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From the stack: Sand Chronicles vols. 9 and 10

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If Hinako Ashihara had contented herself with the conclusion of the main story of Sand Chronicles (Viz) in the eighth volume, I don’t think most fans of the series could have reasonably complained. We’ve seen our heroine, Ann Uekusa, grow from pre-teen to woman, through a stormy adolescence packed with setbacks, disappointments, and rewarding steps forward toward maturity. Ann’s is a fully realized character arc, one of the most complete you’re likely to find in comics.

I’m a bit of a glutton, and I’m a sucker for side stories, so I was thrilled to learn that there were two more volumes of material, checking in with supporting characters and giving readers a look at Ann’s life after “happily ever after.”

In the ninth volume, Ashihara gives us a glimpse into the troubled adolescence of Ann’s mother, whose beauty and gentleness make her the object of jealousy and the subject of rumor in her very small town. As tricky as the core conceit of the story can be – she’s too pretty and fragile for this world – Ashihara grounds it with surprising skill. It highlights the underlying emotional brutality that bubbles up in Ashihara’s work, and while it doesn’t fully excuse Ann’s mother’s later choices, it does give those choices additional context.

The second half is given to a chance encounter between Ann’s friend and rival, Shika, and one of Ann’s exes as they build lives for themselves in New York City. Given the tendency of some shôjo mangaka to exile the ostensible bad girl to a faraway land where she can build a new and better life – you generally see her in a panel, reading a letter from the heroine, who has graciously forgiven her – it’s nice to see that new life in detail. It’s a generous impulse, and it results in a sweet, redemptive encounter for the characters involved.

The tenth volume returns us to our heroine, Ann, and her true love. I’m reluctant to go into too much detail, since who that true love turns out to be is a significant plot point through the series, but the volume-length story shows us the satisfying adult relationship that evolved from turbulent, youthful love. We see Ann’s partner adapt to adult responsibilities, and we see her as a supportive, functioning person, which is a lovely gift to longtime readers.

Aside from being gracefully written and beautifully drawn, these volumes repay patience and investment that resulted not from flash but from sincerity and craft. It’s like a sumptuous brunch the morning after the wedding of a couple you rooted for but were never quite certain would make it to “I do.” They’re essential reading for fans of Sand Chronicles, and they’re additional inducement to read the series from beginning to end if you haven’t already.

Off the Shelf: Karakuri Odette

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MICHELLE: Hello, Off the Shelf readers! MJand I are devoting this week’s column to Karakuri Odette, the topic for this month’s Manga Moveable Feast hosted at Manga Report. I had read some of this series before the MMF was announced, but MJnever had. That has since been rectified!

MJ, it has taken a lot of self-control not to pester you with repeated, “Did you like it? Did you like it?” inquiries this past week. And of course I’d like to know that, but I’d also like to ask what you expected Karakuri Odette might be like going into it and how it compared to your expectations.

MJ: I have to say that I actually had very few expectations going in, other than knowing that it was shoujo that you like and having a vague sense of what that means. And in those uncertain terms, I’d say it fulfilled my expectations entirely. Probably the series it most reminds me of is Kimi ni Todoke–a prime example of “shoujo Michelle likes” if there ever was such a thing. Its tone is similarly good-hearted, and there are actually quite a few similarities between Odette and Sawako in that both of them are really learning to be high school girls for the very first time. That robot Odette seems to accomplish this more easily than human Sawako says quite a bit about both of them and the worlds they inhabit.

MICHELLE: Yeah, I tend to like a lot of those good-hearted shoujo series (many of which were serialized in Margaret or one of its offshoots). And you’re absolutely right about the similarities between Odette and Sawako. Both, for example, have people around them who *like* someone, which is a concept somewhat alien to heroines who are happy enough just to have some friends! So they both must learn what liking someone actually entails. As of volume five, Odette hasn’t really figured that out yet, and Sawako gets it by volume four or so, so the human’s not too far ahead!

MJ: Well, though Odette may not have figured it out intellectually, she’s certainly got the symptoms! This is actually something I wanted to bring up with you. Odette has clearly picked up some genuine emotion along the way, and while this is certainly not a sci-fi series by any means, that’s still a pretty big deal for a robot in any universe. It seems clear, too, that mangaka Julietta Suzuki is charting a romantic course for Odette with Asao, one way or another. How do you feel about that? Does this at all impair your ability to suspend disbelief? And should Suzuki ultimately not go down that road, how will you feel about this as a shoujo manga?

I’m personally torn on both these questions, so I’m curious to hear your take on it all.

MICHELLE: Ooh, what a good question. I have vastly enjoyed Odette’s gradual acquisition of feelings, because Suzuki’s take on it has been laudably understated. Odette’s growing interest in Asao doesn’t impair my ability to suspend disbelief, because honestly I think accepting the whole robot protagonist concept in the first place means one has given blanket acceptance to all sorts of things. I like that she’s beginning to see him in this light, particularly because he was introduced as having feelings for someone else and, so far, does not seem to be thinking of Odette in a romantic light. I always admire series that go for the unexpected ending, so seeing Odette and Asao together at the end would be somewhat of a disappointment, actually. In my ideal ending, she realizes that she loves him, recognizes that he doesn’t love her, and is totally happy that she understands the feeling, even if it must remain unrequited.

An even worse case scenario than Odette ending up with Asao would be to see her paired up with either of the robot boys who seem interested in her. Chris is just too bland, and Travis just too flamboyant.

MJ: Poor Chris! He works so hard only to be labeled “bland!” ;) I think Chris is an especially sympathetic character, actually, because he’s most likely not capable of ever understanding Odette fully or catching up with her at all. He’s simply not an advanced enough robot. Yet if there’s anything he’s learned to actually want it is to please Odette so that he can continue to be with her. It’s subtly written and heartbreaking to watch. And really not that different from some tragic human relationships I’ve seen in my day.

MICHELLE: Well, when you put it that way! Poor Chris, indeed! It’s not that I dislike him—perhaps what I mean is that a relationship with Asao would be more challenging for Odette and prompt further progress toward humanity. Though, of course, I suppose it could say something creepy about Asao if he wanted to date a robot, even one as awesome as Odette.

