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BL Bookrack: May

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Welcome to the May installment of BL Bookrack, a monthly feature co-written with Soliloquy in Blue‘s Michelle Smith.

This month, we take a look at three offerings from Digital Manga Publishing’s Juné imprint, The Color of Love, That Was Good, and Your Story I’ve Known, as well as a rare offering from Yen Press, volume two of Tale of the Waning Moon.

The Color of Love | By Kiyo Ueda | Published by Juné | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Akadot – Although we generally review new releases for these BL Bookrack columns, I wanted to take the opportunity to check out The Color of Love (released in 2008), as it is among several DMP works recently pulled from Amazon for violating their content requirements. After reading the book, it is hard to see why it was targeted, when much more explicit BL—Under Grand Hotel, anyone?—is still available for purchase.

Like many BL releases, The Color of Love is a collection of short stories. Most of them, including the title story, feature pairs of friends who are in love with each other but concerned about what this will mean for their friendship. In “The Color of Love,” Nao is worried that his best friend Taira might learn about his “wicked thoughts,” and so helps a classmate cover up her romance with a teacher by posing as her boyfriend. Taira is demonstrably jealous, and a confession ensues.

In “The Ideal Love,” a recent college graduate with a particular type gradually realizes that his former classmate might just be the perfect match. In “How to Be Happy,” Kouta can’t quite believe that his best friend, Kazuyuki, has confessed his love since Kazuyuki rejected him back in high school. In “Mix,” Yoshino can’t reconcile Yamazaki his best friend with Yamazaki his boyfriend, so removes his glasses during intimate moments to make his partner look like a blurry stranger. In “Friendship Formula,” Nitta attempts to cheer up a jilted (straight) classmate by confessing his own feelings. The one exception to this theme is “Direction of a Smile,” depicting a romance between a hotel front desk manager and a bellboy.

In all of these stories, the characters involved care about each other very much. Are they depicted in the act of sex? Well, yes, but it’s generally only a panel or two showing bodies locked together lovingly. The Color of Love is no more explicit than your average BL manga and actually far less explicit than many. I suspect that whoever filed the complaint didn’t get past the first page, which, admittedly, devotes its first couple of panels to Nao enjoying a private moment whilst indulging in those “wicked thoughts” of his. This might give an undeserved impression of overall smuttiness.

So, don’t let Amazon’s actions fool you. In reality, The Color of Love is far more nice than naughty.

-Review by Michelle Smith

Tale of the Waning Moon | By Hyouta Fujiyama | Published by Yen Press | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Amazon – Memory is a funny thing. When the second volume of Houta Fujiyama’s Tale of the Waning Moon arrived at my doorstep, my first reaction was “ugh.” I’d remembered clearly reviewing the first volume, at which time I’d declared it, “…unrealistic, essentially plotless, outrageously fluffy” and most emphatically, “Not My Kind of Yaoi.” What I apparently forgot between then and now, however, is that I also called it “energetic,” and “genuinely funny,” qualities I’m unfortunately having difficulty attributing to the series’ second volume.

Though this manga first won me over with its simultaneous satire of common BL tropes and RPG-style questing, Fujiyama’s sly humor doesn’t wear all that well. The questing in particular has begun to lose its luster, as the characters are sent out on a seemingly endless journey to acquire a series of objects required to get our hero, Ryuka, to his celestial destination, and what once read as sharp humor now resembles too closely the very things it strives to lampoon.

The same can be said for the series’ campy, everyone-is-gay landscape, which risks outright earnestness in this volume—a trait that should never be blended with scantily-clad cat boys. And were jokes about constipation ever funny? Perhaps I missed the memo.

That said, there’s a consistent sense here that the comic is in good hands. Even at her worst, Fujiyama writes smoothly and confidently, stringing us along with the promise of better things.

Will she make good on that promise in volume three? We live in hope.

-Review by MJ

That Was Good | By CJ Michalski | Published by Juné | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Akadot – When I go into a BL anthology, I’m always expecting the worst. Questionable plot, shoddy characterization, outrageously rushed romance—these things are standard in any romance anthology. It’s almost guaranteed. Also common in this type of BL is humor so broad it borders on homophobia. Oh, and don’t forget: lots and lots of smut.

That Was Good has everything I just described and more. Its three stories each feature a previously heterosexual, dashing hunk who falls for a (questionably heterosexual) boyish beauty whom he forces into sex, but it’s okay ’cause HE’S IN LOVE. Other special features here include grown men making jokes about eating sausage to a toddler who catches them in bed, and vampire/elf cosplay, though I’ll admit the latter offers up the only genuine bit of humor in the entire book. Skip to the cosplay, people, just skip to the cosplay.

If I sound a bit sarcastic and jaded… okay, yeah, I’m feeling slightly bitter over having read the whole thing. Thing is, it was listed as an anthology, so I should have known better.

Michalski’s straightforward artwork is more crisp than expressive, though she at least depicts sex more deftly than some. This can’t save the book by any means, but it’s perhaps enough reason to read for the porn. Overall, however, the title is sadly ironic. That Was Good is one to miss.

-Review by MJ

Your Story I’ve Known | By Tsuta Suzuki | Published by Juné | Rated YA (16+) | Buy at Akadot – Although I’d stop short of calling myself an outright fan of Tsuta Suzuki’s series, A Strange and Mystifying Story—sexual healing as administered by guardian beast isn’t really my thing—it is nonetheless memorable, and I’ve been looking forward to reading Your Story I’ve Known ever since the license was announced.

There aren’t any supernatural elements in these stories, which I consider a good thing. The first three stories, including the title piece, depict the relationship between Hart Matsumoto, a dim-witted but handsome boy with an abusive mother, and a yakuza named Shibuzawa, who was the kindest of his mother’s many boyfriends. Shibuzawa provides a safe place for Hart to go when his mother turns violent and continues to look after him into young adulthood.

Although he’s aware of Hart’s feelings for him, Shibuzawa maintains a policy of gentle discouragement until Hart’s mother is killed. Somehow, Shibuzawa ends up in bed with Hart—as consolation, perhaps? Giving the boy what he’s always wanted while withholding the upsetting news? Shibuzawa’s motivations here are quite complex, and it’s a shame that the story of his relationship with Hart wraps up quickly thereafter.

A similar problem plagues the next story in the collection, “Sautéed Onions,” a mostly forgettable story of two friends who’ve recently become a couple and are feeling insecure about the other’s feelings. It’s not bad, but it’s so short that there’s no chance whatsoever to get to know either of the characters. “As Long As You Can Hear Me,” about a fight-prone kid and the samurai ghost who protects him, fares somewhat better.

The real gem of the collection is the final story, “Without the Gods Seeing.” When Narasaki was in high school, he reacted harshly to a friend’s confession of love, and in the intervening ten years, has come to regret that he responded the way he did. When Wakakki, a handsome coworker, makes his own confession, Narasaki reacts more thoughtfully, taking the time to talk to Wakakki about his feelings and gaining new perspective on how much bravery is required to make such an admission to a friend.

It’s a really sweet story and Suzuki makes good use of her pages, painting Narasaki’s and Wakakki’s characters in quick strokes that define their personalities reasonably well. I absolutely love, for example, that it was Narasaki’s habit of feeding neighborhood kitties on his lunch break that caught Wakakki’s eye in the first place.

While a couple of the stories are disappointingly brief, on the whole this is an enjoyable collection, complemented by Suzuki’s unique artistic style. I’m not sure whether devotees of A Strange and Mystifying Story would find it to their liking, since it is quite different, but I’d personally rate it the better of the two.

-Review by Michelle Smith

Review copies provided by the publisher.

The Josei Alphabet: P

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“P” is for…

Patisserie Mon, written and illustrated by Kira, originally serialized in Shueisha’s You, ten volumes. It’s a josei title about baking. I have nothing to add, but do I really need to add anything?

Pikupiku Sentarou, written and illustrated by Tsubasa Nunoura, currently serialized in Kodansha’s Be Love. As not everyone has a side in the dogs-versus-cats debate, I give you a long-running comedy about a pet bunny.

Porando Hishi Ten no Hate Made, written and illustrated by Riyoko Ikeda, three volumes. Who wouldn’t want to read Ikeda’s fictional examination of the elective monarchy of the 18th century Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth? No one I want to know, that’s who wouldn’t. The Amazon Japan listings for the first and second volumes let you “look inside.” Just search using 天の涯まで.

Pride, written and illustrated by Yukari Ichijo, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Chorus, 12 volumes. This award-winning title follows the careers of dueling, would-be opera divas. My money’s on the woman on the cover above. Diva looks like she came to play.

Pure Maple Pancake, by Keiko Shiomori, originally serialized in Shueisha’s You, five volumes. A career woman’s messy life gets messier when her estranged older sister goes missing and leaves a young son behind.

Josei magazines:

Licensed josei:

  • Paradise Kiss, written and illustrated by Ai Yazawa, originally serialized in Shodensha’s Zipper, published in English by Tokyopop, five volumes.
  • Pet Shop of Horrors, written and illustrated by Matsuri Akino, originally published by Ohzora Shuppan, published in English by Tokyopop, 10 volumes.
  • Planet Ladder, written and illustrated by Yuri Narushima, originally serialized in Sobisha’s Comic Crimson, published in English by Tokyopop, seven volumes.
  • Pretty Poison, written and illustrated by Yutta Narukami, originally published by Ohzora Shuppan, published in English by LuvLuv Press, one volume.
  • Public Wife, Private Mistress, by Masami Hoshino, adapted from a novel by Sarah Morgan, originally published by Harlequinsha, published in English by eManga, one volume.

