Manga Bookshelf

Discussion, Resources, Roundtables, & Reviews

Reviews

Angel: Long Night’s Journey by Brett Matthews and Joss Whedon: C-

by

From the back cover:
An enemy from Angel’s past has come to L.A., and enlisted three powerful supernatural creatures to break Angel’s spirit before killing him. In one catastrophic night, Angel has to figure out who’s after him, and then bring him down, in a climactic battle above the glittering Los Angeles skyline.

Review:
Wow, this is really lousy. It’s written at least partly by Joss, but it’s so lackluster that it’d pass for something written by Keith R. A. DeCandido.

The basic plot is thus: a boobalicious snake lady (Joss seems to like these, since one appears in the Buffy season 8 comics), a fiery stone guy, and a knight with a glowy sword all attack Angel and are eventually bested. A symbol on the knight’s chest (Joss seems to like this idea, too, since it also figures into the season 8 comics) clues him in to the fact that his foe is a Chinese vampire he once met.

Turns out the Chinese vamp is upset because he was supposed to be the champion vamp with a soul but instead Angel has that role. This plot is pretty irksome, because it all of a sudden introduces notions like that when Angel was cursed, he was just a test subject for the real deal, and that perhaps the soul he received isn’t even his. It’s annoying and vague and I’m happy all of these ideas were dropped along with Dark Horse’s publication of Angel comics after this miniseries.

The art is competent enough except that nobody looks like they should. I conducted a test by obscuring all but one panel, which featured Cordelia and Wesley, and asking my Whedon-loving coworker, “Who are these people?” She stared at it for a full minute and could not hazard a guess, even though she’d surmised the answer was probably Whedon-related. Cordelia comes off the worst, looking either trampy or middle-aged, and sometimes both at once. Still, it’s so nice to see her appear in a comic at all that I have revised the grade slightly upward from the D this dreck truly deserves.

Shugo Chara! Vol. 8

by Leave a Comment

By Peach-Pit
Del Ray, 192 pp.
Rating: T (13+)

In volume seven, Ikuto spilled the truth to Tadase about hiding out at Amu’s, sending Tadase running in anger and humiliation. With Ikuto now back in the clutches of Easter, Yoru is desperate for Amu to help, but she’s less than enthusiastic about being expected to save Ikuto once again when she’d rather be taking care of her own problems. Meanwhile, thanks to a visit with Kukai and his brothers, Tadase is reminded that sometimes people don’t say what they mean.

This volume is all about the complexities of growing up and being forced to recognize and respect the reality of life’s gray areas, including those within yourself. While Amu is facing the consequences of her lie being revealed to Tadase, Nagihiko is resigned to living with his, proving that maintaining a lie can ultimately be much more painful than being caught in one. Similarly, Tadase must learn that becoming the person he wishes to be means letting go of long-held grudges and viewing the people in his life (and even the events of the past) with fresh eyes.

From the beginning, Peach-Pit has used the series’ magical girl format as little more than a rough foundation for a much deeper story about trust and self-acceptance. The last couple of volumes have hit this theme hard, particularly in the way they’ve handled the subject of lying—why a person might choose to lie (or not) and what that really means. Unwilling to tell a simple morality tale, this series’ dedication to shades of gray underneath its cheery, bubblegum surface continues to make it a worthwhile read for adults as well as for young girls.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at PopCultureShock.

Shugo Chara! Vol. 7

by 2 Comments

Shugo Chara!, Vol. 7
By Peach-Pit
Published by Del Ray Manga

As this volume opens, Nadeshiko’s twin, Nagihiko, enrolls in Seiyo Elementary with a big secret he feels unable to share with Amu. Ikuto escapes from Easter with his violin, but a mysterious illness brings him to Amu’s doorstep in a wholly unexpected fashion. With Ikuto hiding out in Amu’s bedroom, Tadase chooses an unfortunate time to confess his feelings (one that comes back to haunt him shortly after) and Amu learns a hard lesson about the consequences of underestimating the people who trust her most.

This is a fairly heavy volume in this deceptively light-hearted series, with both Amu and Nagihiko caught in lies they can’t find their way out of, and Amu’s relationships with Tadase and Ikuto becoming muddier all the time. After all, it’s really two love confessions she receives in this volume, even if Ikuto’s must be necessarily masked by humor while he waits for her to “Hurry up and grow up.” Whether it’s creepy for a seventeen-year-old to be in love with a twelve-year-old is a dicy question, certainly. Considering the book’s intended readership I’m inclined to chalk it up to pre-teen fantasy, which mainly leaves me wishing I’d had something like this to read when I was twelve.

