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1.10 Is They Is or Ain’t They Ain’t? Greetings and welcome to the tenth installment of Comic Book Galaxy’s just-slightly-less often than weekly column on manga, International Geographic. I’m your host, Rob Vollmar and this week we’ll be taking a look at new manga from Junko Mizuno, another Ponent Mon/Fanfare English release in Kiriko Nananan’s BLUE, and an uncanny review of LIVEWIRES #1-6. We saw the question of “Are Manga Comics?" rear its ugly head again last week. As with most semantic debates, where tensions run high and the prize is literally nothing, the arguments by which the conclusion is reached are more valuable than the thing itself. For example, in this case, I agree with the conclusion that manga are not comics, if for entirely different reasons. First, let’s assume the opposite is true; that manga, in fact, are comics. The most common version of this argument derives its authority from the supposition that manga is just the Japanese word for comics. Trouble is, it’s just not true. The word for comics, komikku, is easily recognized as being imported from another culture into Japanese by the presence of the letter ‘u’ tacked on to the end of an transliterated foreign word. This word, which entered the Japanese vocabulary with the spread of Western comic strips into their culture in the late 19th and early 20th century, has a specific meaning. PEANUTS is komikku, ASTRO BOY is manga. So, while it may be convenient for Western critics to ignore the just noticeable linguistic difference between manga and comics, the distinction is apparently plain enough to the Japanese that they choose not to. A more tenacious critic might return to the event of manga’s immaculate reconception in the mind of Osamu Tezuka and suggest that manga is less a distinct artform than it is a clever marketing scheme. Manga as a tradition was founded by Hokusai in the early 1800s but the word lost most of its cultural significance for the better part of a hundred years until it was co-opted by Tezuka in the 1940s. A compelling argument can be made that the largest portion of the influences that Tezuka brought to bear when setting pen to paper must have come through the komikku tradition with which he would have been most familiar. In this regard, his use of the word manga can be seen as something of a political maneuver to ingratiate himself to his Japanese audience by playing to their collective sense of cultural superiority while simultaneously reaping the benefits of borrowing from a foreign culture. This approach is critically difficult to defend for a number of reasons. First, to assume that komikku must have been the primary influence on Tezuka’s manga willfully ignores the body of historical evidence demonstrating that the interplay of words and pictures had been a vital segment of Japanese culture for centuries before even Hokusai coined the word manga. If komikku was abandoned for reasons beyond cultural sentimentalism, surely it must have been because Tezuka realized that there was a richer tradition still extant in his own culture that could serve his needs as a storyteller more ably. Still, it is impossible to completely exclude the influence of the komikku tradition on what would become again manga. Tezuka’s decision to include certain mechanical elements of comics (panels, word balloons, the visual grammar of sequential transition) in his new manga tradition is probably the most compelling evidence that contemporary manga are, at best, a dialectic expression of a Western idea. It is just important to note, however, that whatever influence comics may have once transmitted to manga has been absent for enough decades to question what kinship the two traditions may realistically still claim in relation to one another. Put another way, is the latest issue of AMAZING SPIDER-MAN still beholden enough to the work of George McManus to claim intellectual domain over work distantly derived from the same material but developed in relative cultural insulation over the course of fifty-plus years? There is no simple answer to the question of whether manga are naught but comics but here are a few things that are certain. Manga is not the Japanese word for comics. Any equivocation of the two terms, however well-intentioned, is a fallacy, nonetheless. However it may appear from wherever we may be standing, I genuinely believe that manga-ka see their work as an extension of a cultural practice specific to Japan that winds back into prehistory. The only means by which the two can be thought of equivalent is as analogous subsets of a more catholic tradition of narrative art that has existed in one form or another all over the world since words and pictures separated into two distinct and generally antagonistic means of expression. To suggest anything less seems to me the critical equivalent of mistaking the forest for the trees. FIRST HITS
I know that it is totally naughty to review yet another Ponent Mon release but they all look so beautiful there on the shelf that I just can’t help myself! Kiriko Nananan’s BLUE is a stylish addition to PM/Fanfare’s English line that like its narrator is a little tough to get to know but rich in depth once you get beneath the surface. Framed as something of a same sex romance for teens, BLUE scores most of its critical points in the elegant minimalism of Nananan’s visual storytelling. Her ability to render believable facial expressions and body language is rooted in the complexities those aspects of communication take on in real life rather than the slapstick of caricature. The subtlety of this aspect in particular really requires the reader to slow down and consider these minute but unmistakable changes as the story progresses along.
