Flying Witch Vol. 1

By Chihiro Ishizuka
Translation: Melissa Tanaka

On first hearing of its premise, Flying Witch sounded like secondhand Hayao Miyazaki. A teenage witch in training “packs up her belongings (including a black cat familiar) and moves in with her distant cousins in rural Aomori to complete her training and become a full-fledged witch.” But the manga is actually closer to the popular Yotsuba&!, with the lead character Makoto Kowata as the oddball outsider inserted into the lives of a nondescript family. The magic she occasionally demonstrates is mostly played for comedic effect. Every mundane thing is a source of wonder to her. Creator Chihiro Ishizuka even draws in a streamlined style reminiscent of Kiyohiko Azuma.

With a story like this, a lot depends on the lead character. This is where Flying Witch falls short. As mentioned above, Makoto doesn’t perform a lot of magic. She’s actually not supposed to talk about her abilities to the uninitiated. But the irrepressible Makoto immediately babbles to a classmate she only just met. And her one act of flying in this volume occurs when she puts a broom through its paces at the local market. Those particular scenes make an impact early on. But Makoto isn’t eccentric enough a personality to pull it off every time. Her primary character trait is that she easily gets lost. This plays to diminishing returns every time its used. And it doesn’t help that the people around her, especially most of the members of her host family, can be a little blasé about Makoto’s novice witch status.

Thankfully, the story picks up steam later when members of the magical community show up. A creature called the Harbinger of Spring looks like someone who came out of a Miyazaki feature. And a much more experienced witch drops by to demonstrate how to pull off an ancient spell to Makoto.

It's still not enough to enliven the ordinary setting. Ishizuka is sparing with the use of hyper-detailed backgrounds. The page layouts are pretty boring: rectangular panels composed mostly of talking heads, arranged in two or three tiers. The main characters are very similar in appearance and facial expression. Only Makoto’s ten year old cousin exhibits more varied reactions than the rest of her family. That’s because she’s the only one young enough to be still astonished by the revelation that witches are real, and one of them is now living under the same roof. As far as these opening chapters are concerned, Ishizuka still seems to be working out how to achieve the proper balance between the supernatural and the mundane.

Iceland

By Yuichi Yokoyama
Translation: Ryan Holmberg

Like audiences of other popular media, comic book readers have been conditioned to expect certain storytelling conventions. This makes reading the manga of Yuichi Yokoyama a unique experience. Yokoyama is an oil painter who exhibited no interest in comics during his youth, whether native or foreign. Yet he’s gone on to create several comics that are gorgeous to look at. At first glance, they contain all the basic vocabulary of the medium: picture panels, word captions, speech balloons, speed lines, etc. But the accompanying genre elements are missing, or at least being suppressed: plot, setting, character development, dramatic conflict, have been drained of their comforting familiarity. Instead, they’re usurped by an uncompromising sensual assault that will leave the reader reeling. Other comic creators have brought their own idiosyncratic design sensibilities to their stories. But Yokoyama’s work feels like an alien lifeform imitating human behaviour.

Take the plot of Iceland. Three strange looking men (at least I think they’re men) show up in the frozen North searching for a fourth individual. They enter a seedy bar to enquire about his whereabouts. Once they find him out back, the four leave town. None of the characters exhibit an inner life. No one offers an explanation for their individual actions. Their speech patterns betray no emotion or personality. They all speak in flat tones. In the end, the reader has no more idea as what just happened in the story. The only thing that indicates any emotional content is an undercurrent of aggression with their interactions, as if every person is sizing up everyone they encounter. The taut atmosphere is a concession to the plot’s pulp influences. Only, there’s no cathartic release in the form of physical violence.

But Yokoyama’s visual aesthetic immediately distinguishes him from more traditional mangaka. Leaning on his fine art background, Yokoyama resorts to modernist figurative abstraction combined with Pop Art typography. His characters look and move as if they were part machine, and wear elaborate patterns on their oddly shaped heads and bodies which obscure recognizable facial features, like a Cubist-inspired squad of extraterrestrial superheroes. This artificiality extends to the unnatural geometry of the icy setting. There’s nothing subtle about Yokoyama’s gaudy structures and bold compositions. And the bombastic nature of the action might vaguely remind Japanese fans of classic manga aimed at young adult males, though filtered through a very different set of artistic sensibilities.

The action, as such, is most evident when the trio enters the bar. They detect a loud repeating noise (DODODODO) as they approach the building,. Once inside, they’re immediately overwhelmed with an audiovisual spectacle. A large television monitor dominates one side of the room, playing nonstop military footage: guns blazing, tanks rolling, planes dropping bombs, soldiers shooting with their firearms, explosions booming. None of the patrons are bothered by the commotion. On the contrary, they seem to thrive in it.

Yokoyama’s ability to convey the sensation of sound is most impressive. The onomatopoeia are displayed as bold, mechanically reproduced Japanese text, spread across each panel. They practically block the reader from viewing the rest of the panel. And this goes on for several pages as double page spreads. Even in a purely visual medium, the noise is deafening. And in a story where very little happens, this is weirdly the climactic scene of the story. It’s a relief (if only a temporary one) when the trio finally leaves the bar.

That is what makes Iceland puzzling even as it is energizes. The book is so loud it denies introspection for even the reader. How can one think with all the noise going on? All one can do is immerse themselves in Yokoyama’s audiovisual pleasures.

More NonSense: Eddie Berganza vs C.B. Cebulski

Eddie Berganza

Thor: Ragnarok, which was inspired by Marvel's comics adaptations of the Norse apocalypse, and fan favourite story Planet Hulk, is the 16th film from the ongoing Marvel cinematic universe. It's as solid an entry as any of them, with a healthy dose of swashbuckling space adventure more typically associated with Guardians of the Galaxy. But as a continuation of several plot threads going all the way back to 2011, it works very much like the middle chapter to a bigger story. This hasn't hurt its box office performance or dampened enthusiasm for the MCU. If anything, people want to know how it will pan out in the end.

