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Kodansha Comics

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 jars and containers. I loved her dearly, but I admit that there were times when I fantasized about living with a dog who didn’t behave like she owned us.

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, though, 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 of bemused owner and confused dog.

Takayuki Mizushina’s artwork is more gestural than literal, distilling each character to a set of bold lines and simple geometric shapes. Muco’s face, in particular, bears only a passing resemblance to a shiba inu’s; her head is a hexagon with two triangles perched on top, providing Mizushina an ideal canvas for capturing Muco’s over-the-top responses to everything. In many sequences, I was struck by how much her facial expressions reminded me of Domo’s, right down to the way she grimaces when she has an epiphany:

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 in her environment. 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)

The Best and Worst Manga of 2022

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When I sat down to compose my Best of 2022 list, I was certain I’d compiled a similar one as recently as 2017, only to discover that I hadn’t done so in almost seven years. In looking over some of my earlier efforts, I hardly recognize myself: who was this person with the energy to review 40 or 50 books in a year? Or who thought that Yowamushi Pedal was the best new series of 2015? It felt a little daunting to revisit those lists, honestly, as I’ve often let my blog lie fallow for months at a stretch as I adjusted to a more demanding teaching schedule or a longer commute; I’ve been vowing to “bring back” The Manga Critic for years. Reading other bloggers’ year-end lists, however, inspired me to get back in the saddle and take stock of the manga I loved—and didn’t—in 2022.

Best New Manga: Shuna’s Journey
By Hayao Miyazaki • Translated by Alex Dudok de Wit • First Second
In this deceptively simple work, Hayao Miyazaki creates a richly detailed world filled with beautiful, strange imagery that invites the reader to contemplate where and when the story takes place without definitively answering those questions. Miyazaki’s hero is just as mysterious as the landscapes he crosses; Shuna’s odyssey is not a journey of self-discovery but a practical quest that, despite its myriad hardships, leaves him fundamentally unchanged. Is a he a folkloric hero or a witness to environmental catastrophe? Miyazaki leaves that question unanswered as well, creating a work that’s more ambiguous and less didactic than Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind or Princess Mononoke, but similar in its emphasis on the complex relationship between humans and the natural world.

Best Archival Project: Talk to My Back
By Yamada Murasaki • Translated by Ryan Holmberg • Drawn & Quarterly
“For six years now, I’ve never walked at a pace that was mine,” observes Chiharu, the protagonist of Yamada Murasaki’s sharply observed Talk to My Back. First published in the 1980s, Murasaki’s thirty-six vignettes chronicle the small pleasures and intense disappointments of a middle-class Japanese housewife. Through spare linework and judicious use of blank space, Murasaki conveys Chiharu’s quest to define herself outside the role of mother and wife, documenting Chiharu’s anger, frustration, and alienation in a restrained fashion that suggests how stifled and powerless Chiharu often feels. In a thorough, thoughtful companion essay, translator Ryan Holmberg explores Murasaki’s trailblazing role as an alt-manga creator; Murasaki was one of the first women artists to be featured in the pages of COM and Garo magazines, opening the door for creators such as Akino Kondo and Junko Mizuno. Here’s hoping that Drawn & Quarterly decides to publish more of Murasaki’s work in English.

Best New Sci-Fi Manga: Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou
By Hitoshi Ashinano • Translated by Daniel Komen • Adapted by Dawn Davis • Seven Seas
I’m not sure if I would have been as receptive to Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou five or ten years ago, as its low-key depiction of life in the aftermath of an environmental catastrophe might have struck me as hopelessly twee. With the worst of the pandemic behind us, however, I found the series’ emphasis on small, everyday moments more resonant; Hitoshi Ashinano convincingly evokes the rhythm of everyday life in a world of scarcity, minus the Hobbesian emphasis on violent competition. Alpha, the main character, is an android who divides her time between running a small cafe and roaming the coastline on her scooter, photographing the empty roads and submerged towns as well as the small, vibrant communities where people still find time to hold rowdy association meetings and stage elaborate firework displays. Her efforts to document humanity’s final chapter offer a wistful—and hopeful—meditation on what it means to persevere in the face of uncertainty and change.

Best New Romance: Kowloon Generic Romance
By Jun Mayuzuki • Translated by Amanda Haley • Yen Press
The aesthetic of Kowloon Generic Romance is pure 80s manga—think City Hunter or RG Veda—but the story and characters suggest the work of filmmaker Wong Kar-Wai, as Kowloon focuses on an intense but unconsummated flirtation between Reiko, a real estate agent, and Kudou, her brash, horny colleague. Like Kar-Wai, manga-ka Jun Mayuzuki is as enamored of settings as she is of characters, leading the reader on a languid tour of Kowloon’s shopping districts, cafes, back alleys, and apartment blocks, conveying how densely settled this city-within-a-city truly is. Though there are some minor elements of science fiction in play, the main attraction is the artwork and pacing; Mayuzuki devotes an entire chapter to depicting, in rapturous detail, Reiko’s evening ritual of enjoying a cigarette on her flat’s meager balcony, allowing the reader to experience the moment as Reiko does: a brief, wordless respite from the hustle and bustle of Kowloon.

Best New Comedy: Phantom of the Idol
By Hijiki Isoflavone • Translated by Max Greenway • Kodansha
In this delightfully bonkers series, a grumpy male pop star swaps bodies with the ghost of a former teen idol whose discipline and talent help transform Yuya into a charismatic, telegenic performer. The twist? Yuya’s been possessed by Asahi Mogami, a perky girl whose budding career was cut short by a car accident. The physical slapstick takes the humor in some unexpected directions as Asahi navigates the complexities of inhabiting the lazy Yuya’s body, while the dialogue offers plenty of sly pokes at the music industry, as well as some not-so-subtle reminders that pop stardom can be as grueling as it is exhilarating.

