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FLCL Omnibus

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By GAINAX and Hajime Ueda. Released in Japan in two separate volumes by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Magazine Z. Released in North America by Dark Horse Comics.

I recall when Tokyopop first released this manga, a number of years ago, my general reaction to it was sort of a flat ‘what’. Of course, I was a much younger reader then, and have since read many experimental manga with weird art, weird plotting and a certain gonzo style to them. So I picked up Dark Horse’s new omnibus, which has a spruced-up translation, color pages, and some extras by the author, wondering if I could now appreciate the deep and beautiful meaning in the series. But as it turned out, most of FLCL still ends up making me say the same thing: what?

To be fair to its authors, this is probably the reaction they were going for anyway. It’s OK to write something that’s surreal, and if FLCL is anything else, it’s that. The plot, for those who may not know, involves a young boy named Naota and his metaphors for puberty, which in this series emerge from his head and turn into giant robots. He has a crush on a girl named Mamimi, a ditzy older girl who’s in love with Naota’s older brother (who is in the US) and using Naota as an emotional crutch. She’s also an arsonist. He also goes to school, where he has the usual two male friends, plus the class president, who is the mayor’s daughter and is tsundere for him. All of this is turned upside down when a woman named Haruko arrives, bringing chaos in her wake and fighting the robots… or using the robots to fight one another… in an intergalactic battle that is never really explained properly.

This manga ran in Magazine Z, which no longer exists but was basically Kodansha’s media tie-in magazine. And it should come as no surprise to you that this was based on an anime by GAINAX, who were trying to deconstruct everything so they could reconstruct themselves after putting out Evangelion. The anime was 6 episodes long, and the manga is sort of a truncated adaptation. However, unlike the manga version of Evaangelion, which sticks to the same plot/events but makes the characters more likeable, FLCL’s author is allowed to shake things up a bit. Certainly I don’t remember Naota killing his father in the original.

Sometimes the author does actually remember that this is supposed to be about Naota growing up. At one point, all three female protagonists are living in his house, and Haruko and Mamami decide to tease him by pretending to be lesbians, something that does actually play off of male teenage sexuality. The ending is also rather interesting, changed slightly from the original – Haruko actually gives Naota her broken Vespa, and challenges him to fly to outer space after her. Of course, now our last shot is of his bruised and bloody fingers trying to fix/fly the thing. One might argue it’s more downbeat than the original.

The art is very stylized, and may possibly be worth a look-see. And I still like Mamimi despite myself. But for the most part, what read as an incoherent mess 8 years ago is *still* an incoherent mess, even if the author would like us to think otherwise. If you’re looking for teenage metaphors for sexuality, there are better manga than this.

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Vol. 5

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By Naoko Takeuchi. Released in Japan as “Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Nakayoshi. Released in North America by Kodansha Comics.

Sailor Moon is at Vol. 5, and the R arc is nearing its end. Things are getting bad. Mercury, Mars and Jupiter are still abducted, Moon’s been kidnapped, and now Wiseman seems to have spirited off Chibi-Usa. Will our heroes be able to stop the rising tide of pervasive evil? Well, there’s 7 more volumes of the main storyline, so the answer to that is obvious. The question is how dramatic and interesting can the author make it before Usagi fires her beam of super-concentrated pureness at the villain?

Quite a bit, as it happens. The villains below Wiseman seem to get a bit more depth to them than their first arc counterparts. In particular, Saphir seems like he might actually betray the villains for the sake of his family. Unfortunately, we’re not at the point yet where the manga starts redeeming minor villains, and the power of Death Phantom within him proves too much. Demande fighting his conditioning was also interesting, though I find Demande so loathsome that the impact was lessened for me. Unfortunately for the Black Moon Family, they find themselves replaced by a more useful villain, who has closer ties to our heroes.

That’s right, it’s time for Black Lady. Take all of the frustrations, desires and fears of a typical eight-year-old girl (again, ignore that she’s supposedly 902, that makes no sense). Then infuse her body with evil, and age her up so that she looks like an adult. This plotline can get a little creepy, be warned – Chibi-Usa’s jealousy of Usagi gets played out here with incestual subtext, and seeing Black Lady kissing her mind-controlled dad is meant to be as unpleasant as it sounds. Still, Black Lady does an excellent job of making the villain’s plan come to fruition – so much so that if they’re going to stop her, it’s going to require the big guns. They’re just going to have to – STOP TIME.

I have to admit, re-reading this volume, I hadn’t realized how emotional Sailor Pluto gets in it. I’d gotten used to the concept of her as the cool, stoic warrior of time – which she clearly isn’t here. Lamenting her fate (she can’t leave the time gate, she can’t let people through the time gate, and she can’t stop time, all rules she breaks in this arc), we realize that her true desire has simply been to be able to fight with the rest of the senshi. This is why she has such a close bond with Chibi-Usa, who has similar feelings of loneliness. Of course, you don’t break the only three rules of your position without consequences, and Pluto’s are particularly heartbreaking, even if you do know how things end up in the S arc and beyond. That said, her sacrifice was definitely worth it, as they were able to get Chibi-Usa back, as well as give Sailor Moon the final bit of determination she needs to beat the bad guys (even if the “name of the moon” speech seems a little jarring after such a serious scene.

The rest of the volume is basically getting Usagi in place to defeat Death Phantom, then getting her back. (Which reminds me, there’s a very amusing scene towards the start of the book where Tuxedo Mask runs off to rescue Chibi-Usa, and a stressed Sailor Moon collapses. They decide to take her back to the 20th Century to recuperate… for about 10 minutes, then the Black Moon Family messes things up so they have to return again. Pacing can sometimes be a problem with Takeuchi.) Luckily, everything works out, and Sailor Moon is even able to briefly meet her future self (hey, they’ve already broken all the other laws of time). We also see the three abducted senshi reuniting with the human side characters who their chapters focused on, which was nice and sweet. (I can’t remember if we ever see them again, but that’s par for the course with minor Sailor Moon characters.)

This volume really doesn’t let up at all, being a breathless race to the climax from beginning to end. And while that may disappoint some fans of the anime (certainly the other four senshi really have very little to do here), it helps to convey the tension needed to support such scenes. And Chibi-Usa goes home to the future! … no, wait, she’s back immediately, as Neo-Queen Seremity apparently regards her past self as free babysitting. Oh well, it’s always nice to end an arc on a cute note. On to the third, and some might say best, arc.

Rohan at the Louvre

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In 2007, NBM Comics-Lit published Nicolas de Crecy’s Glacial Period, the first in a series of graphic novels commissioned by the Louvre Museum. The goal of Glacial Period — and the four books that followed it — was to introduce readers to the richness and complexity of the Louvre’s vast collections through a familiar medium: comics.