What does set it apart is how it ties together Thor's sordid family history into a pointed commentary on the revisionist nature of imperialism.

Abraham Riesman lists five Thor comics to read before seeing the latest film. He also recommends eight comics for November.

Justice League is the other superhero tent film of November, and has opposite concerns. The news isn't good for those hoping it would build upon the positive reception of Wonder Woman. Much like Zach Snyder's past directorial contributions to DC's cinematic universe, Justice League is overstuffed with references  that are mostly unearned. It's a half-formed world trying hard to fool the audience into believing that it's a fully developed universe. Background information is haphazardly doled out about the new characters to make them more sympathetic. But the only reason why Flash and Aquaman are at all likeable is because of the performances of Ezra Miller and Jason Momoa. Overall, Justice League is notable for the ways it sets the stage for the future cinematic universe than for its own modest merits.

The modern superhero film is today's equivalent to the classic movie musical.

Publisher's Weekly lists its best comics for 2017.

Tony Isabella interviewed about his return to the character her created in 1977, Black Lightning.

These Calvin and Hobbes strips are a nice reminder of how we love to exclude outsiders. Seems particularly relevant today.

A page of Maus is lauded for its' aesthetic qualities.

Eddie Berganza was accused of sexual misconduct in a recent Buzzfeed article. Comics professionals reacted. Then DC first suspended Berganza, only to fire him a few days later. Even more women have since come forward. Rumours about Berganza's terrible conduct are nothing new, and DC was criticized in the past for its tepid response. The difference now is that these allegations are finding new life as part of a wave of similar allegations against other powerful male figures within the larger entertainment industry, and society in general.

What's particularly upsetting is how Berganza was tolerated despite having long developed a reputation within the comics community for being a jerk:

But Berganza’s editorial skills aren’t all he’s known for in the comics industry. At best, he developed a reputation for making offensive jokes or line-crossing comments in the presence of or at the expense of women; one former staffer recalls hearing Berganza tell a female assistant that a writer needed to make a character in a book they were editing "less dykey." Asselin recalled Berganza once telling her that the reason he didn't hit on her was because he had too much respect for her spouse. But at worst, he’s alleged to have forcibly kissed and attempted to grope female coworkers. One woman said when she started at DC, she was warned about Berganza — advised to keep an eye on him, she said, and to not get drinks with him. "People were constantly warning other people away from him," said Asselin, a vocal critic of gender dynamics in the comics industry.

Berganza's reputation spread throughout the comics industry, so much so that Sophie Campbell, an established writer and artist, turned down an opportunity to work on a Supergirl comic two years ago because Berganza was the editor overseeing the project, even though she wouldn't have had to speak directly to him during the job. It would've been a cool gig, Campbell told BuzzFeed News, but it also "felt scuzzy and scary."

"I didn't like the idea of being in professional proximity with him or having his name on something I worked on," she said.

A former DC employee said Berganza’s reputation was "something that I didn't like, but I stomached it. Everybody did. It was a gross open secret."

C.B. Cebulski

Meanwhile, editor C.B. Cebulski replaced Alex Alonso as Marvel's Editor in Chief, in a year the publisher experienced weak print sales while making controversial statements. He then admitted on Bleeding Cool that he once masqueraded as a Japanese writer by naming himself Akira Yoshida. He found himself penning comics such as Thor: Son of Asgard, Elektra: The Hand, Wolverine: Soultaker, and Kitty Pryde: Shadow & Flame. This was done to get around Marvel's policy of not allowing staffers to write or draw any of the publisher's comic books.

I stopped writing under the pseudonym Akira Yoshida after about a year. It wasn’t transparent, but it taught me a lot about writing, communication and pressure. I was young and naïve and had a lot to learn back then. But this is all old news that has been dealt with, and now as Marvel’s new Editor-in-Chief, I’m turning a new page and am excited to start sharing all my Marvel experiences with up and coming talent around the globe.

Rewarding an employee who once lied to the world about being an Asian man. Way to go, Marvel. That the two biggest publishers in American comics can put up with the actions of a known sexual harasser, and a self-admitted fraud who brushes off his past indiscretions as acceptable for a person of his lofty position, indicates something rotten within this industry.

Sana Amanat has responded to Cebulski's confession by actually defending him. The revelations have also inspired a hashtag bringing more attention to Asian comic creators. Cebulski is part of a long line of writers creating orientalist portrayals at Marvel, and within the comics industry. Though I can't think of any industry insider who went so far as to extend the practice to fudging their race and nationality for pure economic advantage.

Jim Shooter, Marvel's legendary former Editor in Chief, interviewed  by Chris Hassan.

Nobuhiro Watsuki, best known as the creator of the manga Rurouni Kenshin, has been arrested for possession of child pornography.

Love and Lies Vol. 1

By Musawo
Translation: Jennifer Ward
Letters: Daniel Cy
Cover Design: Phil Balsman

At first glance Love and Lies possesses an interesting premise. To combat declining birth rates (an issue of real concern in present-day Japan) the Japanese government enacted the “Yukari Law.” The state was empowered to match every single 16 year old with each other into arranged marriages for the purpose of optimizing procreation. The law didn’t just aim to stabilize the Japanese population, but to improve it through the use of eugenics. Basically, the government has the genetic information of every citizen on file in order to to find the best possible marriage partner for every individual. At the beginning of the manga, members of the original generation affected by the law (known as the “Yukari Generation”) have grown up and are presently raising children of their own. The program is widely touted as a success, and their offspring have been declared to be “mentally and physically gifted.” Those children who're coming of age are currently receiving their government approved marriage notices. But will this generation prove to be as acquiescent as their parents?