The best moment in this volume, however, is between Amu and her mother. After being caught sneaking out of the bathroom with a freshly-showered Ikuto, Amu’s mom sits her down for a talk about trust, but not the one readers might expect. Instead, she expresses her disappointment in Amu for not trusting her parents enough to tell them about what was going on with Ikuto so that they could help work out a suitable solution (presumably one less likely to compromise their daughter’s virtue). This scene is both touching and timely, since it gives Amu the information she needs to understand what happens next with Tadase.

Another striking scene in this volume takes place between Amu and Ikuto’s sister, Utau, who chastises Amu for being too much of a child to understand the importance of power in the world. “Kids who have no power like us or weak people like my mother will be crushed by a larger power and no one will notice … That’s why I wanted power. Lots of power so we won’t get crushed.”

This is not an unusual speech to hear from a manga character with a troubled childhood. What’s special about it in this series, however, is that despite its shiny sugar coating, Shugo Chara! does not come down clearly on either side of the argument. The series portrays Amu’s environment amongst adults who truly can be trusted right alongside Utau’s dog-eat-dog world, fully embracing the contradiction and unfairness of life in a way that feels unexpected in this kind of story. Similarly, though the story consistently demonstrates the power of people working together, it doesn’t attempt to pretend that this can heal all wounds. Utau comes to Amu, not because she thinks Amu is filled with sparkly goodness that makes everything all right, but because Amu has power and she wants her to use it.

My favorite character here, however, is Nagihiko. Though I don’t wish to spoil, I must mention how much I appreciate the way Peach-Pit has taken shojo gender-bending clichés and made them into something real rather than just playing them for laughs. “Amu-chan wants to see Nadeshiko, not me,” Nagihiko says, dreading the appearance of the person he most wants to see. His story is fantastic and well-written from the beginning, and I wish there were more like it.

With Easter’s latest plot quickly coming to a head, the next few volumes will certainly be action-packed. Fortunately, that action will be built on the strong foundation laid by this tense, emotionally rich volume. Enjoy!

Check out my review of Shugo Chara! Vol. 8 in tomorrow’s Manga Minis at PopCultureShock!

13th Boy, Vol. 3

by 3 Comments

13th Boy, Vol. 3
By SangEun Lee
Published by Yen Press


Buy This Book

A volunteer outing with the Scouts gives Hee-So a new opportunity to get close to Won-Jun, but a blatant demonstration of Won-Jun’s devotion to Sae-Bom gets things off to a painful start. It would seem that revelation is the theme of the day, as Whie-Young finally forces Hee-So to remember the details of their childhood together. Later on, the full moon offers cactus Beatrice to the chance to seek out some answers about his supernatural origins, leading to some shocking truths for him as well as for his unwitting creator.

Love parallelograms are all well and good but there is no question that this volume’s real excitement is The Truth About Beatrice, possibly the weirdest and most wonderful bit of manhwa eccentricity I’ve encountered so far. Even as no more than a talking cactus, Beatrice was an undeniable highlight of my comics experience, but with the stakes raised and secrets peeling away rapidly, it’s hard to imagine what could top him. Also, though the series has positioned Whie-Young as Hee-So’s destined love since the very beginning, I really can’t help myself. I’m rooting for the cactus.

Fabulous whimsy aside, what really makes this series work is Hee-So. Though she is self-centered, pushy, and occasionally conniving, unlike some other boy-crazed manhwa heroines (Sarasah‘s Ji-Hae springs immediately to mind), she is also funny, oddly practical, and above all, immensely likable. Her most attractive characteristics are also her most contradictory, which is honestly half the fun. She is incredibly stubborn, yet open-minded enough to accept some fairly outrageous realities. She believes deeply in fated true love but has been through twelve boyfriends on her way to find it. Even in her most self-involved moments (and there are many of them), she’s able to consider questions such as whether or not her cactus might be going through puberty. She’s a complete mess, but she’s a mess with a mission and I find it impossible not to love her.

Just three volumes in, this series has become a real favorite for me. With its mix of supernatural oddities and quirky romance, 13th Boy offers something for both fans of cracktastic ’80s shojo manga and modern romantic manhwa. Highly recommended.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Sexy Voice and Robo and Harriet the Spy

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slam Dunk 8 by Takehiko Inoue: B+

by

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

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

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

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

Slam Dunk 3-7 by Takehiko Inoue: B

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Box Man

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kimi ni Todoke, Vol. 3

by 3 Comments

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


Buy This Book

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

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

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

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

Review copy provided by the publisher.

