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Previews review November 2011

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It’s kind of an odd month in the Previews catalog from Diamond. There’s a lot of great stuff, but there’s very little immediately exciting debut material. (There is a fair amount of on-the-fence content, and I could certainly use your feedback on that front.) Let’s start with a few new editions of previously published material:

Dororo Complete Edition, written and illustrated by Osamu Tezuka, Vertical, NOV11 1117: If you haven’t read this brilliant, Eisner Award winning piece of supernatural shônen, this will provide an excellent opportunity to pick up all three volumes in one shot. While it makes me sad that Tezuka ended this series early, the material he did finish is just magnificent: scary, sad, funny, bleak, gruesome… the whole package. This is one Tezuka title that I can recommend without any reservation or qualification.

Girl Genius Omnibus Vol. 1: Agatha Awakens, by Phil and Kaja Foglio, Tor Books, NOV11 1104: This web-to-print success story has been around for a while, and I’m glad to see it get some hardcover, prestige treatment. It’s about a mad scientist who learns that she’s even madder and more inventive than she suspected. Spunky, scrappy Agatha finds herself in a million different kinds of steampunk peril, and it’s great-looking, fast-paced fun.

Now, onto some less chunky but still worthy items:

A Treasury of 20th Century Murder: The Lives of Sacco and Vanzetti, written and illustrated by Rick Geary, NBM, NOV11 1052: I love these crime histories for their smart writing and great, detailed art, but I tend to wait for them to be available in paperback. It means I have to wait a bit to enjoy Geary’s take on highly controversial cases like this one, but I can be patient.

The Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service Vol. 12, written by Eiji Otsuka and illustrated by Housui Yamazaki, Dark Horse, NOV11 0055: On the other hand, I can’t be any more patient with this title than the publication schedule demands, and damnation, does that schedule demand a lot of patience. Still, this is one of my very favorite Japanese comics ever, and I always get giddy at the prospect of enjoying more misadventures of a group of supernatural investigators.

We’ll wrap up with one on-the-fence item that I didn’t feel like wedging into this month’s poll:

Gentlemen’s Agreement Between a Rabbit and a Wolf, written and illustrated by Shinano Oumi, Digital Manga, NOV11 0962: As you know, I always like to investigate unknown boys’-love quantities before investing in them, so I’d appreciate any feedback either on this title or on Oumi’s work in general. This one sounds promising – a workplace romantic comedy about two guys who work for an advertising agency. The whole predator-prey framing is a little on the nose for me, but I’m certainly open to anything about grown-ups with jobs.

 

In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner by Elizabeth George

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Book description:
Calder Moor is a wild and deadly place: many have been trapped in the myriad limestone caves, lost in collapsed copper mines, injured on perilous ridges. But when two bodies are discovered in the shadow of the ancient circle of stones known as Nine Sisters Henge, it is clearly not a case for Mountain Rescue.

The corpses are those of a young man and woman. Each met death in a different fashion. Each died violently. To Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley, this grisly crime promises to be one of the toughest of his career. For the unfortunate Nicola Maiden was the daughter of a former officer in an elite undercover unit, a man Lynley once regarded as a mentor.

Now, as Lynley struggles to find out if Nicola’s killer was an enemy of her father’s or one she earned herself, Barbara Havers, his longtime partner, crisscrosses London seeking information on the second victim. Yet the more dark secrets Lynley and Havers uncover, the more they learn that neither the victims nor the suspects are who they appear to be… that human relationships are often murderous… and that the blood that binds can also kill.

Review:
Once again, Elizabeth George has created an intriguing mystery—perhaps her most complicated yet easy-to-follow case to date—while ensuring that the interactions between the lead detectives remain the most compelling part of the story.

The two victims in this case—Nicola Maiden and Terry Cole—are found on a moor in Derbyshire, and Lynley is specifically requested to work the case by the Nicola’s father, a former special operations officer for whom he worked briefly earlier in his career. Heading up the local investigation is DI Peter Hanken, a chain-smoking family man whose manner of speech frequently put me in mind of Gene Hunt. Hanken’s convinced that Nicola’s father is responsible, and while Lynley can’t buy that, he is still convinced that Nicola was the target, especially as more details of her not-so-wholesome lifestyle emerge.

Enter Havers. After the events of Deception on His Mind, in which she not only disobeyed a director order but fired a gun at a superior officer, Barbara has spent the last three months on suspension pending the results of an inquiry. She is ultimately demoted to Detective Constable and at first attributes the fact that she still remains with CID at all to Lynley’s advocacy, but it turns out that he is quite critical of her actions. He assigns her various menial tasks connected to the Derbyshire case but, headstrong as ever, Havers follows her hunch that the key to the murders lies with Terry Cole, not Nicola Maiden.

She works that end of things in London, enlisting the more-charming-the-more-we-see-of-him DC Winston Nkata to help her. (Seriously, Nkata is fun. When are we going to get something from his perpsective?) Lynley gets increasingly fed up with her defiance and I swear… the tension between them kept me on the edge of my seat much more than the murder investigation itself. It was like watching two friends keep doing things to irritate and alienate the other while being completely unable to help. How could I not sympathize with Barbara as she doggedly works to get at the truth? But at the same time, how could I not cringe when her actions drive her further and further out of Lynley’s good graces? The resolution to all this comes about a little too conveniently, but I’m too relieved to be too critical.

