Manga Bookshelf

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Comedy

Lovely Muco!, Vol. 1

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For thirteen years, I lived with Grendel, a smart, stubborn Australian shepherd who treated me and my husband like a pair of unruly sheep. She woke us up at 5:45 am every day, herded us to the park, and marched us around until we were exhausted. She nipped our ankles when we left for work—we weren’t supposed to leave the farm, I guess—and had strong preferences about everything, from which routes we walked to which brand of kibble we bought. When she wasn’t trying to bend us to her will, she applied her formidable intelligence to foraging snacks; she had a black bear’s talent for opening containers of peanut butter, Tums—you name it. I loved her dearly, but I admit that there were times when I fantasized about living with a dog who wasn’t so determined to run our house.

With my current commute, I can’t own the happy-go-lucky dog of my dreams, but I can do the next best thing: read about one. That’s where Lovely Muco! comes in. It’s a gag manga inspired by the real-life relationship between Komatsu, a professional glass blower, and Muco, his exuberant Shiba Inu. In every chapter, Muco makes a discovery—that her nose is shiny, or that Komatsu isn’t a dog—and becomes so consumed with excitement that she ends up in trouble. Muco’s reactions to everyday situations bring out her inner Gracie Allen; she’s less dim than dizzy, viewing the world with the peculiar logic of a canine enthusiast. A trip to the vet, for example, leads her to wax rhapsodic about the cone of shame, which she views as a stylish accessory, rather than an encumbrance. Even when her injury starts to itch, Muco remains convinced that she looks cool, going so far as to imagine how Komatsu would look with his own cone.

As much as I love Muco’s antics, my favorite storyline focuses on Komatsu, who hires his pal Ushiko to design him a website. Ushiko uses the tools that you’d expect—a digital camera, a laptop—but Komatsu’s reactions to these technologies seem more appropriate for someone who’d just spent the last 20 years living off the grid than someone making a living in modern-day Japan. His child-like wonder mirrors the way Muco approaches just about everything in her life, from tennis balls to car rides—a neat inversion of their usual roles.

Takayuki Mizushina’s artwork plays a big role in making their owner-dog dynamic funny. Mizushina’s approach is more gestural than literal, distilling each character, human or animal, to a set of bold lines and basic shapes. Muco, for example, bears only a passing resemblance to a Shiba Inu, as Mizushina  draws her head like a stop sign with triangular ears. That hexagonal shape, however, provides Mizushina an ideal frame for Muco’s intense facial expressions, particularly her trademark grimace:

And while plenty of other manga artists use this same device to express extreme emotion, Mizushina really captures the essence of how an excited dog reacts to new things in its environment.

What I like best about Lovely Muco, though, is that Muco’s thought process isn’t like Grommit or Snoopy’s. She’s not building wild contraptions or fantasizing about being a World War I flying ace; she’s just trying to make sense of the people and things around her. Her fascination with ordinary objects is a nice reminder that part of living with a dog—or any sentient creature—is recognizing how strange and interesting our world must seem to them, and taking pleasure in their curiosity and enthusiasm. Recommended.

PS: If you just can’t get enough shiba inu hijinks, you can follow the real-life Muco’s exploits on Twitter. (Hat tip to @debaoki for the link.)

LOVELY MUCO! THE HAPPY DAILY LIFE OF MUCO AND MR. KOMATSU, VOL. 1 • ART AND STORY BY TAKAYUKI MIZUSHINA • TRANSLATED BY CASEY LEE •  KODANSHA COMICS  220 pp. • RATED 10+ (SUITABLE FOR READERS OF ALL AGES)

Sakamoto Days, Vol. 1

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The opening pages of Sakamoto Days unfold with ruthless efficiency: in just a handful of panels, author Yuto Suzuki shows us how twenty-two-year-old Taro Sakamoto, once Japan’s most “feared and revered” hit man, became Mr. Sakamoto, twenty-seven-year-old husband, father, and shopkeeper. Though Sakamoto seems content being the neighborhood jack-of-all-trades, his former associates view him as a potential threat, dispatching renown assassin Shin the Clairvoyant to kill him. Shin appears to have the upper hand in this contest—he’s younger, fitter, and, as his name suggests, telepathic—but Sakamoto quickly subdues Shin with a bag of cough drops and a well-timed kick, leaving Shin gasping for breath—and, oddly, eager to join forces with his old rival.

This initial encounter highlights Suzuki’s strengths and weaknesses as a storyteller. In the plus column is Suzuki’s ability to stage a great sight gag, as evidenced by Sakamoto’s MacGuyver-esque ability to transform ordinary objects into powerful weapons. Suzuki also makes the most of Sakamoto’s sangfroid; no matter how chaotic the scene or ridiculous his opponent, Sakamoto never betrays a hint of emotion, making him an excellent foil for the chatty Shin. In the minus column is Suzuki’s fixation with Sakamoto’s weight. Other characters routinely comment on how “out of shape” Sakamoto is, and express surprise at his speed and agility—Shin, for example, initially dismisses Sakamoto as a threat because “he’s gone all tubby now.” One or two comments in this vein are enough to subvert the idea that a skilled assassin needs to be fit to be lethal, but this “joke” is repeated almost every time Sakamoto mixes it up with a new bad guy. 

