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Sexy Voice and Robo and Harriet the Spy

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harriet2First published in 1964, Harriet the Spy featured a radically different kind of heroine than the sweet, obedient girls found in most mid-century juvenile lit; Harriet was bossy, self-centered, and confident, with a flair for self-dramatization and a foul mouth. She favored fake glasses, blue jeans, and a “spy tool” belt over angora sweaters or skirts, and she roamed the streets of Manhattan doing the kind of reckless, bold things that were supposed to be off-limits to girls: peering through skylights, hiding in alleys, concealing herself in dumbwaiters, filling her notebooks with scathing observations about classmates and neighbors. Perhaps the most original aspect of Louise Fitzhugh’s character was Harriet’s complete and utter commitment to the idea of being a writer; unlike Nancy Drew, Harriet wasn’t a goody-goody sleuth who wanted to help others, but a ruthless observer of human folly who viewed spying as necessary preparation for becoming an author.

Even now, nearly sixty years after Harriet the Spy first appeared in print, it still seems like a radical text. Fitzhugh helped usher in an era of young adult fiction featuring tough, psychologically complex heroines who weren’t always likable, characters like the plain, frizzy-haired Meg Murray of A Wrinkle in Time or the smart, prickly Galadriel Hopkins of The Great Gilly Hopkins. Yet Harriet remains in her own special class. Unlike Meg or Gilly, she isn’t the heroine of an inter-dimensional sci-fi epic or a gritty, realistic drama; she’s the heroine of her own story, a self-mythologizing character who inhabits a highly romanticized version of the adult world.

sexy_voiceNico Hayashi, code name “Sexy Voice,” is a bit older than Harriet — Nico is 14, Harriet is 11 — but she’s cut from the same bolt of cloth, as Sexy Voice and Robo amply demonstrates. Like Harriet, Nico entertains fanciful ambitions: “I want to be a spy when I grow up, or maybe a fortune teller,” she informs her soon-to-be-employer. “Either way, I’m in training. A pro has to hone her skills.” Nico, too, has a spy outfit — in her case, comprised of a wig and falsies — and an assortment of “spy tools” that include her cell phone and a stamp that allows her to forge her parents’ signature on notes excusing her from school. Like Harriet, Nico hungers for the kind of adventure that’s supposed to be off-limits to girls, skipping school to pursue leads, analyzing a kidnapper’s ransom call, luring bad guys into traps. Most importantly, both girls are students of adult behavior. Both Harriet the Spy and Sexy Voice and Robo include a scene in which the heroine constructs detailed character profiles from a few snippets of conversation. The similarities between these moments are striking. In Fitzhugh’s book, Harriet visits a neighborhood diner, nursing an egg cream while listening to other customers’ conversations:

Sometimes she would play a game and not look at the people until from listening to them she had decided what they looked like. Then she would turn around and see if she were right… Her egg cream finished, Harriet summed up her guesses. The boy with the rat father would be skinny, have black hair, and a lot of pimples. The lawyer who won all his cases would be short, puffy-looking, and be leaning forward. She got no picture of the shadeless girl, but decided she must be fat. She turned around.

In Sexy Voice and Robo, we first meet Nico in a restaurant. She’s stationed herself in a booth with a pair of binoculars, studying an assortment of men who have unwittingly arranged to meet her via the tele-club where Nico moonlights. When questioned about her behavior by another patron, Nico cheerfully explains:

See those men down there holding papers? I’m conducting research on them… observing… connecting their voices to the way they look and move.

Like Harriet, Nico is rather dismissive of her subjects, concluding that one man is “fixated on social status” and “needs to feel above the women he’s with” from his “clear but flat voice,” while declaring another is “just after sex” because “he’s got kind of a reedy voice and he mumbles a lot.” But while the accuracy of Nico’s observations go unchallenged, Harriet’s turn out to be a mixture of hits and misses:

At first she couldn’t tell. Then she saw the by with black hair and pimples. She felt a surge of triumph. She looked at what must be the lawyer, one of two men. Then she listened to see of he were the one. No, the other one was the lawyer. He wasn’t short and fat, he was long and thin with a handsome face. She consoled herself with a faint puffiness he had around the eyes.

Well, no wonder she won’t walk around in a slip, Harriet thought, looking at the girl with no shades; she’s the fattest thing I ever saw.

Manga-ka Iou Kuroda never contradicts Nico’s conclusions, though as the story unfolds, we realize the degree to which Nico sees what she wants to see, and not necessarily what’s there. Late in the volume, for example, Nico’s employer dispatches her to retrieve a key from a crafty old woman who, Nico discovers, was a professional spy. It’s a fascinating chapter on many levels; we’re never entirely sure if we’re watching a real event or something from Nico’s imagination, nor is it obvious whether Nico grasps that the old woman led a far less glamorous life than the kind of life Nico envisions for herself. “I did it because I was good with languages and wasn’t very pretty,” the old woman tells Nico. “Sometimes it’s your skills and not your will that sets you on your path.”

