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Manhwa Monday: Review Round-up

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Welcome to another Manhwa Monday! We’re running late this week, but we’ve got some great review links to share.

First off, at Soliloquy in Blue, Michelle Smith reviews volumes two and three of There’s Something About Sunyool, available now from NETCOMICS online.

“In the end, There’s Something About Sunyool offers a lot of crackalicious drama that is extremely fun to read. Volume two is a bit slow, as all of the bickering grows tiresome, but don’t let that dissuade you from continuing on to volume three, which is much better and ends on quite a cliffhanger. ”

Volume one is available in print now, with volume two set for release in September. Check out Michelle’s review for more.

Elswhere in reviews, at Manga Maniac Cafe, Julie takes a look at volume four of Sarasah (Yen Press). At Comic Book Bin, Chris Zimmerman reviews volume three of Jack Frost (Yen Press). Both Kristin Bomba (Comic Attack) and Charles Webb (Manga Life) check out Time and Again …

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Manga Artifacts: Lycanthrope Leo

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Back in the 1980s and 1990s, before publishers realized that they could sell manga to teenagers through Borders and Books-A-Million, VIZ and Dark Horse actively courted the comic-store crowd with blood, bullets, and boobs. It was a golden age for manly-man manga — think Crying Freeman and Hotel Harbor View — but it was also a period in which publishers licensed some bad stuff. And when I say “bad stuff,” I mean it: I’m talking ham-fisted dialogue, eyeball-bending artwork, and kooky storylines that defy logic. Lycanthrope Leo (1997), an oddity from the VIZ catalog, is one such manga, a horror story with a plot that might best be described as Teen Wolf meets The Island of Dr. Moreau with a dash of WTF?!

The Leo of the title is Leo Takizawa, a high school student with a cute girlfriend and a gruff father. In the days leading up to his seventeenth birthday, he surprises his track teammates with an astonishing, world-record performance in the hundred-meter dash. Dad, noticing Leo’s dramatic transformation from speedy string-bean to Carl Lewis challenger, realizes that his worst fear is coming true: Leo is on the verge of turning into a lycanthrope, a powerful shape-shifter capable of rending a man limb from limb. So Dad does what all caring, self-respecting parents in his situation would do: he lures his son into an abandoned cabin in the woods, then attempts to shoot him with a fancy crossbow — but not before he gives a long, impassioned speech explaining what Leo is and why lycanthropes are mankind’s avowed enemy. Dad’s garrulousness proves his undoing; like so many villains, he spends too much time delivering an expository monologue and not enough time getting down to business, thus providing Leo opportunity to assume his true form and take Dad out with one blow of his werelion’s paw.

Yes, you read that right: Leo is a werelion. I admit the idea has potential; it liberates the author Kengo Kaji from the conventions of Western were-lore — the silver bullets and full moons and gypsies — while allowing him to milk the human/animal dichotomy for its full dramatic potential. Alas, Kaji extends the were-concept to other, less majestic animals for a subplot involving a centuries-old conflict between carnivore and herbivore lycanthropes. (The meat-eaters favor wiping out mankind; the cud-chewers prefer peaceable co-existence.) The nadir of the anything-is-more-awesome-in-were-form, however, is Mayuko Asuka, a sexy young teacher who turns out to be… a were-flying squirrel. And an evil were-flying squirrel, I might add, one who isn’t above seducing a seventeen-year-old or attacking a lycanthrope who threatens to reveal too much of the carnivores’ world-domination plans.

Kenji Okamura’s artwork is awe-inspiring and awful simultaneously. On the one hand, he draws amazingly detailed monsters, rendering their fur and claws and muscle-bound chests with exquisite care, even when they’re ripping each other to pieces; imagine Sylvester Stallone in werewolf drag, and you have some idea of what the male lycanthropes look like in their animal forms. On the other hand, Okamura’s human characters look like they belong in a Fernand Léger painting, with their plastic, impassive faces. Okamura struggles to convey emotion convincingly; about the best he can do is depict Leo sweating profusely. (By my count, Leo loses twenty to thirty pounds of water weight over the course of the first volume.) Worse still, Okamura frames almost every scene from an odd vantage point that distorts the characters’ anatomy, making them look ridiculously stumpy or leggy; I honestly thought Leo was being bullied by a midget in several scenes, thanks to the extreme angle at which we view Leo’s tormentor.

If you’re wondering why you haven’t heard more about Lycanthrope Leo, that’s because VIZ suspended production on the series after just one volume, citing poor sales. It’s not hard to imagine why Leo didn’t connect with American readers; the art has a throwback-to-the-eighties look, while the story is so preposterous and self-serious that it doesn’t work as straight horror or camp. From a reader’s standpoint, the most disappointing thing about Leo is the abruptness with which the English edition ends; Kaji introduces a key character in the final chapters of volume one, leaving readers to wonder whether the carnivores and herbivores eventually achieve detente. Of course, you probably won’t care if they do, considering all the sweaty, frantic silliness that precedes the introduction of the wise were-buffalo; for all the howling and “unsheathing of steel claws,” Lycanthrope Leo is about as scary as a kitten.

Manga Artifacts is a monthly feature exploring older, out-of-print manga published in the 1980s and 1990s. For a fuller description of the series’ purpose, see the inaugural column.

LYCANTHROPE LEO, VOL. 1 • STORY BY KENGO KAJI, ART BY KENJI OKAMURA • VIZ COMMUNICATIONS • 224 pp. • NO RATING (GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, NUDITY, STRONG LANGUAGE)

Quick Takes: Shojo Beat Edition

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Welcome to the second edition of Quick Takes here at Manga Bookshelf! This week I take a look at some recent releases from Viz Media’s Shojo Beat imprint. Enjoy!

Dengeki Daisy, Vol. 1 | By Kyousuke Motomi | Published by Viz Media | Rated T+| Buy this book – As orphan Teru Kurebayashi’s older brother prepared to pass from this world, he gave her the gift of a cell phone–one which she could use to contact his mysterious friend “Daisy” who he promised would protect Teru in his absence.

Now in high school, Teru faces bullies of all kinds, including the surly school custodian, Kurosaki, who indentures her into servitude as repayment for breaking one of the school’s windows. But is Kurosaki more than he seems?

