The first volume of Wandering Son, published in the middle of last year, was an intriguing look at two teenagers who both are trying to figure out their own gender identity and their place in the world around them. Fantagraphics released the second volume at the [...]]]> By Shimura Takako
200 pages, black and white
Published by Fantagraphics

The first volume of Wandering Son, published in the middle of last year, was an intriguing look at two teenagers who both are trying to figure out their own gender identity and their place in the world around them. Fantagraphics released the second volume at the end of the year, and with a lot of the set-up completed, Shimura Takako’s story takes a stronger step forward here. Everything I liked about the first volume is still present, but any issues I’d had with it feel like they’ve been erased as her story progresses.

Wandering Son Vol. 2 picks up right where the last volume left off. Shuichi, Yoshino, and Saori are entering the 6th grade. But as the three find themselves not all in the same class, it’s the first hint that things aren’t always going to be quite so easy for Shuichi and Yoshino. What follows is a whirlwind of encounters and moments, with Shuichi and Yoshino learning more about their older transgendered friend Yuki, a class trip where Shuichi starts encountering some bullying, a potentially misplaced crush when a classmate of Shuichi’s sister sees Shuichi dressed as a girl, and even hurt feelings among the group of friends. In short, it’s life in the sixth grade, only filtered through the additional issue of being transgendered.

I love that Takako has given Shuichi and Yoshino their older friends Yuki and her boyfriend Shii; it gives the book a slightly different perspective as Yuki shows them one path that their life may eventually lead, as well as someone that they can theoretically talk to and be slightly more comfortable around. At the same time, I appreciate that Takako doesn’t take the obvious tactic of them all becoming instant best-friends simply because of the transgendered connection. There’s still a certain level of uneasiness mixed in with the admiration for Shuichi and Yoshino, and I like that Takako isn’t going for the easy out. Being part of a minority offers people an obvious introduction, but she doesn’t confuse that for a universal pass.

Then again, friendships in general aren’t taken for granted in Wandering Son Vol. 2. Saori being in a different class than Shuichi and Yoshino is already creating a rift, and Saori’s unstated jealousy of Shuichi’s relationship with Yoshino is a development that is making Saori that much more interesting. (Although, after meeting Saori’s mother, I want Saori to stick around if only because I’m dying to see her mother again, who steals an entire scene in just two pages.) At their age, friendships can start, stop, and start again at the drop of a hat, and watching something as simple as a shared journal between Shuichi and Yoshino create problems has a bite of realism that I think all readers can relate to.

It’s the school trip, though, where Wandering Son stops becoming sweet and innocent, and we start seeing the real world seep into Takako’s storytelling. Up until now, it’s been a pretty warm and innocent story for our characters; there was the occasional clash, but never anything too serious. What starts as simple childish taunting by Shuichi’s seat mate gets uglier with each interaction, with Takako completely understanding how a bully will find a weakness and continue to exploit it with larger and more powerful attacks once that vulnerability is discovered. When the phrase, "Little faggot," is spoken, in some ways the softer world of Wandering Son comes crashing down around the characters. It’s hard at that point to forget that the world is tilted against Shuichi and Yoshino, and that for every Saori, Kanako, or Yuki, there’s someone else far more unaccepting around the corner. It’s a powerful and dramatic moment, and Takako writes it pitch-perfect.

The art in Wandering Son is adorable as the first volume. Takako draws her characters with a certain air of innocence about them, with expressions of surprise and happiness bursting onto their faces in a way that makes me hope none of them ever try to become poker players. My favorite moments here, though, alongside those of unbridled joy, are when Shuichi’s sister Maho starts to figure out what’s up with her little brother. Those looks of suspicion and realization are classic, telling us everything we need to know about what’s inside of her head in one fell swoop.

Wandering Son Vol. 2 is a great sophomore collection from Takako; I feel like the slightly choppy nature from the early chapters in Vol. 1 is gone, and Takako’s starting to expand the cast and the plot in a way that provides more of a dramatic bite. Based on the class trip sequence in this volume, Takako’s just getting ready to make Wandering Son a lot more heavy and less idealized for the characters. If it goes anything like we see here, we’ve got a hell of a ride ahead of us. With beautifully designed hardcovers (and a pleasing weight and feel to the books too, with a good paper stock to boot), Wandering Son is the sort of series you’ll be proud to have on your bookshelf. I’m ready for the next volume now.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Natsume Ono is a comic creator who, much to her credit, has no problem leaping from one subject to the next; one minute it’s samurai stories like House of Five Leaves, the next it’s romantic drama at a restaurant, or a young man trying to figure [...]]]> By Natsume Ono
248 pages, black and white
Published by Viz

Natsume Ono is a comic creator who, much to her credit, has no problem leaping from one subject to the next; one minute it’s samurai stories like House of Five Leaves, the next it’s romantic drama at a restaurant, or a young man trying to figure out questions of family and identity. I was delighted as a result to find out about Tesoro, a collection of Ono’s short stories. In doing so I found confirmation that while the plots are often different, there are definitely some threads that run through her works.

