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From the stack: Maid Shokun vol. 1

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As I was fulfilling my obligation to read Maid Shokun (Tokyopop), a question kept crossing my mind: is this what postmodern fan-service looks like? The cover promises to serve up a hearty tray full of pandering, and the concept – what is it like to work at a maid café? – invites the reader to impose all kinds of parenthetical phrases and subtext. But the series is really just about what it’s like to work at a maid café. Seriously, who does that?

In this case, Akira Kiduki and Nanki Satou are the ones who do that, and they did it for Comic Gum published by Wani Books. I don’t know much about Comic Gum, but it seems like the kind of magazine where fans of the up-skirt will feel right at home. This leads me to wonder what its target audience must have thought of a series that goes so far as to squarely consider the inner lives of women whose job it is to cater to one of their fetishes.

Kiduki and Satou are clearly and consciously creating tension between the services that the café provides – pretty girls in uniform cheerfully greeting guests as “Master” – and the fact that these employees are real women with complicated lives independent of their work. The maids display a fondness for their clientele that’s free of condescension; they like that they can provide these men with brief escape from their often bleak lives. But they’re very clear on the boundaries between occasional fantasy and the day to day.

The creators aren’t averse to letting things get messy. One customer loses sight of the aforementioned boundaries, which triggers a complicated series of responses among the café’s employees. It highlights the delicate balance those boundaries require to sustain the fantasy and keep it safe. Media attention proves to be a blessing and a curse for the establishment, and the maids are forced to consider the possibility of becoming an adult establishment. A relationship between two of the employees reveals homophobia in the workplace. Kiduki and Satou have a lot on their minds, and very little of it involves giving their readers a quick thrill.

Unfortunately, the series is more interesting conceptually than in execution. The creators are better at introducing ideas than incorporating them into a story, which results in a lot of chatter that’s more expository than involving. The characters inspire varying degrees of sympathy and interest. Some are clearly types – bossy girl Arumi, dippy innocent Chiyoko – but some show real potential – floor manager Haine, the most grounded, mature presence in the joint. Unfortunately, the types get the most focus, which makes it hard to invest much feeling in the series.

Still, this series is a whole lot more than a cursory consideration would suggest. If anything, it’s too cerebral in its approach to allow a reader to really enter the world it’s trying to evoke. With a little more heart, it could be something quite special. Of course, we’re unlikely to ever find out if it achieves that, since Tokyopop only managed to release one volume before shuttering its manga publishing efforts. I wouldn’t say I’m devastated by that outcome, as I can’t see Maid Shokun becoming a cherished favorite, but this book has offered a lot of food for thought.

 

Random weekend question: independents day

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There’s a ton of excellent manga that fits neatly into certain categories and story genres. And there’s vast variation within those narrow-only-on-paper segments of the market. But what are some of your favorite manga that defy easy categorization?

Here are three that come to my mind:

  • Love Roma, by Minoru Toyoda, Del Rey, five volumes: With its chunky, low-fidelity art and funky comic rhythms, this series turns high-school romance on its head in some delightful ways.
  • Peepo Choo, by Felipe Smith, Vertical, three volumes: It’s a junkyard dog of a comic that you can’t help but love in spite of the fact that it will probably try to bite you at least once.
  • Red Snow, by Susumu Katsumata, Drawn & Quarterly, one volume: Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s indie shorts get most of the love when it comes to gekiga, but this rural-focused collection of magical-realist tales is my clear favorite among D&Q’s manga offerings.

What are your picks?

Pretty Little Liars by Sara Shepard

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From the front flap:
Gossip thrives amid the Mercedes-Benzes, mega mansions, and perfectly manicured hedges in the exclusive town of Rosewood, Pennsylvania. Behind their big Gucci sunglasses, beneath their perfectly pressed Polos, everyone has something to hide, especially high school juniors Spencer, Aria, Emily, and Hanna. Spencer covets her sister’s gorgeous new boyfriend. Aria is having an affair with her English teacher. Emily is infatuated with the new girl at school. And Hanna is using some ugly tricks to stay beautiful. Deeper and darker still is a horrible secret the girls have shared since sixth grade—a secret they thought was safe forever.

Review:
Confession: I have become addicted to the ABC Family adaptation of Pretty Little Liars. Now that it has started its second season, I figured it was safe to read the first book in the series. As it turns out, said book only covers the first few episodes of the show, so I needn’t have delayed.

