The Manga Curmudgeon

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

New feature: Save Your Money

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In an effort to bring more (hopefully useful) negativity to the proceedings, here’s the first in a probably semi-regular feature, Save Your Money. In these inflationary, possibly recessionary times, it seems important to point to comics that aren’t really worth the expense.

I’m sad to report that this week’s superfluity is Switch (Viz), by naked ape (writer Saki Otoh and artist Tomomi Nakamura). Imagine if you took bits of DNA from 21 Jump Street, Wild Adapter and MPD Psycho, then fused them into an independent organism. Best comic ever, right? It sounds (and looks) a lot cooler than it actually is.

A pair of comely, youthful narcotics investigators track a new, high-grade speed. They encounter users, dealers, and jurisdictional conflict with rival cops. The younger and sweeter of the cops has an alternate personality that is considerably less sweet than his default state. His marginally more experienced partner wears glasses and smokes. Juicy as this all sounds, it doesn’t add up to much.

What the book really lacks is a point of view. It seems like more of a grab bag of stylish, saleable components than a coherent, distinct aesthetic or compelling narrative. The material begs to be taken over the top, but it never really goes there. The script is kind of disjoined, which can be effective in crime drama but isn’t here. The character designs all kind of blend together; it’s like the squad room is populated with catalog models.

Switch is probably far from the worst comic you might buy this week, but, given the bounty of excellent new arrivals, there’s no reason for you to settle. Use the money on gas or lottery tickets.

(I recognize that I could be unfairly holding Switch to the impossibly high bishie-narc standards of Wild Adapter. In the interest of fairness, if you’re still intrigued by Switch, I would be happy to send my copy, which arrived courtesy of Viz, to the first person who e-mails me at DavidPWelsh at Yahoo dot Com. It would be nice if the recipient posted their reaction to the book somewhere, and I’d be happy to host his or her comments here, but I won’t insist on it.)

Note to self (3/10/2008)

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This is as much for my own use as anything else, but I’ve decided to make a note here every time I nominate something for the Young Adult Library Association’s Great Graphic Novels for Teens list (which you can do here).

High School Debut volume 2, by Kazune Kawahara (Viz): The first volume was intriguing, and the second is terrific. Upon entering high school, Haruna switched her extracurricular focus from softball to finding a boyfriend. She convinces a handsome fellow student, Yoh, to coach her through the process, as she’s pretty hopeless. It could have been perfectly dreadful, and some elements of the first volume were a little worrying, but Kawahara settles into a really lovely groove this time around. Yoh’s advice is actually pretty good, and Haruna demonstrates an admirable learning curve. That doesn’t mean everything turns out well, but Haruna’s confidence is growing in a really entertaining way. The tone has settled down a bit, and I love the blend of comedy and heartbreak, along with the smart, sweet observations Kawahara sprinkles throughout.

Mushishi volume 3, by Yuki Urushibara (Del Rey): This book has been spectacular from the beginning. Ginko wanders the countryside helping people cope with the effects of mushi, mysterious, primordial bugs. The episodes are almost all perfectly shaped little morality tales, and they’re beautifully drawn. Del Rey rates the book for ages 16 and up, but there’s nothing here that wouldn’t suit a younger reader. (Okay, Ginko smokes, so that might trip some content alarm.)

Give me land, lots of land

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In linking to the Comics Worth Reading discussion of available josei manga, Simon (NSFW) Jones asks a really interesting question:

“Given the generally poor understanding of manga genre terms (which more often than not reflect marketing and publication roots than actual content) in the U.S., how haphazardly these terms are used by publishers, and how some books simply cannot be marketed the same way here as in Japan because of differing cultural limitations and tastes, should we even bother using these words?”

There are plenty of relatively recent examples of books where the original demographic designation (shôjo, shônen, josei, or seinen) isn’t really useful or doesn’t translate. Particularly fluid is the seinen designation, which can certainly be applied to violent and/or sexy action epics but is actually a lot more inclusive in terms of genre, tone and style.

