Manga Bookshelf

Discussion, Resources, Roundtables, & Reviews

VIZ

Bokurano: Ours, Vol. 1

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Among the most discussed scenes in the new Kick-Ass film is one that pits a tweenage assassin against a roomful of grown men. To the strains of The Banana Splits theme song, thirteen-year-old Hit Girl dispatches a dozen gangsters with a gory zest that has divided critics into two camps: those, like Richard Corliss, who found the scene shocking yet exhilarating, a purposeful, subversive commentary on superhero violence, and those, like Roger Ebert, who found it morally reprehensible, a kind of kiddie porn that exploits the character’s age for cheap thrills. What’s at issue here is not children’s capacity for violence; anyone who’s run the gauntlet of a junior high cafeteria or cranked out an essay on Lord of the Flies is painfully aware that kids can be beastly when the grown-ups aren’t looking. The real issue is that Hit Girl seems to be enjoying herself, raising the far more uncomfortable question of how children understand and wield power.

Mohiro Kitoh, creator of Shadow Star and Bokurano: Ours, likes to muck around in this uncomfortable space. In Shadow Star, for example, Kitoh pairs teens with powerful supernatural allies — in this case, “shadow dragons” — who become instruments not for fighting evil but for exacting revenge on their masters’ peers and asserting their masters’ primacy in the school pecking order. Shadow Star‘s graphic violence and sex scenes clearly made some folks uneasy, as a few of the later chapters were censored here in the US. (Dark Horse dropped the series before completing it.) Bokurano: Ours hasn’t crossed that line — at least not yet — but once again finds Kitoh subverting a familiar manga trope to suggest the darkness of the underage psyche. This time, he takes a stock shonen formula — kids piloting giant robots to save Earth from aliens — and gives it a nasty twist: the pilot of a successful sortie dies after completing his mission.

The first volume of Bokurano: Ours is neatly divided into three acts, the first explaining how Kokopelli, a mysterious computer programmer, dupes fifteen kids into “playing” this lethal game; the second profiling Waku, a brash jock who pilots the first mission; and third profiling Kodama, a ruthless loner who leads the second. In just a handful of pages, Kitoh establishes both boys’ personal histories and personalities with efficiency and nuance. Waku, for example, views his mission in the same light as a soccer match, as something to be won, while Kodama views his sortie with calculated detachment: by stomping flat an entire neighborhood, he hopes to create work for his father’s construction business. (He’s a youthful Donald Trump, minus the comb-over.)

As these first two sorties suggest, Kitoh seems intent on laying bare the unspoken truth about the giant-robot genre, that kids’ power fantasies are seldom as heroic and self-abnegating as we’d like to think; given the opportunity to control an enormous, destructive piece of machinery, many kids would just as soon turn it on others as save the day. His point is well-taken, but is driven home with such grim determination that it feels more punitive than insightful. The same could be said for his fight scenes, in which he meticulously documents the destructive effects of the children’s behavior. Kitoh’s robots look more like flesh-and-blood creatures than machines, making every body blow and puncture as viscerally real as a wound. The fights aren’t exciting; they’re exhausting, grim spectacles with terrible consequences for everyone caught in the crossfire.

Which brings me back to Kick-Ass: if a story’s tone is serious and dour, rather than cheeky and excessive, how are we to process the sight of young children committing terrible acts of violence? I wouldn’t go as far as Ebert and pronounce Bokurano: Ours morally reprehensible, as I think Kitoh recognizes that a child’s capacity for inflicting — and enjoying the sight of — pain comes from a different place than an adult’s, something that’s less self-evident in the Kick-Ass movie. At the same time, however, there’s something undeniably exploitative about Kitoh’s fondness for depicting children in peril; he seems to take pleasure in stomping all over the idea that children are more innocent and pure than adults, even though he’s devised an unfair scenario for testing that hypothesis. (As I note above, the kids are tricked into “playing” what they believe is a game, with no way to renege on their contract.) I’m not sure if his aim is to shock or simply tell unpleasant truths, but either way, his relentlessly pessimistic view of human nature wears thin fast.

BOKURANO: OURS, VOL. 1 • BY MOHIRO KITOH • VIZ • 200 pp. • RATING: OLDER TEEN

Kingyo Used Books, Vol. 1

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kingyo_coverKingyo Used Books starts from a simple premise: an eccentric group of people run a second-hand bookstore in an out-of-the-way location. Various customers stumble upon the shop — usually by accident — and, in the process of browsing, find a manga that helps them reconnect with a part of themselves that’s been suppressed, whether it be a youthful capacity for romantic infatuation or a desire to paint expressively.

