Manga Bookshelf

Discussion, Resources, Roundtables, & Reviews

Shonen Jump

Jujutsu Kaisen, Vol. 1

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Jujutsu Kaisen Volume 1 by Gege Akutami

Fending off supernatural threats is a shonen staple, so how does Jujutsu Kaisen stack up? It very much felt like an early effort from a mangaka, which it is, but the first volume has a few flashes of humor and a central premise that is both disgusting and entertaining.

jujutsu kaisen volume 1

Yuji Itadori is a teenager who enjoys hanging out with the occult club despite his superhuman strength and speed. He’s being targeted for his athletic abilities by the track coach, but manages to maintain his new supernatural hobby by winning a bet about his shot put abilities. Megumi Fushiguro, a student from another school with actual occult abilities, is investigating the presence of a cursed object when he encounters Yuji and his new friends. It turns out that the occult club has gotten their hands on an artifact that is actually quite cursed, and Yuji and Megumi have to team up to save his friends from demonic destruction. Along the way, Yuji casually eats a demonic finger in order to get cursed energy to fend off the evil spirits. This ends up giving Yuji a semi-manageable case of spirit possession, but also makes him useful to demon hunters because he’s basically a walking container for cursed objects, as long as he eats them. There’s a particular demon who is the source of the cursed digits, and Yuji is going to join a team hunting down the relics of the evil Sakuna.

The art throughout this volume is serviceable but a bit rough, there’s little mobility in the characters’ facial expressions and while the action scenes are easy to follow they’d be a lot more entertaining with some shifts in perspective or more dynamic paneling. I’m curious to see if the art improves more as the series continues to develop. The demons do look appropriately freaky and scary.

Yuji’s motivations for fighting demons are introduced with a lack of subtly. Then again, I guess one does not expect delicately and subtle plot points from a Shonen Jump manga. There were a few moments that I thought were hilarious enough to be engaging. When Yuji is figuring out how many digits he is going to have to consume, the total number is high due to a surprising reason which is tossed off in casual conversation. I also enjoyed Yuji’s low-key approach to performing dramatic physical feats. The end of the volume sets up the new occult fighting team and their sparsely populated high school that has a curriculum dedicated to fighting evil, and it’ll be interesting to see how that develops. Ultimately this first volume reminded me that sometimes one has to give a manga two volumes before deciding to follow a series or not, and that is what I’ll be doing with Jujutsu Kaisen.

Chainsaw Man

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There comes a moment in every manga reader’s journey when they’re no longer dazzled by the sheer variety of genres, styles, or outrageous storylines that an issue of Weekly Shonen Jump or Big Comic Spirits offers—the moment when a manga about killer goldfish or a warrior with lethal nose hair sounds more exhausting than awesome. I reached that milestone around the time I read The Qwaser of Stigmata, a manga so lewdly preposterous I felt uncomfortable even summarizing the plot in my review. So when I heard about Chainsaw Man, a series whose premise is pretty much summed up in the title, I was pretty sure I wasn’t interested in reading it. Then I saw this image:

My first thought was whoa. And then: cool. And so began my Chainsaw Man read-a-thon, an attempt to understand the appeal of this blood-and-testosterone-soaked battle manga.

The character atop the shark is Denji, who begins the story as an ordinary young man struggling to pay off his father’s gambling debts. His only friend is the sweet-faced Pochita, a dog demon with a chainsaw blade where his snout should be. After local mobsters brutally attack Denji, Pochita transfers his demonic powers to Denji, thus enabling Denji to transform from scrawny teen to chainsaw-wielding menace with the pull of a cord. His remarkable abilities attract the interest of Makima, a professional Devil Hunter who recognizes Denji’s potential value as a weapon. Through a mixture of flirtation, cajoling, and threats, Makima recruits Denji for the Public Safety Council, dispatching him to kill monsters.

Going into Chainsaw Man, I was fully prepared for carnage and mayhem and three-eyed sharks. What I didn’t expect were moments of genuine pathos. The interactions between Denji and Pochita, however, are sniffle-inducing, underscoring the poignancy of Pochita’s decision to sacrifice himself for Denji. Later chapters set up an interesting parallel between Denji’s relationship with Pochita and his relationship with Makima, who refers to him as her “dog.” When Denji chafes against the conditions Makima has imposed on their partnership, it spurs a moment of self-reflection about his own treatment of Pochita, making him realize just how much he took Pochita’s companionship for granted.

Of course, no one is reading Chainsaw Man for these kind of emotional beats; they’re hoping for outrageous displays of gore and violence, and on that front, Tatsuki Fujimoto does his utmost to push the boundaries of good taste. Every time Denji reverts to his demonic form, chainsaw blades burst through his chest and head with great clouds of arterial spray, a preview of the even bloodier manner in which he kills his enemies. Though some of the demons are uninspired—how’s a giant bat grab you?—Fujimoto’s most memorable creations are clearly designed to elicit an appreciative “ewww”; the first monster Denji kills, for example, is an enormous tomato devil who looks like something that’s been moldering in the crisper drawer for weeks.

Between the action scenes, Fujimoto peppers the script with crude jokes to remind us that Denji is a teenage boy whose primary motivation for fighting demons is to impress Makima and earn enough money to eat junk food. In that respect, Denji is a more honest shonen hero than the typical Jump lead; he thinks and acts like a real teenage boy, right down to his self-absorption and total objectification of women. (There’s even a chapter called “A Way to Touch Some Boobs.” Yes, really.) I can’t say I ever warmed to Denji as a lead character, but I finished my read-a-thon with a grudging respect for Fujimoto’s excessive, ridiculous creation, which entertained and repelled me in equal measure. Your mileage will vary.