What starts with “P” in your josei alphabet?

Reader recommendations and reminders:

Bookshelf Briefs 5/16/11

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This week, David, Kate, Michelle, & MJtake a look at several titles from Yen Press and Viz Media, including a special dual-view of Usamaru Furuya’s Genkaku Picasso.

Arata: The Legend, Vol. 4 | By Yuu Watase | Viz Media – Shôjo superstar Watase’s first foray into shônen has a number of appealing qualities, many of which are reminiscent of the work of Rumiko Takahashi. There’s a durable quest plot that suggests that Watase is in this for the long haul. There’s the concurrent fish-out-of-water narrative, with an average, contemporary kid swapping places with a roguish boy from a fantasy kingdom in turmoil. And there’s a burgeoning supporting cast of cranky but amusing jerks who can’t resisting throwing their lot in with the heroes. It’s not all Takahashi pastiche, though. Careers could certainly be (and probably have been) built on that, but Watase has her own sensibility that’s very much in evidence here: recognizable emotions writ large, and ordinary people thrown into extraordinary circumstances. It’s a very endearing, sturdy series that may not be particularly surprising, but it’s always nice to see Watase in good form. -David Welsh

Case Closed, Vol. 38 | By Gosho Aoyama | Viz Media – One of the unfortunate side effects of long-running shônen is a build-up of excessive familiarity, especially if there isn’t much forward plot motion. Case Closed is certainly guilty of that, but this high-concept mystery is lively fun if you don’t read too much of it at once. This volume is business as usual. Teen-turned-tyke super-sleuth Conan Edogawa looks for a way to restore himself to his proper age, helps his elementary-school friends solve a theft, figures out who murdered a professional wrestler in spite of adult dismissal and incompetence, and helps a rival teen super-sleuth out of a sticky situation. Aoyama certainly knows how to keep his episodes moving briskly, and it’s entertaining to try and solve the cases along with Conan and company. My favorite bits feature Conan and his classmates, and there’s at least one laugh-out-loud moment in their amiable investigation. -David Welsh

Genkaku Picasso, Vol. 3 | By Usamaru Furuya | Viz Media – The third and final volume of Genkaku Picasso follows the same basic template as the previous installments: Hikari, a.k.a. “Picasso,” draws pictures of what’s inside his classmates’ hearts, then plunges into the images to decode their meaning. This time around, however, Hikari finds himself trapped inside one of his own visions, and must interpret what he’s seeing in order to heal his own emotional wounds. Although the series ends on a happy note, the prevailing tone is decidedly cheeky; Furuya can’t seem to decide if he’s writing a Shonen Jump title or mocking one. That ambiguity isn’t a bad thing, however, as it injects even the most mawkish or predictable scenes with a jolt of subversive energy. -Katherine Dacey

Genkaku Picasso, Vol. 3 | By Usamaru Furuya | Viz Media – I was a bit critical of Genkaku Picasso‘s first two volumes, generally finding Usamaru Furuya’s art to be the main draw instead of the too-easy efforts of antisocial artist Hikari (and ghostly pal, Chiaki) to solve the secret problems plaguing his classmates. Imagine my surprise, then, when the final volume of this weird little series actually evoked a sniffle or two! True, some elements of the final chapter, in which Hikari dives into his own heart and must learn to accept the truth of Chiaki’s death, are kind of hokey, but I liked it anyway. – Michelle Smith

Higurashi When They Cry: Demon Exposing Arc | Story by Ryukishi07, Art by En Kito | Yen Press – The family that slays together stays together — or so we’re led to believe through most of the Demon Exposing Arc. The story focuses on the Kimiyoshis, recent transplants from the Hinamizawa region. In the days following a terrible explosion in Hinamizawa, Grandma Kimiyoshi becomes convinced that Oyashiro-sama, guardian spirit of Hinamizawa, was punishing the villagers for their lack of faith, and sets out to prove her devotion to this ancient and wrathful god. Grandma’s resolve alone would make for a spooky story, but as her family is drawn into her paranoid fantasies, the plot takes a grislier and more compelling turn. As with other installments of the Higurashi franchise, the story sometimes bogs down in dense, info-dump dialogue, but the story remains suspenseful from beginning to end, rewarding readers with a deliciously nasty surprise in the final pages. -Katherine Dacey

My Girlfriend’s a Geek, Vol. 3 | By Rize Shinba, story by Pentabu | Yen Press – Taiga gets a shock as this volume opens, when his girlfriend informs him that she’s found a girlfriend. Later on, he gets roped into some romantic Christmas cosplay, and nearly roped into attending winter Comiket. This series may not be deep, but it sure is fun, enhanced nicely by Rize Shinba’s skillful visual storytelling and fujoshi-tinged sense of humor. As a bonus, volume three also includes a chapter from Sepatte Takuro, Yuiko’s favorite slashable shounen manga-within-the-manga, drawn by mangaka Hiromi Namiki, which is frankly delightful. This is one of those series I feel I probably shouldn’t like, but I just really do, more so with each new volume. Recommended for a light weekend read. -MJ

Good trash revisited

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This week’s random question has me nostalgic for Go! Comi and hopeful that someone will pick up some of their orphan titles, so I dug up an old Flipped column from August of 2009 that outlined some of my personal favorites from their catalog. To atone for the rerun, I’ll open with the following image:

I can’t believe summer is almost over.  June and July are vague, blurry memories.  Fortunately, there are still a few weeks before Labor Day, so it’s not too late to recommend some good trash for beach reading.  And when it comes to slightly tawdry, highly readable shôjo manga, Go! Comi has a very solid track record.

One of the titles from the company’s 2001 launch, Takako Shigematsu’s eight-volume Tenshi Ja Nai!!, remains one of my favorite examples of mean-girl manga.  Shigematsu combines sleek illustrations with twisty storytelling to concoct memorable soap opera.

Tenshi (or “I’m No Angel!!”) is set in an elite all-girls school, always a promising setting for scheming drama.  It’s protagonist, Hikaru, would like to avoid drama entirely; a brief childhood career as a model made her the target of ruthless bullying from jealous classmates, and she’s tried to keep her head down ever since.  Unfortunately, the school’s registrar gives her a roommate that makes her low-profile strategy impossible.

A budding starlet is the worst possible pairing for Hikaru.  The shared spotlight and jealousy of the student body are bad enough, but this starlet has a secret.  The fetching Izumi is actually a guy, as ruthless and conniving in private as his public persona is sweet and demure.  Izumi needs Hikaru’s help to keep his secret, and he’s not averse to blackmail to secure Hikaru’s cooperation and silence.

With secret identities, schoolgirl rivalries, gender bending, and show-biz ambition, Tenshi is the kind of story that virtually writes itself.  Shigematsu keeps the twists coming and even infuses the story with a reasonable amount of romance, though she never lapses into sentimentality.  Given her spiky cast of schemers, it’s hard to see how she could.

Go! Comi has released two other titles by Shigematsu.  There’s a forgettable one-volume outing, King of the Lamp, about a genie who must help young girls find love.  It’s noteworthy mostly for Shigematsu’s acknowledgement that girls are entitled to have sexual desires and to act on them without punishment or guilt.  More in the sneaky, substantive vein of Tenshi is Shigematsu’s Ultimate Venus, which is currently in release.

It’s another swimming-with-sharks story, this time focusing on an orphan who learns that she’s heir to a corporate dynasty.  After her mother’s death, young Yuzu is shocked to meet her high-powered cougar of a grandmother who wants to groom Yuzu to take over the family business.  Yuzu relies on her mother’s homespun, occasionally hardcore wisdom to foil scheming competitors and keep her head above the blood-filled social waters. (Go! Comi only published five of the nine volumes of the series.)

I would be hopelessly remiss if I looked at Go! Comi’s good trash and ignored You Higuri, a prolific manga-ka who stylishly skates on the edge of good taste.  Like the gifted Fumi Yoshinaga, Higuri rarely seems to allow herself to be confined by the strictures of category.  Higuri may generally aim artistically lower than slice-of-life queen Yoshinaga, but her philosophy similarly seems to be that more is better.  A straightforward fantasy story can always benefit from guy-on-guy sexual tension, and a costume drama is always better with a healthy dose of smut.

Her English-language debut came in the form of Cantarella (Go! Comi), a fictional, gothic look at the scheming Borgia clan.  Given the rich volume of historically documented scandal and sleaze the Borgias offer, it hardly seems necessary for Higuri to gild the lily with demonic possession, but gild it she does.  Budding patriarch Cesare is doomed from birth by his ambitious father, who sells the tot’s soul to the devil to support his own ambitions.

A possessed prince can always use a good right-hand man, and Cesare’s comes in the form of hunky assassin Chiaro.  When your father is the Pope and your moral compass is a hired killer, you know your life is bound to be complicated.  So why not complicate it further by entering into a twisted love triangle with your kept murderer and your own sister, Lucrezia?  History tells us that, glory days aside, the Borgias didn’t end well, and it seems unlikely that Higuri’s version will fare any better, but it’s certain to be juicy. (Go! Comi only published ten of the twelve volumes of the series.)