The artists’ strategies for bridging the divide between fine and sequential art have varied. In Glacial Period, for example, a team of anthropologists unearth the Louvre’s collections, which have been buried under ice for a millennium. The scientists try to make sense of the objects they discover, not unlike a group of aliens speculating about the purpose of a Coke bottle or an Etch-A-Sketch. Other novels are more fanciful: Eric Liberge’s On the Odd Hours reads like a classy version of Night at the Museum, in which the museum’s iconic pieces come to life, roaming the empty galleries until the night watchman can subdue them. Still others are explicitly historical: Bernar Yslaire and Jean-Claude Carriere’s Sky Over the Louvre, for example, stars two of the French Revolution’s best-known bad boys: Maximilien Robiespierre and David.

Hirohiko Araki’s Rohan at the Louvre, by contrast, takes its cues from the world of J-horror, using the Louvre as the setting for a nifty ghost story. In the book’s opening pages, we’re introduced to Rohan, an aspiring manga artist who lives with his grandmother in a nearly deserted rooming house. (N.B. Fans of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure may recognize Rohan as a minor character from one of the later volumes of the series, though prior knowledge of JoJo is not necessary for appreciating Louvre.) The unexpected arrival of a beautiful divorcee turns the normally placid household upside down with tearful drama. Within a week of her arrival, however, Nanase disappears into the night, never to be seen again.

We then jump forward ten years: Rohan, now 27, is a successful manga artist who decides to visit the Louvre to view what Nanase once described to him as “the darkest painting in the world.” The painting, he learns, has never been publicly displayed; it sits in a long-forgotten basement vault. What transpires in the bowels of the Louvre is a mixture of old-fashioned Japanese ghost story and contemporary slasher flick; if one were to update Masaki Kobayashi’s Kwaidan for today’s audiences, the denouement of “The Black-Haired Woman” or “Hoichi the Earless” might look like the climatic scene of Rohan.

For all the gory zest with which that scene is staged, Rohan‘s artwork is uneven. Araki’s command of color is impeccable: the prelude is bathed in a golden light, while the scenes at the Louvre are rendered in a cooler palette of grey, blue, and pure black, a contrast that nicely underscores Rohan’s journey from youthful inexperience to maturity. Araki’s sexy character designs are another plus; even the most muscle-bound figures have a sensual quality to them, with full lips and eyes that that moistly beckon to the reader.

When those figures are in motion, however, Araki’s artwork is less persuasive. Rohan and Nanase’s bodies, for example, rotate along several heretofore undiscovered axes; only Power Girl and Wonder Woman twist their bodies into more anatomy-defying poses. Araki’s fondness for extreme camera angles similarly distorts his characters’ bodies, as he draws them from below, behind, or a forty-five degree angle, eschewing simple frontal views whenever possible. Such bodily distortions are meant to give depth to the picture plane, I think, but the result is curiously flat; the characters often look like paper dolls that have been bent into unnatural shapes, rather than convincing representations of walking, talking people.

What Araki’s artwork does best is convey a sense of place. The opening pages are lovely, offering us a peek into a world that is largely — though not completely — untouched by modernity. Araki takes great pains to render the boarding house’s environs — its rock garden and gnarled pine trees — as well as its interior of spartan rooms and sliding doors. We feel the stillness and seclusion of the inn, and bristle when Nanase’s cell phone pierces that tranquility.

Likewise, Araki captures the Louvre in vivid detail. He guides the reader through its galleries, marching us past the Nike of Samothrace and several rooms of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century paintings. We follow Rohan’s gaze upwards towards vaulted ceilings encrusted in sculptural detail and elaborate frescoes, pausing to meet the gaze of the Dutch burghers and Roman gods whose images are mounted on the gallery walls. We then descend into the museum’s extensive network of tunnels and storage vaults, a veritable catacombs of neglected and obscure objects spread out over hundreds of acres. Although these dark, claustrophobic spaces make an ideal setting for a horror story, they’re also a powerful reminder of the Louvre’s history; the tunnels are remnants of a twelfth-century fortress that once occupied the site of the present-day museum.

If the artwork is, at times, overly stylized, Rohan at the Louvre is still an imaginative celebration of the Louvre Museum, conveying its scale, age, and majesty. Araki’s book is not as sophisticated or ambitious as some of the other titles in this series, but is one of the most dramatically satisfying, achieving a near-perfect balance between telling a ghost story and telling the Louvre’s own story. Recommended.

ROHAN AT THE LOUVRE • BY HIROHIKO ARAKI • NBM/COMICS-LIT • 128 pp. • NO RATING

The Flowers of Evil, Vol. 1

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By Shuzo Oshimi. Released in Japan as “Aku no Hana” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Bessatsu Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Vertical.

Sometimes you get one of those series coming down the pike where you know, based on your own personal tastes, you’re going to both love it *and* hate it. I sort of felt that way when I heard about Flowers of Evil. It’s somewhat twisted, which appeals to me, and also has a very distinctive cover, which Vertical has adapted well from the original Japanese. On the other hand, it features that classic beloved-in-Japan but not-so-much-here “weak male lead”, which tends to frustrate me quite a bit more than it probably should. If I’m going to be identifying with characters in stories I read, I’d like them to be less aggravating, thanks. In addition, I’d read the author’s Drifting Net Cafe on JManga, and found it riveting yet thoroughly unpleasant.

(Note that the typeface for the cover title has changed between releasing the above picture to retailers and actually coming out – Vertical has a lot of last-minute changes to spruce up their covers, mostly for the better.)

After reading Flowers of Evil 1, I’m prepared to hang in there for the long haul. As with Drifting Net Cafe, riveting is the adjective I find myself using to describe it. The plot itself is not the most original – outcast girl blackmails weak male guy, who’s interested in pretty-yet-unapproachable other girl – but as ever, it’s not the plot that matters so much as what the author does with it. Takao is an *interesting* weak male lead. His obsession with Baudelaire – particularly Flowers of Evil, his collection of poetry from which this manga gets its title – is interesting, but mostly as he almost uses it as a psychological crutch. I read important books, he thinks, so I am better than the people around me. It’s the teen intellectual approach, and god knows I did it myself a bit when I was in high school.

Most of the characterization in this volume goes to Takao. The object of his affection, Nanako, gets a little bit of oblique development towards the end – I liked her discomfort as the other classmates were accusing Nakamura, and she and Takao do actually look like a nice couple. We’re still mostly seeing her through his eyes, though. As for Nakamura, the girl on the front cover… I still don’t quite know what to make of her. She seems to enjoy manipulating Takao for her own amusement, but is that all there is? In this case, the fact that we can’t see what she’s thinking is what drives us on. Is she simply bored with life? Does she have feelings for Takao (something he accuses her of towards the end, and which she very quickly rips apart)? Is she simply enjoying having power over someone, in the way that many teenagers find they love? Or is she trying to get Takao to mature, to develop into a stronger man?

