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A Bride’s Story, Vols. 2-3

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Around the age of ten, I had a brief but intense love affair with historical fiction. It began with Little House in the Big Woods — required reading for all American girls of a certain age — and Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. I then discovered Johnny Tremain, made an unsuccessful attempt to read The Last of the Mohicans — way over my head, I’m afraid — and devoured Summer of My German Soldier.

The books that had the greatest claim on my heart, however, were Lois Lenski’s American regional novels: Strawberry Girl, Cotton in My Sack, Blue Ridge Billy, Mama Hattie’s Girl, and Shoo-Fly Girl. Looking back on these books now, I can see that they weren’t as meticulously crafted as Roll of Thunder or Johnny Tremain; Lenski’s writing was, at times, pedestrian, and her characterizations thin. What Lenski did well, however, was help young readers imagine what it was like to live in rural areas before television, telephones, and electricity were fixtures of the American home. Her books were filled with vivid descriptions of everyday activities: baking pies, picking crops, making dresses from patterns, canning vegetables, feeding chickens, washing clothes. From my sheltered point of view, Lenski’s characters led exotic, fascinating lives: who wouldn’t want to turn a bolt of calico into an actual dress, or spend the day picking berries? (The answer turns out to be me, as I flunked Home Economics.)

Though I’ve read my share of historical novels in the intervening years, I’ve seldom loved those books with the same fierce intensity as I did Strawberry Girl. Some of that disenchantment could be chalked up to adolescence: as a teenager, music superseded books as my most important form of escapism, and I read far fewer novels. And some of my disenchantment reflected my academic training: as a college student, I majored in History, taking courses that gave me the tools for exploring other places and times. Reading A Bride’s Story, however, reminded me how powerful good historical fiction can be.

A Bride’s Story depicts everyday life in a long-ago setting — in this case, Central Asia in the nineteenth century, where the fictional Eihon clan herd sheep and make textiles. To give readers a better understanding of the period, Kaoru Mori devotes entire chapters to describing how her characters live. In chapter 6 of A Bride’s Story, for example, Mori documents “oven day,” a communal event in which women prepare and bake bread. Mori captures the scene in meticulous detail, showing us how the women shape and stamp the dough into elaborate patterns. At the same time, however, Mori uses this gathering to explore the social dynamic within the Eihon clan; though none of the women are overtly hostile to new bride Amir, her inexperience and outsider status make it all but impossible for her to join the circle.

Other rituals are depicted with similar care. In chapter 10, for example, British anthropologist Henry Smith observes the Eihon women embroidering linen. Smith is a clever device: he serves as a natural reader surrogate, neatly anticipating the reader’s questions about the materials and cultural significance of the patterns. His questions serve another equally important purpose: they prompt Balkirsch, the clan matriarch, to identify the author of each design, explaining who she was and where she came from, in the process giving an informal history of the village.

Even in volume three, which introduces a new romantic subplot, Mori continues to document everyday activities in painstaking detail. Once again, Henry Smith serves as our eyes and ears, this time during a brief stay with two women he meets on the road to Ankara. Mori does a superb job of contrasting these women’s existence with the Eihons’: unlike the Eihons, who live in a thriving village, these women live alone on the edge of a vast plain, occupying two modest yurts with little in the way of possessions. Talas, the younger woman, must do the work of two people, grinding grain by hand, spinning wool, preparing meals, and tending a flock of sheep, following them on foot for miles each day. Though her face is youthful, her body language is not; in stark contrast to the physically robust Amir, Talas’s stooped shoulders and downcast eyes suggest the physical toll her daily labors exert.

Though Mori punctuates these moments of quiet reflection with dramatic, juicy scenes — a nighttime raid on the Eihon compound, an interrogation by Cossack soldiers, an angry confrontation between suitors — A Bride’s Story is at its best when it focuses on women’s daily lives. As this reviewer observes, Mori is not critiquing Central Asian society so much as depicting it in its full complexity. Mori never shies away from showing us how vulnerable women are in a patriarchal culture, as Talas’ situation demonstrates: without a father to arrange a new marriage for her, her late husbands’ relatives may claim her as property.

At the same time, however, Mori recognizes that women find small but meaningful ways to exercise their agency in such cultures, carving out a sphere of influence for themselves. She celebrates their wisdom and resilience, honoring their hard work by documenting it in minute detail. Perhaps that’s why I love A Bride’s Story so much; like Strawberry Girl and Little House in the Big Woods, A Bride’s Story helps me imagine what my daily life as a woman would have been like, warts and all, had I been born in another place and time. Highly recommended.

Review copy of volume three provided by Yen Press.

A BRIDE’S STORY, VOLS. 2-3 • BY KAORU MORI • YEN PRESS • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

Poor Poor Lips, Vol. 1

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By Hayako Goto. Released in Japan by Takeshobo, serialization ongoing in the magazine Manga Life. Released in the United States by Takeshobo on the JManga website.

The first thing that struck me about this series, a title that I knew something of coming in thanks to Erica Friedman’s reviews on Okazu, is how appropriate it is that the word ‘poor’ is repeated in the title. In fact, if it had been called Poor Poor Poor Lips I wouldn’t have blinked an eye. More than a series about cute girls doing cute things, or about a growing love between two young women, this is a manga about a very, VERY poor girl, and what her life is like to the people around her. Mako isn’t homeless or anything. But she’s constantly on the knife edge of it, and deals with things like never having the money to buy clothes… or furniture… or even food beyond the meanest variety. It’s actually quite impressive the sheer amount of humor the author can wring out of Nako’s desperate poverty.

In contrast to this we have Ren, the woman who runs the shop that Nako comes to work for. Ren is an interesting character right off the bat, as she tells prospective employees point blank that she is a lesbian – something you rarely get in Japanese manga, even ones that do deal with actual relationships between two girls. Usually the closeness between the two gets some “it’s just because it’s you” lip service that manages to dance around the actual lesbian identity. So it’s refreshing to see Ren be so blunt about it, even if it is mostly to scare off people who can’t put up with her. Nako, of course, is not going to let anything like that stop her from work that might give her money to live, so she gets hired and the manga shows the two becoming friends.

This is a cute 4-koma manga, so the rest of the volume tends to involve a lot of cute 4-koma situations. We follow Nako’s staggeringly ridiculous poverty, and start to realize how it is she keeps ending up that way (a naivete that manages to remain innocent and charming while still making you slap your head); we see her interactions with an old male friend from high school, who clearly is interested in her but can’t quite get that across; and we see Ren, who has already told Nako that she’s ‘not her type’, begin to fall for Nako anyway. The two contrast very well, with Nako’s blithe matter-of-factness contrasting well with Ren’s occasional tendencies towards being overwrought. Ren, of course, would like to give Nako more money and help, but it’s hard to simply DO that, so she has to be subtle about such things.

The yuri in this first volume is mild – Ren clearly is interested in Nako, but this is different from the usual sort of relationship – and girl – she’s had before, so she’s still trying to figure out what to do. Meanwhile, Keiki is a relatively sympathetic male co-star considering it’s a yuri manga. He and Ren don’t get along, but you clearly see things from his side as well, and they both share a concern that Nako will one day simply be kidnapped off the street. Nako, being fairly oblivious about such things, is not particularly helping either of them. But then, this manga is meant to be more than one volume long, so that’s only to be expected.