Chapters 1-53 of Chainsaw Man are available at the VIZ website. 

CHAINSAW MAN • STORY AND ART BY TATSUKI FUJIMOTO • VIZ MEDIA

 

The Right Way to Make Jump

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Most books about the manga industry fall into one of two categories: the how-to book, which offers advice on how to draw proportionate characters, plan a storyboard, and buy the right pens; and the how-I-became-an-artist story, which charts the emotional ups and downs of breaking into the manga biz. The Right Way to Make Jump takes a different approach, pulling back the curtain on the production process.

Our guide to the manga-making process is Takeshi Sakurai, a spazzy, anxiety-ridden thirty-year-old who traded his dreams of becoming a professional manga-ka for a more predictable, less demanding life as an onigiri chef. Out of the blue, Sakurai receives a call from his former editor Momiyaxx-san about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to “create a non-fiction manga” that explains “how Jump is made.” After much hand-wringing and angst—and a friendly nudge from his cheerful, patient wife—Sakurai accepts the assignment, embarking on a series of factory tours and interviews to learn the nuts-and-bolts of publishing an issue of Weekly Jump. His odyssey takes him to a paper mill at the foot of Mt. Fuji, the editors’ bullpen at Shueisha headquarters, and VIZ’s corporate office in San Francisco, where Sakurai gets a first-hand look at how Jump is localized for different markets.

The book is cheekily divided into ten “arcs,” each of which focuses on a specific production step. The most interesting sections focus on the manufacturing process, explaining why Jump uses colored paper and how the magazines are cut, assembled, and bound. For readers who love the Discovery Channel—and I count myself among them—these early chapters are a blast, as they are studded with weird, wonderful facts about paper and machinery. (Among the most interesting: Jump paper dust plays an important role in Tokyo’s sewage treatment program.) The later chapters, by contrast, are less effective, as the editorial staff’s answers to potentially interesting questions are couched in polite, vague language that offers little insight into what they do; you’d be forgiven for rolling your eyes when a Jump staffer offers an essentialist justification for not hiring female editors, or chalks up the order of each issue to ‘intuition.’

Where The Right Way really shines is in Sakurai’s use of clever visual analogies to help the reader grasp the most  intricate parts of the manufacturing process. In “Platemaking,” for example, Sakurai creates a muscle-bound figure who represents the resin plate, a key element in the printing process:

The figure’s transformation neatly embodies the basic principles of creating a positive from a negative by comparing the process to suntanning—something that readers of all ages can relate to from personal experience.

As informative as such passages are, The Right Way can be a frustrating reading experience. Some chapters are briskly executed, achieving a good balance between education and entertainment, while others focus too much on slapstick humor, unfunny exchanges between Sakurai and Momiyaxx-san, and shameless plugs for Weekly Jump. Sakurai’s sardonic tone—expertly captured by translator Emily Taylor—helps mitigate some of these issues, but can’t always goose the tempo when Sakurai frets and fumes about meeting his deadlines; joking about your own shortcomings can be an effective strategy for ingratiating yourself to the reader, but not when you’re using those jokes to pad your weekly page count.

The overall structure of the book, too, leaves something to be desired. Though the first chapters focus on how the magazine is printed, the later chapters tackle a seemingly random selection of topics—Jump Festa, recycled paper stock, cover design, reader contests—suggesting that no one anticipated how long The Right Way would run in Weekly Jump. A topic-of-the-week approach is fine when readers wait for each new installment, but it makes for a chaotic, sometimes repetitive reading experience when collected in a single volume. The most logical strategy for organizing the tankubon edition would have been to start with the editorial process and end with the printing; not only does sequential presentation have obvious explanatory value, it also lends the material a compelling narrative arc, something that The Right Way to Make Jump sorely lacks.

Despite these shortcomings, I’d still recommend The Right Way to Make Jump, as it offers an all-too-rare glimpse of manga publishing’s less glamorous aspects, highlighting the contributions of professionals whose efficiency, creativity, and diligence have made Weekly Jump into a global phenomenon.

THE RIGHT WAY TO MAKE JUMP • ART AND STORY BY TAKESHI SAKURAI • TRANSLATED BY EMILY TAYLOR • VIZ MEDIA • 208 pp. • RATED T, FOR TEENS

Dr. Stone, Vols 5 and 6

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Dr. Stone Volumes 5 and 6 by Riichiro Inagaki and Boichi

Dr. Stone’s science-infused shonen post-apocalyptic story continues to be amusing. The fifth volume works through the shonen staple of a tournament fight in order to decide the chieftain of the small village that Senku intends to use to build his Kingdom of Science. There are opportunities to expound on the benefits of optics in battle, both for improving eyesight and setting things on fire. The tournament doesn’t last overly long though, and Senku turns his attention back to manufacturing basic antibiotics in order to save the life of Kohaku’s sister.

