I’ve decided to absolve myself from the entirely self-imposed edict that I review each volume of a series separately and start offering multi-volume reviews on this site. The final three volumes of Click seemed like an ideal place to start, since it was getting to be challenge coming up with new things to say about each volume when taken individually.
The romantic angst ramps up as we approach the conclusion, with Jinhoo realizing he has feelings for Joonha (and, believing Joonha is male, proceeding to be melodramatic and tortured about it) and Heewon being depressed because of her own pathetic behavior regarding same. (Meanwhile, Taehyun’s family resolves to learn the true gender of the person who has captivated his heart. I hesitate to include that in the angst category, though, since it’s pretty pointless and boring.) One has to wonder why all of these characters are in love with Joonha, since she’s only somewhat less of an ass now than she used to be.
In any case, Joonha seems to feel about equal affection for them all 
(judging by a conversation with her father at the beginning of the seventh volume) and they all know about each other too, resulting in fisticuffs between Taehyun and Jinhoo at one point. Jinhoo, the presumed favorite, breaks up with his girlfriend, Hyejin (whom he realizes he cares for but has never truly loved), and finally, finally comes out and asks Joonha, “Why does everyone say you’re a girl?” Alas, it’s here where the series takes a turn for the dramatastic, for as Joonha begins to respond to the question, Jinhoo’s phone rings with news that Hyejin’s entire family has been in a car accident. Dun dun dunnnn.
From that point on, the kooky just keeps on coming, with two of the contenders for Joonha’s affection removing themselves from the picture for pretty much unnecessary reasons. The way the two scenes parallel each other is kind of interesting, though, and I finally have some sympathy for (okay, this is a spoiler, but did anyone really think this person would be the one?) Heewon who was feeling like a dupe for ever falling in love, but who now seems to be more at peace with the way things happened. There’s also an entirely random kidnapping that made me laugh out loud, it was so ridiculous.
I’ve seen where some have found the ending of this series to be unsatisfying, and I can see where they’re coming from. My problem’s not with the ultimate pairing, though, but rather with how it was carried out. Like Beauty Pop, instead of actually showing the protagonist confessing her feelings to the person of her choice, the story instead jumps forward in time a few years to a point where they’re a recognized couple already. What a cheat! Plus, they’re not acting much differently than they ever did, and it seems to have taken four years for any kissing to transpire!
Click continues to be a fast read through to the end, and while the endless drama is part of it, the art’s another big factor. The page layouts tend to be pretty simple, with large panels and not a lot of backgrounds to stall the eye. This presents a problem, though, because without any pace-slowing, transitional panels, one can be zipping through a brief scene with Taehyun’s family and suddenly, disconcertingly, turn to a page on which Jinhoo is dramatically announcing that he’s postponing his return trip to New York. It happens fairly often and is jarring each time, like zooming along the interstate then suddenly slamming on the brakes.
Ultimately, I’m glad I read Click. Yes, it could be cheaply manipulative and ridiculous, and no, I didn’t much like any of the characters, but it was a fun ride all the same.
Though much of the devastation that Hyakkimaru and Dororo witness is man-made (Dororo takes placed during the Sengoku, or Warring States, Period), demons exploit the conflict for their own benefit, holding small communities in their thrall, luring desperate travelers to their doom, and feasting on the never-ending supply of human corpses. Some of these demons have obvious antecedents in Japanese folklore — a nine-tailed kitsune — while others seem to have sprung full-blown from Tezuka’s imagination — a shark who paralyzes his victims with sake breath, a demonic toad, a patch of mold possessed by an evil spirit. (As someone who’s lived in prewar buildings, I can vouch for the existence of demonic mold. Lysol is generally more effective than swordplay in eliminating it, however.) Hyakkimaru has a vested interest in killing these demons, as he spontaneously regenerates a lost body part with each monster he slays. But he also feels a strong sense of kinship with many victims — a feeling not shared by those he helps, who cast him out of their village as soon as the local demon has been vanquished.
For folks who find the cartoonish aspects of Tezuka’s style difficult to reconcile with the serious themes addressed in Buddha, Phoenix, and Ode to Kirihito, Dororo may prove a more satisfying read. The cuteness of Tezuka’s heroes actually works to his advantage; they seem terribly vulnerable when contrasted with the grotesque demons, ruthless samurai, and scheming bandits they encounter. Tezuka’s jokes — which can be intrusive in other stories — also prove essential to Dororo‘s success. He shatters the fourth wall, inserts characters from his stable of “stars,” borrows characters from other manga-kas’ work, and punctuates moments of high drama with low comedy, underscoring the sheer absurdity of his conceits… like sake-breathing shark demons. Put another way, Dororo wears its allegory lightly, focusing primarily on swordfights, monster lairs, and damsels in distress while using its historical setting to make a few modest points about the corrosive influence of greed, power, and fear.
From the back cover:
