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They Were Eleven, Web Comics Weekend!

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Thanks to Brigid Alverson’s recent interview with Matt Thorn, I got inspired to read some Moto Hagio, beginning with her short science fiction manga from 1975, They Were Eleven. Last night I wrote up a review, which you can find below! I’m afraid my lack of background in manga shows terribly in this review, despite my ongoing quest to become more knowledgeable, so for further reading, I’d recommend going through Matt Thorn’s website, where he has many articles and resources chronicling the history of shojo manga, all of which are much smarter than anything I could write. My review, however, does include some nice images I scanned in from my copies of the manga so it’s worth checking out if you’ve never read it! They Were Eleven is unfortunately out of print here, but the Viz pamphlets can be picked up very reasonably on ebay, which is how I got them. Don’t even think about trying to get Four Shojo Stories, though, unless you’re a lot richer than I!

Over the next couple of days, I’ll be pretty much occupied at the New England Web Comics Weekend, which is conveniently located just a couple small towns over! My husband is a huge fan of webcomics, and I keep up on a number of them myself, so it should be an enjoyable event all around. There are quite a few interesting panels being presented, and you know I’ll be at the print vs. web discussion, right? :D I’ll try to report in at some point with any interesting news.

A million thanks to those who have chimed in with recommendations over at my Let’s Talk About Manhwa post! I’m so excited to find new things to read! Please stop by if you have anything further to add!

They Were Eleven by Moto Hagio Published by Viz Media

Sometime in the distant future, hopeful students from all over the galaxy gather for the difficult entrance exams at the elite Galactic University. For the final test, they are divided into computer-generated groups of ten students each and sent off to various locations where they must survive as a group for fifty-three days without pushing the provided emergency button, which immediately summons a rescue team, resulting in automatic failure of the entire group. One group is deposited on a derelict ship, devoid of engine power and filled with dangerous explosives, which they must safely maintain in orbit for the length of the test. As the group arrives on the ship, however, it becomes apparent that there are eleven students rather than the assigned ten, indicating that one of them must be an impostor. Potential disasters pile up quickly, including an unstable orbit and the presence of a deadly disease, and in the midst of it all the group begins to suspect Tada, a young Terran (Earth descendent) with intuitive powers and uncanny knowledge of the ship’s layout, of being the eleventh member.

With the ship’s mechanical problems and deadly health threat driving things forward, it is young Tada’s story that takes focus, as he struggles to understand his relationship with the decrepit ship while also attempting to clear himself of the other students’ rapidly-mounting suspicion. Despite the fact that his intuition saves the group early on, it also becomes the greatest point of contention amongst the group, and as more about Tada’s own history comes to light, each revelation seems to point more clearly to his potential guilt.

They Were Eleven ran over three issues in the Japanese magazine Shojo Comic in 1975. It was written and drawn by pioneering mangaka Moto Hagio, one of the famous “Year 24 Group” of female manga artists who revolutionized shojo manga, which up to that point had been mainly written by men. In the U.S. it was released in four “flipped” pamphlet-style issues from Viz Media in 1995, as well as in the compilation, Four Shojo Stories, both of which are now out of print (though the pamphlets are easily found on ebay). Lovingly adapted by Matt Thorn, They Were Eleven is an intriguing science fiction comic, featuring several of Hagio’s most prevalent themes, including childhood trauma and gender identification.

Two of the characters in the story are species whose gender is not determined until adulthood. One of these, Frol, who is decidedly feminine in appearance (referred to hereafter as “her” and “she”), is taking the test because she will be allowed to become male if she passes, a privilege otherwise only granted to a family’s oldest child. On Frol’s planet, “men govern and women work,” and becoming a woman would mean relinquishing all autonomy and joining the harem of the neighboring lord (eighteen years her senior), so it is understandable why she would want to instead take advantage of her society’s male privilege and collect a harem of her own. Still, it’s a little bit jarring that when the story finally reaches a point where it becomes clear that they may very well not pass the test, the only other alternative presented to Frol is for her to leave her own people, become a woman, and marry someone else. The fact that in every scenario her future as a woman leads directly to marriage is not a fantastic message for today’s young girls (nor is the fact that Frol, the story’s only obviously “feminine” character, is depicted as capricious and “simple”) and it is this that dates the series more than anything else.

That said, in the midst of today’s shojo offerings, it is refreshing to read a comic for girls in which a science fiction/mystery plot so markedly overshadows the story’s minimal romance. The atmosphere of the story is extremely tense throughout, and the level of complexity packed into four short issues is seriously impressive.

One of the most interesting aspects of the story is the various backgrounds of the students on the voyage, and what brings each of them to Galactic University. One student is the newly-crowned king of his planet-nation, who is taking the exam only to test his own abilities with no intention whatsoever of entering the university. Another is a half-cyborg, whose body was created to test out a potential cure for his planet’s deadly disease–one which kills every person on the planet by the age of thirty. Tada, whose parents both died when he was very young, seeks to make a way for himself out of the care of the Elder who adopted him. Each of the students has a rich backstory, some of which are only hinted at in this very short series, and each has his own personal determination to pass the final test. As the ship’s trajectory pulls them further towards certain death, it is the prospect of failure that terrifies and energizes most of these students rather than the growing risk to their lives, pushing the stakes to a place much higher than mere survival.

What is difficult to appreciate now is just how revolutionary Hagio’s art (and that of the others in the Year 24 Group) was at the time, as she eschewed the standard rectangle panel layouts of the day for innovative designs that were as vital to the tone and emotion of the story as the characters’ dialogue and facial expressions. This kind of drawing is common today, not just in shojo manga, and it’s difficult to imagine otherwise. Perhaps what is easier to note is that the art itself does not seem at all dated, and that alone is quite telling.

Something this manga brings to mind is the question of how much significance there is today in Japanese demographic categories, at least when importing manga to the west. In the case of They Were Eleven, for instance, it is difficult to determine just who wouldn’t be interested in the story in terms of gender demographics. Its science fiction setting, mystery plot, and even the very small glimmer of romance seem very much in line with works enjoyed by girls, boys, women, and men alike, and even for western comics fans only the characters’ oversized eyes are evidence of anything stereotypically Japanese. Reminiscent of the short stories of Ray Bradbury or Zenna Henderson, this comic uses the thrilling mysteries of space fantasy to provide food for thought about humanity and how we relate to and survive with each other.

For a glimpse into classic manga that is fast-paced, wrought with tension, emotionally compelling, and a pleasure to look at, Moto Hagio’s They Were Eleven offers the perfect, bite-sized package.

Bleach, Vol. 26

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By Tito Kubo
Viz Media, 216 pp.
Rating: Teen

At the end of volume 25, after discovering former soul reaper Aizen’s true objective, tenth division captain Hitsugaya was asked to stay behind for someone who was waiting to speak with him. That person turns out to be his childhood friend, Momo Hinamori, and volume 26 begins with a quietly horrifying scene in which she begs Hitsugaya not to kill Aizen, certain that he must have had good reason for his murderous acts. As short and simple as this scene is, it starts things off very effectively, setting a tone of tense anticipation that continues throughout the volume.

Though this volume’s big drama is saved for the end, its middle chapters provide some rich moments, particularly concerning Orihime, who is told very bluntly by Kisuke Urahara that her combat abilities are too weak for her to play a role in the upcoming battle with Aizen, and that she’d do best to stay out of the way. Orihime has long provided the heart of this series and here, poised on the brink of discovering her true worth, she shines, lending a much-needed warmth to the grim battle preparations that make up much of the volume. Rukia, too, plays a very poignant role here, making the series’ primary female characters the real stars of this volume.

Heavy on characterization and plot development, this volume is a welcome respite for the battle-weary, as it anxiously works its way toward its cruel cliffhanger ending. The volume’s humorous moments work well too, especially a scene in which Yumichika and Rangiku argue about their zanpakuto, each unwilling to admit that the qualities they find most frustrating about them are actually the same as their own.

Though this volume offers very little action, its quiet warmth and tense anticipation make for a nicely satisfying read.

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

Wild Ones, Vol. 6

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By Kiyo Fujiwara
Viz, 208 pp.
Rating: Teen

After volume five’s focus on holidays and gift-giving between Sachie Wakamura and her Yakuza family, volume six begins with a new school year and the introduction of Sachie’s new teacher who turns out to be her childhood friend, Chi-chan. Unfortunately, Chi-chan has a long-standing grudge against Sachie (of which she is completely unaware) and begins a campaign of harassment with the intent of exposing her family history to the entire school. Fortunately, even Chi-chan is eventually won over by Sachie’s plucky sincerity, and becomes yet another ally by the end. Also in this volume, Sachie saves a man’s family restaurant from unscrupulous loan sharks, and it is this plot that allows further development of the volume’s real drama—the continuing romantic rivalry between Rakuto and Azuma. Not that the rivalry actually gets anywhere. Though Azuma comes very close to confessing his feelings to Sachie, in the end he chickens out, leaving things essentially unchanged.

Out of all the things that are maddening about this series—the unbelievable premise, the warm-fuzzy Yakuza guys, the lack of any actual crime—the most maddening by far is the near suspended animation of the story’s romantic plot. While it’s usually effective to keep romantic tension going for as long as possible, in this case, the romance is just not exciting or complicated enough to withstand the wait. Sachie loves Rakuto, Rakuto loves Sachie, and so it has been for the entire length of the series. Everybody knows this. Nobody appears to object besides Azuma, and even he is visibly frustrated by Rakuto’s persistent inaction. In a more complex story this kind of anticipation might be intoxicating, but here it just makes the drama feel forced and repetitive.

That said, the volume does have some warm moments. The characters grow, little by little, and the uncomfortable bond between Rakuto and Azuma is almost interesting enough to make up for the endless drudgery of the romantic plot. While this series remains decidedly mediocre, there is still some distant hope of it one day finding its spark.

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

NANA, Vol. 15

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By Ai Yazawa
Viz, 200 pp.
Rating: Mature

After Search’s cruel delivery of a suggestive photo of Ren and Riera at the end of volume fourteen, this volume opens with the fallout from that and Takumi’s brilliantly manipulative efforts to keep the photo out of the papers. Unfortunately, the ramifications of the photo run deeper than that and Nana and Ren’s relationship continues to unravel further. Hachi and Takumi finally get married (thanks to Takumi’s manipulations) and Yasu and Miu begin to solidify their relationship as well. All of this brings Nana’s abandonment issues to the fore as she watches the most important people in her life drifting further away from her. Shin, too, feels the effect of the Search incident as Reira, suddenly aware of how vulnerable her world is to scandal, suggests they stop seeing each other. The appearance of the Search photo highlights how fragile everyone’s world is and how far a single act of thoughtlessness or cruelty can reach.

The expressive genius of Ai Yazawa’s art is what really makes this volume shine, elevating what could easily be trite soap-opera to the realm of top-notch fiction. Her ability to use panel layouts and close-ups to get to the heart of her characters is unmatched. The art feeds the complexity of the characters, transforming them into something that almost feels more real than “real life.” It’s not the art alone, of course. Yazawa resists letting any character fall into pat categories like “good” or “evil,” giving full dimension to each of them and their rich, complicated, gray-shaded world. Even manipulative, controlling Takumi, who frames everything in terms of protecting own interests, is not a clear-cut villain any more than Nana and Hachi perfectly virtuous heroines.

There is an interesting scene early in the volume, where the folks at Search mull over the power that they wield, finally determining that if Ren and Nana break up because of what they print, then the breakup was “meant to be.” “The strength of their bond will be tested,” says one writer, determined to justify the paper’s actions as some kind of righteous social experiment. The lengths to which people will go to justify their own poor behavior is a fascinating (if horrifying) study, and it is this type of insight into humanity that makes Yazawa’s writing so powerful.

Though it is clear that much of the story’s real drama is yet to come, this is a strong volume in an exceptional series that continues to be both beautifully crafted and extremely compelling.

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

Monkey High! 3 by Shouko Akira: B+

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From the back cover:
On Valentine’s Day, it’s no surprise that playboy Atsu gets plenty of chocolates from fawning girls. But everyone’s shocked when a heart-shaped box is found on Macharu’s desk—especially since it’s not from Haruna! Does Macharu have a secret admirer?

Review:
The trend of basing the chapters around relatively commonplace events continues—there’s one taking place on Valentine’s Day, one on Haruna’s birthday, and one about student council elections. The overall story continues to be pretty episodic, with much silliness from the supporting cast, but the moments between Haruna and Macharu are always serious and always good. I think that’s because Haruna herself is so serious she balances out the wackiness of her classmates.

Like the main couple in High School Debut, I like that it’s easy to see why Haruna and Macharu like each other and why they’re a good match. I get a little annoyed when various characters attest that Haruna really should be going out with Macharu’s friend Atsu because of his looks, but I suppose that does give her the opportunity to unequivocally state that she likes Macharu. There’s a great scene toward the end of the volume where she seeks him out to talk about some thoughts she’s been having, like how she’s not sure what she can do on her own, having always believed the influence of her politician father was in some part responsible for her success at her old school. It’s nice that they can talk to each other so freely. I also love that Haruna many times initiates the smooching, rather than passively waiting for it like some shoujo heroines I could name.

While I’m very happy with the development of the main couple, I could wish for a more memorable supporting cast. Atsu’s easy to remember because he talks so much. Next in recognizability are the guy that eats a lot and the girl from the student council, but that’s seriously all we know about them. There are a couple of other boys and girls who appear and have lines of dialogue and stuff and I have no idea what their names are or anything. I don’t want the story to veer off and focus on one of these classmates or anything, but they’re meaningless as they are.

Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei, Vol. 1

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

Schoolteacher Nozomu Itoshiki is pessimistic, depressed, and fed up with the world. He is first introduced attempting to hang himself from a cherry tree, where he is discovered by student Kafuka Fuura, who nearly kills him in the process of trying to pull him down. “What if I had died?” Nozomu exclaims, setting the tone for this whimsical black comedy from the start. Kafuka is the polar opposite of Nozomu, excessively optimistic to the point of delusion. Unable to believe that anyone could consider suicide on a beautiful spring day, she insists that Nozomu must have been trying to “make himself taller,” a practice she confesses her father took up often when faced with hard times. “At times, even mother would try to grow taller,” she says brightly, pushing Nozomu’s patience to the limit. Thus the two who never should have met, meet—the man who views everything negatively, and the girl who views everything positively.

Despite the inauspicious nature of their meeting, it seems that it was destined (or at least unavoidable), as Nozomu soon discovers that Kafuka is a student in his new class. The rest of the volume proceeds to introduce Nozomu’s other students one by one, each of whom is an extreme example of a dysfunctional stereotype—a stalker, a hikikomori (shut-in), an obsessive-compulsive, an abusive e-mailer, et cetera—most of whom develop some kind of fixation with their teacher. Though the premise could easily become mean-spirited, it never does, and each of the characters is presented with both humor and affection, the most poignant perhaps being Nami, the “ordinary” girl, whose only defining trait (much to her dismay) turns out to be that there is nothing really wrong with her at all.

Nozomu is not exactly a misanthrope, though he does suspect most people of plotting to wrong him, and he bonds with his students in spite of himself, if sometimes in slightly disturbing ways. Yes, he tears down their aspirations, belittles them with low expectations, engages in blatant favoritism (“Hold it! Don’t bully the girl I’m favoring.”), abandons them in class, and occasionally evaluates them as potential candidates for double-suicide. Yet somehow, through the filter of Koji Kumeta’s dark humor, he manages to be charming and almost warm as he leads his small band of misfits down the road to despair. His students are delightful, each in her own way, but Nozomu is the unlikely touchstone who keeps things grounded, and during the chapter or two in which he plays truant, his absence is keenly felt. Fortunately, the humorous payoff when he finally returns to the page is well worth it.

The real secret to this manga’s success is that nothing is ever allowed to become too serious or biting. The humor is dry but never bitter, and though some of the jokes translate better into English than others, each leads deftly into the next, showing off Kumeta’s satirical prowess. Even the fan service is played for laughs, deliberately inserted into the most absurd situations. The humor is sharp but never cutting, and the juxtaposition of complex satire, silly puns, and simple sight gags ensures that the mood remains light throughout.

One of the best visual gags happens quite early on as the book introduces Matoi Tsunetsuki, a girl who obsessively stalks any guy she falls for. After becoming interested in her teacher (Nozomu) she begins following him. This causes the boy she was previously interested in to become jealous, and so he starts following her. Another girl who is interested in that boy notices, and starts stalking him, and so on, until there is finally a chain of stalkers, each following the last with minimal subtlety.

The art is nicely clear and deceptively simple. Most of the girls are so similar in design, they look like a single girl with interchangeable hair, though the level of individuality granted to them with just hairstyle and expression is pretty impressive. The overall design is more complex, filled with fantastic angles and fun backgrounds, all in a wonderfully crisp style that manages to be both detailed and clean at the same time.

The book is dense with obscure jokes and Japanese cultural references, painstakingly annotated by translator Joyce Aurino over a whopping twelve pages at the back of the book. With so much information provided, it is easy to fall into the habit of checking the endnotes obsessively while reading, but this is really not a good idea. With a few exceptions (and despite what must have been an incredibly difficult translation process), Aurino’s adaptation stands strongly on its own, and though the notes are very interesting and informative, the interruption of the reading experience is simply not worth it. In most cases the context itself is sufficient, at least for the first read-through, and the notes can be viewed as an enlightening bonus to be enjoyed afterwards. With multiple layers of satire at work, this is definitely a book worth re-reading, so there are plenty of opportunities to catch new jokes that may have slipped by on the first read or two.

It is probably safe to say that the success of Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei with any individual reader will depend entirely on whether or not that reader’s sense of humor meshes with Kumeta’s, and this question should be clearly answered by the end of the first chapter. If it’s not funny by then, it’s never going to be. But for those who are laughing by the end of the chapter, this book will provide a rare treat which, thanks to Del Rey, is about to become more common.

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

Monkey High! 2 by Shouko Akira: A-

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From the back cover:
Haruna and Macharu head off to the amusement park for their official first date! But how romantic is the date going to turn out with scary roller coasters, guys hitting on Haruna, and even rowdy classmates popping up?

Review:
Considering that my two complaints about volume one were its clichéd events and annoying supporting characters, this back cover blurb didn’t do much to entice me. Thankfully, the contents were better than described.

I continue to like the main characters and the contrast between them. Macharu is all spazzy, hyper, and enthusiastic while Haruna is beautiful and “cool.” It’s so nice to have a shoujo heroine who’s smart and reserved! The pain of her broken home life weighs on Haruna, and we see more evidence of that in this volume, so it’s nice to see her laugh in Macharu’s presence. She really needs someone like him, and this is the reason why she ultimately keeps some of her problems from him, to avoid damaging his carefree outlook.

The overall plots of these chapters are pretty silly—an amusement park date, the gang participating in a big quiz show, et cetera—but there are plenty of good character moments sprinkled throughout. There’s also a really cute bonus story about Macharu’s little sister, Misato. Usually the bonus stories included in manga don’t do much for me; this is probably the best one I’ve read in some time.

A few lunchtime thoughts

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Just a few loose ends on this lunch hour. Today is my eighth wedding anniversary, so I probably will not be online much this evening, but there are a couple of things lurking in my head which I will try to type out now.

Random: I finished Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei last evening in preparation for writing a review this week for Manga Recon, and it is one of those comics that makes me really, really wish I could read Japanese. Also, I’m really looking forward to completing my review so that I can finally read everyone else’s.

Also, someone’s comment early this morning got me thinking more about the discussion of online identity, specifically what I value most when I’m assessing someone’s credibility online. I replied in comments with my thoughts, but I’ll share them here as well. …

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Monkey High! 1 by Shouko Akira: A-

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From the back cover:
Haruna Aizawa thinks that school life is just like a monkey mountain—all the monkeys form cliques, get into fights, and get back together again. The school that she just transferred to is no exception. There’s even a boy called Macharu Yamashita who reminds her of a baby monkey!

It’s hard enough fitting in at a new school while dealing with family problems… Will Haruna remain jaded and distance herself from everyone around her? Or will Macharu win her over with his monkey magic?

Review:
Viz really does have some quality shojo of the high school romance genre. Love*Com, High School Debut, We Were There, and now Monkey High!. Each one that I’ve read, I’ve really liked a lot.

Haruna Aizawa’s father is an upstart politician at the center of a corruption scandal. Because of this, she transferred into a new high school, but the group dynamics—which she compares to a gang of monkeys—are much the same. She strives to keep her distance, but one boy manages to befriend her. Macharu is rather scrawny and not generally someone a beautiful girl like Haruna would consider the ideal boyfriend, but he’s kind, considerate, and sincere and before Haruna realizes it, she’s fallen in love with him. They receive instant support from their classmates who think the mismatch has great potential to be interesting.

Haruna and Macharu are both interesting characters, and it’s awfully refreshing to read a title where the heroine is not earning the affections of the dreamiest, most popular boy in school. Also, Haruna has had boyfriends before, so is not going spazzy over having attracted a boy’s notice. There are some genuinely cute moments between them, and I’m happy to see them become a couple so quickly, as I tend to like stories where getting together is only the beginning of the story, rather than its culmination.

There are some things I found a little annoying, though. The three chapters in this volume deal with the school play, school trip, and Christmas, respectively. Is Akira-sensei just getting the clichés out of the way up front? I’m a little worried. Also, I didn’t find it funny when Haruna and Macharu’s classmates just happened to be eavesdropping on the lead pair at a few crucial moments, interrupting with their antics.

Considering how often I grumble about unfunny attempts at comedy in manga, I wouldn’t blame anyone for concluding that I simply have no sense of humor. I assure you that isn’t the case; I just don’t like it when it isn’t part of the story but instead disrupts it.

Monkey High! was originally published in Japan as Saruyama! and is complete with eight volumes total. Viz is releasing it in English and five volumes have been published so far.

Papillon 2 by Miwa Ueda: B-

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Shy Ageha has long dwelled in the shadow of her beautiful and popular twin sister, Hana. With help from her school’s new guidance counselor, however, she’s begun to transform herself. In this volume, she reconciles with her mother after years of feeling that her parents preferred Hana and even moves on romantically when she realizes that her feelings for Ryûsei might not actually be love.

Papillon is a pretty fun series, and I definitely enjoy seeing family issues get some attention in a manga. The reconciliation between Ageha and her mother is a bit too easily achieved, but when’s the last time you saw a shojo manga heroine enjoy a nice warm hug with her mother? Not often, I’d wager.

On the negative side, I can’t help but feel that the actions of Ichijiku-san, the counselor, are incredibly inappropriate. He has groped Ageha a couple of times (apparently accidentally) and playfully made pretend advances upon her that would get him fired about a hundred times over in the real world. It takes me out of the story that he’s doing these things and is seemingly unconcerned about the occupational repercussions.

What I liked best about volume one—the relationship between Hana and her scheming sister—takes a backseat in this volume, but the way Hana lurks about looking furious as Ageha reconnects with her parents suggests there’ll be more sisterly strife in the future, which is all the reason I need to read on.

Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Musings on online identity

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Hello all. I’ve been nursing a severe case of crankiness with a side of the blues over the past couple of days which has made me a poor blogger. Hopefully this will soon pass.

There’s been a disturbing exchange going on in sci fi fandom recently, which I won’t get into here because everything useful has already been said (my favorite post is actually by a friend of mine, here, which also links to this astonishingly thorough nutshell), but something that has become a side-issue of sorts is the question of using pseudonyms on the internet, and whether doing so diminishes a person’s credibility or perhaps even negates it entirely. As a person who has interacted online both using a pseudonym and using my real name, I find this attitude perplexing at best. Names, after all, are loaded things, capable of both giving someone power and taking it away. Let me explain what I mean by that….

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Tokyo Babylon (Full Series)

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Hi hi, sorry for all the silence the past couple of days. I’d made a rule for myself that I wasn’t allowed to spend time on a blog post until I’d finished my Tokyo Babylon review, and I finally have! (Reprinted below following the demise of the blog Comics Should Be Good, for which it was originally written.) It’s pretty image-heavy and probably looks more like one of my persuasion posts than a typical review, but I thought I’d do something a little special for the full series. I’m a tad nervous about my new place over there, so if you have the time, please check out my review and let me know what you think!

Look for a real blog post later on. I have lots of thoughts swirling through my brain, and no time to write them down! Soon!

Tokyo Babylon (Complete Series) by CLAMP Published by TOKYOPOP

Originally created in 1991 by all-female mangaka group CLAMP, Tokyo Babylon tells the story of Subaru, the thirteenth head of the Sumeragi clan, a family of onmyoji (spiritual mediums and sorcerers) who have protected Japan for hundreds of years. Just sixteen years old as the series begins, quiet and unassuming, he is already an experienced and powerful onmyoji. He shares an apartment in Tokyo with his worldly, outgoing twin sister, Hokuto, who dresses him up like a doll in her hand-picked fashions. The two have become friendly with a local veterinarian, Seishiro Sakurazuka, whose surname suggests he is related to an infamous clan of magical assassins. Despite this sinister connection, Seishiro is mild-mannered, kind, cheerfully protective of the twins and repeatedly claims to be in love with Subaru, which draws enthusiastic support from Hokuto but embarrasses Subaru terribly.

Despite a cynical opening chapter and the series’ occult premise, the story gets off to a fairly light start and it would be easy to dismiss it as stylish fluff. By the end of the first volume, however, darkness begins to push toward the surface in the form of an old memory that causes Subaru to suspect there may be more to Seishiro than what he claims. This uneasiness hovers in the background for much of the series (only manifesting fully in the final volume), but as it slowly seeps into the fabric of the story it highlights the peculiar depth and Shinto-influenced ideology that has long characterized CLAMP’s work.

As Subaru performs his missions as an onmyoji, he encounters many sad or lonely people, some of them alive, some not. One early story, for instance, involves a childhood friend of Subaru’s who has fallen into a perpetual dream state in an effort to escape her traumatic waking life. Another features the ghost of a failed actress whose love-hate relationship with the city has kept her bound to the main observation deck of Tokyo Tower. In another, Subaru befriends an old man who has spent years of his life fulfilling a promise to his late wife, desperate to complete it so that he may finally join her.

In one particularly poignant story, Subaru encounters a woman who is determined to place a curse on the man who murdered her young daughter, Mai. Subaru urges the woman to abandon revenge both for her own sake and her daughter’s, and even calls upon Mai’s spirit so that she can tell her mother what she truly wishes her to do. However, instead of angelically entreating her mother to stop, Mai arrives crying in pain, begging her mother to avenge her, something which Subaru finds himself wholly unable to convey.

The primary message CLAMP drives home in Tokyo Babylon is that no person can ever truly understand another person’s pain, and that the kindest thing people can do for themselves and each other is to recognize and embrace that fact. Interestingly, the character who seems to understand this best is Subaru, though he is also the person who most often tries, as he strives desperately to ease others’ pain while generally ignoring his own. Despite his formidable spiritual powers, Subaru leads an oddly passive existence, dutifully fulfilling his calling as directed, though his personality is obviously ill-suited for the job. He works tirelessly and without complaint, his naturally compassionate nature allowing humanity’s darkest corners to erode his seemingly incorruptible heart.

Seishiro’s steady pursuit of teenaged Subaru alternates between being sweetly good-humored and intensely creepy, and for those who find the concept disturbing, be assured that the dramatic payoff is well worth it. As hinted early on, Seishiro is indeed more than he seems, though the full truth about him is not revealed until very late in the series. None of the primary characters in Tokyo Babylon is especially transparent or easily placed into manga stereotypes. Each is multi-layered and idiosyncratic, and each lends something unique to this quirky, shadowy tale.

Though Subaru and Seishiro tend to dominate the pages of most volumes, it is Hokuto who is the story’s unexpected gem. Fun and breezy, she initially seems interested in little besides in keeping Subaru dressed up in elaborately assembled outfits and nudging him toward Seishiro. As the story progresses, however, her real depth begins to show, and she eventually proves herself to be strong, compassionate, and kind of a bad-ass. It also becomes clear that her world is dominated by her devotion to her brother. “I wanted you to have something you would love so much, that you wouldn’t care what others thought,” she says to Subaru late in the series, as his world is unraveling around him. “Something you wouldn’t change your mind about. It didn’t matter what it was. I just wanted you to have something like that.”

Despite the series’ many strengths, Tokyo Babylon is far from perfect. Its episodic setup leaves too much room for unevenness and blunder, and it takes several volumes for CLAMP to successfully establish the story’s real tone, which means the series does not really come into its own until volume four. Still, getting there is well worth the effort, and not just because Tokyo Babylon is a great read (though it is). This series also provides an opportunity to delve into early incarnations of the themes and ideas that have come to define CLAMP’s diverse body of work. The selfishness of self-sacrifice, the murky quality of “good” and “evil,” the pain of loneliness, the necessity of wanting to exist–CLAMP uses Tokyo Babylon to explore these ideas to the full extent of their skills at the time, and everything that begins here is carried through their later work, one way or another. This is not to suggest that they are stealing from themselves or just repeating ideas (though they do like to reuse their characters). This is simply the natural evolution of ideas as they progress from one series to the next, finally reaching maturity in xxxHolic, a series which remains ongoing both here and in Japan.

With its beautiful, clean imagery and striking use of black, Tokyo Babylon is unmistakably CLAMP’s work, though again, it doesn’t show the maturity of their later work, or even X/1999 which began its run before Tokyo Babylon was completed. As early as this work is, however, the visual storytelling is extremely effective, with the same intuitive panel layouts and creative use of space that makes all of CLAMP’s work both a pleasure to look at and easy to read. The artwork shines in black and white, capturing perfectly the stark drama and lurking melancholy of the series, and the story’s seven volumes feel truly epic, largely on the strength of its visuals.

TOKYOPOP’s English language editions, released between 2004 and 2005, are very nicely done, with crisply reproduced artwork and fold-out color pages at the beginning of most volumes. This series, like much of CLAMP’s work, is unmistakably Japanese, deeply tied to its Tokyo setting and to Japanese culture in general. TOKYOPOP preserves this by retaining honorifics and sound-effects (with translations in the back), using Japanese name order (surname first), and keeping as many Japanese terms and cultural references as possible within the translation. The detailed glossaries at the back of each volume provide context and explanation for western readers.

For fans of CLAMP’s newer work, Tokyo Babylon provides a glimpse into the group’s past which will be both compelling and familiar. For new readers, it is a great introduction to the CLAMP universe, in all its complex beauty.

The Name of the Flower 1 by Ken Saito: A-

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When Chouko Mizushima was in her first year of high school, she lost both parents in a traffic accident. The shock and grief left her unable to speak and she was shuffled around amongst various relatives before finally ending up with her father’s cousin, the reclusive and cold-seeming author, Kei. Kei sets some conditions for living with him that include tending to his decrepit garden. As Chouko cares for the plants and flowers, her heart slowly begins to mend. She credits Kei with spurring her to shake off the darkness of her grief with her own two hands, not realizing just how much her presence has affected him in return.

The first adjective that comes to mind to describe The Name of the Flower is “quiet.” Although it has its funny moments, the overall feel is serene, focusing on small moments of interaction between the lead characters rather than intense drama. One way in which it accomplishes this is through the story structure. I had been expecting that the story would begin with Chouko moving in with Kei, but actually, it begins after she’s been living with him for two years. Gradually, over a series of flashbacks from both Chouko and Kei, we see not only how they were then but also how they have changed because of each other. I found this to be a very eloquent way of getting the point across.

Kei’s garden also plays a big part in the series. Not only is Chouko’s transformation of the neglected garden into a thing of beauty indicative of her own painful journey, but it also symbolizes the gradual thawing of Kei’s heart. He had been known for very dark literary works before taking Chouko in, but his latest novel is actually a love story based on his life with her.

After reading the novel, Chouko asks Kei about it, but he cowardly claims it isn’t based on reality. Therefore, she doesn’t know that he has romantic feelings for her and he can’t believe that her love for him is real, thinking instead that it’s “more like a newborn chick following its mother.” I thought this was an interesting way to deal with the age difference (twelve years) between them. Although Chouko is technically an adult now, Kei feels she hasn’t experienced enough to know what real love is, and thinks it’d be unfair to saddle her with his unworthy self when she might be able to find someone else who could make her really happy. This makes me like him for not only his maturity but also the angsty possibilities of a hero with an inferiority complex.

Saito’s art works well with the story, though the character designs are rather familiar. Kei is the bespectacled kimono-wearing author, Akiyama (Kei’s editor) is so bland-looking I can’t even describe him, and Chouko occasionally bears a distracting resemblance to Asami from High School Debut. I really like the chibi art, though; it’s very cute.

If a calm love story sounds intriguing, or you’re a fan of CMX’s other shojo offerings, then you might want to check out this series. It’s also short, at four volumes total, if that’s any incentive.

The Name of the Flower was serialized in LaLa DX and is four volumes long. Volume one is available now and volume two will be released on May 19, 2009.

Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Ode to Google

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I realize this is hideously mainstream of me, but… wow, I love Google. I’m not talking about the search engine (though I love that too). Lately I’ve become so dependent on a few of their web applications, I am not sure how I got by without them all this time.

1. Google Reader: I have talked about this before, but seriously, Google Reader is solely responsible for my ability to keep up with what the rest of you are talking about every day. In the beginning, I actually used to just click things one by one from my blogroll, and when that eventually proved to be too cumbersome, I switched to using Safari to collect RSS feeds. But Google Reader… oh, Google Reader… it allows me to keep track of exactly what I’ve read and what is new from any of the three computers I use regularly, eliminating the need to add feeds to three different browsers or to waste time with things I’ve already seen. I’m also able to organize my subscribed feeds into different categories, such as “manga/comics” and “friends” to facilitate more focused reading. Google Reader, I love you.

2. Google Docs: It’s gotten to the point where I write basically everything in Google Docs, because it allows me to (again) access whatever I’m working on from multiple locations. It auto-saves every few minutes, which is awesome, and also allows me to share documents with others, for instance if I want someone to look something over for me, or if I want to collaborate on a document with another person (or multiple people). Yes, I still save copies of really important items to my hard drive (actually to more than one), but the fact that I no longer have to remember to carry a USB key with me everywhere I go is seriously awesome.

3. Google Calendar: This is a new addition for me, but boy has it become quickly indispensable! I use Google Calendar to keep track of important manga release dates, as well as all of my (largely self-imposed) review deadlines, for Manga Recon, Comics Should Be Good, and even here! I’m a person who works best if I have a firm deadline, so I tend to set them and stick to them almost 100% of the time. Also, I’m a fast reader but a very slow writer, so laying out my deadlines in a visual form helps me better understand and manage my time. Google Calendar lets me have a different color-coded calendar for each of these categories, which I can view all at once to see everything that I have coming up at a glance. Again, I can access this from any computer, and share each calendar with other users as desired.

Thus concludes my ode to Google applications. The day Google starts charging money for these things is the day I become a weeping puddle of goo. Let’s hope that day does not arrive soon.

North Korea Kidnapped My Daughter

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By Sakie Yokota
Vertical, 192 pp.

In 1977, middle school student Megumi Yokota disappeared on her way home from school in the coastal city of Niigata, Japan. Despite massive efforts on the part of the community and the local police, Megumi’s disappearance was never solved. It was years later that Megumi’s parents finally received information leading them to believe that she, like several other Japanese citizens known of at the time, had been abducted by North Korean agents. It was not until 2002 that North Korea officially admitted to the abductions, but question remains over whether or not Megumi is still alive, leaving her family without resolution or relief.

Written by Megumi’s mother, Sakie Yokota, North Korea Kidnapped My Daughter is by no means a highly polished work of nonfiction. As a writer, Yokota tends to dwell too much on details while letting some of the larger questions out of her grasp, and the last few chapters start to feel repetitive as she reaches for an ending that does not exist. What this book definitely is, however, is a stunningly moving story of loss and a life lived in perpetual uncertainty.

The book begins with the Yokota family’s move from Hiroshima to Niigata, chronicling Megumi’s disappearance and its aftermath, and ending with a heartwrenching appeal to the Japanese government for help. Interestingly, what is most touching about this story is not how Megumi’s fate was tragically altered at the hands of North Korean agents, but rather how her disappearance affected her mother’s life and the life of her family. Stories of missing children are shockingly common in the news today, and of course they capture the hearts of all who hear about them. What it is easy to forget, however, when the trails of evidence have gone cold and the stories have faded from the headlines, is how every day forward is forever changed for those left behind. That Megumi’s life was ruthlessly hijacked is undeniable, but so, too, was her mother’s, whose years since the abduction have been under the control of the North Korean government just as surely as Megumi’s.

Yokota’s memories of her daughter contain the kind of intense detail that can only exist when something has been thought through and examined thousands of times over, and it is easy to imagine her determination to hang on to each tiny bit of memory, knowing that there may be no more. Yokota’s carefully kind tone toward anyone who has ever been involved in Megumi’s case is both moving and somehow painful, as is her painstaking effort to thank every person who has ever helped her or sent her hopeful wishes for Megumi’s return. Her campaign to retrieve her daughter, unwavering even in the face of government resistance, is truly inspirational. Still, what inspires the deepest heartache and outrage in the reader is the loss of Yokota’s own life to a potentially hopeless search. That neither the Japanese government nor anyone else has been able to bring about the return of Megumi or at least determine some clear resolution regarding her fate is maddening, as is Yokota’s powerlessness in the situation.

If there is one unfortunate thing about this memoir, it is that it was originally published in 1999, before North Korea’s admission to the kidnapping, which means much of the information now known about Megumi’s case was not addressed in her mother’s writings. To help bring things up-to-date, Vertical has added a brief note and a multi-page timeline at the end of the book, which includes things like the discovery of Megumi’s marriage in North Korea, and the North Korean government’s claim regarding her supposed death, but the timeline is awkward to follow, and without Yokota’s voice, the information feels empty.

Regardless of its few shortcomings as a written work, North Korea Kidnapped My Daughter is an extremely moving and heartbreaking story that deserves great attention from readers.

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