Dr Stone 6

I was glad to see this series take more of a detour into the backstory of the event where everyone turned into stone, with an appearance by Senku’s father who was an astronaut. The decisions he made up in space during the event ended up ensuring that Senku would find allies once he woke up. The contrast between a crew of castaway astronauts living in Senku’s past and building the idea of oral traditions with Senku’s contemporary science-based approach was interesting. The looming possibility of conflict between Senku’s Kingdom of Science and Tsukasa’s growing empire continues, as a raiding party attacks and Senku’s allies narrowly escape. Boichi’s art is always dynamic, but I particularly enjoyed the scenes in this volume where a poisonous wind is portrayed as a terrifying giant looming over the landscape. Occasionally seeing the characters portrayed as tiny against the immense backdrop of nature just brings to home how difficult it is to cobble together a society with only a few resources.

I’m still getting more impatient for another appearance by Taiju, but I’m hoping as Senku and Tsubasa race towards an epic confrontation he shows up again. This is still a fun series because I never know what type of invention will be featured next, and Senku’s cerebral enthusiasm makes him an entertaining shonen protagonist for anyone wanting a slightly different slant on fight scenes.

Dr Stone, Vol. 2

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Dr. Stone Volume 2 by Riichiro Inagaki and Boichi

The second volume of Dr. Stone featured fewer scenes of crazy science action, but it did spend a more time on world building and setting up the conflict between the friends Senku and Taiju and newly revived but reactionary classmate Tsukasa. Senku is determined to push technology forward by manufacturing gunpowder, in order to give his group an advantage. The gunpowder sets off a plume of smoke which is answered by another smoke signal, indicating that the teenagers might not be alone in their post-apocalyptic world where everyone has been turned into stone.

Dr Stone 2

There was a flashback chapter showing Senku, Taiju, and Yuzuriha when they were young and pursuing Senku’s childhood dreams of rocketry. It was nice to see a glimpse of this mini friend group as little kids, and it played in well to how they work together to survive a hostile environment. Taiju and Yuzuriha have to figure out how to rescue their mad scientist friend, and we also get a glimpse of what Senku went through on his own, when he was the only human to wake up. There’s still plenty of dynamic science action in Boichi’s art, and while the second volume was a little less entertaining for me than the first simply because I was no longer as diverted by the initial premise of the manga, I’m curious to see how the conflict between Senku and Tsukasa is going to play out over the long term.

Female characters who exist mainly to be decorative and supportive is one of my shonen pet peeves, and at the end of this volume Dr. Stone seems to be heading in that direction. I’m not sure if all the genuinely enjoyable yelling about paleolithic science will be enough to offset those sort of plot developments, but I’ve liked the series so far.

Short Takes: Black Torch and Demon Slayer

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It’s been a while since I added a new Shonen Jump title to my pull list. Don’t get me wrong: I love One-Punch Man and The Promised Neverland, but I find that many shonen titles overstay their welcome (usually around the fourth or fifth tournament arc). Still, it’s hard to resist the allure of a great shonen series, especially if it has snazzy art and a great hook, so I decided to check out two recent debuts: Black Torch and Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaba, both of which draw inspiration from Japanese folklore.

Black Torch, Vol. 1
Story and Art by Tsuyoshi Takaki
VIZ Media, 200 pp.
Rated Teen+, for older teens (violence)

Black Torch suffers from an unusual problem: it has a terrific introductory chapter with emotionally resonant scenes, followed by two chapters that seem stale in comparison.

The opening pages introduce us to Jiro Azuma, a sensitive young man who has an unusual talent: he can hear animals’ thoughts. At the urging of his childhood dog, Jiro uses his gift to help animals in need, whether it’s a crow hassled by people or a kitten trapped in a tree. A chance encounter with a wounded mononoke, however, turns his life upside down, pitting him against his grandfather, a ninja with serious monster-hunting skillz. Alas, the revelation that gramps belonged to the Oniwabanshu, a top-secret government agency that kills demons, pushes the story in a more obvious, less interesting direction. These scenes hit all-too-familiar beats as the bureau’s mission and personnel are fleshed out, one antagonistic exchange at a time. Only the fight sequences provide relief from these info-dump conversations; they’re briskly choreographed affairs, notable both for their inventive use of perspective and sparing use of screen tone, speed lines, and sound effects. The same crisp, minimalist approach informs the character designs, giving Black Torch a distinctive look that’s not fully matched by its Tokyo Ghoul-by-way-of-Bleach plotting. Your mileage may vary.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Vol. 1
Story and Art by Koyoharu Gotouge
VIZ Media, 192 pp.
Rated Teen, for readers 13 and up (fantasy violence)

Demon Slayer‘s plot is set in motion by a tragedy: the hero returns home from an errand only to discover that a demon slaughtered his family. One sibling clings to life but shows signs of becoming a demon herself, putting Tanjiro in a terrible bind: should he kill her now, or risk being killed in a week, a month or a year when her transformation is complete? Though the series’ dark tone feels au courant, in keeping with Jump Plus titles like Fire Punch, Koyoharu Gotouge’s line work and character designs are pleasingly retro, the kind of art you might have found in a Reagan-era issue of Weekly Shonen Jump. Gotouge’s bodies and heads are sometimes a little awkwardly drawn, and his demons too obviously fashioned from screen tone, but the artwork’s lack of polish makes Tanjiro seem more vulnerable when confronting monsters that are bigger, meaner, and more cunning than he is. I’m not sure that Demon Slayer is headed anywhere new, but Tanjiro is the kind of hero I’d like to see more often: a frightened but determined character who seems like a real person confronting the impossible, rather than a resolutely optimistic kid whose pluck carries the day. Recommended.