Is there such thing as agit-manga? I ask this because Kingyo Used Books seems like the brainchild of an editor who’s desperately trying to convince adults that one never outgrows manga. In the first story, for example, a salaryman tries to unload his collection at the store, telling the owner, “I’m not a kid anymore. Besides, it’s kind of pathetic to keep reading manga forever.” He gets a gentle comeuppance at a class reunion, where his friends’ fond memories of Dr. Slump remind him what an important role manga played in their young lives. The story is pleasant and enjoyable, but suffers from a bad case of predictability; as soon as the salaryman sees his friends engaged in tearful, rhapsodic discussions of their childhood reading habits, he’s overcome with emotion and — natch — a strong desire to keep the manga he’d previously hoped to sell.

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Kingyo Used Books, Vol. 1

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Kingyo Used Books starts from a simple premise: an eccentric group of people run a second-hand bookstore in an out-of-the-way location. Various customers stumble upon the shop — usually by accident — and, in the process of browsing, find a manga that helps them reconnect with a part of themselves that’s been suppressed, whether it be a youthful capacity for romantic infatuation or a desire to paint expressively.

Is there such thing as agit-manga? Because Kingyo Used Books seems like the brainchild of an editor who’s desperately trying to convince adults that one never outgrows manga. In the first story, for example, a salaryman tries to unload his collection at the store, telling the owner, “I’m not a kid anymore. Besides, it’s kind of pathetic to keep reading manga forever.” He gets a gentle comeuppance at a class reunion, where his friends’ fond memories of Dr. Slump remind him what an important role manga played in their young lives. The story is pleasant and enjoyable, but suffers from a bad case of predictability; as soon as the salaryman sees his friends engaged in tearful, rhapsodic discussions of their childhood reading habits, he’s overcome with emotion and — natch — a strong desire to keep the manga he’d previously hoped to sell.

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Other stories in volume one follow the same basic template. In “Far Away,” for example, an archery champion discovers that laughter and downtime are as essential to winning as practice, thanks to a pair of Kingyo employees whose snot-rolling-down-the-face, tears-in-eyes response to Moretsu Ataru inspires the archer to pick up a manga instead of his bow and quiver. “Fujiomi-kun,” another chapter that adheres to this formula, focuses on a frustrated housewife who makes some small but important changes in her life after rediscovering Chizumi and Fujiomi-kun, a romance about a handsome athlete who falls in love with a clumsy but kind-hearted girl.

The series’ episodic structure cuts both ways, see-sawing between a fun exercise in formula — which manga will feature prominently in this story? who will be drawn into the store? — and a frustratingly obvious collection of beats culminating in a character’s decision to make a change in her life. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit the appeal of a series that highlights some famous (and, sadly, untranslated) manga, or that validates my own experiences as an adult manga reader; like many of the characters in Kingyo Used Books, I, too, have found titles as different as Suppli, Phoenix, and Night of the Beasts an outlet for emotions that don’t always find expression in my daily life. In settling for such a tidy approach to dramatizing manga’s transformative power, however, author Seimu Yoshizaki misses an opportunity to really move readers, instead treating us to sentimental, sometimes mawkish, scenes in which adults recover childhood memories of favorite books. Yoshizaki never acknowledges the messiness or risk that her characters take when acting on their epiphanies or experiencing personal growth, choosing instead to end every story on a positive note.

The artwork is clean, conveying the characters’ interior lives with directness and simplicity. Though her style isn’t particularly distinctive, Yoshizaki does a fine job evoking other artists’ styles, recreating images from famous series and altering one of her own characters to look like the hero of his favorite manga. The most striking image in the book is just such a recreation: it’s Hokusai’s iconic wave print, drawn in the sand by two students who then watch the incoming tide erase it. In the story’s final panels, the two reflect on their emotions as they watch their work vanish. One is pensive and wishes the work was permanent; the other responds by noting that permanence can be its own trap. “I’ve seen the pictures Hokusai drew when he was our age,” he says. “They really sucked.” Here’s hoping that volume two has more of these frank, funny, and true-to-life moments and fewer scenes of tearful housewives and salarymen reliving their childhoods through manga.

KINGYO USED BOOKS, VOL. 1 • BY SEIMU YOSHIZAKI • VIZ • RATING: OLDER TEEN (16+) • 208 pp.

