The 2010s Decade So Far: My Top 5 Manga

April 8, 2024 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

If you’ve read my blogs before, you’ll know that I often won’t read manga that are ongoing. This saves me the pain of having to wait and the uncertainty of a work’s fate, but it comes at the cost of not really knowing the new works out there. That issue is the most glaring when it comes to my ranking the 2010s. There are a lot of promising works from that decade that aren’t complete yet. This greatly limits the manga that I read from that decade. Additionally, I want to emphasize that my considerations require that a manga’s publishing date starts within the 2010s for it to qualify. So stuff like March Comes in Like a Lion (which is still ongoing) doesn’t count.

There a lot of promising works from this period that are on my radar, but I can’t actually say if they’re good nor how good they are. Some examples of this are Witch Hat Atelier, Go With the Clouds, North by Northwest, Kowloon Generic Romance, and Yume no Shizuku, Kin no Torikago.

Go With the Clouds, North by Northwest; Published in English by Kodansha USA

Yume no Shizuku, Kin no Torikago by Chie Shinohara; Published by Shogakukan

I’m dying to read all of those, but my own restrictions keep me at bay. Fortunately, there were works that were previously on my radar that have ended (or are slated to end soon.) So, I’ve been able to get a taste of what the decade can offer and am thrilled at how good it’s been so far. Time will tell if this decade can live up to the 2000s, but my current top 5 spells some promise.

At Number 5:

_{^{Delicious in Dungeon by Ryoko Kui; Published in English by Yen Press}}

Delicious in Dungeon overflows with a fanatical love for Dungeons and Dragons and other fantasy role playing games. The world building is staged as if it’s one big campaign. There are many charming elements in the manga such as the cooking, its humor, and Kui’s ability to create distinctly varied character designs. If that’s all this manga was, then I would still think it’d be an enjoyable read.

However, the story takes a turn somewhere after the Red Dragon arc that complicates the journey and allows Kui to really deepen the world building. The deeper it goes, the more readers start to see how it’s tied to the narrative. The world becomes far more alive and textured, setting itself apart from other fantasy settings. The concept of a dungeon becomes an active element in the story rather than being a static setting which people are familiar with. It’s through this that the story is able to ask some of its themes. Why do people seek adventure? What do they wish to gain? Is it worth it in the end?

What I didn’t expect were the turns it would take with both Marcille and Laios. There characters were fleshed out and developed in ways that genuinely excited me. The manga zeroed in on their obsessions and almost made me scared of them. The ways our wishes can warp us was put on full display with these lead characters. The deeper they went, the closer they got to unraveling the mysteries of the dungeon, the more their obsessions consumed them. This was the aspect that made me really love the manga.

At Number 4:

_{^{Golden Kamuy by Satoru Noda; Published in English by VIZ Media}}

Golden Kamuy delivers what I would consider the best ensemble cast of the last 20 years. Over 40 characters, all with their own machinations and priorities, forming uneasy alliances in order to get buried gold. Each character is memorable or develops incredibly. Asripa is probably one of the best female leads I’ve read in a manga, Tsurumi is one of the best antagonists I’ve read in a manga, Ogata is one of the best minor antagonists I’ve read in a manga. The cast is so stacked, it’s ridiculous. You will have a favorite, guaranteed.

This isn’t even mentioning how arresting the setting is. Japan during the Meiji era, after the Russo-Japanese War, is a setting that is rife with militarism and expansionist aggression. To set the story there, but to center on neutral parties like the indigenous Ainu people, allows for the setting to really highlight the internal tension within Japan. It shows the Japanese military as this voracious force that is seeking to rival all of its neighbors. There are many groups who have their own goals and intentions, including the Ainu people, but they have to clash against warmongering military units.

It’s astounding that this manga can still contain moments of levity and humor, while the story is incredibly grim and tense. Don’t get me wrong, Golden Kamuy is a goofy manga, but it contains a ferocity and sharpness to it that is rare within the medium. It is a twisty story full of characters you cannot trust set to a backdrop of warfare and drama. If that’s not engaging, I don’t know what is.

At Number 3:

_{^{Blank Canvas: My So-Called Artist’s Journey by Akiko Higashimura; Published in English by Seven Seas}}

Blank Canvas: My So-Called Artist’s Journey devastates me every time I read it. This is one of the best depictions of grief and regret that I’ve seen in the medium. A self-biographical work by Akiko Higashimura, it is less about her journey and rise as a mangaka, and more a mediation on her self-hatred and failures as an artist. Without getting too personal, I relate to her at her worst, so this manga absolutely eviscerates me whenever I read it.

The manga foreshadows its emotional undercurrent through biting remarks at the end of Higashimura’s recollections. She’ll end a volume thinking about her time at the art studio or at college, but follow it up with comments that almost fester with contempt. There is so much pain when it comes to her relationship with art. Her frivolous nature is at odds with the expectations given to her by her teacher. She feels like a coward for following the path she did, even if it gave her the results she wanted.

This is an incredibly raw retelling of one’s artistic growth. Its insightful, but not sterile. It’s emotional, but not unfocused. This is Higashimura recounting her life with enough distance to see things clearly while also being as vulnerable as possible. That is the ideal of a nonfiction work. Higashimura knocks it out of the park with this. Cathartic, heartbreaking, funny, and consoling. No best-of-the-decade list should be missing this.

At Number 2:

_{^{Sunny by Taiyou Matsumoto; Published in English by VIZ Media}}

Sunny presents a window to look at children dealing with abandonment. The titular Sunny is an old junked car by the kids’ orphanage. It gives them an outlet to imagine far flung lands where they can escape the reality of being orphans. This is undoubtedly Matsumoto’s most grounded work. A lot of his fantastical or surrealist leanings give way to an earnest portrait of children burdened with the thought that they don’t belong and that they aren’t loved.

This is not a fun read. When I first checked it out, I was thoroughly crushed by the emotional weight. Matsumoto does a phenomenal job at painting their mundane lives, their quirks, their flaws, their cruelty, and their humanity. He does excels at convincing the reader than these are kids. Without a sense of family, the kids form bonds and connections within the orphanage. Those moments ground the story and prevent it from becoming an overwrought melodrama.

For the longest time, this was the manga that I thought was the best of the decade. Honestly, I have a hard time really expressing the effectiveness of the story. It cuts right through you without being manipulative. The best I can do is compare this manga to a Kore-Eda film. In fact, if Kore-Eda would ever adapt this manga, it’d be a perfect match. It’s potent and real. So much about it rings of the ennui that lives within kids, much more the ones who’ve actually been abandoned. This is Matsumoto’s best work and that’s saying a lot.

Honorable Mentions:

Our Dreams at Dusk by Yuhki Kamatani; Published in English by Seven Seas

There are many manga that I would love to give honorable mentions to like Run Away with Me, Girl, Sweat and Soap, Rojica to Rakkasei, The Girl From the Other Side: Siúil, a Rún, Mob Psycho 100, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War, and Spirit Circle, but the three I want to really zero in on are Our Dreams at Dusk, Girl’s Last Tour, and My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness.

Our Dreams at Dusk is a dazzling and expressive look at gender, sexuality, and expression. I wish it had more room to explore certain characters, dynamics, and facets of the LGBTQIA+ community. For what it’s worth, what it does manage to accomplish in its limited run is very good. Girl’s Last Tour blends apocalyptic dystopian settings with a soft tone and aesthetic. There is very little immediate danger left in the world. Just two friends marching through the wastelands of society, trying to make the most of their time together. The end result is this somber, but often comforting story that really hooked me in. My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness overflows with an anxiety and depression so real that it cannot be denied. This confessional manga by Nagata Kabi highlights the isolation that ordinary people in Japan can face, especially queer folk. The retelling is so raw and honest that it might shake people who are experiencing something similar. Regardless, it’s a manga that must be read.

