Manga Bookshelf

Discussion, Resources, Roundtables, & Reviews

Katherine Dacey

Review Redux: Gosick, Vol. 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spice and Wolf, Vol. 4

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At some point in your childhood, a well-meaning adult — a parent, a teacher, Mr. Rodgers — exhorted you “not to judge a book by its cover.” I’m not as diligent about following that advice as I should be, though I have enough experience as a consumer to correctly guess a book’s contents and intended audience from the packaging. Every now and then, however, I completely misjudge a title, as I did with volume four of Spice and Wolf. The cover suggested a fantasy-adventure in a medieval setting — perhaps something along the lines of Claymore — but the story read more like an economics textbook with sexy illustrations.

Ostensibly, Spice and Wolf focuses on the relationship between Holo, a six-hundred-year-old wolf god, and Lawrence, a twenty-five-year-old human. The two meet cute when Holo stows away in Lawrence’s wagon, looking for a ride to her homeland of Yoitsu. Though they’re temperamental opposites — Holo is crafty and impulsive, Lawrence is deliberate and careful — the two discover that they make good business partners; Holo’s ability to manipulate trading partners complements Lawrence’s financial acumen and risk assessment skills.

That’s not a bad premise for a manga; in the right hands, Holo and Lawrence’s travels could be the basis for a smart social satire or an engaging comedy. Unfortunately, the script frequently requires Lawrence to explain the finer points of loans, currency, and inventory control to Holo, expositions that are about as much fun to read as a chapter from Modern Management: Concepts and Skills. Holo’s responses are equally stultifying; in one scene, she cheerfully tells Lawrence, “It’s my intention to pay you back with interest. That means the more I borrow, the more you profit.” Ace student, that Holo.

These tedious exchanges about interest rates and guild politics are occasionally interrupted by comic interludes, usually prompted by Holo’s discovery of a stash of booze or Holo’s decision to groom her tail, an elaborate procedure that requires her to assume a number of fetching poses as she preens. If there was any chemistry between Holo and Lawrence, these scenes might not feel so completely perfunctory, but they serve little purpose beyond catering to the male reader’s gaze. Worse still, the story lacks any sense of urgency or purpose; the dramatic climax of volume four involves Lawrence discovering that he bought a wagon’s worth of worthless armor. There’s more at stake in a typical episode of The Apprentice, and they’re hawking salad dressing and mattresses.

Yet for all my criticisms of Spice and Wolf, I can see why the series has a devoted following. The artwork is immaculate, with clean lines, appealing character designs, and meticulously rendered landscapes, buildings, and urban markets; Keito Koume’s crowd scenes bustle with activity, as characters negotiate deals and flirt with each other, bringing the walled medieval towns to vivid life. The supporting cast, too, boasts some memorable characters. In volume four, for example, Lawrence and Holo cross paths with Norah, a shepherdess whose pleasant demeanor masks a complicated personal history. The volume closes with a bonus story showing us Norah’s visit to a local town, followed by a difficult night when she and her dog Ennek hide from Church authorities. It’s a simple mood piece, but it’s tense and effectively staged, hinting at the broad — even overreaching — power invested in religious authorities.

That the Church’s power and history remain mysterious four volumes into the manga points to the series’ biggest problem: most of the interesting conflicts in Spice and Wolf are so deeply buried beneath the commercial shop-talk that they barely register at all. As a result, Spice and Wolf reads more like Project X: Cup Medieval Noodle than a proper drama; what it desperately needs is a high-speed wagon chase, sword fight, or — dare I say it? — a love scene to goose the proceedings.

Review copy provided by Yen Press. Volume four of Spice & Wolf arrives in stores on May 31, 2011.

SPICE AND WOLF, VOL. 4 • STORY BY ISUNA HASEKURA, ART BY KEITO KOUME • YEN PRESS • 192 pp. • RATING: MATURE

Spice and Wolf, Vol. 4

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At some point in your childhood, a well-meaning adult — a parent, a teacher, Mr. Rodgers — exhorted you “not to judge a book by its cover.” I’m not as diligent about following that advice as I should be, though I have enough experience as a consumer to correctly guess a book’s contents and intended audience from the packaging. Every now and then, however, I completely misjudge a title, as I did with volume four of Spice and Wolf. The cover suggested a fantasy-adventure in a medieval setting — perhaps something along the lines of Claymore — but the story read more like an economics textbook with sexy illustrations.

Ostensibly, Spice and Wolf focuses on the relationship between Holo, a six-hundred-year-old wolf god, and Lawrence, a twenty-five-year-old human. The two meet cute when Holo stows away in Lawrence’s wagon, looking for a ride to her homeland of Yoitsu. Though they’re temperamental opposites — Holo is crafty and impulsive, Lawrence is deliberate and careful — the two discover that they make good business partners; Holo’s ability to manipulate trading partners complements Lawrence’s financial acumen and risk assessment skills.

That’s not a bad premise for a manga; in the right hands, Holo and Lawrence’s travels could be the basis for a smart social satire or an engaging comedy. Unfortunately, the script frequently requires Lawrence to explain the finer points of loans, currency, and inventory control to Holo, expositions that are about as much fun to read as a chapter from Modern Management: Concepts and Skills. Holo’s responses are equally stultifying; in one scene, she cheerfully tells Lawrence, “It’s my intention to pay you back with interest. That means the more I borrow, the more you profit.” Ace student, that Holo.

These tedious exchanges about interest rates and guild politics are occasionally interrupted by comic interludes, usually prompted by Holo’s discovery of a stash of booze or Holo’s decision to groom her tail, an elaborate procedure that requires her to assume a number of fetching poses as she preens. If there was any chemistry between Holo and Lawrence, these scenes might not feel so completely perfunctory, but they serve little purpose beyond catering to the male reader’s gaze. Worse still, the story lacks any sense of urgency or purpose; the dramatic climax of volume four involves Lawrence discovering that he bought a wagon’s worth of worthless armor. There’s more at stake in a typical episode of The Apprentice, and they’re hawking salad dressing and mattresses.

Yet for all my criticisms of Spice and Wolf, I can see why the series has a devoted following. The artwork is immaculate, with clean lines, appealing character designs, and meticulously rendered landscapes, buildings, and urban markets; Keito Koume’s crowd scenes bustle with activity, as characters negotiate deals and flirt with each other, bringing the walled medieval towns to vivid life. The supporting cast, too, boasts some memorable characters. In volume four, for example, Lawrence and Holo cross paths with Norah, a shepherdess whose pleasant demeanor masks a complicated personal history. The volume closes with a bonus story showing us Norah’s visit to a local town, followed by a difficult night when she and her dog Ennek hide from Church authorities. It’s a simple mood piece, but it’s tense and effectively staged, hinting at the broad — even overreaching — power invested in religious authorities.

That the Church’s power and history remain mysterious four volumes into the manga points to the series’ biggest problem: most of the interesting conflicts in Spice and Wolf are so deeply buried beneath the commercial shop-talk that they barely register at all. As a result, Spice and Wolf reads more like Project X: Cup Medieval Noodle than a proper drama; what it desperately needs is a high-speed wagon chase, sword fight, or — dare I say it? — a love scene to goose the proceedings.

Review copy provided by Yen Press. Volume four of Spice & Wolf arrives in stores on May 31, 2011.

SPICE AND WOLF, VOL. 4 • STORY BY ISUNA HASEKURA, ART BY KEITO KOUME • YEN PRESS • 192 pp. • RATING: MATURE

PotW: Hikaru no go, Lychee Light Club, Kekkaishi

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It’s a banner week for manga arrivals at Midtown Comics. See below for recommendations from the Manga Bookshelf bloggers and special guest Michelle Smith!

MICHELLE: There’s a lot of good stuff hitting Midtown Comics this week, including new volumes of several of my Shojo Beat favorites. But I simply must award my pick of the week to the 23rd and final volume of Hikaru no Go. I have loved this series for a long time—I read the first volume in June 2004, and that was after I’d seen the anime—and the fact that it’s finally ending is pretty bittersweet. I’ll miss following much-beloved characters as they, in the grand tradition of sports manga, try their best to get stronger, but at the same time, it’s hard to feel too bummed out knowing that I’ll now have the luxury of binging on the entire series at once. Not only is Hikaru no Go a keeper, it’s a treasure.