Best Manga I Thought I’d Hate: The Men Who Created Gundam
By Hideki Ohwada, Hajime Yatate, and Yoshiyuki Tomino • Translated by Jason Moses • Denpa
Of all the ways you could tell the story of Japan’s most famous robot franchise, it seems only right that Gundam creators Hideki Ohwada and Yoshiyuki Tomino opted for an over-the-top manga that dramatically recreates key moments in the series’ early history. The prevailing tone is reminiscent of a VH-1 Behind the Music special, complete with sudden reversals and last-minute triumphs; every line of dialogue is delivered with the kind of urgency usually reserved for a nuclear crisis, even when the conversation is focused on the more mundane aspects of creating a hit television show. Interspersed among the chapters are brief but useful essays connecting the storylines to real events, offering readers a more nuanced explanation of how Gundam helped the create the template for modern pop-cultural fandoms around the globe.

Worst Manga I Thought I’d Love: Crazy Food Truck
By Rokurou Ogaki • Translated by Amanda Haley • VIZ Media
On paper, Crazy Food Truck sounded like a blast, a cross between Mad Max: Fury Road and The Great Food Truck Race. In practice, however, Crazy Food Truck was surprisingly dull, serving up fight sequences as unimaginative as the food its hero serves his few paying customers. The central joke might be funnier if Gordon’s menu was so good that people would risk life and limb for his gourmet sandwiches, but when a BLT with mustard is his signature dish, it seems more like a failure of imagination than a real attempt at humor, especially when creator Rokurou Ogaki frequently reminds us that Gordon has mounted a cannon on top of his truck to ward off bad guys. Gordon’s sidekick Anisa is a one-note character, inserted into the narrative primarily for fan service that’s so indifferently executed it’s hard to muster any outrage. I have no doubt this series rocked some reader’s world, but I found it flavorless. (Reviewed at The Manga Critic on 6/7/22)

Worst Manga I Read in 2022: Rooster Fighter
By Sou Sakuratani • Translated by Jonah Mayahara-Miller • VIZ Media
Rooster Fighter is a disappointment: the premise is too slight to sustain a long series, the script is strenuously unfunny, and the storylines are numbingly predictable. In every chapter, the nameless hero wanders into a new town, antagonizes and befriends the locals in equal measure, then kills a grotesque demon that’s been terrorizing the community. About the only good joke in whole series is how the rooster kills demons; anyone who’s lived on or near a farm will enjoy a rueful laugh or two at the hero’s superpower. Otherwise, this series is a total Cock-a-Doodle-Don’t. (Reviewed at Manga Bookshelf on 8/16/22)

Emma Dreams of Stars: Inside the Gourmet Guide

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Before Yelp! and Open Table made it easy to find a good restaurant, you had two options: consult your local newspaper’s Arts & Leisure section, or buy a guidebook that ranked and sorted joints by price, cuisine, decor, and service. Zagat’s, for example, offered pithy, sometimes withering, assessments of restaurants that were capped by a starred rating, while The Fearless Critic used a ten-point scale that resembled the scoring system for a gymnastics meet. The most trusted—in the US, at least—was the Forbes Travel Guide, which employed an army of undercover critics to evaluate hotels and restaurants, and rank them on a scale from “average” to “one of the best in the country”. Though different in tone and format, all three owed a debt to a much older publication: The Michelin Guide, which was introduced in 1900.

The Guide was the brainchild of Édouard and André Michelin, founders of the Michelin Tire Company. At the time their booklet debuted, France was just beginning to embrace the automobile; the brothers hoped that distributing free copies might encourage people to buy their first car, as the Guide contained a wealth of information for the would-be motorist, including maps, auto repair tips, and lists of hotels, garages, restaurants, and attractions. In the 1920s, the Guide introduced its first rating system, eventually settling on a scale of one to three stars. The Guide also began hiring anonymous male inspectors to visit restaurants and hotels around Europe, reasoning that the nature of the job—travelling solo for weeks at a time—made it impossible for a woman to perform.

Enter Emmanuelle Masionneuve, who joined the Guide almost 100 years after Michelin introduced its star system. Masionneuve had an unusual path to becoming an inspector, training first as a lawyer and journalist before pivoting into the culinary industry. After working for three France’s most esteemed chefs—Michael Bras, Alain Ducasse, Alain Passard—she decided to put her food expertise to the ultimate test by auditioning for the Michelin Guide. Emma Dreams of Stars: Inside the Gourmet Guide, co-written with Julia Pavlowitch and illustrated by Kan Takahama, tells Masionneuve’s story.

In the early chapters, Emma functions both as a character and a reader surrogate. We follow Emma through every stage of her training, from her initial interview to her first solo trip, along the way gleaning interesting tidbits about how inspectors maintain their anonymity, interact with chefs and hoteliers, and avoid heartburn. (Eating rich meals all day isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.) Emma Dreams of Stars also explores Maisonneuve’s efforts to navigate the stuffy male culture of the Michelin Guide, where she’s reminded on a daily basis that she’s the only woman inspector. Though most of her male peers are collegial, she feels the weight of being a trailblazer, worrying that even the smallest mistake will jeopardize her future with the Guide.

Of course, Emma Dreams of Stars is also a story about French cuisine, and that front, the authors deliver exceptionally well. Throughout the book, there are lengthy discussions about the merits of various cheeses and wines, as well as numerous soliloquies extolling the virtue of simply prepared dishes, locally sourced ingredients, and regional specialties. Artist Kan Takahama does an expert job of rendering the food, using a soft palette that captures the texture and presentation of each meal in life-like detail. The same is true of her backgrounds; every setting demonstrates similar attention to light, pattern, and color, making it easy for the reader to feel the atmosphere of every restaurant and hotel that Emma visits, from a chic Parisian cafe to a dim but cozy rural pub.

Whenever the shop talk threatens to stop the story in its tracks, Takahama breaks up the stream of chatter by breaking the flow of her tight, orderly grids. Characters burst out of the frame, allowing us to more fully appreciate their enthusiasm and resolve. As these panels demonstrate, Takahama has a great talent for faces, working in a naturalistic style that’s reminiscent of Naoki Urasawa; Takahama imbues each one of her characters with an individuality that speaks volumes about their age and experiences, as well their taste in food and wine.

Though Takahama’s artwork is stellar throughout the book, there are a few passages where the authors didn’t fully trust the images to tell Emma’s story, most notably when depicting her strained relationship with Thomas, her long-term boyfriend. The two never meet in person, but exchange increasingly tense voice mails and text messages that reveal just how much Thomas resents Emma’s growing independence. Takahama’s artwork does a great job of showing us how conflicted Emma feels, but the authors saddle these moments with heavy-handed voice overs that spell out what the reader can readily grasp from Emma’s facial expressions and body language: she’s determined to have a meaningful career on her own terms, even if that means leaving Thomas behind.