I notice how much I wrote above about how teenagers think. This first volume deals with that subject a lot. What is considered to be perverse, what can you say or not say around your friends… how much you’re allowed to show how puberty is changing you. Takao is actually, compared to some of the freaks we’ve seen in other shonen manga, a rather mild case, but because this is a fairly realistic plotline, it hits closer to home. Likewise, Nakamura seems to have a few perversions of her own. (I like the flush she gets as she’s stripping him in the school library. That and the ending where she screams at him shows that she’s not controlling her emotions as well as we think.) The combination of nostalgia and discomfort drives Flowers of Evil, and it’s done well enough that I absolutely want to see what happens next. Even if I may squirm a bit.

The Flowers of Evil, Vol. 1

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If you grew up in a small town, you probably knew someone like Takao Kasuga, the nebbish-hero of The Flowers of Evil. Kasuga is a precocious middle-schooler who copes with provincial life by burying his nose in a book. His peers tolerate him, but find him a little too smug and strange to be one of the guys. Kasuga, for his part, takes pride in his sophisticated reading habits, stashing poems in his desk and telling his classmates that they’re too stupid to appreciate his favorite writer, Charles Baudelaire.

In a moment of impulse, Kasuga steals the gym outfit of beautiful classmate Nanako Saeki — an act witnessed by Sawa Nakamura, the class outcast. Nakamura confronts Kasuga after school, threatening to expose him as the thief unless he complies with her requests. Her motives for blackmailing Kasuga are complex, a mixture of prurient interest in Kasuga’s sexual fantasies and sadistic delight in wielding power over a boy. At times Nakamura  physically dominates him — she punches and tackles him — and at times she manipulates him with humiliating tasks and questions.

I’d be the first to admit that the similarities between Flowers of Evil and Sundome — however superficial — predisposed me to dislike the book. I didn’t think I had the stomach for another story in which a ball-busting girl sexually and psychologically tortured a sad-sack boy. Yet Flowers of Evil proved a far more compelling and honest look at adolescent sexuality than Sundome, thanks, in large part, to Shuzo Oshimi’s sympathetic portrayal of Kasuga.

Throughout the book, author Shuzo Oshimi hints that Kasuga’s character was inspired by his own experiences as a book-toting misfit. “I read Baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil for the first time in middle school,” he explains at the end of chapter one. “I didn’t understand much of it, but the book’s feel — suspicious, indecent, yet nastily noble — made me think, I’m so cool for reading it.” Kasuga, too, clearly feels a sense of superiority for having discovered Baudelaire at a young age; in a fit of self-pity, he muses, “How many people in this town understand Baudelaire?” At the same time, however, he’s keenly aware that his peers think he’s weird. Kasuga may be mature enough to appreciate Baudelaire — or perhaps, more accurately, to think he understands Baudelaire — but he isn’t quite old enough to shake off his classmates’ teasing.

Oshimi also does an exceptional job of dramatizing Kasuga’s inner sexual turmoil. Early in the book, for example, Kasuga catches sight of Saeki. In a flash, he pictures her clad in gym clothes, blushing and telling him, “I love you.” His acute embarrassment at being discovered mid-reverie is all the more palpable for the way in which he’s drawn: Kasuga sinks into his chair, his shoulders slumped, brows furrowed, and body foreshortened, making him look like a moist ragdoll. In later chapters, Oshimi uses surreal imagery — a wall of eyes, a fun-house mirror, a giant sink hole — to suggest that Kasuga’s normal teenage discomfort with sexual feelings has become something more powerful and destructive: shame.

If Kasuga is a sympathetic character, Nakamura poses greater difficulties for the reader. She claims her true agenda is to expose him as a pervert, but nothing about Kasuga’s behavior indicates that he is; if anything, Kasuga is naive, torn between romantic and sexual ideas about love. (That he calls Saeki “my muse, my femme fatale, my Venus” suggests the extent of his confusion.) Nakamura, too, appears to wrestling with complicated sexual feelings; in several scenes, she hints at her own predilections, only to accuse Kasuga of harboring even nastier ones. In short, Nakamura seems intent on finding someone more self-loathing and sexually confused than she is, yet her behavior is so violent and manipulative it sometimes feels as if Oshimi is trying too hard to suggest her disaffection; Nakamura’s character veers dangerously close to being a symbol of castration anxiety, rather than an emotionally damaged teenage girl.

That said, The Flowers of Evil is a shockingly readable story that vividly — one might even say queasily — evokes the fear and confusion of discovering one’s own sexuality. Recommended.

THE FLOWERS OF EVIL, VOL. 1 • BY SHUZO OSHIMI • VERTICAL, INC. • 202 pp. • NO RATING (BEST FOR OLDER TEENS)

Fallen Words

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By Yoshihiro Tatsumi. Released in North America by Drawn and Quarterly.

Sometimes you don’t need deep, significant plots. You don’t need characters that go on an incredibly journey that lets them grow up and learn about life. And you may not need 65 volumes to tell your story. Sometimes all you need to do is be interesting, to have an anecdote to tell and to enthrall the listener with that anecdote. And if it ends on a funny note, well, so much the better. The art of rakugo is beloved in Japan. It’s basically storytelling, but has an element of stand up comedy to it (while, of course, being nothing like stand up at all). The stories usually involve dialogues, all conveyed through changes in tone and pitch. And now we have legendary mangaka Yoshihiro Tatsumi giving us some rakugo in manga form.

There are eight stories here, all about 30-50 pages in length, and almost all being fairly comedic and lighthearted. Even the darkest of the bunch, which involves a down-on-his-luck man who befriends The Grim Reaper (seen on the cover here) is still fairly humorous until its dark conclusion. Since Tatsumi cannot aurally convey what the world of the Rakugo is like, he simply has to do it by drawing us into the stories. And it works beautifully, as I found it very hard to pull myself away, even when I was reading about yet another get-rich-quick scheme (a common theme of these stories is the lack of money).

While I said the stories weren’t stand-up, they are of course devoted to telling a funny story. I was reminded a bit of the longer and less humor-oriented parts of Henry Rollins’ old spoken word albums, where he described photo shoots in Australia and crappy jobs euthanizing animals. The other thing these stories reminded me of, especially since some of them *do* end with a punchline that makes you groan rather than laugh, is the shaggy dog story. Not in as much as you feel that you just wasted 15-20 minutes of your life (which is what the best shaggy dog stories offer to the listener), but that feeling that the journey was more important than the destination. In a story about a courtesan and her clients, all of whom sit alone and rail at the poor beleaguered assistant, the final joke is sort of a quick “the end’ gag. What’s fun is the entire story itself, watching these puffed-up and self-deluded middle-aged men ranting and raving because they aren’t getting any.

My favorite story, in terms of combining all the elements I mentioned above, was the third in the book, Escape of the Sparrows. Featuring a prologue that is seemingly irrelevant to the rest of the tale, this them spins off into another ‘deadbeat guest’ story, but becomes far more fantastical. As the pace quickens and the stakes increase, the story also takes on a fantasy element, and even manages to have some beauty. And then… there’s the last page, which features a horrible, horrible joke that wraps up everything the entire story did in a neat bow. You will groan, but feel like applauding.