The other striking similarity between Harriet the Spy and Sexy Voice and Robo is the degree to which the city plays an essential role in the story, providing an exciting playground for Harriet and Nico to act out their spy fantasies, and shaping their impressions of adult behavior. In Harriet the Spy, Fitzhugh renders Harriet’s particular corner of the Upper East Side in vivid detail, describing its fancy apartment buildings and down-at-the-heels boarding houses, and contrasting the neat, tree-lined street where Harriet lives with the louder, dirtier, bustling streets of Yorktown, then a working class German-Italian enclave. We see the neighborhood through Harriet’s eyes, as a collection of hiding spaces and vantage points for studying adults up close: the plump divorcee who spends all day in bed talking on the telephone, the lonely craftsman who hides twenty-six cats from the health code inspector, the father (hers, to be exact) who retires to his study to nurse a martini or three.

In Sexy Voice and Robo, Kuroda shows us Tokyo through Nico’s eyes, as a vibrant collection of shopping districts lined with places perfect for clandestine activities: cafes, movie houses, love hotels, bookshops, subway stations. Kuroda doesn’t employ the usual shortcuts for establishing the Tokyo landscape — skyscrapers and towers — but offers a pedestrian-eye view of the city, populating each setting with colorful characters, filling shop windows with merchandise, and suggesting street noise with evocative sound effects. From time to time, Kuroda takes us into less familiar places; in chapter eleven, for example, Nico finds the retired spy living in a serene residential neighborhood, her house concealed by a screen of trees and shrubs, while in chapter three, Nico attends a soccer match at a crowded stadium. Though these locations stand in stark contrast to the more built-up urban environment in which most of the story takes place, we can see how both locales complement Nico’s romantic notions about where, what, and how a spy conducts her business; Nico’s adventures never take her anyplace grungy or prosaic, nor do they take her to customary teen haunts. In her mind, she’s more adult than the adults around her, and as a consequence imagines herself living in the grown-up world.

Which brings me back to my original observation about Nico: like Harriet, she’s a self-mythologizer, the star of her very own spy novel. Though we, the readers, can appreciate the degree to which Nico’s fantasies shape her perception of what’s happening, we still find her an appealing, true-to-life character whose pluck and insight set her apart from her peers. Nico, like Harriet, has big dreams that aren’t hemmed in by gender or age; she isn’t the least bit worried about appearances or impressing a boy or solving mysteries for the good of all, but in hustling a few bucks and training for an exciting career as a spy… or a fortune teller. I can’t imagine a more welcome role model for teenage girls.

This essay is one contribution to this week’s Moveable Manga Feast, a virtual book club in which bloggers share thoughts about a favorite series. For additional entries, please visit The Manga Curmudgeon, where host David Welsh has posted reviews, interviews, and links to essays exploring Sexy Voice and Robo from a variety of angles.

HARRIET THE SPY • WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY LOUISE FITZHUGH • RANDOM HOUSE • 300 pp. • AGES 10 AND UP

SEXY VOICE AND ROBO • BY IOU KURODA • VIZ • 394 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

These Old Shades by Georgette Heyer: A-

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theseoldshadesFrom the back cover:
Society believes the worst of Justin Alastair, the notorious Duke of Avon, who is clearly proud of his sobriquet, “Satanas.” It is he who buys Léon body and soul from a scoundrel in a Paris backstreet. The red-headed urchin has strangely familiar looks, and should play a fine part in Justin’s long-overdue schemes to avenge himself on the Comte de St Vire—until, that is, Léon becomes the ravishing beauty Léonie…

Review:
These Old Shades is the supremely entertaining tale of the clever and manipulative Duke of Avon and his spirited page-turned-ward Léon/Léonie. The book has an interesting publishing history, in that it’s a sequel of sorts to Heyer’s first novel (The Black Moth) but with the characters’ names changed since the events of said book did not allow for a direct sequel. It stands alone perfectly well, though, and I experienced no disadvantage from not having read the earlier work.

The basic plot is pretty simple, if slightly improbable. The Duke of Avon has many enemies, and chief among them is the red-haired, black-browed Comte de St Vire. When Avon should happen to run into a youth who bears a striking resemblance to the Comte, he immediately realizes the boy, Léon, must be the result of some indiscretion on St Vire’s part and resolves to use him as a weapon to destroy his foe. Most of the rest of the book consists of flaunting Léon under St Vire’s nose, both as a boy and later as the lovely Léonie, and trying to induce St Vire to admit to what Avon has surmised but has no concrete proof of. It all wraps up tidily at the end, and with a terrific final line, to boot.

