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Dragon Girl Volume 2

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Dragon Girl Volume 2 by Toru Fujieda

I think it was a good decision for Yen Press to go with the omnibus format for this five volume series. I enjoyed this series very much, but if I was reading it spaced out over five volumes my interest might have started to wane a little bit. Being able to sit down and devour huge hunks of shoujo goodness with this slightly quirky manga made me enjoy it even more. Even though many of the plot elements in Dragon Girl evoke typical shoujo cliches, I am still amused by the odd and humorous elements Fujieda inserts in her story. For example, the hottie on the cover that heroine Rinna is embracing isn’t a high school boy who has a crush on her – it is her long lost father Sakuya, the globe trotting former traditional cheerleader captain/anthropologist. I think Sakuya, with his long hair, creative accessorizing, and breezy attitude would easily take the title in a coolest manga Dad contest.

Rinna and her friends in the cheering group struggle with getting their club officially reinstated and dealing with their rival high school. Rinna confesses her crush on childhood love Subaru, but finds out that a romance with him is impossible. Yatome and Rinna grow even closer but it seems like cheering captain Hasekura might finally get up the nerve to tell Rinna how he feels. There’s nothing particularly earth-shattering about this title, but it is great comfort reading. I challenge anyone not to enjoy a manga where the heroine’s response to rumors being spread about her is to stand outside the school with a megaphone yelling her side of the story in order to set the record straight. Even thought the ending of Dragon Girl was predictable, I enjoyed seeing Hasekura’s reaction when he was finally able to meet Sakuya, his cheering idol. Also, when Hasekura finally changes his “manly” look, the response of the female students to actually being able to see his shaven face was hilarious. Even the evil scheming student council president doesn’t turn out to be so bad after all. Dragon Girl lets the reader momentarily escape into a world filled with camaraderie and costumed high school students yelling their hearts out. I finished this manga with a smile on my face.

Fanservice Friday: Intimacy porn

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I’ve had fanservice on the brain quite a bit lately, most recently thanks to this article by comics creator Michael Arthur at The Hooded Utilitarian. In it, Michael discussed his perspective on BL manga as a gay man and an artist, and though reception was mixed (for the record, I have pretty much equal appreciation for both his points and much of the criticism he received from female BL fans) what it really got me thinking about is fanservice for women, which inevitably led to thoughts about fanservice for me.

Pretty guys in shoujo and BL? Sure, I like ’em. I like them (maybe even more) in Korean manhwa as well, where “blond and willowy” also tends to equal “kick-ass,” at least in the stuff we’ve seen imported over here. It’s well established that girls frequently like their male idols to be pretty as, well, girls, and that taste doesn’t necessarily vanish with age, at least when it comes to fiction. The muscle-bound hunk has never done much for me, and while that may lend itself in “real life” to a preference for nerdy guys, I’m perfectly happy with the rail-thin pretty boys offered up to me in girls’ comics.

Pretty boys aren’t my real hook, though, not even if we’re talking porn–and when I use the term “porn” here, it’s in the broadest sense of the word, the sense that includes things like “food porn” and “shelf porn” or basically anything that feeds our inner obsessions with powerful visual stimuli. My real “porn,” what services me as a fan the way eye candy does for many, is emotional porn. Intimacy porn, if we’re going to get specific.

What’s great about intimacy porn, is that it is able to manifest itself in a number of different ways, none of which is exclusive to girls’ and women’s comics, though you’ll find it there in abundance. Some of it is clearly romantic in nature, like this scene from Ai Yazawa’s Paradise Kiss.

Read right-to-left. Click for larger image

The scene takes place in the first volume of the manga, when these characters, George and Yukari, are just barely beginning to explore their attraction. It’s the small bits of physical intimacy that really work for me here… George’s fingers circling Yukari’s, the soft kiss on the back of her hand, the tilt of his head as he leans in to kiss her–not the kiss itself (which doesn’t happen here, as you may know), but the anticipation of it, the electricity in the air between two bodies so clearly attracted to one another. The moment feels intensely intimate, though they’re standing outside where anyone could see them. That’s what I’m talking about here. That’s the way to service me as a fan.

With this in mind, I took another look at this scene from Jeon JinSeok and Han SeungHee’s One Thousand and One Nights. I’d mentioned in my discussion with Michelle that it was a ridiculously obvious image, and that its success in context was a testament to the artists’ skill with romance, but I think its success with me goes even further than that.