Art-wise, Suzuki’s style is pleasingly organic, relying more on linework than screentone to create depth and volume. Suzuki compliments this approach with an imaginative use of perspective and panel shape that suggests the controlled frenzy of Sakamoto’s attacks. In chapter three, for example, Shin and Sakamoto attempt to rescue Officer Nakase, a newly-minted cop who’s been kidnapped by a motorcycle gang. Sakamoto uses a smoke bomb to surprise his opponents, then unleashes a series of kicks, body slams, and upper cuts to overwhelm the gang members:


Suzuki presents the fight in a kaleidoscopic fashion, using panels of varying shapes and sizes to show how Sakamoto takes advantage of the smoke screen to dispatch his enemies, using the poor visibility to bob and weave his way to victory. The density of the images allows Suzuki to compress the action into just a few pages, creating a reading experience that puts the viewer in the middle of the action, watching the fight unfold in something approximating real time—a welcome antidote the bloated, multi-chapter fights scenes characteristic of so many Shonen Jump titles.

If some of the later chapters aren’t as tightly executed as the first, Sakamoto Days nonetheless achieves a good balance between character development and karate-chopping, affording us enough insight into Shin and Sakamoto’s personalities to make their Laurel and Hardy dynamic amusing. Recommended.

SAKAMOTO DAYS, VOL. 1 • ART AND STORY BY YUTO SUZUKI • TRANSLATED BY CAMILLA NIEH • LETTERING BY EVE GRANDT AND SNIR AHARON • VIZ MEDIA • RATED TEEN PLUS (VIOLENCE AND GORE) • 196 pp.

Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead, Vol. 1

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If your chief criticism of King of Eden was “not enough boobs,” have I got the manga for you: Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead, a comedy about a corporate drone whose life is transformed by the onset of a zombie plague. Its hero, Akira Tendo, sees opportunity where others see only chaos, and decides to make a bucket list of 100 things he wants to do before he, too, becomes one of the walking dead. His top priorities? Telling his voluptuous co-worker Ohtori how much he likes her—even if she is the “boss’ side piece”—and tracking down a mysterious hottie he encounters in a convenience store.

While Akira’s quest doesn’t sound particularly memorable, his new-found optimism makes him an agreeable guide through a Tokyo overrun by zombies. His palpable joy in quitting a soul-crushing job is infectious—if you’ll pardon the expression—as he finds pleasure in small things: riding a motorcycle for the first time, scavenging for his favorite beer, playing video games during normal business hours. No matter how much carnage he encounters, or how many of his bucket-list errands don’t go according to plan, Akira’s can-do spirit remains undiminished. So, too, is his loyalty to others, as evidenced by his willingness to rescue his childhood friend Tencho from a hotel overrun by zombies.

The hotel scene is indicative of what’s good and not so good about Zom 100. On the one hand, the friends’ shared ordeal leads to a heartfelt exchange in which they discuss why they drifted apart after college. Their dialogue is a little on-the-nose—“I got jealous of how successful you were and took my anger out on you,” Akira confesses in a torrent of tears and snot—but the characters’ sincerity makes Akira and Tencho’s reconciliation feel like a genuine moment of maturity.

On the other hand, the main reason this scene begins in a hotel—specifically, a love hotel—is to offer some good old-fashioned fan service, as Kencho is trapped in a bondage chamber with an irate, naked zombie who’s been chained to the wall. The zombie is drawn in loving detail, right down to her perky breasts, but serves no real dramatic purpose; she exists mainly to make young male readers gawp at Kencho’s predicament. The same goes for several other gratuitous moments of nudity and pin-up posturing, none of which feel necessary or demonstrate artist Kotaro Takata’s skill at drawing attractive, anatomically correct women. (All of his figures seem to have a few extra vertebrae.)

The fan service is indicative of a deeper problem as well: the zombies—or the boobs, for that matter—don’t feel essential to Akira’s story. Almost any catastrophe or life-altering event could have set the plot in motion, whether it was a devastating medical diagnosis or Earth’s impending collision with a meteor. Equally disappointing is that Akira’s quest feels more like a to-do list than a real emotional journey; even he seems disappointed in his inability to come up with a sufficiently long or imaginative bucket list. As a result, Akira seems like just another standard-issue shonen lead, blessed with an optimism that sometimes makes him seem a little dim, a superhuman ability to escape life-threatening situations, and an uncanny knack for stumbling into situations with hot women. I don’t know about you, but I would have enjoyed this series 100% more if the gender roles had been reversed, if only for the sight of a former office lady cheerfully riding a Harley through a zombie horde on her way to score a few brews.

To read a brief excerpt of Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead, click here.

ZOM 100: BUCKET LIST OF THE DEAD, VOL. 1 • STORY BY HARO ASO • ART BY KOTARO TAKATA • TRANSLATION BY NOVA SKIPPER • TOUCH-UP ART & LETTERING BY VANESSA SATONE • EDITED BY KARLA CLARK • VIZ MEDIA • RATED: OLDER TEEN (PARTIAL NUDITY, GORE, VIOLENCE) • 159 pp.

The Way of the Househusband, Vols. 2-3

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The Way of the Househusband has the rhythms of a good sitcom: it has a simple, well-defined premise, a few lead characters with strong personalities, and an episodic formula that’s flexible enough to create endless opportunities to tell the same joke in new and surprising ways. In the first volume, for example, almost every storyline revolved around Tatsu’s fanatical dedication to his role as stay-at-home spouse, whether he was bargain hunting at the grocery store or racing to the train station with his wife’s lunchbox. The mere sight of him in an apron, track suit, and aviator glasses was a good sight gag made better by Tatsu’s sheer cluelessness; he never seemed to realize that people were staring at him in the checkout line and the butcher’s shop.