The characters are the real charm of These Old Shades. I love characters like the Duke of Avon—seemingly foppish, but really incredibly dangerous. He always speaks languidly and sardonically and kind of reminds me of what Mr. Bennet (of Pride and Prejudice) could’ve been like had he been ruthless instead of indolent. Léonie is irrepressible (yet completely devoted to Avon), and though she (eventually) submits to learning to be a girl, still derives great delight from traditionally boyish pursuits. Supporting them are the Duke’s siblings, friends, and neighbors, who are all charmed by Léonie and make a fun audience for Avon’s schemes.

The one complaint I could make is the eventual direction of Avon and Léonie’s relationship. Avon states at one point that he has only a fatherly affection for Léonie and that he is convinced that she looks upon him as something akin to a grandparent. It would appear he was mistaken about that, but a paternal vibe was planted so firmly in my brain that when the story proceeded to pair them up romantically it was kind of icky.

All in all, though, I really enjoyed These Old Shades. It’s somewhat of a relief, coming after a rather disappointing first attempt at reading Heyer, since I was so convinced I’d like her books that I once bought a whole slew of them on eBay. Happily, the story begun here is continued in three more books, so those will likely be the next of her books that I tackle.

Manhwa Monday: Quick Roundup

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I am still out of the office so this’ll be a quick one!

Today’s featured review comes from Rob at Panel Patter, where he discusses the first volume of Mi-Kyung Yun’s Bride of the Water God (Dark Horse).

Having just begun to delve into manhwa, Rob says, “Bride is by far the best manhwa I’ve read so far, combining the detailed and intricate line work that I like so much in Tarot Cafe with a storyline that is both compelling and well-plotted.” Even as a “story-first, art second style of reader” he is especially taken by the series’ artwork, and talks about going back to linger over it after his first read.

“It’s going to be really hard to wait for the library to bring me volume two,” Rob says at the end of his review,” In fact, I wonder if the library gods would accept a sacrifice…” Click here for more! …

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Slam Dunk 8 by Takehiko Inoue: B+

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slamdunk8After an admirable performance in an exhibition game against a tough rival, the Shohoku High basketball team is ready to get back to practice, but a gang of thugs with a grudge against team member Ryota Miyagi makes that impossible. They invade the court with the intent of starting a brawl that’ll get the Shohoku team disqualified from competition. Just when the thugs have been beaten back, with help from Hanamichi’s pals, assistant captain Kogure reveals that the lead punk, Mitsui, was once a promising member of the team.

What follows is a multi-chapter tale of hubris, wounded knees, and wasted potential, and it might perhaps seem rather pointless if not for all the heartfelt emotion on display and the certainty that Mitsui will once again rejoin the team. Kogure, typically very mild in manner, shows he’s tougher than he looks while Mitsui does the opposite when confronted by Coach Anzai, whom he dearly loves and respects.

All in all, there’s very little actual basketball in this volume but there is a lot of team building, which makes for a very enjoyable reading experience.

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

Slam Dunk 3-7 by Takehiko Inoue: B

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slamdunk3How did I let myself get a whole year behind on Slam Dunk?! Of course, the upside to such a monumental lapse is having half a dozen volumes to gobble up back-to-back!

At the end of the second volume, hot-headed protagonist Hanamichi Sakuragi impressed team captain Akagi by declaring himself “a basketball man” in answer to pressure to join the judo team. As a reward, Akagi decides that Hanamichi (who has been learning the fundamentals of dribbling, passing, et cetera) is now ready to learn to shoot. To Hanamichi, of course, this means the slam dunk, but what Akagi has in mind is a more common shot, the layup. Even though Hanamichi practices a good deal on his own, he’s just not getting it until Haruko, the object of Hanamichi’s affections, gives him some pointers. Meanwhile, the Shohoku High team prepares for an exhibition game against Ryonan, a school with an incredible team.

slamdunk5The game against Ryonan—which spans all of volumes four and five and the first third of volume six—is nothing short of riveting, even though Hanamichi is incredibly, incredibly obnoxious throughout. His cockiness wouldn’t grate so much if, like Ryoma in Prince of Tennis, he actually had the skill to back up his claims. Still, his overwhelming confidence does help the team in a few crucial moments and they hold their own extremely well. One of the things I love about sports manga is how the mangaka can quickly create interesting opponents for our team, and Inoue does so here with Ryonan’s ace, Sendoh, who must work much harder against Shohoku than he ever anticipated and enjoys himself much more as a result.

