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Tenjo Tenge: Full Contact Edition, Vol. 1

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When I tell people that I review manga, they often ask me, “Isn’t it all porn and ninjas?” No, I assure them, there are manga about cooking, gambling, dating, teaching, crime solving, alien fighting, computer programming, ghost busting, mind reading, wine tasting, dog training, and just about any other topic you can imagine; if there’s an audience to be served, Japanese publishers will find a way to reach them through comics. “But it seems like every manga I’ve seen has a girl in a short skirt waving a sword,” they reply. I usually offer a counter-example — say, Ouran High School Host Club or What’s Michael? — but I know the kind of manga they have in mind. It’s filled with female characters who have women’s bodies and girls’ faces; schoolgirls who wear their uniforms twenty-four hours a day; fighters who use swords, even though the story is set in the present; and supporting characters who dress like Edo-era refugees, even though their cohorts are wearing sneakers and hoodies. In short, what they’re seeing in their mind’s eye looks a lot like Tenjo Tenge.

Plot-wise, Tenjo Tenge isn’t much more complicated than “girls in skirts waving katanas.” The story takes place at Todo Academy, one of those only-in-manga institutions where students study martial arts technique to the exclusion of anything else. (If anyone attends a math class in Tenjo Tenge, I missed it.) First-year students Soichiro Nagi and Bob Makihara fully expect to rule the roost with their awesome fighting skills, but are quickly disabused of the notion when they run afoul of Todo’s Executive Council. Mindful of their greenhorn status, the boys join the Juken Club, an organization lead by Maya Natsume, a third-year student who’s handy with a sword. In so doing, however, Soichiro and Bob become targets for the Executive Council, which carries on an energetic, bloody feud with Maya and her younger sister.

Flipping through the first volume of VIZ’s “Full Contact” edition, it’s easy to see why DC Comics censored the original English print run. The story abounds in the kind of gratuitous nudity and sexual encounters that make an unadulterated version a tough sell at big chain stores like Wal-Mart and Barnes & Noble. DC Comics’ solution was an inelegant one: they re-wrote the script, drew bras and panties on naked girls, and cut some of the most offensive passages. As an advocate of free speech, I can’t condone the bowdlerization of any text, especially in the interest of a more commercially viable age-rating , but as a woman, it’s hard to celebrate the restoration of a graphic rape scene or images of naked girls throwing themselves at the heroes.

Whether those scenes are really necessary to advancing the plot is another issue. The rape, in particular, is an ugly exercise in exploitation, pitting a grown man against a teenager who has a twelve-year-old’s face and a porn star’s body. Though Oh!Great shows us the victim’s terrified expression in several panels, he lavishes far more attention on her anatomy, twisting her body into the kind of grotesque, provocative poses that were a stock-in-trade of Hustler. What makes this passage especially nasty is its underlying intent; we’re not being asked to identify with the victim, or burn with outrage over her violation, but to be aroused by her naked body. In a word: yuck.

From time to time, Oh!Great gives the Natsume sisters a chance to strut their martial arts stuff, suggesting that both girls are as tough and cunning as their male counterparts, but he can’t resist tearing off their clothes, or showing us their panties, especially when they’re in the middle of intense, hand-to-hand combat. And if the characters’ complete objectification wasn’t bad enough, Oh!Great draws such grossly misshapen bodies that it’s hard to imagine who would find them sexy; say what you will about Ryoichi Ikeda and Kazuo Koike’s Wounded Man — and yes, there’s plenty to say about the exploitation of its female characters — but Ikeda knew how to draw beautiful women. Oh!Great’s female characters, on the other hand, look like blow-up dolls, incapable of standing on their own two feet, let alone brandishing a sword or high-kicking an opponent.

Tenjo Tenge fans who were angered by the first English-language edition will be pleased with VIZ’s new translation. Many of the elements that had been eliminated or camouflaged in the first version have been restored; characters drop f-bombs and drop trou without editorial intervention. As an added enticement, VIZ has formatted the story as a series of two-in-one omnibuses, complete with glossy color plates and oversized trim. Given the care with which the new Tenjo Tenge was prepared, I wish I could say that the uncensored version convinced me that I’d unfairly dismissed the genius of Oh!Great the first time around. Alas, the answer is no; the story comes is too perilously close to the porn-and-ninjas stereotype for my taste.

Review copy provided by VIZ Media, LLC. Volume one of Tenjo Tenge will be released on June 7, 2011.

TENJO TENGE: FULL CONTACT EDITION, VOL. 1 • BY OH!GREAT • VIZ MEDIA • 386 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

The Josei Alphabet: S

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“S” is for…

Sekai de Ichiban Yasashii Ongaku, written and illustrated by Mari Ozawa, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Kiss, 16 volumes. Most series about single parents that have been licensed are about single fathers, so this tale of a single mother would be most welcome. Also, I’m kind of in love with the covers; you can view more of them at Kodansha’s site for the title.

Shibou to lu Na no Fuku o Kite, written and illustrated by Moyocco (Sugar Sugar Rune, Happy Mania) Anno, originally serialized in Shufu to Seikatsusha’s Shuukan Josei, one volume. Anno looks at a woman’s ambivalent struggle with her weight in a thin-dominated society.

Shin Yami no Koe – Kaidan, written and illustrated by Junji (Uzumaki, Gyo, Tomie) Ito, originally serialized in Asahi Sonorama’s Nemuki, one volume. I’m not a huge horror fan, but I find Ito’s work irresistibly unsettling, so I’d love to read this collection of shorts created for a josei magazine.

Silver, written by Penny Jordan, adapted to manga by Kazuko Fujita, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Josei Seven, nine volumes. An innocent heiress marries badly and realizes that her husband was just in it for the money. She remakes herself into the perfect woman to avenge herself and her family. It sounds kind of trashy but awesome.

Spicy Pink, written and illustrated by Wataru (Ultra Maniac, Marmalade Boy) Yoshizumi, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Chorus, two volumes, published in French by Glénat. I would be happy as a clam if someone finally decided to publish a josei series from this terrific creator. This one’s about a busy mangaka with no time for a social life who meets an obnoxious but not entirely unpromising doctor on a group date.

Josei Magazines:

Licensed josei:

  • Saiyuki Reload, written and illustrated by Kazuya Minekura, originally serialized in Ichijinsha’s Comic Zero-Sum, published in English by Tokyopop, 10 volumes.
  • Sengoku Nights, written by Kei Kusunoki, illustrated by Kaoru Oohashi, originally serialized in Shueisha’s Comic Crimson, published in English by Tokyopop, two volumes.
  • Suppli, written and illustrated by Mari Okazaki, originally serialized in Shodensha’s Feel Young, partly published in English by Tokyopop, 10 volumes plus extra.

What starts with “S” in your josei alphabet?

Reader recommendations and reminders:

  • Sounds of Love, written and illustrated by Rin Tanaka, originally serialized in Ohzora Shuppan’s Renai Hakusho Pastel, published in English by Luv Luv Press, three volumes.
  • Sugiru Juunana no Haru, written by Fuyumi Ono, illustrated by Kotetsuko Yamamoto, currently running in Gentosha’s Spica. 
  • Shuukatsu!! – Kimi ni Naitei, written and illustrated by Aki Yoshino, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Comic, two volumes.

License request day: Takemitsu Zamurai

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You all know I can’t resist an awards program as fodder for a license request, so I’ve greeted the announcement of the Tezuka Cultural Prize (written up by Asahi Shimbun) with predictable eagerness. Unfortunately, I’ve already requested that someone publish the winning title (Motoka Murakami’s Jin). Fortunately, this year resulted in a not-uncommon tie for first place. (Yoshihiro Tatsumi and Fumi Yoshinaga tied in 2009.) Even more fortunately, Taiyo Matsumoto is involved.

The gifted Matsumoto, of TekkonKinkreet and GoGo Monster fame, has done illustration duties on the other winning title, Takemitsu Zamurai, which was written by Issei Eifuku. The esteemed panel of judges noted that the book was “the most advanced work in terms of the level of illustration techniques.” That shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s looked at Matsumoto’s pages.

It’s about an out-of-work samurai who retires to teach in one of the tenements of Edo-era Japan. Apparently, it’s not a peaceful retirement for a swordsman-turned-educator. In spite of his efforts to leave violence behind, he’s a suspect in a murder, and an investigator starts digging into his past. His presence brings unwelcome visitors to the neighborhood, along with a number of other complications. It sounds like a more muscular House of Five Leaves, and anything that I can favorably compare to House of Five Leaves piques my interest about as much as anything with Matsumoto’s name on the cover.

The eight volume-series was originally published in Shogakukan’s Big Comic Spirits. As you might expect, it’s being published in French (by Kana, in this case). While I’m inclined to take the word of judges like Keiko Takemiya and Go Nagai, I’m drooling to see some of the interior pages, because the covers are sickeningly gorgeous.

Seriously, Viz, you have like one month to announce this title. It’s only eight volumes long, it’s finished, it won the most prestigious manga prize Japan has to offer, and it was practically minted for your Signature imprint. Do your part to liven up San Diego for manga fans.

The Josei Alphabet: R

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“R” is for…

Real Clothes, written and illustrated by Satoru Makimura, currently serialized in Shueisha’s You: This fashionable manga features a plain salesclerk who is transferred to the women’s clothing department of her store. Needless to say, a makeover is in order. We need more fashion manga.

Receptacle, written and illustrated by Rendou Kurosaki, currently serialized in Hakusensha’s Rakuen le Paradis. This has barely started, but it’s got a solid magazine provenance and the cover is really cute. It’s apparently about two girls who kind of crush on each other and talk about their lives as geek girls. I love chatty, woman-driven manga.

Reset, written and illustrated by Mayuri Yamamoto, serialized in Bunkasha’s Horror M, eight volumes. Josei combined with episodic horror sounds like two great tastes that taste great together! In this series, a rotating cast of protagonists are given the choice to reset their lives at a critical point. It sounds like an intriguing premise.

River’s Edge, written and illustrated by Kyoko Okazaki, serialized in Takarajimasha’s Cutie, one volume. This dramatic tale of emotionally stunted teens sounds like the perfect cross-marketing opportunity for indie comics fans. In fact, I’m pretty sure there are already seven or eight versions of this story already on the shelves.

Rouge Noir, written and illustrated by Kyoko Mizutani, serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Comic, two volumes. An aspiring musician takes up private piano instruction, and we all know how that ends up, don’t we? We don’t? Okay, well, in this case, the teacher gets the unrequited hots for one of her students, and they meet years later at an audition for a jazz combo. And surely we all know how that ends up, right?

Josei magazines:

Rakuen le Paradis, published by Hakusensha, enticingly described by Erica (Okazu) Friedman.

What starts with “R” in your josei alphabet?

Reader recommendations and reminders:

  • Real Love, written and illustrated by Mitsuki Oda, originally published by Ohzora Shuppan, published in English by Luv Luv Press, one volume.
  • RIP: Requiem in Phonybrain, written and illustrated by Mitsukazu Mihara, originally published in Index Communications’ Kera, published in English by Tokyopop, one volume.

Off the Shelf: Anniversary Edition

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MICHELLE: Gee, they told me that we’d be holding Off the Shelf here this week, but it’s dark and doesn’t look like anyone’s here yet…

MJ: Surprise!!

Er. Sort of?

MICHELLE: OMG, no way! You guys~!

KATE: It’s OK, Michelle–we figured you might be on to us. But you do an excellent job of feigning surprise, if that’s any consolation.

DAVID: I made punch! It’s vivid pink and thick with booze!

MJ: I’ll take a glass of that punch!

MICHELLE: Well, I did kind of invite all of you here to celebrate not only my official induction into the Manga Bookshelf family, but also the one-year anniversary of Off the Shelf!

DAVID: And we’re thrilled to be here!

MJ: That’s right, we’ve actually been doing this column for a full year as of today. How wonderful that this coincides with Michelle’s official entry into our ranks!

KATE: Call me a skeptic, but that seems planned!

MICHELLE: I can vouch for it being a happy accident! Once we realized the coincidence, we knew we had to have a partay!

MJ: So, we’ve never tried to do this with more than two people before. I guess I should ask someone… So, David, read any good books this week?

DAVID: Ah! I have the perfect tonic for skepticism! And it comes in an omnibus-sized dose!

MICHELLE: Lay it on us!

DAVID: Indeed I did! When not hiking the canyons of southern Utah or trying to figure out how the lights worked in a Las Vegas hotel, I was paying a visit to CLAMP Land.

Now, based on what I’ve read of their work, I’m not a huge CLAMP fan. I think they can be pretty self-indulgent, and coherent narrative is not their highest priority. So I was totally delighted to see how focused Cardcaptor Sakura is. I read Book 1 of Dark Horse’s re-release while I was on vacation, and it was a complete treat. (I also suspect I was the only 40-something gay man in Utah who happened to be reading Book 1 of Cardcaptor Sakura at that point in time, which was gravy in a strange way that I can’t fully explain.)

Everyone probably already knows this, but it’s in the magical girl genre. Our heroine, Sakura, finds a dusty old book that used to contain the powerful Clow Cards, which grant the user various abilities. The guardian of the book, an adorable little whatsit called Kero, informs Sakura that she has magical abilities and can collect the missing cards, thus preventing unspecified disaster. It’s your basic gather-stuff-and-get-stronger structure, but it isn’t bogged down in the details of that ongoing quest. The CLAMP quartet doesn’t neglect Sakura’s card-capturing adventures, but they aren’t encyclopedically obsessed, either.

Their primary interest seems to be to give you reasons to like Sakura and her friends and family, and they knock that out of the park. Sakura is spunky and funny. She knows she’s a novice at the whole magic thing, but she’s not insecure about it. She has good instincts and trusts them, and she has reliable helpers. There’s the previously mentioned Kero, and there’s her rich classmate Tomoyo who, in addition to being unfailingly supportive, provides fabulous costumes for Sakura and chronicles her adventures on video. She’s like Edna Mode with a camcorder.

I like Sakura’s brother, Toya, and his twin impulses to tease and protect Sakura seem entirely credible. I like Sakura’s rival in card collection, Syaoran, mostly for the fact that Sakura seems generally unfazed by his criticisms and finds him a useful indicator that she’s on the right track. And while I don’t have much of an opinion on Yukito, Toya’s best friend, I find the fact that Sakura and Syaoran both have huge crushes on him to be totally adorable and ceaselessly amusing. In fact, the undercurrents of homo-romanticism (I can’t really call it homo-eroticism) in the book give it such an interesting flavor, because they’re such non-issues. They’re just believable side notes that make things livelier.

I’ve already used the word “adorable” twice in this review, and you should gird yourself for me using it again, because this book is adorable in all of the best ways a thing can be adorable. The character designs? Adorable. The jokes and romance? Adorable. The sparkly, easy-to-read art? Adorable. It’s cheerful, heartwarming stuff that still manages to be thoughtful and exciting, and I can’t wait to read more of it, because, beyond being very endearing magical-girl manga, it seems like it might be heading interesting, even daring places. I’m not ready to excuse CLAMP School Detectives or the song lyrics and angel drag in Clover or anything that drastic, but this definitely gives CLAMP one for the win column.

MJ: David, the way you describe this, I feel like I need to rush out and buy the Dark Horse editions RIGHT NOW.