The case itself is particularly multi-layered, and I marvel that George is able to keep all of these balls in the air while never losing the reader. There’s not too much with Lynley’s personal life in this volume—aside from Lady Helen’s involvement in patching things up with Barbara—but Barbara’s makes some progress. Her neighbor, Taymullah Azhar, has been trying to get the details of what happened in Essex and ultimately learns that Barbara wound up demoted because she wouldn’t let his daughter, Hadiyyah, be left to drown. So now he feels tremendous gratitude to her and it almost looks at one point like he’s confessing more romantic feelings but now I am unsure again. The thought of awkward, sloppy Barbara trying to navigate a romantic relationship fills me with utter squee, though, so I will continue to hope that matters develop in that direction.

If you’re looking for a well-written mystery series with a serious claim to the label “literature,” then the Inspector Lynley series might be for you. I’ll be diving into the next book as soon as I post this review!

Upcoming 11/9/2011

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Even if there was only one thing on this week’s Comic List, it would still be one of the best ever. Here’s why:

You know how something you anticipate for a really long time can end up being something of an anticlimax? The first volume of Osamu Tezuka’s Princess Knight (Vertical) is emphatically not one of those things. I read it over the weekend, and, if anything, it made me even happier than I thought it would. I’m going to review it on Friday, so I won’t go into too much detail now, but it’s pure Tezuka: entertaining as you could possibly wish, a little insane, a little sad, and incredibly fresh, even though it was created 65 years ago.

It’s hard for anything to hold up to that, but I’m also happy to see the tenth volume of Kou Yaginuma’s Twin Spica (Vertical). I like the characters a lot, and I love the fragile aesthetic Yaginuma creates to tell their stories.

I’m really hoping I’ll enjoy the first volume of Kai Asou’s Only Serious About You (Digital Manga), a boys’-love title that sounds like it matches a lot of my tastes in this category. It’s about a single father who works at a restaurant who becomes close to a flirty, seemingly frivolous customer.

You can see the Manga Bookshelf crew’s Pick of the Week here, and we formed the mighty battle robot to bust out a whole bunch of Bookshelf Briefs.

 

Cage of Eden, Vol. 2

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By Yoshinobu Yamada. Released in Japan as “Eden no Ori” by Kodansha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Weekly Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Kodansha Comics.

As we head into the second volume of our survival story, we’re starting to see a few more familiar trappings. The airplane homebase is rendered uninhabitable, they try making a raft, and we get a lot more survivors, some of whom are likeable and some of whom aren’t. We also get to see our hero Akira develop increasing leadership qualities, and Kanako start to prove she is more than just a walking fanservice poster. Things aren’t getting more original, but they’re staying interesting.

As you would expect when you get a bunch of emotional Japanese teenagers and toss them into the middle of an island with prehistoric monsters on it, not everyone is handling it the same way. Akira and company are trying to band together and be a team. One guy with a Jason mask names himself Hades and seems to go off the deep end at the earliest opportunity. Akira’s friend Arita is seemingly doing the same thing, but is in reality barely holding it together because of guilt over a previous impulsive action. And then there’s Yarai, who seems to be leading a third group simply by virtue of being so badass people instinctively want to follow him.

The action here is well-done and exciting. The animals are suitably dangerous, while remaining just realistic enough that our heroes managing to defeat them only feels a little ludicrous. The power politics also feels realistic, though I could do without everyone lampshading how Akira is becoming a great leader. We already see it, no need to hammer it home. Likewise, while the deaths of two classmates was done well, and was suitably gruesome, I think a true test of the series will be to see what happens when likeable people start getting killed.

And then there’s the fanservice. Look, I can take a lot of fanservice with no qualms. I read Negima, after all. But I honestly would not blame anyone who wants to drop the series here, because man, the sheer obsession with panty shots and breasts is over the top even for a Shonen Magazine manga. I realize that this is a magazine for young teens, and they are pubertylicious. Still, after a while I was flicking through them faster, trying to get past it. “Yes, the two girls fall on top of each other. Yes, squoosh. OK, let’s watch them climb down a ladder from the bottom. I GET IT, they’re sexy!” It can be very taxing.

I will admit that the cliffhanger makes me quite eager to see what happens next. I’m fairly certain that Akira and Yarai will disagree, but seeing the groups lock horns should be fun. And we still really have no idea why this island is filled with long-dead creatures. Is it a plot point, or is this just an excuse for carnage? Oh, and no doubt we will meet more female characters, and their breasts as well. Cage of Eden remains good candy, even if you sometimes feel a bit sick after eating too much of it.

Manga Artifacts: GeGeGe no Kitaro

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From the early 1920s through the late 1950s, before television became a fixture in Japanese homes, audiences flocked to kamishibai performances on street corners and parks around the country. A kamishibaiya (storyteller) would pedal from village to village with a butai (small wooden stage) perched on the back of his bicycle. When he arrived in a new community, he would click two sticks together to announce his presence, selling candy to the growing assembly of children. He would then show the audience a series of colorfully painted panels that told a story in much the same fashion as a comic book, narrating as he removed them one at a time from the butai.

At the height of its popularity in the 1930s, nearly five million people attended kamishibai performances every day. There were kamishibai for every demographic: sentimental tales about kittens and orphans for girls, adventure stories about masked heroes and mountaineers for boys, and pulpy mysteries and historical dramas for adults. A small army of artists and writers cranked out new installments of popular stories such as Golden Bat, Tiger Boy, Prince Gamma, and Cry of the Andes, providing an important training ground for such postwar manga-ka as Kazuo Koike, Sanpei Shirato, and Shigeru Mizuki.