PURE TRANCE is still probably my favorite Mizuno piece that I’ve read. Her other works available in English (CINDERALLA or PRINCESS MERMAID) are largely derived from external sources and, as such, serve better as parody than intensely creative efforts. Along these same lines, PURE TRANCE is really the first chance we’ve had to see what kind of narrative could be spun out of Mizuno’s horrible yet alluring vision. The result, a sort of cautionary tale about the end-product of unchecked consumerism driven by the values of the Id, is depraved in the very grandest sense of the word and will succeed in offending even the most tolerant reader. Unlike most manga, I found that I could only take about ten to twelve pages of PT at a time before my mind stopped processing the swirling images as a story. The extra work it took to get to the end was definitely worth the effort and I invite all those brave enough to take the Mizuno plunge and check this out.
What makes LIVEWIRES so radically different from similarly conceived projects is its dedication to telling a complete story with characters that succeed or fail by their own merits, rather than by virtue of the property’s inertia. Except for oblique references to S.H.I.E.L.D. or Ben Grimm, LIVEWIRES could stand easily on its own and requires absolutely no continuity awareness to appreciate. It’s just a damn good story told damn well. Like most manga, trace elements of other successful manga can be parsed out of the mix by a careful eye. Several sequences bring to mind Kishiro’s BATTLE ANGEL ALITA with the juxtaposition of hyper-kinetic fighting scenes against a backdrop of intermittent existential despair. The mood overall, though, is quite playful and this balance makes for a satisfying read. While I wouldn’t hold LIVEWIRES up as proof that any American, no matter where they live, is capable of creating manga, it is a sign that the means to do so effectively are now sometimes within the reach of the few who actually can. This series is due out in its collected form sometime in the month of October and I, for one, recommend it highly. Thanks for surfing over our way to read this week’s column and I’ll see y’all in seven. -- ROB VOLLMAR Rob Vollmar is the Eisner-Nominated writer of THE CASTAWAYS and BLUESMAN, both with artist Pablo G. Callejo.
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BLUE by Kiriko Nananan- Ponent Mon/Fanfare, $23.99, 226 pgs, Not Rated (Strong sexual content, language)
The dialogue employs a sort of random naturalism that effectively paints the environment that the characters inhabit but it is a world of teenage trivialities quickly expanding into an adult sphere of even greater ones. While those stakes may lack the earth-shattering qualities some crave in their stories, the consequences seem familiar and real enough to evoke empathy with the characters involved. Despite its racy premise, BLUE is the kind of hand-holding manga that leaves you a little depressed when some finally has sex for all the wrong reasons. Probably OK for 16 and up but some parental guidance may be warranted.
Reading Junko Mizuno manga is the equivalent of attending a Hello Kitty themed S&M party under the influence of psychedelic mushrooms...or so I’ve heard. Mizuno balances some of the most repellant sexual themes this side of Dave Cooper or Hans Rickheit with a disarmingly cute design sense. Her storytelling is probably best described as feverish, having much more in common with Hino than any shoujo horror I’ve read, and, as a result, may be a little difficult to follow.
My expectations for any manga-inflected project coming out from an American superhero company are, on average, not terribly high. So many attempts to bottle the manga chic under a domestic label have thus far yielded little but weak results by the standards of both markets. For whatever reason, Marvel Comics finally got it right with LIVEWIRES, a snappy, well-considered application of the core values of manga to a very localized corner of the Marvel Universe. Adam Warren, who wrote the series, is a pioneer of the Amerimanga scene and meshes seamlessly with series’ artist Rick Mays to create a wholly enjoyable story about renegade bio-mechanoid units that never lacks for excitement even while delivering a message with some actual heft to it.