Blog

By Yoshiki Tanaka. Released in Japan as “Ginga Eiyū Densetsu” by Tokuma Shoten. Released in North America by Haikasoru. Translated by Daniel Huddleston.

When we last checked in with this epic space opera, I was saying that this book would show us which direction the series was going to go, and I’m not sure that ended up being the case. Don’t get me wrong, this is an excellent book, with great battles and character examination, but at the end of 300-odd pages I am left with the feeling that not much has changed since we started. Except there are a lot more soldiers dead. Because above all else, Legend of the Galactic Heroes wants to tell us about the folly of war, specifically war for the sake of war. And it does this quite well, whether it be via Yang Wen-li having a long inner monologue about what history has taught us about the military or an evacuation order leading to the deaths of hundreds as panicking soldiers kill other panicking soldiers in their efforts to flee a doomed Death Star.

Of course, it’s not called a Death Star in the book, but a giant circular battle station that functions as a planetoid for its inhabitants is going to make one think of Star Wars, especially as Japan released this volume in 1984, when that sort of thing was at its height. The plot that kicks off this volume is an ambitious technical general coming up with the idea of building a 2nd Death Star, warping it into position, and then fighting it out with Iserlohn, the old one currently occupied by Yang and his Republic forces. It’s an all-or-nothing plan, and normally Siegfried would be around to try to talk Reinhard into being more sensible. But Siegfried is dead, and while Reinhard is trying to do his best to imagine what the young man would recommend to him (we see this later when he spares the life of another young general), he’s still not very good at it, and spends most of the book unemotionally doing his job and closing himself off from most human contact.

Reinhard and Yang are usually compared and contrasted, and Yang also spends a good deal of this book cut off from his allies. Not by his own design, though, as the Republic have called him in for “a court of inquiry”, which is different from a court martial in that they don’t have to tell anyone or have any actual charges. In point of fact, they imprison Yang for weeks because they just don’t like him, and it drives everyone to distraction – especially the people back on Iserlohn, who are now forced to fight for over a month against the enemy without their tactical genius. The book does especially well in paralleling the Empire and Republic, Reinhard and Yang this time around. They both have corrupt glory hounds, they both assume that people who hold respect and are held in high regard will want absolute power (after all, it’s what they would do). And they both have beautiful young secretaries who have designs on them, though Yang is a little ahead here – he and Frederica are more like awkward teenagers, whereas Hildegarde is having difficulty getting Reinhard to even admit emotion exists after Siegfried’s death.

This was great fun to read, but again, after the whole book we’re mostly in the same place we were. We do learn a lot more about Phezzan, though, which has designs in trying to eliminate one side and prop the other up – as puppets for their economic tyranny. Oh yes, and there’s still the Church. I suspect the next book will have a lot more politics to it. And we get a next book, as Haikasoru have picked up the next three in the series. Great news.

By Natsuki Takaya. Released in Japan by Hakusensha, serialized in the magazine Hana to Yume. Released in North America by Yen Press. Translated by Sheldon Drzka.

I’ve discussed before how much Fruits Basket deals with abuse, and it also deals just as much with family. And while the two obviously intersect, especially in this volume, they aren’t always meant to coincide. Not everyone is the same, and no one can go through quite the same situation as someone else. This has shown up most obviously in Yuki and Kyo each being deeply envious of what the other has. In this volume we see Momiji, whose sister has been spying on him and seems to have a sense that they’re related even if she doesn’t know it for sure, choosing to remain apart from her to save his family, even though it hurts him. We also see Yuki, who has mostly repaired his relationship with Ayame (who gets the best entrance in the book here) dealing with the repressive control of his mother, and fighting back against it quite a bit. Yuki is finally growing up.

And then there’s Rin, who’s life is so tragic she doesn’t even manage to get a front cover on the omnibus she most features in. Furuba does a good job, as I said, of showing how abuse affects everyone differently, and I won’t say Rin’s is worse than the others, but it’s certainly more explicit than the others, as we see her family, which had been putting on the facade of happy cheer, break apart with just one innocent question from her. If nothing else, it shows how fragile that facade was – even if she hadn’t asked, I doubt it would have lasted much longer. Rin’s flashback is heartbreaking, as she doesn’t even begin to understand where everything went wrong, and assumes it’s her fault – something her parents and Akito are happy to tell her is the case. Luckily, she has Haru, but she’s not in a headspace right now where she can accept her need for Haru, and so drives him away as well. Basically, Rin is fascinating and makes you want to hug her, except she’d run away.

