First off, I’d like to introduce our new guest reviewer, Megan M! To quote her bio, “Megan M. is a customer service representative for an evil credit card company who lives in Texas. She would be a single English major living alone with a cat if her apartment complex allowed pets, and has compensated for the lack of a cat with far too many books. She has read so much that it has turned her brain and her shelves are overflowing with romance novels, fantasy novels, mystery novels, american comics, and, of course, manga. If one looks closely, one may spot the rare volume of Serious Literature valiantly gasping for air, struggling to survive in the sea of popular fiction. Her fictional preferences for women with weapons and attractive, often roguish, male accessories were firmly established at a very young age due to early exposure to Star Wars and Willow.”
Megan starts things off with a fantastic mini review of CMX’s Genghis Khan: To the Ends of the Earth and Sea. Please give her a warm welcome!
Secondly, today marks the beginning of Girls Only Week, a week-long focus on female mangaka here at There it is, Plain as Daylight. Inspired by the recent controversy over SDCC, the creation of the Women Make Comics t-shirt, and the re-launching of Girlamatic, I’ve decided to spend the entire week featuring works solely by female writers and artists. Something I think is important to point out here, in terms of just how many “women make comics” is that I don’t have to reach to do this. I’m not going back to my shelves and digging through to find female-created manga. I’m just glancing at what’s in my review stack, throwing in a couple of features I’d already planned to do anyway, and there it is, a full week, easy.
Today begins with a review for the most recent volume of one of my favorite shojo series for young girls, Shugo Chara! by female mangaka duo, Peach-Pit. Please note that though the creators may be “girls only,” the manga definitely won’t be. I’ll be covering works in a range of styles and genres this week, so stay tuned!





Though much of the devastation that Hyakkimaru and Dororo witness is man-made (Dororo takes placed during the Sengoku, or Warring States, Period), demons exploit the conflict for their own benefit, holding small communities in their thrall, luring desperate travelers to their doom, and feasting on the never-ending supply of human corpses. Some of these demons have obvious antecedents in Japanese folklore — a nine-tailed kitsune — while others seem to have sprung full-blown from Tezuka’s imagination — a shark who paralyzes his victims with sake breath, a demonic toad, a patch of mold possessed by an evil spirit. (As someone who’s lived in prewar buildings, I can vouch for the existence of demonic mold. Lysol is generally more effective than swordplay in eliminating it, however.) Hyakkimaru has a vested interest in killing these demons, as he spontaneously regenerates a lost body part with each monster he slays. But he also feels a strong sense of kinship with many victims — a feeling not shared by those he helps, who cast him out of their village as soon as the local demon has been vanquished.
For folks who find the cartoonish aspects of Tezuka’s style difficult to reconcile with the serious themes addressed in Buddha, Phoenix, and Ode to Kirihito, Dororo may prove a more satisfying read. The cuteness of Tezuka’s heroes actually works to his advantage; they seem terribly vulnerable when contrasted with the grotesque demons, ruthless samurai, and scheming bandits they encounter. Tezuka’s jokes — which can be intrusive in other stories — also prove essential to Dororo‘s success. He shatters the fourth wall, inserts characters from his stable of “stars,” borrows characters from other manga-kas’ work, and punctuates moments of high drama with low comedy, underscoring the sheer absurdity of his conceits… like sake-breathing shark demons. Put another way, Dororo wears its allegory lightly, focusing primarily on swordfights, monster lairs, and damsels in distress while using its historical setting to make a few modest points about the corrosive influence of greed, power, and fear.
If Phoenix is Tezuka’s Ring Cycle, Wagnerian in scope, form, and seriousness, then Dororo is Tezuka’s Don Giovanni, a playful marriage of supernatural intrigue and lowbrow comedy whose deeper message is cloaked in shout-outs to fellow artists (in this case, 
