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Crown of Love, Vol. 2

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Crown of Love, Vol. 2
By Yun Kouga
Published by Viz Media
Rated T+ (Older Teen)

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With Hisayoshi’s help, Rima crams for the Hakuo High entrance exam. Terrified of losing the opportunity to spend time with her, Hisayoshi attempts to suppress his true intentions but is thrown off-guard by unwelcome attention from another idol with whom he’s been cast in a commercial. With the spotlight narrowing decidedly on Hisayoshi, can Rima ever see him as anything but a hated rival?

This series’ hero, Hisayoshi, continues to be both intensely creepy and surprisingly relatable. It’s a combination guaranteed to make most readers uncomfortable, but it’s also one of the series’ greatest strengths. Watching Hisayoshi perilously straddle the line between crushing teenager and bona fide stalker quickly becomes a rather terrifying series of “There, but for the grace of God,” moments for anyone who has experienced unrequited love (in other words, roughly everyone). His inner thoughts echo the kind of late-night self-confessions that rarely see the light of day, tucked firmly away in those dark, hidden corners where shame and denial conveniently coexist.

Meanwhile, Rima remains full of contradiction. Certain at every moment that the entertainment world is poised to chew her up and spit her out, she feels threatened by everyone. She is also desperate for approval, even from those she fears most. Her own obsessive crush reads closer to poignant than creepy, but even there she’s filled with resentment more than anything else.

Kouga’s art really shines in this series, putting her knack for pretty faces to great use, while maintaining a subversive undertone. With the unevenness of the series’ first volume behind her, Kouga continues on with a lot of clean paneling, breaking into more free-form shojo-stylings only in the story’s most dramatic moments.

It’s truly a pleasure to see a new shojo series making good on the promises of its first volume. For teenage romance with a dark, cynical bite, check out Crown of Love.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Kobato, Vol. 1

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Kobato Hanato has a job to do: if she can fill a magic bottle with the pain and suffering of people whose lives she’s improved, she’ll have her dearest wish come true. There’s just one problem: Kobato is completely mystified by urban life, and has no idea how to identify folks in need of her help. Lucky for her, Ioryogi, a blue dog with a foul mouth and fierce temper, has been appointed her sensei and guardian angel, tasked with helping Kobato develop the the street smarts necessary for completing her mission.

It’s perfectly possible to read Kobato as a story about a sweet, clueless girl who teams up with a gruff but lovable animal to collect wounded hearts. That book is beautifully drawn, but isn’t terribly interesting; most of the stories follow the same template so, well, doggedly, that even the most committed fan of cute would find Kobato too repetitive to be much fun. A more productive way to understand Kobato is as a moe parody, a gleeful skewering of an entire genre in which the cute, underage heroine’s primary role is to endear herself to readers with her mixture of enthusiasm, naivete, and sensitivity.

Exhibit A in the case for moe parody: CLAMP has provided Kobato with a name and a mission, but no history that would explain her bizarre behavior. (Is she an amnesiac? An alien? A simpleton?) Nor does CLAMP reveal Kobato’s deeper motivation for collecting wounded souls. “There’s a place I want to go!” she cheerfully tells Ioryogi without elaborating on the why and where. Exhibit B: Kobato’s behavior seldom endears her to anyone. When Ioryogi instructs her to “do the things that are appropriate for Christmas,” for example, Kobato casually asks a stranger to spend the night with her in a hotel, to the consternation of his girlfriend, while an old man interprets her request to “heal his heart” as a solicitation for sex. Exhibit C: Ioryogi has a sadistic streak that far outstrips the basic demands of the plot. Though his comments are shockingly abrasive at first, it doesn’t take long for the reader to realize that Ioryogi’s assessment of Kobato is spot-on; in effect, he gives the audience permission to dislike Kobato, despite her sweet face and Holly Hobbie outfit.