If these moments feel a little forced, Emma’s interactions with other female foodies do not. In one particularly delightful chapter, for example, the Guide dispatches Emma to the Côte Vermeille, where a chance encounter with Natalie, a local vinegar maker, leads Emma to a lively farm-to-table bistro on the outskirts of town. As Natalie and Emma chat about the terroir–the secret ingredient in Natalie’s concoctions–we can see how their expertise and enthusiasm helps them form an immediate bond; by the time they arrive at the restaurant, they’re chatting like old friends.

The same spirit of mutual respect animates Emma’s interactions with another culinary expert: Kanami, a travel guide who leads Emma through a whirlwind tour of Tokyo. Kanami explains the origins of particular dishes, challenges the Michelin rating for a famous restaurant, and takes Emma to the Tsukiji Market to see how local fishmongers transform enormous tuna into delicate morsels. Emma is humbled by the depth and breadth of Kanami’s knowledge, and vows to return to Japan so that she can “keep learning and growing.” By the time I finished Emma Dreams of Stars, that’s how I felt, too. I was reminded of how little most of us know about the food we eat, and pledged to develop a deeper, more thoughtful relationship with the meals I prepare, and the dishes I enjoy. Recommended.

EMMA DREAMS OF STARS: INSIDE THE GOURMET GUIDE • BY EMMANUELLE MAISONNEUVE AND JULIA PAVLOWITCH • ART BY KAN TAKAHAMA • TRANSLATED BY EAMON FOGARTY • KODANSHA COMICS • NO RATING • 192 pp. 

 

The Manga Review, 8/19/22

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Attention manga shoppers! Kodansha is currently holding a blow-out sale on digital manga. And when I say “blow out,” I mean it: they’re offering deep discounts on over 3,000 titles, with first volumes priced as low as 99 cents, and later volumes discounted 50%. It’s a great opportunity to try a buzz-worthy series such as Blue Period, Boys Run the Riot, Knight of the Ice, PTSD Radio, or Witch Hat Atelier; to catch up on long-running favorites; or to check out classic titles such as Black Jack and Princess Knight. Don’t wait, though; the sale ends on Monday, August 22nd.

MANGA NEWS

The July NPD Bookscan Numbers are in, with My Hero Academia, Spy x Family, and Kaiju No. 8 topping the list. Also making a strong showing on this month’s bestseller list are Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba and Chainsaw Man. [ICv2]

Have you completed this month’s Seven Seas Reader Survey? If not, don’t miss your opportunity to make licensing requests and give feedback on new and upcoming releases. [Seven Seas]

Coming soon to the Azuki platform: Red Riding Hood’s Apprentice: Final Testament to the Moon (Glacier Bay Books) and Doomsday Cleaning (Star Fruit Books). [Azuki]

Job alert: VIZ Media is currently looking for a Copy Editor. [VIZ Media]

Help Erica Friedman celebrate the 20th anniversary of Okazu by participating in a treasure hunt! The winner will receive a t-shirt of their choice from the Yuricon store. [Okazu]

And speaking of Erica Friedman, she and Rica Takashima (Rica ‘tte Kanji?!) will both be guests at Flame Con this weekend. [Anime News Network]

Blood on the Tracks, Blue Period, and Cat + Gamer are among the titles competing for Best Manga at this year’s Harvey Awards. Also making the cut are Chainsaw Man, Red Flowers, and Spy x Family. [ICv2]

Cartoon Crossroad Columbus (CXC) announced that manga scholar Frederik L. Schodt will be the recipient of the second annual Tom Spurgeon Award, which “honors those who have made substantial contributions to the field of comics, but are not primarily cartoonists.” Schodt is author of three books: Manga! Manga! The World of Japanese Comics (1983), Dreamland Japan: Writings on Modern Manga (1996), and The Astro Boy Essays: Osamu Tezuka, Mighty Atom, and the Manga/Anime Revolution (2007). In addition, he has translated a number of manga into English, including Osamu Tezuka’s Astro Boy and Henry Yoshitaka Kiyama’s The Four Immigrants Manga. [CXC 2022]

FEATURES, PODCASTS AND INTERVIEWS

If you’re a parent, teacher, or librarian in search of STEM-friendly comics, look no further than this helpful list compiled by the experts at No Flying No Tights. [No Flying No Tights]

Brigid Alverson posts a brief but thoughtful tribute to illustrator Sho Murase, who passed away earlier this month. [ICv2]

It’s Witch Week at Mangasplaining! Join the crew for lively discussions of Witch Hat Atelier, Witchcraft Works, and Witches, then stay for the bonus discussions of Fuyumi Soryo’s MARS and Yayoi Ogawa’s You’re My Pet (originally published in English as Tramps Like Us). [Mangasplaining]

The latest Manga Machinations podcast focuses on Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou as well as two manga/Marvel crossovers: Wolverine: SNIKT! and Secret Reverse. [Manga Machinations]

What did David and Jordan think of Monster Hunter Orage? Tune in to the latest Shonen Flop episode for their thoughts on Hiro Mashima’s other battle manga. [Shonen Flop]

ICYMI: Ashley and Loyola Rankin dissect the first eight volumes of Love*Com (Lovely Complex). [Shojo & Tell]

In honor of Sailor Moon‘s thirtieth anniversary, Christopher Chiu-Tabet revisits the first eight issues of Codename: Sailor V. [Multiversity Comics]

Jocelyne Allen flips through the pages of Keiko Takemiya’s Kokuhaku. “The takeaway for this volume… is pure vibes,” she notes. “The seven stories in the  collection technically have plots, but these tales are mostly about the feels. Because the stories themselves inspire questions like ‘how?’ and ‘why is this happening?’, and the smaller details of what is going on aren’t really relevant. Takemiya is using science fiction to dig deep into psyches and emotions and relationships because this is shojo before it’s SF, and shojo demands feels.” Someone license this, please! [Brain vs. Book]