Having come of age in the 1980s with television shows like Dynasty and Dallas, I’m a sucker for sagas about powerful families full of sociopaths, so Cantarella has a special place in my heart.   That said, Go! Comi has launched another Higuri series that I may like even better, as it is top-to-bottom insane.  It’s Crown, written by Shinji Wada and illustrated by Higuri.

Wada is one of those seemingly rare male manga-ka who work primarily in shôjo, though his works (like Delinquent Girl Detective) often seem to favor an action-adventure bent.  Wada and Higuri’s respective sensibilities seem to blend perfectly, creating a freakish, addictive fusion of hardboiled violence and secret-princess sparkle.  Here’s the plot:  a plucky orphan learns that she’s actually a lost princess of a wealthy island nation; she also learns that she has a brother, half of a pair of ruthless mercenaries who break out the big guns to protect her.  Some hearts are set aflutter even as others are blown, still beating, from the chests of rival soldiers of fortune by military-grade ordinance.

The princess crushes on the boys.  The boys may or may not be crushing on each other.  Schoolgirls squeal at trained killers.  Skyscrapers explode.  Bloodthirsty assassins fail in their task because the princess is just so darned nice.  In other words, Crown is a nutty, freewheeling mash-up of manga clichés drawn from whatever category strikes Wada and Higuri’s fancies. It’s delightful.

I should note that guilty pleasures aren’t the only things Go! Comi does well.  I’ve already written at length about Setona Mizushiro’s After School Nightmare, and the publisher has made some nice choices with sweeter, more sentimental shôjo.  Yuu Asami’s A.I. Revolution (five of seventeen volumes published) offers old-fashioned science fiction with a romantic bent, and Toriko Gin’s Song of the Hanging Sky (two of six volumes published) is a potent, beautifully drawn fable.

 

Blood Alone, Vols. 1-3

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In his essay Moe: The Cult of the Child, Jason Thompson argues that one of the most pernicious aspects of moe is the way in which the father-daughter relationship is sentimentalized. “Moe is a fantasy of girlhood seen through chauvinistic male eyes,” he explains, “in which adorable girls do adorable things while living in questionable situations with adult men.” The idealized “daughters” found in Kanna, Tsukuyomi: Moon Phase, and Yotsuba&! adore their “fathers” in an uncritical fashion, showering them with affection and trying — often unsuccessfully — to play the role of wife and mother, in the process endearing themselves to both the hero and the reader with their burnt meals, singed shirts, and sincere desire to please.

Blood Alone provides an instructive example of this phenomenon. The story focuses on Misaki, a young female vampire whose appearance and mental age peg her as an eleven- or twelve-year-old girl. Misaki lives with Kuroe, a twenty-something man who’s been appointed as her guardian — though in Yotsuba-eqsue fashion, the circumstances surrounding their arrangement remain hazy in the early volumes of the manga. When we first meet Kuroe, he seems as easygoing as Yotsuba’s “dad,” a genial, slightly bumbling man who supports himself by writing novels and moonlighting as a private detective. And if that isn’t awww-inducing enough, Kuroe’s first gig is to locate a missing pet, a job that Misaki takes upon herself to complete when Kuroe bumps up against a publisher’s deadline.

As soon as Misaki’s cat-hunting mission goes awry, however, we see another side of Kuroe: he’s handy with his fists, quickly dispatching a rogue vampire who threatens Misaki’s safety. Small wonder, then, that Misaki has a crush on her guardian; not only is he the kind of sensitive guy who writes books and rescues kitties, he’s also the kind of guy who goes to extreme lengths to protect his family.

If that were the extent of their relationship, Blood Alone would provide enough heart-tugging moments to appeal to moe enthusiasts without offending other readers’ sensibilities, but Masayuki Takano plays up the romantic angle to an uncomfortable degree. The most unsettling gambit, by far, is Kuroe and Misaki’s penchant for sleeping in the same bed together. That a grown man would even entertain such behavior is disturbing enough, but what makes it particularly egregious is that Kuroe rationalizes this arrangement because Misaki is afraid of “ghosts and monsters.” I think we’re supposed to find this endearing — a vampire who’s afraid of the dark! — but it serves to infantilize Misaki even more than her little-girl dresses, terrible cooking, and fierce jealousy of Sainome, the one adult woman in Kuroe’s life. If we only saw things from Misaki’s point of view, one could make a solid argument that Masayuki Takanao is deliberately showing us things through a distorted lens, but Takano’s narrative technique simply isn’t that sophisticated; Kuroe’s behavior — his solicitousness, his guilt — suggests that Misaki’s understanding of their relationship isn’t as far off the mark as an adult reader might hope.

This kind of confusion extends to other aspects of the manga as well. About one-third of the stories fall into the category of supernatural suspense. The dialogue favors information dump over organic revelation of fact, while the plot frequently hinges on characters suddenly disclosing a convenient power or revealing their vampire connections. Yet these chapters are more effective than the slice-of-life scenes, blending elements of urban fantasy, police procedural, and Gothic horror into atmospheric stories about vampires who use the anonymity of cities to hide among — and prey on — the living.

The rest of the series, however, is jarringly at odds with the suspenseful mood of these stories; we’re treated to numerous chapters in which very little happens, save a Valentine’s Day exchange of chocolates or a jealous spat. As a result, the series feels aimless; whatever overarching storyline may bind the supernatural element to the domestic is too deeply buried to give the series a sense of narrative urgency.

Art-wise, Blood Alone boasts attractive, cleanly executed character designs and settings, but stiff, unpersuasive action scenes. Backgrounds disappear when fists fly, and the bodies look like awkwardly posed mannequins, their legs and arms held away from the torso at unnatural angles.

The most distinctive element of the artwork is Takano’s willingness to abandon grids altogether, creating fluid, full-page sequences in which the characters’ faces play a similar role to panel boundaries and shapes in directing the eye across the page. In this spread, for example, Sainome gently teases Misaki about her relationship with Kuroe:

The undulating lines and overlapping images give these pages a pleasing, sensual quality, but what’s most striking is the way in which the strongest lines on the page point to Misaki’s eyes and mouth, showing us how difficult it is for Misaki to conceal her feelings for Kuroe. The wordless sequence below — in which Misaki waits for Kuroe to join her on a date — works in a similar fashion, using the direction of Misaki’s gaze to lead us through the proper sequence of events:

Though these two scenes are gracefully executed, they point to the biggest problem with Blood Alone: Misaki and Kuroe aren’t portrayed as ward and guardian, or brother and sister, but as star-crossed lovers whose age and circumstance make it impossible for them to fully express their true feelings for one another. Some readers may find their unconsummated romance heartwarming, the story of a love that can never be, but for other readers, Misaki and Kuroe’s relationship will be a deal-breaker, a sentimental and uncritical portrayal of an inappropriate relationship between a young vampire and her adult protector.

Review copy provided by Seven Seas.

BLOOD ALONE, VOLS. 1-3 • BY MASAYUKI TAKANO • SEVEN SEAS • 600 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)

Take My Word for It by John Marsden

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From the back cover:
Lisa Morris could be the girl next door. She could be your cousin. She could be sitting behind you in class.

She could be you.

But Lisa, cool and beautiful Lisa, remote and private Lisa, has more going on in her life than anyone imagines.

Only her journal knows the truth about her life. Only her journal—and you.

Review:
This short little book functions as both companion piece and epilogue to Marsden’s So Much to Tell You, a (slightly better) book written as the journal of Marina, a silent, traumatized girl attending an Australian boarding school called Warrington. Take My Word for It presents the journal of Marina’s classmate, Lisa, who appears tough and cool in the eyes of others but has her own share of problems.

While I did enjoy reading Take My Word for It, I suspect it was never published in the US (I imported my copy from Australia) because it just doesn’t stand on its own very well. Lisa is a realistic character, and I have some sympathy for her struggle to accept the fact that her parents have divorced (which she believes is her fault) and that, as time goes on, the family is proceeding separately down paths that take them further and further away from the childhood home for which Lisa pines.

But the most interesting parts of this novel for me were the times we got insight into the other novel. Why, for example, did Lisa break down and cry at one point, sending Marina into a tizzy of worry and indecision? What does Marina actually look like? And, best, what happens after Marina finally speaks to her father? I guess I had expected the stories to end at the same point, but upon reflection, why would they conveniently do that? So, Marina comes back to school after seeing her dad over a break, and very gradually begins to talk to her dormmates. It’s nice, though I could’ve done without the dangled thread that Marina might leave Warrington, which Marsden never follows up on.

Like Marsden’s other protagonists, Lisa has a secret that she obliquely references while writing. In Marina’s case, we knew something had happened to her, but not what. Specifics were doled out sparingly and it was at least moderately suspenseful. In Lisa’s case, her secret is pretty obvious early on, so further attempts at cryptic hinting are just kind of annoying. On the plus side, she uses loads of interesting Australian slang, so I’ve learned several cool new words, like “dob” and “bludge.”

I sincerely doubt there’s any such thing as a lousy book by John Marsden, but this one, alas, is not my favorite.

License request day: Karechi

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Have I mentioned how much I prefer rail travel to the indignities of air travel? Have I mentioned how annoyed I get that there are so few rail options in my region of the country?