After the exhibition game, Shohoku sets their sights on the district preliminaries and the road to nationals. At the same time, Ryota Miyagi, a second-year student who’d been hospitalized after being injured in a fight, returns to the team. He and Hanamichi butt heads at first until they discover a shared lack of success with the ladies and quickly become buddies. Alas, some thugs have a grudge against Ryota and the basketball team, and a brawl on the court ensues that could disqualify them from competition.

slamdunk7I’m hopeful that the introduction of Ryota marks the start of a Hanamichi I’ll be able to like. Somehow, Hanamichi doesn’t feel the need to exert his prowess over Ryota and is able to receive instruction from him without being a moron about it. It’s extremely gratifying! And even if I find Hanamichi annoying, there are plenty of other characters for me to like. My favorite is Kogure, the mild-mannered assistant captain, but I’m also fond of Yohei Mito, Hanamichi’s right-hand henchman, who is sweetly protective of his friend’s newfound passion and unforgiving of those who would spoil it for him.

Inoue’s art may not be very pretty in Slam Dunk, but it’s extremely easy to follow where games are concerned. I never once had a question about who had passed to whom, or even whether the ball bounced before someone caught it; it must be hard to depict movement so gracefully, but Inoue really excels at it. The “bonus NBA content,” which I assume is provided by VIZ, has also proven to be more interesting than I thought it would be. I admit that I skip the player profile in each volume, but the second page includes all kinds of tips about strategy, and I find it both educational and entertaining. I never actually knew, for example, that the point guard was the fastest member of the team.

If you’re looking for a completely fun and addictive sports manga, Slam Dunk will definitely fit that bill. I’d like it more if Hanamichi weren’t so irritating, but I have hopes that he’ll gradually mature and, in the meantime, there are a lot of other positives to keep me reading!

Review copies for volumes 5-7 provided by the publisher.

The Box Man

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A few weeks ago, Salon columnist Laura Miller offered a radical suggestion for bookworms: make a New Year’s resolution to read outside your comfort zone. Though I like to think my manga-reading habits are broad and adventurous, I cheerfully acknowledge that there are certain categories that I strenuously avoid. All things mecha, for example: I lost interest in Bokurano Ours when I realized that it would be a grim variation on the standard children-piloting-giant-robots scenario. Underground manga, for another: I know as a manga critic I’m supposed to think Short Cuts and Mr. Arashi’s Amazing Freak Show are brilliant, sophisticated, daring, etc., but their disturbing imagery made me kind of queasy. These are blind spots, I know, so I decided to address my hang-ups head-on by making 2010 The Year of Reading Everything.

The Box Man (Drawn & Quarterly), my first experiment, reminded me why I usually shun books that purport to “push even the limitless boundaries of the comic book medium”: that phrase seems to be a coded way of saying “weird stuff that might strike normal folk as ugly, pointless, or offensive.” And indeed, The Box Man certainly challenges the “boundaries of the medium,” if not the boundaries of good taste: the art has a studied naivete, there’s no real plot to speak of, and there are numerous images that verge on tokusatsu porn. (More on that in a minute.)

The Box Man is a collection of trippy set-pieces connected by a baldly literal conceit: a journey. The book opens with a man in sunglasses and his companion, a cat with a carapace, loading a box onto the back of a scooter. The two then set off into the night, encountering goons, wrestlers, aliens, two-headed pigs, VW-sized protozoa, and lounge singers in the back alleys and sewers of an unnamed city. Though they’re chased and menaced throughout the book, there isn’t an obvious rationale for any of the activity; it’s action for action’s sake. The lack of plot isn’t fatal, but when the goings-on include wrestling matches that pit monsters against humans in grotesquely sexual ways… well, call me a nice Irish Catholic girl, but it seems like those sequences ought to serve some clear purpose. (They don’t.) Even my attempts to contextualize these images within the greater history of shunga print-making only went so far; yes, I can see these images’ relationship to, say, The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife, but no, I’ve never had the urge to frame something like that and hang it over my sofa, nor do I find the Creature Double Feature angle a playful update on the tradition.

It’s a shame that these images take up so much space in the middle of the book, as it’s obvious that creator Imiri Sakabashira has a fertile imagination. Sakabashira loves to take the familiar and make it strange, grafting a human head onto a crab’s body, for example, or stocking the local fish market with the kind of toothy critters normally found miles below the ocean’s surface. It’s also undeniable that Sakabashira has serious drawing chops; his streetscapes have a vital energy and specificity that’s missing from a lot of manga, filled with meticulously-drawn signs, clothes lines groaning under the weight of laundry, weedy lots, and tangled power lines.

Yet for all the obvious craft that went into The Box Man, I could never quite abandon myself to the artwork. I’ve always found surrealism one of the shallower manifestations of modernism, an overly intellectualized attempt to repackage Romantic interest in dreams, the supernatural, and the occult as a penetrating critique of positivism. I would never deny the artistry of Dali or Ernst, but I would never put their best work on par with, say, Picasso’s, as those melting clocks and fireside angels always seemed more like stunts than meaningful statements about the modern condition. The same problem bedevils The Box Man: it’s vivid and hallucinatory and nightmarish, yet in the end, all that furious activity doesn’t signify very much.

