Sean Gaffney

By Shuzo Oshimi. Released in Japan as “Aku no Hana” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Bessatsu Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Vertical.

Sometimes you get one of those series coming down the pike where you know, based on your own personal tastes, you’re going to both love it *and* hate it. I sort of felt that way when I heard about Flowers of Evil. It’s somewhat twisted, which appeals to me, and also has a very distinctive cover, which Vertical has adapted well from the original Japanese. On the other hand, it features that classic beloved-in-Japan but not-so-much-here “weak male lead”, which tends to frustrate me quite a bit more than it probably should. If I’m going to be identifying with characters in stories I read, I’d like them to be less aggravating, thanks. In addition, I’d read the author’s Drifting Net Cafe on JManga, and found it riveting yet thoroughly unpleasant.

(Note that the typeface for the cover title has changed between releasing the above picture to retailers and actually coming out – Vertical has a lot of last-minute changes to spruce up their covers, mostly for the better.)

After reading Flowers of Evil 1, I’m prepared to hang in there for the long haul. As with Drifting Net Cafe, riveting is the adjective I find myself using to describe it. The plot itself is not the most original – outcast girl blackmails weak male guy, who’s interested in pretty-yet-unapproachable other girl – but as ever, it’s not the plot that matters so much as what the author does with it. Takao is an *interesting* weak male lead. His obsession with Baudelaire – particularly Flowers of Evil, his collection of poetry from which this manga gets its title – is interesting, but mostly as he almost uses it as a psychological crutch. I read important books, he thinks, so I am better than the people around me. It’s the teen intellectual approach, and god knows I did it myself a bit when I was in high school.

Most of the characterization in this volume goes to Takao. The object of his affection, Nanako, gets a little bit of oblique development towards the end – I liked her discomfort as the other classmates were accusing Nakamura, and she and Takao do actually look like a nice couple. We’re still mostly seeing her through his eyes, though. As for Nakamura, the girl on the front cover… I still don’t quite know what to make of her. She seems to enjoy manipulating Takao for her own amusement, but is that all there is? In this case, the fact that we can’t see what she’s thinking is what drives us on. Is she simply bored with life? Does she have feelings for Takao (something he accuses her of towards the end, and which she very quickly rips apart)? Is she simply enjoying having power over someone, in the way that many teenagers find they love? Or is she trying to get Takao to mature, to develop into a stronger man?

I notice how much I wrote above about how teenagers think. This first volume deals with that subject a lot. What is considered to be perverse, what can you say or not say around your friends… how much you’re allowed to show how puberty is changing you. Takao is actually, compared to some of the freaks we’ve seen in other shonen manga, a rather mild case, but because this is a fairly realistic plotline, it hits closer to home. Likewise, Nakamura seems to have a few perversions of her own. (I like the flush she gets as she’s stripping him in the school library. That and the ending where she screams at him shows that she’s not controlling her emotions as well as we think.) The combination of nostalgia and discomfort drives Flowers of Evil, and it’s done well enough that I absolutely want to see what happens next. Even if I may squirm a bit.

By Yoshihiro Tatsumi. Released in North America by Drawn and Quarterly.

Sometimes you don’t need deep, significant plots. You don’t need characters that go on an incredibly journey that lets them grow up and learn about life. And you may not need 65 volumes to tell your story. Sometimes all you need to do is be interesting, to have an anecdote to tell and to enthrall the listener with that anecdote. And if it ends on a funny note, well, so much the better. The art of rakugo is beloved in Japan. It’s basically storytelling, but has an element of stand up comedy to it (while, of course, being nothing like stand up at all). The stories usually involve dialogues, all conveyed through changes in tone and pitch. And now we have legendary mangaka Yoshihiro Tatsumi giving us some rakugo in manga form.

There are eight stories here, all about 30-50 pages in length, and almost all being fairly comedic and lighthearted. Even the darkest of the bunch, which involves a down-on-his-luck man who befriends The Grim Reaper (seen on the cover here) is still fairly humorous until its dark conclusion. Since Tatsumi cannot aurally convey what the world of the Rakugo is like, he simply has to do it by drawing us into the stories. And it works beautifully, as I found it very hard to pull myself away, even when I was reading about yet another get-rich-quick scheme (a common theme of these stories is the lack of money).

While I said the stories weren’t stand-up, they are of course devoted to telling a funny story. I was reminded a bit of the longer and less humor-oriented parts of Henry Rollins’ old spoken word albums, where he described photo shoots in Australia and crappy jobs euthanizing animals. The other thing these stories reminded me of, especially since some of them *do* end with a punchline that makes you groan rather than laugh, is the shaggy dog story. Not in as much as you feel that you just wasted 15-20 minutes of your life (which is what the best shaggy dog stories offer to the listener), but that feeling that the journey was more important than the destination. In a story about a courtesan and her clients, all of whom sit alone and rail at the poor beleaguered assistant, the final joke is sort of a quick “the end’ gag. What’s fun is the entire story itself, watching these puffed-up and self-deluded middle-aged men ranting and raving because they aren’t getting any.

