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Reviews

Black Torch, Vol. 1

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By Tsuyoshi Takaki. Released in Japan by Shueisha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Jump Square. Released in North America by Viz. Translated by Toshikazu Aizawa and Colin Leigh.

A lot of the first volume of this new Jump series looks like a prologue, because in a sense it is. In fact, I’d argue that it might have worked better if it were done as a flashback after a few chapters featuring the titular special unit that our hero ends up getting drafted into. As it is, I enjoyed this volume but I’m left a bit dissatisfied as it feels like the story hasn’t quite started yet. There is a bit going on here to make folks want to read more, though. Jiro is somewhat standard Jump style, but “can talk to animals and is also a ninja” is a pretty good starting point, even if he does end the first chapter with a giant hole in his chest. There’s also Ichika, who manages to deal with a “I hate people who belittle me because I’m a woman scene” with her dignity mostly intact, which always pleases me.

We not only have ninjas here but also Mononokes, which seems to be sort of animal demons. Jiro rescues a small cat who turns out to be one of these, and also the only one in the series to date who’s not evil. Unfortunately, when you team up with the one “not evil” monster, you get hard looks from the team hired to take out monsters, which includes grumpy Ichika and her boss, the Captain Gotoh-esque Shiba. They’re the Oniwabanshu of legendary historical fame, now busy being bodyguards and also hunting down these monsters, which have recently popped back up. After a mostly deadly fight, Jiro and Rago are now fused, so he’s something of a trouble spot. That said, he’s pretty good in a fight, and has mononoke powers while still fighting for goodness and niceness, so he’s allowed to join the new team.

There are apparently two more team members we haven’t met, and as I indicated before, I think this feels more like “Part 1 of 2” than other Jump series of this sort. I like Ichika, despite her “I need to properly emphasize my rack for the readers” costume (which is even lampshaded). She seems to be the daughter of a ninja clan family who’s been dealing with “but you’re a girl” her entire life, and it’s made her a big angry and reluctant to accept help. Needless to say, the moment she mentions this, she’s put in a situation where she’s in dire straits and needs help. That said, she shows she’s a damn good fighter, and gets in the final blow, so I think it was pretty well handled. I suspect these two will be the lead “couple”, but I also expect any romance will be about 10th on the list of things this manga wants to do. It’s here to kick ass and take names, not flirt it up.

Add it all up and you have a decent first volume, and one I’d recommend to fans of things like Blue Exorcist. I look forward to the next volume, which should show what the series will actually be doing going forward.

So I’m a Spider, So What?, Vol. 3

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By Okina Baba and Tsukasa Kiryu. Released in Japan as “Kumo Desu ga, Nani ka?” by Fujimi Shobo. Released in North America by Yen On. Translated by Jenny McKeon.

So yes, readers more familiar with future events in Spider So What were probably laughing at me in my previous two reviews. I admit to being completely taken in. It was easy enough to assume that the spider’s climb up through the dungeon was happening around the same time as the rest of the plot we were seeing on the surface. Except, of course, that doesn’t make sense at all, because the plot on the surface has been happening over the course of the last eighteen years or so. Whereas we’ve more or less been following the spider’s journey up the dungeon since birth, and it has… well, not been eighteen years. So yes, all of my desires for the spider to get to the top and join up with the main plot are somewhat embarrassingly for nought. She IS in the main plot… as the head villain. That said, there’s still something weird going on here.

As always, this is a book of two halves, alternating. The main plot deals with our spider doing what she’s been doing, slowly moving upward and fighting monsters. The interesting thing going on here, which the reader is only partially let in on, is that after her Taboo level reaches 10, she’s apparently given hidden insight into the nature of this entire world. Unfortunately, her hyperactive teen narration does not actually tell us much about this, presumably because spoilers. It likely has something to do with the two mystery “admin” figures we see, one of whom – D – looks to be behind a lot of what’s going on. *are* they trapped in a game? It doesn’t seem likely. The other big news here is the spider’s fight against the dragon that terrified her so long ago – this time, he’s stronger and tougher, and the fight is probably the highlight of the book. It is amusing seeing the spider’s immaturity here compared with what we see in the epilogue.

The other half of the plot involves everything going wrong for Shun. It’s not enough that his brother is dead, but Hugo, the arrogant jerk from last time, seems to have now mind controlled most of the kingdom into doing his bidding and killing the traitor. This includes, seemingly, his little sister, and also his best friend Katia, who is still dealing with a bit of gender dysphoria here. Things go very bad for our heroes, but, oddly enough, not as bad as you’d expect, as several times the villains essentially allow them to get away. They even comment on this. That said, there are a lot of genuine casualties. I wonder if it’s simply that the reincarnated folks are the ones that can’t be killed? In any case, there’s a lot going on here, and most importantly, it helps distract from spider going on about her stats in the main story, which is still happening constantly.

Unsurprisingly, firing off ta few big plot guns pays off, and this was easily the best volume of Spider So What to date. I look forward to seeing what’s happening next, both with the spider and the humans.

Shibuya Goldfish, Vol. 1

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Shibuya Goldfish falls somewhere along the horror continuum between Sharknado 3 and Jaws: it’s too competently executed to be a guilty pleasure but too predictable to be genuinely scary. Though the premise has serious camp potential, author Hiroumi Aoi settles for a pedestrian approach to the material, trapping his cast in a high-rise shopping center where death lurks around every corner. There are a few glimmers of imagination here and there, but the overall result lacks the visceral punch, humor, or sheer imagination of other entries in the Killer Fish genre.

The story begins in media res, with a shot of Hachiko — Shibuya’s most famous statue — stained in blood. We then cut to an image of a panting, wild-eyed teen staring incredulously at a monstrous goldfish feasting on a pedestrian in the middle of a busy street. “That day was the first time I ever saw someone die,” Hajime solemnly informs us, before a flashback reveals what led up to this gruesome scene.

I won’t lie: those opening pages are a tantalizing hook for a horror buff. Though Aoi doesn’t reveal where the goldfish came from, he sells the Fish-Gone-Wild concept by emphasizing the predators’ size, numbers, and blank-eyed stares, making us appreciate the sheer incongruity of Volkswagen-sized fish swarming through an urban landscape. The goldfish’s penchant for uttering intelligible phrases — “I’m home, mom,” one burbles — adds another layer of mystery to their existence: are they truly sentient or are they merely ghosts, back to haunt the owners that flushed them down the toilet?

Where Shibuya Goldfish falls short is the human dimension. Hajime is the only character who’s properly fleshed out, an earnest, slightly awkward high school student whose dreams of becoming a filmmaker are dashed by the catastrophe. The other characters are more placeholders than people, dropped into the story to generate conflict or provide useful information about goldfish behavior before dying. In recognition of their liminal status, Aoi only bestows names on a small fraction of the cast, one of whom — the beautiful, bitchy Chitose Fukakusa — is such a vile male fantasy that the introduction of two more competent, sincere female characters in chapters two and three barely erase the memory of Fukakusa’s manipulative behavior and panty flashes.

The other fundamental issue with Shibuya Goldfish is the artwork, which juxtaposes photo-realistic backgrounds and fish with generic character designs. The tension between these two modes of representation ends up robbing volume one’s creepiest scenes of their dramatic impact, as the full horror of what happens to several characters is muted by Aoi’s blandly rendered faces and bodies; the grotesque bodily deformations that make Junji Ito, Hideshi Hino, and Kanako Inuki’s work so arresting barely elicit a “yuck!” in Aoi’s hands. It’s a pity these moments don’t land with more oomph because Shibuya Goldfish flirts with an interesting idea: the notion that a pet as small, helpless, and disposable as a goldfish might be the downfall of humanity, punishing us for our reckless treatment of other living things. Perhaps Aoi will delve into the monsters’ origins in future volumes, but the so-so execution of these foundational chapters didn’t reel me in. Your mileage will vary.

SHIBUYA GOLDFISH, VOL. 1 • BY HIROUMI AOI • TRANSLATED BY KO RANSOM • YEN PRESS • 242 pp. • RATED OT (OLDER TEEN) FOR LANGUAGE, NUDITY, AND VIOLENCE

One Piece, Vol. 87

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By Eiichiro Oda. Released in Japan by Shueisha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Weekly Shonen Jump. Released in North America by Viz. Translated by Stephen Paul.

Ah, it’s another of those “200 pages of fighting” One Piece volumes. It’s quite enjoyable, but as always somewhat hard to squeeze out 500+ words on it. But let’s do our best. First of all, the cover lies a bit. Looking at Bib Mom there, you’d think that she was in full control of her faculties as she’s attacking everyone else. Nothing could be further from the truth. Luffy and company have come up against some tough ruthless villains in the past, but I don’t think any have quite felt like a giant Force Of Nature as much as Big Mom here once her cake is destroyed. And, as we’ve seen from the flashbacks before, she also has no qualms about completely devouring any allies that happen to be in front of her, either. It’s no surprise that everyone’s immediate goal at the start of this book is “run away”, and for once Luffy even agrees with them – for a while.

We should probably address the other big thing that happens in this book. The old “nobody dies in One Piece” credo has been a bit on the decline since the events of Marineford, but it does merit saying that MOSTLY nobody dies in One Piece. So seeing what happens towards the end of the book here still manages to be a surprise – indeed, there’s a bit after the event when Nami thinks that we’ve somehow managed to have a last-minute escape… but no. Fortunately, Jimbei is with them now and is able to inject a bit of “yes, we’re all grieving, but may I remind you of the fact that we’re about to die?” into the proceedings. As deaths go, it’s not quite up there with the Big One from many volumes ago, but it is pretty sad.

Let’s also talk Charlotte Pudding. Well… I dunno. She seems to be swinging back and forth between a Charlotte who loves Sanji and wants to save him and a Charlotte who wants to see Sanji and everyone else fall to Big Mom’s Pirates. Sometimes she’s swinging back and forth between the two by the second. I’m not sure if this is meant to be Dissociative Personality Disorder, but I rather doubt it – I suspect it might be Oda simply having fun with the “tsundere” archetype. It’s honestly not a very good character twist. Much better handled is Nami, who I always love seeing brutally manipulate people to get what she wants. The Straw Hats are not true-blue Shonen Jump heroes, but all have major flaws and foibles, and I enjoy seeing Nami’s intelligence come to the fore whenever she does this. Also, nice lightning.

With Luffy going back into the mirrir to have a huge battle with Katakuri, it doesn’t look as if we’ll be escaping Big Mom anytime soon. But that’s fine, this arc is already better than the Dressrosa arc, and I look forward to seeing how Luffy gets out of this one, because I’m fairly certain Katakuri is about to hand his ass to him.

WorldEnd: What Do You Do at the End of the World? Are You Busy? Will You Save Us?, Vol. 1

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By Akira Kareno and ue. Released in Japan as “Shumatsu Nani Shitemasu ka? Isogashii desu ka? Sukutte Morate Ii desu ka?” by Kadokawa Shoten. Released in North America by Yen On. Translated by Jasmine Bernhardt.

There are probably a few people, familiar with my reviews, who are surprised I even picked up this title at all. And it’s true, these days when I see a girl on the cover who, let’s be honest, looks sort of like a magical girl and is crying while staring at the reader, my initial though is to run away. But unlike Magical Girl _________ (please fill in the blank with the Madoka Magica clone of your choice), the essential premise of WorldEnd does not seem to be “let’s torture and kill off these empowered girls one by one for the delight of the audience”. Instead this is a much quieter, softer series, at least so far, that shows us the consequences of surviving the apocalypse, and what happens to kids who spend their lives treated as a living weapon when they find out they’ve been doing the weapon thing incorrectly. It’s not for me, but it’s very, very well done.

After a brief prologue where a young man and his not-quite-girlfriend (who calls him Daddy for reasons that make sense in-story but still makes me uncomfortable) debate the cliches of the soldier going out to face their final battle, we get to the meat of the book. Far in the future, humanity is extinct thanks to an attack by some sort of race. In the process, the other races on the planet (elves, dragons, etc.) all became far less powerful, and we’re now at the point where they can’t even live on the surface anymore. So they build a large number of floating islands, and everyone lives up there, dodging (mostly) any attacks by the Beasts living on the surface. Here those with no distinguishing features (like scales, fox ears, etc.) are treated poorly as they remind the others of humanity. Our hero is Willem, one of those people, who is hired to be the overseer of a bunch of kids at a facility on the outskirts of the islands. Then we find out who the kids actually are and what they’re supposed to do. Then we find out (though we probably guessed) who Willem really is.

For a series that is not my thing, I have to say that I found this book extremely readable. The prose is well-written and translated, and has some excellent turns of phrase. There is an aura of melancholy over the entire book, but that doesn’t stop it from having moments of humor. The kids are cute, and I really like the troll who is their other overseer/team mom. Willem himself is that sort of “deliberately oblivious to others’ feelings” sort, but this is called out right away – in fact, the book deconstructs a lot of the wartime cliches that you’ve read about before. And I liked Chthollly’s journey as well, as she is taught for the first time to NOT WANT TO FIGHT, but goes to fight anyway. The result of the battle is unknown at the end of the first book, but the result is not the point.

It wasn’t really till the epilogue that I realized that, despite how well-written the book was, I was not going to read more. It’s just not my kind of series. But if you don’t mind a book that screams “I will be beautifully tragic”, then I absolutely recommend WorldEnd, which has good depth of characterization and a nice style. You want to see these broken girls and their broken caretaker succeed.

Precarious Woman Executive Miss Black General, Vol. 1

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By jin. Released in Japan as “Zannen Onna-Kanbu Black General-san” by Fujimi Shobo, serialization ongoing in the magazine Dragon Age. Released in North America by Seven Seas. Translated by Timothy MacKenzie. Adapted by T Campbell.

Sometimes, when reading a manga title, you’re looking for something well-crafted, with gorgeous art, sophistication, and character development. Something that will not only entertain you but make you think. And then there are those other times. Times when you look at the reading pile and say “I need something obnoxiously loud and over the top”. If it’s the latter you’re after, I’m pleased to tell you that Precarious Woman Executive Miss Black General is right up your alley. Another in a current trend of Western Superheroes done in a Japanese manga way titles, Miss Black General will not win any points for subtlety, and you need to be prepared for a lot of sexual innuendo. But I found myself laughing far more than I expected throughout this tale of a desperate young fangirl who has joined the side of the villains so that she can have the hero she idolizes force her to submit.

Our “heroine’, who I don’t think is ever actually named, is part of a rather pathetic organization of evil, headed up by a masked leader and his Riza-Hawkeye-esque assistant. She also has three interchangeably faceless minions to help with her schemes, and later on they pick up an eccentric mad scientist who you can tell is eccentric as she has those thick spiral glasses that manga artists love to give “nerd” characters. Together, they are there to take over the world! Sort of. In fact, most of Miss Black General’s plans seem to involve confronting the local hero, Braveman, and embarrassing the hell out of him. She’s his biggest fan (indeed, at the end of the book we see her bedroom and the narrative calls her a “shameless otaku”, and seems to be doing this half-hoping he’ll end up doing something inappropriate. He never does, despite her informing Braveman that she’s a virgin and despite her impressive figure. But that’s OK, there are still battles to win and evil to spread! Except the problem is that even without Braveman around to leer over, she’s still a bad villain.

It should not be particularly surprising that I enjoyed this, given its similarity to another series I adore, Excel Saga. I doubt that Miss Black General will ever get the depth that Excel had at her best moments, but that’s fine. The way she acts and reacts to things is funny. There’s also Braveman, who is absolutely nothing like a certain DC Comics-copyrighted character, thank you very much. Supposedly a stolid hero of justice, you get the feeling he started to dress as a hero so he could stop being arrested by police – he has the face of a thug, and whenever he’s out of uniform he ends up in trouble. There’s no real plot development to speak of aside from the organization recruiting the mad scientist midway through the book. We do see Braveman and Miss Black General meet each other out of uniform, but neither recognizes the other. But that’s fine, we’re here for gags.

This isn’t exactly Hamlet, as I indicated above. But god, it’s big dumb fun, and I want to read more volumes of the ludicrous Black General and her attempts to defeat/woo the stiff, long-suffering Braveman. Recommended.

Young Master’s Revenge, Vol. 2

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Young Master’s Revenge Volume 2 by Meca Tanaka

This manga continues to be perhaps the most adorable revenge story ever illustrated. Leo, bent on revenge and managing his crippling fear of turtles, continues to pursue his horrific yet benign agenda against fallen heiress Tenma with an unwavering devotion that could only be love. As the volume begins Tenma decides that she has to transfer to Suzaku High which is the public high school down the road from Genbu. Cue massive jokes about references to the Four Gods!

As Tenma transfers Leo decides to accompany her mostly to protect her, but also because he finally realizes that his high school is named after a turtle god. The new students then engage in introductions for their new classmates, where Leo’s practiced charm wins everyone over and Tenma’s awkwardness makes everyone assume that she’s a horrible rich snob. When Tenma sees that the public school students have their resources even more limited because the rich Genbu high kids are allowed to take over their practice fields whenever they want she decides that she has to stand up for her new classmantes.

The Suzaku kids now have to fight for the sanctity of their school property. Leo’s manipulation skills are deployed to hilarious effect. One of the reasons why this manga is so amusing is that the revenge plot is such a great contrast to the real feelings of the characters. Tanaka has a way of drawing such endearing facial expressions, it is easy to be captivated by Tenma’s direct yet innocent nature and Leo’s unwavering lack of insight into his own emotions. Things seem to be coming to a turn though, as Leo is forced to confront the thin line between love and hate towards the end of this volume. It is impossible to put this manga down without feeling warm and fuzzy.

Umineko: When They Cry, Vol. 18

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Story by Ryukishi07; Art by Eita Mizuno. Released in Japan in three separate volumes as “Umineko no Naku Koro ni: Requiem of the Golden Witch” by Square Enix, serialized in the magazine Shonen Gangan. Released in North America by Yen Press. Translated by Stephen Paul.

Last time we finally got the answer to the riddle of the Epitaph, as well as the revelation of who Beatrice is, though that answer required jumping through a few hoops to avoid showing us a face. For the conclusion of this penultimate arc, however, the answers come fast and furious. In fact, one complaint of the audience that had read the original visual novels is that they’re a bit too much like looking at the answer sheet. When Clair and Will face off, we get her declarations, and we see his sword bluntly cutting them off. But the floating words literally stating what happened in the first four arcs was added to the manga especially. Apparently fans had started to get a bit over the top about how there was no real answer to the arcs, and this was Ryukishi07’s response (he worked closely with the mangaka for the last two arcs especially). And here we also find out the truth of what REALLY happened in 1986. Though, like Ange, I don’t think you’re going to like it.

One of the things that was made very clear was that Kinzo’s magic was money. Money is what has the power to make miracles. And so the solution to what really happens, once you realize that the parents actually put their heads together and all solved the epitaph together, is depressingly obvious. What’s more, it mirrors some of the battles in the prior arcs. Jessica’s fistfights against Kyrie and Ronove contrast with her pathetic demise here, having her face literally being beaten to a pulp. (There’s always a gore warning for Umineko, by the way, but this volume is particularly bad.) Natsuhi also doesn’t get a chance to fight back, and her death starts the chain of everyone else’s. As for the identity of the culprit, I’ll avoid mentioning it here, but I will say that we discover, as the reader was well aware, that Bernkastel’s goal is to see everyone suffer for her own entertainment, and given who she’s been “helping” for so long, you can probably hazard a guess. That said, I’m not sure EVERYTHING we see is exactly what happened. There’s a conversation between two characters about Ange that seems a bit too on the nose to not be “dialogue provided by Bernkastel”, to be honest.

Even Lion doesn’t manage to escape Bern’s mass slaughter, as Bern reveals that even in the ONE universe where Lion exists, their fate is also preordained. That said, three cheers for Will, who says what we all want to hear: mysteries that just end unhappily for everyone are not fun to read. Will is there to bring the reader hope, even if it means losing an arm and fighting along with Lion against Bern and her nightmarish army of cats. (Lambdadelta is there too, but honestly she’s more a passive audience member than anything else. She enjoys it, but it’s all Bernkastel’s show.) But still… we’ve got one big arc to go. We know what really happened in 1986. Is there any way to give Ange a happy ending in 1998? Bern says no, and she says it in red, so it’s going to be tough. (I recommend the digital version for that page, by the way, as the color red is actually used for the statement, and it gives it a lot of impact.)

Clearly the answer, however, is not to take the opposite tack either. We should not see an arc that shows us how everything was all happiness, sunshine and rainbows in 1986, not after everything we’ve seen involving the Ushiromiya family. But there’s no way anyone’s motivations would be that misguided. Right? Tune in next time for Twilight of the Golden Witch, aka “don’t mention this arc in the presence of an Umineko fan”. Same time, same publisher!

Manhwa 100

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As a reviewer, I’ve found Manga: The Complete Guide (Del Rey), Dreamland Japan: Writings on Modern Manga (Stonebridge Press), and Manga: 60 Years of Japanese Comics (Laurence King Publishing) indispensable references, whether I’m searching for information about a series’ publication history or looking for insight into a particular artist’s style. I hoped that Manhwa 100: The New Era for Korean Comics would provide a similar perspective on the Korean comics industry. Unfortunately, Manhwa 100 turned out to be an ambitious but poorly executed attempt to highlight the medium’s most popular, influential series.

In terms of organization and metholodgy, Manhwa 100 falls somewhere between Manga: The Complete Guide and Dreamland Japan, offering summaries of one hundred books, some of which have been translated into English. Each entry includes basic information about the series’ print run (e.g. number of volumes, magazine of serialization), its author, and its crossover into other media (e.g. videogames, television programs), as well as a plot summary and an assessment of the work’s artistic merit. Entries are grouped according to audience, with sections devoted to sunjeong (girls’) comics, boys’ comics, adult comics, and “webtoons,” comics that debuted online but were later anthologized in print.

We learn in the introduction that a committee of thirty industry professionals chose the books featured in Manhwa 100. The exact selection criteria are never satisfactorily explained, though it’s obvious the committee made a concerted effort to represent a broad spectrum of styles and subjects; no artist has more than one entry devoted to her work. Most books are of recent vintage, with only a smattering of titles released in the 1970s and 1980s.

And here I have a confession to make: I was sorely tempted to call my review “Manhwa 100: Cultural Learnings of Comics for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Korea.” Why? The text is awash in awkward phrases, grammatical errors, egregious typos, and ill-advised attempts to keep it real with slangy, conversational phrases that clash violently with the prevailing tone. The entry for Blue, a title by Lee Eun-hye, is typical of the book:

Comic book characters are used in many character merchandises now, but it was [sic] not very actively used in the 1990s. However, the comics of Lee Eun-hye were widely used in character merchandises, even in the 1990s. This is because the author has the knack of using colors as one of her main themes. As she said in her own words, “color in itself is a story.”

As she proclaims in Jump Tree A+, her previous work to Blue, the teenage years are the “Green Age.” Her new story, Blue, represents the young adult age. The color blue in the comic has two sides. It represents a bright fresh side of youth, and it also represents sadness and gloom. The twenty-somethings in the comic are both fresh and youthful, but at the same time lonely and nostalgic.

A rich man’s illigitemate [sic] son Seung-pyo, passionate dancer Hae-joon, his faithful follower Yeon-woo, smart but cold Hyun-bin, and strong charismatic rocker Ha-yun: Blue revolves around these five characters. The loneliness in Blue was sprouted from self-pity and narcissism. Like in many of her other comics, author Lee Eun-hye pushes her characters into their own narcissistic world disconnected from each other.

That is why Blue is beautiful. The earnest characters express their life honestly. And the poetic narration and symbolic monologues add to its beauty. In 1997, an OST disc, inspired by the comic, was…

Yes, the entry really does end with an incomplete sentence.

If I’m reading the text correctly, this confusing verbiage could be boiled down to three talking points: (1) Lee’s manhwa was among the first to inspire “character goods” (phone cards, figurines, stationery, keychains, etc.); (2) her books feature beautifully drawn, emotionally stunted characters; and (3) her books are popular enough to be adapted into TV shows, CD dramas, and the like. Though it’s obvious she views color as a metaphor for age and mood, it’s not clear how or if she uses color in her work–a crucial point, given the increasingly important role that color is beginning to play in manhwa. It’s also unclear what distinguishes Lee’s work from other sunjeong titles, as symbolism, emotionally-charged conversation, and interior monologues are staples of the medium, not personal idiosyncrasies.

If the book synopses are frustrating, the contextual essays are downright obtuse. With titles such as “Open a Manhwa Book, Become a Friend of Korea” and “Manhwa in America: The New World of Charms Yet to be Discovered,” their stilted language and boastful claims for manhwa’s international importance make them sound like Pravda articles. Anyone hoping for insight into the differences between manhwa and manga (or other sequential art traditions, for that matter) will be frustrated by the maddeningly vague, jingoistic text which acknowledges stylistic similarities between manhwa and manga while arguing for significant differences in subject and approach. As manhwaga Lee Hyun-se explains:

While the Japanese samurai pulls out his sword for the completion of his skill, the Korean warrior draws his sword in revenge of his family or to fight against his or her sworn enemy. The Japanese hero walks the glorified path of the hero, which is as clear as the blood he spills, but the Korean hero trudges, stumbling upon his own defects.

Lee attributes the difference in approach to Korea’s lengthy history of occupation, contrasting it with Japan’s long period of isolationism and political intrigue. “The endless internal strife of the Japanese builds up a sense of hubris and elitism,” he argues, “while being on the defense instills a sense of humility and compassion for others… The hero of Japanese manga is ‘I’ while the hero in Korean manhwa is ‘We.’” It’s an interesting but flawed thesis, akin to suggesting that Howard’s End and Finnegan’s Wake are utterly different because one was written by a British imperialist and the other by a downtrodden Irishman. Lee seems to forget that avenging one’s family (or village, or sweetheart, or mentor) is one of the most basic manga plotlines, transcending genre and time period. He also overlooks the important role of community in manga; for every Lone Wolf, there are just as many characters who discover their purpose when they join a particular group, whether it be the school council (a la Love Master A) or the Shinsengumi (a la Kaze Hikaru).

Given Manhwa 100‘s limitations, I’m reluctant to recommend it; anyone hoping for an indispensable reference or an introduction to Korean comics will find this book baffling. For those already enchanted with manhwa, however, I’d suggest reading Manhwa 100 in the same spirit that our grandparents and parents flipped through the Sears Roebuck catalog: as a book of possibilities, a wish list for readers who enjoyed Shaman Warrior, One Thousand and One Nights, Bride of the Water God, or Dokebi Bride. I’ve already spotted dozens of great candidates for licensing, from Be Good, a comedy about a gangster who goes back to high school at 40, to Buddy, a sports drama set inside the ultra-competitive world of women’s golf.

POSTSCRIPT, 2/3/09: I corresponded with the editorial staff at NETCOMICS, who explained that they had a contract with the Korea Culture and Content Agency (KOCCA) to distribute Manhwa 100 in North America. The book was written and produced by C&C Revolution, a private company. (No individuals are named as authors.) NETCOMICS is not responsible for the book’s editorial content, just for its distribution.

This review originally appeared at The Manga Curmudgeon on February 2, 2009.

Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei: The Power of Negative Thinking, Vol. 1

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Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei: The Power of Negative Thinking may not be as relentlessly intertextual as Ulysses, but this Japanese import is nearly as rich in puns, social commentary, pop-culture parody, and allusions to TV shows, novels, movies, and manga. I can’t imagine adapting such a culturally specific text for Western audiences, yet the folks at Del Rey have made a game effort to do just that. Given the scope and complexity of the task, I think translator Joyce Aurino has produced an eminently readable script that captures the darkness and absurdity of Koji Kumeta’s original. I just wish it were, y’know, funnier.

The premise seems ripe with comic potential. High school teacher and profound pessimist Nozomu Itoshiki lands the gig from hell: an all-female class of stalkers, hikokimori, obsessive text-messagers, bossy perfectionists, panty-flashers, and perky optimists. Try as he might to escape his obligations, his students foil his repeated suicide attempts, compounding his sense of despair and driving him to more extreme, ridiculous measures.

Through a series of interconnected vignettes, we begin to grasp the true extent of Itoshiki’s negativity as well as the sheer nuttiness of his students. In “Zetsubou-Sensei Returns,” for example, Itoshiki instructs his students to complete a “Post Graduation Career Hope Survey” by listing the three dreams they’re least likely to realize, e.g. playing baseball for Yomiuri Giants, recording a best-selling pop album. His sour-spirited effort quickly backfires, however, when the school’s guidance counselor reads the responses and praises Itoshiki for encouraging his students to dream big. In “Before Me, There’s No One; Behind Me, There’s You,” Matoi Tsunetsuki, a.k.a. “super-love-obsessed stalker girl,” develops an unhealthy attachment to Itoshiki. Matoi pursues her teacher with steely determination, adopting his trademark yukata, building a shrine to him, and following him everywhere. The chapter ends with a brilliant stroke, as one of Matoi’s former love interests begins tailing her to find out who’s replaced him, only to discover a chain of stalkers trailing in Matoi and Itoshiki’s wake.

Unfortunately, many of the stories require too much editorial intervention to elicit real laughs, as Kumeta’s panels abound in the kind of small but important details that resist easy translation: brand name parodies, puns on famous literary works, misspelled words, and so forth. The story titles, too, require explanation; “Behind Me, There’s No One,” for example, is a riff on a poem by Kotaro Takamura, while “Beyond the Tunnel Was Whiteness” appropriates a line from Yasanuri Kuwabata’s Snow Country. Absent this rich network of cultural references, Kometa’s comedy loses some of its fizz, playing more like a mild satire of shojo manga conventions than a scathing commentary on contemporary Japan.

If the text sometimes disappoints, the artwork does not. Kumeta uses a stark palette with large patches of pure black and plenty of white space. His highly stylized character designs have a pleasing, geometric quality about them, as do the patterns in their clothing. Though his faces are the essence of simplicity— just a few lines and two dark coals for eyes—Kumeta animates them with skill, registering the full gamut of emotions from anger to joy. His students are virtually interchangeable, save for their accessories and hairstyles: a black eye and a sling for the class masochist, blonde hair and strawberry-print underpants for the class exhibitionist. Again, Kumeta’s economy of form works beautifully, underscoring the extent to which Itoshiki views all of the girls in the same light: as nuisances.

I wish I liked Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei better, as I think Kumeta is a terrific artist with a fertile imagination. But it’s awfully hard to laugh when 70% of the jokes require footnotes. (If you disagree, try this exercise: watch an episode of Seinfeld, The Chapelle Show, or South Park with someone who’s new to the United States. Then try explaining why the jokes work. You’ll quickly realize the degree to which the creators rely on your knowledge of literature, politics, movies, and pop music for laughs.) I’m also a little uncomfortable with the way Kumeta depicts the female students, as he skates a thin line between poking fun at stock manga characters and portraying teenage girls as desperate, manipulative, boy-crazed hysterics. I wouldn’t go as far as to label the text misogynist—that term seems much too strong—but I would feel more at ease with the material if Kumeta’s cast was comprised of troublesome girls and boys—equal opportunity neurosis, if you will.

That said, I’m not ready to declare Zetsubou-Sensei a dud; I’m just not sure how invested I am in a series that requires its own set of cultural Cliff Notes to decode.

This review originally appeared at The Manga Curmudgeon on March 4, 2009.

The Horror! The Horror! Comic Books the Government Didn’t Want You to Read

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In the early 1950s, horror comics were big business. Out of the eighty million floppies sold each month, nearly one in three featured a vampire, a zombie, a cannibal, a werewolf, a parasitic alien, or a vengeful spirit. The comics were as sensational as their titles and were popular with kids—that is, until the Comics Code Authority effectively banned them in 1954 with its prohibition against “lurid, unsavory, gruesome illustrations.”

The Horror! The Horror! Comic Books the Government Didn’t Want You to Read focuses on horror’s brief renaissance in the 1950s. The first third of the book provides a historical overview of the genre, tracing horror comics’ roots back to the popular crime serials of the 1940s. The rest of the book explores the numerous subgenres and tropes found in series such as Tales from the Crypt, Tomb of Terror, The Thing, and Dark Mysteries. Each chapter is organized around a theme—vampirism, werewolves, zombies—and copiously illustrated with full-color reproductions of covers as well as complete stories ranging in length from one to twelve pages. Rounding out the volume is a 25-minute DVD containing “Confidential File,” a 1955 television documentary meant to show the harmful effects of comics on children.

Author Jim Trombetta is an excellent curator, selecting some of the era’s most memorable stories for inclusion in the book, from “Foul Play” (1953), a short piece in which a baseball team punishes its uppity pitcher, to “Some Die Twice” (1954), a longer story about a modern-day slave trader who falls prey to a tribe of cannibals. Through short but trenchant analyses of each story, Trombetta makes a persuasive case that horror comics gave readers a way to thumb their noses at polite society. Authors challenged the social emphasis on conformity, normalcy, and knowing one’s place by depicting all sorts of taboo behavior, from garden-variety criminal acts (e.g., extortion, robbery) to necrophilia. The stories were lurid, exciting, and decidedly un-PC, often reinforcing racist and sexist stereotypes, even as they lashed out at traditional authority figures.

Trombetta’s writing is lively and full of interesting observations, especially in his efforts to show the connection between America’s emerging military might and civilian reservations about the Korean War. His chapters on brainwashing and zombies, in particular, reveal the extent to which the plight of American POWs captured the popular imagination. Stories like “The Brain-Bats of Venus” (1952), for example, depicted pilots falling victim to a race of mind-controlling aliens—a thinly veiled allegory for the kind of reprogramming that Chinese captors allegedly conducted on American prisoners. Likewise, Trombetta’s chapter on vampirism does an excellent job of examining the way in which latent fears of miscegenation were embodied in the vampire’s unique mode of reproducing: swapping blood with the victim.

The only drawback to Trombetta’s approach is that his interpretations aren’t always as explicit or convincing as they could be. By lumping vampirism and cannibalism under the common heading of “The Hunger,” for example, Trombetta misses an opportunity to explore the very different ways in which these two categories reflected American anxieties about racial integration. His critique of horror comics’ not-so-latent sexism, too, would have benefited from more historical context, given the large numbers of women displaced from wartime jobs.

On the whole, however, The Horror! The Horror! is a beautifully designed, carefully researched book that chronicles one of the most important, vital genres in American comics while capturing its pulpy spirit.

This review originally appeared at The Graphic Novel Reporter on November 1, 2010.

Fruits Basket another, Vol. 1

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By Natsuki Takaya. Released in Japan by Hakusensha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Bessatsu Hana to Yume. Released in North America by Yen Press. Translated by Alethea and Athena Nibley.

There are some stories that cry out for sequels, leaving loose ends and plotlines that would easily carry a new series forward with exciting, fresh ideas. Then there are series that ended nearly perfectly, with pretty much everything resolved, and the idea of a sequel fills you with foreboding and a sense that it’s going to ruin the franchise. Such a series, I’m afraid, it’s Fruits Basket another, the next-generation sequel to one of the most beloved manga of all time. Note I said next-gen: apart from one or two minor characters in small roles (Hanajima’s brother is a teacher, for example), don’t expect any of the original cast in this first volume. Instead we see the sons and daughters of Sohma, who are blissfully not cursed, happy and content, and living the good life at the same high school their parents went to. There’s even a Sohma fan club run by the daughter of the Yuki fan club president. Into this lovely arrangement comes Sawa, our heroine.

The late, lamented Sayonara, Zetsubou-sensei introduced a girl named Ai Kaga, who thinks everything that she does is a bother to someone else and makes her feel tremendous guilt. It’s meant to be a parody. That said, if you took Ai and made her 100% serious, you’d come close to Sawa in this first volume. Sawa lives alone with her mother, whose absence is hinted to veer towards actual neglect. She suffers from amazingly low self-esteem, not helped by various childhood incidents that have only reinforced it. Now she’s in high school, but she’s late her first day because her landlord yelled at her for something that’s her mother’s fault. If Tohru was a ray of sunshine and hope into everyone’s lives, then Sawa is a black cloud floating overhead. Fortunately, she soon runs into Mutsuki and Hajime Sohma, the sons of Yuki and Kyo respectively. Soon she’s blackmailed into being on the Student Council and hanging out with more and more Sohmas, incurring the wrath of the girls of the school even as she wonders “why her?”.

The biggest question I have with this series is “why was it written?”. No, seriously. What new story needed to be told here beyond “oh look, Sohma kids!”? If Fruits Basket sometimes felt a bit like “every new Sohma gets to reveal their backstory and angst before being healed by the power of Tohru”, this is meant to be the exact opposite – despite the occasional stab at Mutsuki and Hajime having a “rivalry”, the fact is that the next-gen Sohmas are happy and content. Which is good, y’know, because we don’t exactly want to Fruits Basket main characters to be horrible parents, but it’s also fairly boring. As for Sawa, you can tell that Takaya is trying not to simply write Tohru Mk. 2, but her self-hatred really is through the roof – she’s not plucky like Tohru (or, for that matter, Sakuya and Liselotte) and so she simply grates.

There is a hint in the cliffhanger ending that we may see a Sohma who is not happy and content (Shigure and Akito’s kid – gosh, what a surprise), but for the most part the first volume of Fruits Basket another commits the cardinal sin of being deadly boring. And while normally I wouldn’t be pissed off about that sort of thing, the fact that it’s a sequel to one of my favorite shoujo series AND it’s also put Liselotte & Witch’s Forest (which I’d rather be reading) on hiatus just makes me more annoyed. If you loved the original Fruits Basket, preserve your memories and give this half-baked sequel a miss.

Kenka Bancho Otome, Vol. 2

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Kenka Bancho Otome Volume 2 by Chie Shimada

Kenka Bancho Otome, with a storyline about a girl who is forced to dress up as a boy and attend a high school for juvenile delinquents, is an excessively silly manga, which one would expect from an otome game adaptation, but in just two volumes it manages to pull off being a fun summer read as long as the reader isn’t looking for deep thoughts.

In the concluding volume Hinako continues her misadventures at Shishiku Academy, where most of her new friends seem to be on the verge of falling in love with her in her top-secret disguise as her brother Hikaru. Yet another emotional minefield is introduced with the arrival of Houou Onigashima, an upperclassman with a tough-guy jacket that he constantly wears slung over his shoulders like a cape. Houou just happens to be Hikaru’s older brother and Hinako is overcome at the idea that she has yet another brother! But when she returns to tell Hikaru about her discovery he inexplicably becomes extremely upset. The rest of the volume consists of a summer vacation episode with plenty of shirtlessness, school sports day, where Hinako has to cross-dress as a cheerleader with provocative results and a bonus giant schoolyard fight where Hinako further strengthens her platonic friendships with Kira and Totomaru, much to their mystified chagrin. At two volumes long, this series wraps up more nicely than most two volume series, which sometimes suffer from the author being forced to resolve a bunch of plot points quickly in a final chapter. I would have been fine with 3 instead of 2 volumes, if there might have been a little more time to delve into the hints about Hinako’s unconventional family and have her embark on an actual romance. Overall, the art was attractive if a bit generic. I enjoyed the story enough that I would totally play the Otome game that the manga was based on if it came out on android!

kenka bancho otome 2

The Voynich Hotel, Vol. 1

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By Douman Seiman. Released in Japan by Akita Shoten, serialized in the magazine Young Champion Retsu. Released in North America by Seven Seas. Translated by Alethea & Athena Nibley. Adapted by David Lumsdon.

