Dawn of the Arcana Book 3

by Rei Toma
Viz, $9.99

Nakaba gets the kind of pledge from her arranged husband that many girls dream about, as he, thinking she might have tried to kill him, nevertheless vows that he will always come back to her. Meanwhile, the faithful Loki is granted higher status, becoming a knight, in order to better protect her. Who wouldn’t like these guys battling over them? She’s even noble about it, since she’s fighting for the status of her people, to bring an equality with their oppressors, while they’re playing silly games like trying to force-dye her unusual red hair.

That particular threat doesn’t really make sense in the fantasy setting of princes and kingdoms, but it’s the kind of challenge that will be meaningful to the teen girl readers who will most enjoy this illustrated proto-Harlequin. The feelings are heightened, the stakes high, and the characters easy to grasp. The art is simple, mostly faces, few backgrounds, to better power the emotional drama and read quickly and easily.

Nakaba feels powerless, but she is clearly the center of events, fated to have a huge destiny, while princes fight over her. A mysterious visitor, in this volume, spells it out further while she struggles with the question of whether to succumb to her strong husband. This series hits all the right marks for a love fantasy aimed at girls dreaming of faraway times and places and magic.

The Story of Saiunkoku Book 7

The Story of Saiunkoku Book 7

by Sai Yukino and Kairi Yura
Viz, $9.99

There is a huge cast in this historical soap opera, so I’m glad the narrative style is to tell the reader lots about what’s happening. That makes it a bit easier to catch up when it’s been a while since I’ve read the previous book. (I reviewed the previous installment of Saiunkoku, as well as Dawn of the Arcana, in February.)

I can’t tell all the characters apart visually, so I’m not sure who the young man is, the one pondering whether he should stay with his uncaring master or strike out on his own. He resembles the emperor, but I know that’s not right. I’d like to see more of the emperor, actually, since his relationship with Shurei is what first attracted me to this series.

That’s been downplayed in later volumes, presumably to keep the series running, but there’s hope here that we’ll soon see more between the two. I’m also intrigued by the storyline that’s replaced it in appeal for me, the one about Shurei struggling to be the first female civil servant. In prior books, that one has been a real downer, full of other characters hazing her, apparently without much repercussion. At least her determination and uncomplaining accomplishments are starting to win over those not already bigoted against her.

Unfortunately, her struggles take a newly dramatic turn in this volume, as officials begin acting more overtly against her. She’s held captive in the house of a high-ranking courtesan, one who was previously friendly but is now trapped into playing politics as well. There is to be a trial, in the next book, where Shurei will have the chance to prove her abilities once again. That allows for plenty of political scheming and cross-plotting, part of the series others may find more intriguing (and easy to follow) than I do.

The exaggeratedly decorated robes continue to be a high point of the art, conveying the flavor of the past. One particular official has a costume of floral paisley that’s ridiculously detailed. He’s the bad guy, so I’m thinking that his choice shows the evil of pride and suggests by contrast the virtue of simplicity. A backup story flashes back to young Shurei, her healing mother, and how Seiran got his pseudonym.

Ai Ore! Book 5

Ai Ore! Book 5

by Mayu Shinjo
Viz, $9.99

I’d been looking forward to trying this new series, since I enjoyed the over-the-top soap opera of Shinjo’s earlier series Sensual Phrase. The first three books were double-sized, but I put off reading them after hearing mixed reactions. (Although I suspect that some people disturbed by the sexual content, rape threats, etc. of this series weren’t fans of Shinjo’s work, since that type of material was also part of Sensual Phrase.)

It’s not ideal to start this far into a series, but Ai Ore! is a bit different. What Viz is publishing under this title was originally released as two series, an original and a sequel, in Japan. The first series made up books 1-3; the second began with the fourth volume in the U.S series and will end with Ai Ore! 8. So this is really the second book of the sequel. Plus, there’s a handy “story so far” summary.

The concept is simple enough, although with its rock-and-roll cross-dressing, it’s also determinedly edgy. Mizuki is treated like a prince at her all-girl school because of her guitar playing. The boy Akira wants to be the lead singer of her band, even if it means dressing like a girl — which he does very well, coming out cute.

However, by this point, the series seems to have changed into more of a school romance. Akira is insecure about being slender and not looking masculine enough, so as this book opens, he’s getting a friend to help him pick out clothes for an upcoming date with Mizuki. He’s tired of being mistaken for a girl. Mizuki, meanwhile, is trying to look feminine for the first time. They’re sort of adorable in how much they want to please each other, while being totally ludicrous in how much they overreact and obsess.

Plotwise, the setup here is that the girls’ school gets a new male teacher, their first, but it’s okay, because he’s gay… only that’s a lie. He’s also Akira’s former tutor, and he holds a mysterious secret about the boy.

It’s a common idea in teen fiction, that characters are too shy or too worried about what others will think to be honest, but often, as here, it just comes off as a plot device. I don’t understand why we’re supposed to believe these two are meant to be together at the same time we’re being told they can’t share their concerns with each other. It reads as a cheap try at dragging out drama.

I know a lot of kids feel ashamed of themselves, as though they’re not worth loving if people knew the truth about them, but in this series, I’m just not buying it in the fiction. I was also put off by the way Shinjo draws guys meant to be big and bulky. They wind up with giraffe necks and tiny heads for their bodies. Mostly, I don’t care enough about Akira as a character to want to follow the story now that it’s being told from his perspective.

(The publisher provided review copies.)

Young Miss Holmes Casebook 1-2

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I ordered Young Miss Holmes blind. I was hoping for a mystery manga series, since there aren’t as many of those as I’d like to read, but any time a series is promoted based on its young female lead, there is the potential for all kinds of ookiness. Thankfully, Lady Christie Hope is a charming young person with a prodigious intellect. She’s the daughter of Holmes’ sister, but her parents have left her in England while they reside in India.

She’s fascinated by her uncle’s cases, puzzling out how he makes his deductions and sometimes beating him to the punch through her own devices. She humanizes him, too, as someone who can otherwise seem chilly and remote. I particularly like it when she comes up with key information through considering the more social aspects, since that’s something she has to know better than he does. He is invited into a case by the police, for instance, but she enters the scene with a call to pay her respects after a death, as the local aristocracy is supposed to, or by serving as an appropriate companion for the daughter of the family. She can check out a young victim by cooing over a baby, while Holmes and Watson take a more formal investigation path.