A contemporary kamishibaiya performs in front of a butai.

Mizuki’s best-known comic, GeGeGe no Kitaro, traces its roots to the 1930s, when kamishibaiya around Japan performed Hakaba no Kitaro, a supernatural tale about a yokai boy who lived in a graveyard. Though Mizuki didn’t create Kitaro, he was responsible for adapting Hakaba no Kitaro into manga form, publishing his first Kitaro stories for the akabon (rental comics) market in 1959. Kitaro eventually found a home at Weekly Shonen Magazine in 1966, where the editors renamed it GeGeGe no Kitaro. Kitaro proved immensely popular, spawning animated television shows, feature-length movies, and video games, not to mention numerous manga sequels in Shonen Sunday, Shonen Action, and Shukan Jitsuwa.

Despite its immense popularity in Japan, none of the GeGeGe no Kitaro manga have been licensed for the North American market. In 2002, Kodansha International hired Ralph McCarthy to translate a handful of the Weekly Shonen Magazine stories, collecting them in three bilingual editions. Those volumes are scarce — at least on this side of the Pacific — although I was able to snag the first on eBay for less than $20. (Caveat emptor: Some Amazon retailers are asking as much as $345.00 for a single volume of the Kodansha Bilingual Comics edition.)

Looking through the pages of volume one, the story’s roots in kamishibai are apparent. The first chapter, “Ghost Train,” is a classic example of comeuppance theater: after two Tokyo businessmen abuse Kitaro and his sidekick Ratman, the men find themselves aboard a mysterious train whose final destination is Tama-reien (Tama Cemetery). The pacing suggests a story told at a campfire, allowing the audience to savor the word play (all the stops on the Tama-reien line have eerie names), the description of the passengers, and the two businessmen’s growing sense of terror. Though the pictures carry the weight of the storytelling, Mizuki uses an omniscient narrator to heighten the reader’s awareness of sound. “The skeleton-thin attendant blew his flute, and a tram came screeching into the station like a rickety hearse,” the narrator informs us. “The door rattled open like the door to a crematorium.”

The narrator serves another important purpose as well, filling in the gap between images, just as a kamishibayai would have done in the 1930s. Towards the end of the story, for example, the two men decide to leap from the train, rather than ride it to its final destination. Mizuki draws their awkward jump, then cuts to an image of the ghost train speeding along a dark track, barely distinguishable from the night sky and grassy wasteland it traverses. “Their heads cracked against something hard — rocks, perhaps,” the narrator explains. “A wail of agony splits the air, then all was silence once again.” This statement proves essential to setting up the story’s punchline, bringing the men’s ordeal to a dramatically suggestive end that is deftly clarified in the last four panels.

The second chapter, “The Leviathing,” owes a debt to such kamishibai mainstays as Golden Bat and Prince Gamma, serial adventures that freely mixed elements of science fiction, mystery, and fantasy. In “Leviathing,” Kitaro joins a scientific expedition to New Guinea, where an unscrupulous scientist injects Kitaro with a prehistoric animal’s blood, transforming Kitaro into a hairy, seven-story beast with the head of a whale and the body of a yeti.

As in “Ghost Train,” an omniscent narrator plays an important role in advancing the story, describing the changes in setting, and revealing the limitations of Kitaro’s new form. “Kitaro tried to yell, ‘Father!’, but all that came out was the Leviathing’s roar,” the narrator intones. “He put down his frightened father and walked away.”

Vital as the narration may be, it’s the artwork that underscores the poignancy of Kitaro’s situation. Mizuki draws the Leviathing in a dramatically different fashion when viewed from below than when viewed close-up: from the perspective of a human bystander, the Leviathing is monstrous, with an enormous, gaping mouth and short, grasping arms. Up close, however, he’s a gentle creature, capable of frowning, sighing, and shedding tears. These close-ups help remind us that it’s Kitaro trapped inside this destructive body, unable to communicate with humans or yokai; there’s simply no place for a giant prehistoric creature in such a thoroughly urbanized landscape, a point underscored by the military’s brutal efforts to eradicate Kitaro by driving him out to sea.

Although “The Leviathing” may strike readers as a sci-fi romp and not a ghost story, it illustrates one of the series’ most important themes: displacement. In many of the Kitaro stories, he struggles to find a place for himself — and his yokai friends — in an increasingly modernized world. As Jonathan Clements observes,

Mizuki was one of the first manga creators to deal with the rush of modernity, depicting Japanese ghosts largely as peaceful, gentle creatures forced into action by the encroachment of human civilisation on their remote, secluded places of haunting. In particular, he cited electric light as the main nemesis of spirits from the otherworld, giving his stories an elegiac quality that celebrates Japanese folktale traditions, even as he laments their passing.

Readers familiar with GeGeGe no Kitaro from its numerous film and television adaptations may find the bilingual edition a frustrating introduction to the manga, as many of the series’ colorful supporting players — Daddy Eyeball, Catchick, and The Sand Witch — play minor-to-nonexistent roles in the first volume. Readers interested in manga’s history, however, will find the first volume of the bilingual edition a fascinating window into the pre-war Japanese entertainment industry, offering English-speakers a hint of the stories and storytelling practices that once enchanted Japanese audiences on street corners around the country. Below, you’ll find a short bibliography of articles and books about Kitaro and kamishibai, should you wish to learn more about this famous character’s roots.

