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20th Century Boys, Vols. 1-6

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Do you remember those first, glorious seasons of Heroes and Lost? Both shows promised to reinvigorate the sci-fi thriller with complex, flawed characters and plots that moved freely between past, present, and future. By the middle of their second seasons, however, it was clear that neither shows’ writers knew how to successfully resolve the conflicts and mysteries introduced in the first, as the writers resorted to cheap tricks — the out-of-left-field personality reversal, the all-too-convenient coincidence, and the arbitrary let’s-kill-off-a-character plot twist — to keep the myriad plot lines afloat, alienating thousands of viewers in the process. Heroes and Lost seemed proof that even the scariest doomsday scenario would fall flat if saddled with too many subplots and secondary characters.

Reading Naoki Urasawa’s 20th Century Boys, however, convinced me that it is possible to tell a twisty, layered story about ordinary people saving the world from annihilation without succumbing to cliche or unduly testing the audience’s patience. The key to Urasawa’s success? A strong script with vivid characters and a clear sense of purpose, reassuring the reader that all the plot strands are just that: strands, not loose threads.

In 20th Century Boys, humanity’s future rests in the hands of an unpromising lot. There’s Kenji, a college dropout who runs a convenience store; Maruo, a cheerful, plump soul who owns a shop down the street from Kenji; Yoshitune, a shy, bespectacled office man; Otcho, a scruffy renegade who’s been living off the grid in Thailand; and Yukiji, a K-9 officer who can’t control her drug-sniffing dog. All five were childhood friends, members of a secret club that wrote The Book of Prophecy, an elaborate doomsday scenario involving superheroes and giant robots. Now in their thirties, the gang has disbanded — that is, until their pal Donkey, a high-school science teacher, leaps to his death off a building.

Or did he? As Kenji begins pushing for answers, he discovers that Donkey was investigating a mysterious cult, known only as The Friends, that had appropriated the club’s “official” symbol. The more Kenji probes, the more parallels he discovers between The Friends’ clandestine activities and the Book of Prophecy, parallels that suggest the cult is headed by one of Kenji’s old schoolmates. Terrified that The Friends will attempt to recreate the story’s climatic battle, Kenji tracks down his clubmates one by one, assembling a small army to oppose the cult.

20thcentury4From the very first pages of volume one, Urasawa demonstrates an uncommon ability to move back and forth in time, juxtaposing scenes from Kenji’s past with brief glimpses of the future. The success of these scenes is attributable, in part, to Urasawa’s superb draftsmanship, as he does a fine job of aging his characters from their long-limbed, baby-faced, ten-year-old selves into thirty-somethings weighed down by adult responsibilities.

The integrity of Urasawa’s characterizations also contribute to the success of these temporal leaps; his characters’ adult behavior jives with what we know about them from childhood flashbacks. Otcho, for example, was the club’s most worldly member, the kid who introduced his pals to rock-n-roll and gave them the lowdown on Woodstock; it’s not surprising to see him reincarnated as a long-haired thug-for-hire who despises authority. Ditto for Yanbo and Mabo, twins who terrorized Kenji and friends back in the day. When Yanbo and Mabo resurface in volume five, Urasawa gives them a more pleasing appearance and demeanor than we might have expected, luring us into a false sense that they’ve outgrown their bullying ways. Urasawa then slaps us on the wrist for not trusting our original assessment of the twins, uncorking a fiendish plot twist that’s in keeping with what we already knew about them.

Urasawa uses these flashbacks and flash-forwards to build a dense network of connections among his characters, gradually revealing how and why Kenji’s childhood fantasies are providing the blueprint for a real-life apocalyptic scenario. Heroes and Lost attempted to do the same thing, but neither show succeeded in convincing us that those connections were lying just below the surface waiting for us to discover them; those connections had an arbitrary, bolt-from-the-blue quality. With 20th Century Boys, however, Urasawa makes us feel that we might have unearthed these links without any editorial guidance, as even the most surprising developments still make sense within the story’s elaborate framework.

What gives the story its sense of urgency is Urasawa’s ability to create and sustain a strong sense of fear and anticipation. Six volumes into 20th Century Boys, we’ve had a few tantalizing glimpses of the robot that menaces Tokyo on the eve of the millennium, but we still don’t know what it looks like or what it can do. Urasawa has only shown us the enemy in silhouette:

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It’s a point I’ve raised in other reviews: an unseen menace is much scarier than one that’s routinely trotted out of the shadows to spook us. Consider the difference between Jaws and its sequels. In the original, Steven Spielberg hinted at the shark’s presence, showing us a dorsal fin or a dark outline moving rapidly beneath the water’s surface, but withholding the “money” shot (“tooth” shot, perhaps?) until the third reel. The few times that we see Jaws attack are genuinely scary because they finally put us face-to-face with those terrible teeth and dead eyes, confirming just how deadly the shark really is. In the sequels, however, the shark is featured prominently; we see it dine on boaters and swimmers in lurid detail. We may marvel at the stupidity of the shark’s victims, or feel disgusted by the gallons of fake blood, but we never feel scared, as we know what we’re up against from the very first scenes.

Urasawa takes a page from Spielberg’s book, showing us just enough of the robot’s form to engage our imagination. The robot’s silhouette hints at its size and strength; if anything, it looks like an enormous man-o-war lumbering through Tokyo. But what stays with us are those fierce, penetrating headlights, so evocative of a prison searchlight or a pair of eyes. As David Ford observes at Are You a Serious Comic Book Reader?, we feel a palpable sense of despair when we see the robot: how can Kenji hope to escape its all-seeing gaze? (By the way, I highly encourage you to read Ford’s essay, though spoiler-phobes should stay away until they’ve finished volume five.)

