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Manga the Week of 5/23

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Only publishers at the end of the alphabet are welcome in next week’s manga shipment!

Vertical features the first volume of their new shonen romantic blackmail comedy The Flowers of Evil, and I’m afraid everyone has to buy it, as otherwise the cover image will continue to stare into your soul forever. Into your SOUL. FOREVER.

Viz has the 5th volume of Saturn Apartments, which I’ve lost track of but which is from the SigIkki line, so clearly it is deserving of your praise.

And there is a huge pile of stuff from Yen. Including two big new debuts. From Square Enix’s Young Gangan, we have Until Death Do Us Part, an action/adventure/esper epic that they are releasing in omnibus format, meaning we get the first 2 volumes here in one. This is 15 volumes and still running in Japan, so should be a lot of fun. And from Houbunsha (I believe they went straight to graphic novel, a rarity in Japan), we have the first volume of Magic Girl manga Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Hey, do you want to buy a magical girl manga? Kyubei can sell one to you!

But wait, Yen has even more! The penultimate volume of Bamboo Blade; the 12th Haruhi Suzumiya manga, which starts to adapt the 7th novel; new Nabari no Ou, Omamori Himari, Pandora Hearts, and Sumomomo Momomo, which I don’t have anything clever to say about; and the 9th Soul Eater, which I would say features things spiraling out of control, except that might imply Soul Eater had control in the first place. And lastly, there’s the 3rd volume of Daniel X, which is an OEL adaptation of the James Patterson series. Who doesn’t love OEL?

So what are you devouring next week?

Combat Commentary: Bleach (The Entire Series)

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It occured to me that in the event that I ever run out of fights to cover (HA!), I needed to think of variations on my basic theme. And then I thought, instead of focusing on individual fights, it would be worth it to look at the basic fighting style(s) of entire mangas. If the overall fighting style of the manga isn’t interesting, then no amount of individual fights can salvage it. So in the spirit of imposing my opinion on which fighting manga are worth your time, I will start this brand new variation on my old theme.

Bleach has been called Dragonball Z, with swords. And I personally have absolutely no idea where anyone ever got that idea. I mean it’s not like Bleach spends insane amounts of time on fights, has characters of world shattering power, constant powerups, and always one more enemy to overcome … okay so maybe I can see where people might get that idea. But this is not a piece comparing DBZ and Bleach, rather it’s about the fighting in Bleach as a whole.

While Bleach does fall under the category of a “sword” manga, the swords are never really focused on that much, at least not later on in the series. There is no actual swordplay that goes into the series, rather it’s about who has the higher spirit power. Essentially the swords could be removed from the equation, and absolutely nothing would change.

Where a series like Rurouni Kenshin focuses a great deal on the philosophy of swords, different sword techniques, etc, Bleach takes a different approach. Rather than taking a swordsman philosophy stance, Bleach instead takes a “warrior” stance. The characters are not seen as swordsmen, but rather as warriors. This is emphasized by the fact that several of the characters have releases that remove all semblance of swordsmanship from their fighting style.

While there are several fighting styles presented in the manga, the most basic form of combat is using Zanpakuto, which are essentially the only weapons capable of damaging spirits. Each Zanpakuto has three forms it can take. The basic form is that of a Katana, which rarely gets used during fights as the series progresses; the next form is the Shikai, which changes the form of the Zanpakuto and gives it extra powers—very few of the Zanpakuto still look like swords after this initial release; the final release is the Bankai, which enhances the basic powers given by the Shikai, and enhances the spirit powers of the wielder.

Initially the basic enemies, Hollows (fallen spirits that devour other souls), have a variety of powers, but as the series progresses they are replaced by the Arrancar, a new form of Hollow that have removed their masks to gain Soul Reaper powers. They seal their Hollow powers into Zanpakuto that they can release to unseal those powers.

Throughout the later volumes of the series, a lot of focus is put on why Ichigo fights, with a fair bit of philosophizing going on about what it means to be a warrior. The fights, early on at least, are well developed, and take advantage of the unique powers to make every conflict interesting. In a way, despite the initial focus being swords, moving away from swords is a good idea, as it provides an infinite number of possible powers. But as the series progresses, more focus is put on nothing but the fights. And without the investment required to care about the conflict, I for one was left uninterested in any of the fights, especially since many of them devolved into just sword fights, something the series had moved away from.

Overall, Bleach took full advantage of a large variety of powers, and made fights that were a delight to read. Unfortunately, the fights lost their luster later on, resulting in a series that focuses entirely on fights, but fails to instill them with any kind of gravitas. Considering that for a while it was one of the only series where the outcome of the fights could really get me emotionally invested (see Ichigo vs Ulquiorra), it’s a real shame to have lost that.

I hope you enjoyed this new format. I’ll still focus on individual fights, but I think it might be interesting to look at the fighting styles of a series overall. I can’t promise anything just yet, but eventually I plan to broaden my gaze even further, and compare fighting styles of different series, to really show how they compare to each other, in an attempt to really understand what makes for a good fight scene.

Feel free to check out Derek’s blog over at Burning Lizard Studios, for manga and anime, as well as general graphic novel and cartoon reviews.

FLCL Omnibus

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By GAINAX and Hajime Ueda. Released in Japan in two separate volumes by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Magazine Z. Released in North America by Dark Horse Comics.

I recall when Tokyopop first released this manga, a number of years ago, my general reaction to it was sort of a flat ‘what’. Of course, I was a much younger reader then, and have since read many experimental manga with weird art, weird plotting and a certain gonzo style to them. So I picked up Dark Horse’s new omnibus, which has a spruced-up translation, color pages, and some extras by the author, wondering if I could now appreciate the deep and beautiful meaning in the series. But as it turned out, most of FLCL still ends up making me say the same thing: what?

To be fair to its authors, this is probably the reaction they were going for anyway. It’s OK to write something that’s surreal, and if FLCL is anything else, it’s that. The plot, for those who may not know, involves a young boy named Naota and his metaphors for puberty, which in this series emerge from his head and turn into giant robots. He has a crush on a girl named Mamimi, a ditzy older girl who’s in love with Naota’s older brother (who is in the US) and using Naota as an emotional crutch. She’s also an arsonist. He also goes to school, where he has the usual two male friends, plus the class president, who is the mayor’s daughter and is tsundere for him. All of this is turned upside down when a woman named Haruko arrives, bringing chaos in her wake and fighting the robots… or using the robots to fight one another… in an intergalactic battle that is never really explained properly.

This manga ran in Magazine Z, which no longer exists but was basically Kodansha’s media tie-in magazine. And it should come as no surprise to you that this was based on an anime by GAINAX, who were trying to deconstruct everything so they could reconstruct themselves after putting out Evangelion. The anime was 6 episodes long, and the manga is sort of a truncated adaptation. However, unlike the manga version of Evaangelion, which sticks to the same plot/events but makes the characters more likeable, FLCL’s author is allowed to shake things up a bit. Certainly I don’t remember Naota killing his father in the original.

Sometimes the author does actually remember that this is supposed to be about Naota growing up. At one point, all three female protagonists are living in his house, and Haruko and Mamami decide to tease him by pretending to be lesbians, something that does actually play off of male teenage sexuality. The ending is also rather interesting, changed slightly from the original – Haruko actually gives Naota her broken Vespa, and challenges him to fly to outer space after her. Of course, now our last shot is of his bruised and bloody fingers trying to fix/fly the thing. One might argue it’s more downbeat than the original.

The art is very stylized, and may possibly be worth a look-see. And I still like Mamimi despite myself. But for the most part, what read as an incoherent mess 8 years ago is *still* an incoherent mess, even if the author would like us to think otherwise. If you’re looking for teenage metaphors for sexuality, there are better manga than this.