For Further Reading

Clements, Jonathan. “Spooky Ooky.” Schoolgirl Milky Crisis. 13 September 2010. <http://schoolgirlmilkycrisis.com/blog/?p=1710>. Accessed 11/6/11.

Kobayashi, Kenji and Kelly Yamamoto. “Kamishibai Theater.” Japanese American National Museum. <http://www.janm.org/janmkids/kamishibai.php>. Accessed 11/7/11.

Kyogoku, Natsuhiko. “Afterword.” GeGeGe no Kitaro, Vol. 1. Trans. Ralph F. McCarthy. New York: Kodansha International, 2002. 123-25.

McCarthy, Helen. “Spooky Kitaro’s Sixth Generation.” Suite 101. 6 May 2008. <http://helen-mccarthy.suite101.com/spooky-kitaros-sixth-generation-a52997>. Accessed 11/6/11.

Nash, Eric. Manga Kamishibai: The Art of Japanese Paper Theater. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2009.

MMF: GeGeGe no Kitaro

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From the early 1920s through the late 1950s, before television became a fixture in Japanese homes, audiences flocked to kamishibai performances on street corners and parks around the country. A kamishibaiya (storyteller) would pedal from village to village with a butai (small wooden stage) perched on the back of his bicycle. When he arrived in a new community, he would click two sticks together to announce his presence, selling candy to the growing assembly of children. He would then show the audience a series of colorfully painted panels that told a story in much the same fashion as a comic book, narrating as he removed them one at a time from the butai.

At the height of its popularity in the 1930s, nearly five million people attended kamishibai performances every day. There were kamishibai for every demographic: sentimental tales about kittens and orphans for girls, adventure stories about masked heroes and mountaineers for boys, and pulpy mysteries and historical dramas for adults. A small army of artists and writers cranked out new installments of popular stories such as Golden Bat, Tiger Boy, Prince Gamma, and Cry of the Andes, providing an important training ground for such postwar manga-ka as Kazuo Koike, Sanpei Shirato, and Shigeru Mizuki.

A contemporary kamishibaiya performs in front of a butai.

Mizuki’s best-known comic, GeGeGe no Kitaro, traces its roots to the 1930s, when kamishibaiya around Japan performed Hakaba no Kitaro, a supernatural tale about a yokai boy who lived in a graveyard. Though Mizuki didn’t create Kitaro, he was responsible for adapting Hakaba no Kitaro into manga form, publishing his first Kitaro stories for the akabon (rental comics) market in 1959. Kitaro eventually found a home at Weekly Shonen Magazine in 1966, where the editors renamed it GeGeGe no Kitaro. Kitaro proved immensely popular, spawning animated television shows, feature-length movies, and video games, not to mention numerous manga sequels in Shonen Sunday, Shonen Action, and Shukan Jitsuwa.

Despite its immense popularity in Japan, none of the GeGeGe no Kitaro manga have been licensed for the North American market. In 2002, Kodansha International hired Ralph McCarthy to translate a handful of the Weekly Shonen Magazine stories, collecting them in three bilingual editions. Those volumes are scarce — at least on this side of the Pacific — although I was able to snag the first on eBay for less than $20. (Caveat emptor: Some Amazon retailers are asking as much as $345.00 for a single volume of the Kodansha Bilingual Comics edition.)

Looking through the pages of volume one, the story’s roots in kamishibai are apparent. The first chapter, “Ghost Train,” is a classic example of comeuppance theater: after two Tokyo businessmen abuse Kitaro and his sidekick Ratman, the men find themselves aboard a mysterious train whose final destination is Tama-reien (Tama Cemetery). The pacing suggests a story told at a campfire, allowing the audience to savor the word play (all the stops on the Tama-reien line have eerie names), the description of the passengers, and the two businessmen’s growing sense of terror. Though the pictures carry the weight of the storytelling, Mizuki uses an omniscient narrator to heighten the reader’s awareness of sound. “The skeleton-thin attendant blew his flute, and a tram came screeching into the station like a rickety hearse,” the narrator informs us. “The door rattled open like the door to a crematorium.”

The narrator serves another important purpose as well, filling in the gap between images, just as a kamishibayai would have done in the 1930s. Towards the end of the story, for example, the two men decide to leap from the train, rather than ride it to its final destination. Mizuki draws their awkward jump, then cuts to an image of the ghost train speeding along a dark track, barely distinguishable from the night sky and grassy wasteland it traverses. “Their heads cracked against something hard — rocks, perhaps,” the narrator explains. “A wail of agony splits the air, then all was silence once again.” This statement proves essential to setting up the story’s punchline, bringing the men’s ordeal to a dramatically suggestive end that is deftly clarified in the last four panels.

The second chapter, “The Leviathing,” owes a debt to such kamishibai mainstays as Golden Bat and Prince Gamma, serial adventures that freely mixed elements of science fiction, mystery, and fantasy. In “Leviathing,” Kitaro joins a scientific expedition to New Guinea, where an unscrupulous scientist injects Kitaro with a prehistoric animal’s blood, transforming Kitaro into a hairy, seven-story beast with the head of a whale and the body of a yeti.