The series was originally developed by Alloy Entertainment—who is behind most of the YA novel series that have recently become TV shows—to be a kind of teen version of Desperate Housewives. (I’d say that description is pretty apt, except that I think Pretty Little Liars is the better show, largely because when your protagonists do really stupid things it’s more forgivable when they’re sixteen than when they’re thirty-something.) Even though Sara Shepard receives sole authorship credits, interviews suggest that it’s really a team effort.

The first novel sets up the series and the secrets that each of its four protagonists carries. Back in sixth and seventh grade, Aria, Hanna, Spencer, and Emily clustered around their dazzling queen bee, Alison, who alternately beguiled and belittled them (and many others). She goaded them into a dangerous act of vandalism that left a fellow student blinded—an incident henceforth referred to as “the Jenna thing”—and then disappeared the summer before eighth grade. Aria’s family moved to Iceland shortly thereafter and the remaining girls—grieving but a little relieved to be free of Alison’s influence—drifted apart.

Now, three years later, Aria is back and so, possibly, is Alison, since each of the four girls begins receiving mysterious messages (text, e-mail, and handwritten) from someone calling themselves only “A.” A seems to know everyone’s secrets, and there are many. Bohemian Aria is having a secret fling with her English teacher, and also knows that her dad was cheating on her mom three years ago; obedient Emily is secretly attracted to girls; overachieving Spencer is not-so-secretly attracted to her sister’s boyfriend; and Hanna—impatient, impulsive, newly popular Hanna—secretly feels desperately unloved, and has a couple scrapes with the law while trying to conquer her bulimia. Chapters alternate between the characters, and it’s only at the end, when they discover that they’ve all been A’s victims, that they seem poised to renew their friendship.

It’s hard for me to say how I would feel about the novel had I not seen the show. There are differences, of course—a different timeline of events, characters who do not resemble the actresses ultimately chosen to portray them, some siblings for Emily, more bad behavior than ABC Family evidently was comfortable with—but nothing major plot-wise. I think the TV series is more effective at humanizing the characters—especially Hanna, who unexpectedly became my favorite—and making them likeable, but reading the book helped me understand the characters better, especially Aria and Emily.

So, why should you check out Pretty Little Liars, in either of its forms? For the cracktastic soapy goodness with protagonists whom you can still like even if they do ridiculous things like steal their boyfriend’s car because he won’t put out and crash it into a tree. Sure, I’m a little embarrassed to be reading/watching it at my advanced age, but it entertains me, and sometimes that’s enough.

Kiss me

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I can’t quite get the topic of the week, josei manga, out of my head. Kodansha Comics has made a solid (if painfully protracted) start, and they scored about a zillion points for announcing Sailor Moon. That said, English-language manga publishers are thin on the ground, and if I’m going to nag one or two publishers about their shortage of josei offerings, fairness demands I nag them all. So here are two titles from Kodansha’s Kiss that intrigue me.

I’ve never made it all the way through Mrs. Doubtfire, but this doesn’t mean that I’ve got anything against nannies in drag. In fact, it’s safe to say that I would probably enthusiastically read Waki Yamato’s Babysitter Gin! It ran for nine volumes in Kiss starting in 1998, and it features a caregiver named Gin who fixated on Mary Poppins as a child and has wanted to bring joy to little ones ever since. As an added inducement, I would really love to see this kind of manga created by the woman who adapted The Tale of Genji into manga.

I know I’m not alone in my limited resistance to manga about people who see dead people, and I feel like I deserve the opportunity to confirm that I’d enjoy a josei take on the subject. This draws my beady eye to Madoka Kawagushi’s Shi to Kanojo to Boku. It’s a ten-volume series about a girl who can see the dead and a boy with supernatural hearing. They encounter mysterious forces and grow up along the way.

As an aside, it would also be awesome if Kodansha resumed publication of Nodame Cantabile. Just saying.

 

Oresama Teacher 1-2 by Izumi Tsubaki

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Sometimes, one just wants to read a silly, goodhearted comedy. And on that front, Oresama Teacher delivers admirably.

Mafuyu Kurosaki used to be the bancho of her school (though she didn’t realize it at the time) until she got nabbed by the cops and expelled. Her mother finds a school in the country that will accept Mafuyu, and ships her off for a fresh start. Although Mafuyu is a skilled and savvy fighter, the allure of life as a normal girl is appealing, and she embraces the opportunity to start over, full of self-assurance developed from her days as a gang leader.