MJ: Yes, I suppose that’s true. It’s hard to really keep a handle on concepts like that in this series’ universe, where there seem to be robots turning up all the time. This is actually the one aspect of the series I’m not completely sold on at this point. I am enjoying the story of Odette. Where better for any character to learn to be a “girl” than in the pages of a shoujo manga? But though I’ve liked most of the other robots who have turned up in the story, there have been so many of them at this point, it actually is beginning to wear on my ability to suspend disbelief. Or perhaps it’s that too many robots are muddying the waters. This may seem unreasonable, I realize. If I’ve already accepted one robot in the story, what’s keeping me from accepting five? But somehow Odette losing the uniqueness of her existence makes it progressively harder for me to take her circumstances seriously.

I like this manga, I really do. But I wish there were fewer robots. Does that make any sense at all?

MICHELLE: It does, and I get your point. It’s been a while since I read the first three volumes, but I recall a more social robot appearing there against which Odette measures herself. I suppose that’s useful for her, but the pair of robots introduced in volume five feels completely superfluous to me. There are already enough guys (human and mechanical) who are interested in Odette—we didn’t need another. I have a feeling they were introduced only as accessories to their creator, who is probably going to do something dastardly in the final volume.

MJ: Yes, I believe this feeling really did kick in with the introduction of Travis and Grace. It’s not that they’re bad characters, but they feel really incidental to Odette’s story. Honestly, I feel the same way about their sinister creator. This story doesn’t need that kind of melodrama to survive. It was so much more than that when we were just watching Odette learn how to be human.

MICHELLE: Definitely. I reviewed volumes four and five together and liked the former—which focuses largely on Odette’s friendship with sheltered rich girl, Shirayuki—much more than the latter. I wonder whether you share my affection for Shirayuki. I was quite impressed that Suzuki-sensei introduced a new significant character into the cast so seamlessly. She functions as a kind of Sawako, actually. Someone who has shunned human contact and so provides Odette a friend who is also experiencing some commonplace things for the first time.

MJ: I do like her quite a bit, yes! Though I’ve felt that since Shiayuki started attending school with Odette, the author has conveniently ignored her condition, for the most part. We’ve watched Shirayuki go through some rough times, but I can’t recall anything that’s actually had to do with the fact that she hears people’s thoughts whenever they touch her. It was supposedly this huge, terrifying issue that had cut her off from her family and society, but now that she’s in society, it seems to have ceased to exist, at least to any significant extent. So what was the problem again? I like the character, but maybe she really didn’t need that trait to be the person the author wanted to write.

MICHELLE: Yeah, I noticed that, too. And I wasn’t sure how she initially concludes Odette will never lie to her based solely on the fact that she can’t hear Odette’s thoughts, either. I think you’re right that that trait wasn’t necessary and probably Suzuki realized it, too. It must speak highly of my fondness for this series that I, usually such a stickler about plot continuity and the like, am willing to forgive and forget the mishandling of Shirayuki’s ability just because I like the character so much.

MJ: And it’s funny, you know I generally don’t care all that much about such things, so you know it all must be really, really obvious. :D Still, I’ll forgive this series nearly anything because I just really like Odette. She’s a wonderfully written character, and that’s something that hasn’t changed in the slightest over the course of the series so far. In fact, I’d say some of the best writing involving her happens in volume five, when she’s struggling over her irritation with Chris. In those moments, she’s both authentically human and authentically not at the same time. It’s brilliantly written. And while I wish the writing was more consistent, I’m not actually unhappy.

MICHELLE: I wonder, since you read Suzuki’s Kamisama Kiss first, do you prefer it over Karakuri Odette? It’s a later work, so will probably be more polished (it’s hard to tell from the single volume that’s been released in English so far) but I’m not as captivated by its lead as I am by Odette. Hopefully that will change in time.

MJ: I think that it’s really too early to tell. I’m very attached to Odette, and I barely know Nanami at all. I will say that one thing both series have in common is their sense of humor. This is actually something I wanted to be sure to bring up here, because despite the fact that Karakuri Odette is, in many ways, a standard high school shoujo series, the humor grabs me more than most. There was one bit of dialogue, for instance, that delighted me so much, I stopped to write it down. It appears near the end of volume three, when Odette has coerced Asao into going on a double-date with her at an amusement park. Startled at Odette’s choice of date, her friend Yoko asks, half jokingly, whether they need to worry that Asao (who has a reputation for fighting) might “snap and get violent all of a sudden.” Odette responds earnestly, “It’s okay. I’ve never seen any part of Asao snap off.” It’s the tiniest thing, but I actually laughed out loud. The series is full of moments like that.

MICHELLE: It is! The interaction between Odette and the Professor is frequently amusing, as well. And it’s all humor born of the characters’ personalities and not based at all on “oh, the wacky android doesn’t understand our ways” gags or something.

MJ: Yes, you’re absolutely right. Even the line I mentioned, which is certainly a symptom of Odette’s inexperience with human idioms, is not overplayed. The laugh is there, but it isn’t telegraphed in that goofy gag kind of way. It’s the simplicity and honesty of it that makes it so funny.

MICHELLE: I agree. :)

So, I talked a little about what I’d like to see in the final volume. What would you like to see happen?

MJ: This is probably going to sound like a cop-out, but with occasional exceptions, I try to avoid expecting specific outcomes when I read. In general terms, I’d like to see some kind of satisfying conclusion for Odette (whatever that might mean), and for Chris and the Professor as well, since I’ve become quite fond of the three of them. As long as it feels like an ending, though, I’m not feeling too picky about it. Sure, a romance is always nice, but problematic in this case, as you’ve pointed out. So I think I just want to see it come to a real stopping point–one that’s hopefully positive for Odette.

MICHELLE: I can’t quarrel with that!

Check in next week for January’s installment of BL Bookrack, and then again the week after for an all new Off the Shelf!

Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers by Grant Naylor: B

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Book description:
The first lesson Lister learned about space travel was you should never try it. But Lister didn’t have a choice. All he remembered was going on a birthday celebration pub crawl through London. When he came to his senses again, he was living in a locker on one of Saturn’s moons, with nothing in his pockets but a passport in the name of Emily Berkenstein.