This was a lot of fun. It uses the 4-koma style well, being a series of slice-of-life events without ever giving off that feeling of ‘nothing will ever happen’ you get from many similar series. The characters are funny and likeable, and you want Nako to better her situation while realizing that her situation is what drives all the comedy and plot. And the translation, done in collaboration with ALC Publishing, is excellent, showing none of the over-literal awkwardness that sometimes plagues JManga titles. The one drawback to the series is that Nako is yet another of those girls who’s 21 but looks to be about seven years old. Japan loves this, but I really wish they’d learn to write about adult women who look like adults. Still, Poor Poor Lips is an excellent addition to JManga’s library, and Vol. 2 is already available as well, with 3 coming out next week. Give it a shot – you likely can afford it more than Nako could.

The Earl & the Fairy, Vol. 1

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By Ayuko, from the light novels by Mizue Tani. Released in Japan as “Hakushaku to Yousei” by Shueisha, serialized in the magazine The Margaret. Released in North America by Viz.

Generally I try to give most Volume 1s a big review here, rather than pouring them into the ‘quick paragraph’ reviews I do with my colleagues for Bookshelf Briefs. That said, some Vol. 1s give me more to talk about than others. Let’s see what I can get out of The Earl & the Fairy, Viz’s new romantic fantasy shoujo?

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The thing that struck me most while reading this first volume was how surprised I was that the author was Japanese. This reads like one of the Harlequin manga adaptations we see so much of on JManga these days. Pretty, spunky heroine abducted by handsome guy, rescued by another handsome guy, both linked by tragic, dark secrets… and fairies. OK, I admit, the fairies would probably be vampires if this were a genuine Harlequin adaptation. But still, there’s very much a sense of ‘romance novel’ in this series, as even the names are Western (which is a given, since it takes place in England.) This actually works quite well, giving it some variety that’s a long way from ‘girl in high school is trying to win over the boy she likes’ that tends to pigeonhole so much shoujo.

That said, while I’m not sure I’d go so far as my colleagues in calling it ‘a bit of a mess’, I do agree that the plot and characterization can be fairly unfocused at times. There’s a lot to lay out here involving Lydia, her family and her strange abilities, who Edgar is and his own past, the twin servants he has, who Huxley is and what his part in all this is, and still find enough time to have the heroine start to fall for the hero. Not to mention her magical animal familiar. (Oh please don’t let her power up into a magical girl, I beg you.) The pace is fast – some might say breakneck – but we haven’t really had time to breathe, and I sense that this volume will be best appreciated after the other three are out.

The author has done her research, though. There’s some interesting fairy lore here, and I liked the fact that the heroine considers her red-haired, green-eyed looks to be plain and unattractive – it’s the mid 19th century, when that type isn’t in style the way it is today. She manages to walk a fine line through the volume, being a damsel in distress much of the time, but manages to try to be independent anyway, and I like her banter with Edgar.

This manga is not really going to be much of a surprise to anyone who’s read Barbara Cartland or Amanda Quick. That said, it is somewhat of a change of pace for shoujo manga we’ve seen here (at least aside from the Harlequin adaptations of Western romances), and promises some intrigue in future volumes. I do worry that the twins will turn out to be evil, because that’s what tends to happen in these sorts of things. Still, a decent first book, and recommended for those who kept waiting for Edgar to be more of a pirate.

Twin Spica, Vol. 12

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By Kou Yaginuma. Released in Japan as “Futatsu no Spica” by Media Factory, serialized in the magazine Comic Flapper. Released in North America by Vertical.

In Japan, this was released in two volumes, but it’s probably best for my heart that they came out here in this thick book. After seeing these characters bond and grow over the course of the series, we finally get the fruits of all their labors. After so much tragedy and blame and heartbreak… Japan is returning to space, and our heroes are graduating.

So much of this volume deals with the joy and sorrow of parting – even though they know that they’ll always be friends, the nature of the space school, and the fact that there will be only one student advancing to the final year, means that the idyllic school life that brought them all so close together is gone. We see everyone – even Marika – struggle with this, and trying to see how to go forward in life while still treasuring what they have. This includes, of course, Asumi, who is the student that gets chosen. (Sorry if that spoils you, but come on – she’s the heroine.)

This is not to say that Marika, Kei and Fuchuya don’t get a lot of attention. Not getting one’s dream does not necessarily mean abandoning it, and they all need to find a way to move forward on different paths while still remaining true to their desires to go to space. Whether it be Fuchuya’s preparing to take over the family business and trying to find ways to do fireworks in space; Kei’s love of photography and her pictures of the stars; or even Marika simply trying to find a cure for herself and others like her, this is a cast that has grown tremendously since we started. (The teacher talking about how much Kei’s enthusiasm meant to the class was possibly my favorite moment of the entire volume – that ogre!)

And so Asumi goes to space. And it’s as amazing as it sounds, so I won’t dwell too much on it. Surprisingly, the manga does not end there. Or rather, it’s not that surprising after all – the emotional climax of this series has never been ‘will Asumi get to space’, but about the relationship between Asumi and Mr. Lion. And now that she’s returned and has decided on a teaching career while waiting for the next mission (it’s not like they send a rocket up every 2 weeks, you know), Mr. Lion has realized that at last, there’s nothing really keeping him here. It’s a tough realization – we see a lot of Mr. Lion just sort of bumming around aimlessly here, even more than usual. But he says goodbye to Asumi, and it’s as heartwrenching as it sounds. But beautiful. Like the majority of this series.

In the end, things don’t necessarily end happily ever after for everyone – because this isn’t an ending, their lives will continue. Marika is still struggling with her illness, and we’re not sure if she’ll be able to discover a cure. Fuchuya still hasn’t really confessed to Asumi (who, as a time capsule towards the end reveals, was pretty much hung up on Mr. Lion anyway) so there’s no romantic resolution. But it’s still a great ending. In this cast we have hope not just for their own futures, but for the children of Japan. Seeing all the kids wanting to join the school after seeing Asumi go to space just puts a big grin on your face.

Twin Spica has been quite the journey, and I’ll miss it. Combining realistic depictions of what a space school might be like with the fantastic realism that comes with Marika and Mr. Lion (well, OK, Marika is merely sci-fi extrapolation, but…), and of course the gut-wrenching emotional tugs that are the core of this series. Every time you read it, you want to tear up – both happy tears and sad tears. It’s wonderful to see a series this affecting in North America. I wish Asumi and her friends the best on their outward journeys.

One Piece, Vol. 61

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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.

There was a joke going around fandom when Chapter 597 first came out in Japan that on the last page it would say “One Piece – end of Prologue.’ It’s not quite that ridiculous, but the timeskip we see does give us a lot to talk about – and finally, FINALLY reunites Luffy with his crew and his ship. It is appropriate that the cover of this volume is a mirror to Volume 1’s cover.

Before the timeskip comes some nice stuff, though. Having seen the crew bolt from their rescuers in order to reunite with their captain and console him after Ace’s death, it’s somewhat odd to see them immediately turn around and go back. It’s handled beautifully, though, with each crew member getting a flashback that shows just how much Luffy impacted their lives. They really would do anything for their captain, and it shows. Luffy, meanwhile, gets to train with Rayleigh on the island of amazingly dangerous animals, and we learn a little bit more about haki – though really, it still amounts to ‘magic charisma’ when you get right down to it.

(I was vaguely irritated that, in the shot of the Supernovas all encountering danger in the new world, Bonney is the one that’s captured and subdued (twice!). Oda is miles ahead of other Jump authors when it comes to his female characters, but they still tend to get into peril when the situation calls for it. Still, I suppose Akainu and Blackbeard menacing, say, Apoo wouldn’t have had quite the same feel.)

Then, as noted, we jump forward two years, and see what our crew is up to as they reunite on Sabaody. This leads us, inevitably, to the Fakehats. It’s not particularly surprising that someone would be trying to imitate Luffy and friends given their amazing reputation – in fact, it’s a wonder we hadn’t seen it before now. But I wasn’t expecting it to be as funny as this is. The Fakehats are gloriously awful, amounting to not even a bad parody of the people they’re trying to imitate. (Naturally, Luffy, Usopp and Chopper are taken in right away – just because there’s a timeskip doesn’t mean that the characters are THAT different. Everyone keeps their comedic flaws.)

As for the actual crew, so far they seem mostly the same. Which is reassuring. Franky has modified his body to look even more ridiculous. Zoro is missing an eye. Luffy has a scar on his chest. Nami has long hair. Usopp is more muscular. Robin has a new hairstyle. And then there’s Sanji. Who now has his hair… covering his other eye! Oda is delightfully deadpan about this in comments, but it’s also a good sign that he’s still enjoying One Piece more than anybody else.

As the Straw Hat Pirates prepare to go to Fishman Island at last, the Marines are coming out in force to stop them. But hey – allies of the pirates (many of whom are former enemies) come out to help, as we get some more great cameos. Hancock was a given (and is still a glorious parody of shippers – Luffy’s constant “I’m not marrying you” is a stitch), but it was a surprise to see Perona show up to lead Zoro to his crew. And hey, she is all grown up! (I totally ship Zoro/Perona, in a ridiculous way.) Luffy and company are ready to pave the way for a new age of pirates – and everyone wants to see them to it. It’s very heartwarming, especially when compared with Rayleigh’s flashbacks of Gold Roger.

And so – at last – we’re headed for Fishman Island and a new arc. Will it top Impel Down and Marineford? Probably not. But that doesn’t really matter. Just having the crew back together again is enough. We’ve seen how Luffy survives without his crew. Now we’re ready to see them work as a unit again. Bring on the next 60 volumes.

Is This A Zombie?, Vol. 1

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Here’s a tip for aspiring manga artists: if you’re going to spoof a genre, your jokes should be poking fun at said genre’s conventions, not slavishly adhering to them. Is This a Zombie? wants to be a send-up of magical girl manga and harem comedies, but focuses so heavily on panty shots, “accidental” nudity (of the “whoops, my clothes disintegrated!” variety), and girl fights that it’s easy to forget that the story is supposed to be a cheeky riposte to Cutie Honey, Sailor Moon, Love Hina, and Negima!

The other great problem plaguing Is This a Zombie? is focus. From the opening pages of volume one, a reader might reasonably conclude that the main plot revolves around teenager Ayumu Aikawa’s quest to find out who killed him. The sudden arrival of Haruna, a self-proclaimed “magikewl girl” who wears a maid’s costume and carries a pink chainsaw, complicates the picture, however. By means never fully explained, Haruna’s powers are accidentally transferred to Ayumu, who undergoes a full Sailor Moon-style transformation into a dress-wearing, weapon-wielding magical girl in the presence of other supernatural beings.

If Haruna’s arrival provided genuine comic relief, or advanced the plot in a meaningful way, the resulting horror-magical girl mishmash might not seem so incongruous. The lame cross-dressing jokes, however, do almost nothing for the story except reveal Shinichi Kimura’s steadfast belief that if a man in a frilly dress is hilarious, then a male magical girl in a frilly dress is exponentially funnier. And if the guy-in-a-dress gags weren’t tired enough, Kimura gives Ayumu a full-fledged harem that includes Eu, a necromancer, and Sera, a vampire ninja. True to harem comedy form, the three girls live with Ayumu, clamoring for Ayumu’s attention, bickering with each other during meals, and seeking his approval on outfits. Whatever “comedy” results from their competition is of a meager sort; Kimura seems to think that that the girls’ catty put-downs have sufficient zing to generate laughs. (They don’t.)

The artwork does little to enhance the story’s comedic tone. Ayumu is as generic a hero as they come, with a carefully tousled mop of hair, a standard-issue high school uniform, and a nose that’s ever-so-slightly larger than the female characters’. Of the three magical girls, only Sera is drawn as a mature teen; Eu and Haruna each look about ten or eleven years old. The girls’ youthful appearance would be less unsettling if they kept their clothing on, but Haruna’s frequent costume failures put an icky, exploitative spin on a sight gag that’s clearly meant to be sexy.

The backgrounds and action scenes have the same perfunctory quality as the character designs. All of the settings — cemeteries, schoolrooms, apartments — look the same, a collection of simple, square shapes that barely establish the location. And while that means the fight scenes are lean and mean, unburdened with excessive detail, it also means that the combat seems to be taking place in an alternate universe from the main story, one that lacks any meaningful visual continuity with the other scenes.

I wish I could find something to like about Is This a Zombie?, as the story wants to be the Naked Gun of manga spoofs, a naughty but good-natured comedy that invites readers to laugh at tired tropes. The resulting story, however, feels a lot more like Epic Movie, a scattershot, semi-exploitative grab-bag of superhero jokes, Pirates of the Caribbean gags, and sword-and-sandal send-ups; substitute “zombie manga,” “harem comedies,” and “magical-girl manga” for the aforementioned genres, and you’d have Is This a Zombie? in all its awfulness.

Review copy provided by Yen Press. Volume one will be available on March 27th.

IS THIS A ZOMBIE?, VOL. 1 • STORY BY SHINICHI KIMURA, ART BY SACCHI, CHARACTERS BY KOBUICHI – MURIRIN • YEN PRESS • 172 pp. • RATING: MATURE (NUDITY, LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE)

Dengeki Daisy, Vol. 9

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By Kyousuke Motomi. Released in Japan by Shogakukan, serialization ongoing in the magazine Bessatsu Comic (“Betsucomi”). Released in North America by Viz.

I haven’t done a full review of Dengeki Daisy in a while. It’s been a very rough stretch recently too, as Kurosaki’s past has finally come out and things have taken a relatively dark turn. It may be disquieting for those who were enjoying this manga for its wacky romantic comedy and physical and verbal abuse of the leads. Luckily, this volume not only wraps up the dramatic arc (while leaving room for more in the future, of course), and gives us plenty of laughs.

Sticking with the dramatic for a moment, I liked how this was resolved. The dramatic thrust wasn’t “how will Kurosaki stop the bad guys all by himself”, it was “how will everyone get Kurosaki to stop destroying himself with guilt”. I was therefore not particularly surprised when I saw that a deus ex machina (or rather, deus ex Akira) had taken care of most of what they had to do. This allows Kurosaki and Teru to return to some form of normalcy. In particular, their reunion is pitch perfect, bringing some comedy back to the series at last, and giving some real heart – you really wish Teru was older so that these two lovebirds could finally get together.

As Teru notes, she *can’t* forgive Kurosaki – because right now, he can’t forgive himself, and as long as he can’t, there’s no point in other people doing so. However, he at least now knows that separating himself from everyone is not the answer, and if anything his love for Teru is even stronger. (In a purely platonic sense, of course – this is lampshaded by Riko, who tells him to give Teru physical comfort without giving her physical comfort, if you know what I mean.)

This leads to the second half of the volume, which might be fairly frustrating for those who were expecting that we were nearing the end of the series. After a brief fight/misunderstanding regarding Teru’s emails, the two decide that they will email each other as themselves from now on, and ‘retire’ Daisy – while at the same time realizing what Daisy did for both of them. It’s really sweet. However, when Riko notes that Kurosaki still hasn’t confessed to her, he notes that after everything that happens, it feels like they’re starting over, and he wants to take his time and get closer to her again. This is known as the “your series is very popular, let’s find some new subplots to add” syndrome. Still, I’m not opposed to it when the cast is as fun as these guys are.

I’ve occasionally compared this series with Black Bird, which also features a heroine who seems to be in constant peril, but could not be more different from Teru. Here in North America, you’d have to actively seek out both series to compare and contrast them, so the chance of a crossover audience is smaller. In Japan, though, both run in the same magazine – Betsucomi. This might make it easier to read both of them – you get Black Bird’s sensuous guilty pleasure for 40 pages or so, then you can flip to Dengeki Daisy’s more dynamic heroine as an antidote. (And then they can read We Were There for crushing despair! Though that ended this month.)

Dengeki Daisy is a riveting romance, with lots of emotional rollercoasters, a great sense of humor, and a heroine who rises above her peril to be strong and likeable. Not to mention a handsome, admirable (if grumpy) hero, who is only called a lolicon about 6 times in this volume, which may be a record low. (It’s in fun, trust me.) Highly recommended.

Psyren, Vols. 1-2

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By Toshiaki Iwashiro | Published by VIZ Media

Ageha Yoshina is a first-year highschool student who channels his passion for fighting into helping people (for a fee). When classmate Sakurako Amamiya goes missing, he can’t just ignore it, particularly since she seems to know something about Psyren, a mysterious organization that recently issued Ageha a phone card when he answered a ringing public phone. The quest to find Sakurako leads Ageha to Psyren itself, which is not so much an organization as a place—a dangerous dimension where a chosen few (known as Psyren Drifters) brave the harsh landscape and murderous denizens to reach a particular gate, at which point they return home to be called again in the future, using the interval to learn more about Psyren and hone the psionic skills that Psyren’s atmosphere has infected them with.

I wasn’t sure what to think of Psyren at first. It starts slowly, and neither Ageha nor Sakurako are particularly distinct characters (Ageha because he’s so like every other shounen hero and Sakurako because Iwashiro-sensei is admittedly not aiming for any kind of consistency in her characterization). Once Hiryu—a formerly wimpy elementary school classmate who is now simultaneously hulking and thoughtful—arrives, however, things begin to improve. He provides a foil against which Ageha can be compared, which makes their psionic training sessions (in which Hiryu excels with concentrated effort and Ageha fails time and time again until he unleashes a powerful, uncontrolled burst) pretty fun.

It also helps that the concept of Psyren has elements that remind me of other series: the giant insectoid creatures and dire depiction of Japan’s future remind me of 7SEEDS, the cyborgish enemies remind me of BLAME!, and the contract by which unwitting participants are forced to risk their lives for some vaguely explained purpose reminds me of Bokurano: Ours. It remains to be seen whether Psyren will truly turn out to be as great as these other series, but it does have a dark edge—hinting that one’s performance in the game can somehow impact Earth’s future—that I appreciate.

To be sure, Psyren is not perfect. As mentioned, the main problem is Sakurako. She, quite literally, seems to change personality from panel to panel. At first, I thought that maybe this was happening because she’d used her psionic abilities so much that it had affected her mind, but after Iwashiro’s confession—“I was very careful when portraying [heroine of previous series]’s personality, but I’ve tempered that tendency, allowing for more of a kaleidoscopic view of Sakurako”—that doesn’t seem to be the case. Too, I feel like we’re supposed to find Matsuri-sensei, the concert pianist/biker chick who has beaten the Psyren game, cool and awesome, but she just makes me yawn.

Ultimately, Psyren is better than I thought it would be. It’s also, at sixteen volumes, not a sprawling epic that would require a huge commitment. At the moment, at least, I plan to continue for the long haul.

Psyren is published in English by VIZ Media. The third volume came out this week. The series is complete in Japan with sixteen volumes.

Review copies provided by the publisher.

The Lucifer and Biscuit Hammer, Vol. 1

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By Satoshi Mizukami. Released in Japan as “Hoshi no Samidare” by Shonen Gahosha, serialized in the magazine Young King OURS. Released in the United States by Shonen Gahosha on the JManga website.

First of all, I should note that the JManga site lists this under its original Japanese title. Despite the fact that the English title is PRINTED ON THE FRONT COVER. Given none of Shonen Gahosha’s titles have been translated to date, I will assume this is some stupid business rule, but I wish it would change. In any case, when you look for this book, look for it as Hoshi no Samidare. And you definitely should look for it.

At first glance, this may seem no different from many other shonen titles. A young man, Yuuhi, it woken late at night by an animal mascot, who tells him that he must join with other allies to defend his Princess and protect the Earth. It almost sounds like it could fit right in with several Western-type superhero plots you’d see over here. Sure, the animal mascot is a lizard, but that’s probably just an eccentricity of the author. We’re in for rollicking action and fun times. Friendship, Training, Victory, right? Well, not quite. This manga isn’t in a shonen magazine, but a seinen one. The very eccentric Young King OURS, home of Excel Saga, Trigun and Hellsing. And Yuuhi is not your typical shonen hero.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Yuuhi is a nihilist, but certainly he is a young man who does not wish to interact with life. Likewise, the heroine, who is the aforementioned Princess, has declared that it is her desire to destroy the world – rather than save it. And it is *this* – the appeal of simply ending everything – that causes Yuuhi to suddenly gain a purpose in life and pledge his allegiance to her. It’s not really a stretch to say that the conscience of the manga, at least in this first volume, is the lizard (often horrified at Yuuhi’s thoughts) rather than the two leads.

Muxch of this first volume is setting up for what will no doubt be a larger cast – indeed, we see one of them, Hangetsu, show up in the final chapter, and he’s a complete contrast to the pessimistic and grumpy Yuuhi. Most of the time, though, we deal with Yuuhi and his own demons. Yuuhi spent most of his childhood being abused, mentally and emotionally (as well as physically, I’d suggest, given the chains). I would go so far as to say that he’s at his most tragic when he’s smiling, as it reveals to us the fragile facade he’s built up. In my favorite part of the volume, Yuuhi calmly relates the death of his father, his mother’s abandonment, and his grandfather’s abuse, and then simply grins. Neu, the lizard familiar, stares in horror, for he is able to visualize what it must have been like.

As for Samidare, we don’t get as much of a look into her own life – she blithely states she doesn’t want the world to survive after her own death, which is why she plans to destroy it, but that’s not really telling us motivation. After hearing about his past, we can see why Yuuhi wants everything to end. Indeed, he’s very matter-of-fact about it, telling Samidare (in a dream, which the two of them share almost from the start), that he’s binding himself to her so he can free himself from his grandfather’s chains – he’s still bound. It’s not all dark and tortured misery, mind you – Yuuhi’s meeting with his grandfather gives us some hint that there is still compassion inside of him, even if there is no forgiveness yet. What’s more, his determination to be someone who can protect his lady (Yuuhi is an unathletic normal guy, while Samidare seems to have super strength) is admirable, and reaches a peak towards the end in a fantastic action sequence against one of the golems sent to kill him.

The series is 10 volumes long, so we’ve only really just gotten started. It was a cult hit online, and while I had heard some companies making noise about licensing it (Dark Horse and Vertical both said they were aware of the title), the current market really didn’t seem to fit its tone. I’m very happy that Shonen Gahosha and JManga have brought it over. It isn’t perfect – the translation suffers from awkwardness at times, like many JManga titles, and the art style is best defined as ‘striking’ rather than ‘pretty’ – but it’s a fun, gripping read. If you like superhero comics with a kick to them – or you want shonen that’s a little more grown up – give The Lucifer and Biscuit Hammer a try. One of the best licenses yet from JManga.

Recorder and Randsell

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Most of the 4-koma manga I’ve read have been stamped from the same mold. There’s a quartet of teenage girls, each of whom has one personality trait, one talent or obsession, and one distinguishing physical characteristic. They all attend the same cram school, or live in the same dorm, and participate in the same everyday activities: studying for tests, planning trips to the beach, baking cakes. What passes for humor arises mostly from the clash of personalities or interests: the klutz accidentally pours water on the neat freak’s homework, or the brain chastises the compulsive gamer for playing another round of Warcraft instead of hitting the books.

Recorder and Randsell is an interesting variation on this theme, replacing the quartet of girls with mismatched siblings: Atsumi, a high school sophomore who looks eight, and Atsushi, a fifth grader who looks like a college student.

As one might guess from the characters’ appearance, most of the jokes revolve around mistaken identity. Atsumi’s best friend, the well-developed Sayo, pretends that Atsumi is her daughter to keep creepy guys at bay, while Atsushi’s grade-school pals dress him up as a parent so they can attend a cultural festival without a chaperone. Not all of the humor is PG-rated: in one of the series’ many running gags, Atsushi’s pretty young teacher is flustered by her student’s deceptively mature physique, her humiliation compounded by strangers mistakenly assuming that the puppy-like Atsushi is, in fact, her boyfriend.

To be sure, many 4-koma titles are built on the same foundation as Recorder and Randsell: the characters are easy to grasp; they follow clearly established patterns of behavior; and they seldom learn from their mistakes. What makes Recorder and Randsell funny is Higeyashi’s ability to devise new scenarios that yield the same disastrous outcomes; no matter what Atsumi and Atsushi do, or where they go, other people misread their respective ages. Higeyashi is also unconcerned with making her characters lovable, which grants her license to be weird, edgy, and a little mean to them — something that almost never happens in Sunshine Sketch or Ichiroh!!, where the characters’ behavior is carefully calibrated to trigger the reader’s awwwwwwwww reflex.

Also working in Recorder and Randsell‘s favor is the small but well-defined supporting cast. Meme Higeshiya gives each of these characters a clear role to play: Atsushi’s sidekicks, for example, remind us that Atsushi is on the brink of becoming a teenager, as they simultaneously envy the attention Atsushi receives from female classmates and tease him about his size. (“He’s a huge target!” one gleefully declares at the beginning of a dodge ball game.) The best supporting player, however, is Take, the Miyagawa’s next-door neighbor, a thirty-something man who can’t hold a steady job. Though we never see his face, Take is a frequent visitor to the Miyagawa household, unloading unwanted clothing on Atsushi whenever he breaks up with a girlfriend. (“Naoko gave me that shirt… Sachiko picked out those pants… Keiko bought me those shoes,” Take tells a bewildered Atsushi. “Stop or I won’t want to wear them anymore!” Atsushi complains.)

The art, like the script, gets the job done. Higeshiya plays up the physical contrast between the siblings, rendering Atsumi as a tiny, doll-faced girl with enormous eyes and Atsushi as a tall shojo prince. On closer inspection, the reader will see that Higeyashi is skillful enough to capture her characters’ respective ages through their body language and facial expressions; Atsushi clearly comports himself like a child, with wildly exaggerated movements and quicksilver moods, while Atsumi assumes the scolding posture of an adult.

I’d be the first to admit that such a slender premise couldn’t sustain a eight- or ten-volume series; by the fifth time the police arrest Atsushi on suspicion of being a pedophile, the punchline falls flat. Read in short bursts, however, the effect is like a good newspaper strip, offering an agreeable mixture of predictable and not-so-predictable jokes. Recommended.

RECORDER AND RANDSELL, VOL. 1 • BY MEME HIGEYASHI • TAKESHOBO CO., LTD. (JMANGA) • 115 pages • RATING: TEEN PLUS (13+)

GTO: The Early Years, Vol. 11

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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.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Tokyopop released the first 10 volumes of the SJG omnibuses, but then stopped 3 years ago (they seem to have stopped before they folded, in fact, so we can ascribe it to mediocre sales more than anything else, I expect). Luckily, Vertical has picked up where they left off, and say that if sales are good they may go back and re-release the first 10. That said, this is not GTO: 14 Days in Shonan, where you can simply hop right into the story with minimal info. The series was up to Vol. 21 and 22 in Japan (the volumes collected here), and it shows. New readers are advised to go here to catch up on the characters so as not to be confused.

That said, it’a not impossible to read this without huge knowledge of what has gone before. I had fallen way behind in my SJG reading, but was able to pick up where I left off with minimal confusion, mostly as this is a delinquent manga, and so just expect lots of people hitting other people. When Onizuka was in GTO, and even 14 Days, he still gets into tons of fights, but at least there he’s slightly more successful at not wanting to get involved in them. Here, in high school, there’s simply not enough impetus (beyond “getting laid”, still his primary motivation) to not be the leader of a gang. Mostly as Onizuka and his best friend Ryuji are *really good* at being gang leaders. They don’t do evil stuff, they inspire loyalty, and they protect the weak. They’re the gang you only see in Japanese manga like this.

Of course, Onizuka is still recognizable even if he’s younger (though, being that it’s school, be prepared for everyone to say Eikichi more than Onizuka – it is his first name, after all). Mostly in his complete inability to score with the opposite sex. By now we’re far along enough in the series that his friend Ryuji is living with his girlfriend, the sweet (at least sweet NOW) girl Nagisa, but Onizuka still strikes out, for the exact same reasons as in GTO: he’s an absolute idiot about it. And just like in GTO, there are girls who are clearly in love with him and would be happy to be with him if he’d only get a clue. Chief among these being Shinomi Fujisaki, who clearly likes him but is also far too similar to him for things to work out. (It doesn’t help that he sees her as a little sister.) I like the girls in GTO, who come in many different types and varieties, and the gang aspect of the plot means we get a lot who can kick any guy’s ass. Shinomi is, along with Azusa and Urumi from GTO, one of the most important women in Onizuka’s life. Expect to see more of her.

There’s also some terrific comedy here – the author likes to break up all the gang fights with one-shot chapters that are hilariously silly. Here we have two opposing tough guys trying to outbluff each other, only to have everything completely ruined by the escalating war between their respective girlfriends. Possibly the funniest chapter, though, was seeing Golgo 13-esque huge guy Usagi and his family, who are all named after Sailor Moon characters – and all look like they stepped out of Fist of the North Star. Despite having a punchline that you can see from space, it still works beautifully.

Be warned – with GTO and 14 Days in Shonan, you can sit through the manga without necessarily being a fan of big, epic fights. (well, just about.) That’s not something you can do here. GTO The Early Years shows us how Onizuka came to be the guy we know, and that means a lot of gang wars, fights, and blood. No one is killed – this still runs in Shonen Magazine, after all – but it’s a manga about young kids who get into a lot of fights. If you can respect that, there’s a lot to love here. Well, except maybe Onizuka’s hair. He did himself a big favor when he lost the perm.

Higurashi: When They Cry, Vol. 17

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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.

I will admit, very little happens in this volume of Higurashi, at least in terms of actual events. Rena’s paranoia grows, the others realize just how far she’s gone, and they resolve to save her. That’s about it, along with one other revelation. But that said, this was a fantastic volume of Higurashi, mostly as it rewards the readers who have been following along with the first volume.

We haven’t quite seen Higurashi get as ‘conspiracy happy’ as it does here, and that’s mostly due to the choice of protagonists. Keiichi was the newcomer, so his paranoia was stemming from not knowing his new friends well enough. As for Shion, everything about her revolved around Satoshi, making her manipulable in that sense. Rena, though, has already killed and is well on her way to the madness we’ve seen before. So it’s time to break out the silly guns. Yes, we get ‘aliens are causing it all’, along with ‘it’s a parasite burrowing into people’ and ‘my dead friends have been replaced with exact duplicates’ as well. Sadly, not only are many of those actual common diagnoses with folks who have paranoia, but several of them might be true. We’re still not sure what’s actually causing everything. And now we find that one of the series’ perennial corpses – Takano Miyo, the sleepy-eyed nurse – may have been dead 24 hours before she was supposed to have died.

So Rena’s not doing very well, and Keiichi, the one person she can trust, immediately goes and tells Moin about this. From Rena’s perspective, it’s the worst kind of betrayal. From *our* perspective, we’re cheering. At last, we’ve stopped distrusting our best friends! And true to form, Mion is able to put his mind at ease and also help start a search for Rena, who’s gone missing. Rena is, of course, hiding from everyone who is plotting to kill her – i.e. everyone. And unfortunately, the one to run into her first is Rika. We’ve gradually become aware that Rika can remember the previous iterations of this manga, and would appear to be very different from the small child she appears to be. She’s never been quite so bleak and uncaring as she is here, though. Some of what we see is clearly Rena’s ‘paranoia-vision’, but some of it is clearly a person who is exhausted and has just given up – and who has seen a bit too much of the nasty side of humanity. Rika’s cynicism here is the opposite of what we want to see in Higurashi, which makes it heartbreaking.

(She’s also drinking wine as well, which can’t be good for her. And talking to an offscreen voice we can’t see.)

After this, Keiichi tracks down Rena, but she’s prepared for him. She reveals Keiichi’s past to us. Given that everyone else in the manga has a tortured, tragic past, it makes sense that Keiichi would have one as well – it’s not as bad as the others, but it definitely shows us why he might be the way he is, and why he’s so tolerable of the girl’s goofy antics at his expense. And given that, like Keiichi, Rena has also shown signs of being very intelligent but hiding it under a mask of goofy, it helps to connect them even closer. If Rena wasn’t driving him away, that is.

So a guilt-ridden Keiichi confesses what he did before he moved to Hinamizawa to his other friends. And they’re OK with it, forgiving him, noting they were all little brats as well, and pointing out that being friends doesn’t mean telling everyone every aspect of your lives. It was good to hear that, especially from a comedy-horror manga. Then, just as Keiichi is coming to accept their forgiveness… he remembers the events of Book 2. Remember Book 2? The first arc? Seeing a shot of Mion’s head getting beaten in with a bat, especially as we weren’t expecting the flashback, is very startling. and now Keiichi’s in even worse shape. He thought he just had to be forgiven for his own past – now he has to atone for the other Keiichis as well!

Rika’s the one to notice the big thing, though – Keiichi REMEMBERS ANOTHER ARC! She even calls this an impossible miracle, noting that she’s the only one who remembers them. That said, it’s to Keiichi’s credit that this doesn’t turn him into a gibbering heap – remembering Rena desperately trying to save him (and it was terrific, if horrifying, seeing the events of the first arc as they actually happened – with Keiichi’s paranoia fueling his murders) makes him even more determined to avoid her going through the same thing. Even better, this actually galvanizes Rika. She notes that this world is beyond saving – this isn’t the last arc – but decides to help Keiichi anyway, as Rena is her friend and it’s the right thing to do.

So everyone’s forgiven everyone – except for Rena, who’s scratching at her bloody throat and getting out her billhook to prepare to kill everyone in the village in order to save them. (Something, notably, she and Keiichi had regarded as ridiculously stupid at the very start of this volume.) Will Keiichi be able to stop her madness? The previous evidence suggests the answer is no, but who knows? One more volume to go to find out.

Manga Artifacts: Osamu Tezuka’s Lost World

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Reading Osamu Tezuka’s Lost World (1948) reminded me a formative graduate school experience. I was researching George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess (1935), when I stumbled across a blistering review of a composition I’d never heard: Blue Monday (1922), a one-act “jazz opera” that Gershwin composed for Paul Whiteman’s Scandals of 1922. After attending its premiere, Charles Darnton, critic for the New York Tribune, pronounced the project a disaster, an ill-advised attempt to transplant the conventions of verismo opera to a Harlem setting. Blue Monday, he opined, was “the most dismal, stupid, and incredible blackface sketch that has probably ever been perpetrated. In it a dusky soprano finally killed her gambling man. She should have shot all her associates the moment they appeared and then turned the pistol on herself.” (Darnton, 11)

Ouch.

The review piqued my interest, however, prompting me to track down a recording of Blue Monday. Judged against Porgy and Bess, it was an inferior work; as Gershwin biographer Charles Schwartz observed, the music was several degrees removed from jazz and ragtime, drawing its cues from Alexander’s Ragtime Band and not The Maple Leaf Rag. (Schwartz, 61) The dramaturgy, too, was weak, conveying little of the Harlem setting. Yet in this early experiment, I could hear glimmerings of Gershwin’s mature style, a conscious effort to bring African-American music to the opera stage. And that excited me.

I had a similar reaction to Lost World, an early, problematic work in the Tezuka canon. First published in 1948, Lost World focuses on a scientific expedition to the fictional planet Mamango, a large, egg-shaped rock that, five million years earlier, had been a part of the Earth. When the scientists arrive on Mamango, they discover a Jurassic landscape carpeted in monstrous ferns, populated by hungry dinosaurs, and littered with powerful “energy stones.” The financial and scientific value of their discoveries, however, soon cause a deadly rift within the expedition party.

The execution of Lost World will come as a shock to readers familiar with Tezuka’s mature style. The profusion of subplots, minor characters, and doppelgangers makes the story hard to follow on a moment-to-moment basis; without frequent narrative interventions from the characters, large stretches of Lost World would be incomprehensible. More frustrating still is Tezuka’s over-reliance on dialogue to resolve plot points and reveal motive, even when that information is readily conveyed by the pictures. (“This is payback for you throwing me into the gorge! You get me?!” one character yells as he pummels the person who pushed him off a cliff in the previous scene.) The biggest disappointment, however, is the artwork; most of the panels consist of talking heads, with a handful of dramatic, but disjointed, action scenes interrupting the steady stream of chatter.