Though the mystery of “Daisy” is not maintained for long (at least for the reader) there is some real charm to this volume. Both Teru and Kurosaki are likable characters who are very easy to root for (individually and as an inevitable couple) which makes the romantic drama fun to follow.

Unfortunately, this series insists on perpetuating the sad shojo trope of a young woman who can only survive with the protection of a man–a concept that is becoming more and more tiresome for this reviewer. It’s really a shame, too. Teru appears to be a pretty tough cookie, which makes it even less believable that she’s so dependent on the fantasy she’s constructed around Daisy.

That said, this is a strong first volume containing all the essential elements for addictive high school romance: hateful antagonists, emotional drama, and just the right amount of attractive brooding. How can it be wrong?

Rasetsu, Vol. 6 | By Chika Shiomi | Published by Viz Media | Rated T+ | Buy this book – This is an emotionally heavy volume for Rasetsu, who tries to get over her feelings for Yako at the same time as she’s confronted with new truths about Kuryu (and his feelings for her). Meanwhile, Yako faces some very old spirits who mistake him for the person he most needs to forget.

What keeps this series compelling is that it is profoundly unsettled, and this applies to both the hearts of its characters and to their individual circumstances. There’s more to everyone than meets the eye. Furthermore, though each of the story’s characters is deeply conflicted, they still manage to band together into an unexpectedly warm, self-made family unit.

The love triangle between Kuryu, Rasetsu, and Yako may not be anything new to shojo manga, but it is played out in an unusually poignant manner. Each party’s strengths and weaknesses is being brought painfully to the fore, with no obvious resolution in sight.

Though this series gets off to a lukewarm start, over the course of six volumes it has become one of my favorite of Viz’s shojo series currently in release. Recommended.

Read previous reviews of this series.

Butterflies, Flowers, Vol. 3 | By Yuki Yoshihara | Published by Viz Media | Rated M (Mature) | Buy this book – In this installment, Choko and Masayuki take their first overnight trip together, with the intention of finally consummating their relationship. Of course the weekend is crashed by a collection of family and friends, though the two eventually find some time alone to do the deed.

The thing (the only thing) that saves this series is its humor. If it was not genuinely funny, chapter after chapter, it would be nothing more than the sad tale of deeply controlling man desperately working to get into his girlfriend’s pants. Is that too harsh? Maybe. It’s possible I’m still holding a grudge over “strict but warm,” which ranks right up there with “I get the message” and “Men have dreams that women will never be able to understand” on my list of Great Moments in Imported Sexism.

To be honest, though, not much has changed in this volume. Sure, Choko stands up for herself early on, accepting a date with another childhood acquaintance to show Masayuki that he does not, in fact, own her. But when the date goes awry, Masayuki is there to save the day and (more importantly) remind her how foolish she is to defy him. “This is what you get for not listening to me.” Yes, that’s actually what he says.

Fortunately, the smart humor that hooked me on this series’ first volume is still very much in play. That alone keeps me hanging on.

Read previous reviews of this series.

Stepping on Roses, Vol. 2 | By Rinko Ueda | Published by Viz Media | Rated T+ | Buy this book – The plot thickens in this volume, as it is revealed that Soichiro’s plan for success revolves entirely around manipulating his friend, Nozomu, into falling in love with his new wife, Sumi. Meanwhile, Sumi’s brother has already frittered away the money she sacrificed herself for, leaving the kids in the care of a slovenly drunk.

This volume is more engaging than the last, though that’s not exactly high praise. The story has become no less predictable (and no more believable) than it began, and it’s still difficult to watch its weak-willed heroine smile gratefully as she’s tossed around like an object by the series’ sad lineup of fairly repulsive men.

Some revelations about Soichiro’s past begin to offer up a bit more dimension, both to him and to the story overall, but can the payoff ever be great enough to make up for what’s lacking? Thankfully, Sumi’s country-bumpkin bumbling has been toned down in this volume, which does help a little.

Though I’m far from sold on Stepping on Roses, I’m at least beginning to feel mildly entertained. But can romance between these characters ever truly deliver?

Read previous reviews of this series.

Review copies provided by the publisher.

The Manga Hall of Shame: Color of Rage

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When reading historical manga, I grant the artist creative license to tell a story that evokes the spirit of an age rather than its details. What rankles my inner historian, however, are the kind of anachronisms that result from sheer laziness or paucity of imagination: modern slang, gross disregard for well-established fact. Alas, Color of Rage is filled with the kind of historical howlers that would make C. Vann Woodward or Leon Litwack gnash their teeth in despair.

The story begins in 1783. Off the coast of Japan, a whaling ship sinks in turbulent seas, claiming the lives of all but two crew members: George, a Japanese man, and King, an African-American slave. The two wash ashore, cut away their shackles, and set out in search of a community where they can live peacefully — no small challenge, given how conspicuous King is among such a homogenous population. Of course, this being a manga by Kazuo Koike, George and King’s journey is anything but picaresque, as they bump up against the vigorous defenders of Edo-era status quo: ruthless daimyo, yakuza thugs, samurai-for-hire.

For such a far-fetched premise to work, its principal characters’ thoughts, words, and actions need to make sense in historical context, yet George and King behave like modern action heroes deposited in feudal Japan, not products of the eighteenth century. During scenes of limb-severing carnage, for example, they banter with the consummate skill of Harrison Ford and Will Smith, pausing occasionally to deliver speeches about finding a place where “color doesn’t matter” — a noble sentiment, to be sure, but one cribbed from a Civil Rights speech circa 1964, not an eighteenth century abolitionist’s tract. A similar sense of historical amnesia informs another scene in which King declares that conditions are worse for Japanese peasants than for slaves in the American South, leaving me to wonder how a slave working on a colonial plantation would have any comparative basis for making such an assertion or, frankly, any notion of the “American South,” given that the Revolutionary War was still in full swing at the time King was gang-pressed into whaling. Other historical oversights abound: how did a Japanese man end up in the galley of an American whaling ship? Where did George learn to speak fluent English? Who taught King to handle a sword? And so forth.

colorofrageinteriorThe bigger problem, however, is that King entertains notions of race, class, and gender that would have been as alien to American colonists as they were to Japanese farmers and overlords. His blind commitment to addressing inequality wherever he encounters it — on the road, at a brothel — leads him to do and say incredibly reckless things that require George’s boffo swordsmanship and insider knowledge of the culture to rectify. If anything, King’s idealism makes him seem simple-minded in comparison with George, who comes across as far more worldly, pragmatic, and clever. I’m guessing that Koike thought he’d created an honorable character in King without realizing the degree to which stereotypes, good and bad, informed the portrayal. In fairness to Koike, it’s a trap that’s ensnared plenty of American authors and screenwriters who ought to know that the saintly black character is as clichéd and potentially offensive a stereotype as the most craven fool in Uncle Tom’s Cabin. By relying on American popular entertainment for his information on slavery, however, Koike falls into the very same trap, inadvertently resurrecting some hoary racial and sexual tropes in the process.

Koike’s treatment of female characters, like his handling of racial issues, can be downright ugly. In a valiant effort to head off feminists at the pass, the editors acknowledge Koike’s propensity for writing “samurai-era yarns with a certain sense of chauvinist violence and pulpy sexiness.” Now I’m all for “pulpy sexiness” — doesn’t that sound like fun? But the casual mingling of sex and violence in Color of Rage crosses the line from mere chauvinism to outright misogyny. The nadir is a scene in which King strips a woman naked and crams dirt into her mouth until she chokes. Her crime: being turned on by the sight of King’s big, strapping body (which, I might add, artist Seisaku Kano treats as a kind of fetish-object throughout the book). Richard Wright might have known how to make the moment horrific, tragic, and peculiarly just, but someone as ill-versed in American history as Koike does not. The result is an uncomfortable mixture of kink and racism that hints at the story’s 1970s roots; one wonders what, exactly, Koike had read or seen to inspire such a florid racial fantasy.

The artwork is a hodgepodge of styles and techniques. The best pages appear to be done in charcoal or pastels, and have the soft edges and expressionist lighting I associate with fin-de-siecle modernists such as Käthe Kollwitz. The opening scene, in particular, is beautifully rendered, a harrowing sequence of wordless, slightly abstract panels that reveals how George and King survived their maritime ordeal:

corv2

Most of the art, however, looks like homage to Goseki Kojima’s work on Lone Wolf and Cub, Samurai Executioner, and Path of the Assassin — not a bad thing, given Kojima’s superb draftsmanship and penchant for drawing memorable mugs. Seisaku Kano’s character designs are fine, but his fight scenes are poorly composed, a riot of swords, guts, and bodies in motion that fail to give the reader a clear picture of what’s happening. That might be an OK artistic choice once in a while, perhaps to suggest the chaos of hand-to-hand combat, but as the dominant mode of depicting action it soon grows tiresome, leaving the reader feeling more pummeled than entertained.

Though some of these criticisms could be leveled at Koike’s other work — Lady Snowblood, Crying Freeman and, yes, Lone Wolf and Cub — Color of Rage lacks something common to the aforementioned manga: a sense of play. Koike never takes himself too seriously in these other works, even when the plot takes a dark turn or two. In Color of Rage, however, his sincerity proves his undoing, as he tries to insert a noble black character into a world of vicious overlords and amoral samurai. King’s high-minded speeches and interventions clash violently with the story’s “pulpy sexiness” (for want of a better term), producing something that’s neither dramatically compelling nor fun to read. Die-hard Koike fans may feel the completist’s urge to buy Color of Rage — especially since Dark Horse has given it such a deluxe treatment — but casual readers will find much less here to love.

This is a revised version of a review that originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 5/14/2008.

COLOR OF RAGE • BY KAZUO KOIKE AND SEISAKU KANO • DARK HORSE • 414 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

Off the Shelf: Damnably Dubious

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Welcome to another edition of Off the Shelf with MJ & Michelle! I’m joined, as always, by Soliloquy in Blue‘s Michelle Smith.

This week’s installment includes titles from Yen Press, Viz Media, Tokyopop, Del Rey Manga, and Digital Manga Publishing.

MJ: The air is like soup here in western Massachusetts this week, which means there’s been nothing for me to do but huddle against the air conditioner with a volume of manga. What about you?

MICHELLE: I’ve certainly been staying inside as much as possible, though in the South central air conditioning is a must so there’s no actual huddling required. :)

This weekend, for example, I passed a lovely afternoon binging on Spiral: The Bonds of Reasoning, the first of the series I sampled in our Shounen Sundays experiment that I have managed to continue (though I promise not to abandon the rest!).

MJ: Oh, really? Has your opinion of the series changed after a bit of total immersion?

MICHELLE: Mm, a bit, though I liked it to begin with. It began as a mystery series in which high schooler Ayumu Narumi gets involved in investigating the Blade Children, the same topic that his genius detective brother was looking into before his disappearance. Then it morphed into what the author called a “showdown manga,” in which various members of the Blade Children issue challenges (at his brother’s orders) designed to awaken Ayumu’s potential.

This weekend I read volumes four through six. As volume four begins, Ayumu has just been duped by one of the Blade Children and is feeling pretty crappy about it, but his clever and useful sidekick, Hiyono, arranges to get herself taken hostage, knowing that when someone *else* is on the line, Ayumu will forget his worries and do his best to save her. What follows is a really awesome challenge in which Ayumu and the Blade Children engage in a game to see who can secure both Hiyono *and* a tape containing evidence of crimes committed by the Blade Children. There are a lot of clever twists and it’s a lot of fun to read; even the character who in earlier volumes screamed moe to me is revealed to be a lot smarter and stronger than previously suspected….

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The Manga Hall of Shame: The Qwaser of Stigmata

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Though I frequently grouse about fanservice , I have a grudging respect for those artists who make costume failures, panty shots, and general shirtlessness play essential roles in advancing their plots. Consider Pretty Face, the story of a teenage jock who undergoes reconstructive surgery after a bus accident, only to end up looking like the girl he has a crush on (at least from the waist up). You don’t need to be a pervert to imagine how Yasuhiro Kano exploits the set-up for maximum T&A potential — even the hero gets groped and ogled, though Rando isn’t above leering at and lusting after girls himself. I loathe Pretty Face, yet I have to admit that Kano obviates the need for gusts of wind and breast-level collisions by making gender confusion such a fundamental part of his story; the fanservice may be gross and stupid, but it isn’t gratuitous.

Then there’s The Qwaser of Stigmata.

Qwaser raises the panty-shot-as-plot-element stakes, then kicks Pretty Face down the stairs, taunts it, and takes its lunch money with a gimmick so offensive I’m almost embarrassed to type the words: the characters rely on breast milk for their superpowers. Those characters have chosen St. Mihailov Academy as ground zero for an epic showdown involving religious icons, nubile maidens, and weapons derived from the periodic table of the elements. (No doubt Dmitri Mendeleev is tossing in his grave right now.) From the standpoint of an artist writing for a shonen magazine like Monthly Champion Red, the parochial school setting provides the perfect vehicle for celebrating fetishes under the guise of world-building. No stone goes unturned, from busty nuns and busty schoolgirls to moe-bait characters in spectacles and knee socks; there’s even a bit of fan service for the ladies that takes the form of a smoldering priest in an eyepatch and a sullen, silver-haired Russian named Alexander “Sasha” Nikolaevich Hell. (Or “Her,” in the Tokyopop translation.)

As with most manga featuring combatants of the cloth, the religious iconography seems more a pretext for cool outfits than an integral part of the story. The characters occasionally pause to contemplate the Theotokos of Tsarytsin, a religious icon depicting the Virgin Mary nursing the baby Jesus, but why they want the icon remains mysterious; only by consulting the Wikipedia entry on Qwaser did I learn that this particular image is “fabled to alter the homeostasis of the world.” For a manga exploring a religion that’s sure to be a mystery to most of its readers, in- and outside Japan, it’s curious that no one ever discusses what Russian Orthodox Christians believe, how they practice their faith, or what caused doctrinal crises within the Russian Church — a pity, because as this Slavophile will tell you, there is a boffo manga to be written about the Old Believers’ showdown with Peter the Great. (Don’t believe me? Rent a DVD of the Mariinski Theater’s production of Khovanshchina, an opera so badass that several characters immolate themselves rather than submit to Peter’s will.) The few other references to religion are more window-dressing than anything else; Qwasers, those holy warriors of the periodic table, fight alongside “Maria Magdalens,” described by Wikipedia’s anonymous authors as “the alter-ego combat partner of a Qwaser whose primary function is to provide soma [breast milk] not unlike how one may refuel a car or even a warplane while in flight.” (After reading that sentence, I’m not sure which is more egregious: the Wikipedia authors’ attempt to write about Qwaser in a pseudo-scientific voice, or the manga-ka’s decision to call these women “Maria Magdalens.”)

If the fanservice and faux-religious elements weren’t quite enough to land Qwaser a spot in The Manga Hall of Shame, the dreadful artwork and ADD plotting put it over the top. The fight scenes are utterly incomprehensible, a blur of speedlines, explosions, and whirling dervishes punctuated by the occasional pin-up drawing of a character brandishing a weapon or enduring some unpleasant, sexually tinged violence. The plotting isn’t much better, as the story skips between cliche scenes of classroom bullying and tortured, confusing conversations between the series’ two principal female characters. The dialogue takes the cake for sheer awfulness, however; it’s the kind of series in which villains state the atomic weight of the elements they’re manipulating, exclaim nonsense like “My heart that burns will slice through you!”, and utter things so vile that that the publisher substitutes the word “bleep” for references to female genitalia and sexual congress.

The bottom line: The Qwaser of Stigmata is a shonen manga that aspires to the subversiveness of porn, but doesn’t have the imagination or the weirdness to rise to the level of genuine kink.

THE QWASER OF STIGMATA, VOL. 1: HOLY WARS IGNITE • ART BY KENETSU SATO, STORY BY HIROYUKI YOSHINO • TOKYOPOP • 200 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

Short Takes: Manga Hall of Shame Edition

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I have a special fascination with bad manga. And when I say “bad manga,” I’m not talking about stories that are merely cliche or derivative of other, better series — for better or worse, manga is a popular medium, and popular media survive, in part, by giving audiences what they want, even if that means more of the same — I’m talking about stories so ineptly drawn, so spectacularly dumb, or so offensive that they make Happy Cafe look like Phoenix by comparison. To judge from the coverage of this year’s San Diego Comic-Con, I’m not alone in my connoisseurship of wretched books; among the most widely reported panels was The Best and Worst Manga of 2010, in which a group of seasoned reviewers singled out titles for praise and punishment. To kick off my Bad Manga Week, therefore, I thought it would be a fun exercise to look at three of the titles that made the worst-of list to see if they were truly suited for inclusion in The Manga Hall of Shame. The candidates: Orange Planet (Del Rey), a shojo farce starring one clueless girl and three hot guys; Red Hot Chili Samurai (Tokyopop), a comedy about a hero who favors spicy peppers over PowerBars whenever he needs an energy boost; and Togainu no Chi (Tokyopop), an action-thriller that proudly boasts its origins as a “ground-breaking bishonen game.”

orangeplanet1Orange Planet, Vol. 1
By Haruka Fukushima • Del Ret • 200 pp. • Rated Teen (13+)
Haruka Fukushima specializes in what I call “chastely dirty” manga for tween girls — that is, manga that places the heroine in compromising situations, teasing the audience with the prospect of a kiss or a grope that never quite materializes because the heroine is a good girl, thank you very much. In Orange Planet, Fukushima’s sex-phobic lead is Rui, a junior high student who lives by herself — she’s been an orphan since childhood — and pays for her apartment with a paper route. (That must be some paper route, considering she lives in a modern high-rise apartment and not, say, a cardboard box.) Rui is one corner of a highly contrived love square; the other three points are all standard shojo types, from the boy next door and the hot young teacher to the mystery man from the heroine’s past.

Why any of them find her interesting is one of Orange Planet‘s great puzzles; Rui is ditzy, hysterical, and prudish, three qualities that men of all ages generally dislike in female companions. Why Rui would find any of them attractive is the series’ other, as all three boys behave like boors, popping into her bed unannounced (yes, you read that right) and offering her private “tutoring” sessions. The art is less offensive than the story, evocative of Natsumi Ando’s far better Kitchen Princess with its cast of pointy-chinned, doll-eyed characters and sparkling, rose-filled backdrops. The layouts are sloppily executed, careening from panels of awkwardly-posed bodies to extreme closeups of Rui looking terrified that one of the boys might actually lean in for a kiss. Maybe I would have found Orange Planet titillating when I was eleven or twelve, but I’d like to think that I was never quite that clueless about boys. Just sayin’.

Shameworthiness: Orange Planet earns a place in The Manga Hall of Shame for insulting girls’ intelligence with a wish-fulfillment story so slapdash it’s painful.

redhotchiliRed Hot Chili Samurai, Vol. 1
BY Yoshitsugu Katagiri • Tokyopop • 196 pp. • Rated Older Teen (16+)
If you crossed Popeye with Samurai Champloo, the results might look a lot like Red Hot Chili Samurai, a labored comedy about a hot-headed swordsman who snacks on peppers — the spicier, the better — to turbo-charge his combat skills. Like all good heroes, Kokaku has a posse of fellow butt-kickers that includes Ento, a sarcastic samurai in glasses; Ran, a feisty woman who vacillates between thinking Kokaku is cute and thinking he’s an ass; and Shou, a ninja who communicates exclusively through handwritten signs, a la Louis in The Trumpet of the Swan. The four tackle an assortment of stock villains, from a yakuza thug who runs a crooked gambling parlor to a pimp who preys on vulnerable young women. Each story follows the same basic template, serving up a predictable mixture of jokes about Shou’s reluctance to speak and Kokaku’s fixation with chili peppers (“Maybe you should give those things up,” one character tells him, “You’ll get hemorrhoids, you know.”), as well as anachronistic sight gags (one character invents a Polaroid-style camera) and scratching-the-fourth-wall observations about samurai manga conventions. Clumsy, speedline-heavy fight scenes and character designs that suggest Champloo doujinshi only reinforce the bad impression left by the script, which is filled with long, airless pauses that precede every joke or snappy comeback. Take my samurai — please!

Shameworthiness: Red Hot Chili Samurai is dull and repetitive to be sure, and poorly drawn to boot, but isn’t quite cringe-worthy enough to merit inclusion in The Manga Hall of Shame’s permanent collection.

togainuTogainu no Chi, Vol. 1 
By Suguro Chayamuchi and NITRO+ CHiRAL • Tokyopop • 200 pp. • Rating: Older Teen (16+)
Here are seven words that ought to strike fear into every manga reader’s heart: “Based on the ground-breaking bishonen game!” Not only is the tagline vague — what kind of game? how are bishonen involved? what makes it ground-breaking? — but it also suggests that the editorial staff couldn’t think of anything positive to say about a sci-fi adventure that ought, in theory, to appeal to folks who liked Battle Royale. Alas, Togainu no Chi plays like an ungainly mixture of slash fiction and Deadman Wonderland, depositing its pretty, vacant heroes into a future run by gangs who sponsor elaborate street-fighting tournaments. The post-apocalyptic setting is suggested primarily through dark, overly toned streetscapes filled with rubbish and crumbling pavement; one could be forgiven for thinking the story takes place somewhere under the Cross-Bronx Expressway and not a Japanese city circa “20XX A.D.” In fact, nothing about the setting really suggests the future, near or distant, save for a few cliche visual signifiers: sword-wielding characters in trenchcoats, bad guys with enormous tattoos and multiple piercings, the complete absence of daylight. The action sequences are as poorly executed as the backgrounds, a confusing mishmash of blood spatters and facial close-ups (usually as someone is yelling “Noooooo….”), while the dialogue see-saws between manly, expletive-laden exchanges and exposition-heavy speeches. Perhaps Togainu no Chi‘s biggest offense is the laziness of the storytelling; the author frequently interrupts the narrative to explain the rules of The Igura (the tournament at the heart of the story), yet it’s still not clear by the end of volume one how the game is actually played, though it does involve dog tags and playing cards. Or something like that.

About the best I can say for Togainu no Chi is that the menfolk are generically handsome, providing fanfic writers ample opportunity to pair the boys off for some manly adventures followed by some sweet, sweet lovin’.

Shameworthiness: Move that Picasso to the left — this one needs a space in the permanent Manga Hall of Shame gallery.

Manhwa Monday: August Preview

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Welcome to another Manhwa Monday! With August already underway, it’s time to take a look at this month’s anticipated manhwa releases.

Dark Horse makes an appearance this month with volume six of Bride of the Water God, one of the prettiest manhwa series around. For a little background, check out Kate Dacey’s review of the series’ first five volumes at The Manga Critic.

With NETCOMICS remaining quiet in terms of print releases (and even web updates, lately) and most of Udon’s series on seemingly indefinite hiatus, the rest of the month goes to Yen Press. Yen does their best to fill the void with new volumes of a number of popular releases, including Goong, Sarasah, Moon Boy, Black God, and the dramatic final volume of One Thousand and One Nights.

For anxious readers, reviews of some of these volumes have already started to turn up online. At Manga Maniac Cafe, Julie deems volume 8 of Moon Boy, “… the best installment so far,” and states that she’ll be “counting the days until Volume 9 hits stores.” …

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All You Need Is Kill

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Author: Hiroshi Sakurazaka
Translator: Alexander O. Smith
U.S. publisher: Viz Media
ISBN: 9781421527611
Released: July 2009
Original release: 2004

I really don’t remember exactly when and where I first heard about Hiroshi Sakurazaka’s All You Need Is Kill but after I did it seemed to keep popping up everywhere I looked. It was even picked up by Warner Brothers to make into a live-action film. All You Need Is Kill was originally published in Japan as a light novel in 2004. The English edition, translated by Alexander O. Smith, was one of the very first books to be released by Viz Media’s Haikasoru imprint in 2009. I haven’ read much military science fiction but All You Need Is Kill certainly is that, complete with alien intelligence and battle suits. What particularly caught my interest in the novel was that the main character, Keiji Kiriya, dies during his first battle only to wake up in his bunk thirty hours before over and over again.

The battle on Kotoiushi Island would be pivotal in humanity’s war with the Mimics. If lost, the rest of Japan would follow, along with the technology that made it possible to fight against the constantly evolving invading force. Keiji is a Jacket jockey in the United Defense Force’s 301st Armored Infantry Division which was sent to reinforce the island. He doesn’t even make it through his first battle. Or his second. Or his third. Somehow stuck in a time-loop he is forced to live and die in the same battle again and again. The only thing he can do is learn to fight a little better and hope to survive a little longer each time. Rita Vrataski, member of the U.S. Army Special Forces, has killed more Mimics than any other person in the world. Known as the Full Metal Bitch, not that anyone would call her that to her face, she is formidable, efficient, and scary as hell on the battlefield. She is also one of the last hopes remaining to end the war and may be the only person who can help Keiji escape his fate.

Although All You Need Is Kill is primarily entertainment and not overly serious, Sakurazaka still works in some environmental, technological, and social commentary. At least for me, the story also had a convincing emotional impact. Repeatedly living through the horrors of war, your own death, and the death of your friends and those around you changes a person and Sakurazaka captures this quite well. I like Keiji a lot and was most interested in his story, told in the first person. The third quarter of the book, written in the third person, focuses on Rita and the background of the war with the Mimics. While interesting and certainly important, especially in understanding Rita and her history, I still looked forward to getting back to Keiji. Which is not to say that I didn’t like Rita, because I did. I liked most of the secondary characters as well; Keiji’s bunk-mate and veteran Yonabaru in particular amused me as much as he tended to annoy others in his platoon. I also appreciated the fact that not everyone was assumed to be straight (although pretty much all of them were.)

The translation Smith has done for All You Need Is Kill is great–it’s straightforward with a good flow that hits hard and fast. There is also a nice use of repeated phrases to emphasize the time-loop that Keiji’s stuck in. The original light novel was illustrated by Yoshitoshi ABe and it’s a pity that none of his art was included in the Haikasoru edition beyond the cover–I really would have liked to have seen more of his work. I enjoyed All You Need Is Kill even more than I was expecting to and was impressed by how much action and story Sakurazaka was able to fit into such a relatively short work (it comes in at just under 200 pages.) I’m really looking forward to picking up his only other work currently available in English, also released through Haikasoru, Slum Online.

The Color Trilogy

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At Manga Bookshelf’s Off the Shelf, Michelle Smith and I discuss Kim Dong Hwa’s Color trilogy (The Color of Earth, The Color of Water, and he Color of Heaven) published in English by First Second. Here’s an excerpt from the discussion:

MJ: Let’s get right to the meat of things. There’s been a lot of discussion among critics about whether or not this series is inherently sexist. Michelle, I’d like to start with bringing up a statement you made in your recent review of The Color of Heaven:

“I know that the limited scope of life for a woman in this time and place is historically accurate, and that for a mother to say, “There is nothing better in life than getting married” reflects a period where marriage provided the ultimate in protection for a woman … To be honest, I think a large part of my ire is due to the fact that The Color Trilogy is written by a man. If a woman wrote these things, I’d still be annoyed, but coming from a male author I can’t help but read such statements as downright condescending. Try as I might to view these attitudes through a historical lens, I’m simply unable to get over my knee-jerk reaction.”

First of all, I wouldn’t characterize your reaction as knee-jerk at all. I think what you’re reacting to (and I mentioned this in comments, but I’ll reiterate it here) is not the story’s historical context, but the author’s own sexism which he reveals in the way he portrays the realities of the period. My immediate thought upon finishing the series was that I found it inexpressibly sad. Ehwa’s mother spends almost the entire series teaching her daughter about what a woman’s life is in their world and helping her learn how to endure a lifetime of waiting and heartache that can only be relieved by the companionship of a beloved man. And I suspect there is quite a bit of historical accuracy in this sense of utter helplessness and lack of worth placed on a single woman in that period.

But despite the bleakness of their circumstances, Kim portrays it all with a loving nostalgia. Even when expressing the sadness and longing felt by Ehwa and her mother as they wait for their men, he portrays it all as beautiful and even romantic. This isn’t matter of being true to the period. These are Kim’s own values being revealed here, and that’s what we’re reacting to. The same story could be told without that veil of fond nostalgia and it would read very, very differently. If this series had actually been written during that time period, that would be different matter as well, but Kim is a contemporary writer, and as such, he’s responsible to contemporary readers for the story he’s chosen to tell and how he tells it.

Read the full discussion here.

Weekend Quick Takes

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Welcome to Quick Takes at Manga Bookshelf, a new weekly feature, offering brief opinions of recent releases, particularly (but not exclusively) mid-series volumes of ongoing manga. We begin this week with releases from Del Rey Manga, Bandai Entertainment, Viz Media, and Dark Horse Manga.

Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei: The Power of Negative Thinking, Vol. 6 | By Koji Kumeta | Published by Del Rey Manga | Rated OT (16+) | Buy this book – The eternal challenge of a gag comic, of course, is to remain funny time and time again. And perhaps the additional challenge faced by a gag manga (especially in translation) is to continuously engage readers despite the fact that nothing ever really happens.

Western fans of manga (and this reviewer is no exception) have generally been lured into the medium by the promise of epic drama, romance, or adventure. How can a multi-volume series of stand-alone jokes ever hope to compete?

If any series has a chance, it’s this one. Six volumes in, this series funnier than ever. And though the humor remains sharp, its heavy reliance on culturally-specific jokes has declined just enough to satisfy even its early skeptics (or so one would hope). Highly recommended.

Read previous reviews of this series.

Lucky Star, Vol. 4 | By Kagami Yoshimizu | Published by Bandai Entertainment | Rated 13+ | Buy this book – Speaking of gag manga, perhaps the toughest sell of all to western manga fans is the 4-koma, a 4-panel style of manga similar to newspaper comic strips in the west. Despite widespread acclaim for Kiyohiko Azuma’s Azumanga Daiho, 4-koma manga in general has had a fairly dismal track record among western readers.

Enter Lucky Star, a 4-koma manga that happens to be the basis for an insanely popular anime series of the same name. Given that fact, licensing the manga should have been a no-brainer. Sadly, Bandai’s early releases were marred by a nearly-unreadable translation that sucked all potential humor from this slice-of-life comedy.

Fortunately, those days are over. Though Lucky Star‘s otaku-focused humor may still be an acquired taste, translator William Flanagan (brought on to the project beginning with volume three) displays its charms to their greatest advantage, giving the series new life in the western market. For fans of the anime series, this volume is a must-buy. And for everyone else, it may finally be worth giving a try.

Read previous reviews of this series.

Kimi ni Todoke: From Me To You, Vol. 5 | By Karuho Shiina | Published by Viz Media | Rated Teen | Buy this book – With Sawako now aware of her feelings for Kazehaya, this series is finally able to focus on romantic feelings between some of its other characters, which adds extra depth to this volume and even to Sawako, who is able to get out of her own head enough to actually notice what’s going on. Also, Chizu and Ayane meet Sawako’s parents in this volume, which is worth the cover price all on its own.

As awesome as Sawako is as a character, this series’ greatest strengths rely heavily on the richness of its supporting characters, so it’s nice to see them get some dedicated “screen time” this time around.

This series is exceptionally slow-moving, even for a shojo romance manga, yet it still manages to be increasingly satisfying, chapter after chapter. Though this volume lacks the intensity of volume four’s bitter romantic rivalry, its quiet drama is considerably more poignant than anything the series has offered so far. It is, undoubtedly, my favorite yet. Recommended.

Read previous reviews of this series.

Okimono Kimono | By Mokona (CLAMP) | Published by Dark Horse Manga | Buy this book – Perhaps the most important thing to note when discussing Okimono Kimono is that though it is written by CLAMP’s Mokona and released specifically by a manga publisher, there is very little manga in this book. In fact, the short manga included near the end of this volume is perhaps its least interesting aspect overall.

That said, what this volume does offer is a beautiful introduction to the world of the kimono, highlighted by some of Mokona’s personal wardrobe as well as a few of her own designs. Manga fans unfamiliar with the conventions of kimono will be easily enticed by designs inspired by characters from xxxHolic (a kimono featuring the full wrath of the pipe fox is a personal favorite).

Mokona’s original designs offer a pleasant transition into the later depictions of more traditional kimono, some of which are likely to appear overly-busy and jarring to the western eye. A transcribed conversation between Mokona and Puffy AmiYumi’s Onuki Ami is a real treat, too, as Mokona indoctrinates Ami into the ways of the kimono.

Though CLAMP fans may be disappointed with this book’s lack of manga offerings, there is much to please anyone interested in a modern look at traditional Japanese dress.

Check back next weekend for more Quick Takes, here at Manga Bookshelf!

Review copies provided by the publishers.

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: ES: Eternal Sabbath

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Back in June, Brigid Alverson, Robin Brenner, Martha Cornog and I gave a presentation at the American Library Association’s annual conference called “The Best Manga You’re Not Reading.” Our goal was to remind librarians that manga isn’t just for teens by highlighting fourteen titles that we thought would appeal to older patrons. Response to our presentation was terrific, so I decided to make “The Best Manga You’re Not Reading” a regular feature here at The Manga Critic. Some months I’ll shine the spotlight on something obscure or out-of-print; other months I’ll feature a title that you may have heard about (or even read) because I think it has the potential to appeal to readers who aren’t necessarily mangaphiles. This month’s title — ES: Eternal Sabbath (Del Rey) — was one of Brigid’s picks, a sci-fi manga that she felt had strong visuals and a suitably creepy atmosphere. I couldn’t agree more, so I decided to revise an old review from my PopCultureShock days to explain why you ought to read this trippy, thought-provoking story about the perils of cloning and extrasensory perception.

ES: ETERNAL SABBATH, VOLS. 1-8

BY FUYUMI SORYO • DEL REY • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

The vivid images that haunt us when we sleep seem like perfect fodder for art, yet we often produce dream-inspired work that’s much goofier and far less potent than our nocturnal imaginings: think of Salvador Dali’s unabashedly Freudian dream sequence in Spellbound (the one false note in an otherwise great thriller), or John Fuseli’s heavy-handed symbolism in The Nightmare (in which a Rubenesque sleeper is tormented by a ghostly horse and an incubus, the ultimate Romantic two-fer). These images fail to shock because they seem too mannered, too staid — in short, too neat, failing to capture the subconscious mind’s ability to juxtapose the banal with the fantastic. In ES: Eternal Sabbath, however, manga-ka Fuyumi Soryo (best known to American readers for the shojo drama Mars) steers clear of the cliches and overripe imagery that reduce so many dreamy works to kitsch, producing a taut, spooky thriller that reminds us just how weird and terrifying a place the mind can be.

The first volume of ES introduces us to Shuro, a young man with the ability to read thoughts. Shuro uses the information he gathers from other people to impersonate their friends and family members, wiping their memories clean when he tires of the situation. His aimless routine is upended by a chance encounter with neuroscientist Mine Kujyou, who spots Shuro sauntering past a brutal crime scene in a state of utter indifference, as if he knew what was about to transpire. Her researcher’s instinct piqued, she begins to track Shuro’s movements, initiating a game of cat-and-mouse that quickly escalates into psychological warfare.
In a plot twist that would surely please Fox Mulder, a researcher from a clandestine government laboratory arrives on the scene, Smoking Man-style, to explain that Shuro is, in fact, a clone, created by scientists on the hunt for the “eternal sabbath,” a.k.a. eternal youth, gene. (The psychic powers powers are a happy by-product of the experiment.) Shuro escaped from his creators with fellow clone Isaac, an even more powerful, less scrupulous mind reader with a destructive agenda. Mine must then decide whether to assist Shuro and Isaac’s creator in re-capturing the wayward clones, or to allow Shuro to disappear back into the shadows and resume his impostor life of borrowed memories and feigned emotions.

To be sure, many of ES: Eternal Sabbath’s themes are science fiction staples: do scientists have an ethical obligation to treat engineered life forms with the same care as humans? Are there realms of knowledge and experience that cannot be quantified or explained through modern science? That such tried-and-true questions inform but never overwhelm the narrative is testament to Soryo’s storytelling skills. She creates a small, intimately linked cast whose conflicting desires, insecurities, fears, and friendships dramatize the series’ overarching theme, what does it mean to be human?, while underscoring the poignancy of the clones’ liminal status. (Isaac, as his name suggests, was intended as a sacrifice; his creators raised him for the sole purpose of studying and dissecting him.)

If her storytelling chops are strong, Soryo’s life drawing skills are not. Her character designs have a languid quality that makes them seem oddly placid in scenes fraught with conflict. Where Soryo shines are the dream sequences, which are visceral and unsettling. Some of the symbols she employs — horses, thorns — are familiar from television and movie dreams, yet the way in which she orchestrates these dreams is not, as she captures the peculiar rhythm and logic of a nightmare. One of the most effective sequences occurs right at the beginning of the series: a large insect emerges from a disturbingly organic mass that suddenly shatters into hundreds of living, moving pieces. The strangeness of the image, the abrupt shift in mood, the blurry line between inanimate and animate objects — these feel like an authentic product of the subconscious, and not a Freudian rebus to be decoded by the audience.

I could cavil about a few details (the translation is rather flat, as are Soryo’s pre-fab backgrounds), but on the whole, this eight-volume series has few wasted pages. The story moves at a brisk clip without sacrificing characterization or common sense; the art suggests the workings of the subconscious mind without silliness; and the ending is genuinely moving and surprising. Science fiction fanatics will find much to like here, as will horror buffs and readers who like the idea that women can kick butt in the sciences, Lawrence Summers and evil clones be damned.

This is an updated version of a review that appeared at PopCultureShock on 6/22/2008. The Best Manga You’re Not Reading is an occasional feature that highlights titles that aren’t getting the critical attention — or readership — they deserve. Click here for the inaugural column; click here for the series archive.

Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris: B-

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From the back cover:
Sookie Stackhouse is a small-time cocktail waitress in Bon Temps, Louisiana. She’s quiet, keeps to herself, and doesn’t get out much. Not because she’s not pretty. She is. It’s just that, well, Sookie has this sort of “disability.” She can read minds. And that doesn’t make her too datable. Then along comes Bill. He’s tall, dark, handsome—and Sookie can’t hear a word he’s thinking. He’s exactly the type of guy she’s been waiting for all her life…

But Bill has a disability of his own: he’s a vampire with a bad reputation. But he is an interesting addition to the town, and Sookie can’t help but listen to what everyone else thinks about Bill… especially since she’s starting to fall for the buff bloodsucker. But when a string of murders hits town—along with a gang of truly nasty vampires looking for Bill—Sookie wonders if having an undead boyfriend is such a bright idea.

And when one of her coworkers is killed, Sookie realizes that Bill and his friends may have some special plans for a woman who can read minds…

Review:
I’ve had the first few books in the Southern Vampire series for a long time, but ever since acquiring them I’ve had doubts about whether I’d actually like them. My doubts appeared justified when an attempt to watch an episode of True Blood, the HBO series based on the novels, ended in about five minutes. Still, I can usually tolerate “blood and boobies” (description credit to Felicia Day) better in print than on screen, so I thought I’d give the books a shot.

As most probably know by now, this is the story of Sookie Stackhouse, a waitress in small-town Bon Temps, Louisiana. Sookie is telepathic, which has made dating difficult, but when she meets vampire Bill Compton and cannot read his thoughts, she’s intrigued. Eventually they become a couple, but as Sookie learns more about Bill’s world she realizes that most vampires are quite unpleasant and that the hierarchy in their society means that Bill’s “superior,” Eric, can command her attendance as he chooses and there’s nothing Bill can do to prevent it.

Their relationship struggles play out against a rural backdrop that’s presently plagued by a string of murders for which Bill and Sookie’s brother, Jason, are individually suspected. This mystery fades into the background at times, but its resolution was a genuine surprise to me, though in retrospect it really shouldn’t have been. There is a good deal of sex once Sookie and Bill get together, but it stops short of being so explicit that it offends my prudish sensibilities.

As a Southerner, I can tell this book was written by “one of us.” Although I live in a fairly urban city, we’re surrounded by rural counties where the residents of Bon Temps would fit right in. I don’t live a life like these characters do, but I bet that some of my coworkers do.

Sookie herself strikes me as quite Southern in that she’s somewhat apathetic about her lack of education and go-nowhere job and extremely tolerant of some of Bill’s peculiar behavior. She’s got flaws—the adjectives vain, naïve, petulant, and complacent all describe her at one point or another—but she’s also got common sense and is resourceful in emergencies. Bill, so far, is kind of dull. The most interesting thing about him is that he became a vampire in the Civil War era, and so must try to get over some old-fashioned notions about women.

Ultimately, my feelings for this series are similar to those for the Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom series by Julie Kenner: there are things that bug me, and they’re not the greatest books on the planet, but I am still strongly compelled to keep reading them. Maybe one day I’ll even give True Blood another try.

Off the Shelf: Herky-Jerky, Kinda Girly

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Welcome to another edition of Off the Shelf with MJ & Michelle! I’m joined once again by Soliloquy in Blue‘s Michelle Smith.

This week we offer up an array of girls’ manga and manhwa from Viz Media, Tokyopop, and Yen Press.

MICHELLE: It seems like forever since we’ve done a regular Off the Shelf column! It’s actually kind of soothing! What goodies did you read in preparation for this frabjous day?

MJ: Well, I heard you were getting a little bit girly, so I decided to do the same! This week, I delved into the latest volumes of two sunjeong manhwa titles from Yen Press and one Viz shojo title. I’ll begin here with the first of the manhwa, volume nine of Goong.

For those who don’t know, Goong is the story of an ordinary middle-class girl who, thanks to a long-forgotten agreement made by her grandfather, is plucked from her exceedingly normal life to be the new Crown Princess of her country. The premise is pretty standard girls’ comics fare, but what makes this series particularly enjoyable (and unusually fresh) is its setting and characters.

Set in an alternate version of present-day South Korea, with a constitutional monarchy firmly in place, manhwa-ga Park SoHee is able to weave a modern-day romance right alongside all the fantastic historical goodies that would usually be part of a big costume drama. Though the story’s heroine, Chae-Kyung, is thoroughly ensconced in the modern, everyday world, her sudden relocation to the isolation of the royal palace almost makes her seem like the anachronism at times, rather than the other way around. It’s brilliantly executed, really, and this constant conflict serves both the story and its characters very effectively. …

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Otakon 2010: Rise of Manhwa

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When Ed Sizemore mentioned to me that this year’s Otakon schedule included a panel about manhwa, I leapt at the opportunity to ask him to write a guest report for Manhwa Bookshelf. And since Ed is a great guy, he kindly agreed. Here it is. Please enjoy! – MJ

Looking over the Otakon schedule this year, I was surprised to see a panel named “The Rise of Manhwa.” Since I didn’t know much about Korean comics, I decided to check it out. Unfortunately, the Otakon programming schedule doesn’t list the name of the panelist and the panelist didn’t introduce himself, so I can’t tell you who ran the panel.

Things got off to a poor start. The previous panel ran over and some of the audience was lingering around, socializing. The manhwa panelist had to ask them to leave, which seemed to put him a belligerent mood. Thankfully, about five minutes into the panel, his mood began to improve, but it wasn’t the best way to begin. …

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