So he did the only thing he could. Amazed to discover they would actually hire him, he joined the Space Corps—and found himself aboard Red Dwarf, a spaceship as big as a small city that, six or seven years from now, would get him back to Earth. What Lister couldn’t foresee was that he’d inadvertently signed up for a one-way jaunt three million years into the future—a future which would see him the last living member of the human race, with only a hologram crewmate and a highly evolved Cat for company. Of course, that was before the ship broke the light barrier and things began to get really weird…

Review:
Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers retells a handful of episodes from the first two seasons of the BBC sci-fi comedy, Red Dwarf, and provides additional background information on its two main characters, priggish Arnold J. Rimmer and slovenly Dave Lister.

For those unfamiliar with the show, it takes place aboard the mining ship Red Dwarf. Rimmer is a lowly technician—just about the lowest rank on the ship, tasked with things like unclogging chicken soup nozzles on vending machines—and his only underling is Lister. While Lister is in stasis as punishment for smuggling a (pregnant) cat on board, Rimmer causes an accident that floods the ship with radiation, killing the entire crew.

It takes three million years for the radiation to reach levels safe enough for the computer to let Lister out, which triggers an iconic scene wherein Lister wanders around while the computer, Holly, repeats, “Everybody’s dead, Dave,” with varying inflections until the Liverpudlian finally gets it. Holly brings Rimmer back as a hologram, judging him to be the companion best suited to keep Lister sane, and they soon discover that the cat’s descendants have evolved into a highly fashion-conscious civilization, of which only one member now remains. Episodic silliness ensues.

The book follows this basic outline, too, but adds some scenes to flesh out the characters. For example, rather than meeting Rimmer and Lister aboard the ship, we first encounter them on Mimas, one of Saturn’s moons, in a scene in which Lister has stolen the equivalent of a taxi and picks Rimmer up as a fare. We learn that Lister joined the Space Corps solely as a means of getting back to Earth—and purposefully got caught with the cat so that he’d be put in stasis and the journey home would feel shorter—and receive additional insight on Rimmer’s desperation to become an officer. Both benefit from this treatment and emerge as more sympathetic characters.

Not every episode from the first two seasons is represented—Lister isn’t shown taking the chef’s exam in order to outrank Rimmer, for example—but some, like “Future Echoes,” are included almost verbatim. Because of this structure, there’s not so much a cohesive plot as a string of linear events, culminating in the crew believing that they’ve managed to return to Earth. The material, both old and new, provides quite a few giggles, but can also be extremely unfunny, like when Rimmer and his holographic double squabble interminably.

In addition, a few changes have been made that outright contradict the show. The captain, once male, is now female. Although Lister never was able to tell his long-time crush, Kristine Kochanski, about his feelings on the show, in the book they enjoy a month-long fling. There’s no obvious reason for these alterations, but it’s better to think Grant Naylor—the pseudonym adopted by the show’s creators, Rob Grant and Doug Naylor—made them for some purpose rather than merely by accident.

What this all boils down to is that the content of this book is decently entertaining, though not excellent, and probably deserves somewhere in the vicinity of a B-, which is the grade it likely would have received had I read the print edition. But I didn’t. Instead, Hubby and I listened to the unabridged audiobook read by Chris Barrie (the actor who portrayed Rimmer) and holy freakin’ crap! He was amazing!

Okay, true, Barrie mispronounces the occasional word—“irrevocably” being the most egregious—but his skill in impersonating his castmates is truly incredible. So good, in fact, that I found myself thinking, “I can’t wait until they discover Cat so I can hear Chris Barrie do his voice!” Every single one is great, and though Kryten is perhaps the most eerily accurate, I found myself most transported by Barrie’s take on Lister. Many, many times I forgot that I was not actually listening to Craig Charles in the part.

Barrie’s performance bumps the grade up a notch, and I’d go so far as to say that one should eschew the print edition entirely. He really does bring that much to one’s enjoyment of the book.

The Seinen Alphabet: Y

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“Y” is for…

The Yagyu Ninja Scrolls: Revenge of the Hori Clan (Del Rey), written and illustrated by Masaki Segawa, based on a novel by Futaro Yamada. This super-violent revenge tale is a sequel to Basilisk (Del Rey), also by Segawa, based on a novel by Yamada. It ran in Kodansha’s Young Magazine. Other manga adaptations of Yamada’s work include Yagyuujuubee Shisu (with Ken Ishikawa) and Yama Fu-Tang (also with Segawa).

Yubisaki Milk Tea (Tokyopop), written and illustrated by Tomochika Miyana, originally serialized in Hakusensha’s Young Animal. It’s about the life and loves of a young cross-dresser.


Yakushiji Ryōko no Kaiki Jikenbo, written and illustrated by Narumi Kakinouchi, based on a series of light novels by Yoshiki Tanaka, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Magazine Z, now in Afternoon. It’s about a talented police detective who investigates cases related to the paranormal.

Yama Onna Kabe Onna, written and illustrated by Atsuko Takakura, currently serialized in Kodansha’s Evening. It’s about two women, co-workers who become friends in spite of their different personalities and breast sizes. No, seriously, it is. The title apparently translates to “Mountain Woman, Wall Woman.”

Yawara! A Fashionable Judo Girl, written and illustrated by Naoki Urasawa, originally serialized in Shogakukan’s Big Comic Spirits. It’s about a naturally talented martial artist who initially hates judo because of her grandfather’s pressure to excel in the discipline.

Yokohama Kaidashi Kikô, written and illustrated by Hitoshi Ashinano, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Afternoon. Pretty much everyone in the world wonders why this slice-of-life science-fiction tale hasn’t been published in English.

Yugo, written by Shinji Makari and illustrated by Shuu Akana, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Afternoon. It’s about a master negotiator and mediator who travels the world to defuse tense hostage situations.

Yume Tsukai, written and illustrated by Riichi Ueshiba, originally serialized in Kodansha’s Afternoon. Honestly, this sounds like a seinen answer to Sailor Moon. It’s about a group of “Dream Agents” who fight physical manifestations of nightmares born of the darkness in human hearts. I couldn’t find a satisfactory cover image for it, to be honest.