Christie’s supporting cast is entertaining as well. She is sometimes accompanied by a giant hound named Nelson, sized suitably enough for her to ride him if need be. Her two housemaids, Nora and Annmarie, are opposite personalities. Annmarie is concerned with propriety, both for her charge and her fellow maid. Nora, on the other hand, is only learning to read, but she’s very street smart and skilled with a whip. Together, they fit the various sides of Lady Christie as well as serving as bodyguards. Christie also has quite the observant governess, a Grace Dunbar who admires her intelligence while teaching her softer skills.

There’s a good sense of the appropriate time period, although it’s not drawn with slavish detail. Instead, there’s a mood created of the kind of Victorian world we dream about when we read the original Sherlock Holmes stories, all gentry and estates and London streets. The dialogue flavor given to Christie supports that as well, with a formal but not unfriendly tone. I like the attention to manners and dress that gives this series its historical flavor. It’s amusing when, for example, Holmes is discussing the possibility of a woman having an affair, and Watson is turning colors at the thought of a young lady hearing about such things.

This double-sized volume, a terrific value, contains the cases of the Mazarin Stone (a missing diamond), Thor Bridge (a family murder), the Red-Headed League (theft and swindles), and the Adventure of the Dancing Men (code-breaking). I’m glad they bound up more than just the introductory book, since the series takes a little while to settle into its groove, but by the end of this volume, it’s clicking well.

Also included is “The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire”, which has been transformed into a crossover with Dance in the Vampire Bund. While the Holmes case involves a fake monster, Christie encounters a real one, as she hangs out briefly with Mina Tepes. The vampire princess and Lady Christie have a certain similarity of temperament, while Sekiko, a stocky vampire maid, provides comic relief in this, the longest story in the book. (Which I guess justifies promoting the appearance with a belly band wrapper.) There’s also a four-page epilogue drawn by Vampire Bund creator Nozomu Tamaki.

Young Miss Holmes makes me want to pull out the originals and reread them, which is my way of complimenting this volume. The stories shed new light on the classic tales, and I’d like to read more.

A Devil and Her Love Song Book 1

Maria, the “devil” of the title, is a new student previously at a Catholic school. She has a unique combination of abilities: she’s preternaturally insightful about why people behave or react a certain way, and she has nearly no empathy. Without the ability to put herself in someone else’s place and predict their feelings, her extraordinary truth-telling seems demonic in the pain she causes others by revealing their innermost motivations. Yet her commitment to authenticity is strangely compelling.

She’s a fascinating character, especially once you layer on her own emotions. She’s convinced that she “taints” everyone around her, yet she’s still trying to overcome that perceived curse. If this was a sitcom, we’d be speculating on how much Asperger’s she has, but in this romantic high school story, we feel her pain at not fitting in. Yet I admire her strength, as well, since she doesn’t bow to bullying (of which there is a lot) or peer pressure. She knows her own goal — to be accepted — and regardless of the words or deeds cast against her, she continues to struggle to reach it.

(Also, if this was an American comic, Maria’s faith, demonstrated by the cross she wears, and her truth-telling individuality would be more praised, less seen as a sign that she’s evil. The girls who haze her would also be more subtle about it. But since this is Japanese, the way she can’t help standing out is a bad thing, considered her fault.)

Miyoshi Tomori draws Maria as very attractive, almost sly, but not in a purposeful (from the character’s perspective) or creepy (from the reader’s perspective) way. She’s calm, self-possessed, demonstrating her quiet inner strength.

A Devil and Her Love Song Book 2

Maria is not completely alone. There are two boys who admire and crush on her in different combinations. Yusuke is an outgoing talker who wants everyone to like him. He’s the one who teaches her how to rephrase her comments in a more positive fashion (although the way she often gets that wrong is entertaining). His goal is to make everything beautiful, regardless of what lurks underneath. Shin is more of a loner, but his appreciation of her seems more honest, more aware of who she really is.

There’s also another girl, Tomoyo, who over the course of these two volumes goes from a kind of class mascot, tagging along with the mean girls just to fit in, to a proto-goth making her own decisions about who is really her friend. At first, she’s used by the other girls in the class to set up Maria and get her in trouble, but in the second book, we learn more about her motivations.

The challenge there revolves around an upcoming school choral competition. The cowardly teacher puts Maria in charge to set her up for failure. He wants to get rid of her because her presence makes too many problems visible that he’s not capable of coping with.

Before that, though, book two opens with Yusuke and Maria visiting Tomoyo at home. She hasn’t been coming to school. The other kids think it’s because Maria hurt her, but it’s really something more complex. There are a lot of layers among the class politics in this series, which makes it an involving portrait of teen life, anchored by the captivating Maria. (The publisher provided review copies.)

A Bride’s Story Book 3

Moreover, by moving the reader to a new group of characters, we learn more about society at the time, see more gorgeous Kaoru Mori art and costume designs, and in a way, mimic how the nomad herders live and see life. We have connections with the characters from the previous book, and we hope to see them again and celebrate with them, but we aren’t sure when that might happen. We have to have faith that our routines and the change of the seasons will bring us back together some time in the future.

Perhaps that’s too poetic, but the gloriously detailed images inspire me to see beauty wherever I can. The actual events of this book are somewhat prosaic. Smith journeys to the nearest town, where he’s supposed to meet a guide to take him to Ankara. Unfortunately, while being hustled in the marketplace, his horse and belongings are stolen. A young widow, Talas, has had the same thing happen to her, so the two become acquainted. She brings Smith home to stay with her mother-in-law and her, which complicates events when an uncle shows up with plans to remarry her to his son.

Talas takes a rare moment to herself

Talas’ history and her daily life shed new insight on how difficult life could be as a matter of course. Death could be sudden, and as Smith observes, “the women of this region all seem to work very hard…. The land itself requires that much work for a person just to survive.” Between gathering and making food, watching their animals, and creating anything else they need, such as the lovely decorated textiles that make the characters so distinctive, there’s a lot of work in a day.