Writing about Lost World in the 1980s, Tezuka conceded Lost World‘s shortcomings, attributing them to his age (he was 20) and the circumstances of its publication. As he explained, the work originally ran in an Osaka newspaper, Kansai Yoron, where the target audience was young adults. The two-volume version published by Fuji Shobo, however, was aimed at the children’s market, necessitating substantial changes to the the script. What had been a romance in the original version, for example, was recast as a brother-sister relationship in the Fuji Shobo edition; anything more explicit would have been “absolutely taboo in children’s comics” of the period. (Tezuka, 248)

At the same time, Tezuka touted Lost World as an important milestone in his artistic development. “I thought that at the very least, there was no other comic book like mine, which was like a novel (albeit a very crude one), and had an unhappy ending,” Tezuka explained. (Tezuka 247) A careful inspection of Lost World supports Tezuka’s claim for its significance; whatever its shortcomings, many of the characters and themes of his mature works appear in embryonic form in Lost World.

On the most basic level, Tezuka employs several of his best-known “stars” in Lost World, arranging them in contrasting pairs. Acetylene Lamp, for example, plays an unscrupulous journalist who stows away aboard the expedition’s spaceship so that he can get an exclusive scoop on Mamango — and profit from the mysterious “energy stones” scattered across its surface. Another Tezuka favorite, Shunsaku Ban (a.k.a. Higeoyaji), plays yang to Lamp’s yin; as in many of his other incarnations, Ban is a middle-aged detective whose blustery demeanor camouflages his basic decency. Both characters are motivated by curiosity, but their curiosity compels them in opposite directions: Lamp towards profit, Ban towards truth.

From left to right: Acetylene Lamp, Shunsaku Ban/Hygeoyaji, Kenichi Shikishima

The story’s two scientists are likewise played by major “stars” from the Tezuka troupe. Kenichi Shikishima, hero of New Treasure Island, leads the Mamango expedition. Dr. Shikishima’s youthful spirit, resolve, and courage are contrasted with that of Dr. Butaru Makeru, a mustachioed villain whose cowardice and opportunism precipitate the disaster on Mamango. While Shikishima resolves to visit Mamango “for the sake of world science,” Makeru hints at his selfish motives for participating in the expedition: “If by some chance we meet with something unexpected on that planet, don’t blame me. Heh, heh, heh!” That contrast is also underscored by their terrestrial research as well: while Shikishima’s experiments are intended to help animals achieve human consciousness, Makeru’s experiments are designed for his own personal benefit, with little regard for their greater social or scientific good.

In later works, Tezuka was less schematic in his representations of good and evil, allowing characters to simultaneously embody both. Father Garai, anti-hero of MW, is a good example of this later tendency: Garai is a good man tormented by dark sexual desires, seeking grace even as he sins repeatedly. Black Jack is another, a character whose misanthropy and greed are counterbalanced by a strong reverence for life. As Helen McCarthy observes in The Art of Osamu Tezuka: God of Manga, Black Jack is “sometimes a gentle and compassionate savior, sometimes a cold and unforgiving avenger,” two opposite yet equally human responses to “the inevitability of death.” (McCarthy, 199)

Ayame

Mimio

Lost World also introduces a recurring character type found throughout Tezuka’s work: the artificial life-form. Early in the story, Tezuka introduces us to Mimio, a talking rabbit, and Ayame, a “veggie girl.” Both are the result of scientific experiments: Dr. Shikishima surgically enhanced Mimio’s brain to grant him human intelligence, while Dr. Butamo cultivated Ayame in a laboratory. (Note that Shikishima’s motives seem benevolent; he wants to help animals achieve equal status with humans, whereas Butamo is more interested in making a wife for himself.)

Mimio and Ayame’s quest for humanity is rather baldly presented. In an early chapter, for example, Mimio visits Shikishima’s lab, where a new group of surgically enhanced animals are learning how to think and act like humans. Though the animals’ struggles with language and manners are played for laughs — “Boy, all humans sure do look alike!” exclaims a dog — there’s a definite sense that these creatures’ own desires are being subordinated to Shikishima’s grander mission of animal-human detente. “You’re very being is unique,” one of Shikishima’s colleagues tells his subjects. “Therefore, you should help humans and be a guide to other animals in perpetuum.”

Unlike Mimio, Ayame looks human, even though she is composed entirely of plant material — and that makes her situation more precarious than the rabbit’s. On the one hand, Dr. Butamo wants her to become his wife, threatening to kill her if she refuses to honor his marriage proposal. On the other, some of the characters view Ayame as nothing more than a walking, talking cabbage — and thus a potential food source when the crew’s rations run out. Ayame remains committed to exploring her humanity nonetheless; late in the manga, she and Shikishima have this pointed exchange:

Shikishima: Miss Ayame, surely, you must be surprised to be having so many adventures.You see? The world of humans is full of adventure and wonder!

Ayame: I feel as if I finally understand what things bring the most pleasure and happiness to the hearts of humans!

Shikishima: Well, then, when you return to the laboratory, you should have Mr. Butamo teach you even more, shouldn’t you?

In Mimio and Ayame, it’s not hard to see the inspiration for later characters such as Dororo‘s Hyakkimaru and Black Jack‘s Pinoko, both of whom struggle to reconcile the circumstances of their “birth” with their desire to be fully human.

Perhaps the most striking thing about Lost World is the final act, in which an accident permanently strands Ayame and Shikishima on Mamango. In Tezuka’s original version, Ayame and Shikishima embrace their fate as lovers, but in the Fuji Shobo edition, Tezuka portrayed them as brother and sister. Nonetheless, Tezuka left the final words of the original intact, speculating that in five million years, “when Mamango once again approaches the Earth,” mankind might find a new race of “plant animal people” descended from Ayame and Shikishima.

Similar Adam-and-Eve motifs recur throughout Tezuka’s oeuvre, finding a more sexual and spiritual expression in such mature works as Apollo’s Song and Phoenix: Nostalgia. Nostalgia is a particularly odd and fascinating variation on the theme, as the Adam figure dies early in the story, leaving his pregnant wife alone on a remote space colony. His wife then mates with her own offspring who, in turn, mate with an extraterrestrial life form whose DNA proves essential to rescuing humanity from the brink of extinction. In short, Nostalgia — like Lost World — dares to a imagine a new future for mankind in which other forms of life — terrestrial and extraterrestrial — play an important role in our evolution.

Whether these observations will make Lost World more palatable to a casual reader is debatable; I fully admit that I struggled through its 246 pages, backtracking frequently in a futile effort to understand what was happening. But if you approach Lost World in the same spirit I approached Gershwin’s Blue Monday — as a window into a major artist’s early development — you may find, as I did, a work of astonishing vibrancy, contradiction, and interest.

Works Cited
“Bet Lost on First Opera.” New York Times. 21 July 1935: II1. Print.
Darnton, Charles. “George White’s Scandals’ Lively and Gorgeous.” New York World 29 Aug. 1922: 11. Print.
McCarthy, Helen, and Osamu Tezuka. The Art of Osamu Tezuka: God of Manga. New York: Abrams ComicArts, 2009. Print.
Schwartz, Charles. Gershwin: His Life and Music. New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1973. Print.
Tezuka, Osamu, and Kumar Sivasubramanian. Lost World. Milwaukee, OR: Dark Horse, 2003. Print.

Toriko, Vol. 8

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By Mitsutoshi Shimabukuro. Released in Japan by Shueisha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Weekly Shonen Jump. Released in North America by Viz.