Such is the nature of the craft of rakugo. Tatsumi says in his afterword that the performers would retire if they didn’t feel they could convey the different moods anymore. I don’t think Tatsumi has anything to worry about here, though. This is not only a great collection of humorous short stories, but a storybook, the kind that you feel like reading aloud to people after you’ve finished it. Perhaps someone will read these and become a rakugo (or its Western equivalent) of his own!

GTO: The Early Years, Vol. 12

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By Toru Fujisawa. Released in Japan as “Shonan Jun’ai Gumi” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Weekly Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Vertical.

Volume 11 of this manga was fortuitously focused on Onizuka. I say fortuitously because when you’re reintroducing a series via a different publisher that didn’t sell well in the first place, it’s always best to drum up sales by featuring the one character people absolutely love. This next volume, however, reminds you that GTO: The Early Years didn’t just star Onizuka, but his best friend Ryuji Danma, and he gets most of the focus here.

This is not to say there isn’t also plenty of Onizuka. He gets most of the first half, actually, as we resolve the Joey storyline from the previous volume. As you might guess form a delinquent story set in Shonen Magazine, this is not done through graphic violence and killings, but via a motorcycle race. Joey is on one of the best bikes around, Onizuka is on a legendary old bike whose best days are behind it. Guess who wins. It’s notable that, while we all know Onizuka as a cool character who is constantly allowed to be a giant comedic goof, he also works well in the opposite direction: Onizuka is a goofy, horndog teen who can nevertheless back up his boasts with feats of utter badassery. And of course teaching valuable lessons, which he does with Joey here.

Meanwhile, Onizuka gets to cool moments, but Ryuji gets the emotional turmoil. (Not a surprise: Ryuji has always been vaguely more mature than his best friend. Note I said vaguely.) First of all, he’s dealing with his former teacher and first love appearing back in his life again, right when he’s trying to settle down with Nagisa. Secondly, there’s the ongoing issues with Joey, and his girlfriend being used as “bait” to draw out the two leaders. But both of these pale next to the end of his “castle” and idyllic trailer park life, as the cops arrive to destroy everything, and Nagisa’s parents arrive to take their runaway daughter back home. Ryuji, of course, is forbidden to see her.

There’s a lot of teen angst here, which I can’t help but see from a slightly older perspective. For all that Ryuji and Nagisa were living in their happy fantasy, a bus in the middle of a field, with no real prospects for the future is not something to cling to. I think Nagisa gets that more than the others. While Onizuka and Shinomi are wondering why they can’t be left alone, Nagisa’s the one noting that no matter where they run, adults (and by extension reality) will still exist. They can’t face life as a loving couple on teenage terms. Growing up has to be done. And for the moment, that means dealing with her being under house arrest and having to communicate via written messages.

There is still, lest this all sound like a bummer, plenty of humor – this is an Onizuka manga, after all. The catfight between Shinomi and Saya over Onizuka is ridiculous and hilarious, as is the chapter where Nagisa reveals she might be pregnant, and everyone goes completely out of control. (Spoiler: she isn’t.) Best of all, though, is Onizuka accidentally ending up in the middle of a yakuza job, and finding the horrifying things you would expect – all played for comedy, of course. All in all, the series continues to give us what Fujiwara does best: lots of fighting, lots of goofy faces, a few heartwarming/heartbreaking moments, and lots of a future Great Teacher.

Negima! Magister Negi Magi, Vol. 34

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By Ken Akamatsu. Released in Japan as “Mahou Sensei Negima!” by Kodansha, serialized in the magazine Weekly Shonen Magazine. Released in North America by Kodansha Comics.

Since I wrote my last Negima review, the series has ended in Japan, and I’d love to talk about the fan reaction to it, but will have to wait till the ending comes out here a year from now. Till then, I will be content with talking about Vol. 34, which is pure balls-to-the-wall action, and gives lots of the ‘second-tier’ girls a chance to show off and be the hero. Perhaps that’s why this cover art is notable for not having Negi in it.

Let me start with Natsumi. Negima has featured a lot of shy, “normal” girls in its cast, but along the way any pretense of normality has totally vanished, with Nodoka and Yue commonly pulling off amazing feats. Natsumi, though, is the genuine article – even her artifact is a tribute to how she doesn’t stand out. Now that artifact is the one thing that might allow the cast to pull off Asuna’s rescue, which means it’s all depending on her. And she’s TERRIFIED. The way Akamatsu draws her emotions in this volume is really amazing – it’s taking every bit of willpower she has not to run away screaming. Then of course she gets to watch the cast, including the boy she’s fallen in love with, get taken down one by one. It’s no wonder she’s petrified by the cliffhanger. Keep going, Natsumi!

Where, you ask, is Negi in all this? Well, Negi is busy finding that while it’s all very well to embrace dark magic and say he’ll rely on his friends to break him out of any evil he might do, that in practice he’s still a 10-year-old boy easily controlled by his emotions. So, when he almost kills Shiori, he goes into an emotional coma. Even Chisame slapping him (which she does, AGAIN, to get him to calm down, even after he wounds her) doesn’t help. Luckily, Negi gets the traditional ‘visited by your dead family and friends’ coma flashback towards the end, and even though most of them aren’t actually dead, it’s enough to revive his spirits. Come on, he’s the hero.

The battle to rescue Asuna is pretty damn awesome, all the more so as they’re doing it without Negi. There’s several noble sacrifices, including Yuna and Sayo (petrified) and Kaede and Kotaro (beaten down), but they manage to grab the key *and* Asuna. (By the way, Natsumi, you fail as plucky girl compared to Makie. Makie just needed a pep talk, Natsumi had to be slapped and dragged away. Another reason she’s still the ‘normal’ one.) And then… oh dear. You’d think Fate’s real name, Tertium, might have clued us in, but the arrival of FOUR OTHER Fates really is absolutely no fair. The ease with which they dispatch everyone is actually rather unnerving – in particular, seeing Chachamaru blown in half is really horrible – and everything they gained since the start is seemingly lost.

Except, of course, Fate is not just one of many generic villains anymore, and he does not take too kindly to these last minute bosses stepping in and ruining his fun. Yes, in the end, Fate is much like Kotaro was 20-odd volumes ago, another young boy who simply wants to fight Negi to see who is more powerful. And if that means getting rid of the other clones who will stop that? So be it. The cliffhanger to this volume is well-paced, and it really makes you want to get to Vol. 35 as soon as possible. When, rest assured, we should begin the final Negi vs. Fate showdown.

The Best Manga You’re Not Reading: I’ll Give It My All… Tomorrow

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I’m not a big fan of squirm-inducing comedies like The Office; it’s hard to root for a loser who makes everyone uncomfortable with his general lack of self-awareness and humility. Yet The Office was undeniably compelling, even if it was sometimes hard to watch. The genius was in Ricky Gervais’ performance: he embodied a type that we’ve all encountered in our working lives, someone who felt small but used his job to make himself seem bigger or more important than he really was. Gervais never tried to make his character appealing in his vulnerability, and in so doing, forced the audience to confront the fundamental falseness of the lovable loser stereotype; we may feel better about ourselves for identifying with a decent underdog, but we probably have more in common with David Brent than we’d care to admit.