Elias Rosner interviews Ryan Holmberg about translating Yamada Murasaki’s Talk to My Back. [Multiversity Comics]

Over at TCJ, John Holt and Chikuma Teppei  translate Natsume Fusanosuke’s essay “The Transgenerational Manga Sazae-san and Its Meaning.” In their preface, Holt and Teppei attribute the enduring cultural appeal of Hasegawa Machiko’s series to its long-running anime adaptation. “Like The Simpsons, the animated Sazae-san has been a fixture of Japanese television for decades,” they observe, “but unlike Matt Groening’s creation, Sazae-san has been a wholesome staple of family life, still operating by the terms of 1950s and 1960s culture in new episodes today. Therefore, although it lacks a Simpsons-level criticality, Sazae-san is still a mirror of society. As Natsume argues, the manga and anime create a kind of touchstone to what was good about Japan in the late 20th century. In this way, Sazae-san not only entertains, but also it curates a way of life that may be now remote or even alien to the lived experience of contemporary viewers in Japan.” [The Comics Journal]

REVIEWS

Scott Cederlund reflects on the radical empathy of Gengoroh Tagame’s Our Colors, while Eric Alex Cline explains why he won’t be picking up volume two of Rooster Fighter. “Whether one finds the series worth following will largely depend on if they share its ridiculous sense of humor, and if they’re willing to overlook incredibly blatant bigotry in character design,” Cline observes. “The major con is that some of the monster designs are lackluster, and the last one in particular tanks the fun vibes with a sudden veer into blatant transphobia.” You’ll also find new capsule reviews at Women Write About Comics, where Masha Zhdanova looks at three new VIZ titles, and right here at Manga Bookshelf, where Sean Gaffney, Michelle Smith, and I tackle Rooster Fighter, Shadow House, and Wandance.

New and Noteworthy

Ongoing and Complete Series

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.

 

Short Takes: Museum and Phantom Tales of the Night

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I have a confession: I am a complete chicken when it comes to horror movies. I watched Alien through my fingers and made it to the end of Fright Night by staring at the ingredient list on a candy wrapper; even the hot vampires of The Lost Boys weren’t soulful or shirtless enough to fully hold my gaze. But horror manga is another story, as I count Mermaid Saga, Gyo, Tomie, The Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service, and PTSD Radio among my favorites series. I can’t explain why horror manga doesn’t affect me the same way that movies do–no soundtrack, perhaps?–but I’m glad that I’ve found the intestinal fortitude to read Junji Ito and Kazuo Umezu’s work. Alas, I had less patience with the two most recent horror series I read: Museum, a digital-only offering from Kodansha, and Phantom Tales of the Night, a cautionary tale about a mysterious innkeeper.

Museum, Vol. 1
Story and Art by Ryosuke Tomoe
Kodansha Comics
Rated M, for Mature (graphic violence)

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: a mask-wearing vigilante kidnaps and tortures his victims in grotesque fashion–feeding them to dogs, severing their ears, tying them to toilets–then leaves cryptic notes that characterize each act as a “punishment,” daring the authorities to catch him. The mystery of who the vigilante is and what motivates him is the main driving force behind Museum, but you might not want to soldier through the carnage for answers to those questions since Ryosuke Tomoe can’t decide if his vigilante is a hero or a monster. Tomoe depicts the violence with such fetishistic detail that the reader is invited to admire the killer’s technique rather than meditate on the true horror of what the character has done. The ugly, utilitarian artwork and  relentlessly dour tone are the nails in the proverbial coffin, underscoring just how unpleasantly banal Museum really is. Not recommended.

Phantom Tales of the Night, Vol. 1
Story and Art by Matsuri
Yen Press
Rated OT, for Older Teens (violence and sexual themes)

Phantom Tales of the Night is the kind of bad manga that’s difficult to review: it isn’t offensive or ineptly drawn, but it’s a chore to read thanks to its poor plotting, muddled characterizations, and maddeningly opaque dialogue. Ostensibly, the series focuses on the Murakamo Inn, where the demonic host cajoles his guests into revealing their secrets. The rules governing how the Murakamo Inn operates, however, are in a constant state of flux, making it hard to pin down what, exactly, Phantom Tales is about. In some chapters, characters share their secrets with the inn’s owner in exchange for having a wish fulfilled, while in others, characters learn a terrible secret about themselves. The later chapters hint at a potentially longer, more complex arc that will play out over several volumes, but the set-up is so abrupt and confusing that it robs the final pages of their full impact–a pity, since Matsuri has a flair for drawing genuinely creepy monsters. Perhaps the most damning thing about Phantom Tales of the Night is that the characters talk incessantly about “secrets” but lack a basic understanding of what a secret really is or why it holds such power—a key failing in a series that is predicated on the idea that secrets are a kind of supernatural currency. Not 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

Again!!, Vol. 2

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The phenomenal success of Yuri!!! On ICE turned out to be a boon for manga fans, too, as American publishers snapped up two of Mitsurou Kubo’s better-known comics: Moteki: Love Strikes!, a seinen romance about a thirty-something loser who reconnects with women from his past, and Again!!, a time-travel comedy about two teenagers who get a second chance at high school. I won’t lie: Again!! was my hands-down favorite of the two, both for its raw honesty and its sharply observed characters.

Again!! avoids the sophomore slump by briskly advancing the plot without sacrificing the humor or heart that made the first chapters so appealing. Kinichiro and Fujieda both get a turn in the spotlight, with Kinichiro discovering the pleasures of cheering, and Fujieda experiencing loneliness for the first time. Volume two also introduces three new characters, all of whom used to belong to the ouendan: Okuma, the drummer; Masaki, the vice-captain; and Suga, the cheer sergeant. Although the trio’s ostensible role is comic relief, their real function is helping us understand why the ouendan failed, revealing the degree to which their unwanted advances, passivity, and flagrant sexism undermined Usami’s authority as captain and poisoned group morale.

While this information is crucial to the story, it also points to Again!!‘s biggest problem: Usami. Mitsurou Kubo is frank about why Usami resorts to shouting, scolding, and shaming to prove that she’s “man” enough to lead the ouendan — a compassionate insight into a character who often seems more harridan than human. Yet Usami’s actual personality remains a mystery. Everything we learn about her is revealed through other characters, whether they’re discussing her beef with Abe, the head cheerleader, or describing the flurry of media interest in Usami when she first joined the ouendan. We don’t know how Usami feels about her teammates, or why she’s so passionately interested in cheering — two questions that need to be addressed if she’s to become a full-fledged character.