At Number 1:

^{_{Land of the Lustrous by Haruko Ichikawa; Published in English by Kodansha USA}}

Land of the Lustrous is a relentless force that will never take it easy on the characters or the readers. What appears to be a quaint story of sentient gemstones quickly unravels into a maddened story about identity, isolation, existential dread, and oblivion. Its main character, Phos, is the unfortunate subject of one of the cruelest character arcs I’ve read in awhile. I have not felt this bad for a character since Goodnight Punpun.

The story is twisted, but captivating. The mysteries of the story only lead to further heartbreak. Learning about the Lunarians, about Kongou, about the origins of the Lustrous, all of it only shatters Phos further. And yet, the progression is nowhere near indulgent in its cruelty. This is not perversion for perversion’s sake. The journey is a methodical exploration of Buddhist teachings and the mercurial nature of humanity. The manga is able to communicate those with no pretense nor condescension. It delivers the themes through character drama. Every second of it can capture the reader.

I broke my rule for this manga. As of writing this, the manga has not concluded yet. However, it’s final chapter will be released in a few weeks so I read it regardless. This manga deserves all of the praise it gets. From the fantastic journey that Phos goes through, to Ichikawa’s undeniable compositions, to the unflinching delivery of its final chapters, Land of the Lustrous deserves all of the praise.

The Rest of It…

I can’t say which manga will eventually round out my top 10. There’s no guarantee any of my honorable mentions make it once I’m confident enough to put out a top 10. However, the 5 works that are currently in that list serve as proof that whatever else comes my way, I’m sure it’ll be amazing. I’m not sure if it can live up to the 2000s, but no other decade has. It will still be an amazing one to get through. Hopefully, some of the promising ongoing works end well so I can include them, but only time will tell. (Witch Hat Atelier, you better make this fucking list I swear!)

Thank you so much for reading this list. I hope I’ve encouraged any of you to check out any of these manga. Let’s enjoy manga together!

The Problem With Media Criticism: Anecdotes & Mistakes I Made Watching Anime In My Early 20s

February 20, 2024 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

It’s 5 PM on a work day. I was doing everything in my power to ignore the work that I had to do. One of my attempts led me to finding a small YouTube channel, where a man ranked The Sight and Sound Greatest Films of All Time 2022 list. I initially found it refreshing that the content creator is well versed in these movies. He’s watched them all, which is more than I can say for myself. Additionally, it didn’t feel like I was getting the stereotypical straight male opinion, which I am thoroughly tired of. I felt like I’d found a new channel to keep tabs on.

But then, he ranked 2019’s Parasite low. He likened the material critique in it to what college students would come up with, while also revealing that he was a college student not too long ago. Now, I won’t get overly defensive for Parasite. It wasn’t even my favorite film of 2019 (shoutouts to both The Lighthouse and Portrait of a Lady on Fire.) But, something about his critique felt off. I couldn’t pin it down. So I kept on watching. He clearly took issue to the newer film entries (especially Portrait of a Lady on Fire,) but I could’ve swallowed that as some advocacy to allow films to age before we put them on a pedestal. And then it happened.

He jammed A Brighter Summer Day in the lowest tier. Earlier, he had ranked Yi Yi in the highest tier, but now he put Yang’s other film lower. He described the movie as if it were this plot-driven film about child gangs, and how he values film more on their mind-expanding experience rather than dense narratives. He brushed aside the cultural and historical aspects of the film by saying he doesn’t really know Taiwan. And just like that, it all clicked in my head. These are views informed by incredibly narrow lenses.

_{A Brighter Summer Day (1991); Directed by Edward Yang}

I understand that criticism and opinions are subjective, but what goes into that subjectivity is sometimes important to break down. It reveals so much about the critic. It exposes what they value and what their limits are. Sometimes, those limits can be extremely detrimental towards art. They could miss out on what can make an artwork shine, and lead their audiences to the same fate. Instead of ragging on this content creator, I’ll use myself as an example for this.

I’m formally trained in creative writing. I studied a lot of theory and read a decent amount of literature (I’m still terribly underread compared to my peers.) One thing that happened early on in my writing journey was that I latched onto American New Criticism and Russian Formalism. Admittedly, my upbringing sheltered me from having established belief systems. At my most malleable state, I found concepts like close reading to be desirable. I wanted to look at art objectively because there wasn’t anything profoundly subjective in me. When I assessed art works, it was under this narrow framework. This isn’t necessarily a horrible thing, but it lead to some grossly narrow outlooks.

The worst offender was my initial reaction to the anime Revolutionary Girl Utena. This was the second Ikuhara work I’d tried up to that point (the first being Mawaru Penguindrum.) At the time, I really liked Penguindrum, but I hadn’t truly understood it for similar reasons. However, those reasons poisoned my opinion of Revolutionary Girl Utena. For the most part, I got its themes, its character progression, and even some of the symbolism, but I greatly penalized the show for the Black Rose Saga. It felt like a long-winded detour that only bloated the show. In my eyes, the arc did not add value to the structure of the anime. At worst, I thought you could remove the Black Rose Saga and not lose anything. For that, my initial impression of Revolutionary Girl Utena was lukewarm.

This was blindness. This was intentionally hampering my ability to see a work for what it is. And it was called out by friends. In a way, they said I’d missed the forest for the trees. I had devalued Revolutionary Girl Utena by holding it to an inflexible standard that did little to speak to the anime’s strength. Nothing about structure would convince someone about how impactful and emotionally resonant Revolutionary Girl Utena is. Perhaps in shows like The Tatami Galaxy or Baccano!, an analysis of its structure can show how thoughtful and precise these anime can be. However, that isn’t always the case and it shouldn’t be.

To really be able to evolve as a viewer of anime and a lover of the arts, I had to reexamine my standards and broaden who I was as a person. I could no longer discount context or outside philosophies from my appreciation of a show. These elements could only improve the depth of my understanding, rather than cheapen it. When I let go of my notion of the Black Rose Saga as needless weight, I was able to see how much if fleshed out the characters and the themes and gave the anime much needed heft. It changed the mood and perfectly segued to the last third of the show. It didn’t matter that the central conflict in the Black Rose Saga was somewhat separate from the conflict with Akio. It expanded on the story in terms of the setting, the overarching lore, the supporting cast, and served as a prelude for things to come.

As I alluded to earlier, this change in mentality has improved my view of many other shows, even once I already liked. Being able to accept and integrate context has transformed my perspective on Mawaru Penguidrum (specifically all the aspects regarding the Aum Shinrikyo and the Sarin Gas Attack) and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind’s manga (learning about Miyazaki’s changing beliefs and his disposition towards the manga enhances things for me.) Funny enough, I held a similar opinion about Legend of the Galactic Heroes as I did Revolutionary Girl Utena. I thought the last season of the show was unnecessary. By being able to see beyond the box I was in, I was able to fall in love with the powerful character drama regarding Reuenthal and Oberstein.

_{Revolutionary Girl Utena; Created by Be-Papas; Produced by JC Staff}

I’m not trying to imply that my view on art is now perfect. It’s a lot less about being right and more about trying to be open to different perspectives. Not to imply that every work has to be given a gold star—many works can still suck or be average—but it’s just as important for viewers to look inward and assess why something isn’t clicking with them and if that is a limitation that should be addressed.

A Brighter Summer Day is not a film set in Taiwan, the film is Taiwan. It’s the changing landscape of Taiwan after the expulsion of the Kuomintang. It’s about the changing morals of Taiwan. It’s about the young and the old living in Taiwan. There can be no deeper appreciation for the film if we’re to reject this. Do you have to pick up a book and learn about a place just to like a film? Fuck no. But expanding what you know and how you view things can go a long way.