MJ: Well, wow, it’s incredibly tempting to second Michelle’s choice. I have a deep, deep love for Hikaru no Go, something you’ll all be hearing more about as the week goes on. In the interest of diversity, however, I’ll take up the torch for Usamaru Furuya’s Lychee Light Club, a highly-anticipated new title from Vertical, featuring a secret society of middle-school boys who are developing a lychee-fueled “thinking machine.” Billed by Vertical as “Lord of the Flies for our new century,” the book is reportedly dark and pretty graphic in terms of sexuality and gore. It’s also reportedly awesome. Given Vertical’s recent track record with me, I say, “sign me up!”

DAVID: It’s certainly an embarrassment of riches this week, and I certainly second both Michelle and MJ’s choices, and there are new volumes of some utterly winning shôjo series (Kimi ni Todoke and The Story of Saiunkoku leap to mind), but I’m going to cast my vote for the Kekkaishi 3-in-1 Edition by Yellow Tanabe. I’ve read some of this series and enjoyed it a great deal, and I’ve always meant to go start it from the beginning at some point, so I’m very pleased to have an easy and inexpensive entry point. Any book that Kate describes as “The Best Manga You’re Not Reading” is worth some serious attention, I think.

KATE: I’ve always been puzzled that Kekkaishi wasn’t a bigger hit here in the US, as it has so many things going for it: great characters, cool-looking monsters, and artfully choreographed fight scenes that are exciting and unpredictable. With the series coming to an end in Japan, VIZ seems to be re-doubling its efforts to make Kekkaishi a success, promoting the anime through its website and re-issuing the series in a wallet-friendly omnibus edition. I’d strongly encourage InuYasha fans to give it a try, as I think they’ll find a lot of positive similarities between the two series, from the authors’ imaginative use of folklore to the authors’ penchant for feisty, smart female characters who pull their own weight in battles.

Readers, what are your Picks this week?

Bookshelf Briefs 5/2/11

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This week, Kate, David, MJ, and Michelle check out a batch of new releases from Viz Media, TOKYOPOP, and Vertical, Inc.

7 Billion Needles, Vol. 4 | By Nobuaki Tadano | Vertical, Inc. – The final volume of 7 Billion Needles epitomizes what’s good — and bad — about Nobuaki Tadano’s adaptation of Needle, Hal Clement’s 1950 novel. On the plus side, Tadano’s protagonist is a genuine improvement on Clement’s; with her quicksilver moods and impulsive behavior, Hikaru is a more intriguing, sympathetic character than the super-wholesome Bob. On the minus side, Tadano deviates from Clement’s novel in volumes three and four, introducing a confusing storyline about a planet-wide evolutionary crisis sparked by Horizon and Maelstrom’s arrival on Earth. Though Tadano’s apocalyptic imagery is suitably nightmarish, these later scenes aren’t as tense or clearly staged as the early cat-and-mouse game between Hikaru and Maelstrom; Tadano relies too heavily on a god-like character to explain what’s going on, sapping the story of its narrative urgency. On the whole, however, 7 Billion Needles is an ambitious, entertaining riff on Clement’s original story. – Katherine Dacey

Dengeki Daisy Vol. 4 | By Kyousuke Motomi | Viz Media – Warning: Reading this book while drowsy may seriously impair your ability to stay awake. In the previous volume, Teru found out that the mysterious DAISY with whom she’s been corresponding is really Kurosaki, the snarky custodian of her school and object of her affection. Now, uncertainty about how to act around him ensues. Once some equilibrium in that regard is restored, the plot bounces around disjointedly, from Teru considering attending a group date to hone her feminine wiles, to DAISY revealing regrets about his past, to a cell phone virus designed by a fake DAISY spreading around campus. There are a few decent moments to be found, but on the whole, this volume is a total yawn banquet. -Michelle Smith

Hikaru no Go, Vol. 23 | By Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata | Viz Media – After seven years and 23 volumes, this long-running shounen series finally comes to a close as Hikaru faces young Korean Go star Ko Yong Ha in the final round of the Hokuto Cup. While one might expect these chapters to focus on the competition itself, Yumi Hotta looks further, into the reasons these young men play the game at all. Though a quiet ending may not be typical for the genre, this series concludes with the same thoughtful elegance that has characterized it from the start, emphasizing the the long history and limitless future of game and those who choose to play it. While it’s sad to reach the end of a series that has so long been a favorite, it’s gratifying when that ends is so graceful and thought-provoking. Extras in this volume include character sketches from artist Takeshi Obata and two bonus chapters. Highly recommended.-MJ

The Secret Notes of Lady Kanoko, Vol. 2 | By Ririko Tsujita | TOKYOPOP – Among the many sad results of the closing of Tokyopop is that readers have one less shôjo heroine who casually quotes Nietzsche. Kanoko, our sharply observant protagonist, continues to chronicle junior-high foolishness and allows herself to be drawn into the woes of her ever-changing roster of classmates. Aside from the fact that these stories are bracingly sarcastic and funny, they also feature nicely crafted messages – be yourself, know your limitations and strengths, say what’s on your mind, and so on. Tsujita makes the most of what could be a repetitive premise, crafting interesting characters and scenarios that allow Kanoko to do what she does best: spy and meddle. While it’s unfortunate that we probably won’t be getting the third and final volume of this series any time soon, it’s episodic in nature, and I don’t have any qualms about recommending you enjoy what we have. -David Welsh

The Story of Saiunkoku, Vol. 3 | By Kairi Yura and Sai Yukino | Viz Media – This is my favorite shôjo series currently in release. It’s got complex, sympathetic characters living in a well-developed, beautifully appointed world. This volume begins a new arc where the heat of summer is leaving the royal offices woefully understaffed. Our hardworking heroine Shurei dresses up as a boy so she can temp in the treasury. The experience is rewarding, but it leads her to wonder if her dream of becoming a civil servant (a profession that’s only for men in this culture) is worth pursuing, or if she should settle for traditionally female pursuits. The fact that the creators can thoughtfully address these kinds of issues and still pack the pages with comedy, romance, and courtly intrigue is a marvelous accomplishment. Like Shurei, the book is generous, smart, sincere, and ambitious. -David Welsh

5 Reasons to Read InuYasha

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InuYasha was the first comic that I actively collected, the manga that introduced me to the Wednesday comic-buying ritual and the very notion of self-identifying as a fan. Though I followed it religiously for years, trading in my older editions for new ones, watching the anime, and speculating about the finale, my interest in the series gradually waned as I was exposed to new artists and new genres. Still, InuYasha held a special place in my heart; reading it was one of my seminal experiences as a comic fan, making me reluctant to re-visit InuYasha for fear of sullying those precious first-manga memories. VIZ’s recent decision to re-issue InuYasha in an omnibus edition, however, inspired me to pick it up again. I made a shocking discovery in the process of re-reading the first chapters: InuYasha is good. Really good, in fact, and deserving of more respect than it gets from many critics.

What makes InuYasha work? I can think of five reasons:

1. The story arcs are long enough to be complex and engaging, but not so long as to test the patience.

There’s a Zen quality to Rumiko Takahashi’s storytelling that might not be obvious at first glance; after all, she loves a pratfall or a sword fight as much as the next shonen manga-ka. Don’t let that surface activity fool you, however: Takahashi has a terrific sense of balance, staging a romantic interlude between a demon-of-the-week episode and a longer storyline involving Naraku’s minions, thus preventing the series from devolving into a punishing string of battle arcs. The other great advantage of this approach is that Takashi carves out more space for her characters to interact as people, not just combatants; as a result, InuYasha is one of the few shonen manga in which the characters’ relationships evolve over time.

2. Takahashi knows how to stage a fight scene that’s dramatic, tense, and mercifully short.

‘Nuff said.

3. InuYasha‘s villains are powerful and strange, not strawmen.

Though we know our heroes will prevail — it’s shonen, for Pete’s sake — Takahashi throws creative obstacles in their way that makes their eventual triumph more satisfying. Consider Naraku. In many respects, he’s a standard-issue bad guy: he’s omnipotent, charismatic, and manipulative, capable of finding the darkness and vulnerability in the purest soul. (He also has fabulous hair, another reliable indication of his villainy.) Yet the way in which Naraku wields power is genuinely unsettling, as he fashions warriors from pieces of himself, then reabsorbs them into his body when they outlive their usefulness. Naraku’s manifestations are peculiar, too. Some are female, some are children, some have monstrous bodies, and some have the power to create their own demonic offspring, but few look like the sort of golem I’d create if I wanted to wreak havoc. And therein lies Naraku’s true power: his opponents never know what form he’ll take next, or whether he’s already among them.