I’m certain I’ve mentioned how much I like comics about travel. I know there’s ample evidence that I like episodic, slice-of-life manga and would like to read more of it.

So it should come as no surprise that I’m very interested in a series called Karechi, written and illustrated by Kunihiko Ikeda and currently running in Kodansha’s Weekly Morning.

It’s set in the late 1960s and stars a conductor on the then-new high-speed rail line between Osaka and Tokyo. It’s about how Kenji Ogino helps individual passengers, and it’s also about how high-speed rail changed Japan. All evidence indicates that it’s nostalgic in tone, which is another plus for me. And you can even buy a reproduction of the lead character’s uniform.

Isn’t that dapper? I probably couldn’t walk through the club car on a moving train without it ending up looking like tie-dye, but that doesn’t diminish the uniform’s old-school elegance.

Now, I live in a country where governors actually turn down huge amounts of money to develop rail systems for reasons too baffling to credit. (My personal theory is that these governors’ oil-company overlords are petrified that people might actually use these rail systems instead of filling up their cars with gasoline.) But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a few volumes of comics about rail systems, does it?

It probably means exactly that, doesn’t it?

 

From the stack: Maoh: Juvenile Remix vols. 4 and 5

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The good news: there’s nothing wrong with Maoh: Juvenile Remix (Viz) that Kazuya Minekura couldn’t fix. The bad news: Maoh: Juvenile Remix was created by Megumi Osuga.

Maoh, based on a story by Kotaro Isaka, has an interesting plot. A corporation is undertaking a neighborhood revitalization plan that basically involves razing the place and displacing the residents to make room for luxury high-rises. The corporation is opposed by a group of vigilantes led by an enigmatic and ostensibly charismatic figure named Inukai. Caught in the middle of these two forces is a high-school student named Ando who has the minor psychic power of being able to put his words into the mouths of others.

The story is packed with corrupt officials, hired killers, angry mobs, and generally seedy types. There are attempts at moral complexity and the angst of personal choice in a crumbling world. There’s a reasonable sprinkling of homoeroticism.

In other words, it reminds me of Minekura’s Wild Adapter (Tokyopop). Unfortunately, it also makes me wish I was reading Wild Adapter instead.

The main problem with Maoh is its leaden sincerity. Ando makes Hamlet look like a type-A personality, and his use of his “ventriloquism” is generally awkward and hard to follow. (How does forcing people to quote Kamen Rider protect you from mob violence?) The dialogue is almost always overblown, and Ando’s droning internal monologues may make you wish someone else was putting words in his mouth.

The promising plot is generally sacrificed to spectacle. The people of Nekota City seem even more prone to mob mentality than the denizens of Springfield, and it’s supposed to be chilling here instead of goofy and ironic. Inukai and his vigilantes seem to have no credible moral position, and their opponents in the Anderson Group are just greedy, which equates to “bad.” There are interesting arguments to be made in a story like this, but it’s just a frame for bombast in this case.

The quality of the art varies quite a bit. Some chapters have a sleek competence that resembles a combination of Takeshi Obata and Naoki Urasawa. A lot of the time, the pages seem like they’ve been finished in a hurry. I would describe the character design as patchy; I’ve seen many a manga assassin look ridiculous and still be terrifying, but Osuga doesn’t strike that balance. Some of the crowd scenes display too-strenuous attempts to achieve visual variety and end up looking like a community theatre musical chorus that was asked to provide its own costumes. Even the homoeroticism doesn’t help, as it frequently seems inadvertent, unless Osuga is trying to suggest what a cute couple Ando and his younger brother might be.

Maoh badly needs some of Minekura’s polish and slyness, but it has neither. It’s just lumpy and overly serious, with a waffling protagonist who lacks urgency. Hard as it tries to simulate it, Maoh lacks the sex appeal it needs to really be something.

(Based on review copies provided by the publisher.)

 

Off the Shelf: Home again

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MICHELLE: Man, is it just me or does it feel like forever since we’ve done one of these? It always feels so… restful to return to our normal format!

MJ: It *does* feel like forever. It’s like coming home after an awesome but exhausting vacation.

MICHELLE: Let’s never stray again! Please put me further at ease by proceeding to describe what you’ve read this week!

MJ: Okay! First of all, I took a look at volume three of Shunju Aono’s I’ll Give It My All… Tomorrow from Viz’s SigIKKI imprint. I’ve reviewed both of the first two volumes of this series, the first for Examiner.com, and the second here on Off the Shelf, and my concern all along has been that not enough changes from volume to volume for the premise to sustain itself. I feared that I’d eventually tire of it, the way I have other ongoing comedy manga like Detroit Metal City. It’s the type of story that typically relies on the protagonist never actually getting anywhere, for if he does, the premise falls completely apart.

Imagine my surprise, when in volume three stuff actually happens. Seriously. Stuff happens. And not just any stuff, mind you, but exactly the stuff you think the author will never allow, by which I mean to say that the series’ hopeless schlub, Shizuo, actually gets ahead a little. It’s very well done, still funny, and actually kind of inspiring, which is not something I’d expected of a melancholy comedy like this one.

Some of the volume’s strongest scenes depict Shizuo’s dreaming dialogue with himself as he struggles with whether or not he should give up on his quest to be a published mangaka or resign himself to resuming his old, miserable life as a salaryman. These scenes are stark and rather touching, though there’s a real poignance to this entire volume that feels warmer towards its protagonist than it ever has before. A scene in which Shizuo determinedly takes on a temporary gig as another artist’s assistant especially springs to mind. It’s as though the author is leading us along the same path as Shizuo, and just as he’s beginning to believe that he can do something real, suddenly we can too. It’s really so well done.

Not that Shizuo’s troubles are over by any means, and his luck takes a less fortunate turn near the end. Still, it’s wonderful to see some actual forward motion in a series of this kind.

This is a terrific volume, and it’s finally got me really hooked on the series.

MICHELLE: I have never really been tempted to read this series before now, because I was sure it would be unrelentingly depressing and that I just wouldn’t find any of it funny. But stories in which a slacker and/or delinquent finds something to excel at and be passionate about are among my very favorites, so to hear that Shizuo actually gets a break piques my interest a little. I’m still not sure about it, but I’m at least more open to the idea of reading it than I was before

MJ: I thought this might get you at least a bit interested. I don’t know where the story’s ultimately going, but this really was a satisfying installment.

MICHELLE: I might wait until volume four, but if it continues to actually let Shizuo have some success, then I just might have to check it out.

MJ: So, what have you brought for our first night home? :)

MICHELLE: Both of my choices tonight are from VIZ, one each from the Shonen Jump and Shojo Beat imprints. From the former, I read the first two volumes of Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan by Hiroshi Shiibashi. It’s the story of Rikuo Nura, who is 3/4 human and 1/4 yokai and is set to inherit leadership of the yokai clan his grandfather rules. Rikuo’s not thrilled by this, but neither are the yokai, who regard him as a weak human unfit to lead them.

The series gets off to an inauspicious start. Rikuo is targeted by another yokai who thinks he should’ve been the heir, and as a result, some of Rikuo’s classmates are in danger. This spurs Rikuo to transform into a far more competent yokai version of himself, who commands respect, rescues his classmates, and proclaims that he will claim the leadership role. The problem is that the story resets in chapter two and Rikuo, reverted to human form, has no memory of any of this. Random episodic chapters ensue in which Rikuo and some friends—who have, led by one particularly fervent kid, formed a paranormal research society—investigate things like abandoned buildings on campus and creepy dolls. Their activities cause them to fall prey to another scheming yokai, however, who lures them to a yokai-infested mountain. As volume two ends, Rikuo has transformed again and is about to deal with his enemy.

I’m honestly not sure yet what to think about Nura. It definitely has some things going for it. I’m pretty fond of the cast of supporting characters, especially the quirky servants who are closest to Rikuo. While some of these characters look like attractive humans, there’s quite a bit of diversity in character design among them. The idea that, under Rikuo’s leadership, the yokai clan might be rehabilitated into actually helping humans also has merit. The problem, though, is that Rikuo is completely overshadowed. Pretty much, he’s just a dull little kid whom readers endure for the promise of his cooler self showing up. Also, while Shiibashi does introduce a reasonably strong female character in the form of Yura, an onmyoji exorcist who has a family legacy of her own to live up to, within a few chapters she’s rendered helpless and in need of rescue.

Ultimately, Nura has enough potential that I’ll keep reading it, but it hasn’t quite won me over yet.

MJ: Bland protagonists can be the kiss of death for me, especially when it comes to shounen manga, but I do like the sound of the supporting cast. There are quite a few yokai-themed series out there these days, though. Do you think this holds up against the competition?

MICHELLE: It’s certainly not going to be as poignant as something like Natsume’s Book of Friends or anything, but the yokai in Nura are more developed than your average supernatural creature that exists only as hero-fodder. More than anything, these yokai remind me of the dokebi in the lovely manhwa Dokebi Bride, in which the supernatural creatures function as sympathetic helpers to our protagonist. Some of the yokai in this series aren’t so nice, but those who reside in the main house seem to have genuine affection for Rikuo and also get some of the best comedic lines.

MJ: That does sound a bit promising.