THE BOX MAN • BY IMIRI SAKABASHIRA • DRAWN & QUARTERLY • 124 pp. • NO RATING (BEST SUITED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES)

The Dead and the Gone by Susan Beth Pfeffer: C+

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deadandthegoneFrom the back cover:
When life as Alex Morales had known it changed forever, he was working behind the counter at Joey’s Pizza. He was worried about getting elected as senior class president and making the grades to land him in a good college. He never expected that an asteroid would hit the moon, knocking it closer in orbit to the earth and catastrophically altering the earth’s climate. He never expected to be fighting just to stay alive. And when Alex’s parents disappear in the aftermath of the tidal waves, he must care for his two younger sisters, even as Manhattan becomes a deadly wasteland.

Susan Beth Pfeffer’s Life As We Knew It enthralled and devastated readers with its look at an apocalyptic event from a small-town perspective. Now this harrowing companion book examines the same events as they unfold in New York City, revealed through the eyes of a seventeen-year-old Puerto Rican New Yorker.

With haunting themes of family, faith, personal change, and courage, this powerful novel explores how a young man takes on unimaginable responsibilities.

Review:
Seeing as how The Dead and the Gone is a companion book to Life As We Knew It, I expected that they’d have fundamentally the same plot. Apparently, I should’ve anticipated they’d have the same pitfalls, as well.

The story this time focuses on ambitious teenager Alex Morales, whose dreams of a bright academic future are cut short when an asteroid knocks the moon much closer to Earth, sending everyone into panic and claiming the lives of both of Alex’s parents. Forced to care for his two sisters, he does some awful things in order to survive and tries to make the best decisions he can, though sometimes ends up making mistakes. Faith is important to the Morales family, especially to super-pious Briana, who believes that her parents aren’t really dead but just stricken with amnesia from which they will miraculously recover someday.

One of the most annoying things about Life As We Knew It was its whiny protagonist and how she’d seem to improve, only to backslide. The same thing happens in this book with Alex’s younger sister, Julie, though eventually I realized Alex himself is a large part of the problem there. I’ve read three of Pfeffer’s books by now and have noticed that she tends to repeat things. This book is no exception, since a large part of it is taken up by variations on the following scene, repeated at least five or six times:

Alex: *accuses Julie of something*
Julie: I hate you! *runs off, slams door*
Alex: *goes in to talk to Julie and apologize*

After a while, I ended up sympathizing with Julie because Alex kept blaming everything on her! I was also irritated by the open-ended conclusion, predicted something waaaaaay in advance about Briana, and literally laughed out loud at the ridiculous fever dream Alex has while he’s sick with the flu.

That said, I do tend to like these apocalyptic YA books, so at least I enjoyed the basic plot even if the Morales family got on my nerves. I think I’ve learned by now, though, that Pfeffer’s books just aren’t my thing.

Manhwa Monday: Welcome, February!

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Today’s featured review comes from Kate Dacey over at The Manga Critic, for Sirial’s trippy all-ages tale One Fine Day (Yen Press). Kate begins her review with the definition of “whimsical,” a word that I expect even the series’ detractors must agree best fits the bill. As Kate says, “One Fine Day is whimsical in the fullest sense of the word, at once ‘lightly fanciful’ and ‘subject to erratic behavior or unpredictable change.'”

As a fan of the series myself, I especially appreciate Kate’s description of its most fanciful scenes, such as one in which “No-Ah and friends throw a lavish party for his grandparents’ antique furniture, here represented as beautiful fairies and enormous woodland creatures.” If you’ve been wondering if One Fine Day is for you, I highly recommend checking out Kate’s review.

Meanwhile, out in the cold of cyberspace, ReversedMiso laments the demise …

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Kimi ni Todoke, Vol. 3

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Kimi ni Todoke (From Me to You), Vol. 3
By Karuho Shiina
Published by Viz Media


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As Sawako becomes accustomed to having real friends, a whole new world opens up to her. Suddenly she’s being invited to dinner, enjoying giddy, pointless conversation, and having boys make excuses to walk her home. She lets her friends help her improve at sports and even learns to address a few of them by name–possibly the most difficult challenge of all. Unfortunately her newfound popularity (especially with school hottie Kazehaya) earns her the attention of one of adolescence’s least desirable entities: the love rival.

Though Kimi ni Todoke doesn’t attempt to be anything more than just another tale of teen friendship and love, mangaka Karuho Shiina uses the simplicity of her heroine so effectively, it actually feels as though she’s breaking new ground. Everything Sawako experiences in this volume–affection, attraction, even jealousy–is so genuinely new to her, it is able to become fresh again for readers as well. Perhaps the most satisfying thing in this volume, however, is watching Sawako begin to demonstrate her own personal strength, as she eventually does with a popular girl who tries to sabotage her budding relationship with Kazehaya.

