing a semblance of individuality on each resident while establishing their collective identity as a people. Even Chakuro’s frequent voice-overs — presumably read from the Mud Whale’s archives — play an important role in helping us experience time the way the Mud Whale’s residents do; there’s a lyrical quality to Chakuro’s narration that captures the rhythms of their day-to-day existence.

Yet for all Umeda’s world-building skills, Children of the Whales‘ dour tone puts the reader at arm’s length from the characters. Minus the flashes of joy, humor, and warmth that temper Miyazaki’s most downbeat films, Children of the Whales feels more like an episode of The Leftovers or Rectify than Castle in the Sky; it’s so utterly mirthless that it casts a pall over the reader instead of prompting deep thoughts or empathy for the characters. Take my manga, please!

CHILDREN OF THE WHALES, VOLS. 1-2 • BY ABI UMEDA • VIZ • RATED T+ (FOR OLDER TEENS)

Pick of the Week: My Manga Is Orange

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KATE: I suspect I’m not the only one who’s eager to read orange: future; I still get the sniffles just thinking about orange, and am eager to see how Ichigo Takano continues the story. Looking over this week’s new arrivals, though, I’m also curious about Made in Abyss, which sounds like a dark fantasy-adventure with an interesting heroine. And I’ll also give a plug for PTSD Radio, despite its unfortunate title and godawful covers. It’s a solid horror series that benefits from unique artwork and an unusual narrative structure.

SEAN: There’s several titles I’m interested in, including a final volume of Golden Time and the debut of Made in Abyss. But yeah, in the end the clearly obvious Pick of the Week is orange: future, which I reviewed here in a spoilery fashion, as Seven Seas helpfully noted. It may not please everyone, but it’s well-crafted.

MICHELLE: Having now read and loved the first two volumes of Frau Faust, I am definitely looking forward to volume three. But, yes, my heart really does belong to orange: future. I’m a little afraid of what it might reveal, given how much I loved the original series, but there’s no way I’m skipping it.

ASH: I’ll definitely be reading more of Frau Faust, and I’m rather curious about Made in Abyss, too, but orange: future is unquestionably my pick this week. Like so many others, the original series made a huge impression on me.

RWBY

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There was a moment in the early 2000s when Tokyopop slapped the “manga” label on just about anything it published, from licensed Japanese comics to comics made by aspiring American artists who were trying to break into the industry. Looking back on the heated debate over the legitimacy of OEL manga, I wonder how today’s readers will view RWBY, a work that meets the basic definition of manga as “comics created in Japan,” but has a more complicated history than other American properties that have been reimagined for Japanese readers.

RWBY’s path to the Shonen Jump imprint began in 2013 when Rooster Teeth, an American production studio, had a viral hit with an original, anime-influenced show about a team of girls who fight monsters. Over the next four years, interest in RWBY was strong enough to inspire a spin-off series, a video game, four soundtrack albums, and a manga illustrated by Shirow Miwa, creator of Dogs and Dogs: Bullets & Carnage. Like Miwa’s other work, RWBY ran in the pages of Ultra Jump alongside JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure and Bastard!! before being licensed by VIZ for American readers.

Flipping through its pages, there are hints that RWBY is a slightly different animal than Jiro Kuwata’s Bat-Manga or Kia Asamiya’s Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. RWBY reads like a skillful imitation of a battle-heavy shonen manga, a riot of flying fists, kicking legs, swinging scythes, and extreme camera angles. Almost every imaginable visual cliche is on display, from a girl with cat-ears (she’s a Faunus, or a “therianthrope”) to a school uniform that consists of a waist-nipping blazer and impossibly short skirt. And while Miwa’s artistic persona is evident in the story’s best pages, RWBY feels less like a manga adaptation of a popular American show than a compendium of things that American fans like about anime and manga.

The story follows a familiar template: four — or three, or five — special teens attend a special school where they learn how to use their special powers to defend the Earth from demons or aliens. Each teen has one unusual gift — say, teleporting or making killer bento boxes — and one well-defined personality trait that dictates the costume she wears, how much she talks, and whether she plays well with others. Though individually effective, the quartet — or trio, or quintet — is more formidable when they team up against their shared enemy, a lesson that’s reinforced early and often in the series both in the outcome of the battle scenes and in the characters’ on-the-nose conversations about friendship and cooperation. In RWBY, the principal team consists of four girls: Ruby Rose, a weapons expert, Weiss Schnee, a rich girl, Blake Belladonna, a former gang member, and Yang Xiao Long, a cheerful spazz who loves a good brawl. All four attend attend Beacon Academy, where teens train to become Hunters, skillful warriors who wield cool weapons and magical spells against the Grimm, a race of “soulless monsters” that threaten humanity’s existence.

On the screen, such a shopworn premise could still work with the addition of snazzy animation, strong voice acting, great sound design, and judicious pacing. On the page, however, RWBY falls flat. Miwa is hamstrung by the pedestrian source material, cranking out a manga whose principal characters are blandly pretty and prone to explaining things to one another. Just a few pages into chapter one, for example, Ruby blithely asks her teammates about Dust, the magical substance that powers their weapons. Without missing a beat, Schnee responds, “It’s a crystallized energy propellant that helps to power our world.” She then launches into a lengthy rumination on Dust that’s supposed to reveal something about her character — her family’s fortune is tied to Dust — but is such a poorly disguised information dump that it never rises to the level of conversation.

Glimpses of Miwa’s signature style — his sharp-featured characters and spidery linework — emerge most clearly in the battle sequences, when Ruby and friends face off with the Grimm. Miwa frames the action in panels whose bold, diagonal boundaries mimic the combatants’ slashing motions and flying leaps. In one of the manga’s most striking sequences, Miwa traces a bullet from the barrel of Ruby’s gun towards its target. This kind of tracking shot is a hackneyed gesture, but Miwa does something playful and surprising with it: he breaks the frame to create the illusion that the bullet is emerging from the page and whizzing past the reader:

The rest of the sequence, however, is a hot mess. Miwa’s relentless shift in perspective makes the fight as incomprehensible as a badly edited car chase; it’s never clear how many monsters are involved, or what makes the Grimm so lethal, despite the fact that Miwa has tried to mimic the show’s swooping camera work to show the carnage from every possible angle.

Miwa’s indifference to the material also manifests itself in the almost total absence of background detail. Though he introduces the fight sequences with an establishing shot or two — a glimpse of trees, an aerial view of a railroad track — the action unfolds in blank space. Plenty of manga-ka take similar shortcuts, but when a manga is 70% combat and 30% character-building, the effect is like looking at a scene from The Last Jedi or Avatar before the special effects were added; in the absence of any objects, buildings, or landmarks that would contextualize their actions and words, the characters look downright silly.

Part of me wishes RWBY were better, as it’s fascinating to see an American program get the manga treatment, especially one that wears its Bleach and Magic Knight Rayearth influences on its sleeve. Ten years ago, fans would have derided such a program as inauthentic; today, it seems, such trans-Pacific exchanges are unremarkable. Too bad RWBY never escapes the prison of Overused Anime and Manga Tropes to become something more original, compelling, or entertaining.

RWBY • MANGA BY SHIROW MIWA • BASED ON THE ROOSTER TEETH SERIES CREATED BY MONTY OUM • TRANSLATED BY JOE YAMAZAKI, ADAPTED BY JEREMY HAUN & JASON HURLEY • VIZ MEDIA • 260 pp. • RATED T, FOR TEENS (Fantasy violence, mild fanservice)