DAVID: You totally do. It is the best kind of cute manga. Of course, you’re the real CLAMP devotee of the group, Kate. What did you pull off the shelf?

KATE: Not CLAMP, I’m afraid! I think I’m beginning to outgrow them, honestly; when I want melodramatic, inter-dimensional craziness, I’m more inclined to reach for Keiko Takemiya or Saki Hiwatari these days. I still plan to buy Magic Knight Rayearth, X/1999, and Gate 7 as they’re released, but I don’t feel that same sense of giddy anticipation about a new CLAMP title that I might have back in the day. (Mind you, by “back in the day,” I mean, “about four years ago, when David interviewed me about my CLAMP habit.”)

No, I just finished the fourth volume of Neko Ramen. As the title suggests, Neko Ramen features a cat who likes noodles — or, to be more precise, a cat who runs a small ramen joint. The joke, of course, is that he’s a cat; the restaurant’s bathroom is a back-room letterbox, the dishes frequently come with cat-hair garnishes, and the food is all but inedible from a human perspective.

What makes Neko Ramen such an unexpected joy is that Kenji Sonishi goes a step further with the jokes; yes, there are scratching post gags in later volumes, but most of the series’ humor is rooted in Taisho’s crazy business schemes. Taisho is always cooking up new strategies for improving business, strategies that, on their face, make good sense: discount cards, buyer reward programs, giveaways. In practice, however, Taisho has a knack for undermining himself, developing ill-advised dishes — boomeramen, anyone? — and promotions that repel more diners than they attract.

At the beginning of volume four, for example, Taisho decides to “go green” and substitute hand-made clay bowls for plastic ones. The problem? His paw prints and fur are embedded in the new serving dishes. (“I feel kind of dirty eating this,” a customer mutters as Taisho serves him his meal.) An attempt to make 3-D noodles similarly goes awry: though the dish looks cool when viewed through 3-D glasses, Taisho used real paint to color the noodles red and blue, making them unsafe to eat.

The series’ best running joke is that Taisho hasn’t grasped his true market value. Taisho has figured out that animals are a potential draw for customers, however, and is endlessly experimenting with mascots and costumes. In volume one, for example, he himself dons a crab suit, while in volume four, he hires someone to greet customers dressed as a polar bear. (In a weird touch, the guy in the suit is actually an anteater.) The irony is that Taisho resists any attempt to make himself the star attraction; he vehemently refuses to act cute and cat-like for one of his animal-loving customers, viewing it as an affront to his dignity.

Better still, Neko Ramen reads like a good newspaper strip. The jokes and stories are self-contained, so readers can jump into Neko Ramen without knowing anything about the characters. But if you do choose to spend time with Taisho and his friends, you’ll find the humor has more layers than meet the eye.

MJ: Kate, I haven’t read any of this series, but you’re making it sound cuter to me than it has in the past.

KATE: I think Neko Ramen succeeds precisely because it isn’t cute. There’s a gleeful, absurd quality to many of Neko Ramen’s jokes. I mean — boomeramen, the dish that comes back to you? That’s both groan-worthy and totally inspired.

DAVID: It sounds great, but I’m confused. I thought all four-panel manga had to feature four to six high-school girls of different but complementary temperaments.

KATE: Me, too–that’s why I’m not usually a 4-koma kinda girl. Neko Ramen is the anti-Sunshine Sketch.

MICHELLE: I think I need another hit of punch after being reminded of Sunshine Sketch.

MJ: Pass some of that punch over here.

MICHELLE: Here you go. I also brought you one of those swirly bits of ham with a toothpick. So, what’d you read this week, MJ?

MJ: This week, I finally caught up with volume seven of Kou Yaginuma’s charming series, Twin Spica. This is a double-sized volume with a lot going on, especially for this type of manga, which I tend to think of as sort of sweetly lazy in terms of pace. It’s a warm, gentle manga, with just enough darkness to make it incredibly compelling, and this volume is a perfect example of that. We find out more about Marika’s unusual origins in this volume, and we get a bit more backstory for Asumi’s father, too.

Something I’ve really enjoyed about this series in its most recent volumes is the hint of teen romance, I think particularly because it is presented much more subtly than what I’m accustomed to in school-based romances, most of which are shoujo. This actually reminds me more of the YA novels I loved most as a teen and pre-teen, which were character-driven, certainly, and always contained some small nugget of romance, but were much less romance-focused than most of the shoujo I (gleefully) read. Yeah, Anne Shirley was *totally* going to get together with Gilbert Blythe someday, but most of the story was about Anne herself, only leaning heavily to romance in later installments of the series.

Despite its seinen roots, Twin Spica, to me, feels like one of these stories. It’s like Lucy Maud Montgomery, Maud Hart Lovelace, and Margaret Sutton all wrapped up together… IN SPACE. Okay, not really in space, but you get my point. It’s got all the best qualities of my favorite old YA novels, along with all the best qualities of my favorite younger-aimed sci-fi novels, with a small helping of whimsy on the side. Mr. Lion is a particular favorite of mine, and I think even Anne would have had difficulty dreaming him up.

I also really love that fact that though all the boys in this story seem vaguely (or not so vaguely) fascinated with Asumi, it’s because she’s genuinely awesome. Their interest in her is not remotely inexplicable. Also, all three of the series’ main female characters are really fantastic and richly written. Late in this volume, when the three of them are teamed up for a seemingly impossible mission, one of the boys observes that their team “has the toughest members.” And it’s wonderfully, actually true.

I know we’ve all praised this series in our blogs at least once, so none of this is news. But I continue to be bowled over by the loveliness of this series.

DAVID: Twin Spica is one of those series that just get better as you consume more of it. Not unlike this punch.

MICHELLE: I don’t know how I ended up so far behind on Twin Spica, but the Anne Shirley comparison makes me regret this terribly. It’s nice to think this series may be as meaningful to some tween girl as Anne of Green Gables was to me.

MJ: You know, I think it could have been that for me, easily. I dreamed so often of flying into space in those days. This really would have been a meaningful series for me. It’s a meaningful series to me now.

So what about you, Michelle? What do you have to share on this super-celebratory occasion?

MICHELLE: I have lately been loving the heck out of SangEun Lee’s manhwa series, 13th Boy, and its seventh volume (due later this month from Yen Press) is no exception.

One of the most endearing quirks about 13th Boy has always been Beatrice, the talking cactus who serves as confidante and advisor to Hee-So Eun, the series’ slightly spazzy protagonist. Beatrice watched over his master as she attempted to land the guy of her dreams, Won-Jun Kang, and now that she’s finally succeeded, he’s feeling lonely and jealous. More to the point, he has realized that he has feelings for her.

It’s these feelings that allow Beatrice to change into his human form (usually only possible on a full moon) and stay that way, but unfortunately, all this does is result in inconvenience for Hee-So. She has to hide him from her family, so they spend several days of her precious summer vacation hiding away in her room, eating noodles on a hot plate. She makes excuses to her friends, and bails on a couple of dates with Won-Jun. Poor Beatrice has gotten what he wished for, but he just feels like a burden, and eventually decides to relieve Hee-So of his presence.

Hee-So, in turn, realizes that the one who was truly dependent was her, and immediately launches out into the rain to search for Beatrice with little regard for her personal safety. One of the best things about this series is the dialogue that you’d never find anywhere else. Like this line, for example:

Once I find you, I’ll punch you in the face first, and then I’ll—I’ll get you some chicken.

Of course, there’s a little bit of romantic strife thrown in for good measure, as Hee-So is jealous of Won-Jun’s relationship with his friend Sae-Bom and Won-Jun is jealous of Hee-So’s interactions with magically inclined hottie, Whie-Young, but for the most part, this volume’s about a girl and her cactus.

MJ: You know I love this series, and I have to admit I totally ‘ship Hee-So with the cactus.