Behind it all is the reminder that two women living together do so only at the sufferance of their male relatives. The question of the future arises, and how much to factor it into one’s decision-making in the present.

This is a very quieting manga. It’s such a foreign, exotic, beautifully illustrated world that it’s wonderful to get lost in it, but there are also life lessons to absorb. And just as I say that, the mood of the book changes. After an interlude of short comic strips starring the terrifically blunt Pariya, things become much more dangerous for Mr. Smith. His foreign nature gets him into trouble when someone decides he needs to be put out of the way, leading to a section of tension and suspense — leavened with a meal scavenged at the market. It’s those details, the mentions of what people eat and how they make it, the elements that bring another way of life alive, that I love best about the book.

(The publisher provided a review copy.)

20th Century Boys Book 20

Take, for instance, one of the few women, Yukiji. She’s the one who raised Kenji’s niece Kanna after the horrific events of New Year’s Eve 1999. It’s been so long since we’ve seen her that I forgot about her presence and influence, so it was a pleasure to catch up with her. Her activities since the anti-Friend group going underground are well-suited to her personality, as she’s been teaching youngsters how to protect and take care of themselves.

Time is short, with everyone feeling that they need to finally take the battle to the Friend. He’s about to try destroying most of humanity again, this time with a plan involving creating a story of space aliens. First, though, they debate reuniting the young leader Kanna with her mother, creator of a vaccine for the plague released by the Friend. I really appreciated how much we learned about the women in this volume.

As we jump among the various characters, catching up with long-missing players, there are plenty of revelations (so no spoilers here), with more still to come. There are so many strong characters in this story, and so much heroism demonstrated in such different ways. Fundamentally, it boils down to determination. These everyday people have finally reached a point where they do what they feel they must… even to the point of outrageous self-sacrifice (and sometimes it’s not clear to this reader it was the only necessary path, but that’s what makes this a larger-than-life story to get lost in).

Bakuman Book 10

This time around, they’re returning to the dark and unusual one-shot premise they first had published. Developing this concept into a series should provide new insight into the Japanese manga market, since they’re choosing to be anti-mainstream. The editors’ guidance (plural because their original contact is back to working with them behind-the-scenes) will likely reflect different advice, since they’re no longer attempting a standard fighting or gag manga. Their story manga has a fascinating concept; I’d like to read it, which I couldn’t say about any of the other series the characters have created so far.

Typical of this series, though, there are sudden reversals and course changes, just to keep everyone challenged. Ultimately, the lesson is that all of your previous experiences make your next work better. Doing what you want isn’t the key to success, but it’s an important factor. You still have to consider what other people want to read, though.

Bakuman is also a master class in how to make talking scenes visually interesting. Most of the time, this series consists of people conversing about making comics, yet it flows well and remains exciting to read, based on the characters’ expressions and energy.

For another level of emotional melodrama, there’s Iwase, Takagi’s rival, who’s got a crush on her editor. I feel sorry for him having to deal with her, but at the same time, I’m sympathetic to her feelings. It’s tough to want someone who won’t even consider you seriously. As with the other characters, she uses disappointments in her personal life to fuel her creative accomplishments.

The Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service
Book 12

I was also glad to have back the annotations and endnotes by editor Carl Gustav Horn, as he’s credited for his adaptation. He begins by explaining and apologizing for the change in the cover stock, since it’s lost its “brown paper wrapper” feel as a way to cut costs. The insides are still as good as ever, though, with the motley bunch of dead-talkers exploring how their powers might work in an online realm.

The images make this story particularly creepy, as everyone has animal heads for their virtual personas. Men have been shanghaied to work off their debts for gentlemen’s clubs under control of a bosomy fantasy woman. The story quickly becomes more complicated with the introduction of a debt collector and the concept of physical identity theft. It’s a bizarre story with plenty of hooks involving modern concerns as well as classic science fiction allusions to such stories as Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Face/Off. (It also justifies the book’s shrink-wrapping, with nudity and sexual situations, as they refer to them in the ratings game, as well as some explicit scenes of violence.)

The matchups are clever and come together in unexpected ways. The next story puts together a boy who survives by staying in apartments where the previous tenants committed suicide (in an end run around disclosure laws) and a girl who is capable of astral projection, making for an odd, yet charming, couple. The final story is perhaps the most disturbing, as it combines an otherwise-touching history of a bereaved brother with a too-realistic doll of a young girl. This match didn’t particularly work for me, as it tosses in a then-current political reference, and I thought the pieces didn’t quite jell. Also, there’s no such thing as a truly happy ending here, although the authors stretch to come up with situations that aren’t complete downers.

Still, I’d like to read more of this series, so I encourage you, if it sounds interesting, please buy a copy or request it from your library. This is a twist on a “zombie” comic that even people who don’t like the genre (like me) can appreciate. The publisher’s website has a short preview available.

Bunny Drop Book 5

If you thought the previous book glossed over too much of Rin’s growing up, you’re going to hate this installment. It opens with a note that we’re now ten years later, so Rin’s a teenager, and Daikichi has changed from caregiver to parent worrying whether she’s ready to start dating.

I admit, I miss the stories of a kid during cute toddler things and her clueless dad/nephew. (Rin is technically Daikichi’s uncle, although he’s over 20 years older than she is.) These stories aren’t quite so special, since there are plenty of manga about quiet, well-mannered teen girls and the nice neighbor boys who get crushes on them. For kids learning about life, the only other series I know is Yotsuba&!

There are some interesting subtleties about how Rin can seem older in her behavior than Daikichi does, but nothing much is made of them. In fact, we don’t see Rin and Daikichi interact as much this book; she spends more of her time with Kouki, the boy next door, or a school friend.I’m sure the incidents and behavior are all authentic, as the kid stories were, but I find less entertainment in watching this period of life. One might imagine that a lot happened in ten years, but all we’re told about is an ex-girlfriend of Kouki’s and why Daikichi never got together with Kouki’s mother.

There are three more volumes to come, but I’m not sure I’ll last through them all. (The publisher provided a review copy.)