Ono writes a lot about loss and family. Missing parents are often elements in these shorts, and it’s to Ono’s credit that each character feels different in their own way, no matter what they’re going through similar to ones in different stories. Even when there’s no particular loss, like in "Froom Family," Ono still understands the hold that family members have on one another; there’s no way that young Nils could get the same amount of anguish from people that weren’t his sisters, able to get under his skin just so. Italy also crops up several times here, a favorite setting of Ono’s, but she often uses it as little more than a backdrop. Ono’s enchantment and fascination with the country none the less rubs off on the reader; I’d have expected to start groaning, "Oh no, not another story set in Italy" but instead I found myself hoping for one more glimpse. My favorite piece in the book, though, is probably "Three Short Stories About Bento." The three stories have little connection other than being about the Japanese lunch boxes, but each of them managed to both give a glimpse into Japanese culture and also bring their characters to life better than some full-length books I’ve read. Add in Ono’s trademark scratchy, loose-lined style, and you end up with a charming sampler from Ono. With 14 stories, even if you (like myself) find a small number to not quite be up to par, there’s more than enough here to keep you entertained for quite some time.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

With so many manga series being translated into English these days, it’s easy for ones to get lost in the shuffle; doubly so when it comes to ones that aren’t on their first or second volume. In the case of books in Twin Spica, it [...]]]> By Kou Yaginuma
272 pages, black and white
Published by Vertical, Inc.

With so many manga series being translated into English these days, it’s easy for ones to get lost in the shuffle; doubly so when it comes to ones that aren’t on their first or second volume. In the case of books in Twin Spica, it would be a genuine shame if it became forgotten. Not only is this 12-volume series about a Japanese space academy charming, but its ninth volume is almost certainly its strongest installment to date.

Kou Yaginuma has always juggled multiple elements in Twin Spica; it’s not just about Asumi trying to become an astronaut (despite, or perhaps because of the personal tragedy her own family suffered due to space flight attempts), but about the relationships between her, her fellow students, and others associated with those at the academy. In the case of Twin Spica Vol. 9, though, I think Yaginuma has found the perfect mixture of stories to provide just the right balance of moods and ideas. We’ve got a journalist intrigued by the presence of Marika and trying to figure out her connection to his memories of many years earlier. A friend from Asumi’s past comes to visit, but is hiding the real reason for her arrival. There’s a thread about pride in making the new space craft entirely in Japan, rather than contracting parts out (like on the ill-fated Lion). There’s even a subplot about Marika working her first job. And of course, the training is getting progressively more difficult, to weed out those not suitable to become astronauts.

It might sound like much, but none of these stories felt cramped or getting short shrift. Perhaps it’s because these later volumes have a higher page count, but Yaginuma is moving effortlessly from one story to the next, and each feels emotionally fulfilling. The centerpiece of the book for me was Asumi’s visit from her friend Kasane. There’s something particularly sweet about that portion of the book, perhaps because it felt so especially honest and emotionally revealing. As readers get older they’ll find themselves in similar situations when it comes to long-time friends that might be slipping away, and Yaginuma writes as if he’s dealing from personal experience, here.

I also appreciated that more now than ever, Yaginuma is making it clear why Asumi would be a good astronaut. In earlier volumes it felt that while she had a lot of the drive, but perhaps not the physicality to be successful. By this point, though, we’ve had a careful progression of her attempt to be an astronaut, and having the newer student start to understand how her long-term dedication is now paying off is a nice moment. It feels like this has been planned from the very first chapters of the story, and we’re getting the fruits of that labor. Even the element of the ghostly Mr. Lion, who has started to feel past his expiration date, feels a little smoother here. Perhaps because it feels like Yaginuma is preparing his departure from Asumi’s life, but the slightly more reflective and subdued presence here is appreciated.

As always, Yaginuma’s art looks lovely. His ink lines are delicate and small, providing a rich texture to his art. As strange as it sounds, it’s starting to remind me of artists like Ladronn, able to draw something big and bulky like a space suit and give it heft while still feeling somehow impossibly light and perfect. And more importantly, when it comes to looks of wonder on the part of the main characters, look no further than Yaginuma. When Asumi, Kasane, or someone else’s face lights up in wonderment or happiness, it will melt your heart. Likewise, when someone is crushed, their looks of sorrow will threaten to drag you down too. It’s a beautiful overall look.