Alas, she soon encounters her childhood first love (Tamaoki Saeki), who was responsible for steering her toward the path of delinquency in the first place. Worse, he’s now her homeroom teacher, and embroils Mafuyu and her lone-wolf classmate Hayasaka (another brawler) in his wager with the principal that he can boost the school’s enrollment by quelling the disciplinary issues arising from the lax admittance policy. Mafuyu and Hayasaka are the muscle to keep the other delinquents in line, essentially. Mafuyu is not very keen on this, especially because she’s enjoying how Hayasaka treats her like an ordinary girl, so masquerades as a couple of other people (a boy called Natsuo and Super Bun, a rabbit-mask-wearing girl whom Hayasaka idolizes) when administering the necessary smackdowns.

I almost wrote “hilarity ensues” at the end of the prior paragraph, because that’s just what one does after detailing a suitably wacky premise like this one, but the thing is… Oresama Teacher really is funny, and that’s got everything to do with the characters. I don’t care much for Saeki—mangaka Izumi Tsubaki resists the temptation to endow him with redeeming qualities—but he works as the instigator of over-the-top situations, and some of his interactions with Mafuyu are very amusing (like the scene in which they discover that neither of them can cook).

More to my liking is the relationship between Mafuyu and Hayasaka, which persists despite both of them frequently misunderstanding the other’s motivations. When she tries to find out more information about Saeki (in order to confirm he really is the same boy who used to live next door), for example, Hayasaka assumes she’s looking for material with which to blackmail him. At first, Hayasaka resists the idea that they are friends, but his prickly attitude gradually starts to dissipate. He’s incredibly dense and easy to fool with lame disguises, but Mafuyu, used to being looked up to by her followers/friends, likes the way he treats her as an equal. At one point, he begins to suspect that she is his idol, Super Bun, forcing Mafuyu to dissuade him of the notion just so he’ll stop looking at her all dreamy-like. It’s lonely being revered.

I never did read Tsubaki’s other Shojo Beat series, The Magic Touch, as general consensus seemed to be that it wasn’t that great, but I’m exceedingly glad I didn’t let that stop me from checking out Oresama Teacher, which is a genuinely entertaining read. Tsubaki herself doesn’t seem all that keen on the story—she makes several references in her author’s notes to the fact that various elements of the series were dictated by her editors—but you can’t tell while reading it. And anything that makes me snicker as much as these two volumes did is definitely a keeper.

Review copies provided by the publisher.

3 Things Thursday: Characterization & Emotional Truth

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Though I rarely wax nostalgic over flame wars, I’ll admit that searching for the comment I quoted in yesterday’s “Soapbox” post led me to revisit the material that inspired it. I won’t reiterate the entire argument here, or even my entire premise, but here’s a brief excerpt that I think expresses quite well what my purpose is in experiencing and writing about fiction:

“My focus as a reader/critic/human being is now and always will be discussion/analysis of a work’s emotional content. That is what I know about, and that is what I’m most interested in and qualified to write about. That is what my background prepares me for. That is what I care about in the world. The real purpose of fiction in my life is that it gives me the opportunity to interact directly with someone else’s inner life. This is not only what I find most compelling about other people, but I’d even go so far as to say it’s the way I best connect with the human race as a whole. It’s is a delicious smorgasbord of humanity. It’s where people communicate what’s most important to them, often even within formulaic structures and “fluff” pieces. It is, on a very basic level, a window into another person’s soul.”

Let me elaborate just a little on that. Like a lot of voracious readers, I’m a fairly introverted person. One of the side-effects of this is that I spent the vast majority of my growing years appreciating and cultivating my own inner life to a much greater extent than the one I physically shared with other people. This does not mean that I don’t like other people or don’t enjoy interacting with them. It does mean that I often find I understand other people more easily when I’m given the opportunity to examine their inner lives, and since I think understanding other people is a pretty vital part of life, I spend a lot of time doing that.

It is this, along with a number of other factors, that led to me spending most of my youth and a large chunk of my working adulthood as a singer and stage actress. As immersive as reading or watching fiction can be, there is nothing more revealing (and, frankly, thrilling) than exploring someone else’s inner world by actually becoming a player in it. It’s a transformative experience in every way, and I recommend it heartily, if not as a way of life, at least as an enlightening pastime.

I bring all this up, because I’ve previously mentioned that I think my approach as a manga critic is deeply informed by having been an actor, but I’ve never really explained what that means. What I mean when I say that, is that I think being an actor gave me some specific tools for understanding storytelling, particularly in terms of characterization and emotional truth (the two main elements I’m referring to when I mention “emotional content”), both of which are essential to effective, believable fiction, regardless of medium.