Despite these flaws, Again!! manages to wring fresh laughs from its time-travel premise while depicting high school in all its unpleasantness. Fujieda, for example, vacillates between trying to profit from her knowledge of the future and lamenting her lack of friends. Kinichiro also is caught between past and present: he’s angry that his first kiss didn’t go as planned, and deeply self-conscious after a loud, public declaration of how miserable he feels — an exquisitely awful scene that acknowledges the depth of his pain while recognizing that his brusque behavior directly contributes to his sense of isolation and victimhood. It’s this kind of insight that makes Again!! such a compelling story, reminding us that our memories of being shunned, wronged, or ridiculed can be so one-sided that we’d make the same mistakes if given the opportunity to relive our teenage years. Recommended.

Again!!, Vol. 2
By Mitsurou Kobu
Translated by Rose Padgett
Rated OT, for Older Teens (16+)
Kodansha Comics

Happiness, Vols. 4-7

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This review contains a few spoilers for later volumes of Happiness, and discusses one character’s efforts to cope with PTSD after a violent attack. Proceed with caution. 

The first three volumes of Shuzo Oshimi’s Happiness explore familiar terrain, using vampirism as a metaphor for the ravages of puberty, that moment when hormonal urges overwhelm the rational mind and the body morphs into its adult form. And while these early volumes contained some well-rehearsed scenes of bullying and bloodlust, Oshimi’s artwork — at once raw and refined, primitive and expressionist — made these moments feel strange, fresh, and specific to his story. One could feel fourteen-year-old Makoto Okazaki’s palpable anguish over being trapped in a body and a life he could no longer control, and wondered how he might escape his fate.

Volume four was a turning point in the series, culminating in a scene of frenzied violence in which a major character was killed, another forced into hiding, and a third — Gosho — badly wounded. The violence was grotesque in the Romantic sense of the word, a scene so horrific that it filled with reader with a strong sense of revulsion and pity. But a curious thing happened in the next installment: in the aftermath of this bloody cataclysm, Happiness became Gosho’s story. A time jump advanced the plot ten years into the future, showing us Gosho’s efforts to rebuild her life, one temp job at a time.

Though Gosho seems outwardly calm and self-possessed, her carefully constructed facade is shattered in volume six by a sensational newspaper headline: “Vampire Boy: Where Is He Now?” Oshimi captures Gosho’s experience of being triggered in all its nauseous horror; we can see a painful memory well up in Gosho, causing her to double over and fall to her knees as if she were trying to purge her body of all the fear and shame she’d experienced on that fateful night ten years ago. What makes this moment even more powerful is the skill with which Oshimi captures Gosho’s mounting terror through a series of closeups — first her face, then her eye, then the article itself, as her gaze darts across the page, lingering on a striking image or a suggestive snippet of text.

For all the emotional intensity of this moment, however, volume six is largely uneventful, focusing primarily on the tenative relationship between Gosho and Sudo, her co-worker. Much of their courtship unfolds in brief, wordless scenes depicting everyday activities: eating out, walking home from the train station, buying groceries. The normalcy of these vignettes suggests that Gosho has recovered from her anxiety attack — that is, until Gosho glimpses a boy who might be a vampire:

What makes this image so potent is its ambiguity: is it a figment of Gosho’s imagination, a flashback, or an actual vampire? We’re left feeling as unsettled as Gosho, and wonder what this bloody omen might mean.

That brings me to the hardest part of my review.

Despite the consummate skill and sensitivity with which volumes five and six explore Gosho’s psychic wounds, volume seven may be my last, primarily because I’m dismayed by Oshimi’s decision to further brutalize Gosho. In volume five, Gosho nearly died at the hands of a knife-wielding psychopath, an event that left her with an angry scar on her neck. The terror she felt, and the violence of the scene, seemed necessary at that juncture in the story, revealing the extent to which Gosho’s naivete, determination, and caring could be ruthlessly exploited by someone older and more experienced.

In volume seven, however, Gosho is captured by a cult leader who tortures her, mutilating her body and smearing it with her own menstrual blood. The violence in this scene is fundamentally sexual and, frankly, disgusting. One might argue that Oshimi is deliberately provoking the reader, making us complicit in Gosho’s exploitation, but nothing in Oshimi’s other work — Drifting Net Cafe, The Flowers of Evil — suggests that level of critical engagement with tropes. Instead, it feels as if Oshimi is using this violence as a shortcut, a way of revealing the cult leader’s depravity while providing Sudo motivation to seek revenge on behalf of his girlfriend. The scene also undermines Gosho’s agency — she broke into the cult’s compound looking for Okazaki — and dehumanizes her, reducing her womanhood to breasts and blood rather than her courage, intelligence, and determination to save a friend she hasn’t seen in a decade.

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of reading and watching scenes like these, whether they serve a legitimate dramatic purpose or not. Oshimi’s undeniable artistry makes quitting Happiness an even more difficult decision for me, as I found his artwork and storytelling in the first six volumes compelling. (Hell, I’m quoted in the promotional literature for Happiness.) I don’t have the stomach for another scene of Gosho’s degradation, however, so I don’t think I’ll be reading volume eight.

HAPPINESS, VOLS. 3-7 • BY SHUZO OSHIMI • KODANSHA COMICS • RATED OT, FOR OLDER TEENS (VIOLENCE, PARTIAL NUDITY, SEXUALITY)

A First Look at Starving Anonymous

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Have you been checking out Kodansha Comics’ digital-only and digital-first releases? I have, and I love this initiative: it lets me sample dozens of series that might otherwise never see the light of day in North America. Rugby manga. Karuta manga. Really weird horror manga. Medical drama. Josei. As you might expect, there’s a good reason why no one was clamoring to bring out print editions of, say, Deathtopia, but lurking among the pedestrian, the awful, and the amateurish are gems such as Dragon Head, PTSD Radio, Shojo FIGHT! and Tokyo Tarareba Girls. This week, I previewed one of Kodansha’s most recent digital offerings, Starving Anonymous, which, according to Kodansha’s editorial staff, is “an intense dystopian horror thriller in the apocalyptic vein of Dragon Head and Attack on Titan, from the team that brought you zombie actioner Fort of Apocalypse.”