I was very pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed this frothy mix of Victorian supernaturalism and werewolf romance, since I’m not normally a fan of those kinds of books, or of manga adaptations of properties popular elsewhere. (Soulless is a spin-off of the five Parasol Protectorate novels by Gail Carriger.)

Soulless

But this was just enjoyable escapism. Alexia is a preternatural, a human with the ability to turn supernatural creatures mortal when they touch her. She’s completely unrealistic for a Victorian with her attitude and fearlessness, but that’s what makes her such a great read today. She’s Buffy in more elaborate costumes, Bella if she wasn’t a drip, every young woman who feels trapped by convention but dreams of showing just how special and smart and powerful she can be. I appreciated seeing how much she chafed under her family’s dismissal of her as a spinster (unmarried at 26, can you imagine) and cheered for her standing up for herself. Plus, there’s a handsome, powerful, exotic, brawny guy for her to flirt with. Best of all, he likes her because of her spirits, not in spite of them.

Lord Maccon is the Scottish nobleman and pack chief she spars with, and in the classic form, their spats are a sign of how they care for each other. Lord Akeldama, meanwhile, is a flamboyant vampire hive leader. The dialogue is occasionally sparkling, as when Maccon is bemoaning to his second-in-command, who has correctly just advised him that groveling for forgiveness might be a good idea. “I am NOT a groveler!” shouts the Lord, to which the wiser assistant responds, “It is possible to learn many new and interesting skills in one’s lifetime.”

The art is gloriously indulgent, in a mood keeping with the tone of the story, with plenty of period costumes and emotional moments. About the only criticism I had was how very low (almost non-existent) the front of the heroine’s dress was during many scenes. It’s also clear, at times, just how much more mythology there is behind this story — mentions of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry and the social organizations of the vampires and werewolves and drones indicate rich background that isn’t always fully explained here. I didn’t ever feel lost, but it was apparent there was more going on that I didn’t know. That sense, that there’s more out there if I want to find out, is much preferred to the usual exposition-heavy text dumps, which this volume mercifully avoids.

You can find out more about the artist Rem here or at her blog. There are three volumes planned so far in the series. (The publisher provided a review copy.)

The Drops of God Book 3

However, story-wise… On the plus side, we get the first “Apostle” revealed, one of the 13 wines Shizuku must identify based on clues from his father’s will. On the negative side, in a storyline set up at the very end of Book 2, we learn that the right wine can cure amnesia in a ridiculously melodramatic segment.

I’m eliding some of that. The continuing plot through the first half of this volume involves a woman who has painted a scene that perfectly captures the taste of a wine that is all she remembers from her life pre-amnesia. She married her doctor, and he fears her recovering her memory, so he tries to stop her from tastings arranged by Shizuku and his sidekick (who does so little most of the time I’m not even bothering to look up her name).

The story continues to be driven by heavy amounts of conversational text, with static images, mostly head shots, with no sense of flow between panels. The only time the art really shines are the few scenes where wine descriptions are turned into amazing visions of forest glades or deserted castles or musician-filled orchestras. Those images are my favorite part of the series.

Unfortunately, because the original serialization of the series is very obvious, it can be tiring hearing even the most beautiful descriptions of wine repeated from chapter to chapter. The first Apostle tastes like violet butterflies flitting over a clear, floral-surrounded spring. That’s a lovely image, but hearing it over and over makes the imagery of the wooded stream less powerful.

The last third of the book shows us why the Italian-loving wine-drinker hates the French. It involves a lost love who taught wine school. That’s a brief interlude before setting up the next lengthy challenge (continuing in the next book), in which an old classmate has to be shown that wine is more than just name brands, labels, and high prices. Which is odd, since this series is about teaching us the right names and why they’re so great.

The Summit of the Gods Book 3

For those who haven’t so recently read the gripping mountaineering mystery — involving determined climbers, a photographer in Nepal trying to find one of them, and the question of whether George Mallory was first to reach the peak of Mount Everest in 1924 — this book is well-suited to catch you up. The first chapter begins with a summary of the early failed attempts by the British to climb the summit in the 1920s, combining recreations of historical photographs (with period gear) with the gorgeous scenery that underlies the entire book. Mallory is praised for his “force of will and psychological strength”, drawing parallels with the modern climber Jouji Habu. Much of his backstory was told in Book 2, but here, we find out his plans for the future.

Although the events involving Mallory are long passed, and we’ve been given summaries in previous installments of what happened with the doomed third attempt portrayed here in detail (or if you’re interested in mountaineering, you may already know the history, or be able to look them up easily), I found myself caught up in the situation. I wasn’t thinking about the fate of the characters; instead, I was slowly moving with the climbers up the cliffs as they struggled to reach the highest point on earth for the first time ever. The realistic art really helped put me in those moments, and reading this story as a comic meant I could linger as I wished over particular vistas or panels. It was a welcome reminder of the mystery that permeates the series.

The rest of the book returns us to Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, where Fukamachi, the photographer and climber, is attempting to find Mallory’s camera and determine what happened to him. There are also rumors of the presence of Habu, a legendary mountaineer from decades past. As the middle volume of the series, this books shows us events escalating and excitement building, particularly in a sequence involving a rescue from criminal activity. In other segments, actual legwork takes time — time on the character’s part, to find the right people and connections, and time on the reader’s part, as she watches the characters prepare and persevere. In both, the scenery is beautiful and, to this US reader, exotic.

My only criticism of the work is how it treats the rare women in the series in such old-fashioned style: they’re mothers or love interests, there to reward or hinder the men, but with little character or motivation of their own. I suppose, though, that’s that a relatively realistic treatment of the attitudes that go along with the drive for macho achievement, such as being the first person in the world to climb a particular mountain.

Various mysteries are revealed in this book, including Habu’s intentions, but that just becomes a cliffhanger (heh) for the next volume. There’s no word yet on when that might be coming out, but I eagerly await it. In the meantime, here is a short preview of Book 3, or here’s a description of Book 2 with lots of sample pages.