MICHELLE: Hai hai! So, what else have you got this balmy eve? (Is it balmy there? It’s balmy here.)

MJ: New England is rarely balmy in May, though the weather has been good for hiking. My heart is plenty balmy, though, after checking in with a long-running favorite, Park SoHee’s Goong. This is the eleventh of Yen Press’ volumes, though with the new omnibus format, I’ve lost track of where we’d be in the Korean releases.

This series is a soap-opera in all the best ways, and there is some pretty gratifying romantic action in this volume at long last. It’s been painful to watch the series’ main couple get in their own way, time and time again, and it’s nice to finally see them both grow up a bit, especially emotionally-impaired Shin. Things fall apart nearly as quickly as they come together, of course, but there’s a sense that real progress has finally been made.

Releasing these in double-length volumes is the best thing Yen Press could have done for this series, in my view. With so much more story included in each new volume, it’s easier to remember what’s happened from one volume to the next, since they each leave a much stronger impression. As a result, these volumes are smooth, smooth reading–a big plus in any romantic story, and especially with a romance as slowly-developed as Goong‘s. Though I’m still anxious for the next volume to come my way, there is enough here to keep me satisfied regardless of the wait.

Park’s artwork really shines here, keeping the relationships nuanced despite the sudsy plot, and her costuming just gets prettier and prettier with each passing volume. She obviously loves all of these characters, even the ones she’s written as semi-villians, and this is most apparent in her very expressive artwork.

Now if she’d only ax Eunuch Kong. *sigh*

MICHELLE: It might say somewhere in the fine print, but I am pretty sure that volume eleven of the Yen Press editions corresponds to volumes thirteen and fourteen of the original.

I am really eager to plunge back into Goong. Somehow, I still haven’t read past volume six! On the plus side, this means I have the ingredients for an awesome binge before me. I really must wholeheartedly endorse these omnibus releases.

I am, however, sorry to hear Eunuch Kong still exists. It seems like he’s the negative refrain anytime anyone mentions this series. Perhaps he’s funny if you’re Korean?

MJ: Maybe? Park seems to think he’s hilarious. Sadly, my thoughts of him are invariably violent.

You really do need to start a Goong binge. It’s just so enjoyable, even at its most painful.

MICHELLE: I think every time Eunuch Kong irritates me, I’ll just imagine you slapping him upside the head. That ought to help.

MJ: So tell me about that Shojo Beat title you mentioned!

MICHELLE: My second read was the third volume of the ever-charming The Story of Saiunkoku. Technically, this would probably be classified under the genre of historical fantasy, but really, it reads somewhat like a slice-of-life tale. Shurei Hong, once consort and tutor to the emperor, Ryuki, has returned home after successfully inspiring him to govern properly. Most of the money she earned for doing so has already been spent, however, and the upcoming summer storms will necessitate more repairs to the family home. The family’s financial situation inspires their servant, Seiran, to accept a job dealing with bandits and when Shurei is herself offered the chance to help out in the understaffed Ministry of the Treasury, she accepts.

The catch is that women aren’t allowed to hold government posts, so Shurei must disguise herself as a boy. Other shoujo series would focus on the act of disguise itself, and the plot would revolve around the heroine’s attempts to keep her gender under wraps. Not so with Saiunkoku! Instead, the emphasis is on what the experience means to Shurei—though it’s certainly rewarding to prove herself capable of handling the demanding work, it’s painful that it’s a job she’d never be permitted to perform under her own name, since girls are prohibited from taking the civil servant exam.

I must add that it’s refreshing to have a genuinely brilliant heroine. Not only does Shurei perform her work admirably and continue her studies in the evening, but she also demonstrates good basic common sense. Perhaps to some this would suggest that she’s dull, but she’s really anything but. I appreciated too that Seiran, heretofore a mostly quiet and handsome fixture, shows a more snarky and manipulative side.

There’s may no real plot here yet, but with a story like this, it’s all about living with the characters in their world, and that is a very enjoyable prospect indeed.

MJ: This: “Instead, the emphasis is on what the experience means to Shurei…” THIS. THIS. THIS. I love this about The Story of Saiunkoku. I love Shurei’s smarts and her dedication to civil service, despite the fact that she’s held back by the gender norms of her time. I haven’t read volume three yet, but now I’m so anxious to pull it off the shelf!

MICHELLE: There’s a really beautiful scene where she says, “What was once just a whimsical daydream brushed so close to my reality that I began to hope my hands might just reach it.” Up until now, she’s been able to set reality aside and pursue learning for its own sake, but the disparity between the life she might have had and the expectations for her as a girl—even a kindly woman’s remark about finding a good man is a harsh reminder of what she can hope for—has really been brought home. This is truly a special series.

MJ: Oh, wow. I’m feeling a little teary and I haven’t even read it!

MICHELLE: Go read it now!

MJ: Well, okay!

Um. Bye.

MICHELLE: Bye! Everyone else, learn from her example!

The Josei Alphabet: O

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“O” is for…

Ohimesama no Yurikago, written and illustrated by Emiko Yachi, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Young You, three volumes. After her father passes away, outspoken Chizu is dragged from her home in Las Vegas to live with family in Japan. Will she adjust?

Oishii Kankei, written and illustrated by Satoru Makimura, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Young You, 16 volumes. When her wealthy family falls on hard times, Momoe takes a job in a French restaurant and enters into a contentious relationship with gifted shelf chef Oda.

Otoko no Isshou, written and illustrated by Keiko Nishi, currently serialized in Shogakukan’s Flowers. You know I can resist a book that’s been nominated for a Manga Taisho Award. Way back in the day, Viz published some of Nishi’s manga – Love Song and two of the Four Shôjo Stories. This one’s about a relationship between a younger woman and an older man.

Otona no Yuru no Otogibanshi, written and illustrated by Megumi Toda, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Comic, one volume. It’s been too long since I’ve included a title simply because it included “Smut” as one of its genre search options. In this case, a marriage-minded office lady loses her prime husband candidate to a friend, gets drunk, and winds up in bed with a younger man of seemingly limited prospects.

Oujisama to Waltz wo, written and illustrated by Chisato Nakamura, based on a novel by Nicole Burnham, originally published by Ohzora Shuppan, one volume. I’m so taken with this first sentence of the plot synopsis: “Jennifer Allen had come to save refugees, not to be swept away by some pampered, fairy-tale prince of neighboring San Rimini.” I’m reasonably certain she’ll find a way to make time for both. But seriously, don’t you hate that? You just want to dig irrigation ditches, but you keep getting wooed.

Licensed josei:

  • An Officer and a Princess, written and illustrated by Megumi Toda, based on a novel by Carla Cassidy, originally published by Harlequinsha, published in English by eManga, one volume.
  • One Summer in Italy, written and illustrated by Nanami Akino, based on a novel by Lucy Gordon, originally published by Harlequinsha, published in English by eManga, one volume.
  • Only By Chance, written and illustrated by Chieko Hara, based on a novel by Betty Neels, originally published by Harlequinsha, published in English by eManga, one volume.
  • Ôoku: The Inner Chambers, written and illustrated by Fumi Yoshinaga, currently serialized in Hakusensha’s Melody, published in English by Viz.
  • Object of Desire, written and illustrated by Tomoko Noguchi, originally published by Ohzora Shuppan, published in English by LuvLuv, one volume.

What starts with “O” in your josei alphabet?

Reader recommendations and reminders:

  • Olimpos, written and illustrated by Aki, originally serialized in Ichijinsha’s Comic Zero-Sum and Zero-Sum Ward, two volumes.

Bookshelf Briefs 5/9/11

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This week, Kate, David, MJ, and Michelle take a look at a slew of new releases from Viz Media, Digital Manga Publishing, TOKYOPOP, and Vertical.

Gente: The People of Ristorante Paradiso, Vol. 3 | By Natsume Ono | Viz Media – Comics, Italian Style — that’s how I’d describe Natsume Ono’s Gente, a series exploring the complicated personal lives of the people who work at and patronize Cassetta dell’Orso, the bistro featured in Ristorante Paradiso. Though Gente took a few volumes to find its footing, the third installment is magical: Ono’s men are dapper and virile; her women are bemused and tolerant; and the stories have the ebb and flow of real life, punctuated by moments of absurd humor or sadness that will remind movie buffs of Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow and Marriage, Italian Style. If you don’t suppress a sniffle reading “Un Amore,” the story of a crumbling marriage, you’ve never experienced true heartbreak. Highly recommended, especially for fans of classic Italian cinema. – Katherine Dacey

Honey-Colored Pancakes | By Keiko Kinoshita | Digital Manga Publishing – This boys’ love anthology features five short stories, the first and last of which chronicle the bumpy relationship between Chiharu, a talented pastry chef, and Tougo, a handsome actor who’s as besotted with Chiharu’s desserts as he is with the hunky baker. The other three stories — “Tomorrow Will Be Rosy,” “A Clever Man at Work,” and “For Love” — also explore the formative stages of courtship, with characters screwing up the courage to confess their feelings or steal a first kiss. Though the book suffers from overly familiar scenarios, Keiko Kinoshita’s handsome character designs and discrete bedroom scenes make Honey-Colored Pancakes a good choice for readers who favor romance over smut. – Katherine Dacey