Honey Hunt 4 by Miki Aihara: B

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Despite having no prior interest in acting, Yura Onozuka, the relatively normal daughter of celebrity parents, discovers a talent for it when she resolves to surpass her mother in the dramatic sphere. She has achieved some moderate success pretty quickly, including a spot in a commercial and a supporting role on a new TV drama.

Yura’s career is less the focus in this volume than are her romantic prospects, however. While volume three ended with one pop star (Haruka) confessing his feelings, here Yura is swept away by his twin brother (Q-ta, also a pop star), to the point where she’s distracted during an audition and later ditches a dinner planned by her housemates—to celebrate her drama’s debut—in favor of spending a night on the town with Q-ta.

Although one might wish for a heroine more doggedly dedicated to her career, it’s not hard to sympathize with Yura as she faces the choice between two dreams—the nurturing family-type environment offered by her housemates and the love of a prince-like suitor. Even though she makes some mistakes, she’s still likeable. Q-ta, however, comes off as quite the brat here, and one can’t help but wonder whether his protestations that he likes Yura for herself rather than for her famous father are truly genuine. If not, I suppose it’ll make for good drama.

In the end, while Honey Hunt doesn’t leave a particularly strong impression with the reader, it’s still something I enjoy reading.

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

Dr. Slump 1 by Akira Toriyama: C+

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From the back cover:
When goofy inventor Senbei Norimaki creates a precocious robot named Arale, his masterpiece turns out to be more than he bargained for!

Basking in the glow of his scientific achievement, Senbei scrambles to get Arale in working order so the rest of Penguin Village won’t have reason to suspect she’s not really a girl. But first Senbei needs to find her a pair of glasses and some clothes…

Review:
This series was recommended to me after I enjoyed Toriyama’s COWA! so much. Unfortunately, this one’s not really my cup of tea. I had originally borrowed the first three volumes from the library, but struggled to make it through just one. To be fair, its advocate was completely forthcoming about the “cracktastic humor.” It just didn’t turn out to be the kind that works for me.

This is the story of a socially inept inventor named Senbei Norimaki and the girl-shaped robot he creates. It begins promisingly enough, with a fun sequence detailing Arale’s creation, but quickly derails into zany, juvenile humor as Senbei ventures into a department store to buy undies for his creation. Some chapters are kind of fun—like when super-strong Arale is hounded by every sports club at school or when she finds a camera Dr. Norimaki invented that takes photos of the future—but many feature boogers, butts, and boobies.

I’m sure this would delight the young male audience for which it was intended, and it’s not as if COWA! was completely devoid of this kind of humor itself. The thing is—COWA! had real heart. I think I’ll always fondly remember the scenes of the monster kids and their wonderment as they took in the human world, but there are no similar moments in Dr. Slump, at least so far. That said, some of the gadgets are intriguing enough—like the camera—that I might give it another chance at some point. I do think, though, that it’s going to be one of those series that’s best in small doses.

Otomen 5 by Aya Kanno: B

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Otomen is the story of Asuka Masamune, a manly-seeming boy who harbors a secret love for “girly” pursuits like cooking and sewing. In this volume, his tomboyish girlfriend, Ryo, is picked to represent the second-year students in the school’s Ideal Woman competition, and draws on things she’s learned from Asuka in order to meet the challenge.

The third chapter focuses on Juta, who is secretly a shojo mangaka, and his attempt to protect the dreams of his fans who would be crushed to learn their favorite series is penned by an indolent playboy. The fourth sees the return of the Beauty Samurai, an awesome sentai duo (Asuka and fellow otomen and makeup expert, Tonomine) that beats up bad guys and gives makeovers!

As in previous installments, this volume offers episodic comedy with a decidedly silly bent. All of the stories within share the common theme of identity, too, whether it’s Ryo deciding that she really ought to know how to cook and sew (Asuka assures her she’s fine the way she is), Juta struggling to maintain his anonymity, or Asuka and Tonomine finding a covert outlet for their skills while living in fear of disappointing a parent. Kanno’s light touch ensures the feel remains light and fun, but it’s nice that there are deeper things one can read into it if one chooses.

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

Otomen 3-4 by Aya Kanno: B

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These two volumes, although mostly comprised of one-shot chapters with silly plots (Kanno writes that she’s trying to hit all the major shoujo clichés), still manage to introduce two new characters and elevate the status of Ryo and Asuka’s relationship to “officially dating,” though that doesn’t result in any changes in the way they interact.