CLAMP has performed this sleight of hand before with Chobits, another series that can be read as a straightforward genre exercise or a parody. In the case of Chobits, CLAMP starts from the basic nebbishy-guy-meets-magical-girl premise, adding some perverse ruffles and flourishes that call attention to the genre’s more unsavory aspects. (Chi, the magical girl/robot/love interest, behaves like a horny frat guy’s idea of the perfect girlfriend, eschewing underwear, hanging on her owner’s every word, and buying him porn magazines as a gift.) The complexity of the story and the size of the cast eventually overwhelm the satire, however, making it hard for the reader to know how, exactly, she’s supposed to react to Chi and Hideki’s relationship. In Kobato, on the other hand, CLAMP strips things down to the bare essentials, putting the focus squarely on the darkly comic hijinks.

Lest I make Kobato sound unbearably mean-spirited, the manga equivalent of kicking a puppy, let me assure you that it’s actually good fun. Ioryogi, the unquestionable star of the series, is a hoot; CLAMP wrings considerable laughs from the cognitive dissonance between his cute, doll-like appearance and his destructive rages, martial arts moves, and unsavory habits. (Like Mokona Modoki, Ioryogi is always jonesing after beer or sake.) Long-time CLAMP fans will enjoy the cameos sprinkled throughout the book, as characters from Chobits, Suki, and xxxHolic cross paths with Kobato in subtle, unexpected ways — think Where’s Waldo for the Card Captor Sakura crowd. (Bonus points if you can identify the characters without consulting the translation notes.) As one might expect, the artwork is clean and elegant, filled with beautiful costumes, lovely title pages, and crisply executed action sequences in the manner of Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles.

A quick glance at the Wikipedia entry suggests that future volumes of Kobato may cant more towards romance than satire. So long as Ioryogi is along for the ride, however, I’m confident that Kobato will remain edgy enough for readers, like me, who have a limited tolerance for insipid heroines. Recommended.

Review copy provided by Yen Press. Volumes one and two of Kobato will be released simultaneously on May 18, 2010.

KOBATO, VOL. 1  • CLAMP • YEN PRESS • 160 pp. • RATING: TEEN (13+)

Manhwa Monday: March in October

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Welcome to another Manhwa Monday!

The big news this week comes by way of ANN, who reported on Tuesday that Simon & Schuster lists an October release date for March Story, a series created by Korean manhwa-ga Kyung-Il Yang and Hyung-min Kim for the Japanese magazine Monthly Sunday GX, to be published here by Viz Media.

This news is unconfirmed at the time of this writing, but the prospect of seeing some Korean creators published by Viz is admittedly pretty exciting, even if they are coming to us via Japan. Check out the article from ANN for details about the series and its creators.

With a view towards lightening your pocketbook, RightStuf is having a Bargain Bin Blowout sale, featuring manga and anime up to 95% off. …

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Twin Spica, Vol. 1

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Twin Spica, Vol. 1
By Kou Yaginuma
Published by Vertical, Inc.
Rated 13+


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Fourteen years after a catastrophic space shuttle accident that was responsible for numerous civilian casualties, Japan’s space program is finally getting back on its feet, beginning with the establishment of Tokyo Space School’s Astronaut Training Course. There, fourteen-year-old Asumi competes with other prospective students, hoping to be accepted into the program and perhaps one day join Japan’s first successful manned excursion into space.

Though this series finished its run in seinen magazine Comic Flapper just last year, its simple artwork and wistful tone make its first volume read like an instant classic. Even the volume’s cover art, with its innocent imagery and sepia-like warmth, evokes feelings of nostalgia. Also, though the story’s foundation is set firmly in hard sci-fi, it is its heroine’s poignant and occasionally whimsical inner life that really defines its voice. Asumi provides the heart of this story, and it is a strange and wonderful heart indeed.