Sesshomaru, too, is another villain who proves more interesting than he first appears. In the very earliest chapters of the manga, he’s a bored sociopath who has no qualms about using InuYasha’s mama trauma to trick his younger brother into revealing the Tetsusaiga’s location. As the story progresses, however, Sesshomaru begins tolerating the company of a cheerful eight-year-old girl who, in a neat inversion of the usual human-canine relationship, is dependent on her dog-demon master for protection, food, and companionship. Takahashi resists the urge to fully “humanize” Sesshomaru, however; he remains InuYasha’s scornful adversary for most of the series, largely unchanged by his peculiar fixation with Rin.

And did I mention that Sesshomaru has awesome hair? Oh, to be a villain in a Takahashi manga!

4. InuYasha‘s female characters kick ass.

Back in 2008, Shaenon Garrity wrote a devastatingly funny article about the seven types of female characters in shonen manga, from The Tomboy to The Little Girl to The Experienced Older Woman. I’m pleased to report that none of these types appear in InuYasha; in fact, InuYasha boasts one of the smartest, toughest, and most appealing set of female characters in shonen manga. And by “tough,” I don’t mean that Kagome, Kikyo, and Sango brandish weapons while wearing provocative outfits; I mean they persist in the face of adversity, even if their own lives are at stake. They’re strong enough to hold their own against demons, ghosts, and heavily armed bandits, and wise enough to know when words are more effective than weapons. They’re not adverse to the idea of romance, but recovering the Shikon Jewel takes precedence over dating. And they’re woman enough to cry if something awful happens, though they’d rather shed their tears in private than show their pain to others.

5. The horror! The horror!

Takahashi may have the coolest resume of anyone working in manga today; not only did she study script writing with Kazuo Koike, she also worked as an assistant to Kazuo Umezu — an apprenticeship that’s evident in the early chapters of InuYasha. In between Kagome and InuYasha’s first encounters with Naraku are a handful of short but spooky stories in which seemingly benign objects — a noh mask, a peach tree — are transformed by Shikon Jewel shards into instruments of torture and killing. Takahashi’s horror stories are less florid than Umezu’s, with fewer detours into WTF? territory, but like Umezu, Takahashi has a vivid imagination that yields some decidedly scary images. Here, for example, is the demonic peach tree from chapter 79, “The Fruits of Evil”:

Takahashi doesn’t just use these images to shock; she uses them to illustrate the consequences of ugly emotions, impulsive actions, and violent behavior, to show us how these choices slowly corrode the soul and transform us into the most monstrous version of ourselves. (Also to show us the consequences of substituting human bones and blood for Miracle Gro. Kids, don’t try this at home.)

What Takahashi does better than almost anyone is walk the fine line between terror and horror. Gothic novelist Ann Radcliffe, author of The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794) and The Italian (1797), was one of the first writers to argue that terror and horror were different states of arousal. “Terror and Horror are so far opposite, that the first expands the soul and awakens the faculties to a high degree of life; the other contracts, freezes and nearly annihilates them,” she wrote in an 1826 essay, “On the Supernatural in Poetry.” Critiquing Radcliffe’s work in 1966, Devendra P. Varma explained that difference more concretely: “The difference between Terror and Horror is the difference between awful apprehension and sickening realization: between the smell of death and stumbling against a corpse.” And that’s exactly where Takahashi operates: she gives us tantalizing, suggestive glimpses of scary things, then keeps them obscured until the denouement of the story, allowing our imaginations to supply most of the grisly details. We read her work in a heightened state of awareness, which only intensifies our pleasure — and revulsion — when the true nature of Kagome and InuYasha’s foes are revealed.

* * * * *

If you haven’t looked at InuYasha in a while, or missed it during the height of its popularity, now is a great time to give it a try. Each volume of the VIZBIG edition collects three issues, allowing readers to more fully immerse themselves in the story. And if you’re a purist about packaging, you’ll be happy to know that VIZ is finally issuing InuYasha in an unflipped format — a first in the series’ US history.

5 Reasons to Read InuYasha

by

InuYasha was the first comic that I actively collected, the manga that introduced me to the Wednesday comic-buying ritual and the very notion of self-identifying as a fan. Though I followed it religiously for years, trading in my older editions for new ones, watching the anime, and speculating about the finale, my interest in the series gradually waned as I was exposed to new artists and new genres. Still, InuYasha held a special place in my heart; reading it was one of my seminal experiences as a comic fan, making me reluctant to re-visit InuYasha for fear of sullying those precious first-manga memories. VIZ’s recent decision to re-issue InuYasha in an omnibus edition, however, inspired me to pick it up again. I made a shocking discovery in the process of re-reading the first chapters: InuYasha is good. Really good, in fact, and deserving of more respect than it gets from many critics.

What makes InuYasha work? I can think of five reasons:

1. The story arcs are long enough to be complex and engaging, but not so long as to test the patience.

There’s a Zen quality to Rumiko Takahashi’s storytelling that might not be obvious at first glance; after all, she loves a pratfall or a sword fight as much as the next shonen manga-ka. Don’t let that surface activity fool you, however: Takahashi has a terrific sense of balance, staging a romantic interlude between a demon-of-the-week episode and a longer storyline involving Naraku’s minions, thus preventing the series from devolving into a punishing string of battle arcs. The other great advantage of this approach is that Takashi carves out more space for her characters to interact as people, not just combatants; as a result, InuYasha is one of the few shonen manga in which the characters’ relationships evolve over time.

2. Takahashi knows how to stage a fight scene that’s dramatic, tense, and mercifully short.

‘Nuff said.

3. InuYasha‘s villains are powerful and strange, not strawmen.

Though we know our heroes will prevail — it’s shonen, for Pete’s sake — Takahashi throws creative obstacles in their way that makes their eventual triumph more satisfying. Consider Naraku. In many respects, he’s a standard-issue bad guy: he’s omnipotent, charismatic, and manipulative, capable of finding the darkness and vulnerability in the purest soul. (He also has fabulous hair, another reliable indication of his villainy.) Yet the way in which Naraku wields power is genuinely unsettling, as he fashions warriors from pieces of himself, then reabsorbs them into his body when they outlive their usefulness. Naraku’s manifestations are peculiar, too. Some are female, some are children, some have monstrous bodies, and some have the power to create their own demonic offspring, but few look like the sort of golem I’d create if I wanted to wreak havoc. And therein lies Naraku’s true power: his opponents never know what form he’ll take next, or whether he’s already among them.

Sesshomaru, too, is another villain who proves more interesting than he first appears. In the very earliest chapters of the manga, he’s a bored sociopath who has no qualms about using InuYasha’s mama trauma to trick his younger brother into revealing the Tetsusaiga’s location. As the story progresses, however, Sesshomaru begins tolerating the company of a cheerful eight-year-old girl who, in a neat inversion of the usual human-canine relationship, is dependent on her dog-demon master for protection, food, and companionship. Takahashi resists the urge to fully “humanize” Sesshomaru, however; he remains InuYasha’s scornful adversary for most of the series, largely unchanged by his peculiar fixation with Rin.

And did I mention that Sesshomaru has awesome hair? Oh, to be a villain in a Takahashi manga!

4. InuYasha‘s female characters kick ass.

Back in 2008, Shaenon Garrity wrote a devastatingly funny article about the seven types of female characters in shonen manga, from The Tomboy to The Little Girl to The Experienced Older Woman. I’m pleased to report that none of these types appear in InuYasha; in fact, InuYasha boasts one of the smartest, toughest, and most appealing set of female characters in shonen manga. And by “tough,” I don’t mean that Kagome, Kikyo, and Sango brandish weapons while wearing provocative outfits; I mean they persist in the face of adversity, even if their own lives are at stake. They’re strong enough to hold their own against demons, ghosts, and heavily armed bandits, and wise enough to know when words are more effective than weapons. They’re not adverse to the idea of romance, but recovering the Shikon Jewel takes precedence over dating. And they’re woman enough to cry if something awful happens, though they’d rather shed their tears in private than show their pain to others.