Anyone raised to cherish ideals like “democracy” or “inclusiveness” will be horrified at the prospect of living in such a xenophobic and oppressively heteronormative society. They would probably compare the story's premise to fictional dystopias like Brave New World or The Handmaid's Tale. But that would be very very far from the image Musawo paints in the manga. A couple of confused teenagers do express discontent for the status quo at the very beginning, only for the scene to be played as comic relief. Love and Lies is first and foremost, a boilerplate high school romance. And not necessarily a challenging one at that, based on reading this volume and viewing a recent anime adaptation. The near future sci-fi elements are pushed so much to the margins that the story might as well be a dramedy set in the present about an arranged marriage involving the usual love triangle.

The introduction to aforesaid triangle is main protagonist Yukari Nejima, unfortunately named after the very law responsible for his existence when it brought his parents together. Yukari is the archetypical nonentity of a male character found in so many shonen manga. You could even say he’s actually an argument against the success of the law, because he’s as dumb as a sack of hammers. Naturally, his earnest ineptitude is considered an attractive quality to the much more charismatic characters surrounding him. This includes the hottest girl in his high school class Misaki Takasaki. Yukari’s had a crush on Misaki since the fifth grade, but couldn’t muster the courage to talk to her. However, he discovers that she reciprocates his feelings on the very night he receives his notice. Her opposite and Yukari’s arranged future wife is the doll-like Lilina Sanada. She quickly exhibits greater wit and initiative in their first meeting. And of course, there's best friend and aloof popular boy who has his own adoring coterie of female fans, Yūsuke Nisaka.

Funnily enough, there’s a more ambitious story struggling to break through the more familiar material. Misaki and Yusuke haven't received notices despite their age. And this could be connected to a shared secret they’re both hiding from Yukari. Yusuke even drops a bombshell on the reader at the end of the book. But most intriguing is an early but all-too brief hint that things may not be alright with the government agency playing matchmaker to the nation’s 16 year olds. Two officials practically stalk Yukari in a park at night just to hand him his notice. And that’s after he receives the notice in the form of a suspiciously glitchy email. Who does that in real life? But this gets drowned out by Yukari’s unceasingly inane dithering,  the awkward and inappropriate conversations between the two female leads about what makes Yukari such a catch, the fanservice oriented art surrounding Lilina and Misaki, or Musawo’s not so subtle fetish for getting characters to engage in big, sloppy kisses. Yum.

As gross as that last part sounds, it does point to what’s good about the story. Love and Lies may be weak in the world-building department, and its social analysis is at best, insubstantial. But at least it gets one thing right about its characters. They’re still horny teenagers. No matter how jaded they claim to be, they're grappling with emotions brought on by puberty. Given half the chance, some will even flout authority by sticking their tongues down each other's throats.

She and Her Cat

Story: Makoto Shinkai
Art:Tsubasa Yamaguchi
Translation: Kumar Sivasubramanian
Original Story: She and Her Cat: Their Standing Points (1999) by Makoto Shinkai

She and Her Cat is one of many tales told around the world about pets showering their owners with unconditional love. Expanding on a five minute animation created by Makoto Shinkai, the manga goes a bit beyond the usual portrait of animal companions and their owners. The titular cat Chobi isn’t the main point of focus, but a POV character who provides a peek into the life of his owner, a young woman named Miyu. Because Chobi is just your average house cat, he doesn’t truly comprehend her behaviour. As a creature of habit, he simply notices when Miyu is becoming more anxious and slowly deviating from her daily routine. Then one day, she doesn’t come home. Unlike Chobi, we the readers have already surmised that Miyu is undergoing a bout of depression brought on by pressures from work and her personal life. Though the specifics will mostly elude us.

Shinkai isn’t really able to maintain the illusion of seeing events through Chobi’s limited perspective. There are a couple of scenes with Miyu were Chobi is entirely absent. And Chobi sometimes resorts to human concepts which should be beyond the understanding of any cat. But as a framing device, Chobi allows us to view Miyu’s life as a series of vignettes. The story begins in spring and takes place over the course of a single year. Chobi’s narrative voice makes the most sense when the cat is paying a high degree of attention to the tiny details, particularly those details pertaining to the changing seasons. His loving description of his own surroundings evinces an unexpected sensuality which is complimented by the atmospheric artwork of Tsubasa Yamaguchi, who’s particularly attuned to the varying quality of ambient light as it’s filtered and diffused by the environment. When matched with Shinkai’s quiet narrative, Miyu’s descent into depression synchronizes with the looming cold around her in a way that almost feels inexorable.

As Miyu gradually withdraws from all human contact, it would seem that the ingredients are being gathered for the making of a desolate winter. And this tracks with Shinkai’s penchant for bittersweet endings. But for once, this is a sunnier conclusion from him. He swerves away at the last minute, thanks to a timely intercession from Chobi. Shinkai charts a new course which renews his characters, thanks to the healing power of pets.

My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness

By Kabi Nagata
Translation: Jocelyne Allen
Letters: Karis Page
Cover Design: Nicky Lim

My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness opens with mangaka Kabi Nagata attempting to have sex while inside a Love Hotel room with an escort she hired from a lesbian escort agency. She’s sitting on one end of the bed wearing a terrified expression on her face. Nagata is 28 years old, never been kissed, never been in a relationship, and has only recently come to the realization that she prefers women. She’s spent most of her youth suffering from bouts of depression, manifested in her life as eating disorders, acts of self harm, an inability to hold down a steady job, or form lasting friendships. So, off course she’s scared. The book’s opening (and its risque cover) initially produced an expectation that this would be a story of sexual hijinks, the stress of dating, and the difficulties of being single in the modern world. But I suspect that those thoughts were conditioned by the consumption of too much Hollywood entertainment. What actually follows is an extended and earnest bout of self-examination, gradually leading Nagata to the realization about how much she’s been suppressing her own sexuality in order to fulfill her own preconceptions about responsible adult behaviour.