Volume three begins with Asuka agreeing to help Ryo out at a daycare center. He fully intends to lead the kids “in a manly manner,” but they soon tire of meditation and calligraphy. Eventually, he wins them over with fancy snacks and earns the love of a motherless boy who wants Asuka to fill that role.

An amusement park date’s next on the agenda (complete with dynamite-toting crazy), followed by a chapter about Juta’s family. The final chapter of the volume introduces Tonomine, Asuka’s kendo rival, who instantly becomes my favorite character. He, too, was forced to squelch his love for a traditionally feminine pursuit—he’s a genius beautician—and Asuka helps draw him out with a display of his own sewing prowess.

In volume four, Asuka helps Ryo’s dad understand girls just in time for his daughter’s birthday, then discovers a secret garden at school that’s been lovingly tended by a hulking fellow named Kurokawa. After Asuka reassures Kurokawa that loving flowers is not wrong, he proceeds to be subtle comic relief for the rest of the volume, surreptitiously sneaking up on beautiful people and “adorning” them with flowers.

When summer vacation rolls around, Asuka’s dreams of a beach date with Ryo (which awesomely involve riding dolphins) are stymied when he’s drafted to help with the business of a classmate’s uncle (a shoujo cliché I’ve seen a couple of times). This turns into a multi-episode tale of snack shack rivalry, complete with swimming challenges and displays of Asuka’s, Tonomine’s, and Kurokawa’s hidden talents. And, yes, there is a dolphin.

As you can see, the plots are nearly always extremely silly, bordering on ridiculous. The fact that this is obviously intentional makes it much more amusing than it would be in a series where the creator was genuinely trying to get away with stuff like this. I enjoy the cast a lot, and even though it’s clear that the plot is not going anywhere any time soon, Otomen is still a fun read. I liken it to Ouran High School Host Club in this regard, actually. I’m generally not one for episodic stories, but there’s a charm in both of these series that keeps me coming back.

Review copy for volume three provided by the publisher.

Love*Com 17 by Aya Nakahara: B

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After the main Love*Com story finished, mangaka Aya Nakahara published a few additional bonus stories, which are collected in the series’ seventeenth and final volume. Three stories depict Ôtani and Risa during their junior high years and one revisits the gang four months after graduation. One of the major flaws of Love*Com in its later volumes was that, in a transparent effort to milk the series for all it was worth, the focus drifted too much from the leads to the uninspiring supporting cast. Here, at least, each story features one or both of the protagonists in the starring role(s).

Despite its hokey setup—practically every semi-significant character from the series coincidentally converges on the same beach on the same day—the post-graduation story is not only the best of the four, but also provides the best Risa/Ôtani scene in quite some time. It deals with Risa’s feelings of being left behind by her undergraduate friends, who are off having new experiences with people she doesn’t know while she contends with the challenges of fashion stylist school, which is not going as well as she had hoped. Somehow, this series works best when Risa is miserable, and when Ôtani steps up to the plate to cheer her up and listen to her troubles, it provides a better and more personal farewell for the series than the full-cast send-off volume sixteen offered.

It’s been a long time since I paused to admire and reread a particularly sweet moment between these two characters, and I can’t help feeling grateful that I was able to experience it one more time before the end. Maybe, just a little, Love*Com has redeemed itself.

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

Love*Com 15-16 by Aya Nakahara: B-

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I used to like Love*Com very much, but as I read these two volumes the main thought going through my mind was, “Just end, already!”

End it eventually does, as volume sixteen sees the conclusion of the main story line (the seventeenth and final volume is comprised of short stories) , but before that can happen we must endure more chapters focusing on the supporting cast. First up is the transgendered Seiko, whose dreams of confessing to the boy she likes are stymied by the untimely deepening of her voice. Next, the whole gang takes a conveniently free trip to an unspecified tropical island to witness the wedding of a popular teacher, culminating in a rather immature freakout from Risa at the thought of sharing a room/bed with Ôtani.

As volume sixteen begins, the gang is planning for graduation, but instead of spending the final chapters on the main cast, some new random third-year girl is introduced for the purpose of providing a girlfriend for Kohori, Risa’s coworker who had a thing for her at one point. These chapters—in which the girl (Abe) attempts to break up Risa and Ôtani so that Risa can date Kohori and make him happy—are pretty pointless and predictable, though they do at least inspire Ôtani to dismiss the chances of them breaking up any time soon.

The final chapter of the main story, chapter 62, is nothing fantastic, but still manages to be satisfying. True to form, Risa and Ôtani are late to their graduation ceremony, and as punishment must deliver a speech that devolves into one final comedy routine. A DVD of classmate memories yields further testimonies of love from the protagonists, and everything ends on a sunny note.

