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From the SPX stack: ELK'S RUN 1-3

September 30, 2005 by

Elk’s Run is a creepy B-movie of a comic. I mean that as a compliment. If it’s a bit crude in its manipulations, it’s pretty effective all the same.

In it, an experiment in utopia is falling apart, as they always seem to do. A group of people have isolated themselves in Elk’s Ridge, a West Virginia mining town, shielded from what they see as pernicious cultural influences like television, alcohol, and police. It’s not that they have a specific era in mind that they’re trying to recapture; they simply know what they don’t like about contemporary life, and they’ve been fortunate enough to find a benefactor who will sustain the town according to its own standards.

Things start to fall apart when the next generation reaches adolescence. They’re old enough to be bored by the confines of Elk’s Ridge and to dismally wonder what the future holds for them. They mouth off and sneak out in the dead of night. During one of these nocturnal excursions, one of the kids is killed by a drunk driver. The man, Arnold Huld, is drunk and distraught after being abandoned by his wife and children, and he faces the lethal retribution of his fellow citizens (all according to the town’s charter).

One of the kids sees his elders in action, and state troopers come in response to a call from Huld’s wife, reporting his disappearance. From there, it’s all about the citizens of Elk’s Ridge rising to defend the sanctity of their community. The tension builds progressively, and cracks start to form between generations and neighbors.

Each issue is told from a different perspective. The first issue follows John Jr., one of the teens. The second gets inside the head of his father, blurring together scenes of his war service with his response to the crisis in Elk’s Ridge. He sees himself as a pragmatist and a patriot, unconvincingly denying that he’s taking any pleasure in violence or retribution. Issue three is perhaps the most creepily effective, focusing on John Jr.’s mom, Sara. She’s a real monster, demonstrating none of her husband’s apparent uncertainty, relishing her authority in the community, and taking unsettling pleasure in doing what needs to be done. Things really click into place when Sara’s in the spotlight.

I think Joshua Fialkov’s overall story works a bit better than individual moments. For example, the teens’ fondness for obscenity seems a little unlikely, given their restrictive environment. And the war-and-home contrast reads as somewhat heavy-handed, though it does get its point across. But there’s definite momentum and tension in each chapter, and it grows nicely from one issue to the next. Falkov’s choice of a West Virginia mining town for his setting is a thematically inspired one, given the sad history of outside influence on those communities.

Noel Tuazon does nice work with the visuals. There’s a firm sense of place, essential for this kind of story. His character designs serve things well. The people of Elk’s Ridge look like the crowd at a county fair. Tuazon uses a nice variety of line weights, too, heavier on the more explosive moments, more delicate in subtler sequences. Coloring by Scott Keating contributes tremendously to the shifting, unsettling moods.

If Elk’s Run isn’t perfect from page to page, it’s got enough control of tone and plenty of pulpy energy to carry it through. It’s also got a very solid premise and some intriguing ideas at its foundation. I’m looking forward to future issues.

(Initially published by Hoarse and Buggy Productions, the mini-series been picked up by Speakeasy for the remainder of its eight-issue run. Speakeasy is just about to release a bumper edition collecting the first three issues and some bonus material, but I picked up the singles at a ridiculously low price at SPX.)

Filed under: From the stack, Random House Leave a Comment

From the stack: POLLY AND THE PIRATES 1

September 29, 2005 by

(Possibly unnecessary spoiler warning: The central plot development in Polly and the Pirates was revealed in some of the book’s promotional coverage, but I’m going to restate it here. Just be forewarned.)

I have a well-documented weakness for characters I would call “blurters,” people whose natural honesty leads them to rattle off uncomfortable, impolitic observations in less-than-ideal circumstances. I’m happy to see that the protagonist of Ted Naifeh’s Polly and the Pirates (Oni Press) carves her own funny niche in this category.

Polly-Ann Pringle is a proper young girl attending boarding school in St. Helvetia, an exotic, seaside city. Faultlessly honest and dutiful, she’s trying to emulate her late mother, described by her father as “the most graceful and proper lady that ever was.” Her more adventuresome schoolmates (they read “novels”!) view her with varying degrees of fondness and frustration.

She seems almost eager to live a predictable, appropriate life. Unfortunately, her mother wasn’t always the pillar of propriety that’s been described. One night, Polly is kidnapped from her dormitory by pirates who are looking for the heir of their former captain, Meg Malloy. They need a new leader, and they’ve settled on Polly, Meg’s daughter.

It’s a charmingly absurd set-up, not just because of the generic notion of a pre-teen pirate queen. Polly seems a particularly bad choice for buccaneer because of her conservative approach to life. Her first exchange with the pirates illustrates this nicely, as she bluntly assesses their morals and personal hygiene.