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.

The Promised Neverland, Vol. 2

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The first volume of The Promised Neverland was a masterclass in how to launch a series: the plotting was intricate but the brisk pacing and well-timed twists prevented an exposition-heavy story from sagging under the weight of its own ambition. Of necessity, volume two unfurls at a slower clip than the first, as the principal trio of Emma, Ray, and Norman work through the logistics of escaping Gracefield Manor, weighing the pros and cons of each element in their intricate plan. Kaiu Shirai also expands the cast to include other stakeholders, dedicating several chapters to Krone, Mother’s new subordinate, and Don and Gilda, two high-achieving students who haven’t yet learned the true purpose of Gracefield Manor.

These character moments are one of the great strengths of volume two. Krone, for example, turns out to be more resourceful than we might have guessed from her brief introduction in volume one; Shirai and Posuka Demizu use a woodland game of tag to reveal Krone’s formidable strength, speed, and cunning, establishing her as yet another major obstacle to escape. In other passages, Shirai peels away the outer layers of her principal characters, complicating the reader’s understanding of who they are, what motivates them to escape, and with whom their true allegiance lies — a necessary corrective to the first volume, which portrayed Emma, Ray, and Norman as just a little too smart, too capable, and too thoughtful to fully register as twelve-year-olds.

Volume two hits an occasional speed bump when characters discuss the escape plan. One overly deliberate scene, for example, finds Roy and Norman in full Scooby Doo mode, explaining how they figured out there was a mole among the residents. And volume two’s physical depiction of Krone is, frankly, uncomfortable, as some of her facial features have been exaggerated in ways that recall the iconography of blackface minstrelsy. Despite these lapses, The Promised Neverland remains suspenseful thanks, in no small part, to Demizu’s brief but horrific dream sequences; these suggestive images — a swirl of bodies, teeth, and monstrous eyes — provide a potent reminder of what’s at stake if the kids don’t escape Mother’s clutches.

The Promised Neverland, Vol. 2
Story by Kaiu Shirai, Art by Posuka Demizu
Translated by Satsuki Yamashita
VIZ Media; 192 pp.
Rated T, for Teen

RWBY

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There was a moment in the early 2000s when Tokyopop slapped the “manga” label on just about anything it published, from licensed Japanese comics to comics made by aspiring American artists who were trying to break into the industry. Looking back on the heated debate over the legitimacy of OEL manga, I wonder how today’s readers will view RWBY, a work that meets the basic definition of manga as “comics created in Japan,” but has a more complicated history than other American properties that have been reimagined for Japanese readers.

RWBY’s path to the Shonen Jump imprint began in 2013 when Rooster Teeth, an American production studio, had a viral hit with an original, anime-influenced show about a team of girls who fight monsters. Over the next four years, interest in RWBY was strong enough to inspire a spin-off series, a video game, four soundtrack albums, and a manga illustrated by Shirow Miwa, creator of Dogs and Dogs: Bullets & Carnage. Like Miwa’s other work, RWBY ran in the pages of Ultra Jump alongside JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure and Bastard!! before being licensed by VIZ for American readers.

Flipping through its pages, there are hints that RWBY is a slightly different animal than Jiro Kuwata’s Bat-Manga or Kia Asamiya’s Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. RWBY reads like a skillful imitation of a battle-heavy shonen manga, a riot of flying fists, kicking legs, swinging scythes, and extreme camera angles. Almost every imaginable visual cliche is on display, from a girl with cat-ears (she’s a Faunus, or a “therianthrope”) to a school uniform that consists of a waist-nipping blazer and impossibly short skirt. And while Miwa’s artistic persona is evident in the story’s best pages, RWBY feels less like a manga adaptation of a popular American show than a compendium of things that American fans like about anime and manga.

The story follows a familiar template: four — or three, or five — special teens attend a special school where they learn how to use their special powers to defend the Earth from demons or aliens. Each teen has one unusual gift — say, teleporting or making killer bento boxes — and one well-defined personality trait that dictates the costume she wears, how much she talks, and whether she plays well with others. Though individually effective, the quartet — or trio, or quintet — is more formidable when they team up against their shared enemy, a lesson that’s reinforced early and often in the series both in the outcome of the battle scenes and in the characters’ on-the-nose conversations about friendship and cooperation. In RWBY, the principal team consists of four girls: Ruby Rose, a weapons expert, Weiss Schnee, a rich girl, Blake Belladonna, a former gang member, and Yang Xiao Long, a cheerful spazz who loves a good brawl. All four attend attend Beacon Academy, where teens train to become Hunters, skillful warriors who wield cool weapons and magical spells against the Grimm, a race of “soulless monsters” that threaten humanity’s existence.

On the screen, such a shopworn premise could still work with the addition of snazzy animation, strong voice acting, great sound design, and judicious pacing. On the page, however, RWBY falls flat. Miwa is hamstrung by the pedestrian source material, cranking out a manga whose principal characters are blandly pretty and prone to explaining things to one another. Just a few pages into chapter one, for example, Ruby blithely asks her teammates about Dust, the magical substance that powers their weapons. Without missing a beat, Schnee responds, “It’s a crystallized energy propellant that helps to power our world.” She then launches into a lengthy rumination on Dust that’s supposed to reveal something about her character — her family’s fortune is tied to Dust — but is such a poorly disguised information dump that it never rises to the level of conversation.