Now, sitting in my cozy kitchen listening to the rain fall outside, I realize that I underestimated the story. (Or I’m just at a different place — the reader matters as much as the work in determining a good match.) I now understand how the story isn’t just about doing crazy things in the most extreme natural settings; it’s also about finding a way to do what drives you (as when Jouji Habu has to take and then quit jobs to find money and time for climbing) and leaving something behind after you’re gone, even if it’s only your name in some record book somewhere.

The Summit of the Gods Book 2

Even if I couldn’t relate to the question of whether to continue an obsessive hobby as middle age approaches, there’s something magical about the way a comic can take you somewhere you’d never otherwise visit. I’m never going to go mountaineering, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t try these world-shattering climbs, but here, in this story, I can experience virtually a little of what the experience feels like.

The Summit of the Gods Book 2 continues telling Habu’s story, the tale of a climber who has nothing else in his life other than determination to climb one of the hardest cliffs in the world solo. We see him through the eyes of the similarly obsessed photographer Fukamachi, only his drive is to find Habu. His quest puts him in touch with the first major female character in the book, a woman who wants to find Habu for her own reasons, who’s related to his former, now dead, partner… and who has Habu’s journal from one of his most infamous climbs.

I was engrossed in Habu’s experience — the exaggerated natural conditions, his thoughts while trying to survive, the amazingly detailed portraits of the environment, his aggression against the weather when he’s the interloper, why he’s so competitive with someone he has so much in common with. In the previous book, he was a monster figure, larger than life. Here, we finally get to know him and more about what drives him. He’s facing death more directly than ever before, which brings everything into relief for him and us. Although he’s still superhuman, it’s in a different way, showing us the detail of what he must do to survive.

The second half of this volume covers Habu’s attempt to finally climb Everest, as part of a mixed group, and the struggles he faces working within a team and overcoming his age. In between, Fukamachi’s own story has parallels — he too is trying to overcome the loss of a climbing partner, one with personal connections to his life. Strangely, although Fukamachi’s story seems the more “normal” one, since it’s basically a variant of “should I get back on the horse or walk away from a hobby/profession that has been changed for me?”, I didn’t mind that Habu’s life in flashback continues to take up the majority of the book.

Hang around Twitter or manga discussion forums long enough, and you’ll see the debate about how to ‘properly’ define manga pop up. Usually this happens when a work by a non-Japanese creator (such as Svetlana Chmakova, Felipe Smith, or Adam Arnold) gets labeled as manga. However, Jiro Taniguchi provides us with a challenge to the definition of manga from the Japanese side. Is it still manga when a Japanese artist intentionally seeks to emulate Western comics?

Icaro
by Moebius and Jiro Taniguchi

It’s no secret that Taniguchi modeled his own art style after Jean Giraud, better known in American as Moebius. In fact, one common comment you’ll see in reviews of Taniguchi’s books is how un-manga-like his art is. It’s not just that Taniguchi doesn’t use the stereotypical ‘big eyes, little mouth’ style people associate with manga. He also doesn’t use most of the visual shortcuts we see in manga, like the infamous large sweatdrops, nosebleeds, and snot bubbles. On a deeper level, Taniguchi tends to stay away from elaborate or innovate page constructions. He sticks mostly to a simple grid format commonly used by Western comic creators. So is Taniguchi’s work really manga?

Before we try to answer that question, let’s look at another manga creator with international connections, Kia Asamiya. He’s an accomplished manga artist that did a story called Batman: Child of Dreams. This was a DC-sanctioned comic serialized in Kodansha’s Magazine Z in Japan. DC liked it enough that they translated it and published here in America as a graphic novel. Now is this Batman story manga? DC Comics certainly thinks so. The promotional literature says, “Batman gets the manga treatment!”

Batman: Child of Dreams

But DC isn’t the only American comic company Kia Asamiya has worked for. He has also done work for Marvel. His credits include Thor: Gods on Earth, Killraven Premiere, and Avengers: World Trust. So are these books manga? I suspect both comics and manga fans would say no. Certainly, Marvel isn’t touting them as manga. So why is Asamiya’s Batman book manga and his work for Marvel not?

Let me suggest this definition for manga: comics first published in Japan by a Japanese creator. It seems to solve our Asamiya dilemma and get at the heart of what most manga readers find essential to manga.

Of course, there is the little matter of Peepo Choo. Creator Felipe Smith is an American living in Japan. Peepo Choo was written for and serialized in the manga magazine Morning Two. So it definitely meets half the requirements. Should we consider Felipe Smith a Japanese creator? Not yet.

Let me unpack what I mean by “Japanese creator”. I don’t mean simply someone born in Japan or of Japanese descent. If George Takei (best know as Star Trek’s Sulu) was to begin publishing comics in Japan, I wouldn’t consider them manga either. “Japanese creator” means someone who is part of the manga tradition in Japan. I do mean “tradition” and not style.

The mistake some people make in trying to define manga is thinking that it’s a specific art style. However, you don’t have to look far to see how absurd that idea is. Just look within the pages of the most popular manga magazine, Shonen Jump. Compare the art of Bakuman, Hunter x Hunter, Kochikame, and One Piece. You have art ranging from very detailed and realistic to simple and highly exaggerated. You won’t mistake one series for another. Yet, all these are manga.

Manga is defined more by the way stories are told. Visuals are as important, if not more important, than plot, dialogue, and character. You won’t see any pages of just talking heads rattling off exposition. You won’t see walls of text with just the occasional illustration. Manga wants to create all the visual excitement of a well-crafted movie. This ‘art first’ approach is what I mean by the tradition of manga. Creators spend their lifetimes trying to master it.

This is why Felipe Smith isn’t yet a Japanese creator. He is just beginning his apprenticeship in the manga tradition. Those born and raised in Japan have a big advantage. They are raised in the manga tradition, even if they aren’t manga fans. It’s as native to the country as their language. Without wanting or trying, they learn it. The creators are the ones who take the steps to study it, understand it, and become an active part of it. If Smith stays in Japan long enough, then one day he too will stop being manga-influenced and simply become manga.

So Taniguchi might have borrowed his art style from Jean Giraud and Western comics, however, his storytelling style is very much Japanese. Pick up any of his works, and you will see that he is a graphic storyteller in the truest sense of the term. He uses the art to do most of the storytelling. The narration and exposition serve visuals.