Read left-to-right. Click for larger image

Where indeed skill comes into play, is that the characters’ intimacy has been so well-established before this point, without the use of such blatantly erotic imagery, that when this stunning show of emotional and sexual intimacy is played out right in front of enemy Crusaders and the sultan’s court, it actually feels real. Sehera’s expression of devotion here is so honest, so utterly without embarrassment, its public intimacy feels not only appropriate, but genuinely romantic.

Intimacy porn doesn’t have to be romantic, though, and often the best of it isn’t. This scene from Kazuya Minekura’s Wild Adapter for instance:

Read right-to-left. Click for larger images

   

   

Though Wild Adapter is serialized in a BL magazine, the relationship between its two protagonists, Kubota and Tokito, is only subtly romantic. What the two really have is intimacy, and that’s what draws me so strongly to them and to their story. This scene has plenty of elements that might be typically used as fanservice–a shower, slouchy skinny guys, even nudity–but there’s no service here, not unless you count my kind, of which there’s service aplenty. This kind of intimacy–Tokito’s pain, unspoken, but acknowledged and understood between just the two of them–that’s my kind of porn, there.

To stray even further from romance, you can find this kind of intimacy porn far, far outside shoujo, josei, or BL. CLAMP’s xxxHolic, for example, was originally published in Young Magazine, a men’s publication, typically featuring bikini-clad women on its cover. Still, it’s filled with my kind of porn, including this scene:

Read right-to-left. Click for larger images



Here, Watanuki and Doumeki discuss the events of the day, while Doumeki makes his demands regarding the contents of rice balls. Their intimacy is apparent from the start… the verbal shorthand, the way the rice ball conversation weaves itself out of habit around the real issues at hand. At page 139 their surface banter comes to a halt, as Watanuki makes a rare, open statement revealing the true value of their relationship. It’s a gorgeously thick moment–you can just feel the weight of emotion in the air, all the unspoken trust and gratitude that Watanuki is usually unable to express–suspended just briefly in time, before Doumeki quickly swings things back into their comfort zone. The banter continues, no less intimately, but comfortable again for both of them. I probably read this scene ten times when I first picked up the volume. It’s exactly my kind of porn.

Intimacy porn doesn’t have to be between two characters, though. Sometimes an author is able to create this between a character and his/her readers. Going back to Yazawa for a moment, this time with NANA, note here how she’s used narrow close-ups of her characters’ eyes to open them up to the audience.

Read right-to-left. Click for larger image

Though the scene takes place between Reira and Shin, their circumstances make it difficult for them to connect with each other honestly. Instead, though they hide their feelings from each other, they’re sharing them with the reader, as openly and intimately as possible. This kind of intimacy has the effect of not breaking the fourth wall, but expanding it to include the reader, and can be even more powerful than something that’s established between characters. It’s difficult to do well, but Yazawa’s a master, and it most certainly contributes to my love of her work.

Is it fanservice? Maybe not, strictly speaking. But it services me better than a thousand pretty faces ever could on their own.

So, readers… what’s your porn?

License request day: Jin

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Anime News Network passed along the announcement of the manga nominees for the 15th Osamu Tezuka Cultural Prize. You all know what that means, right? We’ve struck a vein of license request ore! It’s an interesting and diverse slate, and I’m sure it will fuel future license requests, but there’s one title that has an unshakable grasp on my imagination and curiosity.

That would be Jin, written and illustrated by Motoka Murakami and serialized in Shueisha’s Super Jump for a total of 20 volumes. Any manga that launches with a modern-day doctor finding a carcinogenic fetus in a patient’s skull, followed by that fetus then sending said doctor back in time is a manga I want to read very, very badly.

It’s being published in French by Tonkam, which makes it much easier for me to figure out details about the book. I’m guessing that the fetus is just a MacGuffin to send our hero, 30-something doctor Jin Minakata, back to the Edo period. He adapts to his new/old world and begins applying his modern medical knowledge to bygone problems.

A cholera epidemic in Yokohama… communicable diseases among the courtesans of the red-light district… “discovering” penicillin centuries ahead of time… a geisha with breast cancer… If you want to be a busy doctor and seem like a miraculous genius whether you are one or not, it seems like all you have to do is go back in time. (How you get there is your own problem. My suggestion would be to randomly x-ray the skulls of your patients for mysterious fetuses. Of course, any fetus you find in someone’s skull is bound to count as “mysterious.”)

Judging by the sample pages from the first volume that Tonkam has shared, the art looks very clean, detailed, and attractive in a seinen sort of way that won’t be unfamiliar to fans of creators like Jiro Taniguchi. And while it’s perhaps a little soon after asking for Zipang to dip into the well of rewritten history, I think Jin sounds different enough in era and focus that they wouldn’t cannibalize each other’s audience, should we see a day when they’re simultaneously published in English.