MICHELLE: I don’t think I actually ship Hee-So with anyone in particular, because each contender has his own unique baggage. I do love that she loves Beatrice so much that when he’s in peril or in pain, it drives any thought of dreamy romance right out of her head. And there’s a great panel, too, when she returns to her bedroom after having been unable to find him and realizes that, for the first time in eight years, she is all alone there.

KATE: We may be the only three women in North America who are eagerly anticipating volume 8! I smell a roundtable discussion here…

MJ: Yes, yes, we must convince them all! If a roundtable is what it takes, I’m up for it.

DAVID: Now I have to track down early volumes. If it makes the three of you this giddy, I feel positively foolish for waiting this long.

MJ: I think any series in which a talking cactus is a viable romantic option is a winner no matter how you look at it.

MICHELLE: Forsooth.

DAVID: And on that note, I’m letting the punch run its course. Welcome to the battle robot, Michelle, and thanks for the invitation to this week’s Off the Shelf!

KATE: Thanks for having us — y’all know how to host a great party!

MICHELLE: Thanks for coming! Can I be the green lion?

MJ: Today, Michelle, you can be anything you want. :)

And that’s a wrap!

Manga Moveable Feast: Wild Adapter Archive

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The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: Rica ‘tte Kanji!?

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The most basic yuri plotline — what publisher Erica Friedman calls “Story A” — traces its roots back to the pioneering Class S fiction of Nobuko Yoshiya (1896-1973). In works such as Hana monogatari (1916-24) and Yaneura no nishojo (1919), schoolgirls developed intense, often romantic, feelings for other schoolgirls. Given the period in which Yoshiya wrote, it’s not surprising that her characters’ relationships were never consummated; the girls might exchange passionate letters or meaningful glances, but marriage, graduation, or death prevented them from being together as a couple. Fifty years later, when manga artists such as Ryoko Yamagishi and Riyoko Ikeda began writing girls’ love stories, they, too, favored tragic endings; Yamagishi’s Shiroi Heya no Futari (1971), for example, culminates in a melodramatic death (suicide by ex-boyfriend, to be exact), as do Ikeda’s Oniisama e… (1975) and Claudine…! (1978).

Small wonder, then, that manga-ka Rica Takashima saw a vacuum that needed filling. “There were very few manga with lesbian stories,” Takashima explains in the afterword to Rica ‘tte Kanji!? “Only depressing, sad stories about ‘forbidden love’ and with a break-up in the end. For example, ‘If I were a man, I could marry you.’ That kind of thing, but I wanted to read a HAPPY story.”

And “happy” is the perfect adjective to describe Rica ‘tte Kanji!? Rica, the heroine, is a cheerful optimist who moves to Tokyo to attend junior college (she plans to major in early childhood development) and explore the Nichome district, home to the city’s gay community. At the beginning of the series, Rica is nervous about visiting Nichome for the first time, worrying about what to wear and how to handle pick-up lines:

Rica’s fears are quickly allayed when she’s introduced to Miho, a sardonic art student a few years Rica’s senior. The two meet cute on Rica’s first trip to Nichome’s Lily Bar, where Rica confesses that she’s never met “an actual lesbian.” “I grew up out in the country,” she explains to Miho. “It’s the same for everyone in the beginning,” Miho assures her, prompting Rica to declare Miho her first gay friend. Though Miho falls for Rica right away, Rica’s lack of experience and general ditziness makes her oblivious to Miho’s advances. Their relationship has another hurdle to clear as well: Rica is just as nervous about the idea of having sex as she was about making a good impression at the Lily Bar, and keeps Miho at arm’s length — figuratively and literally — as she tries to decide what she’s comfortable doing.

What Takashima does better than most is to find the comedy in these situations, not by creating artificial misunderstandings between the characters, or manufacturing romantic rivals, but by making us privy to Rica and Miho’s thoughts. The two women’s internal monologues are funny, peppered with cute and weird observations, but they’re also very truthful; who among us hasn’t worried about putting the moves on a friend or being naked with a new partner?

Though Takashima’s script is charming, what really makes Rica ‘tte Kanji!? work is the art. That may seem like a funny thing to say about a story in which the characters are little more than well-dressed stick figures with cute, round faces, but Takashima’s illustrations have a warm, handmade quality. Better still, the artwork never panders to male yuri fans; by rendering the characters as cute, paper-doll figures, Takashima directs the eye away from Rica and Miho’s bodies towards their faces, compelling the reader to see the women as two people fumbling through a relationship, not fantasy objects.

And speaking of fantasy, a few reviewers have pointed out the absence of real conflict in Rica ‘tte Kanji!?. Though Miho and Rica’s relationship hits a few minor snags, their romance takes place in a bubble untouched by homophobia or workaday concerns. It’s a fair criticism, I suppose, but one that misses the point; Rica ‘tte Kanji!? is a cheeky, cheerful rebuke to the Tragic Gay Story, substituting a happily-ever-after ending for death and separation.

Impatient readers can find copies of Rica ‘tte Kanji on Amazon for about $24.00. If you’re willing to wait a few months, however, ALC Publishing will be releasing a new omnibus edition that will include the original Rica ‘tte Kanji stories, as well as material written for ALC’s Yuri Monogatari anthologies.

RICA ‘TTE KANJI!? • BY RICA TAKASHIMA • ALC PUBLISHING • 96 pp.

13th Boy 3-6 by SangEun Lee

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After I read the first two volumes of SangEun Lee’s 13th Boy, in which a pertinacious girl named Hee-So Eun does everything in her power to win the love of the handsome Won-Jun Kang, I had high hopes for the quirky series but apparently not high enough because, starting with volume three, the story veers into unexpectedly (and awesomely) dark territory. That’s not to say that the sense of whimsy—best represented by Beatrice, a talking cactus—has disappeared. Indeed, volume six has several silly moments. But both the reader and Hee-So discover that things are more serious than expected, with the result being that she reveals some admirable qualities that she had not previously displayed.

The bulk of the drama revolves around three childhood friends: Won-Jun, Whie-Young, and Sae-Bom. The three of them have been stuck in a love triangle for years, with Won-Jun pining away for Sae-Bom, and Sae-Bom pining for Whie-Young. But so much time has passed, they begin to question what it is they actually feel for each other. Won-Jun, for example, is staying near Sae-Bom partly out of guilt born of an awful secret that in turn led to a serious accident. Sae-Bom is stunted because of these incidents, behaving like her seven-year-old self (though she is now fifteen) in an attempt to return things to how they used to be. And Whie-Young doesn’t want much to do with either of them.

Into their group comes Hee-So, and though she first appears obnoxious (I didn’t like her much in the first two volumes) her bright outlook and unfiltered expression of what she’s feeling make a big difference in their lives. At first, she merely turns the triangle into a square, with Whie-Young drawn to her while she chases after Won-Jun, but soon begins to make an impact on the others as well. Although Hee-So initially befriends Sae-Bom because it hurts to see Won-Jun caring for his damaged friend so solicitously and she figures he’ll have to do less of that if she helps out, she throws herself into the friendship with true commitment and eventually helps Sae-Bom relinquish her tight hold (literal and mental) on Toe-Toe, a stuffed rabbit who at one point had been given life by Whie-Young, who has magical powers.

You might not think that convincing a teenage girl to give up her stuffed animal would be riveting drama, but it really is. There’s a lot of emotional baggage concerning Toe-Toe, like who was responsible for his death and what that has subsequently meant for Sae-Bom’s emotional state. Simultaneously, Hee-So’s ability to rebound after being snubbed by Won-Jun makes him relax, because even if he should hurt her accidentally, it doesn’t affect how she feels about him. In time, he grows to feel a profound peace in her company and once Sae-Bom actually starts to look at him instead of Whie-Young, it may already be too late for her, because Hee-So has gotten her wish at last.