The first issue is given over to setting up the premise, and if pre-release publicity has taken away some of the element of surprise, it hasn’t done anything to undermine the book’s charm. Polly is a very promising protagonist (alliteration alert!), because she has somewhere to go. Her disposition isn’t suited to a life of adventure on the high seas, but her legacy might not leave her any choice. It should be great fun to watch her adjustment unfold.

I love Naifeh’s art. He’s given Polly an open, serious face that’s alternately childlike and a little forbidding. In fact, the whole visual sense could be described that way, from character design to sense of place. The illustrations are precise and engaging, and they’re layered with a wonderful use of shading. (Keith Wood collaborated with Naifeh on the design; I’m not sure how his contributions break down, but I wouldn’t want to exclude him, because the book looks great.)

Polly and the Pirates gets off to a fine start. It has a fun, solid premise, appealing characters, and terrific illustrations.

Filed under: From the stack, Oni 2 Comments

From the SPX stack: THE COMPLETE CHIP DANGER: DAREDEVIL SQUIRREL

September 27, 2005 by

Potential bias alert: My college of choice had a ridiculously pretty campus nestled (no, seriously, it was nestled within an inch of its life) in rural, western Ohio. It was all Georgian red-brick buildings and mature trees shading winding paths. I was always fascinated by the campus squirrels, because they seemed so well groomed and purposeful. They were like a rodent version of Disneyland employees. And I always thought they were up to something, that they had a really organized union and a break room, maybe in the attic of the art and architecture library.

So early-adulthood nostalgia might leave me predisposed in favor of The Complete Chip Danger: Daredevil Squirrel, a mini-comic by Bill Burg. I don’t think so, though, because this is an entertaining, well-crafted adventure.

It was originally published in 25 installments (24 chapters with an autobiographical intermission) in the Guilford College student newspaper during Burg’s time as an undergraduate. Each page is a chapter (except for the two-page conclusion), and Burg does fine work making the installment stand alone while contributing to the overall narrative.

It’s told from the perspective of Arthur, an average campus squirrel whose life is changed by friendship with the title character. Initially put off by Chip’s seemingly pointless recklessness and low standing with the rest of the squirrel community, Arthur comes to admire the daredevil outcast, especially after Chip helps Arthur through a low point.

Their relationship has ups and downs, though, as Arthur always has some ambivalence about Chip’s behavior. Arthur loves the thrill of leaping from roof to tree, but he’s haunted by thoughts of his own mortality, and he doesn’t understand how Chip can be so heedless. But there’s more to Chip than Arthur suspects, and it’s surprisingly moving to watch Arthur come to understand his friend. Like most animal stories, there’s real sadness here, but it’s balanced with plenty of comedy and adventure.

It’s densely written, but it never feels over-written. There’s plenty of narration and charming dialogue, but it never overwhelms the accompanying visuals. It’s a fine balance of words and pictures. (At $2 a pop, it feels like a ridiculous bargain for the amount of material you get.)

It’s also wonderfully drawn. Burg manages to make each of his characters distinct without going overboard. (As other species of squirrel blend into the campus community, the task gets easier.) He also does a nice balancing act between capturing realistic moments – squirrels scurrying up and down tress, foraging, making wild leaps – and some charming anthropomorphizing, which I won’t describe in any detail because it’s fun and surprising to watch it unfold.

The Complete Chip Danger is just a really impressive comic. It’s a simple, engaging story told with real craft and imagination. And it provides a satisfying answer to just what those squirrels were up to on the quad.

Filed under: From the stack, Mini-comics 1 Comment

From the stack: The Rabbi's Cat

September 16, 2005 by

“Why are you so harsh?” a rabbi asks his cat. “I’m just trying to tell the truth, to see how it feels,” the cat responds. It’s a terrific exchange from a graphic novel that’s loaded with them.

I could probably fill an entire review with nothing but favorite lines from Joann Sfar’s The Rabbi’s Cat (Pantheon Books), but that wouldn’t do justice to Sfar’s wonderful collection of stories. Visually sumptuous, warmly meditative, and generously humane, this is book is real pleasure.

It’s told from the perspective of the title character, a cat who gains the ability to speak after eating the family parrot. That turn of events could have easily led to an attempt at myth or parable, but Sfar seems more concerned with the inner life of his cast: the cat, the rabbi, the rabbi’s daughter, and the various people that come in and out of their lives.