Adventures in the Key of Shoujo: Sailor Moon Vol. 4

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Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 4 | By Naoko Takeuchi | Published by Kodansha Comics USA | Rated: T, Ages 13+

After my aggravation over volume 3, in this volume, things start taking on a more serious angle with the remains of the team trying to make sense of new villains (Black Moon), and the kidnappings of Sailors Mars and Mercury. Chibiusa’s backstory begins to be fleshed out and Usagi starts to buckle under the stress of having all her friends snatched away from her. I was really frustrated by the previous story’s lack of tension despite all the danger they were in, but Takeuchi re-applies the pressure by bringing more people in on the fact that the Sailor Senshi are missing. So now things are moving faster, and this is better for the narrative in my humble opinion.

I find that despite Usagi discovering her royal lineage, she proves she’s still a teenager with her jealousy over Chibiusa hanging out with Mamoru so much. But as we learn more about Chibiusa, we discover that Usagi and she are more alike than they realize. Turns out Chibiusa and Usagi are related to each other and Chibiusa is from the thirtieth century. Using the two girls as a sounding board, I often wonder what would happen if I met my future descendants. Would I have anything in common with them? Or more importantly, if they were in trouble, would I fight for them? It’s interesting to speculate, especially since I had previously derided Usagi’s somewhat childish behaviour towards Chibiusa. Does this completely absolve Usagi? No, she can still go over her boundaries into somewhat irrational territory but I’ll give her a pass from now on, within reason.

A little window gets opened in relation to Sailor Jupiter. Since she was introduced, I haven’t seen sight nor hair of the poor girl, except when she’s needed to defeat evil, blah, blah, blah. But I get an teeny tiny window into her thoughts and how important the others have become to her, and she then perfectly articulates why the rest of the girls and Mamoru don’t look (on the surface at least) to be all that concerned about their missing comrades. Also, we see her and Motoki have a tender, quiet moment only to have it snatched away without Motoki knowing it’s happened. Is this a comment on the attrition of war and its effect on its soldiers? It would be interesting if I could confirm this. The manga runs its usual wire-thin line between tragedy and comedy, so all bets are off in this volume as to where Takeuchi takes this.

In my quest to understand what theories you could derive from Sailor Moon, I’m looking at the concept of Black Moon as villains. For the most part, the individuals fall into the Dark Kingdom’s mold of villainy for villainy’s sake. But the overarching idea behind them (and I’m trying to stay out of spoiler zones here) is they are rebelling against the established order. They don’t want to simply accept that this is how society has gone and they won’t agree with it. The problem for them is, like all rebellions, there’s nothing inherently wrong with not wanting to go with the rest of society, just that once you get out of talking and protesting about your ideals, you reach an impasse. You can either accept that change will take time and get into the trudge of eventually changing things, or you decide more drastic measures are required. Black Moon falls into the latter category. So they murdered and maimed their way to the top of Chibiusa’s world and now want to do the same to the present. So in this way, I would surmise, the lesson here is you can get what you want, the only thing you’ve got to do is not mind stepping on people to do it. It would be fantastic to think Takeuchi was trying to say something about the manga industry but I fear I’m grasping at straws here.

Another thing that pops up is the idea of pre-destiny. For those who do not know, predestiny is the idea that all the major events in your life were pre-ordained before you ever existed and continue after you’re gone. Two people suffer this problem: Chibiusa and Mamoru. Mamoru is in a brief (and I’m stumbling for the next word) spiritual conference with his dead lieutenants—the ones who were Queen Beryl’s resurrected minions but who later came to see the folly of their ways. He wonders why he was even reincarnated if he can’t protect Usagi. Was he fated to fail? No, say his lieutenants, because you’re here means that Usagi will be Queen and you King. While Mamoru begins to understand from that point on, it’s not decided or explained by the author whether Mamoru’s men know this truth about him because it is a truth or because they have advanced knowledge. Is it predestiny if it’s imparted by a person outside the need for a personal destiny? On Chibiusa’s side, was she always fated to find Usagi and the Sailor Senshi? Is the fact that she’s related to Usagi a deciding factor in her arrival in our present? Again, no answers, just concepts.

I have to say this volume has me thinking, rethinking and over-thinking the plot and concepts it brings with it. We haven’t even talked about the amount of pressure Usagi—that she alone finds herself under by the end of the volume. Things get very grim for our heroes—decidedly so. While I’m sure there’s an inner light or a new spell to call upon, I find myself hammering away at the cogs of the machine rather than the machine itself.

Hey, I’ve a homework assignment for all of you, if you’re interested. Can you tell me what part of Sailor Moon got you thinking beyond the page? What ideas or theories did it throw up? If not Sailor Moon, you can use any shoujo manga you like. I’ll print whatever you send me in next month’s Sailor Moon post. If your comment has spoilers for SM, then I’ll ask MJto post them for me so I don’t read them ^-^!

After my blood pressure problems with dealing with volume 3, I should be equally angry with this volume, but that one conversation with Sailor Jupiter took the wind right out of my sails. So is the series getting better for me? Certainly, and my initial hangups about the series (it’s too girly, the villains are wishy-washy) have largely evaporated due to Takeuchi’s layering of plot on plot, dialogue over dialogue as we start to see the whole thing start to coalesce into something close to a concept in motion. This series, despite the occasional landmine, continues to shine and hold my attention.

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 5

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By Naoko Takeuchi. Released in Japan as “Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Nakayoshi. Released in North America by Kodansha Comics.

Sailor Moon is at Vol. 5, and the R arc is nearing its end. Things are getting bad. Mercury, Mars and Jupiter are still abducted, Moon’s been kidnapped, and now Wiseman seems to have spirited off Chibi-Usa. Will our heroes be able to stop the rising tide of pervasive evil? Well, there’s 7 more volumes of the main storyline, so the answer to that is obvious. The question is how dramatic and interesting can the author make it before Usagi fires her beam of super-concentrated pureness at the villain?

Quite a bit, as it happens. The villains below Wiseman seem to get a bit more depth to them than their first arc counterparts. In particular, Saphir seems like he might actually betray the villains for the sake of his family. Unfortunately, we’re not at the point yet where the manga starts redeeming minor villains, and the power of Death Phantom within him proves too much. Demande fighting his conditioning was also interesting, though I find Demande so loathsome that the impact was lessened for me. Unfortunately for the Black Moon Family, they find themselves replaced by a more useful villain, who has closer ties to our heroes.

That’s right, it’s time for Black Lady. Take all of the frustrations, desires and fears of a typical eight-year-old girl (again, ignore that she’s supposedly 902, that makes no sense). Then infuse her body with evil, and age her up so that she looks like an adult. This plotline can get a little creepy, be warned – Chibi-Usa’s jealousy of Usagi gets played out here with incestual subtext, and seeing Black Lady kissing her mind-controlled dad is meant to be as unpleasant as it sounds. Still, Black Lady does an excellent job of making the villain’s plan come to fruition – so much so that if they’re going to stop her, it’s going to require the big guns. They’re just going to have to – STOP TIME.

I have to admit, re-reading this volume, I hadn’t realized how emotional Sailor Pluto gets in it. I’d gotten used to the concept of her as the cool, stoic warrior of time – which she clearly isn’t here. Lamenting her fate (she can’t leave the time gate, she can’t let people through the time gate, and she can’t stop time, all rules she breaks in this arc), we realize that her true desire has simply been to be able to fight with the rest of the senshi. This is why she has such a close bond with Chibi-Usa, who has similar feelings of loneliness. Of course, you don’t break the only three rules of your position without consequences, and Pluto’s are particularly heartbreaking, even if you do know how things end up in the S arc and beyond. That said, her sacrifice was definitely worth it, as they were able to get Chibi-Usa back, as well as give Sailor Moon the final bit of determination she needs to beat the bad guys (even if the “name of the moon” speech seems a little jarring after such a serious scene.

The rest of the volume is basically getting Usagi in place to defeat Death Phantom, then getting her back. (Which reminds me, there’s a very amusing scene towards the start of the book where Tuxedo Mask runs off to rescue Chibi-Usa, and a stressed Sailor Moon collapses. They decide to take her back to the 20th Century to recuperate… for about 10 minutes, then the Black Moon Family messes things up so they have to return again. Pacing can sometimes be a problem with Takeuchi.) Luckily, everything works out, and Sailor Moon is even able to briefly meet her future self (hey, they’ve already broken all the other laws of time). We also see the three abducted senshi reuniting with the human side characters who their chapters focused on, which was nice and sweet. (I can’t remember if we ever see them again, but that’s par for the course with minor Sailor Moon characters.)