My favorite story, in terms of combining all the elements I mentioned above, was the third in the book, Escape of the Sparrows. Featuring a prologue that is seemingly irrelevant to the rest of the tale, this them spins off into another ‘deadbeat guest’ story, but becomes far more fantastical. As the pace quickens and the stakes increase, the story also takes on a fantasy element, and even manages to have some beauty. And then… there’s the last page, which features a horrible, horrible joke that wraps up everything the entire story did in a neat bow. You will groan, but feel like applauding.

Such is the nature of the craft of rakugo. Tatsumi says in his afterword that the performers would retire if they didn’t feel they could convey the different moods anymore. I don’t think Tatsumi has anything to worry about here, though. This is not only a great collection of humorous short stories, but a storybook, the kind that you feel like reading aloud to people after you’ve finished it. Perhaps someone will read these and become a rakugo (or its Western equivalent) of his own!

By Toru Fujisawa. Released in Japan as “Shonan Jun’ai Gumi” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Weekly Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Vertical.

Volume 11 of this manga was fortuitously focused on Onizuka. I say fortuitously because when you’re reintroducing a series via a different publisher that didn’t sell well in the first place, it’s always best to drum up sales by featuring the one character people absolutely love. This next volume, however, reminds you that GTO: The Early Years didn’t just star Onizuka, but his best friend Ryuji Danma, and he gets most of the focus here.

This is not to say there isn’t also plenty of Onizuka. He gets most of the first half, actually, as we resolve the Joey storyline from the previous volume. As you might guess form a delinquent story set in Shonen Magazine, this is not done through graphic violence and killings, but via a motorcycle race. Joey is on one of the best bikes around, Onizuka is on a legendary old bike whose best days are behind it. Guess who wins. It’s notable that, while we all know Onizuka as a cool character who is constantly allowed to be a giant comedic goof, he also works well in the opposite direction: Onizuka is a goofy, horndog teen who can nevertheless back up his boasts with feats of utter badassery. And of course teaching valuable lessons, which he does with Joey here.

Meanwhile, Onizuka gets to cool moments, but Ryuji gets the emotional turmoil. (Not a surprise: Ryuji has always been vaguely more mature than his best friend. Note I said vaguely.) First of all, he’s dealing with his former teacher and first love appearing back in his life again, right when he’s trying to settle down with Nagisa. Secondly, there’s the ongoing issues with Joey, and his girlfriend being used as “bait” to draw out the two leaders. But both of these pale next to the end of his “castle” and idyllic trailer park life, as the cops arrive to destroy everything, and Nagisa’s parents arrive to take their runaway daughter back home. Ryuji, of course, is forbidden to see her.

There’s a lot of teen angst here, which I can’t help but see from a slightly older perspective. For all that Ryuji and Nagisa were living in their happy fantasy, a bus in the middle of a field, with no real prospects for the future is not something to cling to. I think Nagisa gets that more than the others. While Onizuka and Shinomi are wondering why they can’t be left alone, Nagisa’s the one noting that no matter where they run, adults (and by extension reality) will still exist. They can’t face life as a loving couple on teenage terms. Growing up has to be done. And for the moment, that means dealing with her being under house arrest and having to communicate via written messages.

There is still, lest this all sound like a bummer, plenty of humor – this is an Onizuka manga, after all. The catfight between Shinomi and Saya over Onizuka is ridiculous and hilarious, as is the chapter where Nagisa reveals she might be pregnant, and everyone goes completely out of control. (Spoiler: she isn’t.) Best of all, though, is Onizuka accidentally ending up in the middle of a yakuza job, and finding the horrifying things you would expect – all played for comedy, of course. All in all, the series continues to give us what Fujiwara does best: lots of fighting, lots of goofy faces, a few heartwarming/heartbreaking moments, and lots of a future Great Teacher.

By Ken Akamatsu. Released in Japan as “Mahou Sensei Negima!” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Weekly Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Kodansha Comics.

Since I wrote my last Negima review, the series has ended in Japan, and I’d love to talk about the fan reaction to it, but will have to wait till the ending comes out here a year from now. Till then, I will be content with talking about Vol. 34, which is pure balls-to-the-wall action, and gives lots of the ‘second-tier’ girls a chance to show off and be the hero. Perhaps that’s why this cover art is notable for not having Negi in it.

Let me start with Natsumi. Negima has featured a lot of shy, “normal” girls in its cast, but along the way any pretense of normality has totally vanished, with Nodoka and Yue commonly pulling off amazing feats. Natsumi, though, is the genuine article – even her artifact is a tribute to how she doesn’t stand out. Now that artifact is the one thing that might allow the cast to pull off Asuna’s rescue, which means it’s all depending on her. And she’s TERRIFIED. The way Akamatsu draws her emotions in this volume is really amazing – it’s taking every bit of willpower she has not to run away screaming. Then of course she gets to watch the cast, including the boy she’s fallen in love with, get taken down one by one. It’s no wonder she’s petrified by the cliffhanger. Keep going, Natsumi!