I had heard buzz about The Voynich Hotel before it was licensed, mostly that it was dark and funny. Weird probably also came up, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I probably should have been. Before it is dark or funny (though it is both of those things), The Voynich Hotel is STRANGE. A lot of the time it’s content to be a mild gag comic about the staff and residents of a hotel in the South Pacific, but then people start getting killed, or selling drugs, or investigating the secret legend of the three sisters from this island’s past (one of whom seems very familiar). And in amongst this we manage to have the start of a vaguely sweet romance between a guest who’s hiding from… something, and one of the maids, who is cute and innocent and one of those is a lie. I’m not even sure where this series is going, save the fact that I suspect there will be more deaths soon.

Our hero is Taizou, a Japanese man who arrives at the hotel hiding from his old way of life. He ends up passing out, but is taken care of by the two maids who run the day-to-day affairs of the hotel: Helena is cute and spunky and excitable and also Maria from Zetsubou-sensei, and Berna is stoic and deadpan also also a Rei Ayanami clone. The cook is trying to kill herself and anyone else she can get to go with her, the owner wears a Mexican wrestling mask, and the residents are equally eccentric – you might say the manga artist was normal, except he’s trying to write a manga and make deadlines while living on this island. There’s also an assassin, and three more arrive during the course of the first book. The assassins are mostly what drive what there is of a plot, but for the most part you’re here to see weird people be funny.

Fortunately, I found it very funny, though you’ll need to set your sense of humor dial to ‘sick’. Leaving aside all the deaths, I have to say that Berna’s ringtone grossed me out but also had me in hysterics – let’s leave it at that. There are also a lot of “shout out” references in this volume, most of them blatant. Helena takes Taizou’s temperature with her head, which he says is so cliched even Mitsuru Adachi wouldn’t do that anymore… wait, no, he would. The police officers who parody Isaac Azimov’s Bailey and Olivaw are also a hoot, though they remind me that Seven Seas has once again rated this series T when it clearly isn’t – there’s no nudity, but reader beware. Possibly the strangest thing in the book, though, is that Taizou and Helena’s growing relationship is rather sweet – well, once she puts on a different shirt, that is.

The Voynich Hotel was very popular scanlated, so I worry that it will suffer the fate of other popular scanlated series licensed over here (I’m looking at you, Franken Fran). It requires a strong stomach at times, but the skewed tone of this series tickled me, and at only three volumes, I’m quite willing to read more.

The Unwanted Undead Adventurer, Vol. 2

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By Yu Okano and Jaian. Released in Japan as “Nozomanu Fushi no Boukensha” by Overlap, Inc. Released in North America digitally by J-Novel Club. Translated by Shirley Yeung.

Last time I mentioned that I found Rentt fairly dull, but the story being told around him fascinating. Unfortunately, this second book sticks with Rentt the entire time, and suffers from it. It’s divided fairly evenly into fourths, each of which sees Rentt telling us about what’s going on very matter of factly. And speaking in that “I… am a zombie… sort of tone…” to boot. The stronger part of the book is at the start, as I really enjoyed the Bronze Adventurer test he took with the young adventurer couple. And the chat he had with Sheila was also good, though signposted something that I was hoping this book would avoid. (It’s a light novel series, guess what? It’s not avoided.) Unfortunately, the last two stories aren’t as interesting, and by the end of the book I found myself skimming, never a good sign when the ending features a fight to the death against a giant dragon creature.

The start, though, is very good. The test that Rentt and the adventurers he’s paired with take is quite vicious, which is fair given what adventurers of this level have to go through. More monsters than expected, ambushes from guild members, and also ambushes by other adventurers trying to take them out, given that only the one team who gets there first passes. This allows Rentt to show off his knowledge and experience. The adventurer couple are cliched (they reminded me a bit of the brother/sister team from Log Horizon) but cute. After this, we see that, as expected, Rentt’s attempt to hide himself by taking on a different last name and putting on a cloak and mask are not QUITE as effective as he’d imagined. Unfortunately, this then leads to the thing I thought we’d avoided. Sheila is clearly in love with Rentt, and when brought back to the house to meet Lorraine, Lorraine immediately knows it. I don’t really need undead harem adventures.

The third story has Rentt going to a village whose ritual sacrifice festival has gotten a bit too literal about its ritual sacrifices, and she steps in to save the day and figure out what’s going on is not as supernatural as people would think. The final story is the one ending in a cliffhanger, as Rentt takes on the task of finding a rare plant to help heal the head of an orphanage (the orphans are the ones hiring him). The most interesting part of this is when Rentt tries to kill a giant rat creature and instead finds himself getting a familiar, and a rather snarky one at that. Unfortunately, this is almost entirely Rentt by himself and Rentt without other people to bounce off of is far, far too dull. Things aren’t helped by the fact that, due to a rumor of adventurers disappearing, he has to stay out of the dungeons to avoid being suspicious. As a result, he’s stagnated a bit.

So now that we’ve had that dreaded second album syndrome, can things pick up? I believe they can, but I suspect it relies on how large the cast is for the third book. Too much Rentt can be deadly.