With more than ten volumes left in 20th Century Boys, I have no idea how Urasawa plans to tie all of the stories’ threads together. I’m confident, however, that he’ll do so with the skill of a master weaver, seamlessly incorporating all of the relationships, plot twists, and motives into an intricate, beautiful tapestry.

Review copies provided by VIZ Media, LLC. Volume seven will be released on February 10, 2010.

20TH CENTURY BOYS, VOLS. 1-6 • BY NAOKI URASAWA • VIZ • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+)

Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms

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In The Idea of History, author R. G. Collingwood argues that nineteenth-century historians viewed their task in a different spirit than their predecessors. While previous generations of scholars treated history as a simple chain of events, the Romantics wanted to recreate the past through their writings. The Romantic historian, Collingwood explained, “entered sympathetically into the actions which he described; unlike the scientist who studied nature, he did not stand over the facts as mere objects for cognition; on the contrary, he threw himself into them and felt them imaginatively as experiences of his own.”

I found myself revisiting The Idea of History as I read Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms, a project that might well have resonated with Collingwood’s pioneering nineteenth-century historians in its efforts to “enter sympathetically” into the lives of Hiroshima’s survivors, the hibakusha, a group both pitied and shunned by their fellow Japanese in the years following the 1945 bombing. In the introduction to Town of Evening Calm, manga-ka Fumiyo Kouno explains her approach to the subject in terms that are strikingly similar to Collingwood’s:

I always thought all I needed to know about the bomb was that it was a terrifying thing that happened once upon a time, and a subject best avoided. After living in Tokyo for a while, however, I came to realize that people outside of Hiroshima and Nagasaki didn’t really know all that much about the ravages of the atomic bomb. Unlike me, they weren’t avoiding the subject—they never had the opportunity to learn about it even if they wanted to… I hadn’t experienced the war or the bomb first-hand, but I could still draw on the words of a different time and place to reflect on peace and express my thoughts.

Kouno’s decision to focus on the hibakusha and their descendants makes Town of Evening Calm an immediate, accessible work, one less concerned with recreating a specific historical moment than in imagining what it would be like to rebuild one’s life in the aftermath of that event. It’s a wise strategy, I think, given how difficult it is to convey the horror of war without relying on dramatic devices that can trivialize survivors’ experiences.

Kouno’s approach is not without pitfalls, however. In her review of Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms, Casey Brienza argues that Kouno portrays her characters as victims of American aggression without acknowledging Japan’s role in precipitating the bombing, a tactic that could be interpreted as a “myopic… preoccupation with [Japan’s] wartime suffering” that “allow[s] the Japanese to forget that they started the war.” At the end of the first story, for example, a woman dying of radiation sickness wonders “if the people who dropped the bomb are pleased with themselves: ‘Yes! Got another one!'” It’s a powerful moment; the character’s comment is shocking in its raw honesty, especially for American readers. It’s an ambiguous moment, too; one could certainly read a note of national self-pity into the character’s words, as she never mentions the war itself, only the suffering caused by the bomb. Yet I think this passage invites a second reading as well, as a very human attempt to make sense of tragedy, to express the character’s understandable need to know why she — a civilian — was subjected to such unimaginable horror, rather than a denial of the suffering caused by the Japanese occupation of Korea, Manchuria, and the Philippines.

In less skillful hands, scenes like these might be mawkish, but Kouno crafts an emotionally authentic story from survivor narratives, deftly moving between present and past to show us how her characters hear the echoes of August 6th in their everyday lives. The first story, “Town of Evening Calm,” focuses on Minami, a young seamstress living in Hiroshima ten years after the atomic blast. Superficially, the city seems to be healing: its downtown is bustling with activity, as is the dressmaker’s shop where Minami works. Yet subtle signs of the devastation remain, from the ramshackle houses of the residential district to the scarcity of everyday goods. (In a particularly effective scene, we see Minami walk home barefoot so as to preserve her only pair of shoes.) Minami herself bears psychic wounds from the day, as is evident in her brusque demeanor with outsiders and her staunch refusal to leave her ailing mother’s side. Underneath her bravado, we see a fearful, guilt-ridden young woman who wonders when she will succumb to the long-term effects of the radiation, who cannot escape her horrifying memories, and who mourns the disintegration of her family. (Her father and sister perished in the blast; her brother was sent to live in Mito, and had yet to return to Hiroshima.)

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The second story, “Country of Cherry Blossoms,” takes place nearly twenty years later in Tokyo. We first meet Nanami, a baseball-addled tomboy, as an eleven-year-old girl. Through a few telling details–Nanami’s dirty baseball uniform, Nanami’s interactions with classmates–we see that she suffers acutely from her mother’s absence. (Her mother, a hibakusha, succumbed to cancer.) Lacking a female role model, she latches onto Toko, a classmate who epitomizes girly grace. Kouno depicts a few ordinary moments from this odd pair’s childhood: a playground discussion of a homework assignment, a baseball game, a trip to the hospital where Nagio, Nanami’s younger brother, is hospitalized with severe asthma.

We then jump forward seventeen years. Nanami and Toko are estranged; Nagio, now healthy, is training to be a doctor; and Asahi, their elderly father, has been behaving oddly. Fearful that Asahi is losing his faculties, Nanami tails him through the streets of Tokyo, where she bumps into Toko. Their initial conversation is awkward and forced; seeing Toko dredges up some of Nanami’s most painful childhood memories. Toko, undeterred by Nanami’s rudeness, furnishes Nanami with a disguise, and the two set off for Hiroshima, where Asahi seems intent on completing a mysterious errand. As Nanami and Toko follow Asahi, we realize that Asahi is the link between the first and second stories; he is Minami’s “lost” brother, the one who was living with relatives when the Americans bombed Hiroshima, returning only after the death of his sister in 1955.

Kouno’s meticulously detailed illustrations create a strong sense of place, underscoring the contrast between Hiroshima’s orderly new business district and the crowded Aioi Doori neighborhood where the hibakusha live. In the few panels alluding to the actual events of August 6, 1945, Kouno’s art becomes more primitive and stylized, suggesting the horrific effects of the blast by depicting the victims as stick figures with swollen faces. The child-like simplicity and directness of these images are startling yet effective, a reminder both of Minami’s youth at the time of the attack and of the radiation’s devastating ability to rob its victims of their identities by destroying their hair, hands, and faces — in short, the very parts of their bodies that give them their individual appearance. These scenes are notable as well for the skillful way in which present and past co-exist within the same panels; we see the landscape as Minami does, alive with vivid, horrific memories of surviving the blast.

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Kouno’s character designs exhibit a similar attention to detail and mood as her landscapes. Nanami, for example, bears a striking resemblance to her aunt Minami, not just in her behavior (Minami shared Nanami’s love of baseball and her brusque demeanor) but also in her facial expressions and carriage; she’s a subtle visual echo of the previous generation. Like all of Kouno’s characters, Nanami and Minami have a slightly rough, clumsy quality to them, with heads and hands that seem just a little too big for their wiry bodies. Yet these awkward proportions don’t detract from the beauty of the work; if anything, the illustrations make Kouno’s characters seem more vulnerable, more imperfect, more fragile—in short, more human and more believable. And that honest vulnerability, in turn, makes it possible for readers from all walks of life to enter sympathetically into Kouno’s haunting yet life-affirming story, to look past the politics of suffering and representation to understand the price that civilians pay in every war.

This is a revised version of a review posted at PopCultureShock on March 23, 2007. Click here for the original text; click here for a Japanese translation of the original review.

Tactics, Vol. 8

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tactics8By Sakura Kinoshita and Kazuko Higashiyama
TOKYOPOP, 192 pp.
Rating: Teen (13+)

This volume opens with the conclusion to Kantarou’s latest conflict with Raikou Minamoto and his underlings. Haruka arrives to save the day (and to reassure Kantarou of his loyalty) but though Minamoto’s immediate plans are destroyed, the fight ultimately ends in a draw. Things are looking up for Kantarou, however, as Haruka makes a promise to one day tell him about his past. The story then takes a break to make way for a string of short “Bedtime Stories” featuring the series’ regular characters, which provide filler for the latter two-thirds of the volume.

Though the volume starts strong, thanks to the underlying tension between Kantarou and Haruka, it quickly falls apart with the introduction of its short story series, “Record of One Hundred Goblins.” With a single exception, these shorts provide neither humor nor substance sufficient to hold readers’ attention. Fortunately, the volume’s final story, “Otoshi,” about an artist whose ability to paint youkai (supernatural creatures) has mysteriously failed him, has enough strength of its own to turn things around. Focusing on relationships between humans and youkai, this story provides one of the most poignant moments of the series so far, rescuing the volume from its flat middle chapters. “… How precious an ‘existence’ is to youkai,” muses Kantarou, having finally returned the artist’s ability to him. “… That’s why I use my writing to make them immortal and [the artist] uses his art to pass on to future generations.”

Despite its uneven storytelling and tone, the eighth volume of Tactics manages its way out of complete destruction with a healthy dose of true feeling.

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

Love*Com, Volume 14

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Guest Review: Love*Com, Vol. 14
By Aya Nakahara
Published by VIZ Media

Review by Deanna Gauthier

love*com14
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In this volume, Risa and Otani’s relationship is once again under attack. To Risa’s horror, her own grandfather has hired a woman to seduce Otani and break them up. Even worse, Otani believes the sob story he’s been given by the beautiful, buxom Hitomi and accuses Risa of lying to him about her grandfather’s scheme. When the truth comes out will it matter who was wrong and who was right now that a jealous and conniving Hitomi has tricked Risa and left her at the mercy of two yakuza thugs?

This is a romantic comedy so of course a plotline like this will never end as tragically as it could. Still, it is the darkest plotline (and Hitomi, the character with the blackest heart) to appear in Love* Com. Being the gullible reader I am, I believed Risa was in real danger. The threat of rape just doesn’t sit right with me as fodder for comedic misunderstanding. Love*Com has always delivered liberal doses of fluffy silliness along with angst as Risa and Otani discover what they mean to each other and learn what it means to like someone, let alone be in love with them. The mangaka, Aya Nakara, has characterized her manga as intended to bring a smile to the faces of her readers and give them even a moment of enjoyment in their lives. In that regard she has always delivered in spades. I found plenty to laugh about in this volume as I have in the volumes that preceded it–not to mention warm and fuzzy moments to make me smile. Risa and Otani are such innocent and awkward leads–two loveable stumbling idiots who are absolutely made for each other. I do not mean to pick on Nakahara too much for this storyline. It just struck me as too serious and dark a dilemma for an otherwise non-threatening shojo romantic comedy.

Speaking of non-threatening, this volume marks the return of the clownishly-drawn, not-too-bright punks who Risa’s brother nearly came to blows with in the previous volume. Nakahara’s artwork is strongest when it comes to facial expression, especially the eyes. Yet the facial features of her yakuza are drawn with very thin lines and no shading, reducing them almost to doodles that look like they don’t quite belong in the same universe as our main characters. I don’t particularly like the design and execution of the yakuza characters. It feels sloppy in comparison to how beautiful (or at least human) the rest of her characters look most of the time. However, I do feel Nakahara successfully uses this same technique of reducing the facial features of the rest of her cast to thin lines that stretch or contort into odd shapes to comically express certain emotions more strongly. It’s funny, but it’s only just now, fourteen volumes into the series, that it occurs to me: Nakahara uses this instead of drawing chibis!

I really am enjoying this series. It has given me reason to smile when I have really needed it during the dreary fall and winter days, and it holds up well to re-reads. It is definitely one for my keeper shelf. I look forward to the final three volumes!

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Vampire Knight, Volume 8

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Guest Review: Vampire Knight, Vol. 8
By Matsuri Hino
Published by Viz Media

Review by Megan M.

vampireknight8
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Cross Academy is divided into two groups of students: the Day Class, made up of seemingly normal high school students, and the Night Class, whose members are actually vampires. Protecting the human students from the vampires are Yuki Cross (the headmaster’s foster daughter) and her childhood friend, Zero Kiryu. Yuki has always had a strange relationship with the head of the Night Class, Kaname, on whom she must rely to explain the mysteries of her past. Fortunately for Yuki, circumstances have reached a point where Kaname has no other choice but to do so.

I read the first three volumes of this series when they first came out in the U.S., but eventually dropped it. While I found the main plotline interesting and liked Yuki and Zero, I found Kaname to be extremely creepy and his relationship with Yuki even more so. The real deal breaker for me, however, was that the entire cast (excepting Zero) behaved as if Yuki was one of Kaname’s personal possessions. Having now read this volume, there is virtually nothing I can say on this topic that would not be considered a major spoiler, but suffice it to say that the story itself now appears to support this view of Yuki. Not only has Kaname been firmly established as a love interest, but we also learn that Yuki was literally created purely for the purpose of being Kaname’s bride. There are other plot elements that briefly appear–the mythology of the vampire hunters and the dangers of twin hunters, for instance–but these items are clearly secondary.

In addition to giving life to the creepiest implications of the story’s core premise, the overall quality of the series seems to have declined. In early volumes, I recall that Yuki had quite a bit to do. In this volume, she literally does nothing but run around in a nightgown. In addition, Zero does nothing but point his gun and angst. Only Kaname has anything of real substance on his plate, which unfortunately consists of obsessing over Yuki and seeking revenge. Had I not read previous volumes, I would wonder if Hino’s characters were capable of anything but angst (alternately tragic and angry), aside from some supporting characters, whose range extends to ominous, mysterious, and tragic.

The series’ art has also suffered a serious decline. In the past, I’ve found Matsuri Hino’s art to be too cluttered for my taste–more focused on looking pretty than storytelling–but her designs and backgrounds were interesting and appealing, and her art very detailed. Unfortunately, she has degenerated to substituting backgrounds with white space or hazy textures and her characters have become so generic that they are difficult to tell apart except by hairstyle.

I decided to give Vampire Knight another try thanks to a growing fondness for other gothic shojo titles over the last two years. Unfortunately, whatever it is that CLAMP, Higuri You and Kaori Yuki have, Matsuri Hino doesn’t.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Serenity 2: Better Days by Whedon, Matthews, and Conrad: B

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serenity2From the back cover:
When the Serenity crew uncovers a heaping pile of cash—marking their first successful heist—they divulge their most outlandish fantasies, and look forward to a little R&R in a tropical paradise. Unfortunately for these space cowboys, someone is hot on their heels in search of a prize more precious than money.

Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, joins Brett Matthews and Will Conrad—the team that brought you the smash hit Serenity: Those Left Behind—with a new chapter in the lives of Malcolm Reynolds and his roving band of space brigands in Better Days.

Review:
While Serenity: Better Days is the second comic miniseries based on the TV show Firefly to be released, I am not sure whether its events take place chronologically after the end of the show or not. The one thing that would help establish its place in the timeline—Inara’s decision to depart the ship—is not mentioned at all, nor is any reference made to Shepherd Book’s wish to leave (first stated by him in Serenity: Those Left Behind). While the story works just fine without knowing when it happens, this still bugs me a little bit.

The plot of Better Days is extremely simple. For once, things go well and the crew of Serenity is suddenly rich. Several members share the way they plan to spend their money in scenes that nicely capture the warm, family-like times the crew occasionally shares. Meanwhile, the Alliance is looking for Mal (when are they not?), though this guy is special in that he’s one of Inara’s clients, and a builder whose drone Mal stole is out for revenge. I must admit that this peril did not interest me very much, though I’m used to looking past occasionally lame plots in Whedon shows in favor of character interaction. The best character goodness happens here between Inara and Mal, especially in their final scene together, though there’s also some nice continuity between Wash and Zoe as well as an intriguing tidbit regarding Inara and Simon.

Will Conrad is back as the artist for this miniseries, and seems to have a little better feel for the characters now. The likenesses are more consistent and Inara is vastly improved, finally meriting some impressively realistic close-ups of her own. Although a new cover was created for this trade paperback, the original covers of the three comic issues—forming a triptych that depicts the crew lounging atop sacks of money—are reproduced within.

I have now read all of the Firefly-inspired comics currently in existence and enjoyed them a good bit. Any time Dark Horse would like to make more, I’ll be happy to give them my money.

Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei, Vol. 4

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zetsubou4By Koji Kumeta
Del Rey, 192 pp.
Rating: OT (16+)

Suicidal schoolteacher Nozomu Itoshiki (Zetsubou-sensei) and his students are back, with a satirical take on such topics as Christmas, leftovers, societal hierarchies, cooling-off periods, second opinions, and how to deal with dead space. Even exam students are taken to task in this volume, as Zetsubou-sensei despairs over their ability to get away with nearly anything–a privilege he attempts to recapture for himself by engaging in a series of increasingly ridiculous certification programs. Easily passing tests for certifications in flower arrangement and animal breeding (and scraping by in subjects like “love”), he finds himself ultimately unqualified for either “life” or “death” (a certification that requires numerous sub-licenses, such as “writing a suicide note” and “how to leave your shoes”), leaving him trapped ever further in despair.

Since this series has been dismissed by some as relying too heavily on inside jokes and obscure cultural references to be effective with North American readers, it is important to note that volume four is easily the most accessible in the series so far, requiring very few trips to the translator’s notes provided in the back (and virtually none for readers familiar with Japanese manzai characters—the only cultural reference in this volume absolutely required for the understanding of an entire chapter). Smooth reading facilitates smooth comedy, making this volume more universally hilarious than its predecessors as well. For those who have loved this series from the beginning, volume four is yet another fabulous treat provided by tireless translator/adapter Joyce Aurino and the folks at Del Rey Manga. For those who have yet to warm to the series’ charms, perhaps this is the place to start.

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

Ciao Ciao Bambino by Momoko Tenzen: B

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ciaociaobambinoI think I must be a Momoko Tenzen fan, because this is the second time I’ve been impressed by her ability to create compelling characters in a short story format (the first being Unsophisticated and Rude). Not only that, she’s able to write stories about romance between middle schoolers and teachers that aren’t completely icky (only mildly icky).

There are five stories in this volume, though the first four focus on the same set of characters: Kaname, a lecturer at a cram school; Yuuta, Kaname’s student, seven years his junior; and Kei and Mako, friends of Yuuta’s who have feelings for each other. What I liked about these stories is that Kaname and Yuuta take several years to get to a point where love is openly discussed, and although Yuuta is still too young (in my opinion) when they finally sleep together, his character is developed enough that it’s clear he’s not being taken advantage of by an adult in position of authority.

The fifth story, “Brand New Wednesday,” is about a tall kid named Kana—and seriously, both he and Yuuta must attend one of the junior highs from Prince of Tennis, because they’re far bigger than any ninth graders I’ve known—who is in love with his home tutor. I found the tutor’s perspective especially poignant here, as he realizes how fragile a love like this can be when the younger person has so much changing left to do in their life.

I admit to feeling a little guilty that I liked these stories as much as I did, given their subject matter, but Tenzen’s approach is not salacious whatsoever. If you can get past the squick factor, these stories do offer some truly touching moments.

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

Serenity 1: Those Left Behind by Whedon, Matthews, and Conrad: B+

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serenity1From the back cover:
Here’s how it is—in a universe filled with hearts and minds as cold and dark as the reaches of space, one small Firefly-class starship named Serenity takes its ragtag crew of mercenaries, outlaws, and fugitives in search of a job, any job, that’ll earn them enough cash to afford that most elusive commodity—peace.

Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, unveils a previously unknown chapter in the lives of his favorite band of space brigands in this prequel to the Serenity feature film—the blockbuster follow-up to Whedon’s cult-hit TV show, Firefly.

Review:
Serenity: Those Left Behind takes place shortly after the final episode of Firefly, “Objects in Space.” Inara has not left yet; while the ship is en route to her destination, they’re taking jobs along the way and though Mal proclaims this is necessary it’s Wash, who’s well acquainted with doing stupid things (like working a dangerous job when he could make a cushy living) to remain near the woman he loves, who realizes that he’s just trying to keep her around a while longer.

After one such job, a bank heist, goes poorly, the crew is offered another job by Badger: to retrieve a stash of cash left at the scene of one of the bloodiest battles in the war. Meanwhile, Dobson (the federal agent who appeared in the first episode of the series) is teaming up with the hands-of-blue fellows to track them down. It’s unclear whether Badger is in on this or not, but it all boils down to an ambush in a field of spaceship debris, no payoff, and Dobson’s death. Too, in the final page, we seem to be witnessing the moment that the Operative (from the feature film) receives the assignment to bring in River. Another important thing that happens here is that Book decides he needs to leave the ship. He’s an active participant in helping the crew escape at one point and later hits Mal, something that the Captain is ready to forgive but which Book is not.

For the most part, Will Conrad’s art is decent. In some panels, the characters don’t look much like the actors who played them—Simon and Inara fare pretty poorly in this respect—but Conrad is an absolute ace at close-ups. There’ll be a page, for example, with a vaguely Kaylee-looking person in a few panels and then, once you zoom into her face, it’s “Oh, now she looks like Jewel Staite!” This happens with Mal a few times, too, and there are also a few outstanding close-ups of River. Different artists have also contributed some color portraits of members of the crew. Again, Simon and Inara get the short end of the stick—are their actors just too pretty to be drawn easily or well?—while Book (drawn by Tim Bradstreet), Jayne (Brian Hitch), and Wash (Sean Phillips) look fabulous! Honorable mention goes to Jo Chen’s Kaylee who, while she doesn’t really look like Jewel Staite, is positively adorable.

All in all, while this isn’t as good or as fulfilling as an episode of the show, it’s really great to see all of these characters again and fill in a little background for where we see them in the movie. Now on to the second comic miniseries, Better Days!

not simple by Natsume Ono: A

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notsimpleFrom the back cover:
A story within a story,
A book within a book,
A tale about the search for family,
For an emotional home.

Ian, a young man with a fractured family history, travels from Australia to England to America in the hope of realizing his dreams and reuniting with his beloved sister. His story unfolds backwards through the framing narrative of Jim, a reporter driven to capture Ian’s experiences in a novel: not simple.

Review:
I normally reserve my comments about a comic’s art for somewhere near the end of my review, but since the fact that Natsume Ono’s style deviates from the manga norm is glaringly obvious, I thought I’d address it first. Her art is spare and kind of squiggly, true, and yet it’s absolutely perfect, adding to rather than detracting from the narrative. I honestly cannot imagine this heartbreaking story being illustrated in any other way; to pair it with pretty art would be too wrong for words, so don’t let the lack of same be a deterrent.

If you, like me, have ever thought, “Why don’t more stories have sad endings?” then not simple is the manga for you. That’s not even a spoiler, really, since the structure of the story reveals the fate of Ian, the hapless protagonist, practically immediately. The book begins with a conversation between Jim, a writer, and Ian, in which Jim announces, “You’re going to be my next novel.” From there, a prologue depicts the end of Ian’s story, in which he is a drifter looking to keep a rendezvous with a woman he met years earlier, before shifting back in time to chronologically cover his life from childhood until the moment he leaves for the meeting.

The hardships and misfortunes of Ian’s existence are beyond many, and just when you think it couldn’t get worse, it does. Growing up in Australia as the child of a drunken mother and absentee father, he’s extremely close to his sister, Kylie. When Kylie is sent to prison for robbery—her means for funding a new life with Ian by her side—he’s left alone at home, and after his parents divorce, ends up living in London with his mother. Upon her release, Kylie finds him there and they have the briefest of brief reunions before she sends him back to Melbourne to be with his dad and promises that they’ll meet again once he achieves his dream.

Years pass. Ian has always loved running, and his dream is to break a certain runner’s record. He and Jim originally met when Jim was assigned to interview him, and they reconnect when Ian’s peculiarly jubilant response to placing fourth in a race attracts the notice of Jim’s editor. Ian, having achieved his goal, now feels free to seek out his sister. His search is long and disappointing, hindered by a series of terribly unlucky near-misses and a set of relatives that don’t care much about Kylie or Ian, let alone helping them achieve a reunion.

If this sounds like just about the most depressing story around, that isn’t far off the mark. And yet, it never strays into implausible territory. Ian is a likable guy—a strangely pure and innocent person who is, simultaneously, somewhat of an enigma—but the stresses of his life begin to take their toll and the final time he shows up at Jim’s place, after an absence of two years, the change is palpable. For years, he’s been matter-of-fact about the horrible things that have happened to him, but finally is so worn down that he’s become haggard and yearns only for the warm personal relationships that have been denied him. Jim’s an interesting observer, as well, ignoring his own family about as strenuously as Ian searches for his. If there’s anything I could complain about with not simple, it’s that we don’t learn more about Jim’s particular circumstances.

Depressing or not, not simple is masterfully told and completely unforgettable. If I had to sum it up in one word it would be this: haunting.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Bamboo Blade, Volume 2

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Guest Review: Bamboo Blade, Vol. 2
By Masahiro Totsuka and Aguri Igarashi
Published by Yen Press

Review by Megan M.

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Kojiro is his school’s kendo coach and is always broke and hungry. When his senpai, the coach of a rival school, bets him a year’s worth of free sushi that Kojiro’s girls’ kendo team can’t beat his, Kojiro can’t resist. The only problem is that despite his recent acquisition of Tama, the daughter of a dojo, he only has four girls on his team, one less than what’s required. That’s assuming that his other new member, Miya, can work through her behavioral issues, and that the elusive member, Saya, can actually be tracked down and make it to practice. Meanwhile, Saya and Miya (neither of whom realize the other is a teammate) become enemies when Saya scolds Miya for smoking on school property.

Not having read the first volume, I’m uncertain as to whether the bet is the central plot of the series or simply a prominent subplot. I had heard of “Bamboo Blade” but been leery of it, as the description painted a picture of a school-based shonen series with a pervy teacher and a lot of fanservice, though I was curious enough about the subject of a girls’ kendo team to give it a try. Thankfully, my suspicions appear to have been wholly unfounded, as this volume is extremely clean and the closest thing Kojiro comes to having wrong thoughts about his students is to bemoan the fact that they don’t trust him with money. Actually, despite his engaging in underhanded plots to address the problem of not having enough team members, he may function better as a coach than most teachers in manga.

The book is genuinely funny and its characters engaging. Of the characters, my favorites are Saya, who is obsessively driven to find her true calling in life, and the much more laid back (almost spacey) Kirino. The two obviously appear to be best friends. Thankfully, Kojiro and his students aren’t portrayed positively at the expense of making their rivals evil or cruel and both teams and coaches are presented as humorous and engaging, with plenty of focus on the friendships between teammates. The art is a bit cartoonish and the designs are nothing new, but it’s functional and the characters are easy to distinguish. More importantly, the action is very easy to follow, something that’s important in a series that focuses on the mechanics of a sport.

I wasn’t sure what to expect with this one, given my suspicions regarding the premise, but I ended up enjoying it far more than I expected to, and am looking forward to reading more, especially as it appears that the next volume will focus even more on practice matches between the two teams.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Natsume’s Book of Friends, Vol. 1

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Natsume’s Book of Friends
By Yuki Midorikawa
Published by Viz Media

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Teenaged orphan Takashi Natsume has spent most of his life passed around from relative to relative, each anxious to be rid of him thanks to his habit of talking about things they can’t see. As it happens, Takashi is able to see spirits (yokai), an ability he inherited from his grandmother, Reiko. He also inherited the innocuously named “Book of Friends,” a book Reiko used to write down the names of yokai, effectively enslaving them to her every command. Now living with distant relatives near the home where his grandmother grew up, Takashi begins to encounter the many yokai she bullied over the years. Desperate to claim the book for themselves, the yokai first appear simply as enemies, but as Takashi discovers what it is they’re really after (thanks to an uneasy alliance with a cat-shaped demon he accidentally frees from its protective ward) he becomes determined to give them back their names. Word spreads, and soon the yokai are seeking him out, most with the purpose of gaining their freedom, though not all are so benign.

This story is a pleasant surprise on all counts–art, characterization, storytelling–providing something much more charming than I would have gathered simply from its PR material. It possesses a sort of xxxHolic meets Mushishi vibe I’d hoped for (but never found) in Tokyopop’s Tactics, which is not to suggest that it lacks its own unique charms. This volume is charming from start to finish, thanks to Takashi (whose good heart shines even as he faces rejection from family and peers) and the spirits he meets along the way, ranging from downright adorable to genuinely frightening.

The chapters are fairly episodic, each introducing a new spirit who has come to retrieve his or her name from Reiko’s book. Some especially poignant stories include that of a yokai who spent his life in a shrine, worshiped by locals as a god, now reduced to the size of a tiny doll as his worshipers have dwindled to one. His devotion to the last old woman to continue to offer respects is unexpectedly touching. Another especially moving story is that of a spirit (once a swallow) who attaches herself to Takashi in hopes of catching a glimpse of a human who once comforted her years ago. It is Takashi’s own loneliness that allows him to understand the feelings of these yokai and it is through his experiences with them that he learns the value of connecting with others. “Man and beast…even yokai… they search for that connection,” he says to himself at the end of the volume. “I love their fervent striving.” An emerging subplot involving another student at Takashi’s school promises more through-story as the series continues, which is something I’ll definitely look forward to.

This series is touching and even solemn in its treatment of both humans and yokai, but not without humor. Takashi’s supernatural companion, for instance (whom he refers to as “Nyanko-sensei”) is not a warm, fuzzy yokai by any means and only stays with Takashi because he’s been promised the “Book of Friends” should Takashi die before returning all the names. Yet he spent so many years trapped in the form of a Lucky Cat that he has taken on the form himself, much to his dismay. Several of the story’s characters, in fact (such as a couple of trickster yokai who at one point insist on becoming Takashi’s entourage) exist mainly to provide comic relief, but what makes the humor really work in this series is that it is never there purely for its own sake.

Yuki Midorikawa’s artwork is understated and perhaps nothing special, but she manages some beautiful imagery at just the right moments. There is a genuine feel to the story’s yokai, bringing a traditional sensibility into this modern story, much as the modern dress of Mushishi‘s Ginko does the reverse for its nineteenth-century setting. I particularly enjoy Midorikawa’s imaginative and intuitive panel layouts which are especially effective in terms of pacing.

Though many elements of its story are well-trodden territory in girls’ supernatural manga, Natsume’s Book of Friends brings a quiet thoughtfulness to the genre more characteristic of adult series like Mushishi or delicate shojo romances such as We Were There. An unexpected treasure among recent Shojo Beat titles, Natsume’s Book of Friends is definitely a series to keep an eye on.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Fairy Tail 8-9 by Hiro Mashima: B

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fairytail8The battle between Fairy Tail and rival guild Phantom Lord rages on. Two of Phantom Lord’s elite group, Element 4, have been defeated, but Gray must finish off his opponent (Juvia, a lovelorn lady possessed of rain magic) while a wounded Erza summons the strength to achieve a victory of her own. Though they’ve foiled part of Phantom Lord’s plans, however, Lucy still ends up getting kidnapped by Gajeel, the Dragon Slayer of Phantom Lord.

After some encouragement from Erza, Natsu heads to Lucy’s rescue and several chapters of fighting between he and Gajeel ensue. Unfortunately, I didn’t find these very fun to read, since there seemed to be more speedlines than usual and sometimes the action was confusing. Also, there was an unnecessary pervy spectator who kept commenting on Lucy’s undies whenever the latest explosion of battle happened to toss her about.

While this is going on, the headquarters of both Fairy Tail and Phantom Lord are destroyed, at which point the Fairy Tail guildmaster, Makarov, recovers his powers and proceeds to be a great badass. A subsequent investigation by the Magic Council finds Fairy Tail innocent in the affair, but Lucy feels responsible (it was, after all, her wealthy father who hired Phantom Lord to retrieve her in the first place), so she heads home. I really like how this chapter plays out; I was all set for a tiresome and angsty, “Oh no, it’s my fault. You’ll all be better off without me” story where her friends have to show up and convince her that she’s worthy. Instead, Lucy goes home simply to tell her dad that if he pulls anything like that again, he’ll have made an enemy of her and Fairy Tail, which is like her second family and, so far, much better than her first one.

fairytail9Upon her return, Lucy, Natsu, Gray, and Erza officially become a team and handle a couple of episodic missions without straying too far from home. I really like that most of the focus these two volumes has been on Fairy Tail itself, which has presented many opportunities to introduce or flesh out other members of the guild. The latest character to merit that treatment is ladies’ man Loke, who has a rather surprising backstory and needs Lucy’s help in order to continue to survive. Help that she, I might add, very competently provides (although it is managed a little too easily, I thought). Even though Mashima continues to use Lucy’s appearance for fanservice, he is, at least, allowing her to grow in confidence and general usefulness as the story progresses. At first, it was inconceivable that she could be an equal member of a team with powerhouses like Natsu, Gray, and Erza, but now it doesn’t seem so unlikely at all.

Although it has its ups and downs, Fairy Tail continues to offer a fun escapist story that works on a few levels; if you aren’t thrilled by the requisite shounen battles, then perhaps Lucy’s impassioned speech about finally finding acceptance will be more your cup of tea. Or maybe it’ll be the giant cow-man. Who knows?

Review copy for volume nine provided by the publisher.

We Were There, Vol. 8

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By Yuki Obata
Viz, 200 pp.
Rating: T+ (Older Teen)

As Yano’s mother prepares for her move to Tokyo, it becomes painfully clear that her financial plans are far from sound, forcing Yano to confront the possibility of leaving Nana behind to join her, something he swore he’d never do. Meanwhile, with things still shaky between Yano and Nana, Takeuchi’s sister urges him to take advantage of the situation, but, unwilling to be a consolation prize, Takeuchi instead confronts Nana to let her know what’s going on, in hopes she’ll convince Yano to stay. Though the news shocks Nana out of her most recent bout of insecurity, she is determined to support him regardless of whether he stays or goes and tells him so, a declaration she ultimately regrets.

Though it’s quite a relief to see Nana finally released from the excruciating indecision that has plagued her for several volumes, it is decision that ends up hurting her most, regardless of whether she’s doing the right thing. One of this series’ greatest strengths, of course, is its refusal to pretend that there is a “right thing,” regardless of established romantic conventions. Obata’s characters make grand declarations in one breath and waffle in the next, ringing more true in their inconsistency than a hundred shojo heroines “doing their best.” Even as the story falls into familiar scenarios of rivalry and forced partings, it does so with a level of nuance so rarely brought to this type of manga that it manages to feel genuinely fresh, even in its most dramatic moments.

Even eight volumes in, this series has lost none of the emotional ambiguity that has characterized it since the beginning, while gaining a romantic momentum that has only enhanced its likability, at least for this reviewer. Its depth and poignancy, matched by very few titles in the current lineup of translated shojo (only Sand Chronicles immediately springs to mind), should be more than enough to place We Were There at the top of anyone’s must-read list.

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

Crimson Hero 12 by Mitsuba Takanashi: B

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crimsonhero12From the back cover:
With one of their ace players injured, Nobara and the Crimson Field girls must fight harder than ever. Their challenge is the Newcomers’ Tournament, and their performance in this venue will determine just how far the team can go. But Nobara’s distracted when she learns that one of her not-so-secret admirers seeks to crush Yushin and destroy the boys’ team!

Review:
The girls’ team has done fairly well in the Newcomers’ Tournament, but losing Tomo to injury means they’ve got to hurriedly train a stand-in just to have the minimum number of members required to play. Meanwhile, when Nobara is injured during one of those “locked in the gym storage room” scenes followed by a “creepy stalker tries to corrupt me but I’m protected by my virtuous true love” rescue, this puts them at enough of a disadvantage that they end up finishing in 13th place, though they’re not entirely out of the running as far as their dream of reaching the Spring Tournament goes.

Despite the fact that the finals round of a tournament is underway, most of the volume actually centers on the love triangle of the series. Haibuki’s solicitude after Nobara’s incident with the stalkery guy makes her feel even more guilty for not telling him about her proto-relationship with Yushin, and she begins to think it wouldn’t be so bad if he knew. Yushin decides to handle things himself and, after the boys win their tournament and Haibuki both compliments Yushin on his captainship and the team on their general awesomeness, Yushin judges that the time is right.

I’ve never really liked Haibuki much, but the way he reacts to this news makes me want to smack him. I mean, nobody would react well to finding out they’ve been duped for months, but he plays the role of the wounded party to the hilt, moving out of the dorm in a huff and considering an offer to transfer to another school. I would’ve been more sympathetic, perhaps, if Takanashi-sensei hadn’t depicted him so woodenly during crucial scenes; an opportunity to really make us feel the horrible pain of betrayal was squandered there. Still, even had she done a better job, I still would’ve ended up hating him for immediately ringing up Tomo, whom he knows still has feelings for him. Don’t mess with her heart, you ass! I could get behind the storytelling decision to transition Haibuki into more of a villainous role, but I have a feeling we’re supposed to believe his actions are the result of profound heartbreak and not simply self-pity.

Crimson Hero may not be the best Shojo Beat has to offer, but I do still like it enough to want to follow the story, even if I can’t really get invested in the romantic plotline. I think I’d like it more if it were simply about Nobara and Yushin trying to strike a balance between loving each other and simultaneously pursuing their goals of volleyball greatness. If I’m lucky, Haibuki really will transfer out and leave the two of them alone, but I don’t think that’s very likely.

Review copy provided by the publisher.