Funny Valentine: How American Myths Captivate

October 29, 2023October 31, 2023 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

Steel Ball Run is the most celebrated manga of Hirohiko Araki’s career. It is lauded for its action, creativity, tremendous art, and character depth. Johnny Joestar is the most nuanced Joestar to date, full of weakness and requiring redemption. Gyro Zeppeli is the most charismatic and well-developed Zeppeli in the franchise. Even Diego Brando, while nowhere near as iconic as the original DIO, is a far more dynamic and interesting character than his predecessor. And yet, more than any of those names, one stands out: Funny Valentine.

The main antagonist of the series, Funny Valentine, is regarded with universal praise. Not only is he seen as one of the best villains within the franchise, but also across the medium of manga. Many fans attribute this to his selfless and unwavering patriotisms. But what is patriotism? In Cicero’s De Oratore, patriotism is asserted as a positive virtue to possess, especially within the republic. A sense of duty and love over one’s country. In section 44, Crassus adds that patriotism should extend to show a holistic devotion, stating “[the country’s] spirit, customs, and discipline ought to be our first objects of study…”

I imagine this is how a good number of fans view Funny Valentine’s motives and actions. He is driven by a need to defend his country as if it were his family. However, I argue that this is incomplete. While Funny is patriotic, there’s something else going on here. He also sees the USA as a chosen land and will use the presence of the Saint’s Corpse as proof. This is not just patriotism. This is American Exceptionalism.

_{JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run by Hirohiko Araki; Published in English by VIZ Media}

The concept of American Exceptionalism can be traced back as far as the landing of the pilgrims in 1620. Famously, Puritan John Winthrop exclaimed “for we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us…” This sets a religious precedent on the holy sanctity of the New England colony.

The American Revolution and the nation’s subsequent independence drove this further. Fueled by the European Enlightenment ideals, the United States of America saw itself as a champion for universal human rights, democracy, and liberty. In the Rights of Man, Thomas Paine said “the revolution of America presented in politics what was only theory in mechanics.” America set itself apart from the reigns of kings and emperors; the true republic. It was to be above it all. The land of the free.

This is American myth-making. The nation did indeed set itself apart, but its virtues were never truly extended to all. That was an intentional design in the formation of the republic. However, this article is not meant to be a political hit-piece on the American state and its formation, but as a lens to view Funny Valentine. The patriotism that he follows is tinged in mythology. It doesn’t just view America as a homeland worth protecting, but a land that is inherently more important than anything else.

In my opinion, there are two elements that define Funny Valentine. The first is his relentless devotion to his exceptional America. Much like fans would say, none of his actions are done in self-interest. Funny inherited his patriotism from his father. Both are veterans in civil wars. His motives are guided by the beliefs imparted to him, as well as ones he forged in service. His main objective is to control the Saint’s Corpse for the good of the country. He is even willing to throw away his pride and bargain with Johnny just to achieve this.

The other element that defines him is his belief that those who act first dictate the flow of the world. He uses the example of table napkins. Whoever takes the first napkin dictates the direction where all subsequent napkins will have to be taken from. This is representative of Funny’s foreign policy. He wants to put America in the position to make all the first moves, so that all other countries have to follow its lead. This level of control, in his mind, ensures American interests and safety.

What I find really fascinating about the synthesis of these two elements is that Funny Valentine isn’t just a believer of American Exceptionalism, he becomes its representative. With his devotion established and his intentions made clear, Funny vows to do whatever is necessary for the country his father died for. This includes using the Saint’s Corpse to redirect all disasters that may befall the country elsewhere. He doesn’t care about the harm it brings other nations or people, as long as his America is safe. To him, the USA must be exempt from the world’s darkness, no matter the methods nor the cost.

To follow Funny’s beliefs isn’t just to follow in one’s duty to a state, but to believe in America’s superiority over everything else. It doesn’t have to be backed by the religious claims of the Puritans nor the Enlightenment rhetoric of the Founding Fathers. It can be as simple as being apathetic towards the world outside of the USA. Shut out other nations and devote your time and energy solely on US topics, media, and ideals. It’s not that hard.

Funny Valentine is a terrific villain, one of my all-time favorites. His motives are not just consistent and believable, but based on a worldview that is still at large. It’s for that reason that I sometimes get worried when I hear people say that there may be some truth in his righteousness. That what makes him compelling is that “he’s right.”

To say that Funny Valentine is just patriotic is not enough. It allows for fanatical fervor to creep in. It strips away the dangers of his belief system and elevates his love-of-country attitude. Funny Valentine is American Exceptionalism. He is the neo-colonial power dictating how the rest of the world will have to behave and suffer. He is the embodiment of a faultless America. One above judgment and consequence. He is a sweet poison for those who live in America, to believe in their right to rule as those who embody freedom. A naked and hypocritical paradox. Believe in his words, his propaganda, his promises of a bright future. In his own words:

My heart and actions are utterly unclouded. They are all those of ‘justice’.

Funny Valentine isn’t great because he’s right. He’s great because of how well he sells his villainy. He is proof that American myth-making is powerful, and that it can lead to devastating things.

Sources:

“Classical Rhetoric in the Renaissance.” Oxford Bibliographies, www.oxfordbibliographies.com/display/document/obo-9780199827251/obo-9780199827251-0176.xml.
Cicero, Marcus Tullius. “On the Orator, Book 1.” Attalus, www.attalus.org/cicero/deoratore1C.html.
Winthrop, John. “John Winthrop: ‘A Model of Christian Charity’ (1630).” The American Yawp Reader, www.americanyawp.com/reader/colliding-cultures/john-winthrop-dreams-of-a-city-on-a-hill-1630/.
Paine, Thomas. “Rights of Man.” Google Books, https://www.google.com.ph/books/edition/Rights_of_Man/-fAGAAAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1.

Manga in Bulk: An Argument for Reading Completed Works

August 28, 2023October 31, 2023 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

Let’s set the scene. You are reading a manga that is currently still ongoing. 50 chapters in. You’re heavily invested. It has a lot of potential and you cannot wait to see where it goes from there. A week after, the manga is canceled. An ending is rushed and vital plot points are left hanging. That is miserable. That is the risk of reading ongoing manga.

This might seem like fearmongering over something that’s really not that important. Which, admittedly, it is. This isn’t that important when compared to real issues, but the disappointment experienced is still very real. It sucks when a great work gets axed or if the means to read it is taken from you. If that’s not a dealbreaker for you, then by all means, keep on doing what you’re doing. But, if like me, you’ve been peeved by this a few too many times, then allow me to present the differences between reading styles and why I’ve moved away from ongoing.

The advent of manga reading apps and sites have changed the dynamic I grew up in, but the primary legal way that manga was consumed for a long time was buying the latest volume to be released in English. I should’ve prefaced this earlier, but this is going to follow the perspective of someone who reads in English. If you read in Japanese or Europe/Latin America, you might have other ways to intake the medium due to the differences in publishers.

Anyway, reading by volume has been the standard way of legally consuming manga for the longest time. It comes with some strong benefits, like owning a copy of the work and financially supporting the mangaka and the industry. Breaking up a work in volumes also makes for a great way to produce content for it like podcasts. A volume is long enough to give podcasters something to chew on, but short enough to avoid being a definitive review.

Wandering Son by Takako Shimura; Published in English by Fantagraphics

The biggest downside to this is being beholden and committed to the whims of publishers. While this may seem like a niche concern, it can be annoying. Wandering Son, Eden: It’s an Endless World!, and Gintama are all titles that have had their English publishers give up on them mid-production. These are manga with dedicated fanbases and niches, especially Gintama. However, that might still not be enough to convince publishers that the cost will be worth it.

To show how crazy this is, Vinland Saga was once up for cancellation. Kodansha US had to ask their readers to preorder the next volume if they wanted to keep the series alive. A manga that would be heralded as one the best manga of its time. A manga that would not only garner prestige, but also widespread popularity. There was point in time where that manga could’ve been truncated at just 7 volumes.