Glimpses of Miwa’s signature style — his sharp-featured characters and spidery linework — emerge most clearly in the battle sequences, when Ruby and friends face off with the Grimm. Miwa frames the action in panels whose bold, diagonal boundaries mimic the combatants’ slashing motions and flying leaps. In one of the manga’s most striking sequences, Miwa traces a bullet from the barrel of Ruby’s gun towards its target. This kind of tracking shot is a hackneyed gesture, but Miwa does something playful and surprising with it: he breaks the frame to create the illusion that the bullet is emerging from the page and whizzing past the reader:

The rest of the sequence, however, is a hot mess. Miwa’s relentless shift in perspective makes the fight as incomprehensible as a badly edited car chase; it’s never clear how many monsters are involved, or what makes the Grimm so lethal, despite the fact that Miwa has tried to mimic the show’s swooping camera work to show the carnage from every possible angle.

Miwa’s indifference to the material also manifests itself in the almost total absence of background detail. Though he introduces the fight sequences with an establishing shot or two — a glimpse of trees, an aerial view of a railroad track — the action unfolds in blank space. Plenty of manga-ka take similar shortcuts, but when a manga is 70% combat and 30% character-building, the effect is like looking at a scene from The Last Jedi or Avatar before the special effects were added; in the absence of any objects, buildings, or landmarks that would contextualize their actions and words, the characters look downright silly.

Part of me wishes RWBY were better, as it’s fascinating to see an American program get the manga treatment, especially one that wears its Bleach and Magic Knight Rayearth influences on its sleeve. Ten years ago, fans would have derided such a program as inauthentic; today, it seems, such trans-Pacific exchanges are unremarkable. Too bad RWBY never escapes the prison of Overused Anime and Manga Tropes to become something more original, compelling, or entertaining.

RWBY • MANGA BY SHIROW MIWA • BASED ON THE ROOSTER TEETH SERIES CREATED BY MONTY OUM • TRANSLATED BY JOE YAMAZAKI, ADAPTED BY JEREMY HAUN & JASON HURLEY • VIZ MEDIA • 260 pp. • RATED T, FOR TEENS (Fantasy violence, mild fanservice)

The Promised Neverland, Vol 1

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The Promised Neverland by Kaiu Shirai and Posuka Demizu

This series is one of more intriguing debuts that I’ve read from the Shonen Jump line in a long time. It is also a very difficult series to write about due to a pretty dramatic plot twist that happens around 40 pages into the manga, but I’m going to be deliberately vague and avoid spoilers.
The series opens with a semi-idyllic portrayal of life in an orphanage in what looks like a non-specific European country. Emma, Norman, and Ray are some of the oldest orphans, and each is gifted with some special talents. Emma is a tremendous athlete, Norman is incredibly smart, and Ray is a strategic thinker who is constantly honing his powers of observation. The orphans are cared for by a woman named Mom, who they all love as the only adult in their lives. As the first few pages unfold, small details in the art start to unsettle the reader. Why do all the orphans have numeric sequences tattooed on their necks? Why do they all have to dress in white? Why are they subjected to what looks like insanely detailed IQ tests in the morning, and then given the freedom to roam around the woods that surround the orphanage in the afternoon?

The orphans make a discovery that causes them to question the environment that they’ve been raised in, and their unique personalities and perspectives cause them to band together to start to assess their situation and develop a plan of action. While Emma is smart, one of the greatest things she brings to the team is moral clarity and a sense of urgency. The two boys are more cerebral, with Norman being more book smart, and Ray serving as a mastermind who is initially focused most on what is practical to accomplish. This volume focuses mainly on the orphans testing their assumptions and working together to figure out how The Promised Neverland doesn’t really live up to the fairy-tale aspects of the title. The art in the series features faces that are a but smushy, but very expressive of emotion. Emma’s hairstyle looks like a reference to Duck in Princess Tutu, so I found that amusing. The Promised Neverland is incredibly dark, but seeing how resourceful the orphans are brings an element of hope into play for the reader. The first volume of the series easily draws the reader into the sinister world the orphans are resisting. Extremely entertaining, and I’m already impatient for the next volume.

A First Look at The Promised Neverland

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Crack pacing, crisp artwork, and a shocking plot twist in chapter one — those are just three reasons to pick up The Promised Neverland when it arrives in comic shops on December 5th. The first volume is a masterful exercise in world-building, introducing the principal characters and the main conflict in a few economic strokes, avoiding the trap that ensnares so many fantasy authors: the info-dump introduction. Instead, the writer-artist team of Kaiu Shirai and Posuka Demizu allow the reader to figure out what’s happening by revealing important plot details as the characters uncover them, and letting the artwork establish the setting. That makes the very earliest pages of the story flow more like a rollercoaster than a Star Wars screen crawl, making every page turn feel like an urgent necessity.