As in “Ghost Train,” an omniscent narrator plays an important role in advancing the story, describing the changes in setting, and revealing the limitations of Kitaro’s new form. “Kitaro tried to yell, ‘Father!’, but all that came out was the Leviathing’s roar,” the narrator intones. “He put down his frightened father and walked away.”

Vital as the narration may be, it’s the artwork that underscores the poignancy of Kitaro’s situation. Mizuki draws the Leviathing in a dramatically different fashion when viewed from below than when viewed close-up: from the perspective of a human bystander, the Leviathing is monstrous, with an enormous, gaping mouth and short, grasping arms. Up close, however, he’s a gentle creature, capable of frowning, sighing, and shedding tears. These close-ups help remind us that it’s Kitaro trapped inside this destructive body, unable to communicate with humans or yokai; there’s simply no place for a giant prehistoric creature in such a thoroughly urbanized landscape, a point underscored by the military’s brutal efforts to eradicate Kitaro by driving him out to sea.

Although “The Leviathing” may strike readers as a sci-fi romp and not a ghost story, it illustrates one of the series’ most important themes: displacement. In many of the Kitaro stories, he struggles to find a place for himself — and his yokai friends — in an increasingly modernized world. As Jonathan Clements observes,

Mizuki was one of the first manga creators to deal with the rush of modernity, depicting Japanese ghosts largely as peaceful, gentle creatures forced into action by the encroachment of human civilisation on their remote, secluded places of haunting. In particular, he cited electric light as the main nemesis of spirits from the otherworld, giving his stories an elegiac quality that celebrates Japanese folktale traditions, even as he laments their passing.

Readers familiar with GeGeGe no Kitaro from its numerous film and television adaptations may find the bilingual edition a frustrating introduction to the manga, as many of the series’ colorful supporting players — Daddy Eyeball, Catchick, and The Sand Witch — play minor-to-nonexistent roles in the first volume. Readers interested in manga’s history, however, will find the first volume of the bilingual edition a fascinating window into the pre-war Japanese entertainment industry, offering English-speakers a hint of the stories and storytelling practices that once enchanted Japanese audiences on street corners around the country. Below, you’ll find a short bibliography of articles and books about Kitaro and kamishibai, should you wish to learn more about this famous character’s roots.

For Further Reading

Clements, Jonathan. “Spooky Ooky.” Schoolgirl Milky Crisis. 13 September 2010. <http://schoolgirlmilkycrisis.com/blog/?p=1710>. Accessed 11/6/11.

Kobayashi, Kenji and Kelly Yamamoto. “Kamishibai Theater.” Japanese American National Museum. <http://www.janm.org/janmkids/kamishibai.php>. Accessed 11/7/11.

Kyogoku, Natsuhiko. “Afterword.” GeGeGe no Kitaro, Vol. 1. Trans. Ralph F. McCarthy. New York: Kodansha International, 2002. 123-25.

McCarthy, Helen. “Spooky Kitaro’s Sixth Generation.” Suite 101. 6 May 2008. <http://helen-mccarthy.suite101.com/spooky-kitaros-sixth-generation-a52997>. Accessed 11/6/11.

Nash, Eric. Manga Kamishibai: The Art of Japanese Paper Theater. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2009.

Pick of the Week: X

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With power finally restored to the entire Battle Robot, everyone’s on board with a pick this week, though the robot’s leaning heavily in one particular direction.

MJ: We’ve got an odd assortment of manga coming it to Midtown Comics this week. I have half a mind to recommend volume two of Bandai’s Tales of the Abyss: Asch the Bloody since I had such a surprisingly enjoyable experience with the first. But pretty pictures and beautiful production win my heart this week, as I choose the first of Viz’s 3-in-1 editions of CLAMP’s shoujo battle-fest, X. Admittedly, I’m a much bigger fan of X‘s shorter, more intimate predecessor, Tokyo Babylon, and I think I’ve failed to appreciate the allure of X‘s larger, sweeping drama and penchant for destruction. But with this new 3-in-1, Viz has provided a package that’s impossible for me to ignore. This book is gorgeous, with its thick, glossy cover (love the new, minimalist design), crisp, white paper, and delicious color pages preceding each volume. It’s a delight to behold, and I am really looking forward to giving X a second chance to win me over with these particular attributes in its favor.

DAVID: It’s strange that I’m finding myself so drawn to CLAMP as I settle into middle age. That seems just wrong, but there’s no denying that it’s so. I’m utterly taken with Gate 7 (also Dark Horse), and now I find myself seconding MJ’s choice of the X 3-in-1 from Viz. As I’ve noted, it’s probably the CLAMP-iest thing I’ve ever seen, but it’s made somewhat special by the fact that there’s tons and tons of violence. It probably won’t hold a place of honor on my shelves in years to come, but I’ll certainly read the rest of it.

KATE: Looking at this week’s shipping list makes me feel like I took a ride in Mister Peabody’s WABAC machine, with new volumes of X and InuYasha arriving on store shelves. And though I’m tempted to be a contrarian and recommend, say, Yakuza Cafe (DMP) just for the sake of variety, my vote also goes for X. The new edition boasts a new translation, a bigger trim size, and almost six hundred pages of story per volume, all of which enhance the reading experience. And if you’re the kind of reader who cares passionately about extras, you’ll be pleased to discover that VIZ has included a generous selection of glossy, full-color pinups from various points in the series’ run.