Nagata’s focus is narrow. She talks about the toll depression took on her own health with great candor. By her own telling, the problems began when she dropped out of university. The resulting loss of a sense of direction would make her extremely anxious. But even securing a part-time job fails to deliver for Nagata the sense of belonging she desperately craves. On the contrary, her self-harm and eating disorders escalate to the point she has to be hospitalized. In one of the most harrowing moments in the manga, Nagata is overcome by an intense desire to eat while in the middle of her shift. She starts stuffing a bowl of uncooked instant ramen into her mouth, but is forced to stop when she notices how the hard noodles have torn into her gums and caused Nagata's mouth to bleed.

But this isn’t a tell-all book. Nagata’s increasing self-awareness forces her to confront how her emotionally stunted relationship with her parents has shamed her into feeling completely inadequate as a functioning adult. There’s a lot of ground to be covered here which Nagata declines to explore in greater detail. She also keeps her portrayal of other supporting characters similarly nebulous. They’re mainly described as either being disapproving or supportive towards her. Every act of kindness shown to her tends to overwhelm the inexperienced Nagata. This includes the escort from the book’s opening. As a mangaka, her primary source of information about sex are the doujinshi she’s read. And as a client, Nagata prefers to ignore the economic nature of the transaction she initiated and would rather project an artificial intimacy to their encounter. But it’s arguably an illusion she needs to maintain just to make it through what is to her a new experience.

The loosely drawn chibi style Nagata employs is both very conventional and a little unusual. Mangaka often use it for the bonus material included at the end of a manga volume, and it helps establish a tone of breezy intimacy between author and reader. But it’s not something typically employed for the long-form narrative. The most eye-catching part of the book's design is the pleasant tri-color scheme (black and white, plus pink) which belies the subject matter within. Otherwise, this aesthetic can sometimes appear a bit too generic.

But it’s not hard to feel for Nagata. Her vulnerability is genuine. And it’s painful to witness her toil so hard to achieve any sense of self-worth after a decade of feeling useless. Whatever Nagata’s particular circumstances, there’s something all-too familiar about the struggle to overcome loneliness.

More NonSense: Jack Kirby Centennial

Image via The Beat

Jack Kirby, the King of American comics, would have been 100 years old this August 28. The Jack Kirby Museum has a number of events celebrating his centennial.

Kyle Pinion recommends 10 must-read single issues from the King.

Jeet Heer on the King.

Walt Simonsson talks about the influence of Kirby.

Comic-Con International has made its Kirby's 100 tribute book available for download.

Marvel has a Kirby tribute page.

Heidi MacDonald has a few images of Kirby.

Kabuki Nagata of the Japan Times reports that digital manga sales might have overtaken its paper counterparts. That's a huge portent from the world's largest comic book market.

Thanks to smartphones, many people have changed how they read manga, with a myriad of e-comics just a few taps away on their handsets without the need to carry print versions. 

The rise of digital manga is also changing the landscape of the traditionally closed manga businesses as well. Seeing growth potential, many firms, not only existing publishing houses that dominated the era of paper comics but also tech and overseas players, have jumped into the market with manga apps. 

In the meantime, people in the industry say the paper market is likely to keep shrinking and its future remains uncertain. Some are seriously concerned about the fate of manga magazines, which have long served as mediums to introduce new titles, as their role is being taken over by smartphones.

Congratulations to the 2017 Hugo Award Winners.

Asher Elbein acknowledges the work of colorists and letterers.

Geoff Johns, Holy F*&!

Solanin

By Inio Asano
Assistants: Yuichi Watanabe, Takashi Kondo
Translation: JN Productions
Touch-up/Letters: Annaliese Christman
Design: Amy Martin

It’s no longer an original observation to point out that the boundaries between adolescence and adulthood have become hopelessly blurred. Stories about contemporary youth working through the disappointment arising from quashed dreams, failed relationships, unsatisfying career trajectories, while wondering when they’ll grow up, are familiar territory, especially to an audience living in developed nations. Nowadays, personal crisis is simply to be anticipated with every major turning point. I blame the economy for our present melancholia. At any rate, when Solanin was first published in english back in 2008 (the year I began this blog), there weren’t any manga around that closely resembled it. Most manga being translated at the time could probably be stereotyped as being focused on the more juvenile end of the emotional spectrum: fantasies featuring rebellious boys showing off their cool fighting moves or doe-eyed girls immersed in maudlin romance. But manga readers were already growing up, and publishers had to keep up by dipping into a greater range of works from Japan. Solanin can be excruciatingly beautiful in its down-to-earth realism. It’s a manga that will most likely resonate with anyone who's ever been accused of being a slacker, a dreamer, a snowflake, or a man-child. At over 400 pages, it’s an extended meditation on youth struggling with the contradictions of a modern society that pays lip service to self-expression while demanding its members tamp down on all that nonsense and grit it out. Making his official english language debut, creator Inio Asano doesn’t attempt to find an answer. He just keeps it intimate and personal with a small cast.