All My Darling Daughters by Fumi Yoshinaga: A

by

allmydarling“A mother is an imperfect woman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steal Moon 1-2 by Makoto Tateno: C

by

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

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

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

Um, ew?

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

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

Full House, Vol. 2

by 11 Comments

Full House, Vol. 2
By Sooyeon Won
Published by NETCOMICS


Read This Book

In the aftermath of their engagement party, Ellie and Ryder progress from passing angry notes to bickering openly in the privacy of their newly shared home. Despite their mutual show of antipathy, they are unmistakably drawn to each other—Ryder to Ellie’s fearlessness and self-confidence, and Ellie to Ryder’s surprisingly considerate nature. Any hint of potential romance is nipped quickly in the bud, however, by the reappearance of Ellie’s ex-boyfriend, Felix, who turns up on their doorstep begging for forgiveness. Determined not to play the fool, Ryder uses his next film shoot as an excuse to stay away from Ellie and her resuscitated relationship, but when an opportunity arises for him to uncover her true intentions regarding Full House, he finds himself pursuing her in an unexpected fashion.

“They always come sliming back.” This wise statement regarding the nature of ex-boyfriends was uttered by an old friend of mine back in the day, and it works surprisingly well as the theme of this installment of Full House. Though Felix makes a fine show of his contrition and heartfelt affection for Ellie, it’s hard to forget that he was the guy who so brutally dumped her for not being eager enough to jump into the sack. Though it seems obvious that Ellie will eventually throw him over for Ryder (who at least gets her excited, if not quite in the way she’d like) execution is the key to this series’ charm, not result, so it would be a terrible shame to rush.

Though this series is, frankly, stunningly predictable, to leave it at that would be a grave oversimplification. Manhwa-ga Sooyeon Won has an extraordinary talent for turning romantic cliché into storytelling gold, a skill she would later refine to perfection in her outrageously poetic boys’ love epic, Let Dai. Her secret to this is brazen excess, which in this case applies to the series’ endless stream of classic screwball comedy banter—precisely the thing that makes the story so much fun in the first place. Will Ellie and Ryder get together? Of course. Will they face numerous rivals, career obstacles, and ridiculous misunderstandings along the way? Sure! Frankly, none of it matters as long as they keep talking … and talking and talking.

While the narrative trajectory of Full House may not leave much to question, the real mystery here is why, with recent acquisitions such as Full House, Please, Please Me, and Small-Minded Schoolgirls, NETCOMICS has not already become the prime online destination for grown-up women who read comics. For fun, sexy comedy with a fantastic vintage feel, check out Full House.

Complimentary online access provided by the publisher.

Comic, Vol. 8

by 1 Comment

Comic, Vol. 8
By Ha SiHyun
Published by Yen Press


Buy This Book

Picking up immediately where volume seven left off, Patrick and Alice impulsively seek each other out in a last-ditch effort to rescue their relationship. Unfortunately for Patrick, it is in this crucial moment that he discovers just how much his single lie has cost him. Despite her desperate desire for Patrick, when Alice finds herself stranded in the rain with only enough change for one phone call, it is Neil she banks on as the reliable choice. Truthfully, she’s not wrong. Neil turns out to be the ideal boyfriend—attentive, affectionate, playful, kind—all the things Patrick never was, even at his best.

As Alice’s new relationship goes public, Daria seizes the the chance to reprise her play for Patrick, this time yielding more satisfying results. The most significant development in this installment, however, is that after four frustrating volumes, both Alice and Patrick remember that they are manhwa-ga.

Does that last line sound sarcastic? It might be just a little. For the most part though, it’s just plain gratifying to see even the slightest hint of the story’s original premise creeping its way back to the page. And though the manhwa-ga plotline is hardly front-and-center, it is actually responsible for a few of the volume’s most amusing bits. It is fairly hilarious to watch, for instance, as Neil, filling in as an assistant on Patrick’s manhwa, cluelessly asks his best friend for advice on kissing his new girlfriend—a request Patrick ultimately fulfills by handing him an armful of sunjeong and shojo comics.

What works less well in this volume are some of the standard romance scenarios, like a tedious chapter near the end of the volume in which Neil’s plans for an intimate evening with Alice are relentlessly interrupted by his meddling sister. Yet, while scenes like this play out too obviously to be believed, others sparkle with joyful sunjeong goodness, though they tend to weigh heavily against the main romantic pairing.