Now, to the point! All this has been a fairly long-winded introduction to this week’s 3 Things…

3 critical elements of characterization in storytelling I learned from The Theater:

1. Intention. I’m not here to argue acting technique, and frankly, I think a lot of it is pretty hit-or-miss, but I will say that out of all the various techniques I encountered during my years of study and professional work, the thing that consistently worked for me was a focus on intention. What do I want, and how do I get it? Nearly everything we do as human beings is motivated by intention, and this is true of fictional characters as well, at least the ones that are written effectively. One of the things I most enjoy looking at when I’m analyzing comics, is the intention of each of the story’s characters, and how consistently the author is able to maintain those intentions throughout the work. Certainly a particular character’s intention may change over the course of a series (and even within that, there is an intention in every moment that may actually, realistically conflict), but a strong writer will discover that her characters’ intentions are more important than her own when it comes to writing a believable story. Which brings us nicely to…

2. Truth. When asked if he preferred playing good guys or bad guys, Willem Dafoe is famously quoted as having said, “Ain’t no difference. Everybody thinks they’re righteous.” This is absolutely so, and a failure to recognize this fact is why so many stories that feature the concept of “good vs. evil” fail to ring true. People are masters of self-deception, and all of us will do what we convince ourselves is right, even if “right” translates as “right for us” or “the right way to avoid having to do things we don’t like.” Even if we say we did something we know is wrong, we’ve still justified to ourselves why we were “right” to do it anyway. That’s just what we do. It’s how we continue to go on. While humans as a society may strive (mostly unsuccessfully) to identify common truths, it’s clear to anyone who has spent five minutes watching the evening news that trying to lay out universal concepts of “good” and “evil” is beyond futile.

What’s not at all futile, however, is determining individual truth, and when it comes to characterization, this is vital. The best writers know how to separate their own personal truths (which may influence things like theme) from the individual truths of their characters, allowing each of them to exist truthfully and independently in the story. When something reads as out of character, most of the time it’s because the writer has forgotten this, or has tried to use a character as a shortcut to the writer’s own truth. This really never works. For an actor, this kind of writing is deadly, because it means she must take actions that are at odds with her intentions. This is no less deadly for a comic.

3. Show, don’t tell. But don’t “show” either. “Show, don’t tell,” is a pretty fantastic mandate. It instructs writers of all kinds to let both their own ideas and their characters’ intentions be revealed through action instead of narration or inner dialogue, and often an adherence to this directive is what makes the difference between a story that doesn’t work and one that does. But one thing actors learn pretty early on, is that sometimes “showing” can be just the same as “telling.” What I’m talking about here is what we’d refer to in high school acting class as “indicating.” When an actor is “indicating,” instead of doing something, she’s trying to show the audience that she’s doing something, essentially telling them what she feels by using familiar gestures or visual cues. For instance, instead of thinking, “I’m really sad,” and acting on her whatever her intention is from that point, she’s thinking, “I have to show the audience that I’m really sad,” and actually trying to make that her intention. You might think this works, but it doesn’t, because instead of watching the character, the audience is actually watching the actor, which is not the same thing at all, and will never read as true.

Comics creators can fall into the same trap, essentially using “showing” as “telling,” even without narration or dialogue. A writer may think he is carefully revealing his character’s thoughts and intentions in the manner of “show, not tell,” but because he’s so worried that the audience may not get it, he’s inserted some extra visual cues and emphasis, just to make sure, and before he knows it, he’s actually telling instead, even without using any words. This pulls us out of the character’s truth and into the author’s process, making the character less believable.

With a character’s truth and intention in place, any comic can be believable, whether it’s a deep look at the psychology of mountain climbers or a cracktastic boys’ love epic. Any type of story can be believable if it is rooted in emotional truth, and it is through these stories that we continue to understand and learn from each other as we struggle with the realities of our lives. Creating, distributing, and experiencing/interacting with art is the most powerful method we have for establishing human connection.

And that’s what I learned from the theater.

From the stack: Saturn Apartments vol. 3

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Hisae Iwaoka’s Saturn Apartments (Viz) is the only title that I’d read prior to its inclusion in the top ten list of the Young Adult Library Services Association’s 2011 Great Graphic Novels for Teens. I can’t help but compare this book to Kou Yaginuma’s Twin Spica (Vertical), which earned a place on the main list. I like them both a lot, but I tend to think I’d have argued for Spica to take Saturn’s place in the top ten.