Kamisama Kiss, Vol. 3 | By Julietta Suzuki | Viz Media – One of the things I like best about this series is how it demonstrates Suzuki’s versatility. Karakuri Odette (Tokyopop) seemed to me to essentially be about talking through things until the characters understood their feelings. Kamisama Kiss is about feelings that sneak up on characters to the point that they don’t necessarily need to express them. In this volume, it’s fox spirit Tomoe’s chance to rescue accidental priestess Nanami from a difficult situation, though she’s hardly passive, and she’s pulled his fur out of the fire in the past. As our evenly matched protagonists grow closer, circumstances intervene to suggest that Nanami may not know her companion as well as she thinks she does. Suzuki seems quite assured at throwing credible, character-driven obstacles in the path of her maybe-lovers, which is a fine skill for a shôjo mangaka. -David Welsh

Kizuna Deluxe Edition, Vol. 2 | By Kazuma Kodaka | Digital Manga Publishing – What a difference a volume makes! The first installment of Kizuna was a bit of a mess, hopping around chronologically as Kadoka tried on a variety of drawing styles. The series finds its footing in the second volume, however, blending episodic stories about long-time couple Ranmaru Samejima and Kei Enjouji—Ranmaru wishes Kei would get a haircut, Kei gets upset when Ranmaru volunteers to step aside should Kei find a nice girl—with glimpses into the yakuza world (Kei and his half-brother, Kai, are the children of a notorious boss). I never expected I’d actually get into the latter, but I really enjoyed the suspenseful final chapter in this volume, in which Kai is hauled in by the cops on suspicion of dealing narcotics. I’m beginning to see why Kizuna is such a classic and now eagerly await volume three! -Michelle Smith

Rasetsu, Vol. 9 | By Chika Shiomi | Viz Media – In this series’ final volume, with Rasetsu’s 20th birthday upon her, she finally faces the demon who claimed her long ago. Though the ending has its twists, what really makes it work is the rich emotional framework that has defined the series all along. After all, Rasetsu’s worst demons are her own fears, and this what she and her quirky, self-made family must battle in the end. There’s nothing shocking here at all—no overwhelming drama to put a big “bang” on the ending—just a few, deeply damaged people who will work things out together the way they always have. It’s lovely, truly, and a perfect ending for this genuinely enjoyable series. Complete in just nine volumes, Rasetsu is a rare, short shoujo gem. Recommended. -MJ

Sakura Hime: The Legend of Princess Sakura, Vol. 1 | By Arina Tanemura | Viz Media – I ordinarily approach a new Tanemura series with some trepidation, since I either loathe them or find that they’re better than expected. Sakura Hime doesn’t give a very good impression at first, as its first chapter is the whirlwind story of a spunky heroine learning that a) she’s the granddaughter of Princess Kaguya and b) that it’s her destiny to fight nasty demonic critters called youko. Everything seems generic, including the fact that she immediately falls in love with the fiancé she had claimed to hate, but when he turns around and tries to kill her… well, that spices things up a bit. I’m still not sure whether Sakura Hime is going to be a series I follow to its conclusion, but it has earned a second look, at least. -Michelle Smith

Silver Diamond, Vol. 9 | By Shiho Sugiura | TOKYOPOP – Rakan and friends continue to make their way toward the Imperial Capital, pausing to calm the spirits in a graveyard and befriend the inhabitants of a village. The pace of the story is as leisurely as always, but Silver Diamond can be counted upon to provide a calming, benevolent, imaginative, comforting, funny, and touching read nonetheless. Unfortunately, this is the final volume that TOKYOPOP produced, and it ends with a cliffhanger—Rakan has been put to sleep in order to prevent him from leaving the village and one of the residents is plotting how best to do away with his companions! Take heart, however! Silver Diamond is available in French, and if you’re not afraid of a little Google Translate action, continuing the story should be pretty easy. That’s what I intend to do, at least! -Michelle Smith

Twin Spica, Vol. 6 | By Kou Yaginumaa | Vertical, Inc. – “Graceful” is the word that most frequently comes to mind when I’m reading this series about students at a school for astronauts. The quintet of leads spends most of this volume learning more about each other, particularly rich, removed Marika. There are lots of comics about a group of young people who have a dream in common but not much else, but few of them are as delicate and understated in approach as this one. Heroine Asumi continues to bring out the best in her classmates, partly due to her kindness, partly due to the example she sets, and partly due to the vulnerability she displays. I think it’s quite an accomplishment to create a heroine who inspires both the desire to protect and the anxiety that already she’s miles ahead. Why wasn’t this series nominated for an Eisner again? -David Welsh

Lychee Light Club

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David: Kate and I were both planning on writing about Usamaru Furuya’s Lychee Light Club, which arrives courtesy of Vertical this week, and we decided to pool our critical resources. It’s… quite a reading experience, and I think Kate and I have different overall responses to the book. First, though, Kate, would you like to take a stab at summarizing the plot?

Kate: If I were at a cocktail party, and someone I didn’t know very well asked me to describe Lychee Light Club, I might say that it’s about a group of teenage boys who are just beginning to go through puberty. They’ve formed their own secret organization with elaborate rules and rituals, and go to extreme lengths to conceal their activities from outsiders. Among those activities: building Lychee, a robot who’s programmed to find beautiful girls and bring them back to the clubhouse. Not long after his activation, however, Lychee develops a conscience, forming a bond with one of his kidnapping victims and turning against his creators.

Of course, that summary makes Lychee Light Cub sound more coherent and less violent than it is; the boys deal with threatening figures by raping, torturing, and dismembering them, acts that Usamaru Furuya draws in exquisite detail. There’s also a great deal of internal conflict within the Lychee Light Club, as several charismatic boys vie for control of the group. And in true Lord of the Flies fashion, the boys begin turning on each other with a savagery that’s genuinely disturbing.

How’d I do?

David: I think you did very well. It’s a fever dream of adolescent power fantasies manifesting themselves as abominable realities. I think there’s always an element of that in Furuya’s storytelling, and I don’t always have a lot of patience for it. I tend to find that his work is characterized more by flashes of brilliance than sustained craftsmanship.

In this case, though, and in spite of the really strenuous efforts to be shocking, I found this to be the most coherent work of Furuya’s that I read. It’s packed with undeniably revolting moments, but it holds together in ways that something like Genkaku Picasso didn’t. Whether that coherence compensates for the unsavory content is an entirely different question, obviously.

Kate: I wonder if the story’s coherence can be attributed to the fact that Furuya adapted Lychee Light Club from a pre-existing work. (For folks who haven’t read the English edition, Furuya based the story on an experimental play called Tokyo Grand Guignol.) Perhaps working from someone else’s storyline helped Furuya concentrate more on plot mechanics, something he definitely had difficulty doing in Genkaku Picasso. It certainly makes me curious to see what he’ll do with Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human.

As for the unsavory content… I don’t even know where to start. I understand that the story is intended to be dark satire, to reveal just how hysterical and silly young adolescent boys can be, especially before they know how to approach and interact with girls. But I have a hard time getting on board with that kind of satire when it requires the characters to grossly abuse girls and women. And I have an even harder time embracing that kind of plot device when the author eroticizes the violence against female characters. I’m thinking, in particular, of an early scene in which the boys capture one of their teachers. Though we’re meant to see that the boys’ behavior is a symptom of their depravity, the scene in which they kill her is charged with a thoroughly unpleasant, sexual energy: they fondle her, they strip her, and then they vivisect her, inspecting her internal organs with prurient interest. As a female reader, my own revulsion was so strong that it was hard to push past that scene.

David: That scene definitely constructs a high barrier to the work. I almost wonder if it got so gruesome so early to inform the audience that this was what they were likely to get, and that they might choose to flip past those chapters as they appeared in Manga Erotics F. An issue that may compound the problem of the frankly repulsive acts these kids perpetrate is that, while Lychee Light Club is more structurally coherent than some of Furuya’s other works, that doesn’t mean that it has a sound and consistent philosophy. On one hand, I’m not a fan of entertainments that try and paint aberrant depravity as generational malaise, and this book certainly doesn’t attempt that. But it doesn’t really present any other explanation aside from the malignant influence of a charismatic psychopath. And that’s a problematic starting point for other reasons.

But I’m glad you mentioned the work’s theatrical origins side by side with its offensive content, because the theatricality was key to my appreciation of what I feel like Furuya is doing here. One of the striking things about the book was the very specific theatricality that I took away from it.

By that, I don’t mean that it was melodramatic or extravagant, but that it seemed wedded to certain theatrical conventions. Furuya kept using compositions that suggested proscenium staging to me, a sort of one-set gore opera not unlike Sondheim and Prince’s Sweeney Todd or the sewer scenes in Phantom of the Opera. Even the strange flatness of character and event, no matter how horrible, seemed like a conscious aesthetic choice that a theatrical troupe might assume as their distinguishing shtick. I’m not saying it justifies the gratuitous violence, particularly when it was sexualized, but it did add a layer of distance for me, and it added a certain degree of fascination.

Kate: I agree; the characters’ interactions with one another — especially the boys’ group dynamic — feel like pure stage business, which makes it easier to interpret their behavior as ritual or schtick. I also agree with you that there’s something aesthetically appealing about the way Furuya emphasizes the story’s theatrical roots, both in the way he frames the action and in the way he moves his characters around the “stage”; the boys’ ceremonies reminded me of something out of Young Sherlock Holmes — well, if that movie had been made by Leni Riefenstahl, and not Steven Spielberg.