Taniguchi isn’t just a manga creator; he is a master of the tradition. His stories are for the more mature and attentive reader. Characters don’t tell us they’re mad. We see their anger. It’s in their eyes, facial expressions, and body language. Tragic moments are left silent. The lack of words adds weight and solemness to the emotion. You can’t simply skim the dialogue or narration and know what is going on. You have to actually look at the art to understand the story.

It’s creators like Taniguchi that help us see what is really significant about manga. They strip away the surface distractions of ‘big eyes and small mouths’. As the manga that get translated into English become more diverse, the greater our understanding and appreciation of the manga tradition will become, too. Perhaps one day you won’t need to live in Japan to be raised in the manga tradition.

20th Century Boys Book 19

The brief opening sequence reminds us of just how mindlessly lethal the Friend is, as well as establishing uncertainty about his identity (again!) and reminding us of the directness of Kanna’s mission to kill the world leader. It’s all conversation, among old men (and a girl) in boring business rooms, but somehow it’s strikingly dramatic. That’s what keeps me coming back to Naoki Urasawa’s work: his artistic skill. Even when I’m crazy ready for events to reveal themselves and frustrated with the length of the story, his detail and character expression are masterful and worth studying.

His digressions are often striking in themselves. For example, an old man, who might be Kenji, and the cop Chono are fishing. I’m not sure why, or how exactly this connects up with the main story, but it’s a great excuse for a conversation that encompasses the value of family memory and the need for vacation and how much more kindly we think of people after they pass.

This volume provides a number of short scenes catching up with characters from various points in the series. Usasawa is assembling his pieces across the board, ready for the final sweep. Except a board game isn’t the right metaphor, since that assumes a known set of rules and a certain mechanical progression. That’s far from what we get with Urasawa. Just when you think you know what’s coming, he’ll digress into bowling or the nature of reproduction in creating art or a new character introduction. I’m never sure who’s truly new and whom I’ve just forgotten about, but in this case, there are at least two: a shady cowboy-looking border smuggler and a tin-pot tiny dictator who fancies himself evil.

The major plot thread contained in this volume involves Chono and his companion trying to get back into Tokyo, which involves obtaining a transit permit in some fashion in a criminal-infested border town. (I just recently rewatched Casablanca, with its story involving missing letters of transit to eventually get the bearers to America, so I couldn’t help but notice the similarities. There’s also an aspect to the scary border fortress that reminded me of Labyrinth, but to say more would spoil a secret.) This segment is another example of how Urasawa takes an aspect of life under wartime occupation (or perhaps more accurate to say life under a tyrant) and spins it out into a vivid portrait, making it clear to the reader what it would be like to live in such devastated circumstances.

There are also surprising connections revealed in flashback, causing me to marvel at how elegantly certain strands come together. I was reminded of the power of the group, seeing true democracy in action as various strangers rallied together with their unique abilities and, more importantly, a willingness to fight for what they wanted. I get the feeling we get Urasawa’s summary of the story late in this volume, in the midst of a thrilling showdown, when one character tells another, “It’s hard being evil. It’s a lot easier being a good guy.” (The publisher provided a review copy.)

In contrast to Taniguchi’s adventure-oriented works, such as The Summit of the Gods or The Quest for the Missing Girl, this is a much quieter, slice-of-life book. More relevant to Taniguchi fans, he’s cover-credited, but his contribution to this volume was providing gray tones, supporting the art drawn by his good friend Frederic Boilet.

Tokyo Is My Garden

Those familiar with Boilet’s Yukiko’s Spinach will find this story similar. A Frenchman, David, loves living in Tokyo. He’s supposed to be representing a cognac company, finding new customers for them, but he’s been neglecting the work. Now, his boss is coming to town to reevaluate his position. At the same time, David is falling in love in with a new acquaintance, Kimie.

The title is a phrase with meaning similar to “I know Tokyo like the back of my hand,” indicating the protagonist’s adaptation to his adopted city. David wants to be part of Tokyo, and he knows it well, but he trades on his Frenchness all the same, whether with girls or as part of his supposed job. I found myself wondering what determines how you define yourself and what it means to be “from” somewhere.

The tones give the art substantial depth, making the locations and city scenes seem more real. Although slight in plot, it’s a very readable book, easy to follow and get lost in. I didn’t much like David, but I got a good understanding of his experience in Tokyo, enough so that I could sympathize with his plight.

There’s a certain amount of faux-autobiography here, as would be expected from a story of a Frenchman in Tokyo told by a Frenchman in Tokyo. Certain scenes, while reading, I felt that they meant more to the artist, capturing or reliving a moment from his life, than they did to the reader. (This was especially the case with the sex scenes or other panels demonstrating a fetishization of Kimie.) Still, I quite enjoyed the virtual tour of this international city. Overall, it added up to an intriguing picture, in which love for a person gets mixed up with love for a place and surprising coincidences resolve deep problems.

I also appreciated the happier ending of this volume. When Kimie discovers that David’s trying to write a novel, she remarks, “You French always write stories that end unhappily!” This book breaks from that mold. David answers back, “Not all stories can have a happy ending! Life’s not like that!”, which ignores that we sometimes read fiction to escape from life, not to relive it. (The publisher provided a review copy.)

Goro Inogashira is an importer whose work has him traveling throughout Japan. Food is important to Inogashira, and he enjoys visiting local restaurants during business trips. However, he’s not a food snob. He enjoys bar food as much as a good steak. Kodoku no Gourmet gives us a first-person account of his culinary adventures.

This book could have also been called The Walking Man Eats. Goro spends as much time wandering around various locales trying to find a place to eat as he does eating. Not that I’m complaining. Jiro Taniguchi’s detailed backgrounds allow us to do some sightseeing.

This is an odd sort of foodie manga. You won’t hear Goro wax poetic about how an entree taste, as Fumi Yoshinaga does in Not Love But Delicious Foods… Nor does he offer us a detailed explanation of a particular dish’s ingredients and the way they compliment each other like Tetsu Kariya in Oishinbo. Instead, Goro talks about the overall meal being a satisfying experience and trying to find a balance of flavors when ordering. It’s more relatable to the common person, like myself, despite the title.