Where, you ask, is Negi in all this? Well, Negi is busy finding that while it’s all very well to embrace dark magic and say he’ll rely on his friends to break him out of any evil he might do, that in practice he’s still a 10-year-old boy easily controlled by his emotions. So, when he almost kills Shiori, he goes into an emotional coma. Even Chisame slapping him (which she does, AGAIN, to get him to calm down, even after he wounds her) doesn’t help. Luckily, Negi gets the traditional ‘visited by your dead family and friends’ coma flashback towards the end, and even though most of them aren’t actually dead, it’s enough to revive his spirits. Come on, he’s the hero.

The battle to rescue Asuna is pretty damn awesome, all the more so as they’re doing it without Negi. There’s several noble sacrifices, including Yuna and Sayo (petrified) and Kaede and Kotaro (beaten down), but they manage to grab the key *and* Asuna. (By the way, Natsumi, you fail as plucky girl compared to Makie. Makie just needed a pep talk, Natsumi had to be slapped and dragged away. Another reason she’s still the ‘normal’ one.) And then… oh dear. You’d think Fate’s real name, Tertium, might have clued us in, but the arrival of FOUR OTHER Fates really is absolutely no fair. The ease with which they dispatch everyone is actually rather unnerving – in particular, seeing Chachamaru blown in half is really horrible – and everything they gained since the start is seemingly lost.

Except, of course, Fate is not just one of many generic villains anymore, and he does not take too kindly to these last minute bosses stepping in and ruining his fun. Yes, in the end, Fate is much like Kotaro was 20-odd volumes ago, another young boy who simply wants to fight Negi to see who is more powerful. And if that means getting rid of the other clones who will stop that? So be it. The cliffhanger to this volume is well-paced, and it really makes you want to get to Vol. 35 as soon as possible. When, rest assured, we should begin the final Negi vs. Fate showdown.

By Q Hayashida. Released in Japan by Shogakukan, serialization ongoing in the magazine Ikki. Released in North America by Viz.

No thrilling escapes for Nikaido after last volume’s cliffhanger ending – she’s captured, and En is determined to make her his new partner. That said, the most fascinating thing about this volume, and indeed Dorohedoro as a whole, is the motivations of the so-called ‘villainous’ characters. In a world where everyone’s a bit of a sadistic murderer, how do you judge who’s really a good person or not? Well, one way might be that they don’t chain you in a dungeon and mind-control you into being a zombie. But on the other hand…

En is on this volume’s cover, and En gets the most attention, as we get a flashback to his own origins. Of course, this particular flashback is a movie directed by En, so there’s a slight question of veracity. But even if it is propaganda, it *sounds* right – we even see him without his mask! (He has thins tiny pencil mustache – I bet he thinks it makes him look cooler, but I was thinking more cute.) The big thing about this flashback, though, is it continues to show that En’s past is tied with the past that Caimahn is trying to discover – and that the current happy-go-lucky lizard head Caiman was probably a very different person when he was a Cross-Eyed.

However, as sympathetic as En seems in the final chapters, it’s balanced by his treatment of Nikaido, which I already alluded to. Forced to sign a partner contract – which in this universe involves literally opening up your chest and sticking it inside your body – Nikaido is then imprisoned for the majority of this volume, and it’s very much the chains and bread and water type of prison. When she’s finally freed, it’s only because the contract – which is shown to be magical in nature, as if opening people’s chests like doors wasn’t a clue enough – is making her passive and accepting. Indeed, at one point she has a bowling ball dropped on her head by a jealous Chota, her reaction is basically “oh”. It’s sad to see, and does not endear En to you, no matter what grand plans he has. (The ‘extra chapter’ is a side story showing us how Nikaido got her restaurant, in case we missed the old chirpy version.

And as always, there’s the world building. This month the Manga Moveable Feast is discussing Viz’s Signature titles, and this is certainly one of them. Indeed, I have trouble imagining this series anywhere but in Ikki, Shogakukan’s experimental seinen line. Hayashida clearly has an ongoing plot, but the series works because she’s given so much time to play everything out – even the action scenes don’t feel rushed. Dorohedoro’s been running since 2000, and Japan is up to Volume 16. While this means it must be selling something, I think it also shows the trust the editors place in her to deliver these sorts of goods. Of course there is *some* pandering to the reader – each volume is filled with gory violence, and one scene showing Noi and Ebisu bathing a struggling Nikaido has our standard gratuitous nudity – but it’s not done in the usual “look, boobs!” way we see in, say, Cage of Eden.

Lastly, what struck me about this volume was the unashamed sentiment it still has in its crapsack world filled with morally ambiguous characters. The ongoing funny-yet-heartwarming relationship between Fujita and Ebisu. The way that Caiman has quickly won Tanba over and is now prepared to reveal things that he really only told Nikaido before. And Johnson and his compatriots escaping En’s prison, not because of a clever and daring escape, but because Johnson saved Shin’s life back in the day and Shin owes him. In a world where hell is literal (and not always filled with the dead, as En can attest) but we’re not so sure about heaven, these little moments are precious. It’s the difference between having a world of villains and having a world full of unlikeable villains. All of Dorohedoro’s cast makes you want to read more of them. Even En. Though I wish he didn’t have to resort to brainwashing.