That’s just how publishing works. Manga that don’t make money cannot be published for long. In a niche interest like this, that alone could limit the access that readers have to manga. It’s a sad situations as I don’t assume publishers drop series out of pure disinterest or spite. It just doesn’t work out.

Gintama by Hideaki Sorachi; Published in English by VIZ Media

As for online publications, especially official manga reading apps, the publishing issue is lessened. While this is a major oversimplification on my part, it is much easier for publishers to deliver volumes digitally as it saves them expenses on printing. Digital volumes are not a finite resource so publishers do not have to worry about overstocking. This is the case with Yen Press’ publication of Emma. Everything past volume 5 is exclusively digital (much to my personal chagrin.)

Manga reading apps further streamline the process by getting rid of the volume format. A manga’s chapter is published as soon as the site is capable or ready. Often, these legal sites are operated by the original Japanese publishers or their North American subsidiaries. This is the case with Kodansha and Shueisha. While the success of the models are still up-in-the-air, the convenience they theoretically bring is massive.

This isn’t to say that this model carries no risk for ongoing readers. It just means that the risk becomes the most common one. The original manga publishers can just cancel ongoing works. For whatever reason the company sees fit, they can end the run of any manga they house. There might be some backlash, especially if the series is popular, but it means nothing is safe.

This is what broke me. I used to read ongoing manga constantly, specifically shonen works. I used to really pay attention to every new manga released under the Weekly Shonen Jump. One day, I picked up Stealth Symphony, the first manga from Ryohgo Narita that I’ve read. Full disclosure, I am a Baccano fanboy (the anime, at least.) I was so interested to see how Narita’s style would translate as a manga. The start was messy and all-over-the-place but Narita’s narratives are never clear at the start. You have to let him cook.

The Weekly Shonen Jump did not let him cook. They junked the whole manga after 21 chapters. I’ve seen series canceled before, but this one hurt. I wanted to see what this could’ve been. However, the business takes performance seriously, and Stealth Symphony was not delivering fast enough to stay afloat.

_{^{Stealth Symphony by Ryohgo Narita and Youichi Amano; Published by Shueisha}}

I swore off ongoing manga after this event. Perhaps that is a sign of mental weakness on my end, but it’s the path I’ve chosen to take. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve lost much. There are definite benefits to reading ongoing manga, the biggest of which is fostering a community. As a manga is running, its fans engage each other and build an online space. That sense of community is invaluable to many, while also generating hype for the series.

Another upside to reading ongoing manga is the joy of speculation. Seeing a story unfold in real time gives you the chance to think about where it can go next. You might see plot points that no one else does, which can make you feel excited and good about yourself. There’s a lot of fun in theorycrafting and it’s certainly something I miss.

None of that is enough to counteract the disappointment that comes with no longer being able to read a manga series. I’m still able to find a community of manga readers, but I just won’t be able to talk about ongoing works. Also, I am willing to break this rule. It requires an outstanding manga that is close to ending, while also being deeply supported by its publishers. So yeah, I broke this rule during the last 20 chapters of Golden Kamuy. Sue me.

It’s not meant to be an unbreakable oath, but a general rule to protect me from investing my time and feelings. If that sounds dumb to you, please continue enjoying manga as you already are. But if anything I said resonated with you, consider this: reading completed works is fun and liberating.

The best thing about reading completed works is total control of pace. I can read a manga as fast or as slow as I want. I can follow the intended pace of the work, or I can break it. I’m not missing out on anything if I slow down since there’s no social pressure to be up-to-date. It took me a year to finish JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders, and that worked for me. Araki’s pacing was atrocious, so I only read as much as I could handle. The opposite can also be true. I basically inhale any of Satoshi Mizukami’s works. It’s a personal decision. Not something dictated to me by publishing companies.

Lucifer and the Biscuit Hammer by Satoshi Mizukami; Published in English by Seven Seas

There’s a chance this goes down as my most nonsensical blog entry to date. Does my methodology make sense or am I just a softie who gets sad when manga end. You can call heads or tails on that, if you’d like. This is how I do things. And I invite anyone reading this to give it a shot. You might like it.

Revisiting Not Simple

July 15, 2023July 15, 2023 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

Things were different for me back in 2014. I was still a college student, eagerly consuming any manga or anime that had canon pedigree. Read all of the classics that I could find. I searched through countless forums and online anime clubs, engaging with the varied discourse available. I felt fresh and green, completely new to the media. Yet, I acted like I knew so much about it. I felt like I had read so many of the great manga that I was an expert. I had read Akira, I had read Touch, I had read Buddha, I had read 20th Century Boys, and I was in the process of reading Ashita no Joe. I felt like I knew enough about manga to eloquently express myself. Then I read Natsume Ono’s not simple.

Truthfully, I don’t recall how I found this manga. Maybe it happened because of a Skype conversation back then. Maybe I saw it on a forum on MyAnimeList. Regardless, I found it and I was hellbent to read it. I remember making such a big deal about it, because I would be one of the first in my friend group to have read it. Then I did. Then I fell in love with it. But I couldn’t explain why.

All I have to document how I felt back then is a short paragraph—less than 130 words—dating to August 2015. I called it incredibly bleak. I thought the manga was just an exploration on how far a person can be dragged through sorrow and misery. Despite that, I said it wasn’t manipulative. Although, I couldn’t elaborate. I didn’t feel like Natsume Ono was tormenting me for the heck of it nor did I think that she leveraged sadness to make up for a lack of substance. The manga was amazing; I just didn’t understand why.

not simple by Natsume Ono; Published in English by VIZ Media

To my old-self’s credit, some of that is correct. The manga is one of the most soul-crushing works in the medium, without having to be overtly explicit or violent. Ian’s life starts twisted and ends in pitiful melodrama. I do not blame my old-self for focusing on that aspect of the story, nor would I fault anyone who comes out of reading this fixated on those pained moments.

The manga chronicles Ian’s unfortunate circumstances, from his absent and abusive “parents”, to the search for his sister and his death. When viewed chronically, the story is irredeemably miserable and cruel, but that isn’t how it’s told. The thing I missed during my first read was really thinking about the narrative’s framing. It starts with Ian’s death, making his end point and depression a forgone conclusion. Readers experience the story knowing that will happen.

The magic is in everything else. Ian’s personality is bright in a mundane but extraordinary sense. He grows up in an awful home with no one else to rely on but his sister, yet his love for his sister is so sincere and radiant that it carries him through life. His positivity impacts the people around him, especially Jim. He functions as a secondary lens. The outside perspective to Ian’s life, sympathetic and interested, much like the reader. Ian is emotionally invested, probably stemming from his position as a novelist and a gay man. He isn’t attracted to Ian, but he understands what it is like to have a strained familial relationship. There is a kinship between them that is powerful and emotive.

The dual perspectives of the manga showcase Ian, not as an inherently miserable person, but a child full of light and love. This is emphasized by the final chapter where Ian meets an older woman during his journey to find his sister. She was depressed and ready to abandon her family, but Ian’s presence convinced her to stay. His honest disposition and love for his sister convince her to stay with her family. This is how the manga ends.

By starting the manga with Ian’s despair and death and ending it with his positivity, the manga proves that it isn’t about presenting the fall of a boy’s spirit, but showing that there was something about that life worth living. Even though Ian’s life is messed up and depressing, he was a loving and cheerful kid who positively impacted the people around him. It is a testament to the beauty of a human soul. Even the saddest of lives had something to admire and cherish.

This reread did not change how I felt about not simple. It is still one of my top ten favorite manga of all time. It hasn’t climbed up in ratings, but it also didn’t go down. What changed was having the clarity to understand what I felt. I couldn’t express what I felt before. Perhaps I lacked the emotional maturity. Maybe I didn’t think about it critically enough. It doesn’t really matter. Now, I’m just happy that I can explain why this short work is one of my all-time favorites. Now, I can appreciate Ian the same way Jim does.