Twin Spica has just three more volumes to go, and I’ll be sad to see it end, even as I’m dying to see what happens next. I don’t know anything about Yaginuma’s new series Gunryoku no Jiu save that it’s about samurai, but Twin Spica is good enough that I’ll buy a translation sight-unseen. (Are you listening, manga publishers?) If you haven’t given Twin Spica a try, you owe it to yourself to take a look. It’s been a real joy falling in love with this series.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

X is a strange little duck in the manga world, in terms of its publication history. Created by the four-person creative collective CLAMP, X began in Japan in 1992, but was halted in 2003 as it neared its conclusion due to concerns by the publisher over the [...]]]> By CLAMP
584 pages, black and white
Published by Viz

X is a strange little duck in the manga world, in terms of its publication history. Created by the four-person creative collective CLAMP, X began in Japan in 1992, but was halted in 2003 as it neared its conclusion due to concerns by the publisher over the "increasingly violent stories." Meanwhile, in North America, due to Dark Horse Comics’ series X, its publication by Viz ran under the name X/1999, referencing the pivotal year in which the series was set. It’s now 2011 and CLAMP hasn’t found a new publisher in Japan to run the final chapters of X, but the series is now coming back into print in North America in a series of 3-in-1 omnibuses, and under its original title of X. As the comic focuses around the apocalypse, saying "the end is near" is extremely appropriate no matter how you look at it. And based on what I found in X 3-in-1 Vol. 1? I am a little boggled at the idea how just how violent these later chapters must be.

The early chapters of X start off innocently enough. Fuma and Kotori are brother and sister, raised solely by their father after their mother died a few years ago. At the same time, their cousin Kamui and his mother abruptly left Tokyo without a word. Now it’s 1999, and Kamui has returned, but their fun-loving, sweet cousin is now a dark, brooding figure with massive powers and abilities. With two rival organizations both trying to find Kamui (the Seven Seals and the Seven Angels), mystical battles are already starting to break out left and right, and the visions of the end of the world are coming with ever-increasing intensity.

Based on the above description, X sounds like it’s got some basic similarities between it and other manga series, even other series by CLAMP. The strong bond between brother and sister, the outsider returning to the fold but changed, the two agencies trying to grab our protagonist for their own purposes. And at the end of the (original) first volume, I figured I knew where X was going, that it wasn’t until the very end that X would be kicking the violence into high gear. And then, I began what was originally the second volume, and in a matter of pages realized that CLAMP was done with their prelude and that apocalyptic, anything-can-happen nature was already here. It starts with a flashback to how Fuma and Kotori’s mother died (hint: don’t assume that Kotori’s weak heart means that their mother died of one as well), and the level of gruesomeness intensifies. By the time you get to the two-page spread of a ruined Tokyo with corpses impaled on spires left and right, you know that X is playing for keeps. But remember, these are just the early chapters; it’s apparently not until later that X hits the point that the editors decided to pull the plug on the book.

The sad thing is, if you remove the ever-growing violence, there’s a lot more about X that I suspect gets overshadowed by a casual read. CLAMP is playing a lot in these early chapters with mirrors and counterparts. With the appearance of the Seven Seals and the Seven Angels, we’re already seeing opposite sides aligning, and it’s hard to not see even in these first chapters hints of a similar positioning between Fuma and Kamui. As we get visions of two Kamuis and two Sacred Swords, it’s hard to keep from glancing in the direction of Fuma. CLAMP has already hinted that Fuma has abilities of his own, after all, and with this much foreshadowing I’ll be surprised if we don’t see more. And while apocalypse fiction is fairly run of the mill these days (although it is amusing to see all the 1999 references in X, since these days 2012 is a more popular date), CLAMP is clearly having fun mixing in all of the biblical imagery to help set it apart from the others.

CLAMP also introduces an intriguing idea of the kekkai, a mystical barrier that lets massive battles happen without damaging the area permanently, provided the creator of the kekkai isn’t severely wounded or killed. At the end of the fight, everything inside the barrier reverts to normal; it allows CLAMP to tell huge, massive battles that destroy quite a bit of the surrounding city, but there’s also that continual threat that the damage could turn suddenly and horrifically permanent. It’s a clever conceit, and I’m curious to see just where they’ll end up taking this idea. My only big complaint with the writing is that some of the secondary characters are quickly proving to be annoying; based on the fact that there should be seven Seals and Angels before too long, I’m hoping that these annoying ones are pushed to the background by the additions en route, but right now it’s especially frustrating since the annoying ones are also responsible for delivering some much needed exposition.

As X was drawn almost 20 years ago, now, the art isn’t quite up to the higher standards you’d expect from their more recent books like xxxHolic or Kobato. It’s still attractive enough, with large sweeping appearances of characters, and a surprisingly high number of large splash pages and vistas. It’s some of the most dramatic art I’ve seen from CLAMP, perhaps because of its world-shattering nature instead of being a quieter, more personal story. For now, I was also glad that the violence is somewhat tastefully drawn. We don’t get an overabundance of gore, instead seeing just enough to have our brains fill in the detail. While the faces aren’t quite as sharp or distinctive as CLAMP’s later comics look, you can already see here a team of creators carving out their own niche in the Japanese comics world.