That’s not a bad description of Starving Anonymous; if you can imagine an Eli Roth remake of Soylent Green in all its gory, sadistic intensity, you’ll have some idea of what it’s like to read Yuu Kuraishi and Kazu Inabe’s latest effort. Like the 1973 Charlton Heston film, Starving Anonymous takes place in a heat-ravaged future where supplies are scarce, birth rates are plummeting, and people are crowded into fewer and fewer cities. The series’ protagonist is I’e, a normal high school student whose life is violently upended when he’s snatched off a bus and deposited at an enormous industrial facility where the main product is — you guessed it — people.

A concept this potentially repulsive lives or dies by the thoughtfulness of the execution, and it’s here where Kuraishi and Inabe stumble. The writing is efficient but artless, establishing the direness of the world’s condition through news flashes and pointed conversations but revealing little about I’e; he’s more a placeholder than a character, a collection of reaction shots in search of a personality. The artwork, by contrast, varies from slickly generic — Tokyo apparently looks the same 50 years from now — to willfully ugly; once inside the factory, Inabe draws rooms and conveyor belts filled with distended bodies, rendering every roll of fat and bulging eye in fetishistic detail. If Kuraishi and Inabe were trying to make a point about the ethics of factory farming, or the evils of overconsumption, that message is quickly shoved aside in favor of a more conventional escape-from-prison plot in which I’e and a group of young, healthy rebels fight their way to the outside. Nothing in the first chapter suggested that Starving Anonymous has anything on its mind other than characters doing and seeing horrible stuff, so I’ll be passing on this one.

Starving Anonymous, Chapter 1
Story by Yuu Kuraishi, Art by Kazu Inabe, Original Concept by Kengo Mizutani
Kodansha Comics
Rating: OT (Older teen)

Toppu GP, Vol. 2

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For two decades, Kosuke Fujishima’s Oh! My Goddess was a veritable institution in the US. It arrived in comic book stores in 1994 and finished its run in 2015, along the way introducing several generations of manga fans to the fraught relationship between the nebbishy Keiichi Morisato and his otherworldly companion Belldandy. Fujishima’s current project Toppu GP debuted last year with little attention from critics, but this sports manga might just be the better of the two series; as I noted in my review of volume one, the characters are types and the drama predictable, but the motorcycle races are thrilling, funny, and surprisingly educational, helping the novice appreciate the skill necessary to ride at an elite level.

The latest installment of Toppu GP does all the things you’d expect the second volume of a sports manga to do: it introduces new rivals for the principal characters, expands the supporting cast, and features several lengthier, riskier races. Not all of these gambits work. Toppu’s new fanclub — which includes Billy Izumo, a tow-headed bike enthusiast, and Itsuki Nagoya, a nerdy girl with a crush on Toppu — provides the weakest sort of comic relief by making Nagoya and Myne compete for Toppu’s attention. (“Who is this old lady?” Nagoya sniffs when introduced to Myne.) When the action shifts to the race track, however, the story roars to life, offering Fujishima a unique opportunity to explain the physics and strategy of moto GP through imaginative visual metaphors. In one sequence, for example, Toppu compares the components of his bike to instruments in a rock band — a neat way to suggest the sound and function of each — while in another, Fujishima represents Toppu’s anxiety as a giant, coiled rattlesnake. These metaphors are corny, to be sure, but they enliven the racing sequences, breaking the relentless stream of speedlines, facial close-ups, and banked turns.

Though Toppu gets top billing, Myne also gets a turn in the spotlight in a fiercely competitive race against Daiya Ishibashi, the reigning champ at the Course 2000. Their race is a genuine nail-biter, with Ishibashi and Myne aggressively vying for the lead. By the end of the volume, it’s not clear if Myne will prevail over Ishibashi, but her tenacity and cunning have made that outcome a real possibility. Readers who want to know whether Myne wins have two choices: wait until August for volume three, or purchase chapters 15 and 16 right now. (The digital serialization is up to chapter 23.) Me? I’m going to tough it out until August, since Toppu GP is one of the few series I’m actively collecting. Recommended.

Toppu GP, Vol. 2
By Kosuke Fujishima
Translated by Stephen Paul
Kodansha Comics, 192 pp.
Rated T, for Teen (13+)

Again!!, Vol. 1

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There are no second chances in life, but there are in manga — think A Distant Neighborhood, Erased, and orange. The latest entry in the second-chance sweepstakes is Again!!, a dramedy about Imamura Kinichirou, a loner who tumbles down a flight on stairs at his high school graduation and wakes up on the first day of freshman year. Doomed to repeat the worst three years of his life, Imamura impulsively signs up for the school’s ouendan, but quickly runs afoul of prickly captain Yoshiko Usami, whose dedication to the struggling club proves more deterrent than draw for would-be members.

Imamura isn’t the only time-traveler; joining him on his temporal odyssey is Akira Fujieda, a perky classmate who also tumbles down a flight of stairs at graduation. Unlike Imamura, Akira greets this development with enthusiasm, but her fond memories of high school make her too quick to assume that everything will unfold the same way twice: she propositions her not-yet-boyfriend too boldly (he turns her down) and dismisses a would-be friend’s taste in music. (“It’s too bad Cara Mana broke up so soon,” Akira declares. “It didn’t take me long to get sick of them, though, since all their songs sort of sound the same.”) Crushed by the double rejection, Akira becomes Imamura’s reluctant ally in the quest to restore the ouendan to its former glory.

Whether you cotton to Again!! depends on how you react to the principal characters. I found Usami’s fierce commitment to tradition exhausting; she bellows, belittles, complains, accuses, and sobs, but seems fundamentally unable to have a normal conversation. Her bluster is meant to suggest her sincerity and vulnerability, I think, but has the opposite effect, reducing her to a one-note character. More convincing is Imamura, who decides that a do-over isn’t as terrible as he’d imagined. (I particularly enjoyed his nonchalant turn at the board in his math class; his classmates’ reaction to his display of mathematical acumen is priceless.) Imamura even flirts with the possibility of a social life: when the girls’ cheer squad mobilizes against Usami, for example, Imamura conspires with Akira and Reo, a pretty classmate, to undermine the cheerleaders’ plan.