Queerness and Me: Trying to Understand Queer Manga

June 25, 2023June 25, 2023 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

I want to preface that this is not me trying to make some grand thesis statement on queer manga. To be honest, I’m tragically underqualified in that regard. I’ve read some Judith Butler, but I only recall it in parts. As far as the breadth of my queer manga reading, I don’t see myself as exemplary. I’ve read a handful of works, but I know that many other readers outclass me when it comes to this.

This post is more for me. As a pansexual guy, I’ve rarely explored gender and sexuality openly. It’s always felt private and cloistered. Perhaps I’m too hetero-passing, probably too heteronormative, but that was never home for me. I deeply value representation in media. I feel the viewpoints of the unspoken and unsung do more than just challenge the formats and media they belong to. It frees readers from conventions and norms, and normalizes what is often deemed the other. It’s in this private reading space that I can explore concepts that resonate with me, even when I feel like an outsider.

For full transparency, I will list out every manga I’ve read that can fall under the queer umbrella, barring a few exceptions that I will clarify (spoilers incomings):

Sweet Blue Flower, Boys Run the Riot, Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla, Citrus, Fujouri na Atashitachi, Genkaku Picasso, Genshiken, Girl Friends, Helter Skelter, Wandering Son, Indigo Blue, J no Subete, Junketsu Drop, Run Away with Me, Girl, Kaori no Keishou, Lonely Wolf, Lonely Sheep, Marginal, MW, Not Simple, Oddman 11, Ohana Holoholo, Paradise Kiss, Pieta, My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Our Dreams at Dusk, Stop! Hibari-kun!!, The Heart of Thomas, Tokimeki Mononoke Jogakkou, and Unmei no Tsugai ga Omae da Nante.

I excluded YuriCam because the story doesn’t treat the queer element as anything other than a joke, Bra Girl and Boku Girl because I’m not entirely sure how to assess gender bend stories, and Boku no Futatsu no Tsubasa because it is just flat-out awful. I’m also excluding implicit or headcanon assumptions of queerness such as Kids on the Slope and Berserk.

Ohana Holoholo by Shino Torino; Published by Shodensha

The extent of queerness across these works can vary. There are instances where they are stated, but not the focus; instances where they receive momentary focus in an arc; instances where they are the core subject. Regardless of their prominence, I think about them. There may be other instances of queer representation that I’ve forgotten, but this is what I can say for sure.

Manga like Not Simple are strange to include in this post since the story revolves around Ian, who does not have any queer elements that speak to his identity. However, a good chunk of the story is seen through Jim’s perspective. His inclusion does a lot for the narrative, even if he isn’t the focal point. His position as a gay novelist estranged from his family makes him both empathetic and curious about Ian’s plight. The friendship they share is the most comforting thing in this manga, even if Jim’s identity as a gay man does not factor in too hard.

As touching as that may be, it doesn’t resonate with me. I don’t learn anything about my own queerness while reading it. Not a shot at the manga (it’s literally one of my top 10 favorite works,) but it doesn’t help me on this front, and neither do manga like Tokimeki Mononoke Jogakkou, Unmei no Tsugai ga Omae da Nante, Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla, Kaori no Keishou, Oddman 11, and Junketsu Drop. Most of these works revolve around the eroticism of BL/GL, as well as specific sub-genres like omegaverse relationships. It feels more like engaging with genre than with the humanity of the queer experience and its difficulties. Although I will admit that Tokimeki Mononoke Jogakkou and Junketsu Drop have cute high school romances and Oddman 11 is delightfully funny.

Junketsu Drop by Naho Watarumi and Manami Kisaragi; Published by Printemps Shuppan

There are also mixed bags in this bunch that I have a hard time trying to parse in terms of their queerness. Citrus isn’t just an incest story, but it’s a toxic one. The relationship between Yuzu and Mei is twisted and manipulative. I can’t really think of anything redeeming or interesting about them. Helter Skelter has an even more malicious relationship between Liliko, Hada, and her boyfriend. It’s interesting because of how selfish and cruel Liliko is, and the relationship is never painted positively or romantically, but it doesn’t give me insight from an emotional perspective. MW presents the a serial murderer as a gay man, and throws a priest into a crisis of faith because of his attraction to the killer. Not necessarily something I’d draw from.

Genshiken also rubs me the wrong way as the one instance where transphobia is championed. Note that this is just my interpretation and I’m not trans, but Hato is repeatedly ridiculed for being trans. Even when the manga finally makes the turn towards tolerance, it is towards Hato being a MTF crossdresser, rather than being authentically female. I feel as if there was narrative gaslighting to muddy the once-solid position of Hato clearly identifying as a woman. This never sat right with me, but that is just my perspective on the matter.

There are instances of trans representation that I like. The most controversial one might be Paradise Kiss; not because the representation is poor, but because the manga itself has a lot of problematic parts. On her own, Isabella is lovely and her bond with George is great. There’s legitimate acceptance of each other and a friendship that runs deeper than love. It’s also comforting that her self-identification does not waver. The issue is Arashi. Everything about him is gross. He is scum and the manga would be better off if he were completely jettisoned.

In Stop! Hibari-kun!!, there is discomfort when it comes to how everyone treats Hibari. Everyone is incredibly transphobic, which does match the time and culture, but Hibari is unphased. At no point does Hibari question or retract who she is. She is a girl. A girl with very questionable taste in men, but a girl nonetheless. She is the shining beacon in a manga full of questionable content. I appreciate that internal fortitude and commend mangaka Hisashi Eguchi for that one thing.

In contrast, Boys Run the Riot and Genkaku Picasso deal with accepting one’s true gender. Both are set in high school and show that identity can’t just be internal, but it requires social acceptance. Ryou and Jeanne know that their assigned genders make them deeply uncomfortable. They express their true selves away from people who would recognize them. They are both alienated for their truths, but are welcomed by those who confront their own social prejudices and biases. It’s not enough to know who you are. Sometimes, it’s important that the others around you know you as well.

One of the hardest reads has got to be J no Subete. The story of a transwoman growing up in the Rust Belt during the 50s-60s was always going to be difficult, but damn did this manga push it. There are some moments here that are so graphic, that I’d caution many people from reading it. But J’s story, her plight and her determination to be authentic to herself, is so powerful. It isn’t clean, it isn’t without issues, but it is painfully human.

Helter Skelter by Kyoko Okazaki; Published in English by Kodansha US

The last batch of queer manga depict sexuality in ways that are engaging for me. Lonely Wolf, Lonely Sheep is a simple love story about sapphic women who learn more about each other and choose to be together despite their baggage. It’s a really short and quaint story if you remove the possessive psycho chick who tries to injure one of the girls. Sweet Blue Flower is a poignant romance between high school girls who struggle with valuing friendships over personal happiness. It is hard to come out to the best friend you love. It’s a sweet and heartbreaking story that has one of my favorite lines in romance manga, “Maybe I fall in love too easily. But that’s the only way I’ve ever loved women.” Seriously, just gut me and leave me bleeding, thank you.

Fujouri na Atashitachi shows the lives of adult sapphic women, situating their romances within their office and social lives. It’s far more effective when reaching older readers, especially wlw readers. Another sapphic manga oriented at older readers is Run Away with Me, Girl. Two former high school girlfriends, reunited after years of distance, finding solace in each other once again. A romance full of forgiveness, healing, and affection.

There were two more adult-oriented lesbian manga that I’ve read. Indigo Blue shows a messy relationship full of indecision and deceit, while also being grounded and subtle. The manga either ignores or dismisses bisexuality, but it still has good moments. Nothing can compare to My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness though. That manga is a revolution. Probably the singular best confessional nonfiction manga to have ever been written. It’s bare, it’s honest, it’s vulnerable, and it’s painfully relatable. The way Kabi Nagata relays her yearning for some physical touch and affection is emotionally devastating.