Solanin arrived when Naruto and Fruits Basket were still defining the manga aesthetic to many western fans. Asano’s art (with help from his credited assistants Yuichi Watanabe and Takashi Kondo) could still be recognized as manga in appearance, but certainly less kawaii in execution. His youthful cast often look uncomfortable inhabiting their own bodies. They haven’t yet completely shed their baby fat, or the gangly forms of their teenage years. And there’s the half-assed facial hair found on the male characters serving as a constant reminder of oncoming maturity still delayed. The visuals are not only as detailed as anything found in manga, but realistic to the point that they’re clearly being photo referenced. The overall results are not exactly attractive. Sometimes the cluttered backgrounds can even be a little distracting to the action taking place in the foreground. But the Tokyo of Solanin definitely feels lived-in: an actual city haphazardly composed of narrow and overcrowded streets.

Asano’s meticulous approach is designed to convey the mundane existence of Meiko Inoue, a twenty something women stuck in a dead end job working as one of Japan’s countless office ladies. She cohabits her riverside apartment with her boyfriend Naruo Taneda, whom she calls Taneda. He’s also ensnared in his own thankless work routine he couldn't care less about. Meiko sees in her colleagues nothing but moral compromise. “Adults are made of ‘who cares?'... As long as I’m not caught, who cares?... They pay well here, so who cares?” When she finally can’t stand being surrounded by their mediocrity, she quits. Meiko’s now free to pursue her passions, only to discover she has no clue as what to do with all her free time. Her unemployed status makes Taneda the primary breadwinner of the household, something he gradually comes to resent. Asano’s careful tracking of the growing fiction in their relationship is one of the highlights of the manga. Taneda says all the right things wanted from a supportive boyfriend when Meiko announces her decision to quit. But the subtle sadness expressed by his face and body tells an entirely different story. Taneda fails to meet Meiko’s eyes whenever they begin to have a heartfelt conversation. Before long, his inability to communicate his true feelings causes Taneda to fall into a funk.

But Taneda finds likeminded company in the form of his friends Rip and Kato. The three had formed a rock band during their time in college, and they continue to maintain it as a hobby of sorts. In the meantime, Rip and Kato have each settled into their own respective rut. Neither of them believe they’ll ever achieve anything of great consequence with the band. However, it’s not long before Meiko begins to prod them into taking it more seriously. This sets up the principal thematic conflict: whether it’s better to reach for your dreams even when they’re obviously unrealistic. Or is it better to coast through life knowing your limitations?

Asano spends the first half of Solanin slowly ramping up the tension between his young quartet. It’s delightful low-key stuff built around elliptical conversations that first seem to be heading somewhere, only to veer off when something new catches their attention. The little arguments that Meiko and Taneda have are the kind of fights which stem when people circle around the main topic they’ve been studiously avoiding. These many interactions work because of the expressiveness of Asano’s character designs. But there’s a huge plot twist that occurs at the very middle of the story which slightly alters the tone of the manga. What began as a quiet slice-of-life narrative suddenly becomes more dependent on noticeable dramatic beats to propel it towards a slightly more conventional destination. The kind expected of any emotional account of the performing artist trying to make it big in the industry. It isn’t an unambiguously happy conclusion for Meiko and company. Far from it. But Solanin sacrifices some of its initial realism to arrive at it.

For all that, the manga’s climactic concert scene is a thing of beauty. Comics as a visual medium can’t reproduce the aural qualities of music. But Asano manages to capture the mood of the concert through a forceful series of wordless panels. Witnessing their kinetic release as the band powers through with their instruments is immensely gratifying since it comes after many pages of rehearsal sessions that seem to go nowhere. It’s the one glorious moment of clarity they've been seeking, knowing that the complications of their lives will inevitably overtake them again.

More NonSense: Harry Potter 20th Anniversary Edition

Image by Kazu Kibuishi. (via Mashable)

The Harry Potter franchise will be 20 years old this June 26. The publishing phenomena taught a generation of kids how to enjoy reading an increasingly hefty book series, and they would grow into one of the defining fandoms of 21st century popular culture. Pottermania helped push geek culture into the mainstream. The Harry Potter and "Lord of the Rings" film adaptations from the 2000s made it impossible to dismiss sci-fi/fantasy as mere niche entertainment.

But Harry Potter's early fame would naturally court controversy, namely with conservative Christians accusing the books for promoting occultism, paganism, devil worship. The usual stuff. Such dunderhead arguments did however touch on an important truth - Harry Potter's early appeal rested on Hogwarts. Like Starfleet or the Xavier mansion before it, the wizarding school was the kind of nerdvana misfits and outcasts could dream about. Everyone feels the desire to belong somewhere. And like its titular hero, fans would come to see Hogwarts as an ideal home for them as well. Who wouldn't want to attend a school which feels so comfortingly familiar, yet teaches subjects that are so cool, useful, and unconventional? A safe haven from the oppressive muggles who don't understand their geeky obsessions. And who now doesn't want to know which of the four houses is a natural fit for them? Go Slytherin! Or maybe it's Ravenclaw?

Tiffany Babb examines the mythological structure of superhero comics, using Marvel character Loki as a case study.

Abraham Riesman lists eight Comics You Need to Read This June.

Marta Bausells profiles Jillian Tamaki.

A short video on Trina Robbins as the first women to draw Wonder Woman.

Alex Abad-Santos on how the Wonder Woman film tackles her origin and its feminist content.

Marvel Studios head Kevin Feige thanks God that Wonder Woman has helped make it easier to make female-led superhero films. Alrighty then.

Cecilia D'Anastasio on the state of manga scanlators trying to go legit.

Deb Aoki on why manga industry can smile in 2017. Among them are increased variety of genres, digital first initiatives, and simultaneous English/Japanese publishing schedules.

Michael Livingston explains what "The Great Wall" gets wrong about Chinese history, and how it ends up playing into the White Saviour complex.

Derf doesn't have anything good to say about the ACHA.

Charles Pulliam-Moore asks why so many black superheroes have electricity powers? Sadly, it didn't occur to me until I read this that Jamie Fox playing Electro in "The Amazing Spider-Man 2" follows in this trope.

Sean T. Collins ranks ninety three "Game of Thrones" characters in order from most good to most evil. I don't think there's any disagreement on who the bad guys are. But who is the worst of the worst? The placement might spark some debate.

Matt Furie keeps trying to save his creation Pepe the Frog from being appropriated as an alt-right token. His latest move is to launch a kickstarter for Pepe to reclaim "his status as a universal symbol for peace, love, and acceptance." I wish him luck. It must be infuriating when one of your characters is officially considered a hate symbol. But the attempt sounds pretty futile.

Is Michelle Pfeiffer in "Batman Returns" the best movie supervillain?

RIP Adam West (September 19, 1928 – June 9, 2017), the world's most beloved Batman. More from Glen Weldon, Evan Narcisse, Keith DeCandido.

RIP Michael Bond (January 13, 1926 –  June 27, 2017), creator of the beloved character Paddington Bear.

Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid Vol. 1

By Coolkyousinnjya
Translation: Jenny McKeon 
Letters: Jennifer Skarupa

Manga is rife with ordinary people whose lives have been made more complicated by their association with monstrous roommates or supernatural love interests. Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid distinguishes itself from the competition with its ordinary human for once not being a socially awkward single male whose primary character trait is that he functions as a doormat for the more imposing (mostly) female characters. Who needs more of those? Miss Kobayashi is a working adult woman. More importantly, she’s not an office lady working an entry-level position. Kobayashi is a trained professional in the male-dominated field of software development. One night, she wanders up a mountain in a drunken stupor. And at the top she encounters a massive, but wounded dragon named Tohru. They fall into friendly banter, which ends with Kobayashi inviting Tohru to crash at her pad. The next morning, Tohru shows up at Kobayashi’s front door and morphs into a young human girl. Unfortunately, Kobayashi doesn’t remember a thing about last night. But against her better judgement, she lets the errant dragon stay anyway. Mischief ensues.

Kobayashi is more of a deadpan snarker than most protagonists. She mostly comes across as a woman who easily passes for just one of the guys. She dresses in male fashions. Her appearance isn’t particularly immaculate. She walks with a constant stoop. Kobayashi certainly does not read as kawaii. In fact, it turns out that she’s a closeted otaku with a maid fetish. Manga creator Coolkyousinnjya draws her in a minimal style that would seem rather appropriate to yonkoma. Indeed, the slice-of-life focus on Kobayashi’s interactions with Tohru reflects the format’s particular brand of light humor.

By contrast, Tohru in human form is superficially cute. She disguises herself as Kobayashi’s live-in maid. This being Japan, Kobayashi immediately evaluates her performance against Victorian maid ideals. Tohru consistently fails, not because she’s a bumbling fish out of water, but because she’s actually too efficient. Kobayashi refuses to ride Tohru’s back when in dragon form for her daily commute because Tohru flies too fast and her back’s too uncomfortable to sit on. Tohru doesn’t understand why Kobayashi insists on using washing machines to do the laundry when dragon saliva does a better job as a cleaning agent.

Tohru actually has no problem passing for human and truthfully doesn’t think too highly of the species. But thanks to their mountaintop meeting, she’s fallen in love with Kobayashi. And in case anyone mistakes this for innocent puppy love, she clarifies to Kobayashi that her love is sexual in nature. Since this is a manga aimed at an adult audience, the frankness of the exchange is definitely more direct than most manga interactions written for younger readers. But at this point in the series, Kobayashi seems uninterested in reciprocating Tohru’s affections. So the conversation is brushed past pretty quickly.

Whatever goodwill is established between the two (and with the reader) is partially undone in one scene that unfortunately reveals the creepy otaku side of Kobayashi when she goes on a drunken rant about maid tropes that leads to her forcibly stripping Tohru of her clothes even while there’s a another person in the room. It’s a traumatic experience for Tohru, but the scene is mainly played as slapstick. Thankfully, the moment doesn’t linger. That’s the most problematic part in a comic which contains some light fanservice for its adult male demographic. Otherwise, there’s nothing else too egregious.

More NonSense: Ghost in the Shell Edition

Ghost in the Shell (1995)

Jakob Free provides a primer the comics of Warren Ellis.

Diep Tran on Scarlett Johansson defending the controversial casting of her as the lead character in Hollywood's remake of the 1995 anime Ghost in the Shell.

Emily Yoshida provides a primer on the Ghost in the Shell franchise.

[Spoiler alert]

The most surprising part of this otherwise bland appropriation of the 1995 anime is that the lead character Major Mira Killian (Johansson) is within the film's fictional setting a literal whitewashing of Motoko Kusanagi. If the cast and crew exhibited more self awareness, this bizarre plot twist could have been used as a jumping off point to examine the often uneven cross-cultural interactions between Japanese pop culture and Western consumers. Naturally, a few film critics quickly drew comparisons with the reveal in the contemporaneous Get Out.

But there's nothing in Johansson's performance which would indicate any emotional depth beyond the character's immediate concern over her amnesia/false memories. Being "essentially identity-less" apparently means the Major having no discernible personality even after she recovers her real memories. The troubling implications of wealthy white people kidnapping ethnic Japanese in order to plant their brains into android bodies with distinctly caucasian features are completely swept under the rug in favour of a more generic message about the individual will triumphing over venal corporate interests. This is a short-sighted pastiche of much better movies set in a dystopian future, and misses by a wide margin the philosophical introspection of the 1995 feature.

[End spoiler]

Since the film had a disappointing opening weekend, Joanna Robinson wanders if its commercial failure will have a positive effect on future casting choices.