So that’s my first choice from the current Tezuka nominees. I’ve only chosen one cover image, because they’re all pretty similar, featuring a strangely blank Jin standing with a beautiful woman. I used to work at a local newspaper, and so many submitted wedding photos looked kind of like these covers, with the woman actively engaging the camera and the man staring out of the frame at something shiny.

Which of the Tezuka nominees would you most like to see licensed?

3 Things Thursday: TOKYOPOP

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It’s been a rough week in the blogosphere for TOKYOPOP, whose latest round of layoffs has inspired quite a bit of talk about the company’s less positive history, including this frank commentary from Brigid Alverson at Robot 6 and this ongoing round-up from Johanna Draper Carlson at Manga Worth Reading. My own history as a reader has been sketchy at times. Though TOKYOPOP’s titles have inspired some of my most passionate fangirling over the years, they’ve occasionally left me baffled, and some of their unfinished business has rendered me truly heartbroken.

For today’s 3 Things, let’s examine that a bit more closely.

3 faces of TOKYOPOP:

1. The Fangirling – From Paradise Kiss to Fruits Basket, from Tokyo Babylon to Wild Adapter, TOKYOPOP has offered up to me some of the most beloved series in my manga library. Read any of those linked reviews, and you’ll understand what I love about manga–that’s how well these series represent my personal feelings about the best of the medium, particularly when it comes to manga written and published for women and girls. Some of their newer shoujo acquisitions (like Demon Sacred and The Secret Notes of Lady Kanoko) look to be joining their ranks someday as well.

What can we expect now from a company whose owner has seemingly given up on books? It’s hard to say.

2. The Bafflement – Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m baffled why a series like KimiKiss (pictured to the right) was published, or even why it might be popular. A buxom teen removing her blouse on the cover is, I expect, money in the bank! What was baffling to me in particular about this release, was that it was apparently being marketed as shoujo, according to a little pamphlet I received along with one of the later volumes of Fruits Basket.

From my review summary at the time: “Kouchi and Mao have been friends since childhood, but now that they are in high school, Kouchi is depressed that he hasn’t managed to attract a girlfriend. Mao offers to help him become a “real stud” by teaching him how to be attractive to girls, beginning with lessons in kissing. The lessons start to get a bit steamy, especially after Mao is invited to sleep over with Kouchi’s little sister, resulting in a late-night tryst in Kouchi’s bed.” Sound like shoujo to you?

3. The Heartbreak – Everyone’s got their own tale of woe over a series that TOKYOPOP has canceled, but my broken heart belongs to Off*Beat, an almost finished series by OEL creator Jen Lee Quick. With just one volume remaining of its original 3-volume commission, fans like me were left to weep and weep, never knowing what finally happens to sweet Tory and his revealing obsession.

From my review: “Everything about this comic is a winner–the intriguing plot line, the wonderfully rich characters, the unique, expressive artwork, the subtle treatment of a gay teen’s sexual awakening that is refreshingly not played up or made “sexy” to please its female audience–and the fact that it languishes in cancellation limbo is honestly heartbreaking. This is a comic I would wholeheartedly recommend to anyone. It truly deserves to be read.” *snif*

So readers, what are your 3 faces of TOKYOPOP?

More Ono due from Viz

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Viz just sent out a press release detailing its new titles due in the second half of 2011, and I’m sure someone will post it in its entirety, but I’m single-minded in my interest in one title above all others:

TESORO · Rated ‘T’ for Teens · MSRP: $12.99 US / $14.99 CAN ·

Available November 2011

This is an engrossing manga treasure trove containing 14 charming stories about family, friends, couples and unexpected bonds. Written by Natsume Ono over ten years, here is the long-awaited collection of her early work, including numerous illustrations and previously unpublished stories!

As a reminder, if you’re lucky enough to attend this year’s Toronto Comic Arts Festival, you can meet Ono in person. And, if you can’t wait until November for a new Ono title from Viz, there’s always La Quinta Camera, due in July.

 

 

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Qwan

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I have a bad habit of falling in love with commercially doomed series. Satsuma Gishiden was my first great disappointment: Dark Horse published three volumes of this manly-man samurai manga, only to put the series on ice in 2007. Duck Prince was another, with Ai Morinaga’s awesomely weird comedy getting the axe midway through its run, a victim of CPM’s perpetual cash flow problems. But the cancellation that really broke my heart was Qwan, a fantasy-adventure that drew heavily on Chinese history and folklore for its inspiration. Between 2005 and 2007, Tokyopop released four volumes before putting the series on hiatus, leaving Qwan‘s few die-hard fans stranded in the middle of a crucial story arc.