MICHELLE: I certainly intend to snap up the X 3-in-1 edition, but since ample reasons for doing so have been ably supplied by my cohorts, I’ll cast my vote for the second volume of Kazuma Kodaka’s Bad Teacher’s Equation. Okay, so I haven’t exactly finished reading the first volume yet—these books are chunky!—but I am a big fan of Kodaka’s Kizuna, so I’m familiar with her style. In looks and execution, Kizuna is very different from most of the other BL coming out in English, and I am excited to dig deeper into Bad Teacher’s Equation and follow up with Border, two Kodaka series more recently announced by DMP.

SEAN: Too many people have already picked X. So I’m exercising my right to say I had no power last week and picking a title from last week’s list, namely the 11th volume of Kimi ni Todoke. As I noted in my post on last week’s books, it’s always a treat when a couple get together and the series continues on, seeing how well their relationship holds up after the big fireworks. Plus the supporting cast of this series is top notch – this volume in particular has one of my favorite Yano scenes in the whole series, and unsurprisingly it also involves Pin. Just really nice and heartwarming, in all the best ways.

Readers, what looks good to you this week?

Bookshelf Briefs, 11/7/11

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This week, Kate, David, Sean, & Michelle look at recent releases from Yen Press, Kodansha Comics, and Viz Media.

Black Bird, Vol. 11 | By Kanoko Sakurakoji | VIZ Media – Reading the newest installment of Black Bird, I can see why the series has been a perennial bestseller: the cast is comprised of achingly beautiful young men in yukatas, all of whom are captivated by the heroine. The story, too, has crack potential, as it involves demon clan warfare, fragile political alliances, age-old prophecies, and sex. What’s missing is a compelling heroine. Eleven volumes into Black Bird, Misao remains as helpless as she did in the very first chapters, enduring Kyo’s grouchy, possessive behavior, an enemy’s memory-erasing spells, and other demons’ violent attempts to drink her blood. Adding insult to injury is the author’s insistence that Kyo is really a good, soulful person underneath his brusque exterior, a side of his personality that only Misao can see. As someone who’s old enough to have dated a few jerks, I find that kind of relationship as tedious on paper as it is in real life, even if the lead character is a handsome male tengu. – Katherine Dacey

A Bride’s Story, Vol. 2 | By Kaoru Mori | Yen Press – I had argued that I found the first volume of A Bride’s Story very well-done, but a bit cold, like looking at a piece of art in a museum. I’m pleased to say that Volume 2 draws me in a lot more. Amir still tends to be a cipher at times, but the author compensates for that by pairing her with more emotional characters – the hotheaded and perpetually frustrated Pariya, or her youthful husband Karluk, with whom she gets probably the best two scenes in the book. But there’s more action here as well, as Amir’s family come to take her back so they can forge a better relationship with less savory neighbors. Seeing the townspeople riding up to protect her is awesome – indeed, Amir has trouble taking it all in. Even Dr. Smith, who seemed to be the comedy Westerner in Volume 1, gets some excellent depth here, and I do wonder if we’ll be seeing more of him in future volumes. Indeed, the author’s notes hint we might see the focus change to other brides? I hope not – Amir’s story still needs closure.– Sean Gaffney

Fairy Tail, Vol. 15 | By Hiro Mashima | Kodansha Comics – As with many shonen mangas of its type, this volume of Fairy Tail is taken up with a lot of battles, as the Laxus fights come to their natural conclusion. This gives Erza another chance to be awesome, of course, and shows that Fairy Tail’s camaraderie and willingness to work together will always trump a quest for sheer power like Laxus has gone through. But I expect, despite the fact that the fights are of decent quality and the characterization decent, everyone will be discussing the Ass Pull of a character return we get with Mystogan’s real identity. If it were deconstructed, such as with Cross Game, it might be decent, but we get the reveal and then the character simply walks away – the whole scene reads like a ratings grabber for sweeps time, and sucks the soul out of much of the book. Oh well, the rest of it is fairly solid. I hope the arc wraps up in the next volume, though. – Sean Gaffney

Grand Guignol Orchestra, Vol. 5 | By Kaori Yuki | VIZ Media – The fifth and final volume of Grand Guignol Orchestra is a gorgeous mess. Though Kaori Yuki’s artwork remains as attractive as ever, she still hasn’t mastered the art of bringing her stories to a satisfying conclusion. The series’ penultimate scene is a long, confusing sequence of double-crosses, overwrought speeches, and bolt-from-the-blue revelations that make little sense even within the parameters of the Grand Guignol universe. A more sedate epilogue ties up the loose ends, hinting of what Yuki is capable of doing when she dials down the histrionics. The volume is rounded out with a lengthy story, “Camelot Garden,” which quotes liberally from Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shallot,” to diminishing returns. – Katherine Dacey

Natsume’s Book of Friends, Vol. 10 | By Yuki Midorikawa | VIZ Media – The latest volume of Natsume’s Book of Friends features two longer stories. In the first, “False Friend,” a bully from Natsume’s past returns when he suspects that he’s had an encounter with the supernatural, while in the second, “The Harvest Festival,” Natsume must rescue a guardian spirit who’s been sealed inside a rock. Both stories are well-executed, with crack pacing, memorable demons, and just enough ambiguity to keep the reading guessing at the outcome, even though Natsume’s fundamental decency is never in doubt. As an added bonus, Yuki Midorikawa’s artwork is improving steadily with each volume, yielding some simple but astonishing images. Recommended. – Katherine Dacey