5. The horror! The horror!

Takahashi may have the coolest resume of anyone working in manga today; not only did she study script writing with Kazuo Koike, she also worked as an assistant to Kazuo Umezu — an apprenticeship that’s evident in the early chapters of InuYasha. In between Kagome and InuYasha’s first encounters with Naraku are a handful of short but spooky stories in which seemingly benign objects — a noh mask, a peach tree — are transformed by Shikon Jewel shards into instruments of torture and killing. Takahashi’s horror stories are less florid than Umezu’s, with fewer detours into WTF? territory, but like Umezu, Takahashi has a vivid imagination that yields some decidedly scary images. Here, for example, is the demonic peach tree from chapter 79, “The Fruits of Evil”:

Takahashi doesn’t just use these images to shock; she uses them to illustrate the consequences of ugly emotions, impulsive actions, and violent behavior, to show us how these choices slowly corrode the soul and transform us into the most monstrous version of ourselves. (Also to show us the consequences of substituting human bones and blood for Miracle Gro. Kids, don’t try this at home.)

What Takahashi does better than almost anyone is walk the fine line between terror and horror. Gothic novelist Ann Radcliffe, author of The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794) and The Italian (1797), was one of the first writers to argue that terror and horror were different states of arousal. “Terror and Horror are so far opposite, that the first expands the soul and awakens the faculties to a high degree of life; the other contracts, freezes and nearly annihilates them,” she wrote in an 1826 essay, “On the Supernatural in Poetry.” Critiquing Radcliffe’s work in 1966, Devendra P. Varma explained that difference more concretely: “The difference between Terror and Horror is the difference between awful apprehension and sickening realization: between the smell of death and stumbling against a corpse.” And that’s exactly where Takahashi operates: she gives us tantalizing, suggestive glimpses of scary things, then keeps them obscured until the denouement of the story, allowing our imaginations to supply most of the grisly details. We read her work in a heightened state of awareness, which only intensifies our pleasure — and revulsion — when the true nature of Kagome and InuYasha’s foes are revealed.

* * * * *

If you haven’t looked at InuYasha in a while, or missed it during the height of its popularity, now is a great time to give it a try. Each volume of the VIZBIG edition collects three issues, allowing readers to more fully immerse themselves in the story. And if you’re a purist about packaging, you’ll be happy to know that VIZ is finally issuing InuYasha in an unflipped format — a first in the series’ US history.

Rumiko Takahashi’s Rumic Theater

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Most American readers know Rumiko Takahashi through her work in Shonen Sunday, but Takahashi has a foot in the seinen world as well. Maison Ikkoku ran in Big Comic Spirits from 1980-87, alongside Area 88 and Wounded Man, while short stories such as “To Grandmother’s House We Go” and “One Hundred Years of Love” appeared in Big Comic Spirits‘ sister publication Big Comic Original. In Japan, Takahashi’s seinen shorts have been collected into four volumes: 1 or W, The Tragedy of P, The Executive’s Dog, and Red Bouquet. Here in the US, however, only two have been translated into English: The Tragedy of P, which was re-titled Rumic Theater (1996), and 1 or W, which was published as Rumic Theater: One or Double (1998). (N.B. One or Double includes a handful of shonen and josei stories that appeared in Shonen Sunday and Petit Flower, respectively.)

These two translated volumes showcase Takahashi’s ability to work in almost genre. There are sports comedies (“The Grandfather of All Baseball Games”), domestic dramas (“Hidden in the Pottery,” “House of Garbage,” “The Tragedy of P”), rom-coms (“The Merchant of Romance,” “The Diet Goddess”), pop-culture spoofs (“Shake Your Buddha”), and ghost stories (“To Grandmother’s House We Go,” “One or Double”). As with Takahashi’s work in Shonen Sunday, many of these stories fold supernatural elements into everyday situations. In “Extra-Large Size Happiness,” for example, a woman’s relationship with her mother-in-law is strained by the sudden and frequent appearance of a household spirit that only she can see, while in “Reserved Seat,” a ghostly grandma takes possession of her grandson’s body so that she can honor her season tickets at the Takarazuka Revue.

Takahashi is a master at establishing her premise in just a few pages, allowing plenty of room for character development and broad comedy without compromising narrative momentum. One of the reasons Takahashi can be so economical is that she invests even the smallest moments with telling detail, making sure that every aspect of a character’s behavior is consistent with the story’s premise. In “Excuse Me for Being a Dog,” for example, the hero — who turns into a shiba inu whenever he suffers a nosebleed — acts like a canine even in his human form: he investigates an abandoned book bag with his nose, curls his lip at strangers, and recoils in the presence of pungent odors. Takahashi doesn’t make a big deal of these behavioral tics, but their inclusion in the story elevates Shiro’s condition from a wacky plot contrivance to a fundamental aspect of his existence. (OK, it’s also a wacky plot contrivance.)

Takahashi’s deep affection for her characters also contributes to the stories’ success. Though they bicker and tease and goad one another, the characters’ good will and mutual affection is seldom in question, even when their judgment is. Takahashi is as generous with her least sympathetic characters as she is with her leads, allowing them moments of wisdom and decency that often challenge the other characters’ perception of them. In “The Story of P,” for example, a man agrees to care for his eccentric client’s pet penguin, despite the fact the Hagas’ apartment complex doesn’t allow pets. For most of the story, Mrs. Haga plays cat-and-mouse with her neighbor Mrs. Kakei, the head of tenants’ association and a reputed animal hater. (Mrs. Kakei keeps tabs on the other tenants, notifying the management of any pet violations.) Yet in the last pages of the story, we learn that Mrs. Kakei has complicated, emotional reasons for ratting out her neighbors that stem, in part, from a genuine concern for animal welfare and not a humorless love of rules.

Art-wise, Takahashi produces some of the cleanest, most accessible layouts in manga. Her characters’ faces are easy to read, and her scenes are staged for maximum clarity and emotional impact; no one times a scare or a punch line better than Takahashi. Even more striking is the sense of mischief and play that informs her artwork. The elderly heroine of “One Hundred Years of Love,” for example, gains the ability to fly after surviving a near-death experience. Takahashi draws the old woman astride an enormous crutch, soaring over an urban landscape. At first, Mrs. Hoshino mutters about the weather, but soon she embraces the possibilities of flight, buzzing an unsuspecting eight-year-old apartment dweller:

 

That same sense of mischief is evident in “Extra-Large Size Happiness,” in which a giant yokai pops into the frame — directly behind the frazzled heroine’s mother-in-law. Readers familiar with InuYasha‘s Shippo and Myogi will immediately recognize this round, genial figure:

The similarities between this nameless yokai and Myoga could be construed as a flaw or weakness of Takahashi’s style, but there’s an argument to be made that Takahashi employs a “star system” of her own. Granted, Takahashi never constructed a neat theoretical framework to explain the recurrence of certain characters in her stories, as Osamu Tezuka famously did for his. Flipping through the pages of Rumic Theater, however, it’s easy to imagine these characters as actors who specialize in certain types of roles, retaining something of their own “off-screen” personality and appearance in every story; as David Welsh observed in his recent essay on Ranma 1/2, “The fun is in seeing the specialists find variations on their distinctive themes.” And here, in Rumic Theater, the fun comes from seeing Takahashi’s regulars tackle more grown-up themes — marital discord, neighborhood politics, growing old — than might otherwise be permissible in the context of a long-form adventure such as InuYasha or Ranma 1/2 .

Manga Artifacts: Rumiko Takahashi’s Rumic Theater

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Most American readers know Rumiko Takahashi through her work in Shonen Sunday, but Takahashi has a foot in the seinen world as well. Maison Ikkoku ran in Big Comic Spirits from 1980-87, alongside Area 88 and Wounded Man, while short stories such as “To Grandmother’s House We Go” and “One Hundred Years of Love” appeared in Big Comic Spirits‘ sister publication Big Comic Original. In Japan, Takahashi’s seinen shorts have been collected into four volumes: 1 or W, The Tragedy of P, The Executive’s Dog, and Red Bouquet. Here in the US, however, only two have been translated into English: The Tragedy of P, which was re-titled Rumic Theater (1996), and 1 or W, which was published as Rumic Theater: One or Double (1998). (N.B. One or Double includes a handful of shonen and josei stories that appeared in Shonen Sunday and Petit Flower, respectively.)