While I’d be the first to admit that reading an unfinished story can be an exercise in frustration, I’m going to recommend Qwan anyway because the four volumes that were published are awesome — Scout’s honor.

The story focuses on Qwan, a child-like figure whose naivete and enthusiasm belie super-human strength and speed. Though Qwan realizes he isn’t human, he’s never questioned his origins or abilities — that is, until he meets Shaga, a courtesan who urges him to seek the Essential Arts of Peace, a sutra that will reveal where Qwan came from and why he was sent to live among humans. He’s not the only one who wants the sutra, however; various political factions vie for the scrolls, hoping to unlock the scrolls’ power and hasten the Han Dynasty’s demise.

Questing boys and magical scrolls are de rigeur in fantasy-adventure stories, but Qwan distinguishes itself in two crucial areas. The first is well-rounded characters. Qwan isn’t a classic Shonen Jump hero, kind-hearted and dedicated to self-improvement, but a more ambiguous figure; he’s guileless and self-centered in the manner of a nine- or ten-year-old, unable to feel genuine sympathy for others. Early in volume one, for example, Qwan encounters a mysterious girl traveling in the company of a demon. Daki proves more a formidable opponent than Qwan anticipates, successfully countering his attack with powerful insect magic. Though it’s clear to the reader that Daki, like Qwan, is a supernatural being, caught between the human and demon worlds, Qwan himself never sees the parallels between their situations, repeatedly attacking Daki until he resigns himself to the futility of his efforts.

The second distinguishing feature of Qwan is Aki Shimizu’s gorgeous artwork, which draws on anime, guo hua (classical Chinese painting), and wuxia films for its aesthetic. Though Shimizu usually blends these different styles into a seamless whole, she occasionally makes explicit, almost self-conscious quotations of her influences. In this panel, which appears in the very first chapter, she gracefully echoes the undulating lines and shapes of Chinese landscape paintings, even adding a delicately stylized pine tree in the foreground:

Her fight scenes, too, are steeped in Chinese influences. Using dramatic angles, she makes her characters look as weightless as the wire-fu acrobats in Curse of the Golden Flower and House of Flying Daggers; her fight scenes are balletic, beautifully choreographed sequences of tumbling bodies and arcing swords. In this sequence, for example, Qwan goes mano-a-mano with a tiger demon, eventually gaining the upper hand by vaulting onto the monster’s back:

Qwan then consumes the demon at the end of their protracted battle, the demon’s body dissolving into an inky swirl:

Oh, and Shimizu draws some pretty nifty monsters, too. This one suggests a Maltese-water buffalo hybrid with prehensile toes:

So why wasn’t Qwan a bigger hit? I think narrative complexity was a factor. Though the story is a rich tapestry of political history and myth, Shimizu refuses to spoon feed information to the reader; we’re just as confused and disoriented as Qwan himself is. That kind of reading experience can be quite rewarding, but the absence of an omniscient narrator demands more of the audience, forcing us to pore over the text and make connections on our own. Shimizu’s artwork and characterizations are up to the task, but impatient readers will easily miss crucial details in their haste to get to the fight scenes.

I also think timing was a factor in Qwan’s cancellation, as Qwan‘s fourth volume appeared in 2007 at the height of the manga boom. If you remember that heady period, publishers were releasing more than 1,200 new volumes of manga per year. Titles that didn’t have an obvious hook — say, a popular anime adaptation or a cast of hot male vampires — faced an uphill battle, with bookstores unwilling to stock series whose first or second volumes sold poorly. With little support from the publisher, and few fans blogging about it, Qwan was all but consigned to the remainder bin.

I’m under no illusion that my paean to Qwan will save it from licensing purgatory; for every Yotsuba&!, there are two Tactics, manga that didn’t gain much traction even after a well-publicized rescue. But Qwan is so good that I can’t help but wish that someone will complete the series. It’s a manga for people who love great stories and vivid characters, who care more about the quality of the storytelling than the coolness of the concepts and costumes.

QWAN, VOLS. 1-4 • BY AKI SHIMIZU • TOKYOPOP • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Qwan

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I have a bad habit of falling in love with commercially doomed series. Satsuma Gishiden, for one: Dark Horse published the first three volumes of this manly-man samurai manga, only to put the series on ice in 2007. Duck Prince, for another: Ai Morinaga’s awesomely weird comedy also bit the dust three volumes into its run, a victim of CPM’s perpetual cash flow problems.