(Q: What do xxxHoLic, Eden: It’s an Endless World!, Vagabond, and Gon have in common? A: All were originally serialized in seinen magazines, or at least that’s what Wikipedia would have me believe. I’m certainly open to correction by people who know better, though I’d also bet I could find four equally diverse examples from the seinen category.)

So, yeah, I think I tend to agree that these demographic designations lose something when they’re applied in a system that isn’t driven by the same kind of publishing structures. It’s not exactly a “this way lies madness” problem in the grand scheme of things, but the categories don’t always stand up to that much scrutiny. And seriously, I hope people take the original demographic categorizations with a grain of salt, because there are great books in all of those categories, and I think you’d be cheating yourself if you didn’t read something just because it’s “for girls” or “for men.”

Here are some moments in questionably useful categorization:

Translucent, by Okamoto Kazuhiro (Dark Horse): romantic dramedy about school-aged kids originally published in a seinen magazine, Comics Flapper, but marketed by Dark Horse (quite appropriately, I think) for people who enjoy books from the shôjo category.

Emma, by Kaoru Mori (CMX): period romance originally published in a seinen magazine, Monthly Comic Beam, which is also home to Yuji Iwahara’s King of Thorn (Tokyopop).

ES, by Fuyumi Soryo (Del Rey): character-driven science fiction, originally serialized in a seinen magazine, Weekly Morning, by a creator probably best known for her shôjo work, like Mars (Tokyopop).

Antique Bakery, by Fumi Yoshinaga (DMP): character-driven workplace comedy, originally serialized in a shôjo magazine, Wings, that skews slightly older than you might expect (16 to 20) and seems to have a boys’-love bent. Often categorized as yaoi or shônen-ai because it one of its main characters is gay and because a fair chunk of Yoshinaga’s work has been in the yaoi category, it’s also been tagged as josei by some (including me) who hadn’t taken the time to look too deeply into its origins.

Andromeda Stories and To Terra…, by Keiko Takemiya (Vertical): character-driven space opera by a creator who is part of the Year 24 Group of pioneering women manga-ka who essentially redefined shôjo manga and gave birth to the boys’-love category. To Terra… was originally serialized in a shônen magazine, Gekkan Manga Shônen. (Does anyone know what the original home for Andromeda Stories was?) Personally, I think that Takemiya’s crossover success is just another reminder of how awesome she is, and that shônen can be just as emotionally nuanced as manga from any other category.

The Drifting Classroom, by Kazuo Umezi (Viz): hyperactive horror originally published in Weekly Shonen Sunday, released in English as part of Viz’s Signature line with a “Mature” rating. I swear, all you need to do is lovingly render the indiscriminate slaughter of children, and suddenly it’s not suitable for kids any more. Seriously, this does illustrate (in a somewhat extreme fashion) the fact that age ratings do tend to bump up when a book is licensed for release in English.

Thinking ahead

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The first wave of nominations for 2009’s Great Graphic Novels for Teens list is up, and it includes my beloved Sand Chronicles (Viz). Anyone can nominate a title, though creators and publishers can’t nominate their own works.

I like a lot of things about this particular award, but I really appreciate the fact that the nomination process is ongoing. It seems like worthy books that come out early in the process are less likely to be forgotten.

Omissions corrected

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Okay, I wasn’t used to the Previews shipping list format, so I missed a couple of items by assuming that “with mature items” meant “with the kind of comics Simon Jones tirelessly champions” instead of just… well… items with mature ratings.

Anyway, two additions to yesterday’s rundown:

One is volume 9 of Nana by Ai Yazawa, the most popular manga-ka in Japan (at least according to a survey at Oricon). I was pleasantly surprised when it showed up at the comic shop. Me: “Wow, it’s thicker than usual and wrapped in plastic!” Adorable shop employee, without missing a beat: “And still only $8.99!” I love her.

My skepticism always kicks in when a wildly enthusiastic press release shows up, but this one from Tokyopop (a leading provider of wild enthusiasm) does succeed in piquing my interest in the work of Hee Jung Park. Her stories sound intriguing, and Blog@Newsarama’s Kevin Melrose had a positive initial reaction to the art in Fever, which came out yesterday. Will Tokyopop be able to build a brand around a creator?