The atmosphere of the restaurant is just as important to Goro as the food it serves. He makes observations about the clientele and the furnishing for most of the places he goes. This is a surprisingly effective way to give the reader a sense of place. You feel like you’re sitting right next to Goro. There’s a chapter where Goro chastises an owner for his brutish treatment of his assistant. He tells the owner the place has such a negative atmosphere it made him lose his appetite. And that is no mean feat!

Speaking of appetites, the amount of food Goro can pack away is very impressive. I feel bloated just watching him eat. He comes across as someone who doesn’t eat regular meals and so really chows down when he does sit down to eat. He often complains that he’s eaten too much. However, that doesn’t stop him from sampling everything that appeals to him the next time he eats. Even a trip to the convenience store for a late-night snack becomes a major shopping expedition for him. It’s amazing Goro’s not as big as a house.

Taniguchi’s artwork is gorgeous as always. In volume 3 of Kingyo Used Books, the characters talk about the food being so realistically drawn it makes them hunger for it. I certainly agree. Taniguchi’s art puts you right there at the table with Goro. Taniguchi’s realistic style makes his work very accessible to Western readers.

The problem is getting access to the book. It’s only available through JManga.com. This means having to go through a lot of hoops if you just want to read this single work. It’s really a shame, too. Kodoku no Gourmet is perfect for attracting people who normally don’t read manga. This highlights how JManga’s lack of a simple purchase system like Viz, Dark Horse, or Comixology does only harm. To add insult to injury, JManga claims to offer a preview of the book, but it’s just the cover, title page, and table of contents. It would be nice if you got to actually see some of the pages of the story before buying.

Kodoku no Gourmet is another wonderful slice-of-life book from Taniguchi. Fans of The Walking Man and A Zoo in Winter will find this just as enjoyable. Just like those books, Kodoku no Gourmet is a terrific one-volume character study. I heartily recommend this book to all comic/manga/bande dessinee/etc. readers.

I don’t specifically recall the exact moment I decided to buy The Walking Man by Jiro Taniguchi. At some point six years ago, my comics buying habits were just starting up again. I had been a lapsed comics reader for most of my 20s, having only gotten back to buying single issues and graphic novels when I was already five years out of college and earning a steady paycheck.

The Walking Man

I had rekindled my love for comics by buying some single issues back then and eventually delved further into collections and graphic novels. Since I had to catch up on stuff, my initial thoughts were to go and brush up on the internet as to what everyone was reading, and I tried to narrow my search to best-of lists from random sites. So I looked continuously for comics sites in the hopes of knowing what people were considering as their favorites, and I think it may have been reading up on the synopsis for The Walking Man in the now-defunct site Read Yourself Raw’s recommended manga that I decided that I needed to see what the fuss was all about.

The book itself is very simple in its premise, as it explains itself clearly in the title. The story is all about a man walking across what seems to be suburban Japan, experiencing a variety of things in these jaunts. There’s an odd conceit in a manga that’s just about an everyday person going out and experiencing small and simple things in life, and seeing that description touted as one of the more extraordinary examples of manga probably pushed me further to buy and read it. I couldn’t really find a copy being sold where I lived, so I had a friend buy it for me in the US (along with more comics, of course) and bring it back home to me. I took the book home, pored through it, and I can personally say that reading the book provided me with a very basic and relatable experience that allowed me to enjoy it quite thoroughly.

I’ve always had a fascination with Japanese culture, and this seems to have started at an early age. I was weaned on sentai shows being shown on local TV in the 80s, as well as with Japanese robot cartoons, these being my earliest brush with Japanese culture. In high school, this evolved into an obsession with anime, particularly with the rise of Dragonball Z and my habit of renting English-subtitled VHS copies of the series. Eventually, in college, I decided to take my fascination further by taking a lot of electives in Japanese language and culture; I did get a minor in Japanese Studies after graduation, although sadly most of what I learnt at the language front has gone by the wayside, hence my need to pursue English-translated manga. In general, I still hold some sense of awe and wonder at experiencing Japan as a whole and still wish to expand on this further maybe by learning the language again, or maybe even visiting the country at some point in the future.

In any case, this intersection of my fascination with Japanese culture and life, along with the rejuvenation of my comics habits, might explain why I enjoyed The Walking Man so much. Here you saw the salaryman meandering through Japan, interacting with kids and animals and trees, enjoying nature and open spaces and talking with people from all walks of life. The story didn’t really have any action or even drama but just displayed a steady rhythm comprised of small and seemingly melancholic experiences. I sometimes have bouts of these, where I just feel something remarkably and inexplicably wonderful about living in my city and traveling back and forth in its various locales, all despite the hazards of pollution, bad weather, and even crime. I find myself returning home in the late evening, and I look up and suddenly see the nighttime sky and a smattering of stars, which is a surprise living in the city. I smile to myself a little whenever I see young kids playing on the streets, or old people doing odd things at odd places. These are just random events that seem to crystallize our notions about what we feel is important and what we want in life.

The Walking Man seems to be entirely about that experience, about appreciating small things in the midst of the bustling and sometimes confusing thing that is life. The main character is your average salaryman, who probably has all the various struggles he has to contend with each day: slogging through work, listening to complaints, having to find the time and money to enjoy what he earns. The daily grind can be unsettling at times, and yet here such a person is finding small moments of zen in the most random things. The walks come to be a form of meditation, a way of tuning out the irritating stuff and coming to grips with existence. It is comics in that it is a form of escapism, but this escapism is less of the superhero and fantastic, and more attached to the reality of everyday life. The things and experiences depicted in the book are ones that can truly happen in this day and age, and I think Taniguchi’s intent in this book was to show precisely how such small and seemingly insignificant things and events become magnified by how much we attach our own sentiments and priorities to them. It became easy to see myself in the main character, with my own thoughts about everyday life and my own struggles, and in that sense, the whole story becomes a relatable one (at least to me). There’s just that simple and stripped-down nature to this book that surprised me in how much you could experience despite what seemed to be very little activity.