Speaking of much-desired titles that have yet to be licensed, and moving on to mangaka, there’s always Fumi Yoshinaga’s first foray into seinen, What Did You Eat Yesterday?

Ryoko Yamagishi is one of the members of the Year 24 Group who has worked in the seinen category in addition to shôjo. Her seinen works include Hakuganshi.

Hideo Yamamoto is the creator of Homunculus, which is about a person who gains extra-sensory powers after a hole is drilled in his skull.

Yoshikazu Yasuhiko has had a rangy career, from early works like Dirty Pair to examinations of Joan of Arc and Jesus.

Mitsuteru Yokoyama is quite an influential mangaka, who has worked in virtually every category, from shôjo to seinen. He was a Tezuka contemporary who is credited with breaking ground in the giant robot and magic girl categories.

There are also seven million magazines whose titles start with “Young.” These include:

  • Kadokawa Shoten’s Young Ace, home to the great Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service.
  • The aforementioned Young Animal, which has hosted both wonderful and terrible manga.
  • The aforementioned Young Magazine, which seems much more traditionally seinen than Kodansha’s Afternoon, Evening and Morning.
  • And Shônen Gahosha’s Young King OURs, which seems to favor action/adventure/fantasy titles.

And “Y” is for Yen Press, which hasn’t published a ton of seinen yet, but they’ve already picked at least one potentially magnificent title in that category (Kaoru Mori’s A Bride’s Story).

What starts with “Y” in your seinen alphabet?

Manhwa Monday: holiday quick links

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Excerpt from Sunjeong Manhwa Chapter 8Welcome to another Manhwa Monday! It’s been a quiet week on the manhwa front, so there are just a few quick links to share on this American holiday.

It’s Martin Luther King Jr. day here in the US, and The Korean has a message for his Asian-American readers today.

Our friends at iSeeToon have unveiled a new front page design for their blog, with easy access to their currently available (and in-progress) iOS manhwa apps, as well as their series on types of manhwa. They are actively looking for feedback on pretty much all these things, so please let them know how you think they’re doing!

This week’s manhwa news is nearly all live-action news, with HANCINEMA posting the newest Priest trailer, and Dramabeans sharing casting info for the new drama adaptation of Kang Pool’s Pain. Kang Pool is also the author of Sunjeong Manhwa, reviewed by Hana Lee in her introduction to Korean webcomics, and pictured here in this entry.

At Manga-Market.com, tomnomnom joins the legions who attempt to explain “What is manhwa?”

This week in reviews, Todd Douglass at Anime Maki takes a look at volume 11 of Korean-created Black God (Yen Press). And at Panel Patter, Rob McMonigal talks about Korea as Viewed by 12 Creators (Fanfare/Ponent-Mon).

That’s all for this week!

Is there something I’ve missed? Leave your manhwa-related links in comments!

MMF: Karakuri Odette vols. 1-3

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The genre of stories about robots who want to learn what it is to be human is large, so it’s only reasonable that I would have a spectrum of reactions to its various examples. I’ve read exactly as much of Osamu Tezuka’s Astro Boy (Dark Horse) as I feel like I need to read, in spite of the fact that it’s by Tezuka. Naoki Urasawa’s revamp of Astro Boy and his robot associates in Pluto (Viz) was a pleasure to read from beginning to end, in spite of my general aversion to dark retellings of more innocent properties.

The Vision was always one of my favorite members of the Avengers (Marvel), but I always found the Justice League’s Red Tornado (DC) to be kind of ridiculous and whiny. I was pleasantly surprised by the gentle intelligence of Yuu Asami’s A.I. Revolution (Go! Comi), or at least what circumstances allowed me to read of it, but I could barely manage to sit through Steven Spielberg’s A.I. I’ve never been able to finish either CLAMP’S Chobits (Dark Horse) or Yuu Watase’s Absolute Boyfriend (Viz), since “built to love you” stories make me a little queasy.

To make a long story short, the genre isn’t a slam dunk for me like some others are. Julietta Suzuki’s Karakuri Odette (Tokyopop), the subject of the current Manga Moveable Feast being hosted by Anna at Manga Report, lands comfortably in the pro column of this kind of tale. It’s gentle, smart, and funny. I’ve read the first three volumes, and I’ll certainly read the rest.

It begins with Odette, a highly lifelike robot, telling her creator that she’d like to go to school like humans do. There isn’t anything mawkish or aspirational about her decision, and her rather blank bluntness is instantly winning. She never declares that she wants to be a real girl, and she doesn’t really make much of an effort to pass as one. Odette isn’t about pretense; she’s more focused on gaining experience and understanding, which is a promising starting point.

Her athletic prettiness works in her favor as a character. She’s not some robot-girl bombshell, looking instead like an averagely attractive teen-ager. It negates the possibility that she’s a grosser kind of toy, cutting off some of the more unsavory possibilities of this kind of story. You can be reasonably certain that she was created in the pursuit of a scientific exercise rather than to fit the maid’s costume, if that makes sense. And she’s perfectly capable of defending herself; she’s an innocent, but she’s unlikely to ever be a victim.

With an engaging protagonist in place, Suzuki surrounds Odette with interesting, in-scale people. The professor who made her is generally benevolent though not fully parental in his relationship with Odette. Her classmates ostensibly don’t know that she’s a robot, but they certainly know she’s different from the average student, and their general reaction is to find things that they like about her differences rather than viewing her as an object of pity or ridicule. They’re willing teachers, even if they don’t realize that’s what they’re doing.

Without knowing she’s doing it, Odette sets off a sort of mutating romantic geometry. Her frail best friend, Yoko, likes a boy who seems to kind of like her in return, but Yoko is admired by bad-boy Asao. He forms a brotherly relationship with Odette, whose blanket approval of and interest in Asao cause people to question their assessments of his character. Other characters phase in and out of the romantic undercurrents without Odette ever really realizing what’s going on, though she’s trying. (A sweet recurring joke involves people trying to explain the difference between liking someone and liking someone.)