The story begins at Grace Field House, an orphanage plucked from a Victorian novel: the main building is a homey Tudor villa that’s surrounded by open meadows and lush forest, perfect for a game of tag. Our first hint that something is amiss comes just six pages into the story, as Emma, the narrator, makes a mental note of all the things she’s grateful for: “a warm bed, delicious food” and “an all-white uniform.” Before we can ponder the significance of the uniform, however, Demizu inserts a panel revealing that every resident of Grace Field House has a number tattooed on her neck, a sure sign that the orphans are more prisoners than temporary wards:

A smattering of other clues — including a series of daily IQ tests and a fence encircling the property — reinforce our perception that Emma and her friends Roy and Norman are in grave danger. And while the earliest chapters occasionally bow to Shonen Jump convention with on-the-nose narration, it’s the artwork, not Emma’s voice-over, that makes each new revelation feel so sinister. Consider the panel that introduces the testing ritual:

In the first ten pages of the story, Demizu uses little to no shading to create volume or contrast, instead depicting the setting and characters through clean, graceful linework. The image above, which appears on pages 12-13, is the first time that we see such a dramatic use of tone; the students at the back of the frame look like they’re being swallowed by a black hole, while the students at the front sit under a klieg light’s glare. Demizu’s subsequent drawings are more restrained than this particular sequence, but her artwork becomes more detailed and complex than what we saw in the story’s first pages — it’s as if the setting is coming into focus for the first time, complicating our initial impressions of Grace Field House as a place of refuge.

I’m reluctant to say more about the plot, since the first chapter’s spell loses some of its potency if you know the Big Terrible Secret beforehand. (If you absolutely, positively must know what happens, Wikipedia has a decent, one-paragraph summary of the premise.) By the time Emma, Roy, and Norman realize the real purpose of their incarceration, however, the basic “rules” of the Promised Neverland universe have been firmly established, and the characters fleshed out enough for us to care whether they succeed in escaping. More importantly, the lead trio are smart and capable without seeming like miniature adults, making their likelihood of success seem uncertain, rather than preordained. That element of suspense may be difficult to sustain for 10 or 20 volumes, but hot damn — volume one is a nail-biter. Count me in for more!

Volume one debuts on December 5th in print and ebook form. Chapters 1-3 are available for free on the VIZ website; the story is currently being serialized in the English edition of Weekly Shonen Jump.

Astra Lost in Space, Vol. 1

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While the US manga market has plenty to offer teen readers, there’s a dearth of titles for kids who have aged out of Yokai Watch but aren’t quite ready for Bleach or Soul Eater. Astra Lost in Space, a new addition to the VIZ catalog, is a perfect transitional title for ten, eleven, and twelve-year-olds who want to read “real” manga: its slick illustrations and adventure-driven plot feel just edgy enough for this group, while the content falls safely within the boundaries of what’s appropriate for the middle school crowd.

The plot of Astra Lost in Space may remind older fans of Moto Hagio’s sci-fi classic “They Were Eleven”: nine high school students find themselves stranded aboard a spaceship whose communication system has been disabled. With only a few days’ supply of water and food on board, the group is forced to improvise a plan for making the five-month journey home. Their solution: hopscotching between planets — let’s call them “Class M” for the sake of convenience — where an abundant supply of water, plants, and animals await harvesting.

As you might guess, the planet-of-the-week formula provides artist Kenta Shinohara (Sket Dance) ample opportunity to draw menacing fauna and flora, and stage imaginative action sequences. In the volume’s best scene, for example, team captain Kanata Hoshijima leap-frogs across a field of sky-high lily pads to rescue the group’s youngest member from a flying, six-legged monster. Shinohara lavishes more attention to detail on Kanata’s long jump technique than on the turgon itself, breaking down each of Kanata’s jumps into discrete steps recognizable to any track-and-field fan: the approach, the takeoff, the hang, and the landing. In a further nod to realism, Shinohara shows us the physical toll that each jump exacts from Kanata; we can practically hear Kanata’s heaving breaths as he readies himself for the next one, an effective gambit for casting doubt on Kanata’s ability to reach Funicia.

For all the skill with which this rescue is staged, Shinohara can’t disguise the fact his characters feel like they’re the products of a Shonen Jump reader’s poll, rather than original creations. Kanata, for example, is a walking, talking checklist of shonen hero traits: he’s strong, friendly, over-confident, and burdened with a tragic backstory that gives him the will to persevere in any situation, no matter how dire. He also happens to be a decathlete, a fact that’s revealed as he rescues Funicia from the turgon’s grip. (At least that explains his javelin-throwing skills.) The other characters are less developed than Kanata, but will seem familiar to anyone who’s read three or four Shonen Jump titles: there’s Quittierre, a pretty rich girl whose tantrums conceal a good heart; Aries, a cute spaz who makes Edith Bunker look like a genius; Zack, a calm, smart boy who speaks in complete paragraphs; Charce, a boy who’s so handsome he sparkles; and a handful of less-defined characters who — according to the Third Law of Manga Plot Dynamics — will either be monster fodder or directly responsible for their classmates’ terrible predicament.

Manga novitiates, however, will be less troubled by these nods to convention, thanks to the story’s brisk pacing, smart-looking layouts, and game attempts at humor. Though there’s a mild bit of fanservice and “fantasy violence” (VIZ’s term, not mine), parents, teachers, and librarians should feel comfortable allowing middle school students to read Astra.

N.B. The first 45 chapters are currently available through the VIZ website for anyone wishing to screen the story for younger readers. Volume one of Astra is also available in a Kindle edition, and will be available in a print edition that’s slated for a December 5th release.