I’d guess that the people who’ll get the most satisfaction out of The Walking Man are probably those who are already at or a bit beyond the same stage in life as the salaryman in the book: those who experience and question the pressures of living each day and struggle to see happiness in what they do. In my perspective, the book tells us to see great things in the mundane. In a philosophical sense, the story grounds us in finding meaning despite our reality; true, there’s a lot of inexplicable and nasty things happening around us every time that may lead us to question things, but that doesn’t mean that someone can’t find his/her own small pockets of happiness here and there. There’s a depth in the story that grows on you as you come to encounter more highs and lows of your life, and for me, I guess that’s where the strength and potency of The Walking Man really lies: placing more emphasis on enjoying life in the steps and missteps, and worrying less about where you’re headed in the end.

The Earl and the Fairy Book 1

The Earl is a traditional romantic hero, a displaced royal with a tortured (literally — he has scars) past seeking his ancestral inheritance. More interesting characters are Raven, the lord’s manservant, and his sister Ermine. There’s a lot more to their background than we’re told here; in the meantime, they provide a needed note of exotic mystery.

There’s a lot of potential unrealized here. The story is set in 19th century England, but the art is undistinguished in this area. It’s also hard to read during action scenes, but there aren’t many; most of it is sitting around talking. It’s a time when not many people believe in fairies, which could be an area for giving Lydia’s character more depth, as she copes with the conflict between her abilities and her society, but aside from a handful of pages in the beginning, that discrepancy, and her resulting worries that people think she’s crazy, is forgotten.

Unfortunately, Lydia’s shown as a bit of an idiot. A mysterious stranger shows up claiming her father sent him to accompany her. Although she keeps thinking to herself, “Father isn’t usually so thoughtful!” and “Father wouldn’t say that”, she trots off with him anyway, right into her own kidnapping. Once she’s rescued, only to be controlled by the Earl, there’s a lot of patience-testing “what does this all mean?” and “who should I trust?” interior monologue going on. I found it all very trying.

If this were a superhero comic, I’d expect it to be labeled number zero, since it’s all setup and prologue. It’s possible that the series, based on a set of light novels, improves in later volumes, once they actually set out to search for the sword, but I didn’t see enough here to come back for more. (The publisher provided a review copy.)

Ed came to the rescue by loaning me three of Tezuka’s pulp science fiction works. Unfortunately, they’re out of print now, which means your best bet to find them is your local library (or its inter-library loan service). They were all published by Dark Horse, to build off of their success reprinting his Astro Boy series.

Metropolis

The first is Metropolis, originally published in 1949 and released in English in 2003. I was interested in trying this particularly because I’d recently seen the classic silent film, although it turns out that Tezuka was merely inspired by seeing a still from the movie, nothing more.

Metropolis has many of the characteristics I associated with Tezuka, for better or worse, including a strong animation influence, rapid-fire nonsensical plot twists, and cute/cartoony design. The book dates from an era when translated manga was flipped, so that was my first adjustment to reading it. The other was the immature approach to the material, leading the reader by the nose. Here are the jokes. Here is the goofy-looking old scientist laying out the the risks “when humans also become too advanced and, as a result of their science, wipe themselves out”. Here is the plot as one character explains it to another.

There’s an increase in radioactivity from the sun, throwing scientists into panic, while at the same time, the search is on for the huge-nosed leader of a group of assassins come to kill the scientists. One of them is forced by the criminal to create artificial life based on a statue the bad guy is toting around. Frankly, at this point, 40 pages in, I gave up. Events come too quickly to make sense. The characters are too flat and stereotyped for me to care about them. Everyone over-reacts to be sure the reader gets the point. It’s typical early Tezuka, in other words, pumped out as light entertainment.

Fans of Astro Boy might want to seek this out to compare the similar storylines, about the creation of a robot child, but most people won’t find it a great read today. Given that I found the pacing and animation-influenced flow the most interesting part of the book, I probably should have watched the anime instead.

Lost World

The one new discovery for me was how I was surprised to encounter a number of over-crowded two-page spreads, full of random characters and their word balloons. They’re the kind of design I associate more with old Mad magazine, jamming more gags in, not Tezuka. I wonder if he moved away from them because of how time-consuming they were?

I was going to move on to Lost World, but Kate’s review convinced me otherwise. I’m not a huge dinosaur fan, and a flip through my copy looked a little fuzzy.

Dark Horse also put out Next World in two volumes. I don’t really believe the Tezuka of this era was capable of “wry satire of the Cold War” at the level I would want to see, especially when it involves trying to take all the living creatures of Earth to another planet, so I skipped that as well. It may be naive of me, in a business sense, to draw too much of a conclusion from this, but potential customers may want to note that demand was apparently insufficient to keep these books in print. I tend to think that works people really enjoy stay available.

Three stories tell of different romances between two men. In the first, title story, a cable/internet repairman meets a strange young artist at a remote mountain cabin. The two grow closer when an unexpected snow storm traps the visitor.

I liked that there was an actual story and developed characters in these tales. If someone just wants to watch two guys getting it on, that’s fine, but I’m looking for more than that. I find the seduction scenes sexier when I know more about what brought the partners together. Also, these two men are portrayed as gay, not just stand-ins for male/female roles. That’s established before they ever get together.

The art has a good sense of place, showing backgrounds, whether the country the repairman drives through or the sculptor’s studio/cabin. That also helps with the sense that these characters have lives and purposes beyond just the bits we get to see. The guys are also cute, with the burly repairman and the slighter artist.

“Cherry” is a schoolboy story, where the hard-working student council secretary gets help from a classmate after his glasses break. It does a wonderful job capturing the feeling of young love, where you’re not sure if friendship can become something more.

“Flowers” features another set of students, where one is the privileged son of a rich family. He promises to tell the other what really happened with the suicide of a female classmate in return for fooling around. This one felt a little lacking to me; it could have used another chapter to cover the material in more depth.

These three feature classic yaoi premises: the younger man with a medical secret or schoolboys together. All involve someone needing help from another as an avenue for love, with some kind of injury bringing them together, but they’re done with a sensitivity that I appreciated.