I wish the volume had ended there as well, but instead there’s a bonus story about the singer/actor whose first big role was playing Ôtani in the Love*Com movie. It’s all about his struggles to achieve stardom and to get people to listen as he and his buddy play acoustic guitars out in public. It’s exceedingly boring, and memories of Negishi in Detroit Metal City performing the same sorts of gigs—with lyrics as sappy—kept intruding.

Love*Com has fallen a lot in my estimation since its early volumes, but I don’t regret persevering to the end. It should have ended sooner, definitely, and all the filler gets on my nerves, but I can’t really quibble with its warm and fuzzy finale.

Review copies provided by the publisher.

Ristorante Paradiso

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RistoranteParadisoOh, Natsume Ono, I just can’t quit you! I was not wild about not simple, but try as I might, I couldn’t dismiss you as just another overrated indie artist. I couldn’t shake the memory of how I felt when I read the first few chapters of House of Five Leaves — that incredible sensation of discovering a new voice with something fresh to say, of having my love for manga validated all over again. So I picked up Ristorante Paradiso with high hopes. I’m happy to report I felt butterflies and excitement, just like the first time, and am firmly back on Team Ono.

Not that you didn’t test my patience — those first twenty pages were a slog, filled with the kind of amateurish moments that I might expect in a freshman effort. We learn that Casetta dell’Orso is popular because a character says it is; that the waiters are handsome because a character comments on how good-looking they are; that the loyal female clientele comes for the help not the food, again, because a character states it as a fact. In short, you have a bad case of telling instead of showing, of not trusting your artwork to demonstrate the restaurant’s popularity or the studliness of the wait staff. I nearly demanded the check.

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Ristorante Paradiso

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Oh, Natsume Ono, I just can’t quit you! I was not wild about not simple, but try as I might, I couldn’t dismiss you as just another overrated indie artist. I couldn’t shake the memory of how I felt when I read the first few chapters of House of Five Leaves — that incredible sensation of discovering a new voice with something fresh to say, of having my love for manga validated all over again. So I picked up Ristorante Paradiso with high hopes. I’m happy to report I felt butterflies and excitement, just like the first time, and am firmly back on Team Ono.

Not that you didn’t test my patience — those first twenty pages were a slog, filled with the kind of amateurish moments that I might expect in a freshman effort. We learn that Casetta dell’Orso is popular because a character says it is; that the waiters are handsome because a character comments on how good-looking they are; that the loyal female clientele comes for the help not the food, again, because a character states it as a fact. In short, you have a bad case of telling instead of showing, of not trusting your artwork to demonstrate the restaurant’s popularity or the studliness of the wait staff. I nearly demanded the check.

Then something wonderful happened: the characters began to interact with each other, and in their impassioned conversations, we began to appreciate who they were, what drew them into the restaurant’s orbit, and why they seem stuck in certain unhappy, unfulfilling roles. Olga, the heroine’s mother, provides an instructive example. In the first few pages of the book, we witness a tense exchange between Olga and Nicoletta, the daughter she abandoned. Nicoletta, now twenty-one, has shown up on her mother’s doorstep demanding to be acknowledged, something Olga refuses to do out of fear that her current husband will leave her. It seems like you were stacking the deck against Olga, Ms. Ono, as Olga initially comes off as a dreadful Mommie Dearest who’s so committed to protecting her own interests that she initiates an elaborate charade to conceal Nicoletta’s identity. But then you slowly reveal how other people see Olga, as a vibrant, intelligent, giving woman who radiates warmth and charm. You help us understand that Olga is both a lousy, selfish mother and a loving wife to her second husband, two roles she struggles to reconcile. That we finish the book feeling sympathy for daughter and mother is testament to your storytelling skills and your obvious affection for your characters.

Your artwork, like your grasp of character, is stronger and more assured in Ristorante Paradiso than it was in not simple. As we watch the waiters moving through Casetta dell’Orso, for example, it’s easy to see why the female clientele swoons: the male characters have strong, distinctive faces that leave a lasting impression. They’re not conventionally handsome, but those faces have a wonderful, lived-in look that’s inviting and alluring — think of Alan Rickman, William Powell, or Marcello Mastroianni, not the smoothly perfect bishonen we’re so accustomed to seeing in manga. When Olga explains her attraction to Lorenzo, her husband, the artwork supports what she says: he’s drawn not as a fantasy object, but as a rugged, bearlike man whose virility is obvious even though his body and face are beginning to soften in middle age.