This volume really doesn’t let up at all, being a breathless race to the climax from beginning to end. And while that may disappoint some fans of the anime (certainly the other four senshi really have very little to do here), it helps to convey the tension needed to support such scenes. And Chibi-Usa goes home to the future! … no, wait, she’s back immediately, as Neo-Queen Seremity apparently regards her past self as free babysitting. Oh well, it’s always nice to end an arc on a cute note. On to the third, and some might say best, arc.

Comic Conversion: The Baby-Sitters Club

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The Baby-Sitters Club: Kristy’s Great Idea | Novel: Ann M. Martin / Scholastic | Graphic Novel: Raina Telgemeier / Graphix

Kristy Thomas has a great idea — she and her friends can work together to give beleaguered a one-stop-shop for baby sitters. That’s how the Baby-Sitters Club is formed, with Mary-Anne, Claudia, and the new girl, Stacey. A few problems pop up—prank calls, crazy kids, and accidental dog-sitting among them—but the club can work through it all. Stacey has a secret, and Kristy’s dying to know what it is. But when she pushes her new friend too hard, she risks losing the club when it’s barely even started.

Kristy’s Great Idea, the very first book in The Baby-Sitter’s Club, was originally published in 1986. Since then there have been 131 novels (and that’s not including any of the spin-off series!), though original author Ann M. Martin only wrote the first 35 herself. In 2006, five years after the conclusion of the novel series, Scholastic’s imprint Graphix released a graphic novel adaptation by Eisner Award winner Raina Telgemeier. The books themselves went out of print in 2009, but recently, Scholastic began rereleasing the first several books for a new generation of fans.

Confession time—I was a HUGE Baby-Sitters Club fan. I owned half the novels, and continued getting the other half out of the library until I realized I was older than the characters I was reading about. I picked up the first Baby-Sitters Club book again with some trepidation. At the very least, it’s been 13 years since I last read a BSC novel, and as it tends to go with many things I loved as a child, I worried the book wouldn’t stand up today. I was wrong. Martin tells the story in simple but interesting prose, easily keeping her readers engrossed. And it’s funnier than I remembered, like when one child insists her cat, Boo-boo, has been bewitched by the creepy neighbor when the animal begins to freak out and streak across the yard. Now over 25 years old, the book has some quirks that date it in the 80’s (handwritten essays, overalls as a fashion statement), but much of the novel focuses on the girls and their relationships with both family and friends—universal problems with any preteen reader—so that the story still feels current and relatable. And although each of the characters has a particular role that she fills—the tomboy, the popular girl—within 150 pages Martin gives them enough depth so that we get realistic, fleshed-out characters instead of a group of stereotypes.

One thing I didn’t notice as a kid was the diversity in the book. A main character is Asian, many characters come from broken or mixed homes, and another deals with a disease. The Baby-Sitters Club covered a spectrum with its characters, but what’s really fantastic is how blended and natural this diversity is. Being a different race or having a non-traditional family doesn’t feel strange in this book, or forced as if Martin was trying to make a point. Instead it’s just natural—the way things simply are—a wonderful point of view for a children’s book to have.

Having now rekindled my love of Ann M. Martin’s series I went into Raina Telgemeier’s graphic novel with a decent level of excitement. From the front cover you can tell that this adaptation is crafted by a fan. The character designs are alive with personality, from Kristy’s wide grin to Mary-Anne’s perpetually nervous looks. She even manages to make Claudia look sufficiently more “grown up” than her friends while still making her believably 12-years-old. Characters’ faces carry a range of emotions that are more telling than some of the prose, like with the loaded looks Kristy gives Watson, her stepfather-to-be.

The graphic novel matches the quick pace of the novel, packing in all of the events without making the comic feel crowded and rushed. Like a lot of adaptations, Telgemeier transfers parts of the novel’s narration to the comic’s voice over, but it works better here than in most cases. The first person point of view keeps the narration sounding like Kristy’s telling the story. Also, Telgemeier is pretty wise in how she uses it, generally only inserting the narration when it would be too awkward or long-winded to put the information into dialogue or thoughts.

I was absolutely wrapped up in the world of The Baby-Sitters Club through elementary and middle school, and it’s with a glad heart that I say I can still recommend the novel today. The novel is funny and easy to relate to, and with the cute updated cover little girls might not notice that the book is three times as old as they are. Telgemeier’s graphic novel is also a great introduction to the series, so much fun and so well-crafted that I’m genuinely disappointed that only the first four BSC books received adaptations. Acknowledging my own bias, I lean more towards recommending the novel, but both are great books that I’d give to any little girl.

Have any graphic novel adaptations you think do a good job? Or a comic you want me to check out for you? Leave suggestions for future columns in the comments!

Rohan at the Louvre

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In 2007, NBM Comics-Lit published Nicolas de Crecy’s Glacial Period, the first in a series of graphic novels commissioned by the Louvre Museum. The goal of Glacial Period — and the four books that followed it — was to introduce readers to the richness and complexity of the Louvre’s vast collections through a familiar medium: comics.

The artists’ strategies for bridging the divide between fine and sequential art have varied. In Glacial Period, for example, a team of anthropologists unearth the Louvre’s collections, which have been buried under ice for a millennium. The scientists try to make sense of the objects they discover, not unlike a group of aliens speculating about the purpose of a Coke bottle or an Etch-A-Sketch. Other novels are more fanciful: Eric Liberge’s On the Odd Hours reads like a classy version of Night at the Museum, in which the museum’s iconic pieces come to life, roaming the empty galleries until the night watchman can subdue them. Still others are explicitly historical: Bernar Yslaire and Jean-Claude Carriere’s Sky Over the Louvre, for example, stars two of the French Revolution’s best-known bad boys: Maximilien Robiespierre and David.

Hirohiko Araki’s Rohan at the Louvre, by contrast, takes its cues from the world of J-horror, using the Louvre as the setting for a nifty ghost story. In the book’s opening pages, we’re introduced to Rohan, an aspiring manga artist who lives with his grandmother in a nearly deserted rooming house. (N.B. Fans of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure may recognize Rohan as a minor character from one of the later volumes of the series, though prior knowledge of JoJo is not necessary for appreciating Louvre.) The unexpected arrival of a beautiful divorcee turns the normally placid household upside down with tearful drama. Within a week of her arrival, however, Nanase disappears into the night, never to be seen again.

We then jump forward ten years: Rohan, now 27, is a successful manga artist who decides to visit the Louvre to view what Nanase once described to him as “the darkest painting in the world.” The painting, he learns, has never been publicly displayed; it sits in a long-forgotten basement vault. What transpires in the bowels of the Louvre is a mixture of old-fashioned Japanese ghost story and contemporary slasher flick; if one were to update Masaki Kobayashi’s Kwaidan for today’s audiences, the denouement of “The Black-Haired Woman” or “Hoichi the Earless” might look like the climatic scene of Rohan.

For all the gory zest with which that scene is staged, Rohan‘s artwork is uneven. Araki’s command of color is impeccable: the prelude is bathed in a golden light, while the scenes at the Louvre are rendered in a cooler palette of grey, blue, and pure black, a contrast that nicely underscores Rohan’s journey from youthful inexperience to maturity. Araki’s sexy character designs are another plus; even the most muscle-bound figures have a sensual quality to them, with full lips and eyes that that moistly beckon to the reader.

When those figures are in motion, however, Araki’s artwork is less persuasive. Rohan and Nanase’s bodies, for example, rotate along several heretofore undiscovered axes; only Power Girl and Wonder Woman twist their bodies into more anatomy-defying poses. Araki’s fondness for extreme camera angles similarly distorts his characters’ bodies, as he draws them from below, behind, or a forty-five degree angle, eschewing simple frontal views whenever possible. Such bodily distortions are meant to give depth to the picture plane, I think, but the result is curiously flat; the characters often look like paper dolls that have been bent into unnatural shapes, rather than convincing representations of walking, talking people.