I’ll Give It My All… Tomorrow, an unsparing farce about a forty-year-old father who quits his job to become a manga artist, inspires a similar mixture of love and squick. Shunjo Aono makes no effort to endear his protagonist to readers; Shizuo is a loser with big dreams but terrible follow-through. Like many daydreamers, Shizuo failed to realize that his fantasy job would be just as grueling as the one he quit, a revelation that sends him into a tailspin of binge drinking, prostitution, and video gaming. The first volume’s blunt, unsparing tone yields some squirm-inducing moments that are just a little too truthful to be funny, such as when Shizuo bumps into his eighteen-year-old daughter at a love hotel or parties with younger colleagues.

As the story progress, however, Shizuo spends less time pretending to be twenty and more time writing stories. Volume two opens with a scene of Shizuo pitching an ill-advised story Murakami, the one editor at EKKE magazine who can tolerate Shizuo. Following the dictum of “write what you know,” Shizuo has penned “The History of Me,” an autobiographical comic depicting Shizuo’s ongoing struggle to find his true gift, the thing that, in his own words, makes him “different from other people.” It’s an exquisitely uncomfortable scene, as Murakami must endure Shizuo’s pompous editorializing, making it almost inevitable that Shizuo’s work will be rejected swiftly. Worse still, Shizuo’s journey of self-discovery is anything but; he’s failed at everything he’s tried — street tough, folk singer, salary man — yet hasn’t abandoned the delusion that he’s “too big” for the “little” opportunities he’s been given thus far.

In subsequent volumes, Shizuo’s progress remains fitful, impeded by his ego and his inexperience. When he does have an epiphany, it’s usually because he’s failed spectacularly and must rationalize the choices he’s made. In volume four, for example, Shizuo is assigned to a new editor, Aya Unami. After reading his latest excruciatingly autobiographical manuscript, “Live to 300,” she promptly tells him, “I think you need to know when to give up.” Oguro is initially stunned, but soon realizes that Aya might be the only person with the vision and honesty to help him improve. Whether she’s willing to coach him, and whether he can accept her guidance, however, are a different story; it’s hard to imagine Aono treating this moment as a major breakthrough in Shizuo’s journey from amateur to professional, the first meeting between a gifted natural and the coach who will lead him to stardom.

The artwork mirrors Shizuo’s skill level and emotional maturity: the lines are thick and imperfect, the shapes are basic, and the characters’ bodies are awkwardly proportioned. Shizuo has an enormous, round head that seems ill-suited for his body, and tiny eyes that remind us just how myopic he is in every aspect of his life. (See “bumping into teenage daughter at a love motel,” above.) In a particularly skillful touch, Shizuo’s own drawing mirrors that of Aono’s, only executed with less command of line and form — a subtle reminder that the prevailing aesthetic of both stories is meant to reflect how Shizuo sees the world, not an artistic failing on Aono’s part.

I’m probably making I’ll Give It My All… Tomorrow sound like a colossal downer; after all, it’s hard to laugh at a character who seems so pitiful. Yet for all Shizuo’s self-aggrandizement, there’s something honest about his efforts, and that’s what makes this squirm-inducing comedy readable. We may do our best to be responsible — to hold good-paying jobs, pay our mortgages, and raise our children to be good students and citizens — but for many of us, a soft, nagging voice asks, “Is that all there is?” Shizuo’s decision to act on that doubt isn’t wise or noble, but it’s testament to a deeply human need: to create meaning out of our experiences, and to find proof that our lives are intrinsically interesting to other people. Recommended, though you may want a stiff drink afterwards.

This is an expanded version of reviews that previously appeared at The Manga Critic on 8/20/09, 11/08/10, and 11/28/11.

Dorohedoro, Vol. 6

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By Q Hayashida. Released in Japan by Shogakukan, serialization ongoing in the magazine Ikki. Released in North America by Viz.

No thrilling escapes for Nikaido after last volume’s cliffhanger ending – she’s captured, and En is determined to make her his new partner. That said, the most fascinating thing about this volume, and indeed Dorohedoro as a whole, is the motivations of the so-called ‘villainous’ characters. In a world where everyone’s a bit of a sadistic murderer, how do you judge who’s really a good person or not? Well, one way might be that they don’t chain you in a dungeon and mind-control you into being a zombie. But on the other hand…

En is on this volume’s cover, and En gets the most attention, as we get a flashback to his own origins. Of course, this particular flashback is a movie directed by En, so there’s a slight question of veracity. But even if it is propaganda, it *sounds* right – we even see him without his mask! (He has thins tiny pencil mustache – I bet he thinks it makes him look cooler, but I was thinking more cute.) The big thing about this flashback, though, is it continues to show that En’s past is tied with the past that Caimahn is trying to discover – and that the current happy-go-lucky lizard head Caiman was probably a very different person when he was a Cross-Eyed.

However, as sympathetic as En seems in the final chapters, it’s balanced by his treatment of Nikaido, which I already alluded to. Forced to sign a partner contract – which in this universe involves literally opening up your chest and sticking it inside your body – Nikaido is then imprisoned for the majority of this volume, and it’s very much the chains and bread and water type of prison. When she’s finally freed, it’s only because the contract – which is shown to be magical in nature, as if opening people’s chests like doors wasn’t a clue enough – is making her passive and accepting. Indeed, at one point she has a bowling ball dropped on her head by a jealous Chota, her reaction is basically “oh”. It’s sad to see, and does not endear En to you, no matter what grand plans he has. (The ‘extra chapter’ is a side story showing us how Nikaido got her restaurant, in case we missed the old chirpy version.

And as always, there’s the world building. This month the Manga Moveable Feast is discussing Viz’s Signature titles, and this is certainly one of them. Indeed, I have trouble imagining this series anywhere but in Ikki, Shogakukan’s experimental seinen line. Hayashida clearly has an ongoing plot, but the series works because she’s given so much time to play everything out – even the action scenes don’t feel rushed. Dorohedoro’s been running since 2000, and Japan is up to Volume 16. While this means it must be selling something, I think it also shows the trust the editors place in her to deliver these sorts of goods. Of course there is *some* pandering to the reader – each volume is filled with gory violence, and one scene showing Noi and Ebisu bathing a struggling Nikaido has our standard gratuitous nudity – but it’s not done in the usual “look, boobs!” way we see in, say, Cage of Eden.

