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Revisiting Kinderbook

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Alexander (Manga Widget) Hoffman mentioned in a comment that one of the obstacles to the release of Kan Takahama’s Awabi (Fanfare/Ponent Mon) is the relatively weak sales of Takahama’s Kinderbook. This is unfortunate, partly for the resulting delay of Awabi, but mostly because Kinderbook is a really, really good collection of short stories from a very intriguing creator.

I thought it would be a good reason to revisit my very old Flipped column on the title, which ran at Comic World News in December of 2005.

Take Kan Takahama’s Kinderbook, a sublime collection of short stories about love, sex, aging, connection, and loss. More specifically, look at the story that opens the volume, “Women Who Survive.”

In it, an elderly woman has decided to retire to the country. She’s handing over management of her art gallery to her son-in-law and is cheerfully contemplating a future of drawing, decline, and death. Blunt and crusty, the woman also possesses an understated generosity of spirit. She moves through her day meeting with one of the artists who exhibits at her gallery, a young student, and her daughter’s family. Each exchange is filled with casually revealing moments, drawing the reader further into the woman’s world and giving a sense of the magnitude of her decision.

Visually, the story has elegance, precision, and warmth. Takahama’s rendering of her central figure is both unflinching in its portrayal of the marks and lines of age and radiant in the happiness and humor that enliven the woman’s countenance. Snippets of overheard conversation provide backdrop and counterpoint, and the visual focus wanders, as if you’re seeing the world out of the corner of the old woman’s eye.

Then, just when the reader expects a gentle closure, Takahama overturns things with a blissful surprise. In spite of her careful plans for its remainder, life is not quite done with the protagonist. It’s tart, ironic, and heartwarming at the same time, and you can’t help but marvel at Takahama’s mastery of tone and bask in the pleasure of a manga-ka at the peak of her powers.

Then, if you’re like me, you read the biography in the back flap and learn that the exquisite “Women Who Survive” was Takahama’s debut story. Starting from that position of strength, you can’t help but wonder if Takahama can pull off that kind of gemlike storytelling again. She does, over and over, until you reach the end of Kinderbook and are left hungry for more.

Honestly, if a collection had only one story as good as “Women Who Survive,” it would be well worth the cost. But Kinderbook is filled with distinctly wonderful stories, from the ironic bite of the title story to the lyrical sensuality of “Red Candles, Futile Love,” to the gentle humor of “Minanogawa Blues.”

Rereading the book is always a pleasure, as it reminds you of the range of characters living inside of Takahama’s head. She has a particular facility with worldly but not yet mature young women, demonstrated in stories “Kinderbook: A Picture Story for Melancholic Girls” and “Highway, Motel, Skyline.” The latter features graduation day at a girls’ school, and the milestone generates some wonderfully frank, cynical conversation. These young women aren’t cheerfully imagining careers or romance; they’re focused on an earthier kind of freedom – the parties, the opportunity to ditch boyfriend baggage, a new environment full of the possibilities of the moment.

In a bleaker vein, there’s “Over There, Beautiful Binary Suns,” exploring a problematic, emotionally unbalanced sexual affair. Takahama is unsparing in just about every way in this piece, from the clumsy, almost embarrassingly intense seaside tryst to the melodramatic exchange that narrates it to the undeniable vein of ridicule and role play that inform the whole piece. She’s both distanced herself from the material and chosen to present it with uncommon frankness, and the results are awkward and amazing. I love stories that balance seemingly oppositional tonal elements, and this is a fine example.

All of these stories came from Seirindo’s legendary Garo magazine, which did a nice job of overturning my expectations of the material from that anthology. Those were really more biases and assumptions, to be honest, and having seen the range of material in Top Shelf’s AX collection reminded me that “experimental” or “independent” need not always mean “gritty” or “edgy.” Those terms can also refer to graceful works that still manage to be sharp.

I don’t really have any illusions about how much of a difference I can make in sales of a book that’s been out for over a decade, and I recognize the distribution difficulties that can make Fanfare’s books hard to find, but I hope you’ll reconsider Kinderbook if you haven’t already read it. And if you have written about it, please send me a link so I can add it to this post.

Failure Friday: BL edition

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One of the things about “failure” when it comes to something like fiction is, that to a pretty significant extent, whether or not something fails is influenced by the taste of the individual. Sure, there are particular standards we set up–ways we believe we can measure skill and craft–but so much of what makes a story work (or not) really comes down to taste, no more, no less.