I’m dedicating today’s column to another lost cause: Qwan, a fantasy-adventure that draws heavily on Chinese history and folklore for its inspiration. Between 2005 and 2007, Tokyopop released four volumes of what would eventually be a seven-volume series in Japan. After the English-language edition caught up with the Japanese, Qwan went on hiatus. The series never resumed production, however, leaving its few ardent fans stranded in the middle of a crucial story arc.

Normally, I shy away from recommending incomplete series; there’s nothing quite as frustrating as beginning a manga with the knowledge that you will never, ever know how the story ends. I’m going to recommend Qwan anyway, because the four volumes that were published are awesome — Scout’s honor.

The story focuses on Qwan, a child-like figure whose naivete and enthusiasm belie super-human strength and speed. Though Qwan realizes he isn’t human, he’s never questioned his origins or abilities — that is, until he meets Shaga, a courtesan who urges him to seek the Essential Arts of Peace, a sutra that will reveal where Qwan came from and why he was sent to live among humans. He’s not the only one who wants the sutra, however; various political factions vie for the scrolls, hoping to unlock the scrolls’ power and hasten the Han Dynasty’s demise.

Questing boys and magical scrolls are de rigeur in fantasy-adventure stories, but Qwan distinguishes itself in two crucial areas. The first: well-rounded characters. Qwan isn’t a classic Shonen Jump hero, kind-hearted and dedicated to self-improvement, but a more ambiguous figure; he’s guileless and self-centered in the manner of a nine- or ten-year-old, unable to feel genuine sympathy for others. Early in volume one, for example, Qwan encounters a mysterious girl traveling in the company of a demon. Daki proves more a formidable opponent than Qwan anticipates, successfully countering his attack with powerful insect magic. Though it’s clear to the reader that Daki, like Qwan, is a supernatural being, caught between the human and demon worlds, Qwan himself never sees the parallels between their situations, repeatedly attacking Daki until he resigns himself to the futility of his efforts.

The second distinguishing feature of Qwan is Aki Shimizu’s gorgeous artwork, which draws on anime, guo hua (classical Chinese painting), and wuxia films for its aesthetic. Though Shimizu usually blends these different styles into a seamless whole, she occasionally makes explicit, almost self-conscious quotations of her influences. In this panel, which appears in the very first chapter, she gracefully echoes the undulating lines and shapes of Chinese landscape paintings, even adding a delicately stylized pine tree in the foreground:

Her fight scenes, too, are steeped in Chinese influences. Using dramatic angles, she makes her characters look as weightless as the wire-fu acrobats in Curse of the Golden Flower and House of Flying Daggers; her fight scenes verge on ballet, beautifully choreographed sequences of tumbling bodies and arcing swords. In this sequence, for example, Qwan goes mano-a-mano with a tiger demon, eventually gaining the upper hand by vaulting onto the monster’s back:

Qwan then consumes the demon at the end of their protracted battle, the demon’s body dissolving into an inky swirl:

Oh, and Shimizu draws some pretty nifty monsters, too. This one suggests a Maltese-water buffalo hybrid with prehensile toes:

So why wasn’t Qwan a bigger hit? I think narrative complexity was a factor. Though the story is a rich tapestry of political history and myth, Shimizu refuses to spoon feed information to the reader; we’re just as confused and disoriented as Qwan himself is. That kind of reading experience can be quite rewarding, but the absence of an omniscient narrator demands more of the audience, forcing us to pore over the text and make connections on our own. Shimizu’s artwork and characterizations are up to the task, but impatient readers will easily miss crucial details in their haste to get to the fight scenes.

I also think timing was a factor: Qwan‘s fourth volume appeared in 2007, at the height of the manga boom. If you remember that heady period, publishers were releasing more than 1,200 new volumes of manga per year. Titles that didn’t have an obvious hook — say, a popular anime adaptation or a cast of hot male vampires — faced an uphill battle, with bookstores unwilling to continue stocking series whose first or second volumes sold poorly. With little support from the publisher, and few fans blogging about it, Qwan was all but consigned to the remainder bin.

I’m under no illusion that my paean to Qwan will save it from licensing purgatory; for every Yotsuba&!, there are two Tactics, manga that didn’t gain much traction even after a well-publicized rescue. But Qwan is so good that I can’t help but wish that someone will complete the series — perhaps in a digital-only format, or print-on-demand, or an author-sanctioned scanlation. It’s a manga for readers — for people who love great stories and vivid characters, who care more about the quality of the storytelling than the coolness of the concepts and costumes.

QWAN, VOLS. 1-4 • BY AKI SHIMIZU • TOKYOPOP • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

From the stack: Kimi ni Todoke vol. 5

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My recent brush with Bakuman (Viz) helped me realize something (probably after everyone else already got there) about Karuho Shiina’s Kimi ni Todoke: From Me to You (also Viz). Shiina is deconstructing shôjo manga as surely as Ohba and Obata are dissecting shônen. Of course, Shiina is telling a proper story with engaging characters at the same time, so she wins.

This became blazingly evident in the fifth volume. It begins with our heroine, socially inept Sawako, deep in conversation with Kurumi, who likes the same boy Sawako does and is trying to manipulate Sawako into stepping aside. In spite of her almost complete innocence in matters interpersonal, Sawako is incredibly hard to manipulate, and she’s just so damned nice. Kurumi is infuriated, at least partly because some part of her recognizes that Sawako is possibly more worthy of kindly Kazehaya’s affection than Kurumi is.

This isn’t an uncommon emotional beat for shôjo manga, but it rarely gets the degree of articulation it receives here. Kurumi must not only admit her resentment of Sawako, she must also explain to this foreign exchange student from Mars exactly why she resents her. And while the experience provides some kind of catharsis for the duplicitous Kurumi, it doesn’t entirely soften her feelings for Sawako. It does clarify them, for both Kurumi and Sawako, and they culminate in a glorious moment when Kurumi, pretense abandoned, beams at Sawako and declares them rivals.

It’s not just Kurumi being argumentative. It’s Kurumi being generous, helping Sawako understand. And it’s Kurumi liberating herself from a stifling public persona. Most of all, it’s Shiina celebrating the construct, the pairing of people who want the same limited resource (a title, a prize, a love interest) who both understand the other’s desire and respect their right to want it but realize that their ultimate happiness is mutually exclusive.

This is what I mean by deconstruction. Most mangaka would just go through the beats of this realization without underlining it so baldly, but the baldness is what makes Shiina’s approach soar. It’s like you’re Sawako, discovering all of these new things, except you already knew them, and yet the rediscovery is as thrilling as the first time you grasped them.

There’s lots of other stuff that happens in this volume, and all of it is charming and good, because Shiina wrote and drew it. But the definition of rivalry, old as shôjo and fresh as now, is the kind of emotional peak that represents the best of this excellent series. Bakuman is most intriguing as an instruction manual, and it’s savvy (but joyless) about what works in a certain type of manga. Kimi ni Todoke both defines and celebrates its own category’s building blocks.

 

Off the Shelf: Billionaires, Babies, & Brides!

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Welcome to another edition of Off the Shelf with MJ & Michelle! I’m joined, as always, by Soliloquy in Blue‘s Michelle Smith.

MICHELLE: After spending last week’s column discussing the grim misanthropy of Osamu Tezuka’s Ayako, MJand I decided to go a more frivolous route this time. The idea was actually mine, inspired by a list of new Harlequin titles available on eManga.com. Upon perusing said list, I noticed a pattern. See if you can spot it, too!

Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby!
A Date with a Billionaire
Claiming His Pregnant Wife
Royally Bedded, Regally Wedded
Powerful Persuasion
The Millionaire’s Pregnant Mistress
Pilgrim’s Castle
The Billionaire Boss’s Forbidden Mistress
Lovechild

Out of nine titles, three reference pregnancy, three mention weddings or marriages, and two mention billionaires! One mentions a millionaire, but obviously that guy is just not trying hard enough.

Neither one of us was willing to relinquish our claim to the first title on the list, so we both read that one as well as a second choice. (Mine comes from a second, more recent list, which has fewer billionaires but more brides.)

How did you enjoy your foray into romance, MJ?

MJ: Well, Michelle, first off I have to say I was a little disappointed that my first pick, which was listed originally as The Billionaire‘s Boss’s Forbidden Mistress contained a typo, because I was pretty interested in finding out just who the billionaire actually was in a story that was apparently all about his boss’s forbidden mistress. Alas, the mistress indeed belongs to the billionaire, though I’m not sure what makes her forbidden.

Two years ago, Leah was in a car accident that cost her two things, her mother and her husband’s love. Her mother died in the accident, as one might assume, but her husband, the bastard, was driven away by a new scar on Leah’s leg. When a young billionaire, Jason Pollack, buys the company Leah works for, she’s intrigued by him, but too embarrassed by her scar to give in to her feelings. Jason is a widower, still in love with his late wife, but attracted by Leah’s beauty. In the end, the two of them enter into an affair, Leah because she’s just so happy that any man wants her with her scar, and Jason because… well, he just thinks she’s hot. Both claim to be uninterested in love, but what happens when their feelings change?

Though someone could certainly write a really touching romance with these characters–a woman whose self-esteem has been destroyed and a man looking for solace after the death of his wife–author Milanda Lee has not done so, or at least it’s nowhere evident in Megumi Toda’s adaptation. Like much of the Harlequin manga I’ve read, nothing’s given enough time to feel actually real, and as a result, the romance falls flat. Both Leah and Jason’s traumas are too quickly dismissed to gain any kind of traction, rendering the whole thing too sloppy and shallow to be genuinely enjoyed.

MICHELLE: I think a story all about a billionaire obsessed with his boss’s (a trillionaire?) mistress would probably be more interesting than the story you describe. It seems to be a trend that the wrong guy for the heroine in these romances can’t just be a decent person with whom things don’t work out for subtle reasons; he has to be as shitty as possible, like a husband who ditches his wife because of a frickin’ scar.

MJ: Right?? And it’s not like that part isn’t, y’know, poignant, but then when the heroine gets into a loveless relationship just because she’s been so broken by that first, wrong guy, I’d like to see a little more impact. If you’re gonna go for that kind of over-the-top drama, at least use it.

I realize that one of the hardest things to do as a writer is to make a whirlwind romance feel genuine. It’s one of those things that, done well, is plainly exhilarating to read. Unfortunately, if it’s not done well, it just feels empty and not at all romantic.

So, how did you fare with your pick?

MICHELLE: Ai Yazawa could give her lessons on the dramatic potential of choosing the wrong guy! As for my pick, I fared a little better than you did, though I’ve got some of the same complaints.

I had originally intended to read Claiming His Pregnant Wife, but when a second round of Harlequin offerings appeared, containing a book entitled Cowboys, Babies, and Shotgun Vows, I ditched my first choice faster than a chick with a scar. (By the way, I told my husband about the husband in your book and his response was, “What a hosebag!”)

Ashley Bennet, the daughter of a rich oil tycoon, never received love from her father and stepmom. Rather than object when her father proposes an arranged marriage, Ashley is bowled over to have someone actually telling her he loves her. Too bad she catches him boffing someone else on their wedding day. She runs off and ends up drunk in a bar, where she meets an earnest cowboy named Ryder McCall. They enjoy a one-night stand and Ashley goes off to be a waitress in a diner.

Ryder, however, is convinced that he loves her and tracks her down. Ashley is dubious, because Ryder is acting like a presumptuous fool, but then reveals she is pregnant. In Harlequin romances, guys are always happy about this. “Yes! This is awesome!” cries Ryder. Ashley’s not on the marriage bandwagon, but eventually takes an accounting job at the McCall farm. Through proximity to Ryder and silly scenes like watching him be kind to a lost kid in a store for, like, two pages, Ashley decides she loves him. Martin the ex-fiancé returns and expresses a desire to get back together (and also informs Ashley that she’ll be having an abortion), but Ryder punches him. Yay! Now they are in the love.

Seriously, this really tries to be good. Ashley is not a wilting flower, which I appreciate, and there are some attempts at humor. Its biggest flaw is, like you mention, everything just happens too fast to feel genuine! I’m a very slow reader, and when I can blow through a story in twenty minutes, then you know it is pretty flufftastic material.

MJ: I do have to wonder if the original novels delve a little deeper, just because they have more time? I think part of the problem with these manga adaptations is that they almost feel more like summaries than stories. I mean, I assume if I went in and actually read Cowboys, Babies, and Shotgun Vows it would read almost exactly as your description did, without a lot more time taken at any particular point.

MICHELLE: Yeah, this is one where I actually have some interest in reading the original to see how it compares. You make a great point about my description being about as thorough as the book itself is, because that’s true. That scene where Ryder demonstrates his capability to be a good dad, for example, quite literally takes all of two pages. The end result is just too simplistic to be believable.

Should I take a stab at summarizing our tandem pick, Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby!?

MJ: Oh, you know I love it when you summarize!

MICHELLE: I will do my best!

Two years ago, when famous Italian actor Mateo D’Arrezo was in England doing Shakespeare, he came across a local actress named Jennifer Wallen starring as Ophelia in a production of Hamlet. He was instantly smitten by her ability to refrain from being instantly smitten by him, and they start dating. Eventually they marry, even though her mother warns that all men are scum. The marriage does wonders for Jennifer’s career, but she’s no longer the wide-eyed girl Mateo originally fell in love with.

Busy schedules and a scheming manager keep them apart, and when a photo of Mateo kissing a co-star is published, Jennifer assumes the worst and initiates divorce proceedings. She still loves him, though, and when they run into each other while in Cannes to promote a film they made together, they end up getting it on in an elevator. Guess what happens next? If your answer is, “They make a showbiz baby,” award yourself a taco!