Will X ever return? Well, CLAMP did just announce that their series Legal Drug (which came to a halt after the publication it ran in shut down; ironically, the same publication that X had also ran in) is returning after an eight-year hiatus, so anything is possible. With the devastation in Japan due to the earthquake and tsunami earlier this year, though, I can’t help but think that few publishers will be jumping on board for an end-of-the-world manga that has a reputation for high levels of violence and destruction. Still, even though a conclusion might not be around the corner, I’m intrigued enough by X 3-in-1 Vol. 1 to want to see what happens next. X has enough of a reputation that I was already curious, but the ideas that CLAMP’s playing with here has lured me in for round two.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Stargazing Dog is the kind of book that will either grab you instantly with its cover, or make you run screaming. For me, there’s something instantly attractive about an image of a cute dog in a field of sunflowers that made me want to read this [...]]]> By Takashi Murakami
128 pages, black and white
Published by NBM

Stargazing Dog is the kind of book that will either grab you instantly with its cover, or make you run screaming. For me, there’s something instantly attractive about an image of a cute dog in a field of sunflowers that made me want to read this comic that was a runaway success in its native Japan. What I found inside, though, was a strange duo of stories about the relationship between men and dogs. It’s bittersweet, but I appreciated that it didn’t take the easy way out.

The first half of Stargazing Dog is the titular story, where a family adopts a puppy named Happie, but over time the father finds his wife and daughter drifting away from him, until it is just him and Happie on the road, trying to make ends meet. Takashi Murakami takes a slightly peculiar approach to the narrative here, starting off by making the father extremely standoffish and not terribly good on a personal level with anyone. It makes him hard to get excited about when the book’s cast contracts to just him and the dog, as a result. You can see this being a story of (somewhat) redemption for the father, but none the less it’s a bit of a speed bump for those earlier chapters.

Then again, even once it’s just the two of them, he’s not the most dashing of protagonists. He makes some ridiculous mistakes along the way, and there are some hiccups that are hard to believe (why is all of his money in cash?) that seem to exist solely to push the pair of them into ruin. But if you ignore the plot and just focus on the story of Happie, it’s a sad if touching story about devotion and unconditional love that will do its best to tug at heartstrings. That’s something that is echoed in "Sunflowers," an epilogue starring a different character who comes to investigate the aftermath of "Stargazing Dog." It’s another piece about the love that a dog gives its owner, and while the story itself seems slightly unnecessary, I appreciated that this protagonist was a bit more admirable and interesting. Once again, Murakami deliberately avoids a simple, pat, happy ending, and it makes me wonder if this is a hallmark of all of his fiction or if he was trying to stay in the same vein as "Stargazing Dog."

Murakami’s art in Stargazing Dog is a blocky but attractive style. I love how he draws Happie, with his perpetually eager and joyous canine face. A lot of the emotion of the story comes not from the script but from the visuals of the piece; it’s hard to keep from finding yourself entranced by Happie as he goes from good to bad situation but still has that upbeat canine spirit. He brings a lot of detail to the book, too; the fields of vegetation are drawn in a thick but interesting manner, letting you feel like you’re really seeing an area that’s choked by weeds and flowers. Looking at the old houses and cars, or the masses of sunflowers helps sell this story as being about a real place.

Stargazing Dog is a good book, and it’s easy to see why it became such a smash hit in Japan. It’s probably little too saccharine in places for some readers, but there’s enough bleakness here too that I ultimately found that it worked far better than I’d expected. I do wish the story had a little more meat on its bones in places, but as it’s much more of an emotional than plot-oriented piece that’s understandable. I’ll definitely take a look at future comics from Murakami. If nothing else, I’d like to see what he can do without placing dogs in harm’s way to still stir up emotion. For now, though, I’m satisfied with Stargazing Dog.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

I appreciate talented creators who have a wide range of styles, and Jiro Taniguchi definitely falls into that category. From the nail-biting tense mystery of Summit of the Gods, to the quiet and contemplative Walking Man, each new Taniguchi project is slightly different than the [...]]]> By Jiro Taniguchi
232 pages, black and white
Published by Fanfare/Ponent Mon

I appreciate talented creators who have a wide range of styles, and Jiro Taniguchi definitely falls into that category. From the nail-biting tense mystery of Summit of the Gods, to the quiet and contemplative Walking Man, each new Taniguchi project is slightly different than the previous. A Zoo in Winter is his latest book to be translated into English, and it’s a loosely autobiographical book about Taniguchi’s early life and how he became a manga artist. It’s more A Drifting Life than Bakuman, and it makes me already hoping for a sequel.

Taniguchi uses a stand-in named Hamaguchi for himself, opening in December 1966 as he works in deliveries for a fabric wholesaler while hoping to break into a design position. As we watch him fumble through interactions with the boss’s daughter Ayako and his co-workers, it’s instantly obvious to the reader what a horrible match this job is for Hamaguchi. It’s a relief when the job goes sour and he finds himself needing to start looking elsewhere, needless to say, and that’s how we get Hamaguchi as a manga assistant to a creator. Even more so than Bakuman, A Zoo in Winter emphasizes the strange mixture of frantic pace and going nowhere nature of a manga assistant. Hamaguchi is forever being thrown into situations he’s not prepared for—both professional and personal—and it’s a reminder that this isn’t just an art form but also an industry.