They’ve tried before, most notably with the works of Erica Sakurazawa, which come up in Johanna Draper Carlson’s run-down of “The State of Josei Manga.”

Upcoming 3/5/2008

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A quick look through today’s arrivals at your local comic shop (or, as the case may be, last week’s arrivals at your local bookstore):

I thought the first volume of Keiko Taekmiya’s Andromeda Stories (Vertical), done in collaboration with science-fiction legend Ryu Mitsuse, wasn’t nearly as strong as Takemiya’s work throughout To Terra…, but subsequent installments have won me over. After the considerable quantity of set-up is in place, drama, paranoia and survival kick in, using Takemiya’s strengths to much better advantage. The cumulative effect is excellent, in spite of the shaky intro, and the third volume shows up in comic shops today.

Del Rey delivers the second volume of Ryotaro Iwanaga’s Pumpkin Scissors. I really liked the first, following a military squad trying to ease suffering after the end of a lengthy and devastating war. They also kick ass from time to time, and one of them beats up tanks. It’s a thoughtful adventure series that’s generous with character-driven comedy.

Many of the Viz books that I name-checked last week actually shop up this week – the first volume of Chica Umino’s excellent josei comedy Honey and Clover, the seventh volume of Kiyoko Arai’s hilarious makeover shôjo Beauty Pop, and the fifth volume of another comedy-adventure I really like, Hiroaki Sorachi’s Gin Tama. (Beloved dragon lady Otose is on the cover, which must explain why there was only an empty space where it should have been at Barnes & Noble. Kids love chain-smoking landladies.) The second volume of Kazune Kawahara’s High School Debut is sitting in the “to read” pile, and early praise from the likes of Kate Dacey leads me to believe that I really need to check out Shouko Akira’s Monkey High!

But let’s talk about the 28th volume of Masashi Kishimoto’s Naruto for a couple of minutes. As you all undoubtedly know, this is the start of the new arc with slightly older protagonists. While I’ve been interested in the book from the standpoint of its inexorable rise to market dominance, I have to confess that I haven’t read much of the series, just the occasional chapter in Shonen Jump.

So when Viz sent me a complimentary copy of volume 28, I was curious to see how it would work for someone who had limited familiarity with whisker boy. I think it works extremely well. It might be agonizingly expository for people who’ve followed the series through the previous 27 volumes, but I thought the character introductions were effective and engaging. Naruto has come back from some independent training and reacquaints himself with his friends and teachers before getting back in the thick of the ninja action.

Even if I wasn’t entirely clear on precisely what people were doing in various battle sequences, it didn’t feel like it mattered. The basics – fighters manifest their chi-type mojo in ways that are specific to their temperaments, kind of like the X-Men are all mutants but do different stuff – are clear enough that I didn’t need to think too much about the mechanics. And while the battle sequences aren’t completely comprehensible to me, they were exciting enough that little blips didn’t really keep me from enjoying them.

Most notably, the volume leaves me with serious admiration for Sakura, who apparently started out rather blandly as “the girl.” Sakura is just an amazing character to me – resourceful, smart, compassionate, ambitious, and a full partner in the adventures in play, basically everything that people seem to want from “mainstream” super-heroines. She’s not just the nagging big sister or crush object; she’s got skills of her own, whether it’s saving a colleague from poison or, as I’ve mentioned previously, splitting the earth open with her first. If I keep reading the series from this point on, which strikes me as extremely likely, it will largely be because of Sakura.

Blurbs

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Over at Comics Worth Reading, Johanna Draper Carlson ponders the etiquette of review pull-quotes on book covers. Should the publisher notify the reviewer that their quote is going to be used and maybe send a comp of the finished product?

I haven’t been quoted that often, and I really don’t mind when it happens. I’ve written the reviews for public consumption, and I stand by them, so if the quote is an accurate reflection of my overall sentiments, I’ve got no problem with that kind of use. I wouldn’t mind an e-mail from the publisher in those instances, but it doesn’t bother me when I don’t get one.

