From the stack: Shout Out Loud! Vol. 3

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it lately, but I really, really like Satosumi Takaguchi’s Shout Out Loud! (Blu). The first volume made a pleasant enough impression, but the subsequent two have really won me over.

It’s a workplace comedy about voice-over actors in boys’-love dramas, which gives Takaguchi lots of room to play. After a successful stint doing voice work in kids’ videos, Shino has made a career change, quickly becoming a go-to bottom in the industry and attracting the romantic interest and professional jealousy of his cast mates. He’s also learned that he’s the father of a 17-year-old son resulting from a brief, early marriage.

In other words, Shino has a lot going on in his life, and he’s a worrier. He wonders whether he’s a good enough parent to moody, hockey-loving Nakaya, and about the course of his career. He’s also baffled by the new range of romantic possibilities that have cropped up. His failed marriage left him something of a loner, and now he isn’t sure if he’s ready to start over, much less with a man. (Handsome acting partner Tenryu is providing plenty of inducement to get ready, though.)

Nakaya is struggling with his own confusion, finding himself unexpectedly attracted to a young hockey coach, Fuse. Is it curiosity or just intense admiration? Nakaya isn’t sure, and Fuse is keeping him at arm’s length until Nakaya figures it out. (And of course, it all gives Shino another reason to worry.)

Takaguchi doesn’t spare any effort in developing her cast, and she doesn’t shy away from their sexual identities. Some are gay, some are bisexual, and some are straight but very, very curious. But they aren’t defined exclusively by their sexuality; they work, squabble, gossip, visit with family, hang out, and basically just live their lives as best they can. It’s not all smoldering glances and tortured, inner monologues.

In other words, it’s very lifelike — sometimes funny, sometimes sad, and always engagingly believable.

From the stack: Dragon Head Vol. 5

Minetaro Mochizuki’s suspenseful survival drama Dragon Head (Tokyopop) has been strong since its debut, but I think it improves markedly with the fifth volume. After four installments of escalating suspense, Michizuki takes time to explore the psychology of his characters and the philosophical issues surrounding their circumstances. The tension doesn’t abate so much as it deepens with the additional development of character.

It isn’t as if Mochizuki has been neglecting these aspects of the story up until now, but he hasn’t addressed it with this degree of directness. I find myself more invested as a result. If you’ve been resisting Dragon Head because of a perceived emphasis on action melodrama over more substantial story elements, you might reconsider. (If you’re avoiding it because of a distaste for graphic violence, you’re still making the right choice.)

(Spoilers for the fifth volume from this point forward.)

High-school students Ako and Teru and A.W.O.L. soldiers Iwada and Nimura get a break from the frying pan, reaching Japan’s devastated coastline and connecting with another survivor, a matronly school teacher who is almost ridiculously welcome to both character and reader for the compassion and solace she provides. She’s also competent and clear-headed, having survived the devastation and deaths of her family and students without devolving into bitterness or isolation. In other words, she’s unlike anyone we’ve met so far, yet she fits in the world of the story.

She could be a blatant Jiminy Cricket, the voice of conscience in a moral wasteland, but she somehow escapes that. She’s not a stereotypical nurturer so much as a person operating on earned wisdom rather than panicked instinct. It’s fascinating to watch Ako draw strength from her while not falling into a clichéd mother-daughter dynamic.

And, important as the teacher is, this volume does belong to Ako as she struggles with exhaustion, danger, and a desperate need to see Teru through a health crisis resulting from previous events. She isn’t turning into an action babe, but she is very believably finding new sources of strength and determination in unthinkable circumstances. Mochizuki is detailing her evolution with tremendous care and intelligence.

Dragon Head was always fascinating survival drama, but it gains additional layers with each new chapter. It’s a tremendously good book, deeper and smarter than it initially seemed, but still genuinely suspenseful.

From the stack: Glacial Period

I knew if I put together any kind of year-end list prior to January 1, some publisher would drop one more book that should be on it. Sure enough, NBM released Nicolas De Crécy’s Glacial Period on Thursday, proving that the year isn’t over until the fat, genetically modified dog sings.

It’s the first of four books produced in cooperation with the Louvre, inviting comics artists to offer their interpretations of the great institution. De Crécy looks backwards, setting his story far into the future when Europe has been buried under ice and snow. A group of archeologists are tracking down rumors of a great fortress and stumble across the museum.

They’re a group straight out of central casting – the macho adventurer, the heiress, the bookworm, and the hapless assistant – but De Crécy is playful enough to toy with reader expectations of their roles. Familiarity gives way as you see them interact with each other and react to their discovery.

And they aren’t essential to begin with. The real hero is Hulk, the genetically modified dog mentioned earlier. Bespectacled and articulate, the chunky hound can smell history like some of his ancestors could detect truffles. He bristles a bit at the foibles and insensitivities of his human companions, but he’s largely resigned to them. He knows the expedition would be doomed to failure without him.

Glacial Period has something of the rambling quirkiness of Tove Jansson’s Moomin (Drawn & Quarterly). The discovery of the Louvre is fodder for amusing philosophical detours, with the explorers wondering if its creators were literate or merely pictographic in their communication. (Imagine the scholars who found the Lascaux cave paintings evaluating Delacroix and Monet in the same terms.) One arranges the portraits in what he believes is a pictorial history of the culture’s inception, peak, and decline. And De Crécy also extrapolates beyond how the viewer sees art to give equal time, letting the art get its own word in on its audience.

It’s good, imaginative fun, and it’s beautifully rendered. From the stark landscapes of the early pages to the packed imagery of later passages, De Crécy balances composition and detail wonderfully. The palette of soft pastels, moving from cool to warm, is gorgeously applied.

I had some initial reservations about the book’s price — $14.95 for 80 pages – but those faded in the face of the book itself. It’s beautifully produced and carefully annotated; I wouldn’t call it a bargain, but it’s worth it.

Glacial Period is a delightfully imaginative, even loopy look at art. I hope NBM publishes the rest of the graphic novels created through the initiative.

(A preview of the book is available at NBM’s web site. There’s also an article [in French] on the book’s debut at the Louvre at Actua BD, found via The Comics Reporter.)

From the stack: ES: Eternal Sabbath Vol. 3

Isn’t it nice that I keep finding new titles to talk about ad nauseum? Welcome, ES: Eternal Sabbath, to the roster of pet comics.

The third volume of this character-driven science-fiction tale builds upon the strengths of the first two, delving deeper into Fuyumi Soryo’s well-rounded cast of flawed protagonists and strangely sympathetic antagonists. Everyone learns more about the foibles of being human, often to their cost.

Soryo is extremely adept at combining event and emotion, keeping the narrative moving forward in conjunction with the incremental development of character. As gifted medical researcher Kujyou tries to introduce otherworldly Akiba to the sensibilities of human interaction, she realizes her own shortcomings in that area. It’s a fascinating approach to a familiar theme – explaining the everyday to the alien, but with an unqualified instructor at the helm.

It’s difficult to find young Isaac, Akiba’s malevolent clone, entirely repellent. His origins represent the worst of human inquiry, and while his actions are often appalling, he is essentially what people have made him, just like Akiba. Soryo is building towards a confrontation that’s almost certain to be tragic.

If you’re looking for a smart, sensitive thriller with a richly developed thematic framework, then you really should try this book.

From the stack: Line

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.

From the stack: PROJECT: ROMANTIC

Project: Romantic (AdHouse) is one of the most exuberant books I’ve read this year. Beneath its sleek, Good-&-Plenty-colored cover lies an appealing riot of colors, styles, and narrative tones.

I admit that I anticipated the book with some stereotypes in mind. The prospect of a group of alternative cartoonists telling romantic stories suggested the potential for glumness to me. That’s certainly part of the emotional palette here, but it doesn’t come close to pervading. If anything, the book could just as easily have been called Project: Comedic, given the general light-heartedness and good nature of the stories.

Creators who are familiar to me (Debbie Huey, Hope Larson, Junko Mizuno, Aaron Renier) deliver appealing work, as expected. (Mizuno’s “Lovers on a Flying Bed” is especially stunning, an intense, dreamlike fable in her adorably disgusting style.) But the overall quality of the work is very high. There are a lot of delightful discoveries here.

I’m particularly crazy about the “Sweetie ‘n’ Me” shorts by Joel Priddy. The four pieces take a sunny, funny look at the domestic life of two mad scientists. I could have happily read an entire collection of these stories; my favorite would have to be the meditation on the pros and cons of their “starter island.”

Kelly Alder effectively heads for the darker end of the romantic spectrum with his gruesomely metaphorical “In & Out,” one of the few black-and-white pieces. Evan Larson’s “Cupid’s Day Off” seems to owe a lot visually to James Kochalka, but I like the story’s combination of wit and coarseness.

The book is primarily short narratives, four to eight pages in length, but there are also one-page strips and evocative pin-ups. The visual styles of the creators range wildly from cartoon-cute to stylish and elegant, with just about everything in between.

The variety, to me, is the greatest strength of the book. It’s like going to a tapas restaurant, with a whole lot of small plates of intense flavors on offer. Not all of them are precisely to my taste, but there’s always something to cleanse the palate coming up next. Even the ones I don’t especially like feel like they belong in the book.

Project: Romantic is just plain fun. It’s packed with appealing, diverse work, and it’s well worth a look.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy provided by the publisher.)

From the stack: HOUSE OF SUGAR

Before I get around to going through the latest edition of Previews, I wanted to make a special note that Rebecca Kraatz’s House of Sugar (Tulip Tree Press) is among the solicitations. This is a good thing, as it’s indicative of Diamond’s willingness to reconsider a title that it had previously rejected. It’s also a good thing because House of Sugar is unusual, delightful reading.

It’s unusual for me because of what I find to be Kraatz’s plain-spoken approach to storytelling. It’s not that she skimps on detail, or that her work doesn’t have a point of view. It’s just that there’s simplicity, even bluntness to her delivery. She doesn’t coat every observation with irony, and the strips have a gentle, subtle wit as a result.

Take the concept of “treal.” It’s an acid-induced teen contraction of “true” and “real,” and Kraatz experienced a brief obsession with it in the 1980s. It’s the kind of admission that might lend itself to ironic detachment (“I’m not that dumb anymore.”) or sentiment (“But wasn’t I sweet?”), but Kraatz offers neither. It’s a snapshot of how she felt at a given moment, but there’s no slide-show narration giving it more weight than it can sustain. It’s a clear-eyed presentation without any ostentatious framing.

Kraatz has a wonderfully unique authorial voice, and it’s portably applied to the wide range of subjects that wander into her path. The four-panel strips run from autobiographical moments to observation to flights of fancy, held together by Kraatz’s distinct point of view.

Her rhythms are unconventional. There are no obvious punch lines, though House of Sugar is often very funny. The moments Kraatz captures don’t always need a familiar shape or even conventional closure to succeed as observational pieces; I think they work better without them.

Kraatz’s illustrations are of a piece with her writing voice. She composes the strips with imagination and wit. (A priest stops by the house and seems to be trailing a corona; the effect of a bad kiss is framed in crime-comic extremity.) I don’t know how her work would hold up in a longer narrative, but it’s ideal for the captured-moment quality of these strips.

This is a lovely inaugural book for Hope Larson’s Tulip Tree Press, comforting and thoughtful but spiked with weirdness and imagination. It’s observational humor without any self-indulgence or strain.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy provided by the publisher.)

From the stack: 12 DAYS

As “Best of 2006” lists start rolling out, some have noted that 2006 isn’t exactly over yet. June Kim’s 12 Days (Tokyopop) is a solid argument for waiting until January 1 to assemble such lists, because it’s one of the oddest, loveliest books I’ve read all year.

A one-volume piece of global nouvelle manga with a pronounced josei flavor, it’s the kind of book a lot of people have been hoping for since the promise of “Manga After Hours” flickered briefly. It’s an elegantly minimalist examination of love and pain, executed with serious craft by Kim.

Jackie’s ex-lover Noah has died in a car accident. Blindsided by grief, Jackie isolates herself in her apartment with her cat and enlists the help of Noah’s brother, Nick, to complete a ritual she feels will help her move on. She wants to consume Jackie’s ashes over a period of 12 days.

It’s a bit grotesque, but Kim focuses more on the feelings that drive Jackie’s decision than the mechanics of the ritual. Those feelings are portrayed with potent understatement through Jackie and Nick’s elliptical conversations and carefully placed flashbacks of Noah’s life. Kim is a sharp observer of small but telling moments; nothing in 12 Days feels overwrought, but nothing is trivialized either.

And Kim doesn’t reserve her sympathy for Jackie. Nick is an equal partner in grief, mourning his sister’s life and perhaps what he sees as his failures. We’re given glimpses of Noah’s father, devastated for his own reasons. And Kim manages the difficult trick of capturing the things about Noah that would drive a person to both leave her and mourn her. It’s a very graceful presentation of character, emotion, and mood.

Kim’s illustrations are largely ideal for this material. As with the writing, she avoids a tendency to overstate, going for elegant realism for the most part. I was initially put off by her use of some chibi elements, highly stylized bits of cuteness, to lighten transitional moments, but it grew on me as the book moved on. I’m still not entirely sold on the lettering, done in a flat typeset, but it isn’t too distracting. And some of the tone work in the early chapters seems a bit sloppy. On the whole, though, Kim’s strong line work and inventive paneling carry the book through the few rough visual patches.

12 Days is such a lovely and surprising book. I worry that it will get lost on the ever-swelling manga shelves. But if you’ve been hungry for more josei, or any book that takes an imaginative, pointed look at interpersonal relationships, you really should make a point of reading it. It’s a very rewarding experience.

From the stack: AGNES QUILL: AN ANTHOLOGY OF MYSTERY

As a fan of books like Leave It to Chance and Courtney Crumrin and the Night Things, I think there’s always room for more young adults navigating mysterious, supernatural landscapes. For that reason, I think Dave Roman’s Agnes Quill: An Anthology of Mystery (Slave Labor Graphics) is a very welcome arrival.

Agnes is an orphan living in the creepy city of Legerdemain. Instead of a bucolic Central Park at its core, Legerdemain has an enormous cemetery. Agnes can communicate with the dead, benign and malignant. To make ends meet, she’s followed in her grandfather’s footsteps, opening a detective agency focused on helping the dead complete their unfinished business and the living cope with the pervasive, sometimes hostile weirdness around them.

So in addition to the aforementioned books, Agnes is following in the increasingly rich tradition of protagonists in series like Bleach, Dokebi Bride, Kindaichi Case Files, and Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service. She holds her own. Agnes is a little sullen, but she’s curious and resourceful. Legerdemain is often as strange to her as it is to the reader, and watching her uncover its secrets is rewarding.

Roman has obviously invested a lot in developing Agnes and her fictional world. In addition to the four stories that showcase Agnes solving very different mysteries, Roman has included extensive text pieces that offer a wealth of insight into his heroine and her city. (If Roman isn’t considering a possible prose novel featuring Agnes, he really should.)

The book earns its anthology tag by featuring the work of four different illustrators (Roman is joined by Jason Ho, Raina Telgemeier, and Jeff Zornow). The tones of the four stories are crafted to suit the style of the collaborator. Telgemeier’s piece has her trademark loopy sweetness. Zornow’s looks and reads like something out of Priest.

It’s an audacious approach to introducing a character, but I’m not sure it’s entirely successful. The stylistic shifts have the effect of pushing Agnes into the background. While the stories cohere in the sense that they credibly occur in the same fictional world, the protagonist becomes secondary, and I’m not sure if that’s the most effective way to manage her debut.

But the package as a whole, comics and prose, ultimately makes a very convincing argument for Agnes’s appeal. She’s a well-defined, sympathetic heroine who lives in an intriguing world. I’d just like to see a more focused approach to telling her stories that lets her shine.

From the stack: MAINTENANCE #1

I wonder why there aren’t more workplace comedies in comics. Television sitcoms have certainly mined the genre with great success, and some of my favorite movies have been built on workplace dynamics. But as far as graphic novels go, I can only think of a few.

Digital Manga Publishing has Antique Bakery and Café Kichijouji de, and I suppose you could count Iron Wok Jan (DrMaster) and Yakitate!! Japan (Viz). (I’m noticing a trend towards the food service industry here.)

Maybe it’s because comics creators tend to work in isolation? That the ideal working state of the cartoonist doesn’t involve time sheets, endless meetings and productivity memos? Whatever the reason, I would like to see more comics that explore that particular territory.

So I was glad to find a preview of Jim Massey and Robbi Rodriguez’s new ongoing series Maintenance (Oni Press) in the mail the other day. It takes the frustrations of everyday employment to an appealingly absurd place.

Doug and Manny are janitors who work for TerroMax, Inc., a research and development firm that provides new breakthroughs in evil science for despots who just don’t have the time to cook up their own man-sharks. It’s a dirty job, and mad scientists aren’t the most appreciative of co-workers. But hey, it’s a paycheck.

Massey and Rodriguez have happily avoided the choice to make their protagonists idiots. Doug and Manny are just average guys who happen to work in an extraordinarily weird setting. They’re a little grumpy, but who wouldn’t be when their job description includes cleaning up after toxic spill monsters?

Despite the absurdity, Maintenance is a very easygoing book. The first issue sets up the premise by following Doug and Manny through an average day, introducing the TerroMax setting, surly superiors and out-of-whack experiments. The pace is leisurely, but the thirty-two pages are packed with a nice mix of situational and character-driven comedy.

Sometimes the jokes can be a little labored. (There are a few more references to Porky’s 2 than are strictly necessary.) But the gags are generally good-natured and successful. There are plenty of chuckles here.

Maintenance doesn’t really have a whole lot on its mind, and that’s fine. Massey and Rodriguez have created a nice mix of the everyday and the weird, generating plenty of appealing comedy in the process.

(This review is based on a preview copy provided by the publisher. Maintenance arrives in comic shops in December. There’s an interview with the creators over at Comic Book Resources.)