Four actresses of Japanese descent give their opinions on the film.

Barry Blitt talks about drawing Donald Trump for the New Yorker.

Marvel's VP of Sales claims that readers don't want diversity. G. Willow Wilson pens a logical rebuttal. In essence, we're witnessing the comics market outgrow the traditional direct market.

On a practical level, this is not really a story about “diversity” at all. It’s a story about the rise of YA comics. If you look at it that way, the things that sell and don’t sell (AND THE MARKETS THEY SELL IN VS THE MARKETS THEY DON’T SELL IN) start to make a different kind of sense.

Meanwhile, Rob Salkowitz dissects the dysfunction hampering the direct market. These aren't new observations. But it bears worth repeating.

Because of this topsy-turvy arrangement with misaligned incentives and mismatched roles everywhere, the direct market has become a walled-off free fire zone where everyone is fighting for the same dollars, but is structurally incapable of expanding. Everyone wants new customers in theory, but it’s no one’s actual job to reach out to them and serve their needs if they are any different from the existing core. In fact, some people might lose their jobs (or find themselves in jobs they don’t want) if it were to actually happen.

As their site goes into hiatus (again), the ComicsAlliance staff talk about why they love comics.

Congratulations to Alison Bechdel, Vermont's Cartoonist Laureate.

Congratulations to the people working on Ms. Marvel and Black Panther for their nominations for the 2017 Hugo Awards.

Abraham Riesman on the time Don Rickles (May 8, 1926 – April 6, 2017) appeared on Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen.

Ben Judkins asks whether lightsaber combat can ever be authentic.

G. Willow Wilson explains why Ardian Syaf's not so veiled reference (if you're Indonesian) to a Qu'ran passage in the pages of  X-men Gold #1 is a form of bigotry against Jews/Christians. Obviously not a good look for superheroes widely considered to be an expression of pluralism, and Marvel was quick to distance itself from Syaf's message. While not the first time the franchise has courted controversy, this case is more the result of not properly vetting the actions of the artist under their supervision. A cursory examination of the panels in question (as reproduced online) reveals that Syaf only made a minimal effort integrating those references into the setting. It's hard not to notice them, and they're pretty discordant with the rest of the comic's art. But the Marvel staff's relative ignorance of Indonesian politics and Islam probably allowed Syaf to hide them in plain sight, even though they should have at least raised a few questions about the meaning behind the text printed on Colossus' shirt. Naturally, someone would inevitably point them out once the comic was released. This is highly embarrassing for Marvel, and Syaf's tenure on the series will most likely be cut short at the publisher's earliest convenience.

R.I.P. Carolyn Kelly, daughter of Pogo creator Walt Kelly.

Guardians of the Louvre

By Jiro Taniguchi
Translated by Kumar Sivasubramanian

As cliche as this now sounds, one of Art’s most lauded virtues is its ability to transport the viewer from their immediate surroundings with the power of imagination, and deposit them into a very different place and time. This is a quality exploited with often eye-catching results in the luxuriant watercolors of Jiro Taniguchi. Whether it’s the everyday bustle in the streets of Tokyo, the austere beauty of the Himalayas, or as in Guardians of the Louvre, the majestic halls of one of the world’s great museums, located in one of the world’s most elegant city centers. Taniguchi’s photo-realistic level of detail captures both the works of art on display within, and the architectural splendor of the Parisian skyline. When his fictional avatar beholds the museum’s famous Pyramid entrance and gasps at the structure’s crisp lines, the scene works because the panel reproduces what someone would witness with their own eyes: The modernist blend of steel and glass offsetting the massive Baroque facade of the surrounding palace. The mind-boggling precision of his hand drawn line drawings does not falter throughout the entire book.

The premise of a Japanese artist spending several days exploring Paris, only to fall into a fevered dream which involves the intervention of one the Louvre’s most famous statues, has little in the way of plot. And the educational intent that animated the project doesn’t leave much room for interesting character development. But it does allow Taniguchi to reflect on his artistic heritage. The two most successful chapters center around the artist communing with Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot and Vincent van Gogh, two painters who’ve had an enormous impact on modern Japanese aesthetic sensibilities. His private reverie on viewing Recollection of Mortefontaine allows him to walk in the steps of Corot and wander the landscape until he meets the master himself. A day-trip to the town Auvers-sur-Oise creates a similar occasion with van Gogh. Admittedly, this is a little reminiscent of a similar scene in Akira Kurosawa's Dreams, though Taniguchi’s touch is lighter and more deft.

Recreating the work of Corot, van Gogh, and Barbizon school painter Charles-François Daubigny traces a line linking these artists to Taniguchi’s own body of work. He shares with them a devotion to landscapes, a similar kind of sensuality, not to mention a reverence for a sublime natural order represented in their paintings. His comic panels are not a form of slavish reproduction, but a recognition of an unspoken personal connection.

Not all the museum’s works elicit the same level of emotional investment. The artist follows the usual tourist tradition and visits the Mona Lisa upon entering the premises. But his main takeaway is to be overwhelmed by the throngs surrounding the Louvre's most famous resident. Large crowds being an inescapable part of famous museums is not a particularly original observation. But having acknowledged the Mona Lisa’s undeniable importance justifying the attention heaped upon it, he quickly moves on.

The Raft of the Medusa, another celebrated work, is only discussed within the context of the Louvre's WW II history. The museum’s caretakers went through a lot of trouble to transport the massive painting to a safe location as the Nazi invasion became imminent. Taniguchi illustrates wartime Paris in sepia tones, imitating archival footage. Sure, this is fascinating stuff in a National Geographic TV documentary kind of way. Moving the museum’s vast (and fragile) collection into hiding was a truly monumental endeavour. But the net effect of Taniguchi’s narrative choices only serves to distance the reader from the story, as his protagonist can only passively observe events from the sidelines.