The cat is a wonder of a character. He’s devoted to his own interests: comfort, diversion, amusement, and curiosity. His unexpected verbosity is as much of a curse as a blessing. He enjoys philosophical debate, teasing humans and undermining their assumptions of morality with his blunt perspective. But his diversions have a price, as his life, even his dreams, don’t have the same simplicity and comfort they once did.

As diverting as the talking cat is, that novelty ends up being almost incidental to the book’s pleasures. Sfar looks at faith, family, culture, love, language, and a host of other concerns, and he does it in a gentle, almost meandering manner. The Rabbi’s Cat has the rhythms and feel of a children’s picture book but the substance of a novel. It has a very appealing playfulness, too.

The cat’s narrative voice holds everything together. His skepticism is a wonderful counterpoint to the seriousness of the issues the rabbi faces. It leavens things, but it doesn’t diminish their sentiment and impact.

I’ve been struggling with a way to characterize Sfar’s illustrations. The only phrase I can come up with is “ugly-beautiful.” The cat is the best example of this. At times he’s grotesquely exaggerated, but with a consistent grace and expressiveness. The daughter, while not rendered beautifully, is clearly a beautiful woman in Sfar’s visual language. The sense of place is wonderful, from the desert warmth of 1930s Algiers to the grey streets of Paris in a later chapter.

The book adheres to a six-panel-per-page grid, but it never feels rigid or repetitive. Sfar peppers his panels with vivid dreamscapes, distinct even in contrast to the wonderfully real landscapes he offers. And he has a canny way of juxtaposing words and images, as in the last sequence of the first chapter. As the cat expostulates on human nature and his own contradictions, the images provide their own counterpoint, challenging the cat’s assertions even as they reinforce them. It’s a great piece of visual storytelling, and it’s hardly the only one on display.

A while back, I asked for recommendations of comics that take you someplace unexpected and different. The Rabbi’s Cat does that, geographically and emotionally. It’s a real delight.

(For those of you lucky enough to be in Toronto, Sfar is going to visit Tuesday, Sept. 20. Click here for more details.)

Filed under: From the stack, Pantheon 6 Comments

Second look: YOTSUBA&! Vol. 2

August 22, 2005 by

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.

Filed under: ADV, From the stack Leave a Comment

From the stack: CAPOTE IN KANSAS

August 19, 2005 by

Is it strange to praise a graphic novel for its restraint? It’s not intended faintly, and it isn’t just a reaction to a summer of comics that’s had more bombast than substance. It’s a quality that I genuinely admire, and in the case of Capote in Kansas (Oni), it makes for deeply satisfying reading.

The book, written by Andre Parks and illustrated by Chris Samnee, navigates a veritable mine field of sensational material without ever indulging. Parks and Samnee follow novelist Truman Capote as he conducts research for the non-fiction novel that would be his masterpiece, In Cold Blood. The Clutters, a Kansas farm family, have been brutally murdered in their home, and Capote has chosen the tragedy as the subject for his next project.

Parks doesn’t simply adapt Capote’s work for the comic medium. The Clutter tragedy was already expertly documented by Capote himself, and Parks notes that there seems to be little point in covering the same ground. Parks also avoids an examination of Capote’s creative process, at least as it might be conventionally viewed.

Capote in Kansas isn’t about the creation of a literary masterpiece; it’s about a complicated man’s attempts to connect with a community that’s numb with grief and shaken by horror. The details of this process, which Parks admits to handling with dramatic license, are affecting, subtle, and surprising.

When we first meet Capote, he is employing the kind of measured social provocation he’s mastered over the years. At a dinner party, he’s waffling between two possible projects, a satirical expose of high society and the Clutter story. He opts for the latter, seeing an opportunity to expand his literary horizons and experiment with his notion of the non-fiction novel. He enlists his childhood friend Harper Lee, an author on the verge of publishing her own masterpiece, To Kill a Mockingbird.

Upon arriving in the Clutters’ community, Capote’s expectations of the experience are almost immediately overturned. The qualities that serve him so well in Manhattan – wit, flamboyance, literary celebrity – hold no currency in Garden City, Kansas. Beyond the obstacles posed by the community’s reception, he’s shaken by his own arrogance. The town spurs memories of his small-town upbringing, and past and present each pose their own challenges.

It’s a largely internal struggle, as Capote tries to find resources in himself not only to reach out to the people of Garden City but to do them justice. His literary ambitions lose ground in face of the quiet dignity of his subjects. He gradually learns to modulate his approach, but there’s nothing opportunistic about it. It’s a subtle, sincere transformation, very engrossingly portrayed.