Volumes two and three find Tatsu in equally incongruous situations. In chapter 10, for example, he joins the neighborhood housewives’ aerobics class, flashing his terrifying yakuza sneer every time the instructor commands her charges to “smile,” while in chapter 16, Tatsu demonstrates a hidden talent for spiking and setting when he joins the ladies’ volleyball team. The volleyball game is a great variation on the series’ best running joke. Though most civilians find him a terrifying oddity, the neighborhood ladies’ association looks at Tatsu as one of their own; they include him in activities, offer him tips on how to run his household more efficiently, and even help him impress a former boss with an impromptu display of culinary prowess.

Perhaps the most important development in volumes two and three, however, is the introduction of Tatsu’s old enemies, all of whom are genuinely bewildered by his retirement from the knee-capping business. These exchanges thrum with the comic energy of a Damon Runyon story as Tatsu schools his fellow yakuza on stain removal and dessert making. That Tatsu discusses his career change without apology or explanation is a nice touch, as it throws his opponents off their game and reinforces the idea that he likes being a stay-at-home husband.

My only concern about The Way of the Househusband is that Tatsu’s wife is more a collection of moods and preferences than a fully persuasive character. Miku is marked by extremes: she has an intense, child-like obsession with Poli-Cure, an anime whose core fanbase is about ten years old, but is also a fierce workaholic whose resists Tatsu’s efforts to pamper her with scented candles and scalp massages. Though the gags built around her personality usually land, it sometimes feels like they’d be funnier if we understood a little more about how Miku and Tatsu met, or what keeps them together. From time to time, author Kousuke Oono hints the two have more in common than meets the eye–Miku is handy with a knife and a bat, too–but a little more attention to her character would be welcome.

That said, The Way of the Househusband remains consistently funny three volumes into its run, offering a fresh take on that most timeless of sitcom premises: the fish out of water. Recommended.

VIZ Media provided a review copy of volume two.

THE WAY OF THE HOUSEHUSBAND, VOLS. 2-3 • STORY AND ART BY KOUSUKE OONO • TRANSLATION BY SHELDON DRZKA AND AMANDA HALEY, ADAPTATION BY JENNIFER LEBLANC • VIZ MEDIA, LLC • RATED T+, FOR OLDER TEENS (SUGGESTED VIOLENCE, YAKUZA JOKES)

Saint Young Men, Vol. 1

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Saint Young Men sounds like the set-up for a George Carlin routine: Jesus and Buddha spend a “gap year” on Earth, sharing an apartment in present-day Tokyo while wrestling with the temptations and banalities of modern life. The manga’s prevailing tone, however, is more silly than satirical, focusing not on big theological or philosophical questions, but mundane ones: how to stretch a monthly budget, where to find the best souvenirs, how to fend off drunken commuters.

Most of the humor stems from Hikaru Nakamura’s portrayal of Jesus and Buddha as opposites, with Jesus as a cheerful spendthrift with a fondness for t-shirts and tschotkes, and Buddha as a frugal “big brother” who agonizes over every purchase. The two have a kind of Ernie-and-Bert dynamic in which Buddha frequently chastises Jesus for his impulsive behavior, whether Jesus has purchased a “shinsengumi set” or wants to wear a pair of Mickey Mouse ears in public. Though their bickering provides most of the series’ comic fodder, there are also jokes about walking on water and turning water into wine, as well as a few sly pokes at Osamu Tezuka’s Buddha.

Anyone hoping to be outraged by Saint Young Men will be sorely disappointed, since its most blasphemous idea is that even Jesus and Buddha can’t resist the temptations of social media and shopping for melon bread. Anyone hoping for more insight into the human condition will likewise be disappointed, as Nakamura settles for easy laughs in lieu of real insight or religious critique—a missed opportunity, I think, since her premise offers plenty of latitude to reflect on Buddhist and Christian teachings, or the perils of modern-day materialism. A few good sight gags land well, but the manga’s eagerness to please blunts the edge of its best ideas. Your mileage may vary.

SAINT YOUNG MEN, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY HIKARU NAKAMURA • TRANSLATION BY ALTHEA AND ATHENA NIBLEY • KODANSHA COMICS • 152 pp.

 

Skull-Face Bookseller Honda-san, Vol. 1

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If you’ve ever worked a thankless retail job, you’ll appreciate Skull-Face Bookseller Honda-san, a candid, fitfully funny series about working in the customer service industry. The titular character works in the manga section of a large Tokyo bookstore, helping buyers find the perfect series, taking inventory, and meeting with representatives from major publishers.

Some of her adventures are genuinely amusing, as when a handsome male customer requests explicit doujinshi for his daughter, or an American fujoshi explains her penchant for a particular seme-uke dynamic; other chapters are more matter-of-fact, conveying the difficulties of keeping popular titles in stock, or documenting the social and professional interactions among the staff members. Though none of its is laugh-out-loud funny, the artwork is terrific, capturing Honda-san’s sweaty anxiety every time a customer or colleague makes an uncomfortable request of her—no mean feat, given that the artist has depicted herself with a skeleton head and androgynous, apron-clad body. (Her colleagues’ identities have been camouflaged in a similar fashion: one has a paper bag for a head, and another wears a gas mask.) Amanda Haley’s thoughtful translation complements Honda’s crisp illustrations, offering useful context for understanding the unique challenges of selling manga to the general public, and plenty of footnotes to decode the insider shop-talk.

Yet for all the craft with which Skull-Face Bookseller is written, I never fully succumbed to its charms. I found the pacing uneven and the publishing-focused chapters long-winded, especially when contrasted with the snappy staging of Honda-san’s encounter with the international BL brigade. I’m still curious about the series, but would put Skull-Face Bookseller in the same category as Saint Young Men: a comedy that’s better in principle than in practice. Your mileage may vary.

