Yua Kotegawa’s Anne Freaks (ADV) has earned a fair amount of critical praise this year, and deservedly so. It’s a bracingly executed piece of teen nihilism. It makes sense that ADV would support that with release of another of Kotegawa’s works, Line. (And since it’s only one volume in length, readers can be happily certain that the publisher won’t abandon it in the middle.) Line isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s an energetic diversion for readers who want more Kotegawa.

In it, a pretty, popular high-school student finds a cell phone at the train station and finds herself racing against time to prevent a string of suicides. Chiko fights the clock and what she fears are her own failings of compassion, picking up allies along the way and finding reserves of strength and ingenuity that weren’t immediately apparent.

This is familiar territory for action-movie aficionados, where creators have realized that the cellular phone is a much more versatile prop than the personal computer. Sitting at a keyboard is so 1990s, but the jarring ring of handheld communication still has the power to put events in motion and keep them there. It even borrows a bit of emotional resonance from suicide black comedy Heathers, with Chiko’s clash of popularity and conscience.

She’s an appealing lead. She’s not as overtly unkind to marginal students as some of the kids in her circle, but she doesn’t contradict her friends’ casual cruelty or try and prevent it. She’s an unlikely friend to the despondent, but that makes her increasing commitment more involving.

In a clever twist, Kotegaway gives Chiko a sidekick who, under more conventional plotting, would be the lead of this kind of story. Bando is bright and ostensibly kind to the classroom rejects, but she’s even more detached than Chiko fears Chiko is. Readers might be conditioned to a certain response to both Chiko and Bando, and Kotegawa plays with those expectations in fun ways. The dollops of shôjo-ai between the two add an additional layer to their dynamic.

In spite of intriguing characters and a promising plot, the narrative itself doesn’t maintain momentum very well. Line feels too short to exploit all of its possibilities in the way Anne Freaks can. I’m not going to criticize Kotegawa for sacrificing pulse-pounding action for character development, because the choice caters to my tastes, but the tension of the story never seems to reach its full potential. It’s appealing in its slightness, though.

What else can I say about Kiyohiko Azuma’s wonderful Yotsuba&! (ADV)? Volume 2 has all the same qualities as the first — endearing characters, funny and elegant storytelling, beautiful art, and a quirky, kid’s-eye world view. This is comfort food manga in the best sense, consistently satisfying and always able to bring a smile to my face.

This time around, green-haired preschooler Yotsuba explores such mysteries as art, gangster movies, swimming, and cake. How am I supposed to resist a comic with such a healthy respect for cake?

I will add that a battle is brewing near the top of my Unofficial List of Favorite Comic Characters. Go-Go (from Oni’s delightful Banana Sunday) had been napping comfortably in first place, but Yotsuba&!‘s Jumbo — he of the impressive stature and easygoing nature — is circling. Come to think of it, they’d probably get along really well.

I’m increasingly of the opinion that a mastery of tone is one of the most important skills a creator can develop. When carefully and creatively applied, tone can be a cornerstone for a fully realized fictional world, from the profound humanity of PLANETES to the kinetic absurdity of SGT. FROG. When neglected or situational, it only highlights inconsistencies, as in SEVEN OF SEVEN.

Happily enough, YOUR AND MY SECRET creator Ai Morinaga shows real promise in this area. It’s a good thing, since the subject matter – a comic examination of gender identity – really calls for a careful hand to keep things from becoming crass.

YAMS tells the story of an aggressive girl and a gentle boy who switch bodies. The girl, Nanako, is delighted with the turn of events. People seem much more willing to accept her natural temperament coming from a male body, and she’s curious and savvy enough to take full advantage of gender-based double standards of behavior. (She can do things as a boy that a girl would never get away with.)

The boy, Akira, has a rougher go of it. As with Nanako, people respond better to Akira’s personality when it’s coming from a girl’s body. But this subjects him to unwanted romantic attention, reinforces his insecurities, and makes for some rude biological awakenings. He can’t even take much voyeuristic pleasure from the switch, partly because of his inherent modesty but more due to Nanako’s threats.

Compounding the interpersonal complications are unexpected reactions from friends and family members. Akira’s first encounter with his family in his new body is a smart comic reversal of expectations, but it’s also a genuinely emotional moment. And that’s where tone comes in: Morinaga always remembers that adolescents very rarely feel comfortable in their own skin and makes it a defining motif for the manga.

It’s not without flaws, though. Nanako’s grandfather, who sets the plot in motion with his ill-conceived inventions, is far creepier than the rest of the manga can support. (He’s thrilled that he can ogle his granddaughter’s body without his granddaughter being in it to object.) Beyond lechery, his function is to hinder any progress towards a return to the status quo. (Fixing the body-switching machine is expensive and time consuming, and he doesn’t much care to begin with.)

Morinaga’s artwork shows real polish and care, though. While the mostly teen-aged characters are all somewhat idealized (nobody unattractive seems to go to this particular school), none of them are sexualized beyond their years. She’s also strong with emotional expression and body language; it’s a treat to compare pre- and post-switch Nanako and Akira.

While imperfect, YAMS generally takes an intelligent, creative look at a situation that offers a lot of potential for comic complications. It also makes me want to know what happens next, which is really the bottom line.