Akira, too, is a pleasant surprise, a busybody who’s suddenly relegated to the margins of freshman life. Though her sense of the school’s pecking order remains unchanged, she can’t resist the opportunity to advise the once-lowly Imamura on how best to manipulate the cheerleading squad — it’s her chance to demonstrate her expertise, and perhaps to reclaim her former Queen Bee status by engineering a major social coup. As one might expect, Akira gets the sauciest lines, but she also learns the hardest lesson of the three principal characters: serendipity plays as big a role in popularity as personality and looks.

Mitsurou Kubo’s art plays a vital role in helping us understand Imamura and Akira’s predicament. In the first two chapters, Kubo does an excellent job of distinguishing past from present with subtle details: Imamura’s mom, for example, is a little plumper, while Akira is shorter and less physically developed. (Akira realizes something is amiss when she realizes that her breasts are smaller.) Equally impressive is the care with which Kubo reconstructs the same sequence of events that precede the time jump, showing us Imamura’s memories of the day and then Akira’s. Here again, it’s the little details — a snippet of conversation, a minor change in hairstyle — that convey whose perspective is represented, and how that character’s personality influences what we’re seeing and hearing.

Kubo’s facial drawings show the same degree of meticulousness as her handling of the time travel sequences. Her reaction shots do more than just capture a character’s immediate response to a new development; they convey the emotions and experiences that underlie that reaction. Consider this split-screen image of Imamura:

This panel appears at the end of chapter one, as Imamura stands at a temporal and figurative crossroads: he can change his future by joining the ouendan, or recede into the background and be a loner once again. Imamura’s furrowed, sweaty brow and crestfallen expression capture his sense of helplessness; he has the look of someone who’s actively reliving a terrible experience moment by moment, contemplating the real possibility that nothing will change the second time around.

It’s this level of nuance that makes Again!! worth reading, even when the plot mechanics are creaky and the characters too strident. Watching Imamura forge new connections on his own terms is both funny and poignant, a reminder that we always have the potential to change our destiny, even when it seems preordained. I’m curious to see how Imamura and Akira grow and change, and how their behavior influences the future. Count me in for volume two.

AGAIN!!, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY MITSUROU KUBO • TRANSLATED BY ROSE PADGETT • KODANSHA COMICS • 208 pp. • RATED TEEN (13+)

Drifting Dragons, Vols. 1-2

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The nineteenth century whaler was a tough character. He’d board a ship in Nantucket or New Bedford, sail around the tip of South America and then into the Pacific hunting grounds in quest of sperm whales. Every aspect of his job was dangerous and unpleasant; as author Eric Jay Dolin notes in Leviathan: The History of Whaling in America, crewmen endured “backbreaking work, tempestuous seas, floggings, pirates, putrid food, and unimaginable cold” during their long stints at sea. At the end of a two- or three-year tour, a whaler might still be in debt from all the equipment he’d purchased at the outset of his journey, especially if the ship’s yield was low. Yet the gruesome work he performed was vital to the Victorian economy: whales’ bodies yielded the fat, bones, and oils that illuminated homes, corseted ladies, and gave shine and staying power to paint (Dolin 12).

The characters in Taku Kuwabara’s Drifting Dragons are engaged in a similar enterprise: they trawl the skies in a flying ship looking for dragons. The opening pages of the story make the connection between whaling and “draking” explicit, as we join the crew of the Quin Zaza on an aerial Nantucket sleigh ride. We glimpse a dragon through a parting in the clouds: first its back, then its tail, and finally the entire animal, as enormous and majestic as a blue whale. As the wounded dragon begins to tire, a crew member rappels down the tow line to plunge a harpoon into the animal’s back, delivering the final blow:

This image is a perfect introduction to draking, simultaneously conveying the peril and thrill of hunting such a powerful, swift animal at high altitude. Kuwabata’s thin, graceful lines and sparing use of screen tone capture the speed of the wind, the texture of the dragon’s skin, and the delicate feathering on the dragon’s ears, but also the vast emptiness of the sky. These details allow us to imagine for ourselves what it would be like to stand astride the dragon’s back, gazing at a mountain peak that’s poking above the clouds, or looking back at the ship and realizing the impossibility of rescue if something goes wrong.

As exciting as the dragon hunting sequences are, Drifting Dragons is as much an exercise in careful world-building as action-oriented storytelling. Kuwabara devotes page after page to the crew’s routines, capturing the heat, smell, and physical labor of stripping meat from bones and rendering fat. He also renders the physical environment of the Quin Zaza in precise detail, from the main deck and crow’s nest to the sleeping quarters and the hold, where most of the butchering, smoking, and boiling takes place. Last but not least, Kuwabara shows us how each member of the crew contributes to the functioning of the ship, and explains what first drew them to the skies.

Though the crew is drawn in broader strokes than the ship itself, the characters are distinctive enough to register as people with feelings, desires, motivations, and frustrations. Kuwabara is generous with his supporting cast, giving each a scene or subplot that reveals an unexpected facet of their personalities. Kuwabara lavishes the most attention, however, on the Mutt-and-Jeff duo of Mika and Takita: he’s a bold risk-taker with little regard for his own safety, while she’s a cautious newbie, eager to learn the ropes and prove her worth.

In trying to make Mika a more fully rounded character, however, Kuwabara depicts him as a swaggering gourmet, an Anthony Bourdain of the air. Mika is always dreaming up new strategies for preparing dragon meat, regaling his shipmates with lengthy monologues about a new technique he tried or goading the Quin Zaza’s cook into making his favorite dishes. This culinary concept carries over to the end of each chapter, which concludes with detailed recipes for Dragon Tail Meat Sandwich, Dragonet alla Diavola, and Pressed Dragon Liver Confit. These interludes aren’t very funny or appetizing; if anything, they feel more like a naked attempt to jump on the weird-cooking-manga bandwagon than an organic part of the story Kuwabara’s trying to tell.