Another of this series’ refreshing qualities is that Shiina consistently avoids letting her supporting characters fall into typical shojo traps. Just as Chizu and Ayane refuse to let nasty rumors destroy their newfound friendship with Sawako in volume two, Kazehaya seems unlikely to let his feelings be swayed by the machinations of Sawako’s “rival.” Whether this level of loyalty and self-awareness is authentic to the teenage experience is another question (it certainly bears little resemblance to mine) but perhaps this is the key to the series’ charm. For those of us whose teen years were truly isolating, Kimi ni Todoke is like a soothing balm, healing up old wounds one by one.

It is a pleasure to note that, three volumes in, this series has truly lost none of its original charm. With its unusually warm take on typical teen drama, Kimi ni Todoke provides a heartfelt testament to the sweetness of youth.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Two Fables by Roald Dahl: B

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Two_fables_coverFrom the front flap:
Roald Dahl is recognized as a master in two quite different fields: the short story and the novel for children. In these two new fables, Dahl has once again written startlingly original stories that, while owing something to the clarity and verve of his writing for children, are firmly intended for adults. In “The Princess and the Poacher,” the beastially ugly Hengist is granted a dark wish, but cannot bring himself to fulfill it. In “Princess Mammalia,” Mammalia is driven to attempt murder when her beauty dazzles every man in the kingdom except the one who has what she truly wants.

Deftly told, these pared-down tales explore the intertwinings of love and power, beauty and desire.

Review:
Two Fables contains two odd short stories that share some common themes and some bizarre, Rorschach-y illustrations by Graham Dean.

In “The Princess and the Poacher,” Hengist, an unfortunately ugly young man, is quite naturally interested in maidens fair but, as Dahl aptly puts it, “no maidens, fair or otherwise, were interested in Hengist.” In an attempt to distract himself from the ladies he can’t have, he takes to solitary walks in the woods and discovers a talent for stealth that ultimately leads to a life of crime as a poacher. One day, seeking a challenge, he ventures into the king’s woods and ends up saving the princess from being gored by a boar.

In gratitude, the king makes a proclamation that Hengist is free to ravish any female in the land. But now that all women are powerless to resist him, Hengist suddenly finds that he doesn’t want any of them. Alone of all the males in the court, he treats the princess courteously and, in the end, wins her love, which was the king’s plan all along. I don’t really get why the king wanted his daughter to marry a poor, uneducated commoner like Hengist, since Dahl never spells it out, but perhaps it’s a political maneuver to avoid having a scheming son-in-law in his household. This seems likely, given the outcome of the second tale.

In “Princess Mammalia,” the titular princess awakes on the morning of her seventeenth birthday to discover she has become a dazzling beauty. She promptly begins exercising her power over men, growing contemptuous of their obedience. Like Hengist, once members of the opposite sex become powerless to resist her, Mammalia loses interest. Tiring of humiliating her admirers, she soon sets her sights on usurping her father’s throne, but the king, like his peer in the first story, is a clever fellow and devises a way to test his daughter’s loyalty. This story’s a little more concise than the first, with a more definite ending, so I liked it a bit better for that.

In the end, this is an extremely quick read that, as the flap promises, delivers an intriguing hybrid of Dahl’s fairy tale style and more adult subject matter. I’d never read anything by Dahl intended for a grown-up audience before, and it was an interesting experience. Like any fable ought, these stories also deliver a clear (though sexually tinged) moral: irresistibility (whether mandated by law or achieved through beauty) is seldom as enjoyable as daydreams might suggest.

All My Darling Daughters by Fumi Yoshinaga: A

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allmydarling“A mother is an imperfect woman.”

So thinks Yukiko Kisaragi, the central hub around which the collection of stories in All My Darling Daughters revolves. As the story begins, Yukiko’s mother, Mari, has just undergone a successful cancer operation and decides that, from now on, she’s going to live her life the way she wants. To Yukiko’s dismay, this involves getting remarried to an aspiring actor and much younger man, Ken Ohashi, whom she met at a host club. At first, Yukiko is convinced it’s a con, and maintains a guarded demeanor around Ohashi, but once he proves his love for Mari really is genuine, she breaks down. “She’s always belonged entirely to me,” she sobs.

From there, stories focus on those Yukiko knows. The second chapter is about a strange student named Maiko who forces herself on Izumi, a lecturer friend of Ohashi’s; the third features Sayako, a pretty friend of Yukiko who has decided to investigate arranged marriage; the fourth is about middle school friends of Yukiko and how their career plans went awry; and the final chapter focuses on Yukiko’s grandmother and her relationship with Mari. Meanwhile, we catch glimpses of how Yukiko’s life is evolving through a series of revelations about what has occurred “off-camera.”