These two translated volumes showcase Takahashi’s ability to work in almost genre. There are sports comedies (“The Grandfather of All Baseball Games”), domestic dramas (“Hidden in the Pottery,” “House of Garbage,” “The Tragedy of P”), rom-coms (“The Merchant of Romance,” “The Diet Goddess”), pop-culture spoofs (“Shake Your Buddha”), and ghost stories (“To Grandmother’s House We Go,” “One or Double”). As with Takahashi’s work in Shonen Sunday, many of these stories fold supernatural elements into everyday situations. In “Extra-Large Size Happiness,” for example, a woman’s relationship with her mother-in-law is strained by the sudden and frequent appearance of a household spirit that only she can see, while in “Reserved Seat,” a ghostly grandma takes possession of her grandson’s body so that she can honor her season tickets at the Takarazuka Revue.

Takahashi is a master at establishing her premise in just a few pages, allowing plenty of room for character development and broad comedy without compromising narrative momentum. One of the reasons Takahashi can be so economical is that she invests even the smallest moments with telling detail, making sure that every aspect of a character’s behavior is consistent with the story’s premise. In “Excuse Me for Being a Dog,” for example, the hero — who turns into a shiba inu whenever he suffers a nosebleed — acts like a canine even in his human form: he investigates an abandoned book bag with his nose, curls his lip at strangers, and recoils in the presence of pungent odors. Takahashi doesn’t make a big deal of these behavioral tics, but their inclusion in the story elevates Shiro’s condition from a wacky plot contrivance to a fundamental aspect of his existence. (OK, it’s also a wacky plot contrivance.)

Takahashi’s deep affection for her characters also contributes to the stories’ success. Though they bicker and tease and goad one another, the characters’ good will and mutual affection is seldom in question, even when their judgment is. Takahashi is as generous with her least sympathetic characters as she is with her leads, allowing them moments of wisdom and decency that often challenge the other characters’ perception of them. In “The Story of P,” for example, a man agrees to care for his eccentric client’s pet penguin, despite the fact the Hagas’ apartment complex doesn’t allow pets. For most of the story, Mrs. Haga plays cat-and-mouse with her neighbor Mrs. Kakei, the head of tenants’ association and a reputed animal hater. (Mrs. Kakei keeps tabs on the other tenants, notifying the management of any pet violations.) Yet in the last pages of the story, we learn that Mrs. Kakei has complicated, emotional reasons for ratting out her neighbors that stem, in part, from a genuine concern for animal welfare and not a humorless love of rules.

Art-wise, Takahashi produces some of the cleanest, most accessible layouts in manga. Her characters’ faces are easy to read, and her scenes are staged for maximum clarity and emotional impact; no one times a scare or a punch line better than Takahashi. Even more striking is the sense of mischief and play that informs her artwork. The elderly heroine of “One Hundred Years of Love,” for example, gains the ability to fly after surviving a near-death experience. Takahashi draws the old woman astride an enormous crutch, soaring over an urban landscape. At first, Mrs. Hoshino mutters about the weather, but soon she embraces the possibilities of flight, buzzing an unsuspecting eight-year-old apartment dweller:

 

That same sense of mischief is evident in “Extra-Large Size Happiness,” in which a giant yokai pops into the frame — directly behind the frazzled heroine’s mother-in-law. Readers familiar with InuYasha‘s Shippo and Myogi will immediately recognize this round, genial figure:

The similarities between this nameless yokai and Myoga could be construed as a flaw or weakness of Takahashi’s style, but there’s an argument to be made that Takahashi employs a “star system” of her own. Granted, Takahashi never constructed a neat theoretical framework to explain the recurrence of certain characters in her stories, as Osamu Tezuka famously did for his. Flipping through the pages of Rumic Theater, however, it’s easy to imagine these characters as actors who specialize in certain types of roles, retaining something of their own “off-screen” personality and appearance in every story; as David Welsh observed in his recent essay on Ranma 1/2, “The fun is in seeing the specialists find variations on their distinctive themes.” And here, in Rumic Theater, the fun comes from seeing Takahashi’s regulars tackle more grown-up themes — marital discord, neighborhood politics, growing old — than might otherwise be permissible in the context of a long-form adventure such as InuYasha or Ranma 1/2 .

Pick of the Week: Takahashi Edition

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With this month’s Rumiko Takahashi-centered Manga Moveable Feast now underway, the Manga Bookshelf crew discusses their recommendations for some Takahashi first reads.

KATE: If someone asked me, “Which Rumiko Takahashi title should I read first?”, I’d direct them to Mermaid Saga, one of Takahashi’s shortest — and best — series. Mermaid Saga focuses on Yuta, a four-hundred-year-old fisherman on a quest to restore his mortality. Yuta crisscrosses Japan in search of a mermaid who can grant his wish, along the way encountering thieves, murderers, and immortal beings, all of whom seek mermaid flesh for their own purposes. As I noted back in October, Mermaid Saga is one of Takahashi’s most accessible works. “Takahashi’s writing is brisk and assured, propelled by snappy dialogue and genuinely creepy scenarios,” I explained. “[Though] the imagery is tame by horror standards, Takahashi doesn’t shy away from the occasional grotesque or gory image, using them to underscore the ugly consequences of seeking immortality.” Best of all, Mermaid Saga stands up to multiple readings; I revisited the series last year, and was just as engrossed on my third pass through the material as I had been on my first.

MICHELLE: If someone asked me the same question, I think my answer would be InuYasha. Despite its sprawl (56 volumes!) and its penchant for repetition, InuYasha is deservedly a shounen classic. When I reviewed volumes 36 and 37 for Manga Recon two years ago, I attempted to explain why the series remains so endearing to me despite its flaws.

“The answer lies in the series’ characters. Like any good sitcom, InuYasha boasts a cast of likable leads. Everyone has their own subplot—Miroku is cursed with a “wind tunnel” in his hand that is slowly killing him, Sango’s late brother has been reanimated by a Shikon shard and forced to serve Naraku—and genuinely cares for the others. For every storyline that pans out exactly as one expects, there are nice scenes like the one near the end of volume 36, where Kagome and Inuyasha share a quiet, peaceful moment in a tree, musing upon how happy they are to have the other by their side.”

MJ: As the least Takahashi-literate of the lot, I’m not sure my recommendation is really the best for a first read, though it’s certainly my favorite. Though I’ve finally begun to catch up on her lengthy catalogue, my heart still belongs to Maison Ikkoku, my own first Takahashi series. I’m a real sucker for grown-up romantic comedy and Maison Ikkoku hits the spot just as perfectly as can be. Warm, funny, and just over-the-top enough to make its rare, quiet moments really ring true, Maison Ikkoku is a veritable buffet of raw humanity, presented with true affection by its immensely skillful author.

Though I have never written coherently on the subject, I’ll point you to some who have, particularly Johanna Draper Carlson and our own Cathy Yan.

DAVID: Would it be perverse of me to pick an out-of-print title as an introduction to Takahashi? Probably, but I hope I can be excused, because Rumic Theater should be in print at all times, possibly in hardcover with informative biographical pieces added. As I noted in my very old review, the short stories are “vintage Takahashi… The shorts are a great showcase for her trademark wit and warmth. As always, her characters are stylized but look real and human, even in the extremities of comic distress.” If you can’t find a copy, you’re certainly welcome to wag your finger in my direction, but you could also write a cordial but forceful email to Viz to get this back on the shelves. Since some of her series are dauntingly long, it would be a great snack pack to hand to the wary.

Blue Exorcist, Vol. 1

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Have you ever seen the pilot episode of Law & Order? Most of the regular characters are present, and the script follows the three-act structure familiar to anyone who’s watched an episode of any Law & Order series, but the pacing is slack; the dialogue fizzles where it should crackle; and the actors struggle to create believable relationships between the characters, even as the script demands that they explain things to one another that, presumably, they’d already know from working together. Small wonder that “Everybody’s Favorite Bagman” languished for nearly a year before NBC rescued the show from limbo and ordered a full season of episodes.

So it is with Blue Exorcist, which has a first chapter that might charitably be described as a “pilot episode.” In these opening thirty pages, Kato introduces orphan Rin Okimura, a hot-tempered young man; Yukio, Rin’s snot-nosed fraternal twin; and Father Fujimoto, their guardian. Rin, we learn, is a direct descendant of Satan, and is in imminent danger of going over to the dark side. Father Fujimoto, however, has kept this information from his young charge, seeing fit only to explain the complexities of Rin’s lineage when Satan’s minions try to spirit Rin back to Gehenna, the demon realm. (Like all manga priests, Father Fujimoto spends more time fighting demons than preparing Sunday sermons or ministering to the sick, hungry, and bereaved.) An epic confrontation between Satan and Father Fujimoto leaves Rin’s mentor dead, forcing the boy to decide whether to cast his lot with Satan or with humanity.