ASTRA LOST IN SPACE, VOL. 1 • STORY AND ART BY KENTO SHINOHARA • TRANSLATED BY ADRIENNE BECK • VIZ • 204 pp. • RATED T for TEEN

Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Vol. 1

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Since its 1999 debut, Masashi Kishimoto’s Naruto has sold more than 220 million volumes in 35 countries and spawned a cottage industry of anime adaptations, costumes, trading cards, video games, figurines, and stage plays. VIZ published the final English-language volume in 2015, but the series’ popularity endures; walk through any American comic-con, and you’ll find small gangs of Narutos and Sasukes roaming the floor alongside Superman, Batman, and Sailor Moon.

In the post-Naruto era, VIZ has supplied hardcore fans with a steady stream of spin-off products, from light novels to coffee-table books. The company’s latest offering is Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, a manga written and illustrated by Ukyo Kodachi and Mikio Ikemoto under Kishimoto’s supervision. The story focuses on three new characters: Boruto (Naruto and Hinata’s son), Sarada (Sasuke and Sakura’s daughter), and Mitsuki (a young ninja of uncertain origins), all of whom enter the Chunin Exam, a tournament for aspiring ninjas. Running in tandem with the trio’s quest for victory are two subplots, the first centering on the return of the Otsutsuki clan and the second on a cloning scheme orchestrated by one of Naruto’s old nemeses.

While it’s obvious that Next Generations is aimed at ride-or-die fans, Kodachi deserves a medal for his efforts to make the story accessible to the uninitiated as well. Some of these expository passages are a little clumsy, but the pacing is brisk enough to smooth over the less graceful exchanges. The artwork, too, is competently executed; Ikemoto’s character designs create a strong visual continuity with the original series, making it easier for readers to grasp who’s related to whom.

On the minus side, Next Generations straddles the fence between remake and sequel, never fully settling on one approach. In an effort to show us that Boruto is just like his dad, for example, Kodachi portrays Boruto as impatient, brash, and… well, that’s about it. Reduced to a third-generation photocopy of his father, Boruto lacks a real identity or purpose of his own, despite Kodachi’s efforts to manufacture father-son drama. The decision to enter Boruto in the Chunin Exam is further evidence of the creators’ unwillingness to take risks. Boruto’s experiences may be a little different than his dad’s, but the tasks and outcomes tack so closely to the original that they, too, register as bad facsimiles, rather than an organic continuation of the Uzumakis’ saga.

The other problem with Next Generations is that the bad guys are cooler than the good guys. To be sure, this is a frequent issue in shonen manga; villains often get the snappiest lines and deadliest weapons while heroes are reduced to blustering about courage, teamwork, and loyalty. This problem nearly sinks the first volume of Next Generations, however, as Orochimaru — one of the most memorable villains in the original series — oozes sinister purpose in his cameo appearance, making a more immediate impression than any of Konoha’s do-gooder teens; he’s compulsively “watchable,” whether he’s browbeating one of his minions or playing at fatherhood.

Whether Orochimaru will be Next Generations’ principal baddie is unclear, as volume one introduces yet another flamboyant villain: Kawaki. If I had to hazard a guess about who Kawaki is, I’d say he was a refugee from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, as his two-tone hairdo and dramatic tattoos are just a little too fabulous for the Naruto universe. I’m not sure if he’s a portent of what’s to come in volume two or a hint of what Kodachi and Ikemoto might have created if they’d been given more latitude by Kishimoto; either way, finding out who Kawaki is the only reason I’d continue reading Next Generations.

The bottom line: If you’re a self-professed Naruto fan, Next Generations will offer just enough fresh material to affirm your love of all things Kishimoto; if not, you may find Next Generations a tedious slog.

Review copy provided by VIZ Media.

BORUTO: NARUTO NEXT GENERATIONS, VOL. 1 • CREATED BY MASASHI KISHIMOTO, ILLUSTRATED BY MIKIO IKEMOTO, AND WRITTEN BY UKYO KODACHI • VIZ MEDIA • RATED T (FOR TEENS)

A First Look at We Never Learn

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We Never Learn follows a tried-and-true shonen formula: an ordinary joe finds himself at the apex of a love triangle with two pretty girls. The points of this particular triangle are Yuiga, a bright, hard-working student from a poor family; Ogata, a math whiz whose classmates call her “Thumbelina Calculator”; and Furahashi, a budding literary talent whose classmates call her “Sleeping Beauty of the Literary Forest.” (Something tells me those nicknames were funnier in the original Japanese.) In keeping with the dictates of the genre, Ogata and Furahashi are physical and temperamental opposites: Ogata is petite, cold, and disdainful, while Furahashi is lanky, spazzy, and cheerful. Both girls initially appear to be out of Yuiga’s league, as they outperform him in the classroom and outclass him in looks.

The story takes an interesting turn midway through chapter one: Yuiga’s school hires him to tutor Ogata and Furahashi, both of whom are blissfully unaware of their natural strengths. Ogata dreams of enrolling in a prestigious liberal arts school, while Furahashi hopes to attend an engineering college. In trying to help Ogata and Furahashi achieve their goals, Yuiga discovers that his high EQ is a better asset than his book smarts. Yuiga knows how to cope with failure: as we learn in a flashback, he was once a mediocre student who gradually improved through trial and error. Ogata and Furahashi, by contrast, are portrayed as naturally brilliant in their respective fields but lacking the experience or maturity to master their weaker subjects.

Of course, there are plenty of elements you’d expect to see in a shonen rom-com: gratuitous shower and bath scenes, melodramatic proclamations, and a supporting cast of interchangeable classmates, none of whom make much of an impression. The manga’s generous portrayal of its principle characters and its genuine sincerity, however, suggest that We Never Learn has the potential to be sweetly funny without making Yuiga into an insufferable know-it-all or a dweeby doormat.