SKULL-FACE BOOKSELLER HONDA-SAN, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY HONDA • TRANSLATION BY AMANDA HALEY • YEN PRESS • NO RATING • 166 pp.

Ms. Kozumi Loves Ramen Noodles, Vol. 1

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Ms. Kozumi Loves Ramen Noodles is pretty much what you’d expect from the title: a manga about a high school student whose interest in noodles crosses the line from simple enthusiasm into full-blown mania. While Kozumi’s peers go to the mall or the malt shop, she visits out-of-the-way restaurants to sample every conceivable type of ramen, from spicy to sour to sweet. Her passion is so extreme, in fact, that she ditches school for a 200-mile trip to Iwaki just to taste a local specialty: no-bake natto ramen. Though Kozumi is uninterested in socializing with her classmates, three girls—Yu, Misa, and Jun—find Kozumi’s reticence an irresistible challenge, and repeatedly seek her company outside of school. Yu, in particular, is one of those only-in-manga characters whose cheerfully inappropriate behavior would be considered creepy in almost any other context, as she follows Kozumi to ramen joints around Tokyo, copying Kozumi’s behavior and—more egregiously—her orders. When Yu’s pals befriend Kozumi before she does, she flies into a jealous tizzy, and doubles down on her efforts to show Kozumi that she, too, appreciates ramen.

These scenes are clearly intended to be funny, but the social dynamic among the four principal characters is too strained to elicit laughter, as it relies almost entirely on the characters behaving idiotically for effect. The artwork, too, leaves something to be desired, juxtaposing hyper-realistic drawings of food and condiments with ultra-cutesy character designs that seem ready-made for key chains and body pillows. The cuteness would be less off-putting if the characters weren’t frequently drawn in rapturous close-up, sucking down noodles while suggestive trickles of broth dangled from their lips—a potent reminder that Ms. Kozumi runs in a seinen magazine and not, say, Bessatsu Friend.

The shop talk, by contrast, is genuinely enlightening. If your primary experience with ramen has been limited to steaming bowls of noodles, scallions, and chicken broth, the sheer range of dishes will come as a revelation; in one sequence, for example, Kozumi describes a form of ice cream ramen, while in another, Jun discovers the savory pleasures of a salted pineapple ramen bowl. A solid translation by Ayumi Kato Blystone helps convey what’s distinctive about each dish, and offers good insight into how dishes are prepared—more so, in fact, than many ostensibly “serious” food manga. So on that front, at least, Ms. Kozumi succeeds in communicating why the title character likes ramen so much; too bad the reader has to soldier past so much resolutely unfunny slapstick to enjoy the tastiest bits. Your mileage may vary.

MS. KOZUMI LOVES RAMEN NOODLES, VOL. 1 • ART AND STORY BY NARU NARUMI • TRANSLATED BY AYUMI KATO BLYSTONE • DARK HORSE COMICS • 136 pp. • NO RATING

The Way of the Househusband, Vol. 1

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If you’ve seen Lillehammer or My Blue Heaven, you’ll immediately recognize the foundation on which The Way of the Househusband is built: a mafia don or hit man renounces his old life and joins the ranks of ordinary civilians working nine-to-five jobs, mowing lawns, and attending school plays. Predictably, the transition from whacking rivals to whacking weeds is a bumpy one, as the former criminal discovers that the skills he acquired in his old line of work haven’t fully equipped him for a more prosaic existence; seemingly benign interactions at the principal’s office or the post office are fraught with peril, as they’re guided by unfamiliar social codes. Then, too, there’s the specter of his old life—the possibility that a former associate might recognize him or seek him out for one last job.

The Way of the Househusband covers all of this well-spaded ground, earning its laughs by putting fresh twists on familiar scenarios. Its protagonist, the stone-faced Tatsu, is a former yakuza boss-cum-househusband who spends his days making elaborate bento boxes for his wife and scouring the grocery store for bargains. As is standard for this particular fish-out-of-water genre, Tatsu’s sangfroid is sorely tested by the minor annoyances of civilian life: a visit from the neighborhood association president, a trip to the mall.

When a knife salesman knocks on Tatsu’s door, for example, author Kousuke Oono teases the idea that his characters’ interactions might end in violence or a harrowing demonstration of Tatsu’s knife-wielding skills. Instead, Tatsu has an opportunity to show off his culinary prowess, winning over the understandably nervous salesman with his “patented hamburger steak plate.” The salesman’s rhapsodic expression and interior monologue put the gag over the top, as the salesman identifies the dish’s secret ingredient—“minced fish paste”—and muses that its flavor “takes me back to my hometown.”

Strong artwork is essential to selling a slapstick premise like Househusband’s, and for the most part, Oono succeeds. Oono’s characters have distinctive appearances that makes it easy to “read” their comic function–the suspicious neighbor, the former crime associate–but Oono never relies on this technique alone, often giving bit players an unexpected moment of steeliness or resourcefulness that nudges the joke in an unexpected direction. The salesman, for example, looks like a soft, middle-aged man, but turns out to be stronger, pushier, and more determined than his initial reaction to Tatsu might suggest, quickly recovering his composure after Tatsu answers the door wearing a bloody apron. (“I was just, uh, doin’ a little butcherin’,” Tatsu explains sheepishly.)

Appearance-wise, Oono does a great job of making Tatsu look utterly incongruous with his surroundings. With his pencil-thin mustache, scarred face, and aviator sunglasses–not to mention his black suit and tattoos–Tatsu cuts a striking figure in the supermarket and on the street. Oono invigorates this obvious sight gag by swathing Tatsu in housewife “drag,” outfitting him in a kerchief and apron emblazoned with a shiba inu to further emphasize just what a fish out of water Tatsu is. That same attention to detail extends to the way that Tatsu moves; Oono draws him like a human cobra whose sinewy, explosive movements strike terror into his enemies’–and his neighbors’–hearts.

Sheldon Drzka and Jennifer LeBlanc’s skillful adaptation of the script is the icing on the cake, giving every character a distinctive voice, and every exchange the pleasant zing of a good Saturday Night Live or Key & Peele sketch–no mean feat, given the cultural specificity of the jokes.

As good as the script and art are, however, I have a sneaking suspicion that Way of the Househusband might run out of gas after three or four volumes unless Oono pivots the storyline in a new direction–say, by introducing a baby into the picture, or revealing that Tatsu’s hard-charging wife has a secret past of her own. But for now, I’m happy to continue reading any series that pits a former yakuza boss against a Roomba and a frisky cat, or depicts a manly man going to extreme lengths to ensure that his wife has a tasty lunch. In the immortal words of Paris Hilton, that’s hawt. Recommended.

VIZ Media provided a review copy. Read a free preview here.

THE WAY OF THE HOUSEHUSBAND, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY KOUSUKE OONO • TRANSLATION BY SHELDON DRZKA, ADAPTATION BY JENNIFER LEBLANC • VIZ MEDIA, LLC • 166 pp. • RATED T+, FOR OLDER TEENS (SUGGESTED VIOLENCE, YAKUZA JOKES)

The Delinquent Housewife!, Vol. 1

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The Spouse With a Secret ranks among the top five narrative devices of all time, as it lends itself to so many different genres: horror stories, costume dramas, lurid thrillers. The Delinquent Housewife! puts a humorous spin on the concept, pitting a seemingly demure newlywed against her in-laws. Though her husband assures Tomugi that his family will embrace her as a cherished member, she isn’t so sure, as Tohru’s younger sister Yukari seems determined to prove to the rest of the Komukai clan that Tomugi is a poor match for Tohru.

Sustaining this premise is a delicate balancing act; if the author hides Tomugi’s secret from the reader or the other characters for too long, the story might become tedious, but if she puts that information out in the open too soon, the story might lose momentum. Nemu Yoko splits the difference, teasing the reader about Tomugi’s big secret for the first thirty pages before dropping a bombshell: Tomugi belonged to a bosozoku (bike) gang. Yoko wisely doesn’t put all her cards on the table, however, leaving the reader to guess how and why the clean-cut Tohru fell for Tomugi.

Yoko makes another smart choice in removing Tohru from the picture just a few pages into volume one, sending him on a mysterious business trip of indefinite length. Though this plot development is a capital-C contrivance, it serves two important functions: it hints that Tohru may be harboring an even bigger secret than Tomugi, and it forces Tomugi to interact with the entire Komukai clan. In particular, Tohru’s absence exacerbates the conflict between Tomugi and Yukari, who views her older brother in a hagiographic light; Yukari spends several chapters scheming ways to expose Tomugi’s culinary deficits, certain that Tomugi’s terrible cooking will be the demise of her marriage to Tohru.

While many of the comic devices are straight out of Moliere — eavesdropping at the door, sneaking around under cover of darkness — The Delinquent Housewife! never feels rote; Yoko puts just enough spin on familiar scenarios to make the jokes’ punchlines seem fresh. Grandpa Komukai, for example, presents like a befuddled old pervert but turns out to be more perceptive about his new in-law than the skeptical Yukari, while Tomugi’s bosozoku buddies prove a fount of useful information about housework. (Her friend Ami’s cooking lesson is a highlight of volume one, a gleeful marriage of foul language, insults, and no-nonsense tips for mastering kitchen basics.) Perhaps the most surprising thing about The Delinquent Housewife! is that Yoko is unsparing in her portrayal of Tomugi’s immaturity, depicting her as a self-pitying leech who’s still blaming her parents for her shortcomings. Yet Tomugi isn’t a monster; even in her worst moments, her interactions with Ami, Dai (Tohru’s kid brother), and Tohru suggest that Tomugi is, at bottom, someone who’s just looking for a family to call her own, even if she’s using questionable tactics to get one.

If I had any criticism of The Delinquent Housewife!, it’s that Tomugi’s tough-girl talk sounds stilted, see-sawing between Noo Joisey realness and teenage text-speak — a tonal problem that might be an artifact of the original script, rather than a by-product of the translation process. On the whole, however, The Delinquent Housewife! is a welcome addition to the Vertical Comics catalog, an energetic comedy that earns its laughs with thoughtful characterizations, appealing art, and juicy plot twists. Recommended.

THE DELINQUENT HOUSEWIFE!, VOL. 1 • STORY & ART BY NEMU YOKO • TRANSLATION BY DAVID MUSTO • VERTICAL COMICS • NO RATING • 192 pp.

Chio’s School Road, Vol. 1

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With the new school year underway, now seemed like the ideal time to review Chio’s School Road, a gag manga about an average teen with a rich imagination and a talent for getting into trouble. Think of it as a female answer to My Neighbor Seki or Haven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto!!, two similar comedies in which a high school student turns out to have some truly astonishing skills.

Chio’s School Road is built on a simple but sturdy premise: Chio Miyamo, an average high school student, goes to comic lengths to avoid embarrassment. And by “comic lengths,” I mean diving into dumpsters, hiding in a tree, and giving her best friend a passionate kiss to conceal the fact they were eavesdropping on the popular kids. To be sure, these kind of scenarios are standard comic fodder, but Tadataka Kawasaki takes the gags in such unpredictable directions that the payoffs are fresh and funny without frustrating the reader’s desire to see the dignity-challenged Chio prevail.

In chapter three, for example, Chio stumbles into an alley blocked by members of a biker gang. Her attempt to slip past them goes awry, leading to confrontation in which Chio inadvertently escalates the situation with a nervous stutter. “You pick a fight and then laugh? You got some balls!” the head biker declares, prompting Chio to reveal her “true” identity as Bloody Butterfly, an assassin who’s “out every night packing heat” in the mean streets of Tokyo. The joke, of course, is that Chio is recycling bits of dialogue from her favorite first-person shooter game, delivering her lines with the swagger of a yakuza foot solider — a swagger she can’t sustain as soon as she arrives on school grounds.

The only strike against Chio’s School Road is the fan service. In one particularly egregious sequence, Kawasaki draws a woman’s chest as if two balloon animals were tussling under her sweater. (Seriously, folks: breasts do not look like balloon animals. Not even on a braless woman. No, really.) These panels are noticeable in part because his draftsmanship is otherwise crisp and convincing, creating a vivid sense of the urban neighborhood where Chio attends school, and strong sense of the characters’ personalities. Still, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend Chio’s School Road to fans of My Neighbor Seki and Haven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto!, as it delivers a steady stream of amusing, weird, and well-executed jokes. Better still, Chio earns its laughs honestly by reminding us that Chio isn’t ordinary at all; she’s just striving to be. Recommended.

Chio’s School Road, Vol. 1
Art & Story by Tadataka Kawasaki
Translated by Alexander Keller-Nelson
Yen Press, 160 pp.
Rated OT, for Older Teens (Sexual and bathroom humor; fan service)

Laid-Back Camp, Vol. 1

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Laid-Back Camp may be the most quintessentially Japanese thing I’ve read this year: it features cute girls doing cute things while imparting information about camping gear. There’s no real plot to speak of, just a meet-cute in the first chapter that introduces seasoned camper Rin to enthusiastic newbie Nadeshiko. Through one of those only-in-manga coincidences, Rin and Nadeshiko attend the same school, where two other girls — Aoi and Chiaki — are struggling to recruit members for their Outdoor Exploration Club. You can guess what happens next: Nadeshiko joins the club and, by dint of her Golden Retriever personality, brings the skeptical Rin into the fold.

Each chapter is built around a skill, a piece of equipment, or a location. In “Mount Fuji and Cup Ramen,” for example, Rin explains how to build the perfect campfire, calling dried pine cones “nature’s premier fire starter,” while in “You Can Only Go Camping If You Have the Gear,” the Outdoor Exploration Club pores over catalogs, debating the merits of down and synthetic sleeping bags. These passages are deftly woven into the fabric of each story, playing a natural part of the girls’ conversations as they plan camping trips. Dashes of humor and breath-taking scenery add welcome nuance to the storytelling, preventing it from tipping into edu-manga dullness or yon-koma hijinks. Best of all, Rin is a genuinely interesting character, a small, self-sufficient kid who likes solo camping trips. Though volume one doesn’t explain how she caught the camping bug, author Afro has done such a good job of fleshing out Rin it doesn’t matter; we can see how someone so introspective and independent would welcome the opportunity to be alone in nature. Recommended, even for those who prefer the Great Indoors.

Laid-Back Camp, Vol. 1
Story and Art by Afro
Translation by Amber Tamosaitis
Yen Press, 178 pp.
Rated T, for Teen

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle, Vol. 1

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Since one in four Americans suffer from insomnia, it seems like there’s a natural market for Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle, a manga about a character so determined to get a good night’s sleep that she’d risk death or dismemberment for forty winks. Sleepy Princess plays the title character’s insomnia for laughs, however, turning the heroine’s quest for the perfect mattress into a light-hearted romp, rather than an expensive ordeal involving black-out curtains, melatonin, and meditation videos. That the story is fun and breezy is nothing short of a miracle, though older readers may experience a twinge of jealously at Princess Syalis’ ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime once she has the right gear.

Author Kagiji Kumanomata handles the set-up with great economy: in just two pages, we learn the Demon King has kidnapped Syalis in a bid to conquer the human world. Though the Demon King stashes Syalis in a dungeon populated by fearsome beasts, Syalis quickly sizes up the situation and makes it work to her advantage. “Since I’m hostage, the Demon King has no intention of harming me,” she notes. “I have no duties to take care of here… And the food’s pretty tasty!” The one drawback to her new digs? “I haven’t been able to get a good night’s rest since I was brought here!” she exclaims.

A chance encounter with teddy demons leads to her first epiphany: her captors’ fur is the ideal stuffing for a comfy pillow. Before long, Syalis is roaming the castle in search of softer sheets, mosquito netting, and a more natural light source, the better to regulate her body’s circadian rhythms. Her dogged efforts to sleep longer or more soundly confound her jailers, who are astonished at how brazenly she takes what she needs; Syalis dies at least three times in her quest for the perfect sleep accessories. (Don’t worry; a handsome demon cleric is on hand to resurrect her mangled body.)

As with other one-joke manga, Sleepy Princess occasionally strains for laughs; an episode involving poison mushrooms falls flat, as does a spoof of Princess Knight. The chapters’ brevity helps keep the story from bogging down in bad jokes, as does Kumanomata’s consummate attention to detail; there’s always something funny happening, even if the gags are buried in the background or lurking on the edges of the page. An artful adaptation by Annette Roman helps bridge the translation divide, as do Susan Daigle-Leach’s marvelous sound effects. (If you’ve ever wondered what a posse of demon teddy bears might sound like, she’s got you covered.) Best of all, Kumanomata has barely scratched the surface when it comes to insomnia, leaving the door open for future quests, from finding the right bedtime snack to finding the right temperature for sleeping. Recommended.

SLEEPY PRINCESS IN THE DEMON CASTLE, VOL. 1 • BY KAGIJI KUMANOMATA • TRANSLATION BY TETSUICHIRO MITAYKI • ADAPTATION BY ANNETTE ROMAN • TOUCH-UP ART AND LETTERING BY SUSAN DAIGLE-LEACH • VIZ MEDIA • 174 pp. • RATED TEEN (13+) FOR FANTASY VIOLENCE

Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei: The Power of Negative Thinking, Vol. 1

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Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei: The Power of Negative Thinking may not be as relentlessly intertextual as Ulysses, but this Japanese import is nearly as rich in puns, social commentary, pop-culture parody, and allusions to TV shows, novels, movies, and manga. I can’t imagine adapting such a culturally specific text for Western audiences, yet the folks at Del Rey have made a game effort to do just that. Given the scope and complexity of the task, I think translator Joyce Aurino has produced an eminently readable script that captures the darkness and absurdity of Koji Kumeta’s original. I just wish it were, y’know, funnier.

The premise seems ripe with comic potential. High school teacher and profound pessimist Nozomu Itoshiki lands the gig from hell: an all-female class of stalkers, hikokimori, obsessive text-messagers, bossy perfectionists, panty-flashers, and perky optimists. Try as he might to escape his obligations, his students foil his repeated suicide attempts, compounding his sense of despair and driving him to more extreme, ridiculous measures.

Through a series of interconnected vignettes, we begin to grasp the true extent of Itoshiki’s negativity as well as the sheer nuttiness of his students. In “Zetsubou-Sensei Returns,” for example, Itoshiki instructs his students to complete a “Post Graduation Career Hope Survey” by listing the three dreams they’re least likely to realize, e.g. playing baseball for Yomiuri Giants, recording a best-selling pop album. His sour-spirited effort quickly backfires, however, when the school’s guidance counselor reads the responses and praises Itoshiki for encouraging his students to dream big. In “Before Me, There’s No One; Behind Me, There’s You,” Matoi Tsunetsuki, a.k.a. “super-love-obsessed stalker girl,” develops an unhealthy attachment to Itoshiki. Matoi pursues her teacher with steely determination, adopting his trademark yukata, building a shrine to him, and following him everywhere. The chapter ends with a brilliant stroke, as one of Matoi’s former love interests begins tailing her to find out who’s replaced him, only to discover a chain of stalkers trailing in Matoi and Itoshiki’s wake.

Unfortunately, many of the stories require too much editorial intervention to elicit real laughs, as Kumeta’s panels abound in the kind of small but important details that resist easy translation: brand name parodies, puns on famous literary works, misspelled words, and so forth. The story titles, too, require explanation; “Behind Me, There’s No One,” for example, is a riff on a poem by Kotaro Takamura, while “Beyond the Tunnel Was Whiteness” appropriates a line from Yasanuri Kuwabata’s Snow Country. Absent this rich network of cultural references, Kometa’s comedy loses some of its fizz, playing more like a mild satire of shojo manga conventions than a scathing commentary on contemporary Japan.

If the text sometimes disappoints, the artwork does not. Kumeta uses a stark palette with large patches of pure black and plenty of white space. His highly stylized character designs have a pleasing, geometric quality about them, as do the patterns in their clothing. Though his faces are the essence of simplicity— just a few lines and two dark coals for eyes—Kumeta animates them with skill, registering the full gamut of emotions from anger to joy. His students are virtually interchangeable, save for their accessories and hairstyles: a black eye and a sling for the class masochist, blonde hair and strawberry-print underpants for the class exhibitionist. Again, Kumeta’s economy of form works beautifully, underscoring the extent to which Itoshiki views all of the girls in the same light: as nuisances.

I wish I liked Sayonara, Zetsubou-Sensei better, as I think Kumeta is a terrific artist with a fertile imagination. But it’s awfully hard to laugh when 70% of the jokes require footnotes. (If you disagree, try this exercise: watch an episode of Seinfeld, The Chapelle Show, or South Park with someone who’s new to the United States. Then try explaining why the jokes work. You’ll quickly realize the degree to which the creators rely on your knowledge of literature, politics, movies, and pop music for laughs.) I’m also a little uncomfortable with the way Kumeta depicts the female students, as he skates a thin line between poking fun at stock manga characters and portraying teenage girls as desperate, manipulative, boy-crazed hysterics. I wouldn’t go as far as to label the text misogynist—that term seems much too strong—but I would feel more at ease with the material if Kumeta’s cast was comprised of troublesome girls and boys—equal opportunity neurosis, if you will.

That said, I’m not ready to declare Zetsubou-Sensei a dud; I’m just not sure how invested I am in a series that requires its own set of cultural Cliff Notes to decode.

This review originally appeared at The Manga Curmudgeon on March 4, 2009.

Short Takes: The Promised Neverland and Silver Spoon

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Just a word to the wise: it’s impossible to discuss either Neverland or Spoon without divulging a few plot details, so be mindful if you’re the kind of person who hates–HATES–spoilers. Caveat lector!

The Promised Neverland, Vol. 4
Written by Kaiu Shirai, Illustrated by Posuka Demizu
Translated by Satsuki Yamashita
VIZ Media
Rated T+, for older teens

One of the pleasures of reading The Promised Neverland is its crack pacing: Kaiu Shirai and Posuka Demizu have a knack for the perfectly timed reveal and the pulse-pounding action sequence. Volume three was a rare misstep for the series, saddled with too many contrived plot twists, but volume four is a return to form, briskly setting the kids’ escape in motion. The story occasionally flags when Emma, Ray, and Norman explain the finer details of their plan to one another, but these moments serve an essential dramatic purpose, helping us appreciate how perilous their journey will be. These conversations also remind us how much the principal trio rely on one another for emotional support, a point driven home by the authors’ decision to sacrifice one of the main characters. (And I mean a main character, not a red shirt.)