Pandora Hearts, Vol. 7 | By Jun Mochizuki | Yen Press – After a seemingly random detour to Lutwidge Academy (the school attended by Oz’s sister) provides information about “the tragedy of Sablier,” Pandora Hearts resumes its original mission, with Oz determined to learn the truth about why he was sent to the Abyss and his companion, Alice, renewing her search for her missing memories, even though they may be too traumatic to bear. Sometimes this series is hard to follow—this volume certainly contains a few abrupt segues—but it continues to deliver on character arcs. Sure, Oz’s desire to grow stronger pretty generic, but I quite like the plight of his childhood friend, Gilbert, who faces a future where his aid is less useful to Oz, and newish character Elliot has some intriguing potential as well. Add in a bit of background for enigmatic and eccentric Break, and this is quite a satisfying volume! – Michelle Smith

Soul Eater, Vol. 7 | By Atsushi Ohkubo | Yen Press – This volume is less exciting than the previous ones, mostly as the last arc has ended and the author is taking his time setting up the new one. This is not to say there is nothing of interest, though. Soul Eater continues to appeal to me for its artistic design, which manages to combine funny and creepy better than anyone else – even Franken Fran should take lessons from Ohkubo. After Medusa, Arachnae seems underwhelming so far, but she’s only just established herself. Not to mention that Medusa – or at least hallucinations of her – isn’t far away, and I wonder what Stein will do. The biggest surprise of the series to date, though, is seeing Crona join the side of the good guys – despite remaining a twitching mess, and still having that double personality of a weapon inside him/her. It’s a testament to Maka’s friendship building skills that Crona’s trying at all. And it wouldn’t be Soul Eater without at least one drop-dead funny scene – Marie’s introduction, and her decision to marry a toilet, immediately tells us that she is a Christmas Cake of the finest kind, and I hope she gets more to do later. Great fun, even if this volume is ‘shifting gears’ more than ‘constant thrills’. – Sean Gaffney

The Story of Saiunkoku, Vol. 5 | By Kairi Yura and Sai Yukino | VIZ Media – Much as I love this series, this volume is kind of a mess in terms of storytelling. It starts with a pleasant-enough but forgettable sequence with its heroine, Shurei, suffering from a cold and her devoted circle of men trying to make her feel better while dealing with their own rivalries. It’s cute, but it feels like a side story in a series where volumes usually launch strongly. The main story introduces a heap of plot elements too quickly, from the impending civil service exam to the nation’s criminal underworld to an admittedly awesome courtesan of Shurei’s acquaintance. The characters still shine through all of the clutter, but I missed the focused clarity of previous story arcs. It felt less like a complete reading experience than previous volumes. On the bright side, Yura does maintain the admirable level of prettiness she’s always brought to her illustrations. – David Welsh

Yotsuba&!, Vol. 10 | By Kiyohiko Azuma | Yen Press – The tag line of this series, “Enjoy everything,” pretty much says it all. Readers get the opportunity to follow an energetic, quirky kid through the average moments of her life. She hangs out with friends, family, and neighbors. She invents games, makes pancakes, goes shopping, and occasionally misbehaves. Azuma’s grasp of kid logic elevates the material from being simply identifiable to hitting some wonderful comic highs. When she gets a picture book with animal stickers in it, her delight manifests itself very specifically: “Ohhh… this is a lifesaver.” That’s funny, because it isn’t something you’d expect a kid to say, but it’s extra funny, because you can absolutely see a kid saying it. That’s Azuma’s specialty: a grounded approach that finds the little bits of weirdness in everyday life, going easy on the outright sentiment while still investing everything with a heartfelt quality. It’s kind of magical. – David Welsh

Yotsuba&!, Vol. 10 | By Kiyohiko Azuma | Yen Press – It’s hard to know how to review a volume of Yotsuba&!. I mean, it’s just sweet, y’know? There’s just lots of moments in this volume that are simply worth reading. Jumbo’s reaction to seeing photos of Asagi and Koiwai at the balloon fair; Asagi’s casual cruelty towards Fuuka when she lends Yotsuba the medicine ball; Fuuka showing that she may actually be the most eccentric one in the cast, rather than Yotsuba; Yotsuba’s frustration over not making perfect pancakes, and Miura’s frustration later on knowing that she may have to play Danbo FOREVER. The best chapter, though, is the one where Yotsuba panicked after breaking some dishes, lies about how it happened. What follows is pure beauty, with Yotsuba digging herself deeper and deeper and her father managing to brilliantly resolve things without yelling at her – in fact, his passive terrifying may be the best deterrent there is. Heck, even Yanda is tolerable here (though he’s still a jerk). Great series.– Sean Gaffney

Yotsuba&!, Vol. 10 | By Kiyohiko Azuma | Yen Press – It’s been nearly a year since I last read a volume of Yotsuba&!, and that was definitely way too long. I dove into this volume with relish and happily found that the first chapter, “Yotsuba & Playtime,” is quintessential Yotsuba&!, showing the title character at her most imaginative and her father at his most patient, even when her behavior borders on obnoxious. And, indeed, the fact that Yotsuba is capable of sulking and lying actually makes her adventures all the more wonderful because, in addition to ringing true, these moments give her father a chance to shine as he makes sure she learns the right lessons. He’s an intriguing guy and a terrific dad and I hope that whenever this series comes to an end we’ll get a glimpse of the kind of grown-up Yotsuba turned out to be thanks to his loving guidance. – Michelle Smith

The Drops of God, Vol. 1

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I promise to use only one wine metaphor in this review of the first volume of The Drops of God (Vertical): it gets better after it has a chance to breathe. The first few chapters of Tadashi Agi and Shu Okimoto’s tale of wine aficionados are kind of a slog.