In the end, this isn't a story about the Louvre. Taniguchi's makes no grand statements and delivers no keen insights about Art itself or the state of art museums. This is a picturesque book about cross-cultural influence experienced by one creative individual, and expressed through the art he produces. The Louvre is too vast a place to be absorbed within a few days visit, or one slim volume. But like Taniguchi's artist, anyone can discover some tiny part that would be of value to them.

R.I.P. Jiro Taniguchi (August 14, 1947 – February 11, 2017)

Via Christopher Butcher

Via Comica London

Via Page 45

Tributes by: BBC, ANN, Katherine Dacey, Heidi MacDonald, Zach Davisson, Katherine Dacey,

Fanfare/Ponent Mon catalog.

Pink

By Kyoko Okazaki
Translation: Vertical Inc.

For my generation, the 1980s were a more innocent time. Remembered for the end of the Cold War and the rise of unbridled consumerism, the decade was marked by Japan’s emergence from its postwar funk to become the world’s 2nd greatest economic powerhouse, after the United States. So impressive was Japan’s rapid ascension that there was even talk of a changing of the status quo in the near future. It sounds silly in retrospect, but Japan looked almost unstoppable. Most Western fans will remember Akira, the manga and its anime adaptation, as a creation of this heady period. Its cyberpunk vision of a dystopian future would prove to be very influential to a generation of growing fanboys. But youthful rebellion can take on many forms, and mangaka Kyoko Okazaki portrayed a modern society where women had unprecedented freedom from the constraints of traditional expectations. Initially published in 1989, Pink is not as shocking today. But contemporary readers must have found its female protagonists’ relative economic security and flaunting of sexual mores to be undeniably cool.

And Pink doesn’t need violent bosozoku gangs or freedom fighters taking down the government to make a similarly brash statement. All it takes is one bored office lady (Japan’s favorite dead end job for single women expected by society to get married) moonlighting as a call girl. Twenty something Yumi doesn’t really need the dough to survive. Her apparently wealthy (but unseen) father pays the rent for her apartment. But this hardly meets the lifestyle she’s accustomed to. So she earns considerably more capital by fulfilling the carnal desires of her clientele of mostly older men.

Needless to say, there’s a fair amount of sexual activity illustrated in the manga. It’s all pretty tame given what can be now seen on HBO. There’s abundant and artfully drawn nudity, though male genitalia are only implied. But it’s definitely calculated to tow the fine line between the provocative and pornographic. In fact, Yumi’s escapades often take a more surreal turn. One client robs her blind but leaves her a magical seed. Another verbally abuses her, but succeeds in making her come “for real.” She later catches him being interviewed on a television talk show where he speaks for the humane treatment of wild animals. Yumi then recalls that he carried a “fat wallet made from crocodile leather,” prompting a giggling fit. At least she got paid handsomely to satisfy both their animal cravings. In the manga’s afterward, Okazaki quotes Jean-Luc Godard’s maxim “all work is prostitution” then claims “Love isn’t that tepid and lukewarm thing people like to talk about… It’s a tough, severe, scary, and cruel monster. So is capitalism.”

This impudent and unsentimental attitude towards sex, romance, and life exhibited by Okazaki isn’t exactly the subversive aesthetic of alternative American comics. The pose assumed is mostly one of lighthearted mockery. She’s celebrating the system as much as she’s critiquing it. In Japan, her work was considered an important step away from the conventions of shojo manga, earning the label “Gyaru,” translated into English as “Gal.” Gals were a tougher, more modern breed who weren’t afraid to pursue love and happiness. Suddenly, there was a market for a more grown-up female audience. And Okazaki’s art certainly reflects a more adult sensibility. It lacks the surface polish and cute character designs often found in shonen and shojo manga. But the looseness of line and dearth of obsessive detail reveals a assuredness in her page compositions and expressiveness in her characters. There’s a manic energy in Okazaki’s art that feels both appealing and unsettling.

Yumi’s casually irreverent approach to materialism is contrasted with  the haughty behavior of her stepmother’s, a representative of how women are traditionally supposed to accumulate wealth and social status - using their beauty and erotic charms to marry into it. This golddigger naturally hates Yumi for her modern ways and envies her youth while she tries in vain to preserve her own with visits to the plastic surgeon and carrying on affairs with younger men. If this fails to remind anyone of Snow White, Okazaki pretty much hits the reader over the head repeatedly with this symbolism. Her machinations are what drive the plot forward.

The story’s would-be Prince Charming is college student and aspiring novelist Haru. But he’s actually more a pawn caught between these two formidable women. Haru sleeps around in the hopes of sparking the inspiration to begin his novel. But while Yumi teases Haru for his uncertainty, her even more ferocious kid sister Keiko admonishes him to drop his literary pretentions, get off his ass, and start writing a story that even a kid can understand. Lo and behold, Haru later proves to be just as opportunistic as his female counterparts.

But the most bizarre character in Pink is Yumi’s pet crocodile, whom she’s cared for and miraculously managed to keep alive in her cramped apartment. Obtaining the resources to feed Croc, as Yumi calls him, is her excuse for her call girl career. Despite being drawn as an almost cuddly, impassive, and bespectacled toy, Croc is a clumsy metaphor for the cruel monster of love and capitalism Okazaki subscribes to. But he’s also a sign of the fragile freedom and relative comfort Yumi has obtained on her very own terms. Therein lies the rub. What happens when the monster you worked so hard to satiate turns on you? Or even worse, simply abandons you? That’s a question would become prescient to Okazaki when her career was cut short by an auto accident, and to the Japanese economy within a few years.