And yet…

I’m still struggling with my reaction to the way the female characters are treated. Kanon endures less sexual and physical humiliation than the other female characters, yet she’s so saintly that it’s hard to see her as anything more than an adolescent fantasy figure. Maybe that’s the point, but Furuya’s treatment of the other female characters is so despicable that it’s hard to know whether he’s condemning the boys’ behavior or just shrugging his shoulders and saying, “Gosh, that’s just how young teenagers are.”

David: I’m glad you mentioned that shrug, because I view it as a consistent problem in this sub-genre of fiction. When I was in college, it seemed like there was a minor flood of independent films about how awful and amoral teen-agers are, and my consistent reaction to them was always, “Yes? And?” I’ve never thought that merely identifying the depths to which any group of people can sink isn’t sufficient purpose for fiction, no matter how well it’s crafted. When it resorts to a vérité approach to that material, whether it’s a movie like River’s Edge or a graphic novel like Ayako, I feel like there’s nothing to respond to but the bleak appraisal, and that’s always unsatisfying. Lychee at least has the absurd theatricality to elevate it.

But, as you say, that’s not going to be enough to mitigate the effect of violence, particularly the violence against women. And Kanon is a problematic female lead in the sense that she’s very much in that gray area between ambiguous and under-developed. I kept hoping that there was more to her behavior, as I would occasionally detect some suggestion of a larger pattern to her actions, but that never really cohered into anything meaningful. She influenced the outcome of the story, but that was less through agency than it was a result of an incongruous female presence, which is hardly the same thing as an active female character. Does that make sense?

Kate: Absolutely — I think you’ve put your finger on why I struggled so much with the story, even though Kanon is intended to be a sympathetic figure.

Switching gears, I wanted to ask you what you thought of the artwork.

David: I’ve always been taken with Furuya’s art, even when it’s in service of this kind of material. He strikes a really impressive balance between realism and stylization, I think, and that was definitely my impression here.

One thing I have to mention, which is minor but struck me repeatedly in this book: the odd blush that he applies to boys’ lips. It’s such a strange little detail, but I always notice it, and I always find it unsettling in a productive way, at least in this book. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but it landed in this place where it suggested both innocence and horror.

Kate: That small detail with the boys’ lips harkens back to what you said about Lychee Light Club‘s theatricality; it’s as if the characters are wearing stage make-up to make them look even younger and more androgynous.

And speaking of the boys’ appearance, one of the things I found most interesting about Lychee Light Club is the way in which Furuya channels the spirit of Suehiro Maruo. When I first flipped through the book, I was struck by how many of the characters reminded me of an image that appears in Frederick Schodt’s Dreamland Japan. It’s a picture of three schoolboys — one holding a sword, one playing a flute, and one cocking a baseball bat — from Maruo’s Itoshi no Showa (My Beloved Showa Era). Each of the boys represents a different period in modern Japanese history (the Meiji, Taisho, and Showa eras, respectively), and at the end of the story, when a new “sibling” is born into their family, “they take off their masks and reveal themselves as monsters.” Schodt goes on to quote critic Inuhiko Yomota, who characterizes Maruo’s style as “a museum of 20th-century kitsch art” for the way in which Maruo synthesizes Nazi symbolism, traditional Japanese woodblock prints, and Taisho and Showa-era graphic design into a coherent visual language.

I think that “museum” metaphor is an apt way to describe Furuya’s style as well. In Short Cuts, for example, he proved that he could mimic just about any manga-ka’s style in service of a good joke; he pokes fun at Leiji Matsumoto and Osamu Tezuka with beautifully drawn panels that not only reproduce the characters from Galaxy 999 and Astro Boy, but also the sensibility of those comics — the linework, the density of images, the application of screentone. In Lychee Light Club, Furuya does something similar with Maruo’s work, though the prevailing spirit is different: the character designs, extreme violence, and “unmasking” of the boys in the final act of the story seem like explicit homage to Maruo, rather than a playful jab at established masters.

David: That’s so interesting, and it helps some things click for me. I think I noticed a similar kind of curatorial bent in Furuya’s Palepoli strips in Secret Comics Japan. I always find creators more interesting when they have a wider frame of reference, so to see Furuya fusing theatrical conventions and Maruo homage with his own sensibility is very satisfying, in a way. I just feel like artists are almost always automatically better when they have interests beyond their specific creative spheres and when they can drawn on these interests to inform their work while still maintaining their specific point of view. The ability to synthesize a range of elements from all over high and low culture while still creating something unique is quite impressive to me.

Of course, if it’s in service of fairly repulsive material, that may not be enough to salvage the reading experience. It did for me, but I certainly understand that it probably won’t for many, many people. Which brings me to a tricky question: to whom would you recommend this book, if you would recommend it at all? It’s interesting to me that Vertical would publish a book like this. There’s certainly been no shortage of aggressively shocking material in their other releases (Felipe Smith’s Peepo Choo and Tezuka’s MW and Ayako come to mind), but Lychee Light Club seems to be on a different taste plane altogether.

Kate: Good question — and one I feel unqualified to answer, since a formulation as glib as “fans of Suehiro Maruo’s work!” only addresses a tiny fraction of Lychee Light Club‘s potential audience. But if I had to take a stab at recommending it, I’d say it would be of interest to anyone who was intrigued by the darker stories in AX: An Alternative Manga Anthology (e.g. Kaizuichi Hanawa’s “Six Paths of Wealth”).

David: I think that’s an excellent answer. I like it even better because I don’t have an answer of my own.

On the subject of marketing, I noticed an intriguing tag line in Vertical’s house ad for Jiro Matsumoto’s Velveteen and Mandala, which asserted that “the manga renaissance continues.” I quite liked that sentiment, particularly as it relates to Vertical’s catalog. It’s ambitious, and not every book is right for every reader, but Vertical does make very ambitious choices, and their selection does have something for many different demographics, from kids who like funny cats to hardcore otaku.

 

Don’t Fear the Adaptation: Antique Bakery

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Antique Bakery | by Fumi Yoshinaga | Manga: Shinshokan/DMP | Anime: Nippon Animation/Nozomi Entertainment

Antique Bakery has already been covered in wonderful reviews by the Manga Bookshelf regulars. It begins with Keiichirou Tachibana, the son of a rich family, quitting his salaryman job in order to open a cake shop. He buys out an antique shop that’s going out of business and hires a former classmate of his, Yusuke Ono, the black sheep of the pâtissier community. Along the way, they pick up ex-pro boxing champion Eiji Kanda, who is determined to become Ono’s apprentice, and also end up employing Tachibana’s childhood friend, Chikage Kobayakawa, as an incompetent waiter. Like last month’s House of Five Leaves, Antique Bakery is a story about forging families and learning to both shoulder and forget your past. Though Ono is technically Eiji’s teacher, they turn out to be more of a parental-child unit than anything else, and any fan of the series will tell you that there’s a funny yet tragic joke about Chikage’s daughter marrying Tachibana in the future, essentially making Chikage Tachibana’s “father”. Add in a tumultuous high school past between Tachibana and Ono, an are-they-or-aren’t-they relationship between Chikage and Ono, and more delicious cakes than you could possibly eat in a life time, and you have Antique Bakery.

Every good fan plays favorites. I’m not afraid to tell you that Fumi Yoshinaga is one of mine. Antique Bakery was one of the first series that I collected from beginning to end, back when DMP was still doing those wonderful large books with the slip covers. The Antique Bakery books came with scratch and sniff covers. I thought they were the bee’s knees. I still do. So it’s only natural that I went into Antique Bakery the anime wanting to like it.

Did the anime deliver? Well, I can’t say there’s really anything actually wrong with it. It follows the source material reasonably closely, it does its best to translate Yoshigana’s characteristic artwork into an animation style, and it’s consistent from beginning to end. Maybe the best thing is the voice acting. Keiji Fujiwara is exactly what Tachibana sounded like in my head when he uses his “badly put upon papa” voice. Eiji Hanawa’s Chikage is flawless from beginning to end, alternatively meek and manly. Mamoru Miyano was an inspired choice for Eiji’s exuberant, cheeky attitude, and Shinichirou Miki as Ono manages to effortlessly straddle all aspects of Ono’s contradictory personality. It’s a real treat to hear scenes where all four voice actors work together, especially in scenes where Ono manages to show off just how much he is the real boss of Antique, not Tachibana.

The real problem comes when you take apart how the anime has restructured the story. I don’t mind that the anime throws together all the employees relatively early (Chikage, for example, shows up in episode one even though he wasn’t introduced until volume two of the manga). But the first episode opens with Tachibana having a nightmare about his kidnapper, which takes away the shock value of learning that competent, put-together Tachibana actually had a traumatic childhood. From the very beginning, the threads of his kidnapping story are scattered everywhere. When Tachibana first discovers Ono’s “gay of demonic charm” in the manga, it was very much tied to his guilt for pushing Ono away and ruining Ono’s life. But in the anime, it somehow came all the way back to Tachibana’s unarticulated homophobia post-kidnapping.

Anime Tachibana is completely reduced down to his childhood trauma. Gone is his fondness for inventing overly dramatic and completely specious explanations for the behavior of the customers in the shop. Gone is the very telling scene where his family visits the shop and you realize the entire Tachibana family has a face reserved for dealing with the public. When we hear about his past girlfriends, it’s limited to the one in high school, so you never realize that Tachibana’s willingness to please is one of his virtues as well as one of his weaknesses.

The other characters suffer from similar abridgment. Eiji’s background as a hypersexual gang member teenager, reformed by a kindhearted boxing coach, has been completely wiped in the anime, so he’s ends up being only an overly enthusiastic sports-type with a heart of gold. While we are introduced to Haruka and Tamiko, the news anchors that come to interview the shop for a cake fair, we aren’t given their history, which like all things Yoshinaga is that wonderful blend of humor and commentary on gender in modern day Japan. Chikage never had much of a story in the first place, but most of the scenes showing his idiosyncratic, yet charming, way of interacting with the Antique customers have also been cut. And one of my favorite lines, where Ono displays his insight into the hearts of men by diffusing an argument between Eiji and Tachibana, never makes it into the anime. Most of Ono’s gay lifestyle, actually, never makes it into the anime.

The characters seem to be shallower reflections of their manga selves. In fact, the story as a whole seems to be a shallower version of the manga. For me, the beauty of Antique Bakery was that it was a slice of life series — iyashi-kei, if you will — which pretended for a while to be a drama about Tachibana’s past. In the end, though, it was all about how these four men, whether or not they mean to, are stuck together forever as a family. Even when Chikage moves out of Tachibana’s apartment, even when it’s only Tachibana and Ono in the store, they’re still a family, bound together by fate and their investment in each other’s lives.

But the anime should probably be renamed “Keiichirou Tachibana and the Never Ending Kidnapping Trauma”. Everything is subsumed into this one overarching theme. This defect is nowhere more obvious than in the ending. In the manga, the kidnapping plot is wrapped up, Eiji and Chikage leave the store, followed by Tachibana and Ono pretending to be a gay couple for some schoolgirl customers, and we end on Tachibana’s realization that, despite evidence to the contrary, he’s still not over his trauma. But the anime, bizarrely enough, starts with Tachibana’s realization that he isn’t okay after all, transition into Chikage’s, then Eiji’s, departure, and finally lets Tachibana face off his kidnapper. The flashback to Tachibana a child, running away from his kidnapper, worked in the manga as a faux-climax to the story, but contradicts anime Tachibana’s assertion that he isn’t cured. The sense of the store continuing on, despite all changes, has disappeared. We end where we began, alone with Tachibana.

Finally, the animation leaves a lot to be desired. Fumi Yoshinaga’s art was never ornate or highly detailed, but when translated into an anime, it looks sadly flat. As if to compensate, the anime overuses CG art for the backgrounds, leaving you with the unsettling sense that you’re watching cutscenes from a late nineties video game. While abrupt transitions into super-deformed faces worked for the characters in the static medium of manga, their appearance in the anime verges on excessive and more than once took me completely out of the story. Like everything else in this anime, the animation isn’t terrible, but it definitely doesn’t do the series any favors, and it certainly didn’t take the story places where only the anime medium can go. I finished the anime with the uncomfortable feeling that it would have been better off with a studio like BONES, Studio Pierrot, or even Sunrise, which understood enough baking to make Yakitate!! Japan memorable. If a series like Genshiken found a way to parody cheesy BL storylines with French subtitles, you’d think a canonical cheesy BL storyline set in Paris would be played for laughs in Antique Bakery. Alas.

For completist fans, the DVD set is worth getting exclusively for the bonus booklet, which contains two enlightening interviews with Fumi Yoshinaga and the voice actors. The DVDs themselves are pretty bare, but the last DVD does include an adorable special where the voice actors are interviewed while wearing the outfits of the characters they play. On the other hand, if this is your first experience with the Antique gang, I have to say that you’re better off reading the manga than watching the anime. It’s not even that the anime is actually bad; it’s plenty enjoyable on a lazy Sunday afternoon, especially if you have a piece of cake on hand. But Fumi Yoshinaga’s work is so good that the anime was doomed to failure from the beginning. That’s the danger of playing favorites.

A million thanks to RightStuf for providing a copy of the DVD set for review.

Fanservice Friday: Hikaru no Go edition

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Not so long ago on Twitter, Deb Aoki asked, is Shounen Jump manga the gateway drug for yaoi? I expect that’s true for quite a number of people, and as you know, fanservice for girls in shounen manga is kind of a pet interest of mine.

As it so happens, my path was roughly the opposite. It was slash fandom that introduced me to Shounen Jump manga, by way of the series Hikaru no Go. In fact, it was a specific slash fanfic, carefully selected and presented to me with the purpose of selling me on a specific romantic pairing, that piqued my interest in the series. As a result, I first began reading Hikaru no Go not just as a ready target for this particular type of fanservice, but actually expecting it, and to some extent, already embracing it as canon.

Epic male rivalry is classic slash fodder, so it’s not like this is anything new, but I’ve rarely seen it done with the same level of intimacy that is generally inherent to the love-you-like-a-brother flavor of male bonding in fiction. The deep obsession is there, but it’s alongside deep trust, genuine warmth, and a overwhelming acknowledgement between the characters that nobody understands them as well as they understand each other.

It’s not all obsessive rivalry and closer-than-brothers soul bonding, of course, We’re also offered up out-and-out jealousy and emotional insecurity of the “but you’re only thinking of him!” variety. It’s kind of stunning, really.

Theirs is an eager, emotionally fraught rivalry, with as many shades as such a thing could possibly have. Furthermore, it’s been going on for quite some time.

Not that rival-slash fodder is the only service Hikaru no Go has to offer up to girls. Takeshi Obata draws some of the prettiest and most distinctively detailed male characters in shounen manga, with carefully chosen clothing, hairstyles, and attitude to match. For my money, most shoujo manga can’t compare to Obata when it comes to drawing men in clothes. This isn’t the kind of fantasy-based outfitting I’ve raved about before. These costumes are crisp, modern, and carefully suited to the nuances of each character. And does anyone draw prettier faces?

With all this in place, it’s not incredibly surprising to note that my entire experience with Hikaru no Go fandom has been heavily female-dominated (as is, I expect, the comment section of this post), even outside slash fandom circles. And though I once sent my nephew the first disk of the anime series as a gift, I admit it’s his little sister I expect will eventually latch on to it, sometime down the line.

So talk to me, readers. What’s your favorite example of fanservice in Hikaru no Go?

Six to grow on

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Viz has certainly delivered some beloved manga to English-reading audiences in their almost-25-year history, haven’t they? Yesterday’s discussion has certainly reinforced that belief. So, by all means, let us extend warm and gracious thanks for the seinen, the shônen, the shôjo, the josei, the fifth genre, and so on!

And yet…

It would not be Friday if I didn’t at least obliquely express a little dissatisfaction with what’s on our shelves, and Viz co-owners Shueisha and Shogakukan certainly aren’t exempt in terms of onus for rectifying perceived shortcomings. So, instead of adding a new, unlicensed title to the pile, I’ll offer a polite but firm reminder of some of the titles these two publishing giants might consider sending through the Viz pipeline.

Bartender, written by Akari Joh and Illustrated by Kenji Nagatomo, currently serialized in Shueisha’s Super Jump. While I hope Vertical’s release of wine epic Drops of God succeeds for its own sake, I hope one of the side effects is that it helps create a market for intoxicant-driven manga like this one. Sure, it’s great to enjoy a cocktail while reading manga, but it would be even better to enjoy a cocktail while reading manga that’s about cocktails.

The Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese, written and illustrated by Setona Mizushiro, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Judy. If you’re looking for someone who can explain to you why there isn’t more Mizushiro manga available in English, you can just keep on looking, because I am not even remotely equipped to do so. It’s honestly hard to pick just one of Mizushiro’s yet-to-be-licensed works, but I settled on this one to add a little boys’-love spice to the mix.

Gokusen, written and illustrated by Kozueko Morimoto, originally serialized in Shueisha’s You. If assembling The Josei Alphabet has led me to no other conclusion, it’s further convinced me that we need more josei in English. By all accounts, this tale of a math teacher trying to get the delinquents at her all-boys’ school on the right path, is funny and sprightly and could certainly reach a fairly diverse audience.

Hime-Chan’s Ribbon, written and illustrated by Megumi Mizusawa, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Ribon. There are almost certainly more important shôjo titles in both Shogakukan and Shueisha’s catalogs that are crying out for licensing, but this one sounds really adorable, and its accessory-driven storytelling might both catch and support the wave that I hope is created by the re-release of Sailor Moon.

Otherworld Barbara, written and illustrated by Moto Hagio, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Flowers. I give Viz all the credit in the world for being the first stateside publisher to introduce Hagio’s work to readers, but what have they done for us lately? It’s been a long time since Fantagraphics released A Drunken Dream and Other Stories, and I need a new Hagio fix. This award-winning, four-volume series would do the trick.

Witches, written and illustrated by Daisuke Igarashi, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s IKKI. I love Viz’s SigIKKI initiative, but they desperately need to add another substantial, ongoing series to their roster, and I would love it if that series was Witches, because I can star at Igarashi’s illustrations for hours.

So there are my top six Viz-friendly license requests of the moment. What about you? What Shueisha or Shogakukan titles top your wish lists?