Starting in volume three, each volume is full of major progress in the story, to the point where I began to think “And there are twelve volumes of this series?! We’re not supposed to find this stuff out until the very end!” But SangEun Lee continues to come up with unforeseen avenues for the story to travel, with the most recent development being that Beatrice, the talking cactus, has realized that he is in love with Hee-So. Although this results in some amusingly absurd dialogue, like “Please don’t say that. It’s an unworthy thought. I am a cactus. I don’t have the right to love her…” it’s still treated fairly seriously, and Beatrice’s wish to become human (something he already manages each month on the full moon) has the potential to complicate the story still further.

And yet, while the romantic feelings of each character are definitely important and inform their motivations, this is not a story that can simply be settled by Hee-So and Won-Jun getting together and living happily ever after. There are too many secrets and too many deep bonds for matters to wrap up so neatly. Will Sae-Bom succeed in redirecting Won-Jun’s attention onto herself? Will Won-Jun, now that he has conquered the symbolic hurdle of “crossing the bridge” into Hee-So’s neighborhood, regress back into childhood obligations or continue on his own path, which ultimately might not include Hee-So? Will Whie-Young, who purports to be tough but yet frequently grants magical favors at the cost of his own health, really fail to live to the age of twenty? In many series, I would doubt that the death of a major character would be allowed to occur, but not 13th Boy.

If you read only the beginning of the series and dismissed it as a romantic comedy, I urge you to reconsider, because 13th Boy is surprising, complex, and well worth reading.

Review copies for volumes three, five, and six provided by the publisher.

Kamisama Kiss 2 by Julietta Suzuki

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From the back cover:
Nanami Momozono is alone and homeless after her dad skips town to evade his gambling debts and the debt collectors kick her out of her apartment. So when a man she’s just saved from a dog offers her his home, she jumps at the opportunity. But it turns out that his place is a shrine, and Nanami has unwittingly taken over his job as a local deity!

Nanami doesn’t want to miss out on the fun when a hot teen idol joins the student body. Tomoe reluctantly agrees to let her go, as long as she conceals her divine mark. After all, what could possibly go wrong at high school…?

Review:
Nanami has been out of school for three months, living in the shrine that is her new home, but the appalling lack of worshippers means her days are very dull indeed. When she sees a TV news story about a famous pop idol transferring to her high school, her school spirit is suddenly reinvigorated and she decides to return, even though Tomoe (her fox-eared familiar) insists she wear a stupid-looking headscarf to cover the mark that identifies her as a tochigami (deity of a specific area of land), lest yokai detect her presence and attack.

The pop idol, Kurama, turns out to be a jerk, but he’s intrigued by Nanami’s ability to resist his charms. The other students aren’t too friendly, either, and tease Nanami about her poverty. Enter Tomoe to save the day, clearing her name when she is accused of theft, delivering a delicious lunch when she’s too poor to afford something from the cafeteria, and generally making it appear as if she’s now under the care of a wealthy family. When Tomoe later finds himself in need, having been shrunk by another deity who has taken over the shrine, Nanami is grateful to be able to give back to him, watching over him as his child’s body struggles to contain his powers. In the end, when the other deity is ousted, Tomoe chooses to reenter into a contract with Nanami.

I’m still unsure exactly what to make of Kamisama Kiss. I definitely like its sense of humor—it’s pleasantly absurd, like when Kurama (who predictably turns out to be a yokai) is chased through the halls of the school by one of Tomoe’s fireballs while in the form of an ostrich—and the supporting cast (like the two onibi-warashi who occupy the shrine along with Nanami and Tomoe), but the main characters have yet to really intrigue me. It’s nice that Tomoe and Nanami are building a more friendly relationship, and that both clearly care about each other, but there’s nothing to really distinguish this development from all the other stories in which two argumentative sorts wind up falling for each other.

I think part of the problem is that I am still mentally comparing it to Suzuki’s other series released in English, the very charming Karakuri Odette. I shouldn’t, because they’re very different types of stories, but every now and then Nanami gets an expression on her face that reminds me so much of Odette that I can’t help myself.

Because Karakuri Odette turned out to be so good, I am reasonably confident that Kamisama Kiss will eventually win me over, but in the meantime I’m left a little bit disappointed.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Let’s Get Visual: Mono no Aware

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MICHELLE: It’s the last Saturday of the month, and that means it’s time for another Let’s Get Visual column! Joining me as always is MJ, from Manga Bookshelf. This month, we’ve chosen images that convey the feeling of mono no aware, which Wikipedia defines as, “the awareness of impermanence, or the transience of things, and a gentle sadness (or wistfulness) at their passing.”

If I’m interpreting that definition correctly, there appears to be a subtle difference between mono no aware and outright nostalgia, where the former is more of-the-moment (Honey and Clover springs to mind here) while the latter would be something like the retrospective narration in Ai Yazawa’s NANA.

What’s your take on it, MJ?

MJ: I actually feel rather unclear myself, so I’m hoping that between you and our generous readers I’ll gain a better understanding via this column. Though I’ve read the Wikipedia entry, along with several other web pages that attempt to explain the concept, I’m not entirely sure I understand the true essence of mono no aware. I’ll do my best, of course, to take a stab at it!

MICHELLE: As will I! And if we do get it wrong, generous readers, please go easy on us!

What images have you chosen to talk about? (Click images to enlarge.)

Blue, Pages 224-end (Fanfare/Ponent Mon)

MJ: Well, since we do focus on visuals here, I chose a series of panels from the end of Kiriko Nananan’s bittersweet yuri romance, Blue, published in English by Fanfare/Ponent Mon. To a great extent, I think the entire manga exemplifies mono no aware, at least as I understand it at this time, as its primary romance seems obviously transient from the beginning. There’s never a sense that its protagonists, Kirishima and Endo, have a long-term future together, so the tone is wistful throughout. Every detail, down to the artist’s stark drawing style, suggests a gentle melancholy, even in the characters’ happiest moments.

As you can see, the story’s final pages are nearly text-free. After exchanging restrained parting words, Kirishima rides off to Tokyo in a train, leaving Endo on the platform, smiling sadly. As the train pulls away, Kirishima turns and leans against the door, finally letting her tears fall, unseen by Endo.

Not only do these panels express the sadness of an (apparently) inevitable parting, but they deliberately display this in the simplest, most beautiful way possible. Nananan’s barely toned artwork accents the slightest movement, giving enormous weight to a single teardrop–even to a single fold in Kirishima’s clothing. This sadness is elegant in every way, down to the strands of black hair tumbling over Kirishima’s fingers in the books’ final frame. It’s gorgeous, truly, and so simply bittersweet.

Though, as I’ve said, I’m not entirely sure I fully understand mono no aware, these panels perfectly illustrates what I think it might be. I hope someone will tell me if I’m wrong or right.

MICHELLE: I think you’ve got it right, because we can tell that Kirishima realizes that this is the last time she is going to see Endo. She still loves her, but their time together is over. It’s a very sad scene, but it’s also a beautiful scene, and because this heartbreaking moment is depicted with such care and such clarity, I think it qualifies as mono no aware.

MJ: I’m relieved to know that you think so!

So what have you chosen to share with us tonight?

Shugo Chara!, Volume 10, Pages 148-149 (Kodansha Comics)

MICHELLE: I’ve chosen a two-page spread from the tenth volume of Peach-Pit’s magical girl series, Shugo Chara!. The series has followed its protagonist, Amu Hinamori, since she was in the fourth grade, and now her final days of sixth grade are drawing nigh. She and her friends are responsible for planning the graduation ceremony and Amu has gone to check out the state of the auditorium.