There’s no reason why this opening prelude has to be such a bumpy, predictable ride, but Kato seems so intent on relating Rin’s entire Tragic Past in one installment that she trades naturalism for economy. (Sample: “I see you’ve returned. An overnight trip to the job center? How diligent of you.” And how helpful of Father Fujimoto to ask Rin a question to which he already knows the answer!) In the second chapter, however, Kato finds her stride with the material: the dialogue is looser and funnier; the characters’ relationships are more firmly and plausibly established; and she introduces her first genuinely memorable character, Mephisto Pheles. The plot is stock, with Rin vowing to avenge Father Fujimoto by enrolling in an exorcism “cram school,” but Kato enlivens the proceedings with humorous twists and nifty artwork.

And oh, the artwork! It’s crisp and expressive, filled with small but suggestive details. Mephisto, for example, carries a patched umbrella and wears a polka-dot cravat — two minor flourishes that help establish him as a slightly decadent figure, elegant but down at the heels. The not-very-imaginatively named True Cross Town provides another instructive example of Kato’s meticulous and thoughtful draftsmanship: she lavishes considerable attention on architectural details and infrastructure, stacking layers of houses and buildings on top of one another to form a giant urban ziggeraut:

In short, Kato has created an imaginary urban landscape that seems to have evolved naturally over time, with old and new buildings side-by-side and modern modes of transport straddling canals and rivers. That kind of thoroughness may not serve much purpose in the context of a manga about demon fighters, but it lends Blue Exorcist a temporal and geographic specificity that’s sometimes missing in other areas of the story — like the religious bits.

Whatever my reservations about the first chapter, I freely admit that I’d fallen head-over-heels for Blue Exorcist by the end of the second. The brisk pacing, sharp artwork, and cheeky tone of these later chapters convinced me that Kazue Kato is in firm control of her story, and has successfully laid the foundation for the series’ first major story arc. Bring it on, I say!

BLUE EXORCIST, VOL. 1 • BY KAZUE KATO • VIZ MEDIA • 198 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

Blue Exorcist, Vol. 1

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Have you ever seen the pilot episode of Law & Order? Most of the regular characters are present, and the script follows the three-act structure familiar to anyone who’s watched an episode of any Law & Order series, but the pacing is slack; the dialogue fizzles where it should crackle; and the actors struggle to create believable relationships between the characters, even as the script demands that they explain things to one another that, presumably, they’d already know from working together. Small wonder that “Everybody’s Favorite Bagman” languished for nearly a year before NBC rescued the show from limbo and ordered a full season of episodes.

So it is with Blue Exorcist, which has a first chapter that might charitably be described as a “pilot episode.” In these opening thirty pages, Kato introduces orphan Rin Okimura, a hot-tempered young man; Yukio, Rin’s snot-nosed fraternal twin; and Father Fujimoto, their guardian. Rin, we learn, is a direct descendant of Satan, and is in imminent danger of going over to the dark side. Father Fujimoto, however, has kept this information from his young charge, seeing fit only to explain the complexities of Rin’s lineage when Satan’s minions try to spirit Rin back to Gehenna, the demon realm. (Like all manga priests, Father Fujimoto spends more time fighting demons than preparing Sunday sermons or ministering to the sick, hungry, and bereaved.) An epic confrontation between Satan and Father Fujimoto leaves Rin’s mentor dead, forcing the boy to decide whether to cast his lot with Satan or with humanity.

There’s no reason why this opening prelude has to be such a bumpy, predictable ride, but Kato seems so intent on relating Rin’s entire Tragic Past in one installment that she trades naturalism for economy. (Sample: “I see you’ve returned. An overnight trip to the job center? How diligent of you.” And how helpful of Father Fujimoto to ask Rin a question to which he already knows the answer!) In the second chapter, however, Kato finds her stride with the material: the dialogue is looser and funnier; the characters’ relationships are more firmly and plausibly established; and she introduces her first genuinely memorable character, Mephisto Pheles. The plot is stock, with Rin vowing to avenge Father Fujimoto by enrolling in an exorcism “cram school,” but Kato enlivens the proceedings with humorous twists and nifty artwork.

And oh, the artwork! It’s crisp and expressive, filled with small but suggestive details. Mephisto, for example, carries a patched umbrella and wears a polka-dot cravat — two minor flourishes that help establish him as a slightly decadent figure, elegant but down at the heels. The not-very-imaginatively named True Cross Town provides another instructive example of Kato’s meticulous and thoughtful draftsmanship: she lavishes considerable attention on architectural details and infrastructure, stacking layers of houses and buildings on top of one another to form a giant urban ziggeraut:

In short, Kato has created an imaginary urban landscape that seems to have evolved naturally over time, with old and new buildings side-by-side and modern modes of transport straddling canals and rivers. That kind of thoroughness may not serve much purpose in the context of a manga about demon fighters, but it lends Blue Exorcist a temporal and geographic specificity that’s sometimes missing in other areas of the story — like the religious bits.

Whatever my reservations about the first chapter, I freely admit that I’d fallen head-over-heels for Blue Exorcist by the end of the second. The brisk pacing, sharp artwork, and cheeky tone of these later chapters convinced me that Kazue Kato is in firm control of her story, and has successfully laid the foundation for the series’ first major story arc. Bring it on, I say!

BLUE EXORCIST, VOL. 1 • BY KAZUE KATO • VIZ MEDIA • 198 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

My 10 Favorite TOKYOPOP Titles

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Like many other readers who first discovered manga in the mid-2000s, TOKYOPOP played a major role in introducing me to to the medium. Tokyo Babylon was the first TOKYOPOP title I ever read, followed soon after by Legal Drug, The Legend of Chun-Hyang, and — God help me — Model, a manhwa about a Korean art student who lives in a crumbling mansion with two European vampires. (I should add that the vampires are male and the student is female, and both vampires appear to have bought their wardrobes at Hot Topic.) Though I’d be the first to admit that some of the manga I read were terrible, what I remember most about them was their romanticism: these were big, bold stories featuring impossibly beautiful characters in ridiculous situations, and I couldn’t get enough of them.

Over the years, my tastes have changed considerably, but I still feel a special allegiance to TOKYOPOP: its catalog is so large and diverse that I found plenty of other series to read when I outgrew my initial infatuation with overripe shojo. I had a hard time confining myself to just ten titles; I agonized about whether to include Mitsuhazu Mihara’s Doll, and Erica Sakakurazawa’s Between the Sheets, and Kenji Sonishi’s Neko Ramen, and Minetaro Mochizuki’s Dragon Head, all excellent series that still have pride of place in my manga library. In the end, however, I decided I had to put a cap on the number of titles to prevent my list from swelling to unmanageable proportions. Below are my ten favorite TOKYOPOP manga.

10. Jyu-Oh-Sei
By Natsumi Itsuki
After their parents are assassinated, twin brothers Rai and Thor are exiled to the penal colony of Kimaera, where they discover extreme weather, man-eating plants, and an elaborate tribal system in which women call the shots. Their only hope of escaping the planet’s inhospitable surface is for one of them to fight his way up the social ladder to become The Beast King, or supreme ruler of Kimaera. Like Invasion of the Body Snatchers and District 9, Jyu-Oh-Sei addresses social taboos and scientific issues while serving up generous portions of what audiences crave most: action, romance, monsters, and explosions. Best of all, Jyu-Oh-Sei comes in a neat, three-volume package that’s long enough to allow for world-building and character development but short enough to stay fresh and surprising until the end. —Reviewed at The Manga Critic on 8/14/09

9. Petshop of Horrors
By Matsuri Akino
You won’t mistake Count D’s emporium for PETCO—the animals he sells are, in fact, demons, demi-gods, and shape-shifters who assume various guises. (One of the series’ running jokes is that some pets take human form, arousing the landlord’s suspicions that Count D actually runs a brothel.) Count D selects a pet for each customer that will help its owner realize a long-repressed dream. Of course, Count D’s services don’t come cheap; each character suffers an unexpected and often terrible consequence for seeking a magical solution to her problems. What sets Petshop apart from other examples of comeuppance theater is the writing. The characters’ plights elicit genuine sympathy from the reader; though we want these mothers and writers and lovesick twenty-something to find happiness, we can see that their own wishes are sometimes selfish, unwise, or genuinely harmful. —Reviewed at PopCultureShock on 2/13/08

8. Shirahime-Syo: Snow Goddess Tales
By CLAMP
This lovely anthology is a radical departure for CLAMP. Gone are the super-detailed costumes and fussy character designs of their early, post-doujinshi work; in their place are spare, simply-drawn figures that seem consciously modeled on examples from eighteenth- and nineteenth-century scroll paintings. The stories themselves are told directly without embellishment, though CLAMP infuses each tale with genuine pathos, showing us how the characters’ anger and doubt lead to profound despair. As a result, the prevailing tone and spirit are reminiscent of Masaki Kobayashi’s 1964 film Kwaidan, both in the stories’ fidelity to the conventions of Japanese folklore and in their lyrical restraint. My favorite work by CLAMP.