As for the remaining lesbian manga centered around high schoolers, the two I’ve read are polar opposites. Pieta is a romance between two girls in difficult situations, especially Rio. It deals with heavy topics like abuse and trauma, but finds comfort in the bond made between two girls. To contrast, Girl Friends is about the fears and joys that come with realizing one’s sexuality. It also has a lot of shopping and hanging out that give the manga a youthful feel. It’s as serious as it needs to be without compromising its cuteness and levity.

Run Away with Me, Girl by Battan; Published in English by Kodansha US

Neon Genesis Evangelion’s manga still has gay elements, but they’re handled differently than in the anime. Kowaru is introduced sooner and has a more mercurial relationship with Shinji. In a sense, the gay angle feels like it shifts more toward Kowaru than it was originally. Shinji isn’t as ambiguous as he was in the anime. Regardless, their story is still a crucial moment in the manga, even if it’s more one-sided for Kowaru.

On the topic of tragic gay romances, The Heart of Thomas feels like the prototypical doomed gay story. Where being gay sentences characters to a life of misery and emotional complication. It is very effective as a melodrama, but gay romances deserve to be more than just being tortured stories.

The last batch of queer manga that I’ve read deal with a large breadth of the lgbtqia+ spectrum. Ohana Holoholo has bisexual women, Marginal has an intersex lead, Wandering Son is all about gender expression, and Our Dreams at Dusk covers so much.

I appreciate the complex relationship between the two bisexual women in Ohana Holoholo. I love how it handles feelings of abandonment and distrust. It’s understanding and empathetic. I just wish Nico’s story as a bisexual man was handled far better. In Marginal, the concepts of gender and sexuality are played with and experimented on to strange degrees. It really feels like an epic sci-fi story that uses gender in its fiction; less of a reality and more of an idea. There’s something otherworldly about how Kira is presented as an intersex person. The presentation feels a bit othering, but maybe I need to cut it some slack. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t malicious.

I have so many mixed opinions on Wandering Son. I made my peace with it when I accepted that it isn’t a story about trans people, and shouldn’t be marketed as such. It is about fluidity and growth, seen through the eyes of kids. The manga doesn’t reject trans identities as it presents Yuki as an adult woman who lives out her life as a woman, but it explores gender in a way that may be upsetting for those in the throes of gender dysphoria. Ultimately, it still rejects gender conformity, which I appreciate, but it can’t be called a story about the trans experience.

Finally, Our Dreams at Dusk is a story about community. In a largely cruel and bigoted world, it is important to have a community who understands you and gives you the space you need to be authentic and real. The manga has a gay character, lesbian characters, a transmasc character, an asexual character, and a kid who is still trying to understand their own identity. All are there for each other. It is beautifully expressive, and thoroughly affecting.

Neon Genesis Evangelion by Yoshiyuki Sadamoto; Published in English by VIZ Media

This is, without a doubt, my most aimless blog entry to date. If you’ve managed to read this far, thank you. It is also my most naked and honest entry. I’ve been trying to be more honest with my queerness. In the process of writing this, I’ve opened up to my own mother. Something that I’ve been wanting to do for years. I read these manga because I want acceptance for who I am. I feel that is why many of them are written, especially when they’re made by queer people. I will continue to read works like these, and make a home for them within me.

A Guide to Finding Manga

June 7, 2023October 31, 2023 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

There are two different stages of reading manga: when you’re just getting into it, and when you love it. That applies to all media of art, but how to proceed with either stage can differ from medium to medium. With film, I normally go through aggregate top lists and select a film based on how cool I think the poster is. It is an action that exposes both my pretension and my base impulse, but it nets me the results I like. Ultimately, figuring out a system that leads you to the works you care about is what’s important.

In that regard, my suggestions may not apply to you 100% of the time. This is more of an examination of my methods, which can hopefully inspire you to figure out your own. I consider myself an avid manga reader, and have been able to cultivate a consistent hunger for the medium. I’m always in the process of reading something new, so my hope is that this can help, even if it’s just one person.

Note: This post will not encourage any means of illegal manga consumption. The means for it do exist, but my blog neither condones nor denounces it. The bulk of this post will be geared towards the selection process for manga, and the reading process will list out resources that may help others find legal ways to read.

For beginners, it will help to consider your own personal preferences and biases based on other media. Are you a fan of action, romances, or dramas? Do you enjoy works made for younger audiences or are you looking for material geared towards an older audience? This will tie into my first recommendation: understand and choose a demographic. These are categorical divisions that market manga based on binary sexes and age. Shōnen manga are made for younger male audiences, typically boys from the ages of 8 to 15. Shōjo manga are made for younger female audiences with an age range that mirrors that of shōnen’s. Seinen manga are for older male audiences, and Josei manga are for older female audiences.

^{_{Demon Slayer by Koyoharu Gotouge, Published in English by VIZ Media (top-left, shōnen); Yona of the Dawn by Mizuho Kusanagi, Published in English by VIZ Media (top-right, shōjo); Monster by Naoki Urasawa; Published in English by VIZ Media (bottom-left, seinen); Blank Canvas: My So-Called Artist’s Journey by Akiko Higashimura, Published in English by Seven Seas (bottom-right, josei)}}

Granted, I fully acknowledge that demographics are becoming obsolete. There are many shōnen manga that have seinen content, and many shōjo and josei mangaka are moving to seinen publications. However, as a beginner, starting at this point will still net better results than wandering aimlessly across the medium. Following trends and popular works may end up alienating you, especially if you’re not a fan of action or romances geared towards boys.

After selecting a demographic, either search for a list of its top manga or go to a database site like AniList or MyAnimeList to search through the demographic’s tag (more on that later.) The best way to pick a manga from there is to just do it. Don’t overthink it. Grab a random manga from the top section and read. See if it speaks to you. If it doesn’t, I would still recommend trying another manga from that list. This will confirm two things. Is this the correct demographic for you or does the format of manga not appeal to you? Either way, you’ll learn more about yourself and what you are into.

If you find the demographic you like, stick with it for a while. Don’t rush into other genres or demographics. Establish a joy for the process of reading. Look forward to seeing the next chapter of a manga you’re keeping up with. When I started, I was a diehard shōnen fanboy. I read 5-6 different shōnen manga a week, mostly from the acclaimed magazine Weekly Shōnen Jump. It was part of my weekly routine. If you can read enough to effortlessly make it a part of your routine, then you are ready for the next stage.

This is often the stage where many readers plateau. There is nothing wrong with finding the kind of manga you like reading and sticking to just that. That’s a perfectly valid way of engaging with the medium. However, if you’re like me, and you want to see what else is out there, then you must radicalize. It starts with picking a great work from a different genre or demographic. Personally, I found it easier to move from shōnen to seinen. I started with the works of Naoki Urasawa and Makoto Yukimura. I developed a hunger for storytelling and drawing conventions that were outside the norm for shōnen. In time, I grew to read josei and shōjo too.

My radicalization point with shōjo was when I discovered my love for 1960s-1970s works. Stuff like Candy Candy and Dear Brother. As for josei, it was my introduction to mangaka like Akiko Higashiura, Kyoko Okazaki, and Nanae Haruno. A fair amount of curiosity is important to move on to the next step. You have to be open-minded to the new demographics, which will require giving up some of the biases and preferences developed earlier. This is the difficult hurdle that many casual manga readers opt out of.

Pink by Kyoko Okazaki; Published in English by Kodansha USA Publishing

An open mind will lead to joy. The joy of understanding a different genre, a different way of creating art. If you’re able to foster that, then you’ll be able to move forward. But where? Where to next? Well, anywhere. This is where you can consider your mood and pick something accordingly.