I do find it kind of alarming to see myself quoted on a book cover. It’s kind of like hearing recordings of my voice, which always make me wonder if I really sound like that and why people don’t beg me to stop talking or just punch me and run away. I guess the most usefully quotable parts of my reviews end up sounding either mawkish or pompous to me out of the context of the full review, so I tend to cringe a bit.

As for reviewing in general, I’ve been wondering lately if I might write more negative reviews. I tend to focus on books that I like, and there are a couple of reasons for that. One is that there are lots of choices out there, and I think it’s more useful to focus on the noteworthy than the forgettable. Another is that I find writing a positive review more challenging than writing a negative one. (I’ve been sarcastic and critical roughly since the point I started speaking in full sentences, so those rhetorical muscles are reasonably well developed.)

I do think I might add more pans to the mix. If I’m excited by a solicitation and say so, then find the actual book kind of dreadful, I try to say so at least briefly, if only to set the record straight. Any thoughts either way on my balance of positive and negative responses? Should I bring more hate?

From the stack: Little Nothings

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The thing about observational humor is that it all depends on the person doing the observing. Everyone has his or her own standards for who constitutes good company, and I can’t think of better than Lewis Trondheim, at least based on Little Nothings: The Curse of the Umbrella (NBM).

The one-page cartoons illustrating Trondheim’s everyday observations and encounters are really delightful – witty, astute, low-key, sweet, and polished, but never fussy. He doesn’t seem to be in love with the sound of his own voice, and he doesn’t abandon his instincts as a storyteller because the content is casual and unstructured. It’s just so perfectly in scale, and the ultimate effect is one of effortlessness.

It’s also gorgeous. Trondheim renders everyone as gently cartoonish animals, but his facial expressions are pricelessly on point. Watching exasperation, consternation, bemusement, shock and contentment light up his menagerie is a constant source of delight in miniature. Since many of the sequences focus on his travels, there are some gorgeously rendered settings as well. The use of color is remarkably rich throughout, whether Trondheim is rendering a castle in Scotland or just letting his beaky avatar pop out of the frame.

I just can’t say enough good things about this book. It’s charming, funny and sincere without being saccharine or remotely self-involved. There are plenty of cartoonists who have tried to strike this kind of personal, conversational tone, but I’ve rarely been so disappointed to see the conversation end.

Or as I like to call it, "Poverty Month"

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It’s Manga Month again in Diamond’s Previews catalog, and there’s quite a mix of stuff for varied tastes. Oddly enough, there’s isn’t a Manga Month spread at the front pointing to items of particular interest or even any indication of the occasion on the cover, but why dwell?

Dark Horse has been making some interesting choices lately, stretching further and further out of its seinen mold. This month, they’re offering four books from Akiko Ikeda’s Dayan Collection series of children’s books featuring “the mischievous cat… and his woodland friends.” The illustrations look gorgeous. Dark Horse has a bunch of preview pages up at its site. (Pages 30 and 31.)

Del Rey really gets on the Manga Month bus. I’m most interested in the first volume of Faust, “a fiction magazine showcasing innovative short works by young authors. Deb Aoki interviewed Faust editor Katsushi Ota over at About.com not too long ago which really whetted my interest. (Page 256.)

In addition to new volumes of lots of series I love, there’s also the debut of the Odd Thomas graphic novel, In Odd We Trust, by Dean Koontz and Queenie (The Dreaming) Chan. I haven’t read Koontz’s Odd Thomas novels, but it’s about a guy who talks to the dead, and it’s drawn by Chan, so I’m almost sure to like it. (Page 256.)

Drawn & Quarterly’s third collection of the works of Yoshihiro Tatsumi, Good-Bye (Page 283), will undoubtedly get lots of well-deserved attention, but I’m more drawn to the possibilities of Seichi Hayashi’s Red Colored Elegy. It follows “the quietly melancholic lives of a young couple struggling to make ends meet” during “a politically turbulent and culturally vibrant decade that promised but failed to delivery new possibilities.” (Page 284.)