When she gets there, Amu is stunned by the sight of a room full of empty chairs. It’s silent and still, and its emptiness is only emphasized by the barrel ceiling. The sight reminds her of the many things that have happened at school and with her new friends, times when this room was full of life, but there’s more to it than that. There is still one more occasion where they will all be together—graduation. Things are not quite over for them, this room will once more be peopled by those whom Amu cares about, but still, the knowledge that change is imminent makes Amu wistful somewhat in advance.

Maybe the difference between mono no aware and nostalgia can be summed up as “these days will never come again” versus “those were the days.”

MJ: What a perfect choice for illustrating that point! You’re absolutely right, the wistfulness here is for the present much more than it is for the past. She’s living in the very moment she mourns, struck by the warmth of the present and its imminent loss all at once. What a lovely example, Michelle!

MICHELLE: Thanks! This image was the inspiration for this column, actually. I’ve certainly read other series that employ mono no aware—I loved that aspect of Honey and Clover before I even knew that it had a specific name—but I was struck by how this one spread conveyed the same idea almost completely wordlessly. “Living in the very moment she mourns” is a beautiful way to put it.

MJ: So I suppose it’s up to our readers now to let us know how well we’ve done in our attempt to interpret mono no aware?

MICHELLE: Indeed! And if anyone has images they’d like to share, please feel free! Also, please come back and join us next month for a special Wild Adapter-themed edition of Let’s Get Visual to coincide with the Manga Moveable Feast being hosted at Manga Bookshelf the week of June 19th through 25th!

A Zoo in Winter

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One of the best-selling manga in the US right now is Bakuman, a drama about two teens trying to break into the Japanese comics industry. Flipping through the first two volumes, it’s easy to see why the series has such an ardent following: Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata have portrayed the characters’ journey not as an aesthetic or introspective process, but as an adventure story in which the boys battle progressively more talented opponents while they work toward their ultimate goal of creating a hit series.

For all its lip service to perseverance and craft, Bakuman is, at heart, a fantasy that trumpets youth, native ability, and confidence as the keys to artistic success. To be sure, Ohba and Obata make a concerted effort to show their characters engaged in the less dramatic aspects of manga-making: brainstorming story ideas, working with an editor, experimenting with unfamiliar tools. These scenes aren’t really meant to chart the boys’ growth as artists, however, but to reinforce the idea that Mashiro and Takagi are naturals.

Jiro Taniguchi’s forthcoming A Zoo in Winter offers a very different perspective on breaking into the manga industry, one in which the principle character engages in a long, complicated, and frequently humbling process of refining his skills. When we first meet seventeen-year-old Mitsuo Hamaguchi, he’s working at a manufacturing company, contemplating a future designing textiles while harboring dreams of becoming an artist. Hamaguchi spends his free time sketching animals at the local zoo, and chaperoning his boss’ wayward daughter on excursions around town.

At loose ends, Hamaguchi visits Tokyo on a whim, landing a position as an assistant to popular manga-ka Shiro Kondo. The work is anything but glamorous: Hamaguchi frequently pulls all-nighters, erasing pencil marks, blacking in objects, drawing speedlines, and copying backgrounds from other assistants’ drawings. Working on Kondo’s manga rekindles Hamaguchi’s own childhood ambition to become an artist, inspiring Hamaguchi to take live drawing classes and start work on his own story — a goal that proves more elusive than Hamaguchi imagined.

Hamaguchi’s emotional development is as fitful as his artistic. Though he’s savoring his independence, he frequently reverts to adolescent behavior whenever he hits a roadblock, wallowing in self-pity when another assistant seems poised to get his big break, for example, or drinking himself into a stupor when his girlfriend moves away. Hamaguchi’s relationship with his older brother is particularly telling: separated by ten years, Hamaguchi continues to view him as a father figure, squirming in embarrassment when his brother visits Kondo’s studio. (“Please, brother, try to mind your own business,” Hamaguchi pleads.) As their visit progresses, however, Hamaguchi marvels at his brother’s ability to chat up Kondo and mix with the bohemian element at the assistants’ favorite dive-bar, gradually realizing that his older brother isn’t as judgmental or rigid as Hamaguchi assumed, just deeply concerned with the family’s welfare.

In another artist’s hands, Hamaguchi’s brother might have been a sterner figure, one who dismissed an artistic career as a frivolous or irresponsible choice. Yet Jiro Taniguchi resists the temptation to make Hamaguchi’s brother into a straw man, instead allowing Hamaguchi to discover his brother’s relaxed decency for himself; Hamaguchi’s epiphany is a small one, but one that brings him a few steps closer to adulthood. Taniguchi manages the difficult feat of honoring the sincerity of Hamaguchi’s feelings while creating emotional distance between Hamaguchi and the reader; we’re not invited to experience Hamaguchi’s embarrassment so much as remember what it was like to learn that our parents were, in fact, just like all the other adults we knew and liked.

What makes these passages even more effective is Taniguchi’s draftsmanship. Though he has always been a superb illustrator, capable of evoking the bustling sprawl of a Japanese city or the craggy face of a mountain, his characters’ faces often had an impassive, Noh-mask quality. In Zoo in Winter, however, the characters’ facial expressions are rendered with the same precision he usually reserves for landscapes and interiors, capturing subtle shifts in their attitudes and emotions. Not that Taniguchi neglects the urban environment; one of the manga’s loveliest sequences unfolds in a zoo on a snowy day. Anyone who’s had the experience of running in Central Park on a rainy November afternoon, or walking a winter beach will immediately recognize Hamaguchi’s elation at having the zoo to himself, and of seeing the landscape transformed by the weather.

It’s the subtlety of the characterizations, however, that will remain with readers long after they’ve finished A Zoo in Winter. The story does more than just dramatize Hamaguchi’s journey from adolescence to adulthood; it shows us how his emotional maturation informs every aspect of his artistry — something that’s missing from many other portrait-of-an-artist-as-a-young-man sagas, which place much greater emphasis on the pleasure of professional recognition than on the satisfaction of mastering one’s craft. To be fair, Ohba and Obata address the issue of craft in Bakuman, but I’ll take the quiet honesty of A Zoo in Winter over the sound and fury of a Shonen Jump title any day. Highly recommended.

Review copy provided by Fanfare/Ponent Mon. A Zoo in Winter will be released on June 23, 2011.

A ZOO IN WINTER • BY JIRO TANIGUCHI • FANFARE/PONENT MON • 232 pp.

In the Presence of the Enemy by Elizabeth George

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Book description:
When a young girl disappears from the streets of London without a trace, her mother, a well-respected MP, is convinced she knows the identity of the kidnapper—the child’s father. But Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley and Sergeant Barbara Havers soon learn that nothing in this investigation is what it appears to be, and that in betrayal and deception, lies death.

Review:
Eleven years ago, at a Tory conference, a young political hopeful named Eve Bowen enjoyed a week-long fling with Dennis Luxford, a tabloid journalist with Labour Party views. There was no love between them, and when Eve found out she was pregnant, she informed Luxford that she didn’t want him to have anything to do with the child. Luxford respected her wishes, but when he receives an anonymous letter instructing him to acknowledge his firstborn on the front page of his newspaper or she’ll be killed, his first instinct is to comply.

Eve, now a Member of Parliament and an Undersecretary of the Home Office, won’t have it, however. Her suspicion of Luxford—he’s the only other person who knows the truth about the child’s parentage, after all—and obstinate refusal to even consider that he might be innocent blind her to the real peril her daughter, Charlotte, is in, and the delay ultimately costs Charlotte her life. Inspector Lynley and Sergeant Havers are called in to investigate, and then Luxford’s son, Leo, is taken.

It’s an intricate plot, with many enjoyable twists and turns, memorable characters, and a satisfying conclusion. Among the cast are two particularly infuriating women, though, whom I wanted to take a moment to describe. The first, Eve Bowen, views all events through the veil of what they might mean to her political career. She’s convinced that Luxford is out to ruin her, experiences essentially no grief when Charlotte dies, and is just thoroughly unpleasant throughout. The other, Corrine Payne, is the mother of the local constable with whom Havers works in Wiltshire. She’s convinced that Havers and her son are having an affair, and refuses to listen to any of Barbara’s denials. Plus, she’s manipulative in a feeble, whiny sort of way. I think what gets under my skin the most about both of them is the way they absolutely refuse to listen to reason. Irksome qualities aside, they’re both well-written characters, so this does not actually constitute a complaint of any kind.

Moving on to everything I liked! Because Eve refuses to go to the police, Luxford hires Simon St. James to do some investigating on his behalf, so a substantial portion of the beginning of the novel is Simon, Helen, and Deborah looking for clues. When Lynley finds out they were involved and could have gone to the police and possibly prevented Charlotte’s death, he is livid. And then Helen tells him off for being self-righteous. Everyone’s so likeable and flawed simultaneously; it’s great.

Also great is that Havers gets a chance to shine. Although Charlotte was kidnapped in London, her body is found in a canal in Wiltshire, so while Lynley—assisted by the increasingly charismatic DC Nkata—heads up the London end, Havers is given charge of the Wiltshire investigation, and performs admirably. George does employ the tried-and-true “female detective finds herself alone in the murderer’s clutches” plot development near the end, but Havers proves far from helpless, as does Leo Luxford.

The depiction of the Luxford family is also one of my favorite things about the book. Here’s a man, the editor of a sleazy tabloid newspaper, whom one would expect to care less about the life of a daughter he never met than her actual mother, but that turns out not to be the case at all. He also faces some unpleasant truths about his motives for attempting to toughen up his son, and realizes near the end of the book the tyrannical figure he’s become in that regard. The final scene concerns this family and it seriously made me cry.

I think this may actually be my favorite Lynley mystery yet!

License request day: Adachi shôjo

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I love a lot of shônen created by women. There’s Hiromu Arakawa’s Fullmetal Alchemist and Rumiko Takahashi’s Ranma ½. Yumi Hotta’s script for Hikaru no Go goes just as far to make the series a favorite as Takeshi Obta’s art does. There’s a lot to like in Yuu Watase’s Arata: The Legend, and Kazue Kato’s Blue Exorcist shows a lot of promise. I’m probably deep into the three-volume collection of Yellow Tanabe’s critically acclaimed Kekkaishi as you read this.

I would love to read more shôjo created by men to see if that construct also applies, but there’s very little available in English. I quite enjoyed Meca Tanaka’s Omukae Desu and Pearl Pink. I’m still mourning the discontinuation of Crown, largely for its sly, snappy script by Shinji (Sukeban Deka) Wada (though the title’s attractive art by You Higuri certainly doesn’t hurt.) And I’m positively impatient about the opportunity to read Osamu Tezuka’s Princess Knight later this year.

So imagine my excitement when I discovered that Mitsuru Adachi, creator of the title featured in the current Manga Moveable Feast, has done a number of shôjo series. I’ll happily read anything he creates (and I have to track down copies of Short Program, which includes some shôjo shorts), and I’ve already requested Rough, but I’m very curious about these earlier works.

First up is Slow Step, which ran for seven volumes in Shogakukan’s Ciao. It’s about a schoolgirl who’s looking for love, is besieged by suitors, and is harassed by a pervy teacher, and it involves boxing, baseball, criminals, and disguise. Why not?

Hitari Ryoukou! (which ran for five volumes in Shogakukan’s Sho-Comi), gives us Adachi in reverse-harem mode. It’s about a girl whose aunt runs a boarding house filled with high-school boys. Our heroine tries to stay true to her overseas boyfriend, but she’s developing feelings for one of the boarders.

Ah! Seishun no Koushien, originally published by Shogakukan, seven volumes, is about kids who want to make it to the youth baseball championships! Sound familiar? Still, Adachi seems gifted at finding variety in familiar scenarios, so I’m not going to let familiarity breed contempt or anything near it.

Of all of those, I think I’m most interested in the promised slice-of-life vibe of Hitari Ryoukou! Which one looks good to you?

 

Off the Shelf: Girls & Monsters

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MJ: Well, hello again, my friend! Does it seem possible that we’ve been writing this column together for nearly a year?

MICHELLE: Because I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished and all the series we’ve covered, I’d say it does, actually, but it’s certainly gone by swiftly!

MJ: Indeed it has! So to continue being swift about it, I’ll get right to business. What have you been reading this past week?

MICHELLE: Heaps and heaps of good stuff, actually! In particular, the latest volumes of two shoujo series that were originally published by Del Rey and which have emerged from a long, gloomy hiatus into the optimistic sunshine of Kodansha Comics!

First off, there’s volume two of Arisa by Natsumi Ando. I’d heard good things about Ando’s Kitchen Princess—I’ve yet to read it, though this will soon be rectified—so it didn’t actually come as a surprise that Arisa is a lot of creepy, suspenseful fun, but that doesn’t diminish my gladness at all. The gist of the story is simple: Tsubasa Uehara and her twin, Arisa Sonoda, were separated by their parents’ divorce and haven’t seen each other in three years. They’ve been writing letters, though, and Arisa’s always depicted her life as close to perfect, with lots of friends, a cute boyfriend, and a successful school career. Imagine Tsubasa’s surprise, then, when soon after meeting up again, Arisa attempts suicide.

Tsubasa is determined to get to the bottom of what’s bothering her sister, and so attends Arisa’s school in her guise. At first, all seems normal, but she soon learns about a bizarre weekly ritual in which the students submit wishes to “the King,” who will choose one to grant. No wish is beyond the King’s power, and Tsubasa witnesses him/her successfully “disappear” a pervy gym teacher in fulfillment of a student’s wish. Her investigation suggests that the King is the class bad boy, Manabe, and volume two picks up with a twist about the King’s actual identity and the revelation that someone knows who Tsubasa really is and wants her to back off, else they’ll do something to still-comatose Arisa.

I’m a big fan of sheer atmosphere, and Arisa has it in spades. No one is what they initially seemed to be, and Arisa’s supposed best friend, Mariko, is shaping up to be positively unhinged. Then there’s her mild-mannered boyfriend, who really can’t be that benign, can he? It’s twisty and turny and suspenseful in an extremely delightful way, and I am quite glad that Kodansha’s got it on a bimonthly schedule because I am honestly going to dive into volume three the moment I get the tape off the box.

MJ: Wow, you know, I’d read a little bit about this series, but your description is the first that’s made me want to run to the bookstore and grab it up for myself. I’m especially interested in all this atmosphere you rave about.

MICHELLE: Now I worry I’ve overstated its brilliance, but it really is both entertaining and unique. If I had to liken it to anything, it’d be After School Nightmare, which has a similar “who among my classmates is the one I seek” sort of thing going on, at least in the one volume I’ve read.

How about you? Read anything good?

MJ: I have! My week has had a distinctly different flavor than yours, but also publisher-specific. It’s been a Vertical week for me, beginning with the fourth and final volume of Nobuaki Tadano’s 7 Billion Needles, one of my favorite new series last year. Adapted from Hal Clement’s 1950 novel, Needle, this series follows a sullen teenager named Hikaru whose life has changed forever thanks to an alien parasite (later two of them) who takes up permanent residence in her body.

Though I complained here a few months ago that the series’ third volume had taken an unfortunate turn, leaving behind its striking tale about human connection in order to explore new, less-coherant themes, I’m pleased to report that this is far from fatal. Though the story’s new plotline involving a planetary macro-evolution persists in its final volume, the series’ real focus turns back to Hikaru, whose personal journey really is what makes the whole thing work.