At the same time, A Zoo in Winter isn’t just about how Hamaguchi becomes a manga artist, it’s about how Hamaguchi progresses from a boy to a man. Until Hamaguchi leaves the wholesaler, he’s just fumbling through life, slightly adrift. Not only does becoming a manga assistant give him purpose, it strengthens his character. When Hamaguchi’s brother visits, the brother admits that he feared the worst but was pleasantly surprised with what he found. The insinuation is clear that he’s become more responsible since last seen, that he’s turned what could be a weak or nothing position and turned into one that holds that much more. And when he meets Mariko, he learns a lot from her on how to deal with people, how to have a budding romantic relationship, and how to push forward in life and strive hard. Sure, he has some bumps along the way (like his first time drinking or being out with a woman), but as a coming-of-age story it’s a pleasant journey.

A Zoo in Winter also does a good job with fleshing out the other assistants, especially Moriwaki and Fujita. Each ultimately turns into a different path that Hamaguchi could go down; the former someone who struck out on his own and eventually came back to be an assistant forever, the latter getting the big chance in his hands and then fumbling it. Watching their experiences ultimately push Hamaguchi forward into getting his own work done ends up feeling real rather than forced, and even slightly inspirational. People who are aspiring creators of any artistic medium might find it hard to keep from getting a renewed sense of purpose after reading A Zoo in Winter.

The one constant in all of Taniguchi’s works is his amazing art, and A Zoo in Winter is no exception to that rule. His people are beautiful, with delicate lines coming together to form their figures in ways that look realistic and gentle. From the chapter portraits that open each section of the book to the individual panels of characters, there’s always a lot of attention and care put into every single drawing. Just as impressive are his settings, though; the primary location of A Zoo in Winter is the manga studio, and Taniguchi manages to both draw it as being close quarters, but never visually so cramped that you are lost. The rest of the locations are equally well drawn, from bars to streets to apartments, and of course the titular zoo with its wide open spaces and possibilities.

My one complaint with A Zoo in Winter is the ending, or rather, the point in which it stops. It feels like there’s still so much more to be told, even as you can see where Hamaguchi’s life will go from there. It says a lot about the book that even though you know what would happen next, you still want to see more. If Taniguchi ever does decide to tell more stories with A Zoo in Winter, I know I’ll be eagerly reading. Somehow, I suspect I’m not the only one.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Sailor Moon (or rather, Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon as the cover states) is one of those comics that up until now, I knew a lot about but had never actually read. When both the manga and the anime were translated to English and brought to [...]]]> By Naoko Takeuchi
240 pages, black and white
Published by Kodansha Comics

Sailor Moon (or rather, Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon as the cover states) is one of those comics that up until now, I knew a lot about but had never actually read. When both the manga and the anime were translated to English and brought to North America in the ’90s, saying it was a hit was an understatement. It’s probably safe to say that the amazing success of Sailor Moon is what helped position TokyoPop (then Mixx Entertainment) into a position of publishing strength for most of the last decade. And of course, I knew that Sailor Moon‘s target audience was teenage girls, something I’ve never had a problem reading in the past. But actually reading Sailor Moon? I must admit that this was not at all what I expected.

Naoko Takeuchi’s plot structure for Sailor Moon‘s earliest chapters (collected here in this new edition from Kodansha Comics) will be familiar to just about everyone, comics-reader or otherwise. Usagi Tsukino is a teenage girl who one day discovers her true heritage as Sailor Moon, someone with special powers that can help defend the planet against evil-doers. As she fights the minions of the evil Queen Beryl as they all search for the Legendary Silver Crystal and the Moon Princess, Usagi quickly discovers that many of her friends and classmates also have secret heritages as other Sailors attached to celestial bodies (from Mercury to Jupiter), and that together they have a chance of saving the planet.

Usagi Tsukino is an intensely annoying protagonist. I understand that she’s in the familiar mold of (initially) unwilling hero, but the amount of whining and complaining from her is almost more than I could take. I appreciate that Takeuchi created a flighty, goofy main character instead of one that was completely with it from the first page, but it feels like she went too far in that direction. Worse, the stories themselves feel intensely random. Sailor Moon seems to almost fall into these situations, and the progression of plot feels leaden. Characters randomly meet one another and then in a matter of pages start fighting evil, and while each Sailor is supposed to have their own skills and talents, they’re mostly indistinguishable in these early chapters save for what Takeuchi point-blank tells us. (To be fair, Sailor Mercury at least does come across as smart, but almost more in a deus ex machina manner so that they can get new artifacts from the Sailor V video game.)

The worst part of the writing, though, is probably the attraction between Sailor Moon and the guy called Tuxedo Mask. Ignoring the horrible name for him, this is once again a relationship that we’re told about rather than actually being shown. It’s hard to see why the two care about one another, and it feels extremely forced and uninteresting. This is, from what I can gather, the big romance of Sailor Moon, but the pair have less chemistry than a rock and a wall of drying paint. Maybe later volumes kick the intensity up a notch, but this non-teenage-girl simply isn’t buying it.

Takeuchi’s art is wispy and wide-eyed, and it’s suddenly extremely clear where a lot of the early stereotypes about manga came from. It’s not bad, but it’s not that good either. Sailor Moon in particular seems to have two expressions; giddy, and calm. There’s little to no subtlety in the art, and random shapes or patterns splashed on the page seem to be an all too frequent substitute for backgrounds. If Takeuchi’s art at least had some kick to it I could understand the obsession with Sailor Moon, but once more I’m baffled.

As stated before, I’ve read a lot of shojo (girl’s) manga in the past, and found myself getting into it. This, alas, is not one of those comics. I wanted to enjoy it and to finally get into what so many others are obsessed with. Maybe it gets better down the line, but I don’t think I’ll ever find out for myself. This is a comic where it not only has little appeal to most people outside of the target audience, I’m a bit surprised that even those it’s aimed at are interested. Sorry, Sailor Moon. I’m happy for your fans that you’re back in print, but you are clearly not for me.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

If you’d told me a decade ago that Fantagraphics would be hand selecting manga to publish in North America, I’d have laughed at you. But as more publishers dip into the wide spectrum of comics published in Japan, it’s a delight to see Fantagraphics bringing over [...]]]> By Shimura Takako
208 pages, black and white
Published by Fantagraphics

If you’d told me a decade ago that Fantagraphics would be hand selecting manga to publish in North America, I’d have laughed at you. But as more publishers dip into the wide spectrum of comics published in Japan, it’s a delight to see Fantagraphics bringing over books like Moto Hagio’s A Drunken Dream and Other Stories, and now Shimura Takako’s series Wandering Son. Because as much as I enjoyed A Drunken Dream, it’s this gentle, inviting series about two transgendered elementary school students that has truly captured my attention.

Wandering Son feels at times more like a series of character sketches that all connect together than a narrative-driven book, but it’s a structure that makes me that much more intrigued, letting us catch glimpses into the lives of Shuichi Nitori and Yoshina Takatsuki. Shuichi is a young boy transferring into a new school in the 5th grade, even as he’s mistaken as a girl because of his soft, delicate demeanor. At the same time, in his class is Yoshina, the tough, more forceful girl that Shuichi slowly forms a bond with, because of their growing understanding of being uncomfortable with their gender. And what begins as a quick crossdressing experiment slowly begins to grow into something greater, and with it, the size of the story expands as well.

Shuichi dominates the early chapters of Wandering Son Vol. 1, and he’s the one that I find much more fascinating of the pair of characters. Unlike Yoshino, Shuichi is initially much more unsure of his life and what’s going on around him. He seems to almost stumble into his understanding of being physically born into the wrong gender; it’s a combination of teasing from his fellow students and a perhaps innocent mistake that finally starts leading him down that path. But at the same time, it’s curious to see Shuichi on the first steps of a journey that everyone else seems to already have plotted out for him. Family members tell him, "You should have been born a girl," in an almost casual manner, and it’s those little cultural differences (I can’t imagine that same sort of scene in an American comic) that help set Wandering Son apart from its peers. Perhaps once Shuichi comes out to family members things will change with them, but for now it’s a curious and almost sweet series of events.

Shuichi’s relationship with Chiba, in particular, gets the book moving as she encourages him to dress like a girl and even buys him a dress to wear. Even as she comes across supportive and encouraging, I like that Takako keeps Chiba’s motives at least partially hidden. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it’s that nervousness and uncertainty coloring the relationship between Shuichi and Chiba that helps make Wandering Son feel especially real. No matter how much you want to trust, those early days in understanding your sexuality and how it differs from your friends can be fraught with tension and fear, and Takako brings that to life to a greater audience here.

By way of contrast, Takako’s depiction of Yoshino is much more confident and self-assured, and it makes a good contrast for Shuichi. As we see the flip side of Shuichi in her, though, Takako makes sure to begin to give Yoshino depths as well. Her vulnerability shows up at several unexpected moments, and it ends up feeling somewhat heartbreaking as we see that even Yoshino’s tough exterior has some cracks. Still, while Chiba gets the ball initially rolling in Wandering Son, I keep getting the impression that Yoshino’s purpose here is to move the story (and especially Shuichi) into places that Chiba herself could never reach.

As a narrative, Wandering Son feels at times a little piecemeal. Events are often happening just off-panel, referred to but never actually witnessed. There were a couple of moments the first time I read the book where I felt like I’d accidentally skipped a page, only to take a closer look and realize that Takako had deliberately skipped past them and into the aftermath. The more you read Wandering Son, though, the more it becomes an attraction rather than a detriment. Not only does it help illustrate the idea of this being bits and pieces of a larger life, but just like the real world, you can’t always see everything that happens. Catching only flashes of Yoshino’s fight with a classmate, for example, ends up being much more interesting than if we’d seen every last insult or punch. You can still piece together what happened, but in some ways it ends up being more vivid because of the elements that you have to add in yourself. Insults become much more cruel when you have to come up with the specific word or phrase yourself. There are some times where I do feel like we’re at a slight cultural disadvantage (I’ve heard of the manga The Rose of Versailles before, by way of example, but I feel like not having read it makes me miss on some of the significance of Shuichi and Yoshino’s class performing the play), and that’s the one time where the gaps don’t work quite so well. Translator Matt Thorn’s explanation of honorifics and pronouns in the back of the book, though, is truly fascinating reading and shows how much more meaning there is to the "-kun" and "-chan" suffixes that are thrown around in manga.

Takako’s art is beautiful here, delicate line drawings that fit well with her story. While panels are often lacking in backgrounds, it’s the only complaint I have with her art. So much of the book hangs on the transformations of Shuichi and Yoshino, and it’s there in particular that the book shines. Shuichi dressing as a girl looks so right that it’s hard to feel like it could be anything else. Not just in terms of the clothing fitting, but Shuichi’s actual physical demeanor. Despite Shuichi’s inner nervousness, for the first time Shuichi actually looks alive rather than trying to withdraw into a shell; it’s the visual slow birth of confidence that gives this book so much hope.

Last but not least, props need to go to Fantagraphics for a great physical design of the book. From the attractive cover design and the light (but sturdy) paper stock, to the strong reproduction of the color pages in the volume, Wandering Son Vol. 1 looks attractive in your hand or on the bookshelf. It’s nice to see so much care taken to make this an inviting-looking book. The second volume of Wandering Son is currently set for the end of the year, and I’m definitely going to be reading it as soon as it’s published. This isn’t quite like anything else on the market right now, and I’m thrilled to see Fantagraphics exposing it to a wider audience.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

I’m normally not into reviewing a series again right after tackling the previous release. So after reviewing Cross Game Vol. 1-2, I figured it would be safe to wait a few volumes before bringing it back up. But by the time I was done with Cross [...]]]> By Mitsuru Adachi
376 pages, black and white
Published by Viz

I’m normally not into reviewing a series again right after tackling the previous release. So after reviewing Cross Game Vol. 1-2, I figured it would be safe to wait a few volumes before bringing it back up. But by the time I was done with Cross Game Vol. 3, I was so struck by the direction of the series that I found that I couldn’t wait any longer. In short, I feel like Mitsuru Adachi gets just as frustrated at other long-form series as I do, and took steps here to show that he’s not going to fall into that same trap.

For those who have never read Cross Game, it’s a combination baseball and romance series, as Ko strives to become the best baseball player that he can, while engaged in a love/hate relationship with Aoba, the younger sister of Ko’s deceased love Wakaba. Put on the second-string "portable" baseball team in high school, the power-hungry coach and assistant principal are determined to get their own hand-picked team to the national tournament, while treating Ko’s team like dirt. It’s a set-up that in any other series would stretch on for the bulk of its run, as the portable team struggles against the unfair restrictions and time-and-time-again narrowly loses to the primary team.

Fortunately for us, that’s not the kind of series that Adachi is creating for us. The two-team set-up has just the right amount of time provided to it in Cross Game; last volume we had it introduced to us, we saw the portable team get defeated in a scrimmage, and here we see how the portable team will respond and ultimately resolve the issue. In other words, there is a lot of forward momentum in Cross Game. Stories are introduced, we get a little bit of focus on them, and then Adachi brings that particular plot to its conclusion. It’s how a long-form serial should run; if there’s no advancement of any of the plots, it becomes a lot harder to want to keep reading.

The one exception to this rule, at least for now, is Ko and Aoba’s relationship, but I’m actually fine with that, thanks to how Adachi set it up. Aoba’s disdain for Ko has always been firmly rooted in two factors; her sister Wakaba’s love for him (which took time away from Wakaba and Aoba being together), and Ko never truly applying himself to work harder. Those two threads are firmly tied together; it’s not until the latter is resolved that the former can be addressed. So as Cross Game progresses and Ko continues to focus more and get better at baseball without slacking, only then can Ko and Aoba’s relationship grow stronger. And since a great deal of Cross Game is about Ko getting better and improving, it makes sense that this (along with presumably the big tournament) will be the final plot thread to get resolved.