If Drifting Dragons’ efforts at comedy fall flat, the manga is nonetheless engrossing. Kurabawa clearly knows the history of whaling, and has found a clever way to integrate those details into his fantasy world. At the same time, however, the vividness of the world he’s created has its own integrity; one could read Drifting Dragons in blissful ignorance of Moby Dick or The Wreck of the Whaleship Essex and still be swept up in the activity of the Quin Zaza’s crew and the thrill of flying alongside dragons in the clouds. Highly recommended.

WORKS CITED

Dolin, Eric Jay. Leviathan: The History of American Whaling. W.W. Norton & Co., 2007.

Kuwabata, Taku. Drifting Dragons, vols. 1-2. Translated by Adam Hirsch. Kodansha Advanced Media, LLC, 2018.

Kigurumi Guardians, Vol. 1

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The first ten or so pages of Kigurumi Guardians are a gas. Hakka, a cheerful fifteen-year-old, comes home from school to find a kigurumi (animal mascot) in her kitchen. Though Ginger looks like the product of a Holstein/penguin tryst, no one in Hakka’s family is fazed by Ginger’s appearance, treating him like one of Hakka’s classmates. And if the Sasakuras’ warm embrace of Ginger wasn’t strange enough, Ginger’s method of communication puts things over the top: he’s reduced to scrawling short messages on cue cards since he can’t speak. Not until Hakka attends a school council meeting does she learn that Ginger is one of three animal-shaped guardians defending Earth from a race of puppet masters, and she’s his new handler.

So far, so good: the oddball premise, brisk pacing, and tart exchanges between Hakka and Ginger are executed with comic zest. As Hoshino begins laying the groundwork for the magical combat, however, it becomes clear that she’s making it up as she goes along. That tendency is most pronounced in the fight scenes, which are devoid of any tension, surprise, or humor, since it’s a forgone conclusion that Hoshino will think of a new rule or magical power that helps her heroes win the day.

More problematic is the dynamic between Hakka and Ginger. Bickering leads are a staple ingredient of romantic comedies, but the main point of contention between girl and mascot gets hammered into the ground by the end of chapter three. That joke — if one can call it a joke — is that Hakka must kiss Ginger to activate his magical powers; when she does, he immediately transforms into a dashing young warrior. Hakka hates kissing Ginger, but is repeatedly forced to go against her own wishes because, y’know, Earth’s future hangs in the balance. In our current #MeToo moment, this gag is an unpleasant reminder of how many books, movies, television shows, and manga reinforce the idea that women who refuse unwanted hugs and kisses are difficult, confused, or selfish.

It’s a shame that this gag is so central to the story, as Hoshino clearly intends Guardians to be naughty fun for teen girls — why else would all three mascots transform into tousle-haired bishonen?— but gets too caught up in drawing costumes and mascots to pay careful attention to the plot or consider the full implications of Hakka and Ginger’s relationship. By the end of volume one, the story has traded wacky hijinks for messy fight scenes and sappy conversations, losing its screwball zing in the process.

The verdict: File under D, for disappointment, and S, for squandered potential.

KIGURUMI GUARDIANS, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY LILY HOSHINO • KODANSHA COMICS • RATED: TEEN (13+) • 160 pp.

Until Your Bones Rot, Vol. 1

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When Lois Duncan passed away in 2016, fans and critics alike fondly remembered her as the author of I Know What You Did Last Summer, the first great psychological thriller for teens. Duncan’s story took a tried-and-true plot and retooled it for younger readers, focusing on a quartet of teens who commit and conceal a crime, only to be stalked by an anonymous avenger. While the plot was pure potboiler, Duncan’s characterizations were remarkably realistic, convincingly depicting the confusion, uncertainty, and rashness of the teenage mind under extreme duress.

Until Your Bones Rot explores similar terrain as I Know What You Did Last Summer. Bones’ teen protagonists — Shintaro, Akira, Haruko, Ryu, and Tsubaki — are bound by a gruesome crime they committed when they were eleven years old. Artist Yae Utsumi doesn’t immediately reveal what, exactly, they did, though he plants tantalizing clues throughout volume one: a fleeting glimpse of a nighttime ritual, a nightmarish vision of a bloodied face. The plot is set in motion by an anonymous phone call threatening to expose the group unless they meet the caller’s demands. Though the five initially work together to protect their secret, fault lines soon develop within the group, particularly between Akira — the group’s alpha male — and Shintaro, the odd man out.

Utsumi handles the set-up with finesse, but his tone is less assured. Some passages feel like they’ve been ripped from Love Hina, with bikini-clad girls fawning over the nebbishy Shintaro; other passages read more like MPD Psycho, with characters doing disgusting things to dead bodies; and still other passages play out like a Very Special Episode of The OC in which one character silently copes with an abusive boyfriend. None of these scenes feel like they belong to the same story; about the only common thread that binds them is Utsumi’s fanservice, which gratuitously eroticizes a scene of sexual assault.

It’s a pity that the first volume is so uneven, as Utsumi makes a game attempt to create believable characters. Tsubaki and Shintaro, in particular, behave like real teenagers whose emotional and sexual attraction to one another is so overwhelming that they don’t know how to have a normal conversation or behave like friends; their one-on-one interactions suggest that both were deeply scarred by their participation in the murder, but lack the words — or the maturity — to say how it effected them, instead turning to each other for physical comfort. That’s a level of psychological nuance that Lois Duncan herself might have appreciated, even if Utsumi takes a few narrative shortcuts to establish the dynamic between Tsubaki and Shintaro.

And that, in a nutshell, is what makes Until Your Bones Rot so frustrating: Utsumi clearly understands the teenage mind, but can’t decide if he’s writing a finely observed psychological thriller or a junior-league Saw. The push-pull of these two different storytelling modes robs the most gory scenes of their horror and the most dramatic scenes of their poignancy, yielding a muddled stew of blood, boobs, and tears. Someone should make him read I Know What You Did Last Summer for a few pointers on how to walk the line between Grand Guignol and Afterschool Special more convincingly.

UNTIL YOUR BONES ROT, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY YAE UTSUMI • TRANSLATION BY URSULA KU • KODANSHA COMICS • RATED 16+ (SEX, PARTIAL NUDITY, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE)