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Manga Artifacts: Rumiko Takahashi’s Rumic Theater

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Most American readers know Rumiko Takahashi through her work in Shonen Sunday, but Takahashi has a foot in the seinen world as well. Maison Ikkoku ran in Big Comic Spirits from 1980-87, alongside Area 88 and Wounded Man, while short stories such as “To Grandmother’s House We Go” and “One Hundred Years of Love” appeared in Big Comic Spirits‘ sister publication Big Comic Original. In Japan, Takahashi’s seinen shorts have been collected into four volumes: 1 or W, The Tragedy of P, The Executive’s Dog, and Red Bouquet. Here in the US, however, only two have been translated into English: The Tragedy of P, which was re-titled Rumic Theater (1996), and 1 or W, which was published as Rumic Theater: One or Double (1998). (N.B. One or Double includes a handful of shonen and josei stories that appeared in Shonen Sunday and Petit Flower, respectively.)

These two translated volumes showcase Takahashi’s ability to work in almost genre. There are sports comedies (“The Grandfather of All Baseball Games”), domestic dramas (“Hidden in the Pottery,” “House of Garbage,” “The Tragedy of P”), rom-coms (“The Merchant of Romance,” “The Diet Goddess”), pop-culture spoofs (“Shake Your Buddha”), and ghost stories (“To Grandmother’s House We Go,” “One or Double”). As with Takahashi’s work in Shonen Sunday, many of these stories fold supernatural elements into everyday situations. In “Extra-Large Size Happiness,” for example, a woman’s relationship with her mother-in-law is strained by the sudden and frequent appearance of a household spirit that only she can see, while in “Reserved Seat,” a ghostly grandma takes possession of her grandson’s body so that she can honor her season tickets at the Takarazuka Revue.

Takahashi is a master at establishing her premise in just a few pages, allowing plenty of room for character development and broad comedy without compromising narrative momentum. One of the reasons Takahashi can be so economical is that she invests even the smallest moments with telling detail, making sure that every aspect of a character’s behavior is consistent with the story’s premise. In “Excuse Me for Being a Dog,” for example, the hero — who turns into a shiba inu whenever he suffers a nosebleed — acts like a canine even in his human form: he investigates an abandoned book bag with his nose, curls his lip at strangers, and recoils in the presence of pungent odors. Takahashi doesn’t make a big deal of these behavioral tics, but their inclusion in the story elevates Shiro’s condition from a wacky plot contrivance to a fundamental aspect of his existence. (OK, it’s also a wacky plot contrivance.)

Takahashi’s deep affection for her characters also contributes to the stories’ success. Though they bicker and tease and goad one another, the characters’ good will and mutual affection is seldom in question, even when their judgment is. Takahashi is as generous with her least sympathetic characters as she is with her leads, allowing them moments of wisdom and decency that often challenge the other characters’ perception of them. In “The Story of P,” for example, a man agrees to care for his eccentric client’s pet penguin, despite the fact the Hagas’ apartment complex doesn’t allow pets. For most of the story, Mrs. Haga plays cat-and-mouse with her neighbor Mrs. Kakei, the head of tenants’ association and a reputed animal hater. (Mrs. Kakei keeps tabs on the other tenants, notifying the management of any pet violations.) Yet in the last pages of the story, we learn that Mrs. Kakei has complicated, emotional reasons for ratting out her neighbors that stem, in part, from a genuine concern for animal welfare and not a humorless love of rules.

Art-wise, Takahashi produces some of the cleanest, most accessible layouts in manga. Her characters’ faces are easy to read, and her scenes are staged for maximum clarity and emotional impact; no one times a scare or a punch line better than Takahashi. Even more striking is the sense of mischief and play that informs her artwork. The elderly heroine of “One Hundred Years of Love,” for example, gains the ability to fly after surviving a near-death experience. Takahashi draws the old woman astride an enormous crutch, soaring over an urban landscape. At first, Mrs. Hoshino mutters about the weather, but soon she embraces the possibilities of flight, buzzing an unsuspecting eight-year-old apartment dweller:

 

That same sense of mischief is evident in “Extra-Large Size Happiness,” in which a giant yokai pops into the frame — directly behind the frazzled heroine’s mother-in-law. Readers familiar with InuYasha‘s Shippo and Myogi will immediately recognize this round, genial figure:

The similarities between this nameless yokai and Myoga could be construed as a flaw or weakness of Takahashi’s style, but there’s an argument to be made that Takahashi employs a “star system” of her own. Granted, Takahashi never constructed a neat theoretical framework to explain the recurrence of certain characters in her stories, as Osamu Tezuka famously did for his. Flipping through the pages of Rumic Theater, however, it’s easy to imagine these characters as actors who specialize in certain types of roles, retaining something of their own “off-screen” personality and appearance in every story; as David Welsh observed in his recent essay on Ranma 1/2, “The fun is in seeing the specialists find variations on their distinctive themes.” And here, in Rumic Theater, the fun comes from seeing Takahashi’s regulars tackle more grown-up themes — marital discord, neighborhood politics, growing old — than might otherwise be permissible in the context of a long-form adventure such as InuYasha or Ranma 1/2 .

MMF: Discovering Ranma and Ranma

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In every art form, it seems like there are chameleons and specialists. You can appreciate a particular actor for the way he or she vanishes into a role, or you can welcome the presence of a performer who has a narrower range but nails it every time. A novelist may embrace a variety of tones, subjects and styles over the course of their career, or they may choose to excel in a certain type of story told in a certain way.

I admire creative types from both categories, though I’ll admit to a slight preference for specialists, partly for the comforting familiarity they present. I know Meryl Streep is an extraordinary actress, but I feel no particular need to see everything she’s ever done. I also know that I’ll probably never mistake Eve Arden for any other performer or not be completely aware of her specific presence, but I go out of my way to watch any movie she’s ever done to bask in her brilliantly executed if more limited palette. The fun is in seeing the specialists find variations on their distinctive themes.

For my money, Rumiko Takihashi is one of our most treasured specialists. There are certain consistent elements in her work, whether it’s a nuts-and-bolts romantic comedy like Maison Ikkoku or a time-traveling fantasy epic like InuYasha. These recurring elements are always entirely welcome, in my opinion. They make reading a Takahashi title feel like catching up with an old friend whose life may have changed a bit in her absence but who is still comfortingly, reliably, charmingly herself.

To confirm this opinion, I decided to use the occasion of the Rumiko Takahashi Manga Moveable Feast to dive into a series I hadn’t yet read, Ranma 1/2. I know this is the series that not only introduced a lot of her admirers to Takahashi’s work and sometimes to manga itself, but I’d never gotten around to reading it. Part of this is due to the length of the series, which is a little daunting. But, while the selection of graphic novels at my local library isn’t comprehensive, they do have a robust supply of Takahashi’s work, including a full run of Ranma 1/2.

It’s about a highly skilled young martial artist named Ranma Saotome who has a bit of a problem. During rigorous training with his father, he fell into a cursed spring. Now, whenever he’s hit with cold water, he turns into a female version of himself. (Hot water reverses the transformation.) He and his father become guests of the Tendo family and their “School of Indiscriminate Grappling.” Fathers Tendo and Saotome have arranged a marriage between Ranma and one of the three Tendo daughters, Akane. She’s a tough cookie, and she’s not thrilled that this key component of her future has been decided for her. And she doesn’t seem to like Ranma that much.

I say “seem” because one of the most recognizable aspects of Takahashi manga is the ambivalent romantic relationship. Takahashi doesn’t waste any time twigging readers to the fact that Ranma and Akane are ideally suited to one another, but she doesn’t make Ranma and Akane seem stupid for not instantly realizing it themselves. The trick with this kind of drawn-out courtship is to create honest obstacles to the eventual union, and Takahashi is very, very good at that kind of slow burn. Novelist Charles Reade is credited with instructing storytellers to “Make ‘em laugh; make ‘em cry; make ‘em wait,” and Takahashi has successfully embraced this mantra.

In Ranma 1/2, she does this mostly by making us laugh. Few activities seem to give her as much pleasure as humiliating her protagonists, and Ranma’s boy-to-girl transformations give Takahashi plenty of opportunities. When a bucket of cold water can drastically alter the direction of a story arc, your narrative opportunities expand, and Takahashi makes excellent use of this device. It’s solid, secret-identity farce that offers quick sight gags and more complex complications.

This brings us to another Takahashi specialty, the idiot rival. In the three volumes I’ve read so far, there has been a delightful variety of this type of character, and Ranma’s dual nature makes their attentions even more potentially awkward. There’s school kendo star Kuno, who wants Akane for himself and detests male Ranma as a result. But he’s instantly smitten with scrappy, adorable female Ranma. His smug, conniving sister shows up, as does an old rival of Ranma’s with his own humiliating curse.

While all of these romantic complications force Ranma and Akane’s relationship to shift and evolve, they also result in yet another Takahashi motif, the ridiculous battle sequence. In her universe, nothing seems to say “I love you” quite as much as a completely over-the-top combat challenge. That neither Akane nor Ranma seem in the least inclined to accept the romantic terms of defeat in these tourneys matters very little; they like to kick ass. Cementing or protecting their relationship is generally just gravy, and they keep whatever savor they derive from that to themselves.

So they combine martial arts with rhythm gymnastics in one memorable sequence. As I read this, the possibilities offered by Takahashi’s shamelessness immediately sprang to mind. “They could fight people on ice skates!” A few chapters later, my theory was realized. If it sounds formulaic, it’s not, because Takahashi is a versatile specialist. As comfortable as she is with her style, she doesn’t seem inclined to repeat herself. Good comedy comes partly from the ability of the storyteller to surprise, to find new corners in a familiar, heightened universe. It’s why television sitcoms can run for a decade on the same premise and still be welcome.

This is helped by Takahashi’s ability to build sprawling, likable casts. Ranma an Akane’s fathers don’t play huge roles in the story, but they’re fun examples of the kind of parental figures that are both smarter and more experienced than the heroes but still goofy and quirky. Akane’s sisters get a few good bits, as does the family doctor whose romantic inclinations tend to overcome his professional detachment. I mentioned the rivals earlier, and I certainly look forward to meeting more of these clueless, narcissistic fools, because Takahashi tends to knock that character type out of the park.

But what about the “make ‘em cry” edict? Nobody’s ever going to mistake Ranma 1/2 for a three-hanky drama, but it is invested with genuine feeling. (Great farce always is.) This is almost entirely confined to Ranma and Akane’s underlying feelings for each other and the obstacles they face, but Takahashi does sprinkle a number of honest, moving moments here and there. The series wouldn’t work as well without them; it’s the difference between liking characters and just being amused by them.

Ranma 1/2 has all of the expected qualities of a Takahashi manga: the charm, the slapstick, the warmth, the durability. It also has that last alchemical property, Takahashi’s ability to surprise even when she’s traveling familiar territory. It’s that last quality that makes her the best kind of specialist in the world of comics.

Blue Exorcist, Vol. 1

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Have you ever seen the pilot episode of Law & Order? Most of the regular characters are present, and the script follows the three-act structure familiar to anyone who’s watched an episode of any Law & Order series, but the pacing is slack; the dialogue fizzles where it should crackle; and the actors struggle to create believable relationships between the characters, even as the script demands that they explain things to one another that, presumably, they’d already know from working together. Small wonder that “Everybody’s Favorite Bagman” languished for nearly a year before NBC rescued the show from limbo and ordered a full season of episodes.

So it is with Blue Exorcist, which has a first chapter that might charitably be described as a “pilot episode.” In these opening thirty pages, Kato introduces orphan Rin Okimura, a hot-tempered young man; Yukio, Rin’s snot-nosed fraternal twin; and Father Fujimoto, their guardian. Rin, we learn, is a direct descendant of Satan, and is in imminent danger of going over to the dark side. Father Fujimoto, however, has kept this information from his young charge, seeing fit only to explain the complexities of Rin’s lineage when Satan’s minions try to spirit Rin back to Gehenna, the demon realm. (Like all manga priests, Father Fujimoto spends more time fighting demons than preparing Sunday sermons or ministering to the sick, hungry, and bereaved.) An epic confrontation between Satan and Father Fujimoto leaves Rin’s mentor dead, forcing the boy to decide whether to cast his lot with Satan or with humanity.

There’s no reason why this opening prelude has to be such a bumpy, predictable ride, but Kato seems so intent on relating Rin’s entire Tragic Past in one installment that she trades naturalism for economy. (Sample: “I see you’ve returned. An overnight trip to the job center? How diligent of you.” And how helpful of Father Fujimoto to ask Rin a question to which he already knows the answer!) In the second chapter, however, Kato finds her stride with the material: the dialogue is looser and funnier; the characters’ relationships are more firmly and plausibly established; and she introduces her first genuinely memorable character, Mephisto Pheles. The plot is stock, with Rin vowing to avenge Father Fujimoto by enrolling in an exorcism “cram school,” but Kato enlivens the proceedings with humorous twists and nifty artwork.

And oh, the artwork! It’s crisp and expressive, filled with small but suggestive details. Mephisto, for example, carries a patched umbrella and wears a polka-dot cravat — two minor flourishes that help establish him as a slightly decadent figure, elegant but down at the heels. The not-very-imaginatively named True Cross Town provides another instructive example of Kato’s meticulous and thoughtful draftsmanship: she lavishes considerable attention on architectural details and infrastructure, stacking layers of houses and buildings on top of one another to form a giant urban ziggeraut:

In short, Kato has created an imaginary urban landscape that seems to have evolved naturally over time, with old and new buildings side-by-side and modern modes of transport straddling canals and rivers. That kind of thoroughness may not serve much purpose in the context of a manga about demon fighters, but it lends Blue Exorcist a temporal and geographic specificity that’s sometimes missing in other areas of the story — like the religious bits.

Whatever my reservations about the first chapter, I freely admit that I’d fallen head-over-heels for Blue Exorcist by the end of the second. The brisk pacing, sharp artwork, and cheeky tone of these later chapters convinced me that Kazue Kato is in firm control of her story, and has successfully laid the foundation for the series’ first major story arc. Bring it on, I say!

BLUE EXORCIST, VOL. 1 • BY KAZUE KATO • VIZ MEDIA • 198 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

License request day: Aoi Hana

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The impetus for a license request can be very simple, but it can also come from a variety of triggers. For instance, someone might casually mention a Japanese magazine that interests me like Ohta Shuppan’s Manga Erotics F. (Any magazine that can host both Natsume Ono’s Ristorante Paradiso and Usumaru Furuya’s Lychee Light Club is bound to catch and hold my attention.) It might also be a week when The Josei Alphabet featured a number of intriguing-sounding titles that featured romances between women. And one might add to that the happy anticipation of the first volume of Takako Shumira’s Wandering Son, to be translated by Matt Thorn, who always has interesting things to say on the subject.

So, with these guideposts, we arrive quite naturally at Takako’s Aoi Hana, a complex yuri romance which is running in Manga Erotics F and has five collected volumes at this point. It’s about the web of friendships and romance among the members of a high-school drama club. For me, commentary on the quality of yuri romance doesn’t get more reliable than that provided by Erica (Okazu) Friedman, so let’s see what she has to say about the series, which she’s read in Japanese.

She’s described the first volume as “both cute and sweet – and I liked it quite a bit. Which is pretty surprising, as it is both genuinely cute and sweet.” (Erica often likes her heroines to carry powerful automatic weapons, as do we all, and it doesn’t seem like there’s much ordinance in Aoi Hana.) The second volume leads Erica to conclude that, “when I read any book, part of what goes on in my mind is ‘Would I want to hang out with any of these people? Would I let anyone in this story come over for lunch?’ No one, not one character in Life would be allowed in my house – while just about everyone in Aoi Hana would.”

Erica finds the third volume “emotional without being histrionic.” The fourth reveals inner strengths of some of the characters. The fifth earns praise for the careful rendering of the heroine’s gradual move towards accepting her sexual orientation. Erica has also reviewed the anime, which ran on Crunchyroll, and hosted a guest review of the first volume of the French edition, Fleurs Bleues, which is being published in Kazé’s Asuka imprint. Asuka offers extensive preview pages from each of the four volumes they’ve published so far, so you can get a look at Shimura’s spare, elegant visual style.

While my initial interest in Aoi Hana sprang from a convergence of whims, further investigation has led me to conclude that it’s the kind of series I always really enjoy: a sensitive examination of adolescence featuring kids pursuing an interesting hobby. It’s also got attractive art and an intelligent look at same-sex relationships. Why hasn’t someone published this already?

From the stack: Chew: Taster’s Choice

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It’s time again to look at a title from the top 10 list of the 2011 Great Graphic Novels for Teens list assembled by the Young Adult Library Services Association of the American Library Association. The exercise is providing a nice variety of reading experiences, from a gracefully rendered adventure on the high seas to a slice of adolescent life in Guadeloupe. This month’s entry is Chew: Taster’s Choice (Image), the first collection a novel and occasionally nauseating detective series written and lettered by John Layman and drawn and colored by Rob Guillory.

This volume introduces us to Tony Chu, a police detective who also happens to be “cibopathic,” which means he experiences the full history of everything he eats. You may worry about food miles, but at least you don’t have to travel every one of them with your salad. As a result, Chu isn’t a very enthusiastic eater. The gift-curse does have its uses in the course of investigations, and Chu ends up drawing the interest of a strangely sinister Food and Drug Administration. The agency hires him to help solve food-related crimes.

Chu is assigned to work with fellow cibopath Mason Savoy, who is as stout and hearty as Chu is scrawny and drawn. They investigate the death of a food inspector, and Chu becomes smitten with a writer whose unique ability is to write about food so expressively that her readers react viscerally to her prose. Before Chu can pursue this fetching raconteur, he starts to sense that there may be more to the FDA and Savoy than he suspected, and the volume ends with Chu’s life changing drastically yet again.

Layman has a great sense of pacing. The chapters generally charge along at a nice clip, but there’s plenty of space for quirky details and funny set pieces. Guillory seems ideally suited for the material, straddling the line between amusingly absurd and full-on gross. Together, they’ve assembled an interesting cast, conducted some smart world building, and established an underlying plot that seems like it could sustain the series for some time. (Why did the FDA drive the poultry industry underground?) They also create enough of a level of internal logic to make the weirder elements fit quite nicely.

The only thing they haven’t seemed to do by the end of this volume is to figure out ways for Chu to solve crimes without eating human flesh. Given the volume of evidence available at the average crime scene, it seems like cannibalism would be a last resort for someone of Chu’s abilities. There are lots of marginally edible things lying around that are bound to be at least somewhat usefully resonant before starting in on the (not chicken) fingers. Aside from being revolting, the device feels limiting. Much as I enjoyed this volume, I want to see the hero vary his diet.

 

BL Bookrack: April

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

This month, we take a look at two offerings from Digital Manga Publishing’s Juné imprint, Love Syndrome and Right Here, Right Now, as well as BLU Manga’s Crimson Snow.

Crimson Snow | By Hori Tomoki | Published by BLU Manga | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Amazon – “Crimson Snow,” the three-part title story in this collection, is a compelling character piece, focusing on the surprising bond that grows between two very dissimilar people. When Kazuma, a yakuza gangster, is shot in the act of exacting revenge for the killing of his beloved boss, he has nowhere to go. Pausing for a moment’s rest in the snow, which he stains red with his blood, he is discovered by Yukihiro Shibata, the rich bastard son of a renowned tea ceremony master. Without a moment’s hesitation, Yukihiro takes Kazuma in and begins to nurse him back to health.

This reaction utterly baffles Kazuma. “Don’t you know what kind of person I am?” he inquires. His background makes no difference to Yukihiro or his servants, however, and as Kazuma comes to know his caregivers, he begins to understand why they’re willing to help him. For one thing, one of the servants is himself a reformed gangster, and for another, Yukihiro is so used to accepting only what he is given—a holdover from many disappointments in his relationship with his absentee father—that when he is actually adamant about something, the servants will do anything to make sure he gets it.

Despite the yakuza connection, “Crimson Snow” is actually a quiet kind of story, largely because Kazuma, for the first time in his life, has the opportunity to simply be still and spend time reflecting on his life. He loved his former boss, and loved being by his side, but it did lead him into a life of violence. Life by Yukihiro’s side is different, peaceful, and in time, Kazuma realizes that he must leave in order to avoid bringing ruin upon his friend. (“I don’t know how to protect things I care about. My hands only ever break things and take things away.”)

Awesomely, however, Kazuma makes his decision with a minimum of angst, and with the clear-eyed intent of paying for his crimes. I would have been perfectly happy if the tale had ended here, but the brief and satisfying “Galance” provides some closure to Kazuma and Yukihiro’s story. There are two other stories in the collection, as well. “At First Sight” is a simple and happy love story between two students who follow up on mutual staring with some highly consensual intimacy. “Cry for the Sun” is a little odd—being the story of a young man who falls in love with his father’s former lover—but the premise is interesting.

On the whole, I enjoyed Crimson Snow quite a lot. Hori writes that this was her first foray into BL, and she shows great promise both in storytelling and in art. (Kazuma, in particular, often looks disconcertingly realistic.) I’d love to read more by her someday.

-Review by Michelle Smith

Love Syndrome | By Yura Miyazawa | Published by Juné | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Akadot – As a regular reader of boys’ love manga, I’ve developed my share of pet peeves. Romanticization of rape, the excessively tortured uke, demonization of female characters–all are common elements of the genre that invariably make me cringe. The greatest sin of all, however–the one most hurtful and difficult to forgive–is that of the advertised single-volume story that turns out to be an anthology. This is the sin of the publisher, not the title, of course. Yet when reading for review, it’s the poor manga at which I’ll usually direct my wrath. Fortunately, in this case, that wrath is a bit subdued.

Most BL anthologies share a few tragic failings, and Love Syndrome is no exception. Though typically revolving around a common theme (in this case, friends-turned-lovers), the stories are rushed and underdeveloped, forced to a romantic climax (pun intended) by whatever means necessary, with little attention given to minor issues like characterization and basic believability.

Take a look at this volume’s first story, for instance. An unexpected water leak in his apartment building compels college student Serizawa to seek shelter with his old friend, Shinoda. Shinoda agrees, but inexplicably dictates that his guest agree to kiss him every morning. As Serizawa quickly discovers that he enjoys Shinoda’s kisses, he also finds out that Shinoda has been in love with him for years! Now Serizawa’s in love too! Hurray! The end. While the specific circumstances of the volume’s subsequent pairings differ slightly, the general trajectory remains the same throughout. Yura Miyazawa’s characters fall fast, overcome obstacles immediately, and declare their love (with a few panels left over for the suggestion of sex), all in the span of about 30 pages.

With all that in mind, though it would be an overstatement to suggest that Love Syndrome really *succeeds* at anything, it doesn’t completely fail either, thanks in great part to its author’s relentless good cheer. If these stories are obviously spun from the thinnest wish-fulfillment fantasies, they’re also crafted with a genuine delight for those fantasies. Miyazawa’s characters beam with love, creating a sense of real warmth within their hopelessly clichéd world. And in the cold, murky depths of the BL anthology market, a little warmth goes a long way.

-Review by MJ

Right Here, Right Now!, Vols. 1-2 | By Souya Himawari | Published by Juné | Rated Mature (18+) | Buy at Akadot – If I were to describe this two-volume series as a time travel historical romance, probably you’d imagine something a lot more fluffy than what Right Here, Right Now! actually has to offer. Oh, sure, it’s not particularly deep or dramatic, but it also doesn’t gloss over some of the problems with falling in love with a guy who lived over 500 years ago.

On his way home from school one day, Mizuo Yanase decides to shirk his tea ceremony lesson and loiter at the run-down local temple instead. While sitting in the spot where the Buddha altar should be, he is suddenly tranported back in time to the Warring States period, where he is hailed as the living incarnation of Buddha. He is promptly introduced to Takakage, a boy about his age, who wastes no time glomping Mizuo and requesting that he become his “page,” which seems to be a euphemism for “bedmate.”

Mizuo demurs, and spends most of the first volume learning about Yamako, the land in which he finds himself, and taking combat lessons as a way to fend off his own feelings of insecurity because Takakage is so much more manly and mature than he is. After a brief visit home, he turns to find that Takakage has aged six years and become a hardened military general. Too, Takakage’s mother is pressuring him to produce an heir, and when a proposed marriage to an enemy princess seems like the path to peace for the people of Yamako, Mizuo thinks it best to remove himself from the picture, lest he be the cause of Takakage’s refusal and, therefore, the citizens’ suffering.

Mizuo is a bit of a milquetoast protagonist, but I still enjoyed his growth as he becomes more interested in trying his best, thinks of others before himself in a way that isn’t actually annoying, and ultimately resolves that he needs to find a way to contribute if he’s ever going to feel truly at home in the past. His dilemma over whether to stay with Takakage or return to his family is also a nice touch—many such stories give the characters an easy out in this regard, but not this one. The situation with the proposed marriage is also resolved more rationally than I expected, and with a minimum of melodrama.

As a time travel fantasy, therefore, Right Here, Right Now! is pretty decent. It’s in the romance department that things didn’t work for me. Right off the bat, Takakage is eager to get physical with Mizuo, which makes him look more like a horndog than someone actually in love. Mizuo protests for a while, then eventually submits without much enthusiasm. I can totally buy that Mizuo admires Takakage and wants to be by his side, but have a hard time seeing them as a couple.

In the end, Right Here, Right Now! isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly better than expected.

-Review by Michelle Smith

Review copies provided by the publisher.

The Josei Alphabet: L

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“L” is for…

Well, it’s for “Love.” Duh.

Love Blog!!, written and illustrated by Akira Fujiwara, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Comic, three volumes, published in German by Tokyopop. Frustrated with her love life, office lady Eriko takes to the web to blog about her search for romantic fulfillment. There’s a sequel, Love Blog!! Next, and Fujiwara has another “L” josei series, Lost Girl wa Koi o Suru, currently running in Petit Comic.

Love Cruise, written and illustrated by Tomu Ohmi, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Comic, one volume. This collection of smutty short stories is noteworthy mostly because it’s by the creator of the awesome-or-horrible-sounding Midnight Secretary, which I’ll almost certainly mention again next week.

Love My Life, written and illustrated by Ebine Yamaji, originally serialized in Shodensha’s Feel Young, one volume, published in French by Asuka. Won’t someone please, please, please publish this by-all-accounts gorgeous and moving yuri romance? Please?


Love Vibes, written and illustrated by Erica Sakurazawa, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Young You, one volume. Mako is stuck in a love triangle with her unreliable ex-boyfriend, Shoji, and an alluring bisexual woman named Mika. Another Sakurazawa title in this corner of the alphabet is Lovely!, originally published by Shodensha.

Lovers’ Kiss, written and illustrated by Akimi Yoshida, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Flowers, two volumes. Everyone’s kissing everyone at this public high school, which promises both shônen- and shôjo-ai.

Licensed josei:

  • Loveless, written and illustrated by Yun Kouga, originally serialized in Ichijinsha’s Comic Zero-Sum, published in English by Tokyopop.

What starts with “L” in your josei alphabet?

Reader reminders and recommendations:

  • Love for Dessert, written and illustrated by Hana Aoi, originally published by Ohzora Shuppan, published in English by LuvLuv, published in French by Asuka.
  • Lady Rin!, written and illustrated by Youko Hanabusa, serialized in Shodensha’s Roma x Puri.

Bookshelf Briefs 4/18/11

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This week, MJ, Kate, David, & Michelle take a look at slew of comics (and one light novel) from Viz Media, Oni Press, Yen Press, and TOKYOPOP.

Book Girl and the Suicidal Mime | By Mizuki Nomura | Yen Press – “Warmly despondent – that’s the kind of story I hope it will be,” Nomura says in this light novel’s afterword. Her hope is fulfilled, and she manages to add healthy doses of humor and suspense along the way. It’s about a high-school literature club that consists of a fetching goblin who literally eats prose and a boy who keeps her in snacks in the form of handwritten stories. They’re drawn into the romantic woes of a classmate, and their efforts to help her take some darkly unexpected turns that force the boy to confront painful events from his own past. It’s a quirky, thoughtful celebration of the power of stories, and it features interesting, well-developed characters with complex problems. I haven’t read many light novels, but I’m looking forward to reading more installments in this series. – David Welsh

Karakuri Odette, Vol. 6 | By Julietta Suzuki | TOKYOPOP – After the introduction of Travis, an advanced robot who wants Odette for his bride, in volume five, I was a little worried about this, the final volume of the series. Happily, I needn’t have been. Manga-ka Julietta Suzuki avoids any semblance of hijinks, framing her story instead around Grace, an earlier model of robot made by Travis’s creator, and the pain she feels over no longer being considered Papa’s precious masterpiece, and the relationship between Odette and her protector and friend, Asao. This leads to many poignant and bittersweet moments, as Odette realizes for the first time that nothing stays the same forever. It’s a lovely end to a lovely series. -Michelle Smith

Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan, Vol. 2 | By Hiroshi Shiibashi | Viz Media – Until someone licenses GeGeGe no Kitaro for the US market, yokai lovers will have to make do with this solid, if uninspired, story about a teenage boy who’s caught between the demon and human worlds. The second volume finds Rikuo tapping more readily into his yokai powers in order to save his friends — a marked improvement over the first volume, in which Rikuo spent more time trying to deny his abilities than make use of them. Rikuo’s yokai pals also get more screen time in volume two, giving the story a much-needed jolt of humor and weirdness. Much as I like the artwork and the concept, however, I’m still not taken with Nura; the stories follow all-too-predictable predictable patterns, and the main characters — the human ones, at least — aren’t well-rounded enough to be genuinely memorable. -Katherine Dacey

Pandora Hearts, Vol. 5 | By Jun Mochizuki | Yen Press – Everyone knows by now that I think Pandora Hearts is stylish, and to some extent that’s its greatest weakness. Though Jun Mochizuki uses her obvious Carroll/Tennial influence to create much beauty on the page, it is exactly that influence that encourages her least effective impulses. While the story she’s created is wonderfully compelling, she risks losing the thread, time and again, by tangling it up in useless references that don’t serve the series at all. The Cheshire Cat? The Mad Hatter? These names are not only meaningless in the context of her story, but actually harmful to it, making it appear as if she doesn’t trust it to stand up on its own. Fortunately, in volume five, Mochizuki steps back from the Wonderland-heavy muddle and remembers to tell her story, in all its beautifully twisted, heart-rending glory. Still recommended. – MJ

Salt Water Taffy: The Seaside Adventures of Jack and Benny: Caldera’s Revenge Part 1 | By Matthew Loux | Oni Press – If you haven’t treated yourself to any of the previous installments of Loux’s series, I’d recommend you correct that at your earliest convenience. Young brothers Jack and Benny are spending the summer at the deceptively peaceful seaside town of Chowder Bay. A potentially dull family vacation is saved by the fact that Chowder Bay is weirder than Key West and Provincetown combined, with totally true tall tales of giant lobsters, ghosts, and hat-stealing eagles lurking around every corner. This time around, the boys try and help a giant squid reunite with his parents, complicated by the interference of a determined sperm whale and an ominous ghost ship. Loux’s style is a joy, lanky, witty, and evocative, and this chapter is a real treat for anyone who’s having a hard time waiting for their own summer vacation to start. -David Welsh

Stepping on Roses, Vol. 5 | By Rinko Ueda | Viz Media – “I really enjoy drawing Stepping on Roses as it continues to have this stereotypical, melodramatic storyline,” says mangaka Rinko Ueda in her author’s notes for volume four. And, sure, I get where she’s coming from. There’s something cozy and comforting about by-the-book romance that I’m certainly not immune to. There’s a reason why that structure works, and it only takes a single spark of real personality to ignite the fire of heart-pounding romance. Trouble is, there’s no spark here to be found. Ueda has perfected the structure and she draws very prettily indeed, but she fails to make it personal, leaving our hearts to beat quietly on. Volume five has a few interesting moments thanks to a sub-plot involving the Ashidas’ devoted butler, but the series’ primary romance remains as empty as ever. Not recommended. – MJ

Time and Again, Vol. 5 | By JiUn Yun | Yen Press – Exorcist Baek-On is full of haughty scorn when he encounters a farmer who believes that his beautiful new wife is really an angel. When he forces the man to see the truth, it results in the husband killing his wife then belatedly realizing she did truly love him. This outcome leaves Baek-On reeling—was he wrong to interfere? has he been living his life the wrong way?—and sends him to a family friend for some advice. Although the volume is a little light on our main characters and doesn’t provide the same kind of character development as the previous volume, it still fleshes out the world well, filling in bits of Baek-On’s family history while offering twisty takes on traditional Asian folk tales. I’m looking forward to the sixth and final volume very much. -Michelle Smith

From the stack: Onward Towards Our Noble Deaths

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There are several very welcome text pieces in Drawn & Quarterly’s handsome production of Shigeru Mizuki’s Onward Towards Our Noble Deaths – a foreword by Frederik L. Schodt, extensive translation notes, and an afterword by the creator. My favorite extra has to be an interview with Mizuki in which the legendary mangaka is simply not having it.

He’s not being difficult or unpleasant, but he’s not really game for the standard questions that legendary cartoonists generally get asked. His answers tend to be much shorter than the inquiries that triggered them. He won’t play into the “trailblazing artiste” narrative, nor will he won’t deprecate himself. He won’t list his influences, trash commercial comics, or paint the creation of Onward… as an artistic or personal struggle.

Of course, my favorite bit of the interview is when Mizuki is asked which of his works he’s most proud of and would like to see made available in English:

SM: I would have to say GeGeGe no Kitaro.

I would have to agree with him. Grateful as I am to have any of his work licensed and in translation, it feels kind of odd to start with one of his darker works. It would be like if Osamu Tezuka’s Ayako had been licensed before anyone had a chance to read Astro Boy. Of course, GeGeGe no Kitaro is a Kodansha property, some of which was published ages ago in the publisher’s bilingual comics initiative, so that complicates things. It’s also beloved and probably very expensive, so one can’t precisely fault other publishers for not waiting. Of course, Onward… was a Kodansha property as well, originally serialized in Gekiga Gendai, so it’s nice to see the publisher continue to work with other houses rather than keep everything for themselves.

And Onward Towards Our Noble Deaths has numerous merits in its own right beyond being part of Mizuki’s body of work. It’s based on Mizuki’s experiences as a soldier serving in Papua New Guinea during World War II and portrays the hardships and ill use average soldiers endured at the hands of their superiors. These abuses range from routine, almost desultory physical punishment – “New recruits are like tatami mats: the more you beat them, the better they are.” – to the overall military culture that paints surrender as the worst kind of shame and promotes dying in battle, no matter how senseless and futile the effort, as every soldier’s highest calling (aside from victory, obviously).

Mizuki doesn’t need to do much beyond merely portraying this mindset in order to condemn it. His cast of everyman grunts doesn’t pontificate about its fate. They gripe about the shortage of food, the isolation, the grueling routine, the danger and disease. The overarching injustices they face and the ways that these will doom them always loom, and the soldiers are keenly aware of them, but they’re rarely addressed directly in the text. This is welcome, because it keeps subtler, more effective condemnation from becoming an obvious screed, and it’s also natural in a way. It makes sense to me that these powerless people are reluctant to address the fact that their day-to-day suffering is almost certainly for nothing, and that the people responsible for their fate know that and don’t care. As a result, it’s a very straightforward, chronological narrative. The soldiers arrive, conditions deteriorate, they face unthinkable danger and impossible choices, and things end badly. The approach serves Mizuki’s aims well.

The visual style can be jarring at times. Mizuki paints lushly realistic backdrops and peoples them with cartoonish figures. That isn’t problematic by itself, as I’m more than happy to embrace the combination of cartoonish and gruesome in works like Tezuka’s MW and Ode to Kirihito. There are moments when Mizuki’s particular stylization is not just dissonant with his subject matter but directly at odds with it. This is particularly evident in more violent scenes when body parts are flying, and Mizuki’s strict adherence to his character aesthetic sometimes results in panels that look more ridiculous than horrific. He’s also dealing with a large cast, and individuality tends to get lost in terms of design and simple space to develop characters thoroughly. Ironically, it’s the higher-ups who make the strongest impression. Again, that fits, since they’re the ones with the most agency, and it reinforces the brutal expendable status of the rank and file.

It’s an effective piece on the whole, and I’m glad I had the opportunity to read it. The overall level of restrained sincerity is welcome and makes the piece stand out in the field of autobiographic comics. I’m also pleased that Drawn & Quarterly chose to mark the occasion of Mizuki’s proper English-language debut with proper introductory pieces providing an overview of his career and impact. If it doesn’t seem like the ideal piece to use for Mizuki’s reintroduction, it certainly does him credit.

 

License request day: Kaguyahime

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Erica (Okazu) Friedman and I are usually of one mind on most issues, but we’re having a really teensy difference of opinion at the moment. She says Reiko (Moon Child, Himitsu: The Top Secret) Shimizu’s Kaguyahime is josei. I say it’s shôjo. On my side of the argument is the fact that the 27-volume series ran in Hakusensha’s Hana to Yume and Lala. But Erica has experienced the series first hand. After a mesmerizing synopsis of what the series is about (kind of a fusion of an LGBT soap opera with Parts: The Clonus Horror), Erica makes this recommendation:

If you like a challenge, strange sci-fi, conspiracies, pretty boys, hunky girls, angst, fantasy, absolutely ravishing art, and a TON of yaoi/yuri, you need to read this manga.

I NEED TO READ THIS MANGA.

Honestly, I cannot be bothered to try and understand the plot, which seems to defy succinct description, but those are sometimes the best comics of all.

Those lucky, lucky French are able to enjoy this under the title Princess Kaguya, courtesy of Panini. Let’s see how their first-volume blurb translates, shall we?

Reiko Shimizu revisits an old Japanese legend in this new shôjo manga with the pace of a thriller. Children raised at an orphanage on an island off the coast of Japan are intended to be sacrificed to the princess of the moon when they reach sixteen years age. Some manage to escape, but they still feel the island’s pull. Will they be able to escape their destiny? A fascinating thriller with breathless suspense!

That’s so un-French of them not to mention the rich tapestry of sexual orientations Erica promises. Anyway, Panini seems to be about halfway through the series at the moment.

I think, in cases like this, it’s best to just conclude that everyone’s right. I’m technically correct in saying that Kaguyahime ran in shôjo magazines. Erica’s certainly correct in noting it has enough sex and violence to snap most comics for teen-agers right in half. And really, its category doesn’t matter. I just want to read it.

 

Manga Bookshelf 2011 Eisner Roundtable

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KATE: The 2011 Eisner nominees were announced last week, and the results were genuinely surprising. Not only did Eisner mainstays like Naoki Urasawa and Osamu Tezuka get nods, but the judges also recognized an unusual number of female artists, including pioneering shoujo manga-ka Moto Hagio. The diversity of styles and subject-matters was noteworthy as well; this is the first time in several years that the judges have nominated shojo and josei titles, which often get less critical respect than seinen manga.

So my question to everyone participating in the roundtable is this: which titles are you most excited about seeing on the list? And do you think they have a shot at winning? Why or why not?

DAVID: In terms of being genuinely surprised, I’d have to pick Yumi Unita’s Bunny Drop (Yen Press) as the most pleasantly eye-opening inclusion. It’s a wonderful, wonderful series that doesn’t have any of those particular gravitas selling points, like a legendary creator or an out-there concept. Unita just tells a warm story about recognizable characters, and she tells it very, very well. It’s like the crowd-pleasing indie film that nobody expects to get a best picture nomination.

MJ: I’ll have to agree with David on the candidate for “most surprising,” for exactly the reasons he stated. In terms of pure excitement, though, I have to mention Natsume Ono’s House of Five Leaves. This thoughtful, languorous manga is one of my current favorites. And though its period setting and unique art style probably contribute to its Eisner-likeliness, I was still surprised to see it nominated.

KATE: Though I’d agree that Bunny Drop was the most surprising nomination, I’m most excited about A Drunken Dream and Other Stories. I’ve been a big Moto Hagio fan since I first read “They Were Eleven” four years ago, and have been frustrated by American publishers’ reluctance to license her work. (I know, I know: old-school shojo doesn’t sell very well, as Swan and From Eroica With Love‘s poor sales records attest.) Hagio’s Eisner nomination fills me with hope that Fantagraphics will take a chance on one of her longer stories — say, The Poe Family or Otherworld Barbara — allowing American readers to really get to know her work.

There’s another reason I want Drunken Dream to win: stories written by and for female audiences don’t often win major awards. Looking over the complete list of Eisner nominees, for example, I see only a sprinkling of female artists and writers singled out for recognition. The titles that did make the cut — Julia Wertz’s Drinking at the Movies, Raina Telgemeier’s Smile — are excellent, but I can’t help but wonder why female creators weren’t nominated in more categories, given how many smart, talented, and imaginative women are working in the field today. A win in the Best U.S. Edition of International Material–Asia category is a small but important step towards correcting that kind of oversight.

So what about you: which titles are you hoping will win? Which title would you bet on, if you were the gambling sort?

DAVID: Before I start odds-making, I definitely wanted to concur with your enthusiasm for the inclusion of women creators in the manga category. It’s been a while since they’ve been represented, I think since the 2007 and 2008 slates. And these women creators — Unita, Ono, Hagio — are extraordinary. I’m delighted to see all of them recognized.

Of course, I’m cynic enough to doubt that any of them will win. I think Eisner voters have an understandable fondness and admiration for Osamu Tezuka, so I would probably put my money on Ayako, even though I don’t think it’s his best work by any means. In fact, I’d rather have seen just about any of Vertical’s other books fill that fifth slot — Twin Spica or Peepo Choo in particular. But Ayako is a big, serious drama by a (male) legend, and that’s some serious voter bait right there.

MJ: I’m thrilled about the nomination of Drunken Dream, and out of the female-created manga on the list, I think it has the best chance to win. It’s “classic” and comes to us from a publisher that is better-respected in the western comics world than most of those that primarily (or exclusively) publish manga. I’ll join David in his cynicism, however, and agree that I think a classic from a beloved male creator (and Tezuka in particular) is much more likely to win. And while I’m not especially keen on an Ayako win (I, too, would have preferred to see nearly any of Vertical’s other recent releases nominated instead), in my heart of hearts, I admit I’d most like to see a longer series take the prize, above Ayako *or* Drunken Dream.

This will probably be an unpopular opinion, but long-form storytelling is one of the things I most highly value in comics from Japan, and though I’d like to see Hagio get the attention she deserves, I’d rather see her get it for one of her longer series. Like Kate, I hope the nomination inspires Fantagraphics to consider publishing some of those here. I’d be very excited to see one of them on the Eisner list in a couple of years.

All that said, I’d quite possibly die of joy if any of this year’s nominated female mangaka actually did win, Hagio included.

KATE: That’s a great point, MJ: multi-volume series have certainly won Eisners — Buddha and Old Boy are past winners — but it’s very difficult to compare a complete story such as Ayako with an ongoing one such as Bunny Drop or House of Five Leaves. Sustaining a complicated narrative over many volumes is a very different skill than telling a story in a single volume; it seems patently unfair to compare something which is still in an early stage of development with something where one can actually judge the effectiveness of the ending.

And speaking of long-form stories, do you think 2011 will be the year that Naoki Urasawa finally wins an award, or is he doomed to be the Susan Lucci of the Eisners?

DAVID: I think the best way I can answer this is to suggest that Urasawa is an excellent Eisner nominee but not necessarily an ideal Eisner winner. And, speaking as someone who watched All My Children for many of the years that Lucci was nominated for her performance and lost, I think the comparison is apt beyond the nominations-to-losses ratio.

The thing about Lucci, and I say this as an admirer of her work, is that she rarely had those moments of transcendence that could be found in the performances of the actresses who actually won. She’s adept at both comedy and drama, and she certainly has charisma in the role, but I think her great failing was that she made her work look effortless. She was reliably entertaining rather than transporting, and I think you can say something similar about Urasawa.

He makes terrific genre comics that are among the most reliably entertaining you’re likely to find on the shelf. But when I compare his work to that of Tezuka, Hagio, or even Ono to a lesser extent, I see Urasawa possessing great skill as an entertainer rather than singular vision as an artist, and I think that puts him at a disadvantage in the best manga category.

When you compare him to the competition in the best writer/artist category, I think he could theoretically enjoy better odds, but then you have to factor in the tastes of the general population of voters. What percentage of that pool reads comics from Japan? And what percentage of that percentage reads Urasawa’s work?

MJ: David, thank you for clarifying your point so beautifully. That makes a lot of sense to me, and I think it’s helped me understand my own feelings about Urasawa as well. I like 20th Century Boys and all the other work of his I’ve read, and I’d describe them as wonderful comics and great reads. Yet when someone asks me for a list of my favorite mangaka, his name never even comes to mind. Because even though I thoroughly enjoy his work, my “favorites” will be writers who really speak to me in some specific way that is unique to them, and aside from traumatizing me forever with the death of a robotic dog, that’s never been Urasawa.

KATE: Your comments about Urasawa, David, make me wonder if Nabuaki Tadano’s 7 Billion Needles has a chance at winning its category (Best Adaptation from Another Work). Tadano’s work is solid but not showy; unless the judges have read Hal Clement’s original novel, it would be hard for them to appreciate what Tadano did to make the storyline more appropriate for a sequential art treatment. (Clement’s book, for readers unfamiliar with it, takes place largely inside the human host’s body, and consists of many lengthy conversations between host and alien. It’s a good read, but not something that would translate directly into a graphic novel.)

DAVID: That’s hard for me to answer, since I haven’t read Clement’s book. I do think the outcome of that category will depend on whether or not voters are considering how the source material was adapted or the stand-alone quality of the work. I’ve really enjoyed the first three volumes of 7 Billion Needles, so I was just happy to see it get a nomination and, hopefully, more readers from that.

MJ: I was actually surprised to see it nominated there, not because it isn’t a great series (it is), but because from what I understood, it wasn’t a direct adaptation they way we tend to think of them. I do think 7 Billion Needles is the kind of manga that appeals easily to non-manga readers, so at least that might work in its favor. I’m always pleased to see manga nominated outside of the Asian-specific category, so this nomination was one of my special favorites this year.

KATE: I’m hoping that the judges understand that Needle would have been difficult to adapt as is; Tadano did a great job of taking Clement’s ideas and making them work in a visual format, which required some pretty fundamental changes to the script.

And since we’re on the subject of Asian comics nominated for categories besides Best U.S. Edition of International Material–Asia, what did you think of Korea As Viewed By 12 Creators: did it deserve a nomination?

DAVID: I think it did, yes. It’s not the stunner that Japan as Viewed by 17 Creators was, but it does what an anthology is supposed to do: present a variety of styles and introduce the reader to some talented creators while featuring a very respectable percentage of good stories and some great contributions.

I have to say that I was kind of surprised not to see Top Shelf’s Ax anthology nominated. I’m not saying I liked it better than Korea, but when you consider the ambition and breadth of the project, it seemed like such obvious Eisner bait.

MJ: I was a little disappointed in Korea As Viewed By 12 Creators, but I’ll admit that my expectations may have been inappropriately high. I am certainly happy to see it nominated, if only for the visibility it might bring to its Korean creators. Anything that might help to bring a greater variety of Korean comics our way is a win in my book.

I would have liked to see something like Twin Spica break into the non-Asian-specific categories, but I can’t be surprised that it didn’t.

KATE: I’d have been more inclined to nominate Herve Tanquerelle’s “A Rat in the Country of Yong” for Best Short Story than to nominate the entire Korea anthology. “Rat” is a perfect example of how to do wordless comics: it’s got a clear, simple narrative that anyone can follow, but all of the fine details — the character’s mode of transport, the view from his hotel window — add nuance to the “stranger in a strange land” concept. Furthermore, by using animals as stand-ins for people, Tanquerelle avoided one of the problems that plagued other stories in the collection: cultural condescension. I know I’m in the minority for disliking Catel’s contribution, but I found a lot of her observations patronizing and superficial; it’s as if someone based their entire impression of New York City on one trip to Barney’s, you know?

As for titles that I feel were neglected, I have to agree with both of you: Twin Spica would have been a natural choice for the Best Publication for Teens, as would Cross Game. Both series have the rhythm and feeling of a good YA novel — more so, I’d argue, than some of the nominated titles in the teen category, which seem a little young for real adolescents.

Are there any other titles that you feel were unjustly neglected?

DAVID: I do generally find myself wondering why there’s no room for manga in the Best Publication for Teens category, especially for the titles you mentioned, but that might be more of a function of me not having read enough of the nominees that are there. And given that he has three excellent series currently in publication, I would love to see Takehiko Inoue nominated in the Best Writer/Artist category at some point.

MJ: I could definitely get behind that. I’d also love to see Real in the Best Continuing Series category.

See The Manga Critic for a full rundown of 2011’s nominated manga and manhwa titles. A complete listing of this year’s nominees in all categories can be found at Comic-Con.org.

From the stack: Cross Game vol. 3

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Hello, and welcome to the latest installment of “David Gushes over Mitsuru Adachi’s Cross Game!” Listen, I know I’ve crossed over from any kind of clear-eyed critical examination into full-on, sweaty, tent-in-a-parking-lot evangelism with this title, but I also know that I’m beyond caring. This series delivers joy on a regular basis.

The third omnibus, which collects the sixth and seventh volumes of the series, can be reduced to the simplest of sports manga narratives. The team of plucky upstarts prepares for a big game, then plays the big game, then reacts to the outcome of the big game. It doesn’t get much purer than that, and the arc here is certainly exciting in terms of that basic outline.

But it’s so much more than that. Ultimately, the events portrayed here are about justice, about heart and determination winning out against elitism and presumption. Of course, that’s also one of the least novel conflicts ever to grace the pages of manga as a category, but still…

The thing is, while Adachi is working with one of the oldest road maps in the form, he doesn’t take a straight line anywhere. Our scruffy heroes don’t gaze off into the middle distance and make vows about their future. They’re too realistic for that. They don’t lapse into paragraphs of internal monologue about what’s happening, because Adachi draws too well and frames sequences too clearly for that to be necessary. Characters can behave entirely believably and still surprise you, because Adachi doesn’t feel the need to underline their every thought or feeling. He trusts your ability to comprehend subtext, to remember past moments, and to connect what you already know or suspect with what you see unfolding on the page in front of you.

As goofy as Adachi’s sense of humor can sometimes be, he can also tug at your heartstrings or thrill you with moments big and small. You can be both elated and tickled when justice is visited upon the smug. You can snicker at and feel sympathy for the team dork during his mishaps, and you can feel touched but not manipulated as characters inch towards a better understanding of each other.

It’s just an awesome comic, you guys. It does everything you expect a comic of this sort to do, but it does them with such distinctive style and heartfelt sincerity that you’ll never notice you’ve visited this territory before. Awesome.

 

Off the Shelf: It’s all uphill…

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MJ: Hi, I’m hungry. Gimme food.

MICHELLE: You can have one of the chicken thingies I’m fixin’ to eat.

MJ: Can I, really???

MICHELLE: Sure. I will put it in the mail tomorrow.

MJ: Hm. I foresee several issues here. Maybe we should just talk about manga. Got any?

MICHELLE: Indeed I do! This week I decided to check out two new series from Digital Manga Publishing, neither of which happens to be boys’ love. The results were mixed.

I’ll start with the weaker of the two, Arata Aki’s The Beautiful Skies of Houou High. Now, we’ve been doing this column for almost a year now, so I hope you (and the readers) will appreciate the rarity of the statement I am about to make.

This manga is bad.

I don’t mean bad in a trashy, fun way. I mean bad in a thoroughly muddled and possibly even offensive way. About the only words of praise I can summon are “some of the characters look cool… until they open their mouths.”

The basic premise is this: boyish lesbian Kei Saeba spends all her time chasing girls. Her mother would rather see her married off to some rich dude, so she contrives to send Kei off to an all-male boarding school. Kei is so dense she doesn’t notice anything amiss, even when the school has a different name than the one she thought she was going to. Once there, she spends a lot of time puking (guys gross her out) and trying to keep her gender under wraps, since the school director has essentially threatened her life if her secret gets out. What? Why? Later, he hires his precocious eleven-year-old nephews, who happen to be scientific geniuses, to attack her with poison needles. To “pressure” her. What? Why? This makes absolutely no sense!

When not dealing with this thoroughly mishandled attempt at a mysterious subplot, the story focuses on Kei’s exceedingly unfunny interactions with her classmates, who include a bully, an Otomen, and a masochist.

I’m just so disappointed. I mean, it’s not like I was excited for another story about a girl disguising her gender or anything, but the cover doesn’t look so bad, and the boyish protagonist looked kind of appealing. Too bad she’s dumber than a box of rocks.

MJ: I hardly know what to say. That sounds… just awful. First of all, what the hell, boys make her sick? What an offensive way to portray a lesbian teen. And on top of that, she’s basically being tortured? You know, a manga about the mistreatment of gay teens in school could be a really great manga, but when these kinds of things are tossed into a story that’s not taking them seriously, it’s just gross.

It took me almost twenty minutes to type that, I was so distressed. Argh. Carry on.

MICHELLE: She isn’t being mistreated by the boys because she’s gay—I don’t think anyone actually knows that besides her mother—but the director is supposed to have some sinister agenda or something and the bully just enjoys making people uncomfortable (his words). The series totally seems poised to head into irredeemably offensive. territory, but it’s not quite there yet. Still, I would not be at all surprised if, once guys lose their emetic effect, she ends up deciding she likes them after all. I think flames would literally shoot out of my eyeballs if that should happen. Not that I intend to keep reading.

Anyway, let’s speak of more pleasant things. What did you read this week?

MJ: Well, I guess I’ll start on a low note as well, and whaddaya know, it also involves gender-disguised teens! Yes, I’m talking about Mayu Shinjo’s Ai Ore!, from Viz’s Shojo Beat imprint.

Mizuki is a student at an all-girls’ high school, where her boyish good looks have worked their way into every girl’s heart. She’s also the guitarist in a girl-band that’s about to lose its lead singer. When cutie Akira wants to audition for the spot, Mizuki is shocked and horrified to find herself smitten. And she soon discovers why–Akira’s a boy!

While I’m not prepared to denounce this manga quite as completely as you did The Beautiful Skies of Houou High, I can’t really praise it either. There could be a great story in the romance between two teens who defy their society’s gender expectations, but this manga is really, really not it.

“Romance is difficult when everyone keeps mistaking Mizuki for a boy an Akira for a girl!,” claims the back cover copy. Romance is difficult how, exactly? Aside from making constant note of how cute Akira is and how handsome Mizuki is, and the way their classmates dote over them as though they were members of the opposite sex, the whole gender thing seems completely superfluous, to the point of being offensive.

Mizuki is emotionally flustered and afraid of Akira because he makes her feel all fluttery inside. Akira is super-protective of Mizuki and anxious to get her naked. There is no challenging of traditional gender roles anywhere in sight. If anything, this manga reinforces them, and not in a positive way at all. And if I never had to read another discussion of breast size in manga again, I’d be the happiest girl on earth.

On top of it all, the romance isn’t particularly enjoyable, with or without the gender stuff. Their attraction seems to be completely physical (without any real acknowledgement of that by the author, who paints it all as sweet, sweet love). Akira’s cute, but kind of a jerk, and Mizuki is so helpless and fragile, it was enough to send this reader screaming into the night.

This is a nice, chunky release–a double-volume at least–but unfortunately the substance is paper-thin. It’s a real disappointment.

MICHELLE: Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping Ai Ore! would be fun. But smut is Mayu Shinjo’s gig (she’s the creator of Sensual Phrase, after all) so it seems like we’re in for more of the same. Although I haven’t read W Juliet, a VIZ release under the Shojo imprint, this story strikes me as being kind of similar. Probably W Juliet is the story you wish this one was!

MJ: Well, I’ve yet to see a lot of smut here. It’s mostly just tedious mooning around, though there are some pretty unbelievable sexcapades near the end of the volume. Still, that’s definitely not what’s offensive about the series. And yes, I do wish I was reading W Juliet! It sounds much more promising.

MICHELLE: Somewhat better, yes! The second new series from DMP that I checked out is Countdown 7 Days. This manga is by Karakara Kemuri, whose Takeru: Opera Susanoh Sword of the Devil (TOKYOPOP) was ever so much better than that cumbersome title would suggest, so I had fairly high hopes.

The story so far is intriguing, but a bit unpolished. Mitamura, an instructor at an afterlife school that teaches the dead what they need to know in order to be reincarnated, has chaperoned a model student’s day trip to our world and promptly lost sight of her. While he tries ineffectually to track her down, he runs into—literally, on a moped—the recently dead Hanasuke Onigawara. Mitamura promises Hanasuke that he will reveal a way for him to come back to life if Hanasuke agrees to help him track down the missing student. Hanasuke agrees, but there’s just one problem: no such method exists.

Eventually, the rebellious student is captured and all three of them go back to the afterlife, with Hanasuke enrolling in the school himself. But that’s not really the point. Actually, the whole story seems to be about reforming Mitamura, who is cold and callous and doesn’t seem to realize when he has hurt people. Hanasuke’s devastated reaction when he learns the truth honestly shocks Mitamura, but he is moved by his student’s fervent efforts to get him to value life more. (It appears he reminds her of her first love.) In the final chapter, there are hints of darker doings between the spirit and human world, which could be interesting, but I hope the series doesn’t forget about making its hero a little more human.

As a final note, Kemuri’s art is really lovely. I’m especially fond of Mitamura’s character design. Even if the story itself hasn’t quite found its footing, the aesthetics alone are worth a look.

MJ: This sounds like one of those stories that might be really flawed, but I’d still love them. I could be wrong, of course, but I admit I’m intrigued. Messy human beings (living or dead) are fascinating to me.

MICHELLE: When I was reading it, I seriously thought, “MJwould like this.” Mitamura’s fun to look at and a character type one doesn’t see too often, so I’m looking forward to volume two to see how things develop.

What else have ya got?

MJ: Well, with the Eisner nominations out just last week, I thought this would be a great time to take a look at volume three of Nobuaki Tadano’s 7 Billion Needles, nominated this year for “Best Adaptation From Another Work.” This series was one of my picks for the 2010 Manga Bookshelf Gift Guide, and was a key player on the impressively strong roster of new series Vertical debuted last year.

In volume three, much of the focus shifts from Hikaru to the two warring aliens inside her who become aware of a growing number of mutations manifesting on earth. At one point this sort of god-like creature turns up, interested in the upcoming “macro-evolution” and wondering what the planet will ultimately look like, which is less fascinating than it sounds. To be honest, Tadano seems to be leading us down one of the series’ less compelling roads, at least for the moment. But even with all this, there’s so much good here.

And by “good” I mean “Hikaru.” Even on the sidelines, she’s still the heart of this series, worrying about an isolated classmate and willing to put herself on the line to try to save someone like her from going where she once did. And it’s Hikaru who provides hope that humanity might prevail in the upcoming evolutionary war. She’s the best of us, and I love the fact that she is, without having to be super-cheerful or always “doing her best.”

Tadano’s artwork is really a highlight in this volume, from expressive human faces to sci-fi gore. The art pulls us through, even in the story’s weakest moments, and with just one volume left, I’m on the edge of my seat.

MICHELLE: Vertical really has been releasing some awesome stuff this year! I didn’t manage a timely read of the first couple of volumes, so ended up deciding that I’d read the whole thing when the fourth and final volume comes out later this month.

I love what you said about Hikaru being kind of heroic despite not being perfect. It makes me much more interested to read about her story.

MJ: She’s definitely my favorite thing in the series, and there’s a lot to like overall. I should mention that the two aliens provide some winning moments in this volume as well, as they try to share Hikaru’s consciousness.

So, this column has shifted dramatically uphill since the first volume on the docket. Not a bad way to go!

MICHELLE: Ending on a high note is always good. But the real question is… did you find some food?

MJ: YES. And furthermore, my husband went out for donuts. I WIN.

MICHELLE: Wow. My repast was sadly lacking in donuts.

MJ: I’d send you one, but there’s that whole mail problem again. So…

MICHELLE: Yeah. Sigh.

The Josei Alphabet: K

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“K” is for…

Kuragihime, obviously, but that’s one of those “just a matter of time” titles, so I’ll save the five major slots for series that I haven’t really highlighted yet. Kiko-chan’s Smile might be less likely for licensing, but, again, I’ve already covered it to the best of my ability.

Kami no Kodomo, written and illustrated by Kyoudai Nishioka, originally serialized in Ohta Shuppan’s Horror M, one volume. This is described as a “twisted and deeply disturbing tale of a sociopathic serial killer.” The brother-and-sister team that goes by Kyoudai Nishioka was responsible for one of the stories in Top Shelf’s Ax anthology, and one of their other titles, Child’s Play, was published by Last Gasp, though it seems to be out of print.

Kanon, written and illustrated by Chiho (Revolutionary Girl Utena) Saito, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Flowers, six volumes. This one promises seriously crazy melodrama about a gifted but emotionally damaged young violinist.

Kawa Yori mo Nagaku Yuruyaka ni, written and illustrated by Akimi (Banana Fish) Yoshida, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Flower, two volumes. The summary of this title has to be read to be believed, but it sounds just awesomely insane. A snippet: “Toshi is your regular senior high student, except in the evenings when he’s a bartender at a joint frequented by American servicemen, where he deals drugs, pimps, and even cross-dresses a little on the side.”

Kaze to Ki no Uta, written and illustrated by Keiko (Andromeda Stories, To Terra…) Takemiya, variously serialized in Shogakukan’s Sho-Comi and Petit Flower, 17 volumes. Yes, this is the legendary The Song of the Wind in the Trees.

Kiss and Never Cry, written and illustrated by Yayoi (Tramps Like Us) Ogawa, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Kiss, 10 volumes. This emotional drama focuses on a star-crossed pair of ice dancers.

Magazines:

  • Kiss, published by Kodansha

Licensed josei:

  • Kaze Hikaru, written and illustrated by Taeko Watanabe, currently serialized in Shogakukan’s Flowers, 28 29 volumes to date, published in English by Viz.

What starts with “K” in your josei alphabet?

Reader recommendations and reminders:

  • Karneval, written and illustrated by Touya Mikinagi, currently serialized in Ichijinsha’s Comic Zero-Sum, published in English in Singapore by Chuang Yi.
  • Kajimaya, written by Eiichi Ikegami, illustrated by Mamoru Kurihara, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Kiss, five volumes.

Butterfly, Vol. 1

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Reading Butterfly won’t change your life, make you a better person, or cause subtle but significant changes to South American weather patterns, but it may just restore your faith in Tokyopop’s ability to suss out smart, entertaining series that quietly subvert genre conventions.

The genre in question is what I call “seeing dead people,” in which a teenager struggles to cope with the unwanted ability to interact with ghosts. Normally, these long-suffering teens see spirits everywhere, but Genji Ishikawa, Butterfly‘s protagonist, sees only one ghost: his older brother, who committed suicide after pushing a girl into the path of an oncoming train. Though Genji would like nothing better than to have a girlfriend, his tragic past and rumored ability to speak to the dead proves irresistible to classmates with an interest in the paranormal.

Genji has another problem: he’s ¥600,000 in debt, more than he could hope to earn through an after-school job. When a peculiar girl approaches him with a money-making proposition, he reluctantly accepts, only to renege on their agreement when he realizes what he’s being asked to do: tangle with ghosts. Or, more accurately, tangle with what Ageha’s clients believe are ghosts; she has the ability to make people’s fears take corporeal form, and expects Genji to “kill” these projections for her clients’ benefit.

Though Ageha is a type we’ve seen before — manipulative, preternaturally calm, faintly androgynous — her abilities put an interesting twist on the “seeing dead people” premise. She clearly profits from her deceptions, but her fraud is, at bottom, a useful public service, one that allows shopkeepers, frightened swimmers, and hotel chambermaids to resume their normal routines after a catastrophic event, even if these “exorcisms” don’t actually help the dead cross over to the afterlife. As mercenary as Genji finds Ageha, her success forces him to to consider the possibility that his own spiritual powers are less a bane than a blessing, that he has an obligation to develop and use them, rather than deny their value.

The only downside to such an ambitious premise is that Yu Aikawa needs almost every page of volume one to establish the basic parameters of her story. Some of the exposition is handled gracefully; the details of the brother’s death, for example, are revealed slowly and casually, forcing the reader to piece together what happened to him with little authorial guidance. Some of the exposition is handled clumsily, however; Ageha and Genji’s first few encounters seem more like job interviews than spontaneous exchanges of information, an impression that isn’t thoroughly dispelled until one of their ghostbusting gigs goes awry.

Narrative hiccups aside, the story that’s beginning to emerge in the later chapters of volume one is compelling, a supernatural mystery that explores its characters troubled emotional lives with the same thoroughness as it dispenses with pesky spooks. Recommended.

BUTTERFLY, VOL. 1 • BY YU AIKAWA • TOKYOPOP • 208 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)