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Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce

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From the back cover:
“From now on I’m Alan of Trebond, the younger twin. I’ll be a knight.”

And so young Alanna of Trebond begins the journey to knighthood. Though a girl, Alanna has always craved the adventure and daring allowed only for boys; her twin brother, Thom, yearns to learn the art of magic. So one day they decide to switch places: disguised as a girl, Thom heads for the convent to learn magic; Alanna, pretending to be a boy, is on her way to the castle of King Roald to begin her training as a page.

But the road to knighthood is not an easy one. As Alanna masters the skills necessary for battle, she must also learn to control her heart and to discern her enemies from her allies.

Filled with swords and sorcery, adventure and intrigue, good and evil, Alanna’s first adventure begins—one that will lead to the fulfillment of her dreams and the magical destiny that will make her a legend in her land.

Review:
For a period of several years, I was an administrator on an online roleplaying game based on a popular series of children’s fantasy books starring a protagonist with a peculiarly shaped scar. New players to this game would frequently submit applications for characters that read very similar to this:

“Ten-year-old Alanna has red hair, purple eyes, and a twin brother. She is very smart, determined, and brave. Plus, she has a great magical gift, so great that she will one day be able to succeed in curing a deadly sickness where all other healers have failed. She also excels at becoming the best at unarmed combat and swordsmanship (albeit with quite a lot of practice), distrusting bad guys instantly, and conveniently finding ancient, powerful swords with sparkly crystals on them.”

Okay, perhaps that’s a bit better than your average newbie attempt, but there are still some striking similarities. This resulted in me snickering out loud the first time Alanna’s looks—for, yes, that paragraph is describing the protagonist of this book—were mentioned, and in rolling my eyes every time her awesomeness was further established. The action in the book covers several years, and Alanna’s plan is to divulge her secret on her eighteenth birthday, after she is made a knight. It’s certainly welcome to see a female proving herself in that environment so adeptly. I don’t mean to suggest that awesome women cannot exist, but after a while I started asking myself, “What next?”

Perhaps such a heroine appeals more to young adults, the intended audience for this book. There are some good messages here about applying oneself when the things you want to do prove challenging and not letting anyone’s idea of your limitations get in your way. It’s just that everything kind of happens too easily. Even though we know Alanna is spending hours and hours practicing, her evolution from fumbling beginner to “a matchless swordsman” doesn’t seem to take very long. The climactic battle at the end against an immortal race of evil beings living in “the black city” also seems too simple.

In the end, I liked Alanna: The First Adventure enough to continue with the rest of the quartet. It appears to be the first book Pierce published, so it’s no wonder it doesn’t match up to my favorites amongst her works.

License request day: Global Garden

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MJ and Michelle Smith took their Off the Shelf column on the road this week, discussing Saki Hiwatari’s Please Save My Earth (Viz) over at The Hooded Utilitarian. I enjoyed the discussion so much that I took a look at other works by Hiwatari. One of them features the ghost of Albert Einstein.

If you’re anything like me, this is all you need to know to want to read at least one volume of the series, because legendary theoretical physicists just don’t show up in shôjo manga as often as they should.

The series, Global Garden, ran for eight volumes in Hakusensha’s Hana to Yume in the early 2000s. In it, two young men share a precognitive dream that the world tree is dying because of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They foresee a young girl being able to heal the tree and save the world, so Einstein branches out into theoretical pharmacology and gives them something to slow their aging. Einstein dies, and his disembodied spirit offers these eternally youthful do-gooders guidance as they wait about 50 years for the girl who can save the world. Along the way, someone manages to make a clone that’s half psychic slow-aging guy, half Einstein. So, one of the protagonists has a baby with Einstein, basically.

Global Garden also promises several items off of the classic-sounding-shôjo menu: gender fluidity, a seriously magical girl, and complex blended-family dynamics, and mixes them in with an environmental message. Plus psychic powers. And Einstein’s ghost. Hakusensha offers some preview pages of the first volume.

It’s been published in French by Delcourt as Global Garden: Einstein’s Last Dream. I suspect this is because the French are better at marketing manga and know that, when you’ve got the shôjo Einstein card in your hand, you play it.

This isn’t Einstein’s only appearance in manga. Most obviously, there’s Edu-Manga: Albert Einstein (Digital Manga), written by Isao Himuro and illustrated by Kotaro Iwasaki. A teen Einstein clone is part of the student body of Kumiko Suekane’s Afterschool Charisma (Viz). It seems odd that he’s not a cast member of Kouta Hirano’s Drifters (Dark Horse), but perhaps the available information on that series is incomplete.

Since we’re on the subject, what are some of your favorite examples of actual people from history showing up in manga under unlikely circumstances?



3 Things Thursday: Please Save My Earth

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Given that I spent the past week pretty much fully immersed in a re-read of all 21 volumes of Saki Hiwatari’s Please Save My Earth (followed by a full three days’ discussion and editing of same), it should be no surprise that I’ve got PSME on the brain.

And so, for this week’s 3 things Thursday, I give you…

3 reasons to re-read Please Save My Earth:

1. Alice Sakaguchi – Considering the way I felt about her the first time I read the series, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am. Alice Sakaguchi kicks ass. No, seriously, she does. Is she restless & feisty, making her mark everywhere she goes? No. Does she have a quick temper? No. Does she confront her enemies with anger, telling them where to shove it? Definitely not. But she’s far from passive and definitely not dumb, accusations I might have hastily hurled at her when I first read the series. What she actually is, is thoughtful, compassionate, careful, and mature, and the only one of the kids in the series who will not let herself be controlled by the person she used to be. If you’re like me, and you originally read Alice as passive, I urge you to read the series again. I was stunned by my experience, and perhaps you will be too!

2. Humor – Though it’s easy to remember the series’ most dramatic moments, the biggest surprise waiting for me as I began my re-read was just how damn funny the Hiwatari can be. It’s a rare author who can genuinely pull off occasional remarks made to the audience (even some of the asides in Paradise Kiss make me cringe), and Hiwatari does this beautifully. I laughed out loud numerous times during the first volume, and that’s not even counting my delight over the artwork depicting Rin Kobayashi’s prowess with rhythmic gymnastics. Priceless, truly.

3. Art, art, and more art – Saki Hiwatari is a gorgeous artist, obviously influenced by the 49ers (among others), but very talented in her own right. Every panel in this series is wonderfully crafted, clear and expressive, regardless of tone. Drama, humor, romance, she draws it all, and she draws it well. This isn’t just pretty artwork, it’s powerful visual storytelling that gets better and better with each volume. It was difficult to stop scanning pages for our HU piece, because I found myself wanting to display everything, that’s how well the art in the series works for me. I found this a lot easier to appreciate on a more leisurely second read.

Yeah, I’ve got PSME on the brain, and I’m definitely proselytizing at this point, but that’s kinda what I love about manga, my friends. It makes me want to share.

So, readers… why would you re-read Please Save My Earth? Or why might you read it for the first time?

Off the Shelf: PSME on the road!

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Calling “classic” shoujo fans (yes, I have difficulty with the concept of stuff from the 80s being “classic”): This week, we’ve taken Off the Shelf on the road to The Hooded Utilitarian, where we discuss Saki Hiwatari’s Please Save My Earth in its epic entirety. The series is not only a favorite for both of us, but also one of the series you picked in our super-scientific 3 Things Thursday poll not too long ago.

At over 6500 words, our piece is epic in its own way, with lots of pretty, pretty pictures as well. Read it here. With a series like this, it’s impossible to discuss everything, and we’re certain we’ve left out a lot, so please pipe up in comments to continue the discussion!

As many of you know, Please Save My Earth is increasingly difficult to buy, with several volumes clearly out of print and definitely out of stock. It’s painful to recommend a series that’s so hard to obtain legally, but our greatest wish would be that increased interest might inspire re-release, perhaps in omnibus form. So if you want to read Please Save My Earth, come on and make some noise! We did!

Please Save My Earth at The Hooded Utilitarian

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For our second joint venture at The Hooded Utilitarian, MJ and I take a look at the sci-fi shoujo classic, Please Save My Earth.

Summarizing a series this long is a daunting undertaking, but MJdoes an admirable job:

“Please Save My Earth is a 21-volume soft sci-fi epic about seven Japanese children (six teenagers and one elementary school student) who discover that they are the reincarnations of a group of alien scientists who once studied the Earth from a remote base on the Moon. Their discovery is made through a series of shared dreams, in which the children re-experience their past lives, including the destruction of their home planet and their eventual deaths from an unknown illness that spread rapidly through the group during their final days. Now reborn on earth, the children seek each other out, burdened with unfinished business from their past lives while simultaneously struggling with the present.”

To check out the rest of our conversation, which touches upon the series’ themes, characters, humor, and artwork, please visit The Hooded Utilitarian.

The dreary skies of Hou Ou High

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When I do my “pick a dubious manga” polls, I have two preferred outcomes in mind. The first is that I’ll be pleasantly surprised by a manga that sounds questionable, finding a nugget of gold in an unexpected place. The second is that the book will be even worse than it sounds and that I’ll be able to unleash a bitter diatribe on something that’s offended one of my core values. The worst potential outcome is that I’ll merely be bored.

Unfortunately, the first choice in this series of reader-generated selections achieves that last result. Arata Aki’s The Beautiful Skies of Hou Ou High (Digital Manga) is garden-variety bad. Oh, it’s very bad, I assure you, but it’s not memorably bad.

It’s about a young lesbian whose mother contrives admission to an elite, all-boys’ school in the hopes that the complete immersion in a sea of wealthy dreamboats will burn the gay out of her daughter. (“The students are all fat-cats!” Mom crows. “If she gets pregnant, then we win!”) Aki doesn’t stage a train-wreck of skin-crawling sexual politics like Jun Yuzuki did with Gakuen Prince, mostly because I suspect Aki isn’t writer enough to conceive of a plot outlandish (or consistent) enough to be that awful.

Instead, we get a lot of quirky classmates out of central casting who harbor an inexplicable fascination with our heroine, Kei, whose defining characteristic is her stupidity. (“She really is an idiot,” Kei’s younger sister notes. In a moment of what’s later revealed to be understatement, her mother calls her “dimwitted.” “Man, everything about you is weak,” her first friend at school concludes.) Manga has a rich history of endearingly dumb protagonists. Kei Saeba is not among their number. She’s frantic and grating and dull, and her stupidity is so generic that it’s hard to invest any interest in it.

What passes for an ongoing subplot isn’t especially promising. The school’s administration has been blackmailed into admitting Kei, and they basically want her gone. (Sympathies, gentlemen!) The director is terrified of potential scandal involving a girl secretly attending the prestigious school, but he’s equally concerned with concealing his own secrets. I could go on, but I don’t care. Even a little.

I don’t care about stupid Kei. I don’t care about the blurry boy harem that Aki is assembling for her. I don’t care if the headmaster arranges for her to be tossed into a deep, icy well.

I do care about the fact that Digital Manga couldn’t be bothered to include translation notes for the volume, as at least knowing what some references were would have given me something to think about besides the manga I was trying to read. But no, all I had to work with were dull characters, inane plot developments, and a tone that couldn’t even work up the energy to offend me.

Blue Exorcist, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

 

The Josei Alphabet: M

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“M” is for…

Marginal, written and illustrated by Moto Hagio, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Flower, five volumes. In what sounds like Hagio in her classic speculative-fiction mode, she tells the tale of an Earth that’s faced a cataclysm that left only one woman and an average lifespan of 30 for the men. If Hagio’s name is listed after “By,” I want it.

Mesh, written and illustrated by Moto Hagio, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Flower, seven volumes. Nobody ever said I couldn’t mention two titles by the same creator in one letter, especially when that creator is Hagio. This story focuses on a teen’s decision to kill his drug-dealer father.

Midnight Secretary, written and illustrated by Tomu Ohmi, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Petit Comic, seven volumes, published in French by Soleil. In spite of her old-school fashion sense, Kaya proves to be a remarkably adaptable administrative assistant when she learns her boss is a vampire.

Mizu ni Sumi Oni, written and illustrated by Akiko Hatsu, originally serialized in Asahi Sonorama’s Mystery, one volume. This collection of horror shorts was apparently published in English by ComicsOne, though I can find no evidence of this. I include it here mostly for the gorgeous cover.

Momokan, written and illustrated by Kikuno Shirakawa, currently serialized in Kodansha’s Be Love. Cute puppy manga! Cute puppy manga! Cute puppy manga!

Josei magazines:

  • Mystery, published by Asahi Sonorama.

Licensed josei:

What starts with “M” in your josei alphabet?

 

 

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