The bottom line: Try before you buy! The first chapter is available free on the VIZ website; readers wishing to continue the story can do so through the digital version of Shonen Jump. 

WE NEVER LEARN • BY TAISHI TSUTUI • VIZ MEDIA • RATED T, for teen (13+)

Short Takes: Back to School Edition

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My inbox is overflowing with emails touting back-to-school deals on everything from sneakers to school supplies–a sure sign that the fall semester is right around the corner, and a nice reminder that Seven Seas, VIZ, and Vertical all have new (well, new-ish) school-themed comedies arriving in stores this month. Today, I take a look at Haven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto, a comedy about the World’s Most Fascinating High School Student; My Hero Academia, a shonen adventure about a teen who’s studying to become a superhero; and My Neighbor Seki, a gag series about a slacker who elevates procrastination to an art form.

sakamotoHaven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto, Vol. 1
By Miki Sano
Rated Teen
Seven Seas, $12.99

Haven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto is “The Aristocrats” of manga, a basic joke that yields endless variations, each more baroque than the last. The premise is simple: transfer student Sakamoto is handsome, brilliant, and athletic, making him a natural target for bullies and lovelorn girls. Any time a challenging situation arises–a bee in a classroom, a classmate injured by a softball–Sakamoto effortlessly meets that challenge, in the process revealing a previously undisclosed talent.

In the hands of a less imaginative storyteller, Sakamoto might be a wish-fulfillment character for every teenager who’s ever been tongue-tied or harassed by other students. Nami Sano puts a distinct spin on the material, however, portraying Sakamoto as so calculating and unflappable that he’s genuinely creepy; Sakamoto never smiles, laughs, or shows any discernible human emotion, even when confronted with other people’s tears or anger. (The real joke seems to be that everyone admires Sakamoto anyway.) I’m not sure that I LMAO, but Sakamoto’s odd persona and equally odd talents are a welcome rebuke to the school council presidents and earnest strivers who populate most teen-oriented manga; I’d much rather spend time with him than a standard-issue shonen prince.

The verdict: You’ll either find Sakamoto’s antics inspired or too weird to be amusing.

academiaMy Hero Academia, Vol. 1
By Kohei Horikoshi
Rated T, for teens
VIZ Media, $9.99

Meet Izuku Midoriya: he’s an ordinary teen living in a world where 80% of humanity possesses a super power. That doesn’t stop Izuku from aspiring to become a professional hero, however; since childhood, he’s dreamed about the day he might gain admission to prestigious U.A. High School, a training ground for future crime-fighters. A chance encounter with All Might, a celebrity superhero, gives Izuku a chance to prove his mettle and get the coaching he needs to pass the U.A. entrance exam.

Though the plot twists are unsurprising, and Izuku’s classmates familiar types (e.g. the Bully, the Spazzy Enthusiast), the breezy script propels My Hero Academia past its most hackneyed moments. The clean linework, playful superhero costumes, and artfully staged combat further enhance the series’ appeal; Kohei Horikoshi could give a master class on the reaction shot, especially when a supervillain is wrecking havoc on a downtown skyline. Most importantly, Horikoshi respects the sincerity of Izuku’s ambitions without letting the character’s earnest intensity cast a pall over the fun–in essence, it’s a Silver Age comic in modern shonen drag, with all the corny humor and fist-pumping action of Stan Lee and Steve Ditko’s best work on Spider-Man.

The verdict: My Hero Academia is as predictable as death and taxes, but a smart script and crisp artwork help distinguish it from other titles in the Shonen Jump catalog.

sekiMy Neighbor Seki, Vols. 1-3
By Takuma Morishige
Unrated
Vertical Comics, $10.95

Like Haven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto, My Neighbor Seki is a one-joke series: middle-school student Seki goofs off during class, much to the consternation of his seat mate Rumi. Seki isn’t just doodling in his notepad, however. He pets kittens, builds elaborate sculptures from shoji pieces, runs an intraschool mail service, and hosts a tea ceremony. To vary the rhythm of the joke-telling, artist Takuma Morishige occasionally transplants the action from the schoolroom to the playground, though the set-up remains the same; Seki does something outrageous and Rumi reacts, prompting the teacher to scold Rumi for not paying attention.

Given Seki‘s slender premise, it’s not surprising that each volume is a hit-and-miss affair. In volume one, for example, Seki knits a cactus plushie using a double-ended afghan hook. Rumi initially scoffs at his choice of tool; as she observes, “The hallmark of afghan knitting is its unique thickness and softness. It’s a texture best utilized when making sweaters,” not stuffed animals. When she sees the final results, however, she concedes that Seki has chosen the perfect technique and materials for his cactus, sending her into a rapturously funny meditation on yarn. Not all the gags are as successful: Seki’s penchant for staging elaborate scenes with action figures is moderately amusing at first, but grows more tiresome with each new and less imaginative iteration. Still, it’s impossible to deny the energy, creativity, and specificity with which Morishige brings Seki’s exploits to life, making this series more “win” than “fail.”

The verdict: My Neighbor Seki is best enjoyed in one or two chapter installments; when read in large bursts, some scenarios read like 4-koma strips stretched to epic and unfunny proportions.

These reviews originally appeared at MangaBlog on August 7, 2015.