None of the specific plot developments are very novel or surprising. If you’re at all familiar with robot-in-school or just plain innocent-abroad stories, you’ll be able to see what’s coming with a good degree of reliability. Suzuki distinguishes her version through style and tone, tending to find the just-right balance of funny and thoughtful, handling her characters with consistency and compassion and looking at their circumstances with straightforward warmth. I was quite surprised that Karakuri Odette was Suzuki’s first ongoing series, since her writing is so restrained and self-assured.

I think the art actually does reflect someone in the early stages of a career, though. The best parts tend to involve faces, particularly Odette’s coolly curious expressions. Suzuki seems more at ease with stillness than movement, though. On the plus side, it seems like a distinct and interesting style is in the process of cohering as the series progresses. I’m very curious to see Suzuki’s later works to watch that process continue.

And I’m definitely eager to read the last half of Karakuri Odette, which runs a total of six volumes. It’s not ambitious or innovative, but it’s got the kind of gentle, quirky likability that’s always a pleasure to experience. Suzuki has an engaging, slightly off-kilter sensibility that helps make the predictable become winning.

The Railway Children by E. Nesbit: A

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From the back cover:
When Father goes away unexpectedly, Roberta, Peter, Phyllis and their mother have to leave their happy life in London to go and live in a small cottage in the country. The children seek solace in the nearby railway station, and make friends with Perks the Porter and the Station Master himself. But the mystery remains: where is Father, and will he ever return?

Review:
This is the story of three children—Roberta (Bobbie), Peter, and Phyllis—who move with their mother from the city to the country after their beloved father mysteriously goes away. Though it’s initially a culture shock, they’re soon fascinated by the railway and make many friends among its staff and patrons and end up helping quite a few people—and receiving help in return—along the way.

Perhaps the best compliment I could give The Railway Children is that I wish it had gone on for about three times as long. But, as Peter sagely opines, everything must end.

‘There’s no end to this tunnel,’ said Phyllis—and indeed it did seem very, very long.

‘Stick to it,’ said Peter; ‘everything has an end, and you get to it if you only keep on.’

Which is quite true, if you come to think of it, and a useful thing to remember in seasons of trouble—such as measles, arithmetic, impositions, and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel as though no one would ever love you again, and you could never—never again—love anybody.

The passage above exemplifies several of the qualities that make this book such a charming read. The narration, for example, has a comradely air, evincing sympathy for the child’s point of view while utilizing humor that would please any audience. Here’s another bit at which I giggled—it takes place right after the children have gone out to pick cherries and end up preventing a terrible accident:

Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the horrible mound, and the trustful train rushing towards it.

‘And it was us that saved them’ said Peter.

‘How dreadul if they had all been killed!’ said Phyllis; ‘wouldn’t it, Bobbie?’

‘We never got any cherries, after all,’ said Bobbie.

The others thought her rather heartless.

I could go on quoting similar diverting passages, but must address a second strong point in favor of this book: the characterization of the children. Now, it may be said that it’s idealistic to expect children this clever and honest to truly exist, but Nesbit is also careful to give each of them flaws. Peter is a bit hot-headed, Phyllis is self-absorbed, and Bobbie is… well, Bobbie hasn’t really got faults, and yet I love her best of the lot.

Bobbie’s the eldest, and poised on the brink of growing up. She still has fun playing with her siblings, but she’s the one attuned to her mother’s sorrow, and realizes that asking about their father’s whereabouts would only cause more pain. When she discovers the truth, and thinks how it would affect her younger siblings, she understands why her mother did not reveal it. She’s brave, kind, sensitive, and thoughtful. The family owes their happiness to her, though they know it not.

The end result is a story that is wholesome, but never saccharine. The children invariably do the right thing, but that doesn’t make them immune from quarrels. Unfair and frightening things happen, but likewise people are willing to offer help when asked. Cleverness and simple goodness are prized more than foolhardy exploits, and the children are extremely proud of their mother, who uses her gift of storytelling to support the family after the move. It’s a story that makes one feel good about people, and oh, that ending! “I think that just now we are not wanted there. I think it will be best for us to go quickly and quietly away.”

Clearly I must read more E. Nesbit.

Additional reviews of The Railway Children can be found at Triple Take.

Random Sunday question: sidebar

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In the interests of improving my blogroll, what are some of your favorite comics or pop culture blogs that I haven’t already linked? It seems greedy to ask for more great reading, but… well… I am greedy.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Eight 5 by Jane Espenson, et al.: C+

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From the back cover:
When Buffy’s former classmate-turned-vampire Harmony Kendall lands her own reality TV show, vampires are bolstered into the mainstream. Humans fall in line; they want a piece of the glitz, glam, and eternal youth bestowed upon these mysterious creatures of the night. What’s a Slayer to do when vampires are the trendiest thing in the world? While humans donate their blood to the vampire cause, Slayers—through a series of missteps, misfortunes, and anti-Slayer propaganda driven by the mysterious Twilight—are forced into hiding.

Review:
The fifth collected volume of Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Eight comics is comprised of five one-shots, four of which are written by writers from the show. You might think that’s a good thing, but it doesn’t always turn out to be the case.

Issue 21, “Harmonic Divergence,” is written by Jane Espenson. Captured on film one evening while snacking on Andy Dick, Harmony becomes an instant celebrity. A reality show—with Clem for a sidekick!—on MTV follows. The show portrays Harmony sympathetically, as someone who drinks from humans but doesn’t do them any harm, and when a Slayer decides to take Harmony out on-camera, it spawns a tide of anti-Slayer sentiment.

It’s true, vampires are a big craze at the moment, but I find this whole plotline—it continues for some time—to be kind of stupid. What’s worse is that George Jeanty seriously can’t draw Mercedes McNab (the actress who portrays Harmony) to save his life. He does no better with original characters, either. At one point the nameless Slayer looks like a middle-aged man in drag.

Issue 22, “Swell,” is not much better. Written by Steven S. DeKnight, it takes place in Tokyo, where Kennedy has arrived to conduct an evaluation of newly promoted Satsu. Meanwhile, Twilight, the big bad of the season, has taken over the San(to)rio Corporation and disguised a bunch of demons as “Vampy Cat” plushies with plans to ship them to Scotland, where Buffy is. Probably this is supposed to be funny, but again, it’s just kind of stupid. Kennedy does offer Satsu some advice about pining for a straight girl, though, and the issue ends with Satsu resolved to move on.