Rin’s interaction with Tohru is also interesting. Like Hiro, she’s reluctant to accept Tohru as this sort of magical healing waif, which the start of the series may have led you to believe she was. Tohru has issues, though, and it’s in dealing with Rin, who’s actively asking her why, specifically, she wants to remove the curse, that Tohru begins to crack a bit. Rin so far is the only one who’s noticed Tohru is “quietly falling apart”, and the minimalistic look at Tohru’s flashbacks suggest it’s due to her mother and her burgeoning love for Kyo (she also reacts badly when he again implies he’s going to let her move on from him). Tohru has been an all-loving heroine, but not all love is the same, and I think Tohru needs a lesson in that before she can start to genuinely help to break the curse.

This being an omnibus, there’s so much more to talk about. Shigure’s self-analysis of his character, which is wonderful – Rin may hate Shigure, but no one hates Shigure the way Shigure hates Shigure. Akito pushing Rin out the window is the most startlingly violent the series has been to date, and the fact that Hiro saw it explains quite a bit from previous volumes. The student council actually do start to have a major impact on the story here, though they’re still somewhat hermetically sealed off from the rest of the cast, and we learn some of why Kakeru is the way he is – though there’s still his connection with Tohru, which remains mysterious. And then there’s Machi, who’s mostly a cypher, albeit a violent cypher. The joy of Fruits Basket is that the omnibus gives you endless time to reread the series and linger over your favorite parts. Also, Kimi is gloriously awful and I love her.

And next month, we get Sorta Cinderella!

By Izumi Tsubaki. Released in Japan as “Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun” by Square Enix, serialization ongoing in the online magazine Gangan Online. Released in North America by Yen Press. Translated by Leighann Harvey.

It’s a stretch to say that reading this series can teach you the ins and outs of how the manga industry works – this isn’t Bakuman, or Even a Monkey Can Draw Manga. But when it’s able to be mined for humor, anything is game. And so we get things like Nozaki trying to draw his shoujo heroine as a superdeformed character, or having a mascot for the series, much like Yukari’s endless tanukis (which litter the cover of this volume, so I can’t even make my tanuki joke at the end of the review). We also get a hilarious look at cover art, where the artist likely has to work with a different editor. There may be a seasonal theme. You may have to try to translate your editor’s art, which shows at a glance why they edit and don’t draw manga. So things are learned, but the humor comes first.

This series does not have plot and character development per se, but there are some amusing chapters that make it look as if things might develop. Mikoshiba discovers the tragic truth behind Wakamatsu’s crush on “Lorelai”, and is as horrified as you’d expect. Waka, meanwhile, continues to think that Kashima is a guy, though the beach episode may have cleared that up – it’s left up in the air. Actually, the beach episode is probably the highlight of the volume – the anime actually adapted it into a later OVA as it was too good not to animate. This features the famous “those are just lumps of fat, aren’t they?” line, Seo stealing the drawstrings of all the boys’ swimtrunks, Kashima and Mikoshiba continuing to be endlessly attractive to the same sex, “I’m wearing that lame pink bra you picked out!”, and more.

As for romance, as you’d expect, it’s status quo. Nozaki-kun is about the comedy. This volume, though, does show how natural Hiro and Kashima are with each other when she’s not driving him to violence, and has some lovely Seo/Waka tease, which is really all she wants from Waka at the moment. The majority of the shipping here, though, is Sakura’s seeming one-sided crush on Nozaki. She even admits to Mikoshiba she’s now too scared to confess as she knows it will just be used for manga fodder. She tries changing her attitude in order to get him to notice her more, but that just makes him worry. In the end, as we know, being herself is the best, even if it means Nozaki is still his oblivious self. The sweetest chapter in the book is the final one, where we flash back to Sakura first falling in love with Nozaki – as you’d expect, it was as much from him being a giant loser as it was his looks – and how she unconsciously influenced his heroine for the manga.

Nozaki-kun remains a wonderfully hilarious title, and now has finally gotten away from the anime, so fans of that will want to pick it up to read new material. Go read it, or the tanuki will be sad. (Oh look, I got to work in the joke anyway.)

By Izumi Tsubaki. Released in Japan by Hakusensha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Hana to Yume. Released in North America by Viz. Translated by JN Productions.

I have a confession to make. While I love Oresama Teacher, and try to recommend it to everyone I know, I love some parts of it more than others. And I must admit that whenever the narrative turns its attention back to Mafuyu’s old stomping grounds and her underclassmen delinquents, I groan a little. Mostly the reason is that the cast has become nightmarishly huge – check out both the character sheet at the start of the volume and the relationship chart at the end – but the East High/West High guys aren’t as well defined as Midorigaoka’s cast. Kangawa may be the exception, and I’m glad he’s here at the start, but the beginning of this volume, revolving around Mafuyu pretending to be a boy so that Sakurada (a boy who likes to dress as a girl) can let down another guy who’s fallen for “her”. Mafuyu looks bored, and so are we.