With her mother gone and her father often working, Asumi’s only confidante is a self-proclaimed ghost with a lion mask covering his head, whom she refers to as “Lion-san.” Even as Asumi begins her teen years, Lion-san remains a constant in her life, serving as a source of insight into a world she’s never truly felt a part of. He also provides a walking, talking symbol of the disaster that took her mother from her–a memory that she has safely locked away in the depths of her subconscious. That the volume opens with a spirited conversation between Asumi and her ghostly friend establishes the series’ supernatural/psychological focus from the start.

Asumi is both idiosyncratic and relatable. As a child, she is quiet and baffling to others–leaning into her mother’s corpse to find out how it smells and later stealing the ashes in order to give her mother a better view of the sea she so loved. As a teen, her concerns are more typical, focusing on dreams for her future and her ability to make friends, but the lonely little girl is still there, seeking comfort and advice from her supernatural friend.

All that said, Twin Spica is hardly a one-woman show. Supporting characters shine in this volume, from Asumi’s lonely teacher (whose first love was also killed fourteen years ago) to the girls with whom Asumi completes her astronaut exam. Even Asumi’s mother, seen mainly in a coma, bandaged from head to toe, is a compelling figure. One particularly complicated character is Asumi’s father. Though he obviously loves his daughter and supports her dreams, he is somewhat lost as a single parent and too often expresses himself through violence.

Yagimuna’s artwork is utterly charming. Simple, clean, and full of heartfelt emotion, it flows easily from panel to panel. Again here, there is a persistent air of nostalgia to the series, enhanced even by Vertical’s choice of font.

This volume feels short–just 124 pages of main story, followed by two short comics that provide a good chunk of backstory (written by Yagimuna before the series proper)–though that perception could just as easily be attributed to its overall delightfulness. Though the series was published as seinen in Japan, it provides substantial appeal for teen girls as well, especially those with their own dreams of space travel.

Hopeful, charming, and tinged with sadness, Twin Spica leaves us wanting more. Highly recommended.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Your & My Secret, Vols. 1-5

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If you ever wondered what Freaky Friday might have been like if Jodie Foster had switched bodies with Leif Garrett instead of Barbara Harris, well, Ai Morinaga’s Your & My Secret provides a pretty good idea of the gender-bending weirdness that would have ensued. The story focuses on Nanako, a swaggering tomboy who lives with her mad scientist grandfather, and Akira, an effeminate boy who adores her. Though Akira’s classmates find him “cute and delicate,” they declare him a timid bore — “a waste of a man,” one girl snipes — while Nanako’s peers call her “the beast” for her aggressive personality and uncouth behavior, even as the boys concede that Nanako is “hotter than anyone.” Akira becomes the unwitting test subject for the grandfather’s latest invention, a gizmo designed to transfer personalities from one body to another. With the flick of a switch, Akira finds himself trapped in Nanako’s body (and vice versa).

The joke, of course, is that Nanako and Akira have found the ideal vessels for their gender-atypical personalities. Nanako revels in her new-found freedom as a boy, enjoying sudden popularity among classmates, earning the respect of Akira’s contemptuous little sister, and discovering the physical strength to dunk a basketball. Akira, on the other hand, finds his situation a mixed bag: for the first time in his life, his sensitive personality endears him to both male and female peers, but many of the things his maleness had previously exempted him from — housework and cooking, menstrual cycles, unwanted advances from boys — turn out to be much worse than he’d imagined. He struggles to feel comfortable in Nanako’s skin, insulted by the grandfather’s refusal to do chores and bewildered by his old buddy Senbongi’s growing attraction to him.

Much of the humor in Your & My Secret stems from the war between head and hormones. Akira still identifies as a boy, lusting after Nanako’s sweetly feminine friend Shiina and suffering volcanic nosebleeds in the girls’ locker room, yet his body is drawn to Senbongi; after Senbongi makes a pass at him, the flustered Akira wonders how Senbongi “got to be such a good kisser.” Nanako, who is quick to embrace her new male identity, struggles as well; though she asks Shiina out, she’s reluctant to consummate their relationship, and shows an all-too-prurient interest in Senbongi’s, um, equipment. Making things even more complicated for Akira is that he’s trapped in the body of the girl he adores. He’s both disgusted and aroused by the sight of himself, and filled with conflicting emotions about the growing relationship between Nanako and Shiina.