The best story of the lot is “Predators and Prey,” by Drew Z. Greenberg. Taking advantage of the current attitude towards Slayers, rogue Slayer Simone and her gang have ousted the residents of an Italian village and taken over. Feeling responsible as Simone’s former Watcher, Andrew has taken an “ends justify the means” approach to getting intel on her whereabouts, resulting in not only an amusing roadtrip with Buffy, but a lot of growth for his character. Having never earned anyone’s trust before, he’s terrified of losing it, which makes him screw up for the right reasons. Buffy tells him to get used to it, because that’s her family’s specialty. Not only does this issue have some funny lines, it’s actually quite significant for Andrew. Gold star for Greenberg!

The one story penned by someone who never wrote for the show is “Safe,” by Jim Krueger. It stars Faith and Giles, which it earns points for immediately, as they investigate a so-called Slayer Sanctuary for girls who decide they’d rather not fight. The plot is kind of lame, but there’s some good dialogue, particularly from Faith, and some insights into her deep feelings of regret for her early failings as a Slayer. This issue is drawn by Cliff Richards, who does a much better job than Jeanty at capturing the likenesses of the actors. He also seems to have a greater repertoire of facial expressions.

Lastly, issue 25 is called “Living Doll” and is written by Doug Petrie. Dawn has gone missing and Buffy and Xander follow her hoofprinty trail while Andrew tracks down Kenny, the guy responsible for casting the spell on her in the first place. Long story short, Dawn apologizes to Kenny, becomes human again, and spends some quality time with Buffy watching Veronica Mars. (Man, I miss that show.)

While the first two stories are pretty bad, the other three offer solid character moments even though the plots themselves leave something to be desired. I’ve said before that this is something a Buffy fan simply becomes used to, so it doesn’t bother me all that much. I’d probably be happier with a series full of vignettes like these than what is coming over the next couple of arcs.

Follow Friday: The localizers

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Server outages and related angst have given us a a rough week at Manga Bookshelf, so today seems quite an appropriate time to spread a little goodwill over the manga industry twitterverse.

One of the things I’ve loved about Twitter, is that it’s given me the opportunity to interact with the people who make it possible for me to actually read manga. I’m referring, of course, to the localizers–the translators, adapters, and editors whose work I rely on to enjoy manga in English to the greatest extent possible.

Twitter is teeming with manga industry folks, and though I can’t possibly list them all here, I’ll pick out a few I’ve especially enjoyed.

William Flanagan is not only one of my favorite translators around, he’s also a great conversationalist and one of my favorite twitterers. You can also find twin translators Alethea & Athena Nibley lurking around the twitterverse.

Adaptor Ysabet Reinhardt MacFarlane brings a smart, thoughtful presence to the discussion.

And for a look into the world of manga editing, don’t miss the Twitter feeds of Asako Suzuki, Nancy Thistlethwaite, and Daniella Orihuela-Gruber.

This is merely a handful, of course–just a peek into the riches Twitter has to offer. Who are your favorite manga localizers to follow?

License Request Day: More Yumi Unita

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I’m quite delighted that so many people seem to like Yumi Unita’s excellent Bunny Drop (Yen Press). I have no idea if critical approval has translated into solid sales, or even solid sales by the standards of the often struggling josei category. I just know that it makes me happy when people like things that I think are good.

And I can’t help but suspect that Unita has something to do with the fact that Bunny Drop is so good. Call me crazy, but I think there’s causality there. So in the interest of making myself even happier, and assuming that Unita may be able to contribute to this process, I thought I’d see what other works were waiting in the wings.

One of her earliest ongoing series looks a little bizarre. It’s the single-volume Sukimasuki, and it ran in Shogakukan’s IKKI. It’s apparently about romantic complications between a pair of voyeurs. Of course it’s been published in Italian, under the title Guardami by Kappa Edizioni. Its IKKI provenance is the strongest thing in this title’s favor, so I’ll refrain from any serious wheedling until someone persuades me that it’s fully necessary.

Still in the seinen vein but more domestic-sounding (and looking) is Yoningurashi, which was serialized in Takeshobo’s Manga Life Original. Pleased as I am with Unita’s handling of an adoptive family, I would certainly be open to her take on another variation on the family theme. Plus, that cover is really adorable, isn’t it? I’m not entirely certain, but I think this one’s a four-panel comic strip, given that most of the series in Manga Life seem to be in that format. But it’s not about a group of four or more schoolgirls, so I’m a little confused.

Update: Alexander (Manga Widget) Hoffman informs me that this title isn’t four-panel after all, though it’s reassuring to see that Unita is still having some of her characters rock a pair of bell-bottomed trousers.

Can I be finished catering to the seinen demographic? Unita’s got a ton of josei under her belt. One of her current series is called Nomino, and it runs in Hakusensha’s new-ish josei magazine, Rakuen le Paradis. Erica (Okazu) Friedman speaks very highly of Rakuen le Paradis, and I yearn to learn to love Hakusensha josei as much as I love Hakusensha shôjo, which is the best shôjo there is. Getting back to Rakuen, it looks like it covers some impressive territory, at least in terms of sexual orientation of its stories’ protagonists and probably in terms of tone. And they managed to lure Kio (Genshiken) Shimoku to draw something for them. And, while this says nothing about the magazine’s quality, its name reminds me of seminal Styx hit “Rockin’ the Paradise” from their hit album, Paradise Theatre, which was the album of choice for my circle of friends in high school. It was the album boys and girls could agree on without reservation or compromise. If the tension over the Air Supply party soundtrack got too acrimonious, Styx was always there to offer the right balance of driving and swoony to make everyone happy, or at least not grumpy.

Oh, and Nomino is a slice-of-life story about the friendship between a boy and girl, or something. Maybe they’d both like Styx! Or something. I don’t care. It’s Unita, and it comes from a cool-sounding magazine for grown women. Hook, line, want.