Luckily, the rest of the volume is back at Midorigaokoa, and proves far more interesting, as a new as yet unrevealed antagonist is setting out to go after the Student Council and blame “Super Bun”, which of course means Mafuyu. Her secret identity isn’t threatened, at least not yet, but she’s offended at the very idea of someone using Super Bun for nefarious purposes. Also tying into this is the cliffhanger for Vol. 20, where Hayasaka seems to have almost figured out Super Bun’s true identity. Of course, now that there’s a doppelganger running around, that’s all gone to hell. Speaking of doppelgangers, the most intriguing choice this volume was to have Mafuyu, unfamiliar with the concept, end up being rather terrified of discovering just who it is impersonating her – what if it really IS her evil twin?

The titular teacher also takes a backseat in this volume, with Takaomi reminding Mafuyu how easy it is to impersonate Super Bun but not doing much beyond that – he doesn’t seem to care much about what’s going on as long as it doesn’t impact his bet. Also uncaring is Hanabusa, even though the culprit shoves him down the stairs and breaks his arm and leg. Hanabusa is pretty unflappable to begin with, but this is a bit unusual even for him. I have a suspicion that whatever the explanation for this is, it will prove to be far less threatening than we’d expected.

Despite evil doppelgangers, there’s still plenty of humor to go around, though not quite as much of the standard ‘tsukkomi’ variety. Shibuya and Komori’s budding relationship is still adorable, and the fact that the Public Morals Club has been shunned to an extent also makes life difficult for Yui’s relationship with Wakana – though sadly not for the reason everyone expects. As for Mafuyu, aside from Kangawa’s one-sided crush, there’s no romantic movement here at all. But this is not really a romantic manga, even though it may end up with a pairing. It’s a comedy with lots of kicking ass, and that’s what you get here in Vol. 21, same as you did in Vol. 1.

By Kazumi Kamachi and Kiyotaka Haimura. Released in Japan as “To Aru Majutsu no Index” by ASCII Mediaworks. Released in North America by Yen On. Translated by Andrew Prowse.

Long ago, before this series was licensed and published, I tried to read a fan translation of these novels. I read eight volumes very easily, then bogged down about halfway through this one. A while later I tried again – and the same thing happened. The read came to a grinding halt. This time, with the official release, I am at last able to get to the end of the book, but I do note that the middle section is still a slog. I’ve complained before that Kamachi loves his worldbuilding more than his actual story and characters, and nowhere is this more apparent than in Kamijou, Tsuchimikado and Stiyl discussing the proper use of magic to try to catch Oriana Thomson. It’s fascinating if you’re a D&D-type gamer who loves learning how to use fictional concepts. For a casual reader it’s absolutely deadly. Be warned.

Introduced in this volume: Misaka Misuzu, Fukiyose Seiri, Oriana Thomson, Lidvia Lorenzetti. We also see Touma’s mother Shiina for the first time with her actual appearance, as opposed to Index’s. Continuity-wise, this takes place, obviously, at the same time as Railgun’s Athletic Festival arc in the manga, though most of the events that happen there take place after all this. It’s about 4 days after the events of Book 8, which is why Kuroko is in a wheelchair, and the Railgun manga may now finally make sense to those who wondered that. The events of the Index movie Miracle of Endymion have also just taken place shortly before this.

This is, believe it or not, the first Index arc to take up more than one book. Given the predominance of multi-volume arcs in light novels these days, you’d think it would have happened before this, but no. It’s also the fist book where Kamachi had to admit in the afterword that he wasn’t sure who the heroine was for this particular book. I sort of see why he said this, given that there was attention paid to several girls, but I think at least for this book, Seiri comes closest to being the heroine. It’s just… Kamijou fails to save her, a rarity in this series. Sure, she’s not dead, but I expect her out of commission for the next book. Personality-wise, many might think she’s another tsundere like Mikoto, but that’s not quite accurate – Kamachi may use cliches, but he’s good at shading them. She’s the ‘class president’ sort, which means she’s uptight and rule oriented, and (the class assures us) she isn’t in love with Kamijou, though that’s somewhat suspect. She also has an eccentric love of online shopping products. She’ll never be relevant again, but she was fun to meet.

Oriana is the villain of this book, and possibly the next. She’s yet another magic world user invading Academy City, supposedly to deliver a weapon that cam take out any Saint from a distance, but in reality her motivations – or those of her partner, Lidvia – are far more apocalyptic. Once again religion is used as sort of a D&D class, and that’s not going to change. I liked that she never used the same move twice, to the point that even if it’s a detriment, she CAN’T. There were also several fun and cool moments in the book, such as the class uniting to get revenge on the teacher who made Komoe-sensei cry, as well as various moments when you realize that behind his ‘normal guy’ facade, Kamijou is actually really, really clever about figuring things out.

Sadly, this is to be continued in the next book, so there isn’t much closure here. Instead, I am left with what I was the first two times I tried to read this: Tsuchimikado telling me about magic use and religious systems for what seems like 800 pages. Luckily, I’ve passed it now, and hope Book 10 is less academically dense.