My personal process is that I decide on a genre or a tag based on a gut feeling. Maybe I want seinen. Maybe I want historical. Maybe my mood is sci-fi. Doesn’t matter. Just follow that mood, go to a manga database site, then search for the tag/genre. Once it loads up, my top priority when selecting a manga is if it has an interesting cover. You could search through forums or videos looking for “the best of the best,” but you can also find gems by reading whatever makes your eyes sparkle.

Don’t be afraid to be basic or pretentious or whatever. Read what you want without factoring in how others may view your taste. What’s important is that you have your own taste and a drive to pursue it. Evolve in the ways you want. I used to go through endless lists of noteworthy manga, but now I just pick whatever I think looks pretty. I’ve found some amazing works by just doing that.

There are a few resources that could help you scour for potential reads. The Twitter account @MangaMoguraRE showcases almost every new publication or volume released in the manga industry, as well as tagging if the work is available in English or other languages. Following manga publishers or industry workers may also increase the amount of manga you come across.

While it may be antithetical to my advice to search for your own taste, I can also provide a few recommendations per demographic for those looking for some jumping-off points. However, be aware this is more reflective of my taste and might not suit you.

Shōnen

Slam Dunk by Takehiko Inoue
JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure by Hirohiko Araki
Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa
Death Note by Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Ohba

Shōjo

Red River by Chie Shinohara
Yona of the Dawn by Mizuho Kusanagi
Wake Up, Sleeping Beauty by Megumi Morino
The Rose of Versailles by Riyoko Ikeda

Seinen

20th Century Boys by Naoki Urasawa
Dorohedoro by Q Hayashida
Solanin by Inio Asano
Vinland Saga by Makoto Yukimura

Josei

Pink by Kyoko Okazaki
Nodame Cantabile by Tomoko Ninomiya
Soshite, Hare ni Naru by Kirin Tendou
Run Away with Me, Girl by Battan

Introduction – Search For The Greatest Mangaka

January 19, 2023January 19, 2023 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

There is a certain futility that comes with deciding which mangaka is the greatest. The metrics of deciding that are ultimately arbitrary and biased. It says more about the critic than the artist, revealing more about the self than saying anything about the art. That being said, a bit of self-indulgence is allowable when trying to figure out a personal curiosity. What I’m trying to say is that this series is more for me to understand who I think the greatest mangaka is in my eyes, rather than being a definitive authoritarian statement on greatness.

Without getting of myself too much, this series will look through the available body of work a mangaka has to determine their prestige and stature in my eyes. It will take a variety of factors into account like how prolific the mangaka is, the quality of individual works, the weighted average of the mangaka’s works, and the creative merits of the manga. A mangaka with 2 works might end up higher than a mangaka with 15 works if the former’s manga are that much more potent, but it will still be easier for mangaka with more works to rank higher if their quality is consistently good.

The worst aspect of this series will have to be assigning scores for each manga. Numerical scores are too vague and cannot communicate my broader feelings. Instead, I will incorporate a brief description of my feelings with the score. This will allow me to maintain a numerical system that will be needed when collating and ranking the mangaka’s overall score. It also gives me the capacity give the rating more texture, adding some nuance to an otherwise blank ranking system. The score for each manga will come with a few paragraphs explaining my thoughts. It will be a miniature review of the work, but I’ll allow myself the flexibility to write longer entries if needed.

Hopefully, if any of the readers can get anything out of this series, it is a serendipitous chancing with some title or mangaka that resonates with oneself. Maybe a mangaka has a body of work that speaks to you, but you weren’t sure of how consistent they were. It could give a reader incentive to check out the full breath of an mangaka’s output. There are many mangaka out there with exciting and beautiful works.

Grief & Nationalism: Why Tokushirou Tsurumi Is An All-Time Great Villain

December 8, 2022December 8, 2022 / Sleepy Panels / 1 Comment

At the end of the Russo-Japanese war, Japan won over control of some parts of the Liaodong Peninsula and southern Sakhalin, as well as having their control over the Korean Peninsula recognized. In the grand scheme of things, especially considering the near 80,000 casualties Japan suffered during the war, this would seem insufficient as war gains. This is the sentiment that Tokushirou Tsurumi houses. Set a few years after the war’s conclusion, the bitterness of the military is a driving force in Golden Kamuy’s main villain.

At the time, Japan was an emergent world power, spurred by its drastic modernization. To achieve this, there was a shift in the framework and mentality of the country. The Meiji government needed a more centralized control of power as it was educating its populace. Modern education and opportunities needed a counter-balance so that the Imperial government would not lose control. This extended to their implementation of a Parliament, as well as for their military. Instead of fostering loyalty for local lords, Japan adopted European nationalism.

This is the ideological landscape that Tokushirou Tsurumi is birthed in. When readers are first introduced to Tsurumi, he mentions how his skull was damaged in the Battle of Mukden, and stresses how many of their comrades died for nothing. Prior to World War 1, the Battle of Mukden was the largest land battle in the modern-era. Despite the win, the Japanese lost a lot of soldiers during that conflict alone. For the toll it cost, Tsurumi expected Manchuria as a reward for the nation.

He is a soldier who has repeatedly risked his life, and the lives of his command, in some of the most dangerous battles of the time. In his mind, there must be some meaning for all the work put in and death involved. Winning the land they fought on, adding it to the growing Japanese empire, and pushing further north is the only answer in his mind. This is what militant Ultranationalism is. Everything for the glory of the country and the Emperor.

This is everyone’s initial introduction to Tokushiro Tsurumi: a silver-tongued Ultranationalist with an insane temper. He is the Japanese Hokushin-ron war plan made manifest years before either of the World Wars, a clever implementation of history, but it does not make him exceptional. There are many mad nationalists within the medium. Even if the characters are not from real countries, their mentalities reflect the growing militarism and expansionist ideals of the 20th Century. This is especially true with villains, harboring Fascist and reactionary intentions that have to be dealt with.

What really sets Tsurumi apart is they way his characterization evolves once the story reaches the southern Sakhalin island. When the focus of the narrative shifts to Russia, Tsurumi’s real motives become clear. His backstory begins as a Japanese spy living in Vladivostok around the end of the 19th Century. At that point, his twisted nature was absent. He was a mild-mannered man, married to a Russian woman, and a father. It is unclear if his love for his family was entirely sincere or if parts of it were held up by his duty as spy, but that complexity immediately sours once his cover is blown.

A fight breaks out by his photography studio. In a single moment, after a shot fatally wounds his wife and daughter, his nationalism and love for his family converge in the worst ways. Any doubt readers may have had about his sincerity washes away when he picks up the body of his dead daughter and tenderly kisses her hand. This is grief. Tsurumi is a character in perpetual mourning. The family he loved died in Vladivostok due to the circumstances of his position. His duty contributed to their deaths, and he cannot properly process that. Instead of recanting the nationalism in him, it becomes the engine for his grief.

Therein lies the beauty of Tokushiro Tsurumi. To cope with the senseless death of his family, he infuses his own nationalism into it. In his mind, they died for the sake of Japan. They, along with all of the countless soldiers who will die on his watch, are integral parts of Japan’s rise as an empire. To honor them, Japan must expand. His family must rest in Japanese soil. He will make Vladivostok Japanese if he has to. His fury, his madness, and his Ultranationalism become a twisted performance of grief. As the embodiment of militant patriotism, he has no other choice but to grieve this way.

With that as his driving motivation, Tsurumi sets out to further the Japanese war plan. Nothing less than the complete capture of old Manchuria will appease his mourning. He manipulates everyone to further this agenda. His charisma and his stature are tools that he leverages to build one of the most capable and loyal cores within the military—a core that he would gladly sacrifice to get his way. His quest for the Ainu gold is just another means for him to push the military back into Chinese and Russian lands. From the hills of Port Arthur to the shores of Vladivostok, Tsurumi wants Japan to control everything to satisfy his own pain. Conquering the land will not bring his family back. It will not allow him to heal. These actions only further the wounds he is inflicting onto himself, but there can be no other way. Everything for the glory of the country and the Emperor.