This is mostly because Spica has a stronger underlying narrative. It’s got a clearer arc and digs deeper into its cast of characters. That doesn’t suggest failure on the part of Saturn, as the first two volumes clearly indicate that it has different aims, favoring episodic world-building rather than sequential storytelling. It’s easy to enjoy Saturn chapter by chapter, but it’s easier to become involved in Spica, if that makes any sense.

In the third volume of Saturn Apartments, Iwaoka seems to undertake the construction of some substantial subplots. Stand-alone chapters give way to small story arcs, and threads start to recur throughout the volume. This is welcome in a way, because it shows an intention to give the series more weight, but it also seems like this kind of plotting may not be Iwaoka’s strongest skill.

After two volumes of beautifully drawn, gentle glimpses into Iwaoka’s orbital world, the subplots feel rather clumsily wedged into the narrative. They aren’t unpromising, but their emergence feels abrupt. It strikes me that none of the supporting characters were yet able to carry that much purpose at the time it was thrust upon them. The eventual (and logical) inclusion of Mitsu in that thread may change that, but the sequences are still hampered by an imbalanced quantity of expository dialogue that’s out of step with the rest of the script.

One thing that does constitute a welcome development here is a slight shift in tone. Iwaoki is also expressing more interest in the class disparities that characterize the culture she’s built. There was nothing wrong with her initial approach, affirming the value of unglamorous work in a society, but it’s nice to see her underline some of the unfairness that keeps her fictional society ticking.

Overall, the series is still one of my favorites. Iwaoki’s graceful illustrations and fragile character designs continue to hold the eye, and the underlying concept is as sturdy and productive as ever. I just wish the shift to a different, more complex kind of story felt less awkward.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy provided by the publisher.)

 

Shonen Quick Takes – Arata, Nura, and Seiya

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Arata Volume 5 I think I’m really hampered from fully enjoying this series due to my familiarity with Watase’s other works. Modern Japanese Arata still is putting together the pieces of his quest in a fantasy world with an imperiled princess, while the Arata he switched places with is back in Japan navigating the difficulties of modern school life. Watase does do quest storylines very well, but there’s not much new here to someone that’s already read the piece/people collecting narratives of Fushigi Yugi and Fushigi Yugi: Genbu Kaiden. I continue to me more interested in the other Arata’s adventures in Japan, and in this volume he gets an unexpected ally when a classmate sees through his disguise. What disappointed me was the plot twist at the end, which seemed so reminiscent of the whole Miaka/Yui dynamic in Fushigi Yugi that it didn’t carry much suspense or dramatic tension for me.

Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan Volume 3

Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan continues with its well-executed story of a boy who happens to be the heir to a clan of demons. Nura confronts the rebellious Guyki, and comes up with some clever maneuvering with clan politics when his grandfather announces his intention to make Nura his formal heir. Nura’s classmate Kana is menaced by yokai, and when Nura’s older and stronger form comes to her rescue a little bit of a Lois Lane/Clark Kent dynamic develops when Kana suspects that her classmate and the powerful yokai boss might be connected. The volume wrapped up with a story where Nura’s grandfather meets the powerful exorcist Yura, who attempts to defend the old man she assumes is human from a yokai assassination attempt. There’s plenty of action in this manga, which is enlivened by all the off-kilter character designs used for the yokai. I think this is one of the more solid recent shonen manga series from Viz.

Saint Seiya: Knights of the Zodiac #27

My favorite of this recent batch of shonen manga was by far Knights of the Zodiac. I don’t collect every volume, but I’m always happy to read it when I come across one. The over the top manly shouting and endless battles between gods ensures that it isn’t too hard to just pick up a ransom volume and enjoy it, without worry too much about the ongoing storylines. Basically I read Knights of the Zodiac for two things: crazy battle shouts and ridiculous moments of insanity. The Bronze Knights are about to battle the henchmen of Hades, but there are horrible complications that might prevent them from being effective in battle. Awesome battle cries were in evidence from the first few pages as Dragon fights a trio with their “Grand Axe Crusher!, Blood Flower Scissors!, and Annihilation Flap!” No! Not the Flap! The craziest image in this manga occurred when Thantos was describing to Seiya how he trapped Athena in a vampiric urn, which slowly turns red as it absorbs all of her blood, thus killing her. Athena is shown sleeping with her head sticking out of an urn, tendrils of hair spread out everywhere. Phoenix shows up, as does Seiya’s long-lost sister. Everybody is gearing up for the final battle in the next volume, which I am going to have to get. I certainly hope Athena manages to escape from her vampiric pottery prison.