At first I had a hard time understanding how some of these stories related to each other. Sayako’s story, for example, is incredibly touching and sad, but her mother does not play much of a role. The story of the forceful student seemed entirely out of place. But then the common thread hit me: this book is not just about mothers and daughters. It’s about the relationship between any caregiver and a child, and how something that might seem inconsequential to one could affect the other for the rest of their lives.

Sayako is crippled in love because her well-meaning grandfather told her, “You mustn’t discriminate among people.” Maiko has a warped view of relationships because someone indoctrinated her with a servile disposition—even though Izumi repeatedly says, “Who told you that?” it’s a perception she is unable and even unwilling to shake. Yukiko’s middle school friend is unable to fulfill her lofty goal of being a trailblazer for women in the workplace because an abusive father forces her to leave home early and quit school. Even Mari’s not immune, since her mother’s denigrating comments (made with good intentions, we later learn) about her appearance gave her a lifetime complex about her looks.

By the end of the volume, it’s apparent that Yukiko really is living a charmed life. Mari may be an imperfect mother, but she’s honest about her foibles and the two share an incredible relationship. Yukiko even achieves a sense of peace about her new step-dad, realizing “this strange boy is necessary for my mom.” Yukiko’s husband, Jun, is sweet yet equally imperfect, and a casual remark near the end of the volume reveals they’ve made headway in conquering a problem of equality in their marriage. Career-wise, Yukiko is the most successful of her group of middle school friends, prompting former chum Saeki to think, “At least one of us fulfilled her modest dreams.” And who is it whose fierce yet loving care enabled Yukiko’s life to turn out so well? I’ll give you one guess.

In addition to all of this thoughtful, integrated writing, Yoshinaga also employs her distinctive artistic style in the service of the story. True, the bulk of the panels contain talking heads in white space, but sometimes these headshots are exactly what one needs to get the point across. The most effective example of this occurs in the third chapter, when a two-page spread of close-ups is used to convey how Sayako and a prospective husband, Mr. Fuwa, have instantly achieved a content companionship. And if you don’t get sniffly when this technique is used again in the final two pages, you might just be a robot.

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

Blackout by Keith R. A. DeCandido: C-

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blackoutFrom the back cover:
New York City in 1977 is vampire heaven. Serial killer Son of Sam is often blamed for their hits, and a citywide blackout gives them free reign of the streets, allowing them to get away with murder. Spike and his beloved Drusilla are in the Big Apple taking advantage of the situation, as is Vampire Slayer Nikki Wood, who has hunkered down with her son, Robin, in a Times Square apartment where she thinks they’ll be safe.

But no matter where she goes, Nikki has to watch her back. Spike has only one thing on his mind: to slay a Slayer. Adding to Spike’s list of challenges is a corrupt local vampire community that catches wind of his presence, and when they start messing with him, things get bloody interesting.

Review:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that “Fool for Love” is one of the best episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Occurring near the beginning of the fifth season, this episode finds Buffy asking Spike how exactly he managed to best two Slayers in his time and Spike concluding that, in the end, all Slayers have a death wish. The themes of this episode tie in with the magnificent fifth season finale, “The Gift,” and it’s incredibly important for the characters concerned and the series as a whole.

It’s unfortunate, then, that the tie-in novel that fleshes out Spike’s encounter with Nikki Wood, the second Slayer to meet death at his hands, is so crappy.

The plot isn’t too bad: we first meet Nikki in 1973 when she learns about her destiny and begins training, and pick up with her later in 1977 when she’s quite the badass and a local folk hero, preferring to live amidst the poor and disenfranchised of New York rather than with her Watcher, whose swanky place is located in a neighborhood where the residents can depend on police protection. A vampire-led criminal organization is her chief bane, and Spike becomes problem number two. They have a series of charged meetings and only after she cleverly uses him to exterminate her other foes do they finally have that climactic battle on the subway depicted in “Fool for Love.”

It seems that DeCandido has done his work making the narrative fit the two times we see Nikki and Spike in the series (she also appears in season seven’s “Lies My Parents Told Me”) as well as incorporating the 1977 blackout into the story. Spike and Dru sound mostly like themselves—though DeCandido gets the color of her eyes wrong—and it’s clear that Nikki is resourceful and special.

So… what’s the problem? DeCandido cannot write a non-stereotypical black character to save his life! Every single male black person is wearing outlandish, pimp-like attire, sporting an afro, and talking jive. Nikki’s the only female black character we see, but she is consistently being compared to heroines of blaxploitation films and greeted with hails like, “Right on, Big Mamma Jamma!” Maybe the dialogue is the result of DeCandido’s misguided efforts to evoke a seventies feel by loading every single sentence with period-appropriate slang, but it’s cringe-inducing. Here’s Nikki’s first line as an example:

No, sugar, they ain’t got nothin’ to do with that cat. Don’t worry, they’re gone and they ain’t never comin’ back, you dig?