7. Suppli
By Mari Okazaki
After being dumped by a long-term boyfriend, twenty-seven-year-old ad executive Minami carves a new identity for herself, accepting more challenging work assignments, forging friendships with her office mates, and exploring her feelings for two very different men: Ishida, a blunt co-worker with bad-boy sex appeal, and Ogiwara, a Tokyo University grad who looks great on paper, but has some nasty romantic baggage of his own. Suppli vividly and humorously evokes office life, from the unproductive meetings and grueling all-nighters to the horseplay and flirtatious banter between co-workers. The denizens of Minami’s office are colorful, if one-dimensional, characters: a salty old maid, two flamboyant karaoke fiends, and a tart-tongued temp who offers sound relationship advice to her officemates while sleeping with a married man. Anyone who’s watched Ally McBeal, The Office, or Ugly Betty has encountered these types before, but Mari Okazaki breathes fresh life into her scenario with stylish artwork, sharp dialogue, and a heroine who occasionally doubts herself, but isn’t neurotic . —Reviewed at PopCultureShock on 12/5/07

6. Cyborg 009
By Shotaro Ishimontori
Cyborg 009 was one of TOKYOPOP’s few forays into classic manga — a pity, because TOKYOPOP did a solid job translating and packaging Shotaro Ishimonori’s best-known work. For readers unfamiliar with this iconic series, the plot revolves around a group of people who have been kidnapped and brought to the lair of the Black Ghost organization, where surgeons transform them into robot-human fighting machines. The cyborgs soon turn on their creators and escape, intent on preventing armaggedon. I’d be the first to admit that Cyborg 009 is dated: the Black Ghost’s world-domination schemes have the same quaintly outdated ring as Dr. Evil’s, and several characters embody unfortunate gender and racial stereotypes. (As Shaenon Garrity dryly observes, “Cyborg 003 is a French girl with enhanced senses. Her duties are to hold the baby and occasionally hear things.”) Yet Ishimonori’s crisp cartooning, imaginatively staged battle scenes, and fundamental — if fumbling — humanism remain as arresting now as they did when the series first debuted in 1964.

5. Qwan
By Aki Shimizu
Meet Qwan, a child-like figure who possesses super-human strength and speed. Though Qwan realizes he isn’t human, he’s never questioned his origins or abilities — that is, until he meets Shaga, a courtesan who urges him to seek the Essential Arts of Peace, a sutra that will reveal where Qwan came from and why he was sent to live among humans. Questing boys and magical scrolls are de rigeur in fantasy-adventure stories, but Qwan distinguishes itself in two crucial areas: terrific characters and gorgeous artwork. Aki Shimizu’s hero is far more quirky and interesting than the typical shonen lead — Qwan never promises to do his best, or to put friends before himself — while Shimizu’s fight scenes are among the most beautifully choreographed in any licensed manga. TOKYOPOP never finished this one-of-a-kind series, but it’s still worth seeking out, if only to get acquainted with a criminally under-appreciated artist. —Reviewed at The Manga Critic on 3/3/11

4. Paradise Kiss
By Ai Yazawa
Ai Yazawa knows how to have her cake and eat it, too: though she loves to write stories about such fantasy professions as runway model and rock star, she populates those stories with characters whose relationships and values are firmly rooted in everyday life. Consider Yukari (a.k.a. “Caroline”), the heroine of Paradise Kiss: Yukari becomes the muse for a group of aspiring fashion designers, modeling their clothing at a big design-school show and inspiring their most talented member, George, to new creative heights. In most manga, Yukari and George would bicker like teenage versions of Beatrice and Benedict until they finally admitted their mutual feelings of attraction; in Paradise Kiss, however, Yukari and George’s relationship unfolds in a more haphazard, organic way that reflects the fact that George is far more worldly and romantically experienced than Yukari. For my money, Paradise Kiss is Yazawa’s best work to date.

3. Your & My Secret
By Ai Morinaga
Your & My Secret focuses on Nanako, a swaggering tomboy who lives with her mad scientist grandfather, and Akira, an effeminate boy who adores her. With the flick of a switch, Akira becomes the unwitting test subject for the grandfather’s latest invention, a gizmo designed to transfer personalities from one body to another. Nanako revels in her new-found freedom as a boy, enjoying sudden popularity among classmates, earning the respect of Akira’s contemptuous little sister, and discovering the physical strength to dunk a basketball. Akira, on the other hand, finds his situation a mixed bag: for the first time in his life, his sensitive personality endears him to both male and female peers, but many of the things his maleness had previously exempted him from turn out to be much worse than he’d imagined. There are plenty of gender-bending hijinks — and the inevitable blackmail scene in which someone threatens to reveal Akira’s secret — but Morinaga still allows her characters moments of vulnerability and decency, preventing the humor from curdling into pure meanness. —Reviewed at The Manga Critic on 4/25/10

2. Tramps Like Us
By Yayoi Ogawa
Twenty-eight-year-old Sumire Iwaya is frustrated: though she’s a successful journalist with degrees from Tokyo U. and Harvard, she’s hit the glass ceiling at her job and has just been dumped by her fiance. When she discovers a cute but dissheveled young man sleeping in a box outside her apartment, Sumire “adopts” him, allowing Takeshi to stay in her apartment as her “pet.” You don’t need a PhD in manga to guess the outcome of their unusual arrangement, but romantic triangles and workplace intrigue prevent Tramps Like Us from spinning into complete silliness or offensive gender stereotyping. But what really stayed with me was the depiction of Sumire’s romance with her handsome senpai Hasumi; almost every woman I know has had a relationship like theirs — perfect on paper, but stressful and unhappy in practice — and Yayoi Ogawa captures Sumire and Hasumi’s awkward dynamic in pitch-perfect detail. Now that’s good writing.

1. Planetes
By Makoto Yukimura
Planetes is that rarest of manga: a human interest story that just happens to have some sci-fi trappings.Planetes focuses on a motley crew of junk collectors that includes Hachimaki, a young astronaut who aspires to join a pioneering mission to Jupiter; Yuri, a Russian astronaut with a Tragic Past; Tanabe, a sensitive but emotionally resilient trainee; and Fee, the ship’s balls-to-the-wall captain. Makoto Yukimura skillfully uses of each of his principal characters’ personal histories to explore meaty issues such as eco-terrorism, space pollution, and good old-fashioned racism. I know, I know — I’m making Planetes sound like Star Trek: Deep Space Waste Removal Station, but Yukimura is a more graceful storyteller than Gene Rodenberry every was, allowing the characters’ actions to speak louder than their words. Vivid, detailed artwork brings the terrestrial and extra-terrestrial settings to life.

* * * * *

So I turn the floor over to you: which titles were your favorites? Which ones deserve to be rescued and finished by another publisher? Inquiring minds want to know!

POSTSCRIPT, 4/20/11: Readers seeking a list of titles published by TOKYOPOP may wish to consult the ANN database entry on TOKYOPOP, the Comic Book DB entry on TOKYOPOP, or Wikipedia’s list of titles published by TOKYOPOP. I can’t vouch for their accuracy, but a quick glance at all three website suggests that these lists are comprehensive. Special thanks to all the folks on Twitter who pointed me towards these resources: @skleefeld, @yuriboke, @Funkgun, and @andrecomics.

PotW: House of Five Leaves & other stories

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It’s another big week for manga arrivals at Midtown Comics. See below for recommendations from the Manga Bookshelf bloggers and special guest Michelle Smith!