Put simply, Ms. Ono, you won my heart back. I found Ristorante Paradiso an engaging story filled with complicated, true-to-life characters who I enjoyed getting to know. It was a welcome departure from the emotional torture-porn of not simple, and a promise of good things to come: Gente and House of Five Leaves.

Hikaru no Go 18 by Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata: B

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After the drama of the past few volumes, “the main storyline takes a holiday” (to quote the back cover) in volume eighteen and instead we get six short stories of varying quality.

A couple of stories, like those focusing on Akira Toya and Yuki Mitani, fill in some background for scenes from earlier in the series, and one revisits what’s left of Hikaru’s old middle school go club. Two others—about Asumi Nase, an insei, and Atsushi Kurata, a relatively young pro—serve to flesh out supporting characters and are the best of the bunch.

The sixth purports to be about Sai, and it was this story I’d looked forward to the most. Alas, it’s nearly the least interesting (Mitani’s claims top honors in that category), as it boils down to another case of “corrupt merchant trying to sell antique merchandise that Sai knows is fake.” I had hoped for a story from Sai’s life or perhaps from his time with his previous host, but instead we get a rehash of something we’ve seen as recently as volume twelve.

I’d be lying if I said these stories aren’t disappointing, coming on the heels of some very important plot developments, but I gather they’re meant to function as a palliative bridge between a dramatic story arc and whatever lies ahead, so I can’t fault them too much.

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

Vampire Knight 9 by Matsuri Hino: C+

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After the revelations in volume eight, the world of Vampire Knight goes—please pardon my indelicacy, but this is really the only way to put it—batshit crazy.

Pureblood vampire Rido Kuran (our villain) completes his resurrection and summons his followers to him. Said followers feel no compunction about snacking on the day class students of Cross Academy, so the noble vampires of the night class must protect them. Kaname challenges the vampire senate, Zero gains thorny super powers along with some self-control, Yuki squares off against Rido, and the Hunters Association arrives to exterminate the night class, but is held off by Headmaster Cross and his hunter pal, Toga.

This synopsis might make it seem as if the volume is action-packed, but “incoherent” is actually closer to the truth. I honestly have no idea why half of this stuff is going on. Perhaps it’s because it’s been three months since I read volume eight, but that just goes to show how little of this series is actually memorable beyond its main characters and its prettiness. Zero’s evolution is genuinely interesting, though, and makes for some cool moments near the end of the volume.

The art of this series is usually its best asset, but Hino’s style is far more suited for depicting pretty, angsty vampires than scenes of battle. Many times, I was left puzzled by what was happening—“‘Shunk?!’ What just went ‘Shunk?!’”—and kept confusing Rido and Toga, since they both have wavy shoulder-length black hair and an unruly forelock.

I am left to conclude that Vampire Knight is like a morsel of dark chocolate: its bittersweet taste lingers on your tongue while you’re consuming it, but its impact doesn’t last much beyond that moment.

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

New Shojo Beat Licenses?

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These VIZ licenses may not be new to some, but they were to me!

This evening, while perusing the Amazon listings for Beast Master, by Kyousuke Motomi, my friend and fellow manga blogger Jennifer Dunbar noticed a listing for Dengeki Daisy by the same creator with a July 2010 release date. I checked the Simon & Schuster site, and sure enough, there it is!


Dengeki Daisy
From the site: One day at school, Teru accidentally breaks a window and agrees to pay for it by helping Kurosaki with chores around school. Kurosaki is an impossible taskmaster though, and he also seems to be hiding something important from Teru…

This inspired me to check for other new prospective Shojo Beat titles on Amazon, and I struck gold with a listing for Seiho Boys’ High School! by Kaneyoshi Izumi, mangaka of Doubt!!, with an August 2010 release date.

Seiho Boys’ High School
From the site: Remote, lonely and surrounded by the ocean. This isn’t Alcatraz we’re talking about, it’s Seiho Boys’ High School, where the student body is rife with sexually frustrated hunks! How can these young men get girlfriends when they’re stuck in the middle of nowhere? These are the stories of the students of Seiho High and the trouble they get into as they awkwardly pursue all girls who cross their paths.

I’m not sure that Seiho will really appeal to me, but I’ll probably give it a shot. I’m really happy to see more from Kyousuke Motomi, though, since Beast Master is adorable. Looks like this is a slightly longer series, as well.