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Little Fluffy Gigolo Pelu, Vol. 1

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pelu1Poignant — now there’s a word I never imagined I’d be using to describe one of Junko Mizuno’s works, given her fondness for disturbing images and acid-trip plotlines. But Little Fluffy Gigolo Pelu is poignant, a perversely sweet and sad meditation on one small, sheep-like alien’s efforts to find his place in the universe.

The story is simple: on the “cute and pink” planet of Princess Kotobuki, Pelu lives with a beautiful race of women and a “calm but carnivorous giant space hippo.” Pelu has always been aware of how different he is from his fellow Kotobukians, but when he learns that he will never be able to have a family of his own, he falls into a terrible funk, begging the hippo to eat him. When the hippo demurs — Pelu is just too woolly to be appetizing — Pelu borrows the hippo’s magic mirror and teleports to Earth in search of others like him. What Pelu discovers, however, is that Earth women view him as an  exotic pet, a companion who’s entertaining but disposable. He careens from one unhappy situation to another, meeting young women who are down on their luck: an aspiring singer with a lousy voice, a homely orphan who’s raising an ungrateful brother, a pearl diver plying her trade in the sewer.

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East by Edith Pattou: B

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eastFrom the back cover:
Rose is the youngest of seven children, meant to replace her dead sister. Maybe because of that, she’s never really fit in. She’s always felt different, out of place, a restless wanderer in a family of homebodies. So when an enormous white bear mysteriously shows up and asks her to come away with it—in exchange for health and prosperity for her ailing family—she readily agrees.

Rose travels on the bear’s broad back to a distant and empty castle, where she is nightly joined by a mysterious stranger. In discovering his identity, she loses her heart—and finds her purpose—and realizes her journey has only just begun.

As familiar and moving as Beauty and the Beast, yet as fresh and original as only the best fantasy can be, East is a bold retelling of the classic tale “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” a sweeping story of grand proportions.

Review:
Based on the fairy tale “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” (a translation of which can be found here), East is the story of a girl named Rose who agrees to go away with a white bear in exchange for the healing of her sick sister and an improvement to her impoverished family’s circumstances. She is taken to a castle in a mountain where she is well-provided-for, though she’s troubled by a nightly mystery: each evening, after the lamps have been extinguished, a stranger comes and lays down next to her. She has never seen his face, for he’s always gone by morning. When curiosity overcomes her and she uses an enchanted candle to catch a glimpse of the man, she finds she has done him a grievous wrong. He is the white bear and must now travel east of the sun, west of the moon to become the consort of the troll queen. Rose is determined to rescue him.

Pattou adheres pretty closely to the original story—sometimes too closely, as I occasionally found myself waiting impatiently through familiar bits for parts with more action—and nicely captures the magical quality that it possesses. She embellishes many details, like Rose’s large family and the specifics of her journey north, which is far less fantastic here than in the fairy tale. She alternates narrators between Rose, Rose’s father, Rose’s brother, the white bear, and the troll queen, and gradually the full picture of events is revealed. I particularly like Pattou’s interpretation of troll culture; instead of ugly beasts, Pattou depicts them as beautiful and pale, though rough-skinned, and capable of both cruelty and love.

Rose is no passive damsel, which is one of the reasons the original tale is so noteworthy, and makes for a good protagonist, but certain aspects of the story do seem to go on too long. There’s a lot of emphasis on the sewing projects she undertakes, for example, and the description of her journey to rescue the man is extremely dull. I have little patience for long journeys, I admit, but this one had my eyes glazing over; not even the nifty Norwegian setting could save it. Some aspects of the ending are a little irksome, too, but ultimately it wraps up in a satisfying fashion.

I’m left wondering whether I would’ve liked East more if I hadn’t been familiar with the original story. Ultimately, my final recommendation would be to read this first, and then investigate the tale that was its inspiration.

Black Bird, Volume 2

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Black Bird, Vol. 2
By Kanoko Sakurakoji
Published by Viz Media

blackbird2
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Misao Harada, already in the unpleasant position of having to depend on the dreamy yet controlling demon Kyo for her very life, finds things further complicated by the arrival of the rest of Kyo’s tengu clan. The new arrivals (all male, each prettier than the next) include Kyo’s older brother, Sojo, whom Misao also knew as a child. On the plus side, Misao finds out that Kyo fought to take Sojo’s position as head of the clan, presumably in order to marry her, lending additional credibility to his declaration of love. Unfortunately, deceptively mild-mannered Sojo turns out to be a pretty sick guy who will do anything to destroy Kyo and take back what was his, placing everyone’s lives in peril.

This is a fairly eventful volume that packs quite a punch, both in terms of romance and melodrama. Sojo is a truly hateful villain who even abuses adorable little tengu Taro and his brothers–the general equivalent of kicking an uncommonly cute puppy–making him incredibly easy to despise. Revelations about Kyo’s past with Misao and the memories that were erased from her mind by Sojo’s magic create a dark, romantic tone that would be difficult for any hot-blooded shojo fan to resist, despite the story’s sexually-charged violence. Unfortunately, this volume’s final chapter destroys the one thing that had, until this point, kept its misogynistic overtones somewhat in check.

In my review of volume one, I said that it was Misao’s clear view of her own situation that made the story palatable, despite Kyo’s deeply controlling nature. Misao knew that she was stuck depending on Kyo and hated it, highlighting both the poignance of her circumstances and her own personal strength, and presenting an opportunity for Kyo to be the one to change in order to be worth of her. This begins to erode early in volume two, as Misao falls further for Kyo’s charm and the bits of memories she’s clung to all these years. Still, it is possible to hang on as evidence mounts suggesting Kyo’s sincere intentions. Then everything falls apart all at once with a bit of internal monologue from Misao as Kyo unbelievably forces himself on her as a form of “punishment” for her behavior with his bishonen relatives.

He never has sweet words for me. He uses force to make me understand what he’s thinking. That’s why when he hugs me gently I can feel it. I get the message.

With these words, any hope of Misao remaining a strong heroine is lost and I suspect this series has lost me. Though it has great potential as a compelling piece of deliciously trashy shojo, I’m not sure it can come back from that. Prove me wrong, Black Bird?

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Vampire Knight 8 by Matsuri Hino: B

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vampireknight8Have you ever seen anyone claim, in defense of Vampire Knight, “It gets better! Wait until you get to chapter 35!”? Well, it turns out that they’re half right.

Chapter 35 is a game-changer, with the full details of Yuki’s forgotten past coming to light along with unexpected revelations and their attendant complications. I found part of what occurs easy to predict, given the final moments of volume seven, but was genuinely surprised by a few things and absolutely delighted by Zero’s tortured reaction. (And yes, I am being terribly vague on purpose. It really is that big of a spoiler.)

However, I wouldn’t say that the series is necessarily better as a result of this dramatic turn. Kaname’s evil relative, Rido, has emerged as the villain of the piece, but he’s a recent addition and woefully undeveloped. Shifting allegiances are tough to pin down, Kaname behaves inscrutably, and the political maneuverings of the vampire realm can be confusing.

These flaws aren’t anything new—and are ameliorated somewhat by the gorgeous art—so I’d advise against developing unrealistically high expectations. Shocking developments aside, volume eight essentially offers more of the same.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Ouran High School Host Club 13 by Bisco Hatori: B

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ouran13Feelings. That’s entirely what this volume is about. First, you’ve got Haruhi taking a love quiz and finally realizing that what she feels for Tamaki isn’t just admiration of his many good qualities, but actually love. Not that she’s ready to deal with that just yet, so she resolves to take his advice and start accumulating more life experience. Next, Hikaru informs Tamaki that he loves Haruhi, which sends Tamaki into a tizzy that still doesn’t result in him realizing his own feelings.

Even though I get the sense that not too much about this series is planned in advance, Hatori-sensei does at least offer a credible explanation for Tamaki’s family fixation and exactly why he may be unable to acknowledge his feelings for Haruhi. I also like how Haruhi realizes that Tamaki’s been encouraging her to be less apathetic for quite some time now and how he, who is pursuing his new career goals with much energy, has actually become her role model in a lot of ways.

This series is nothing if not lighthearted, but sometimes the side trips into comedy (or unnecessary appearances by other host club members) get in the way of the love story. Still, it’s fundamentally a warm, fuzzy, and satisfying read.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Welcome to Manhwa Monday!

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Today I begin a new weekly feature here at Manga Bookshelf: Manhwa Monday! Each week, I’ll feature a particular review or other manhwa-related post discovered online (sometimes mine, sometimes not) as well as rounding up links to all things manhwa from the previous week. I’m doing this partly to put a regular spotlight on manhwa in hopes of drawing in new readers, and partly to try to help create a sense of community around manhwa specifically–something I think is currently lacking, at least in the circles I frequent.

So, welcome to the first installment of Manhwa Monday here at Manga Bookshelf! Today I’m going to feature two reviews from the previous week–one of them mine, one not. Both are collections of short manhwa by a single artist, though they are completely different from each other. The first is Byun Byung-Jun’s Mijeong, published by NBM/Comics Lit and reviewed by me last week at Manga Recon. The second is Hee Jung Park’s Too Long, published by TOKYOPOP and reviewed by Connie at Slightly Biased Manga.

mijeongMijeong is a decidedly melancholy collection of stories featuring mainly broken or lost characters, mired in the sorrow of their pasts. “For me, only my past has any meaning,” one character says early on, setting the tone for much of the volume. This tone, however, is not exactly sad, or at least not exclusively so. From my review: “Byun Byung-Jun’s characters are both burdened and enriched by their histories, an insight that rings inescapably true. Even when longing for the past leaves characters bleeding to death in the grass … there is an unmistakable sense of hope lingering around the edges of most of these stories—a haunting paradox that helps maintain the volume’s momentum.”

Though the collection is definitely flawed, maybe even greatly so in some places, it is filled with tangible emotion and a sense of restlessness that keeps the reader on edge throughout–characteristics I find extremely compelling in any work of fiction. Ultimately, this is a book I can enthusiastically recommend. Full review here.

toolongOn an equally enthusiastic note, Connie, who admits she is often wary of short story collections, says this about Hee Jung Park’s anthology, Too Long: “Most of the volume is quite excellent, and this is probably among the best female-oriented comic short story collection that I’ve seen … Hee Jung Park comes through once again, and once again, I’m going to lament the fact that none of her stories are coming out in English anymore. She really does seem to be one of the greats, and I would love to read more than a volume or two of her best work.”

Please read the rest of Connie’s thoughtful review over at Slightly Biased Manga. Connie reviews more manhwa than many manga-focused blogs I’ve seen, and she frequently has very good things to say about the manhwa she reads.

Weekly Roundup:

Last week saw two reviews of Yen Press’ series, Sugarholic, from Jennifer Dunbar at Manga Recon (vols. 1 & 2) and from me here (vol. 1). I also reviewed volume 1 of Full House from NETCOMICS’ online catalogue.

Manga Recon’s Mini column last week offered up three manhwa reviews, Ken Haley on volume 2 of Jack Frost, Connie C. on volume 2 of 13th Boy (a personal favorite of mine), and Jennifer Dunbar on volume 4 of Bride of the Water God.

Danica Davidson at The Comics Reporter took a look at Bride of the Water God as well, this time volumes 1-4; Tiamat’s Disciple checked out the final volume of Croquis Pop; and Lissa Patillo looked at volume 9 of The Antique Gift Shop over at Kuriousity.

Is there something I’ve missed? Leave your manhwa-related links in comments!

Ouran High School Host Club 12 by Bisco Hatori: B+

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ouran12From the back cover:
Hikaru and Kaoru’s fight over Haruhi is taking its toll on Hunny and Mori, who are trying to watch over the estranged twins. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Tamaki, Kyoya starts looking for Tamaki’s mother in France.

Review:
Three plot threads are simultaneously underway in this volume, though they converge nicely by the end. In the first, Kyoya is using the class trip to France to look for Tamaki’s mother. In the second, Kaoru and Hikaru are fighting over their feelings for Haruhi and Kaoru launches a plan to spur Hikaru into action. And in the third, Tamaki is trying to decide what he wants to do with his life, and a job offer from his dad gives him a lot to consider.

Although I like the twins and enjoyed the chapters focusing on them—wherein Kaoru rightly sees the need for him and Hikaru to establish themselves as individuals but has a rather convoluted way of going about it—the heart of this series for me will always be Haruhi and Tamaki. Tamaki has backed out on the class trip to France at the last minute, but everyone else believes he has gone. There’s a priceless scene around the middle of the book where Haruhi’s on the phone with Kyoya asking how Tamaki’s doing and then spots him lurking in front of her house. There’s a lot more to the scene than that, but I don’t want to spoil it.

Haruhi and Tamaki proceed to have a lovely scene with just the two of them, wherein he gives her license to ask anything about his childhood. He also confides in her that his desire to make people happy comes from a vow to his mother and that he’d also like to carry this oath further into a career. Haruhi’s encouragement clearly means the world to him, and it’s also clear that Haruhi admires him and is getting a bit flustered in his presence (something that completely failed to happen during an outing with Kaoru in the volume’s earlier chapters). When Kyoya is later able to report that Tamaki’s mother is doing well (sniffle alert!), Tamaki decides to embrace his place in the Suoh family and accept his father’s offer to work with a chain of hotels the Suoh corporation owns.

So here we have a volume that features several characters maturing, two reticent characters displaying fondness for Tamaki, a classic bit of comedy, and a scene that brought tears to my eyes. I guess that may not seem like much, but for a largely episodic series like this one, it really is quite a lot. It also, as someone mentions in uncredited narration, is starting to feel like the beginning of the end. I think the timing’s perfect—we’ve had quite a while to enjoy these characters in a variety of situations and now it’s time for some of them to grow up enough to realize that it’s not a bad thing if relationships evolve from their current states. From all present indicators, it would seem the ending is shaping up to be a satisfying one.

The Floating Admiral by Certain Members of the Detection Club: B-

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TheFloatingAdmiralBook description:
In 1932, thirteen members of London’s exclusive Detection Club—including notables like Dorothy L. Sayers, G. K. Chesteron, and Agatha Christie—decided to undertake a challenging project. As Sayers writes in her introduction, “The problem was made to approach as closely as possible to a problem of real detection. Except in the case of Mr. Chesteron’s picturesque Prologue, which was written last, each contributor tackled the mystery presented to him in the preceding chapters without having the slightest idea what solution or solutions the previous authors had in mind.” Various rules were imposed upon the authors to insure they dealt fairly with the difficulties left by their predecessors, and each author was required to submit his own proposed solution of the mystery (collected in an appendix). The end product was the story of the River Whyn, which “bore so peacefully between its flowery banks the body of the floating admiral.”

Review:
When the body of retired Admiral Penistone (it took me ages to stop giggling at that name) is found drifting along the River Whyn in the vicar’s boat, the investigation, led by Inspector Rudge, focuses primarily on his tough-as-nails niece, her fiancé turned sudden husband, and a disgraceful incident earlier in the Admiral’s military career. Each of the thirteen writers throws in some other random clues as well, be they footprints, missing documents, possible forgeries, et cetera.

The result is surprisingly coherent for something with so many collaborators. Occasionally, there’s a bit of a jolt as a new hand takes over and bends events to their own interpretation, but it’s usually not too jarring (see next paragraph for an exception). One, perhaps unintended, result is that there’s more of an emphasis on explaining the meaning of strange clues than on crafting memorable characters. Rudge’s personality changes a bit in early chapters and eventually settles on simply bland. The author who finally brings a human touch to the story is Dorothy L. Sayers; I’d say her chapter’s the best of the lot and does the most to set the mystery on its ultimate path.

While most transitions are relatively seamless, one particular author, Milward Kennedy, seemingly sets out with the aim to correct what has gone before. Under his stewardship, Rudge doubts testimony he’d previously accepted and suddenly realizes, “Hey, I have a constable and a sergeant sitting around back at the boathouse. Maybe they could do something instead of me running all over the place myself.” It’s a necessary redirection, but the execution is rather awkward.

The lengthy final chapter offers a convoluted explanation for all that has gone before. It’s not really a satisfying ending—I can’t decide whether it’s ingenious or just silly—but it hangs together, at least, which is to be admired.

As a mystery and a novel, The Floating Admiral is merely okay. As an experiment, though, it’s a qualified success.

M Is for Magic by Neil Gaiman: A-

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misformagicFrom the back cover:
Master storyteller Neil Gaiman presents a breathtaking collection of tales for younger readers that may chill or amuse, but that always embrace the unexpected:

* Humpty Dumpty’s sister hires a private detective to investigate her brother’s death.

* A teenage boy who has trouble talking to girls finds himself at a rather unusual party.

* A boy raised in a graveyard makes a discovery, and confronts the much more troubling world of the living.

Review:
In the style of Ray Bradbury, who collected selected short stories for a younger audience into the anthologies R Is for Rocket and S Is for Space, Neil Gaiman presents M Is for Magic. Most of the stories are available in other compilations—namely Smoke and Mirrors and Fragile Things—but there are a few exceptions. The stories cover a wide variety of topics, from fairy tails to Arthurian legend, from graveyard denizens to awkward teens, and employ a variety of styles, like the hard-boiled detective narrative of “The Case of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds” or the story-within-a-story structure of “October in the Chair.”

I don’t consider myself much of a fan of short stories, so it was no surprise when some of these failed to thrill me. The aforementioned hard-boiled story was not a favorite, for example, since I don’t much care for that genre and stories that try to be clever by citing lots of fairy tales irritate me for some reason. I also found “Sunbird,” the tale of an Epicurean club in pursuit of meat they’ve not yet tasted, to be rather long and boring, even though its ending very nearly made up for that.

Some, though, are really great, and I’ll take them in ascending order of awesomeness.

1. “How to Talk to Girls at Parties”
Shy Enn and his more suave friend, Vic, are on their way to a party, but they’ve left the directions behind. They end up finding a party, though it’s not the one they’d wanted, and Vic encourages Enn to chat up some girls, which he tries to do. This story’s fantastic twist is that each girl seems to be the embodiment of a concept, like “the universe” or “poetry,” but it also works as a metaphor for how incomprehensible the world of girls can seem to an inept teenage boy. I particularly like the bits where one girl is going on about being an alien tourist or something, and the whole time Enn’s just wondering if he should dare to put his arm around her.

2. “Troll Bridge”
At the age of seven, a young boy encounters a troll who announces his intention to eat the boy’s life. The boy bargains for his release, promising to return once he has experienced more of life. The boy encounters the troll twice more and the culmination of their final meeting is great. I admire that Gaiman allows the protagonist of this one to be a bit of a jerk, offering his first love to the troll in exchange for himself and eventually realizing that he’s incapable of loving anyone. As in “How to Talk to Girls at Parties,” Gaiman works human truth and keen observations into his fantastic works.

3. “Chivalry”
A widow makes a weekly pilgrimage to the Oxfam shop, and one day picks up a golden goblet that would look swell upon her mantel. Shortly thereafter, she’s visited by a knight on horseback, who claims to be Galahad on a quest for the Holy Grail. He offers many treasures in exchange for the grail, but none would look so fine upon the mantel in the widow’s eyes, so she refuses. Eventually, he tempts her with a fruit that would promise eternal youth and, wanting him to go away, she finally accepts some very powerful stones that would make lovely knicknacks and sends him away. I love this one for the subtlety of the widow’s reaction to the promise of the fruit and her quiet decision to resist it and continue to pursue her quiet existence.

4. “October in the Chair”
The first description of this story that comes to mind is “bloody brilliant.” We begin with a gathering of the twelve months of the year, sitting around a bonfire and telling each other stories. Each month has got a particular personality, like February, who’s a stickler for the rules, or April, who’s both cruel and sensitive. When it’s his turn, October, who is in charge this month, tells a story of a boy who’s teased by his brothers, runs away and encounters a ghost, and then possibly chooses to live a ghostly life himself. October’s story has no definitive end, which may bother some, but I thought both tales were excellent. The concept itself is supremely creative, too, and reminds me a bit of the Sandman comics.

Even though there were a few stories that didn’t do it for me, on the whole, the collection is so good that I’ll probably be checking out the compilations from which these stories were selected. I guess if anyone could make me into a short story fan, it’d be Neil Gaiman.

The Witches by Roald Dahl: A

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witchesFrom the back cover:
Grandmamma loves to tell about witches. Real witches are the most dangerous of all living creatures on earth. There’s nothing they hate so much as children, and they work all kinds of terrifying spells to get rid of them. Her grandson listens closely to Grandmamma’s stories—but nothing can prepare him for the day he comes face-to-face with The Grand High Witch herself!

Review:
Though I’ve counted Willy Wonky and the Chocolate Factory among my favorite movies for 25 years now (side note: holy crap, I am so old), I’d never actually read any of Roald Dahl’s books before The Witches, though I own several. Rest assured that I shall now be rectifying this deplorable failing forthwith.

The Witches is the story of an unnamed boy who loves to listen to his grandmamma’s tales about witches. She tells him all about how to spot a witch (even when she’s masquerading as an ordinary woman) as well as their burning desire to exterminate children, and so the boy is well able to realize his predicament when a holiday in Bournemouth coincides with the annual meeting of all the witches in England. Trapped in a ballroom with the witches as they discuss a cunning plan to turn all the children in Britain into mice, he is eventually found out and turned into a mouse himself.

Does the story end there? No, it does not. He and his grandmamma (Dahl does love these grandparent/grandkid pairings, doesn’t he?) execute a cunning plan of their own, save the children, and end up with a new quest to keep them busy for the rest of their admittedly limited life spans.

What a perfect children’s book! It’s certainly imaginative, and comes with many amusing illustrations by Quentin Blake. It avoids familiar pitfalls, like a tedious interim wherein the mouse-boy must struggle to make himself understood by humans; Dahl dispenses with this entirely by allowing the mouse to speak normally. It doesn’t shirk from darkness—the boy remains a mouse and, as such, his life expectancy is dramatically reduced. And lastly, it’s just plain riveting, for an adult as well as a kid.

Sometimes children’s fiction just doesn’t click with me, even if I like the concept, but that wasn’t a problem whatsoever with The Witches. No wonder Dahl is so beloved; turns out he’s earned every bit of it.