Mateo, of course, is delighted by this news. He’s being so sweet and solicitous that Jennifer learns to trust him again and even when the vengeful co-star claims to be pregnant herself, Jennifer’s faith in him remains firm. After a little bit of peril for the baby, they apologize to each other and admit their mistakes. The end.

MJ: Excellent summary, m’dear. So. Okay, here are a couple of my particular issues with this story. First, I find the amount of time Mateo spends defending his betrayal as “just a kiss” seriously laughable. I mean, come on. It’s only cheating if he sleeps with her? Making out with other women is totally kosher?

Secondly, what was up with totally dropping the ball on the scheming manager? They make all this fuss about how the guy is keeping Jennifer’s calls from getting through, but then… nothing happens. The manager’s not upset they’re back together. Mateo seems unconcerned that his staff has nearly ruined his marriage. The whole thing is just… dropped. What’s the point of inserting that kind of melodrama if you’re not even going to make anything of it? GIVE ME MRS. DANVERS OR GIVE ME DEATH. Or something like that. You get my point.

MICHELLE: I was sure there was going to be some explanation by which Mateo was not even responsible for the kiss, but at least that didn’t come to pass. And you’re totally right about the asshole manager. Mateo doesn’t even chew him out for his actions. This is the same guy who basically said that Jennifer neglected her husband (how dare she pursue her own career!) and should expect a little infidelity. What specific grudge he has against her isn’t mentioned and, in fact, he’s the one who takes Mateo to see her perform in the first place.

MJ: I have to think that the manager must be a little more deliciously evil in the novel. Or at least I’m going to go on pretending that’s the case, because overall, this story was a least a bit more solidly put together than The Billionaire Boss’s Forbidden Mistress.

People should really be clear on this fact though: we fought over who would get to read this manga. That’s how excited we were over the title alone. I have to say, overall, it wasn’t worth the fight.

MICHELLE: Yeah. Now I regret all that hair-pulling I did. But this does lead to another point on which people should be clear, which is that although neither of us is really a Harlequin reader, we didn’t approach the endeavor with the intent to just make fun of Harlequin or anything. I always want to like whatever it is I’m reading, and I certainly didn’t hate these or anything; they were just disappointing.

MJ: Yes, that’s absolutely the case. I love romance, I really, really do, and I always want to like these when we decide to dig into them. I expect we haven’t quite given up on them yet!

MICHELLE: I expect you’re right. Maybe next time we should try ones with more staid titles, like Pilgrim’s Castle. Though probably it is light on actual pilgrims.

MJ: I suspect that’s actually a blessing.

MICHELLE: I don’t know; at least they probably wouldn’t be accepting pregnancy with a cavalier attitude!

MJ: Perhaps not, but I’d hate to see the outfits. And the dialogue? I think we’re better off in billionaire showbiz boss territory.

MICHELLE: Don’t forget the babies and brides!

Check out more Harlequin manga at eManga.com. And join us again next week for an all new Off the Shelf!

Mid-week must-reads

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I’ve pretty much given up on manga industry analysis as a pastime. I found it had started to taint the hobby for me. But I always enjoy sinking my teeth into a great piece of writing from this category. Today’s comes from Brigid (MangaBlog) Alverson over at Robot 6, in which she reacts to the recent round of layoffs at Tokyopop:

It’s just sad to see people who took their work seriously being treated so badly by a company that seems to put more value on a direct-to-Hulu reality series than on their core product, a solid line of manga that really did change the graphic novel market and the reading habits of millions of readers—myself included.

I would only add that, in my admittedly limited experience talking to industry figures, I can think of few professionals who were better equipped and more willing to be passionate advocates for good manga than Lillian Diaz-Pryzybl and Asako Suzuki. Any publisher possessing any sense at all would hire them at their absolute earliest convenience.

(Okay, I would also add that, in addition to being a passionate advocate for manga, Brigid is also one of its must astute, clear-eyed observers.)

Moving to a much more benign subject, another astute advocate, Erica (Okazu) Friedman, succumbs to my pestering and writes about what describes as “the fifth genre” of manga magazines in her latest column for The Hooded Utilitarian:

The pressure to conform to the four basic categories is industry-wide. The Japanese Magazine Publishers Association puts out circulation data for top selling manga magazines every year. These ratings are listed by; For girls, For boys, For men and For women. And yet, there is some leaking around the edges, as more alternative magazines seek out both male and female artists,  and male and female readers. These magazines focus less on who is buying and more on telling stories to people who want to read them.

A synonym for “fifth genre” might be “magazines with which David is unhealthily obsessed.”