Lastly, what struck me about this volume was the unashamed sentiment it still has in its crapsack world filled with morally ambiguous characters. The ongoing funny-yet-heartwarming relationship between Fujita and Ebisu. The way that Caiman has quickly won Tanba over and is now prepared to reveal things that he really only told Nikaido before. And Johnson and his compatriots escaping En’s prison, not because of a clever and daring escape, but because Johnson saved Shin’s life back in the day and Shin owes him. In a world where hell is literal (and not always filled with the dead, as En can attest) but we’re not so sure about heaven, these little moments are precious. It’s the difference between having a world of villains and having a world full of unlikeable villains. All of Dorohedoro’s cast makes you want to read more of them. Even En. Though I wish he didn’t have to resort to brainwashing.

Higurashi: When They Cry, Vol. 18

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Story by Ryukishi07; Art by Karin Suzuragi. Released in Japan as “Higurashi no Naku Koro ni: Tsumihoroboshi-hen” by Square Enix, serialized in the magazine Gangan Powered. Released in North America by Yen Press.

This is a revelatory volume of Higurashi, both in the way that it wraps up the plotline with Rena and Keiichi, and in the way that it affects Rika, who is turning out to be the real star of the series. Of course, we have a ways to get there. First off, we deal with Rena’s continuing slide into madness, which culminates in her holding the entire school hostage and dousing it with gasoline. (Thank heavens this isn’t Naruto-level popular, I have to say, or the censors might wake.)

There’s not as much creeping paranoid horror as there was in the previous three volumes, mostly because Rena’s all the way there. That said, there are some impressive visuals from artist Karin Suzuragi. The way the panels and pages are set up and flow from one to another is very well done, and there’s lots of ‘turn the page and be shocked’ moments, particularly when Keiichi realizes he’s been tricked with the fake bomb. And, of course, Rena’s ‘Higurashi faces’ are impressive as well, though the best and most terrifying of those is at the end of the next arc.

Rika had mentioned last time that it was too late to save this world, but Keiichi is trying to make her realize that it’s not just about ‘how do I avoid getting disemboweled’ but about trying to prevent the little tragedies. She was already stunned that he remembered a previous world where he was the instigator. Now, in teaming up with Keiichi and Satoko to stop Rena, she decides after so long to try to stop fate even if it is impossible. (I love her cynical face as she faces off against Rena – we’re seeing more and more of the Rika that remembers every single go-round, and must be far older than 10 years old.) Incidentally, when Rika tells Keiichi that last time she didn’t try hard enough and Rena succeeded? We’ve seen that world too, in the Beyond Midnight arc.

Satoko is also impressive here, and it’s nice to see an arc where she’s less physically and mentally abused. Mion also gets a fantastic moment at the very start of the volume, reminding you that she is indeed the heir to a huge yakuza family and has no intention of doing anything else when she grows up. Mostly, however, she is the abused one in this volume, getting the blunt end of Rena’s billhook to the head in a mistaken belief that her family is behind everything that’s happened for the last few hundred years. In the end, though, this is about Rena and Keiichi.

There really aren’t as many “ship wars” as you’d expect from a harem series in Higurashi fandom. Partly as it ends up being about friendship, partly as little is resolved one way or the other. Keiichi/Rena fans, however, can be happy that the most shippy of their arcs was adapted for manga – Keiichi/Mion fans have to say “But hey, we got the PS2 arc!”. It will be hard to top this, though. The fight on the roof is fantastic, the best Keiichi has ever been, showing him finally breaking through to Rena not by pleading and making sense, but by the game they started with. This arc has been very cyclical, with Keiichi’s need to atone going back to the first arc. Now we end as we began, with a battle between friends – only instead of water, they have lethal weapons in their hands. But lethal weapons are only lethal if they’re used.

Rena’s been very clever through this volume – she’s one of the smartest in the cast, and implied, like Keiichi, to be playing stupid much of the time. But perhaps her finest hour is being able to break through the madness that has gripped every antagonist in this series to date, before killing him. Keiichi realizes how amazing this is, praising her for it in text. By distracting her with the roof battle “game”, he was able to remind her of the fun they all had – and also of her love for Keiichi, and his love for her. They both seem to know it’s not to be – there’s still a certain fatalism here – but Rena cries, and repents her earlier actions. She’s no longer crazy.

And so this arc ends, with the schoolchildren safe, Keiichi and Mion alive, Rena sane, and a final speech by Rika and Keiichi about finding the strength to fight fate, and that they’ll kick back against it as many times as they have to. Which is good, as after this happy ending (the chapter is called “Happy Rena”, anotehr cyclical bookend), we turn the page… and the whole village is dead again. Yes, we’ve managed to resolve Rena’s issues, but Rena was never the one who was disemboweling Rika on an altar, and the main villain is still unknown (though I can hazard a guess). The manga actually makes our irritation at another bad end explicit, with “The End” appearing 25 pages early, and then someone (Bernkastel?) chiding us for ruining the happy ending by turning the page. And so we’re left with Akasaka, 25 years later, wondering what could have stopped this horrific tragedy.

Overall, this arc was one of the best of the series, especially for fans of Rena, its iconic character. Higurashi now takes a summer break, but Yen Press will return in September with what I’m sure will be the final arc in the series, in which everyone lives happily ever after.

After all, how could the “Massacre Arc” possibly be bad?

Tidbits: Now We Are Six

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Originally, this post was supposed to go up several months ago, when the sixth volumes of these series were newly released, but time conspired against me. And so, belatedly, I present reviews of volumes five and six of Kamisama Kiss and Oresama Teacher. Also included is perennial favorite Skip Beat!, which is on a similar trajectory, just twenty volumes ahead.

Kamisama Kiss, Vols. 5-6
It’s hard to believe now that I ever had my doubts about Kamisama Kiss, because I’m enjoying it more and more with each volume.

Volume five finds Nanami determined to correct public opinion that her shrine is a creepy, dangerous ruin, especially since her shinshi, Tomoe, works so hard to maintain it. And so, she decides to hold a festival, spending two weeks preparing for a special performance while soliciting amusingly misguided advice from her supernatural acquaintances. It’s a success in the end. In volume six, Nanami is called upon to compete against another human girl for a spot at a prestigious kami conference.

In these two volumes, mangaka Julietta Suzuki nicely balances the expansion of the supernatural world (including the introduction of several new characters) and Nanami’s abilities with further development in her relationship with Tomoe. It seems to me that Tomoe is finding himself somewhat in awe of his kami these days—particularly when purification powers on par with his first master’s manifest themselves—and also more prone to emotions like fondness and jealousy. One of the best things about their relationship is how he is able to encourage and reassure her before the festival without being condescending about it. “I acknowledged you as my master,” he says. “Don’t be afraid. Prove yourself to everyone… like you did to me.”

I think the main appeal for me is that Kamisama Kiss is shaping up to be the story of Nanami’s growth. She may be in love with Tomoe, but winning his affections is not her sole ambition, or even her focus. Instead, she wants to develop as a kami and become someone that her parishioners can depend upon and respect. Because progress has come slowly, watching her actually achieve some truly remarkable things in these volumes actually leaves me a little verklempt. This has become less a story about a human girl thrust into the wacky world of yokai and more about someone embracing their destiny and striving to reach their full potential. I eagerly look forward to the next volume.