“I feel full even when I don’t eat. I have fun even when we don’t do anything,” Alice muses to herself in the midst of a giddy afternoon date with Neil. “The guy I used to like never made me feel this good. Ever.” Reading something like that, it’s hard to feel enthusiastic about the prospect of a break-up, fated romance be damned!

Regardless of this volume’s minor shortcomings, it’s really nice to see this series finally back on track as something just a little more interesting than a standard high-school romance. Let’s hope volume nine continues the trend!

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Happy Cafe, Vol. 1

by

Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pastry Shop might be a better title for this rom-com about a teen who waits tables at the neighborhood bakery, as the characters are so nondescript I had trouble remembering their names. The girl, Uru, is as generic as shojo heroines come: she’s a spunky, klutzy high school student who blushes and stammers around hot guys, bemoans her flat chest, and wins people over with her intense sincerity. The two guys — Shindo, a moody jerk whose boorishness masks a kind nature, and Ichiro, a cheerful slacker — are just as forgettable, despite the manga-ka’s efforts to assign them novel tics and traits. Shindo, for example, turns out to be a genius who finished high school at fifteen, while Ichiro suffers from hunger-induced narcolepsy, keeling over any time his blood sugar drops.

The plot, like the characters, has a similarly generic quality. At the beginning of volume one, Uru walks past Cafe Bonheur, overhearing a conversation between two giggling, satisfied customers. She then resolves to land a gig at the “Happy Cafe,” as she calls it, but is nearly defeated by the job interview: she accidentally breaks the front door, endures rude comments from Shindo about her youthful appearance (she looks ten), and nearly falls over Ichiro, who’s sprawled, unconscious, on the kitchen floor. (Shindo administers first aid in the form of a bun, reviving his co-worker.) Undeterred, Uru pleads with Shindo for a job, eventually persuading him to hire her on a trial basis. Broken dishes and spilled coffee notwithstanding, Uru quickly insinuates herself into Shindo and Ichiro’s lives.

Happy Cafe aims for a mixture of wacky comedy and heartfelt drama, but doesn’t quite succeed on either count. The humor is mild but not very funny; the few good gags — Uru’s super-strength, Ichiro’s ability to nap anywhere, anytime — are repeated with little variation until they cease to register as jokes. The drama, too, is tepid and predictable; every conflict is resolved so neatly and sweetly that a strong whiff of pointlessness hangs over the whole enterprise. Early in the volume, for example, we learn that Uru is living on her own, thanks to her mother’s decision to marry a younger man. Uru misses her mom terribly, but worries that her presence interferes with mom’s new relationship. So far, so good: the idea of a mother allowing her sixteen-year-old to live alone is a little ridiculous, but the set-up could yield some juicy, emotional scenes. Matsuzuki squanders that potential by resolving the conflict in a matter of three pages: mom and stepdad beg Uru to return, Uru asserts her desire to visit but maintain her independence, and her parents shower her with affection. The end.

Matsuzuki’s artwork is serviceable, if not memorable. Her characters are virtually indistinguishable from the cast of Me & My Brothers, right down to their perfectly messy hair, rail-thin frames, and noseless faces. Matsuzuki struggles with more ambitious perspective drawings; some of her attempts to place characters on different levels in the picture plane result in unnaturally foreshortened bodies. Where Matsuzuki’s art shines is in her characters’ nuanced facial expressions. Uru’s round, open visage registers a convincing range of emotions, from embarrassment to loneliness to indignation. On those occasions when Uru smiles — sweetly or with mischievous intent — it’s easy to grasp why the terminally grouchy Shindo keeps her around, as the character radiates joy.

If I were to compare Happy Cafe with baked goods, I’d say it reminds me of a Duncan Hines cake mix: it’s easy to follow, yields predictable results, and, while sweet, is curiously bland. Readers in search of manga comfort food could certainly do worse than this sugary dramedy, though I’d steer more adventurous souls towards The Antique Bakery or Cafe Kichijoji de, both of which are funnier, tastier, and sexier than this by-the-book shojo title.

HAPPY CAFE, VOL. 1 • BY KOU MATSUZUKI • TOKYOPOP • 192 pp. • RATING: TEEN

Crown of Love, Vol. 1

by 13 Comments

Crown of Love, Vol. 1
By Yun Kouga
Published by Viz Media


Buy This Book

“I’d sell my soul to the devil … if it would make her notice me.”