Perhaps the most surprising thing about The Promised Neverland is its feminist subtext. In the final pages of volume three, Krone reveals that the brightest orphan girls are groomed for house mother positions. The full horror of this arrangement, however, only becomes apparent in volume four. In a few suggestive images, Demizu vividly conveys the grotesque sacrifices that Gracefield Manor’s female residents make in order to survive their twelfth birthday. A brief interlude set in a factory evokes the grim spirit of The Handmaid’s Tale, imagining a world in which young women are cruelly exploited for their fertility, then coerced into perpetuating the very system that oppresses them.

I know — I’m making The Promised Neverland sound like Terribly Serious Reading, but rest assured it isn’t. The story is, at bottom, a juicy prison drama in which the jailers are actual monsters and the prisoners pint-sized MacGuyvers. Though the subtext enriches the narrative, inviting multiple readings, the story never feels like an obvious parable about factory farming or reproductive rights. Recommended.

Silver Spoon, Vol. 2
Written and Illustrated by Hiromu Arakawa
Translated by Amanda Haley
Yen Press
Rated T, for teens

After an introductory volume in which Hachiken (a) fell face-first into poop (b) insulted his classmates repeatedly (c) joined the equestrian club just to impress a girl and (d) realized that the piglet he was raising would soon be bacon, volume two affords him a rare moment of grace. The students’ discovery of an abandoned brick oven prompts them to make pizza — something only Hachiken knows how to do. The act of cooking for so many people forces Hachiken to improvise, rather than plan, forcing him outside his academic and social comfort zone — and making his brief turn in the spotlight even more satisfying.

Lest Hachiken’s triumph seem a little too tidy, the rest of volume two sees him reverting to bumbling city slicker, as he gets lost in the woods looking for cell phone reception, gags at the sight of a newborn calf, and, yes, falls face-first into another pile of manure. Hiromu Arakawa sells these moments with her trademark over-the-top reaction shots; no one can distort or bend a human face with the same verve as Arakawa, who turns every setback, humiliation, and surprise into an opportunity to draw rivers of snot and tears. Though she excels at slapstick, Arakawa tempers the jokes with moments of real drama that make Hachiken realize just how much Komaba and Mikage’s families struggle to keep their modest dairy farms afloat. It’s these quieter moments that remind us just what a capable storyteller Arakawa really is, and make Silver Spoon more than just a gag manga with farm animals. Recommended.

Heaven’s Design Team, Vol. 1

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Do you remember that moment in your manga-reading journey when you discovered that there was a manga about golf? Or pachinko? Or train station bento boxes? I do: I’d just read an entry in Shaenon Garrity’s Overlooked Manga Festival, and was astonished to discover that someone had written manga about Cup Noodle and 7-Eleven. I hadn’t been curious about the origins of either instant ramen or convenience stores, but the possibility of learning about them from manga was so irresistible that I tracked down copies. Neither manga were good, exactly, but I found them oddly compelling, both for their sincerity and their attention to small but interesting details.

I had a similar experience with Heaven’s Design Team, a new edu-manga that explains how different animal species are uniquely adapted to their environments. Its creative team has taken a bolder approach to their subject than Project X‘s, opting for humor over straightforward dramatization. The basic mode of storytelling, however, reminded me of Cup Noodle and 7-Eleven, relying heavily on talking heads to impart information.

Heaven’s Design Team has a faintly blasphemous premise: God is so busy running the world that He’s outsourced the creation of new animal and plant species to a crack team of designers. God still has a hand in deciding whether unicorns go into production or not, but He’s largely an invisible presence in the story, while the motley crew of consultants take center stage. Each designer has a signature animal — a horse, a cow, a snake, a bird — that he or she is trying to improve, and one well-defined personality trait — say, a fondness for lethal predators — that puts him or her into conflict with other team members.

That’s an imaginative strategy for teaching readers about the quirks of animal anatomy, but Heaven’s Design Team never quite finds its groove. Part of the problem lies with the authors’ dogged adherence to formula; at the beginning of every story, the design team fields an order from the Big Guy for an “adorably uncute animal” or “an animal that can eat tall plants,” then bickers their way to creating an actual species like the common egg snake, the giraffe, the armadillo, or the narwhal. Their design process yields nuggets of information about the creatures they’re envisioning that, at chapter’s end, turn out to be real attributes of real animals. So many of these factual tidbits are related through talking-head panels, however, that the manga often feels more like a PowerPoint presentation than a story, despite the authors’ attempts to make these info-dump conversations more animated with facial close-ups and dramatic poses.

From time to time, however, Heaven’s Design Team drops a joke that’s so weird or so well executed it earns a real laugh. In one scene, for example, two unicorns accidentally bump into one another, prompting a terse exchange straight out of Goodfellas. In another sight gag, Shimoda, the team’s most straight-laced member, visits the Insect Department, a division populated entirely by young men with identical haircuts and glasses–the ultimate worker bees. These moments last only a panel or two, but they hint at what the series might have been if the authors hadn’t suffered the same repetition compulsion as their characters. Your milage may vary. 

Heaven’s Design Team, Vol. 1
Written by Hebi-Zou and Tsuta Suzuki, Art by Tarako
Translated by
Kodansha Comics, 142 pp.
Rated E, for Everyone