The Manga Curmudgeon

Spending too much on comics, then talking too much about them

Journey to the middle of the demographic

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We went to see Journey to the Center of the Earth yesterday, though none of the cinemas in the area bothered with the 3-D version. It’s not going to change anyone’s life, but it doesn’t waste anyone’s time either. It’s paced well, reasonably charming, and exciting and funny often enough that I didn’t spend any time wondering if people in the other theaters were having a better time. (That’s partly because it’s relatively short.)

The 1959 version was one of the first movies I saw in a theater. (It was in its second release. I’m not that old.) I remember being very impressed, and the new version doesn’t replace it, but I like Brendan Fraser a lot, and I don’t regret the 92 minutes I spent. (How’s that for a poster blurb?)

One thing I did notice was how perfectly Anita Briem embodied what I would call “the new action movie girl.” Briem’s character, mountain guide Hannah Ásgeirsson, is attractive without being unattainable, witty without being castrating, competent without being threatening, and generally a narrative utility player of perfect reliability. I ended up wondering if the producers hooked test audiences up to electrodes to make sure they were getting just the right kind of stimulation from her, refining their new action movie girl formula as they went along. (To keep you from missing their hard work, the screenwriters have Fraser and Briem’s characters keep a non-hostile, running tally of how often they save each other.)

Briem is charming and works hard, and the new action movie girl paradigm is a lot better than the victim-bait construct that was in place for so long, but I did end up wondering how much fun it can be to play a character that’s been conceived so conscientiously.

Upward mobility

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It isn’t a very long piece, but there are some interesting nuggets in an article on Japan’s e-book market in The Japan Times:

“Although [a spokesperson for comic-viewing software developer Celsys Inc.] said more content is available for other generations, the main buyers of mobile phone ‘manga,’ which cost about ¥300 to ¥700 per book, are women in their 20s.”

So that’s about $3 to $7 a pop.

Pulitzer winner hearts Shogakukan winner

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I spotted this via Christopher Butcher, and I wanted to mention it for a couple of reasons. One, it’s nice to see a Pulitzer Prize winner, Junot Diaz, speak so highly about a comic I really like, Naoki Urasawa’s Monster (Viz), at Time’s web site. (It’s not really surprising, because his book, The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, is as stepped in geek culture as it is in the political history of the Dominican Republic. I mean, he compares Rafael Trujillo to Darkseid.)

The other reason is that it gives me another chance to say how fabulously entertaining Diaz’s book is. Don’t let the Pulitzer trick you into thinking its some impenetrable tome; it’s brilliantly funny and accessible and great and you should read it.

Neat trick!

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In his very smart piece on recent discourse on manga, John Jakala includes this:

“My favorite book from last year (something I never got around to blogging) was Drawn & Quarterly’s Aya, and the year before that my pick was First Second’s Klezmer. So even if manga isn’t scratching my older reader’s itch, I know there are plenty of other places I can look for comic book relief.”

Then this morning Tom Spurgeon posts this:

“AYA OF YOP CITY, MARGUERITE ABOUET AND CLEMENT OUBRERIE, HARDCOVER, 9781894937900, SEPTEMBER, $19.95.”

So where’s the announcement of the second volume of Klezmer?

It may never happen

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Man, there’s some major gloom in the air regarding the state of the manga audience. I’m not going to disagree with the assessments floating around, but one recurring element does strike me as a little out of scale.

A cornerstone of the recent wariness seems to be that manga’s primary demographic has stagnated at a certain age group, which is true. Booksellers are reluctant to shelve titles that don’t promise immediate returns (i.e. anything outside of the shônen and shôjo categories), and publishers are less likely to license titles for older readers as a result. Borders, the earliest and most enthusiastic retail adopter of the category, is on shaky financial ground, the nation’s economy is in the toilet, and everyone is being cautious. Those are facts, and I’m not trying to minimize them.

At the same time, I’m detecting a tendency to expect the U.S. audience for comics from Japan to evolve at a geometrically faster rate than the Japanese audience for comics from Japan did. I mean, how long has what might be considered the mainstream North American market for manga been in place? (Del Rey is just about to turn five years old, and Japan’s third-largest manga publisher is just now taking the bull by the horns and opening its own stateside initiative.) How long did it take Osamu Tezuka to realize his dream of comics for everyone across the lifespan, and how does the adult audience for comics in Japan compare to the younger audience for comics in Japan? Were I to hazard a guess, based on casual observation and reading accounts from people who are a lot better informed than I am, I’d say the majority of the indigenous manga market is still geared towards kids, and that a healthy chunk of the people who enjoy it as kids leave it behind as they get older.

So I guess I’m spotting an uneven set of expectations in play. Didn’t it take decades for a healthy market of comics for grown-ups to evolve in Japan? And is there a comparably healthy market of comics for grown-ups – not “babymen” or anything, but a casual reading audience that isn’t dedicated to the medium exclusively – in the United States? If there was such a market, I’d think there’d be less shock when a book like Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home gets mainstream acclaim, or when Adrian Tomine’s Shortcomings gets a serious review in The New York Times.

So why expect the English-reading audience for comics from Japan to mature faster than the Japanese audience did? There are still plenty of people who love comics top to bottom who won’t touch manga with a ten-foot pole, no matter how similar a lot of it is to what they’re already enjoying. And most days, it seems like the North American comic industry can’t even decide which underserved age group, kids or grown-ups, it’s trying to reach. In an average week, you’ll see pieces bemoaning the lack of options for both demographics, or pieces bemoaning the neglect endured by the properties that do try and serve them. (I mean, I’ve written those kinds of pieces over and over again.)

I guess I’m also hard-pressed to spot a particular tipping point where the current generation of kids in the United States and Canada who are manga’s primary consumers are revealed to be the only generation of kids who consume manga ever to reside in North America. Or the evidence that everyone in these generations will simply stop reading comics when they take the SAT. Most of them probably won’t ever pick up a comic again after the last volume of Fruits Basket comes out (though I’m not ready to picture that day too clearly), but some of them surely will, and as new generations of manga readers enter the audience, some of them will surely keep reading too, and they’ll tell two friends, and so on. It’s not likely to be a fast process, but I don’t think that kind of audience development has ever been speedy, has it?

Listen, I used to watch soap operas, so I’ve heard the old saw that “It takes a while to turn an ocean liner” before, used by producers and executives when asked when a given show would stop sucking. As a fan, I hated that argument, but I recognized the truth of it. Maybe the meteoric early rise of the shônen-shôjo market has created unrealistic expectations for the seinen-josei phase, but I can’t help but believe that the two periods aren’t entirely comparable, and I don’t think the latter will happen nearly as quickly as the former.

I love manga targeted at grown-ups, and I’m tremendously grateful to the publishers to provide it to audiences. I wish mainstream booksellers would consider the possibilities and be less frightened of shrink-wrap, but I can abstractly understand where they’re coming from in an economic climate that doesn’t encourage risk or expansion. I think they will consider those possibilities eventually, I really do, but I don’t think it will happen as quickly as I would like. At the same time, I don’t think that promises an eternity of super-teens and spunky heroines. I’m not an optimist by nature, but I do believe in the incremental growth of an audience for mature works.

Downgoing?

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I’m just not feeling the ComicList love this week. So, for a change, I’ll recommend some old (or “old”) comics.

The Walking Man, by Jiro Taniguchi (Fanfare/Ponent Mon): This is one of the most soothing, serene comics reading experiences you’re ever likely to enjoy. It’s basically about a suburban guy who goes on walks, taking in the scenery as he goes. That’s all, and that’s plenty, because the gentle spirit of the stories marries beautifully with Taniguchi’s richly detailed visuals.

Paris, by Andi Watson and Simon Gane (SLG): A sweet, slight story of young women in love, masterfully illustrated by Gane. Watson’s observations about class and youth provide a nice enough spine, but the real appeal is Gane and his rich, odd renderings of Paris in the 1950s. I had never seen Gane’s artwork before, and there’s really nothing else like it.

Polly and the Pirates, by Ted Naifeh (Oni Press): Is it possible to be both a proper schoolgirl and the terror of the high seas? It is if you’re being written and drawn by Naifeh, who can combine tight plotting with fanciful, funny bits that don’t disrupt the flow.

Livewires: Clockwork Thugs, Yo, by Adam Warren and Rick Mays (Marvel): Even when working for Marvel, Warren (creator of the demented and thoroughly charming Empowered for Dark Horse) can turn out a funky, smart comic. This one’s about a black-ops group of android teens who are tasked with cleaning up a proliferation of similarly covert tech cells. Imaginative violence, smart plays on the “even an android can cry” motif, nifty fad jokes, and eye-popping art by Mays are more than enough to render the tiny, tiny lettering a non-issue.

Only the Ring Finger Knows, by Satoru Kannagi and Hotaru Odagiri (Juné): This sweet, squeaky clean example of shônen-ai is still one of my favorites. It’s a gentle, character-driven romance between two temperamentally opposite high-school students (try and contain your shock at the novelty of such a concept, I beg). I keep meaning to read the novels based on the property.

Monday manga mayhem

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Two of what are apparently my pet themes for this iteration of Flipped come up in the latest installment: publisher woes, and Eisner nominations. It also confirmed my theory that no depressing thought can survive in the wake of a re-reading of manga by Kiyohiko Azuma.

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Just because everyone else has pointed to it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t: Chris Butcher on the shape of the manga industry, part one and part two.

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Would you like your Anime Expo round-up annotated or exhaustive? You can’t really go wrong either way.

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I can’t really go with a “manga invades Paris” tag, because that happened a while ago, but many of the conquering forces visited their territory over the weekend and received fabulous prizes. Money quote from the former link:

“One in two French children are thought to have read at least one manga comic, and an entire French generation was reared on a diet of Japanese animated television cartoons.”

I swear that reads just like those articles on a child’s chance of catching a venereal disease before their freshman year in high school.

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John Jakala prepares for the new regime:

“I for one openly welcome our new manga overlords and thank them in advance for all the wonderful entertainment they will be bringing us.”

He neglected to mention the robotic, page-turning kittens that Kodansha will deliver to each customer who gets all the giant eyes punched on their frequent buyer cards.

Food, glorious food

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I’m not much of a con-goer myself, but I like reading updates from folks like Deb Aoki, because sometimes I learn that very cool things are coming.

Oh my GOD, a food manga that’s been running for 102 volumes? About traveling reporters with a culinary obsession? Oh, Viz, you DO love me!

(Also, Deb was kind enough to actually send me est em’s Seduce Me After the Show, published by Aurora, and it is really, really good, but more about that later. Aurora has more em on the way.)

From the stack: Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro

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I have a confession to make. Interested as I am in new players in the manga market, I haven’t delved too deeply into the catalogue of Yen Press. I admire Keiko Tobe’s educational soap opera, With the Light: Raising an Autistic Child, and I’m thrilled that they’ve absorbed ICE Kunion’s manhwa titles (particularly Goong and Forest of Gray City), but the rest of their titles seem kind of generic. And I can barely keep up with the generic manga I already enjoy. (If I’m missing something spectacular, please let me know.)

The one solicitation that was able to crack my indifference was Satoko Kiyuduki’s Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro. Between the charmingly odd title and the fact that it’s in the four-panel strip form, I had to take a look. I’m glad I did. I’m partial to low-key weirdness, and this title offers that quality with aplomb.

Taciturn Kuro is wandering the countryside toting a coffin and investigating rumors of a witch. She’s accompanied by a talking bat named Sen and, later, a pair of rambunctious, cat-like twins named Nijuku and Sanju. Between the coffin on her back, her secretiveness, and the almost-unrelieved black of her wardrobe, she’s not an especially winning presence, and she’s got too much on her mind to concern herself with charming strangers. She manages, though, in an unassuming way.

That’s because Kiyuduki has populated Kuro’s world with people who are kind and curious rather than superstitious and stingy. They share information, and turn to Kuro with their problems, triggering gently uplifting adventures. Kuro’s got substantial burdens of her own, but she helps when she can. There’s a streak of benevolent self-interest to her adventures as well, and it’s fun to watch her multi-task.

If Kuro was merely glum and resolute, she’d be kind of dull. It’s nice that Kiyuduki gives her a sarcastic side and allows her to indulge in the occasional fit of temper. As for Sen, if you’ve seen one talking-bat sidekick, you’ve seen them all, but I tend to find talking-bat sidekicks welcome more often than not. Nijuku and Sanju are charming kids. They’re funny, inquisitive, and occasionally bratty, and Kiyuduki doesn’t overplay their moments of kid logic. Their growing dependence on Kuro and Kuro’s almost reluctant fondness for them is moving and subdued.

Kiyuduki’s illustrations are gorgeously cute, rich in detail with just enough darkness to suit the book’s tone. Character designs are imaginative, and Kiyuduki is particularly adept at facial expressions, from small, nuanced shifts to the full-on tantrums and wide-eyed wonder of the twins. Even without the generous sprinkling of color pages, the landscapes Kiyuduki creates are homey and welcoming.

Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro is one of those books that feels just right… the right blend of humor and sadness, clarity and myster, charm and creepiness. I really recommend it.

Happy-go-lucky

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Patsy Walker: Hellcat #1 (Marvel) isn’t bad. It’s got a punchy, stand-alone story by Kathryn Immonen about a C-list heroine as a stranger in a strange land, and it’s got attractive art by David LaFuente Garcia. Immonen takes the “less is more” approach to continuity, focusing on her protagonist’s abilities and personality rather than her convoluted backstory. In other words, she tells you everything you need to know, and barely a scrap more.

Patsy is a refreshingly angst-free heroine, and when Iron Man gives her a gig as the official super-heroine of Alaska, she accepts with a minimum of grumbling. Her mandate is vague, so she follows her (quasi-psychic) intuition to identify a potential trouble spot in the vast, forbiddingly beautiful, largely unpopulated landscape. Trouble is duly found, and that’s about that.

Immonen’s Hellcat seems almost like a Marvel Adventures version of the character. Her noteworthy traits are what they’ve always been when the character as been put to best use – spirited, likeable, a chatterbox, and game for anything. The chatter is cute, but not always coherent. The dialogue seems like it would flow better if it was performed than read off of a page, but there are cute bits.

I also wonder if Immonen might have stripped things down a bit too much. Patsy’s background is positively byzantine. She started as a mainstay of Marvel’s teen romance comic line, resurfaced as a spunky divorcee who became a super-heroine through pure luck and force of will, had a healthy run as a member of Marvel’s weird super-team, The Defenders, got married again, died, and came back to life to resume her career as a super-heroine. There’s no need to reference even a fraction of that, but a sense that she’s an experienced adventurer and had gone through some serious crap with her outgoing optimism intact might have added some appealing layers to the book, which tends to skate on charm.

Now, if you want to read some really delightful Hellcat stories, I strongly recommend you start with the Avengers: The Serpent Crown collection, written by Steve Englehart and drawn by George Perez. This is where Patsy went from wannabe to perfectly legitimate candidate for the Avengers. (I’ve always wondered what would have happened with her fictional career if Englehart had stayed on the title.) Then move on to Essential Defenders Volume 3, by a whole bunch of people. In addition to the best Defenders story ever (Steve Gerber’s bizarre, long-form arc pitting our heroes against the manipulations of the Headmen and an interstellar self-help guru), you’ll also get Hellcat’s introduction to the team, which is followed by a very snappy tale of the Defenders versus a new incarnation of the Zodiac. That arc also features what now might regrettably be called a “bromance” between Nighthawk and Moon Knight, who apparently found abiding solace in the fact that they were both guys with glider capes, sarcastic personalities, and not much else to acquit them.