Okay, so that’s three varied, perfectly respectable choices for publishers who are willing to feed my Unita habit. She seems like one of those impressively versatile creators who draws for a variety of audiences, and even in different formats if my four-panel theory is correct. I would like for someone to try and give her the Natsume Ono treatment and publish lots of different works from her catalog.

Manga Artifacts: Hotel Harbour View

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Back in 1990, before anyone had hit on the magic formula for selling manga to American readers, VIZ tried a bold experiment. They released a handful of titles in a prestige format with fancy covers, high-quality paper, and a large trim size, and called them “Viz Spectrum Editions.” Only three manga got the Viz Spectrum treatment: Yu Kinutani’s Shion: Blade of the Minstrel, Yukinobu Hoshino’s Saber Tiger, and Natsuo Sekikawa and Jiro Taniguchi’s Hotel Harbour View. While neither the imprint nor the format survived, these three titles helped pave the way for VIZ’s later efforts to establish its Signature line.

Hotel Harbour View, by far the strongest of the three, is a stylish foray into hard-boiled crime fiction. In the title story, a man patronizes a once-elegant bar in Hong Kong, telling the bartender that he’s waiting for the person who’s supposed to kill him, while in the second story, “A Brief Encounter,” an assassin returns to Paris, where his former associates — including his protege — lie in wait for him.

As editor Fred Burke observes in his afterword, both stories are as much about style and genre as they are about exploring what motivates people to kill. The characters in both stories are deeply concerned with scripting their own lives, of behaving the way hit men and high-class call girls do in the movies. None of them wear simple street clothes; all of them are in costume, wearing gloves and suits and garter belts. (In one scene, for example, an assassin asks a bystander to hand him his hat, even though he lies dying in a pool of blood. “Just don’t feel right without it,” he explains.) Their words, too, are carefully chosen; every conversation has the kind of pointed quality of a Dashiell Hammett script, with characters trading quips and telling well-rehearsed stories about their past. A brief surveillance operation, for example, yields this tersely wonderful exchange between two female assassins:

“She’s French, isn’t she? Parisienne.”
“How can you tell?”
“She looks arrogant and stubborn. The sort who ruins men.”
“He loves her. That’s why he came back to Paris.”
“And how can you tell?”
“I’m a Parisienne, too.”

[As an aside, I should note that Gerard Jones and Matt Thorn’s excellent translation brings Sekikawa’s script to life in English; each character has a distinctive voice, and the dialogue is thoroughly idiomatic.]

The violence has a cinematic flavor as well; Taniguchi’s balletic gunfights call to mind the kind of technically dazzling shoot-outs that became a staple of John Woo’s filmmaking in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Taniguchi uses many of the same tricks. He follows a bullet’s trajectory from the gun barrel to its point of impact, showing us the victim’s terrified face as the bullet closes in on its target; stages elaborate duels in which passing trains demand split-second timing from the well-armed participants; and shows us a hit gone bad from dozens of different angles. In one the book’s most stylish sequences, we see a gunman’s reflection in a shattered mirror; as the “camera” pulls back from that initial image, we realize that we’re seeing things from the killer’s point of view, not the gunman’s. A dramatic cascade of glass destroys his reflection as he slumps to the floor — a perfect movie ending for a character obsessed with orchestrating his own death.

Like Taniguchi’s other work, there’s a slightly stiff quality to the artwork. His characters are drawn with meticulous attention to detail, yet their faces remain impassive even when bullets fly and old lovers betray them. That detachment can be frustrating in other contexts, but in Hotel Harbour View it registers as sang-froid; the characters’ composure is as essential to their performances as their costumes and studied banter, as each self-consciously fulfills their role in the drama.

Though Hotel Harbour View is out of print, copies are still widely available through online retailers; I ordered mine directly from Amazon. You’ll also find a robust market for second-hand copies; expect to pay between $4.00 and $20.00 for a copy in good to excellent condition.

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.

HOTEL HARBOUR VIEW • SCRIPT BY NATSUO SEKIKAWA, ART BY JIRO TANIGUCHI • VIZ MEDIA • 94 pp. • RATING: MATURE (18+)

3 Things Thursday: Second Chances

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I’m a very patient reader. I like long manga series, and since the long ones usually pace themselves (up to three full volumes of exposition at times), I’ll usually give a series that’s captured the slightest of my interest at least five volumes to woo me. Some of my very favorite series took a while to warm up for me, including the likes of xxxHolic and Fullmetal Alchemist–series I now vigorously recommend.

While it’s rare that I’ll drop a series completely before the five volume mark, there are times when I simply can’t go on. Sometimes I can recognize this as a pure matter of taste. Toriko, for instance, is a perfectly fine series… if only it didn’t make me recoil in disgust. Others, I find genuinely offensive or perhaps just completely lacking.

Considering my overall patience, I usually trust myself on these few occasions, but there are times when my judgement is so at odds with those whose tastes I normally share, re-evaluation seems in order. So for today’s 3 Things I’ll ponder a few rejected series that have earned a second look.

3 manga series that deserve a second chance:

1. Butterflies, Flowers | Yuki Yoshihara | Viz Media – Though this series’ first volume won my praise immediately, its second and third volumes so rubbed me the wrong way that despite my claim that the humor would keep me going, I privately doubted I’d ever pick it up again. A quote, “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.”

But when a series is consistently championed by the likes of David Welsh, it’s time to step back and figure out where the hell I went wrong. Butterflies, Flowers, we’ll meet again soon.

2. Black Butler | Yana Toboso | Yen Press – I tried to be fair to the first two volumes, I really did. I pointed out some character bits I genuinely liked–noted how there might be a deeper story hidden under the glitz. But these lines really get to the heart of my problems with the series, “That these series are intended to appeal to female readers seems plain, with their bishonen character designs, elaborate costuming, and frequent BL overtones. Unfortunately, Black Butler‘s specialty is not just BL but shota, which makes Sebastian even creepier and not at all in a good way … Black Butler gets off to a very slow and fairly vapid start…”

Yet, just last night, Michelle Smith gave me reason to give the series another chance. What Michelle says, goes. It’s that simple.