The most naked moments of Tsurumi’s characterization are when he fiddles with the finger bones of his daughter and wife. After all those years and countless wars, he carries their bones with him to remind himself of what he lost. There is a gentleness to his anguish that he keeps private. It is an aspect of his grief that does not easily conform to the militant route he has taken. He denies the personal stakes of his ambition repeatedly. He lies to Tsukishima, he lies to Koito, and he lies to himself. Just as he refuses to acknowledge how his actions contributed to the deaths around him, he too refuses that sentimentality is what really defines his war path.

Tokushirou Tsurumi is one of the most beloved characters in Golden Kamuy. Amongst a cast full of some of the most well-written characters in modern manga, Tsurumi stands out as a maddened romantic mourning his family through war. The severity of his actions mixed with the restraint of his expression and the denial of his intentions paints a tortured soul who has no other path but to sink lower. Everything about him is calculated and intelligent, but also driven by raw emotions. Fans adore his flamboyance, but remember him for his bitter contradictions.

By the end of World War II, the Japanese empire was thoroughly disassembled. A majority of the territories they lost were from the Nanshin-ron efforts that colonized the lands by the South China Sea. However, they also lost the territories in the Liaodong Peninsula and southern Sakhalin. In 40 years, all of Tsurumi’s aspiration turned to ash. Japan never got close to taking Vladivostok. The Ultranationalist push resulted in one of the most resounding defeats in the Pacific theater. Even if Tsurumi survived the events of Golden Kamuy, even if his life and pains were not fictional, his ambitions would still end with the Japanese surrender.

His story is one of self-destruction, fighting in vain and screaming into the void. No guidance outside of love for country, no direction outside of warfare, and no companions outside of the dead. Tsurumi is an all-time great villain for his flaws. A mad animal who cannot accept and understand the internal turmoil in himself. A broken man who could not just admit that he missed his daughter and wife.

The Autobiographical Manga: A Drifting Life vs Kakukaku Shikajika

November 17, 2022November 17, 2022 / Sleepy Panels / Leave a comment

It is difficult to decide which approach to nonfiction in manga is better: Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s distanced recollection of time or Akiko Higashimura’s sentimental introspection. As lauded and talented as both of the mangaka are, their greatest works happen to be autobiographical retellings of their artistic journeys. Tatsumi gives a detailed look at his upbringing, full of historical landmarks and informed by the context of its time. Higashimura paints an impassioned reflection of her life, her regrets, and her quirks.

As someone who writes personal essays, the process can be harrowing. It requires inward examination; often pushing the writer to some degree of discomfort. The point of nonfiction goes beyond just divulging personal events as they are. It is a distanced reflection that allows the mangaka to glean more meaning out of their days.

However, there is room for confessional works such as Kabi Nagata’s My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness, but that approach will not work most of the time. The challenge with confessional nonfiction comes when the reader asks why. Why am I reading this piece? Why is the mangaka airing out so much of their personal life? Why does any of it matter?

Kabi Nagata’s works are extremely special in that regard. The ‘why’ is silenced by the overwhelming power of the manga’s expression. It is a work that begs to be read, to be empathized with, to be understood, and to be cherished. Nagata is not incredibly introspective and self-critical, but she brings out the painful and relatable humanity of her life.

*My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness by Kabi Nagata; Published in English by Seven Seas*

While the confessional approach can work, it can also lead to the mangaka vomiting out unprocessed memories that weigh the reader down. That is why the two works that I think represent the genre the best are A Drifting Life and Kakukaku Shikajika. Both are incredible manga, but they achieve success through different approaches.

In A Drifting Life, Tatsumi ties his artistic journey with the time and culture he grew up in. He will show a younger version of himself working on a manuscript, then follows it up by mentioning events in politics and the first screening of a 3D film in Japan. While these moments may seem disconnected from Tatsumi’s struggles and aspirations as an artist, they inform the landscape of the text. It is through details like these that viewers understand what influenced Tatsumi. It paints a very clear picture of the environment he was in.

With a detailed portrait of the time to work with, Tatsumi is able to communicate his feelings about manga, entertainment, and genre. It shows the evolution of the medium through his eyes; a glimpse at an important point of manga’s history through one of its legends. A Drifting Life is just as much a story of the history of manga and post-World War II Japan as it is about the life of the late great Yoshihiro Tatsumi.

That is not to say the manga is not a personally involved work. Tatsumi makes sure that the story carries his emotions and struggles. When his brother rips a letter by Noburo Ooshiro, you can feel the pain he feels as he curls up and collapses in frustration and sadness. The posture and body language of his younger self communicates the anger and determination despite the simplistic character designs.

In contrast, Kakukaku Shikajika is unrelenting sentimentality with introspection serving as its backbone. Akiko Higashimura is able to communicate the raw intensity of her emotions as a younger woman, but injects poignant and melancholic notes when reminiscing them as an adult. She is not divorced from her childhood naivety and temperament, but understands the pain her actions caused others. This makes the manga a rollercoaster of feelings. She could be joking about her celebrity crushes in one page then lamenting over her art teacher by the end of the chapter.

Outside of Kakukaku Shikajika, Higashimura’s core strength is her humor. She has some of the most immediate and satisfying jokes and gags in contemporary manga. This strength is visible in her autobiographic work, but it is no longer the draw of the story. Her earnest and vulnerable thoughts bleed across all of the panels, and that is what makes the manga so captivating. Her pain and regret is sharp and clear, hovering over all of the times she failed her art teacher.

During the final volume of the manga, Akiko Higashimura talks about the process of creating Kakukaku Shikajika. She explains that she does not think about the process too heavily, even adding that she can start and finish a storyboard hours before the deadline. However, the manga forces her to confront the memories she has tried her hardest to forget. Memories of abandoning her teacher when he needed her the most. That frustration and self-loathing guides the manga’s contemplations. As a veteran mangaka, she now understands that she did not have to abandon her teacher, but she still did.

In a way, comparing these manga’s approaches can be pointless. Both are award-winning works that speak on artistry and showcase different time periods. Each work is extremely valuable. These are not points I would contest. However, there are aspects in each manga’s approach that writers and mangaka might want to consider when viewing the text.

A Drifting Life is made by a legendary mangaka whose insight is only possible due to all of the knowledge he accrued in the business. To be able to use history as a foundational part of a nonfiction piece requires deep expertise in the field, as well as decades of experience. In comparison, Kakukaku Shikajika is more personal. The reflections in the manga take years to process and accept, but it is achievable for most.

Kakukaku Shikajika by Akiko Higashimura; Published in English by Seven Seas

This will also apply to the readers when choosing the kind of nonfiction to read. There is a level of separation expected in works that take on a historical angle. This may lead to drier texts, but it is also full of insight and experience. The birth of the Gekiga movement is a fascinating topic to learn about as a manga reader, as it shows how creative minds rebel against conventions and take inspiration from other media. Akiko’s approach may come across as more intimate and personal, appealing to readers who like narratives with immediacy and gravity. However, the strength of her emotions might deter readers who do not want to be overpowered by sentimentality.

There can be other ways to approach nonfiction in manga. Kabi Nagata is an example of how versatile and underused this mode of narrative is for the medium. Standards are meant to be pushed, and the canon will give way to new innovation. As an essayist, this excites me. Providing two examples of extremely successful approaches does not solidify them as the only routes, but showcases their individual merits (also, I just wanted an excuse to reread them.) As writers, readers, and fans, we can appreciate autobiographical works more thanks to A Drifting Life and Kakukaku Shikajika.

Manga recommendations on the topic:

Kakukaku Shikaji by Akiko Higashimura
A Drifting Life by Yoshihiro Tatsumi
My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness by Kabi Nagata

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