The art in Cross Game is adorable as always. He’s great at the action sequences; the baseball games leap to life even just in the little glimpses we get of the play, from catching to throwing to hitting. In just one or two panels, you can figure out exactly what’s going on without a need to linger and stretch each moment out. It helps that Adachi is great with the reaction shots too; a lot of the big game between the two teams is shown through the faces of the people in the stands, and it tells the story perfectly because every little twitch and frown and moment of terror is reflected back at the reader in those facial expressions. Adachi’s also good with making sure the smaller characters get their fair share of attention; the fact that Aoba and her sisters all look similar but not identical, for instance. It’s a carefully drawn book, but it’s got a ton of energy and enthusiasm on every single page.

The best thing about Cross Game? I feel like I’ve barely touched the surface on all of the great stuff going on here. Aoba’s two other sisters get their own little plot threads and moments, there’s the teammate now staying with Ko and his own reason for desperately trying to get to the tournament, the feeling-forgotten Senda and his moments, and so on, and so on. Adachi’s Cross Game is so good that I will blindly buy anything else of his that gets translated into English. This is, easily, one of the best mangas being translated into English right now. Buy it, buy it, buy it.

Purchase Links (Vol. 1): Amazon.com | Powell’s Books
Purchase Links (Vol. 2): Amazon.com | Powell’s Books
Purchase Links (Vol. 3): Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

It’s always sad to see a book store closing, but sometimes it ends up steering me toward books I might not have otherwise read. For example, I’d heard good things about Yumi Unita’s Bunny Drop, but with so many other series fighting for my money, [...]]]> By Yumi Unita
224 pages, black and white
Published by Yen Press

It’s always sad to see a book store closing, but sometimes it ends up steering me toward books I might not have otherwise read. For example, I’d heard good things about Yumi Unita’s Bunny Drop, but with so many other series fighting for my money, hadn’t gotten around to reading it. Then a store going out of business had the first two offered at 50% off, and the next thing I knew? Well, not only had I bought and read them, but I just bought and read the recently-released third volume at my regular store. For a book with such a relatively simple concept, it’s a surprisingly rich book.

When the series opens, young man Daikichi Hawachi is attending his grandfather’s funeral, where the family is confronted with a surprise; grandfather had secretly fathered a little girl (Rin) a few years ago. When the rest of the family hems and haws over the situation, Daikichi impulsively says that he’ll raise Rin, and the rest of the book progresses from there. With this third volume, Bunny Drop is making an interesting shift from the initial material, while still staying true to its original concept. So many of the early chapters focused around Daikichi floundering over the simplest things when it came to raising Rin. It was when the series began to evolve a bit that it turned from a good to great series in my eyes, though; dealing with Rin’s fears and insecurities about changing homes, preparing for school, and Daikichi’s job changes (due to becoming a single parent) not being viewed as a positive thing by his co-workers.

It’s an evolution that continues into the new volume, and as a result I’m more hooked than before. The book explores some Japanese traditions (such as the planting of a tree when a child is born, or enters school) that I found intriguing, but it’s in no small part because of the personal touches that Unita adds to these practices. Hearing about Daikichi’s problems with his sister over their personal trees adds a level of richness to his character, and continues the transformation of Daikichi from the well-meaning clueless (and slightly bumbling) protagonist, to someone who has depth and issues in his own right. It’s continued with an expansion of his job issues this volume, both in dealing with co-workers that treat him differently because of being a single parent, as well as seeing his annual bonus drop because of changing positions to one that allows him to be home when Rin gets back from school.

One of the best bits of the book for me, though, is the return of Rin’s biological mother that gave Rin up to concentrate on her career as a manga creator. When she first appears, Masako comes across as a selfish, horrible person. But with each new appearance, we get to see more of Masako’s psyche and she shifts from someone you hate to someone you pity. From the subtle glimpses of how Masako views herself in relation to the rest of the world, to the emotion that runs through Masako when she gets to see Rin again, it becomes increasingly clear that Masako is someone who recognizes her own flaws and acts accordingly. She’s not perfect or even close, and her fumbling through life to do what’s right runs at a strange parallel to Daikichi. Masako chooses to not be a parent and focus on manga for the sake of Rin, while Daikichi changes his own job for Rin as well. It’s a sad life that Masako lives, and a remind of how much better things are now that Rin is with Daikichi.

Unita’s art is simple but pleasant, using an economy of lines to draw the characters and situations. It creates an innocent, stripped down style that lends itself well to the character of Rin, almost as if we’re seeing the comic through her eyes. Rin in particular has a perpetually surprised and amazed look on her face, one that fits so well with her character. (Especially in comparison to her relatively blasé school friend Kouki.) It’s a sweet art style, and one that helps spread the overall emotion of the title.

Bunny Drop is a book that ultimately snuck up on me, from liking to loving the title. Unita’s comic gradually grows in strength, and by the end of the third volume I kept wondering why I’d put off reading this coming for the past year and a half. It’s nice to know that while the series has just come to a close in Japan (including a jump forward from Rin being a child to being a teenager), we’ve still got six or so more volumes ahead of us. I’ll be back for volume 4, absolutely.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books