Samnee’s illustrations are perfect for this kind of material. Sometimes, black and white can be more effective than a full palette, and I think that’s the case here. Samnee is deft in his use of shadows, and his sense of composition is terrific. He has a particular knack for facial expressions, capturing Capote’s wry twinkle or a citizen’s crumpled mask of grief.

For all of the scope of the events covered in Capote in Kansas – literary genius, horrifying violence, and so on — Parks never indulges in sensationalism, focusing instead on the complex, deeply personal emotions that inform these events. It’s a surprising approach, and Parks and Samnee execute it beautifully. It’s one of the best graphic novels I’ve read this year.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy provided by Oni Press.)

Filed under: From the stack, Oni 2 Comments

From the manga stack: YOUR AND MY SECRET Vol. 1

July 13, 2004 by

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.

Filed under: ADV, From the stack Leave a Comment

From the manga stack: IRON WOK JAN Vol. 2

July 5, 2004 by

In IRON WOK JAN Vol. 2, protagonist Jan Akiyama continues his efforts to be Japan’s finest creator of Chinese cuisine. It’s a common manga theme, tracing a young man’s battle to the top, but this title approaches it with a welcome level of psychological complexity.

In Vol. 1, readers saw glimpses of Jan’s apprenticeship under his sadistic, obsessive grandfather, the late Kaiichiro Akiyama. Before Kaiichiro’s death, he sent Jan to become an apprentice in the restaurant of kindly rival Mutsuju Gobancho, partly in hopes that Jan would destroy Gobancho during his ascension. Arrogant, ambitious, and abrasive, Jan quickly impressed the Gobancho crew with his skills even as he alienated them with his personality.

The set-up makes you wonder if Jan’s goal is really his. Does he want to achieve greatness for its own sake? Did his grandfather successfully overlay his own brutal ambition in his grandchild? Is there some undercurrent of spite against Kaiichiro that drives Jan? Will the more benevolent attitude of the Gobancho crew soften Jan? It gives complexity to a straightforward concept.

It also helps make Jan more sympathetic than he might be otherwise. It’s a tricky thing to successfully present an abusive childhood as an excuse for a character being a bastard, but creator Shinji Saijyo pulls it off. He also gives Jan some other saving graces. In his own brusque way, Jan’s supportive of hapless fellow apprentice Takao Okonogo. And Jan’s zeal for cooking is obviously sincere.

Vol. 2 puts Jan and his other fellow apprentice, Kiriko Gobancho, in a competition for young chefs specializing in Chinese cuisine. In the process, Saijyo introduces a wider cast of rivals for Jan and expands on his antagonistic relationship with Kiriko. The newcomers are all engaging and distinct in their own ways, but my favorite would have to be Kei Sawada, the cunning pretty-boy who uses cooking as a pick-up line.

But the core rivalry is still between Jan and Kiriko, and it’s more than a case of simple one-upping. Kiriko is a subtler, more contemplative student than Jan. In one chapter, she takes genuine pleasure and pride in mastering a new technique; it’s joy in learning for its own sake. Still, Jan knows how to push her buttons; he seems to have a special, infuriating smirk that he saves just for her.

It’s clear that Kiriko sees the potential in Jan, not simply in terms of skill but on a more personal level. When Jan does something unethical, she explodes with fury, and it’s surely not just because of how it reflects on her family’s restaurant. Even if she doesn’t like Jan (and who could?), she wants him to be worthy of their profession and thinks he can be.

The art is wonderfully polished and well-suited for the material. Saijyo renders the act of cooking so that it’s as visually exciting as any samurai battle. While the stories and dialogue are often melodramatic to giddy effect, Saijyo manages never to undermine the characters’ sincerity or the craft they’re trying to master. And honestly, I’d much rather read about young culinary Turks than cartoon cock-fighters or supernatural card sharps.

Filed under: Drmaster, From the stack Leave a Comment

From the manga stack: SEVEN OF SEVEN VOL. 1

July 4, 2004 by

There’s a great premise at the heart of SEVEN ON SEVEN, billed as a “hilarious new manga romance.” Teen-aged Nana Suzuki splits into seven versions of herself thanks to a mystical crystal. The six copies each represent a heightened aspect of Nana’s personality – her intelligence, her sexuality, her insecurity, and so on.

So why is SEVEN OF SEVEN Vol. 1 such a disappointment? There are a number of reasons, but the most important is that it doesn’t do anything interesting with its own concept. Adolescent identity can be mined for all kinds of stories – comedy, drama, romance. Throw in a mystical complication like this that brings the protagonist face to face with what can be troubling and troublesome parts of their own persona, and you’d think the manga would write itself.

But in SEVEN OF SEVEN, author Yasuhiro Imagawa has taken the narrowest possible view of the possibilities this situation presents. Nana doesn’t really learn about herself by interacting with the crowd of clones; she just has six largely unpleasant rivals for the boy she likes. (As a small bright point, the boy in question actually seems like a catch. Yuichi is friendly, smart, and fond of Nana.)

So the stories all work around the Nanas trying desperately to stay in Yuichi’s orbit and catch or keep his attention. More often than not, this means the Nanas execute a series of disturbingly malicious schemes to pass tests, put rivals out of the picture, and win Yuichi’s favor. (It never occurs to Nana to do well in school because she has any ambitions of her own, despite the fact that there are seven allegedly distinct versions of her.)

The manga’s tone is wildly uneven. It’s not the kind of controlled tonal chaos of SGT. FROG; it’s just a hodgepodge. Innocent mischief makes hairpin turns into destructive pranks. A youthful crush can turn into violent and creepy obsession. Supporting characters fluctuate to serve whatever the situation requires. (Her parents all but disappear and seem largely un-phased by the fact that they’re suddenly parents of septuplets.)

The style of the art by Azusa Kunihiro is just as muddled as the story’s tone. Kunihiro can’t seem to decide what Nana should look like, and that’s not merely because she comes in seven flavors. Her age fluctuates from page to page, looking like an innocent pre-teen on one page and a sultry young adult on another. (I’m not talking about the difference between Nana prime and “Sexy Nana,” either.) In what’s either a stylistic choice or just general laziness at the drawing board, background figures turn into disturbing, pointy-limbed silhouettes. Seriously, the art is all over the place, from HELLO KITTY to COWBOY BEBOP. There’s also a healthy dose of cheesecake, whether it’s seven nude Nanas at the hot springs or “Sexy Nana” in dominatrix drag.

Who is this title supposed to appeal to? Anyone who buys it for the fan service is likely to be bored out of their minds by Nana’s dithering. Anyone who buys it because they can relate to Nana’s innocence is sure to be repulsed by the fan service. Fans of fantasy, smart humor, and romance will be out of luck, too.

I was bound to run across a manga I didn’t like eventually, but this one left a truly awful taste in my mouth. Flaws in execution aside, the worst part is the title’s suggestion that, no matter how different the girls may be, they all want the same (single) thing: for a boy to like them.

Filed under: From the stack 3 Comments

From the manga stack: PLANETES Vol. 1

July 2, 2004 by

“A Stardust Sky,” the first chapter or “phase” of PLANETES Vol. 1, is one of the most stunning things I’ve ever read. Haunting, mournful, romantic, tense, funny… it’s a story so complete and so precise in its control of tone and mood that it’s bound to make you wonder if creator Makoto Yukimura can maintain that level of quality for the rest of the collection.

Yukimura can and does. Juxtaposing small, human stories against the vast, empty backdrop of space, PLANETES is utterly its own creation. It isn’t just a patchwork of genres like science fiction and drama and comedy. It somehow transcends those labels. There’s clearly a very humanist vision behind this manga, and it finds wonder wherever it looks.

It’s about orbital garbage collectors, snagging debris and derelict satellites from Earth’s orbit. The job is grueling and risky and unglamorous, but it’s vital. As Earth’s population expands outwards (partly in search of resources to replace the one’s they’ve depleted), space junk poses life-and-death risks. It’s grunt work, done in a setting that inspires awe.

On first glance, the crew sounds like a collection of stock characters: ambitious optimist Hachimaki, hard case Fee, and haunted veteran Yuri. But Yukimura makes them indelible. Hachimaki may be an optimist, but he’s having a hard time holding onto his illusions of wonder and adventure as he hauls jetsam. (He’s also accident prone.) Fee smokes and swears, but she cares about her work and her crew-mates (even if that means slapping them upside the head). Yuri has endured a horrible loss, and it defines him in many ways, but it doesn’t isolate him. In fact, he seems determined to strike a balance between honoring his memories while forging new connections.

The art is amazing. Even in black and white, Yukimura manages to convey the scope and wonder and texture of space. At the same time, he doesn’t prettify the conditions for the people who live there. (If there’s a weakness in the art, actually, it’s the people. I noticed some slight inconsistencies, and some individual characters are a little indistinct visually. But those are quibbles.)

To say anything specific about the plots would be to take away some of the sense of discovery. And, while its characters aren’t explorers, discovery is the defining theme of PLANETES. It’s just a quieter kind of discovery that takes you from the mundane to the majestic and everywhere in between.

Filed under: From the stack, Tokyopop 2 Comments
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