As a critic, it’s part of my job to evaluate things against the standards set by history, the industry, and my peers, and as a blogger, it’s my job to give readers a reason to care about my conclusions. With so many manga blogs out there, what do I have to offer that’s unique? My background, perhaps, my personality… and a slew of similar items that mainly come around to “taste.” And in a genre like boys’ love, my taste is pretty specific.

Why the long introduction? Before I begin to discuss what makes a BL manga fail for me, I want to be clear that “failure” here means “failure to satisfy my tastes.” I’m specifying this, because I’m going to be making a lot of sweeping points about failures in BL manga, and since this genre lives and breathes on its readers’ private fantasies, I want to be very clear that I’m judging these manga against my own, not passing judgement on anyone else’s.

Part of the impetus behind writing a BL edition of Failure Friday was a visit to my old post My thoughts on yaoi (no, really), written quite a long time ago, when I’d read very little BL manga and had limited vocabulary for discussing what I found problematic. I’ve read quite a bit between then and now, and my tastes have refined themselves accordingly. I’ve also found books that defied my taste, by making me love them regardless of some of their content. So, now that I’ve disclaimed, here we go!

Four common BL failures (and some manga that overcome them):

1. Non-con: Rape fantasy is probably my most common deal-breaker when it comes to BL manga, most likely because it is so common in the genre. Even as a casual BL fan, it’s pretty much impossible to escape. And though it’s obviously a popular fantasy among readers, it’s definitely not mine. While rape as a plot element is something I don’t eschew (witness my love for Akimi Yoshida’s Banana Fish), as a precursor to romance, I find it personally abhorrent and far from romantic.

Successes: Some BL manga (and manhwa) I’ve found worthwhile despite the presence of non-con include U Don’t Know Me (Rakun/NETCOMICS), Gerard & Jacques (Fumi Yoshinaga/BLU), Ludwig II (You Higuri/Juné), and the second volume of The Tyrant Falls in Love (Hinako Takanaga/Juné).

2. Split focus: As evident by the range of works we’ve seen imported to the west, sexual content in BL manga runs the gamut from sweet, chaste romance to outright pornography. Now, any reader of romance knows that a believable relationship takes time to develop, and with so many BL anthologies and one-shots out there, it’s no surprise that many of them are unable to achieve that goal. There’s nothing wrong with plain ol’ porn, after all, and it certainly has its place in any grown-up demographic. Where BL writers frequently fail, however, is with story-killing indecision. One of the complaints I find myself frequently making when I review short BL is that, within a limited number of pages, and without a clear commitment to either story or porn, many manga simply fail at both. Mangaka, please choose! Tell a great story or give us some great porn, but please don’t do either half-heartedly.

Successes: A notable exception to this rule is Fumi Yoshinaga’s Ichigenme… The First Class is Civil Law (801 Media), which in just two short volumes manages to excel at both.

3. Identity white-out: While it’s understood that BL manga has nothing at all to do with queer identity, more and more BL appearing in English is managing to at least address the concept, while keeping its fantasy space intact. Books like Future Lovers (Saika Kunieda/Deux Press) and No Touching At All have proven that you can make your gay characters actually gay without causing a riot amongst female readers. And even among the usual identity-free BL, there’s still a difference between glossing over the characters’ sexuality and actively stamping it out. Even worse, are stories that cross into real homophobia, emphasizing the “shamefulness” of the characters’ sex lives, or trivializing them altogether by making all characters gay at random, like a lusty caricature of an English boys’ school.

Successes: Among series that deftly avoid queer identity, there are some that still manage to project a sense of positivity on the subject, like Eiki Eiki & Taishi Zaou’s Color (DokiDoki) and any book by est em (Deux Press, NETCOMICS).

4. Crack overload: I love cracktastic storytelling as much as anyone (and probably more than most), but when it comes to romance, I nearly always prefer believability over hilarity, if I have to make a choice. Even in a single chapter or one-shot, if the sex isn’t moving the story forward or, at the very least, really hot, it’s difficult for me to be interested. And anything that bothers to take up an entire volume without giving me something real, is pretty much a complete failure. Outrageous antics? Sexual humor? Pretty boys romping around? All of that is pretty much lost on me as a reader, and when I encounter a manga of that kind I mainly wish I could get my twenty minutes back.

Successes: This is probably the toughest kind of story to sell me on, as I’ve discovered very few of its ilk that have managed to woo me. Notable exceptions include Blood Honey (Sakyou Yozukura/BLU) and Deeply Loving a Maniac (You Higashino/801 Media).

It’s been quite a pleasure over the past few years to discover how many BL manga don’t fail for me as a reader, quite a few of which I’ve taken the opportunity to mention above. Whether there’s more BL being released today that suits my tastes, or whether I’ve simply discovered how to find it, I can’t quite say.

So, readers, what makes a BL story fail or succeed for you?

License request day: Umimachi Diary

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It’s award season, and while I should theoretically devote the next few license requests to some of the current honorees and nominees, I find myself distracted by the first set of nominees for the Manga Taisho Awards. I’m not distracted because of the bounty of titles yet to be licensed; it’s the volume of nominees we already have at our fingertips, and what fine comics they are.

Ôoku: The Inner Chambers, Kimi Ni Todoke: From Me to You, Natsume’s Book of Friends, Flower of Life, Moyasimon, Yotsuba&! … We can go into a store and buy all of these, and they’re terrific, terrific books. I’ve already mentioned another of the nominees in this feature (Fumi Yoshinaga’s What Did You Eat Yesterday?, and how fabulous is an awards program that nominates Yoshinaga three times in one year?), but I felt I had to dig deeper into the other contenders.

Oh, geez, you guys, the creator of Banana Fish is doing a josei series.

It’s called Umimachi (Sea Town) Diary, written and illustrated by Akimi Yoshida, and it’s running in Shogakukan’s Monthly Flowers. It’s about three sisters who learn of the death of their long-absent father and the existence of a fourth sister. From what I can determine, the publisher describes it as “ardent” and “raw,” and I have no resistance to those adjectives. Or those covers. It basically sounds like an observant drama about complicated women dealing with stressful new circumstances and old family issues. And it’s set in a town by the sea.

WHY CAN I NOT BUY THIS NOW? THE WANT… IT BURNS US!

Sorry. I lost the thread there for a minute. I’m better now.

It was nominated for the 2008 Taisho (losing to Shinichi Ichizuka’s Gaku, which I’ll get to later) and the Osamu Tezuka Cultural Prize twice, losing to Moyasimon in 2008 and Ôoku in 2009, which is perfectly respectable, and it received an Excellence Prize in the 2007 Japan Media Arts Festival. Three volumes have been released so far.

Beyond the fact that it sounds like a lovely series, there’s the not inconsiderable fondness for Yoshida’s Banana Fish to factor into the equation. For starters, the inimitable Shaenon Garrity featured it in her Overlooked Manga Festival, which is definitely a badge of honor. MJ(Manga Bookshelf) has assembled a murderer’s row of manga critics to break down the series volume by volume. And Banana Fish is over 30 years old. Can you imagine what Yoshida is capable of now?

Yes, this has been a great week for license announcements. Yes, one should occasionally take a moment to bask in what they have or will soon have rather than what’s not yet within their grasp. Neither of those things alters the fact that I want Umimachi Diaries, and I want it soon. Viz… Fantagraphics… it’s in your court.

3 Things Thursday: Easy People

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It’s been one of those days. You know the kind–where everything is stretched just a bit too far, and every time you’ve reached what you thought was the final straw, somehow another straw manages to shove itself in anyway.

On days like this, I crave warmth, food, and what the Nields would describe as “Easy People.” So for today’s 3 Things, I’m going to attempt to translate these concepts into manga. And maybe I’ll feel all better by the time I’m done.

3 Things: Warmth, Food, & “Easy People”

1. Warmth: Fruits Basket | Natsuki Takaya | TOKYOPOP – There are a lot of “warm” manga series out there, especially in the world of shoujo manga, but the first that springs to mind for me is Fruits Basket. Could there be a warmer heroine than Tohru Honda? And could that heroine possibly be more cherished and loved? The only question for me is, on a day like this, do I wish to be Tohru, or do I just want to know her? I think the latter might be just the ticket, but either way, there’s plenty of warmth and love in store.

1.Food: Antique Bakery | Fumi Yoshinaga | Digital Manga Publishing – This series could probably qualify on all three counts, but for now, let’s focus on the food. Though I tend to favor savory treats over sweets, there’s something about cakes and pastries as described by Yoshinaga that never fails to send me craving all the way to the nearest bakery. And reading this series back-to-back with Not Love But Delicious Foods Make Me So Happy might actually be the most perfect food combination possible.

3. Easy People: Maison Ikkoku| Rumiko Takahashi | Viz Media – This choice was actually the hardest, especially since Really Complicated And Also Very Broken People are by far my favorite types of manga characters. But there’s a special kind of comfort in the characters of Maison Ikkoku. Whatever their personal foibles may be, like a classic TV sitcom, you can count on them to never really change. There’s growth, sure, and some very satisfying moments to be sure, but at their core, these people are simple and predictable, and I mean that in the best way possible.

So, readers, what manga would you turn to for much-needed comfort?

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro

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Don’t be fooled by the kawaii covers: Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro is a melancholy little manga. The story focuses on an androgynous young woman on a pilgrimage. Kuro’s goal: to find the witch who inflicted a mysterious curse on her. Everywhere she goes, Kuro cuts a dramatic figure, wearing heavy black clothing, a Pilgrim hat, and a custom-sized coffin, which she straps to her back. Though she begins her journey with only a talking bat for a companion, she soon adds two members to her traveling “family”: Nijuku and Sanju, a pair of genetically engineered nekomimi whose creator was brutally murdered.

Kuro’s story is told primarily through four-panel, black-and-white strips, with full-color pages marking the beginning of each chapter. The format imposes a certain rhythm on the material that occasionally makes Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro a little too talky; I found myself wishing that Satoko Kiyuduki had allowed her spiky, expressive artwork to play a more prominent role in the storytelling. But the format also frees her from the constraints of a linear narrative, allowing the story to unfold in a less schematic, more relaxed fashion. The predominant mood is wistful bordering on elegiac; Kuro is always mindful that Nijuku and Sanju are too naive to understand what befell their creator, and worries what will happen to them at the end of their journey. Kuro, too, faces an uncertain future, as her body is slowly consumed by a deadly illness.

The jacket copy promises “all the whimsy of the most memorable fairy tales,” but I think that misses the point — if anything, Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro eschews whimsy in favor of dark complexity; anger and fear inform the behavior of many people Kuro meets in her travels, the threat of violence lurking just below the surface of their interactions. To be sure, the somber mood is lightened by plenty of broad comedy as various characters mistake Kuro for a vampire, a demon, a gravedigger, or — quelle horreur! — a boy. But even these comic moments are tinged with sadness: Kuro often finds herself cast out of towns, branded a witch, a weirdo, or worse, even though the residents are happy to profit from her skills.

Ultimately, it’s this mixture of melancholy and humor that makes Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro such a compelling read. The story never succumbs to mawkishness or easy sentiment, yet at the same time, it dares to tug a little at the heartstrings. Not everyone will find the series’ odd tone to their liking, especially those in search of a breezy riff on Western fairy tales. But for those looking something more thought-provoking — the kind of story that lingers in your mind after you’ve finished reading it — I highly recommend Kuro.

This is a revised version of a review that originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 4/29/08.

SHOULDER-A-COFFIN, KURO, VOLS. 1-2 • BY SATOKO KIYUDUKI • YEN PRESS • RATING: TEEN (13+)

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro

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Don’t be fooled by the kawaii covers: Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro is a melancholy little manga. The story focuses on an androgynous young woman on a pilgrimage. Kuro’s goal: to find the witch who inflicted a mysterious curse on her. Everywhere she goes, Kuro cuts a dramatic figure, wearing heavy black clothing, a Pilgrim hat, and a custom-sized coffin, which she straps to her back. Though she begins her journey with only a talking bat for a companion, she soon adds two members to her traveling “family”: Nijuku and Sanju, a pair of genetically engineered nekomimi whose creator was brutally murdered.

Kuro’s story is told primarily through four-panel, black-and-white strips, with full-color pages marking the beginning of each chapter. The format imposes a certain rhythm on the material that occasionally makes Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro a little too talky; I found myself wishing that Satoko Kiyuduki had allowed her spiky, expressive artwork to play a more prominent role in the storytelling. But the format also frees her from the constraints of a linear narrative, allowing the story to unfold in a less schematic, more relaxed fashion. The predominant mood is wistful bordering on elegiac; Kuro is always mindful that Nijuku and Sanju are too naive to understand what befell their creator, and worries what will happen to them at the end of their journey. Kuro, too, faces an uncertain future, as her body is slowly consumed by a deadly illness.

The jacket copy promises “all the whimsy of the most memorable fairy tales,” but I think that misses the point — if anything, Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro eschews whimsy in favor of dark complexity; anger and fear inform the behavior of many people Kuro meets in her travels, the threat of violence lurking just below the surface of their interactions. To be sure, the somber mood is lightened by plenty of broad comedy as various characters mistake Kuro for a vampire, a demon, a gravedigger, or — quelle horreur! — a boy. But even these comic moments are tinged with sadness: Kuro often finds herself cast out of towns, branded a witch, a weirdo, or worse, even though the residents are happy to profit from her skills.

Ultimately, it’s this mixture of melancholy and humor that makes Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro such a compelling read. The story never succumbs to mawkishness or easy sentiment, yet at the same time, it dares to tug a little at the heartstrings. Not everyone will find the series’ odd tone to their liking, especially those in search of a breezy riff on Western fairy tales. But for those looking something more thought-provoking — the kind of story that lingers in your mind after you’ve finished reading it — I highly recommend Kuro.

This is a revised version of a review that originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 4/29/08.

SHOULDER-A-COFFIN, KURO, VOLS. 1-2 • BY SATOKO KIYUDUKI • YEN PRESS • RATING: TEEN (13+)

Onwards and upwards with Vertical

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There’s some fabulous news from Vertical via Anime News Network. They’ve announced three new licenses, two of which are some of the most eagerly awaited of them all. (Coincidentally, both of those are license requests.)

First up is Osamu Tezuka’s Princess Knight, originally published in Kodansha’s Shôjo Club and to be released in two volumes here. Kodansha published bilingual editions ages ago, though they’re long out of print and very expensive. Viz published a sample chapter in its defunct Shojo Beat magazine, which raised hopes that a license might be imminent, but it took Tezuka specialists Vertical to make it happen. It was published in French by Soleil. (Update: It’s been suggested to me that Vertical is most likely to publish Tezuka’s second take on the series, which ran in Kodansha’s Nakayoshi roughly a decade after the original.) (Update 2: But they aren’t, and are, in fact, going with the original version. I’m delighted either way.)

Next is Drops of God, or Kami no Shizuku, written by Tadashi Agi (the pseudonym for wine-loving siblings Yuko and Shin Kibayashi) and illustrated by Shu Okimoto and serialized in Kodansha’s Weekly Morning. I don’t think there’s ever been a Japanese comic that’s received as much ink in English-language media, in spite of the fact that it had yet to be published in English. There was some indication in April of 2010 that the book’s licensing was imminent. It’s being published in French by Glénat.

Last up is No Longer Human, Usumaru Furuya’s adaptation of Osamu Dazai’s novel of the same name. It’s currently running in Shinchosha’s Comic Bunch. It’s about a troubled man who hides his true nature from the people around him.

Aside from a perfectly understandable level of excitement about these titles for their own merits, it’s nice to see that Kodansha is still working with other publishers to release titles that help express the breadth of their catalog, and it’s great that they chose Vertical, a company with a strong track record of publishing both classic and unique contemporary titles.

From the stack: The Story of Saiunkoku vol. 1

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It’s been a while since I felt that a comic was actively flirting with me. There are certainly plenty that I’ve liked, but most of them have stopped somewhere short of actively… well… luring me with just about every quality they possess.

I admit that I initially judged The Story of Saiunkoku (Viz), adapted by Kairi Yura from Sai Yukino’s novels, on a surface level. The cover is bland, and I’m drawn more by weird compositions than pretty faces of people in elaborate costumes. But when Kate Dacey noted that the book “makes [her] feel thirteen years old again” in a good way, I had to reconsider.

While reading the first volume of The Story of Saiunkoku, it bought me drinks from across the bar. It sent me funny and thoughtful text messages. It put its best foot forward, and it became more and more attractive as the encounter progressed. We’re dating now, and I hope you can be happy for us.

I should state up front that there’s almost no way I could resist a comic that features a smart, spirited heroine, a hot, gay emperor, lavish costumes and appointments, and grumpy old men scheming in the background. That comic would have to be actively awful for me not to be at least a little drawn to it, even if I knew the relationship would be… well… conflicted. But The Story of Saiunkoku is miles and miles from actively awful. To channel my thirteen-year-old self, it’s really dreamy.

The Story of Saiunkoku is a period piece about the imperial court of Saiunkoku. It follows a penniless but diligent young noblewoman named Shurei Hong, who enters into the service of the nation’s unmotivated, mildly scandalous young emperor as his consort. Up to this point, Shurei had been scrambling to keep body and soul together, teaching and taking odd jobs to put food on the table of her crumbling family manor. She’d always hoped to enter civil service to help her struggling country, but the men-only strictures of that career blocked her ambition. Now, she can use her considerable intelligence and work ethic to better the country right from the top.

Shurei isn’t just a goody-two-shoes optimist. Yura and Yukino make it clear from the outset that their heroine has a temper and a sharp tongue. In spite of her high status, she isn’t a delicate, sheltered lady. She’s known real deprivation and anxiety, and, when she talks about poverty, she’s not talking about the genteel, abstract variety. Immersion into the rarefied air of the imperial court doesn’t eliminate her instinct to scrimp, the constant rattle of the abacus in her head that tallies how much things cost and what they’re worth. But she isn’t judgmental about it; she isn’t averse to comfort or elegance, just more cognizant of its price tag than those around her.

The emperor she’s meant to serve, Ryuki, is agreed to be a disappointment on every level. He has no interest in governance, and he’d rather bed men, so there isn’t even a chance of him creating a more malleable, promising heir. He won’t even interact with Shurei or his other advisors initially, and it’s only Shurei’s unassuming charm (slyly applied) that leads him to engage with his responsibilities.

This is the point where The Story of Saiunkoku really kicks in, when we see what kind of person the emperor seems to be and glimpses of what kind of person he may actually become. As one would assume, there’s more than meets the eye to him, but the ambiguity remains, and his motivations and ambitions are still deliciously unclear. And Ryuki’s façade is a treat – handsome, lazy, dim, selfish, and more than a little weird. While the glimpses of his inner depths that the creators provide are welcome, his public face is quirky and intriguing in its own right. One of the smartest things a storyteller can do is to create natural, temperamental conflict between protagonists, and the similarities and differences between Shurei and Ryuki are promising in the ways they may evolve and comfortingly familiar in their initial highs and lows.

Also comforting are Yura’s illustrations. Her detailed renderings of court life are appropriately sumptuous, and her page compositions are often very lovely. I also like her knack for facial expressions; she conveys a fine range of emotions in close-up, and her faces can be very funny without seeming rubbery. Yura does lapse into a fairly common failing found in stories that feature a number of attractive men; some of the character designs can be a little repetitive, which can lead to some confusing moments. Overall, though, her drawings are heartfelt eye candy.

It may seem weird, but I find myself comparing The Story of Saiunkoku to Hiroshi Hitara’s Satsuma Gishiden (Dark Horse). That gorgeously violent drama also frames its primary narrative aims in a clearly defined social context that’s concerned with issues of governance, justice, and class. While Yura and Yukino obviously have gentler priorities, the cultural context elevates those intentions in the same way they do for Hitara’s muscular hack-and-slash. Absorbing characters and a well-crafted plot are important, but placing those elements in a world that lives and breathes on its own is a tremendous asset.

And Saiunkoku’s royal court does live and breathe, with its factions and fashions and secrets. Most of all, it breathes thanks to its cast of passionate, distinct characters and the ways they hope to better their lives and their world. I’m hopelessly smitten. I admit it.

(The manga adaptation of The Story of Saiunkoku is running in Kadokawa Shoten’s Monthly Asuka. I’m not sure how many light novels are in Yukino’s series, and they haven’t been published in English, to my knowledge. The first season of the anime adaptation is available from Funimation.)

BL Bookrack: Yaoi for the New Year

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Welcome to 2011’s first BL Bookrack, a monthly feature co-written with Soliloquy in Blue‘s Michelle Smith.

This month, we take a look at three offerings from Digital Manga Publishing’s Juné imprint, No Touching at All, volume one of Treasure, and volume two of The Tyrant Falls in Love, as well as BLU Manga’s You & Me, ETC..

No Touching At All | By Kou Yoneda | Published by Juné | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Akadot – The chief characteristic of No Touching At All is one that simultaneously boosts and deflates my enthusiasm for this well-done one-shot—it reminds me a lot of Future Lovers. Now, on the one hand, this is high praise, because Future Lovers is one of the best BL series I have ever read. On the other hand, being compared to something so awesome makes the very few complaints I have about No Touching At All stand out more than they ordinarily would.

Toshiaki Shima is awfully serious for a 26-year-old. When he reports to his new job and discovers that the stinky drunk he met in the elevator is his boss, Togawa, he’s less than enthused. Togawa is pretty insistent on getting to know his new employee, though, and somehow, after an evening out, the two end up in bed. Afterwards, Shima is upset. “I never learn,” he laments.

It turns out that Shima resigned from his previous job because the straight coworker with whom he’d been having an affair began to lob accusations of sexual harrassment towards Shima in order to save face. Shima’s tortured by that experience, and even when Togawa tells him quite plainly that his feelings have grown into love, Shima can’t believe it. Early in their relationship, Togawa expressed a desire for a family, and this conversation dogs Shima throughout the volume, making him certain that soon Togawa will tire of him and cast him aside.

This is similar to the plight facing the two leads in Future Lovers, but I think the constant reiteration of the theme here gets a bit repetitive. Both characters are very well-developed, so it’s not hard to sympathize with Shima, prickly and awkward though he may be, but man, that guy can angst!

I do like that the resolution to the story is satisfying, even though the couple’s problems haven’t been tied up in a neat little bow. This is something they’re going to have to deal with, and if there was ever a BL story I wanted a sequel to, this is it! In fact, even though I read an online review copy furnished by the publisher, I liked this so well that I plan to shell out my own hard-earned cash for a print copy when it gets released.

So, no. It’s no Future Lovers. But it is a story of two professional adults trying to have a relationship while dealing with their own personal baggage, a recipe for the very best kind of BL. Highly recommended.

-Review by Michelle Smith

Treasure, vol.1 | By Riyu Yamakami | Published by Juné | Rated YA (16+) | Buy at Akadot – Raised by his grandmother in a remote island village, teenaged Naoyuki is shipped off to the big city to live with relatives who can help give him “a broader perspective on things.” And though a “broader perspective” is indeed what Naoyuki receives, it’s probably safe to say that being coerced into exchanging sexual favors for tutoring wasn’t what grandma had in mind.

The “tutor,” Naoyuki’s older cousin Satoshi, is a tall, gorgeous bully, who loves to mock Naoyuki for his country-bumpkin ways nearly as much as he loves to bone him. And if you think I’ve had my fill of emotionally abusive, semi-incestuous love interests, you wouldn’t be wrong.

Mangaka Riyu Yamakimi pushes the envelope here by providing Naoyuki with a possessive lech both at home and at school, where Naoyuki meets sweet-faced Seitaro, who’s so determined to make “Nao” his, he follows him all around the school grounds, screeching things like, “What can I do to make you love me?”

With two such charming men in pursuit, is it any wonder that Naoyuki ends up passed out in the nurse’s office just a few weeks into school?

The story’s one saving grace is its protagonist, Naoyuki, who isn’t afraid to jump out of a second-story window to evade an unwanted suitor, or to punch out a roomful of would-be gang-rapists. And though it’s undeniably disappointing to watch him trudge down the well-worn path of BL heroes who fall in love with their harrassers, at least he gets in a few good swings on the way.

Yamakimi’s artwork is simple, but surprisingly effective, conveying a level of darkness that one might otherwise think she was entirely unaware of. If only she’d been willing to embrace that a bit further, what reads now as “disturbing romance” might have graduated to just “disturbing,” which would be a marked improvement in my book.

Maybe next time?

-Review by MJ

The Tyrant Falls in Love, vol. 2 | By Hinako Takanaga | Published by Juné | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Akadot – This volume opens two months after the end of the last, with absolutely nothing of a sexual nature having occurred between Morinaga and his tyrant in that time. Finally reaching critical desperation, Morinaga jumps Tatsumi in the lab, only to discover that Tatsumi’s been waiting to see how long it would take him in order to determine the frequency of their future encounters.

While the ensuing bout of haggling could easily read as just plain crass, Hinako Takanaga’s sharp sense of humor keeps the banter running smoothly and hilariously. The volume then takes a serious turn, as Morinaga’s estranged family launches a campaign to bring him back home for his older brother’s wedding, despite their continued refusal to accept his sexuality.

Man, I hate to admit that I’m wrong, but at least with manga, there’s a bright side to it all. After my overall dismay with this series’ first volume, nothing could possibly have surprised me more than my sincere enjoyment of the second. Though the series still wades into the murky waters of nonconsensual sex, this time, the main characters’ intimate history and visible affection really steal the show, even during the story’s roughest moments. While this dynamic was certainly present in volume one, it wasn’t quite enough to cover for its unfortunate romantic trajectory. But even with that damage already done, Takanaga’s wonderfully rich characterization is enough to rescue the series.

Morinaga is more genuinely relatable in this volume, still ruled by his sexual urges but revealing some real thoughtfulness about his own feelings, particularly when confronted by a painful memory from the past. It’s Tatsumi who really shines here, though, finally letting some of his own feelings show, at least enough so that even a cranky, jaded reader like me might actually believe he loves Morinaga.

Despite the series’ over-the-top sensibility, there’s a real subtlety to Takanaga’s storytelling that displays some pretty powerful craft behind the flailing. Her artwork, too, is especially expressive here, even in the throwaway side story at the end of the book.

There’s no doubt that The Tyrant Falls in Love was one of 2010’s most eagerly-anticipated English-language BL releases. It’s nice to finally be able to understand why.

-Review by MJ

You & Me, Etc. | By Kyugo | Published by BLU Manga | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Amazon – It can be hard to know what to expect with a collection of boys’ love short stories. Sometimes all are unappealing—the tales in Hinako Takanaga’s A Capable Man come to mind—but more often they’re a mixed bag. It’s much more rare for every story in a collection to actually be good, but You & Me, Etc. achieves this feat.