In the end, what could’ve been a fairly decent story is ruined by DeCandido’s writing, which I can describe as nothing less than embarrassing. I feel like I ought to apologize to African-Americans on his behalf.

Steal Moon 1-2 by Makoto Tateno: C

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stealmoon2As in the related series Blue Sheep Reverie, Makoto Tateno has gone beyond the call of BL duty to craft a science fiction plot of some complexity. One hundred years in the past, a computer on the moon called “Isis” was created to protect the president then in office. Now it’s rumored to be spying on the populace and seasoned street fighter Nozomi is recruited to help put it out of commission.

This all sounds fairly tame, but the way in which Nozomi gets involved is pretty bizarre. Boasting about his fighting skills after his latest victory, he declares that if anyone could beat him, he’d “willingly become his servant.” This is the cue for a mysterious guy called Coyote to show up, beat Nozomi, and promptly sell him to an internet peep room site. Because this is BL, Nozomi falls in love with Coyote, even though the latter says things like, “I wish I could’ve kept you imprisoned forever.” How romantic.

The peep show gig doesn’t last long, and Nozomi is eventually drafted into helping take down “Isis.” By the end of the second volume, he has learned more about Coyote so their relationship makes a bit more sense, at least, and some of the power dynamic issues are rectified. Nothing in the world can excuse the creepiness of the two twelve-year-olds in the peep show place with Nozomi, though. They’re fond of crawling all over him and striking sexy poses to drive up their hit counts, but the apex of ick occurs when one kid declares, “I’m gonna grow up real fast so I can service you!”

Um, ew?

Plotwise, Steal Moon is ambitious and occasionally even intriguing, but other elements of the story might incite a strong desire for brain bleach.

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

Manhwa Monday: 1/24/10

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Hello Manhwa Monday readers! This week’s featured review comes from Kate O’Neil at Mania.com, where she takes a look at volume one of Gyojeong Kwon’s The Adventures of Young Det, published in English by NETCOMICS.

The unusual thing about this series, as the reviewer notes, is that the first volume is very clearly a prologue which does not yet feature the series’ main characters. “Hopefully, this isn’t wasted time and some of this information will prove important later in the story.” For the most part her comments are positive. “It sketches a well thought out fantasy world…” she writes. “It’s a refreshing change of pace for fantasy readers, and it’ll be interesting to see where the story leads.”

I first became aware of this series via Michelle Smith, who listed it as one of her favorite manhwa of 2009. Check it out in print, or online at NETCOMICS.com. …

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Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator by Roald Dahl: C

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charlieelevatorFrom the back cover:
Now that he’s won the chocolate factory, what’s next for Charlie? Last seen flying through the sky in a giant elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Charlie Bucket’s back for another adventure. When the giant elevator picks up speed, Charlie, Willy Wonka, and the gang are sent hurtling through space and time. Visiting the world’s first space hotel, battling the dreaded Vermicious Knids, and saving the world are only a few stops along this remarkable, intergalactic joyride.

Review:
This reminds me a lot of what happened when I read The Neverending Story. Its film version (the original, thank you!) debuted around the same time I discovered Willy Wonka, actually, and I loved it just as much. I read the book about ten years ago, but the portion that was filmed ended about halfway through. The rest, as far as I remember, was a psychedelic story about a lion and wishes and multi-colored sand. It wasn’t bad, but neither was it the story I loved.

Similarly, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator continues where the first book left off and yet fails to achieve the magic of its predecessor. Mr. Wonka and Charlie’s family are taking the elevator back to the factory Charlie has just won, but Charlie’s three bedridden grandparents—who will fulfill the role of trouble-causing brats throughout the book—prevent Wonka from pressing a certain button at the right time and the elevator ends up entering orbit. So, essentially, you’ve got an eccentric guy in funny clothes piloting a box through space with some regular humans in tow for companionship. Sounds familiar…

Misadventures in space ensue, primarily caused by Wonka being somewhat of an ass and the grandparents being morons. I felt bad for Charlie on several occasions, because it seemed he wasn’t having very much fun. Eventually they get back to the factory, and the grandparents are at it again; the final quarter of the book is spent on de-aging them with the benefit of one pill and then re-aging them with a sort of magic oil. It’s pointless and not at all enjoyable. Add to this some potty humor and an unfunny incompetent president and you come up with a book that I will probably never read again.

If you love Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and want to preserve your warm and fuzzy memories of same, do yourself a favor and avoid the sequel.