There’s a behavior known as “mansplaining,” and I certainly think there’s a variation of it, “fansplaining.” You’ve all been engaged in conversation with someone who’s passionate about a particular entertainment who proceeds to bury you under unsolicited detail delivered with an unsettling degree of authority. (I’ve been both victim and perpetrator; I have no illusions about that.)

And Drops of God is absolutely fansplaining manga as only a certain type of seinen can be. Even though its protagonist is a novice to the world of wine, he’s surrounded by people who aren’t, and he’s thrust into a situation where he has to join their informed ranks. And the audience must gauge their tolerance for the level of detail they can endure regarding varietals, vineyards, rankings, price, and so on. There’s a lot of that, and the world of wine is often viewed as kind of byzantine and elitist and twee to begin with.

Personally, I can deal with a lot of fictional fansplaining if the characters are engaging. That’s why the first couple of chapters of this volume worried me. The leads came off as fairly flat, cookie-cutter versions of types you can see in literally a hundred different licensed manga: the brash, ignorant hero who happens to be enough of a savant to unsettle his highly trained, elitist rival, especially with the help of a book-smart rookie. Agi and Okimoto almost literally drown them in exposition in the early going, and I was kind of anxious that this eagerly anticipated title would turn into a charmless, didactic experience.

Then, a few chapters in, the creators start to relax a bit. The hero, Shizuku, reveals himself to be kind of an endearing dork. Yes, he’s suspiciously astute in terms of his ability to evaluate wine by taste, even though he tastes it for the first time in this comic, but he’s a pretty funny guy. Trainee sommelier Shinohara doesn’t quite transcend the thanklessness of her role as “girl who knows things but has no real personal stakes,” but I like her well enough.

The ostensible plot is a contest between Shizuku and a snooty wine critic to see who’s worthy of inheriting the legendary wine collection of Shizuku’s late father, a snooty wine critic in his own right. But the series really seems to be more about teaching readers about wine by showing the ways it can influence people’s character. Agi and Okimoto prove themselves to be pretty deft with that sort of thing, and, lectures aside, it’s the sort of thing I really enjoy in a manga.

It’s about hooch, it’s got amiable stars, and you can learn stuff about a subject that may be new to you while occasionally enjoying the comfortable structure of competition manga. I’m in for the duration.

 

Gate 7, Vol. 1

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By CLAMP. Released in Japan by Shueisha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Jump Square. Released in North America by Dark Horse.

It’s been a busy fall for CLAMP here in North America. xxxHOLIC is finishing out its run at Del Rey, The re-release of X is out this week from Viz, and their new series, Gate 7, has come out from Dark Horse. This one runs in Shueisha’s Jump Square, which is still shonen but is well known for experimentation. And, like its parent magazine Weekly Shonen Jump, also has a large female readership. Which plays right into what CLAMP does best.

The trouble with giving the audience what they want, of course, is that they do not particularly want originality, or experimentation, or new things. What an audience typically wants is the same story told over and over, only with the names changed so we can pretend that they’re different characters. Heck, sometimes CLAMP even bypasses that, relying on using tried and tested characters in new situations (Tsubasa, X…). Of course, the problem with this is that reading the first volume of a new work of theirs can feel a bit like making ticks on a list.

Let’s see, straight man hero who seems to exist to be exasperated, befuddled, and ask questions: check. With a supernatural secret: check. Meets up with two complementary hot, long-legged and tall guys who may or may not be lovers but the fandom will have decided they are from panel one: check. And a mysterious person of ambiguous gender to hook up with the hero, again giving a frisson of BL while still having an out if the creators do decide they need them female for some reason: check. And the entire plot, about a war between two sides to see who can gain the powers of demons.

So I think we’ve established that this is The Pick Of The Best Of Some Recently Repeated CLAMP Hits Again, Vol. 2. That said, CLAMP would have to work much harder than they are to tell a boring story, and the whole thing ends up being interesting and a page-turner almost despite itself. Working in the Edo period history is not only a good way to ground everything, but quite timely given how many Edo period manga are coming out here these days. The lead is nice enough, even if his “history buff” trait screams of a plot device. I wish he’d have more personality, but I suspect if he got upset he’d be a complete Watanuki clone, instead of just half of one. Hana is Hina from Suki with added powers: still having that same sense of childlike naivete that everyone wants to protect. Tachibana and Sakura are any number of types, but in this volume I was most reminded of Kurogane and Fai.

See how I try to talk about how I still found the manga enjoyable, but ended up drifting off into how everything reminded me of something else again? Yeah, I think I’ll have to go with that. CLAMP are now marketing nostalgia for CLAMP. And this title is for everyone who liked X and Tokyo Babylon and RG Veda and Tsubasa and wants to set their empty glass down on CLAMP’s bar and say “Another, please!” And y’know, it’s still pretty tasty, even if you know exactly what you’re getting.