The collection is bookended by two stories about a pair of childhood friends, Keita Kanai and Iku Kirishima. They did everything together as they were growing up, including joining the junior high baseball team, but when Keita is injured in a car accident and can no longer play, guilt-ridden Iku gives up the game as well. Not only that, he distances himself from Keita and cultivates the air of a misanthropic loner. “Someday We…” recounts Keita’s efforts not to let their friendship slip away, and a dramatic scene in which he pleads for a return to closeness ultimately ends in a kiss. In the title story, the boys are unsure how to proceed from this moment, but end up working things out.

It sounds simple when described thusly, but there are plenty of moments that show how much the boys care for each other, and some amusing panels, as well. Two female characters play important roles—indeed, the first page features Keita’s girlfriend complaining that he doesn’t seem interested in making out with her—and I just generally love couples comprised of one seemingly surly guy and one more cheerful one. There’s a recurring theme of Iku showing rare vulnerability by clutching at Keita’s sleeve that’s nicely done, as well.

The other stories are equally as strong. “Cherry Blossom Pilgrimage” isn’t even a romance, though there are hints one could develop in time. Takahisa Sugaya is a ladies’ man, with plenty of girls but no real friends. He’s a bit of a slacker and is sure that upwardly mobile Yuu Fujishiro, generally considered to be the heir to the class presidency, would have nothing to do with someone like him. That is, until he discovers that Fujishiro is having a relationship with a male teacher. A genuine friendship develops between the boys, since Fujishiro doesn’t have to worry about appearing perfect when with Sugaya, and I would have liked to have read more about these two.

Indeed, that’s my one complaint—the stories end too quickly! Only the longest, the two-part “A Beautiful Tomorrow,” feels like it had enough time to develop. It’s the story of a famous writer who encounters the son of a former professor who has been cast out of his home by his step-mother after his father’s death. Their relationship builds slowly and naturally and, like the fellows in the title story, they’re never shown doing more than kissing. In fact, the volume earns its mature rating due to heterosexual content, not for the BL!

You & Me, Etc. was a very pleasant surprise. Kyugo doesn’t seem to have written too many original works, but her work is certainly impressive. I hope we see more of it soon!

-Review by Michelle Smith

Review copies provided by the publisher.

Kamisama Kiss Volume 2

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Kamisama Kiss Volume 2 by Julietta Suzuki

One of the things I liked about the first volume of this series was the way Nanami still continued to be a normal teenage girl even after achieving accidental godhood and taking up residence at a shrine. I liked the way Nanami journeyed back to the real world briefly, so I was happy to see that she makes the attempt to return to high school. What prompts her to return is a combination of boredom and a typical teen girl crush, when it is announced that the popular goth rock idol Kurama has just enrolled at her high school. He’s known as “a fallen angel with black wings” but he’s actually another yokai after Nanami’s power. Suzuki continues to have witty character designs for her yokai characters. Kurama is drawn almost as a parody of visual kei artists with heavy eyeliner, pointed fingernails, and black feathers floating in the air around him. While Tomoe sends Nanami to school wearing a goofy cat-head scarf in order to hide her mark of godhood, Kurama soon finds her out. He finds Nanami fascinating because after her initial meeting, she doesn’t immediately fawn over him like the other girls. She’s able to quickly perceive that Kurama has a stuck-up personality and her crush promptly fades. It seems like Kurama is going to stick around for awhile so it looks like Kamisama Kiss is going to be more conventionally shoujo than Karakuri Odette, with the normal girl being the crush object of two cute non-human guys.

Nanami’s high school classmates are almost uniformly obnoxious. The annoying boy from the first volume shows up again, and everyone makes fun of Nanami for being poor, until Tomoe makes a dramatic appearance to defend her. The other main storyline in this volume had many of the yokai of the week qualities of the first volume, but it ended up being in service of Nanami and Tomoe’s relationship developing further. A bright and powerful goddess with a shrine in the sky is dismayed to find out that Tomoe is in service to a human, so she announces that she’s taking over Nanami’s shrine, striking Tomoe with a cartoonish hammer to regress him into a child-like body. Nanami is soon placed in the role of Tomoe’s caretaker even though she’s lost her mystical powers. Nanami is determined to stick with Tomoe because she thinks he’s her only family. Seeing the power dynamic between Nanami completely reverse was interesting. Now Tomoe is helpless without his powers and unable to be intimidating because he looks like a three-year-old. He becomes dependent on Nanami to help him survive in the human world.

Overall, while Kamisama Kiss doesn’t quite have the quirky qualities I enjoy so much about Karakuri Odette, it is still a better than average shoujo series. There are fewer funny moments, but Kurama’s parodic goth appearance shows that Suzuki’s sense of humor is still intact.

Review copy provided by the publisher.