Hisayoshi Tajima is an aloof high school student—a stereotypical “prince” type, fawned over and admired by all the girls in his class. Though none of his classmates has ever caught his interest, a chance encounter on the train throws him into sudden infatuation with a young female idol, Rima Fujio. Over the next month, his fixation with Rima becomes so strong that everything else (including schoolwork) begins to slip as he spends most of his time attending Rima’s video tapings and keeping up with news from her fan club. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Hisayoshi, he catches the eye of Rima’s former manager, Ikeshiba, who lures him into a career as an idol with the promise of getting him close to Rima.

Crown of Love is the retelling of an older series by mangaka Yun Kouga, originally serialized in 1988. That series was only two volumes long, with an ending described by the artist as “abrupt.” With that in mind, it’s not surprising that this volume offers an uneven mix of clunky exposition and insightful characterization.

The volume’s narration switches point-of-view constantly, revealing far too many of the characters’ inner thoughts, most of which could be more effectively implied through the story’s dialogue and art. The story’s chronology is all over the place too, jumping back and forth from Hisayoshi’s encounters with Rima, his disapproving father, and Ikeshiba, creating a great deal of confusion over what happens when.

All this aside, where Kouga succeeds, and stunningly so, is in her characterization. There are no shojo stereotypes here, despite appearances.

As he watches his desperate, submissive mother cowering under the rule of his controlling father, Hisayoshi is horrified to recognize himself in both of them. He is sickened by the intensity of feeling he has for Rima, a girl he barely knows, but can’t stop himself from prostrating himself before her, like his mother before her husband. Similarly, he recognizes his father’s stubborn arrogance in his own face and voice and hates himself for that. Hisayoshi is fully aware of what he means to Ikeshiba—fortune, notoriety, and possibly (though only lightly implied) sexual satisfaction—and though it angers him, he is willing to be led along in order to achieve his own goals. For all his righteous anger, he’s ready to play the game, too. “You’re so convenient, like a taxi,” he says to Ikeshiba after calling him in the middle of the night for a ride and a place to stay.

The idol, Rima, is in love with her married former manager (Ikeshiba) and resentful of Hisayoshi, whom she sees as a rival—more for Ikeshiba’s attention than the public’s, though she uses the latter as her rationale. She is insecure about her position in the business and endlessly embarrassed by her mother’s indiscretions. Rather than the typical bird in a gilded cage, she is portrayed as a scared young woman who gratefully accepted her career in order to escape her family and her own limitations. “Well, I can’t get a real job! There’s nothing else I’m good at!” she barks at Hisayoshi, angered by his nonchalance over his own career. More than anything, though, she wants to be taken care of by someone more capable than her mother.

Ikeshiba, however, is the series’ true piece of work. Manipulative and emotionally unavailable, he has few scruples about anything if it will get what he wants. When Rima’s attachment to him becomes too desperate to be convenient, he simply turns her over to another manager. Still, he’ll use that attachment to help reel in Hisayoshi without even a trace of guilt. His full interest in Hisayoshi is unclear, though he carelessly engages in a sort of artful flirting when Hisayoshi calls him for help. His full interest in anything is really anyone’s guess, though he goes about it all with a smile on his face. “I’d sell my soul to the devil … if it would make her notice me,” Hisayoshi muses early on. It seems somewhat possible that he has.

The fact that the characters seem to know just how screwed up they are is what rescues them from being too disturbing to bear, though even then it’s hard to read some of Hisayoshi’s internal monologue without feeling a bit of a chill. “I keep thinking of all these different things I want to do with you. Like this… and that…” he says to himself near the end of the book, dreaming of Rima. “But that’s okay, right? As long as I’m just thinking about it, it’s not wrong. I haven’t done anything yet.” It’s difficult at this point to tell just how seriously Kouga takes the broken universe she’s created in Crown of Love, something that will ultimately decide whether the series is deep and insightful or just plain creepy.

As always, Kouga’s art is a highlight of her work. There’s something essentially cheerful and straightforward about her layout and designs that gives a story like this an even darker tone than it might have with a more overtly sinister look. Also, though the story is far from light-hearted, there is a clarity to Kouga’s visual storytelling that keeps it from becoming mired in its own weight.

Though this series’ first volume has its share of stumbles, it is also genuinely intriguing, more than many shojo titles can claim this early on. Crown of Love is definitely worth a try.

Review copy provided by the publisher.