It’s been a while since I did a full review of Toriko, but this is a good volume to talk about, as it’s less fight and more food oriented. After finishing off the cliffhanger from last volume (and getting to meet several of the side-villains face to face), Toriko reunites with Komatsu and goes to Gourmet Town, the #1 town to get fantastic food. While there they meet up with a legendary chef, the elderly but insanely strong and intelligent (as with most elderly manga women) Setsuno, who gives the two of them a taste of a legendary soup. A soup that is still incomplete, and needs one more ingredient. This leads to the cliffhanger of this volume, as both Toriko and Komatsu must journey to “Ice Hell” to find said ingredient…

In general, successful Jump series seem to fall into a pattern of “fighting + friendship + X”, where X is a variable. Plus ninjas, plus pirates, plus mangaka, plus Nisioisin… that type of thing. Here it’s food, and while much of Toriko is sitting back and watching insanely strong men battle each other, the food is not just an added extra to make the story palatable. First of all, even with the occasional ‘reader suggestion’ thrown in, the different types and varieties of food show off the author’s prodigious imagination. But food also controls the plot and the main characters. They live for it. A lot of the scenes in this volume will be familiar to fans of Oishinbo or similar titles – the initial reaction of happiness, followed by a description of what they just ate, possibly delineating the ingredients used. This is Jump foodie manga.

This volume also has several strong scenes between Toriko and Komatsu, including Setsuna, reminiscing on her own partnership with Jiro (who she was also romantically involved with), noting what good partners Toriko and Komatsu make. Now, I don’t think that any Jump title currently running is written primarily for the magazine’s growing BL audience. No, not even Reborn. But certainly a lot of what attracted the BL fandom in the first place is here – men in close friendships, with lots of bonding and fights and befriending former enemies. Komatsu is in many ways the perfect uke, and he’s surrounded by strong partners – not just Toriko, but also Coco and Sunny from previous volumes – all of whom initially see him as rather pathetic but then grow to treasure him as Komatsu’s true talents in food preparation are revealed. There’s also a dearth of women in this story – Rin has been around, and she has a crush on Toriko, but he completely ignores it. So while this isn’t a BL story, it does have everything that drew BL fans to Jump in the first place, and does not go out of its way to disappoint them.

I’m impressed by the world building going on here. A lot of titles like this give off a feeling that the author is making stuff up from week to week, but several of the plot points here seem to be well planned. Komatsu’s naivete is useful in this regard, as Toriko can explain various things to him, but there’s a casualness to it that doesn’t make it seem like exposition. I particularly liked the references to the Colonel sending a duplicate to Ice Hell rather than himself – it’s made mysterious while also being obvious for the reader.

Toriko is great fun, and looks to be starting another big arc. Hopefully it will continue to balance its big fights and male bonding with more delicious food. Recommended for Jump fans.

Soulless: The Manga, Vol. 1

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Soulless is saucy in the best possible sense of the word: it’s bold and smart, with a heroine so irrepressible you can see why author Gail Carriger couldn’t tell Alexia Tarabotti’s story in just one book.

As fans of Carriger’s Parasol Protectorate novels know, Alexia is a sharp-tongued woman living in Victorian London — or rather, a steampunk version of Victorian London in which vampires and werewolves co-exist with the “daylight” (read: “human”) world. As she would in the real nineteenth-century England, Alexia faces pressure to marry, a prospect complicated by her age — she’s twenty-six — her ethnicity — her father was Italian — and her prodigious intellect. Alexia has one additional strike against her, albeit one that doesn’t affect her marriageability: she’s soulless, a “preternatural” being who can neutralize the vampires and werewolves’ power, temporarily reducing them to mortal form.

Plot-wise, Soulless is an agreeable mishmash of Young Sherlock Holmes, Underworld, and Mansfield Park, with a dash of Jules Verne for good measure. The basic storyline is a whodunnit: Alexia becomes the prime suspect in a string of supernatural disappearances around London, and must collaborate with Lord Collan Maccon, a belligerent werewolf detective, to clear her name. What they discover in the course of their investigation is a grand conspiracy worthy of an Indiana Jones movie, complete with evil scientists, vampire “hives,” sinister-looking laboratories, and a golem; all that’s missing is the Ark of the Covenant and a few Nazi generals.

At the same time, Soulless is a romance. Alexia would make a swell Austen heroine, as she faces the kind of obstacles to marriage that would elicit sympathy from the Dashwood girls and Fanny Price. The greatest of these hurdles isn’t her name or her age, however; it’s Alexia’s firm conviction that marriage should not be a socially or financially expedient union, but a true partnership. Paging Elizabeth Bennett!

Given how many genres are present in the text — it’s a crime procedural, a thriller, an urban fantasy, a comedy of manners, and a bodice ripper — it’s astonishing how well all the tropes mesh. Some of that success can be attributed to the dialogue. The characters’ peppery exchanges are an affectionate parody of British costume dramas; substitute “soulless” for “penniless,” and Alexia could easily be a character in Sense and Sensibility. A few passages strain too hard for effect — would anyone have really chosen “comestibles” over “food” when complaining about a party? — but for the most part, Carriger finds a convincing tone that’s neither faux-archaic nor casually contemporary.

Soulless’ other great strength is its appealing cast of characters. Alexia and Maccon are clearly the stars of this imaginary universe; anyone who’s read Middlemarch or Emma will immediately recognize that Alexia and Maccon are The Main Couple, as they spend most of volume one denying their mutual attraction and trading zingers. (“I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!” Maccon declares in a fit of Darcy-esque pique.) In the spirit of the best nineteenth-century novels, however, Carriger situates her lovebirds inside a vibrant community, albeit one inhabited by grumpy werewolves and flamboyant vampires in lieu of parsons, baronets, and virtuous maidens. Though these supporting characters don’t always get the screen time they deserve, Lord Akeldama, Professor Lyall, and Ivy Hisselpenny enliven the narrative with sharp observations and sound advice for Alexia and Maccon.

Manga artist Rem, best-known for her work on Vampire Kisses, does a fine job of translating Carriger’s prose into pictures. Though Rem’s attention to period detail is evident in the characters’ sumptuous costumes and lavishly furnished parlors, her meticulousness extends to the action sequences as well. An early fight between Alexia and a vampire is expertly staged, making effective use of dramatic camera angles and overturned furniture to capture the intensity of their struggle. Rem also manages to fold many of Carriger’s steampunk flourishes — zeppelins, steam-powered carriages, “glassicals” — into the story without overwhelming the eye; if anything, I found the subtlety of the steampunk elements an improvement on the novel, where the object descriptions sometimes felt like tangents.

The only drawback to the artwork is Alexia herself. In the novels, Carriger describes her as plain and full-figured; in the manga, however, Rem depicts Alexia as a buxom, wasp-waisted babe with a pouty mouth and a pretty face. That transformation is certainly in keeping with manga aesthetics — even the plainest young characters are usually pleasing to the eye — but not with the source material; as a reader, one of the real pleasures of Soulless is watching the heroine triumph on the strength of her character and brains, not the size of her bust.

On the whole, however, Rem has succeeded in taking a justifiably popular novel and making it work in a different medium on its own terms; readers new to Carriger’s work will be as enchanted with this cheeky, fun adaptation as her hardcore fans. Recommended.

Review copy provided by Yen Press. Volume one of Soulless: The Manga will be released in March 2012.

SOULLESS: THE MANGA, VOL. 1 • STORY BY GAIL CARRIGER, ART AND ADAPTATION BY REM • YEN PRESS •  208 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN (VIOLENCE, SEXUAL SITUATIONS, NUDITY)