I’m only going by what Go! Comi’s solicitation tells me, but I like the concept behind Shino Taira and Yuki Ichiju’s Bogle, promising a contemporary teen-girl Robin Hood. (Page 293.)

Netcomics offers another title with a josei vibe, Wann’s Talking About. “Three lonely women in search of “happily ever after” in one modern city filled to the brim with difficult men.” (Page 316.)

That sound you just heard was probably Kate Dacey’s head exploding. Viz is offering a second edition of Rumiko Takahashi’s One-Pound Gospel, forbidden romance between a budding boxer and a beautiful nun. (Page 375.)

General head explosion will probably result from the announcement of two fat collections of Kazuo (The Drifting Classroom) Umezu’s Cat Eyed Boy. Horror fans will undoubtedly want to take note, as Umezu is an insanely gifted practitioner in this genre. Here’s some early, illustrated enthusiasm from Same Hat! Same Hat! The softcover books offer about 500 pages a piece for $24.99, but you can hack about a third off of that price if you pre-order at Amazon. (Page 377.)

In addition to a fair number of former Ice Kunion titles, Yen Press deliver’s the first volume of a manga that instantly hooks me with its title: Shoulder-a-Coffin, Kuro! by Satoko Kiyuduki. I don’t even care what it’s about. (Page 379.)

In the realm of comics not from Japan, there’s still plenty of interest. Phil and Kaja Foglio and Cheyenne Wright offer the seventh volume of Girl Genius: Agatha and the Voice of the Castle. I really enjoy this funny adventure series, which is also available online. (Page 203.)

Based on the strength of La Perdida, I’ll read just about anything by Jessica Abel, even if it’s about underemployed hipster vampires. Abel collaborates with Gabe Soria and Warren Pleece on Life Sucks from First Second. (Page 289.)

I really need to read Matthew Loux’s Sidescrollers (Oni Press), which has gotten tons of praise. Loux has a new book coming from Oni called Salt Water Taffy. The new quarterly series follows a bizarre family vacation to a small fishing port in Maine, and it looks like it will be a lot of fun. (Page 317.)

New comics from Hope Larson always make me happy. Her latest is Chiggers from Simon and Schuster, which promises friendship crises at summer camp. Larson is one of the most imaginative visual storytellers around, so it should offer an intriguing on familiar-sounding material. (Page 337.)

Retentive… probe… etc.

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I can’t really call Kei Azumaya’s All Nippon Air Line: Paradise at 30,000 Feet (Juné) a good comic, but there are a lot of things I like about it.

It’s a yaoi comedy about a company that takes gay friendliness to new heights. (I apologize for that, but there are so many puns in this book that there’s something of an infection vector.) Proudly known by its acronym, A.N.A.L., the all-gay airline is dedicated to customer service and to the pleasure of its all-male, all-gay employees.

This is no mere flying brothel. The thing that strikes me most about the book is how sex-positive it is. Aside from one unfortunate short where a straight pilot is “persuaded” to sign on with the airline, everyone gets to pursue their own tastes, whether it’s a beautiful boy, burly jock or balding salaryman. The employees are so cheerfully randy and the passengers so appreciative that it’s easy to buy into the spirit of the proceedings.

There isn’t much in the way of proper characterization. The short stories and jokes are built almost entirely around the playful juxtaposition of types and tastes (and the incessant A.N.A.L. puns). Azumaya pulls off enough of the jokes that the underdeveloped cast isn’t really that much of a detriment.

The best bits involve ambivalent passengers winding up on an A.N.A.L. flight by necessity or accident. My favorite featured a recent college graduate traveling with his amateur manga-ka sister on an athletically themed flight. There’s nothing unexpected about the story’s outcomes, but the execution is smart and ultimately rather sweet.

Most of the collected works are doujinshi, self-published comics, and those origins show. It feels more like Azumaya is riffing for a friendly audience than creating anything for the ages, but that’s part of the book’s charm. She’s playing with yaoi conventions in ways that assert that sex can be fun and travel can be glamorous. It’s a nice change of pace.