3. Little Butterfly | Hinako Takanaga | DMP – This one is a long time coming, and while it’s a series I’ve actually read in its entirety, my initial dismissal of it is sufficient for it to qualify. Way back in my infamous thoughts on yaoi (which I’m now afraid to re-read), I said of Little Butterfly that maybe if it “had actually been ten volumes, and the romance was developed over the course of a much greater plot, I would have actually liked (it), because honestly I did find the characters interesting, what I got to see of them. I just felt cheated by the way the ‘plot’ and the relationships were rushed along to serve the romance.”

But when someone like Kate Dacey gives it a review like this… what’s a girl to do? I actually have Kate’s omnibus sitting here in my living room, and it’s high time I gave it that second look.

Series that didn’t make the cut, but could have include St. Dragon Girl (beloved by Ed Sizemore) and Hot Gimmick (secretly loved by… everyone). So, readers, what series should you give a second chance?

Ashenden by W. Somerset Maugham: A

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Book description:
When war broke out in 1914, Somerset Maugham was dispatched by the British Secret Service to Switzerland under the guise of completing a play. Multilingual, knowledgeable about many European countries and a celebrated writer, Maugham had the perfect cover, and the assignment appealed to his love of romance, and of the ridiculous. The stories collected in Ashenden are rooted in Maugham’s own experiences as an agent, reflecting the ruthlessness and brutality of espionage, its intrigue and treachery, as well as its absurdity.

Review:
I have only read two books by W. Somerset Maugham, of which this is the second, and I can already proclaim without a shred of doubt that he’s one of my favorite writers. Everything about the way he writes appeals to me. He’s wry and keenly observant, with a knack for creating vivid portraits of his characters while wasting not a single word.

Here’s an example, taken from the story “A Chance Acquaintance.”

Mr. Harrington was devoted to his wife and he told Ashenden at unbelievable length how cultivated and what a perfect mother she was. She had delicate health and had undergone a great number of operations, all of which he described in detail. He had had two operations himself, one of his tonsils and one to remove his appendix, and he took Ashenden day by day through his experiences. All his friends had had operations and his knowledge of surgery was encyclopedic. He had two sons, both at school, and he was seriously considering whether he would not be well-advised to have them operated on.

Maugham’s writing is so wonderful that if I learned he’d penned a six-volume ode to cole slaw, I would grab it because I could be certain that it would be witty and somehow make me think of cole slaw in a way I never had before. The fact that the stories in Ashenden are actually excellent, therefore, is just icing on the proverbial cake.

Instead of being utterly disconnected, the stories here function as a string of vignettes in the life of Ashenden, a writer who’s been drafted as an agent of the British Intelligence Department during World War I. They’re at least partly based on Maugham’s own experiences in this capacity, though he hastens to impress upon the reader that this is a work of fiction.

Ashenden is recruited by a Colonel known to him only as R., and sent on a variety of missions that include playing escort to an eccentric Mexican assassin, arranging for a traveling dancer to betray her revolutionary Indian lover, ascertaining whether an Englishman spying for Germany might be recruited as a double agent, attempting to prevent the Bolshevik revolution, and more. Sometimes he succeeds, frequently with bittersweet results, and sometimes he fails. Occasionally his objective or the outcome is not known to the reader, since Maugham is more interested in describing the people Ashenden meets than in the specifics of his efforts.

It’s impossible to pick a favorite story, as each has its share of indelible moments to recommend it. Since the tales featuring the voluble Mr. Harrington are at the end of the collection and I have read them most recently, I feel a soft spot for those in particular, though “The Traitor” and “Giulia Lazzari” are each unforgettable.

If you’ve a particular interest in war-time Europe, Ashenden ought not be missed. Really, it ought not be missed in any case, but if the subject matter holds special appeal for you then you’ve really got no excuse!

From the stack: The Secret Notes of Lady Kanoko

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The world isn’t populated exclusively with loving optimists, so it’s only appropriate that the world of shôjo manga occasionally reflects that. The surly and the cynical, it seems, can be as worthy of the spotlight as the open-hearted and the gracious, at least in Ririko Tsujita’s The Secret Notes of Lady Kanoko (Tokyopop).

The titular lady, junior high student Kanoko Naeoko, is rather like animated MTV legend Daria in that she’d rather observe human behavior than engage with actual humans. Kanoko is also like Daria in that she finds herself dragged into the woes and schemes of her classmates, whether she likes it or not. Since Kanoko is generally the smartest person in the room, you can see why she’s a go-to resource when things get tricky.

And things do get tricky. Kanoko has standards for her eavesdropping, naturally fixating on the juicier specimens — the hypocrites, the schemers, the egotists. As much as Kanoko objects to interpersonal connection, she seems to appreciate a challenge, and guiding these fools out of their misfortunes provides that.

In a more average comic, it might be safe to assume that she’s really a softy under her isolating exterior, but really, she’s not. That’s what’s pretty great about her. There are a few people that she genuinely likes, but she’s sincere in her general indifference. It isn’t a defense, except in the way that she’s protecting herself from… well… catching stupidity or dullness.

Tsujita plays around with shôjo tropes in her storytelling. There’s the plain girl oppressed by her prettier classmate, except the plain girl is flat-out nuts, and she’s as prone to bullying as her rival. There’s the girl with big dreams who’s actually an obnoxious narcissist with self-confidence so impenetrable as to have possible military applications. There are bratty students and awful teachers at every turn, and Kanoko briskly revels in putting them in line.

For my taste, the art isn’t quite up to the standards of the writing. The best of the illustrations exist in extremes, either in the hyper-stylized bits, where Kanoko can look demonic with glee, or in the glamour shot moments, the relatively realistic close-ups of characters in the grip of emotion. The in-between stuff is mostly serviceable, never exactly bad, but it feels obvious where Tsujita has devoted the bulk of her effort.

Of course, the standards of the writing are very, very high. Tsujita isn’t content to overturn expectations just once in a story, opting to flip things around at least a few times before she’s done. And she’s really good at making harsh personalities into likeable characters without going soft. The Secret Notes of Lady Kanoko offers a great start to the year in shôjo – sneaky, funny storytelling that keeps you guessing and smiling.