What Araki’s artwork does best is convey a sense of place. The opening pages are lovely, offering us a peek into a world that is largely — though not completely — untouched by modernity. Araki takes great pains to render the boarding house’s environs — its rock garden and gnarled pine trees — as well as its interior of spartan rooms and sliding doors. We feel the stillness and seclusion of the inn, and bristle when Nanase’s cell phone pierces that tranquility.

Likewise, Araki captures the Louvre in vivid detail. He guides the reader through its galleries, marching us past the Nike of Samothrace and several rooms of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century paintings. We follow Rohan’s gaze upwards towards vaulted ceilings encrusted in sculptural detail and elaborate frescoes, pausing to meet the gaze of the Dutch burghers and Roman gods whose images are mounted on the gallery walls. We then descend into the museum’s extensive network of tunnels and storage vaults, a veritable catacombs of neglected and obscure objects spread out over hundreds of acres. Although these dark, claustrophobic spaces make an ideal setting for a horror story, they’re also a powerful reminder of the Louvre’s history; the tunnels are remnants of a twelfth-century fortress that once occupied the site of the present-day museum.

If the artwork is, at times, overly stylized, Rohan at the Louvre is still an imaginative celebration of the Louvre Museum, conveying its scale, age, and majesty. Araki’s book is not as sophisticated or ambitious as some of the other titles in this series, but is one of the most dramatically satisfying, achieving a near-perfect balance between telling a ghost story and telling the Louvre’s own story. Recommended.

ROHAN AT THE LOUVRE • BY HIROHIKO ARAKI • NBM/COMICS-LIT • 128 pp. • NO RATING

The Flowers of Evil, Vol. 1

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By Shuzo Oshimi. Released in Japan as “Aku no Hana” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Bessatsu Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Vertical.

Sometimes you get one of those series coming down the pike where you know, based on your own personal tastes, you’re going to both love it *and* hate it. I sort of felt that way when I heard about Flowers of Evil. It’s somewhat twisted, which appeals to me, and also has a very distinctive cover, which Vertical has adapted well from the original Japanese. On the other hand, it features that classic beloved-in-Japan but not-so-much-here “weak male lead”, which tends to frustrate me quite a bit more than it probably should. If I’m going to be identifying with characters in stories I read, I’d like them to be less aggravating, thanks. In addition, I’d read the author’s Drifting Net Cafe on JManga, and found it riveting yet thoroughly unpleasant.

(Note that the typeface for the cover title has changed between releasing the above picture to retailers and actually coming out – Vertical has a lot of last-minute changes to spruce up their covers, mostly for the better.)

After reading Flowers of Evil 1, I’m prepared to hang in there for the long haul. As with Drifting Net Cafe, riveting is the adjective I find myself using to describe it. The plot itself is not the most original – outcast girl blackmails weak male guy, who’s interested in pretty-yet-unapproachable other girl – but as ever, it’s not the plot that matters so much as what the author does with it. Takao is an *interesting* weak male lead. His obsession with Baudelaire – particularly Flowers of Evil, his collection of poetry from which this manga gets its title – is interesting, but mostly as he almost uses it as a psychological crutch. I read important books, he thinks, so I am better than the people around me. It’s the teen intellectual approach, and god knows I did it myself a bit when I was in high school.

Most of the characterization in this volume goes to Takao. The object of his affection, Nanako, gets a little bit of oblique development towards the end – I liked her discomfort as the other classmates were accusing Nakamura, and she and Takao do actually look like a nice couple. We’re still mostly seeing her through his eyes, though. As for Nakamura, the girl on the front cover… I still don’t quite know what to make of her. She seems to enjoy manipulating Takao for her own amusement, but is that all there is? In this case, the fact that we can’t see what she’s thinking is what drives us on. Is she simply bored with life? Does she have feelings for Takao (something he accuses her of towards the end, and which she very quickly rips apart)? Is she simply enjoying having power over someone, in the way that many teenagers find they love? Or is she trying to get Takao to mature, to develop into a stronger man?

I notice how much I wrote above about how teenagers think. This first volume deals with that subject a lot. What is considered to be perverse, what can you say or not say around your friends… how much you’re allowed to show how puberty is changing you. Takao is actually, compared to some of the freaks we’ve seen in other shonen manga, a rather mild case, but because this is a fairly realistic plotline, it hits closer to home. Likewise, Nakamura seems to have a few perversions of her own. (I like the flush she gets as she’s stripping him in the school library. That and the ending where she screams at him shows that she’s not controlling her emotions as well as we think.) The combination of nostalgia and discomfort drives Flowers of Evil, and it’s done well enough that I absolutely want to see what happens next. Even if I may squirm a bit.

Off the Shelf: Second volumes & others

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MICHELLE: Hey, MJ? What did the fish say when he ran into the wall?

MJ: I don’t know, Michelle, what did the fish say when he ran into the wall?

MICHELLE: “Dam.”

MJ: Okay, that time I actually laughed.

MICHELLE: Yay! Victory at last!

Anyhoo, I believe it’s your turn to go first in talking about some of the manga you’ve read since we last convened.

MJ: You’re right!

So, first I caught up with you (and the rest of the manga blogosphere), and finally read the first two volumes of GTO: 14 Days in Shonan, the latest hit from Vertical. I have to admit, that despite all the praise, I was a little reluctant to dive into the GTO universe. I’d never read any of it when it was published by Tokyopop, so I wasn’t at all familiar with the characters, and even after your reassurances a few columns ago, I still couldn’t quite shift myself from simply “intrigued” to “actually cracking the books.” This week, I finally did it, and I am pleased to say that I enjoyed myself so much that I decided to bring it here to the column, even though we discussed the series so recently.

You’ve already covered the premise, so I won’t rehash it all here. While, unlike you, I didn’t worry about the comedic sensibility coming too close to something like Detroit Metal City (I loved Detroit Metal City), I did worry that I’d just find it all kind of… boring. Or maybe contrived. Fortunately, it was neither, and (again, unlike you) I think I just might be looking to try to track down all the series’ previous volumes.

What I found pretty spectacular about 14 Days in Shonan, is that it features a main character who spends a lot of time telling other people just how much of a badass he is, while actually being a badass. Usually, if a character has to tell me how great he is, that’s a sure sign that I won’t think he’s great at all—but in this case, Eikichi is exactly what he says he is, and I find myself with absolutely no doubt at all that he’ll be able to do absolutely anything he says he can, including winning over all the teens at the White Swan Children’s Home, while also possibly saving the world. And perhaps curing cancer. Can you tell I liked him?

Seriously, though, I enjoyed these volumes so much more than I expected, I find myself wishing I had some kind of award to give out for it, or something. It’s been a while since my expectations were so neatly trounced.

MICHELLE: Yay, I’m glad you liked it! I like what you said about the reader’s confidence in the protagonist’s ability to make good on his promises; I absolutely felt the same. I should also note that I liked the second volume even more than the first, and am at least intrigued by the prospect of reading the earlier series, if daunted by the expense of such an endeavor.

MJ: I’d say that I preferred the second volume as well, and I’m actually glad I saved them up to read together. Though now, of course, I’m anxious to get to the third!

So what have you been reading this week?

MICHELLE: Well, speaking of second volumes… I checked out volume two of Durarara!! this week. For the uninitiated, this is ostensibly the story of a kid named Mikado, who has moved to Ikebukuro to attend high school and has encountered its various peculiar residents. There’s a lot more going on besides that, though, including a mysterious gang, a nefarious pharmaceutical company, and a headless (female) figure in black who rides through town on a motorcycle.

I deemed volume one “weird but intriguing,” and was hoping things would start to make a bit more sense in the second volume. And they do. I think, though, that my favorite plotline—the mystery surrounding Celty, the black rider—may actually now make a bit too much sense. A key revelation regarding her felt so obvious I’m left wanting a twist of some kind. “Is that all there is?” Meanwhile, other aspects of the story are still fairly baffling at this point.