Perhaps the most interesting wrinkle in Your & My Secret is that Nanako’s experiences transform her into a sexist pig. She rebuffs Akira’s pleas to reverse the experiment, belittling his gentle, conciliatory personality and asserting her right to have fun in his body. At the same time, she insists that Akira refrain from dating, having sex, or exploring her body; she repeatedly describes her body as a sacred temple that must remain “unpolluted” before her wedding day, and threatens Akira with humiliation if he acts on his conflicted feelings for Senbongi — or Shiina. (Apparently, Nanako is a bit of a homophobe, too.)

While the gender-swapping hijinks provide most of the comedic fodder for Your & My Secret, Morinaga also has a ball poking fun at manga tropes from incestuous infatuation to cultural festivals. The best of these gags revolves around the school’s manga club: in a sly nod to Tezuka, the group is helmed by a beret-wearing artist who transforms Akira and Senbongi’s friendship into a steamy boys’ love comic in which Akira is the seme and Senbongi is the uke. (“It’s not that I like guys,” Akira’s avatar tells Senbongi’s. “The person I fell in love with just happened to be a guy.”) Morinaga also wrings laughs from her characters’ desperate behavior; the grandfather, for example, thinks nothing of blackmailing Akira to get closer to Shiina (he dreams of having a pretty teenage girl sit in his lap and clean his ears), while Senbongi hatches up a love-hotel scheme to drive a wedge between Akira and Nanako.

Yet for all the black comedy, Morinaga still allows her characters moments of vulnerability and decency, preventing the humor from curdling into pure meanness. She wisely avoids the trap of making her characters too dumb to notice the transformations in Akira and Nanako, allowing her to sustain the body-swapping premise without straining credulity or testing the reader’s patience. Morinaga avoids another trap as well: that of making her leads so repellent the reader wishes for their comeuppance. (Even Nanako — she of the karate chops and withering put-downs — demonstrates a capacity for kindness and selflessness when wooing Shiina.) The artwork supports Morinaga’s characterizations, showing us both their nastier and nicer sides. When Akira assumes ownership of Nanako’s body, for example, there’s a visible softening of Nanako’s features, her lips becoming moistly inviting, her chin turning ever-so-slightly upward, and her eyes shining like a proper shojo heroine’s. If provoked, however, Akira’s body language and gestures revert back to Nanako’s coarse, tomboy persona, right down to the maniacal gleam in his eye; the gap between the two personalities proves smaller than either would like the admit.

No, it isn’t Taming of the Shrew, but Your & My Secret manages to make some worthwhile points about gender roles (and gender norms) while serving up plenty of dopey slapstick and risque jokes. Frankly, I’d take a big helping of Morinaga’s un-PC humor over an earnest, socially responsible “girls’ comic” any day of the week. Highly recommended.

This is an expanded version of a review that originally appeared at PopCultureShock on 3/12/08. The original review can be read by clicking here.

Kingyo Used Books, Vol. 1

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Kingyo Used Books starts from a simple premise: an eccentric group of people run a second-hand bookstore in an out-of-the-way location. Various customers stumble upon the shop — usually by accident — and, in the process of browsing, find a manga that helps them reconnect with a part of themselves that’s been suppressed, whether it be a youthful capacity for romantic infatuation or a desire to paint expressively.

Is there such thing as agit-manga? Because Kingyo Used Books seems like the brainchild of an editor who’s desperately trying to convince adults that one never outgrows manga. In the first story, for example, a salaryman tries to unload his collection at the store, telling the owner, “I’m not a kid anymore. Besides, it’s kind of pathetic to keep reading manga forever.” He gets a gentle comeuppance at a class reunion, where his friends’ fond memories of Dr. Slump remind him what an important role manga played in their young lives. The story is pleasant and enjoyable, but suffers from a bad case of predictability; as soon as the salaryman sees his friends engaged in tearful, rhapsodic discussions of their childhood reading habits, he’s overcome with emotion and — natch — a strong desire to keep the manga he’d previously hoped to sell.

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Other stories in volume one follow the same basic template. In “Far Away,” for example, an archery champion discovers that laughter and downtime are as essential to winning as practice, thanks to a pair of Kingyo employees whose snot-rolling-down-the-face, tears-in-eyes response to Moretsu Ataru inspires the archer to pick up a manga instead of his bow and quiver. “Fujiomi-kun,” another chapter that adheres to this formula, focuses on a frustrated housewife who makes some small but important changes in her life after rediscovering Chizumi and Fujiomi-kun, a romance about a handsome athlete who falls in love with a clumsy but kind-hearted girl.

The series’ episodic structure cuts both ways, see-sawing between a fun exercise in formula — which manga will feature prominently in this story? who will be drawn into the store? — and a frustratingly obvious collection of beats culminating in a character’s decision to make a change in her life. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit the appeal of a series that highlights some famous (and, sadly, untranslated) manga, or that validates my own experiences as an adult manga reader; like many of the characters in Kingyo Used Books, I, too, have found titles as different as Suppli, Phoenix, and Night of the Beasts an outlet for emotions that don’t always find expression in my daily life. In settling for such a tidy approach to dramatizing manga’s transformative power, however, author Seimu Yoshizaki misses an opportunity to really move readers, instead treating us to sentimental, sometimes mawkish, scenes in which adults recover childhood memories of favorite books. Yoshizaki never acknowledges the messiness or risk that her characters take when acting on their epiphanies or experiencing personal growth, choosing instead to end every story on a positive note.

The artwork is clean, conveying the characters’ interior lives with directness and simplicity. Though her style isn’t particularly distinctive, Yoshizaki does a fine job evoking other artists’ styles, recreating images from famous series and altering one of her own characters to look like the hero of his favorite manga. The most striking image in the book is just such a recreation: it’s Hokusai’s iconic wave print, drawn in the sand by two students who then watch the incoming tide erase it. In the story’s final panels, the two reflect on their emotions as they watch their work vanish. One is pensive and wishes the work was permanent; the other responds by noting that permanence can be its own trap. “I’ve seen the pictures Hokusai drew when he was our age,” he says. “They really sucked.” Here’s hoping that volume two has more of these frank, funny, and true-to-life moments and fewer scenes of tearful housewives and salarymen reliving their childhoods through manga.

KINGYO USED BOOKS, VOL. 1 • BY SEIMU YOSHIZAKI • VIZ • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+) • 208 pp.

Manhwa Monday: Spring Slump

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Welcome to another Manhwa Monday! It’s been a quiet week for manhwa, with just a couple of series stealing most of the focus from reviewers.

I’ll lead off with a review of my own, featuring YoungHee Lee’s You’re So Cool, complete in six volumes from Yen Press. This review is also my first guest spot at Brigid Alverson’s MangaBlog, which is quite an honor for me.

You’re So Cool is a series that benefits greatly from being read straight-through, particularly in its first half. Though its heroine is spunky and adorable from the start, the romantic premise is so problematic, it would be easy to abandon just two volumes in. “Fortunately, midway through the series’ third volume, Lee forgets that she’s writing a hopelessly clichéd, emotionally-backwards romance and gets caught up in the real heart of the story: how people (especially families) shape each other, for better or worse.” …

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Wild Ones, Vol. 9

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By Kiyo Fujiwara
Viz, 200 pp.
Rating: Teen

Having finally agreed to speak to the father who abandoned him so many years ago, Rakuto is confronted with the possibility that he may eventually have to leave Sachie’s side in order to make peace with his own past. Meanwhile, Azuma is determined to let Sachie know how he feels, whether Rakuto is ready to play his part or not. Who does Sachie truly love? Has this ever been in question? If so, this volume provides an answer at long last!

Finally the series’ romantic tension is resolved, exactly as it was certain to be from the beginning. Some formulaic romances are enjoyable to read simply because they are so predictable. With these stories, the charm is in the writing, and watching their familiar scenarios play out is, frankly, comforting and downright delightful. Unfortunately, this is not one of those series. Though the couple in question are undeniably sweet, their relationship is so labored and so painfully drawn out, one finds oneself wishing something truly shocking would happen (a deadly plague? an alien invasion? ) just to break up the monotony. With its unbelievable premise and its terminally clueless lovers, this series seems determined to remain lifeless until the end.

Well, almost, anyway. To be fair, this volume’s final pages are honestly sweet, and may even evoke tears from desperate readers grateful for a bit of romantic satisfaction. It may not be an alien invasion, but long-time readers are at least assured some payoff.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.

Honey Hunt 4 by Miki Aihara: B

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Despite having no prior interest in acting, Yura Onozuka, the relatively normal daughter of celebrity parents, discovers a talent for it when she resolves to surpass her mother in the dramatic sphere. She has achieved some moderate success pretty quickly, including a spot in a commercial and a supporting role on a new TV drama.

Yura’s career is less the focus in this volume than are her romantic prospects, however. While volume three ended with one pop star (Haruka) confessing his feelings, here Yura is swept away by his twin brother (Q-ta, also a pop star), to the point where she’s distracted during an audition and later ditches a dinner planned by her housemates—to celebrate her drama’s debut—in favor of spending a night on the town with Q-ta.

Although one might wish for a heroine more doggedly dedicated to her career, it’s not hard to sympathize with Yura as she faces the choice between two dreams—the nurturing family-type environment offered by her housemates and the love of a prince-like suitor. Even though she makes some mistakes, she’s still likeable. Q-ta, however, comes off as quite the brat here, and one can’t help but wonder whether his protestations that he likes Yura for herself rather than for her famous father are truly genuine. If not, I suppose it’ll make for good drama.

In the end, while Honey Hunt doesn’t leave a particularly strong impression with the reader, it’s still something I enjoy reading.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Diamond Girl, Vol. 1

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Part Bad News Bears, part Boys of Summer, Diamond Girl follows a time-honored sports-comedy formula in which a team of losers have their pennant dreams rekindled after an unlikely but undeniable talent joins their ranks. In Diamond Girl, those hard-luck athletes are Baba, Seto, and Takagi, the heart and soul of the Ryukafuchi High School baseball club. The trio discovers, by accident, that the new transfer student has the throwing arm of a youthful Roger Clemens, capable of nailing a moving object hundreds of feet away or throwing a shotput with the ease and precision of a softball. The catch: Tsubara is a girl, making her ineligible to play.

Actually, there’s another obstacle to Tsubara joining the team: she doesn’t want to. At first, Tsubara vehemently denies her skills, feigning bewilderment at her ability to snatch a line drive from the air, bare-handed. When Tsubara’s classmates remain unpersuaded, Tsubara finally concedes her athletic prowess, but rebuffs Baba and Takagi’s suggestion that she play baseball in drag. (“We hide her chest by wrapping it up in bandages,” Takagi confidently asserts. “I see no problem.”) How Tsubara came by her skills, and why she refuses to play, are the central mysteries of volume one, and provide most of the series’ comedic — and dramatic — juice.

Anyone expecting a baseball version of Crimson Hero will be in for a rude shock with Diamond Girl. There’s fan service a-plenty, from a “whoops, I didn’t mean to collide with your chest!” gag to a bath scene that seems calculated to reassure readers that Tsubara is 100% girl, even if she could beat the snot out of her teammates, on or off the field. (The author annotates one panel with the cheerful admission that “Today, we bring you more fan service than usual.”) Aside from a truly distasteful scene in which the team pervert assesses Tsubara’s panty preferences — he bemoans her tendency to wear “little kid underpants” — the fan service is easy enough to overlook, even for an old feminist curmudgeon like me.

The real joy of Diamond Girl is watching Tsubara lose herself in the moment. Midway through volume one, for example, a monkey steals Tsubara’s treasured purse, ripping it open and fleeing to the safety of the school roof to examine its contents. Tsubara doesn’t hesitate; she transforms herself into a human pitching machine, lobbing balls and rocks at the culprit until one well-timed throw knocks the purse of the monkey’s hands. A similar sense of joyful abandon informs a scene in which Tsubara plays fetch with her dog Hachi, who shares his mistress’s talent for fielding extreme fly balls — as well as her ability to tune out her surroundings. (He crash-lands on top of Tsubara’s classmate, ball in mouth.) Tsubara runs their game with the intensity of a drill sargeant or big league coach, treating Hachi as if he’s a star right fielder.

Manga-ka Takanori Yamazaki demonstrates a genuine knack for caricature, neatly encapsulating each character’s personality in a few gestures: a mohawk for the slightly chubby, irreverent Takagi; a row of earrings and a maniacal gleam for the more energetic Baba; a pair of ratty pigtails and a scowl for Tsubara. Though Yamazaki makes a game effort to immerse us in the action, his fondness for dramatic camera angles and freeze-frames occasionally results in an awkwardly composed drawing; in more than one scene, he foreshortens characters to such a degree that they look a bit squashed. Yamazaki also relies on tracing just a little too often, as the monkey scene attests; all of the monkeys have a straight-off-the-lightbox quality that suggests a National Geographic spread on the hot-tubbing macaque of Honshu. Even with such obvious limitations, however, the artwork suits the story’s broad comedic tone without becoming too frantic.

If the one-note characters and suggestive situations prevent Diamond Girl from scoring a homerun, it’s certainly a solid base hit, offering an enjoyable mixture of game play and humor that should appeal to baseball enthusiasts, manga lovers, and female athletes of all stripes. Recommended.

DIAMOND GIRL, VOL. 1 • BY TAKANORI YAMAZAKI • CMX MANGA • RATING: TEEN (13+) • 160 pp.

You’re So Cool, Vols. 1-6

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My big news for the afternoon is the event of my guest review of YoungHee Lee’s You’re So Cool (full series) over at Brigid Alverson’s MangaBlog. This is a series that began on weak footing with me, setting itself up to be another Hot Gimmick or Black Bird or any number of other girls’ comic series dedicated to romanticizing smug, controlling men.

Fortunately, by the time I got around to this series, there was enough of it released for me to avoid being turned off by just the first couple of volumes. It’s not a perfect series by any means, but the romantic content is surprisingly satisfying (thanks mainly to the series’ secondary romance) and its heroine is the most endearing little tomboy you’ll ever meet. The artist doesn’t go crazy prettying her up in the later volumes, either, which is a refreshing choice indeed.

This is also my very first guest review at MangaBlog, so if you like it, be sure to say so! Click here for more!

Oh! My Brother 2 by Ken Saito: B-

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It’s been one month since Masago Kamoguchi’s brilliant older brother, Shiro, died and began possessing her. With all of this going on, Masago hasn’t been studying, so when exam time comes around, she allows Shiro to take the tests for her and ends up with a perfect score. Her impressive performance prompts a teacher to encourage her to run for student council, a decision she waffles about for a little while until gaining some confidence. Meanwhile, Shiro debates the wisdom of lingering in his sister’s body while his friend, Kurouma, deals with the knowledge that Masago likes him but views him as utterly unattainable.

I really want to like Oh! My Brother, and sometimes I manage to do so. I like Kurouma a lot, for example—it’s so refreshing that he actually notices Masago’s feelings!—and also the way Shiro’s possession is portrayed as a double-edged sword. True, his presence lends Masago strength in crucial moments, particularly in dealing with a bullying older girl, but her reliance on him is also holding her back in certain areas; although Shiro is willing to let go, it’s Masago who desperately makes him promise to stay with her forever.

On the other hand, there is a lot of extranneous material here that detracts from what’s good about this series. Some of the comedy feels out of place, and there are a few too many Shiro-obsessed characters floating around, from the aforementioned bully, to a former soccer rival, to a cool and competent member of the student council. If the focus had been more on the drama of Masago’s situation, coupled with the need to let go of Shiro in order to become open to other kinds of love, I’d like it so much more. As it is, I must be content with the occasional glimmer of what could have been.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Manhwa Monday: Go West!

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Welcome to another Manhwa Monday! I type this column from my sickbed, where I’m feeling weary and, frankly, old as I realize that to me, that title is a Marx Brothers reference, but to the rest of you… probably not.

On to the topic at hand: as if answering a call from the depths of my heart, Manga Critic Kate Dacey recently visited the “Korean Comics: A Society Through Small Frames” exhibit at the San Francisco Public Library and wrote up a detailed report in her blog, including footnotes and suggested reading.

Something Kate notes in her article, which has been pointed out previously by readers familiar with the manhwa scene in Korea, is just how little the English-translated manhwa we see here represents Korean manhwa as a whole. As a fan of what’s currently being translated, I’m not necessarily complaining, but it would be exciting to see a broader spectrum of work being offered in English. …

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One Thousand & One Nights, Vol. 10

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One Thousand and One Nights, Vol. 10
By Han SeungHee & Jeon JinSeok
Published by Yen Press


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While reading Sehara’s translation of The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, it becomes clear to McLeod that Sehara is leaving him, though this realization comes too late for him to stop it. Unfortunately, as Sehara rushes back to Baghdad, he is met with the news of Shahryar’s death, throwing him into a state of deep despair. Meanwhile, Shahrayr (not quite dead) finds himself in the care of the Nauar Gypsies, one of whom beseeches him to travel east to seek out his “other half,” whom Shahryar now recognizes to be Sehara.

Though Sehara and Shahryar spend the entirety of this volume apart, the volume is a gift to BL fans and anyone else who might be hoping against hope that their highly eroticized relationship actually turn to romance. Not that anything happens, of course, but there is a sense that if our story’s heroes ever manage to find their way back to each other, it will be a warm reunion indeed.

Fortunately, the romance is well-earned and should hold up nicely, even with Shahryar’s bloody past as an obvious moral obstacle. “You were already dead, drowned in a whirlpool of sin,” a gypsy tells Shahryar. “And then someone brought you back to life.” It’s a tricky business–letting a character with so much blood on his hands realize happiness–but writer Jeon JinSeok has worked hard to create a situation in which this could be palatable. Now with only one volume remaining, we’ll soon find out what Jeon really has in store for the characters he’s so carefully tortured. Er. Nurtured.

With the stakes so high in the main story line, it might be easy at this point to dismiss Sehara’s stories-within-the-story, but fortunately The Romance of the Three Kingdoms (even in such an abridged state) is far too compelling to allow it. Part of what makes this series work so well is the fact that Sehara’s stories consistently move the primary tale forward, rather than acting as diversions. And part of the series’ charm is the fact that these stories are at least as important to their storyteller as they are to the sultan they are meant to entertain–a truth delightfully accented at the end of this volume as Shahryar sets out disguised as a bookseller in hopes of luring a distraught Sehara out of hiding.

Every aspect of this series remains engaging–storytelling, plot, characterization, artwork–crafted into a kind of ultimate fantasy with its lush, period settings and unapologetic violence. Fans of escapist romance could hardly find an escape more delicious than One Thousand and One Nights.

Review copy provided by the publisher.