Contrary to anything she might have believed just a few volumes ago, Hikaru’s got people worth saving in her life, and save them she does, without anything more than her own desire. Sure, she’s got superpowers of a sort, what with all those aliens rumbling around inside, but her real strength is her own, and it’s a strength that she’s discovered by simply being human.

With all the excitement and chaos of final battles and whatnot, Tadano’s horror-tinged artwork really shines in this volume, particularly in its most esoteric moments. I’d even go so far as to say that the “macro-evolution” business is actually saved by the artwork, which manages to express itself more clearly than the narrative in those sections. Another treat is “Hikhikomori Headphone Girl,” the short comic that provided the template for Tadano’s Hikaru, which is included at the back of the volume.

7 Billion Needles isn’t a perfect series, but at just four volumes, it’s one of the few short manga series I personally can see myself voluntarily rereading. Given my preferences for epic storytelling, that’s no small praise.

MICHELLE: I’ve always planned to read this series, but after two or three volumes of a four-volume series have come out, one begins to think, “Well, maybe I’ll just wait and read it all in one swell foop.” I’m glad to hear, though, that it comes to a satisfying conclusion!

MJ: It really does, and I think it probably reads even better all at once. I plan to try it that way myself.

So what else have you got for us this week?

MICHELLE: The latest volume in a series that I know you adore, Shugo Chara!. After having meant to do so for ages, I’ve finally caught up on this charming magical girl series, just in time for Kodansha to release volume ten. And what an important volume this is!

When the story left off, heroine Amu Hinamori and her friends were infiltrating the headquarters of a sinister corporation known as Easter, who had finally acquired the Embryo, the magical wish-granting egg (long story) for which they had recklessly been searching. Although I found the big reveal of Easter’s boss to be predictable, his/her reasons for acquiring the Embryo are not at all what I expected. Amu works her Shoujo Heroine Magic upon him/her as well as upon his/her chief minion, who happens to be the stepfather to her love interest, Ikuto.

This, in turn, leads to some resolution in Ikuto’s home life, as he is finally freed of his obligation to help Easter and gets the chance to fully explain himself to Tadase, Amu’s other love interest, who has hated him the past two years. This is the best part of the volume for me because, as I read earlier volumes, I started to question exactly what Ikuto’s Guardian Character, the cat-like Yoru, said about him. Guardian Characters are supposed to have some quality the child would like to possess, and what was there about sweet but kind of cartoony Yoru that a brooding high schooler like Ikuto would desire? And then it came to me… freedom. Yoru is free. He can sleep when he likes, eat when he likes… No one can make a cat do something it doesn’t want to do. Freedom is something Ikuto has never had, until now. And now that he does have it, he’s going to put it to good use.

And then Amu and her classmates, most of them sixth graders, prepare to graduate. Honestly, there is so much resolution here, I began to seriously wonder what kind of material Peach-Pit could find to fill in the final two volumes! I needn’t have been concerned, however, as the final handful of pages serve up a shocking development that will, I suspect, ultimately compel Amu to make real progress on discovering what kind of person she really wants to be.

MJ: I’m so pleased that you are enjoying this series! Yes, I do adore it, and I’ve spent pages and pages of webspace explaining exactly why, so I won’t go into a lecture now, but yes. You’re so much on the nose regarding Ikuto and Yoru. And, okay, I will go on slightly about one thing. What I especially love about Amu as a heroine is that unlike so many shoujo heroines these days, she’s not an “ordinary” girl with no particular special qualities other than just being the heroine of the manga. She’s confused and unsure of who she is and who she even wants to be, but she’s got a multitude of possibilities in front of her. And though she’s interested in boys, certainly, her real journey is about choosing her own path, not choosing who to walk with. If that makes sense.

MICHELLE: It makes perfect sense, and that’s a great point about Amu! As a result, it doesn’t present as false when several boys are interested in her, like it does when the heroine is sort of hopeless. The series is magical girl done right, and I’m a bit sad that Peach-Pit hasn’t written more in this genre, though I’m now interested in checking out Zombie-Loan, another of their series (released in English by Yen Press).

So, you said it was a Vertical night, eh? What else is on the menu?

MJ: My second Vertical read this week was Usamaru Furuya’s Lychee Light Club. Adapted from a theater piece of the same name, Lychee Light Club is the story of a group of middle school boys who have created their own secret society sort of dedicated to their general rejection of the adult world.

As the story begins, they’ve just completed construction of a lychee-fueled humanoid machine (much in the mold of Dr. Frankenstein’s monster) apparently for the purpose of kidnapping pretty, young girls. After some trial and error, as the machine learns what things like”pretty” and “young” actually mean, they manage to capture one in particular whom they intend to imprison indefinitely as their own personal idol.

There are a couple of parallel plots going on here. When the boys are out at night, the girl ends up befriending the monster, tapping into its desire to become more human. Meanwhile, the boys are fighting amongst themselves over the morality of what they’re doing, who’s in charge, who’s devoted to whom, and so on. The overall point of it seems to be that the boys become monsters while their monster becomes human, though some of the specifics along the way get a bit muddled.

Let me begin by saying that I found this manga really fascinating and incredibly striking, visually. The whole thing feels like a theater piece, more than any comic I’ve ever read, and it’s honestly stunning. I am thrilled to have read it for this element alone.

That said, I also think it’s kind of a mess. Though the boys’ inner society is decently fleshed out, what I’m really missing here is a sense of context. I get what they’re doing, but I don’t get why. They’re rebelling against a world we never really see, and as a result, we can’t understand who these boys are. Where do they come from? What’s sickened them so much about the grownup world? And what kind of society do they live in where they can carry on with heinous crimes like kidnapping, mutilation, and murder without anyone even noticing?

There’s a lot here I can take on faith as a reader. I don’t need to know how they built a monster that runs on lychee fruit, for instance. It’s incredible, but well within what I’m willing to accept as premise. But the lack of context for the boys’ self-made way of life keeps me from being able to embrace Furuya’s universe fully, and that’s enough to keep the story from becoming truly engaging.

There are a lot of things that could be said here, too, about the manga’s extreme violence and treatment of women–issues that have been covered quite beautifully already by Kate and David. Overall, though, my biggest personal obstacle with this story was its lack of context for the boys’ actions. Without that, I found it difficult to commit as a reader.

MICHELLE: Believe it or not, this actually reassures me that I will find something to like about it! I haven’t read it yet, and therefore haven’t read Kate and David’s piece, but just the premise alone made me a little wary. I can deal with a few flaws if I get something stunning out of the deal!

MJ: I hope that you will find something to like about it. I certainly did. And I’m quite interested now in reading more of Furuya’s work.

Well, wow, talk about swift, nine-thirty and we’re already done? Whatever will we do with ourselves?

MICHELLE: My sink is full of dirty dishes, so it seems my fate is predetermined.

MJ: Well, that’s depressing. Godspeed?

MICHELLE: Well, I have got a dishwasher, at least.

MJ: My pity has turned to sheer envy.

MICHELLE: You poor soul.

MJ: *snif*

The Josei Alphabet: Q

by

“Q” is for…

… not very much at all, but there is one title that sounds potentially awesome.

QB Karin – Keishichou Tokushu SP-ban, written and illustrated by Yuriko Nishiyama, currently serialized in Kodansha’s Kiss. A female police inspector leads an elite squad of hunks tasked with protecting very important female persons. Nishiyama also created the well-liked Dragon Voice and long-running street basketball saga Harlem Beat, both of which were partially published by Tokyopop. (The fate of Dragon Voice was particularly cruel, as it stopped just one volume short of completion.) In other words, Nishiyama has suffered from what Kate Dacey might call the Ai Morinaga Syndrome. She could use some luck, and perhaps this enticing-sounding mash-up could be the solution. Here’s the Kiss site for the series.

What starts with “Q” in your josei alphabet?