Oresama Teacher, Vols. 5-6
I was worried there for a minute. It seemed to me that volume five was showing signs of Tsubaki-sensei running out of ideas, what with a chapter about Takaomi and Mafuyu helping a wealthy girl find love with her self-denying servant, a chapter about the school’s bancho being stalked by a flower fairy, and a chapter about the Student Council’s resident ninja gathering intel on the Public Morals Club.

Although it’s not the neatest bow—I still don’t fully grasp why the Student Council is so opposed to Takaomi’s plans to attract more non-delinquent students to Midorigaoka, but at least I have an inkling now—Tsubaki does manage to tie things together by the end of volume six. Okay, not the flower fairy bit, but the significance of Takaomi going out of his way to help Marika (the rich girl) ties in with the backstory of why he’s become a teacher and why he’s made a bet with the school’s director. It brings new depth to his character and even relates to some things he said back in volume one.

I also really enjoyed the chapter in which the members of the Public Morals Club—now including Shinobu the ninja, who has decided to obtain information on his enemies from within their midst—explore the school, finding oodles of empty classrooms and realizing that it was once a thriving place with high-caliber students. Also significant is that, when Mafuyu is frustrated by Takaomi refusal to reveal his true motivations, she complains that all she’d wanted was to be a regular high school girl, but then got forcibly recruited to his agenda. Hayasaka overhears and, thinking he has kept Mafuyu from the life she’d wished for, avoids her. Mafuyu attempts to hang out with some girls, but in the end realizes she prefers being with Hayasaka. It’s really sweet.

This description might make it sound as if the series has suddenly gone in a plot-heavy direction, but that’s not really the case. There’s definitely something happening, but there are still plenty of amusing moments. My favorite is when Hayasaka and Super Bun are reunited and we get a panel of her carrying him in her arms while he thinks, “You’re so dreamy!”

Skip Beat!, Vols. 25-26
It’s a rare series that still genuinely delights me this far into its run, but Skip Beat! consistently manages to do so. I think the key here is that Nakamura has developed a cast of characters whose personality quirks enable her to take the plot in unexpected directions.

For example, volume 25 is all about the aftermath of Valentine’s Day. Sho has learned that Kyoko gave chocolates to Reino, and so shows up on the set of Dark Moon with an ostentatious bouquet in hand. He’s not out to win Kyoko’s love—so her explanation of the true nature of the chocolates (hatred) makes no difference—he just wants all her thoughts to be focused on him once more, and he temporarily ensures this by stealing her first kiss. Kyoko freaks out, according to plan, and is briefly talked down by Ren, but when she gives Ren his own special valentine, he can’t resist driving thoughts of Sho out of her head by administering a smooch of his own. This one’s on the cheek and he plays it off as a foreigner’s expression of gratitude, but it definitely leaves a trace in her heart.

Backing away from all of this progress, Nakamura eases us into the next arc by having Kyoko and Kanae return to the Love-Me Section, where they are joined by new member Chiori Amamiya, a former child actress whom Kyoko recently inspired to regain her love for acting. Each girl receives a personalized assignment from Lory, and Kyoko’s involves picking up Cain Heel, a dangerous-looking guy who is the president’s guest. Turns out, this is Ren going undercover and Kyoko’s new assignment is to stay by his side as his doting and scantily clad goth sister, Setsuka. And they have to live together in a hotel room. Ordinarily, a twist like this would be completely out of left field, but because this is Lory and because this is Skip Beat! I can just roll with it and eagerly anticipate the complications that will ensue.

If you’ve never read Skip Beat! before, now is a great time to start, as an omnibus edition of the first three volumes has recently been released!

Review copies provided by the publisher.

Blade of the Immortal, Volume 8: The Gathering

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Blade of the Immortal, Volume 8: The GatheringCreator: Hiroaki Samura
U.S. publisher: Dark Horse
ISBN: 9781569715468
Released: August 2001
Original release: 1997-1998
Awards: Eisner Award, Japan Media Arts Award

The Gathering is the eighth volume of the English edition of Hiroaki Samura’s award-winning manga series Blade of the Immortal. Published in 2001 by Dark Horse Comics, The Gathering is most closely equivalent to the seventh volume of the Japanese edition of the series, published in 1997, although it also includes a chapter from the eighth volume which was first released in 1998. Blade of the Immortal has been the recipient of both an Eisner Award and a Japan Media Arts Award. Critically acclaimed in both the East and the West, the series is also one of my personal favorites. The Gathering marks the approach of the end of the second major story arc in Blade of the Immortal. The volume picks up almost immediately after the events in the previous volume, Heart of Darkness. Since there were some pretty major developments in that volume, I was particularly looking forward to reading The Gathering.

After their violent falling out with Shira, Manji and Rin’s tenuous alliance with the Mugai-ryū assassins dissolves. Anotsu has successfully left Edo without being caught and is now well on his way to Kaga and out of the Mugai-ryū’s reach. They do, however, have an idea where Anotsu is heading. But they’re not about to tell Manji without getting something in return. Rin, still determined to pursue Anotsu, realizes that she is the only one who even has a chance of passing through one of Edo’s checkpoints and leaves Manji behind without telling him where she is going. It doesn’t take much for him to figure it out and Manji is ready to do anything it takes to follow her. But to complicate matters further, both Rin and Manji are now wanted for murder. It will be extremely difficult for either of them to leave Edo, let alone find Anotsu.

Rin is no longer as naive as she once was, although this doesn’t stop her from making decisions she knows are foolish. She has seen some terrible things on her path of revenge against Anotsu and it has changed her. The journey has changed Manji as well. He has become more open in showing his concern for Rin. While he has become quite attached to the younger girl and is very protective of her, he is not overprotective. But as soon as she disappears Manji doesn’t hesitate for a moment to try to find her again. It’s been a while since Manji has really let loose in a fight (it’s also been quite some time since he’s really needed to) but he is given ample opportunity to in The Gathering. He is at a distinct advantage because of his near immortality, but this also means he has a lot more pain and suffering in store for him. Still, Manji is able to employ in very dramatic and effective ways techniques and strategies that other swordsmen would only resort to out of desperation (if at all).

While Rin and Manji are attempting to leave Edo, the members of the Mugai-ryū are trying to make the best out of the situation. Manji and the Mugai-ryū may no longer be allies but they are all ready to use one another for their own benefit. Although the assassains’ backgrounds are still mostly a mystery, The Gathering reveals a few more hints about their employers. The assassins may be ruthless and violent, but at least for the moment it’s in their interest that Manji and Rin are alive. On the other hand the Ittō-ryū—Anotsu’s sword school—is itching to take down the man who has single-handedly killed so many of their own. Anotsu has already proven himself to be a formidable opponent, but many of the other members of the Ittō-ryū are crafty and skilled fighters, too. Even if they don’t particularly get along, Manji has given them a common goal for the time being. The Ittō-ryū is most definitely made up of the individuals with their own ways of doing things. The Gathering leaves off in the middle of an intense fight and I’m looking forward to seeing how it concludes in The Gathering, Part II.

Manga Artifacts: Love Song

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Back in the 1990s, Rachel Thorn labored hard to make Keiko Nishi a household name among American manga readers, translating six of her stories for VIZ. Two appeared in Four Shojo Stories alongside work by Moto Hagio and Shio Sato, and four appeared in a stand-alone volume called Love Song.

VIZ made a conscious effort to present Nishi’s work not just as comics, but as literature. Love Song boasted fancy endpapers — the kind you might find in the Everyman’s edition of Middlemarch — and a back cover blurb that defined shojo manga as “a literary genre of Japanese comics in which the relationships between characters are as meticulously crafted as the story’s action.” Lest the reader interpreted that statement to mean, “Here be romance comics,” the editor optimistically declared that shojo manga was “created by women for everyone!”

Though Nishi didn’t catch on with Western readers, it’s easy to see why Thorn championed her work: she’s a terrific, versatile storyteller, equally capable of writing light-hearted fantasies and character studies of deeply damaged people. Of the four stories that appear in Love Song, two are standouts: “Jewels of the Seaside,” a black comedy about three sisters who compete for the same man’s affection, with disastrous results, and “The Skin of Her Heart,” a sci-fi tale about a young woman torn between what she wants and what her mother wants for her. The other two stories — “Love Song” and “The Signal Goes Blink, Blink” — are also strong, if more conventional. “Love Song” focuses on an angry young woman who dominates her saintly boyfriend, while “The Signal Goes Blink, Blink” explores how fame transforms the life of a bullied teen.

Common to all four stories is a palpable sense of longing. The characters desperately seek human connection, but face genuine obstacles to their happiness. Yoshio Yamada, hero of “Signal,” is a perfect example: he’s the kind of small, quiet person whose shyness makes him a natural target for other kids’ scorn. (Even his own family detests him for his weakness.) When his newly discovered healing abilities land him television appearances, he worries what will happen if his powers fail him — not because he fears the stigma of being discredited, but because he fears being alone. “I’m afraid that if I lose this power, I’ll just go back to being a nobody again,” he tells his agent. “Are those people going to play with me? Will they come to school with me?”

The female protagonists of “Love Song” and “Skin of Her Heart” are also dissatisfied, though neither can fully articulate what they want. Saki, the heroine of “Love Song,” is perplexed by the intensity of her anger; though she readily admits that she was scarred by her first romantic experience, that alone cannot explain the cruel delight she takes in manipulating her current boyfriend. Lin-Lin, protagonist of “Skin,” also has difficulty pinpointing the source of her frustration, rejecting a suitor who could solve all of her financial and family problems. Only in the final pages of the story does she realize that moving to another space colony might change her life in ways that would help her “learn to open my heart to someone.”

Even the “Seaside” sisters are prisoners of their own desires. All three fancy their cousin Daniel, a handsome, polite young man, but each secretly worries that she compares unfavorably with her siblings. Their desperation is played for macabre laughs — poison factors into the narrative — but each sister’s pain and fear of rejection is very real; the punchline of the story is simultaneously amusing and horrifying, as we realize the true cost of their insecurities.

Nishi’s artwork is the perfect vehicle for such nuanced character studies, at times precise, elegant, and naturalistic, and at times loose and sketchy, with the white of the page playing an important role in underscoring the emotional distance between her characters. Her minimalist approach won’t be to every shojo fan’s liking, but she demonstrates that it’s perfectly possible to convey the interior lives of her characters without resorting to the kind of visual shorthands — flowers, sweatdrops, nosebleeds — that have been overused in contemporary shojo manga.

Readers wishing to track down a copy of Love Song should know that the title is officially out of print. (You won’t find it listed anywhere on the VIZ website.) Unlike Four Shojo Stories or A, A’, however, Love Song is still relatively easy to obtain through online retailers like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and eBay. Highly recommended.

Manga Artifacts is a monthly feature exploring older, out-of-print manga published in the 1980s and 1990s. For a fuller description of the series’ purpose, see the inaugural column.

LOVE SONG • BY KEIKO NISHI • VIZ • 208 pp. • NO RATING

Durarara!!, Vol. 2

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By Ryohgo Narita, Suzuhito Yasuda, and Akiyo Satorigi. Released in Japan by Square Enix, serialization ongoing in the magazine GFantasy. Released in North America by Yen Press.

In this second volume of Durarara!!, I was reminded once more of how mentally unbalanced the entire cast is. In Volume one we had Izaya and his ‘I will pretend to murder wannabe suicidal teens’ schtick, but here we manage to get our cover boy Shizuo, who seems to have a bit of a rage problem; Erika and Walker, who turn out to not just be crazy otaku but *really* crazy otaku; and the creepy incestual text (to call it subtext would be wrong; the bathing sequence speaks for itself) between Namie and Seiji. It’s enough so that when you see the supposedly three normal teenagers in the cast, your first reaction is to say “I wonder how warped we’ll find they really are?” rather than assuming they’re there as relief.

I’m also impressed with the way this series handles metatext. The characters aren’t necessarily aware that there is a fourth wall – there’s no talking to the reader or anything – but you can see the artist and writer playing around a bit with the medium. Walker’s monologue about how he and Erika are simply insane naturally, and that it has nothing whatsoever to do with all the anime and manga they consume, is a clever stab at Japanese moral guardians (even as the scene itself can be deeply disturbing – if you dislike implied eye torture, you may want to be warmed, even though it doesn’t actually happen). Likewise, Anri’s description of Mika’s past activities are done as a cute 4-koma, helping to show the dissonance between Mika’s looks and personality and her creepy stalker reality.

Celty gets the first chapter to herself, but otherwise takes a back seat until the cliffhanger. The main plotlines we seem to be following now are a) Celty and her head, and b) the Dollars gang that everyone seems to either be interested in or a part of. Kadota suspects the gang is Izaya’s doing, and you can certainly see why – it’s exactly the sort of thing he *would* do. But isn’t it a bit too obvious? Then we also have Mikado and the high schoolers, who, while interacting with the others, don’t seem to be getting drawn into their plots just yet, aside from Minako’s continued curiosity about Dollars. I quite liked Mikado during his meal with Anri – we see him reject the blunt, vicious reply he’d like to say, but when Anri shows she’s aware of her own flaws (and her own tendencies to use others), he doesn’t hesitate to be direct. They’re good kids.

Someone once told me that Durarara!! is a superhero comic where there aren’t any actual heroes, only supervillains going about their daily life. The word ‘villain’ might perhaps be a bit too strong, but not by much. These eccentrics are not your wacky moe harem cast, and the cliffhanger, which implies that the missing Mika Harima has been put to a very, very bad use shows us that things may only go downhill from here. Despite all this, however, Durarara!! remains a fun, breezy ride. It’s just a ride filled with sociopaths.