I guess my gripe is I’d prefer a more balanced march towards clarity, as opposed to a lopsided one. Durarara!! is a very stylish series, and not one with a whole lot of depth, and I’d hate to see Celty’s tale resolved in a perfunctory manner.

MELNDA: I admit I had little patience with volume one, and though it’s heartening to hear that volume two is more coherent, I’m not sure it’s my cup of tea. Normally, I can deal with waiting for things to make sense, but it sounds like the payoff may not be worthwhile.

MICHELLE: Yeah, I really don’t know at this point. I’m willing to keep going with it a while longer, but I have no idea whether I’ll be satisfied or annoyed in the end.

What else did you read this week?

MJ: On a very different note, I also read the latest volume of one of my favorite current shoujo series, Yuuki Obata’s We Were There. Though this is a title I have reviewed regularly, I think this may be the first time I’ve brought it to Off the Shelf.

For anyone who might be unfamiliar with this series, it’s one of those titles like Sand Chronicles that begins as a high school romance, but eventually takes its characters much further into their lives, ultimately feeling much more like josei than shoujo, at least for my money. Though unresolved teen emotions are a major element of the romance, the characters also must face much more grown-up concerns, like jobs, marriage proposals, and taking care of ailing parents.

Clinging to first love is often a theme in these types of stories, and that’s certainly the case with We Were There, though it’s only “first love” for Nanami, the story’s heroine, as one of the romance’s primary conflicts is hero Motoharu’s lingering feelings for his former girlfriend who died in a car accident (and some of the ill-considered choices he makes out of guilt and grief). Though the plot is pure soap opera, Obata’s handling of it is so thoughtful and complex, it feels very little like anything I would normally describe with that term. Like Obata’s writing, the relationships in We Were There are as delicate as a scrap of old lace, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. And crumble they do.

This series has long been a favorite of mine—one of a short list of shoujo manga (along with more dramatic titles like Banana Fish and Tokyo Babylon) that’s made me sob helplessly for long periods while reading. So it was a bit of a surprise to me to find that volume 13 left me feeling completely disillusioned with the story’s primary relationship, to the point where I no longer had any desire to see it rekindled. I was okay with this, really. After all, there was another perfectly wonderful love interest just waiting there for my heroine. I didn’t need to care about Nanami and Motoharu anymore. I really, really didn’t.

Except now I do.

And that, volume 14, is how you write a shoujo manga. Heh.

MICHELLE: I stalled out on volume four of We Were There, but I actually just started over from the beginning the other day! If all goes according to plan—and if you don’t mind a bit of redundancy—I’ll be talking about this volume next week! I really look forward to seeing how the series progresses, as I am still firmly in the high school portion of the story.

MJ: I will be thrilled to hear what you think of this volume next week! And I’ll take care not to spoil you any further.

What else do you have for us this week?

MICHELLE: You may remember that I was a big fan of Dining Bar Akira, a BL oneshot published by NETCOMICS. So when JManga licensed another oneshot by its creator—Tomoko Yamashita—I knew I had to read it.

Don’t Cry, Girl is first and foremost an exceedingly silly manga. Due to unspecified problems with irresponsible parents, 17-year-old Taeko is sent to live with an acquaintance of her father named Masuda. Unfortunately for virginal Taeko, Masuda is a nudist and opens the door in his birthday suit. Taeko freaks out, as any normal person would, and I was giggling by page three, thanks to dialogue like, “Oh, shut up! Shut up, you stupid naked dumbass!”

Still, she’s got nowhere else to go, so Taeko and Masuda continue to cohabitate. Yamashita has a lot of fun with the premise, positioning speech bubbles and house plants in front of Masuda’s nether regions, and eventually introducing a friend for Masuda whose cool and sophisticated veneer hides a penchant for juvenile humor. A couple of would-be serious moments don’t quite work however, and make it hard to remember that this is a comedy and certain things don’t really need to make sense.

Also included is a story called “3322,” in which another young woman is staying with her father’s acquaintance. Kanoko is considering leaving school, so her father has her stay with Chiyoko, who is probably her mother. While Chiyoko has a dalliance with a local man, and her friend Yoko seems to pine unrequitedly for her, Kanoko finds herself interested in Yoko while frustrated by the adults and all their secrets. It’s an interesting tale and one I wish could be expanded upon.

Although a little uneven, Don’t Cry, Girl is still a lot of fun. And JManga’s now got another Yamashita title up—Mo’some Sting—which I will definitely be checking out!

MJ: Okay, now I’m giggling thanks to just the bit of dialogue you quoted! Silly manga is not always to my taste, but this sounds like far too much fun to pass up!

MICHELLE: I think it’s just the right kind of silly. Once again, I find myself thanking JManga for offering something it’s very unlikely we would’ve been able to get in English otherwise. New est em, new Tomoko Yamashita… could new Saika Kunieda (Future Lovers) be next? One can only hope!

MJ: That’s worth some hope, indeed!

The Flowers of Evil, Vol. 1

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If you grew up in a small town, you probably knew someone like Takao Kasuga, the nebbish-hero of The Flowers of Evil. Kasuga is a precocious middle-schooler who copes with provincial life by burying his nose in a book. His peers tolerate him, but find him a little too smug and strange to be one of the guys. Kasuga, for his part, takes pride in his sophisticated reading habits, stashing poems in his desk and telling his classmates that they’re too stupid to appreciate his favorite writer, Charles Baudelaire.

In a moment of impulse, Kasuga steals the gym outfit of beautiful classmate Nanako Saeki — an act witnessed by Sawa Nakamura, the class outcast. Nakamura confronts Kasuga after school, threatening to expose him as the thief unless he complies with her requests. Her motives for blackmailing Kasuga are complex, a mixture of prurient interest in Kasuga’s sexual fantasies and sadistic delight in wielding power over a boy. At times Nakamura  physically dominates him — she punches and tackles him — and at times she manipulates him with humiliating tasks and questions.

I’d be the first to admit that the similarities between Flowers of Evil and Sundome — however superficial — predisposed me to dislike the book. I didn’t think I had the stomach for another story in which a ball-busting girl sexually and psychologically tortured a sad-sack boy. Yet Flowers of Evil proved a far more compelling and honest look at adolescent sexuality than Sundome, thanks, in large part, to Shuzo Oshimi’s sympathetic portrayal of Kasuga.

Throughout the book, author Shuzo Oshimi hints that Kasuga’s character was inspired by his own experiences as a book-toting misfit. “I read Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil for the first time in middle school,” he explains at the end of chapter one. “I didn’t understand much of it, but the book’s feel — suspicious, indecent, yet nastily noble — made me think, I’m so cool for reading it.” Kasuga, too, clearly feels a sense of superiority for having discovered Baudelaire at a young age; in a fit of self-pity, he muses, “How many people in this town understand Baudelaire?” At the same time, however, he’s keenly aware that his peers think he’s weird. Kasuga may be mature enough to appreciate Baudelaire — or perhaps, more accurately, to think he understands Baudelaire — but he isn’t quite old enough to shake off his classmates’ teasing.

Oshimi also does an exceptional job of dramatizing Kasuga’s inner sexual turmoil. Early in the book, for example, Kasuga catches sight of Saeki. In a flash, he pictures her clad in gym clothes, blushing and telling him, “I love you.” His acute embarrassment at being discovered mid-reverie is all the more palpable for the way in which he’s drawn: Kasuga sinks into his chair, his shoulders slumped, brows furrowed, and body foreshortened, making him look like a moist ragdoll. In later chapters, Oshimi uses surreal imagery — a wall of eyes, a fun-house mirror, a giant sink hole — to suggest that Kasuga’s normal teenage discomfort with sexual feelings has become something more powerful and destructive: shame.