Review copies of Arata and Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan provided by the publisher.

Soapbox: Women’s Manga

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Over the weekend, I participated in a discussion about josei manga (manga for women) on Ed Sizemore’s Manga Out Loud podcast, along with Manga Out Loud regular Johanna Draper Carlson and guest David Welsh. I was pretty surprised to be invited to this discussion since I’m not particularly knowledgeable about josei manga, nor have I written much about it here at Manga Bookshelf. In the end, though, I was quite thrilled to be there, as the topic resonated strongly with me in one way especially.

I’ve harped a bit on this before, in articles like Twilight & the Plight of the Female Fan at The Hooded Utilitarian, about fan perception of fiction for girls, and most recently in a mini-rant (scroll to item 3) about industry perception of boys’ love manga. One of the things that bothers me most as a fan of comics created for female readers is how little respect they command outside of their target audience (and often even within their target audience), to the point that we as an industry end up either apologizing for or deliberately concealing their intended demographic in order to try to make them palatable to others.

Publishers do it, and who can blame them? Would Ooku and Bunny Drop sell if they were marketed as part of a josei line? Would Wild Adapter have remained in print so long if TOKYOPOP had released it on their BLU imprint? Sadly, the answer is, “probably not.” Everybody’s research has proven to them that while women will buy books marketed for men, the opposite is simply not true. So who can blame them for trying to attract a broader audience, if all that means is that they simply decline to mention that a book was originally created for women? It’s still the same book after all, right? Do I want to see these things in print, or would I rather they just faded away, like all the books from Aurora Publishing and NETCOMICS, whose awesome collection of women’s manhwa apparently couldn’t survive even in digital form?

Readers do it, and it’s hard to blame them either. Who hasn’t been put in the position of having to over-explain to a skeptical friend, “I know the cover is pink, but it’s really good, I swear!” We explain because we think we have to, and we think we have to because we’ve been conditioned to believe that something specifically created with girls or women in mind is less well-crafted, less intelligent, and less universally relevant than something that’s not. I came down pretty hard on female readers in that earlier HU article for distancing themselves from “girly” stuff, but there are a lot of reasons why that happens, a lot of traps set for women to fall into, and it’s really quite difficult to avoid those traps since they’ve been in place for so long.

We’ve been told repeatedly (and many of us, recently) that certain traits most often attributed to works for women are inherently inferior to those valued by men, and it’s difficult to make an argument against biases that are treated as fact to begin with. Not all that long ago, for instance, after I’d taken the time to write a thoughtful, heartfelt explanation of what I look for in fiction, how I talk about it, and why I think that is important, a man commented with this reductive statement, “MJ: Your school of fiction was established over 200 years ago: sentimentalism. It had its virtues, but there are good reasons why sentimentalism is generally deprecated today.”

Well. How can someone argue with “facts” like those?

And the truth is, I’m far from immune to the traps, especially when it comes to talking about romance comics, and particularly boys’ love, which I’ve made the mistake of critiquing as a genre in the past. Take my writing for the recent Manga Moveable Feast, for instance. Though I think I should be able to say, “Wild Adapter is an excellent manga,” explain why it is excellent, and leave it at that, what I found myself saying (sometimes subtly) throughout all my features was, “Yes, Wild Adapter is BL, but you should read it anyway, because it’s an excellent manga,” or even “Yes, Wild Adapter is BL, but you should read it anyway because this really smart man says it’s an excellent manga.” It was desperate and out of character, but I could feel myself doing it, and I couldn’t stop because I felt so strongly that the series was being dismissed out of hand specifically for that reason.

So what can we do when the biases are so clear? What can we even ask for in an industry that struggles for readers regardless of demographic?

Maybe all we can do is continue talking about it, at least for now. So, readers, what do you think?

Download the podcast, “The Plight of Josei Manga,” at Manga Out Loud.

Speaking of josei…

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Ed (Manga Out Loud) Sizemore and Johanna (Manga Worth Reading) Draper Carlson were kind enough to invite MJ(Manga Bookshelf)  and I to participate in a podcast on the subject of manga for women. Johanna has also posted a handy timeline describing josei’s start-and-stop presence in the licensed manga market. I believe this is the first time I’ve participated in a podcast when you can’t hear my dogs barking in the background. I think they were napping.