DAVID: My pick for this week is the third volume of Natsume Ono’s Eisner-nominated House of Five Leaves from Viz, and I’m really happy to be able to add that adjectival phrase in front of the title. The series is about an out-of-work samurai who falls in with a gang of kidnappers under the seductive influence of the gang’s charismatic ringleader. Don’t let the warrior protagonist and criminal endeavors fool you: this is a very introspective, character-driven series that looks at the consequences of individual choices. Ono has a wonderfully distinctive style that’s graceful and understated but still forceful. Ono will be a featured guest at the Toronto Comic Art Festival May 7 and 8, and if you want to familiarize yourself with her work before then or just be a fully informed Eisner voter, you should really give this series a try.

KATE: Well, nuts, I was going to name House of Five Leaves my pick of the week as well before David said everything I might have said, only more eloquently. So I’m going to choose the sixth and final volume of AKIRA instead. I’d be the first to admit that Kodansha could have done so much more with the latest edition of this iconic series — unflipped artwork, fancy paper, essays and artist interviews, hardcovers — but I’m glad to see Katsuhiro Otomo’s work readily available again in stores; every other Otomo series that’s been licensed for the US market (Domu: A Child’s Dream, The Legend of Mother Sarah, Memories) is out of print, making it difficult for newer manga readers to discover this seminal artist for themselves. Otomo’s influence on popular culture can’t be understated; his postapocalyptic vision of Tokyo, which has been aped by countless comic artists and film directors, is simply one of the most original, beautiful, and iconic renderings of a city that’s ever been committed to paper.

MICHELLE: I’m certainly happy to see the fourth volume of Udon’s Silent Mobius: Complete Edition appearing on the list of new arrivals at last, but I am going to have to cast my vote instead for the fifth volume of Kaoru Tada’s classic shoujo romantic comedy, Itazura Na Kiss. Tada’s work is extremely different from that of Katsuhiro Otomo, and yet it was perhaps just as influential in its own way. Quite a few shoujo scenarios that we regard today as cliché started with Itazura Na Kiss, but it doesn’t read as dated in any way. In this particular volume, genius male love interest Naoki discovers and abandons his goal in life while ditzy protagonist Kotoko begins to realize that she has no dreams of her own, since she’s been wrapped up in thoughts of Naoki for the last five years. I suppose that might not sound like much, but in the context of this slice-of-life series, it counts as real and important progress. Highly recommended.

MJ: First, let me echo Kate’s sentiment, in that I was fully prepared to name House of Five Leaves, even if it was a repeat on the list, but given how beautifully David recommended it, my vote feels quite unnecessary. With that in mind, I’ll give a shout-out to Jun Mochizuki’s Pandora Hearts. I reviewed the series’ fifth volume in today’s Bookshelf Briefs, and though Mochizuki’s work is not without flaw, it’s also full to overflowing with beauty and real feeling. From the pretty, pretty pages of G Fantasy, the virtues of Pandora Hearts extend far deeper than its attractive surface. If you can only buy one volume of manga this week, buy House of Five Leaves. If you can afford more, take a good look at Pandora Hearts.

So readers, what are your Picks this week?

Bookshelf Briefs 4/18/11

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This week, MJ, Kate, David, & Michelle take a look at slew of comics (and one light novel) from Viz Media, Oni Press, Yen Press, and TOKYOPOP.

Book Girl and the Suicidal Mime | By Mizuki Nomura | Yen Press – “Warmly despondent – that’s the kind of story I hope it will be,” Nomura says in this light novel’s afterword. Her hope is fulfilled, and she manages to add healthy doses of humor and suspense along the way. It’s about a high-school literature club that consists of a fetching goblin who literally eats prose and a boy who keeps her in snacks in the form of handwritten stories. They’re drawn into the romantic woes of a classmate, and their efforts to help her take some darkly unexpected turns that force the boy to confront painful events from his own past. It’s a quirky, thoughtful celebration of the power of stories, and it features interesting, well-developed characters with complex problems. I haven’t read many light novels, but I’m looking forward to reading more installments in this series. – David Welsh

Karakuri Odette, Vol. 6 | By Julietta Suzuki | TOKYOPOP – After the introduction of Travis, an advanced robot who wants Odette for his bride, in volume five, I was a little worried about this, the final volume of the series. Happily, I needn’t have been. Manga-ka Julietta Suzuki avoids any semblance of hijinks, framing her story instead around Grace, an earlier model of robot made by Travis’s creator, and the pain she feels over no longer being considered Papa’s precious masterpiece, and the relationship between Odette and her protector and friend, Asao. This leads to many poignant and bittersweet moments, as Odette realizes for the first time that nothing stays the same forever. It’s a lovely end to a lovely series. -Michelle Smith

Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan, Vol. 2 | By Hiroshi Shiibashi | Viz Media – Until someone licenses GeGeGe no Kitaro for the US market, yokai lovers will have to make do with this solid, if uninspired, story about a teenage boy who’s caught between the demon and human worlds. The second volume finds Rikuo tapping more readily into his yokai powers in order to save his friends — a marked improvement over the first volume, in which Rikuo spent more time trying to deny his abilities than make use of them. Rikuo’s yokai pals also get more screen time in volume two, giving the story a much-needed jolt of humor and weirdness. Much as I like the artwork and the concept, however, I’m still not taken with Nura; the stories follow all-too-predictable predictable patterns, and the main characters — the human ones, at least — aren’t well-rounded enough to be genuinely memorable. -Katherine Dacey

Pandora Hearts, Vol. 5 | By Jun Mochizuki | Yen Press – Everyone knows by now that I think Pandora Hearts is stylish, and to some extent that’s its greatest weakness. Though Jun Mochizuki uses her obvious Carroll/Tennial influence to create much beauty on the page, it is exactly that influence that encourages her least effective impulses. While the story she’s created is wonderfully compelling, she risks losing the thread, time and again, by tangling it up in useless references that don’t serve the series at all. The Cheshire Cat? The Mad Hatter? These names are not only meaningless in the context of her story, but actually harmful to it, making it appear as if she doesn’t trust it to stand up on its own. Fortunately, in volume five, Mochizuki steps back from the Wonderland-heavy muddle and remembers to tell her story, in all its beautifully twisted, heart-rending glory. Still recommended. – MJ

Salt Water Taffy: The Seaside Adventures of Jack and Benny: Caldera’s Revenge Part 1 | By Matthew Loux | Oni Press – If you haven’t treated yourself to any of the previous installments of Loux’s series, I’d recommend you correct that at your earliest convenience. Young brothers Jack and Benny are spending the summer at the deceptively peaceful seaside town of Chowder Bay. A potentially dull family vacation is saved by the fact that Chowder Bay is weirder than Key West and Provincetown combined, with totally true tall tales of giant lobsters, ghosts, and hat-stealing eagles lurking around every corner. This time around, the boys try and help a giant squid reunite with his parents, complicated by the interference of a determined sperm whale and an ominous ghost ship. Loux’s style is a joy, lanky, witty, and evocative, and this chapter is a real treat for anyone who’s having a hard time waiting for their own summer vacation to start. -David Welsh

Stepping on Roses, Vol. 5 | By Rinko Ueda | Viz Media – “I really enjoy drawing Stepping on Roses as it continues to have this stereotypical, melodramatic storyline,” says mangaka Rinko Ueda in her author’s notes for volume four. And, sure, I get where she’s coming from. There’s something cozy and comforting about by-the-book romance that I’m certainly not immune to. There’s a reason why that structure works, and it only takes a single spark of real personality to ignite the fire of heart-pounding romance. Trouble is, there’s no spark here to be found. Ueda has perfected the structure and she draws very prettily indeed, but she fails to make it personal, leaving our hearts to beat quietly on. Volume five has a few interesting moments thanks to a sub-plot involving the Ashidas’ devoted butler, but the series’ primary romance remains as empty as ever. Not recommended. – MJ

Time and Again, Vol. 5 | By JiUn Yun | Yen Press – Exorcist Baek-On is full of haughty scorn when he encounters a farmer who believes that his beautiful new wife is really an angel. When he forces the man to see the truth, it results in the husband killing his wife then belatedly realizing she did truly love him. This outcome leaves Baek-On reeling—was he wrong to interfere? has he been living his life the wrong way?—and sends him to a family friend for some advice. Although the volume is a little light on our main characters and doesn’t provide the same kind of character development as the previous volume, it still fleshes out the world well, filling in bits of Baek-On’s family history while offering twisty takes on traditional Asian folk tales. I’m looking forward to the sixth and final volume very much. -Michelle Smith