If Kasuga is a sympathetic character, Nakamura poses greater difficulties for the reader. She claims her true agenda is to expose him as a pervert, but nothing about Kasuga’s behavior indicates that he is; if anything, Kasuga is naive, torn between romantic and sexual ideas about love. (That he calls Saeki “my muse, my femme fatale, my Venus” suggests the extent of his confusion.) Nakamura, too, appears to wrestling with complicated sexual feelings; in several scenes, she hints at her own predilections, only to accuse Kasuga of harboring even nastier ones. In short, Nakamura seems intent on finding someone more self-loathing and sexually confused than she is, yet her behavior is so violent and manipulative it sometimes feels as if Oshimi is trying too hard to suggest her disaffection; Nakamura’s character veers dangerously close to being a symbol of castration anxiety, rather than an emotionally damaged teenage girl.

That said, The Flowers of Evil is a shockingly readable story that vividly — one might even say queasily — evokes the fear and confusion of discovering one’s own sexuality. Recommended.

THE FLOWERS OF EVIL, VOL. 1 • BY SHUZO OSHIMI • VERTICAL, INC. • 202 pp. • NO RATING (BEST FOR OLDER TEENS)

Manga the Week of 5/16

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Don’t mind me, I’m just depressed. Still no Oresama Teacher 8 for me. And now Story of Saiunkoku 7 is missing as well. Oh Diamond, why must you hurt so?

That said, Midtown Comics is still getting a bunch of stuff in next week. Let’s go over it publisher by publisher.

Being around the Manga Bookshelf team has made me feel guilty that I tend to ignore manwha, so I’ll just note that the 11th volume of romantic fantasy Bride of the Water God is here. It runs in a magazine called Wink. Also, I hear there are gods.

Digital Manga Publishing has a bunch of new BL series, as well as some old favorites. Both Castle Mango and Samejima-kun & Sasahara-kun sound much sillier than the usual solicits I see, which pleases me. More silly BL, please! As for Starry Sky, it’s hard to find info on it except that I think it came from Comic B’s Log, so may not be true BL but BL-ish. It does seem to star a female. Lastly, we have new volumes of Private Teacher and The Tyrant Falls in Love, both of which tie for this week’s ‘sounds most like a USA Up All Night movie’ award.

Kodansha gives us Sailor Moon Vol. 5, which wraps up the ‘R’ arc, and features my all-time favorite Sailor Moon manga moment. We also get the 6th volume of the Emily Rodda series Deltora Quest, which Kodansha snapped up and turned into manga before, say, Yen Press could. :)

Seven Seas has the 4th volume of A Certain Scientific Railgun, which says right on the back that it’s beginning the long-awaited ‘Sisters’ arc, thus showing that any attempt to market this series to newbies has long since left town. Should be good, though. I quite enjoyed the last volume.

Lastly, Viz stuff is still trickling in, as we see Naruto 56 (huge good pile of ninjas battle the enemy’s huge evil pile of reanimated ninjas), and Inu Yasha VIZBIG Edition 11, which presumably has Vols. 31-33. It’s more than halfway there! And also features the undead, which is apparently Viz’s theme this week.

So what floats your boat?

Fannish Drift: All We Are Is Lust In the Wind?

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Hello, Manga Bookshelf!

It’s the time of year where everything turns into a frenzy, and I haven’t had much opportunity for reflecting upon fannish things; but lately something has been on my mind, and that’s the syndrome of Fannish Drift. In this case I’m speaking in the fandom sense–how people move from one fandom to the next.

There are several reasons this has been on my mind: the primary one is that May 5th, the flagstone day for my previous fandom, Hikaru no Go, has come and gone without my doing anything to commemorate it, other than allowing the fandom at large to take over the “Let’s Five!” meme that I began 6 years ago. As you may remember from last year when it was hosted right here, the meme had been hosted in numerous places, and I didn’t have the heart to move it to yet a 4th location when it could have a permanent home. And while I love the canon as much as ever, I’m just not in the fandom anymore. I’ve stopped participating in the community and devoting large sections of my headspace to thinking about board games and the ghosts who play them. :D

Since 2010 I’ve been happily esconced in the fandom for Inception, which is an unlikely fandom to have survived this long because it’s a film fandom, and film fandoms tend to have very small fandoms and very short afterlives. For whatever reason, luckily for us, Inception fandom has been the exception, and is still going strong as a mid-sized fandom nearly two years later. Still, it’s inevitable that there’s been a decline in size over the years as people move on, and in a fandom whose largeness was always a surprise, it’s impossible not to notice the change. Which brings me to my second reason–watching fannish drift occur in my current fandom, and the accompanying experience of feeling overwhelmed by the current “trendy” fandoms.

As far as western fandoms go, I seem to be a bit of a strange bird because while I’ve dabbled in all kinds of fandoms during down periods, I tend to be very fandom monogamous. Literally for the last two years I’ve read nothing but Inception fanfic, because it was all I wanted to read, and it’s hard to get me to participate actively in multiple fandoms at once. I am, of course, aware of other fandoms and general fandom trends, but I don’t really invest in them heavily when I’m pre-engaged. :) My experience with Japanese fandoms has been totally different, however: during the period I was most heavily involved in Japanese fandoms, I was involved in, or at least actively conversant in, several at once: Tenipuri, Hikago, Nobuta wo Produce, Death Note, J-pop and J-rock. There have been moments when I’ve engaged with western media this way (most notably every year at Yuletide) but I also think there’s more of a culture, with western media fandoms, of movement from one fandom to another, rather than inhabiting multiple fandoms at once. I think that’s why lately I’m experiencing more of a disconnect between fannish social platforms: on tumblr, where it’s incredibly easy to reblog evidence of 20 different fandoms a day, fannish activity seems endlessly diverse; but in most other fandom corners I inhabit, the evidence for “active” fandoms–the fandoms people are talking about the most, the fandoms people are actively engaging in–seems largely confined to a handful at the moment: primarily, of course, Avengers, but also Teen Wolf, Sherlock, and hockey RPF.

Of course, the active fandoms I’ve just listed all have a white male bromance at their center, and many fans talk about this trend of movement between fandoms as being linked to the constant desire to seek out endless repetitions of this dynamic.* You might hear this phenomenon termed “Migratory Slash Fandom” or “Random Militant Slashers.” I have incredibly mixed feelings about this, honestly. I think it’s a very valid depiction of how many western media fans respond to canons, and a valid depiction of what kind of canons gain fan followings quickly. But I also think it’s a) sexist, because it’s usually used as a way to judge other female fans for doing fandom wrong, and b) limiting, because it presupposes that the only reason for fannish drift–for this movement from fandom to fandom–is because the fans are just moving around in search of more hot white guys to ship.

(Though for today, at least, the popular pairing seems to be F/F. I am speaking of Creamsicle, everyone’s new favorite OTP created in under 24 hours entirely from an unlikely internet meme!)


(Source = Tumblr, possible (?) credit to whileothersreap)

 

I’ll use my own fandom as an example: Inception fandom primarily revolves around the Arthur/Eames ship, which is a relationship between two characters who have literally three minutes of total screentime together. But they fit the formula for what pulls in the Random Militant Slashers completely: hot white guys, banter, easy chemistry, and: voila! Instantly popular fandom. But is that all there is to it? As I’ve said earlier, everyone was surprised by Inception’s popularity, and two years later, no one expected the fandom would still be this active, much less thriving. To me, that’s all the credit to the incredible possibilities the film gives us for worldbuilding and creation and literally endless interpretations of the canon universe and its alternatives. In other words, Arthur and Eames may arguably be cardboard stock characters dropped into a heist film ensemble, but if everything else about the film weren’t so compelling, none of us would be writing fics for it.

Still, when I see people moving on from Inception fandom predictably moving into other fandoms where the “two white guys + banter” phenomenon holds sway, I wonder what a more accurate set of criterion is for what pulls people from one fandom to the next, or if maybe there just isn’t one.

So tell me, MB: in your experience, what creates fannish drift? What draws you to a fandom initially and what keeps you there? Does it change over time, or does it change with every fandom? Is it easier to be in lots of fandoms at once or to devote yourself just to one until you’re done with it, then move on? Is there a culture divide in how we perceive fannish movement between Eastern and Western fandoms? I have no idea. But as I’ve already said, I’m an odd bird.

(Then again, I might just spend the rest of my day writing Normal Girl/Other-Girl-san~.)

Bookshelf Briefs 5/7/12

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This week, Kate, Sean, and Michelle look at recent releases from Yen Press, Dark Horse, VIZ Media, and Digital Manga Publishing.

Highschool of the Dead, Vol. 6 | Story by Daisuke Sato, Art by Shouji Sato | Yen Press – After reading the first six volumes of this Dawn of the Dead rip-off, I’m still mystified by its appeal. The layouts are busy and poorly composed, a riot of screentones, traced elements, and grossly distended breasts, while the script consists mostly of characters ordering one another around. Yes, there are plenty of scenes of zombie carnage, but even those aren’t executed with much imagination. In volume six, for example, our heroes try to fight their way out a shopping mall, eventually taking refuge on the roof. Sound familiar? That’s because volume one follows the same basic trajectory — just swap “school” for “mall,” and the two storylines are virtually interchangeable. That kind of lazy storytelling might be excusable if Highschool of the Dead were funny or exceptionally gory, but when the laughs and scares are in such short supply, it’s hard to fathom why horror fans are making do with such weak sauce. -Katherine Dacey

Itazura Na Kiss, Vol. 7 | By Kaoru Tada | Digital Manga Publishing – We’re now over halfway through this series, and so we begin to get some new plotlines and characters debut in order to give us more to chew on than “When will Naoki be nice/when will Kotoko be smart?” So we get a new girl who is clearly introduced to be the ‘consolation prize’ to nice yet loser-ish Kinnosuke. It works here, though, as Chris is so much fun – kudos to DMP for translating her fractured Japanese in a way that shows how she sounds to everyone else – and you’re also rooting for her. As for Kotoko, reality slaps her in the face again here, despite minor triumphs like winning over Naoki’s family. Naoki is correct in that Kotoko works best when she isn’t coddled or sympathized with. What’s impressive here is that she realizes it as well. She really may be finally growing up. –Sean Gaffney

Itazura Na Kiss, Vol. 8 | By Kaoru Tada | Digital Manga Publishing – And if the last book showed us Kotoko, if not getting smarter, then at least learning her strengths and limitations, this volume is for Naoki. No, he’s not really all that nicer, but he is at last realizing that he can’t simply expect declarations of love to be entirely one-sided on his wife’s part. Naoki simply doesn’t do emotions – except around Kotoko, who has taught him the joys of frustration, anger, exasperation… and love, reluctant as he still is to admit it. He admits this publicly for one reason – a serious threat to his marriage arrives, and starts pointing out all of his worst flaws. Keita is not particularly in danger of stealing Kotoko – she’s not all that interested. But Naoki here not only admits that he needs Kotoko to be more human – and to be more loving. Which is why the final part of the book is the two of them skipping their anniversary party and sharing a drink and a kiss on a quiet bench. –Sean Gaffney

Kamisama Kiss, Vol. 8 | By Julietta Suzuki | VIZ Media – The annual kami conference is underway, and Nanami has been assigned the special task of sealing the entrance to the land of the dead, which is always besieged by yokai when its guardian kami is away. Unfortunately, she and a mysterious human named Kirihito end up trapped on the other side. So basically, this is yet another “Tomoe to the rescue” scenario. True, Nanami exhibits some bona fide powers as she works to free herself and Kirihito, but ultimately it’s Tomoe who must save her. One nice side effect is that Tomoe seems to realize his feelings for Nanami at long last and some secrets concerning his past—that even he is unaware of—are touched upon. I continue to enjoy Kamisama Kiss, but it must be said that this particular volume was not particularly riveting. – Michelle Smith

Magic Knight Rayearth 2 | By CLAMP | Dark Horse Comics – Needless to say, although it had a great ending, it cannot be denied that the way the last Rayearth manga ended was a bit… well, depressing. So let’s have a sequel where we bring our heroines back and have them save the world again! This omnibus has more flaws than the first – too many characters and a messy and confusing plotline. That said, it explores the idea of what would happen to a world which is collapsing after the woman keeping it idyllic is killed quite well. And it is nice seeing the cute couples that barely had time to be suggested in the first series having a bit more time to develop now – aged-up Ascot is adorable, and I love Caldina and Lafarga too… (Sorry, Rafaga. Damn romanizations.) And of course there’s Hikaru, Lantis and Eagle, which is about as close as one can get to a canonical threesome without a wedding. Not as essential as the first, but still fun. –Sean Gaffney

Psyren, Vol. 4 | By Toshiaki Iwashiro | VIZ Media – The plot of Psyren is moving right along. Oh, sure, there’s the obligatory shounen stuff wherein the heroes are determined to get stronger and the main character must gain control of his tremendous yet potentially destructive power, but we also get more information about how the world of Psyren came to be and how far ahead it is from the present for our characters. Each volume of Psyren is a lot of fun, though I’m beginning to suspect that I would enjoy it even more if I had a lovely stack to consume at once—each time I finish a volume, I wonder when the next will be coming out, which is a pretty big compliment. If you’re weary or wary of certain shounen clichés, Psyren might be different enough to satisfy. As an added bonus, at sixteen volumes, it’s considerably shorter than many titles in this demographic. – Michelle Smith

Voltron Force: Shelter from the Storm, Vol. 1 | Story by Brian Smith, Art by Jacob Chabot | VIZ Media – Back in the 1980s — the golden age of cruddy cartoons with merchandising tie-ins — Voltron: Defender of the Universe introduced a generation of American kids to mecha. Nickelodeon revived the series last year, giving it a fresh look and new cast of cadets. In keeping with the spirit of the original, the new Voltron has inspired its fair share of spin-off products, including a series of original graphic novels published by VIZ. When contrasted with similar comics — especially the original Ben 10 “manga” — Voltron Force: Shelter from the Storm is a superior product, with crisp artwork, sophisticated storytelling, and teenage characters who sound and act enough like teenagers to pass muster with the comic’s target audience of seven-to-ten-year-old boys. The language is sufficiently challenging for advanced readers but not too overwhelming for kids who have just graduated to chapter books, while the diverse cast of characters ensures that boys and girls alike will find a cast member to identify with. A solid addition to the elementary school classroom library. -Katherine Dacey

Not By Manga Alone: Battle of the bands

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Welcome back to Not By Manga Alone! This month Sean continues his mastery of Kilban’s back catalog with Playboy’s Kilban and Playboy’s New Kilban, while Megan explores the dangers of far north prospecting in Zach Worton’s The Klondike, and the even more terrible dangers of inter-band romance, with Dan Parent and Bill Gavin’s The Archies & Josie and the Pussycats.

The Archies & Josie and the Pussycats | By Dan Parent and Bill Galvan | Archie Comics — Archie Comics has been in the news plenty in the last few years. Between the introduction of Kevin Keller, the line’s first gay character, Archie’s dueling alternate universe marriages to Betty AND Veronica, and his interracial romance (and eventual alternate universe marriage and family) with Valerie of Josie and the Pussycats fame, the once staid publisher has become hot news. Kevin earned the publisher a boycott, and the marriages sparked an epic, cross platform ship war, with shades of class and culture war. Archie and Valerie’s love got some conservative fans tut-tutting but it was generally received well. It’s cute, is the thing.

Archie and Josie kiss.Archie is currently running another of those unit-moving future marriage stories, but this time he marries and begins a family with Valerie. The start of their romance is collected in The Archies & Josie and the Pussycats. The two bands decide to go on tour together, because… because reasons. There are numerous logistical and logical Rubicons to cross here, not least being the status of the two bands: The Archies are a garage band, while the Pussycats can carry a world tour; Archie’s in high school, while Valerie most definitely is not. But aside from the weaselly objections of Alex Cabot, the Pussycats’ money-hungry manager, these issues are glossed over in favour of milkshakes and love songs. And rightfully so, Archie comics having their own particular, family-friendly, romcom logic. If it doesn’t bear up to too close a look, well, it isn’t meant to. And so, in due course–a handful of pages–Valerie and Archie find themselves falling in love.

The romance is rushed. I found myself wondering why Archie, why Valerie, but as with any Archie comic, a certain amount of suspended disbelief is a requisite. It pays to just go with it. The resulting shenanigans–scheming Cabot siblings, a thwarted Veronica–are worth it. Despite the mysterious genesis of their relationship–they write a love song together, and then they fall in love–and a first half that drags, once things get going, they’re adorable.

Writing for comics franchises takes a different skill set than does writing original comics, and Dan Parent and Bill Galvan are old hands. Galvan’s Riverdale is as timeless as ever, with the usual small updates for contemporary sensibilities. And Dan Parent powers through the narrative with admirable brevity. Light, earnest and slightly ridiculous, The Archies & Josie and the Pussycats is pure fun. — Megan Purdy

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The Klondike | By Zach Worton | Drawn and Quarterly — I’ve been meaning to read The Klondike for awhile. I picked it up on a weekend trip to Montreal and it’s been staring at me ever since. The prospect of seeing Zach Worton this weekend at TCAF spurred me on–and I’m so glad I finally cracked the cover, because aside from a few issues, the book is fantastic. The Klondike is historical fiction. Worton tells the story of the Alaskan/Yukon gold rush through a combination of real historical, and fictional characters, and it’s a wise choice that lets him create charming amalgams like Sid the Barber and John the Russian. Characters who have brief, vivid lives in the narrative, but speak to a whole cast of real characters–the thousands of prospectors, some experienced, some naive greenhorns, who came in search of their fortunes. Too many ended their lives in misery, and Worton doesn’t shrug away from that. The harsh conditions of the North are detailed here: the killing weather, isolation, persistently threatened health, and humanity itself are all dangers Worton’s characters have to navigate. Few of them make it through, and fewer strike it rich. Klondike cover

Worton tells the story in segments, shorter stories often centered on interesting historical episodes, interposed with fascinating explanatory notes. The whole is a skillfully woven epic in miniature. The Klondike isn’t just Joe (Dawson City founder and mayor) Ladue’s story, or Sam Steele’s story, it’s a wonderful exploration of the lives of these prospectors and the economy and society that quickly rose up around them. Although it starts out episodic, The Klondike quickly shifts into competing story arcs about the prospectors, cops, criminals, and tough men and women of the North. Worton says that he didn’t want to write an adventure, and The Klondike rolls over that potential story with an avalanche of everyday struggle, misery and small triumphs, but there’s still plenty of action in this book.

Klondike landscapesLike Osamu Tezuka and Bryan Lee O’Malley, Worton contrasts toony figures, with more realistic and beautiful, detailed backgrounds. The characters are made accessible, easy to read, while the landscape of the Klondike is revealed to us with loving attention. It’s probably not a deliberate, story-telling choice, but Worton’s expressive, simply rendered characters have very detailed, over-sized hands. This draws attention to what they’re doing–working, drinking, striking deals–and lends a certain weather-beaten roughness to even the most polished characters.

My chief complaint about an otherwise great book, is that the dialogue is often stilted, and sometimes reads as though it’s adapted from letters, or historical accounts. Later in the narrative, characters pick up individual verbal tics, which goes a long way toward establishing and maintaining a sense of naturalism in speech that’s sorely needed. Early on, conversations read too much like a script without actors; interesting, but stiff and too mannered. Once Worton finds his rhythm–or his characters do–and the various plots pick up, The Klondike is an easy, quick, read that’s informative and at times genuinely moving. — Megan Purdy

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Playboy’s Kliban and Playboy’s New Kliban | By B. Kliban | Wideview Books — Let’s face it, an artist has to earn a living. And B. Kliban has been drawing cartoons since 1965. The Cat book didn’t really take off till the mid to late 1970s, meaning most of his work depended on his main publisher, and that was Playboy Magazine. We’ve seen several cartoons by Kliban, notably in Whack Your Porcupine, that were sexually explicit, but they were still completely bizarre and Kliban-ey. It’s not until we look at these two collections of cartoons he drew explicitly for Playboy over the years that we realize just how much of the previous four books was his sketchbook of unsellable ideas. You will not find grotesque caricatures here – most of the people look fairly normal, and the girls of course all look attractive. This is not weird Kliban, or offbeat Kliban. Or clean Kliban. It is, thank goodness, still funny Kliban.

These books are mostly cartoons from the late 60s and early 70s, and it shows – even if they weren’t meant for Playboy, there’s still a certain aura to them. These cartoons are for the adult male – not just because 80% of them feature sexual content (though there are quite a few here that are ‘normal’), but because they have a certain male viewpoint to them. There’s little to no non-consensual sex here – Playboy cartoons tend to show men and women having tons of fun – but there’s still a certain sexist sensibility I never really got in the prior Kliban collections. Let’s face it, he’s drawing for his audience.

These are such a contrast to his other books, in that they’re mainstream. This doesn’t mean bad – I laughed many times throughout both books – but work like this is what paid the bills, while his Workman Publishing books are what fueled his creative mind. If you can find these, and are over 18, grab a copy – but they aren’t essential, as his other works are. — Sean Gaffney

Fallen Words

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By Yoshihiro Tatsumi. Released in North America by Drawn and Quarterly.

Sometimes you don’t need deep, significant plots. You don’t need characters that go on an incredibly journey that lets them grow up and learn about life. And you may not need 65 volumes to tell your story. Sometimes all you need to do is be interesting, to have an anecdote to tell and to enthrall the listener with that anecdote. And if it ends on a funny note, well, so much the better. The art of rakugo is beloved in Japan. It’s basically storytelling, but has an element of stand up comedy to it (while, of course, being nothing like stand up at all). The stories usually involve dialogues, all conveyed through changes in tone and pitch. And now we have legendary mangaka Yoshihiro Tatsumi giving us some rakugo in manga form.

There are eight stories here, all about 30-50 pages in length, and almost all being fairly comedic and lighthearted. Even the darkest of the bunch, which involves a down-on-his-luck man who befriends The Grim Reaper (seen on the cover here) is still fairly humorous until its dark conclusion. Since Tatsumi cannot aurally convey what the world of the Rakugo is like, he simply has to do it by drawing us into the stories. And it works beautifully, as I found it very hard to pull myself away, even when I was reading about yet another get-rich-quick scheme (a common theme of these stories is the lack of money).

While I said the stories weren’t stand-up, they are of course devoted to telling a funny story. I was reminded a bit of the longer and less humor-oriented parts of Henry Rollins’ old spoken word albums, where he described photo shoots in Australia and crappy jobs euthanizing animals. The other thing these stories reminded me of, especially since some of them *do* end with a punchline that makes you groan rather than laugh, is the shaggy dog story. Not in as much as you feel that you just wasted 15-20 minutes of your life (which is what the best shaggy dog stories offer to the listener), but that feeling that the journey was more important than the destination. In a story about a courtesan and her clients, all of whom sit alone and rail at the poor beleaguered assistant, the final joke is sort of a quick “the end’ gag. What’s fun is the entire story itself, watching these puffed-up and self-deluded middle-aged men ranting and raving because they aren’t getting any.

My favorite story, in terms of combining all the elements I mentioned above, was the third in the book, Escape of the Sparrows. Featuring a prologue that is seemingly irrelevant to the rest of the tale, this them spins off into another ‘deadbeat guest’ story, but becomes far more fantastical. As the pace quickens and the stakes increase, the story also takes on a fantasy element, and even manages to have some beauty. And then… there’s the last page, which features a horrible, horrible joke that wraps up everything the entire story did in a neat bow. You will groan, but feel like applauding.

Such is the nature of the craft of rakugo. Tatsumi says in his afterword that the performers would retire if they didn’t feel they could convey the different moods anymore. I don’t think Tatsumi has anything to worry about here, though. This is not only a great collection of humorous short stories, but a storybook, the kind that you feel like reading aloud to people after you’ve finished it. Perhaps someone will read these and become a rakugo (or its Western equivalent) of his own!